February 23, 2005
The Dark of Night, Circa 2003
It’s funny but sometimes I get these little emails which arrive in my inbox with the subject ‘new comment posted to your blog’. But since I know that no one who was even vaguely decent would read someone else’s heartfelt and privately expressed words, of course I delete them immediately without bothering to read them - but it makes me wonder if there is some kind of virus attacking the mainframe of my superdrive, or whatever. Worrying.
I am waiting for pizza to arrive, and I’m thinking I should put on a shirt, just in case the sexy pizza delivery girl gets the wrong idea. I mean, come on – just because I like to be comfortable in my own home doesn’t mean you get have your wily ways with me, you sassy pizza bringing girl. Why do you keep sending your hairy minions pizza girl, you tease? Sometimes I wonder if you even exist! But then Squeakfeather whispers in my ear that you do, and I feel stupid for ever doubting you.
I spent the evening singing karaoke in my friendses living room. It was great! I have to get a home karaoke setup. It’s on the list right above ‘mirror maze’. I would love a mirror maze!
Sexy pizza girl: Ding dong (she’s ringing the doorbell)
Me (on intercom): Come in my dear.
Door: Buzzzzzz.
Me (on intercom): Step right through.
Door: Click! (this is the door closing behind her)
Sexy, Sassy Pizza Cat: Hello? What the fuck is this place?
Me (on another intercom, enthusiastically): Oh, that’s just the mirror maze. Come right on up through that!
Beautiful Voluptuous Pizza Girl: Um ... er ... this corridor leads to nowhere! Um ... wait, now I’m seeing myself a thousand times! How am I supposed to know where to go?
Me (to myself, chuckling): Ha ha ha.
Lovely Pizza Bringing Vision of a Girl: Oh no! I’m lost! Help, get me out of here!
Me (on intercom): Hot ... hot ... cold ... cold ...
Ms Pizza: Are you helping me with clues?
Me (on intercom): No, I’m guessing the temperature of my pizza. This will affect your tip.
Pizza Lady Extraordinaire: Aha! The door! Knock knock! (this is her knocking on the door at the end of the maze)
Me (opening door): Congratulations! You solved my mirror maze!
Oh God Pizza Girl: But not without your help!
Me (on intercom): True.
Pizza Pizza: Why did you get back on the intercom? I’m right here.
Me: It’s just a thing I like to do.
Her: Hey, you’re not wearing a shirt. That is so unbelievably sexy I can’t believe no one has thought of it before!
Me: You know, there are two ways to get out of this place. 1) back the way you just came through the fearsome mirror maze, but this time THE SPIDERS WILL BE TURNED ON, or 2) the bedroom.
Duchess Pizza the 1st: Hmmm.
There are different endings to this.
Posted by Sam Bowring at 10:05 PM | Comments (0)
February 21, 2005
Mon 21st of The Present Month
I washed some glasses today, again. I HATE washing them!
Glasses: Hello, we’re stupid glasses, we get dirty REALLY fast and make life a LIVING HELL for you because you have to wash us all the time because YOU don’t have a washing machine, you poor, underprivileged little peasant.
Starving Child in Africa: Hey, life isn’t so tough.
Shut up! SHUT YOUR MOUTH! You don’t know what it’s like! Who died and made you the meter of pain from which every grievance in life is measured? Huh? Countless millions before you? Oh. Well whatever.
It’s the same thing with socks. You wash them, you wear them, they get stinkville USA, you wash them, you wear them FOREVER AND FOREVER THE CYCLE CONTINUES like a fucking wheel turning around and around banging your head every five seconds in this really ANNOYING way. Just STAY CLEAN.
Here is my poem in protest of these endless mundanities, called:
Shut Up All Of You
Socks sucks
Glasses are arses
Surface cleaner is a wiener
Kitchen towel is frickin’ foul
Beds needing to be made are like lead weights pulling me down into an ocean of suffering and despair
Vacuuming can go and get fucked too
Hmm. That’s all.
Oh yeah, it looks like Mic in Hand might be booking shows at a strip club! I can’t wait to get a stripper girlfriend. I think I’ll call her ‘Tiffany’.
Posted by Sam Bowring at 10:41 PM | Comments (0)
February 04, 2005
Wynsday the 1st of Snapdragon
Hello diary. I am most hungover today, and don’t feel like writing in you at all, but it’s either this or something equally painful, so I choose this – because at least it may serve as a reminder to myself that I don’t ever want to feel like this again. HEAR THAT FUTURE SAMMY? NEVER AGAIN!
Future Sammy: Shut up fuckwit, I’m having fun, and have forgotten that you even exist. More vodka, more beer, more joints, more spending of money, ahahahaha! I am the greediest man alive! And you, you are nothing but a lousy aftershock. It is YOU who must be scrubbed out of the equation. I am going to drink FOREVER, and then I’ll never have to listen to your whining ways again, you soft brained weak kneed water drinking parsley eater!
Crap. Oh well. There’s just no arguing with some versions of oneself.
Future Sammy: Too fucking right, ace. Who do you think you are?
I went to lunch with Kent and comic Justin Hamilton just now, and scored a free beef nachos (because they ordered filthy vegetarian and the kitchen got it wrong). It was very pleasant. We decided that good food is better than most other ‘good’ things, though I still think having a secret pink mouse with wings that is clever and can spy on people is pretty good – though of course I didn’t tell them that! Ah, Squeakfeather, how I love you and your flitting ways.
I also had a smoked salmon salad, which unfortunately I had to pay for because they got it right, although the avocado tasted kind of like really fucking awful old avocado. The waitresses were hot though, especially this really hot one.
Justin is the MC for the opening of our new comedy room at the Annandale Hotel. Kent and I are very excited about that one, as it’s a good room physically, and a great location, and has a good reputation. It has the potential to rock in a major way, we just have to get the people in. It won’t be a problem on the opening night as there is a lot of buzz and Wil Anderson is the feature, bless his cotton socks, but on the nights following ... well, we’ll see.
What is ‘buzz’? And why do people always seem to bless cotton socks, and not other items of clothing? Vampires don’t like things that have been blessed, I wonder if you could hurt one by putting blessed cotton socks on them?
Lost Scene from Dracula
Van Helsing: Shh! Here we are in the vampire’s tomb! Be very quiet now Watson!
Sidekick: I didn’t say anything. You’re the one saying things.
Van Helsing: Ah! Here be the beast’s coffin! Let’s lift the lid – and there he lies sleeping! Watson, hand me the cotton socks.
Sidekick: Here. But how are you going to use them against a vampire?
Van Helsing: Elementary my dear Watson. We just slide them onto his cold vampiric feet ... there. Now hear me oh Lord, our Saviour in Heaven – bless his cotton socks!
Lord: Okay. Blammo!
Dracula: Eeeeeeeek! Eeeeeeeeek! My feet, my feet!
Van Helsing: Take that you bloodsucking devil!
Dracula: Fuck this hurts! There are better ways to do this you know.
Van Helsing: At my age you have to mix it up a bit.
Last night at the Friend in Hand was good. Healthy crowd, a bit rowdy but good spirited – it was this girl’s birthday and she was sitting down the front with all her mates, some of whom have been before and are good value. I love that little room. Not as much as you Squeakfeather, don’t worry your mousey little heart. Here is a poem for you, to commemorate how good you are.
Squeakfeather’s Escapade
Sneaky sneaky sneaky sneaky
Peeky peeky peeky peeky
Hearing someone speaking, saying
‘Let’s put Sam’s hand in warm water while he’s sleeping’.
Sneaky sneaky, back to Sam
Let him know the evil scam!
Sam thinks of how to foil the plot
You won’t get away with this free, Scott!
Goes to sleep in Ren and Stimpy boxers
With hands protected by shoe boxes!
Okay, so ‘boxers’ and ‘boxes’ doesn’t really rhyme, and are kind of the same word, but seeing as how no one’s reading this diary but me, what do I fucking care?
Kent and I did and interview for the opening of The Annandale and The Sandringham with The Courier, which is a locally distributed newspaper. It was fun, and now that its out people have said it was a good article – but we haven’t been able to find it! I am most curious, especially because the interviewer went with a ‘comics talking about there being no sex in comedy’ angle, so I want to see what variety of idiot I sound like. Anyway, it’s a lie, as one of my friends quickly pointed out. And then I fucked her.
Speaking of sex, I’m playing this computer game called Fable at the moment, in which you can choose to be good or evil, and in which the statistics are very in depth, including things like
How many beers consumed
How many wasps killed
How many people fallen in love with you
How many people you have married
How many times had sex
My character, De Faulte, has gone down a very dark road. He’s always murdering innocent bystanders, punching children, stepping on daisies etc. I think the fact that he’s 54, is married, and has never had sex might have something to do with this aggression. He keeps trying to have sex with his wife, taking off his armour, giving her chocolates, using the ‘flirt’ command, using the ‘follow’ command to lead her to a bed, but to no avail. It’s extremely frustrating, and I really feel for him. If I was 54 and hadn’t had sex, I might go a bit mental too. I wonder if it’s him though – is he insecure? I mean he goes around on amazing quests all the time, taking on monsters and waving his huge axe around – is he compensating for something? Perhaps at heart he’s just a scared little boy, still reliving that awful night years ago when a bandit burned down his village and killed his family. That’s not the kind of shit you easily forget.
I find the ‘good choice’ and ‘evil choice’ part of the game to be a bit restrictive. For example, after a beating a Bandit King, you can choose to kill him or display mercy – an obvious good or evil choice, for which you are given good and evil points accordingly. What I did, however, was kill ALL the bandits in his camp, take his treasure and then let him live – the idea being to leave him as the King of Nothing, the ruler of an empty, deserted camp, forever tormented by memories of his glory days, before I came along and took everything he held dear – but because I let him live, I was awarded ‘good’ points! Bah! What rubbish. Really, evil is much more complicated, and it should pay to be creative.
Hmm. I might go play that now. Or maybe watch Lilo and Stitch again. Ah, Lilo and Stitch. You know once, a woman in a pub told me I looked like Lilo! I found that very odd, as Lilo is a six year old Hawaiian girl in a Disney cartoon, and I am a 25 year anglo saxon male in the real world, so I don’t really know where the similarity is. Maybe the fact that we both have a strange alien familiar. Ah, Squeakfeather. Maybe the woman was just trying to use the flirt command on me. It didn’t work, so I hope she didn’t go out and punch any children.
Yes. Lilo and Stitch. Off to watch it now.
Posted by Sam Bowring at 02:56 PM | Comments (0)
February 03, 2005
Tues 24th January 2005
This keyboard is so dirty. All the collective scum from ten months of typing without being cleaned has finally built up to the point that I am ACTUALLY THINKING OF CLEANING IT and that’s when you know things have gotten bad.
I mean, I am generally a clean person, but my desk is a filth pit. If any other part of the house becomes undeniably dirty I do usually get to it, but with my desk, where I work, anything goes. GLAD YOU BROKE INTO MY DIARY NOW YOU FUCK? INTERESTING, ISN’T IT? FULL OF FASCINATING OBSERVATIONS ABOUT MY WORK PLACE, LITTLE BITS OF DESK TRIVIA I BET YOU WERE DYING TO KNOW? SEE? THIS ISN’T THE PLACE FOR YOU! FUCK OFF!
The keys are so stuck together that I can type whole sentences by only pressing in a few select points. It’s kind of like tetris, if that makes sense.
Anyway, it’s an odd kind of feeling today. I finished work late and was restless. I didn’t feel like just chilling out watching the tube, or television either (less entertaining), or going out and doing anything. I sent out a few speculative texts, but no one is doing anything anyway. Or if they are I’ve missed the boat. I just felt like sitting around with someone, someone special, a companion, you know, someone you can just be intimate with and know everything’s going to be okay, but then I realised I should have a wank and that was enough of that crazy talk. Phew! Another close call.
So, then I thought I would check out this blog thing that Kent set up, and it seemed cool. It’s a place for me to record my thoughts for myself, which is always something I’ve felt I haven’t done enough of. I sometimes remember things I haven’t thought of for years and go ‘I must write that down, lest tomorrow I drink off the part of my brain that remembers it’. So this is my attempt to have something to remember myself by when I’m old and mad and dying alone under an ol’ willow tree.
I mean, I’m not an idiot, I know the internet isn’t the most secure place. I’m sure there are ‘hackers’ out there who would delight in nothing more than breaking into someone’s personal space, but hey ... I’m not going to tell any of the really big secrets, like the time I lied to someone that I had cancer to get them to sleep with me, or set that bum on fire in an alleyway by accidentally flicking a joint end onto the metho he’d spilled beside himself ... I’m not stupid. Actually it was AIDS, not cancer, now that I think about it.
I really must clean this keyboard.
Anyway, today not much happened. I worked on my unending fantasy book because I want to send it off (again) before the Melbourne Comedy Festival, otherwise it will sit around nearly finished for a month collecting dust when it could be collecting dust on some publisher’s floor, hopefully where it will one day make them trip and spill hot coffee into their eyes. Two sugars, for the ‘hot sticky half melted crystal’ effect, ahaha.
Publishers Form Letter
Dear (insert name here)
We at Big Publishers Co have considered your book for publication, and must regretfully decline, as we do not feel it is right for our list. Also I have spilled boiling coffee into my eyes, and could not actually read it.
Your sincerely,
Ms Editor Lady
Yah. So apart from that, more festival stuff – I mentioned the festival, me and a group of friends are going there to put on a show, I might talk about that in a later entry. And that’s about it!
Posted by Sam Bowring at 03:47 PM | Comments (0)
WARNING KEEP OUT
WARNING!
This blog is for Sam Bowring ONLY! It is MY personal diary, NOT FOR ANYONE ELSE TO READ! It contains some very private thoughts, and would YOU like it if someone broke into your room and read YOUR personal diary without permission, like it was some publicly accessible forum you can just LOG INTO and READ whenever you feel like it?
Huh?
I DIDN’T THINK SO TONY.
So, if you have any respect whatsoever for people’s feelings, you will respect mine on this matter. If you don’t have any respect whatsoever for people’s feelings, I guess there’s no reasoning with you, and frankly I’m surprised you’re reading this instead of out somewhere making a shirt from women’s skin.
So STAY OUT, THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE TO DO THE RIGHT THING.
Posted by Sam Bowring at 03:45 PM | Comments (0)