- Karene Arundell
- Brisbane, Queensland, Australia
- Abandoned by the orphanage when I was six weeks old, I was left in the nearby woods where I was raised by wolves for two weeks. Then they got sick of me and abandoned me. A few things were said, I could have been more diplomatic perhaps, but I still maintain that wolf politics is corrupt bullshit. After this, a squirrel* took me in, until I realized that, whilst I was crazy about nuts, I was also allergic to squirrel hair. I hiked to town and hid inside the back of truck that was transporting Starbuck coffee cup lids and stirrers to The Big City. I stayed here for 18 years, never alerting my presence to the truck driver, who used to pull over every 500km or so and silently cry to himself. To this day, that truck driver is unaware that he was my primary caregiver growing up. I like trucks, beards, and country and western music. I've accidentally used deodorant as hairspray and vice versa on only one occasion so far. *Because of this I will not wear products made out of squirrel.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
The other half of me is already wondering whether our guillotine is still in good working order and which part of the front yard is best to display your head on a spike.
Please understand I would not use such frank language unless you had pushed me thus far through your persistent and inexplicable rebelliousness against giving me a beloved son.
Oh, how clear in my memory is the soul-destroying event that was the last birth! I arose feeling fitful that morning. I dined on my customary red wine and duck, and your absence at the other end of my 12-foot-long dinner table indicated that you were, in probability, betwixt labour pains and birthing the boy who will inherit my estate and fortunes when I pass on.
The absence of news from my man, Phillip, inclined me to believe that the boy had not yet come. The nervous glances between the footmen whilst I sipped broodingly on my excellent merlot signalled to me that you were probably in the midst of travail. I finished my duck. It was good.
Afterwards I paced the marble foyer of my mighty mansion, my leather shoes clacking impatiently on the marble floor, occasionally glancing down at the reflection in my shoe buckles over the expanse of my impressive stomach. I could see that my powdered wig was slightly askew, but I barely cared.
I became aware that I was not alone. Phillip hovered nervously in the doorway. “Be gone, fool!” I screamed, ashamed to be caught in a moment of reflection, and I am embarrassed to admit I threw my muff at him. He scampered out the door, and before it slammed shut I momentarily heard the echo of your self-indulgent birthing screams. Stoically, I awaited my fate with my bejewelled fingers clasping my waistcoat, longing for an answer from God which seemingly would never come.
After what seemed like centuries, your showy production came to an end. I turned to see the midwife tentatively open the door. “The mistress is well, my Lord,” she tittered, holding her face low. I marched past the stupid curtseying woman, my cloak flailing behind me as I strode decidedly towards your private chamber.
Entering your room, I saw in my periphery you in a state of decided disarray upon the bed, your chemise disgracefully covered in blood. My infant son lay swaddled in his crib, and – no! This was no son! I turned my eyes from this abomination and took in your scandalous figure in disgust, an expression which did not fade when our eyes met. I looked upon your maidservant (whom I have bedded, by the by, on no less than 30 occasions), and sneered. “My good Sir-” the impudent woman simpered, and I turned about on my heel and moved purposefully from the room.
I marched as far away from you as my legs could take me, returning to my foyer where the paintings of my father and grandfather stared down upon me in mockery. Suddenly, my knees failed me, and I fell to the ground. “WHY????!!!!” my tortured screams rang out, echoing throughout the house as dramatic orchestral music reached a crescendo, and scattering the birds on my estate into the sky. “WHY?!?!?!?!!”
I lay some moments on the ground in the foyer, not bothering to stop the tears which marked me as a broken man. My satin waistcoat felt more like a straightjacket, and the weight of my velvet cloak was heavy upon my person. And as I whimpered, “I’m sorry, father”, at the frowning grey-haired man in the painting above my fallen head, so help me God if I didn’t wish you and your devil’s spawn dead at that very moment, woman.
You can see, I trust, what a distasteful morning this fateful day was for me. I could barely gather the presence of mind to go shooting with the hounds that afternoon. I should also add that your antics that day saw me take down no more than five ducks – which is two below my average for a typical hunting party.
It must be clear even to a female that this cannot, will not, happen again. I will not be made a fool of. Are we clear on this, woman? I quite ruined my stockings on my tragic foyer fall that morning, and they are not the only items belonging to me that are ruined by your impudence that day.
I am not privy to the knowledge of why you continually refuse to give me a male heir who will carry on my line, fulfil my hopes and dreams, and keep my estates out of the hands of my scheming cousin. I consider it fruitless to inquire into the minds (if one is to call it that) of women. I know only that your intentions are evil.
That being said, understand this. Failure to produce a male heir this time round will not go unpunished. I already have made plans to have your rose garden removed and replaced with your skewered slut’s head. The choice is yours. You can have this, or give me my son and remain alive. You may even receive a brief nod in recognition of work well done after the boy is born. I will glance with apparent impassivity upon his newborn face, and you will bring him up whilst I retire to Bath to take the waters and mix in society.
Again, woman, the choice is entirely yours.
Sir Ben Affleck
(To Lady Jennifer Garner)
Monday, July 26, 2010
Later in the day it would be like nothing had happened and I would hang out at the base with the other guys. Joe would walk in and I’d say, “Decided to join us?” and he’d give me a sharp look and spit, “Think I’m finished, do ya? Bullshit! I’ve got five hours left.” I would offer a sympathetic nod and would join in on a game of pool with the fellas, all the time feeling that I didn’t fit in exactly and secretly wondering what the other truckers think of me.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Karene: That’s right.
Karene: .... No.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Sharks are like seacows but more stream-lined looking and with giant teeth. For this reason, they are impressive.
* When I was a little kid I was out on a speed boat with my Dad, way off the Gold Coast. He was fishing and I was at the other end of the boat. A shark started circling our boat and I thought, "If it leaps up and kills Dad, I will be next." Our geographical distance (at opposite end of the boat) also meant it could easily go for me first, but I hoped it wouldn't.
* Normally if you get into a fight with someone, you can punch them in the stomach or chest and crack their ribs. A shark will just mock you in this situation, as they don't have ribs. However, the joke's on them: as sharks have no rib cage, on land a shark's own weight can literally crush it". Drag the shark onto the shore and sit beside it, laughing, and "cheers" your victory with a tinnie.
* I asked my friend Cameron (the guy who likes lap dogs) what he would do if a shark tried to attack him. He said it wouldn't happen because he would just punch the cunt.
* Shark-tooth necklaces are MEGA fucked. For this reason, when you search google images for "shark tooth necklace" you'll instead get a picture of a hot Mila Kunis to offset the douchebaggery of these necklaces.
* The average shark will kill something like one in every twenty humans. The next time you're at a football match, take a look around. Nine thousand people sitting around you will one day be eaten by a shark.
* Sharks like water. If you're in water, you might be near a shark. Don't think pools are safe, either. I saw this campy dated James Bond movie where they put him in a pool and released sharks. Being alone in a pool is bad idea. If you swim with a friend, the shark might go for them first.
* The documentary Sharkwater shows sharks in a positive light and humans in a negative light. If I was a shark, I'd buy a plane ticket to Asia, cut off people's arms and make Human Arm Soup.
* In Jaws, there's a scene where the main guy is sitting reflectively at his kitchen table, his head resting on his stretched-out arms and staring off in a drunken stupour. After a while, the camera pans to the other end of the table and you realize he's not staring at nothing, he's staring at his dog, which is seated in the other chair. The dog is staring back at him. It's gay. When Cameron and I finally make an awesome movie, this scene will occur in a montage sequence in the middle.
* Sharks take a long time to digest food, with unwanted items never making it past the stomach. In this case, the shark will vomit the food out. This means if you get swallowed whole by a shark, you can spew your way out. Try punching the shark's punching bag organ thingy in its throat to get its gag reflex going.
* Sharks can swim to speeds of up to 19km per hour, which is kind of disappointing. You probably beat this speed circling your Woolworths car park.
* A popular myth is that sharks can't get cancer. Scientists have now found out they can. Can you imagine how funny it would be if a shark got boob cancer?
This is a photo of my friend who drove along Great Ocean Road in Victoria. She took a photo of the event so she could prove it to others and also so she could look at the photo in the future and say, "Oh, that's from when I went to Great Ocean Road."
My friend really enjoyed her trip along Great Ocean Road. This is evident in her bashful smile. She didn't stand too close to the edge so you can see from the photo she's not afraid of standing at that height. Her hand is sitting on her hip with her arm stuck out in a kind of self-conscious gesture and the wind is rippling her skirt. This describes both the weather conditions and human psychological experiences featured on Great Ocean Road.
The water at Great Ocean Road is blue, and even more blue when you touch it up in Photoshop. In this photo, my friend is holding her stomach in because she's worried she'll look like she has a gut in the photo. However, she is athletic and her body issues really come from nowhere. You can see her arm is muscly enough and her boobs are pretty decent, and not just for someone her age. She may have stuffed her bra on this day, however: I can have no way of knowing. It is possible she just has misquito tits and is lying to all of us.
My friend cut her hair short a few months prior to this photo being taken. In no way did this event correspond to a preparation ritual for the Great Ocean Road trip. She didn't cut her hair off owing to religious convictions or meaingful notions, she just cut her hair off because she felt like it. She says that her hair is more manageable shorter and when you get to her age, you can't be bothered by long hair.
On her road trip crossing the Great Ocean Road, my friend changed the radio station on no less than 23 occasions. Every third time she would express renewed disgust at being unable to catch a radio signal. Her husband, who was driving, grew sick of it and put a CD in. She said, "I don't want to listen to this," and he said, "I don't want to listen to you" and there was an uncomfortable silence for about 30 minutes until they reached a petrol station. In the petrol station, her husband made a joke about the price of Coke, and my friend kind of smiled but the atmosphere was still strained. On the way back home, my friend kept thinking, "Am I doing the right thing in being with this man?" and "I could not face the possibility of sleeping with him tonight. That's a bad sign." She thought of saying something, but then she found it easier to fall asleep in the front seat.
My friend really like Great Ocean Road in this picture. You should go there.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
I remember being at Ben Primer's 14th birthday party and you can see in one pic that by the end of the night I looked almost completely sober, and I'd had about 15 billies by then. That shit was fucked up, I remember. I smoked all my weed in one night and I had to trade my Mortal Kombat: Annihilation copy to get it. If I'd had a cannie, I would have been ripped straight away, like at Mica's party last year when I broke my wrist* trying to do a keg stand.
Monday, July 12, 2010
- “Amy Winehouse, absolutely.” - On which celebrity will die next
- “You didn’t have one of those funny cigarettes before you went out, did you?” - On my car accident
- “So ugly. Her chin is just disgusting.” - On Reese Witherspoon
- “I’m going to have a shower. I got this bit down around my crotch I can never reach... Can you help me?” – To any of my female friends who visit
- “Is it just me, or did the air get gayer in here all of a sudden? Oh, hello.” – To any of my male friends or boyfriends who visit
- “We got to the cinema, sat down, and after about fifteen minutes I realized I’d taken her to a full-on porno movie. This was back when they’d play real porn in cinemas.” - On his first date with my then 16-year-old mother
- “I’m sick of this rap crap.” – On Sum 41
- “That’s in South America.” – Whenever someone remarks that the air is “chilly”
- "What's wrong with Britney? She'd be a good root, I reckon. I'd slip Li-Lo one, too." On celebrity hotness
- “What’s the word for once every two years? Is it biannual, or biennial? Anyway, I just did my biennial washing of the bed sheets. There was one very specific section that was just black.” - On hygiene
- “God, I can’t be bothered having a shower today. Anyway, I bet the water is as cold as a nun’s cunt.” - Hygiene wisdom, part II
- “My mate dressed up in a gorilla suit and I was in a laboratory sort of outfit, holding a giant net in my hands. We got out at David Jones, and I chased him through the store, past all the staff and customers. We got onto a tram that was stopped in the middle of the Brisbane City Mall, ran up the aisle, and jumped off... I chased him all the way to Town Hall. Our mates were waiting there in the car, and we drove off.” – On attending university
- “Murphy! Stop fucking her face!” - On canine fornication
- “Jesus, I need something to lift me up after that. Someone get me to the pub.’” – Providing the inner monologue for Lindsay Lohan, just sentenced to a 90-day jail sentence for failure to attend AA meetings
- “I’m smart enough to win this show, but they only take people who dance around like fuckwits.” – On Deal or No Deal.
- “Now, he’s gay.” – On any game show contestant that is not overtly masculine
- “The dog just beat the amount of licks he had from his water-bowl - in one go – this morning. Guess how many? He took 107 sips. His previous record was 103.” – On his dog’s water consumption
- “He just strains at the lead like you wouldn’t believe... gasping for air, choking on his collar. He only ever does it when there’s someone else around. I say to him, “shut the fuck up”, but he never does.” – On walking the dog
- “I haven’t dreamed in about five years, but I had a nightmare last night. I dreamt I had this beautiful country cottage, somewhere in England. In the dream I woke up and went downstairs and my living room was filled with old pussies - Gran, Nandy, Gert, Betty – all the old women I’ve known in real life. They’d taken over the house and they were sitting on chairs in a large circle. They were clucking like hens and nattering on, and I realized I’d have to make them tea. It was the worst thing I could imagine.” - On elderly women
- “Said the actress to the bishop.” – Whenever someone says something that could be vaguely construed as sexual
- “My paladin is stuck in Stormwind and I’ve got to do this quest using my Sword Of A Thousand Souls.” – On pretending to play World of Warcraft
- “Show us your tits.” – On blonde female TV reporters
Sunday, July 11, 2010
"I don't care."
As of August 4, 2008, Step Up 2 the Streets had grossed a worldwide total of $144,045,198, outperforming its predecessor."
- Passing out is filled with floor-y goodness. People who have passed out tend to be inert on the floor of someone's living room. By being prostate, passed out people have a drastically reduced chance of bumping their heads into lamps, fans, wind chimes or deliberately into other people.
- Being passed out is negatively correlated with cancer. Studies show that most people who have passed out from drinking too much have a much lower chance of having cancer. This is because people with aggressive cancer don't have the strength or spirit left to get drunk.
- If you are passed out, chances are you are not watching Glee. Even if the show is screening on a nearby TV, unconscious people are immune to its effects. Moreover, most passed-out people can't see a television through their closed eyelids.
- One time I saw a guy green out at the Amsterdam Cafe in Vancouver. He fully lurched out the door, stumbled, and slumped to the ground vomiting while his friend tried holding him up. His face was pool-mould green. For real. Research shows that passed out people are too passed out to be vomiting from a weed overdose on a street corner.
- Passed out people are much less likely to be running a KKK meeting from their basement and broadcasting it to a local cable television station and then dying in a bloody stampede when anti-racism protestors storm the house, injuring several bystanders who were just there to help settle things down.
- Being passed out provides an opportunity for other highly inebriated brethren to distract themselves from also passing out by drawing the word "cock" on the unconscious individual's forehead or cock.
- Passed out people offset their lack of social contribution via an ecological contribution. By being passed and not using equipment, smoking, eating, coughing or breathing, you are massively reducing your carbon footprint. At the other end of the scale, passed out people are not holding eco-awareness rallies in your neighbourhood or asking you to sign a petition against Japanese whaling, so passed out people constitute a nice political neutral zone where you will not have to discuss the environment or politics.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Confused in Camp Mountain
A: You know what? I'm just going to get rid of the elephant in the room. This is really MESSED UP!
First of all, everybody knows it's a cardinal rule to not be crushing on your friend's crush. If she saw him first, let her have at it. Now, if you saw him first, you probably shouldn’t have helped her in the first place and should have told at the point because you saw him first. Am I right?
Second, make sure you've got your facts straight. Are you sure he's making goo-goo eyes at this evil girl? My last piece of advice is to become friends with him. Start off with a joke. That always makes the discomfort dissolve away when I'm making new friends.
And if he still decides to drool over that other girl, drop it, grab some popcorn, and watch him wither in his own tears of despair when he gets rejected. Hey, every girl gets to be a bit mean once in a while. Am I right?
Love and Peace.
Q: I want to make sure I'm getting the best out of my portfolio and picking the right stocks. Like most Australian investors, a sizeable proportion of my portfolio is comprised of mining companies, BHP Billiton, Rio Tinto etc. My question is, does Gillard's latest super resources tax compromise really bode well for the miners? Also, how far will the BP oil spill go towards affecting Australian stocks?
HotInvestor79 from Sydney
A: I know this must be very sad for you and I'm sorry. I send my deepest sympathy. And about your mom, you should stay out of her way but you shouldn't be a ghost. And if she looks really depressed then go up to her and take a chance, say "Mum, I'm sorry about grandpa, do you wanna talk? Maybe I can help." If she says no then politely say, "Ok, I love you." Believe me! It will make her feel better. If she says yes then just hug her and tell her its ok that you love her. And listen. She's an adult; she'll realize it sooner or later. Good luck!
Q. I'm a 15-year-old and I've been in a relationship with a 22-year-old for the past 4 months. I told my parents at first, but they reacted in a very negative way. I said that I wouldn't see him, but I couldn't stay away. He's a really great guy, and I want to continue the relationship, but recently I've been feeling very guilty about not telling my parents and I'm also starting to get nervous and anxious they might find out. What should I do?
So Stressed Out Right Now
A: Dear Karene,
Please find the sales report attached in this email.
I am sorry for the delay. We don't normally pay royalties till the end of the year.
Also we had no recent contact address for you until a month ago and have not heard from you in eight years.
Thanking you for your patience. I would appreciate it if you can confirm you have received payment as I am eager to have this matter settled.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Overall grade: F-
Check out the information above, home-slices. And to the left. I'm IN this movie, fools. I must be, otherwise why would this awesome poster be here?
Roger Ebert says of Midnight in Manhattan dreams, "as slow-moving as it is trite, Midnight is one of the worst indie films to make it straight to DVD this year. Not for one moment does the film show any semblance of a relatable storyline. The main character, Karene (in a hideous attempt at self-promotion being the same name as the actor), is fundamentally unlikeable. I'd rather get cancer again than sit through this."
Scott Wilson of the Chicago Tribune noted, "so awful that it's almost funny, but it fails even here. It is never explained why the title character is in Manhattan, and the film seems to be set entirely in some backwards country town in Australia. The film's antagonist, a talking dog called Goofy, is less CGI than 1920s Disney-drawing. Absolutely awful on all fronts. Giving this film an F- is a compliment."
On the other hand, Rolling Stone called Midnight in Manhattan Dreams, "a film that... has actors... cross-breeding, and... vegemite... absolute abortion... of misjustice".
Anyway, gotta run. I can see a soft purple-pink dissolve settling across the camera-screen of my eyes, and I'm pretty sure that means I'm about to have a reflective moment about Manhattan.