Busy Doin' Nothin'
What? Don Knotts is Dead?
1 Comment
"Well, Goll- Eeeeeee!". Hang on, thats Jim Nabors.
Tell me it isnt true.
For some reason, whilst sipping white russians and contemplating the impending apocalypse (actually, the world ended yesterday, didn’t you get the memo?), I thought of Don Knotts. A most unusual looking fellow, he starred in an amazing amount of movies that I thought were crap growing up. But he sure made me laugh cos’ he looked goofy.
The Ghost and Mr Chicken, The Reluctant Astronaut, Shakiest Gun in the West, to name three. I had kinda forgotten that he existed, to tell you the truth, but when I subjected his name to a rape by Wikipedia, I found a dearth of information. Seemed he was active right up ’til his untimely death in 2006.
Roles abounded in television shows such as Three’s Company, Scooby Doo and even Robot Chicken. Hell, he was Turkey Lurkey in Chicken Little, fer chrissakes. I don’t know how I coulda missed all that stuff. Apparently, he was on Matlock as a regular character with his old compadre Andy Griffiths, but, uh, I must’ve been watching Murder She Wrote or Father Dowling at the time.
So three cheers for your willy or John Thomas. And slap ‘em together for a man that existed in an age where looking like a goggle eyed freak didn’t necessarily mean being beaten to death with a cricket bat on christmas day.
Don Knotts, wherever you are, I raise my rapidly emptying glass to ya. Every time I am unfortunate enough to see a poor bastard that is unfortunate enough to slightly resemble you, I suppress a quiet laugh and marvel at the innocence we have lost with your humble passing.
So until the Apple Dumpling Gang rides again, again, here’s to you, Donald Knotts.
Final Crisis in Infinite Comiczones?
1 Comment
Ooooooooooh, hello there Perth, Western Australia, in particular all you little comic book readers. You ARE a funny little spastic group aren’t you? Allow me to introduce myself, for I am the Perth Comic Book Cunt. Perhaps your eyes and mine have locked together in mad orgasms of desire whilst we peruse the latest releases in our favourite funny book haunt (or it could even have been on one of my infrequent trips to the Comiczone).
Yes, thats right, I’M the bitchy Perez Hiltonesque Mr Humphries of Perth Graphic Fiction gossip. Mmmmm Hmmmm, darlings. I’ll be dishing the dirt on Perth’s comic book elite, throwing aside the veiled curtain on those most interesting of perth-onalities, the staff and customers of your favourite establishments. But enough of this blathering about me, lets get our saucy little rumour mongering started, and what a doozy I have for you today, you lucky little vaseline smeared weirdos.
Is it my (admittedly large) imagination or is the grand king of Perth Comics, Owen “Uncle Oz” Roberts not looking as robust as usual these days? His once majestic facial features have of late been compromised, deep deep bags line his decreasingly delightful peepers, and his once bronzed complexion has made way for skin paler than Liza Minellis cellulite riddled ass.
Rumours persist of bizarre fainting spells, frequent short closures of the ‘zone for violent bursts of diahorrea and vomiting , and a few customers have even remarked on the flatulent atmosphere that seems to line the store with increasing frequency (Mind you, comic fans themselves aren’t the most hygenic lot.).
What to make of it all? Go and visit and make up your own mind, if you can. It just might be one of the last times that you see the goofy old Metal Licker, if these abovementioned rumours have just one grain of truth. If, however, you border on the cynical side, feast yo peeps on this documented photographic evidence
Owen in slightly healthier times (and the other two blokes in this photo don't look so healthy either.)
Need I say more Perth O Sexuals? Probably not, but I will, anyway. I propose that we all inundate Comiczone with well wishes and air kisses. After all, you just never know when a well worn relic can expire and disappear from our lives. Why, I just don’t know who I’ll litter my revoltingly maciavellian man love fantasies about when, er I mean if Owen Bear kicks the bucket.
Oh yeah., we still got Templedick. And his faithful manservant Slopey.
Anyway, don’t be a stranger, especially if you’re tall, dark and not on the verge of dying in the next 5 hours. Call in to Comiczone, and tell ‘em the Comic Cunt sent ya.
Toodles, darlings.
They Laughed When I Sat Down to Play…
1 Comment
Hello, I’ve not been round this way for a spell. One of you noticed. What in the name of Kim Heitmans’ testicleese were the other 0.5 of you doing? I have been far too busy to post to this so called ‘blog’ anyway. I didn’t miss you at all.
Awww, I could never lie to you, could I? I’ve been too busy downloading porn, if you must know. The really sick stuff, that your mother was probably right about. I expect I’ll be molestering kids and exposing myself to senile hostel bound ex merchant navy men next. Oh, alright, I’ve already done that. Read the book, wrote the novel, saw the movie, went to the toilet halfway thru, missed the best bit.
I’m a bit drunk alright? It is for that reason, and that reason alone that I shall share with you an amusing limerick that my father taught me at an inappropriate age (for what else are fathers for but to break the rules that your mother enforces too well?). It goes a little bit like this (please indulge me if you’ve heard it before. It isn’t that amusing, either, but try to repress an urge to slap your forehead and groan)
The boy stood on the burning deck,
His pocket full of crackers,
One fell down between his legs,
And blew off both his knackers.
I guess it was cooler when I was six, but damn, it reminds me of my Dad, so fuck you if you didn’t enjoy it.
Go on, fuck off. (Are we allowed to cuss on these things? Oh, well, fuck it)
Thats the best of you, you cunt.
Comic Zone in Perth? What about Vomit Zone, eh?
Ben Templesmith and Shane McCarthy (both also from Perth) are so talent ridden, only borderline spastics and certified cunts purchase their work.
Brian Wilson is a genius, or was, or is because he was. If you don’t agree with me, may you have your rectum corrupted by that trusted family vicar that taught you how to confess to sins you may not have commited.
There. Its all out of my system.
See you next week.
Automatic for the People
2 Comments
I took my kids to a swimming pool (Beatty Park, if you MUST know) this morning. It was very busy, and I spent half the time having fun with the children, and the other half hoping that the annoying red headed twins that kept leaping into the even more shallow than shallow pool would suffer life altering spinal injuries whilst their grinning idiot of a parent was trading cookie recepies with a woman that closely resembled a hobbit (but hairier).
The proximity to water must have reminded me of a few near death experiences, as I found myself thinking back to the two times in my life where I nearly drowned. It wasn’t the fact that I nearly died that caught my interest, though. It was the experience of remembering that fascinated me. Like in an Alan Moore comic, I was there for a few brief seconds, reliving an unpleasant part of what sadly passes for my life.
The second time, I was caught in a rip, whilst swimming happily out into the ocean when I knew I couldn’t. I was just too embarrassed to admit that I couldn’t swim that well, it was easier to just swim out there with the rest of my class. When I got into trouble, most of the other swimmers had made it back to the beach. I didn’t yell, I just knew that I couldn’t make it back, and quite calmly (or so I remember), I started to drop below the water and begin to drown.
My life flashed before my eyes, but there was no revelation. It was the good with the bad, just there. No particular order, just a quick succession of images dating back, I believe as far back as my memory extended. It was then that my body involuntarily started to struggle, as my lungs desperately searched for air. I thrashed about, for what seemed like far too long, as I pushed myself up to the surface for a few minute gasps of air. It didn’t seem like much, but it was enough to last me until the high school phys-ed teacher (that resembled Paul Hogan crossed with Les Patterson) came to my rescue. I remember being momentarily disappointed, because my life had stopped flashing, I was going to live, and I would never, ever even remotely like the ocean again.
And I can almost hear you all going ‘phew, thank god he made it’.
No morals, no point, just because.
Mark Millar Caught In 2nd Trimester
Leave a Comment
You know how everybody regards comic book geeks, if in fact they regard them at all. Ugly, fat, borderline retarded, socially inept, compulsive, sweaty, balding, repulsive, unfashionable. I could go on and on (and this description is just based on myself).
Well, funny book creators are just as bad, if not worse. Have you seen Bendis or Quesada? Altho’ they’ve both lost a human being between themselves lately, they are both still on the ‘Danger Will Robinson’ side of their scales. Kurt Busiek, Peter David, Frank Miller. All ugly as Arseface’s ‘roids. You get the picture?
Surely, however, Mark Millar, one of comicdoms favourite sons, must buck the trend. A man that can go to bed at night, and dream up five best selling concepts in his sleep. A man that continuously writes about the super human, ultra contemporary concepts about muscle riddled specimens of superior psychiatric and genetic stock, all within the confines of a reality the avid reader can easily recognise as only one or two degrees away from their own. Surely, Millar must have one of those constantly evolving physiques that drips testosterone from its ever expanding muscle groups as he bench presses the weight of his family yacht whilst whistling the Captain America theme tune through his well formed, and oh yes, tight buttocks.
Ock aye the nooo Goo Goo Dolls I see you Jimmy Metrosexual
Nah.
Lego Sarah Palin!!!
1 Comment
Is unfortunately not contained herein. I just used her name in a shameless effort to lift my stats, as she seems quite popular around these parts. Instead, heres Lego Brad and Angelina.
Saving the Lego world one baby at a time
Lego my ego
Leave a Comment
Lego is celebrating its 922nd anniversery, and some budding goddamn Adolf Einstein has decided that to commemorate this significant occasion, why not have a bit of fun. While not actually going as far as I may have hoped, for example releasing an Albert Hitler lego figure, they have peered into the abyss and come up with a few truly surprising choices, some of which we will feature here at Beloved Aunt Enterprises. First cab off the rank? Why that wholesome attractive songstress that the whole world has taken to their collective over ripe left tit.
Where's me *%#@in' Lego Pipe and %$#@in' Lego Crack?
Please note: No hoper convict husband not included.
I hates, I hates, I hates that Slopey fella.
Leave a Comment
One more special message to go and then I’m done and I can go home:
Templedick ain't got time for us scurvy mongrels since he started hanging out with that Slopey.
Tags: AAAAAAAyyyyyyyyyy!, Henry Winkler, Patrick Duffy, Slopey, Z list
Bongo Bingo!
Leave a Comment
When I said that I didn’t know what to write, THEY said, to write what you know, kid. Write what you know. However, instead of filling this empty space with ramblings about compulsive masturbation and my hatred of the Boongers, I have instead decided to share with you all (all two of you) a photo that I recently unearthed on one of my favourite blogs, the link of which may be underneath somewhere.
It warmed the cockles of me cold little heart, and I hope it does the same to you.
Whoops. Sorry folks, technical difficulties. Its actually this photo.
Whoopsy daisy, wrong again. One more try.
Thats Amore!
Yeah, thats the stuff. A photo of the reunion of the greatest team since, well the Captain and Tenneille, Heckle and Jeckle, Bob and Bing, Terrence and Phillip, Claremont and Byrne, Kurt and Courtney etc etc. It happened in 1976, on one of Jerry’s Telethons, and apparently he had no idea that Dean was gonna show up. Old Blue Eyes himself organised it, so I guess there was more to him than hitting women and hanging out with the mob. Thank God they didn’t get together for another movie, though.
