My subconscious has gone AWOL

Brain

An arsehole. Image

Brain:    Good morning!

Me:        Ugh.

Brain:    What?

Me:        Why did you have to give me those dreams last night?

Brain:    Which ones? The one about the wedding, or the one about the unicorn?

Me:        You gave me dreams about weddings and unicorns?!

Brain:    Errrrm… No?

Me:        *side eye*

Brain:    That’s physically impossible.

Me:        I know; that’s why I’m telling you I’m doing it. Because I can’t actually look at you.

Brain:    Right.

Me:        You gave me this stupid dream where I was trying to convince a man to get back in contact with his young daughter. Every time I almost got them back together, something happened to ruin it.

Brain:    Yup.

Me:        So what was your point?

Brain:    I don’t understand dreams, I just give them to you.

Me:        Isn’t a dream supposed to be my subconscious trying to tell me things?

Brain:    Sure. But the subconscious isn’t here right now to answer your questions.

Me:        Where is it?

Brain:    I don’t know. I’m not your subconscious’ keeper, you know.

Me:        …

Brain:    …

Me:        Actually you quite literally are.

Brain:    …

Me:        Can you please take a message then?

Brain:    Sure, why not!?

Me:        Gee thanks.

Brain:    You’re welcome!

Me:        So there I was dreaming a confusing dream about a dude and his daughter, when you gave me a nightmare.

Brain:    I would never do that!

Me:        Liar. You did give me a nightmare. You made me dream about SHOPPING FOR CLOTHES. You bastard.

Brain:    That doesn’t sound like me. That was definitely your subconscious.

Me:        You made me dream about shopping for clothes AND IT WAS HORRIBLE.

Brain:    I wondered why you woke up sweating.

Me:        Why do you hate me?

Brain:    I don’t hate you. Maybe your subconscious hates you.

Me:        Well then please pass that message on to my subconscious when it comes back from wherever the hell it’s gone.

Brain:    You’re asking me to tell your subconscious that you hate it? That doesn’t sound healthy to me.

Me:        You started it.

Brain:    Your subconscious started it.

Me:        Bastard.

Brain:    That’s not very nice.

Me:        Arsehole.

Brain:    You seem to be a bit confused about anatomy.

Me:        Ugh.

Does your brain hate you too?

I’m linking up with Laugh Link again this week. Click on the button below to read some hilarious bits of bloggery. I dare you.

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We’re going to need a bigger bird – welcome to Laugh Link!

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I love nature. I have a thing for nature. No, not in the Cory Bernardi way. In a “wide eyed wonderment at the beauty and majesty of the natural world” way.

Which is a pity, because nature is a mental arsehole.

Take birds, for example.

Even the bird-lovers amongst us have probably been shat on by a bird at some point. Yeah, that’s pretty bad, but, fascinating as their toilet habits are, I want to talk about the propensity of our feathered friends to be utterly mental.

Let me tell you a story. A while back I was walking through the Melbourne central business district, minding my own business, as you do in a central business district, when I felt two little feet suddenly stand on my head. No clawing. No pecking. Just… standing. The creature attached to the claws just stood on my head for a few seconds, and then, as suddenly as it had arrived, it was gone. I looked around and there, standing on the footpath looking back at me, was a magpie lark.

Now, a magpie lark is not an aggressive bird. Mental, stupid and confused by life, but not aggressive.

Unlike real magpies, which are definitely all of the above. Here’s a magpie lark for your eyeball pleasure:

This was one of those miniature magpies they have on the emblem of South Australia. Imagine a normal, aggro, mental bastard magpie, and then wash it at the wrong temperature. You’d think throwing a bird in the wash with your undies wouldn’t improve its temperament, but apparently it does, because instead of making a magpie lark angry, shrinking them into magpie mini-me’s just makes them more mental.

A magpie lark, an otherwise typically functioning member of the Grallina genus, decided to stand on my head while I was walking down the street. Was it tired? Was it confused? Or was it just fucking with me? Did it land on my head with the intention of carrying me off to its nest for leisurely consumption later?

We’re going to need a bigger bird, Frank.

Let’s assume it was tired and see if this hypothesis (cough) flies. You’re a bird, flapping along above Spring Street.

You think “Wow, I’m really quite tired. Now, where can I perch for a moment to catch my breath? Looks like my options are the roof of that building (good, solid, safe, and stationary), or this tree (good, solid, safe, my natural habitat, stationary). Oh wait! There’s a small, dark brown, furry round thing, bobbing along at a brisk five kilometres an hour, weaving from side to side now and then to avoid other furry (and some non-furry) round things. Perfect!”

Is that what went through that mental bird’s mind before it landed on my head? If I fits, I sits?

We’ll never know.

What I do know is that after it flew off, I looked around at my fellow pedestrians for some support.

Did that really happen? Did a bird just fly down, perch on my head, and then, presumably after taking a quick breather and checking the time, fly off again?

I’ve never seen a group of people so intent on looking ahead and not meeting my eye, doing their best Sergeant Schultz impersonations.

Nope, we saw NOTHING. You’re on your own, mental-bird-attracting freak.

I can’t help thinking I heard that bastard mental bird laughing as I walked away.

Has nature ever been mental to you?

Welcome to the first Laugh Link post! Laugh Link is a linkup created by a group of bloggers to provide an outlet for humour writing. The Laugh Link Crew are:

Emily

Have a Laugh on Me
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Rachel

Redcliffe Style
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Kimberley

Melbourne Mum
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Alison

Talking Frankly
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Gaynor

Gaynor Alder
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Vanessa

26 Years and Counting
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You’ll see this linkup move around the Laugh Link Crew’s blogs so please feel free to go visit them and explore these seriously funny gals. 
Now it’s your turn! Do you have a funny blog post you’d like to share? There’s no theme this week, so let your imagination go wild. The only requirement to link up? MAKE US CHUCKLE. 
That’s it.
Link away, and don’t forget to have a read of what other people link to – there’s going to be some damn funny stuff!

Accidental behavioral diarrhea and embracing your inner arsehole

ninaanddaisyhat

Nina and Daisy J Dog.
Image courtesy of Nina Bargiel

I believe that we should all stand up and not only call out other people’s arseholery, but also stand up and accept that we ourselves can be arseholes too.

I really recommend that you embrace your inner arsehole, so you can monitor it and take some responsibility when it rears its ugly head. Otherwise it’s likely that it’ll leap up and catch you by surprise. I spent most of my life being nice and denying my inner arsehole and as a result, it became uncontrollable and broke free at unexpected and seriously inconvenient times. These arsehole explosions (accidental behavioral diarrhea, as it were) led me to say and do things that to this day I regret.

These days I accept that I’m a bit of an arsehole and I feel under much less pressure. There are some areas of life, though, from which you have to keep your inner arsehole well away.

A while back I wrote a thing here about chickens and not being an arsehole with your jokes.

Today I read something that did a much better job of expressing my point.

Nina Bargiel, AKA the Slackmistress, is a TV writer, passionate runner, dog mummy and all-round clever and hilarious chick. I love her writing and her jokes (yes even the shitty ones*). Nina wrote this thing and you should all read it:

The best thing you and your inner arsehole will read today. Trust me. Unless you’re a murderer, in which case you probably shouldn’t but if you’re a murderer the last thing you’re likely to do is listen to the likes of me. Sorry Nina, I may have just encouraged a lot of murderers to read your thing. Oops.

Now go follow her on Twitter and Facebook. Tell her The Frog sent you. You won’t regret it.

* Nina never makes shitty jokes but if she did I’d love them. Because I’m an arsehole.

Conversations with my brain: Nature is an arsehole

Why the fuck is there a picture of Stras at the top of this post?
Looks delectable (cough). Mmmm.
Read on.
Image

Brains really are arseholes.

I guess that explains why I failed Biology.


Seriously, though, it doesn’t help me one bit when I try to sleep and my brain decides to write a comedy routine. An hour-long comedy extravaganza, as it happens.


And a pretty shit one at that.


It was called Gently Mental and one day it may appear somewhere other than inside my head.


Or not.


One of the themes from this questionable comedy classic was how much nature, as well as my brain, is an arsehole.


Nature has no trouble with not being nice. It just does what it pleases, lets it all hang out, without ever fearing judgement.


The natural world has absolutely no problem at all being a total bastard, and frankly, I’m jealous.


Take a few examples:

I recently talked about how I disposed of a particularly objectionable slice of beetroot.

That wasn’t the last example of my creative food disposal techniques.


Have you ever eaten Stras?


Strasbourg is a type of lunch meat, made from the snouts, ears and bums of various unidentifiable hooved animals, mixed with sawdust.** It’s also called Devon, Fritz, and OH MY GOD IS THAT EVEN FOOD?!


This delightful combination is mashed together and moulded into a tube. You then slice this tube up and inflict it on your children in the guise of “Stras sandwiches”. Often served with tomato sauce.


Stras sandwiches were a lunch of choice on the camping trips of my childhood.


Safe to say, my hatred of Stras is only outweighed by my hatred of pickled beetroot.


Me:        “What’s that noise?”


Brain:    “It’s coming from under the log. Oh no.”


Me:        “Now mum’s looking under there. We’re in trouble now.”


Brain:    “It sounds like something’s eating under there. Jesus! What kind of moron would voluntarily eat that crap?”

Me:        “It’s a Blue Tongue. No denying it now.”


Brain:    “Why not? We could pretend that Stras occurs spontaneously in nature.”


Me:        “Nope, I’m going to confess.”


Brain:    “No don’t be a fool! Shit. You’ve already done it. Idiot.”


It’s quite hard to deny that you’ve thrown your stras under the log you’re sitting on, when there’s a massive Blue Tongue lizard sitting under there chewing on a big slab of the stuff. And not being quiet about it.


There it was, munching away, thinking its reptilian Christmases had all come at once.


A windfall for you, mate, but pretty damn embarrassing for me. Thanks, bastard.


* Under a pile of rubbish at the Whitehorse Recycling and Waste Centre, I suspect. I know, I’m going to hell.

** I have no idea what’s really in Stras. Please don’t tell me.


Have you ever caught nature being an arsehole?