Another one bites the perch

Hi everyone. I’ve been very busy this week with work and study so this is another post that’s not a post.

Instead, I leave you with this wonderful video that made me smile this week. Bet you can’t help but smile when you watch it.

What’s made you smile this week?

Linking up with Laugh Link again this week. Click, comment, laugh. Link up if you have a funny/weird/smiley post of your own. Doesn’t need to be a new one!

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Has Game of Thrones jumped, raped and murdered the shark?

ERMAHGERD! Season 4 sucks arse! {image}

ERMAHGERD! Season 4 sucks arse! {image}

SPOILERS, SWEETIE.

If you haven’t watched Season 4 Episode 4 of Game of Thrones, ABORT ABORT ABORT. Read no farther. Go water your garden, or have a nice cup of tea. Have a bit of a pillage and burn (but remember to pillage BEFORE you burn, yo). Or better still, go watch Season 4 Episode 4 and then come back and read this.

I love Game of Thrones with the irrational passion of a typical historical fantasy fan. If you know any of those rarefied creatures, then you know that’s a LOT of passion. I watch it diligently. I defend it publicly. I am a big, big fan.

The first three seasons of Game of Thrones (let’s call it GoT from now on, because I’m a lazy wench), was filled to the brim with a tasty ale of smart storytelling, (mostly) excellent acting, and a fair serving of delicious, provocative shocks, especially for someone like me, who hadn’t read the books*.

Now we come to the fourth season and this previously cold, frosty and enjoyable tankard of pillage, violence and death is starting to give me indigestion. I’m starting to greet each episode with equal measures of passion and unease.

Let’s put aside the differences between the books and the television series. It would be completely unreasonable to expect the producers to be able to take 96 bazillion pages of book, with 7,641 major characters, and 12 major locations, and convert all that to meaningful narrative for television, without cutting some pretty massive corners. (Let’s also put aside, for now, that the fourth season has cut so many corners that the show is in danger of becoming round.)

This season, I expected the usual serving of incest, violence, murder, sex, dragons and, of course, boobs. I haven’t been disappointed in that. There have been provocations aplenty, not to mention a lot of violence involving fowl. Between being sliced open in pies and eaten to violent extreme by The Hound, birds aren’t doing so well this season. Oh and Joffrey was murdered too.

AT LAST. What a turd.

I’m am disappointed, though. Where previous seasons have stalked slowly through the plot, sprinkling humour amongst the casually-examined graphic sex and violence, this season seems fractured and rushed. I’ve read the books and I’m still going WHO? WHAT? WHO WAS THAT? WHAT’S GOING ON?

Then there’s the laziness of the writing. Perhaps I wouldn’t be as disappointed, had the earlier writing been less clever. Scenes apropos of nothing that proceed with “Oh where could Bran be? Could he be at Craster’s Keep?”, then cut to Bran, 50 metres from Craster’s Keep, then cut to the head of the Night’s Watch conveniently telling them they could now have their trip to – you guessed it – Craster’s Keep, leave me rolling my eyes and wondering whether the work experience kid was the only person in the Writer’s Room that day.

As for the scenes inside Craster’s Keep, the less said the better. I couldn’t decide whether I needed to scrub my brain afterwards, or laugh my head off. Did the writers have a competition that week to see who could get the most c@nts into the script (and onto the screen)?

That scene was truly horrible, and brazenly calculated to titillate – revolting, even by GoT standards. The set-up is clear – we’re meant to hate these people with every fibre of our televisual beings, so we’ll cheer when Jon and his Black Brothers march in and eviscerate, behead and generally maul them all to death with monotonous predictability (and very sharp swords). Yawn.

It was lazy, lazy writing that left me feeling manipulated.

Bloody work experience kid**.

Where has the humour gone this season? In earlier seasons, the clever opportunities for a smile to balance out the horror were regular and plentiful. Littlefinger’s calm menace, always just one languidly arched eyebrow this side of a coma, has always been worth a giggle, but even the outrageous under-acting of the evil stud muffin could do nothing to save this episode.

So here I am, waiting for Episode 5. The books are far more graphic than the series, but until now I’ve been able to trust the show to be smart and provocative without being manipulative or crass. After Episode 4, I don’t trust it anymore. I don’t trust them to slow down and move through the storylines in the necessary depth to do them justice. I don’t trust them not to present another episode like Oathkeeper (or as I’ve come to call it, Audience-Breaker).

I love this show. I don’t want it to turn to shit, but if it continues like this, I won’t be wondering which Stark will be the next to get it in the neck, or whether Arya will end up on the throne of Westeros.

I’ll be wishing winter would hurry the fuck up.

* I have now

** Who is clearly a 14 year old boy.

Do you think Game of Thrones Season 4 has gone to the dogs?

I’m linking up with Laugh Link again this week. If you fancy a giggle, check out these other funny posts, and link up if you like – new or old posts, as long as they’re funny, weird or kooky!

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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

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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. 
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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!

It’s not the size of the baguette that matters…

(Please feel free to read this with an outrageously bad French accent, as it was intended).


Thank you all for coming today. As father of the bride I’ll try to keep this short because I know you all want to get your beaks into those bowls of expensive seeds I paid for…

Today we saw two paper cut-out birds loving people join together in the bonds of feathered matrimony.

As we sit here, in this beautiful French aviary on this momentous occasion, let me first share some remembrances I have of my daughter, the bride.

It was a cold and wintery day in Bayswater a tiny French town far, far away, when friends and family gathered close to witness the creationbirth of my little Bryn Eggleston.

Bryn’s story is a complete lie fairy tale of die-cut romance, a story about a young chick from a poor nest. She grew up on telephone lines on the wrong side of the tracks. Her chances of moving up to a higher perch in life were slim.

Her mother and I were worried when we heard she was working as a stripper dancer at La Cage Aux Folles. What kind of people would she meet? I was worried the day she brought home that emu – surely they had no future? And the peacock was a disaster – all tail feathers and no brain.

But then she met Marcel. Marcel looked into her metallic blue brad eyes and fell in love with her in an instant.



My, what a big baguette you have.
The bride and groom – note the matching berets.
Marcel has promised Bryn to give up smoking and lose the
70’s porn star moustache once they’re married.



Marcel looked beyond how badly glued she was her miss-matched wings, beyond the fact that she had a bulldog clip for feetthe meagre scratchings of her past, and saw her inner beauty.

A year later, here we are. Bryn doesn’t have to work at Le Cage Aux Folles anymore (which is probably for the best, apparently bulldog clips aren’t very conducive to dancing. Who knew?).

Marcel’s baguette business is flourishing and we’re hoping to hear the sound of little paper clips running around the nest very soon.

So everyone, please raise your glasses in a toast, to the bridesmaids…

The bridesmaids, Adele and Anais.

Finding shoes to match the outfits for these gals was a NIGHTMARE.

All the above works of art bits of fun were created using equipment and materials provided by my good friend Karen at Viva La Stamping. This isn’t a sponsored post, but I was inspired to write about the fun I had as a complete idiot untalented newbie at paper craft last weekend.

The bridesmaids were made by Karen, Marcel was made by her husband Michael and I claim responsibility for the lack of quality in beautiful Bryn.

What I learned:  

  • The French work for pigeon is… pigeon

  • It takes a lot of work to remove glue and glitter from your hair

  • It’s easier to make a baguette than you’d think

  • None of us can do a decent French accent

  • Karen is the shiz at this paper craft lark.

Karen is an incredibly patient and talented lady. You can use her stuff to make greeting cards, decorations, and – yes – wedding invitations, among many other exciting papery things. She is available for paper craft parties, sales, cups of tea and pigeon weddings. Don’t worry if you’re not a talented crafter – she made even me look good! Here are some more samples of her work:

Gorgeous Christmas card, made by Karen

Bryn and Marcel will be sending these this year…

The rosette I got for being the only best
Mother of the Bride

You can contact Karen  on Twitter: @VivaLaStamping or via her website: http://vivalastamping.blogspot.com.au/ 

Bryn and Marcel will be sending out thank you cards via courier pigeon later this month…