Vagina! Vagina! Vagina!

April 20, 2002 / / No Comments

Some more proof that Korea is changing. This would have been unthinkable a few years ago. Of course, I suspect that I wouldn’t have seen the ad for it on the subway this afternoon if more people actually knew what ‘vagina’ means in english.
I also quite like the fact that the first heading on the site’s top navigation bar is ‘Vagina’, with sub-entries ‘intro’, ‘synopsis’ and ‘original’. Sophomoric, I know, but hey, anything for a giggle.
[It will be amusing in a slightly depressing way to see the Googlehits I get after posting the words ‘vagina’ and ‘Korea’ in such close proximity.]

The New 7 Wonders

April 19, 2002 / / 4 Comments

For someone who’s inordinately proud of his ‘random footsore dogsh-t wanderings’ around the planet, I find it a little distressing in light of my advancing years and growing domesticity that of the 25 candidates here (almost 6 million people have voted on the choices, apparently) for the new 7 wonders of the world, I’ve only visited 8 so far:

  • THE ROMAN COLOSSEUM
  • THE LEANING TOWER OF PISA
  • THE EIFFEL TOWER
  • THE VERSAILLES PALACE AND PARK
  • THE PYRAMIDS AT CHICHÉN ITZÁ
  • SYDNEY OPERA HOUSE
  • THE CHURCH OF LA FAMILIA SAGRADA
  • THE GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE
    Perhaps there is time enough yet for the rest before they lay me down. I can hope.

    • Enron explained : Now this, I like.

    April 19, 2002 / / 4 Comments

    Cunningly crafted to appeal to the refined, erudite Wonderchicken sensibilities : monkeys, poop, humping, and random violence, all at the service of sticking it to the corporates. Heavy with goodness.

    …What, in layman’s terms, actually happened at Enron?
    Perhaps the best way to explain to the average reader (one without an economics degree) is to use a metaphor. Say there is a troop of monkeys and their day consists of seeking out bananas. The head monkey orders all the other monkeys to collect their bananas in a pile, which will be eaten at the end of the day and not a moment before.
    Only not many bananas are found.
    One of the monkeys starts screeching, voids his bowels and flings his excrement at another monkey. Soon all the monkeys are flinging monkeysh-t at each other and smearing it all over themselves. This arouses one monkey, who begins masturbating frantically. Other monkeys start mounting each other and a sh-t-stained orgy ensues. Monkeys hump violently, crushing those on the bottom of the pile. The head monkey grabs a stick and flails around at random, whacking his compatriots. He bares his teeth and screams a defiant message.
    “REEEEEEEP! RREEEP! REEEP! REEEEP! Ooh ooh ooh. REEEEEAAAAAAAP!!!! REEEEEEEEEAAARRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEP!!!!”
    While this analogy is perhaps simplistic, it contains the essence of the problem posed by Enron.

    Rumproast.

    Being John Googlovich

    April 17, 2002 / / 4 Comments

    A huge number of Googly-searches showing up here lately have been for bottle+f–k, which I assume is a niche-porno thang. It’s all good, if nasty and pathetic.
    What amused me when I clicked one of the referrers for the ‘bottle f–k’ search in the recent-referrer gadget over on the right there, was that as of the latest GoogleBot index of the EmptyBottle, not only was I hit #4 for ‘bottle f–k’ but the quoted text was ‘footsore random dogsh-t wandering’ which I don’t even remember writing, but is Pure WonderChicken Poetry in my mind. Sums up the last decade and a half of my life, by criminy-cheesetoast!
    And really, since I (when I’m in my right mind) write most of this sh-t for myself for the most part, the fact that that amuses me a whole bunch is all that counts, ain’t it?

    And I won't grind my teeth or anything?

    April 17, 2002 / / 1 Comment

    Not that this won’t be everywhere soon, or isn’t already for all I f–king know, as I really don’t do terribly well at the mental-smooth-muscle-flexing, but I WANT SOME†.
    † This should not be taken to indicate that I have any tendency or desire to, or history of or plans to, experiment with medications, legal or otherwise. I deny something similar to that, categorically. [Mr. Kissinger? Steve Felton, Sesame Street Gazette. If you could be any animal…] I deny engineering the bombings of small east Asian countries. I deny that, categorically.
    What the hell was I talking about?

    A few numbers

    April 16, 2002 / / No Comments

    US defense budget (fiscal 2003) : US$379.3 billion
    Amount to be withheld from UN Population Fund : US$34 million
    Ratio : 11,155/1
    Potential consequences, according to UNFPA officials, of The Resident’s decision to withhold last year’s UNFPA funds and to zero out the agency in fiscal 2003 : 2 million unwanted pregnancies, 800,000 induced abortions, 4,700 maternal deaths, 77,000 infant and child deaths.
    Happy fun! Good times, beautiful people! Keep on rockin’ in the Free World!

    Not For Dinner

    April 16, 2002 / / No Comments
    Stinky, but delicious.
    A quarter-page ad on page 3 of today’s Korea Herald. Because it’s too hard to read in my scan, I note that the return address for the coupon is in Kent, England.
    It’s time once again to pull out my by-now-standard response :
    “How about a nice steaming cup of shut the f–k up?”
    Ah, that felt good.

    Kill

    April 16, 2002 / / 5 Comments

    KILL

    KILL!

    KILL!

    You f–king primates. Kill each other until you’re all dead, grind each other’s bones to make your bread. Swing the infants by their heels and shatter their tiny skulls on the doorjambs of your hovels. Kill! Hate! Let it never end! Swear blood feuds, and carry on the senseless slaughter of your fathers’ fathers, and their thick-fingered simian fathers, too. Bathe in the blood of your enemies, before they have a chance to caper like children in arterial gouts of yours. Cleanse the world of your hated foes, yes, that’s it, ethnically cleanse. If there are any women left alive, don’t forget to rape them, and rape them hard. Slitting their throats after you’ve spilled your filthy warrior seed is optional, but recommended. Kill! Lay waste! Wreak havoc! Defend the honour of your people, sink your hands deep into the warm entrails of those you would destroy as they cough out their last curse! Kill!
    Just hurry it up, already. I’m waiting to dance on your unmarked graves, you cheeseheads.

    The Siren Call of Crap

    April 15, 2002 / / 3 Comments

    You ever get that feeling when it’s like your brain is wrapped in wet towels? Dirty, warm, wet towels? Where you start a sentence, then trail off after a word or two because the expenditure of effort you predict will be necessary to actually complete it is way beyond what seems possible? Where ideas and plans, schemes and dreams, file in serried ranks through your mind, but it’s like watching a New Year’s Day parade while dozing on the sofa with a debilitating hangover and a sweaty scalp – the grandeur of it all is reduced to fuzzy snapshots, and you can’t seem to do much more than watch as they move slowly out of reach. You ever feel like what you have done isn’t all that sh-t hot, and what you’ve got planned will never come to fruition? Ever wish that some relatives would die, and leave you some goddamn money, so you could get off the treadmill, and then feel guilty about it? Have you ever gone a few days without bathing, ’cause sometimes you like the stank? Ever wish that you could actually focus your intellect on something worthwhile, but get pulled inevitably, irresistably, by the siren call of crap, and waste yet another day?
    Ever piss and moan and whine in public, rather than get off your ass and actually do something?
    Uhh, yeah. I have.

    The Big Lebowski Random Quote Generator

    April 14, 2002 / / 2 Comments

    lebowski.jpgNihilist 1: Vee vant zat money, Lebowski.
    Nihilist 2: You think veer kidding und making mit de funny stuff?
    I was somewhere wandering around penniless when The Big Lebowski came out, so I didn’t have a chance to see it. Over the next six months or so, about half a dozen old friends felt compelled, independently, to say : “Hey, Bosco! The Coen Brothers made a movie about you! You see it yet?”
    Which I can see, now, to a degree, as I have been known at times to exude a long-haired, unkempt, pleasantly befuddled, dissipated-Jeff-Bridges aura. I do enjoy a cocktail or two from time to time. And Wacky Adventures™ are, after all, my stock in trade.
    But have to come clean – I don’t smoke dope, I loathe bowling, and I’ve never had a ‘caucasian’.
    [Muchas, like, gracias, Speedysnail]

    Moveable Type Rocks

    April 14, 2002 / / 6 Comments

    I’ve got to say, the more I play with this thing, the more I like it. It’s powerful, flexible, and easy as pie for a semi-geek like myself to customize.
    I draw your attention to two new features over on the sidebar to the right : a list of the five most recently-commented upon entries, and a list of all the blog categories, with a post-count beside each. I played a bit fast and loose with the categories when I imported from Blogger, but they’re relatively accurate, for the most part. Please feel free to waste hours of your precious time perusing the archives – there’s some stinky crap in there, but there’s some Good Eatin’ too, if I do say so myself.

    We're On The Road And We're Gunning For The Buddha

    April 13, 2002 / / 2 Comments

    I read Mike’s latest : well, OK, inebriated as I am at the moment, I skimmed Mike’s latest, and I f–king give up.
    I know it’s not a competition, but I Live To Win (though I’ll deny that if you quote me), and to be honest, there’s simply no way I’m going to be able to kick Mike’s ass, bloggishly speaking. Through sheer quality, and undeniable volume, he’s winning the Blog Primaries.
    This is a major setback for me, wonderchicken fans, and I recommend that if you have any love for me, if you’ve ever had any love for me or plan to have some love for me in the future, even if only a little guilty tingle down there under the kitchen table, if you have any desire whatsoever to see the Solid Family Values of The WonderChicken prevail, I ask to you to consider the removal, yea, the bloggy occupation of the territory of this South African bodhisattva – I implore you, I beg you, I COMMAND YOU, click your tight little inter-buns over to Mike’s blog and abuse him mercilessly! Talk some sh-t! Quote bad poetry! Make references to Things Semitic and suggest that he Doesn’t Like Them! Abuse the man until he resorts to linking to random Daypop Top 40 transients with a textual arched-eyebrow, with a hipster-goof mock-sarcastic word or two, until he winds up posting the results of the latest “Which Star Trek Voyager Character Are You?” quiz, until he abandons the long-form post forever and begins to exhibit all the outward symptoms of a terminal speed-freak, which is the behavioural lot of those approaching the terminal stages of webloggerdom.
    Fly, my pretties, fly!

    You Know Who You Are

    April 13, 2002 / / No Comments

    An aside to that annoying bastard (you know who you are) who made me nearly blow a gasket recently when he described Daddy Bush’s incursion in the Gulf a dozen years ago as a justified battle of Good Versus Evil, a righteous mobilization to displace “Saddam Hussein, who was, uhhh, like, a new Hitler” : read this, you clueless propaganda-lapping dipsh-t. And this too, if your attention span can manage it.
    Thanks to OnePotMeal for the timely facts, some of which I’d forgotten. Non-dipsh-ts may wish to read his next post, which is marvellous in a completely different way.

    Going All Memepool on Your Ass

    April 13, 2002 / / No Comments

    Art. Nature. Blues. Play more spaceship and Satan music! Monsters. Travel. World’s Best Bars. Return of the stubbie. Sex with Chickens. f–k Microsoft. Sleep Sex. 800 lashes! weblog.f–k.org. confused, disorganized and maddeningly tiring to read. Mmmm Gyros! Indestructible sandwich plus muscle-building pill = well, who f–king cares, really?
    This weblogging sh-t gets tiresome, you know. Never gonna do that again.
    *goes back to whatever it was he was doing before*
    (Uhhh – read the above as stream-of-link-consciousness, I guess. Puts me in mind of my first trip to London at 22, sleeping on sweatsoaked foam mattresses on the floor of a gymnasium for a quid a night, wandering the streets in a boggled, eyes-wide and mind-racing haze, gobsmacked, with my taciturn-but-dependable university buddy Stiffy more or less trailing along, me spewing random stream of consciousness poetry as we walked, wheeling to look at him every once in a while and say ‘write that down!’, only half in jest (You think I’m arrogant now, you shoulda know me then!), returning at night, after 10 or 20 kilometres of diesel-fume footsore random dogsh-t wandering, back to the King’s Cross Youth Club or whatever the f–k it was called, and bedding down on the foam mats we pulled out of the closet near our Finnish poor-but-happy temporary road-buddies, Sockhead and Son, listening to the proprietor of the flophouse-gym scream ‘yoo fookin’ coont!’ at whoever was annoying him that evening. But, as I say so many times, that’s a story for another day, perhaps…)

    Surrounded By Beauty

    April 13, 2002 / / 1 Comment

    There are some great writers around the virtual neighbourhood, and this man is one of them. I recommend you visit him daily…His latest gave me an erection. What higher praise can a wonderchicken give for a writer’s work?
    None, I tell you! None! Well, other than offering to buy the author a beer. That too, is wonderchicken kudo-giving most emphatic. Eeksy-peeksy, I owe you one.