David Stevens

Posts Tagged ‘humor’

Straya Day

In Uncategorized on January 26, 2019 at 6:01 am

ALL the beautiful young things are wondering about the place dressed in their swimwear and large Australian flags, so it must be that day again. I was once abused by two bikini wearing teens on this day for not smiling enough (“BE HAPPY! Its Orstrayuh day”) and I will always be grateful that despite the wave of Hulk-like rage that immediately swept over me, for some reason I did not respond. I was pushing a pram overladen with my offspring at the time, and did not notice the two bulky figures behind a tree who were ready to step in with their fists (is that a mixed metaphor, no it is an actual description) to deal with any who sought to disagree with the young beauties / harridans. I remember when nobody celebrated Australia Day, it was just a dusty little public holiday tucked up the back near the start of the school year. It wasn’t the subject of national division that it is becoming, because really, nobody cared much about it. My good mate Stephen used to describe it as “the national day of not working for Australia”. Then along came the 1988 bicentenary, rhyming nation with celebration, and everything went downhill. Just let me have a little rest, is that too much to ask?

FLAG DAY

It was Flag Day

so we wrapped ourselves in our flags

and went to the pub.

Everybody else had the same idea, but.

All the flags were the same

because we are all Flaglanders.

It would have been nice to wrap myself

in the flag of difference

but I was too scared.

Everyone looked the same.

The fun idea had become

A Sad Party Thing.

It doesn’t matter.

The flag unites us.

Our fear of looking different unites us.

All eyes are wary on Flag Day.

Everyone smiles with their mouths

as they lift their beers,

but all those eyes are looking about.

And those eyes are quick.

You don’t want to stand out.

Not on Flag Day.

There are no excuses.

It is not “I pay my taxes” day.

It is not “I am a human being, I have rights” day.

It is fucking Flag Day.

Alright?

You sad party thing

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A miracle for Easter

In Uncategorized on March 31, 2018 at 2:02 pm

What? This has nothing to do with cats?

Mormon boys

In Uncategorized on March 5, 2018 at 5:47 pm

Lonely Mormons

far from home

wandering through the great apostasy.

Tempted by Coca Cola,

shunning coffee and other like beverages,

is your truth too good for me?

You rush to share it

with the pretty Asian girls.

Was there nothing on

those buried gold plates

Elohim wanted you

to share with me?

I’ll just have to cross my own desert.

Not for the first time.

*****

Those Mormon boys were hanging around Chinatown in Sydney, and no matter how many times I walked past, ready to talk to them about Joseph Smith, they were too busy sharing their truth with pretty girls.

Solitaire

In Uncategorized on February 20, 2018 at 2:08 pm

Everyone has different reasons that bring them here, but mostly, the differences are superficial. The truth is, man turns to solitaire for one reason – the desire to bring order out of chaos.

Not to avoid working on that difficult next draft?

No. Who are you? What a trivial response! Katie Holmes. I’m out of here …

Curse you, Microsoft …

Happy Poeday

In Uncategorized on January 20, 2018 at 8:43 am

HAPPY BIRTHDAY EDGAR ALLAN POE!!

Even though you are dead, you are still keeping up the good work, I see.

(Everything here blatantly stolen from somebody else, but that’s what good artists do.)

 

Image result for teletubbies poe

Oh … and this (late entry)

I had a dream …

In Uncategorized on December 29, 2017 at 12:57 pm

I had a dream, and it was bloody awful. I blame my younger daughters. They were discussing stress dreams, so then I went off and had one. I was in India, catching a bunch of trains, and every time I was on a platform I saw someone die. People just leaping into trains. I won’t say what it looked like afterwards (no, save that for my fiction). How many dreams have I had over the years about missed trains, and chasing trains, and being on the wrong platform. And then, I could not remember where I was staying. And then, I could not remember when I had to catch the plane home. And then …

Well, none of that is any fun. But I did have this other dream. I dreamed I was Batman. Me and the rest of the extended Justice League were lying on my lounge room floor. I said, I can’t remember my real name. Is it Mark? No, its Jerk, one of the JLA members replied. I said, No it isn’t, it’s Bruce Wayne, I remember now. (Ha, fixed them. Jerk.) Then there was a bit about an atrophied organ that had been removed but with which I could communicate because of its proximity.

Perhaps these are not the things to share?

For my vegetarian son, at Christmas …

In Uncategorized on December 29, 2017 at 12:41 pm

For my vegetarian son, at Christmas … from something else I used to do …

Those of you who have been subscribing to the analytical reports of the Chip Laboratories since ancient times know of our well founded efforts to ethicise (ha! take that, dictionary) omnivorism.  We are trying folks, we really are.  We have put all of this week’s grant money into considering balloon animals.

Some of you maybe scoffing, as you associate these creatures with parlour games and carnivals.  However, I am not talking about simple domesticated balloon animals.   I am talking about great sweeping herds of massive fortean creatures, blocking the sun on their nomadic trek as passenger pigeons once did sweeping across America.  And no, there would be no reliance on foul, poisonous oxygen.  These are great helium or methane filled beasts, nodding and swaying as they are blown by the currents of wind, just as giant jelly fish are swept across oceans.  Picture them now in your mind, see them billowing and filling the sky.  Tremendous storms of them.  The wondrous sight of them as they rail against the elements, indeed as they rail against their own ridiculous existence.  Observing them as over time they are pitted by hail, scarred by lightning.  And the wonder of them is that their pseudo life is no life at all, it is a mere impersonation.  Brave balloon bound hunters shall pursue them without ethical quandary, intrepid mountaineers shall stalk them to their winter homes, small children and we here at the laboratory shall wonder at them.

O!  If only we could get some nutrition into their skins!  Some flavour into the rubber.  Some texture into their form.  And find some way to stop giant sea turtles from choking on them in their thousands when they critters deflate and drop into the sea.  Perhaps it is impossible.  But is not the dream as important as any mere actuality?  At least this dream can unite us all, omnivores, carnivores, vegetarians, vegans, fruitarians, lacto-vegetarians, lacto-ovo-vegetarians, pescetarians, pollotarians, and pollo-pescetarians, the dream of the hunt of the giant pseudo-beasts in the sky that can sustain us all without troubling our consciences.

Until then, at least we have salad.

[“Life’s Solution” by Simon Conway Morris, p112 ‘Fortean bladders’]

Happy birthday Winnie the Wombat (not womb-bat)

In Uncategorized on December 16, 2017 at 10:47 am

Happy birthday, Winnie the wombat. You look fun and cuddly. But …

 

Wombats are big furry buggers that look like a giant crawling teddy bear and the unsuspecting say “oh cute, so cute” until they turn and outrun your wife and trip her over and you keep running you coward because you have soiled yourself you are so scared, they just keep running and you hear your wife scream because its stopped now, only a fallen victim will stop it, and you hear it, you hear her flesh being torn, it makes a ripping sound, and you cannot ever forgive yourself but you also hate her a little bit forever, because she cannot forgive you, and it is no consolation that the wombat does not eat the flesh, it tears and nuzzles for a moment then returns to its business, it does not eat her because it is a herbivore, but it rips her because it is a nasty big furry bugger, and it could answer the question if it could speak, it could tell you if your wife tastes like chicken, because it has tasted both even though it does not swallow, but even if it spoke, you would be too chicken shit to ask, you gutless wonder.  The relief you felt when she fell.

Not to be confused with the cryptid womb-bats. And what are they? you ask …

 

Womb-bats

The dry evening scurry

Falling leaves

Crackling open before

They hit the ground.

Tiny, not unnoticed as they swarm,

but unmentioned in polite company.

Huge amniotic eyes take in

the miracle of the world

each night.

Before the dawn,

unborn

Rustle along the sheets

A slight disturbance,

a shifting of knees

A minor annoyance

at the early morning turn,

the slight parting

as they enter

to nestle in.

Arts maritaux

In Uncategorized on November 24, 2017 at 7:53 pm

Everybody was kung-fu fighting

But I was kung-fu loving

Drunken Master

Mantis Style

Long Fist

Eight Extremes

White Lotus

Ah!

Paper Lace, 1974

In Uncategorized on November 23, 2017 at 7:28 pm

I.

Billy

Be a hero

The rest of us will creep out the back

Our wives were happy

Our kids were happy

They didn’t care about Billy

After all, their Dads came back.

 

II.

The night Chicago died

There was nothing good on TV

I went to bed early

and missed it all.

Dammit!