Friday, December 31, 2010

Looking for work

Somebody came to me today and asked what my New Year resolution is. I became king by my own hand, I revenged the murder of my people, and I saved entire kingdoms from doom. I have achieved more in my life than most less massive mortals, but that was many years ago. The jewels have no sparkle and the gold has lost its lustre; I suppose it is time for me to get a real job.

It was the same as every year; to achieve what is best in life by crushing enemies, laminating women, etc. This year will be different.

This year I will be more than a fool who laughs at death, for I will have superannuation. This year I plan to equip a +1 tie and seek glory in interviews and bathe in the blood, sweat and tears. This year I will battle against the other challengers, who dare call me equal, who dare to sit in the same waiting room, who dare contemplate standing before me, Conan, claiming what is rightfully mine!

I am Conan the Barbarian! Conan the Destroyer! Conan the Applicant! I have a resume and I would like to see the manager!

Thursday, November 25, 2010

I Didn't Think You Could Die In Lucas Arts Adventure Games.

Adventure games have permanently distorted my perception of reality. I grew up on a heavy diet of Police Quest, Space Quest, Sam and Max and Monkey Island games. I think I've underestimated the effect these things have had. All those conservative types seem to be worried that video games cause violent behaviour, the video games I've played have, amongst other things, made me collect random crap off the street, try to fit seemingly random objects together and get an engineering degree.

I blame adventure games.

It became all too clear a couple of weeks back, while playing Pictionary the egg timer broke through some over exuberant timing. I immediately saw the solution; I had an hourglass stored in my inventory (car), which I had happened to find in a car park what must have been at least a year prior. An hourglass in a car park seemed like a sufficiently random object that if it were an adventure game I’d definitely be needing to use that on something later. So I clicked on it and put it in my inventory.

I wasn’t happy when it turned out the hourglass ran for about 5 minutes and was entirely useless for Pictionary. It was about then I figured my world view may be slightly distorted.
Then again, I may have just needed to use the hammer and glue on the hourglass to make it time for a shorter period... Let me just check my inventory...

Friday, November 19, 2010

Three Fools Who Laugh At Death bio

Three fools who laugh at death while their girlfriends look on in shame and try to find ways to squeeze in a prenuptial agreement into a de-facto relationship (TFWLADWTGLOISATTFWTSIAPAIADR for short) formed in 2003 over a half chicken and chips due to the mutual love of chicken salt and Chico rolls. Salted Punk, as a genre, was born.

TFWLADWTGLOISATTFWTSIAPAIADR immediately attracted attention from record producers even before picking up an instrument. “A blunt bunch of lad’s with good hair,” said Kevin Walters of Snap Zero records describing what attracted him to the band, “so needless to say in today’s market, they were quite sellable due to the length of their fringes.” Rufus, Cheney, and Dolf would soon be household MySpace names.

“Yeah nah, it was hard to go anywhere on the internet without people stopping you and trying to stick a trogon down your pants,” said Dolf reflecting on the MySpace announcement of their signing.

Record executives considered TFWLADWTGLOISATTFWTSIAPAIADR to be too long, so the band changed their name to Genesis. When they found out that this name was taken already, they tried to sue the Bible, but then decided that it was easier to sue Phil Collins.

Losing the legal battle they split. 10 days later they reunited as Chicken or Beef? for a farewell tour even though their career had just begun. Two months later, after a lunch date with John Farnham, they were touring again. Over the next two years the band changed their name several times including:

  • Kick in the goolies
  • 42 kicks to the goolies
  • Some mothers like to have 'em
  • Cracked screen
  • Cracked screen on my iPhone
  • LEGO sex
  • LEGO Orgy
  • LEGO on his own go
  • Tonguing the gutter
  • One more in the goolies
  • Spoon full of kick to the face
  • This will leave a mark
  • Reconstructed Shoulder
  • Paper cut from a tissue
  • Scissor my sister
  • A bitch ain't one but $3.50
  • Throwing dice
  • Throwing shoes
  • Throwing the shoes at the band
  • Band Hero
  • Soft ass
  • Snorting washing powder
  • Bleached nose hair
  • Van full of puppies
  • T-shirt full of puppies
  • Going going going going going somewhere fun
  • Rained in at the ski fields
  • Don't look at me like that

And then finally settling on Adrian Punch; the second longest serving name to date. As Adrian Punch they released 2 full length Albums and 3 EPs in 18 months; including their market breaking record “Get the Farmers in with the hammers” which was voted number 1 “Most waste of a download” in a survey composed by IT departments worldwide. None of the albums went gold, but their concerts were sell-outs.

“Yeah nah, every night we played we would sell-out within minutes”, said the lead guitarist Rufus Pufferface recalling the early glory days and the quick rise to fame.” Mostly because I only had a 3 seater couch in the lounge room, but even when I bought [the] recliner in from the veranda, there were still people we had to turn away. One day we played in the front yard [up to] almost 10 people, and the shear noise of the crowd was unreal. [It] was [scary] at times; especially since half were cops in riot gear. We got a good smoke effect from the tear gas though.”

With pressure from record companies increasing, the bonds within the band started crack. The mutual love of chicken salt was not enough to sustain the group for much longer, they needed success, and to make bail. The bonds cracked some more, and finally they broke.

“Yeah nah, the band had to have sometime apart. We were spending up to 8 hours a week with each other, sometimes that was in one day” speaks Cheney Noise the bands lead singer. “People in the boring world wouldn’t know what it’s like spending 8 hours with someone. It gives you the shits.”

This hiatus would last the good part of six weeks with the three band members taking on different projects. Dolf would take up breeding pigeons, Rufus grain farming and animal rights, and Cheney pigeon shooting. Naturally this would lead to more arguments and the eventual official split of the band. The outpouring of emotion of their MySpace page was overwhelming for the group.

“Yeah nah, we had at least 17 comments after the announcement; some girl even topped herself,” said Rufus.

“Was that in retaliation to the band splitting?”

“No, but I’d like to think so.”

When the ex-band members got together and delivered a “sorry to the family” message on YouTube for the loss, the family was quite stunned

“We’d never even heard of Adrian Punch,” said the mother.

The post attracted over a million hits and re-kindled interest in the band.

“Yeah nah, with interest in our fringes once more and the health fad in McDonalds over, people wanted to hear the salty sounds of our punk. But the stigma attached to us was too [fucked],” said Rufus. So naturally they did what they do best; they changed their name once more.

Returning to the world as Three Fools Who Laugh at Death, as homage to their humble beginnings, the band returned better than before. They released “Nipples below the seams”, a full length album that contained the hit single “Chicken should be handled with a strict pants policy” and the theme song from the internet animated series Conan. The band is now playing at actual venues and has even discussed getting someone to play bass.

“Yeah nah, I’m not that keen on the idea personally, salted punk is meant to be almost bass-less because it needs to be pumped out shit speakers at punk volumes. I want people to tinny the shit of it,” says Rufus.

“What do the other band members think?”

“Thinking is not a skill”

“What is then?”

“Fringes and putting on the right amount of chicken salt.”

Three Fools Who Laugh at Death is touring. Check out that creepy guy out the front with the trench coat for tickets. Hope that he isn’t a cop.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

I choose lamination

Pfft! Hung parliament.

I became a king by my own hand. The people have judged you and you have both been found unworthy.

I suggest a fight to the death, glory determined by achievements of blood.
Start warming up your laminator and commence with the battle of supremacy.

Conan Commute

When Conan travels he travels by foot and in shoes he did not suffer through a gait analysis test. His shoes are thin, leather, and strapped to his leg with more leather – the original Skins. With them he will cross continents and travel to cities near and far. These days society is a little softer and most people run for pleasure. You can always tell when the City to Bay is coming up. The number of people going for a jog grows exponentially, but yet after the number plummets and only the commuting few remain.

Going for a run is a weird thing, not to mention if a six foot barbarian wearing little more than a dog skin cloak and a pair of woolly briefs running next to you (think of the chaffing!). For one it is fun with friends but very boring to do on your own. It is good for you but it hurts after a while. You can discover new ground or revisit the same boring tracks. You get outside in the fresh air and the carbon monoxide. Almost like masturbation, except for that last bit... maybe.

Running is a quicker way to get from point A to point B than walking. It also helps to cross traffic C, catch dinner D or not be dinner E. But it is so boring. Why is it the pinnacle of fitness? Why when people desire to “get fit” that they associate it with running? Associate it with travel fools!

It is more efficient to walk, but more impressive to run. I walked 10 kilometres to the shops – you are an idiot. I ran 10 kilometres to the shops – you are still an idiot, but I am impressed.

Conan runs. See Conan run. Run Conan run. He is impressive. He is massive.

Monday, September 13, 2010

On Barbarians and Multi-Tasking

Conan probably wouldn't make a very good PA. He probably wouldn't be much good as any kind of employee really, the best you're going to get out of a barbarian is either driving a plough wheel round in circles or possibly killing a bunch of guys, and that's only because the alternative for Conan would be getting stuck with a spear or something. Conan did, however, make a pretty successful entrepreneur. King by his own hand. Its tempting to think this success is because of a bias for action. As a barbarian, you don't sit around thinking about what you should do so much, you generally just get to stabbing. I would say the lack of complexity is more the key here. Conan didn't handle multi tasking very well, walking and talking, stabbing and talking, pretty much couldn't happen. Its this single mindedness that's the key, and firmly attached to a personal motive. Conan wasn't about to go and overthrow a ruler for a salary. When he made his mind up he was pretty much an unstoppable force. Now, get out there and start stabbing for yourself (metaphorically speaking of course).

Thursday, August 5, 2010

To Punch Out a Camel

Conan Related Slang

To punch out a camel is to do an unusually yellow or light coloured poop.
"Excuse me, I just had to go punch out a camel."

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Conan the Compactor

What drives Conan, that most manly of men amongst men? What philosophy shapes his most primitive urges into action?

I put it to you that his is not a quest for mindless destruction.
But what is this business, you ask, with the crushing of enemies and lamination of their women, no less?

Nay, he thirsts not for blood, but for space.
He is in fact a champion of compactness. A preserver of beauty.

Hold fast this insight should you cross his path.
And give the man some room lest he start to feel cramped.

Monday, July 19, 2010

Down hill boobies

During my ill-advised uni days there was an ill-advised period where I would ride my ill-advised pushbike into town. I was living in Norwood at the time and to get to Uni I would ride up Flinders street in Kent Town. For those not in the know, Flinders Street is that narrow busy road that joins onto Bartels Road with barely enough room for two lanes, but for some reason has four.

Heading east out of the city, the road goes downhill, so on a pushbike you could get quite a bit of steam up, but during the peak times it was suicide to even contemplate riding on the road. So I used to ride on the footpath to avoid chancing death.

One fateful day I was heading home from Uni when a young lady in a short wheelbase jeep type thing flew out of her driveway, right into my path. Now not being the hands-on mechanical type, my bike had slipped from any sense of a service history and was in a less-than desirable condition. Brakes that worked properly, for example, would have been nice.

Stopping was an issue; I was unable to avoid her and collected the rear-right corner of the jeep with my handle bars. I knackered myself on the gooseneck after impact, slammed into the ground, rolled past the jeep down the hill a little clutching my sore ailing nads.

“Are you okay?” She asked as she opened the passenger door in a panic. The little jeep was narrow enough for the driver to lean over and open the passenger door from the driver’s seat, and as she leant over her breasts decided to escape. She had been wearing a very low cut tank top thing and the sudden change in momentum and the angle of her lean was just enough to cause a jailbreak. “Are you okay?” she asked again as I started to get up.

“I am now,” I replied not hiding the fact that these were the first boobs I had seen in months.
She was confused for a little while, noticed the breeze, called me a pig, and drove away in a huff.

She caused the accident, she caused the injury to me, she decided not to wear a bra that day, she exposed herself, but yet I am the pig? I picked up my bike, straightened the handlebars, and limped home. A few weeks later someone stole my bike from Uni, and I never saw her again.

But if I was Conan, I would have been warming up the laminator...

Thursday, July 8, 2010

An axe for my youth

My Dad has a strange and unusual hobby. Not many have considered taking up such a pursuit, but most people who find out about it thinks that it is cool. It has been well discussed by me and my friends that I have no authority on what is cool and what is not, but that is the response people give when I tell them my Dad is a blacksmith.

Such an endeavour has perks. For my 17th birthday Dad made me a rather large medieval/fantasy hand axe. It was huge; the head weighed over two kilos with only a 40 cm handle. The plan was that if Dad made it large enough I could not use it when stuffing around with my friends. Parents, it seems, do not like to go home via the emergency ward when they pick their kids up.

It was a good plan and an awesome present. Leading up to the big day was not that awesome however.

A couple of days before my birthday I was out driving with my mates and Dad brought the nearly completed axe into the house to show my Mum. All that he had left to do was to give it a bit of a clean, polish, and finish the handle.

Mum was praising my Dad’s craftsmanship, or so he tells me, when a police car pulled up at the front. Dad saw it first, recalled I was out driving, and subsequently panicked when the cop started walking up our driveway. With axe in hand, my Dad went barrelling out of the front door and yelled, “What are you doing here!?”

If you know my Dad, then you are lucky, but you also know he is a sweet, harmless and humble man. But he is short, stocky and particularly wide at the shoulders from swinging hammers. (He is bear like, but more Yogi Bear like.)

The police did not know him though. They just saw a wide stocky man, holding an axe, and asking what they were doing rather forcefully. So I can understand their concern. The cop closest to the door went white and started backing up slowly, while the cop behind him was reaching for his gun.

Luckily, Mum was not that far behind Dad and had followed him out, she saw what was happening, promptly removed the axe from his hand, and took it inside. Dad then realised what he had done.

What would Conan do in a situation like this? Well for one, he would not be bringing an axe to a gun fight...

Does your Motto Live Up To The Conan Test?

Conan knew what he wanted in life, nothing more than to crush your enemies, see them driven before you and laminate their women. When the mongol general asks you what is best in life, are you going to be as definitive as Conan, or come up with some lame corporate strategy?

Mongol General: Hao! Dai ye! We won again! This is good, but what is best in life?
Mongol: The open steppe, fleet horse, falcons at your wrist, and the wind in your hair.
Mongol General: Wrong! Conan! What is best in life?
Conan: To accomplish more together.
Mongol General: Retard.