Our trip started off with a 7 hour-ish flight to Kuala Lumpur from Brisbane International. The flight was great and we were looked after well by the flight attendants. Just remember that alcoholic beverages are free on international flights so ensure you build a great rapport with those that can hook you up with a few beer cans at once. By the end of the flight I was nicknamed ‘happy hour’ by the crew.

We were quite happy to hear we had arrived at Kuala Lumpur. The airport is great because there are signs everywhere. If you get lost in Kuala Lumpur airport then you’re probably one of those people who can’t follow recipes, ikea instructions, treasure maps etc. and should probably not travel alone.

The first thing I noticed about Australia (which Malaysia was lacking) is the warm welcomes and friendly conversations you get with airport staff. In Malaysia, the help desk lady looked as if she was mad at us for asking her a question…. I was a bit dumbfounded by the whole thing. The guy who let us into the country death stared us the whole time he was checking our passports and then waved us through the gates without saying a word. He thought he was a police officer or head of a Malaysian scooter gang or something. He also didn’t do his job right as he didn’t give us back our departure cards to keep. WHATADOUCHE.

Once out of the airport things were a bit better. We made our way to the city which is about 45 minutes away from the airport. Along the way, the drive is fairly scenic with various buildings which are worthy of snapshots:
This seems to be a stadium of some sort. Not sure what it is but it is very patriotic with the flags. I think it looks nice.

I find KOK MOTOR very reliable.

Then there was the Colosseum! It’s strange that they don’t put these on the KL brochures.

But let’s not forget the Petronas twin towers. The tallest twins in the world and what used to be the tallest building in the world before Taipei 101.

Finally we got to our hotel where I found out that Malaysia has no etiquette for queues, door opening or elevators. I have never been so agitated by people in my life. At one point we were waiting at the hotel counter and about to be served when a guy tried to stand in front of us and get served first. I had to physically grab the back of his collar and pull him backwards. He must have thought “how rude of me to do that” to which all I can say is “When in Rome, be an arsehole like everyone else (or something like that)”.

A trip to the China town markets totally made up for the rudeness. This place has stalls upon stalls of knock-off merchandise. Each stall varies but for the most part the quality of the gear is quite amazing. The knock-off Rolex watches are scratch proof and work on perpetual motion (no need for batteries). Needless to say we bought a few of these. They sell at roughly 100MYR which is around $30AU:

Issmeister just wanted to be involved. He has a poo legitimate Casio on.

I also bought lots of clothing. The Issmeister got into this bargaining battle with one stall and he ended up getting 2 Lacoste polos for 30MYR which is about $5AU a shirt. Usually the acceptable price is 2 for 40MYR. I bought lots of polos and many beer t-shirts. I also bought handbags for gift giving. Make sure you don’t get ripped off with a low quality bag. You can get high quality bags for about 110MYR but a lot of stalls try and sell the crap ones for about the same price. Go to a larger stall. They usually have both good and bad quality. Just ask for the good quality stuff which comes with a larger price tag.

I got really sick during our stay in Malaysia and spent quite a few days in the hotel room. I only recovered a few hours before the flight to the Maldives. I caught some kind of China town market flu which gave me instant fever. I was quite lucky as they would have caught me under the thermal cameras and sent me into quarantine if I was still sick at the airport; totally ruining my holiday. I was still able to do a little bit more shopping though….

This is the pavilion shopping centre. It is quite massive. The other massive shopping centre in Malaysia is the Mid Valley Megamall. Both are great places to shop but if you walk down the street on the right of the Pavilion there is a huge line of designer stores. It’s a yuppie street but quite impressive.

Speaking of impressive:

Yes! You are looking at a McDonald’s delivery scooter. Have you ever wanted a quarter pounder at midnight but couldn’t be bothered making your way over to Maccas? Of course you have! Australia really needs to get their act together and get some McDelivery Scooters!

Another thing that impressed me about McDonald’s in KL is the prices of their meals (note that the airport McDonald’s is more expensive). I bought a large spicy McChicken burger meal (which was 6/10 on the spice metre and rocked) for 9.60MYR which is about $3AU. They also sell Ribena and Milo on tap.

Our time in Malaysia was kind of at an end. We had another day in Malaysia after our time in Maldives and Sri Lanka on the way back home but we had pretty much done all the shopping we needed to already.

Oh… and this is pretty funny:

This is a street sign they have near BB shopping centre. It’s a packed street full of people trying to aggressively get you to enter their store or massage parlour. The sign warns of purse snatchers. We should get a bogan warning sign at the Logan Hyperdome.

Anyway…we packed our bags and headed to the Maldives for a very short overnight trip. The plan was to stay there for a few days but my mum wanted a bit more time with her family over in Sri Lanka, so we had to sacrifice beautiful weather and nice beaches for bad weather and smelly alleys.

We ended up having no records of our stay in the Maldives. We arrived in the beautiful Malé where I was as drunk as a fruit bat that found a barrel of fermenting fruit hooch and drank it all. We were drinking whenever we felt bored so the wait at the airport and the fact that this old school 1970s plane they put us on had no personal TVs made me drink my boredom away. The flight was roughly 4 hours and I could tell this plane was from the 70s because the fuselage smelt like old people and it had flamboyant wallpaper. I figured someone else would take photos but alas the rest of the group started feeling sick and started vomiting. All I remember is reading a ‘Welcome to Malé’ sign and that’s about it. Mum says it was beautiful and she doesn’t even like water so it really must have been a lovely place.

We then got on the plane and headed over to Sri Lanka.

A few months ago I put on my ear muffs and walked into the transport department. Needless to say it was a circus run by apes. There was a blood patch on the carpet. I can only imagine this blood belonged to a patient civilian who had a waiting period of over five hours and was overcome by cabin fever. I went in to see what I can do about getting my license. I was told I had to renew my learner’s license as it had expired a while ago…. That’s fine, let’s do that. Then I was given an inane package with lots of smiling faces, car keys and other annoying things on the cover.

I asked what the package was. The lady behind the counter explained that it’s the new learner logbook which I had to fill out to prove I’ve driven over a billion hours before I can even sit the test to test that I can drive….I said “but I’ve had my learner’s license for over 6 years, can’t you just change that L to a P on my license in the computer and I’ll be on my merry way?”. Apparently that’s not legal.

She comforted me with a judicious statement about how I can just write a letter stating that I’ve had my license for forever and to roughly provide an explanation of the driving I did during that time. I took one last punt at getting my license on that day by challenging the lady behind the counter to a drag race. She laughed approvingly but never told me a time and place so I think she wasn’t up for it.

I get home and leave it for a month or so before writing the letter to the transport department. I write a very short and sweet letter roughly stating:

To whom it may concern,
I’ve had my learner’s license for roughly 6 years in which I have done copious amounts of driving and gained far more experience than required by your new tedious policy. If I drove to the local food store once a week, I would still have enough experience to sit your test.

Anyway in case that didn’t work I even included some specific routes I used to drive, the registration of my car, the distance of travel etcetera. I thought I had it covered and sent off my logbook but alas I got a call telling me I did it wrong. After being turned down to yet another drag racing challenge, I waited for this logbook to come back to me via the mail so I could try again.

I get a letter with my logbook telling me all the things I left out…. this list was exceptional. I’m talking about… they wanted odometer readings and other useless information. The whole experience left me lugubrious (as dealings with the transport department usually do) so I wrote a letter back which had no relevance to the logbook or anything for that matter.

It went something like this:

Whoever sent me my logbook,
The numerous dot points you have collated describing my ‘lack of detail’ is asking quite a lot of me. I don’t really remember the odometer all those years ago. I do however collect and label my stool samples. I have been doing this since 1998. I can send these to you but I’m afraid this will not help anyone (nor will my odometer readings).

Sending the logbook simultaneously with my letter meant that I didn’t have to pay for postage. It also meant they had to respond by sending my book back. This was a loophole in the system which provided me with a ‘free abuse’ ticket. I got a call back from the same lady as before telling me what I had done earlier was ok but I had to just put all my driving routes into the logbook and all will be fine. The only oversight was that I had driving on there with an expired license. Once again they sent me back this damn logbook.

Having no clue of when my license was expired and when it was valid, I demanded to see a dissertation on the positive implications that the new logbook policy brings to the rudiments of driving. I once again received my logbook. I never received a dissertation.

Sad and frustrated I sent another letter to the transport department providing my driver’s license number. This time it didn’t have the logbook but the careful charming of the postage lady and a tiny white lie which told her it was an amendment letter which was supposed to be attached with my already-sent logbook got me yet another ‘free abuse’ ticket….

Hello,
I’m sure your elaborate governance and attention to detail within departmental records will provide a history of my battle with the new logbook policy for learner drivers. It appears that no matter what I do I cannot satisfy the needs of the transport department. While I understand the policy is written in stone and therefore personal discretion and common sense can’t be used, I’m dejectedly out of options.

Out of frustration I have burnt my learner logbook and therefore cannot provide you with the essential information you require. In the past, however, I have provided details of my driving which genuinely cover the required target presented by your stone policy. I plead that the department does the appropriate thing and deems me fit to sit the test.

The losers sent me a new bloody logbook! What assholes!
So now I have two….. because I didn’t really burn it.

I shall continue to tango with the transport department purely on principal and entertainment value.

I recently returned from this year’s curry camp. It was held at Lake Perseverance in Crows Nest or something like that (I think near Toowoomba). It’s out in the middle of nowhere and totally a Blair Witch scene. Most of the camp is spent making fun of our parents. I have to be grateful here as my parents brought me up very much blind to most Sri Lankan stereotypes.  Apparently there are stereotypical Sri Lankan parents that are overprotective, embarrassing at the best of times and totally racist. My parents are just embarrassing.

To get to know my heritage, I participated in many ‘Sri Lankan’ traditions. I also include some of my traditions when going on these camps.  I would like to show you some of the photos so you get a good understanding of Sri Lankan culture:

First of all, it’s all about pouring yourself a drink of scotch that is way too strong and will put you on your arse in about 20 minutes flat. Within these 20 minutes you have to make the most out of your time by participating in as many activities as you can….

Activity one, I took my chances and had a go at Sri Lankan drunken boxing:

Both parties need to have a drink in their hand. Punches are thrown but the winner is the one with the most aggression in their eyes and the most bruises.

I then had a go at some Sri Lankan dancing:

Sri Lankan music is called Baila. It’s basically the same set of songs remixed by millions of artists and most of the songs sound incredibly terrible. The more retarded you look while dancing, the better baila dancer you are. The aim here is to dance with a drink but not spill it.
As you can see. I’m a terrible baila dancer:

This year we brought an unlimited supply of glow sticks. This was great. I had hours of fun with the vibrant colours. I came up with the idea to tie glow sticks to possums but possums are ridiculously fast and can hear me coming from a mile away.

The only real problem with that many glow sticks is that they become like sand at the beach. They start to creep into all your crevises and you don’t know how it got there:

My night was getting good, but then I had my first warning that my time was running out. I took my first fall:

Oh no. I think I’m a bit intoxicated!

But then I saw a couples photo being taken, and by tradition, I had to get into the photo and ruin it for them by looking like a rapist/pedo:

I have to say, years of practice and now I am quite good at being a ninja behind photos. They really don’t see me coming. They ask me what my secret is. I tell them it’s a mix between magic and departicalisation. I have ruined many moments. Most of which are deleted from the digital camera straight away. Above is one that got through.

A few more rounds of drunken boxing and I was feeling quite alive again. The girl in the photo below was wearing pants that can only be described as Bruce Lee’s pants in ‘Enter the Dragon’. These pants were so cool but made me want to throw kicks at her as recently I have had several encounters which made me believe I am about as fast as Bruce Lee.

I was trying extremely hard not to clothes line her off the railing she was sitting on.

A Sri Lankan camp is not a Sri Lankan camp without the touching of the golden chest. This is where all the guys grope the guy with the best chest. This is either judged by a chest feeling like a female’s breasts or a manly chest that is good to squeeze. Either way I don’t condone this as it was my chest that was being groped:

I do look quite proud over my win though.

A little bit more partying took place. I became a general annoyance to everyone:

….and more annoying once we found the megaphone:

Just as I peaked and was singing great renditions of Whitney Houston and Celine Deon songs, my time came crashing down….

I fell and I couldn’t get up. Now I know how that Japanese homeless bum felt when he was abusing me at the Hiroshima train station. He was too drunk to walk over and abuse me so he asked me to walk over to him. Good times.

I hope reading this has educated you on the culture of Sri Lanka. There is not much to being Sri Lankan and if you find that you are an outsider, here are three tips to fitting in:

• Drink excessively and shout everything you’re saying
• Use lots of hand gestures and dance like you have no control over your own legs.
• Complain about everything around you

Hope you can join me for the next Sri Lankan camp.

My brother recently tried to have his son baptised to become a member of the Catholic Church; however, he was totally deterred by the arduous process and political constraints you have put on your recruitment procedure.

Firstly, he approached several churches looking to get his son baptised at these locations (based on personal preference) but he was shocked to have most of them say “Sorry, we don’t do baptism here”. Now forgive me if I’m simplifying the process of putting water on a kid’s head, but really… if McDonald’s can give me a sausage McMuffin at 6:30am at any location I go to…. Why is this so hard for a massive corporation like the Vatican to organise?

Secondly, once he found a church which actually “Did Baptism”; he was told he had to call the priest and make an appointment for a meeting/interview. According to my brother, the priest had a schedule that would rival MC Hammer’s during his late 80s to mid 90s fame. During our wait for the meeting we decided to have a look at the ‘rules’ of baptism placed by you (not Jesus). So now he realised his chosen God Parents for the child weren’t able to be the God parents because neither of them were Catholic and according to your arbitrary rules… one of them has to be. I also read somewhere if you are over 18 you need to enter into a program in which you will have to go through a year of studying before you can be baptised and confirmed. Also you need a sponsor (very similar to godparents) to guide you along in your faith. Is this true? Ironically the word ‘Catholic’ references the meaning of being ‘all embracing’ yet the religion does nothing of the sort.

The church is all about tradition, and I believe the way the Catholic Church has interpreted the biblical passages mentioning the work of John the Baptist is inaccurate and does not conform to tradition. John the Baptist never asked Jesus to book an appointment, have a meeting and bring forth God Parents. Jesus just walked up to him and said Baptise me..so he did. His recruitment process was perfect. Somewhere along the lines your CEO decided to trademark (and in the process ruin) this process with constraints and rules. These rules don’t make baptism more sacred or holy, they just filter and discourage.

Now I’m not an expert in analysis but I can certainly see that there is a direct correlation between the diminishing Catholic population and a complex recruitment process. Just in case you cannot see it I have included aids which depict the recruitment flaw and how it affects your revenue stream:

The reason why your process doesn't quite work anymore

Flaws in the recruitment process

I implore you to reconsider the baptismal procedure to incorporate more leniency and efficiency in order to adapt to the expectations of today’s society. Live up to the reputation of being ‘Catholic’ and ‘all embracing’. Make it your mission to be as accommodating as McDonalds and you will find your corporation will thrive (just like McDonalds does).

Yours Sincerely (and wishing you the very best for the future),
Uncle Concerned

 I love animals and have a beautiful dog of my own. I must admit I treat her like a daughter and celebrate her birthday with a big dog treat, but that’s as far as I will go in terms of personifying my relationship with my dog. I for one can tell the difference between a dog and a human being but there are a lot out there that cannot distinguish this gap, and this number is increasing. Here are just a very few examples from a plethora demonstrating the merging between the dog species and the human species:

• Leashes for babies
• Car Seats for dogs
• Baby/Dog Birthday cards
• Balloons with paw prints
• Pet motels
• Dog clothing
• Dog Grooming
• Dog Party Planners
• Dog Spa Products
• Dog Umbrellas

It recently came to my attention that people have decided to take the personifying of dogs to a totally new level. Some moron out there decided that it was a good idea to elope their dog with another dog. There are various issues with this to start with:

1. How does a dog stay faithful to the one dog till death do them part? Do they even know of this sacred contract? Have they heard of the term monogamy? Probably not right, I mean they’re just dogs…
2. How do you know that dog is in love with that other dog or if it’s just lust? We as humans make that decision on our own. You can’t just say… “aww look they get along so well. Let’s marry them.”

…and if this wasn’t enough, a bigger moron in India decided to marry their nine year old child off to a dog to protect their child from evil (there has actually been several cases of this). Now she is protected from evil, but she is cursed with the life-long marriage to a dog. What is worse? It seems that some people are just stupid and I just put it down to pure and simple stupidity, although some of us see the irony in this situation a lot more than others:

 Even though this is some pretty weird stuff, a huge market has been opened for stupid inventions within the grey area of babies and dogs. Now that this market is growing, it is time to think of the future.  I have started to develop some ideas over a few drinks and have come up with the following concepts which will no doubt be appealing to those “Pet Parents” which treat their dogs like babies:

The fetchsaber

Demonstration of the fetchsaber in use

Pretty much speaks for itself. I know my dog loves a good game of fetch with a stick. Why not try a fetchsaber. It comes with the following advantages:

• You can play endless fetch games in the dark and not be worried about losing your stick
• It is very easy to spot when throwing into the waves at the beach
• As your dog runs around, the stick will look like it’s moving by itself. This provides a party ambiance

The TITAN surgical collar

Ever seen a dog with a surgical collar and felt sorry for the poor fella’? Doesn’t every dog with a surgical collar look down and low on confidence? Why not spruce up their surgical collar wearing period with a TITAN surgical collar!

Before and After Shot - Stand out difference in fashion

The TITAN surgical collar comfortably prevents the dog from picking at their surgical wounds while at the same time providing comfort and confidence with style and fashion for the dog. Parents don’t be too alarmed, here are the following advantages:

• Fashionable outfit masking the traumatic time for your dog
• Novelty for the pet’s parents as their dog is temporarily turned into a fashionable robot-looking badger/dog
• Provides neck support and covering of surgical wound
• Water proof

The dog play chair

Ever seen a baby in a play chair with all these toys surrounding it? If you haven’t trust me… they have a ball just rolling themselves around while distracted with dangling objects. Now I bring you the same concept only this one accommodates all the entertainment needs for a dog:

Dog play chair

The aforementioned design includes intricate detail in order to ensure your dog is as comfortable as he can be in his play chair. With neck support, adjustable height levels and 4 holes for each leg of a dog; your dog will have endless fun chasing the bone he will never reach.

The following safety features have been incorporated:

• Wheel stoppers for steep inclines
• Tail hole for those dogs with longer tails than others
• A broad base to negate toppling from over exertion 

Phone MUM

Phone MUM - Pet telephone service

Has your partner ever passed the phone over to your dog; only to hear the cute barks and panting of your loved pet over the phone? I haven’t but I’m sure it’s lovely. What if you could have spontaneous out-of-the-blue phone calls from your pet?… and wait for it… They can call you on their own! You’d pay a million dollars for that right?

Well here it is: The phone mum telephone for your pet.  All your pet has to do is push the paw shaped button on his personal pet phone and get a direct connection to your selected phone number (user programmed). Your pet will then be put on speaker where it can hear your voice and respond to any remote commands that you give it.

Features:

• Paw shaped button, accessible to any sized pet (but not extremely large ones)
• Display Screen for phone number programming
• Durable plastic for outside use
• Available in various colours

Velcro Muzzle

Velcro Muzzle. Impress your friends!

Ever played a game of catch with a friend but he dropped the ball all the time? Then ever bought those Velcro hand things from Toy World and played with that friend; making it 3 times better because now the ball actually stuck when you threw it at him? Now just swap the word ‘friend’ with ‘dog’ in that previous statement and you have VELCRO MUZZLE!

Yes this intuitive but dog-friendly product will allow even the most uncoordinated of dogs to have a chance at playing in the big leagues (with you at the park). The genius design takes advantage of the dog’s instinct to catch the ball in its mouth, only to let the Velcro do the catching for it! Have hours of fun as the dog looks for where the hell the ball actually went!

Features:

• Security standard muzzle performance
• Available in all colours for all dog shapes and sizes
• Machine washable
• No more slobber all over the tennis ball

Feel free to use or modify my ideas. I only ask that you let me know of your concepts before you make millions of dollars from them.

• Compulsory voting was created by power hungry politicians who knew that winning votes on policy merit alone was never going to get them anywhere. By including the demographic that didn’t give two hoots about who would win the election they opened up marketing strategies, funny names, free gifts and great profile photos as the keys to success
• All politicians have great haircuts
•  Every politician has a sidekick which, unlike superhero comics, is much better than the politicians themselves in managing and providing what was promised
• Politicians are under qualified and overpaid

But hey, even though I’m all sour grapes about the political system I truly do love voting… It’s a great game. A lot of people underestimate the amount of fun that can be brought from a day of observation and the maltreatment of Queensland’s future.

I remember my last voting experience like it was yesterday. I made my way to the closest primary school in my area. The car park was full of cars and there was a line-up of locals which extended far beyond the front gate. I thought, Oh poo there’s a big line-up of locals…but wait there are lovely ladies handing out reading material for my wait. I get to the line and I’m bombarded with photos of old men’s faces and lovely bright text telling me to ‘VOTE HOWARD’. The bright colours had my attention for a good part of my wait but I was getting bored so I decided to start looking at everybody in the queue. It was amazing that almost everyone was pulling the same face. It was the face of apathy, lethargy and ennui all rolled up in one which gives a look like this (if you were wondering):

The voting face

Further down in the queue and I received more posters and brochures telling me absolutely nothing about what changes were going to be made by this politician, but rather a mellow motto which was as specific as a horoscope.

“Bob PooFace – Changing your community for the better”

I mean isn’t that what a politician’s policies are basically? It’s not really a promise but rather a crafty generalised prediction that probably won’t happen but we can pretend it did with ‘it’s somewhat done’ clauses.

If only I found one brochure out of the lot that said something like “Mike Smith – Will make your neighbourhood better with more visits from Home Ice Cream” he would have had my vote hands down but sadly politicians aren’t that accommodating (another interesting fact).

So anyway, I get to the part where I have to vote, and I’m in two minds as to who to vote for… In my left hand I have a photo of a man that has a nose that would bring me much laughter every time I saw him in the media but in my right hand I have Bob PooFace who has promised me the world. I couldn’t make the choice (and couldn’t fill out the ballot properly) so I looked over my mum‘s shoulder as she chooses her votes wisely (or at least it seemed with the way she was concentrating on her ballot). I just copied what she wrote and walked out with a warm feeling (the feeling of not having to pay a fine for not voting) and now we have a recession but I think this was a coincidence and not because I voted indolently.

Well this time around I’m definitely not going to do the same thing. In fact I’ve taken the liberty to do some research before I vote. Now that I’m all ‘educated’ on politics I am very much looking forward to this upcoming election for one very big reason. My good friend Evan Moorhead is waiting for my vote (he doesn’t know me). I know I’m going to vote for him because I have already checked all his other competitors and they have far less comedic names.

What’s the moral of this story? Even the most boring and compulsory activities can be made fun with bright colours, tiny pencils and lucky-dip style ballot collection boxes. So next time you have to vote don’t complain about it. Be a good civilian and vote for your favourite face.

It started off with a delicate phone call asking me to come and have a look at a computer that just doesn’t seem to be running well. I frustratingly dropped all the important things I was doing at the time (probably not important but far out I can do what I want because I’m not your freaking slave) and went to their place to check out this ‘unwell computer’. I get there and I’m greeted to a billion pop ups to online casinos and supposed competitions that had been won by me. Great… I felt like saying… “Oh guys, you have accessed some seriously illegal content. You need to stop using computers because you are just too useless at technology. Yeah… look it says here in this word document that you are banned from the internet….nothing I can do”. Instead I just smiled, deleted the useless crap off the computer and told them to use Firefox. Surprise surprise, the next day I get a phone call courteously telling me that I didn’t fix the problem properly and the problem is back. Angry by their attitude I decided to march over there and punch them in the face. Unfortunately I politely investigated and to my shock horror these retards used internet explorer and repeated their stupid behaviour (seriously who the hell falls for a flashing banner that says ‘you are a winner click here to download something dodgy!’. Get a clue! You fail at the internet!). If I had to make an estimated guess at how many times I have had to go over there because “my internet just stopped working” or “I can’t find my usb stick on the computer” or “my computer is turning pink” I would say I have been over there enough times, that if I provided an invoice for my time I would be able to buy a fairly appropriate sized 4WD which I would use for the sole purpose of running over their letterbox.

At the moment I am a slave to two separate households. I am collecting mail for one place who I hope are having a terrible holiday in Iraq (I don’t know where they are) and I am babysitting fish for another family because they too are hopefully lost in the Amazon somewhere (they have kids so I take this back, I hope they’re safe somewhere but not having fun). Now seriously, what kind of idiot brings over a fish tank and tells me to babysit (well this would be fishsit) their fish while they are away on holiday? They are goldfish! All I had to do was go to your place and throw turd balls into their tank every day. Why are you so stupid? You can tell they’re stupid because they actually trusted me with the fish. These guys actually saw what I did to my fish when I had them…

Ok I’ll explain… I had 3 fish that I bought from a pet store and I put them in this nice clean tank. I fed them and looked after them for at least a month… then they got boring. I thought it would be interesting if I could have mutated fish, so I decided to feed the fish Pringles, salami slices and put them under all kinds of dietary experiments. Unfortunately the fish died (but not before having babies). I’m telling you these baby fish were insanely mutated. They survived in dirty Pringle water for a very long time, then someone stole my tank and to this day don’t know what happened to them (and I don’t care, fish are stupid).

I feel a bit stressed out because I never really took note of how many fish the tank had in it when it was given to me for caretaking. The tank seems a little roomier these days even though the fish seem so much bigger. I may just be paranoid but seriously these things are supposed to be goldfish yet they are obese and look like giant mutated sea bass. They just look pregnant all the time…. and they are always hungry and looking for food. I feel bad because when I walk past they make their ‘I’m hungry faces’ at me and I fix them up with their turd balls around three or four times a day. How many times a day do you feed fat goldfish? As soon as the turd balls hit the water they go nuts (I swear pet food manufacturers drug our pets but this is another conspiracy that I may write about later if I remember).

The turd balls given to me by their owners is very much close to running out. When this runs out I am definitely not going to buy them new food. I will probably give them Pringles or share my noodles with them, but no way am I paying for fish food to keep someone else’s fish alive. Get stuffed.

I am highly contemplating the idea of creating an invoice for all my services. When these guys return from holidays I will provide them with 30 days to pay my bill or they will not get their fish and mail back:

Formal Invoice for my services

I would take a photo of the fish but I’m way too drunk to figure out how to do the whole photo taking, uploading mathemagics.