I am not a fan of gross-out comedy or anything along those lines. In fact, I am quite squeamish and easily nauseated, and as such I do not tend to laugh at piles of vomit on the footpath and the like. Poo jokes are one thing, but actual poos are not as funny, if I am to be frank.
However I have experienced a range a series of super-gross things lately.
1. Moving house. Disgusting.
2. Mindy’s avocado ice-cream on Masterchef.
I find Mindy’s supercilious posturing about as palatable as Andrew’s claims that he is heterosexual. When she put avocado, that most despicable of flavourless and poorly-textured fruits into an otherwise perfectly good batch of ice-cream, I actually dry-retched. Vomit.
3. Poo patrol
I took my nephew, Danowan Xtrm, to the pool a few weeks back. Before we had put the bags down, removed our thongs and outergarments and donned our goggles, Danowan Xtrm spotted a lifeguard with a net from 50m and shouted “Look! A poo!”
Cannot fault the kid’s eyesight.
Recently, half of Miss Soft Crab and I went to a game of footy at the MCG. Actually it wasn’t recent, it was Round 1. Anyway, we were up in the bar eating some roast beef rolls, amidst a sea of Roger David button-downs cut from five identical bolts of cloth. While enjoying our dinner, I spied out of my peripheral vision a bloke showing another bloke some photos from his iPhone. He was scrolling through the shots and went straight past a close-up picture of a scrotum without cause for pause or comment. His mate didn’t see fit to mention it either.
To be doubly sure, he scrolled back through the photo stream, and there it was again. Nutsack.
To be clear, I don’t find genitalia disgusting in and of itself. What I do find distasteful is that it is evidently so commonplace for a certain type of man to keep a photo of his dick in his phone that the discovery of such an image did not so much as raise an eyebrow from him or his friend. Disgusting.
5. Cat vs Snake
Also with Danowan Xtrm, I caught an episode of Bondi Vet. Not a show I would usually watch but I was in the family home and I’m pretty sure it was on straight after MasterChef. Anyway, in this episode, a cat was bought into the vet because it had been bitten by a snake.
The cat’s owner had ordered her teenage daughter to catch the snake in a SHOE BOX and bring it into the vet for identification. The female counterpart on Bondi Vet then administered treatment to both the cat and the snake.
And I just didn’t know what to think.
Regular readers of this here webular log will note that I a) hate cats, and b) have an intense reptile phobia. When the cat was bitten by the snake, I thought AWESOME ONE LESS CAT! But then they wanted to save the fucking snake? Are you kidding me? Without the snake, the cat wouldn’t even BE visiting Bondi Vet! Fer Chrissake!
I had a bit of a rant about this before Danowan sagely informed me that “Bondi Vet is committed to caring for all wildlife.”
A friend of mine asked me what had happened to my Swedish love interest, who charmed me and took up much of my available time in May and June. I replied, perhaps slightly wistfully, that he had gone back to Stockholm for the summer. Friend noted, “yeah, that’s the problem with Europenis.”
I recently saw a bloke sitting in my local coffee-drinking establishment with his hand inside his underpants, while maintaining a conversation with his girlfriend. To be clear, his hand was UNDERNEATH the Underdaks.
Yep. Drinking a latte with one hand and cupping your balls with the other. Like it ain’t no thang!
8. No words