Yet it also shows how little you have thought about it. For, were you equipped with the depth, you’d have realised that weeing in a cubicle is always going to result in mockery and the only solution is therefore to confront and resolve your fears. Your failure to do this really just shows how much you deserve further ridicule from the other men you tried so desperately to avoid.

Of course, I couldn’t operate so comfortably as the cynic I am if I didn’t scour below the surface and attempt to truly justify myself. It’s always possible that you may be the one in a thousand persons with a thorough reasoning behind your shyness. Perhaps when you were twelve years old you went to the toilet at your local Hoyts cinema after a film. You decided to use the urinal with your friends, despite already being apprehensive at the concept of penis visibility.

Suddenly your bladder changed it’s mind, leaving you with nothing but a few pathetic droplets. Feeling embarrassed you swiveled around to see if anyone noticed and, unfortunately, the boy next to you did. He looked you in the eyes and questioned “Is that it?” What were the odds that the type of kid (presumably with a socially adept older brother, thus explaining his compulsion to inform others of their shortcomings in order to reassure himself of his own quality) who would comment so sharply would happen to be beside you at this particular urinal? Odds aside, this was a devastating blow to your self-esteem. One which you wouldn’t fully understand until four years later on a camping trip with your extended family.

Everyone else had been urinating on a specific tree the entire time, so often that it had been christened ‘The Wee Tree’. A title not many thought to be entirely hilarious, but there was sentimentality in it being conceived by your five year old cousin, Aaron. Inevitably the need to wee arose and so you reluctantly made your way to ‘The Wee Tree’. Just as you had begun to begin, you hesitated for a split second, and in that split second felt back four years before to that moment at your local Hoyts cinema.

Then you realised: every bathroom experience subsequent to that incident had been stressful and uncomfortable. What you had written off as innate timidity had, in fact, been triggered and snowballed from that point in time. You decided to talk to your Mum about this epiphany, who decided to talk to your Dad, who decided to talk to your Uncle, who decided to talk to your Auntie, who decided to talk to everyone else, who decided to laugh at you for the rest of the trip for having such a stupid problem. No longer able to trust your own mother from fear of being teased, you shut yourself in to an emotionally reclusive state. One which accompanied you through your remaining formative years.

At age twenty-three you found yourself at a bar, drinking away the memory of another failed relationship caused by your inability to communicate. Nature called, for the third time in this story, and on your way to the facilities you wondered where you would expel your waste. Entering the room, the only urinal available was in between two other men. Hoping neither of them would make any harsh assessments, you opted for the cubicle instead. Only you left the door open, because for some weird reason you felt okay with that now. Then you weed. And in that moment you were okay. You didn’t worry about who was watching, or who was judging. You didn’t worry about splashing any on your shoes. You didn’t worry about being laughed at afterward. After all of these years and everything you’d suffered, here was a moment to give you hope that things might work out. A lone tear descended your cheek, as if your subconscious was saying “Don’t worry, Buddy. We’ll be alright.” Well if that’s the case, it really just shows what a pussy you are and how much you deserve further ridicule from the other men you tried so desperately to avoid.

Physics is just practical mathematics. Chemistry is just soggy physics. But biology is something special.

If you could take a little pile of perfectly ordinary chemicals (from Bunnings, say), and arrange them into just the right arrangement of gooey layers, you could make a set of very complex self sustaining chemical reactions. You could make a messy, leaky, self-replicating machine.

You could make life.

And while we’re still not sure what practical purpose life serves, or what exactly it even is, it’s certainly diverting, and it keeps the biologists in business.*

See, as far as science is concerned, biology is kind of a niche field. Physicists look at the birth of the universe, the tiniest atoms, and the furthest stars. Chemists toy with the fundamentals of matter, and analyse the composition of distant nebulae.** But biologists’ entire field of study is isolated to a thin film of organic slime on the very outer crust of a single, fairly unremarkable planet; a chemical oddity which has only existed for a few billion years, and may not last for a few billion more.

Of course, to the things which crawl in that slime, or hop, or walk, or write for satirical webpages in that slime, that seems like an awfully long time, and frankly, one which doesn’t bear thinking about. Because when you’re a living thing, you’re concerned with only two matters: sex, and death.

The second one is obvious. Livers gotta live.*** If you’re dead, you’re not alive, so you’re doing a crappy job of being a living thing. If you’re reading this, you’ve obviously got at least the basics down. Good work! Continue respiring normally, and direct your goo-filled photoreceptive organs to the rest of the paragraph.

Biologically speaking, the only thing more important than staying alive is having sex.

In fact, having sex is so much more important than staying alive, that dying in order to get laid is actually the norm for a lot of creatures, including:

• Spiders and mantises (The male is himself a mid-coital snack for the female. Chivalry lives!)
• The Antechinus, a small marsupial (In the mating season, the male won’t eat, drink, or sleep, he just mates until death. Thereby avoiding awkward morning conversations.)
• Salmon (They swim upstream, dodge bears, dump eggs, and die. Party on, salmon. Party on.)
• Humans (Males of breeding age smoke, drink, and ride motorbikes, ensuring their sexual success and inevitable fiery demise)

…and a host of other randy, short-sighted little critters.

See, as far as biology is concerned, the entire purpose of any living thing is to act as a life-support system for its genes. You’ll inevitably die one day, but if you reproduce before then, your genes pass the test.

Genes coding for a sensible disinclination to have sex even in the face of certain death simply don’t get passed on so much. Sure, those genes may build a utopian society, in harmony with their environment, but they’ll quickly be overrun by genes coding for mindless expansion and lousy forward-planning skills.

This means that every aspect of any living thing expressly serves the purpose of helping you survive and get laid, and so that your children can survive and get laid, and so forth. Things like appendixes or wisdom teeth are leftovers which helped your ancestors survive and laid. No exceptions. Birds are pretty? That helps them survive and get laid. Cats are bastards? That helps them survive and get laid. Bananas are tasty? That helps them survive and get laid. People are selfish, xenophobic and ignorant? That helps them survive and get laid. It may not make them any friends, but it sure has been proven to be successful.

This is really the most important thing you need to understand about biology. There are, granted, a few other snippets of information here and there,**** but I’m sure we’ll get to them later. For now, go forth and multiply!*****

*Which might seem like circular logic, but welcome to biology! “The point of life is to propagate.” “Why?” “Because otherwise it wouldn’t have propagated.”

**CHEMISTRY FACT: Apparently space tastes like rum and smells like raspberries (it’s all that ethyl formate).

***And kidneys gotta kid.

**** Don’t eat green potatoes, the occipital lobe is responsible for visual processing, and some stuff about hydrogen sulphide. I think that’s most of it.

*****And then die, so your children can eat you to get that essential head-start in life.

AFL

This is proving to be one tough year for AFL fans. Ablett and Fev and Cazaly are all good valuable players but it’s their off ground behaviour that will really have the crowds booing the umpires. Am I right?

Soccer

My prediction is Italy will win the international competition hands down, but not before Brazil has something to say about it! David Beckham will kick the winning goal.

Tennis

I don’t think there’s any doubt in the world that McEnroe will destroy André Agassi like a tennis ball being hit by a racket into a net. And yes, I am serious! Or should that be, “I can’t be serious!” Seriously though, best of luck to all the players, especially the Venus sisters.

Cricket

Don Bradman is my prediction to googly Shane Warne, although Mark Waugh will no doubt break a hundred with a duck.

Basketball

There’s no doubt about it: Andrew Gaze will SLAM DUNK the opposition! Ha ha ha. But you never know, Shaquille O Neal might end up putting him in a SPACE JAM!!!

Golf

Look guys, I hate to say it but Greg Norman and Tiger Woods are well past their prime. I think we should face the fact that the big golf award is going to go to the guy everybody’s talking about. Now that will be a hole in one!

Horse Racing

My pick for The Melbourne Cup? It’s a tough one, but I’m going to have to go with a three way tie between Makybe Diva, Seabiscuit and Pharlap. All the other horses sure will have a long face!!!!

Netball

A ball will go in a net.

Cycling

Nobody gives a fuck.

Thanks for reading guys! Hopefully this column hits a home run and I’ll see you all on the eighteenth green! Go fish.

As I started writing this, I realised I really have no idea what this show is about. It was on in the 60s, and I know it’s some people in spacecraft doing stuff in space. Why are there? Are they looking to find planets and such? Does Earth exist in this and also women? Are they looking for Uranus hahaha? Why were people watching this when they could be having free love? There have been several television shows and lots of movies based on it. And then the new ones happened and JJ Abrams did those maybe. Now he’s doing Star Wars? Or Joss Whedon. I don’t know, none of these things are Buffy so I don’t care.

Leonard Nimoy

Leonard plays Doctor or Mr Spock? He is dressed either in blue or yellow, and has deformed ears and amazing eyebrows. He looks kind of like a drag queen before they put on the rest of their outfit. I wish he wore a smock so he could be Mr Spock in a smock, but that probably never happened. I don’t know what he does, something where he’s a no-fun serious guy who never smiles. Lighten up Leonard, jesus! APPRECIATE THE MIRACLE OF WHERE YOU ARE YOU ARE! YOU ARE IN SPACE.

Billy Shats

William Shatner plays Captain Kirk, so I suppose he runs the ship thing. He was handsome I guess? Captain Kirk is dressed like the Yellow Wiggle and I have no idea what his personality or character is like, but I do know his legacy was Shatnered on at the Oscars this year. A more fun show would be if current day William Shatner owned a bar in space and it was called ‘Space Bar’ and he was all grumpy or something hilarious like that.

George Takei

I have no idea who or what George Takei played, but he’s a really great awesome guy in real life so I had to include him. I’m sure he was great at the trekking.

Live Long and Prosper

This is the thing the space guys say while they do a gang sign at you. I think Nimoy does it a lot. If they had Instagram it would just be photo after photo of people on the ship popping gang signs and taking selfies.

Beam Me Up Scotty

I’ve heard this a lot, at parties in QLD guys will say ‘Beam me up Scotty’ and they mean ‘Give me a can of your finest Jim Beam premix Scott’ – this isn’t a true story but god I wish it were. In any case, I think Kirk says this and Scotty (don’t know who he is, maybe the I.T guy), does…beam him up. From somewhere to somewhere else. Aren’t they already in SPACE, where can you go that is UP from space? Anyway, sounds fun.

The Next Generation

Unfortunately this isn’t about Degrassi (miss you Spike), I guess it was a reboot in the…90s? Patrick Stewart looks dashing in his baldness and snazzy red and black uniform, and that’s pretty much the extent of my knowledge about that.

As you can see, I am an expert in all things Star Trek and next year I will be appearing on Australia’s version of The Big Bang Theory. Please do not tell me things about Star Trek, but do tell me how amazing I am. Live long and prosper, for reals.

A mish mash of contemporary lifestyle and youth coolster (new word) culture, the concept of the blog is a hybrid of all the most relevant, high trafficking and “edgy” blogs, so as to be the most unique and individual.

The current working title of the blog is “Rose and Ben’s Cool Yolo Swag Important Cultural Hashtag Blog”

please send advertising queries to getdatcash@roseandbenscoolyoloswagimportantculturalhashtagblog.com

Here are some current article ideas they are working on…

Rose Callaghan

My Review of a Game of Thrones Themed Restaurant – on Acid

Our Top 10 Pulled Pork Destinations in Melbourne – Photo Gallery of All the Pigs Before They Were Slaughtered – That We Took While getting a Blowjob

Photo gallery of the Top 10 Chefs in Melbourne – Cooking While Getting Blowjobs

Want Cocaine Shaped Like a Cupcake? Top 10 Melbourne Bespoke Cocaine Emporiums

Snapchats of My Dick – and How it Helped Me Combat Writers Block – related article: Melbourne’s Top Penis Inspired Whisky Cocktails

Online Dating and Sex in Wartorn Zones – by Neil Perry

Constant Furious Masturbation and How My RSI Almost Ruined My Relationship With Heroin – an Insider’s Guide

Ben Vernel

Why This African Warlord Uses Child Soldiers And Their Favourite Members of One Direction

Where To Get The Best Cocaine In Melbourne And How Many Blowjobs It Costs – related article: Game Of Thrones Season 3 Blowjob Count up to 47

How Anal Changed My Iraq War Tour – related gallery: Your Favourite Female Popstars Posing With Guns

How I Got Scammed By A Nigerian Con-Man And The Mixtape The Experience Inspired

Top 20 Melbourne Twerk Nights And The Booty Moves To Impress The Dudes – related article: The Only 3 Sydney Twerk Nights And The 12 Creepy Dudes That Frequent Them

My First Time In A Threesome And Other Tales Of A Twentysomething Blogger

Which Kardashian Are You: A Nerd’s Guide To Laneway Art

…They also let Joe the intern have a go at some ideas. They left him to write and edit this last part without supervision as Ben says it will be good for him to “take ownership” of his ideas and they are really busy.

Joe The Intern

Joe Gets a Blow Job from a Real Life Girl

Joe Finds a New Friend in Iran to Play Online Starcraft With And is Very Happy

Joe Gets Increasingly Frustrated With His Internship

Joe Brings A Gun To The Office

Joe Refuses to Sleep in a Bed With His Mother Because He is a Grown Man Now OK

Joe Explores The Murky World Of Beastiality Firsthand

Morning Joe (Op ed): Negging Bitches And Why Doesn’t It Work, No Really Can You Tell Me

Top 10 Energy Drinks for All Night LAN Parties

The Pitfalls of Being a Nice Guy and Why Those Sluts Won’t Put Out, by Joe

Fedoras Are Back, For the 30th Season in a Row – Joe’s Fashion Forecast

     Do - Goatees

     Don’t - Make eye contact with a woman

     Do - Fap to anime porn

     Don’t - Ever let a woman know the real you

Why do they get them?

How do they get them?

Why won’t they go away?

How long should they last?

Is there a pill or a cream I can take or apply?

What about work?

How can I go out like this?

What if my wife stops loving me?

Can I never be in a room with my children that doesn’t have a waist-high bench or well-placed lampshade?

What will my parents think?

Will my upcoming job interview be affected?

What’s my five year plan?

Does my five year plan have to revolve around this ongoing boner?

Would you like to revolve around this ongoing boner?

Was that inappropriate?

Should I leave?



We cool?

Nevile is Melbourne’s only dedicated comedy poet, and has shared her love of language and the poignant angst of the outsider with adoring audiences from Melbourne to Adelaide, Launceston to Lorne. Now she’s taking up the last avenue of expression for the frustrated artiste and letting her character loose over the Internet. Fire up your computer for a word whirlwind that redefines what comedy can be and what well-chosen words can do

“I think there’s a little bit of the outsider in all of us, and with a character like Poet Laureate Telia Nevile, it’s possible to lance the boil of awkwardness that we all suffer from time to time. Loneliness, frustration and yearning are universal human traits, and this show aims to explore them with humour and compassion,” says writer and performer Telia Nevile.

Jam-packed with masterpiece opuses such as:
• Grammar Grindcore
• Love, La-ove, Love, La-ove, La La La La La Love
• The Best Ring in the West Wing (Story Corner’s latest toe-curling erotic fan fiction)

Live On Air is a character comedy that turns the amps up to 11 with beautifully crafted tongue-in-cheek verse backed by death metal, rap, blues and pop.

“One of the top ten comedy stars of tomorrow”
– Sydney Morning Herald

“***** Forty of the cleverist, funniest minutes you’re likely to experience”
– Adelaide Theatre Guide

“**** A brilliant ode to the ostracised…hilarious, sharply observed and affectionate”
– The Age

SEASON DETAILS
Where: Live-streamed – URL supplied on purchase
When: May 8-9 & 15-16 at 20:00pm
Tickets: $10
Bookings: http://anywherefest.com/live-on-air

Seriously, though.

You should see these things.

I can carry two Oxford dictionaries across the room without even using my hands.

But the gym still shits me.

The Ridiculous

Basically, you pay a gym to let you do all the things you can do for free outside, but in a smaller space with a liquid crystal display to show you how shit you are at it. You can run in a smaller space, ride a bike in a smaller space, lift heavy things in a smaller space and get shouted at by a lady with a mohawk and thighs shaped like America’s Cup yachts in a smaller space. Pretty much the only thing you can’t do at a gym that you can do outside is stop paying for stuff.

The Disgusting

It’s actually remarkable that gyms even bother with toilets – why have a separate room for piss and shit when in the entire rest of the building, body fluids, gases and grunts are sprinting out of every conceivable human hole and splatting limply on the floor, equipment and other oozing patrons. I’ve actually seen a guy drool at the gym, wipe the drool on his forearm, then do twenty-five more reps. There is no way that guy didn’t also smear a tiny bit of Cosby out his poop-chute, either, with the effort he was exerting. I’m thinking of buying a separate washing machine just for my gym clothes, because by the time I get home they’re pretty much covered with liquefied armpits and crystallised essence of arsehole. I don’t want that mixed in with my nice work clothes.

The Dicks

There’s a girl in my weights class (I totally do a weights class, man. I even almost know what pecs are) who is always late, presumably because it takes a lot of time to pick out stupid fucking outfits and put on your make-up and weight-lifting gloves. Dude. It’s a Les Mills class set to a disco beat and you’re lifting an absolute maximum of ten kilos. Save the gloves for the medical professionals on one of your no doubt frequent check-ups. Anyway, this girl once wore a bra with ten straps on it to a class, covered by a backless and sleeveless hoodie that was unzipped to the belly button, and spent the entire class doing stuff wrong, admiring herself in the mirror, adjusting her carefully tousled ponytail and not sweating. She is a dick. Gyms are full of dicks. Gyms are pretty much petri dishes full of dick-nourishing agar. I should thank all the dicks, though, as I tend to burn more calories seething with indignant rage than I ever do with burpees. Also burpees are dicks.

The Fucking Questions

Since the dawn of time, gym instructors have asked their exhausted classes and personal trainees questions. Are you warm? Can you feel it? Heart rate up? Can you give me ten more? How’s that feel? You hurting? Can I get a ‘YEAH!’? Shall we do that again? Is it burning? FOR THE LOVE OF ATLAS, IS IT BURNING? Since one minute past the dawn of time, not one single exercising person has answered one single fucking question. STOP IT. STOP ASKING ME FUCKING QUESTIONS. Come on. Don’t give me muscles, teach me how to punch and then ask me stupid questions. Stupid questions is what punching is for.

The Communal, Cubicle-less Bathrooms Where People Who Have Recently Showered Just Fucking Wander Around With Their Blotchy-From-Exercise, Still-Got-Several-Kilos-To-Go Arses And Tits Out While They Have A Shouting Fucking Chat Over The Roar Of Their Hairdryers And Then They Bend Over Right In Front Of You To Put On Their Underpants Like Avoiding Seeing Middle-Aged Women Bending Over To Put On Underpants Isn’t A Characteristic Of A Properly-Evolved Society Or Something.

Nup.

If you were to know these ladies off stage, you might be shocked by their on stage personas. The show is full of the stuff you think to yourself but feel you shouldn’t say aloud and Sejean sees the show as an outlet, “It’s a sick form of therapy for us. People barely make the connection when we’re our usual sedate selves… well, except Claire she’s wrong all the time.”

The two originally hailed from relatively “wrong” towns of Australia- Geelong and Adelaide and the show features local news headlines that don’t necessarily showcase the best of either. Sejean says, “Our show is a celebration of everything that is ‘wrong’ and our towns have made us what we are so without them we wouldn’t have a show. It’s about admitting everyone, everywhere has a bit of Wrongtown in them.”

The show is an hour of various skits featuring everything from psychotic female inmates, Karen Carpenter, questionable pet activities, twisted and often violent imagery and impersonations of Cher and Christina Aguilera. The audience is actively involved, particularly in an epic sing-along at the end. The stars are clad in vibrant dress, the highest of heels and make up reminiscent of Homer Simpson’s make up gun (“set to whore”). While the show has been running for a number of years, it is littered with relevant jokes to freshen up well-practised material.

What sets Wrongtown: Population You apart is the sheer talent of Sejean and Bowman – they are pros. Both have years of study, training and performing under their glamorous belts. For two people doing everything to appear unsavoury to be so delightful says a lot about their skill. The duo create clever compositions with remarkable vocal range about the most unappealing of topics but Sejean admits they’ve done the hard yards, “We’ve worked our asses off. We had top training at the VCA in musical theatre. I think you’ll notice our shows are highly theatrical with a large music component.”

The show is directed by comedy veteran Tim Ferguson who first got on the Wrongtown train for last year’s show Homicide and Home Cooking and recently introduced the girls to artist manager Simone Flanagan.

The Wrongtown girls will be seducing audiences, tackling taboo topics with the fiercest of voices and the straightest of faces… although the makeup could be freezing their faces that way. An award winning show at Tuxedo Cat for the Mebourne International Comedy Festival that is so very wrong, it’s right.

Wrongtown – Population YOU! At the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. Get tickets here http://www.comedyfestival.com.au/2013/season/shows/wrongtown-population-you

Update: The review on Crikey has been rewritten. For the record, it was originally written as a letter directly to Jennifer and contained a link to the Beyond Blue depression helpline.