Bad elements in the neighbourhood

So today we ventured out to Rustic Preston in pursuit of a fan, given that it is a trifle steamy in these parts (DEAR GOD PLEASE WOULD YOU TURN THE MOTHERFUCKING TEMPERATURE DOWN A NOTCH OR 10,000, THANKS, LOVE MISTER NORA xox), when we had a little visit in the car from some Nasty Motherfucking Homeboy Spiders. They had 8 legs EACH, I am not kidding, and they were crawling around like they owned the motherfucking place, little upstart cunts.

Sloginski was riding in the back and he was getting all bolshie on their asses, coming out with shit such as "Hey my hairy backed brothers, your mama is so fat when she sits on my face, I can't hear the stereo" and the like. Anyway the Homeboys were not taking this so well, they were shaking their bling at him and threatening to "Fuck Yall Asses Up Like You Aint Never Seen, Bitches! Yo!"

I was trying to smooth over the situation, saying "Hey my little friends, happy new year to YOU! Now, Good Sirs, would you fancy a splash of my delicious cocacola? IT'S DELICIOUS!! Here, Have all of it! And have my shoes!! Do you like my shoes?" (I was maybe a bit delirious from the hotness and the scary spiderness of the situation, no, I was not in top form) while The Dude was staying quiet and generally trying to drive the car not into a Tree.

Anyway, for the most part they ignored me, but good ole Sloginski did some fine work in engaging them in a not altogether highbrow battle of wits, which made them kind of cranky but distracted them for just long enough for us to make it back to our Slovenly Pit of Mutual Filth before they completed their attack, descending menacingly upon us from above, drooling poisonous drips of spitoon and bearing glinty lookin flick knives.

We scampered out of the car Quick Smart, and me and the Slug had a bit of a dainty lie down while we sent The Dude back to the car armed with Mortein. He was out there for quite some time, and I won't describe the entire battle... let's just say The Dude Won.


xoxox nora

badmouthing the soonly dead

I just realised I called mister k. packer a turdcunt just a coupler days before he splish splashed into the afterworld.



IS THAT SO WRONG?



xoxo nora

one good time too many.

Phew.

I'd say merry christmas to youse all but I think over the last week I've sucked Christmas dry of any merriness that could once have been had. There has been non stop motherfucking merriness round these parts. My New Year's resolution is to Be Less Merry.

Brain totally fucked.

See you after rehab.

xoxox nora

The return of the roach?

So on Thursday night some Americans came over to chez mister nora for a slap up fish dinner and 10,000 bottles of wine, all at the taxpayer's expense (yeah we're all taxpayers, hey, except that mister packer, old turdcunt).

Ok so maybe there was no fish dinner, slap up or otherwise, like whatev's bro you're getting PEDANTIC>there was definitely wine.

I was supposed to be at working at one of my jobs (not Christian) where I accept cash, credit and cheque for all manner of goods and services (if you know what I mean, heh heh) (NO I AM NOT A FANCY WHORE you PERVERTED MOTHERFUCKER, I AM A SHOP GIRL) but when I showed up at the shop the dudes there were all like, 'hey mister nora what are you doing here? I don't see your name on the motherfucking roster!' So I was motherfucking out of there in like less than zero seconds, you have never seen a person move so motherfucking fast, I give you full refund no questions asked style guarantee, motherfucking. Ok enough with the MF.

So chez mister nora there was much glee at Surprise Night of Freedom from Labour, it was almost as good as the night I dreamt I was God and also Buffy the Vampire Slayer ALL IN THE SAME 8 HOUR STRETCH OF SLEEP. Anyway, Surprise Night Off turned into Not So Surprising Heavy Drinking with some twangy people from across the seas and of course The Dude. Take it from mister nora kids, Champagne Cocktails are your first class ticket to GoodTimesHadByAllVille, no doubt about it.

THE POINT OF THIS STORY being that through the misty screen of the Cocktails, the Sauvignon Blanc, the Stuyvies, the Nunga and then more of the Shampoo, I seem to recall someone saying "hey, wassat bug thing overr there onthe wall?"

DO YOU SEE WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS?

CLAUDIE HAS RETURNED!!!!

And I am filled to the gills with guilt and shame and shandies because at the very moment that she made her triumphant re-entry into our lives, I was wearing an irridescent cowboy hat and ranting like a motherfucking cunt about how Narnia changed my life and I was TOO BUSY BEING DRUNK to welcome her back with the Pomp and Ceremony THAT SHE DESERVES.



And now I can't find her anywhere. Oh Lord, what have I gone and done???


xoxo nora

mister nora's guide to getting laid like an egg

Although I have recently settled into Domestic Bliss with The Dude (i.e. we now share a slovenly pit of mutual filth), and even though back when I was a youthful fancy free mister norette my knack for drinking people under the table rarely (i.e. never) translated into pantless below-table humping LIKE I ALWAYS DREAMED IT WOULD, I nonetheless feel that I have a tragically unfulfilled destiny as a Veritable Casanova of the Antipodes.

So that you can have the speedy, meaningless and slightly disease ridden sex that is no longer on the cards for me (since I am Faithful like a Fox to The Dude, and if you had his pants YOU WOULD BE TOO, FOR SURE), I have compiled a list of Getting it On Hot Spots of Melbourne:

1. Percy's Bar, Carlton.
The men are old and drunk, but my god are they willing. Their short stature and arthritic stoop also means that they're often at eye level with your sumptuous cleavage, and they're not too coy to point it out. Saucy devils.

2. 27+ night at The Saloon Bar, Ringwood
There's no experience quite as romantic as hurling enthusiastically in an eastern suburbs gutter, knowing all the while that even though your slinky Suzanne Grey top is all stained with regurgitated midouri, the man who's holding your hair is still prepared to take you home and request anal. Hey, middle age isn't so bad, after all!

3. Frankston RSL, Pokies Room
Let's face it, all that inserting of objects into slots and feverish pulling of levers makes for a MOTHERFUCKING HOTBED of simmering sexual tension.

4. My Former Housemate's Bedroom, North Carlton
Motherfuck, that girl was a whore. She saw a lot of action, but.

And if these TRIED AND TRUE places de SEXNESS don't get your pants smeared with strange semen...

5. Outside a brothel. Any brothel.
Stop the punters on the way in and offer it up for free. Even if you're gruesomely ugly, surely noone's gonna say no to a bargain like that.

Get out there kids. Live the Dream.

xoxox nora

Things I have said to foreigners

Fich dich doch selbst!

(go fuck yourself!)

Buenos dias, senorita... por favor - quiero penetrar su gato muy attractivo con mi pene enorme.

(Good day, miss...please - I would like to penetrate your very attractive cat with my enormous penis)

Pardon, monsieur, mais je voudrais tu en ma bouche?

(Excuse me, sir, but I would like you in my mouth?)

xoxox nora

ANTI-RACISM

Non-violent protest against racist attacks

Friday 5 pm Bourke Street Mall

xoxo nora

The Day of the Trolleys

Late one night The Dude and I were sauntering smokily down the street when we paused to assist what appeared to be a group of poor unfortunate Trolleys who had had one too many beers and toppled over helplessly in the midst of an Open Air Anal Sex Conga Party.
















Little did we suspect they were actually INSURGENT TROLLEYS who were luring in foolhardy Humanoids in order to TOSS THEM MERRILY into Merri Creek!! The Dude and I had to hurtle through the streets like the Frightened Gazelle escaping the Hungry Panda in order to keep our shoes dry and our dignity intact. It was a close call.

Then, just this weekend, we saw this:















Ten Points and a Blowjob for anyone who can tell me what the fuck is all that shit is in the Trolley.

My money says that all the dissident escaped Trolleys like this greasy little motherfucker are developing weapons stores for when the War begins.


WATCH YOUR BACKS, Humanoids. The Time of the Trolleys is almost upon us.

xoxox nora

I must get out once in a while

Good things I have seen lately:

- The Little Scissors at the Nash in Richmond yesserday arfernoon.

I laughed. They sang. I drank. They conquered.

They made Little Drummer Boy sound a lot racier than it did in my grade 4 nativity play. I sang along to Star of Beauty Star of...Thing, EVEN THOUGH I am hatin the Christians! (NB: this weekend yr all invited to come down to Mordialloc and engage in mass Christian bashings with me! COS WE DON LIK EM! Thems are disrespectin our Good Times by sayin xmas is about some MID EATSERN TOWL HED JEWS THAT SLEEP WIV COWS when we no its ALL ABOUT TURKEY!!)

Was rowdy arfernoon; The Dude was lolling about legless on six thousand Manhattans, which the barman MAINTAINED VIGOUROUSLY were made from Bourbon, not from Tanned Hats for Men LIKE I ALWAYS THOUGHT! Whatevs bro, stop playing for time and give me 'nother one.

The Dude engaged in what appeared to be Brideshead Revisited style manlove with a nice hairy faced boy we've been seein around the traps. Good for you, chaps! Didn't send you orf to Eton for nothing, eh! We made our exit just in time as The Dude was within a whiska of being nailgunned by fierce busboy who didn't take to him playin frisbee with the ashtray. We shook our fists on the way out. Good times had by All.

I'd link to the Little Scissors but uh can't find their site. Maybe they're the Lil Scissors. Or the Wee Scissors. Not to be confused with Small Knives.


- The Prayerbabies at the Railway in Norf Carlton on Satdee noight.

Do the finest version of Hallelujah ever. Put Jeff Buckley to SHAME! no wonder he dived in the water, fuckin no good wannabe. Don'even get me started on that Cohen travesty. Prayerbabies are fuckin genius and you shoulda been there Sat cos now they are deserting us for an "ill considered" tour of Tasmania. COME BACK, BABIES!

On way home from the Railway we lay down in the park and took pictures of Trees In the Dark. FUCKING MODERN ART, BRO. Drunk as Stoats me and the Dude also stopped at Danny's Burgers and despite mouthing off about how the place was goin to the dogs (NO DIM SIMS!) we ate two burgers each and then sang eachother a round of "You're the one for me fatty": possibly the most/least romantic song ever depending on whether or not you watch the video clip.


- Devastations at the Spanish Club in Fitzrovia Fridee 'fore last

They may be more spiritually at home at the Tote but they were still sexophonists of the highest standing. The Dude and I first met in a bar after he'd seen them and I think the Massive Degree of Arousal and Loving Feelin which no doubt came over him during their set was probably the secret ingredient which allowed my slurry charms to work their special magic on him. Aw.

- Girls from the Clouds at the Norfcote Social Club Sat'dee 'fore last

Lovely work from lovely laydees with lovely voices.

If I could sing I would currently be gettin a pedicure and being eaten out by some Brazilian back up dancer while one of the Olsen twins' ex boyfriends fed me gin soaked tangerines on a billion dollar yacht made of carefully engineered fairy floss and moored just outside Lakes Entrance.

But no. I can't sing.


OH, it's bedtime. Must be Perky for the suit work I'm doin tomorrow hey. Bleh.

xoxox nora

godfucking

In the ongoing search for the roach I have accidentally infiltrated a Motherfucking Hardcore Christian Organisation. I was meaning to follow up on a lead re: the Untied Stats of America. They are currently top of my wanted list what with those crazy abduction/torture/mistaken identity pranks they like to pull (Ah those jokesters in the Department of Homeland Security, they hire all their staff straight off the Jackass set FOR SURE.). Anyway. Something went awry and instead of working as a whitehouse intern I have found myself spending 9 hours a day with Motherfucking Hardcore Christians.

Motherfucking Hardcore Christians are the worst kind, they need the whack around the brain with the bullet No Question. Apologies if you are Christian and offended but Jesus Maryfucking Christ like get over it, bro, you Ruled the World for a long time, good for you, but now you are like Daryl Somers on Dancing With the Stars, you should have had the decency to stay on the Gold Coast snorting cock and fucking whores like Sir Big Kev.

I am having trouble concentrating as the Christians have filled my brain with Thoughts of Violence and Strong Language. Fuck I hate Christians.

But I love you.

xoxox nora

Hug a Celery Day!

Today me and The Dude decided that when sad, celery is the saddest vegetable of them all. We will not be leaving celery in the fridge for weeks ever again. After ten seconds with that teary little motherfucker I wanted to put bricks in my underpants and wade into the bath without even saying goodbye. Lucky for me a chance encounter with some party loving apricot dudes who were snorting coke behind the fruit bowl totally lifted my spirits and I was able to put what I now see was a pathological empathising with the failing celery behind me for good.

Anyhow. I'm off to drink beer and remember the good times.

xoxox nora

you can leave your hat on

I have been working for 12 hours. I have two more hours to go. Am wearing a special tin foil hat to stop myself from blowing this place into a billion billion dusty little atoms from the pure raging force of my grumpiness alone. Fashion, bro: it's comin at ya from the top of my head.

I need some motherfucking panadeine forte and I need it by yesterday, dude.

Medical advice suggests that Vodka would also do the Trick.

xoxox nora

PS In case you are worried like a fox, I have Sloginski trailing The Dude while I am at work, although unfortunately Sloginski reports that he doesn't always have the aerodynamic groundspeed to keep up with The Dude's long legged strides. May have to rethink the whole Operation.

IS THIS THE FACE OF PURE EVIL?

the fake alphabet is revealed!!

After watching The Dude's every move for the last week or so I've come to the conclusion that a) I am a Hot Shit Private Eye;
b) He doesn't always wash his vegetables before eating them, leading to Great Concern on my part that he is consuming too many pesticides NOT TO MENTION Other People's Germs (your own germs are A-OK); and
b) There is something going on with him.*

There is definitely something sinister in the way he is arranging his hair products on the bathroom shelf. They appear haphazard (OF COURSE THEY DO, he is trying to ACT NATURAL!) but I have been examining them in relation to astrological charts and the rubbish collection cycle and I HAVE IDENTIFIED A PATTERN. I would draw it for you but I don't want to commit myself to Electronics in case he has someone watching me.

This has lead me to suspect that he may be, as they say in the FBI, "in cahoots" with the pussycats. The pussycats, whose many aliases (aliai? dude where is an old school Roman when you need one) include "Lady Fats and The Ratboy" and "Bunnyfeet Flopsy and Monsieur Giraffe" are generally kind of slack, as pussycats tend to be, and on their own I don't think they'd have enough oomph to mastermind a dastardly criminal plot, but they have always envied my relationship with Claudie, and they and The Dude get along great shakes. They are sometimes laughing together in a room, and then when I walk in they get all narrow lipped and pursed eyes. Sure, I am often carrying a Not Very Hidden Camera and a Boom, but after all the hard times we've been through together you'd think they'd trust me by now.

I may have to enlist the services of Sloginski. He may be only a delusional KGB agent but I think he is quite Good at Delusions.

xoxox nora

* In my travels have also discovered Disturbing News that we have been DUPED by our PRIMARY SCHOOLS, and that "B" IN FACT COMES AFTER "B"!! Who said this blog wasn't Educational!!!