Coming soon to a self publisher/PDF/satin bound hand crafted book seller near you soon, Miss Tammy’s very first book (discounting one or two East German ‘health manuals’ Miss Tammy had a hand in . . well, more like a finger, in the early 1980’s).
“Munted Munchies: a stoners cook book”.
Forty of my favorite munchie sating recipes, thirty five of which feature Cheezels.
Quick and easy is my motto, no one wants to be thinking too hard when one becomes a little ‘Peckish’.
There is even a section on healthy stoning food options (to shut up those dreadful hipster vegan stoners, who’s Ned Kelly beards always end up aflame when trying to ignite the bong, stinking the place out, and fucking up the mood . . but i digress).
Fifty flame retardant pages, all in full colour. Moisten a finger and prepare to turn a page.
Most evenings on King St Newtown, this guy can be found riding his mobility scooter up and down the footpath. What gives him the edge is his scooter is pimped with an Elvis statue, and a pretty fierce sound system. I have to say, his playlist never fails to impress me, from Johnny Cash, all the way through to Rockin’ Robin.
Long may he scoot.
Footage can be viewed HERE
Something spooky is going on, I’m nesting!. I’ve cleaned and sorted my office, I assembled a glass cabinet, I just framed my own painting, the house has been cleaned and bleached within an inch of it’s life, i’ve rearranged the pot plants . . I wonder what it all means??, I’m terrified I might be turning strait*!!??
* Of course not that there is anything wrong with that.
Tonight I premièred my vintage Stan Smiths in Wollongong, I’m still not sure this place deserves fashion of this calibre, but it seems to be making an effort, so I extended the fashion hand of friendship.
There is a cat outside my window, it’s one of those creepy bastard talking ones, it’s not meowing, but totally sounds like it’s trying to speak to me.
That weird noise cats make when they want ‘relations’ . . ‘Ullooooooooo, myoooooooo oooooooow ulloooooooooooo nyoooooooow!!!!!!’.
It sounds confused, like it’s had a stroke. I’m helping it all I can by leaning out the window and trying to interpret it’s frustrated messages, “Yes, you want a root, I’m familiar with your tone, but there are no presenting pussycats here, try over the back fence where the crazy cat lady lives“.
Update:It didn’t go to the crazy cat ladies place, her sons had taken a gut full of pingers and were dancing dementedly around the back yard, the cat did however shut up after we ‘shooshed’ it, we were straining to hear what the hot, drug crazed guys were saying, without the added distraction of cacophonous wailing from a root crazed cat!.
If i could find anyone willing to admit going to see Farnham on one of his farewell tours i’d organise a class action for a mass refund for false advertising 🙂
RIP Joan Rivers, she was one of my political correctness safety valves. When something awful would happen, and it felt like I couldn’t even smile, along would come Joan with something so crass, so offensive and jarring, it would give me a jolt, and i would have a sense that I would laugh again.
So glad I got to see Joan with my filth sister Beryl, it was fantastic to pay homage, and squirm in my seat before the wonderful Joan.
Some of the first words my little nieces and nephews spoke (as taught by me) were, ‘Oh grow up!, just grow up!!’ and my favorite ‘Oh Arf Arf!!’. They could have had an uncle that taught them the ABC’s, but where would they be now?.
“I’ve had so much plastic surgery when I die they will donate my body to Tupperware”.
No grey area with me, I’ve always been gay, from day one. I may not have known what it was called, but gay it was. From almost as young as I can remember, I had THE biggest crush on Australian Tv star Eric Oldfield. ‘If’ there was ever any questioning on my part, the day I saw Eric Oldfield in the nude, stapled across CLEO magazines centrefold, all questions were rendered null and void.
