The Dissemination of Thought

Just because it's in print doesn't mean it's intelligent…

Posts Tagged ‘random

Hallmark cards, shopping fear and a TDoT dose of Christmas cheer

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If the lovely people at Hallmark are to be believed, Christmas is a time for giving, indulging and sending out vibes of goodwill towards all men, women and house-trained animals.

The reality of the festive season could not be further from the clichés, corny poems and pictures of goofy-looking reindeer the marketing gurus expect us to embrace every December.

Cheesy cards are the reason disillusioned people are stressed and angry by December 25.  Source: hallmarkcards.com.au

Cheesy cards are the reason disillusioned people are stressed and angry by December 25. Source: hallmarkcards.com.au

While the David Jones catalogues and Coles billboards depict well-dressed shoppers with Joker-esque grins peacefully perusing the aisles, apocalyptic scenes are playing out on the ground.

Is there a get-your-fucking-hands-off-that-last-trampoline-before-I-lose-my-cool card?

It’s all well and good to espouse the spirit of season but the fact is all textbook theory about appropriate Christmas behaviour takes a back seat to retail guerrilla warfare in the lead-up to December 25.

Those who doubt me should have been in the Townsville bottle shop I happened to be in at midday.

As I was filling my trolley with enough vodka and cider to anaesthetise a three-year-old gelding, I witnessed two women swap the Christmas spirit for a verbal stoush over spirits.

Basically, the second woman – let’s call her Little Miss Swear Jar – objected to the first woman – who we’ll call Mrs Three Bottles – taking what appeared to be the last three bottles of an unidentified dark rum off the shelf, even though the former obviously wanted to buy one of them.

Unfortunately, it was at this stage Little Miss Swear Jar forgot all about those warm Christmas card messages and launched into a tirade that would have made both elves and seasoned sailors blush.

Bearing in mind that I made a beeline for the opposite side of the store when the argument started, I’m pretty confident it went something like this:

Little Miss Swear Jar: You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.
Mrs Three Bottles: What?
Little Miss Swear Jar: Why the fuck are you takin’ all of them?
Mrs Three Bottles: We’re having a party and I need three bottles.
Little Miss Swear Jar: Fuck off. Everyone’s having a party tomorrow. Give me one of those fuckin’ bottles.
Mrs Three Bottles: Get fucked.
Little Miss Swear Jar: Fuck you, moll. You’re ruining my Christmas* and you can go and get fucked right up.

* Author’s note: Apparently, spirits really do maketh the occasion.

What were those morons at Hallmark saying about goodwill and compassion towards our fellow man?

After witnessing what should have been a pay-per-view event, I left the bottle shop thinking the advertising boffins should forgo the soft, heartfelt approach to Christmas marketing and focus instead on promoting a range of retail rage cards and light battle armour.

It could be worse. He could be snorting cocaine and texting strippers while having his photo taken with your child.  Source: news.com.au

It could be worse. He could be snorting cocaine and texting strippers while having his photo taken with your child. Source: news.com.au

In 2012, it seems the key to Christmas is just surviving the supermarket skirmish.

Whether you celebrate Christmas or not, I hope you have a fantastic festive season and stay safe while enjoying the company of friends and loved ones.

I’ve got a strong feeling my name will turn up in Santa Claus’ naughty book this year but the fact you guys and girls –this blog’s raison d’être – keep coming back day after day negates the lump of coal that will be stuffed into my stocking* hours from now.

* Author’s note: This is not a euphemism.

Ridic-tionary dilemmas: why laughter and vagina glitter prove society is screwed

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I’m sorry, but I’m not lolz-ing.

The Oxford University Press announced the latest inclusions to Oxford Dictionaries Online this week, some of which defy logic.

I used to enjoy perusing the quarterly updates of “current English” but now, the three-monthly read leaves me with a numbness in my special place and a strong desire to stick my head into an oven.

How the hell does formally acknowledging nonsensical words – or in the case of “mwahahaha”, a stupidity-inducing sound – as part of our lexicon make us a more evolved society?

If anything, recognising words like “douche” and “photobomb” demonstrates humanity is now officially catering to the lowest common denominator.

It’s almost as if we’ve waved the white flag and submitted to an army of faceless, iPod-toting, monosyllabic overlords who communicate with grunts , fist bumps and group hugs.

In a nutshell, it’s fucking ridic.

There was a time when people would consult a dictionary to become smarter. Source: flcenterlitarts.wordpress.com

If an alien race was to attack the earth tomorrow – which would be a pretty douchey thing to do – the first laser-wielding ET wannabes to hear us communicate could be forgiven for assuming the zombies had already eaten our brains.

When I discussed the list of latest inclusions with a friend, they played the “our language is dynamic and ever-evolving” card.

Until they reached the word on the list that pays homage to genitals that resemble rhinestone-emblazoned disco jackets.

Ladies and gentlemen, could you please stand and put your hands together for “vajazzle”.

Mankind has not only conquered space, it has also made room in Oxford Dictionaries Online for a verb that means to “adorn the pubic area (of a woman) with crystals, glitter, or other decoration”.

I feel like I’ve woken up after sleeping for 20 years to find out Kim Kardashian is the president of the world.

Despite my friend being more than 1000 kilometres away and on the end of a scratchy mobile phone connection, I could pinpoint the exact moment when their eyes locked onto the word that describes genital crystals.

If you ever want to pull out a lay-down misere on somebody’s argument about how the current evolution of our language is a good thing, show them an Oxford University Press reference to pussy glitter.

While the vodka-loving boozehound in me approves of “dirty martini” getting recognition, the inclusion of “vote” – as in a specific reference to reality television – saddens me and reinforces my belief that humanity has pushed boldly past the point of being astronomically fucked.

It can’t be long now until Skynet becomes self-aware and the living dead commence their attack.

The moment you see “ROFLMAO” in a dictionary is the very instant you should descend into your Judgement Day bunker and wait for the language-destroying hoi polloi to succumb to our zombie masters.

For all those Twitter users who have a yearning to become one of my tweeps, clicking the button below will unleash the 140-character lunacy.

Caffeine, fast food and a lackadaisical mood: a blow-by-blow of a boring day

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Today’s The Dissemination of Thought piece is the result of an unusual combination of writer’s block, laziness and a simple yet incredibly amusing blog post I read last week. More specifically, it was this piece from Miranda Ryan of The Naked Envelope fame.

The concept is simple. It’s a blow-by-blow account of how she spent a day in her life. Nothing overly exciting happened to her on during the 24-hour period but it was fascinating to see how someone can make the seemingly mundane entertaining by just looking closely and taking notice of what goes on around them.

This is what happens when you mix three espressos and an energy drink before 9:00am…

I’ve decided to follow suit. I want to be able to sit back and reflect on how much time I actually waste in a normal day. Hopefully, you’ll find my minute-by-minute account of June 25, 2012 at least slightly engrossing.

Yes, I draw in my diary at news meetings when I should be paying attention.

6:21am – Open my eyes and try to figure out what day it is. When I determine it’s Monday, I contemplate staying in bed all day and wonder whether I’ll be missed in the newsroom.

6:22am – Ask myself why it’s so dark. Fumble aimlessly for my BlackBerry, check the time and realise it’s stupidly early. Throw aforementioned device back on the bedside table and curse my stupid body clock.

6:23am to 7:18am – I have no idea. I can only assume I drifted back to sleep or was abducted by aliens.

7:19am – Check BlackBerry again and die a little bit inside when it dawns on me that I’ve got less than 60 seconds before my alarm goes off.

7:34am to 7:45am – Mentally check off possible jobs I’d enjoy in lieu of being a journalist while having a shower. Hot shower tester is high on the list, as are professional bed warmer and drunken, disgruntled novelist. Notice I need to buy more body wash.

7:51am – Realise I had an 11-minute shower and consider the negative impact on the environment.

8:03am – Walk into the newsroom with my first latte of the day and loudly sing the first lines of ‘Peace Train’ after confirming I am alone.

8:06am – Stare at a blank page in my diary. Consider the benefits of being more organised. Reassure myself that organised people aren’t any happier than me and continue to drink my latte.

8:21am – Start writing a story about golf and stop to check Twitter.

8:28am – Close the internet browser and tell myself I have to avoid social media and get my work done. Pat myself on the back for being so assertive.

8:30am – Check Twitter on my BlackBerry. Quietly swear to myself about social networking and its addictive qualities.

8:31am – Notice my latte is gone. Think about writing a piece investigating the electronic heroin that is Twitter as I wait patiently for the espresso machine to provide me with another caffeine hit.

8:32am to 10:02am – This period of time is a little bit hazy because I forgot I was compiling a blow-by-blow account of my day. Judging by the number of empty cups in my bin, I had another latte. Judging by the random doodling in my diary, I wasn’t paying attention in the news meeting. Again.

10:31am to 11:06am – Interview a 12-year-old tennis player who is the number one seed in his club’s A grade competition. Watch him serve and feel ridiculously inadequate about my ability with a racquet.

11:19am to 12:48pm – Do boring journalist stuff. This includes checking emails, adding finishing touches to the doodle from the news meeting and contemplating what to have for lunch.

1:37pm – Send my final story for Tuesday’s paper to the sub-editor. Mentally fist pump the sky and refocus on what’s on the lunch menu.

1:39pm – Decide on something healthy for lunch.

1:44pm – Find myself placing my lunch order at Red Rooster.

2:03pm – Finish off the last of the chips and congratulate myself on a fantastic choice. Almost burst out laughing when reflecting on the fact I was contemplating a healthy option.

2:11pm to 2:28pm – Have a hot chocolate while sending witty text messages and wonder why there are so many boring people on Twitter.

2:31pm – Check my latest mobile phone bill.

2:34pm – Try to figure out how the hell it’s physically possible to send more than 5200 text messages during a one-month billing period. Send a text message to a friend asking them how many they send. Quietly thank the mobile phone gods that my plan includes unlimited SMS.

2:47pm to 5:03pm – Do a few interviews and complete the sports stories for Wednesday’s paper while scoffing Turkish delight and drinking another latte. Wish I bought more than one Turkish delight as I stare sadly at the empty wrapper on my desk.

5:04pm to 6:10pm – Forget once again that I am meant to be documenting every minute of my day.

6:16pm – Excitedly throw my leave application at the editor as I scurry from the building.

6:41pm to 7:03pm – Eat dinner and drink the best part of a bottle of red wine while contemplating the universe.

7:06pm – Decide opening another bottle of wine would be a poor option.

7:07pm – See no issue with having a beer in lieu of wine.

7:49pm – Put the three empty beer bottles on the coffee table beside me into the bin.

8:01pm to 8:39pm – Type up my hastily-scribbled notes and wonder who the hell will make it to 12:00pm without wanting to bang their head against a wall.

8:41pm to 8:43pm – Try to figure out why <i>The Dissemination of Thought</i> hasn’t had a new subscriber in more than a fortnight. Was about to blame WordPress for a technical glitch but then remember what I am actually blogging about.

8:44pm – Feel genuinely sorry for my subscribers.

8:49pm – Realise the intricate filing system on my laptop is nothing of the sort. Contemplate doing something about it but dismiss the notion as requiring too much effort.

9:16pm to 10:34pm – Listen to Blunderbuss for what feels like the sixth thousandth time. Wish I was Jack White.

10.37pm – Check my bank balance and wonder why they don’t advertise for ‘people who like being poor’ when seeking journalists. Make the executive decision not to go near eBay and bid on things I don’t need until I get paid.

10:45pm to 11:03pm – Have a shower while thinking about the awesome left-handed bass I want to buy on eBay.

11:05pm – Realise my excess water usage is probably destroying the planet.

11:09pm to 11:32pm – Bid on stuff I don’t need with money I don’t have on eBay. Judge an original Rubik’s Cube from the 80s – still in the original packaging – to be worth $40.

11:33pm – Decide $40 probably isn’t enough to win me the colourful little piece of nostalgia.

11:35pm – Grab another beer and ask myself why I’m bidding on a Rubik’s Cube. Secretly hope I get outbid in the closing stages of the auction.

11:41pm – Increase my maximum bid to $45.

11:44pm – Go to Google to try and figure out what a mint condition Rubik’s Cube from the 1980s is worth.

11:59pm – Post this piece and realise I’ve wasted a day. Look at the time and realise I’m tired beyond belief. Laugh manically when I remember I have Tuesday off, unlike many of my reader who will waste 10 minutes reading this post in its entirety.

So there you have it. A day – or what I can remember of it – in the life of me. If you haven’t abandoned reading mid-sentence or thrown your iPad against the wall in a fit of enraged boredom, follow me on Twitter or like the Facebook page. Hell, if you really liked the nonsensical gibberish that is The Dissemination of Thought, you can do both. Or send cash.

Opinions and ink

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For a change, I don’t have much to say. I’ve spent my day off avoiding words and opting instead to draw. It was ridiculously refreshing not to have to think about sentences and conveying a nonsensical message.

I’m getting a tattoo – my second – when I head back to Brisbane in September and have come up with a rough concept I’d like to share with you. Obviously, the tattoo artist will work their magic in coming up with the final design, but I wanted the opinion of my readers about the original scribbling.

So, what’s the verdict? Do you have ink? If you do, what and where? If you don’t have any tattoos and find the mere thought of them repulsive, why?

Written by disseminatedthought

June 19, 2012 at 21:17

Five things I’ve learnt about Twitter: Observations of a fully-functional Twit

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I’ll admit it. I’m addicted to Twitter.

Since begrudgingly signing up six months ago with the intention of only using it for intelligent, professional purposes, my tweets have descended into random thoughts and occasional nonsensical ramblings.  Damn it. I’ve become one of them.

At any rate, let me share with you five things I’ve learnt about the 140-character marvel of social networking.

Source: socialmediatoday.com

1. A hashtag can never be too long  

Let’s face it. Hashtags are cool. They are the 21st century equivalent of a one-liner and there’s no message or thought they can’t convey effectively. However, unlike the one-liner, which is renowned for being easy to comprehend, the hashtag has developed into a beast of unfathomable proportions. Apparently, it’s okay to use a 122-character hashtag that takes people 17 minutes to decipher.

Got a question about accommodation at a New York hotel? Use a #howmuchisyourdeluxesuitefortwonightsincludingbreakfast hashtag.

Planning a big night out and want your followers to know about it? Whip out #iamgoingtogethammeredtonightanditsgoingtobefreakinepic and set the tone for 13 hours of drunken tweeting from the depths of clubbing hell.

Would it be inappropriate to create a #fivethingsivelearntabouttwitterthatidliketosharewithyoutoday hashtag when I post the link to this article on Twitter?

2. Sometimes 140 characters just isn’t enough

Okay, I’m going to say this slowly. The whole purpose of Twitter is to send short, succinct messages no longer than 140 characters in length.

If you need to include any reference that your tweet is the first in a series that make up a full message you are doing it wrong.

140 characters maximum. Got it? Source: Twitter via @LyndonKeane.

3. Twitter can make you feel like one of the popular people 

One of the big attractions of Twitter is that you can follow celebrities, sporting stars and people a hell of a lot more interesting than you are.

Unfortunately, one of the downsides of Twitter is that you can follow celebrities, sporting stars and people a hell of a lot more interesting that you are, and users go nuts replying to these people in the hope that Johnny Depp will respond to their message or Lady Gaga will give them a retweet to her 25 million followers.

I know it happens because I’ve been guilty of doing it myself. Ricky Gervais didn’t retweet something I found witty and Seth MacFarlane broke my heart when he didn’t find my concept for a new animated series amusing.

I thought this was amusing. Seth MacFarlane didn’t. That bastard better not steal my idea. Source: Twitter via @LyndonKeane.

4. People will tweet about anything

People, Twitter isn’t Facebook. Tweets are meant to be – as far as I’m concerned, at least – informative or entertaining. Telling the social networking universe you are late for your bus or eating an apple is neither informative nor entertaining.

Contemplating unleashing a tweet about how blue the sky is today? Please cancel your Twitter account. Right now.

Not happy with your latte? Go and get another one instead of tweeting about it. Source: globalberdy.com

5. Inane sentences to no one in particular are the norm

Twitter had provided a virtual worldwide audience to users. Unfortunately, a disproportionate number of the aforementioned users have decided that means they can tweet boring, obvious sentences to no one in particular.

The referees don’t agree with you. Source: Twitter via @BuzzRothfield.

If these people’s 140-character revelations were amusing it would be a different story, but they aren’t. They’re dull and generic. Actually, they kind of make me wish I’d never started using Twitter in the first place.

To the person who tweeted Did you see that? #wow: Who the hell were to talking to and what was the Twitterverse meant to notice? If you were referring to your nonsensical tweet, I saw it. We all did and are now stupider because of it.

The odds of the person who this is directed at actually reading it are $1081. Source: Twitter via @bazarazzi.

Now that I’ve enlightened you about my Twitducation and bagged the hell out of Twitter, I’m going to whore myself out to the masses and suggest you all follow me at @LyndonKeane. If you prefer the Facebook touch, The Dissemination of Thought Facebook page can be found here.

Five passengers to avoid in the sky: The idiot’s guide to in-flight sanity

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As I was booking a flight to Brisbane a few weeks ago, I started reminiscing about the hundreds of interesting unique batshit crazy individuals I’ve met during my travels over the years. Some of them have been disturbing, while others were intriguing and almost amusing in depraved way. Lamentably, the majority made life at 35,000 feet unbearable for everyone within nine rows.

In hindsight, these ‘travel terrors’ should have been easy to spot. They fell into five very distinct categories that anyone who has ever spent more than 17 minutes on an airplane could easily identify. Actually, life would be a lot simpler for travellers across the globe if airport security slapped bright identification stickers on the heads of these dipshits before they headed towards the boarding gate.

I sincerely hope this piece helps you pinpoint the people you should avoid at all costs in your travels.

Especially before you sit down beside them in seat 26B for a nine-hour flight.

Just because you’re about to be twelve kilometres above the ground doesn’t mean you won’t be surrounded by painful idiots. Source: biztravelguru.com

1. The Talker

This motor-mouthed traveller won’t shut up. Ever.

From the moment they stand behind you in the queue to board and comment about how slow the process is, to the heartbreaking instant you realise they’ve been allocated the seat beside you for the flight to Perth, this painful flyer won’t stop once to draw breath.

Even when it’s 10:48pm and you are pretending to sleep with the erroneous hope they’ll shut the hell up.

If you encounter a seasoned talker, they will monitor everything to look at in order to start pointless conversations. A glance at the in-flight entertainment guide will undoubtedly start a conversation about “young musicians these days” or why they believe a particular unknown movie didn’t deserve the four stars an unknown critic gave it.

I remember sitting beside a talker we’ll call Barry on a Qantas flight to Sydney about two years ago. Barry watched me flip through the complimentary magazine as the aircraft taxied to the runway. The moment I felt the front wheel lift off the tarmac, Barry launched into a spiel about how he flew every week and had read the magazine I had in my hand “at least a dozen times” that month. After he’d ensured I was painfully aware he was a flying veteran, he offered suggestions about which articles he thought I’d like.  That was the point I handed him the magazine and asked if he’d like to read it – in silence – for the remainder of the flight.

Ah, fun and games before reaching cruising altitude.

Tip to avoid them: Pretend to be asleep. If that doesn’t work, swallow a handful of Valium before take-off and enjoy a peaceful coma nap free from constant interruption.

2. The Screaming Child

This pint-sized traveller is more often than not accompanied by the Oblivious Parent or Ignorant Guardian and are angelic until they don’t get their own way. As soon as they hear the word no, they become possessed, shrieking miniature banshees.

The Screaming Child is easy to spot: they are small, loud and annoying.

Tip to avoid them: I’m told business class is generally free of manic munchkins, but upgrading on every flight you take is a costly solution. While frowned upon by society, the cheapest answer is to coat any Valium you have left over after going head-to-head with the Talker in sugar and tell the bellowing little one it’s a lolly. 

Author’s note: Yes, I’m probably going to hell for this tip, but at least I’ll be making the trip in blissful silence.

3. The Aviation Expert 

There is nothing this flyer doesn’t know about aircraft and avionics. While they have a basic grasp of advanced meteorology, their apparent speciality is what makes the big metal bird itself tick.

Want to know how the landing gears work? They will have the answer. Are you curious about the average cruising speed of a Boeing 737-800? The Aviation Expert has the facts and figures, and will take into account the headwind your aircraft is currently flying into when answering.

No one is certain whether this unique individual actually knows what they are talking about: they just use a hell of a lot of long, technical-sounding words and phrases. The fact the Aviation Expert answers an eleven-word question about flaps with an eight-minute diatribe puts most people off testing how knowledgeable this painful passenger actually is. One thing’s for sure: having one or two Aviation Experts on a flight does wonders for alcohol sales. 

Tip to avoid them: Tell this know-it-all you heard something making a disturbing rattling noise in the toilet. Once they go in to investigate, lock them in there for the duration of the flight with assistance from the relieved cabin crew.

Do you know what every button and switch in this cockpit does? If you ask the Aviation Expert, they do. Source: airbus.com

4. The Over-Packer

The fourth type of traveller to avoid has no concept of baggage limits. If an airlines allows passengers to have cabin bag that weighs no more than seven kilograms, you can bet your last dollar the Over-Packer will have one that tips the scales at ten or eleven kilos.

Dimensions are also not the forte of this notorious flyer. Allowed hand luggage no bigger than 48 centimetres x 34 centimetres x 23 centimetres on your flight? The Over-Packer will try to convince cabin crew their bag – which is the same size as a bar fridge – is “much smaller than it looks”.

If you board after this moron, expect to spend five minutes in the aisle with 73 other fuming passengers while the arrogant one with the capacity issues attempts to wedge their cabin bag, two laptop bags and handbag into the overhead locker.

“Yes, sir, I’m pretty sure they won’t all fit in the overhead locker.” Source: zaysmallman.blogspot.com

My most memorable encounter with an Over-Packer was on a Virgin Australia flight from Sydney to Townsville.

After taking my seat in 13A nice and early, I watched my fellow passengers move awkwardly down the aisle until a woman juggling what seemed like a hundred bags stopped at my row. Putting several of the bags on the vacant seats beside me so she could stuff them one by one into the overhead bin, I watched in amazement as she packed the biggest cabin bag I’ve ever seen, an oversized handbag, what I assume was a camera bag and enough shopping bags to start her own boutique into the previously vacant space above my head. Not surprisingly, the 18 or 19 passengers waiting behind her were less amazed than I was.

Tip to avoid them: Unfortunately, avoiding this person is nigh on impossible. The best you can hope for is that their taxi gets stuck in traffic and they don’t get to the airport until you are twelve kilometres above the ground and eating your in-flight meal. If they do manage to get on the airplane, there’s always the chance they will drop one of their five bags on their head as they try to stuff them into the overhead bins

5. The Drinker

For our last pest, the airplane is nothing more than an oddly-shaped bar that operates across time zones at 35,000 feet.

There’s a fair chance they will have spent two hours before the flight at the bar getting a buzz on, and their hand will whip upwards to summon a cabin crew member as soon as the fasten seatbelt sign goes off.

The airline drinks trolley: enough to make the Drinker put their tray table up and their seat in the upright position. Source: airliners.net

On a flight from Brisbane to Hobart in 2006, I encountered the Queen of the Drinkers. About an hour into the flight, I watched as a cabin crew member confiscated an empty bottle of Scotch from the paralytic passenger. A 700mL bottle. It’s amazing what a big handbag can hide. 20 minutes later, the same – although now furious – Virgin Australia employee grabbed another, albeit full, bottle of single malt out of the passenger’s drunken mitts while loudly advising that she wouldn’t be getting it back when we landed.

While I love a good single malt, it never struck me to carry two bottles of it on a relatively short flight in case I got thirsty.

Tip to avoid them: Like the Over-Packer, the Drinker is difficult to avoid once you are in the air. If they have been drinking for long enough, there’s a good chance they’ll pass out fall asleep after they scoll their second miniature bottle of red wine. If that doesn’t happen, my best advice is to concede defeat and drink with them until their drunken antics become tolerable.

A phone bill paid, an accolade and crazy searches folks have made

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I really need to pay more attention to my list of things to do. As I was paying my almost-overdue mobile phone bill this morning, I realised that I’d neglected to thank someone for throwing some blogging award affection my way.

Carrie from The Write Transition has nominated me for the Very Inspiring Blogger Award and, as with any accolade in the blogging world, there is a list of things I am obliged to do as a recipient. One of the duties is to expose 7 things about myself to those of you staring at your screens with drunken and sleep-deprived eyes. The other task is to bestow the Very Inspiring Blogger Award on 14 individuals of my choosing. Unfortunately, I’m going to fulfil neither responsibility. I’m going to mix it up and do my own thing.

Instead of giving you mundane facts about myself, I’ve decided to share 7 recent search terms that have guided disturbed perverts lost souls to The Dissemination of Thought.

how to sit beside someone you dislike

That’s easy. It’s called alcohol. In the unlikely event that a bottle of vodka doesn’t make the person to your right more bearable, I advocate flinging faeces at them. Childish and disgusting? Yes. Effective? Absolutely.

thalia sextaped

Well, that would explain why my Muse was missing in action last year.

sex you’re doing it wrong

You are if you’ve numbed your hand before using lipstick and a Sharpie to make it look like that girl in your English Literature tutorial.

Remember: you can’t have sex while there’s no one else in the room.

This is definitely doing it wrong. Source: passthemike.tumblr.com

show me ur dick guys

Slow down, sailor. You’ll have to buy me a drink first. And promise not to laugh.

the gigolo – dumb as a bag of sex toys.

Ladies and gentlemen, it would appear that we have a man-whore hater in our midst.

I don't know, that bag looks pretty smart... Source: techdigest.tv

batman fucks wonder woman animation

Do you think Batman carries condoms on his utility belt?

Superman: "Sure, you were just helping him find his batarang." Source: All rights reserved by MargieC1022 via Flickr.

penis burn picture cam inside penis

I’d probably consult a urologist about that. Quickly. I know it will be expensive, but trying to shove a webcam up your urethra to save money won’t help.

As far as my Very Inspiring Blogger Award nominations go, I’ve got 3. Sure, I could list 14 like the rules dictate, but you and I both know you won’t click on all 14. That being the case, I’d rather just tell you about a few blogs that fly under the radar and genuinely deserve recognition.

unrelentingamee – Amee is passionate about writing. Good writing. We bounce a lot of ideas and random thoughts off each other, and she’s one of the very few people whose opinion I trust enough to let read my work before I publish it.

the4gottenman – This blogger’s work is insightful, honest and often incredibly introspective. Besides that, he’s been one of my closest friends for well over a decade, which is no mean feat: I’m a pain in the ass to tolerate.

50 Items or Less – I was actually introduced to this blog by Amee. The brainchild of Ian Little, it’s all about mini sagas: a story told in exactly 50 words. While I love the concept of “less can be more” and uncluttered writing, the 50 word aspect reminded me of my attempt to rewrite Green Eggs and Ham using just 50 unique words. Check out Ian’s personal blog here.

A random Grammy. Source: punchbowlblog.com

I’d like to sincerely thank Carrie for the award. If you haven’t already read her work on The Write Transition, click here right now to check it out.

If you want to keep up to date with all things The Dissemination of Thought, follow me on Twitter (@LyndonKeane) or like the Facebook page.

Elmo and blow, dicks like bats and realebrity tats: 11 more terms to make you squirm

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We’ve looked at the strange shit people have searched for to eventually end up in my little piece of the blogosphere before. Twice, actually. But due to a somewhat melancholic nonchalance that has enveloped me, I find myself severely lacking the motivation or inclination to create something deep, insightful and controversial. I could come up with a dirty limerick about a man named Jock, but I’d rather attempt to get inside the heads of the individuals who have provided me with my latest batch of amusing – and stupefying – search terms. As they say, the third time’s a charm.

For those new readers to The Dissemination of Thought, the previous dalliances into weird and wonderful search phrases can be found below:

”Man-whores, smut and Jabba the Hutt”

”Cartoons without clothes and Sesame Street blow”

peter griffin likes cocaine nipples

Of course he does, who wouldn’t?

The Dissemination of Thought: it’s all about breast and blow references. Source: tbs.com

I’m considering renaming this blog The Dissemination of Dodgy Peter Griffin Search Terms, based purely on the overwhelming number of hits I get with obscure references to the testicle-chinned one. I’m not kidding. In the past few months, I’ve had “peter griffin peeing”, “peter griffin pretty eyes” and “peter griffin in [insert outfit of your choice: army outfit and Donald Duck costume seem to be popular]” as the standouts amongst a plethora of Family Guy-themed search terms.

You watch: “peter griffin jumper leads on nipples” will be a search term next month. Source: squidoo.com

what is the mayans the end of internet

The word on the street suggests that some bad shit is going to go down on 21 December this year, but this shouldn’t have any impact on your internet plan, unless of course, our new zombie overlords decide to limit your monthly allocation down to 3 GB.

Download speeds got a lot a better on 22 December. Source: forums.hak5.org

The internet will not cease to exist if the Mayans were right: zombies need Wikipedia and online porn just like the rest of us.

prehistoric animals during the time of the mayas

My guess would be that there were very, very few, but I’m assuming you need to expand that answer out to about 1,500 words. If you need definitive clarification, you should probably ask Kristen over at Intelligent Life – she’s fantastic at sharing serious stuff about science, history and the universe in a witty light.

If you’re still too fucking lazy to do your own research, just say that a Mayan temple was used as the visitor centre in Jurassic Park, and then make a vague reference to a Tyrannosaurus. Hell, say it was in Jurassic Park III: no one saw that anyway.

the cat in the hat sad

The Cat in the Hat wasn’t sad. How could it be with such an awesome headpiece? Depressed moggies don’t make for amusing book subjects; who wants to read about The Feline in the Fedora with the Fluoxetine?

Source: halloweencostumes.org

penis 40 cm fuck

I suddenly feel astonishingly inadequate.

You know you’re well –endowed when your dick has its own chair. Source: iansblogoflife.blogspot.com

is dissemination of thought funny?

Absolutely. Go forth and spread the word. Oh, and when you say funny, make sure people realise you mean funny “haha” and not funny “peculiar”.

tattoo pauly d jersey shore

Is there a chance this vexing search phrase came to be as a result of someone doing a research project on the ink and body art of people who have contributed to making 21st century society a dumber place to be?

In the event that some incredibly perturbed individual actually wants to adorn themselves with a permanent tribute to this realebrity*, I offer this advice: tattoos last forever. So does stupid.

* Author’s note: I coined the term “realebrity” as an alternative to referring to reality TV stars as celebrities.

realebrity /riˈælɛbrɪti/

noun

1. a person devoid of any discernible talent, ability or personality, who attempts to overcome this by appearing on a reality television program with a ridiculous tan.
2. Paul DelVecchio, or any other cast member of Jersey Shore.
3. Anyone with the surname Kardashian.

Am I the only one who’s disturbed? Source: thegloss.com

colour

Out of curiosity, I typed “colour” into Google and let it do its thing. It returned about 846,000,000 results. Yep, eight hundred and forty-six million. Using that incredibly vague search term, just how long did it take you to come across The Dissemination of Thought? Did you start your search in 1998?

nazi dinos

What the fuck? Velociraptors loyal to Hitler?

A pissed off reptile with a canon: the perfect gift for the sociopathic dictator who has it all. Source: kotaku.com.au

reality television fucked society

Yes. Yes it did. I couldn’t have said it more succinctly myself.

elmo smoker

When I first saw this search term, I was mystified. Surely Elmo isn’t a smoker. Not only is he inanimate, he’s comprised mainly of fur and felt, so voluntarily exposing himself to naked flames via a nicotine addiction doesn’t seem like an overly sagacious decision. That said, given that puppets don’t have lungs, his odds of succumbing to emphysema or lung cancer are pretty remote.

Based on the photographic evidence below, a Light Me Up Elmo toy may already be in the final stages of production.

“Elmo likes menthols!” Source: homelessmanspeaks.com

With the sheer number of ridiculous new phrases that appear each week for me to mull over, I’m confident that this will not be the last search term-themed post on The Dissemination of Thought. Besides, the eccentric folks searching for cartoon characters urinating, prodigious penises and chain-smoking Sesame Street puppets like it when we talk about them.

5 things I’ve learnt about cooking: the calamitous kitchen confessions of a single guy

with 556 comments

You learn a lot of new things about food, cooking and improvisation when you’re a single guy living on your own. Some of these revelations, like the fact that vanilla ice cream, cinnamon and beer make a reasonably satisfactory main meal, can save you from starving in the event that you’ve neglected to go shopping. Again. You learn how to prepare a few staple, almost impressive dishes without setting fire to your apartment or sending dinner guests home via the emergency department. Sadly, you also come to understand just how badly one can screw up even the most seemingly idiot-proof of tasks in the kitchen. Don’t believe me? Let’s have a look at 5 things I’ve established as a result of my single guy cooking escapades.

1. Instructions are important and should be followed.

They say that rules are meant to be broken; cooking instructions aren’t.

How did it go from this... Source: alphabetstreet.com.au

You know those tubs of cookie dough that they sell as part of fundraising campaigns? Yeah, the ones that, in order for you to have batch after batch of fresh cookies, only require you to be competent enough to scoop out the dough and place it onto a baking tray. I stuffed them up. I didn’t adhere to the instructions (or heed the advice of others) when it was suggested that “a small ball of dough” would produce a white choc macadamia cookie of adequate proportions. I scooped out a small ball of dough; it looked tiny, so I substituted small for lime-sized and left them to bake. What I removed from the oven was more mutated slice than batch of delectable cookies. Instead of having something that would make Nigella proud, I was holding an abomination that would get Stephen King’s tick of approval.

...to this?

What’s the moral of this cookie chronicle? Small always means small, and if something says to use a baking tray, use one.

Just to demonstrate that I’m a really slow learner, I once had black smoke coming off a bag of microwave popcorn because I thought that the manufacturer’s recommended zapping time didn’t sound long enough.

2. Garnishing anything with herbs makes it look fancy.

This doesn’t really need explaining: the pictures below say more than I ever could.

Instant noodles: a boring meal.

Instant noodles with parsley: a gourmet experience that you'd pay $25 at a restaurant for.

3. Hard-boiled and raw eggs should not be fridge friends.

Cravings are hard to resist. My last craving of note was for hard-boiled eggs, and when it got to the point of seeing eggs with little feet dancing around my head, I arrived at the conclusion that it was time to take action. About the eggs, not the hallucinations. I bought a carton and, upon getting back to my apartment, dropped seven or eight of them into boiling water. Unfortunately, there are twelve eggs in a carton*, and I didn’t have room in my fridge for the carton itself. My solution was to remove the uncooked eggs from the confinement of their cardboard prison and place them directly onto a shelf in the fridge, unencumbered and free to roll around.

Ordinarily, this action in itself wouldn’t have posed any real problem, but when some idiot – possibly me – decided to put the hard-boiled eggs alongside them, things were never going to end well.

The following day, I ruled that it was time to make one of my legendary curried egg and lettuce sandwiches. I’d also forgotten that some of the eggs hadn’t taken a swim in the saucepan. Why would I need to remember something like that? What sort of moron stores uncooked and hard-boiled eggs together in a fridge? Anyway, I’m digressing. After grabbing two of them to make up the curry mixture, I playfully dropped one onto the bench to crack the shell; that’s when I remembered that a few of the eggs in my fridge were still raw.

* Author’s note to the egg police: I know you can get them as a half-dozen, but I don’t.

Kitchen tip No. 571: always ensure that the egg you are trying to peel isn't raw.

4. Flipping the contents of your frying pan is harder than it looks.

Damn you, Jamie Oliver. After observing everyone’s favourite naked chef continually flip the contents of his frying pan with a deft flick of the wrist (no, that’s not a euphemism), I eventually asked myself why I was the only sap left using spoons and spatulas. The concept of the flip didn’t seem that difficult, and with every celebrity cook and wannabe MasterChef contestant sending their stir-fries skyward in a graceful arc with apparent ease, I made the decision to come in from the culinary cold: I was my time to flip.

You smug bastard. Source: royaldesign.com

I chose to try it for the first time while sautéing mushrooms. I was focused. I was visualising it. I was trying to determine how I should celebrate what I assumed would be a successful attempt. Putting the wooden spoon to one side, I eyeballed the frying pan and quickly snapped it upwards in a forceful yet clinical motion.

I wish I could tell you that the mushrooms landed with a poetic elegance, but I can’t: there’s nothing poetic about a hail of hot butter and fungi raining down around you.

5. Don’t attempt to make iced coffee with boiling water in a plastic cocktail shaker.

Why? Because I’ve tried this twice, and both attempts went something like this:

Step 1. Put a ludicrous amount of coffee into a plastic cocktail shaker.
Step 2. Add boiling water to the aforementioned receptacle.
Step 3. Add an even more ludicrous volume of sugar.
Step 4. Proceed to shake the hell out of the concoction until the pressure from the boiling water builds up enough to shoot the lid of the cocktail shaker off.
Step 5. Avoid the scalding – yet ridiculously sweet – caffeine-laced liquid that is now covering every inch of the kitchen.
Step 6. Watch your friends poorly re-enact steps 4 and 5 while mocking you and soiling themselves laughing.
Step 7. Begin the clean up, all the while pretending that you can’t still hear your friends giggling like 11-year-olds.

Trust me, this option is safer: it doesn't involve physical or emotional ouchies. Source: welikethis.com.au

Given that I am unable to tell the difference between an egg that’s cooked and one that isn’t, it’s unlikely that my culinary expertise will ever lead to a cookbook deal or television series, in which I travel the globe, indulging in local delicacies and imparting my wisdom upon a myriad of unsuspecting chefs. It’s a pity: I think Stirring the Pot with TDoT is a fantastic name for a cooking guide; who cares if the author has the baking ability of a spork?

Author’s note (3 February, 2012): I need to apologise.  Someone left a comment that WordPress flagged as spam, and instead of marking it not spam-esque, I accidentally banished it to limbo by clicking “Delete Permanently”. 

I can’t remember who it was that made the comment, but it was awesome.  If you are reading this and wondering why your comment hasn’t appeared, it’s probably because I fucked up.  If you could submit it again it, I promise not to screw up with the moderation for a second time.

Written by disseminatedthought

January 21, 2012 at 09:04

4 more (painful) trends in Facebook friends

with 36 comments

My balcony is a great place to ponder the universe, especially when the thought process is aided by a Cohiba Robusto and a fantastic Scotch. If nothing else, smoking a $50 cigar and sipping 21-year-old single malt while trying to determine whether Turkish bread, tomatoes and Vegemite constitute a meal provides a unique perspective about how bipolar and ridiculous life can be at times.

This is the point at which the pondering stopped...

As I sat there, watching the river and thumbing aimlessly through pointless and predictably boring Facebook status updates on my BlackBerry, it occurred to me that it may be time to examine a few types of Facebook friends that weren’t covered in my original diatribe. Yes, it’s ground we have previously walked across, but people need to be able to identify these individuals to ensure their own safety, as well as that of their loved ones. Think of this as an angry, nonsensical public service announcement.

1. The Whinger

As the name suggests, this Facebook friend finds a problem with everything, and usually isn’t sure how they can go on living. If they aren’t sad about being alone, they’ll be complaining about their job or vociferating about how pitiful their life is.

While monitoring this friend’s status updates will push you to the brink of insanity, it will also make you feel pretty damned good about your own state of affairs. My advice? Unfriend them, unless of course they are related to you, in which case you are fucked.

About to read a status update from The Whinger? You're going to need these. Source: mdsdrugdetox.com

2. The Update About Everything-er

Everyone has at least one of these amongst their legion of Facebook friends. They see no problem with updating their status 117 times in the space of 24 hours, in order to keep you up to speed with what they’re doing at every moment of the day. There will be the update that they are having slightly burnt toast for breakfast, followed 30 minutes later by a notification that they have had a successful bowel movement to start the day. They will provide at least two updates on their way to work, one of which will focus on the odd, smelly gentlemen sitting across from them on the bus. Upon arriving at the office, they will regale the world with tales of their first caffeine hit of the day.

Don’t laugh, The Update About Everything-er is probably posting this right now. Source: thecowshow.com

If you are incredibly unlucky, one of your Facebook friends may evolve into a mix of The Whinger and The Update About Everything-er, a mythical hybrid of evil, the only escape from which involves enlisting in the French Foreign Legion.

3. The Lover

There is nothing romantic about this Facebook friend: they love everything, and they’re not afraid to scream it from the rooftops of social networking. They love ice cream. They love sunshine. Confusingly, they also “heart” rainy days. They are wildly enamoured with documentary they just watched, and they want the world to know it.

Unfortunately, The Lover has a penchant for referring to themselves in the third person, and they can easily be identified by consecutive status updates that say: “[insert name] loves [insert random loveable thing]”. Scientists are not sure why this creature feels compelled to use third-person narrative, but they all agree that it’s as annoying as hell.

4. The Jukebox

This friend makes it their duty to tell everyone what they should be listening to by uploading the YouTube links to 38 songs each day. There’s always a theme, depending on their mood; sometimes you will be subjected to Foo Fighters Friday, while Saturday mornings will undoubtedly see them offering you a selection of their favourite drinking songs from 1987-1995. In the event of them parting ways with their significant other, prepare yourself for a Bonnie Tyler, Mariah Carey and country music onslaught.

Source: wp7connect.com

Author’s note: remember The Dissemination of thought Facebook page. It’s lonely there without you.