tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-290336392012-02-17T04:39:07.373+10:30Collaboratively writing to keep boredom nailed in a coffin at someone else's place. Hand me an enema, Jimi.Kaufmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15352263619874617123noreply@blogger.comBlogger171100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-23461203780227517732007-07-22T09:35:00.000+09:302007-06-23T00:18:36.165+09:30

I guess I first noticed her as I shuffled my way to the front of the queue. If truth be told, it wasn't so much a shuffle to the front of the queue as an exodus through the door by those who were ahead of me. Actually, if truth be told, it wasn't the first time that I had noticed her either, for I had returned to the place specifically to see her again. It was a part of my inner workings I

Kaufmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15352263619874617123noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-6777010083956933502007-03-15T20:45:00.000+10:302007-03-15T20:43:24.378+10:30

Loincloth wasn't exactly thrilled with the treatment he had received from the female schoolies at R'Daria's flat. Being the seasoned twenty-year-old former track and field champion specialising in the high jump that he was, he felt certain that he had matured beyond caring about what "puerile skank clams", a term coined by his close friend and fellow ragamuffin roughrider Dafidd, thought of him.

Kaufmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15352263619874617123noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1160539987322264452007-01-31T08:59:00.000+10:302007-01-31T08:50:36.987+10:30

The following creative work has been in the planning since mid-October. Was it time spent carefully crafting a work of art or time spent unwell molding under a faulty chair made of sausage in the back of the shed? You be the judge in this Under The Radar and Kaufman joint. Dave Baxter tinged his glass in the time-honoured manner. “Order, order! If we could just have a little quiet? Thanks a lot!”

Between daisieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06003781659760810511noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1158930231020849332006-09-22T22:14:00.000+09:302006-09-22T22:36:00.716+09:30

"You're back then, are you?""Yes, dad.""Your mum told you what would hapen if you came back after twelve?""Yes. dad.""Well, here it is.""Fuck me, it's hot!""You were told.""Look inside - people sqirming. And look at the size of that fucker! And what's that dangling off the front of him? It's all the new kids on the block.""I am your father. I can only give it to you the way I see it. You were the

Between daisieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06003781659760810511noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1158838420835830852006-09-21T20:33:00.000+09:302006-09-21T21:03:40.846+09:30

Chad slid the whole length in and breathed a sigh of relief.It felt so good.Finally, he knew what it was like and he loved it. At last he had found the courage to risk ostracization from his social circles and his family. No-one else he knew had ever walked this path. They could never understand.Soon he would have to tell them.He would have to tell them of the years he spent pretending to be

Ultra Toast Mosha Godhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05450892955592722188noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1158039093798412842006-09-12T14:42:00.000+09:302006-09-12T15:01:33.810+09:30

Up hill and over dale the beast raged, scaly skin and jeweled corset glinting in the lazy sun. An S of smoke trailing from his nobbled and flaring. An eye that burnt a magical trail across the eye of the casual witness.A heavy stomp of talloned foot, a whimsical flick of leathern wing and the farm is gone, become it's own memorial cairn. Livestock scatter like flies from a nudged corpse. And yet

Between daisieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06003781659760810511noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1156778045439504632006-08-29T00:38:00.000+09:302006-08-29T00:56:22.803+09:30

Language Trix IIIt was a case of extremists v. moderatesor extreme radicals v. fence-sitting nosepickersor fundamentalist divisionaries v. stagnant cancerMeanwhile the boys at the box-office were manufacturinga new cool that would chill the root-out-all-adversariesneighbourhood bullies and hippifythe stodgy peaceniks refusing to take sidesEveryone else either pro-life or pro-choicenever anti

Chris Benjaminnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1152059220613456332006-07-12T19:41:00.000+09:302006-07-12T19:40:18.763+09:30

A moral of public outrage for those who seek spiritual guidance in a taboo terrain by Kaufman.The night was ablaze with explosive sounds of invertebrates on kamikaze missions. Electricity had few friends, least of all being those who failed to discern her significant advantage, whether a friend or foe. The wooden porch seemed ancient against the teal and grey pinstriped cladding. A decaying pig's

Kaufmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15352263619874617123noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1152535863364983372006-07-10T15:51:00.000+09:302006-07-10T22:21:03.373+09:30

The seaweed wrapped box was empty save for a hand-scrawled note that read "Selluloidi soi!" An insult? A compliment? A desperate cry for help? Only a Finn would know, and Rex Murphy, the reader of the mysterious micro-document, didn't even know that much. It was all dramatic irony to him. Still, this could be considered an early 16th birthday gift to him because the seaweed was his first

Chris Benjaminnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1151064158739986842006-06-26T15:27:00.000+09:302006-06-26T15:47:43.363+09:30

The Captain saw his reflection shimmer as heat rippled along the smooth metal surface of the ship's hull. Klaxons screeched out the obvious danger as the huge neutron star sucking his craft inexorably towards it slowly sunk into view on the forward observation monitor.He felt like a ready meal in an oven.The crew battled pointlessly to regain control of the craft, sweat beading all over their

Ultra Toast Mosha Godhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05450892955592722188noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1151285405242162812006-06-24T22:48:00.000+09:302006-06-26T19:10:53.230+09:30

Touching the void via the extended arms of The Great Andini.'Can I help you?' the shop assistant enquired casually.'I sure hope so,' Burt said. 'I'm in desperate need of a pair of camouflage pants.''Aren't we all?' the shop assistant beamed through yellow cavity ridden teeth. He heaved an almighty wad of phlegm into the fish tank, quite a feat considering its location on the other side of the

Kaufmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15352263619874617123noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1150379416947844672006-06-15T23:05:00.000+09:302006-06-15T23:20:16.960+09:30

Tony looked at George across the faultlessly shiny polished wood table and grinned discreetly.They were both down to their trousers, having lost their blazers, ties, shirts, shoes and socks in a particularly close fought card game. A game that had been going on ever since they had gotten drunk at breakfast. It was 11.00am and the high-jinks showed no sign of abaiting. George had suggested a game

Ultra Toast Mosha Godhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05450892955592722188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1150268495542335072006-06-14T16:01:00.000+09:302006-06-14T16:31:35.550+09:30

"What the fuck kind of performance was that? Played off the field like a bunch of ponses... Ben Jones would turning in his grave if he was dead." A line of spittle dangled from the coach's lower lip. His chins wobbled with rage."Give us a break, gov," said the stalwart captain."The only break you are likely to be getting is a prison break. Fuckin' criminal, it is. How much do you get a month. I

Between daisieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06003781659760810511noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1149744900026206722006-06-08T03:04:00.000+09:302006-06-08T15:05:00.036+09:30

“Matching underwear is only a problem if you flaunt it,” Bix told me with an airy smile. “It’s the same with anything pink really. I mean you could go all out like some fashionista golf caddy but you might as well beat yourself up at that point. I mean, balls are one thing but if they’re so big they stick out your zipper there’s no way you can avoid the pain, know what I mean?”Bix was the

Chris Benjaminnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1149512718917335432006-06-05T22:18:00.000+09:302006-06-05T22:49:14.760+09:30

Bill came through the door and immediately fell on the mat. He found that he couldn't move and lay distressed upon the mat. The mat said "wlecome" on it, though Bill didn't feel that welcome. This feeling heightened through the day, reaching a head at around five forty.The door creaked open, allowing in the man of the house, Dave. Dave saw Bill lying there and took a deep breath that utterly

Between daisieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06003781659760810511noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1149505287641136122006-06-05T20:13:00.000+09:302006-06-05T20:53:30.853+09:30

As he pinned the door closed and clicked the deadlock, Oscar felt the tide of swat cops break against the wood. There was silence as they hunkered down in waiting, all clicks and crackles as they reloaded their weapons and chattered to their overlords.He scanned the note again. NothingRobbing a bank was not a decision he had made lightly. But the scribbled advice he had gotten from his mentor was

Ultra Toast Mosha Godhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05450892955592722188noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29033639.post-1149470375062820592006-06-05T17:47:00.000+09:302006-06-05T20:24:30.280+09:30

A 200-word mission by The Great Andini Mr Tinkles sprang onto the doorknob of the shed's door. Like a consummate professional he swung his portly stature from side to side. An audible click signalled the breaching of the mechanism. He relinquished his hold voluntarily and dropped stealthily to the floor. Guided by an acute sense of smell he strutted to the workbench where he gazed upward to an

Kaufmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15352263619874617123noreply@blogger.com6