ALIAS POOR YORICK

Of course I fought at Gallipoli. I was only a fetus, so I had to lie about my age. And my height. I had to lie about a lot of things. I hated the taste of beer and I didn't know the words to Waltzing Matilda, but I was buggered if I was going to let that stand in the way of dying for my country. Or someone else's country. War isn't supposed to make sense. They say the first casualty of war is truth. In my case the first casualty of war was a Louis Vuitton trunk containing my best dinner suit, three ounces of Turkish opium, and a particularly fine collection of Persian erotica. Sunk without trace after a luggage tender capsized at Alexandria. A tragedy. I was on my way to Paris to cover the war as a freelance correspondent and I had no idea of the horrors I was to face. Without a decent dinner jacket. You people have no idea. Gallipoli. It was hell. When I say I fought at Gallipoli, I really mean I saw action at Gallipoli. Well, I mean I saw some photos of the plac

I blame Wagner. You can blame him too, if you'd like. If it'd help. It's not like he can fight back or anything, I mean he turned two hundred last week. The trouble with Wagner is that he's so bloody Wagnerian. And another thing. I checked out his comic opera The Mastersingers of Nuremberg. Not one single joke ! WTF Richard Wagner. Who would have thought that my favourite sentence of the week could be .... "And I'm sorry that's all the time we have for Wagner this morning" But on to serious matters. I have decided in the interests of mankind as a whole to spend at least one hour a day having really deep thoughts. I know you'd do it if you had the time, but hey, I'm a writer, it's not like I have a proper job or anything. So, on your behalf I will be thinking very very deeply everyday about matters of universal importance. And I'll be passing the results on to you, the lucky consumer. Now. Can of worms. Seriously people, is this t

Why, I hear you exclaim ever so faintly, explain Easter now when it's been over for two weeks ?  Three Weeks? Nearly four ? Seriously  ? How long have I been trying to write this fucking thing? Let me explain. As many of you will know by now, a lot of our staff here at ALIAS POOR YORICK have religious objections to observing any sort of deadlines. Religious Affairs Editor, Elvis MacGregor Cohen ll ( pictured above) is no exception. To compound our difficulties Mr Cohen has been drifting in and out of a diabetic coma for the past fortnight after eating four hundred & twenty-seven Lindt Chilli Chocolate Easter eggs and we've only just managed to wrest this bit of deathless prose from his almost lifeless fingers ...... Have you ever found yourself asking why Jesus had to go and get himself crucified right at the beginning of our biggest and best public holiday ?  I mean what was God thinking ? What is Easter about anyway, and how come it never gets a mention in the bi

 F.Castro (Fast bowler) & Malcolm X (Opening Bat) IF YOU WISH TO REMAIN IN THE AUSTRALIAN CRICKET TEAM, PLEASE ANSWER THE FOLLOWING  SIMPLE QUESTIONS: 1. The game you are paid an obscene amount of money to play is ...     (a) So much better than working for a living   (b) Hitting the roundy leather thing with the flat wooden stick type thing   (c) Cricket We know this seems like a real simple one, but humour us here. By the way, if you haven't ticked (c) Cricket, please go back and tick (c) Cricket. This is the correct answer. Let's please for everyone's sake at least pretend to be on the same page. Okay ... 2. Cricket is .... ?     (a) warfare without the guns     (b) a chance for a couple of dozen flannelled fools to ponce around shouting "Huzzah" and "Jolly good show Tarquin" for no apparent reason over several days.     (c) as good a way as any to fill in time between tea-breaks 3. The leg wicket is ...     (a) the

  GOD AND UNNAMED ASSISTANT FIGURE  OUT WHERE IN YOUR FAVOURITE PARK TO PUT THE DOG SHIT Hello, God here. Yes. Again. You all know I like to keep these personal appearances to a minimum, but people keep calling. And yes I am omniscient so I should know better but the thing is I have no spam filter and when five fifteen yr old girls on the beach start screaming omigod omigod into their iPhones I immediately think they're having some sort of deep spiritual crisis which demands my presence or at least some sort of a sign and then I find that no, it's merely that One Direction are in town and have added a second concert or that Justin Bieber has discovered a third pubic hair and named it Ulysses. None of which has anything to do with me. You can trust me on that one. I'm not one to point the finger but that stuff is pretty much the work of the Horned One.  I am far too busy being enigmatic and diaphanous. Except on Tuesday afternoons when I make a special effort to be

Thank you for calling Alias Poor Yorick, proud purveyor of ethically-sourced single-origin comedy. Please hold the line. Your call is important to us, as you can tell by the care and compassion that has gone into selecting our hold music. Today you have the very great privilege of listening to the Ukraine Women's Theremin Ensemble covering Billy Ray Cyrus' "Achy Breaky Heart". No don't thank us, we can feel the love from here. Again, your call is important to us. If you wish to speak to someone who will assure you that absolutely everything is fine, despite enormous amounts of evidence to the contrary, please press 1 If you wish to make inquiries about how many comedy writers it takes to change a light-bulb, press 2 ( it's three actually, one to change the light-bulb, one to drive to the bottle-shop for more beer, and one to kill anybody who says "This is supposed to be funny, right ?") Thank you for calling. Your call is important to us. Don&

  TERRORIST TUAREGS IN TENTS INTENT ON BEING TAKEN FOR TOURISTS Look I don't mind a bit of casual rascism ... what .. wait .. yes I do. But hang in with me for the sake of the story. Casual racism, at least it's better than formal racism.The organised version. What a drizzle that is. And how silly do you feel, Billy-Bob Ninnie when you ring Billy-Bob Cretin and you get his wife Dolly Darlene and you have to ask if The Grand Wizard is at home. And can he come out to play. Casual racism is so damn .. you know .. casual. It's usually preceded by "I probably shouldn't say this" which is a clue & a cue: "I probably shouldn't say this" is your chance to say nothing. Just shut the fuck up and we'll all think better of you. Ah, sigh. Yes I know it's not going to happen, and I guess it's a shade better than jumping into the middle of a conversation with "Fucking towelheads, how come we're not allowed to shoot them anymo

ALIAS POOR YORICK                       © J.M.Browett   Vic Rhodes was a friend of mine. And a bit of a bastard. But that was what he wanted you to think. Behind it all was a man with a heart of gold.  Famous for shows such as “Kentucky Fried Tofu”, “Dude Where’s My Cartesian Dualism Thesis” & “The Unbearable Lightness of Barry”, Vic was more than just a stand-up. He was an actor, director and producer, a singer, a motivational speaker, and briefly, a pimp in Collingwood. He told me “when life hands you lemons, go buy salt and tequila” Vic died as he lived; on stage and falling over for no apparent reason. His death is still a mystery. Police found no suspicious circumstances, and an autopsy revealed only that one member of Milli Vanilli could actually sing and that Milley Cyrus is proof that Satan walks amongst us today. Pause for laughter, oops sorrow I wasn’t meant to read that bit out but I’m

.... Rupert ? Put Mummy on the phone, yes, get Mummy. No you can't call me Vlad, I'm your father ... well I don't care if you are six years old now ... Get Mummy .. okay, put Arpeggio on ... Arpeggio ? It's your father ... NO YOU CAN'T CALL ME VLAD I'M YOUR FATHER AND I DON'T CARE HOW OLD YOU ARE .. I'LL USE MY OUTDOORS VOICE ... I'll use my outdoor voice if I want to, I'm your father .. okay .. what .. okay we're on speaker. What's that noise ? Rupert put down Daddy's inhaler put down the inhaler. You know the rules, no taking drugs that are prescribed for other family members. Last time you took Daddy's Ventolin you had seventeen puffs and started talking in German and ranting about Lebensraum and invading Czechoslovakia. Where did you learn German anyway, you were only three at the time? Where's your mother ? ... what do you mean she's in the kitchen practising tantric cooking ? There's no such thing as tantri

  t First you're going to need a vehicle of some sort. Oh I know there are schools of magical thinking which insist that you don't need a physical manifestation of a "car" in order to drive, but you'll need something & if it makes you feel better to buy a pre-manifested Chery with that bitcoin you paid too much for, then hey - knock yourself out I'm sorry, I've been talking with Grimes on Messenger and she always gets me a bit over-revved. Back to the basics. Vehicles. If you're new at this caper I'd recommend a car. Motorcycles and military trucks can be a bit of a handful for the learner.  Scooters are suitable only for the terminally cool and the criminally insane. They are a death wish on two wheels.  If you're looking for the easy option then buy or steal a Mercedes. You get yourself one of those and you can pretty much do whatever you like, especially if you get one of the small ones, you know the ones that look like a normal car unti

  I started smoking at sixteen. I wasn't very good to begin with, but I practised until I was proficient. And I had flare. Friends remarked on my smoking skills and told me I made smoking look good, and I assumed that smoking made me look good. I became a competition smoker at eighteen, representing Dunedin, and then Otago, at a national level. At twenty I deferred my MA in philosophy& accountancy to turn professional. I was good. Represented New Zealand at the highest level, and brought home silver from the 1976 Le Grande Fumee in Marseilles against stellar competition. In two short years I'd made it - the world was my ashtray. And then it all went to shit. I don't know what happened but it just all fell to pieces. I'd lost that fire, that burning desire. F orced to find some sort of job I ended up in television, writing scripts for soap operas and anything else that would pay the rent. Later I even worked in a cigarette factory. Packed cigarettes, counted cigarett

Or, more correctly, the author, who would look a lot like this if he had a large moustache and a 1915 Stutz-Bearcat. So what do we really know of the man behind the mystery that lies just to one side of the enigma that is the man who founded the ALIAS POOR YORICK empire ? Early records show that Mr Browett attended a university, possibly even going to a lecture, although this cannot be verified. He became quite proficient at billiards and reading newspapers, also spending time writing comedy sketches. After editing a satirical magazine, he was politely asked to leave town. When that didn't work, the requests became more insistent. After moving to a place of safety, he set about becoming a writer. Demonstrating impressive skill at smoking cigarettes and drinking red wine, he also bought a number of white shirts & found a fabulous velvet smoking jacket in an op-shop. When it was suggested that he might actually do some writing, he became incensed and killed a popular

NICK CAVE & FRIEND "Hello, I'm Nick Cave. If I could be serious for a moment, and I think I could, we live in troubled times. I'm afraid. What do you do when you're afraid ? I'll tell you what I do ...... Whenever I feel afraid, I hold my head erect, and whistle a happy tune, so no-one will suspect I'm afraid. While shivering in my shoes, I strike a careless pose, and whistle a happy tune, and no-one ever knows I'm afraid. I think everyone has a happy tune. This is mine " Well I took wine & I took blood, And I drank the wine & I spilt the blood And I spilled the wine into that mud And I took the blood & the mud & the wine and made it mine And I made bricks out of the mud and blood  Built of house of pain & it was fine Waited for the mighty flood Well God. I sure need a hit I know these lyrics seem like shit But if you could just help me fit  one more old testament reference ... Into my song, Oh Lord In

 ( with special introduction by CEO Jeff Browett, a special introduction to the introduction by Sebastian Kingsporn, lickspittle and fawning fool, and a special guest appearance by OH&S officer Ken Keen who will give a brief chat about the dangers of flying oxford commas and interrobangs) Hi friends. I'm C.O.O Sebastian Kingsporn, standing in for our CEO Jeff Browett, who can't be with us today owing to a freak accident with a dangling participle in an important piece being guest-edited by Barnaby Joyce, interrogating the critical mass of arguments which must be resolved before attempting to resolve the balance of responsibilities and rights inherent in the burning question of whether it's okay to get pissed and fall over in public and have some cockhead video you. Pause for applause... oh I'm sorry I wasn't supposed to read that bit out..... excuse me, I'm getting a message.... ladies and gentleman... duck your heads in silent prayer for our CEO Jeff Browet

  SWIFT EXIT STITCH IN TIME FOR TAYLOR Narrow escape today for pop diva Taylor Swift after she cleverly avoided being in Kansas City for the giant piss-up occasioned by the KFC ( Kansas Fucking Chiefs ) winning a well-attended football game of some sort. It was the third year in a row the KFC had won and the fans seemed reasonably pleased. We understand Taylor Swift's boyfriend du jour is a valued member of the KFC  team and played an excellent game, causing the normally reserved Ms Swift to let out an excited squeal. We can neither confirm nor deny that Travis received the customary backseat of the limo passionate-but-chaste-embrace as the happy couple sped to the airport, sending her swiftly on her way to Australia where she will stage a number of wildly successful and very long concerts. Back to the carnage. Three shooters opened fire on the huge crowd, many of whom were not yet paralytically drunk All three were eventually quickly captured and arrested and advised of their righ

      "The past is a foreign country. They do things differently there"  (L.P.Hartley)       "The past is a foreign country & the bastards won't renew my visa" ( J.M.Browett) So there I was sipping chamomile tea watching "Lewis" while balancing a heat-pack over a strained lower arm muscle ( Don't ask. All right I'll tell you. Scrabble injury. I was reaching for the dictionary to challenge "Quijxong". Bugger me it's a real  word. A kind of philosophical dilemma involving a Chinese canoe. Who knew) and I'm thinking I'm not old, I'm still a wild man, just the other night I stayed up till after ten-thirty writing angry letters to the Green guide about the sudden and tragic disappearance of Antiques Roadshow from the late Sunday afternoon timeslot. Don't call me old. I'll show you - I'll grow a ponytail and buy a Harley. Oh wait. Oh shit. Anyway, I'm not old, I'm still a wild man - guess wh

      First, have a cigarette. It's probably best to wake up first, but I have been known to have a cigarette immediately before awakening or even before. Now dig out those barely-out-of-date nicotine patches you bought three years ago after chain smoking three packs of Marlboro Red at a party in Rehab. Apply liberally to the chest and upper arm areas. I know it says only one, but what sort of a wimp are you ? Go hard or go home. And check out the Krusty the Clown instructional video on YouTube. He recommends 15 - 20 at a time, at least until your body gets used to it. Now, by this time the patches will have kicked in, flooding your bloodstream with nicotine, fear, and anxiety. You may feel the need for a cigarette at this stage. I know I do, but I promised myself I wouldn't have one until I'd finished this blog. You could be in luck - this night be a short piece. Anyway, after that cigarette, don't have any more. Simple.