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Etiquette ? No thanks, I've just put one out

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GUEST EDITOR LORD BADEN-BADEN POWELL Our guest editor tap-dances deftly through the minefield that is modern etiquette. GOVT HEALTH WARNING: Contains the phrase "fuck off and die" BAD HAIR DAY "How's your hair been?" This is what my hairdresser actually said to me. It is true. I am a bitcoin-billionaire comedy blogger, I would not lie to you about a thing like that. I sighed deeply and then told her everything. It was such a relief to let it all out, to have someone to talk to ... Well Skyelah, I said, it's been pure hell. Some days it's just moody, other days it barely even talks to me. It simply will not do what I want it to do. My life is a painful parade of bad hair days. Who knew you could end up with hair with issues. I don't want to be a panic-slut but I think my hair is on drugs. I mean I know it's drinking, coming in at all hours looking like a cheap Rod Stewart, refusing to tell me where it's been and the language it

ONCE UPON A TYPO

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  Lost in the mists of the time before time began, or certainly before the QWERTY keyboard was widely accepted, lived men whose lives were the stuff of legend. This the story of one such man. And the men who fought beside him. And half a dozen guys from catering. And a donkey. Also there might have been some goats and an irritatingly brave thirteen-year-old boy who lied about his age in order to run away from home and join the battle. But I digress. Quiltstorm the Adequate turned to his men assembled on the eve of battle, and addressed them: "Men. It is the eve of battle. We are hopelessly outnumbered. I can only offer you death and glory. Who is with me ?" There was a considerable amount of shuffling and throat-clearing. Men looked at the ground, or at their watches. Or rather at the empty space on their wrists where watches would have been had anyone bothered to invent them instead of piss-farting about fighting wars, torturing non-believers, and pretending to

Secret Diary of Gina Rinehart aged 58+3/4

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Dear Diary, Exhausted. Just plum tuckered out. People out there don't realise how tiring it is counting money. Especially when you've got as much as I do. And sometimes by the end of the day I've got quite a lot more than when I started, and then I have to count it all over again ! It's really hard ! And then yesterday I was up to 14 billion, 476 million and I got interrupted by a serf and I lost count. Pshaw ! Well of course I had him beheaded. You have to really. Otherwise they don't respect you. And I'm still gasping with shock over finding out about the minimum wage. Gosh gee whizz it's just awful. $606 is far far too much. And then imagine my further shock when I found out you have to pay them this every week !!!!! I thought it was just a one-off payment. We're doomed, I'm telling you this for nothing dear diary. If this sort of wanton behaviour carries on we'll end up with a world ruled by communists, cross-dressers, and giant heroi

HOW TO START A PUBLISHING EMPIRE BY GETTING PISSED WITH KERRY PACKER AND WINNING HALF A MILLION OFF HIM AT BITCOIN BACCARAT

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 They say there are only two things certain in life : Death and taxes. This may be true of mere mortals but Kerry Packer was no mere mortal. He didn't fear death or taxes. He didn't believe in either of them. Death was for losers, he used to say to me, and taxes are for the weak and feeble-minded. For many years the friendly tussle with the ATO would go like this ATO : Mr Packer, you earn a lot of money. It's time to pay some tax KERRY PACKER : Fuck off ATO   You're right of course. We'll just ...ah .. fuck off. Is this far enough ? KERRY PACKER   More  ... fuck off some more So how did I meet Kerry Packer, and how did that lead to the founding of this cult comedy publication now loved and revered by literally dozens of the International Discernarati ? This was wartime. Lots of wars, all the time. Lots of wars in deserts and they're always the best sort. I was a country boy with a pocketful of dreams about writing lots of short sentences about war. And in the ot

MELBOURNE WEATHER FORECAST

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TOMORROW Humid. Cloudy. Windy. Hot. Sunny. Wet. Triangular. High chance of showers and storms with possibility of thunder and lightning very very frightening in the early morning and the late morning and also during the early and late parts of the afternoon, with strong possibility of very similar weather patterns in the middle of the afternoon and that weird part of the morning when it's too late for morning tea and a wee bit early for lunch. Winds will tend South, East, SS East and North-Easterly with an insignificant statistical probability of getting anywhere near a Westerly direction but you can never be sure about these things.  There is a 50% chance of rain at various time of the day, sunny periods during the times of the day when there's less cloud, and a 60% chance of baffling statistics after lunch. A nap wouldn't be a bad idea. Do not swim while you are sleeping. Always wear clean underwear and carry a spare handkerchief. And a jumper. I don't like

HOW TO BE AN ATHEIST ON FACEBOOK

  BY SPECIAL GUEST EDITOR GARY JAASON GERBILS I'm sure you recognise me from my best selling book "Soon AI Will Be Able  To Write Comedy ?Here, Hold My Beer", but of course I'm more famous for having set up Australasia's first proper advertising agency MAAAATE shortly after the war. I was also the genius who suggested changing the name of the game from Propaganda to Advertising. It was 1948 and Propaganda still had a bit of a wee pong about it. Besides, I said, call it Advertising and we'll right at the top of the first page of the Yellow Pages (at least until those smartarse arty pricks Mune and Donaldson come along with Aardvark Films. C---s). And "Hold my beer" That was mine. It was 1949. Me and a mate were having a quiet beer down then waterfront at the Seagulls Revenge, and this big bastard, Marxist, pissed as a parrot starts mouthing off about advertising being the worst kind of parasitic capitalistic evil and if anyone can explain to him the n

NORTH KOREA NEEDS A HUG

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Hello, Good Morning, and fear me please. Stand back in awe and wonder and shiver slightly at my sheer fabulousness. I am Kim Jong-un  and I am the God Scorpion chosen to guard the jewel that is North Korea and protect it from the decadence that is the West. And the rest. You are all a serious fucking worry. I should at this stage point out to you that my remarks here this morning are being translated by my good personal friend, and recently adopted brother, Kim Jeff-oh shit yeah. He is a fabulously talented and gorgeous human, possibly the funniest man who has ever lived, and you should be paying him vast amounts of money to do whatever he wants. (* having re-checked the transcripts, it's possible that what Kim Jong-un  actually said in that last sentence was "I am a terrifyingly powerful man and if you do not arrange for Delta Goodrem to sleep with me I will destroy Seoul" You'll have to excuse me, my Korean is a little rusty. But I'm sure he wants you to gi