Thursday, April 26, 2012

Biblical Gaps: A Fill-In Story

The story of how a poor Israelite girl got herself in trouble: this was read at the Wheeler Centre Erotic Fan Fiction event, 26th April, 1012

Mary didn’t quite know how it had happened. She had been leaning on the bar in the Nazareth Hotel and Bistro when she saw Him, standing by the bandstand, swaying sexily to the band’s traditional Hebrew groove. He was the most beautiful creature Mary had ever seen – his shapeless white robe hung seductively from his shoulders; his toes protruded from his sandals with an impudent flirtatiousness; and his long white beard reached almost to his navel in a way calculated to get any impressionable young peasant girl’s juices flowing. And flow they did – she hadn’t felt this moist since the last public stoning. She had nearly squealed aloud when she saw that he was walking over to her, and when he spoke, she almost dropped her West Bank Cooler. Maybe it was the soft yellow glow surrounding him, maybe it was the fact that he was floating six inches above the ground, maybe it was the enormous robe-tent he was pitching, but somehow she had to have Him. Five minutes later they were in the alley outside, tongues writhing like serpents and His hands frantically exploring her forbidden fruit.
From there everything was a blur. She remembered things had got off to a rocky start, when he’d gotten over-excited in her bedroom and blasted a hole in the wall before she was ready. But after reassuring Him that this probably happened to gods all the time, and agreeing to His request that she call Him Father, things seemed to be going smoothly. At the time it had seemed slightly strange that He insisted she wear a pair of cardboard wings and bray like a donkey, but hey, she was a virgin, what did she know? Perhaps this was just what men were like. After all, Joseph could get pretty weird himself, with all his carpentry puns.
Oh, dear Joseph…what would he say? What would he say when he found out about that night of passion? What would he think of her when he discovered that she’d been riding the creator of the universe like a bucking bronco, screaming in ecstasy, “OH MY GOD!” and having him scream back “YES WHAT IS IT?” and then she would scream “OH NO I WAS JUST SCREAMING IN ECSTASY EVERYTHING’S FINE” and he would scream “OH I SEE” and she would scream “SORRY FOR THE CONFUSION” and he would scream “DON’T WORRY IT HAPPENS ALL THE TIME” and she would scream “OH MY GOOOOOOOD” and he would scream “OH MARY” and she would scream “NO ACTUALLY THIS TIME I ACTUALLY JUST WANTED TO SAY COULD YOU MOVE TO THE LEFT A BIT YOU’RE ON MY FOOT”. And he would scream “OH YES SORRY SOMETIMES I GET A BIT CARRIED AWAY DON’T I?”

What would Joseph say when he heard all that? Would he be bored? She hoped not. She certainly hadn’t been bored as the ruler of all that is and ever shall be summoned angels to rub her feet, or when he lit up their lovemaking with a series of flashing thunderbolts, or when, slightly more crudely, he ate five loaves and two fishes out of her intimate portions. There were many words she might have used to describe these experiences, but “boring” wasn’t one of them. Well, actually, it was, but in a different context, less in the “watching paint dry” sense and more in the “you be the apple and I’ll be the worm” sense. She hoped Joseph wasn’t bored in either sense, despite the definite feeling that came upon her occasionally, when he was showing off his hand-carved doorknobs, that he could do with a really good hard boring now and then.

She wasn’t sure when it all started to go wrong. It was probably just after he’d yelled that he would “make a flood that would cover the entire earth”, and just before she asked him how he was managing to have sex with her while simultaneously standing outside having a smoke. It might have been the point at which he told her to get on her knees, and caused a rain of frogs to fall from the ceiling. But really, she knew the turning point was when she noticed two shadowy figures standing in the corner, high-fiving and giggling to themselves.

“Father,” she said, trying to ignore the violent motion and singing doves that He brought into existence with every thrust, “who are they?”

“What?” the Lord paused, mid-spank, and looked around. “Oh yeah, those are my crew.”

“Your crew?”

“Yeah, my boys. My gang. My posse.”

“Your WHAT?” Mary squealed over the sound of rhythmic heavenly thwapping.

“Posse.”

“Oh. Sorry, I thought you said…never mind. Look, why…ooh!” Mary was briefly interrupted by a massive shudder of pleasure running through her entire body, as God moved in a particularly mysterious way. “Why are they here?”
“Oh, we kind of do everything together.” From the corner, the two men gave her the thumbs up. Mary tried to focus, despite the beard strands flailing wildly in her eyes.

“Is…is one of them…a ghost?”

“That’s right,” said God, creating a car battery out of thin air and hooking it up to his nipples with His mind. “The Holy Ghost”. The ghost floated over to the bed and shook Mary’s hand. She smiled politely.

“Nice…to meet you?” She looked back at the Lord, who had assumed – rather uncomfortably for his partner – the form of a burning bush. “What’s going on?” she demanded, slapping at her pubic hair with a fire blanket.

“It’s the Trinity baby – we do everything together. Father, Son and Holy Ghost.”

“Son?” Mary looked at the third man, a young bearded fellow with a halo and large cucumber. “Come on – that’s just sick!”

“Sorry babe,” the Lord intoned, having abandoned his bush form and turned into a pillar of smoke, which proceeded to blow into some extremely intimate areas, “You do one of us, you do all of us.”

From there, things went rapidly downhill. Mary had already been slightly put off by God’s constant cries of “Thou shalt not stop” and habit of turning her breasts into piles of salt and back again; but that was nothing compared to the Holy Ghost, who was so insubstantial she could barely feel him, and simply sort of wafted over her making “woo woo” noises. Mary was also made uncomfortable by the impression that she was having sex with the Grand Wizard of the Klan.

If anything, the Son was even worse when his turn came around. Every time she moved, he drew a cross in the air and said “I forgive you”, and he kept breaking off to wash her feet, but what she found really creepy was when he finished and told her he couldn’t wait for her to be his mum. What the hell was that about? He also made a lot of a jokes about the Second Coming that she didn’t really understand.

And now, here she was. She hadn’t heard from God since that night – not even a phone call – and all she could think about was Joseph. He wasn’t going to take this well. He was a conservative sort of guy at the best of times. She did not imagine that he would react well to being told his fiancĂ©e had been gang-banging supernatural beings. But Joseph just didn’t understand what it was like to be a young girl, flooded with hormones, wanting to rebel, and easy pickings for any slick stranger with a full beard and a cheap source of wine. He didn’t understand how hard it was to resist a man whose tongue could literally cause earthquakes. He didn’t know the amazing feeling of having your Red Sea parted.

She heard the door open. “I’m home, dear!” Joseph shouted as he walked into the room. “And look – I’ve got wood!” he cried, waving a piece of four by two in the air jauntily. Mary rolled her eyes. Both Joseph’s carpentry, and his erectile dysfunction, had ceased to be amusing long ago.

She stood up and drew a deep breath. “I have some news for you, Joseph,” she said. “I’m pregnant!”

Joseph stared at her. The wood dropped from his hand. “Pregnant?” he gasped. “But…you’re a virgin! That’s, like, your thing!

Well, there you go,” Mary replied somewhat superfluously.

Joseph was aghast. “Who’s the father?”
This was the hard part. Mary knew her story was both hard to believe and absolutely disgusting, but she had to face the consequences of her actions. “It’s God, Joseph. God is the father of my baby.”
“God?” Joseph’s face lit up. “You mean, God has miraculously blessed you with child?”
“Not really. We just had sex,” Mary explained. “Like…a LOT.”

“Ah,” Joseph nodded. “You mean, he filled you with his holy spirit…”

“No,” Mary shook her head. “He filled me with his holy penis.”
Joseph’s face fell. “You mean…he nailed you?” He held up a small nail to illustrate, but his heart wasn’t really in it. Even woodwork seemed bitter and hollow now that he knew what his fiancĂ©e had been getting up to.
“Oh, Joseph!” Mary collapsed into Joseph’s thin, womanly arms. “I feel so…so dirty! I lost my head, I think it might have been the wine, or possibly it affected my judgment when God put his hand inside my brain. He used me, Joseph, and now I’m just a story he can tell to his buddies.” Little did she know that this was exactly what God was doing at that very moment, sharing a beer with Vishnu and telling him the whole story with accompanying hand gestures.
“It’s all right, Mary,” Joseph muttered. “I forgive you. Even without placing your sins onto the head of a third party who is then tortured to death in order to absolve you of responsibility for your actions, I forgive you, and we shall get through this together. We’ll raise this child, and he will work with me, making tables and little toy hippos on wheels whose mouths open and shut when you roll them along the floor, and we will be happy together, and he will never have to know he is the result of his mother’s wild night of bizarre kinky group sex with a trio of incorporeal perverts.”
“How did you know all that, I didn’t tell you – ”
“That’s not important right now!” Joseph cried. “What’s important is the future. We shall be married straight away, and our family shall be happy!”
“But Joseph, what about God? Every week when we go to the temple, He’ll be there…leering at me from above. I…I can’t take the humiliation!”
“Don’t worry Mary. You’ll never have to see that creep again. We won’t go His temple anymore. As of now, we’re converting…to Islam!”

Monday, April 23, 2012

Life - A Love Story

At a young age, I fell in love with life, and this tempestuous affair has continued ever since.

Many times my lover has infuriated me, driven me to distraction and despair and forced me to question my commitment to the relationship. At times it has seemed almost abusive, the way life would harass me and make me feel small.

I've considered leaving, I've thought about escaping this fierce love that terrrifies as often as it exhilarates. So many times I've felt that the relationship is just too much work, and quitting would be the only way to make things better. But always that love has kept me bound.

And no doubt it will continue in much the same way. The days when life and I are so attuned that colours blaze brighter and my heart swells with joy and exultation at the love I have found, will always be followed by the days when I feel out of love, when I feel that irreconcilable differences have widened the chasm between us to the point where there is nothing to be done. Days when my devotion to life is so complete that my only regret is that the time we're allowed to spend together is so short will be followed by days when everything seems dull and painfully eternal, and my wandering eye catches sight of the alluring alternatives, days when I may casually flirt with others and wonder if the grass really would be greener on the other side. The threat of these dalliances might always hang over us, I might always be subject to these doubts over whether I made the right decision committing to this affair that causes such pain and uncertainty.

And yet I can't leave. I must stay, and ride the peaks and troughs, and find out what happens next. Because I fell in love with life, and by now it is almost as if I cannot live without it.

Friday, April 20, 2012

A day in the life of a Podcasting Star

A lot of you are probably thinking, hey, I certainly love listening to the Gather Around Me podcast starring Ben Pobjie and Cam Smith, which I subscribe to on iTunes and totally listen to all the time, and I especially love the latest episode wherein Ben and Cam read a Choose Your Own Adventure book and invite ME to select where the story will take them next - but there are times when I wish I could know more about the process behind the GAM podcast and its wild popularity.

WISH. NO. MORE. Because here is:

MY DAY AS A PODCASTER BY BEN

6.05am: Arrive at the GAM offices, where I am greeted by Esther, our hard-working secretary. She gives me my daily iron pills and flirts outrageously with me, and we have a good laugh.

6.08am: Enter the GAM Control Centre, where Cam screams at me for being late.

6.09am: Cam, sobbing, begs for my forgiveness for being angry, and then takes a short nap.

6.10-6.30am: Catch up on GAM email. Delete spam and offers of marriage from men, move offers of marriage from women into special folder. Agree to every offer of corporate sponsor. Reply to sexy emails from Packed to the Rafters cast members with equally sexy emails.

6.45am: Cam wakes up. I subdue him with a soothing voice and pleas to drop the knife.

7-10am: Planning session for new podcast. We storyboard each episode meticulously on butcher's paper, then transfer the storyboard to our 3D clay puppet board. We then make a crude animation of the podcast, edit and score it, and play it back to see if we think it will fly as a quality Gather Around Me instalment. We do this several times until we have what we call "GOLD". We then record a rough guide vocal using this script, so our orchestra can follow it.

10-11am: Orchestra session. All the music is written by Cam, but in a strange code that only he knows, so he has to hum it to the orchestra and they play it back. Normally a recording session will be done in the nude, and Cam usually assaults at least six musicians before it's over.

11-11.30am: Meeting with lawyers to discuss Cam's defence for assault trial.

11.36am: Cam begs me to let him cut my hair. I refuse, but he goes ahead anyway.

11.45am: Cam starts sobbing again.

12pm: Lunch, eaten on opposite sides of a picnic table in a nearby park, neither of us willing to take our eyes off the other. Between bites of his salami toastie, Cam threatens to kill me several times.

12.45-3pm: Sex.

3-4pm: Recording of the podcast. Cam does the whole thing in a thick Russian accent, and insists on having his "manager", a 17-year-old boxer named Michelle, sitting beside him the whole time. Today's podcast is examining the issue of aged-care funding, but three minutes in we get sidetracked by wondering which sea animal it would be preferable to be raped by, and we never really get back on-topic. By the end of the hour Cam is incredibly drunk and claims he is my biological mother. he then beats me savagely.

4.15pm: Over-dubbing and adding of wacky sound effects.

4.30pm: Daily prayers. At GAM we have a new religion each week to keep things fresh. This week's is Shinto.

4.45-5pm: Sex.

5.15pm: Breakfast.

6pm: Cam asks for my hand in marriage, but immediately rescinds the offer, displaying crossed fingers. He then beats me savagely.

6.30pm: Esther screams with exasperation and hurls herself through a plate-glass window. Later on she confesses it was because "YouTube was being slow".

6.45pm: Wash dishes and genitals.

7pm: Kiss Cam goodnight and shampoo his beard.

7.30pm: Hit the streets, out for a good time.

8pm: Become caught in a deadly game of cat and mouse with international arms traders.

8.15pm: Dessert and bed.


That's SHOWBUSINESS folks!

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Why not?

Why not vote for me in the Sydney Writers' Centre Best Blog Competition?

Am I right?

I'm right, right?

You'd be voting for a blog that:

- is number one in the world in regards to how-not-to-be-a-rapist tutorials

- has more blasphemy per square centimetre than all industry leaders

- is as cute as a button

- uses no child labour

- makes your breasts firmer and more inviting if read daily.

Vote now!

Or don't!

It's really up to you!

It is not my place to be prescriptive!

But vote now!

Unless you don't want to!

!!!!

Monday, April 16, 2012

The Night I Won Masterchef

*This story was read by me last night as a guest at the wonderful Fan Fiction Comedy at Melbourne Town Hall as part of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. It's a great night, there are only two more shows this weekend - catch them while you can.

It was dark when I stepped into the Masterchef kitchen that night. Filming had finished hours ago, but I had been summoned back by an anonymous note pushed under my door, reading, "Come to the kitchn. Urgent. Bring garnish."

As I looked around the empty kitchen, breathing in the aroma of capsicum, sweat and broken dreams, a voice boomed in the darkness.

"Welcome...to your final challenge."

"But I already did the final challenge! I made Heston Blumenthal's ice-cream pheasants! I made the liver parmigiana! I did everything you asked!"

"HAHAHA! No - nobody wins Masterchef without doing...the REAL final challenge!"

And with that, Matt Preston stepped out of the shadows. As always he wore his trademark cravat. As was less usual he wore nothing else.

"M-m-m-Matt," I stammered. "Your croquembouche is showing!"

He stepped forward, his spiced chorizo glinting in the moonlight. He leaned in close. "It's time...for the mystery box!"

With that he whipped open a wooden box on the benchtop, revealing three bananas, half a chicken and a riding crop.

"What can you make of this?" he whispered, his breath rich with the scent of lust and sun-dried tomatoes.

"I...I guess some sort of terrine?" I began, but I had no time to finish before I was pressed against the bench, Preston's chipolatas frenetically tenderising my sirloin.

"You...YOU'RE the hero of this dish!" Matt gasped, stuffing my fresh squab with his salted rolled pork. "The presentation leaves a little to be desired, but the flavours are all there! The bitterness of your rumballs, the sweetness of your glazed beef shoulders, and the firm filling inside your succulent creampie," he grunted. "Just needs...more SAUCE!" and with a mighty bellow, he covered my steaming platter with his freshly-made hollandaise.

From there it was a blur of baking and roasting and saucing and basting and stewing in each others' juices and the occasional random scream of "Schnitzel!" I found myself passed from chef to chef, as each one forced me to submit to their depraved culinary whims. Whether beating Gary Mehigan's eggs with all my might to produce custard for his crusty buns, delicately smearing white chocolate icing on Donna Hay's sticky date pudding, or drizzling Margaret Fulton's pungent fish pie with what she called verjuice bukkake, I did it all. Until finally, I was letting George Calombaris batter my dolmades, screaming, "We're nearly there, just ten seconds left, time to BOOM BOOM SHAKE THE ROOM!" and with a last spurt of honey mustard it was over, and I lay panting in a pool of my own foie gras.

"Now..." I pleaded. "Now am I Australia's next Masterchef?"

Matt smiled, a smile made of equal parts lasciviousness and macaron crumbs. "Not yet," he growled. "Because now...we're going to have sex."

Friday, April 13, 2012

Ode To Bob



O Bob where will we go from here without you there to soothe our worried minds and tell us everything will be all right?
Who will lead us from the darkness to the light?

O Bob how will we cope now that you can no longer show us the wondrousness of nature and help us understand the trees?

Who'll tell us about the birds and also the bees?



My eyes are blinded by darkness because the beacon of hope is gone

Gone from the Senate

Gone from my life

It is as if a candle burning in my bosom for so long

Has been snuffed out by a falling seagull

That is what it is like



O Bob

O Bob

Bob

Bob

Bob

Are you listening Bob?

Over here



Bob you taught us many things

How to save the earth

How to be a responsible citizen

How to tie knots and make simple yet nutritious meals on a budget

You taught me how to ride a bike and catch a fish

I'll always remember you for that Bob

For that, and for your amazing marksmanship



O Bob you killed sixteen Germans single-handed in a trench

How did you do that Bob?

And why?

How does grace and anger, poise and violence, peace and homicide

Co-exist?



O Bob

You will be missed

I will miss your voice and your laugh

Your kind words and your gentle hand

Your billowing cape and your flaxen hair


O Bob I love you

We all love you

Please don't go

Stay here and together we will stockpile canned goods

Forever and ever

O Bob


(fade to incoherence)

Thursday, April 12, 2012

Hey You!

Yes, you! I got a few questions!

Do you like READING THINGS?

Do you like LAUGHING AT THINGS?

Do you like ELECTRONIC DEVICES?

Do you like - and pay close attention here - ME?

Hey, I know you're answering yes to all those questions! But I know that YOU'RE asking a question too!

You're asking, "But Ben, HOW can I satisfy ALL these preferences of mine for the INCREDIBLY LOW price of $2.99, in a convenient manner delivered instantly over the world wide web?"

OH MY GOD I HAVE THE ANSWER!



That's right! HANDY LATIN PHRASES!

Handy Latin Phrases is the anthology of stories and poetry, known as my equivalent of Woody Allen's "Early, funny stuff" that I self-published several years ago. You can still get it as an old-fashioned dead-tree edition, but NOW! FOR THE FIRST TIME! ON AMAZON! You can get it as a Kindle eBook! For $2.99!

Only $2.99? Why you'd be cruel and foolish NOT to buy it am I right?

Haha! Of course I am!

Go buy it NOW!

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Trigger Warning: Lady Caves

This is the track listing of the upcoming album "Lady Caves" by my new band, Trigger Warning. To hear the tracks, go to www.myspace.com/shortstack.

LADY CAVES, by Trigger Warning

1. Dam My Man-River
2. Happy Birthday, Celia Imrie
3. Your Love Is The Hangnail On The Finger Of My Heart
4. Look At My Pants Please
5. Breasts Etc
6. Ode To Allan
7. Ladies Don't Gotta Be All Up In My Grill Yo
8. Stand Up Slutty Soldiers
9. Kiss On The Bits
10. Gemma The Peek-A-Boo Queen
11. Hope You Get Eczema
12. Lady Caves

"I'm here to scare the bats
Out of your lady caves
But don't worry baby
I have a torch"

- Trigger Warning, 2012

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

School's In!

Why should you come see me play the principal in the Bedroom Philosopher's High School Assembly at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival?

For many reasons:

1. There will be MUSIC.

2. There will be DANCING.

3. I will TALK at some point.

4. You are allowed to THROW things at me.

5. It is in a nice THEATRE.

6. It has nice COSTUMES.

7. There are JOKES.

8. You can sit on a SEAT.

9. After the show you might get to have SEX with someone you MET at the nice THEATRE.

10. I will CRY if you DON'T.

So I'll see you there.