A Guide To Birds In Suburban Melbourne.

All over the world, birds flock to city centres and suburbs for an easy meal and plentiful nesting opportunities, and Melbourne is no different. We play host to an astounding range of avian visitors, and it is my hope to present you with an interesting and illuminative guide to our varied feathered friends.

Common Seagull

The seagull is present on every continent on earth, so there's not many people who don't know what one looks like! While colour and markings vary, the picture above is indicative of a standard seagull. Also pictured is its natural state, i.e; standing around waiting for someone to throw food at it. Depending on the personality of the gull, it will either charge in and seize the food as quickly as possible, and then fly away to a safe spot to feed, or stand at the back of the crowd looking helpless and hungry because it's a wimp. Darwin's Theory of Evolution suggests that these timid members of the gull family die starving and alone in a bin or somewhere comparatively awful.

Common Pigeon

Another bird that's present worldwide, the common pigeon is a suburban and city fixture, proudly strutting around while single-mindedly pursuing its species agenda; covering the entire planet in bird shit. Not a great city in the world exists that hasn't been bombarded by jets of runny foulage from these laughably pointless birds. Whenever I see one, the words of the great anthropologist and comedian Bill Bryson pop into my head, regarding pigeons at a train station; 'Here are my instructions for being a pigeon. 1. Walk around aimlessly for a while, pecking at cigarette butts and other inappropriate items. 2. Take fright at someone waking along the platform and fly off to a girder. 3. Have a shit. 4. Repeat.'

Australian Raven

This bird is the tits. Created and loosed upon the world by the same type of people who created Black Metal, this bird has two defining characteristics: Looking awesome, and totally not giving a fuck about anything. When the raven flies through other birds territories, it will prompt a mass ambush by the other birds, who swoop it and attempt to beak-fuck it. The raven just bird-shrugs and eats a dropped McFlurry off the pavement, then flies off to land on a grave and look metal.

Noisy Miner

This avian fuckwit is a waste of feathers. It has an awful, ear-piercing call that it uses all the fucking time, especially when I walk my dog at the park, or down the street, or pretty much anywhere you can find birds. It is relatively new in suburbia, and I'm seriously considering buying a Junior Science Kit off the internet to see how feasible it is to create a bird cancer that only affects the Noisy Miner. Then I can laugh at it when it gets bird chemotherapy. On a scale of 1 to 10, I rate this bird a solid 'wet-fart'.

Crested Pigeon

The Crested Pigeon is a flying contradiction. One the one hand, it's a pigeon, and therefore demands about as much respect as a vegan, or an anal polyp. But on the other, its got a hairstyle that says 'let's rock' and shows it doesn't give a flying fuck (pun intended) what other birds think of it.

Common Myna

Ugh, this bird. It is ubiquitous, and so very vanilla. Even its name just says 'Common'. This bird would listen to One Direction and take photos of its every meal to post on the bird equivalent of Facebook, and each photo would only ever get one 'like' from another fucking Myna that also listens to One Direction.
It's brown, for fuck's sake. It'd work at the Australian Taxation Office and consider Nando's upper-class dining. I don't hate this bird, and I don't like it. I just don't think about it, ever.

Rainbow Lorikeet

I can't help but like this bird. Another new addition to the inner suburbs in the past decade, the Rainbow Lorikeet fly in flocks, all of them shouting the bird equivalent of 'FUCK!' at the top of their lungs, all the time. They don't seems to have any other setting.
I've also never seen one smeared across the road, which seems to prove that shouting 'FUCK!' all the time may be indicative of genius-level intelligence in the ornithological world. Not that it should take a genius to figure out that if you have wings, and therefore own the sky, you don't need to swoop across a main road three feet above the ground.

House Sparrow

Shit.

Just tiger things.

Today, I punched a tiger so hard that money came out. No point in writing anything else, really. I'm not going to top that.

O Father, O Satan, O Sun.

Last night I saw my favourite metal band, Behemoth. Consummate musicians, with a demanding stage presence, it was worth every penny. And with support from Watain and Bolzer, two other respected and impressive bands, it was almost a mini-festival.
I wish I could say I knew every song, but I just didn't. Seems I need to delve into the back catalogue a little bit more, spend some time with Thelema.6 and Demigod.
Watching guys like this play, it always inspires me to dedicate more time to my own instruments, and as I leave the gig, I'm full of thoughts of spending 6 hours a day practising, really knuckling down and learning to play Eruption in the space of 3 weeks.
Then I go home and eat ice cream.
One thing that really annoyed me was lack of foresight on behalf of the merchandising team. I queued before the doors opened, but at least 300 people got in before me. I went straight to the merchandise stall and dutifully stood in line, only to be told they didn't have any tour shirts left in medium, only XXL. Really? Not everyone is the size of a house, you know. Print some more fucking mediums!

Quibbles aside, I had a great time, and even drank a Coke, because I'm a rebel. I'd rate this a 'Yes' out of 10.

A vision of Hell.

If Hell was a real place, there would likely be all sorts of hideous, unimaginable tortures. Some, though, I'd like to think I can imagine.
Today, I have a really bad head cold, and on my train ride home, my nose was dripping uncontrollably, like a broken tap. With 8 stations to go, I ran out of tissues. I also needed to piss really badly. Then, slowly, a headache kicked in.
Time slowed to a crawl, every bump of the train gently rocking my pea-sized bladder. If I sneezed, it made me almost piss my pants, and intensified my headache. The lack of tissues forced me to surreptitiously use my t-shirt as a snot rag.
This journey felt like Hell for the 20 minutes it lasted, so an eternity of it would be positively Luciferian.

#finalfight, circa 2005. (Originally published 16/08/2005.)

Elfin: Hey memo, remember that time you left #finalfight for ever and never, ever came back because no one likes you and you stink like shit?
Eschelon: Oh boy, those were the days.
* Eschelon is now known as memo
Elfin: Yeah, good times.
Exdeath: And then you set out on an expedition to the frozen North to find memo and bring him back.
Exdeath: You had to eat five sled dogs, if I remember correctly.
Elfin: No, I didn't actually. Becuase no one likes memo, and no one would rescue him. In fact, I wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire. Don't tell him I said that, though.
memo: That was right after we took the photos of you masturbating an antelope and printed out a bunch to sell them on street corners for ten cents, if I remember.
memo: What we really should have done -- and I'm still kicking myself for not thinking of this at the time -- is locked you into a cage with an antelope and travelled the countryside with the circus so you could masturbate it for a live audience. We'd get much more than ten cents a head that way.
memo: Oh well, live and learn.
Elfin: You always think of these things too late.
Exdeath: I can imagine the billboards now.
Elfin: I can think of the billboards too! We could advertise it as 'The World's Biggest Cunt!' and all the men come along, thinking they're going to see a gaping vagina, but instead the curtains part to reveal memo, standing on a small dais. Technically, it's not false advertising.
Exdeath: You have to make him take his pants off, though.
Elfin: Good idea. Two for one sort of deal. 'World's Biggest Cunt' and 'World's Smallest Dick' together under one roof!
memo: I'm considering this offer but I want to make sure I get a fair cut of the profits and sole rights to endorsement deals.
Exdeath: You could have a line of decorative mugs.
memo: Last time I did a World's Biggest Cunt tour the fucking thieves cited a contract clause entitling them to 60% of my Mountain Dew deal. We're not having that shit here.
Elfin: memo, you know I wouldn't screw you in a business deal. You're the cunt, you get most of the proceedings.
Exdeath: DON'T BELIEVE HIS LIES
Elfin: Well I never.
Exdeath: HE WILL STAB YOU AND BEAT YOU AND RAPE YOU AND LEAVE YOU NAKED AND SHIVERING IN A SLUM ALLEYWAY
memo: What, a fifth time? I'm sure he's bored of it by now.
Elfin: I have believed in memo as a genuine cunt for years, Exdeath, and you come along and just think you can break the bond that he and I share?
Exdeath: But if you stab him again it'll flare up his illness.
Elfin: Perhaps the two of you could do a comedy duo routine, as 'Cunt & Asshole'. The tagline could be 'One's full of shit, and the other is a bit fishy, but their comedy is golden!'
memo: Come along with us as "Useless Fucking Shithead" and I think we've got a deal.

You Stupid Asshole. (Originally published 19/07/2005.)

There aren't enough awards, or awards ceremonies in life. The actors get their little statues, the war veterans get their medals, and hopelessly non-athletic children get special ribbons for coming eighth in a race, because children suck. But for your everyday, middle-of-the-road, apathetic fuckwit, awards are few and far between, so I've decided to give random people the coveted 'YOU STUPID ASSHOLE' award, whenever I think someone deserves it.

The first recipient of this most prestigious award goes to the fucking clown who annoyed me this morning, while I was on my way to work. As the train pulled into the station, myself and about 20 other commuters made ready to disembark. The doors opened, and lo and behold, there's a some trained monkey in a suit, making his way onto the train as we're all trying to get off it. Obviously, the train was going to leave before he had a chance to get on it, so he forces his way through the people trying to get off, shoving me sideways in his attempt.
The woman to my right actually stumbled and fell as this guy muscled through, and it was only with the quick reactions of some hairy dude that she didn't fall over/backwards/into another person/underneath the fucking train.

Congratulations buddy, you must have accrued negative karma equal to being hit in the face with a spade. YOU STUPID ASSHOLE.

The Metroid Disaster (or, wtf? where do u find bom pwr-up?/) (Originally published 14/07/2005.)

(I wrote this a number of years ago, initially intending for it to be a follow up to my 'How To Kill Vampires' article on the Amazing Friends section of Solidsharkey.com. For one reason or another, this never came to fruition. I came across this a few days ago, and have posted it for your viewing pleasure, if you can call it that.)



'The Metroid Disaster'

The top ranking members of the Federation were all gathered around the boardroom table, all of them quietly engaged in small talk. Cigar smoke wafted through the air, and the sound of ice cubes rattling inside glasses could be heard. Scientists, generals, engineers, doctors, all at the tops of their respected fields, had been gathered here, onboard the massive space cruiser 'Firebird', to discuss the actions of one man.

Michael F. Gilliput.

Michael had been drafted over 3 years earlier to design the B.S.L Space Station, where the Galactic Federation would continue to conduct research on the lifeforms known as 'Metroids'. A multi-billion dollar installation, no expense was to be spared by the Federation to utilise the talents of the galaxies best designers. This was where Michael came in. Over ten years ago, he had designed the space cruiser known as 'The Titanica', a massive vessel that was to be the equivalent of the ill fated ship that hit an iceberg and sunk into the depths, hundreds of years ago. The ship was a success, and Michael became the most sought after space architect in the galaxy. When the Federation heard about Michael's architectural triumphs, they immediately drafted him for this top secret mission.They left him to his own devices, and gave him free reign over the Federation's team of engineers, so that he could maximise the efficiency and strength of the new installation. So much confidence was invested in Michael, that the space station was built without the top brass even seeing the plans.

Then, things started to go wrong.

Reports came flooding back to Federation HQ every day, from scientists stating that the space station was impossible to work in. Engineers and builders were dying every week. Power outages were uncomfortably common. And so this meeting was called.Seated before the assembled professionals was Michael, a former shaow of himself. Dark circles ran under his eyes, and a five o'clock shadow had run rampant and become a 10 o'clock tangle. Reeking of cheap brandy, Michael was a sad sight. A tough, burly looking seargent stood up, his erect, proud stance making Michael cringe. The seargent's dark eyes regarded Michael with contempt, and when he spoke, his words dripped with barely disguised disgust.
'Mr. Gilliput', spoke the seargeant,' do you know why you are here today?'
'Because you're lonely?' quipped Michael, hoping a joke might ease the tension in the room.
No one laughed.
'No, Mr Gilliput. I suspect you know the real reason for your incarceration. And if you do not, I will tell you.' The gruff seargeant picked up a holograpic clipboard in fron of him and stared at it for a few minutes, his eyes never blinking. All the other eyes in the room were fixed solely on Michael's bedraggled form.
'Mr. Gilliput, are you or are you not responsible for the design of the B.S.L Space Station?
''I designed it sir, yes.' said Michael.
'Then this is the reason you sit before us today. To answer the many questions we have about your unforgivable actions. Your current state speaks volumes about the way you feel about your predicament.' said the seargeant.
Michael nodded, wiping a hand across his face.'Are you able to tell me, Mr. Gilliput, why you thought that this design would provide optimum safety and comfort to the people who lived and worked onboard the B.S.L Space Station?'
Michael stared at the floor, his hands trembling. 'I... uh... I-I'm not sure, sir.
''Are you able to tell me, Mr. Gilliput, why you thought it would be wise to design vertical shafts as a means of accessing other parts of the installation? And why these vertical shafts had randomly placed ledges down it's length?'
Michael wrung his hands together, but said nothing, his gaze concentrating on the floor near the seargeant's feet.
'I saw these shafts with my own eyes, Mr. Gilliput. Some of them extended straight down for approximately half a mile, with only a small room at the bottom. And in these rooms were strange contraptions with the legend 'Save Room' inscribed above them. What in God's name is a 'Save Room', Mr. Gilliput?'
Again, Michael said nothing.
'I was also unfortunate enough to take a tour the other parts of the installation. I can understand the need for a cold storage room, Mr. Gilliput, but I cannot see how a room filled with lava is useful to anyone. Let alone a room filled with god damn lava that I have to cross by hanging from the ceiling like some kind of damn monkey!'
Michael put his hand to his mouth and began to chew on a fingernail.
'Feeling nervous, Mr. Gilliput?' said the seargeant, sarcasm dripping from his words. 'Good. I want you to understand how annoyed I am at having to have visited your sorry excuse for a 'space station'.
'The seargeant sat down, and a General stood up to take his place. 'I too had the misfortune of visiting the B.S.L facility, and by God Mr. Gilliput, you will pay for what happened. I lost eighteen good men that day, due to your complete and utter negligence! Your utter disregard for human life! Do you know what it's like to bury your men, and then try to tell their wives that you're sorry?!
'Tears dripped slowly down Michael's cheeks. 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry!' he cried, pleading with his hands. 'I didn't think they'd b-build it! It was meant to be an experim-'.
'EXPERIMENT?!,' shouted the General. 'An experiment! So this is why you designed these ridiculous hallways. Three of my men died crossing one of your 'hallways'. I suppose you thought it would be amusing to have random holes in the ground, all filled with electrified water? Did you think it would be funny to design rooms with ledges and doors that could only be reached with a grappling hook and a mile of rope? Or maybe you thought it'd be a laugh riot to create important rooms that can only be accessed by running as fast as you can at the wall?'
While the General was shouting at him, Michael had sunk to the floor, his sobbing making his body convulse. He was a mess of tears and snot, and he kept repeating the same words over and over again. 'I'm sorry'.
'Your tears will earn you no pity here, Mr. Gilliput. We shall not be swayed by the tears of a man who designed rooms that can only be accessed by standing in the area of a detonating bomb so that the floor caves in. We shall show no pity to the disgusting human that designed retarded rooms that can only be accessed by somersaulting into the wall. There will be a place reserved for you in hell, Mr. Gilliput; the man who created a space station with no apparent place to go to the toilet'.
The General sighed, looking at the wretched figure on the floor. 'However, Mr. Gilliput, for even the worst of men there can be redemption.'
Michael looked up the General through tear-stained eyes, hope daring to enter his heart. "Y-y-you'd give me a second chance?'
'One chance, Mr. Gilliput, one chance' replied the General. 'Forgetting the fact that you designed the worst space installation in recent memory and cost the Federation upwards of 94 billion dollars, The Federation has discussed the matter and decided that only and architect as insane as yourself would be fit to design the Federation's new project.'
'Which is?' asked Michael, a thankful smile showing on his face.

'Boulder Dash Fun Park'.