A Cry From Down-Underground...

Hello!! It's with great pleasure that i take the reins of the Adventures Blog this week. Co-editing this blog with Marissa is going to be a kick. We've received many cool underground writing samples in our Olde Ye-Mail box, so keep those coming!

Before i introduce this week's work, i gotta vent.

The Man's been laying it on heavy lately. Income taxes, jury duty summons, getting pulled over and lectured for having an expired registration, which is only expired because the fine state i live in makes you pay $50 for a DMV "smog" check, and if you don't pass it you can't register your car until you pay oodles of cash to get the car "repaired." My car's old and beat so it probably pollutes, but it's a drop in the bucket compared to what's REALLY going on. Fuckers.

This week's writer hails from Australia---the perfect place for an Underground Literary Adventure! I present to you two from Cry Bloxsome. That's his NAME, fool! Really. First up is an appetizer from Cry, followed by the main course.

As for me, my name is Pat Simonelli, but this blog isn't about me or my pathetic needs. Well, actually it is, but sharing fun writing just happens to be one of my needs, too! What a lucky coincidence! Enjoy......!

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STIR-FRY BRASS HORSE

FROM “THE BITTER TASTE COOKBOOK”®™©∞ by Cry Bloxsome INGREDIENTS • Six pack of beer • 1 small brass horse statue • Your house-mate’s sister (call her Kristy) • 1 handful of hepatitis-B warning postcards • 1 saddle blanket (or tea-towel) • old coffee grounds from the percolator • detergent • 1 pack of chips (Ham & Mustard Flavour) • 1 egg • fresh basil METHOD Put the wok on the hot-plate to warm. Quickly drink the whole six-pack, being careful to avoid anyone who is telling you this is a bad idea. Put the brass horse in the wok. Or if it’s too big for the wok just lay it across the top. Take your housemate’s sister, call her Kristy, and stand her beside you in front of the wok. Get her to say things like ‘You’re fucking crazy’ or ‘Is the brass horse tender yet.’ Throw in the hepatitis warning postcards, and increase the heat until they’re smoking. Chuck in the packet of chips. Don’t open the packet, just chuck it in. When that begins melting, throw in the saddle blanket, the old coffee grounds and the detergent. Move back away from the wok and throw the egg. Don’t worry about aiming: if Allah wills it, the egg will find the wok. Add a pinch of fresh basil and let it simmer. When people walk past and say: ‘What the fuck is that!’ Reply: ‘Stir-fry brass horse.’ Allow to cool. Then walk away and leave it for your housemates to clean up in the morning. SERVES no purpose at all. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX PARTY. By Cry Bloxsome ‘It made sense in my mind at first.’ ‘We used to live opposite the KFC bucket. And if you woke up and the bucket was turning you were fucking late for work man!’ ‘Someone I don’t know is break-dancing in my room.’ ‘Largerphone.’ ‘The International School of Wrong.’ ‘I saw you sitting at the bus stop with the cigarette butts.’ ‘I hear if you wear a head-band you’re somehow related to the hip-hop movement.’ ‘Bikies make the best lovers.’ She stood up and wriggled her skirt back down her legs. ‘I was wearing a stripped T-shirt and this girl said I looked like Where’s Wally. I didn’t take it too personally because she was clearly a dirty lesbian.’ ‘Not altogether together.’ ‘Don’t listen to the lights.’ ‘“She was not on Teen Idol. That’s Oprah Winfrey. Don’t argue with me please!”’ ‘What do you reckon, should I get one or not.’ ‘It weighs two litres of milk, or more.’ ‘2-minute noodles is food with enough nutritional value to keep you alive just long enough to regret ever getting a liberal arts degree.’ ‘With him being a skater, he saw me as a nice double-set with a hand-rail, and he just wanted to nail it.’ ‘No double pluggers after five-o’clock.’ ‘I remember getting pissed off with my parents and going into my room and making Voltron.’ Scott turned the stereo down. ‘Did you say gregarious?’ ‘Yes.’ Scott nodded and turned the stereo back up. ‘Go you fucking poof!’ ‘It brings back memories of funnels and warm VB.’ ‘I’m on sick leave.’ ‘What did you say you came down with?’ ‘Nauseated fever, specifically.’ ‘It smells! It smells Scotty.’ ‘Don’t worry it’ll be over in a minute.’ ‘God’s law. That’s gonna get bombed.’ ‘French tickler. I’ve got the Saddam tickler, know what I’m saying?’ ‘But in general, do you find that I’m more right than you?’ ‘Sexy, but not go-out-of-your-way sexy.’ ‘Rich get richer, poor get the picture.’ ‘My heart goes out to all the people riding trains in the dark.’ ‘Last yesterday.’ ‘Swan street, Richmond. There was a pub there called The Great Britton. I drank eight pints with a Nigerian princess.’ ‘You scratch my back – I’ll stab yours.’ ‘Thanks for coming, three times.’ ‘I want to download your breasts to my hardick drive.’ ‘I did the vocals on this track.’ ‘Wow, you could get your dick sucked for that.’ ‘I loves it when you play hide the top, and they have to stand there in their underwear.’ ‘I love watching women drink water.’ ‘Get out of here Cate, you dirty slut!’ ‘I resemble that comment.’ ‘I’ve got a burning desire to stick this in the fire.’ ‘I’ve gotta go get a beer cunt hay. I’ll be back in a tick.’ ‘I’m whacking down these Pernod’s.’ ‘Tell me not to take pills and get into bed with my ex-boyfriend.’ ‘Honey, don’t take pills and get into bed with your ex-boyfriend.’ ‘Sex in a backpackers is like playing Hungry Hippo.’ ‘We’ve drunk a lot of piss this week, I proclaim.’ ‘I lost my nose stud dancing. And this one doesn’t fit in cos my hole’s too small.’ ‘Is she hot.’ ‘Nuh.’ ‘Fuck her off then!’ ‘How’s your fax machine, still playing up?’ ‘What?’ ‘My work sent me on a business communications course.’ ‘So you ask me about my fax machine?’ ‘Do you have a fax machine?’ ‘No.’ ‘Then how could I of been?’ ‘We’re flat out here. Flat out trying to keep our eyes open.’ ‘Fuck this! I’m over it. I want to go to bed.’ ‘He throws mung-bean treats at buses.’ “Social Justice Week – Go on, give a shit.” ‘Do you have a brother? Is he sexable?’ ‘I don’t know. I mean, I can’t remember because of alcohol.’ ‘Take one look in my eyes and you’ll see running feet.’ ‘Why, what’s tomorrow?’ ‘Father’s day.’ almost everybody went, ‘Orr, fuck!’ ‘Ta very much man.’ ‘Do you know how much money there is around here?’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Yep, you’re as stupid as I thought you were.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Yair, just get out of here.’ ‘What’s been happenin’ tiger?’ ‘Those boys are a pisser.’ ‘Which nostril do I use.’ bio... Cry Bloxsome can be found in the early hours displayed in gutters through-out the nations capitals. He calls Perth, Australia, home because he was born there and he knows where the bottle shops are and the weather is nice. He writes The Egotripper which appears every month on the back page of LUCKY magazine (Melbourne). He describes his writing as "a look at life through drunk, Godless and yet (sadly) burning eyes." He needs your help! http://www.crybloxsome.com/ crybloxsome@bigpond.com