Monthly Archives: February 2011

Darth Vader’s modern Parenting:


A furious light saber duel is under way. DARTH VADER is backing LUKE SKYWALKER toward the end of the gantry.

A quick move by Vader, chops off Luke’s hand! It goes spinning off into the ventilation shaft.

Luke looks round, but realizes there’s nowhere to go but straight down.

DARTH VADER: “Obi Wan never told you what happened to your father.”

LUKE: “He told me enough! He told me you killed him!”

DARTH VADER: “No! I am your father!”

LUKE: “No, that’s not true! That’s impossible.”

DARTH VADER: “Search your feelings; you know it to be true.”


DARTH VADER: “Yes, it is true and you know what else? You know that queer brass droid of yours?”

LUKE: “Threepio?”

DARTH VADER: “Yes, Threepio, I built him when I was 7 years old.”

LUKE: “No.”

DARTH VADER: “Seven years old! And what have you done? Look at yourself, no hand, no job, and couldn’t even levitate your own ship out of the swamp.”

LUKE: “I destroyed your precious Death Star!”

DARTH VADER: “When you were 20! When I was 10, I single-handedly destroyed a Trade Federation Droid Control ship!”

LUKE: “Well, it’s not my fault.”

DARTH VADER: “Oh, here we go. ‘Poor me, my father never gave me what I wanted for my birthday, boo hoo, my daddy’s the Dark Lord of the Sith…waahhh wahhh!’ You make me sick.”

LUKE: “Shut up!”

DARTH VADER: “You’re a slacker! By the time I was your age, I had exterminated the Jedi Knights!”

LUKE: “I used to race my T-16 through Beggar’s Canyon!”

DARTH VADER: “Oh, for the love of God, 10 years old, winner of the Boonta Eve Open. Only human to ever fly a Pod Racer, right here baby!”

Luke looks down the shaft. Takes a step toward it.

DARTH VADER: “I was wrong. You’re not my kid. I don’t know whose you are, but you sure ain’t mine. Get out of my sight, you loser!”

Luke takes a step off the platform, hesitates, then plunges down the shaft. Darth Vader looks after him.



I found this during my geek trawling and had to share. Too funny, even if you aren’t a Star Wars fan (as I’m not)


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Lather up Happiness

The Sweet Smell of Happiness. Rinse and Repeat.

I have recently discovered that I am a shameless consumer who judges a ‘bottle by it’s label’. I’m clearly not really too concerned with how a soap or shampoo smells or functions, as long as it’s puuurty.  And as geeky as this next paragraph is going to sound, it’s the truth and needs ‘out’.

I spent an embarrassing amount of time in the Pick’nPay toiletries aisle yesterday, trying to decide between two Radox body washes,(this isn’t a marketing plug for Radox and they aren’t slipping me money under the table to mention them *hint hint*. Their bottles are just handy with that built in ‘hook’ for your shower hanging convenience)…Anyway, I ended up eventually choosing one with a picture of Thailand and *glitter* in it, walking two aisles away, CHANGING my mind and walking all the way back to switch it for the other.  Really? Body-wash? Does it really matter?

I argue: YES! What was so alluring about this new soap that it forced me to battle my trolley, with a bum wheel, back up an aisle that I had already traipsed down, avoiding eye contact with employee shelf-stackers who were wondering why I was returning to the same place I had stood like a guppy moments before? It made me put back the one that had a picture of Thailand on it and sparkled with actual pieces of glitter in it…. I ask you with tears in my eyes, Why would I do that? The answer is: Its name!

It was called ‘Happy Me’. Happy is one of the best words in the English language… And it was Purty. And hot pink.

Click here to get taken to the Happy Factory:

Now I ask you, what girl wouldn’t want to start her day with a label like that smiling at her in the shower saying, “Good-Morning, Look how cute my beach scene is. Andwhat’s that ? The water in my perfect beach scene is pink! Pink makes you happy, doesn’t it?… and I’m a happy pink colour inside my bottle too!  And you will be even more happy when you see how foamy I get… and Happy is a GREAT word.  And I smell amazing, like candy and violets, doesn’t that make you HAPPY!?”

Well, if there is a girl who wouldn’t answer, “Yes, it makes me SO happy!” whilst clapping and hopping up and down just a little, then that girl is not me. Because I’m in lurve with it. Its yummy. It makes me happy. It’s subliminally programmed me to skip down the street and high-five people with the knowledge that I rubbed happiness all over my naked body. Oh yes. It’s like that thrill we get when we wear expensive sexy lingerie under normal jeans and t-shirts. No one else knows, but WE know, and you? Oh you can tell we know.

My previous happy maker was the Nivea variety:

It’s Time for HAPPY

Which deserves its dues. I remember gushing about it endlessly with its yummy orange-coconut flavour and super foamy, luxuriously bubbly-ness. My boyfriend at the time would use it and shout elated comments from the bathroom “Oh my God, I’m so fucking Happy…Weeee!” Mostly to mock me. Or it. Regardless. I know he loved it. Faux happiness is better than NO happiness.

But, thank you Radox – for making Happiness PINK.  I will never rise above the idea that one should surround themselves with words, colours and pictures that bring you Joy, make you happy and program your subconscious to keep smiling.

So Ladies, Get Happiness and rub it all over your naked, wet body.

It’s the second best thing I can think of to do in the shower.


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Other’s Awesome High-Fives.

“To the stranger I high-fived on Lake View today. We were both running and listening to iPods and I’m not sure why we both decided to high-five each other as we passed, but it was pretty radical. It was a hot ass day and I was feeling pretty tired around the 7 mile mark of my run, but that high-five rejuvenated me and the last 2 miles were a piece of cake. If we ever pass again I say we go for a jumping high-five.” – Joe Kikass

Found whilst Lurking the Internet

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Birthing the concept


doesn’t love

a random


The idea for this site hit me when a group of friends and I were wandering around at a three day rock festival, like dirty little hippies –  day 2: hung over and drunk –  Teetering between completely awesome and completely legless we were running around making airplane noises, laughing at blades of grass and randomly tackling each other to the ground. (Where I had the full weight of a grown man, launched gleefully into the air, land on my face – but it was ok, my nose broke his fall – and did I cry? no. I Laughed, hysterically. True story.)

Walking along, through the crowds of equal distributions of black, white, green and blue people – some of whom were hippies in last month’s dirt and tie dyed extremities. Some of whom were scary emo/metal/goth types who had come for the ‘rock’ part of the fest and of course, some were the normal breed of preppy waltzing along pretending to feel comfortable without a hot shower and gel in their hair. It was during this wonderous display of ‘awesome’ when one of the more forward thinking of the ‘Kutting Krew’ (as we have lovingly, and rightly, dubbed ourselves) took it upon himself to prove that “everyone loves a high five”.  He began throwing up high-fives at every person who walked past.

And would you believe it, not one person rejected his upstretched, outreaching arm. Even the skinny sad emos, staring at the floor and stamping along, as if to try and inflict pain on the grass underfoot – darn it for being so green, and happy, and alive – even they lifted a hand for that one awesome moment of human connection. The satisfying ‘slap’ of skin meeting skin.

His point (and my point here,) got further solidified, when we were standing front row, right up against that metal barrier they erect infront of rock stages to protect you from the band going crazy and trying to eat the faces of the crowd (I can only assume is it’s purpose) – so there we were, a group of unkempt, noisy vagabonds (if you will) pushing up against the railing. Laughing, high-fiving and rocking (both “out” and “back and forth”)…. and there he was – a big, really big, Nigerian bouncer/security guard. Standing stoic in front of the stage, leering at us from across the ‘no-man’s land’ DMZ of grass. “Crowd control” I believe is his job description.

Believe me when I say, He was NOT amused.

But, not one to…

a.) Fear authority

b.) hold back ‘love sharing’

c.) think clearly about things before doing them

…my friend reached out his hand in the universal proffering of the random high-five – and there he defiantly held it.

We said things like, “Dude, leave him. He’s working. Don’t irritate him, he’ll rip out your throat”… but what was that? A movement from the security guard! Could it be?

Yes, it could. Forward he (begrudgingly) shuffled, raised his hand and slapped my buddy’s. With not one stitch of a smile. Almost with an air of “fuck-you” about him before he returned to his previous position, arms crossed across exploding pectorals. Blink and you woulda missed it.

But our uproar of cheers, applause and general JOY at his actions “Everyone loves a high-five!!! You ROCK, Security Guard!” made him twitch just a little, shake his head and then: crack a smile! Maybe it was because a bunch of white kids just went buck-crazy in front of him and he was laughing at us… Hard to say, but I like to think that – really –  the echo of that slap of skin hitting skin had lingered on his ‘Awesome Radar’ and it’s pretty hard not to feel smug after an epic high-five.

Thank you Mr. Scary Security Guard, may your future be filled with happy surprises. Smiles from strangers and random high-fives when walking down the street.

I dare you to try it. I dare you not to love it.

It’s gonna be huge.. It’ll go viral.

(That’s what she said!   High-Five!)


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Reason to Smile today:

A four year old girl blurted out excitedly to me: “I’m going to be on TV!”  and we high-fived.

Epic win for childhood enthusiasm.

(Incidentally, she had spent the whole morning shooting a big budget TV commercial for overseas, so a least she’s a keen observer of her actual life!)

Below Image from the awesome site – Check it out for daily happy/arty/rad pics.

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