I’m so glad they put a padlock on this wall.
   

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Safety Concerns

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What’s for dinner?  
Juvenile humour. 

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Kinder Surprise!

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Writing

It is

Blessed are those who seek 

what they can’t see

Some mumbling bumbling 

category.

 
Jewelled demons claw at you

They speak without voice

Only need a few dollars

Employer of choice.

  

If it hides, light its darkness

If it fights, set it free

No actor can act 

what a being can’t be.

  

The dancers deceive us

Sweet night set us free

This turbid green liquor 

Herein lies the sea

  

Open the window

Take in the air

Bathe in the lamplight

Reject every care

  

Concrete and fences

All guide your way home

But it’s too late

And it feels late

Because it is late

And we commiserate that

In the end

We’re all

on 

  

our 

  

  

own

  

 

 

But that’s ok. 

  

Sensate 

Annihilate

Gate, gate, paragate

 

Infinite

Devoid of hate

Or was it something that I ate?

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Have you seen Max?

  
Really tall, big head.

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Maximum Signage

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Modified, photos, visual puns

Live Wires

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Writing

Serial Killer Movie Titles

So, there was a remake of a film on TV called ‘The Stepfather’ about a guy that moves in with a family, then murders them all before moving on. It looked pretty bad. But it made me wonder, what else would make good titles for serial killer movies? 

The Orthodontist – “I’m sorry, those teeth have to come out”

 

The Optometrist – “The last thing you’ll ever see”

 

The Podiatrist – “Umm… something to do with feet?”

  

The Checkout Chick – “Time for you to check out / Clean up, aisle 9”

  

The IT guy – “He’ll try switching you off and on again” (some kind of cyborg, slasher thing)

 

The Forensic Scientist – “Oh wait, that’s Dexter. Much better title”

 

The Architect – “Devil in the detail / Your demise was predetermined / Bespoke Destruction”

 

The Baker – “Early to rise” (undead thriller?)

 

The Butcher – “… I’ve got nothing.”

 

The Candlestick Maker – “Jack be nimble, Jack be quick / You’re Snuffed”

 

The Motoring Enthusiast – “Yay, I’m a senator!” (An Australian horror story)

 

The Comedian – “He’ll have the last laugh”

 

The Locksmith – “You think you’re safe?”

 

The Philosopher – “I think, therefore you’re not”

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Writing

rain

The drips coalesced and ran together, luminescent colours warping, streaking images of the passing cityscape. The car slipped through the night like some alien craft across an infinite sheet of pitch. I could hear the rain, barely audible over the hum of the engine. Small drops, trembling at the edge of the window before losing traction and falling into darkness. My own boundaries had faded, my motions automatic. I was consumed within the symphony of the storm. White lights, yellow lights, shifting, streaming, Red. The intersection was empty. In this stillness the fall of the rain seemed impossibly immediate. Endless. Universal. I was suddenly gripped with a fear that the storm would soon pass and I would be left alone in my car, tyres squeaking on renewed asphalt. But for now the drops fell. Green. A few minutes more and I would be at home, feeling the cold sting of the water on my face as I walked to the door. And then…. but now. The lights stretched, the engine growled. Distant thunder. Rain rushed by, flicked away playfully, across the windscreen, surprised in headlights, geometric collections, an unrepeatable instance, lost as soon as realised. 

I remember, half a lifetime ago, walking through Dorrigo National Park with my uncle. It began to rain. “So this is a real rainforest.” I said. It was beautiful. The little light that filtered through the canopy collected in shifting, muted beams. The leaves themselves rustled and swayed. The smell of damp earth and the feeling of dead leaves underfoot… and the sound. Every leaf, every piece of bark or undergrowth moved and echoed the rain. True surround sound. The less I held onto my concentration the more I seemed to hear. The wind whipped up a crescendo of drops, pattering high above, and all around. Everything moved together. The beat of the rain was everywhere. And at every pitch. And yet few drops made it down to us. Diverted along the massive trunks and branches, the water added to the softening mud underfoot. We were protected. While the wind and rain whipped above and away and beyond us.

 

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Turns out that kid with the pirate name tag did quite well for themselves…

  
Either that or someone forgot to completely fill in the business registration form for their restaraunt.

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Hiring Blanks

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