No one has ever gone past my hymen.

Whores, tramps, girls, boys and the undecided. And Gemma. We're here to talk down to you today about a very important issue. Well... not so much. We're really just gonna talk a lot of shit again. This will probably be our last blog about being a roommate. We are currently going through what the English call a divorce. Please understand it is entirely your fault. We don't love you anymore, and if you hadn't of been born, the world would have been a much happier place and mummy and daddy would have stayed together. Get out of our sight you talentless piece(s) of shit!

Seriously though, we're fine. No one is moving out despite constant escape attempts from the one they call "Kathryn" (hopefully that's ambiguous enough and you wont figure out who we mean). Also, we've honestly run out of things to talk about regarding our roommatedness. Ew that kind of sounds like we've been mating. Honestly no one is more disgusted by that notion than we. As a result this will be our final blog regarding us living together. (Well, probably anyway).

Some have called our relationship unhealthy. Sinister even. For tax purposes only… but it’s so much more than that. One of the most important things about being a good roommate is that you have to adore each other. Or, be heavily drugged out on cough medicine and fess nasal spray at least 90% of the time like we are. But seriously guys, we love each other. In a strictly platonic way. Except for that one time behind the haystack – but we’ve promised never to talk about that again. Oops. Just did. Shit. Excuse us whilst we dry retch. In this blog we’re going to give you a few tips… or titbits if you will, about how we function on a daily basis. Not bowel functions... that's next week...

Mostly we get on like two lesbians and a U-Haul trailer, but we do have our fair share of arguments. Usually about whether Julie Andrews was robbed of her Academy Award for The Sound of Music. Healthy roommates have fights. It’s good for the soul and your oily t-section. (You might want to get that checked out… just sayin’ – it’s offensive.)

Both of us are currently seeking employment. Well not actively, but we do occasionally have dreams about applying for jobs we have no qualifications for. Neither of us has any marketable skills, unless you count being able to tie an Allen’s Snake with your tongue. 

One of us has a music degree (as if that’s even worth the paper it was forged on – but it is from a fine institution. Hahahahaha jokes.) And the other would have a degree by now if he too had slept with his professors. But hey, we’re not all sluts who have so many track marks that we have to start injecting between our toes. Oh… yeah… drugs are bad kids. Stay off the blow, it leads to bad life decisions. Like that time we accidentally watched a full episode of Glee and found ourselves enjoying the black chick (wait, is that racist?) and her terrible acting as she pops some nodules. That was harsh. We’re sorry token black/fat chick on Glee. You’re perfection. Ok… we are really racist. And fatist. We’re seeking help. Well not so much – but we’ve been watching a lot of My Wife and Kids. Baby steps… it’s a process.

Anyway, while we’re both being supported financially by our girl Julia Gillard, we’ve tried to be budget conscious… you know, we’ve cut out the expensive drugs and the hookers, and since we’ve decided to remove all the negative things in our lives we’ve stopped paying rent. Paying rent is the worst decision we ever made. Our landlords are totally cool with it – in fact they write to us constantly with eviction notices. We’ve told them Big Brother is off the air now, but they don’t get. Those jokers.

We have found cooking the nightly meal to be a good bonding experience. PJ does most of the edible cooking, while Kathryn cooks the more novelty dinners. Such as McDonalds and Pizza Hut... and on one memorable occasion, glue rice and vomit flavoured beef stroganoff. We cannot say more for the simple act of having a nice meal together. Especially if it’s Chinois. Which is Chinese for Chin-wahs.

Well, that’s about all we have time for. We’re sorry this one didn’t really make you laugh. I mean really it was a waste of your time to read it wasn’t it? Sometimes we like to get serious, and give you something you can really sink your teeth into. You know like Faust or Balzac. (Hehehe Balzac).

We like you all like we like our girls drinks... spiked as f**k.

Peace out mofo's

"Gay the Musical" based on the novel "Gay" by Marcia Gay-Harden

Upon a recent reviewing of The Producers, we realised there really isn't enough representation of homosexuality in musical theatre. To compensate for this problematic problemo (Hey there Maria) we have intelligently retitled some well known musical theatre numbers. This inspired us to write our own musical. If someone like Andrew Lloyd Webber can slap a mask on a guy and call it a musical, then so can we. Here are a few of our ideas: 

Not A Gay Goes By

Memoirs of A Gaysha

I’m Not That Gay

If You Were Straight

Macavity, the Homosexual Cat

Gimme, Gimme a Gay after Midnight

If I Were A Gay Man

16 going on Gay

Damn It Jannet, I’m Gay

Gayspell

Jesus Christ Super Gay

Can You Feel the Gay Tonight

Glitter and Your Mum’s Gay

On The Street Where You are Gay

I Only Wanna Say… You’re Gay

Make Em’ Fey

Homo, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore

Anything Gay

Somewhere That’s Gay

Liza Minelli

Harry Potter

Children and the proletariat...

As our dear friend Kathy Griffin once said to us, “I hate children. They’re selfish – especially babies. The day I come home and a baby asks me how my day is going is the day I care about children”.

Friends, Gemma, and others, we here in number 62 Tennent Road have a problem. It’s not a big problem like world hunger or Bernadette Peters rapidly deteriorating voice, but it is a problem. We live in bogan central. Who knew that this picturesque suburb of Mount Hutton would be a beacon for ruffians, malcontents and the general unwashed? Certainly not us.

One only has to go to the local shopping centre to find barefooted, greasy haired, Shane Warne loving, unemployed people of the proletariat, who’s idea of a good night in is sitting drinking beer in their stubbies and wife beaters (while beating their wives). Honestly, it’s so lower bourgeois. A prime example of the working class antics that we have to put up with is, for instance, the other day when we ventured to Cölés Fine Foods to purchase pheasant farm pâté and caviar. While there, we were affronted by an unattractive… shall we say “woman” for purposes of this blog… and her brood of future criminals and centrelink frequenters. One of the more articulate urchins begged their mother to take them across the road to Henny Penny. The mother viciously berated the child, saying “We can’t go over there – we owe that woman money.”

Thus far, we have not met any of our neighbours – however, their children frequent our front lawn playing their insipid games at all hours of the day. Including school hours. I guess the parents figure, why fight genetics? They didn’t attend school past the 5^th grade, and they have made fine gum scrapers and exotic dancers.

Look… we didn’t mean for this blog to become a tirade against bogan children… or really children in general, but the Lord Jesus (often mispronounced “Hey Zeus”) obviously wanted us to write about this. Why fight the power of Yahweh? Gesundheit.

Obviously bogan children are the worst… but lets face it, all children are annoying and selfish little blighters. Whether they are running up and down the aisles of the supermarket screaming, whether they are running up and down the aisles of church screaming (shout out Hey-Zeus!), or whether they are running up and down the aisles of the cinemas screaming. Seriously guys, we just want to watch My Little Pony in peace without hearing their annoying laughter. They just don’t get it like we do. We really relate to that misunderstood pygmy horse. We get him. And he gets us. Those kids are just there for the popcorn and some cheap laughs.

Roald Dahl had the right idea. Through well meaning, but oft misunderstood characters like the Trunchball and The Grand High Witch, he communicated to us how evil children really are. Children should be all sent away to farms until they have grown into real people. When children are allowed to be on the loose, unfortunate accidents happen to poor, unsuspecting adults trying to live their lives. Who can forget the tragic loss of that poor witch who lived in the gingerbread house in the woods? Those children have a lot to answer for.

In conclusion… mainly because we’ve just realised this blog has nothing to do with being a good roommate, we herby conclude this blog with this concluding conclusion. Ooo said it too many times now… sounds weird.

*Disclaimer: While we didn’t want to write a disclaimer, we feel that it is important to make sure all our friends (particularly those with children) know that everything we have said should be taken tongue in cheek. We are not talking about your children. Your children are lovely and gifted. And they are going to grow into fine members of the community. Every single one of them is going to be the President of the United States. Or at least one of the lesser countries. Like Narnia.

Oh Mr. Tumnus… creepy pedophile.