Home | Start a blog | About Orble | FAQ | Sites | Writers | Advertise | My Orble | Login
 

Illie-T-Redd

Melbourne, Victoria, AUSTRALIA


Joined November 4th 2006

Number of Posts:
3

Number of Comments:
39

Karma:
3



Trying is the first step towards failure.

About Me
Oh yes, my felow Orblobians. That is a monkey washing a cat. Don't you wish you had a monkey like that? A monkey that would go around the house doing chores for you? Nooo, nooo!! I don't mean like some sick, perverted, horny monkey doing "chores" for you! C'mon! Honestly now people. That is sick. Totally inappropriate. C'mon. Really.

Anyways, enough about me. On to my display pic.

Tags & Posts

Bookmark Tags



Popular Posts

Blogs

Illie-T-Redd's Blogs

66 Vote(s)
5 Comment(s)
1 Post(s)
140 Vote(s)
12 Comment(s)
2 Post(s)

I mentor these bloggers

Learn more about the Orble Mentoring Program.


I do not mentor any bloggers.

Friends

I have no friends :(

Recent Posts

Telemarketer From Hell

November 17th 2006 16:51
Okay. So picture this, right? It's Saturday and it's 8:56 in the a.m. and that last triple vodka shot you had is still oozing out of your nose. Your eyes are so bloodshot you piss magenta. The aftertaste of your vomit lingers like curd in your mouth: right along the walls of your mouth and the sides of your tongue. And you can practically smell your hangover. It reeks of last month's egg salad.

Then, the phone goes and rings. You ignore it, not because you're certain it will go away, but because you're so tanked you don't even hear it at first. When you eventually do, you don't even know if it's really the phone that's ringing or if it's just that ridiculous techno number you heard in the club that's stuck in your head looping over and over. Irregardless, it's the phone. Believe me. And it doesn't go away. It just keeps going on and on and on. It's suppose to have stopped by now, surely, but it doesn't.

Six minutes passes and it's still ringing continuously. You can't take it anymore. You can't force yourself to sleep through it any longer. One more ring and your temples will combust inside your skull. So, you roll off your bed and land on the parquet floor with a thud. But you don't feel a thing because the alcohol has numbed all your muscles. You drag your trailing limbs to the corner of the room where the phone is. You pick it up... and you mumble into the mouthpiece: "Mmheholl?"

A chirpy voice on the other side of the line greets you. "Well, good morning. How are you on this lovely day?"

The overly exaggerated jolly and shrill voice makes you want to shove the handset down your throat and strangle yourself with the cord. You should but you don't because that thought process just can't swim its way pass the sludge of alcohol quick enough from your brain to your arm. Plus, your throat is really dry.

"Hell the... who is the hell is you are?" you fumble as audibly as you can.
"Why, I'm just your friendly lil' neighbourhood telemarketer."

Now you really wish you had gagged and strangled yourself.

"Whadda ya selling to try me? I don't buy wanna... I don't but, I buy don't..."
"I'm not trying to sell you anything," the voice reassures. And haven't we all heard that before.
"I want YOU to sell ME something," he continues.
"Pee pee. I hafta pee. Pee," you stammer.
"In a moment. But first, I'd like you to sell your soul to me."
"My soh... my what? What the hell? Who is this? Is that... s'that you, Stan?"
"Yes, yes it's me. Stan."
"Heyyyyyyy, Stan! What is the up with the Stan?! Oh, hey, hey, hey. Hey. Listen. Stan, hey. Huh? What?"
"Okay, look here numbnuts. I'm gonna put you through to a voice recording. When you hear a beep, I want you to say this. Say, 'I formally agree to sell my soul to the Devil. In exchange, I will never have to endure another hang over for the rest of my life'. Can you manage that? Y'think you can handle that?"
"I don't anything... I wanna don't buy anything over the pheletone."
"Listen, you're not buying anything. I am. Okay? And besides, it's not like you're not signing your life away or anything."
"Hey, Stan. Stan. Stan, hey... I'm gonna go to the pee now, a'ight? I'll see you... I'll."

And you hang up. No sooner do you hear the click do you start vomitting all things green and brown and pea-shaped.
43
Vote
Comments (4)Comments (4) Add CommentsAdd Comments
[ Link ]
Posted By: Illie-T-Redd - Category: No Category
   


The Idiot Box

November 13th 2006 07:45
Being an avid TV watcher (I'd use the term "couch potato" but I'm too poor right now to even own a third-hand couch), it's always been a mystery to me how some people regard the television as the idiot box. Not just as an alternative term, but as a vilifying description of what I would consider to be one of the greatest inventions of our time. Right up there with toilet paper. And the remote control. Fire and the automobile are somewhere further down.

But these are the people who insist TV will make you dumb. It will kill off your brain cells. It will hynotize you into a zombiesque stupor. And my favourite, it will induce an epileptical fit. They'd much rather read, or knit, or play chess, or work on their hydroponic gardens. All perfectly mind-blowing hobbies, ofcourse. But why not leave the rest of us who love watching TV alone? Yes, we know TV isn't going to help us get a PhD. We know it's not going to get us on Oprah as the Hydroponicist Extraordinaire or as the World's Faster Knitter. Hey, it's not our fault something like Sudoku doesn't stimulate us!

All joking aside, in this revolutionary age where a TV set is more than just a paraphernalia for an entertaining hobby, is it still fair to call it the idiot box? Is it still apt for anti-televisionistas to preach to us TV lovers to turn the knob off and find something more useful to do with our lives?

Yes, there are still shows that when you spend too much time watching will disintegrate your brain cells in bulk. I won't mention names, for that just opens up a whole other undesirable can of proverbials. But gone are the days of yonder where all you had were canned-laughter sitcoms, exaggerated soap operas and plotless cops n' robbers series -- albeit some have become classics, I have to admit. And names will once again be refrained for fear of being laughed at.

Nowadays, you have all these glorious shows that explore all kinds of socio-political issues. Shows that take you inside the world of politics, medicine, crime, law enforcement and shows that teach you how to cope with survival when your plane has crash landed in some mysterious island inhabited by madmen and black smoke and secret passages and hatches and electro-magnetic forces. Okay, maybe that's just one show.

Then you have your educational documentaries; informative forum/discussion programs; magazine shows that cover a wide range of topics from sports to travel to current affairs. Sure, you can learn a whole lot too by reading the Encylopedia. I guess. But isn't it more fun to experience it with lively moving pictures and booming audible sounds? And lets be frank here... reading all day just plain hurts the eyes.

So, all you TV haters out there, and I know you're out there and there in abundance, isn't it time you stop telling us that TV is decaying our society and give it a try? We're no longer stuck in the days of J.R Ewing, Mr. T or Steve Urkel, you know. Err... I've already mentioned too many names.
63
Vote
Comments (5)Comments (5) Add CommentsAdd Comments
[ Link ]
Posted By: Illie-T-Redd - Category: No Category
   


Three To Tango

November 9th 2006 16:13
And the Devil asked me what I wanted in exchange for my soul. And I told him I wanted the greatest pair of feet ever so that I can become the greatest tango dancer ever so that I can woo the prettiest, most heavenly girl ever, Isobel. And the Devil said, in a quite serenely eloquent voice, "But what good would a good pair of feet do if you don’t have the soul for the tango, my boy?"

And I said, in a not as relaxed a voice, "You're very philosophical for a Devil. Do you want my soul or or not?"

"I'm just saying!" and the Devil reasoned. And with that, the Devil told me it was done. And so I looked down at my chest, then down to my feet. And it all looked exactly the same to me, I let it be known to the Devil.

"Don't worry. It's done," the Devil reassured. And I asked the Devil to tango with me, just to make sure. And the Devil said to me, quite cynically, "Are you kidding me? Forget it! I'm the Devil. I don't tango!"

And I pleaded with him for one quick tango. And the Devil kept insisting he doesn't tango; and that the tango wasn't his thing.

"Boy? The tango isn't my thing." See?

And I made one last plea to him: "It's just a tango. S'not like it's gonna kill you."

And with a heavy sigh, he agreed. And so we started to tango. And I instantly realized I still stunk. And I made it known instantly to the Devil. And the Devil didn't bother saying a word, instead choosing to roll his blood-red eyes.

And then it began: my feet started to shuffle in a way they had never shuffled before; my knees were bending every which way; my head flailing backwards, forwards, sideways, this way and that way. And my body started gyrating like a marionette being puppetted by an eleven-fingered maple syrup addict.

And suddenly, I was transported to the costume dance party. And there I was, dancing skillfully with Isobel: my hair jet-black and slick and shaped like horns; a fiery red mask covering my face; sweat purposefully perforating my crimson satin shirt; and a pair of shiny, sable-coloured spandex slash lycra pants and that is all I have to say about the pants.

And after the tango number ended, I proceeded to kiss Isobel on her hand, as one would. And as I proceeded to get her a drink -- a Bloody Mary as it turned out she requested -- I saw none other than the Devil, dressed in all-white with a Nicholas Cage mask, proceeding to tango away with Isobel.

And the tango wasn't his thing, he said!

And so I stood there at the bar watching them with furious amazement. And as the dance went on, they began shimmying further and further away to the corner of the dance floor.

And without so much as another hip twist, they disappeared through a door and into a room. A door that I could've sworn 2 minutes ago was the fireplace.
91
Vote
Comments (8)Comments (8) Add CommentsAdd Comments
[ Link ]
Posted By: Illie-T-Redd - Category: No Category
   


  

Recent Comments

Comment by Illie-T-Redd
on Most Hated Bands

November 30th 2006 10:18


The Devil & I
Majikal Mysterium
I dunno if you're being serious or not (if you're not, then ignore this post altogether) but Bono is not Bono's real name.

Comment by Illie-T-Redd
on Naomi Robson Leaves Today Tonight

November 28th 2006 13:06


The Devil & I
Majikal Mysterium
I think she would stink as an Aussie version of Oprah. But she would really do well as a female version of Jerry Springer.


Comment by Illie-T-Redd
on Telemarketer From Hell

November 26th 2006 11:33


The Devil & I
Majikal Mysterium
Just like poop sometimes I guess. Eventhough you may not have eaten corn, it sometimes mysteriously appears in there.

Creeeeeeeepy.

Comment by Illie-T-Redd
on Telemarketer From Hell

November 26th 2006 04:33


The Devil & I
Majikal Mysterium
What do you have in your kebabs that I don't?

Comment by Illie-T-Redd
on The Idiot Box

November 20th 2006 12:15


The Devil & I
Majikal Mysterium
You're lucky if you're getting new episodes of Futurama over there. Here, we seem to be getting reruns of the old episodes. Sometimes even rerun of reruns.

Comment by Illie-T-Redd
on What do Australians Think of Canadians?

November 19th 2006 05:36


The Devil & I
Majikal Mysterium
Well, I have a Canadian girlfriend. I always thought Canada was generally cold throughout the year. But I found out the summers can get very hot too.

And I also used to think that the younger people there had a lot of teen angst. But you can blame that on Avril and Alanis.

But the canadian accent is really cute. Especially girls' accent. *wink wink*


Comment by Illie-T-Redd
on Three To Tango

November 17th 2006 12:17


The Devil & I
Majikal Mysterium
Thanks for reading, Chantal. Dunno what my inspiration was on this occasion. Just wanted to see if I could start every sentence with the word "and".

Comment by Illie-T-Redd
on My Top 10 Pet Peeves

November 16th 2006 16:48


The Devil & I
Majikal Mysterium
Absolutely pet peeve: in the cinema, people (mainly numbnuts) who stand there rooted at their seat for seconds and seconds during sneak previews/end credits. Especially when their seat is right infront of yours.

And those other numbnuts who, in the middle of the movie, whip out their mobiles and start texting or just mucking around with it and there's just this distracting ray of light beaming up. Don't get me started with those dipsticks who actually answer or make calls!

Comment by Illie-T-Redd
on FIA 2007 F1 World Championship Race Calendar & News

November 16th 2006 16:26


The Devil & I
Majikal Mysterium
I think Lewis(sp) Hamilton is in pole position (forgive the pun) to take the second seat at McLaren.

Raikkonen should've had at least one, possibly TWO world championships in the bag with McLaren but for their reliability issues.

Unless things change drastically, Alonso is probably going to have to endure as much frustration as Raikkonen during his McLaren days.

Comment by Illie-T-Redd
on Name that Movie (2005)

November 14th 2006 17:05


The Devil & I
Majikal Mysterium
I'm quite sure it's The Wedding Crashers.