ALIAS POOR YORICK

  BY SPECIAL GUEST EDITOR GARY JAASON GERBILS I'm sure you recognise me from my best selling book "Soon AI Will Be Able  To Write Comedy ?Here, Hold My Beer", but of course I'm more famous for having set up Australasia's first proper advertising agency MAAAATE shortly after the war. I was also the genius who suggested changing the name of the game from Propaganda to Advertising. It was 1948 and Propaganda still had a bit of a wee pong about it. Besides, I said, call it Advertising and we'll right at the top of the first page of the Yellow Pages (at least until those smartarse arty pricks Mune and Donaldson come along with Aardvark Films. C---s). And "Hold my beer" That was mine. It was 1949. Me and a mate were having a quiet beer down then waterfront at the Seagulls Revenge, and this big bastard, Marxist, pissed as a parrot starts mouthing off about advertising being the worst kind of parasitic capitalistic evil and if anyone can explain to him the n

Hello, Good Morning, and fear me please. Stand back in awe and wonder and shiver slightly at my sheer fabulousness. I am Kim Jong-un  and I am the God Scorpion chosen to guard the jewel that is North Korea and protect it from the decadence that is the West. And the rest. You are all a serious fucking worry. I should at this stage point out to you that my remarks here this morning are being translated by my good personal friend, and recently adopted brother, Kim Jeff-oh shit yeah. He is a fabulously talented and gorgeous human, possibly the funniest man who has ever lived, and you should be paying him vast amounts of money to do whatever he wants. (* having re-checked the transcripts, it's possible that what Kim Jong-un  actually said in that last sentence was "I am a terrifyingly powerful man and if you do not arrange for Delta Goodrem to sleep with me I will destroy Seoul" You'll have to excuse me, my Korean is a little rusty. But I'm sure he wants you to gi

TIGER BALM AIRLINES FLT 101 Don't talk to me about Vietnam. Don't tell me you understand. You can't, man.Not unless you've been there. It was hell. I did two tours. I still can't sleep. Da Nang .. just can't talk about it man. Hanoi ? The airport transfers were murder, the bloody air-conditioning in the hotel didn't work properly and some bastard stole my iPad, my iPod, and my iPhone.Whatever happened to the good old days when they just stole your passport ? And what the hell was Charlie Sheen doing emerging from the hotel pool with his head shaved muttering "the horror, the horror" ? I dunno what's wrong with him but he sounded as authentic as a newt. Here's a survival tip : never fly Tiger Balm airlines. You have to pay extra for everything : Food, drinks, seats, doors, trained pilots. Went to the tunnels, you know man ? And it's been a few years since those Vietnamese language lessons at Rudolph Steiner but I'm prett

Of course I fought at Gallipoli. I was only a fetus, so I had to lie about my age. And my height. I had to lie about a lot of things. I hated the taste of beer and I didn't know the words to Waltzing Matilda, but I was buggered if I was going to let that stand in the way of dying for my country. Or someone else's country. War isn't supposed to make sense. They say the first casualty of war is truth. In my case the first casualty of war was a Louis Vuitton trunk containing my best dinner suit, three ounces of Turkish opium, and a particularly fine collection of Persian erotica. Sunk without trace after a luggage tender capsized at Alexandria. A tragedy. I was on my way to Paris to cover the war as a freelance correspondent and I had no idea of the horrors I was to face. Without a decent dinner jacket. You people have no idea. Gallipoli. It was hell. When I say I fought at Gallipoli, I really mean I saw action at Gallipoli. Well, I mean I saw some photos of the plac

I blame Wagner. You can blame him too, if you'd like. If it'd help. It's not like he can fight back or anything, I mean he turned two hundred last week. The trouble with Wagner is that he's so bloody Wagnerian. And another thing. I checked out his comic opera The Mastersingers of Nuremberg. Not one single joke ! WTF Richard Wagner. Who would have thought that my favourite sentence of the week could be .... "And I'm sorry that's all the time we have for Wagner this morning" But on to serious matters. I have decided in the interests of mankind as a whole to spend at least one hour a day having really deep thoughts. I know you'd do it if you had the time, but hey, I'm a writer, it's not like I have a proper job or anything. So, on your behalf I will be thinking very very deeply everyday about matters of universal importance. And I'll be passing the results on to you, the lucky consumer. Now. Can of worms. Seriously people, is this t

Why, I hear you exclaim ever so faintly, explain Easter now when it's been over for two weeks ?  Three Weeks? Nearly four ? Seriously  ? How long have I been trying to write this fucking thing? Let me explain. As many of you will know by now, a lot of our staff here at ALIAS POOR YORICK have religious objections to observing any sort of deadlines. Religious Affairs Editor, Elvis MacGregor Cohen ll ( pictured above) is no exception. To compound our difficulties Mr Cohen has been drifting in and out of a diabetic coma for the past fortnight after eating four hundred & twenty-seven Lindt Chilli Chocolate Easter eggs and we've only just managed to wrest this bit of deathless prose from his almost lifeless fingers ...... Have you ever found yourself asking why Jesus had to go and get himself crucified right at the beginning of our biggest and best public holiday ?  I mean what was God thinking ? What is Easter about anyway, and how come it never gets a mention in the bi