Aardvark

Believe every word of rubbish they spout at election time, the complain about their broken promises, bitch about their tax hikes, whine about them voting to give themselves another payrise, then believing every word of their rubbish next election, vote them in again....

If Disney can't do me justice, pick from the wonderful world of fiction So far, all I can come up with for me is Murdoch from the A Team Maybe with a touch of Ed, the hyena from the Lion King

I liken Lumpen to the broom from Fantasia No matter how many times I hit him with an axe....

Or will you forsee the dambursting ahead of time and dig channels and trenches to divert the overflow away from your fortress and into your enemy's wheat fields, flooding valuable farmland and infesting it with dam variety crocadiles and pirannahs.

Entropy Given a choice between everything breaking down in nature and everything going backwards, we chose breakdown and here we are

Back in the days of video rentals, I'd have my own little ratings system. Only applied to new releases, though. Weeklies I couldn't give a stuff about, 'cause they were cheap as chips. But videos, on the other hand, where new release rental prices continued to rise, I instituted this ratings system. If the movie sucked, I would not rewind it. If it was good, I'd rewind it. If it was average, I'd only rewind it half way. Fortunately, I got a DVD drive before I got blacklisted

(Written on the inside front cover) Dear Diary. I'm sorry I had to rip all the pages out of you, but this toilet paper crisis is getting desperate. It was either you or my penthouse collection and I really can't bring myself to wipe my arse with pictures of naked chicks. Just thank your lucky stars you came in hard cover, else I'd have nowhere to write this apology. Gotta go. Number two, again. I should never have eaten that curry

I giggled too much in Latin after I found out the word for "Old Woman"

Ignorance is bliss only if your curiosity doesn't have an automatic rifle in hand and an urge to wipe the feline genus off the face of the earth.

When you die, you go to a room with an old man who gives you a scorecard, based on how you lived Vs the environment you lived in The more of an individual you are Vs how much you can be without compromoising your survival (but bonus points go to those who are executed for expressing their beliefs and opinions), the higher your score. Then you can go do whatever you want. If you want oblivion, door to the left. Heaven's on the right, Hell's down the corridor if you feel you deserve it. Reincarnation? No probem! Just grab a parachute and jump through the hole in the floor.

How would you fit a hidden camera in there with all that evil, scheming, twisted, sadistic, warped and fruity gray matter? And what would you see? Tune in to Aardvark's Brain!! Yup, it's still gray. He hasn't split his skull open, yet

Who the hell is richard cohen? I'd tell the story, but this choking bandwidth drought I'm stuck in 'til the end of the month has sapped all my creativity Also, I'm a bastard. And the whole country knows it. Well, the ones who were awake and tuned in at 0301 on that fateful day

No! No story for you!

One of these things is not like the other.... I believe my life is now complete. At 3:01 AM, Eastern Summer Time, I was called a bastard by a Mr Hamilton on 2JJJ How many people can claim that they've been called a bastard on national radio? God, I lead such a sad and pathetic life

The fridge. I wanna see what REALLY turns that little light out

Yes My mother let me learn those lessons the hard way and I turned out magnificant. If more kiddies were like me, this world would be a better place Just remember, Evil's all about wording. "Don't go on the road!" is about as evil as dipping an old person's dentures in jalapeno juice, but "Stay on the grass" is perfectly fine. Which one is a kid more likely to pay attention to? Not the evil one

Define evil? Anyything that interferes with anothers' liberties

Yay, I won! Despite my fiendish countenance, I'm really a nice guy. Honest.

Actually, a serious evil I'm considering is going into business. Becomming a Businessman. The kind of businessman who doesn't run his business, he exploits it. Exploits his workers, pushes them beyond all expectations, while cutting back wherever possible. And then uses his fortune and dodgy financial connections to dodge tax, wraught the system wherever possible and acquire more businesses, for the sole purpose of asset stripping and exploiting further. Then, when I control 75% of the world's workforce, I'm going to fire everyone, burn all my factories, demolish all my shopfronts, collapse all my mines, sink my freighters, dump my oil reserves into the reefs surrounding my tourist destinations and have all the political puppets on my payroll assassinated, then have the assassins assassinated, then have those assassins assassinated, then pay the final lot of assassins a small fortune to go retire to a tropical island. Then have the island bombed into the ocean Trouble is, I hate businessmen. They're the worst human beings alive. So I've gotta get over the moral scrupel of becomming something I hate, which is rather difficult

Hmmm... Evil, you say.... Well, if you mean the kind of evil that people don't find socially acceptable, then I believe I'd start off with something light. I'd kick a puppy. With this completed, I'd then get a list of the 10 commandments and see how long it takes me to break every single one. Then, just to change the pace a bit, I'd go around, breaking the laws of whatever country I happen to be in at the time. Not really evil, per say, except for those "Don't murder or steal or rape" laws, but it's still fun to give Order the shits. Finally, I'd grab a copy of Dante's Inferno and see if I could go from start to finish, not missing a single sin. And to cap things off, I'd go back to the puppy and beat it. With a stick.

We use the metric system down here, you imperialist swine! And it's hard to hit 160 Km/h down here, due to strategically placed speed cameras and ticket mad cops backed by politicians riding along on the votes generated by the "Speed is killing children" campaign they've been milking for the last few years. Speed.. bah! If they made the road test harder and continually quality tested their driving instructors, the skill level of the population would rise, thus dropping the road toll BUT THAT'S A LONGTERM, RATIONAL SOLUTION! WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR LONG TERM, RATIONAL SOLUTIONS DOWN HERE!! Not when the quick fix will secure your next term

What happened?

There's a few things people fail to pay attention to when they hail a taxi in my city. A few minor details that are followed religiously by cabbies everywhere, as they are law. Like the plates. They have to be taxi plates. To taxi passengers around in a car for money, you need a taxi driver license and taxi plates. Another thing people don't think about is transmission. Taxis must be auto. Due to the high number of immigrants who come to my country to get jobs as taxi drivers without actually learning how to drive, manual transmission in a taxi is a no-no. Also, taxis have a life of six years. Once a taxi has been a taxi for six years, that's it, game over son, cash in your cab and get yourself a new one. Another thing, not actually compulsory, but a damn good idea, is the fuel used. Due to it's low cost, taxis usually run on LPG. This is signified by a little sticker on the number plate. A red diamond with the letters LPG within. A final point which people always overlook is the brand of taxi. Almost all taxis in existence in my city are Ford Falcons. I've never known why. Sure, there are a handful of non-ford taxis out there, but chances are, if you stick your arm out, whistle loudly and scream "TAXI", a falcon will be stopping. So when prospective passengers hop into my thirty year old Holden, complete with manual transmission and powered by octane boosted premium, they never think twice. They saw the Taxi sticker on the side, that's more than enough. I'm not a licensed taxi driver. I don't want to be. But every once in a while, I do this, just for kicks. A mate of mine is a cabbie. He gave me a fridgemagnet style taxi sign as a joke, once. Since then, on quiet nights in my city, my beast has been spotted prowling near pubs and clubs, preying on unsuspecting drunkards. It's all fair, really. They get a ride where they're going, I get quite a bit of money. No one complains, much. Tonight's punter wasn't a drunkard. He didn't even come from a pub. Infact, I hadn't even been meaning to do my little taxi gig this night, I'd merely left the sticker on from the last time. But hey, I was a sucker for an impromptu fare. I drove beyond the double white lines and performed a legal U-turn to collect the gentleman. I rolled up next to him. He opened the door, tossed his briefcase in, then jumped in. Before I could even offer a greeting, he sternly said "ARG Building, Pitt Street. Move." I was taken aback by this. I shifted into first and gently took off, heading for the motorway. "Urrgh, I'm late already, can't this thing go any faster?" I was amazed he hadn't noticed the several things wrong with this particular cab. Especially the loud snarl of the exhaust and the rumble of the engine. Oh well, might as well play the part "I heve to obey speed limit," I said, in my best dodgy russian accent. "Speed limits are meaningless anyway. Look, can't you just go a little faster?" "How much faster?" At this, he saw where I was coming from. He opened his wallet and pulled out a fifty. "So you vant me to go at Fifty?" He groaned, shook his head, then pulled out another fifty. "Ahh, now ve're cookink vif gas. Bookle up, it vill be a boompy ride." "Finally-" he began, settling into his seat. Then I floored it ---- He spent more time trying to get his breath back after that than I'd taken getting him there. I'd avoided the motorway entirely, instead choosing winding backstreets and deserted avenues, never passing up an opportunity to lose traction. He didn't take my sound advice until after he slammed into the right side door. Then he belted up. The cop chase scared him a little, but I knew the streets, I knew my car and I also knew the cops who were chasing me. They knew what I was up to, but couldn't catch me if they wanted to, due to government cutbacks, as they put it. Still, thinking back, taking the partially constructed bridge with the convenient jump was simply overkill. I turned around and addressed my passenger. "Ve have arrived. But it seems that I exceed your preset speedlimit." By now, I'd dropped back into my normal neutral accent. He sat silent, clutching his chest, nodding slowly. He reached into his wallet and pulled out another hundred. Then a third. He handed the notes to me and climbed, uneasily, out of my vehicle. "Keep the change..." he muttered, half heartedly. I grinned as he closed the door, being careful not to slam it, lest the noise send him into shock. I reversed out of the parking lot, checked the clock, then drove home, making a note to remove the taxi sticker. But no sooner had I wound my window down, I heard that familiar call "TAXI"

Mangled phrases... Hmmm... Nah, I don't mangle phrases. I just make them all up, to the confusion of colleagues and coworkers

A few years after I finished, I got word that my maths teacher had been comitted