hat's off to a great value

today dr. koaladick went to a friendly neighborhood gas station and, after locating an arizona tea product (arnold palmer half and half with splenda: it kicked so much ass), asked the attendant a usual question: what's the cheapest kind of cigarettes you have? unfortunately dr. koaladick lives in a city where cigarettes run $6 a pack and up. he is not happy about this.
dr. koaladick is a hopeless addict. despite what his girlfriend will tell you, he does not think this makes him cool, nor does he do it just to piss her off. some people just don't understand.
so, as the doctor assumed a pouty demeanor and began sifting through the various medical licenses from rio, monte carlo, paris, singapore, and st. paul, minnesota that crowd his wallet (k.d. enjoys gambling, decriminalized drug laws, and the occasional snow-in with some chef boyardee lasagna and a quality pilsner) for a twenty-dollar bill, the dude behind the counter gave him an answer he'd never encountered: here, these, $1.99.
the doctor raised his visage, shocked, and marked the stack of green packs by the lighter display.
'what's this? $1.99?'
the attendant pointed.
the doctor picked one up. it said 'hat's off' and had a sketch of a dick tracy style hat. they were menthol 100's.
'i wonder why they're so cheap.' the doctor then noticed the words 'made in india' printed on the side. he also noticed the words 'twenty little cigars.'
he asked the attendant about this cigar business, and whether or not it was safe to inhale. the attendant told him they were cigarettes, not cigars. k.d. looked back to the box, coonfused. no point arguing with the man, he thought. the attendant said, again, 'cigarettes.' perhaps a shitty translator had been employed in the production of this pack of mystery smokes. etymologically, however, the prospect seemed sound.


. . .


the doctor's first puff sort of burned. 'jesus' he coughed, 'this stuff tastes like sandpaper. sandpaper and...and...eucalyptus?' dr. k's pupils grew wider, and by the time he had walked two blocks things were starting to get funny. everything moving a little slower than normal, and strangely disproportionate. the next thing he knew he was sitting in his living room with underpants on his head, shirtless and playing shinobe on ps2. for a second he thought there were bats.

. . .

dr. koaladick awoke the next day with a headache that felt like africa colliding with the arabian peninsula behind his forehead. he reached out his right hand and felt around for his medical bag, in dire need of really any of the pills it contained, but it wasn't there because he was on a sidewalk. the sidewalk next to wrigley field, to be exact. he could hear sounds that reminded him vaguely of words, rubbed his eyes and saw the fuzzy outline of some drunk bastard sloshing his beer around, carrying on about how the pirates suck. fucking idiot, thought dr. k, everybody knows the pirates suck...now where in god's name was that gas station?

the end

A moment of Introspection: vol. I

Dr. Koala Dick asks:

Which Messiah are you?

Answer all questions as honestly as possible, results below.

My favorite food is:

a) Duck
b) Cake
c) Rice
d) I don't eat, I have a gambling problem.

Its been a long day at work, you get home and your flatmates want to party, you:

a) Take a quick shot of tequila and rally
b) Tell them to go on without you, open a bottle of wine and turn on Lifetime
c) Tell them you're not feeling well then while they're out call my fuck buddy again and do it in the Kitchen (because its the most social room).
d) Use the vibrator, but tell my friends I'll catch them next time.

My pick to win English Premiership this year is:

a) Whatever team has the prettiest jerseys.
b) Chelsea, you have to respect financial security.
c) Liverpool, they are the classic example of the conflict between of underachieving and overachieving.
d) I'm a total cock and know nothing about football, but I think David Beckham is dreamy.

If I HAD to bang one of the Golden girls it would definitely be:

a) Dorothy
b) Rose
c) Blanche
d) Sophia

If you were in the circus you would be the:

a) Fire eater
b) Ringleader
c) The blades of grass, outside the tent; serene, complex, motivated.
D) The Clown

Israel is not relinquishing land it promised to Palestine in peace agreements; as president of the United States you:

a) Send and independent committee to conduct new negotiations
b) Magically build another country out of trash and give it to the Palestinians. I would probably call it Crapakistan.
c) Watch whatever is on CBS, there's no way to solve this shit.
d) Continue to Kick ass

If you had only one wish, you would:

a) Turn back time and bring the pants I'm wearing back in style
b) Be a ballerina
c) Have a mind blowing electronic orgy with every 70's sitcom star I've ever secretly desired
d) Teach me to talk about my compulsive eating

If you answered:
mostly a's) you are Prometheus. You gave man fire and paid for it by having your organs eaten by birds for eternity. Enjoy your medicines, your snuff porn, and your lasers.

mostly b's) you are Jesus. You are the cake eater of Messiahs. The hair style you champion goes in and out of style harder than Rollerblading. Your followers will kill and persecute thousands of people over the course of history. Then, in a stunning move, pretend thse events are not relevant while simultaneously making shitty movies about the whole ordeal.

mostly c's) you are Buddha. This quiz means nothing to and you're probably stoned right now anyway.

mostly d's) You are the Ralph Macchio. Yes Ralph Macchio is a messiah. Everybody knows that aside from his eloquent performance as the Karate Kid and mastery of the swan kick Ralph Macchio also bakes a delicious cobbler and consoles troubled teens on a bi-weekly basis. Ralph Macchio also invented tan lines and aluminum.

hall of famer

I don't know why people are so worried about an oil shortage. I only change my oil about once every four thousand miles. Gas is what they should be worried about. I use a lot of that.

I don't want to write about Lance Armstrong. But are we really nation of competitive zealot fuckers that we praise anything successful that we can put an American Flag next to? Are we that desperate? Don’t get me wrong, I have hated the French for a really long time. The hair pulling and crotch grabbing distress he has manifested within the French press is the coolest thing to occur in the francophone epicenter other than Napoleon doing a tiger woods fist pump (which he probably did) and Stereolab.

Seriously though, conquering cancer aside, can we admit his recent accomplishments are a bit rudimentary? I'm sure god gave him a "way to hit that bro" on the whole Sheryl crow episode. Sheryl is one of those rare cases where one might wank it to her photo spread only to later find his/her mother flipping through the same photo spread remarking, "i just love her". The situation is both horribly awkward and enticing…but about the cycling thing.

Bike riding is a task achieved by many of the nations 1st graders. I learned to ride when i was 10, but that was only because my previous house had sidewalk that was dangerously uneven at points--i think i was the only 5 year old to be knocked unconscious riding a big wheel. While i mastered this task much later than many of my peers once i learned it i kicked some fucking ass.

Lance also kicks fucking ass on the bike, but he's 33. If I spent from the time I was five until I was thirty three devoting myself to one elementary task i would be pretty good no matter how many testicles i had. His main competitor is an Italian (probably gay) and a German guy named Jan (obviously gay). Plus he I have not seen him throw any sweet tricks like back flips or supermans. One would think after 28 years of riding a wheelie would be in order.

The other thing i read on this subject was that Lance's heart rate was 40 beat per minute. The average human heart rate is 70 beats per minute. Since when did we start lauding laziness, especially bodily organs. In a race, my heart would kick Lance's heart by a lot, by pure mathematics it is almost twice as fast. I am the walrus.


this whole deal was half ass anyway,
dr. koala dick

ps. check your prostrate, right now, hard, ladies too.

better than your parent's bed

I wish people would stop being so unexcited about space foam. There's a lot of possibility in space foam—aka invest now. It's not like I am a space foam salesman or anything. However, as a lifestyle expert, I would not be surprised if you next house is constructed entirely out of space foam. Imagine a space foam kitchen, space foam toilet, or a space foam solarium.

I understand most readers will look upon this space foam contention with skepticism. This speculation evolves most likely from their previous encounter with another space product; Astronaut Ice Cream. Astronaut Ice Cream is a brittle crunchy flavored box. Perhaps it is described as ice cream devoid of all the things that make ice cream good. For those of you who have not had it, it’s like chewing a full pack of cigarettes, minus the fun.

To offer a historical context, things got hot in Somalia when the UN, seeking to utilize its Astronaut Ice Cream surplus, introduced it to the starving citizens. History books, allegorical tribal fairytales, and kickass movies like Black Hawk Down, blame Somali warlords and unfavorable weather conditions (it was fucking hot). This explanation however is a bold faced lie. As soon as the strawberry cardboard crunch hit the streets of Mogadishu, senseless taste bud jihad erupted. Astronaut Ice Cream also caused Sky Lab to crash.

What is important is to understand the distinction between two very different space products. One must realize that while you can sleep on space foam, sleeping on a bed of astronaut ice cream is highly impractical. One would first have to discern which flavor/flavors one would use, only to move on to more difficult questions of cream brick layout, viscosity, and colored coordinated throw pillows. I mean, in theory you could construct and sleep on such a bed, but your wife would probably leave you. Possibly for a man who sleeps on jelly beans.

Besides, on a bed of space foam one can only imagine the possibilities intercourse with your significant other. During sessions you might find yourself achieving intimacy levels of stellar intergalactic proportions. Afterwards, you would probably dream about comets and black holes. Also, if aliens do indeed exist, and land, you have a bed made to their exact specifications. Consequentially you might be the first human being to have sex with an alien. You friends might frown upon it, but who knows it could be pretty sweet. Aliens might have two tongues or be really into doggy style.

Your friend in the space foam bizness,
dr koala dick

Ps. I stole the “exact specifications” terminology from mitch hedburg

chiclet, cockroach, sloppy joe

While leaving a local eatery the other day I wondered, who still buys chiclets? that candy has been awful for years. How has a product so renowned for providing a displeasing, even demoralizing experience continued to exist? Is the chiclets presence in our a society a leftover plot of soviet days? aplot perpetuated by terrorist? or perhaps there is a wealthy person with either an extremely sick mind, a penchant for the nasty, or perhaps a twisted sense of humor that is responsible for their existence in almost classy eatieries .

After careful contemplation, doctoral contemplation in fact, I concluded that the responsibility for the chiclets does not lay on any of these scapegoats. Instead, chiclets existed because they always would in a badass capitalist society like ours.

All Andy Rooney bullshit aside, I think we can all remember the first time we tried chiclets. I personally recall mine occurred after a particularly satisfying meal. Looking for a smooth chewable candy to polish it off I selected chiclets from the array of other candies. What followed is hazy; I vaguely recall spitting something out in my grandma's hand and blacking out. I woke up minutes later soiled in urine (possibly not my own), severely parched, short twenty five cents and any sense of decency.

Despite this tragic experience (a foreshadow into how many of my tragic evenings would end later in life), I never took it upon myself to caution my younger brother years later when he himself opted to try the candy himself. Perhaps it was because as a child he was an insufferable twat whom I was constantly forced to beat into line. Another possibility is that even in my youth I understood he was participating in a essential capitalist ritual.

While this juncture would normally lead one into a wicked diatribe on brand names and the commodization of society instead I will just note that it is fun, perhaps even our duty and Chiclets purpose, to teach children a lesson. That lesson being that just like any other commercial product, (cars, drugs, burial relics from saint) if you are willing to buy candy from anywhere, or stray too broadly in your quest for a new candy consciousness, eventually someone will sell you some fucking oddly colored squares that taste like sugar and cigarette tar.

Chiclets are America’s communal kool-aid. They are the Adam Smith litmus test that determines whether or not one is capable of understanding the rules of capitalism and abiding and belonging to surrounding society. Its sugary salivation is the ethos to becoming a citizen. Sure, your grandmother might disown you out of embarrassment, your brother might grow up to become a raging alcoholic, and perhaps sometime in your life you might recount this entire experience at your expense to a man named Samir, calling you from India, to check and see if you have paid you American express bill from three months ago. But seriously from then on, you will know about the superiority of the Spree (hard not chewy).

hover boards unite,
dr koala dick

unified theory

I used to work at an Italian restaurant. One of the waiters once confided in me that the restaurant was evidence that entropy theory was wrong. If entropy did exist, he contended, the establishment that currently employed us would have been reduced to a pile of rubble many years ago. At that moment, I agreed with him because I hated my job; because I hate jobs in general.

Comedy aside, that restaurant was poorly managed. But that tends to be the case when you let three Ethiopian Brothers run an Italian establishment. This is not to say they were not nice individuals or entirely incompetent, but if Sicily found out about the situation thumbs would have disappeared and certain diplomats would have shat themselves in executive leather chairs.

The humorous punch line of this anecdote arrived three days after this scholarly waiter bestowed his wisdom upon me; he quit the job citing marital dysfunction. I mean it’s not funny, I liked the guy, but the irony is wicked wicked. Seriously, i hope everything worked out for him and he developed the recreational drug habit he needed.

The lesson here (for people who don’t already get it) is that entropy theory is wrong when you don’t understand it. You see, this waiter brought upon the assumption that entropy would have increased in the same area—specifically the location of our restaurant. What he didn't understand was that entropy was increasing very chaotically. While he was waiting for the foundation of a bar/bistro to collapse entropy was banging his wife, probably with vigor. So don't even act like you know what I'm up too, and also if you want to give someone a college graduation present, don't give them enough money to last comfortably until about August without a job, it makes them get really nervous around mid-July, bitches.

i got five on it,
dr koala dick

Balkany baby

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dangling ding dongs

doctor koala dick is comfortable with his sexuality.

when doctor koala dick was a young lad, and not yet the doctor of renown he is today, he and his friends would often frolic about on drugs making jokes and playing fun pranks on one another. rarely, though, did these pranks seriously challenge the sexual boundaries of our bear koala dick.

but that changed one night in the lair of one of the lamer accomplices, when one of dick's closest compatriots came rushing up behind him in a darkened room, mounted him and dangled a delicious confection in front of his head. koala dick was stunned, a veritable bear in headlights, completely unprepared for this potentiality, and stoned utterly mindless. at this point in his life, this was, without question, the gayest thing that had ever happened to him.

but only until he took a bite.

génération de âne

I got another parking ticket again. I refuse to participate in this nazi-fest charade being put on by the parking control enforcement. In a decent society people can park wherever the fuck they want for as along as they want too. It that means parking on the grass then so be it. I've been thinking about a way to make this parking issue go away. I think hiding in the back seat in clown make-up will probably do the trick.
I don't know how it is in your country but here, I knew kids in middle school who used to squirt cologne into their mouth to become inebriated. I know. When I was a kid, everyday I would look forward to the day when hover boards were invented and they would make me so cool I would have a threesome with punky brewster and the hot chipmunk from rescue rangers in celebration, but that day in seventh grade when I saw that kid spray ck1 in his mouth I knew it would probably never happen.
You can't expect too much from a generation of cologne drinkers. Not that all of us did it, but you knew if one did, there were others. Any social sect who lets multiple members of there group do something like that is probably going to have trouble fixing the infrastructure already in place, let alone create something cool like hover boards, light sabers or cordless thermometers.
Soon, it was 1997 and everything sucked; the plan for the reunification of Germany had failed more or less, neon was no longer cool and people got complacent with the fact that Carson Daly was banging hot chicks.
Kundera quotes Nietzsche “einmal est keinmal” What happens but once may as well have never happened. I say, tell that to the girl from the Wendy’s bathroom, and while you’re at it, ask her to stop calling me.

Fuck yeah fuck yeah I’m wearing blue jeans,
dr koala dick

Ps. Babes, Big jim slade called and he wants his speedo back.

who are you?

across the globe and in most of outer space, people are wondering what the real doctor koala dick is. this is a highly complex question and most likely none of its resolutions will ever become widely regarded as truth. doctor koala dick is simply too big to live inside any of our little boxes. so, as you see, the real question is this: what is doctor koala dick to me? the answers to this query are more concrete, though no less myriad. to some, doctor koala dick is nothing more than a regular australian koala bear who built himself up from nothing to become one of the most respected doctors in his field, that being the field of all that is tubular, and now holds doctorates in everything from wakeboarding to nuclear ice fishing. to others, doctor koala dick is a source of solace, of support, for in these uncertain times, doctor koala dick doesn't stop grinding rails and doesn't think you should stop either. naturally, when discussing the doctor, the untold masses of illigitimate children can be a significant talking point, but it is well documented that doctor koala dick loves and takes care of his children and that most of them are now crime fighters. doctor koala dick plays air guitar better than anybody and believes it would be better if we all got down.

the sun also gets dome

so earlier today i thought of an alternate ending to Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises. At the end, instead of sitting there in the back of a car with Brett Ashley in Spain or whatever, and instead of whoever raisind that baton or whatnot, instead at the end jake says 'check me out i've got a huge dong now thanks to the miracle of plastics and the talent of some european doctors. i can satisfy you in ways you haven't even thought of. the thing spins and vibrates, it's studded like a bumpy cucumber.' and it ends with brett moaning. literally, instead of 'isn't it pretty to think so?' the last line is 'and she moans heavily in a little bit of pain but obviously enjoying herself. the end.'
i think this would do a lot for the self-esteem of male readers, specifically those without penises. it gives a new hope to living without a penis, and updates the story in keeping with scientific advances made since Hemingway's time. in fact, having thought of this, i almost wish i had either a) been born without a wang, or b) had my previous wang blown off in a war. because that way i could get to have a fake one and it would probably be awesome. i would probably get my parents to pay for it, and they have a lot more money than i do, a.k.a. more than $600. Think of the kind of wang you could get for the cost of renting a studio apartment in a major city for a month. it's a wonder more people don't injure themselves on purpose and undergo a temporary homelessness in order to pay for a prosthetic wiener of epic proportions. you could probably get one with:
1. a car alarm with keyless remote that makes beeping noises
2. a built-in ipod (tell me that wouldn't be sweet)
3. a body fashioned after optimus prime, with the ability to transform into a badass rig
4. wireless ethernet
5. a headrest, and a tv in that headrest
6. a dvd player that plays only porn and mick jagger concert footage (jagger doing the rooster dance)
7. a micro machines garage
8. a stock ticker
9. a fold-out map so you can find your way to linens and things to buy new sheets every few hours
10. something that makes it turn into a pogo stick

To: Stegosaurus

Dr. Koala Dick recently traded a comedy writing secret to a fellow colleague for the operating manual of a 1992 Volvo 940, and a to be named later Sponsorship of an African Orphan.

Dear Orphan,

I’ve decided to name you Stegosaurus. I hope you realize how cool that is. How are things in Africa? I hope they are better than here. Today I woke up to find out that I had received yet another parking ticket. Those parking control guys are total cocks. I left the ticket on my car out of spite, and because I didn’t want to get another one, but now it’s raining. If the ticket is wet, do you think I still have to pay it? I would be impolite for me to send them a document of that nature; they would probably have to wash their hands after handling it.

I went to the post office today and I feel like I’m developing a friendship with one of the workers. His name is Rick and he looks pretty disgruntled. For that exact reason I am always overly polite to the guy. It is most certainly a benefit to have a friend in the postal department. I know this because at one of my former residences, the postal worker did not like me because I stole his girlfriend. Even though I only ended up dating her for two weeks, my packages were lost and mishandled for over a year, I guess postal workers don’t get laid often.

I also applied online today for a job at a local bookstore. It was most heinous. What was supposed to be a simple online application evolved into 37 page personality test. They asked me questions about my anger management, my ability to be enthused and if I stab people in the back. In then end I think the computer decided that I; a) I’m kind of a jackass, b) think most other people are benders, and c) am able to fake enthusiasm well. Either way they probably want to hire me so hard.

Man or machine,

dr koala dick

the next movement

During the four years i spent at college many people asked me what i was going to do after college. A lot of the time i answered them by telling them i was going into the peace corp.

I'm not entirely sure i was insincere on the reply--i did complete the peace corp application all the way up to the essay section. I also talked to many people who were going to the peace corp and asked quesions about their experience, the process of applying, and i listened intently.


Regardless, four years later, everytime i talk to one of these inquisitive characters they never fail to ask when I'm going into the peace corp. Even if i haven't tlaked to them in years.

I've been honest but from now on I'm lying. When they ask, I will say, "soon." Furthermore if I haven't spoken to them in a few years i will say, "I already did."

peace in the middle east,
dr koala dick

dk