Ode to a Selfie by K Rudd (as tweeted to Stuart McCullough)

Gazing on my own reflection
With loving, naked, pure affection
I must have been a touch distracted
As the steel on skin impacted
Cos in an instant, before I knew it
I was well and truly skewered
Trickling blood, a crimson creek
It struck me dumb, I could not speak!

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Monkey Shine On You Crazy Diamond

The trappings of success are plentiful when you’re a musician. Limousines, fabulous wealth and an adoring public – these are just some of the benefits writing a song that can be hummed by others will bring you. It’s not just wheelbarrows of filthy lucre, either. Indeed, it’s pretty much a law of physics that the greater the success, the more unusual the riches. Fur-lined bathtub, a diamond encrusted toothbrush and your own personalized range of sneakers – that’s how the truly rich and famous celebrate the unending glory that it is to be them. But speedboats made of chocolate and motorized socks will only get you so far. True superstardom means one thing and one thing only – your own monkey.
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Understanding the Universe: Where Do Hipsters Come From?

It’s obvious. For decades, I have been left to wonder what my life’s mission should be. Will I invent a lifesaving medicine? Develop a new, supremely aromatic soft cheese? Maybe unlock the mysteries of the human heart? It’s probably foolish to aim too high. There’s no need to try and explain the universe and the meaning for life when explaining the meaning Celebrity Splash would surely be achievement enough. For years, I have been waiting for the moment when all is revealed and I finally know what it is I am meant to do. I need wonder no more. For, at last, I have a purpose. It’s not to invent a medicine, develop a cheese or explain a horribly misguided television program that sank deeper and faster than any of its contestants. No sir. Instead, my job is to prevent people using the term ‘amazeballs’.
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Leisureland – You Broke My Heart

Life is all about regret. Years race by and, before you know it, it’s too late. I am now forced to concede that some of my dreams will remain unrealized. Sadly, I will never know what it’s like to be nestled under the gilded wing of Johnny Young or how it feels to be a permanent cast member of the Young Talent Team. It’s a pity too – I had plans to really shake things up. In fact, I dreamt of turning the Team squarely on its head by making hitherto unimaginable song choices. I’d worked it out down to the last detail. After Johnny introduced me for the first time, I was going to slug mainstream Australia right between the eyes, not by squeezing out some schmaltzy power ballad whilst staring longingly down the barrel of camera two, but by performing all fourteen and half minutes of The Sugarhill Gang’s hip-hop masterpiece, ‘Rapper’s Delight.’
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