<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:blogger='http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750</id><updated>2024-11-09T02:28:29.851+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Bedtime Stories for Bogans</title><subtitle type='html'>because we&#39;re all a little less classy than mother would have liked...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default?redirect=false'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>29</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-5582453088843203757</id><published>2011-11-20T15:01:00.003+11:00</published><updated>2012-02-23T23:28:30.324+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Get a date get a date</title><summary type="text">



 



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Get a date if you can. If you can&#39;t get a date, get online.


That&#39;s what they&#39;d said to her - the other ladies at the bowl&#39;s club. Evidently, Sheryl had a coffee date every second week coz of an incredible positive response to her online dating profile. Geraldine thought it must have been an incredibly well written profile, perhaps skittled with porky-pies, but </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/5582453088843203757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2011/11/get-date-get-date.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/5582453088843203757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/5582453088843203757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2011/11/get-date-get-date.html' title='Get a date get a date'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-1264922361483825104</id><published>2011-04-12T13:27:00.005+10:00</published><updated>2012-02-23T23:38:14.984+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Travelling Tania</title><summary type="text">
















 



















 



















 































 



 
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Tania was a traveller, ay.



Tania went everywhere with an oversized backpack filled with stones from different beaches and work sites she had visited. And those stones were protected by some socks and some undies too. Tania wore the same clothes every day. She showered in them</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/1264922361483825104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2011/04/travelling-tania.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/1264922361483825104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/1264922361483825104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2011/04/travelling-tania.html' title='Travelling Tania'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiciIKTRfu8RwzxhCmOA8PWbx8qfmSyJyXPTvu06yiL7Ldw8HRCkCMdsj8ecv_-BAYMPHAl1hKXaVa1Aox3JVHtFL2R5I02H2CTe4SoQtDxvu3hJfrcNO3YoQOkUP_5l2MVoFHsVHA2Ukg/s72-c/Big+Ben+%2526+A+Doughnut%2521+Good+Day+Ay%2521.JPG" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-1751971184840690664</id><published>2010-10-17T03:34:00.006+11:00</published><updated>2012-02-23T23:39:16.640+11:00</updated><title type='text'>München. Party of 10.</title><summary type="text">






  


  
  
  


    

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There once was ten bogans who road tripped to München in Germany for a little party they heard was gonna be off the chain. The party had a name. 

The ten bogans piled into one small van-type bus in London and set upon their way. Google maps said it would take them 12 hours but they were all prepared with lollies and choccies and a couple of </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/1751971184840690664/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/10/munchen-party-of-10.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/1751971184840690664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/1751971184840690664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/10/munchen-party-of-10.html' title='München. Party of 10.'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zBJ5Ba9OEybnqj6lFErWDWSikVi-hDW9KikTzZ7bBk6X6TW6-GRvr2OsNxTLiTyW1J2ORof943LM6KatP3QbKi0C8r1bo4XKb5NuQFIXl1LBLWhZLgKG5sSabz23TG1DuQmswIpj-Rc/s72-c/SteinStein.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-4207295875358633772</id><published>2010-03-15T08:44:00.006+11:00</published><updated>2012-02-23T23:55:29.758+11:00</updated><title type='text'>The Lane 7 Pin Technician</title><summary type="text">



  






















  

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&quot;Excuse me Ma&#39;am, can I help you?&quot;

&quot;Whatchu is? Maintenance?&quot; 

&quot;No, honey, I&#39;m Starlight Lanes resident Lane 7 Pin Technician.&quot; He spoke in a voice which he&#39;d cultivated over his 19 years until, he hoped, it had become reminiscent of the margarine-soft tones of Elvis Presley blended with the gravelly manly manliness of Chuck Bloke Norris. &quot;</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/4207295875358633772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/03/lane-7-pin-technician.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/4207295875358633772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/4207295875358633772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/03/lane-7-pin-technician.html' title='The Lane 7 Pin Technician'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-5947803323929595275</id><published>2010-02-26T12:24:00.004+11:00</published><updated>2012-02-24T00:04:08.003+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Shoo, Fly. Don&#39;t Bother Jesus</title><summary type="text">

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Jesus wept as he pushed his pushbike through Wollongong. Jesus was a pansy. &quot;It&#39;s too hot and I swear I&#39;ve got a bloody blowfly the size of a 747 dive bombing me,&quot; He sobbed into his mobile phone headset. &quot;Can you hear it? Madge, I just wanna come ho-&quot; But that&#39;s as far as Jesus got. We&#39;ll never know what he was going to say. Because at that moment, </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/5947803323929595275/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/02/shoo-fly-dont-bother-jesus.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/5947803323929595275'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/5947803323929595275'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/02/shoo-fly-dont-bother-jesus.html' title='Shoo, Fly. Don&#39;t Bother Jesus'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-7208050298218211659</id><published>2010-02-23T03:38:00.001+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-23T03:45:24.168+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Tucker the Tommy Tomato</title><summary type="text">There once was a tommy tomato and his name was Tucker. Tucker was an angry little tomato. He was often so angry he nearly blew his stem right off. Tucker wore clothes made from ham and cheese toasted bread. He didn&#39;t need shoes because he trod very lightly on his tippy toes. That is how, when they did, all tomatoes walked.Tucker got angry about many different things. He got angry when the traffic</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/7208050298218211659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/02/tucker-tommy-tomato.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/7208050298218211659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/7208050298218211659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/02/tucker-tommy-tomato.html' title='Tucker the Tommy Tomato'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-7477521737499444085</id><published>2010-02-19T05:02:00.004+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-19T08:31:40.885+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Twenty Friends in Neckties</title><summary type="text">Twenty friends were going to a music festiva. Twenty of them. All friends. They were going in yellow neckties, bright ones, so that, if they got lost in the hum of things they had something to remove and wave in the air in order to be found again. Sort of like the meeting place by the flag that&#39;s always been so popular, but with movement included for a little sum&#39;n sum&#39;n extra.The music festiva </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/7477521737499444085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/02/twenty-friends-in-neckties.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/7477521737499444085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/7477521737499444085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/02/twenty-friends-in-neckties.html' title='Twenty Friends in Neckties'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-2361660834845174604</id><published>2010-02-18T07:53:00.002+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-18T08:04:02.783+11:00</updated><title type='text'>The Night Wot Kaz and Macca Stayed Awake</title><summary type="text">&lt;!--StartFragment--&gt;  “Aw, check this out Macca,” Karen called to her fiancé up the hallway. “Britney Spears went out for Valentine’s Day at McDonald’s. Aint that sweet though? They’re not above it all are they Macca? Bein’ a big star ‘n all. Hasn’t gone to her head…” She went on, muttering to the computer screen. “You’se better watch it though dahl- it might not getcha head but them Big Macs’ll </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/2361660834845174604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/02/night-wot-kaz-and-macca-stayed-awake.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/2361660834845174604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/2361660834845174604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/02/night-wot-kaz-and-macca-stayed-awake.html' title='The Night Wot Kaz and Macca Stayed Awake'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-8798786525930320707</id><published>2010-02-09T19:17:00.000+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-09T19:18:07.175+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Gentle Bedlam in the Botty-G</title><summary type="text">One summer night in Hobart, four young hooligans went looking for trouble.It was the day after New Years Eve, some people know it as New Years day, and they’d, all four, had to work the night before. Tonight they’d enjoyed a few bottles of wine at the Taste of Tasmania and, after being kicked out of the harbour side venue at closing time, they hadn’t had enough. So they decided the best thing to </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/8798786525930320707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/02/gentle-bedlam-in-botty-g.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/8798786525930320707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/8798786525930320707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/02/gentle-bedlam-in-botty-g.html' title='Gentle Bedlam in the Botty-G'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-5697206196616093945</id><published>2010-02-02T08:14:00.004+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-02T15:56:32.255+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Deathwish Darren</title><summary type="text">Deathwish Darren was a daredevilish fella.But nobody noticed most of the time.Darren did normal death wish things like mowing the lawn in thongs, swimming in lightning storms, jumping from the roof into the pool, enjoying high speed rides in the back of his ute and fishing with a carton of tinny’s to pass the time and one too few life jackets in the boat.But Darren also performed activities that </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/5697206196616093945/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/02/deathwish-darren.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/5697206196616093945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/5697206196616093945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/02/deathwish-darren.html' title='Deathwish Darren'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-5270918984385956047</id><published>2010-01-25T13:29:00.004+11:00</published><updated>2010-01-25T13:39:12.015+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Australia Day</title><summary type="text">“Wake up! Wake up! It’s time to wake up, Gaz!”And it was time to wake up, there wasn’t a moment to waste.It was 11a.m. on Australia Day and the 100th best song of the year wouldn’t wait to play.There were cold frothies in the fridge, warm special cheese on the bench, and frozen snags just waiting for some charcoal and sauce.By the time Gaz had slunk out of bed and wriggled into a fresh beater and</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/5270918984385956047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/01/australia-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/5270918984385956047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/5270918984385956047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/01/australia-day.html' title='Australia Day'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-7231322924385720108</id><published>2010-01-19T03:19:00.006+11:00</published><updated>2010-01-20T02:44:56.847+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Adam of England</title><summary type="text">There was once a man named Adam. And he was the finest story teller in all the land of England. So the children came from miles around to listen to him speak.Adam was an interesting teller. An unwitting genius, he was captivating and modest, humble, and oblivious to the marvel he created- Adam told his stories in his sleep.In lieu of snores, he spoke of the evils of lentil beans and the pathetic </summary><link rel='enclosure' type='' href='http://www.sleeptalkinman.com' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/7231322924385720108/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/01/adam-of-england.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/7231322924385720108'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/7231322924385720108'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/01/adam-of-england.html' title='Adam of England'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-1579604318906594139</id><published>2010-01-18T08:37:00.006+11:00</published><updated>2010-02-03T02:11:22.330+11:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dancing Debutantes</title><summary type="text">Narelle, Geraldine and Charlotte nearly had an accident on their way to work Sunday night. By “nearly” I mean they did have an accident, an accident with a parked car. And then they drove away, not quite quickly, but certainly in haste, the wrong way down a one-way street.So, when they got to work on Sunday night there was adrenaline pumping through their veins and they were a little more giddy </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/1579604318906594139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/01/dancing-debutantes.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/1579604318906594139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/1579604318906594139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/01/dancing-debutantes.html' title='The Dancing Debutantes'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-1701134322088256054</id><published>2010-01-18T07:56:00.002+11:00</published><updated>2010-01-18T08:26:15.702+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Pleasant Petra</title><summary type="text">Petra was pleasant.“You’re too nice,” They said to her. “You’ll never be nufink coz you just keep giving shit away.”And they were right, for a while.Petra gave away her favourite jacket, and she got cold. She gave away her favourite cat, and she got sad. She gave away her favourite boyfriend, and she got cold and sad. “But,” she thought, “Nancy,” (Petra’s oldest sister) “probably needed him more </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/1701134322088256054/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/01/pleasant-petra.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/1701134322088256054'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/1701134322088256054'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2010/01/pleasant-petra.html' title='Pleasant Petra'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-9139683874547866290</id><published>2009-12-01T08:14:00.005+11:00</published><updated>2009-12-01T16:04:04.633+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Twinnies</title><summary type="text">Dotti and Lotti were twinnies. They looked the same. They dressed the same. They sometimes spoke the same. But mostly they were very, very different.Dotti enjoyed playing rummicub and Lotti liked playing boys. Dotti saw the souls of people and Lotti liked the look of them. Dotti consumed tubs of rum and raisin icecream and Lotti ate vanilla soft serve with great frequency, particularly the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/9139683874547866290/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/12/twinnies.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/9139683874547866290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/9139683874547866290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/12/twinnies.html' title='Twinnies'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-8412418367105618968</id><published>2009-11-26T08:07:00.004+11:00</published><updated>2012-02-23T22:56:00.208+11:00</updated><title type='text'>The Bicycle Helmet</title><summary type="text">fer audio readinBubbles was 19 years old and she was in love with a bicycle helmet.It started when she fell off her bike in the fifth grade. She’d needed seven skull staples and the doctor said she should have been wearing a helmet. So, Bubbles’ mum took her shopping at the bicycle helmet shop and there it was- pink, gleaming, beautiful.As soon as she laid eyes on him she knew it was the end for </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/8412418367105618968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/11/bicycle-helmet.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/8412418367105618968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/8412418367105618968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/11/bicycle-helmet.html' title='The Bicycle Helmet'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-7495497459566140364</id><published>2009-11-26T07:46:00.004+11:00</published><updated>2009-11-26T08:58:18.914+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Debby the Drunkard</title><summary type="text">Debby was drunk every weekend.With her, it was all or nothing, all the time. When she exercised, which was infrequently, she ran for hours at a time. When she worked, which was as little as possible, she worked with the effort of two employees. And when Debby partied, it was purposeful. Debby enjoyed her beer and she enjoyed her Bundy- her friends said she was a good time. Every Friday night </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/7495497459566140364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/11/debby-drunkard.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/7495497459566140364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/7495497459566140364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/11/debby-drunkard.html' title='Debby the Drunkard'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-649834409149081887</id><published>2009-11-08T11:43:00.003+11:00</published><updated>2012-02-23T22:52:40.137+11:00</updated><title type='text'>1STCAR</title><summary type="text">fer audio readin&quot;Oi, oi, check out the personalised plates I got &#39;er.&quot;And they all looked- &#39;1STCAR&#39;&quot;One shit car?&quot; They said.&quot;Nah, mate. First car, it&#39;s her first car, oright? Cheezus. You blokes... Shit, you think she&#39;ll think it means one shit- Ah, you blokes. Shut your holes &#39;fore I rip you a fresh one.&quot;And Dog probably could. He was a pretty big unit on account of the hours per week he&#39;d </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/649834409149081887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/11/1stcar.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/649834409149081887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/649834409149081887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/11/1stcar.html' title='1STCAR'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-1746447426833179693</id><published>2009-10-29T11:13:00.003+11:00</published><updated>2012-02-23T22:49:59.281+11:00</updated><title type='text'>DoDo Deca</title><summary type="text">fer audio readin“Oright, you ready? One- Two- Three- BLOW!”And on Mike’s whistle Linda and Sammy blew. They blew hard and fast and before long Sammy’s face started to turn blue itself! So she stopped blowing and her bubble deflated onto her nose. Linda, not one to give up on any competition- even after winning- continued to blow into her purple wad of hubba bubba until it popped and sprung away </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/1746447426833179693/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/10/dodo-deca_29.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/1746447426833179693'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/1746447426833179693'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/10/dodo-deca_29.html' title='DoDo Deca'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-3499669422950515287</id><published>2009-10-29T08:51:00.007+11:00</published><updated>2012-02-23T22:45:30.882+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Wheel of Fortune</title><summary type="text">fer audio readin“Ahhhhhh Maggie I’m SO super sonic psyched for a big fa-rickin’ Friday! Put your showgirl shoes on girrrl coz we ‘bout to burn- it- UP!”Brenda always spelled out words in her text messages as she intended them to sound. “Written speech is so ambiguous.” She would often say. In real life, the physical, real time form, Brenda spoke a lot with her hands. She used big gestures and </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/3499669422950515287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/10/wheel-of-fortune.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/3499669422950515287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/3499669422950515287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/10/wheel-of-fortune.html' title='Wheel of Fortune'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-6382690063669878245</id><published>2009-10-08T07:45:00.006+11:00</published><updated>2012-02-23T22:41:20.655+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Carly Sparkles</title><summary type="text">fer audio readinCarly Sparkles was a show girl, not the Vegas kind, the kind that travelled around from showground to showground selling buckshots at tin ducks and making dreams come true.Carly Sparkles was also a hottie. She wore shimmering boob tube tops and light blue booty shorts that would make Daisy Duke squirm. Carly Sparkles could make a buck or two.She worked the crowd so hard many said </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/6382690063669878245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/10/carly-sparkles.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/6382690063669878245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/6382690063669878245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/10/carly-sparkles.html' title='Carly Sparkles'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-190508355732454393</id><published>2009-09-08T20:27:00.004+10:00</published><updated>2012-02-23T22:31:07.856+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Horrorscope</title><summary type="text">fer audio readin“Ohmagod. Like, I can’t believe this could happen today- of all frickin’ days Michelle!”Michelle nodded sadly, having read the bad tidings over her young cousins shoulder.Libra:Today you will have a terrible day. Everything that can go wrong will, so hide out under a rock until tomorrow.Money: A small windfall. Love: Venus is as far from your system as is solarly possible- stay </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/190508355732454393/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/09/horrorscope.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/190508355732454393'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/190508355732454393'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/09/horrorscope.html' title='Horrorscope'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-4625189823592116116</id><published>2009-09-08T20:24:00.006+10:00</published><updated>2012-02-23T22:20:31.605+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Rock Superstar</title><summary type="text">fer audio readin“ROCK!” He screamed into the make-believe crowd. “ROCK NOW AND ROOOOCK HARD!” And the make-believe crowd went wilder than Britney.Rock Hard was Nathan’s new single. He wrote it to celebrate becoming newly single. It was a tribute also, to his rock hard ab’s. He didn’t always have rock hard ab’s. Nathan used to have something on his tummy more likely mistaken for a wavepool than a </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/4625189823592116116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/09/rock-superstar.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/4625189823592116116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/4625189823592116116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/09/rock-superstar.html' title='Rock Superstar'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-3079941583699061270</id><published>2009-09-02T19:46:00.007+10:00</published><updated>2012-02-23T22:10:11.468+11:00</updated><title type='text'>Vroom-Vroom</title><summary type="text">fer audio readinOne day there was a hawk with a new Commodore V8. Some birds asked why he had a V8, or any kind of vehicle, when he had two perfectly good wings but he answered with a question, which proved he was pretty switched on: “Why do human men drive when they have two perfectly good legs?”“Ah, touché.” The birds cooed humbly.Anyway, one day, Hawk guy was hooning around in his new V8 with </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/3079941583699061270/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/09/vroom-vroom.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/3079941583699061270'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/3079941583699061270'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/09/vroom-vroom.html' title='Vroom-Vroom'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4483139957588222750.post-5597921622558890300</id><published>2009-09-01T08:33:00.018+10:00</published><updated>2012-02-23T22:24:44.125+11:00</updated><title type='text'>The Wing-ed Whippersnapper</title><summary type="text">fer audio readin“Dad, one day I’m gunna fly.” Young Ronald said, watching the jet plane leave it’s white, dusty line in the sky.“Sure, boy,” His dad rolled his already rolling eyes. “You’ll fly from the top of my hand to the smack of your bum. That’s how far you’re gunna fly.” Young Ronald’s dad never really made much sense, on account of all the grass he smoked. “Nah, Dad, for real. I’m gunna </summary><link rel='enclosure' type='audio/mpeg' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.podbean.com/mf/web/3frhsy/TheWing-edWhippersnapper.mp3' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/feeds/5597921622558890300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/09/wing-ed-whippersnapper.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/5597921622558890300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4483139957588222750/posts/default/5597921622558890300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bedtimestoriesforbogans.blogspot.com/2009/09/wing-ed-whippersnapper.html' title='The Wing-ed Whippersnapper'/><author><name>Story Tella</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15764647448079570365</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwZ6mcgEp1q8a5w3FE_w9quOw9Jya5Pvg5qTfWlQUao48HKPceAbh_htYJmunxN5oIDJt0VSY1o1oa89PJAmR_2nleLFjRG_NFE1cmjTXmGQHYLNpyVx3k6Tdce-ocBCs/s220/myYearbookPhoto1994.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>