Tag Archives: oprah

Dearest Academy Floral OR STFU Valentine’s day

Dearest Academy Floral

Thanks so much for your suggestion for me to send more flowers to my now ex-girlfriend for Valentine's day. And yes, you are right. That first bouquet I sent back in September did indeed ‘WOW!’ her. The problem is that the flowers I had delivered to her have now withered and died and been tossed into the nearest trash receptacle.

 Much like our relationship. 


For a brief period which future literary historians will doubtlessly refer to as ‘J.M. Donellan’s “SWEET MOTHER OF GOD WHY IS EVERYTHING SO UTTERLY AND INCOMPREHENSIBLY HORRIBLE ALWAYS AND ALL THE TIME?’ period I was temporarily transformed into a quivering and mildly alcoholic wreck spending most of my time lying on the floor listening to the Cure’s Disintegration on repeat and consuming a weekly average of twelve packs of oreos.


Thankfully I’ve now more or less recovered, reduced my oreo intake to a much healthier and more sustainable pack a day habit and returned to an emotional state of which Oprah would be far more approving. After all, as the old cliché says, there are ‘plenty more fish in the sea.’ (The fact that the search for love is so frequently compared to tricking a small water dwelling animal into spearing a hook through its face and then subsequently forcing it to asphyxiate in one final furious fit of fatal convulsions before removing its outer layer and internal organs before cooking and consuming said animal does, however, somewhat concern me.)

I suppose I COULD still send her more flowers, but that would seem kind of weird and pathetic. I am both of those things of course, but I’m trying to pretend like I’m not. So far I am attempting to accomplish this by doing push ups every morning, but I’ve been doing this for literally DAYS now and I still don’t have rippling biceps so I’m not really sure what the point is when I can just be my normal scrawny self with absolutely no effort whatsoever.  

I’m sure your message was well intentioned, but the fact is, for a great many people Valentine’s day is just a reminder of the fact that they are tragically alone. It’s a day when single people feel like the entire world has conspired to say LOOK AT US! LOOK AT WHAT WE HAVE! LOOK HOW MUCH HAPPIER WE ARE THAN YOU!

"I wuv you honey baby sweetie pie!"

"Not as much as I wuv YOU my little muffintop on stuffed crust pizza base with double cherries on top and a side of bacon fondue pudding!"

Of course I can always take solace in the fact that the vast majority of those couples are either going to break up at some point in the near future or alternatively edge incrementally towards their graves despising each other slightly more with each transpiring hour until they are just a pair of nonagenarian husks that stare into each other’s gimlet-like eyes with an odious cocktail of disdain and boredom whose potency is outdone only by their own body odour and crippling ennui.

In conclusion, unless you feel like adding a ‘deliver large box filled with vodka, cheesecake and Stevie Ray Vaughn’ albums to your Valentine’s day package options I don’t think I will be interested in your services.

Grey_goose_vodka-948+     Stevie+Ray+Vaughan+no1 + Cheesecake =  YES.

In fact, after I finish writing this email I am going to instigate a campaign to have National “I Am Still Single Because I Refuse to Settle Down with Anyone Who Won’t Make Me Supremely Happy and Allow Me To Do the Same for Them in Return in Order to Allow My Already Astonishing Levels of Awesomeness to Attain Even Greater Heights” day. This will basically involve a host of astoundingly wonderful single people getting together to drink vodka, eat cheesecake, air guitar to Stevie Ray Vaughn albums and indulge in guilt-free make out sessions in the utilities closet.  Feel free to attend.

Kind re:Guards

J.M. Donellan



New York Limes best smelling author

Dearest Interwebs,

as you are probably aware, I am an author. An author is a bit like a politician in that we are paid money to make up lies, but an author does this extremely well for almost no money whereas a politician does this very badly for lots of money and sometimes a moat.

Like most authors, I have lofty dreams and ambitions, for the past five years these have included:


1 win literary awards 2 have a fan send me sexy photos 3 eat a whole pizza in one go. 4 get a job as a voice actor 5 BECOME A NEW YORK LIMES BEST SMELLING AUTHOR.

Having proudly accomplished the first four goals, I am now ready tackle the fifth.  I have just sent the following email to numerous supermakets in NYC:

Dearest Sir/Madam/Automatic response bot,

My name is JM Donellan, and I am an author from the faraway land of Australia where no actually we do not ride kangaroos to work and don't look much like Crocodile Dundee at all but thanks for asking.


"Mate, if you tried to ride me I'd kick yer fucken face off."

Like many authors, I have long dreamed of being awarded the prestigious title of 'New York Limes Best Smelling Author.' I would like to invite YOU!!!! to become part of an exciting opportunity to help me get that thing that I want.  My plan, at present, is to purchase some of your limes (perhaps
a baker's dozen) and use them to create some kind of cologne which I will then douse myself in, allowing me to achieve my dreams
just like Oprah and whoever wrote 'the Secret' keep telling me I should do.


I would prefer if you would send me limes actually grown in New York, but if this is not possible then I would prefer that they have at least been in New York for a little while and have had a chance to visit its major tourist attractions like the Empire State building, the Statue of Liberty, Mos Def's house and, of course, Limes Square.


Here's an example I prepared earlier.

Probably postage will be quite expensive because Australia
is very far away, but I'll be visiting New York in December and I promise I'll pay you back then. Also in Australia we don't usually like food coming in from other countries because of our fragile
ecosystem with lots of weird animals that want to kill you, so could you please write THIS BOX DEFINITELY DOES NOT CONTAIN LIMES SO DON'T OPEN IT JUST DELIVER IT TO JM DONELLAN (PLEASE) in big letters on the box?

Thank you for your time.

Swarm Regards,

JM Donellan

Dying’s 1st birthday

"I am 1 year old today! Waaah! Waaaah! Bring me things and focus all your attention on me constantly."

Dearest humans of earth.

Today is the one year anniversary of the release of my novel A Beginner’s Guide to Dying in India. Like many one-year-olds it is currently demanding a lot of attention and keeping people awake until the early hours of the morning. However, unlike human children it neither produces faecal matter nor places small objects up its nose. Bonus.

To celebrate this anniversary I'm putting on a special little deal especially and exclusively for YOU Florence or Bill or Mikhail or whatever the fudgecicle your name is. (Also I need travel funds becuase I am about to head to Colombia to do some research for my next novel Adonis Comma Coma and from what I've heard karma points aren't legal tender in Bogota). So just for this week, anyone who orders a copy through this website will get a special hand written piece of writing featuring their name. It might be a limerick, it might be a haiku, it might be an imagined obituary, but it will definitely be…you know, a thing.

On top of all of this malarkey but I’ll even be donating 20% of all profits this week to Warchild Australia.

Now, play nice and click RIGHT HERE and then on the 'SHOP' tab. It’s what Oprah would want you to do.



been a busy week. I've been flat out organising the interstate tour and
doing radio interviews (you know it's going to be quality airtime when
the guy out of the front of the station greets you with a joint in his
hand). My novel was finally released in Australia this week, and man,
Oprah will just NOT GET OFF MY CASE. Seriously. Yesterday she rang me
up and she was all like:


“Oh my god I loved your boooook!"

know, with that rising voice thing she does. Let me tell you, it might
be endearing to watch on your telebox but it is PAINFUL to listen to in
your ear. So I was like,

JMDonellan pic

"Listen Oprah, I'm actually on the last level of

Street fighter IV. Can you txt me later?"

“When can I get you on my show? I was going to have the Olsen twins on in January but their agent just called and said they'll be in rehab or prison or terrorist training camp or some crap. You free then?”

JMDonellan pic

  "Yeah Listen O-town I'm actually going to be in  Cambodia writing the next book in January."


“Well can I at least get a review to tweet to my peeps?"

JMDonellan pic

"Seriously, O-face, have you ever tried to beat Zangief on level 7? It's f**king hard. And trying to do so with an overexcited billionaire yammering on is making it a lot harder. Look, I'll write you a goddam review myself. Here tis:"




Look, I don’t know what the hell I was
when I wrote this. Didn’t I realise that no one reads books unless
they are about vampires or wizards? Perhaps I should have written a book about
a young vampire wizard on a quest to unlock an ancient mystery hidden within a
famous painting whilst pursuing romance with a sexy rockstar who leads a
double life as a crime scene investigator. That’d really get the money men

EdwardCullen   +      Wizhat4c+ 220px-MileyCyrusApr09 

= best selling piece o' crap ever.

Everyone from the tweenies to gay twenty-somethings to soccer mums
would be trampling over each other to get to their nearest Borders to pick that
shit up. It’d probably even be adapted into a movie directed by an ex-porn star
struggling to gain some credibility.

I mean, look at the vocabulary in
this book. Kaleidoscopic? Prometheal? It’s like I expect people to use a
dictionary, or their BRAINS or something? This book doesn’t mention twitter
even once! Was it written in the middle ages? A Beginner’s Guide to Dying in
has been called ‘witty and poignant.’ Poignant? When was the last time
you saw an ultra-hip Gen Y scenester type the word poignant into their iphone?
Never. That’s when.


"Does 'poignant' have two umlauts or three?"

My main regret is that this book
took me three years to put together from having the first spark on the rooftop
on a hotel in the Himalayas to telling my publishers to ‘shove it’ when they
wanted me to tweak the final chapter so that it featured a sex scene occurring
in a helicopter as the heroes escaped the exploding casino. It makes me cry to
think of all the things I could have done in that time. I could have learned
jujitsu, how to juggle flaming chainsaws, or how to make a clarinet out of a carrot.

know, stuff that would impress girls, instead of sitting in front of a laptop
for weeks on end bathing in my own sweat and trying to think a better metaphor
than ‘more out of place than the pope at a sex convention.’ (Suggestions?)
I give this book sixteen
thumbs down. Which is slightly better than the rating I gave the Twilight
series, and slightly worse than the rating I gave for this guy’s moustache:


"It's Movember all year round in my world bitches! PS: you can get the book here if you to write your own scathing review, or if you need something to hide your face from that creepy guy that always sits opposite from you on the bus. Yeah, you know the one I'm talking about."