I was in the supermarket again today (as one does) and was checking the egg section to see if the McGrath cage eggs were still there.
It seems they've been removed and replaced with barn/cage free eggs.
So bravo to the Foundation. I'll buy your eggs now.
But still, enough with the pink League uniforms.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
MUST BE A GREG THING
We all remember that cowardly invertebrate, Greg Bird, he of the glassing incident. For those who don't, a quick recap:
Greg Bird, the one-time hero league player (those two words alone should tell you where this is going - to some offensive act of a retard), who was idolised by thousands, men and women alike.
Such idolatry reached its zenith when Birds girlfriend refused to press charges after he smashed a glass in her face (what is it with you chicks, man? Seriously, what are you thinking???).
For his part, Bird attempted to avoid the charge by claiming a friend committed the act, only to be refuted at a later stage. The spineless git now plays for a French side (in France obviously). I only hope if and when he returns to Oz no-one ever lets him forget what he did.
Anyway, so, there you have it. Bird the coward; the woman beater. His mother must be sooo proud.
Enter Greg #2.
This namesake's surname is Inglis and Inglis, like Bird, is another "superstar" of league, again idolized by fans of both sex and all ages, including kids. "Mummy, why is my hero hitting his girlfriend? Is it okay to do that then?"
Inglis has just recently been accused of giving HIS girlfriend a shiner or two. Shiners can only be caused by either something hitting the eye hard or the eye hitting something (think the ubiquitous "walking into a door", an explanation used often to explain such an eye by those to embarrassed to admit the truth).
In this particular case, the victim/girlfriend has come out to say, no, Greg didn't hit me, I was attempting self harm and he was trying to stop me. Oh, and by the way, I'm no longer his girlfriend".
Cue girlfriend #2
A girl, who fancies her own taste of fame at whatever cost, has chirped up now claiming she in fact is now Inglis's bint.
It's all getting very tawdry and would be funny where it not for the fact that an act of violence from a weak, weak excuse for a man has started it all.
Leaguesters eh? Pure class all the way!
Greg Bird, the one-time hero league player (those two words alone should tell you where this is going - to some offensive act of a retard), who was idolised by thousands, men and women alike.
Such idolatry reached its zenith when Birds girlfriend refused to press charges after he smashed a glass in her face (what is it with you chicks, man? Seriously, what are you thinking???).
For his part, Bird attempted to avoid the charge by claiming a friend committed the act, only to be refuted at a later stage. The spineless git now plays for a French side (in France obviously). I only hope if and when he returns to Oz no-one ever lets him forget what he did.
Anyway, so, there you have it. Bird the coward; the woman beater. His mother must be sooo proud.
Enter Greg #2.
This namesake's surname is Inglis and Inglis, like Bird, is another "superstar" of league, again idolized by fans of both sex and all ages, including kids. "Mummy, why is my hero hitting his girlfriend? Is it okay to do that then?"
Inglis has just recently been accused of giving HIS girlfriend a shiner or two. Shiners can only be caused by either something hitting the eye hard or the eye hitting something (think the ubiquitous "walking into a door", an explanation used often to explain such an eye by those to embarrassed to admit the truth).
In this particular case, the victim/girlfriend has come out to say, no, Greg didn't hit me, I was attempting self harm and he was trying to stop me. Oh, and by the way, I'm no longer his girlfriend".
Cue girlfriend #2
A girl, who fancies her own taste of fame at whatever cost, has chirped up now claiming she in fact is now Inglis's bint.
It's all getting very tawdry and would be funny where it not for the fact that an act of violence from a weak, weak excuse for a man has started it all.
Leaguesters eh? Pure class all the way!
DON'T YOU JUST HATE THAT...
When you've just spent a wad of dough unnecessarily?
Mutters (currently also known as Hopalong on account of his being unable to put any weight on the wounded paw) returned from one of his forays the other day with a significant slice out of one of the pads on his front left paw.
Right away Dr Doolittle (that would be moi) diagnosed broken glass as the likely culprit (fuckin' wee pisshead bastards breaking their bottles out in the bush!)
A deep slash leaving a thick sliver of flesh exposed with the other part separated flapping in the wind almost. So the professor (that's me too) got to inspecting the damage close up and discovered that if the "flapping" piece was simply pushed in its natural direction it settled into the gap perfectly.
And immediately remembered the time when I very nearly lost a finger due to an argument with a vicious dropsaw (I consider it a draw as I still have a fully operational finger). In that occasion also, I discovered that when I simply held the sides of the 35 millimetre slash together, they fit like the proverbial glove (Note: human flesh, before the blood gets to the area to do its work, is uncannily like cooked pork, i.e white - then the blood catches up and everything goes crimson...). So I pinched the sides together, slathered antiseptic cream, (the human equivalent of dog saliva) on it, wrapped it in a piece of toilet roll, and taped it up with masking tape. Changed the dressing twice daily and hey presto! Job done. Just a nice scar left.
Anyway, back to Mutters: As I said, push the flap back and do the same. Unfortunately for reasons known only to myself, I left it for 3 days before "operating" and the flap had become more wayward. I also had concerns about possible infection though on subsequent inspection the wound, by virtue of the aforementioned saliva, was clean.
Nevertheless, hesitate and you're lost as the saying goes and I felt I'd perhaps missed my window so off to the vet I went.
Who proceeded to do exactly as I have written, that is, to push the flap back into place and wrap the entire paw in a tight (ish) bandage and give him an antibiotic with a course of five days' worth to go.
Then about 3 minutes later - charged me like an infuriated bull. Kerching!!
Now I'm thinking, as I look at my empty wallet, I should have had more faith in myself.
Yep. I hate that!
I'm also reminded as I watch my wee man hopping along three-legged, of my contention that we all could learn something from animals with injuries, dogs especially. Not a whimper; not a whine, just a get on with it attitude. Us? We'd be bawling our bloody eyes out. "Boo hoo, I'm so sore/sad/upset".
Mutters (currently also known as Hopalong on account of his being unable to put any weight on the wounded paw) returned from one of his forays the other day with a significant slice out of one of the pads on his front left paw.
Right away Dr Doolittle (that would be moi) diagnosed broken glass as the likely culprit (fuckin' wee pisshead bastards breaking their bottles out in the bush!)
A deep slash leaving a thick sliver of flesh exposed with the other part separated flapping in the wind almost. So the professor (that's me too) got to inspecting the damage close up and discovered that if the "flapping" piece was simply pushed in its natural direction it settled into the gap perfectly.
And immediately remembered the time when I very nearly lost a finger due to an argument with a vicious dropsaw (I consider it a draw as I still have a fully operational finger). In that occasion also, I discovered that when I simply held the sides of the 35 millimetre slash together, they fit like the proverbial glove (Note: human flesh, before the blood gets to the area to do its work, is uncannily like cooked pork, i.e white - then the blood catches up and everything goes crimson...). So I pinched the sides together, slathered antiseptic cream, (the human equivalent of dog saliva) on it, wrapped it in a piece of toilet roll, and taped it up with masking tape. Changed the dressing twice daily and hey presto! Job done. Just a nice scar left.
Anyway, back to Mutters: As I said, push the flap back and do the same. Unfortunately for reasons known only to myself, I left it for 3 days before "operating" and the flap had become more wayward. I also had concerns about possible infection though on subsequent inspection the wound, by virtue of the aforementioned saliva, was clean.
Nevertheless, hesitate and you're lost as the saying goes and I felt I'd perhaps missed my window so off to the vet I went.
Who proceeded to do exactly as I have written, that is, to push the flap back into place and wrap the entire paw in a tight (ish) bandage and give him an antibiotic with a course of five days' worth to go.
Then about 3 minutes later - charged me like an infuriated bull. Kerching!!
Now I'm thinking, as I look at my empty wallet, I should have had more faith in myself.
Yep. I hate that!
I'm also reminded as I watch my wee man hopping along three-legged, of my contention that we all could learn something from animals with injuries, dogs especially. Not a whimper; not a whine, just a get on with it attitude. Us? We'd be bawling our bloody eyes out. "Boo hoo, I'm so sore/sad/upset".
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