PEOPLE OF 2007

According to the Sunday edition of the Daily Rag.

Second on the list is the Antichrist, aka Al Gore, aka the Shyster, aka the nearly President who desperate for some sort of fame made a film full of propaganda and inaccuracies with the intent of scaring the stupid into buying smaller cars and recycling their plastic.

To reiterate: global warming ISN'T a figment of our imagination but the suggestion that we burning less coal, recycling plastic bottles, using less water and the plethora of other suggestions to turn back the tide - IS!

There is no question that we humans are...well, bad, for the planet and as we reach new discoveries with regard to extending the our average lifespan and new ways of producing offspring from the most barren of wombs, the plague that is human life will just become more severe.
And as in any species there is a finite amount of any species that can exist in any given amount of space.
Of course, with our all encompassing intelligence we have been able to circumvent most of nature's 'checks and balances' as it were, but worry not - this cannot go on forever - and it won't.
For everything under the sun, there is a price to be paid.

In a previous post I alluded to a quote from a scientist in Britain who said that we were, 'living a 3 planet existence' quote unquote. Simply meaning that the rate of which we were using the earth's natural resources would take 3 like-sized planets to sustain.
It's inevitable those resources will run out - blind Freddie can see that. What then? Do we make cars illegal? Trains? Boats, planes, air conditioners?

Back to the horse and cart? Gosh, how will I survive without a motorbike? Oh no!

Wonder how the Antichrist will manage with a horse and cart. Most likely he'll have one with footmen and driver, security guards and gold laid upholstery. (Just so he can protect his money he'd previously spirited away from the stupid).

Anyway, for the normal people who actually WORK for a living, we're all off to said employment.

CASE IN POINT...

Some time ago I wrote a piece (God, it sounds so...uppity - like I'm an actual writer rather than some Joe just jotting down his thoughts) regarding sunshine and it's benefits/risks. The effects of too much of it - specifically skin cancer (which it has to be said is apparently at its highest rate here in OZ due to the famed 'hole' in the atmosphere) has been well documented. 'Stay out of the sun', they cautioned. 'Or use a strong UV cream'.

Well the general populous immediately ran out to the shops and purchased all the (about 500 UV) sun cream they could find (which is so protective it renders the recipient whiter than they began...).

It now transpires that the experts' words were taken a little too literally as many people (read, morons) and their poor children who don't have a say are now presenting at doctors with the symptoms of vitamin D deficiency.

Vitamin D is received in spades from the sun's rays. And word is just 15 minutes a day provides all the vitamin D a person requires. I myself have never been a 'worshipper' as such and have never been interested in lying on the beach like some sort of...well, wanker actually. Half naked women - good; half naked men - bad.

I've been saying for years now that the total blocking of these rays is a bad idea. I think in my 'piece' I wrote of my Ma (and all other Mas of that generation) telling me and the respective children to, "go out and get some sun on your legs'.

People aren't encouraged to do so anymore and because they're that thick they'll believe whatever the 'experts' tell them.

Tch! Experts indeed. Go and get a real bloody job y'wasters!

Me? I'm goin out in the sun - with my smokes!

MERRY... CHRISTMAS/ XMAS/ HOLIDAY/ DAY THAT'S KINDA SPECIAL BUT CAN'T BE OPENLY DISCUSSED

Christmas time again. Phew! Where'd the year go? Wasn't it Christmas yesterday?

Anyway, another week and it'll all be over for another year. As I write, I still haven't secured a home. I was close three times (or so I thought) but for a variety of reasons it fell through so here I am, in my spot. Quite a nice spot actually - with peace and quiet I've been unable to find without paying half a mil or travelling a million hours from my work.

But LICS as they say (well, as I say at least...)

A matter of some concern to me is the pay TV provider, Austar, who, seemingly unaware (or simply uncaring) of the season have 'set the dogs on me'. The dogs in this case are the fine people of a debt collection agency with the help of their vicious lawyers.
They have threatened my credit rating; a rating it has to be said I've literally starved to protect. Now some corporate scum is trying to smear it. Well, not without a fight.
To reiterate my case:-

I became homeless. I told Austar that despite not having a TV and therefore being unable to actually watch their programs, I was still prepared to pay the monthly charge until such times I found accommodation. Then, when I DID find somewhere, I would just simply place a call and they could reconnect me over the phone at the enormous cost of...well, nothing to them, and probably 3-5 minutes on the phone for me (which comprises a woman telling me that my call is important to her and that I'm next in the queue, coupled with some 'trolley music' to further torture me!)
Nope - not good enough for Austar. It seems that I MUST actually watch TV or else they'll disconnect. Does that mean I have to video myself watching TV with time/date code?
I tell them - "I have no TV...because I have no home, so I can't actually watch your channels". I remind them again, "Because I have no home - i.e. I'm homeless". At the same time I'm staggered at their refusal to understand. Again I tell them, "Still, regardless of my current living arrangements, I'm willing to pay the monthly amount. You'll still get your money - what's the problem here?"
They simply refused to discuss it and handed alleged debt to their collectors who as I say, set their lawyers on me,

I, in turn, have contacted three consumer advocacy agencies with my ace in the pack being my homelessness (Austar or their denizens can't find me).

Don't know how this is going to play but one thing is certain, I will fight this to the end on behalf of all who have been fucked over by the corporate world.

JOKE OF THE WEEK

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

MAN WALKS INTO A BAR WITH A STEERING WHEEL DOWN THE FRONT OF HIS TROUSERS.

BARMAN POINTS AT LUMP AND ASKS: "HOW ARE YOU, BUDDY, ISN'T THAT UNCOMFORTABLE?"

"YEAH", THE MAN REPLIES, "IT'S DRIVING ME NUTS!"


***************************************************************************************

WARMING SHWARMING

A report on the television news told of some Pacific Islander types complaining that sea rises are overwhelming their homes. Accompaning the report was footage of waves breaking around the floor of the homes (read huts with palm fronds). They claim it's as a`result of global warming (How the hell Gore the Antichrist got to them I'll never know. One of them must have acquired a TV from somewhere...).

So far, a couple of sentences into this piece, you'd be excused for thinking fair enough and having empathy for the poor Islanders.

That is until you read on:

These indigenents of the beautiful islands in the South Pacific, typically live on the beach. I don't mean near the beach or in close proximity to the beach, no - I mean ON the beach - right there on the sand, their gardens just behind on the small soil shelf.
Something as simple and innocent as a freak high tide would have the same effect.
Well look PI's, you choose to live there - in a place many Westerners pay several month's earnings just visit. You probably exist in an environment free of terror, one where you just tend your garden and potter about til your heart's content.
But nevertheless, it's still on a beach and as such carries the risk of such high tides so I'm afraid you lose all rights to appeal to the western world for help.
What, you want me to replace your palm frond hut with an air conditioned home on higher ground? I don't think so.

I wrote about the spate of vicious glassings (are they ever anything else...?) that have been in the news lately a while back.
No need to cover old ground except to say that the head-shaking and tut-tutting from the media was all encompassing. And rightly so, I'd have to say (though my opinion isn't motivated by the desire to sell more copy...).

What typically follows such demonstrations of dismay, is the plea - "What can we do to stop this?"
And all measures of control are discussed, from shutting bars completely to shutting them early in a (vain they'll discover) attempt to curb this almost primal of attacks on a usually unsuspecting victim.
You want to stop this? Well, you can't, frankly. There are of course ways of reducing it but that relies on people drinking less and people won't - period.
Especially when the demon liquor is virtually given away.

Take the advertisement for a large supermarket in Australia. With that time of year again fast approaching, the market has pulled out the usual stops of advertising alcohol and ridiculously low prices. The ad I saw was offering 24 cans of beer for 40 bucks - $20 off. And the choices...wow, such a variey both local and imported - Hahn, Crownies, Pure Blonde, The ever-present VB, Bud, Tooheys (New and Old), Heineken... the list goes on and on!

That's thirty percent. Reducing the price to just over half. Where else would you get such a gift? Imagine for example going into a car dealers and getting 5000 off a 15,000 dollar car. It just wouldn't happen Nor with whitegoods, furniture, TVs - unless it's from the benevolence of the jolly, fat man in the red suit.
But because it's the piss in Australia, they're almost giving it away.

Yeah...I'm wringing my hands too. Boohoo, how can we stop this?

Meantime, with shaking heads and tut-tutting voices, the hands continue to be wrung, offenders are incarcerated and life returns to normal...but with the unfortunate victim missing an eye!

DAVID AND GOLIATH

Otherwise known as Austar television.

Dear Mr Austar,

You have been sending me a bill for 250 bucks for months on end now claiming it to be a cancellation fee. I didn't ask for my service to be cancelled and have repeatedly informed you that I was happy to keep paying the monthly amount until I secured new accommodation (you are well aware of my current situation).

But that wasn't enough for you. It would seem that despite my willingness to keep paying the amount whilst searching for a new home, you have decided that because I'm not actually watching television (because I've no fucking house y'pricks!) I have to pay a cancellation fee. Well, fuck that!

I am well aware of the need for such a fee. Austar needs to protect itself from a customer asking you to come out, set up the dish, provide the set top box, remote etc, only for a month later say - "aw, I don't want it now". I completely understand that you need to cover yourself from this.
However, I have been an Austar customer for 7 years, during which time I have paid to Austar the sum of 5,600 dollars (mainly for 3 channels I actually watch, and about 30 I don't - food channel, kids channel, diy channel etc.) You don't need to 'cover' yourselves. 5,600 dollars would cover you like a mf!

And now you have the nerve to demand 250 dollars for a cancellation fee while I struggle to find a home in this expensive market that is Sydney. Moreover, you have 'set the dogs on me' in the form of a debt collection agency!

Well, pay close attention to this for I'll say it only once:-

YOU CAN HAND THE UNJUSTIFIED DEBT TO AS MANY DEBT COLLECTORS AS YOU WANT. I WILL NOT BE PAYING EITHER THEM OR YOU. YOU MAY CONSIDER OUR RELATIONSHIP PERMANENTLY OVER AND CAN SHOVE YOUR 250 BUCKS UP YOUR FUCKING ARSE!!! FURTHERMORE, I WILL NEVER USE AUSTAR TELEVISION AGAIN AND WILL DO EVERYTHING IN MY POWER TO DISSUADE OTHERS FROM DOING SO ALSO. YOU PEOPLE ARE GOING TO LEARN YOU CAN'T JUST TREAT YOUR CUSTOMERS LIKE THIS.

UPDATE

Well, it's now the fourth month I've been living out of the back of my ute. Four months of searching for a new home without success so far.

I'm having to seriously consider once again renting; only thing is my two boys. Apparently they are a problem for some. As soon as they hear the term "two Border Collies" they get very defensive and completely shut down.

I would like to know exactly what it is these wankers think my boys are going to do to their precious house. Do they think they're going to shit all over the place; bark into the wee hours of the morning? What? Explain to me what it is that worries you so.

Well I consider it a personal affront to me - no less so than if you insulted my children and my response is this:- (Ma, if you're reading this, look away)

YOU CAN TAKE YOUR POXY HOUSE AND SHOVE IT - RIGHT UP YOUR FUCKIN ARSE - SIDEWAYS. I'LL EVEN LEND A BOOT TO MAKE SURE IT GETS WORKED RIGHT UP THERE!!!

WHAT MORE DOES A MAN NEED...

MITSUBISHI TURBO DIESEL 4X4 UTE (RESPLENDENT WITH A BIG DENT - GOD, I'M SUCH A DICKHEAD!)

YAMAHA WR 426 ENDURO


AND MY BOYS.

THE BECKHAM ROADSHOW

Good ole 'golden balls', as he's oft referred to by his wife, the ex-Spice girl, Victoria Beckham, is in Sydney.
He came with his football team, LA Galaxy, the team who've paid an enormous 250 million dollars over three years for the services of the aforementioned footballer.

The man is arguably a whole industry in himself with his multi million dollar sponorship deals with Adidas, Rolex and countless other brands whose pockets know no depth to have the man advertise their product. (Word is he's being courted to sell sand to the Arabs...).

Anyway, clotheshorse aside, he's here for a football game - an exhibition match between his team, LA Galaxy, and Sydney FC. It's been joked that the game is actually between Sydney FC and David Beckham, hoho, such is the excitement over the superstars imminent arrival.

The game was played live on free to air Channel Ten (which interestingly, is more than can be said for the recent rugby world cup which had all but the semis and final, excepting the Australian games, delayed..!)

And as a testament to the man's pulling power, consider the following:-

Football is almost an underground sport here in Oz and Sydney FC's last game against Queensland Roar (far out - such monikers!) drew a crowd of 8 thousand or so.

Ticket sales for this game have exceeded EIGHTY thousand, and probably 70,000 or so are there just to see David Beckham. Hilariously, in a play on words of the film, Bend it like Beckham, two young fillies held aloft a placard on which was written - "Bend Me Beckham". Hoho, you go girls, don't hold back (where's my Beckham mask?)

(Even yours truly is writing about it right here on this humble blog-type thing).

The talk was all about whether Beckham would score; whether he would even play the full 90 minutes (a reference to his unfortunate injury streak since joining the Italian superteam, before he went to America). Well, score he did, in the most stylish of ways, in an almost trademark fashion from a free kick. Over the wall of men it flew and curved beautifully to escape the keepers stretched arms.

The spectators went ballistic.

Sydney FC won the game in the end 5-3 but the general concensus was that the event (which due to Beckham's involvement, was what it had become) was a huge success and the word is that interest in the round ball sport could be exploited and developed purely on the back of this game.

As for David, well, reports are that he has conducted himself impeccably, going as far to visit (on the sly) a young fan, afflicted with cancer. He has been gracious and appreciative of his position when appearing in public and has insisted, despite being able to afford, and assumed he would do so, fivestar hotels etc. on staying with his teammates in...lesser accommodation.

For my part, I have always liked the man, and have never been an exponent of the kind of patronizing insults that have so been a part of his life from the jealous and envious.
Such spite-filled persons, whose vitriol is quite obviously borne out of a deep-seated envy and personal shame that they can't reach such heights themselves, make a living out of cutting down (or attempting to) those who did indeed rise above the ordinary.
David Beckham is one such man. He is married, seemingly in love with his wife, dotes on his children, and just happens to be one of the best footballers in current play - as evidenced by the trademark free kick finding the back of the net.

A true champion is he and I wish him all the success he can handle.

WR 426

Well, I've gone and done it. I tried, I tried so very hard to resist but it wouldn't be denied.

Muttars' new bike - a 2001 Yamaha WR 426! The fun to be had on this is verging on impossible to quantify.

PRICK CLUB AT IT AGAIN

Otherwise known as the PC lobby. They have decided that Santa, that most benign of givers should no longer be allowed to say ho ho ho.
They claim that it's too close to the American slang for whores. (See, yet another victim of America's bastardization of the language!)

So, the lobby in all their wisdom suggests Santa now says ha ha ha because it's...safer, less chance of misunderstanding. Several would-be Santas have left Santa school in disgust - good on them!

It's hard to believe actually that such an innocent phrase can be turned into an insult.

Well, screw you, PC arseholes!

HO....HO...HO!!!

The following is a transcript of a conversation yours truly had with a work colleague recently (we'll call him Kev). Be advised, said colleague is a truck driver so the language is...colourful!
Voting is compulsory in Oz - to not vote brings a fine.


ME: "So, Kev, any ideas on who you're votin for?"
KEV: "I don't vote, mate".
ME: "Isn't it illegal not to vote here?"
KEV: "Yeah, it is".
ME: "So how'd yget round it"?
KEV: "Well, when I was 18 I went to the voting booth with me ma and asked her was my name on the electoral roll. She said it was. I said - "screw it - I'm not voting, and went back home".
ME: "Y'get a fine?"
KEV: "About 2 weeks later a fine for 50 bucks came in the mail, so I wrote on the fine slip - 'fuck off, I don't vote for liars', and sent it back. About 2 weeks later I got another fine for 50 bucks so I wrote on it - 'what, are you slow learners, I told you to fuck off I don't vote for liars".

I'm having quite a chuckle at this because I love stickin it to the man.

ME: "So what happened next?"
KEV: "Well, about another 2 weeks after that someone from the office called me on the phone. And I told them pretty much what I had written. I said, 'look, these cunts make all sorts of promises that they never have any intention of keeping. They lie like fuck just to get elected then renege on everything they've promised. Like I said, I don't vote for liars, so you can shove your fuckin fine up yer arse!'
I'm full on laughing at this point and in my mirth I ask -
ME: "What'd they do?"
KEV: "They hung up on me!" Several weeks later I got a letter informing me I'd been struck of the electoral roll! I haven't voted since"

Kev, mate, my opinion of you has just increased tenfold, buddy! Hoho. There's nothing quite like telling a bureaucrat to shove somethin up their arse.

SUCKER CONVENTION

As reported in the Daily Rag:

"Large crowds are expected to march today in a nationwide 'Walk Against Warming'. Participants in more than 50 cities and towns will call on political parties to act on climate change..."

It goes on:

"Sydney's CBD will also host the biggest public rally of the election campaign with the walk from the Domain to draw more than 80,000 people".

80,000+ muppets. Prize fodder for Mohammed the used car salesman.

I have a question for these idiots and it's this. How much CO2 are 80,000 plus people putting into the atmosphere as you wind your merry way through the city (no doubt stuffing your faces with all kinds of food and leaving a filthy mess in your wake)? Or are you secure in your knowledge that you've pre-purchased your carbon credits? And therefore can pollute like buggery?

Just like your King, His Majesty, Al Gore. (Picture me bowing with a smirk here).

I will refer you to the post entitled "Have we really done it?" That is the truth; it is irrefutable. To believe otherwise just confirms my suspicions that Joe Public is indeed, an idiot.
Now, if I can just find a way to exploit and manipulate them as the big end of town do, then I'll be set!

Walk for Warming indeed. LMMFAO.

I propose a Walk for Muttars, or a Walk for Looser-Fitting Underwear, or a Walk for People who just like Walking!

NIL DESPERANDUM

Or - don't panic. That's the message from that fuckwit of fuckwits, our glorious Premier, Morris Iemma.

Yep, good ole Einstein has deemed that in the event of a terrorist attack, we should all immediately go to the goverment website recently created to advise of our next steps.

Alrighty, knucklehead. Next time I find myself in the midst of a terrorist attack, I'll whip out the laptop (providing I have it with me - and that it's charged - and that the battery, though charged, will hold the charge long enough to connect), I'll go to your website and I'll follow the instructions, one of which I'm sure will be - "in the event of a terrorist attack, immediately move in the OPPOSITE direction".

Cheers Morris -fantastic idea. I'll just sit amid the chaos and web surf.

Man, you're such a fucking twat!!

LOOK OUT FATTIES

Because the airlines have set their sights on you. It seems that if you're too fat, you're going to attract a 'fat tax'; similar to the extra payment one has to pay if one exceeds weight limits for baggage.
Matter of fact, Jetstar, Qantas's younger sibling as it were, has installed bigger seats in some of their aircraft to accommodate the more portly among us. The report I heard didn't elucidate whether said seats carried a higher charge but in this world of constant grab for money, I'd be very surprised if it didn't

Is it justified?

Is it discrimination?

Depends on to whom you speak. Theoretically, it seems...well, fair, really. I mean, aircraft need fuel; extra weight uses more fuel therefore one would think then, that as mentioned, if the weight limit is exceeded, regardless of how the limit is breached, an extra charge is indeed justified.

But many have come out screaming discrimination. I can understand that, being as I am, in the most viciously discriminated against group of citizens on earth - the downtrodden and put-upon smoker (aka the modern leper).

But mind you, if you've ever sat beside a really fat person on an aircraft (or bus, or train - which have a similar amount of room in their seats) you can no doubt understand as the rolls of obesity spill over every edge like escaped dough. Some even take up 2 or more seats so...why shouldn't they pay for 2 or more seats then...?

Hmmm...it's going to happen regardless of objection. If you have a problem with it, get your fat arse off the sofa and lose some of the excess then it won't be an issue - simple.

GLASSINGS

There has been a spate of these vicious attacks around old Sydney town of late. One of which involved two women. The unfortunate victim in this case was a pretty 22 year old. Why the author of the article felt the need to mention 'pretty' is a bit of a worry; are we to think that ugly people are less deserved of our sympathy?
(IN fact, it's all about tweaking peoples heartstrings in order to sell papers - that's the ultimate tragedy...)

So, the concerned parties have all, almost as a single voice, called for the glass glasses to be replaced with plastic ones to prevent further attacks. Good idea actually and will certainly prevent any more disfigurement. We'll leave the various other implements found in the average bar that could be used as weapons for another time (think bottles, shorts glasses, chairs etc).
The experienced and long time drinkers aren't happy about this suggestion, claiming that the beer doesn't taste the same out of plastic as it does glass. Though not a hardened drinker, I would tend to agree. But what's the alternative. Well, obviously, if we could somehow control the drunks in society...but especially in this Australian society, where to drink piss is almost a right of passage, where if one doesn't imbue regularly one is considered a freak, it has problems. Here in Oz, they have a thing called the 'drive through bottlo', a place where one can fill the boot of one's car with as much piss as one can carry.
How can we seriously think we're going to control such drunken behaviour when we're offering drink at cut prices, from drive through shops? When we get in the mail, offers of cases and cases of booze for little money?
Glasses have been smashed in peoples' faces since the beginning of time; as a young man, I was always very wary whenever I went out to bars. I have always been very conscious of alcohol-fuelled violence, being as I was, on the receiving end of it several times. Some I was able to defend myself, others, I took a kickin. Thankfully, I have never had a broken glass shoved in my face. I can only imagine what horror the victim must feel as the razor sharp broken glass just eviscerates almost, the face.
Sight is lost, scarring is permanent. All because some fuckwit full of piss has taken an umbrage.
But perhaps most frightening of all is the fact that now young women are becoming involved in what was a male dominated activity.

I'll tell you who's to blame for this. Bloody Germaine Greer and her ilk telling women for years that they're man's equal. Well maybe today's modern man who's hen-pecked, and pussy-whipped, but not me, girly. You aren't my equal no matter how many bras you burn.
It's the same with driving as well; young girls now are becoming more brazen with their driving - zipping about in their little racy cars like they're on a racetrack. That also used to be the domain of young men.
But now, armed with years of self belief, the young women are now as aggressive as young men.

Where's it going to end? The extrapolation's a bit scary.

CHECK THESE OUT!









Obviously it was a well-fed Bear...









The Polar Bear returned every night that week to play with the dogs

Well, I've been looking and looking for a new home; I may have found one (the one below) but Jeez, things better start moving soon as I have this wad of money that's burning a hole in my pocket.

And the bikes are calling like a siren! This could be the one! A stroker no less. Grab it by the throat and wring the neck of it - spin it up sideways, wheel in the air - woohoo!!!




Or this:



0-60mph in a tad over 2 seconds; top speed somewhere around 200mph. A triumph in motorcycle engineering - the mighty Fireblade.



Which, it has to be said, elicits a similar response in yours truly as the perfect Kate! Growl!

AUSTRALIA 2007

Yep, the 21st century in Australia. With the laptop, the ipod, the self-reversing car.
Medicine has`reached new levels; machines have become more intelligent.

In fact, we're told by the Prime Minister that we've never been better off. That we're earning more and the country's economy is rip-roaring along (with the obligatory interest rate rises).

Yep, we're all doing fine!

Then perhaps someone could enlighten me as to why a seven year old girl was found in her home dead from...starvation. She weighed nine, that's right, nine, kilos. Yep. In the 21st century in a civilized country we have a young girl dying of starvation - lack of food.

Makes you wonder, no...?

MUTTARS' NEW HOME????

Small, unassuming, three bedder, backing onto bush...hmmm, maybe.

BOOFER THE COLLIE

LOOK AT THE WEE FELLA GO! YOU GO MY SAN!

He's going for the frisbee obviously.

Mutley. Scoob. Why can't you do that! Scoob says...



Mutley says...



Yeah, pant pant pant, I can get it - throwittome throwittome, pant pant pant!


*Got this from a newspaper; was expedient to just click the picture from paper rather than screw around looking for it on their website, hence the spurious picture quality but it's adequate*

Jeez, last night was rough; while walkin the boys about 1AM it started to rain (almost exactly at the half-way point in the walk) so by the time we got back we were drenched.

I'd taken a load of washing (specifically a towel) to the machine of an associate that morning then went to work. The associate was at the time being led around by his dick by a floozy and therefore didn't return so I couldn't get the washing (towel) when done - so I had to use a T-shirt (which was surprisingly effective for me but when I had to dry the boys...).

Anyway, suffice to say it was a rather damp night's sleep.

Good news is, I may have found a new home; now I wait for the decision of the bank and of course we all know how philanthropic they can be - NOT!!. It'd be nice to be in for Christmas...maybe...

YES, GOD IS A MAN

HOUSE HUNTING

Tuesday saw the beginning of the ninth week I've lived in my ute. It's getting old I have to say, although the bottom line is that I HAVE a roof over my head. Spartan maybe, but a roof nonetheless.

I'm getting square eyes too with all the time spent looking at properties.

And dealing with realtors is severely affecting my belief in people. Not that there has been much of late but it doesn't help having my suspicions confirmed.

What to do what to do...

Keep on keepin on. Lics, right KB?

LOOKIT MAN, I'VE GOT MY SPOT AND AIN'T MOVIN NO MATTER WHAT FALLS ON ME!!!

BLOODY TONY ABBOTT - AGAIN!!

Yep, that rabid catholic's at it again. Regular readers will be aware of this insidious wee man's behaviour. First with the RU 486 abortion drug which he tried to block based on his fervent catholicism - then with the handing of an abortion conselling service to his cronies in the catholic church.

The latest is he's disparaged a terminally ill man who's been fighting for compensation from James Hardie group for cancer brought on by disassembling old fibro houses. Fibre cement dust facilitates said cancer.

Some off hand remark about the man's ethics being potentially questionable.

Bloody Tony Abbott!

Somebody help me - I can't stop hoho!

ANSWERS ON A POSTCARD...

Righto, I found this...article while walkin the boys some time ago and it's lain on my ute floor for ages. I've eventually found the time to post it.

At first I thought it was a novelty handle for a golf club - there's a driving range nearby - but then decided it was too small. It is meant to slide over something I think as it's hollow and has a hole at the top. (So no head eh? the perfect woman hoho!)

I'll tell ye one thing though - she's stacked! Hoho (As the ladies object - "they're not real". LOL)


So, any suggestions?

Mutley and his brother pissed off at 930 this morning; they hadn't returned by 11 so I left too. I returned to the spot several times over the day - still not there. Last time I checked, I just stayed and cleaned the ute and viola, they just wandered over to me out of nowhere.
Seven hours they were tearin around the bush so they got a bit mucky. And it would seem, a bit worn out too!

This is Mutley within 5 minutes of his return:





















A closer shot...








Awww - bless im! Ma wee man!

EXPERIMENT

Okey dokey, I'm goin to try this; The following is the prologue of a book I've written (nearly - 260 down, bout 140 to go).

Have a look - tell me what you think.

Thank you for your time.




High above the ocean, the lone albatross made its way to the North, as it did every year.
Directly beneath it, deep beneath the smooth, lazy ocean, 450 miles east of Sri Lanka, at the mouth of the Bay of Bengal, a change was afoot. The bedrock had lain quietly for centuries not advertising its presence. Now, like an old arthritic man shifting in bed, the rock did some shifting of its own. The energy of the shift started an almost unnoticeable swell, witnessed only by the albatross soaring above the waves, which squawked in a vocalization of warning and fright. Deep inside, she new what this meant. At the same moment, hundreds of miles away in every direction, on land, animals of all shapes and sizes, with the kind of sixth sense humans would pay handsomely for, registered the shift and deep in their minds knew to start moving from the danger.
With silky-smooth progress, the wall of water travelled unseen towards its destination.
On the bridge of a cruise liner, as the holiday makers frolicked in swimming pools and lounged on deck chairs, the instruments registered a bigger than normal swell which the officer on duty dismissed as an anomaly. Several other ships of varying sizes also had the same reaction.
Silently, the monster beneath the waves rolled on, gathering momentum and power, the devastation to be wrought, hidden. Tourists on the beach at Banda Aceh, unaware of the impending doom, frolicked in the surf, in much the same fashion as the carefree cruisers. As the swell approached land, the water on the beach was sucked towards it, adding to its power, leaving people standing in ankle deep water where previously they had been up to their necks. Confusion seemed to reign with most of the bathers simply gawking at this freak of nature–not connecting the dots.
The behemoth began to rise, drawing up out of the ocean, until it was an unstoppable 15 metre tsunami travelling at 100mph.
Trevor Keys wasn’t a religious man; what he was, however, was a global climate expert, on holiday with his wife and son. He worked for a government department, studying the effect of global warming on weather patterns. He had to liaise with other departments, one of which was Kevin Peters’ department. Kevin was an expert in all things tsunami; causes and results, and had told Trevor that if ever he was on a beach, and witnessed the tide drawing away from him, he was to drop everything and run for his life.
As the ocean retreated, like Moses’ parting of the sea, Trevor did just that. He swept Daniel up in his arms and shouted, ‘Jenny, follow me, right now–hurry’! He reached for her to pull her with him and as he did he saw it. Fear almost paralysed him, ‘oh sweet Jesus’, he muttered, then shouted, ‘Jenny, LET’S GO! And nearly pulled her off her feet as he wrenched her towards him. He started sprinting away towards the beach in the hope of making it to some sort of protection, if not high ground, pulling his wife with him. He ran harder than he’d ever ran in his life; if he could get them to the tree-line, maybe they would have a chance–another hundred yards. He re-doubled his efforts, his heart bursting. His extra effort was more than Jenny could handle and her hand slipped out of his as she stumbled and fell. He pulled up and turned to help her. The monster wave was virtually upon them. They had lost; he hugged his wife and child to him and gritted his teeth, silently praying it would be quick.
The other tourists on the beach didn’t stand a chance either; the wave sped across the shore, sweeping all before it. One second they were there–the next, gone–forever, never to be found. It slammed into the beach development with as much force, completely destroying everything in its path. Boats, furniture, trees and plants, cars, and bodies, thousands of bodies, alive and dead were caught in its deadly grasp.
It was all the more awesome because the entire world saw it moments after it happened, the pictures broadcast almost immediately.
The kind of devastation suffered on Banda Aceh was felt throughout the beaches that surrounded the Bay of Bengal. Hundreds of thousands of people died, the same amount injured, at least. Total villages were swept out of existence. An immediate relief program was launched from multiple nations.
One of the many results of the disaster was the increase in orphans. Human nature (in fact, nature full stop) being what it is, meant that in the process of trying to save the lives of their young ones, many adults perished. The flip side of such sacrifice was that, with so many orphans, came as many predators.

=======================


Acacia avenue could have been any street in a thousand cities. A quiet street in the ‘burbs’, lined with gum trees, with the landscaping round the bottom, the pavement cracked and ruptured by the roots. Several of the neighbours were out in their gardens, tending their lawns, pottering about. Others were indulging in that great Aussie pastime–drinking beer. A group of kids were playing a game of cricket using a makeshift set of stumps, made, rather ingeniously, from the inner rolls of kitchen roll, joined together with sticky tape and filled with paper. A young boy bowls toward his competitor, who swings at the oncoming ball but misses, the ball hitting the stumps.
‘YOU’RE OUT,’ yells the boy, to the chorus of ‘yay’s’ from his team-mates.
The crestfallen batter walks away from the ‘crease’ with his head down and hands the bat, reluctantly, to the next boy.
Inside number 22 lives an old man with his small Jack Russel terrier (he had never married). At this very moment he was just finishing cleaning and preparing himself for his shortly to arrive guest. Freshly ironed trousers and shirt, and clean underwear. He enters the living room and sits in his favourite armchair. On a small coffee table in front of him there is a newspaper, opened at the crossword – it half done, and an envelope. In the envelope was money and on the front was written a name in the typically scrawled and shaky writing of an old, arthritic hand. The clock ticks monotonously, counting down the minutes.
‘It’s almost time, Bessy’, he says to his little dog, who reacts with a frantic wag of her tail. Percy reaches down and gives his long time companion a scratch on the head and behind the ears.
Despite having washed and cleaned himself, Percy has the white saliva collecting at the corners of his mouth. He licks his dry, cracked lips with a moist tongue, the slight wheeze of his elderly lungs audible in the silence of the room. The little dog, finally realising she had got all the attention she was going to get, pro tem, laid her head on her paws with a sigh.
All in the house is quiet, and the old man whispers, almost imperceptibly, ‘she’ll be here soon… she’ll be here soon’. Unlike a lot of men his age, he has never had a problem with impotence and can feel his erection straining against his underwear.



In another city, far on the other side of this wide, brown land, a young girl walks home to the apartment she shares with 3 other girls. Her shoulders are slumped, and her head is bowed. Her body aches, from every orifice having been penetrated, brutally at times, by four ‘clients’. Although she’d had a shower afterwards she could still feel the semen leaking out of her, making her underwear damp. She also felt slightly ill from having performed fellatio on all four as well. When is this going to stop? How do I get out of this? she asked herself.
Oh Lord, help me, she silently wailed.
This is not what she had come here for. She had been promised work as a secretary, in a plush office and had been looking forward to living in this beautiful, free country, carving out a good life for herself, maybe bringing over her family, later. She remembered how excited she had felt at this chance to make something of her life, even when ‘performing’ for the skipper of the boat that brought her here; closing her eyes and thinking ‘this won’t last forever, once I get there, I can forget it ever happened’. Horrified at her current predicament, she despaired.
Reaching her apartment, she hoped there was one of her friends there; she felt the need of some sympathy. Many a night the girls would comfort each other, being as they were, in the same position, often physically. She hoped she would have a few days respite before having to repeat last night’s ordeal.

Righto, I'm back.

It's 3:35 - in the AM, to quote "The Wolf" from Pulp Fiction. I'm sitting having just finished my day which began at 9 AM yesterday. I have tea, chocolate and smokes. Woohoo!

And I'm wondering what pearls of wisdom I can relay to the world...

Nope - I got nothing! I WAS going to make a video entitled, "How to roll the perfect rollie", complete with commentary but it's too late - and dark actually. It's not that I can't roll in the dark (roll by feel as it were), but I just can't be arsed just quietly.

There is one thing - just a wee bit. There was a stinker in work tonight; an individual who hasn't yet seemed to embrace the benefits of anti-perspirant. Good God he stank, and much like the "BO" episode of Seinfeld, after he left the vicinity, the odour remained.
Not good. Not good at all. There is absolutely no excuse for body odour - none whatsoever so y'know what I did? I told him. "Hey man, you stink. Seriously, like a dog; can you move?"
Hoho. Too much? Too bad! Smell like that all you want but if you get in my face with your fetid stench then beware.

Enough of this gibberish - time for bed.

SCREAMER MONKEY V'S KID

"Screamer" is a very apt name for this type of monkey for when excited it does indeed scream - and screech and generally go off.

A friend of mine (we'll call him Matt) was walking with his kids one day not long ago and came across a circus. It was situated on a piece of open ground within the town he lived. So Matt, ever the opportunist, decided to take a wander around the back of it where the animals were kept in cages awaiting their 'performance' to sate the previously mentioned desires.

He passed elephants, lions, horses and various other animals found in circuses, having a look at the menagerie until eventually he came to a cage that held a number of the screamer monkeys; he obviously knew not to get too close for although they presently were still, he could see in their eyes that they were just firecrackers waiting to go off. Wild animals usually are - it's where the 'wild' part comes from!

So, he told his kids to stay back from the bars of cage and just watch from afar. His youngest boy, Peter (not real name), at 9 years old is, and always has been, a bit of a tearaway and although good at heart, often doesn't do what he's told - as in this case.

So Peter, decided that the monkeys didn't look that dangerous and approached them, while his father was distracted.
The animals watched him approach, still silent but wary of this little thing at the cage that smelled different, their eyes never still, senses keen.
Peter as he approached was still unaware of the reason for the name and eyes bright with wonder walked right up to the bars. Still quiet, they're not doing anything really, he thought - and decided to stir things up a bit.
Wee shit that he can be, he rattled the bars with a small stick he had obtained in an effort to elicit a response of some kind...

Well, response he wanted - response he got.

The screamers went off! Completely bananas, screaming and screeching and tearing round the enclosure like the lit firecrackers.
Peter near soiled himself and fell on his arse! Hoho. Oh man, such a picture his face must have been.

His father quickly looked around to see if anyone had been attracted by the mayhem and took off before someone came, hefting a significant whallop to the wee pest that is his youngest son!

I'm in a rambling mood all of a sudden; don't know why...

There has been talk of late regarding pet shops and the proposed banning thereof. (Good poll question there actually).

For my tuppenceworth, I've never liked pet shops; never liked zoos either for that matter. I don't agree with putting any animal in a cage and the citation that it's to protect and educate just doesn't cut it. In this age of television and the internet, these amazing creatures can easily be viewed in their natural habitat - which, it has to be said, is shrinking by the day and the fact that zoo operators espouse in defence of their cages.

I've never seen a live crocodile. I have, however, seen one on TV - the sort of TV that makes one think one's looking through a window so amazing is the definition.
That's good enough for me and if keeping animals from cages means I never get to view them live then so be it. I am not the issue here. And I won't demand a creature's freedom just to satisfy my selfish urge to ohh and ahh at nature.

Pet shops...well, they're in it for just the money - period. And the sight of the innocent wee puppies, oblivious to whatever fate awaits always has filled me with a certain regret. So much so that I consciously avoid all pet shops. There has always been rumours of 'puppy farms' where, I assume, dogs are spawned and passed on for money without any of the protectative (not sure that's a word but it should be!) measures available. Just a commodity - nothing more.

Steve Price, that poisonous wee dwarf who, hosts an afternoon radio show's first words when learning of the proposed ban, were - "you're goin to ruin a small business just because you don't like pet shops?" (or something similar) How sad that a/ it comes down to money and b/ that some peoples opinions of the matter are belittled by a national voice who should damn well know better, the wee shit.

Have I to remind you that these animals virtually live to please their masters? That they offer their lives in defence of same master? That they become the eyes of him/her?

They work in peace and in war; in sun and shine as they search for the lost and injured.
And all they ask in return is contact with their master; a pat on the head, scratch behind the ears as they pant, pant, pant with an almost smile, their tails wagging like buggery. It makes me smile.

And as for our feathered friends in cages, do NOT get me started!

NEW HOME FOR MUTTARS...?

This is my old home; note the colour difference in the roof tiles? I built everything under the 'cleaner' tiles. From the ground up - with my very own hands (with hand tools thank you very much!) Cathedral ceiling with exposed oregon timbers; sunken floor, spiral staircase, bay windows with stained glass in the form of a possum, kangaroo and kookaburra (that's a bird).

Nearly broke my heart!

Can't locate the pic of the potential new one. This is my current one. My boys, although they look like they're dozy and unaware, are guarding it with their lives.

Such a cutie; there's a girl in my supermarket looks just like this - I really shouldn't stare.

Far out, I wonder how much those teeth cost - or has she just looked after them...

MUTTARS DAY

Well, if it's good enough for the gays and minorities then it's good enough for Muttars.
Therefore I now declare a day of my choosing to be Muttars day. On this day, one must tell the truth - no matter how hard that may be. The truth damnit, the truth.

I'll start ye with a few questions:

1. Have you ever cheated on someone?
2. Have you ever stolen anything?
3. If you drop a piece of food on the floor, do you wipe it off and eat it regardless?

My answers:

1. No
2. Yes
3. Tch, of course - I'm not made of money!

Righto, I shall announce the day soon.

FURTHER TO BELOW'S POST...


November the 18th has been declared the inaugural acceptance day. Inspired by the story (brave apparently) of burns victim Sophie Delezio. Sophie was hit by a car not once, but twice in a short space of time and suffered quite extensive burns resulting in amputation and skin grafts as the medicos attempted to save her life - successfully.

Anyway, a sad story indeed and the catalyst for this new day of acceptance.

The day is an event to celebrate community diversity and foster acceptance of the disabled, elderly, homosexuals (how the f**k did they sneak onto this list...?) and ethnics. Any one, in fact who is treated differently.

Fantastic! Sounds great. Does that then mean I can turn up with my smokes and freely partake without some no mark whinin on about how bad they are for me, or asking that I move, or shielding the little ones from the nasty man and his filthy habit?

Ya - right! Acceptance day my dick!

I was flicking through the daily rag yesterday and came across another piece claiming that obesity is killing more people than tobacco products.

So, I'll ask again - when are we going to see the same kind of disgusting images we get on tobacco packets on fast food wrappers.

Pictures of fat-clogged arteries; of behemoth-sized people too wrapped in obesity to move?

Fair's fair - if we smokers are forced to view such images of rotten teeth, amputation etc. Then why should a group now apparently responsible for costing health systems billions the world over, not be faced with the same.

Talk about a witch hunt! Smokers unite! Here at my blog you're welcome (and you can freely smoke without being treated like a leper.

MY BOYS, MUTLEY AND SCOOB, LIVIN IT UP.

I FULLY REALISE THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MUCH BUT...SHEE-IT, LOOK AT HER. A BEE-AUTY. I'D CRAWL OVER THE PROVERBIAL FIELD OF GLASS ON MY HANDS AND KNEES FOR JUST A SINGLE TOUCH.

THE 'FALLOUT' AS IT WERE

WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE

DOUBLE OOPS - WITH A CHERRY ON TOP

ENDGAME

Well, it's nearly over - the rugby world cup that is. And believe it or not, those under achievers, the English (who got hammered in the six nations and who have played poorly throughout the season) are in the final, to play the South African Springboks.

The traditional 'superteams' of world rugby have been eliminated in the quarter finals (New Zealand and Australia). NZ beaten by France, Australia by England (how sore are THEY feeling - Australia that is - they hate England). NZ must be feeling pretty disappointed as well actually.

So it all comes down to Sunday morning in France. Can the Poms be the first team to defend the cup? Or will the Boks ruin the party? The smart money's on the Boks apparently. There has been a lot of talk concerning the different styles of play between the Northern and Southern hemispheres. I don't pretend to understand it fully but it has something to do with the Poms slowing down the play at the breakdown. The Wallabies were crying about it after their defeat.

Fact is, my antipodean cry babies, it's the world cup, and as long as the rules are followed however they're interpreted, you can cry all you want. You were beaten fair and square. Suck it up buddy!

A writer for the Daily Rag by the name of Anita Quigley has written a piece where she speaks of smokers in the typical patronizing way. Anita recently gave it to all and sundry in a diatribe covering everything from politicians to rugby players.

Sounds to me like there's a deeper problem for Ms Quigley (one that a good seein to would sort right out).

Anyway, in her piece, she refers to a report out of Bristol University in England that claims that 90% of mothers who lost a baby to cot death were smokers. Ms Quigley goes on to ask why the fathers weren't considered also. Fair enough I suppose - if you're going to make an outlandish statement like that, you may as well include all comers. We need to be careful here. 90% of women who who experience cot death, smoke ISN'T the same as smoking causes cot death - it's a ridiculous suggestion.
Does that then mean that if those same 90% eat chocolate, that chocolate causes cot death? Course it doesn't. Well this is the same and the big danger with statistics. Statistics don't take coincidence our plain bad luck into consideration.
It's like - 10 people have a certain disease. The boffins search for a pasttime that these 10 people all do and then claim it makes them ill. For example: ten people have Parkinson's disease; these ten people also eat cheese sandwiches regularly. Does this then mean that cheese sandwiches cause Parkinson's disease? Of course not!

Lies, damn lies, and statistics, someone once said.

MOTOR SHOW

Written in a report on the Australian motor show:

"For everyone who has found themselves red-faced when trying to parallel park, here is the solution.
A car that can park itself".

It seems Lexus, that symbol of wealth, has designed a vehicle that "uses a rear camera and ultrasonic sensors to identify parking spaces and then calculates the correct steering angle to guide you into the chosen spot".

Funny, I thought eyes were the old-fashioned way and I'm almost certain I had to park in such a way in my driving test many moons ago before I was passed.

I've spoken of this before; that being that modern vehicles are built with a plethora of safety features (air bags and the like) almost like it's a given they're going to be crashed.
No-one has yet considered teaching morons to drive right. Sure just make the vehicle resemble a tank and crash away. Doesn't matter about the other driver whose car (and at time life) is completely destroyed by your tank. And it's similar to the reversing sensors that already some forward thinker has capitalized on. This was because some dickhead ran over herf bloody kid while trying to reverse her four-wheel drive car in her driveway. So the boffins said, "I know, we'll make a reversing camera so the morons can see what's behind them. Wonder what's wrong with saying "hey kiddie, I'm reversing here - stay away from the vehicle". But no - the dopey Joe (joesephine in this case needs to be taken by the hand and all responsibility for their actions removed.

And now,we have a car that parks itself. So what happens (as often does) if the sensor, or other superduper latest technology packs in? What then? Does the driver just drive around all day looking for another parking spot? Call their butler? (coz only those who could afford a butler could afford this vehicle at a cool $250,000).

I'm all for inventive technology but when it starts to impose on activities that should be handled manually, things will just deteriorate. Just wait and see. Drivers (loosely speaking of course) are going to get much worse God help me with all this equipment to do their job for them.

Get them all of the bloody road!

Driving up into the mountain in my trusty ute to look at a possible house for moi. Bit smokey.

AND THIS WOULD BE WHY

AND THIS TOO (AHHH - THERE'S MY TOOTHBRUSH!)








=====================================================================================

ANOTHER DAY - ANOTHER PRANG

OOPS-A-DAISY

OOPS-A-DAISY #2. THE OTHER COMPETITOR IN THIS DUEL!!!!!

NOBEL OUTRAGE

Alfred must be turning in his grave.

One of his esteemed awards has been given to that shyster Al Gore. That charlatan, liar, manipulator of the dull and ignorant has been awarded the peace prize.

Recently, In the UK, a high court judge has ruled that Gore's "masterpiece" for which he won an award (there's the Academy's credibility shot along with Alfred Nobel's) can only be shown in schools and colleges with an accompanying side note pointing out the 9 (there's actually 11) disputable claims within.

See, he focuses on the families with the young children. And the parents are all, "oh no, we have to save the planet for our kiddies". And Gore exploits it to the nth degree (while being driven in a "gas-guzzler" by his butler to the bank no doubt).
Inflammation and scare tactics is what drives this film. And finally, someone has stood up and declared it what it is - a one-sided opinion of a power hungry failed would be president. Rumour has it, however, that he will try again on the back of such a prize.

I can just imagine dinner in the Gore house (that McMansion which uses more energy in ONE month as the average American's does in ONE YEAR).

Gore: "Hoho, Betty (we'll call her Betty in place of her real name - which I don't know), I can't believe they're swallowing this!"
Betty: "I know dear - you're a genius. More caviar? Where are we flying the Lear jet to THIS weekend?"

Nobel prize indeed! Tch! Such a sham.

OUR BEST FRIENDS

Hurrah for man's best friend! Again.

In Queensland recently, a young boy was out walking on his parents property. He was suddenly surrounded by a pack of dingoes; the exact number unreported, but it specified the party as outnumbered.
The young boy, had he been alone, was...toast, as they say, but fortunately he had his 3 dogs along with him; dogs not much bigger (if at all) than their agressors. But they leapt to their masters defence (the report didn't use such word but I know dogs - and they would've leapt without a thought for themselves).

And despite suffering significant wounds the 3 pets drove the attackers off, leaving the boy with ne'er a scratch.

Stand up wee doggies, take a bow, have a scratch behind the ears and a big juicy bone for you've earned it my friends.

Y'can't beat that!

MEN HAPPIER THAN WOMEN

Apparently so - at least according to a report on Channel 10's news programme. The report itself actually was inconclusive and probably served as a filler due to short supply of actual news.
Some US...somethin. Expert, researcher - some no mark who's paid to ask questions of the public for a living, came up with this result after asking a certain amount of people how happy they were and why - or not, as the case may be.

As I said, the report was ambiguous at best and showed footage of women complaining of how busy they were along with images of fat, beer swilling blokes.
Well, here's what happened just in case anyone's interested.

Perhaps 10-15years ago it started; a slow realisation from intelligent men that they had indeed been treating women like sex objects (I know at least one woman enjoys that actually). So they began to act like the woman was actually the boss whilst still retaining the "majority share' as it were. This carried on for some years.
Then people like bloody Germaine Greer (if EVER there was a woman who needed a good dickin - it is she - pardon my crudeness) started telling all you women that you were the equal of any a man (which, btw, and I've covered this often - you're NOT) and you believed it. Suddenly you wanted to drive trucks and dig holes in the ground just to prove you could.
Well, it's backfired on you now because the aforementioned fat bloke has now realised that if he just sits back with a bottle resting on his belly, you will indeed do all the work just so you can claim that equal status.

Well done girls. Hoho - blindin! Talk about shootin yourself in the foot!

AHHH...

It's a beautiful day here in old Sydney town. More precisely, 100 ks west of Sydney, at the foot of the Blue Mountains. I'm sitting near the park where I walk the boys. I say park but it's actually just a piece of waste ground that the capitalists haven't yet noticed and within there is a nice lake where the boys can swim - complete with ducks and more importantly ... a big cat. An actual big cat - not a fat domestic cat, but a wild big one. It resembles a caracal or lynx or something like that. Scoob spooked it one day. Wow!

I just purchased and car charger for my laptop so now I'm truly mobile, free as I am from the need for a power source.

DOOF DOOF DOOF!!

That was a young fella and his brain dead music shattering my peace. Where can I get a gun!

Aye, life could be worse, eh KB? LICS, right?

Goin to the pictures (that's movies to my American friends) to see the Bourne Ultimatum again - top film if y'haven't seen it. I'll report later.

SURELY YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS...

The New Zealand Qualification Authority has decided to allow "text speak" in this years school exams. NZQA deputy chief excecutive said credit would be given in this year's NCEA exams if the answer "clearly shows the required understanding", even if abbreviations were used.

The article goes on to state, however, that abbreviations in some exams, including English (no - really?) where good language use is expected. N.B. I commend the writer of this piece for not using that non-word, "usage".

In this age of techno madness, where there's a machine for everything and where something ridiculous like 80% of the civilized world own a mobile phone, text language can not and arguably at the core should not, be denied. It is a legitimate form of communication and anyone whose ever owned a mobile will espouse the timesaving benefits of such language.
But by jiminy, it's a brutality on English proper. Every time I receive a text from someone (which isn't that often actually - no mates remember) my grammar sensibilities scream in outrage. In fact, when I first started texting myself some years ago, I would take the extra time to apply proper grammar on general principle. But it was never going to last as I too succumbed to expedience and began writing "how r u", and "c u l8r", which when written would put one in mind of some binary code.
Text should never be used in anything other than mobile phones - ever. Now if you want to set an exam on that specific form of communication, then go right ahead. As I've said, it's a valid form of communication for the medium but to apply such a practice to anything other than a phone is just...well, lazy. And worse still, to apply it in examinations is verging on a violation of a teachers duty of care almost. There is no justification for it.

And speaking of teachers...in Victoria, 40 teachers were given 11 words to spell. Not one of them got them all right, and one of them, as hard as it may be to believe, didn't get any of the words right. Two of the teachers got only two of the eleven right. The only example given was the word subterranean which isn't actually that hard when considering some of the words that could have been used.
Five teachers correctly spelt 10 words, putting them on par with an average 14 year old.
Overall, 22 teachers spelt subterranean wrong, 17 couldn't manage embarrassing or miscellaneous and 16 had trouble with adolescence. Not VERY difficult words, I would suggest.

So all in all, the language seems to be under attack from a society that no longer values dignity in writing. A society that embraces the vulgar, that in the name of results chooses to lower pass standards instead of raising teaching standards.

But hey, maybe I don't know nuffin. Hav a good day; c u l8r.

SEE, THE PUBLIC REALLY ARE THAT STUPID.

Yesterday, there was a segment on talk radio concerning the NSW state government's broken promises to 'fix' the ailing state's problems. Steve Price, that poisonous dwarf was presenting his afternoon show and was stirring up the morons with the list. Price has always been a twat. He was nothing but a mouth - then he got nailed for drink driving and lost his licence, and pulled his head in for a while. He's getting it back in a fortnight so the head's being stuck up again.

They all called in, with tales of inadequate rail systems, hospital services, policing etc. It went on and on. State govt this - state govt that!

I remember the state election and how that slimy fucker Iemma (who as it happens slipped into Bob Carr's - outgoing premier - shoes like he was a carbon copy), made all sorts of outrageous promises just to be re-elected. I remember thinking, and in fact, voicing on helium, my astonishment that Iemma was even being considered considering the shocking state in which Labor had left the state.

Well, he was indeed re elected; he and his party of incompetents. And now, with their noses firmly ensconsed in the trough, they are safe for another 4 years while the moronic public complain about their incompetence.

Well, who voted them back in? You did, y'boneheads. You, and you alone are responsible for believing their lies. So don't now have the gaul to complain.

Want to know who's ultimately responsible...? Look in the mirror.

WHO RULES?

The various parts of the body where having an argument over who was to be the boss of the body.
"It should be us", the arms said. "Without us you can't lift things, or eat or drive".
"No", the legs objected, "it should be us. Without us you can't go anywhere - you'll be stuck in one place forever".
"You're both wrong", chimed the mouth. "It should be me - without me, you can't communicate with the world; you can't eat or speak or laugh".
Throughout this debate, the arse sits quietly, then speaks up. "Actually", it said, "it should be me".
The other parts of the body fell about laughing at such a preposterous claim. "Don't be ridiculous", they all said together. "You're only an arse, what good are you?"
The arse, offended, replied, "fine, if I'm so useless, I'm going on strike". And so it did - just shut up shop.
Some hours passed. The other parts carried on as usual, arguing amongst themselves who was to be king.
More hours passed and the internal pressure began to build as a result of the arse's uncooperation. The other body parts started to feel it. Still the arse refused to work.
By the end of the day, the arms began to shake, the legs felt sluggish and heavy. The mouth spent its time trying not to vomit. "Okay", it said, "you win; now please start working again". The arse did, and things returned to normal, with it as boss of the body.

Moral of the story?

ARSEHOLES RULE THE WORLD!!

KIDS OF TODAY

Where do I start on this particular subject?


It’s a subject of constant commentary, some of which beggars belief ‘our kids’ (how I despise that term – they are not priceless! Your’s may well be to you – of course, it’s how it should be, but while I don’t wish him or her any harm, I am rather indifferent their existence).

I think back to when I was a child – a 70’s kid; a time of innocence, of climbing trees, playing football with the discarded clothing used as the goalposts. I would spend the summer holidays running around outside, sometimes significant distances from home.
Wasn’t it a better time then?
That’s not to say there weren’t dangers; that it was some kind of utopia for children where safety was guaranteed. But, for this scribe at least, most of the danger came from my rapid descent under the force of gravity from one of the aforementioned trees, or while playing football on a tarmac road (DUTY OF CARE! DUTY OF CARE! Someone call my lawyer!!). Progressing upon the discovery of…the glorious two-wheeled form of transport… to dismounting rather ingloriously – often. My poor mother…how she worried every time she got yet another call from the hospital.
So I was a tough kid in that respect (not so tough in another – but we’ll avoid that particular subject!)
It puts me in mind of a conversation I had with an associate some time ago. This associate (who will be a subject of his very own article later) had a ten-year old son. Whom, it seemed had spent his entire life wrapped almost literally, in cotton wool. The boy apparently had never cut himself, scratched himself, fallen over resulting in abrasions of any kind. I was quite stunned – I mean, a ten year old “wee lad” without any scrapes. Hoho, much like counting the rings on trees to ascertain their age, the amount and size of scars/abrasions on the average “wee lad” can be loosely counted to guess his age!
Of course, with today’s namby-pambies, this has lost its accuracy somewhat.
So upon learning of this disturbing fact, I shot back, “if he hasn’t fallen over by the time he’s eleven – push ‘im over”.


If one considers a rough graph of the age of kids as pertains to more typically accepted adult behaviour such as working, driving, violating etc, it has come full circle from Victorian times when thee wee urchins scrabbled around inside the chimneys of old London town.

Today’s kids are different – soo different; tomorrow’s kids different again and so on and so on. Climbing trees is almost unheard of now, whether because of the technological advances or the environmental, it’s hard to quantify but what was a staple of my youth and those of generations before me, has now become signed to the redundant heap.


Walking to school also is becoming less and less prevalent as parents’ concerns for the safety of their children predominate. Mention of such must surely bring to mind the recent disturbing events surrounding the McCann family and their child daughter, Madeline. Paedophiles and their nefarious ways have been around since Adam was a boy but with the invention of the World wide web, their onerous networks now join in frightening collusion. So perhaps it’s not surprising parents feel as they do.
And a side effect of this is to bring up fatter children; this can’t be laid just at the feet of child predators. Food manufacturers must take their share of the blame – as do the very parents themselves to a degree (and arguably ultimately).

Reports released recently tell of a depressed society of kids; they feel the pressure of success even at their young age. .Kids as young as 10 are being presented at their doctor complaining of depression. It has reached such a level that on occasion they just ‘flip out’ and shoot up a school.
These types are commonly referred to as EMO’s, short for emotional and they typically wander through life with a chip on their shoulder or as if they live constantly under a cloud. Poor little darlins!

In LA recently, it has been reported that four children between 11 and 13 were caught having sex. My first thought was – we’re regressing; as a society we are returning to our primal instincts when it come to sex.
Paradoxically, as we progress as a society, consciously attempting to steer ourselves towards a higher level of civilization, the core of us seems to be returning to a base level. It’s almost as if nature has stepped in to redress a natural order. Man as a species has constantly tried to manipulate the natural world to his own benefit. This, as everything, comes with a price
The English language as we all know, and much like the law, is constantly evolving to suit societies varying trends. Every year new words are added and some removed - those that are considered antiquated.
Maybe we should add respect to the list of defunct words for the only people from whom said respect seems to be forthcoming are of the older generation.

Modern youth, brought up on a diet of 'want it now' and immune from any sort of ramification for their acts seem unable to express respect anymore. It used to be a parent's job to teach this but it has been removed from their hands by the machinations of the PC lobby and the bleeding hearts (God, how I despise those people).

These very same people are now the ones whose voice laments the loudest the lack of respect amongst the youth of today.
"Why can't they show some respect to their elders", they ask. "Why do they behave as they do?"
The bleeding hearts haven’t learned the art of retrospection; so convinced they are of their opinion they can’t see the actual results. They see them and with hands wringing, bleat “what can we do”. What you can do is f…no, I promised I wouldn’t use profanity.

Kids are brought up to believe that they're untouchable; they are free from punishment, instead having to sit while their hand-tied parent/guardian tells them why it's wrong to be rude to people - which they subsequently ignore, chuckle to their friends and carry on regardless.
"Hitting kids simply teaches them to use violence to solve their problems", is another phrase the PC are fond of repeating. What nonsense!

I've been whalloped many times in my life and NOT ONCE did I NOT deserve it. Didn't like it much; had a sore arse afterwards too but whatever it was that warranted such a clout, I rarely repeated. If I was stupid enough to do so, then I could expect more of the same.
And I have never started a fight with anyone in my entire life!

Then of course they blame the advent of the modern computer game - the games in which it's cool to steal cars, beat people up, maim and kill. We had those games when I was a kid too - true they weren't quite as graphic but the intent was the same. "Shoot 'em up" games they were known as. I played them, I stopped and went outside to kick around a football with out thoughts of torture and violence invading my mind.

I can remember some time ago when some no mark came out in condemnation of the old Tom and Jerry cartoons, claiming they were too violent, that they encouraged violence among the kids.
”... ... ...” (this is me speechless). Maybe someone should have told these people - they were just cartoons, unreflective of real life (cause we all know in real life the poor mouse always gets the shit end of the stick when encountering a cat - one of the reasons, along with selfishness, why cats are bastards but that's for another time).
Isn't it our duty as adults to educate the young in this? Oh, that's right, we can't anymore - some bleeding heart protective of kiddies' delicate little minds has decided that to ‘capital punish’ is wrong.
Well, we all are now facing the result of that over protection. A report recently released claims something like 50% of female school teachers are in fear of their students. AVO's (apprehended violence orders) are commonplace amongst our teachers. Can you believe it? The very people in whom we place our trust to educate our young are now afraid of them.
When I was at school, it was I who had the fear, not only from the authority of the teacher but what my parents would do when told of my misdemeanour. So it was a double whammy - not only did I have to endure whatever punishment the teacher chose (whether it was a clip round the ear - that's "clip" not "punch" or the embarrassment of standing in front of the class while I was publicly chastised) but I also had a whallop from my parent to look forward to when I got home! Boy, I hoped it was my mother; my father’s hands were the size of dinner plates back then!
Now, it's a case of "what are you gonna do about it - you can't touch me, I'll call the cops". Sweet Lord, see what you people have caused with your "protect the little ones" mentality. The very authority to teach has been removed along with parenting.

And now we hear of an 11 year old in Liverpool, UK being shot in the back of the neck by another mere ‘babe’, reported to be only 13 or 14 himself. This kid rode up on the epitome of kids’ transport, the BMX bicycle, withdrew and handgun (not the plastic toy of yesteryear but a fully operational weapon) and fired three shots. One went wide; one into a parked car and one into the 11 year old’s neck, killing him instantly. This from a child; not a warchild from Sierra Leone, but a young English boy, brought up with civilization’s benefits.

What might lurk in the mind of this child to prompt such an action of deliberate and presumably premeditated murder one can only guess. And although premeditation carries a greater sentence according to law, what is arguably more frightening, is the possibility that the boy did this on the spur of the moment – just up and shot someone dead because...he didn’t like the look of the boy? Had felt aggrieved for some reason, affronted, insulted? Scary. What sequence of events has the boy experienced to lead him to a place of such unquestioned violence?
This has occurred as a direct result of the mollycoddling of past liberals treating the young like precious artefacts and shielding them from all responsibility. They know face no punishment for all but the most heinous of crimes (as this one surely is).
And even in such crimes, the punishment is more an acquiescence to public outrage than any real form of punishment. The last time such an outcry was heard was after the Jamie Bulger case, the child murdered by the other children, also in England.
The two perpetrators, only barely teens themselves have served about 5 years each in a children’s facility. Rumour has it they have now started new lives Down Under; they would be just adults now.

Kids coming to school with knives and guns is becoming increasingly prevalent as well. Where a school child gets a gun in the first place is a sad indictment on society in itself.
The "little ones" aren't so innocent anymore.