WATER USAGE CHARGE ------------ $17.71
TOTAL SYDNEY WATER BILL ------------ $156.70
NUFF SAID!
Friday, November 28, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
NO MORE FREE BLOOD
The NSW economy is in a shocking state. After years of mismanagement, first under Bob Carr, then after he saw the writing on the wall and then like the proverbial rat and the sinking ship, defected to the millionaire factory (the Macquarie Bank), the reigns were thrust upon Morris "the fuckwit" Iemma (remember that cretin...).
Iemma, then sacked by his own party for screaming incompetence, handed said reigns to Nathan Rees.
Rees, who's been under intense pressure ever since to do...something, anything to repair the damage has taken the chopper to the economy. First he has cancelled all students' bus passes. Now they have to pay for transport to their respective schools. He has also cancelled the pollies free transport on the public system (not that they ever used a train or bus - merely content to assure the desperate public as they squeezed into overcrowded, un-airconditioned trains, that the system was improving).
But now, in what has to be the most Scrooge-like of decisions, he has deemed it necessary to, wait for it, CHARGE PEOPLE FOR GIVING BLOOD!
Yep, you heard right; those people who give up their time and their very own blood are now having to pay for that privilege. This at a time when blood stocks are at an all time low and when the Red Cross et al are desperately advertising for more donors to come forward.
Good luck with that!
Un-fucking-believeable!
Iemma, then sacked by his own party for screaming incompetence, handed said reigns to Nathan Rees.
Rees, who's been under intense pressure ever since to do...something, anything to repair the damage has taken the chopper to the economy. First he has cancelled all students' bus passes. Now they have to pay for transport to their respective schools. He has also cancelled the pollies free transport on the public system (not that they ever used a train or bus - merely content to assure the desperate public as they squeezed into overcrowded, un-airconditioned trains, that the system was improving).
But now, in what has to be the most Scrooge-like of decisions, he has deemed it necessary to, wait for it, CHARGE PEOPLE FOR GIVING BLOOD!
Yep, you heard right; those people who give up their time and their very own blood are now having to pay for that privilege. This at a time when blood stocks are at an all time low and when the Red Cross et al are desperately advertising for more donors to come forward.
Good luck with that!
Un-fucking-believeable!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
TO ANNOUNCE SCOOB'S PROMOTION TO "SUPERDOG".
I always knew he was tough - my big man. He has never backed down from a rumble (in which he defends against an offence, it's important to point out) and remains undefeated in his battles.
Just recently he chased off another impertenent who dared puff out his chest. And this, one day after the event.
The event? I hear (someone - it might be just me playing devil's advocate, a means I use regularly to gain objectivity in all things...) ask.
Well, Scoob got hit by a car 3 nights ago. And when I say hit, I mean, SLAMMED! Front and centre. Virtually to the inch, the bumper of the vehicle right where the number plate lies, impacted with the left side of the his body at about 60kph.
He disappeared under the vehicle which, I must add, didn't slow down; no flash of brake lights, no change in engine pitch, just the dull thud of impact as it flattened Scoob in an instant.
A millisecond later the car sped on and revealed Scoob, who immediately sprung to his feet and bolted back towards home (thoroughly freaked out I'd imagine).
So off I went after him, noticing immediately that he was running perfectly well, therefore he mustn't have broken any legs. Of course, adrenalin, that most addictive of natural chemicals, could explain that but still, he was running fluently and so far he hadn't uttered a sound of pain or distress.
Nevertheless, internal injuries are, perhaps more so even, life-threatening so off I puffed (*damn you Winnie Blue!).
We arrived, (myself and Mutley, who at this point was feeling a tad ripped off at the "half-walk") to find Scoob on the back porch, panting away, but otherwise, to the naked eye unharmed, save for a skinned "elbow" of his front right leg.
Which he has proceeded to periodically over the days since zero hour lick clean. It's healing up very nicely. (Canine saliva - for canines - is like penicillin for dogs, a magic substance that appears to cure all ills).
So anyway...a note about the driver of the vehicle. As I have said, the vehicle didn't alter speed in any way. It was almost like she (bear with me) didn't realise she had hit anything at all; probably thought it was a bottle, or stone or something. An incorrect assumption no doubt facilitated by the loud "doof doof" music and the excitable jabbering to her bestest friend on the other end of her 25 megapixel superduper mobile phone.
I say she, because it was a "girl's" car (you know what I mean - one of those wee small gay looking cars in which hoards of teenage/young girls zip around like they're trying to kill themselves). It had the green "P" plate signifying the driver's inexperience too.
Scoob himself I've decided is partly to blame for stepping out in front of the car but he's only a dog, as they say so his responsibility is little.
Ultimately it is myself who must bear the greater responsibility. I know that. And I'm thankful to the power that decided to merely teach me an invaluable lesson, rather than enduring a much more painful end. One more foot either way, another millisecond in time, and Scoob would've been crushed under the wheels (wonder would he driver have stopped then...). Hard as he appears to be, he surely would've died should this have happened.
I won't let this happen again.
My self-obsessed ramblings aside, this post is to announce Scoob's promotion. Henceforth he shall be known as Superdog (But he knows "Scoob" so when out it'll have to remain that if I want him to obey).
* Winnie Blue - colloquially altered name of Australia's most popular tobacco, apparently.
Just recently he chased off another impertenent who dared puff out his chest. And this, one day after the event.
The event? I hear (someone - it might be just me playing devil's advocate, a means I use regularly to gain objectivity in all things...) ask.
Well, Scoob got hit by a car 3 nights ago. And when I say hit, I mean, SLAMMED! Front and centre. Virtually to the inch, the bumper of the vehicle right where the number plate lies, impacted with the left side of the his body at about 60kph.
He disappeared under the vehicle which, I must add, didn't slow down; no flash of brake lights, no change in engine pitch, just the dull thud of impact as it flattened Scoob in an instant.
A millisecond later the car sped on and revealed Scoob, who immediately sprung to his feet and bolted back towards home (thoroughly freaked out I'd imagine).
So off I went after him, noticing immediately that he was running perfectly well, therefore he mustn't have broken any legs. Of course, adrenalin, that most addictive of natural chemicals, could explain that but still, he was running fluently and so far he hadn't uttered a sound of pain or distress.
Nevertheless, internal injuries are, perhaps more so even, life-threatening so off I puffed (*damn you Winnie Blue!).
We arrived, (myself and Mutley, who at this point was feeling a tad ripped off at the "half-walk") to find Scoob on the back porch, panting away, but otherwise, to the naked eye unharmed, save for a skinned "elbow" of his front right leg.
Which he has proceeded to periodically over the days since zero hour lick clean. It's healing up very nicely. (Canine saliva - for canines - is like penicillin for dogs, a magic substance that appears to cure all ills).
So anyway...a note about the driver of the vehicle. As I have said, the vehicle didn't alter speed in any way. It was almost like she (bear with me) didn't realise she had hit anything at all; probably thought it was a bottle, or stone or something. An incorrect assumption no doubt facilitated by the loud "doof doof" music and the excitable jabbering to her bestest friend on the other end of her 25 megapixel superduper mobile phone.
I say she, because it was a "girl's" car (you know what I mean - one of those wee small gay looking cars in which hoards of teenage/young girls zip around like they're trying to kill themselves). It had the green "P" plate signifying the driver's inexperience too.
Scoob himself I've decided is partly to blame for stepping out in front of the car but he's only a dog, as they say so his responsibility is little.
Ultimately it is myself who must bear the greater responsibility. I know that. And I'm thankful to the power that decided to merely teach me an invaluable lesson, rather than enduring a much more painful end. One more foot either way, another millisecond in time, and Scoob would've been crushed under the wheels (wonder would he driver have stopped then...). Hard as he appears to be, he surely would've died should this have happened.
I won't let this happen again.
My self-obsessed ramblings aside, this post is to announce Scoob's promotion. Henceforth he shall be known as Superdog (But he knows "Scoob" so when out it'll have to remain that if I want him to obey).
* Winnie Blue - colloquially altered name of Australia's most popular tobacco, apparently.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
THE FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT
Barrack "Hussein" Obama. Hoho, now there's a name. Many thought they'd never live to see the day an African American won the race to the white house. Well, that day is now here. History making stuff in fact.
Except...
He's not really black. His father is black, an indiginent of Kenya, but his mother is a white American so he's more of a half caste type. Actually I haven't seen his mother but i have seen his grandmother in a picture from 1979 and she's white as bread so it follows.
So half black, half white. And to look at him you can see it. Not that there's anything wrong with that you understand but I wonder if he'd been full on black would he be there or is this halfway measure a way of breaking in the public for a full negro next time. Nothing wrong with that either, it's just a curiosity.
Anyway, he's in, and he's been handed the biggest bag of shite of an economy since time (America's at least) began.
Bit of work ahead. As I've said before, interesting times ahead.
Except...
He's not really black. His father is black, an indiginent of Kenya, but his mother is a white American so he's more of a half caste type. Actually I haven't seen his mother but i have seen his grandmother in a picture from 1979 and she's white as bread so it follows.
So half black, half white. And to look at him you can see it. Not that there's anything wrong with that you understand but I wonder if he'd been full on black would he be there or is this halfway measure a way of breaking in the public for a full negro next time. Nothing wrong with that either, it's just a curiosity.
Anyway, he's in, and he's been handed the biggest bag of shite of an economy since time (America's at least) began.
Bit of work ahead. As I've said before, interesting times ahead.
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