Gunmen mass in ailing Kennedy’s hospital car park

Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston; Ailing Kennedy patriarch, Senator Ted Kennedy, who has revealed he is undergoing treatment for an aggressive brain tumour is now facing another threat to his health in the form of massing gunmen in the car park below his room.

The gunmen, who represent various nationalistic, ideological, or religious motivated non state actors, as well as a slew of lone gunmen suffering a variety of mental and physical conditions, are jockeying to terminate the Senator before his untimely death from natural causes.

‘Kennedy is mine!’ shouted Achmed Murjat, 28. ‘His death will bring to the world’s attention the plight of Palestine!’

‘That’s where you’re wrong boyo,’ said Paddy O’Toole. ‘Kennedy must die so the world knows the Good Friday agreement, in which he assisted, is nothing but a sham on the Irish people.’

‘Kennedy must be murdered because the tooth fairy ate my last biscuit,’ thundered Rhabbie Kool-Bassie. ‘Also he is the one world government personified. And the anti-Christ. Did I mention my biscuit?’

‘Killing Kennedy is the ultimate Assassination cachet,’ said Dr Bernard Cross of St Andrew’s University Scotland. ‘Lee Harvey Oswald is burned on the brain of the world consciousness. And JFK wasn’t even killed for ideological purposes. So naturally the armed and aggrieved will want to take Ted out before nature does so as to boost recognition of either their aspirations or their anger.’

Fortunately for Kennedy the car park quickly descended into an impromptu shoot out between the jockeying would be assassins over who would get to pop one in the bod of the last Kennedy brother, the air filling with the smell of cordite and the screams and sloganeering of the various combatants.

The battle continues at the time of reporting, with the Chechnyan Liberation Front, the Kill Baby Killer’s League, Mauve November, Aryan Resistance, and lone gunmen "Wobbles" Gently, Simon Virgin-Blaster, and Mr Angus Feebly, a recently laid off postal worker, excised from the competition due to premature death.

Nooooooooo!

Our computer at home has died. The hard disk went out and shot itself. So we have lost a month's worth of baby photos and so forth. Luckily word projects are backed up at work etc.

Will be off-line at home until the weekend 'cos the lovely friends who made it - and who have requisite skills etc to restore it, have the plague or some hideous infectious disease or something.

Allow me to paraphrase the great yellow one.

'There's an empty spot I've always had inside me. I tried to fill it with family, religion, community service, but those were dead ends. I think this chair is the answer. '

Replace chair with my computer and that's nearly spot on (except of course for the family bit).

My poor sweet beautiful computer (slash) internet access. I miss you so...

Area man nearly evacuated his floor

Today towards the tail end my colleague reported a strange chemical smell. It smelt like a combo of carpet cleaner and sick.

I went and had a sniff. Yep.

I tried calling the head Emergency Control person - no answer, ditto the deputy. In the end I rang some guy on his mobile who suggested I grab a guard and go for a smell.

So I grabbed one and we went tooling around the affected area bravely taking in this incredibly rank odour. Given no cleaners had been sighted by me I started asking knots of work stations if they had seen any - thinking it was something like that.

Then someone volunteered they had cleaned a white board.

Yep, that was it, white board cleaner. Holy fucking shit that must have been some industrial strength cleaner. The smell made it up to 20 metres away. I half expected to see some giant whiteboard with a hole slagged in the middle burning map Bonanza style.

I have a funny feeling he didn't spray a couple of squirts onto a rag and wipe gently. I'm thinking the buckets of paint Jackson Pollock way. Or maybe like Maude Lebowski from The Big Lebowski where she comes sliding in to shot along a ceiling mounted flying fox spraying paint from a brush in each hand.

However the manner it was clearly in excess and since it was just after COB I was about five minutes from evacuating the floor.

Fuck I hate being an emergency control officer. Why do I volunteer for these things? Why?!

Is it all pipes?

In an episode of the Sein, George is caught urinating in the shower at his local gym. Indeed he gains the appellation "the urinator" by a walk on character.

So I got to wondering? Does it all go to the same place? Is there something wrong with the urinating in the shower?

Sure there's the smell I suppose, especially if you like to chow down on Asparagus or something else equally urinatory bouquetish. Plus there's an ick factor because while the running water would carry it away there's always the suspicion that not all of it went - esp if it was a really heavy flow that blasted into the corner.

And girls I would think would have a problem in that running water wraps around the body and unless you squatted over the drain, to get it from A to B would require a pit stop of your leg to do so.

So ... who of you are willing to admit to some shower urination? Me, I think maybe once or twice in the privacy of my own home. But I felt dirty afterwards. Not in the hot way - the unpleasant way.

Blast from the past; Area princess fails to adhere to Wham philosophy

From the HarrangueMan Files, 1997


UK, England; Wham members George Michael and the other one have today announced they are deeply saddened at the recent revelation that the People's Princess threw herself down the stairs in a semi-suicidal manner, in direct contravention of Wham's core philosophy.

'Here at Wham we choose life,' said Michael, indicating the message on the oversized T-shirt worn at happy purely innocent concerts performed for 'the kids'.

'While I appreciate the Princess of Hearts is a fan of ours we humbly distance ourself from her 'Sad? Stairs' answer to her blues.'

Michael, who has had loads of girlfriends, said that Choosing Life was not just an answer but the only answer.

'Choosing Life is about embracing your circumstances, even if you're in a position where you have to pretend you're happy when you're not,' said the deeply hetrosexual singer in between kissing his latest girl-on-arm paramour.

'Life is fun, and butterflies and gay romps. Not mournful stair tossing because you're deeply unsatisfied with your lot. You're a princess for God's sake. Embrace it!'

The singer then ended the interview to assist buff assistant Trey remove a trapped eyelash in the nearby toilets.

Looking for a God fix?

Well look no more. Simply sit in the middle up the back of a non bendy action bus. Your position will feel like you dominate all those who sit before you. Plus you get a whole Christ on the right, Holy Spirit on the left thing happening.

Wait a sec? That whole 'seated at the right hand of the father' Jesus thing. Is that our right or God's?

That could be confusing. There's a recipe for a schism right there.

Spinal Tap - album reviews

Fuck me if this isn't one of the funniest movies of all time. Curses upon the house of those who have not worshipped at its altar.

Stone 'enge

Floyd goodness

Comedy riff by theWife

Following my returning with delish Chinese from a place that has panda in the title.

TheWife (referring to a dish): So, does it have any panda in it?

Me: Of course.

TheWife: Canned or fresh?

Me: Um ... canned.

TheWife: I suppose in these trying times we can't expect much more than canned panda.

Canned Panda. Gold.

Virtuousness ends at two hundred metres

This morning my bus driver turned off at the roundabout before my stop by mistake.

I said 'oh it's cool I can walk it if you want'. He said he was happy to go back but accepted the offer - since that way I guess he would keep to his schedule.

I thought he was going to pull over by the side of the road.

No. He instead he stopped about a mile away from my work.

Still I had the warm glow of 'I helped a stranger'. The whole 'I am truly great' Seinfeld thing.

Yeah, that glow ended after two hundreds metres. After that point I had the shits.

Dumb things to say at work

As a public servant of five+ years standing I can witness true copies. I know, the sheer raw surging power I possess is a groin tingler for the ladies.

Today I got stuck witnessing about 30 docs. It was fucking annoying. Finally I got to the driver's licence of this guy's wife.

As I was handing it back I dropped it. Since it was dropping between my legs I reflexively squeezed them together to catch it.

Where upon I then said 'Oh sorry, I didn't mean to crotch your wife.'

I live to give.

UPDATE: Oh I forgot, during an earlier witnessing for a different colleague said colleague apologised for the odd nature of his documentation.

His original Birth Cert was missing his first names.

It seems his parents hadn't worked out what to call him at the time he was born and it was only until he was in his mid thirties that they went to a magistrate to append it (and then tell him about their error).

Apparently officially while his first name was blank it defaulted to 'male child'.

That is so kewl. I think our next one should be called 'Male Child' - irrespective of gender.

Inner Sanctum eh?

The Opposition Budget continues

I don't get it. It's like they're pretending they're in government. As in 'if we were in we'd do this'. But the way Nelson is bleating on about it it's all about 'we're going to do X, Y, Z'.

Yep - more wanking about fucking performance pay for teachers. Sigh, and so it goes.

Nelson is now astoudingly being hypocritical about aged carer lump sum payments - wailing about how it's not included as a right in future budgets.

Not fucking once did they do that the fucking snake oil mo fos. They made it a lump sum extra payment EVERY SINGLE YEAR. As in a bonus. They could have simply raised payments but they didn't. Why? Because they could use it as a fucking vote lever.

Christ on a bike why do they fucking bother.

Fvck it

I gave up something for a few weeks then faltered. All the horrible mental backwash has come flooding back with it.

Fuck me I wish that blue pill existed. I'd take it in a second. I know you learn much about life through facing adversity or dealing with mentally tough issues. But sometimes it's just too much.

Brendan Nelson Budget Response

I should have live blogged this because she shit spewing forth and the forced jocularity is offending my logic centres.

What a pack of fuckwits. 'Kids will move on to other alcohol,' cries Dr B.

Alcopops retard the ability to determine volume consumed. They taste like fucking soft drinks for fucks sake. They are undertaxed for their alcohol volume. Therefore making them more expensive means they perhaps get consumed less. And less drunk girls turn up at casualty claiming their drink was spiked when in fact it was the 12 cruisers they drank in the last two hours.

God these people are idiots.

PS Nelson's idea was ... a committee on alcohol consumption. The very thing they attacked the ALP for. Unbelievable. Now he's claiming he'd do some sort of small business act without going to a committee - cue sycophantic applause.

Ram Man found to have contributed to injuries

Eternia, the Palace; In a startling finding Ram Man™ was found to have contributed fifty percent towards injuries caused to his body in the duration of his employment following a court case launched against King Randor.

Left: 'Ram Man™ - contributed.

'Ram Man™ admitted on the stand that his chosen power of ramming, which involved charging objects with his head lowered then striking them, was likely responsible for his chronic back damage,' said legal watcher Brieflook™.

Ram Man™ however said he had never been properly trained upon commencement of employment and that at no stage had management indicated his propensity 'to ram things' was in error.

'Me Ram Man™,' said Ram Man™ on the stand. 'Me ram!'

When asked why he chose to ram things instead of using tools and other equipment better suited to his employment of battering, such as say a battering ram, Ram Man™ simply responded. 'I ram and I am a man. Me no Battering Ram Ram Man™.'

Ram Man™ admitted that his attitude towards occupational health and safety was lacking and that he enjoyed the cachet he received in his employment as Ram Man ™, and as such this also contributed towards the many back related injuries he had received in the line of his duties.

'Me no Ram Man™ now,' said Ram Man™, claiming in addition to medical costs monies for mental anguish. 'Me Traction Man™, Misaligned Spine Man™ or Fused Vertebrae Man™. No child get action figure named for back injury.'

Ram Man™ said however no amount of money would be able to compensate for his inability to practice his chosen profession.

'I am what I ram,' added Ram Man™ sadly. 'Me no longer have fulfilling life.'

Well it's his f-f-f-f-fuckin' move ...

Area man offends burly workers with girlish shriek of delight

We were walking through the local tavern beer garden (most Canberra suburbs have a tavern twinned with a shopping centre) when I noticed they had one of those pump action shottie arcade deer shooting games.

'Oooo look honey, that's the game Nathan and I played when we went and had boytime.'

Cue stares from grizzled fluoro vest clad worker types enjoying their meat+chips.

'Er ... what I meant to say was - ' (dips voice lower hows this baby Austin style) '-manfun.'

Somehow I don't think a deeper spakened 'manfun' de-gayed the earlier boytime reference.

Harvey Walters rises to the occasion

Last night we had a game of Cthulhu using home brewed rules. Because character generation is a little complex (still, dagnammit), I used pre-generated characters. One of them was Harvey Walters.

In roleplaying games it always helps to have an example character so as to guide people how to make up a character of their own. Rolling for attributes (Strength, Intelligence etc), selecting skills and advantages/disadvantages etc. The Call of Cthulhu had Harvey Walters.

The very first roll Harvey's character had was for Strength. He got a 4 out of a range of 3 to 18. Most players hate low stats. Low stats mean severe in game penalties to do things. But no, to their credit the makers of Cthulhu played it where they lay and left it in. They built the entire persona around low strength - a portly genial gent who couldn't tear open a wet paper bag.

The climax of last night's adventure featured a winged horror of nameless dread land on the bonnet of the characters' Model T ford as it was trundling along a road next to a ravine and about to turn on to a narrow bridge. A round of actions later and the creature had smashed it's clawed hand through the window, grabbed the steering wheel and reefed it around so the car would speed over the edge. The player characters still in the car elected to make a leap for it.

Harvey, whose motivation was to capture proof of the supernatural, elected to take a photograph first.

'Are you sure?' I asked. 'It will mean a penalty to your diving out of the car.'

'Yep,' said the player.

He succeeded at getting a photo ... then fumbled his Dodge to tumble out. The camera strap tight around the door handle leaving him stuck in the car as it went over the lip and into the ravine.

I was feeling generous - it was a cinematic Indiana Jones style game - so I gave Harvey's player the chance to drop out of the tumbling car and try and grab a protruding tree from the rock wall. A pretty hard Athletics task.

'Now if you take the camera you will get a penalty,' I added gravely.

'I'm taking it! It's proof!'

He made the roll. Harvey ended up hanging with both hands to a sapling, camera strap wound around his neck.

Harvey has a Strength of 4...

As another player character climbed down to get him Harvey's player had to succeed at a strength check.

By god he made that too.

Sometimes the dice can make for a great game.

Oh, a nice Hollywood style coda. He fucked his skill roll to develop the photo...

BTW ever wondered what playing a roleplaying game is like? It's basically seated theatre sports with a piece of paper saying what your persona can do. It's the most fun I have ever had.

Political Erectness

From yesterday's Crikey

Racism has become Liberal Party's bread and butter
Irfan Yusuf writes:

Having labelled Liberal Candidate Adam Held a "greedy f-cking Jew" for requesting extra campaign brochures, Victorian Liberal Party campaign director Susan Chandler defended herself by saying that she had "many Jewish friends". How Seinfeldian.

Regardless of the positive spin certain Jewish leaders might put on all this, the fact is that racist slurs are common parlance in certain sections of the Liberal Party.

In some Party circles, people have replaced political correctness with political erectness. As I've written in New Matilda, it's a kind of macho ideology in which people work themselves into an ideological frenzy. Most conservative politicians (and ideologues, editors and columnists) think that the only way to prove you are really conservative is to reach positions on all issues that are completely opposite to what the Left has come up with.

So if the Left oppose anti-Jewish slurring, the only way to prove your conservative colours is to not just oppose the Left but to actively use anti-Semitic slurs. Then there's what one might call the "Howard factor". Howard's Prime Ministership saw political erectness run rampant, allowing the likes of Pauline Hanson to get away with casting aspersions on Aussies of Asian, Indigenous, African and other backgrounds.

Back in 1998, one talented conservative Young Liberal from the Sydney marginal seat of Parramatta (then held by Liberal Ross Cameron) resigned from the Party after spitting the dummy after he noticed no conservative MPs prepared to call a spade a spade and describe Hanson as racist. The response from the factional chiefs? One told me: "Who cares? He was just a f-cking whinging Asian anyway". The chief at least had the good sense not to put it in writing.

Hanson played an even bigger influence in the 2001 election. At the time I thought I’d have a crack at a hard-luck seat. They don’t come much harder than Reid (Laurie Ferguson’s seat in Sydney’s geographical heart). Someone arranged for me to meet with an Afghan chap at a small Afghan mosque in Auburn. The poor chap had lost his young nieces in the SIEV-X disaster. After the meeting, I got onto the phone with campaign HQ. I told them about the conversation I'd had with the man, and how I wanted to make some statement about it.

"No way, Irfan," said the voice from HQ.

"You mustn't talk about this topic. I'm warning you that if you say anything about it, you might find yourself disendorsed and expelled from the Party. We are running hard on security and terrorism."

"But these are young kids," I objected.

The HQ officer responded: "Listen, I know how much you hate Pauline Hanson. You've got to understand that we have a deliberate strategy here. We want to destroy Hanson by sounding like her and attracting her voter base away from her. It's part of a deliberate strategy, and it's temporary."

I believed that HQ officer. I said and wrote nothing in English. I made sure it was all said in Urdu, Turkish, Farsi, Arabic and Vietnamese instead. What HQ didn't know wouldn't harm them or me.

Of course, we all know it wasn’t temporary. Just ask the mother of the Sudanese boy murdered last year. Just ask Dr Mohamed Haneef and his family. Fighting cultural wars is one thing. Using race as a weapon is something far more sinister and dangerous. It is politics’ answer to biological terrorism. Once the virus gets out, it can infect everyone.

Liberals must wake up to the fact that Howard’s use of race has infected their organisation. When campaign directors can send anti-Jewish e-mails and senior party officials distribute fake anti-Muslim leaflets, it means the infection has risen all the way to the top. Political erectness solves nothing in the long term. Liberals of all people should be the last to cast racial and ethno-religious aspersions on others. To do otherwise just isn't Liberal.

And as the Lindsay pamphlet and the notorious e-mail shows, prejudice can come back and bite you on the bum.

Heroism

Irena Sendler helped save 2500 Polish Jewish children of the Holocaust, but always felt she could have done more.

Disgraced former Disaster Relief chief pauses mid defecation to pep self up

Michael Brown's Toilet, Somewhere; Former Federal Emergency Management Agency head, Michael Brown, who ignominiously resigned following mismanagement of the agency during the Hurricane Katrina aftermath, today paused during a bowel motion in order to gather his strength for a final faecal push.

The turd, which was a real big one, had given the Bush political appointee significant pain during its attempted passing, and had been gophered in and out of his arse no less than three times to loosen the sphincter to a point where the big drop was possible.

‘Come on Brownie, you’re doing a heck of a jobbie,’ said Brown in the third person by way of self encouragement.

Left: Brown - pauses poo.

The former disaster relief head, whose pre-agency Disaster management experience had comprised of his being a college intern in the city manager's office, experienced relief of his own when the oversized leaving finally plopped free, the depth charging faecal missile bideting Brown’s anus with splash back.

The press sullied lawyer then checked to bowl, tears of relief smattering his handsome eyes, to sight the massive object but alas the brown bomb had made it through the S-bend from the sheer kinetic force of its delivery.

Dichotomy

I had a dichotomous meeting in the toilet doorway today. As punters know the toilet doorway at my work and I are not friends. Since that bastard doorway led to me toilet squishing the boss+++ in it.

Remember how Sesame Street would have those puppet skits where they’d do opposites? Near / Far, First / Last, Some / None etc? I loved them. Especially the Some / None one.

I tried to go through the doorway as another tried to go out.

He was a Boss++.

I am short. He is six and a half feet tall.

I am fat. He is rail thin.

I bounced off his pelvis as I tried to walk in.

So not only did we get a Short / Tall we got a Fat / Skinny opposite as well.

Fuck I hate that doorway. I think it may be my baby with the one eyebrow.

Starwars in four days

Droids land on the desert planet - picked up by Jawas then nightfall.

Next day sold to the Skywalkers. Various adventures. R2D2 nobs off. Nightfall.

Next day search for R2, meet Kenobi, stormtroopers blow away farmstead, wah! Nightfall.

Next day Mos Eisley, escape, captured, escape, final battle - 'let's blow this thing and go home' - KA-BOOM! Medals (none for the Wookie), the end.

Also why is it that travelling between systems seem to only take a few minutes? It's like it's just a big industrial park.