Seriously, I'm at a loss

Tonight's spam is as follows ...

From: cindyblaedn@mi.terra.cl [mailto:cindyblaedn@mi.terra.cl]
Sent: Sunday, 29 November 2009 9:40 PM
To: x
Subject: Whoo haas noot herad abuot swnie fluu yeet? Thiis wrods sacre ALOMST evreyone to detah.

We havee faublous seex aany timee we waant! Thiis is whaat lifee sohuld be!
Bacteira havee dveeloped resistacne to the tarditional atnibiotic efefcts . Try new solutoins!
http://kariess.123bemyhost.com

"I knoow tehre is suuch a statioenr," retruns Mr. Jobilng. "He waas noot oours, and I am noot acquaitned with hiim."

TheWife heckles Bob the Builder

We took theNoo to see Bob the Builder, who was a support act for Santa at Brand Depot.

As Bob threaded his way through the crowd, and we to him, theWife yelled out.

'Oi Bob, when are you going to finish our bathroom?!'

Bob the Builder = pwned.

A discussion around the snack table

Not sure how we got onto this topic but ...

G -'Yeah it's funny what people think about the medicinal properties of alcohol. Like if you have a skinful of grog you can have sex with a bargirl and not get HIV'.

Me - 'Ha. Or that having sex standing up means you can't get pregnant. Or if you douche yourself afterwards then you'll prevent a pregnancy.'

G - 'Um ... yeah ... (trails off)'

Fair enough. Any mention of vaginal douching around food is probably a Neddy no, unless, of course, it's the mid morning snack at the 43rd annual Vaginal Douching convention featuring the Vaginal Douching All Stars of Dr Henein Knickenbocker, whose two parts vinegar one part lemon juice DIY Douche has been a much followed recipe; Klaus Noosen, whose popular 50's art features Coke Bottle and the Douche, and Sister Mary Snoodgen, rogue ex nun who dramatically broke with church teachings to teach the women of the slums about washing out their lady parts with soapy water.

Ah good old VagDoucheCon; where you can get cutaway diagram models of vagina's at low, low prices.

TALES ... of the toilets

Tale one

The other day I'd walked into the toilet corral at work and had decided I wasn't going to risk having to do a shy squirt at the urinals if someone came in whilst using them, and that I would go straight to a stall. I undid my zipper as I walked into the room then stalked along looking for a stall. I must have stood there for a good few seconds as I idly considered which one to use.

Which is pretty rock and roll behaviour. If you replace the word stalls with groupies like that infamous pic of that hair metal rocker from the 80's whose contemplating which of the chicks currently bent over before him he was going to grace with his groinal presence.

Tale two

There are five stalls - with one stall having a door that opens out and Jesus rails to hang onto. I walked in and saw that a pair of inconsiderate types had decided to use stalls 2 and 4. Which meant of course there was no stall buffer. You need at least one stall's buffer when its twos time.

So I gave up and walked down a flight and to another set of lavs.

I'm curious though, for you ladies who are all stall bound for ones and twos, what do you do? Do you need the buffer?

Tale three

I walked into the stalls today and saw with delight no one else was in the area. I skipped merrily to the good stall - the one with the Jesus rail - and motioned away. As I came out I had an after party fart build up and decided to pause midway on my way to the door and let her rip. A hearty bellow from the bottom trumpet outside stall number 3 (the middle stall).

At that point I discovered that during my motions process someone had in fact entered the toilets and was using stall 3 - the very stall I loudly bottom bellowed in front of.

Shame-faced and hoping they couldn't identify me through the door sliver I slunk out ... and immediately told S what happened.

He said not to worry and stated he was a proud bottom trumpeter. Indeed he said he preferred there to be an audience.

Ah the callow youth. So free and easy with their wiffy breezies.

Legohead V Moneybags

Today Turnbull was forced into a leadership spill over the whole ETS debacle. See the SMH story here.

His challenger? Kevin Bloody Andrews.

For those of you not in the know, Andrews aka Legohead, is a hardcore religious fundamentalist who got the Howard government to override the NT's euthanasia laws on the grounds he, Andrews, didn't like people taking control over when and where they would kark it. Not satisfied with reducing those in chronic pain to eking out their lives in a haze of medication, he eventually made minister, introduced workchoices (good effort mate), then ended as Immigration minister ... where he then railroaded one Dr Haneef (a relative of a terrorist), not found guilty of any crime, by taking away his visa. I believe the Oz govt had to pay a handsome sum to the good doc - and he deserved it.

Andrews, now in Opposition Exile Island, is one of the conservative Liberals - which sounds to me a tad tautological - and has decided that Turnbull is a nasty pasty.

And he lost the spill - apparently having expected to and only standing to send a message that people like him should not be discounted.

Which is a shame, because they should be.

The world needs less Kevin Andrews types - people who foist their personal ideology on others, and use their guardianship position to advance themselves politically then pathetically whine they weren't when it goes pear shaped despite the fact that said bastardy was as blatant as the nose on their face.

He's a disgrace as an Australian and as a human being.

Congrats Turnbull. Perhaps, if you work hard, you can Advance Australia Fair your party even closer to the new millennium we've all been in for the last nine years. By my analysis they're stuck in circa 1988.

My eyes are old and bent

Back in August I did something bad to my coccyx. No, I didn't step naked out of the shower and forget about "insert semi-insertable device here". I went down a slide and landed with a bump in the gap between segments. Ever since then the region around my coccyx has hurt.

Today it flared up big time. Both cheeks are aching with pain radiating like iron filings on a piece of white paper inserted over a magnet in a shit-house year nine science experiment*.

I had to rub voltaran on my arse cheeks and I spent the day sitting on a pillow.

I feel like Nobby Piles from Viz...

Why can't I catch a friggin' break when it comes to my bod?! If I don't have sore feet then I have bad guts (like I also have at the moment), am throwing up, or have a sore ahnus. It - my general poor health, not my ahnus - bites the big one big time.

Stupid health issues. It's not like I'm not trying either. I am eating better, downing lots of fibre, and still walking every day. Maybe it's just because my bad health is like a super tanker and even though I've switched the screw to reverse, momentum is such that I'm still heading for the rocks?

*During sex-ed in science our science teacher started off with a joke - what's got six legs and goes around in circles? A ram doing a ewie. Our science teacher also expected us to maintain good book hygiene in that our exercise books needed title pages for new segments of science, and that our many handed out bits of paper should be glued in. You actually got marked on this. One of his favourite tricks was to shake someone's book and watch all the paper that had not been glued in fall out. During sex-ed my title page was what I thought was the male and female symbols entwined. I had it wrong. I had two male symbols - with one reversed. I wonder what that means? The panel beater kids - the dudes who left in year 10 to become apprentices only to be sacked when the govt money ran out - decided to have a p0rn collage for their title pages. When their books got marked they found the title pages had been excised with the words "see me" scrawled in the tattered remnant.

Freddo charges dropped: boy gets costs

Boy to accept costs in the form of Freddo Frogs...

One of the many books available at Oz Post

I really detest the 'minimum expenditure' effort some businesses apply to using a credit card in Australia. One of these businesses, and I use that term loosely, is Oz Post.

On occasion I've been forced to buy shit I don't need solely to get myself up to their $10 minimum.

One of the items you can buy from well positioned stands on the counter as you discover this $10 minimum is a series of Australiana Fauna themed kids books.

Although this one kind of creeped me out.

Russell Brand talks with Craig Ferguson

Russell Brand is my hero. And Craig F is fcking hilarious.

Out and about

When I was a poor struggling garret bound would be writer I naturally enough attended a post grad course on how to be a writer.

Turns out I suck. And you're better off reading Stephen King's On Writing and saving yourself several thousand dollars.

Anyway, one of the tricks we were taught is to pay attention to your surroundings because you would get good material that way.

So ... the three stand outs from my trip to town are...

The tiny middle aged man dressed in new blue jeans, a shirt which still had the package creases on it, with his ensemble topped with a shiny blue Harlem Globetrotters hat ... walking along next to (I presume) his ten year old son ... who was taller than him.

The man on the street whose hands were filled with bags who elected to store a red petal fake flower between his teeth like he was about to, once he put his bags down, climb some sort of ivy clad lattice work and present the flower to a would be beloved.

And finally the young dad and his eight year old son in the toilets - the boy too short to reach the liquid soap dispenser - holding his cupped hands up to receive the soap squirted by his dad. His dad shouting out comically 'Are you ready for the cleanliness explosion?!'

Gold. All stored in the old memory bank when my self esteem recovers enough like a computer game health bar to actually try and put finger to key and finish off one of my many projects.

Domestic Minutia with Harrangueman

TheWife and I came of age in the late 80s. Yes, puffy hair; denim; all-brown outfits of velvet, corduroy and desert boots were ours to have, music like the Fine Young Cannibals was ours to listen to and, for me at least, the seminal most oft-quoted movie of my high school years was Lethal Weapon II.

As for seminal teev, The Young Ones was our bread and butter. We may not have got alot of it, but man we quoted it.

Now, as adults, with a young squirmy boy, occasionally we pepper our parenting with lore from our past.

One such thing is Snot Patrol.

Snot Patrol is when theNoo has, as my older brother describes it "Housing Commission Nose", where thick goobs of snot are heading on a slow passage south, like pioneering snails striking out to settle the south west of the garden. When he is seen with snot a'hangin' we sing out to him 'Snot patrol, snot patrol' and he (hopefully) comes a runnin' - and, as he does, he counter sings back 'doo doo'.

Where is it from?

The theme to Nozin' Aroun' from The Young Ones.

The US national anthem -by Glee

Say what you like about the US of A, but its anthem is one of the most kick ass, hairs on the back of your neck upstanding musical patriotism pieces on the planet.

PS Glee rawks.