Sunday, August 31, 2008
It appears ... I've ... eaten corn sometime inthepast24hours. The ... husks ... are clearlyevident yet ... the ... stool should be noted asfirm.
It seems ... the ... adviceBoneshasgiven me ... regarding fibre intake ... has ... paid off handsomely.
He was wearing a kilt and belting out that strained falsetto of his.
My initial thought, and indeed for a long time afterwards, was 'man, what an ugly woman.'
That is all.
As punters know I recently removed an ingrown toenail (righty big toe). It's starting to heal - but is still very much in transition with pucked rough new nail scabbed over the gaping toe chasm where once the proud nation of big sunken dead sea esq right nail once dwelt.
So I waggled my big toe at theNoo. TheNoo investimigated and peered at my toe closely. He looked up, made some of his patented inarticulate baby noises, then peered again.
At that point his mouth closed over my big toe and he sucked it.
Needless to say even I was disturbed and quickly withdrew said toe.
Now this moment is recorded in posterity. Take that 21st power point slide show.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
I had a can of diet coke in my hand when I went to the toilet. There's no real place to put a can when you use my toilet except the floor - or on top of the stacked toilet tissue. Which is what I did. But, for a brief moment, I considered balancing it on the rim of the loo as I went the number one. I am reasonably good at my pee aim, unless drunk or forking, but I suppose there's always the danger that misting may mean some aerated wee fog drifts across the can's face.
So lads, have you ever rim balanced? Uncle HM wants to know...
On a side note, the Canberra Libs are festooning my local Coles with their hench-people handing out their how to votes. Yet to see Labor out there. Come on lads, take it to the man!
I did the swerve past the hand outers snarling 'Labor member' and kept walking.
UPDATE: I was searching for a Batman image to go with this post when I came across this little number.
Is it wrong of me to think there's a story about a festive spit roasting in this edition?
The beard on batman is a corker. Reminds of this Rodney Rude joke.
This woman goes up to Santa at the shopping centre and sits on his knee. She says 'I got this condition where I don't have any hair on my vagina. So for Christmas I'd like that.' And Santa says 'Do you mind if it's white and bushy?'
Friday, August 29, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
TheWife: Yep you have a few
Me: Can you scratch them?
TheWife: No. Get mum to scratch them. She's got nails.
Me: No way man, scratching a back is a hairy erotic adventure. I don't want your mum in on that.
(Open mouth. Insert foot)
UPDATED: Just realized I had 'pair shaped' instead of pear shaped. I'm surprised the Grods lads didn't leap on that gazelle like and mock me deservedly for my error.
As theBoy was being shown the monkeys, one of the little rascals apparently pulled itself off.
Quick work by thePop to walk theBoy over to less disturbing sights of animals at play.
Yet theWife and theNan remained behind to watch ...
We had pizza.
And it was successfully noshed. Well almost successfully. I threw up a couple of mouthfuls in the bin about 10 mins later but otherwise kept down - with a red fanta and a choc top on top.
Saw Baby Mamma. Aw, cute and funny. If you're trying to get preggers and are feeling down in the dumps - don't see it. I for one know how fucking shitty it is when you're trying for ages since the world feels festooned with babies and pregger types.
And nappy commercials are pretty much a kick in the guts.
Anyway, I feel better for doing something fun.
Right now, I am feeling pretty diminished. But I know, or rather "hope", that it will get better. I'm hoping my hope will return. It feels like a bit of that cat in the box that may or may not be dead.
Well, at any rate, here's hoping.
I don't know why they call it the blues. They should call it the blacks. Because that's how I feel.
Still, at least it's nearly the weekend. That's something I guess.
So buck up to the other troopers out there. Cos' I is pulling for ya. Us saddies have to stick together and mutually reinforce each other that hope will return.
Hard core evening walkers - and the ones I see at my work during the lunch periods - tend to carry a sports bottle in one hand like a relay baton.
Seriously. Are they walking so fucking hard that they have to stop for liquids? It's Winter for fuck's sake. They're never more than 100 metres from a fucking tap anyway.
I think it's a wank. Like sprayed on bike clothes. And I shall not do it until the weather is such that frequent re hydration is mandatory not optional.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Check out this effort for Iran
The Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution
Is it me or does it fully sound like one of the people in the court of King Caractacus, that was just passing by?
I saw two of the delightful over the partition ladies were also wearing all black so I ran over to show off my equally themed duds.
I had been using my MP3 player with my stay-at-work headphones - big fuck off 'don't bother me I am working' black efforts that look like the subleader of the cybermen's headgear from 80's Dr Who.
'Check me out, I'm the man in black!' I said happily. Then added ... 'also ... Princess Leia' given my sudden realisation my headphones looked alot like her sidal hair donuts back in Ep I slash IV.
Way to undercut your man in blackness mimo.
Of course she'll still always be MB to me, but nonetheless Michelle is kewl too.
Who I admit freaked me out when she commented earlier because she was using MB's graphic.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
And yea, for I didst not chuck it up.
Take that food that I have trouble digesting.
Still not game to clamber back up on the sausage horse however...
He greeted me verbally.
In Oz, when you've forgotten someone's name you tend to cover that with calling them "mate".
So this was a piratical variation of this theme it seems. Which is good, given all that has come before it.
I wonder if he was getting into the spirit of the upcoming Pork like a Pirate day?
I just saw an add for their "Stacker". Where you can select from between two, three, or four patties of meat. Four patties! Holy snapping duck shit. You'd have to have the jaw mechanisms of the aliens from the 80's TV series "V" to even be able to close your mouth on it. It's a heart attack on a wrapper waiting to happen.
Even I, a man who enjoys his food and pre-surgery regarded super sized portions as a delish challenge, would have baulked at that in the before long ago. Four patties?!
Jesus Christ. And they wonder why there's an issue with westerners stacking on the pounds.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Last time I was there I saw his locum. The locum prescribed an old AD I was on back in the mid 90s. My GP said it was a bit ordinary given the side effects I experienced and put me on to a new one.
Thank gawd. Though I am a bit itchier than usual on this one, I managed to recover from one of the nastier SEs of the other.
All in all travelling okay. Still have fits of depression, but not the acute world-is-utterly-fucked-fucked-fucked ones you can get when you're battling the sads monster. It's taken the edge off the episodes that's for sure. Still in a funk, still sad, will likely be for a very long time if last episodes have been any judge. A lot of it is situational, with a chunk of physical (being in low grade pain makes you depressed), so maybe if the former improves then I will as well.
Anyway, here's hoping.
A big shout out to other travellers on the sads highway. Let's meet up at the rest stop ahead and swap stories.
Recently our social club decided to close its doors. It's fair enough too - it's a lot of work to run these things and I fully appreciate the effort that went into it to keep it limping along as long as they did. If I wasn't a bus boy then I like to think I would have taken it over. Except I am a bus boy and carting 24 packs of coke cans on public transport is a neddy no for me.
So our social club decided to wind up in style and used the money for a Christmas in July/August celebration - with members free and partners paid for. I went sans theWife (due to baby sitter issues). I also went with the knowledge that I would be drinking.
Yes, I know, drinking and attending work functions is fraught with danger. Especially if you're a fox po type like me. As an entry level drone I famously dropped the cunt clanger at a workplace gathering out of hours when I got royally pissed.
I made sure to have shandies instead of spirit drinks. So I got a little toasted but that was it.
The Xmas celebration was centered around a bout of trivia. My desk buddy and I made sure to be on the same table to max out our chances because we're the sort of people that read wiki in our lunch break for the hell of it.
Over-all of the four rounds, we came third twice (out of four tables) and first twice. So I like to think on balance we were the best of the night. For the sports round we pretty much handed the answers over to my desk buddy who rain man esq filled it out.
Trivia is contentious. As pub trivia goers know answers are not set in stone. They can be challenged. And did I?
I am a nerd. And I am a pedant. Of course I fucking did. Loudly doth protested I and efforts I knew to be wrong - such as Steve McQueen dying of asbestoses (he died of two heart attacks after getting radical surgery for the condition), and Anne Boleyn being the English Queen who died in a particular year (she was a Queen consort, not a Queen). Fortunately we had a no nonsense Quiz bitch who just stared me down flinty eyed and hissed that answers they deemed correct were the correct ones.
Needless to say, when I got home I satisfied myself that my pedantry was accurate. And indeed it was.
But I believe I have grown as a person. Have acquired some social interaction skills. Because come the following Monday at work ... I kept that knowledge to myself. All I did was thank them for their massive efforts in oprganising an awesome night out. And it was fucking awesome.
Even if they did get some of the answers wrong.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Dakking is an Australian peculiarity. It is basically where you have your pants yanked down to show your undies. The supreme dakking is one where you get it to the ankles. I suppose it's the yank equiv of the wedgie. The ultimate aim is to dak someone in front of girls so they can titter at them.
My first time was when I was around six. I was at a birthday party. My mother, bless her, had dressed me up real purty. I had a tie on for fuck's sake. Anyway, we're playing hide and seek. I elected to stand and hide in the shower bath combo.
So there I am standing in the bath, the curtain screening my presence, when the curtain is whipped back. It wasn't the "it" person. Some other kid as I recall. He looked at me, tilted his head sideways like the Road Runner, then dakked me before running off.
I was wearing giant Bridget Jones-esq oversized blue y-fronts. I stood there somewhat shocked at having my underdaks exposed to the world and was a bit slow on the re-uptake.
At that point "It" ran in and found me. I shudder to think what he thought. Fortunately there were no girls around, though I confess it was a supreme dakking with an all the way to the ankles effort.
On a side note, later on we played pin the tail on the donkey. The mask they used was see through so the organiser told us to close our eyes.
The prize was a comic.
I did not close my eyes and I won.
Yes, that's right, I cheated at Pin the Tail on the Donkey.
So maybe my dakking was a preemptive karmic realignment?
Friday, August 22, 2008
I noticed two inventions that got the spotlight were gunpowder and movable type, both originally invented by the Chinese and therefore heavily promoted as elements of China Rawks, OK.
The Chinese may have invented gunpowder but they did fuck all with it. Rocket powered arrows and fireworks. That's it. It took 960 mini-states feuding like the Hatfields and the McCoys thanks to various incestuous relationships 300 years to properly adapt it to modern battlefield standards.
And movable type? A) it was never widely adopted in China, B) they did not perfect the mass printing system that European practitioners did, C) China stuck to their 10,000 pictograph based character system instead of the more manageable 26 characters which made the whole thing somewhat impractical to adopt for printing purposes.
But well done on paper.
Also, they've been aware of the fork for sometime now. Why the fuck are they still going with chopsticks?
Oh, and the Milli Vanilli singer was fully obviously lip syncing. I'm surprised no one else spotted it.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
I was on course today. All they had were fucking minties. I suspect because not many people eat them.
Courses tend to put out lollies because sugar bursts increase concentration. They don't when no fucker will eat them because they are disgusting minties. What I want to know is where the fuck were the fantales? A) Delish. B) Come with fucking fan tales. Or rather star tales truth be told.
I felt utterly gyped.
At one point I was feeling so low I excused myself to go to the toilet, strained to produce a tiny poo pellet, then stayed seated for another 10 minutes because I just could not be fucking arsed to go back into that room.
On a side note at lunch the delightful E held up her plate and offered up her steak chips. I erred and ummed about having them - as they are bad for me and hard to digest - and so she somewhat snittily said 'Quick, hurry up and take one. My arm is getting tired.'
I just lost it. I laughed and laughed because it just had so, so many naughty connotations. Which was a bad call on my part given, as an HR officer, she is responsible for having the 'you were inappropriate' conversation in my workplace. Also she's stunningly attractive which just makes it so much more worse.
Anyway, all in all, a long, long day with a massive attack of the sads that ended with one of those happy/sad drama face fits you can have when you're feeling down. Still I suppose it's cathartic.
UPDATE: Ah, I just remembered this. The head of the HR section was on the course today. When I got into the lounge area before the course started I smelled Raisin toast. You could make your own. I said how nice it smelled. E said 'why not have some?' to which I responded 'well as a fat man, helping yourself to such things makes you look greedy.' Later the lunch menu went around so we could mark what we wanted ahead of time. It reached the head. She said words to the effect of 'Hey 12 lunches have been marked off, I'm not having any, so whose put down for two lunches? Was it you Mikey?'
Unbelievable. Let's pick on the fat man HR woman whose job it is to remind people not to mock people for their afflictions.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Mr Mint apparently has done a deal with Disney and you can get Disney themed keys. I wasn't going to go for that. Instead I went for these fancy ones that have little red LEDs in them that light up the keyhole on approach so you can better slot it in.
I know some lads that can do with such assist, right ladies/lads-who-like-lads?!
(holds hand up for a high five).
Anyway, I wanted to get two keys cut so we can keep a spare hidden in the laundry (since you need a key to unlock the door and I am paranoid about wanting to get out of the house in a hurry). So I picked a purple one and a red one (colour of the keys - the LEDS were both red).
When they were done I absent mindedly picked the red one out and slotted it on my keys. Then I returned to join my family, rich with the heady glow of someone that has accomplished a minor chore by hiring someone else. I told theWife about the keys.
'Which one am I getting?' she asked. I looked at my keys.
'Um the purple one. I stuck the red one on my key ring.'
She looked at me, her expression carefully blank.
'What? Why didn't I get the red one.'
She has a thing for red.
'I dunno, the first one I grabbed was the red one. Just have the purple. I mean, it's not like it matters to you right?'
We've been together a while now. She looked at me in that special way the ladies do when as a dude you have committed a marital fox po worthy of some seppuku.
'Doesn't. Matter. To. Me.'
Yep, she gave me the individual words are their own sentence spiel.
Area man made a bad call indeed.
I offered to let her swap the keys around. They were swapped within 24 hours.
I'm a guy. Sometimes we fuck up. It's what we do. That's why we're the lesser sex. Plus it gives the ladies something to bitch about with their friends so they can feel superior to us.
As sometime semi-regular HM reading punters are aware I have food issues following stomach surgery from last year.
One issue is with sausages. They are my arch nemesis - my Sideshow Bob as it were. Post surgery eating some foods is hard.
Sausages are a no no food.
Today clients took me to a thank you lunch. It was at one of those revolving restaurants. No, not an actual physical one. A restaurant that starts up in the same location as a previous failed effort with the belief somehow they can do better. For the 10+ years I have worked in the area at least three have tried and not succeeded in this locale.
This particular venue was the snooty kind of place that drops a decimal point from the price list. You know 8.5 instead of $8.50 in the belief that customers will think it's classy.
The menu was one of those weird jobbies that is festooned with unusual crap like pimentos and Pepper Pineapple and so forth. The only thing on it that looked vaguely normal was bangers and fritter potatoes on cabbage. So despite knowing sausies causes HM some stomach upsets I got it.
This was the sort of place where the chef comes out for a chat. He must have been forewarned by the waiter that I had asked for the Jus on the side, having pronounced it "Juice" instead of the apparently correct Schuu. He made sure to repeat the correct phraseology several times so I'd get it.
I was good right up until the last mouthful. In fact post mouthful, for I decided to cap the successfully scoffed dish with plopping one of the left over side dish of spicy potatoes in my gob.
Yep, the fun began. I excused myself politely, then spent 10 minutes in the lav throwing up half digested food. Noting with some minor amusement that despite being the third iteration of cafe service in that location they still hadn't fixed the problem of the step leading into the gents. 10 minutes of chucking up great globs of spittle sausage I emerged to rejoin the clients. We chatted for a bit until bout two's bell went off and back the lav I went.
I managed to get them to curtail early and drop me back at work. All the while praying I wouldn't throw up in their car. Just as they faded from view I got four steps then threw up in my work's car park, then again 30 metres later just up from the smoker's corral. Moving into the building I called my co-worker to ask him to let the other client who was waiting to meet me that I'd be a little late. Then dashed across to the foyer lav for some more upheavals.
Finally, I made it to my desk. Just as said client was doing some back of the envelope calcs I excused myself and made use of the disabled toilets for a cheeky covert spew.
With that I was empty and able to stomach some diet coke. I had this weird metal tinge to my lips from all the vomiting I had done. Nothing great came up, though some nasty orange-yellow-green bile finally made it out along with all the spittle that had collected in my gut. It was most foul.
This is the third time I think I have tried sausage post surgery and the second time it's come back up again and caused extreme pain.
I know when I am licked. No more sausages.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Play School had three windows. Circle, Square, Arch.
Now it seems they've added a fourth. A diamond. When theWife told me about this I didn't believe her. But no, there it is. A diamond.
What's next? Arsing the rocket song? Oh my gawd, they did!
This is a mockery of Play School as I know it. It's almost as bad as fourth edition D&D*
*So, HM, you spent $150 on the three core books (and theWife kindly allowed you to hand wave the purchase from your paltry pocket money). What have you used them for? Well, thanks for asking. You see I have this horrible habit of picking dead skin off my left foot. I know, it's a marital issue. But I try my best now to, if I do it, secure the dead skin so it can curl up and harden in one location where theBoy can't get to and then chuck it in the bin. My 4th edition D&D player's handbook has made a terrific skin shield. The shiny surface allows an easy glide finger rub action to gently rake the skin into one pile then slide off the book and into my safely cupping palm. Thanks Hasbro!
[pushes glass off table]
Jean-Baptiste Emanuel Zorg: destroyed...
Jean-Baptiste Emanuel Zorg: [robot cleaners move to clean broken glass] Look at all these little things. So busy now. Notice how each one is useful. What a lovely ballet ensues so full of form and color. Now, think about all those people that created them. Technicians, engineers, hundreds of people who'll be able to feed their children tonight so those children can grow up big and strong and have little teeny weeny children of their own, and so on and so forth. Thus, adding to the great chain... of life.
Jean-Baptiste Emanuel Zorg: [Desk prepares a glass of water and a bowl of fruit] You see, Father, by creating a little destruction, I'm actually encouraging life. In reality, you and I are in the same business. Cheers.
From the Fifth element.
War has one side benefit. The flourishing of new technology. Computers, jets, rockets and so forth. Indeed as many historians argue the reason why European civilisation ended up going out and raping the world is because they mastered the use of gun powder and the resultant organisational changes needed to fully harness it.
In Iraq II, new tech has emerged. Clotting powder that can seal a bleeding wound in seconds. A rapid growth in the capability of prosthetic limbs. Tourniquets that can be applied one handed so a soldier can dress a wound to their other arm without assistance.
So why the fuck can't baby wipes be pulled out one handed without pulling out half the fucking packet? Is this a fucking conspiracy? Are they designed so we use more wipes than necessary? The need for one handed pulling of wipes is obvious - given the other hand is trying to hold the baby in place to prevent shit going everywhere. I mean tissue boxes have mastered this capability so why the fuck can't baby wipes?
Baby wipe manufacturers. You will be one of the first up against the wall when the revolution comes.
Monday, August 18, 2008
But as one person pointed out this opens the door for some assuming excellent pork pirate personas for the day.
Long John Silver works well. Cuntbeard is a good one. The one eyed stranger is also a goer. Netherlips is a possibility, as indeed is the Jolly Rodgerer.
Fire away with your pork like a pirate names me hearties!
It was most embarrassment.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Yeah the chicks don't dig that in the naughties.
Lately my shoulder hairs have sprouted a tad. More than a tad. When I brush my teeth and I have top half nekkid I can see them thrusting upward like the transition of Jack's beans to fall stalkhood. The hair then merges with my head hair making me look like the FBI aging photo technique applied to the boomerang kid from Mad Max 2.
But if I clipper them back or shave them - and I don't know how I'd do that - won't they just grow back thicker and more luxuriant?
Hair. I don't understand it. But I do know that a shoulder to head hair merged mullet is not a good look.
I think I will stick to never having people see nekkid me.
Friday, August 15, 2008
There's an abandoned trolley near my back fence just off the arterial road through by suburb. All very normal.
What's not normal is the second abandoned trolley they slotted into the basket like a grocery item.
That took some effort. I have to hand it to them.
'ESCAPE A LIFE SENTENCE'. Then, on the sign next to it, it says something about workplace safety.
All very well. A good message and one we should all observe.
Except it's on the front gate of Canberra's nearly constructed new prison.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
‘Xenophon rode a miniature train while dressed as Jackie Collins from Dynasty to promote more funds for rail infrastructure so ordinary people could better access train services and Fielding came in the opposite direction, also dressed as Collins, pulled into the event on a small chariot by a goat as per Fatty Finn in an effort to promote more money for Australian films so they better compete against imported flicks as represented by the Collins costume,’ said a bemused bystander.
‘Needless to say they were nonplussed.’
The flip flopping Xenophon then stormed over to Fielding and asked him ‘what the hell he was playing at?’, whereupon Fielding responded with an open handed slap. Xenophon, shocked, likewise retorted with a slap and seconds later the now wrestling Collinses fell into an ornamental pool and savagely tore at each other’s hair and clothing.
The event, an awards ceremony for school children who wrote essays on what it is to be Australian, then descended into farce when the child attendees rushed to the edge of the pool to chant ‘FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT’ loudly whilst clapping as belted shorts wearing balding math teachers attempted to break the cordon to separate the now soaked and sparring senators.
Six footer and then some man did not have that luxury. While he didn’t bother to close the door, and thus his direction was obvious, his height would be such that even if he had closed the door his head poking above the door line would give it away that he was going the private tinkle.
So there you go. The uber tall are denied the cover protection of the stall feint for a number one only. I had never before until this day considered the urinary problems of the over tall.
You poor tall fuckers.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Today I performed this ritual a second time for a lovely girl who works near me. On my way to her desk I announced that I should have some kind of chauffeur hat or something given my serving her needs.
Then, for some reason, I added '... and a pair of manpower pants that I could just whip off.'
Now in the public service we get annual talks about this sort of saucy wordage in the workplace and typically their suggestion is anything remotely sex connected is given the heave ho. So I kind of lamely added ... 'well ... that was inappropriate.'
Later I walked an oversized envelope to the out box. Being a report editor type person I tend to send larger mail than most people. So when I place it in the box, and my mail is bigger than others, I tend to shout 'I win!'
All very well, except I embellished it a tad by standing before lovely girl's workstation divider and thrusting my hands in the air, I have the power of greyskull kind of way, and shouted 'BEHOLD FOR I HAVE THE LARGEST PACKAGE!'
Immediately my brain registered how that bad boy could be taken, especially in light of the expressed earlier wish for easily removed trousers, and I quickly stammered out a qualification - all while a fellow co-worker was laughing at me.
'Er ... by that ... I um ... er meant ... I um ... have the biggest mail item.'
I swear to gawd no double entendre was meant. But even as it left my mouth I knew that hole I had dug myself with slip off pants and/or large packages had just gotten a foot deeper.
Area man should shut the hell up.
'A woman that fine should entertain women loving Australia 365 days of the year with some nice arty shots of her tasty bod,' said President of the organisation, Clinton Funt. 'And while her pre-Olympics spread in FHM was welcomed we need to see more, more, more!'
'And by more I mean more of her body.'
Funt said that he would like to see her medals in at least one of the month shots, perhaps serving as twin tassels to protect her boozies if she was a bit shy about showing a hint of nip.
'And maybe a strip of horse brasses to cover her vag,' he added.
For dinner we had Chinese food. It was delish but my IBS flared up and I was druggless. Walking helps so about 9 pm off I went. As I headed for the door my dad yelled out 'watch out for drunken yobs!'.
I got maybe 15 metres from my house when out from the dark lurched a drunk woman in her 40's who boldly asked if I had a car and could I drive her to Woden. Fortunately she didn't see that I came out from a house and I deflected her with a 'I'm out for a walk and there's a bus stop on the street over there.'
That is the first drunken person encounter I have had since I moved in last year. What are the odds?
Sue - 'What's the name of that thing where you forget your memory? I think it's er um er ...'
Me - 'Ahahahahahahaha'
Sue - ' ... Alzheimer's.'
Looks around confused as to why someone thought that was funny.
I honestly fully thought she was making a joke.
Fox Po once again.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Sent: Monday, 11 August 2008
Subject: Well I finally got to go...
Sent: Monday, 11 August 2008
Subject: RE: Well I finally got to go...
Sunday, August 10, 2008
I can't think the last time I bought one was.
Today I went in looking for the full version of the Turkish Rondo by Mozart. My brother is a snooty music teacher, who like The Beve, frowns upon those that purchase Greatest Hits. Most classical music available in da shops is the equiv of greatest hits - the more famous movements collected together in like themes - eg Baroque. The full version of the Turkish Rondo is actually Piano Sonata Number 11, with the Rondo, correctly titled Alla Turca: Allegretto, serving as the third movement.
Anyway, my brother said to know and understand classical requires purchase of the full product. Not just the bits with cannons and shit (not that the Rondo has cannons - but you know what I mean). So I attempted to do this down in Tuggers.
The clerk said their classical section was small - he wasn't joking - it was five albums. And all of them greatest hits esq. I thought they might have a NAXOS case, the firm that puts out the vast bulk of full classical goodness here in Oz, but alas they did not.
However next to the Classical section was Comedy.
So I returned to the clerk with a different CD.
Rodney Rude's Rat's Arse.
Quoth the clerk; 'You can't get a more extreme difference than between Mozart and Rodney Rude.'
What can I say? I have eclectic tastes.
Saturday, August 09, 2008
I read somewhere about this male stripper that used to send his worn undies to punters in the mail. He said he would clean up the gentleman vegetable area then rub the undies along the perenium to pick up some of that groiny smell before bunging them in the post. Including a hint of fecal.
Ladies and dudes who dig dudes. Would that get you going? I know not these things.
Inquiring minds want to know.
Longest damn year of my life.
There were some shitty moments that's for sure. And some awesome moments. Like just then when I had a dance with him as I played the below on YouTube.
For those of you thinking 'Yes! Babies!' note this well. Your life as you know it disappears. If you're not ready for feeding, nappies, not seeing a movie for six months, not going to restaurants, social outings, not visiting friends and all of that, do not have have a kid.
But ... all the crap aside ... it is pretty kewl to see a little life develop before your eyes.
Compiled by Crikey intern Calli Weitenberg:
So good to see Paul Keating back on the telly last night. It always is. Time for a trip down memory lane ...
On ex-Prime Minister John Howard:
"But I will never get to the stage of wanting to lead the nation standing in front of the mirror each morning clipping the eyebrows here and clipping the eyebrows there with Janette and the kids: It's like 'Spot the eyebrows'."
"... the brain-damaged Leader of the Opposition ..."
"What we have got is a dead carcass, swinging in the breeze, but nobody will cut it down to replace him."
On ex-Treasurer, Peter Costello:
"The thing about poor old Costello is he is all tip and no iceberg. He can throw a punch across the parliament but the bloke he should be throwing a punch to is Howard, but of course he doesn't have the ticker for it."
"He has now been treasurer for 11 years. The old coconut is still there araldited to the seat. The treasurer works on the smart quips but when it comes to staring down the prime minister in his office he always leaves disappointed. He never gets the sword out."
And yesterday: "He's a guy without imagination and he is a guy without courage ... In national terms, to have such a nong -- and he is, in policy terms he is a mouse -- to have him back again speaks volumes about the Liberal Party."
On former Labor Prime Minister, Bob Hawke:
"Now listen mate," [to John Browne, Minister of Sport, who was proposing a 110 per cent tax deduction for contributions to a Sports Foundation] "you're not getting 110 per cent. You can forget it. This is a f-cking Boulevard Hotel special, this is. The trouble is we are dealing with a sports junkie here [gesturing towards Bob Hawke]. I go out for a p-ss and they pull this one on me. Well that's the last time I leave you two alone. From now on, I'm sticking to you two like sh-t to a blanket.”
On former Liberal Party Leader and Shadow Treasurer, Andrew Peacock:
"I suppose that the Honourable Gentleman's hair, like his intellect, will recede into the darkness."
"We're not interested in the views of painted, perfumed gigolos."
On Liberal, Ken Aldred:
"... the brain-damaged Honorable Member for Bruce made his first parliamentary contribution since being elected, by calling a quorum to silence me for three minutes."
On Former Labour politician, Jim McClelland (over the phone):
"That you Jim? Paul Keating here. Just because you swallowed a f-cking dictionary when you were about 15 doesn't give you the right to pour a bucket of sh-t over the rest of us."
On the Press
"Laurie Oakes [is] a cane toad."
"You (Richard Carleton) had an important place in Australian society on the ABC and you gave it up to be a pop star ... with a big cheque ... and now you're on to this sort of stuff. That shows what a 24 carat pissant you are, Richard, that's for sure"
On NSW Minister for Housing, Frank Walker:
"I'm always being attacked by delegate Walker. He's been attacking me ever since I used to touch him up in the [ALP] Youth Council 20 years ago."
On the Liberal Party:
"Those opposite could not operate a tart shop"
"Mr Speaker can I have some protection from the clowns on the front bench ?"
"The Opposition crowd could not raffle a chook in a pub"
"These intellectual hoboes"
Friday, August 08, 2008
Except big rightie, which is ingrown.
Tonight it was its turn. I had ripped out half the nail by mistake when levering up the sides (how I deal with the ingrown part). So the other half was just hanging on. So fuck it I took that out as well.
It's rather painful. Having mopped up the blood with kitchen towel I am now wearing a sock to soak up the seepage. Hopefully I can sleep with this - I have no bandaids to pad it with.
It had to happen. It's been a long time coming. I am glad it's done. Maybe, like when the other big toe nail regrew, it will grow back in a non ingrown fashion.
I hate my feet.
Today was my day to look after theBoy at home. He likes to be held in the air in 'weeeee I'm flying' mode. So in our Dr Evil chain I started to perform said flying maneuver.
So I tilted back.
Only somehow the chair had been locked.
So over backwards the chair went, whilst theBoy was being held in the air. Fortunately his head missed the purple box behind us - as did I - and we had a soft fall on to the carpet. I was somewhat stunned, not having expected the falling backwards, and lay there groaning for a bit. TheBoy cried a little and I placed him on the carpet to roam free while I did a body check to make sure I hadn't fucked my back.
Boy did I feel like a right tit.
Still, an added enhancement to the flying experience for him.
A crash landing.
'We were cruising along in The Police van,' said frontman "Sting", 'when we came across 100 million bottles washed up on the shore. The moment we saw this incredible collection of disposable containers we knew we'd struck recycling gold.'
"Sting" called the truck with their stage gear travelling behind them and soon put to work his assorted collection of Amazonian indian road crew to gathering the vast fortune of glass and plastic, all of which was stamped with the promise of money by the state government.
'We loaded up the stage gear truck with the bottles and started delivering them,' said the clearly over excited "Sting", who required a tantric massage to calm and centre him following the incredible find. 'It took four trips but eventually all the bottles were lodged.'
A spokesman for the government said that it was the greatest bottle deposit in the history of world recycling and the program simply wasn't set up to fund such a return.
'But "Sting" and the lads will get their money,' added the spokesman, saying parliament would be recalled for the purpose of refunding the scheme - parliamentarians treated to a performance on the floor of the chamber by the group during the vote.
"Sting" said he was going to use his share of the money to rescue slaves from Sub-Saharan Africa then re-enslave them at his house in England, where they could perform various domestic chores but their language and illiteracy would prevent them running off and tattling to the press about their conditions.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Naturally I squeezed the middle of it and stuck it on my nose.
So the box is going into the pass the parcel wrappers. And before we start pass the parcel I am going to solemnly warn participants that within the parcel there is, and I quote, a snot box.
Then when the kid who gets it finally gets it I am going to shriek 'HE GOT IT!!! HE GOT THE SNOT BOX.'
High five babies.
Area queue so not fast. I had some Fauves playing pretty loud. It's energetic music. Ordinarily I am sotto in my muttered frustrations, unless IT related, but I couldn't help snarling 'Oh for fuck's sake' at the sloth esq nature of the queue's momentum. Thanks to the MP3 I said it loud. I startled the old dude in front of me who gave me some glower power for my swearing.
Speaking of glower power, why the fuck did Cooper's pull their 'Forget the Monarchy, support the publicans' ads? Because a bunch of lawn bowling monarchy supporting geriatrics with wobbly 'this is the BBC' type voices complained about the insult to the Queen?
Grow a fucking pair Coopers. Me? I'd have a billboard of the Queen depicted from behind scratching her arse while competing in a tennis match with the words 'One wants a tall frosty one' or something like that.
Now that's insulting the Monarchy with fucking chest hair on it.
I was talking to my boss about an upcoming task. The point of contact has a surname of Wong.
'Yep, so I will ping Wong,' I said.
Then, I couldn't help it. I pissed myself laughing. I laughed and laughed and laughed because I'd said 'ping wong'. I apologised to the boss/+ for my brain fart. I am so glad she's a good sort.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
One day he lifted so much that he got a bleeding nose. He ran out to the back door step and lent over so he wouldn't get blood in the house.
He had chickens. They came over to investigate.
They then ate the blood soaked earth.
It was like something out of a fowl Hitchcock flick.
Former Labor prime minister Paul Keating says John Howard and Peter Costello were "the biggest pair of policy bums the country has ever had''.
Mr Keating today slammed the Liberal Party for reconsidering Mr Costello as a leadership candidate, calling the former treasurer a "nong'' and a "mouse'' in an acerbic attack at a book launch in Sydney today.
He said Mr Costello had "not made one valuable structural change in the 12 years he was treasurer''.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I do miss him so.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
It was catered.
It is very unusual to have a catered morning tea in the public service. Because, rightly, the tax paying punters shouldn't have to fork over their dosh for us white collar civil service types to nosh up some tuck.
So my spider senses were tingling. There had to be a reason for it. Colleagues attempted to calm me, saying it was just because our area had new people and it was a welcome thing.
Area man was correct. The boss+++ then launched into a detailed speech that lasted an hour and twenty minutes about recent org changes. I was standing for the first half. By the second half I was kneeling behind a chair clutching it out of sheer boredom. Of course at that point my boss/+ mentioned my current project and everyone looked at me. I looked like I was having a sneaky spew behind said seat.
Cough ... cough cough
Later I was doing some data entry whilst listening to the MP3. I was listening to the Blues Brothers soundtrack and This Old Landmark came on (the song from the church). Next thing I know I was doing the whole prayer/jazz hands thing and crooning along to it.
At that point I noticed my boss/+ waiting to talk to me.
So, back to the catered morning tea. Ware it I say. In the public service the quality of the food provided is in inverse proportion to the enjoyment of the business side of it that is to come.
An hour and twenty freaking minutes! Oh my gawd.
UPDATE: This post has now been declared Mikey moment worthy c/- MB
TheBoy had a shocker last night - mid early morning crying for an hour. So I was awake for that listening to his wailing. It peaks and ebbs like waves as he gradually cycles back into sleep. But I can't sleep while he isn't.
Disturbed sleep is one of the more fucked parts of baby wrangling. It leaves you utterly monged when you get up. You cruise through the work day like you're slightly drunk, your reactions delayed. Lucky I am a bus man. I'd hate to be driving all monged up from fucked sleep.
Well off to work to perform another day of data entry. Weeeee. Another day of feeling fucked about so many things. Another day of meh and blargh and feh and all those other less than even balanced saddy time crap fests ticking along in the upstairs department.
I feel like I am treading water.
Bus time. I have to count off all my items before I go to make sure I have everything. I sound like rain man. 'Got my mobile, yes got my mobile. Keys? Keys? Yes, zip disk, yes, MP3, yes, cokes - gotta have diet cokes - yeah diet cokes good.'
Monday, August 04, 2008
The treatment we meted out to refuges deeply ashamed me as an Australian. The fact they were used as a political football by hard right fucktards deeply angered me.
The whole sorry episode was a shameful mark on Australian history.
Lately, damn the torpedoes full speed ahead, I have been walking at need as a means to help address this. I can now walk about an hour and a half without wanting to collapse and die. Which is a good thing. But a lifetime of walking only when I had to as opposed to wanting to left my very flat feet smooth and unused AI robot style. So I have been enjoying the newly odd sensation of blisters gained from physical activity.
Naturally I've been popping them or ripping them off my foot.
Last night I noticed a ridge of skin had formed on the tip of my ring toe. I don't know what the fuck the ring toe is actually called. I am just extrapolating ring finger for toe. You know, second from the left on the left.
So I pulled the skin ridge off.
Blood started fountaining out of my toe. Big bright red pools of blood pooled on my floor. I limped for soaking paper and wrapped kitchen towel around it which soaked heavy flow style in seconds. A band-aid applied soaked thickly with blood likewise and had to be swapped out. I have never seen so much blood outside of a major puncture like wound on my body in my life.
Even now 24 hours later it still tingles with the ouchies.
Far out. Walking is dangerous!
Aw, no fair. I was so looking forward to the Snedger-themed sledging that would surely have come his way.
Traditionally people leaving a position get a farewell gift. Maybe they could have a whip around for one of these tasty little numbers?
Saturday, August 02, 2008
When I was a kid my favourite outfit was a miniature Nato uniform complete with epaulets. I back stopped it with a piece of painted black wood my Dad had jigsawed into a gun shape. I wore it and took my gun everywhere. I was quite the would be soldier.
Of course ill health and sheer cowardice put paid to that career option.
Next we have Mikey. He's sweet, funny, sick as hell, super smart and feeling poorly at the moment. Hopefully this may help a little. (I know a blog award isn't the most awesomest thing in the world, but it's the little things that count.)
You know what? It did make me feel better! Thanks dude.
Plus I loved being labeled 'Sick as Hell'. That's nape of the neck tatt worthy. If I didn't have a pathological fear of permanent scarring that is.
So, pick up the award and run with it guys if you want, but don't feel any pressure. If you do though, here are the rules (which are obviously made to be broken):
1. Put the logo on your blog.
2. Add a link to the person who awarded you.
3. Nominate at least seven other blogs.
4. Add links to those blogs on your blog.
5. Leave a message for your nominee on their blog.
Nuts. This is hard since I only tend to look at a select few blogs nowadays. But I will try! Presumably I nom people that have not already been nommed or received it.
(For links to the rest see the quick clicks)
Have at it lads!
Friday, August 01, 2008
Chinese officials have angrily denounced a manuever by Thai rivals in the female Table Tennis contest, describing it as a violation of the spirit of the sport, complaining the technique not only embarrassed their players but altered the aerodynamics of the ball in an unfair manner.
'You try returning a serve that not only has extra spin on it but is served in that way,' said Lee Ping, coach of the Chinese women's side. 'My players were most upset.'
The protest has been noted by Olympic referees but unfortunately there is nothing banning the manuever in the rules.
'As long as the bat strikes the ball, it does not matter how it is thrown into the air before the serve,' said a referee. 'And that includes from a vagina.'
'Thai vagina's are world famous for their dexterity and coordination,' said a Thai official. 'Ever see one pick up a coin? Holy crap, that blew my fucking mind.'
The Thai team celebrated their victory by enjoying vaginally opened champagne, and cigars smoked via their nether lips.
'Oh,' says I. 'I half expected I'd have to Heimlich a goob out of you and across the wall.'
Fortunately she has a sense of humour.