Wednesday, April 29, 2009


Well we faced off my parents in UNO again. Happy to report the 'let's have a quick game' lasted nearly three hours.

TheWife kept fucking me in the drive-thru right throughout the game.

Therefore she's made my list. And no, it's not just Nixon's list with his name crossed out and replaced with mine. It's my own personal list. And she's on top of it baby.

Who won? Mum did ... that's some nice work from theMum.


TheWife was on the phone this morning and theNoo was watching her. When she got off the phone theNoo cupped his ear with his hand and gibbered away, pausing now and then.

Finally he looked at us and said 'bye' into his hand and dropped it down.

How cute is that!?

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Classic driver training ... not

I was tooling along on foot on a vigorous constitutional when a driver's school car passed me. I could tell it was just an instructor since there was just the driver in it.

He was happily chatting away on a mobile phone.

Nice one fuckwit.

Monday, April 27, 2009

Oh noodles

TheNoo's word development is cruising along in leaps and bounds. Every day he adds new words to his vocab. Of course knowing what they mean and being able to say them is two separate things. Though he can now ident purple and orange, and he knows what number one looks like. He can also say yes and no for actual yes and no moments. By and large however words are learned through him repeating what we have just said to him.

The other day we attempted to get him to learn "clock".

He can repeat it if you say it ... only ... he drops the l.

Yeah ... that's pretty funny. Especially when he shouts it out many times in a row at great speed with tremendous enthusiasm.

He's also reached tanty point. The terrible twos have started a bit early. Grin and bear it, grin and bear it.

He's a cheeky monkey.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

Lips don't unpurse

The other day I overheard two older ladies talking. They seemed nice enough. Dignified, in that way that you get when you've lived a decent life.

'So,' said one to the other. 'When did you last get your chimney cleaned?'

I fought very, very hard not to laugh out loud.

Am I really that juvenile?

Friday, April 24, 2009

Fare thee well

Dave Arneson died according to my Time I was reading in the car. Along with Gygax he created D&D, a game loved by millions of the weak and flabby with a note from matron.

Dave you did good work. I hope wherever you are you're enjoying yourself. Assuming such a place exists to do that.

Let's hope it's not Blackmoor...


When I am stuck in a car all day I like to have something to read. Since I can't access a computer - because I am not one of those tech savvy types with their wanky I phones who can access the net whilst not in front of a PC (Duckus...) - I load up on newspapers to bulk out my novels. TheWife, bless her, does most of the driving allowing me to read (though cramped).

So having finished the SMH ... I was stuck for a paper.

I bought The Australian...

I used to buy the Weekend Oz in conjunction with the SMH but it made me too angry. Like watching Alan Jones on Nine in his five minute purple necked invective on Nine's morning show before he got boned (and not in the sexy way he'd prefer the dirty minx). So I arsed it.

But I was in the mood for a paper so I start reading The Australian ... and then started yelling at it. Yes, I yelled at a newspaper like a crazy cat lady or a soap box stander in Martin Place.

The Oz is so nakedly opinion driven, including all its straight news reporting, that it is almost like something out of Tass in the old USSR - only for righties instead of lefties. It's 'Labor bad, Liberal good' sheep from Animal Farm mantra is nakedly transparent even to the dumbest kid who took media studies as a safe course years 9 through 10.

Not only are they flogging the 'Labor is hurting us' line, they're even giving lots of attention to the global warming skeptic tome by that Plimer guy (the geologist...). Hooray! Finally someone to take on the green religious with hard science! I know, it's bizarro superman stuff isn't it? The way the right have confected the balance of scientific thought being 'green house gases harming climate' as being some sort of anti science religious dogma. They're trying to pretend like they're Galileo taking on the church or something.

So down from the story of Pilmer savaging the evil Greenies like the Paladin in the pic of a knight slaying the hordes of the Abyss in the 1st edition AD&D Player’s Handbook is a piece on Miss Universe – including a tasty (page 3 no less) pic of three of the "beauties" arrayed in their swimsuits – because as we know that’s the core measure of a woman is her ability to appear nearly nude in a pleasing manner.

They have a chat to the ladies about their thoughts on things. Which is good, because they should have their views explored. It’s as important as the bikini business.

One is a Miss Lai. She’s a Graphic Designer. Her thoughts?

‘I am worried about Mr Rudd’s stimulus package and the debt we will have to pay back.’

A fair point. And she has the economic credentials to back it up.

‘I have a mortgage.’

Thanks Ms Lai. And thanks TheOz who can’t even a manage a simple pervy story about hot chicks getting nearly nude without attempting to put the boot into the Rudd government.

Pathetic, the lot of you.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Advice to cinema goers

Never ever ... ever ... reach around under the seat.

That is all.

The boat that rocked

It did indeed rawk. Kudos Mr Curtis, kudos.

My fat evil causes more evil

According to the SMH, in addition to being unsightly and making skinnynista newspaper columnists bemoan my seat creep if they squish in next to me on a plane, I am killing the earth.

See here.

The whole greenhouse debate reminds me of what it was like to grow up during the 80's and live with the fear of nuclear war. Oh, it wasn't that great a fear I admit. In the 80's there were no real Cuban Missile crisis moments to contend with - and Gorby turned up with his cheery head stain early in the piece to pull the plug on the empire of evil as we knew it (though the last fanny fart of the coup at the end was a tad scary).

But she sheer magnitude of how fucked up everything could be was enough to make many of us dismiss this spectre completely from our minds. Because all you did was distress yourself thinking about it. It didn't help cracking open a lovely comic and having this thrust full force into your face like stripper boobies at a private show.

So now when I am reading the paper or consuming media if there's another 'the world is fucked up; slowly dying unless we do something NOW' story I tend to switch off mentally. Don't get me wrong, I assume the broad strokes of 'we be fucked' is accurate. I just don't want to hear it. Call it Ostritch syndrome* sure but if I take this all in it makes me scared. And I have to much crud riven through my bod to deal with the slow death of the only world we have.

How fucking selfish is that?!

It's because I'm fat you see. Anyone got a hamburger? I haven't eaten in five minutes.

Thank-yew very much.

*Did you know Ostrichs don't actually stick their heads in the ground? They lie flat with their neck along the ground to lower their profile with their butt impersonating a bush. It's one of those delightful pop culture myths we all embrace because the truth isn't as sexy - like seven million eskimo words for snow and the freezing of Uncle Walt's head.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Self fellatior drops soaps in shower; fellates self

Grimy apartment, somewhere; It was reported today that during a relatively routine feel around for a dropped soap, self fellatior, Arnold '22 Ribs' Funzio, accidentally slipped onto his penis and fellated himself.

'The soap had slithered into the corner and, just as I was grasping it, it shot back towards me,' said '22 Ribs'. 'Instinctively I bent inwards to grab it and at that point my mouth encountered my penis.'

Arnold then proceeded to fellate himself, since he was already there and the hard yards in achieving the difficult position had already been accomplished.

'Actually being in the shower proved beneficial since it meant I could readily gargle almost instantly upon completion,' said Arnold, admitting that he didn't like the taste of his own juices.

'I'm not gay,' he insisted. 'I just sucked the dick of a man that is. Which is me.'

At that point logic intervened and he exploded in a shower of body parts and half digested s3men.

And welcome to S

A big welcome to S who was done gone and birthed in the last 24 hours. Sounds like a harrowing trip down the birth canal.

But ... apart from a tricky start you've a great mum, great dad, and sisters that can't be beat.

Welcome aboard young bean!

Caught in the tearing up zone

The other day someone got farewelled. I didn't know them that well - but she'd been in the area for a while.

I was standing next to her when she gave her speech. She started crying.

I never know what to do in these situations. So I kind of inspected the carpet whilst keeping my hands clasped solemnly in front. It sucks because the first instinct is to sidle out of shot but with all eyes on your area as the sobber is sobbing it's kind of obvious.

Frankly they should come with a warning so an exclusion zone can be established around them.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

How does the interweb know I am fat?!

I've noticed that sidebar ad graphics are trending towards weight loss ones. Like that weird Frenchman in his before and after shot where his after looks like they scooped his guts out then a sculptor came in and (badly) reshaped his body into muscle.

Is it random? Or is it some sort of Minority Report thing where they keyword searched my box and discovered tens and thousands of flagellate fatty words about being overweight and tailor ads just for me?

I'm starting to get a bit tinfoil hat about the interweb...

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Do you think someone is watching you through your webcam?

I do. If it's not being used I drop it behind the monitor. I think it's creepy.

Am I paranoid?

Easter memories...

When we were kids my parents gave us Easter egg trains. You know the ones - they come in a cardboard holder with cartoon carriages on the side. My brothers would eat theirs on the day - and I'd savour mine. I'd bring out the train out over the next few days, make seductive choo choo noises, then carefully nibble down a single egg in front of them.

I think they got revenge one year when they found it and ate the contents, leaving a dessicated hollow train littered in egg foil.

Then my parents, conscious of the whole fatty mcfat thing, tried a weird round of mini Xmas like presents instead of eggs. So cheapie toy things. One year ... uber realistic Uzi machine pistol water guns.

What sort of message is that sending on Easter Sunday?! Jesus is back and he's packing heat?


Have you noticed that the vacuum and Tupperware + Chinese food containers all share the same characteristic of attempting to escape from their storage receptacle when you're trying to close the fucking door?!


Oh - here's a tip to you lads with a sketchy washing machine. If your washer works intermittently don't put in the washing liquid until after the water starts pouring in. Because otherwise it's a right fucking mess.

Harrangueman - clearly not gay given his appalling domestic skills*

*It is a gross generalisation to suggest that gay men are all neat. I bet there's at least one whose a slob.

Nerd confessions

It's a bit like Taxi Driver confessions ... well ... not at all in reality I suppose.

Growing up in the 80s, as a boy in NSW, you had to have a team you supported in the NRL. My brother chose Manly I think then switched to Parra. He even bought two toned blue and yellow bread to nosh on at final time if Parra made it to the finals.

Me? St George. Why?

Because I played D&D.

Yes, that's right, I loved D&D so much that I chose a football team to support based solely on the fact it had a fucking dragon associated with it.


That is all.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Psycho right wing nut bags

Fox in the states has continued to embrace its core viewing demographic of angry whitey. In fact they're even heavily promoting the so called 'tea parties' where a bunch of disaffected capitalists plus yokels that don't have a hint of economic familiarity are ripping up tea bags and dashing the contents to the ground.

True story.

See Media Matters report here.

Shady's back


Me - 'What's the deal with Dracula? His unwanted penetration is dental in nature.'


Me - following the opening and natural spilling of fruit juices from a small tub of fruit - 'I'm all sticky and warm!'

I'm back baby.

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

I've become everything I despise

In the classic Sci-Fi game Traveller, they had a career path in one of their supplements called "Bureaucrat". It was more designed to help colour non player characters - to explain away skill sets held by all sorts of officialdom the PCs could encounter during a game. One of the adventures in one of the Traveller basic rulebooks was trying to get a permit to get offworld - with several matrices of clerk types you needed to talk to in order to get that magic get out of planet free ticket. Bureaucrats in the sci fi universe are essentially cock blockers.

I am a bureaucrat. In that I work for a government department. But being a bureaucrat is also a state of mind. Officious, rule bound, hidebound, inflexible and so forth. I like to think I am not like that.

Recently I cancelled a service. Unfortunately the company billed us and the bill went to a different section of my org. They paid it by mistake. Luckily this was found out and they got the money back.

They paid with a credit card. In order to use a credit card you have to have authorisation. Because they paid it by mistake their authorisation shouldn't have been used. It should have been my section that authorised it - even though we wouldn't have since we knew the service had been cancelled. Though we're talking less than a hundred bucks, and the money was recovered, they still wanted to get the authorisation anyway for file. Two forms in total.

So I printed the forms and wrote a cover brief for my boss explaining the situation and the need to sign the paperwork.

When I went to his office to get them back he held the forms up.

'This,' he said. 'Is bullshit. I am not authorising this. No money's been spent.'

'Yes,' I lamely explained. 'But it was spent. So they need to justify the spending ... even though the spending was a mistake and cancelled ... and not authorised by us ... and ... um ... we need to authorise it.'

He shook his head. 'This is bureaucracy gone mad.'

He was right. I should have knocked the request for form filling on its head. In the end I wrote a brief email outlining the history of the error and sent it to the head finance guy (in a different area) asking him to confirm that was all that was needed for file. He agreed (verbally) to do so.

All up I estimate about three hours salary of around my level to sort this out. My guess is the total cost in wages was roughly triple what the original invoice was for.

And I've just wasted your time in your reading this sorry tale.

As I headed to the boss's office, complaining about this form required crap, I mentioned that all this minutia would be adios in a post apocalypse landscape.

But ... considering my lack of practical skills, my reduced movement, and my sweet puffy man flesh I'd essentially just be meat on the hoof in almost any PA scenario.

So bring on the minutia I say...

Do near misses come in threes?

Sorry I haven't blogged for a while. Been feeling a tad out of sorts. When I get home, after all that is needed to be done is done, all I feel like doing is sleeping or sitting still and not doing much.

Anyway - to the topic at hand.

Near hit one. I was getting the bath ready for noodles. I was pulling the little red chair out (it has metal legs with rubber foot stops) ready for my ample arse. I didn't lock the door behind me and I didn't hear theNoo sidle in. The leg + foot of the chair caught him right in the head. I missed his eyeball by like a millimeter. He staggered then collapsed on the tiles and cried lots. I could have blinded him in the eye.

Near hit two. I was getting into bed when I slipped and fell forward. I managed to roll to my side as I hit the ground. I just ... just missed putting my head through the window.

Near hit three. I was merging with traffic and not thinking. I just managed to squeeze the brakes in time when I realised where I was merging was not a merge at all but an intersection where the other car- a taxi - I was about to merge in front of had right of way. Missed it by centimeters.

So there you go, three near hits. If I was still a churchie I'd have to admit I'd be suspecting the big man had his eye out for me.

Friday, April 03, 2009

Channel 10 news is a piece of shit

They led the news with a massive over the top beat up over Rudd getting snarky about an inflight meal ... back in January. Including vox pops with a Butcher over "red meat good" and a reporter at the front of an airbase. Not to mention leading with a 'The Prime Minister has denied he needs anger management training' just because some fuckwit journo asked that at a press conference and the PM quite rightly said 'hey, I made a mistake. It happens.'

What the fuck?! This is news?! You fuckwits.

Oh - memo to Abbott who today complained Rudd was toxic and a meany and a rude person because he got the shits. You're on record being caught abusing Nicola Roxon during the 2007 election, swearing and bullying. Remember that?! What a fucking hypocrite.

The old gutters

Well I'm gut flared. Been bad for the last few weeks but last night was a capital S for shocker. Out of pain pills too - so a walk to the chemist is warranted.

I haven't been bad - too bad - with the intake. No Mikey Pies(tm) for example for over a week now. Though I had a lot of meat yesterday (Veal Parmigiana followed by a heavenly Shepherd's pie). That might not have helped.

For the most part if feels like one good push would clear it out. So I sit on my Jesus Bar installed toilet, gripping the fuck out of the handle with knuckles of white, screaming at my abdomen to do something about it as I strain.

Apparently most heart attacks happen early in the morning and many are the result of a recalcitrant shit. I can fully understand that. Imagine waking at 3 am and trying to lay a stubborn cable. It would get my heart rate up.

So here I am. It's like Waiting for Godot ... if Godot was a poo that is.

My favourite Godot joke is from something called Six Second Classics - where a play is re-written to be just a fraction long.

The micro Godot version is simply 'Sorry I'm late.'

Literary gold.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

That sucks

Andy Hallett died. I loved his work.

RIP man.

Inspector Gadget and the case of the faulty whitegoods

I hate clothes shopping. pre-fat pre-pubescence and post post-fat post-pubescence. Always have, always will. So if I go shopping for pants or shirts for example and I find one I can stomach (and can stomach my stomach) I'll often buy two or three of an identical item.

I have three pinstriped black shirt numbers in my wardrobe. It looks a little like Inspector Gadget's wardrobe in that there's a lot of sameness on the go in there.

Today I wore one of the PS efforts. All day I kept thinking 'I could swear this had a breast pocket' - because I was stuck in a gawd awful five hour briefing style meeting and in the end had to thread the cord to my MP3 under my shirt to where the player nestled in my pants pocket.

It was only until I got home I discovered that for the entire day I'd worn the shirt inside out.

Another home discovery was the delightful finding that the clothes I'd thrown in the dryer late last night had suffered a surge effect and popped the door open midway through the cycle. Which meant moldy smelling damp clothes that I had to rewash.

Fucking white goods!

What a Mendozza of a day.

Oh - to top it off - the briefing compare coda'ed his speech with a 'on a final note' - to which I got that bubble of delish 'oh thank gawd it's over' excitement and then he proceeded to have a five minute stream of consciousness reflection on his time in the organisation.

You can't be saying 'on a final note' then inflict an entire fucking movement on an audience. It's just not cricket.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

Well you can start it by sitting on my ...


I don’t know how to start this letter. So... My name is Olga. I want to have a pen-friend very much and may be in due course it might to turn out in something more than friendship. I live in central part of Russia and I want to find out my beloved in other country. I am not interested in relationships with Russian men so I meet only pain in these relationships. I have a friend who works in the dating agency and she helps me in a search of the man. When I have seen your profile, I liked you very much and I decided that I will write to you necessarily.

I put my photo to this email that you could see me. If you are interested in communication with me, I hope you will find out some time to write me something. I will answer you necessarily and tell you a little bit more about me.

Please reply only to my personal email:

I will be very happy if you would answer to me.

This is not my locker

The other day I walked into the break out area at my work - where the fridges and microwaves dwell - and proceeded to slot my fridge stuff in the fridge. As I opened the door of the cupboard where the fridge is located I noticed that the fridge door was no longer secured to the cupboard door - meaning I had to open each separately. Also, the sandwich press now had a handy sign reminding people not to leave it on when not in use. And where the fuck where the social club drinks?!

It was a mini-twilight zone moment ... until ... I realised I was on the wrong fucking floor. Yes, I'd managed to leave the lift and walk twenty odd metres through unfamiliar surrounds and open a fridge before working out that I'd missed my work by an entire floor.

I hate mornings.