Thursday, January 28, 2010

Apparently he was shived in the shower with a protractor

Back in the states, an appeals court has ruled that the 1st amendment does not cover the right to play D&D in the big house.

See the story here.

According to the NY Times "Prison officials said they had banned the game at the recommendation of the prison’s specialist on gangs, who said it could lead to gang behavior and fantasies about escape."

The prison's specialist. On gangs.

Does this specialist have his head inside an Umber Hulk? On what fucking planet is he on that he thinks that tossing D20s across the canteen table is going to encourage gang activity?!

In the fantasies about escape sense that's probably correct. But then, as the article goes on to point out, so can reading the Count of Monte Cristo or indeed any literature, or watching any movie, that features the archetype story element of escape.

People have hung shit on D&D and gamers for years. That pen and paper gamers were weird nerdy dudes with limited social skills and an inability to park it in the hymen. Okay, sure, as far as the ladies are concerned, maybe the gaming thing is a minus. But does it lead to criminality? No it does not.

In the 80's there was a rash of gamer fear, that this new sensation sweeping the nation was going to make intelligent teens satanists or commit suicide. Some woman, whose poor child killed themselves, even started up a Lobby group called Bothered About Dungeon's and Dragons (or BADD, gettit?!), got herself a PI's license, and started a new career talking to law enforcement about this insidious evil that somehow made teens better at maths and take an interest in history. Her methodology and evidence was later destroyed by a careful analysis of her mumbo jumbo jiggery pokery.

From what I have read pen and paper gamers, broadly in relation to general population are more intelligent, better educated, have better jobs and, most importantly for the fucking Helen Lovejoys out there such as at Wisconsin Dept of Corrections, have less tendency to off themselves.

I was outraged enough to ping a missive to said Jailhouse un-rockers about my distaste for their ill-informed decision. Naturally, it got bounced.

I suspect I am not the only nerdy pen and paper gamer to feel this way and attempt to email WDC to say so.

The sentence, the deprivation of liberty, is the punishment. Don't take the man's books and dice as well. Besides, he's in for life. Where's he going to go to? Playing D&D makes him happier, likely a better prisoner, and doesn't hurt anyone.

Oh well, I suppose one person is hurt by all this ... the reputation of Wisconsin's gang expert, who is being torn a professional new one by e-land as I type.

Wisconsin Dept of Corrections ... D&D got its start in your fine state and likely injected tens of millions of dollars into your economy. The makers of Napoleon Dynamite got an official Idaho statehouse thanks for their role in promoting their state. Where's D&D's recognition? Wisconsin should have a giant D20 with an animatronic Gygax popping out of the 20 pip, Rowan and Martin's Laugh in style.

You bet your sweet bippy.

UPDATE: I tweaked this post a bit for typos and changed the title. It won't affect the URL.

Derelicte becomes reality

Zoolander is one of my all time favourite movies. Great lines, excellent comedic acting, hilarious actors etc. Awesome stuff.

One of the plot points was "Derelicte", a fashion show that lures Derek Zoolander back to the runway. Derelicte was basically ... homeless wear.

I'm not sure if this design team were aware of Derelicte ... but I am sure they are now.

Wow. Life follows art, again.

Bogan day

We went to the beach for OzDay. Mainly 'cos we have a leased car that needs kays added to it to avoid a tax issue ... which I admit is hardly earth friendly.

It took us 1/3 of a day to get there, we had lunch in the park - didn't even go to the sand let alone the water - then headed home.

The town we were at had a community market, with singers doing Oz style songs. And there were a fair few people tooling around in Ozzer clobber.

As we left, a bunch of pissy ozzer clobber clad teens had a homemade 'Honk if you love Australia!' sign near the carpark exit, while they danced around with some on the top of a beat up micro-panel van like they were go-go dancers at a 60's car show.

I hated it. I also hated the Aussie pride flags someone had stuck on their car.

And I think I worked out why.

As you recall back in 2005, there was a riot at Cronulla when local surfies, apparently annoyed at the attitude of Middle Eastern in background Aussies that cruised the local area, got upset and held a rally. It got massively out of hand and we had ethnic on ethnic (I'm apportioning Aussie surfers their own ethnicity here) violence such as episodes like a mob of Ozzers rampaging down a train carriage to beat up some brown skinned people - and in the days afterwards - car dwelling middle eastern in background Australians armed with assorted melee equipment attempting some vandalism and isolated beating up of whitey in response.

It was all extremely ugly and a nasty stain on Australia.

So, why then five years on did scenes of people draping themselves in the Australian flag, wearing Aussie pride flags on their car, and pleading for honks shit me?

Because ... they were bogans.

I know this is elitist. I know I have the benefit of a background steeped in learning and support that was denied them. I know for many of them they face a life of semi-skilled work and financial insecurity. And disliking their overt patriotism is indeed patronising of me.

But the thing about bogans is ... they're ignorant. And they're elitist. Not elitist in an achievement sense but in a 'we're here' sense. Like Australia, their sun dappled beach town, is theirs and theirs alone. That we're not one of the greatest immigrant nations on the planet - even more so than the US.

There was not a single non-anglo to be seen - mind you it's a south coast NSW beach town so that's not that surprising. But at Cronulla, and last year, and now it was only the whiter than white bogan yobbo cockheads that draped themselves in the flag and growled pissy vox pops to camera crews about loving it or leaving it.

I love my country. Australia, despite its manifest failure on the environment and the treatment of Australians with an indigenous background or heritage, is a successful country because we have blended so well. We may have been a British colony in the settlement/dispossession sense, but we're are about as globalised a country as you can get in terms of differences in background. And by the third generation, those Australians of a non-British background inter-marry as much as anyone else. We succeed because our difference makes us like an alloy - strengths blended, rich in diversity and experience. And for some, like the dispossessed refuges post World War II and the Vietnamese following unification, we became a place of safety, a haven, where still with acknowledging their past, and in conjunction with others of their culture, they made Australia their own.

We advance hand in hand; brown clasping white clasping black, clasping yellow, and we succeed doing it.

Maybe it's because I am the child of immigrants, though British and as welcome as you can be apart from that hell year we spent in a country town where my Dad's subordinate actually encouraged his kids to beat us up? Maybe it's because I grew up in a town that had a number of international students in it from all corners of the globe, so it wasn't different to me to see an African sharing a seat with an Indonesian, or an Islamic worshiping family in their cultural attire out shopping?

But I despise fuckwits on "bogan day" running around dressed in flags, sporting temporary tatts, and slurring demands of those nearby that they love this country. Because their actions are not that of a modern Australian - they're the pig ignorant exclusionary kind of our less than enlightened past that fueled things like the White Australia policies that existed up until the early 70's.

Australia is an alloy. Not a base metal that's soft and useless on its own.

Anyway, for what's it's worth, I'm still glad I had a day off. Because it truly would be un-Australian not to enjoy a paid day away from work.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Noodles on the up and up

TheNoo is developing in leaps and bounds. He's getting a lot more agile, dangerously climbing things like rope nets at play-gyms and, today, when advised of a future nappy change got up on a chair, on the table, crawled along and assumed the lying down position for the bum check.

His language skills are also coming together. It's still mostly short word questions like 'Milk?!', or 'PlaySchool?!' or 'Bobdabuilder?!', but more and more he's delivering short sentences. For example if he gives me a story he's heard before, such as five minutes ago when he got me to read it, and I (being bored) attempt to read it in a stupid voice or make up a completely different version of Spot helps his mum where the little pup becomes a flinty eyed space marine packing a six foot death-ray, he will admonish me with 'speak poplee!'

Today, he was doing some chalk on the blackboard work. I asked him about colours of the chalk he was using. We got to one where it was a very light purple. Instead of guessing by shouting a random colour name in the hope it was right he asked, very clearly, 'what's this colour?'

Later, I'd been drilling through wiki, prompted to scope out Nixon's background and, after many click throughs, ended up at the wiki for the Army beef scandal, which I'd never heard of.

TheNoo was eating dinner at the time. So I asked him. 'Hey noodles, I never heard of this Army Beef Scandal, have you?!'

He threw his arms wide and shouted 'It ... was a scandal!'.

I swear to God. Bugger me, he cracks us so consistently up.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010


You know, there are some people in the Middle East, and other parts of the world, that are certain that current Western involvement in the region is either spadework, or covert actual, crusading for the third millennium.

It's not like the west doesn't have form. The crusades did happen and lots of unpleasant things were done to the populace of the region in the name of Jesus. Which is somewhat ironic given that Jesus from what I can gather was big on the whole peace thing.

At any rate, I don't think a neo-crusade is on the books, even if Bush II did moronically wrap the Iraq invasion up with a hint of God - as God apparently "told him to do it", and the spreading of democracy wasn't exactly actual democracy, more the GOP idea of democracy. Which, I know I've already laid some irony smack-down here, is ironic since Bush II didn't win by popular vote but rather a skeevie court-case where the justices were stacked in his favour.

I digress.

Propaganda is such that you can twist anything to suit your message - and keep hammering the same key points so as to make your target audience forget about complicating competing messages until eventually they're on your side. Maybe not in active support, but at least passively. Terrorism, after-all, is about moulding minds.

So you know what helps those who believe the US is on a neo-crusade? When fuckwit armaments companies stick coded biblical references on their hardware, in the case gunsights, that is sold to the US military, and used in the very theatre in question.

I know the company have said they've done this for 20 odd years, but 20 odd years ago the US had been involved pretty heavily in the middle east. Hell, they've been involved heavily since they nobbled the Iranian democratically elected government back in the mid 50s.

Not only do you have to wonder about the mentality of an organisation that puts bible-ese on armaments and sells them to a military that will use them in a theatre where religious tensions are extreme, you have to wonder even further about the actual selecting words from Jesus to put on an armament.

It's not like Jesus spend his time on earth tooling around the middle east, packing heat. He pretty much abhorred violence from what I can gather.

Seen the Washington Post story here.

As more than one person has pointed out, one of the gunsight references is to John 8:12.

"Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life."

Geddit?! The gunsight lets you smoke that mofo easier because Jesus lit him up for you.

Again, I say, unbelievable.

For more saucy son of God bang bang action, please see this earlier post

Saturday, January 23, 2010

Welcome back Morton T Fogg, your dreams were your ticket out

Today I had a pleasant e-blast from the past in the form of a gmail from the excellent blog poster Mr Morton T Fogg. Ancient Blogspotters from circa 2005-07 may recall MTF's presence on Aussie blogs as he searched for info on Oz prior to his doing time down under for uni-type purposes. He's back states-side and furthering his advance into academic territory.

It was nice to hear back from MTF, who was a delightful fellow who managed to three years ago get the top score on my Buzz(tm) PSP2 quiz game, and his fucking name of XURVIX is still topping the charts and contaminating it with his presence.

Anyway, I enjoyed his company while he was here for the few times we hung out, and on the day I helped move into a group house from college was the day my radiator in my shitheap peaked to the high temps and the radiator threatened to blow and he ended up dozing off his hangover in the back of my car while we waited for a licenced bandit in the form of a certain mobile mechanic to turn up and try and sell me on the idea of a $1500 set of repairs (we didn't, we waited it for to cool down and it stayed cool).

MTF also declared the Oz five cent piece to be useless, I think because vending machines didn't accept it, and I discovered during the move about nine dollars of said coin lying scattered across his balcony from his chucking it out the door in a fit of numismatic rage.

So MTF, welcome back, and best of luck with the whole advance of knowledge. I don't know if you played The Game of Life in the states, but getting your college + graduate degree usually meant your avatar (which looked like a skinny cock with a giant pink head) did better down the track than those that did not.

I'm sure it will be the same for you. Although I should note, in updated versions of the game those who started college would receive $40,000 in debt (in fact, it's now 100k). I hope that's not as bad in your case!

Mikey makes a funny

We recently had an end-of-weeks nibbles session. Typically, in a payweek, one afternoon is dedicated for 30 minutes of chatting around a snack laden table.

With most of us back from hols, then we reconvened. Trouble was only about six people showed up. We played guess-the-celeb fantale game, which naturally I excelled at on account of my frequent consumption of said product, and told funny stories.

The subject of shitty papers came up. Canberra is blessed by two free papers, one for the north, and one for the south. It's supported by ad copy, naturally since it's free, and the ads take up about 75% of the content. It's very much a case of spot the article. S mentioned he used to deliver them when he was 12. Delivered being a somewhat rubbery term as he dumped most of them down a storm drain.

We then started talking about The Land newspaper, which is an agricultural themed missive of interest to those on farms and whatnot. S enthused that some of the content, especially the ads, was hilarious.


'What like ads for Bull Sperm? The trouble is you can't talk too much about the specific qualities of the item in the ad [I was thinking viscosity, colour etc]; all you can talk about is animal it came from. Anything else would be ...'

I paused for dramatic effect.

'... unseemly.'

Yes, there you have it. An in-the-workplace sperm laced pun.

B, who is a delightfully older lady whose mannerisms and appearance is somewhat suggestive of Margaret Thatcher, then said above the pleasantly loud raucous laughter that followed, that the tone of the discussion had taken an adverse turn and she had to leave.

I got a half fist bump half high five from S for that.

I also mentioned the Ashmarkatsen, and my theory that the Olsen friend of Heath was missing for two days when he died as she was trapped under him and no one realised.

Way to recycle jokes from your blog, Mikey...

Friday, January 22, 2010

Colbert Smackdown

In reference to his advertised product, The Promised Landmine

'If you look back and see only one set of footprints on the beach ... It's because Jesus blew your legs off. Amen.'

From the Jan 19 episode of the Colbert Report.

Thursday, January 21, 2010

Bin Laden has already won! - according to Son

Osama bin Laden's son, Omar the Outsanding, believes the al-Qaeda leader has achieved his aim of humbling the United States but warns his death could unleash "very, very nasty" attacks by militants.

In a rambling interview with Rolling Stone magazine conducted in part in a Damascus magic club, Omar bin Laden said that US President Barack Obama was making a mistake by scaling up the troop presence in Afghanistan.

"It is like adding water to sand, as we say in the Arab world - it only makes the sand heavier," Rolling Stone quoted bin Laden as saying in the interview, the magician lying in a coffin full of sand that was quickly being turned to mud by water from a hose being sexily inserted into the sludge by his assistant (pictured left); the wizardly scion of a terrorist master planning on escaping the trap through a judicious display of dexterity and sleight of hand.

"If I was in his position, the first thing I would do is make a truce. Then for six months or one year, no fighting, no soldiers. Afghanistan can never be won. It has nothing to do with my father. It is the Afghan people."

Now escaped from the coffin, and wearing a new outfit consisting of pantaloons and a tight waist coast with no shirt underneath, Omar bin laden then proceeded to apparently cough a dove's egg into his hand, before shattering it on the table he labeled "Israel".

Omar bin Laden shot to his own form of notoriety in 2007 when he hired a British woman almost twice his age, whom he allegedly met while on a ride to the Giza pyramids in Egypt, to be his spangle costumed assistant in his various magic tricks.

The two have since been denied entry to Qatar, Egypt and Britain, while Spain rejected an asylum request and the grounds that his act was "shit".

'They are the ones who are shit!' said an angry Omar, tearing up. The magician consoled himself by dabbing at the corner of his eye with a handkerchief. When it was too sodden to absorb his manly tears, he pulled on the squelchy hanky only to reveal another, colourful hanky attached to that one, then another, then another, and another, and another, until at last it was revealed not less than fifteen hankies had been attached to the original unit assigned the task of wiping away his tears of frustration.

Omar bin Laden describes himself as one of 11 sons of Osama bin Laden and has in the past detailed a bizarre childhood spent in jihadist magic camps in Sudan and Afghanistan among battle-hardened fighters who tested tricks on puppies, among other things.

'The small dogs were immature and were easily mislead by the smallest sleight of hand,' admitted Omar, saying that the first trick he learned was to wave a stick at a puppy and shout 'go get it, go get it', then to fling the arm forward but while retaining the stick in hand.

'The eager puppy assumed the stick had been thrown!' said Omar, recalling the scene from his youth fondly. 'And he would charge out to look for it. At that point I would laugh and waggle the stick at him and the puppy would bound back for a repeat performance.'

Unfortunately this fun was curtailed when the magic camp ran out of puppies given its location being adjacent to a mine field and the dogs not always returning from their phantom stick chase.

He left his father in Afghanistan in 2001, several months before the September 11 attacks on the United States.

Rolling Stone said Omar bin Laden was making a living as a magician in the Saudi city of Jeddah, compared himself to magic star Criss Angel and dreamed of working for the United Nations and meeting Mr Obama and Secretary of State Hillary Clinton.

'I would pull pennies from their ears ... and they'd be like, how did that get there? In Mr Obama's case I may pull out a much large coin given his ears stick out so!'

He said his father was overjoyed when US voters elected George Bush in 2000, predicting that he was just the kind of president the United States needed - "one who will attack and spend money and break the country".

'Unfortunately the election of Mr Bush was not good for magic. The only magic that happened in his presidency was cost plus no bid contracts awarded to Halliburton and then Blackwater,' said Omar.

Despite the huge amount of money and effort spent hunting for bin Laden, believed by many intelligence analysts to be hiding in tribal areas on the border of Afghanistan and Pakistan, Omar bin Laden said the greatest trick he'd pulled off was helping his father escape Tora Bora.

'The Americans came into the magic club I'd set up in the lower east cave, looking for him. But I'd already secreted him in a large clay oil jar from my Aladdin's Mansion routine. I convinced them he was not in the jar by pouring hot oil into it, as per the legend itself when the thieves attempted to reclaim their wealth from Aladdin by infiltrating the merchant's house concealed in jars. Little did the Americans know that the jar had in fact two layers, with the oil poured not into the jar but between the layers, the oil draining into another jar beneath the stage and leaving my father warmed but unharmed.'

At that point Omar realised he'd given away the trick and cursed Rolling Stone for their cunning yankee questions.

SMH story here.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Back on the chain gang

I recently finished my leave and went back to work.

It bites. I don't mean that my workplace bites. Far from it. Lots of clever people doing good work to assist others. Nice building, nice colleagues - good access to amenities etc.

But on the whole I'd rather be in Philadelphia ... or more correctly, on holidays still.

Much of this angst is my own fault. I didn't recondition my sleeping patterns to fit the work cycle. As such my natural inclination to stay up until 3 is still there. So I am staying awake, whether I like it or not, until then, then dragging myself into the shower at 730 in order to try and wake the fuck up for work.

It's been horrid. Absolutely horrid. Sitting on my work chair utterly munged.

I went back on a Tuesday. I try and do this so as to have a short week and not punish my body with a five day work hit. That, and I would miss the incredibly detailed 'what happened at the meeting for the big wigs of the org' Monday effort, that can (and often does) go for an hour. It's stuff I need to know. It's just that I don't like meetings.

Wasn't that nice. They held the meeting over just for me :( ... and it went for an hour and fifteen minutes.

Anyway, a recent morning was a shocker. The worst morning thus far since work return happened. I was awake until 3 (not having been sleepy enough to sleep) when theNoo decided to scream the house down at 6am. So I got up and commenced the wrangle. With severe gut pain, and three hours sleep (if that) I told work I'd be in later and went back to bed. I woke mid morning, eventually dragged myself to the shower after enduring 15 minutes of twilight* consciousness between alarm and actually rising, and heavy with fatigue, dressed and headed for the door.

I had no time for breakfast, so I grabbed something from the fridge.

Blame fatigue. Blame a fugged brain. Blame perhaps a screaming lack of dairy, but the thing I grabbed was the last of the block of cheese, a lump the size of half a fist. I chucked it on the dusty passenger seat, and let it bounce around the stained cushion channels until I got to a reasonably straight bit of road that would afford me the opportunity to eat that bad boy like it was a fucking apple.

And I did - all of it. A lump so lumpy that I could see where my teeth met in the middle of it. I barely noticed the seat crud it had picked up.

I told a colleague what I did. Her e-response was simply 'Ewwwwwwwwwww'.

Also, when I was making the walk from the car to the office, I approached a semi-attractive sunnies clad woman heading the other way. I tend to look at my feet, or about 10' feet ahead of me, when I walk. I always have - darting my head up now and then like a groundhog scoping the sky for an eagle - before lowering again. I did this as I walked towards her.

Perhaps she though my upward gaze then downward return was a looking up and down pervy glance. I understand that. I look like the sort of person that would wear a British rain repelling garment then hang around in seedy bookshops. If I was a woman I'd consider me somewhat distasteful. I mean, why change the fucking habit of the rest of your gender?

So as I closed the gap she nudged her sunnies back up ... with her middle finger. Not the more dextrous and 99% of the time selected index. The stick it up you finger! The 'no chance' salute! The fuck you finger!

I couldn't help it. As we passed each other, I muttered, Jar Jar Binks style, 'How Rude!'

Semi-attractive people; you're not always being perved at. And besides, fuck you even if you are so viewed. Evolution meets culture has dictated who are the alphas and who are not. If you're a fucking alpha, people are going to look at you that way. By and large lookers will be polite about it - and not assume the 70's Builder crotch grab + how 'bout darlin' holler - but give you a brief glance over. And if they look, just be glad they did, even if they do look like their professional career consists of catering the eccentric whims of their insane scientist masters. Don't flip them off via a fairly unsubtle hardly covert glasses push back.

Jesus Christ, you people have tickets on yourself.

In my all time favourite movie, The Tall Guy, one of the characters - Mr Morrow, a blind man - declares that being blind has its advantages - as every woman he meets thereafter has "looked" like Mae West.

So if that Meteor Shower that sends everyone blind at the start of The Triffids thing happens, then so called Alpha types, then you will have to rely on your personality** like the rest of humanity.

Ha! Suck shit.

* Massive apologies to Twilight fans drawn here via your search engine + other keywords. Let me say however all thumbs up to the author for being the writer of the next Harry Potter, except - like Dan Brown novels - I regard the works with a scathing sneeringness and consider their violation of Vampire Lore - to whit Vampires now apparently sparkle in the fucking sun instead of becoming living torches and dusting away - as a greater crime than Highlander II.

** Not so great there as well. Fringe dweller in school, fringe dweller in life. Hey, someone has to be on the fringe. Otherwise we'd have no clear delineation. I want that noted higher-powers-that-may-or-may-not-exist that I took one for the team, and I want to come back as Fabio's superfluous nipple or something.

Damn you shop DVDs

Why is it whenever I get out a fcking DVD from the shops it's dirty?! And sometimes, for some reason, I forget to wipe it before I put it in and it gets all snarky with the stuttering and what not and has to be ejected and cleaned.

Tonight it happened again.

I ejected it, and it was indeed dirty. Cursing I was when I looked in the reflection to see the smears and I started cleaning it with a eye glasses cloth.

At that point jam that had fallen onto my shirt fell onto the dvd and I accidentally smeared spreadable fruit* across it.

'Aw man,' I whined. 'Now I got jam on it. Now it's even more dirty!'

I gave up and gave it to theWife to do it. She rescued the entire situation with her attention to detail.

Stupid shop DVDs with their smears. Fuck the lot of you.

Oh, and while I am at it given that everyone left Blogspot like a played out gold dig for Facebook, I'd like to quote Funny People - the excellent Apatow movie just released on DVD.

Fuck facebook in the face.


*Apparently, in Oz, you can only call something jam if it's like 30% or more sugar. Otherwise, it's spreadable fruit. It sounds like a dodgy 70's un-pc era same sex skin mag where the publishers didn't think too hard about the title.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Future selves

Now and then, I see a man that looks like an older version of me - portly, balding, bearded, with glasses. For a second, just for a second mind, I wonder if it's a future version of me come back in time to warn me about something or influence my future.

Fight or flight - okay, just flight - nearly kicks in and I want to run screaming in the other direction with my hands over my ears screeching "Universe Ender! Universe Ender!" in case they touch me and cause a temporal backlash that destroys all matter.

But, hey, I'm sure I'm not the only one that feels that way...

Bad texting

I know that to text and drive is to text and DIE, according to various billboard around the nation's capital. And I agree. Texting and driving is stupid. In fact, some studies suggest it is up to four times more dangerous than drink driving.

I found another one.

Texting and over-watch of a child in a playground. I was sending a short text then looked up. TheNoo had left the playground and was charging up the fenced off ramp to the shops. The busy carpark to the shopping centre is just to the right of the playground. So could very well have charged out onto the road instead.

Area man a bad dad.

Friday, January 15, 2010

What a skeevie fvckhole

People like Pat "Age Defying Pancakes" Robertson are a cancer on organised religion. They're tumors, growing malignantly in the body of worshipers, and produce nothing but pain and discord - and drive some people away from religion all together.

Pat Robertson, together with the now "recalled" Jerry Falwell, famously come out after disasters and infer that the victims brought it on themselves and that the disaster, man-made or natural, was as a result of their ungodly behaviour. It happened after September 11, and again after Hurricane Katrina. The populace of these places had turned from God and so God, dosing himself up with some Old Testament fury, commenced Operation Whip-Ass from above to layeth wasteth.


The earthquake that hit Haiti is terrible. Tens of thousands dead in a country which has suffered appalling governance and infrastructure for most of its existence - although of late strides had been made in both areas before the earth was rent.

So what did Uncle Pat say?

That the Haitians brought it on themselves for dealing with the Devil - which was Pat's understanding of how they managed to get free from the French when the slave population rebelled back in the 18th century (not at all to do with the very successful guerrilla war led by a black ex slave general). I'm sure it's also a reference to the fact that Voodoo is a practiced faith there.

Sure, Pat. Many people think your faith is made up hooey - but by and large they don't go all Fred Phelps about it and damn you for thinking wrong. On the other hand you claim not only is their faith wrong, but your kick-arse God just kicked their arse for doing so.

You know what, should Jesus come to earth and hold a big conference style meeting with his theological posse, I bet one of his first acts would be to punch Robertson in the junk for twisting Jesus' words and message so, so badly.

By the way, Pat Robertson once had financial dealings with the notorious African warlord Charles Taylor, in that Uncle Pat bankrolled conflict diamond dealings. What a nice clergyman.

Check out the link to Pat in full flight here. And here's a link to a piece about the White House giving him a much needed kick for his fucked in the head remarks.

PS I loved how Pat said the quake was a 'blessing in disguise' because the buildings that fell down (killing tens of thousands) were substandard and could now be rebuilt a bit better this time.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010


Big Chris, from Roary the Racing Car

Fred West, Serial Killer

Discord in Wiggles camp - Jeff wakes up and he's not happy

The Wiggles Studio, Wiggle-town productions; In a surprise development today, Yellow 2.0, aka "Sam", was attacked today by an enraged Jeff when Sam suggested he also add Jeff's low-grade narcolepcy to his act.

Apparently Sam pitched the idea of him also being sleepy to the other Wiggles, with Jeff nodding off in his chair at the meeting, when the Purple wiggle abruptly awoke, stood, grabbed his chair and charged at Sam.

'Stop stealing EVERYTHING,' shouted Jeff as he smashed the fortunately thin plastic chair across Sam's torso. 'You sing, you dance, you tell the jokes. Narcolepsy is MINE!'

The humorous inability of Jeff, the Purple Wiggle, to sleep normally was allegedly introduced by the group at the start of their act because the wiggle couldn't act as well as the others. This way Jeff could basically assume a 'ready' position to enter when his part came up, but did not have to do anything or say anything between those moments.

Since Yellow 2.0 has taken over from the medically invalided former Yellow wiggle, Wiggle-viewers have noticed that Sam has assumed a dominant position within the group.

'Frankly he's the stand out of the four,' said noted music critic and weird hat wearer Glenn A Baker. 'He's the best singer, best actor, and - despite the other Wiggles being former professional musicians - the best performer. It's only natural there's some tension with this replacement. In many ways, he's the group's Yoko Ono figure for his divisive introduction to the groups' dynamic.'

Jeff was reported to have asked the former yellow wiggle to return to the group, and said that they can work around the Yellow wiggle's medical disability that means he cannot stand for long periods without suffering acute dizziness.

'We'll cosh that Hawking fucker for his chair and you can hoon around in that,' said a tearful Purple according to sources. 'We can re-arrange the choreography around your chair. Imagine scooting a bit to the left or to the right, up and down and to your knees?! We can do it!'

Sources said Jeff then wept into Yellow 1.0's lap for a long time, with the former yellow wiggle awkwardly patting Purple's hair in a soothing manner.

Don't you hate it when ...

... you do a shit, but there's a last little nugget hanging like a uvula from your anal fur. And you have to kind of shake your arse back and forward, and you can feel it slapping against your scrot and perineum while you do, until the fucker drops off?

Me too. Sometimes I give up and pinch it off. Needless to say, there's a fair amount of paper being used for that. I don't care how many ply it is, if you're going the pinch off there's a chance of squeeze through...

The US media landscape steps through the looking glass

News in that Sarah Palin, aka the Barracuda, has signed up with FOX as a commentator and part-time tv-host. Makes sense, believe it or not this is actually Palin's tertiary trained career. After-all she spend six years getting her three year media degree while attending three different colleges. I believe the last time she employed it was as a gosh darned sports reporter in Anchorage in the late 80s.

See the SMH story here.

And what did Ms Palin have to say of her signing on?

"I am thrilled to be joining the great talent and management team at FOX News. It's wonderful to be part of a place that so values fair and balanced news.".


I know, it just boggles the mind at the sheer audacity of the big lie that FOX is anything but a conservative shill for, first the GOP, and now the formerly fringe dwelling nutbars that are taking over the asylum on the right wing of the US political spectrum.

Here's an interesting revisiting of the term "fair and balanced". When Al Franken, now a Democratic Senator for Minnesota, released his book Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them - a fair and balanced look at the right, FOX sued him. Why? They claimed the term "fair and balanced", was their trademark. Not truth, mind you. A trademark. Like an advertising catch-phrase along the lines of Tony the fucking Cereal Tiger claiming the contents of his box were 'G-r-r-r-r-e-a-t!'

The judge in the case said that FOX's arguments were "wholly without merit, both factually and legally.", and threw it out of court. This success by Franken indirectly led him on the path to actually put his time and effort where his mouth was and run for office ... and win.

FOX - take that into your back-face.

I am sure Palin will likely be a big success for FOX, given the embittered albino demographic that worships at their altar has photos of Palin up in their homes in a similar hallowed place that hard core Catholics have that of the Pope.

But then she's a very big bouffant-ed barracuda in a very, very shallow gene-pool, so the success is a given.

I wonder if she will do as she did as the governor and recruit friends to positions in her show - eg as the grip, associate produce etc, even if they have a tenuous link to required skill sets. After-all, she appointed an ex-schoolie to a position in the Agricultural department, the person's CV declaring one of the reasons they should get the job being a deep and abiding love of cows. I am sure that a 'love of TV' would certainly qualify them to run any and all studio tasks.

If I was a guest on the show, I'd wear a hard hat ... just in case a fellow Wasilla high alumni was operating the boom mike.

Sunday, January 10, 2010

Meow - take that into your backface

We went away over Xmas. In fact we were away for about three weeks. It was a long three weeks.

For our cats, given their shorter lifespan etc, it was probably longer.

Friends were going to house sit but in the end they had other plans and simply popped in every few days to feed and change their litter.

So ... the cats didn't get much stimulation.

When we got back we found out the penalty for their boredom. Which was to hose down theNoo's room with their piss. So much piss that we will have to likely take up the carpet.

In the end room there was another smell. A bad smell. I figured they'd pissed in there too.

Anyway, I was playing TOWER?! with theNoo, and we'd run out of bricks. I thought there might be some more in theNoo's white toy crate in the end room, and scoped it out.

There was a brick. And ... something else. The bad smell. Grr, I thought, that's where they pissed. I started taking out toys to see if I could see the stain and .... I found a stain alright. It was a stain under the thing that caused it.

It was a mouse. A very dead mouse - with guts hanging out - partially cooked from the heat - and its eyes eaten out by ants.

Yes, the coda of the fuck-you for leaving us from the cats.

Cats, I doff my hat to you.

Friday, January 08, 2010

Books I finished reading in 2009

This list is for my recollection later in life benefit (it existed as a side panel list for the 2009 blog). I think I became enamoured of lists of books I read because of short lived involvement in the MS Readathon - where one of the sought after prizes was a pair of ugg boots. I stopped participating (though school programs) when I got accused of cheating by opponents claiming I could not have read as many books as I did. Fuckers.

The list is in order from most recent to least recent in 2009

  • Seawitch by Alistair MacLean
  • Revolutionary Europe: 1783-1815 by George Rudé
  • The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins
  • Blind Faith by Ben Elton
  • Secret Police: the terrifying inside story of an international network by Thomas Plate and Andrea Darvi
  • Meltdown by Ben Elton
  • Unseen Academicals by Terry Pratchett
  • Hitler by Norman Stone
  • Rant by Chuck Palahniuk
  • Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
  • In the Beginning: The Story of the King James Bible and How It Changed a Nation, a Language, and a Culture by Alister McGrath
  • Dance of demons by Gary Gygax
  • Down to the crossroads: on the trail of the 2008 US election by Guy Rundle
  • Reader's Digest Almanac of the Uncanny, edited by Carol Natsis and Meryl Potter
  • Life behind bars - Conversations with Australian Male Inmates by Neer Korn
  • Culture of complaint: the fraying of America by Robert Hughes
  • Rumpole and the Reign of Terror by John Mortimer
  • Come Endless Darkness by Gary Gygax
  • Medieval Naval Warfare 1000 - 1500 by Susan Rose
  • ASSASSINATION Political Murder Through the Ages by Xavier Waterkeyn
  • Sarah by Kaylene Johnson
  • A Short History of the World by H.G. Wells
  • Knights of God by Richard Cooper
  • Making Money by Terry Pratchett
  • Quarterly Essay Issue 34 2009 - Stop at nothing the life and adventures of Malcolm Turnbull by Annabel Crabb
  • Dear Fatty by Dawn French
  • World War: Tilting the balance by Harry Turtledove
  • World War: In the balance by Harry Turtledove
  • Kidnapped by Robert Louis Stevenson
  • Dave Gorman's Googlewhack Adventure by Dave Gorman
  • Swords against Death by Fritz Leiber
  • We All Died at Breakaway Station by Richard C Meredith
  • The Space Mavericks by Michael Kring
  • V East Coast Crisis by A.C. And Weinstein, Howard Crispin
  • V by A.C. Crispin
  • Swords and Deviltry by Fritz Leiber
  • Coral Island by R.M. Ballantyne
  • Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe
  • Dreams from my Father by Barack Obama
  • Dear Me by Peter Ustinov
  • The Rise and Fall of Nazi Germany by T L Jarman
  • The Final Days, by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein

BYO with a Saucy Twist

We don't go out much. Basically, because we have a two year old. It's not that much fun to drag a little man out to a place of fine dining, and inflict the little man on them and them on the little man. Generally, we get take-out and eat in when he's gone to bed. If theWife's mum's in town however, we will take advantage of Nan, basically throw theNoo at her then run out the door leaving a slowly drifting apart smokey outline.

Tonight, however, being a special night with the vast bulk of family in town, we went out. A slight hiccup occurred however when the place we'd booked at didn't have a fucking ramp. Nice one mimo. Even though when we booked we said 'we need two seats for a scooter bound person', the fucktard on the other end didn't think to say 'oh, well, there's a giant step that needs to be overcome.'

So instead of the booked place we went down the street to a dining pub.

Which was a lot of fun.

Recently I've discovered the joy of Paul Newman's South West sauce. It's delicious. For those of you young enough to remember the El'Maco, the Mexican themed sour cream laced burger by McDonalds of the turn of the millennium, the South West sauce tastes like ... well ... an El'Maco.

Which were delish.

Having ordered a Chicken Parmy, and knowing they would not have the sauce I wanted - I asked for it if they had it; their response was to give soy sauce on the side ... well... it started with an S so valiant attempt - I decided to go get some.

Yes, I went for a walk to the local Coles, went down the sauces isle, and picked up a bottle of PN's SW delish.

Was it worth it? It so was. I had the bottle in my pocket - thanks to being a generously ampled type I can fit a lot in my pocket covert style, including up to 1.25 litre bottles - and surreptitiously sauced up my salad and Parmy when it arrived. Then, well, fuck it. We left the bottle on the table and more than one person used it.

J, my brother's ex-flatmate (a lovely older lady who was a gogo dancer in the 60s), had some and managed to shake more than was intended on her plate.

I don't mind saying I had a couple of shandies under my belt at this point and felt it needed a comment.

'It looks like you tickled his perineum when he wasn't expecting it, causing him to blow much harder there J. That's what you get for performing a surprise sex manuever.'

Totally gross. And I was sitting next to my dad when I said it. Fortunately it was a noisy place and he was distracted. I don't think he would have got it anyway to be honest.

So there you go, I smuggled in sauce I wanted and everything went Tickety-boo.

Once, at a work function, and tired - oh so tired - of fucking cafes having disgusting post-mix as the only softies available, I smuggled in a can of diet coke. I drank it covert style, using a napkin to screen my sips. Finally, with the can now empty, I hid it by balancing it on the aluminum frame of the window behind me.

Alas, snooty waiter saw it and said 'er ... what's that?!'

I responded, having been rumbled, honestly. 'It's mine. I brought it in. I don't like post-mix.'

He flounced off. When we got the bill, I'd been charged corkage for it. Yes, corkage. At, I think from memory, a grand total of $6.50.

What a pack of fuckers.

The localised ascent of a cheeky mini-man

Recently theNoo had another break-thru.

He learned to open doors.

His grip isn't super strong. To assist the handle process he grabbed a small red chair, took it over to a door, climbed onto the chair, then used the height afforded to gain a better grip on the handle. He then managed to open the door a crack, climbed down from the chair, moved it aside, then opened the door and wandered out.

Then, later, having mastered that, proceeded to ignore the need for a chair and open the door anyway.

Gone are the days when you could safely keep him in a room with you and risk a quick nap.

He can also get through screen doors if they don't have a lock.

Sigh. So that's A) cots he can climb out of and B) doors he can now open.

Today theWife led him down to the end room and asked theNoo to tell me what he'd done.

'He wee'ed on the carpet,' she said.

Without battling an eyelid, and armed with a cheeky grin, the usually gibberish only Noo then said 'I wee'ed on the carpet.'


The cunning is strong in this one...


Why isn't it pronounced with a long e? ie Yee-men?


Monday, January 04, 2010

Oh the inhumanity

It's early. About 655am.

I went to bed at 3 and took about an hour to get to sleep.

TheNoo decided he was up at 6.

So, as fate would have it, I'm up and wrangling.

Turns out one of the reasons he was kvetching was his nappy had reached its kill-bot limit. A giant turd meets completely swollen crystal absorbing innards.

I discovered the absorbing innards were crystalline when the fucking nappy split asunder and disgorged its contents on the ground as I changed theNoo. Not only that, the turd - which was a lovely log - did as logs do and rolled ... also onto the ground.

So there I was, no sleep and having to deal with an exploded nappy. I piled all the rubble in one hand but it kept falling off. In the end I had to dash for the bin and hope theNoo would stay safely on the table. Fortunately he did.

Fucking hell. I hate mornings like this. I loathe them. And, because we're away and theNoo has learned to escape his cot, we can't do as we do back in Canberra and let him sit in his cot entertaining himself until we're relatively human and can deal with it.

I hate this part of child rearing. I loathe it. Detest it. I read somewhere that in Japan, where one child is the norm through various cultural factors, that most dads don't want to repeat the process and have another child. At times like this, when fugged from crap sleep, dealing with an exploded nappy, and a energy filled theNoo careering around at sparrows, I can totally see why.

Oh dear god, the inhumanity indeed.

Sunday, January 03, 2010

A fruity mistake

I'm here at the kitchen table helping oversee theNoo as he consumes his tea. Thanks to my brother I am also half cut on two very strong G&Ts.

The lemon, reduced to 3/4 size due to sliver cutting for the G&Ts, is right next to my laptop.

I recently purchased an additional optical mouse to use with the laptop to play Call of Duty Modern.

So ... it's only natural that ... given I am half cut ... and I have purchased a mouse ... that I just then tried to use the 3/4 lemon as a mouse and spent a couple of seconds wondering why the cursor was not moving and why my palm was wet.

Damn you G&Ts!

Taking one for the team

As punters know, I am away from home and visiting family. As with any families, there's things you love and things that don't exactly press your buttons. My particular familial bugbear is food. To wit, the monitoring of my ingestion thereof by parental units - despite my more than adult years.

I'm in my late 30's for frick's sake.

Anyway, tonight I felt like having a Shredded Wheat biscuit or too, with some cheese. Only the biscuit packet had not been opened. Which meant should I decide to open it, my access to the backstage area of biscuit goodness would be readily obvious to all. Especially the PU's who have been casting a steely gaze on my mouth and presumably the hands that lead the food to the mouth region.

I sighed loudly to my beloved Sister in law about my desire and she, well aware of this food monitoring, offered to take one for the team.

'Just tell them I opened the packet,' she said, beaming.

What an awesome sister in law. Way to take one for the team.

Earlier that night theWife noticed that the remnants of the Gingerbread house in the middle of the table was now covered by an upturned bowl. She asked if that was protection Vs the mouse that haunts the house.


'Yep. And they [the parents] wanted to put a paper cone on me!'

You know, those cone thingies pets get around the neck to stop them gnawing on sutures.

Gold, baby. I got a finger tickle from theWife for that witty retort.

Friday, January 01, 2010

Everything is borrowed

Something to think about...

Happy New Year.