At the traffic lights, waiting for them to change, so I can cross to the bus stop at the other side of the road. An old lady, with a pink jacket and big sunglasses, and those long pearl necklaces old people seem to like so much stands near me, as part of a larger crowd at the lights, clutching a rather capacious old black handbag.
Old Lady (upon observing me press the pedestrian button): Did it work? Sometimes it doesn't work...(squinting at the bus stop over the road) the other day...
The bus pulls in at the bus stop, and people start getting on. We cannot, as the lights have not changed.
Old Lady: This happened the other day...now it'll leave...
The lights change and we begin crossing. Halfway across, the bus pulls away and drives off.
Old Lady: Oh SHIT!
And so I turned back around and went to the library and read a book for a bit, before going and catching the next bus. And lo and behold, when we got to the next stop along, who should be waiting but the expletive-loving old lady from before. She has purchased some food and a bunch of flowers at the shops, all of which she carries on with her.
Old Lady (to driver): I'm like a human packhorse, aren't I?
Bus Driver:....
Old Lady (whilst putting in her ticket the wrong way): I said, I'm like a human packhorse, hmmm?
Bus Driver:....
Old Lady (glaring at bus driver, clearly annoyed at his lack of recognition for her efforts): Ha ha ha?....(angrily) oh neverMIND!
The Old Lady then took all her stuff and sat down, fuming to herself for the rest of the trip.
26 March, 2009
17 March, 2009
Not for Profit
I was visibly distressed to see, upon my last checking of the shoutbox, the response to a series of people a-spruiking in the shoutbox - a not insignificant fallout with at least one of my readers:
Bennett
the hell!? Advertising cash advances!? YOU SOLD OUT MAN! YOU USED TO BE ALL ABOUT THE WRITING NOT THE MONEY!
I must assure you, readers, that I am not being financially compensated for the ads. They have simply been left by people passing through (including the ever elusive SexyChick). I would never dream of making money off this blog. It would be wrong for a few reasons:
I'm not doing anything here that I should be paid for. What I write is, by and large (with the possible exception of some posts such as my bagging of the Herald Sun, which I was somewhat pleased with) utter crap. The idea that I should be PAID to do this is crass and inappropriate, and I would feel guilty from profiting, as naturally this is a non profit blog which maintains high standards of writing and integrity...mostly.
But at the same time, I feel I should address the issues raised by the spruikers in the shoutbox. Firstly:
SexyChick - I don't think I've been completely honest with you, SexyChick, and you don't deserve to be treated like that. Confession time: I didn't invent this layout. You did compliment me, murmuring in those irresistibly sweet and dulcet tones of yours that my blog had "Nice Layout!" Once my blushing had subsided, I felt it was my duty to come clean with you. This is a very standard design set out by blogspot, and I haven't really changed it at all. I hope you'll understand, and perhaps we can still be friends. I just value our connection, and don't want it to be built on lies and deception. xxx ooo
Bernard - Oh Bernard...we've had some good times, haven't we? Which is why, again, I have to be frank with you. I don't intend to change my website address to "co.coocococ" or whatever it may be. I'm really sorry, but that's just the way I am, and I can't change that, because that just wouldn't be "me".
Leonard - I was humbly pleased to see that you'd "read a few of [my] other posts", perhaps scrolling through them, hopefully chuckling appreciatively at appropriate moments. Equally, I did investigate your blog, which contained some interesting insights into schools, college and scholarship applications.
Gibson - I did wonder whether you had read much of what I wrote, seeing as you, perhaps rather generously, labeled the contents of this blog "info". Though it is nice to be hailed as a pillar of truth. Your fortifying comments shall not be easily forgotten, Gibson. But no, I don't want to make money online, though I'm sure you have many excellent suggestions. Best of luck to you.
Tamara - Well, Tamara, you left me in almost more of a dizzy than SexyChick as you suggestively commented "Look forward to reading more from you in the future". What am I to infer from this? Are you toying with my affections, or truly committed to what you say? I must make clear, it would wound me more than I could say if it were the former. I must also confess, after having visited your site, (which appears to be highly informative, the site of a truly powerful, intelligent, experienced and worldly woman) you had me at "Payday Cash Advance Loans Faxless No Teletrack California: Reliable Cash Source ". I certainly hope this shall not be the last time you lighten my blog with your exuberant and vivacious presence. I wait with baited breath.
I hope this clears up any aspersions being previously cast upon the good characters of these people by Bennett, and I will finally assure you that I will never (1) use this blog as a source of any income.
(1) May be subject to change
Bennett
the hell!? Advertising cash advances!? YOU SOLD OUT MAN! YOU USED TO BE ALL ABOUT THE WRITING NOT THE MONEY!
I must assure you, readers, that I am not being financially compensated for the ads. They have simply been left by people passing through (including the ever elusive SexyChick). I would never dream of making money off this blog. It would be wrong for a few reasons:
I'm not doing anything here that I should be paid for. What I write is, by and large (with the possible exception of some posts such as my bagging of the Herald Sun, which I was somewhat pleased with) utter crap. The idea that I should be PAID to do this is crass and inappropriate, and I would feel guilty from profiting, as naturally this is a non profit blog which maintains high standards of writing and integrity...mostly.
But at the same time, I feel I should address the issues raised by the spruikers in the shoutbox. Firstly:
SexyChick - I don't think I've been completely honest with you, SexyChick, and you don't deserve to be treated like that. Confession time: I didn't invent this layout. You did compliment me, murmuring in those irresistibly sweet and dulcet tones of yours that my blog had "Nice Layout!" Once my blushing had subsided, I felt it was my duty to come clean with you. This is a very standard design set out by blogspot, and I haven't really changed it at all. I hope you'll understand, and perhaps we can still be friends. I just value our connection, and don't want it to be built on lies and deception. xxx ooo
Bernard - Oh Bernard...we've had some good times, haven't we? Which is why, again, I have to be frank with you. I don't intend to change my website address to "co.coocococ" or whatever it may be. I'm really sorry, but that's just the way I am, and I can't change that, because that just wouldn't be "me".
Leonard - I was humbly pleased to see that you'd "read a few of [my] other posts", perhaps scrolling through them, hopefully chuckling appreciatively at appropriate moments. Equally, I did investigate your blog, which contained some interesting insights into schools, college and scholarship applications.
Gibson - I did wonder whether you had read much of what I wrote, seeing as you, perhaps rather generously, labeled the contents of this blog "info". Though it is nice to be hailed as a pillar of truth. Your fortifying comments shall not be easily forgotten, Gibson. But no, I don't want to make money online, though I'm sure you have many excellent suggestions. Best of luck to you.
Tamara - Well, Tamara, you left me in almost more of a dizzy than SexyChick as you suggestively commented "Look forward to reading more from you in the future". What am I to infer from this? Are you toying with my affections, or truly committed to what you say? I must make clear, it would wound me more than I could say if it were the former. I must also confess, after having visited your site, (which appears to be highly informative, the site of a truly powerful, intelligent, experienced and worldly woman) you had me at "Payday Cash Advance Loans Faxless No Teletrack California: Reliable Cash Source ". I certainly hope this shall not be the last time you lighten my blog with your exuberant and vivacious presence. I wait with baited breath.
I hope this clears up any aspersions being previously cast upon the good characters of these people by Bennett, and I will finally assure you that I will never (1) use this blog as a source of any income.
(1) May be subject to change
09 March, 2009
Whoops-a-Fucking-Daisy
For those of you who didn't see it, Kevin Rudd made news this week. Yep, that's right, our PM was in the news. But more interesting was the reason for which he made news.
During an interview with Mike Munro, who must be appearing on Sydney television or something since I haven't seen him in ages, Kevin Rudd made the following statement about the economy:
"You either sit back as government and do nothing and just wait for the free market to fix it all up, or you step in and try and fill the breach for a temporary period," he said.
"That means temporary borrowings. People have to understand that because there's going to be the usual political shitstorm, sorry, political storm."
Whilst the image of a 'shitstorm' is rather evocative (I strongly suspect more than an umbrella would be required to keep that particularly moist form of weather at bay), Kevin Rudd immediately corrected himself and moved on.
But what is perhaps funniest is that the Liberals have accused him of meticulously 'scripting' the golden moment prior to the interview, in order to ingratiate himself with the workers, through his colloquial language (language analysis strikes once again).
And I agree with them for once, having already thought, before reading this story
http://www.smh.com.au/national/rudd-slipup-creates-a-shit-storm-20090309-8so6.html
that this would be the case. I can only wonder what other 'slip ups' we can come to expect in the future from Rudd:
"If I may speak frankly, Australia's economy could be fucked up the arse by an emu - oh dear, pardon my larrikinistic figure of speech - unless we take action..."
"I think that the general consensus coming out of the United Nations talks is that Mugabe is a real cun- sorry, just my working class roots showing there, ho ho ho ho"
or even..
"If we're fucking serious about making some motherfucking changes to the motherfucking environment before it's too screwed over to bloody well fix, we need to get off our fucking arses and start to do some goddamn work.......motherfucking bitches."
Kevin (afterwards to Julia Gillard): .......too many fucks?
Julia Gillard (nodding pensively): ......yeah, too many fucks.
And through all of this, I wonder whether the working class aren't thinking "goodness gracious, Mr Rudd, your penchant for obscene language is most indecorous, and most certainly does not garner you support from me."
During an interview with Mike Munro, who must be appearing on Sydney television or something since I haven't seen him in ages, Kevin Rudd made the following statement about the economy:
"You either sit back as government and do nothing and just wait for the free market to fix it all up, or you step in and try and fill the breach for a temporary period," he said.
"That means temporary borrowings. People have to understand that because there's going to be the usual political shitstorm, sorry, political storm."
Whilst the image of a 'shitstorm' is rather evocative (I strongly suspect more than an umbrella would be required to keep that particularly moist form of weather at bay), Kevin Rudd immediately corrected himself and moved on.
But what is perhaps funniest is that the Liberals have accused him of meticulously 'scripting' the golden moment prior to the interview, in order to ingratiate himself with the workers, through his colloquial language (language analysis strikes once again).
And I agree with them for once, having already thought, before reading this story
http://www.smh.com.au/national/rudd-slipup-creates-a-shit-storm-20090309-8so6.html
that this would be the case. I can only wonder what other 'slip ups' we can come to expect in the future from Rudd:
"If I may speak frankly, Australia's economy could be fucked up the arse by an emu - oh dear, pardon my larrikinistic figure of speech - unless we take action..."
"I think that the general consensus coming out of the United Nations talks is that Mugabe is a real cun- sorry, just my working class roots showing there, ho ho ho ho"
or even..
"If we're fucking serious about making some motherfucking changes to the motherfucking environment before it's too screwed over to bloody well fix, we need to get off our fucking arses and start to do some goddamn work.......motherfucking bitches."
Kevin (afterwards to Julia Gillard): .......too many fucks?
Julia Gillard (nodding pensively): ......yeah, too many fucks.
And through all of this, I wonder whether the working class aren't thinking "goodness gracious, Mr Rudd, your penchant for obscene language is most indecorous, and most certainly does not garner you support from me."
05 March, 2009
Not Sure if I Want to be White on This...
Perhaps you recall I found a "The kingdom of Men shall crumble in fire and water" type website a while ago, and I thought I'd really discovered something scary. I apologise. That was not scary. If that was hateful teachings kindergarten, this is the university Doctrate of racial hate speak.
The other day, I was innocently returning from athletics sports, a-wandering through the leafy glades of whatever that park is called near Jolimont station, when I chanced upon a lampost. Knowing full well that it probably landmarked the end of Narnia, I approached it, and after having had it pointed out to me by one of my Asian friends who would very much like to be noted in this record, I saw one of those little political stickers adorning the side. It read "WHITE PEOPLE AWAKE, SAVE THE WHITE RACE". And there was a website...
http://www.creativitymovement.net/
And so being the curious young lad I am, I wrote down the website. Once I got home, I went and sussed it out.
It.
Is.
Fucked.
is perhaps the way it can be put most mildly and politely.
More or less, this is a White supremacist "Church" (though it is not Christian based, or indeed based on any religion whatsoever). They also seem to hate Jews for some reason, which is odd since there are plenty of white Jews, and Judaism is obviously a religion, not a race. But hey, let's not be pedantic about these sorts of things.
So what do they stand for? Well, they call themselves Creators - as "White" people created everything good and natural and proper in the world (yes, they do capitalise every white - I won't, to save on black pixels). And apparently anyone wanting to follow this messed up sect - i.e., become a "Creator", must fulfil their set of requirements, which include:
What a Creator is Not
I. A CREATOR is not gullible, and does not easily accept any statement, belief, assertion or assumption that to him is lacking in proof and/or is unreasonable in the light of his own experiences. An odd requirement, given that they must first swallow the unsupported notion that the white race is inherently superior to all other races.
III. A CREATOR is not interested in the future or welfare of the mud races, and shuns race-mixing or any social intercourse whatsoever with the inferior mud races. Yep, that's right, everyone else falls under the "mud races" category. Not terribly inventive, but as you'll discover, originality isn't exactly their strong suit (neither are spades or clubs).
Ok, so once they've drawn in the kind of genuinely tragic and stupid people who would still be listening to them after the first sentence, they lay down some ground rules...
II. Be fruitful and multiply. Do your part to populate the world with your own kind. It is our sacred goal to populate the lands of this earth with White people exclusively.
III. Remember that the inferior mud races are our deadly enemies, and the most dangerous of all is the Jewish race. It is our immediate objective to relentlessly expand the White Race, and keep shrinking our enemies. (Though apparently they are willing to waive their war on Judaism as concerns the attractive Jew Natalie Portman, who is exempt from being classified as an enemy, due to attractiveness. Naturally.)
VII. Show preferential treatment in business dealings to members of your own race. Phase out all dealings with Jews as soon as possible. Do not employ niggers or other coloreds. Have social contacts only with members of your own racial family.
Yep, a lovely group of people, as you can see. They also had an "apology to the blacks" section, which contained some heartwarming messages of love and unity...
We apologize for some members of our race who worship the monstrosities your genes have created, such as Jacko the Wacko and Little Fruity Richard and Dennis Nutman Rodman and Don Electrified King and Daryl Coke-Head Strawberry and Whitney Whacked-Out-Screaming Houston and Cassius If-Only-I-Be-White-But-I'm-Really-Black Clay and Tiger Adamic-Hater Woods and Whoopi Thinks-She’s-White Goldberg and Oprah Interview-a-Nut New-Age-Goof Winfrey and Ru Triple-Freak Paul and Morgan Act-White-But-Hate-White Freeman and Sammy Convert-To-The-Christ-haters-Religion Davis and Colin Have-A-Black-Pet-In-The-White-House Powell, to name only a few.
Clearly someone in there has a love of all races, and acerbic wit to match. "Cassius If-Only-I-Be-White-But-I'm-Really-Black Clay" probably takes the cake for me, with Whoopi Thinks-She's-White Goldberg a close second.
So if you thought those people didn't exist in real life, there you are. Laugh or cry, your choice.
After browsing these sorts of websites I
a) feel nauseaus and tainted, and want to go and tell everyone how much they mean to me in an attempt to counteract the...dirty feeling. Not to worry, this should wear off in a few moments.
b) There is no point trying to argue with these people...as with rabid dogs, it would be kindest if Atticus got out his shotgun and put them out of their misery. They're not happy in their existence, their CONSTRUCTED REALITY if you will, because they think everyone's out to get them. They can't be reasoned out of it...so....
I promise I'll write something less depressing later.
The other day, I was innocently returning from athletics sports, a-wandering through the leafy glades of whatever that park is called near Jolimont station, when I chanced upon a lampost. Knowing full well that it probably landmarked the end of Narnia, I approached it, and after having had it pointed out to me by one of my Asian friends who would very much like to be noted in this record, I saw one of those little political stickers adorning the side. It read "WHITE PEOPLE AWAKE, SAVE THE WHITE RACE". And there was a website...
http://www.creativitymovement.net/
And so being the curious young lad I am, I wrote down the website. Once I got home, I went and sussed it out.
It.
Is.
Fucked.
is perhaps the way it can be put most mildly and politely.
More or less, this is a White supremacist "Church" (though it is not Christian based, or indeed based on any religion whatsoever). They also seem to hate Jews for some reason, which is odd since there are plenty of white Jews, and Judaism is obviously a religion, not a race. But hey, let's not be pedantic about these sorts of things.
So what do they stand for? Well, they call themselves Creators - as "White" people created everything good and natural and proper in the world (yes, they do capitalise every white - I won't, to save on black pixels). And apparently anyone wanting to follow this messed up sect - i.e., become a "Creator", must fulfil their set of requirements, which include:
What a Creator is Not
I. A CREATOR is not gullible, and does not easily accept any statement, belief, assertion or assumption that to him is lacking in proof and/or is unreasonable in the light of his own experiences. An odd requirement, given that they must first swallow the unsupported notion that the white race is inherently superior to all other races.
III. A CREATOR is not interested in the future or welfare of the mud races, and shuns race-mixing or any social intercourse whatsoever with the inferior mud races. Yep, that's right, everyone else falls under the "mud races" category. Not terribly inventive, but as you'll discover, originality isn't exactly their strong suit (neither are spades or clubs).
Ok, so once they've drawn in the kind of genuinely tragic and stupid people who would still be listening to them after the first sentence, they lay down some ground rules...
II. Be fruitful and multiply. Do your part to populate the world with your own kind. It is our sacred goal to populate the lands of this earth with White people exclusively.
III. Remember that the inferior mud races are our deadly enemies, and the most dangerous of all is the Jewish race. It is our immediate objective to relentlessly expand the White Race, and keep shrinking our enemies. (Though apparently they are willing to waive their war on Judaism as concerns the attractive Jew Natalie Portman, who is exempt from being classified as an enemy, due to attractiveness. Naturally.)
VII. Show preferential treatment in business dealings to members of your own race. Phase out all dealings with Jews as soon as possible. Do not employ niggers or other coloreds. Have social contacts only with members of your own racial family.
Yep, a lovely group of people, as you can see. They also had an "apology to the blacks" section, which contained some heartwarming messages of love and unity...
We apologize for some members of our race who worship the monstrosities your genes have created, such as Jacko the Wacko and Little Fruity Richard and Dennis Nutman Rodman and Don Electrified King and Daryl Coke-Head Strawberry and Whitney Whacked-Out-Screaming Houston and Cassius If-Only-I-Be-White-But-I'm-Really-Black Clay and Tiger Adamic-Hater Woods and Whoopi Thinks-She’s-White Goldberg and Oprah Interview-a-Nut New-Age-Goof Winfrey and Ru Triple-Freak Paul and Morgan Act-White-But-Hate-White Freeman and Sammy Convert-To-The-Christ-haters-Religion Davis and Colin Have-A-Black-Pet-In-The-White-House Powell, to name only a few.
Clearly someone in there has a love of all races, and acerbic wit to match. "Cassius If-Only-I-Be-White-But-I'm-Really-Black Clay" probably takes the cake for me, with Whoopi Thinks-She's-White Goldberg a close second.
So if you thought those people didn't exist in real life, there you are. Laugh or cry, your choice.
After browsing these sorts of websites I
a) feel nauseaus and tainted, and want to go and tell everyone how much they mean to me in an attempt to counteract the...dirty feeling. Not to worry, this should wear off in a few moments.
b) There is no point trying to argue with these people...as with rabid dogs, it would be kindest if Atticus got out his shotgun and put them out of their misery. They're not happy in their existence, their CONSTRUCTED REALITY if you will, because they think everyone's out to get them. They can't be reasoned out of it...so....
I promise I'll write something less depressing later.
03 March, 2009
Four Letter Short Stories
Someone bet me I couldn't write a story using no words shorter than four letters. Being the proud and competitive person I am, I of course wanted to prove them wrong. I suppose I haven't really....writing is terrible without conjunctions and shorter verbs - so far I have used 18 words with three letters or less.
So there you go...
“That’s impossible!” exclaimed Lucy upon hearing that Timothy, Lucy’s massive bestial bison living upon several green cushions within Lucy’s house (challenged during some boastful banter between several ponies) planned writing short stories using only words with four letters, some words with more.
“That’s possible,” explained Timothy, smiling, “Though given, several incredibly awkward clauses, many clumsy sentences, shall likely result.”
“How's that different from usual?” giggled Lucy rather unkindly.
Timothy burst into torrential tears. They coursed down bison-like cheeks, making Lucy feel guilty. Lucy often felt guilty. Should Lucy have been forced into choosing emotions most often experienced, guilt would definitely rank highly. Lucy felt guilty when newspapers showed people dying. Lucy also felt very guilty when Timothy’s sister died – partly because Lucy killed Timothy’s sister during violent bloodlustings (this mustn’t completely bias your impressions drawn from Lucy, though – mainly, Lucy enjoyed being peaceful).
“Four letter worded stories would make dull reading, given that authors wouldn’t focus upon plot, rather upon wording,” conceded Timothy. “Doesn’t mean they’re impossible.”
“What would four letter worded short stories describe?” asked Lucy, mildly curious.
“Anything, really....maybe they could portray someone writing four letter worded short stories, however seemingly impossibly post-modernistically wankerish that would seem,” said Timothy, unwittingly fulfilling this notion.
“Fuck...this gets quite tiresome after comparatively short time,” yawned Lucy, bored.
“Yeah...ceebs,” joked Timothy, snorting great bison chortles, whilst never thinking about writing four letter worded short stories ever again. Ever. Again.
So there you go...
“That’s impossible!” exclaimed Lucy upon hearing that Timothy, Lucy’s massive bestial bison living upon several green cushions within Lucy’s house (challenged during some boastful banter between several ponies) planned writing short stories using only words with four letters, some words with more.
“That’s possible,” explained Timothy, smiling, “Though given, several incredibly awkward clauses, many clumsy sentences, shall likely result.”
“How's that different from usual?” giggled Lucy rather unkindly.
Timothy burst into torrential tears. They coursed down bison-like cheeks, making Lucy feel guilty. Lucy often felt guilty. Should Lucy have been forced into choosing emotions most often experienced, guilt would definitely rank highly. Lucy felt guilty when newspapers showed people dying. Lucy also felt very guilty when Timothy’s sister died – partly because Lucy killed Timothy’s sister during violent bloodlustings (this mustn’t completely bias your impressions drawn from Lucy, though – mainly, Lucy enjoyed being peaceful).
“Four letter worded stories would make dull reading, given that authors wouldn’t focus upon plot, rather upon wording,” conceded Timothy. “Doesn’t mean they’re impossible.”
“What would four letter worded short stories describe?” asked Lucy, mildly curious.
“Anything, really....maybe they could portray someone writing four letter worded short stories, however seemingly impossibly post-modernistically wankerish that would seem,” said Timothy, unwittingly fulfilling this notion.
“Fuck...this gets quite tiresome after comparatively short time,” yawned Lucy, bored.
“Yeah...ceebs,” joked Timothy, snorting great bison chortles, whilst never thinking about writing four letter worded short stories ever again. Ever. Again.
28 February, 2009
Getting a Taste for Tasers
So for my Year 12 VCE English issue SAC, I'm arguing that Victorian police should be issued with Tasers. Naturally, it would make sense to visit the site of the people who manufacture Tasers and see what they have to say about them. And let me tell you, it was an interesting site:
http://www.taser.com/
For quite apart from the models deployed to "law enforcement officers", Taser has recently branched out into the C2 models, for the everyday consumer. Not only that, they have a range of COLOURS from which people can choose their Taser. Because of course everyone wants to look stylish when they whip out their electroshock weaponery. Colours include Black Pearl and Electric Blue (quite an appropriate type of blue for a gun capable of producing 50, 000 volts).
This merely confirms my ongoing hypothesis that America has some seriously crazy stuff happening.
And then there is the Metallic Pink, which makes you wonder who exactly their target audience are...
Meryl: Oh my goodness Ange, have you seen Sarah's new C2 model Taser? Hot pink.
Ange: Oh GOD! I know! I'm just so jealous. I saw her the other day, and there she was, showing it off as she tasered Timothy in the driveway. And there I was, standing with my old series like a silly old nong, only able to subdue my 5 year old with 1.3 milliamps.
....because there actually have been several reported incidents of parents using it for discipline....
"YOU WILL CLEAN YOUR ROOM NOW!" screamed her mother, her face contorted with rage as she held down the trigger. "God, when I was your age, it was the wooden stick if I stepped out of line. Your generation just have no idea how lucky you are!" she remonstrated as her 12 year old daughter spasmed from the 1, 200 volts surging through her body.
And as if that wasn't disturbing enough, they have a merchandise and clothing range. So now everyone can accessorise with T shirts saying
"So....you weren't doing anything?.....let's go to the camera", a witty reference to the camera which is able to record incidents when the Taser was required to be used. I'm sure there are plenty of others such as "Can you read this? Then you're within my Taser range!" or "Did I give you a shock?"
Upshot being.....America is still a disturbing country.
http://www.taser.com/
For quite apart from the models deployed to "law enforcement officers", Taser has recently branched out into the C2 models, for the everyday consumer. Not only that, they have a range of COLOURS from which people can choose their Taser. Because of course everyone wants to look stylish when they whip out their electroshock weaponery. Colours include Black Pearl and Electric Blue (quite an appropriate type of blue for a gun capable of producing 50, 000 volts).
This merely confirms my ongoing hypothesis that America has some seriously crazy stuff happening.
And then there is the Metallic Pink, which makes you wonder who exactly their target audience are...
Meryl: Oh my goodness Ange, have you seen Sarah's new C2 model Taser? Hot pink.
Ange: Oh GOD! I know! I'm just so jealous. I saw her the other day, and there she was, showing it off as she tasered Timothy in the driveway. And there I was, standing with my old series like a silly old nong, only able to subdue my 5 year old with 1.3 milliamps.
....because there actually have been several reported incidents of parents using it for discipline....
"YOU WILL CLEAN YOUR ROOM NOW!" screamed her mother, her face contorted with rage as she held down the trigger. "God, when I was your age, it was the wooden stick if I stepped out of line. Your generation just have no idea how lucky you are!" she remonstrated as her 12 year old daughter spasmed from the 1, 200 volts surging through her body.
And as if that wasn't disturbing enough, they have a merchandise and clothing range. So now everyone can accessorise with T shirts saying
"So....you weren't doing anything?.....let's go to the camera", a witty reference to the camera which is able to record incidents when the Taser was required to be used. I'm sure there are plenty of others such as "Can you read this? Then you're within my Taser range!" or "Did I give you a shock?"
Upshot being.....America is still a disturbing country.
26 February, 2009
DON'T ASK QUESTIONS
Luckily enough, Fate portioned out to me a short yet amusing anecdote which I can bring and share with you all. I shall attempt to convey the hilariousness of the incident as best I can (though I accept that this is impossible).
Setting: Flinders Street, Platform 1, on a train yet to leave the station for Hurstbridge
Time: 3:48 pm
Characters: A group of schoolboys, a shortish woman dressed in business attire, hair in a ponytail, somewhat 'horsey' face and copius green eyeshadow.
So there the schoolboys were, all sitting down and chatting about English SACs or something equally scintillating, when up walked the young woman, and asked of the general group,
"Does anyone here have a phone?"
Me: A phone?
Her: Yes, I need to make a call
Me (thinking that I have seen this woman on the Hurstbridge line before, and I've never seen her asking for things, so it is probably a genuine emergency) and so, being the Good Samaritan that I am: Yeah...I do...is it just one call?
Her: Yes
Me (handing over mobile phone): So it's just a local call?
Her (waving impatiently at me as though I'm some sort of interfering child, and simultaneously turning her back on me, with my phone in her hand): Don't ask questions!
By this stage I was somewhat alarmed at the tone she was taking with me.
Anonymous friend: ahahahahhahahahaha (continues laughing for the next 5 mins, as he would later tell me "not because it happened as such, but that it happened to YOU")
And so she started copying some number from her mobile to mine, completely ignoring me.
Me: I'd feel a lot more comfortable if you'd tell me the sort of call you're making.
Her: Shhhhh, don't worry, don't ask questions. (goes back to ignoring me)
And so then she was punching in the number, and it was as she raised my phone to her ear that I noticed she still had headphones in her ear...the one with the phone to it. At this stage a different quick minded friend on the train went and stood in the doorway under pretence of checking the time on the Flinders Street digital clock, lest she attempts to make a run for it. I was evaluating whether I could outrun her if she did - I think the odds were in my favour, given her stature.
So 30 seconds went past as she listened with her earphoned ear...
Her:......
Me:.......
Friend: AHAHHAHAHAAHHAHAHAAHHAAHAHHA
Her:.....no, its not working....
I was in no rush to explain to her that perhaps she couldn't hear it if it did, since she appeared to be giving my phone back.
Once she had given my phone back, she went to ask someone else for their phone at the end of the carriage. I looked at my phone, and the number on it looked something like this:
111111111111111111343
Setting: Flinders Street, Platform 1, on a train yet to leave the station for Hurstbridge
Time: 3:48 pm
Characters: A group of schoolboys, a shortish woman dressed in business attire, hair in a ponytail, somewhat 'horsey' face and copius green eyeshadow.
So there the schoolboys were, all sitting down and chatting about English SACs or something equally scintillating, when up walked the young woman, and asked of the general group,
"Does anyone here have a phone?"
Me: A phone?
Her: Yes, I need to make a call
Me (thinking that I have seen this woman on the Hurstbridge line before, and I've never seen her asking for things, so it is probably a genuine emergency) and so, being the Good Samaritan that I am: Yeah...I do...is it just one call?
Her: Yes
Me (handing over mobile phone): So it's just a local call?
Her (waving impatiently at me as though I'm some sort of interfering child, and simultaneously turning her back on me, with my phone in her hand): Don't ask questions!
By this stage I was somewhat alarmed at the tone she was taking with me.
Anonymous friend: ahahahahhahahahaha (continues laughing for the next 5 mins, as he would later tell me "not because it happened as such, but that it happened to YOU")
And so she started copying some number from her mobile to mine, completely ignoring me.
Me: I'd feel a lot more comfortable if you'd tell me the sort of call you're making.
Her: Shhhhh, don't worry, don't ask questions. (goes back to ignoring me)
And so then she was punching in the number, and it was as she raised my phone to her ear that I noticed she still had headphones in her ear...the one with the phone to it. At this stage a different quick minded friend on the train went and stood in the doorway under pretence of checking the time on the Flinders Street digital clock, lest she attempts to make a run for it. I was evaluating whether I could outrun her if she did - I think the odds were in my favour, given her stature.
So 30 seconds went past as she listened with her earphoned ear...
Her:......
Me:.......
Friend: AHAHHAHAHAAHHAHAHAAHHAAHAHHA
Her:.....no, its not working....
I was in no rush to explain to her that perhaps she couldn't hear it if it did, since she appeared to be giving my phone back.
Once she had given my phone back, she went to ask someone else for their phone at the end of the carriage. I looked at my phone, and the number on it looked something like this:
111111111111111111343
25 February, 2009
"Morally ambiguous" Slurpee Cup Convicted as Culpable
Last week 36 year old Brendan Whitmouth was arrested and charged with an armed assault taking place on Tuesday at a 7/11 convenience store in South Yarra. Today his case was heard before the Magistrate's Court in Melbourne.
Brendan Whitmouth's defence argued in court that his reasoning leading up to an attempted heist of a 7/11 store in South Yarra was severely impaired by "morally ambiguous" messages on the side of a Slurpee cup he had purchased at the store. The cup was presented as evidence, and, along with containing the phrases "SLURPED TOO FAST! BRAIN FREEZE!" and "Drink it down at the machine then go back for more!", the regular sized standard issue Slurpee cup instructed him to:
"Go on a Slurpee ramage. Grab a gun and demand the 7/11 attendant provide you with a lifetime supply of Slurpee! If they refuse, blow their fucking brains out!"
His defence team argued that "nobody would have expected such subversive messages to be found upon the innocuous Slurpee cup. Surely some clemency would be appropriate in such a situation."
The person in attendance at the 7/11 store testified that Mr Whitmouth had seemed "dazed and confused" as he held him at gunpoint, suggesting that it might have been "the taurine speaking", as Mr Whitmouth ordered him onto the floor when he did not consent to supplying him with a lifetime's worth of Slurpee. Mr Whitmouth then shot him once in the arm, and ran from the store. The attendant added that "he wasn't so bad, he did say please the first time - before he ordered me on the floor and shot me..."
Magistrate Flixotide took the somewhat unprecedented step of asking for a sample of the Slurpee Mr Whitmouth had consumed to be tested in order to determine "its ability to affect rational judgements". The attendant assured her that this would be simple as "we only refresh the Slurpee mixture each month...or whenever dead rats or pigeons get stuck in there..."
Ms Flixotide also sampled some herself, admitting before the court that "it is refreshing and flavoursome", as she slurped greedily like some sort of mosquito/vacuum cleaner hybrid, causing a five minute adjournment as she suffered from the aforementioned "brain freeze".
The hearing will continue for another five days before the Court makes a judgement.
Brendan Whitmouth's defence argued in court that his reasoning leading up to an attempted heist of a 7/11 store in South Yarra was severely impaired by "morally ambiguous" messages on the side of a Slurpee cup he had purchased at the store. The cup was presented as evidence, and, along with containing the phrases "SLURPED TOO FAST! BRAIN FREEZE!" and "Drink it down at the machine then go back for more!", the regular sized standard issue Slurpee cup instructed him to:
"Go on a Slurpee ramage. Grab a gun and demand the 7/11 attendant provide you with a lifetime supply of Slurpee! If they refuse, blow their fucking brains out!"
His defence team argued that "nobody would have expected such subversive messages to be found upon the innocuous Slurpee cup. Surely some clemency would be appropriate in such a situation."
The person in attendance at the 7/11 store testified that Mr Whitmouth had seemed "dazed and confused" as he held him at gunpoint, suggesting that it might have been "the taurine speaking", as Mr Whitmouth ordered him onto the floor when he did not consent to supplying him with a lifetime's worth of Slurpee. Mr Whitmouth then shot him once in the arm, and ran from the store. The attendant added that "he wasn't so bad, he did say please the first time - before he ordered me on the floor and shot me..."
Magistrate Flixotide took the somewhat unprecedented step of asking for a sample of the Slurpee Mr Whitmouth had consumed to be tested in order to determine "its ability to affect rational judgements". The attendant assured her that this would be simple as "we only refresh the Slurpee mixture each month...or whenever dead rats or pigeons get stuck in there..."
Ms Flixotide also sampled some herself, admitting before the court that "it is refreshing and flavoursome", as she slurped greedily like some sort of mosquito/vacuum cleaner hybrid, causing a five minute adjournment as she suffered from the aforementioned "brain freeze".
The hearing will continue for another five days before the Court makes a judgement.
20 February, 2009
Internet Censorship
So at school today people were discussing internet censorship, and it made me think of the sorts of things we might be missing out on if certain words were blocked on the internet, such as innocuous stories like this...
Margaret and Mittens laughed as they went upstairs, to finish painting in the studio cum living room which she had decorated the previous winter. She pulled back the curtains, letting sunlight into the room. Their half finished masterpiece, a naked portrait of a child in a purely Bill Henson artistic fashion, still lay on the floor where they had left it the night before.
And so they set about painting it, selecting vibrant hues and subtle greys. Suddenly as Margaret reached over to collect some more Venetian lilac she brushed her sleeve in the Parisian crimson.
"Oh bother!" she ejaculated loudly in mild annoyance, rubbing it off with the cloth kept for such a purpose.
I am of course, opposed to censorship. A thorough censorship system would probably wipe this humble blog from the virtual face of the internet. And if we simply censor things which are inconvenient, we miss the opportunity to discuss them in an adult and mature fashion. Rather than pretending things don't exist by hiding them behind cellophane and duct tape, we should bring them out and encourage healthy debate.
I'm not particularly inclined to go on right now, and jump up and down to make my point, as nobody has so far disagreed with me. But by all means, leave a comment and tell me I'm a complete idiot - there are few things I enjoy more. And I promise I won't censor it.
Margaret and Mittens laughed as they went upstairs, to finish painting in the studio cum living room which she had decorated the previous winter. She pulled back the curtains, letting sunlight into the room. Their half finished masterpiece, a naked portrait of a child in a purely Bill Henson artistic fashion, still lay on the floor where they had left it the night before.
And so they set about painting it, selecting vibrant hues and subtle greys. Suddenly as Margaret reached over to collect some more Venetian lilac she brushed her sleeve in the Parisian crimson.
"Oh bother!" she ejaculated loudly in mild annoyance, rubbing it off with the cloth kept for such a purpose.
I am of course, opposed to censorship. A thorough censorship system would probably wipe this humble blog from the virtual face of the internet. And if we simply censor things which are inconvenient, we miss the opportunity to discuss them in an adult and mature fashion. Rather than pretending things don't exist by hiding them behind cellophane and duct tape, we should bring them out and encourage healthy debate.
I'm not particularly inclined to go on right now, and jump up and down to make my point, as nobody has so far disagreed with me. But by all means, leave a comment and tell me I'm a complete idiot - there are few things I enjoy more. And I promise I won't censor it.
16 February, 2009
Connex customer claims "It's just too predictable"
Bernard Rail stood alone on Friday, a solitary figure as he protested outside Connex’s city based offices demanding answers, bearing his sign “LEAVE THEM LATE, I LOVE TO WAIT”. Connex has lately gained support from the public as services have increased 200% in efficiency, with fewer trains being cancelled than ever before. The contract has been renewed, and myki has almost been completely phased in. But that is little consolation for the 38 year old accountant, who fondly remembers the times when cancellations, delays and entire line faults were a daily occurrence. “I just never used to know what would happen,” he reminisced. “I work all day in an office in the city – for me, the excitement of my mornings lay in the potential detours and delays I would face on the way to work.”
Bernard still believes that a sense of community was fostered in their combined annoyance at Connex. “We had some funny moments,” he laughs bravely. “One time, there was an announcement on the train we were on – that it would terminate at the next station. The woman next to me swore, and we all laughed. That was a nice moment.” He also enjoyed being able to see what people were reading and doing. “One time, I watched a schoolboy beat his friend at Tekken on PSP. I cheered, and I think he knew that I was watching. Things like that, they were what really made it worth it.”
Now he feels he has no reason to get up in the morning. “I know what will happen – of course, sometimes I take get off a station early and take a tram to mix things up, but they’re always perfectly integrated with the train services, so I still always arrive on time.” Connex has offered him no support, and he says they have not responded positively to his suggestions. “Something I would love to see,” he admitted, “would be a national strike day. Of course, they couldn’t tell us when it was – that would ruin the spontaneity.” Connex rejected the idea, leaving Bernard with nothing to look forward to in the morning except Excel charts and numbers.
He is resigned to the fact that he will no longer enjoy his favourite train times, the crowded rush hours. “When the air conditioning used to break down, and I would find myself forcibly thrust against the ample chest of a young businesswoman, her crisp busty office shirt slightly damp with perspiration as we were fused together for an hour of bliss. And when the lights failed and we entered the underground tunnels...well....anything could happen. Now, however, there is always ample seating on the increased services, and such moments are sparse.”
Bernard remains somewhat philosophical about his loss, conceding that at least it will at least allow more time for “pursuing other hobbies, such as rearranging colleagues’ stationery and altering the dates on their desk calendars, and seeing whether they notice.”
Bernard still believes that a sense of community was fostered in their combined annoyance at Connex. “We had some funny moments,” he laughs bravely. “One time, there was an announcement on the train we were on – that it would terminate at the next station. The woman next to me swore, and we all laughed. That was a nice moment.” He also enjoyed being able to see what people were reading and doing. “One time, I watched a schoolboy beat his friend at Tekken on PSP. I cheered, and I think he knew that I was watching. Things like that, they were what really made it worth it.”
Now he feels he has no reason to get up in the morning. “I know what will happen – of course, sometimes I take get off a station early and take a tram to mix things up, but they’re always perfectly integrated with the train services, so I still always arrive on time.” Connex has offered him no support, and he says they have not responded positively to his suggestions. “Something I would love to see,” he admitted, “would be a national strike day. Of course, they couldn’t tell us when it was – that would ruin the spontaneity.” Connex rejected the idea, leaving Bernard with nothing to look forward to in the morning except Excel charts and numbers.
He is resigned to the fact that he will no longer enjoy his favourite train times, the crowded rush hours. “When the air conditioning used to break down, and I would find myself forcibly thrust against the ample chest of a young businesswoman, her crisp busty office shirt slightly damp with perspiration as we were fused together for an hour of bliss. And when the lights failed and we entered the underground tunnels...well....anything could happen. Now, however, there is always ample seating on the increased services, and such moments are sparse.”
Bernard remains somewhat philosophical about his loss, conceding that at least it will at least allow more time for “pursuing other hobbies, such as rearranging colleagues’ stationery and altering the dates on their desk calendars, and seeing whether they notice.”
15 February, 2009
Ants
Don't know about anyone else, but we get lots of ants in our house at summertime. Which is partly fun, but mostly annoying. The annoying part is pretty self explanatory: you go to make food on the bench, the bench is crawling with ants. You go to switch on the tap, and it's crawling with ants. You go to use the toilet...you get the idea.
But the fun part is Geraldine's reaction. Geraldine is an imaginary person in my house not in any way resembling any family members. Firstly, Geraldine always fails to notice the ants. So this morning, I went downstairs, and saw there were ants crawling over the bench. But Geraldine didn't notice until I actually pointed it out to her (despite the fact that the bench was a swirling mass of black), whereupon she went
"FUCK THOSE FUCKING LITTLE BLOODY BASTARDS!" and set about killing them all with her bug spray.
But the fun part is Geraldine's reaction. Geraldine is an imaginary person in my house not in any way resembling any family members. Firstly, Geraldine always fails to notice the ants. So this morning, I went downstairs, and saw there were ants crawling over the bench. But Geraldine didn't notice until I actually pointed it out to her (despite the fact that the bench was a swirling mass of black), whereupon she went
"FUCK THOSE FUCKING LITTLE BLOODY BASTARDS!" and set about killing them all with her bug spray.
07 February, 2009
I Hate Firebugs
I've probably told a few people this before, but it comes to mind now, as I sit here listening to people telling Jon Faine on ABC radio how their house was burnt down, they don't know what's happening with their family stuck in fire areas, and the general chaos and destruction caused by the bushfires, it comes back to me.
I hate them for being stupid. Because if they're not really stupid/mentally deranged, then they're really evil. I guess I'm just a typical optimist/see the best in people. Some of the punishments I think we should introduce for firebugs when caught include:
I hate them for being stupid. Because if they're not really stupid/mentally deranged, then they're really evil. I guess I'm just a typical optimist/see the best in people. Some of the punishments I think we should introduce for firebugs when caught include:
- Helicopter air lift them into the middle of their raging bushfire they made, and leave them there to deal with the consequences of their own actions. The deliciously smoky irony of this punishment appeals most to me.
- Take them around to every single house that was destroyed by their bushfire, and force them to make a documentary about each and every person affected by it.
- Chain them to a publically announced place in the city centre for a day, with the possibility of tour dates all throughout Victoria, so everyone can have a shot at them (provided they don't get lynched).
- Send them to a rehabilitation centre, possibly forcing them to run anti-arson programs with other more minor offenders (a perfect opportunity to give their documentary a screening).
Likewise with drink drivers and dangerous drivers. I hate that someone always needs to die before people realise there's nothing sick or cool about drag racing or anything hard core about drink driving. And wars. People always need to make the same moronic mistakes of violence and war. I mean, for fuck's sake, you get taught in kindergarten not to use violence to solve problems. To "Stop. Think. Do." But nobody does, and then after they go "oh..we shouldn't have done that..won't do it again." But they do.
On a lighter note, this is my first post since going back to Year 12. It's not terribly entertaining or cheerful, but maybe later ones will be.
29 January, 2009
God...
Someone recently alerted me to the fact that there is a website, which shares a very similar address to this one, but for one letter. That address is:
http://gelatigecko.blogpot.com/
That's right, blogPOT, no 's'. DON'T CLICK ON THAT LINK YET. You should be warned, it contains some downright scary content. Apart from the name of the link (which is not explained on the wepage at all) which would indicate someone else either
a) Has been cyber stalking me in Jed Parryesque fashion - as the shoutbox would also support, and now has set up an alarmist conversion website
or
b) thinks that alliterated combos of animals and cold confections constitute appropriate internet psuedonyms.
I'll leave you to find the more disturbing option. But what is perhaps most disturbing is the content of that website. After having a brief and unsettling look at it, I decided it contained some things that really put me off religion:
http://gelatigecko.blogpot.com/
That's right, blogPOT, no 's'. DON'T CLICK ON THAT LINK YET. You should be warned, it contains some downright scary content. Apart from the name of the link (which is not explained on the wepage at all) which would indicate someone else either
a) Has been cyber stalking me in Jed Parryesque fashion - as the shoutbox would also support, and now has set up an alarmist conversion website
or
b) thinks that alliterated combos of animals and cold confections constitute appropriate internet psuedonyms.
I'll leave you to find the more disturbing option. But what is perhaps most disturbing is the content of that website. After having a brief and unsettling look at it, I decided it contained some things that really put me off religion:
- Big capital red letters for headings such as "The Soon Coming ClimaxProof The Bible Is True WE ARE NOW IN THE LATTER DAYS OF THE END TIMES
HOW TO BE SAVED" - Testimonies from non believers about why and how they converted
- Irrelevant lists of how the world is going to shit - sure, why not, let's assume it is. But the biggest concerns they have are pressing global issues such as self esteem: "C. People would become lovers of themselves-2 Tim 3:1,2. Remember the TV commercials—"I do it for me"? "
Ok...so you think it's not that scary, it's really funny. Well here's what's just around the corner if we don't smarten our act:
We are not setting a date; however, we are now living in that generation in which this will happen. Hate, murder, thefts, rape, and every imaginable form of evil will abound. During this horrible period of God’s wrath, Russia, Iran, and other nations will come against Israel. The USA becomes involved. One-fourth of the world’s population will die. Many of the dead will be from the USA, as well as Russia. (Sorry everyone, but that's only as specific as God could be...)
One-third of trees are burned up. All green grass is burned up. One-third of the sea will become blood. One-third of the creatures in the sea will die (presumably those living in the blood part of the sea). One-third of the ships are destroyed. One-third of the waters become wormwood (or poisoned, or radioactive). Massive famines, increased earthquakes, and more diseases will happen as birth pangs of a woman. Those left alive will have opportunities to receive Jesus through the preaching of 144,000 male, virgin Jews; however, death by decapitation lies ahead for most that put their trust in Jesus (naturally), unless they renounce their faith. There will also be many false Christs and false prophets. A one-world, false religion that God calls MYSTERY, BABYLON THE GREAT, THE MOTHER OF HARLOTS AND ABOMINATIONS OF THE EARTH (quite a lengthy title to go on this new religion's manifesto...) will increase. This religion has existed for hundreds of years and exists today. The nations of the world have become intoxicated with her false teachings. The temple in Jerusalem will be rebuilt (who said it was ALL bad news. Jerusalem temple Working Bee next Friday).
You might be a little shaken after visiting this website...so if you just add my blog to your favourites you can sidestep the whole issue. I'm going back to school now, so blog posts will dry up for a while.
23 January, 2009
Thank You Herald Sun
The headline that the Herald Sun (a newspaper that cops a lot of flack, and sometimes you may take pity on it, before you see something which unequivocally affirms that it is a nauseatingly patriotic, ridiculous and pathetic piece of caustic toilet paper) ran on Thursday, January 22nd:
IT’S OK TO HIT YOUR WIFE – “Muslim cleric’s web rant on women”
What followed was a story on Samir Abu Hamza, who gave a sermon in which he was quoted in the Sun as saying “In this country if the husband wants to sleep with his wife and she does not want to and she hasn’t got a sickness or whatever, there is nothing wrong with her and she just doesn’t feel like it, and he ends up sleeping with her by force...it is known to be as rape...Amazing, how can a person rape his wife?” What follows is other misogynistic tripe about wife beating being ok, so long as bruises aren’t inflicted, and so on.
And seeing this story on the front really pissed me off. For one thing, the sermon reported took place in 2003, and only more recently was posted on the web, which was when it was brought to the Sun’s attention. So to start off, the news is already 5 years old, coming from a time when Sheikh Hilali was still seen by many as representative of the Muslim community (yes, him, “uncovered meat” guy). So already, events from five years ago are hitting the front pages as a leading story. Just for some perspective, The Age chose to run Jelena Dokic’s tennis victory and an increase in national job losses as its leading stories (both of which occurred within the last week).
And after having established that a) this was from 5 years ago and b) his views are not that of the wider Muslim community, the question that logically follows is “why would any newspaper or news source be giving such serious consideration to the opinions of a dickhead like that?” (or words to that effect). A question which cannot be logically answered, of course, until we remember the conservative audience the Herald Sun panders to. This sensationalist tabloid cares nothing for the damage it wreaks to the Muslim community’s already damaged reputation by printing stories, which, really, aren’t stories at all, or with headlines which include the whole Muslim community in the sentiments expressed by one radical. One can only assume that someone working there would consider their time very much wasted if they had failed to spark another racial riot on Australia Day...
And sure enough, inside on the Opinion page, the vote of the day, posed one of the most one-sided, John Howardesque, vomit inducing polls I have ever seen:
“Are Samir Abu Hamza’s comments out of touch with Australian values?”
Once I wiped the instantaneous spatter of that day’s breakfast from the page, I was able to throw the paper into the biohazard waste box kept by the side of my bed for such emergencies. Of course, I don’t need to go into my deep seated loathing of the phrase “Australian values”, or the fact that wife beating is in fact common enough in Australia even WITHOUT Muslims, believe it or not.
And of course, the next day yielded more headlines, with The Herald Sun running the following:
“You’re all drunks – Muslim cleric blasts Aussies on gambling, boozing”
...I’ll leave you to do the language analysis there, and they ran the same story, except this time he was saying Australia has drinking and gambling problems (not even vaguely controversial). Clearly, it is obvious to everyone that this guy is an idiot. Clearly, he shouldn’t be taken seriously. Yet bafflingly, the Herald Sun has taken him seriously, giving rise to a wave of anti-Islam diatribe throughout their opinion section, including gems from their website such as :
Mate, i've just read a story over at the BBC thats got me in tears. About a 13 year old girl who was raped in Somalia by a few of your lot. But then acused of adultery. She was buried up to her neck and stoned to death in front of 1000 people. WTF are you people on? Yeah we have a few faults but nothing like that. You don't treat people like that, you just don't. Don't tell me your way of life is better or purer or more without sin than mine.
Posted by: Trevor G. 7:39pm today Comment 344 of 346
Or this...
if i was P.M you wouldnt even be able to step foot in the country so be happy that you are here and shut the f up.
Posted by: ryan 5:57pm today
Or maybe even...
Personally you stupid little man, i have never been to a prostitute. No male has ever touched me violently, because quite honestly i would bring my knee up so hard and contact with your obviously inadequate private parts that you would speak in a high pitch for a very long time. I am an ozzie born and bred. I have a drink when i feel like it and i sit in the fabulous Australian sun, live in a house in Melbourne that i purchased with money from the job i work. Not quite as submissive as your women hey. So come on big guy try putting a burkah on me and see what happens. P#@$ off back to where you came. You dont appreciate what this country and its wonderful people have to offer. (Wonderful people indeed...)
Posted by: 6th generation ozzie of FTG 1:34pm today Comment 309 of 346
And the ever charming and articulate..
Hey, we may be drunk, gamble and have fun with the pro's but hey, at least we dont stink like falafels! remember people, curry is not a deodorant!
Posted by: johnny be good of drunkville 1:33pm today Comment 307 of 346
Of course, this is clearly showing a pattern in the way in which this news article has been interpreted by some of the dear old readers of the Herald Sun, bless their racist and grammatically incorrect souls. And so, I think we can very safely say that the reporting of this sort of so called “issue” does far more harm than good – an idiot and his comments who should have been left alone, have been brought out in an, at best biased and generalized article, and stirred the pot of racial tension.
Thank you Herald Sun. May you asphyxiate on patriotism and national pride come Australia Day.
IT’S OK TO HIT YOUR WIFE – “Muslim cleric’s web rant on women”
What followed was a story on Samir Abu Hamza, who gave a sermon in which he was quoted in the Sun as saying “In this country if the husband wants to sleep with his wife and she does not want to and she hasn’t got a sickness or whatever, there is nothing wrong with her and she just doesn’t feel like it, and he ends up sleeping with her by force...it is known to be as rape...Amazing, how can a person rape his wife?” What follows is other misogynistic tripe about wife beating being ok, so long as bruises aren’t inflicted, and so on.
And seeing this story on the front really pissed me off. For one thing, the sermon reported took place in 2003, and only more recently was posted on the web, which was when it was brought to the Sun’s attention. So to start off, the news is already 5 years old, coming from a time when Sheikh Hilali was still seen by many as representative of the Muslim community (yes, him, “uncovered meat” guy). So already, events from five years ago are hitting the front pages as a leading story. Just for some perspective, The Age chose to run Jelena Dokic’s tennis victory and an increase in national job losses as its leading stories (both of which occurred within the last week).
And after having established that a) this was from 5 years ago and b) his views are not that of the wider Muslim community, the question that logically follows is “why would any newspaper or news source be giving such serious consideration to the opinions of a dickhead like that?” (or words to that effect). A question which cannot be logically answered, of course, until we remember the conservative audience the Herald Sun panders to. This sensationalist tabloid cares nothing for the damage it wreaks to the Muslim community’s already damaged reputation by printing stories, which, really, aren’t stories at all, or with headlines which include the whole Muslim community in the sentiments expressed by one radical. One can only assume that someone working there would consider their time very much wasted if they had failed to spark another racial riot on Australia Day...
And sure enough, inside on the Opinion page, the vote of the day, posed one of the most one-sided, John Howardesque, vomit inducing polls I have ever seen:
“Are Samir Abu Hamza’s comments out of touch with Australian values?”
Once I wiped the instantaneous spatter of that day’s breakfast from the page, I was able to throw the paper into the biohazard waste box kept by the side of my bed for such emergencies. Of course, I don’t need to go into my deep seated loathing of the phrase “Australian values”, or the fact that wife beating is in fact common enough in Australia even WITHOUT Muslims, believe it or not.
And of course, the next day yielded more headlines, with The Herald Sun running the following:
“You’re all drunks – Muslim cleric blasts Aussies on gambling, boozing”
...I’ll leave you to do the language analysis there, and they ran the same story, except this time he was saying Australia has drinking and gambling problems (not even vaguely controversial). Clearly, it is obvious to everyone that this guy is an idiot. Clearly, he shouldn’t be taken seriously. Yet bafflingly, the Herald Sun has taken him seriously, giving rise to a wave of anti-Islam diatribe throughout their opinion section, including gems from their website such as :
Mate, i've just read a story over at the BBC thats got me in tears. About a 13 year old girl who was raped in Somalia by a few of your lot. But then acused of adultery. She was buried up to her neck and stoned to death in front of 1000 people. WTF are you people on? Yeah we have a few faults but nothing like that. You don't treat people like that, you just don't. Don't tell me your way of life is better or purer or more without sin than mine.
Posted by: Trevor G. 7:39pm today Comment 344 of 346
Or this...
if i was P.M you wouldnt even be able to step foot in the country so be happy that you are here and shut the f up.
Posted by: ryan 5:57pm today
Or maybe even...
Personally you stupid little man, i have never been to a prostitute. No male has ever touched me violently, because quite honestly i would bring my knee up so hard and contact with your obviously inadequate private parts that you would speak in a high pitch for a very long time. I am an ozzie born and bred. I have a drink when i feel like it and i sit in the fabulous Australian sun, live in a house in Melbourne that i purchased with money from the job i work. Not quite as submissive as your women hey. So come on big guy try putting a burkah on me and see what happens. P#@$ off back to where you came. You dont appreciate what this country and its wonderful people have to offer. (Wonderful people indeed...)
Posted by: 6th generation ozzie of FTG 1:34pm today Comment 309 of 346
And the ever charming and articulate..
Hey, we may be drunk, gamble and have fun with the pro's but hey, at least we dont stink like falafels! remember people, curry is not a deodorant!
Posted by: johnny be good of drunkville 1:33pm today Comment 307 of 346
Of course, this is clearly showing a pattern in the way in which this news article has been interpreted by some of the dear old readers of the Herald Sun, bless their racist and grammatically incorrect souls. And so, I think we can very safely say that the reporting of this sort of so called “issue” does far more harm than good – an idiot and his comments who should have been left alone, have been brought out in an, at best biased and generalized article, and stirred the pot of racial tension.
Thank you Herald Sun. May you asphyxiate on patriotism and national pride come Australia Day.
22 January, 2009
So Apparently You All Hate Me...
So there it is. I gave you all the freedom to have your say about my blog, and in a late swing of surprise voters, it would seem that a large majority of people feel that if I had any sense of decency left I would crawl under a rock and lie dormant for the next century.
I am impressed by the large number of voting, though of course it is quite possible also that the votes stemmed from solely one dissatisfied, malicious, and tech-savvy reader. In fact, it reminds me a bit of the Green Guide letters section - which is always a good laugh, simply to read the letters that people send in. I myself have been guilty of having letters published, before I realised that it is simply a place where people wanting to have their name in print send letters (and then I started this blog, an immeasurably more worthwhile pursuit, of course).
For those of you not acquainted with the sorts of incisive issues chewed over in the Green Guide Letters section, here's a taster:
"Why do radio presenters (including ABC News Radio) say "let's have a listen to" instead of the more concise and correct "Let's listen to"? We Australians usually abbreviate everything (sometimes cretinously), so adding the superfluous "have a" is puzzling and jarring."
This is typical of the kind of intellctual debate which frequents the half page spread which is the letters section. If you ever wanted to be published in this section, here are some of the traits frequently employed by the time wealthy regulars:
I am impressed by the large number of voting, though of course it is quite possible also that the votes stemmed from solely one dissatisfied, malicious, and tech-savvy reader. In fact, it reminds me a bit of the Green Guide letters section - which is always a good laugh, simply to read the letters that people send in. I myself have been guilty of having letters published, before I realised that it is simply a place where people wanting to have their name in print send letters (and then I started this blog, an immeasurably more worthwhile pursuit, of course).
For those of you not acquainted with the sorts of incisive issues chewed over in the Green Guide Letters section, here's a taster:
"Why do radio presenters (including ABC News Radio) say "let's have a listen to" instead of the more concise and correct "Let's listen to"? We Australians usually abbreviate everything (sometimes cretinously), so adding the superfluous "have a" is puzzling and jarring."
This is typical of the kind of intellctual debate which frequents the half page spread which is the letters section. If you ever wanted to be published in this section, here are some of the traits frequently employed by the time wealthy regulars:
- If you didn't enjoy a program, don't every make the mistake of simply saying "I found it a little bit dull." Everything must be overstated. The program was "the absolute limit", "jarring", "an assault to my ears and mind", "a carnage to common decencies",
- Here are some adjectives and phrases which you will no doubt wish to employ: "I was appalled", "shocked", "Shame on (insert name of station)
", "Peter Everett (or other host) is friendly and offensive", and of course the ever versatile "How often have I heard people voice their irritation at loud music drowing out dialogue in various film or TV productions?" - And lastly, and perhaps most importantly, sarcasm and rhetorical questions. Don't assume that there is a limit to the type of stupid questions you can put forward: "Does Hilary Harper have to end sentences on such a high note?", "Does Channel 10 think its audiences enjoy the offensively grating music which announces the advertisement break during films?" and "Why do you think I send these letters into the Green Guide, because I haven't got anything else to do and putting down things makes me feel bigger?"
And so on.
But I digress. I don't really have a response plan for the poll result, and unfortunately ever since my metallic emotion chip was repaired I have found myself unable to be suitably distraught over polls indicating that I am loathed. So I guess I'll just keep going, and if you really hate me, you can leave a comment telling me, or write into the Green Guide to vent your pent-up frustration at the world.
13 January, 2009
Shark Killed in Vicious Attack
The shark community was enraged once more this week by the latest in a string of shark deaths following attacks from humans. The latest victim, a 5 year old white pointer, was shot dead, after being mistakenly identified by humans to have eaten a swimmer earlier this year. He was swimming in his territorial waters early this morning, when a coast patrol boat approached him, fatally shooting him in the head. He died within minutes, and was collected on board, to be measured and disposed of as humans saw fit.
Shark liberty group "Fins Float Free" have condemned the death. Spokeshark Peter "Die-Humans-Fucking-Die" Finweed had this to say:
"This is typical of the arrogance of the human race. Firstly, they invade our territories when they swim in our waters at the beach. Of course we're going to eat them, they're swimming in our backyard. Yet there are those among them that fail to see this, instead asking to have the sharks "responsible" for attacks to be destroyed. In order to make us responsible, they have to give us rights as well. We are wild creatures, untamned by humanity's social laws and customs. That they see it fit to hunt us down for behaving like carnivorous fish would be laughable were it not so serious.
Nothing has given them a supreme 'right of way' which excuses them from being a part of the food chain. If they choose to swim in our waters, they can expect to be included in our environment. And that includes as a part of our diet. They are constantly slaughtering other species and environments all over the world, and have begun to hunt us down solely because we threaten their dominance. This is bullying at its worst, and it is time that we took some action, before there are too few of us to make a difference."
Left wing politishark Claudia Jawtooth called for calm admist the messages being put out by groups such as Fins Float Free, which she labelled "scare-mongering" which was bound to incite retributory "vigilante killings". "It is unfortunate, of course, that this tragic death has occurred. You will never hear me say that what happened was provoked or deserved. But nor will you ever hear me support the kind of hate speech promulgated by Mr Finweed. Humans are, for the most part, misunderstood creatures, who, despite their unwitting arrogance, selfishness, and ignorance, are just as deserving of a second chance as any of us. I believe, therefore, that it is imperative for us to develop a mutual relationship of trust between humans, perhaps following in the example of the dolphins, who, following their 1743 Bill of Outreach to Humanity have prospered, garnering greater public support from the ruling species on earth than perhaps any other creature. Boundaries have been crossed by humankind, but let's not become the savage in this equation."
This political storm of opinions and controversy, however, is little comfort for the family who are now missing their favourite fanged killing machine of the ocean.
Shark liberty group "Fins Float Free" have condemned the death. Spokeshark Peter "Die-Humans-Fucking-Die" Finweed had this to say:
"This is typical of the arrogance of the human race. Firstly, they invade our territories when they swim in our waters at the beach. Of course we're going to eat them, they're swimming in our backyard. Yet there are those among them that fail to see this, instead asking to have the sharks "responsible" for attacks to be destroyed. In order to make us responsible, they have to give us rights as well. We are wild creatures, untamned by humanity's social laws and customs. That they see it fit to hunt us down for behaving like carnivorous fish would be laughable were it not so serious.
Nothing has given them a supreme 'right of way' which excuses them from being a part of the food chain. If they choose to swim in our waters, they can expect to be included in our environment. And that includes as a part of our diet. They are constantly slaughtering other species and environments all over the world, and have begun to hunt us down solely because we threaten their dominance. This is bullying at its worst, and it is time that we took some action, before there are too few of us to make a difference."
Left wing politishark Claudia Jawtooth called for calm admist the messages being put out by groups such as Fins Float Free, which she labelled "scare-mongering" which was bound to incite retributory "vigilante killings". "It is unfortunate, of course, that this tragic death has occurred. You will never hear me say that what happened was provoked or deserved. But nor will you ever hear me support the kind of hate speech promulgated by Mr Finweed. Humans are, for the most part, misunderstood creatures, who, despite their unwitting arrogance, selfishness, and ignorance, are just as deserving of a second chance as any of us. I believe, therefore, that it is imperative for us to develop a mutual relationship of trust between humans, perhaps following in the example of the dolphins, who, following their 1743 Bill of Outreach to Humanity have prospered, garnering greater public support from the ruling species on earth than perhaps any other creature. Boundaries have been crossed by humankind, but let's not become the savage in this equation."
This political storm of opinions and controversy, however, is little comfort for the family who are now missing their favourite fanged killing machine of the ocean.
09 January, 2009
Mental Abstraction
Yep, I'm feeling incredibly lazy, as is the case during holidays.
Funny story of the week:
This made the front page of The Age on Thursday this week as a story...
Basically, a commercial gallery owner is asked by a photographer whose work he displays, if he would consider some abstract artwork from an artist by the name of Aelita Andre. He takes a look, and likes what he sees. He sets about advertising his new show, with nice "glossy invitations and placing ads in reputable magazines Art Almanac and Art Collector", with these abstract works prominently featured.
And it is only then, they he found out....Aelita Andre is 22 months old. Turns out she's the daughter of the photographer who recommended her. Of course, Mr Jamieson (the gallery owner) is pretty pissed off, quoted as being "shocked, and to be honest, a little embarrassed." Another source claimed he added "Well there goes my fucking credibility. Thanks, you two year old bitch."
However, he decided in the end to proceed with the show, but added that though his gallery supported emerging artists, he would not be "making a habit" of showing children's work.
Age art critic said (when not informed of the artist's age)...
"credible abstractions, maybe playing on Asian screens with their reds. They're heavily reliant on figure/ground relations."
Funny story of the week:
This made the front page of The Age on Thursday this week as a story...
Basically, a commercial gallery owner is asked by a photographer whose work he displays, if he would consider some abstract artwork from an artist by the name of Aelita Andre. He takes a look, and likes what he sees. He sets about advertising his new show, with nice "glossy invitations and placing ads in reputable magazines Art Almanac and Art Collector", with these abstract works prominently featured.
And it is only then, they he found out....Aelita Andre is 22 months old. Turns out she's the daughter of the photographer who recommended her. Of course, Mr Jamieson (the gallery owner) is pretty pissed off, quoted as being "shocked, and to be honest, a little embarrassed." Another source claimed he added "Well there goes my fucking credibility. Thanks, you two year old bitch."
However, he decided in the end to proceed with the show, but added that though his gallery supported emerging artists, he would not be "making a habit" of showing children's work.
Age art critic said (when not informed of the artist's age)...
"credible abstractions, maybe playing on Asian screens with their reds. They're heavily reliant on figure/ground relations."
04 January, 2009
The Entirely Necessary Death Scene for Mr Bounderby
I've just finished reading Hard Times as a set text on the booklist at school, and felt compelled to give the tedious, boring, predictable and incredibly annoying character Mr Bounderby the death he deserved...
And so it was that Mr Bounderby found himself bound, as the pun would have it, with a piece of rough rope, to a rather old table which he had inherited with his house (for, as he was at pains to remind all his acquaintances, he would never have been able to afford it himself, with his far from genteel upbringing).
The young gentlemen who had tied him there was unfamiliar to him, and dressed in strange clothes, almost as if he were a student from the future who was sick to fucking death of Mr Bounderby as a character in the novel Hard Times, which he had been forced to read as it was on the Year 12 list. But indeed, Bounderby would scarcely have been able to tell that, more than he could tell if the young gentlemen were a postman or, Fact forbid, a man of the circus.
“Mr Bounderby,” began the young man, after securing all the ropes tightly. “I’m afraid I have a bit of a bone to pick with you.”
“Indeed, picking bones was just one of the many ways in which I was forced to find some form of nutrition when I was a young street urchin. No venison and turtle soup off gold spoons for old Bounderby, no sir! No, my life was always-”
“Shut up. Please. Now.” The young man paused between each sentence, and his voice was quivering with anger. Bounderby, unable to quantify this peculiar change in his tone in columns or numbers (an allusion made suBtly throughout Hard Times – so suBtly that some readers just wanted to strangle Dickens each time the same message was spewed forth), continued to speak.
“...but with the Hands now, the things they would have from you! Why, just the other day it was that Blackpool. Now he was one of ‘em. He was the sort that would have himself eating venison and turtle soup with golden spoons! If ever I saw one!”
As Mr Bounderby had been gabbling away, the young man turned his back, and began to fumble with a backpack sitting on the plain boards of the living room. He turned back around, with a long, and extremely sharp, knife in his hand. And now, at last, a slight smile curved the corners of his lips.
“If you don’t shut up,” he began, stepping closer, “I will fillet you right now, from head to toe.” Bounderby paused for a moment to glance at him and the knife, before launching into another diatribe.
“Oh well, there might be some who would be offended by such a threat, but I am not one of them. I, who have no claim to high birth or status, I who worked from the age of two on the streets to escape my alcoholic grandmother, I who-AAARGH!!!” His spiel ended in an unexpected yowl as the young man brought the knife down swiftly over his right arm, lopping off his forearm at the elbow. It dropped to the floor with a thud, where it began to ooze blood over the boards. This, however, only halted Bounderby for a moment.
“Oh, there would be some who may be shocked, perhaps even insulted, to have their limbs hacked off! But not me, oh no, not me sir! I would like to say this shocks me, but the truth is that this is naught compared to the brawls and street fighting I was engaged in when I was four years old, and a menace to society. Though perhaps you had best think of Loo, who is standing in the doorway, and of much higher breeding, lest you insult her with your behaviour. No, it is not for me that I ask you stop, for this cannot offend me, who came from the gutters and ditches of the world. But it is for Louisa, who was born into the lap of luxury, that I beseech you to stay your hand.”
The young man turned to Louisa Gradgrind, who was indeed standing in the doorway.
“Do you mind?” he asked her.
“May I?” she asked shyly, reaching for the knife.
“By all means,” invited the young man graciously. But what happened next surprised even him. She strode forward, snatched up the knife, and began to stab with an intensity and energy that was truly impressive.
“You BASTARD!” she yelled, as she brought the knife down in his stomach, spraying her face with a mist of blood. “You fucking, stupid, idiotic, repetitive, 2D piece of shit!” she roared, punctuating each comma with another downward thrust. “Why, didn’t, you, get, the, death, you, deserved!” By now she was quite covered in blood, her face ablaze with fury, as she licked specks of blood from her mouth and turned to the young man.
“....ok....,” said the young man, glancing at Bounderby, who seemed to be thoroughly dead. But suddenly his eyes opened and he began to speak rapidly again.
“Oh this is merely a trifle when compared to the abuse my grandmother used to put me through. Some gentlemen may complain of having their internal organs mangled by a butcher knife, but not me. No, I have never claimed to be a gentlemen-”
He was interrupted as Louisa gave one final stab, and he finally fell silent.
“Thank you...” said the young man.
And so it was that Mr Bounderby found himself bound, as the pun would have it, with a piece of rough rope, to a rather old table which he had inherited with his house (for, as he was at pains to remind all his acquaintances, he would never have been able to afford it himself, with his far from genteel upbringing).
The young gentlemen who had tied him there was unfamiliar to him, and dressed in strange clothes, almost as if he were a student from the future who was sick to fucking death of Mr Bounderby as a character in the novel Hard Times, which he had been forced to read as it was on the Year 12 list. But indeed, Bounderby would scarcely have been able to tell that, more than he could tell if the young gentlemen were a postman or, Fact forbid, a man of the circus.
“Mr Bounderby,” began the young man, after securing all the ropes tightly. “I’m afraid I have a bit of a bone to pick with you.”
“Indeed, picking bones was just one of the many ways in which I was forced to find some form of nutrition when I was a young street urchin. No venison and turtle soup off gold spoons for old Bounderby, no sir! No, my life was always-”
“Shut up. Please. Now.” The young man paused between each sentence, and his voice was quivering with anger. Bounderby, unable to quantify this peculiar change in his tone in columns or numbers (an allusion made suBtly throughout Hard Times – so suBtly that some readers just wanted to strangle Dickens each time the same message was spewed forth), continued to speak.
“...but with the Hands now, the things they would have from you! Why, just the other day it was that Blackpool. Now he was one of ‘em. He was the sort that would have himself eating venison and turtle soup with golden spoons! If ever I saw one!”
As Mr Bounderby had been gabbling away, the young man turned his back, and began to fumble with a backpack sitting on the plain boards of the living room. He turned back around, with a long, and extremely sharp, knife in his hand. And now, at last, a slight smile curved the corners of his lips.
“If you don’t shut up,” he began, stepping closer, “I will fillet you right now, from head to toe.” Bounderby paused for a moment to glance at him and the knife, before launching into another diatribe.
“Oh well, there might be some who would be offended by such a threat, but I am not one of them. I, who have no claim to high birth or status, I who worked from the age of two on the streets to escape my alcoholic grandmother, I who-AAARGH!!!” His spiel ended in an unexpected yowl as the young man brought the knife down swiftly over his right arm, lopping off his forearm at the elbow. It dropped to the floor with a thud, where it began to ooze blood over the boards. This, however, only halted Bounderby for a moment.
“Oh, there would be some who may be shocked, perhaps even insulted, to have their limbs hacked off! But not me, oh no, not me sir! I would like to say this shocks me, but the truth is that this is naught compared to the brawls and street fighting I was engaged in when I was four years old, and a menace to society. Though perhaps you had best think of Loo, who is standing in the doorway, and of much higher breeding, lest you insult her with your behaviour. No, it is not for me that I ask you stop, for this cannot offend me, who came from the gutters and ditches of the world. But it is for Louisa, who was born into the lap of luxury, that I beseech you to stay your hand.”
The young man turned to Louisa Gradgrind, who was indeed standing in the doorway.
“Do you mind?” he asked her.
“May I?” she asked shyly, reaching for the knife.
“By all means,” invited the young man graciously. But what happened next surprised even him. She strode forward, snatched up the knife, and began to stab with an intensity and energy that was truly impressive.
“You BASTARD!” she yelled, as she brought the knife down in his stomach, spraying her face with a mist of blood. “You fucking, stupid, idiotic, repetitive, 2D piece of shit!” she roared, punctuating each comma with another downward thrust. “Why, didn’t, you, get, the, death, you, deserved!” By now she was quite covered in blood, her face ablaze with fury, as she licked specks of blood from her mouth and turned to the young man.
“....ok....,” said the young man, glancing at Bounderby, who seemed to be thoroughly dead. But suddenly his eyes opened and he began to speak rapidly again.
“Oh this is merely a trifle when compared to the abuse my grandmother used to put me through. Some gentlemen may complain of having their internal organs mangled by a butcher knife, but not me. No, I have never claimed to be a gentlemen-”
He was interrupted as Louisa gave one final stab, and he finally fell silent.
“Thank you...” said the young man.
18 December, 2008
The Losing of Wisdom....teeth
Ok, if there are any internet stalkers out there with your corkboard of facts and snippets of my life in front of you, GET YOUR PENS OUT NOW AND DRAW UP A NEAT MARGIN, as I am about to offer a glimpse into my life, as I relate a tale of pain, unconsciousness, blood and wisdom teeth.
After having braces to straighten my teeth, I was later to learn that my wisdom teeth must also be removed and thrown into Mount Doom or somesuch lest they uproot (yes, the first of hopefully many dental puns to be made) the peace and happiness the braces had fostered upon my mouth. So off we trotted to see a dental surgeon to cut out my teeth. And as the date of sugery grew further, fear began to take root in my gum (yes, a terribly suBtle - yes, suBtle is a new word I am attempting to cultivate at every possible opportunity. You simply pronounce the usually silent 'b' in subtle, hence making the meaning of the word its antonym. Go forth and spread the word, for it is good - pun once more). But I was also excited, as I was going to undergo general anaesthetic, something I had never done before.
Finally the big day came, and like Christmas and Easter and your birthday and every day you ever told yourself was going to be special or different, it was a bit of a let down. The preparation was great. They took me in, explained what was going to happen, checked my heart rate, explained what was going to happen, checked my heart rate again, etc.
And then the moment came for the general anaesthetic. I followed the nurse into the operating cinema, and climbed up onto the table. Then they put a needle in my right hand, and said "we're just putting in some antibiotics", and did that....then they put some other stuff in. Then they must have slipped the anaesthetic in when I was looking the other way, and didn't tell me. And so I missed the whole "count to 10" thing. In fact, I remember none of the going to sleep. This was a disappointment when I woke up in recovery.
My whole face was numb, and I sat there for a while, feeling very light headed and funny, until the nurse gave me a paper towel and said "here, use this to keep back bleeding". And then I realised I'd been bleeding out of my mouth, all down my face and onto my hospital gown the whole time, without feeling a thing. That was fun (the other fun bleeding detail was when we were going home, we went over a speed bump, and because all the blood pools in the bottom of your mouth, it flew out of my sister's mouth all over her. You sort of had to be there...).
And they gave us a magnificent supply of painkillers, that make you feel great. In fact, it's 11.13pm right now, and I'll be getting up at 2am to take my four hourly pain killers. And I have to swill my mouth out with seawater 6 times per day, which is also very exciting. And my face has taken on an adorable hamsteresque bulging and swelling in the cheeks, where I can store grain and nuts for the cold winter months to come.
After having braces to straighten my teeth, I was later to learn that my wisdom teeth must also be removed and thrown into Mount Doom or somesuch lest they uproot (yes, the first of hopefully many dental puns to be made) the peace and happiness the braces had fostered upon my mouth. So off we trotted to see a dental surgeon to cut out my teeth. And as the date of sugery grew further, fear began to take root in my gum (yes, a terribly suBtle - yes, suBtle is a new word I am attempting to cultivate at every possible opportunity. You simply pronounce the usually silent 'b' in subtle, hence making the meaning of the word its antonym. Go forth and spread the word, for it is good - pun once more). But I was also excited, as I was going to undergo general anaesthetic, something I had never done before.
Finally the big day came, and like Christmas and Easter and your birthday and every day you ever told yourself was going to be special or different, it was a bit of a let down. The preparation was great. They took me in, explained what was going to happen, checked my heart rate, explained what was going to happen, checked my heart rate again, etc.
And then the moment came for the general anaesthetic. I followed the nurse into the operating cinema, and climbed up onto the table. Then they put a needle in my right hand, and said "we're just putting in some antibiotics", and did that....then they put some other stuff in. Then they must have slipped the anaesthetic in when I was looking the other way, and didn't tell me. And so I missed the whole "count to 10" thing. In fact, I remember none of the going to sleep. This was a disappointment when I woke up in recovery.
My whole face was numb, and I sat there for a while, feeling very light headed and funny, until the nurse gave me a paper towel and said "here, use this to keep back bleeding". And then I realised I'd been bleeding out of my mouth, all down my face and onto my hospital gown the whole time, without feeling a thing. That was fun (the other fun bleeding detail was when we were going home, we went over a speed bump, and because all the blood pools in the bottom of your mouth, it flew out of my sister's mouth all over her. You sort of had to be there...).
And they gave us a magnificent supply of painkillers, that make you feel great. In fact, it's 11.13pm right now, and I'll be getting up at 2am to take my four hourly pain killers. And I have to swill my mouth out with seawater 6 times per day, which is also very exciting. And my face has taken on an adorable hamsteresque bulging and swelling in the cheeks, where I can store grain and nuts for the cold winter months to come.
15 December, 2008
Conversation Overheard on the Bus #1
Setting: A bus
Characters:
2 young boys
1 mother
1 baby in pram (non speaking role)
1 strange boy (non speaking)
*Enter 2 young boys through bus door, who run to a window seat. The elder boy has one ear pierced (he is about 7 years old). Behind them is the mother (who has ears, nose and eyebrow piercings), pushing the pram onto the bus before validating two tickets. She makes her way to the disabled/special seating area and sits down. The boys begin to fight.*
Elder Boy: No, I'm sitting near the window, I got here first!
Younger Boy: No way, I'm...you're...mum, mum!
Mother (tiredly): Both of you stop arguing, or you'll both be in big trouble.
*pause*
Elder Boy: No, piss off (punches and kicks younger brother)
Younger Brother: No, mum-
Mother: Right. Both of you come and sit with me. Now.
*Elder boy moves*
Mother: You too.
*younger boy shakes head, a mischievous smile creeping across his face*
Mother: Now. If I have to come and get you, you'll be in big trouble.
*younger boy shakes head*
*Bus stops at lights. Mother gets up and walks over to child*
Younger Boy: No, no, no, I promise I won't-
Mother: Too late. Now you're in even more trouble. You're already in big trouble for setting off the alarm on the train.
*The bus stops and the strange boy gets off*
Review of "Conversation Overheard on the Bus #1
The latest in Gelati Gecko's "human portrait" pieces, this is perhaps one of the more disappointing additions. The scene is short, and the dialogue and action, while completely true, is cliched, failing to add anything more to the many jokes already in circulation about parenting and child discipline. The closing line, which is factually accurate, does, however, provide a neat sense of closure to the scene, though this fails to make up for other faults. The post modernistic inclusion of the narrator as an omniscient observer is pretentious and is amateurish at best. Let us hope that he turns his writing to more fruitful labours in the future.
Sorbet Snake
Characters:
2 young boys
1 mother
1 baby in pram (non speaking role)
1 strange boy (non speaking)
*Enter 2 young boys through bus door, who run to a window seat. The elder boy has one ear pierced (he is about 7 years old). Behind them is the mother (who has ears, nose and eyebrow piercings), pushing the pram onto the bus before validating two tickets. She makes her way to the disabled/special seating area and sits down. The boys begin to fight.*
Elder Boy: No, I'm sitting near the window, I got here first!
Younger Boy: No way, I'm...you're...mum, mum!
Mother (tiredly): Both of you stop arguing, or you'll both be in big trouble.
*pause*
Elder Boy: No, piss off (punches and kicks younger brother)
Younger Brother: No, mum-
Mother: Right. Both of you come and sit with me. Now.
*Elder boy moves*
Mother: You too.
*younger boy shakes head, a mischievous smile creeping across his face*
Mother: Now. If I have to come and get you, you'll be in big trouble.
*younger boy shakes head*
*Bus stops at lights. Mother gets up and walks over to child*
Younger Boy: No, no, no, I promise I won't-
Mother: Too late. Now you're in even more trouble. You're already in big trouble for setting off the alarm on the train.
*The bus stops and the strange boy gets off*
Review of "Conversation Overheard on the Bus #1
The latest in Gelati Gecko's "human portrait" pieces, this is perhaps one of the more disappointing additions. The scene is short, and the dialogue and action, while completely true, is cliched, failing to add anything more to the many jokes already in circulation about parenting and child discipline. The closing line, which is factually accurate, does, however, provide a neat sense of closure to the scene, though this fails to make up for other faults. The post modernistic inclusion of the narrator as an omniscient observer is pretentious and is amateurish at best. Let us hope that he turns his writing to more fruitful labours in the future.
Sorbet Snake
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