Monday, July 21, 2014

Mr Rabbit must be thanking his lucky stars


One Term Tony must be whooping and yahooing behind closed doors with MH17 being shot down. It is taking the heat off his miserable budget and him being the most hated Prime Minister in Australian history.

Let's hope it is sorted out quickly so that hideous human being running the country can't get too much political millage out of it.

I never really understand the deal with the bodies? Is it because people still suffer under the Christian delusion of going to heaven? I guess it must be. You all know, there is nothing afterwards, don't you? It just seems like a waste of money to me. They are just shells, no good to anyone, once the life has gone out of them.

I watched them searching the Ukraine sunflower fields and thought if I was blown up in a plane and I landed there, I say, just dig a hole and bury me under the sunflowers, I could think of worst places to be buried. They are quite lovely, actually. I could think of worse ways to spend eternity, feeding the sun flowers.

Sunday, July 20, 2014

Death by blancmange.

Former Foreign Minister Julie BitchUp (Oh I know, it just has a good ring to it though, don’t you think?) will travel to New York tomorrow to lead Australia's campaign for a binding UN resolution to support an open, transparent and international investigation into the tragedy.

You’ve got to hand it to politicians, any excuse for an overseas junket.

I’d like to see Julie BitchUp drown in junket, actually. I could imagine that famous stare, with the ball of my foot pressed firmly on her forehead, going slightly cross-eyed as her face slowly disappears from view under a sea of white pudding. Glug, glug, glug, glug, glug.

Watch her breath in the solid milk air in shorter and sharper bursts, blocking, nothing, gagging, still. It would froth around her nostrils and mouth, where it becomes thinner in consistency as it mixes with desperation until it lies in two layers, when the thrashing stops; thicker milk fats and thinner dribbles exiting Ms BitchUp, like bubbles floating away on the surface wake disappearing, in the silence of what once was.

Death by blancmange.


Flummery mummy.

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Think Tank

I was lying in bed this morning wondering what the general public, and more importantly what the American public, would think if it came out that the American Government was behind 9/11, and that it was George Bush’s government that flew those aeroplanes into the World Trade Centre. You know, as you do on a Saturday morning.

I was thinking about the theories behind this line of thought. Were such theories so far fetched? The conservative side of politics and big American business needed to smash human rights and personal liberties and freedom of speech and the more and more powerful, increasingly inconvenient, left side of political thinking, as they got in the way of the morally bankrupt conservative big business side of society. “They” needed a big event to shut up all the do-gooder bleeding heart liberals and their increasing influence over society once and for all.


And if you look at what has happened since, they were successful  State's rights trump individual rights, which I guess they always did, but now the general public even seems to even agree with it. Surveillance wins no question over individual's privacy and civil liberties have been greatly lessened.

I was thinking of a name for the book and the movie and I came up with Think Tank and then Conservative Think Tank. Maybe, Think Tank was punchier, I thought.

Santo had already got up and I wondered what time it was and how late I had lay in bed thinking this stuff and I looked at my Nike Fuel band and guess what time it was? I kid you not, 9.11.

Friday, July 18, 2014

Walking into the city to meet Santo after work as he was walking home

I love the sun late in the day

The sun fades in Carlton

Tree

Thursday, July 17, 2014




Some idiot lost his load of apples under the Church Street Bridge and this is what the other side of the freeway looked like from where I got on at Burnley to where I got off at Warrigul Road. All I can say is that I am glad I was heading in the other direction, otherwise I would have wanted his "apples" surgically removed from his body

Wednesday, July 16, 2014

I love the winter sun

I am not a generous person

I like to get to work at 8.30, so I can leave at 4.30 and be home by 5pm. I don’t know why, it just seems to make the day seem shorter.

This morning it was going to be a struggle, as I hit the unusually heavy traffic on Burnley Street. We crawled along bumper to bumper, I don’t know why, at 8am it isn’t normally like that.

I had just got to the traffic lights at Swan Street, where there were two guys by the side of the road, next to a white ute. One of the guys had a set of jumper leads in his hand and he indicated that he needed a jump start.

I was at the lights, ready to go. I was next, finally. I thought, no, bugger you buddy, I’m not doing that. No, no, no! I pointed to my watch and indicated that I was pushed for time. I shrugged, as if to say it was beyond my control. He looked kind of disappointed, resigned, hopeful.

Then I thought, I’ve been in that situation, where I just needed a “jump” to get going. It really wouldn’t take long, just a few minutes and everybody gets to go. I’d like some to do that for me, if I needed it. I can’t be that mean person.

So, begrudgingly, I pulled into the laneway just in front of them. I backed back around and pulled up nose to nose with his ute. “Thanks mate, thanks mate, I really appreciate this.”

“It’s just that I am late for work.” Not, actually, true, but I was persisting with the story. Why do we do that?

He had the leads ready to go. I popped the bonnet. He attached the leads. His buddy started the ute. The ute fired into life.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Thanks a lot, mate,” said his buddy hanging his head out of the driver’s window. “You are a champion.”


I felt like a fraud.

The first guy laughed. “You can probably catch the same set of lights, you know.” He closed my bonnet. Thud!

I backed around into Burnley Street. I drove forward into the lane way. He stepped out into the traffic and held up his hand and stopped the cars. I reversed out into the left hand lane of Burnley Street, where I had been in the beginning. Then I selected first gear and drove off through the set of green lights I would have driven through if I hadn’t helped them.

I didn’t do it happily. I didn’t do it with a sense of helping my fellow man. I did it begrudgingly. Guilted into it, if you like. I felt kind of ashamed of myself as I drove away, considering it took just a minute, less.

I got to work right on 8.30.

I am not a generous person.

Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Sick in bed

I was in bed sick yesterday. Well, it was a little disingenuous to say that I was sick as I felt perfectly well. However, every thirty minutes, or so, my stomach gurgled, or parts in that region certainly did, and then I could feel "it all" shift, move, call it what you like and then it was a quick sprint to the toilet and what followed was, shall we say, rather unpleasant for all concerned. 

It could have been very unpleasant for Santo first thing, 5am, but lucky for him I woke from the dream I was having about stifling a fart, otherwise... grimace... he could have had the first serve of my beef vindaloo. Pffffffttttt! (Big smile... across his thigh. He, he, he, could you imagine?) Splat! Euw!

And then I seemed to keep it on a low simmer for the rest of the morning, gurgle, gurgle, gurgle, gurgle... oh... ah! I stayed in bed, with my computer, of course. Buddy was there too, but he really didn't give a shit. (pun intended) as he lay next to me on the bed with his legs in the air, snoring.


For the sweet tooth's amongst you, chocolate fountain any one?

Boo hoo! Poor me.

I drifted off to sleep in the afternoon, me and Buddy cuddled up under my two doonas. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. We were still alseep when Santo arrived home in the afternoon.

"I see," he said standing at the foot of the bed.

Buddy and I looked up bleary-eyed.