Random Doobings

Captain Doobie,
The Cloisters
Morphett Vale SA 5162

Dear Captain,

Thank you for your recent inquiry. SAPOL are always looking for new ways in which to liase with the community and we woud be delighted to supply you with the projections you requested.

To summarise your request, here is your list of personalities, accompanied by the reward for the theoretical kidnappers, should they be apprehended:

Anne Wills: $5000
Ugly Dave Grey: $3500
Humphrey B Bear: $7500
HRH Elizabeth Windsor: $1m
Jean Luc Picard: $60000
The Goodies: $10000
Chilly Billy, The Little Man Who Lives In The Fridge: $200
Arnold Schwarzenegger: $750000
Lucille Ball: $20

I hope this has been of some assistance.

Yours,

Chief Inspector Slaptard
SAPOL Customer Relations (Gulag)

p.s. SAPOL would like to remind members of the general public that kidnapping is not a very nice thing to do.

Things I Could Do Better Than An Austrian

By J Stalin, age 13

1. Grow a moustache
2. Run the world
3. Pogroms

Figgin Fryer Lands In Hot Water

NOARLUNGA: Local resident Captain Doobie has been detained by police on charges of Causing An Affray following an incident at a local shopping centre.

Police spokesperson Constable Felcher told reporters that Mr Doobie, who claims to be a Captain in the 'Salvation Navy' had been operating a business within the centre without the permission of Centre Management.

"He was operating a small pastry-vending business on a card-table in the mall," Constable Felcher reported, "When asked to move on by Security staff he became agitated and began making threatening comments, at which point the Police were called."

While Mr Doobie was not available for comment a spokesman for 'Doobies Olde-Tyme Christmasse Treates', Mr Goodtime Slim, told us that Mr Doobie's arrest had been the result of a misunderstanding.

"We are aware that permission is needed to trade in the Centre," Mr Slim said, "but our cat ate all of the relevant signed paperwork. When Captain Doobie was approached by Centre Staff he was more than amicable, and as a gesture of goodwill offered to toast their figgins for free."

Mr Slim acknowledges that the Security staff member's interpretation of the term 'figgin' may be to blame for the subsequent fracas.

"That," he said, "and Captain Doobie's new DVD of Season 2 of 'Are You Being Served', which he watched before leaving to man the stall."

Fun In The Workplace

Names written on the 'Quit Smoking Seminar' sign-up sheet in the factory in which I work:

1. Peter Jackson
2. Winnie Blue
3. Mr Dunhill
4. A camel

I Hate Cheese

This morning, the presence of mice in the building was brought to my attention. At lunchtime, I bought some mousetraps and some cheese for bait. Or at least, I tried to. The mousetraps were fine, easily found in Woolworth's hardware aisle. The cheese, on the other hand, was a different matter. Being lactose intolerant* I have never in my entire life ever thought about the retail possibilities of cheese. As such I had no idea where it was kept, and Woolworths weren't helping any. By process of deduction, I reasoned that it must be refrigerated, but none of the fridges held any. I could find milk, yoghurt, yakult and all that crap, but no cheese. The deli had a range of weird Venezuelan Beaver Cheeses but no home-brand cheddar, Coon, or any other brand that I recognised from the Peter Russell Clark Marketing Board. In the end I resorted to walking up and down every aisle in the supermarket before stumbling across the cheese fridge which had been placed, against all logic, as far away from the dairy goods as possible. I hate cheese.

*As opposed to just intolerant

Finally, A Bit Of Culture

Jerry Reed, Co-Star of 1977s “Smokey and the Bandit” auditions for the role of Hamlet.

To be, or not to be, son,--well now that is a big 10/4 ain’t it?:--
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of that darned outrageous fortune
Well now, suppose we take arms against a sea o’ troubles,
And by opposing end them? Honey, hush!--To die,--to sleep,--
No more; and by a sleep to say what we end
That ol’ heartache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,--weeeel, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd, you hear me boy? Yup, to die,--to sleep;--
To sleep! perchance to dream:--ha ha ha, there's the rub, son;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause, ha ha ha: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
C’mon Amos, who’d bear the whips and scorns of time,
The smokey's wrong, that ol’ Bandit’s contumely,
The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, ha ha ha!
When he his-self might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would these fardels bear,
(what in heck is a fardel anyhow?)
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,--
That ol’ undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, son, --done puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we got
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; ha ha ha!
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, son;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action,
I’m eastbound and down, ha ha ha!
Aw shoot, I oughta be in Stratford-upon-Avon.

A Wake-Up Call

You know that you're too into country music when you find out that Jerry Reed once did a guest appearance on Scooby Doo, so you rush to EzyDVD.com to see if it's available.

And you feel sad when it isn't :o(

Things I Learned On My Recent Training Course

1. People from Melbourne hate being referred to as 'convicts'.
2. There sure are a lot of ugly people in Melbourne.
3. Never refer to Melbourne as 'The Foul Eastern Reaches Of The Empire'.
4. Box Hill contains no boxes.
5. Sit in the back of taxis. Trying to get in the front door will result in A Look being given.
7. Do not read a book about plane crashes whilst on a plane. While I didn't even think it out of the ordinary, the girl next to me became somewhat agitated.

8. Souvlaki = Yiros. And bad yiros at that.

Climb That Mountain!

In any endeavour, it is important to remain goal-focused. In no endeavour is this more important than weight loss. While some of you may scoff at the thought that my Adonis-like physique would ever need dietary control, it's been a long winter, and a bit of tweaking has become necessary.

However, it's not as easy as it looks. Yesterday, whilst out and about, my resolve crumbled. I was heading for a servo to buy a lovely Pepsi Max when insidious thoughts intruded. Yes, I thought, you've been doing well, have a real Coke and a Mars Bar. As I was crossing the road to the servo, as Dame Fortune would have it, I was passed by a carload of nubile blondes, giggling and carefree, in very short shorts and halter tops.

I had my Pepsi Max.

The History Of Stuff, Part 3

Staplers

In primitive societies many methods were used to secure paper. The ancient egyptians used a gel comprised chiefly of alligator dung, whilst in Rome they favoured slaves. Neither of these methods survived the Dark Ages, although some claim that this is what monks were invented for.

In 1873 with the Industrial Revolution firmly underway and air conditioners yet to be invented, the British Patents office became overwhelmed with the amount of patents flying around the room whenever they opened the windows. Most patents of the time were voluminious multi-page documents, of which the pages were not bound. After the invention of aluminium made the bauxite paperweights of the day far too expensive for patent clerks, an alternative solution had to be found. In co-operation with the Admiralty (who had been suffering similar problems when opening portholes) the Patent Office advertised for tenders for a new method of collecting sheets of paper.

The competition was won in 1876 by the reknowned engineer Kingdom Isalbard Brunel, with his System To Attach Paper Lightly, Easily and Regularly. This was later shortened to today's 'stapler'.

A Public Service Announcement

Please note that Arlo Guthrie does not want the following:

• Tickles
• 8"x10" colour glossy photos with a note on the back of each one explaining what each one was to be used in evidence against him
• Pickles
• To sit on the Group W bench
• Alice

Random Doobings

It should be mentioned at this stage that Captain Doobie and Goodtime Slim have a cat. Or rather, the house in which they live has attracted a cat. It was possibly the most disgusting looking cat in the cosmos. A big old tom who knows a soft touch when he sees one, he had decided to set up at the house for his retirement from a life of crime, or in a cat’s case: a life. It had two names, depending on who was talking to it. ‘Youbastard’ was generally from Goodtime Slim, while Captain Doobie called it ‘Puss’. It was best described as a shapeless lump of fur, scar tissue and indiscriminate earage. It had seen more fights than it had had hot dinners, and had found in Captain Doobie and Goodtime Slim the perfect mix of a cat lover and a cat hater. Thus, it had someone to take care of its food, sleeping arrangements and patting requirements, and someone to utterly annoy; which are the main two requirements in an older cat’s life.

Future Novel Titles

Captain Doobie, Goodtime Slim, and...

the Robotic Pirate Ninjas Of Cheyenne Gulch
the H Man
the League of Even Extraordinarier Gentlemen
the Panzer Of Destiny
the Grim Spectre Of Death
the Title That Couldn't Be Used Due To Allegations Of Copyright Infringement
The Pirates! In An Adventure With Antimacassars

Interesting Facts #1

Did you know:

Edward Woodward is the only actor whose name sounds exactly like someone farting in the bath.

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Nasty and spiteful

Dear Cube Police,

You might think you all that, but you ain't. Blocking the d-man's internet so he can't post to the blog no more just earned you a bitchslapping. Email blogging. Way of the future. Stop googling goatse on the company time and you might learn yoseff something.

Word, beyotch.

Curses! Foiled again!

Readers may not be aware that confectionery the world over is not the same. The brands may be the same, but differences in local production techniques, tastes and ingredients cause the product to vary in different markets. Take Mars Bars* for example. In Australia, they’re chocolatey. In the UK, however, there’s a vast difference. They use beet sugar over there, instead of the cane sugar we use in Australia. Because chocolate made from beet sugar tastes exceedingly bad, the emphasis in English Mars Bars* is towards the caramel. They taste different. Not nicer, because once you’re at the Mars Bar* level of niceness there’s not a whole lot of room for distinction.
In Australia, of course, English Mars Bars* are difficult to find and when you do, they’re expensive. So, Imagine my surprise on Monday night when I went into Cheap As Chips to get some fertiliser pellets for my African Violet and there they were, a whole box of English Mars Bars* for $1 each! I bought one and assured myself that it was in fact genuine. But then came a problem: how to get more. Since then, on two separate occasions I have returned to buy more. However, there is a problem: the box containing them is at the end of the sales counter. I feel odd queuing up just to get at the box. To solve this, I have had to buy other things as well.
In summary, in addition to the nine English Mars Bars* purchased, I am also the proud owner of “The Mercury Project” starring Robert Wagner, and a CD entitled “Burnin’ Up The Road” by the heavily-bemulleted Mcbride and The Ride. Lucky me.

*Blah blah copyright blah blah pants

Correspondance I Have Not Yet Answered

D C,

By the time you read this, I may well be dead, as my head has been cut off. Well, not completely cut off, but I’m bleeding a lot. Well, when I say a lot, I mean a bit. A bit of a lot. You know what I mean. Can I have $20?

Mum

* * *

Mr D C White,
Embassy of The Republic of the Poongtwackle Archipelago,
G.P.O. Box 2768
Adelaide, SA, 5000.

Dear Mr White,

Thank you for your recent correspondence, but it has failed to clear up the matter at hand. While we here at the Electricity Trust of South Australia would be delighted to extend every courtesy to your recently-established embassy in Adelaide, we again reiterate that we have never heard of the Republic of the Poongtwackle Archipelago. Further, neither has the Department of Foreign Affairs or even ASIO. In any event, even established international embassies must pay their electricity bills. Enclosed is a final notice. Please remit.

Yours Sincerely,

Joe Bloggs,
Accounts Recievable Supervisor,
E.T.S.A.

p.s. As to your claim that The Republic of the Poongtwackle Archipelago is nuclear-capable, we are prepared to take that risk. Pay the bloody bill.

* * *

Dude,

Long time no see, eh? Listen, I was wondering if you had any room at your place, only I’ve got to get somewhere to hang for a while while all the fuss dies down. Just need you to give me the nod. Don’t worry about the dosh, I’ll see you’re all right.

Your old mate,

Lord Lucan (ret.)

* * *

D C,

I don’t mean to sound pushy but I haven’t heard back yet and I think that both of my legs are about to go too. Well, a leg. Ish.

How’s that $20 coming along?

Mum

* * *

Mr D C White,
G.P.O. Box 2768,
Adelaide SA 5000

Dear Mr White,

While the People’s Republic of Ecuador is prepared in principle to assist people of any nationality in their struggle against oppression, we are not prepared to recognize your ‘nation’ at the next sitting of the United Nations. This decision has been made primarily due to the fact that we do not know where ‘The Republic of the Poongtwackle Archipelago’ is. We are not prepared to believe that you have spilt coffee on your only copy of the map. In fact, we find spurious in the extreme your explanation that the only photocopier in your country is jammed, and that only through international recognition will you be able to allow a repairman to cross the Poongtwacklian/Javan border. May we suggest that you try Chile? They’d probably be in it for a quid.

Yours Sincerely,

Alberto Modesta,
Foreign Undersecreteria,
People’s Republic of Ecuador

* * *

D C,

I think rigor mortis has set in: I can’t feel my colon. Are you getting any of these letters? Whoops, there go my fingers all over the floor. That $20 had better bloody well hurry up is all I can say.

Mum

* * *

Mr White,

Thanks for taking the time to submit. I appreciate the look, but I’m going to pass.

Joe Schlabotnik,
McSweeneys.net

A Retraction

Having attacked Richard Dawkins this morning, I thought it best during my lunch break to purchase his book 'The God Delusion' in the spirit of scientific enquiry.
And as a result I apologise to Mr Dawkins. He is not a raving whackjob. In his book, he advances the very same argument as my previous post, but qualifies it with the notion of 'agnostic probability', claiming that while it is one thing to doubt both hypotheses, it is quite another to grant each hypothesis equal probability. I wholeheartedly concur.
I must now confess to the cardinal sin of having assumed that Mr Dawkins was an atheist. He is not. He describes himself as a 'Temporary Agnostic in Practice' or one who can not prove either hypothesis, but believes that an answer will eventually be found. Again, I agree. Furthermore, i'm looking forward to finishing the book.

Richard Dawkins Is A Raving Whackjob

As an unrepentant agnostic, if there’s one thing I like better than baiting religious nuts its baiting atheists.
I love atheists. They come out all scientific and (perversely) holier-than-thou, tut-tutting the religions of the world and, in Richard Dawkins’ case, writing big books.
The problem is that atheism springs from exactly the same place as religion: faith. The atheists say that God’s existence cannot be proven, therefore he does not exist. But this is faulty logic. As any good fictional detective will tell you, the absence of proof is not proof positive. Because no-one can prove that God exists, it is not proof that he doesn’t. Whenever I meet a particularly garrulous atheist I always like to point out that the burden of proof is on them. To back up their hypothesis, they must prove that God does not exist. Due to the reportedly omnipotent and ethereal nature of God, this cannot be proven. There is no way to prove that God does not exist.
They really really don’t like hearing that. They also don’t like then being told that their belief that God does not exist is just that: a belief. It is powered by the same motivational force that religion is: personal faith. They are as unreasoned, unscientific and illogical as those in an organised religion, and only the names are different.

The Race That Stops A Nation (not Bathurst)

Is it just me, or did the placings for this year's Melbourne Cup look like the track list on Bono's iPod?

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Raincheck:
In the event of postponement, please retain this URL for use at another blog.
ABSOLUTELY NO REFUND FOR ANY REASON.

Dan Dare, Earth's Greatest Adventurer!

Dan Dare, intergalactic explorer and adventurer, has been captured by the dreaded Mekons. As they prepare to execute him by lowering him slowly into a pit of boiling snot, he yells to the head Mekon, "You can't kill me! I'm Dan Dare, Earth's greatest adventurer! I'm beloved by billions! If you kill me, it will start a jihad which will wipe the Mekon race from the galaxy!"
The head Mekon is not overly impressed, but having seen many years of Earth's TV broadcasts he knows just how stupid we can be. So he sets Dan a challenge. "We will take you back to Earth," he says, "and if no-one recognises you in the first 10 seconds, you die. Oh, and your planet gets vaporised. Mwahahahahaha!"
Dan agrees, somewhat reluctantly. He racks his brains to think of some way to accomplish the task. The Mekon saucer lands, at 2am, in Dublin. The Mekon Advance Reconaissance Group run out, weapons drawn, shooting lasers wildly in every direction. Once the perimiter is established, they push Dan down the ramp into the empty, dark Irish street. The head Mekon looks at his watch. "Well," he tells Dan, "It's coming up on ten seconds..."
Dan is at a loss, but then, he attempts to escape! He jumps the Mekon perimiter but instead of taking off up the road he trips over a heap of garbage bins and falls to the ground. Suddenly, a window opens and an old Irishwoman yells, "Eh, what da fook's goin' on dan dere?"

A Public Safety Announcement

Today is Hallowe'en, and we all know what that means: dressing up. Now, i'm as liberal-minded as the next man, but when I see a man in a dress I feel a bit uncomfortable. Fun is fun, but enough is enough. We've all done it, i'm sure, but for most men trying on your wife's frock in the confines of your own home while she's out shopping is just a normal part of life. Unfortunately, some people don't know where to stop. The point has been exacerbated by the actions of our legislature. These actions have given it a mystique. It is now, in some quarters, 'cool'. Gangs of befrocked teens can now be seen roaming the streets late at night, deliberately flouting the law in sequinned off-the-shoulder numbers and heels. This madness has to stop.

Transvestitism: it's not clever and it's not funny.

Random Doobings

"Are there any questions?" asked the tour guide.
Captain Doobie and Goodtime Slim raised their hands immediately.
"Right," sighed the tourguide, "Are there any questions from people who aren't complete retards?"

On An Otherwise Normal Day.

This morning, whilst buying a healthy breakfast of chocolate and Coke* from my local shop, I saw a sign out congratulating 2 people (presumably connected with the shop in some way) on the birth of their new baby. Nothing wrong with that, is there? Yes, there is, when the baby's name is, apparently: Jaxon. Jaxon???? Is his (her?) middle name 'Fyve'? Sheesh. Some people are schmucks.

*'Coke' is a registered trademark of the Coca-Cola Corporation of Atlanta, GA. The author's use of the term does not serve as an endorsement or disparagement of their fine product.
Even if it is part of his own special Breakfast of Champions**.

**'Breakfast of Champions' is a registered trademark of General Mills Inc. The author's use of the term does not serve as an endorsement or disparagement of their fine product. Chewie is my Co-pilot***.

***Fuck off George Lucas.

Ernest Farknagle, Atlantologist!

New novel idea:

Ernest Farknagle is a paranormal investigator looking for proof of a pre-historic civilisation in the mid-atlantic, who solves crimes in his spare time! He and his trusty sidekick (the sassy, feisty Annabel Rubicon) are investigating a dig on the isle of Knossos, when a suspicious murder unearths a clue as to the whereabouts of the actual tablets upon which the Ten Commandments are written! From here they uncover a conspiracy as old as the Christian Church itself that leads deep into the heart of the Vatican and the Conspiracy Of The Black Pope. To Ernest's suprise, however, it turns out that the conspiracy is as old as Atlantis itself, and the final showdown between Ernest, Rubicon and the Black Pope takes place on top of Ayers Rock, which we dioscover is all that is left of Atlantis' old enemy, The Lost Continent of Mu.

Interested publishers please form an orderly queue.

Upcoming Books By Jeremy Clarkson

Clarkson On Cars
Clarkson On Fire
Clarkson On Acid
Clarkson On A Bull Ant Nest
Clarkson On Kirrin Island

Rubber Soul

The Advertiser today claims that the McCartney-Mills divorce will be "the ugliest ever." This suprises me, as I wouldn't have thought that Heather Mills would have a leg to stand on.*


*some people may see this as a cruel joke about a poor crippled woman. However I would remind you that according to the guidelines of the WTO, by having an artificial leg Ms Mills is technically a pirate (that's why there are so many pirates in south-east asia: landmines). If Ms Mills wishes to take exception with the above she can do so in the usual pirate manner, and pass me the black spot. Arr.

Random Doobings

With a groan, what was left of the roof caved in. As Goodtime Slim cowered underneath the sofa, Captain Doobie waited paitiently inside the now-in-the-livingroom Torana until the dust died down. When it had he got out of the car via the window, as the door was prevented from opening by the remains of the television and a small occasional table.
"What do you think you're doing?" screamed Goodtime Slim, picking himself up and dusting himself off.
"Its not my fault," sulked Captain Doobie.
"Not your fault? I was sitting here reading the paper and you decided to drive the car in!"
"I thought it was the garage."
"Does this look like the garage?"
"It does a bit. Well, ish."
Goodtime Slim looked around at the now-destroyed room. "And what am I supposed to do now?" he asked.
"What do you mean?"
"What? You've just driven the car into the living room and you know perfectly well that the vicar is coming to tea!"
"Well," remarked Captain Doobie, "that certainly turned into a British sitcom in a hurry."

A Brief Moment Of Levity

Whee! I'm a helicopter! thwokketa thwokketa thwokketa thwokketa

In Search of... the Big Truth

Has anyone ever noticed how science has neatly taken the place of religion in our society? Not as a gradual thing, but just for everything. Think about it: back in the olden days if you asked how you were made and what made you, you got told that a man who lives on a cloud made you. If you asked to see the man you were told that you couldn’t, and that you were very naughty for not believing the story. Now of course, it’s all changed. Today, you’d be told that your body is composed of atoms and held together by quantum physics. Should you ask to see an atom, you’d be told that you can’t, and that you’re stupid if you don’t simply accept that they are there.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t doubt that today’s science has a lot more sensible answers than religion. But the place of science in our society has meant that it has become a belief system in itself. Why do things happen? Science. Atoms and stuff. There’s no need to know how or why past that. A simple belief in science and we can all walk around no more enlightened than we were before, but feeling much superior to those who choose a religious answer.
This situation has probably fuelled the Evolution vs Intelligent Design debate quite a bit. I know many people who weigh in quite heavily on the side of evolution but have no real explanation or even rudimentary proof that evolution actually occurs in the real world (anyone see the awful Penn & Teller episode?) It is, on the timescale of human life, an unprovable theory. As theiories go, for my money Evolution is closer to the mark than the old-man-on-a-cloud theory, but I at least have the sense to realise that it’s got a few holes that need to be plugged before it can become fact. The Intelligent Designers have latched onto these holes and we have another religious war on our hands, fought on one side by people who believe blindly in ‘God’ and on the other by people who believe blindly in ‘Science’.
I’ll leave you with this thought: there is as much evidence in the world to back up the Theory of Evolution as there is that Atlantis existed. In the case of Evolution we have Darwin’s book. On Atlantis, we have Plato’s dialogues. Why is one taught in schools as fact and the other treated as myth?

Dysentry Is Fun!

Yesterday whilst I was out-and-about, I bought a bottle of water from my local store. The problem was, it was not a brand I usually buy. When I looked at the label, I found that it was spring water from the island of Java. That's right, Java in Indonesia.
My question is this: why did I buy water from a country where the first advice to travellers is "Don't drink the water"?
Malevolence. Bloody-mindedness. Thirst. Couldn't be bothered. Any of the above. Mmm, I can taste the crypto-spiridium...

Wouldn't you know it.

Well, it's Friday the 13th today, and what happens? I was being careful to avoid any unpleasant situations when I accidentally walked under a ladder to (unsuccessfully) stop a black cat from crossing my path, which caused me to fall into a mirror, breaking it, putting up an umbrella inside to cushion my fall, seeing a pin and not picking it up and spilling salt without throwing a pinch over my shoulder.
Boy, is it lucky that i'm not superst

The Ties That Bind

Being one of Australia's hottest, most critically-acclaimed young writer is not all beer and skittles. Many young ladies are completely overawed by me, and as such even I can sometimes find it hard to meet new people. As a result, I've been trying to think of ways to attract young ladies, and I think i've come up with a beauty.
Using Hollywood as my guide, i've decided that the best way to attract women is to rig up my car with the sound of a kitten stuck up a tree. I'll leave the car door open until a concerned young lady comes along to investigate. When she does, I hit the gas, putting the pedal to the metal, taking care to impress her with my CB-talking skills. Then we get engaged in a series of daredevil stunts and hot-pursuits with the po-lice, and we drive around in this fashion until she inevitably falls in love with me in the second act. Then we shake the po-po, head for Atlanta Georgia, and bob's your uncle!
The way I see it, it can't fail, especially if I wear a moustache (preferably my own) and a big cowboy hat. And i'd better think up a good CB handle, too.

My Humble Abode

For those of you who are wondering why i'm allowed to get away with such an amazingly anarchic site i'd like to let you in on a secret. While you may well be reading this post from the comfort of your home, office or cell, it is being written in less than auspicious circumstances. In order to keep the blog free from the constraints imposed by the military-industrial complex I am forced to write it from my fortress stronghold, location unknown. Obviously I know where it is, but for all intents and purposes you don't. The only people who do, in fact, are the Doubleday Book Club, and as i'm a member under an alias they won't be putting two-and-two together anytime soon. My humble abode (charmingly referred to as 'The Temple Of Doom' by my artificially-intelligent clockwork robot spiders who toil at the myriad menial tasks required on a daily basis) is ringed by the latest in SAM technology, as well as more conventional lasers, tripwires, RPGs and of course the spiders who spit hydrochloric acid through their eyes. To make doubly sure, however, the entire site has been placed under the magical protection of a Mayan shaman kept on staff for that very purpose. So, enjoy.

A swift punch in the cock.

Reasons that Kim il-Jong, dictator of North Korea, just earned himself a punch in the cock:

1. Being smaller than me
2. Wearing glasses
3. Detonating nuclear devices in secret underground locations
4. Looking at me funny

In Days Of Old

In days of old,
when knights were bold,
and paper wasn't invented,
they wiped their arse,
on blades of grass,
and walked away quite contented.

The Next Star Trek Movie

I had the best idea last night for the next Star Trek movie. The Borg time-travel back to the 1970s to assimilate earth but crash on the moon. A small scouting party land on Wimbledon Common, where they instantly assimilate a family of Wombles to be the spearhead of their invasion force. Meanwhile the crew of the Enterprise NCC-1701Z (or whatever one we're up to now) do that freaky time-slingshot thing around the sun. There's time for some fish-out-of-water gags in 1970's England before they team up with an insider (Paddington Bear) and phaser the bejeezus out of The Wombles, headed by a borg whose catchphrase is: "I am Great Uncle Bulgaria of Borg, resistance is futile!" The Federation win, but in a tender and poignant moment, Paddington has his throat ripped out by an enraged Tomsk in a hastily-prearranged barbed-wire cage match on board the Borg cube.

I call it "Star Trek 10: What The Everyday Folk Leave Behind".

Jerry Reed vs Henry Ford

Things That The Ghost Of Henry Ford Might Say To Jerry Reed, Should A Haunting Occur:

1. Whilst I appreciate your concern on the matter I fail to see, sir, how your financial state is due in any way to my adoption of the production line assembly process.
2. Further, I would in future appreciate you directing your comments to the relevant traffic regulatory body or financial institution concerned.
3. And stop calling me 'son'.

Note to self

Do they do hair extensions for sideburns? Must investigate price and availability.

A Beginner's Giude To Modern CB Language

In today’s modern world, advances in telecommunications occur so rapidly that we are sometimes in danger of being left behind. Woe betide the businessman who allows this to happen for it is his competitor who embraces the new technology who will in the long run end up in front. As an aid for all forward-thinking people, I have taken it upon myself to provide a short beginner’s guide to understanding the language commonly in use on the modern Citizen Band radios (or as they are known in common parlance, ‘CBs’). Many of you may have seen these devices in use in recent films such as ‘Smokey And The Bandit’ and ‘Convoy”. At first glance, the language used in these movies is bewildering but with practice you to can master the art of ‘trucker talk’. Who knows, you may even decide to buy a ‘CB’ wireless of your very own. So good luck, and keep on truckin’!

Breaker Breaker: I desire a conversation with you
10-4: That is correct
10-100: To urinate
10-200: To defecate
Handle: Name, usually a form of self-aggrandisement
Smokey Bear: A uniformed police officer
Go Juice: Dieselene (or other petroleum distillate)
Choke’n’puke: An eatery
Bubblegum Machine: A police vehicle
Groceries (Put Down Neck): To eat comestibles
A Plain Brown Wrapper: An unmarked police vehicle
Pedal To The Metal: To drive with excessive vigour
Sumbitch: A foolish person
Goddam sumbitch: An extremely foolish person
Beaver: A comely female
Twenty (what’s your…?): Location
Bear In The Air: A police helicopter
Kojak With A Kodak: A radar-assisted speed detection device
Evel Kinevel: A motorcycle policeman

The History Of Stuff, Part 2

Cats.

Cats were invented in 1898 by Marie Curie. Prior to this, cats had been mythological creatures used only in tales of witchcraft and worshipped by Egyptians. Marie developed the cat using radiation applied to a petrie dish of diced mouse, which she fed to a breeding Ocelot. The resultant offspring were much smaller and easier to use and proved an instant hit in Parisian society. Today cats can be found all over the world except Nova Scotia, where they explode.
Interestingly, cats may emit a strange groaning sound when rubbed vigorously. This is known in collector's circles as 'purring'. If you ever hear this 'purring' do not be alarmed, do not attempt to lubricate your cat in any way, and do not try to return your cat to the manufacturer. Your cat is in perfect working order.

Tales From The Chod-Bin

For those of you who don't know me, I used to work at an anonymous paint factory in Kilburn, South Australia. There's not a lot to do in sunny downtown Kilburn, it must be said, and so lunchtimes were a bit of a challenge. If you hadn't brought sandwiches to eat at your desk, a normal lunch consisted of a walk to the BP down the road (next to the naughty shop and the laundrette), and a lukewarm pasty to eat on the way back. Because Kilburn is an industrial estate, there's not a great deal to look at during the trip to the thriving shopping precinct, which gives one time to reflect on life.
On one occasion I was walking BPwards when I noticed two distinct objects lying in the gutter. As I approached, the combination struck me as odder and odder. There was an empty dildo box, and an old Frank Sinatra LP. Here, indeed, was a mystery, and I set my powers of deduction to solving it.
By the time I was on the return trip, munching a thoughtful pasty, I had it. Or at least, I had the most plausible answer I could think of under the circumstances. I could see, in my mind's eye, an enormous fat woman, doubtless a resident of Olde Kilburne Towne, driving home from the naughty shop, too eager to wait to get home before she took her new dildo out of the box (pardon the pun). As she drove, I could see her come to a decision. "Now that I've got this new dildo," she says to herself, throwing the empty box out of the window, "I won't be needing Frank Sinatra any more!"

The world can be an odd place at times.

Random Doobings

"Get the time machine ready! I feel like a quick jaunt back to 1850."
"Queen Victoria again?"
"Mind out of the gutter, please."

Work For The Dole

In my busy double-life as a peon in a pipe fitting factory and aspiring author, people often ask me why Captain Doobie never became Pope.

In fact, Captain Doobie wasn't allowed to be Pope by direct Centrelink order. The opinion of the Vatican was never canvassed. After being forcibly signed up to a Work For The Dole scheme by the Ice Queen, he hacked the system and changed the assignment from 'Rubbish Collection' to 'Spiritual Leader of The Supreme Holy See'. He was caught as he was boarding the plane to Italy and had his benefits assessed. What particularly irked him was that Goodtime Slim was not caught, and actually spent several months as the Patriarch of Eastern Orthodoxy in Instanbul.

Special Extra Pirate Day Post!

A student of things mathematical,
grew sick of equations quadratical,
he longed to be free,
so he ran off to sea,
and behaved in a manner piratical!

Possible Contestant List For Pirate Big Brother

Blackbeard
Cap'n Kidd
Johnny Depp
Ex-Monkees lead singer Davy Jones
Captain Feathersword
The Pilot From The Flight Centre Ads
Captain Birdseye
Morcambe and Wise

Captain Doobie's Car Reviews, Part 3.

The Chrysler Crossfire

The Chrysler Crossfire is an odd looking car. From the back it's a boat-tail Buick, and from the front the corrugations on the bonnet instantly remind you of some sort of between-the-wars Lufthansa airliner. Which is appropriate, given the Crossfire's germanic heritage. It's essentially a reskinned Mercedes coupe, but you'll note that I said 'essentially', not 'merely'. There's nothing mere about this car. From the moment you step into the 2-seat 'cockpit' (there's no other word for it) you know you're in a real car. The low-slung seats don't give you much height, but you still get to see that long, sexy bonnet stretching out ahead. Turn over the 3.0L V6 and it doesn't just come to life, it snarls. The engine is nicely chosen, with just the right combination of torque and restraint to prevent you from accidentally doing something silly. And the sound is fantasic, even with the windows up. At low speeds it's responsive and agile. Turn it up a notch (say, around the backstreets of St Marys) and you see what an agile little thing it is. Nothing fazes this car. It's balanced, poised and sticks to the road. You turn the wheel and it goes with no oversteer. The supercharged version, however, may provide this.
If I had any reservations about the car it would be the gearbox and the centre console. The 'tiptronic' gearbox seems to lag behind, especially when you're trying to give it some stick. Making a change up while keeping your foot down results in the engine over-revving, and it's not a nice sensation (imagine putting your foot down in neutral). The centre console has obviously carried over from the LHD version because the hand brake is on the left of it, but i'm driving on the right. It wasn't a problem on the test drive in the automatic, but on the manual version it would be less than helpful and not at all ergonomic.
But for those minor niggles the Chrysler Crossfire is a truly magnificent car. It's fun, and it's not overly dangerous. My 2 favorite things in a car.

Random Doobings

Goodtime Slim waited at the dinner table a trifle nervously as Captain Doobie brought out the dinner. He was nervous because all of Captain Doobie's previous attempts to cook tended to result in acute abdominal pains, vomiting and (on one notable occasion) forcible defenestration. However, he calmed himself with the reminder that Captain Doobie had recently been to a cooking course at TAFE and things might not be as bad as they had once been.
Captain Doobie came out of the kitchen and laid a covered platter in front of Goodtime Slim. With a flourish and a cry of "Voila!" Captain Doobie removed the cover.
With the cover's removal was revealed a small, blackened lump covered in the vitrified remains of what might once have been gravy. To the side were what can only be described as the burnt-out husks of potatoes. There was a short silence.
"There you are then," said Captain Doobie, covering (he thought) very well, "a meal fit for a king."
"A king?" replied Goodtime Slim in amazement, "King of where? Shitsville? Shittington? Shitford-apon-Avon? Shitwood Forest? Shitraq? Shitgolia? The Glorious People's Democratic Republic of Shit? Shittesuela? Shitterguay? The Lost Continent of Shit, that became so shitty that it collapsed under the weight of its own shit and sank shittily into the ocean?"
There was another short silence.
"So you don't fancy it then?"
"Not altogether, no."

Top 10 War Movies Never Made

1. Those Ragged Bloody Zeppelineers.
2. Kubelwagons Ho!
3. Stuka! No, Wait, Seagull. Sorry.
4. Carry On Blitzkrieging!
5. Up And Down Again: The War Diaries of Werner Von Braun.
6. Fire At Will, Jeeves!
7. The Very Private War Of Alby Mangels.
8. Monty: My Part In His Downfall.
9. Fear And Loathing In Los Alamos.
10. The Indian Mutiny in Song, or: Everybody Singh!

Random Doobings

The phone rang. Captain Doobie shambled up the hallway in his Incredible Hulk slippers and answered it.
"Hello?" he yawned into the mouthpiece.
In the War room of the Pentagon, the mood was tense as the president spoke into the speakerphone.
"Howdy," he said, "I need to speak to a Mr Goodtime Slim."
Captain Doobie yawned again and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.
"He's not here."
The President couldn't believe what was going on.
"Who is this?" he demanded.
"Captain Doobie," came the reply.
Around the war-room table there was fierce discussion as the President hit the 'mute' button. "That must be their senior military man," Condoleeza suggested.
"Ah, good thinking Condi," said the President. He unmuted the phone, "Well Captain, could I please speak with Goodtime Slim?"
"I told you he's not here. I think he's having a poo."
The president lost his temper. "Do you know who I am?" he yelled into the speakerphone.
"No," replied Captain Doobie as he hung up, "but you're obviously some sort of arsehole."

Goodtime Slim's Solve-Your-Own Mystery

Can you guess the identity of the killer from the story below?

Lady Earnshaw surveyed the people gathered in the drawing roon of the large, elegant country house known as The Cloisters. There was Mr Carstairs, the famed explorer; Lord Ridlington-Smythe and his son, Augustus; Miss Riley and her betrothed, Mr Farndale, and Evanns the butler.
"Thank you for your time," Lady Earnshaw addressed them all, "I pray that this will not take long. For I have gathered you all here to tell you that I have found the identity of the person who killed the parlour-maid!"
"I did," replied Augustus.
"As you know, the foul deed took place in the conservatory at midnight," continued Lady Earnshaw.
"I killed the bitch," interrupted Augustus, cleaning his fingernails with a bloody knife.
"The parlour-maid was stabbed 142 times in the buttocks and lower back."
"Yes, by me," stated Augustus baldly.
"That's right," said Lord Ridlington-Smythe, "I saw the whole thing."
"And me," interjected Mr Carstairs.
"And now the time has come for me to expose the killer!" Lady Earnshaw thundered dramatically. She raised an accusing finger at Evanns, the butler. "It was you!"
"No!" everyone gasped.

Q. How did Lady Earnshaw know that Evanns was the killer?

A. She didn't. Lady Earnshaw had been certifiably insane since her husband died on the Somme, and what's more she'd been hitting the gin all day. The real killer was Mr Farndale, who had been born a commoner, whose eyes ere too close together, and who had used the wrong fork for fish at dinner.

Captain Doobie's Car Reviews, Part 2

The Phoenix Durango was truly ca car built for the road, inasmuch as it had (at point of sale) wheels. The brainchild of Sir Barnaby ffincham, production started in Cottingsley on the 9th of September 2005 and finished by lunchtime. Of the 3 cars completed, one was used as a sales demo and the others were taken by the company recievers. However, these were returned later in the afternoon under warranty.
The Durango's highly unusual L6 engine was said by many motoring journalists to be merely a V6 with 2 mounting pins missing. However, the unusual layout caused the Durango to be highly maneuverable when turning left. Unfortunately when turning right there was reported to be a large weight shift and a loud clunk.
Similarly, the Durango's unique one-wheel-drive system caused negative comment, particularly when coupled with it's all-wheel steering.
Despite this, the Phoenix Durango gained a reputation amongst the racing fraternity as the car most people wanted to beat, mainly because they could and because if they were in front of one their windshield no longer got coated with oil, transmission fluid and stray pistons.
The Phoenix Company itself was later bought by Lotus, Daewoo, Kia, Proton, Rover and finally Skoda, who earn substantial revenue every year being paid to make no more.
Of the three produced one crashed and burned at Silverstone amid much cheering, one was Lynched at Talladega and the third is currently an artificial reef in the Gulf of Carpentaria.

Smurphy's Laws

Smurphy’s Laws

1. If anything can go wrong, it will.
2. If there is a possibility of several things going wrong, the one that involves Gargamel will be the first one to go wrong.
3. If anything just cannot go wrong, it will anyway, and it will involve Brainy.
4. If you perceive that there are four possible ways in which something can go wrong and circumvent these, then a large orange cat (named Azrael) will promptly appear.
5. Left to themselves, things tend to go from bad to smurf.
6. If everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked Smurfette wandering off by herself to pick flowers several hours ago.
7. Nature always sides with the hidden Azrael.
8. Nothing is foolproof, because Gargamel is too ingenious.

Random Doobings

The tension in the car was palpable as the pair headed back home. Captain Doobie suffered in silence for a while, then turned to Goodtime Slim, who was driving.
"Ok, i'm getting the vibe that something is wrong," he said.
Goodtime Slim gripped the steering wheel harder. "Oh really?" he asked through clenched teeth, "what gives you that idea?"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, I give up. What is it? What did I do this time?"
"You know perfectly well," replied Goodtime Slim, staring resolutely ahead.
"No I don't."
Goodtime Slim exploded. "It is not acceptable to ask the Dalai Lama to pull your finger!"
"Well, he did."
"That's beside the point."

MIscellaneous limericks

A Transylvanian Count known as Dracula,
Composed several limericks spectacular,
Said he, “They’re all fine
But to make them all rhyme,
I have to use most uncommon vernacular.”

By far the worst circus on earth,
Was the one which was once held in Perth,
The crowd sat and glowered,
While a goat was deflowered,
By a man of considerable girth.

A sermon on things anatomical,
Delivered in tones most un-canonical,
Made the deacon declare,
“You, the young vicar there!
Keep it above the lower abdominal!”

The History of Stuff, Part 1.

Wainscotting

Back in the middle ages, rooms were not carpeted as we know them. Instead, large rugs took up the middle of most floors. While these seemed adequate, with the invention and instant popularity of the Cuban heel in the 12th century, accidents began to happen. The most famous of these was in the court of King Amstel the Egregious, in which Sir Godefroi of Fyshwick tripped over the leading edge of the royal rug as he approached the throne in supplication. This caused him to overbalance and he landed quite heavily, inadvertently deflowering Princess Hildegaard, who was visiting King Amstel from the court of Holland (or so the story was reported).
Queen Eldebarant, Amstel’s wife, quickly decided that such an event should never again occur, much to the unexpected chagrin of Princess Hildegaard. Queen Eldebarant insisted that from now on, knights with spiked soles should stand at the edge of every rug in the castle. Though this measure solved the problem it was rather knight-heavy, and after a while it started to cost a fair bit. And so a competition was held to devise a better method, the prize for which would be the hand of Princess Hildegaard in marriage (who was beginning to be an embarassment).
At this news all of the skilled artisans in Europe began to design methods to affix carpet in a wall-to-wall fashion. After much trial and error and several aggrieved beheadings, a winner was announced: Sir Sigismund, 3rd Wain of Cotting.

And it has borne his name ever since.

Dog Day Afternoon

Ned cocked his two revolvers with a flourish as he strode through the door of the small town bank. Behind him, Dan and Joe also entered, taking up flanking positions at the bank’s two windows.
“Hands up!” yelled Ned, “this is a hold up!”
Unfortunately for Ned, this did not seem to have the desired affect. Usually when Ned said something like that, women would scream, children would hide in their mother’s skirts and men would go pale and start backing up. Ned rather enjoyed this. He’d been looking forward to it.
This time nothing happened, because the bank was empty. Empty, that is, except for the clerk. Granted, the clerk did stand up when the three outlaws came in, but that was probably more out of habit.
Ned didn’t waste any time. “Dan!” he barked, “make sure that the back door is covered. We don’t want any surprises.”
“Righto,” agreed Dan, who then vaulted the counter and headed out the back.
With deliberate slowness, Ned walked to the counter, his riding boots making a satisfying stompy sound on the floor. He stood in front of the clerk.
“Right,” he said, “The money please.”
The clerk looked appropriately scared. “Er, what money?” he asked.
Ned tried hard to look as menacing as possible. “This is a bank, isn’t it? Banks generally have money.”
“Um, not this one,” said the clerk in a small voice.
‘What do you mean, not this one?”
“We haven’t got any.”
Ned couldn’t believe it “This is ridiculous. Why haven’t you got any?”
In the background, Joe snorted derisively.
“It’s not my fault,” whined the clerk, “there’s no point getting upset at me.”
“No point getting upset?” Ned exploded, “Why not? I come in here to rob a bank, at great personal risk I might point out, and you haven’t got any money. It’s not easy being a bushranger you know. The overheads are ridiculous.”
The clerk really didn’t know what to do. “It’s not my fault,” he repeated.
Dan came in from the back door. “What’s all the yelling about? Are we done here yet?”
“No,” replied Ned.
“No?”
“No. The bank’s run out of money.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I told you we should have gone to Glenrowan.”
“Oh yeah, like you knew that this would happen.”
“Dan just wants to go to Glenrowan because he fancies the girl in the post office, Joe teased.
“I do not!” Dan shot back.
“Will everyone shut up?” yelled Ned. He turned to the clerk. “Right. Why don’t you have any money?” he asked.
The clerk shuffled his feet nervously. “The dog ate it.”
Ned paused at the news. “The dog ate it, did he?”
“Yes.”
“Pathetic. I’m not a teacher, you know. I’m not asking for your homework.” Ned was upset now, and starting to get snippy.
The clerk sighed. “Look,” he told them, “the mail coach came and delivered some gold florins and a whole heap of shillings. I just put them over by the dog for a second and when I looked around he’d eaten them.”
Ned rolled his eyes. “Oh great. Dan, have you got your pocket knife?”
“Bugger off,” said Dan, “I’m not doing that!”
“It’s that or stick your hand up its bum.”
“Ew. No.”
“Maybe you could pretend it was the girl from the post office,” said Joe with a snide smile.
“SHUTUP!”
The clerk interjected, “It’s got to pass through sooner or later. Why don’t you just wait? I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”
Ned couldn’t believe it. “We don’t have time for that! I’ve got Steve outside keeping the horses running and the troopers will probably turn up soon. We’ll just have to take the dog with us.”
“Sorry,” said the clerk, “he gets horse-sick.”
“And I’m allergic to dogs,” Joe pointed out.
Ned turned to look at them all. “OK,” he said, “so we’ll just leave then, shall we? No robbery today because Joe is allergic to dogs. Great.”
“We could try Glenrowan,” Dan said hopefully.
Ned sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s go.”
They trudged outside and jumped on their horses. Steve said excitedly, “How much did you get?”
Ned just shook his head. “Long story,” he replied.

Captain Doobie's Automotive Reviews, Part 1.

The 1987 Lada Samara was the first (and last) attempt by the Russians to break into the highly lucrative Australian hatchback market. Constructed entirely from melted down T-74s and plastic bags, the front-wheel-drive, 4 cylinder hatchback was extremely parsimonious if run on vodka. When run on petrol however it was cantankerous, troublesome and had a marked tendency to simply stop at the most inconvenient place possible, in order to fall to pieces. The spread of rust on the body was measured in kilometers per hour. To make matters worse, with the fall of the Communist apparatus which held them up, the company ceased antipodean trading in 1989, invalidating any warranty remaining and generally being given a hero's sendoff. Several survive today as farm tractors, smash-up derby cars and chicken coops around the country. Believe it or not, all were imported by a company run by Peter Brock, and about the only useful purpose they ever served was to show that the King Of The Mountain could also stuff things up without the benefit of any crystals or magnets whatsoever.

Well well well. A blog. Gosh.

What should I do with it? Something nefarious, no doubt. Subversive. Possibly tedious.

Scratch that. Definitely tedious. Truth be told, i'm bored already.

I suppose I should use the first entry to explain why i'm doing all this. To let you all in on the grand master plan. So I won't. You'll just have to read along and find out for yourself. Now, some of you migt say that this looks as though I don't have a plan. And you'd be wrong. I do, I just don't wish to disclose it right now. You'll have to come along for the ride. Keep your eyes peeled: there may be cake.