Book Review

"Universal Foam: From Cappuccino to the Cosmos" by Sidney Perkowitz.

I picked up "Universal Foam from the Dymocks store in Marion. I was jonesing for something to read, and it had been discounted to the princely sum of $1. It is, with no exceptions, the most boring book in the whole of Christendom. I've read defrosting instructions of the backs of frozen chickens that were more entertaining.

I was mildly interested in the part where the authour looks at aerogel, but that was about it. The whole book is a random and frankly eclectic gathering-together of information, anecdotes and historical discoveries relating to bubbles in a suspension matrix. At 180 pages it works out to 1.8 cents per page, which seems about right.

I'm sure Mr Perkowitz knows a lot about foam, and from the section on beer i'd say he's probably a decent guy, but somewhere, someone convinced him to write this book. And that's just not cricket.

Unforseen Problems

The problems started roughly 15 minutes after the new vessel was commissioned. Captain Avareal, the New Republic's latest 'young gun', was standing on the bridge of the New Republic cruiser Advantageous (some days previously, the Imperial Star Destroyer Impervious). He had just overseen the arrival of the final crew compliment and was beginning the checklist for the shakedown tour when the intercom chirruped.

"Avareal here," he answered.
"Sergeant Bomin, sir," came a voice through the comlink, "Engineering. Er, we have a problem, sir."
Captain Avareal straightened his tunic. Upon recieving command of the recently-captured vessel he had resolved to tackle every crisis head on, with the can-do attitude that had got him far in the New Republic Fleet. "What is it?" he asked.

There was a pause. "Well, it's like this," Sergeant Bomin replied, "Several of the boys...would like to go to the toilet."

This took Captain Avareal by surprise. "Well, just go," he told the Sergeant blithely, "surely you don't need to ask permission for that."

"No, sir, it's just that there don't seem to be any toilets. Sir."
"What do you mean, no toilets? This is, for all intents and purposes, a Star Destroyer. There's toilets all over the place!"

"Human toilets, sir," Bomin stated politely.
Several pieces then clicked unpleasantly into place for Captain Avareal. "You're not human are you, Bomin?" he asked weakly.

"No sir," replied Bomin gruffly, "Me and all of the boys down here are Trabugs. Insectoid, sir. We find human toilets a bit difficult."

"I see." Captain Avareal seemed a little stumped. As he looked out across the bridge he could see the consoles of several communications officers light up. He turned to his second-in-command.

"Number Two," he asked, "roughly how many different races do we have on this ship?"
"Over 300, sir," said the jumior officer proudly, "Mon Mothma wanted this ship to be a beacon of hope and cross-species relations."

Captain Avareal looked again at the communications consoles, now all firmly lit up. Perhaps, he mused, it wasn't a good idea to serve all that soda pop at the launch party. All in all, he thought, discretion may be the better part of valour.

"Number Two!" he barked, "Time for a ship inspection!"
"Yes sir. Where shall we start?"
A worried look briefly crossed Avareal's face. "The escape pods, I think," he said quietly.

Correspondance I have not yet answered

Congratulations, and welcome to the Moustache Of The Month Club (TM).

Membership of the Moustache Of The Month Club is extremely excusive and limited to only 200 persons per year. If you are reading this you will have most likely been on our waiting list for some time. Now however, I am pleased to announce that your wait is over.

Membership of the Moustache Of The Month Club entitles it's members to twelve monthly periodicals. Chiefly these periodicals will contain the precise instructions on growing the month's favoured facial hair. These instructions have been carefully crafted over many years by our trained team of experts. In addition the periodical also includes feedback, a Club forum and currently an in-depth series of articles on moustaches in popular fiction. Of course, our Burt Reynolds spotting contest continues unabated.

Thank you for taking the time to cultivate an interest in moustaches and, hopefully, one day cultivate your own. From the beginner to the master moustachier, the Moustache Of The Month Club caters to all comers.

Happy Growing!

Mr Goodtime Slim,
President,
Moustache Of The Month Club Australasia PTY LTD

sniffIMPERTINENCE

LONDON: The world of satirical motoring websites was rocked this week after Sebastian Vettel's win in the wet at Monza marked the first Mclaren loss in over two years that could not be childishly blamed on a perceived Ferrari bias by the FIA.

"Normally whenever Mclaren lose there's a red car somewhere ahead of them, which makes it easy to claim that it's all a big conspiracy," said Sniff Petrol spokesperson Troy Queef, "however this time we're forced to say that Mclaren's loss is probably because someone else was faster than them."

Despite this obvious flaw the be-aviatored fictional motoring journalist was quick to point out that the website's editorial staff were frantically searching for any percieved Toro Rosso bias that they could possibly invent. "Think about it, Toro Rosso sounds a bit Italian, doesn't it?" Queef commented, "And 'Rosso' probably means 'red' or something. I don't think this one will take us too much time at all."

After Vettel's superb win the Toro Rosso team has been literally inundated with requests from Mclaren to let them steal the plans for last year's car, thus allowing their fans to wear an extra Toro Rosso hair shirt over the Ferrari one already firmly in place. At the post-race Mclaren press conference Ron Dennis told the media, "Anything we can do to avoid facing the fact that a British driver in a British car is just not very fast, we will do as a matter of priority."

Carcoat Damphands was said to be unavailable for comment.

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Random Doobings

The president of the Rotary Club looked sharply through his bifocals at the interruption.
"Kindly shut up!" he thundered down the meeting room table, shaking the portrait of the Queen hanging on the wall.
"No, I will not!" replied Captain Doobie, "I have something to say!"
"Oh really?" replied the president sarcastically, "Tell me, what exactly do you have to bring to the table, other than a face like a smacked arse and a cavalier attitude towards personal hygiene?"

Requiem For A Giant

Today is a sad day. Or rather yesterday was a sad day, because yesterday was the day that one of the true greats of Country Music passed away.

Jerry Reed, otherwise known as 'the Claw' for his distinctive fingerpickin' technique, died in his home after a short battle with emphysema. He was 71.

I first knew of Jerry Reed, as most people did, through his movies. Although he had already carved himselve a lucrative career as a country guitarist par-excellence, it was his association with Burt Reynolds during the filming of "WW and the Dixie Dancekings' that would lead to Jerry's best-known and most loved role: that of Cletus Snow in the seminal trucking saga "Smokey and the Bandit". Jerry also sang ever' damn song on the soundtrack, too.

Jerry's work was often eclectic and always electric. Songs like "Lord, Mr Ford" and "Amos Moses", with their driving guitar licks and non-stop vocals (performed by Jerry simultaneously) were little more than a wonder to behold.

Jerry stopped touring as he got older. He released what he felt would be his last album in 1996, pairing up with legends Bobby Bare, Waylon Jennings and Mel Tillis to produce 'Old Dogs', a fine album in any context.

However, he couldn't stop there. Although arthritis had limited his ability to play, in 2006 he released "Jerry Reed: Still (a)Live", from which all proceeds went to children's charities. He followed this up in 2007 with a new studio album, with all proceeds going to the Veterans of Foreign Wars Appeal (an American version of our own Legacy).

For me, Jerry Reed was simply one of the finest guitarists in the world. I remember several late-night, drunken conversations about who was the greatest, be it Clapton, Gary Moore, Martin Barre, Billy Gibbons, Hendrix and the like; but my money was on Reed every time. As I think Steve Earle once put it in his liner notes, "You think you're a guitar player, but then you stand next to Jerry Reed and find that son, you ain't nothing but a guitar holder."

Keep them wheels truckin', son, and don't let them county-mounties get y'all. Ten-four!

The Pitfalls of Telemarketing

"Hello, may I speak to Mr Deniro please? Hello, Mr Deniro, My name is John and I would like to talk to you about Teleco....yes, I am speaking to you, Mr Deniro...yes I am...well I don't know if there is anyone else there....yes, I am speaking to you....yes..."

The First Day Of The Bullpitt Prime-Ministership

9:05am Large refrigerator moved into the Foreign Payments (reciepts) Division of the Reserve Bank.
10:13am Holden Commodore renamed, now available in Premier, Kingswood and Belmont trim levels.
12:45pm Nuns banned.
1:18pm Small Nissan dealership in Goanna Heights compulsorily acquired for defence testing ground.