Gosh!

Young Bobby McGillicuddy was the luckiest boy in the world, for he was the proud owner of an invisible tail which he used to poke people with on the bus.

One day Bobby was travelling to school on the bus. He had a whole seat to himself because as well as his tail he also had an alarming habit of wetting his pants whenever the bus brakes squealed. However, as Bobby was enjoying his big seat a very fat man got on the bus and sat down next to him.

Aha, thought Bobby, this looks like a job for my tail!
Very carefully, Bobby sent his invisible tail around behind the fat man, and poked him. The fat man jumped in alarm, then looked around to find two nuns in the seat behind him. Instead of starting a fight as Bobby had hoped, the man sat down again, pulled his briefcase onto his lap and started sweating a lot. Bobby used his tail to poke him again but it just made the fat man breathe harder.

Bobby decided to use a different strategy. This time, he used his invisible tail to poke one of the giggling high school girls in the seat in front of him. The giggling abruptly stopped. One of the girls looked over the seat at Bobby and the fat, sweaty, breathing man. She screamed. The fat man jumped up, and his briefcase slid from his lap. The girls screamed harder, and one of the nuns fainted. The other, battle hardened, punched the fat man in the nose. The fat man attempted to run, but he was too large to do much more than waddle awkwardly towards the door, with the eyes of the etire bus upon him. Bobby was once again enjoying his nice comfortable seat when the fat man reached the front doors and the driver hit the brakes.

There are some things even an invisible tail can't fix.

Jellybean Flavour or 1946 Luftwaffe Doomsday Weapon?

Lakritze
Kaugummi
Inselpunsch
Pfirsich
Kirsche
Blaubeere
Zuckerwatte
Kokosnuss
Erdbeerdaquiri
Schokoladenpudding

Family History

Funny how a little bit of research can turn up the most interesting stories.

My grandfather, Jack White, died in the late 50s, many years before I was born. I had always been told that this was from the degradation his body had suffered while he was a prisoner-of-war in Changi. That's all anyone ever really knew. According to Dad, he never spoke about the war and neither did Uncle Len, Jack's brother who served in the same unit.

Last week Uncle Len (who's still kicking) sent Dad a clipping from his local newspaper at Port Pirie, where a journalist had published a picture of Jack & Len's unit when they were liberated after the war, not only on Japanese soil, but in Hiroshima! The accompanying story filled in some important details.

Their unit was initially assigned to transport duties, driving ammo trucks between Alice Springs and Darwin. Soon however, they were posted to Singapore, and three weeks later were captured in the Japanese onslaught. They spent about 18 months in the notorious Changi prison, before being posted to Burma to build the railway along the infamous 'Hellfire Pass'. Towards the end of 1944, having survived all that, they were sent to Japan itself, where they were used as slave labour in a coal mine just outside Hiroshima. Here they stayed until the end of the war.

I can only theorise that being inside the coal mine was what saved them from the atomic blast, but I suppose we'll never know for sure. Uncle Len's pushing 90 now (not bad for someone who survived an atomic blast) while my grandfather died just over a decade after returning home.

New Adventures In SF

Some ideas are just way too cool. Recently i've been formulating a new sci-fi short story to hawk to the big sci-fi magazines, entitled "For Once, Gelignite Jack Blows Up Something For The Greater Good", in which Gelignite Jack stumbles upon a reawakened futuristic city that has been buried under the sands of the Gibson Desert for 20000 years during his Round Australia Castrol Trial in 1962.

I won't go into detail except to mention the above really cool idea: cybernetically-augmented attack-thylacines.

Hypotheses and Rational Thinking

This morning, when I was deciding how to travel to work, I was presented with a number of hypotheses, several of which are listed below. This is not an exhaustive list but it is representative.

The hypotheses were:
1. Travel by car.
2. Travel by public transport.
3. Travel by dragon.

None of the above hypotheses are 100% correct: my car could break down, or there could be a public transport strike. However, these two hypotheses are still far more likely than the third. No rational individual would suggest that if I plan to travel to work by dragon, I will be able to. Why not? Many reasons: I do not know anyone who has ever seen a dragon, and those eyewitness accounts of dragons from antiquity contain many factual errors (aerodynamic problems, wing area vs musculature endemic to saurians etc). This leads me to believe that dragons do not exist. However, absence of evidence is not evidence of absence, and the existence of dragons cannot be 100% disproven. But it can be seen to be so improbable to be safely dismissed in rational calculations. It is extremely unlikely that I will arrive at work in my car to find everyone else laughing at me and asking "why did you waste all that petrol? Why didn't you just come by dragon?" It is so unlikely that in order to carry out my daily life I don't even need to consider it.

The purpose of this is to show that although alternate hypotheses exist for any given situation, not all need to be given equal weight of consideration. Some hypotheses are so incredible that to give them any weight beyond the lip service that they cannot be disproven is irrational. This is particularly illuminating in light of the question posed to me on Saturday night: that I cannot disprove the existence of god(s), so why act as though I can? Because the possibility of any god(s) existence is so slight that, in the same way that I don't seriously consider riding a dragon to work, I don't give it any credence. God(s) may exist as god(s) cannot be disproven, but the possibility of their existence is so remote that it need not enter into any calculation. As the French mathematician Laplace stated to Napoleon when asked why his book on the mechanics of gravitation contained no mention of the christian god: "I have no need of that hypothesis."

7 Habits Of Highly Successful People

Over the course of my heady career in business and commerce, i've learned some basic truths which see me through the day. Many of these have been taught to me by mentors and people I highly respect, and all have served me well.

1. Never trust a man in grey shoes.
2. Don't procrastinate. If a job is worth doing, it's worth doing now.
3. Don't back down. Ever. However, don't expect unrealistic results in the first place.
4. Never trust a man who wears a bowtie to a meeting.
5. Silence is golden. You'll achieve a lot more by letting everyone else talk themselves into a corner.
6. Big jobs only look big until you start. After that, they're usually easy.
7. Take the road less travelled. Innovation is the key.

Teleblog

Recently, a friend of mine blogged that she was feeling a little isolated in that she doesn't own a tv. Well, i'd just like to reassure her by saying that that I do, but last Sunday night I turned it on for the first time in a month. It exists solely for me to watch channel 10's Formula 1 coverage, and that's it. I really can't be bothered with anything else. Over the summer it lay dormant for months until I decided to watch Top Gear on SBS, but after that finished it went into hibernation again.

However, the odds are good that it will be turned on again this Sunday night, to watch Professor Richard Dawkins' excellent look at organised religion: "The Root Of All Evil?" This is on Compass on the ABC, and although i've seen it thanks to t'internet I may turne in again, as it does contain one of my favorite pieces of dialogue. Prof Dawkins is talking to the head priest guy at Lourdes:

Dawkins: Many people come here seeking a cure. What do they actually get?
Priest dude: People get all sorts of things here. A sense of calm, of closure, a sense of health and welllbeing. I think these things are all terribly important.

Dawkins: Yes, but what about a cure?

Rules Of Life

You know you're having a bad day when you find yourself hoping for a serious industrial accident to occur so that you can go home.

I Don't Mean To Get All Political, But...

I'm not sure if Robert Mugabe, Dictator of Zimbabwe, reads this blog, but in case he does, i've got Something To Say.
Mr Mugabe: Before you continue your long-winded polemic against Australia for not sending our cricket team over to whip your dusty little shithole country's arse, please be aware that the Australian military arsenal still contains 300 cruise missiles, and 30 F-111s. Incidentally, these F-111s are the same airframes that the yanks used to bomb Colonel Gadaffi all to fuck, because we bought them afterwards.

Some might accuse me of advocating gunboat diplomacy here but hey, why else do we own gunboats?

Bands Jesus Probably Wouldn't Like

Judas Priest
Nine Inch Nails

Johnny-come-latelys!

If I were a rich man, it is my supreme hope that I would be like Thurston Powell the Third. This is, quite simply, just what a real millionaire should look, sound and act like.

I'm sure that you, like me, are sick to death of the cashed-up 'elite' of this world. Paris Hilton, Rupert Murdoch, Kerry Packer etc. Take it from me, if you were to clumsily carry an armful of coconut cream pies past them and accidentally trip, there wouldn't be a one-liner or snappy comeback from any of them. It makes me sick that there isn't some sort of finishing school. White pants, a double-breasted navy blue sports jacket and a cravat. I'd like to see Bernie Ecclesone in that!

Coming Soon To A Cinema Near You.

Recentely, Spiderman 3 set a new precedent for Superhero movies, when he only beat one out of 3 villains. The other two he spoke to nicely and they changed their minds about being evil and stuff. Hopefully, this will set a trend for this summer's hottest releases:

Superman Returns A Bit More: Superman and Lex Luthor take their grievances to the arbitration comission. Lex loses, and is forced to do community service, during which he befriends some sort of spastic orphan.

Batman Begins Again: Batman and the Joker face off in the ultimate battle: a Crotchet-a-thon to raise money for the Gotham Community Church roof repair fund. Whose doily will win? But beware, the Riddler gatecrashes with a ball of illegal 2-ply!

Captain America: Captain America bends over and takes one for the team from a clone of Adolf Hitler. Then they declare their love for each other in a civil ceremony and go off to breed poodles in rural Delaware. Soundtrack by Elton John.

The Phantom 2: Kit Walker is not allowed to take Devil on the plane from Bangalla due to quarantine restrictions. The Singh Brotherhood agree to fly them both to the US in their undersea dirigibles, and announce that they are turning from generations of piracy to sea-cucumber aquafarming. The Phantom finds trouble on the docks, so he mediates a pareto-optimal solution using the new enterprise-bargaining laws.

Wonder Woman: Wonder Woman reads a book by Danielle Steel. That's about it. For 2 hours. At one point she eats a biscuit.

Sports Report: Celebrity Thunderdome

Sunday night's match at the Bartertown Thunderdome had pundits labelling it The Tussle of The Emerald Isle. To a packed cage, in the blue corner sat the Lord Of The Dance himself Michael Flatley; whilst in the red corner, resplendent in his trademark white suit sat singing sensation Daniel O'donnell. O'donnell was said to be a favorite of Aunty Entity herself, although he appeared nervous early.

Flatley came out strongly in the first round, his co-ordination and spatial awareness clearly catching O'donnell on the hop as he fully utilised his elasticised hip-ropes to vault clear over O'donnell. There were several times in the first round when it appeared that O'donnell was about to throw in the towel. However, after a brief break, O'donnell returned with a much stronger game. While Flatley clearly was still the more agile of the two O'donnell made an early leap and secured the use of the big hammer. This then forced Flatley to lunge desperately for the chainsaw.

Every sport has it's misunderstood rules, and for my mind every sport needs them. Cricket has LBW, AFL has holding-the-ball, and Thunderdome has the iffy-start chainsaw. Despite the boos and catcalls of the crowd Flatley was unable to start the deliberately detuned Husquevarna, which resulted in O'donnell delivering a crushing blow to his hip. Limping badly, Flatley was then pummelled several times by a mostly airborne O'Donnell who never looked back. Wielding the big hammer like an enormous metal fist O'Donnel reduced Flatley's body to a lifeless husk in a matter of minutes, eventially pulverising the neck to the point at which he was able to detach it and throw it into the crowd where in a touching moment it was caught by a young orphan with a speech impediment and grotty hair.

Full credit must be given to Aunty for initiating the celebrity matches here at the Thunderdome. To all those who doubted the validity of the idea I can only point out that despite the warnings and the nay-sayings, tonight two men entered, and one man left.

The Ancestor's Tale, by Richard Dawkins

Having recently become enamoured with Richard Dawkins' excellent atheistic tome "The God Delusion", I thought it might be time to sort out this evolution malarkey. I'd never really understood it, which was one reason I stayed agnostic for so long. So I thought i'd read The Ancestor's Tale, which pretty much sums up the whole thing.

Except that it really doesn't. I was looking for an explanation of how genes mutate, and maybe i'm missing something, but that mechanism didn't seem to be spelled out here. Maybe it was assumed knowledge. Dawkins certainly didn't embarrassedly hedge around it, so I can only surmise that it's so basic a concept that it didn't need explaining twice. He seemed to do that a lot: simply referring to his earlier works than use the same explanation twice. It's a bit of a bugger, but I suppose i'd better read "The Selfish Gene" now.

I understand about natural selection, but The Ancestor's Tale also introduced me to the concept of sexual selection, something I had previously not thought about. It also looked at the preconditions for race, quite fairly and without judgement.

All in all, a good 'little' book, by which I mean that I enjoyed it, but it took me about a month of hard slogging to get through. Now I think i'll go for something lighter, "Journeys With Gelignite Jack", by Evan Green. Stay tuned.

DVD Review: Double Nickels

One of the great things about having no standards is that the cost of living is so much lower. Being a country music fan means that the majority of my CDs come from the '3 for $20' bins. And being a car movie fan means that i've been able to purchase quite a few movies in the 'Fast Cars & Fast Women' DVD series currently on sale at your local Go-Lo for $2ea. So far, the standouts have included "Concrete Cowboys" (Tom Selleck & Jerry Reed), Shaker Run (a pink Trans-Am in New Zealand) and the latest "Double Nickels"

Double Nickels is an important social commentary as it highlights the low wages recieved by the California Highway Patrol in the late 1970s. Our two hero patrolmen are forced to moonlight as repo men after hours. However, they learn that their boss is getting them to steal cars, not repo them. So, being cops, they get their own back.

Simultaneously the stupidest and coolest movie i've seen in ages. The acting sucks but the chases are cool, the whole movie is generally an excuse for lots and lots of chases. And somehow, it works. Every time the dialogue is getting a bit heavy, *bang* comes another chase, for no good reason (but hey, do we need one?). I didn't pay $2 of my hard-earned for a load of talking, dammit.

Interestingly, this film was financed by the doyen of the $2 pile, H B Halicki, who made the original "Gone In 60 Seconds" and "The Junkman". Given that it stars George Cole, in exactly the same role as he had in "Gone In 60 Seconds", one could almost consider this a sequel, or perhaps an 'equal'.

Watching this film last night has now cleared the way for my next DVD extravaganza, the double-header "Return To Gilligan's Island/The Wackiest Wagon-Train In The West". This cost a slightly higher $3, but as it's 2 films I decided to splash out.

Up The Workers, Jeeves.

It was with a heavy heart that I groped blindly for the bell and summoned Jeeves. He sashayed in, in that way of his.
“Morning, Jeeves.”
“Morning, Sir.”
With the formalities out of the way I could see that it was time to get down to business, to whit: the Wooster head (hammering therein).

“I say Jeeves, I rather think I’m in need of one of your restoratives.”
“Very good, sir,” he said, and sashayed out again.
I propped the old frame up on the pillows as best as I could, and tried to blink. Normally one finds it triflingly easy to blink, in fact I have often remarked to the chaps at the Drones how I seem to be able to do it without even thinking. This morning, however, it defeated me, sorry to say. Presently, however, Jeeves entered, magic elixir in hand.

Have you ever been struck by the number 10 bus from Basingstoke to Clapham whilst holding half a dozen eggs in one hand and a fruitbat in the other? Neither have I, but that’s about the only way one could possibly describe the effect of Jeeves’ tissue-restorer. In a trice, I was clear-headed and, happy to admit, blinking freely once more.

Refreshed, I turned my attention to the matters of the day.
“Tea, Jeeves,” I told the faithful retainer.
“Certainly sir.”
Once the herbal infusions had been gained, I realized that something was amiss.
“I say, Jeeves,” I said, as he was laying out my brown suit for the day’s perambulation, “was there a paper today?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
I was aghast.
“No paper?”
“No, sir.”
There was – and I believe this is the correct term – a pregnant pause.
 “A new age of social upheaval has begun, sir, in which heroes are made o’er the ramparts, and the cannon sounds the barking charnels of slaughter.”

“All sounds rather ghastly if you ask me. What do these ramparts have to do with my bally paper?”
I believe the revolution has rather led to an interruption in the media, for the time being.”
“Er, revolution, Jeeves?”
“Yes sir. The worker’s uprising, I believe the popular press has been calling it for some days now.”
“I see. Dashed inconvenient, what?”
“I believe, sir, with all due respect, that the working classes deem it more important that they have bread to eat than you have a paper to read.”

I eyed the man warily over the china rim of the teacup. “You’ve been reading Marx again, haven’t you?”
“Just as you say, sir.”
“I knew I should have gotten you that Spinosa for Christmas instead.”
“Indeed, sir.”
I sipped a moody cupful.
“I say, Jeeves,”
“Yes, sir?”
“This tea tastes very strongly of almonds.”
“Indeed, sir?”

The Vulgar Tounge by Sir Francis Grose: A Review.

Recently I found this gem of a book in my local Agnes & Robertsons. It is a dictionary, originally writted in the 1790s by Sir Francis Grose. It was written in response to Samuel Johnson's Dictionary, into which Mr Johnson refused to place any 'slang' or 'vulgar' terms. Sir Frasncis Grose, though a gentleman, felt that this error should be rectified, and so he collected every filthy term he could think of. In doing so he left us a legacy of etymology. Anyone interested in the natural evolution of language should read this book. T is fascinating hyow many of the terms we still use today, how many we don't, and how some have become misconstrued over time. For example, did you know that 'rascal' originally referred to a castrated man? Or that 'honeymoon', while retaining it's exact meaning, was about the most vulgar term for a post-wedding holiday that one could utter?

It's also nice to see that some hings never change, too. In 1790, if a man laid with a woman who had recently lain with another man, he was said to be enjoying a 'buttered bun'. Alternatively, a man's rectum was generally known as 'the windward passage'.

Blogging Can Be Fun

In my busy life as a frustrated author, I regularly think of story ideas which cannot be used in 'real life' for copyright/comon sense reasons. However, i'd like to write them anyway so i'm going to, and then post them here. Keep an eye out for the following upcoming titles (in no particular order):

This Tea Tastes Strongly Of Almonds, Jeeves.
Mail Of The Jedi*
Yeehaw! A Very Dukes Indianapolis 500.
Kubelwagons Ho!
Those Ragged Bloody Zeppelineers

The asture amongst you will note that the last two are from an earlier post of titles from the not-yet-written "Captain Doobie and Goodtime Slim: The War Years". They're on their way at last.

*George Lucas please contact me and we'll work something out, i'm sure.

Diary Of A Phantom

For those who came in late...for many years, all we've known about the first Ghost Who Walks is the somewhat sanitised version of events told at the start of every comic. However, recent archaeological excavations in the remote Bangalla hinterlands (west of the Misty Mountains and a bit south of the Golden Beach of Keela-Wee) have unearthed a hitherto unpublished diary of the early days of Kit Walker, the first Phantom:

May 12, 1657. Bloody pirate attack last night. It's not like I hadn't warned them. "Why the hell do you want to go there?" I said, "It's only home to the frickin' Singh Brotherhood!!!" But ooooh, no. Dad reckoned he knew better. Tard. And now he's dead and i've been washed up on the beach in the middle of Buttfuck Nowhere. Great.

May 13, 1657. Tried to find food. Got knocked out by a coconut. Group of kids up the beach laughing at me. Arseholes.

May 14, 1657. Turns out they were pygmies. Aparrently i'm the first white man they've ever seen. Tried to ask them about the possibility of getting a boat but they seem to be retarded. I met their leader, who wears a lampshade. This just gets better and better.

May 15, 1657. What the hell is it with these guys and skulls? This morning we took off down a track and I hoped they were taking me to the nearest trading post or whatever the fuck they have out here, but we rocked up at some cave that looks like a skull. Then they brought me to the beach, where they'd laid out a heap of the dicks that had been on the ship. I mimed a ship but they just started jabbering.

May 16, 1657. OK, so now i'm living inside a big skull. Great, just what i've always wanted. And i've got a heap of kid-sized helpers running around. I'd like to go hunting so that I could eat something other than frickin mangoes, but the pygmies would want to come and they're not going to be an asset. Mangoes shit me.

May 17, 1657. Jesus, they've collected more bodies on the beach. AND they've started to smell. I ended up burning them. The microtards weren't especially partial to the idea so I made out it was some Heap Big Whitefella Ritual. Chucked the bodies on the fire then held up one of the skulls and sang "The Hairs On Her Dicky-di-do". They'll never know the difference.

May 18th, 1657. I. Don't. Fucking. Believe. This. Shit. They brought me a costume to wear. A costume! It's skintight and purple, and it has a mask. This looks bad. Now i'm either a superhero or a gimp. Think fast.

May 19th, 1657. An explorer came past the skull cave, so I punched him in the face. Problem solved: superhero.

I'm Not Impressed.

I'm not impressed. It's been 48 hours since my email to Kym Richardson at his Parliament House address and still no answer. I was at least expecting to have recieved a loaf of bread and a ticket to the circus by now. Representation of the people indeed! Humph!

Adult Knock-knock Jokes

Knock knock!
Who's there?
I've come to clean ze pool.

Knock knock!
Who's there?
I've come to fix ze cable.

Knock knock!
Who's there?
Baa!

The Conscience Of The King

I don't wish to politicise t'internet, but our government sucks. Yesterday, I recieved a particularly odious letter from my Federal MP, Mr Kym Richardson, of the Liberal Party. So I thought i'd send him a response:

Dear Mr Richardson,

Yesterday I recieved your recent circular, on the front of which was a picture of two Australian servicemen from the Gallipoli campaign. I am writing to let you know that I find this in very poor taste. The military campaigns of our country were not fought for you to use for cheap political propoganda. Your seeming attempt to ally yourself with the ideals of courage, mateship and honour that the Gallipoli campaign represents for the majority of Australians simply serves to underline that you cannot do this any other way: that these ideals cannot be represented by any current Liberal party policy.

If, however, you are not seeking to ally yourself with these ideals, what other conclusion can be drawn? Your use of the Gallipoli campaign merely underlines that Australia has once again been embroiled in another unwinnable war in the Middle East by a foreign power. And again, as in July 1914, it is the Liberal Party who has allowed it to occur.

Yours,

D C White.

Randon Doobings

Captain Doobie rushed into the dining room, where Goodtime Slim was enjoying his Coco Pops and a quick read of next door's pinched paper.

"Eureka!" cried Captain Doobie, "I've done it! We'll make a million dollars!"
Goodtime Slim set down his spoon with a well-defined 'plop'. "How?"
"We get some beetles, put them in an aquarium, put little cardboard cutouts of guitars and a little drum kit in there with them, then film them for about 24 hours. They're bound to bugger about with the cardboard stuff sooner or later. Then, we cut and splice the film to the sound of 'Please Mr Postman', and bob's your uncle!"

Goodtime Slim sighed. "This is just going to be like Herman's Hermit Crabs all over again, isn't it?" he asked.
"No!"
"When you say 'no', I can only assume that you mean 'yes'."
".........yes."

Aircraft Recognition

Why is it important to recognise aircraft? Well, i'm glad you asked. There are many reasons. You may be in the path of one; be being attacked by one; or you may have been kidnapped, pumped full of sodium pentathol, forced to divulge national security assets, and awoken at the controls of what you can only assume is one. While these situations may differ enormously in importance, relevance and general probability, for each a correct response is crucial. Let me take you through a few common scenarios:

1. A small dot in the air, growing larger. No accompanying noise.
This may be an aircraft, but it may also be a rock fired by a sling or trebuchet. To differentiate between the two, ask yourself: am I in the Middle Ages? Problem solved.

2. It has wings.
While wings are certainly an integral part of an aircraft, they also occur naturally on birds. This can be confusing. The best way to sort it out is with weaponry. If it can be felled with a .22, it was a bird. If it requires a 75mm Oerlikon cannon, it was probably an aircraft.

3. It makes a screeching/droning noise.
Yes, it's probably an aircraft. Or an albatross with flatulence. In either case, best avoided.

4. It has big whirly thing coming out of it's hat.
This is Inspector Gadget. Use the Oerlikon.

A Very Special Friday the 13th Random Doobing.

Usually, Friday the 13^th was spent in the Doobie/Slim household in mutual low-key antagonism. This really was their own fault. Goodtime Slim’s utter cowardice caused the normally happy-go-lucky Captain Doobie to transform into the world’s largest sceptic. Hence, Goodtime Slim came to loathe Friday the 13^th whenever it came around. It would start with Goodtime Slim throwing a pinch of salt over his shoulder and would end with Captain Doobie threatening to smash the bathroom cabinet mirror with a hammer unless Goodtime Slim made dinner for the next two weeks.

This time, however, Goodtime Slim had vowed that Captain Doobie must pay. Last night, after Captain Doobie had fallen asleep during a carefully selected DVD of Hey Dad and a glass of Horlicks, Goodtime Slim had started work. Now, at 10am on Friday the 13^th, it was ready. Goodtime Slim settled himself behind the sofa where he could see Captain Doobie still happily snoring away in his lounge chair. Goodtime Slim readied his bullhorn, then yelled into it: “WAKE UP! FIRE! NUCULAR SPLOSION! LANDSLIDE! UNEXPECTED ABBA REUNION TOUR! DANGER! DANGER!”

The response was immediate. Captain Doobie, terrified beyond words that the Swedish singing sensations might be returning to the Southern Hemisphere at some point, leapt out of his chair. In doing so his head went straight through the mirror that Goodtime Slim had placed horizontally above him. He screamed, ducked and rolled to the left, straight under the ladder that Goodtime Slim had placed against the wall. After that, Goodtime Slim turned on the hose, causing Captain Doobie to instinctively grab the umbrella and open it inside, to cover himself from the ice-cold jet. The water startled the 6 black cats hiding under the other lounge chair and they rocketed past Captain Doobie to freedom out the open window. Sensing an opportunity, Captain Doobie dived out the window, head first into a cannon, which immediately fired him over the house and into a child’s wading pool full of hottish tar which Goodtime Slim had prepared earlier. As Captain Doobie stood up and tried to scrape off the clinging black mess, Goodtime Slim pulled the string which released the feathers from a bag above the wading pool, which floated down, settled on the tar and stuck fast. Job done, Goodtime Slim then walked into the house, shut the window, smiled, and locked the door.

Cooking With The King

Here are two actual recipies from the kitchen of The King himself, Elvis Presley.

Peanut Butter Toasted Sandwiches:

Spread peanut butter on bread. Slice banana, lay on top. Drizzle with honey. Spread other piece of bread with peanut butter, lay on top (peanut butter-side down). Cook in sandwich toaster until brown.

n.b. Sometimes when he was feeling particularly hungry Elvis would add bacon to this recipe. You might like to try this yourself!

Coca Cola Salad:

In a large bowl, combine a packet of blackcurrant jelly crystals, a packet of cream cheese, a tin of crushed pineapple , a packet of raisins, and 1.25L of Coca-Cola. Stir well, then refrigerate. Once jelly has set, enjoy! And remember that as this is a salad, it's low calorie! Hurrah!

The Literary Event Of The Century

Finally, my next novel, "The Further Adventures of Clancy Of The Overflow" has been completed! This novel, which garnered critical acclaim in it's initial draft, was the runner-up in the City of Salisbury 72-hour Novel Writing Contest 2006.

Since then it has been revised and poked around, until it is now novel-length (40000wds) with a lot more interesting stuff and a more fully cohesive plot.

Any interested agents or publishers who are persusing this website may like to contact me by leaving a comment, and we'll talk turkey.

Conversations I've Had.

I recently bought lunch at Nandos. On the counter was a serving tray with a glass cover, full of custard tarts. When I went to pay the Nando's Woman, I accidentally bumped it and had to steady it, with the following conversation:

Me: Whoops! Nearly got them.
Nando's Woman: Yes, you don't want to upset my tarts.
Me: Well they are quite large.
NW: And wobbly.
Me: Perhaps you shouldn't have them so prominently on display.
MW: *giggle*

IMPORTANT -Please consider our environment before printing this email. PRIVACY POLICY & CONFIDENTIALITY This email and any files transmitted with it are confidential and intended solely for the use of the individual or entity to whom they are addressed. If you have received this email in error please notify the originator of the message and delete the message and any attachments from your system.  LEGAL INFORMATION Any views expressed in this message are those of the individual sender, except where the sender specifies and with authority, states them to be the views of Philmac Pty. Ltd. (ABN 17 008 873 047) DATA INTEGRITY Scanning of this message and addition of this footer is performed by SurfControl E-mail Filter software in conjunction with Computer Associates E-Trust virus detection software. Under no circumstances do we accept liability for any  loss or damage which may result from your receipt of this message or any attachments.

Truth, Stranger Than Fiction

This morning I recieved a request from the smokers at work to give them an area under cover to smoke in. At present all they have is chairs and tables out in the open, and they are worried about skin cancer.

Random Doobings

"Thank you Professor Hawkings for that wonderful lecture that finally links Black Holes, String Theory and a General Theory of Everything. Before we award you The Best Nobel Prize Ever, I would like to invite questions from the assembly. Does anyone have a question for Professor Hawkings? Yes, you, the chap in the fringe jacket and Mr T t-shirt."

"My cat's arse tastes like cat shit. Is that normal?"

Star Wars: The Lost Scripts Continued....

Obi-Wan Kenobi: Mos Eisley Spaceport. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy. We must be cautious.

pause
Luke Skywalker: My Auntie Myrtle lives there, you know.
Obi-Wan: Oh. Well, let's get going. Alderaan's not going to come to us, heh heh.
Luke: Are you saying that Auntie Myrtle is scummy and villainous?
pause
Obi-Wan: No. Yes. A bit. Hurry up.
Luke: How dare you! You've never even met her!
Obi Wan: Oh for f*cks sake. OK, i'm sure she's quite nice.
Luke: She breeds cats.
Obi-Wan: Cats of scum and villainy?
Luke: NO!
Obi-Wan: F*ck. Wait, is that a Tusken Raider behind that rock? I suppose we'd best be going...
Luke (under breath): Old coot.
Obi-Wan (under breath): Little sh*t.

Something To Say To The Greens

I keep getting emails from people on the subject of global warming, wanting me to sign petitions to make Australia sign the Kyoto Protocol. I'm sick of tyipng out my standard response, so i'm going to post it here, then simply redirect the ignorant.

Put simply, for the sake of the planet neither the US nor Australia should sign the Kyoto Protocol until everyone else has first. And before people start accusing me of killing panda bears, i'll explain why.

Australia and Uhmurka are first world countries. Both have very CO2 efficient production methods already thanks to 20 years of environmental watchdogging. The only way that Australia and Uhmurka can further reduce their CO2 output is to reduce their fossil fuel usage.

This seems like a good thing, but in the global oil market the resulting contraction in demand will lead to a lower price for fossil fuels. Again, you say, where's the problem?

The problem is that a lower fuel price will cause other nations, particularly those of the third world, to increase their usage. These industries are very much less 'clean' than those of the US and Australia. They produce, per litre of oil, far more pollutants. For every litre of oil that Australia and Uhmurka no longer use, there will be a per capita INCREASE in emitted pollutants.

In short, if Australia and the US sign the Kyoto Protocol, net world pollution will rise. It is imperative that the countries of the third world and their emergent economies are made to control their emissions first. Only then can Australia and the US sign the Kyoto Protocol without making things worse.

Idol Idle After Board Ruling

SYDNEY - Australian Idol winner Anthony Callea's hopes of becoming gay were dashed this morning after a special sitting of the Gay Board Of Enquiry (GayBOE) ruled his application "invalid at this time".

When questioned, GayBOE chairman Sir Percy McBottytamper stated the board had felt the number of high-profile celebrities currently involved in gayness was simply too high. "We are dealing with a high-demand situation," he told reporters on the steps of Pink House, "and we simply have too many mincing singers already."

"In today's world, being gay is a big business," said Cyril Felch, Head of the Australian Fruit Market Dating Agency, "and there's not enough room at the top. They've already got Elton, Julian Clary and Bob Downe, how many more entertainers do they need?"

In a prepared statement Anthony Callea said that he was "shocked and disheartened" by the GayBOE decision, but has vowed to maintain the pressure. Reports indicate that he was last seen being consoled by previous rejectees George Michael and Sir Cliff Richard.

You might be a bogan Jedi if.

…your lightsaber came from K-mart.
…your X-wing has mags and a stick on hood scoop.
…you bought a Holden robe when you went to the podracing on Malastaire.
…your X-wing has more than 4 McDonalds bags on the floor.
…you use your Artoo unit to open your Woodstock & Coke.
…you wear special Jedi trackies.
…you use the force to cultivate a Boonie.
…your snowspeeder is up on blocks in your front yard.
…you have to face Darth Vader to find out who your father is.

Random Doobings

"Oh!" said the President over the phone, "Well if you're not a real Captain, may I ask what you were doing on or about the 11th of September 2001?"

"Nothing," replied Captain Doobie, "I was unemployed."
The President smiled down the phone line, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Oh, well wasn't that convenient?"
"It was actually," replied Captain Doobie, "I live just down the road from the dole office."

Taking a Break

The recuperative powers of motorsport are well known amongst the medical fraternity, or at least those of the medical fraternity that I choose to regard with any certainty. As such, i've decided to have a break and head to Melbourne to see the Grand Prix. As i'll be away from work this means that the internet will just have to be impertinent without me for a while, and I bid you all a fond farewell.*

*Except for those of you I don't like. Which is most of you. Well, all of you really I suppose. Except for any jugged up birds who might be reading. Damn. Oh well, get stuffed then.

Taking A Stand

Something has been really bothering me lately, and that's the opposition to the Clipsal 500. Now, as a motorsport fan, i'm used to being treated with condescension by everyone who mistakenly considers themselves my intellectual superior, so i've decided to give them something to think about.

They want to move the Clipsal because it uses the parklands and it blocks off public roads? Here's a list of other activities that do either one, the other, or both:

Womadelaide
The Garden Of Unearthly Delights
Schutzenfest
Glendi
Carnevale
The Tour Down Under
Cirque de Solieil
The Lovely Staurday Market In Rundle St

If people would like to get rid of the Clipsal, then stop being two-faced and start campaigning to get rid of these other events too. People's blindness towards these other events' usage of the parklands/public roads leads me to believe that these aspects are merely excuses to disguise their real intent: that they can't stand to see people of a percieved lower social class than themselves enjoying something that they don't like. Get off your high horse and live and let live! Australia was meant to be a classless society. If you want a return to Victorian English values, don't expect me to start doffing my hat and bowing when you go past. The parklands are for everybody, paid for by everybody, not just a self-percieved elite. Get used to it. Oh, and stop physically attacking people in Rundle Mall while you're at it. Animals.

I Don't Understand People Sometimes.

People certainly can be two-faced at times. I wish they'd say what they actually mean. Take this morning, for example. Now, i'm always being told to be truthful (maintain 'probity' and resist 'graft and corruption') and I try to. This morning, one of the shop floor plebs comes up and asks me why I buy them such crappy pens. So I told him the truth, and said it was probably because I got all my personal pens given to me by sales reps, so I couldn't really be stuffed what the rest of them used. And he got all affronted! Honestly, what's a Purchasing Officer to do?

My Favorite Quotes

Oh dear, I appear to have been tagged by Organiser Girl to provide my favorite 5 quotes, so here goes:

"Michael Schumacher would do well to remember that to finish first you first have to finish, and what's more you have to finish first." - Murray Walker

"When I was a kid, growing up in Italy, I used to dream of driving a big red Ferrari, and winning races all over the world. I never thought it was going to happen to me. But it did." - Mario Andretti

"I am the last Gladiator, in the last Rome." - Evel Kinevel

"Perhaps the good old-fashioned family values of the gibbons should be pointed out to the 'moral majority'. Of course, to draw any moral would be to commit the 'naturalistic fallacy', but then fallacies are what these people do best." - Richard Dawkins, "The Ancestor's Tale"

"You're the new Squadron Commander. Don't think it means anything, because it doesn't. It means you're the new Squadron Commander." - Colonel Cathcart to Major Major Major Major, "Catch-22"

Random Doobings

Goodtime Slim balanced the tray of champagne flutes precariously as he adjusted his bow tie and attempted to walk from one side of the ballroom to the other. As he picked his way through the crowd the tray got lighter until, when he was very nearly at the door, a familiar voice said, "I say, is there no more bubbly?"

Goodtime Slim turned to find the largest pair of ears he'd ever seen.
"Prince Charles!" he cried in surprise.
"Why yes," replied the slightly bemused Prince of Wales.
"Hang on," said Goodtime Slim, "i'll grab some more champagne in a minute but first, there's something I have to know."
"Yes? What's that?"
"What the hell is it with you and Camilla? I mean, Diana was a right little hornbag, but Camilla? What on earth were you thinking?"

The Prince looked sheepish. 'Yes, I know," he said in a small voice, "I certainly had the sherry monocle on that night."

Did You Know...?

As we all know, the original Star Wars was cast primarily of unknowns to cut down production costs (with the exception of Peter Cushing and Alec Guinness). However, leaked documents from the Skywalker Ranch have recently shown on George Lucas' "wish list" for casting. One can only speculate how popular the movie would have been had it come together as originally planned.

Luke Skywalker: Gary Coleman
Ben Kenobi: Yul Brynner
Princess Leia: Meryl Streep
Han Solo: Burt Reynolds
Tarkin: John Wayne
Darth Vader (voice): Richard Burton
C3P0 (voice): Andre The Giant

An additional character, Sassy Skywalker, was believed to have been created especially for Goldie Hawn, but was cut due to her filming commitments for 'Private Benjamin'.

The History Of Stuff Part 15(ish)

Safety Pins

Safety Pins are, as far as the world of clasping goes, a fairly recent invention. In 1937 the British Interplanetary Society funded several studies to solve some of the inherent problems with space flight. One of these was "Why should we go into outer space when we can't even make a pin the doesn't hurt people's bloody thumbs?" posed by Arthur C Clarke's mother.

After 6 months work by a privately-funded foundation, the prototype pin was unveiled at the 1938 World's Fair in Chicago. 3 feet long, and weighing in at 75kg due to it's solid-steel construction, the pin was regarded by most as an extravagance until the advances in alloying techniques brought on by WW2 enabled it to be reduced to the size we commonly see them today.

The Safety Pin was named after the scientist most involved in it's design, Dr Walter Safety-Pin.

The Curious Case Of The Robotic Panda, Part 5, Conclusion.

No fewer than three days after my correspondence was printed in the Greenly-Upon-Throckmorton Mercantile Gazette, the cigarettes still lay where they had been placed by the owner upon my occasional table. This had caused me no small amount of concern, as it necessitated the use of the lower-slung ‘coffee’ table for me to place my evening stout upon whilst imbibing in the evening.

Able to stand the strain any longer, I resolved that the matter must be settled. I gathered up my raincoat and umbrella and, despite the inclemency of the late-autumn weather, I set out to the Edgebaston Rd, knowing of nowhere else to begin my enquiries. My efforts however proved futile, as when I reached the road I found it devoid of any pterodactyl carcass. I enquired of a ‘bobby’ (Constable Tibbins, I presumed) and was informed that the carcass had been set upon by urchins lately driven out of London by a periodic sweep of the East End by the Queen’s Own Dragoons.

Somewhat despondent I returned home, only to be informed by Jenkins that while I had been out the Corsican had returned and collected his cigarettes.

I sank into my easy chair and, with a heart far lighter than it had been for several days, read the paper. As far as I was concerned, the matter was at an end.

John Howard attacks a duck.

Mr Speaker, my purpose today is to explain to the House and through it to the Australian people the government's belief that the world community must deal decisively with this duck; why this duck’s continued defiance of the United Nations and its possession of peck-capable and airborne weapons and its pursuit of a waterborne capability poses a real and unacceptable threat to the stability and security of our world; why the matters at stake go to the very credibility of the United Nations itself; why the issue is of direct concern to Australia and why, therefore, the Australian government has authorised the forward positioning of elements of the Australian Defence Force to Lake Burley-Griffin.

Although there is considerable debate about the best course of action to resolve this crisis I want, for a moment, to focus on the one thing that unites us all—and that is a common abhorrence of being pecked.

The other point of agreement shared by members in this House, by our community and by the community of nations is that this duck must not be allowed to possess weapons of mass destruction—for the security and stability of our world, it must be disarmed.

For years the nations of the world have sought to persuade this duck to abandon these most offensive of weapons. The duck has refused to comply and now the weight of the world's attention has fallen on him.

Only one aquatic mammal can determine whether force will be necessary or not. Only one aquatic mammal, acting alone, can make the choice for peace. That aquatic mammal is this duck.

Full disclosure by this duck of its peck-capable, airborne and waterborne weapons programs and immediate and total cooperation by this duck with the provisions of resolution 1441 of the Security Council will remove the need for military action.

In his report to the Security Council, Dr Hans Blix, the head of the United Nations weapons inspection body for this duck, made it clear where he believed that the responsibility for the current terrible impasse lay, and I quote:

“This duck appears not to have come to a genuine acceptance—not even today—of the disarmament, which was demanded of it and which it needs to carry out to win the confidence of the world and to live in peace.”

Of at least one thing we can all be absolutely certain—if the world turns its back on the threat posed by this duck, if the community of nations gives up because it is all too hard, then this duck will not reward us all with benign behaviour.

Worse still, other rogue mammals observing the world community's failure to deal with this duck will be encouraged to flout the international conventions on beak control and develop their own peck-capable, bite-capable and even scratch-capable weapons.

There will be no stability—no security—for the citizens of Canberra until this duck is disarmed of its weapons of mass destruction—totally and permanently.

I wish I were an Eagle
And could fly above the rain,
I’d head up in the deep blue sky,
And not come back again.

The Devious Plot Of the Robotic Panda, Part 4.

The Editor,
Greenly-Upon-Throckmorton Mercantile Gazette,
14-18 Tubercular Mews,
Greenley-Upon-Throckmorton, DV1.

Sir,

Recently, an incident occurred in my sitting-room which I feel I must bring to the notice of the greater British public. Whilst I am not given to making appeals for assistance of the readership of this esteemed periodical I feel that I am justified in this case. Recently, a workman left his cigarettes in my house. Owing to the nature of his employ, I have no other means of returning them to him save to advertise their whereabouts within the pages of the Greenly-Upon-Throckmorton Mercantile Gazette, in the hope that he may read my correspondence and collect his property with alacrity.

Yours,

Dr Tunstall Warburton, esq.,
The Cloisters,
Lower-Greenly-Upon-Throckmorton, DV2.

The Dastardly Case Of The Robotic Panda, Part 3.

It was, to the bst of my recollection, several days later that there came a knock upon the front door. As it was my man Jenkins’ afternoon off, I received the visitor myself. There upon the stoop stood a small man, swarthy, doubtless of mixed parentage. From his skin tone I surmised that he was Corsican with a touch of the Orient. Unaccustomed as I was to speaking to members of the lower class I nonetheless asked him to state his business forthwith.

“Beggin yer pardon, sir,” he said in fluid, well-modulated tones, “I’m ‘ere abaht the damage.”
From this I surmised that he was the man whom the panda had spoken of. Well, I thought to myself, curiouser and curiouser. I allowed him in and he set to work, occasionally hastening to a small work-van which he had parked in the driveway. As I did not care to observe him in his labours I repaired to my den where I continued work on my treatise for the Haberdashers Society. At length I detected no further sound in the sitting room. I ventured forth and found to my horror that while he had completed his work satisfactorily and departed, he had left his cigarettes, a common brand, carelessly flung on the occasional table.

The Mysterious Case Of The Robotic Panda, Part 2.

The next morning I gave the incident little heed until I had cause to venture along the Edgebaston Road for my newspaper and snuff. There, crumpled in a heap and preventing the egress of north-bound vehicular traffic (including, I noted, a charabanc of schoolchildren) lay the slowly-putrefying carcass of a pterodactyl. It's flanks were peppered by burn marks which appeared to have been uncannily made by some form of intensely-focussed light beam. I hastened to the constabulary-house, whereupon I was duly informed by Sergeant O’Reilly that the duty log had noted an incident in the area at a late hour.

“An incident?” I queried.
“Yes sir,” replied O’Reilly, “Constable Tibbins has recorded it as a fracas, but between you and me, he’s new and prone to exaggeration.”

I thanked the Sergeant and, fortified in the knowledge that justice had been served, continued to the tobacconist.

The Strange Case Of The Robotic Panda, Part 1.

Yesterday evening, as I was sitting in my evening chair enjoying the day’s paper with a glass of stout upon the occasional table beside me, I became aware that a large robotic panda piloted by a small panda who sat inside its head had crashed through my drawing-room wall.

“I say,” hallooed the small panda, its voice amplified through the harsh metallic robotic speaking grille, “can you tell me the way to the Edgebaston Road?”

Well, as it happens the tobacconist’s where I purchase the paper lies upon the Edgebaston road, and as such I make a daily constitutional there. I informed the panda of this, and gave directions, whereupon it thanked me and withdrew.

At length it returned.
“Dreadfully sorry about the mess,” it said, surveying the damage through its optic photo-sensors.
I glanced around. “Yes,” I remarked, “it will be a bit of a bother.”
“No matter,” replied the panda as it left once more, “I’ll send a man around. Soon have it looking like a new pin.”
And that was that.

From The Archives

Return Of The Jedi: The Lost Scripts
Darth Vader has arrived on the new Death Star to check it's construction.
Admiral Piett: My men are working as fast as they can, Lord Vader.
Darth Vader: The Emperor does not want to hear excuses, Admiral Piett.
AP: But my lord, he asks the impossible.
DV: Tell him when he arrives.
AP: The Emperor is coming here?
DV: He wishes to inspect the construction personally.
AP: We shall double our efforts!
DV: I hope so, Admiral, for your sake.
(pause)
AP: Cor. Will he be bringing Mara Jade?
DV: No. Although the existence of her character was later backdated by the Timothy Zahn novels, at this point in the chronology she does not exist.

AP: Shame.
DV: Quite. Oh, and sprinkle around some dead Bothans. He seems to like that.

Book Review

"Stand On It: The Living, Loving, Brawling Exploits of Stroker Ace".

I bought this tired, dog-eared book from the Rotary Book Exchange opposite Marion, for 50 cents. I bought it because I have a vague memory of the cheesy old Burt Reynolds movie "Stroker Ace" and assumed it was the novel of the film.

It is not.

It is in fact the book that the movie was *very loosely* based on. It's about 10 years older than the film, and was known in its day as one of the pre-eminent American comedy novels. Written by 'Stroker Ace' (real author uncredited) it's a first-person walk through the later years of a former F1 driver, then Indy driver, who moves to NASCAR for some easy pickings before he retires. And that's about it. The book follows him around, a fish very much in-water, guiding the unfamiliar reader through his world. It also contains some of the greatest passages about motor racing i've ever read. Stroker doesn't spare the jargon, he just writes it as it comes to him, and the result is the realest sounding stuff around. For my money (all 50 cents of it) this is one of the classic motor racing books. Yes, it's a comedy, but that doesn't stop it from being a classic.

P.S. We are also told that the racing didn't stop when the chequered flag fell, and that when off-track, for the NASCAR driver rent-a-cars were the weapon of choice. But there's a great chapter towards the end of the book, when Stroker goes to the Bahamas to race in a Formula Vee event and all he can get at the airport is a 4-cyl Vauxhall Viva (a HB Torana, for the uninitiated). The section in which Stroker attempts to drift it is particularly good.

Just a thought

If I had a dollar for every time i've added something up wrong, i'd have eleventy dollars fifty.

Random Doobings

"Look out, the lights! Quick, hand me those matches!"
"Ooh roight, Ted."
"Shut up while I get this lantern lit," *strikestrikestrike*, "damn! These matches don't work!"
"That's funny, they did this morning."

From The Archives

The Top Gear 'Star In A Reasonably Priced Car' 1951

This year's field was jolly close. Our new reasonably priced car, a Standard Vanguard, was certainly tested to it's limits by our surprisingly talented guests:

1. Enid Blyton 3:26
2. Noel Coward 3:27
3. Mike 'The Stig' Hawthorne 3:29
4. Hoagy Carmichael 3:33
5. Alberto Ascari (W) 3:34
6. Doris Day 3:36
7. Joseph Stalin (W) 3:40
8. Peter Finch 3:42
9. John Wayne 3:43
10: Sir Winston Churchill (G) 4:23

[Editor's Note: (W) in this case stands for 'Wop', as it did not rain in Britain in the 1950s. (G) refers to a track invasion by gypsies.]

Mad Max: The Director's Cut

When making movies, especially on a tight budget, there are always things that directors wish to do, but cannot. In the case of Kennedy Miller's "Mad Max" (1977) many scenes had additional dialogue which could not be used for reasons of length. This additional dialogue has remained filed away at the SA Film corp for some time, but can now be revealed to the general public. I have edited a small sample below.

Scene 34: Outside The Halls Of Justice.
As the court case against Johnny The Boy drags on, Bubba Zanetti stands waiting for his return to the Halls Of Justice. Behind him, several teenage boys are examining the wreckage of the Chevy.

Boy: Hey mister, what happened to that?
Bubba: What do you think happened to it?
Boy: Looks like it was chewed up and spat out.
Bubba: Perhaps it was the result of anxiety.
(pause)
Boy: Are you a poofter?

Scene 5: The Caravan Scene.
The MFP car containing Roop and Charlie (Big Bopper) has smashed through a caravan. While Charlie lays unconscious Roop manages to radio to the other pursuing officers:

BB: Big Bopper to March Hare, we can't continue, we're out of the game. Oh, and you'd better send a meat wagon. Charlie's copped a saucepan in the throat.

(pause)
MH: A what now?
BB: A saucepan.
(pause)
MH: What's a sucepan again?
BB: A F*CKING SAUCEPAN!
MH: What, an actual saucepan?
BB: YES!
MH: Sorry, I thought you were using some CB term I hadn't heard before.
BB: (sighs) No, I meant a real, actual saucepan.
MH: Oh. Sh*t.

Random Doobings

Goodtime Slim looked at his watch for the 50th time and then, also for the 50th time, knocked on Captain Doobie's door.
"For Hubbard's sake, are you ready yet?"
"Nearly," came the muffled yet cheerful reply, "I'm just picking out a tie."
Goodtime Slim blanched. Captain Doobie's taste in ties had been known to make seagulls explode.

Just A Thought

I saw something yesterday which got me thinking. A car in front of me had a bumper sticker which read: "Warning: In The Event Of Rapture This Car Will Be Unmanned".

This made me think that if we have to teach ID in schools, we should ban all Christians from holding a driver's license. If they believe that they may be called up to heaven at any time, surely they must be considered too dangerous to be allowed to operate vehicles or heavy equipment. They should not be given licenses, in the same way that epileptics and narcoleptics are not.

How many people would remain actively christian if this were the case? How many would give it up if it got in the way of their daily lives?

Celebrity Cage Matches I'd like To See

Note: * indicates that a cup of tea and a little lie down will be required.

1. Great Uncle Bulgaria vs Paddington Bear
2. Leela vs Sarah-Jane*
3. Horse vs Irish Murphy's Pigs
4. Jeremy Clarkson vs A Combine Harvester
5. Zara Phillips vs Kate Whatshername*
6. The Pope vs The Chaos Pope
7. Darth Vader vs K9

The History Of Stuff, Part 10

The Influences Of The School Recorder On Popular Music:

1. F*ck all.

2. Well, Tull I suppose. Maybe some Span.

3. Acker Bilk?

A Question For SA Water

If I donate blood, can I get a concession on my water restrictions? I mean after all, i'm giving it back.

Just a thought

I don't know how the rest of you feel about it, but i'd like to think that pilates hasn't taken off in Japan because when they say it they think they mean 'pirates'.

Then again, I wouldn't mind taking pirates classes, so who knows? They're an inscrutable race, pirates.

New Character For Next Novel

Hows this: A vampire who got bitten by a werewolf, so that every full moon he becomes a werewolf, and he solves crimes in his spare time!

I Want Some Cake

Pooh. It's 10am, i'm at work, and I fancy a slice of cake. What am I supposed to do now????? I can bide my time, go to the bakery at lunch and get a doughnut or a vienna slice, but it's not the same.

There should be some sort of delivery service. Why isn't there? Can anybody tell me? Cakes'r'us, or something. The Cheesecake shop should be looking into this. They could have special cars that looked like slices, and if they hit anybody they wouldn't hurt them because the bumpers would be made out of meringue.

Random Doobings

"Oh my God!" cried Goodtime Slim, immediately sitting in the dead centre of the dinghy, "That crocodile just ate our tour guide!"

"Crikey!"* yelled Captain Doobie, peering over the side, "I wonder where it went."
"Who cares? Just help me row ashore. And don't hang over the side of the boat!"
"Pfft. Why not?"
"BECAUSE THERE ARE CROCODILES ATTACKING PEOPLE!!!!!"
"Only one. And he's harmless now."
"What? How?"
"Well," explained Captain Doobie, "He's an amphibian, isn't he?"
"SO?"
"He's just eaten. It's going to be an hour before he can come back out of the water."

*Steve Irwin died for that joke. Laugh, damn you.

It Is Done

I've read Gravity's Rainbow, by Thomas Pynchon, and i'm just a little bit proud. I started it because i'd read Mason & Dixon, and wanted to see how Pynchon's other work stacked up. Then I began hearing rumours that it was a 'difficult' book, so I had to read it then.

Yes, it was difficult, but not impossible. You just had to keep your finger on the wider plot. There were no chapters and the whole thing was stream-of-conciousness, not of the character but of the author.
A brief summary of plot: Tyrone Slothrop, U.S. Army, stationed in London during the V2 blits of 1944, discovers that he can sense the impending arrival of V2 bombs by his tumescence. The top brass find out, and discover that the reason goes back to Pavlovian experiments carried out on the infant Tyrone by Dr Lazlo Jamf, who later invented Imipolex G, an early plastic used in the V2 rocket. The top brass realise that Tyrone is aware of parts of this, so they spoonfeed him enough info to convince him to go AWOL and track down the source of the rockets, hoping that he will lead them to the mysterious S-gerat, rocket 00000, which the Nazis developed in secrecy at the end of the war, then fired. Everyone (British, Americans and Russians) want to know what was so special about the S-gerat. The most organised of the German remnants, the Schwarzcommando, have even gone as far as secretly constructing a second S-gerat, 00001, from spare parts. Tyrone has many adventures with the black market in particular as he wanders 'the Zone', the novel's euphemism for an occupied Germany, where law and order have not yet been restored. He eventually gives up his search, as does the Russian Colonel Tchitcherine, and the Schwarzcommando are left to fire their second rocket in peace. It is only in the last pages that we learn what the S-gerat contained: a human cargo. In great irony, Pynchon forces the reader to remember the first 20 pages of the novel, the seemingly useless introduction of 'Pirate' Prentiss, where he explains that the V2 made it to the edge of space. Thus the S-gerat, developed by the Nazis in secret, was not a vengeance weapon, but a suicide mission for a German, to use the rocket technology to be the first men in space before the Russians and the Americans grabbed the scientists and the equipment.

Pynchon's encyclopaedic vision never falters throughout the book. The reader is constantly belted with new information, 99% of it completely off-topic. The book has a decidedly dark bent, some have called it obscene, and I can only agree. There's a bit about elephants I could go on about for a long time. Other stuff is just plain wierd, like the dance instructions for the songs that start appearing about 3/4 of the way into the book, or the 4-page 'autobiography' of Boris the lightbulb that segues in towards the end.

On a final note, the Wikipedia entry states that the S-gerat ended it's flight by obliterating a cinema. It does not. The symbolism of a crowd in a cinema and the flickering frames is used to describe the moment of the rocket's perihelon, but it's never stated where 00000 actually lands. Does it land at all? Did it make it into orbit? The cinema motif is also used close to the end when Pynchon is talking about John Dillinger. I think someone at Wikipedia is getting a bit mixed up.

To Whom It May Concern

Dear Gideons,

Recently, whilst on enforced sojurn to the eastern reaches of the Empire i was idly leafing through a copy of the bible that your organisation had kindly left in my hotel room. Whilst I did so, I noticed several deviations from the authentic King James Version:

1. Noah did not have a son named Spam.
2. Moses did not come running down Mount Sinai followed closely by a boulder, ducking under a juniper bush and pausing only to collect a hitherto-unmentioned fedora.

3. The Disciples did not refer to each other as 'dude'.
4. In none of the bibles I have seen was Jesus described by Paul as 'looking a bit like Kris Kristofferson'.
5. Pontius Pilate did not advise the Pharisees to 'get medieval' on any part of Jesus.

Please contact your publisher regarding these matters as soon as possible. Thank you.

Gravitas Rainbow

Without wishing to sound at all superior (yet managing it anyway) i'm quite pleased to say that i'm now about 150 pages from the end of Gravity's Rainbow, by Thomas Pynchon. And i've noticed something strange: all of the stuff that I read about in the reviews happens in the first 200 pages. After then, there's a heap of interesting stuff that builds as the novel progresses that never seems to be mentioned at all. Was Pynchon toying with the arts fraternity? Introducing new sub-plots 500 pages in then chucking to himself as he could tell which reviewer actually read that far? I'd like to think so. A full review will be coming in a day or so when I finish the damn thing.

On the subject of books, i've become emamoured recently of collections of articles. I keep them in the car because they're good for light reading, which suits me for when I have to eat on the run. I hate just sitting around eating and not doing anything else, so a paperback which can be held in one hand is great. One which is comprised of short articles is even better, because it may be some time between meals and I don't want to try to remember plot.

The best so far have been (surprisingly) Sir Robert Morley. He's not someone I knew very much about pror to reading his book "Morley Marvels" but I do now. We seem to approach things from the same direction, plus he is witty, erudite and amazingly indolent. I'm currently on the lookout for more of his stuff.

On the other end of the scale for mealtime company would be Jeremy Clarkson. I don't really wish to settle down to some salt & pepper squid and chips just to be harangued for my love of Toyota Corollas. Never was this brought home to me more forcefully than a couple of months ago. I'd taken a copy of Clarkson's latest ramble with me on a trip to Melbourne, and the plane hit rather bad turbulence coming into Tullamarine. As passengers screamed, moaned and clung to their partners for dear life I, a lone traveller, looked down at the cheekily grinning face peering back at me from the paperback cover in my hand and thought "please don't let me die with only Jeremy Clarkson for company". That sort of thing scars a man.