Star Wars: The Lost Scripts (cont)

Medical Ward (Hoth Base)
Princess Leia: You know we can't allow any ships to leave due to the asteroid activity.
Han Solo: Is that the real reason? I think you just couldn't bear to let a gorgeous guy like me out of your sight.
Princess Leia: Why you arrogant, pompous, scruffy-looking nerf herder!
Han Solo: Hey! Who's scruffy looking? And what is a nerf anyway?
Luke Skywalker: Don't ask me, I grew up in a desert.
Princess Leia: It's a semi-agrarian pack animal from Alderaan.
Han Solo: Wait, don't you mean it *was* a semi-agrarian pack animal from Alderaan?
Princess Leia: You bastard. (exits)
Han Solo (following): What? Was it the Alderaan thing again?
C3-PO (entering): Pardon me General Rieekian, your Waldorf Salad is ready in the commissary.

Zillertaler Schurzenjager: Teure Heimat (A Review)

Germany has one of the largest country & western cultures outside of the US and Australia. As such, when I saw a CD of German trucking songs being sold for $1 at Krypton Discs, I bought it without delay.

And I wasn't disappointed in the least. It's a cracker of an album. Relentlessly chirpy and cheerful, songs like "Wilkommen Europa" have lodged themselves in my brain and refuse to leave. Others, like "Alle Sirenen Gingen Los" (All The Sirens Went Off) promise far more in the way of lyrics, should I ever learn German.

Overall, I like this album. The Germans got into c&w through the American servicemen stationed in their country for the last 50 years, but they've tinged it with their own sound. As well as the slide guitars, banjos and fiddles, you also hear traditional German folk instruments like the tuba and the piano accordion. My c&w collection is much the richer for this album.

P.S. the album title "Teure Heimat", as near as I can figure it means literally "Expensive Homeland" or colloquially "Dear Highway".

Star Wars: The Lost Scripts (continued....)

Mos Eisley Spaceport
Stormtrooper Captain: How long have you had these droids?
Luke Starkiller: About 3 or 4 seasons, I guess.
Obi-Wan Kenobi: They're for sale, if you want them.
SC: I'd better see some identification.
O-W K: You don't need to see his identification...
SC: I don't need to see your identification.
O-W K: He can go about his business...
SC: You can go about your business.
O-W K: Move along...
SC: Move along.
(speeder departs)
SC: What a nice chap.
Other Stormtrooper: Uh, sir?
SC: Yes, what?
OS: Are you okay sir?
SC: Of course. Why wouldn't I be?
OS: It's just that they DID look awfully like the droids we were looking for, um...sir.
SC: Don't be ridiculous. We're looking for a gold protocol droid and an astromech.
OS: That was a gold protocol droid and an astromech, sir.
SC: Don't be so....(shakes head) (quietly) ...shit.
OS: Should we go get them, sir?
SC: What's your name, soldier?
OS: Um, THX1674, sir.
SC: Do you see this big orange thingie on my shoulder, THX1674?
OS: Yes sir, but they're getting...
SC: They don't just hand these out whenever you buy petrol, you know.
OS: But...
SC: SHUTUP! And that goes for all of you, if you know what's good for you.

Random Doobings

Captain Doobie rushed into the loungeroom and ran in front of the TV, blocking Goodtime Slim's view of Hogan's Heroes.
"I've just had a brilliant idea!" he exclaimed.
Goodtime Slim sighed. "What is it this time?"
Captain Doobie pulled up a footstool and sat down excitedly. "You'll love this," he said, "Spray painted cows! Think about it! For a small fee, we can spraypaint a company logo onto cows on the side of the road! Companies will be lining up for a piece of the action! We'll be rich!"

Goodtime Slim scowled. "That is the most ridiculous thing i've ever heard."
Naturally, Captain Doobie was somewhat stung by this rebuke. "No it isn't," he snapped back, "The most ridiculous thing you've ever heard was when someone said "Oh, what a lovely job you've done of this. The next time I need it done again i'll most certainly call for you'."

Goodtime Slim glowered at him. "That's a lie!" he spat back, "I've never heard that in my life!"

Exemplary After Sales Service

Congratulations on your recent purchase. You are now the proud owner of a magnificent pair of jugs. Please pay special attention to the instructions and your jugs should provide you with many years of carefree use.

Correct Care and Maintenance of Your Jugs.
Your new jugs are made from only the finest quality materials but they are fragile and may be easily damaged. Please avoid rough handling and/or repeated concussion as this may cause your jugs to break. Broken jugs are difficult and expensive to repair, and even extensively repaired jugs will not look as good as the original product.

Daily cleaning of your jugs is highly recommended. To clean, first wet them, then rub well with soapy water for several minutes, alternating between clockwise and counterclockwise strokes. Overly-vigorous scrubbing of your jugs is not recommended. Ensure that the entire surface of the jug is clean, to avoid buildup of dirt and grime in  hard-to-see places, particularly underneath. Please note that harsh detergents may damage the surface of your jugs. A mild foaming agent is all that is generally required. For a deeper clean you may prefer to soak your jugs in soapy water for an hour. To dry, pat your jugs down with a soft cloth, then allow to air dry. Please do not shake your jugs dry in an overly-vigorous manner.

Correct Display of Your Jugs:
Your jugs should be displayed in a safe manner, yet one that allows them to be admired as the works of art that they are. Please ensure that your jugs are provided with adequate support, and cannot fall or become dislodged. When placing your jugs upon display please remember that they may suffer from extreme exposure to sunlight, becoming discoloured and unattractive.

Thank you for your purchase. May you have many years of pleasure with your new jugs!

The Ridiculously Reticent Regent

It was all hands to the pumps in the Doobie/Slim household. In an effort to elevate their social status from the squalid, unemployable wretches that they actually were, Goodtime Slim had sent an invitation to the Queen to stop in for tea during her next Australian visit. Ordinarily a scheme like this would have little chance of success, but her Majesty found herself at something of a loose end during the South Australian leg of her tour. The whale she was booked in to watch at Victor Harbor had accidentally choked on a Greenpeace dinghy. It had taken some time to dislodge the Zodiac from the whale’s breathing hole, and this resulted in a goodish gap in the Royal itinerary. One of her aides remembered the strange letter written in crayon which had been received at Buckingham Palace several weeks earlier and had made the call.

It had taken Captain Doobie (who answered the phone) quite by surprise. Immediately, the house was transformed into a whirlwind of tidying. The broom was called out of its cupboard for the first time since they’d tried out (unsuccessfully) for the Curling at the Winter Olympics; and a vacuum cleaner was borrowed from Crikey o’Trousers, the mad Irishwoman who lived next door. Crikey had been only too happy to lend it once she heard about the Royal Visit, not because she was a monarchist but because she had always secretly longed to hurl a washing machine at the Queen’s limousine as payback for Princess Di. (Funnily enough, as it turned out her plan was almost thwarted when she rushed out and attempted to purchase a washing machine for the purpose but got her arm stuck in a goat, for reasons that I don’t care to go into now.)

Captain Doobie and Goodtime Slim threw themselves into the cleaning. A large cloud of dust was raised above their house and a multitude of bugs found themselves homeless. Goodtime Slim finally found himself a use for the can of Mr Sheen that he had bought to taunt the bald man across the road with, while Captain Doobie was thrilled to find his Spiderman mug which had lain undisturbed at the bottom of the washing up pile since Bathurst 2002.

After a clean-up effort of gargantuan proportions, Goodtime Slim pronounced everything clean and tidy, and commenced to make some scones. Captain Doobie set about polishing up his mother’s favorite antique teapot and silver cow-creamer. His mother’s teapot had been a wedding present while the cow creamer had mysteriously appeared in her luggage after her tour of the large manor-houses of England. Customs hadn’t been asking any questions upon her eventual extradition, and given the circumstances neither had Captain Doobie.

And so it transpired that Captain Doobie and Goodtime Slim sat in their loungeroom, enjoying high tea with the Queen. Captain Doobie poured the tea whilst Goodtime Slim busied himself buttering the scones and congratulating the Queen on her choice of blackberry jam (his favorite, a point which would cause much gloating in the house in weeks to come). This done, the three of them settled back on the couch for a jolly good munch and a chat, during which Captain Doobie confessed to the Queen of his recurring dream in which he circumnavigated the globe in an Ultralite constructed in large part from Prince Charles’ ears. While her Majesty seemed to be enjoying the conversation she appeared to be experiencing difficulty with her scone. Eventually she put it down and used her impeccably-manicured fingernail to pick out something from between her teeth.

“Oh,” she cried when she saw what it was.
“What is it?” enquired Captain Doobie politely.
“Ay seem to have gort a small black hair cort in may teeth from thet scone,” she replied, “Ay understand how much people layke cats, but having them in the kitchen goes beyond the rules of good taste.”

“But hang on,” said Goodtime Slim, “we don’t have a cat.”
There was a short, awkward pause.
The Queen left soon after. Captain Doobie and Goodtime Slim never again had her to tea, but their legacy remains in tighter royal security protocols to this day, a washing machine-shaped dent in the royal limousine, and a mentally-scarred goat.

Random Twattings

My next novel is likely to tell the story of one Lieutenant Twatt, who has been frozen in the Antarctic ice since 1907 and thawed out by a scientific team in 2007. Lieutenant Twatt survives, and through an obscure loophole is made head of the Royal Australian Navy. What's more, a terrorist strike suddenly makes him Chief of all Military Staff. He then has to hunt the terrorists and stop a major attack on Australia. Here's some dialogue:

Twatt: Run that past me again. You say this is 2007?
Aide: Yes.
Twatt: I've been frozen for one hundred years and only just now thawed out?
Aide: Right again.
Twatt: And i'm the head of the military.
Aide: Um, yes, but...
Twatt: And we're at war with Prussia?
Aide: No!
Twatt: Trust me, if i'm head of the military, we're at war with Prussia.

Hurrah!

I'm back! And surprisingly, despite being in the bush for days and days and days, the car didn't break down and we didn't have to eat anybody. This came as something of a disappointment to me personally as i'm quite fond of 'the other white meat', but then beggars can't be choosers and i'll have to go back to hacking up Jehovah's Witnesses and keeping them in the freezer.

But I got simply squillions of chiastolites, so i'm well set up to start making some very rare and unusual jewellery.

Paul McCartney - Memory Almost Full.

A Review.

Whenever I hear an ageing star touting their new album as 'as good as their old stuff', I get nervous. And so it was when I found out about the new McCartney album while reading an interview with McCartney in which he said that there was a lot of vintage Wings sound on there.

However, to my surprise he was right, and there is. It's just not the good stuff. Whenever I think of Wings, I think of Band On The Run, Venus & Mars/Rock Show, Jet, Junior's Farm, Hi Hi Hi, Helen Wheels etc. What we have here is an album full of Silly Love Songs, Let 'Em In, and other similarly forgettable b-side detritus. There's not even anything like Maybe I'm Amazed, My Love or Mull Of Kintyre; songs which lyrically i'm a bit ambivalent on but which admittedly have a power and majesty all of their own. And heaven forbid we might have seen another Admiral Halsey or Picasso's Last Words.

But for all that, it's a nice inoffensive listen. I can see it hanging around in the car. There's nothing jarring or out of place, it's just the side of Wings I wished hadn't happened. If you liked that, you'll love this. It'll probably grow on me.

DC's Mailbag

Dear Mr White,

Recently I was shocked and apalled by an article appearing on your so-called 'blog', pertaining to a man who wipes his arse on cats. I find this behaviour morally reprehensible and completely indefensible for a rational human being. When oh when oh when will standards on the internet rise? You are obviously a very sad excuse for a human being whose right to live is lower than that of a weasel. I demand that you remove this article immediately or I for one will not be reading this excremental excuse for journalism again. You are sick, sir, very sick, and I would only hope that you will seek treatment for your many obvious degradations. I can only assume that you will never have children and I am heartily thankful for that, as are the rest of the as-yet unborn generations.

Yours,

Mum.

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I Don't Write Sketch Comedy

And there's a reason for that:

A man enters a pet shop.
Man: Good morning.
Assistant: Good morning sir, may I help you?
M: Yes, you may. I should like to return this cat, as it is unsuitable for the purpose.
A: Unsuitable, sir?
M: It tickles.
Pause
A: I'm sorry, but did you just say that it tickles?
M: Yes. It tickles my testicles. Or rather, I should say, it's tail does.
Pause
A: How, exactly?
M: It lightly brushes them when I wipe my arse on it.
A: I beg your pardon?
M: Don't look at me like that! I'm not a pervert.
A: Yes you are.
M: How dare you sir! I bought that cat and i'm entitled to do as I like with it.
A: We don't accept 'soiled' returns in any case.
M: Don't worry, it's perfectly clean now. It washed itself in the car.
A: Oh dear.
M: That's why I bought it. Saves on water, don't you know.

Hang On A Minute...

Lord knows i'm not one to get hung up on inconsistencies in fictional tales, not at all. However, something has been bugging me for the last day or so, and it concerns Star Wars.

In A New Hope, when the Jawas try to sell C3PO to Owen Lars, he tells him that he has no need for a protocol droid. Yet we know that for some time, Owen (and his father Jack Thompson) owned C3PO. If they didn't need him, why did they own him?

The answer, of course, is that he came with Shmi Skywalker when Jack Thompson bought/married her under what seem to me to be rather dubious circumstances. But Shmi only owned him because Anakin built him 'to help Mom'.

How on earth would a protocol droid do that? If he was so completely unsuitable for farm labour that he was instantly dismissed by a farmer, why did Anakin think he'd be able to help Shmi? Surely Anakin would have been far better off building a multi-armed lifting/carrying droid, or something that could offer Shmi some form of transport, instead of something obviously regarded by the working class as essentially useless. Lucas then tries to disguise this by having C3PO be 'programmed' for other tasks, but that still doesn't escape the fact that Anakin could have, starting from scratch like he did, built his mother something of a far more practical nature.

George Lucas, if you're reading this, I could do way better than that. Please get in touch and we'll talk ideas for the next trilogy.

A Word Of Warning

Now, I don't want to worry anyone, but people may not have realised that today is Wednesday the 13th!!!!!!!

While not as famous as it's younger brother Friday the 13th, Wednesday the 13th holds a special place of dread in the Unlucky Days Pantheon. Did you know that*...

...more beer is unwittingly spilt on Wednesday the 13th than any other day?
...anyone born on Wednesday the 13th is mysteriously retarded?
...98% of all people who die in  tweezer accidents do so on Wednesday the 13th?
...Stalin, Hitler, Pope Benedict, Vlad the Impaler, Sweeney Todd, Pol Pot, Margaret Thatcher and Richard Nixon all started Kindergarten on Wednesday the 13th?

...Christmas NEVER occurs on Wednesday the 13th?
...the US Department of Defence routinely upgrades it's DEFCON status one point every Wednesday the 13th?
...the Grand Age of Pirates ended on Wednesday the 13th?
...all biros made on Wednesday the 13th have no little holes halfway up them?
...Alan Alda refused to film MASH on Wednesday the 13th, after the episode in which McLean Stevenson died was scripted, filmed and released on successive Wednesdays the 13th?

*all of these facts are absolutely true and were not in any way made up by me just then. No, really.

Observations on life (Random)

1. I have been a devoted atheist for more than 6 months now, and remain resolutely unsmited.

2. Have you ever noticed how the addition of a trucker's cap can make absolutely ANYONE look like a trucker, regardless of ethnicity, age, or height?

Thank you, Jim Croce.

Which way are you going and whose side will you be on,
Will you stand and watch while all the seeds of hate are sown,
Will you stand with those who say that His will be done,
With one hand on the bible and one hand on the gun.

Which way are you looking, is it hard to see,
Do you say "what's wrong for him is not wrong for me"
You walk the streets of righteousness but you refuse to understand,
You say you love the baby but then you crucify the man.

Every day things are changing,
Words once honoured turn to lies,
People crying, can you blame them,
It's too far to run and too late to hide.

Now you've turned your back on all the things that you used to preach,
Now its "Let him live in freedom, if he lives like me",
Your line has changed, confusion reigns, what have you become,
All your olive branches turn to spears when your bibles turn to guns.

All your olive branches turn to spears when your bibles turn to guns.

Random Doobings

Captain Doobie, Goodtime Slim, and the Curse Of The Jade Scorpion.

Captain Doobie walked through the door, flung the tattered remains of his shopping bags onto the dining room table and flounced down into a chair. "What a day. I've been almost hit by 3 buses, a woman dropped a vase on me from out of a window, I slipped on 7 banana peels, the shopping bags broke twice, an ostrich attacked me in the middle of Coles and I had my chiko roll stolen by a gang of maurauding possums."

Goodtime Slim looked at him over his Phantom comic. "Did you get rid of that jade scorpion like I told you?"
"............yes. I mean, of course."
"Then what's that lump in your back pocket?"
"What, this? This is..um..a...mint scorpion! That I bought at the shop, to replace the jade scorpion that I definitely got rid of."

"Mint scorpion? Well, I expect you'll be wanting to eat it, won't you?"
"Um, now?"
"Yes."
"Actually, i'm not feeling all that peckish..."
"NOW!"
Captain Doobie executed a difficult swallow, then turned into a scorpion.
"And that," said Goodtime Slim somewhat snippily, before returning to his comic, "Is what happens to people who tell fibs."

This Country Is Stuffed.

Why can a man not exchange the current numberplate on his car for another in the same sequence? Why? If I want to have the numberplate VDR501, which is perfectly legal, within the current numbering system and Just Plain Cool, why shouldn't I be able to?

Area Man In Perfect Hibernation

NOARLUNGA-
Firefighters are still baffled as to how local resident Captain Doobie managed to lock himself inside his own refrigerator.

Units from the Flaxmill Rd Fire Station were called to Mr Doobie's residence on Tuesday after Capt. Doobie's housemate, Goodtime Slim, returned home to find him wedged between the margarine and half a plate of spam. Capt. Doobie was founf to be in a state of perfect hibernation and was later revived at Noarlunga Hospital.

Mr Slim stated in a press release that he had left Captain Doobie alone that morning whilst he went to the shops for some biscuits, but had become sidetracked and had not returned home for several hours, whereupon he opened the fridge to find Capt. Doobie's body.

Captain Doobie was believed by many area residents to be conducting extensive experiments into cryogenic freezing. Mr Slim however stated, "I should never have let him purchase a fridge named 'Carbonite'."

Well Well Well.

For once, me and Jeremy Clarkson agree. Which is not of course to say we'll agree tomorrow on the same issue. Jeremy has a nasty habit of changing his mind. Repeatedly.

However, for the moment we agree, and birds are singing, and the world is a better place. Why? Because he's done something that Wheels Car Of The Year failed to do: called the new VE Dunnydore on it's interior plastics.

Remember the 2006 Wheels COTY? For those who came in late, Wheels told all and sundry how the Mitsubishi 380 was near-on perfect save for it's interior plastics, so they awarded COTY to the Mazda MX5, a car which doesn't even have a spare tyre. If this wasn't enough to show everyone the Wheel's COTY irrelevance, the very next year they award the COTY to the VE Commodore, a car which even it's manufacturers admit has terrible interior plastic.

But now the VE (in HSV Clubsport R8 guise) has gone to the Poms. And it's quite popular, except that in the very first review, Jeremy hates....the plastic.

Well done Wheels. Now you're not just a national joke, you're an international joke too. Hurrah.

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*

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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."