Arthur C Clarke

Dammit, it seems like i'm writing these every couple of weeks these days.

Arthur C Clarke, the grand old man of science fiction has died, aged 90, in Sri Lanka.

Of all of the old sci-fi writers from the Golden Age, Clarke was always one of my favorites. Not always consistent in his larger books '(2001', 'Rendezvous with Rama') to which he had the disarming habit of writing sequels far past the use-by date of the concept, my favorite books of Clarkes were his small 'once-offs'. In these you always got the sense that he'd had an idea for a piece of technology and wanted to introduce the reader to it. 'The Gardens Of Paradise', 'The Ghost From Grand Banks', 'Prelude To Space', all written to highlight a technology more than to tell a story.

Also a delight was his 'technical' writing, by which I mean his collections of essays such as 'Spring 1984: A Choice Of Futures', and 'Greetings, Carbon-Based Bipeds!' in which he displayed a rare wit and a capacity to involve the reader. Few of his contemporaries shared this ability, but most notably Asimov had it, and I think that says something.

As a postscript, I remember an anecdote that Clarke told in which, when he was the Treasurer of the British Interplanetary Society (1938) he recieved a letter from George Bernard Shaw who wished to join because "he thought it was time he looked into the matter". At the time, George Bernard Shaw was 97, and I for one am glad to see that Arthur C Clarke took this lesson to heart, and never stopped learning, right up until the end.

Arthur C Clarke, we're missing you already.

Exciting New Trends In Sideburns

1. Sausages.
As the name suggests, these are 'burns which curve. Beginning vertically at the ear, they sweep majestically away from the jaw-line, becoming horizontal towards the upper lip, culminating in a rounded point.

2. The Lightning Strike.
A 30's art-deco look, these begin at the ear, initially maintaining the standard 'burn line until they dogleg, then come to a point, resembling nothing so much as their namesake.

3. Hot Eggs In Bed.
Today the trend is away from straight. In much the same way as Sausages, Hot Eggs In Bed follow a curved path down from the ear then back up, with the effect being essentially a big hairy egg leaning with the small pointy end at the top of the ear.

4. Zulus At Dawn
A 'burn in honor of the Battle of Roark's Drift. Victorian England is the look here chaps, so start growing! One of the newer freeform 'burn categories.

5. The Gentleman's Excuse-Me.
Perhaps the most daring of all new-wave 'burn styles, this is a standard rectangular (or "Johnnyboy") 'burn, the hairs of which have been grown significantly longer than that style generally dictates, then waxed to a horizontal point.

Random Doobings

"But you're not a psychiatrist."
"I am!"
"Alright then, prove it."
"Do you want to root your mum?"
"No!"
"Good. Now piss off."

Random Doobings

"What do you think of Ague?"
It would be an understatement to say that this question took Goodtime Slim by surprise. He was slumped on the couch, where he'd fallen asleep whilst watching a particularly dry episode of The Smurfs. He was awoken by Captain Doobie's query and had to collect his thoughts before he could speak.

"Huh?"
Captain Doobie plonked himself down into his easy chair. "Should I go for Ague or Pleurisy?"
"What are you talking about?"
Captain Doobie shot him a whithering look. "Please. I'm trying to decide which of these old-timey diseases to catch," he told him.

Goodtime Slim was totally lost. "Why Ague or Pleurisy? Why not Dropsy?"
"Ooh!" cried Captain Doobie excitedly, scribbling it down in his notebook, "that's a good one!"
Goodtime Slim thought it was time to Sort Things Out. He found himself doing this a lot. Speaking slowly and clearly, he asked, "Why do you want to catch an old disease that no-one's ever heard of?"

Captain Doobie snorted in derision, made a complicated clicking motion with his fingers and peered down his nose at his housemate. "Because it's cool," was his reply.

"Cool?"
"Yes. Think about it: it's not just a virus, it's a retrovirus!"

Freedomnomics

Sometimes life is unintentionally hilarious. For example, on Amazon there's a new book out called "Freedomnomics". It's a 'response' to Stephen Levitt's "Freakonomics", and attempts to refute many of the findings of that book.

I will not comment further until i've read the book, but I will say that as a trained economist I found 'Freakonomics' to be generally correct, and I find it difficult to imagine how it could be found lacking, but I will read 'Freedomnomics' and decide for myself.

However, I should point out that I only discovered 'Freedomnomics' while on an Amazon search for Dostoyevsky's 'Crime and Punishment', and that in the little section on what other customer's bought, 'Freedomnomics' is in such illustrious company as 'A New Look At The Causes of the Great Depression', 'More Guns, Less Crime', 'Straight Shooting: Firearms, Economics and Public Policy', and "Liberal Fascism: The Secret History of the American Left".

Until I read the book, I will leave that to speak for itself.

Thought For The Day

There are few things more troubling in this world than a porcine gait.

The Power Of Books

As an author (humiliatingly as-yet-unplublished though I may be) I occasionally am reminded of just why I like books so much.

During my formative years I was very much into all things military. I was lucky that both my school library and the local Noarlunga Library had a very wide selection of the books of Leo Kessler. Leo Kessler's books (particularly his long-running series: SS Battalion Wotan) were pulp, pure and unadulterated. Kessler (a pseudonym of Charles Whiting) had fought in WW2, then became an author and wrote novels which from his wartime experiences held a ring of truth, something sadly lacking in similar authors such as Sven Hassel.

Before his death late last year Kessler/Whiting wrote more than 350 books, all of them thin, cheap and of dubious artistic merit. They were, however, fun. My favorites will always remain the SS Batallion Wotan series. Loosely based upon the real-life SS Wiking Batallion, Wotan was the WW2 equivalent of Harry Flashman, although in a more serious vein. Wotan served on every concievable front during WW2, and were then recruited by the French for Foreign Legion duties well into the 1950s. While as in real life the characters changed, one man remained. Though his commanding officer may have started as Major Geier in Poland, became Kuno Von Dodenburg during Barbarossa and ended as Karl Shirmer in the trackless deserts of Algeria, Sergeant Schulze and his overactive 'fart-cannon' lived on. Flunkies like Corporal Matz, White Lightning, Pansy Petersen and Spider-Arse came and went, but through it all Sergeant Schulze WAS Wotan.

In all there were about 40 SS Batallion Wotan books, and recently I had the pleasure of stumbling across one in a secondhand store that I had never before read, "Schirmer's Death Legion", which leads me to the point of this post. Reading the book, it became obvious that it was the last of the WOTANs. Set in Algeria in 1953 during the rebellion, it became obvious that Kessler intended for this to be WOTAN's last stand. Once I realised this, something incredible happened. I've always considered the WOTAN books to be trash but i've been reading them since I was about 13, which means that Sgt Schulze and the rest have been a part of my life for (saints preserve us) 18 years now. So when it became obvious that this was the last hurrah, the book became a real heart-pumping page-turner as I almost shouted "Don't you dare kill off Schulze, you bastard!" while reading it in the middle of Nandos. I was late to my theatre show because I had to finish it, I couldn't put it down until it was over. It seems amazing to me that something so pulp could elicit such a stong reaction, and I guess i'm forced now to re-evaluate the 'artistic merit' of the series. It taught me something about the impact of books. Whether they're well written or poorly scribbled, even the most violent and blatantly venal can lodge there in your heart and stay put forever.

Oh, and I suppose you'll want to know whether Schulze died in the end. Tough luck. I'll leave that to you to find out :o)

Random Doobings

Captain Doobie surveyed Goodtime Slim's handiwork with a critical eye.
Ooooookayyy," he said, trying to sound knowledgeable, "we've got the dips, the jatz, the little carrot sticks, the drinks are in the fridge, and...hang on."

He turned to Goodtime Slim and pointed at the coffee table accusingly. "What's this?"
Godtime Slim lookerd around him. "Sweets," he replied.
"Yes," said Captain Doobie slowly, as if he was talking to someone who was mentally retarded, "What sort of sweets are they?"

"Um, Anzac biscuits."
"Anzac biscuits and...?"
"Um, Turkish Delight."
Captain Doobie threw up his hands to the heavens. "What on earth are you doing?" he cried, "we can't let them eat that! Can you imagine what will happen in their stomachs?"

"Each well-chewed morsel will slowly digest?" asked Goodtime Slim, nonplussed by all the theatrics.
"No, you fool, it'll be the Dardanelles campaign all over again!"
"Crap."
"Oh really? Then why are those two Anzac buscuits currently kicking the shit out of that bit of Turkish Delight that accidentally fell off the plate?"

Goodtime Slim was forced to admit that in this instance there seemed to be no logical explanation.

How Stuff Works

Today is the 15th of February. Every 15th of February Candlemas is celebrated throughout Eastern Europe and it's affilliates. But exactly what is Candlemas, and why is it so important?

Well, i'm glad you asked.

Candlemas came about as a direct result of the bubonic plague, or Black Death of the 1300s. Prior to this Europe had experienced two centuries of unparallelled mild weather, due to the Smurf's defeat of Gargamel at the Battle of Gargamel's Castle (1076AD) which resulted in the lifting of sullen rainclouds which had heretofore covered the entire continent. This mild weather combined with the realisation that cattle could be eaten instead of cattle dung (as had previously been the belief) led to a population explosion. This in turn led to a flowering of education and an increase in literacy. The newly literate population combined with a well-fed peasantry meant that candles (which at the time were composed entirely of ear-wax) were more and more plentiful, but also more and more in demand.

The onset of the Black Death in the 1300s did not kill populations indiscriminately. The dearth of farm labourers in it's aftermath pushed food production to it's lowest ever recorded rate. Scholars, by virtue of their more solitary existence, were more numerous amongst the survivors. The high demand for candles combined with an extremely malnourished population (who produced no ear-wax and hence, no candles) caused the price of candles to skyrocket. Patriarch Antiolopoulos Nicodemus of Constantinople took drastic steps and stockpiled all of the available candles in the land, parcelling them out to those scholars most in need. As the effects of the Black death wore off candle output rose such that the mass of available candles in Eastern Europe reached it's previous nadir within a century. When this was realised the church was able to sell off it's remaining stockpile and buy a speedboat. Ever since, the day of the selloff (February 15th) has been celebrated as 'Candlemas'.

Biggles Recieves A Memo

To: Squadron Leader James Bigglesworth, 266 Squadron, RAF Biggin Hill, Thropshire Z28
From: Air Vice-Marshal Dowding
Date: 25th April 1945

Captain Bigglesworth,

It has come to the attention of GHQ that the officers in your squadron routinely utilise several belligerent and derisive sobriquets when talking of our recent enemy. However with the recent cessation of hostilities in the European Theatre and the forthcoming period of reconstruction that awaits us, these nom-de-plumes are no longer considered appropriate in His Magesty's Royal Air Force. Henceforth, the following names and phrases are not to be used by RAF personnel:

Hun
Harry Hun
Jerry
Bosche
Square-head
Kraut
Baron von Strudel
Herman Gelmet
Sausage-sucker

Further, the singing of any non-standard version of 'Colonel Bogey On Parade' is strictly prohibited.

That is all.

An Open Letter To Princess Leia

Dear Princess Leia Organa,

Recently, whilst carrying out my normal duties in a corridor in the rebel base on the ice-world of Hoth, I ventured past the medical bay, from the door of which I was astonished and very hurt to hear you refer to Captain Solo as a nerf herder, as though it were a derogatory term.

Of all people I would have expected you to understand the pain and suffering brought to all the natives of Alderaan after it's destruction by the Death Star. As you know, I was fortunate enough to be attending a convention of the Sherpherds, Herdsmen and Miscellaneous Herders Union on Corellia when Alderaan exploded, taking with it my family, friends and the reasonably-sized herd of nerfs that comprised my livelihood. Since then I have been determined to hurt the Empire in the best way I can, using my skills to ensure that all of the Tauntauns don't escape and run through all of the corridors.

While I realise that as a princess you may consider yourself a little above nerf herders in social circles, I would appreciate a little bit of professional respect and even basic courtesy. Would that hurt?

But no. Instead, as well as living every day with the crushing weight of guilt and humiliation that the empire has forced upon me, I have to endure my profession being put down, insulted, and treated like dirt. Geez, you really make me sick. I bet you're not even going to read this. I bet you just see it and walk away. Well fine! Walk away! Go on, beyotch! You just go and SIT IN YOUR TOWER, YOU STUCK UP PIECE OF SITH! SIT IN YOUR TOWER AND BE A LITTLE PRINCESS AND DREAM OF LUKE SKYWALKER LYING NAKED NEXT TO YOU AND LAUGHING AND SAYING HOW GREAT IT IS TO BE A PRINCESS AND NEVER HAVE TO LOOK AFTER STUPID SMELLY FRICKIN' TAUNTAUNS AND HAVE TO CLEAN UP AFTER THEM AND...

I've said too much. You get my point.

Yours,

Kwango Dejilsic
Tauntaun Wrangler

The Time Detectives (Part 5)

Simon and Garfunkel were the luckiest pop-folk crossover band in the world, for they owned a time travelling Volkswagen Kombi. Every night they would begin their set at a café in The Village and then, once everyone was asleep, they would jump into the kombi, set a course for the past (or future) and become…

THE TIME DETECTIVES!

No sooner had they uttered the words than they became aware of several gaudily dressed youths around the edges of the forum. They were The Beach Boys, the most highly paid musical assassins this world has ever known. Each of them carried both a sword and nunchucks, and the trio of folk-singers knew that each was quite proficient in the arts of eastern combat.

“Give it up, hippies,” cried Dennis Wilson, “and we might let you go home in one piece.”
The other Beach Boys sniggered in a way that made everyone uncomfortable.
But the Beach singing sensations and cold blooded killers hadn’t reckoned with the legendary Garfunkel pluck.
“You’re kidding!” the tall, curly-haired folkster spat back, “do you think we’d just let you assassinate Julius Caesar and get away with it?”

The Beach Bows chuckled, hefted their swords, began trirling their nunckucks and moved in for the kill. Dennis Wilson said, “It’s not as if you’ve got a lot of choice in the matter now, is it?”

“Yes!” cried Joni Mitchell unexpectedly, “it is!”
At that she dropped to her knees as her time-travelling tiger, set to ‘defend’ leaped over her stooped shoulders and cannoned into the first Beach boy, tearing out his jugular while it knocked another Beach Boy’s head clean off with one swipe of it’s mighty paw. The other Beach Boys clustered around to attack, but to no avail. The tiger’s skin had been reinforced with a loose carbon-molybdenium weave and was impervious to swords, nunchucks and the close-harmony singing to which the doomed supergroup eventually resorted. Within 30 seconds the last Beach Boy was down and the tiger stood motionless, the remains of Dennis Wilson’s face staining the fur beneath its chin.

“Phew,” chuckled Simon, “that was close!”

George MacDonald Fraser

Wednesday this week, George Macdonald Fraser died. GMF was the author of the Flashman series, among other books. He was my favorite historical novelist and a recipient of the highest honor I am humbly able to bestow upon any author: he was one of the few authors whose new books I buy immediately upon seeing them in the shop for the first time, regardless of price, commonsense or circumstance.

The first book of GMF's I ever bought was 'Flashman And The Redskins'. At the time I was working for the Housing Trust in Adelaide and every time I stepped into the Angus & Robertson's near Beehive Corner (now sadly long gone) I would see a half-dozen of the Flashman books, all in the same style of cover, sitting in the remaindered table. Initially I was not terribly interested, being put off by blurbs that proclaimed it to be the second literary coming; you know the type. Eventually, however, I was jonesing and so I picked up the one about the Wild West. I started reading it on the way home and I was hooked. The others at the remainder table got bought in short order. I began to hunt. Once all had been read, his other stuff got read, like "Mr American" and "Black Ajax", and both were excellent. I even went to far as to order a particularly hard-to-get copy of his fantastic "The Pyrates" from Amazon US, and have never once regretted the expenditure.

But of all his creations it was Ol Flashy that I loved best. Swashbuckling, cowardly, the very epitome of the Victorian cad. That didn't stop me from wanting to be him, however, and I think that's the mark of the very best books. No-one was more pleased than me when Celtic Films announced that the followup to their very successful "Sharpe" movies was to be three tales from the Flashman Papers, with GMF editing the scripts, no less!

Off you go, GMF. Go join Flashy, Elspeth, Scud East, Count Ignatieff, John Charity Spring and the rest of your rogues gallery!

The Time Detectives! (Part 4)

Simon and Garfunkel were the luckiest pop-folk crossover band in the world, for they owned a time travelling Volkswagen Kombi. Every night they would begin their set at a café in The Village and then, once everyone was asleep, they would jump into the kombi, set a course for the past (or future) and become…

THE TIME DETECTIVES!

At that, Joni started pedalling furiously, and with a soft ‘plop!’ of displaced air the tiger disappeared from the coliseum, much to the delight of the roaring crowd.

As soon as it had disappeared, it reappeared in the forum, right next to Simon and Garfunkel’s time-travelling Kombi, which had not been moved by the Romans because none of them could drive a manual. Immediately upon arrival all three soft-rockers jumped out of Joni’s tiger. Simon immediately went to work, searching the area for clues. While he looked at the ground around the chair where Julius Caesar had been sitting, Garfunkel snooped around at the seats of the senators. For her part, Joni reached inside the tiger, pulled out her trusty old guitar and played a swinging upbeat version of “Big Yellow Taxi”, which helped the swinging folk duo concentrate no end. After a bit, Garfunkel rejoined Simon by the Kombi.

“Right,” proclaimed the diminutive Simon, “as far as I can see, there’s only one clue.”
He scraped his finger along the ground and held it up for Garfunkel and Joni Mitchell to see. “Sand!” Joni cried, “but how…?”

“That’s not all,” Garfunkel told her with a wink and a grin, “the dust in front of every senator’s seat up there has been disturbed in a very regular pattern.”

“What pattern?” frowned Simon, the sleuthier of the two.
“Ah!” Garfunkel beamed, “the dust is all disturbed where every senator’s right foot was. It’s as if…as if…” he trailed off, unsure of what he wanted to say.

Simon, however, was able to pick it up. “It’s as if they were all tapping their feet at the same time!”
Simon whirled to face Garfunkel and Joni Mitchell. “Now, who do we know who could make an entire forum full of senators all tap their feet in time…”

“And is associated in some way with sand!” Garfunkel finished for him.
There was a short pause while they all had a jolly good think. Then, almost in unison, all three of the folk/pop crossover songsmiths looked at each other and cried:

“The Beach Boys!”

Noarlunga Astrology

Recently, a report that was made up by me came out to general acclaim in astrological circles, the gist of which was that if you were born in the Noarlunga area of Adelaide, SA, you were more likely to have been influenced by the gravitational pull of local buses than you were by the planets. The reasons for this are quite complicated and I choose not to go into them now because I don't feel like making them up. Suffice it to say that this report has revolutionised the astrological industry as we know it, and so i'd like to announce my new-look zodiac for 2008, based on the new completely correct theories.

722 - Noarlunga Centre to Adelaide, via States Rd (Mar 21 - April 19)
This year will be a year much like any other, except that at some point you will be mauled by a koala. It's likely that this will be a koala which is far angrier than the ordinary kind because it's been repeatedly poked with a broom. Sucks to be you.

720 - Marion to Adelaide Via Sir Donald Bradman Drive (Apr 20 - May 20)
Don't go outside on your birthday. I don't want to cause undue alarm, so that's all i'll say on the matter. The months leading up to your birthday should be alright, and telling you about the months after seems a bit cruel what with you likely to spend them in hospital and all. Whoops.

725 - Noarlunga Centre to Adelaide via Flaxmill Rd (May 21 - June 21)
I don't care what anyone says, those Rick Parfitt-style white jeans look absolutely ridiculous. Burn them. Twice if necessary, or you'll be picked off by a sniper with a .50 cal. Twat.

721 - Noarlunga Centre to Adelaide via South Rd (June 22 - July 22)
Fark. I'm not even going to tell you this one, but it involves a pole-jobbing.

734 - Noarlunga Centre to Marion via O'Sullivan's Beach (July 23 - August 22)
Buy lots of lottery tickets this year. You won't win or anything, but the constant crushing of your hopes and dreans should prove amusing to your family and 'friends'.

710 - Noarlunga Centre to Adelaide (after 6pm) (August 23 - September 22)
Your partner is having an affair: every single person born within these dates is being cheated on. I know it might seem a little far-fetched, but the buses have so ordained it. Don't argue with Dieselus or you shall bring forth his choking wrath! Wrath!!!!!

733 - Noarlunga Centre to Marion via Happy Valley (September 23 - October 22)
Say goodbye to the toes on your left foot. They will be severed at 3:14pm on Monday the 21st of January. I'm sorry I can't give you more details than that.

745 - Noarlunga Circle Line (anti-clockwise) (October 23 - November 21)
Under no circumstances should you consider flying to Melbourne to watch the Grand Prix. Nothing's actually going to happen, but i'm going and I don't want the entire trip ruined by sitting on a plane with a whole heap of people who have had their noses rotted away. On second thoughts, I probably should have mentioned the noses first thing off the bat. In any event, the nose 'thing' should happen early Februaryish. Buy tissues.

702 - Noarlunga Centre to Adelaide via States Road (after 6pm) (November 22 - December 21)
You will have a fairly boring year all up, but eat more fruit to stave off scurvy.

743 - Noarlunga Centre to Hackham West (December 22 - January 19)
Avoid making any decisions whatsoever. You're already reading this drivel as if it's true or something, so you're off to a cracking start. And tuck your shirt in.

747 - Noarlunga Circle Line (Clockwise) (January 20 - February 18)
You're going to have a nasty incident with a piece of runaway farm machinery. It could be a combine harvester or it might be a monkey-spanker, the mystic veils are murky. It's probably not livestock, however.

713 - Noarlunga Centre to Adelaide (Weekends and Public Holidays) (February 19 - March 20)
You will change jobs 3 times this year, and careers twice. None of this will be of your own volition. Turkey.

From the Rome Times, Yesterday.

ROME: Authorities today called for calm in the Italian capital as rioting followed the news that Australian police had apprehended the Pope in Noarlunga, south of Adelaide, SA, and were holding him on charges of Causing A Public Nuisance.

Signor Capitane del Giovanni Bertorelli of the Italian Foreign Ministry told the crowd that the Pope had not been arrested, but an impostor claiming to be the Pope had.

"We-a heard that-a his holiness had-a been ayrrested in-a Adelayde but-a it turned out-a to be a hoax-a," he told the deeply religious crowd that had just laid waste to the entire Vatican.

While reports are still sketchy it appears that a man dressed as the Pope was attempting the make a home movie of himself defecating in the woods in his local area. While the reasons behind his behaviour are not known, local man Mr G Slim has been called in to identify the man.

Investigations are continuing.

Return Of The Jedi: The Lost Scripts

Death Star, Endor Orbit

Luke Skywalker: Your overconfidence is your weakness.
Emperor Palpatine: Your faith in your friends is yours!
LS: Yeah? Well at least i'm not all horrid and wrinkly.
EP: Maybe not, but you whine like a 747.
LS: Ooh ooh, i'm so hurt. Wrinkly face! Wrinkly face!
EP: Am not!
LS: Are too!
R2D2: Bee-whoop?
Both: Shutup!
EP: Am not!
LS: Are too!
R2D2: Bee-whoop?
Both: Shut up!
Fade...

Later...
EP: Wabbit season!
LS: Duck season!
EP: Wabbit season!
LS: Duck season!
EP: Wabbit season!
LS: Wabbit season!
EP: Duck season! Vader, strike me down!
Lightsaber strike
Darth Vader: Um....
EP (reaching up and pinching out small flame on cowl): Let's try that again.

The Time Detectives! Part 3

Simon and Garfunkel were the luckiest pop-folk crossover band in the world, for they owned a time travelling Vokswagen Kombi. Every night they would begin their set at a café in The Village and then, once everyone was asleep, they would jump into the kombi, set a course for the past (or future) and become…

THE TIME DETECTIVES!

“That’s right,’ said the tiger, “now hold on!”
To Simon’s amazement and the crowd’s bloodthirsty delight, the tiger them swallowed the diminutive folk songsmith whole. Inside the tiger Simon found himself careening down a pitch-black slipperydip until he landed on a pile of mattresses and someone switched the lights on. When Simon looked around he saw that he was in a largish room that didn’t look at all like a tiger’s stomach ought to. In one corner, pedalling furiously upon an exercise bike with wires trailing of it sat Joni Mitchell, friend of both Simon and Garfunkel and regular performer at village gigs.

“Where are we?” Simon asked, looking around in amazement.
“Hello!” replied Joni Mitchell brightly, “this is my time-travelling tiger!”
“Wow! How does it all fit in?”
“More on that later. First, I’ve got to eat Garfunkel. You’d better get out of the way.”
As Joni Mitchell’s hands danced across the control panel in front of her, Simon scrambled hurriedly off of the mattresses. He did so not a moment too soon, as right away a rather bemused Garfunkel came rushing down the chute.

“Hi, Joni!” he cried, “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Simon was dumbfounded. “You set all this up?” he asked in wonder.
“Sure,” Garfunkel replied, “when I got a moment after gladiator class, I put a note addressed to Joni inside an amphora.”

“Yes,” continued Joni, “and imagine my surprise when I was doing a gig in Rome in 1967 and stumbled across it during a tour of the Coliseum.  Immediately I began work on this time machine to rescue you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’ve got to get out of here.”

Joni began to program the coordinates for a safe return to the swinging sixties.
“Wait!” Simon said, “we can’t leave without the kombi! And,” he added, “There’s still the matter of who killed Julius Caesar to solve!”

The Time Detectives! Part 2

Simon and Garfunkel were the luckiest pop-folk crossover band in the world, for they owned a time travelling Vokswagen Kombi. Every night they would begin their set at a café in The Village and then, once everyone was asleep, they would jump into the kombi, set a course for the past (or future) and become…

THE TIME DETECTIVES!

Part 2: Soft-rockin' In The Free World.

"Hang on, daddy-o!" cried Simon, "but we only just got here! Everyone saw us."
Garfunkel added, "When was Big Julie knocked off?"
Mark Antony looked thoughtful. "About half an hour ago," he told them.
"Well," beamed Simon, ever the peacemaker, "it can't have been us then, can it."
But Mark Antony shook his head. "What with your bellbottoms, extravagantly long hair and light-harmonic vocal stylings, you can only be from the late 1960s. And that means that you must have a time machine, so you very well could have done it! Take them away!"

Before the best-selling folk duo could say 'pretty-pretty-peggy-o' they were whisked away to the dungeons of the colliseum, where they were forced to train as gladiators. While Garfunkel's superior reach enabled him to give a good account of himself with a trident, Simon was forced to rely on his net-throwing skills and a small dagger. The long-haired trendsetters trained for several weeks. Once, while they were in the Gladiator referctory, Simon lost his nerve.

"I don't see how we're ever going to get out of here," he said before he was pushed out of his seat by a large burly man from Andalusia.

Garfunkel wished he had had more time to buck his spirits up by telling him about the plan he had set in motion, but he had been unable to before they were hustled out before the waiting crowds, to duel for the amusement of the crowds.

As they went together so well even the Romans could see that they were an effective double act, so they paired them up together to fight the biggest, meanest lion either of them had ever seen. Garfunkel immediately rushed in with his trusty trident, but he was batted away with one large paw. The lion pounced on Simon, pinning him to the ground. "Please don't hurt me, Mr Lion!" he wailed.

Then a voice from within the lion said, "Don't worry, i'm here to rescue you."
Simon looked very confused. "Wait a minute," he declared, "that sounds like Joni Mitchell!"

The Time Detectives (An Exciting New Adventure Serial For Boys)

Simon and Garfunkel were the luckiest pop-folk crossover band in the world, for they owned a time travelling Vokswagen Kombi. Every night they would begin their set at a café in The Village and then, once everyone was asleep, they would jump into the kombi, set a course for the past (or future) and become…

THE TIME DETECTIVES!

Part One: A Funny Thing Happened On the Way To The Forum.

One evening after a particularly haunting rendition of ‘Bleeker Street’, Simon and Garfunkel decided to visit ancient Rome. They jumped into their trusty Kombi, Garfunkel dialled in the year Zero, then popped the clutch, and hung ten down the time stream to Imperial Rome.

The psychedelic time-kombi burst into the forum in a blast of mellow vibes. Behind the wheel Garfunkel piloted it to a halt while Simon had a look around.

“Hey man, they all look really heavy,” Simon said.
Garfunkel peered out through the love beads that surrounded the windscreen. “All those senators?” he asked, “Yes, they do.”

After its unexpected arrival the kombi had been expertly surrounded by pilum-wielding Praetorian Guards.
“I wonder what’s wrong?” muttered a very puzzled Simon.
Garfunkel, as well as being the tallest and curliest-of-hair, had always been the more adventurous of the two. “There’s only one way to find out,” he declared, “Let’s ask them!”

Garfunkel leapt out of the Kombi and immediately sought out the most important looking person he could find.
“My name is Marc Antony,” the big Roman declared, “and you’re under arrest for the murder of Julius Caesar!”

Why I Have Never Seen "Miss Saigon".

1. Things that rhyme with 'Vietnam':
        Diet Spam
        Diver Dan
        Green Eggs and Ham
       
2. Things that rhyme with 'Saigon':
        Ride-on
        Hi Mom
        Qui-Gonn

I don't see how this could possibly make for a good musical.

Just A Thought

How much do you think Englebert Humperdinck must hate skywriters? I mean, it really wouldn't matter how rich and famous he became, they'd never be able to finish writing his name in the sky before the first letters blew away.

Success! One down, two to go.

This was emailed to me today:

Dear Damien,

Thank you for your email and for taking the time to contact me.  My answers are below

1. What is the ALP's policy regarding the separation of Church and State?

The question of whether there is a separation between church and state in Australia is not a question of belief, but rather one of fact. Section 116 of the Constitution provides:

Commonwealth not to legislate in respect of religion
The Commonwealth shall not make any law for establishing any religion, or for imposing any religious observance, or for prohibiting the free exercise of any religion, and no religious test shall be required as a qualification for any office or public trust under the Commonwealth.

2. Do religious beliefs influence any part of ALP policy?

During recent years Labor has been strengthening its relationships across the church community.  Kevin Rudd has met extensively with church leaders both in past years as well as since becoming Leader of the Australian Labor Party.

Mr Rudd brings to his leadership a strong Christian faith and a deep commitment to public service. He is passionately committed to Australia's future and sees the church community playing an important role in the future of the nation.  Labor understands the critically important role played by Australian churches in building and strengthening communities and providing a strong values foundation forAustralian society.

Church organisations and church congregations play an extraordinarily important role in the provision of education, health care, aged care facilities, housing and many other services often to the most needy people in society.  Labor understands also the important contribution that churches make to public debates not only on values issues but also on broader policy debates relating to

international conflict and war, poverty, industrial relations, education and many other matters. Labor welcomes the contributions of churches and Christian organisations in these debates.

Kevin Rudd and many senior Labor shadow ministers meet regularly with church leaders from a wide range of backgrounds. Mr Rudd would seek to continue this practice in office.  On a personal level, Mr Rudd understands the important role in society played by church leaders, in particular those in local leadership roles such as ministers, pastors and priests, and would seek to support them

in this role.

3. What is the ALP's policy regarding the teaching of evolution in schools?

Labor will establish a National Curriculum Board to ensure a rigorous, consistent and quality curriculum for all Australian students – from kindergarten to year 12 in the four key, core disciplines of English, history, maths and science.

Any addition to the science curriculum would be determined by a National
Curriculum Board which would consult with teachers, experts and parents and be based on the best available evidence.

Choices about the religious views that children learn are matters for parents.

4. What is the ALP's policy on state funding of religious institutions (educational or otherwise)?

Labor has a policy of not discriminating against any group or organisation based on their religious beliefs.  This includes when it comes to state funding.

In particular with regard to education no funding will be cut to any school. Labor believes there needs to be a greater investment in our schools. Under a Rudd Labor Government school funding will be based on the following key

principles:

1.      We believe a greater investment should be made at all levels of education, including schools and schooling;
2.      We will fund schools on the basis of need and fairness;
3.      We will not cut funding to any school; and
4.      We will not disturb the current Average Government School Recurrent Costs (AGSRC) indexation arrangements for schools' funding.

Thank you once again for contacting me with your query.

Yours sincerely,

Amanda Rishworth
Labor for Kingston

The History Of Stuff, cont.

Saturday

While many people now take Saturday for granted, it was unknown in the western world (although alluded to briefly in the Aztec calendar) until the Ecumenical Council of Nicea in 378. It was decided that as scripture referred to seven days, the seventh (which had previously only existed in scripture) should be invented in order to make it all look a bit speccy and not as if they were all just making shit up.

It was decided that this should be a day of rest too, but unlike the already-established Sunday, the new day should be a day of not complete rest but one where you could also do the shopping (although the banks would be closed) and go to the footy. As such, they named it 'Sat On Day', to represent the 'sitting' rest as opposed to 'lying down' rest that the Council anticipated. Over the intervening 17 centuries (adjusted for daylight savings) it has become known as the 'Saturday' that we all know and love.

Saturday was banned in the Italy of Bennitto Mussolini, and replaced with Iron Man Day.

Staff Memo

To: All Temple Staff
From: Jedi Council
Re: Possible Sith Infiltration
Date: 25/10/29 years before Battle Of Yavin

Due to the recent events on Naboo it has come to the attention of the Jedi Council that our old enemy the Sith have returned. Whie Qui-Gonn and Obi-Wan have dealt with one of them the other remains at large. To aid in the detection of this individual, the Jedi Council have consulted the Sith Holocrons and have proposed the following checklist for Sith-spotting:

1. Cackling
2. An unpleasant odour
3. Yellow eyes
4. Big robes
5. Difficulty breathing for some reason (possibly the odour)
6. Sneaking around
7. Not using the Force very nicely
8. Red lightsaber

The last one is probably your best bet at this stage, although we realise that by the time you've actually seen the colour of the blade you'll either be dead or you'll have solved the problem for us.

That is all.

P.s. could the Padawans please quit it with the stupid Jar-Jar impersonations? It's driving us bantaka-poodoo up here. Sheesh.

Around The Courts

NOARLUNGA - Magistrate R Farchly today presided over the litigation case of C Doobie v Mercantile Alliance. In the case, C Doobie was suing his insurer, Mercantile Alliance, for the sum of 6 million dollars after Mercantile Alliance had failed to compensate him for the loss of his business in a recent, extremely localised earthquake.

Mr Doobie's business, the Captain Doobie Etch-A-Sketch Art Gallery, was claimed by him to contain many works of art of 'priceless value and artistic merit' which were completely lost in the event.

Mercantile Alliance corporate lawyers alleged that they had not paid Mr Doobie's claim as he was never registered as a customer with them, had never made a premium payment, and was completely unknown to them in any sense of the word.

Mr Doobie's star witness, distinguished Kerplunkistani art critic Sheik G Slim, failed to arrive in court. Mercantile Alliance moved to dismiss.

The case continues tomorrow.

True Or False:

1. Geese are the only birds that can fly backwards.
2. The world record for stuffing fun-sized Mars Bars up someone else's nose is 27.
3. The Ancient Greeks invented gunpowder by rubbing a rabbit with a glass rod.
4. NASA accidentally left a stapler on the moon in 1971.
5. Fish are legal tender in Samoa.
6. Hair continues to grow while you are asleep.
7. All artillery pieces in the British Army still have the capacity to fire cannonballs.
8. All GPS devices are slightly incorrect as they fail to take into account continental drift.
9. The Chrysler Corporation once designed a car to run on sea water.
10. There were 25 confirmed sightings of Wombles in suburban London last year.

Answers:
(1:T, 2:T, 3:F, 4:maybe, 5:T, 6:don't know, 7:duh, 8:yes, 9:T, 10:F)

Gettin' political

Recently, I recieved a veritable flood of mail from the major political parties outlining their policies for the upcoming Federal Election. However, none of them failed to state the information I most wanted to know. So, I sent each of them an idiosyncratic variation on the following letter:

* * *

[Candidate's name],

Thank you for your recent letter regarding the policies of the [candidate's party]. However, I wonder if you (or an aide) could take the time to answer a few further questions regarding [party] policy which were not mentioned in the document I was sent?

1. What is the [party] policy regarding the seperation of Church and State?
2. Do religious beliefs influence any part of [party] policy?
3. What is the [party] policy regarding the teaching of evolution in schools?
4. What is the [party] policy on state funding of religious institutions (educational or otherwise)?

These are matters which are most important to me. Please note that your reply (or lack thereof) may be posted on my website www.captaindoobie.blogspot.com in an effort to enlighten the public about your policies in these regards. Please note that emails asking the same questions have been sent to all major parties standing in the constituency of Kingston, SA. All parties will be treated equally upon publication.

Thank you for your time,

D C White

* * *

Let's see what happens now! Any results will be posted here in due course.

New Novel Idea

A-capella Archipelago A-go-go: Follows the lives and loves of an itinerant singing troupe as they seek their fortunes in the Bismark Archipelago in 1914. There's Piter, the leader, whose rugged good looks cause friction between the soprano Maria and the tenor Gretchen. The bass, Helmuth, is a moody Prussian whose Schlager scars hide a terrible secret.

Despite this the troupe lead an idyllic existence in the South Pacific. However, when war breaks out the Eidelweiss Singers are forced to confront their pasts, become involved with diamond smugglers and steal a floatplane.

An Open Letter To The Manufacturers Of Life Savers

Dear Mr Nestle (if that is your real name),

This morning I purchased a roll of life savers, and was aghast to discover that instead of being randomly inserted, each flavour was arranged in a sub-grouping.

This, sir, is nothing but plain old-fashioned communism, and it will not stand. Not while I draw breath. Please randomise the order of your confectionery immediately, or the repercussions shall be unpleasant.

Yours,

Mr D C White, esq.

Story #7

The sea, magestic and eternal, remained unchanged while ironically, Cliff wavered. It wasn't the first time he'd played to a packed stadium at Bumthwistle-on-Kent, and if he had anything to say about it, it wouldn't be the last.

Cliff Richard sat and stared out the window at the gently rolling sea as he tried to decide which song to open with. Through the dressing room door he could hear the screams of the crowd. It didn't help. The support act 'Blodwyn Pig' had done it's thing and departed, and now the crowd were baying for Cliff. From what he could make out,  about half of the crowd were chanting for 'Devil Woman', while the other half seemed quite passionate about 'Wired For Sound'. Decisions decisions.

Cliff sat and stared at the sea for a long moment more, then his mind sharpened. The decision was made, come what may. He pulled on his white jacket, ran a hand through his hair for luck, and walked out onto the stage.

Star Wars: The Lost Scripts (cont.)

Death Star Bridge, almost at Yavin

Chief Bast: Sir, we've analysed their attack and there is a weakness. Should we evacuate?
Grand Moff Tarkin: Evacuate? In our moment of triumph? I think you overestimate their chances.
CB: Yes. Yes of course. Silly, really. Don't know what came over me.
GMT: Good. Now get back to work.
CB: Yes, of course, of course. (checks watch) Woah, is that the time? Well, must dash.
GMT: Where are you going?
CB: Um...dentist appointment...didn't I tell you? Only i've got this damn molar...
GMT: This dentist wouldn't be anywhere near the escape pods, would it?
CB: No! I mean, of course not. Really! Anyhoo, i'll just be off...
GMT: Stay where you are. Find a place to sit and make yourself useful.
(pause)
GMT: Somewhere other than the seat closest to the door.
CB: Sorry.
GMT: Now, where were we? Oh yes, you may fire when rea...WHERE ARE YOU GOING?!?
CB: Cake in the lunchroom? It's my birthday.
GMT: Oh, right. Fine. Bring me back a piece.

Story #6

Alberton Ward had the kind of face one would normally expect to see attached to a recently smacked arse. He was not a nice man, being particularly cruel to children and the elderly, which he felt bookended the process of life nicely.

Alberton lived by himself in a walk-up flat in the inner city. Every day as he walked home from the bus stop, he passed a children's playground, scowling as he did so. Alberton never noticed at first, but next to the footpath, there began to grow a small green shoot. Every day this sloot grew taller and taller, until it was the height of a man. Strangely, though Alberton began to notice it as it got larger, no-one else ever did, and it continued to grow unmolested.

One day, Alberton alighted the bus and saw that the shoot, which had been budding for about a week, had burst forth into a large flower, the petals of which held all the colours of the rainbow. As he saw the flower, Alberton stopped. Something inside him broke, and he knelt down on the footpath in front of the flower and wept. As he wept, a crowd gathered, humbled at the sight of a man openly weeping for no aparrent reason. Alberton looked up and saw them and cried, "Can't you see it? Can't you see the colours?" but none of them knew what he was talking about, as there was no flower there for them to see, and there never had been.

Story #5

If only she had remembered the Polynesian lessons, none of this would have happened. However, Penelope reminded herself, there was certainly no sense in crying over spilt milk. She simply couldn't speak Polynesian, and that was that. Of course, if she had been able to speak Polynesian she probably wouldn't have just been thrown into the crater of a volcano on a remote south-sea island, or at least she didn't think that she would have.

Focus, she told herself. Why think about this rubbish in the last few seconds of your life? The wind rushed past her as her elliptical tragectory steepened. Wasn't your life supposed to flash before your eyes or something? Penelope was really rather grateful that it didn't, to be honest. There were several things she'd rather not see again, frankly, at least not in the last few seconds that seperated her from the waiting, seething mass of lava below.

Bother, she thought, dying certainly isn't all it's cracked up t

Random Doobings

*apologies for the lack of posting recently, but I was struck by lightning, and etc.*

Captain Doobie and Goodtime Slim had just settled themselves down at the outdoor cafe to enjoy the afternoon sunshinje when their revelry was interrupted by the manager.

"Hey!" he called, "you can't sit there!"
Goodtime Slim eyed the man cooly. "And why not, pray?" he asked.
"Because it's for patrons only, that's why."
Captain Doobie gave the matter his usual amount of thought, that is to say: none.
"What's a patron?" he asked Goodtime Slim.
"It's someone who patronises," he was told.
"Oh, well, in that case, what a clever little cafe it is indeed, isn't it? Eh? Isn't it? Ooh, I could just gobble it up, I really could." Captain Doobie leveled his gaze at the manager, "now piss off."

Story #4

As disasters went, it was not a success. Thor looked at the playing board mournfully while Wotan tittered.
"That's your move, it it then?" Hermes asked through a rather large grin.
Thor scowled. "Shut up!" he declared, "This is a stupid game anyway. Why can't we play something like 'belt the bastard over the head with a hammer' like i'm good at?"

"Because we're having an evening of culture, that's why," Fate told him in between sips of wine, "I'll admit that it does lack a certain something..."

"...like a point..."
"...but it's what all of the other gods are doing these days."
There was silence for a while, then Hermes spoke. "By 'other gods', I assume you mean Yahweh?"
"Yes," Fate grimaced, "and he's got almost the whole board to himself."
"That's because he split himself into 3 just to have someone to play against!" Hermes protested.
A thoughtful Thor hefted his hammer in A Meaningful Way. "Right," he declared, and left the room to an awkward silence. Then Minerva entered with a tray of home-baked cookies which she proffered around.

"Fate," she asked, "would you like one?"
"Ooh, don't tempt me."

SniffIMPERTINENCE

FRANKFURT: The surprise unveiling of this year's Frankfurt Motor Show was the new Opel Corsa Caravan. The Caravan is based on the standard Opel Corsa body but is an estate wagon rather than a sedan or a 5-door hatch.

When asked about the reasoning behind building such a ludicrously small wagon Bernt Vogelphart, Opel Marketing Manager said, "We got the idea from some company or other we aparrently own in Australia. Their market research (which admittedly came to us written on a beer coaster) seemed to say that consumers wanted ridiculously small and totally useless wagons. But frankly they all wrestle crocodiles and eat dingoes down there, so if they want a wagon with the carrying capacity of an eggcup that's good enough for us."

Reporters then asked Herr Vogelphart if this also meant that Opel would begin manufacture of rear-wheel-drive passenger vehicles, as 'car'-makers aparrently do Down Under. After picking himself up off the floor and wiping the tears from his eyes Herr Vogelphart said, "Be a bit serious, please. This isn't the middle ages, you know."

Representatives from Opel's Australian dealership network "Holden" could not be reached for comment, or more importantly were reached but as soon as we said we were from Frankfurt they started giggling and impersonating Sergeant Schultz out of "Hogan's Heroes".

Story #3

It exploded (not much at first, only a trifle) then it exploded a bit more, until finally it went properly explody and people nearby got all caked in it.

Captain Doobie was not apologetic. "Well, I did warn you all," he told the assembled crowd.
"Yes, you did," replied Goodtime Slim rather testily, "but when you said 'er, the mix might get a little excited', we didn't think you meant that it would completely blow up."

In lieu of answering Captain Doobie moodily poked the remaining mixture with the wooden spoon.
"And another thing," continued Goodtime Slim, "exactly how do you manage to blow up play dough?"

Story #2

For all his exhortations of assistance, when it came to the crunch Private Bandicoot-fflipping proved remarkably reticent to 'muck in' with the live ammunition test. So the Brigadier did the only sensible thing: he sent a man around.

When the man arrived at the Bandicoot-fflipping residence he was surprised to see the good Private wedged firmly under the bonnet of what seemed to be an ordinary Vauxhall Viva. Upon discussion with him however the Brigadier's man soon discovered that it was no ordinary Viva, for Private Bandicoot-fflipping had, in his spare time, developed the world's first practical antigravity hovercraft engine.

The problem was that he had wished to surprise everyone with it at the test that morning, but a motivator had shorted out and it could now hover but not move. The Brigadier's man, no slouch at engineering himself, came up with a solution.

And so it was that Private Bandicoot-fflipping was able to take part in the test in his battlefield Viva, ably towed by the Brigadier's man on a bicycle. This worked so well that Private Bandicoot-fflipping was able to sell the patents to the Royal Ministry of Defense and retire to a cottage in the country, while around the world the business of warfare continued, although now it involved considerably more cyclists.

Story #1

The view from the outside of the submarine was difficult, as was breathing. Normally either of these problems would have been too much for young Tommy Piper and his loyal dog Smut, but on this occasion they were spurred on by a love of freedom, decency and above all, the British Empire.

Young Tommy attached the last of the homemade limpet mines to the u-boat's hull and swam back to his small fishing ketch. He swam fast, knowing that if he were caught still in the water when the petrol/glycol mix ignited, his frail body would be simply crushed by the force-wave into so much small-orphan-flavoured paste. He surfaced and heaved himself into the ketch, fending off a furious licking from Smut. He threw himself onto the floor of the boat just as he felt more than heard the 20 or so magnetic mines explode, triggering sympathetic explosions that Tommy knew would rip a massive hole along the port side of the armoured wolf of the sea. Presently, Smut began to bark and Tommy peeped over the side. There, surfacing, was the crippled craft. Instantly, Tommy grabbed his helioscope and flashed a morse code message back to Constable Simpkins, who was waiting upon the shore. He recieved no answer, but the quiet drone of aircraft engines told him the his message had got through. Tommy pulled the sail about in triumph and headed for shore. As he stuck in the shallows of the cove near his remote Cornish fishing village, the Bristol Blenheims of RAF Coastal Patrol struck the drifting carcass of the u-boat with stunning accuracy, sundering it amidships and sending it and it's hurriedly-evacuating crew to Davy Jones' Locker.

"I say," said Constable Simpkins, standing on the shore with Tommy and Smut, "jolly good fireworks, eh what?"
They all laughed heartily and went to Mrs MacGregor's for tea. In the fullness of time, Tommy was awarded a D.S.O., his orphan status was officially wiped from the Crown records, the Germans stayed dead and we won the war. Again.

Several Unavoidable Stiplulations

I thought it might be fun to write a very short story using each of the previous opening lines, so that'll occupy the next few weeks. Watch this space!

Possible Opening Lines For The New Novel

1. The view from the outside of the submarine was difficult, as was breathing.
2. For all his exhortations of assistance, when it came to the crunch Private Bandicoot-fflipping proved remarkably reticent to 'muck in' with the live ammunition test.

3. It exploded (not much at first, only a trifle) then it exploded a bit more, until finally it went properly explody and people nearby got all caked in it.

4. As disasters went, it was not a success.
5. If only she had remembered the Polynesian lessons, none of this would have happened.
6. Alberton Ward had the kind of face one would normally expect to see attached to a recently smacked arse.
7. The sea, magestic and eternal, remained unchanged while ironically, Cliff wavered.
8. The most unfortunate thing was that he didn't even *own* an iPod, let alone one which contained information of a lewd or licencious nature.

9. It had happened again, only differently to the first time, and in exactly the same way.
10. "I didn't feel the need to expose myself to you, the nuns or to general public ridicule, thank you very much," remarked the Texan in his typically languid manner.

Random Doobings

Captain Doobie returned to The Cloisters truimphant in his jogging gear. Goodtime Slim, recently awoken, looked up blearily from next-door's copy of the Sunday Mail.

"How'd you go?" Goodtime Slim yawned.
"Ha!" barked Captain Doobie, "My best time ever!"
"That wouldn't be hard, seeing as how you've never been in the City-to-Bay before."
"Yes I have! What about last year?"
Goodtime Slim regarded Captain Doobie archly. "I didn't think that counted."
"Pish posh. Whyever not?"
"Because you had only just stepped over the start line when you were kidnapped by rogue Venezuelan freedom-fighters who thought you were the cameraman in the 1967 assaination of Che Guevara."

"They let me go once they discovered their mistake."
"Three weeks later, after intervention by the Federal Government and an SAS airborne rescue operation."
"Granhted, but I still crossed the finish line and returned my scanny thing. You have to take these things seriously, you know."

"Fair enough. What was your time?"
"17 minutes."
"17 minutes? To run 12 kays? Impossible!"
"Not," replied Captain Doobie with a sly wink, "If you take a taxi."

I Actually Had This Conversation Once.

Today the chaps here at work asked me to order in the usual lot of Christmas cards, for the marketing department to send to all of our customers in celebration of the holiday season. This reminded me of a conversation I had with the marketing section on this very topic a few years back.

Marketing: DC, about these christmas cards you've ordered....
Me: Myess?
Mktg: They've got the nativity on them. And 'Merry Christmas' inside.
Me: Well, yes. They're christmas cards.
Mktg: But what about all of our customers in the middle east?
Me: What about them?
Mktg: They might be offended if we send them a card with 'Merry Christmas' on it.
Me: Then don't send them one.
Mktg: We have to! They're going out to everyone!
Me: Well, i'm a muslim, and i'm not offended by them.
short pause
Mktg: You're a muslim?
Me: Yup.
Mktg: You don't look like a muslim.
Me: I converted earlier this year.
Mktg: Why would anyone choose to become a muslim?
Me: Because my girlfriend looks better with a bag over her head.

The conversation went downhill soon after. To this day, I think the marketing woman still believes me to be a muslim. I'd do something about it, but I really don't care.

Article Included On Legal Advice

D C White would like to advise small children and the retarded that punching pandas in the nutsac is not at all funny or clever.

I apologise for any inconvenience this may have caused.

Theatre Projects That Became Far Better After Subsequent Rewrites

Come Back To The Five and Dime Jackie Gleason, Jackie Gleason.
A Tupperware Menagerie.
You're a Good Man, Secret Squirrel.
The Runcible.
Dogs.

Adelaide Now Home To Communists

It is a disgrace that in this country there appear to be elected (democratically, I might add!) members of parliament who think it acceptable to entertain high-ranking members of a communist nation.

So-called "Alexander Downer" thinks nothing of opening the doors of our fair city to these bamboo-gutzing, freeloading prophets of Maoism.

Well i'll not be held responsible. Let this blog be a beacon of sanity and hope. The minute these goosestepping, seig-hailing nuclear-armed symbols of the struggle between capital and labour are firmly ensconsed in their new hutch I shall be parachuting straight in there with a backpack full of meat pies, hats with corks on and copies of loyalty oaths for them both to sign, otherwise they'll both be punched in their stupid panda nutsacs. Even the girl one.

Random Doobings

The Torana drifted around the corner of the side street, tyres squealing, hotly pursued by the big marine humvee that seemed welded to it's rear bumper. The rear window of the Torrie smashed as several of the Humvee's shots came a bit too close for comfort.

Goodtime Slim wrenched the wheel around and mashed the accellerator harder. "She cannae tek mooch more o'this!" he cried in a mock scottish accent, "ur she'll blow!"

Captain Doobie, hunkered down in the passenger footwell amidst a myriad of empty bottles and chip packets, looked at Goodtime Slim. He took a deep breath.

"Look," he said, "there's nothing else for it. We're going to have to go to my father for help."
"Oh," replied Goodtime Slim, "fair enough."
"You don't understand. He's got the most disgusting habit on earth."
Goodtime Slim's face crinkled up in revulsion. "What, you mean he picks herpes scabs off of dogs' arses and eats them?"
There was a short pause.
"Alright," replied Captain Doobie, "he has the second most disgusting habit on earth."

I'm In The Money Now.

Brilliant new story idea: "Draculon, Lord of the 25th Century!"

In the 1890s, Dracula succeeds in taking over London, then England, then the world with his legions of fiendish undead. This unholy state of affairs remains in place until the year 2450, when Earth is attacked by invaders from another planet! Only the earth resistance (an uneasy alliance between the remnant forces of Draculon and human freedom-fighters led by Chad Van Helsing) can save them by breaking into the ruins of the Vatican and uncovering a millenia-old vatican conspiracy.

I can't quite figure out how to work in a preparatory school for wizards, but I will before too long. Then, all bases are covered. Ka-ching!