I suppose you all saw the article in this week’s Jimboomba Times headed: “Council refloats relocation of school.” The article goes on to ask if Jimboomba State School should remain where it is or be relocated to land in East Street to make way for an extended business centre. Now, I am aware that this idea has been around for a while but I still wonder if it was given additional impetus by the revelation on my old blog “Carthorse Cart”, that Bogan councillor Madigan Axeman was proposing the same thing.
This was the relevant passage:
When the proposed Bromelton in-land port was mooted, he was straight in with a plan to construct a dry dock at Jimboomba. His innovative design is for a huge facility capable of servicing a vast range of craft from tugboats to oil tankers.
“I have a bit of land behind the police station at Jimboomba,” Mad enthuses, “and if council can get the school and library shifted it will give us enough space to enjoy an amenity that this area sadly lacks at the moment.”
I am not for one moment suggesting that life imitates art, because I would not dream of implying that anything on a blog of mine is art, anymore than I would imply that Logan councillors even remotely resemble life. However, I do worry that someone on council may be taking my ideas a little too seriously and I am particularly suspicious of that reference to “refloating” in The Jimboomba Times article.
I also saw the write up about three new town plans for the Jimboomba area. We are expected to choose one of the three and presumably don’t have the option to mix and match. I’m always suspicious of those “pick one” choices given by any government body. Invariably the choices have been cleverly crafted to make us pick the one already decided on.
For example:
Pick One of the Following.
A) Would you like a new multi-million dollar shit processing plant built on one side of your property and a battery chook farm on the other?
OR
B) Would you like a massive communication tower erected in your back yard where it can cook your breakfast and microwave your kids at the same time?
OR
C) Would you like to sell your property to the council for 75% of its market value?
I haven’t seen the three proposals for Jimboomba but I know that one option is for Jimboomba to remain as a quiet semi-rural community. I would guess that this option might be the most popular because, in the main, it’s why we chose to live here. But I also know that it’s not what is wanted by council and their developer friends. So I fully expect the other options to include lots of good stuff like park and ride, rail transport, proper street lights and drains and so on, while the ‘rural option’ will include provision for a Taipan and Death Adder reserve around Henderson Creek, two more accident black spots and a paedophile rehabilitation half-way house next to the play school.
On the other hand, I might just be coming across as cynical and unfair, as usual.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Hey Ho the Hols
Just got back from the holiday and it was really nice, thank you very much. We took two cars because the grandchildren’s safety seats took up a complete back seat in one car. Son-in-law drove the lead car with me as passenger while Daughter drove the second car and Mrs.Yuteman refereed the kids.
I must tell you that son-in-law is a thoroughly decent chap. He is a brilliant Dad and my daughter could not wish for a better husband – but he is a technology nut. Show him a hideously complicated electronic way of doing something and he is straight in to it like a circus performer doing a high dive into a teacup. He demonstrated this admirably on our way up the coast.
I had noticed that he had something resembling a very old dog turd stuck across his ear and I just had to ask about it.
“Blue tooth.” He said, although it looked nothing like a tooth. I assumed it must be the dental equivalent of a copper bracelet and designed to relieve the pain of this ‘blue tooth’ thing he suffered from – but no. It was some communication method involving mobile phones and whatnot. He said he would demonstrate for the benefit of his pathetically ignorant Pa-in-law. Then he clearly spoke my daughters name and he winked confidently at me. Nothing happened so he spoke her name again, a little louder this time. Still nothing, and so it escalated. Eventually son-in-law was screaming my daughter’s name at the top of his voice and pounding the steering wheel with frustration. Finally, he had some sort of connection and began to say “Hello.”
The ‘hellos’ went on for a few kilometres until it became obvious he could hear daughter but she couldn’t hear him. He tried to tell her they would stop at the next ‘services’ for lunch but he was wasting his time. I could stand it no longer.
I leaned over the seat and waved to my daughter through the back window until I had her attention. I then gave the universal sign for eating and then held up two fingers followed by an exaggerated pointing motion off to the left. Daughter nodded. Two kilometres later, we turned off and had our lunch.
To be fair, by the end of the hols, they had the blue tooth thing sorted and it worked very well – most of the time.
I must tell you that son-in-law is a thoroughly decent chap. He is a brilliant Dad and my daughter could not wish for a better husband – but he is a technology nut. Show him a hideously complicated electronic way of doing something and he is straight in to it like a circus performer doing a high dive into a teacup. He demonstrated this admirably on our way up the coast.
I had noticed that he had something resembling a very old dog turd stuck across his ear and I just had to ask about it.
“Blue tooth.” He said, although it looked nothing like a tooth. I assumed it must be the dental equivalent of a copper bracelet and designed to relieve the pain of this ‘blue tooth’ thing he suffered from – but no. It was some communication method involving mobile phones and whatnot. He said he would demonstrate for the benefit of his pathetically ignorant Pa-in-law. Then he clearly spoke my daughters name and he winked confidently at me. Nothing happened so he spoke her name again, a little louder this time. Still nothing, and so it escalated. Eventually son-in-law was screaming my daughter’s name at the top of his voice and pounding the steering wheel with frustration. Finally, he had some sort of connection and began to say “Hello.”
The ‘hellos’ went on for a few kilometres until it became obvious he could hear daughter but she couldn’t hear him. He tried to tell her they would stop at the next ‘services’ for lunch but he was wasting his time. I could stand it no longer.
I leaned over the seat and waved to my daughter through the back window until I had her attention. I then gave the universal sign for eating and then held up two fingers followed by an exaggerated pointing motion off to the left. Daughter nodded. Two kilometres later, we turned off and had our lunch.
To be fair, by the end of the hols, they had the blue tooth thing sorted and it worked very well – most of the time.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Race, Religion and Political Persuasion
A comment posted on my other blog (Bogan Star Chamber) was in the form of a joke that might be considered slightly racist in that it used a stereotypical southern USA black form of speech in a way that might be interpreted as racial denigration. To put it another way – to be funny, the joke assumes black people are less well educated than white people. Wether you believe that to be true or not is beside the point, it is the assumption that might be considered racist.
You may wonder why I am interested in this. After all I obviously delight in taking the piss out of any race, ethnic group, all people of any political persuasion - why am I concerned with this particular instance? Well, it interests me because inappropriate humour has a tremendous fascination for me. Why do we laugh? And especially, why do we laugh when we really shouldn’t? Let me explain.
I am one of those unfortunate people who are attacked by laughter. I’m not talking about your vigorous ‘Ha, Ha’ or your ‘boisterous belly laugh’ or even your ‘rolling on the floor laughing’ kind of laughter. I’m talking about gales of choking, suffocating, snot blasting, leg collapsing, purple faced, gasping, crying, agonising, as–close-to-a-near-death-experience-you-are-liable-to-get-to-without-actually-passing-over-to-the-other-side-even-if-that-were-preferable-to-the-torture-your-body-is-wracked-by, kind of laughter. I can give you a for instance but, I warn you, it may not seem funny because it was one of those ‘you had to be there’ kind of things.
Many years ago I was, believe it or not, quite a senior manager of a highly regarded Brisbane company. We were going for a lucrative contract with The Queensland Museum that had only recently moved into its posh home in the new Brisbane Cultural Centre at South Bank. It was decided to boost our chances of landing the contract by taking our firm’s top-gun to an important and decisive meeting at the Museum. The top-gun was me!
Even though I was valued more for my technical expertise than for my sartorial elegance, I had put on my best suit and had carefully chosen a tie with no bits of food stuck to it. I had two of my best sales representatives with me, both of whom had been working their arses off to win this contract and I was determined to help them close the deal. I was introduced to a tall and exceptionally elegant lady who was the Queensland Museum’s decision maker and she graciously gave us the grand tour of the Museum’s new home. Finally we settled down to business in a nice little mezzanine type spot surrounded by glass walls that gave views of the river as well as looking down on much of the Museum’s lower levels.
The mezzanine was simply furnished in that chrome and black leather look which was once so popular but I soon found out that the furnishing budget must have been a bit tight because the black was definitely not leather. It was that plastic stuff that you sit on for ten minutes then break out in heat rash of the arse. Eventually the younger of my two reps (I’ll call him Steve) shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Not only was the black leather just plastic, it was also the specific sort of plastic that makes a farting noise when you slide a sweaty arse across it. Steve was obviously a tiny bit embarrassed but he hid it well, taking only the briefest surreptitious look around to make sure he had got away with it. His eyes met mine.
Now this fucking, arsehole, bastard, shit of a rep, Steve, knew me very well. He knew what was going through my infantile mind and he saw my lip curl in the tiniest of smirks. So what did he do? Did he let it go and concentrate on this desperately important meeting? Did he fuck! He wriggled his arse again. This time the noise the seat made could not be ignored. Well, it could – by everyone except me. I snorted and covered it with a cough. Steve wriggled again. I had reached that dreadful stage where I am amused but in a situation where it is wholly inappropriate to show it – and that has always been my undoing.
This went on for about twenty minutes and, to me, it seemed like hours. I had coughing fits, sneezes, sudden shouts in most inappropriate places. If someone made a weedy joke I launched into howls of relieving mirth. All the time Steve’s face was turned to the Museum lady as if hanging on her every precious word whilst the sadistic bastard kept shifting his backside. Steve’s expression could only be described as beatific. The arsehole was blissfully aware of just what he was doing to me. Eventually the Museum lady rounded on me.
“******** just what is wrong with you?” she snapped.
“I’m sorry,” I snorted, “I’m not feeling too well.”
With that I ran out of the meeting. I dashed through the first door I came to and ran along a glass walled corridor. I turned into other corridors. I ran and turned and ran again until I came to a quiet spot in this maze of glass corridors. It was a small open space with the usual museum statuary. Low railings surrounded the space and I leant over them and howled. I cried, I bubbled snot and saliva, I wailed. My stomach cramped and I gasped with laughter and pain. I pounded my fists on the railings and let the whole, horrible paroxysm sweep me up.
It finally ebbed and I was able to stand straight and wipe my eyes. It was then that I discovered that in my pell-mell dash from the meeting I had twisted and turned only to arrive back at almost where I started. I was just a glass wall away from my reps and the dignified lady from the Museum who were all standing and staring at me through the glass. Steve’s grin was wider than his head, the senior rep was horrified and the Museum lady’s eye brows were hidden in her perfectly coiffured grey hair while her chin was somewhere between her tits.
For a moment we simply stared at each other, then I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the glass. My hair was wild from the tugging I had given it, my face was streaked with sweat, snot and dribble. My tie was twisted up by my ear and, in my contortions, my suit had ridden up so much I looked as if I was dressed in a concertina. It was too much. I fell to my knees, held my arms wide and brayed with laughter. I howled, I screamed, I bellowed with laughter than fell forward until my head bounced on the ground and I shook and quaked in a fit of hysteria.
I don’t remember exactly what happened next. I do know that I kept my job and, amazingly enough, we got the Museum contract.
So there we are. And the point is? Politically correct humour has no place in my life. If something strikes me as funny then no social norm, no appropriate code of conduct, no standard of decency and no politically fashionable guilt as designated by the latest horde of sociologists to escape into our midst determined to simplify life by complicating the fuck out of it, applies. I simply cannot help myself
You may wonder why I am interested in this. After all I obviously delight in taking the piss out of any race, ethnic group, all people of any political persuasion - why am I concerned with this particular instance? Well, it interests me because inappropriate humour has a tremendous fascination for me. Why do we laugh? And especially, why do we laugh when we really shouldn’t? Let me explain.
I am one of those unfortunate people who are attacked by laughter. I’m not talking about your vigorous ‘Ha, Ha’ or your ‘boisterous belly laugh’ or even your ‘rolling on the floor laughing’ kind of laughter. I’m talking about gales of choking, suffocating, snot blasting, leg collapsing, purple faced, gasping, crying, agonising, as–close-to-a-near-death-experience-you-are-liable-to-get-to-without-actually-passing-over-to-the-other-side-even-if-that-were-preferable-to-the-torture-your-body-is-wracked-by, kind of laughter. I can give you a for instance but, I warn you, it may not seem funny because it was one of those ‘you had to be there’ kind of things.
Many years ago I was, believe it or not, quite a senior manager of a highly regarded Brisbane company. We were going for a lucrative contract with The Queensland Museum that had only recently moved into its posh home in the new Brisbane Cultural Centre at South Bank. It was decided to boost our chances of landing the contract by taking our firm’s top-gun to an important and decisive meeting at the Museum. The top-gun was me!
Even though I was valued more for my technical expertise than for my sartorial elegance, I had put on my best suit and had carefully chosen a tie with no bits of food stuck to it. I had two of my best sales representatives with me, both of whom had been working their arses off to win this contract and I was determined to help them close the deal. I was introduced to a tall and exceptionally elegant lady who was the Queensland Museum’s decision maker and she graciously gave us the grand tour of the Museum’s new home. Finally we settled down to business in a nice little mezzanine type spot surrounded by glass walls that gave views of the river as well as looking down on much of the Museum’s lower levels.
The mezzanine was simply furnished in that chrome and black leather look which was once so popular but I soon found out that the furnishing budget must have been a bit tight because the black was definitely not leather. It was that plastic stuff that you sit on for ten minutes then break out in heat rash of the arse. Eventually the younger of my two reps (I’ll call him Steve) shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Not only was the black leather just plastic, it was also the specific sort of plastic that makes a farting noise when you slide a sweaty arse across it. Steve was obviously a tiny bit embarrassed but he hid it well, taking only the briefest surreptitious look around to make sure he had got away with it. His eyes met mine.
Now this fucking, arsehole, bastard, shit of a rep, Steve, knew me very well. He knew what was going through my infantile mind and he saw my lip curl in the tiniest of smirks. So what did he do? Did he let it go and concentrate on this desperately important meeting? Did he fuck! He wriggled his arse again. This time the noise the seat made could not be ignored. Well, it could – by everyone except me. I snorted and covered it with a cough. Steve wriggled again. I had reached that dreadful stage where I am amused but in a situation where it is wholly inappropriate to show it – and that has always been my undoing.
This went on for about twenty minutes and, to me, it seemed like hours. I had coughing fits, sneezes, sudden shouts in most inappropriate places. If someone made a weedy joke I launched into howls of relieving mirth. All the time Steve’s face was turned to the Museum lady as if hanging on her every precious word whilst the sadistic bastard kept shifting his backside. Steve’s expression could only be described as beatific. The arsehole was blissfully aware of just what he was doing to me. Eventually the Museum lady rounded on me.
“******** just what is wrong with you?” she snapped.
“I’m sorry,” I snorted, “I’m not feeling too well.”
With that I ran out of the meeting. I dashed through the first door I came to and ran along a glass walled corridor. I turned into other corridors. I ran and turned and ran again until I came to a quiet spot in this maze of glass corridors. It was a small open space with the usual museum statuary. Low railings surrounded the space and I leant over them and howled. I cried, I bubbled snot and saliva, I wailed. My stomach cramped and I gasped with laughter and pain. I pounded my fists on the railings and let the whole, horrible paroxysm sweep me up.
It finally ebbed and I was able to stand straight and wipe my eyes. It was then that I discovered that in my pell-mell dash from the meeting I had twisted and turned only to arrive back at almost where I started. I was just a glass wall away from my reps and the dignified lady from the Museum who were all standing and staring at me through the glass. Steve’s grin was wider than his head, the senior rep was horrified and the Museum lady’s eye brows were hidden in her perfectly coiffured grey hair while her chin was somewhere between her tits.
For a moment we simply stared at each other, then I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the glass. My hair was wild from the tugging I had given it, my face was streaked with sweat, snot and dribble. My tie was twisted up by my ear and, in my contortions, my suit had ridden up so much I looked as if I was dressed in a concertina. It was too much. I fell to my knees, held my arms wide and brayed with laughter. I howled, I screamed, I bellowed with laughter than fell forward until my head bounced on the ground and I shook and quaked in a fit of hysteria.
I don’t remember exactly what happened next. I do know that I kept my job and, amazingly enough, we got the Museum contract.
So there we are. And the point is? Politically correct humour has no place in my life. If something strikes me as funny then no social norm, no appropriate code of conduct, no standard of decency and no politically fashionable guilt as designated by the latest horde of sociologists to escape into our midst determined to simplify life by complicating the fuck out of it, applies. I simply cannot help myself
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The Pauper's Paris Hilton
I have tried. I truly have tried to just ignore it all. But our Christmas cracker councillor, Hajnal Ban, has finally sunk to the depths where even the most downcast eye can no longer avoid the sight of her. Like some scary Lady Penelope from the Thunderbirds puppet show she has dangled and pranced among us leaving confusion wherever she has been.
There is no denying that this little person has made an impression on the average voter or else why would she be elected? She has made the best of her few talents but I believe she has now stretched herself beyond the limit of her ability and is bending and sinking under the weight of her own expectations. Like a paupers version of Paris Hilton our little councillor is becoming famously notorious for no particular reason other than being herself. The sad thing is, Hajnal Ban seems to know this and is now desperately trying to play her final card. She is threatening to shit in the sand box.
My advise to Mayor Parker is to let her get on with it. Councillor Ban and her little chum have been firmly put in their place and the only choice left for them is between getting on with the job and throwing another tanty. The Logan council must continue to be firm or they may allow this spoilt brat attitude to spread beyond local government and into federal politics. If Councillor Ban does produce a book that lifts the lid on local government then the scheming, lying, twisting world of politics will be closed to her. No political social class wants a whistle blower in their midst who might get in the way of the trough so they will slam the door on Ban for ever.
When we consider the way the world is going it is conceivable that Australia will one day be forced to develop its own nuclear deterrent. If that day comes there is no way we would want Hajnal Ban’s finger on the nuclear trigger. Particularly if some Chinese ambassador tries to block a Ban initiative she is keen on or perhaps criticises her hair-do. So let’s allow Ban to destroy her future in politics now.
Publish and be damned.
There is no denying that this little person has made an impression on the average voter or else why would she be elected? She has made the best of her few talents but I believe she has now stretched herself beyond the limit of her ability and is bending and sinking under the weight of her own expectations. Like a paupers version of Paris Hilton our little councillor is becoming famously notorious for no particular reason other than being herself. The sad thing is, Hajnal Ban seems to know this and is now desperately trying to play her final card. She is threatening to shit in the sand box.
My advise to Mayor Parker is to let her get on with it. Councillor Ban and her little chum have been firmly put in their place and the only choice left for them is between getting on with the job and throwing another tanty. The Logan council must continue to be firm or they may allow this spoilt brat attitude to spread beyond local government and into federal politics. If Councillor Ban does produce a book that lifts the lid on local government then the scheming, lying, twisting world of politics will be closed to her. No political social class wants a whistle blower in their midst who might get in the way of the trough so they will slam the door on Ban for ever.
When we consider the way the world is going it is conceivable that Australia will one day be forced to develop its own nuclear deterrent. If that day comes there is no way we would want Hajnal Ban’s finger on the nuclear trigger. Particularly if some Chinese ambassador tries to block a Ban initiative she is keen on or perhaps criticises her hair-do. So let’s allow Ban to destroy her future in politics now.
Publish and be damned.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Boom!!!!
ASIO port 9679 – Intel/Snoopy wavefinder via Bangkok. Telstra Australia Node: 4
DATE: 25/05/09
DESIGNATION: Most Secret.
ACTION: Hold for possible leak in early June dependant on outcome.
Transcript of phone intercept between Whitehouse and The Lodge, Canberra. 2.20AM EST. Caller identified as Barack Obama (Day code: “Coal Face”) and Kevin Rudd (Day code: “Fine Wig”).
***********************************
Coal Face: Hey, Prime Minister Rudd! How are you, my man?
Fine Wig: (Snort, snuffle.) Who? …. Do you have any idea what the (expletive deleted) time is? Who the (expletive deleted) is this?
Coal Face: Whoa, my man. Keep you hair on there!
Fine Wig: What? Oh yes, thank you for reminding me….(scuffle) …… Right, now who is this?
Coal Face: It’s Barack Obama, President of the good old U.S. of A.
Fine Wig: Good Lord! Look, I’m really sorry. Oh gosh, what a dreadful mix-up. Heads will roll, I promise you. I should have been informed. Please, how can I help you in any possible way? Anything, anything at all, I would be so pleased. Oh, please……..uh, Barack, my old friend. Gosh.
Coal Face: Hey, my friend, your people couldn’t know it was me - I’m calling from a pay phone. I need to speak with you about something a mite … delicate.
Fine Wig: Of course … uh .. old friend – Gosh – delicate is my middle name. What can you do for me … I mean, me do for you?
Coal Face: Well, it’s this way Kerry baby I ……
Fine Wig: It’s Kevin actually.
Coal Face: Excuse me?
Fine Wig: No, sorry, sorry. Kerry is fine. Kerry will be just fine. Sorry.
Coal Face: Yeah, right. Okay - so we have a bit of a situation with this whole Global Financial F**k-up and I think we can do something about it right here on the Globe with a little help from our great Australian allies. What do you say?
Fine Wig: Most certainly, most certainly. I expect you are thinking of opening up your great American market for more Australian exports to stimulate world trade and so on and so forth?
Coal Face: What? Oh yeah sure, all in good time. But first I need to know just what your plans are for military spending this year.
Fine Wig: Military ….. SPENDING? What, like spending money on military things? What, here in Australia? SPENDING on military stuff, do you mean?
Coal Face: Yeah.
Fine Wig: Well, it’s a bit secret really.
Coal Face: C’mon, Kerry! No secrets between US surely? Get with the program, man, this is Global we’re talking about here! The great U.S.A./Australian alliance…huh? Know what I’m sayin’ here man?
Fine Wig: Oh, of course. Yes, most certainly. Well …. um … I think we will be re-painting our whatsitsnames … those things that go WHOPPA WHOPPA. What do you call them? Whirly things that ……HELICOPTERS! Yes, we’re re-painting those. Aaaaaand - we’re maybe going to get a boat or something for the Navy – as long as it is compatible with our existing outboard motors of course. Aaaaaand – we will probably buy some bullets. Oh yes, and we are going to get new tea making facilities at every armed forces canteen – that’s a must, of course. Aaaand …. things like that generally.
Coal Face: How much? How much are you spending? In total?
Fine Wig: Oh, about …. 300.
Coal Face: Wow, my man! 300 billion dollars!
Fine Wig: Uh …. No! No,no,no. 300 thousand .. uh …. dollars.
Coal Face: …………………………………
Fine Wig: Well, we could perhaps extend ourselves a little. What did you have in mind?
Coal Face: (sigh) Look, Kerry, didn’t you make some kind of promise to spend 20 billion on a broadband network?
Fine Wig: Yes. But of course we …..
Coal Face: And are you going to spend that kind of dough on broadband?
Fine Wig: No of course not. The copper wire is perfectly adequate, I’m told. All the stuff about fibre cable right into the bush was just a load of (expletive deleted). We just need to keep up election appearances and to maintain our perceived standing in the South Pacific region and …….. Ah, yes. I do see your point.
Coal Face: Well that’s good, Kerry, because we are all relying on you to announce that you are going to spend big on armaments because of the possibility that the South Pacific region may be getting a little unstable.
Fine Wig: But it’s not …… is it?
Coal Face: Not yet, but I’ve been having a little chat with the Russian guy, Putang and the Chinese guy, Sum Fuk or whatever and we agree that the best global economic stimulus that we can generate is an arms race. It’s always worked in the past so no reason it shouldn’t work again. Now obviously we can’t mess with Europe or the States, we got enough problems, but the South Pacific is prime. The Chinese have just come up with a suggestion. This morning there was an earthquake in Southern China, nothing too big but the Chinese suggest we let the press know it was an underground nuclear test by North Korea. Those Koreans have been a pain in the ass for too long now so it won’t come as a surprise.
Fine Wig: But won’t that encourage them to actually test a bomb?
Coal Face: You’re shittin’ me! The North Koreans don’t have the technology to blow up a goddam outhouse. Those pictures of all the rockets in the parade? We got satellite images of two guys carrying one of those rockets to its trailer. The goddam things are made of cardboard!
Fine Wig: Amazing.
Coal Face: Amazing is right. But if we convince the rest of the world and you start banging war drums then pretty soon the Japs and the Indonesians and the South Koreans and even the New Zealanders will all be stocking up on hardware. That will flow on into India and we could be talking trillions of dollars here and the end of the GFC.
Fine Wig: Wow!
Coal Face: Wow is right. So can we rely on you, Kerry baby? The Russian, the Chinese and the American Arms Industries are ready to go on your say so?
Fine Wig: Just one thing. Won’t this actually destabilise the region a bit?
Coal Face: Yeah, well only for, maybe, fifty years but by that time all this GFC will be behind us and we can start to deal with any problems down there. So what do you say?
Fine Wig: Um … yes, of course. Whatever you think.
Coal Face: My man! I’ll be in touch again real soon , Kerry.
Fine Wig: It’s Kevin. My name is Kevin.
Coal Face: What? Oh yeah, say ‘hi’ to him too. So long, Kerry.
Fine Wig: But…… he’s hung up. Oh dear. (rustle) Could you put this back on its little stand, love.
Voice off (could be Mrs Fine Wig): You look so sexy when it shines in the dark like that.
Fine Wig: Not tonight, love, I’ve got the start of the most awful headache.
(LINE DISCONNECT)
DATE: 25/05/09
DESIGNATION: Most Secret.
ACTION: Hold for possible leak in early June dependant on outcome.
Transcript of phone intercept between Whitehouse and The Lodge, Canberra. 2.20AM EST. Caller identified as Barack Obama (Day code: “Coal Face”) and Kevin Rudd (Day code: “Fine Wig”).
***********************************
Coal Face: Hey, Prime Minister Rudd! How are you, my man?
Fine Wig: (Snort, snuffle.) Who? …. Do you have any idea what the (expletive deleted) time is? Who the (expletive deleted) is this?
Coal Face: Whoa, my man. Keep you hair on there!
Fine Wig: What? Oh yes, thank you for reminding me….(scuffle) …… Right, now who is this?
Coal Face: It’s Barack Obama, President of the good old U.S. of A.
Fine Wig: Good Lord! Look, I’m really sorry. Oh gosh, what a dreadful mix-up. Heads will roll, I promise you. I should have been informed. Please, how can I help you in any possible way? Anything, anything at all, I would be so pleased. Oh, please……..uh, Barack, my old friend. Gosh.
Coal Face: Hey, my friend, your people couldn’t know it was me - I’m calling from a pay phone. I need to speak with you about something a mite … delicate.
Fine Wig: Of course … uh .. old friend – Gosh – delicate is my middle name. What can you do for me … I mean, me do for you?
Coal Face: Well, it’s this way Kerry baby I ……
Fine Wig: It’s Kevin actually.
Coal Face: Excuse me?
Fine Wig: No, sorry, sorry. Kerry is fine. Kerry will be just fine. Sorry.
Coal Face: Yeah, right. Okay - so we have a bit of a situation with this whole Global Financial F**k-up and I think we can do something about it right here on the Globe with a little help from our great Australian allies. What do you say?
Fine Wig: Most certainly, most certainly. I expect you are thinking of opening up your great American market for more Australian exports to stimulate world trade and so on and so forth?
Coal Face: What? Oh yeah sure, all in good time. But first I need to know just what your plans are for military spending this year.
Fine Wig: Military ….. SPENDING? What, like spending money on military things? What, here in Australia? SPENDING on military stuff, do you mean?
Coal Face: Yeah.
Fine Wig: Well, it’s a bit secret really.
Coal Face: C’mon, Kerry! No secrets between US surely? Get with the program, man, this is Global we’re talking about here! The great U.S.A./Australian alliance…huh? Know what I’m sayin’ here man?
Fine Wig: Oh, of course. Yes, most certainly. Well …. um … I think we will be re-painting our whatsitsnames … those things that go WHOPPA WHOPPA. What do you call them? Whirly things that ……HELICOPTERS! Yes, we’re re-painting those. Aaaaaand - we’re maybe going to get a boat or something for the Navy – as long as it is compatible with our existing outboard motors of course. Aaaaaand – we will probably buy some bullets. Oh yes, and we are going to get new tea making facilities at every armed forces canteen – that’s a must, of course. Aaaand …. things like that generally.
Coal Face: How much? How much are you spending? In total?
Fine Wig: Oh, about …. 300.
Coal Face: Wow, my man! 300 billion dollars!
Fine Wig: Uh …. No! No,no,no. 300 thousand .. uh …. dollars.
Coal Face: …………………………………
Fine Wig: Well, we could perhaps extend ourselves a little. What did you have in mind?
Coal Face: (sigh) Look, Kerry, didn’t you make some kind of promise to spend 20 billion on a broadband network?
Fine Wig: Yes. But of course we …..
Coal Face: And are you going to spend that kind of dough on broadband?
Fine Wig: No of course not. The copper wire is perfectly adequate, I’m told. All the stuff about fibre cable right into the bush was just a load of (expletive deleted). We just need to keep up election appearances and to maintain our perceived standing in the South Pacific region and …….. Ah, yes. I do see your point.
Coal Face: Well that’s good, Kerry, because we are all relying on you to announce that you are going to spend big on armaments because of the possibility that the South Pacific region may be getting a little unstable.
Fine Wig: But it’s not …… is it?
Coal Face: Not yet, but I’ve been having a little chat with the Russian guy, Putang and the Chinese guy, Sum Fuk or whatever and we agree that the best global economic stimulus that we can generate is an arms race. It’s always worked in the past so no reason it shouldn’t work again. Now obviously we can’t mess with Europe or the States, we got enough problems, but the South Pacific is prime. The Chinese have just come up with a suggestion. This morning there was an earthquake in Southern China, nothing too big but the Chinese suggest we let the press know it was an underground nuclear test by North Korea. Those Koreans have been a pain in the ass for too long now so it won’t come as a surprise.
Fine Wig: But won’t that encourage them to actually test a bomb?
Coal Face: You’re shittin’ me! The North Koreans don’t have the technology to blow up a goddam outhouse. Those pictures of all the rockets in the parade? We got satellite images of two guys carrying one of those rockets to its trailer. The goddam things are made of cardboard!
Fine Wig: Amazing.
Coal Face: Amazing is right. But if we convince the rest of the world and you start banging war drums then pretty soon the Japs and the Indonesians and the South Koreans and even the New Zealanders will all be stocking up on hardware. That will flow on into India and we could be talking trillions of dollars here and the end of the GFC.
Fine Wig: Wow!
Coal Face: Wow is right. So can we rely on you, Kerry baby? The Russian, the Chinese and the American Arms Industries are ready to go on your say so?
Fine Wig: Just one thing. Won’t this actually destabilise the region a bit?
Coal Face: Yeah, well only for, maybe, fifty years but by that time all this GFC will be behind us and we can start to deal with any problems down there. So what do you say?
Fine Wig: Um … yes, of course. Whatever you think.
Coal Face: My man! I’ll be in touch again real soon , Kerry.
Fine Wig: It’s Kevin. My name is Kevin.
Coal Face: What? Oh yeah, say ‘hi’ to him too. So long, Kerry.
Fine Wig: But…… he’s hung up. Oh dear. (rustle) Could you put this back on its little stand, love.
Voice off (could be Mrs Fine Wig): You look so sexy when it shines in the dark like that.
Fine Wig: Not tonight, love, I’ve got the start of the most awful headache.
(LINE DISCONNECT)
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Positive Things About Logan.
It surely isn’t fair to continually bang on about what a rotten place Logan is. I am a dreadful offender when it comes to this so I apologise and make a pledge. This post is going to be all about the positive side of Logan - all the good things. I’m confident that there are many things about Logan that make it a worthwhile locale and I am going to find these and list them here. I encourage you to think up some plus factors yourself and add them to the list.
Here we go:
* Logan has got some leafy trees.
* Logan is in Australia.
* My 3-year-old granddaughter lives in it.
* Granddaughter allows her 1-year-old brother to live with her in Logan.
* Logan has got some parrots and stuff like that flying about.
* Logan is called a city but is really a village (of the damned – stop it!).
* I saw an Echidna once in Millstream Road and it was not road-kill.
* Logan is quite close to civilization.
* We have got a streetlight in our road (just one, but it is quite bright).
* It is raining today in Logan.
* A UFO has not abducted anyone since we joined Logan – allegedly.
* Logan is an anagram of Gnola, which is a female gnome.
* Is Gordon the Garden Gnome pronounced Ordon the Arden Nome?
* Logan councillors are good for a laugh.
* When they are not being really embarrassing.
* Beaudesert is no longer ‘The Big City’.
* Now we are in Logan, my brother can’t call me a country bumpkin.
* My brother lives in Brown Stains for fucks sake.
* I used to call him Bogan Genetic Rubbish.
* Now I am Bogan Genetic Rubbish and my brother is very happy.
* He is a shit bag of the first water.
That will do for now. The strain of trying to think of Logan positively is intolerable so I’ll have a rest. If you think of anything, please let me know.
Here we go:
* Logan has got some leafy trees.
* Logan is in Australia.
* My 3-year-old granddaughter lives in it.
* Granddaughter allows her 1-year-old brother to live with her in Logan.
* Logan has got some parrots and stuff like that flying about.
* Logan is called a city but is really a village (of the damned – stop it!).
* I saw an Echidna once in Millstream Road and it was not road-kill.
* Logan is quite close to civilization.
* We have got a streetlight in our road (just one, but it is quite bright).
* It is raining today in Logan.
* A UFO has not abducted anyone since we joined Logan – allegedly.
* Logan is an anagram of Gnola, which is a female gnome.
* Is Gordon the Garden Gnome pronounced Ordon the Arden Nome?
* Logan councillors are good for a laugh.
* When they are not being really embarrassing.
* Beaudesert is no longer ‘The Big City’.
* Now we are in Logan, my brother can’t call me a country bumpkin.
* My brother lives in Brown Stains for fucks sake.
* I used to call him Bogan Genetic Rubbish.
* Now I am Bogan Genetic Rubbish and my brother is very happy.
* He is a shit bag of the first water.
That will do for now. The strain of trying to think of Logan positively is intolerable so I’ll have a rest. If you think of anything, please let me know.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Bullcrap in a China Shop 2
I have resurrected this old deleted post in response to a reader’s comment on my “Don’t Make ‘Em Like That Any More” post. He was talking about Chinese goods and I agreed with the comment made and thought this old post deserved a second chance together with an update on what happened after.
*******************************************
Do you remember a time when you slaved and saved to buy something for the home? You went without and watched your pennies until the day came when you had enough to pay for the electric carrot chopper or whatever it was you needed. And when you brought the item home it worked perfectly and went on working for years and years and years until the kids busted it or the paint wore off.
Not any more.
Most things you buy now are mangled together in China by workers who don’t even know the purpose of the thing they are helping to make. They use components from other Chinese sweatshops and glue it all together with stuff that wouldn’t stick to a blanket. By the time it gets to you it’s already passed the use by date and is beginning to shed bits.
Don’t be fooled by the brand name either. Even the trusted, big name companies have shifted manufacturing to China or wherever they can get the most impoverished workers and child labour to ruin their eyes or break their backs for bugger all. Brand name western distributors (that’s all they are now) have been maniacally snatching profits as fast as they can before the whole scam destroys what little reputation their name has left (like Cadburys and their Made in China, Melamine-laced Eclairs – I mean, Christ, don’t Cadburys bloody check stuff?)
But they don’t give a shit – the big bosses will soon be retired and sitting on a beach somewhere wondering what the poor people are doing apart from standing in line hoping to get money back on a useless carrot chopper.
The owners of the Chinese factories are just as blatantly venal. They ignore any kind of regulation designed to protect the health of those who work in, or live near, the factories and will ruthlessly cut corners on manufacturing standards. The result of this is that Australian shops are filled almost exclusively with the cheapest possible crap that may just get past the guarantee date before spontaneously falling to bits.
What brought all this moaning on? I’ll tell you what brought it all on, my bloody Ryobi line trimmer that’s what brought it all on.
Three years ago I had a Ryobi that, after many years of service, was on it’s last legs so I went to Bunnings in Brown Stains to get another. I wanted to avoid the Talon trimmers that I had been told were rubbish but Bunnings had a green thing (forget the name) that was recommended and quite cheap so I bought it.
It lasted about three months and then wouldn’t start so I took it back and was told it would have to be repaired because it wasn’t covered by a replacement guarantee. After about four weeks and a dozen phone calls I got it back and it lasted half an hour before I was, once again, yanking away like a demented onanist. By this time I was furious and told Bunnings where to insert it.
I paid the extra and changed to a Ryobi. I was convinced it would go on and on like the old one and I would one day bequeath my Ryobi to my son. It lasted 3 years then seized up and I have just been advised to buy another because it will be cheaper than a repair.
This time I’m shopping in Jimboomba so I won’t have so far to go when I take the bloody thing back. It will cost me $50 more to buy a Stihl but I figure I will save on petrol and phone calls.
What’s the betting though, when I get it home I will find a little label stuck to it that says “Made in China”.
UPDATE – 3 MONTHS LATER.
I went to Mitre 10 in Jimboomba and they had 3 line trimmers to choose from. These ranged in price from $90 to $300 but they all had one thing in common – Made In China stickers! Then I noticed one more thing they had in common – exactly the same engine! I don’t mean that 3 line trimmers had one engine between them of course, I mean that all the engines were exactly the same as each other – right down to the last bolt and cooling fin. Yes folks, the difference between the cheap trimmer and the ‘quality’, ‘big-name’ expensive one was the colour and design of the plastic cover bolted to a common unit. What a bloody con!
I had intended buying a Stihl because I heard they were good but I was then told that, though they lasted a few more years if you were lucky, the cost of repairing them was about the same as the cost of a new one. So I went off Stihls.
So what did I do? I bought the $90 one of course because I’ve got two just like it at home (Yes the busted ones at home also have the same engine unit – including my old Ryobi that went on for years.) If the grass hadn’t been so long I might have given the whole thing a miss and cobbled one good unit out of the two at home because one of them has a seized engine and the other has dodgy electrics. But I’m not fast when I’m working on things mechanical so it would take me a couple of weeks to do that and the grass was getting really high in the gully.
I got the new line trimmer home and tried it out. It works - though it’s harder to start compared to the Ryobi that has better electronics in the starting circuits. It is also noisier because it has a cheaper muffler. However, all these bits are interchangeable between the three units I have so I (confidently?) predict 10 years of use out of my store of spare parts. That should see me out.
*******************************************
Do you remember a time when you slaved and saved to buy something for the home? You went without and watched your pennies until the day came when you had enough to pay for the electric carrot chopper or whatever it was you needed. And when you brought the item home it worked perfectly and went on working for years and years and years until the kids busted it or the paint wore off.
Not any more.
Most things you buy now are mangled together in China by workers who don’t even know the purpose of the thing they are helping to make. They use components from other Chinese sweatshops and glue it all together with stuff that wouldn’t stick to a blanket. By the time it gets to you it’s already passed the use by date and is beginning to shed bits.
Don’t be fooled by the brand name either. Even the trusted, big name companies have shifted manufacturing to China or wherever they can get the most impoverished workers and child labour to ruin their eyes or break their backs for bugger all. Brand name western distributors (that’s all they are now) have been maniacally snatching profits as fast as they can before the whole scam destroys what little reputation their name has left (like Cadburys and their Made in China, Melamine-laced Eclairs – I mean, Christ, don’t Cadburys bloody check stuff?)
But they don’t give a shit – the big bosses will soon be retired and sitting on a beach somewhere wondering what the poor people are doing apart from standing in line hoping to get money back on a useless carrot chopper.
The owners of the Chinese factories are just as blatantly venal. They ignore any kind of regulation designed to protect the health of those who work in, or live near, the factories and will ruthlessly cut corners on manufacturing standards. The result of this is that Australian shops are filled almost exclusively with the cheapest possible crap that may just get past the guarantee date before spontaneously falling to bits.
What brought all this moaning on? I’ll tell you what brought it all on, my bloody Ryobi line trimmer that’s what brought it all on.
Three years ago I had a Ryobi that, after many years of service, was on it’s last legs so I went to Bunnings in Brown Stains to get another. I wanted to avoid the Talon trimmers that I had been told were rubbish but Bunnings had a green thing (forget the name) that was recommended and quite cheap so I bought it.
It lasted about three months and then wouldn’t start so I took it back and was told it would have to be repaired because it wasn’t covered by a replacement guarantee. After about four weeks and a dozen phone calls I got it back and it lasted half an hour before I was, once again, yanking away like a demented onanist. By this time I was furious and told Bunnings where to insert it.
I paid the extra and changed to a Ryobi. I was convinced it would go on and on like the old one and I would one day bequeath my Ryobi to my son. It lasted 3 years then seized up and I have just been advised to buy another because it will be cheaper than a repair.
This time I’m shopping in Jimboomba so I won’t have so far to go when I take the bloody thing back. It will cost me $50 more to buy a Stihl but I figure I will save on petrol and phone calls.
What’s the betting though, when I get it home I will find a little label stuck to it that says “Made in China”.
UPDATE – 3 MONTHS LATER.
I went to Mitre 10 in Jimboomba and they had 3 line trimmers to choose from. These ranged in price from $90 to $300 but they all had one thing in common – Made In China stickers! Then I noticed one more thing they had in common – exactly the same engine! I don’t mean that 3 line trimmers had one engine between them of course, I mean that all the engines were exactly the same as each other – right down to the last bolt and cooling fin. Yes folks, the difference between the cheap trimmer and the ‘quality’, ‘big-name’ expensive one was the colour and design of the plastic cover bolted to a common unit. What a bloody con!
I had intended buying a Stihl because I heard they were good but I was then told that, though they lasted a few more years if you were lucky, the cost of repairing them was about the same as the cost of a new one. So I went off Stihls.
So what did I do? I bought the $90 one of course because I’ve got two just like it at home (Yes the busted ones at home also have the same engine unit – including my old Ryobi that went on for years.) If the grass hadn’t been so long I might have given the whole thing a miss and cobbled one good unit out of the two at home because one of them has a seized engine and the other has dodgy electrics. But I’m not fast when I’m working on things mechanical so it would take me a couple of weeks to do that and the grass was getting really high in the gully.
I got the new line trimmer home and tried it out. It works - though it’s harder to start compared to the Ryobi that has better electronics in the starting circuits. It is also noisier because it has a cheaper muffler. However, all these bits are interchangeable between the three units I have so I (confidently?) predict 10 years of use out of my store of spare parts. That should see me out.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Poison the Wells, Why Don't You.
You must have seen this choice item on the ABC:
**********************************************
“Queensland Premier Anna Bligh has defended the time it has taken to reveal a fluoride problem in some drinking water supplies north of Brisbane.
For three hours on May 1 some residents at Brendale and Warner were drinking water with a fluoride concentration 20 times higher than the recommended maximum.
Test results took 12 days to identify the problem.
Ms Bligh says she was advised last night, but only made the information public this afternoon after talks with health authorities and the council.
"This is the first available opportunity I've had to give a full press conference," she said.
Ms Bligh says the health risk was almost zero, and she is not rethinking her policy on fluoride.
"This is a problem with the system and the plant, I think it would be very wrong to say it's a problem with fluoride," she said.
Investigations are underway into what caused the water treatment plant malfunction.
A Queensland water safety group claims the Government has under-stated the extent of the incident.
Spokeswoman Merilyn Haines says the amount of fluoride involved was double the reported figure.
"I was absolutely horrified and shocked that the concentration was that high, 40 times what it should have been it should have been, that concentration is equivalent of 30 fluoride tablets in every glass of water," she said.”
**********************************************
Political rat-running, ducking and diving at its worst, wouldn’t you say? Hey, don’t you love this bit:
“Ms Bligh says the health risk was almost zero, and she is not rethinking her policy on fluoride.
"This is a problem with the system and the plant, I think it would be very wrong to say it's a problem with fluoride," she said.”
So the health risk was almost zero, eh? That sounds like poli-speak for “with a bit of luck nobody will die”. And isn’t it comforting to know this dangerous cock-up is a problem with the system and not a problem with fluoride. Which seems to me to be much the same as a nuclear explosion being a problem with physics and nothing to do with the bomb.
There are many, many arguments against putting a highly toxic chemical into our drinking water and only one argument in its favour – it cuts down on dental costs. As dental treatment is largely unsupported by Medicare it makes me wonder why our Federal and State governments are so concerned about our teeth.
Could it be something to do with the difficulty and cost of the disposal of fluoride, one of the most dangerous by-products on the industrial waste list? Did someone think long and hard about how to get rid of the horrible stuff and decide the cheapest way was to filter it in minute quantities through the population and back into the ground where it came from? This, together with the tooth enamel thing, means the waste becomes a marketable product and not just a deadly poison.
“What a brilliant idea,” says Anna “let’s drink to that! Evian anyone?”
All very well in theory but, perversely, messing with our water may be like playing with fire and may lead to tragedy even if they are really careful. And many of us don’t trust some politicians with a damp box of matches let alone the means to poison us all.
**********************************************
“Queensland Premier Anna Bligh has defended the time it has taken to reveal a fluoride problem in some drinking water supplies north of Brisbane.
For three hours on May 1 some residents at Brendale and Warner were drinking water with a fluoride concentration 20 times higher than the recommended maximum.
Test results took 12 days to identify the problem.
Ms Bligh says she was advised last night, but only made the information public this afternoon after talks with health authorities and the council.
"This is the first available opportunity I've had to give a full press conference," she said.
Ms Bligh says the health risk was almost zero, and she is not rethinking her policy on fluoride.
"This is a problem with the system and the plant, I think it would be very wrong to say it's a problem with fluoride," she said.
Investigations are underway into what caused the water treatment plant malfunction.
A Queensland water safety group claims the Government has under-stated the extent of the incident.
Spokeswoman Merilyn Haines says the amount of fluoride involved was double the reported figure.
"I was absolutely horrified and shocked that the concentration was that high, 40 times what it should have been it should have been, that concentration is equivalent of 30 fluoride tablets in every glass of water," she said.”
**********************************************
Political rat-running, ducking and diving at its worst, wouldn’t you say? Hey, don’t you love this bit:
“Ms Bligh says the health risk was almost zero, and she is not rethinking her policy on fluoride.
"This is a problem with the system and the plant, I think it would be very wrong to say it's a problem with fluoride," she said.”
So the health risk was almost zero, eh? That sounds like poli-speak for “with a bit of luck nobody will die”. And isn’t it comforting to know this dangerous cock-up is a problem with the system and not a problem with fluoride. Which seems to me to be much the same as a nuclear explosion being a problem with physics and nothing to do with the bomb.
There are many, many arguments against putting a highly toxic chemical into our drinking water and only one argument in its favour – it cuts down on dental costs. As dental treatment is largely unsupported by Medicare it makes me wonder why our Federal and State governments are so concerned about our teeth.
Could it be something to do with the difficulty and cost of the disposal of fluoride, one of the most dangerous by-products on the industrial waste list? Did someone think long and hard about how to get rid of the horrible stuff and decide the cheapest way was to filter it in minute quantities through the population and back into the ground where it came from? This, together with the tooth enamel thing, means the waste becomes a marketable product and not just a deadly poison.
“What a brilliant idea,” says Anna “let’s drink to that! Evian anyone?”
All very well in theory but, perversely, messing with our water may be like playing with fire and may lead to tragedy even if they are really careful. And many of us don’t trust some politicians with a damp box of matches let alone the means to poison us all.
Here We Go!
I noticed a post on the ABC News website that some people may have missed. I reproduce it below:
***************************************
Councils urged to raise rates
Posted 18 minutes ago
A report into local government finances says Queensland councils should consider borrowing more money and charging higher rates.
The report by consultant Alan Morton examines how councils could increase their revenue.
It found they should lift rates in line with costs to ensure services are not cut.
Greg Hallam from Queensland's Local Government Association says some councils have undercharged ratepayers.
"You've got to be able to maintain the assets," he said.
Mr Hallam says the report also shows councils could afford to borrow more money.
"There's an important point to be made that local government historically has probably been underweight," he said.
"We haven't had as much debt as we needed and there is an opportunity to borrow more.
"Now obviously in these current circumstances there will be some hesitancy towards that. Having said that, interest rates are at historic lows."
But Jill Lang from the Queensland Council of Social Service says she is worried rate increases will force rents up.
"It's the really low income people who suffer in these circumstances," she said.
The report also says the commercial and industrial sectors should carry more of the burden and debt is not a bad thing when properly managed.
It is being sent to all Queensland councils.
*******************************************
Oh, really?
As if the buggers needed encouragement. This all our Logan Royal Family would need to offer up as an excuse for bleeding their miserable subjects even more. For instance, what’s the point of having a better (and more expensive) two bin recycle/waste system if we’re having trouble affording enough of the food packed inside the cardboard we are supposed to recycle.
So Mr. Hallam thinks our councils are underweight does he? If that’s the case, there must be a lot of skinny people around because our councillors look like very fat cats to me. It’s always the same isn’t it? As soon as the going gets tough there are always those who will make it tougher just so they don’t suffer themselves. The Community Services will feed off the Community until there is no Community to service. Robin fucking Hood stealing the beggars bowl to feed his own face.
And which dick-head put the bit in the report about “debt is not a bad thing when properly managed”? Well, so is bubonic plague not a bad thing when properly managed. As long as the important people can be protected, the plague will rid society of the poor and other welfare spongers like pensioners – this is a good thing.
Debt is not a bad thing? What the fuck does Alan Morton think got us into this financial mess – too much prudence? Debt is always a bad thing for those in debt and remember, it’s us that will be put in debt by a council prone to squandering and quite frankly I wouldn’t trust Logan Council with my grand daughters piggy bank.
Oh, I can hear the fiscally aware trotting out all the super-complicated reasons why debt is an important part of our evolving capitalist system but that would be totally missing the point. Debt is gambling. At its worst it is gambling with lives. At best it is the dalliance of the morally bankrupt.
Okay, these days debt may be a necessary fiscal tool but it is a tool that should be used with extreme caution; or it will take your fucking hand off.
***************************************
Councils urged to raise rates
Posted 18 minutes ago
A report into local government finances says Queensland councils should consider borrowing more money and charging higher rates.
The report by consultant Alan Morton examines how councils could increase their revenue.
It found they should lift rates in line with costs to ensure services are not cut.
Greg Hallam from Queensland's Local Government Association says some councils have undercharged ratepayers.
"You've got to be able to maintain the assets," he said.
Mr Hallam says the report also shows councils could afford to borrow more money.
"There's an important point to be made that local government historically has probably been underweight," he said.
"We haven't had as much debt as we needed and there is an opportunity to borrow more.
"Now obviously in these current circumstances there will be some hesitancy towards that. Having said that, interest rates are at historic lows."
But Jill Lang from the Queensland Council of Social Service says she is worried rate increases will force rents up.
"It's the really low income people who suffer in these circumstances," she said.
The report also says the commercial and industrial sectors should carry more of the burden and debt is not a bad thing when properly managed.
It is being sent to all Queensland councils.
*******************************************
Oh, really?
As if the buggers needed encouragement. This all our Logan Royal Family would need to offer up as an excuse for bleeding their miserable subjects even more. For instance, what’s the point of having a better (and more expensive) two bin recycle/waste system if we’re having trouble affording enough of the food packed inside the cardboard we are supposed to recycle.
So Mr. Hallam thinks our councils are underweight does he? If that’s the case, there must be a lot of skinny people around because our councillors look like very fat cats to me. It’s always the same isn’t it? As soon as the going gets tough there are always those who will make it tougher just so they don’t suffer themselves. The Community Services will feed off the Community until there is no Community to service. Robin fucking Hood stealing the beggars bowl to feed his own face.
And which dick-head put the bit in the report about “debt is not a bad thing when properly managed”? Well, so is bubonic plague not a bad thing when properly managed. As long as the important people can be protected, the plague will rid society of the poor and other welfare spongers like pensioners – this is a good thing.
Debt is not a bad thing? What the fuck does Alan Morton think got us into this financial mess – too much prudence? Debt is always a bad thing for those in debt and remember, it’s us that will be put in debt by a council prone to squandering and quite frankly I wouldn’t trust Logan Council with my grand daughters piggy bank.
Oh, I can hear the fiscally aware trotting out all the super-complicated reasons why debt is an important part of our evolving capitalist system but that would be totally missing the point. Debt is gambling. At its worst it is gambling with lives. At best it is the dalliance of the morally bankrupt.
Okay, these days debt may be a necessary fiscal tool but it is a tool that should be used with extreme caution; or it will take your fucking hand off.
Don't Vote - It Encourages the Sods
In a post headed “Division3 as an indicator of the sentiment”, Lin Hall at Cedar Grove View (link in the right hand column) was concerned about non-voters in the recent council election and the likelihood that Logan councillors would decide not to chase the non-voters down. He says:
“Will the justification for allowing transgressors of the law to get away with their sins be that the economical situation demands that the ratepayers are not burdened with the frivolity of chasing down these non-voters and bringing them to task? Or will the councilors find another way of saying that it is just a frivolous law that we are not going to enforce? That means that councilors are so powerful in their position that (they) can decide not to enforce a law that everyone, without exception, has to abide by. Is this the sort of corruption that you are willing to allow councilors to enact on your behalf?”
Obviously Lin has a good point, a law is a law not a multiple-choice option. That said many believe that the idea of councilors as guardians of the law chasing up transgressors is a little like foxes chasing up the chooks or perhaps setting a thief to catch a thief. Let’s face it, politicians and their poor relations, local councilors, have got to be among the least trusted groups in Australian society. Some of us vote for them but do so without great enthusiasm. Like wiping your arse, it’s just something that has to be done. We know that most of the sods will let us down badly. We know that most of them are in it for themselves. We know that most of them think we are a mob of mindless arseholes that deserve to be fleeced. It’s no wonder that many potential voters will just shun the whole process.
I remember an election in the UK where voting is not compulsory and the turnout was about 30%. The next day the papers were full of speculation about the low turnout. Eventually it was decided that it wasn’t because the voters were lazy or because they weren’t doing their civic duty, it was because they were totally pissed off with politicians generally and were turning their backs. This is about the only effective protest that voters have. If you win in an election like that, you know you don’t truly represent anything. If you have lost in an election like that, you curse yourself because you might have got in if you had just raised your game. It can be a very effective protest.
And there is a lot to protest in the political world and not just in our part of the globe. Look at the expenses scandal in the UK including this choice information from the ABC news website:
Britain's 646 legislators (MP’s) receive an annual salary of almost 65,000 pounds ($131,500) and claimed 93 million pounds in expenses last year, an average of 144,000 pounds ($285,000) each.
Notice their basic pay isn’t much more than our Logan councilors screw and the cost of living is much higher in the UK. Wonder what the Logan expenses are?
And look at the double shuffling dance that Obama is now doing after he was voted in as the new great hope for mankind. Many of his honorable intentions have been well and truly fucked by the reality of dealing with the scummy swamps of practical politics where you are obliged to please many people you wouldn’t want to touch outside of a biohazard suit.
However, I have always voted because it is the law. I am obliged to turn up. But that didn’t stop me from once drawing a new box on my voting slip and voting for John Cleese. It was my protest vote. John Cleese didn’t get in.
“Will the justification for allowing transgressors of the law to get away with their sins be that the economical situation demands that the ratepayers are not burdened with the frivolity of chasing down these non-voters and bringing them to task? Or will the councilors find another way of saying that it is just a frivolous law that we are not going to enforce? That means that councilors are so powerful in their position that (they) can decide not to enforce a law that everyone, without exception, has to abide by. Is this the sort of corruption that you are willing to allow councilors to enact on your behalf?”
Obviously Lin has a good point, a law is a law not a multiple-choice option. That said many believe that the idea of councilors as guardians of the law chasing up transgressors is a little like foxes chasing up the chooks or perhaps setting a thief to catch a thief. Let’s face it, politicians and their poor relations, local councilors, have got to be among the least trusted groups in Australian society. Some of us vote for them but do so without great enthusiasm. Like wiping your arse, it’s just something that has to be done. We know that most of the sods will let us down badly. We know that most of them are in it for themselves. We know that most of them think we are a mob of mindless arseholes that deserve to be fleeced. It’s no wonder that many potential voters will just shun the whole process.
I remember an election in the UK where voting is not compulsory and the turnout was about 30%. The next day the papers were full of speculation about the low turnout. Eventually it was decided that it wasn’t because the voters were lazy or because they weren’t doing their civic duty, it was because they were totally pissed off with politicians generally and were turning their backs. This is about the only effective protest that voters have. If you win in an election like that, you know you don’t truly represent anything. If you have lost in an election like that, you curse yourself because you might have got in if you had just raised your game. It can be a very effective protest.
And there is a lot to protest in the political world and not just in our part of the globe. Look at the expenses scandal in the UK including this choice information from the ABC news website:
Britain's 646 legislators (MP’s) receive an annual salary of almost 65,000 pounds ($131,500) and claimed 93 million pounds in expenses last year, an average of 144,000 pounds ($285,000) each.
Notice their basic pay isn’t much more than our Logan councilors screw and the cost of living is much higher in the UK. Wonder what the Logan expenses are?
And look at the double shuffling dance that Obama is now doing after he was voted in as the new great hope for mankind. Many of his honorable intentions have been well and truly fucked by the reality of dealing with the scummy swamps of practical politics where you are obliged to please many people you wouldn’t want to touch outside of a biohazard suit.
However, I have always voted because it is the law. I am obliged to turn up. But that didn’t stop me from once drawing a new box on my voting slip and voting for John Cleese. It was my protest vote. John Cleese didn’t get in.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Censorship - Who Decides?
When I really think about it I realise how very important censorship is. Censorship is a good thing, there is no doubt about that, but what should be censored and by whom?
I suppose we would all pretty much agree on the censorship categories in which movies are placed but why does the criteria change over time? Young children can now officially watch and listen to material that would have been given an ‘X’ certificate 50 years ago. Why? Does it mean our children are less prone to corruption now or does it mean our values have been degraded by a gradual desensitising of our moral compass until it can no longer point the difference between what is seemly and what is debased. Or is it something else?
I am prone to using the odd expletive because I am common and not particularly well educated so I do not have the skill to express myself strongly enough, when I feel the need, in any other way. But I am also conscious of a sense of “freedom to express” that simply wasn’t there when I was young. The satisfaction of being able to write “fuck” when I feel like it is, therefore, strangely invigorating. However, I don’t believe this means we should allow the very young and impressionable to experience the same invigoration and freedom of expression – because they won’t.
Freedom may only be truly experienced by those who have been restrained at some time and we can only be invigorated by a new or uncommon experience. Let children be free with their paints and clay but restrict the hell out of their interaction with others (e.g. “You do NOT tell Kirsty to fuck off!” or “You do NOT beat Fabia to a pulp for not noticing your Dora the Explorer sunhat!” and “If you insist on doing these things you will get a well deserved slap on the backside.”).
Mind you, it’s become easier for me to claim the high moral ground in some things. At my age, sex has thankfully become a boring subject and has totally lost its appeal. Not that I don’t find the ladies attractive but it is different from the time of my youth when sex obsessed my yobby mates and I. Now I can look at a beautiful woman and truly appreciate the glorious wonder of beauty for its own sake.
For instance, I was watching the movie ‘Entrapment’ last night - the one with Catherine Zeta-Jones and Sean Connery. During the part where Catherine Zeta-Jones is performing her dance of stealth around the laser beams, I was enraptured. For me it was like looking at an original Rembrandt while a full orchestra played and Kiri Te Kanawa sang to me. I could have wept not tears of longing but of pure joy that there are some things too beautiful to be damaged by the crude sexual exploitation so rife in most of what is thrown at us and called ‘information’.
That still leaves the question of who decides what we should and should not do and see. Maybe we need someone totally outside of our society to make these judgements for us but I’ll come to that in another post.
I suppose we would all pretty much agree on the censorship categories in which movies are placed but why does the criteria change over time? Young children can now officially watch and listen to material that would have been given an ‘X’ certificate 50 years ago. Why? Does it mean our children are less prone to corruption now or does it mean our values have been degraded by a gradual desensitising of our moral compass until it can no longer point the difference between what is seemly and what is debased. Or is it something else?
I am prone to using the odd expletive because I am common and not particularly well educated so I do not have the skill to express myself strongly enough, when I feel the need, in any other way. But I am also conscious of a sense of “freedom to express” that simply wasn’t there when I was young. The satisfaction of being able to write “fuck” when I feel like it is, therefore, strangely invigorating. However, I don’t believe this means we should allow the very young and impressionable to experience the same invigoration and freedom of expression – because they won’t.
Freedom may only be truly experienced by those who have been restrained at some time and we can only be invigorated by a new or uncommon experience. Let children be free with their paints and clay but restrict the hell out of their interaction with others (e.g. “You do NOT tell Kirsty to fuck off!” or “You do NOT beat Fabia to a pulp for not noticing your Dora the Explorer sunhat!” and “If you insist on doing these things you will get a well deserved slap on the backside.”).
Mind you, it’s become easier for me to claim the high moral ground in some things. At my age, sex has thankfully become a boring subject and has totally lost its appeal. Not that I don’t find the ladies attractive but it is different from the time of my youth when sex obsessed my yobby mates and I. Now I can look at a beautiful woman and truly appreciate the glorious wonder of beauty for its own sake.
For instance, I was watching the movie ‘Entrapment’ last night - the one with Catherine Zeta-Jones and Sean Connery. During the part where Catherine Zeta-Jones is performing her dance of stealth around the laser beams, I was enraptured. For me it was like looking at an original Rembrandt while a full orchestra played and Kiri Te Kanawa sang to me. I could have wept not tears of longing but of pure joy that there are some things too beautiful to be damaged by the crude sexual exploitation so rife in most of what is thrown at us and called ‘information’.
That still leaves the question of who decides what we should and should not do and see. Maybe we need someone totally outside of our society to make these judgements for us but I’ll come to that in another post.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Don't Make 'em Like That Anymore.
How do they do that? Build stuff that automatically fucks up three seconds after the warranty expires? It’s got to be a firmware thing on a little chip inside whatever it is that is about to fly apart on you - slicing off one of your ears in the process.
Way, way, way back before the war I was given a Black & Decker drill for my 21st birthday. It had a circular saw attachment and a rubber thing you could put sanding discs on and all sorts of stuff like that. I’ve since lost the saw bits but the drill itself is still going. The paint’s worn off, it’s got dings all over and every crevice is clogged with the dust of countless DIY projects most of which ended in failure, but the drill whines on. My kids borrow it whenever they have a job too tough for the cordless, plastic food mixers they call their drills. I bought a couple of those battery drill things when they were 50 cents a dozen at Bunnings but I just use them as screwdrivers. It’s better than trying to find one of the old prehistoric screwdrivers in my toolbox because my toolbox is a deadly mess. It’s one of those huge plastic bins and is full of jingly metal bits that don’t look like any tools I’ve ever bought. To find something, you have to rake your hand through this tangle of lethal weapons and your hand comes back out minced with needle sharp panel pins rammed under every fingernail.
The point is the old drill is still alive after 45 years of abuse. So why is modern stuff so crap? Possibly because my Black & Decker cost a weeks wages back then - would we spend a weeks wages on a drill now? Probably not.
Then there is my air conditioning unit. I spent a weeks wages on that right enough but it’s stuffed. And it was still six months inside its warranty so I phoned the Good Guys all politely indignant and asked them to arrange for it to be fixed only to find that the firm that made the air con unit has gone into voluntary liquidation. The upshot was that the Good Guys told me to piss off. It turns out the Good Guys didn’t really mean it when they told me it had a 5 year warranty because I should have had an extended warranty which is the real warranty not like the written warranty that the Good Guys gave me which was only a Good Guys pretend warranty. That’s the Good Guys.
I did manage to get the unit fixed (at a price more than half the cost of the entire system) but I must remember to ask next time I buy something if there is a real warranty or a Good Guys warranty on whatever piece of shit I’m being served up with. Remember the Good Guys – cunts!
But all this is as nothing compared to the real reason (that’s a real reason, not a Good Guys reason) for this outburst of mine. Our home was built only five years ago and – wait for it – one of our taps is leaking! No, no, don’t scoff. I don’t mean the tap is leaking from a joint or a seal or anything as obvious as that, the tap is leaking through its body! Halfway along the spout that hangs over the sink several pinholes have developed and when I turn the tap on it sprays a fine mist all over me like the watering system you’d use in a hot house for your rare orchid collection. The fucking spout has worn out! In five years! It would take a constantly flowing river the best part of a century to wear away 2 millimetres of stone how the fuck can a steel tap get worn away by water that only flows a dozen times a day and that at a pressure that can’t wash a spider down the plughole. The bloody thing was swimming back up the stream of water and almost reached the tap! I fucking hate spiders.
So that’s my tap. I refuse to get a new one. I’ll stick a plaster on it. 2mm of steel worn away in five years – how do the manufacturers do it?
Way, way, way back before the war I was given a Black & Decker drill for my 21st birthday. It had a circular saw attachment and a rubber thing you could put sanding discs on and all sorts of stuff like that. I’ve since lost the saw bits but the drill itself is still going. The paint’s worn off, it’s got dings all over and every crevice is clogged with the dust of countless DIY projects most of which ended in failure, but the drill whines on. My kids borrow it whenever they have a job too tough for the cordless, plastic food mixers they call their drills. I bought a couple of those battery drill things when they were 50 cents a dozen at Bunnings but I just use them as screwdrivers. It’s better than trying to find one of the old prehistoric screwdrivers in my toolbox because my toolbox is a deadly mess. It’s one of those huge plastic bins and is full of jingly metal bits that don’t look like any tools I’ve ever bought. To find something, you have to rake your hand through this tangle of lethal weapons and your hand comes back out minced with needle sharp panel pins rammed under every fingernail.
The point is the old drill is still alive after 45 years of abuse. So why is modern stuff so crap? Possibly because my Black & Decker cost a weeks wages back then - would we spend a weeks wages on a drill now? Probably not.
Then there is my air conditioning unit. I spent a weeks wages on that right enough but it’s stuffed. And it was still six months inside its warranty so I phoned the Good Guys all politely indignant and asked them to arrange for it to be fixed only to find that the firm that made the air con unit has gone into voluntary liquidation. The upshot was that the Good Guys told me to piss off. It turns out the Good Guys didn’t really mean it when they told me it had a 5 year warranty because I should have had an extended warranty which is the real warranty not like the written warranty that the Good Guys gave me which was only a Good Guys pretend warranty. That’s the Good Guys.
I did manage to get the unit fixed (at a price more than half the cost of the entire system) but I must remember to ask next time I buy something if there is a real warranty or a Good Guys warranty on whatever piece of shit I’m being served up with. Remember the Good Guys – cunts!
But all this is as nothing compared to the real reason (that’s a real reason, not a Good Guys reason) for this outburst of mine. Our home was built only five years ago and – wait for it – one of our taps is leaking! No, no, don’t scoff. I don’t mean the tap is leaking from a joint or a seal or anything as obvious as that, the tap is leaking through its body! Halfway along the spout that hangs over the sink several pinholes have developed and when I turn the tap on it sprays a fine mist all over me like the watering system you’d use in a hot house for your rare orchid collection. The fucking spout has worn out! In five years! It would take a constantly flowing river the best part of a century to wear away 2 millimetres of stone how the fuck can a steel tap get worn away by water that only flows a dozen times a day and that at a pressure that can’t wash a spider down the plughole. The bloody thing was swimming back up the stream of water and almost reached the tap! I fucking hate spiders.
So that’s my tap. I refuse to get a new one. I’ll stick a plaster on it. 2mm of steel worn away in five years – how do the manufacturers do it?
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Are We Really So Stupid?
By that I mean everyone else except you and I of course. Then again, I can’t possibly know about you. You could be a complete cretin for all I know but at least I know I’m not stupid and I have the sustificates to prove it. So why must we seem to be so stupid to politicians, the Media, advertising executives and the like? Why do they paint us in colours so dull and unbelievably boring that they think even a splash of bullshit will brighten our miserable, pointless lives?
I can only assume that these people are so incredibly moronic that they have to assume the worst of us or face the reality of their own inadequacy. They boost their insatiable egos by comparing their incomparable selves with the ground creeping scum called the common herd. Us. As seen by them.
The evidence for this is all around.
Have you seen the ad for mascara that promises women eyes that are 12% more alluring? They’ve achieved this by making the brush 12% bigger! So you get these dozy sods walking into walls because they’ve got half a kilo of powdered carbon and whale fat hanging off each eye. Ladies, you look like fucking racoons. It doesn’t make your eyes look bigger; it makes them look the same size with crusty black gunge whacked around them as though you’ve just finished a sixty niner with a chimney sweep. Come on girls; tell them to stick the brush up their fat arses where it belongs. Failing that spread the muck on with a lavatory brush then your eyes can be 4000% more alluring.
And now we’re going to tool up our armed forces so we can take on the Chinese. Hells Bells, we can’t even beat the Kiwis consistently so how are we going to manage against billions of Chinese slathering us with MSG? I reckon the only reason we are planning to get more planes, helicopters and subs is so all the politicians and important people like that will be able to get a cheap ride to safety before the shit hits the fan when we’re invaded. That will leave the rest of us pulling rickshaws and painting willow patterns on plates. What a fucking future.
Talking of politicians how about our new rep for state parliament, Aiden McLindon? What is he doing? He wants to rid us of the “scourge” of poker machines in pubs and clubs and build a gambling Mecca in rural Queensland instead. Was this kid pissed or just taking the piss? I mean - that’s like saying we have had enough of all the violent crime and domestic violence so we are going to bulldoze Beaudesert and recreate Mogadishu or Palestine in its place. That way people can have a proper war-zone to pop into when they feel a bit agro. They can do a spot of casual killing and probably get blown to bits themselves.
Look, Aiden (you don’t mind if I call you Aiden do you? – you do? – Okay). Look, Moonface, it’s obvious you were trying to talk outside the box in a failed attempt to ensure your maiden speech didn’t come over as just another big, boring, billow of arse air but for fucks sake pick something that is at least plausible. Do you seriously think that if a gambling Mecca was such a sure-fire winner, the Gold Coast wouldn’t already be it? Do you think the Gold Coast with its many tourist attractions, Jupiter’s Casino, beautiful beaches and ocean might be a slightly better venue for a main tourist spot than Beaudesert that can only offer cow shit and a population of mouth breathers that don’t shave on weekends and most of the days in between (except for the blokes – they will often give the old gob panel a bit of a scrape of a Sunday morning if they aren’t too pissed)?
The best that can be said is - you must have panicked. That’s it, you poor chap, you were nervous and felt intimidated and inadequate so you said the first thing that by-passed the nodule on your brain stem. That’s all right son, we’ve all done that from time to time but just remember it was The Mob, not the politicians, that made Las Vegas what it is. The politicians just raced in and clamoured for the kickbacks so, if your “dream” pans out, I’d dust off the old Reeboks if I were you or you might get flattened in the stampede.
I can only assume that these people are so incredibly moronic that they have to assume the worst of us or face the reality of their own inadequacy. They boost their insatiable egos by comparing their incomparable selves with the ground creeping scum called the common herd. Us. As seen by them.
The evidence for this is all around.
Have you seen the ad for mascara that promises women eyes that are 12% more alluring? They’ve achieved this by making the brush 12% bigger! So you get these dozy sods walking into walls because they’ve got half a kilo of powdered carbon and whale fat hanging off each eye. Ladies, you look like fucking racoons. It doesn’t make your eyes look bigger; it makes them look the same size with crusty black gunge whacked around them as though you’ve just finished a sixty niner with a chimney sweep. Come on girls; tell them to stick the brush up their fat arses where it belongs. Failing that spread the muck on with a lavatory brush then your eyes can be 4000% more alluring.
And now we’re going to tool up our armed forces so we can take on the Chinese. Hells Bells, we can’t even beat the Kiwis consistently so how are we going to manage against billions of Chinese slathering us with MSG? I reckon the only reason we are planning to get more planes, helicopters and subs is so all the politicians and important people like that will be able to get a cheap ride to safety before the shit hits the fan when we’re invaded. That will leave the rest of us pulling rickshaws and painting willow patterns on plates. What a fucking future.
Talking of politicians how about our new rep for state parliament, Aiden McLindon? What is he doing? He wants to rid us of the “scourge” of poker machines in pubs and clubs and build a gambling Mecca in rural Queensland instead. Was this kid pissed or just taking the piss? I mean - that’s like saying we have had enough of all the violent crime and domestic violence so we are going to bulldoze Beaudesert and recreate Mogadishu or Palestine in its place. That way people can have a proper war-zone to pop into when they feel a bit agro. They can do a spot of casual killing and probably get blown to bits themselves.
Look, Aiden (you don’t mind if I call you Aiden do you? – you do? – Okay). Look, Moonface, it’s obvious you were trying to talk outside the box in a failed attempt to ensure your maiden speech didn’t come over as just another big, boring, billow of arse air but for fucks sake pick something that is at least plausible. Do you seriously think that if a gambling Mecca was such a sure-fire winner, the Gold Coast wouldn’t already be it? Do you think the Gold Coast with its many tourist attractions, Jupiter’s Casino, beautiful beaches and ocean might be a slightly better venue for a main tourist spot than Beaudesert that can only offer cow shit and a population of mouth breathers that don’t shave on weekends and most of the days in between (except for the blokes – they will often give the old gob panel a bit of a scrape of a Sunday morning if they aren’t too pissed)?
The best that can be said is - you must have panicked. That’s it, you poor chap, you were nervous and felt intimidated and inadequate so you said the first thing that by-passed the nodule on your brain stem. That’s all right son, we’ve all done that from time to time but just remember it was The Mob, not the politicians, that made Las Vegas what it is. The politicians just raced in and clamoured for the kickbacks so, if your “dream” pans out, I’d dust off the old Reeboks if I were you or you might get flattened in the stampede.
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