Sunday, December 14, 2008
Down the road from my house, in a semi-industrial enclave, sits a small shop called "MR WEEZEE SATAY". Whenever I see it I question the use of 'Weezee'. Why go with weezee? Is it some sort of boast? "We use so much of the peanuts that it make your throat constrict all anaphylaxis like!". I could make them a television ad. The theme song could be a strained "Wheezee - wheezee" which gets more strained and breathless with each repetition. This would be an excellent ad and Mr Weezee would probably like it so much that he would allow me to eat his special satay off the lino of his office floor like I have always wanted to. I don't think Mr Weezee chose his profession wisely. A name like that is more suited to a purveyor of insulation batts or an asbestos removal consultant.
I've actually met an asbestos/environmental consultant before. He didn't really wheeze. He was more a wet man. A bit clammy around the ears. Besides a bit of perspiration around the old clams, he was a pleasant fellow.
Last night I saw a young man who looked like the physical incarnation of primary school sex joke. He was all sneaky and slight of frame. He had a shaved head and seemed to be smirking about someone drinking a piss or a stiffy or poofters sword fighting or wankers cramp or how Mrs Clancy-Warrel is a fat bitch who would probably kill her husband if they had sex. Someone should have locked him up. I can't believe there are such perves inhabiting Perth's Public houses. Barnett has gotta do something, he really does.