Friday, December 24, 2010

I see bad breath spreading it's spores

I see them rolling the freeway in their people movers with reindeer antlers and rude red noses. I see them drinking red bull and eating nanna's cream cheese slices. I see them at the shops hopping from one pudgy thonged foot to another. I see them swerving for carparks. I see them push through the doors. I see them everywhere. It's you and me. We've arm ourselves. Lets eat deep of the 'spicy' foods and roll the streets at night. It's nearly the only time for us now. They're taking up all the space, rolling out kooch and blocking our paths. There's a bloody war going on.

The little kid next door called me a lady. I was walking the bin out for collection and she stepped out from her carport. "Look mum I can see the lady!" she yelled. "The lady looked at me!"

Kid is clearly a mental.

Monday, December 20, 2010

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Growing Pain Cakes

The strains of youth are the ones that you feel in your legs and stomach when something goes wrong. Like perhaps you may have set up an ingenious prank but something went wrong. A kid’s mum has rung your house because her son was dumb enough to fall for your ingenious prank and somehow ingested all those laxatives you filled their choc-milk with (I mean who doesn’t stop sipping when they get a chunk in their milk?) and they glugged on the apple juice (pee) with the note that said “Apple Juice- drink me. Tasty”.  And now you’re mum is knocking on your door and you’re crawling into your wardrobe. And she wants you have a ‘meeting’ with the kid’s family and you consider holding your breath until you pass out and hopefully hit your head on the way to the ground and wake up in hospital with no responsibilities except drinking real apple juice. All because some kid was dumb enough to think you were nice.
I still get these pains. When the phone rings. My heart thinks it’s my landlord hoping to make an appointment at my house which will probably lead to him chucking me out.
I’ve been killing time, slouched back under the coldest air-con you can imagine. Some dummkopf is sitting behind the off white laminate of the front desk with the 'cold knob' cranked down colder than Canadian coins. It’s summer outside and I’m in here with a cardigan on and a contracted scrote. Whilst reading I've warmed myself with the plight of other humans. There's been a few stories online about the big banks(the big ones, that's what we call them now. The Big Banks) and poor customer service. I've been reading the comments of a news story on this very subject. Every Shelley and Steven with too much time on their lazy pale hands has vented their bloated spleen on the deterioration of service in 'modern Australia'. No more smiles, no more apologies, no more friendly tug-jobs behind the chippy for bringing in some lemons you stole off the nextdoor neighbours tree. The nameless keyboard fat finger mashers have been giving it to Centrelink, Vodafone, Telstra, and random carpet places in suburban New South Wales. These places have let is slip slop apparently. But they're not the worst. Not by a stretch mark. The worst public service you'll ever catch is from the tired teens who get greased at McDonalds (allegedly). 

Exhibit A:
“....managed to spill half the fries out onto the counter in the process of placing them there and made no move to put them back in. I paused and then politely asked her to put my food in a bag which resulted in me being given a dirty look (well, MORE of a dirty look than the scowl already there -- hey, it's not my fault that's the best job you can find). I complained to the McDonalds website. 2 years later I'm still awaiting their response. And after all that, the food was mediocre.”
SHE COMPLAINED ON THE MCDONALDS WEBSITE TWO YEARS AGO AND STILL HASN'T RECEIVED A RESPONSE! SHE WAITS EVERY DAY. REFRESHES EVERY MORNING. ENDLESSLY. WHEN WILL MCDONALDS GET THEIR ACT TOGETHER. THAT'S NO WAY TO TREAT A CUSTOMER. SPILT HALF THE FRIES! AND THE FOOD WAS MEDIOCRE! BLOODY DOG HELL SHIT MOTHER PISS!
Exhibit B:
McDonalds. When they finally get around to serving me, 8 times out of 10 they get the order wrong. Most of their service staff is rude these days -- I hate the cliche, but it's true - a smile costs nothing. And it is infinitely better than the near-scowl I often see these days. Their ingredients get worse every day (hey, McDonalds, stop trying to deny the meat portions are shrinking -- we're not morons. And don't try to pass off that half-empty thing with one piece of lettuce as a "wrap". Just because it is only named after the container doesn't mean you don't have to put something INSIDE of it). And what little there is to the Big Mac these days tastes like it was chewed up and spit out into a soggy, tasteless mass.

THEY SHRUNKED THE MEAT PORTIONS. WE ISN'T MORONS! WRAPS ARE FOR PEOPLE LIVING IN DEFACTO RELATIONSHIPS - WILL NOT TOUCH MY LIPS! YUCK! AND A SMILE COSTS NOTHING! SO SMILE WHEN I COMES IN IN MY RUGGER SHORTS AND SAY "STOP SHRINKING THE PATTY PORTIONS! I AM NOT A MORONS!" SPIT! THAT'S ME CHEWING UP BURGER AND SPITTING IT ON GROUND. IT'S SOGGY AND BAD!

Saturday, December 04, 2010

Congratulations Boy Prince of England and Royal Girlfriend




I've been sticking these up around my hood. Some anti-monarchist keeps pulling them down. Why can't they join in as we celebrate the union of two young lovers? I am so looking forward to the wedding. Can't wait to see what Kate wears! Hopefully Harry keeps his nose clean! No SS uniforms! Oh it will be a ruddy good day that's for sure!

It seemed funny at the time. In hindsight- meh.

Anyway, I'm going to start a band called Boy Prince of England. 

Friday, December 03, 2010

Money Bagging

Guy down the road was watering the lawn in his speedos the other afternoon. I thought "Geez mate, there's only a thin lycra pouch  between your ballbag and the outside world".

Who's the sicko in this situation. Me? Him? Probably him. He was watering his already verdantly green lawn like some kind of water wasting exhibitionist.  He was channeling those 'little boy' fountain statues that backyard comedians point to repeatedly at family barbecues.

I went home and ate some chorizo and dreamt of figs.

I finished my course. I'm legal now. If you want me to design the cover of your next record, work on the inlays of a set of limited edition sneakers, or need me to photoshop boobs onto your brothers photo - get at me.  Just set me up with some hardwood floors, some Euro furniture, a new Mac, Italian coffee and leave me in charge of iTunes and you have a deal.  Not much. Also partial to a clean black T-shirt and atlantic salmon each day.