Here's a little something I knocked up over in the lab on the weekend. Something to keep the barbarians away from the gate.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
TLASITSH
Sydney got itself one of those Apple stores. People lined up over night to be one of the first admitted to the white palace of Apple. The temple of Apple, crafted from pure white. Not white coloured materials, white. A large block of solid white was airlifted into place and craftsmen in dark goggles carved a store out of it. Reporters cruised the line talking to the freezing geeks when suddenly word spread one fellow had come all the way from America for the opening! Well sir they found him and said “Sir we understand you came all the way from America to be here” and the man said in fluent American “Uh, no. I came from Brisbane.” And the shaken reporter said hopefully “But you are American though right?” and the man said “No, Canadian actually… from Brisbane. Sorry.” But the reporter wasn’t beat and reminded us that, even if no Americans were there, it was still the Largest- Apple- Store- In- The- Southern- Hemisphere. So there.
They depend on that a lot here. Australia has the tallest wooden train trestle in the Southern hemisphere, the largest uranium mine, the biggest sheep station, the most fucked up version of English. Lots of stuff.
It’s a crafty move. What else have you got this side of the equator? South Africa? Brazil? The rest of the countries are what they call ‘developing’. It’s like at school kids don’t ‘fail’ anymore, now they are just marked ‘yet to achieve’. The rest of the hemisphere is ocean except for Antarctica which, as far as I know, has no wooden train trestles at all. Perhaps further inland but I doubt it.
I’m quite sure some Aussies don’t actually believe in the northern hemisphere at all. A mystical land where they have Christmas in the winter and there’s a country where almost all the people speak French. French! Maybe in books written by artsy people from Melbourne, but not for real.
It’s the same inferiority-compensation that Canadians are good at. America may have the world’s strongest economy (well it used to be), the most powerful armed forces, the latest in technology but Canada, Canada has the world’s longest coastline you know. Yeah.
But they know it’s lame and that’s why Canadians are apologising for not being Americans in front of The Largest Apple Store In The Southern Hemisphere.
They depend on that a lot here. Australia has the tallest wooden train trestle in the Southern hemisphere, the largest uranium mine, the biggest sheep station, the most fucked up version of English. Lots of stuff.
It’s a crafty move. What else have you got this side of the equator? South Africa? Brazil? The rest of the countries are what they call ‘developing’. It’s like at school kids don’t ‘fail’ anymore, now they are just marked ‘yet to achieve’. The rest of the hemisphere is ocean except for Antarctica which, as far as I know, has no wooden train trestles at all. Perhaps further inland but I doubt it.
I’m quite sure some Aussies don’t actually believe in the northern hemisphere at all. A mystical land where they have Christmas in the winter and there’s a country where almost all the people speak French. French! Maybe in books written by artsy people from Melbourne, but not for real.
It’s the same inferiority-compensation that Canadians are good at. America may have the world’s strongest economy (well it used to be), the most powerful armed forces, the latest in technology but Canada, Canada has the world’s longest coastline you know. Yeah.
But they know it’s lame and that’s why Canadians are apologising for not being Americans in front of The Largest Apple Store In The Southern Hemisphere.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
the further adventures of Muleshoes
That’s something nobody saw coming. Globalization has been heavily protested, often violently, for years. Fears of a world where a few mega-corporations control what we consume, how we live. Sort of an Orwellian Big Brother but with attractive packaging and a catchy slogan. Those are the concerns but of course things never work out the way we predict otherwise, according to 1950’s estimates, we should all be flying around in atomic-powered Cadillac’s by now.
Seems people around the world are starting to get a tad upset over fuel prices and governments and corporations are getting nervous. Of course in a global economy you also have global-size consumers and those consumers are not used to taking shit from business. When you get a whole country-full pissed off it has a lot more power than some guy sending back his soup (never send food back, are you mental? I’ve worked in kitchens). If you get several countries pissed off, well, I’m not sure anybody knows just what would happen. Business does not like uncertainty. Governments do not like uncertainty. Some dogs do not like thunder.
Just to complete the list.
In Greece the residents of the island of Lesbos are in court trying to get women-who-prefer-to-do-their-own-carpentry to stop calling themselves Lesbians. Except the gay residents of the island which are of course already Lesbians, like everybody else living there. Even the children are little bright-eyed Lesbians, learning Lesbian history in their little Lesbian schools. There’s even a Lesbian McDonalds, but anybody can go.
Make up your own fillet-o-fish jokes.
The best my spell check could come up with for McLesbos was ‘muleshoes’. I dunno either, I guess like horseshoes but stockier and sterile.
Sounds like the indigenous sidekick in a 50’s matinee western.
“Train come soon.”
“Good job Muleshoes, how can you tell? Subtle vibrations on the tracks?”
“No. Is almost four-o-clock. Dickhead.”
Seems people around the world are starting to get a tad upset over fuel prices and governments and corporations are getting nervous. Of course in a global economy you also have global-size consumers and those consumers are not used to taking shit from business. When you get a whole country-full pissed off it has a lot more power than some guy sending back his soup (never send food back, are you mental? I’ve worked in kitchens). If you get several countries pissed off, well, I’m not sure anybody knows just what would happen. Business does not like uncertainty. Governments do not like uncertainty. Some dogs do not like thunder.
Just to complete the list.
In Greece the residents of the island of Lesbos are in court trying to get women-who-prefer-to-do-their-own-carpentry to stop calling themselves Lesbians. Except the gay residents of the island which are of course already Lesbians, like everybody else living there. Even the children are little bright-eyed Lesbians, learning Lesbian history in their little Lesbian schools. There’s even a Lesbian McDonalds, but anybody can go.
Make up your own fillet-o-fish jokes.
The best my spell check could come up with for McLesbos was ‘muleshoes’. I dunno either, I guess like horseshoes but stockier and sterile.
Sounds like the indigenous sidekick in a 50’s matinee western.
“Train come soon.”
“Good job Muleshoes, how can you tell? Subtle vibrations on the tracks?”
“No. Is almost four-o-clock. Dickhead.”
Ahhh Muleshoes, you’re the greatest.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Gitmo awarded Best Offshore Military Torture Prison by Shackle Magazine.
I know a guy who’s one of those big time TV writers. Family-values type drama with a serrated edge, that’s his bag. If he wrote the Brady Bunch it would be much the same except Mike Brady would have a colostomy bag because their old dog chewed out his small intestine while he lay passed out for nine days after putting out a Valium® fire and inhaling the fumes. Valium is quite flammable. They used to fire the old trans-Atlantic steam ships on raw valium if they were attempting a record crossing. The practice was halted after the Titanic fell asleep (it’s the fumes are the problem) and hit an ice-berg.
But me, I don’t write like that. I don’t have any stories, can’t think of any. Not the kind with traditional subjects like people and places, a plot. I could write about a bucket handle, or an ant’s left back leg, or the particular odour of a particular winter afternoon in 1988 (light, clear, a little like soap). And two pages is getting wordy for those sorts of things. How anyone writes a whole novel or play or TV series or progressive rock concept album, I cannot grasp.
If you make it short enough and obscure enough you can call it a poem. I’ve written hundreds of poems, but I don’t get poetry. Can’t read other’s poetry, it’s like hearing someone describe to you their dream. It’s only interesting to them. I read a poem once in university called “Ode To A Grecian Urn”, pretty straightforward, you’d think, obviously the guy had a thing for pottery. But no, turns out it’s not about Grecian urns at all. No, it’s all symbolic and shit.
So who knows what the fuck it means except the guy who wrote it and maybe not him either. A lot of poets were opium addicts or homosexuals, both of which can be prone to absentmindedness. This is also the reason they don’t get to be president. Ok, that’s not true. There are other reasons too. When you call up Gitmo to see how the torture’s going, you don’t want any flowery bullshit, you want facts and figures. Save the iambic pentameter for when you got to explain wars and such.
But me, I don’t write like that. I don’t have any stories, can’t think of any. Not the kind with traditional subjects like people and places, a plot. I could write about a bucket handle, or an ant’s left back leg, or the particular odour of a particular winter afternoon in 1988 (light, clear, a little like soap). And two pages is getting wordy for those sorts of things. How anyone writes a whole novel or play or TV series or progressive rock concept album, I cannot grasp.
If you make it short enough and obscure enough you can call it a poem. I’ve written hundreds of poems, but I don’t get poetry. Can’t read other’s poetry, it’s like hearing someone describe to you their dream. It’s only interesting to them. I read a poem once in university called “Ode To A Grecian Urn”, pretty straightforward, you’d think, obviously the guy had a thing for pottery. But no, turns out it’s not about Grecian urns at all. No, it’s all symbolic and shit.
So who knows what the fuck it means except the guy who wrote it and maybe not him either. A lot of poets were opium addicts or homosexuals, both of which can be prone to absentmindedness. This is also the reason they don’t get to be president. Ok, that’s not true. There are other reasons too. When you call up Gitmo to see how the torture’s going, you don’t want any flowery bullshit, you want facts and figures. Save the iambic pentameter for when you got to explain wars and such.
I wish I was a gangsta rapper
I wish I was a hip-hop star
I wish I was a short sharp jab
That went a bit too far
I would cast my head in gold
I would cast my feet in clay
I would catch me all them sinners
Come round on judgement day
I wish I was a bill collector
High on life and rum
An inter-dimensional corrector
Doer of things un-done
All the world could follow
My antics on TV
Watch me fix the fixers
Balanced on my knee
Until I grew weary
Indistinguishable from insane
Encouraging bacteria
To feed upon my brain
I wish I was a gangsta rapper
In a gold plated car
A super techno DJ
Admired from afar
Friday, May 30, 2008
Not (going to be) Easy Being Green
If the earth was a business, if it were to be managed properly, you’d kill off all the animals that you couldn’t eat, experiment on, or ride for amusement. You’d wipe out the forests and plant food crops. You’d take money spent on weapons and reality TV and use it instead to create ways to regulate the environment. You’d look into mining the moon, cold fusion, nano-construction, that sort of gear.
You do that and things should tick right along. And you’ll have to, eventually.
What else can there be? Eventually we’ll all be standing shoulder to shoulder in a living museum where we can’t touch anything or it might go extinct and with better and better medicine we’ll get to stand there a long time, while more and more of us keep popping up. Something’s got to give. It’s simple physics.
There isn’t room for everything.
Should we do the noble thing and kill ourselves off to save the planet? Mass cullings every century, or generation. Our entire species becoming Jesus? It’s only purpose to constantly sacrifice itself to save the world. Caretakers of a garden, nurturing and aiding the other species and then throwing ourselves into the sea or maybe a volcano. Which ever was handy. Maybe the bodies would have to be shot into space, as burying or burning them would contaminate the garden. Rocket powered Ascension to Eden. Go Jesus Go.
Heavy.
Ah, well that won’t happen for a little while yet. Not my problem. Every age had it’s problems. The Middle Ages had that pesky Black Death, the Thirties had the Depression and the future will have the Jesus thing. My only problem is the price of diesel fuel. Not that bad really. Probably won’t die from it. Now and then there’s a lull I guess.
You do that and things should tick right along. And you’ll have to, eventually.
What else can there be? Eventually we’ll all be standing shoulder to shoulder in a living museum where we can’t touch anything or it might go extinct and with better and better medicine we’ll get to stand there a long time, while more and more of us keep popping up. Something’s got to give. It’s simple physics.
There isn’t room for everything.
Should we do the noble thing and kill ourselves off to save the planet? Mass cullings every century, or generation. Our entire species becoming Jesus? It’s only purpose to constantly sacrifice itself to save the world. Caretakers of a garden, nurturing and aiding the other species and then throwing ourselves into the sea or maybe a volcano. Which ever was handy. Maybe the bodies would have to be shot into space, as burying or burning them would contaminate the garden. Rocket powered Ascension to Eden. Go Jesus Go.
Heavy.
Ah, well that won’t happen for a little while yet. Not my problem. Every age had it’s problems. The Middle Ages had that pesky Black Death, the Thirties had the Depression and the future will have the Jesus thing. My only problem is the price of diesel fuel. Not that bad really. Probably won’t die from it. Now and then there’s a lull I guess.
Monday, May 26, 2008
magma
I dreamed the centre of the earth was accessible to all for a small fee and we went down there one Sunday morning, my sweetie and me. They put you on a sort of fire-proof roller coaster except it doesn’t go up and down, just down. And there’s a bar. Umbrella drinks are popular. They are fire-proof umbrellas for safety.
And we got to sit at the front and my sweetie turned to me and said “we get to sit at the front” and I nodded. I thought it was odd there were windshield wipers, but I’m no geologist. Neither is she. Not anymore.
A man in a blue cap, he also had pants, took our tickets and we were soon under way. When we reached 10 thousand leagues under the surface a pleasing female voice told us to put on our 10 thousand league glasses for safety and to help extinguish our individuality. It says about the glasses right on the ticket so you got to wear them. My dreams are strict. I got arrested once in my dream and couldn’t make bail. I did thirty days. Everyone thought I was in a coma.
After about three hours we pulled into Earth Central which is just what you’d imagine: a vast ball of molten rock and iron, but more commercial. You can’t get out or anything cause of the molten-ness but you are allowed to take non-flash photography. Sweetie took a picture but it just came out red.
And then we climbed the ladder back to the surface which took most of the afternoon, and found our car had been broken into. The portal to the centre of the earth is in a bad area, as you would expect. They took all our change and a Kleenex box full of raw opium we had been saving but I didn’t call the cops. I didn’t need any more trouble from them. I can’t face another coma.
And we got to sit at the front and my sweetie turned to me and said “we get to sit at the front” and I nodded. I thought it was odd there were windshield wipers, but I’m no geologist. Neither is she. Not anymore.
A man in a blue cap, he also had pants, took our tickets and we were soon under way. When we reached 10 thousand leagues under the surface a pleasing female voice told us to put on our 10 thousand league glasses for safety and to help extinguish our individuality. It says about the glasses right on the ticket so you got to wear them. My dreams are strict. I got arrested once in my dream and couldn’t make bail. I did thirty days. Everyone thought I was in a coma.
After about three hours we pulled into Earth Central which is just what you’d imagine: a vast ball of molten rock and iron, but more commercial. You can’t get out or anything cause of the molten-ness but you are allowed to take non-flash photography. Sweetie took a picture but it just came out red.
And then we climbed the ladder back to the surface which took most of the afternoon, and found our car had been broken into. The portal to the centre of the earth is in a bad area, as you would expect. They took all our change and a Kleenex box full of raw opium we had been saving but I didn’t call the cops. I didn’t need any more trouble from them. I can’t face another coma.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Stickening Situation
More in our series of foods I have never eaten:
28) Coal.
Now tonight’s episode. The truck was making a funny ‘worp worp’ sound and I was worried it might be the differential. Turned out to be a stick stuck up in the suspension, rubbing on the inside of the wheel, and I was relieved. The next day the truck developed a melodic ‘fffffffwiiiiiing’ sound, a bit like brakes, and I was again worried about costly repairs. I hate doing brakes. But it was another stick, other side this time, jammed way up there above the back axel and rubbing at the inside of the tire. And I was again relieved at the simple nature of the problem.
Except now I think people are sticking sticks, someone stuck a stick, how are sticks getting up there?
Do I need stick guards? Can you get them this time of year?
I saw a documentary once and these apes, chimps I think, or possibly Frenchmen, were just sort of sitting around and this really mental one with an erection came screeching out of the bush brandishing a big stick and causing a general ruckus.
That’s another way sticks can be a problem.
I used to go around picking up all the sticks on the lawn, but now I just mow them over. It’s not good for the mower but it was made in USA and if it breaks they give you another one free. As long as you’re not a terrorist, the friend of a terrorist or be able to spell terrorist, then there is a small shipping and handling fee.
I tell you one thing, that fucking monkey was a terrorist. Running around like that with his woody and his stick, scaring all the other chimps. Someone could lose an eye. Nobody loves a one eyed chimp. Or Frenchman. Could have been Frenchmen. You know, the more I think about it…
I’m worried the French have found my compound and are taking the sticks off my lawn and jamming them up under my truck, causing it to make odd sounds. Almost like they’re trying to communicate with me.
What can they want? Cheese? I have no cheese. Not much. Shit.
28) Coal.
Now tonight’s episode. The truck was making a funny ‘worp worp’ sound and I was worried it might be the differential. Turned out to be a stick stuck up in the suspension, rubbing on the inside of the wheel, and I was relieved. The next day the truck developed a melodic ‘fffffffwiiiiiing’ sound, a bit like brakes, and I was again worried about costly repairs. I hate doing brakes. But it was another stick, other side this time, jammed way up there above the back axel and rubbing at the inside of the tire. And I was again relieved at the simple nature of the problem.
Except now I think people are sticking sticks, someone stuck a stick, how are sticks getting up there?
Do I need stick guards? Can you get them this time of year?
I saw a documentary once and these apes, chimps I think, or possibly Frenchmen, were just sort of sitting around and this really mental one with an erection came screeching out of the bush brandishing a big stick and causing a general ruckus.
That’s another way sticks can be a problem.
I used to go around picking up all the sticks on the lawn, but now I just mow them over. It’s not good for the mower but it was made in USA and if it breaks they give you another one free. As long as you’re not a terrorist, the friend of a terrorist or be able to spell terrorist, then there is a small shipping and handling fee.
I tell you one thing, that fucking monkey was a terrorist. Running around like that with his woody and his stick, scaring all the other chimps. Someone could lose an eye. Nobody loves a one eyed chimp. Or Frenchman. Could have been Frenchmen. You know, the more I think about it…
I’m worried the French have found my compound and are taking the sticks off my lawn and jamming them up under my truck, causing it to make odd sounds. Almost like they’re trying to communicate with me.
What can they want? Cheese? I have no cheese. Not much. Shit.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
US channeled top secret Burma footage, hogs to self
Hey what’s the deal? I’m watching The News Hour With Jim Lehrer, hosted by a woman who is not Jim Lehrer, and they have a report from Burma which is also Myanmar, and the non-Jim lady warns it may contain ‘images of a disturbing nature’ and suddenly I get a blue screen with the words VIDEO FOR THIS REPORT RESTRICTED while the audio continues to run in the background. SBS, the network airing it here, apparently, found it too disturbing for Aussies.
What the hell was in it, that is ok to air in America but not Australia? Australia where nudity and swearing in the media is common and R-rated films are shown un-cut on TV. Australia where there is an ad depicting two gentlemen playing a piano duet with their erect penises (peni?)...
And then there's America where I’m not sure if they’re allowed to say ‘shit’ yet on network TV, where Janet Jackson’s nipple threatened to bring about the end of days, where people go to the bathroom or washroom but never the toilet. What the hell could be ok for America but not Australia?
And then there's America where I’m not sure if they’re allowed to say ‘shit’ yet on network TV, where Janet Jackson’s nipple threatened to bring about the end of days, where people go to the bathroom or washroom but never the toilet. What the hell could be ok for America but not Australia?
WHAT WAS IT?
I must know. Ok, what are the facts:
1) The only people who don’t want bad pictures coming out of Burma is the government of Burma.
2) Australia is sort of close to Burma geographically, kind of, if you sort of tilt your head.
3) Slugs have two different types of slime – one for clinging to things, and one for traveling.
No. I still can’t work it out.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
give
Every day countless marijuana seedlings die from neglect. Lack of adequate nutrients and life-giving sunlight leave others stunted and spindly. Some, sadly, go to seed.
But there’s good news, it doesn’t have to be this way! That’s right, for only 38 cents per day, less than the cost of a pack of rolling papers, you can sponsor a seedling or clone and know you’re helping a plant that might never have had a chance. A chance to grow and learn and contribute and, eventually, produce some really filthy buds.
For just 38 cents per day, less than the cost of a reasonable doughnut, you’ll be providing your plant the best in liquid nutrients and mineral salts. Your plant will attend daily grow sessions where it will have full access to 800 watts of UV-balanced halogen lighting and the latest in temperature and humidity control. You’ll receive letters and photos from your plant keeping you informed of its progress and of any adventures it may have had. Your plant will address you as Sally if you wish.
And eventually we’ll cut the light back and your little pal will begin to bud. What a proud moment for you both, and you’ll be right there with pictures and crude drawings sent to you by your plant. Once the buds are full and thick, resin-coated and sparkly-like, we’ll pick them and dry them to perfection. Then we’ll smoke them and send you pictures of us smoking them or a short description.
But don’t worry, your 38 cents per day doesn’t stop there. If you loved your plant enough and it was really filthy, then we’ll take a clone of it and grow another! And you can keep sending us money. Only 38 cents per day*
But there’s good news, it doesn’t have to be this way! That’s right, for only 38 cents per day, less than the cost of a pack of rolling papers, you can sponsor a seedling or clone and know you’re helping a plant that might never have had a chance. A chance to grow and learn and contribute and, eventually, produce some really filthy buds.
For just 38 cents per day, less than the cost of a reasonable doughnut, you’ll be providing your plant the best in liquid nutrients and mineral salts. Your plant will attend daily grow sessions where it will have full access to 800 watts of UV-balanced halogen lighting and the latest in temperature and humidity control. You’ll receive letters and photos from your plant keeping you informed of its progress and of any adventures it may have had. Your plant will address you as Sally if you wish.
And eventually we’ll cut the light back and your little pal will begin to bud. What a proud moment for you both, and you’ll be right there with pictures and crude drawings sent to you by your plant. Once the buds are full and thick, resin-coated and sparkly-like, we’ll pick them and dry them to perfection. Then we’ll smoke them and send you pictures of us smoking them or a short description.
But don’t worry, your 38 cents per day doesn’t stop there. If you loved your plant enough and it was really filthy, then we’ll take a clone of it and grow another! And you can keep sending us money. Only 38 cents per day*
*based on $1387.00 ten year membership payable in advance. Void in Utah.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Canbera, City of Buildings
Name a country who’s capital city is not a sea-port or on a large river with access to the sea. London, Paris, Moscow, Washington, all have sea access. Yes, yes there’s Geneva, Lassa and the capitals of a few other land-locked countries where they had no choice, but by and large, and I use that term without fully understanding it (by what? large what?), given the option, most countries have their capital city near the sea or on a major river. Usually this is because those cities traditionally had more trade and hence became larger and it was a logical progression to become the capital.
Australia built it’s capital city specifically to be the capital. Sydney wanted to be boss and Melbourne wanted to be boss so to solve the dispute they built a new city just to spite everybody, and they stuck it in the mountains 300km from the sea, or anywhere else. That’ll show them, they said, whoever they were. The Prime Minister has a residence there of course, nice big sandstone mansion, fully staffed with staff and empty of anyone else. The Prime Minister lives in Sydney. And the rest of the politicians of course live in their electorates so it’s a city of bureaucrats and museums. I believe the bureaucracy museum is located there.
The National War Museum is there and they say it takes three days to see it properly. Aussies like their wars, well not the getting-shot-at parts, just the ra-ra and hip-ho parts. They look good in those hats. Every year, on Anzac Day, thousands of young Aussies travel to Gallipoli, Turkey to honour the Diggers who fought and died in WWI in Australia’s most celebrated battle by getting honourably shit-faced and respectfully littering the site with empty beer cans. Turkey is rather good about it and puts out Porta-Potties for them each year. Australia lost that battle, by the way. It is Australia’s Alamo, except in this case they were the Mexicans and them in the fort won. Also Davey Crocket was called Dazza.
Australia built it’s capital city specifically to be the capital. Sydney wanted to be boss and Melbourne wanted to be boss so to solve the dispute they built a new city just to spite everybody, and they stuck it in the mountains 300km from the sea, or anywhere else. That’ll show them, they said, whoever they were. The Prime Minister has a residence there of course, nice big sandstone mansion, fully staffed with staff and empty of anyone else. The Prime Minister lives in Sydney. And the rest of the politicians of course live in their electorates so it’s a city of bureaucrats and museums. I believe the bureaucracy museum is located there.
The National War Museum is there and they say it takes three days to see it properly. Aussies like their wars, well not the getting-shot-at parts, just the ra-ra and hip-ho parts. They look good in those hats. Every year, on Anzac Day, thousands of young Aussies travel to Gallipoli, Turkey to honour the Diggers who fought and died in WWI in Australia’s most celebrated battle by getting honourably shit-faced and respectfully littering the site with empty beer cans. Turkey is rather good about it and puts out Porta-Potties for them each year. Australia lost that battle, by the way. It is Australia’s Alamo, except in this case they were the Mexicans and them in the fort won. Also Davey Crocket was called Dazza.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
