Army News #334

Here is a photo sent in by my esteemed brother who is doing similar simian work over in Canada. He has been developing a strain of gangbanger chimpanzees. I'm not sure what he's planning to do with them but it's a hip and happening idea.


In Baboon Army news there is still no sign of the escaped X1 who was last seen heading for the big city. There was somebody from the city council going around checking the registered baboon owners in the area and one of them told him about me. Bastards, just because I didn't want join their stupid monkey club. But I got wind of it and dressed up Jack The Dog in Person 4's fake fur hat and coat and tied him up in a tree. A howling dog up a tree sounds remarkably like a baboon with a foot complaint. Anyway I think he bought it. Jack however isn't speaking to me.

Social Slip

Daryl's silent but deadly emission hung in the room like an oppressive green funk. For a moment there was an awkward pause as everyone tried to pretend it wasn't there. Eventually Carl decided it would be best to just carry on normally and not embarrass Daryl, so he went ahead and shot Donny in the face.

Out of the valley of the shadow of death and into a new job.

Back in the factory this week after a year of managing at the other place. Managing entails a lot of walking around listening to people complain about each other, filtering it, and passing it on.

Eg: Big Boss says to me "I noticed Person A was leaning on a cabinet earlier, hasn't he got any work?" I then take this to Person A and say :

SJ: How's it going?

PA: Uh, good. Almost finished.

SJ: Cool.

Because what the fuck else am I going to say? "Hey you've been leaning again haven't you. You are required to stand perpendicular to the floor at all times mister!" I wouldn't be able to keep a straight face, I say. Senior management will try to use middle management to relay instructions they wouldn't dare try and implement themselves. No shit, my boss once wanted me to tell the staff to walk a little more quickly...not run, you understand (he's a right fucking humanitarian), but maybe just a little quicker.

Usually what I'd do is call the staff together, say "Big Boss hasn't got enough to do which means he's poking around. Try to appear diligent, because I, on the otherhand, have a shitload to do and I don't need him coming to me every 5 minutes about you lot". But it didn't really matter because they'd just find some other thing to complain about instead of, I don't know, maybe going out and getting some clients so the boys on the floor actually had something to do.

But for that, and a host of other reasons, I quit that fucker. Went home one Thursday 4 weeks ago and did not return. So now I'm back in a factory, wishing I still had some callous instead of these soft pudding hands, until I get my software training and my new office, tucked away upstairs, where it is quiet and good. Oh yeah and I get more money, which in this case is merely a perk.

Days of Hope and Wonder

Well I hope you are all enjoying your Friday afternoons. Due to convenient placement of the International Date Line it is Saturday morning on the East coast of Australia. The Missus will be ferrying Persons 3 and 4 to soccer and cheerleading and small arms training (the younger one still can't re-assemble an assault rifle in less than 3 minutes) while I am supposed to be finally finishing a dining table I reluctantly agreed to re-finish for a friend almost a year ago. I am not really set up for large scale spray-finishing which means I have to do it outside, when it's dry, not too windy, not too humid, not too cold, not too hot and with no chance of rain for several hours. I once did a beautiful high gloss spray finish on a table when a cloud of tiny flies appeared and settled on the still-wet table and were instantly incorporated into the finish. Had to go along with the point of a compass picking the little buggers out. Anyway it is overcast and cold with a stiff breeze...not really a good day for it...so I'm off the hook.

I was planning to install the software I need to learn on my computer at home to play with over the weekend but the other Planner...I haven't got a name for him yet...was a little uptight about it (I had to get the discs from him). "Do you know much about computers?" he asked warily, "This isn't some slap-in-the-disc install...there are TWO discs."
"Whatever", said I, "I'm going home in a few minutes, it's your call."
He hummed and hawed in some internal struggle with himself, complained about his workload for a while, struggled some more. Finally I agreed to bring my computer in and we'd install it together on Monday. I really really do not want to move my new computer, but I realized this gets me out of factory work next week (I'm helping in the factory a bit to learn the operation and meet the people I'll be drawing for and see how they do things). I don't mind at all, but I'm keen to get into my new office. Also it gives me a chance to work with the other Planner and hopefully get him to relax a little around me. Anyway I'm off the hook there too.

It's a Saturday full of possibilities with no pressing matters. Might go have a nap, might not. You don't know me, you can't tame me. I'm not 40 yet, so I'm not actually required to nap, but I thought I'd practice a bit, learn to sleep sitting up etc. Also I notice the batteries in my mouse are low so I might change them. I'm a madman, you can't stop me. Hey! Cartoons are on!

VCR? I don't need no stinkin' VCR

Not long ago, if you could afford it, you might have a 6 head hi-fi stereo VCR (younger readers note VCR was an ancient format involving magnetic tape and voodoo). And if you wanted to purchase a video like The Best Of The Young Ones you might expect to pay about $50.

Recently I was given a VHS copy of the Young Ones but had no machine to play it on. So I went out and bought a 6 head hi-fi stereo VCR for $50.

You get it? It's ironic. I used to really want a 6 head hi-fi stereo VCR but could not afford one. Now I own one simply as a means to get my copy of The Outlaw Josey Wales (Clint Eastwood as a director is rivaled only by John Ford in the Western genre. Sergio Leone was a hack) into digital form. After that it will reside in Person 3's teenage oasis at the end of the hall where it will record music videos, Spongebob, and every episode of Charmed.

They used to cost $600 and took pride of place in the living room and if they broke you paid a person to fix it. Now if it even jams a tape it will probably be disconected, disused and eventually thrown away. IT'S THE EXACT SAME MACHINE. It was valuble until something better appeared, and the "next big thing" in technology may be here already, but they're not releasing it until they've extracted the last $50 out of this technology first.

Public Service Announcement

Vote Sandra Yay!

vote here for Over Here

or at your nearest poling station.

(if you don't someone will come by and kick over your rubbish bins)

*paid for by the committee to influence the Young Blogger of The Year awards and/or take over Iceland

Day 1

Production Planner: The production planner takes the initial design from the Designer and turns it into proper working drawings which can be used to actually construct the product. Often this involves telling the Designer he or she can't have this or that because it's actually impossible in a three dimensional universe (4 if you count time), then coming up with something just as good for them so they can win an award for the design and feel validated ("See Dad? Designer is too a real job").

The job requires a high degree of accuracy and the Production Planners I know of tend to be a bit tightly wrapped. They are elitists who wish the world to conform to their expectations, and get huffy if ignored for they are Righteous in all ways, brother. They do not understand that the real world seldom works out mathematically...walls are never plumb, floors are never level, buildings move, timber expands and contracts. The planners I've met complain about the way things should be instead of anticipating and allowing for an imperfect world. They have trouble keeping anything simple then get annoyed when they have to explain it.

Well now I'm one of them. But I was told today I was hired precisley because I am not like that. I am a realist and have worked in most of the trades that will be reading the plans. In short I know how the shit is actually made...which is good if you are drawing the plans for said shit.

I met the other Planner today. He makes the guy at my last job look like Jerry Lewis. Apparently they haven't felt the need to fill him in because he was pumping me for information. It was obviously important to him so I played it vague because I didn't know what his reaction would be one way or the other and if the boss hadn't told him anything then I sure wasn't.

Thing is he's going to have to do a lot of work with me to get me up to speed. This ought to be interesting. I've been hired to simplify the plans precisely because he is too complex (and slow), yet he will be showing me "how they do things".

Also I get a 5 day paid trip to Sydney to take a custom (that is, just for me) software course. My last job offered to send me on a course at the local college, then they asked me to pay half, THEN they started taking money from my pay without even clearing it with me. That was the day before I quit, exactly 4 weeks ago today.

Not a funny post and we at SJ apologize and will get back to stoopider shit soon. We also wish exoterica good luck with her many looming prospects in the land of the beautiful and long-legged.

Charlie The Mule

Old Zeke couldn't remember where the claim was. "Goldang it Charlie, where the hell is that claimsite?" But Charlie the mule didn't have an answer for he was bad with directions. Charlie was beginning to regret leaving the petting zoo in the mall on route 7 where children pelted him with carrots and there was warm hay to sleep in. Old Zeke was a sweet talker though and filled Charlie's head with images of the high canyons, and shoot-outs with claim jumpers and snuggling by the fire...He never mentioned hauling heavy saddlebags up and down mountains for days on end in sun and rain, through swarms of flies and thorny brush that scratched his legs. Now Charlie's feet hurt and the old fucker couldn't even remember where the claim site was. He felt a donkey migrain coming on. "Come on Charlie" called Old Zeke, "maybe it's over the next mountain."

The hell with this, thought Charlie. So he kicked Old Zeke to death and made his way back to the petting zoo in the mall on route 7 where he gained minor celebrity status and got his picture in the paper. He later wrote a book about his mountain ordeal which was made into a mini series starring Charlie as himself and Anthony Hopkins as Zeke.

Speaking of demons...

Demongirl

I grabbed this off the space beam last night. Answers a few questions from this post. Apparently demons can possess people for several years. The theory is that they'd rather stay in the person than return to hell. You'd think hell would be just the place for demons but I guess like anyone they just want a better life. Somewhere to raise the terrors, good schools etc.

Silly to pick an Italian girl though. They're all geared up for exorcisms over there. Most people keep a holy water dispenser next to the fire extinguisher. They know Latin and everything. No, would have been better to pick, say, Australia...

"Fuck me dead, mate. Her head's spinning right around"

"Yeah. You get that."

"Whatta we do, mate?"

"Tell her to wait in the car. It's my shout"

*shout - to buy a round of drinks.

What Manner Of...

This is just too fucked up to be fake. Yes, it's Doll Man, the World's Mightiest Mite here to save the day on his rather startled looking dog. A tiny gay man riding a dog. Look at the crook, he can't believe it either. He's got to stop and think about this. Even the redhead looks doubtful and the dog appears to have no confidence in the plan whatsoever. Maybe that's his super-thing...to cause mass perplexion.

The comic appears to be anti-drugs but, man, I don't know how else you could come up with such a concept. No sir, whoever came up with Doll Man was smoking opium and had a raging tiny gay Superman fetish. Notice you never see Doll Man and Ken in the same room? This is because they meet secretly, when Barbie's away at the Malibu Ranch with her 'security consultant' G.I. Joe.

Barbie, Ken, Joe...those Cabbage Patch freaks...they're all sick perverted debaucherous debaucherers, those dolls. And to think we give them to kids.

Tie Your Demons Down Boys

Yet another story from the Sub Continent. This is sourced from The Sydney Morning Herald, who got it from Reuters, so I don't want to hear any more claims I dig down deep for this stuff. Can't swing a virtual cat without hitting a weird story from India.

Today we have a boy who was chained to a tree for nine years. This was because he liked to bite things like cats and dogs and other people. If he couldn't get hold of a cat he'd nibble on his own fingers and toes. Unfortunately the people responsible for the clearly deranged young lad mistakenly diagnosed another case of demon possession instead of a neurological disorder, which is an easy mistake. Not knowing what else to do, the locals chained the boy to said tree and tried to keep out of biting range. Eventually, after nine years, somebody came along and said "Hey lets maybe take him to a hospital" where they claim he'll be right as rhubarb after after a few months of meds. Well, right as rhubarb which has been chained to a tree most of its life. Might be a little lacking in social skills and have a tendency to walk in circles.

*How does word not get out, after nine years, about the chained up biting boy? He's right there, by the tree...surely...never mind.

*What sort of demon possesses someone for nine years, even though they are chained up and completely ineffectual. Did the demon lose a bet? Why didn't it pretend to go away so they'd un-chain him? Stupid demon.

*What were they planning to do when he was grown up? Get a bigger chain? I mean it's a work-around solution at best.

You'd think a society so lousy with demons would have procedures in place.

Sighting

Crikey! I forgot all about baboon X-1. This was on the morning news. They have 4 seconds of video shot by a highway patrolman yesterday afternoon. Luckily X-1 ran off into the bush instead of attacking. Scary thing is the cop says he was doing close to 60mph at the time. Tarronga Zoo in Sydney is reporting all it's baboons accounted for, and they're pretty sure they don't have any laser ones anyway, so the authorities are checking the mental homes to see if any particularly hairy inmates have escaped this week. Shit, it won't be long before they check the list of local baboon/mental patient owners and come to see if I still have mine...

Still, 60mph...that's pretty good!

Bonding Moment

Grandfather was very pleased to see Ling Huan. "Grandaughter!", he cried, "were you asleep? I thought you had died! Look, I have made you a tiny coff...little boat. Ha ha funny shaped little boat. Do not tell your mother."

Rrrrr?

It's long been known women communicate in a complex sub-language which is impenetrable to human males and most dogs. Neither of my dogs understand a word my wife says, although I get most of it. The dogs understand me ok- sit, stay, did you do that? - but for the Missus they just smile and nod, suspecting her to be insane but wishing to be polite. If this doesn't work they might try a few tricks, hoping to stumble across whatever the hell it is she wants. This is because dogs are like men in that they have no idea what women are saying yet it's in their interest to appear that they do. And for both it's a time of great stress...for if you get it wrong there'll be no bone tonight.

Baboon X-1

A thoughtful reader in Ethiopia sent me a baboon for clinical trials (a free T-shirt is on the way!) and here you can see where we are up to. Using parts from an old DVD player I managed to give this one a laser beam eye thing which is kinda cool, but he also plays most popular audio and video formats. The little bugger tried to bite off my finger but I managed to hit EJECT in time and...oh shit he's escaped!.....wait there!...

...Damn it. I didn't put a laser-proof lock on the cage. I meant to, but you know I just totally forgot. The bloody dogs chased it up a tree, then it was on the roof...man he was pissed off...he jumped on the back of a passing chicken truck, there was a terrible squawking and last I saw he disappeared down the road in a cloud of feathers.

Oh well she'll be right, as they say. He's only got enough battery power for two or three more laser shots...after that he'll be helpless against the kangaroos. Unless he makes it to town...

Ask Joe

I got an email recently from a young reader who asks

"Dear SkookumJoe, I've been seeing a girl for six months and I think she's really special. How do I know when I'm in love?" - Tommy Andrews*, 14 .

Well that's a tough one Tom but I think you'll find she'll let you know. You just persevere, try to stay on top of things and eventually she'll pat you on your pimply white ass and say "You're in, luv, you're in."

No, no Tommy that's just a joke I stole. Honestly I don't know. Make out with her mother, see how you feel then. Sort of a preview of the future. Hell, make out with her father just to rule it out. How the fuck should I know. You really are a pimply-assed git.

*His real name is Gary.

Jack Shit

You ever have to jack up your house? Me either until yesterday, and not the whole thing just the part under the fridge. See it's a well built house, hardwood framed even, but that's just it. It's old enough they could still build from hardwood but fridges back then didn't weigh 400 pounds. So although the beams and joists are sound and stout, the fridge happens to sit perfectly centered between supports. I've been watching it sink for about a year. At first I hoped it was my imagination - trick of the light I said -, then I just pretended it was. But like a kitchen-centered black hole, dropped objects invariably began to roll toward the fridge and that crack in the plaster was getting undeniably bigger. I pictured getting up one morning to find only the top third of the fridge sticking through the floor. I considered suspending the fridge from the ceiling but decided no, better get under there with the jack.

Ok, so the plan is to get directly under the fridge, jack up the floor and drive wedges between the floor and bearers. Hydraulic car jack, stout post up to the floor, and we begin to jack. The jack is rated to lift 8 tons. There was some creaking as the jack began to take the load, the 30 year old timbers groaning like old...timbers and that's ok. A little more its ok a little more BANG and cripes that was just a glue joint popping and that's ok and a little more and man it's getting hard to BANGBANG crikey pump this jack and what's it rated to again KEEE-RACK. Shit. Stop. Let's... just... stop... one second.

The stout post used to transfer pressure from the jack up to the floor was vibrating from the strain. It was fair humming. A large crack ran it's length and that's a bad, bad thing and I'm a little afraid this vibrating-with-sheer-internal-tension hunk of wood is going to explode. Also bad. Pictures of me found, eventually, under the house with a large splinter of Tasmanian Oak through my eye...scuffs in the dirt where I struggled blindly for a few moments, more like spasms really. Anyway I decided I better let the jack down again. I ain't dumb.

Another go with an even stouter post and a little coaxing with a pry-bar and I was able to lift the floor about 12mm or half an inch which doesn't seem like much but it makes a big difference. The floor is now more or less level, the fridge is standing proud, and rolling objects are once again free to follow the natural laws of inertia and gravity. Just doing my little bit for the universe.

The Big News

...so I went home and told the Missus. They offered me the job of Production Planner which means I draw the CAD plans for use in production. Unfortunately I don't yet have a start date or exact wage nailed down but I should know in a day or two.

Fun With Bureaucracy

Voting is mandatory in Australia. If you do not vote in an election you must fill out a form explaining why or pay $130 fine. Nowhere is there a provision for "voting by not voting", if you spoil your ballot it automatically counts toward the encumbant party. In the last election a friend of mine failed to vote and was sent the form asking him to explain why, or face fine. I told him to write that he was an alcoholic and was on a 3-day drinking binge during the election and when he sobered up, found he had missed it. This is what he wrote and as far as I know he never heard anything further.

It is census time in Australia and it fell to the unemployed member of the house to fill out the form (this one is $100/day fine for not filling out the census). As I was neatly writing in black or blue pen, filling each box in turn with capital letters, crossing out mistakes with a horizontal slash (not diagonal) as per the lengthy instructions, I began to wonder just how closely they read these things...

Does anyone in the household require help speaking or communicating?

YES: Person 4 uses made-up words, and must be beaten regularly.

Does anyone in the household require help, or someone to be with them, for bodily movements?

YES: Although Person 3 has no trouble with bodily movements, they are quite stinky and, frankly, we're a little worried.

Does anyone in the household require assistance getting in or out of bed?

YES: Person 3 again. Won't get out of bed until at least 10am on weekends.

Religion?

OTHER: Buddhism 2.0, the Buddha's back and he's not smiling.

Highest level of schooling/training completed?

Level 2 Beginner's Swimming - wouldn't open eyes under water, but gave it to me anyway when I started crying.

For each female, how many babies has she ever given birth to?

Pretty sure it's just the two...why what have you heard?

Metaphor Troubles

I saw an interview snippet from some boxing coach. Old guy, gravelly voice, wool cap...your standard boxing trainer. When asked how one reaches the top of the boxing profession he said "You have to climb the mountain, so to speak, and after you reach the top you have to keep on climbing..." Boxing is much more difficult than I imagined.

I saw an interview snippet from some mountain climber. Young guy, all sinew and chalk dust...your standard mountain climber. When asked how one reaches the top of the mountain climbing profession he said "You have to get in the ring and keep on punching, so to speak, and after you knock out the opponent you have to kick him in the head and tip over his water bucket." Mountain climbers spend a lot of time in the sun.

Phone Calls and 42 Digit Numbers

Well sports fans, it's a hell of a sunny day after a week of rain and I'm stuck here waiting for a phone call. I remind myself the interview went well, lasted 3 hours with joking and laughing and many positive things said about myself. I also remind myself that I have a history of stuffing things up without realizing it until later. But I know this guy, used to work with him at another company and I actually had a job with him last year that I turned down to stay where I was. It's been a week with no word. So you think if it was "no", they'd just call. They did say something about having to decide where I would best fit in...but does that take a week? I don't really want to go applying anywhere else until I hear from these guys but time grows short. The phone does ring. Every half hour. The Missus wondering if I've heard.

Luckily I have other things to do. Good old Windows. I re-installed my network adapter and it was enough of a change that XP thought it had been kidnapped and placed in another computer...it started doing a Singing Sword thing (jack and the beanstock). Bill Gates appeared over my house in a black helicopter and shouted down through a bullhorn that I better re-activate Windows in Three (3) days or Israel would bomb me...or Mel Gibson. The computer then commenced to display a pop-up every 5 seconds telling me I had Three (3) days left to activate and do I want to activate do I do I do I?

So I called them up, entered a 42 digit number, waited, was told I needed to re-activate (yes, that's why I called), and transferred to a very nice woman who spoke little English. She was able to give me a new code, but not explain why the hell I will have to do this anytime I muck with drivers or network configurations. What if next time they won't give me a new code? But alas she was only able to recite from the card. I'm only saying it seems reasonable to have service representatives be able to converse in the language for the region to which they are assigned. Then again, maybe her English was fine... I was probably the 50th person to call that morning with the same problem. Either way, she didn't want to know about it.

Phone's ringing...

.

.

*update 1 hour later: Not a Singing Sword in Jack and the Beanstalk, it was a Harp... "Jack soon made up his mind, got out of the copper, and seized the harp, which, however, being enchanted by a fairy, called out loudly, "Master, master!"

...still no word.

Flying roofs, elected drug dealers, children's literature, Mel Gibson, classical democracy, hitch-hiking in wet underwear and office girls eating out.

Instead of a lawn it has a beach. Ok, here we go...

Bit of a storm down in Sydney. The wind picked up someone’s roof, placed it in the neighbor’s back yard, changed it’s mind and put it up on another neighbor’s roof. Sydney is Australia’s largest city at about 4 million but it is not the capital. The capital is Canberra, where the government lives. Except the prime minister, John Howard, who lives in Sydney and hops a tax-payer funded jet to get to work. I used to hitch-hike to work when I didn’t have a car. That was fun, you got home from work somewhere between 4pm and 7pm, depending where you got dropped off. One rainy day I walked 3 hours and when I got home my underwear was soaked. Of course this was back in Canada, so it’s not really relevant to Howard’s wasteful ways but, you know one government’s about the same as another. Well the Australian system is slightly different to other democracies in that once the leader is elected he turns into that fucking caterpillar in Alice Through The Looking Glass that gives out the big/small potions. A drug dealer, but not a nice one you know? One with an agenda. Plato said the leader should be the one who least wants the job because he has no agenda (except quitting presumably). The government meets in the House of Parliament, which does not at all resemble Thunderdome, in that it has a flag and some benches out front. You never saw office girls eating their lunches on the lawn in front of Thunderdome did you? Tina Turner has never even been there, although Mel Gibson was caught there, spraying graffiti on the statue of Captain Cook and shouting the British were responsible for all the fish and chips, or some shit. It was hard to tell, he was so pissed. He lost the next election and moved to Malibu, last I heard. (phew)

Ok summing up:

Flying better than walking.
Except when it’s a roof.
Office girls won’t sit just anywhere.
Plato tended to over-simplify.
Mel has to move again.
Drug dealers not always your friend.

Lullaby

What's the matter, can't sleep? It's 3:20am and you're still staring at the net, bleary eyed and with nothing better to do than read this blog you found after endless clicking on the 'next blog' button. Well you're in luck! Here's a little secret for getting to sleep that I'll share with you.

First take five or six hits of good blotter acid (if you don't have any LSD, burn some plastic in a bucket, stick your head in and inhale) and place a wooden chair in the shower. Then, when you are good and peaking, take off all your clothes and sit under a scalding shower, shrieking uncontrollably and berating yourself for past mistakes until the water runs cold. Sit under the cold water for about an hour or so, mourning the bright-eyed child you once were and weeping at the ugly monster you've become (hit yourself about the head if you like). Keep this up for an hour then jammies on, 1/2 a cup of warm milk, and pop yourself into bed for a lovely and hard earned sleep.

You'll wake up, eventually, rested and ready for the day. Or perhaps the day after that. Anyway, nighty-night.

Scowler Monkeys Attack!

Oh dear, more trouble in India. This time it's monkeys on the train, scowling at people. I suppose this is what my mother meant by "cheeky monkey" when I used to pull faces at her.

No fear though, they've put a "langur handler" on the job. Langurs are a different type of monkey that, apparently, hate scowling monkeys. Here is a photo I found.

This one appears pretty laid back, but maybe he's resting after already ripping the scowls off multiple monkeys. There is a saying in India for little kids "Don't make that face, or the Langur will come and rip it off and eat it." Well there could be a saying like that. There would be if I lived there. Damn straight.

Regarding the langur handler

"he will be called whenever there is a monkey problem", Anuj
Dayal, the spokesman for the Delhi Metro Rail Corp, was quoted as saying...."There are too many monkeys."

Too many monkeys indeed. Unfortunately most of the scowling monkeys on my train are paying passengers.

Never Turn Your Back

I had a summer job once, working in the bush. We met at the sawmill at 4am and piled into a van for the hour long trip into the bush. We had to start early because of forest fire risk, we had to be out by 1pm and the heat of the day. Because of the early start, we often had a few hung-over souls who would claim the very back of the van where they could sleep on top of the equiptment on the ride into the bush. We'd be on site by 5am, have a quick coffee and head off into the bush with our saws to thin out seedlings growing too close together.

We'd drift back to the van around 8am for morning coffee and back again at about 11am for lunch and to sharpen our blades. One morning we all came back except Daryl, who had showed up looking a bit green. We couldn't hear his saw running and the foreman figured he had crawled under a log and gone to sleep. By lunchtime we still hadn't seen him and were discussing going to look for him, when he finally wandered down to the van, grabbed his water jug and drank mightily.

"Where the hell have you been?" said the foreman

"Working" said Daryl without looking up.

"The fuck you have. You been sleeping up there."

Daryl looked up, walked over to the foreman. He was about a foot shorter than the boss, but he came from a family of seven brothers renowned for fighting and general mayhem. He was the youngest and was used to being picked on. He stood toe to toe with old Ronnie Mac, looked him up and down, spat twice and said "Fuck you. I was working and I lost track of time. You got that Mr. Foreskin?" He stared the foreman down and we were all starting to think maybe it was true, maybe Daryl was being unjustly accused and I was starting to think "way to go Daryl, you tell him".

Daryl, knowing to quit while ahead, turned with purpose and strode back to the van in triumph, his head held high... his back covered in leaves and twigs. Damn! I always go for the underdog, but this dog wasn't even smart enough to brush itself off.

Magical Mystery Stick

Do you have a rubbish/garbage tip/dump in your town? Does it have a grubby little shop where they flog off the good stuff they scavenge? I like poking around in there every few months or so, when I have a load to go to the dump. I was there on Saturday and found a hockey stick. A proper Koho brand stick that had obviously been owned by someone who played as it was professionally taped along the handle for grip. It was a bit scratched up but otherwise fine and I wondered why the owner got rid of it. The nearest ice rink is 6 hours away, that might have had something to do with it. But still, that stick had been well used and cared for and I can't imagine someone would just chuck it unless...

1994: Vancouver loses the Stanley cup in overtime of game 7, sparking a riot. A despondent Pavel Bure wanders out of GM Place, un-noticed in the confusion and rubber-bulleting, and cries "Gino*, why do you forsake me Gino" and hurls his hockey stick into the sea. The stick floated away but washed up later about 50 feet away. Luckily a drunk teenager walking the beach found it and practiced slap-shooting oysters into the sea until he lost his grip and back it went into the sea. Eventually it washed up in England where it was accused of stealing a sheep and sent to Australia.

This explains how the stick got here and re-enforces the theory Pavel Bure is a sniveling little debutante, so it's probably true. Also it's a right handed stick and Pavel Bure is, in fact, right handed. It's almost eerie.

*Gino Odjeck, long time Canucks goon and Pavels biggest and bestest buddy in the whole wide world was traded to somebody or other, leaving Pavel defenseless to locker room hi-jinks like tying knots in his laces or punching him in the head when he wasn't looking.