Week Three Part 2 Debra the Dobber

Debra did the unthinkable 2 weeks ago – she actually got a proper boyfriend. He is a guy who works in our Despatch section. He is kind of a friend of mine.
All week, Debra has walked around the office like she is the only person who has ever been in a relationship. This poor sap’s name is Hugh. I hear her on the phone to Tippy, saying “Oh Tips – Hugh took me to Sizzler last night. We ate heaps. Hugh got sick afterwards but that didn’t stop us from (insert smutty giggling here)”
Yuk.
Last Friday night, it was Hugh’s birthday. Debra had organised a dinner at a Chinese restaurant near the office. She sent out invites and then diligently chased up the RSVPs. It was organised with the precision of a Royal Wedding. The only reason we were going was cause it was an excuse to have a drink.
And to laugh at Debra and Hugh. I had been doing jaw exercises all day at my desk so it wouldn’t get tired from all the guffawing that would ensue.

So last Friday (the big day) we were reminded throughout the day via email of when to assemble at the restaurant, and the dinner ordering protocols once there. Hugh’s desk had been decorated with love-heart balloons. On his desk still sits a small teddy bear which says on a hear shaped patch on it’s chest “I wuv u”. Everytime I walk past it, it makes me nauseous – not so much because of what it says, but more because I know who it’s from.
So back to the dinner last Friday.
More planning had gone into this dinner than the US Invasion of Iraq. Debra is a like a sponge – she manages to soak up all the fun out of any event until it is just a dry boring yawn-fest.
At the restaurant – The “Golden Showers” Chinese Restaurant or something like that, Hugh was sitting between Debra and Tippy. (Yes Tippy was there – she was everywhere)
Suddenly, the food arrived – or so we thought. Food was placed in front of Debra and Tippy – only.
We watched as they started to eat wondering why food was coming out when no one had yet ordered. Someone eventually asked – “what’s going on?” Debra looked up whilst inhaling her pasta and said “Oh Tippy and I have to leave soon so we organised for our dinner to arrive early.”
“What?” I asked.
Debra looked at me, with Marinara sauce on her chin, “Tippy and I have plans.”
“Plans? What do you call this?”
“We are going dancing and want to get their early before they put the cover charge on.”
The table was speechless. “But what about your boyfriend’s birthday?”
“Oh Hugh doesn’t mind.”
I think she was right. High didn’t seem to give a fuck if she was there or not. The sex must have been great for him to put up with her.
20 minutes later, Tippy and Debra left.
The night actually got better once they left.
Yesterday I went around to Hugh’s desk – the bear was gone.
Where’s the bear?”
“She’s got it”, he snarled. I don’t move so he added, “She said we should share it on each other’s desk because she can look at it and think of how much I love her.
“Well do you?” I ask
“Fuck off.” He replies. As I walk away I notice small pieces of burst love heart balloon sitting on top of his computer monitor.
How appropriate.

Week 3, Part one. Debra the Dobber

Time to introduce you to Debra, peeps. Does every office has a Debra. Every office I have ever worked in does. I call her Debra the Dobber. No life. Collects royal spoons and other assorted memoribilia. Lives for work, double checks everything you do. Control Freak. HR has a massive file of her complaints. The only major problem is that Debra has where I work is that there is no one to dob to. 84 doesn’t care. Not one iota.
Debra is one of those people who thinks she is sexy/hot and everyone wants to sleep with her. She intimates that she has had affairs with at least 4 guys in the office, however I know for a fact that 3 of them would sooner go out on a date with their Mum than her. The 4th guy left 3 mths ago after getting the receptionist pregnant (she was married at the time). So perhaps he did throw a leg over.

Debra is a pretend friend – she sidles up to me at work – pretends to be my friend, asks about my weekend etc but it is only so I can create a platform for her to launch into a story about what she got up to. It doesn’t worry me that I don’t get to give her a play-by-play account of my weekend, cause my life outside of the office is my own business and I have learnt that if you tell her something – even with only skeletal info, she will flesh it out with her own fantastical details.
And then tell the whole office her version.
She has been warned by HR about gossip and defamatory remarks about co-workers but still she is here. No one actually knows what she does here either. She has a job function I am sure, but she does anything but work – generally on the phone with her best friend “Tippy” Yes that’s her name.
I believe she may be on medication for some type of psychological disorder.
And if she is not, she should be.
Perhaps 84 and she have a thing going and she protected. Maybe she is one of the 80-odd woman that octopus has slept with. Maybe Tippy too.
That’s sick.

Ray - Part Two

The company we all work for is one involved in international trade, therefore we often speak to customers from other exotic lands, for whom English was a secondary skill.
When Ray takes these calls he mimics their halting style of speaking English, via his own style of broken bogan-English.
As thus:
“You need to be bringing your documents into office and we will put stamp on for you so you get your goods.”
Whilst doing this, he would use hand gestures to further make it clear what he was talking about. For the term “office” he signals by making a box shape in the air with his arms. Video phones are yet to be common place but Ray is practicing.
He also speaks to them in a loud voice as well – like he is conducting an annunciation class via telephone. I said to him only recently, “hey Ray they may not be able to speak fluent English but they’re not deaf!”

He is also trying to sell a car – and ends his some of his sales enquiries with “Hey – are you interested in a 1974 Holden Premier? No? Why, what are you driving now?”

84 sits in his fishbowl office avoiding both work and responsibility by either trying to hook 2 paper clips together using only his tongue or surfing the net; looking for a wife from Myanmar. (someone once told him “Myanmese women go off in the sack.”)

When you ask him why he is looking online with women from Asia and he answers with, “I like to make my bedroom a multicultural melting pot”, punctuated with a wink.
Before I can turn to leave he adds, “I need someone to be the wooden spoon that stirs the pot, if you’re interested.”
As I walk away, it is the second time that week that I’ve had to catch rising vomit in the back of my throat.
Usually by this time of the week it is up to 8 or 9 so I’m having a good week.

Amber Alert - Week Two RAY

When you watch a movie or read a story and the character starts by saying “It was a day like every other” – you just know some freaky shit is about to go down.

Anyway – it was a day like no other as I threw my bag under my desk on some random Thursday. Thursdays were good. They were the ante-room to the weekend. Hey I like that – ante-room to the weekend. don’t steal it.

A new guy is starting today so 84 announces.
A little later in waddles 84 – introducing the new guy. Ray
My feigned interest ends the second he is taken to someone else’s desk. One of the guys in the department befriended him straight away. They were hitting it off like a couple of “gaytes” (2 guys who become such good mates that people actually think they are a couple ie: gay) So they make plans to go to lunch. I was expecting them walk out arm in arm.

An hour later and I am always reading one of my 20 chosen websites where people emailed their weight/eye colour/pants size and in return received a reading of their future for the next 3 months. I think I saw the same thing on TV – you get the same thing on your mobile when you text the word “GULLIBLE” to some 1900 number.

Suddenly in walk the gaytes – but what the fuck. The new guy – Ray’s shirt is all ripped. Like he had been on a jumping castle with a lion. It was tattered. His chest was showing – not good. I choked back some vomit.
We all ask what happened.
“Yeah I got into a fight man” he said with a dopey grin.
”Some bloke was yelling at his missus in the street and I retorted with ‘shut-up’ – he told me to fuck off and I said “suck this” as Ray mimicked the event by grabbed his crotch. How this guy isn’t working at NASA has continued to amaze me.
Apparently the man had taken him up on his offer – he came over and they went for it in the middle of the CBD. Ray was now grinning like someone who’d just got a new stapler.
So first day at work, the new guy Ray – has managed to get into a fight in the street and now had to go home early due to the half-shirt issue.
Now 84 could have shown some uncharacteristic managerial qualities and there thanked Ray for his time and walked him off the premises for good, but no, he laughs like an idiot upon hearing the story and says “see you tomorrow bro”. Ray replied, “yeah choice bro- thanks.” No he wasn’t from NZ – he was just a bogan.
Bro? are we in south east LA now cruising for “Ho’s”?
That was a year ago and since that time, Ray has continued to enrich our lives with the following:
The time he joked about gang-raping a female colleague – to her face
The time he asked a guy standing by his desk “what’s your problem mate?” who turned out to be our global CEO.
The time he once ended a phone call in the office with the words “Yeah go fuck yourself you fucking slut!!” and when asked who he was talking to replied “me mum”.

I’m now sending an email to NASA as we speak – not to have trained as an astronaut, but perhaps as a man-chimp that they can use to test what happens when you pack a living creature into a rocket and shoot it at the sun.
Ray would think that was choice.

Amber Alert Week One Part Two

I want to talk about my mediocrity. I can’t be the only one out there who does this? Am I? Sometimes when people ask me what I do and I don’t want to tell them my true title, I tell them I am a professional surfer. I am on facebook, myspace, twitter, I have 20 sites I hit every day without fail. Nowadays I actually get antsy if I don’t hit those sites. They are mostly blogs, news sites, failblog, that sort of thing.

But the question I have been asking myself lately is how many hours can you surf at work before total and utter inane boredom hits you like a truck in your face? I know some of you are thinking why don’t I just shut up and find a new job. The honest answer to that is that I am lazy. The money is good and the hours are flexible. Sometimes I do wonder if those two payoffs are worth the pain, but for now it does suit me.

Anyway there are a few things I have learnt to do to keep sane. OK there is really one one and I have aptly called it The first is pushing of the boundaries.

You would have gathered from my last post I have worked here for 2 years. Well two months ago, I stopped wearing corporate clothes. No more skirts or work slacks, no more laddered stockings, no more dresses. One day I just fronted up for an entire week wearing jeans. And no one noticed. So now I just wear jeans, cargo pants and on Friday I wear trackie pants. I look really good in trackies, trust me,. I wish someone would comment but no one seems to care. What a waste of money spent on corporate clothes
The other thing I like to do is type all emails in point form. For example:


• Dear Ray
• I need your assistance with the ratio file.
• Please come see me when you have 2 hours
• Thanks
• Amber

Annoying ain’t it!

Introducing the Amber Alert

Hi Bloggers. My name is Amber. The Bloggerator and Grey handed me the keys to the kingdom as they have nothing of interest to say. So I am taking over a few weeks.

Let me introduce myself.

Well I already did. Name is Amber and this is my blog about my workplace and my job, which has to be one of the most pointless careers in the history of the world.

Obviously I cannot disclose my work place but I can tell you my real title. It is Customer Unit National Taskforce Assistant. My friends can see the hilarity in that acronym even if I don’t.

It makes for many a good joke which has grown very very old over the last 2 years. Here comes Amber, she is a ****. You can tell why the bloggerator thinks I have such good material for a blog, can't you? Sadly it is true!

Another thing you need to know about me is that I am a very mediocre employee in a mediocre department in a mediocre company. I even suggested this as the company slogan in one of the corporate buzzwords meeting where everyone tries and make a mission statement to define your company. But that’s besides the point, lets just begin.

My team, the sexy six (trust me no one is sexy, apart from myself of course)are the appropriately acronymed taskforce and as we progress I will introduce you to each of these blissfully bizarre individuals.

But let’s start from the top down for I need to introduce you to my boss, who for the purposes of anonyminity we will call 84.

84 is one of the most spontaneously stupid and unmotivated bosses ever, honestly he makes mediocrity look splendid. I swear he must be the character Ricky Gervais in The Office based his own character upon. Although once I asked 84 this exact question and he had no idea what I was talking about. In fact his reply was The Office, babeee, You know I don’t watch that shit! At home its just me, my hand and the foxtel porn channel.

As you can tell he is a total ass and a lecherous sleaze. In my second year he sidled up to me at a corporate function and enamored by the free drinks said, and I quote “I have slept with 83 women and I want to make you 84.” Told you he is a prize arse, he totally deserves his moniker.

For the record I none too politely declined his offer.

How to Get DoCS to Apologise

For the first time ever in the history of the Department of Community Services, there has been an apology given to a parent for the mistreatment of a child whilst in DoCS appointed foster care.
18 months ago a parent complained to DOCS, claiming his son was being groomed whilst in foster care. The child was reported to be sleeping in the same room as the carer, a fairly strong claim it would seem to most. But not to DOCS, for as per usual, nothing happened.

18 Months later the child reported being raped by the foster carer and Dee Why Police started investigations.

Once again the failings of DOCS is strongly illustrated in this sad case where the ramifications of this event for the child are harsh and lifelong.

Linda Mason met with the father yesterday and

"

he was assured there had been a change in procedures to prevent another child suffering like his son. "


The bloggerator would love to know what those changes in procedures are and requests DOCS to release them to the public.

Bloggerator's Custom Dictionary

You know; and I hate to say it, but The Bloggerator and I are probably the two most intelligent people each of us knows. Sure we don’t get out much but we have a lively online collection of much-loved acquaintances.
With 2 super brains like us, we have found that quite often the English language fails our superior intellect – there is often not the right words to describe the majesty of our minds and to crystalise the brilliance of our thoughts. We are like an orchestra whose only instrument is the kazoo – sure they can belt out a tune with it, but is it really illustrating the true depth of their talent?

In a frenzy of desperation borne out of inflated self-adulation, the Bloggerator and I have created our own words. We may be brilliant, vibrant, truculent, succulent and sexy, but we are not selfish, therefore below is a dictionary we have compiled with brief meanings. Please feel free to use in general conversation with friends, family, loved ones, despised ones, casual acquaintances, chance encounters, hangers-on etc etc.

Inarious – Someone who is trying to be smarter than they really are. Faking intelligence.

Fesellition – the act of being contradictory to the point where you are displaying the very qualities you are criticizing another for

Travasects – Travels into; similar to transcends but in a more direct/”violent” way. Eg: a fist smashing through a block of cheese.

Grotonosious – Slovenly beast-like behavior. Someone who is acting without manners, grace, or simple respect for human decency

Monoamoebic – Someone who displays sub-amoebic type qualities. A simplistic moron

Liquitatious – To manipulate words and ideas to take on new meanings. The act of turning a solid idea, phrase, meaning or word into a more liquid form that can be then modified to suit any context.

Omporious - Someone who is up themselves and makes no secret of the fact that they believe themselves to be better than anyone else in whatever room they are standing.

Splendorific – When something terrific is described as also being splendid.

Non-gasterical – opposite of gasterical

Lapracious – To act with great cunning and intrigue.

Gasterical – opposite of non-gasterical

Tardalicious – when something is not delicious at first however the flavour arrives later - long after swallowing – in a late or tardy fashion. A delayed reaction if you will.

Devirtuous – Dressing to look more stylish than one really is. Style fraud – eg: wearing a bike chain to the Theatre and pretending it is industrial-chic inspired chunky jewellery.

Unerisious – To act without malice or care. A person who is described unerisious is someone with no regard for anything or anyone.

Bracsical – Describes a boisterous cacophony of sound. Such as the crescendo of a great orchestral piece.

Chappilulian – A short man who is always happy for no apparent reason. Police will often write on official reports after arresting a suspect high on drugs as being “chappilulian in nature.”

Ratsulent - Sneaky and conniving behaviour – not clever as in cunning but mean-spirited in order to fulfil what is usually a selfish desire.

Trumplacency – Someone who is considered a dullard/village idiot/severely-delayed/special-needs by the community at large, yet who is blissfully unaware of this external opinion of them is said to be living in a state of trumplacency

Dipsiperous – A smart or thrifty decision which will lead to great good fortune for whom has made it. Often used to describe a canny or clever purchase.

Quatsh – A small half-pig, half-unicorn creature which the Bloggerator once claimed to have seen when walking home from the Bunker Christmas drinks last year.

The words are worthy additions to the English language and we invite you to circulate them, use them daily, and teach them to your children or your mental inferiors. These are our gift to you. Use the wisely and they shall serve you well.
Giving – it’s what we do.

Grey Musker

Matthew Johns Controversy

Once upon a time a long long time ago, Matthew Johns - Australian NRL star - participated in consensual group sex with 5 of his Cronulla Sharks team mates in NZ. At the time the "victim" was 19 and even she calls the incident consensual.

Suddenly despite many years having passed, this incident is now BIG news splashed on the front pages of all NSW newspapers and is fast becoming media fodder.

In slamming this particular case, the bloggerator is not referring to any other incidents where cashed up NRL players are reported to partake in alcohol fuelled violence and occasional rape. Obviously this behaviour is unacceptable and in no way do I refer to these incidents. Perhaps there is a culture in the NRL where young kids who have become supersportsstars overnight have too much money, too much testosterone and party too hard. As a result incidents which are unacceptable have, do and will occur.

But, there is also the other side of the coin where starletwannabes wishing to bask in the reflected glow of their idols will attempt to seduce and sleep with these young boys.
I believe there are incidents when she has changed her mind and a rape has occurred. This is unacceptable. I am not trying to say it is OK to rape a woman. What I am trying to say is that there are occasions a young girl does wish to cash in on her shortlived affair and how does she do this? By crying rape? By saying how much of a victim she felt?

I personally am a little sick of seeing this girl as being referred to as a victim.

Your Medical Records - No Longer Secret.

The Federal Government – our Federal Government – the one we so euphorically voted in to power 18mths ago after apparently living under 11 years of authoritarian rule with Howard where everybody had a job, continues to change (i.e. intrude) our lives like no government has done before – see the Internet Censorship debate for example.

However like a crappy kid’s party magician they seek to take away your freedoms with one hand whilst distracting you with shiny cash payments with the other. No wonder Kevin Rudd enjoys a popularity rating between 70-80%. Like most nerds, the only way he can make friends is to buy them.

Here is the latest. The Federal Government – your Federal Government is trying to pass legislation that will compel doctors to hand over confidential patient information to Government auditors to prove appropriate Medicare billing. This means that doctors can no longer guarantee the privacy of any consultation. If you do a check on the MS Word thesaurus for synonyms for “compel”, this is what it returns: Force, require, coerce, oblige, make. Words we don’t usually see associated with Democratic governments.

So some accountant who is undertaking an audit will now be able to see what you are being treated for by your doctor to ensure that the Medicare system is working properly.

Doctors are threatening to go to jail before they will break a 2400 yr old oath that has been in place between doctors and their patients. Just think about that for a second. The relationship you have with your doctor – where you can go and discuss any health issues – is one of the most trusting in our society. People discuss issues with their doctor they wouldn’t discuss with their spouses.
Now imagine that you go to the doctor to discuss some personal health issue and sitting in a chair in the surgery is one of Kevin’s little auditors, making notes about you and your condition and what medication will be prescribed. That is what it will be like.

And then what do you think happens with that information? That is destroyed? Or that it is added to some database in Canberra which now has a record that Grey Musker visited the doctor on the 10th May for whatever reason – information that was once privy to you, your doctor and a select group of the doctor’s admin personnel – information that was protected by law – as per the following act:

Under subsection 8P(3) of the Medicare Australia Act 1973 the CEO of Medicare Australia cannot: (a) require information to be given about the contents of a part of a record that is a part containing clinical details relating to a patient; or (b) require production of a part of a record that contains such clinical details..

Now it will be out there. On a government database. Accessible by who in the government?

Check out this website for more info. http://www.ama.com.au/medicareprivacy

Perhaps as you spend your $900 think about what Kevin wants in return. Maybe I’m being alarmist but I preferred the days when I could look at what I wanted to on the Internet and not have the Federal Government tell me what I could look at, and discuss personal medical issues with my doctor and not the Federal Government.
Just think about that a little. Think about the last time you visited the doctor and then decide how you would feel if you knew that information was going to be then pored over by bureaucrats to ensure the books balanced.

And people called our former PM “Jackboot Johnny”……..

Grey Musker.

The theories of Adsense

There comes a day when any good little blog has to go it alone without the help from the googlegods and their farce of a system, Adsense.

Thanks to the braniac who clicked on the ads over and over because it lead to my immediate cancellation from Adsense. There is no review I can use to plead my case, there is not provisional period. My account is cancelled, immediately, for life and any pending funds are being absorbed back into the coffers of google to purchase some more trendy couches for their office space which is not really meant to look like an office.

Here dawneth the day when a blog grows up and decides to do this for love not money.

Swine Flu: The Beginning of the End

We are sitting in the Bunker. The doors have been taped shut. We are wearing masks and the Bloggerator and I are huddled under a desk sharing our only food source – some tic tacs and soy sauce. We are awaiting the inevitable and are having bets on what will get us first:

3:1 – Swine Flue

8:1 – the Mutant Half Man – half octopus Survivors of the Swine Flu. (Octopus is apparently the only animal that has a natural immunity to the Swine Flu)

It has been a grand old time - a journey and a half – as we sit and reflect at all that we have done, the news we have broken, the stories we have embellished, and the slander that we have perpetrated on a host of victims, we now too wait to become hosts ourselves of this most insidious of infections.
The Bloggerator who always wears her mask anyway, has had to modify it – as it was never airtight – underneath the mask she is wearing a large “Best and Less” plastic bag with holes punched in it – underneath the bag she is wearing a stocking over her face to filter out the infectious air. It is quite a fearsome sight. I am wearing a snorkel and some goggles, with a coffee filter taped over the snorkel. As you can see we are taking no chances.

Of course, it has dawned on me that neither of us has ever been to Mexico, the US or Canada in the last say 6 months, nor have we come into contact with anyone who has so our risk could be considered minimal to non-existent. The Bloggerator however is taking no chances, citing the fact that she did have Tacos for dinner last night. “They’re Mexican you know” she said to me thru terror-filled eyes. She has a point.

The latest indications from the WHO (The health blokes, not Roger Daltrey’s mob) is that we are at level 4 of the alert stage. I think there are 5. I dunno. Perhaps I’m making it up. Facts are the first casualty of Pandemic such as this.
Pandemic – it is a word that hasn’t been uttered since the Bird Flu outbreak of a few years ago. It is a word that strikes fear into the hearts of all Men, Women and those of mixed gender (even in the face of a Pandemic, it is no excuse to be exclusionary) and when you couple it with some benign animal such as a Bird or a Pig – then it brings home the full horror of it. How an animal that we have loved, and protected and then eaten, can turn against us like this.
It is unthinkable, unfathomable, unforgivable.

Anyway, The Bloggerator and I are about to cut up a Cheezel that we just found, so we will leave you here. If we don’t make it out of the Bunker, then this is goodbye. If we do make it out of the Bunker in one piece, then we will forget this ever happened and continue to the produce the high-quality hard-hitting, rumour and innuendo disguised as fact that we have been doing since we started this crazy adventure.

Until then, stay safe. We are in your payers I am sure.

Grey Musker

Reinvention

Is Daniel Johns Australia’a answer to Madonna? The silverchair lead singer – with his always changing looks and re-invented images turns 30 – turned 30 recently – I don’t know. Don’t care.
That’s not the point. An excuse to talk about him is what it is.
There was a gallery in one of the papers (how do I add a link to a story here? I would ask the Bloggerator or Gray Musker but the 2 of them told me Monday that they were going out to buy some tally ho cig paper and I haven’t seen them since. I would think there is something going on with those 2 but I think Musker is gay and the Bloggerator – well the jury is out on that one…)

So this gallery thing – showed John’s metamorphosis from gangly long-haired teenager to whatever he is these days – a make-up wearing metro-sexual? I hate the term metro-sexual. Even the word itself is a pose. Or is Daniel Johns just another example of a lead singer who becomes bigger than the band he/she fronts?

Mick Jagger
Axl Rose
John Lennon
Gwen Stefani
Peter Garrett
Dave Grohl
Beyonce
Kurt Cobain
Bono
The Gallagher Brothers
Michael Hutchence

All are guilty thru their own doing or not of becoming swell heads.

It is natural that the lead singer of any band is going to get the attention – or most of it. Lead singers are like sales-people.
So they have to have charisma, personality, ego – it is those which give them the ability to express themselves and their band’s music so eloquently and effectively.

But back to Daniel Johns and the whole re-inventing yourself – Madonna has done it – Prince has done it. Michael Jackson has done it – he has gone too far though. Maybe it is what keeps them fresh.
Or is Madonna re-invented herself so many times she is no longer what she used to be? Isn’t that the idea?
Reinvention? Rebirth? Renew?
Or retire?

Bands – singers, lead singers – have to re-invent themselves to stay with the times – so that their music mirrors the society in which they now co-habit with the rest of us common folk. The talent is in how much to re-invent without losing the very thing that draws the fans in.
Paint the walls, but don’t knock them down and build new ones.

Good luck to Daniel Johns – he is a fine music writer, singer, guitarist and a true character of Australian music. Some of his looks he has pulled off – some not. But then haven’t we all.
PS – was only joking about the Bloggerator and Grey – both fine people – they both see everything I write anyway!! But seriously, I haven’t seen them since Monday. But then I notice that Grey has posted something today – from somewhere……this bunker gives me the creeps.

H T Golden.

Musker is a Sook

I am sorry I have to do this, but there have been a number of issues that have bothered me lately and none of them are really substantial enough to constitute a whole topic on their own, so I will summarise below into a self-indulgent whinge:

Those Gopher things that old people ride in shopping centres – do you have to prove that you have a medical requirement for one, or can anyone just go out and get one?

The reason I ask is because I see many people who in my rudimentary medical opinion, look like they could easily walk, so I’m left wondering if any old lazy ass can go buy one.

Buskers – I support street theatre in that I usually walk past and refrain from abusing them no matter how crap they are, but seriously, is a 15 yr old girl banging on bongo drums with no other accompaniment or a man playing the piano accordion really street theatre?

Are two school kids playing “Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport” on the recorder really entertainment?

I don’t think so but maybe others do.
Surely when they apply for the busker’s licence, the person behind the counter would ask “and what do you intend to do?”

“Play Rolf Harris on the Recorder.”

“No sorry that is not entertainment – licence rejected.”

When not toiling in the bunker, my other job as an Interpretative Dance Instructor is located in a tourist precinct so I see a lot of Backpackers. Memo to backpackers - we all know you are enjoying living on $1.72 a day – big ups to you, but can the budget stretch far enough for a shower? Perhaps wash your feet and/or your hair? I understand that girlfriend and boyfriend Frotleib & Guber have travelled all the way from Utterhausendorf and this is their big adventure, but I also know all backpacker Hostels have bathroom facilities – use them. At least once a week. Please.

Finally, and this is more of an observation. People really are compelled to point out the most obvious thing – we all do it, and you know someone is going to do it to you. Just before Christmas I was walking through a shopping centre with a roll of wrapping paper and ran into a friend. The first thing he did was look at my wrapping paper and said to me, “Going home to wrap some presents eh?” with a smile that says to you “I bet you’re wondering how I figured that out!”

Then yesterday I was walking back from the local Snorkelarium called "While Your Down There" - where I had of course purchased a snorkel set. I ran into another friend – they looked at the snorkel then at me with that same smile and said “Goin snorkelling eh?” I was tempted to say, “No, Im going to the snow and like to wear a snorkel so I can breathe in case I get into an avalanche.” But of course my wittiness works on time delay. If they saw you walk out of a butcher with some meat, they wouldn’t say, ”goin home to eat a chop eh?”

OK I’m done. As you were.

Grey Musker

Hank Golden - Blog 1.

Hi,

My name is Hank Golden – I won the short story comp so the Bloggerator has kindly allowed me to blog live from the Bunker for a week. So far it has been a slow week as I have had writers block or bloggers block I guess.

Um – well my blog won’t be called “Life is Golden” or whatever the Bloggerator told you – think it was a joke. Don’t know – haven’t worked the Blogggerator our yet. Or Gray.

I have a record collection at home – vinyl records – some really obscure ones that I have not been able to replace on CD or even via ITunes. I don’t like ITunes. I don’t trust it – not that I don’t trust it, but I like the tangibility of having a CD or a record cover in my hand when I listen to the music – not some gigabyte file or whatever it is that I have bought with a credit card from a server somewhere that resides in cyberspace. There is no more friendly banter with a record store assistant about the merits or what not of a CD. ITunes – buying your music online sucks. It’s convenient and all, but it takes the fun out of buying music. myabe I should go to record stores more. It's not like they don't exist. Stop complaining Hank.

But I have these records with intricate sleeves – pictures, “liner notes” as they are called. And I have seen these ads in the papers and electronic mags about record players you can buy which will convert your old vinyl records to MP3. I don’t want my records converted to mp3. I like them as records. I like listening to the music on a record – with the static etc and the tactility of placing the record on the player, blowing the dust off, gently placing the needle and listening for that brief scratching sound.
It’s ritualistic. It’s how immerse myself.
The portal thru which I escape the world.
Not just putting on some headphones and pressing an androgynous button with an arrow on it.
Tinny sounds on an iPod too – metallic and plastic all at once. Synthetic. Like listening to music thru 10 layers of flywire – all the bass has been filtered out.
I am wrong about all if this I am sure. Doing it wrong. Not getting with the program. I’ve never liked the program.

But my petulance won’t do any good as the world moves towards mp3-ality. I can buy one of those record players and NOT copy the music onto MP3. I resent the fact that there is that ability there in the first place. Why would someone want to replicate the experience of a record onto a portable music player? I must understand that it is called choice and people are entitled to enjoy their music how they like.

As long as someone is listening to it somehow, then it’s not being wasted.
There is no melody in silence.
Music is the chorus of life.

H.T. Golden, Semi Bloggerator

Standing on his Momma's Porch

I may very well alienate at least half our readership here, so if I do, I apologise for alienating all 4 of you.

I cannot for the life of me find a logical and sane reason to explain why radio stations globally, continue to play Bryan Adams’ music. I have no problems with Bryan Adams the man – he does his best. However in a forward thinking progressive society such as ours, we really do not need to be reminded constantly about some bloke standing on his momma’s porch hoping a summer 40 years ago would last forever. If so then it would indeed be the best days of our lives.

Back in the summer of 69.

If you were to look at a Bryan Adams back catalogue, you could very well drop dead from saccharine overdose, let alone listen to it. People like Bryan Adams’ music – that is obvious – he’s sold eleventy thousand albums and even has his own Foundation which helps to get Africans out of living in the dirt to living in huts made of dirt. It’s admirable and Big Ups to Bryan for trying to make the world a better place because he hasn’t done so through his music. What would be better is if he built their homes from his CD’s. That would be sweet. At least when he is building mud huts, he aint singing.

Played it til my fingers bled.

Adams is known for some of the most ridiculous lyrics ever sung:
I wanna be your sleeping bag - baby slip insideLet me be your motorcycle n' take you for a ride - alrightI wanna be - your hot sauce - ya when you're cookin'I wanna be - your sunglasses - hey good lookin'

Or from “Let’s Make a Night to Remember”

Let's make honey baby - soft and tenderLet's make sugar darlin' - sweet surrender

Are there any of you out there who would foam at the mouth with desire if a man said to you “Let’s make honey baby.”??

I didn’t think so.

If you choose to listen to Bryan Adams then good on you – but think about donating your ears to someone who might use them for something useful. The problem is now, that I had to do a search for Bryan Adams lyrics – therefore if I were to mysteriously drop dead tomorrow and my family decided to do a search on my PC’s Internet History – and found Bryan Adams lyrics, they might think the worst and then think that I liked him and play one of his songs at my funeral. The ultimate revenge from the wily Canadian mush peddler.
My good friend the Bloggerator will set them straight whilst avenging my death.

Anyway as if “Bryan Adams Lyrics:” would be the worst thing that could be found on my PC by family doing an Internet History search.

Grey Musker

Short Story Comp - The Winner!!

We have been inundated with entries - literally 1000's upon 1000's of entries have come in. If only people knew how crappy the prize was. Anyway, we do have a winner. Grey and I sifted through some magnificent entries but this one clearly stood out:

It was a hot unsettling night and Jack Nance knew once he turned off the TV and went to bed that he would toss and turn for hours. He’d had a long day, made all the worse by the heat and although he’d been fighting off sleep for the past 2 hours, although there was nothing on TV; he was still reluctant to make the short trek to bed. It was around 11pm when Jack lost the battle to stay awake and started his hesitant walk towards his bedroom. He was still not fully behind his move towards bed, did not relish lying awake another night sweating in the heat, thinking of what could have been.

Because of this dread that lodged itself in his throat, he was not particularly startled when there was a faint knock on the solid hardwood of his front door.

With a purpose he had not previously displayed, he walked to the door, still holding the empty glass he had been intending to place on the bench. He opened the door and as he looked at the face standing outside in the gloom of reflected street lights the glass slipped from his hand, smashing on the floor, peppering his foot with shards of glass. He didn’t notice the pain of this, nor the small pin-pricks of blood now forming on his foot, as he stared at the visitor.

“Hi there,” said the visitor. Jack answered him with nothing but a shocked stare.

The visitor cleared his throat, simply standing there waiting and softly tapping his feet.

Jack, stunned into silence, followed the source of the sound
towards his visitor’s feet, the sight of which sent an involuntary shudder down Jack’s spine. Dragging his eyes from the bloodied, raw oozing feet back up to his visitor’s face, Jack swallowed hard and in a voice barely above a whisper, said “hello Corey”.

His friend of 10 years stood staring at Jack for a second and then asked, “can I come in?”

Jack stood there aghast looking at his friend – the same friend that 3 years ago he had watched die in his arms in the wreckage of a car and then 3 days later, buried at an emotional funeral.

Jack shrugged, shifting his large frame aside and made way for Corey to enter.

By the time Jack had closed the front door, gathered himself towards some semblance of normality and turned around, Corey had sat himself on the couch.

What followed was perhaps one of the most awkward moments of Jack’s life. Notwithstanding his mother and father’s bitter fights pre divorce, his ungainly teenage years spent hiding from bullies, even competing with the resultant court case that followed the horrific car crash that had taken Corey’s life. Jack stood there, mouth agape staring at his silent visitor and Corey sat on his couch – was that blood on the pillows where he sat – and said nothing. In the light Jack could see the mess that he had created in his friend’s once handsome face. The nose was not aligned and there were gaps and divots in a skull that was meant to be smooth and hard. His hair was clotted with thick black blood and his eyes lacked shine. All in all his friend looked like a goddamn mess, a sight that would permanently scare the young.

It was a time before Corey spoke. “You’ve made a mess of your life mate. I am disappointed in you.”

Jack looked down at his own shorts covered in unidentified stains and ran a hand through his unruly hair and sighed before replying, “this is not exactly what I need, to be, um berated from a voice beyond the grave.” His voice lacked conviction, it lacked volume and it lacked energy. Most days Jack spoke in this lifeless and inane way.

His visitor smiled at him and although the effect was meant to be pleasant, Corey’s open mouth displayed shattered teeth hiding the blackness that Jack guessed had once been his tongue.

“Its not too late, Jacko. You can change your path but you must do it soon. What is wrong with you? That you have pushed everyone you once cared for away. You threw your wife out into the cold of night, you abandoned your daughter, you said dreadful things to those you cared for. You just needed all this space to wallow in the pit of your own misery. You fucked up and I am here to tell you..”

“Wait, wait,” Jack replied his voice building in strength. “How dare you fucking come into my home in the dead of night and tell me that I fucked up. You don’t know what I have been through, dragged through, humiliated and embarrassed. You don’t know how this has affected me.”

Corey laughed and this time Jack got a close look at the black fetid tongue that pushed against the shattered remains of his teeth. “You’ve turned into a bully, just like your father you fuck head.” You push women around to feel like a man. You hurt those you love. You do it all so no one can get close to you and make you feel alive again. Why do you think this is buddo? Why?”

The sound of the voices were escalating and as with any change in pitch within his apartment, the noises were replied to by a swift thudding from the ceiling where his irate, irrational and cranky neighbour spent her final days.

“Shut the fuck up you withered, old fucking bag, you cunt” Jack screamed spittle flying from his mouth. It had been a while since he had raised his voice and as his face flushed with rage, he realized that it felt good. He hadn’t spoken any words other than per functionary speech since Linda left. Since he had called her names and told her he didn’t love her anymore and literally kicked her out in a rage.

He suddenly realized he had just shut himself down since that day. Felt no pain, felt nothing at all.

Corey laughed at him sneeringly as if reading his mind. “That’s right buddy. It should have been you who died that day, for it is you who have been dead inside. Your insides, your very soul looks like my own rotting inside putrid corpse. Its almost comical how my outsides look like this but my insides are pure. But when I look at you, it is your outside that looks alive and inside you are a rank decomposing already dead thing.”

Jack was speechless. He looked around the mess of his room, his eyes taking in the dead pot plants and beer cans that littered the once pristine floor.

When he looked up Corey was next to him. He could smell the stench of death and decay and although he could guess what would happen next, he was paralysed rooted to the spot.

“Got a kiss for your old friend,” Corey whispered pulling in close.
“its time to swap my friend. I am here to take you where you belong and you are here to give me another change. I always fancied your wife to be honest buddy and I reckon I could get her back.”

Corey leaned in and breathed deeply and Jack collapsed into his arms. All those years of guilt and self hatred left as he leaned in to die.

Congratulations to the author Hank Golden (we are not sure if it is his real name). Hank's prize is a week in the bunker as guest bloggerator - he will be giving us daily insights with his Column "Life is Golden" (wow).

We hope to have another half arsed - i mean - half completed short story up this week as well so if you want to take a shot at completing it and winning next week's prize which is a ride to work/school/court or Day Prison in the Bloggerator-mobile, then get writing.

Nah shut up - it's a good prize.

Launch of Short Story Competition

We at the Bloggerator are proud to announce the launch of a short story competition.

We will provide you with the first few paragraphs of a short story and you may finish it with your best creative prose.

Submissions to thebloggerator@gmail.com or on posts here

Short stories are short, please limit to a max of 3.5 pages.

Best writer wins a guest blog spot for one week - possibly ongoing * *

Beginning of story written by Grey Musker Enterprises inc.

It was a warm but unsettling night, weather-wise, as Jack Nance turned the TV off to go to bed. He’d had a long day and had been fighting off sleep for the past 2 hours while he watched TV. There was nothing on and as he started to fall asleep in his armchair, so he decided he’d be more comfortable in bed, but couldn’t be bothered to get up and make the 5 second journey to the bedroom until now. Jack was just walking in to brush his teeth, when there was a knock at the door. He glanced at the clock on the wall outside his bathroom, via the mirror. It read 1.40. That puzzled him for a quick second until he took into account the reflection of the mirror and realized it was 11.20.

He walked to the door, holding an empty glass he was intending to fill with water. He opened it and as he looked at the face standing outside, the glass slipped from his hand, smashing on the floor and peppering his foot with shards of glass. He didn’t notice the pain of this, nor the small pin-pricks of blood now forming on his foot, as he stared at the visitor. “Hi there”, said the visitor. Jack answered him with nothing but a shocked stare. “Hello Corey”. His friend of 10 years stood staring at Jack for a second and then asked, “Can I come in?” Jack just stood there looking at his friend – the same friend that 3 years ago he had watched die in his arms in the wreckage of a car and then 3 days later, buried at an emotional funeral……

Babies in the Workplace

We all have horror stories about idiots in the workplace. Idiot Co Workers, bitches who remind us of kindergarten shennanigans, Bullies. The office psychopath is almost a buzz word of its own.

My own boss is a total lech.

What is the plural of lech?

Is it Leches?

Lechee?

Leech?

Anyway I digress.

What annoys me the most is the big babies who survive in the workplace by pretending to be bullies but are really big fat stupid babies.

I work very close to an infant tyrant who has the following gripes today:

My area is too noisy because:
I type too loud
I spoke on the phone today and was too loud
I giggle at You Tube videos and personal jokes too loudly. Glad he doesn't have a problem with improper use of company time.

I am not a loud person. These are normal -within the range of normal - noises.

Over the years I have constantly heard him berate employees, degrade and humiliate. He screams a lot and has a temper that rivals anyone else I know. The turnover in his department is HUGE.

But the reason I today have christened him baby of the week is because:

He sent a meeting request for a meeting about how to set up meetings on outlook.
Like any good employee, I, along with other good employees deleted this meeting request already knowing how to do this task, and, quite frankly, because I have better things to do with my work time (like watching videos on You Tube.

Like a big baby, he dobbed on our sales force to the sales director that no one replied to his meeting request for a meeting about how to set up meetings.

And we all got a terse email asking us to reply to his meeting request for a meeting about how to set up meetings.

Talk about having a meeting about a meeting.

What if I didn't know how to reply to a meeting request and didn't know how to reply to his meeting request for a meeting about setting up meetings

Talk about a big baby




It boggles the brain

Books are Tops Mate.

As the Bloggerator said, we are back after a long break - having also spent some of the last few months on a goodwill tour of the former Dutch East Indies. We brought back many exotic spices and in return we shared with the primitive locals our rudimentary blogging skills. A fair trade I say.
Books are great. I love em. As is my want, I like to generalise so let me say that anyone who doesn’t read books is only living half a life and depriving themselves of infinite worlds of intrigue, adventure, romance and inspiration.
My other generalisations I like to make are that no one ever chooses to buy a yellow car – they are only ever bought because that was the only colour available and that anyone who wears blue pants with brown shoes is in need of a fashion intervention most urgently.
But back to books.
The great thing about books is that for a relatively small price, you can escape to other worlds – be transported away from your normal life into a netherworld of people, places that you might never get to experience otherwise.
I recently received a book from a loyal member of the Grey Musker Posse (GMP – applications still open to join the GMP for season 09 by the way) and the book had clearly been enjoyed. Fantastic.
So what is even better than a book is a pre-loved book – a book where the pages are slightly dog-eared. To me it shows the book was loved. Not just read, but absorbed. Carried around perhaps throughout the day – to be read in the park, or on the bus or in the bath. Not just relegated to late night reading on the nightstand. You read a book like this and you feel like you are sharing the experiences within its pages with someone else. It’s like an anonymous bond with someone else in the world – a pleasure that you both have shared. Maybe they went on a different journey to you – maybe the same. As you read it and turn the worn pages, you wonder if that previous reader felt the same as you - enjoyed the escape as much as you did. Did they solve the mystery before you did – did they see the surprise coming – did they know that character was going to die or like you were they so caught up in the journey that they failed to see or did not care where it took them? Like a good road trip, they were just happy to be on the journey in the first place enjoying the plot scenes along the way, like looking out of a car window.
Books are forever. You can read a book time and time again – even though you know how it’s going to end, you still get caught up in the pages. I don’t care how many times you have read a book, no one can remember all 200-300-400 pages of it, and so every time you re-read it, you discover something new. Or you rekindle long lost memories of happenings within the story – revisit old characters like visiting old friends.

I implore everyone to read books – even if it is only one a year. Go to a second-hand bookstore and let your eyes wander across the hundreds of spines squeezed together within the shelves – each crack in the spine showing how many have gone before you – how many others have loved or loathed the story. Maybe you’ll love, maybe you’ll loathe it, but I bet you’ll be back for more.

Grey Musker