Surviving Christmas?

Many of my readers have written in asking for some tips about 'surviving Christmas'. Actually I lie, no one reads my blog so you can all act like tukeys get stuffed. Kidding, just kidding.

There are a few factors that work together to make Chrismas what it is, and seemingly there are a few factors, or should I say 'knob jockeys', out there that try to make Christmas as enjoyable as a Tabasco sauce enema. I am fortunate enough to have two families that believe in Christmas whole-heartedly, I am also incredibly wise and hence am able to cruise through people's minor misdemeanour's than it is to get bot rot sitting on a plane in pleb class.

I have two Christmases each year so I have twice the practice.

These tips are for any alcohol-fueled social event, just sing them to the tune of 'Jingle Bells' or something:

1. Do not drink more than any one else. Target a sensible relative as a drinking buddy and follow their lead. I chose to vary this method this year by employing the wonderful assistance of my four year old niece. Every time she asked me to play or read her a book I asked her to get me a beer. I read lots of books.

2. People are emotional and alcohol is a truth syrum. Make other people drink more because the results can be quite hilarious. If it starts to get out of hand whip out the video camera and get a Youtube account. If you have a grudge against someone be very friendly towards them and make them drink a lot as they are sure to embarrass themselves.

3. Eat food before you get too drunk. The drunker you are the less you will eat and therefore you will get even drunker and stoopider. Even if it means hogging into the chips and dips, do so. Eating also reduces the hangover the next day. Food also makes you shut up.

4. Occupy yourself with a task. Fart around setting up the table, or take the dips around to the relos. I played with my niece and read lots of books.

5. Have good time. People get too wound up by what other people think and say. Who cares, have fun. You don't have to drink more to do this either. If someone is a pain in the arse, let them be. If you have a video camera, turn it on, film yourself punching Aunty Dora and post it on Youtube. Film cousin Jack talking to God on the porcelain telephone. Film your sister being a complete bitch and send it out to the world.

Generally my Christmases are trouble free because there is a lot of love in my families and so I write these tips for you out there. Trust my words of advice, I have survived seven Coles Christmas parties, so I understand what goes on. All too well...

How to Destroy a Country Town in One Easy Step

One of the strange things about living in a country town, and lets admit it there are quite a few, is that nothing seems to happen until you blink. In that split second that it takes to close your eyelids and reopen them something major will have changed. don't know whether my town is different because it is so close to that megalopolis known as Canberra, or because it just chooses to be different.

I believe things happen this way because, to most Canberrans 'Bungendore is the town you turn right at on the way to the coast'. Braidwood, in case you are wondering 'is the town you turn left at on the way to the coast'. Batemans Bay is 'the town you stop at when you get to the coast'. Things only happen here the moment before an observant person drives through. That is why there is a flurry of 'happening things' just before Christmas time. Most other months our little time/space anomaly is unaffected by outsiders as very few people drive through. In fact it is hard to get anything done.

My loopy little theory goes as thus:

1. Before a person drives through Bungendore something has to change within Bungendore and/or its environs.

2. If two people are going to drive through, three things have to change. The extra 'change thing' is because one of the people might not notice one of the 'changes' because they are a foolish person talking on his/her mobile whilst trying to kill an innocent family. See here for other examples of clever things to do on the road.

3. If a whole heap of people drive through (i.e. Easter or Christmas) some moron will decide that building a completely unneccesary, kitch, and irreversibly ugly shopping centre in the middle of the heritage district will be required.

Yes, it is true, some goose wants to come in and build some lump of crap right next one of the oldest pubs in Australia. Not to mention knock down a few historic buildings in the process. Nice one. Would you like a clap for your cleverness, or does the echo inside your empty skull rattle your blackened heart and make you cough up cancerous fumes?

Were you dissatisfied that the city planners in Canberra knocked you back because of your obtuse vulgarity?

Look at the photo above; do you see the little cottage next to it? The little thing on the left? I don't know if that is part of the 'destruction plan' but I wouldn't be surprised if it was. It is the blacksmith's shop, I think it is around the same age as the pub. 1850s I believe. The thought of a fake heritage building makes me, and a lot of other Bungendoreans, shudder. Why don't we knock down the Royal and replace it with an Ettamogah Pub? I am sure that would fit in with the whole theme park idea.

I didn't move to Bungendore to live in a kitch Canberra suburb. I moved here because I like it the way it is. Yes development has to happen, but if you are going to vomit, do it elsewhere. Take up on the hardware's example and do it on the outskirts of town. We already have a woodworks shop, a lolly shop, a handful of craft shops, two nurseries, a supermarket, a bottlo, a leather shop, a couple of bookshops and a host of other things. We don't need anymore. Go away and screw up Iraq or something.

Jum

The End as we Knew It

I thought it was pretty obvious a few years ago, in fact a lot of people thought the same. No one listened because they didn't want to hear the truth. Places like Cubby Station were making too much money, and besides, who wants to pull someone's head out of their bum for the sake of a few million litres of water? It is pretty obvious now, and there is no point harping on about it either. We really are up the creek without a paddle. State Governments point the finger at Federal Government, and Federal Government points the finger at Iraq. No one puts up their hand and says 'sorry fellas, I stuffed up'.

I don't care who stuffed up - just bloody well fix it. Get rid of that massive irresponsibility called 'Cubby Station'. Get rid of all the other ones like it. Australia is not the place to grow cotton. I swear some people would try to farm Polar Bears in Broome if they could.

I suppose you don't understand why I have tied Cubby Farm to the current bushfire crisis. The answer is simple really. You cannot put bushfires out without water. The next fire will be along the Murray and the Murray won't exist after that. No Murray Cod. No water. No paddle steamers. No life. No future.

I don't mean to sound depressing but this is the truth. Thank god Rudd is in now and we can beat the idiots.

Jum

The: Perennial, Whinger, the end; of the world!

Punctuation: I know, I am quite crap at punctuating. I probably use it. Too much. Enough so. That it gets: annoying! "Aaaaaaaargh!!!".?

My lesson for the day is
How to Punctuate: Use those buttons with the dots

in my line of work i receive a large number of queries from people that havent finished year twelve looking for an easy way out of their essay question i find it really hard to answer them because they cannot be bothered to use a full stop or a comma is this a generational thing or is the world particularily australia becoming more and more illiterate or am i missing the point do we need to punctuate anymore do we really am i dumb and incapable of picking up the intended inflection in the sentence if you could call it a sentence james joyce would wet his pants i wet my pants in frustration and want to ask them who brung them up i mean really if people couldnt be bothered trying to ask a question properly they are going to get a link to here

If you couldn't get the gist of the paragraph above do not be concerned. I have become an old cranky bastard and I have become SICK AND TIRED of paying taxes for people who couldn't be bothered. I am 'Generation X', my wife is 'Generation Y'. The new group coming through should be Generation :)

How fortuitous, those little squiggles and dots make a face that smiles and winks ;)

J::::::;,./-=u/';,]{}m|||\\\

The Weather will be the Death of Me

Returned home to crap weather again. Possibly the only draw back to this town is the god-forsaken wind. Everything else is beautiful. Except for the drought. If you check out the bottom part of this link (scroll a long way down) you will see how windy it is. This is from a highly unreliable(too many beers), yet amusing source. Bungendore isn't far from Tarago and suffers very similar weather patterns.

The rule out here is 'always take a jacket with you to your Christmas Parties' (thanks Mike). The days are always hotter than Canberra, and when 4.30 rocks around it is like god has switched on an air-conditioner. Set to freezing. With the fan on 'stupidly high'.

The weather out here makes it that much harder to grow a garden. We get frosts up until now and the wind dries everything out. The wind also makes everything look bendy. Nothing is helped by the fact that bugger all people in our area (we are like a tacked on, modern extension of Bungendore) want to grow any trees. Instead they do their best to destroy the environment and the world with their big bloody lawns, and ugly, insignificant shrubberies. Were they conceived while their parents were watching 'The Holy Grail'? It would explain their silliness.

Get out there people, do us all a favour and plant some trees! It slows the wind, creates shade and stops us all from suffocating. It also hides your ugly house.

Jum

Where for art thou Pauline?

I promised I wasn't going to carry on about politics, but in the world we live in today who can help it?

I would just like to say, actually I would love to say, how happy I am that Pauline Hanson is back. What an incredible woman. She single handedly (I admit with aid of the other champions in the One Nation party) represented a part of Australia that should have disappeared with Brillo hair cream back in the 1950's. She reinvented the redneck and she gave people that shouldn't have been born a voice. If she could give them two voices, one for each head, she would have.
Even though most of her supporters couldn't write - either through lack of opposable thumb or the fact that mummy couldn't give them an education 'cos she was too busy immitating a tipped over turtle - she gave them the opportunity to be seen on television, with her, talking bullshit.

Pauline, you wonderful creature, you woke us up. We had nearly forgotten about the crap people in our world. They had nearly slipped into obscurity, and we were going to move on as one wonderful country into the new millenium and prove to the world that we weren't racist, xenophobic, uneducated bigots.

We got scared and elected a mole (the blind creature that digs holes) for PM.

Thank you Pauline Hanson, for again you have come at a most impressively important time. What is your opinion on Iraq? Surely you must subscribe to the notion that ''if they continue to blow themselves up in cars they will soon run out of people"? What about the massively un-publicised AIDS crisis in Africa? Is your opinion similar to that of Iraq, that they will eventually die off? What are the two things you want to focus on? Oh, thats right; immigration and water.

Pauline: If we don't let immigrants have water they won't come here. That way we have more water and no smelly immigrants.

Kerry O'Brien: That doesn't make any sense at all...

Pauline: I am going to raise the pitch of my voice and sound more and more upset until people focus on the TV and listen to me because I am a Dalek and you will obey and WE WILL GAIN SUPREMACY!!!!!!!!!!!!! (deep breath) I do not need to answer your question, Kerry, because there are enough numbnuts in the world that will follow me.

Kerry: But...

Pauline: NUMBNUTS KERRY! OVER A FUCKING CLIFF KERRY!THEY WILL FOLLOW ME!

Editor's subnote: Jum of Bungendore apologised for his ill-tempered and overtly graphic textuality. He has promised me that he wouldn't write about politics ever again. He insisted that I say one final thing for him and it goes as follows: "Thank you Pauline for finally taking the focus off the Labor Party. They need the rest."

The Opiate of the Masses

I am addicted

I have to do it more

And more

I can't help myself

I have to blog

Once you get started you can't stop. You have to write your self-indulgent bullshit. You also have to pretend that you are clever (thank you Paint for being simple to use, and thank you Anita O'Day for having such a stupid album cover).

Sorry Mum and Dad, I have found a good drug.

Even with a reduced bandwidth at the moment (I got a bit carried away with downloading stuff this month because I gotta new computer that works) I have to get on the B. Oh, the B. Yeah, oh yeah.
Even if I have nothing to say I still have to type. And type. And B. And B like there is no tomorrow. Oh, god help me.

Yes , egocentric bullshit. I love it. And that is the essence of Blogging. People talking about themselves, their opinions, the fact that they are always right, and how gosh-darned cool they are. Hunter S Thompson is in so many ways one of the original bloggers. Aldous Huxley, in 'The Doors of Perception' wrote about his experiences like it was a blog - he also came to the same conclusion as myself when he observed the self portrait of Cezanne: '"Who on earth does he think he is?" The question was not addressed to Cezanne in particular, but to the human species at large. "Who did they all think they were?"'

We can all write about who we are. Some of us choose to write about how we write about ourselves and some of us just write.

Soon the days of heroic journalism will be gone; individuals sacrificing everything to get out there and experience the world - selflessly reporting back to us boring individuals about the situation in some obscure country about some significant, although irrelevant problem. We can do it ourselves. I mean - for crying out loud - I just typed in 'Iraq blog' (please do not get me wrong Iraq is neither obscure or irrelevant) and this came up along with dozens more.

Soon no one will be a hero. It will be you and me in a battle of words and constantly competing rankings in technorati and the like. The world is full of journos. Even now the commercial stations have started hiring 'hot beatches' to 'sell' the 'news'. Sorry to all you 'old' journos. Get a boob job.

Will the excitement disappear as fast as Alexander Downer's foot into a fishnet stocking? No, it has just started. We can now vlog, so soon you will have to put up with me looking at you as well as talking crap. Nice. I will wear my hat just for the ladies out there.

Take it easy,

Jum

Thank Poms for the Cricket

What would we do without the cricket? The sounds of the Australian summer would be incomplete. Even for the person that cannot stand the game they have to admit it goes hand in hand with the sound of a lawnmower on a still Saturday morning and the smells of a barbeque and cut grass that evening. Summer would be nothing without this ludicrous sport of men patting eachother on the bum, while pretending that they are less camp than they really are. I am surprised Thorpie hasn't joined the Australian cricket team. He likes pearl necklaces.

I must admit I love the game, and I can guarantee that no one would watch it if the Australian cricket team didn't have its mandatory wanker or two. I also have to admit that the commentators are just as important as the game and the players. I remember listening to the cricket on the ABC one time on the way back from a road trip with a mate (remember this Tozzy?) We were enjoying the banter and the informative, yet amusing, commentary. I decided, near Lake George, that I would have a bit of a go at finding a frequency kenneth with better reception.

Somehow something magical happened...

The dulcet tones of Bill Lawry and Richie Benaud crackled into range. We had hit the jackpot. Channel Nine commentators on the radio, on the way back from Byron Bay, ready to get home and have a cold beer and a shower after 3 weeks of completely un-civilised behavior.

Life could not have been better. We listened for a while:

Bill Lawry: What a wonderful evening for a special match like this, the Australians are batting magnificently
Richie Benaud: Yes, yes they are

How wonderful was that sound? How resplendent were we feeling at the time? How quickly did I change the channel when one of the Chappells entered the box? (Unfortunately his dad entered a box a few times before as well)

Yes the cricket, with its wankers, its yellow noses and white lips that make one think of an aborted Picasso, its scantily clad chicks in the crowd and the beery fuzz you feel at stumps. If you hate the sport you can't escape it. It will always be on and turned up loud enough for dad to hear it from the shitter.

It transcends the Australian summer as gracefully as a swan rooting. It is as much a part of our lives as sunburnt British backpackers, thongs, tinnies of Vitamin B and calling your mate a 'dickhead' and a dickhead 'mate'. We cannot live without it. Our wives cannot live with it.

I might end on a positive with this quote from the maestro of fumbles; Mr. Bill Lawry: "[Ricky Ponting] is the best puller around - if not the best hooker."

I am going to go and cook some meat and drink a beer.

Jum

Life on the Home Front (the dog is the enemy)

My dog is evil. He is waiting to do it. He will destroy something I love. He will do it tomorrow.

I know that this will happen because he has been good today. I couldn't find any holes. I couldn't find any destroyed camellias. I couldn't find any ripped thongs.

All I found was our little black dog. In the garden. Resting. From what?

The photo (above) is of our evil dog Kody. I chose not to use a good photograph of him because I believe that the amorphous lump-thing with eyes is a more accurate representation of his true nature. He likes to eat the things you want him to eat when you are around. He prefers to eat the plant that you and your spouse talked about on the weekend because you were 'so happy with its progress'.

He is also discreetly trying to ease the drought situation in our area by digging a well. What a considerate bloody dog.

I have decided that his name (not given to him by us, but by his previous neighbours (another story for another time)) is an acronym for the function bestowed upon him by the Apocalypse Future Destroyers.

K.O.D.Y. is simply 'Kill Or Destroy You'.

We have logged onto forums and websites, prayed to the Dawg Almighty, and cried tears of horror-gilt frustration.

We gave this up today. We decided we would be nice to him no matter what.

Hence he is waiting. Waiting for the ultimate time to aerate the soil. Waiting for us to forget his intentions. Waiting until he can destroy the universe in a few simple chews and a bit of a dig.

Waiting until he can abstain from licking his wang for at least five minutes...

*Endnote - we are getting him fixed tomorrow. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Mystery World

What is the difference between my world and yours?

Not much I suppose, except I got some sort of a validation from a reader (thanks Bob for reading my blog). Some of you may have read my last blog - I know I did - and it seems that some (1) agree with my suggestions. Yes, someone has beaten me to it - a register of incapable buffons has been created!

Thank you clever people, and may the force be with you :)

PS. I should comment on the fact that idiotdriver.com.au is a sensible site. It is about time these idiot drivers were pointed at.

Thanks for being such a legend!

Despite being in constant fear of subscribing to that great Aussie pass time - whingeing - I have to let myself go every now and then.

Whinge number one: People who couldn't drive their finger up their bum.

Because I drive a greater distance than the average person each day, I come across a large number of dangerous fools. Here are some useful tips for drivers so that we can all enjoy a safer transit environment.

1. Drive faster when it starts raining. It is a proven fact that your car handles better when the road is greasy. It has also been scientifically proven that when you can't see very well your other senses are heightened, making you more aware and your reaction time shorter.

2. Please drive up my arse. If you get close enough our cars can make babies and we can give them to our kids. Actually you probably shouldn't have kids, the human race needs as much help as it can get without starting to devolve.

3. Drive slowly on single-lane country roads and then drive over the speed limit in the overtaking lane. This considerate behaviour is very helpful to us all. It also encourages people to drive safely when we return to the single lane.

4. Pull out in front of others. It is a great way to meet people up close, and prove at the same time that you are the centre of the universe.

Having said all this what would the world be like if we couldn't complain about awesome drivers doing awesome things? Would we really be happy when times were good? Would we have something to talk about around the Multi-Function Device (also known as a photocopier) when we got to work?

I used to worry about my arteries getting clogged up, but thanks to you, awesome driver, my increased heart rate pumps the blood through so fast that the clumps of crap are dislodged. I would also be too agressive if I didn't get my daily dose of yelling 'GET OFF THE ROAD C***!" each morning.

We need a national scheme to shame these fools; so what I propose is thus; a 'Sh.A.M.E.' register is created (Shit Drivers Accumulate More Enemies). People can log on anonymously and enter a culprit's number-plate/car colour/type and a brief description of the stupid act. People who repeat offend will be lynched and issued with wedgies of varying severity according to the level of stupidity. For example, cutting someone off for no reason will warrant the undies to be pulled up to the lower back. Driving like a complete fuckwit in the wet and then looking offended when I tell you that you have a head like a bucket of smashed crabs, would warrant the 'Sandwedge' - a handful of wet sand is stuffed down the crack and the undies are ripped up to the shoulders three times. If they should break another pair will be issued.

An annual prize will be given for the biggest repeat offender. I cannot think of anything severe enough but something to do with elephants, buggery and national broadcast sounds pretty effective.

Jum

Symptom of the Universe

Sometimes the answers to life just reach out and smack you in the face like forty two wet fish, and sometimes you have to search for them. Fortunately for me I have some friends that forward these answers to me daily. I have also noted that my luck has improved tenfold for the next seven years because I have forwarded on so many chain emails. Just the other day I won $3 on a $2 scratchie. It makes me wonder what people did before internet and email became so intrinsically linked to our daily lives. No wonder so many people died during the Black Plague, if they could have just forwarded a few emails about Little Jimmy No-arms who had cancer of the toe and survived by painting pictures of elephants with his lips...

Back to what I was saying about the answers to life and the symptoms of the universe. Look at the photo of the man with the car. If you subscribe to the Chaos Theory and in particular the Butterfly Effect you could quite easily blame this man for the world's problems. He is a tool, he drives an enormous, ugly car and he likes his gun. If he wasn't likely to shoot me in the face I would find it hard to take him seriously when he pulled me over. I can guarantee that one of his favourite passtimes is wearing a white hood and setting fire to things in people's front gardens. Remind me not to visit this bloke's trailer park - er - town. All this man has to do is fart and there is a coup in Fiji.

As a consequence of being sent this noxious image I propose to implement an international 'Hug a Stupid Man Day'. I know my lovely wife will give me a hug.

Jum

How not to Start Blogging

I would like some help here...

Having never really started a blog before I come to you all with a complete lack of experience and knowledge in the art of blogging. Despite this, I plan to come to the table with all the brute force, imagination and self generating interest of an oversized potato.

As you can guess by my little profile I live in Bungendore, New South Wales. To those that don't know, Bungendore is a little village about 1/2 an hour's drive from Canberra. In other words, about 30 kilometers from the centre of the universe. For those that are still lost, New South Wales is in Australia. Australia is led by the man in green. You might have seen him on the idiot box once.

I don't really want to be known as 'that blogger that carries on about politics all the time with his own agenda and his self-righteous opinions on how the world should operate and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah...'

There are enough wankers in the world doing that to make up for all of us. Plus, it is a waste of time pointing out the obvious. Having said that, you will find (if you haven't switched me off already) that I can't help myself from time to time. Especially if I have drunk too many beers.

Well I suppose I just continue along these lines, try to say something useful from time to time, and just sit and wait until the fame and the fun associated with all that fame, washes over me in a flurry. I think I will be waiting a while.

Well there you have it. Not too hard really. I just wrote some crap. Nice. Oh, I didn't write about gardening. Now I did. Go plant some stuff.

Until next time,

Jum of Bungendore