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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
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."
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
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
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!
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.
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
