My Kooralbyn Donga. Not all the maladjusted are on the Liberal frontbench.

July 17, 2014

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A thoroughly decent and considerate mature man took nearby rental residence a few months ago. Quiet living, undemanding, polite and conservative in conversation, and not pension dependent. After decades circling Australia, now looking to drop the anchor, the waters of Kooralbyn mightn’t be the spot after all.

He used a clothes dryer in a secluded spot well away from the general gaze, unless those eyes belonged to the prying, trouble-making variety. A hatchet job incited an irrational ‘body corporate’ hate letter. The tiny Japanese-style bathroom adjunct receives little winter sunshine, is meant also to conceal the resident’s washing from the gentle eyes of hate merchants.

Quiet-living and non-smoking, the antithesis of the local unit owners, the gent is a welcome change from earlier cigarette-smoking, toxic-perfumed inhabitants. He, like the writer, earns angst from two of the tubby botoxed, blue-rinse battle-axes for hanging on to a decent set of values

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extract of washing edict

My donga/ camp/ bunk/ residence/ accommodation is a roughly built, open-plan but adequate place in a quasi Housing Commission precinct and is best described as a flat although its proponents would much prefer the cutesy villa, terminology beloved of real estate entrepreneurs and idle, vacuous, cardboard wine drinking neighbours, and like a weekly dose of religion to its practitioners, reasserts and uplifts the already converted.

The unprotected dwelling projects into the car park, exposing it to reflected paver heat and car-fume. In summer, the eastern-facing front is subject to the sun which then hammers in from the west. It is one of the few of the fifty unit complex not blessed by tree foliage at some point of the day. The estate is built partly on a hillside, opposite a taller, imposing hill which reflects and amplifies domestic noises like car and house door-bangs and arguments back to their source and beyond. The layout of the land also plays havoc with wind direction, carbon-monoxide laden air predominates.

In summer, weather protected east-west flats/units are owned mostly by the toxic, cigarette smoking ‘body corporate’ obese, so heat stress wouldn’t worry them. Gentle summer breeze prevails but is compromised and tarnished by idling cars with their owners doing repairs or simply by normal car movements. The place stinks of carbon-monoxide and makes an industrial area out of a rural environment.

The maintenance/gardeners team have got the flick by the looks of things. Until recently, the unplanned, over-use of whipper-snippers, cheap hedge trimmers and tinny leaf-blowers on three days of the week by garden contractors exacerbates the noise and fume and would have been less a problem if their machine use had been thoughtfully applied. The repetitive use of weed-killer on pavers up to both doors seemed over-done and I suspect, contravenes local by-laws.

A section of grounds maintenance involved the upkeep of a central, open court-yard, cynically referred to as the fish-bowl, holding the gem of the small-minds set; a minute swimming pool, and woe betide the newcomer who dares decline the command of body corporate couple to join the gamboling fatties. This is the province of the ruling gang members whose close-by residences act as silent sentries.

 

Pretentious Clucky Club.

 

These are the smug, self-satisfied professional do-gooders who get on the slops and prowl the precinct looking for innocent marks on which to unload their venom. It is little wonder the community shuns their ‘assistance’. Don’t be hoodwinked by RSL Citizens Auxiliary appellation. RSL is a misused acronym in this case. Emphasis on the key word, Citizens, in Kooralbyn, pretentious no-hoper trouble-makers looking for unearned praise.

Enduring Kooralbyn Friendships.

July 15, 2014

http://lesjohns.wordpress.com/ will get 170 more posts which might interest you.

How rare the few who go through life and at the end of it claim to have made one true and trusted friend. Am wondering if I’ve found the genesis of one in the guise of Maisie from the local IGA store. You’ll remember how the future PM sourced these small stores for voter opinions, but it seems a sadist controls pain-lovers and therefore lies a dilemma; trust an IGA contact or not. I’ll just keep the shit detector tuned.

In the few brief moments Maisie and I had before another customer interrupted our deep and earnest conversations, many topics were covered in a minute or so and one tended to over-talk the other for the all-important last word. In the nicest way, Maisie referred to my opinionated stance. I could live with ‘conceitedly assertive,’ after allowing too much sand in face for the sake of tolerance.

Had she felt compelled to use SELF-opinionated however, I might have succumbed to gloom for a minute or two, and who could blame me. The PC dictionary describes such a person as, ‘having an arrogantly high regard for one’s own opinion.’ That would put me in the Australian Liberal’s Cabinet and clearly, those who credit me an above average IQ, would rather I avoid that collection of Ruling Class jackals.

About that time, my disgust of the perjurer, Murdoch, and the flouting of his criminal staffers led me to quit buying his morning product and my IGA visits diminished to nil. On an annual basis, that $10 a week paper money equates to $520, so I’ve spread some small joy to others.

It’s The Law, Just Label Old Drivers Retarded, Make Them Prove Their Lucidity.

July 4, 2014

Below is the written (Queensland specific, I understand) test sprung on unsuspecting oldies when they unwittingly put their future and with it, their independence, in the slanted hands and minds of GPs when renewing driving licenses. The GP is more than adequately compensated by Medicare for conducting, what in reality, is a geriatric test and is done concurrently with the eyesight test, leading the applicant to believe the geriatric examination is compulsory as is the eyesight test. Tick boxes on the right have been cropped out and irrelevant or sensitive material omitted.

Garbage like this is conceived and given life by smart-arse career bureaucrats who are unable to imagine a time in the future when they become the dispossessed. There is wry humour knowing that survivalists have to come to grips with the widespread assumption that lifelong skills and knowledge don’t abandon their host overnight or on the whim of disdainful public servants.

I thoroughly enjoyed the recent doco on Australian comedienne and dare I say it, vaudevillian, but wondered the value of her Pensioner Ambassador Labor appointment. Noeline Brown has never driven a motor vehicle and would have no idea the travails and contempt her motor contemporaries endure on license renewal. Her position is a meaningless and useless honorary title, I hope.

Ditto the Buttrose woman who won prominence in the early Eighties by likening the STD aids to a lethal bowling game featuring hooded devils. She urges oldies to relinquish their driver’s licenses, not help retain them. That the 80′s advertising campaign supposedly won gay mugs into safe sex practices is a moot point, instilled gay-hate into small ‘straight’ minds most likely, but Buttrose lisped her way to local fame.

Today, she gets her jollies doing morning ‘talk’ on an unwatchable, bankrupt shopping network. The former journalist charmed employer publishers, Packer and Murdoch, but I doubt she scored from either of them such grand largesse as the senile Murdoch’s $M25 bribe to Rebekah Brooks.

Some pages have been dropped to avoid repetition. The last page has the applicant’s flu vaccination history as blank, the GP didn’t pose the question and assumed as much, behavior frowned on in most circles. The joint Pneumococcal/flu was administered a couple of years before and had given the victim a few rough days, so she declined more of the same and has yet to regret the decision.

The woman is a ‘walk freak’ and had been having lengthy morning walks of 4/5 kilometres and shortly before this assessment had stressed a knee and was idle. This attracted the irritating ‘limited exercise’ note. GPs are delighted when the dim make unnecessary, fortnightly visits and loathe the dogmatists who insist on absolutely necessary visits only. The conniving bastards would like to see us fortnightly. It’s very commercial.

 

Retard 1

 

R2

 

P3 (idiot file)

 

P4

Guess wot? Buchholz plays safe, parental leave good thing.

June 19, 2014

Buchholz

Beaudesert Times photo

 

Back when it was thought the Labor Party represented the worker, the roles were reversing, Howard’s spin people easily painted him as the The Worker’s Friend and Federal Labor in decline after Keating’s super cutesy Coward’s Castle putdowns. Along came grand egotist Beattie whose sacrosanct word led to his successor putting the kibosh on Queensland Labor. Bligh’s 600 plus publicity team couldn’t find the honey to shore-up the unstable sands of her elitist Cabinet.

A few years earlier, Tom Burns, Deputy Qld Premier from 1989 to 1996 was, like Anzac Day, a celebratory loser. The lovable tag came about because his estuary boating endeavours often saw him sand-banked and waving for assistance. The sympathetic press painted him an affable dickhead, but the truth was much more ominous, masked by a definite no-nonsense and ruthless stand-over method.

A promise to manipulate political foes in the Beaudesert area was vague, but once uttered, never forgotten threat of “you are always under watch.” The legacy of this desperate tactic never lost currency, and post Lingard, led to obese, self-centered objects like former Barnaby Joyce C of S becoming a very comfortable Member of the bucolic Federal seat of Wright. A sober reminder of the long lasting effects of rule by tyranny.

hog

Beaudesert Times photo

On Tuesday, October 25, 2011 at about 1115 hrs, a Senior Constable visited the residence of a blogger who had been a heavy critic of the Bligh Government, then in its death throes. Two unpleasant tenants had been parachuted in to pry, to disrupt and to make life unpleasant. They acted in the manner of American eviction tenants as depicted in gangster movies, especially deployed to create so much disharmony as to drive out and dispossess a mark of his residence, and operated under the protection of the Qld Housing Commissions Gestapo Squad, Two minor players being Jaala And Hillhouse The Queen bitch’s identity will be dropped in when found.

The naming of these two goons brought the wrath of the police person’s threat of mental evaluation. “I’m going over your stuff tonight,” he swore as he left, “and if I find anything touchy, I’ll be back.” This particular blogger’s surprise at finding 78 extra hits overnight came not from the general reader but from the nice policeman, who incidentally, never made a return visit.

The blogger must make an effort to get his story to screen.

Pardon if I’m boring the tits off you; bits from the past.

June 17, 2014

 

Comment box at bottom of post will be there for a day or so, but as spammers find it and fill it with shit will have to yank it out.

This post was previously password protected, not because there was anything sensitive within, but simply to protect the innocent viewer from having the tits bored off them, but as writing ennui gets a grip, the easy way appeals

With a new acquaintance, our talk got around to vehicles. He had just got a new Falcon ute to pull a food van and I once had an XY ute for a one-man business. That was the loose connection that brought together this couple of motley years of bits and pieces. Lungfish conveniently entered our conversation to which I was able to contribute tangibly, via photographic evidence. Trouble-making do-gooders will grasp on the ceratodus pic to which I can only suggest,”Sue me.” To another curious, gentler friend, I aimed the travel pieces.

Under this link is a fierce 125 CZ which putters along much like my first baby and smokes like it too. And here Craig, is my second hood bike Jawa 350 not modified as much as some other YouTube offerings. The XY ute, a forerunner of your new buy. The lungfish pic moved to the front.

When I was in the impressionistic early teens, the elder brother came into an Indian motor-cycle. I was not allowed to forget this momentous occasion when on the first night he set forth from home aboard it, my God-fearing parents hastily assembled his younger siblings while we appealed to God for his safe deliverance. Believing him a mechanical whiz-kid, he had a dilapidated wreck that couldn’t move from the stationary on its own accord, and I was always proud to be called upon, with whoever other kids were hanging around, to push-start the creature. The bike purchase was timely, as I was starting to realize the connection with Tom Sawyer’s white-washed fence. “Me big brother” wasn’t so bloody mechanically smart at all.

Frosty mornings Raw Bundy was the go.

Pre-caravan days.

Camping in Ute, winter.
Pre-caravan days

Tasman & Falcon.

The ill-fated P76 sunk Leyland motor car division, had no Tasman bias for me.

Wivenhoe locality, morning mist.
Wivenhoe morning, pre dam, where ceratodus startled the bejesus.

img291Ceratodus.
To allay the fears of do-gooders, the ceratodus, peculiar to the Mary and Burnett Rivers, was returned to its elements within minutes.

On Tour with Cabana, one cold morning.
One snug morning. The Cabana put a new slant on camping.

The full monty

Paronella Park 1972

The intriguing Paronella Park a Spanish immigrant’s castle realized, complete with hydroelectric plant at Mena Creek, Innisfail near where actress Diane Cilento was once domiciled.

Waterfall,  Paronella Park.

N.Q.+ Port Douglas.
Kuranda Rail Station. Entrance to Lake Eacham crater lakes on Atherton Tableland. The view from Port Douglas’s Island Point Restaurant where, along with the nearby Fisherman’s Wharf, was the scene of much youthful merriment. Over time, the inexpertly sited photos become stuck to pages which, with a solid dose of ennui, goes some way to explaining the misaligned clutch of fours. Fisherman’s Wharf later became base for documentary filmmaker, Ben Cropp’s Shipwreck Museum. The area became his home, post museum, according to Wikepedia, where Cropp still lives.

N.Q. Trek.  circa 1973

The canopied avenue of trees, Mackay or Bowen. Two picturesque shots Between Cairns-Port Douglas. Tinaroo Falls rarely ran after Barron Gorge Hydro Scheme came online.

Ellis Beach, Cairns (more info coming)
Ellis Beach motel on the beach. Since replaced.

Romavilla circa 1972.
Renown for its fortified wines. Convenient, for I had lately formed a relationship with the Port of the specie.

The scarcity of other lifeforms suggests wine tours in 1973 as common as a trek to Timbuktu.
The scarcity of other lifeforms suggests wine tours in 1973 as common as a trek to Timbuktu.

Difficulty bringing life to this, leaving both up for a while.
Difficulty bringing life to this, leaving both up for a while.

Puglisi entrance.
The Puglisi, Ballandean part of the wine tour.

Puglisi Vineyard, Ballandean Estate.

Texas Hall.
At nearby sleepy Texas, Cathy mortified two locals who took offence at her playing the hall piano.

img222
At Cecil Plains, cotton irrigation was huge.

Gunsynd monument, Goondiwindi.Gunsynd monument, Goondiwindi.

Taken on our Goondiwindi tour with <em>Dopey</em>, our first dog. Smoko, Roma-Goondiwindi area, with Dopey. “You can say any foolish thing to a dog, and the dog will give you this look that says, ‘My God, you’re right! I never would’ve thought of that.’”

Morning anywhere in Aus.
Morning, anywhere, Australia.

Lavvy 2.
Bush privy. Not your common earth squat, hidden in the gloom is a contemporary plastic seat.

Jesus bus close-up
The Jesus Bus. Around this time,area, trip.

My parent's marquee with which they gave their kids memorable beach holidays.
The parents gave their kids a wide choice of holiday venues; camping at Scarborough where child-friendly fig trees is my prevailing memory, to typical of its day, basic fibro-walled ‘holiday’ houses. The 15×15 marquee gave us memorable beach holidays and on this occasion, with canvas rotting, was on its penultimate outing. A coating of canvas preservative after this camp couldn’t contain the tide of time. I now think the pictured boof-head is yours truly.

replacement - fish
At home, Sherwood rail crossing. Horses had free reign for a while. Doghouse my inspiration.

Bora Ring 2.
When I came across this spot the overwhelming feeling was that of an ancient people had preceded me and I felt this site was of a long disused Aboriginal Bora Ring where post initiation ceremonies were celebrated. On prohibited ground, not by aboriginal lore but by its failed resort owners who now post guards obliging walkers to ‘enjoy’ roadside carbon-monoxide.

Semi-tropical, Kooralbyn.
Along the track from the bora ring, towards the end of the links, is a ‘hidden valley’ with links to the tropics.

ScannedImage-5
Quiet Spot, Kooralbyn. Newly flowered black-boy tree (Xanthorrhoea) impressed me.

Charlie to Arthur, 1931. P 1.
From Charlie at Moonee Ponds (I kid you not) to younger brother Arthur, my Queensland-based father, 1931. Note admonishment of “these young people will go on pleasing themselves.”

Addendum: The following shots being all Kooralbyn related obviates the need to so-tag every photo.

Fog over equestrian track.
Morning at equestrian track. Kooralbyn, a failed, meant to be up-market, leisure resort 28 kilometres south-west of Beaudesert, Queensland.

Steward's box, Kooralbyn equestrian events.
Two views of equestrian stewards pillbox, copping it tough.

The back of neglected steward box.

Kooralbyn Tennis Club.
Once were Tennis Club rooms.

Grandstand.
This relocatable/mobile stand fascinated me simply because it had been forlornly abandoned facing a metal truck that had been similarly left and forgotten. Grand dreams unfulfilled.

Wider shot, seating.
Wide shot of mobile seating.

Bora Ring 2.
Featured what I presumed a Bora Ring elsewhere.

Secluded,peaceful.
Secluded, serene.

The links just visible from old timber track.
From the long disused timber track where the elements have eroded a washout to the depth of two metres.

Morning Walk.
Lifting fog, morning walk, a spectre of sorts.

Bottle-brush.
Bottle-brush and Wattle, from morning walk of course.

From the timber track.

Fireweed is prominent.
Fireweed has a deleterious effect on animals. Native animals instinctively avoid exotics.

Unperturbed locals.
Passers-by don’t create much interest.

 

“Act Well Your Part…” Cairns Little Theatre in-house news-sheets: Aug/Sept 1964.

June 11, 2014

 
I gather theatrical back-stabbing is endemic.

 

My Cairns Friends…Bill Manning’s Pie-cart.

Theatre people; Hippies John Watson and Bryan Nason.

Cairns Little Theatre “Paint Your Wagon.

Full Programme, photos etc Paint Your Wagon.

Little Theatre 1964 in-house News-sheet. (squabbling)

Mime Adam Darius, Old Theatre Programmes.

When Pets And People Have Had Their Day.

Rosa In The Pot.

 

Cairns Little Theatre News-sheet 1964.

 

P2 news-sheet

 

Newssheet 3

 

News p4

 

Blue-rinsed and Botoxed: Life Among the Plastic People, a Reprint.

June 9, 2014

Tongue-in-cheek journalism; a provincial newspaper is kind to its valued citizens.

After this story was posted, the next issue of Beaudesert Times, Wednesday August 29, 2012, announced its sale to Fairfax Regional Media.

 

Within the cheap, cardboard pages of the district’s once family owned, now Fairfax, weekly paper lie little journalistic gems that can reward the avid reader who ventures beyond the letters page. Such quaint reporting as a road fatal involving an articulated vehicle and a motor-cyclist who was minced beyond recognition “was believed to have been caused by the impact.” Another classic, told with much bucolic affront, was of the theft of the Anglican Church letter-box. Naughty and anti-christ as that was, the crime compounded because the item had recently won a prize in the annual fancy-box competition, and do you know what Laze and Gen of Queensland, while it didn’t win, or come second or third for that matter, seventh prize is still ok and worth a mention in the monthly minutes.

A recent Wednesday’s p2 story tells of a “shocked” woman whose kind sister brought her a large egg for breakfast. The shock continued when another egg was found within, Russia-doll fashion. Bejesus ‘an all, both had yolks and both contained “white stuff.” While I wouldn’t get out of bed for less than a four-egg scramble, her freak egg, she claimed, made for a huge repast. And guess what? It was delicious, would you believe and, “…after all that they tasted exactly like normal eggs.” It shows what a cutesy, lovable and happy little community we are dunnit like, which recalls a happy Christmas occasion fondly related to its readers by this very same news organisation of Christmas breakup when the Shire’s blue collar Works Department jollied themselves around a plate of meat pies.

Flip over to page seven if you are in the circulation area of the weekly parchment under review dear fascinated reader, and you will see a photograph and story of an octet of dedicated and concerned members of a community who feel their fellows have misread their altruistic intent with this rejection bringing about the closure of their little club. As I read their spokesperson’s impassioned plea for recognition, I ask myself why could not fortune or chance have led me live near such lovely caring gentlefolk as these who would offer me a kind word and might possibly ask of me every now and then if anything could be done to improve my lot.

I could do with some of this understanding and genuine love. My flat projects into the car park but most of the others are in shaded and generally pleasant circumstance although clumped together. Such intimacy in a purposely intended youth resort would be considered most favourable to bed-hopping young and promiscuous, meat and potatoes as it were, but is not practical in a society of selfish, aged gentry. With consideration for one’s fellow beings now passe, arrangements like this can’t work.

img020 Coyote Ugly. B.T.15/08/12

Flat one over the way is an investment property. Its nearby owner forced to rent when offers nowhere match market. Situated beside a loose, cheaply paved vehicle entry, every egress comes with carbon monoxide and clacking pavers. Its owner preferred to utilise it for stray trade, and well done, I thought. My flat cops every cubic whiff of those car’s carbon monoxide, irrespective of the wind’s direction.

Owner Solaug is one of those stereotyped false old plastic tarts nearing the end of bang-bang and is putting a few memories in the bank, but the need for capital and a poor market led to her renting the place to a young couple.  How gracious her concern for oldies who, she suggests, “do not want to comment.”  I am tempted to seek residence in this kind woman’s area and get involved in her proposed ‘senior group’  whereby I hope, if this story is followed-up soon, her concern for the olds will have been satisfied.

Without realizing I had erred and admitting my naïvety, I moved from my then residence hoping to evade motor and cigarette toxins having been assured that non-smoking was a covenant or condition of entry to the precinct. To my horror, and too late I found I had been lied to. Fancy being lied to by a real estate property manager called Butcher. I had moved into a quasi Housing Commission estate where door-slamming, the coming and going of arguing welfare tenants and the on-going repair work on broken cars made life uncomfortable for one preferring a non-threatening life-style.

And a bit about Tim the Garbage Nazi.

Tim is of scant build, 67 kilos would pull him up, 78 years of age and about 167 cm, snowy hair becoming the focus when trims are deferred. His mien was that of a comfortably off retiree, back-room boffin was my first thought, proving close to the mark. Polite but distant, inclined to the discourteous, a surprise to find this effete private gent was the garbage nazi. We tentatively tested each other with unimportant talk but his rude and annoying trait of cutting me off mid-sentence quickly became a put-off. I attributed his ignorance to a dearth of cerebral companionship.

A valid complaint was his frustration at residents using all eight bins simultaneously when filling a couple at a time would be energy-conscious by halving the number of hydraulic lifts with fewer CO fumes. The bins stay on the footpath and are pulled to the kerb on collection days. After lining them up one collection morning and feeling unwell, he afforded me great honour by asking me to pull them back from the kerb after clearing. A far greater honour though, would have been asked to place them on the kerb. Apparently I wasn’t regarded as being up to that task without an element of doubt.
 
Spam gets a free ride in via the comment box. If people would like to comment on any subject, please do so quickly as will have to pull the form out if too many spammers abuse it. Thank you.
 
Sorry folk, the spammers have polluted the system, leading me to pull the comment form, Les.

He had had a heart scare the day before and was pensive about body movements, fearing each one his last. I was going into town for supplies next day and offered to do his shopping. His curious retort that he didn’t want my charity took me aback somewhat as I hadn’t offered a loan, I had no idea he was financially embarrassed and pride was playing a part. To my greatest distress I ignored my instinct which was imploring me to walk from this churlish old man.

An 18 year relationship with an ageing comfort lady, while essentially platonic, doesn’t stop Tim paying for the pleasure of her company, and explains why he can’t replace his rusted, unkempt, shit-box Celica. He moved her into a nearby flat paying the bond and two weeks rent, and nothing more was forth-coming. She paid nil rent and was turfed out three months later. Her goods and chattels, a house of cards built with bric-a-brac, disappeared the same way they had arrived, by degree, in bits and pieces in the pimp’s car and in Tim’s clanking and disintegrating shit-box.

What he gets in return for the fiscal fawning is his concern, of course, but these pampered, ignorant dregs do not return favors or help an ailing benefactor, and to suppose she would automatically respond in kind is so alien to her mind-thought as never having entered her ambit of thought. She is much like Maugham’s drab and conniving, Of Human Bondage, Mildred, a leech who returns her backer little or nothing except heartache and despair, a fact he acknowledged when accepting my offer of help.

Despite his misplaced suspicion of me as a do-gooder who must be punished, I readily agreed to pay a couple of due accounts at the post office using cash drawn from his ATM account, the pin number of which was written on spiral-bound stationary measuring 20 cm X 13 cm. Spiral-bound memo pads is stationary which I thought a relic of the past and to see it still in use interested me. A few days later, I found a hand-printed note in my letter-box sternly telling me to turn the TV down and it was written on the same size spiral-bound paper that the OBB had used on his note with the PIN number.

Tim’s flat is too far from mine to be irritated by electronic noises even on the quietest night, yet he passes it to get to his car and once commented my tv was audible. I checked with another tenant if the tv was over loud and got a “never hear it,”report.

Nearby lives an aging Botox babe whose swollen ugly dial doesn’t auger well for her gender. Called out to me on Wednesday 29 February, wanting a lift to town for Anglican communion, offering ‘petrol’ money. Now, a 58 km return trip I would be happy with $20, still waiting and being avoided. Nice bitch. Talking ….

Helping Woolworths Regain Profit Supremacy.

May 29, 2014

Guaranteed to get rid of ‘em

Images of shop assistants at work.

Woolworths, Beaudesert.

 

The pictured fish fillet is second half of a recent purchase from Woolworths, Beaudesert. It's gone now, I ate it and suffered no after-effect. It's just that S.E. Asian and African fish are rumoured to be sourced from tainted, shitty creeks and that worries me. I've been stuck on farmed Tasmanian salmon for so long that despite its delicacy, a change was in order.

My bitch is that when I wanted change and took a punt on the imported stuff at something like $18, it wasn't until some days later when my shit-detector went off, the receipt showed I'd paid for Tasmanian salmon. The arch arse-holes Woolworths had done me for about $15.

Deli attendants all over the country have proved dozy bastards lately. One middle-age dear at this very same shop suggested I buy skin-on salmon because it is marginally cheaper than the skinned variety. Another time after waiting forlornly for a few minutes, I had to do cart-wheels to get their attention and break-up the gossiping trio and copped dark looks and short manners. So much for Woolworths, Beaudesert, but they in effect, are little different from their Coles sisters up the road.

There, I ascertained, a carton of NZ fillets contained five kilos, so reckoning five times $12 a kilo wasn't a mind-bending exercise the cost was immediately known. The woman extracted and weighed the contents, gave me a serious frown and declared in mock sympathy, " Gee, dear me, That comes to $60. Do you still want them"? Fuck-wits all.

 

Woolworths, Beau, 26/04/2014

Qld Housing’s Lanarta Jean. Spent cigarette smoke tops MY agenda; an update.

April 30, 2014

Cover your Grandmother, Bruce prowls the nearby convalescent facility at will.

Lanarta Jean Rides Again

Qld Housing Com. George Street swill

Qld Housing Com. Stasi Tactics…

An Inspector Calls…woe is me.

Hitler’s Daughters Invade Beaudesert.

An Acrimonious Life…car 911-QG7 where are you?

There is based in Woodridge a mock tenant’s union with tentacles to outlying places like Beaudesert. It was established to award tenures to Housing Commission party hacks for a lifetime of shafting work-mates and disrupting the daily life of well-principled tenants. The Queensland Liberal Government funds this sham association and its unctuous concern is to actually absorb any snippets of information that slipped the attention of a well oiled fifth column. At its acronymned expense, I gave L.A.N.A.R.T.A. the initialized B.U.L.L.S.H.I.T. You could make your own amusement by fitting appropriate words to my jumped-up wordplay. These leeches at P.O. Box 658, Woodridge 4114, if you think you have embarrassing but useful material you think should complement my file, and refer to this site. If you can’t invent gossip, get in touch with the writer as there must be much more to the old bastard than assumptions.

Wise men follow their own direction.

LANARTA (B.U.L.L.S.H.I.T.) held a tenant’s meeting in Beaudesert one May Wednesday. I have nothing but revulsion for this cynical, holier than thou nonsense crap pretending a care for doltish adults whose State-induced nannyism made them that way. I was mildly interested at my exclusion from their mailing list. An outsider alerted me of its imminent happening at which I hoped to get a tenant representative’s opinion on my passive cigarette-related health problems being directly attributed to up-wind cigarette smoke. Biased staff and those on the take, move favored fifth column tenants on a whim, however the advice to me of, “Just get out,” was my worth, and I know a dedicated investigator would tip the bucket on George Street bludgers.

Lanarta Jean’s puerile advice reflects her contempt for H.C. tenants; those of immature and undisciplined Housing staff reserve for tenants like me, appalled at the nanny attitude of barely literate nose-picking Station Road Frau Schicklgrubers. Theirs is the mentality that refutes the thinking that impelled past scholars like Benjamin Franklin and Michelangelo, and would have had a torch lit even before the pyre had been prepared for their removal.

Tenant spokesperson Jean (sur-name to be dropped-in if found) wasn’t interested in nicotine related questions, stressing the topic was not on her agenda. Does an open forum know such discipline? Her main purpose as a tenant representative, she seriously avowed, was to bring information to “people like you,” and here I wonder the intent behind the implied put-down; an instantly formed, educated opinion or was there some prompting from Rebecca and the opinionated Shouters?

Jean added that she is present this day to tell me Laze and Gen of Australia, and me only I iterate and not her audience, of what is happening in the world and to offer tips on economical electricity usage, ergo the $4 saved can be redirected into the machines. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the hapless Jean was prompted by up-herself Lady Machiavelia, Hillhouse mentor and rabid misandrist, Frau Schoutens and current title-holder of Rider Haggard’s She throne. Their methods of knavery are well known to observers as to the corrupt practitioners and manipulators of Woodridge’s Queensland Housing Department who use them, and had the community not been denied a decent education, would have been the joke of ten year old children. The collective Station Road girl’s club would be well advised their efforts and threats are illegal and their good luck might eventually wane.

When an Origin opposition electricity salesman did the rounds of H.C. precincts a week or so after Lanarta Jean’s statement looking for new accounts, only a H.C. snitch would buy the ‘pure chance’ excuse. If she encouraged them to do this for a cut of the till, I’d like to see the C.M.C. take a look at the cogs behind the Housing scenery, but it’s unlikely Cambell would grant such an indulgence.

Bruce’s third world hygiene habits in part, of snotting at will was the genesis of a tenants ‘meeting’ which resulted in my castigation and the departure of three other affected tenants. Ryan and Bruce swore I tried to run him down; lapped-up and used with glee by HC staff. My stance of staying put has put me in the set-up firing line again, with Bruce in league with out-front Ev colluding to accuse me of verbal abuse. I fear alighting my car near their flats, and am now armed with a voice activated recorder. Purely psychological bullshit. Can’t see it getting me out of the shit against determined agents provocateur.

Ev, the rebadged Bernadette Arnold and the disease-spreading false-accuser, Bruce have co-joined flats. This architectural curiosity has been detailed elsewhere and in essence, condemns pairs of flats to share the others noises and odours, an event that could only be performed harmoniously by identical twins. But those like me on the rough end of the stick are sorely tested by the mobile phone posturing of Mother Dale Woodford whose rejected ego won’t believe I am not won over by the trinkets she brought from the new world. The Hidees of H.C. precincts and their unwanted theatre of the absurd. The earlier no.6 emitted a choking cooking stench that was assuredly rancid fat burning, yet might have wafted from his stove his mummy’s cooking.

When daylight arrives to disturb his nude veranda fun, Bruce is obliged to cover-up, don clothes, and resume some semblance of normalcy. I expect he ventured a peek or two through summer-open windows while having a shake or two with percy. Later in the day he haunts the nearby convalescent home and gets food handout for his alleged handy-work, but he would have been amply rewarded in other ways.

Age doesn’t necessarily engender wisdom or stupidity innocence. Moral degenerates get their jollies however they can and the advanced age of the unaware targets, rather than deterring foul deeds and thoughts, encourages their spineless depravity. The imagination can only guess at whom he has peeked in the place that should have been a sacred shelter. Bus travelers and drivers who saw Bruce pestering women at bus-stops and while en route, also tell of the vulgar behavior of the obnoxious baby-eating reincarnation, Harridan Hidee, mouthing-off of an imaginary Walter Mitty directorship of that very same bus company. That simpleton could get a business degrees only via a YouTube down-load where there must be a template for a top-level strident mobile phone boofhead.

Women have forsaken their femininity for fish-wifery, or was that just an Errol Flynn delusion of the Sherwood Forest movie era? The old dear over the way had lived some time in a dilapidated, but registered bomb as a mobile bag-lady. The shit-box is off the scene and given that it ran like a con-rod had pierced the block, will soon be forgotten. Bev coughed her guts up incessantly for her first forty nights here. She allowed not the slightest consideration to muzzling the noise or harnessing the bacterial blight and therefore stamped her credentials as a desired and worthy H.C. client. After some mending from years of street living and camping in her rooted conveyance, comes the clacking of crockery well into the night, like the now obsolete roast-carving oval plates, being constantly rewashed. Many people in her plight are usually thoroughly decent and nice to know if they accept your friendship and you get to sharing confidences. Lots of love, Les.

Lanarta Jean Rides Again

Qld Housing Com. George Street swill

Qld Housing Com. Stasi Tactics…

An Inspector Calls…woe is me.

Hitler’s Daughters Invade Beaudesert.

An Acrimonious Life…car 911-QG7 where are you?

Kooralbyn Ugly; dreadful, dry and forgettable, but morning walks are a different story.

April 18, 2014

 

Morning Walk.
Lifting fog, morning walk, a spectre of sorts.

Bora Ring 2.
Judith Wright Bora Ring. There seems to be a well defined, foot-beaten circle visible in this pic.

When I came across this spot the overwhelming feeling was that of another people had left momentarily and would be back at any time to resume the ceremony. Bora Ring where post initiation ceremonies were celebrated. On prohibited ground, not by aboriginal lore but by its failed resort owners who now post guards obliging walkers to ‘enjoy’ roadside carbon-monoxide.

Fog over equestrian track.
Morning at equestrian track, Kooralbyn, a failed leisure resort meant to attract the up-market prosperous Japanese, 28 kilometres south-west of Beaudesert, Queensland.

Steward's box, Kooralbyn equestrian events.
Two views of equestrian stewards pillbox, copping it tough.

The back of neglected steward box.

Kooralbyn Tennis Club.
Once were Tennis Club rooms.

Grandstand.
This relocatable/mobile stand fascinated me simply because it had been forlornly abandoned facing a metal truck that had been similarly left and forgotten. Grand dreams unfulfilled.

Wider shot, seating.
Wide shot of mobile seating.

Secluded,peaceful.
Secluded, serene.

ScannedImage-5
Quiet Spot, Kooralbyn. Newly flowered black-boy tree (Xanthorrhoea) impressed me.

The links just visible from old timber track.
From the long disused timber track where the elements have eroded a washout to the depth of two metres.

Bottle-brush.
Bottle-brush and Wattle, from morning walk of course.

From the timber track.

Fireweed is prominent.
Fireweed has a deleterious effect on animals. Native animals instinctively avoid exotics.

Unperturbed locals.
Passers-by don’t create much interest.

Who are I?.. “Pleese journos, lern me to rite, I reely want yore recognition, no one loves me, am I homophoniac.”

April 17, 2014

NB. There are two links in the heading.
Six or so months ago, mainstream journalism picked-up a story about a female age pensioner who was unable to meet an electricity account and so had her power cut. Such is the way with lazy “giggle journalism” that most weeping hearts blamed any entity, from the Federal Labor Government who had greatly enhanced pension entitlements, to the weather for her predicament. Few laid the blame where it rightly belonged, squarely in her lap. Such was the ruckus, Evita, it seemed the entire country cried for her.

The issue was manna for the do-gooder know-alls who regard themselves better qualified than the participants and whose word is final and absolute. I would like to think my oldie status had me ideally placed to make an informed comment but when I did so, was rewarded by a serve of ill-manners from a Twitter intellectual, an oxymoron.

Briefly, I expressed wonderment at the woman’s predicament and published numbers showing how after rent was met, I had about $4000 a quarter (six pay periods) to live on from which I had to spare $150 for an electricity account. Figures have been up-dated. A furore ensued with a tortured no-hoper who grasps at every chance to polish his delusional ‘great guy’ image leading the fray.

Would like to think I was coming from the Devil’s Advocate angle, but let’s face it, I believe the stupidity of dummies should be rammed home to them whenever they offend the senses of decent people.

He began:

… DISCONNECTING ELECTRICITY TO THE ELDERLY SHOULD NOT BE HAPPENING UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES:

(From)@lesjohnsles
(To) TBadrick

… You are NLP/News.com easily manipulated putty. $2 day usage X 120=$240; net pen. after rent $3600. Been bludgers entire lives.
—–
(From) TBadrick

(To) @lesjohnsles …What does your mumbo jumbo hav 2 do with the price of eggs? U mean every old person caught up in poverty rut were bludgers? BS!
—–
(From) TBadrick

(To) @lesjohnsles … Just because UR a penny pinching hermit pauper doesn’t give u a right Les to sterotype pensioners re: power prices
…..
(From)Les Johns ‏@LesJohnsLes

(To) ‏@TBadrick
… When you become an adult, cosy up to your DLP pals and insist they introduce legislation acknowledging your genius. Sweet dreams.
—–
(From) ‏@TBadrick
(To)@lesjohnsles… Well at least i’m not a redneck u nasty old geezer, i know old people who worked hard their whole life who are really battling.

(From)Badrick

(To) lesjohnsles …Is that the best you can do Les? For the record i have no affiliation with DLP, i’m just fair & give them a hearing. UR a goose
—–
Has no idea about addressing women.

(From) Badrick

…It’s such a shame that the Sydney & Melbourne socialite chicks as i call them proved to be too snappy & unpredictable to have on my twitter

(from) Badrick

…Happy birthday @laurawarwick, hope you have a really fab year babe.

—–
This Tweeter has an unsettling effect on women (chicks to him)who he repels by the shed-load.

(From) @TBadrick

… I know of some lovely women of substance who cant have a baby and who have tried and failed with #IVF, but who wont accept fate and move on.

(From) @TBadrick

… @Poco_Pene is an abusive troll, @Twitter wont enforce own guidelines and permanently suspend him, just BLOCK okay.

(From) TBadrick
(To)…AmandaRobo?fref=ts … For any guy in Brisbane who knows how to handle a rattlesnake might can handle this chick LOL. You have been warned.

(From) TBadrick

While I can accept QLD motorists per say getting booked

——-

(From) TBadrick

… thanks for RT, like you I am abhorred by the senseless logging

(From) TBadrick

… accountable for CSG desicration of #Pilliga forest.

… do you intend to create laws to protect this forest sanctuary from obliveration?

… What do you think of this article @joehockey? It eludes to u making a storm in a teacup…

… be done must be done @theqldpremier to ensure this water feature isn’t desicrated.

… Only people with no journalistic nous is going to try & decifer ‘s budget going

—–
(From) Badrick
(To)@lesjohnsles

… Who the hell does @LesJohnsLes think he is? Lord Muck? His Most Holier Than Thou? I think FWIT Mc. Talk Through My Arse is a better name Les
—–
(From) Badrick
(To) @lesjohnsles
… Go away Les you bitter, twisted old fool, i have never attacked you about anything, obviously you are jealous of me you twit.
—-
(From) Badrick
(To) Anon …Hi GMOFreeJan, just wondering why you unfollowed me, I am very anti-#GMO and anti-#TPP, nonsensical to cut out people like me

——–

@thebirdman1010 is an uneducated youthful blockhead trying to be adult by sending trojans to Tweeters who voice their opposition to @LiberalAust. He seems to work in tandem with @JCreightonBoonah who makes identical grammatical errors, and I suspect, is the same trojan source.

——–

Mark Harrison ‏@boffincentral 28 Oct

… If you’re going to be a crook, where a suit…

—–
@LesJohnsLes As i am a profound thinker Les that’s why i keep trying with you but it appears to be a waste of my time

roy harvey ‏@barnbrack
waiting with excitement to see your next masterpiece of word structure LES Bet your delving into the old OXFORD dictionary l

Comment from Yours Truly:

You’ve made ‘your’ a possessive adj. when meant 2B contracted to you’re (you are)Using apostrophe here ties in w/ phonetics.

—–

The under Twitter comment comes from a chap who means well, and while hundreds of Twitter blockheads need public ridicule, I don’t intend to name this Tweeter.

… Wondering why Libs want debt sealing raised..

Sealing the debt is much like reigning it in, I suppose, but the sealant might give way. I would stick with ceiling.

—–

Julian Creighton ‏@JCBOONAH

Sage advice “allways drink up stream from the heard

(From)Julian Creighton ‏@JCBOONAH
Just got home from Boonah State high! Where ( my son) won a great sports award! Itself accomdemic awards in 2 weels

—–
Julian Creighton ‏@JCBOONAH

… Pups at Katherine N.T.any one won’t one?

He is offering a pup. I won’t take any.

——-

Chris Reynolds ‏@thebirdman1010 1h
Have serious misgivings about the promotion prospects of the Corporal that …said…FIRE!!!…Co,s no way was it an expensive officer.

What is “Co,s” all about? What is the sentence all about? If it’s meant to be in the vernacular or cutesy for ” because” it doesn’t cut the mustard. Had I been so inspired, I’d have gone ”‘cos or ’cause.”
—–—–
Ming the Merciless ‏@MGliksmanMDPhD 1h

Inquiry into #Manus Is http://www.smh.com.au/world/inquiry-into-manus-island-asylum-seekers-rights-20140316-hvjf6.html … via @smh The people who should be arrested are currently in Canberra. #auspol #refugees
——-

Professional opportunists like @ChrisMurphys appear to be agents-provocateurs, con-merchants, creating problems and then offering unctuous sweet talk to beleaguered working-class people.
.

Tinaroo Falls, often dry after 1963 construction of Barron Gorge Hydroelectric Power Station. Photo circa 1973

April 11, 2014

Tinaroo Falls circa 1974.
 

Barron Gorge Hydro.

My Cairns Friends…Bill Manning’s Pie-cart.

Theatre people; Hippies John Watson and Bryan Nason.

Cairns Little Theatre “Paint Your Wagon.

Full Programme, photos etc Paint Your Wagon.

Little Theatre 1964 in-house News-sheet. (squabbling)

Mime Adam Darius, Old Theatre Programmes.

When Pets And People Have Had Their Day.

Rosa In The Pot.

Pell And Abbott: “And thus I clothe my naked villainy and seem the saint when most I play the devil.”

March 24, 2014

 
Abbott (new text)

“I will not let the Holy one see corruption.”.

When Pets And People Have Had Their Day. Reprint.

March 8, 2014

Are pauper and cheap-rate cremations being conducted in pet-specific crematoria in South-East Queensland?

The death of a pet can have much the same emotional effect on the family as does the departure of one of their own and what to do with the remains, another heartfelt decision that needs serious thought. Burial is proportionately as expensive than cremation for pets as it is for humans, but whichever your choice, I implore you to stay with the animal to the last, until you feel the heat of the crematorium or until dirt is level with its surrounds in the case of a burial and can’t be easily disinterred with the body tipped out for the box to be reused, cream for the unscrupulous operator.

Part of his palaver is to reassure the client that cremations are performed individually but with power or fuel so prohibitively expensive, that is not financially feasible and as many animals as possible are crammed into the one operation. All care is taken of course, but stuff-ups occur and ashes sometimes have to be guessed. If the customer insists on staying for the hours-long procedure, the cunning operator will turn on the noisy force fan, without engaging the fuel, thus giving the illusion the procedure is under way and the bereaved reluctantly departs, believing he had covered every crooked avenue.

I’ve come across a treasure of photographs, of the shed surrounds of the crem, of the house, its yards, the crem book with its animal furnace layout, and a ‘mud map’ of the last year or so of burials in which the box had been saved for another day. If your pug, Oscar or standard poodle Claudia were afforded the luxury of a lawn burial in May/June of 2006, and didn’t attend the graveside service, then I’d suggest you organise a dig where you won’t find timber from the expensive coffin you paid for. On such times when mourners didn’t attend, the bodies were tipped into the hole for the boxes to have another day. It is a form of value-adding.

ScannedImage-4
 
Pet Crem.

Reserve Emergency Ashes.

Lewis Carroll, an extraordinary introduction to 1947 print of Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland.

January 28, 2014

Lewis Carroll.

Images: “I can’t go back to yesterday…”

Some years ago I was asked to get rid of a box of old books for a friend. Naturally I flipped through them before leaving at a charity shop and while not expecting the Biblical Scrolls from that mess of well-worn kid’s dictionaries and wreckage I was, nevertheless, rewarded by an intact, well preserved 1947 reprint of the famous ‘girl’s’ novel. It was a borrowed book from an inner Brisbane Library when the lending rate was threepence, the duration 14 days and the annual subscription was one Shilling.

The introduction, written some 50 years after Alice’s debut by a Herbert Strang, obviously a Carroll devotee was sincere and genuine and would have done his descendants proud. However, in today’s climate of “off with her head,” mentality on the least pretext, he would have been hounded to his death. I offer the page for your appraisal.

Lewis Carroll, intro extract.

Woolworths Beaudesert Speciality Shops Closing.

January 7, 2014

A recent survey of an undisclosed number of Yank tertiary students found 40% of them were unable to find their country on the world map. Am wondering how a similar test on an Australian group would rate with literary standards seeming to have little or no appeal, off the curricula it seems, and young persons comprehension powers having little or no official interest. A recent personal experience at bucolic Beaudesert’s Woolworth checkout deserves relating.

On Friday, January 3, I tended what I thought was $102 to pay a $82 bill, expecting, of course, $20 back. Instead, I was flabbergasted to receive a variety of notes and change amounting to $19.10. Turning to remonstrate a queue had grown so I moved on and checked the receipt outside.

If you care to check my receipt, you’ll find I had mistaken 10c for a dollar coin and had even asked if money was right. The checkout woman was not a child, but about 25 yo, so shouldn’t have feared intimidation by one 25 years or more her senior. Wondering if being an oldie would make me too spooky to point out my error. Am not into eating young people.

 

Woolworths receipt, Friday, 3 Jan, 2014

Browns Plains Discount Chemist. Only stereotyped oldes here, thank you.

December 31, 2013

I don’t have much faith in product reviews except perhaps when I’ve had a problem with an item and gone to that page to find if other purchasers are as dumb and luckless as the writer. The Google invitation to write a review became too hard to ignore and the letter under this intro is what I put together after a recent, age related incident by a female chemist.

“This chemist shop is part of the chain that recently advertised ‘reading glasses’ for sale at $21.95. While the identical product is available from most variety or $2 stores, I get my replacement specs from Carolyns, Jimboomba for $3.95. The word discount as part of the chain’s title is a misnomer at least, but of course, is meant to be taken in its accepted, deceptive sense. The product nevertheless, is effective, economical and easy to obtain and providing a corrective script is not necessary, the State is spared my optometry costs and I the inconvenience and the unnecessary feeding of a social parasite, the common optometrist.

Given my aversion to huge shopping centres, I’ve come to enjoy early morning drives to remote, rarely or never visited smaller centres, simply for the sake of change. These are usually the older, original shops that lost friends when the titans took over in the push for modernism. On Friday, December 13, about 70 Ks from home, found myself at Westpoint Shopping Centre, Browns Plains, where I did lotto and food shopping, looked about and spotted the decrepit facade of the above mentioned chemist shop. I presented my prepared note distinctly printed on 76 mm (three inches) sq memo pad which I am soon to commit to blog on http://lesjohns.wordpress.com

Pharmacist only products need the purchaser’s name and address, and being the possessor of both an irregular street and suburb names, have found a legible note alleviates the need for vocal repetition. The woman chemist appeared to be English and articulate but managed to turn Johns into Jonas. I needed another product that comes in 60 and 100 ml sizes and stated on the note I wanted the larger of the two. She then appeared with both sizes and asked what was my choice. Stupid and dumb! Asked what was vague about the note, said she was just making sure I knew what I had requested.

Here is my note. I have erased close-up info. Those lusting after me can be appeased by using the phone.

Browns Plains Chemist 2

Strains of the Beaudesert Woolworth deli woman when I asked for the skinned salmon. “Are you sure that’s what you want, it’s $2 a kilo more, you know”? That is dinkum and it happens frequently, and its the prior assumption of those twenty years or more our junior, that any action by oldies should be monitored because we must be operating in a vacuum. The chemist undergoes years of formidable examinations, the deli counter-jumper fewer yet both are quick to demean the oldie.”

Martyr Abbott, in awe of Saint Christopher: “You will not allow your holy one to see corruption” – Ps 15.

December 2, 2013

An Australian working-class demographic.

You know you are a bogan when…..

1. You let your twelve-year-old daughter smoke at the dinner table in front of her kids.
2. Bikers back down from your mum.
3. You think loading the dishwasher means getting your wife drunk.
4. You’ve been married 3 times and still have the same in-laws.
5. Jim Beam, Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker makes your list of “Most Admired People.”
6. You’ve ever had to scratch out your sister’s name in a message that begins “For a good time call….”
7. You’ve ever worn a dress that is strapless with a bra that isn’t.
8. Every day someone comes to your door mistakenly thinking you’re having a garage sale.
9. You have a working television that sits on top of a non-working television.
10. You think the Nutcracker is something you did off the diving tower.
11. Your dog was desexed by court order.
12. Your 13 year old daughter and her husband wanted belly button piercing, and you said no and got them matching tattoos instead.
13. You mow your lawn and find a car.
14. Your tyres are worth more than your car.

 

Thanks to thingsboganslike.com

1. Are you named after a car, motorbike or fashion label? eg. Mercedes, Harley, Chanel
2. Is there a bathtub, washing machine or couch in your backyard?
3. Have you ever mowed the lawn and found a car?
4. Do you think bin night is every night? (i.e. do you leave the bins out all week?)
5. Have you appeared as a neighbour from hell on A Current Affair?
6. Do you go outside to use the toilet?
7. Do you stand in your front garden and drink beer?
8. Have you spent more money doing up your car than what you paid for it?
9. Do you wear your bathrobe outside?
10. Are thongs your primary footwear?
11. Do you have a Southern Cross tattoo?
12. Have you ever brewed your own beer?
13.Do you smoke like a chimney?
14.Have you ever been arrested without a shirt on?
15.Do you parent in public (loudly)?
16.Were any of your children the result of a conjugal visit?
17.Are you a Collingwood supporter?
18.Have you ever been in a Lowes commercial?
19.Have you ever worn the Australian flag as a cape?
20.Do you like walking through train carriages?

 

Abbott (new text)

“And thus I clothe my naked villainy and seem the saint when most I play the devil”.

Thanks to goodreads.com for next bit of whimsy.

By Diana Gabaldon

“What’s that you’re doing, Sassenach?”

“Making out little Gizmo’s birth certificate–so far as I can,” I added.

“Gizmo?” he said doubtfully. “That will be a saint’s name?”

“I shouldn’t think so, though you never know, what with people named Pantaleon and Onuphrius. Or Ferreolus.”

“Ferreolus? I dinna think I ken that one.” He leaned back, hands linked over his knee.

“One of my favorites,” I told him, carefully filling in the birthdate and time of birth–even that was an estimate, poor thing. There were precisely two bits of unequivocal information on this birth certificate–the date and the name of the doctor who’s delivered him.

“Ferreolus,” I went on with some new enjoyment, “is the patron saint of sick poultry. Christian martyr. He was a Roman tribune and a secret Christian. Having been found out, he was chained up in the prison cesspool to await trial–I suppose the cells must have been full. Sounds rather daredevil; he slipped his chains and escaped through the sewer. They caught up with him, though, dragged him back and beheaded him.”

Jamie looked blank.

“What has that got to do wi’ chickens?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. Take it up with the Vatican,” I advised him.

“Mmphm. Aye, well, I’ve always been fond of Saint Guignole, myself.” I could see the glint in his eye, but couldn’t resist.

“And what’s he the patron of?”

“He’s involved against impotence.” The glint got stronger. “I saw a statue of him in Brest once; they did say it had been there for a thousand years. ‘Twas a miraculous statue–it had a cock like a gun muzzle, and–”

“A what?”

“Well, the size wasna the miraculous bit,” he said, waving me to silence. “Or not quite. The townsfolk say that for a thousand years, folk have whittled away bits of it as holy relics, and yet the cock is still as big as ever.” He grinned at me. “They do say that a man w’ a bit of St. Guignole in his pocket can last a night and a day without tiring.”

“Not with the same woman, I don’t imagine,” I said dryly. “It does rather make you wonder what he did to merit sainthood, though, doesn’t it?”

He laughed.

“Any man who’s had his prayer answered could tell yet that, Sassenach.”
(PP. 841-842)”
― Diana Gabaldon, Drums of Autumn

GulfNews.com

“Lament For Maid Melbourne” by Dame Everage: From The Archives.

November 6, 2013

When good Adelaide boy, albeit Anglican, (Sir)Alex Downer ruled Australia’s diplomatic British roost.

 

Maid Melbourne

Pleas Sur, hears sum bazaar riteings of @tbadrick and other Twitter Homophoniacs.

October 31, 2013

Creighton is an assumed name used by the Liberal Party network to hassle pro-Labor Tweeters by sending them trojans. The cover is that of a pleasant bucolic family type who tills the soil as he listens to ABC Brisbane, a well-thought facade of a most devious and dangerous organization.

Another work of art by the mentally challenged Julian Creighton ‏@JCBOONAH, 21/11/2013:

Did Indonesian apologize for killing journalists in Timore??? Oh ,,,,murdering people doing their job must be OK
——-
Julian Creighton ‏@JCBOONAH

Sage advice “allways drink up stream from the heard”

——-

And yet another one from the challenged Julien:

Julian Creighton ‏@JCBOONAH

Pups at Katherine N.T.any one won’t one?

He is offering a pup. I won’t take any.

——–

Les Johns ‏@LesJohnsLes

@JCBOONAH “Dear Please don’t tweet. Me again!’!” * Ignorance can be cured, stupidity is forever* r u homophoniac?

Two comments in response to this observation by its protagonist.

No one with connections to has eluded to any…

@TBadrick 3 Dec

Without delay @rupertmurdoch should direct @dailytelegraph editor to keep @barryofarrell accountable for CSG desicration of #Pilliga forest.

Timothy Badrick ‏@TBadrick 31 Oct

Regarding #CSG development in #PilligaForest @barryofarrell do you intend to create laws to protect this forest sanctuary from obliveration?

Who the hell does @LesJohnsLes think he is? Lord Muck? His Most Holier Than Thou? I think FWIT Mc. Talk Through My Arse is a better name Les

Timothy Badrick ‏@TBadrick 31 Oct

@LesJohnsLes Go away Les you bitter, twisted old fool, i have never attacked you about anything, obviously you are jealous of me you twit.

——–

This one on 15/05/2014 “…No one with connections to @whitehouse has eluded to any…”

The under Twitter comment comes from a chap who means well, and while hundreds of Twitter blockheads need public ridicule, I don’t intend to expose this fellow.

Wondering why Libs want debt sealing raised.. http://www.abc.net.au/news/2013-11-28/transurban-and-the-business-council-talk-to-the/5123916 … #lateline biz .. sell all public assets ..

Sealing the debt is much like reigning it in, I suppose, but the sealant might give way. I would stick with ceiling.
——–

@thebirdman1010…So I take it,when it comes to #TheirABC your going to do a @BarryOFarrell = 3/5ths of SFA ?

————

Below is an introduction to grammatical errors from an unrecorded site to whose publishers I offer my appreciation for their insightful material.

For two weeks we highlighted phrases that are written from what people hear, sometimes with amusing results. A reader asked: “Aren’t all those [examples] mondegreens, like ‘very close veins’ when ‘varicose veins’ is meant?”

Yes and know.

Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary defines a mondegreen as “a word or phrase that results from a mishearing of something said or sung.” It’s best used when what was misheard is poetry, song, or other literary/artistic endeavor.

Some of the rest of such misheard phrases could be “eggcorns,” or “malaprops,” or “spoonerisms.” All four of these are incorrect renderings of something heard or spoken. The differences can be subtle, and no one highlights those differences better than Grammar Girl, Mignon Fogarty. She writes:

•Spoonerisms are what you get when a speaker mixes up sounds, making phrases such as better Nate than lever.
•Mondegreens are what you get when listeners mishear words; for example when people think the song lyrics are Sweet dreams are made of cheese instead of Sweet dreams are made of this.
•Eggcorns are what you get when people swap homophones in phrases, such as spelling hear, hear H-E-R-E instead of H-E-A-R.
•Malapropisms are what you get when someone substitutes a similar-sounding word for another, such as He’s the pineapple of politeness instead of He’s the pinnacle of politeness.

The oldest of these is “malaprop.” A 1775 play introduced a character, Mrs. Malaprop, who often mixed up words in long phrases (as in the “pinnacle/pineapple” example above). The first etymological use of “malaprop” was in 1814, The Oxford English Dictionary says, and it was “verbed” in 1959 (though you might be accused of misapropping a word if you malaprop it).

Mondegreen, as we’ve said, appears to have been coined in 1954, when a writer recounted her mishearing of an old ballad. But it didn’t make it into most dictionaries until much later.

The word “eggcorn” traces to 1844, according to the OED, when people miswrote “acorn.” But its etymological use goes only to 2003, when a discussion on the venerable Language Log suggested its use. An “eggcorn” phrase usually has some logic to support it, as in “right of passage” instead of “rite of passage.” “Eggcorn” still does not appear in Merriam-Webster, though it is in The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language.

A “spoonerism” is the only one of the four phenomena where new words can be formed, by transposing syllables of others, as in “I had tee many martoonis.” More often, the transposition results in real words used nonsensically or humorously (“troy bout scoop” instead of “boy scout troop”). Named for the Rev. William Archibald Spooner, who died in 1930 and was famously prone to tripping over his own tongue, “spoonerisms” can be found in colloquial use as far back as 1885, The OED says, though their first documented use was in 1900. Some “spoonerisms” have become words themselves, as “bass-ackwards” did in 1930 (though to be fair, that may have been a deliberate alteration to avoid having one’s mouth washed out with soap).

You’ll notice that in some of those, the speaker has misheard something, while in others, the speaker is misspeaking. But they can all be miswritten as well. When they are, let’s call them “malaspoondecorns.”
If you’re caught in any of these, you can always fall back on Yogi Berra, and claim “I really didn’t say everything I said.”

The absolute best spoonerism I was ever present at the creation of was when an Episcopal priest in a church in Elizabeth, N.J., took the opportunity to congratulate another congregation in the same diocese — in his exact words, I swear — “on the erection of their new lector.”

Some delightful balls-ups are coming up. Their quaint illiteracy replaces those gorgeous “don’t fuck with us” instructions that olden-days garbage-dump Nazis pasted whenever a rule was breached. The progeny of these slower people went on to greatness by holding stop/go roadwork signs or admitting their failure by becoming entrenched police spivs. Habitual Tweeters might recognize the frequent offenders. An earlier post that would appeal to literary masochists can be found on “Twitter Bird-brains.”

Mark Harrison ‏@boffincentral 28 Oct

@Qldaah If you’re going to be a crook, where a suit, not a bikie patch. @JarrodBleijie is winning
—–
Timothy Badrick ‏@TBadrick

@crikey_news @TheKouk What do you think of this article @joehockey? It eludes to u making a storm in a teacup over australia’s economic policy.
—–
Mark Harrison ‏@boffincentral
@Qldaah If you’re going to be a crook, where a suit, not a bikie patch. @JarrodBleijie is winning
—–
roy harvey ‏@barnbrack
waiting with excitement to see your next masterpiece of word structure LES Bet your delving into the old OXFORD dictionary l

Les Johns ‏@LesJohnsLes
You’ve made ‘your’ a possessive adj. when meant 2B contracted to you’re (you are)Using apostrophe here ties in w/ phonetics.

—–

1. @barnbrack TO MAKE CAMERAS THERE WORTH WHILE VOLUME IS THE ONLY THING POLITICIANS THINK ABOUT NOT LIVES AND POLICE MUST FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS
2. Les Johns ‏@LesJohnsLes 4 Apr
If you want to be seriously regarded as a sage, do your fans a favor and have an educated mentor vet your gems before despatch.
3. roy harvey ‏@barnbrack 4 Apr
Read your header John Seems that TWEETERS ARE MORE OR LESS DUNCES AND IDIOTS Yet you are replying to us what’s that make you
4. Les Johns ‏@LesJohnsLes 5 Apr
It makes me despair that an oracle can so contract a word into apostropic use and shout assumptions, has roy harveyno idea of his ignorance
roy harvey ‏@barnbrack 5 Apr@LesJohnsLes Les the exhuberance of your verbocity exceeds me overwhemingly

—–

Chris Reynolds ‏@thebirdman1010 1h
One would imagine the ADF investigation into what started the State Mine Fire,will conclude right after mankind has resettled on Mars.
For a place to be “resettled” it needed to have been earlier “settled.”
—–
Chris Reynolds ‏@thebirdman1010 1h
Have serious misgivings about the promotion prospects of the Corporal that …said…FIRE!!!…Co,s no way was it an expensive officer.

What is “Co,s” all about? If it’s meant to be in the vernacular or cutesy for ” because” it doesn’t cut the mustard. Had I been so inspired, I’d have gone,” ‘cos or ’cause.”
—–
Julian Creighton ‏@JCBOONAH
Just got home from Boonah State high! Where @Angus_beef_ ( my son) won a great sports award! Itself accomdemic awards in 2 weels

Chris Reynolds ‏@thebirdman1010
@PetefromHayNSWpete….not used to phone … Didn’t mean to but in:…cheers

Timothy Badrick ‏@TBadrick 13 Oct
Everything that can be done must be done @theqldpremier to ensure this water feature isn’t desicrated.
—–
The sheer overall semi-literate style of the next exchange by this Boonah-claimed site marks it as stage-managed. During the election campaign, I received a trojan from this tag, warned not to open, I returned it unopened and suffered no pc damage. Another pro-LNP twitter site, sounding like @birdman and using the same distorted punctuation, especially the semi-colon, delivered me a trojan which, once again I returned unopened and had no drama.

Julian Creighton ‏@JCBOONAH 10h

Good to see a Boonah boy,,being @ScottBuchholzMP. As whip In today’s Parliament sitting @612brisbane

Les Johns @LesJohnsLes

@JCBOONAH Illiteracy of this tag prob a rabid, Pyke-generated @LiberalAust setup who sent anti-Labor trojans during campaign.Don’t trust. – 11 Nov

Julian Creighton @JCBOONAH

@LesJohnsLes. Please don’t tweet. Me again!’!”

Hope this little collection of grammatical howlers amused you for a few minutes.

Wizard of Id’s thoughts of the toxic imposters known as Legislators.

October 2, 2013

Wizard of Id: Politicking Shysters; the system never changes.
 

During Victoria’s reign, Parliamentarian poked fellow M.P’s huge belly asking, “What are you going to call it”?
“If it’s a girl, I’ll call it Victoria after our gracious Queen,” came the retort,”but if it’s piss and wind which I suspect it is, I’ll call it after you.”

ooooOoooo

“The body consists of three parts – the brainium, the borax and
the abominable cavity. The brainium contains the brain, the
borax contains the heart and lungs, and the abominable cavity
contains the bowels, of which there are five – a, e, i, o and u.”

Schoolkid bloopers.

ooooOoooo

“Vacuum: A large, empty space where the pope lives.”

ooooOoooo

The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon is a form of synchronicity:

The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon occurs when a person, after having learned some (usually obscure) fact, word, phrase, or other item for the first time, encounters that item again, perhaps several times, shortly after having learned it.

Take the concept of Schadenfreude, which is a German word for “taking joy in the misfortune of others”. This concept is discussed periodically in mainstream media and other sources. If one does not know what it is, and has no intention of learning what it is, one may hear the term and easily forget about it, as it does not ‘fit’ into the person’s conceptions of reality. They may even rationalize that they heard a different word. However, once the person understands what the concept means, they will then notice it when the concept comes up in day-to-day life, whereas before, the person made few or no memories concerning the concept, as it was outside the realm of their understanding.

ooooOoooo

“But he that dares not grasp the thorn Should never crave the rose.”

Anne Bronte, “The Tenant of Wildfeld Hall.”

ooooOoooo

“I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.”

Emily Bronte, “Wuthering Heights.”

ooooOoooo

“I would rather be happy than dignified.”

Charlotte Bronte, “Jane Eyre.

ooooOoooo

“Anything you’re good at contributes to happiness; I would never die for my beliefs.”

Bertrand Russell, Philosopher.

ooooOoooo

George Orwell said it.

Garbage Nazis and other Bastards I have known.

September 30, 2013

More Waste Containers

More Waste Containers (Photo credit: Stiwwe)

The ultimate result of shielding men from their own stupidity is to fill the world with fools.

I recently urged people to be gentle with those seemingly kind old chaps you see buzzing around garbage bins like blue-arsed flies and referred not to tramps looking for sustenance, but to the resident bin-carer.  After a couple of unpleasant incidents with the incumbent garbage nazi in the precinct I had lately moved into, my former advice to be gentle with these creatures changed to be very aware of them. Self-appointed old bin bastards (OBB) are invariably fussy despots, the obsessed roadwork controllers, if you like, of apartment precincts.

Tim is of scant build, 67 kilos would pull him up, 78 years of age and about 167 cm, snowy hair becoming the focus when trims are delayed. His mien was that of a comfortably off retiree, back-room boffin was my first thought, proving close to the mark. Polite but distant, inclined to the discourteous, a surprise to find this effete private gent was the garbage Nazi. We tentatively tested each other with unimportant talk but his rude and annoying trait of cutting me off mid-sentence quickly became a put-off. I attributed his ignorance to a dearth of cerebral companionship.

What seemed a valid complaint was his frustration at residents using all eight bins simultaneously when filling a couple at a time would be energy-conscious by halving the number of hydraulic lifts resulting in less diesel stench. The bins stay on the footpath and are pulled to the kerb on collection days. After lining them up one collection morning and feeling unwell, he afforded me great honor by asking me to pull them back from the kerb after clearing. I gladly did this, but created unrest and suspicion in him by turning four bins away from use and projecting the others 30 cm or so to make them automatic choice. I had spent a little time in advertising, and by applying thought, had inadvertently become a garbage Nazi’s enemy.

He’d had a few heart scares of late, the most recent a day before and was pensive about body movements, fearing each one his last. A few days later I was going into town for supplies and offered to do his shopping. His curious retort that he didn’t want my charity flummoxed me briefly as I hadn’t offered a loan. I had no idea he was in a financial rut and his false pride exposed what he really thought of me. To my great pain I ignored my trusty shit detector or prescience which was imploring me to be done with this churlish old man.

Feeling up to the 55 km round trip to town a few days later, he accepted my offer of a lift to attend a few chores. Working out a rough plan to facilitate our errands, he reacted “You’re just like Christa, afraid to walk a few feet.” An unrepentant control-freak, he asked of me when I suggested we load our supplies into the back seat,”What do you think the boots for?” Fumbling Les just couldn’t get it right, but my air-conditioning doesn’t reach the boot.

Christa is Tim’s Eurasian-looking comfort woman in her seventh decade who claims German heritage, won’t do messages for her friend but religiously calls on him pension fortnight, is later picked-up by her pimp or by an ill-mannered fiftyish, ignorant sow of a woman, possibly a fading escort tart. She would wait for her friend with the car idling swamping my ground-level flat with CO2. She wasn’t about to change her ways on impulse, so I explained what her carbon-monoxide was doing to the respiratory department.

” Well, if it worries you so much, you’ll just have to shut the door when I turn up.” “And you’d be a right royal first class cunt,” a voice within me felt obliged to respond. I denied her shock, horror and affront. Tim’s grandiosity to his ‘lady’ friend explained his rusted, unkempt, shit-box and the veracity of his comments of never having savings to draw on should an emergency arise.

He moved her, whatever that meant, into a nearby flat. Most likely, it meant paying the bond and two weeks rent and nothing more forth-came. She paid nil rent and was turfed out three months later. Her goods and chattels disappeared the same way they had arrived, by degree, in bits and pieces in the pimp’s car and in Tim’s clanking and disintegrating Celica, a house of cards assembled with bric-a-brac.

What he gets in return for the fiscal fawning is his concern of course, but these pampered, ignorant dregs do not return favours or help an ailing benefactor, and to suppose she would automatically respond in kind is so alien to her mind-thought as never having entered her ambit of thought. She is much like Maugham’s drab and conniving Mildred, an artless, rotten leech who returns her doddering backer little or nothing except heartache and despair, a fact he acknowledged when accepting my offer of help.

Despite his misplaced suspicion of me as a do-gooder who must be punished, I readily agreed to pay a couple of due accounts at the post office using cash drawn from his ATM account, the pin number of which he had written on spiral-bound stationary measuring 20 cm X 13 cm. Spiral-bound memo pads is stationary which I thought a relic of the past and to see it still in use interested me. A few days later, I found a hand-printed note in my letter-box sternly telling me to turn the TV down and it was written on the same size spiral-bound paper that the OBB had used on his note with the PIN number.

Tim’s flat is too far from mine to be irritated by electronic noises even on the quietest night, yet he passes my door to get to his car and once commented my tv was audible. Checked with adjacent tenant about this who assured me there was no justification to his bitching.

It Gets Couriouser And Couriouser.

Nearby lives an aging Botox ‘babe’ whose swollen ugly dial doesn’t auger well for her youth-wish. Called out to me on Wednesday late March, wanting a lift to town for Anglican communion, offering ‘petrol’ money. And that’s the last I’ve seen of the poodle ‘lady’ on a friendly, neighborly basis. Now, a special 58 km return trip would be cheap at $20, but I await still for any recompense and am avoided by her as though I am a carrier of the black death. Talking about bastards I have known….

An Australian working-class demographic.

You know you are a bogan when…..

1. You let your twelve-year-old daughter smoke at the dinner table in front of her kids.
2. Bikers back down from your mum.
3. You think loading the dishwasher means getting your wife drunk.
4. You’ve been married 3 times and still have the same in-laws.
5. Jim Beam, Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker makes your list of “Most Admired People.”
6. You’ve ever had to scratch out your sister’s name in a message that begins “For a good time call….”
7. You’ve ever worn a dress that is strapless with a bra that isn’t.
8. Every day someone comes to your door mistakenly thinking you’re having a garage sale.
9. You have a working television that sits on top of a non-working television.
10. You think the Nutcracker is something you did off the diving tower.
11. Your dog was desexed by court order.
12. Your 13 year old daughter and her husband wanted belly button piercing, and you said no and got them matching tattoos instead.
13. You mow your lawn and find a car.
14. Your tyres are worth more than your car.

Updated

Please hold this Jesus bus from latest PM. His eminence Abbott could get ideas for next campaign.

September 9, 2013

With nil but garbage on TV lately, had my attention diverted to tidying 40 yo archives. This gem is one of my finds.

Jesus bus close-up

A non-plagiarized letter of wisdom from an esteemed English blog about Australia.

September 4, 2013

Australian Coat of Arms (adopted 1912)

Australian Coat of Arms (adopted 1912) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Craig,
It might be of mild interest to you Craig, that the inspiration for some of the material on your expose of despicable old bastards responsible for the woes of the world ran as mid-day movie recently. In contemporary Australia and Britain, retaliating old ducks would certainly be admonished if not slotted for defending themselves and the young offenders, well compensated and kidded to. Could never understand the reverence given the dead cockatoo sketch, although later jokers brought it up to date. The Python team’s writing talent was pure visionary genius, hard to see being improved upon in today’s bureaucratic suppression of both mind and body.

The “special” powers awarded police during that nonsense in your town is so Orwellian-reminiscent as to be frightening. A similar but less spectacular two or three days of bullshit is scheduled for this town two years hence, puffing up the dignitaries of great importance. ASIO will be recruiting more guttersnipes to smell our sheets, classify the pubes and monitor citizens communications. Blogs authored by critical oldies like this one will disappear overnight with its scribe, and not a soul will give a rats arse or even know.

In Queensland, the State policeperson who visited me after I disclosed and spoke disparagingly of two fifth column agents, felt obliged to murmur “darkduck” when I explained I was quite comfortable with my own company. Those whose presence is not feared by authority may entertain such notions it seems, but for an ugly old up-himself blogger, quite unacceptable and intolerable.

The ultimate elimination of the oldie is the driving force behind your blog Craig and perhaps you would appreciate some of the stuff practiced in stealth by the Australian Government. My blog silence and later references to Gulag was inspired by the police visit and his promise of a “mental evaluation.” It is coercive, summary punishment for mentioning disparagingly their spook agencies. The victim, a retired gentleman, ergo troublesome and unbelievable. I am not at all brave, and need to keep my driver’s licence so I followed his advice and shut up. So much for my self-respect. But the hell with it, better I fade in incarceration than by shame, that the stupidity of my antagonists be known.

Local cops had a demarcation spat with the motor cycle fraternity and were given extra powers to do them over, their already vast resource not enough. Police publicity advised the public to dob-in and deplore the bikie element. I had contempt for this moronic group, kidding themselves they were free spirits etc when in fact they were so clearly dominated by a hierarchy and a militant system as to be beneath contempt. They kept to themselves, or to the point, didn’t cause me any inconvenience so rightly, I have no fear of them, I do however fear the police who enter my home and menace my well-being by threats to my independence with instructions on how to think.

Gillard, the lady PM of Australia doesn’t really have much to do with the inner workings of the great southern land, and ditto Abbott should he gain the titular title. The self-important mouth of Queensland doesn’t run that State neither, nor will his successor whose appearance will be sooner than later. The real string-pullers with the grease-can are career Bureaucrats who interpret and mold the law-maker’s wishes to suit their own egos and intent and whose deceit condones multi $K annual bonuses for the officially accepted policy of pretence.

Cheers, Les Johns.

Tuesday, July 31, 2012 2:18:00 pm

To My English Friend Gingerzilla in Defence of Generous Australian Age Pensions.

September 4, 2013

Fall guy

Fall guy (Photo credit: Dizzy-one)

Forgive me for not having the decades of life needed to justify a deep and meaningful reply to your insightful but esoteric, too intellectual for me, blog. Will try though.

This country is swamped by confidence tricksters and all types of fraudsters at election time, much like the goings-on in your glorious country on these occasions. It is not hard to understand why oldies are a favored target, the assumption being that they have just emerged from tired, stretched wombs, overwhelmed and speechless at the wondrous world around them.

These opportunistic crims woo old wankers who have always mismanaged their money, don’t pay utilities bill and have their power cut. Unctuous do-gooders jump in, condemning everyone bar the ‘poor victim,’ who was/is the best guy you could know etc.

I was simply defending the present Government’s electric subsidy which far exceeds my quarterly $131 bill leaving me $3800 a quarter after rent for food, to run the car or to use as I fancy. That’s a wrap.

Attempted Censorship Brisbane 1971. Adam Darius, American mime, nine curtain calls. Programme & reviews.

September 1, 2013

 

Biography of Adam Darius, courtesy of and thanks to Wikipedia.

 

Adam Darius, USA Mime. 29/04/1971

Adam Darius programme.

Darius inside fluff.

 

The menu for this popular restaurant of its day was tucked into the programme so I presume we finished our night out at this now closed joint. Note the 15 cents for ‘filtered’ coffee. I expect you fancy queens pay $8.95 or more for this bullshit today.

 

Bill Of Fare, Diamond Drill Bistro, circa Adam Darius tour.

 

D D Menu

Brisbane Telegraph On-going Darwin Dingo Trial. September 22, 1982 & old adverts.

August 28, 2013

Dingo Trial; Burt/Glenn Milne (Wednesday, Sept 22, 1982)

The flip side of the page covering Lindy Chamberlain’s plight is just as interesting. Witness the Government persecution of the parents of a handicapped son over a couple of bob. This harassment happens today. Only three years ago, an elderly friend, now dead, was hounded by Queensland’s Housing Department for forgetting to declare her first husband’s 1944 war pension which was about two dollars in today’s money. The sum involved was so petty that is would have added about 10 cents to her rent.

Reverse page of Dingo Story.

Butcher adverts are interesting in that hogget, once the choice of the budget buyer is no longer on the market after a sheep glut caused extreme culling which virtually wiped out the ovine market creating the present high prices with lamb being priced out of the average family shopping list. On the other hand, a full old cow rump can be seen today for around $6 a kilo compares favourably with the $3.39 of thirty years ago.

Butcher shop adverts. 1982

More meat ads

Oldies don’t need your assistance to experience derision Syvret,we have the public service.

August 18, 2013

In The Aisles. (Syvret)

1964 Cairns Little Theatre Production “Paint Your Wagon,” “Our Town”& “17th Doll” Programmes.

August 17, 2013

 

"Wagon" Programme Cover.

 

Reg Stocker, Flo Cairncross

 

"Paint Your Wagon" the germination.

 

Five Principle Players.

 

"Tropical News Week." (Wagon)

 

Page two

 

Our Town

 

Our Town cast</a

 

17 th Doll.

 

17th Doll (cast)

 

Labor Rats: Office Rodents Win.

August 17, 2013

Office Rats.

‘Hippies’ Bryan Nason and John Watson. Tales from the Magic Era.

August 17, 2013

 
"Loot" 1

 
Loot 2

 
'Hippies' Bryan Nason and John Watson. Tales from the Magic Era.

Sunday Mail story September 7, 1997: “Where Have All The Hippies Gone”?

The Tony Worsley attribute might be wrong, spitting image of a youthful John Watson.

 

A Look-back With Affection.

“I Don’t Frown for Thee Australia, but for Yours Truly.”

August 14, 2013

Abbott (new text)

“Trust me, my name’s Tony (strawman) Abbott, and I wouldn’t know how to lie.”

August 8, 2013

Abbott (new text)

Inspired Courier Mail type-setter, circa 1973. Telegraph Reunion Circular.

August 2, 2013

Brisbane Telegraph on strike.
 
 
Cunt lunches (2)

 
 

Telegraph Reunion

Silence Kills: Our ‘leaders’ love wars if they’re not in it; what’s Abbott got lined-up?

July 24, 2013

A Townsville based anti-Viet war brochure from 1970.

img0331968 Anti-Vietnam War Brochure.

img034 Anti-Vietnam War Side 2

Cairns Little Theatre presents… “Paint Your Wagon.”

July 19, 2013

Thanks to successful movie actor, Anthony Hopkins, who featured in a recent Craig Ferguson show, I now know that a highlight of his career occurred in Glasgow fifty years ago this week. Standing-in for the ill Laurence Oliver I think it was, but of far greater importance about the same time was the Cairns Little Theatre’s showing of their first and possibly last musical production. The prominently reproduced Cairns Post review features their 1964 local tour itinerary.

My arrival in North Queensland a year or two earlier coincided with the showing of John Wayne’s zoo-chasing hero movie Hatari and its long-lasting popular cutesy, Henry Mancini composed theme, Baby Elephant Walk. A large ensemble of Spanish dancers, The Great Lousillo, apart from introducing we plebeians to Ravel’s Bolero, seemed easily accommodated on the theatre stage, but the Little Theatre had its own venue a couple of blocks from the town centre, the Hibernian Hall, I think it was.

The cosy, friendly little town of Cairns was most welcoming and I went on to spend the best part of a decade in this undisturbed paradise of some, then 29,000 inhabitants. Entertainment was party or self-generated. After the hamburger joint, the ‘chinese’ was the place to be seen until the really suave and sophisticated lifestyle changed local society when a pizza shop opened.

The more dogmatic among us persisted with using the phonetic “pizz-ah” until capitulating to the majority. Had these smart-arse southern intruders been nipped in the bud at this point, the Surfer’s Paradise-like vermin invasion might have been delayed or derailed in its tracks. I jest of course.

The five photos shown are my souvenir picks from the many on offer that were taken on full dress rehearsal. The bulk of the audience that night consisted of nuns from St Monica’s. Somewhere within the upheaval of my filing system is a “Wagon” programme and when it surfaces will drop it in this post in the possibility descendents of the players might recognise forbears.

 
img013 CP Review

Review from Cairns Post June 1964.

Note mixed quote marks.

 

Fifty Year old Qld Govt tourist promo.tape provided by Marc of nearby Edmonton, used by Cairns Post. The tape shows its age. When it stops, restart the clip and slide over the blip-spot. It’s worth persevering with.

img012
 

This is a melancholy scene; that damned wind Maria, perhaps? The old chap seated on my right was making side quips sending a grandson on his right into giggling fits, another lanky grandson stands behind me.

img010 Swing doors; bottle

“Out the window goes the beans.” The coated, sitting chap about to catch bottle thrown by exuberant, soon to be rich miner, was sans left arm.

img004Dancing; wall nude.

“The first thing you know.” Lee Marvin.

img007Rumson's Bar

“Backstage” review of 2009 off-Broadway production.

img009Campfire

“I was born under a wandering star.”

My Cairns friends, any left standing? Bill Manning’s pie-cart.

June 28, 2013

Fifty year old Govt tourist promotion tape provided by Marc of Edmonton, used by Cairns Post.

 

My Cairns Friends…Bill Manning’s Pie-cart.

Theatre people; Hippies John Watson and Bryan Nason.

Cairns Little Theatre “Paint Your Wagon.

Full Programme, photos etc Paint Your Wagon.

Little Theatre 1964 in-house News-sheet. (squabbling)

Mime Adam Darius, Old Theatre Programmes.

When Pets And People Have Had Their Day.

Rosa In The Pot.

 

The Cairns Post ran a Tweet header that couldn’t be ignored and I swear it was directed at me, but contrary to previous occasions when my material was welcomed, the emotion wasn’t reciprocated. Being critical of the Cairns Post owner on Twitter has far-reaching consequences. By coincidence, am undergoing a personal Cairns revival of sorts having persisted with the craft of photo scanning and getting a recently recovered cache of youthful memories into my blog-site’s media library. The very last photo successfully transferred was of a forlorn East West DC3 on the Cairns tarmac that I was about to board for Weipa. A lone middle-aged couple, conservatively dressed in calf length overcoat ahead of me gave the overcast day a Casablanca feel. Fokker Friendships were replacing the trusty Gooney Bird and my flight was one of DC3s last, I understand.

Casablanca Cairns

Casablanca Cairns

The time was 1966, the year decimal currency was introduced, when a week or so after I arrived in Weipa, curious workmates would crowd around the latest arrival for a glimpse of the new currency. Thanks to Marc of Edmonton for keeping and to the Cairns Post for using the 1964 tourist promo tape. I was especially delighted and surprised when the brief grab of a Cairns Little Theatre rehearsal appeared. Showing the very competent director and popular Reg Stocker doing what he was wired for. Reg’s day job was with Adult Education.

Soon after the Cairns amateur production of Paint Your Wagon,(Oregon movie sites) the butch Lee Marvin made musicals an acceptable art form by starring in the Hollywood version. Marvin was a regular visitor to Cairns at marlin season, as was Australia’s radio and tv identity Pick A Box compere, Bob Dyer who brushed fame on me by asking for parking meter change.

On Saturdays, at Bill Smart’s Palace Hotel, shown in the video, the Little Theatre had a fund-raising event called a goose-club where ten or so business-donated items were raffled. I got to know Reg and his ticket selling crew and was gently press-ganged into the “Wagon” cast.

Around the corner on the kerbside outside the Impy (Imperial Hotel) Bill Manning’s pie-cart held sway. Bill advised me to acquire bakery equipment in bits and pieces, whenever I had a bit of spare, and irregardless the time it took, stack items where-ever, under the bed was one suggestion, and hold until ready to open a business. Our shared careers as pastry-cooks was the connection. The Cairns Post did a piece on an Edmonton pub a couple of years ago and used my little reminiscence of the time I worked at the nearby, now long gone Hambledon Sugar Mill.

With eight years or so to draw on, this might be an appropriate time to ease off for the time being.
lesjohns.wordpress.com/

 

Creating More Cunning, Thieving Bastards… Local Councils.

June 25, 2013

English: Monument at the birthplace of Steele Rudd

English: Monument at the birthplace of Steele Rudd (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

OUR TOWN…Not a happy little town.

This is an old post from April 2011. Resurrected it when I saw a Turnbull line about referendum for recognition of Local Government (This means SFA to me.) would fail.

Would like to remind readers of what was probably the opening paragraph of Steele Rudd’s (Arthur Hoey Davis) 1908 satirical take on Queensland politics,“Dad In Politics.”

“Smith, the member for our district, died one day, and we forgot all about him the next. Not that a politician is ever remembered much after he dies, but Smith had been a blind, bigoted, old Tory, and was better dead. Politicians are mostly better dead, so far as other people and their country is concerned …”

Appreciation once again to the invaluable Wikipedia.

Remember that one about empty drums making the most noise? That’s how it is in any Main Street, Scrubtown. The less cerebral talking over the top of those who hesitate a few seconds to intelligently consider before making an impulsive retort. Walking away from and avoiding these anti-social boors gives them free rein to become the insufferable Cambell Newmans and the cautious mayor never secretive about the wider picture, ready to tilt at fuller tills. Newman doing a Charlie Sheen, a wind-bag pushing his amusement interest beyond the ho hum, his Peter’s Level exceeded.

Of mundane, domestic interest, my Saturday visits to the library involuntarily suspended after strong implications I risk tarnishing a blameless life by indulging in petty theft. Inquiring on consecutive Saturdays the absence of that days Curious Mail, the third Saturday was set upon and told that stolen chronicles a problem and I could have access only under supervision. Dumb Les again the schumck. I would rather be accused of ram-raiding an ATM machine.

For an anti-confrontational peace lover, I never can comprehend why is it so that the shortest of outings has me arriving home with another conundrum or two. Even a glance from my study window could invoke a committal hearing. I and one other sixtyish, tubby, curmudgeonly Cromwellian look-alike and imitator were the only users of the reading room first thing, he on the dot machine and the one most adept at sowing seeds in contrite, bucolic minds.

Unknown to me initially, I expressed wonderment at the ease an amateur’s letters being used by NY Times and Guardian even before I was conversant with email. Reminding him of my novice status, I reluctantly agreed to ‘edit’ his three emailed stories, every line a paean to the cause. His intro. notes a grammatical and structural mess, an obvious lure. I was livid and had it out with him at the library.

When one gets in bed with government, one must expect the diseases it spreads.

This bloke wears an array of hats, significantly that of founding member of a local revamped political party who put an eventual turncoat in Parliament, has now endorsed a mate to grace George Street Looter’s Club. It was a church cap that propelled his belief once too often and the rift. “It’s my job,” he excused his enthusiasm. He may well have used “God made me do it.” I’ve already speculated on yet another hat where a Council building contract to unnecessarily replace a popular faculty has probably been decided.

Newman stands condemned as far as I’m concerned, for reassuring the major State Bureaucratic criminals of their everlasting top-level omnipotence. Contra stitched deals between the new head-man and back-room bastards hiding behind the elected pretenders of democracy, whatever the individual’s take on that word. Whoever the ultimate power-brokers, the status quo won’t change and my naive mind suggests there is little to be gained by exchanging one lot of $1,000 a day rank thieves and bludgers with a similar crew.

I suppose that is a version of democracy at work, rotate the bandits to shush and appease ‘em all. We could be reminded more often of their personal sacrifices to serve the community they love for a miserable $!,000 a day when their real worth in the real world outside George Street would get them much more than tea and biscuit money. Les.

Drop site:lesjohns.wordpress.com into your search bar for 60 more good reasons for dwelling in the desert.

Badrick, Harvey, Reynolds and other Psycho Illiterates: Twitter Birdbrains.

June 22, 2013

“By giving us the hate spiel of the greedy, the boor and the dunce, Twitter keeps us in touch with the fools and fanatics in our midst.”

“There is much to be said in favor of the letters to the editor pages…the opinions of the dunces keeps us in touch with the ignorance of the community.

Oscar Wilde quotes

It is with that quote in mind that I present a few spiteful Tweets, this era’s ‘letters,’ quite probably sent into cyberspace by someone you know.
Some comments didn’t paste over to this blogsite too well. For instance, my tweet name leads some of these nasty lines, but editing this vile garbage is essentially a time-waster which I saved only because my naïvety couldn’t believe people could reach adulthood without having even a basic punctuation and grammatical knowledge. I will try to separate and tidy-up if feedback suggests interest.
In keeping to a Devil’s Advocate stance, I twitter-follow a few extremists of both political sides and noticed the Scot reaction to a nasty piece of shit authored by a schizoid/schizophrenic or whatever his disease, which seems advanced.

Warning! Reading the following drivel might pollute the brain:

Chris Reynolds ‏@thebirdman1010 11h

Besides being the first female to become PM, Gillard will also be remembered as the first PM to be sprung lying on a regular basis

Chris Reynolds ‏@thebirdman1010 11h

Besides the obvious fact @CraigEmersonMP has,nt a musical bone in his body,an a poor taste in women,He will simply be remembered as an idiot

ooooooooo

Tim (Timmy) Badrick@TBadrick 6m

Hi @CraigEmersonMP,just saw you on @theprojectTV shorts sitting in on a meeting between @JuliaGillard & #CCP, was #Tibet autonomy discussed?

Tim (Timmy) Badrick@TBadrick 13h

DISCONNECTING ELECTRICITY TO THE ELDERLY SHOULD NOT BE HAPPENING UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES: http://badrickunadulterated.com/?p=10401

Les Johns@LesJohnsLes 11h

@TBadrick You are NLP/News.com easily manipulated putty. $2 day usage X 120=$240; net pen. after rent $3600. Been bludgers entire lives.

im (Timmy) Badrick@TBadrick 3h

@lesjohnsles What does your mumbo jumbo hav 2 do with the price of eggs? U mean every old person caught up in poverty rut were bludgers? BS!

Tim (Timmy) Badrick@TBadrick 2h

@lesjohnsles @couriermail Just because UR a penny pinching hermit pauper doesn’t give u a right Les to sterotype pensioners re: power prices

Les Johns@LesJohnsLes 1h

@TBadrick When you become an adult, cosy up to your DLP pals and insist they introduce legislation acknowledging your genius. Sweet dreams.Tim (Timmy) Badrick@TBadrick 1h

@lesjohnsles Well at least i’m not a redneck u nasty old geezer, i know old people who worked hard their whole life who are really battling.

Tim (Timmy) Badrick@TBadrick 1h

@lesjohnsles Is that the best you can do Les? For the record i have no affiliation with DLP, i’m just fair & give them a hearing. UR a goose

Tim (Timmy) Badrick@TBadrick 53m

It’s such a shame that the Sydney & Melbourne socialite chicks as i call them proved to be too snappy & unpredictable to have on my twitter

oooooooooooooo

———–

Basic, essential grammar eludes most of these sages.

Brad ‏@bradthegunn 4m

Roughly 27% of Australian would cut off there nose to spite there face.

ooooooooooooo

The next character prefers anonymity, suggesting an admission of …

roy harvey@barnbrack 10m

Witness: Thatcher’s dramatic 1990 fall – “Stabbed in the front” http://reut.rs/12AAGAE  via @reuters

roy harvey@barnbrack 2h

@barnbrack TO MAKE CAMERAS THERE WORTH WHILE VOLUME IS THE ONLY THING POLITICIANS THINK ABOUT NOT LIVES AND POLICE MUST FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS

@barnbrack Dont blame our police for covert and Russian like big brother tactics regarding camerasIT’S communist trained labour politicians

@barnbrack If you want to be seriously regarded as a sage, do your fans a favor and have an educated mentor vet your gems before despatch.

roy harvey@barnbrack 

@LesJohnsLes Les is there a message in there somewhere Your educated response to my tweet is way above me you sound like some type of moron

roy harvey@barnbrack 54m

@LesJohnsLes Read your header John Seems that TWEETERS ARE MORE OR LESS DUNCES AND IDIOTS Yet you are replying to us what’s that make you

@barnbrack It makes me despair that an oracle can so contract a word into apostropic use and shout assumptions, has no idea of his ignorance

roy harvey ‏@barnbrack 3h

Les waiting with excitement to see your next masterpiece of word structure LES Bet your delving into the old OXFORD dictionary l

roy harvey ‏@barnbrack 3h

the exhuberance of your verbocity exceeds me overwhemingly

roy harvey@barnbrack 18h

Les you appear concerned about my tweets I have sent some extra !#$%^&*()_+ dots and dashes Feel free to enter them IF I MISS

roy harvey@barnbrack 18h

By the way Les regarding the use of words METER = USA METRE = AUSSIE CENTRE = AUSSIE CENTER = USA SOUNDS THE SAME DOES THE JOB

roy harvey@barnbrack 19h @LesJohnsLesSorry Les but i don’t have an interpreter to work out what you are trying to say or work out what your on when tweeting roy harvey@barnbrack 19h

@LesJohnsLes As i am a profound thinker Les that’s why i keep trying with you but it appears to be a waste of my time

roy harvey@barnbrack 19h

@barnbrack As i said Les The exuberance of your verbosity overwhelms me exceedingly

Les Johns@LesJohnsLes 19h  Explaining a problem to the dim that will allow its un’standing has always been a challenge to the thinker http://wp.me/pReYN-2vS       19h

@barnbrack But it does keep my feeble mind active Les, trying to get to your Alien level of knowledge far beyond the norm of us humans

roy harvey@barnbrack 19h

@LesJohnsLes Sorry Les but i don’t have an interpreter to work out what you are trying to say or work out what your on when tweeting

  1. Think you’ll find with ‘what(‘)s’ v. informal use. The contraction after ‘what’ implies you ask me.”…what is that make you”?

    1. If you want to be seriously regarded as a sage, do your fans a favor and have an educated mentor vet your gems before despatch.

    2. Read your header John Seems that TWEETERS ARE MORE OR LESS DUNCES AND IDIOTS Yet you are replying to us what’s that make you

    3. It makes me despair that an oracle can so contract a word into apostropic use and shout assumptions, has no idea of his ignorance

    4. Jeeezz Les now i see why we unlearned are inferior to you We don’t know all those big words Nor can we phrase them so well

    5. waiting with excitement to see your next masterpiece of word structure LES Bet your delving into the old OXFORD dictionary l

    You’ve made ‘your’ a possessive adj. when meant 2B contracted to ‘you’re’ (you are)Using apostrophe here ties in w/ phonetics.

    4:34 AM – 7 Apr 13 · Details
    1. @barnbrack TO MAKE CAMERAS THERE WORTH WHILE VOLUME IS THE ONLY THING POLITICIANS THINK ABOUT NOT LIVES AND POLICE MUST FOLLOW INSTRUCTIONS

    2. If you want to be seriously regarded as a sage, do your fans a favor and have an educated mentor vet your gems before despatch.

    3. Read your header John Seems that TWEETERS ARE MORE OR LESS DUNCES AND IDIOTS Yet you are replying to us what’s that make you

    4. It makes me despair that an oracle can so contract a word into apostropic use and shout assumptions, has no idea of his ignorance

        roy harvey@barnbrack 5 Apr@LesJohnsLes Les the exhuberance of your verbocity exceeds me overwhemingly

    Enable spellchecker and heed its suggestions. Defend your stupidity, it is your greatest asset. “Your ignorance is encyclopedic.”.

     4:34 AM – 7 Apr 13 ·

Classic Photographs Of Whitlam In Brisbane Labor Day March, 1973.

June 7, 2013

Took a few shots of the big fella which could be of interest to Labor devotees and the occasional Liberal leader. Whitlam, that day, was marching to his own proud, triumphant tune. The sub-titled emotional lyrics are in English, little wonder the chorus was in tears at the end. The photos were taken from opposite Royal Art Furnishers/Empire (?) Hotel, down a bit from St Pauls Tce and near The Whisky-a-gogo atrocity, a block up from the Valley Corner and a kilometre from the parade’s Exhibition grounds destination. The first picture features (Sir) Egerton  then Himself with Clem Jones in the middle. The names of the lesser luminaries escapes me. The second features two defining examples of The Salute. The third picture shows Brunswick Street looking toward New Farm. What’s become of the Printer’s Union Standard?

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Whitlam’s China Masterstroke.

Society Needs More 50 yo Experts To Explain To Oldies What Old Age Is All About.

May 31, 2013

About five years ago (yes dear, I really do understand that I was five years younger back then) while shopping at Beaudesert Coles, a deep-sea NZ product, Pink Ling was on ‘sale’ at $12 a kilo. Ascertaining that a carton held 5 kg, I asked for that item. The woman weighed the sealed product confirming its stamped content. “Oh dear me,” she forlornly announced giving me a troubled look, “That’s $60.00 worth, you know.”

I should have fallen to the ground in shock horror disbelief, that the ability to multiply 5X12 disappeared the day I turned 65 and here was another person ten or more years her senior automatically slotted into the Alzheimer’s zone because they believe the nonsense that self-promoters like Buttrose and Age Minister Butler’s Department of Death forever churn out.

At the checkout at about the same time, as was my wont, I pulled out a handful of coins to even the change, a lifelong habit, but as odious to checkout staff as trying to use your own save-the-environment bags. “Give us a look dear and we’ll see what you’ve got.” The woman wasn’t much younger than the writer, and yes, she was trying to ‘help’ and was predicated by her own good nature and not by a bureaucratic, feel-good, take my help or you’ll suffer style of thinking. But it was too late, the addled supposition was rapidly growing roots, reasoning suspended.

Shopping early to avoid the migraine-inducing nicotine stench at the shop front has become my norm, so impinging on checkout traffic wasn’t the need for haste. People greater than ten years their senior are automatically put into the irritating, fumbling oldie bag and that’s that it seems, and the practice of bringing one’s own bags is degrading in any case. Delving for edible foods from a waste bin carries much less stigma apparently, than both old age and own bags.

Consuming a good kilo of salmon a week, I gave Woolworths a go, asking for the ‘skinned’ product. The deli attendant, not unlike her Coles counter-part asked, “You know what you asked for?” Assuring her I had a fair idea, she added, “Well it’s $2 more.” While we are out and about without a carer, these unctuous interfering nanny bastards can get well and truly knotted.

“Beaudesert Times”… Fairfax Regional Humour.

May 31, 2013

Beaudesert is 60 kilometres southwest of Brisbane, directly west of Southport with a mindset that precedes the Bjelke-Petersen era. The pictured quarto is a crude folly/come trade monthly inserted into the “Beaudesert Times.” Its Labor averse editorial material lacks intelligence which should make it a winner with local businesses and their old-fashioned contempt for the rural worker. The ‘chicken crossed the road’ humour within its pages compliments the locals and the Liberal/Nationals in general.
 
 
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Dear GingerZilla, What Can One Say About Maggie?

April 9, 2013

Saint Augustine of Hippo, a seminal thinker on...

Saint Augustine of Hippo, a seminal thinker on the concept of just war (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I no longer awake with that delicious sluggishness that seems to be the preserve of unhurried youth, but with a surprise that I awoke at all. Freudians pontificate that ciggies were a poor and unhealthy substitute for fellatio which is not unlike a more recent urban posit that the positioning of unbagged bananas in ones shopping trolly, if pointing up, was unspoken innuendo the trolly-pusher was available for a bit of fresh. This night, I awoke about normal, 2300 hours, to the sounds of mayhem, chaos and bedlam. It was the telly but I felt like a player in one of your site’s nightmares.

It could have been an example of the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon. Generally I awaken keen to carry on with something or the other and found your cryptic comment on my message board. Had got the Thatcher news earlier and sent off a tweet to an outrageous gay Scot of my most vivid recollection of Thatcher’s rarely seen human side. On election evening between the polls closing and the count, she and a few office buddies, exhausted from weeks of campaigning, sat on upturned milk crates in an alley and swigged Scotch just as we pinko Labor nose-pickers might have done.

If Twitter is not another device of World Governments/Rio Tinto/Murdoch triumvirate in a 1984 conspiracy to hasten the zombie process of the population and not only its dissenters, then I’m a monkey’s uncle. Murdoch flagship The Australian not renown for caring an owl’s hoot about the dispossessed of Australian society unless it is politically expedient to do so, found a faux cause hoping to embarrass the Government. Their crocodile-teared hyperbole vilified all pensioners for being unable to pay power bills on time when in fact, their failure rate is probably no greater than the general community. Murdoch’s compliant arse-lickers were trying to implicate Gillard’s Government in the so-called plight of pensioners when in fact, they are in a trough of their own making.

As an example of how a latter-day Saint Augustine does it, I put to screen a heavily blanked bank statement showing only my direct pension deposit and monthly ADSL. Months before I had posted my first power bill since the introduction of the carbon-tax, showing well under $2 daily use and overall, $40 less than the usual. I was left with about $3300 per quarter after rent to play with and suggested wasters in youth don’t evolve into wise old sages. Both sides of the political fence soundly condemned me for having no sympathy for welfare recipients who feed the slots till they have to walk home. Tweets and blogs are ASIO monitored and being an oldie, the police threat to remove my liberty for criticizing the corrupt Bligh administration is not easily forgotten. I keep the cat in the bag.

Blindly joining one side is anathema to me as it is for you. Cunts think that if I’m anti A then I must be pro B and get nasty and hateful to discover I despise them all equally. The only approach, as far as I’m concerned, is the middle of the road Devil’s Advocate stance. Why I used the sex analogy in my preamble has well and truly eluded me and following it up would have been too difficult and too long, and I’m buggered and will close this. Cheers, Les Johns.

Do-gooders, $3,000 + After Rent…let them eat cake in the dark.

March 28, 2013

Take a look at first electricity bill after introduction of the big bad bogie tax: here
Found Home Power Generation- a Primer while clicking through StumbleUpon. A quick look suggests it might be a gentle introduction to solar power in inexpensive kit form.

Murdoch broadsheet, The Australian, not noted for giving an owl’s hoot for the dispossessed of Australian society unless it is politically expedient to do so, found a faux cause hoping to embarrass, or most likely, just niggle the Government a little. In a preamble to Murdoch’s visit, a crocodile-teared hyperbole fairy-story vilified all pensioners for being unable to pay power bills on time when in fact, their failure rate is probably no greater than that of the general community.

In Beaudesert, the RSL has buses and cars manned by calculating committee ‘volunteers’ picking-up mainly susceptible welfare recipients and whatever oldie can be conned on pension days to the machines, and will continue with their generosity until the mugs have been cleaned-out. The RSL once had a purpose and a reverent aura won from me more respect then I have for the Queen, but their raison d’être  nowadays is to keep a few no-hopers in bludger’s jobs.

This bank statement shows highlighted direct pension fortnightly deposits. I’ve made it public in the forlorn hope a Labor thinker (oxymoron) might be mysteriously impelled to do simple sums. 

Bureaucratic and private Nanny Do-gooders hate and avoid this information. It conflicts with their pious and poxed interfering superiority.

A financial quarter: 13 weeks = six pay periods. 6 X $613 = $3678

Rent is direct debited, yet not on statement.

Deduct ADSL $309, leaves $3370 per quarter for food and power. I and many other olds run and maintain a late model car.

I do have difficulty in understanding how dim thinking hot-heads “shout” tweet abuse and condemn me for asking where all that cash goes.

Hope the numbers didn’t overwhelm and confuse the Labor fraternity. The usual tirade of abuse is anticipated.

Electricity   No  2 001

Former Two-bit Sydney Councillor, Mike Ahern… “Julia Gillard is a misanderous bitch/animal.”

March 28, 2013

A youthful Bob Ellis avowed decades ago that, the stupidity of your enemies should be widely known, which is why I’ve reproduced a few tweets by a malicious and toxic former Kogarah Councilor, Mike Ahern. The extracted tweets were badly sited in the old post and  by adding one of his gems from this morning and giving the story an apt heading, his libelous ravings might win Canberra Liberal Party approval. Herewith please find inane comments by the former Councillor.

Prime Minister of Australia Julia Gil...

English: Prime Minister of Australia Julia Gillard at a Q & A Session in Rooty Hill, New South Wales (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The tweets are hollow and empty-headed, hateful and unintelligent, yet are about the average for a political party who consider themselves custodians of the Treasury and the rightful rulers of the country. Make of them what you may.

The first of Ahern’s twitter comment plays on the emotions of residents who were flooded or burnt out of their homes. After the heartbreak, most of these people will recover materially because of the fortune of their birthright. The souls he condemns are abandoned to their own desperate clinging to the sea’s flotsam.

And I ask would you vote for the mental runt who pens such Conservative thinking as the Twitter trash hereunder?

Mike Ahern@Mikeah44

@juliagillard people of Gayndah more important than asylum seekers. You spend $Bs on them what are you going to do about this situation?

Mike Ahern@Mikeah44 

If @Juliagillard is so bloody wonderful why do I wake up angry every day? Get rid of the misanderous bitch. Have an election !

Mike Ahern@Mikeah44

This is the sort of arrogant bitch that @juliagillard is ! Why would you vote for this animal ?

://twitter.com/Mikeah44″>‏Mikeah44Mike Ahern

Notice @juliagillard is always surrounded by girls in her photo’s she mustn’t like boys. Lots of old boys don’t like her either.

Mike Ahern@Mikeah44

Does this mean I can’t slam @juliagillard anymore on twitter ? http://www.nationaltimes.com.au/opinion/political-news/twitter-in-talks-with-pms-office-on-bullying-protocols-20130117-2curv.html…

Mike Ahern@Mikeah44

Go back on holidays please @juliagillard the past month has been wonderful without you

Mike Ahern@Mikeah44

@JuliaGillard GIVITH & @JuliaGillard WILL TAKETH if Labor parliamentarians don’t tow her line. Get rid of her boys before she gets rid of Ye

Mr Denmore ‏@MrDenmore 9

Trust Us, We’re The Police, but would you trust Kim Williams?

March 21, 2013

Queensland Government Treasury Buildings, Quee...

Queensland Government Treasury Buildings, Queen Street, Brisbane, ca.1907 (Photo credit: State Library of Queensland, Australia)

This letter went to another blogsite earlier today.

Kim Williams with a visage so dread that Gabrielle would question the creator’s grand plan presents as Murdoch’s contemptuous doppelgänger, saying in effect, “Yep, that’s me writ large, now what are you going to do about it”?

Led here via twitter comment and Dirty Deals And Unprincipled Politics, the intention was to wonder loudly if Abbott’s cynical hijack of the construction worker symbol, the hard-hat, won converts to his dubious cause.

The alias, This little black duck,caught my eye when two words of the title stuck out like bull’s balls. Black Duck was uttered by a Qld police Senior-Sargeant at my residence, after I innocently declared that 14 years after a spouse’s death, the sting had abated, that living an uncomplicated life alone was a delight. A Google search indicated the term is police jargon meaning a dangerous solitary type most likely pouring over the net for better bomb-making recipes or a chronic pocket-billiard player.

Supposedly acting on the complaint of one half of a duo who I opined on a blog-site as a stasi-like harpie who would goad and harass a perceived foe into physical retaliation to bring about a police complaint and so set up the innocent party as being a danger to society. Queried why would I suddenly become anti-social having lived without the compulsion to steal, strike people or to drive without consideration, the wise policeman answered,”With your type its all about luck.”

Jees, sixty years of luck yet I lack the genius or the ability to put into effect what’s on my mind.

“I believe you’re not in control of yourself and I want you to make an appointment with your doctor,” was his next profound statement,”and *we’ll go along for a mental evaluation test.” Expecting compliance, he was agog when I rejected his care and concern as I understand departmentally threatened oldies quickly wilt and throw in the towel when spooked by the law or when spoken down to by those repellent State-backed matrons waving the nanny banner.

“I’m going through your stuff tonight,” he announced on his exit,” and if I find anything, I’ll be back,” Well The Terminator and friends made 76 hits that night in October, 2011, on anti-Bligh Government comments and I patiently await his return. In the course of his conversation he expressed displeasure at my nazi terminology and insisted I quit describing the fifth column as such.

To my shame I’ve kept a low profile since and have moved well away from the antagonists to retrieve a peaceful life,but I’ve worked a way around the system. Since well before the day an ‘officer’ called and ever since, have keep a running paper diary and never fail to update the days events. An easy and quick to activate voice recorder which I reviewed and put on an earlier post is with me at all times. A crash camera is in the post.

*The Royal, cosy and matey, “we” was actually used, placates a disturbed mind you know.

Gabrielle Ray

Gabrielle Ray (Photo credit: Truus, Bob & Jan too!)

The Beattie Menace.

March 8, 2013

Front page of The Courier-Mail, 12 December 20...

Front page of The Courier-Mail, 12 December 2005, prior to its conversion to a tabloid format. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Courier Mail invites its readers to share their thoughts on chosen stories but when that topic has run its course and letters are no longer being accepted, a box stating that fact could take the place of the invite box. That would alert writers to the fact.

Because of that omission, I now present the letter:

Don’t tell me the lurks and perks need a topping-up. Newman had tons of material to use on the remnants of Beatties legacy, but didn’t. Why not? After the electoral wipe-out, the former Premier had the front to pursue, via family, a political career and then accept an ego award for his contribution etc…. Not forgetting he and his successor had an Arizona business assignation. If Newman’s plans are enacted, the removal of cretins from the community could benefit future humanity.

English: Beatties and Checkers Cafe, Holmfirth

English: Beatties and Checkers Cafe, Holmfirth (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Australian Breakfast TV Stinks. Dreary Drivel.

February 10, 2013

Photograph of Malcolm Turnbull, New South Wale...

Photograph of Malcolm Turnbull, New South Wales Liberal politician. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Those two ABC 24 breakfast “presenters” are almost too bloody childish for words, bar every view they offer agitates the piles to bleeding. Their ABC masters evidently want practicing Sunday School teachers to entertain adults. The  gee whiz, isn’t that shocking? approach is vomit-inducing, as is commercial TV. Such is the dearth of decent morning tv entertainment that I’m playing “rainy day” videos. It must be time to visit Jesus.

Until the Australia Day hyperbole gush when she breathlessly lauded Australians citizens, in classic doublespeak, their ‘mateship and loyalty’ (sic) having only days earlier put the death knell on a well-regarded NT Senator in favor of an aboriginal woman, I had defended the Australian PM on twitter, simply because the opposition supporters unintelligent twitter comments seemed without challenge from her own side. Had the PM possessed any mate instinct she wouldn’t have considered for a fraction of a second shafting Rudd and when her party reaffirmed their support for her, I went along with the farce, very sore though at having my integrity pulped. A Federal Labor win seemed possible two weeks ago, but that’s well and truly gone. Should fortune again favor the dumb and Labor wins under Gillard’s stewardship, Rudd’s couldn’t risk  having another tilt at usurping the lady. I’m retiring from this nonsense and returning to the sanity and safety of the Secular movement.

Bob Ellis declared decades ago, the stupidity of your enemies should be widely known, but if I’ve erred and it wasn’t his quote, please attribute its origin to the great Alexandra. While my most voracious critics can be found under the family sunshade, this post is more about politicians and their fat cat permanent heads obvious assumption that the electorate should be penalized for being minus IQ and ergo won’t notice when the system shits on them. Herewith please find inane comments by a former Kogarah Councillor. They are hollow and empty-headed, hateful and unintelligent, yet are about the average for a political party who consider themselves custodians of the Treasury and the rightful rulers of the country. Make of them what you may.

The first twitter comment under comes from a selfish NLP ninny who plays on the emotions of Australians who have been flooded or burnt out of their homes. After the heartbreak, most of these people will recover materially because of the fortune of their birthright. The souls he condemns are abandoned to their own desperate clinging to the sea’s flotsam.

And I ask would you vote for the mental runt who pens such Conservative thinking as the Twitter trash hereunder?

Mike Ahern@Mikeah44 1h

If @Juliagillard is so bloody wonderful why do I wake up angry every day? Get rid of the misanderous bitch. Have an election !

Mike Ahern@Mikeah44

This is the sort of arrogant bitch that @juliagillard is ! Why would you vote for this animal ?

Mike Ahern@Mikeah44

@juliagillard people of Gayndah more important than asylum seekers. You spend $Bs on them what are you going to do about this situation?

Mikeah44Mike Ahern

Notice @juliagillard is always surrounded by girls in her photo’s she mustn’t like boys. Lots of old boys don’t like her either.

Mike Ahern@Mikeah44

Does this mean I can’t slam @juliagillard anymore on twitter ? http://www.nationaltimes.com.au/opinion/political-news/twitter-in-talks-with-pms-office-on-bullying-protocols-20130117-2curv.html…

Mike Ahern@Mikeah44

Go back on holidays please @juliagillard the past month has been wonderful without you

Mike Ahern@Mikeah44

@JuliaGillard GIVITH & @JuliaGillard WILL TAKETH if Labor parliamentarians don’t tow her line. Get rid of her boys before she gets rid of Ye

Mr Denmore ‏@MrDenmore 9m

@Mikeah44 Charming. Time to up your dose of dementia medication, I suspect.

Malcolm Turnbull ‏@TurnbullMalcolm

Saw this jellyfish in the Harbour today – anyone know its species and whether normally present in these waters?

Ahead are snippets from the nations users:

*Coalition frontbencher Christopher Pyne earlier today said the Federal Government is unraveling like Hitler’s Third Reich in the movie Downfall.Courier Mail

*THE Coalition would be sure to win September’s election if Malcolm Turnbull was leader, independent MP Tony Windsor says.

*Mr Windsor says Prime Minister Julia Gillard and Opposition Leader Tony Abbott are both unpopular and that “I think each of them have kept the other one in the game.” The Courier Mail5/02/2013

Crims, RSL, Housing, QBuild: At Home in Beaudesert.

September 7, 2010

 
“A patriot must always be ready to defend his country against his government.”
- Edward Abbey

Crime, RSL, Corruption, Anna St. Deals.

Are we in Beaudesert?

Is the local QBuild costing still six times that of their legitimate equivalents?

Plus: Become a Qld. H.C. tenant and have spite poison a potted 18 y.o. Bougainvillea. Are slashed tyres next? Love thy Neighbour. Turn the other cheek and inherit six feet of dirt and H.C. derision.

The NSW Keneally girl is a real sweetie and cops too much unwarranted flack for former colleague’s stuff-ups. The unfortunate patsie has been at the helm for only five minutes and has earned her soon to be accessed retirement hand-outs. Her marriage into Australian literary royalty justifies the mention of an earlier Australian writer whose strong and compelling novel, POWER WITHOUT GLORY explored every criminal facet that explains the Courier-Mail’s heritage and Government corruption of the early 1900s; could do with an airing where its present replication would gob-smack Frank Hardy, such is the smug acceptance and laissez-faire of Executive crime. The Queensland Premier-looter, on the other hand, has had a decade of plundering and authoring deals with another high-profile corporate criminal with whom she toured the USA and became enamored with Arizona’s pedestrian pull-over laws.

Australians, and Queenslanders in particular, have been trained to adore its openly crooked Cabinet gangsters and copy-cat Mafia crims, public identities who are acknowledged dead-set criminal bash-artists and stand-over merchants. The Courier-Mail supports Labor by talking-up and idolizing past shit like Tom Burns at whom we chuckled for his boating mishaps. He was, ha-ha-ha, a local lovable larrikin and we loved him so.

From his executive desk, a favorite threat to the resolute obstinate who sought a fair go was the warning, “You are always under watch.” The suck-hole tabloid still devote millions of fawning words to arse-holes who should slowly die an up-side down Crucifixion. If justice is to prevail in this State, the George Street Looters Executive Building must lay in ruins surrounded by well-used and bloodied nooses. Voltaire observed that democracy peppered with the occasional assassination might well be a good thing.

I wouldn’t condone the Newton nonsense ‘interview’ on their unfortunate waste of an orgasm by tuning in to 9, but I did see Andrew Bolt, in sync as usual with my sentiments, answering criticism of his remarks to this paean to the self-centered. This relatively recent insistence by inflated, ignorant dunces that they be given unquestioned recognition and adulation has become the norm among the failures, and it is none more noticeable than in the State Government flat precinct that I call home and also the quarters of marauding, bad stand-over predators one of whom is named Larry.

The following extracts from my notes of May 2007:

“The car eased into the parking area where Lorna and I were exchanging pleasantries after having checked our respective mail boxes. The driver was an amiable fellow of some forty years. The tubby, older passenger had the demeanor of a chronic haemorrhoid sufferer and a lifetime of rehearsing, a pouting, sullen lower lip, fashioned to trip over. Was he a failed dramatic actor; an embittered artist in the Hitler arch-megalomaniac mould? A studied straight ahead look to avoid eye contact completed the instant character summation. Here is one tubby and very petulant, unhappy drama queen who won’t clear his rear impaction until he finds a new way of shafting an opponent.

And another bombastic bastard; as if this variety wasn’t over represented already. Contrasting vividly with his passenger was his young driver companion who was without a doubt, Pettum’s parole officer, an amiable and polite fellow who sought the location of the flat they had come to check out.

Larry Pettums moved in within days and was quickly self-promoted to king of the kids.

Larry Pettums wasted little time taking over the podium, and having secured the limited audience with tales of undercover police work in the “States,” quickly segued to his preferred subject; his sexual frequency and up-standing potency. This was an old jail-bird positioning himself on re-admittance to the inside and an unabashed and serious ego-tripper, soon to be revealed as an intimidating moron who had lived as such and gave no indication of self-doubt, given his six decades of stupidity. I walked from this boor before he relinquished the soap-box and in à la classic jilted lover, won his eternal enmity.”

…and ad nauseam. ( approx. 1100 words on this ugliness.)

END OF DIARY EXTRACT

Dealing with egos and the actions of the vacuous minds of most of these inhabitants stimulates the brain as does the two daily crosswords, simple enough to whet my average intellect for the day. The real and tilted challenge comes from the easily biased and vindictive Housing Commission sycophants, one of whom introduced herself as Kim on Tuesday, April 23, 2009 at 1445 hours, and went on to make offensive comments in a phone call and I focus on that particular incident later. It is mentioned now in relation to the present anecdote.

A hymn of hate. The words just came from the past; undoubtedly a phrase from my childhood. A Wiki check has its origin as WW1 Germany against their hated detractors, the British. Its usage carried over to WW2 parents and older relatives trying to pacify squabbling siblings and the observation made in a fit of great vexation and despair. Am somewhat perplexed at convincingly transcribing the task I have set myself. It’s about hate, would you believe and like Churchill’s lesser concern of four columns of enemy troops about to demolish his men, of greater concern was of the enemy within his own tent whose acquired tactical knowledge could inflict terminal damage. The term fifth column came about and was earnestly adopted and applied by the Queensland Housing Department to become an integral cog of their M.O.

Hate is what? I don’t have the nous or the spare decades to delve too deeply into the dark side of envy, but this Housing accommodation precinct fronting Beaudesert’s Wongaburra Convalescent Home must be the micro-harbour of exacting retribution on those perceived as a threat to the rule of the megalomaniac.

Buttrose. Extract from http://wp.me/pReYN-5xu

July 17, 2014

Ditto the Buttrose woman who won prominence in the early Eighties by likening the STD aids to a lethal bowling game featuring hooded devils. She urges oldies to relinquish their driver’s licenses, not help retain them. That the 80′s advertising campaign supposedly won gay mugs into safe sex practices is a moot point, instilled gay-hate into small ‘straight’ minds most likely, but Buttrose lisped her way to local fame.

Today, she gets her jollies doing morning ‘talk’ on an unwatchable, bankrupt shopping network. The former journalist charmed employer publishers, Packer and Murdoch, but I doubt she scored from either of them such grand largesse as the senile Murdoch’s $M25 bribe to Rebekah Brooks.

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Wizard of Id’s thoughts of the toxic imposters known as Legislators.

February 22, 2014

Les Johns of Beaudesert.:

@LiberalAus got Government by underhand, probably illegal means by sustained bullying of a over-obliging and stressed lady, working almost alone. Had the negativity of some male party opponents been absent, @AustraliaLabor would be the preferred Government. The dictator’s adage that repetition works on untruths as well as for facts is cold comfort for those suffering an unexpected lifestyle under duress.

Originally posted on A Letter From Les:

Wizard of Id: Politicking Shysters; the system never changes.

During Victoria’s reign, Parliamentarian poked fellow M.P’s huge belly asking, “What are you going to call it”?
“If it’s a girl, I’ll call it Victoria after our gracious Queen,” came the retort,”but if it’s piss and wind which I suspect it is, I’ll call it after you.”

ooooOoooo

“The body consists of three parts – the brainium, the borax and
the abominable cavity. The brainium contains the brain, the
borax contains the heart and lungs, and the abominable cavity
contains the bowels, of which there are five – a, e, i, o and u.”

Schoolkid bloopers.

ooooOoooo

“Vacuum: A large, empty space where the pope lives.”

ooooOoooo

The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon is a form of synchronicity:

The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon occurs when a person, after having learned some (usually obscure) fact, word, phrase, or other item for the first time, encounters that item again, perhaps several times, shortly after having learned it.

View original 206 more words


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