It was while clicking through StumbleUpon that I came across the open invitation to start a WordPress site and after some misgivings, a few starts and stops, and by following directions, got this far, which means its sheer construction simplicity and ease of use allows even your average baboon, as they say, to publicise his opinion, and in my case, does. The mental stimulation of getting a post to screen displaces that used on the daily crossword and over a year the unspent newspaper cash allows for a frivolous purchase or two.

A mature-age student nephew, by being youngish, still can’t be dissuaded from the fact that he doesn’t hold the font of all wisdom. I, by his age of 40, and without youthful petty theft form, had grudgingly accepted there might be one or two unworthy subjects not within my area of interest, but this prick had solicited my comment to a then contentious topic his blog was pushing. He showed his appreciation by being overly unkind to my sought-for opinion. I reacted by knocking-up a now, much neglected, sub-domain, ( calling it Comment On Queensland and ran a three-part reply.

AUSTRALIANS dumbed-down. Dear Ben, (Part One.)

When the time came to put a heading on this site’s previous post, its reviled subject matter of Queensland Housing public servants demanded a like title and what could be more apt and derogatory than the steadfast, old-fashioned one I dug from the past? It is precise, explanatory in a single word and worked well into the eighties without being euphemised when covens of hate hags and their timid associates had to be amused. We must stop pussy-footing around and return to basics and restore a normalcy and decency of sorts to our lives.

Should the Housing Department’s financial affairs be properly audited, I’ll bet the AG gets a hefty bonus to do a Star Trek job on their jacked-up paperwork and shove them into another dimension. How they can justify the huge staff of idlers let alone the cream they steal; the vast amount of money wasted on absolutely stupid projects simply to unload money, and the nefarious under-cover activities, would take some pretty slick rearranging of numbers. I refer especially to the use by some elements of the Housing Department to bring in eviction tenants to play mind games with decent people and grind them down mentally until they move away.

It is the likes of the present Queensland Government that spawns, creates and sustains the blighted society that is inflicted upon decent people. The Greeks noted that the community was only as good as its rulers and the general corruption and badness and the greed about us reflects the George Street influence. Corruption spreads as inevitably it must, to criminal elements operating from any Government Department. Housing Department lesser criminal operating out of Woodridge protect their illegally acquired perks as do Cabinet criminals. Gordon Nuttall took the fall as much for his Executive pals as for himself. I don’t plan to be displaced to satisfy Woodridge based criminals.

Private home visits by the O’Briens and foot in the door Schoutens, covert mentioning of how the mental assessment provision is used to suppress and mute public housing ‘clients.’ Harassing and threatening phone calls by the Kyms, acting for the Murphys and for themselves echoes early thirties Germany which means it should be exposed this instant. If I become mute, it won’t be because I have been silenced but because I’ve got to get serious with the revisions of my hand-written diary.

Google the word, cunt , and find many pages of references to the magic word. The more specific Wiki had but two; Venezuelans adroitly use the word to describe the very subject of this story; a posturing old queen pretending an intellectual level of which he can only dream. These Housing precincts, I am certain, are made for aging pretenders; Walter Mitty’s last stand, as it were. The temptation to use the handy Quixote analogy here was quickly binned as I’ve yet to come across a single one of these bastards (cunts)? whose concerns are absolutely and totally altruistic. The venal, self interest inmates with their covert machinations, are so like their keepers that an outsider like me could be excused for assuming this precinct is the repository for superannuated Housing Department hacks.

The devious and manipulative Housing crooks from the Woodridge office live in fear of disclosure and organise eviction tenant transfers to dislocate those they fear might bring this about. I have mentioned elsewhere Larry Pettums from No. 9, whose embargoed surname remains so, as a valued and professional fifth columnist. A former, very active compatriot of Pettums, Paul Cowan, moved to the Sunsnine Coast under the auspices, he claimed, of the Housing Department who needed his expertise. One can imagine the type of expertise that attracts a person of his ilk: Agents Provocateur, Cranmer and a Frenchman stabbed in a bathtub. And a Yank turncoat…

Nonsense talk was par for Cowan whose inherent need for respect, the need to be seen as a man of substance and importance was automatically laughed off. But! Experience has taught me to ignore my strong prescience at peril. Awakening suspicions, fed by the obvious, for instance; a garden shed for Larry Pettum’s private use and two Planning Department representatives ( reg no. and times available) summonsed to arrange construction approval and authorise big spending on bedding material for a private road to his secluded flat, most of which has been swept away. Another QBuild/Housing method of unloading cash. To mangle an American adage, “If you can’t take it home with you, destroy it.”

My request to Housing person, Celeste Turner on 25/11/2009 at about 0925 hours, for an application form for permission to erect a garden shed has yet to be remitted despite her positive assurances. As well, my complaint of outside interference to my electric supply be remedied by meter-box readers being instructed to secure the lock-equipped meter-box doors has yet to be acted on.

The novelty of a nicotine-free neighbour soon pales after one considers the uneven trade-off. Garvens stressed his importance by making very loud phantom phone calls organising imaginary pickups for the rsl who had given him a casual position doing sub jobs for the Ambulance Service. The drivel was very audible when it emanated from the adjoining bathroom. Garvens soon learnt the discomfort his smoking inflicted and lit up as he left, had a few puffs before descending the steps. On his return, he lit up before entering his flat. You hardly need my prompting to understand the chances of smoke drift is much enhanced.

The latest import is your typical ancient, garden variety old queen, from the outside that is. I thought, hello, this effusive old humbug, spruiking ‘culture’ might introduce a new era of serenity and peace. Like every other importation, there is nothing he doesn’t know and by his very arrival, the community will rise from its antediluvian darkness. Shun him however, for without exception, every newcomer knows they bring never before seen trinkets from the new world, or scratch him ever so gently and what do you find? You will find, me luvvies, a normal Housing Commission mentality.

This fellow had declared that after some time in a Merrimac assisted pensioner residence, where he was left with an inadequate 30 – 40 bucks a fortnight, this new place is indeed where he will die. My memory recalls baby events from the age of nine or ten months and I have no patience for shit like this who estimates my iq as low as his.

The first exposure to his vanity came early when I was assisting his unloading; an unremarkable self-portrait in the primitive style. “I like it, it’s good, one of my best.” he profusely offered, adding, “I trained under Joe Blough.” I was already tiring of this old pretender. He twice chipped me for errant pronunciation. “Can’t help it, comes naturally. Taught grammer at various USA Universities.” He was pretty near Harvard Emeritus Journalist Professor, I was supposed to swallow. I opined how 25 years in the States should have had a greater reward than a dismal public housing hole. Various boring excuses were delivered. Who cares ? The piece of shit was already on my ‘get rooted’ list.

The H.C. mentality came to the fore when out comes the mobile and talk loudly into it. Is it to advertise their adeptness at poking a finger or to otherwise advertise their brilliance by yelling into the bastard. “I don’t want to hear your bank details from my residence,” I advised him of the annoyance. “Can’t help it,” he announced with a straight face, “I project as I do because of the actor training under the acclaimed so and so.” I fib not. One does not have to with these frauds.

By the end of the second day a clearer picture of the true Dale was emerging and when the nosey and nasty Hydee asked my opinion of him, I truthfully replied the only good thing so far was the absence of cigarette smoke and the rest remains to be seen. I was being summonsed into his flat to admire this and that; it was all about him, him and him. I got the drop on him once and coaxed him to view my Google Earth picture of the remote spot I would have rented, had broadband and SBS been available.

Two days later the obstreperous, mobile-screaming, hate fuelled Hydee wished me to the place that I had revealed to one person only, Woodford. Quite remarkable! He has a compulsion to run to anybody with ‘secrets.’ Can the duo have trust in each other? The fallout should be interesting.

This old queen felt compelled to tell me that his sports-loving child this and that, but I reckon he has sat on more dick than chairs. Not that there’s anything wrong with a change, and it seems to be in vogue. I tried it as a youth and limped for a month. I suppose though, a mince is more elegant than a limp.

He reacts like a piqued old queen when he can’t get agreement and adoration over any and everything. He expected wide-eyed adherents at foot and when the preferred mullah/tutor image was rebuked, the pretence of manners died as did the culture angle and a spiteful, nasty, vindictive and retributive old queen emerged. This prick is your typical, posturing loud mouthed mobile phone user, no different to any other self-denuded dead-beat who ends-up in these places-


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