OUR TOWN…Not a happy little town.


This story is not about St. Laurence’s College;

I tend to regard the Letterman show as last ditch viewing, to watch when the infomercials are on reruns, but blow me down if I didn’t land on Ch. 10 last night and there was the world’s funniest humourist/actor, Robin Williams jesting with the host on former PM Rudd’s showy admonishment over misplaced patriotism. Such well-scripted interviews being William’s forte and the showman delivered. He made reference to Our Town, a bit rum I thought, for I had just started a Grimm-like fantasy in which Grover’s Corners became a musty and repressed Beaudesert Government tenement for the old and repulsive and its principal players, Garrison Keillor inspired, “all the women nurtured in hate were gross and indecent, all the men without honour, too petrified to think without permission, wishing failure on the confident, and all their children fucked from the moment of conception.”

Garrison Keillor…for a yank, quite amusing.

A mild comment that I am tautological. I’ve tried to untangle the words meaning and concluded it’s a doubter’s snob word to encompass any possible descriptive controversy, akin to having an each-way bet. A religious educator once maintained that even the brightest student benefited by the repetitive or rote method, so would a practitioner nowadays be cautioned? As a primary school kid, once was once too often and I didn’t then give a stuff about the Picts or the Gauls, but never missed an episode of ABC radio’s Search For The Golden Boomerang. I and my peers haunted public libraries in vain quests to access the adult section that we may get a cheap pre-pubescent thrill of seeing the magic of copulative words in print.

Don’t know who should be attributed the under quote but when you examine the results such freedom has wrought, the pro argument has holes:

Passive acceptance of the teacher’s wisdom is easy to most boys and girls. It involves no effort of independent thought, and seems rational because the teacher knows more than his pupils; it is moreover the way to win the favour of the teacher unless he is a very exceptional man. Yet the habit of passive acceptance is a disastrous one in later life. It causes man to seek and to accept a leader, and to accept as a leader whoever is established in that position.

My detestation of the system and its forlorn wasted hours saw me out of it before finishing the last year of primary school. My parents, my teachers and myself made a contented tripartite when I walked free. A former friend, well off, did it differently in a different era. He sent his nasty, insolent dunce to St. Laurence’s to emerge with the diminished personality of his calculating, most fiendish of mothers, but the paper-work proving his presence at that establishment will open doors that seldom interest the prudent performer.

Pet Cemetery And Crematorium.

Wishing for an outcome works better if effort is applied, but wishing pestilence upon a long dead arse-hole could be difficult to attain. The fairy-tale belief of hell-fire in which I was marinated, might have the Pope’s dispensation but I’m hoping an inferno torments still and bounces from cave wall to cave wall, the black soul of one sadistic piece of Buranda cruelty named Marcus Starke (sic) whose endless application of the maximum six cuts gave cred. to the Buddhist belief we do hell on earth.

The inspector called and my special attention warranted a smooth, well versed operator. The Gorgons could well accompany this chap and learn how it’s done. I passed the Mental Evaluation Test this time, but of course I live in fear the next visit could put me in a padded cell. Must relate to you one of these days, stasi boy O’Brien’s advice in nanny role when asked to whom should I appeal for everyday assistance like tea-making and the town’s direction if sheet-sniffers like him became unavailable or what of my fate if ever I obtained private rental. The Labor Party’s information gathering not forgotten by a long-shot. Bitch-boy was on a tax-payer funded bus-man’s holiday till late Tuesday and the affront to all women, key custodian hideous Harridan Hidee allowed entry to a mature woman. Bye for now, Les.

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