Archive for the ‘Seriously Flippant’ Category

It’s Australia’s “Bollock’s Day.” Cause a road crash and win praise. (But only if you’re in your twenties)

January 26, 2017

 

Under this is a cutout of a road death story taken from Beaudesert Times of August 3, last. Points of interest or contention are circled and come from the biased mind of a junior bush journalist, possibly in a tizz defending his alma mater, Beaudesert High School.

"Horror Crash" 3/08/2016 Points Stressed.

The dead driver was on his way to suburban Bromelton where he was paid per load to deliver road metals. An inattentive 23 yo male in a black car, the least road-safe color, was  evidently otherwise occupied when his car “crossed to the wrong side of the road” and caused a head-on collision.

It was pure luck the innocent driver survived, but the inconvenience he suffered would have been intolerable. No sympathy was afforded this man in the Beaudesert Times story but is it not historic that the ” lovable larrikn” is an Australian thug whose romantic image mustn’t be tarnished.

At age 23, the killer driver would have been at least five years out of high school and in reality, well and truly out of the school system. The Administrators would have had to search old records to get a fix on this dead, self-important drongo, simply to appease the low esteem of professional mourners.

H.S. Principal’s ill-considered, immature comments were moulded to console the cretin in his midst, “.. still very raw, etc. ” If this verbal nonsense was genuine, from the heart out-pourings, it is a poor reflection on our society and helps to explain the ‘nanny-state’ conditioning of minds of all ages and must have a good deal of bearing on why a complacent community allows present Australian government stasi agents, smell and inspect their bed-sheets for skid marks.

I take particular offence to the story’s end-note where an immature, unformed writer confused “victim” with “perpetrator.” A kind fate consigned this nasty bit of work to Hades before he had the chance to maim and kill and inflict sorrow and despair.

 

Advertisements

How much faith can you put in a pet cemetery’s bullshit,”Your beloved pet is safe in our care.”

June 7, 2016

The Sexton’s wife…Far too precious for Aida at Brisbane’s QE2 Stadium.

“It’s a dog’s life for Rosa in the pot.”

I assisted in and around a Greenbank pet crematorium and burial establishment. Behind the scenes goings-on eventually caused a permanent, hateful rift between its owner and myself. This had to happen.

Buried in my junk is a site-map of pet burials whose owners were unable to attend the service because of work or other commitments and who fully expected the service to go ahead in their absence exactly as it would have in their presence. Reproduced under is a note to self at that time which has recently risen to the top of the pile.

Printed a few years ago within this blog is a more precise account of the nefarious abuse and contempt for the lately bereaved pet lover. Click on “When Pets and People have had Their Day,” for more details.

But not all is as it seems. John applied a wee bit of his version of value-adding by tipping out the recently deceased animal from its warm, earthly box to face eternity wrapped only in the good earth. Entrusted wishes not followed but the cash-in-hand remains unchanged.

Lawn Cem, saved boxes.

“Heeey everybody, I’m a ‘white cunt.'”

June 7, 2016

Beau could have prefixed ‘desert’ as being an administrative, walled township of National/Liberal Party rule, but I could have gone off-track here. Recently, I ‘relocated’ to the fair borough of Beaudesert and the short street of my new voting address forms part of the common walking route into town, recalls a small personal incident gone now some eighteen years.

Some of the concreted walking path from Edward St covers a low-lying flood plain and is a pleasant kilometre or so stroll into town which I always enjoyed. Nothing too memorable ever occurred until one day on the trip home, the sudden whirring of push-cycle wheels as a prepubescent black kid wheeled past sending a golly of badly misdirected spittle my way and screamed, “White cunt.”

All this time later, the boy, if fate allowed his living, would now be a young man in his late twenties with no recall of the event, possibly an oft performed party trick, or perhaps I was a one-off, would have given him a brief feel-good moment. At that young age, would have been groomed by an older person, a parent or relative, espousing hate.

Wonder if his attitude changed, one way or the other, for better or worse, in the meantime.

Feel good, spit at someone.

June 5, 2016

Changed this short recount to “Heeey everybody,Im a ‘white cunt.'”

Jimboomba’s day of infamy; when the Church’s 7th placed letter-box was kidnapped.

May 4, 2016

Seventh placed in a letter-box competition and the spiteful anti-Christs pinch a Catholic school's pride and joy. "We are quite sad."

Seventh placed in a letter-box competition and the spiteful anti-Christs pinch a Catholic school’s pride and joy. “We are quite sad.”

Oldies Need The Right To Exit At Will, Not By Staged Accidents; ‘Lost’ While Walking; Gunshot.

March 31, 2016

For a reason best kept from Beaudesert Coles, when I food-shop locally,  Woolworths, by default, has become the provision source, but for their coy late opening time, would much prefer Aldi’s lower prices. Their piss-weak tea a major error of judgement.

My penchant for variety and change and a compulsion for the novelty can find me shopping anywhere in a wide arc from Boonah around to Logan Village. As well, one never knows what interesting characters could be waiting beyond the next curve of the road.

Woolworths has its quota of offensive oafs, seemingly without the faintest idea of their condition but few as unpleasant or disliked as the Coles misfit, Johanna or her tubby, sycophantic lickspittle, the lazy, impertinent ‘James.’

One mature but witless female had to be reminded that a sciatic limp wasn’t indicative of cretinism. So next visit found that I had been dispatched to Coles Coventry, snotty, limited iq noses upturned at unexpected retort.

Said to mature checkout Woolworths woman that it’s ok to leave small red cabbage loose, that I unload the goods into a wheeled trolley to easily facilitate unloading. “No, I don’t think so,” she replied, “I think it should go in a bag.”

There you go. The oldie knows not what he wants. The attitude is widespread. Put down old bastards at every opportunity, not especially by public servants and medical, but the private sector as well.

We learn not to protest our sanity; the local newsagent, nineteen years ago, declared oldies questioning their change or being unnecessarily loud at the counter warrants a call to the cops.

This morning I decided not to renew a monthly direct deduction and called the Commonwealth Bank to cancel that account to avoid the $5 monthly fee on extra accounts. She firstly had to check that I had declared all direct debit obligations.

At one stage in life, the onus would have been upon me to worry about that, but on oldies welfare, it transpires, I am unable to make considered decisions. If younger people could think, they would be planning now to avoid the humiliation that awaits them.

Beaudesert’s Dauntless Demon, Darren.

February 24, 2016

Beaudesert’s bucolic, hero-starved weekly parchment finds such local subjects a rare breed and when one comes their way, it’s all systems go. This ever-green tale of self-sacrifice and determination tells of a fearless fighter for everything that is right and politically conservative in the Scenic Rim and of  the  evils that lurk in the terrorist hot-spot of outer Brisbane.

BT Sept 9,2015. Demon Phantom Terrorist chaser.

 

A quotation with an image is big stuff: The detective observes,”…not all Muslims are terrorists.” Widely travelled Beaudesert Times staff, one of whom is remoured to have made a visit to remote Brisbane, believe the quote opens new ground for mutual understanding and tolerance.

 

Eager for knowledge, a one-day Logan area seminar enlightened Detective Ward on terrorism and he  knows now that ‘Al-Qaeda and ISIS’ are trigger words for overseas western-haters with an unpleasant agenda. He also “heard” lectures which are mostly free, except for the Murdoch-censored Australian press, delivers to the world every second and is freely available to anyone.

Government reckoned Demon Dave was worth it to have wasted dollars thrown his way and be officially brought ‘up to speed,’  while he adds very important gen about Scenic Rim’s  formidable ‘sovereign  terrorists’ to those manufactured by ASIO, AFP, Tony Abbott’s jumped-up Benedict Quaedvlieg’s ABFarce and whoever else.

The Oxley Academy of Police Excellence is being prepared for the Dux of the year awards of which Detective Ward has a fair chance of taking  off.

The coveted prize is believed to include all 28 episodes of the entertaining, British-made, Foyle’s War, set in the immediate post WW2, whose hero chases and dispenses due justice to the rotten kraut terrorist.

 

 

BT 28/10/2015.

Go back in time ten, twelve years perhaps, and the guardian angel bears an astonishing resemblance to an ardent, younger plain clothes copper who, to  allay suspicion, would take a  10/12 year old boy, presumably his son, into hotel bars or annexes where poker machines were then situated and begin inquisitive, ‘friendly’ conversations with players, mainly about their poker machine proclivity. Without certainty, I guessed he was looking at their money source, hoping to nail a dope dealer or three in a trade very important to Beaudesert’s black or unofficial economy.

He was so obviously a rank novice at the sneak, sniffing the sheets, delving game, I had a profound commiseration for the fellow’s absolute uselessness. An obvious and profound novice.  If the boy followed his clumsy father into the same game, I do feel there’s some amusing Pink Panther copy that might interest sequel writers.

 

Wasting time at the truly dreadful, stale nicotine stinking Logan & Albert Hotel a year or so ago, a tall, smartly groomed young man with flawless, smooth, very non working-class hands presented at the next machine. His blue overalls carrying the folding marks of work attire only a short time before removed from its package.

Rathdowney cop reaction to his removal.BT 28/10/2015.

“How ya goin”? he started. Without a shadow of doubt, and long ago forgetting the hapless original, here was The Son of Darren, Darren Two, even. We were immediately joined by a similarly aged, tubby, ordinary  young woman using the same false matey approach, straight out of Kath & Kim. These hopeless cunts can only nab those equally short in the nous department. Inept crook chasers will only nail the Walter Mitty Darcy Dugans, thinkers with half a gram of iq will avoid the can for much longer.

 

img024

Beaudesert’s far right RSL uses its corrupt management to nail and cause ever-lasting harm to dissenters or to those whose opinions don’t match theirs.

Guilfoyle bust.
Nasty singular master of hate.

The Big Pumpkin will rip you off, but you won’t find pests like this one.

January 27, 2016

26/01/2016.

“Big Pumpkin,” apt tag for Beaudesert’s notorious rip-off proprietor.

The moment the words were uttered, the realization I had hexed myself was very strong; the chickens would soon come home to haunt me. Retribution came first from Woolworths Beaudesert, when their deceptive price marking had red grapes at $5.80 when real price was $7.98 doing me for two bucks. Boonah IG had reds at $2.99 but an excursion to that fair town wouldn’t have been practical without other tasks being undertaken. Over at Coles, Johanna uses similar tactics by placing expensive cuts of lamb near the cheaper off-cuts.

I had related my Big Pumpkin rip-off experiences to an acquaintance in which I stated how fixed price items are easy to keep track of at the checkout while loose items a greengrocers delight who bump the scale plate with the item and add a couple of bucks anyway. Beaudesert’s Big Pumpkin has two charming daughters well and truly versed in the art of deception with anecdotal goss has it that working for dad is mainly voluntary and real wages are pick-pocketed from careless customers. The street-smart young women are thus ready for the vagaries of life whatever opposition may face them.

BT 2/12/2015.

My appeal to this unpleasant creep that he quit pestering me have been futile. “I’m Father Christmas, the whole town loves me,” he replied to my request a few years ago that he desist. A professional ‘do-gooder’ he does the Rotary cause no good and pushes himself to an irritating, offensive degree.

“Having a bad day are we”? he’ll mutter as I pass without acknowledging him as I make my way to Aldi or Woolworths.

“Yer well, you’ll probably feel much better tomorrow.”

And so it goes until I’m out of hearing range.

The local weekly paper lauds him a hero so I must be out of touch. Shopping out of town has become a welcome distraction.

Meanwhile, back in Kooralbyn’s Countrytown Villas, a quasi Housing Commission precinct whose inhabitants, whether tenants or owners are, on the whole, more hateful than the average Australian, a foul procession of mental sickness has come and gone from the cytotoxic-friendly flat that attracts one-celled scunge, the latest object,Bill, moves outside at crow call where he lights up, then barfs uncontrollably and quite audibly, passionately expectorating pus into the foliage.

Smokers kill. Phantom Terrorists don’t. Attn. Horan, Jaala, Hillhouse of Qld Housing Commission.

December 15, 2015

A little over four years ago my blog utterings on the activities of recent arrivals to my flat precinct earned the disapproval of the establishment who sent a policeman to caution me. The world war two barrack-style buildings run east to west each has four flats and are sited diagonally opposite Beaudesert High School.

Paul Cowan, on first impression was just another old blowhard who soon joined a couple sitting in the gazebo and placing his landline extension on the table set upon establishing his importance.

“Can’t move too far without that.” he coyly explained, leaving a wee bit of theatrical mystery to come. “Lot of people rely on my assistance.” Mobile phones were common-place irritants then as they are today, beyond his budget, I’d be thinking. He had, in any case, with those few self-glorifying words, exposed the drab existence of an utter boor and one to be avoided at any cost.

The creature turned out to be a nasty self-centered do-gooder, motivated solely by the ego-cream of local recognition than by genuine altruism, had set himself up, sans accreditation, as adviser/counsellor to Magistrate Court clients conned into accepting his ‘advice’ or receive harsher parole conditions. Unfortunate miscreants copping shit like this leave little doubt about why their rebellion gets them back inside.

A Queensland Govt ‘official’ who, as far as I know, was not officially of the carabinieri, but officially of the Woodridge Housing Commission, Horan by name, suspected, with colleagues, Jaala and Hillhouse, from the same office, of having strong stasi influence, took me to task, “He’s a former Sunshine Coast Councillor,” she insisted, “and as such, must be respected.”

Well there you go, a petty Qld Govt clerk pulling nanny-state rank, can’t abide a tenant who thinks, and gets the police in to encourage contriteness. The Church at work as well, I shouldn’t wonder.

I under-estimated these malevolent women, Given brains in error and named in an earlier story, their complicity in one-sided tenant treatment should be opened like the can of smelly worms it is, doing so would invite a tome of Atlas Shrugged proportions. Will give that old story a few links:

Jaala And Hillhouse, Given brains in error.

A Psychiatric Puppeteer is Pulling Strings.”

Dept of Housing. (Beaudesert area)

This preamble is all about the possible variations to the consequences of this discourse. The last time I referred to stasi operatives and Qld Govt.Housing Dept, my doorway was graced with the shadow of one Senior Sergeant, on Tuesday, 25 October, 2011, after hinting a tenant couple mirrored similar activity to Stasi activity featured in a recent East German intrigue had aroused my suspicions.

The lead letter in the under cutout features a loathsome, self-centered female of Macbeth proportions, a former Councillor with great contempt for those unwilling or unable to benefit the ‘lady’s’ self-promotion. Those refusing to promote or back her became invisible. Her fierce defence of the cowards who deliberately damage the life systems of fellow beings, sums up her despicable mien absolutely.

Who now from the constabulary will visit me and urge a voluntary ‘mental evaluation’ examination for my criticisms of former public figures. Moffatt’s public profile seems to have dimmed lately but wait, I’ve a few cutouts from Beaudesert’s weekly journal that might contain the clue to the hypothetical question.

Two Beaudesert Times cutouts at bottom of story with words to be added in the next post.

img039

BT Sept 9,2015. Demon Phantom Terrorist chaser.

Police shut BT 28/10/2015.

.

Enter “The Big Pumpkin,” Beaudesert tourist hot-spot.

November 30, 2015

26/01/2016.

 

Went into the township of Beaudesert other morning for food shopping. The Big Pumpkin, like every other fruit and veg shop that’s ever existed, rips off its customers indiscriminately, always has, always will and without shame. Overlooking their petty criminality only encourages more of the same and you become a soft-touch mug. Ten or so years ago after a confrontation with management in which I stressed four instances of over-charging, his defence went something like, “Well, so what! You win some, I win some. It evens up in the end.”

Avoiding the establishment until lately and with their theft form entrenched, I buy no more than two items at a time which makes arguing the point simpler. Generally, most product prices differ little between stores but the big player’s errors are genuine whilst the Big Pumpkin’s are calculated and most deliberate. If you want your purchase in a bag, it is only by overcoming shop reluctance and insisting on this right, will you get one, otherwise the cabbage free-rolls around in a large carton. “Costs me hundreds a week for carry-bags,” he bull-shitted me, “Got to save somehow.” This crap from a long-practiced con-man of the first water who runs cattle and engages in other shonky activities.

Using my Coles/Woolworth bags, one containing a large Croatian cabbage, I think the variety, the second a leafy iceberg lettuce. “That’s $9,” he declared. “That’s $6.50,” I corrected him. “Sorry ’bout that,” he immediately shot off, “Thought you had two cabbages.” The creature is incapable of change, but that undeclared cash would be as lucrative as the local drug trade. His staff is so hang-dog, much like the underpaid rural workers at the produce store up the road at Gleneagle who succumb to the ‘hard done by’ moans of their property-rich employers.

But don’t worry about that, in the bucolic Federal seat of Wright, the odds favor the manipulations of the Liberal Party over Labor Party timidity.


%d bloggers like this: