“Never Tell The Truth To Those Unworthy Of It.”

December 23, 2012

Film location plate presented by ABC TV to the...

Film location plate presented by ABC TV to the Stapleford Miniature Railway which is still in use today. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


Very thoughtful and decent of you to replace your profile picture with image of your hero battling away in the Commons for a pension increase. I used my kinder pic. to remind the universe the Johns resurgence stays with a vengeance until all tribes are fused and equalised by the introduction of Kraken spunk. Your tremor experience no doubt emanates from Eastern parts of Aus. Be brave, it is atonement for all that Mayan crap that starved for ideas media masturbaters polluted us with. Or (what’s that one about never starting a sentence with a pr…) the two Sydney-based nurse killers, who are laughing at this free publicity, now set up for life. Straight out of The Avengers Steed and Mrs. Peel.

The other day, a woman who occasionally shares the platonic time of day with me, dropped as honest an opinion of me that I’ve had up-front for decades. The effect was akin to a fundamentalist sibling dropping the f-bomb at the Christmas table and can happily die now ensconced in the warm afterglow of being self-opinionated.

A Google check sated the ego, obviating a dictionary affirmation. Had she prefixed with totally however, the picture would have been much harsher and judgemental. Worse than self-absorbed I believe, on parity with the most adamant of earth’s know-alls. Megalomania which has slipped into common usage for the much obvious, excludes many of us only because we lack the weapons of ‘mass destruction’ to support our ideas.

In another era, self-deprecating jokes was an accepted form of humor and in a vain attempt at resurrecting the genre, was about to say how I have to hesitate few seconds as I exit the yard to get my bearings but realised that Queensland’s thought police would alert the mental evaluation mobiles to apprehend me as suspect Alzheimer, but had I been a few years younger, that would have been my segue or analogy to excuse my blog-sites, bound to stay like this forever in an antediluvian past.

You might recall some time back Craig, I had reduced net services and lost twitter for a while was because I gave ABC iview, or catch-up a hiding which ate into my “bandwidth.” That completes my tech nous. DTV is not new to me. I was one of those early snobs who paid $860 for a set, now $240, that died just before I moved to a late conversion area 70 ks from the city, now on stream. In the antipodes mate, in relation to your ovine comment, sheep expect human sexual intervention before a slit throat.

Dear Channel Ten, are you giving up the ghost?

October 30, 2012

Geoff Peterson, the snarky robot skeleton side...

Geoff Peterson, the snarky robot skeleton sidekick from the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson, at the San Diego Comic-Con 2010 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The opinion of the mature person on any subject is odium personified to anyone over ten years their junior and differs not a whit with his TV preferences. To a 40 yo tv programmer, the general belief is that a senior person is a just emerged oddity from a tired old womb, a serial and persistent pest who exceeded the 48 hour memory retention allowed oldies and are without any real knowledge of any subject anyway. The thoughts though, of the programmer’s stoned ‘with-it’ friends and the appeal of a particular demographic in Springfield, Lower Hookastan, has greater influence. The older newspaper reader, the mainstay of decent circulation numbers became so disenchanted with senior journalists skewed integrity in their quest to satisfy a megalomania boss’s raging conservative values that they reacted by reducing newspaper purchase. That industry now wonders why it is so reviled and irrelevant.

It was given, taken for granted that more viewers meant more advertising dollars, but programming nowadays has a select ego-driven dictatorial clique declaring so-called mundane nonsense, life-style (not) and cooking shows (ugh, unnatural) should predominate, being easy and reasonably inexpensive to run. The Project has all-round appeal which Ten will ruin when “cut-backs” inevitably kick in, has fans across the age board. The Craig Ferguson show on Eleven is a breath of fresh air and is generally overlapped by Ten’s Letterman late night show. This morning the two shows ran simultaneously. Why? Was too much thought needed to stagger two watchable shows? TV stations too greedy to manage or justify their appendage off-shoots should do us all a favour and relinquish ownership.

theGingerZilla (@thegingerzilla)

Les it doesn’t really matter any more, You can watch online, on a +1 channel, on demand or on your phone. It’s free by virtue of adverts projectile vomited at you until you exist out of time and reality. Why manufacture pacifiers when you can create them ‘virtually’ with a click?*

The scheduling is designed to disorientate which can only be a good thing as we do not want idle pensioners (with undeserved time on their hands) coherent – far too dangerous. No, mollify them with machines, prescription drugs for ‘ailments’ and squeeze the last juices of productivity from them before they expire.

Seriously Les, harken to the words of our Bastard Overlords;

“Retired people should work for their pensions, says Lord Bichard. The fact that pensioners already have worked for their pension, by definition, doesn’t detain him. Pensioners are a “negative burden” on the state, who need to be “incentivised” into doing jobs that young people could do for a wage.

The interesting thing about Bichard is that he isn’t some rabid Tory. He is a cross-bench peer, a technocratic former senior civil servant who worked closely with the last Labour government. His suggestion was raised in the context of discussions between politicians, bureaucrats and Bank of England experts on the state’s response to demographic change.”

*I noticed our new fangled digital tv has a few seconds delay over the analogue system. Quadzillions are made in those nano seconds in the digital reality (Farmville shares – sell!!!). Imagine the fun you could have in that moment where the sheep blink and realise they are about to be eaten.

LANARTA JEAN RIDES AGAIN… More Stasi Instructions Via Lanarta Jean.

March 28, 2011

For seventy examples of Liberal generated regression, checkout…

“What is the greatest wonder?

Each day strikes and yet we live as if we were immortal.

This is the greatest wonder.” The Mahasharata.

“All you need in this world is ignorance and confidence, and then your success is assured.”

The recent tongue-in-cheek Mark Twain Award most probably came about by one of his observations:

A couple of weeks ago I got a hastily scrawled, barely legible invite to the annual Public Housing tenants meeting in Beaudesert. It comes up this Wednesday, and my desired absence will be deliberate, but for an astute postman’s deciphering of incorrect numbering, it would have been accidental. The drive behind these “friendly, getting to know you chats” is to lure life’s musty failures into Labor-centric fifth columnists who, after training, don’t miss much. Would not surprise me if skid-marked bedding and pubic hue recorded, and with whom. My grudgingly issued invitation, an unacceptable after-thought which can never be the intended appeasement.

I attended this Government managed farce ago to voice passive nicotine smoke and tenant noise problems and a smug old Party hack, nicknamed Lanarta Jean, assured me that the problems of sub-normals was not on that day’s agenda. Advice in tuning a TV receiver to better acquaint myself with current affairs was available but more importantly, brochures on wise electricity usage would carefully explain how changing my power supplier could be financially beneficial. Having my patience tested with this puerile shit-talk indicates a dim idiot regards me as an equal, or worse, and is playing the dominance game. A couple of weeks later, an opposition power representative to Origin hammered on Commission tenant doors drumming-up trade. As far as I’m concerned his prompting was corruptly inspired.

The meeting’s collection of ten or eleven dumbed-down tenants was matched by as many poo-faced stasi apologists, replicas of the crawling, self-serving cancerous trash that rooted NSW Labor. They clung to the hall’s perimeter like a country dance’s wallflowers. At the conclusion of this bogus meeting, an unpleasant item with a name similar to Shouters threatened to hasten my departure by invoking fire provisions and remove my smoke deflectors. During an unrelated visit QBuild, of whom I have been occasionally unkind by being truthful, saw nothing untoward about my innovative deflectors, their construction or their placement.

QBuild contingent spoke-person sought to ease a non-existent fear which I was expected to show when Housing Commission agents called,”Don’t worry about us, we’re not the other lot, we’re here to check the new floor,” referring to the unnecessary monetary waste of replacing barely worn vinyl flooring. A Housing trait. Evidently these Woodridge Housing grubs enjoy playing Irish lords instilling the fear of eviction into the potato picking serfs.

“Shuduppa you face, you fucking poofter.”

Of Frau Kym Schiklegruber, a compulsive phone pest, I should have counter-acted with an avo. Her phone pestering rendering the item permanently unplugged and useless. An alternative to ADSL being considered for broadband. Another of these base creatures objected to my verbatim quote of a Spanish National foreman’s response asked to tone down his men’s extended vocal noise; “You shut up, you fucking poofter.” he advised me. Nothing much disturbs me nowadays, but I thought, ” Hello, nothing much disturbs me nowadays, but has this prick been reading my mail “?

This girl-child employee to whom I mentioned the incident was at the precinct with an adult Housing person, complained my use of the verbatim quote and my life was further compromised by hateful, unhelpful staff. Not wanting to contend with illegal eviction threats, and fed-up with ten weeks of indifferent or no TV, I sent a missive to Schwarten who then held Housing. TV reception was spasmodic at this time with an established antenna defect. An electrician, a ‘mate’ in on the joke had S.F.A. antenna expertise, obvious after his failed attempts brought only disappointing results. A Brisbane antenna company was dispatched to sort-out the hitch soon after my note to the Executive building and three months of indifferent, scratchy reception was fixed at a price of 2K. and worth every cent to a homebody. Schwarten’s C of Staff, a worldly-wise hard-nut, couldn’t give a rats about everyday vernacular of course, his mortification being reserved for the exclusion of honourable from my note to His Eminence.

Nonsense, nose-picking and less then worldly little girls would be gainfully employed counting paper clips in a remote religious order than make decisions on adults. This skittery type of employee alas, is the best a rotting and rotten Queensland Labor Government can recruit. Those with secretive dealings avoid applying text to paper and deliver threats personally. Stasi tyro inquisitor Terry refused a chair, the intimidating effect of standing supposed to spook the powerless also to give a psychological advantage.

Just record it, worry about the legalities later.

Re-plug your phone was the message from Frau Kym, and take her calls. I asked of him how inappropriate screaming into mobiles outside my flat by two dim tenants might be addressed. Tenancy provisions prevented disparaging comments about fellow tenants which apparently I had just provoked. Effete and useless drop dead empty-headed drongos like this specimen will collectively, hopefully, eventually cause the corrupt Bligh to fall. The fact is, of course, Murray’s harpies won’t loose momentum and victimisation, also known as bullying, of people like me will never let-up. Am exploring recording devices to counter the damage these people try to bring about, but need something more tangible then voice activated recorders. Not an exact science. Replay of Mother Dale’s abnormal noise-making in an oldie’s precinct emerge as a series of clicks and fly-doors bangs, meaningless. Normal play is time-consuming and in law, probably useless. I will add Window 7 toys to my repertoire.

Well before Raguse finally won a seat, about the time I quit denying the malicious machinations of Queensland Labor, Beaudesert’s monthly market in the park attracts budding politicians and their sycophants pre-election, and from yarning with these aspirants came the real meaning of unmitigated and proudly stupid. I suggested to a booth worker how the slack, unimaginative opposition lets the State Labor Government win by default when every issue of the major morning newspaper carries three or four adverse stories that could be picked-up and run with.

My comment so startled the boy Jason who you recall, is on the winning team anyway, that he pulled a camera out of his hat and insisted I pose with his lady friend for a matey shot. Once an avid Labor voter, I seek now to support the candidate most likely to run motherless. Love and best wishes, Les.

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