$20k Challengers

Righto kids, a couple of weeks ago I set out with the grand idea of getting you suckers to come up with a new Mutantmobile for under twenty large.

Of course those that follow the comments will know that the response was overwhelming, except only two of those comments actually bothered to mention a car I could buy. True to my word I’ve decided to revisit those suggestions to either praise em up or shoot em down.

I also came up with a winner, the perfect fit for me and my busy lifestyle, or some wank like that.

First of all Jen suggested I should get something red, but Freddy countered that be recommending something green. Victor though I’d look good in a tram, Tom put forth the idea of something with enough room in the back for, um, vigorous pursuits. Kate loves her Mazdas and though I’d look hot in a Mazda3 like hers.

Andy has way too much time on his hands and hasn’t made the decision making process any easier by throwing a few more cars my way to take into consideration, First on Andy’s list is the unltimate rice-racer-fully-sik-boyz R33 Skyline GTS-T running a GTR V-spec engine.

I have the utmost respect for Skylines, the fucking things are giant killers. Essentially a reasonably low-weight coupe packed to the gills with an almost indestructible engine and able to handle insane amounts of boost through the engine and driveline. However, they have a certain stereotype that buys them, if you’ve seen The Fast And The Furious then you’ll know what I mean, plus I lack the patience to put up with the headfuck that is trying to obtain parts for a car which was never officially sold in this country.

Obviously Andy is something of a Nissan fetishist as next on the list is an 03 V35 skyline. Looking at the equipment list it certainly ticks most of the boxes, leather trim, climate control, Bose audio, DVD/TV tuner with sat nav and a 3.5 litre V6.

Not so handy however is the attached CVT transmission which would infuriate the fuck out of me, plus the fact the DVD player and sat nav would most likely be useless in Australia due to the region and mapping differences between Australia and Japan. Read the above imported vehicle diatribe for further details. Although it does come in a choice of sedan or coupe.

Of course if Andy figures I’ve got a shred of class he’d suggest something a bit more prestigious, like the BMW 735iL on his list. This is more my style, it’s a big fat limo, the cream of the BMW crop and perfect compensation for my tiny dick.

Inside there’s electric everything and leather galore. Of course the other side of the coin is that parts for the fuckers cost a bomb, that’s okay though because I’ve got plenty of aftermarket contacts. Sadly in Australia the terrain is just a little too harsh for the autobahn-spoilt Beemers, which means it won’t take long before costly brake, suspension and electrical components have rattle to pieces or wilted in the heat.

Still with the prestige Euros though and the Mercedes Benz C200K coupe was mentioned. Yes it’s a Merc, yes its rear wheel drive. The end. Andy, seriously what were you thinking? For starters I’m not a fucking hair-dresser, secondly have you ever seen one of these? I mean really?

It looks like a lizard that’s dropped its bloody tail and as a result the handling is up to shit thanks to a weight balance that is all front no rear. On the other hand the quality thing is pretty well sorted. Mercs only ever shit out expensive stuff, but I’m sure you’ll put your hand up for the $5000 every couple of years to keep it running, right Andy?

The most ace selection if the list though was an Alfa Romeo 156. Specifically mentioned was the manual as the selespeed robotized manuals have a habit or shredding clutches and destroying selector pumps every 6000 kilometres or 7 months, whichever comes first. They say to be a true car nut you have to have owned an Italian car. I say bullshit. That just makes you truly nuts.

An Italian car lures you in with seductive looks and styling to make you weak at the knees, by the end of it though you’ll be a poor man, lacking in sanity and most of your hair as problem after problem springs up with the electrics, oil leaks sprout from places never deemed possible and trim bits fade and crumble right before your eyes. They are damn sexy though.

Finally we have the Forester XT – by means of full disclosure Andy owns one of these which means to maintain out friendship I’ll heed my mother’s advice about saying nothing when you have nothing nice to say.

The hands down winner though was Celesticles who came up with this:

And said: Hey Kez, I think this car would be perfect for you! Its small enough to fit into those annoyingly 'too small' parks right out the front of the shops. Its white paint makes it classy and stylish, and its retro as hell, which I know presses your buttons. Modifications, well, you could really do anything with it, its so versatile, but im thinking some low profiles, new coat of paint, new engine, anything really. Your best bet would be to save the money in case something goes terribly wrong.... But, if you do get this car, you certainly will be turning heads... but maybe only because you have broken down in busy intersection...

Celeste, you get the gold star darling because you’ve combined my love of Eastern Bloc remnants with a desire to learn creative engineering solutions (thanks to a regular scheduled breakdowns) AND with enough money in the budget to go nuts with a full array of mods like fluffy dice, illuminated washer jets and maybe even a subwoofer! AWESOME!

Loose Yourself

I would like to know that I’m not the only one. I need to feel a little common love. Surely my bewilderment is not mine alone, or is it? Christ, I’m fucked if it is.

Y’see the problem I have is that I have the navigational ability of a mars bar. I’m so easily lost. I can traipse from work to home on a daily basis but that’s about it. If I need to visit you I’ll have to be glued to a street directory most of the way there, even if you tell me you live just one street over from the main road of a popular suburb I won’t find you without assistance.



I’m easily disoriented too. Put me into a shopping centre, turn me around twice and I’ll struggle to find my way out. It’s not fun. Take yesterday for example I wandered into the city to collect a few items on a whim. Normally if I hit the CBD I stick to about three our four streets that I’m reasonably familiar with to ensure that I can always back-track out again.

Yesterday I thought I was going alright. I’d braved Swanston Street on which my tram runneth and ventured down Bourke Street without too much drama. Then I got too clever for my own good. I decided that if I cut through Myer I could make up some time and avoid getting rained on. Yeah, stroke of genius that one.



Of course I got distracted by something shiny, then decided to leave the ground floor, then walked a few laps trying to work out where I’d come from, then I needed to take a piss so decided to find the leak-house, then suddenly had no fucking idea where I’d come from or where I should be headed. After about half an hour of walking into wall mounted mirrors and finding dead ends I finally came to an exit except it wasn’t on Bourke Street. Bugger.

Thankfully I was able to take the cheaters way out and I followed the outside of the building around in what I hoped was the direction of Swanston Street. Turns out it was. Thank Christ.

I’m the same in airports – friggen hopeless. Needless to say my days of traveling between Sydney and Melbourne for work were usually filled with mad sprints to catch a plane because I’d managed to loose myself somehow, regardless of the fact I was only headed to the same departure lounge I’d been to fifteen times before.



Don’t even get me started on finding my car in a carpark. Unless my bay is clearly next to a very obvious landmark, like say the Eiffel tower, I won’t have a chance of finding my car without a good forty minutes of leg-work first. The degree of difficulty is of course of multiplied by each additional level in the car park.

Err, now where was I? Fucked if I know really – navigating through a conversation often proves to be as difficult as navigating through the burbs. I loose sight of where I was headed and forget where I’ve already been. And who says being simple is no fun? You learn something new everyday, even if it is the same thing you learnt yesterday.

I'm At That Light Up A Smoke Then Go To Sleep Stage

You know how sometimes you just have the most incredible sex which leaves every single part of your body electrified. The kind of orgasm that shakes you from head to toe. An experience which leaves you breathless and giddy and wanting so much more.

I just had that experience, with no sex (and no messy fluids to mop up afterwards). So what does it take to give a mutant multiple orgasms?

Well, I could tell you but I’d rather you put in the hard yards and discover for yourself! It’s much more fun that way. Then again I could just come clean and tell you.

If you want me to quake from sheer enjoyment you need to strike a delicate combination between the following:
-Slutty outfits.
-Broken English.
-Cheesy pop music.
-Lights.
-Colours.
-Wind machines.
-Fake Tan.

Yeah yeah yeah, I know I’m still in full ‘squee’ mode thanks to Eurovision. I know some of you haters, well, hate it. But the thing about it is, it isn’t any good, and that’s what makes it so bloody great.

The choreography is often woeful. The songs are basic as hell. The costumes are frightening and for that reason it is gold! I know you’re not supposed to rag the contest in front of Europeans so I apologise to my Euro readers.

By now I think I can safely reveal that the winner was Norway’s Alexander Rybak. Not hard to see why he won, he had pretty blondes “la la la-ing” and some nice looking back up dancers, plus with all the flirting he was doing with the camera I felt like I should’ve asked what he’d like for breakfast in the next morning. His final score was 387 points which put him a whopping 169 points ahead of Yohanna from Iceland who performed some truly terrible ballady thing which was decribed as “three minutes of pop perfection” I wanted to hang myself each time I heard it.

Anyway, enough of the bad shit, I know you want to know what The Mutant fell in love with. Well, long term followers will know that I have a total soft spot for two countries: Ukraine and Turkey, and they certainly didn’t disappoint this year either.

First up I give you Hadise from Turkey with Düm Tek Tek – I challenge you not to get it stuck in your head!

Then there is Svetlana Loboda from Ukraine with Be My Valentine (Anti-Crisis Girl) – I mean could this bitch get any filthier if she tried, and those boys, phwoar!



Yeah you’re totally getting it now, huh? On top of that you may want to look at… Oh fuck it, I actually think you should watch the whole bloody thing. By the time I scour YouTube looking for links we could be here for days.

So the only other thing you need to know is a real, grown-up performer with real, grown-up credibility did incredible things for France:



And of course everyone on the planet seems to be in love with this boy:



“I love you Europe, Thank you for loving me!” Yeah and um, just so you know It'll take me months to come down from this high, and I'll be re-watching those clips for weeks on end. I've already ordered the fan book which is on its way out of Europe as we speak! Should only cost me about $90 by the time it lands too - bargain!

MOSKVA 2009

I promise I’ll keep this short, otherwise I’ll risk sounding like a breathless homosexual fanboy.

Of course, that’s probably the most accurate description, so without further ado, can I just say EURO-FUCKING-VISION 2009 bitches!

After Russia scooped the pool last year with their soppy, painful ballad the Eurovision circus has traveled to Moscow, where the host country has been so desperate to host the event that they’ve gone utterly overboard with the set. If you can find a single inch of that stage that doesn’t feature an LCD or LED display could you kindly point it out to me.



Anyway, Australia is waaay behind civilized society when it comes to televising the event, but I’m sure some places in the world are even worse so I promise I won’t spoil anything for you, except to say that at the conclusion of the first semifinal I could only identify one truly OTT act, and one mildy camp act. I won’t say who, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you watch, which you can do via the SBS website.

Oh and the Russian semifinal hosts may have been drunk – half-pissed, awkward in front of a camera with lots of broken English, it’s like reaching nirvana really isn’t it? After a couple of years in the wilderness of crossover rock acts, its nice to see the early theme emerging this year seems to be operatic inspiration, however there seems to be no hard and fast rules so its open season as the music world cringes at the oh-so-chic aural assault.

I must go through and get the official stats for white costume appearances, they’d be simply mind blowing! Only one slightly scary wig for the first semi, one chick that looked like a man and one dancer who almost slipped. I’m probably the only person disappointed by that. I still want that fucking wig too, it’s just how I always pictured myself!

So with the second semifinal televised in Australia tonight and the grand final on Sunday it looks like being a busy weekend for me. Just so you know I’ll be ignoring the outside world for another 36 hours or so.

Kick It

I had to do something to get rid of the festering pile of curried sausages assaulting readers everywhere in link lists and on readers and RRS feeds.

Oh damn, listen to me, I almost sound like I know what I'm talking about - but I don't, all I know is that there's prettier stuff to look at than me stuffing my head full of pizza.

To that end I give you an important landmark in the history of The Mutant. A moment that will live on in the hearts and minds of readers for years to come. I like to call it 'the turnover'.

Gape in amazement as this:

Becomes this:
It is probably also worth noting that the grand event actually happened months ago so I'm over 195,000 kilometres now and I'm more than a little bit sad to announce that someone will be leaving the Big Brother house tonight - It's time to go... My car.

I figure the old girl will be happier pensioned off to a quite life of rolling hills and open plains to explore. More likely though some outer suburban shit-for-brains will by the Calais, put a set of "fully sick mate" chrome rims on it and run doughnuts in the maccas carpark until they blow a power steering pump, a diff or at least until they blow a tyre, barrel out of control and injure half a dozen spectators.

Oh damn, I could shed a tear just thinking about it.

Now comes the fun part though - replacing my baby!

Readers, your challenge should you choose to except it, is to find me a car to take the place of my pride and joy. Limitations are thus:

-Vehicle must be available in Australia, either in factory spec or a grey-market import.

-Advertised price on the car may not exceed AUD $20,000.

-Used vehicles only, nothing new or ex-demonstrator.

-If you'd like a leg-up use CarSales or CarPoint or any other Australian auto trader site to help you out

-Bonus points will be awarded if you come in under budget and can recommend potential modifications which can be included in the twenty grand price.

Leave your suggestions in the comments. Be aware though I'll be selecting the best and worst for an upcoming post and I will try to shoot your selection down in flames, so make sure you justify it and justify it well.

I'll be scoring your efforts on originality, eccentricity, absudity and your ability to relate an automobile to my uniquely magnetic personality - or something like that.

Winner gets to take a spin around the block in my new wheels, if you're lucky!

The Last Supper

Sometimes I'm a bit of a fool. I did some stuff on the weekend that means I nearly wasn't here to bore you shitless today. But as luck would have it I pulled though and thus I'm proud to present to you: Dinner!

I went all out tonight. I've been thinking to myself that I need to push the balanced diet thing a little harder, so no more pre-packaged meals for me. Hell no. Tonight was all about curried sausages, or snags, or bangers, whatever you prefer.
I could hardly wait to get into that sucker - and that mashed potato, yes it is covered in grated cheese and made with real butter and cream. The pumpkin is cooked in butter too and I like to fry my snags in a mix of oil and butter. Sublime!
Of course if that wasn't good enough last week I decided I'd have a roast spud feast, what you see before you is what that turned into. While perusing the supermarket shelves I decided pizza was a better slap-up meal.
Say hello to chorizo, cheese, capsicum, mushrooms, pineapple (yeah, its fucking essential, okay) sundried tomato and feta. Jesus, I think I may have orgasmed, twice, just thinking about it.

Of course putting me in a kitchen with sharp shit and hot stuff isn't always safe, although I'm pleased to say I only had one disaster, and I refuse to take responsibility for that, blame faulty packaging.
Yeah, the cheese may have exploded slightly. I decided against the three-second rule and just let the cats inside instead. Clean-up took them all of about 15 seconds!

By the way if you think looking at me stuffing my face is dead-shit boring you're totally right. How would you like to watch me get out of the shower instead?

Okay - you asked for it:

It's official, I've quit smiling - aggression looks way hotter, non? Nah probably not. Tom, you wanted to see the hair, so there you go - I reckon there's only a few months left at the rate I keep finding it around the place.

So anyway, I've got stacks of left-overs, fancy a bite?

Relative Obscurity

“How do you know so much odd stuff?” My housemate exclaimed. I’m not even sure I know the answer to that myself. I’ve always had a need to know the unusual facts about things. For one thing I’m wild about the auto industry and hang out for every little nugget of information I can get my hands on.

I also like odd factoids from film, like where Jeff Goldblum goes mental in Independence Day and kicks over a bin which has ‘Art Dept’ painted on the bottom of it. Or that the woman Rod Taylor carries out at the end of The Birds isn’t Tippi Hedren because she’s in hospital at the time thanks to the injuries she received in the bird attack scene because Alfred Hitchcock had thrown and attached real birds to her.

I also like conspiracy theories, but only because so many of them are so ridiculous – I’m sure by now you’ve head all kinds of theories about the bible, the pyramids, Elvis and Marilyn Monroe. There’s also all kinds of warped shit floating around about the September 11 attacks, and the death of Princess Di. All ridiculous and all fascinating.

I also like odd shit, like this information over-load that I first spotted thanks to Durban Bud. There’s also a wealth of knowledge to be gleamed from Homer’s World, I won’t cite a specific example though as he’s got something now and different to learn each week. Andrew falls into that same category too. If you want to know things about Melbourne that you just can’t read about, read them at High Riser.

Right now I’m ashamed to say it, but I left this one for a couple of days because I had no idea what Little Big Planet was, I still don’t but I’m sure you kids who pay attention to modern, pop-culture type stuff know all about it. Anyway, Dead Robot pointed it out and it’s a must see, well I at least know some of the songs and their respective clips which might be why I like it. You’ll see what I mean. It may not be factual, but it is crazy so by default I love it.

I also like the steak and egg breakfast wraps you can get at Hungry Jack’s. I don’t know why I mentioned that, but it may have something to do with the fact I had one for breakfast. It also ties in nicely with the fact that Hungry Jack’s is the Aussie version of Burger King, however popular to contrary belief it wasn’t named so because it was considered impolite to open a fast-food franchise that made a mockery of the British Empire. In actual fact the Burger King name already belonged to a takeaway shop in Adelaide.

If you want to get back to the car thing though (I hear your collective groan, but shuddup), I could probably drive myself insane with the things that could’ve been. Take my all-time favorite cruiser the WB Statesman. Holden released it in 1980 and killed it in 1984. The car was built on the same underpinnings as the HZ before it, but with revised rear sheet metal and new door uppers to give it a new look. Apparently a wagon and short wheel base sedan were planned too, but were scrapped in favour of the Commodore. Only the ute and panel van from that program survived.

Worse though, was that the WB was simply a makeshift program as Holden had already pulled the pin on an all new WA series of cars. The WA was a complete redesign with all new interiors and sheet metal. For 1980 the car looked horn, but do you think the pictures exist on the internet? Fat chance, but I do have a hard copy squirreled away in my extensive collection of automotive publications. Thankfully. Anyway as good as the WA could’ve been I’m still going to get myself a WB and customise the sucker into a big, highway eating cruiser. “Hot pink, with whale-skin hubcaps and all leather cow interior and big brown baby seal eyes for headlights.”

And, just because I have the attention span of a coke-fueled Lohan:



I probably should’ve warned you about the fact that was the extended version with all the stuff that never got translated to English so that the series would’ve made sense, That is of course if anyone even knows what the fuck it is. Anyway that’s getting off track isn’t it? Or is it? I can’t tell any more.

The Alphabet According To The Mutant

I really ought to know better, but thanks to Andrew I've been tagged for a little meme action, so I give you 26 useless fact about me:

A - Age: I’ve got a quarter of a century behind me – most importantly though, in fear of growing older I’ve stopped mentioning it and tried to make my birthday go away to away this year but failed. 18 months ago I was all: “growing older is inevitable, growing up is optional” but that was before I started going bald.

B - Bed size: I sleep in a queen size bed (go right ahead and joke about it) but I usually ball myself up in one corner – that said I can’t sleep in a single, fuck knows why.

C - Chore you hate: All of em, Washing dishes happens too often, Laundry involves too many steps – if drinking is a chore then I like that one.

D - Dog’s name: I haven’t got one, but when I buy my big fat farm house I’m gunna get me a pig-dog called Rail, Short for Common-Rail Diesel-Injection – coz I am that kind of car nut!

E - Essential start to your day: There’s usually a morning todger-tug in there somewhere

F - Favorite colour: Depends really. I don’t have one, I have a stack of application-specific ones, to break it down I like my cars black and my clothes white but I can’t keep either clean so I own neither.

G - Gold or Silver: Silver – it makes me look less pale and Irish than gold does.

H - Height: 175cm of pure fury or 5' 7" if you so prefer.

I - Instruments: I’ve always wished I could play one, In Aussie schools growing up it became popular to learn to play the recorder, however I was just one year above that so I missed out. I’d love to be one of the cool kids who could just pick up a guitar and go nuts, I reckon I’d rock on the tambourine though. Somebody hand me a kazoo!

J- Job: I have one of those, but they shut my last blog down so let’s just say I’m a pool-cleaner to the stars. On the other hand I think is safe to mention I do this part time.

K – Kids: You’re kidding right – I can’t even look after myself and you can’t send kids to the bottle shop anymore so there is no point.

L - Living arrangements: I’m crammed into a tiny room on a busy street and live with a woman who may or may not be related to me and thus offers cheap-ass rent.

M - Mum’s name: That’s a bit stupid isn’t it? It’s Mum - duh.

N - Nicknames: Some of you know my real name, others only know the internet persona but borrowing a little from each, I get Kez and various derivatives of, also some smart arse decided on Wolverine which I kind of ran with. In the past I’ve copped Shorty, Little Johnny and Poodle, if you call me one of those last three now, I’ll break your fucking nose.

O - Overnight hospital stay other than birth: Lets see – I had some mystery virus when I was about five that saw me hospitalised for a week in a bush hospital that was really just an old folks home. I’ve spent two weeks attached to drips and shit when I was first diagnosed with diabetes and I’ve recently had an overnighter that you can read about here if you really want.

P - Pet Peeve: Don’t get me started – lets just say people who set a bad example, are deliberately ignorant or entirely inconsiderate and leave it at that – otherwise this post could go for days.

Q - Quote from a movie: “Nothing? Nothing? Nothing tra la la!” Bowie cries that out in Labyrinth to great effect – I love the movie, I love his hair and the whole thing is just cool Next time someone answers a question with “Nothing” give them a dramatic “Nothing? Nothing? Nothing tra la la!” in response, they’ll love it:


R – Robot or Human?: Human, but don’t forget I have a delightful metal-fused substructure that makes clearing airport security a disaster.

S - Siblings: Shitloads, biologically two brothers and three sisters, pus another two bros and a sis through adoption.

T - Time you wake up: Somewhere between 5:30 am and 6:00 am, if I go for a sleep in I’m usually up by 8:00 am.

U- Underwear: I still don’t know the proper terminology but they are those little short-type things that aren’t boxers. No visible panty line and no bits dropping out – perfection. Somewhere deep within my wardrobe there’s G-strings and jock-straps too, but they’re just for special occasions.

V - Vegetable you dislike: Would you believe I’m starting to like most of them now – how grown up am I?

W - Ways you run late: By never getting places early enough to be on time. I don’t fucking know but I’m habitually late, that’s for sure.

X - X-rays you’ve had: my foot, after I dropped a big-ass industrial roll of paper on it, and my cavity filled teeth, hoorah, I now have dental records, that’ll be handy when it comes time to identify my corpse!

Y - Yummy food you make: The nicest meal I do comes pre-prepared and only needs to be heated in the microwave. I’m a total kitchen disaster, but I’m going to marry a man who can cook, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

Z - Zoo favourite: Anything that is in the process of devouring another animal or scaring the fuck out of kids. I don’t really care much for zoos though, I’m more of a monster truck derby kinda guy.

I know karma dictates I tag someone else, but karma can go fuck itself, if you feel like having a go then please do and leave a comment so I can see what you've come up with.

Bringing New Meaning To The Term 'Textaholic'

I have prayed, begged and even tried bribing the greater powers of the universe for a solution, and yet there is none. I mean seriously, is there anything more awkward then looking through your phone at last nights drunken texts? There have been so many times I wished my phone had a breathalyser-style interlock that wouldn’t let me use it if I was pissed.

I have called a lot of people really late at night, just to say hi. I’ve sent text messages to some damn ugly people with no personality (or concept of personal hygiene) in the quest for some filthy one-night stand action. Worse still, I think I’ve had insane in-depth conversations about the universe with my mother, via SMS. She is not proud of the language I use – Fuck it, I reckon I’ve got a shit-hot grasp of the English language, don’t let no other cunt tell you otherwise.

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make here is that my life tends to be one cringe-riddled moment after another, and sometimes it's good to know you’re not alone. Texts From Last Night is quite possibly the worlds greatest resource in the field of embarrassing drunk-ass messages. I swear, I don’t often sit at my desk giggling like a stoner (unless I’m actually stoned) but this is one of those sites that makes me do just that.

Oh, and if you were wondering, the worst text I ever sent was intended to go to a lady friend of mine, but ended up being sent to my boyfriend at the time. It probably wouldn’t have been so bad except it said: “Oh my god, big-fat-Matty* has been grinding me all night at Shadows. I’ll be following him home and fucking the arse off him. Multiple times. His girlfriend can go fuck herself, if she hasn’t worked it out by now she’s stoopid. I love you chicken, and I love Bacardi too”.

See, I’ve got class written all over me. In case you were wondering I actually have that message written down in numerous places to remind myself not to be a trashy whore, sadly I haven’t learnt my lesson. You’ll also be pleased to know that I did not take Matty home that night, in fact I remained faithful to by darling boyfriend of the time right up until I moved out so that him and his new piece of fluff could have the house to themselves.

Anyway that’s not important here. Inebriated texting is always a winner. Usually I only wish I hadn’t done it after the fact, while I’m doing it I think it’s awesome. I want you to do three things for me right now. First go check out the site until tears start streaming down your face, next go neck a bottle of something classy – or a cask of wine if you’re feeling particularly adventurous, finally pick up your phone and send me an SMS.

I can’t wait to hear from you.

*Don’t judge me, I wasn’t being nasty, that was his actual nickname.

I Think I May Have Missed Your Point

There really isn’t much point denying it, so lets be rational here: I’m probably not the sharpest bean-bag in the den. I mean I get stuff, sure I usually drink it in to oblivion or don’t care enough to remember it. I’m hopeless with details, no good with names, useless when it comes to quotes and otherwise pretty busy with my own dim-wittedness.

But in all honesty, I can’t be only person who thinks the way I do, can I? I mean let’s have a look at the last few weeks and see if you can pick where I went wrong or why I don’t ‘get it’ the way some people seem to:

Coughing Pig Death, aka swine flu. Honestly, I know that medical experts have been warning about the threat of a killer flu pandemic for years, however I get the feeling this isn’t it. It seems like anyone with a runny nose or sore throat is claiming pig flu, why? Don’t get me wrong, I know the flu can be dangerous and I know it’s a fairly communicable virus, but at last count the World Health Organisation had seven confirmed deaths from porcine influenza.

That isn’t a pandemic, that isn’t even the aporkalypse. A pandemic is what happens when every second person contracts the ebola virus and turns into soup in their own armchairs – or something. Calm the fuck down people. With those odds you’re actually more likely to kill yourself with a nail gun or slip in the street and impale yourself on a fence.

Bea Arthur. Now just let me preface this by saying I have no ill will towards her, no vendetta against her and yes I was happy to watch the Golden Girls and giggle along. But, members of the homosexual community please don’t canonise the woman, as she was just like any other woman on earth.

Yes she was in the public eye, yes she was loved my many and yes it is a loss to hear of her passing. However, he like everyone else could not live forever. She has friends and family who’ll feel the pain of her absence and I’m pretty sure the last thing they need is a world-wide chorus of screaming queens mourning her loss. Mention it, sure – but harp on about it? Not so much please.

Conversely how many people do you know of who blogged their arse off about recently deceased billionaire Richard Pratt? Despite the fact he provided employment for thousands of Aussies I bet he didn’t rate quite the same mention. I guess he just wasn’t camp enough, huh?

Okay, so that’s recent events I don’t get, and there’s probably more too, except my mind tends to discard them quickly, the other thing I don’t get is the way people behave.

For example if you’re waiting for a tram and it finally arrives but it’s filled to capacity, however there is another immediately following it which you can clearly see is quite empty and bound for the same destination, why do you have to pile onto the first tram? Damn it makes me laugh, meanwhile I’ll stroll up to the tram behind, board, take a seat and not have fifty sweaty commuters grabbing me in inappropriate places.

Another thing I don’t get is parents teaching their kids life threatening impatience. Take the mother of three, two walking toddlers and one in a pusher, who couldn’t be bothered crossing a busy street at the pedestrian lights just a few feet away. Instead she decided it’d be best to run halfway across the road, and then squeeze onto the centre line until a gap opened up in traffic for her to proceed.

Funnily enough she was only able to do so after the pedestrian lights had changed because someone else had the good sense to cross properly which halted cars in both directions. I can only hope that was a once-off incident, but I doubt it. Keep your fingers crossed her kids are never injured from the result of running though traffic. How would that poor woman ever work out what went wrong?

There are other things that just don’t make sense to me, like why is it May already, who the fuck made teenagers into such slackers, Why am I the only person who knows what to do when it comes to fashion, manners and driving, and why all of a sudden have I turned into a cantankerous 80 year old man? Clearly its some kind of chemical imbalance caused by a molecular reaction I’m having to all this new ‘double-concentrated’ laundry detergent.

By the way, I’m still happy to accept ‘inspirational’ reader lap dances, so if you want less whinge from me, start grinding kids!