Sunday, October 28, 2007

A landing. With a pile of sticks where there was once logs, taken from what once a forest.

So much for sustainability.

Did you know??... that the Department actually employs contractors to carry out 'notching' (read cutting with axe and poisoning) on large areas of unwanted trees - such as the fucken messy undergrowth trees and other stuff that gets in the way of an equal age Jarrah forest - so much easier to harvest then after all. They don't like folks to know that.

They also go all quiet when I ask them why the fuck they burn off in spring, when all the young are in nests or just out of pouches. Autumn burns would make more sense to me and make fuck all difference to them.

And, now we start fucken daylight saving again. What a load of shit. If ya want more daylight, or it fucks you up for dealing with the East, get up early. No need to change the clocks you dickheads. Fuck off. (As you have already been told in three fucking referendums on the subject you wormy, manipulating, self serving, parasitic cocksucking politician cunts ).

Monday, October 15, 2007

An interesting trip. Queensland. Home of XXXX, not that i'd drink that shit.

Haven't been here in twenty years, since I was in the Army. I could hardly recognize the roads that I used to regularly drive trucks down. The road north, previously a one lane each direction job, is now a fucking freeway.

Staying in a variety of accommodation, including to my fucken horror, a fucking B&B. Fuck.

I was somewhat more amiable after i was shown to the executive suite. Very nice. So, a few beers, and a feed later, it's time to see what is on the telly - in the sumptuous, complementary glass of red, deserted loungeroom, where I shall kick back and hopefully watch UFC, American Chopper, Hotrods, Mythbusters, or something equally as watchable, on fox.

However. Now, which is right now, and just fucking now - like a split second before me - the said sumptuous lounge is inhabited by an oldish Qld bloke - think Joe Bjelky (or however its fucking spelt) Peterson mixed with a liberal dose of church going and apparently fuck all sense of humor,or that is the impression that I gained from when we met earlier, while I was decking a coldie on the deck. And....

He's reaching for the fucking remote. Cunt. Fuckit.

And fucken now, the cunt has charge of the fucking remote. Fuck! No!! So there he is flicking through the four available channels - no Fox :( ... a documentary about Burmese rebels or something,... I plonk my arse in a comfy looking chair..., womens golf, the same documentary, and ....South Park - you fucken beauty!! But the old cunts still got the fucken remote. And he's lingering on the Burmese doco. And says to me, just as he hits South Park - and it's just starting, "What do you think we should all watch?"... Fucken Yeehar!! ... "This'll be spot on mate" says I.

And leant back with a beer to enjoy the show.

I don't think he was expecting this turn of events. But he grunted, and said to me - "Is greatness a responsibility that is thrust upon a person, or is it sought?", and stood, waiting for a response.

"That would depend upon the circumstance." I replied, he grunted, and, our conversation ended.

He sat down.

I thought to myself that this should be interesting.

So we all, the groups numbers have swelled as we have been joined by his old duck, watched the South Park crew get into Mel Gibson and "the passion".

Cracked me up, especially given that the two old, really straight, cunts are sitting there too. The old fella even gave out a little snortle sort of chuckle a couple of times and especially when Mel shits on cartman at the end. His missus didn't seem to get into it though.

I bet they watch it all the time now. Cos he'll have the remote.

I thought that i'd have a Muddy for tea one night, further up the coast, as the fucking things are everywhere up there. About $40 max, I would have thought. Eighty fucken dollars they tried to fucken rip me off the poxy fucking Queensland cunts. Fuck me. I could get some of the local boongs to get me a couple for a flagon. What a fucken rip off that place was. I ended up getting something that cost $31 and consisted of what you get in an industrial area lunch bar for the Friday "seafood" basket. Cunts. I should moonlight as a hotel inspector and get paid to fucken sting them too.

Best value of all the stops was Mackay. Good pub. Cheap food - (everywhere - like meals for $5.50). I ended up with some fucken beautiful calamari for tea. I'll hunt down a Muddy there next time.

So finally, I get home.

Fly in battered from 5.5 hours of cattle class and no fucking emergency exit row seat either, on the last leg. A far change from the business class, that I could now see from my cattle class seat, in which I'd traveled over East.

After 14 hours for the trip home, it was time for some fast food and a box of piss. So I go to a handy Kentucky duck.

And there's this fat cunt holding the fucking door open, in a fucken restaurant, dickhead - there's heaps of room inside inside if some cunts move over.

So I politely says - " Why don't ya get outa the way for me?" as he didn't seem to want to move. And fuck me, some mol inside the door goes " the queue starts here" - yeh right the fuck it does!

So, in my usual gentle and persuasive manner, I politely remonstrated with them, and informed them respectively, "You can shut the fuck up you pushy fucking mol, and you can get the fuck out of my way you fucking fat cunt and shut the fucking door."

They responded fairly well to my suggestion and the mol shut the fuck up and the fat cunt got out of the way and shut the fucken door. Dickheads.

Finally get to be served. "Two chook breasts, coleslaw, mashed spuds and gravy", says I to the dickhead behind the counter, as he finishes putting mashed spud and fucking gravy tubs into a warmer box.

"We don't do mashed spuds" he says, with a smartarse sort of smug look on his weasly pock marked head. Which I had a sudden vision of being rammed repeatedly into the previously, and recently, visited warmer box .

So. In order to communicate with this specimen of upstanding initiative and cognitive skills _ I resorted to pointing at the menu picture and saying "What do you call that?"

"Potatoes and Gravy" he smugly responds.

"Well give me a fucking tub of your fucking Potatoes and Gravy, or whatever you want to call it, you pox ridden fucking retard - for fucks sake" - in a nice loud and clear voice. That seemed to do the trick.

"We don't do mashed spuds". What a fucken dickhead.

I'd love to do a performance review on this cunt.