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Here is a comment I tried to post about an article by Styleist Home called:

House Tour: Inside This 150 Square Foot House By Molecule Tiny Homes (PHOTOS)

at : http://www.stylelist.com/2012/09/24/house-tour-molecule-tiny-homes_n_1909830.html?utm_source=Triggermail&utm_medium=email&utm_term=Daily%20Brief&utm_campaign=daily_brief

My mother said "Don't say anything unless it is kind" but I'm still laughing over this. In Oz this building is called a CARAVAN. As depicted, it is a mobile home designed and built by a male ballerina and his brother in-law who pose as cabinet makers without engineering capabilities. To have been doing this for about "a year" and to get this amount of intenet exposure is astounding. That time frame, in business parlance, indicates they have been doing this for a long time or not at all! Which one of them is holding the baby, and where is the place for a "change table"? Where is there room for the cat's bowls - or is the subliminal message in the main photograph - "there is no pussy in this home"? It's not the intent of these two lovely people that I question but the intent of the author of this article. Shana Ecker is a freakin' genius. She should be writing for a comedy show. The pathos, the drama. the underlying social issues, the politics and the bank balance, the suburban ethos. This woman is every marketing officer's dream come true. This is a beautiful piece about 'downsizing' not just your home, but your relationship. Heck, I'm inspired. Why can't I do something totally left of field outside my range of expertise - like midwifery or UN Peace Consultant? After all, I've been looking after babies and shooting guns for "almost a year". I'm totally qualified in fucking things up. And, the price tag is priceless. What do I get for twenty thou? A pile of icecream sticks, glue and an exploded diagram of the Millenium spaceship?
Maybe I should subscribe to "Modeller's Monthly" and be done with my aspirations as a homemaker or architect.

Panties

Here is a comment I posted in relation to an article :

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/zoe-triska/worst-word-ever_b_1880906.html?utm_source=Triggermail&utm_medium=email&utm_term=Daily%20Brief&utm_campaign=daily_briefIf

If I had a "pair" of ears I could say that I'd heard your argument 4 times over. But I have a pair of ear. For the same reason that I wear a pair of trousers, I am to assume that a one-legged pair of pants is to be called a pant - which is something that I,as a male, would do if you told me that you were now going to remove your panties. Removing your pants is akin to removing your outer layer with your panties as the inner. But, if I said that I was now going to remove my pant, you may think I were an amputee. However, if I were to walk into the trees, I would be far busier than if I were to walk into the tree. By your logic, I would wear a "trouse" instead of a pair of "trousers" but I would then wear a pair of "trousers". Therefore my pant should be called a pair of "trouse's", that is the derivative of the plural. It would seem that the word, in it's spelling, is a connotation of the 'way' it is said rather than the 'way' it is spelled. (or should it be spealt?). Such is they beauty of the English language.

A Small Man Adrift in a Big Boat.

I have returned home again
to a universe unlike yours.

There is nothing in place
in this nothing of space.

Someone has been as a goblin unseen
to a piece of this parcel of dreams.

I find things disturbed
not where they should have been.

And all the little I can do
is prepare a scheme.

My altar is now arranged
some order in this place so deranged.

So little do I know
of the ways of the world.

That I bow in reverence
in respect of how little I know.

I am a giant in this land of ants
I am a dragon in this dream of cants.

Ode of the Baby Dragon

When you sleep under a rainbow and you rememember everything you were told as a child

that everything begins at the ends of the bow and at either there you will find a pot of gold

while you grow to a be adult as you learn from your faults that every all is not true as you thought you were told.

Do you rember dancing in the rain feeling the bounce of drops on your skin ?

and remember dancing with your pain as it oozes from within

and yet you feel like as though  you were still only ten and that you would like to be - just you.

Do you retch from the odour of sweetness as it steams from your misplaced whims

whilst knowing that your baggage won't get past the customs as is wont to be when you wish to become  accustomed to your sins.

but you remember the concrete and honey that you wished would give birth to a dream.


There are nightmares on the sidewalks and turds on the ground,

so you must step caustiously in your haste to move around the carnage you have found,

but the damage inflicted on the soles of your travelling shoes is the baggage on your back that is a load you can bearly bear.

Yet you take a trip to somewhere you don't know, on a ticket you could not refuse to buy,

in the wish that sometime you will somehow stumble upon the passage that will get you by.

Joining a Club.

At the moment I am thinking of joining a club. Bicycles are not on my list because I don't want gay motorists perving at my skinny lycra clad pedalling arse. Snooker clubs are out because I don't want drunken gay persons perving at my arse leaning over a table - that is a thing only girls do best. Tennis clubs are out because I don't want to waste any more energy that I don't really have running around hitting a ball over a fence - unless my opponent was a bouncing well endowed female with a short dress. Card clubs are out because I get warm scratchy balls sitting under tension around a table.

I could waste a lot of time expressing my my disdain for clubs because most of them seem to involve tight pants and balls. But I have no wish to play pocket billiards with your head anymore.

The only club I really want to be in, is a Bikie Club. These guys do have balls and like to wear tight pants.
It is not the average law abiding citizen who wants a motor and two wheels between his legs, is prepared to carry a baseball bat, chain or gun as a weapon, dispises authority and feels sorry for the average law abiding pissants who occupy the majority of space on this planet and in the media.

It is the 'above' average citizen who is prepared to take the law into his own hands.

I recently posted this to my Facebook page :

Here's my take on the so called "Bikie Wars". The war is now in Queensland. It began in South Oz and moved to Western Oz and then Sydney. It won't happen in Victoria, yet, because there is a reluctancy to pass laws outlawing Bikie Gangs. What is not obvious to the reporting/tabloid media is this : Bikie Groups (that's a much nicer name) are currently housecleaning. There are a lot of weeds that need to be removed from the garden to allow the flowers to grow. The State Governments are trying to establish walls around the garden beds by introducing a form of legal insecticide - but the Bikies have a much more effective method of pest control. We are witnessing a cultural cleansing operation performed by the Bikies to keep their house clean, before Big Brother attempts to close the doors on their garden. *So far, my vote is - Bikies 1, Govt. 0.

We should have already learnt our History Lesson : "It wasn't Abraham Lincoln who made all men equal, it was Samuel Colt !"

(please follow the link below to read more about gardening).

http://www.theaustralian.com.au/news/nation/bob-atkinson-labels-bikie-war-worst-in-queensland-history/story-e6frg6nf-1226341618934?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+TheAustralianTheNationNews+%28The+Australian+|+The+Nation%29&utm_content=Google+Feedfetcher

Bob Atkinson labels bikie war worst in Queensland history

www.theaustralian.com.au

A DOUBLE shooting in a busy Gold Coast shopping centre is evidence of the worst bikie war in history according to the state's police commissioner.

Magnanomous Murdoch ?

 

sczitdamn

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2 seconds ago ( 5:31 AM)

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Oh, poor baby Murdoch. So quick to critisize, so slow to comprehend. His empire is done and finished. He may have ignored his babies for 30 years - but he certainly held out his hand to pocket the profits. Oh, I am so sorry that he had to spend so many millions investigating the allegations. Watching the Leveson Inquiry last hight was akin to watching a large fish being shot in a small barrel. At every opportunity he said too much and continually displayed the arrogance of a man who thinks he knows better. It was fun watching a man dig his own grave. If he took off those glasses he would look just like any other bald dick in the street. But he's a clever fuck - notice how his blue tie matched the colour of the caption banners! I actually feel sorry for Lisbeth Murdoch letting this publishing peadophile loose in her panties.What is happening before our eyes is the public humiliation of a pubic errant intent on lining his tomb with the slime of pubescent delusions of grandeur.

Please Don't Judas Me

Some people have friends and some have enemies. Some have other people who like them and some of them have followers.

Jesus had followers, twelve of them as picked by him. Thirteen of them if you count the other Judas.

Judas Iscariot was the one who betrayed Jesus by kissing him in the garden and thus identifying him to the waiting Roman soldiers. John, in his Gospel, was conspiculously disjointed in his narrative - there are only eight disciples/apostles named, of which two were known as Judas.

The money Judas received for betraying his master was only 30 pieces of silver, apparently enough to buy a slave. But, this was insufficient satisfaction - he suicided after returning the money to the Jewish priests.

Once Jesus was crucified and ressurected the disciples were a little peeved that they were one down and elected a replacement, Matthais. Eventually, all of the the disciples met unpleasant deaths; except John, who apparently died of old age.

It's possible that Judas did not take enough time to consider the risk involved in this business transaction and may have changed the course of history by necking himself. Had he taken time out to consider the risk of his gamble, he probably would have figured that a slave did not necessarily have to be someone whole fetched and washed and fed and cleaned and peeled grapes. His slave could have been a harlot who sucked and fucked and peeled his own grape.
 
In fact Judas was already in on the scam. In the famed fresco of the Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci there are twelve people joining him in the meal. Judas has just spilt the salt and the dude to his right has reached behind him to make a pass at the only woman at the table. He's just about to poke his hand down her upper corsalage and feel the heaving breasts of the hooker hired for the occassion.

Unfortunately the following scene has been lost in the mists of antiquity - but I'll bet 30 pieces of silver that it involved table dancing and a very risque pole manouvere that is most certainly not listed in any of the books of the bible.

But whilst considering the fact that the pyramids were most certainly built by a team of twelve and a forklift on their roster day off at triple pay in only 40 days and nights, I have no doubt that Judas was onto something.

Let's face it, he had an alibi - another Judas and....all the other partners.

The Gospel of Mark says that Jesus sent out these twelve apostles in pairs - so, if he was so enamoured with partnerships; why didn't he invite all the partners to join him in this last dinner as well ? I suspect that maybe he was a little pissed off with their choice of partners. He would be one cool dude if he were to throw one last supper/party to let his mates partake of some supreme pussy.

And....what better opportunity would he have to invite his most generously circumcised brethen to his supreme pussy fest. Have a close look at that picture again, and picture the 'facebook' tag of the millenium.

"Hi dudes. Welcome to the el-supremo pig out death feast of the year.On my left, and, on my right, we have my closest bunch of arseholes I know that suck up to me as followers. They are nameless - until someone writes the fucking bible - but they are cool. Fellow fishermen, I welcome you to the my feast. This will be my last. And because I love you all, we are all going out with a bang. There is this hot bitch to my right who I just know will open every orifice she has to you to desposit your years of stored up sperm in the hope that just one of you will betray me."

These are indeed prophetic words for a man who will soon be wrapped in a nappy and pinned to a crucifix.

Let this be a warning to you sinners.

"You may be short in stature or fat in nature.
You may be generous in life but suscpicious in death.
You may be circumcised at birth or be the whole dog.
You may lap at the spring of hope or suck on the piss of regret.
You may, if you are lucky, taste the nectar of life.
But the chances are, that you will die".

Judas had this figured. Damn right. Money for nothing and a slave in the hold.

( There is a song - "Please Don't Judas Me" on Nazareth's album "Hair of The Dog" - last track, side 2 )

Listen to that and then try and convince me that your facebook friends really care about you.