» Guilty Secrets

horny dogs and children...
...so in my youth I lived in a picturesque suburban court. All the families that lived there got along and played cricket and chasey, etc. Weekends were like the opening sequence to Neighbours with the smiling and waving as you go out to get your paper.

But there was one kid that none of us could stand, he was kind of like Toady, except we hated him (and none of the people on Nieghbours seem to hate Toady. Why!? He's always been a twat!). Anyways, Toady was about six and would try to get in on whatever we were doing, be it football or frisbee. One day, we were having fun, he was tagging along, when the resident horny dog made an appearance.

It just happened that this dog was quite a large doberman, we shall call him Bruce. And Toady was petrified of him, especially when Bruce had wood.

So as all the kids scatter back inside, up trees, etc, Toady approaches me, teary eyed and hysterical, begging for help and advice on what he should do...

...I told him that if he got down on all fours in the middle of the court, Bruce would think he was another dog and not attack him...
(Mon 3rd Sep 2007, 2:57, More)

» Childhood Ambitions

FINISHING SCHOOL...
When I were a little lad we had an activity one afternoon. Write a short essay on what you want to do when you finish school. I think I misunderstood the question.

Amidst the stories of vets and firemen, my story stood out.

When I finish school I want to go home, eat some cereal and watch television. I want to watch Inspector Gadget, and then Dr. Who with my dad and Brother.

Strangely enough, I have finally acheived this career objective.
(Thu 29th Mar 2007, 12:26, More)

» The Weird Kid In Class

Weird kid...
Apologies in advance for length, this was one very strange boy...

I went to school with not only the weirdest kid , but quite possibly the weirdest thing in the world... ever. Even compared to those fish that the BBC doco crew discovered.

We shall call him Paul, for that was his name. At my highschool on our first day, all the new kids were given their network access details, with a default password of "hello". Now being kids, we all thought that by leaving our passwords as "hello" we would thwart the dastardly hackers that have a slavering need to access 14 year olds rudimentary email programs and banned versions of D&D rip off text adventures... This little security flaw became apparent to Paul very early on, and he quickly learned that he could log on to many many email accounts with very little persistence. Did he use this knowledge for evil? Well, that's in the eye of the beholder.

Enter, the head of IT. A crazy afro'd barrel of a man who had his detention giving priveleges revoked for giving 65 in one day. This made him into a big impotent laughing stock, but still to be feared. He just looked like he'd punch your pubescent nose in, and to hell with the consequences.

So what does Paul do? He sends the head of IT an email every week from a different email account... weird, not overly. He did it every week for his entire time in high school. Six years! Still not weird enough? The email read exactly the same every week from year dot, and it gets weirder. The text in the email was as follows; "There is a staff meeting today. Dirty bottom."

Need another couple of examples about our young friend?

He had a thing about naked people, in that they made him freak out. So life drawing classes were a nightmare for him and he managed to avoid every single one for the three years we had them. Eventually the teach got sick of his excuses and said "Paul, whatever you say or do today, i will not let you leave. You are staying for the whole class, I don't care if the principal has a meeting with you or you haev to go to sickbay. Nothing will make me let you leave". So Paul begged, pleaded, lied. nothing worked. He even dropped an easel on his foot. To no avail.

So the frumpy middle aged model waddles in and disrobes and we all get scribbling. It was then a strange thing happened. Paul seemed to be into it. He was feverishly working on his drawing and didn't seem too upset by the whole experience. As the class went on, he even started to look pleased as he stepped back from his work to admire it. The teacher starts to look incredibly smug, and holds him up as an example of maturity, etc, etc. So the end of the class comes and we all rotate our easels to admire each others work.

Paul, with some encouragement, reveals his masterpiece. A perfectly rendered drawing of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

Last one; and it'll be quick. On a school camp out to the wilderness we were all responsible for our own food. We were given lists that suggested what we should bring, but it was up to us to buy and carry it all.

Sitting around teh campfire on the first night, the instructors quizzed everyone about their menus for the week. Paul proudly announces that he has managed to bring a lot of fruit! bananas, pineapples, strawberries and cream. The instructors are intrigued and ask him to show them. He pulls out a bag chock full of sweets, but sure enough, they are candy bananas, pineapples and strawberries and cream.

That was the strangest week of my life, because Paul wasn't allowed to have his medication with him (out of fear that some kids would steal it and get themselves high). Apparently he was on some very strong stuff. Go figure?!
(Fri 19th Jan 2007, 11:19, More)

» We have to talk

desensitised from over use...
My partner, whom I love dearly, bless her, tends to over-use the phrase, "we need to talk".

Now in our early days this used to scare the bejesus out of me. Not in the least because her finishing with me would involve a lot of pain and loneliness (and packing and moving home) on my part.

But in the intervening years I have developed an immunity to the fear those four words instills in most right-thinking individuals.

Because I have learned that she actually means we literally just need to talk (as opposed to rutting, watching TV and drinking). So the dreaded "We need to talk..." is often followed by conversations about any number of things from relationship related d and m's, to family problems, work, life, TV, drinking, rutting etc, etc.

So there's no problem there. I'm used to it.

The strange part is, I now do not fear those words in any context. To the point that people end up complimenting me on how well I take being screwed over, or berating me for being cold and detached when recieving particularly bad or good news.

To date, I have remained cool as a cucumber, aloof and relaxed while being told;

- Our parents have been in a car accident
- Your sister died three times on the operating table
- You're fired
- This company is being liquidated
- I'm divorcing your brother
- We're having a baby
- Grandma died

I could go on, but I fear you may all think I am too callous, cold and detached.
(Fri 20th Apr 2007, 10:41, More)

» Desperate Times

NACHOS...
Towards the end of a drunken evening with some mates I had the urge for some nachos. A big urge, but very little energy to do the necessary preparation required to fulfill said urge. And no salsa.

So 12 seconds later, there I lay, on the couch with a bag of corn-chips. Into which I had poured tomato sauce, cheese bits and sour cream. I didn't even heat them in any way. My rationale being that actual nachos that had gone cold could still be quite good, ignoring the fact that these were not nachos, and were not, and would never be, warm.

It tasted like... something not nachos at all, and very very bad. But the urge remained, and I kept eating.

In the end I begged a friend to move them out of arms reach. Finally they acquiesced and I gazed forlornly at the object of my desires, knowing that even if I could find the energy to reach out and grab them, they would still taste like something not nachos.
(Fri 16th Nov 2007, 1:27, More)