Wasted as in lost.
Four hours work in the morning, supermarket, home for a nap… and the day’s wasted, because I have to go to work again in a couple of hours.
Anyway, I’ve decided to change tack on this post. While I was searching for a suitable ‘wasted’ image I found this one and it reminded me of a story that I have been telling for many years. I will now bore you with that story, but I will make it simple by using pictures.
And, it is in one of these gum trees that a koala bear was enjoying himself, toking on a reefer.
A little lizard came along.
“Hey, Koala, whatya doin’? Asked the lizard.
“Havin’ a toke liddle fella,” said the koala. “Come on up and join me.”
The little lizard scampered up the tree and had a toke of the koalas reefer, together they sat high in the gum tree giggling about nothing.
The little lizard got thirsty, and the koala told him where there was a lagoon where he could get a drink.
The little lizard scrambled down the tree and went off to the lagoon.
He was having a drink, when he began to get the giggles, overbalanced and fell into the lagoon.
Nearby, a large saltwater croc saw the lizard fall; he felt sorry for the little lizard, and helped him back on to the bank with his snout.
How come you fell in?” asked the croc.
The little lizard explained about the koala, the reefer and the giggling.
“I’m goin’ to have a talk with this koala,” said the croc, and he made his way to the base of the big gum tree where the koala still sat giggling to himself.
“Hey, Koala!” shouted the croc.
The koala looked down…
…and saw the croc.
“Shit man, how much damned water did you drink?”
I’ve got the title for the post… now what?
I managed to escape Easter unscathed. Yes, that was the idea.
I almost successfully managed to pass Easter without anything remotely Easterish. I say ‘almost’, because one of my students gave me a block of chocolate on Thursday night.
Buy chocolate before Easter, you have got to be out of your cotton pickin’ mind! I refuse to be held to ransom by the exorbitant prices they demand pre-Easter.
There is nothing that could make me indulge, not even wild horses.
Honestly, all this crap (see image) about the Easter Bunny and Easter Eggs…
Do you know why the Easter Bunny hides the eggs? It’s because he doesn’t want everyone to know that he’s screwing a chicken…
Look at the origins of the rabbit and egg. A Brazilian TV item on the news helped to spread the myth that they were a Catholic tradition; although they got it right about the screwing and fertility.
Catholic tradition, my arse! Rabbits and eggs were around long before there were Catholics. They are Pagan symbols that the Catholics stole because they couldn’t convert the Pagans, they needed to have the screwing and fertility to get the Pagans into church.
Easter actually has nothing to do with the death and resurrection of Jesus. Not even the name Easter has anything to do with Jesus; it was the name (Ishtar), also stolen, of the Babylonian and Assyrian goddess of fertility.
So, here we are in the 21st Century, filling our kids with Easter Bunny bullshit and the chocolate hopes of fecundity and lust only to disappoint their little libidos.
Elsewhere in the news…
Another newspaper has stopped it’s print version and now charging for online access… Hah! If they think I am going to pay for internet news, they’ve got another thing coming. Deleted the link.
Hell, I won’t even read a newspaper online if I only have to register.
Today is Monday, one seventh of our lives are Mondays. Does that make you think.
So far it has been a good Monday, but the day isn’t over yet. Something is bound to happen/go wrong/upset me…
I have to go to the supermarket today. What’s the bet they don’t have half of what I want?
I may even buy chocolate, probably on special today.
I read this on Lynn’s blog this morning…
Kevin: didn’t you remember we had a gas dryer?
Me: are you kidding me? I don’t remember your name half the time
Kevin: where’s the receipt?
Me: Oh my god. I cleaned up. Who knows where that is?
Made me spill my coffee.
Read All Fooked Up for the rest of the story
Got to go, off to Barra for my monthly jaunt. Another day wasted. The only advantage, sushi for lunch, and I have the money to go shopping.
Later, be good kids,
First for three days, then for four days.
Yes, last week it rained a lot. Today it is supposed to let up and come back tomorrow. So I am making hay while the sun shines.
Last night I read a mates blog. I haven’t got over that way for a bit and I see that he has a post about his beloved Australia and my own equally adored New Zealand. I think it was in response to my previous post Things. Tempo told some stories that would of course be quite true if Australia replaced New Zealand and New Zealand replaced Australia in most of the texts; all except the one about Wiremu and his testicular removal.
But he’s right, we are neighbours and we do sling off at each other something chronic, but when you find a Kiwi and an Ozzie overseas amongst the thousands of tourists, you’d think they were Siamese twins because they’re always together. Our rivalry is only equaled by our respect… I think.
It doesn’t matter whether they do us at cricket, or we stomp the stuffing out of them on the rugby paddock, we will still tell the same jokes about each other, they are crude rude and sometimes downright nasty, they sling off at our sheep and we sling off at theirs, we’ve got the Maoris and they’ve got the Aborigines; they’ve got this huge stone in their yard and a poncy Opera house in Sydney, and we’ve got Mt Cook and…. well, we’ve got Mt Cook. Oh, yeah and some mud puddles. So there are good and bad points on both sides of the creek (that’s what we both call the Tasman Sea). It’s true that Australians don’t speak English, they speak Strine, but then we don’t say New Zealand, but rather Newzild
“Newzilders and Strines, sharing proud isolation at the tail of the South Pacific, have been blood brothers in two world wars. In peacetime they keep busy sniping at each other – and mangling their mother tongue. For decades each nation has fiercely upheld its own dialect, despising the other’s version. But now the battle is out in the open. First the Strines stepped over the line by circulating Let Stalk Strine on the wrong side of the Tasman…”
That blurb said it better than me. We retaliated.
But when meeting each other and others of our ilk we both say “Gidday, air gun?” which loosely translated into BBC English would be something like, “Good morning (afternoon, evening), how are you?” The Strines have this national dish called ‘feesh ‘n cheeps’ whereas in Newzild we have the same dish called ‘fush ‘n chups.’ So we are both irrevocably and intricantly involved with butchering our mother tongue, English.
And we both fight ad nauseum over who invented the Pavlova. Which isn’t even a contest because the earliest writing of the “pav” is in a NZ cookbook from the 1920’s whereas it didn’t appear in Australian literature until 1940; which could be explained by the fact that Australian literature only appeared about then too.
Things like bungy jumping were also a New Zealand first. The Australians were first at… ah… um, something.
Newzilders see Strya a bit like this:
And so it goes…
Bugger Daylight Savings Time!
Daylight Savings Time, Summer Time, Hora de verão, whatever you call it… Bugger it!
I feel as though I have been unplugged.
That combined with one of my students requiring different hours than those that are compatible with my leisure life have mad my last week miserable. I am working split days until the beginning of December; I hate split days!
DST never used to bother me, but starting last year and now this year, it has unsettled me. I just can’t get organised, hence, I have been lax at posting here and on some of my other blogs. Even Foul Bachelor Frog got posted a day late, so he’s suffered as well.
I am trying to cook lunch, eat it on the hoof, get this posted and get ready to go back to work at the same time. Who says only girls can multi-task?
Here’s something to think about:
If a train stops at a train station… and a bus stops at a bus station… what happens at a work station?