Tag Archives: drugs


Note, that’s not great expectations. So i had some abdominal surgery (i’m fine, they got the cancer before the bastard developed properly, so we think i’m alright) and i thought cool, i’m alive, and it was all laparoscopic (keyhole surgery x4) so easier on my bod. They kicked me out of hospital just 24 hours after surgery, which was fine, i was high as a kite and thought yes, home! Begin the recovery! And i can finish my editing, maybe even put the books out.

Oh dear. After two weeks of enforced DO NOTHING (enforced by Mr Whatsit, who has been like a recuperation nazi, stopping me from hurting myself, i’m now at the “carefully do tiny things and watch out because you are going to hurt” stage. I can’t lift anything heavier than a kettle (lifting this laptop is beyond my strength). I can close the garage door (thank you gravity), i can’t open it (damn you gravity!). Doesn’t matter, i can’t drive yet anyway. Standing is a short term event, walking likewise.

A new high-seated stool was necessary for the kitchen, or i couldn’t have even made toast. I’ve been more concerned with keeping my bowels moving (we’d like to thank psyllium husk, senna, and an initial diet of mostly fruit) and stopping taking the most awful drug i’ve ever taken – endone, or as it’s known on the street, oxycodone. Disgusting, and nowhere near the fun it’s made out to be.

I came off it as soon as i dared, after only 4 days – i was on anti nausea drugs to stop simply throwing up 24/7. With my doctor’s knowledge, I went back onto the drug most pharmacists get hysterical over, codeine (low dose), and immediately felt better. Within a few days I even stopped hallucinating from the oxycodone.

Mr Whatsit has been a great help, and i can’t really blame him for the toe. Yeah, middle of the night, i got up, remembered Mr W saying, TAKE YOUR WALKING STICK EVERYWHERE so grabbed it (i was very wobbly on my feet, still am). I made it out of the bedroom, then managed to put my walking stick in front of me, walk into it, and break the middle toe on my right foot.

There was much loud swearing and throwing of walking sticks. Mr Whatsit came to see what was happening and didn’t laugh hardly at all, (and fielded the darn walking stick). The toe was very definitely broken, i could feel the bits grinding together.

On the bright side, i was sick enough that sitting quietly with my foot up was no privation.

Yeah, the books are delayed. Life, it’s a weird place. I suggest you don’t make plans.

copyright 2016 https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com



10 Reasons Not to Follow Me on Twitter

You see a lot of people begging you to follow them on Twitter, so they can get a bigger Follower list. You shouldn’t follow me. Not at all. I can hardly keep up with the Followers i have. I probably won’t follow you back, so don’t do it.

In fact, i bet i can think of ten more reasons why you shouldn’t follow me.

1. I’m not always on a lot every day, but i make up for absences with  a high typing speed. If you’re not following many people, you’ll get a wall of me. “Many” in this case means less than about three hundred very chatty people.

2. I’ll follow you back, then decide oops, you’re not for me after all, and unfollow. Unless you happen to try to Direct Message me (to send a DM, the other person has to be following you back) or use a program like Twitter Karma to show you who’s unfollowed you, you’ll never notice.

3. Sometimes i divest myself of followers in drug-induced frenzies housekeeping binges, by Blocking then Unblocking. This makes them unfollow me too, which i figure is fairer than just unfollowing, as i don’t really want you to follow me on Twitter. Once i did it to about 500 people, so don’t feel special don’t get paranoid.

4. I talk about my writing. A lot. Everyone on my twitter list gets to know the #amwriting hashtag, because i tweet to it usually a couple of times a day. (It’s a writers’ group on Twitter founded by @johannaharness, who’s a very nice person to follow, to find out more, click on link – opens in new window.)

5. I rant. Pretty much all the time. I shout about religion, feminism, humanism, politics, bigotry, getting older, um…  sorry ,what was i saying? Politically, I’m an anarchist monarchist, which means lots of shouting. I get to be queen, and you can do what you like. Unless i’m right there, and bossing you round, but i can’t do that to many people at a time. Not without a sound system.

6. I don’t get jokes, or sarcasm. Call it being blonde, autistic, whatever. Sometimes i do, but i fluff it reasonably often.

7. I’m vain and want you to pay attention to me. At the same time, just when you’re sure i’m the shallowest person on the planet, i’ll disconcertingly pay microscopic attention to you. Usually when you’re being light and flippant.  (See also .6)

8. I am evil, and regular readers will know i’m the ad hoc Antichrist. I have to fill in, seeing the real Antichrist met with an unfortunate accident and is in a coma. *Hides cosh behind back.* It’s nearly time for the Rapture. (see below)

9. Did i mention my book? I call it The Thing, but that’s because it’s a shorter title than than the real one. and i need a short version so i can earbash you about it on Twitter. (Twitter only allows 140 characters.) Not about buying it, that joy is still to come. You get to ride the creative process. Or me wasting time on Twitter when I should be writing. This is actually The Thing Mark II.

10. I’ve already forgotten why i’m doing this. (See 1.) (NOTE: that doesn’t make sense, because 1. was edited, and no longer includes the bit about how dizzy i am… *sighs*)

Despite the above advice, if you want to see what i’m shouting about now, to follow me on Twitter, (remembering that when the Rapture comes, you’ll be one of the ones that God’s Giant Faulty Vacuum Cleaner leaves behind), or perhaps if you’d like to block me in a pre-emptive act of self-defence to save your immortal soul…

it’s ~ @stinginthetail ~

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com/

List me, baby, make me squeal….

I have never more truly understood the concept of “it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.” Not until i moved to New South Wales. People round the world think Sydney is some sun-drenched paradise.

Oh puh-leeze, summer here is about as comfortable as Newark – yes, 90% humidity and 39+° C (100+° F). Then the weather breaks, it plummets to 20° (62°F) and we’re all shivering, except the bloody humidity is still so high you feel underwater.

It also gets hotter after the sun goes down. Demented place. My plans for The Invasion of Queensland ‘09 ’10 ™ have been set back a bit, thanks to an emergency trip there by Mr Whatsit that meant using every cent of our savings and borrowing, so now every week i’m $50 down.

One of his family faked her own death, then recovered – okay okay, so she had a kidney removed and everyone thought she was going to die. It still fucked my budget up.

Meanwhile, it’s the end of January, and i’ve had to get extensions on the phone and electricity bills, and am paying them off. *sighs* At this rate, i’m going to have to hitch-hike to the bloody border. (It’s about 1000k, 800 miles.)

Rather than bitch about the weather and money, though i could go on for another thousand words without breaking a sweat, (in real life, i’m sliding off my towel) I thought i would explain my lists a bit.


Lists on Twitter are a great way of keeping your followers in some kind of order without resorting to cattle-prods. It also gives other people a chance to look at who you’re following, talking to, and to see if they’re an interesting bunch. Some people even follow whole lists of mine, which is flattering.

I enjoy lists, they’re a good way to find new people to follow, though some people don’t seem to take much care over lists, as you spot spammers posting ‘make $ on twitter’ or ‘monetize your twitter.”

You do all know this is what they used to call a pyramid scheme? You buy their software, (which is a pile of rubbish, as Twitter is all about who follows you, not who you follow), they make money, you don’t. Instead, you get blocked and reported on Twitter.


So, Lists  – what do i have?

Most recent is the Conversation list which is “A dynamic list rebuilt daily of the people you are talking to and about. ” It’s not one i collate, it’s done automatically, you too can have one if you go here. It updates every day, but is about 12-24 hours behind. So it’s more like “who i was talking to yesterday”.

There are currently “Following: 25 Followers: 2” – which means there are 25 people listed because i’ve been chatting to them or about them, and another 2 people are following my list to see who i talk to. I hope it’s for entertainment, not for stalking purposes.

I checked (paranoid, me?) the followers on that list (listed on right of page when on web) are @loveunrg from New Zealand, and @thepainterflynn who’s in Dublin – both lovely people i’m often chatting to.


Then there are my lists i made:

  • blogs People whose blogs are worth a visit
  • stopaussienetfilter Australian Government is bringing in Net Filter over All Australia – banning nipples – help stop it
  • food Cooking, Eating out, Foodies, Enthusiasts, Whole Food, No Genetically Engineered Food Campaigners
  • interestingtweeps no matter what you’re into, these people are ones that make good tweeple to follow
  • shopping If i had any money, i’d buy their stuff or use their services
  • centralcoastnsw Central Coast, New South Wales, Australia – some Aussie-wide tweeps
  • gardening Gardeners, Sustainability, Growing Food
  • music Musicians, singers, songwriters
  • arts-and-design computer art, painting & fine art, architecture, crafts, also comics (not writing)
  • geekish Geeks of all kinds, from the extreme to the subtle – my private collection
  • newsmedia Journalists, News outlets, the Media (not social media)
  • forlaughs Funny people & feeds – possibly NSFW, (not safe for work)
  • writingpublishing Writers, agents, publishers, feeds about these things (not bloggers)


i think my notes on them mean they are self-explanatory. If i unfollow someone, i also remove from any lists – as it’s not automatic. If someone is listing you, and you don’t want them to list you, you can block or block and report. I have 107 listing me – (this goes up and down a lot, as more people get the Conversationlist going) i also go through those (not the Conversationlist, that’s just who i’m talking to or RTing), and block any spammers, or people who aren’t following me (if you don’t follow me, you don’t get to list me).

Also, i list people on more than one list – some people are on four – i think 200 is the upper limit for numbers you can have in one list, but i haven’t hit there yet.

So, you want a list? Look on the right hand side of your Twitter page on the web. Past the top, where it tells you who lists you, go down, past the Search line – see Lists? Before Trending Topics. Just click on New List, and off you go. Make a list, then look through your Following list (not much use Listing people you don’t follow back), and start adding them. As you go, you’re bound to find new subjects you could put as lists. Some people just divide theirs into people they chat to, and have “Chatters1” “Chatters2” and so on.


I am in some strange lists. These are some i’m listed in, (not necessarily strange!) of my favourite Twitterers.


The above isn’t everyone – basically, if i’m following them – around 460 people at the moment – then it’s because i think they’re good. The further back they are in my Following pages, the longer i’ve been following them – so if they were tricky spammers, i have already blocked and deleted, and you’re safe to follow. Like everyone, I do sometimes make mistakes with following people who turn out to be spammers.

So, no excuses – get off your respective butts and list meh!


Widget alert: yes, how many people has lunatic anti-vaccination campaigner Jenny McCarthy’s bullshit killed, maimed, or made ill? I have a new widget, (on the left) that tells you. [EDIT unfortunately, it’s no longer working – but you can click through here and see the totals. At time of writing, it was 501 dead, and 54,907 people ill with preventable diseases – those with polio will never fully recover, and indeed, will get worse as they get older. And how many poor lil kiddehz had autism as a result of inoculations? None. Zero. Nada.]

Around here, we’ve had a whooping cough epidemic, and children have died, because a bunch of celebrity seeking idiots want us to go back to the days (pre-1955) when polio epidemics killed thousands and crippled tens of thousands – every year.

I’m not going to go deeply into it here, you can click the link for more info or to put the widget on your own blog – but despite this woman’s rantings, there is still NO scientific evidence that vaccination causes autism, though she and her fellow self-serving cohorts have been known to make up scientific ‘proof’ – it’s just wishful thinking, looking for a reason for autism, followed by misery when the people who believe them have to nurse or bury a child that catches a preventable disease.

If you’ve ever seen anyone with polio, or living with the life sentence that is the after-effects, (including twisted limbs, and the most agonising pain and muscle wasting), you would never ever think that vaccinations are optional, or worse, that they’re so bad you shouldn’t have them.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com

The house across the road…

I live on the Central Coast –  a series of dormitory suburbs north of Sydney. The CBD is just over 100k (62 miles) away from this northern end. It’s about 2 hours by train if the trains aren’t delayed, and with a 20 minute car run to the station included in that time. If the F3 isn’t choked with crashes, bushfires, or traffic, it’s about 90 minutes at the 110k limit on the Newcastle-Sydney Freeway.

It’s a strip of land squashed between the rolling Pacific Ocean and the inland Dividing Range. Just inland are chains of picturesque lakes studded with pretty islands. The hinterland is full of fat farmlets and ‘substantial properties’ – mansions on a few acres that sell for millions.

looks like paradise

looks like paradise

Everywhere, there are empty second houses owned by people who don’t have time to visit them, while locals can barely afford to rent. At the most, these second homes are tenanted on long weekends.

One house in our street is literally inhabited for four days twice a year, at Christmas and Easter, though the last year, they only made it at Easter. This year, they came on a long weekend too, and as they have noisy dogs and children who think screaming is acceptable, we’re hoping it’s a momentary aberration.

This was a holiday place in the south and along the coastline, and a coal mining area in the north – with rural endeavours along the rest of it. The only people who lived here were those who made a living off tourists, or worked in the coal mines. The mines are mostly closed now, or automated.

Not far away, driving down the desirability of absolute lakefront, is the power station, its high chimneys marking the sky for miles around, but invisible from our little pocket of lake and sky, which cups us like a blue bowl. No smoke in the sky, they filter out ‘visible’ smoke. Usually the only stains in our sky are the nicotine stain of Sydney to the south.

Looking south over the Tuggerah Lakes from Munmorah Power Station's twin stacks

Looking southeast over the Tuggerah Lakes to the coast, from Munmorah Power Station's twin stacks. Just glad prevailing winds blow from me to thee. Budgewoi is top left of this pic.

Like any fringe metropolitan area, more than just city-dwellers looking for cheap real estate wash up here. The junkies, the alcoholics, the abused and their abusers. The crazy, the crazed, and the crying inside.Those who need medical care in the capital, but can’t afford to live near a decent hospital.

Our street is a cross between retirees, upwardly mobile and ordinary working people, and society’s leftovers. I’m actually leftovers, the Underclass, but i pretend to be polite and middle-class – amazing what you can do with a posh speaking voice.

The house across the road, cut into two flats, attracts the Underclass. When i first came here, there was a beer-bellied 30’s guy upstairs, and a younger guy with gaol-house tattoos downstairs.

Bazz was skinny, covered in blue ink, but with a big smile, his long hair in a mullet. We met when he came over to help get the fridge up the stairs. He’d seen us struggling from across the road. It’s the sort of first meeting you give a person a lot of credit for, a really nice gesture, and we appreciated it.

Mr Whatsit and I had little contact with any of our neighbours – i don’t really want to get to know them, had too many crazy ones. There were occasional loans of battery chargers by us, help with carrying things inside from him, basic good neighbourly stuff.

Mr Whatsit was helping Bazz with his car. When reading the battery’s install date, it came out that Bazz was completely illiterate, and couldn’t read numbers either. It was only ten in the morning, but he was already drinking bourbon and coke. A young man on his way down.

Looking SSE over Budgewoi and the Tuggerah Lakes to the Pacific Ocean

Looking SSE over Budgewoi and the Tuggerah Lakes to the Pacific Ocean

Then his girlfriend moved in. A tall, slim, very pretty girl, Mandy spoke to me once, her eyes downcast when Bazz spoke over her. We tried to steer clear of them – we could see Bazz was wired too tight.

Like most of us who end up in abusive relationships, Mandy was probably on a rescue mission which had gone horribly wrong. The fights started. You could hardly hear her, just him shouting and screaming, getting in his car and doing burnouts in the street, driving off like a madman, screeching back into the driveway, more yelling.

Neighbours called the cops, as did we, but it went on, for months and months. Sometimes you could hear Mandy, a little high-pitched voice, or hear her sobbing. He didn’t hit her, at least as far as we knew, but it was abuse of a different kind.

Their ground-floor flat was barely habitable. Bazz had three goofy, friendly Staffordshire Terrier crosses, kept fish, tanks and tanks of them, and wasn’t the best fishkeeper – the tanks were often discoloured.

Then there was the mess from three dogs, carpeting the back yard. The smell reached out if you went past the front of the house.

Bazz and Mandy were both about early to mid 20’s. I went over one day, i can’t even remember why. I was talking to Bazz, and he was telling me how they were moving to Sydney. They had an offer of somewhere to live and he’d be able to get work.

A woman came round the corner of the house, looking  to be about mid-forties and not ageing well. Very thin and hard-faced. She smiled, i recognised the smile, and assumed it was Mandy’s Mum come to help with the moving.

We said hello and shook, and Bazz said, “You remember Mandy?” Of course i did, but i couldn’t see her in the woman looking at me. It was less than a year since the first time i’d seen her.

I pretended to recognise her, managed not to look shocked, finished the conversation and went back across the road. To my unsmelly house. Once my sinuses stopped complaining, i realised they were both on something nasty – amphetamines of some kind, most probably.

Part of me wanted to help, particularly Mandy – i could see myself in her.

abusive relationships often go with drug & alcohol addiction

abusive relationships often go with gambling, drug, & alcohol abuse - click pic for information on Signs of An Abusive Relationship

I know there was nothing i could have said, nothing i could have done. Nobody could have told me, when i was young and in love, that i was in a bad place with a man who was wrong for me in almost every way, or that the drug i was taking was messing with my perceptions, and destroying me.

Meanwhile, the house across the road emptied out. The guy who lived upstairs never came back after a court date, and Bazz and Mandy took off to the Big Smoke in his 80’s vintage Holden Commodore.

Pair of kids on an adventure. Dogs in the back, friends helping move the furniture with some hired trailers.

At first, the street seemed quiet without them, then a  man who claimed he had been a medic in Vietnam, plus another woman and her pregnant daughter, moved in upstairs.

With three people in there, it was so crowded that the fights were just like before. A  deaf guy with a weakness for brunettes lived downstairs where Bazz and Mandy used to be.

I have Bazz’s phone number, he has mine. When i next clean out my phone, i think i’ll delete Bazz’s.

No sense in holding on to the dead.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com

Welcome to Junkie Country!

I was reading (the funny and thoughtful) Bern Morley’s blog So Now What? When i googled her to check her website address later, this Tweet of hers popped up…

Bern_Morley I think Dr Phil fails to realise this woman is probably menopausal. Give her some fucking hormones and she’ll be AOK.

Sort of sums up her appeal for me – she speaks her mind, and she’s funny – she doesn’t swear much, usually, but she’s a mum, so under extreme stress at all times  – and yes, i recommend you follow her on Twitter. (I recommend you follow me too – though at the moment i’m focused on my book, so not tweeting or blogging much.)

I was reading Bern’s blog post  where she talked about people smoking round kids in 80’s Queensland and how she still sees people lighting up around children. I was surprised people were still smoking with kids in the car then – my parents used to, but that was in the 1960’s and 1970’s.

However, i reminded myself that only a couple of years ago, a very pregnant 25 yr old neighbour nearly made me fall off my chair when she lit up a cigarette. Her 45 yr old mother, who was there, seemed to think it was alright, because she rolled her daughter the cigarette. Two days later, out popped her (underweight, chesty) baby.

I admit, i’m stunned anyone is still pretending it’s okay. Even if you can’t give up, you can’t pretend it’s good for you. You can’t be that stupid, and you can’t be that ill-informed (in a Western country, that is – sadly the tobacco companies are still making lots of money and it’s rising every year in Asia and Africa).

You couldn’t pretend otherwise after about the mid-70’s even in Western Australia, which was a bit like the US in the 50’s, but during the 60’s & 70’s. Suddenly they admitted the cig companies were lying, having told us for years there was no proof it did cause cancer – I was already addicted by then.

The first time i tried to stop, and then realised i couldn’t – I was 14ish. I was probably addicted to secondary smoke before i left the womb, although my mother stopped smoking during all her pregnancies, my father didn’t, (he even smoked in bed) and no man went outside to smoke in 1960.

It actually took me, despite knowing all those years, another 30 or so to give up. This is what being an addict means. Your will to stop isn’t necessarily going to get you there. (It will if you keep at it, but most smokers retreat to “well, i tried, and everyone said for god’s sake, smoke, you’re horrible without them” – yeah, like that’s a reason to stop trying, junkie.)

I tried several times, managed up to six months a couple of them, didn’t last the week more often. In 2002, my father died of lung cancer. I still smoked. I didn’t even try to give up.

Back in the late 60’s and early 70’s, there were lots of cigarettes marketed to women, and advertised on television and in magazines. Smoking was cool, sophisticated, and an easy way to be older – adults who didn’t smoke were a tiny minority, remember – and it also became a way to show teen rebellion.

I bet it’s even cooler for teens now, seeing as everyone’s trying to stop you, even the government has stopped pretending they believe the tobacco companies any more, (woo hoo, a taste of nicotine-soaked teen rebellion, anyone?) and you know it’s at least a 50% chance it will kill you. Gosh, even driving drunk doesn’t have that kind of attrition rate and smouldering bad boy/grrl danger.

Smoking does kill that many smokers, and it will stunt your children’s growth and lead to problems for them, mentally and physically – whether in the womb or in the room.

However, I do wish they wouldn’t pretend it ages you as much as they do in those ads on the television – those awful haggard toothless women aren’t that way from just smoking. That’s a lifetime of misery, alcoholism, &/or heavy drug addiction written on those faces.

Alcoholism is just frequent binge drinking, btw – and that’s the clue, if you can’t stop once you open a bottle, unless you pass out first – maybe google ‘signs of alcoholism’.

Booze is a drug, like cigs, one the government also makes megabucks out of while it destroys families, relationships, and lives. They do the same with other addictions like gambling.

With booze, they’ll happily tax it, and send you to gaol if you break the law under the influence, despite them saying, alcohol fucks with your brain, you can’t tell how messed up you are, so don’t drink and drive – but it’s alright for you to drink at home, lose all your usual morals, and bash your family.  People are destroyed by booze.

Smoking, on the other hand, kills you in several horrible ways. Heart Disease? Lung cancer? Something slower? Emphysema?  Take your pick, they’re all fun. Of course, it also costs a fortune, and causes you to crawl in abject subjugation to a legal drug, the whole of your (shorter than average) life.

That’s what got me in the end. Getting older meant every year took me closer to the diagnosis of lung cancer. One of my uncles gave up for 20 years and still died of it, one was diagnosed at my age, so i know my own chances still aren’t good.

This drug, nicotine, is one the government keeps legal, but taxes higher, and higher – despite most people who now smoke being poor, and cost being negligible when one is addicted to a drug – or why would heroin/crack/meth addicts steal to fuel their habits?

People already buy their cigs and booze, then pay their bills, and buy food for their families. They go gambling and spend the rent money, while the government rakes in the money- maybe think about that, next time you vote.

The huge joke about my dad dying of lung cancer is, he’d given up a couple of months before they discovered the cancer, (having smoked for 50+ years) because of his heart condition, which needed surgery. He thought it was funny, anyway.

Oh yes, i’m doomed, both sides of the family have heart trouble – my father’s two brothers also died of either lung cancer or heart problems, while they also had lung cancer/heart problems. It extends into the grandparents.

So, there i was, tired of being scared every time i breathed in that smoke i craved, that didn’t really satisfy, and so tired of being Nicotine’s bitch. Tired of collecting adequate  supplies plus a spare lighter every time i moved position in the living room, let alone went on a whole day’s journey somewhere.

I gave up for seven months. Cold turkey, with no drug assistance, and no help from the biggest lie of all – therapeutic nicotine. It’s a poison, don’t keep taking it – i don’t know anyone who’s given up using therapeutic nicotine – i know lots who tried.

So there I was – completely clean, scary or what? I discovered my breaking point – i thought the end of the world had come.

We were flooded in for 4 days one midwinter, with no power, no food, and a dwindling supply of tea candles (the tiny ones you use for meditation) to warm water enough for tepid cupasoups.

We couldn’t heat any food, though we had a fair bit, as there was sewage in the floodwaters and we couldn’t get anything hot enough to stop food poisoning.

This was an extra worry as Mr Whatsit was just out of hospital after spinal surgery, confined to a stiff neck brace. He kept going outside (on the veranda, well above the water)  to survey the flood and have a smoke. He seemed much happier than me. On the third day, i said, give me one!

I was hooked again.

It took me six weeks to break the habit again. I used marijuana to break it that time, after having trouble with insane cravings. I’d go have a puff on a water pipe whenever the cravings hit insane levels. I have smoked grass for 20 yrs on and off, and it’s not addictive, sugar puffs – this junkie knows addictive.

I have a dear friend who has struggled since she was about 14 with addiction to heroin. She says giving up heroin was a walk in the park compared to giving up smoking.

Since I gave up the last time it’s been two years. Two years yesterday. I’m quite surprised, and only last week had an out-of-the-blue craving for tobacco, under stress. (Yes, i still smoke marijuana – if you have a problem with that, you’re on the wrong blog.)

As the cigarette craving hit last week, I reminded myself that i wasn’t flooded in with no freaking food or heat, my partner only four weeks out of surgery, so having a cigarette wasn’t a rational response.

Mistress Nicotine was still crooning her siren song, telling me i’d feel better, and didn’t i deserve a little treat? Hadn’t i missed her, didn’t i still sometimes think, ah, a cig would be nice right now?

I hit her over the head with a mallet. Fucking cow. I distracted myself, I lied and said i could have one tomorrow if i still felt that way. I had a bong, I cleaned my teeth with a mint flavoured toothpick, I chopped veggies for dinner and ate some raw- in short, everything i could think of to stop myself doing it.

When it comes down to it, it’s really going to have to be the end of the world, before i have another cigarette. With my family’s predilections for dying of heart disease or lung cancer, (which are smoking-related diseases, lest we forget), continuing to smoke was suicidal – and i’m not suicidal.

I was suicidal when i realised i was hooked. i remember thinking how awful it was, being an addict, what a failure i was – at only 14. I’ve no doubt it had a negative effect on my life and my behaviour.

So, if you’re trying to give up, and getting depressed, instead of smoking again, Google for help in your area, and call or visit the sites for support.

In Australia, there’s the Quit Line, 13 78 48 – specifically for those trying to give up.

If it’s making you feel like death’s better (or any time you’re down, depressed, suicidal), you can call Lifeline 131 114, Mensline 1300 789 978, and the BeyondBlue info line 1300 22 4636  -with thanks to the friend who supplied those.

Everyone i know well who has tried to or has given up has suffered the most awful welling up of psychological debris, much of it problems they thought they’d dealt with.

Many of them couldn’t stand it, and went back to smoking. I remember my father trying to give up back in the 70’s. If he’d done it, he might still be alive, which would annoy my mother in a most satisfying way.

If you’re one of the lucky ones, who stops, has no problems, and never looks back – you were smoking why? *rolls eyes* I cannot understand why anyone who could stop wouldn’t just do it.

My mother did that. After smoking for about fifty years most days, but not a lot every day, except in social situations, she had a heart attack, and because her doctor said it would be a good idea, she stopped.

Without any cravings at all. Gawd.


For those of you only born yesterday (any time since the 70’s i spose) the title is a pun on the old Marlboro™ cigarette  commercials,
“Welcome to Marlboro Country”

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com

You never write…

Yeah, i have been thinking of you. It’s just that when i said back in March we wanted to move, i didn’t expect it to take so long. Just deleted the fourth new post i’ve tried to write lately. They didn’t sound right. I’m not a journo, or a paid blogger, forced to churn out copy, and my blog hopefully doesn’t sound like it, but those posts did.

Anyway, back in early May, Mr Whatsit (whilst organising a possible source of moving-house funds, in the form of a forgotten part-year tax refund from 8 years ago) tried to get old paperwork out of a medical insurance company.

Here in Australia, if you don’t have medical insurance when you can afford it, (he was high up in a telecom company then, and could), you get a nasty tax penalty – which would be the whole amount of the refund. So to get his tax back, he has to prove he paid for insurance.

The company was scarily inept on the phone, (they let slip that Mr Whatsit’s ex still has the same postal address, for instance, plus other indiscretions), but they decided to be extra-careful of releasing any info, and said it had to go to legal.

Mr Whatsit was told at least 6-8 weeks, waited patiently, then was ill, so didn’t call back at 8 weeks. When he did call, at 11 weeks, was told, “Why hasn’t this been sent to you? It’s just sitting in the stack.” Nice lady put it in the post, it was here in one working day – by the end of July.

So now we can fill in some forms, and start waiting again. Which is one reason why i’ve not been into blogging. What’s the point? Absolutely nothing is happening.

In case you’re not clued up, it’s the bleak midwinter, southern hemispheric-ally speaking. That is, in the Land of Oz, it’s cold and drear… oh, but the sun is shining today.

And i’m tired of whining about being sick, so can only imagine how you lot feel. The flu is finally starting to let go a bit, but after one major relapse with it, i’m not going to tempt Fate, and say i’m over it.

Unfortunately, Mr Whatsit’s become very ill, and may need spinal surgery – nothing to do with the flu, except that coughing and sneezing may have set the whole thing off.

His doctor is being a prick, refusing to give us a referral back to Mr Whatsit’s neurosurgeon, (who operated where the pain is, so should be consulted), and saying we should wait for A FUCKING YEAR to get into a clinic in pain management up in Newcastle.

He doesn’t need freaking management from some hippy with Certificate II & III in Chronic Pain Management in a year, he needs to see his neurosurgeon NOW, or (without unfortunately, any exaggeration whatsoever), he’ll be on morphine in a week or so and in a fucking wheelchair before fucking Christmas!

Ahem – Mr Whatsit has had around 8 major spinal operations – amateurs do not get near him. Just touching him wrong could cripple him – his spine is fucked.  So we go back to doc, (and the government pays his fucking fee again) and this time, tell him to sign a freaking referral – no more asking nicely – or we will find someone else who will.


I’ve tried to get into some other subjects – fashion, for one – but nothing worked. I nearly got a blog post out of the latest no-eyebrows look, (as seen in Balenciaga & Givenchy collections) but it went blah.

Yes, they look like the Vulcan/Klingon crosses on Star Trek, or maybe emos with Neanderthal tendencies, but I am lacking patience – trying to do a light, funny post on the idiocies of fashion victims wasn’t a good move.

Promoting death for fashion designers who make women look fugly probably isn’t legal. When it comes down to it, though i can still reach Zen, it’s been a rough winter.

So that’s why, though i can happily lock in for hours on my novel or dip for a few minutes in the happy splashfest of Twitter, writing a blog has been so hard.

Sorry, nothing left to be amusing with.


This blog’s never been particularly about my life on a day-to-day level, so it feels weird to be putting this here, but i am honest in these posts. (Hard to tell with the mad parts, but i am.)

But i guess you need to know why i’m not writing.

I’m too fucking worried.


In other news, i may have found the funniest thing ever. Srsly. Extreme sheeps and the men who love them. (That’s a video link, which i don’t do usually, but it’s only just over 2 mins long.) The wonder of what happens when men are left alone with sheep.

Totally safe for ewe to put onscreen at work, and worth watching all the way to the end. I just love it – humans – so amazing.

(I didn’t actually find it – @Froosh posted it on Twitter.)


Oh – and i’m completely undrugged…. which is shocking and accounts for part of my inability to show tolerance and kindness. I did sneak around Twitter doing good deeds and helping people this week. Nothing like a bit of voluntary work to help you forget your own problems.

How does one sneak? I was looking for things, and spotted people I wasn’t following who weren’t following me, asking questions or having problems, and helped them. I know, i know – it’s some kind of weird compulsion. White_wave even said

@stinginthetail OMG You are NOT the Antichrist! You are the first person to offer me honest-to-god roadside help that isn’t more exploitation!
3:55 PM Jul 26th
from web in reply to stinginthetail

That was so sweet. Sprung! Yes, we have become co-Tweeple.


Well, i’m drug-free except the prescription ones that keep me alive – the mould in the house doesn’t agree with my heart, apparently, along with putting my body into a permanent state of extreme allergic reaction.

Straight sucks. How do people live like this?

The voices outside-my-head say we can endure.

So, we endure.

EDIT : some good news, the latest scans today (28th July 09) show Mr Whatsit’s spine is crap, but where he has the artificial disk (a piece of metal nestling rather close to his spinal cord) is apparently all fine. This is an incredible relief, as if it went wrong, a fused neck would be a good outcome, and a bad one was quadriplegia. He may still need surgery, but having been through 4 fusions and a disk replacement, pfft – this is something we can deal with.

NOTE: in case anyone thinks my drugfree state is me coming off some hard drugs, it’s not – i just have no painkillers – otherwise known as marijuana. Without it i have to rely on pharmaceutical painkillers – which don’t actually work half as well and are poisonous to my body –  for my own rather fucked up back.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com

Take it like a man, son…

Rosellas (a small local parrot) look like God (or the lumpen-angel in charge of small birds for Australasia) thought budgies weren’t bright enough, so daubed their heads and chest with red, then decided the rest of the spectrum of their feathers had to be ramped up – bring on the electric yellow and acid green, oh yeah, baby!

How many shades of blue can i use? And let’s put a white spot near their eyes, to make them really stand out. I’ve got some red left over, it can go under the tail. Oh yes!

The black speckles on their backs, let’s make them out of a kind of black velour, that makes them look like they’re part-velvet painting. What was God on when he invented the Eastern Rosella? Whatever it was, it made something pretty.

Eastern Rosella  - Wikipedia Commons Image

Eastern Rosella - Wikipedia Commons Image

The reference is a joke – God, contrary to the edicts of the morally-corrupt minority, has a sense of humour, and i’m sure will not mind – seriously, please don’t pray for me any more, or i’ll have used up my prayers when i really need one.

Talking to God does not imply the owner of this blog completely believes in God, Satan, Heaven, Hell, etc etc, blah blah…. except in States where such a lottery is illegal. It’s just not as funny if i say “What was evolution thinking about?”

Especially because some ornithologist  – who happens to be passing this blog post, probably accidentally, looking for rosellas. The weird ornithologist says they evolved like that mostly for sexual reasons. And we’re back there again.

It’s mating season outside the window.  I feel like a parrot pervert, watching parrots make out. They’re so cute, and loving. And colourful. Rosellas are a minority, most of them are lorikeets, which are like a rainbow exploded.


from OzJulian at Flickr

Down on the lake’s beach, a kind of Australian robin, with a speckled red breast, skim around insect-catching over the shallows . If you get close, like robins in the northern hemisphere, they come to see what you’re up to, hovering like honeyeaters at head-height.

Serene and so pretty, and the wankers who decided to run round the lakes several times on their hovercraft over the weekend were not welcome. I bet they think they’re so freaking green.

They were leaving a decent bow wave, only a metre or two from the shore, (that’s shore erosion right there), and were charging through shallows, in an area that’s a haven for birds and fish, usually never entered by boats (unless they run aground, in which case it’s great to watch.

We’re not being mean, just watching – anyone in serious trouble, we’d help, but the deepest part in front is only waist deep, they can walk to shore. It’s also full of diving birds, there for the fish that get trapped in the pools as the tide goes out.

Apparently hovercraft are driven only by complete wankers don’t have to obey normal regs, like keeping to the watercraft channels or speed limits, and they have petrol engines making enough noise to wake the freaking dead.

Though Mr Whatsit only grunted, because he had his earplugs in, it being the weekend, and round here they like to celebrate the weekend with Powertool Party Saturday, which nearly always ends up going into Mower Mardi Gras Sunday.

Once again, the longing for a decent sniper rifle overwhelms me. Put Kalashnikov in as a search word at the top of the page, and you’ll see how many times i was also longing for just a weapon, damn it! I curse Australia’s nambypamby gun laws, that mean i can’t just shoot people going past because they annoy me.

They wouldn’t do this to me in Texas! The Queen of Darkness would be allowed her Kalashnikov in a choice of colours. Of course, in the USA you need weapons to protect yourself from everyone else who also has weapons. I don’t actually want to be where everyone else has weapons,  I’m just looking for a clean kill, and am too lazy to learn to use a bow.


Anyway, aside from that, this is my first ever “Poor Bastard of the Week Award.”  Logan Campbell, a New Zealand martial artist, who’s an Olympian in Taekwondo, has turned to prostitution to support his career, saying he’s tired of his parents supporting him – it cost them over 100k to send him to the last Olympics.

He competed in Beijing, did very well, (lost against the guy who won bronze, and was in top 16) and is preparing for London in 2011. He’s started a gentlemen’s escort service – legal in NZ – and you’d think well, that’s enough, isn’t it? Nobody goes into prostitution without thinking about it hard. But no.

“Taekwondo New Zealand (TNZ) was unenthusiastic about the move, saying it would be taken into account when considering him for international selection.

“Selection takes into account not just performance but also the athlete’s ability to serve as an example to the youth of the country,” TNZ funding manager John Scholfield told the newspaper.” Quote from Australian Broadcasting Corporation.

Read it and weep. There he is, trying to be a man, starting a legal business and he’s now being judged as not fit to be around children. They say ‘an example’ but we all know what Mr Scholfield means. It’s well-known that all sex workers are dangerous paedophiles, usually armed with axes  and bags of sweets, so this is a good thing.

(I couldn’t find a pic of a prostitute with an axe, but i looked for one.)

Wait, the voices outside-my-head say that this is not true! Apparently, most sex workers do it just as a freaking job! Phew! They aren’t actually sexually abusive to children! OMG.

Someone should tell Taekwondo New Zealand – who were happy to hang this guy out to dry and let him find his own funding – that not relying on his parents to pay for his life choices is actually a fine example for young people.

I’m not sure who’s in control of this post – it’s not me, i’m too drugged and overloaded with hormones to know which way is up. I’ve had two periods in just under three weeks. I thought i was both stressed and sick, (getting over the never-ending gastric flu and waiting until we can move house), but now i realise i’ve been also struggling under a hormone overload.

Lovely. And you wonder why i want a gun? Pfft. Of course it would be safe. I’m very safety-conscious. Besides, i wouldn’t be shooting at anyone, just suggesting targets, Mr Whatsit’s already a crack shot, makes sense to use him. Maybe we won’t have to kill them. If we wing a few, the others will try harder.

In the absence of guns, i’ll have to blow a giant raspberry across the Tasman to NZ, to John Scholfield and the rest of the nice people at Taekwondo New Zealand. I was going to make poor Logan Campbell some kind of prize, but fuck it, he’s making more than i am – 150k savings a year? Nice one, son. Even if it is only NZ dollars.

So, he’s making a good living, but he’s probably destroyed his chance of selection on the team, despite being able to be fitter, more prepared, less stressed, and more able to capitalise on his Olympic experience in Beijing. And they won’t pick him because he’s a man-whore. So, everyone together,  “You poor bastard!”

Interesting thought: a woman in same boat would also be denied a place on a team unless from somewhere very enlightened like maybe Denmark. It’s  not just New Zealand which gives mixed messages to its citizens. Legal but frowned upon.

Glad i don’t have kids to explain the hypocrisy to, because as an adult, all i can think of is well, don’t ever think that if you work in the sex industry you’re going to be able to tell most people what you do, and not be judged as less for it.

It’s not fair, or right, but it’s sure how it is.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com

Zen and the Art of Enforced Inactivity

Let’s face it, the easiest way to deal with sudden inability to function is to take lots of drugs and zone out. I did that for the first three days. Then i realised it had actually been a week, so i tried reality again. It sucked so much that i went back to the drugs.

Happy to report they still work. Still have thumb strapped, which – as i was already wearing wrist supports for any typing – is just the icing on my cake. However, i can still type, just not well enough for me to waste the little time i have doing long blogs when i need to be getting on with the novel.

It’s going rather well, *touch wood* so i also don’t want to shift my focus too much, or i’ll lose where i am. And when. Yeah, i live in my head, so? Someone has to.

I do go outside. I’ve fortunately managed to control all my massive neuroses little foibles so i can still leave the house, i’m not actually terminally obese, (though have been there, so do not think i’m some kind of body fascist), and i still drive a car. I’ve managed to give up smoking tobacco, which after two years (nearly) still astonishes me.

Allowing our minds to take our lives over on the outside is like me doing a retro-tech futuristic novel means i should be skipping about ‘in costume’ in real life and only answering to the name of the heroine of my book.

Actually, i could start tweeting in character, maybe? No no no. Thrice no, i say! (Bit of drama there, for those who like that kind of thing. me arguing with the voices inside my head is always entertaining.)

Our minds influence life to astonishing degrees. We smoke or eat or drink ourselves to death, we hide indoors, we stop driving, we stop going to the supermarket and start only going as far as the corner shop, then try to stop going there too. We justify it all to ourselves. And for no real reason. We know that. It’s just something in our mind.

I once thought i had agoraphobia, as i didn’t like going outside when i first went to London. Then i realised that every time i stepped outside, i could see someone else, (it’s a crowded place), whereas inside the house there was more space around me. I had claustrophobia, you see? The reverse of what it looked like.

Mr Whatsit has been having a rough time, finally got some drugs that work from the doctor, and has been sleeping joyfully, zombie-boy catching up on maybe four months of not much sleep.

That’s my news – we’re both in pain but drugged enough to cope. Lol – and compared to many of my friends at the moment, we’re not doing too badly.

There seems to have been a rash of sudden illness, cancer diagnoses, of mid-winter depression, of bullying and depression, and of course, people have been going green in support of Iran. I haven’t, i’d only just gone red on Twitter to cheer myself up, with it being two days away from the mid-winter solstice here.

I feel sympathy and empathy for the Iranians – but i don’t think some unquantifiable number of people on Twitter dyeing their avatars green will help. I mean, does the head of the Iranian Secret Police say….

Zomg,  all mah Tweeples haz gone green!
Can haz democrasee! Stop teh beetingz!

Somehow, i don’t think so.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com

i fell apart during the night…

…and woke with an apparently broken thumb or some kind of awful tendon problem. I couldn’t figure out how i could do it without waking up, but it was as bad as when i broke my foot (which  i both heard and felt when it happened and it didn’t sneak up on me while i was asleep). It kept getting worse, until that night i staggered out of bed, crying (like a girl, Mr Whatsit said), that my thumb was fucking killing me.

I upped my painkillers and I kept it strapped up tight all the next day – we were of course, in the middle of a three-day weekend – and resigned myself to a wrist and hand in plaster for a month or so.

If i accidentally moved it, the pain was actually “cry out loud even if you were in public and trying to be cool” – yep, severe pain. I did indeed, as Mr Whatsit is alleging, squeal like a girl.

Not just the thumb, but the first two fingers too, shooting up into my elbow and shoulder, though i could feel was probably tendon in my thumb. I didn’ t know what i’d done, but i figured as i didn’t know if was new or old injury (i have too many to remember), i didn’t want to ice it,so just compression bandaged and splinted it. (I happened to have a splinted wrist support, i didn’t whittle one from a handy pine tree. One-handed, that would have been a trip.)

I also found some marijuana butter in the freezer, left over from the obligatory xmas bikkies. It was tricky, but i mixed it with some chocolate in the top half of a double boiler, got it into an ice-block mould, and then put it in the fridge once it started to cool off.

So despite my disability, i was high enough to be Zen about almost anything. I did make a few tweets that in hindsight i considered possibly embarrassing, but i figure my followers are reasonably thick-skinned. I try to remember the NSFW thing (Not Safe For Work – has nudity or some other aspect a boss might object to).

But the weird thing, from ‘broken’ on Saturday, my thumb is by Monday afternoon, massively better. I credit my followers’ good wishes for my recovery – or to at least them praying that i would  stop whining about the damn thumb – with my miraculous healing. The Instant Zen Chocolate Blocks™ helped, too. (I lay around reading detective novels, not using thumb.)

It’s still very sore, but compared to the weekend, it’s amazing. I’m telling you so you understand that we’re doing the Catholic thing, and amassing proof of miracles. Yo, cos i’m a deity, and we have to have proof. Like on the TV. Gil Grissom in CSI wouldn’t take no miracle on face value. No, he’d try the Instant Zen Chocolate Blocks™… or if he didn’t, he should have.

Here in the Church of the Queen of Darkness® we’re pleased the first miracle that proves i might be the Antichrist is documented, although the miracle’s not complete – thumb still hurts. *looks at readers* Well? Pray harder!

Wait – that’s completely a joke, and knowing how much the Universe loves to fuck with my head, i’m going to rescind the order now, before someone prays, God gets pissed off at the unnecessary prayer, and my arm falls off in sudden rare form of instant god-leprosy.

Thumb does hurt. So going to stop typing. Before i get too heretical even for Baby Jebus who forgives all and rains down jelly babies in rainbow colours upon the world.

Man, you have to try the Instant Zen Chocolate Blocks™.

Yeah, voices-outside-my-head are in complete control. I don’t even know my own name.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com

sex and drugs and rock and roll…

… are very good indeed. At least, so the song says. Having overindulged in all of them, i can vouch for that. Though over-indulgence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Hedonism is a nice place to visit (not for me, i’m not big on public displays of nudity or swingers’ resorts, but others enjoy it very much).

When it comes down to it, it’s in Jamaica, and that’s just not convenient for the modern dictator monarch intrepid novelist on the go. Not as an Antichrist headquarters. Though it’s tempting just to try the grass. i used to smoke with Jamaicans in London, we like similar states of zoom.

Are you one of those people, who when asked, so what do you do for a living, have a one or two word answer that’s completely true and not contentious?

I envy people like that. I mean those who are a thing. Like accountant, doctor, [insert vocation here]. Because being a writer is like when you say you’re ‘an artist’.

Once people find out you make plasticine toys then show them to your friends on Twitter, they tend to think ‘artist‘ eh? Well, we don’t know about art, or claymation, but we know what we like, and plasticine models of animals won’t get you anywhere.

For those new to the strange labyrinth we call my mind, this post is probably brought to you by the voices-outside-my-head (basic rule of thumb, those we listen to, because they never tell us to hurt anyone… the voices-inside-my-head can be ignored with impunity) who think it’s funny when i tell people that I’m the Antichrist.

I’m not really the Antichrist, but then (as we’ve discussed) the Antichrist would say that. It’s like “when did you stop beating your wife?” I find the career question hard to answer without someone saying “She’s a witch, she’s a witch! Burn her!”

So, i’m sort-of a writer, of the new-and-improved giant space opera-fantasy epic of Doom! And currently trapped inside a mould-ridden house (also of Doom), but soon now, i will find a way out. This ‘way‘ so far involves saving madly and thus far, acquiring some boxes. They’re very nice boxes.

Sturdy, and made of cardboard. A plentiful number. We also have tape, packing paper, and one box assembled, so just as soon as someone gets the urge, we can start packing.

We can’t afford to move any of it for maybe a month, (at least) so there’s not a lot of time-pressure. Time is meaningless – lunchtime doubly so. Was that a Douglas Adams quote? It sounds as if it should be.

Aha – he said it’s an illusion. Nope. Well, yes. And it’s meaningless. And fleeting. Time is also like a piece of string. No, seriously. Pay attention – i will be asking questions later. See, anywhen is actually right here, right now. Well, maybe just a step to the right. Cool huh?

I’m probably not going to ask questions, because i’d have to provide links, explain then discuss string theory, posit parallel universes, and read more than i really wanted to when starting this.

It was supposed to be an airy rambling about life. I’ve already had to find links to Hedonism II, Wallace & Gromit, and now Douglas Adams has started posthumously grandstanding in it.

He wrote one of the funniest books ever Life, The Universe, & Everything – which is a fab book, if you haven’t read it. It was made into two movies, neither of which are actually as good as the book. It’s the kind you can’t read on the train, because you laugh out loud too much. “42!”

Here’s something scary for those who remember reading it  close to its publication date. It was published 31 years ago. Feck. Age is so huge. Sort of like space. Either it’s not enough or it’s too much, for most of us.

I cope like everyone else, i’m about thirty inside my head (i was much more sensible by the time i hit thirty), and on the outside, i’m 48. I look in the mirror and wonder who the baggy bint with the silver streaks in her hair is.

I suppose i’m your average Supreme Being. Yeah, delusional is exactly what i was going to say. On your knees, children of the blog… yes, of course you can have cushions. Ahem, you at the back, i wasn’t serious. For heaven’s sake, use a comfy chair.

We’ve discussed this before – worship of me involves reading the blog (laughing, thinking, and even commenting, when i let you get a word in), and adding me on Twitter.

The whole thing, about overindulging a bit, partying hard, (no, i have no idea where i’m going with this, i presume there’ s a point somewhere, or even somewhen), is that you get a bit older, and it’s cool.

I have experience. I have done things. At least, other people are impressed, which is funny, because at the time, it was just life. I thought everyone was doing it. Imagine my surprise when i discovered there were heaps of people who’ve never even tried a Flaming Sambucca. Back in the early 80’s, this was, before they started putting them out before you drank them. I did fine. Nobody was more astonished than me when i didn’t set fire to myself.

I saw someone use Bundaberg Rum to create a Flaming Bundy. I think maybe rum’s more flammable? Especially if you pour it over yourself when you toss the drink back, because you’re drunk . Whoof! It was very spectacular to watch.

He was fine, the alcohol burned off fast, and his facial hair was so greasy it didn’t catch, but i took it as a signal that the night was over. It was 2am, my mate had stopped fancying him, and we’d only followed him to his London bedsit because he said he had booze. I was ready to go home when i discovered it was Bundy.

Among things you really need to do before you leave your 30’s – like read the Tree Lobsters Webcomic – I was astonished to find women who never even had an orgasm until they were over 40. How can you go through life without exploring a bit? Gawd.

Over 40, you’re going to hurt yourself trying to do all that teen stuff. Only teens can do it, you know, that burning the candle at both ends, without payback of massive proportions. And they get payback, they just don’t let it stop them.

I forget, some people are still thinking that down there is some freaky place you mustn’t touch, or like nitroglycerine, it might go off. “OMG, look out, she’s gonna blow! Everyone, run!” *sounds of screams and running feet*

Sadly, people being stupid isn’t enough reason to kill them. It’s a good reason to encourage them to neuter themselves accidentally with a sandwich maker. Death or sudden emasculation. You have to make it look like an accident.

Like when you’re parking the tank, and oops, you dropped a track on the neighbours. And maybe their kids. “I’m sorry, officer, i didn’t see them there.” He’ll say, “Queen of Darkness, eh? What’s with the tank?” Men are complete suckers for tanks. Maybe i’ll let him take it for a spin.

I won’t say “OMG, it’s the filth!” Or anything referring to da Babylon. I’ll impress him with my knowledge of weapons of war (total dilettante, but glib, that’s me – and i have a nice smile). I’ll tell him that the tank is to invade Queensland.

And he’ll say, “Flatten a cane toad for me”, or something equally derogatory about Queenslanders. I’ll be cool, because there’s all this stupid interstate rivalry going on with these little postage stamp places over here on the east coast, but i’m not from these parts.

Western Australia is a over a million square miles (2,532,400 km2) – eat that, piddly lil eastern states places. (Texas would fit 5+ times in WA.) Besides, i’m following the actual New South Wales police on Twitter, so safe from arrest. They don’t want to offend me, because i might unfollow them on Twitter.

Yes, cunning of me. And the next time they announce they’re seeking a mysterious Queen of Darkness who’s allegedly been playing war games with a tank at the Budgewoi shops, and ran over some women and children on a crosswalk, where they really shouldn’t have been, i’ll have advance warning.

If i’m home by then, and can see what’s happening on Twitter, of course, as i don’t have a mobile tweeting ability. The worst part about Twitter? I find myself wanting to tweet things when i’m out. *sighs*

I even think, wow, maybe if all those Mac users are having so much fun, i’ll have to get one. I will tweet from cafes like everyone else does. And i will take photos of my food, even if it looks like dog turds on a plate. (Most food doesn’t, most food is jealousy-provoking good stuff.)

Then i remember i don’t like Macs, so screw that. Oops – i nearly joined a cult there. See how easy it is? Beware of religion, and pass the bong.

I have PMS, a cold, and a massive allergic reaction. I feel like crap.

But the drugs are working quite well.

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