Tag Archives: fucktards

I’m going to peel and salt Justin Bieber…

I’m going to be nice for a whole post. Stop laughing. I can do it. Alright, i probably can’t. So i’ll let the voices-outside-my-head do a post and i can go back to editing The Thing. (I’m two-thirds through the edit, for those following that thrilling saga.)

The last time the voices-outside-my-head did a post, it was New Year and i was going through my usual dislocated why-doesn’t-the-weather-match-the-Christmas-cards annual fugue, and the voices wished you joy in your life. I said you shouldn’t be fucktards. Both good bits of advice.

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Life can be an awful experience. No doubt about it. Bad things happen to good people and to bad ones, with no regard to who deserves it. No use getting stressed over it. Stress releases cholesterol into your blood stream, and it’s a fatty gunk that coats your arteries, and eventually blocks them. Use the energy to do something about what’s stressing you, but don’t just sit there.

It’s part of the old fight-or-flight-or-bugger-them-with-a-cactus reflex. The idea is you’ll burn that fat wielding your Cactus of Justice, or running away. If all you do is sit on your arse and shout, the way I do a lot, you’ll end up with high blood pressure, because your cloggy arteries are too small for the blood flow and your heart is over-worked. Oops, you just stroked out. (I’m not sure the voices should have let me type this, it’s much more cranky than they intended.)

Now, i don’t have high blood pressure, or high cholesterol, (any more), because i stopped worrying and learned to take joy in the moment. It’s not a permanent state, but it’s enough of the time that even with the extra weight i’m carrying, and my perpetual raging at the machine (on here and on Twitter), I’m not risking my life because i care.

Joy is where you find it. Watching nature, walking, cooking, making things, doing that perfect spreadsheet and knowing you’re going to make it financially through another month. Okay, so i’m not sure anyone but me gets that last one, but i totally love that feeling of being in the moment – i can get it washing up.

The big thing about the moment? Your brain is ostensibly off. You’re completely focused on the task in hand, even if that’s as simple as admiring the feather on a bird’s wing or that algebra formula.

You might be using your brain, focusing on some job, and the work might be hard, but you know you’re on the way to a goal, so it’s fine. And everything switches off. All worry, all care, all of it. You keep going, doing good work.

You come to, some time later. And often the solutions to problems are right there, as your ostensibly switched-off brain nutted out the answers while you were cleaning the silver.

We repeat. The word ‘enjoy’ means ‘with joy’ – so enjoy your life. Have it with joy. What else are you going to do with it? If you don’t like it, for most of us in the Western world at least, there are other solutions, like changing it.

You thought i was going to say ‘then top yourself if you don’t like it here’? Honestly, I’m the Antichrist, not a jingoistic right wing Earth patriot. I can imagine us in the future, snapping at alien immigrants the way the nasty little one nation types do. “If you don’t like this planet, then get off it!”

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That’s all, i can’t stand it. It goes against the grain, being nice. What with me being the Queen of Darkness and proxy Antichrist. New readers may be wondering how i got to be the Antichrist, and all i’m saying is that even the Antichrist turned out to respond to a good clout across the earhole with a walking stick, and is still in a coma. I have his passwords. Nuff said.

As for being the Queen of Darkness, that’s a much older story – when i used to be in a band, i was shouting about something i’d read about Christian fundamentalists, and said, “They’re so sure they’re on the side of Light. If that’s Light, then i’m the Queen of Darkness.” (Originally there was swearing, because it’s the only language muso’s understand.)

That was nearly 20 years ago, old news. The Antichrist gig is fairly new. But hey, i’m told i get to peel and salt the emos, and i can do what i like with Justin Bieber and Lady Gaga. At the moment, i’m edging towards using the Gleaming Instruments of Death, but maybe the Cactus of Justice would do the trick.

Oh come on, who doesn’t want to torture Justin Bieber to death? Just for the fringe, people! Just for the fringe!As for Lady Gaga, well seriously, does anyone neeed a reason? Her whole schtick of pseudo-vulnerability wrapped in emo pouting deserves divine retribution.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


I’ll just be a minute….

Picture this…

You’re disabled, badly. In Queensland you qualify for a disabled parking sticker,  but in New South Wales you’re told, as that useless leg is still attached, you won’t get it. If you were enormously fat, says the doctor, acknowledging how bloody unfair it is, no problem. It’s a pity, he adds, that you’re such a fit cripple, and haven’t let yourself go, or eaten yourself into diabetes.

Women with children get close parking. You don’t. Okay, so you cope. You walk despite being crippled. You pull up outside the chemist, on your way in for your heavy duty painkillers and nerve blockers. Someone parks beside you, so close you can’t get out. Even an able  bodied person couldn’t slide out. You wind your window down.

Mate, you say, you’re too close, you’re blocking me in the car. I won’t be a minute, says the man, dashing past you. So naturally, you back out, re-park a few spaces away, and get out. You limp back to the car that was blocking you in. With your good leg, you kick the door in. Then you limp away.

****

You’re about to use the self-serve checkout at the supermarket. It’s evening, when you shop because there are less crowds, as it’s easier for you to deal with a trolley, something you find very hard with your bad leg. You can also get parking close by, which as you don’t qualify for a disability sticker, makes a huge difference.

A woman and her partner are blocking three self-serve checkouts. One with their two trolleys of soft drink, frozen food, and chips, then the one they’re using, and another with their giant pram.

Excuse me, you say politely, would you mind moving the pram so i can use the checkout? We’ll just be a minute, says the woman.  Five minutes later, they’re still feeding different cards into the reader, trying to find one that’s not maxed out. Your pain levels are rising, you don’t do standing well.

Rather than offering to kill them if they don’t get out of the bloody way making a scene, you go to the one manned checkout and queue for a while. You see the couple at the self service checkouts are now getting the staff to remove items from their bill, then going through the rigmarole of feeding through their twenty cards again. You notice there’s no baby food in their two overflowing trolleys. No nappies either. (Diapers.)

As you leave, fifteen minutes later, they’re still there, still looking for a card that works, apparently too stupid to walk twenty metres (about that in yards) to the nearest cash machine, and find out which, if any, of the cards has any money on it at all. You’re poor, you have sympathy for those in the same boat, but there are limits. You hope they choke on their bloody chips.

****

Up in Queensland, when you did have a disabled permit, you’re pulling into the bank parking area, when someone in a large 4WD cuts you up, and parks across two disabled parking spaces. Oi, you say. I won’t be a minute, says the man, hurrying to get into the bank.

So you stop right there, get out of your car, and even with your leg brace on,  something in your eyes warns the man,  he doesn’t pass you, and runs back to his car, which he moves into a non-disabled space.

****

You’re walking with a severely disabled friend. She’s had a stroke, only one side of her body moves. She can move at a shuffle thanks to her braces and cane. People keep barging into her, to the point where you are hyper-alert, watching ahead, behind, and to each side, ready to say oi!

There’s plenty of space around you, no need for people to come so close, but they don’t look, intent on their own lives, and insist on pushing past, in so much of a hurry that a two-step detour is impossible. You’re not in some central city area, this is at a quiet suburban shopping centre. It isn’t some once-off freakery, it happens every time she goes out.

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You’re at the shops with your disabled friend. He’s walking with a stick, slowly. It’s Christmas time, heavy crowds.  Even so, as the woman nearly knocks him flying, and hits him (on his bad knee, which stands out, it being held together with a large metal leg brace) with her shopping, several people around see, and join in with your “Oi! Look out!”

The woman looks back,  and you shout angrily (over the noise of xmas carols) that she nearly knocked him over. She humphs, and says she’s in a hurry, like that’s a good enough reason to knock over a disabled person – or anyone.

The other people giving sympathy and offering help are very much appreciated, and make you both feel better, but you feel like chasing the woman down and cracking her on the knee with a shopping bag full of electrical appliances, just to see how she likes it.

****

You’re having a bad day. Along with the leg brace, you’re using your walking stick. You see some people walking towards you. They are spread out over the 4 metres of open space (12+ feet) that’s the walkway next to the shops, completely blocking it to anyone else. You stop, next to a shop window, close to it, waiting for the people to both see you, and move to one side.

They keep walking, looking everywhere but dead ahead, until one of them actually barges straight into you. It doesn’t knock you over, you were ready for it. They get stroppy with you and complain that you’ve hurt them when they bounced off your titanium leg brace. (Stroppy is angry.)

You point out they had plenty of space to walk through, they could see you clearly, you weren’t hiding, and point to your leg brace and stick. Some of us, you say, can’t get out of the way easily.  I’ve been standing here since you were over there, you say, and point some fifteen metres away (45+ feet) They seem surprised, both at where you appeared from (you being such a sprightly and fast-moving person), and that you didn’t get out their way if you saw them.

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You’re waiting for a taxi you phoned for. You’re outside the shops, leaning on your walker. You have many problems, including being unable to walk unaided. The taxi driver pulls up behind you, and starts calling to you.

He gets out of his car and comes up, shouting and yelling. “What are you, deaf?” You hear him, finally. There are people all standing staring. “Yes,” you say, mortified, fighting back tears, “yes, I am. My hearing aid broke this morning.” The taxi driver looks embarrassed, mumbles something that might be an apology, and helps you into the car, folding your walker to go in the boot.

You want to tell him to sod off, but instead you decide getting home is more important. Your small revenge will be not tipping, and complaining to the taxi company. When you get home, with the door shut, then you let yourself cry.

****

What is it with humans? Can’t you put yourself in the other person’s shoes? Or in their orthotic brace? Have a bloody care – when something happens to you, and you’re not able to move as fast, or as surely, is that the only time you realise, gee, it’s a bit rough trying to get around with the other humans who think their needs take precedence over everyone else’s?

Can you imagine how fucking frustrating it is, when your body doesn’t do things as quickly or as well as you want it to?

I suppose not. However, you might want to remember, not all of us are crippled so badly that we can’t push you back when you shove us. Some of us studied martial arts, and can do things to you with our walking sticks you won’t believe.

So don’t mind me, and don’t be surprised when your car door gets dented if you park so i can’t get out of my car, and then expect me to wait while you go off and do your shopping.

This militant cripple has had enough.

NB – i don’t look crippled. Like most disabled people, i do my damnedest to hide how hard it is for me to look normal.
The above examples are all ones i witnessed or were related to me by the disabled people involved.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


Die Already, Emo

To be clear, when i say emo, i’m not necessarily talking about moody teens following a musical fashion, with long fringes and too small tshirts. That’s pretty normal teen behaviour, wanting to be different by dressing exactly the same and writing very bad poetry.

My emos are those who exist to milk your pity, otherwise known as the professional victims.

I am NOT talking about the genuinely depressed.

Here’s a therapist’s account of dealing with professional victims. As she says, The victim posture is the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy. By wallowing in the passivity and supposed powerlessness of the victim, one becomes blind to all opportunities and outlooks that do not conform to the supine posture of the victim.

One might call it “self-victimization,” but the point is that it is voluntary.”

I quite often (just by law of averages, not intentionally) read emo blogs or Twitter profiles written by professional victims. I’ve found that emos come in all ages, and that men are just as happy to use misery to manipulate as women are.

There’s a fair number looking for money for nothing, others pretend to sell you something.  A pity purchase. Others are hoping for a pity fuck, or even a pity relationship. Many are hoping you will take pity action and donate to them or their cause, or write to the government on their behalf. I even had one saying “buy my book, help me help myself, instead of just handing your money straight to me like i was a charity case.” Um, yeah. But your book is crap.

They may be partnered, or not, the pro victim doesn’t stop whining because they find a partner, (especially if the old partner starts to realise they’ve been suckered, or the new partner is actually an emo too), and they’re happy to move on to a new sucker any time they find one.

Some of them whine on behalf of others “the poor [insert disadvantaged group/animal here] – feel sorry for them!!!!” and some run charities – some even do so without taking a wage and when they’re in need of charity themselves. Even when helping others, they have to be victims. It’s how they get off. It’s what gets those emo juices flowing. Mmmm….  suffering. Woo hoo!

Oops, did emo just lose their home because they weren’t paying attention to real life? No problem, they can write a blog about it, and garner lots of attention. Of course, using their (poor homeless) kids to manipulate your emotions is part of the deal. Münchhausen’s Syndrome, where people deliberately make themselves ill for medical attention, is classic professional victim. Münchhausen’s by Proxy, where they harm their children to get attention, is too.

Emos are addicted to trying to manipulate emotions by exposing their suffering. However, you are not getting the whole story. That they made themselves homeless, ill, or poor, is never mentioned, except to show you how it’s never their fault. A lot of people stay a little wary, thinking there’s something not quite right, but others fall in head-first to the emo trap.

Once someone is sucked in by the pro victim, it’s like the sucker is in love. There is nothing you can do to make them see the truth. Even if you provide documentary evidence that their emo is actually a manipulative piece of pond-life, you will often be accused of lying to discredit the poor victim. Victim is the operative word – they must always be the victim, even when bravely speaking out on behalf of other people suffering in similar ways.

Ever told someone that the person they love is cheating on them? That their self-help guru stole all his/her ideas from Norman Vincent Peale (one of the first ‘self help gurus’)? If you haven’t, let’s just say that hell may have no fury like a woman scorned, but burst someone’s sucker bubble and you’ll find out what real hell is. The suckered may come to hate the one who suckered them, but they’ll hate you more. You will earn the enmity of both people. I know this from real life experience, more than once. It never works out well. For anyone.

I think that secretly, like the cuckolded do, suckers know when they’re being played – the signs are there. However, the suckers deliberately blind themselves to what the pro victim is doing – milking their pity and manipulating their emotions. Eventually, the sucker should come to their senses, usually when they notice something about the pro victim. Emos don’t want healing or practical help. If you leave a sympathetic note on their site, saying how they can get real help in their area, they will delete your post. If they followed your advice, they would have to pull their head out of their arse and stop whining.

The more they whinge, the more people pay attention. Pro victims have their metaphorical (and sometimes actual) hands down their pants over this – it’s better than sex or kink play, because they don’t have to give anything, they just whine and bitch and moan, and everyone pays attention! It’s something for nothing, which is exactly what they’re looking for. If you offer real help, especially the kind where they have to do something for themselves, you’re trying to stop their performance, and that makes you something to be destroyed.

Even if someone physically rescues them, the pro victim will be back in their chosen forum (Twitter, their blog, a chat room, MSN, the cafeteria), inside a week, complaining about how the place they’re in now has weird-coloured walls and they have to clean their own room. Not only that, their rescuer is being mean, because they say the pro victim should stop wallowing in self-pity.

So the emo complains and whinges some more, about how awful their current circumstances are. It’s so good, they may even cut themselves.  Someone comes along, says, “Oh, how dreadful, don’t you have anywhere else to go?” And emo has hooked another sucker.

I have this to say to emos…

You want to play the victim? Don’t come to me. I don’t tolerate you in real life, and I won’t online. I’m not interested in being a sucker for you. I’ve been there, done that, and consequently have a low threshold for bullshit. You want to cut yourself? Go ahead, sweetie, and can i help you find the vein so you do it properly? Emos are experts at not harming themselves when they cut – it’s not to kill themselves, it’s purely to get attention and to look tragic.

I knew one (in his 40’s, true emos are all ages), who would drive to the Emergency Department at his local hospital, and park within sight of it – so there would be no risk of him bleeding to death if he slipped with his sterile scalpels. He had dressings too. His mobile phone was right there, charged up, emergency services on speed dial, in case he couldn’t walk the 20m (20 yds) to the door. After a couple of hours in the A&E, getting all the attention he craved, he would come online, asking people if they wanted to see his cuts on webcam. Hysterically, (laugh or cry, your choice), he was on a kink dating site, advertising himself as a dominant male.

The best thing to do with emos – like all attention whores – is deny them the oxygen of attention. Yep, just ignore them. Occasionally remind others that if someone wants to stay miserable, it’s best to leave them that way. You see emos a lot on Twitter – people saying, “So and so was mean to me, everybody hate them on my behalf. i can has mai victimhood nao? kthxbai”

Some people even attract emos. If you feel you should help the helpless, watch out, you might just be on a hiding to nothing, trying to help someone whose idea of heaven is whining about all the reasons no one can help them. It’s very tempting to be mean when they turn on you for daring to say, “Well, happiness is a choice.” It’s not a choice to them, one doesn’t get attention for being happy. What are you, nuts?

That scent in the air is the scent of burning martyr, so a person being mean (or someone an emo can represent to others as being mean), is fodder for the pyre of their victimhood.

Still, sometimes, I just can’t help myself. I snap back.

© 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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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

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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!

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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


Zen in the New Year…

Life goes on. Even for the Antichrist. Bought a tiny birdbath, ($35 for a terracotta one from Bunnings? Even i can afford that). Being treated to all kinds of parrot-play.

On hot days, i’ll top it up a few times, as they queue up to drink and swim, while the ones who can’t get in play in what’s splashed out. What, the Antichrist can’t have a birdbath?

A pair of lorikeets having a dipI did put that pic up on Twitpic a couple of weeks ago. It’s taken through the glass of the back wall, next to my desk. Should have had it on Sports, that’s just Through Glass – trusty Olympus Stylus 840 did well. I have a fantastic view usually, but since the birdbath it’s even better.

The lorikeets are just like people. Some don’t like getting their heads wet, others are afraid to let go of the edge. Some are like Aqua Parrot, dive in, soaking themselves, splashing, standing on their heads, and then flapping their wings in a rainbow ecstasy of joy. They all, no matter how wet they get, just love it. It’s hard not to get distracted.

Still, i figure it’s good to take a moment, observe joy, and hold it close to your heart. Let it fill you, and then share it with the world. Barring serious chemical imbalances, you always have a choice – to choose misery, or happiness.

I personally believe that choosing misery often enough means you can cause the chemical imbalances. I’ve seen too many people do it over the years. Choose to be happy, instead.

May joy find you in 2010.

****

This post brought to you (so far) by the voices-outside-my-head, who are much nicer than moi. Me, for 2010, i hope you stop being a fucktard. That would be nice.

I hope you stop pretending politicians, the news, TV, the media generally, your religious leaders, and the people trying to sell you things, won’t lie to you. I don’t lie to you, but then i don’t need your vote, or your arse on a seat in the congregation – you see, that’s what the AK47’s are for.

I hope you start reading labels, and don’t fall for crap like “eco-friendly” when it’s made of polyurethane, or other petroleum derivatives. (Yes, i’m looking at you, supermarket “green” bag.)

Don’t believe “low GI” or “low fat” can be good for you, or your kids, when the product is 50% sugar. (Yes, chocolate hazelnut spread, kids’ chocolate cereals, and chocolate malt ‘energy drink’ marketed as low GI food for kiddies, i’m looking at you. )

Pay attention to words, dear Minions of Darkness Beloved Visitors. That’s where the meaning is, no matter what the litcrit crazies tell you. I hope you learn the difference between marketing and truth. Hint: one is not actually true.

Oh yeah, and i hope you have a good time. Choose fun. Tell anyone who asks, the Queen of Darkness made you do it. She’s the Antichrist, you can explain, and it lays the groundwork for your defence on insanity grounds. (And mine.)

Yep, providing the real Antichrist doesn’t come out of the coma before the Rapture, (and he won’t once i tap him on the head with a good length of heavy hickory), we’re set.

2010 is going to be an excellent year.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


Happy Birthday to Me

It’s been an interesting couple of weeks, at least virtually. I’ve had to block some people for being idiots on Twitter, not that it shut them up, but at least i didn’t have them on my main page – they were actually threatening to go cut themselves – eek, emo alert!

Unfortunately, the Twitter block function is imperfect. It doesn’t actually sodomise and then peel the person you aim it at. Wait, sodomy is more fun than they deserve… better make it sodomy with a cactus. And we could peel them with… well, this is what the Gleaming Instruments of Death were made for, maybe Twitter should call me.

Despite the fucktards,  i did get a popular blog post (see previous) out of the contretemps. (Popular for me does not mean millions… that one’s topped 200 on the bit.ly links, not best ever, but good.) I know this because I’ve been looking at my stats – world domination proceeds slowly but steadily, with occasional peaks when i get controversial.

Today is my birthday – yep, 49, which is too big a number to think about. Yes, 31st October, Halloween – seriously, what did you expect? Me being the Queen of Darkness wasn’t exactly an accident. Halloween is however, alien to my culture. Trick or treaters will be greeted with “It’s my birthday, where’s my present?” Funny, they all seem to run away when you put them on the spot.

While i’m waiting for the children to arrive, i thought i’d have a slight rant…

*****

Some of the top searches used to find this blog are:

pony, budgie, penectomy porn,  funny cats,  cameltoes and tattoos

It’s like i’ve been saying – Search Engine Optimisation Experts, Gurus, Entrepreneurs, and the rest of the people trying to flog you dead horses on Twitter are way behind me. Yes, not just eunuchs, budgies, camel toe, and tattoos, I’m getting a toehold in the “pony” market.

Hello little girls! Welcome! I was once like you. Longing for a pony of my own. For horses, i could and did get up at five a.m. to feed and groom, i mucked out stables and didn’t mind the heat, the cold, the rain, the smell of manure. I coped when horses bit, kicked, and trod on me.

I lived through them bucking me off, into lakes, rivers, trees, fences, and walls. With being wiped off on anything handy. With them getting over-excited and freaking out on a regular basis. I love horses, so it’s part of it.

It’s not some kind of privation – though of course one gets dusty, muddy, gashed, broken, bent, (this is because leather will imprint as one of your earliest sexual cues), and then thrown off into a prickle patch. It sounds awful, and no fun at all.

However, right now, crippled as i am, if you gave me a horse (and the wherewithal to keep it), i think i’d still happily drag myself out of bed at 5 am. There’s something about horses. I’m the same way with words. The infection lasted. “It’s just a stage she’s going through.” Nah, it was me. Who i am. I’ll always love horses and words. They bring me joy.

No matter how crap life is, just seeing a horse lifts my spirits. I can actually feel better about things if i just imagine being round them. I take myself riding, in my mind. I even feed and groom horses, saddle up, and pick out their feet. The familiar rhythms are all there, in my memories.

I start to write (when i’m not procrastinating, which doesn’t bring me joy, though it can be very productive in regard to getting anything but writing done), and as the words start to flow, i get a similar pleasure.

Some time ago, especially after an incident where in a short time, I had some rather close-to-death experiences, i decided to focus on what brings me joy. It’s not possible to completely avoid that which doesn’t, as i’m unfortunately trapped here on Earth with you humans – but i can certainly wipe out the effects of the dire.

Things like good whole food, being near water, and letting writing be a full time pursuit. I see horses most days, some live on the way to the shops. The food’s tricky, here in the sticks – it was easier to get good meat in suburban London. I used to go to the local Halal (Islamic) butcher when i lived in West Hampstead (though he was over the border in Kilburn). I wonder now if they’re still there. They were nice, even to me, a bare-armed, bare-headed, infidel woman.

Most people are just people, you know. Governments and religious leaders like to focus on the differences between us – divide and rule is their basic policy. Just note how many times they try to make you scared – but frankly, good people come in every colour, religion, and sexuality.

Complete maggots likewise. Of course, most people think their actions are justified. Let’s face it, even Hitler didn’t set out to be evil, he thought he was doing Germany and the world a favour. He thought it was logical. That exterminating human beings was inhumane didn’t matter, because he’d already decided – these were not humans.

Once you dehumanise your enemy, it’s easier for your people to kill them. One of the main problems for soldiers is that in order to keep killing, they have to see the enemy as less than human. We’re not actually designed for murder. With some exceptions.

See, i don’t see the Devil as some kind of external influence – i think we’re all creatures of duality – we’re all capable of both beauty and horror. Which one you manifest, is up to you. If you let yourself be filled up with rage, hate, and insecurity, if your entire life revolves around getting others to pay attention to your attention whoring, then hell, sugar, i’m going to block you on Twitter.

We all have these things inside us – i choose to manifest mine as funny blog posts. Not all of it – there’s a heck of a lot of energy i can use there. The poison others send me can be deflected, returned, or i can use the energy for something constructive, that brings me joy.

So i write. By the way – did you see? Someone found this blog while looking for “funny cats” – oh yeah, baby, i’m into Lolcat territory on Google Search.

Weez gonna be hooj.

****

In other news: in The Thing i am writing – the hero needed to be older – he was having sex, and i figured 13 was too young. Weirdly, i was basing his history on several people i know, but sometimes, fiction has to be toned down from real life.

I also discovered – once i’d stopped, corrected all references to age, adjusted his language and others’ behaviour to him – that i’d forgotten to note the timing of events in the narrative on a calendar, so i knew for instance, how long it was since his birthday. Then i realised one of the characters had broken the plot, so I’m currently sorting that. Silly bugger died before his time.

There’s a lot to keep track of, lucky i do love spreadsheets. I still refer to my synopses, outlines, and summaries of this first bunch of books, which i drew up using the Snowflake Method. They need tweaking of course, as the narrative changes, but that’s okay, there’s elasticity built in.

Tip: every so often, I save each current document or spreadsheet (if was Book01) as 02, then 03 and so on. This is in case you mess up and need to go back to a previous version. You can also use Word’s version tracker, which saves versions within a single document. In case of accidental deletion of single documents, i like to keep separate copies.

I once inserted an image over an entire document i had no copy of – so yes, i’m paranoid.

****

On the longer list of searches –

  • why smugglers
  • my house is trying to kill me
  • switchblade and a motorbike
  • realistic mannequins with pubic genital
  • i am not a whore

Why smugglers? I am not a whore? (The others make sense, blog titles or  I’ve blogged on them.)

And SEO experts want you to pay to get listed on Google? Lord above, with the way it works, how can you not be listed? Of course, you may not be listed under what you want to be.

I suppose Beloved Visitors might be miffed, if they arrive looking for penectomy porn and find me instead. On the other hand, thinking about it, the Queen of Darkness, with a bullwhip and a cattleprod, ready to run over you with a tank if you don’t donate to the Hello Kitty Kalashnikov Office Chair Fund, is probably just the woman you’re looking for.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


I’m a Premenstrual Feminazi from Hell

Edit: 22nd Sept 09 – for some reason this post is showing as the 9th 7th Sept, it wasn’t posted then but on the 21st. Short of deleting it and reinserting in the right place, it’s always going to be one post out of whack. It should be after Editors are like Elephants, not before. Yeah, i think my whole blog has gone blonde.

****

Warning:

contains explicit stupidity, frank sexual discussion,
offensive attitudes to religion, &
signs of contempt for married people who cheat.

There will be clitorises. Should that be clitorii? It’s the Great Penises Versus Penii Debate all over again. (Most of that was between me and the voices-outside-my-head.) I’m not trying to get you excited, and frankly, if explicit stupidity makes you hot, you need therapy.

I’m going to generalise heaps. This is a rant. *hands out the polarised goggles and the breathing apparatus* I’ll wait until everyone is comfy. Help yourself to bikkies.

*holds up sign that says FORESKIN*

If that made you blush in real life, probably better to go away now. *Nails foreskin to wall* What? It was a trophy foreskin, you’re supposed to do that. The name fooled you, right? You thought me being the Queen of Darkness was ironic? *raises eyebrow* Only partly.

On with the show…. who wants to be  Despot for the Day? Ha, just kidding.
As if any of you get to have a turn. Me me ME.

Oops, just a moment, i need to reset something.
*turns ego down to stun*

********

Meanwhile, “Australia’s leading criminologist” thinks online scams are now so bad, new computer users should have to pass a computer licence, certifying their ability to surf the net safely, before being legally able use their internet connection. I suppose some education is better than none, but I don’t happen to agree with his assumption “…that education [is] secondary to better technology solutions.”

Call me crazy, or even heretical – go on, you know you want to, and it makes me feel warm and fuzzy – but I quite like the idea of educating people about net safety, or even religion.

I say do this instead of encouraging them to be stupider, and instead of expecting them to rely completely on technology or God to protect them, which Science or the Divine – whichever god you believe in – cannot do.

However, as the Antichrist, so not  a subscriber to normal ideas of Good Vs. Bad or even In-Between – i have at least some of the answers to keeping safe on the net, and for finding happiness – it’s alright, nothing religious, we’re going to achieve Nirvana-in-the-moment through sex.

Strap yourselves in. Or on. Whatever.

********

In the interests of safety & education –

Her Majesty Presents:

Ten Rules of Internet Survival
& Seven Sundry Hints

Rule 1: the only thing that will make your penis permanently bigger is surgery. No pumping device will do it. Drugs or herbs will have zero effect.

********

What do you mean you’re shocked that i’m talking about penii and clitorii – wait, no, that just sounds wrong – and i already embarrassed you with that foreskin? There’s cunnilingus, erections, and sex coming up.

I said this was going to happen. Run, while you still can. Before you turn into a Minion of Evil Beloved Visitor.

A minion is not a Bad Thing – well, some meanings are a trifle negative, –  obsequious, servile, and subordinate are never going to be an easy sell – but after that it’s “One who is highly esteemed or favored; a darling” from the French mignon meaning darling.

i was having an 80's moment

i was having an 80's moment

(Did you know, on Mozilla Firefox, you can have a browser plug-in that puts Dictionary.com’s Dictionary, Thesaurus, and Reference sections up where the Google search is? Uber cool.)

Anyway, miniondom, what is it? You only have to read the blog and cope with my wittering on Twitter. It’s not a difficult gig being a minion these days. Well, actually, it might be. I can be prolific at times. Be brave!

********

handy hint:# 1 Instead of falling prey to shysters who can’t enlarge your manhood, learn to use your tongue and your fingers, that’s what most women want.

Do it instead of whining to strangers online about how you can’t hold an erection or how your penis is too small. Men actually do this – why? Wait, is this another one of those things that i think everyone experiences, but it’s really just me? I’m too approachable – I know, i know.

So, regarding your penis – like salespeople everywhere, internet salespeople like to prey on your lack of self-esteem. Especially where men are concerned, they’re hoping to exploit that niggling worry that a majority have, that their women are sexually dissatisfied because the man’s penis is too small or not hard enough.

This shows a staggering lack of knowledge about most women, what makes them happy, and how they orgasm. Yes, i know some size queens, but they’re a minority.

Sadly, I’d say a majority of women are dissatisfied with their sex lives and relationships (from what they tell me, and in my own experience with men), which brings us to …

********

Rule 2: hours of  Mister Snorty pretending to be the Loch Ness Monster are not really what most women want.

Corollary: Being rogered to death is only fun once.

When you were twenty and could actually perhaps stay hard for hours without pills, the women you were with were probably too polite – or ignorant about what felt good – to say they’d prefer some touching instead of you just banging away like that.

Viagra may make you feel like the Wang Overlord of Zorg – and Mister Snorty like Daddy’s Little Rhino – but most women don’t reach orgasm that way. They need clitoral stimulation. (Most means 60-80% of them – while personally, enjoying intercourse.)

Consider branching out into radical concepts like not viewing every person you meet as a series of receptacles for Mister Snorty’s emissions.

********

Rule 3: this should probably be number 1, but you have not won the lottery.

Nor is some bank official, family member of an overthrown government, or other telling you they want your bank details because then they can send you millions of dollars. They won’t.

This is called the Nigerian Scam, but the letters now come from every country in the world.

********

Rule 4: You have also not been carefully selected to receive a special offer.

Unless by carefully selected they mean “you said in some form you filled out online you liked X so we’re now trying to sell you something tentatively X-related.” Usually, they mean “your email was on a list we hacked from somewhere.”

********

Rule 5: She doesn’t love you.

People do meet online and translate that into a real life loving relationship, or even a hot date – however women writing to men can be divided into two kinds – women looking for visas or money, and men looking to fleece you.

The gorgeous Eastern Bloc, African, or Asian girl is usually a man sending you messages, and he is looking for –

  • someone stupid enough to give their credit card numbers.
  • someone silly enough to wire money.
  • a complete fucktard who will do both.

Australian men keep getting caught by this (as do men worldwide). Some even manage to reach the coveted ultra-fucktard status – when you’re dumb enough to go to Africa to meet your ‘love’ without some serious research first.

I googled “west australian man africa internet kidnap” looking for one i’d heard of, who spent some time chained to a toilet in Africa while his kidnappers tried to screw a ransom out of his family, and discovered a Belgian and a South Australian man also suckered in the same way.

Internet romance without any real life quotient (especially before any real life quotient) can be summed up in one word – fantasy. It can also be overwhelming, because you’re free to hang your fantasy love object banner on them – and because there’s no real life to bring you down.

Real love comes from real life – real contact – before you get there, you’re just perceiving an online persona. If you’re in love with anything, you’re in love with something that doesn’t actually exist.

handy hint: #2 You do know, when the woman you pay for sex tells you what a great lover you are, she really does say that to all the boys?
Corollary: This includes those you pay for:
online bdsm (kink), real life bdsm, phonesex, or cybersex.

Watch out for people who need money for operations, desperate trips to see their dying mother, or to pay crucial bills and the like.

People like me, who want new office chairs or decent chocolate biscuits in the Bikkie Jar of Doom, you can give us all your money without a qualm.

You can trust me, I'm egotistical.

You can trust me, I'm egotistical.

Which makes a pretty neat segue into…

********

Rule 6: there are fakes on the net.

People do meet from the net, and do fall in love/become friends with alarming regularity. I’ve met 100’s of genuine people in real life, in the decade and a bit i’ve been on the net. (No, i didn’t shag them all. One needs chemistry.)

On ‘dating sites’, many of the ‘women’ can be men, hoping that this way they can at least get cybersex. If you were a woman, you’d be alerted by things like “i’m just shaving my clit for you, baby”, (quote from a wannabe woman in an open chat room), whereas the guy she met at a city railway station was SO surprised when a man turned up.

Handy Hint #3: the hair doesn’t grow right on the clitoris, boys.

These men pretending to be women or to be part of couples think you’re so desperate, that any sex will be alright. “Men give better oral to men, right?”

********

Rule 7: the net isn’t full of hot women who will meet you for sex without even seeing a picture of your face. Unless they charge by the half-hour or are infected with something you really don’t want to catch. They aren’t usually hot.

Corollary: An astonishing number of men however, are totally available right now for anything with orifices. Yes, an octopus or a hole in the wall would probably do most of them.

Handy hint #4: Practise safe sex.

Here’s something cheerful. Via the internet, I’ve met a number of  men, (I’m talking about hetero and bi ones not gay men), shagged a few of them, and chatted to 1,000’s – around the world over a decade or so. With probably only a handful of exceptions, when safe sex was discussed, they thought it was optional.

These were men on dating, kink, and  swinger sites – some were wanting one night stands, others relationships – and not just the men, the women too. In cases where sexual liaisons lasted more than one night, most people stopped using condoms after the first few times, convinced they could tell if a person had something unpleasant.

Y’all know, HIV infection doesn’t show any signs, sometimes for 20 years? Neither do many sexually-transmitted diseases. People can be carriers of herpes and various kinds of Hepatitis without knowing at all.

One man rationalised not getting checked even after he found out his wife was having an affair as – he knew the man, and was pretty sure the man was only doing his wife plus his own wife. Wasn’t as if it was someone she picked up in a bar.

People are strange. Which brings us to…

********

Rule 8: dating sites have amazing numbers of married people cheating.

If you suss them out, they’ll often say, while pretending to urbanity, “She knows i have a higher sex drive than she has, and doesn’t mind me looking elsewhere.”

Wow, doesn’t he sound just like Hugh Hefner? And Hef’s such a model of what women want.

Seriously, with all the men on adult dating sites claiming that they’re allowed to cheat – if this many women were so casual over who their man had sex with, we would know about it.

Handy hint #5 men will lie for sex, married men more so.
Corollary: Women lie too.

Apparently divorce is illegal now, (everywhere in the world), otherwise why would all these people be saying, “I love him/her but he/she doesn’t understand my sexual needs so i’m justified in seeking them elsewhere. No, i can’t divorce *pious glance to heaven* for the sake of the children.”

Oh, what a poor suffering victim he/she is. Have we mentioned, to beware professional victims?

Married-people-cheating tell you this claptrap because they want to be covered in case you get the wrong idea, and think that them saying, “I love you! You’re my dream, my one and only, the person i’ve waited for all my life!” means more than “Damn! You could suck a golfball through a garden hose! That’s a talent!”

I’ve been fooled by married people who claimed their relationships were over , and that they were now in love with me.  They weren’t.

They only loved their own penises.

*********

Rule 9: your bank did not send that email.

Nor did Paypal, or any other site you’ve used your credit card in or you have a bank account with. Do not click that link in the email – it’s a fake site that wants to harvest your account passwords.

To minimise this kind of email ending up somewhere where you might click on it without thinking, like in your ISP email, use a hotmail account (or something else without your name on it) when out on the web. Which leads us onwards, and finally…

********

Rule 10: Not everyone on the net is a nice person.

Sad, but true. Along with the criminals (we have those outside the net too, remember?), there are some really damaged people around. Ones who’ll do damage to you if they get a chance.

In real life, you’d see they were completely insane and back away fast – here on the net, it can be harder to tell. Crazy eyes don’t always show in a text-based format. With that in mind, don’t use your real name as a handle on a dating site.

Same goes with Twitter – unless you’re purely using your account for business, you may want to set up your  Twitter, email, blog, etc, so you don’t make it too easy for people to find you. Don’t use your home email, use a hotmail or gmail (or other) account.

********

Handy Hint: #6: You’re the mark. The gullible person they’re hoping to trick.

The internet is just like the real world – most people in it are just ordinary people, but there are also those spammers, cheaters, rip-off merchants – and much worse. (Just Google “lured victim by internet”.)

All of them are types of sociopaths and psychopaths who don’t actually see you as a person. Don’t be a victim – be smart, be safe, and have fun. (I’ve had a lot of fun.) Google is your friend – along with sites like Snopes that debunk hoax and scam emails.

********

This list isn’t exhaustive, but it covers some of the usual suspects.

Handy hint: Lucky # 7: If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

The reason the spammers keep spamming is because people fall for it –  people click the link. You click, they get paid. You sign up, they get paid. All those get-rich-quick schemes are aimed at one thing – getting enough people to buy in so that the person at the top gets rich – not you.

********

If i still haven’t convinced you to be careful online, then don’t forget, donations to the Buy Her Majesty A New Tank Fund Office Chair & Bikkie Fund can be made via my hotmail address, which is posted top right, on this site that anyone with a hotmail address can join.

The badges are my own work, made on
the wonderful Says-It generator site – links to it behind the badges.

© https://stinginthetail.wordpress.com


It’s Fucktard Time at The OK Corral

Have been watching Mr Whatsit get flamed – for what massive crime? (i hear you ask, in a neat literary device thingie.) Was it for abusing someone? No, for daring to mention his dislike of plagiarism, a subject i’ve covered before, (after one of my posts was copied word for word and put up on another blog site as all someone else’s work).

Despite saying he’s against plagiarism, he’s been accused so far of being in favour of censorship, against free speech, and – my personal favourite – of being a communistic Nazi. Wow, i thought, they must be saying that because he’s my consort.

I shouted, “Tell them you’re an anarchist monarchist!” and threw him an assault rifle. We don’t take prisoners in the Kingdom of Darkness. Who wants pet fucktards? You only have to muck out their stables. And feed them pony nuts. Wait, that’s Shetlands.

Fucktards aren’t half as much fun.

most blogs, you get gratuitious pictures of breasts (click image to visit the happy place of worldofhorses)

most blogs, you get gratuitous pictures of breasts - this is a gratuitous Shetland pony. I like ponies. It's my blog. I can have ponies. Do not get between me and my pony. My pony will take you down. Srsly.

I would much rather have a Shetland than a fucktard, and i used to help look after two of the little bastards. Shetlands, that is, not fucktards. I’ve been pony-crazed since rather young, so much so that my parents hired a pony for my sixth birthday.

I thought he was for a present, not for the day. Life pretty much went downhill from there, and this kind of pony-related trauma is why i need to invade Queensland. Ha, thought i’d forgotten?

No way, am merely biding my time, (slightly delayed due to elements temporarily beyond my control, like ‘the world’) then zip, the Queen of Darkness will be across the northern border quicker than you can say, “Would you like pineapple with that?” If not pineapple, it’s banana.

And they don’t ask, it’s just there – ubiquitous pineapple and banana. I was amazed when I moved to Queensland, and grapefruit disappeared from “breakfast juice” to be replaced with pineapple and banana. Strange people, Queenslanders, but for all that, i like them. Generally, they’re very down to earth.

Trapped here in New South Wales, I hesitate to criticise, in case the locals burn me at the stake. Am always wondering if i should play dumb at the supermarket in case someone detects a brain in a woman – or realises i don’t have a badly ageing tattoo somewhere and that i actually read for pleasure – and starts screaming, “She’s a witch, she’s a witch! Burn her!”

Wait, just saying that is pretty critical, right? I will spread the load – it actually reminds me heaps of Western Australia, my home state.

But wait…. before i lose it completely about my beloved homeland, someone deciding anti-plagiarism is a sign of censorship made me realise what’s going on. See, they’re not even in Australia! Yep, we’re in the middle of worldwide fucktard season. Ah, of course, that explains everything.

The bad news? It’s been going on since the dawn of time. For some reason, they won’t let me shoot fucktards, so i have to be content with laughing at them.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com


Culling is too good for them…

It is possibly a sign of me getting more evil with age. However, i am smugly happy as the neighbour who cut down the trees in the park loses fifty feet of grassland and gains a reflecting pond that extends into his back yard. Over his property boundary, imagine that.

I try not to be too smugly happy, as smugness begets fucktarditis. Besides, it’s only just winter, the flooding isn’t bad yet. The ponds are only just filled, the driveways that spend most of the colder months under water are still only puddled. We’re watching with interest to see how bad the flooding gets, whilst hoping we don’t go under too. Sorta “we iz up yr hill, smirking at yr fludwaterz”.

The neighbour who cut down the trees, he’s got some serious flooding going on, thanks to he and the neighbour on the other side removing plants and trees in the park, and cutting the grass to bowling green lengths. That is, too short for a water meadow. This used to be a swamp, you see. They cut a few drains, but the shore has seasonal ponds and flooding.

The more trees, and grass let to grow a decent height, and natural marginal plants that do well in the brackish soil that edges the lake, the less flooding. So the stupid go under, because they want a nice line between their property and the lake, and weed out even full size trees that they consider ‘spoil’ their views.

Unfortunately, this place literally is a swamp, so one must expect seasonal changes with the water table. On the bright side, our bit of it is so windy, we hardly have any problem with mosquitoes.

Argh, just remembered, am going back to Queensland, land of the bugs that bite you. They have this thing referred to disparagingly as the midgie. It’s like a smaller version of a mosquito, they say.

Then you see the first angry red lump with blue lines leading from it, and stare, and your trusty native guide will tell you, “Midgie bite.” Like it’s nothing. They last for weeks, by the way, painful, itchy, and purple-red.

Naturally, being Queen of Darkness, in this topsy-turvy world, i have a natural concoction that keeps both those and the most evil mosquitoes away. I’m susceptible to mozzies – they love  my blood. My first six weeks in Queensland were a frantic search for something that would enable me to go outside without having to wear a mosquito net after dark.

I knew i was on the right track on a beautiful night in the sadly swampy Tweed basin, up on the NSW/Qld border, where i was outside, covered in my patent unguent, and not being bitten, while the mozzies went to the next victim in the chain.

Yes, i thought, victory is mine. Meanwhile, my friend was squealing as she got bitten and we all had to rush inside for her sake. So the moral probably is, it’s good to share the mosquito repellent. Yeah, and it’s just stupid to impose your artificial idea of ‘lakeside living’ on a nature reserve.

The book? It’s going well. This is me smiling in real life, because it is, and i’m not lying, saying “Yeah, great, well, i’m not doing great right now, but i have been, and the block’s are always only temporary…” Anyway, i’m not saying that, i’m just happy with how it’s shaping. And i want to get back to it now.

I just wanted to share my smugness… I’ll be enjoying it while i can. Yeah, before the floodwaters reach our place. These are tidal lakes, and we’re expecting king tides around the end of the first week of June. Lots of rain forecast, hoorah!

Yes, i know where my ark is – here at the Blog of Doom we believe in being prepared since that time we were caught completely unprepared, and discovered the state government was too. I’m sending Mr Whatsit out later, to stock up on chocolate to eat, and kitchen paper towel, to stuff in the leaky places.

Happy winter.

P.S. Mr Whatsit just saw some boys on pushbikes, none older than fifteen, try to break into the house across the road. He noticed them because they were making so much noise, he went to the front door. Six kids hanging out in at the front of the empty house were standing out a little.

To his surprise, they were trying to break in. He went out, yelled oi at them, and get this – they said, this isn’t your place. Well, no, it’s not, local fucktard child, but we’ll still stand up and say oi. Broad daylight. *shakes head*

The police were called, which was relayed across the road by Mr Whatsit calling it. The children seemed shocked at this interference by a neighbour who not only, they pointed out, didn’t own the house, but didn’t live there, and had no right to complain.

They were shouting this across the road as one continued to try to break in through the garage, in full view of and no more than ten feet away from the street. (About 3m.) No less than twenty or so houses could see what they were doing, including people out in their yard two houses away, and a real estate agent arriving to inspect the flood damage at the stupid people’s house. Mind you, nobody else said oi.

After some argument among themselves, (seriously, it was earnest, and audible from our place), the boys stopped trying to gain access over the side fence, or to lever the garage door open, and took off, jeering at Mr Whatsit, loud enough for the police on the line to hear.

Instead of heading for the nearest corner, not far away, they rode off up the hill, giving Mr Whatsit time to describe them all and their bikes to the cops.

Local fucktards in their natural habitat – on bmx bikes. Not one was over fifteen. I’m beginning to think retroactive abortion isn’t such a bad idea.

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com


are you my fucktard-of-the-moment?

Here’s a list of what i might blog about

  1. family… probably not, they may find this blog, besides, my neuroses – and theirs – are something to expose in my fiction.
  2. housemate… no, funny as he is, he has blog address.
  3. landlord… nope, already worried they might read this and figure out a tenant is getting ready to quit.
  4. people on Twitter… gawd, no, not again
  5. people in real life… people? lol…. real life? not at the moment, i’m in limbo.
  6. how much i hate religion or the pope… done it to death, really, though no doubt at next stupid proclamation like ‘condoms cause AID’s!’ i shall probably say something.
  7. sex and politics… nah, something different
  8. fucktards… wait, that might work. People never tire of fucktards and rants about them

Well, they might tire eventually, but it can be entertaining for simply ages. So, what is a fucktard? We are all fucktards at times, we all struggle with the Fucktard Within.

For instance, i back out of a parking spot, nearly collecting someone driving past. I am the fucktard, i didn’t look, or i did look once, then was distracted, and didn’t look again before i committed. Screech of brakes, thankful lack of actual collision and a mea culpa on the fucktarditis. We all do it.

We nearly have that nasty accident. We realise before we light the match that the gas has been on for too long, and decide to just turn the gas off and open the house. We’re about to gun through an intersection as the light changes, and instead stop in time, and avoid the result of our own stupidity. We all have that moment, or the several moments.

Acronyms on the net turn all of us into fucktards. In the overuse of them, and in our misunderstandings of them. Like the woman who thought LOL meant lots of love – and found out it meant Laughing Out Loud only after she’d put it into a condolences email.

Some people become terminal fucktards. These people often win Darwin Awards – these honour those who take themselves out of the gene pool. They also have Honorable Mentions, for those who don’t die.

So that’s being a fucktard. There are degrees.

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Now what? I’m all out of fucktard inspiration. I read some Darwin Awards and i’m not sure we are all fucktards – i think maybe some are, some just have bouts of it. If we are lucky, we survive.

Unfortunately, death by fucktarditis, though cutting a swathe through the population of young men, isn’t common enough with women – there are too many of them breeding.

You only have to watch an episode of any plastic surgery gameshow reality show. Woman goes on about how much she hates her bat ears and massive hook nose, and how she’s going to enjoy her new face sans such horrors. Meanwhile, there are her six children, all with her bat ears and hook nose, cheering Mum on.

***********

Enough about fucktards. What else is news?

Wait, i no longer care, there’s a fucktard on the telly – if you have National Geographic Channel, check out Dangerous Encounters. No other naturalist gets as scared as Dr. Brady Barr, herpetologist, and the man who made “Get it off me!” a catchphrase.

He’s running around dragging a something on rope, making a Komodo dragon chase him, he’s already run off screaming once. Classic Barrisms include “out of my way!” as he runs screaming from whatever is biting him this week, and “Get it off me!”

In nearly every episode he gets bitten or strangled by something – it’s like nature’s revenge on the Steve Irwin Wannabe’s now infesting every nature program.

Dr Barr also gets stuck in the mud whilst surrounded by hippos, while wearing a hippo costume. Yep, it’s the sort of thing one watches when people are annoying you. You cheer as he gets bitten by snakes, and hope a croc rips his leg off.

As Mr Whatsit just said, Dr Barr squeals like a girl. HAHAHAHAHAHA!  He just got Komodo Dragon spit in his mouth! OMG this guy is perfect.

He is moi fucktard-of-the-moment.
I have to go, this episode he’s doing giant salamanders!

© stinginthetail.wordpress.com