Destroying the world: public good, or private responsibility?

Well, apparently the Government is cutting funding to the CSIRO. As we all know from documentaries, realistic dramas on the television, and informative and educational works of fiction, scientists at the CSIRO spend all their time figuring out ways to expode the world, travelling forwards in time to the end of the universe, travelling backwards in time to the age of the dinosaurs, reanimating the rotting corpses of dead people, switching the brains of humans with apes (and vice versa), creating armies of robots to dominate the world, setting up lines of telepathic communication with evil spiders halfway across the universe, and engineering vast black holes to destroy the universe. But apart from that, what else have they done for the betterment of Australia?

Supporters of the CSIRO often claim that without government funding, they would not be able to effectively work out new ways of destroying the world, or setting up robot armies to dominate us all, and so on, and so on. On the other hand, maybe private initiative would be able to step in and help out? Although the philanthropic organisation SPECTRE, devoted to the charitable goals of annihilating democracy and bending the rest of the world to its will, has fallen by the wayside of late, it is true that there remain hundreds of other private interests and charitable societies with similar goals in mind. Pokemon, for instance. Perhaps they would be able to fund the activities of Australian scientists instead?

Also, this may seem controversial, but I'll say it anyway: why should the Government be relied upon to dominate the world, and conquer the universe? Shouldn't this be the responsibility, equally, of private world-domination companies, who can do it, off the public dollar?

Destroying the world: is it a public good, or a private responsibility? It's a dilemma we must all face up to from time to time.

(Riffing on the idea suggested in Jeremy's title)

So you say you're an accountant? Then account for yourself!

This piece, which recently ran on Sixty Minutes, says that DNA evidence indicates that all people living on the earth today are descended from a tribe of bushmen living in the Kalahari Desert. All very interesting, but quite out of date. More recent genetic, linguistic and cultural evidence all point to the one undeniable truth - that people all over the world today are related to an ancient firm of Box Hill accountants who over the millenia have peopled the world.

A typical specimen of the accountant race. Note the cranial size and the protuberant lips.

Until recent times, there have been many objections to the 'Accountancy' theory of human development. For instance, some biologists have argued that money didn't exist until several thousand years ago, which would have meant that the original accountants from which we have all descended would have been effectively out of a job before that. Well, yes. And you can imagine how depressed they all were. Why do you think there were so many wars?

Members of the accountancy tribe engaged in cultural activities. The one to the right is singing a folk song, that has been passed down from generation to generation of accountants, in invocation to one of the many powerful Gods of his tribe.

For millions of aeons, members of this Aboriginal accountancy tribe roamed the vast plains of Box Hill, hunting their natural prey of baked beans and cappucino, developing rudimentary tools specific to their needs, such as the 'pen', the 'laptop', and the 'microwave'. Although it's hard for us to understand, removed as we are from these accountants' way of life, their life must have been incredibly rich and varied, and there must have always been some sum to add up or set of books to complete. Tragically, it seems that members of this original Accountancy firm may be dying out, with no-one to replace them. The temptations of modern life, it seems, are too much.

However, when told that all people, all colours and creeds and ways of life, come from his firm of Accountants, the chief of the tribe nods his head humbly. "It makes sense," he says, in an obscure language that can only be understood by the people who speak it, known as 'English'. "People had to come from somewhere. Now. Can you please stand up? You're sitting on my calculator."

Such timeless wisdom!

The blurst of all possible worlds

AROUND MELBOURNE

- Two hooded assailants yesterday stopped a man in the street and held him captive at daisy-point while they patted his dog. This has been only one in a series of pat-and-run incidents recently. Police are appealing for witnesses to the crime to come forward.

- A notorious grandmother was spotted by witnesses this morning viciously watering her Azaleas in Coburg. Those nearby report her shouting softly to the victims, "There there! That's all right! Isn't that lovely?"
"It was terrible!" reports a neighbour. "She waters her Azaleas every day. Not too much, and not too little. It's the most savage thing I've ever seen anyone do!"
The Azaleas are currently assisting police with their inquiries. When questioned by this paper, they bloomed uncontrollably at mention of the crime.

- Juvenile undelinquency is on the rise, with reports from all over the city of unsupervised gangs of youths going on good-deed-doing rampages - raking footpaths, cleaning windows, and helping little old ladies across the street. Amidst widespread outbreaks of law and order, the police have called for calm.
The Premier, John Brumby, has stated that it is time for parents to do more to combat the shocking rise in juvenile undelinquency statistics. "Give them more M rated videos to watch, for instance. Violent video games are also good. Oh, and why not help them find websites that are unsuitable for their age? And maybe a spray can on their birthday - that should work." Mr Brumby says that it just calls for "a little creative parenting", and that it is the responsibility of "mums and dads all around the state" to assist children on the path to juvenile delinquency.
However, for those people with their windows freshly cleaned, their paths newly raked, and their dogs recently walked, it's already too late.

Bill O'Reilly's beautiful soul

Here's a clip of famous American presenter Bill O'Reilly struggling to read from a teleprompter. I got it from Club Troppo.



Of especial interest is the way he snorts through his nose when he gets angry, his apparent difficulty with the name 'Sting' and the phrase 'to play us out', and the rapid change from angry shouty Bill O'Reilly to benevolently beaming Bill O'Reilly.

But I don't know what everybody's laughing at. O'Reilly is merely doing what he does best here. He's performed the nose-snorting successfully in many hard-hitting political interviews, and later on, the angry shouty act was actually scripted into his teleprompt. In fact, this impromptu act merely sets the scene for later renowned performances.

Bill O'Reilly is a devoted husband and loving father, and is said to practice for his shows by reading books to his children at home.

Puffing on his pipe in a nostalgic manner....

Growing up in Balranald, I didn't have many television stations to watch, just ABC and Southern Cross. The ABC, with a nightly episode of Doctor Who, was enough for me. I like to think that I saw through the Daleks straight away, as the inverted trash-cans on wheels that they were, but the Cybermen - well, they scared the hell out of me. Shiny silver men with hollow eyes? Creepy. No wonder I gravitated towards Dad's lap when they came on. Scary as they were, I kind of liked the Cybermats - slug-like silver metallic creatures made by the Cybermen that slunk around on the floor and jumped for your throat. Why? I guess it's because I thought they were Cyberman pets. Evil, homicidal pets that could turn you into a cyberman, true, but still pets. It seemed natural, really: humans had dogs and cats, cybermen had cybermats.

Why do I mention this now, you ask? Only because I have found the twenty-first century answer to the Cybermat...

Behold the horror that is the Cyberbunny!

Euro-Fluoro-Neurovision

At work today someone decided that there was going to be a Eurovision Sweepstakes, and everyone at the transcription desk bought into the competition. People got the Ukraine, Malta, Lithuania, Latvia; I got Ireland (with this strobarific song - I've got no hope.) Boss Man himself went nuts and attempted to create a one-man hegemony of the competition, buying five separate entries. Apparently, he reckons Albania's going to blitz the competition.

So, will it be Albania's day? Will they triumph over feisty little Malta? Who knows? Who cares? Certainly not me. I might have bought into the competition, but I'm not crazy enough to actually watch the thing, man.

Borisology

FACT: Boris Johnson has grommets in his ears.

The Non-sequitur Weekly

"Read by intelligent people, and oxymorons, all over the world!"

Well, hello and welcome to another issue of Non-Sequitur Weekly - and we hope you come back soon! Not only do we hope that you have an enjoyable read in store, but it always was that way.

In this issue of Non-Sequitur Weekly, we ask some hard questions, and good for him, too. The topics we will be covering today include:

- One sentence book reviews!

- Cat-lovers dog of the week!

- Hard-hitting coverage of international affairs, and knitting!

- Concerning issues of concern!

- Grammatical oddity of the week!

(This list is comprehensive, but not all inclusive.)

So sit back, relax, and enjoy your latest copy of the Non-Sequitur Weekly, and did you see the telly last night? There were some really great shows on...
- THE EDITOR

***

NON-SEQUITUR WEEKLY: ONE-SENTENCE BOOK REVIEWS

The Poet Who Forgot, Catherine Cole
Readers of A D Hope's poems will find themselves fascinated by this account of his life, which certainly proves Einstein's theory of relativity for once and for all.

Helen Garner and the Meaning of Everything, Alex Jones
Many people consider lamingtons delicious, and cows are not closely related to goats, so why not give this novel a go?

The Spare Room, Helen Garner
Our reviewer certainly enjoyed this heartfelt semi-autobiographical novel, so you probably won't either.

Breath, Tim Winton
A gripping read which grabbed our attention from the first page, and didn't let us go until we took her dog to the vet.

***

CAT-LOVERS DOG OF THE WEEK Woof Woof! Meow! Rover is our dog of the week, the finest tabby you have ever seen! ENJOYS: Chasing cats, rubbing himself against your leg. VERY FRIENDLY with most children, though usually on bad terms with all of them. EATS: CHUM dog food, whiskas cat food.

***

THE INTERNATIONAL SCENE

Well, fellow non-sequiturians, to great controversy, it seems that Boris Johnson has triumphed over Ken Livingstone to become Mayor of London: but what does this mean for knitters?

It is immediately obvious that Johnson is a man of great ability: however, the number of Londoners drinking tea lately is in terminal decline. To find out, all we need to do is ask knitters, as a mere glance at an Albanian television guide two weeks previously will show.

Faced with such insuperable difficulties in his first term as Mayor, Johnson should clearly adopt a dog. We suggest a beagle for a start. Weimeraners are also good. In addition, it should be observed that knitters are rarely wrong on these matters.

However, there is another point which we should also consider: pillows. The Tory economic policies don't seem to take this matter fully into consideration. The Non-Sequitur Weekly has also identified several other key areas of concern for Johnson and the Tories: bees, fedoras, the difference between American and English spelling, Charles Dickens, yellow handkerchiefs, and dahlias. Nevertheless, Labour is faced with severe difficulties of their own: pockets, top hats, the importance of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in the development of classical and romantic music, teddybears, floppy-eared creatures, and gollywogs.

It is also apparent that harpsichord will be a difficulty for both sides.

Mr Johnson nevertheless brings considerable intelligence and vigour to the job, and we can be sure he will meet the task with enthusiasm. Let's hope we can say the same for knitting.

***

CONCERNING ISSUES OF CONCERN

- Some people prefer their gingerbread with raisins, and some without. This clearly has concerning ramifications for the Western Australian economy.

- A reader from Melbourne writes: "I am worried about the disposal of rubbish in our area, and he is, too." But what on earth does this have to do with the international space race?

- What do Tom Cruise, Katie Holmes, Nicholas Cage, and Kevin Rudd have in common? We certainly think not.

- BOOTS are in this season! But are spotty dogs better than plain dogs, or does it depend on the time of day?

***

GRAMMATICAL ODDITY OF THE WEEK

The Sequitur

A sequitur, something that logically follows. For instance:

"Grass is green. My lawn is made from grass. Therefore, my lawn is green."

Clearly, you should avoid falling into this trap as much as possible, for the sake of icecream.

NEXT WEEK IN THE NON-SEQUITUR WEEKLY: Non-sequitur quiz! Interviews with politicians! News! Opinions! That's a nice dress you're wearing, where did you buy it? Oh, and MORE! In Non-Sequitur Weekly - the magazine that does not follow!

Monoculturalmultiglot

Walking along Murray Road to Preston Markets yesterday, I was pulled up by a furious donging bell. It was, as it turned out, a Chinese lady cycling lackadaisically on her bike towards the markets. I moved out of her way and she sailed lackadaisically into the markets on her bike, probably donging the bell all the way. (I'm not sure if she planned to stay on her bike all through the markets. I wouldn't put it past her.)

The Preston Markets are an impossible place, a contradiction in terms. I remain unconvinced that anyone buys anything there, since the main capital they stock are nick-nacks that make you go 'oh' in surprise, but don't convince you that you'd want to buy them. There are cooking pots without handles, and handles without cooking pots, and egg flips that are made out of plastic (would you like your egg sunny-side up, or polystyrenised?)

Also, they only open on Saturday. But walking past the various cafes in the markets, I noticed fat Italian gentlemen sitting around drinking coffee and opening out their newspapers. Do they get their papers home delivered the rest of the week and then saunter into the markets? My theory is that the chubby Monsignors come with the place; that, along with the rest of the cafe, they are locked up early on Saturday afternoon and, folding up their copies of Il Monde, lie down to hibernate. Last week, I noticed an ancient Chinese grandmother waddle out of the supermarkets pushing her wheel-bag along the ground. A little kid was standing up in this wheel bag, looking up in faint surprise at the world. Did the Chinese grandmother get him from the markets? Or was it the other way around? (I can remember thinking at the time, "I hope he's remembered to validate his ticket.")

In various forays into the market, I have also run into gangly Vietnamese lads hawking shonky coffee pots, bepimpled teenage Lebanese selling greasy German sausages, portly Greek grocers with almost all their teeth missing grocing away, and a group of Sudanese either carrying a bag of bones, thinly covered with raw meat, into the train station out of the markets, or out of the train station and out of the markets. I might have made a few of those up, it's impossible to tell as far as Preston Markets are concerned.

Faced with such a varied concourse of humanity, what can I do but retreat hysterically into my own individuality? Everytime I enter into the markets, a wave of panic sets over me, and I am beset with unitary personality disorder; I have a 'reverse epiphany' and encounter 'the opposite of enlightenment.' In my crazed non-schizoid state, I suffer from hallucinations about the Preston Markets three hundred years ago, a place known amongst the Indigenous people as one that was haunted by spirits, fat white creatures that shook weird rectangular objects and drank steaming cups of hot black liquid...

As a great man didn't say: if the Preston Markets did not exist, it would be necessary for them to exist. Or, to put it another way: you can't take the Preston out of the Preston Markets, and you can't take the Markets out of the Preston Markets either. Or, to put it another way: neither the chicken nor the egg came first. You can buy both from the Preston Markets. Probably on a stick, and with a side serving of grease.

Thought for the day

If we really only had one thought for the day, then we'd be in trouble all right.


Rodin's thinker struggles to produce his quota of one thought for the day.

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Blogging as a conceptual art

Imitation of a blog post written by a person who is sitting in a tub full of live eels

Hello! This is a blog post being written by me, Tim T, who is currently sitting in a tub full of ... ah! Oooh! Ewwwww! ... as I say, this is a blog post, written by me, currently... ooooh! Hahahahaha! OUCH! I didn't know these things had tee... er, anyway. Blog post. I wrote it. I'm currently sitting in this tu... YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH! How did that get in...BUZZ! Hey, who was the joker that slipped an electric... Yuck! Ooh! ooh! hey! hey! Wha... OW! HA! UNGGGGGH! Get out get out get out! Engh! Ooof! Right! So, as I was saying. I'm sitting amongst these live eels, and would just like to say this important thing about politi... OHHHHHH NOOOOO! How did that thing get in my p... no! no! don't go the... out! out! out! out! I don't understand, I had it all zipped up and the belt was... AAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

This has been an imitation of a blog post written by a person who is sitting in a tub full of live eels

UPDATE! - Squelch!