Facts about Randall Stephens

The time has come, as we all knew it would: people are asking the question, 'Who is Randall Stephens?' Well, he's this guy. But aside from that point, there is no denying that the question as to Randall Stephens' identity - the postulation as to the ontological reality behind that particular phenomenological signifiier, as it were - is a hard question. A hard question about a hard man. A hard question about a hard man - for hard readers.

FACT! - When Randall Stephens walks up to a bar, he asks for a cold pint of testosterone to drink.

FACT! - When Randall Stephens kisses girls, they instantly sprout moustaches due to his excessive machoness.

FACT!- You might be wondering what happened to all the Care Bears. Well, Randall Stephens eats one every morning for breakfast.

Feel free to add your own facts about Randall Stephens in comments.

Glorious opening

It was a grand morning when the various dignitaries - politicians, musicians, celebrities, representatives of Parliament and the press, supermodels, superheros, sports stars, artistic geniuses, various nice people, and some guy called Jack - gathered around the computer for the cutting of the ribbon, marking the Glorious Opening of another Blog Post By Tim.

The rest of the post was a bit of a disappointment, though.

UPDATE! - Not all openings are quite so glorious as this Glorious Opening!

Medium tedium indeedium

There's nothing boring about Boring, Oregon, especially when it comes to building bridges with the good folks of little Dull, Scotland.

Boring, a rural suburb of Portland named after its early 20th century founding family, is poised to formally declare itself Dull's sister community on June 5 when its community planning organization convenes.... "It will be interesting to see where this goes," [community councillor Marjorie Keddie] said, adding: "Everyone has been smiling at the prospect of the very eye-catching road sign this will inevitably require."

Boring, USA forges links with Dull, Scotland - Ninemsn

I'm not quite sure why these people would get excited at the prospect of a road sign noting an agreement between local councils, but maybe that's why they're living in Dull...But it would be interesting to see the inevitable Dull announcement in the Boring newspaper, or the Boring agenda item in the Dull meeting minutes, or the Boring Councillors discussing the idea over with Dull, or the Dull citizens looking at Boring photos. In time, I'm sure, there will be joint Dull-Boring pronouncements on the Boring-Dull future, maybe even Boring visits to boring Dull, or Dull visits to dull Boring...

Another town that has been in the news later has been Fucking, Austria. Just imagine a sister-community relationship involving that town: Fucking-Dull anyone? How about Boring-Fucking?

UPDATE! - Maybe Dull and Boring could have a sister communities song. Something you could hum. A Ho-Hum?

The seven modes of blogging

Just as the Greeks discovered musical modes by which their music was classified, so too did they discover the seven basic modes of blogging. They are:

Mimetic
Ironic
Sarcastic
Moronic
Catatonic
Polemic
Bubonic.

So what mode do you blog in mostly, do you think?

UPDATE! - Some other less commonly-used blogging modes:

Sardonic
Philharmonic
Colonic
Bernardtomic.

Excerpt from The Canterbury Tails

(I am in many ways a very trivial person - this Anzac Day I have nothing to offer by way of thoughts about war, human sacrifice, the fallen soldiers of Australia and New Zealand, or such like. Instead, I have spent the previous half hour penning the following domestic poem. It is an imitation - or perhaps I should say an irritation - of Chaucer.)

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote

Than longen cattes to sitte hem doon on chaires,

And humans for to stroke their silkene hayres;

Than longen cattes to reste hem safe in boxe

Whiles humannes pat their grey and spottey lockes;

Than longen cattes to hide beneath ye bedde,

Whiles humannes swive uponne ye nette insteade. 

When Zephyrus, eek withe his frowzy mouthe

The welkin bloweth east, west, southe, northe, southe,

(Full sikerley, yt ys a bloustrous daye,

Plusse wilde, wette, woollie, grimme eek also graye),

Than longen folke to loll and tak their ease,

In bedde, on couche, with crackers, eek with cheese;

Than longen cats to jumpe in open lappe,

And curle in balle, and purre, and have a nappe.

To goon on pilgrimage? Manne, be ye nuts? 

The footy's on - sitte doon eek watche, ye putz!

Quiet quite

Accidentally wore my comfy socks to work today... and just between you and me, the levels of warmth, and luxury experienced by my feet in my accidentally-worn comfy socks were quite accidentally comfy indeed. Like having a quiet orgasm at your desk, only more sockish.

Maybe I should accidentally forget to put on work socks more often.

(Mind you, pretty soon I might accidentally forget to forget. And that would be a jolly bother.)

How we used to be shocked

Well, I was shocked. Shock these days is a relatively relative emotion, of course, as there are so many things to be shocked by, so many ways in which to be shocked, so many people to be shocked for, and so many minute advantages to be gained by being shocked. It is possible to be a little shocked, rather shocked, very shocked, ironically shocked, conveniently shocked, furiously shocked, electrically shocked, electorally shocked, shocked by Labor, the Liberals, the Greens, the Nationals, or the football, pleasantly shocked, horror-film shocked, shocked-but-not-surprised, sarcastically shocked, or absolutely and utterly shocked and appalled and horrified. Nevertheless, I was shocked, utterly shocked, upon picking up the latest copy of Melbourne University student publication Farrago and finding that it was not bad, not all bad at all, actually quite good and entertaining in places.

Oh, there were spots of minor irritation - occasionally outbreaks of 'hetero-normative privileging of heterosexual', that sort of thing. There was an interview with resident Green, Adam Bandt, which managed to be rather unctuous - 'forcing action on climate change and a rethink on the war in Afghanistan'. And then there was the little piece by the union president - 'I attend a consultation session with Federal Government representing OH FUCK OFF!' My thoughts at that point may have got a little mixed up with the actual words, sorry.

Still, it looks good - well designed, colourful, uncluttered, great cartoons, nice art. The columns are actually, for the most part, interesting. There's a sciency one about geckos, and a meditative one about the culture of drinking and drinking in culture - more impressive because it mostly manages to avoid phrases like 'an incohate acceptance and penance for the decade's ills'. Mostly. True to student form, there is also the pleasantly-titled Goon Review - it's been done plenty of times before; that lure of cheap alcohol, insobriety, and a chance to brag about it afterwards is a heady cocktail indeed: but never has it been done with such elegance as in the current issue of Farrago.

And then, of course, right next to aforementioned Goon Review was a column by one student detailing how she and her girlfriend set out, during O Week, to have sex in as many public places as possible. Yes. Well. Speaking of shock...

Reader, I recall with fondness the diligent exhibitionism and studious shamelessness of Sydney Uni's Honi Soit writers and editors of days of yore. One year, the editors had the idea of replacing page three girls with page three boys. There was the time ladies from the feminist collective stood up in a student bar and took their shirts off, and stood there bare-breasted, with the word 'Slut' written across their chests. They did so in order to raise awareness of... I'm not sure. There was another issue, I think shortly after I left uni, that published a 'letter' from a 'student' containing details of a private bedroom act in which all of the relevant body parts had been renamed as politicians. 'I placed my hands around his Keating... my Gillard was ready', that sort of thing. This was all back in the dark repressive days of the Howard government, you'll recall, that time when politicians didn't go around having leadership ballots all the time, or bribing independents in order to keep a hold of power, or protecting corrupt union members from being charged by the police, or going through three Speakers of the House in almost as many months.

They were grim days all right, and I suppose they contributed to the general tone of tight-lipped propriety and prudishness at the time. Because never, can I recall, ever did a writer pen a five hundred word essay detailing several sexual encounters in public, one apparently right in front of a football team. Reader, I was utterly shocked and appalled and horrified. I was even shocked.

A clash of thimbles

Cognitive dissonance aplenty at the place of employ, where an email about a free theatre ticket crosses paths with an email about parking tickets being given out in the area. Be in attendance at the performance of a fine by VicRoads? Don't mind if I don't, thanks. Parking inspectors will be handing out comedy show tickets to anyone who's left their car in the wrong place? Depends on the show, I guess.

Mind you, I'm the sort of person who, if a person takes offence, wonders where they take it from, where they're taking it to, what they're going to do with it when they get there, and if they've wrapped up warm for the trip. Plus, once when I was waiting for a job interview and someone asked me to take a seat, I picked it up and said, 'where would you like me to take it to?'

So I am possibly an unreliable interpreter when it comes to these matters.

Thunk from a Saturday morning

It is really annoying, when you are draining the sink, to have plug-shaped objects constantly fall into the area that was previously occupied by the plug-shaped plug. These plug-shaped objects have a predictable habit of stopping the water draining out of the hole-shaped hole, which is somewhat against the purpose of draining the sink.

To solve this problem, I propose a new system whereby, instead of making the hole in the sink the shape of plug-shaped objects, such as plug-shaped jar lids, or plug-shaped bowls, we instead devise a system whereby the hole is non-plug-shaped. Therefore, all we would need to plug up the non-plug-shaped-hole would be a non-plug-shaped-plu.... oh.

Aren't you glad you read this thoughtful post?

New HTML tags to be used on your blog! (Reflecting the needs of the current generation)

<rant>

<sarcasm>

<toomuchselfdisclosure>

<pictureofmeinmyunderpantslookingforpastramiinfridge>

<digression>

<obsessiveinterest> (this tag is often opened, rarely closed)

<catpictures>

<dogpictures>

<duckpictures>

<frogpictures>

<boyfrienddressedasfrogpictures>

<adhominem>

<gush>

<persuasiveargument> (this tag is rarely opened)

<nostalgia>

<trolling> (also rarely closed)

<spam> (closed? as if)

<freechocolatebars> (still to be used)

Now almost defunct html tags

<truth>

<justice>

<niceness>

<civilised>

<interesting>

<witty>

<engaging>

<honourable>

<courageous>

Yet another tedious plan for world domination

Right, this one's got to work. I'm going to start up a boy band, right? Except they won't be a band, because they won't be playing music - instead, they'll go around the world committing acts of artistic conceptualism in public places. Leaving knotted up pieces of string in trees, sealing their bodily fluids in cans, getting random people in the street to sign their autograph, or putting large installations in public art galleries consisting of electrically-controlled objects going on and off for no reason at all.

I mean, come on. There's just got to be a huge untapped market of skivvy-clad intellectuals, who are also young and female and  going to school, who will be just dying to see this group of boy conceptualists doing pointless things in public places repeatedly for huge amounts of money. Right? Right.

Or, to put it another way - take this, add it to this - and profit!

All in good bad taste

When I was a kid occasionally pots of Polish jam would appear in the fridge, which Dad would rather mystifyingly refer to as "radioactive jam"."What do you mean radioactive jam?" I would ask, causing Dad to expound further. "It glows in the dark, Timothy!"

He was referring, of course, to the Chernobyl incident, which as everyone knows destroyed the environment, killed wildlife, and caused quaint little pots of Polish jam to fluoresce in attractive colours. Dad was a health and safety inspector, so he should know.

Anyway, my point is, food is a rich source of memories and associations, sensations from times past and memories from other lands. One of the beauties of a family meal is everyone can reminiscence together about past environmental disasters, whether they be nuclear plant explosions, or toxic gas leaks, or poisoned streams, or GM contamination - there really is no end of past horrific events for mum, dad, and the kids to be horrified, appalled, and self-righteous about.

And there is no better way of enjoying these memories than re-creating the authentic foods of those environmental disasters in your own kitchen. The modern kitchen is marvellous; thanks to the many ingredients you have at your fingertips you have all you will want to be able to make these traditional food stuffs live again. Try this for starters:

Oil spill duck l'orange
This one is simple. Just use the same recipe for duck l'orange that you normally would, but before you do anything else, douse the duck liberally in petrol and let it marinate for a couple of hours. Then proceed with the recipe. Savour that extra richness in the sauce!

Atom Bombe Alaska
Okay, so while it's not technically possible yet to set off this classic dish with an Atom Bomb in your living room (though just think how spectacular that would be for a big family feast!) you can do just as well by using radioactive Polish jam, as mentioned above. Bombe Alaska is made by making classic Baked Alaska in the oven, and then flambeing the whole in a darkened room. Before you stick the Alaska in the oven, turn the lights down and splash several teaspoonfuls of radioactive Polish jam over the top. If you can't get any radioactive jam, you can prepare some for yourself by getting radioactive elements from the local hospital and stirring them into a pot of plum jam. Think how impressed the kids will be!

'Silent Stream' caviar
Let's face it, there are a whole host of wonderful fish dishes to try out there. The true gourmand could hardly walk by the classic whale sushi, or trawl-netted dolphin, but nothing can beat simple delicacies such as caviar - especially when it's come from a stream flavoured with the rich essence of DDT. Now you probably don't have any DDT around the house, but that's okay. Once you have the caviar, wash it lightly in water. Then all you have to do is saute it in a light bath of washing detergent or bleach. It should soak in pretty soon; serve lightly salted - on mother of pearl spoons to avoid tainting the taste of the caviar. Yum!

***

Basically, food is a wonderful way to reconnect with the basics of life - to go back to an earlier time, when man lived in harmony with a blighted, devastated, wasted, poisoned land, and when people in hairshirts marched around the city waving posters in all our faces. Fun for the whole family!

(Feel free to add your own recipes in comments)

Instructions for backyard cricket

Instruction #7b: If you don't have a cricket bat in the house, use a fruit bat or a wombat instead. They won't mind.

An exceedingly pertinent point

"Hey, because we don't have any coffee, it's okay to have a glass of Kahlua in the morning instead, isn't it?"

"Have two!"

A certain tense moment

There is a certain tense moment when you walk into the room, and you see the cat, and the cat sees you, and you see that the cat is thinking.

What is the cat thinking? Is the thinking it is thinking entirely innocent, or is it thinking that it can see you seeing it thinking? Maybe it is thinking what you are thinking as you see it thinking, and it sees you seeing it thinking. You wouldn't put it past the cat.

It probably is entirely innocent, whatever thinking it is that the cat is doing. But at certain times, that certain tense moment is followed up by a certain action:

Cat crouches on table next to glass of water and thinks
You see cat
Cat sees you
You see cat seeing you
Cat reaches out with paw and pushes glass of water over.

So you see, you never can be sure just what the cat is thinking, or whether what the cat is thinking is what you would want it to be thinking. Which is a little worrying... I think.

This has been another Crazy Old Cat Man post by Tim.

Bleauwgh bleauwgh bleauwgh

omnomnomnomomatopaeia (n) - the sound of words that are being pronounced as the speaker is eating something, resulting in words that sound like someone eating.

Upon matters entomological, economical, and etymological

Upon recent botanical surveys of the environment in the immediate vicinity of our Lalorian provinces, local monitors could not fail to take note of the proliferation amongst the flora of a certain species of creature. The pertinent points about said creature were as follows: it was 'green', it was a 'bug', and we found it upon the 'vegetables'.

With all the zeal of the famous botanists and biologists of yore (whenever yore was) we immediately took these observations to that eminent entomological record otherwise known as the internet, thinking it was time to find the appellation of this curious specimen that habituated the foliage of our own environs, in the way that we have thus described - ie, being 'green', being a 'bug', and living upon 'vegetables'.

In the fullness of time*, our labours were rewarded with an answer - said 'green' 'bug' that lived upon 'vegetables' was, to all intents and purposes, labelled, denominated, symbolised, given the epithet, and, in a word, known as the GREEN VEGETABLE BUG.

Notwithstanding this disappointment, our monitors carried on their monitoring, and our researchers continued forth with their researches; for it was not only in our back or front yard that such entomological wonders were to be brought to the light. For, it seemed, upon conducting a strict economical stocktaking of the cupboard in the kitchen, otherwise known as the 'pantry', we came to be familiar with a number of small winged creatures, of the genera or species or whatever of 'moth'. Behold, for we had another creature to reward our entomological endeavours! A type of 'moth' that found its domicile in the 'pantry'! What curious nom-de-plume would we find for this 'moth' of the 'pantry', we wondered?

We immediately took ourselves once again to that eminent journal etc etc etc etc etc etc and presently the internet told us that those phantastical beasts that closeted themselves in our closet, those 'moths' of the 'pantry' were called none other than PANTRY MOTHS.

It was then that a heavy despair began to settle over our souls and we wondered whether or not it might be more profitable to spend our times scoffing the remaining Easter chocolate. Which we duly did.

*About five seconds. 

Hard questions for hard readers! This is what I am asking - hardly.

On the one hand, there are the believers. They are people who have stuck with Him from day one, like limpets to a clam or a nail to a wall or one sticky thing to another thing which it is sticking to. On the other hand, there are the skeptics - the many disaffected people who have gradually become disillusioned with belief in Him, who have come to doubt the many myths told about Him, and who argue that it is possible - indeed, even vital - to lead a fulfilling life that is not centred around His words or deeds.

It's time we took up this controversial topic at Will Type For Food: does Richard Dawkins really exist?

Of course, it is true that Richard Dawkins appears to believe that Richard Dawkins exists. But is Richard Dawkins' faith in Richard Dawkins enough? What if Richard Dawkins' belief in Richard Dawkins turned out to be based on false premises? Who would we be able to turn to then?

On the other hand, many other believers in Richard Dawkins will point out that there needs to be an ultimate meaning behind the name Richard Dawkins, and if that meaning is not Richard Dawkins himself, well then, what are we left with? They will point to the many works of Richard Dawkins as evidence of his existence - the books, the television appearances. But can we trust this? What if it all turned out to be a coincidence?

It's a question to which there are no easy answers. Perhaps the most we can hope for these days is an honest agnosticism about the question of Richard Dawkins' existence - he may be out there, or he may not: but we need someone to fill a television program, and if not Richard Dawkins, then who?

But just suppose Richard Dawkins was proven not to exist. What would he do with his life then?

Another astounding not-ad

Tired? Suffering from hair loss? Looking for fabulous underwear? Want chocolate? Why not

LEAVE A COMMENT ON A BLOG!

It might make your car go faster!


This has been another astounding not-ad from Tim.

Don’t hold back, tell me how you really feel , but only if it fits in 149 charact

You’ll remember how the other day Shore old boy Trenton Oldfield swam midstream to disturb the Oxford boat race in order to protest something or other. One of the rowers, William Zeng, had this to say about the incident:

When I missed your head with my blade I knew only that you were a swimmer, and if you say you are a protester then, no matter what you say your cause may be, your action speaks too loudly for me to hear you. I know, with immediate emotion, exactly what you were protesting. You were protesting the right of seventeen young men and one woman to compete fairly and honorably, to demonstrate their hard work and desire in a proud tradition. You were protesting their right to devote years of their lives, their friendships, and their souls to the fair pursuit of the joys and the hardships of sport. You, who would make a mockery of their dedication and their courage, are a mockery of a man.

Excellently put. Trouble is, Zeng did this on Twitter, so that eloquent paragraph originally came out like this:

8 Apr William Zeng ‏ @Zengscape
FavoritedFavorite • Close Open Details
and the hardships of sport. You, who would make a mockery of their dedication and their courage, are a mockery of a man.

8 Apr William Zeng ‏ @Zengscape
Reply RetweetedRetweet Delete FavoritedFavorite • Close Open Details
You were protesting their right to devote years of their lives, their friendships, and their souls to the fair pursuit of the joys

8 Apr William Zeng ‏ @Zengscape
Reply RetweetedRetweet Delete FavoritedFavorite • Close Open Details
to demonstrate their hard work and desire in a proud tradition.

8 Apr William Zeng ‏ @Zengscape
Reply RetweetedRetweet Delete FavoritedFavorite • Close Open Details
you were protesting. You were protesting the right of seventeen young men and one woman to compete fairly and honorably,

8 Apr William Zeng ‏ @Zengscape
Reply RetweetedRetweet Delete FavoritedFavorite • Close Open Details
no matter what you say your cause may be, your action speaks too loudly for me to hear you. I know, with immediate emotion, exactly what you

8 Apr William Zeng ‏ @Zengscape
Reply RetweetedRetweet Delete FavoritedFavorite • Close Open Details
When I missed your head with my blade I knew only that you were a swimmer, and if you say you are a protester then,

You have to read it from bottom to top to make sense of it, and the sentences are chopped off in the middle! That is as good a demonstration as any other as to why Twitter will never be an effective medium for argument.

Inappropriate surprise parties

Playing golf. 

While skydiving.

Chess tournaments.

At a silent monastery.

At the commencement of coronary bypass surgery in the operating theatre.

Surprise funerals.

Plan for world domination #7-and-a-bit

Start up a blog called FOOTBALLERS AND PUPPIES.

Who could resist it? Lots of lovely photographs of the most adorable playful joyful creatures known to man, and the puppies wouldn't be bad either.

It is clear that the wild popularity of such a blog would rapidly lead, through inexorable physical forces, to my domination of the world's economic, political, technological, militaristic, and whatever-else-you-can-think-of systems.

Now to just find a steady supply of footballers and puppies...

The big list...

... of things that Beatrice the cat does when she wants to go outside in the morning.

Bite toes.
Put claws in feet.
Walk around the bed.
Miaow incessantly, in as many tones of voice as possible.
Walk back and forth on the bed head.
Walk back and forth on the pillows, over our faces.
Eat paper on the floor.
Chew on the magazines on the lower lying shelves.
Put claws in your face.
Jump upon stomachs.
Sit on various parts of various humans until they wake up.
Sit on human's chest, put claws around their neck, and knead the pillow.
Claw carpet.
Claw seat.
Claw bedspread.
Claw flyscreen.
Pee on wall.
Take running long jumps into the middle of the bed from the floor, as if there is an army of invisible mice in the middle of said bed that need to be captured. Do this about one hundred times.

This is a developing list...

Economise, expletivise!

When you are trying to drive in a nail with a heavy hammer, and hit your finger instead, the short, sharp monosyllable which you employ - and which I strongly suspect that even the Archbishop of Canterbury would employ in the like painful circumstance - comes of an instinctive desire to relieve the over-burdened soul.
Walter Murdoch, Bad Language

All very true of course, but you have to wonder why anyone would need an excuse. For instance, when I want to swear, I get rid of the nail and just hit my finger with the hammer instead. One less thing needed.

UPDATE! - Anyway, if it's so easy to hit your finger with a hammer when you're aiming for a nail, you'd think the best way to hit a nail would be to aim the hammer at your finger instead. But who knows? Kids, try this at home! The only way to find out is through an experiment!

Me make you aweish at my word power

Me! Thornbury! This afternoon! Sprout Community Market! Me have good zines! You pay me big money quick-quick! Me make you aweish at my word power! Lots poetry heaps good! Come along! Okaybyenow.

PS Buy my zine!

Post-thing

These days I seem to spend an awful lot of time wandering about looking for things, and then when I am finally looking at the things I was looking for, looking at those things and wondering what it is about those things that I am looking for.

What sort of things? What sort of things? What a ridiculous question! Flower-things! Garden-things! Book-things! You know the sort of.... well... thing.

I mean, is it just all the things in general that I want? Is it a thing amongst the things in particular that I am looking for, the third thing from the right, the one with the other thing on it? Before I go looking for things to look at, ought I to compose a list of important things so I know beforehand what sort of thing I am looking for amongst the things? But what if I change my mind about something? And anyway, I don't know what to think about the things before I go and look at the things, I just know that I like going to look at the things! It's all very confusing.

What I mean to say is, it's the principle of the thing! It's the point of the thing! It's the thing of the thing! That's the thing that we ought to be thinking about. Right? So, everyone... thing!

You are a cat #somethingorother

You are a cat, remember?

The situation is this: it is almost dawn, and you are up and about. Your humans are not. You wish to be outside. Your humans wish to remain in bed. Clearly, this is a complicated domestic situation, and will require the utmost in Negotiation, Tact, and Diplomacy in order to achieve an optimum result for all interested parties.

Crush the toes of your human beneath your powerful jaws! Proceed to shred any rare books, precious contracts, or expensive bills with your dagger-like teeth! But only if you spring joyously back and forth on your humans' stomachs like they are a trampoline first! That's Negotiation! That's Tact! That's Diplomacy!

You are a cat. You are outside. Excellent.

It's time we stopped blaming the pheremones and got back to a sense of personal responsibility

Do you want to know what's been on my mind for ages (if by ages you mean two days at least)? Well it's too bad because I'll tell you anyway. Dogs sniffing other dogs bums, that's what. What's up with that?

I mean here you have a typical case - a Great (in every sense of that word) Dane, majestically bounding over the other side of a road, where a pathetic (in the only meaningful sense of that word) terrier quivers, and then the two dogs quibble over the proximity of one another's rectal areas.

Can anything be more undignified? Can anything be sillier? Two creatures, of disparate sizes, and of contrasting colours, sitting at opposite ends on the Brilliant-to-Ridiculous spectrum, haggling over who will get to inhale the gaseous aromas wafting forth from the sphincter of the other. It makes you question the meaning of it all, doesn't it? A dog, normally a respectable, reliable member of society, who does not go around sniffing the posteriors of humans, cats, possums, squirrels, monkeys, birds, apes, wombats, or any other species or genera or whatever, suddenly loses all control and compunction when placed in proximity of another dog, no matter what it's size, and no matter how different the two creatures may be in appearance.

 What's the point, dogs? Pull yourselves together!

Disappointing ad campaigns for suburbs

Make Hurstbridge your first bridge!

South Morang - it sounds a bit like that thing that tastes nice!

Darebin - not just rubbish!

Frankston - Frank lives here. Maybe.

Reservoir - it's more than just a name!

Research - look into it!

Parkmore or less.

Chocolate - you can eat it in Nunawading!

Keon Park - they named a train station after us!

I think therefore I Sandringham.

Boronia - a B-rated suburb!

Box Hill - it's all right.

UPDATE! - Sydney edition.

Zetland - listed last in the street directory!