The time for the ancient ceremony has arrived

''IT IS THE TIME', said Macca to Wally,

'To go down the hill in our shopping trolley'

'Then let it be so', said Wally, and Lo!

They went down and smashed up like FUCK in the valley below.

Who the heck is Carol?

You know, there's been a lot of talk lately about kids not being able to sing carols in schools anymore and what not, but I don't know. I think I've come up with the perfect carol for such situations. Nobody could possibly get offended by it at all.

Nobody Knows Carol

Where are we going? 

Nobody knows. 

Where do we come from? 

Nobody knows. 

Why celebrations? 

(Not very clear)

Just as we did

The same time last year - 

It's not very clear

What nobody knows

And nobody knows

What nobody knows - 

Nobody, nobody knows. 

Whose birthday is it? 

What's all this for? 

Nobody knows

Plus we're not really sure - 

We hope it is merry,

Though who can tell why? 

If nobody talks

Nobody will lie - 

Though who can tell why

If nobody knows

And nobody knows

What nobody knows - 

Nobody, nobody knows. 

Would I tell if I should,

Should I tell if I could? 

Nobody knows

If I should or would - 

So don't even think

And don't ask don't tell

For no-one was born

And it's just as well

And don't ask don't tell

What nobody knows

For nobody knows

What nobody knows - 

Nobody, nobody knows. 

*Whispers*. Merry Christmas everyone. 

It's alive! I hear they have a pill for that now!

Hello and here is an article about euthanasia and for no reason here are some exciting new medical euphemisms I invented.

Treatment for existential dependence disorder.

Performing whole body amputations.

Involuntary respiratory therapy.

Pre-vegetative state.

Suffering from unified personality disorder.

Extreme delayed terminus syndrome (EDTS).

Euthanasia for persistent non-dysfunctionality.

Suffers from existential ideation.

Subjective continuation dysfunction.

Alleviation of sense of severe normalisation and ongoing prolongation of being.

Treatment for over-functionality of self-actualisation.

Systematic externally-induced nescience.

Standing under what?

Some write to state their meaning clearly

I write to make mine foggy

So readers get it not quite nearly

And leave off, feeling groggy. 

Do comment if you don't understand, and don't comment if you do understand.

The craft beer contrarian

Beer tastings are weird. Grown men nod sagely over tiny glasses and agree that butterscotch is bad, honey is bad, green apple and red apple is bad, but burnt-rubber-sulfur is wonderful.

Moss piglet action

You want to know what I'm thinking about? (And if you don't want to know, you should want to want to know). Tardigrade sex, that's what! What's that all about? How on earth do tardigrades - infinitesimally small creatures - find one another to begin with? Because humans suffer from the same inclination from time to time, they built towns and cities so that we know where everyone is, but tardigrades hardly have the good sense to do that. It's not like they even have proper brains. Basically, it's like one needle in the haystack going in search of another needle in the haystack - and finding it. What?

And then! When they actually happen upon another! What on earth possesses the tardigrade to actually carry out its tardigradular duties? "Tardigrades are oviparous", reassures Wikipedia, "and fertilization is usually external." Okay then, that's not so bad, but... "A few species have internal fertilization, with mating occurring before the female fully sheds her cuticle." So they do have sex after all! But surely at this point, the sex-crazed tardigrade would rightly think, "Ew! It's a small wriggly buggly thing! I'm not going near that!" I mean, just look at them!

Tardigrade, sex machine. 

Stubby little ridiculous thing with legs splodged out on either side of them! I have no idea what gets into tardigrades' minds to make them think it's actually okay. (True, they don't actually have minds. But that's no excuse.)

Tardigrade sex. Hot, heavy, horny  tardigrade sex. This is what keeps me awake at night. (No no, not that way. Good heavens - never that way!)

Silly old gaffer

Actual conversation that actually just happened:

*Ringring* *Ringring*

TIM: Hello? 

LADY:We're ringing to talk about your gaffe supply. 

TIM: Gaffe? I make them all the time. 

 LADY: *Laughter* I've never heard that joke before. 

 TIM: Really? Surely everyone makes it. 

 LADY: So anyway, we're ringing to ask about your gaffe line. 

TIM: Gaffe line? A line delivering gaffes to our property? What are you talking about? 

(I can see the gaffe in my minds eye at this point, running along the pipe, a greyly rubbery flubbery substance, coming out a gaffe tap).

BARON: I think they're talking about gas. 

TIM: OH! (Pause) (To lady on phone) Are you talking about gas? 

Well.... that was something of a gaffe.

Irregardless of my critics

'Irregardless' is, too all intensive purposes, a misunderestimated word. There are currently many such words and phrases in our English tongue today, so that even those who are disinterested in learning, English sin taxes, and grandmas, may wish to pay a tension to them. They are literally the building blocks that form the inexorable march forward into progress of our language, so much more so than the stale old formalities that have tied us all back behind our class on the ladder for so long. Besides, what is language for if not for mutual communicants or repression of ideas? Nothing, or maybe even very little, let me tell you! So let us not worry anymore about subjecting our words to objectification, or objecting to their subjugation in accusative cases of law, for all these old rules are getting quite dative.  And so, without further, adieu.

They are coming

The Mormons  are coming along the street

With a bite for every dog to eat

And a sheaf of wheat for your pet galah

The Mormons are coming hoorah! 

The trees all applaud with a welcoming breeze

The flowers all buzz with the greeting of bees

For they've come from afar from the land of Utah

The Mormons are coming hoorah! 

They're greeting the stray cats with sweet salutations

They're reading the sparrows the news of salvation

There is jubilant honking from every car

The Mormons are coming hoorah hoorah

The Mormons are coming hoorah! 

Twelve things that only a uni student from the 1690s will understand

No fancy technology for us back in the 1690s, let me tell you. If we wanted a merkin, we had to make it ourselves.

1. Monday morning repression of Catholics.

 The week just wasn't the same without it.

2.When your essay is due, like, yesterday but you accidentally lost your nose in a fit of syphilitic fervour, and you just have to find it first.

 I'm pretty sure it went under the bed.

3. "Not aorist AGAIN!"

Am I right or am I right guys?


4. When you fight with your best friend over whether Deuteronomy is better than 2 Chronicles.

 It all depends on whether it's an OKJV or Geneva translation, okay? No need to duel over it.

5. When you've had nothing but mouldy cabbage to eat all year, and your friend catches a leprous rat.

The tail is kinda crunchy! 

6. Your friend keeps beating you in the headlice races, but you found a real winner hiding beneath your favourite whore's merkin, and you've been training it up all month.

Game on, bro. 

7. Grimalkin sleepeth in your periwig again.

Always sleepething where she's not supposed to. 

So tiresome. 

8. That one time a Dutch hipster slipped hops into your morning ale.

I prefer my alcoholic malt beverage to contain bog myrtle and wormwood at this time of the morning, thanks very much my good man. 

9. An old college fellow has invited you to another metaphysical reading, but you have a pastoral comedy you'd rather attend.

Party like it's 1585! 

10. You keep on thinking you find the philosopher's stone in your pocket.

That Grimalkin hath a lot to answer for. 

It's usually just a dried-up furball. 

11. Wednesday evening mockery of the French.

They look like a sheep's bottom and they smell funny! 

12. When you need a paperweight to read this latest pamphlet by the damnable Whigs, so you end up using the chamberpot.

It's okay so long as you're careful not to spill anything. 

A Spoonerist poem about the US election

Presenting a Spoonerist poem about the US election

Do words Trump facts? 

Are facts Trump's words? 

Are frump's words tact? 

Whump! Pact swords turds! 

I am also available for weddings, funerals, and the bits in between.

And sign up to Facelessbook when you're done

...In a strongly worded email to students at both campuses, student-government presidents Rachel Grisham and Quinn Haaga warned their communities that acts of cultural appropriation "are not acceptable." Full stop. 
 Seriously: 
Cultural appropriation is the act of borrowing or using aspects of a culture by another culture, typically a dominant culture. Around the time of Halloween, we often see people dressing as a culture or a character, which is offensive and reinforces negative stereotypes....
Oregon Student Government: Dressing Up as Any Character Is Cultural Appropriation, Not Okay 

Now I know what you're thinking. At last, someone brave enough to stand against the rampant abuse of character in our society! Finally someone has dared to oppose all this character people just go flaunting about, as if it was actually something that we were good with.

But hang on: what if a person goes to a party dressed as themselves? Then they will be inappropriately appropriating their own self off their own self instead of someone else, which, if you ask me, is even worse than if they were appropriating their self off another self who happened to have a self to spare. And even if appropriating themselves from themselves was deemed to be an act of appropriate appropriation, by appropriately appropriating their character before someone else can inappropriately appropriate their character from them, there is always the clear and present danger that they will end up committing racism against their sex or sexism against their class and, more importantly still, end up thwarting their own incipient Narcissism. No, it is clear that all such appropriate appropriation inappropriately appropriates, and sexism is classism against Narcissists, and that's that.

And that's even before we get into the fact that they're going to the party dressed, full stop. What? Who said that was okay?

In short, to prevent all future displays of character, these Oregon university student governments will simply have to hereby abolish all displays of character, including, but not limited to, self, name (pronouns are so triggering), clothes, face, body, and sense of meaning and values. Quickly! Before someone gets offended!

Lovely little curly things

You know those toothpaste ads they used to screen when we were kids? There'd be a smiling lady with perfect teeth, and she'd layer fresh toothpaste from a tube onto a toothbrush. There would be a close up on the toothbrush, and you'd see the toothpaste go on in a perfect flow, ending with a lovely little curl on the end. At this point a 'ping' noise might come from the television or maybe little animated stars, but that doesn't matter, because what matters is the lovely little curl at the end! I used to practice hard with the toothpaste tube to try to get that curl at the end of my own toothbrush - I might have gone through the better half of a toothpaste tube to actually try to get it to happen. It's actually really hard! How did they actually get the curl at the end in those ads? We're talking the '80s, people. This is not the time of advanced CGI and movie special effects so real you can eat them: this is more the time of dodgy puppets with people's hands up their bums talking smack. Do they hire trained ninjas who have been practising the ancient art of paste-fu in Shaolin Temple for decades to get that little Zen moment of curly perfection? Are there some people who just have the curly knack? I DON'T KNOW! By the way, sorry mum and dad for all those lost toothpaste tubes.

Anyway. Things with a lovely little curl at the end of them. Do you know, there's a lot of these in nature, if you look hard enough? For instance, meringues. All the best meringues end with a curve, though they don't typically also make a 'pinging' noise or have animated stars, but you can't have everything. Ice-cream sometimes has too, though the curly bit doesn't usually last because it melts away in the sun just like all beauty must fade away to nothingness eventually and what's the pointy of it all?

And do you know what else ends with a little curl? Chook poo! If the chook does it well (and not all chooks, I have found, are trained ninjas practising the ancient art of poo-fu in Shaolin Temple for decades to get that little Zen moment of curly perfection) then it will taper with a delicate little curl, the nicest you could wish for. How do they do that?

Of course, not all these things are like the other. I wouldn't recommend cleaning your teeth with meringues or ice-cream, for instance, no matter how fun that might seem at the time. I wouldn't recommend doing it with chook poo, either. I know how disappointed you all will be.

I think the basic point I'm making is that things that end with a lovely little curl at the end are lovely THE END.

We've come a long way in the space of this short blog post. A journey. It's been a bonding experience. A moving thing. In fact, I think I want to do a movement now...

Blast it all, what's the rigorous scientific solution to this?

Scientists have the potential to be great leaders – indeed, to change the world – but we are sorely under-represented at the nation's highest levels... 

We need more scientists to take the leap into politics - SMH

SCENE: A parliamentary cabinet meeting. The PRIME MINISTER is sitting at the table, along with several other LOWLY WORMS. 

PRIME MINISTER: Right, thanks for coming to this cabinet meeting everyone. As you know, this nation faces many difficult and serious problems, so we need to get right down to it, offering rigorous, science-based solutions to these problems.

LOWLY WORMS: (Right on, hear hear, good on you Prime Minister, how right you are, and so on.)

PRIME MINISTER: So, a number of voters have raised transport along the Pacific Highway as an issue with us. As I said before, it's important that we apply a rigorous, science-based approach to solving all our problems, isn't that right, Lowly Worm 1?

LOWLY WORM 1: That's right, Minister, and as modern road testing technology informs us....

PRIME MINISTER: (Dismissing LOWLY WORM 1 with a wave of his hand) That's all right, Lowly Worm 1. I know what the solution is. You may be the Transport Minister, but I am the Prime Minister. Yes, by applying a calmly analytical scientific eye to this situation, I have decided that nothing could be more suitable than explosions.

LOWLY WORM 1: Expl.... what, Prime Minister?

PRIME MINISTER: That's right! What could be more scientific than explosions? I've watched all the rigorous, science-based programs in which they apply rigorous, science-based solutions to stuff.

LOWLY WORM 2: Er, what programs would they be again Prime Minister?

PRIME MINISTER: Mythbusters, of course! They're full of explosions!

LOWLY WORM 2: They're not even on telly anymore!

PRIME MINISTER: That's why you're just the Lowly Worm and I'm the Prime Minister. I applied a rigorous scientific solution to that as well. I got the whole show on Netflix!

(Awkward silence) 

LOWLY WORM 1: Er, so about this road...

PRIME MINISTER: Yep. We're going to blow the whole thing up.

LOWLY WORM 1: Blow the.... blow the.... blow the... blow the....

PRIME MINISTER: It'll be so cool, there'll be all sorts of pretty colours, and we'll all get to pose in front of the gigantic fireball for a photo op. Yep, we're going to explode the whole thing.

LOWLY WORM 1: Blow the.... blow the... blow the...

LOWLY WORM 3: Perhaps if we move on, Prime Minister. Ehrm, there's been some dissatisfaction about our Department of Arts policy of saving money on grants, various artists have called on a resumption of earlier funding. Now, I have a report here, which, if we go over...

PRIME MINISTER: No, don't worry about that. Yes, Lowly Worm 3, I have examined all the evidence in a calm, rational sciency fashion and I have determined that we must apply the best of science to this problem, too, and make lots of explosions.

LOWLY WORM 3: (Buries head in hands) Explode.... what, Prime Minister? Not the artists, I trust?

PRIME MINISTER: Certainly not!

LOWLY WORM 3: The.... the art galleries?

PRIME MINISTER: (Shocked) Good heavens no. Do you take me for some barbarian? Though come to think of it, with all those lovely oil paintings they have... there would be a very striking abstract-impressionist effect to it all...

LOWLY WORM 3: We can't blow up the art galleries, Prime Minister!

PRIME MINISTER: No no, you're quite right. Yes, we'll just blow up the Department instead.

LOWLY WORM 3: Blow up the Department instead!

PRIME MINISTER: Don't worry, you'll all be evacuated prior to the explosion and given cushy jobs in other Departments. (Laughs jocularly). Look upon it as a form of extremely advanced Keynesian stimulus. Keynes was very sciency, you know.

LOWLY WORM 4: Perhaps we can come back to that. Prime Minister, let's discuss the environment now.

PRIME MINISTER: Yes, right you are. Again, let's apply the best of science to this problem and explode the bastard into smithereens.

LOWLY WORM 5: Explode the environment! Is there any national problem, you won't explode?

PRIME MINISTER: Now that's a very good question! I'm not sure if there's any rigorous science-based policy report on that. Maybe there was and I exploded it?

LOWLY WORM 5: Prime Minister, this nation faces many serious problems, including national security, a faltering economy, and poor jobs growth, and...

PRIME MINISTER: Explode, explode, explode. People. The science is clear.

LOWLY WORM 5: (Shouting now) The science doesn't say that at all! Science is about examining all the evidence and coming to rational conclusions...

PRIME MINISTER: Don't be ridiculous, Lowly Worm 5! Everyone knows science is about putting lots of fancy words together to make really cool explosions!

LOWLY WORM 5: (Splutters incoherently)

LOWLY WORM 6: Er.... perhaps we can resume this cabinet meeting soon, the time is running late, Prime Minister, and I think we all need a lunch break....

PRIME MINISTER: Quite so, Lowly Worm 6. Lowly Worms, let's all meet be back here in half an hour. (All file out). By the way, could I have some of yours? I exploded mine at home this morning, and for some reason it stuck to the ceiling instead of falling into my tupperware....

Give me cheques. It's mandatory.

A short while ago I heard someone discussing the possibility of mandatory health checks at work.

Health at work is important, isn't it? I therefore propose a related initiative: mandatory health cheques. Here's how I imagine it would take place: people give me cheques, and I get healthier.

What does it have to do with work, though? I don't know. But it sure works for me.  

The practical applications of cat logic

Beatrice the cat just walked into the laundry, did a poo behind the litter, commenced to clean the litter up, and then asked to go outside.

This strikes me as being a superb example of cat logic.

Let's apply it to my own life:

- Get some bread, butter, and a knife, Put the butter and knife in the toaster and turn them on. When the toaster malfunctions, eat the bread!

- Get a broom and sweep up the contents of the compost bin. Then come inside and throw it in the fridge!

- Pay two dollars to the chickens, walk down the road, steal a chocolate bar from the 7/11, and then take it home and eat the plastic!  

- Take all my clothes off and lie naked next to the bathtub for half an hour, singing songs like 'Rubber Ducky'. Then dry myself off, put my clothes on, start running the bath, and leave the house for the afternoon!

Actually - you know, cat logic actually sounds kind of fun. I should try this some time....

Thoughts about football

It's all 'Bulldogs' this and 'Swans' that and 'Magpies', 'Lions' and 'Bombers' with some people. I ask you - what do sporty people have against the fierce poodle, the ferocious capybara, the terrifying tardigrade, that these noble creatures- bastions of the animal kingdom- should be omitted from all team regalia the world over? I must admit, I once formulated a proposal for a new AFL team with the name 'Wombats'. I even wrote a team song! Well, the first few lines, anyway:

When the wombats
Enter combat
When the wombats boldly charge into the fray...

Instead, the AFL went with the 'Suns' and the 'Giants'. Boooooring!

And while we're on the general topic, why don't we discuss the matter of team costumes: what do these people have against polka dots, teal, aqua, turquoise, or puce? Is it such a stretch from wearing stripes to the equally-distinctive spots? The animal kingdom seems to have no trouble accommodating either: contemplate the noble tiger (stripes) and the regal leopard (spotty). I mean, come on! AFL is a game in which grown men run around in short shorts to show tunes from the 1930s. It can't be that difficult.

In conclusion, this is my proposal for the AFL: have more spotty costumes, and call a team the Wombats.

A teachable moment

The things you learn on the bus. If you miss the bus, clearly the best way is to shout at the bus driver (as they're stuck behind another bus) to open the door. Get more and more aggressive in tone as this will surely persuade the bus driver to open the door. Then, if this doesn't work, go to option 2) - bash at the door in a further attempt to cajole the bus driver and win them over with your winsome ways. Keep shouting as it will demonstrate your lovely temperament not only to the bus driver but to all the passengers on the bus!

If for some reason that doesn't work, then.... um.... I don't know. Try waiting at the bus stop and being nice to the bus driver? Nah, that'll never work.

Bringing us all together in these precious precious moments

That one time the Baron called me on the video thing on the iPhone when I was on the loo in the middle of doing what you do when you go to the loo and then proudly displayed me to everyone else in the house. That was a good time. Isn't it amazing how technology brings us all together?

 A POEM ABOUT ME GOING TO THE TOILET FOR DRAMATIC RECITATION AT DINNER PARTIES

I went to the dunny!

I went to the loo!

OOH! OOOH!

I went to the loo!

I went to the loo

And I did what you do -

WHEW! HUE!

I did what you do -

I did what you do,

I rattled the paper

TAPER! SCRAPER!

I rattled the paper.

I rattled the paper

I pressed the flush

GUSH! RUSH!

I pressed the flush.

I pressed the flush

And watched it go

OH! NO!

I watched it go!

Isn't it lovely?

Such togetherness

In the productions

Of my netherness.

A creative creation about the appropriative situation

I wrote this last night. I have no idea what it means.

The Rules
1.
Appropriation
Is appropriate
In some (appropriate)
Creations.

2.
Inappropriation
Is inappropriate
In other (appropriate)
Situations.

3.
Creation
Does not exclude appropriation
Appropriation
Does not exclude creation.

4.
A creation
May sometimes be
Appropriately
Inappropriate.

5.
An inappropriate
Appropriation
Is an inappropriate
Creation.

6.
Sometimes, two or more creatives
May procreate
In inappropriate
Situations.

7.
It is better to inappropriately
Procreate
Than to appropriately
Inappropriate.

8.
Appropriation
Is quotation
Quotation
May need citation.

9.
Appropriation
May appropriate
Other (appropriate)
Appropriations.

10.
In appropriation
Of appropriate appropriations
Be careful
Of (appropriate) citation.

11.
Don't appropriate
Procreation
Make all your procreation
Appropriately
Inappropriate.

Great audacious romps salacious

Married MP Keith Vaz tells prostitutes in his flat: 'Bring poppers' ... 'We need to get this party started'

On political scandals

Make my scandals too hot to handle

Oo la la and ring-a-ding

Great audacious romps salacious

Involving sex and lots of bling

Labour syphoning kazillions

To Hamas funds offshore

Tories caught in fish-net rorts

With Mata Hari whores.

Not these flimsy flights of whimsy,

MPs watching porn

Or, zut alors, bores bedding whores -

Treat such affairs with scorn.

We're all voyeurs now, or lawyers -

We need our pollies' follies -

They pay their way the more they play

Like massive fuckin Wallies.

Practising my hashtags

Saw a magpie today crack open a bike riders skull and feast on the bloody goo inside. #Mustbespring

Rando hipster dude in the street sawed off his leg before Instagramming it. #Somelbourne #Amputationsarein

Cat has taken to performing advanced mathematics and examples of complex induction. #Socuuuuuuuute

Got him doing my household accounts now. #Socuuuuuuuute

The most racist post in the history of this post

America! Land of many fine cryptic crossword clues, and a gigantic hole in the ground second to none! Long have I admired the rugged untamed contours of your television sets, and your animals aren't bad either! But another thing that Americans like to eat is food, and that food is, if not better, worse or, above all, equal, to food in the rest of the world. In this post, I would like to present two underwhelming American food trends that seem to have caught on in the rest of the world (by which I mean Melbourne).

1. Batch brewed coffee
Instead of brewing coffee individually per the requirements of the customer, batch-brewed coffee is brewed the night before to be forced upon the unsuspecting customer the day after. Batch brewed coffee is great, explained one website, because it ensures greater consistency and it's something that, by definition, you do in bulk! Which is to say it has cost benefits for cheapskate cafe-owners but is actually a shithouse deal for actual coffee drinkers.

2. Donuts
Donuts have to be my absolute favourite food stuff that has a hole in it. Cheezels aren't bad either. (And actually while we're on that subject, don't you think - paradoxically - the presence of a hole in donuts actually makes them taste better?) But while donuts are a simple food to do well, I so frequently find them done badly. Donuts should be served piping hot, almost right out of the deep frying vat. Only a few toppings or fillings are necessary: they should be dunked in sugar or cinnamon-sugar, and also acceptable are the jam-filled donuts (also dunked in cinnamon-sugar). And Melbourne does this perhaps better than any other city in the world; hot jam donuts are sold just down the road from me at a van at the Preston Markets. The fact that this delicacy can - and is - sold in its proper form by greasy old men in dodgy vans at the footy should underscore the fact: this food is so easy to do well. So why do we find, in our fair city, an infiltration of donuts which are not done well at all? Instead of hot, sugar covered, jam filled donuts, we find the far inferior cold, mushy, confectionary-coated donut increasingly sold all over the place - the sort that Homer drools over in episode after episode of The Simpsons. These are donuts designed to be photographed (therein the secret of their success lies - cheap publicity). In order to get all that colourful confectionary on, the donut must be cold (or it would all melt): but when cold, the donut very quickly goes stale, and renders into a claggy, unpleasing paste in your mouths. No.

In short, Americans good, lovely people, fine place, but we appear to be adopting some very nonsensical food trends from them. My goodly friends across the Pacific, I implore you - instead of sending across your terrible coffee and your lacklustre donuts, could you please send across more of your craft beer and your maple syrup? We could arrange some kind of a swapsy where we send over lamingtons and pavlova. We'd even lay off feeding you guys Vegemite, honest!

UPDATE! - What is this obsession us Aussies have with feeding the Yanks Vegemite anyway? It's not as if we seem to want to inflict Vegemite upon unsuspecting Germans or Mongolians or Latvians or anything. Are we trying to start a war?

UPDATE UPDATE! - Oh yeah, that's the way, why not start a war with two major world powers while we're at it?

Ew, Canada

Shirtless Justin Trudeau accidentally photo bombs B.C. beach wedding

Shirtless Justin Trudeau Meets Family In Quebec Park, Poses For Selfie

Shirtless Trudeau becomes summer internet fascination

Possibilities: 

1) Canada has accidentally elected a sentient torso as Prime Minister. 

2) It's Trudeau spawning season, but they will soon swim back out to their watery home where they while away the hours munching on plankton or riding on the seahorsies. 

3) The Department of Environment or whatever it is in Canada REALLY needs to get on top of the dangerous outbreak of Trudeaus out in the wild before more hikers get hurt.

No way am I posting a picture, though nature lovers can easily find one for themselves. 

How to be chockers with ockers and have Ozzies in your cossies

Pro-tip for all Australians: when speaking with Americans, throw as many Aussie expressions into your speech as you can, just to pique their interest. Strewth, cobber, take a gander at that geezer, haven't ridden in one of those for yonks, that kanga's had a few too many dhurries, he's a coupla tinnies short of a sixpack!

Over time, modify your speech so your ockerisms get ever more ocker and outlandish. Start making up a few: the Yanks will love it: throw another prawn on the barbie, me old Murray mate, there's a coupla cockies loose in the top paddock, how many sausages have to roll down the hill before me meat pie's done, by Jingo, Dingo, I get the Willy Willies from this great flaming galoot from the blazing black stump of Burke!

Eventually, your conversation should depart almost entirely from recognisable English. Trust me on this one. Whackadoodlediddly, why's me doovilaka pringled like the Nine Bulls of Ballina, it was just the other daisy she got stuck in a Lara Bingle at the Bottleo with Matto and Damo, who's a blagger got to nim to flanglewoozle a feller around here, I just want to take a Coonamble down the Bidgee, I ain't budging any smugglers, mate!

By this time you should be shouting, and waving your hands around a lot, and the corks on your hat will be tying themselves up in ever more fanciful knots. It will be great. The Yanks will never forget you.

Trust me on this one.

Words or sayings for that moment when your underpants fall apart while you are wearing them

There are many strange, awkward, or underacknowledged moments of life that are in need of a word or phrase by which we are able to express their commonality. One such is that awkward moment when your underpants fall apart while you are in the middle of wearing them. You may smile and put up a brave face, chat pleasantly to your boss as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened, but in that moment, something fundamental has shifted in reality; your underpants have changed into something completely different. Let's workshop a few phrases for this important moment now:

your unders down under go under

asunderpants/gone asunderpants/asunderpanted: "He smiled the smile of one who had gone asunderpants". 

wedgied by the nothing

ununderpanted

falling into the abyss/fell into the abyss

to take the invisible plunge

going silently commando

wearing one's blunderpants

biology meets topology

knickering off

your clothes clothes take their clothes off

underdance/doing the underdance

to have your knickers knock off and your knackers nick off through a nook in your knickers

to have a derriere in the merrier area/to have a derriere make merry in the nefarious area

going hey down derriere

when it's over for your unders.

Please feel free to leave further suggestions in comments!

WTFF news: intergalactic conspiracy scheduling clash

MELBOURNE, Sunday - Intergalactic conspiracy conglomerate and 500 card team the Lizard People have been forced to call off their latest meeting arranging world affairs because it clashed with a meeting at the same time and place of global domination group and old man's friendly society, the Elders of Zion.

"It was such an embarrassing mistake!" laughs Ps'norr, of the Reptilians. "We turned into the room we always use at our favourite cafe, the Bearded Iguana, and we found the Elders already present!"
Rabbi Mo Menavich, of the Elders, who describes his group as "friends first, dominators of civilisation second", said to reporters, "It was completely understandable. These scheduling errors are so common! I mean, it was like that time we scheduled a golf match on the same day as the third world w.... oh my goodness, did I just say that? Oy vey!"

AD! Do you or an intergalactic conspiracy confederate that you belong to have scheduling problems? Sign up to the ICCS, or International Conspiracy Cooperative Society, now to help you avoid these awkward mistakes!

EMBARRASSED: Ps'norr of the Reptilians today. 

Conscious Man versus Unconscious Man - a fair and unbiased study performed in a spirit of scientific inquiry

Now, as all of us in the enlightened 'I saw chemtrails in my skidmarks!' community know, there's this little meme been going around about a guy called 'Conscious Man'. Conscious Man is great! Not only does he attain a higher state of being through blissful karmic meditation, but he also does the dishes! I think I hate him already. But can we really know how good Conscious Man is unless we set him next to his opposite - Unconscious Man? Let's perform this little thought experiment now!

CONSCIOUS MAN: 

Is mindful. 

UNCONSCIOUS MAN: 

Is in a drunken stupor on the couch. 

ADVANTAGE: 

Unconscious Man. Come on, who even knows what that mindful shit is? 

*

CONSCIOUS MAN: 

Takes out the garbage. 

UNCONSCIOUS MAN: 

Is in a drunken stupor on the couch. 

ADVANTAGE: 

Conscious Man. 

*

CONSCIOUS MAN: 

Meditates on the Yin and the Yang, the Feng Shui and the Falun Gong, the Chakras and the Yoni, the This and the That, and attains a state of Nirvana attaining the ultimate cessation of all being. 

UNCONSCIOUS MAN: 

Is in a drunken stupor on the - wait. Is he even alive? Oh, that's fine, he just vomited on the mat. 

ADVANTAGE: 

Conscious Man - unless he ectoplasms on the floor while in Nirvanic bliss.  

*

CONSCIOUS MAN: 

Will talk about your feelings, his feelings on your feelings, your feelings on his feelings, any old feelings, sometimes he'll even make up feelings to talk about. 

UNCONSCIOUS MAN: 

Is in a drunken stupor on the couch. 

ADVANTAGE: 

Unconscious Man. He's the strong and silent type. 

*

CONSCIOUS MAN: 

Grooves to the light of the silvery moon in a state of ecstasy. 

UNCONSCIOUS MAN: 

He's not sure whether he did any of that, he can't remember now, but at any rate he's in no condition to do it at the moment. Drunken, stupor, couch. You can fill in the blanks. 

ADVANTAGE: 

Unconscious Man, seriously, who is interested in that sort of nonsense? 

*

CONCLUSION: 

3 points to Unconscious Man, 2 points to Conscious Man, with an error margin of 0.5 points. 

I think you know what this means, chaps - let's get wasted.

Punctuate your own adventure!

New exciting book idea! Punctuate your own Adventure! (Idea may need some more work.)

you are an octopus nazi attack robot one day you are swimming peacefully in axis waters when three marines approach with water grenades what do you do do you ATTACK turn to page 15 ATTACK turn to page 37 you have chosen to ATTACK you wrap the marines in your mechanical robotic octopoid evil nazi arms which have started to rust in the seawater you should really see someone about that and begin to squeeze them in your death grip you lash about fiercely in the water the marines try to loose the catch on their water grenades but they fall out of their hands unused to the bottom of the sea NOBODY DEFEATS OCTOPUS NAZI ATTACK ROBOT you return to your watery lair not seeing a secret submarine sneak up behind you to see what happens turn over the page

Sample punctuation: 

! , ! ? ... () () ( , ) ... ., , , : ! - ... ()

COMING UP NEXT IN THIS EXCITING SERIES: You are an octopus stalinist sex robot!  

PRESENTING SOFT TALK BY A HARD MAN

Presenting soft talk with Rocky Gruntnod

HEYA FOLKS I'M ROCKY GRUNTNOD AND I'M HERE TO GIVE YOU SOME SOFT TALK! 

PILLOWS
FUDGE
KITTEN WHISKERS
DUCKLING DOWN
CUDDLES
LEAF
BREEZE
MARSHMALLOW
BLOOM
FAIRY
WISP
SCHMOODGE
COSY.

WELL THAT'S IT FOR NOW FOLKS TUNE IN NEXT WEEK FOR MORE SOFT TALK I'M OFF TO EAT STONES FOR BREAKFAST NOW. 

Like Lord of the Rings, only with a better plot

Presenting - Life among the Ents, a groundbreaking five hour documentary set amongst a family of these mysterious tree creatures wot you first read about in Tolkien. Using innovative and subtle immersive documentary techniques, our crew capture the lifes and loves of the Ents in a way never before possible.

In the first hour, we introduce ourselves to some typical Ents.

In the second hour, the emotional drama attains an intense climax as several leaves fall to the ground.

In the third hour, there is an unexpected revelation. We're not telling you what it is, but let's just say it's almost as exciting as that time you watched the grass grow.

In the fourth hour, the excitement reaches a fever pitch, but we also learn more about the food and drink of this ancient people. Hope you like looking at mud!

You won't believe what happens in the fifth and final hour. Okay, maybe you will but.... um.... why are you still watching the film anyway?

My entry in the sadly confusing and somewhat disappointing Sunday sermon category

My entry in the sadly confusing and somewhat disappointing Sunday sermon category: 

...there was in those times a man travelling through Samaria to get to some area. We do not know which area this was, but we know he was in Samaria, which was some area he needed to go through while he was travelling from some area to some area. And while he was travelling through the same area (Samaria), he met there another man.
"Art thou from Samaria", the traveller asked the man, "or art thou roaming?"
"I am Roman," replied the man, "That is, some area away from Samaria".
"Thou art roaming away from Samaria?" said the first. "Wouldst thou join me?"
"I would stay in Samaria for a night," replied the second.
"Yea, verily," cried the first, "We will leave this same area, Samaria, and at night we shall come upon some area that is not Samaria: for I, too, am roaming."
"But I am Roman", protested the second, "And I would stay in Samaria, for I have business here".
"But why woulst thou stay if thou art roaming? And how couldst thou stay in some area if thou hadst business here? What strange business could it be?"
"Why, a very good business," said the Roman. "I sell fork handles...."

HERE ENDETH THE LESSON

Presenting a pointless political post by a persnickety prick

It's voting time almost in two days except for those who have already postal voted, and I'm happy to say that though the major parties have plenty of policies that are only superficially appealing to serious voters,  they have plenty of policies that are seriously appealing to superficial voters. Of which I am one. So, in that spirit of judging a book by its cover, let's hie to their websites now and award them points on a series of completely pointless points that we can point to.

First up, the Liberals: their polices include - um - well - um actually, they have

OUR PLAN

and what a planny plan it is, by which we will planfully plan our way back to freedom! And I could actually go on to look at the plan in some detail, but remember, we're looking to see policies that are seriously appealing to superficial voters, and I wouldn't want to take this too seriously. So I won't.

Next up, Labor. What sort of policies do they have?

POSITIVE POLICIES


Hooray! That's even more seriously appealing  in a superficial way than the Liberal Plan! Well, that was Shorten sweet.

And what about the Greens? Let's apply an equally fact-free analysis to their website. Do they have a plan? A policy? Well no, as it turns out: they have

OUR VISION

WHOA that's way better than Positive Policies and I don't even know what it means! And anyway, too much alliteration is bad for the environment. And now we have reached the end (or perhaps the superfices) of my superficial post.

Pom

Now pay attention class, I'm only going to say this once.

Pom - an English person.
Pompom - a fluffy ball.
Pomnipotence - infinite power possessed by an English person.
Pompomnipotence - infinite power gained through the wielding of pompoms.
Pompompomnipotence - infinite power gained through the wielding of English pompoms.
Pompompompomtiddlypompomnipotence - singing a meaningless ditty while gaining infinite power through the wielding of English pompoms.

That's all for today, class.

For your homework, I invite you all to submit a picture of a Pompominatrix. Thank you for your time.

Incredibly original poem about brewing

There was a young brewer from Ryde

Who ate some green barley and died

The barley fermented

Inside the lamented

And made Acetaldehyde.

Typo which I didn't actually type and I'm sorry I'll promise to do worse next time

Earpugs.

A tale of modern romance

Strephon & Phyllis: a tale of modern romance 

Strephon flicked through his phone to the live-dating app

As he scrolled through the names and the nonsense and pap. 

He swore he'd find one for a funky night out 

(Though fat chicks and those over 30 were right out). 

Through selfies and poutings and duck face he scrolled - 

Too chubby - too skinny - too squinty - too old - 

He would Try Hard and Die Hard, (an iPhone Bruce Willis)

When just then he alit on the page of fair Phyllis. 

A radiant vision she seemed to his eyes, 

A glorious Goddess in mere mortal guise - 

Strephon knew in a flash he was on to a winner: 

Perhaps he could even invite her to dinner. 

Poor Strephon knew not of the magic of Cupid - 

How one blow with his bow could send normal men stupid. 

For Strephon, of course, the case was quite dire - 

His head was awhirl and his heart was afire... 

As Strephon held Phyllis in tremulous gaze, 

He scratched at his bum in a rapturous craze 

And thought of the ways he would Phyllis enamour: 

How could he convince this fair maid of his amour? 

Win her and bring her to the temple of Venus? 

"I know", Strephon thought. "I'll show her my penis. 

One pic of my dick which I'll slyly embiggen

So it outranks in grandeur the willy of Smiggin - 

Yes, this surely is the true way to her heart - 

An image of my most masculine part. 

A young, virile member - not a palsied old todger 

Like that that belongs to that old codger Roger. 

Yes, this is my plan and it's done in a tick - 

I'll flick some random chick a pic of my dick." 

And as for what next - Strephon was not concerned -

'Twas no matter, surely - not while his heart burned! 

And shortly, his wang was winging its way 

On wireless ether to her Message tray. 

Just what do you feel after such correspondence? 

Hopeful? Or anxious? Or full of despondence? 

Not Strephon: our hero was full of calm self-collection

After mailing his mail of his male part's .... affection. 

He was not depressed, for he knew she'd be true, 

The one in receipt of his cock billet doux. 

But Strephon could not help but shout with elation

When the phone in his pocket gave welcome vibration - 

He whips out his phone with a whimpering sigh! 

He presses the button to see her reply! 

"O Goddess!" he murmurs with votary air, 

"I see at long last you have answered my prayer!"

And he gazes in trance, with his whole body tingling 

For Phyllis has answered with a snap of a.... dingaling: 

Yes, someone's John Thomas: right there on his screen - 

A random guy's noodle: it's frankly obscene! 

And then - what the Dickens? A second dick pic - 

Strephon murmured aghast, "Gee, this chick is sick!"

As if not content with that paltry selection, 

It soon became clear Phyllis had a collection,

A torrent of sausages, hot dogs and saveloys, 

Kranskys, frankfurters, salamis and bitsofboys,

A series of revellers in full Saturnalia, 

A party of parts and of male genitalia. 

Strephon switched his phone off - but that wasn't enough - 

For he saw in his minds eye those groins in the buff, 

A priapic cavalcade, pixelised, gleaming, 

They marched through his mind in the midst of his dreaming - 

The todger of Roger in front of the rest: 

Now Strephon is moody and sad and depressed, 

And questions and worries his nervous mind cumber - 

Like "Shit that weird Phyllis chick's now got my number!" 

And worse yet - poor Strephon can't shake the suspicion

His photographed phallus has been made an addition 

To Phyllis's library of penile pics - 

MORAL: don't flick some random chick a pic of your dick.

Poem based on several recent stories.

Fig 1: In which fair Phyllis contemplates what to do with the latest addition to her gallery. 

Cleaning is something which I do not like very much

Cleaning is something which I do not like very much, and therefore spend a lot of time avoiding doing. This has the effect of making the house dirtier, which I do not like, because it reminds me of cleaning, which I do not like, and reminds me of the fact that I will have to do some cleaning sometime, which I like even less. Eventually - by some bizarre slip of fate - I find myself actually cleaning, which, taken with thinking about cleaning and avoiding cleaning - is, of all those things, the thing that I like least of all and reminds me all over again why I have spent all this time in the comparatively pleasant activity of avoiding cleaning.

I found myself in this situation the other day; I don't know how I find myself in these situations, really, as I quite enjoy avoiding cleaning: it is a comparatively relaxing and stress-free activity, with the addition of a little extra mould here and there to keep the house bright and colourful. Anyway, I was in one of these situations (better known as the bathroom), and I was cleaning. The situation really was ludicrous: what place on earth does cleaning have in a bathroom? I ask you. In a last ditch attempt to avoid cleaning, I was - forgive me - grizzling in a bad tempered manner in the Baron's general direction.

"What's all this stuff doing in the bathroom?" I said. "It's ridiculous!"

"Clean it!" chirped the Baron chirpily.

I cleaned it, mostly by throwing it underneath the sink where I temporarily couldn't see it. There is a cupboard underneath the sink and as it was already crammed full of stuff, I can't rightly say that it held all the stuff that I threw into it, but I didn't mind, and neither did it.

I desultorily attempted to rub at some of the grime underneath the tap, but found to my frustration I couldn't because of all the things on the sink getting in the way of my hand while trying to rub the grime off under the tap in the process of my general effort to clean up the bathroom which I was doing because..... oh, never mind.

So naturally I went back to cleaning things off the sink. There were a lot of things on the sink, don't ask me why, it's a ridiculous question.

"There's so much soap in here!" I said. "What's soap doing in the bathroom?"

For some strange reason the Baron didn't answer this.

"This is silly! The soap's getting in the way! I'm getting rid of it!" I announced, eventually.

This was a wise decision. What place does soap have in the bathroom, really? None that I can think of, and anyway, after my decision here things went much smoother. I swooped all the cakes of soap off the bench and neatly deposited them in the garbage. Soap really is a nonsensical product at the best of times, but especially so when it is in the bathroom. Not only does it get in the way of grime, which gets in the way of the bathroom, which gets in the way of some other grime that was there before the bathroom, and which is undoubtedly much more attractive and interesting than the bathroom (though perhaps without hot and cold running water), but soap can only be used for one thing - cleaning. Even just writing about soap makes me shudder again as it raises the horrible prospect of cleaning all over again. Ugh!

So: where was I? Oh. Yes. Cleaning. In the bathroom. Having performed the irritating task for long enough (and got rid of all that unpleasant soap) I think I retired shortly after. Cleaning is, aside from anything else, a very strenuous activity. I highly recommend you don't do it.

***

It's possible the Baron later discovered the soap in the bin.

"Why is there soap in the bin?" the Baron asked.

For some strange reason, I didn't answer this.

Mindful of crap

Two words in to an article on random website Wanderlust and we're in "mindful" territory, and I'm scared. One word after that and the word is "sober", closely followed by "subculture", and I'm shedding tears of pure terror. I want to say to these kids: who hurt you? What did alcohol ever do to a harm you? Think you're ready for the whole thing? Let's give it a go -

A mindful 

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh no there's that word again

sober subculture 

Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

is emerging 

takes me back to the fun old days of temperance activists. Oh. Wait. No, I meant horrifying.

indicating that we’re seeking out deeper, more meaningful connections to others.

And just like "mindful", that "meaningful" gets me again. It's the sheer unmitigated gall of the thing - thing you drunkards are having a "meaningful" time? Why don't you try something "deeper"!

The funny thing is, the more I find out about drink - and the more I drink drink - the more meaningful it is. Who is this mindful subculture anyway, to decide that it's only them who are able to make deeper, more meaningful connections? And just like the temperance activists before them they unwittingly concede to drink a power and an influence far greater than it has over anyone else. No moderate drinking for these people, nothing so pleasant as a little tipsiness,  a modest insobriety, an affable drunkenness. Nope, it's all or nothing, more meaningfulness or vomiting in the gutters.

***

I actually had a longer essay I was thinking of putting in here at this point about all the ways in which beer and wine are beautiful, but nup. However, let me finish off by quoting that notable drunkard, Christ:

31And the Lord said, Whereunto then shall I liken the men of this generation? and to what are they like? 32They are like unto children sitting in the marketplace, and calling one to another, and saying, We have piped unto you, and ye have not danced; we have mourned to you, and ye have not wept. 33For John the Baptist came neither eating bread nor drinking wine; and ye say, He hath a devil. 34The Son of man is come eating and drinking; and ye say, Behold a gluttonous man, and a winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners! 35But wisdom is justified of all her children.

Hang on... I don't think there's a single "mindful" in there!

Spray it, don't say it

GRAPHIC artist _____ has been charged by police after she allegedly spat on Richard Pearson, administrator of the newly formed Inner West Council, at a fractious first meeting on Tuesday night. - The Daily Telegraph

A public spit

She felt her hatred churning, roiling,
Deep within a burning, boiling,
Longed to make a final soiling
To The Oppressor's face -
From stomach, chest, and nose and lung
She dredged a booger up among
Her uvula and teeth and tongue -
A deep, dark, bitter taste -

This precious jewel of salt and spite,
Of rancour, fury, bile and blight,
With which she would her target smite -
She gave a secret smile -
And when his face hove into view,
Her lips flung forth the fatal brew,
Across the seething air it flew -
As straight as a missile,

Then broke apart, this mucal matter,
With a most unseemly splatter,
The droplets all went pitter-patter,
Emblems of her rage -
A perfect work of form and function,
Snot and spray and cough and luncheon,
A Jackson Pollock in high dudgeon -
Next day's headlines. Front page.

Feminist things

I have thought long and deeply about feminism, as you all know, and here is a list of feminist things.

The Womandelbrot set.
Womanta rays.
The Communist Womanifesto.
Womanfred, a play by Byron.
Womansplanation. It's a bit like mansplanation but a good thing.
Womanspreading.
Femme dashes.
Femminem, the rapper.
She Guevara.

Because we can never have too many television programs featuring dogs

Please tell me why we don't have this show on the television already?

DEPUTY ASSISTANT HOSPITAL INSPECTOR REX

(SCENE: An ordinary hospital. Or is it? Yes. It is. There is a SECRETARY sitting at a desk. A DOCTOR enters. )

DOCTOR: Have you filled out those forms, Secretary? 

SECRETARY: I certainly have, Doctor. For, as we all know, the most important part of modern medicine is appropriate administrative record keeping in the context of adequate departmental oversight. 

DOCTOR: And we never know when.... 

(MUSIC: "Dog takes over control!"

DEPUTY ASSISTANT HOSPITAL INSPECTOR REX jumps in through the window, shattering it, and stands there while the opening credits run).

DOCTOR:.... Deputy Assistant Hospital Inspector Rex comes WHY DO YOU ALWAYS COME IN LIKE THAT! 

SECRETARY: I didn't even know we had a window. 

DEPUTY ASSISTANT HOSPITAL INSPECTOR REX: Woof! 

SECRETARY: He's right, Doctor! There's no time for that when there's administration to be done! (Plonks several realms of paper on floor in front of Deputy Assistant blah blah etc etc). Here are the files, Deputy Assistant Hospital Inspector Rex! 

DEPUTY ASSISTANT HOSPITAL INSPECTOR REX: (Spews on the files)

DOCTOR: Why, thank you, Sir. 

***

(SCENE TWO: Same place, five hours later.)

SECRETARY: .... and so, Mr Rex, we come to the fiscal slide 13, point D, where... 

OLD LADY: Help! Help! A criminal has taken my purse, but he's terribly afraid of dogs! If you could onl.... 

DEPUTY ASSISTANT HOSPITAL INSPECTOR REX: Woof! 

DOCTOR: He's right! There's no time for that when we're examining Fiscal Slide 13 point D! 

TUNE IN NEXT WEEK FOR MORE EXCITING ADVENTURES OF DEPUTY ASSISTANT HOSPITAL INSPECTOR REX! 

Some may be more real than others

Ideas for workshops in Kyneton. Some may be more real than others.

Spoon carving.
Cabbage massage.
Permacultural yodelling.
Dog unbending.
Egg whittling (with chainsaws).
Egg whittling (traditional, with axes).
Gum scribbling.
Getting in touch with your inner chicken.
Getting your chickens in touch with their inner egg.
Permacultural beard maintenance.
Vermicelli balancing.
Paleo cooking with oblongs.

How to run a national culture - an A to Z

Devastating day of reckoning for Australian arts as 62 organisations miss out on crucial operational funding.  

Australian artists have faced many desperate moments over the past three years, particularly in the last 12 months following the 2015/16 Federal Budget announcement last May, which revealed devastating cuts to the funds distributed by the Australia Council. However, Friday the 13th of May 2016 is now a day that will be remembered in infamy by many as one of the blackest in Australia’s artistic history. Published this morning, the Australia Council have announced the list of 128 fortunate recipients of the highly sought after four-year funding grants. However, many unsuccessful applicants, including 62 organisations previously funded by the Australia Council, are now facing uncertain futures as their operational costs are no longer underwritten.  

Limelight Magazine - Black Friday: Australia Council cuts defund dozens of arts companies

A - artists, the people who make art. They are the most important people of all. A also stands for audiences, but no-one gives a shit about them.

B - bureaucrats, who deliver money to the artists. Everyone loves bureaucrats! Until....

C - cuts to funding happen periodically, but only when evil Coalition governments are in power.

D - despair. It's natural to feel disappointed when your funding source has been cut, but artists, being more important than other people, have much more important feelings: hence, despair.

E - economy, something that doesn't exist and even if it does it's not important anyway and even if it is important it certainly doesn't justify the cuts to funding to the arts, and even if it does it's not important, because emotions.

F - fighting amongst themselves, a fun practice which artists indulge in in these economically-straightened times when they discover their artist friends have got money but they haven't.

F - forms, which artists have to fill out a lot of if they want to have a chance to get funding.

G - gloom, a side-effect of despair (see above).

H - horror, another side effect of despair (see above).

I - independent, something that all artistic organisations lay claim to. Some have been independent for several decades, although strangely independence is only ever possible by being dependent on government for money.

I - institution, icon - things which every artistic group is, especially when its funding is in danger.

J - jobs, jobs, jobs. What some artists lose in the cuts to funding.

K - knitting jumpers for lamp-posts, one of the many important works of art which has previously attracted funding.

L - latte, the traditional food stuff of the artist.

M - minorities, groups which artists often discover they are members of when they are filling out forms.

N - nation, the thing that culture does stuff to, much like a culture does stuff to milk to turn it into a delicious yoghurt, although with less curds, and with more conceptual installations and interpretative dance pieces.

O - opera, something some artists love, most artists complain about, but very few go to. It is usually unaffected by the funding cuts.

P - protests, which at some point someone will organise.

P - paradigms, things that artists shift a lot in their artistic works. No-one has seen a paradigm in the wild, so no-one is quite sure what they look like.

P - politicians, who are ultimately responsible for all the funding.

Q - questions raised, something that important art does, although presumably, it does somewhat less of it now because of the cuts to funding.

R - regions, places which artists care about a lot, although they seldom visit them unless there's funding involved.

S - schmoozing, a helpful thing to do when applying for funding, and which makes it all the more annoying when that funding gets cut.

T - taxpayers, the people who make money, only to have some of it taken off them by politicians with a variety of dubious justifications and spent on art that they don't necessarily want anyway.

U - unemployment, the unfortunate side effect of funding cuts (and of running an artistic organisation for decades without somehow preparing yourself for the day when the funding gets cut).

U - urban areas, the exciting places artists like to hang about in.

V - voluntary support of the arts, a ridiculous thing that artists rightly dismiss, because who wants to make art that people want to pay money to see?

W - whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy? A cry of despair uttered by artists when they hear about funding cuts.

X - xenophobia, what artists are fighting against. They're not sure how to link it to the present politicians and the cuts to funding, but they will find a way.

Y - yartz, the - term of contempt for, or endearment with, the arts, depending on whether you are an artist or a lowly taxpayer.

Z - Zzzz, the instinctive response of many non-artists when they see these arguments.