Happy New Year

.... but then again, why do we say 'Happy New Year' at all? How do we know that it's going to be a 'Happy New Year' at all? Experience tells us that it will probably be a mixed year, with some good things, some bad things, some happy things, and some sad things, and some things happening in it that are just ... indescribable.
In short, shouldn't we actually be saying something like:

I Hope that your New Year is Happy, and that the inevitable bad things that do happen will not be too bad and too overwhelming?

And then again, when we say 'Happy New Year', aren't we, in a way, unfairly prejudicing the New Year over the Old Year? Wouldn't it be smarter, anyway, to offer some comment or reflection on the Old Year, since we actually have some experience about that?

Anyway, bearing all that in mind, I wish you all a Blisfully, Ecstatically Happy New Year.

Exciting Business Venture

How many times have you tried to make a complaint to a company about a faulty product or a service offered by them, only to find that you are forced to wait on a phone line for ever and ever and ever and ever and ever while they try to find out who is responsible?

Too many times.

And I mean ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and

I get the point.

Well, at The Department Of Giving You Something To Complain About, we aim to do just that!

And I should be excited why?

You see, our business operates on the premise that people are never happier than when they are given something to complain about. That's why we've recruited all the Wrong people for the job, and put them in a diverse range of inappropriate agencies- in order to ensure that if you require a product or a service from us, we WON'T be able to provide it to you!

Wow.

Yeah, exciting, isn't it? Whenever you try to get something from us, we'll force you to wade through a sea of bureaucratic red tape, and in the end, you'll end up with the satisfaction of a Job Not Done!

What a crazy idea.

We think so! So, I can see you're interested. Would you like to send some money in to The Department Of Giving You Something To Complain About, along with a request for a product or service?

Wait a second... you expect people to actually pay you money for this?

Sure, why not? After all, you get just as much non-service from a company that's actually supposed to be giving you service. So why not trust us, a company that PROMISES not to do the job, then goes ahead and doesn't do it?

But isn't there a slight danger that, er, you'll be so good at not doing the job that when I want you not to do a job for me, you, um, won't not do it?

Um... well, you can complain about that too!

Hmmm.

And you won't have to worry about losing any money on us. Just write us a cheque. Our organisation is so inefficient, that your cheque will never be cashed anyway!

Hmmm and double hmmm.

So, what do you say?

Wow! I'm about as excited about this project as I would be watching two drunken snails race off the top of Mount Everest. Okay, where do I sign?

Right here, sir! We look forward to Giving You Something To Complain About!

Hey, my first complaint is in the mail already...

---

Yes!
I, _____________________________,

would like to be given Something To Complain About! I hereby enclose

$ _______,

and look forward to you Not Doing The Job!

---

Hello

Haven't seen you guys in a while.

Family and Stuff

During Christmas you do some pretty funny things, like catch up with other members of your family and stuff. The highlight of the Christmas was meeting up with my brother Lachlan. He used to work as a pigger in Victoria, looks like a drug-dealer (or a terrorist), and drinks like a - um, what's an appropriate simile for a person who consumes a hell of a lot of alcohol in an incredibly short space of time?
Anyway, he's blood funny. Here's just a few of the conversations we had over the past couple of days...

Lachlan: (While walking with us to Garden City, about a km from my house) If you kids don't shut up, I'm turning this footpath right around and taking you all home!

Or...

Lachlan: Ah, you might be able to J-walk over that street, but are you able to S-walk?

Me: You mean jump about like somebody out of Monty Python's Ministry of Silly Walks while wearing a penguin on my head?

Lachlan: I see you know your S-walking.

Me: Yeah, but in this town they have something against it.

Lachlan: Bastards!

Me: They prefer wearing pelicans on their heads...

Or...

Me: Well, there are planespotters, and trainspotters, but what about Trainspotters, for people like you and me? (Our last name is Train) They could shout, 'Hey, look, there's a Train! Let's get his picture!'

Lachlan: Sounds good.

Me: You could go better, and have things like 'Smith' spotters - the Royal Society of Smith Spotters.

Lachlan: Na, they're way to common. How about - 'Smythe' spotters?

Me: Yeah!

Lachlan: And when people ask them if they spot 'Smiths', they could correct them, saying, 'Excuse me. We're SMYTHE spotters!'

Me: (Laughs)

Lachlan: When I was at the car races, some kid came up to me and asked for my signature. He was really excited, going, "Aw, please, can I get your autograph?" Must have thought I was one of the driver's. So I signed it, even though I probably broke the poor kids heart...

Merry Christmas Eve

I probably won't get a chance to blog in the next couple of days, so right now I'm indulging in a spot of Desperado Christmas Eve Blogging. A pre-emptive Merry Christmas to all!

Typomatic

A small selection of the typos generated at my workplace:

A man drove a green Commodore sedan with trailer attached to the property

Observeillance began at...

Moments later she drove into the driveway...

The residence is a single storey located in a rural location...

He suffered from no apparent discomofort...

Wherein Tim Looks At Some Timeless Artistic Masterpieces And Interprets Them According To His Own Warped Political Ideology

I'll try and find a publisher for this review of the work of the wondrous Patty in the next couple of days. I'll let you know how it goes.



"Look guys! Not only is he funny looking, he's one of those crazy blog nerds... ha ha ha... What a geek... Lets push him over and kick him in the neck!" says Patty in his email. He agrees to send through Stool, a comic book of his work. Sorry, his stuff.
It’s good.
His comics are full of venial corporate types, cowardly artists, artistic promoters who are at once effete and brutal, losers with a manic-depressive streak, poverty-stricken writers, not to mention murderous smiley-faces and monsters standing just out of the spotlight.
The first comic, titled A Violent Welcome, stars Patty – or comic-book Patty – ranting at some length about whatever interests him. “You know what I hate but?” he says, raising a gun. “Lazy cunts like Dave Eggers who couldn’t be bangered actually trying to construct a good bit of writing. Instead he just goes around in tighter and tighter self reflexive circles until the reader chucks it away…. Yep,” he continues, pointing the gun at his head, “Remove self from text. Seeya.” And blows his brains away.

Crazy ideas follow in quick succession – half-digested ideas from Marx and Sartre are regurgitated onto the page amongst demented fables about anarchists searching for ‘squalor to live in’; parables about idealistic conceptual artists, and ‘Accountants Against Sock Apartheid’. ‘Cocktopolis’ is a gratuitous dirty-joke/metaphor, repeated ad-nauseam for two pages. The message is a version of the stereotypical feminist mantra – ‘society is dominated by the phallus-wielding –patriarchy!’ – but the way it is told is hilarious.

The smaller stuff is brilliant. I liked ‘Apathy Man’, where the superhero in question confronts a crowd of protesters mouthing standardised symbols of Socialism, Anarchy and Resistance, and waving their fists in the air aggressively. Our hero zaps them with his ray and leaves them smiling at one another – Corporate symbols coming from their mouths. Which is better – before or after?
Worst is the conversation between Arnie Schwarzenegger and John Howard, a succession of clichés about the ‘Free Trade Agreement’ and our relationship with the United States, punctuated by a stereotypically violent end. Best is ‘Loud’, written for the Noise festival. (Noise is a typical ‘Youth’ festival, where public dollars are thrown at a group of artists who claim to be representing ‘young’ people but who usually have their own interests at heart.) It’s a perfectly formed tale about two true-believer artists led into perverted acts of Conceptualism by their flatmate, Terrence. “Did you hear that there are James Joyce readings on tonight in the loft? I thought we could go and throw some rocks.” It ends with a sermon – “Arts funding should be pumped back into small arts communities where it will keep older artists out of Centrelink for a moment while encouraging new artists to start making art. It shouldn’t be sent overseas to be squandered by some prosperous knobhead on the backpacker circuit.” Violence, followed by a standard argument about Government funding. The pretence, greed, and occasional brutality of the activist artistic scene is, for once, made bleedingly obvious.

“This is an anti-copyright publication,” writes Patty. “So go for your lives, you thieving cunts!”
Actually, this man deserves money for this. Turn him into a Capitalist pig. Demand cash from the Oppressive Money-Maker in your family, and buy ten – no, twenty – of his comics. Turn him from his inner-city, poverty-stricken hippy lifestyle!

http://pattybumcracky.motime.com

Journey to the Ends of the Earth

For a while, it seemed, that enroute to Antarctica, the Nerdling had been lost in cyberspace. But her sites back up now, and she's arrived on the final continent safe and sound.

She's already cast her scientific eye over several vital subjects. FUDS, for instance. Not to mention the magical shoelace that never comes undone.

Personally, I would like to suggest several more fruitful areas of inquiry:

- What does the South Pole look like? Is it like this, or more like this?

- If Santa Claus lives at the North Pole, then who lives at the South Pole? His evil twin, Satan Claws?

- I remember reading a story-thing by H. - something-Lovecraft-somebody-or-other about creatures that lived in caves beneath the Antarctic, or some such place. Anyway, if it happened in a book, it must be true, so can you get some photographs? (Oh, and don't forget to stick around for the moment when the Ancient Evil arises from its Icy Grave and destroys the world, and stuff).

- How far to the left of the South Pole is the North Pole?

- Once you've reached the South Pole, how far do you have to keep on walking before you fall off the Edge of the Earth?

Anyway, cheers, Nerdling, keep up the good work and the great blog. In your honour, I have created a new poll; it's on the sidebar, and I call it - The South Poll. It's about that most vexed question in human history: WHY??? WHY??? IN GOD/BUDDHA/CTHULHU'S NAME, WHY???

HIPPIES!!!

A while back I sent two stories to this bunch of hippies. They rejected one of my stories, but the other got on their short list.

That story has now been rejected.

I shall be sending my profound and everlasting maleficient curses through to them shortly, along with another submission.

In the meantime, since I don't know what else to do with it, here's one of the stories I sent through. It was written a few months before the October election, and was originally intended to go along with an article I wrote on Conspiracy Theories...

---

And Finally - The Conspiracy You Never Expected

Deep in the gloomy dungeons of the dank basement of a shabby mansion in a minor town in an unimportant country (called Newcastle, Australia), a super-secret group of Supervillains met not so long ago to discuss their super-super-secret plans for world domination. Which I will now tell you, since they kindly invited a press representative from Will Type For Food along to record and report on events.

The meeting was opened by a customary manic laugh by the leader, Dr. Ughnor. “Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha!”[1]he laughed. “Welcome, my felonious friends, my colleagues in conspiracy, my nefarious neighbours … Welcome to the inaugural meeting for the Collective Union of Insanely Evil Supervillains!”

“I don’t like that name!” piped up the Baron von Nonhoffen from the back of the room. “It’s too long!”

“Ja, ja, and besides, it is pronounced CUTIES for short!” said Helga the Horrendous. “It just vould not be good for our reputation!"[2]

“Silence!” shouted Dr. Ughnor. “I called this meeting, and I get to decide what the name is! Anyway, we’re not here to quibble over little things like names. We’re here to discuss our super-secret plans for WORLD DOMINATION! Bwa ha ha ha ha ha![3] We can quibble over little things like names later!”

“Oh, alright,” said the Baron.

“Get on with it, then,” said Helga.

“Very well,” replied Dr. Ughnor, grinning evilly[4]. “But I must warn you, the plan is so diabolically clever, that it would take a genius to figure out. I’ll have to draw a diagram for you. Slave!” (to his assistant, who had been dozing off at the back of the room,) “fetch – the BLACK-BOARD!”

“I’m not your slave!” said his assistant crankily, wiping the sleep out of his eyes.

“Oh, maybe not – but at least I don’t pay you enough!” replied Dr. Ughnor.

“And it’s not a blackboard. You wrecked the blackboard the other day,” said the assistant, “When you used it as a shield in that gun battle we had with the FBI. We have to use a white board now!”

“Oh, very well!” snapped Dr. Ughnor. “Fetch … fetch the Slightly-Off-Blackboard of Pestilence and Death, and hurry up about it!”

When the assistant had returned with the Slightly-Off-Blackboard of Pestilence and Death, the Doctor picked up a felt-tip marker, but, discovering it was the wrong sort, settled to draw diagrams in the air as a way of illustrating his point to the collected villains.

“My partners in crime,” he began, “What I have to reveal to you today is a conspiracy so insidious, so dark and deep and diabolical, that it will surely deliver us the keys of ultimate power…”

“Yes, yes, hurry up!” called out the Baron.

“In short,” said the Doctor, “What I am proposing is that secret representatives from our Conspiratorial Collective infiltrate the Government, and …”

“No good,” interrupted Helga. “The Illuminati tried that in America, but the candidate got caught out for embezzling campaign funds.”

“Ah!” replied Dr. Ughnor. ‘But you haven’t heard the clever bit yet!”

“Alright then, what is it?”

“Well,” smirked the Doctor,[5] “We will bide our time, being careful to perform everything by the book … and pretty soon, we will have infiltrated into the very highest echelons of power!”

“And then … we will stage a coup, AND IT VILL BE JUST LIKE DER REICHSTAG FIRE ALL OVER AGAIN!” shouted Helga excitedly, jumping out of her seat. She was very excited, and trembling all over.

“No, no!” insisted the Doctor. “That’s not the clever bit. We haven’t got to the clever bit yet. You’ve got to hear the next stage in my plan first!”
Helga frowned like an evil Supervillain who had just been told that she was going to have put her plans for World Domination on hold, and sat down, muttering, “Well, it sounded good to me …”

“And then, when our numbers have grown,” said the Doctor, “We will stage an election! And promise to lessen taxes! And increase jobs! And lower the crime-rate! And improve the quality of our hard-pressed public services! And … And … And we will…”

“Oh, what’s so good about that?” snapped the Baron impatiently.

“Well, it’s just a clever ploy to gain the trust of the people!” replied the Doctor smoothly. “So they’ll elect us. And, unbeknownst to them, once we have been elected…”

“VE VILL CRUSH THEM WITH AN IRON FIST!” shouted Helga.

“AND OPPRESS THEM AND SLAUGHTER THEIR CHILDREN,” roared the Baron.

“AND BUILD A MIGHTY MILITARY FORCE VICH VE VILL USE TO …”

“No, no, no!” interrupted the Doctor. “We won’t do any of that. Not right away, at least. No, first of all, we will have to ingratiate ourselves with the people… We will implement our policies to the best of our ability! And when our policies don’t work, we will give transparent excuses and make long speeches in parliament about how it’s the fault of the other side! And we will go on in this way, until our forces have gathered! And then … and this is the clever bit …”

“Yes?” hollered the Baron.

“Well, I haven’t thought about that yet,” admitted the Doctor, grinning sheepishly and evilly at the same time[6]. “But I’m sure the clever bit will be really clever…”

“Huh. That’s no good at all,” said Helga, crossing her arms. “You’ll just be like another of those politicians! All promises, and they never deliver anything!”

“Well, can you think of anything better?” challenged the Doctor.

“Well… no,” she admitted, and flopped back down in her seat sulkily.

“Then let’s do it!” finished the Doctor, grinning evilly and sheepishly and triumphantly all at the same time[7], “Right. First things first, the public is never going to relate to us unless we have normal names. I’ll call myself… ammm, well, John Howard; you, Helga, you can be Bronwyn – oh, Bronwyn Bishop, and you, Baron, I’ll call you … hmmm, let’s see … Alexander Downer…”

---

[1] Actually, it was considered customary for Dr. Ughnor to close every second sentence with a manic laugh. For the sake of brevity, this will be edited out from the transcript from here on.

[2] And every girl, even a barbarian girl, has got to look after her reputation.

[3] That one just slipped in. Sorry.

[4] He was very proud of his evil grin; he practiced it ever morning in the mirror. How do I, a humble reporter, know this? I just do.

[5] Somehow Doctor Ughnor was able to smirk and grin evilly at the same time. Another one of his many exceptionally minor talents.

[6] See note 5, above.

[7] Well, you get the idea.

For Red

Get well soon, Red!

Where Was I Again?

Harry Hutton asks: "Which state is Newcastle in?"

I'm glad you asked, Harry. Last time I checked, Newcastle was in NSW, Australia, and will remain that way for some time, bar revolution, civil war, or peaceful succession from the rest of Australia.
It is therefore easily distinguishable from Newcastle (Western Australia), Newcastle (Wyoming, America), Newcastle (Pennsylvania, America), Newcastle (Washington, America), Newcastle (Delaware, America), Newcastle (New Brunswick, Canada) and Newcastle (Alberta, Canada).

Not to mention Newcastle, England, in whatever Province/ County/ Barony/ Satrap/ Emirate/ Sultanata/ Whatever-it-is-you-call-it-over-there.

My Tips

Blogs I've nominated for the Australian Blog Awards:

Best Overseas Australian Blog: Slush For intelligence, wit, and all-round perspicacity

Best New Blog: Hateful Checkout Chick For consistency: 'I hate the world and everything in it!'

Best Victorian Blog: Jazzy Hands Quote, unquote: "As I'm tripping over yet another smelly body on the lounge room (they have to sit on the floor because nothing gets the smell of teenage boy out of the furniture), I yell at them - "Why are you out tagging trains like normal kids? It'd be good for you - the fresh air, the exercise, the adventure." Need I say more?

Best Queensland Blog: The Rat Pack For Marty's amazing ability to sustain a blog on 'Can't blog at the moment' posts, several posts in a row. Also for being an intelligent, articulate voice for the young Australian Right.

My Favourite Things

This one's for The Texas Gurl, who's just posted the original version on her blog...

My Favourite Things

Androids on acid and cyborg assassins,
Catamite Klingons and Maoist Cardacians,
Vampires from Venus with chromium wings –
These are a few of my favourite things….

Grey-suited goblins and gargoyles in golashes,
Demons in tutus made from women’s eyelashes –
Republican Cougars wearing Plutonium Rings –
They’re just a few of my favourite things...

Gigantic butterflies that suck out your brains
And seed it with spawn as you’re screaming with pain –
Then conquer the world for their insectoid kings –
These are a few of my favourite things…

Lying on couches and thinking of karma
Getting drunk on red cordial as I watch Futurama
And dream of the sex that tomorrow won’t bring –
Yes, they’re just a few of my favourite things...

I'm Just Saying

For no reason at all, I would like to inform you that nominations for the Australian blog awards are being accepted.

For no reason at all, I would also like to mention that there are categories for Best Humour Blog, Best NSW blog, Best Victorian Blog, Best New Blog, etc, etc.

Why not go over there and make a nomination?

For no reason at all.

Vote One Carry Hutton, and Other Assorted Items.

Carry Hutton, who I've mentioned in this blog several times, is a finalist for Most Humorous Asian Blog. Please vote for him! (His blog is Chase Me Ladies, I'm In The Cavalry!)

Apparently, if I mention some obscure Australian celebrity who I've never heard of by today, these girls will sponsor some third world child. So, um, here goes: Collette.
Now would someone explain to me who this 'Collette' beast is again?

PS - Vote 1 Beautiful Atrocities for Best Foreign Blog.

The Sausage Version

(AKA, All The Wisdom Of The World Uttered by The Kid On The Bus)

Apparently they've released a disco version of The Australian national anthem. Here's a link on the Daily Telegraph website...

I prefer The Sausage Version, which I heard this afternoon uttered by The Kid On The Bus.

Australians all love sausages,
For we are Yum and free,
With golden soil and wealth for toil,
Our home is girt by skis.

O Wise and Knowledgeable Kid On The Bus, We Salute Thee.

Cuteness2 - Contributing to the Downfall of Western Civilization, One Kitten at a Time

More disgustingly pleasurable pictures of kittens. Send all your complaints here.



The Bonsai Kitten: keep it in a jar by the window, and it will last for weeks.



When he grows up, he will move into a trash-can and feed on compost. It's a livin'.



She learnt how to do this by killing small native animals.



The Serial-killer of all mouses.



Cat-food abuse, an all-too-common syndrome in todays society.

Kite Yodelling

The Compleat Guide on How to Yodel A Kite

Kite Yodelling is quite simple, if you know how. All you have to do is this:

- Put on your best evening gown
- Purchase a kitten from the nearest kitten-vendor
- Turn your oven up to 200 degrees fahrenheit
- Sit on the kitten.

In no time at all, your kite will be yodelled.

The Most Boring Word in the English Language

What is the most boring word in the English language? What is the word, that when spoken, heard, or read, is most likely to induce yawning and a deadly torpor of disinterest?
Some people may argue that it is the prepositions, but I would disagree: it is true that prepositions are not inherently interesting words in themselves, but they are useful. And in their utility lies their interest.

No; for me, the most boring word in the English language would have to be 'strung'. I shall strive, from now on, to make Will Type For Food the blog a 'strung' free-zone.

Cuteness1

Ah, cuteness. It is everywhere nowadays. From one corner of the internet to the other, cute pictures of babies and puppies and kittens spawn and spread their grasp, like some loathsome virus which has taken hold of our psyches. In fact, there seems to me to be something vaguely pornographic about the whole concept of cuteness - as if these 'cute' pictures exist merely to give us pleasure. And who am I to argue with that?

In the grand Will Type For Food tradition of link-whoring and publicity stunts, I have here posted a number of gratuitously cute puppy pictures, complete with descriptions, for your gratuitous, pornographic pleasure...



He grew up to sniff the bum of Hitler's dog.



She rolled in a dead-fish the other day, and her owners haven't been able to wash the smell out of her fur ever since.



They're being bred by a Korean restaurant. In one months time they will become a delicious stew



He fell in love with a Chihuahua, but alas, their relationship was doomed from the start: for she was going out with a poodle.

PS for more on cuteness and the modern internet revolution, see Harry Hutton.