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Monday, May 31, 2004

The Bright Lights of the City. 

I was in Darling Harbour on Saturday night. While admiring the harbour I noticed something a little weird. What I saw was a war ship and a navel submarine decorated with attractive borders of fairy lights.

Is it just me, or is there something wrong with that?

Before we hook into the various reasons why this is inappropriate let’s just cover the fact that even the best quality “outdoor” fairy lights are probably not going to perform particularly well when the sub dives. Lets also make mention of the fact this war ship loses any subtlety it may have had approaching an enemy with its silhouette outlined and radiating with a distinctive border of clear low voltage globes.

Now let’s get to the real point here. It’s a fucking WAR ship! They go off and participate in war, blowing shit up and other fairly un-fun activities. Fairy lights are generally associated with Christmas time, carnivals and celebration. War and fun don’t share many similarities and fairy lights probably shouldn’t be one of them.

What’s next? Sentimental engravings on bullet shells? Dancing girls on the tanks as they roll through wherever they happen to be “liberating”? Perhaps we should package a bit of confetti into bombs, to y’know, make the deadly explosion a bit more pretty and fun.

Even if they remove the lovely fairy lights prior to going off to fight, why have them on display when in port? Are we actually proud of having these things? Warships in the harbour are not really a sign of a pleasant and safe city. Do we really want to remind visitors to Sydney that we are actively involved in the war?

I can’t help wondering if this is part of an effort to increase public support for the War. I can just imagine the meetings. “People like fairy lights, what if we put some of them on our death delivery machines. Yes, that will get everyone on side”.

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Friday, May 28, 2004

Unemployment Approaching 

I am soon to be unemployed. I’ve known this was coming from day one. You see, this little job of mine was only ever going to be for about six months and I’ve squeezed about eight months out of it so I really can’t complain.

It is quite exciting to be freed of the responsibility of employment. Jobs are so time consuming and unemployment will afford me much time to indulge in a variety of meaningful pursuits, such as watching Big Brother Up-Late, sleeping in and getting drunk on weeknights.

Unfortunately I am not the heir to a multi-million dollar fortune so I will hit the wall in a month or two when I have wasted my life savings (again). The fact I can’t afford to remain unemployed forever leaves me at one of lives depressing little crossroads. Except I’m not depressed, I haven’t really looked too hard beyond the month of laziness and indulgence I have on the cards.

I’m sure your wondering how all this will effect you. If not you should, because it will effect you, dear reader. You must understand I am currently on a handsome hourly rate as I maintain this blog. Soon I won’t be, and I cannot guarantee my dedication and enthusiasm for The Undie Run will continue at the standard you’ve become accustomed to once I am forced to do it on a voluntary basis.

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Thursday, May 27, 2004

Social Pissing 

I don't like to use urinals. Being male, this probably seems little strange but I find lining up to relieve myself with a group of men whose only common ground is having their dicks in hand seems a little odd.

I saw something yesterday that got me thinking about this strange expectation on men to share the act of urination. It made me think would we be willing, given an appropriate receptacle, to do the same thing with number two's? And even more curiously would women, who are well known for going to the toilet together, be willing to tinkle in such a social environment?

I couldn't resist breaking the law about camera phones in public toilets to snap this shot. Tell me, would you use these toilets?
 Posted by Hello

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Tuesday, May 25, 2004

No Tolerance for the Intolerant 

So here I am quietly pretending to be working and the old dude here cleaning our windows decides that I have all day to listen to his bullshit. Sorry Mr Window-Washer, but the internet’s not going to surf itself.

Usually I am happy to chat to whoever happens to be working in my workplace, because after all people are just like blogs, only slightly less virtual. However, Mr Window-Washer’s chosen topic of conversation is the stupidity of boat people for not sailing in more appropriate vessels and how the government should just sink the boats.

Some people spend so much time with their heads up their own arses that they must begin to enjoy the smell of their own shit!

Now I am by no means an expert on foreign policy or the complexities of immigration, nor have I ever had any real first hand experience with it, so I don’t profess know the correct course of action for handling boat people or refugees. Unlike our friend Mr Window-Washer, whose career choice has obviously provided him with a wealth of knowledge on such issues?

What I do know is that drowning people because they are in “our” waters is damn right nasty. How can anyone really think that bombing boat’s filled with living breathing human beings is ever the best course of action in any situation.

As I sit here writing Mr Window-Washer continues to prattle on with his crap. Does he think I’m listening? I’m typing. He is behind me as I type this little bitch about him, but I’m not at all concerned he may be reading over my shoulder because he has already demonstrated a level of intelligence that an ability to read is far beyond.

Why is it that it’s always the people with the fucked up intolerant ideals that don’t accommodate anyone different to them that want to share their thoughts? It always seems to be the haters that want various people, places sexualities, religions, etc banned or bombed that want to tell you about it.

It’s a lot like the builder we had here a few weeks ago who was telling me that “mongoloids” shouldn’t be allowed to “breed” because their all “criminals” and keeping them alive is a waste of “his” tax dollars.

Would these people actually be happy to see their tax dollars spent castrating the handicapped and murdering refugees?

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Monday, May 24, 2004

R.I.C. - Rest In Concrete 

Over the weekend, in a discussion fuelled by mind altering substances a few friends and I were discussing death and what we would like to become of our corpses when we eventually part company with them.

Most seemed content to either be buried or cremated, cremation being the slightly more popular option. One guy wants to be stuffed and put on display somewhere - Preferably in a museum but failing that will settle for a pub or his families lounge room. He’s always been a little odd.

I have always thought being buried would be the go, there’s just something about being reduced to an urn full of ash that seems like your taking being dead a little too far. All this morbid discussion got me thinking more about what I would like to become of my fleshy vehicle when it finally packs it in.

Here’s what I’ve come up with; Give me the whole buried in a coffin, in a cemetery routine, y’know all normal like. The difference is I want the coffin filled with cement. Yep that’s right CEMENT!

My figuring is it will preserve my body so in thousands of years I can be dug up, chipped open and studied, or probed, or whatever those wacky, futuristic, archaeologists are into.

I will need to be propped up with some of those little plastic thingies concreters use to keep reo off the ground when pouring concrete. This is important to allow the cement to go underneath me I would hate my bum cheeks to be visible through the cement when they dig me up.

The concrete will keep those pesky maggots at bay and prevent anyone stealing my gold tooth. (I don’t actually have a gold tooth but I’m sure I will by the time I die).

Another thing I like about this idea is I will need about twenty pole bearers to carry the “One Tonne Coffin” and will cause a few back injuries for my mates to remember me by.

As the coffin is being lowered into the grave the ropes will probably snap which will be a right laugh and it’s not like it will hurt, I’ll be encased in concrete… and err, dead.

But the real brilliance in this plan is I can have an open casket funeral and it won’t be grose, or smelly. Everyone can approach the casket say a few last words and lovingly engrave their initials into the slab. If there is an afterlife this will allow me to spend it learning to read backwards and enjoying such sentiments as “DAVO WAZ ERE”. Certainly beats cards and flowers.

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Friday, May 21, 2004

Paranoid Bullshit 

There seems to be a trait within our species; we tend to freak out whenever we get a little hindsight. When something bad happens we go to ridiculous and extreme measures to try and prevent it happening again.

Of course the greatest example of this is the reaction of the western world to the 9/11 terrorist attacks. This has caused such a paranoid frenzy that today, not even three years later; Australia finds itself involved in war, spending constantly increasing dollars on terrorist protection and the military. Airport security will not allow nail clippers onto a plane and we have some of our citizens jailed without charge (not to mention citizens of other countries we jail without charge).

Bali and Spain prove that these paranoid reactions will not prevent terrorism. If someone wants to kill, they ultimimatly will.

A few weeks ago I read in the paper that standards for bicycle helmets are to be changed to make helmet straps unclip when under pressure. The reason for this crazy idea is a tragic one. Apparently a small child playing on his bunk beds with his bike helmet on fell down the narrow gap between his top bunk and the bedroom wall. The helmet got stuck and he hung himself, and unfortunately died.

While this is very sad, it’s also an incredibly unusual occurrence and unlikely to ever happen again. Helmets are to protect people falling off bicycles and if they come off, they fail to serve the purpose and will cause more death and injury.

Rugby league has been through a massive sea of spew lately. Its image has been badly tarnished by rape allegations (which were dropped …very suspiciously). The NRL is now franticly trying to prove it cares about women and won’t let the player’s rape them anymore.

A couple of nights ago Mark Gasnier (A NSW Player) got A NSW team mate’s mobile phone and used it to leave a “sexually explicit” voice message on some woman’s phone.

In light of the turmoil that currently surrounds the game, Mark Gasnier has been stripped of his place in the NSW team as well as been fined and suspended indefinitely from his club team (St. George Illawarra). This was nothing more than a bad joke at a bad time. He is denied the greatest honour in Rugby League because the game happens to be in a state of paranoid hysteria and looking for people to blame.

The western world is so wrapt up in cotton wool that its almost totally protected from harm, and generally the only things left that actually kill us are cancer and the odd car accident.

It’s time to realise not everything can be prevented, and nothing can be prevented after it’s happened. Crazy knee jerk reactions won’t prevent anything. In these times of turmoil we need to reflect on a very wise slogan printed on t-shirt’s and bumper stickers all over the western suburbs – SHIT HAPPENS.

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Thursday, May 20, 2004

Roast 

I haven’t really covered this subject at length here on The Undie Run, but I only recently moved out of home. (Spare me the shit stirring; at least I’m out now).

After throwing myself out of the nest, do you think I plummeted into the hard, cold earth below? No. Not this little black duck! I’m soaring like an eagle, and currently live happily in more functional and hygienic surrounds than ever before.

I cook, I clean, I pay bills, and I’m a domestic champion. Last night, feeling that this is all a bit too easy, I decide I’m gonna cook me a roast.

I headed off to Coles, bought the necessary ingredients; a big chunk of cow, potatoes, carrots, pumpkin, nice bread and a colour TV.

By the way - Why does the supermarket sell televisions? Even more curiously why did I impulsively buy one? I guess the latter answers the former. And it was a bargain and I’ll watch it lots, or at least that was my internal reasoning at the time.

Now we've cleared that up... I have to say a roast is a pinch of piss to cook. You just throw everything into a big roasting-dish-pot-type-thing (one of which I happen to own) stick it in the oven then an hour-and-a-bit later get it out and eat it. Too easy.

The real advantage here is you’re not standing there stirring shit, which gives you more time to watch your new TV. The other benefit with a roast (and this is a biggie for me) is there is only one big roasting-dish-pot-type-thing to wash up afterwards, rather than a heap of saucepans, strainers, stirrers and assorted other stove crap.

Although, so busy was I eating like a king and watching my new TV that I forgot to put the bins out, So the side yard of my domestic wonderland will stink for the next week. Maybe I’m not quite the king of the domesticated lifestyle, but I do cook a mean roast.

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Wednesday, May 19, 2004

Triple M Code words 

I admit my efforts to post all the Triple M code words, thus far has been nothing short of piss poor.

I have found a way to rectify this. You will notice a new link on the left (that’s your left, not the computers left) called “Triple M Code Words” This is a site doing the same thing as me, only more reliably. So from now on if I haven’t posted a code word, drop in and visit them, they should have it.

It’s all for you my readers.

Today’s cage code word is: marriage
Today’s work day code word is: edition

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Tuesday, May 18, 2004

Congratulations JoJo 

Quick Congratulations to JoJo over at “The Purple Vagina Monologues”. She had her baby on Sunday. I was going to list the details (name, weight, etc.) but it’s her moment so I’m not going to go blabbing. The link to her blog is to the left.

While I’m sure this is a happy occasion for her and all concerned, I am left a little worried, wondering what will become of the baby blog that has become an essential part of my regular internet reading.

Hopefully She’ll commentate motherhood in the same fashion she commentated pregnancy – Brilliantly.

Congratulations JoJo

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Sydney Rock City 

So I went to see Kiss last night. Allow me to re-phrase that; so I went to see what’s left of Kiss last night. Kiss has only two of the original band members left nowadays. While Singer, Paul Stanley and Bassist, Gene Simmons cling desperately to their glory days, The lead guitarist and the drummer have had the good sense and dignity to die, or something.

I’m not really much of a Kiss fan, my brother (whom I think was just looking for an excuse to wear make-up in public) bought me a ticket, and since Grinspoon and Machine Gun Felatio were the support bands I thought I’d go along. I missed most of MGF but Grinspoon rocked. Grinspoon have been going for a few years now and have enough great songs to do a first rate set. They play live flawlessly. I’ve never seen Grinspoon before and finally seeing them made me realise how much I like so many of their songs. Go and see Grinspoon, they’re tops!

Hang on, this was meant to be about Kiss….

Due to incompetent bar staff I was still buying beer as Kiss took the stage. I was ready to kill the old woman with the broken hearing aid and her little boy side-kick who didn’t speak or understand English, but eventually they managed to give me my overpriced beer and given the show had started, I didn’t cause a scene and headed inside.

The stage set up was awesome. Everything was black and chrome, my brother counted the amps – seventy-something in total, but it was later revealed that at least two of them were smoke machines disguised as amps. I suspect most of them were fake, but they still looked heaps cool.

They had more pyrotechnics than any concert I’ve ever been to. They had cameras filming live to four big screens above the stage (which was great, given the crapness of our seats). Gene Simmons flew up to on top of the lighting rig and did a song up there. Paul Stanley flew over the dance floor to a little stage in front of the sound guys and did a song there. The entire drum kit rose up into the lighting rig at another point. Performers take note; flying band members is totally cool!

Throughout the show they kept filming spunky girls who were dancing enthusiastically. It was obvious they were hoping for a bit of tits-out action. Congratulations to the one young lady who flashed her generous cans for the cams.

When Kiss said “last night we payed in Melbourne”, I was very amused, as I always am when a band does this, that the crowd responds with “BOOOO”. It’s like the battle for superiority that has been going on between the two cities for hundreds of years will be decided by who is louder at a Kiss concert.

I was offended that Paul Stanley said Sydney was just like Michigan. Michigan is a shit hole and Sydney is a beautiful city. Please don’t liken us to such a dirty, filthy, crime filled toilet of a place.

As they were bringing out the orchestra, Mr Stanley explained that classical music was cool and that there are only two types of music; good music and bad music, and these guys are really good. He then went on to say that they were now going to combine two types of music. Now, if they are going to combine two (the only two) types of music, and the orchestra plays good… Is he saying Kiss play bad music?

While were on the topic of the Orchestra and Paul Stanley’s poor command of the English language, he told us that we were fortunate to have musicians as talented as the Melbourne Symphony Orchestra right here in Australia, and we should be proud of ourselves. Now I’m happy to bask in a bit of pride and glory, but shouldn’t we be proud of the Orchestra, not proud of ourselves.

One last thought; is it just me or does Gene Simmons walk like Gordon Tallis? Maybe it’s just the heels. (Gene’s not Gordon’s)

All in all it was a great performance it had everything you’d want and could expect from a band like Kiss, or half of them at least.



By the Way, Triple M Cage Code Word - 18/05/04 - Battle

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Monday, May 17, 2004

The Royal Wedding 

Apparently we now give a fuck about the Danish Monarchy. It seems that since a Tasmanian has married into their family we now love Denmark and (even more surprisingly) Tasmania.

We are so shallow. The rest of Australia has being trying to distance itself from Tasmania since the discovery of Bass Straight, but now that they have a celebrity with slightly more credibility than Reggie (who?) we are now embracing this state and even admitting its part of our country, not part of New Zealand like we usually claim.

So I watched most of the wedding, cause… well…hmm, I don’t really have an excuse do I?

Anyway, the thing that really got my attention was the amount of medals royal men wear. What did they do to earn these medals? I can’t imagine Frederick is a war hero, or even his school high jump champion. So, why all the medals? I think they must just buy them, in which case they must wear them with an incredible feeling of pride.

The royal women don’t wear medals, I’d assume this is because they don’t have any, because, well, they’re women and royals are pretty modern like that. The women do make up for their lack of medals with serious amounts of chunky bling bling. So I guess it all works out.

Something that made me laugh was the royal men wearing swords. This is obviously due to the heightened fear of terrorism that’s engulfing the world. So if terrorist’s try to attack the wedding, and get past the security barriers, the hundreds of police and the guards surrounding the church they will be swiftly defeated by Fredrick and his fellow swordsmen. Yes sir, security is tight!

I must mention the English Royals; they obviously really give a toss about the marriage, because they sent along massive representation in the form of Prince Andrew. Wow. Big effort guys.

An odd thing was that there were heaps of people in the crowd waving Australian flags; this is odd because she’s not Australian anymore. She had to renounce her Australian Citizenship (which only shits me a little bit)

One more thing, it’s great that the bride and groom are not blood relatives but Tasmanians are famous for being inbred. Royals are famous for being inbred. I bet no one ever thought these two groups of inbreds would actually inter-breed. It now looks pretty certain. Should make for some real freaky-two headed-inbred-kids

Anyway, good luck to them. Hopefully this will mean poor dead Diana will be left alone by women’s magazines.

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Triple M Code Words 

The Triple M Freq Club code words for Monday 17/05/04 -

Cage Code Word: Grace
Workday Code Word: Grammar

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Friday, May 14, 2004

Triple M Code Words 

Triple M Listeners will be familiar with the “Freq Club” and “Daily Code Words”. These things, for the uneducated, are part of an ongoing promotion designed to make you listen to the radio station around the clock, under the false hope you will be rewarded with prizes.

I played for a while, then tried to claim one of the “prizes” and realized they are dodgy bastards and simply having enough code words won’t get you jack-diddley. That just allows you to enter the competitions.

This is a big pile of the brown stuff because any other radio station will let anyone just enter any competition, regardless of how many code words they have or haven’t collected.

Anyway, I’ve given up on the stupid promotion, but I still happen to listen to the station quite a bit, therefore I get quite a few of the code words. As my little fuck you to the folks at Triple M I’m gonna put all the code words I get on this here blog! Feel free to get in on the fun by leaving any code words you may hear in the comments.

The real advantage in this is to you, the punters who read this blog (or will hopefully start reading any day now) cause you get the code words without having to listen to Triple M. To make it even easier for you (gee I’m nice) I’ll link Triple M so you can come here get the code words and then quickly duck over to Triple M to enter them, having never turned on the radio. If people ever start reading this blog Triple M are gonna be royally pissed off!

Today’s Cage Code Word is: Zebra

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Thursday, May 13, 2004

Waxing 

I have very recently moved into a rental place with one of my best mates. He is a great bloke and a loyal and decent mate. We've been friends for years.

Hopefully this post won't change all that.

He is a hairy beast. Well, not so much a beast, more just hairy. Very hairy. Chest and stomach somewhat resembling the Amazon, and his back is catching up.

It was a pre-requisite of me sharing a residence with him that he got waxed. Seriously. My reasoning for this condition was simple. He is a pubic nightmare in the bathroom. Going in after him, there is hair on the floor, in the basin, in the shower recess, EVERYWHERE!!! Waxing was the only option. He nervously agreed, saying it was probably the best solution.

After me doing yet another round of "the bathrooms vulgar, when are you getting waxed?" he suddenly sprung from his seat, returning armed with the phone and a brochure for some beauty parlor. He took a deep breath before ringing the phone number on the brochure. The conversation, from his side, went something like this (throughout most the conversation I was, understandably pissing myself laughing)

Ummmm... hello, do you do men's waxing?

Can I get one?

Back, stomach and chest. And shoulders too.

Do many guys get it done?

Ok cool, and do you rub oil or something in?
(What does he think this is a rub and tug?)

Does it hurt? (Derrrr!)

Will... like... a girl do it?

Oh Ok. Phew.


He then went on to make an appointment.

The appointment rolled around a few days later, and he must have been thinking this was some sort of sexual encounter because he showered and got all dressed up in his best "smart casual" gear. With one exception - given that he isn't a teenager, he doesn't get into the exposed boxer shorts thing. But eager to impress the poor girl who was soon to be logging his out-of-control body hair, he decided that the exposed boxer look would be an impressive one. Now this look involves two aspects. 1) Boxers up about 3 inches above the waistline. 2) Jeans down about 3 inches below the waistline. Result is about six inches of exposed underwear. My good flatmate doesn't do the whole oversized baggy Jeans thing, so he just jacked the boxers up ridiculously high.

Now obviously (to me anyway) the wax girl isn't going to start pulling down his underwear. So the result of his waxing experience is a belt of fur about one inch below his bellybutton.

He is now forced to do the exposed underwear thing 24-7 to cover this ridiculous look.

I piss myself laughing thinking about the reaction of the next poor girl who hops in the sack with him


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Tuesday, May 11, 2004

Call Off The Search Party! 

It’s OK, I’m not dead! I just spent the weekend the same way I spend most weekends - severely intoxicated, and then spent the early part of the week the same way I usually do - recovering from the said intoxication. One of the many negative side effects of this is that I can’t focus on a monitor, or anything else for that matter between Friday and Monday evening’s.

I must admit, this is going to have a negative impact on my blog. I must also admit it isn’t really going from strength to strength anyway. Due to the latter of my admissions, I don’t really give a fuck about the former. If you want that to change, please leave a comment, the competitions still running.

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Friday, May 07, 2004

City vs. Country 

The annual City vs. Country Rugby League clash is on tonight. For those who don’t know, this is a representative game of Rugby League, that’s primary purpose is to display the talent of the potential NSW State of Origin players to the selectors.

I love my rugby league and will enjoy watching the game tonight, but unlike the State of Origin, I don’t give that much of a shit about it and don’t really support either team. I’m from the outer suburbs of Sydney. So who do I go for? I don’t consider myself a “City” or “Country” boy. Who to go for? Who cares?

On The Footy Show last night, they were trying to hype it up and get some support for the match. Throughout their coverage I learned a few interesting things…

The Country Logo is basically the VB Logo. I know them country folk love a beer and I also see the need for sponsorship, but this is the team’s emblem. This is their identifying symbol, their flag if you will. And it’s a Beer Logo? Some things - not many, but some- should be sacred.

They sent the teams out on a PR mission to meet their fans through the week. Good Idea. They sent the country team to Armidale, fair enough, Armidale’s a country town. Appropriate. They sent the city team to Mudgee. The “CITY” team to “MUDGEE”!!! What’s with that? I wonder if they’ll send the NSW team to Brisbane to drum up the fan base.

Funnily enough, they have allowed several Bulldogs players into the teams. This is interesting because for all other representative football no Bulldogs players are making the teams for one of two possible reasons 1)cause their not good enough, cause their only, like... 1st on the ladder! Or 2) cause everyone still reckons they are a pack of gang rapists? Either or.

A couple of weeks ago, there was an Australia vs. New Zealand Test match. All players who played in that game have been excluded from the City vs. Country Match. This leaves the very best players out of the game; it also puts in a bunch that really isn’t good enough. If the game is to be viewed as a credible representative game, we really need to have the best players playing.

That’s all. No point, no purpose, just some random observations and thoughts.

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Thursday, May 06, 2004

Work in The USA 

What’s with these fucking Americans? I thought we were on pretty good terms with them. Weren’t we one of only two countries stupid enough to help out in their war on musli… err, I mean “terrorism”? Despite this fantastic relationship we are supposed to have, I can’t get a shitty casual job in their stupid country.

Ya see, I’ve been putting some thought into doing a spot of globetrotting. So I thought, I’ll go to the states for a few months and get a fun little job, pulling beers or something. I start looking into doing this and find that it is illegal for foreigners to get work in the USA. There are some exceptions - like if you’re Russel Crow, but not if you’re Molly Meldrum.

It seems that the United States, in their almighty wisdom, figure that if they allow backpackers and travellers to pick up work while visiting the states, it will take jobs away from American citizens and the travellers will send the earned money home to their own country. This will obviously destroy the American economy and drive the entire country into poverty and desolation.

My Plan to see the states, on a financial level involves me leaving Australia with about ten or fifteen grand (that I earned in Australia), hitting New York, and - pissing it all against a wall. I would then get a job to allow me to continue - pissing money against a wall. If things got tight, I’d call home and have my parents send money - to piss against a wall. When I had exhausted all avenues for drinking money, I’d go home with no money and lots of stories to tell about how fantastic the USA is.

I’d of thought this would be good for the American economy. As you can see, my plans involve bringing lots of money into the country and leaving it there. It also involves me having a job and paying tax (contributing to the economy) and my mere presence creates more jobs (at bars, McDonalds, tourist attractions, etc.).

I could understand Australia complaining about the effect on its economy, and my liver has even greater cause for concern, but America? I just don’t get it.

Stupid Paranoid Pricks!

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Wednesday, May 05, 2004

The Apprentice 

The Apprentice started in Australia last night and I didn't watch it. However, this morning I did do a google search on "The Apprentice" and in about ten seconds knew who the winner was. It was William "Bill" Rancic. A White Male, who would've thought?

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Tuesday, May 04, 2004

BB4 - 03/05/04 

Well, we had our first daily show last night, a one hour special no less. Gretel was even hosting. Theme music is the same tune, but a little different. Stupid Lego type men are still there. Mike Goldman is still narrating. I have a strange craving for a KFC Twister.

(Disclaimer - I should warn you that, in these early stages I will regularly change my opinions on various housemates as they prove themselves to be morons)

Ok, I’d like to take back what I said yesterday about Igor being evicted first. He’s still a dick, but Aphrodite is possibly the most annoying stupid little cow to ever enter the house!

Can’t we just have an eviction now?

It’s like Anita crossed with Irena (2 people who were evicted at the fist opportunity). “If you knew half the shit in my life” C’mon you silly mole, get over yourself!

She said from the moment she met everyone she could tell by their greeting who was “genuine” and who wasn’t. Fuck off. How do you fake a hello, you stupid judgemental skank? She’s made instant decisions on who to get along with (the wogs) and who not to (everyone else) and now she’s upset because everyone isn’t desperately trying to be her friend. Suck shit I say. I hope she loses it and walks Belinda style. If she hangs around she should be first evicted, to shamefully return to her crappy life.

Unfortunately this year, unlike last year, I have a job and therefore can’t watch Up-late as it runs during two of the measly five hours I am asleep. It is quite possible that, as Big Brother consumes me, my work will slide to a point where I am fired and can watch Up-late. Here’s hoping.

In the mean time lets just assume that they were all asleep and Mike spent two hours awkwardly trying to host nothing other than a couple of ridiculous word games that don’t even try to relate to the show. If anything more interesting happened, let me know.

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Monday, May 03, 2004

Big Brother 4 

Its that time of year again, when I take up dope, regularly buy NW magazine, gossip and bitch like a woman and come hell or high water are in front of the TV every night at seven.

Only this year I have a new place to do the aforementioned gossiping and bitching.

I must confess that while reality TV generally isn’t my thing, I am an incredibly sad and devoted fan of Big Brother. To the point I have watched and loved every series, watching virtually every minute put to air. Furthermore, I have made the hike up to the Gold Coast to view each finale first hand. It is by far, my favourite television show.

I do consider myself something of an expert, so if anyone ever finds this site, feel free to ask any questions on any of the past or present series’ or housemates.

On with the post…

The first thing I noticed was that they decided to hold the show in the Amphi Theatre for the first time. I think this may have something to do with the fact it absolutely pissed down rain last year, totally screwing up the whole show.

As Gretel entered I assumed the surprise had been announced. Lady’s and Gentlemen, the big surprise is… “Gretel’s had her tits done”

Strangely enough this was not the surprise. The surprise was that the winner will not get two-fiddy, they will now get a cool million. As Gretel made the announcement and said “One Million Dollars” everyone in my house immediately did the Dr Evil pinky finger to the mouth thing, it was quite a moment.

Seriously, after all the build up to it with adds saying things like “Will it effect the way the housemates vote?” and “Will it effect the way the housemates interact?” it was a bit lame that the surprise won’t effect ANYTHING at all, other than the winners bank balance. Mind you Big Brother has disappointed me several times before with big build ups to nothing, so for me the surprise was that there actually was a surprise.

I reckon they should have waited to get a few ratings results in before they went and put another $750k on the line, just a thought. I also think they should tell the housemates. For two-fiddy no one’s really there for the money. For a million, I think everyone would be in it to win it. I imagine they will tell them at a later date, when they want to drum up some ratings and media attention.

I love this year’s house. Fewer and bigger rooms are a great idea. Last years house was shit. The Gym is a good inclusion. It saves everyone pumping cordial bottles and turning the grass into mud as they run little laps around the yard. The spa is now indoors (ish) to encourage everyone to use it in all weather. As Aphrodite danced on the “disco floor” I wondered if they thought to install cameras in it. Guess we’ll find out in un-cut. One bedroom and not enough beds, fair enough. Central shower, yeah cool. Retro style, why not. Touch pad diary room entry, oooo space age. Green kitchen, whatever.

I think last year they varied the theme a bit too much, and with audiences currently over dosing on reality television they wouldn’t have gotten away with that shit this year. Its good to see this year they seem to be back to the basic and original format, only real difference is the extra two people. I’d say they’ll still have intruders; they just want to drag the show on for a bit longer.

Anyway, I did a little survey at my place at the conclusion of the show and our panel of four decided that the eviction order (first to last out) will go as follows:

Igor
Kane
Krystal
Terri
Aphrodite
Bree
Elle
Wesley
Catherine
Ashlwhatever
Ryan
Merlin
Paul
Trevor

I am pretty confident we got first and last right. Igor is just a dick. Very Carlo. Trevor has everything it takes to win this. He’s not smart or good looking, which is good, jealousy drives votes. He’s funny, he’s real, and seems pretty devoted to his girlfriend and his ugliness should ensure he won’t have an opportunity to cheat. All of this will wash well with the public. Good luck to him.

It’s hard to imagine the top 4 all being male, but the girls all seem so piss-poor. Last year Jo proved that great tit’s won’t get you across the line… well, not with the viewers anyway.

I’m always amazed with how these people interact at the very start; kisses, cuddles and complements like crazy. If I met someone for the first time and they hugged and kissed me, told me they loved my clothes, hair and piercing, then told me we’d be friends forever. I would seriously distrust and dislike them. Shamelessly crawling up people’s arses won’t work real well. Oh well, I guess they are just playing the game, I just thought by series four they’d be better at it.

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