Telstra handbook Chapter 2: Consolidate the Inconvenience

A 'pre-inconvenienced' member of the public (PIMP) is like copper wire: malleable and well worth recycling

Turns out they have the Internet in the Seychelles.

Through a complicated comms system,  involving encoded SCUBA and many, many bribes I have cleared the following excerpt with my legal team. Oh, and Justin? You can run, but you can’t hide.

So here’s another excerpt from the telstra handbook:

When dealing with a PIMP, incremental increases in inconvenience may be applied. In no time, they’ll be making you a cup of tea – unless, of course, your workmates cut their electricity supply &/or damage the water main.

Case Study:

The illustrations for this section of the workbook come from the logbooks of a master inconveniencer, now sadly lost to the front lines owing to a secondment to the Department of Transport and Main Roads.

“Simmo” was so skilful in the application of incremental inconvenience in this case, that he ended up sleeping in the master bedroom of the residence pictured during the work week, with full board and beer on a slab/shift pro rata supplied.


A Ditch Witch should be:

  1. unloaded just prior to the commencment of earthworks
  2. on site whenever – it’s tough and hard to hotwire
  3. parked on a solid footing – driveway mouths are optimal
  4. tested by ducking or Trial By Fire.

104 Responses

  1. How did you get that? No, really .. how?

    I worked for them once – the handbook was not available to us. We had to make our own stupidity. It would have been so much easier if we could have had the path to stupid clearly mapped but I guess we weren’t high enough up the chain.

    I don’t think I’ve been PIMPed by Telstra before but I’m pretty sure I have been screwed.

    On a somewhat unrelated note, I was sitting at a bus stop the other day when a truck carrying a ditch witch went by. It brought you to mind immediately. This association may be permanent.

    • Hehehe.

      I’ve been called all kinds of witch before, Melbo – how sweet that you were thinking of me!

      I think of you every time I see a bloke in a frock. It’s happening quite often, as we maul into footy season.

  2. Well Melbo, it’s like this.
    They left the door of the truck cabin open in order to better ventilate the skies with the sounds of John Cougar Mellancamp and Bruce Springstein – and being as the sludge pump truck was parked on my property, possession being nine tenths of the law and all that, I theorized that the hand book and the meat pie slathered over it were, in fact, now mine.

    As they were huddled over their portal to hell (a 4 m x 1m ditch in front of my garden stairs) chain smoking and taking orders from Satan, they couldn’t see me nor hear me.

    Simple, really.

    • Brilliant in its simplicity, Quokka!

  3. I’m thinking of compiling the Hellstra Work Soundtrack, just so you mob don’t feel like you’re missing out.
    Oh, the guy with the Zee Zee top beard in the clip with the hooker is the truck driver. He’s lost some weight since he gave up smack and took up amphetamines. But it’s definitely him.

  4. I don’t know why I clicked on “play”.

    I told myself it was wrong, that it would make Baby Jesus cry and I’d only have myself to blame.

    Now, the only ray of sunshine is that I’ve finally got “Don’t Fear the Reaper” out of my head.

    There were many things to admire in that clip, but my question is this:
    “Why, Mr Mellencamp? Why the strange inside-out leather pants and suede chaps, that make you look like you’re wearing a pair of ancient cricket whites, mended with gaffer tape in the crutch?”

    BTW, which hooker? They all looked like hookers to me – especially the one at the end with the hyperthyroid eyes. I think that was her “My, it’s huge! I don’t think I could swallow it all at once” face.

  5. Speaking of “I don’t think I could swallow….”, The Seychelles is where that weird looking prince and that bossy social climber are currently honeymooning. I wonder if Justin is getting any good photographs?

  6. I’ll ask him, next time we’re screaming abuse over Skype at one another.

    Actually, I might suggest that if he can pap the Prince, Justin might be able to make a stab at repaying some of my super…

  7. Pap? What, as in smear? Well, I suppose his dad did want to be reincarnated as a tampon.

  8. Hehehe.

    Menstrual humour.

    Poor injured Greybeard will be cowering under the furniture, clutching some witch-bane and muttering to himself.

    There, there, Greybeard, my sweet, my pretty, pretty…

  9. Don’t worry too much about Greybeard. He’s big and ugly enough to hold his own around here. Fifi has trained him well.

  10. Fifi is fabulous.

    So masterful!

    I want to just like her, if I ever grow up.

  11. Happy national Geek Pride Day.

    I’m contemplating taking a mental health day from Witch School in order to luxuriate in my PMS and set up my new PC. And from there to catch up on these fracking case studies. And maybe watch Avatar when that gets really old and lame.

    I dunno.
    It just seems WRONG to go out into the world and act responsible today. Your thoughts, my fellow Aunt Irma geekettes?

  12. As for mental health days – go for it, Quokka.

    I’d like to watch back-to-back episodes of the old, pudgy, homoerotic Batman. But only the ones with Catwoman in them, to settle for ever the question of whether Julie Newmar or Eartha Kitt was better as Catwoman.

    I think Eartha will win, she had such a terrrrrrific purrrrrr.

  13. ARgh. My prac mate has talked me into it.
    If I murder someone, whether by accident or intent, I count on you all to visit me in whatever cage they lock me in.

  14. Of course.

    And the plastic explosives will be icing a superior cake, with no artificial colouring, flavouring or preservatives.

  15. No, no … it’s not a mental health day. It’s an “unscheduled absence” in the public service parlance. Don’t forget your complete waste of time visit to the doctor to get a certificate to back it up. That really cuts into the day.

    Anyway, I took one yesterday because one of the kids is sick. Today I needed a mental health day to get over the unscheduled absence but I had both of them home because it is actually my SCHEDULED day off, as is tomorrow. Looking forward to going in to work on Friday now, just to take a break.

    BTW, MM … I don’t think of you AS a ditch witch. It’s just an unfortunate association in my own addled mind.

    Quokka, how’s the PC and did you get the PMS installed? Hang on … that’s not right …

    Catty, I’ve always felt sorry for Dr Papanicoloau – you make one lousy advance to reproductive medicine and by way of thanks, your surname is abbreviated and forever after, refers to a test where cells are scraped off someone’s cervix and placed on a glass slide for examination under a microscope. It’s hardly in the same category as having a bridge named after you is it?

  16. Excellent suggestion, Madam. And far better than mine – which was to stand outside Quokka’s cell window, tossing marshmallows at her through the bars. (You DO like marshmallows don’t you Quokka?)

  17. Of course not, Melbo. Nor do I think you’re actually a hugely successful transvestite. I’ve seen photos of you and your gorgeous boys – you frock up much better than that Walliams man.

    Marshmallows are all well and good, Catty – but you need shiploads of them to blast through a gaol wall. Like maybe several tonnes. How’s your throwing arm?

    If I have a bridge named after me, I hope it’s one over troubled waters.Or one that gets exploded by a reckless and foolhardy but charismatic squad of mavericks, either or.

    Off topic, overheard this exchange between my spawn yesterday.

    Scene: boys playing martial arts fighting, complete with “whoah-ah!” and “chung chung” type sound effects.
    Magic Man “I am Jackie Chan, unstoppable fighting hero. Whoah Ah! Bam, bam.”

    Elf Boy (complete with halting, bad dub mechanical intonation) “I am a Ninja, so I can’t tell you my name.”

  18. That sounds like a cool game. Elf Boy is destined for great (if secretive) things. It’s a pity we’ll never find out what they are.

  19. Indeed.
    Do excuse my unscheduled absence, Invisible friends and occasional Restorers of my sanity.
    Our educators, in their infinite wisdom and ongoing capriciousness, have decided we must hand in all our assessment by week 15 (next 10 days) as they cannot be arsed marking anything that’s handed in on the final week, i.e. Week 16.

    So as soon as I’ve finished all this crap, I’ll be back, with voodoo dolls, and will expect help with some beheadings and inappropriate probings of such with selected tools from the Bunnings Electrical and Garden aisles.

    • For maximum suffering, stuff the voodoo dolls with catnip, and give them to your cats.

  20. If I’m too tired to commit torture, remind me there’s always the garden mulcher.

    • I’m very interested in gardening implements so I will be in the front row for this one. Got a big weekend planned with the triffids (provided the weather holds and we all know how capricious it can be here in Melbourne at this time of year). Best of luck with your assessments.

      • If the weather is bad, Melbo, at least there will be no ice cream trucks to lure your triffids off a cliff.

  21. I’m never to tired for vengeful ritual magic and actual physical harm, Quokka.

    When we’ve worked our way through your list, we can start on mine. Good luck, and at least it will be over soon. May the Force be with you

    Catty – don’t worry. Even if Elf Boy is the next head of Wikileaks or a congressional aide/presidential plaything, I’ll keep you informed.

    “A man may smile and smile and be a villain”, and even lie to the world – but he won’t fool his Mumma.

  22. Yes, this is true. The trick is to let them think they’re fooling you.

    I vote we have a celebratory Hogwarts torching ceremony. Quokka, you’re in charge of kindling – your assignments will do nicely.

  23. Which would be a grand idea, if it weren’t for the smoke allergy that sets off my asthma.
    Besides, why burn what you can bulldoze?
    I plan to sell tickets to the destruction of the place, with complimentary goji berry daiquiries for all the students, and compulsory wheat grass enemas for all employed therein.

    Come next July Hogwarts will be but a dusty crater fully of cocky shit.

  24. Perfect! I’ll bring the Hangi Pig. Unless you manage to catch Nurse Ratchett first.

  25. Hehehe… “fully integrated, mixed-use precinct”.

    They’re doing a Cloudland on Hogwarts to build a yuppie ghetto. The lifts will smell like spilt macchiato and scrawls in Nikko pen about the Trade Weighted Index will soon mar its gleaming postmodern faux industrial finishes.

    As for hangi-ing Nurse Ratchett… eeew. Boar meat is very strong tasting.

    Can’t we just donate all of her organs for transplant(bad luck, PCH, there’s no heart there to give); skin her(just for fun) and shrink her head?

  26. The drug dealers have to live somewhere, you know.
    And it cuts down their carbon footprint if they’re within easy walking distance of their customers. And the hospital, for when they OD.

  27. Where is Hogwart’s relocating, Quokka?

    I’ve always thought Wolffdene is a euphonious place name – “I’m from the Wolffdene School of Hedge Witchery.”


  28. Good question, which they’re avoiding answering – instead we got a prosy newsletter on how much they’d spent on tarting up the colleges in Sydney, Perth and Melbourne.
    Which has led to speculation that they think this will encourage us to transfer there.
    They seem to think that they’ll still be there in a year or two as they’re counting on the development application getting stuck in the Mills of God.
    Which I very much doubt, being that my spouse used to work for witch school’s new landlord and DD is a grease machine and does not FK about with slow DAs. If he says it will be a crater in the ground next July, then the wrecking balls will move in by May.
    Don’t know & don’t overly much care as I’m out of there in three weeks.

  29. Hurrah to that last !

    But we should have cocktails on the footpath to celebrate the wreckage, when it happens.

    It’s always nice to be able to spit on the smouldering ashes of one’s enemies empire…

    Hmm – I think I was just having a past life regression, there. Please excuse my inexplicable thirst for vengeance

  30. I’d rather drink to it.
    Just give me a moment while I tap a vein in Kylie from admin.

  31. None for me, thanks. I never drink anything green.

  32. Hehehe.

    I think drinking from Kylie would be like absinthe… you’d forget your own name and wake up with green faeries staging an impromptu “Stomp!” performance inside your skull.

  33. Better the green faeries than the blue.
    I think I’d have to put a bullet in my skull if I woke up to a live in-house rendition of smurf music.

    • Arrrrgh!

      Make the lalalaing stop.

      Bugger. That’s smurfed me up for the whole afternoon, now.

  34. I’m not sure if I’ve ever tried absinthe, but the mention of it made this pop into my head:

    So I must have had it at some time or other. Thanks for that, Madam. It totally drove the Day Trip to Bangor out of my head after 36 hours of the stinking wheels going round. And round. And round….

  35. Ah.

    I love a bit of Gregorian. Goes beautifully with the lingering aroma of frankincense in my hair from the funeral mass I attended this morning.

    Hey Catty – do you love La Mystere de Voix Bulgare?

    I do – and a nice lashing of the Abbess Hildegard Von Bingen, as well.

  36. A funeral? That’s sad, Madam. Sounds like it was a full house, if the smell of an evil, monster-creating scientist is still lingering in your hair…. no, wait, that was Frankenstein.

    You knew I was going to say that, didn’t you?

  37. It’s funny you should mention Frankenstein, though.

    Elf Boy finally has a career goal. He wants to,”Create a shock-wave gun that you can fire into the ground. Into the graves. And it will bring dead people back to life.”

    Me. “That sounds interesting – but will there be room on earth for all these resurrected people?”

    Elf Boy “They will be babies, when they come back. And some will be 8, and 9 and even 12. And they will cross the road, by themselves.”

    You heard it first, here at Fun In A Box. My youngest is going to grow up to be a mad scientist, and bring about the zombie apocalypse. And when it comes, the End Times will be… cute.

  38. Movie Sequel Time! Hollywood will be all over ‘Kindergarten Terminator’. Good news for Arnie – I hear he needs a spot of extra cash, to pay all those Alimony and Child Support payments.

  39. Hehehe.

    Kindergarten Terminator.

    Just what I needed, thanks Catty, as Aunt Irma has come to call.

    How are your hips and teeth and gums and other annoyances?

  40. My dear old dad responds to my whining with, “Ah, the perils of Pauline. It’s always an arse or an elbow with you, isn’t it?”

    Meanwhile, my hip is fine now. My dental wounds are on the mend, (I should be able to eat by August), and I’m almost over the ‘flu. (shoulda kicked the Boss out earlier, as he managed to infect me before he left).

    It was a nasty bout, very much like Man Flu, so I was wondering: If I’m a woman, and Aunt Irma is the only other occupant of this body, and I caught Man Flu, does this mean that Aunt Irma is really a transvestite?

    Oh, dear. That Walliams fellow just popped into my head.

  41. Catty, you may be ill with multiple system failure – bless, my sweet and get well soon – but by Crikey I think you’ve cracked it!

    Aunt Irma is a drag queen. It makes perfect sense to me.

    When I was misspending my gothic youth, sneaking into gay nightclubs under-age so I could dance myself silly on house music wearing stilletto-heeled witches boots…

    Where was I?

    Oh, yes. Anyway, on Saturday nights at the Terminus, the bitchiest drag queen on Earth (I’m aware that’s a big call, trust me on this one) “Destiny” would take the stage twice a night.

    Destiny would lip sync to the classics – Madonna (who was still unmarried, juicy and a Catholic at this point), Gloria Gaynor, Nancy Sinatra, etc. – as is traditional for men professionally frocking up. Between sets, however, she’d tear strips off people. Sometimes, her loyal followers in the crowd, sometimes public figures, sometimes the still-incumbent Bjelke-Peterson system of kickback and electoral rorting which we then, in our quaint Eighties way, called the State Government.

    If Aunt Irma is Destiny, the whole female reproductive misery suddenly makes sense.

  42. Stilettos and house music. Ah, happy days. I dragged out my boot collection last weekend, and tried on my pink suede stiletto boots. The HORROR! My womble feet have succumbed to middle aged spread! I am never going to be able to wear high heels again… *sob*

    But I suppose it doesn’t matter. I have nowhere to wear them – when I acquired a family, all my gay friends ditched me, and the only nightclubs I see are the things I hide under the bed to protect us from burglars.

  43. Hmm… I’ve got a huge dog, but still…

    Where do I get me one of these nightclubs of which you speak?

    You can never be too careful.

  44. In their previous life, they were known as golf clubs.

  45. Laideez… Please excuse my prolonged absence! I have been checking in furtively for some cheering up, and you gals have managed same with your usual excellence.

    Long story short, my first annual cancer checkup revealed some mildly suspicious lesions residing in my right boobie! They have been despatched as a precaution, final results due next Wednesday, but reasonably optimistic at this stage. Am now somewhat more lopsided than previously, but meh, small price to pay!

    Keep up the good work my friends! Love you and miss you all!

  46. Mayhem, pet.

    Those tits of yours are more trouble than they’re worth.

    I’d cut them both off with a pair of pinking shears and get a new set tattooed over the scars.

    Hey! You could get a tramp stamp on your trompe l’oeil boobies, for added realism. That would be classy.

    But, in all seriousness – stay well, pet. ooo’s and xxx’s

  47. Madam, great minds think alike! Well we probably won’t use pinking shears, but it’s highly likely that sometime in the next 12 months my boobies will go! My surgeon is fabulous and she is on board with the idea. Reconstruction will occur simultaneously and oddly enough, my new nipples will be tattooed on!

    Was a bit worried about J’s reaction, but he is amazingly supportive. He’s held my hand through this latest scare and is not keen for me to keep going through this crap!

    I would offer my bits up for transplant to those of our sisters who are breastally challenged, but seriously they’d be better off looking for some healthier specimens… or another box of Kleenex!

  48. Well, it does seem to be the way to go. Not only a weight off your chest, but off your mind as well.

    It’s just replacing fat and potential nastiness with nice, wholesome saline.

    So, this is almost as exciting as choosing your wig… what colour will you have your nips? Juliet’s Pink Surprise? Raspberry Slut? Bo Derek Bronze?

  49. Actually, I’ll probably opt to have the replacements sourced from my tummy! There is plenty of that to go around!!!! As for colour, well I hadn’t thought about it…. ‘scuse me while I nip down to Bunnings for a squizz at their colour charts!

  50. Mayhem, Mayhem, Mayhem…. Oh, darl, that’s not what we want to hear. Not good at all.

    I’m glad you’re ditching the rotten things. You won’t miss the constant worry, (neither will the people who love you – i.e, us). And as one of the mammographically bereft, I can assure you that life is easier without them. Especially when jogging.

    I’m crossing everything in the hope that your results will come back clear. Fingers, legs, eyes….

    Well, maybe not the eyes. I keep bumping into things.

    Let us know how you go. Big hugs!

  51. A tummy tuck as well!

    Babe, you’re gonna be a knock-out.

    I’ve been giving the colour question some serious thought… how does Passionate Plum sound?

  52. High beam blue, perhaps? It’s pretty cold down here.

  53. Poor Mayhem.
    Thinking of you.
    Would stay and be supportive, but I’ve caught the dreaded V&D superstrain that the bloke brought home from the horsepittal & have lost 4kg since Saturday. So sitting upright isn’t a good feeling.
    Off to the Quack later to vomit on him, and so he can write a note to my supervisors telling them they can’t pick on me for wagging prac.

    • If you’d like your 4 kgs back, I’m keeping them safe here for you. At least, I assume it’s your missing cellulite that’s attached itself to my ever-growing tushie. Get better soon. Here, have some virtual chicken beak soup.


  54. Oh, Quokka.

    The horror. Nausea is the worst… combined with the other two… deepest sympathy.

    Can you stomach some lovely slippery elm, or does reading that just send you running for the nearest convenience.

    Get well soon. The pair of you.

    Hey, Catty, we’re the only partially healthy ones.

    And then there was one…

  55. I’m still here. I’m over last week’s flu. The only problems I have now are forgetfulness and….. something else, but I can’t remember what it is.

  56. It probably wasn’t important, luvvy.

    Let’s make every Monday, “No Brain Monday”.

    I’ll lead the dumbing.

  57. Me isn’t edumified enuf tu be leaded. Cans I follow youse insted?

  58. You learn quickly, Padawan.

    The Dumb is strong in you. Every time you strive to think, just use the Dumb.

  59. Wha..?

  60. Yes. Like that.

    Okay, now I require a drum roll, please… two of my stories got highly commended in the Stringybark Flash Fiction competition and are going to be published in a real book!

    And Magic Man won the discus, so he’s off to represent his school at the Districts.

  61. Nicely done, Morgana.

    Do excuse me, I’m still not quite done at the wheel of the porcelain bus.

  62. Oh, poor poor Quokka.

    Can you get vicarious Worker’s Comp for this vile nosocomial infection?

    Perhaps working up a good head of rage against Qld Health will stimulate your immune system, either way.

    Get well soon.

  63. Woo Hoo! Hooray for Morganarama, writer extroadinaire! What fabulous, exciting news! Of course, we already knew you were a mega-talented scribe – it’s about time the publishers realised it too.

    I like having famous friends. Name dropping is so satisfying. I was just saying as much to the Arch Bishop on the Bus this morning.

    Get well soon, Quokka. Smother lots of Vicks vapour rub on the soles of your feet, whack on some socks, and get yourself off to bed. Alternatively, you could do what my dear old dad always recommends: Crawl into bed with some hot rum and lemon. (The hot and the lemon are optional).

  64. Thank you, thank you. I’m hoping to hire Lady Gaga’s stylist for my publicity junket. She has a way with bacon which I can only admire.

    Be wary of that last piece of advice, Quokka. It was a combination of dark spirits and crawling into bed that caused Magic Man.

    Still, hurry up and get well. HP VII v 2.0 will be out soon, I’m not going alone… it’s too scary!

  65. Well, the GP seems to think it lasts 5 – 7 days, and it being day 5 and not yet being gone, it looks like the man learned something yonder over that river in medical school.

    Plus side, he gave me a medical certificate for up to the end of today so I don’t have to go to class today – not that I think they’d want me, like this.

    Now I remember why I hate winter – all the goddamn bugs.

  66. I hate bugs too. The CIA have them planted all over the house. Bastards.

  67. That’s what you get for being a threat to national security, Catty.

  68. Even paranoid people have real enemies.

    In fact, I think it was William Burroughs who said something along the lines of “a paranoid is someone who’s just started to realise what’s really going on.”

    That being said, our worst enemies are ourselves. Ourselves, Telstra, the Irish, next-door neighbours in general, faeries, old age, age-related dementia and that drag bitch from Hell, Aunt Irma.

    Did I leave anyone out?

  69. Lobes

  70. And SJS.

    Silly me.

    Imagine forgetting your nemesis. Must be this discount off-prescription Mexican vicodin… I thought it smelled wrong, but I just scraped the mould off.

  71. What, like cheese?

  72. Yes.

    And salsa, and wholemeal bread… and my ex.

  73. Heh heh.
    Just checking in. Still not quite right, and am on the last big rush to get my case studies done.
    Should be free in a week.

    How’s those kitties, Morgana?
    Mine protested when I turned off the AC last night and yowled and insisted I was a barbarian leaving them to freeze in his velveteen snug at the end of my bed. Uncle Blokesy took pity on him and covered him with my dressing gown. Sooks.

  74. The furries are still fab, luxuriating in the solar-heated comfort of the warmest room of the house.

    They are providing a useful object lesson for the children, too.

    Magic Man: “It’s awful when they fight. I don’t like to hear them spit and howl. It makes me feel sad.”

    Me: “Yes, it is terrible, isn’t it? Lucky it’s not often. That’s exactly how I feel when you and Elf Boy fight.”

    They’ve already paid for themselves!

    I can’t get that fancy sawdust kitty litter anywhere on the Coast, though… and I have tried. But the recycled newspaper stuff works okay.

    Please get well soon. We’ll look forward to a proper catch-up when you’ve dispatched the last of the Hogwart’s Papers.

  75. Quokka’s at Hogwarts? Gee, I hope she hasn’t got swine flu.

  76. Hehehe… good one, Catty.

    But surely everybody knows you get swine flu from eating at “Hog’s Breath”?*

    * may be a complete and utter lie; citation needed

  77. Since when have we ever cared about the legitimacy and/or accuracy of our vicious and evil rumours? I think they’re more fun when they ARE scurrilous lies.

  78. Oooh… scurrilous lies.

    What a beautiful phrase.

    I feel a subheader coming on.

  79. Belated Congrats Madam, get well Quokka, and I have my results and they are good 🙂

  80. All Right!!!

    Brilliant news, Mayhem. Way to tell your boosies who’s boss!

  81. Oh Mayhem… that’s fabulous news.

    If it hadn’t been for Quokka coming down with the Cairn’s strain of the Bubonic Nuisance and Catty nursing multiple injuries, this would have been a terrific week.

    Tweak both of your nipples goodbye from me. I’m sure Fireman Sam will think of a way for you to celebrate later… or is it too cold down there to get out the hose?

  82. Hey, I can now fit into 8 pairs of pants that have been gathering dust on my top shelf for 2 years now, so all’s well in love and germ warfare, I say.

    Good news, Mayhem, keep us posted.

  83. Pants?

    One more block of Cadbury’s wrapped in crispy delicious bacon and the only thing I’ll fit into is one of these:

  84. Oooh, they’re so cute! Like Teletubbies! And so much more comfortable than wearing 8 pairs of pants. (Neat trick, Quokka. I can only manage 3 pairs).

  85. I think I’ve previously mentioned my fateful voyage into Tasmania’s evil cold.

    I wore leggings under jeans and a floor-length overskirt with sewn-in petticoats …hey, I was a Goth… it beat a ra-ra skirt, I can assure you… I think that’s my record for Sara Lee Danish dressing.

  86. Leggings under jeans and jeans under skirts is one of the ‘now’ looks.

    A new tag, perhaps? Madam Morgana – trendsetter.

  87. Hehehe…

    I also had my children far too old, don’t forget – I believe that’s trending socially, too.

    The jeggingkirt, as worn by Morganarama!

    Shame I can’t bust a move – the world needs a new Lady Blah Blah. Or I need a share of her millions, one of the two.

  88. Share? What is this ‘share’ business? As Freddie Mercury once said, I want it ALL!

  89. I thought he wanted it with whipped cream on top, and nuts.

  90. Yes, I believe Freddy was fond of nuts.

  91. I never heard anything about Freddy and whipped cream, though.

    Mr Mercury preferred his nuts served with hot wax.

  92. On a stick.

  93. No, on a rack.*

    * reference cited: Queen lyrics – “I love to ride my bicycle, I love to ride my bike, I love to ride my bicycle, I love to ride it where I like.”

  94. Dipped in chocolate and coated in biscuit crumbs?
    Sounds like you’re describing a gaytime.

  95. Digression, for the mothers.
    Is it wrong to want to muzzle the neighbours’s children?
    They’ve been running an al fresco house auction, 3 doors down, for the last 20 minutes, and I’m getting a tad sick of the auctioneer and the bidding war. All under 12, shouting at the top of their lungs.
    Not cute.
    Just loud.

  96. No, it’s not wrong.

    But it is a bit “hands on” for my liking.

    As always, I’d go with untraceable poison or voodoo curse. Preferably both, for a synergistic effect.

  97. Too slow for my liking.
    Maybe I could borrow Moko’s cross bow, and use trank darts.
    They’re still out there engaged in the Real Estate Game.
    The bloke got in from Coles and immediately snorted ‘WTF are those FKN kids FKN doing?’ which made me feel ever so tolerant for managing to shut myself in the back room and study and ignore it for the previous 30 minutes.
    Perhaps I should send uncle blokesy down there to infect them with strep or staph. He must have some useful toxins still left on his workboots from Friday, surely? If I just mix a little in some chocolate….

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