Hell’s Kitchen

Dawn Montesdeoca, 60 was arrested and charged with domestic battery in Chicago on Sunday, following a… erm, sticky… altercation with her husband. She allegedly pelted him with cupcakes.

I don’t understand Seppo legal terms – surely you should only be charged with battery if you hurl uncooked cake mixture?

In the Chicago Tribune’s nail-biting account we hear:…she reached for the box of desserts and directed a fusillade of snack cakes at his head and body, her husband told police. Several of the confections apparently hit their mark, as the man’s head and shirt were smudged with icing when officers arrived, according to a police report.

Oh, the patisserie!

Bail was set at $10,000, which by my calculations, assuming poor Dawn started with a box of a dozen delicious weapons of mass tastiness, is more than $833 per cake. She’d be thanking her lucky stars by now that she didn’t go him with a pavlova, or something really dangerous.

But the frosting thickens. Despite 56 year old Mr Montesdeoca’s claims that he was scared for his safety, he has been arrested three times since 2003 on domestic violence charges, which were all eventually dropped.

Sounds to me like he got his just desserts.


68 Responses

  1. Hahaha-hahaha!
    You take the cake!

  2. Hehehe.

    Nice one, Stafford.

  3. Forget cake. If you really want to hurt someone, throw my homemade breadrolls at them. A headshot will guarantee concussion.

    Personally, I’m disgusted by Dawn’s disgraceful display of wanton wastefulness. I would never catapult confections at the Boss. Curry, yes, and proud of it, but never cake.

  4. Really, I fail to see why any woman possessed of a box of cupcakes would be filled with rage at all.

    If she’d just sat down with a nice cup of tea and eaten one/several/all of them, none of this terrible waste would have needed to happen. And she’d be $10,000 better off.

    Goes to show how far he pushed her, I suppose.

  5. Ah but the 10 grand is only bail. She’ll get it back when she fronts the court. Then she just has to say that he ate all the chocolate ones and left her the blueberries and she’s home free.

  6. Reminds me a bit of the Roald Dahl story of the woman who offed her worser half with a frozen leg of lamb, then she thawed it, put it in the oven to slow roast and went out for coffe with her friends.
    Upon her return she put in some spuds and pumpkin then screamed and hollered until the cops came. By the time they had spent a half hour looking in vain for the murder weapon, lunch was ready. So she sat them down at the dinner table where they helped her eat the evidence!

  7. Yes, that’s a particularly effective short story from the master of the twist in the tale, Stafford. Good old Roald Dahl.

    I have a soft spot for the one about the travelling playboy who seduces the beautiful daughter at the oasis… or, as they left the lights off throughout, could it be the beautiful wife… or perhaps the daughter who stays hidden from visitors because of a nasty dose of leprosy?

    Still, I wouldn’t murder anyone with a leg of lamb these days – too expensive to risk having it being taken into evidence. This is another reason why vegetarianism is silly. They only way you can kill someone with tofu is if you manage to bore them to death.

  8. But Madam, there’s nothing boring about tofu. All those phytoestrogens mean you get to enjoy Aunt Irma’s company every day of the year. Fun for all the family! (Until they off the bitch with a frozen joints of meat, that is.)

  9. Stupid hormones. Stupid family. Stupid everything.

    I think I may have The Hump Day Hump.

  10. Hey, I just found this little gem:


    What is it with Americans and bizarre food fights?

  11. Serves her right. She was planning to eat the poor thing! I hope the next armadillo she eats gives her leprosy.

    No, really. They’re carriers, apparently.

    Ever since I saw “Rango” I have a new appreciation of armadillos. Plus, I love the way that ‘armadillo’ rhymes with ‘peccadillo’.

    Job interview this arvo, so excuse my absence while I iron things and nibble my fingernails to the bone. Everyone join me in a round of that “God, I Hope I Get It” song from a chorus line, as featured in that Will Farrell dinosaur movie….

  12. The only thing I remember from that movie is Will Farrell being eaten by a dinosaur, then voided from it. It seemed fitting that Farrell can now literally be called crap, and not just figuratively.

    (Cigarillo? Scrub-with-brillo? Nah, got nuthin.)

    No singing for me at the moment. Even talking generates a phlegm-fest of coughing. But hopefully I’ll be well enough to sing the Rain in Spain song from My Fair Lady when you get the thumbs-up. (I think she’s got it!)

    I’m in awe of you for even reaching the interview stage, Madam. My recent attempts to secure employment have resulted in zero response from anybody. I couldn’t even score an interview at the Deli counter at IGA. Maybe they’ve been reading my blog, and realise the dangers of letting me near the smallgoods slicer?

    Oops, I digress. Good luck, darl. Fingers, legs, eyes – all crossed for you. Wow, this is going to make it hard to drive the kidlets to school. But go to school they must, as I plan on spending the morning in bed with a box of Codral. a box of Kleenex, a jar of Vicks, and the chocolate coated strawberries that the most wonderfullest person in the whole world sent me yesterday. Then I shall watch daytime television. Yes, I’m that sick.

    Have fun, Madam. Knock ’em dead!

  13. Don’t feel bad, Catty.

    After sending out virtual reams of resumes, this is my first interview. It’s a jungle out there… I heard a story about a local florist who advertised for part-time counter staff and was inundated with former CEOs and managers, etc. I can only assume they made a mistake when they compiled their short-list. Let’s hope they have a lot of wine with lunch before my 3 o’clock interview.

    Nom on and get well soon, pet.

  14. Wow, my town planning woes pale beside the evils of chest infections and gainful employment. It seems wrong wishing anyone good luck getting a job when life on the couch with the cats is so much nicer, so I think I’ll just settle for saying ‘Are you sure you’re feeling entirely well?’
    Perhaps you’re coming down with whatever nasty thing Catty is still battling.

    I’ve just gotten off the couch, having finished my Lynda La Plante Whodunnit.
    I was two thirds of the way through before I realized the murderer was either horribly predictable or else – yes, Virginia, I had in fact read it when it was first published in 1997.
    Time to drop myself off at the alzheimers ward.
    Still, it was a cheering prospect as it means I can probably read the rest of the series now with the same results.
    Well, I’ve fixed the house plans.
    The only way to get it through town planning seems to be to do what they want and to make our beloved little migrant shit box look like a queenslander.
    I feel so dirty.
    Still, once the thing is built and approved there may be a few slight alterations down the track in order to reduce the ugliness and conformity of it all.
    Since there’ll be an enormous MF backhoe here scratching its way to china, I may as well start working on the hangi pit for when the certifiers head this way to make sure we’ve installed all the ugly bits of environmental terrorism they’ve highlighted from the Character Residential Code.

    Speaking of slow roasted troll and all things devious, PNB is due to arrive in Brisvegas on Sunday. MM, do you think you’ll be able to make it for lunch to Morgans?
    So far just me, Greybeard, the Prof and all they can eat of dead bugs.
    I’m sure I’ll need some sort of moral support or physical protection from the insect eaters so I do hope you can make it.

  15. Sorry for your loss, Q.

    Do you think you can have some iron lace specially made, featuring little town planners hanging from gallows and being disembowelled, etc?

    As for Monday… it is Monday we were having lunch, I hope?… I have arranged to be at your disposal. Thank Chthulu, Mother has finally returned from her travels.

    When shall I meet you on the Spit?

  16. Fabulous news.
    I made a booking for 4-6 people at Morgans for Monday lunch, 12.30. I suggest you meet us there, it’s nice roaming around the foreshore and you never know, you may recognize one of the corpses rotting on the shingle and get a pleasant surprise. I will text you if we’re early/late/in the hospital from excess bacon.

    Sigh, as for BCC, I prefer to think that there’s a special place in hell for those that wrote the character code in the first place and those in power who choose not to do something so that sustainable design gets to take precedence over it.
    Besides, from what I’ve heard, that special place in hell already exists, its the council building where the 22 yro town planners sit, surrounded by 50yro+ lazy passive aggressive SOBs who’ve been stoking the fires of hell at BCC town planning for the last 30 years.
    Karma will get them in the end, or so I tell myself when voodoo and the sending forth of the genital warts curse fails to get the message across.

    Because the town planners haven’t read the plans properly and they don’t understand that their proposed solution of a double car port on the boundary, to be made of a lightweight timber and tin structure, would in fact be 2m underground, and ringed on 3 sides by 2m high 20cm thick concrete retaining walls, I fear there’s not a lot to be gained from pressing our case. From what our consultant said of them, sometimes you can explain the same thing three different times and they still don’t get it. Dumb as a stack of cinder blocks. Short of calling in Martin Bryant to dumb it down into bits they’ll understand, or just plain scare the shit out of them, sometimes (so the planner says) its better to take the approach of ‘you are wise and all knowing, Oh Pimply One. We have listened to your wisdom and behold! Voila! It looks like an ugly dark airless colonial structure which will hasten The End of All Life.’

    Last time we went through this, much of the process was spent explaining the obvious to idiots and no matter how kind or gentle you were, inevitably you had to point out the failures of their mental acuity and what that meant was that they looked sheepish, then hurt, then embarrassed, and then defensive, and the next stage was that they pulled out the passive aggressive tactics to punish us for enlightening us as to their level of stupid. i.e. they kept losing our plans, forgetting to return phone calls, being out of the office when we had a query, and just generally using delaying tactics before they got sick of this and then ticked and rubber stamped the very thing that we’d proposed and which they’d had a dozen objections to.
    During this process I developed a theory that our town planner only worked on Tuesdays that happened to fall on a full moon. The rest of the time I’m sure he was busy adorning Satan’s Alter and braiding the hair on the tail of The Beast.

    Our planning consultant thinks that it’s in our interests to look like we’ve listened to them and adjust things accordingly, otherwise we’ll be in for another dose of that.

    Plan B is OK, just expensive, time consuming, costly and inconvenient. However it will shut the little wretches up and make them feel All Powerful and All Sentient. Which is the key to getting a DA passed with the BCC. There are some advantages to going with Plan B, but mostly to overweight plumbers who will soon have a 3m high space to fart in below the laundry, rather than sliding on their bellies cursing darkly in the crawl space 2 feet below it as it is situated now.

    Its OK. I’ve got plans to put in a wisteria trellis (not required on plan) on the remaining 6m length of driveway which will be lovely to look out over in summer, and which will be full of bees, and possibly wasps. All of which will know what to do should any employee of Town Planning pass by and observe that Casa Quokka does not in fact look entirely like the drawings they approved prior to construction.

  17. Hehehe… Martin Bryant.

    Ooh, yes. Wisteria is fab. Gorgeous colour and smells so sweet.

    I wouldn’t worry about them checking what you’ve done after the event, Q. Sounds like they’ve got precious little time and or brain power for doing their job while it IS their job.

    By the time Casa 2.0 is up and running they will have moved on… to Yeronga, perhaps, telling people trying to rebuild on the Corso that they can’t have stumps that high.

    Morgan’s it is. See you there at 12.30.

    Thoroughly shell-shocked after the interview. I walked into the lobby of this place and was immediately outclassed… by the public toilets! All black marble and sprauncy fittings. The people seemed very pleasant and we had a few laughs but I just don’t think I’m fancy enough for the place.

    Perhaps I could get a nice job selling chook food at a rural supplies store. That would be more my speed.

  18. Yes, and think of the range of social opportunities. In addition to the sweet old things wanting garden and poultry supplies you’d encounter teenagers and psychopaths intent on building fertilizer bombs.
    Much better than rubbing shoulders with corporate psychopaths in the office kitchen. At least the latter walk in and walk out, and the next time you see them is on CNN. Business types tend to get annoying when you’re stuck with them 9-5.
    JB is doing Round Up over at CBG for PNB’s Brisvegas tour.
    Nbob said something about wanting to show off the fine women of our state so that when PNB lands in Melbourne he knows that not all Australian women look like shoggoths, or some such thing.
    Perhaps we should braid our armpit hair so as not to completely shame him?

  19. Bugger.

    I suppose you want me to foil my leg hair, or something, as well?

    It’s a pity, two bouncing baby boys later, I no longer fit into my school uniform. Have you still got yours,Q?

    I’ll probably wear black jeans and a black shirt, you know me. The kids actually staged an intervention the other day. They want me to wear colours. Although Magic Man decided he’s quite happy that I’l always the same – he likes finding me easily in a crowd.

  20. Unless the crowd is a death metal concert loaded with goths.
    In which case you’d need a fluorescent yellow vest with ‘ELF BOY’s MUM’ imprinted on the back. That way when the police sound the call over the loudspeaker you’ll be easily discovered even if you’re passed out in the beer tent, all the Lost Kid Squad would need to do is roll you over.
    Terrifyingly enough I may still have my old school shirt, which was signed by about 50 impassioned classmates who I haven’t seen since the day the gates opened and released me for the last time.
    Mercifully I don’t know where it is and, being intent on my design sketches (the ones that council will see and the one that will really happen, which will look near enough the real thing that neighbours will be unlikely to notice any difference whatsoever – this means I won’t be diving into any closets hunting for dress up props.
    If I feel like making an effort I suppose I could iron my army pants.
    Then again, perhaps not.
    Monday will be fun.
    So, with the skies looking dark, what’s happening with Kiddy Sport this weekend? And where’s poor dear Catty? hunting in the bushes for a lung she’s hacked up?

  21. I sent her a care package of noms earlier in the week, so I imagine she’s slumped in a corner with crumbs of macadamia brittle in her hair, molten chocolate covered strawberry dripping gently from the corner of her mouth, and an expression as glazed as one of Dreamy Donuts’ finest.

    I am looking forward to Monday, and I reserve the right to eat with my fingers. PNB is already convinced we’re not too far removed from The Wild Colonial Boy, no use trying to impress him.

    It’s sunny up here, so we’ll be off to Elf Cricket tonight and then fronting up for Magic Cricket tomorrow morning. At least the latter is at the primary school, so for a change we don’t have to rally the hinterland to get there. I’ll probably have to score again… kindly make an offering of appeasement to the deities of your choice that it’s not as migraine-inducing as last week’s effort.

    Happy Fantasy Drafting, Q!

  22. After an hour on the couch with my falafel/haloumi wrap I can tell you that Dr. Oz would not indorse your treatment protocol for furball lungs.
    Catty, however, would probably sic the wart virus fairy onto him.
    May the weather gods smile on you.

  23. Wart faerie? Where? Kill the bitch. Kill!! KILL!!!!

    Madam, my default setting is also black jeans and shirt. Melbo posted a blog about goths visiting her site, and Mayhem and I promptly showed up at our last get-together dressed in black. Poor Melbo.

    I am attaching a picture that I really, really think you should use in your designs, Quokka.


    Gorgeous, isn’t it?

    You know, Madam, I’ve just worked out why you’re going to the cricket to score. Your Mexican chemist has moved to Australia, hasn’t he? I have a feeling he had a hand in making that macadamia brittle, as it is very very very very addictive. And incredibly nommy. Did I mention that I love you thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much?

    The Boss asked if I was going into town to wave flags at Her Maj on Wednesday. I told him no, because I’m going in to see PNB next weekend, (if I’m well enough), and one trip into the city is more than enough. Yes, I still love Her Maj, but PNB’s gathering will be much more fun. Gee, I must be sick. I just said that I preferred an American lawyer to the Queen.

    NBob is a rude little boy. I was planning on shaving for the occasion, too. Well now I’m not even going to de-louse. Bugger him. Actually, I had better find out when we’re having the human gathering – because nothing could induce me to attend the PNB Bounders Club get-together. Ugh. Who knows where those sock puppets have been?

    Oh, and I found the missing lung. Unfortunately, it isn’t in the best shape – I think the neighbour’s cat got to it first. Owwwwww…..

    I think I’d better go back to bed.

  24. Oooh… nice fence. You could dress it up for Christmas by poking sprigs of holly into the eye sockets, too.

    Well, you’ll all be happy to know that cricket was a complete nightmare. The opposing team’s scorer was a disastrous combination of highly-strung obsessive perfectionist, and scatty and distractable as all get out. So she kept losing track of the score and what was what and having mini-meltdowns.

    I had her quite relaxed and on top of things, then she had to take her daughter to the toilet and it all went to hell in a hand-basket.

    * sigh *

    When you spend a lot of time at home with the pets and dust bunnies, you forget how much psychopathology is on the loose out there.

  25. Don’t tell me, she forgot to take the kids knickers off before she went wee wee.

  26. Oh, I hate it when that happens to me.

  27. Elf Boy went for a play date yesterday. His little mate’s Mum came to pick him up after lunch, and said she’d like to keep him until after dinner. I agreed, so off they went, happy as weasels.

    Or so I thought. When I came to pick him up, Mate’s Mum said she was a bit worried because EB hadn’t eaten much dinner. In fact, he hadn’t even managed all of a donut he’d been given.

    All became clear when I got the poor little elf into my car.
    Me “Why didn’t you eat up your dinner? Mate’s Mum thought you didn’t like her cooking.”
    EB “When it got later and later, I got scared that you were never coming to get me.”

    Seems it was a hunger strike. That’s how you get at your would-be kidnappers – refuse to eat their damned roast chicken.

  28. Awwwww, that is painfully cute! Don’t you just want to cuddle them senseless when they come out with stuff like that?

  29. Yes. And I did. Then took him home, made him some raisin toast, and cuddled him some more.

    Having watched his brother morph into a gigantic pre-teen, with surges of testosterone, who’s already refining his plans to fly my nest for the big city, I’m making sure to enjoy the last shreds of this one’s childhood before he’s lost forever, too.

    Still, I couldn’t cope with more. How you’ll do it, Catty, I’ll never know.

  30. Naps. Naps and chocolate.

  31. My apologies for tardiness – I did enjoy this cakey story when I saw it the other day although I empathised rather too much with the perpetrator as have been in the position of wanting to do the same to someone I know more times than I care to count. Problem is that once I start throwing things, I might not be able to stop so clearly, it is time to tuck in.

    Very much looking forward to PNB visit next weekend with Catty and Mayhem (and possibly Bangarr). Quokka, I know you and Greybeard will prime him up for us but it was very good of NBob to prep him for possible hirsutism (we are at the tail end of winter after all) and some kind of shoggothery. I won’t mention that word on my blog because as Catty pointed out, I only have to say “goth” for the hit rate to go right up. It’s got me beat. I tried telling them I’m emo, not goth and I even threatened to bring out the poetry but they seemed undeterred.

    We might need that Ritalin teeshirt here – I’ll keep it in mind.

  32. Hehehe… Guiltamucil. I’ll need the extra strength, raised by a Methodist version, please. What happens if you overdose, though? I suppose you just end up not giving a rat’s, completely conscience free.

    Have fun in Melbourne, Melbo, Catty and Co. As for the Goths, Melbo, embrace the dark side. A reader’s a reader. Let the poor, shadow-dwelling dears have a little fun. We’ve got lots of home decorating tips to warm their dark hearts. Like this:

    All right, I’m off to pick the palm fronds from my hair and gild my armpit fungus in preparation for the Great PNB Seafood Extravaganza. See those of you who are partaking at 12.30.

  33. Crap, I forgot to trim my nostril hair and wax my chin stubble.
    I have however fed the neighbour’s cat, drawn up some reno plans for her house (well, mine are fixed so why not get her into trouble with planners too?) sympathized with her other (nice) neighbour about Turkeys, DMd JB multiple times without yet having the wit to get PNBs number, and am running about like a mad thing trying to get sorted before Khan Greybeard gets here and we go forth into the traffic to fetch PNB.
    God save me from the Queen’s traffic chaos.
    See you at Morgan’s, MM.
    I’m bringing Aunt Irma.

  34. Aunt Irma left the building a scant day ago, Q, so I’m sure I was still hormonal.

    What a fabulous day! Thanks to Prof Boylan, Greybeard, Humpybong and Quokka for a lovely time. Other than that brief outburst of whinging from someone else’s child, it was deliciously grown-up, too.

    Now, if only I could assuage my lingering terror that PNB is going to organise a terrorism, people smuggling and crystal meth maufacturing joint with the throw-away mobile we bought in my name.

    Which reminds me – customer service person of the year award goes to sweet young thing at Redcliffe Woolies.

    PNB: (in a strongish Seppo accent) “I want to buy a phone that I can use to make calls in Australia.”
    Customer Service Person of the Year: (brief look of addled horror) “You are in Australia!”


  35. Brilliant.
    I’m copying and pasting that last to JB’s blog.
    Glad to see you found your way out of Redcliffestan Provence yesterday.
    Wasn’t it a fabulous day?

  36. Just awesome.

    We don’t really have enough outings. I haven’t been to a market in Brisvegas for ages… anyone for Boggo Road or West End, next time I darken Brisvegas’s portals?

    Regrettably, I have to go and do my MYOB homework. Someone out there have fun for me, would you please? It looks like a lovely day outside.

  37. Grrr. Seen the headlines?
    JB is making snipes at his SMH blog today about breakfasting at the jetty with boob job mamas in LJ sportswear.
    Grrr, grrr, grr.
    And Grrr!
    I resent the implications here.
    Still, it shows he’s spent way too much time in front of a computer screen if he can’t spot the difference between artificial goods and the kind that nature has enhanced with the aid of lindt, PMS, & garlic foccacia.
    What’s the penalty for wagging school tomorrow & going to the Spirit House?
    Surely you could plead Brain Implosion, or seeing purple spots (its worked on stupider people) at 11.30am and nick off for the afternoon?
    Aunt Irma is trying to strangle my brain with a death grip round my skull today but if she lets up and the panadol kicks in I reckon it would be worth the drive to be entertained by yourself and PNB again.
    Aside from which I don’t think JB’s seen my blue Lorna Jane tee shirt yet. Just the white, the red & the green. Too bad it’s not chilly enough for the LJ jacket with the faux fur, that way I could get in an extra blow to their fashion police stylings by introducing myself to Nbob as Nanook of the North.
    And that’s a yes to the markets. Would do either, but am keen to support the new ones at Boggo Road in their early days – as their in walking distance from me, its in my interests to see that they’re a success.
    They’re on every Sunday from dawn till 1pm.
    when do you want to come down?

  38. One day when I’m not otherwise engaged. Which excludes the next two upcoming weekends. Perhaps 3 weekends from now? I’ll let you know closer to. If I could also work in a trip to see some of the Alfred Hitchcock screenings at South Bank – Museum? Gallery? somewhere in there, anyway – it would be fabulous.

    As for JB – meh. Retaliate with a spray at disorganised writers with alcohol-related hardened livers and softened brains.

    I’m elbow deep in effing up my petty cash vouchers at the moment, and though I would love to skip college I can’t. There’s no possibility of a make-up, so if I don’t attend my allocated spoon-feeding session I won’t be capable of submitting the next ream of busy work. Especially as we’re starting MYOB, and I have to get the software.

    The Spirit House is fabulous, gorgeous food, amazing setting, so it would be well worth a trip. Prof Boylan is great value… and he’s so NICE in person. I thought he’d be as hard-edged and sarcastic as he is on-screen. Perhaps the jet lag mellowed him?

  39. Maybe. Maybe not.
    In real life you get the non verbals, so, having known him longer than you in cyberspace, I would say he’s exactly the same.
    However on screen there’s just no way of picking up on the softness of that Greco-Irish combo.
    I must say that in real life his oft-expressed fondness for jelly wrestling is just a tad more disturbing.
    That’s a bugger you can’t wag school, the whole thing sounds sucky. Poor you.
    That date for the markets sounds good, not that I can figure out if you mean the 13th or the 20th. Will be getting in late from Melbourne on Sat 19th so may be more witless and vague than usual on the following day.
    Nothing that can’t be fixed by stopping in at the Noosa Chocolate Stall and restocking Macadamia Brittle.
    As for JB’s snipes, perhaps in future when I’m tempted to bait him about his nerdishness, his organizational ineptitude, his snobbery about muffins, and his lack of hair and taste in loafers, it would pay to remember that he still has enough memory cells for any slight festering resentment to make it into his next blog.
    And beware.

  40. Yes.

    Yes, it does suck. I’d start crying, but I don’t want to smear the liquid paper where I mucked up the dummy petty cash book I’m supposed to be preparing.

    Still, there’s always macadamia brittle. I must wander up the road and purchase some, if I ever finish this GD accounting assignment.

    As for the jelly wrestling, I’d rather do it in some choc-caramel pannacotta. That dessert yesterday really was a work of art.

    Hope Irma releases you from her iron grip soon… hey, you never got around to explaining how you worked out the You Know What. Or is it top secret? Mind you, I doubt town planners read this blog. I’ve been getting some fascinating spam, though. Anyone for a burglar alarm in Lancashire? Or some top-quality former Soviet prOn?


  41. Who needs a burglar alarm when there’s a hangi pit with metal spikes by the front door?
    That’s what the town planners’ screams are for, surely.
    However I do feel that all the trash in our combined spam traps could make for a very easy answer to the homework question ‘List potential business opportunities that may meet the unfilled needs of your local community’.
    Who in Lancashire wouldn’t be alarmed by the arrival of a soviet porn crew?
    The simple answer to your planning question is that the next time the council sees our plans it will read ‘whatever you say’ yoda.
    The bit that follows may more closely resemble PNBs advice i.e. ‘Why don’t you just build whatever the hell you want? WTF can they possibly do about it?’
    Which seems to be the approach of most otherwise law-abiding citizens around these parts.
    And yes, that pannacotta was fabulous.
    All I want to eat today is chocolate, and I’m starting to think that perhaps it’s not the best idea.
    Salt and Grease may be just the thing I’m looking for.
    How much longer does this torture persist for, MM?

  42. Up to, but not including, the school holidays. Our last assignments are due in on the 9th of December, I think. Which should give me the school holidays in which to frivol. And my babysitter has no travel plans for the summer!

    Leisurely breakfasts, trips to the market… it’s good to have something to look forward to.

    Because right now, I have to do some more typing practise.

    Quick Elf Boy report. He was a bit worried that the sun might fall… Chicken Little style, I suppose. So we tried to reassure him that wouldn’t happen.

    Me: “You don’t have to worry about that, sweetheart. Because the sun is fixed where it is. It can’t fall down. Okay?”

    EB: “Yes. The sun is levitating.”

  43. I hope nobody tells the poor little mite about supernovas.

    The PNB outing sounds memorable. Any photos? If our Melbourne gathering is as much fun, I’ll be one happy camper – this stinking chest infection just won’t go away, and I need a boost. I also need the Boss to get over his Manflu and go back to work, so I can have a turn on the computer.

    Unfortunately, the littlest kidlet has now joined his siblings in lung-hawking. So now we all have the bloody bug. If I ever catch the virus faerie responsible for this, I will do unspeakable things to her lungs. And the rest of her. It will be horrible. Mwa ha ha ha haaaaa!

  44. Perhaps Elf boy needs a few more years of anxiety therapy before you explain about meteor storms and all that whirling NASA/cosmonaut space junk.
    Chin up MM, I hated typing with a passion & I’m sure my teacher was the inspiration for the cloven beast in Hellraiser, but think how it will serve your creative leanings once you too can type at 80wpm.
    Catty you poor chicken, that’s one evil MF of a virus fairy. Which reminds me, last time I saw GB he was tucking his tutu and wings and a vial of germ warfare discreetly out of sight – perhaps he was off to a children’s party, I can’t be sure. But maybe sharpen your voodoo pins just in case.
    As for PNB, I of course forgot the camera but the others took photos. I’m sure they’ll get posted somewhere, at some time or other.
    Monster & JB are headed to the sunshine coast today to entertain PNB. Aunt Irma is in attendance here so I’ve got a low grade headache which will improve by slacking off and which would not be helped by traffic on the north coast highway, nor by the presence of 4 oversized nerds salivating over their iphones, so I’m going to pass on that adventure.
    Greybeard & I are off to dinner with our spouses at the ouzeri in West End tonight, feeling we are well up to the task of amusing ourselves whether PNB is in attendance or not.
    Yassou! pass the tatziki, I’m getting sick of chocolate.

  45. Quokka! Sick of chocolate? How can you say such a dreadful thing? Go and wash your mouth out! Preferably with Kettle chips and Vodka.

  46. How? This is how: PMS + unfettered greed meets 5m wide chocolate stall at Sunday’s Boggo Road Markets.

  47. Although I would never (NEVER!!!) turn down chocolate, I must confess to an insatiable craving for chips right now. Why, oh why did Smiths discontinue Ruffles? *sob*

    Oh, well. I shall just have to eat the two dozen chocolate crackles hidden in the back of the fridge. What do you mean, ‘spoil my appetite for dinner’? The chocolate crackles ARE dinner.

  48. Just like a chocolate milkshake only CRUNCHY.
    This I remember, but do you think I still know how to calculate the perimeter of an isosceles triangle?
    Why can’t they make the coco pops adds use their power for good?

  49. Isosceles, hey? Sounds contagious. No, can’t help you with that one.

    Try the circumference of a circle instead. If memory serves me right, it involves pie. I like pie.

  50. Ladies,

    May I request a rain dance please? Just heard from Lord Havock… if it rains, he will not have to play cricket, and will join us on Saturday for lunch… along with Mrs H. I figure if we combine our efforts we can scare up a lovely dose of inclement weather…. show PNB what Australia’s REALLY all about 🙂

  51. OK Mayhem I will do my bit, but just so you know, the Circle of Elemental Sabotage is not operating at present under full steam.
    I am still mildly afflicted with the life sucking curse that is the Aunt Irma headache, Catty only has half a contaminated lung left and Morgana just reported in that her modem has flatlined and she’s limited to checking in from the local community library until the new connection has been installed.
    I myself was aiming for hail last night, to punish JB for the many flaws in his planning and organizational skills – not to mention some rather unsubtle NT blog sniping about my choice of chest wear and the contents thereof, but the best I could muster was a cluster of concussed sheep out at cloncurry and a spatter of raindrops on the citreon as we ferried PNB home to his hotel.
    The sad fact is that rain dances require the power of three.
    Simple curses however are still within my power and I do have the Havsy Voodoo doll handy from last time he nicked off and failed to return with hot chips. So just say the word and havock will awaken tomorrow with something that will be sure to prevent him from attending the cricket and will encourage much in the way of sitting, drinking and eating.
    This month I’m offering specials on groinal tinea and ingrown toenails.
    Take your pick.

  52. Oh, no, Quokka. You should never pick ingrown toenails. It makes them worse. The same could be said of tinea. My poor FIL has that at the moment, and is regaling us all with his tales of undergarment discomfort. Hilarious stuff! Nonetheless, I am taking care not to sit in his chair until the anti-fungal cream kicks in.

  53. Well Quokka, there’s you + me + Catty + Madam + Melbo + Fifi. Between us we surely add up to the power of three? Of course that only works if you can coordinate the effort. To contact Morgana, send smoke signals. Don’t forget that Cattty and I are operating on future time….

    Failing that… I’d probably have to go with ingrown toenails…. I couldn’t keep a straight face if I were forced to watch Havsy squirming in his chair for several hours…

  54. Oooppsss!!! Sorry Melbo… Q, there’s three of us on future time and three on past time…

  55. Erk. Apologies Madam & Q esp, but my Notificator-when-there’s-a-new-postimathing seems to have died & I thought all had gorn strangely quiet. Last Monday was a pleasure indeed. PNB’s presence meant that Madam M & Mistress Q were on their best(ish) behaviour rather than practicing spells & curses on yours truly. The bubbly young thing at Woolies I will not forget! Al didn’t look flash but he sounds a little more confident today – I hope this chemo course really does remove the need for more ops. He’s a lovely fellow in person as well as on line.

    Thanks to PNB I got to see photos of NBob for the first time at Ouzeri last night. He looks very much as I imagined – lipless mouth, small beady eyes, hooked claws and a row of spikes running from his head down towards his tail. No surprises there. Q, I just loved your Cat Dungeon & trapdoor. I’d get a cat just to have one. And the wee doggie’s ears when you said “where’s the bird” – cuter than Elf Boy with a bow & arrow.

    I was very sorry not to see Mayhem & Catty on the Melbourne trip but we’ll try again next time, with yer kind permissions. And I’ll try not to bring any lurgis & cyberflus. Honest. Melbo OTOH was so charming that I wonder if all the nice Burgers haven’t gone to Melbourne, Except that wouldn’t reflect well on . . . OK might just change the subject there but thank you Melbo-ma’am for introducing us to the Mitre and all. Daughter #2 has been there for over 10 years and hadn’t heard of it.

    I did try to warn JB that he was dicing with death but he merely made some comment about Quokka’s being little furry footballs. Poor deluded fool.

  56. I was upset that I missed the chance to meet you too, Greybeard. Yes, we must get together when you’re next down this way. How’s your Manflu? Mayhem and I are still afflicted, but hopefully you’re made of sterner stuff, and are all better now. Perhaps it’s for the best, though; Melbo is indeed a delight, but me? Well…. the words ‘weird’, ‘dag’, and ‘idiot’ are among the more polite descriptions thrown my way. So your good impression of the Melbourne burgers will remain intact. For now.

    It also appears that I am not going to get to meet Quokka. She’s only here for the day, and that day is the Boss’s birthday. We have an away trip organised, so I won’t even be here. How sucky is that? Very, very sucky. Quokka, make sure you tell Mayhem when you’re here. She, too, is a delight, and knows where to find all the best chocolate shops.

    Regarding the rain dance: are any of you ladies dancing? I’ve been trying, and it worked for a while (we had rain yesterday morning) but I had to stop – I was tap dancing, and I fell into the sink. Carry on without me, o.k?

  57. Catty, Quokka and I have met several times. She already knows how delightful I am…

    But yes! I WOULD like to know when you are here Q!

  58. Catty none of the chocolate shops will be the same without you. I can’t believe I changed the day from the Thursday to the Saturday thinking it would probably be easier for you to escape on a weekend.
    Mayhem it would be lovely to see you, and whoever else can be persuaded to ingest chocolate/pastry goods & Earl Grey Tea – which substances may reduce the level of interest in my visit solely to burgers of the female and/or gay persuasion.
    We are flying down early am on Sat 19 November to see the King Tut Show (please tell me they’ve got batman and catwoman exhibits too)
    * Art gallery tour 11am – 1pm
    * Lunch and look at Italian tile samples with spouse (for next year’s install a sun room & a front door project here)
    * Bloke flies out to Hobart (unsure, 4 – 5pm?)
    * Quokka flies back to Brisbane 7pmish
    (shall have to get back to you to confirm the exact times)

    So I’m guessing I will be free and in need of a patisserie/chocalateria/cup of Earl Grey between the hours of 2.30 – 5.30pm, on Sat 19 Nov.
    As I don’t know Melbourne, all suggestions welcome.
    Preferably somewhere in the city, so I can find my way there on foot.
    Oh and Catty, what Greybeard is trying to say is that Nowhere Bob does in fact, as Spynat has long asserted – resemble Magnum PI.
    PNB showed me photos. Not a scale in sight, unless you count the ones over GB’s eyes.

  59. Thank God I’m back. I’ve had to talk to real people and rely on ABC Local radio for my news for days.

    It’s like I’ve been Amish.

    Well, the rain dance worked up this way – just in time for the school’s Carnival. Still, it’ll wash the vomit and fear sweat away from under the scary rides, so perhaps it’s a good thing. Except for the faery floss, and since we hate faeries anyway, who cares?

  60. And now I want chocolate hazelnut faery floss.
    Did we tell Catty the Story Of Dessert with PNB?
    The spun sugar – not the san franciscan.

  61. I’m glad you clarified that.

    • You’re so delightful, Professor Boylan, I could eat you with a spoon.

      Once you’d been put through a blender, of course.

  62. Who let that riff raff in?

    • I must insist that you refrain from talking about my fake son like that, Q.

      He’s the fake apple of my eye.

  63. Damn! Why didn’t we take Paul to Darwin? Maybe next time. Hell, I’ll drive him up there myself.

    “But not satisfied with that, Territorians have now taught crocodiles to actively seek out humans as a source of food. Thanks to the “jumping crocs’’ phenomenon, these giant killing machines have been trained to think that if they are hungry they just have to listen for the sound of a small tinnie crammed with people, swim up right beside it, leap out of the water with their jaws wide open as close to the humans as possible.

    What could possibly go wrong?

    In many other jurisdictions questions would be raised about the wisdom of this practice, however in the Territory it is considered not only harmless but also a viable business plan.”

    One of my favourite questions – What could possibly go wrong?

  64. I’m reasonably confident that, in a Crocodile V Boylan smackdown, the Prof would come out ahead.

    The croc would probably come out Thai-style, in a garlic and black pepper sauce.

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