OOO Is A Joke
21 February, 2011

Since my plumber related this chilling anecdote  I was tempted to stick it in the comments of the previous post – but it’s so horrifying I thought it deserved a whole thread of its own:

The plumber – let’s call him Steve, since that’s not his real name – popped around to a block of flats on his way to my place this morning, to quote on a dodgy stove. He and the caretaker, Davo, were enjoying a nice chat – probably about beer, tits and sport, how do I know what blokes talk about? – when Davo started to convulse with a full-blown epileptic seizure. At the top of a flight of external stairs. In the quasi-cyclonic gusty showers we’re enjoying up here at present.

Steve, being a good bloke, attempted to stop Davo from hurting himself while ringing for an ambulance. Not an easy job, because although Steve is a fit tradesman fond of a bit of a surf in his spare time, old mate Davo was more the World of Warcraft with a pizza in each hand type. Finally, Steve heard the comforting sirens of the approaching ambulance.

“You’ll be right now, mate.” He reassured Davo.

Davo was not now all right. A solitary ambo with PeeWee Herman’s physique arrived and, other than his skill in hooking up machines that go ‘beep’, proceeded to be no bloody good at all.

“Just let him go.” Went his advice to Steve, “He’s going to fall. He’s going to die.”

Steve – being more hero than plumber and more super than man – continued to assist poor Davo until a subsequent ambulance with three crew members arrived to lend a hand.

When there’s a crisis, you call emergency services. You’re secure in the knowledge that the professionals who arrive will strive to assist to the best of their abilities, however difficult the conditions. That’s their job. Right?

Lucky for Davo, Steve was there. Next time my family are in crisis, I’ll be tempted to call a plumber.

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Citizenship by Trial
14 January, 2010

Forget questions about Don Bradman, the Rum Rebellion, and wattle. How about a practical component to assess would-be migrants eligibility for Australian citizenship?

  • Dump them out the back on an open beach, preferably one notorious for unstable conditions with plenty of flash rips and holes, well outside the flagged area. Those who make it back to land are eligible for phase two.
  • Present the candidate with the choice of an irukandji jellyfish, a funnel web spider and something harmless. Maybe a large carpet python. They must grasp and hold one of the critters for 5 minutes.

  • Survivors get a two year trial of citizenship which must be served way out west. No, not Ipswich or Cabramatta. I’m talking the Isa. Anyone still alive and keen to reside then becomes officially Aussie as and is allowed to stay.

This has got nothing to do with racism. I’d be as happy as Larry to watch some seppos or poms give it a burl. Hell, I reckon you could sell tickets.

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie!

PMT + 32 C + 85% Hum + CC + NM = ?
16 December, 2009

What do you get when you cross pre-menstrual tension with searing heat, sticky humidity, the usual Christmas chaos and a New Moon?

I don’t know what to call it, but I can give you two bits of info:

  1. It’s no more pleasant to experience than to suffer from
  2. It ain’t pretty.

If there’s a cure, other than moving to Svarlbad and not leaving  a forwarding address, please advise

Champagne Slurpies
11 December, 2009

Come in, make yourself comfy. Kick off your shoes and let you hair down – or put it up if you prefer. There’s a refreshing seabreeze rustling the teatrees outside. I’ll just put Ry Cooder’s ‘Mambo Sinuendo’ on the CD, unless Quokka wants to loan me Hildy.

Faff all you like – I’ll just duck into the kitchen and mix up the champagne slurpies. Anyone for tapas?

B.O.M. PrOn
7 December, 2009

The scent of bushfires filled my house, just now,  when the wind changed. It’s a restless, anxious odour… the cane fields a few k’s west of here have been burning for more than three days, taking out substantial areas of bushland. When the avaricious flames grab at the wetlands they might lose their grip. Feeling lucky?

I  log on to the Bureau of Meteorology website, heart fluttering with anticipation, like a teenage girl hoping for a sext from a vampire. Last night I tracked a storm as it swept across the Mt. Kanigan radar – Blackbutt, Kenilworth… nah, didn’t make it all the way to the coast. I went to bed alone – hot, dry and unsatisfied.