The Slaughterhouse Rd 18

My forum is denying my post due to a 1000 char limit even though Word tells me the char count is clearly below 1000. Its 999.

Anywho this is better for reading larger posts anyway.

So this is a strange one. Dasher is back and set for a big one but staple all season Rhys Shaw is out. I've got Enright cause I think with the loose Richmond forward line Corey E will have a field day. And in the first half of the week I mobilised a lot of points to prepare for drafting Ablett back in, but looks like he's out for another week. And since I HAVE to drop Fisher cause he's shit and this is my last transfer I have to leave Mr Clangers (Luke Hodge) in for another round. He should bounce back.

SO with like a billion transfer points and a forward line needing a player I've got everyone's fantasy forward: Jonathan Brown. NM have a good midfield but it will pop out of their forward line like a cork with all the talls if they don't get the mark, leading hopefully to a ton of JB goals from the rebound as well as normal centre supply. It's going to be a strange round with all these strangers in my team, 3 of which of course are present due to injuries. THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE ROLLS ON!

Guitar Zero

After a month of thought I figured it'd be actually more effort to get rid of the guitar then play it. Theoretically anyway, never actually tried to get rid of the thing (for some money), it was too much effort. Hah. QED.

PG Out.

Comment Fuck Ya!

Hey! Christian Bale!
Richmond Footy Club!
Umpiring!
War in Afghanistan!
Alcopops!
Women!
Men!
Carbon Emissions!
Indigenous Welfare!
Brittany Fucking Spears!
Exclamation Marks!
Gabbo!
Heh. That outta keep those S.O.Bs happy.

PG Out!

Flight of the Fuckwits

Why do people think flight of the conchords are funny? They're just hairy, stupid, new zealanders. Their songs, while smirk worthy on first listen are pure annoyance second time round and third time changing stations is a must. It's business time yeah whoa hey man I want some muesli whoa yeah real fucking funny arsehole.

Anyway back to the study.

PG Out.

The New Semester has Started

You wouldn't know it judging by the online links to my courses though. I still have no unit material for my physiology subject. Okay its a surgery/animal handling subject so not exactly much theory and mostly practical. But I don't even know when the res schools are being held! An(other) email to the lecturer is called for.

Anyway I'm going to celebrate the new semester by (not) drinking! Well not drinking more then an obligate glass of amber or red with dinner. Till like Friday meeting with a mate at his place for drinky poos. Dude's got like a backlog of spirits and not the cocktail knowledge or skill to convert these into alcoholic goodness. PG has the cocktail knowledge and skill but not the spirits. Dude's missus works arvo shift on this particular Friday. Its a recipe for success!

Anyway the whole point of the Week of Few Drinks is that I'm much less given to sleeping in when I retire to bed sober(ish). It also means right up to the retiring I'm capable of studying, doing assignments etc. Thus this extra time will be used to maneouver myself into a position where I shoot ahead of the deadlines. Actually this is pretty much what I did last semester anyway except that the extra time was taken up with research projects. No research in linear algebra and maths! Har!

Anyway time to fetch something fresh for dinner since I forgot to defrost my rabbito this morning.

PG Out

FYIF!

Fuck Yeah Its Friday!

'Carn the Catters!!!!

ROAR!!!

Jack Bauer Never had it THIS Bad

All Jacky boy was ever charged with was saving all of America and occasionally the wider world on a semi-regular basis. AND he had a luxurious 24 hours to do it in.

*I* on the other hand have a measly month basically to start some sort of volunteer work to avoid the ignominy of 'working for the dole'. I certainly don't wont to end up mowing lawns or painting walls while supervised by such geniuses as the groundskeeper for Tarpeena Primary or Mum's favourite person in the whole wide world: Vic Smith.

Now I've contacted those slackers at St John's but mum's the word after almost a week. I'll ring again today in the later afternoon methinks as its all answering machine during business hours.

MEANWHILE I've been scanning SEEK volunteers for opportunities within cooee. And this gives you the kind of idea of what I'm up against here.

MIND: working with the mentally ill.
I *hate* the mentally ill. Actually this is probably the least onerous as technically the mentally ill can be considered to be suffering from physical diseases no different to someone with for example kidney failure. Consider it cerebral cortex failure instead. BUT its in Dandenong/Cardinia area and like I'm going to travel to volunteer!

Do Gooders Inc: mentoring youth.
FIRSTLY I'm hardly a role model except to how to be a derro on a student's budget and
SECONDLY I *hate* youth. Especially 'disadvantaged' youth.

Radiohead Fanclub: mentally disabled
I REALLY hate retards. Bad enough I have to live with one (Alex). They're like big, fat, ugly,
'disadvantaged' youth.

Splish n Splash: Hydrotherapy Pool
Wrinkly old people in swim wear. No thankee Killick! And I'm not really that much of a fan of pools n the like. I prefer to get wet with water from above then below.

Dammit perhaps I can trade with Jack, this year HE can tackle this cornucopia of community work and *I* can go around punching people in the trachea. And occasionally getting punched in the trachea. Hmmmmm.

PG Out

Friday Night on Edward Street

T’was about five months before Christmas, and getting rather cool,

So that PG had settled down to watch the football;

The dishes were placed in the wash rack with care,

The remnants of a feast upon the parent’s fine fare;

The Banjo was nestled all snug in his bed,

While visions of roos danced in his head;

And with port in its glass and computer on lap;

I had just settled down for a long winter’s nightcap,

When out on the driveway there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter.

Away to the hall I flew like a kite,

Tore open the door and threw on the light.

The globe on the breast of the lawn at night,

Gave the lustre of twilight to the objects on my right,

When what did my wondering eyes should greet,

But a four wheel drive and six legs of goat meat,

With a right hard driver, so tall and jolly,

I knew in a moment it must be old Holly.

He was dressed half in denim, his car covered in mud,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and blood;

A bundle of game he had flung on his back,

And he looked just like a peddler opening his pack.

Four legs in a bag all ready to freeze,

Yet two more with fur, from the thigh to the knees.

And laying his finger aside of his nose,

Old Holly got in his car and away he drove!

The two legs were as young as a right plump elf

And I laughed when I saw them, in spite of myself;

For with Dad in Melbourne and Jim moving Tony,

The job of skinning fell to yours truly,

A drink of my glass and a few thoughts in my head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

I spoke many a word then eventually went to my work,

And sliced along the bone, then pulled with a jerk,

Before the last tug I gave a short whistle,

And the skin it flew like the down of a thistle.

Now the meat, long refrigerated, this poem long done,

And I must admit the experience was fun,

But I have to exclaim, ere I turn off the light,

“MERRY SUNDAY TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!”

PG Out.

My Big Mouth

If a man did sober everything he said he would do when drunk, he would soon learn to keep his big mouth shut. - Some Drunk

Well bouyed by my part in the East Enders' victory Monday I boasted to Don that I would pick up a rules book from him via riding out to his place and back, Banjo in tow. And yes at the time I was rather 'happy'.

Well coralled by my mouth and my pride I duly saddled up today (well yesterday now the clock has ticked past the midnight) on the old man's street bike, intrepid Kelpie by my side and off I cycled to Windy Wet Wepar. (For those not in the know this is a 20km round trip at least). And in the last few kilometres which are of course unsheltered Wepar earnt its name by weeping down from the heavens until myself, bike and Banjo were thoroughly soaked. Though I was given a change of clothes, some hot food and a most welcome hot tea by Liz, Don's better half, I was also given a sound flogging in darts 4-1 by Don, Liz's worser half. Oh the indignity! And then a one eared one eyebrow raised kelpie wondering where the hell I had been for the last hour and a half! At least I had the satisfaction of running all Banjo's enthusiasm out of him though I dare say ten minutes after we got home he would have been ready for another 20km ride the mad bugger.

On the upside my practice this evening produced some stellar darts just in time for Kingjim's arrival tomorrow. Well time for some sleep.

PG, from the lappy, Out.

GAJ

Call me Jeff (another great JK) but I knew Scarlett was carrying an injury well before he took his respite for his troublesome hammy that may possibly be back-related.

And I'm sure Gary Ablett Junior is sporting some leg or foot related injury. I haven't seen a long kick especially on the right from the lad for at least the last five rounds. At the height of his powers Gazza can strike 50+ on either foot but we haven't seen much of that raking firepower in a team studded with prodigious kicks.

Now a lot of his possessions being in and under and his natural team attitude is going to reduce the number of long kicks. Still he looks almost hesitant to unleash or even take more then a 35-40 kick.
My theory is that like Dean Cox Gazza has some injury that is not directly aggravated by the normal play of football but is by the extra strain a kick places on the body. Of course if this is Ablett wounded, what the fuck will he do when he's right?

PG Out

Woops!

So the foundation for 'they're not retards, they just have drastically reduced cognitive function and motor skills....much like a climatologist'

or

'they're not retards, they just have drastically reduced cognitive function and motor skills....much like a collingwood supporter'

wants to show that some retard in a chair is not really a retard, they're just another radiohead fan. Obviously the people didn't realise that in order to be a radiohead fan you'd HAVE to be fucking retarded. Anyone with average IQ quickly realises they're a bunch of whingy pommy fucks with little respect for their fans (I suppose that's understandable given the fact the fans are all retards) that produce the same insipid shite over and over and over and over and over. Much like the English cricket team. Honestly EMI Radiohead: Best Of ? Some exec has a sense of humour.

An interesting note was that even a troupe of travelling retards on the way to the Cats/Richmond game a few months back were taking the piss out of one of their crew for supporting who?

No not Collingwood,
No not Richmond,
No not even Melbourne.

The team it's fair to say I hate the most of all

SKFC or as it is often known Soft Kock Football Club.

When even a bunch of retards are taking the piss you gotta say St Kilda, you're doing something wrong!

Well back to watching the Cats belt the stuffing out of the Crows! Halftime atm so I'll nick of for a beer run to the fridge. Gotta consume all my consumables before heading to tarps after all!
PG Out

What was that noise?

That was me. Trying really hard to give a crap about SoO What III. Sorry. Tried me hardest. But nut. Can't give a crap.

PG Out

Hah

Tax return submitted. Booyah!

Tibet: Time for Some Home Truths

Well looks like my week of holiday slackery is over and its back to study-style hours. Since the only course material I have at hand is my Linear Algebra notes suffice to say I'm gonna be powering through that bitch.

Anyway amongst my early morning coffee thoughts was that Tibet is pretty much the country equivalent of my housemate The Fat One. No not Ajuna Ranatunga though he musta went to pretty much the same school of conflict resolution: Alex. And Tibet must have also attended that school.

Now I'm not going to get into sketchy history arguments over who owns what. I'm just going to provide the following analogy.

Alright let us say that one lives in a sharehouse and one of the housemates decides another is not pulling their weight. Right or wrong, let us now put all ourselves in the position of the housemate who is allegedly not pulling their weight.

Suddenly your fellow housemate comes running up to you and, instead of attempting to explain things logically, possibly with the presence of a mediator they immediately start TELLING you that you are NOT pulling your weight. The housemate now DEMANDS that you begin pulling your weight. Now you're not going to for a second bother analysing your behaviour to see if the antagonist has any merit to their argument. You're immediately going to take a rigid stance against, its human nature for many. Fuck I know I would.

Thus dissatisfied with your response the first housemate then runs around trying to drum up support from all the other housemates, spewing lies propaganda and righteous bullshit in the process. Now you're REALLY not going to cave.

So then they travel the fucking neighbourhood releasing fliers, recruiting ignorant fuckwits from Hollywood who should just stick to the acting tiger, until you can't even log on to the net without finding a gagillion blogs from misinformed individuals about how you should be pulling your own weight.

Not helpful is it?

And if the housemate is 2 foot tall and you're 20 ft tall you may also be tempted to punch the other housemate in the face next time you see em. Which I understand is pretty much the reaction most patriotic Chinese feel when confronted with a Tibetan.

Hell I couldn't give a shit about this Tibet-China thang and its STILL the reaction I get whenever I hear some namby pamby Tibetan soundbyte come over the radio. Then again its the reaction I feel whenever I hear the flowery tones of that fuckwit Rudd, or the crapping on of that Greens leader who looks like Pete Rowsthorn, or any artist on JJJ when asked 'how did you create your album/song' or hip hop artists etc. But I digress.

The point is even though in this practical example Dan doesn't fucking pull his weight its Alex who I ended up wanting to (you guessed it) punch in the face. Make no mistake Dan still pisses me off too. But I don't tramp and traipse about the house trying to drum up support to get him to stop having showers whenever I want to use the bathroom dammit. Nor for that matter do I try and recruit all the housemates into a 'Let's Punch Alex in the Face' coalition. (Obviously I'd never stand any chance in Survivor.) The only time I had a genuine, non personal issue with Danny boy I attempted to handle it using logical, reasonable discussion in the presence of an albeit improvised mediator. Yeah so I ended up wanting to punch Dan in the face. But at least I TRIED to handle the damn thing properly. And, to my credit, as of today, I haven't punched any of my housemates in the face in the 8 months I've lived here.

Porting this back to Tibet, whatever merits their stance may or may not have, any objective, logical observer must reach the conclusion that their current methods of negotiation, bargaining and conflict resolution would leave poor John Nash turning in his grave. Were he dead. Which he is not. But I'm tipping he will be long before Tibetans ever stop their fucking whinging.

Well, back to the study.
PG Out.

Give Me My Money Back

Give me my money back
Give me my money back
Give me my money back
You bitch.

I reckon that's the mantra of the majority of Australians today the first day of the new financial year judging by the traffic load on the ATO website. I shall have to defer downloading e-tax till later tonight it seems.

Well. Ooroo.

PG Out