Humble Pie & Burn Cream

Dear Rich Estranged Lady,

I hope this letter finds you and your family well. I miss my babysitting days with Lisa so badly, she was truly an angel.

I miss that crazy little manipulative eleven year-old.  She was so confident in her manner, definitely always spoke up when something bothered her or when she just wanted to call me a poor bitch who was her slave cos her mummy paid me. Bless her little soul.

I miss how she used to tell me that her cupboard was full of designer clothes that I could only ever dream of owning. She was right of course. Haha, that kid…

I remember last year when I picked Lisa up from school and she had a Christmas Angel. I asked her who it was for and you know what the little treasure answered? It’s for the poor people, you know, like you. Oh haha, that kid cracked me up. And then when I told her to get a taxi home, she said she’d prefer that because my car was an embarrassment. As I said, she’s a barrel-of-laughs and such a sweet girl!

We used to play this little game where she would wait until I had just sat down and then shout orders at me. “I WANT MILK!!!” I WANT A CHAI FUCKING LATTE NOW”. It was great fun. Nearly as fun when we played “How long can Lisa hold her breath in the pool” or “How much Dishwashing powder can Lisa lick before she barfs”.

I remember a particular night I had just sat down and Lisa demanded I get right back up and make her a Soy Chai latte. She didn’t even like chai latte’s-the little tyrant! Nonetheless, I got up and returned with Lisa’s favourite Bratz(how fitting) mug, full of chai goodness. But nooo, your angel had another request, she just loved this game. “I WANT AN APPLE”. She screamed so loudly I figured she must have forgotten I was in the same room as her so I quietly screamed back, “GET YOUR OWN FUCKING APPLE!” She looked like she was going to cry again (I forgot to tell you but I think that child was born with faulty tearducts. She is able to turn them on  and off as she pleases, it is quite distubing and robot-like.) So up I got to get the little angel her apple, and then just as a joke because that’s what we do, I pretended to throw the apple at her head. Alas, the darling jumped up like she had some  rare post-traumatic apple in face complex. Basically a whole lot of piping hot chai latte splashed all over her leg and resulted in a lot of crying( I think those tears were real). I frantically put burn cream on her leg, but she did insist on ringing yourself and sobbing “Alis burnt me, Alis burnt me”. Haha, oh those were the days. I guess she lost that round of the game.

Oh boy, look at me rambling down ol’ memory lane.. I’ll cut to the point.

Despite the fact I burnt your daughter on numerous occasions, had extremely bad thoughts about perhaps leaving her in the cupboard for a few days,  had much fun trying on your $3000 dresses that would most definitely not fit over your fat ass,  kept my mouth shut even when I could visibly see the damage you and your selfish corporate husband are inflicting on your bitch of a daughter, and that I had not one- but two amazing house parties whilst you away including driving your bobcat and drinking your single malt, very expensive, scotch whilst lounging in your pool…….

I’m applying to the university that you just happen to be the Head Chancellor and was wondering if you could look over my application? Thanks so much! : )

As I said, miss you guys and Lisa so much. It was a shame I had many, many other committments on. Give her a hug and kiss, or a punch in the face from me!

Cheers,

Alis.

 

Scouts & Twister

Continuing on my ever-growing list of ways to avoid work, I have come to the office disgustingly hung-over. The gland in my neck feels as if a  medium-sized woodland creature has nested in my throat. People have asked if I was in a car accident. HR have asked if I require counselling(they can arrange this free of charge).  My favourite colleague asked if I had scurvy and was my bird’s nest hair-do a symptom?  How did I get from over there (there being a respectful place in society)  to here (AA in the workplace)? I’ll answer as best as my hazy memory allows.

Last night, I reached my friend’s place who was extremely excited to show me the latest item she had chosen to hang on their kitchen wall. A potato sack. But not just any potato sack, this particular one had a hot topless girl printed on it. Potatoes just got their sexy back.

Alis: Wow, where can I get one of these?

Spud Girl: I don’t think they make them anymore. People got all uppity.

Alis: Bloody feminists! They ruin everything good in the world.

Spud Girl: Damn straight. Actually, my friend said it was the Jewish community who weren’t happy.

Alis: Well the Jews and feminists ruined it. For everyone.

Shortly after our potato-sack philosophising, our friend Aaron crashed through the back door. "I  got the capsicum!", he declared triumphantly, arm held in the air,  showcasing what one can only assume once resembled a green vegetable."I dropped it on the way back, and ran over it with my bike", Aaron explained sheepishly. It looked like he’d dropped it during the running of bulls, but we ate it. For Aaron’s sake. 

We also ate lovely BBQ chicken skewers . We ate divine mushroom and roasted capsicum salad with anchovy dressing and we had, of course, potato salad dressed in fresh herbs and crispy bacon.  And if my memory serves me correctly- a few bottles of wine.

Next on the agenda, we all hustled inside for a game of Balderdash. You know, the classic board game where everyone gets a word or abbreviation and you get to come up with your own brilliant definitions? For example:

P.H.C.A – Poodles Humping Cats Association

Kawatoniga- Maori term used for when you get sick air on a water doughnut

Barnaby and Me- A spin-off film featuring the captain from TinTin who always shouts "Blisterin’ Barnacles!"

One player who shall be referred to as "Boozehound" took the rules of the game very seriously especially when accused of cheating by throwing in adjectives willy-nilly.   So when she lost to our British friend Sara (coincidentally the only sober contender), I think a little bit of Boozehound’s heart broke off and swam away. The game was over and Boozehound needed a – "neat scotch! that’s with no ice, no water just plain scotch YOU FOOLS!" , to commiserate.

Naturally, 5 scotches were poured and Scotch Twister began. Unfortunately I had a reoccurring sports injury (ok I just slept funny which resulted in a nerve tweaking the single worst pain receptor in my brain). Regardless, I was on the bench. I chose to elect myself as the official Twister Water Scotch Girl. Whilst stretched to their limits, reminiscing days when they were younger, nimbler; I would tip scotch into the girls mouths to ensure both hydration and intoxication. I considered getting my video camera out and making some extra  money within the Adult Film industry but decided this would escalate me into the "Bad Friend" category.

Balderdash check. Twister check. What next? Why some readings from the "Scouting for boys" book of course! Complete with roleplaying, we were all educated on the ways of life as seen in 1908 by Lord Baden Powell. God bless his heart that man had some forward-thinking for back in the day.

• Suicide: Sometimes one will feel quite sad with life and contemplate killing themselves. This usually goes away in a few days and is more often than not a case of indigestion or influenza.
• Fits: When a man fits, he may foam at the  mouth. All good scouts know to place a cork or pebble in the man’s mouth to prevent tongue-biting. Lay him down so that he can have a good sleep whilst fitting.
• Fire Rescue: Grab insensible man’s arms and drag against floor. Remember to keep your nostrils close to the floor to prevent smoke dementing your brain. If the risk is high, come back for insensible man at a safer time.
• Scout Staff: This pointer stick is invaluable for poking things whilst night walking, building a serviceable bridge over a river or building a look-out tower. Also good for carrying insensible men who are injured.

This book is genius and hilarious and now in my top ten books. BP is the man.

Finally (around 3.30am?), we decided to mosey off to our beds/couches/bean bags.

SheScout: Do you think we could skip work tomorrow?

Alis: Abso-fucking-lutely.

SheScout: Brilliant, I think I have a meeting in the morning but screw them!

Alis: I don’t think my colleagues will even notice I’m not there. The monkey I put in my spot deletes emails, puts my phone on silent. He’s great.

SheScout: I actually believe that you would do that if it weren’t for animal rights. Ok sleep time.arghhhhtoomuchwinearghhhhh

Alis: Yeh damn animal rights groups, they ruin everything. arghhhhdndndnnd. zzzzzzz

Morning arrives. Reality also comes knocking on our very sore heads as we realise we probably should go to work. The main factor being that there is no coffee in the house, and there is an abundance in our workplaces. Perhaps we should have listened to BP when he repeatedly told us "Be Prepared".

Now I am here in the office with a large headache, bloodshot eyes and angry at my caffeine addiction. Sigh.

O.S Interview

Interview with the raddest dudes around- OnlineSatirists.com now up!

Big thanks to the guys @ O.S, I’ll send the cheque shortly… x

Check it out- http://onlinesatirists.com/?p=419

Spiders,Snakes & Baby-Eating Dingoes

Meet Sara. Sara is from the UK, has just recently moved to Melbourne and is crashing at my place for a few weeks. Sara hates spiders.

Don’t get me wrong, I hate them just as much as the next arachnophobe. It’s not so much the actual spider, as it is their sneakiness. They go all Osama Bin Laden on your ass. “Oooh, ooh I’m over here!” “Ooops, hehehe, no I’m not, now I’m here” “Betcha can’t find me… hehehe one minute I’m over there, next I’m over here…TO EAT YOUR FACE OFF.” Then next minute before you know it- M.I.A. Waiting to resurface when you least expect it. The similarities are astounding.

So what I can gather with my limited knowledge and 5 minute conversation with Sara, our spiders shit all over UK’s. We have ‘Huntsman” because they will hunt you down and disembowel you (Joking! Sorry, Tourism Australia.) All last summer we had ‘Rat Spider”, an extremely large spider who liked to eat small children and hang out at our front door. Last I heard, Rat Spider went to Hawaii as winter was approaching. I’m hopeful he finds a nice hula-girl, takes up surfing and never returns to our house.

But you know what UK has? Get ready for this. Garden Spiders. Do they weed and fertilise your garden for you at an alarming speed? Do they mulch and plough with such vigour, it’s terrifying? Do they attack the roses in the night with aphids? Please.

Rat Spider

VS

The Ominous British Garden Spider

Alis: Yeah, this spider was as big as my hand. Wait, maybe my head. **Enthusiastically demonstrates largeness of Huntsman**

Sara: **Makes incomprehensible sounds that only dogs can hear**

Alis: Relax. I’m 80% sure they don’t like cold weather so you probably won’t see any whilst your here. Same as snakes.

Sara: Snakes?

Alis: Oh yeah, we have 7 out of the world’s top ten deadliest snakes. Don’t worry I’ve never seen one here. Oh except for that one I saw swimming in the river, did you know snakes could swim? Me neither. Anyway, there’s usually some red-blooded male around that’s more than willing to cut its head off with a shovel.

Sara: Right. Well that’s good to know… Holy shitballs! What the hell was that?!

Alis: Oh that’s just a possum, they’re kind of cute right?

Sara: Aww, it has such cute eyes, and it’s fur looks so cuddly…

Alis: Mmm, word of warning. Don’t try to pat the possum, it will gouge your eyes out. And don’t freak out when you’re sleeping, they’ll bang all over the roof but just ignore it. Another thing. Be careful of koalas. Those fuckers look cute, but they’re feisty little balls of fur. Nearly killed my last dog, true story.

Sara: Killer koalas? *white as a sheet, starts grasping for a paperbag to breath into*

Alis: Oh my, I’m sorry sweetie. I didn’t mean to freak you out. Seriously it’s not that bad. The worst animals are up north anyway. Goanna’s, now they scare the shit out of me. They’re pretty much blind and quite often clamber up human’s legs thinking they are a tree. I do not want a metre long lizard with giant claws attached to me, no siree.

Sara: What? Are these blind lizards here? *glances behind her in terror*

Alis: Nah, up in Northern QLD. We went on a roadtrip up there, and I had to carry a frypan every time I went to pee in the bushes. No-one likes a goanna-bitten, you-know-what.

Sara: Well now, I can see your concerns. *mentally and unwillingly envisioning a goanna-bitten you-know-what* How was your roadtrip by the way? No accidents in the Wicked Van?

Alis: It was amazing. No accidents that I can recall… Oh wait. There was one incident with a large kangaroo. God I hate those fuckers. They wait on the side of the road, and then POW! 2 metres high of pure muscle and fur jumps out in front of your car. If you hit one of those puppies, your cars pretty much written off. There’s an urban legend that they kick through your windscreen and box the hell out of you. Evil. Fuckers.

Sara: I quite liked the TV show Skippy the Kangaroo. Until now.

Alis: Doesn’t UK have any scary creatures?

Sara: Not really. Garden spiders freak me out. And foxes and badgers. But that’s about it.

Alis: Ooooh, like Wind in the Willows? I bloody loved that book.

Sara: Errr, yeh kinda.

Alis: Did you know a Dingo once stole a baby here?

An epilady calamity.

I’m not much of a girly-girl. But every now and then I like confirm my femininity by paying a small asian lady $5 to file my nails.  I actually find the nail salon quite relaxing, especially since my nail-lady can’t speak English which instantly rules out the bullshit-small-talk people simply endure as a courtesy. I have also noticed that the ever-present waft of acetone and nail filings seems to facilitate some candid and always enlightening conversations.

Girl 1: OMG! I got waxed yesterday and the lady made a little heart shape. Totally cute.

Girl 2 : Gross. I can’t believe you still get waxed, Epilady all the way.

Girl 3: Yep, Epilady is the only way to go. I do everywhere with it. Even near my ass.

Girl 1: You guys are crazy!  I would never put a device that contains rotating metal blades near my, you know what.

Girl 2: Oh darls, it’s absolutely fine!

Girl 3: Except that time, err you know…

Girl 1 :*Raises eyebrows*  Come on, spill ya guts.

Girl 2: Oh it’s not really that bad. I just had a little accident…

Girl 1: Any accident in that region is bad. What exactly was this accident? Was there blood?

Girl 3: Yeh there was a little blood.. I, errm, well, it got ‘attached’.

Girl 2: To her clitoris.

Girl 1 (has gone extremely pale): Are you serious??? How does that even happen? Is it still there?

Girl 3: *chuckles* What darls, is the Epilady still hanging from my clit? Nah, I had to get my sister to come and help pull it off. Yes, that was embarrassing but I was more worried about having to go to the Emergency department with this mechanical device hanging off my snatch.  That would have been embarrassing.

Girl 2: And she bruised it. Haha, she showed me the next day, I felt so sorry for the poor thing.

Girl 3: Me or my clit?

Girl 2: Both darls, it was a tragic day for both of you.

This is a true conversation I overheard whilst sitting in my happy haze of Acetone.Just to clarify- these girls still use the Epilady on their lady parts. Crazy motherfuckers.

Giant Cigarettes & MC Hammer

I have listed below a number of events that have occurred recently at work. I am beginning to think I may be “dismissed” before I even get the chance to skip up to my boss’ desk and hand in my resignation.(FYI: 30 days and counting…)

1. Whilst returning from making my 15th coffee for the day, stop past my co-workers desk. Speak about pressing issues such as what we’re doing on the weekend, the shitful standard of food the canteen presented for lunch, what an arsehole Sandra Bullock’s husband is, and the logistics of trafficking cocaine into the workplace so that we can both raise our wages to ‘standard’. Somehow, somewhere toward the end of this conversation, I decide to break into a little dance which involves singing MC Hammer’s – ‘Can’t touch this’, and slapping my rear. Director of company walks past, confused and slightly irritated. I don’t know if it was the move I was busting, or my chosen outfit of large MC Hammer pants and corporate suit jacket, however he did not look overly impressed.

2. Email ex-employee overseas. Tell her about my grand plans on returning to study. Received this email this morning:

FUUUUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKK! Alis, I’m sooooo stupid!!!! I just realized that I’ve sent the email which was supposed to be a response to your last email also to James, Virginie and Sara! I’m sooo sorry I just clicked on the reply button and when I realized that the email goes to everyone it was too late!!!! I’m so sorry!

I mentioned that you want to go back to Uni and leave work! Shit!!!! Can you go and see James and tell him that I was wrong or something? I’m sure he won’t tell anyone! I will write him an email as well! That’s what happens when you use work emails! I hope you are not angry, OMG!

Let me know what happened! I hope no one will say anything or tell anyone! So sorry babe!

James works for our company. In Human Resources.

3. Arrive at work around 45 mins late as per normal. I may be tardy, but I am most certainly consistent. After morning coffee is made, emails checked and facefuck stalked, I proceed making group bookings for the winery tour I have organised this weekend for a group of friends. Ensure I look extremely busy whilst boss walks past as I am busily faxing off forms (to wineries, bus companies etc). I’ve mastered this non-working business…

Senior Idiot: So Alis, now I understand.

Alis: Yeh, well it’s been a lot of work but I finally got that report wrapped up. Sorry I just didn’t have the time to attend that meeting this morning.

Senior Idiot: What I meant was, I understand why you turn up late everyday with bloodshot eyes. You’re an alcoholic…

Boss places “Fax Confirmation” form on desk, containing winery booking dates.

I ponder for the next 4 hours until home time if he is referring to this, or if he somehow knows about my personal challenge to self to consume 4lt of cask wine each night for the past month.

4. Co-worker decides to quit smoking. Co-worker acts is quite chuffed with their efforts and decides to be a complete knob for weeks on end by telling me that I should quit too. I blow smoke in his face and tell him to piss off. After 4 weeks of pain, I discover co-worker outside sucking down a cigarette. Ha! So naturally I decided to make a ‘welcome-back-to-smoking’ present. My boss felt this was “non-compliant”.

5. Metallica presale. Limited seats, millions of fellow Australians going crazy trying to secure their seats to this rare show. Naturally this took precendence over any work from around 10am-12am. “Fuck, fuck fuck!!! This thing keeps timing out!!” “What thing Alis?”, comes an irritated call from the senior idiot’s office. “Uhhh, the internal purchasing program. Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out. Cos that’s the sort of proactive employee I am !” 1 hour later and I still don’t have tickets. We can’t miss out on this show, it’s Kirk’s birthday and he always gets cream-pied – something that everyone should see before they die. Right, time to call in the troops as I instruct my co-workers to start logging in on their computers. “What? You’re in the middle of something?” “I.Don’t.Give.A.Fuck- LOG ON NOW!!!!!”. Yes!!! I finally got in, what the hell is this timer thing down the bottom? 2 mins to finalise purchase or I lose tickets. Fuck, fuck fuck. Ok, breath Alis.

Enter Boss sitting on desk. “So Alis, I’ve been thinking about the marketing strategy for Quarter 3…” I turn to face him, whilst clicking psychotically at my mouse. 1.35 minutes to go. Hurry up, senior idiot and finish your little rant so I can secure these damn tickets. Oh who am I kidding? There’s no room for politeness here. I must end this Metallica mayhem right now. ” Look sir, I’m really sorry but I’ve got 2 mins to lock down these Metallica tickets. It’s Kirk’s bday. I’ll come see you in a bit ok?” Senior idiot looks flabberghasted and a deeper shade of aubergine than normal but I’ve pissed him off so much he walks off without a word. Right. With that settled, I now have 34 seconds to book these tickets….

So in reflection of these past few weeks, I’ve come to the very depressing realisation that I must knuckle down as I cannot afford to be fired prior to quitting. It would take away all the fun of resigning! Months spent on a highly thought out plan which involves walking into his office in a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume with large samurai sword, slamming my resignation down and declaring, ” I’m going to work with Splinter the Rat because he has offered me a world of knowledge and endless supply of pizza. Two things this company cannot give me.And I have been promised the auspicious title of ‘Hero in a Half Shell’ which quite frankly shits all over my current role.” Or something along those lines…

My future colleagues. Radical.

Decimals & Yellow Submarines

We all make mistakes at work, some more than others. It’s simply programmed into our feeble human minds. I love the term ‘human error’ -often quoted by myself with a sanguine smile after I’ve irrevocably lost the company a large amount of money, or similar.

Dear Friend,

Can you please send me 2 paddles via express post asap? I am once again in shit creek. And I fear I may not escape this time. I am going to die an untimely death in a creek full of faeces.

Sincerely,

Alis AKA Employee of the Month

 

Dear Alis,

I would send you some paddles, however I too am floating down shit creek as we speak. I just sent the wrong contract to the wrong client. This equals extreme badness. What did you do?

Regards,

Your fellow faeces floater.

  

Dear Floater,

Long story short, a little decimal point decided to jump one across on my spreadsheet. Instead of ordering $15,000 of crap, I may have ordered $150,000. I hate that decimal fucker.

Regards,

Fucked.

 

Dear Fucked,

Oh dear.

Regards,

Feeling-a-lil-better-about-my-mistake-now.

Yes, my friends. I am a genius. In the times of a GFC, I may or may not have over-ordered around $135,000 worth of stock. Fortunately, my excellent liaising/bribery skills managed to get me out of this sticky little ‘situation’, and my co-workers remain unaware. Fools! What did I learn today? That a box of cuban cigars and 3 top-end strippers can undo any mistake. Every time? Absolutely.

Surely people have made bigger mistakes than I? It is highly likely there’s a large cluster of people currently floating down Shit Creek right this minute, fervently praying that an oar drops out of the sky so they can paddle their way back to society. Naturally, I did what always makes me feel better, I googled the shit out of my computer. AND found millions of people who had made far worse mistakes than me. And thus, my defense was formed for when I am called into the senior idiot’s office later.

Meet Gray Powell. Gray is an Apple Software engineer. He also loves beer. So when he decided to head out to the local German beer-garden for a few brewskies… Well he kinda forgot he had the latest prototype on him for the next generation iPhone.  Needless to say, Gray got wasted and hooked up with some dude in the toilets. Meanwhile, outside in the Schnitzel Beer Garden a random beer guy possibly named Günter picked up the “highly confidential” prototype. 24hrs later it was being dissected for the world to see on the online techblog – Gizmodo.  The Apple Internal Investigations team told Gray not to worry, as the smell of Chloroform wafted toward his nostrils…

Here’s another example. A few years back, flights were delayed in LAX Airport for 2.5 hours. The head honchos ran around like chooks with no heads, determined to somehow restore order. (As all good managers know, running around with your arms above your head screaming is sure to bring a sense of calm to both your employees and customers.)  But alas! Despite their advanced people management skills- mayhem took over, complaints reached record levels and at least 6 staff members walked out screaming “Fuck this place!”. What caused all of this? An internal IT program has unexpectedly crashed, causing the runway to freeze. No planes in or out folks. How had it happened? One very quiet employee in the corner of the room raised his shaking arm. “I may have knocked a switch, whilst cleaning down here. I am so very sorry.” Herbert sacrificed his first-born child to the LAX Board of Management and all was forgiven.

But this? I’m sorry but this makes me look like Employee of the Month. Like a fucking angel god. In 1961, Mike Smith and Dick Rowe from Decca Records were asked to view a new and upcoming band. Mike Smith loved them. Dick Rowe said quote: “Not to mince words, Mr.Epstein, but we don’t like your boys sound. Groups are out; four-piece groups with guitars in particular are finished.” The boys in this band released a tribute to Dick Rowe – “Love me do” under their new record company. Years later, John Lennon was quoted saying: “We’re more popular than Jesus now”. And arguably they were.  Cop that,Dick.  Dick now lives in a Yellow Submarine, repeatedly hitting his head against the wall. Dick.

It’s hard to pinpoint if my teeny, insignificant mistake was caused by lack of sleep, motivation or sobriety. Either way, I hate that fucking decimal point. All innocent and round. And incredibly shit.

Dear Alis,

Contract dilemna sorted. Both contracts met their fate – in the paper shredder. I’m now free to come rescue you from Shit Creek if you’re still floating around?

Regards,

Your Brilliant Friend.

 

Dear Brilliant Friend,

No need my dear ! As always, cigars and strippers have saved the day. We should celebrate by smashing a champagne bottle over a baby’s head. Or a boat, whatever tickles your fancy.

Cheers,

Alis.

Trains and Rats

I’ve always been a transportation snob. Blessed with growing up in the outer suburbs, there’s simply never been a pressing need to face hoards of disgruntled passengers crammed like tinned sardines. I thoroughly enjoy sitting in my heated, clean(ish) car. Music blaring to my heart’s content. Koala’s falling out of trees around me as a result of excessive petrol fumes. I love my car.

Until last week, when my friend and I decided to venture into the Emerging Writer’s Festival in Melbourne via the train. Mon does this all the time so she was fairly blasé about the whole situation. Myself? I was a fumbling mess.

At first I was excited, kinda like first-day-at-school excited. Then I saw a rat. No, not an ex-lover or one of the senior managers from work. A real life, furry, disease- ridden rodent, sitting right on the stairs we had to walk up to the train platform. He went into a little hole in the bush which Mon thought was extremely cute. I suggested a crackfox may live in there. (‘The Mighty Boosh’ reference for anyone that did not know there are foxes addicted to crack out there. An extremely funny and educational show. )

I then had to buy my ticket which fortunately did not produce any rats, but did have a large amount of holes and buttons, leaving me to stand there looking like an inexperienced lover. “It ate my change!” “Wrong hole, idiot.” Ticket in hand, I stepped out onto the platform eagerly awaiting the train to arrive. “I should have worn my travelling suit, maybe this won’t be so bad afterall !”, I whimsically proclaimed. Mon simply gave me a look.

But my romantic notions of a 1940’s steam train quickly vanished. Up pulled the new and improved version, coated in graffiti. Different coloured brandings of kids who wear pants ten times too big. Some of it was actually kind of beautiful, like a Matisse in the ghetto. But the hollow-eyed passengers aboard the train? They were not so beautiful.

Tradies, drinks in hand and mouthes like pirate’s whores. Old men asleep, drooling on fellow passengers. Scantily clad girls, their dirty secrets exposed under the train’s harsh fluro lighting. A few hippies smelling as a result of their strict no deodorant policy, and the array of animals that had taken residency in their dreadlocks.

I reluctantly took a seat whilst Mon cheerily pointed out that there was a chup-a-chup, can and banana beneath her seat. I replied that it was the things we couldn’t see that worried me.

Just as we’d settled into our cracked, mustard-yellow seats, we heard yelling from across the tracks. It seemed a train had driven straight past a young gentleman who had his t-shirt tied around his head, Jim Beam can in one hand and a particular fondness for dropping the ‘c-bomb’. What a cunt. Mon and I decided it would be particularly fun to stick our fingers up at the raving lunatic to see what he’d do. He promptly exploded into a series of expletives aimed directly at us. We were secretly chuffed, and shitting ourselves. Mon said between her teeth ” Fuck! I think he’s actually going to jump the tracks and kill us”. Fortunately 2 long minutes later, the train doors closed and we took off, fingers up at the Jim Beam Loony.

I told Mon that I couldn’t believe I’d actually considered catching the train to Uni when I start in July. Mon, all nonchalant, agreed that public transport is fucked but also mentioned a few benefits.

CON’S

• Dirty, smelly, disease-ridden, drug-induced co-passengers
• Increased possibility of being mugged,raped,drugged,stabbed
• Impossible timetable that is never adhered to by stupid trains
• The need to wear clothing that is drool/junky repellant
• Bleeding eardrums caused by people talking to me who think I care
• 100% chance of being infected with Influenza
• High chance of a Rat Attack resulting in RBF(rat bite fever, yes it’s real-google it)
• Possiblity of vomiting on canoodling, groping couple next to me
• Possibility of being killed by junkies (although I may provoke)
• High possibility of throwing shoe @ pervert tradies resulting in train carriage turmoil

PRO’S

• The ability to drink all day long @ University

I’ll catch the train, it’s a no-brainer.

Porn Injuries and Flowerbeds

I walked into the office today with a slight spring to my step. Whilst spending the morning as I normally do – googling, blogging and facefuck-stalking, I eagerly anticipated my monthly dose of humour. The OHS monthly meeting minutes.

I am happy to report that there were over 41 incident reports in Q1! Brilliant. Thankyou to all the floundering, falling clutzes who make my ribs ache with laughter each month. It’s like my own little “Australia’s Funniest Home Video’s ” distributed to my inbox.

Let’s see what accidents we had this month…

• Hit head on phoneholder in meeting room- Lacerated head

• Armaguard security officer leant on front counter- Electric Shock

• Dropped wallet under desk- Foreign bodies in eyes (well this is highly suspicious)

• Reached down to pick up apple core and chair legs broke- unmentioned injuries ( I fear death for this fumbling fruit-eater)

• Slipped on a flowerbed – Right knee bruising

• Slipped and hit finger – Sore finger (No-one likes a sore finger. It’s annoying, and tends to make one grumpy)

• Tripped on raised floor- cut/bruised cheek, elbow and knee (This is both unfortunate and hilarious. I think I mistook this person last week for an abused wife)

• Walked up and down stairs- Lower back strain (No! I will not make any fatty jokes. You people disgust me)

• Mild allergic reaction possibly due to food consumption (most probably from cafe, I also fear death for this pleb)

These are actual incident reports reported within our prestigious company.

So, someone trips on a flowerbed. They in turn lodge a lengthy file to their manager detailing crucial information such as did the daffodils bully the victim prior to falling? Were any rhododendrons injured during the fall?

This report then goes to the OHS department where their beady little eyes light up,this is their chance to shine! Fluro jackets on, they march out to the danger zone, nuclear packs in tow. Just in case the daffodils choose to attack again.

The hazard area is then assessed and evaluated. Another report is filed. Bulk weedkiller is bought and used. Flower bed hazard removed from premises. Daffodils protest all over the world.

This report is entered into the Hazard Analysis reporting system, along with the original Incident Report and a proposal for an Anti-Flowerbed policy to prevent further floral carnage. And after being reported at the monthly meeting, they conveniently end up in my inbox. For my (and now your) enjoyment.

I have a very faint and hazy memory that keeps popping up. In the midst of all these life-threatening hazards and consequential reports, aren’t we supposed to be supporting our customer network and ultimately making money? Or maybe I just smoked too much crack last night.

So with 2 hours to go, I am off to report my latest incident. You see, my friend sent me a rather obscene email which I can’t even bring myself to explain here. Nonetheless, this emailed forced me to propel backwards in my chair, mouth hanging open (some girls will do anything to get on the net). Don’t worry I’m fine, but my co-worker who I rocketed into with my chair, he’s not so good. I tried to show him the email to ease his pain but he seemed more interested in the alarming amount of blood he was losing. So being the compliant employee that I am, I have left him on the floor as I am most definitely not a first-aid worker. Once I have lodged the correct paperwork they can come for my poor office-chair roadkill and hopefully revive him.

Can’t wait to read about this one in the next OHS monthly meeting minutes, you fluro idiots.

Kegs, Cakes and Capes

So Dan the Man, Cha-Cha and I held our first keg party on the weekend. Beer, beer and more beer… In fact, I just ate a Cherry Ripe and there’s a fairly high chance I’m intoxicated again. Brilliant. To get your guests excited about your party, you need excellent promotion skills (and of course, strippers, cocaine and dancing bears). However, as I endeavoured to promote our upcoming Keg Off, guaranteed to make you kegless, there was a lot of confusion…

Scenario 1.

Me: So we’re having a Keg Party!!! You should totally come.

Sweet-tooth: Oh brilliant. I love cake!

Me: I know, it’s gonna be pretty epic… Wait. Did you say cake?

Sweet-tooth: Yeh.  I bloody love mudcake. Not enough people have cake parties these days…

Me: Er, it’s a KEG party. K-E-G. As in a large metal thing filled with ice cold beer.

Sweet-tooth: So no mudcake?

Me:  Nup. But mud-wrestling is high on the agenda.

Sweet-tooth: With hot chicks?

Me: Nah probably dancing bears.

Sweet-tooth: Sweeeeeet.

 Scenario 2.

Dad: So your younger, underage brother is coming to your little palooza??

Me: Yeh, don’t worry though. I’ll take good care of him.

Dad: I don’t know why he wants to attend a cake party really, but at least the two of you are spending some time together…

*** Younger brother coughing in background, eye twitching strangely***

Me: Err, yes. The Cake Party will be fantastic.

Dad: Good-o, save me a piece.

Me: Will do.

 Scenario 3.

Me:  So there’s a good chance, 50% of the guests may turn up with cake. They keep thinking I’m saying ‘Cake Party’ for some reason

Captain Confusion: ** Laughs hysterically**  That would be hilarious. Will they have their undies on outside their pants too??

Me:  Hmm. I don’t think so. Excellent question though.

Captain Confusion: Oh ok. Well people wearing capes and drinking beer will still be pretty awesome!

Me:  Give me strength. Are you talking about C-A-P-E-S ? As in Batman? Wonderwoman?  Mighty Mouse? Green Lantern? Superman? Hourman? Dr.Fate?  Captain Marvel?

Captain Confusion:  Oh dear, was that wrong sweetie?

 Scenario 4.

Me:  Hey! You hippies coming to the keg party tomorrow?

Hippy 1: Yeh for sure man…

Hippy 2: Is it a toga party? It should definitely be a toga party.

Me: Nup, it’s just a good ol’ keg party. With, you know, beer and stuff.

Hippy 1: Will there be acid?

Me: It isn’t Woodstock. No togas, no acid. Just beer.

Hippy 2: So can we wear Toga’s?

Me: Knock your socks off, you damn hippies.

 

For your information, the party was grand. Acid-trippers in togas, strippers wearing capes, dancing bears that mud-wrestled, and a vast assortment of sponges, mudcakes and tortes. 

 Oh, and beer. There was beer.