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DesDownunder

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  1. DesDownunder

    Feeding Desire.

    By DesDownunder,

    Have you ever noticed the seeming preoccupation French movies have with sex and food? Every time a new French movie comes into the video store, we get heaps of questions about if there is food in it? You'll notice no one asks, "Is there sex in it?" Well it's French so of course there is sex in it, seems to be taken for granted. But it's the movies with sex and food that seem to do the best business.
    Now I don't mean to single out the French, but it does seem their movies are the most likely to comply with the sex and food content, although I do think the Italians serve up a fair amount of sex with their noodles. And of course there's the gay movie Eating Out amongst others.
    That brings me to consider the seductive attributes of the texture of many foods. I mean pasta itself is just oozing with slippery morsels writhing in freshly warmed sauces as your utensil swirls them around on the plate. Haven't you ever thought of just grabbing a handful or two of the luscious noodles and rubbing them all over your prime ribs? A kind of alimental pasta.
    For starters of course there is soup du jour, soup of the day, for you uncouth hamburger munchers. What better way to seduce a lover than with a thick cream of celery soup or even potato and leek. Hmm that sounds like a guy I knew several times.
    Anyway I thought I should pass on few culinary hints to assist you all to enjoy the art of food and sex. You see there is more to seduction over a meal than just with a bottle of good wine.
    Each item on the menu should suggest the never-ending possibilities of the debauchery to follow the main course. Think of these tempting dishes.
    Standard oysters au naturel should send the appropriate signals for starters, (If you can get him to dine au naturel, you may be able to forget dinner altogether,) followed by a main course, some of which I mention here:
    Twin Hot dogs in white sauce.
    Roast stuffed chicken or chicken vol-au-vent.
    Rump steak, or T-bones, medium rare.
    Chunky meatloaf surrounded by an array of delicate baby peas, whole miniature carrots and cauliflower smothered in cheese sauce.
    If you manage to serve a desert than you can be reasonably certain that you have either failed as a seductive cook or your dinner companion is as thick as a brick. Not to worry, a double layer cream sponge covered in caramel sauce and decorated with pink icing hearts served with flaming brandy around the edge of the plate, usually sends the right signals, provided it doesn't set the house on fire instead of him.
    Coffee with a flute of French Cognac should serve to make sure that he has to stay the night. Can't have him driving home under the influence, after all you want him under your influence, or you under his. Either way one of you should be grilled lightly until done.
    Of course if you are both so hyped up you can't sleep, you should offer a relaxing massage. Now the best massage oil is sesame oil, the same sesame oil that you used to fry the rice, very sensual and edible.
    In the morning you look at him sleeping there alongside you with only an empty bottle of sesame oil between you. He awakens, he looks at you and wants more. Damn, you've used up all the lubricants you had in the house.
    But wait there is an answer. Breakfast.
    The kitchen is a source of wonders to behold, and so you cook two big bowls of fine-ground oatmeal.
    You serve them in bed and as you do so, you accidentally spill some onto his abs. Quickly you wipe the oatmeal up with your fingers noticing how very slippery freshly cooked oatmeal is...and its warm too...
    What's for lunch? Maybe the guy next door would like to help make a banana sandwich.
    (Please observe all precautions for safe eating.)

  2. DesDownunder

    Finding A Good Movie

    By DesDownunder,

    Ah Winter!
    Yes I have another bout of flu like symptoms. :cough, cough:
    Oh I'm sorry did I spray my nose juice all over you when I sneezed? Let me wipe it off you with this used tissue.
    Really, I am so sick of this bug.
    Another thing I am sick of is the new video rental program we had to buy for the shop. It is preferable to the others we tried, but we still have had to work out what all these extra things are, that it does. Like, tell us how much tax we need to pay and what the cash should be, and how many customers we served. Then there are all the things we want to know but it keeps in secret places for which we have to go hunting. It's like going on a date with a coy slut who knows what you want but makes you take his clothes off.
    The customers are all very patient, which is just as well.
    "Hang on a minute, will you? I have to work out how to work the new software."
    "Oh you poor dear," says the middle aged man with two screaming kids.
    "Daddy, we found a better movie. Can we change it?"
    "Are they too late?" he asks me. Too late for what, I want to ask, abortion? As far as I am concerned the brats are too early for anything worthwhile, as they run screaming from one end of the shop to the other flipping DVD cases onto the floor as they go; and I know yet again, why I never wanted children.
    "To late to change the movie they want for this one?"
    "No, that's fine," I lie with a smile.
    I enter his membership and the DVD numbers and the program wants to know what amount of money he is tendering. I just push F10 to bypass the nonsense, and the transaction is completed. They depart, hopefully to another planet.
    Down the aisle I go to pick up the DVDs the boys knocked to the floor.
    I'm down on the floor when I sense someone is standing alongside. I look up to see a woman who obviously hasn't heard that handbags with matching gloves is a pretension from another century.
    "Are you all right?" she asks.
    "Yes, thank you, just tidying up the stock," I tell her. "Can I help you?
    "I want a movie."
    Why else would she be here? It's going to be a long day.
    "I don't remember the name, but it was very good."
    Yeah, like that is a help. "Do you remember who was in it, or what the story was about?"
    "Oh yes, it had that nice young actor in it with a girl I haven't heard of before, but I heard it was good. It's about a professor in a German university during the 1930s and how he becomes a Nazi."
    "Ah yes, I know that film," I tell her, "Now let me think...Yes Good, it's Good."
    "Yes I was told it was good," she says.
    "That's what it is called, Good," I explain.
    She changes her handbag from one gloved hand to the other. "That's what I said, I was told it was good, with that nice young actor."
    "Viggo Mortensen is his name," I tell her.
    "That's him," she says with surprise, "I really like his performances."
    Good, now we have determined who turns her on, but I don't reveal that I realise this, as it might lead to her describing what she does while watching him in his movies.
    "But what is the movie called?" she inquires,
    "Good, it's called Good," I explain.
    "Yes I told you that it was good." She is somewhat abrupt in her manner, and I realise I will have to either get pleasure from telling her that the movie is beyond the powers of her intellect, or capitulate in such a way that she will release the moths guarding the money in her handbag.
    I decide we need the money, the new software was not cheap. I take the DVD off the shelf and show her the title.
    "Oh it's called, Good," she announces to the multitude.
    "How much is that?" she asks with a voice that has only disdain for the worldly matter of money.
    So I tell her the rental fee, and sure enough she opens her handbag, no moths -they must be asleep; she reaches inside and gives me her membership card and a fifty dollar note.
    A small battle ensues with the software and I give her the change. She sweeps from the store in triumph.
    "I would have smacked her upside of the head. You are very patient," says the cute young gay guy at the counter as he puts his selection of gay movies on the counter. "Are these movies good?" he asks.
    "No sir," I tell him, "Good, just went out."
    And we both burst into laughter.
  3. DesDownunder
    What can you do when you lose your data on your computer? Here is an answer to such a disaster which embarrassingly, befell me recently.
    I was setting up a new computer for my video store when I was overtaken by frustration, fatigue and fear that I would never finish the task.
    So to liven things up, what other excuse could I possibly have, I went to my own computer opened the windows disk manager and deleted what I thought was a left over partition from when I had the Acronis backup software on the system. I didn't like the software so I had uninstalled it. (Oh the irony of it all). What I didn't know was, that the Acronis' dedicated partition had then became part of the partition alongside it, so when I deleted it I deleted all my data as well. All my stories, unfinished manuscripts, essays, tax records, emails, etc., gone~ lost in the bottomless pit of deletion without a warning or confirmation from Windows XP. Thank you very much.
    Slowly the situation dawned on my sentience. To say I felt devastated, even suicidal at the loss of my tax records, not to mention my stories, is to grossly underestimate the trauma I felt washing over me with a trembling uncertainty of real-time terror.
    Not since my first romance broke up had I felt such destabilizing queasiness in the pit of my stomach. I sat looking at the remains of my computer, my lifeline to my ego.
    Fortunately the windows XP operating system was intact being on its own partition. I could even surf the web, though I had none of my bookmarks.
    I rang my computer guru friend who told me he would call in a few hours as he might have a program which could help. I Googled the web for undelete programs. So many choices. So many opportunities to make things worse.
    Shattered, I went to bed. It was 4am and I didn't trust myself to make sensible decisions at that hour, and I knew I had to be careful; mustn't do anything that could overwrite the files that hopefully were still on the drive.
    The following day, having found that it wasn't all a bad dream, I continued looking for undelete programs and after much thought and no sign of the computer guru friend, I decided on a program called Find and Mount, mainly because its name reminded me of my first boyfriend.
    I installed the program and it did indeed find the deleted partition, mounted it, and displayed the results as a read only drive in Windows Explorer. I copied the files to another hard drive I luckily had on hand, and then reformatted the missing partition and copied the files back again. Total restoration of 100gig of data was achieved in just a couple of hours. I cancelled the computer guru, who was happy not to have to come (a first for him) as he had to attend so many idiots that day.
    It would have taken longer to copy the files and folders as the free version of the software only transfers at 500 KB/second, so I paid the not unreasonable $US 43.95 to purchase Partition Find and Mount, which then transferred as fast as the system would allow. To say I was pleased is an understatement. I haven't been so ecstatic since the first boyfriend and I found each other and explored various mounting partitions, er I mean positions, and we didn't even display the results in any windows.
    I need hardly add that I am not associated with the Partition Find and Mount Company except as a happy customer.
    I was also happy with the first boyfriend and he didn't charge, but he decided it was necessary to help as many people as he could find and mount.
    Luckily I can't delete the fond memories I have of him.
    Partition Find and Mount is a very cool program that lets you safely try it out, even use it, if you don't mind the slower speed.
    Highly recommended, like the first boyfriend.
    PS (As for all you people who think I should do a backup, I did that too with the first boyfriend.)
  4. DesDownunder
    So I have been laid up with the flu. Was it Swine Flu? Well it wasn't all that pleasant. I still have a cough, but if it was the swine flu I least had something in common with Harry Potter actor, Rupert Grint. He seems to have got on top of it and I seem to have done the same, though I like the idea that either he or I got on top.
    As I say I still have a cough, but mainly my voice is husky; husky as in hoarse, not as in horse which if I got on top of, might mean I was in the play, Equus, which would be good except that it is too cold here for the nude scene and I wouldn't want to get the flu back. Hmm if I did that might mean I have some kind of horse flu.
    My voice being all husky might also mean I didn't have the swine flu, it might have been dog flu I caught from a husky. No that's being silly, I haven't been near a dog, except for some...no I won't go there.
    I did go to the doctor, who seemed quite surprised I was alive and walking. He listened to my lungs with his stethoscope and asked me to cough. If I could have given him one of my evil smiles I would have, but ever willing to do exactly what the cute doctor wants me to do, I began coughing and hawked up some flying phlegm which did a free fall on to the middle of his desk.
    The doctor just looked at it. "Do you need a specimen?" I asked batting my innocent blue eyes.
    "It's okay," said the doc, "I wanted a new desk, anyway."
    "You could always disinfect it," I told him.
    We both leaned over the table to inspect the 'specimen.'
    He looked at it and announced it was typical and didn't appear to be anything nasty, then he looked at me and asked if I felt okay.
    " I feel great," I said, "It looks like my throat just orgasmed on your desk."
    "Can we skip the description of your afterglow?" he asked.
    "Okay I said, anyway now it's your turn."
    "I think not," he said as he put his stethoscope away, "Come back in a fortnight and we'll see how you are."
    "That's it?" I asked, "Come back in two weeks, what if I have the horse flu?"
    "Horse flu?" he asked and I smiled to myself, I had him where I wanted him and he was going to be the recipient of my pun for the week, when he suddenly announced, "Horse flu is not like bird flu, it won't fly."
    "That's what they said about the pigs before they took off and flew," I triumphantly announced.
    "I don't have time for this," he said and handed me a script.
    "What's this for?" I asked.
    "Pain relief, " he told me, "In case you tell yourself one of your puns."
    The doc likes to get in the last word.
  5. DesDownunder
    I sneezed.
    So I have been sniffling with an inflamed throat, and headache. I don't think it is swine flu or bird flew, but who knows? I'm not going to the doctor either, because if it is swine flu and he catches it from me then who will I consult if I get the Elbo virus?
    Hmmm wait a minute, that's the Ebola virus. Silly me, my elbow can't get a virus can it? Can it?
    The worst thing about a cold, I'm sure that's all I have, is sitting around waiting until you to feel better so you can then go and feel the bf.
    I suppose I could go and feel someone under 30 and if they start sneezing and die I will know that I have the swine flu.
    I know you can sit and watch TV until you feel better but it just makes me feel worse.
    I'd rather sit and read the stories at AD if I could stop sneezing all over the keyboard. Damn if the bf sees the nasal purge all over the keyboard, he will think I started without him. Well not so much started as finished I suppose I should say.
    kmfghoaslrvzb btt GSGJ,.IODXSxnne454642m-kp
    There, I have cleaned the nose spray off the keyboard. It looks so much better. The keyboard, not my nose.
    I just wrapped the keyboard in plastic cling wrap. That should solve the problems.
    Damn I just sneezed all over the monitor screen.
    I'm going to bed. Hope I don't sneeze all over the sheets.
  6. DesDownunder
    So there I was sitting quietly minding my own business when the phone squawked.
    It didn't ring, it squawked like a duck with the flu. Which flu? How the hell do I know? There are so many hideous diseases getting around and I'm only a poor hypochondriac, not a doctor.
    Speaking of the doctor, I showed him my leg last Tuesday. He said he wasn't impressed.
    "No, no," I told him, "look there," and I pointed at the scaly red mark just below my knee.
    "Is it skin cancer?"
    "Tell me," asked the doctor, "When was the last time your knee was bathed in sunlight?"
    "Hmm that would have been in 1979 at the beach just before sunset."
    "Doesn't count."
    "I was trying to look seductive for the guy in the tight cut off jeans."
    "I don't want to know," said the doc.
    "So it isn't cancer, what about that awful flesh eating disease, or leprosy?" I asked in my most serious whiny voice.
    "It's a slight case of eczema, nothing to worry about. Put this cream on it." He handed me a small sample tube of ointment.
    "This is the same stuff you gave me when I had a chafed dick," I told him.
    "There is nothing wrong with your memory. Yes, it is the same white cream; the one you told me that when you rubbed it into your dick, it came straight out again." He chuckled. "I don't expect you will have that problem with your knee."
    "I do hope not," I said and thanked him as I left.
    **************
    The phone squawked again, bringing me back to the present.
    "Hello?" I answered not really certain whether anyone was actually calling me.
    "Do you want a job?" asked a male voice.
    "A head job?" I inquired.
    "Yeah, right. At least I know I dialled the right number. We need someone to do a shift tonight."
    I was so excited. Someone had taken ill and they needed me to fill in at the cinema where I used to work, and the money would be more than welcome.
    Thirty-six hours later, I am in agony. Every muscle in my body is revolting. Well that isn't really new, my muscles have never been my best feature. I don't remember work being this exhausting. I looked up the operator's handbook I got when I was born and sure enough there on page 547 is the warning about not going back to work after you retire, it will deplete what little energy you have left.
    I laid on the bed breathing...after a fashion. I'd go to the doctor if I felt better.
    If I live long enough I will type this up for my blog as a warning to others.
    As for the phone, it doesn't squawk any more, I unplugged it.

  7. DesDownunder

    Hopeless

    By DesDownunder,

    Pecman posed a (perhaps rhetorical) question in the News and Views Forum on the loss of two young people through suicide.
    I have no argument with Pecman's post, but I did not want to make the following statement in the News and Views Forum because it might be taken that I was chastising Pecman, which I certainly am not. What I do have to say is somewhat a personal statement, but one I would like to share with you from the relative safety of posting it as an opinion in my blog. Of course you may wish to respond, and consider yourself invited to do so. Personal flames will be deleted. Be warned this is not going to be everyone's opinion.
    Pecman's original post is here, and well worth reading. My heart goes out to him for his concern.
    Quote Pecman:
    It is so easy to say, "yes it is," but it is not just the bullying of the young that invites such a response.
    At any moment of our existence, we are in a state of confusion, torn between serving our desire to live loving lives, and fulfilling the social roles imposed on us by our various cultures. Enlightenment can be defined as overcoming one's culture, but that in itself is probably a lifetime occupation.
    Blinded by the pressures to conform, we so often do not see that those demands are challenged by our natural desire for peace and love.
    We allow ourselves to be swayed by all kinds of doctrine to believe that aggression and avarice are the natural states of human existence.
    Those young people, who are exposed to such doctrine, often see no alternative other than to side-step adopting it as their own, by opting out.
    They are not yet able to accept that life is a battle, a quest to affirm goodness; they do not yet have the capacity to withstand the onslaught of those who have been persuaded to preach that love and goodness are illusions and that life is about cruelly taking whatever you want for yourself at the expense of others. They are overcome by the feeling that they cannot and will not participate in the hopelessness, in the horror they perceive around them. This is particularly so in the young people (11 years old in the article.)
    These sensitive souls are the very ones we cannot afford to lose. They are but a few moments of living away from being able to say. "I love life; I will do all that I can to live fully and completely without harming others. I will do all that I can to fulfil my humanity, I say yes to life!"
    But they are deterred from developing this inner-strength of human love, of recognising the power of the goodness of life in themselves, because they have been subjected to, attacked and bullied by, those who have submitted to the doctrines of hate, negativity, guilt and fear.
    These young people are denied their natural inclination to access the discovery of truth and beauty, all in the name of subservience to their culture's rules and beliefs in some kind of external salvation.
    Love is within, it resides within us. It is not given to us, it is what we are, unless it is taken from us; and too often love is forcibly removed from us, by denouncing it as wicked and that it somehow makes us unworthy, immoral and all sorts of other imperfections. We are made to feel guilty for being creatures of love, when in fact we should be rejoicing the goodness of our love and its expression.
    Too often do those, who have submitted to being negative about life, try to force their negativity on others. Too often, love is discriminated against by the forces of fear and guilt. And too often is love strangled in the hands of the bully, just so he feels justified in his denial of accepting his capacity to love. He does not understand it is his own love that he kills.
    But a young person just coming to terms with puberty, mystified by developing emotions, discovering the potential for his own capacity to love, will come to think that in the face of all the hypocrisy which abounds in his culture, of all the tragedy which seems to surround life, in the face of his time and time again being denied his own human existence, that it is just easier to escape from a world in which he feels alienated, which is just too much to bear on his own.
    Sometimes he will find someone his own age to assist their common survival, sometimes lovingly, sometimes not.
    I have at times been asked what a young person gets from a relationship with an older person, because as far as can be seen it seems that only the older person gets something from such a relationship. That may seem true, but only if we consider it in terms of sexual gratification. Certainly there is that horrifying molestation of the young that must rightfully be condemned, but it should not be confused with the transmission of the lust for life that an older person can give a younger.
    Such a relationship can give the younger a model of hope, of what love really is, as opposed to just sexual urges. The love of an older for a younger person recognises the glamour of life (as Oscar Wilde called it) in the younger person, it encourages the celebration of life and it shows love as being the reason for sexual expression, rather than the way far too many people think of it today, as sex being the motivation for love.
    And no this last statement is not an attempt to justify paedophilia. Sexual relationships before puberty is completed, is definitely not part of this argument. Paedophilia is the negative, the abusive aspect of sexual expression between an older and a younger person.
    However, just as destructive is the doctrine of hate which teaches the young and often the very young, to live in fear, with guilt and to deny love by denying the inherent goodness in humanity.
    A loving relationship between an older and a younger person can reverse this hate, this denial of life and replace it with loving goodness and therefore lead the young person to exclaim, yes to life.
    To quote Oscar Wilde from the dock during his first criminal trial:
    [?]It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an elder and a younger man, when the elder man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope and glamour of life before him. That it should be so the world does not understand. The world mocks it and sometimes puts one in the pillory for it.
    It is important to understand that many people have imposed a non-sexual interpretation on this speech that any student of Greek Love would patently deny. Wilde was quite clearly defending his love of youth as being worthy, both in the intellectual and physical senses.
    Of course, the parallel argument for heterosexual love between a younger person and an older person of opposite sex also holds true, but in practice this has been an instruction in heterosexual sex rather than the noble-minded values described by Wilde. Still I have no doubt the argument is valid regardless of gender. (I also have no doubt that humanity is sexually omnifarious, eventually succumbing to availability and habit, even if influenced by genetic propensity or cultural expectations, which of course cause further problems.)
    Rites of passage through loving relationships of differently aged lovers, is part of the human experience, and I would maintain a necessary one if the young are not to find life as hopeless as it sometimes seems.
    In historic cultures, both civilised and primitive, and in classical literature such relationships were understood and revered. Then came the puritan dark ages which still influence us today and we wonder why we feel hopeless.
  8. DesDownunder
    It's good news.
    Centrelink, the government agency that handles Aussie welfare rang me today and told me that my claim for the age pension has been granted.
    A very nice sympathetic woman told me that I would enjoy a full pension rate until July 1st when my "marriage like" relationship would be recognised and they would then pay me less. (How nice.)
    The lovely lady inspired me with confidence in the system as she informed me that my special senior's card would be posted soon and I would be able to claim concession rates on the phone bill, electricity, driver's licence, water and council rates, etc.
    She then went on to tell me that the government hoped I wouldn't live too long as my pension payment was a drain on the public purse.
    However they would prefer I didn't die just yet as when I do, they will pay my "marriage like" partner a lump sum to help with funeral costs, and as it is reasonable amount, they don't want to have pay it at present as they are running a bit short of funds.
    On the other hand if I would like to do some volunteer work in helping young people become skilled in my line of work, they would be happy to accommodate that. I told her I could show them how to keep being able to have orgasms after 40, but she said there were somethings people had to learn to do for themselves. That's what I meant, I told her, but she said she was referring to my job.
    I explained that my job was now done by computers and that nobody was interested in doing the job properly, she told me I shouldn't let that stop me from having a fruitful relationship with younger people in the community. hmmm.
    I resisted the temptation to ask her if that included showing guys how to use a condom. She did tell me her brother was gay and that was why she was working in the "same-sex marriage like" division of Centrelink. Again I resisted temptation by not asking for her brother's phone number of if he was a top or a bottom.
    She told me if I became ill, that I could go straight to hospital and receive free treatment as soon as the 3 year backlog of patients was cleared up. I had a vision of them sweeping cadavers out of the front gates into the street for collection on Tuesdays. In any case she assured me if it was something serious and I was at death's door, they would have a doctor pull me through as soon as possible.
    She told me too, that there was a home service for meals if I became unable to cook for myself. I told her my grandmother had that service just before she died. That made her laugh out loud, and she replied that the food was better now, even if she would rather starve than eat it.
    Before she ended the phone call she advised me that someone would ring to check up on me, if I lived too long, to see how I was going and if there was anything they could do to help me...presumably to drop dead sooner, rather than later.
    Happily she told me that the new law about people not receiving the age pension until they reached 67 would not apply to me as I was already on the scrap heap.
    Anyway I guess I am now a fully fledged member of that group known as cantankerous, grumpy, dirty old men.
    Perhaps I could get a job as Santa, next Christmas. Ho ho ho.
  9. DesDownunder
    I don't get the local newspaper anymore, I stopped its delivery 14 years ago, (1995). The milkman used to deliver the milk, from his horse-drawn milk-van, but he stopped ages ago. The horse would move down the street and stop at the customer's houses without any direction from the milkman.
    The bread used to be delivered daily when I was a kid, and a big truck used to stop outside our house on Thursdays, selling fruit and vegetables. I can even remember the ice man delivering blocks of ice for the ice-chest before we bought our first fridge.
    Grandma had a washboard which she used to scrub the dirty clothes, and a big copper pot with a built in wood-fired furnace to boil water. She would boil the sheets and towels in it. She also used it to scald the chickens after she had decapitated them with an axe. The scalding made the feathers easier to pluck.
    She also had the luxury of a hand operated wringer consisting of two rubber rollers through which you passed the washed clothes to squeeze out some of the water.
    The wood stove in the kitchen wasn't made from wood, but from heavy cast metal with hotplates just above the cavity where you burned the wood for heating the pans on the hotplates.
    Carpets had to be taken outside the house and hit with a handheld beater to beat the dust out of them. You would have to shower off the dust on yourself afterwards.
    Doctors made house-calls, but you had to walk to the chemist shop to get the prescription filled, if you lived long enough to get there.
    There was no telephone in our house, but there was a public phone-booth down the street and calls cost 2 pennies. Taxis were quite expensive and cost about 40 cents for the first mile.
    Hospitals smelt of ether and disinfectant, either of which encouraged people to throw up, and you would be lucky to come out still breathing, which was something patients did almost under protest.
    There was no hand basin in our bathroom at home. You had to lean over the bathtub and use the bath tap to wash your hands and clean your teeth.
    The old gas heater to warm the water for a shower or bath, exploded into life with a flame that was half the height of a man. More than once I heard reports of someone being blown up while taking a shower.
    Luckily we had a mirror (tarnished) in a splintered wooden frame, to allow us to see that we had combed our hair with enough oil or grease to lube the car that nobody on our street could afford.
    In winter we warmed ourselves with an open fire in the built-in fire place in the living room and rubber hot water bottles in our beds. In summer we sweated in front of an electric fan. The rich folk on the other side of town perspired in front of bigger fans.
    The toilet was out the back of the house and had no light except the candle you took with you. You pulled a chain hanging from the water cistern above your head to flush the toilet. Spiders built there cobwebs in every corner of the toilet. Sometimes it was like going into an Indiana Jone's Tomb of Terror just to have a pee.
    We had the luxury of electric lights -one per room, which we had to remember to turn on and off, when we entered or left the room to save money.
    I walked a mile to school every week day, and on Saturdays, I walked a mile in the other direction to go to the special kids matinee screening of a movie at the local 'picture theatre'. We usually got a B grade movie, cartoons, a serial, and a main movie after an intermission when we bought lots of candy and ice cream, no popcorn in those days. There were prizes for competitions and boys and girls who were in the birthday club. The movies cost the equivalent of 15 cents. (One shilling and threepence.) The candy was about 1o cents a box.
    You could buy your lunch at school from the canteen which was run by the ladies' auxiliary. 30 cents would see you with a cholesterol packed lunch of meat pie, pasty, a cream bun and a drink. Sauce (ketchup) was a penny extra for the pie or pasty. A cordial drink was sixpence (5 cents).
    The radio was the main source of entertainment in the home and at night after the evening meal of meat and three vegetables, the family would sit around listening to radio plays, quiz shows and serialised stories. It was much like free to air television without the pictures and a whole lot less hype. I still think the radio plays served to inspire images that today's movies provide without much effort on our part other than to convince ourselves that the digital effects are real.
    After school, the neighbourhood kids would play ball games in the street, only stopping for the occasional car or horse riders to go past, and that was a main road.
    Saturday nights my family would take the bus or tram to go out dancing to any of the various hotels or clubs. No gambling, no striptease, just good big band music for dancing waltzes and foxtrots, etc., with alcoholic beverages. We kids would play hide and seek behind the club. (Not that kind of hide and seek, you dirty minded people. We were not yet even 11 years old.)
    Speaking of dirty minded people, policemen would arrest men they discovered, (often by entrapment) in public toilets and parks, for 'acts of gross indecency' and the penalty for the guilty could be jail for up to 2 years with hard labour. These cases were listed in the "Cause List" in the local newspaper and were eagerly, even if with dread, read by gay men to see if any of their friends had been arrested.
    Then came rock n' roll, and by 1960 everything changed, forever...but that is another era, to be followed by yet others.
  10. DesDownunder
    Announcing: New category in my blog: Deeper thoughts of an Orangutan.
    I am thinking I might like to write some thoughts, essays or viewpoints on various subjects that are perhaps a little abstract, maybe nonsensical or even politically incorrect. I might even write an address to the people of Earth, once I am certain the mother-ship is on the way to pick me and take me home.
    Anyway I have created a category in my blog for subjects that are somewhat more outsopken. If I can ever get time, I may even video them and put them on youtube.
    I also want to see how the Categories system works in the blogs. So we may never get more than this post if I cannot find it again.
    In the mean time think on this:
    If I have a thought today, that affects what I will think tomorrow, why didn't yesterday's thought, about today, have any affect at all?

  11. DesDownunder
    I don't understand all this fuss about a financial crisis. I've been in a financial crisis for over ten years. Every time we use up the limit on the credit we just get the bank to extend the limit. Sexual deficiency is the only real crisis worth worrying about. So far I reckon we have another 12 months before we run out of money again, but wait, I will soon have the pension money coming in and that will have to help.
    So I reckon the banks should extend everyone's credit limit and then we wouldn't have a crisis.
    The girl at our bank thinks the balance on our account is what we have deposited in the bank. She doesn't realise it is what we owe. She smiles at me and says we are doing quite well. (She's not talking about my sex life.) I think she should be put in charge of the International Monetary Fund.
    My health is better lately, but I still have a sleeping problem -he snores.
    So I have to sit up until 5 or 6am when I become tired enough to sleep through the sound of the gale force wind coming from my beloved's nostrils. I'm always surprised that he can grow hair up in those things. His nose hair sways like the palm trees in a tornado.
    Have you ever watched anyone sleep? Fascinating. Definitely an R rated activity after 30. Before 30 of course, it is an X rated biological process. After 40 it becomes more wishful thinking than an activity. And once you get to 50, you can't wait to sleep so you can dream about what it was like when you were under 20. At 60...what was the question again?
    Oh, yes the financial crisis. I wonder if the bank will give me enough credit for the Chinese aphrodisiac herb that lets me think I am 20 while I am awake? It's a great herb. I just wish it affected more than my brain. If you take too much of it it makes you feel like a real dickhead.
    Of course when it comes to one's sexual apparatus, it is true that you must keep using it or you will lose it, what they don't tell you is that after 60 when you use it, you pass out on the bed afterwards. Oh well at least I look like I am sleeping.
    Wake me up when the crisis is over.
  12. DesDownunder
    SO what do you do when you have an embarrassing, cute idea for a story and you just know it is going to be full of clich?s, and breaks a whole pile of rules about writing? Why of course, you go ahead and write it.
    So without further ado, I announce my latest short story Abducted For a Reason for your reading pleasure right here on AwesomeDude.
    Hope you enjoy it.
  13. DesDownunder
    Like all good video stores we have members who insist on showing us how well they can scratch the DVDs.
    I have wondered if the opposition actually pays people to borrow from us and use the discs as Frisbees for the dog.
    Off course it is likely in our rich area (where the shop is, not where we live, we live in the slums on the other side of town; (of course, we are poor white gay males in case you hadn't guessed)), anyway as I was saying, it is likely that these rich folk don't even know what a DVD does, they think it is pretty silver flat plate for serving the hors d'oeuvres, which my father always called "horse doovers," but that is beside the point.
    What led me to thinking this, was the disc that was returned today covered in spaghetti and the remains of either a pizza or someone's stomach contents, or both. The amazing thing was, that after I washed the disc there were no scratches on it -not a one. Perhaps spaghetti vomit is an excellent DVD polisher. Yes? No? Damn, that is going to take quite a bit of research.
    Unlike many stores we don't limit our customers to the nearby suburbs. We rent to anyone from anywhere. We even have a couple of members in the US. They visit Addle-aid every year on business or to see relatives, probably to make sure they are still alive. (It is hard to tell if Adelaidians are alive without actually watching them move about the room.)
    Anyway one of our US members walks in and in that delightful American drawl, announces that he remembered to pack his membership caahd!
    "Ah just had to borrow some more of your Aussie dinkum movies. Did I say that right?" he asks.
    "Not quite," I tell him, "the phrase is, "fair dinkum Aussie," not Aussie dinkum, but it's okay, we get what you mean."
    "Fair dinkum Aussie," he repeats, "Got it!" And he wanders off to make his selection.
    Shortly after and while he is still in the store, another visitor, this time from interstate walks in and wants to know if he can borrow a DVD. I check out his driver's licence and he is from a Sydney suburb. He has that typical golden surfer boy look that is so common in Sydney, and I checkout more than his licence, until his friend (another sun-tanned beauty), yells out to him, "Hey they got fag movies in here."
    Together the two of them descend on the Gay and Lesbian movie section and guffaw loudly at the advertising slicks on the DVD boxes.
    One of our regular customers overhears these two and comes over to the counter and asks me if I would like him to throw the two guys out of the shop.
    I tell him no, because if they keep looking at the Gay films they might ask me if I know anything about them and I can offer to show them in the store room. The customer bursts out laughing, which causes the now unusually large number of foreign looking customers to look at him.
    Suddenly I realise what has happened. It is raining outside and the visitors to the state who have come to see our world famous (yeah right) car race have all decided to get a movie for the night.
    "Do ya have any racing movies?" asks a dark skinned Latin, petrol head from South America.
    "Have you seen Fast and Furious?" I ask him.
    "Is it good?" he wants to know.
    "Sure, I say, "It's just like my sex life." hint, hint.
    "You Aussie peoples are so funny," he answers with a wink. (He winked at me! Yes! and it was all I could do to restrain myself from jumping over the counter and letting him have his way with me, but I restrained myself. I pointed to the action/thrills section which was alongside the gay section still being examined by the two surfer boys from New South Wales.
    There are moments in the life of a video store that brighten the owner's day. The following is one or two of such instances of opportunity that presented themselves.
    A middle aged couple, obviously from out of town because they were of good humour, approached the counter, where the woman asked in a loud clear voice, "Can I join with my husband?"
    I looked over the top of my glasses at her and said just as loudly, "Well we don't usually allow that sort of thing in the store."
    There was a deathly silence for a few seconds until her husband began laughing, the American guy went into hysterical guffaws, only to be joined by everyone else in the store.
    "Oh," said the woman after stopping her own laughter, "I just have to be a member of this store."
    I smiled and said in my most polite voice, "Of course you do, madam." She giggled.
    The two lads fingering through the gay selection were also laughing and chatting with the hot Latin looking guy.
    The Latin guy had decided to watch the Fast and Furious movie, and placed the box on the counter. I got his DVD for him, but when I returned to the counter, the two bronzed surfer types have also placed not one, but two gay movies on the counter.
    The Latin guy tells me he will pay for them all, and the two lads' bronzed faces are blushing red. They leave together to research what I suspect (hope) will be fast and furious international gay relationships. Who knew?
    I just hope they don't scratch the DVDs in the process.
    What a day.
  14. DesDownunder
    It's been an awkward year for me and I hadn't been able to get to the local poetry reading group for about 8 months (I think.)
    Anyway, the stars aligned with Jupiter and the moon was in the seventh house, etc., and I had the night free to attend the local poets reading their poems. Most of them of course read descriptions of 'things' as if they were shopping lists delivered like a telegram, but hey, people were attempting to be creative, so who cares?
    The first shock was that the admission had risen to $5, but the nice girl at the money taking table knocked off a dollar because I looked so old and decrepit.
    I picked up the handout for the evening and was shocked into the middle of next weekend. The group was going to reduce the allotted time for reading from 4 minutes to 3, for each reader, with a promise of looking to go to 2 minutes!
    Okay so they were going to trial 3 minutes in April and May. Well I can tell you there is no may about it, I won't be there. I mean what can you read in 3 minutes? the dinner menu?
    This irked me somewhat, in case you haven't gathered. In one fell swoop they would wipe out reading any of the classic works by Tennyson, Coleridge, Rimbaud (hi Jason), let alone my own unworthy efforts.
    When I complained, I was told I could just read an excerpt. A what? Are these people insane or is their brain missing in action?
    So I sat down and waited my turn to read. I managed to talk to few people during the break, and discovered that the bohemian element had decided to rename Adelaide as 'delayed, because we were always behind what was happening anywhere else in the world. The fact that it has taken so long to think of this is proof that they are right.
    So I questioned people about the proposed reduction in reading time, and was told that people didn't want to stay out till 11pm as it was too late. Too what? Late? Do these people even know that 11 pm is the starting hour for the local gay bar?
    Come to think of it I don't think they have heard about being gay yet, despite my gay poems and a couple of very nice young men skirting around the subject in their poems.
    I watched as people revealed their total lack of knowledge on microphone technique, one man trying to lick it as if it was a black aniseed ice cream, while another woman decided it was in her view of her text and so pushed the microphone away until it fell off its stand. We all got feedback for her effort.
    I finally got to read my Reflections and my All I can Be, poems. I was pleased with very enthusiastic applause, so they are not too bad a bunch of people after all.
    Then I remembered I was in Adelaide and probably the applause was for the previous poet, his applause being delayed.
    I've now had some time to think this over, and I have come to the conclusion that the Church controlled conservative government has decided to use its influence to eradicate the left-wing poets by limiting their reading time at poetry meetings because it won't fund someone to lock up the hall so late at night. The volunteers want to get home early.
    This will mean that there is an opening for a really good poetry group to spring up but as it will take sometime I guess that will be 'delayed too.
    Foo on the lot of them. If they want decent poetry, they will just have to come to AwesomeDude and Codey's World.
  15. DesDownunder
    Slumdog Millionaire has won the Best Picture Oscar and I had to walk out after 20 minutes.
    Why?
    Why did it win, or why did I walk out?
    I can't begin to guess why it won except to reward new wave filming for by-passing tried and proven techniques of movie making.
    Why did I leave the screening?
    Because the handheld camera and sloppy filming interfered with my being able to relate to the image.
    The smart-ass cinematography and editing got in the way of the story for me. And when the hand-held camera did stop moving, the supposedly 'interesting' but really only perfunctory images were framed at an angle that made me feel like I should turn 122 degrees clockwise or anti-clockwise in order to comprehend what I was suppose to be looking at.
    My natural view of the world does not tend be obtuse or at an obtuse angle, and I detest having such an obtuse view being imposed on my visual perception.
    To me it would be like trying to read a story with the words all jumbled in a way that destroyed the message of the sentence.
    Imagine the words all at odd angles, scrolling across the page and then suddenly scrolling up or down the page. There are reasons why the early directors and cinematographers spent so much time and effort developing conventions in the medium to communicate to audiences without the medium getting in the way of the story.
    All the time spent, while I was occupied trying to ascertain what the hell I was looking at, slowly ate away at my desire to continue watching.
    I was feeling a headache coming on, with a touch of dizziness, any longer and I would have suffered vertigo and nausea.
    So I left. Reluctantly.
    I say reluctantly, because I really wanted to see and understand what I thought would be an interesting movie. I have seen many Indian movies and know they can do better than this.
    Sadly, I am not able to cope with its form.
    Does anyone else have this problem with these kinds of modern filming techniques?
    I'd be particularly interested to know if any younger people can relate to my experience, but I already have the feeling I have suddenly got old, if not a bit cranky.
  16. DesDownunder
    It's still hot, so is the weather.
    I am devoting my time to my new forthcoming story which I just know is not going to be everyone's cup of tea or coffee or soda. I suppose I could have included beer and wine, but would anyone read my stories while drunk? Would anyone read one of my stories while sober, is probably more to the point.
    But hey, someone has to write this stuff, right?
    I have long tried to avoid writing an "Aussie" story, being more interested in the universal subjects that affects our romantic lives, or ideas of living romantically.
    Yet out of the Australian azure blue sky came a vision to allow me to explore, contemplate, attempt, both, and strike me lucky, perhaps even more.
    Anyway you can all stop brushing up your Shakespeare and start you lessons in Aussie customs and our local cultures, which we try to treat with antibiotics and sterilisation.
    You have plenty of time, as I suspect it will be a few weeks before I complete it and get it edited.
    Of course, I might finish one of the other stories I am working on first. Isn't writing fun?

  17. DesDownunder

    I'm Hot

    By DesDownunder,

    I'm Hot, but you all knew that didn't you?
    We are sweltering in a heatwave here in Adelaide South Australia with 3 days (or is it 4) over 44C (111F).
    We have had over 30 people suffer sudden deaths from the heat with more expected.
    The politicians are to blame for the heat according to a section of the local community.
    I don't think any of our politicians could get up enough energy to expel the
    quantity of hot air that would be needed to raise the temperature to where it is at the moment.
    Our pollies are just too lazy and incompetent to make things this hot deliberately,
    that would take vision and they haven't shown any signs of that in years.
    I am very hot, dudes, and I need to go have another cold shower. But then that is not a surprise
    either, I have often been told to go take a cold shower, even in the middle of winter.
    Oh and that is another thing, we are running out of water...and electricity.
    They are doing rolling outages for the electricity and of course, according to the whingers,
    that is the politician's fault too. As I said earlier, the politicians don't have much energy.
    You will be pleased to know that the gas is working so I can cook the BF a nice hot meal when he gets home from work.
    I'm hot. I said that didn't I? The air conditioner has broken down, blown up, reached the end of it serviceable life.
    Damn thing only lasted 30 years. They don't make them like they used to.
    At least the fridge is working, (when the electricity is supplied.) And I have all you real cool dudes to chat with on the forums.
    I got to go have that cold shower. Hope their is enough water...
    Anyone for hot times?
  18. DesDownunder
    I make no apology for the following links, but I will warn you, many of the images are disturbing.
    For those who wish to get the full effect of my New Year message, please click on the underlined links as you read them, watch the video link in its entirety, and then return to this page to continue the journey.(21 minutes)
    Merry, merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. (more than what you think).
    Loving is not a problem because we are love, all we have to do is let our love exist, to let it be.
    Our time is short and all we see is the time in which we live,
    Modified by what we are told to believe,
    But what if we discovered life was more,
    Than shopping at the store,
    That we live by more than what others have in store for us,
    That living is not to have, but is being in love, not lust,
    Giving us the hope that defeats strife,
    As living is the only meaning of life,
    And Love is the only sane reason for its existence.
    The need to love is all you need to be able to love.
    Thus all reality is already present in every hope and dream you can imagine.
    So go to work and everyday without fear,
    Help create a Happy New Year all year, every year.
    So did you expect something else from a libertine, agnostic, peacenik, hippie orangutan?
    HAPPY NEW YEAR to all
  20. DesDownunder
    I have been researching background for yet another idea for a story.
    "Why bother" I hear you ask. "Just write the story and don't worry about its authenticity."
    That's all well and good if I was writing to satisfy a fantasy of my own, without regard for historical, geographic or psychological relevance. Not that any of these have to be the determining factor for the story, but they do have to at least not be violated by invalid references.
    One of the things that stands revealed is the incomplete and often corrupt histories of mankind's past. It wouldn't be impossible to write the whole history of an entire empire's rise and fall, as a foible of someone's imagination, let alone blow it up out of proportion to be an affectation on today's world civilisation.
    An interesting collusion of semi-historical figures that amounts to a world conspiracy would not be difficult to write except for the tedious evidence that such figures rarely understood the effect of their own actions in their own time, let alone the nature of their 'legacies'.
    Distortions of time and place can also lead to imaginative settings for stories that prove just a little too unbelievable.
    Psychological traits are not all that difficult to introduce to a story, but finding the archetypes, rather than just displaying a variation of a stereotype is considerably more draining and fraught with disputations of origin.
    It is this last phrase which is of most interest. If we do not understand the nature and thus its cause can we really construct a viable statement within our stories that will resonate with our readers' life experiences?
    Of course we can write situations that are believable, entertaining, even fantastical, all of which are satisfying to read as well as write.
    Yet if we want to touch on the human element of life's experiences, if we want to conceal within our story an expose of injustice, or aberrations of commonly held untruths, let alone describe the possibilities of human goodness, there seems to be not only a confounding variety of opinions, and incomplete factual records, but also an unwillingness at large, to entertain hypotheses which run counter to popular notions. The ability to reason, to observe with objectivity seems woefully absent in the presence of our social authority which demands we believe what we are told.
    Even that statement can be misconstrued by those who want to maintain the status quo rather than explore possible alternatives, whether in our stories or our lives.
    Good literature can make us think as well as entertain us.
    As for my story? Well I will just have to see if I can live up to my own expectations.
    I doubt it, but it is fun trying and that is important too.

  21. DesDownunder
    My personal thoughts on the US election
    It doesn't really matter what I think of the election result. Of course I am pleased Obama has been elected, but my reason for being pleased is both because I think the Democrats needed to be elected to adjust the balance away from the extremes of the right, and for a more selfish reason.
    Here in Australia our own "Left" wing party was elected to power not so long ago. The Labor party is our equivalent, in political terms, of the US Democrats. It is my fervent hope that the promises of the new US Presidency, will have some deep and meaningful effect on our government for the better, because they as a left wing party have strayed too far from their own principles of compassion.
    It is true that America does have a global influence, and the world is looking to see, hoping beyond all measure, that Obama lives up to his promises. If as may be expected, he operates under a policy of inclusion rather the ones of exclusion or collusion, then we may find that the fears some have about his presidency, will prove to be unfounded.
    Provided you can set aside the fear and prejudices of bygone manipulative eras, President Obama's election whichever way you look at it, gives the world, the hope of peace, a chance for change for the better.
    The point is not that he is black, the point is, that he is a human being who has won election on the basis of that change for the better.
    I think, we all need to work together in bringing about change for the better.
  22. DesDownunder

    83. Test the Blog

    By DesDownunder,

    The blogs are not looking as they should, so I am testing out posting a new entry in my blog just to see what it looks like.
    If you have been plagued by spam in your blog, I have adjusted the guest permissions which should stop that from happening.
    Please let me know about any spam in your blog and I will delete it.
  23. DesDownunder
    What a time of it I have had. The faulty phone line finally stopped working altogether. I couldn't stand to be without my web-fix, so I used up more of the bank's money and have a temporary connection via the cell phone acting as a modem. $60 for 1 Gig for 1 month. Yikes. Oh and the speed is a blistering 460kps.
    And of course when I signed up for this "bargain" the girl didn't tell me I would need to insert an access code. Oh no I had to ring for help. A robot female voice asked me to tell her "in as few words as possible please say the reason for your call."
    She couldn't understand a thing I said.
    So for 3 hours I was switched from one department to another, often to be told by a recorded voice that the number they had switched me to, was no longer a valid number and I should check to see that I dialled it correctly. Obviously they have attended the Microsoft school of customer liaison.
    After being connected to several people in Melbourne, Hobart (in Tasmania) Sydney and a strange man with an Indian accent who couldn't understand me any more than the female answering robot, I finally spoke to a technician (in Adelaide of all places) who told me the access code and to reboot the cell phone by restoring the factory settings. Who knew? Certainly not the girl who took my money.
    When I finally got it all working, guess what, the partial connection on my faulty home line decided it was no use going to the trouble of not letting me connect to the web and decided to work perfectly for the next 4 hours.
    No officer, I have not scalped any one, that is my hair on the floor. I ripped it out by the #&@*$#ing roots whilst talking to my #&@*$#ed phone company.
    What's that you say? You will arrest them for causing me to curse. How nice of you. Such a cute young police officer, won't you stay and cruise the net with me? I'll make you a lovely breakfast?
    Yeah if only.
  24. DesDownunder
    Have you ever noticed your own aging process?
    I saw myself losing hair on my head 24 years ago. I was alerted to this by the number of twinks that ran away from me, rather than towards me. I was almost arrested for causing stampedes in the shopping mall.
    It was the first sign that I might not be immortal.
    The second sign was the lines around my eyes.
    The third sign was when the lines sagged and became wrinkles.
    The fourth sign was when I developed hypochondria about the first three signs being imminent indicators of my need to smash mirrors in order to feel good about myself.
    The fifth sign was when people looked at me and lied. "You haven't changed at all," said friends I hadn't seen for 25 years as they held up their fingers to make the sign of the cross, in my direction.
    The sixth sign was when young children pointed at me and said, "Ooh, look Mummy, it's the evil emperor from Stars Wars." It didn't help when the mother said, "No dear, that is Darth Vader without his helmet. I should stop wearing black.
    The seventh sign I am told, is when you forget what the first six signs are. I don't believe it.
    The seventh sign I have just discovered is when your armpits go bald.
    Don't laugh!
    The hair in my armpits is thinning, almost threadbare.
    I wonder if I can get some of my pubes transplanted to my armpits, I have plenty of those, so far.
    I'll ask the doctor. He'll know.
  25. DesDownunder

    80. Today-ing

    By DesDownunder,

    I hate being interrupted when I am doing something useful.
    There I was on a research project of some importance. I was counting the number of errors made on all the web pages on the Internet, when the phone rang. It was of course from a marketing firm who used a person whose native tongue was not English (or American). I of course had been counting the aforementioned web page errors without writing them down. So when the phone rang I completely lost track of how many errors I had counted. All that work gone forever.
    The person on the other end of the phone said something like, "Allo, out are you doing today?"
    Where did they learn to say that, The Yoda Academy of Jedi English?
    I replied of course that I was in.
    "Allo, out are you doing today?" the voice asked again. I wondered if the caller's gender had been deferred at birth, perhaps till sometime after puberty made it possible to make a determination.
    "Allo, out are you doing, today?"
    It suddenly occurred to me that this might be some stalker who despite being English-challenged was trying to confirm whether or not I had come out.
    "Do you mean to ask if I am out of the closet?" I inquired.
    "You are in cloths today?"
    "Well I usually am in cloths.
    "In cloths? Today?"
    What is it, with this preoccupation with...today?
    Why do people add 'today' on to the end of their sentences. You know, like the checkout operator at the supermarket tells you the total cost and then next thing she asks is, "Will that be cash or credit card, today?" See what I mean? I feel like asking her if I can pay tomorrow. When did she think I was going to pay, next week?
    "Allo, out are you today?" asked Yoda's top student.
    "I have been outing myself for many years. Are you out?" I ask ever so sweetly between gritted teeth.
    "Alloing Sir, I am suping visor, in charge of staffing, is problem being here, today?"
    Souping Visor? Stuffing? Is he feeding Darth Vader?
    "No problem, being here, I can't answer about being there though, -today."
    They've got me saying it.
    "I can being assuring you everything is fine here, today."
    "Why did you telephone me?" Stopped myself from adding 'today.'
    "Oh Sir we are just doing surveying to find out how you are doing today."
    "You're not trying to sell me something?"
    "Oh no, we just want to be nice and..."
    It was at that moment that the line went dead. I heard an awful noise and when I looked outside I saw several pigs had entangled themselves in the telephone cables as they flew past my house, today.

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