Sunday, 17 September 2006

outpouring of grief

Haven’t really felt like blogging since my return from Hobart to work. Yeah I’ve been reflecting big time about Brockie and Crockie dying how they lived.

So if i die mid barb, high kicking and gargling champers youse can all comfort yourselves and wisely intone 'oh the mistress she died how she lived.' Please note that the playing of you can't always get what you want and video eulogies from Russell Crowe are prohibited, otherwise i might just have to rise up and bite yas. Also no black sunnies and exposed bazookas in Collette Dinnigan frocks to be displayed at the function. But you can wear as many ribbons and crosses as your sweet hearts desire.

From high kicks to high indulgence. Forgive me, NSRs.

Actually the return to work has been a major downer and i’ve been feeling like a cross between Jim Dixon and George Costanza with a dash of Tom Good thrown in. Yeah, sjuuper. Oh perhaps women are meant to identify with Bridget Jones, sorry i cannot.

Being asked to collect a superior's medicine one day and lunch the next sticks in my craw, no matter how nice and busy the superior can be. What next the drycleaning? You'd think I worked for McMahon and Tate or Justice Sir Guthrie Featherstone MP.

I get irritated too quickly to be capable of saying "when you ask me to buy your lunch, i feel exploited by such an inappropriate wequest." "Cock off and get your own chico roll/codeine" is a lot more direct and satisfying anyway.

My vexation with the calibre of requests was sufficiently soundlessly exhibited for last abzzurd request to be retracted. A mutinous pursing of lips followed by the scattering of papers and hurling of a computer on the floor work wonders.

Anyhoo shit happens and then you die as Billy Thorpe no doubt hollered after his final song at Sunbury. Thank christ for the good times.

And at least i've got fictitious characters to relate to when pondering my flagging career.

You've got to be optimistic and smile with the 9-5 hump, after all there are much worse things, at least i don't have to sit an English language skills test without any tutelage or sign my name to some document about mateship, a fair go and god's own values. Pardon me but enforcing an English test without previously providing adequate access or funding to language education programs for immigrants hardly epitomises a "fair go". The antics of bad government, and that lameo opposition, oh splodge Beazley you are lamentable, particularly the citizenship caper have equally contributed to the frustation. Time to write letters to and protest against those pollies. And won't it be grand to have a federal election based around values.

I’ve done a few job appos and stepped up the socialising to keep the vinegar at bay, mmm well just outpouring the bile to sympathetic, perhaps selectively deaf friends. No really, vinegar bay can be a very satisfying drop every now and again, and abundantly available at NSR.

2 comments:

your alf said...

Still want Desperado sung at your funeral?

Mistress Bel said...

Oh hector projector!! Still i'm rather thrilled to have my own personal ALF! Beats punky brewster any old day.