Thursday, 26 November 2009

Carp & Demean

Dorian Gray - yet another remake en cinemascope. Oh why bother?!! Just read the blinkin' book and be done with it or hire that 40's film in which Angela Lansbury played Sibyl Vane and sang a Nightingale in Berkley Square, i think. The film also featured George Sanders, who was born to play Lord Henry Wotton. Hurd Hatfield as Dorian is quite the poop but then was not Dorian; well, a corrupt and vain poop which is possibly an oxy-moron and slightly worse than an uxurious-moron.

Nick Minchin - slick prick, evil Vatican cardinal/Darth Vader

Wilson Tuckey - R-r-r-rabid (am I channelling his irrational foaming fury? Oh my! I mean, "oh noes". )

Brownyn Bishop - R E T I R E you great beehived Punch puppet look-a-like of a right wing pollie.

Tony Abbott - Spare me and his longing for pre-Vatican II. I feel sick. Pass me that nice chocolate biscuit would you. Oh make it the whole goddamn packet, sweetness.

Joe Hockey - throwin' his fat into the ring

All of them make Malcolm Turnbull seem almost, no, Bel, you cannot and must not apply a kindly adjective to him, or feel sympathy, remember ute gate and all those rumours you've heard, nice and Malcolm cannot compute

And  PLEASE no more questions to me about chipped glassware and such like. It's like listening to some frustrated bride bleating on about her trousseau. Eeewwwwwwwe. It is not my lijne of work! Noelene Donaher obsessed and bitched about Paul and Dionne's chipped crockery and look what happened to all of them! Yes, Sylvania Waters is permanently submerged underwater, granted Noelene does look hot in that mermaid tail, BUT, and it's a big but(t), Libs, property values are down the gurgler. When property values plummet that's when the Libs will believe in Global Warming.

"Thanks, my friend." - When strangers address me as such (only strangers could as the friends I sort of have only address me when they chastise-1st born children become such know-it-all didactic P R I G S (no offence)) I should feel repulsed yet my curmudgeon lobe is curiously squashed and soothed by such an utterance. I get a peculiar tingly and untoward feeling; i think it's because i feel that there is an element of godbothery to it and as a child one of my biggest fears, apart from kidnappers absconding with my younger sister, car crashes, getting run over, being strangled by stray venetian blind cords swinging in the breeze, and being sprung as the culprit of the great firecracker sounding fart in B.O. Berwick's maths class February 1975, was that i would somehow get brainwashed and become a Christian.

Over and spun out (again)

Tuesday, 24 November 2009

Motor Vehicle Mama

Since being awarded my provisional driving licence and becoming a motor vehicle owner, I have completed my rites of passage and been beetling about NSW roads big time.

Props to me.

While beetling about i've been attempting to avoid all manner of road ragers (in the 80's we like raged (good times) and in the noughties we road raged (rude times ) like go figure. What has happened to common courtesy?! - SMH bloggers your time begins now!) and let me tell you the worst offenders are the pig dog bald and buff male variety (no doubt celebrity chefs - I did toot one of ‘em once but NSRs, just imagine how much toot/steroids those mothertruckers have done to behave as they do!! Oh I just shudder at the D R U G S ! These rd ragists are one fang away from serial killer or Lindsay Buckingham psychosis), stocking up on Coles brand soda water, practising my manoeuvres, and spending lots of time on the telephone line to the NRMA: sorting out insurance, slips and having the occasional workshop (when you say I have to pay $600 excess you make me feel poor and inexperienced).

I am the bomb (whatever that means. I heard Idol Stan and Big Brother contestants say it so it must be very deep and another way of saying awesome).

I am overwhelmed by a feeling of self-importance, enormous responsibility, misplaced civic pride and matoority. Consequently I cannot stop flicking my sheet of glossy hair over my right shoulder, tilting my chin to the left, and allowing a disgusting look of utter smugness to suffuse the oil painting of a face that the Creator bestowed upon me. (At this rapid rate of achievement, by next week i will be living in my father's den come funky pad, i don't know where my 52 year old brother will reside but eviction like shit happenz. Sorry NSRs, for the crudite and fibbing, i plainly still have one more rite of passage to go... )

Yeah so that’s me, and i really, really don't want to know about you because that's all we ever talk about, but the point of this post is to table the issewe that is the voice on the NRMA help line.

The kindly but correct tones of James Dibble /Bruce Menzies or Lozza Bailey/Lucy Bell have been usurped by those of a rockin’ kind of laid back Video Hits host full of uhs, pauses and up-endy inflections:

"Cars are cool but they can also be like a reeeeal hassle. Not a problem. I’m kinda here to help and uh, like unstress you. Press one if you’ve stacked. Press two if you’ve got an um existing policy. Press three if you want just chat …"

Friday, 20 November 2009

Crowded hours

Oh NSRs, do you sometimes find that things are just all a bit too much? Well do you know what, I do and today I wish that I could just dive into a William Brown book and become one of its characters, preferably a member of the Outlaws, for a week. Actually I'd like to be William and scheme some attack on Hubert Lane or Bertie Franks.

Pollie as pin up

Kate Ellis, my inner soothsayer has three words for you:

Natasha Stott Despoja

and just ornry old me wants to know what's all this arm wrestling with the Hulk business? Didn't Bill Bixby die?

Tuesday, 10 November 2009

Darling delicious black jelly bean of a car

Skinnamarink a dink a dink,
Skinnamarink a doo,
I love you.

I love you in the morning.
And in the afternoon.
I love you in the evening.
And underneath the moon.

Skinnamarink a dink a dink,
Skinnamarink a doo,
I love you!
Darling delicious black jelly bean of a motor vehicle you have transformed my world!!( you are my rock - oops sorry NSRs I thought i was accepting a Miss Lovely Motherhood award or parading down the Dalley M thong throng.)

Just hope that I don't get an attack akin to Bets Draper with that washing machine . . .

Sunday, 1 November 2009

Blame it on Gothstock

Sunday morning at 12.52ish around my neck of the woods was

M E N T A L.

The police had got the word to G O. Sirens shrieked and what sounded like a fleet of the bleedin’ Sweeney screeched down my street stirring me from my dreams, which fortunately did not feature lame arse genwhinedoesgothandzombie and fleshy middle aged goth llladies commemorating All Hallows' Eve by the sportage of vavavavoom neckline ensembles and shadin’ theirselves and their treasure chests from the sun with lacey black parasols. Alas, I had truly ( sorry, verily) witnessed this gothicke grotesquerie 10 hours earlier when strolling down the main drag - 'keep yer mammaries to yerselves', i had hectored, in vain.

I was then well and truly woken by several reassuring bump, bump, bumps and a terrifying THUMP.

Adrenalin prickling and pumping, I scrambled out of my tangled bedclothes to race to the sitting room and stick my head out the window.

What a sight!!

Sweet NSRs by the look of these coppers they could never have passed for the Sweeney as they’d clearly never gone without dinner (let alone elevenses, and their trou pockets were no doubt crammed with snack packs and jam rolypolies). Bargearse/Bluey, more like. The great galoots had been in portly, sweaty pursuit of that object of the utmost importance, a stolen vehicle.

Oh the gaspillage of law'n'order funds (Surely the Cruel Sea wrote/sold a song about it?)

Sickmaking. Pass me that cream bun N O W!

Bargearse One not content with her car mounting the street's footpath had smashed its bonnet into the mansions' surrounding fence!! Bargearse Two tried to miss Bargey One and rammed his car's bonnet up the back of my neighbours’ motor.

Sirens continued to wail, porky pigs sweated and aimlessly waddled across the street, their guns in holsters jiggling against their jubblies, as they wondered “which way did he go?” and surveyed with surprise the enormous dish of crash, bang, smash ‘em up they’d served the residents of the mansions.

Goosey Goosey Gander

3 sniffer dogs, 2 smashed fuzz cars, 3 smashed civilian cars and 12 portly coppers later - ‘hot’ rod was smashed and abandoned and not one 'villain' nicked. Fortunately no one was injured in the debacle.