It's my Birthday!

Victory is mine! The signs in the bathroom have finally been taken down! Ha!

Rantolotl: 1 , University: 0. Bam!

It's my birthday today, and I think this entitles me to special privileges above all people who aren't celebrating their birthdays. Namely, the right to do whatever the hell I please, and to hell with the consequences. What do I plan to do? I plan to arrive at work at 11, and respond in a happy & cheery voice to the questions inquiring 'what happened', 'was your train delayed', 'anything wrong', etc, etc... with "It's my Birthday!" Maybe I could even add a little skip to my step as I say it.

When I go and get myself a coffee and the guy in front of me is taking too long to order, I'll punch him in the side of the head. When everyone asks 'What the fuck? What the hell did you do that for?!' as the man is lying on the ground (in foetal position), sobbing pathetically, I'll respond again; "It's my Birthday!" (with even more skip in my step!). Without skipping a beat, they'll immediately (and happily) ask me for my order. I might kick the guy on the ground in the ribs a few times for being a wimp while I wait.

When the ticket nazis get on my tram and ask me for a ticket, I'll respond the same; "It's my Birthday!", sporting an inane grin. But, it won't help me, because they have no soul & will give me a fine anyway. They might, in fact, be robots. I'm not sure yet - my investigation is still incomplete.

Anyway, you should all buy me a drink the next time you see me, because "It's my Birthday!". And if you don't, you're a cunt.

On to more pressing matters; Many people have asked me, urged me even, to fill you all in on what the Couch Dweller did in/to/around our house while my partner & I were in Queensland - so, here's the story (fury and all);

I'm at work, my partner has just left the house and is on her way in to meet me, so we can head to the airport. Now, I know she's left the house, because she's kindof anal about flight times and there's no way she'd be running late to catch the bus. So - when she somehow magically signs into ICQ, despite her not being there, I make the assumption that our computer hasn't by some sort of voodoo magic turned itself on. Furiously, I message my housemate, and tell him to get into our room and tell whoever's on our computer to get the fuck out. Unfortunately, he turns out to not be at his computer, but informs me when he gets back, that it's the Couch Dweller. I repeat the same request to him, with an addendum of "And can you turn the computer off after she's topped using it". Which he does.

So - many hours later, in fact, maybe even a day or two, I get a text message from Nodge, informing me that a 'friend' appears to be using our computer. Now I'm really pissed off. Sure - it might sound a little anal, but really, she's not our guest, we would prefer to not know her from a bar of soap, and she's now in our bedroom, using our computer at will, without even bothering to ask us. The really stupid part of all this is that the housemate she is a guest of has a perfectly functioning computer in his room. Maybe our room has better ambiance or something. Either way, the bitch must die.

The good news at least, was that she had told my partner that she would be gone by the time we got back. Catching a bus the day before we returned, I believe. So, coming home; I was prepared for minor annoyance, stuff like an unmade couch and all that sort of crap, but you can imagine how pissed I was to walk in, and then find all her shit still in our living room. And by 'all her shit', I mean everything. The bags, the detritus, and the fucking didgeridoo. I immediately, and repeatedly announced that I was not happy. This didn't really do much to resolve the situation.

What we were even more surprised to find was that my partners bike was missing (later found lying in the front yard, unlocked), and that our floor lamp (it's over 6ft high!) had migrated to her couch. When I asked for it back, she started whimpering about it being 'so dark, I had to use it!', and then, 'I thought you were coming back tomorrow' - as if that made it any bloody better. To get to this lamp in our bedroom, she managed to unplug everything including our alarm clock, and shift our bed. Impressive. What was even more impressive was when I went to replace the light globe in the lviing room light that she claimed was broken, and much to my surprise, I found that the light worked perfectly fine - it has a dimmer next to the switch, and after she turned the dimmer down to low a week or so ago, she promptly forgot it existed and instead stole our furniture-like lamp. Idiot.

Add to this the piles of general shit she left lying around - like the carton of milk and bowl of cornflakes that apparently sat on the bench for four whole days in 30 degree weather (celsius for you northern hemispherites), which the non-beguested housemate cleaned up. I yelled at her, Carlene yelled at the housemate that bought her there, and K man hid in his room. An hour later, I go through the living room, and find she's made the couch, she's packed her bags, and she's nowhere to be seen. I grin heartily on both the inside and out. And the ridiculous thing about all this was that she's a smart enough woman, she's pleasant enough on the whole, but she is extremely fucking annoying and downright inconsiderate. So; while she sat around sulking and waiting to be taken to the bus station, my partner was relatively nice to her, trying to make her feel like not everybody in the house hated her. I just wanted to find the nearest cannon to shoot her out of. All I can say now is that she's finally gone somewhere that deserves her; Adelaide.

So, the moral of the story is - If we had returned on my birthday, instead of the yelling and the waiting and awkwardness, it would have been simple:

"Pack your bags and get out of our house!"
"But why?" responds the all-too-innocent sounding backpacker...
"Because it's my birthday! OUT!" *skip!*


The rantolotl.

Without MSG I am nothing...

I deal with a few student accounts at work, and one thing I've noticed is the number of people who're named with what would typically be considered two 'first names'. Like, Luke Allan. Garry Paul, et al. What kind of fucking idiot would allow their children to be named something so incredibly stupid, and outright boring in a day and age where you're lucky if your name actually is recorded somewhere other than in yet another fucking database. Let's face it, personal endearment is not likely to happen to any of these kids, is it? - you take one look at Luke fucking Allan, and you're going to get so damned confused you're never going to bother writing their name in your birthday book(does anyone even own one of those?), let alone trying to work out how to address them in conversation. These poor suckers are bound for a life where everyone they meet will be too uncomfortable to talk to them 'Is it Mr Allan, or Mr Luke? - I'll never know!' Your drivers license, your bank account, and all other manner of records will always be wrong and you'll spend your entire life fighting bureaucratic red tape, trying to explain that 'yes, I do in fact know what my own name is, even if the computer thinks it knows better'. Think carefully before you name your children, they'll suffer for the next 18 years, or even the rest of their lives if they're too stupid to change their name by deed poll (which is a distinct possibility given the demonstrated intelligence of their parentage).

Another great naming trait is to pick the worlds most common name, and give it to your child. God knows why. A friend of mine is named David, and his brother is named Michael. I can't remember what their middle names were, but I distinctly remember them being equally mundane. I also distinctly remember them being pissed the last time I pointed that out to them. Ah well, lets hope they don't read this. Fucking crybabies.

So in conclusion, the only excuse for any of this behaviour is that you live in Queensland. Or grew up there. Or want to move there. We just spent the last few days up there and if nothing else, it served as a timely reminder of exactly why I hated every fucking minute when I lived there a few years back. It's filthy, it's hot, and they don't believe in vegetables.

Lets just take a look at what Queensland has produced in recent history:


Ahhh! It's Pauline Hanson! This biggoted bitch from the middle of fucking nowhere was an absolute classic in Australian history, representing the opinions of almost every 'native' Queenslander I've ever met, up to and including my favorite piece of hate - telling the indigenous people of Australia to 'go back to where they come from'. Fucking ignorant troublemaker. It was a satisfying moment when she was eventually locked up for electoral fraud. Not so satisfying when she then became Australias b-list celebrity sweetheart. "We love her as long as she doesn't go near parliament again" Ehh. I think I'd love her more with an axe between the eyes.


It's the Crocodile Hunter himself, Steve Irwin! Now running "Australia Zoo" in the middle of nowhere in Queensland, Steve Irwin continues to make a grade-A ass of himself at every given opportunity. Everyone called Jacko crazy, mad & irresponsible when he dangled his child off that hotel balcony awhile back. When Irwin did it (over a Crocodile, mind you), he was just a Queenslander.


Four X beer. Or is it mean to be written as XXXX beer? Maybe FourEx Beer, like FedEx? I'm going to hope it's the latter, because that would indicate that it's going to be couriered as far away from me as possible, which has to be a good thing. This shit is feral, and nothing can be said more succinctly than my partners opinion on this particular beverage: "I would rather drink my own piss".

In addition to having to be in the stamping ground of all the above, we also had to endure the endless tailgaiting, the large piles of red dirt hundreds of kilometers from anywhere that people insist on living on top of, and amazingly, a whole new world of racism - usually coming from the mouths (and fists) of suburban white trash that take pride in the upkeep of their local bikey gang. Bravo, Queensland, Bravo.

So, I think that ore or less makes it conclusive - Queensland is a shithole. Take World/Infernos advice: If you're dumb enough to move there, then you belong there.



P.S. Bonus points go to whoever can tell me where the title for this post came from. Fandango is banned from this...

Beware the weary traveller

Today, my wife sent me an email asking me to edit a document she’d drafted. Here’s the text from the email:

its pretty crap
but then i was talking to you while writing it
which doesn't mean you are crap but I was distracted


Thanks honey, I love you too.


Back to the update – at the moment we have another couch-dweller. We often have couch-dwellers seeing as we’re all international jet setters flying from continent to continent in cattle class and befriending drunks in bars in return for a bed to sleep in. Boy, does that get complicated when you have a partner in tow. Annnyway, long story short, I think we need to put a household ban on handing out phone numbers, addresses (residential or email) to people met along the way, or even friends in other states, countries, continents, etc in general. They inevitably appear on your doorstep, and then they become really fucking annoying - no matter how much you might have liked them in fucking Scotland.

The one we have at the moment… -sigh-… I don’t know where to begin. She’s a mate of one of the housemates, and well, she’s reached new levels in irritation. I think even he’s pissed at her now – and buddy, if you’re reading this – sorry, but she is. It’s okay though, our guests are pretty fucking annoying too.

Man, she bought a fucking didgeridoo. And now she’s trying to teach herself to play it – frequently. She whines about everything, usually interrupting our conversations to do so, and leaves her shit everywhere, right down to leaving her underpants draped across our towels. I know, I know, I’m an intolerant fuckhead at the best of times, but really. I don’t think she’s a horrible person, I just think she’s inherently annoying. She cries, too. I can’t fault her opinions on life the universe and everything, but this is largely because I have to leave the room before she talks, in case I accidentally punch her in the head.

I’ll stop talking about her now, but please, can someone answer me just this one question: WHY THE FUCK WOULD SOMEONE FROM FINLAND NEED TO USE A HEATER ALL DAY & NIGHT IN A MELBOURNE SUMMER?! I know I’m a heater nazi, but this is just fucking ridiculous. She doesn’t want to go camping because she thinks the weather is shit – funny, since it’s forecasted as ‘fine & sunny’ all week. Gah!

But to be fair to our housemate, I think we need to highlight some of the in discrepancies of the guests we’ve had over the years.

One traveller we’ve had likes to watch TV at a high volume in the early hours of the morning, whilst yelling encouragement or abuse at the presenters of the programmes.

This same man often doesn’t feel the need to wear pants. Or shirts. He comes from somewhere cold, and seems to enjoy the many hours of sunlight and warmth our city is not at all known for.

That man, also doesn’t really have an understanding of privacy, and seem to think that changing all clothing in a public space (lounge room, meeting room, public beach on a warm day) is a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

Actually, that above point has occurred many times with couch-dwellers in our house. I have no idea why. When I travel, I try to keep my bits in appropriate bit-receptacles in public.

Another guy we had staying over liked to sleep with socks on his hands.

Another one seemed to enjoy spending time walking around the house wearing a towel (sometimes also reading Melbourne Fetish Magazine simultaneously).

That same guy would often drop his towel in the crowded lounge room whilst getting dressed. I’d like to confirm at this point that yes, we have many rooms in which these travellers can get changed in privacy.

The one who makes toast, and leaves the bread, butter, jam jar, and cheese all out in the open on the bench, then goes out. All but the jam need to be thrown out when you come home work.

And most annoying of all, the “Can I use your computer” couch-dweller. 6 hours later, he’s still finely crafting that email to his girlfriend.


This really goes to prove my point that all travellers suck, not just my housemates friends. The moral of the story? (A lot of my updates seem to have morals attached, I’ve noticed) If you’re a traveller, be as fucking annoying as you can; eat their food, steal their beer, steal their girl/boy friends, and fart loudly – it’s the one time you’ll be able to get away with it without burning too many bridges or getting your arse seriously kicked; and whatever you do, do not give away any real personal details, because they will come back to bite you. Now, my advice to the returned traveller who gets an email from their dear friend Billy from Thailand, refer them to a good hostel with apology, and the explanation that your house is filled with weasels. Killer super-bitey weasels. You’ll catch up with them at the pub or something, and no, you don’t have a couch, the weasels ate it.

Clothing Abandonment Theatre

Occasionally, at Casa Del Slum, we notice something has broken and we call our Estate agent and tell her all about it. The Estate agent then spends several weeks trying to pretend it's not happening, as she's as scared of our slum-lord as we are. When my partner recently noticed a large portion of the shower collapsing around her, she decided it was about time to call the agent. After several minutes on the phone to the agent, attempting to explain that no, we don't know exactly how many tiles fell off the wall, the agent declared it'd be easier for her to rock up the next morning and see it for herself. Great.

The good news about events like this is that we're forced to get the house looking vaguely liveable. The bad news, is that only half the occupants of our house have any conception of what the word 'liveable' means. In the ensuing re-livafication of the house, we found a rubbish sack full of clothing. Now - this sack could've belonged to any number of people... ex-housemates often leave shit behind with the absurd expectation that we might actually dispose of it one day, and we all have friends who we occasionally feel sorry for, and adopt their shit too when they leave the state/country/planet. So - there was one way to solve this mystery, and that was to get the Rantolotl Dancers/Drunkards on the case! If any of the following belongs to you; too bad, you probably won't want it back anymore. You should see the photos I didn't post...

Well, I hope you enjoyed those photos as much as the Rantolotl Dancers enjoyed creating the moment. If the clothes were yours, I'm sorry, but I couldn't get some of them back. I think you'll need to negotiate that obstacle yourself...

The moral of the story: No matter what my partner says, you really shouldn't leave your items in our care. Let this be a lesson to you all.


The Rantolotl.

The shoe dilemma

Well, I was just wandering down the street in my lunch break, avoiding pedestrians wherever possible, when an old man (wielding a rather nasty stench) walked up to me and barked "14th! 14th of March!". I thought, yes! So it is! That means it must be just about time for another Rantolotl update & a bath for the old man! So then, here we are...

I have stupidly large hands and feet for a woman. Usually, I think this comes in handy(oh! The wit! What a pun!) because I get to swim faster, maybe run a little faster, generally have a better physical grip on the world than most people in my demographic. Excellent! But then come the downfalls... Feet being trodden on pretty much every time I catch public transport, them being constantly referred to as 'land yachts', and most annoyingly, shoes.

After 24 years, I've managed to secure two locations in which I can sometimes buy dress shoes at a reasonable price. The constant raging battle with slippers though, is yet to be resolved. I can only ever find slippers in mens sizes, but they're always shades of old-man-brown or have fucking great Ford logos all over them or some other shit. Where's the choice? Where's the designs for men who aren't petrol headed yobs?! I've searched far & wide - particularly last winter when my toes were threatening mutiny - but have come up with absolutely nothing, but a growing resentment towards indoor footwear manufacturer. And that's when it hit me;

Surely men dressed like this would not lower themselves to v8-endorsing indoor footwear! I thought I had finally achieved insight into getting slippers for my boats, and started looking for gay men to question on the issue. My partner even started trawling cross-dressers sites in search for slippers in sensible sizes (actually, she might've already been at those sites) - but it was not to be. Several months in, and there's no lead on the issue, and I remain (seemingly forever) slipperless.

Cross dressers, flamboyant gaymen, and women with big feet of the world unite! Our feet & their desires are discriminated against by the capitalist slipper making patriarch, and enough is enough! We demand comfortable footwear without having to sacrifice our dignity! Today, we stand united for our rights to not look like bogans in the comfort of our loungerooms! Join us, small or large footed in our fight in the footwear revolution lest you be first against the wall...


In other news, someone posted this little gem on the comments board for my last post. I think it's fantastic, and am putting it up here for all of us to see and admire. Maybe it can be our logo for the slipper revolution - we can charge forth with banners with Pith-helmet boy on them in all his recreated glory. By the look of himself in that safari suit, I think we're all fairly certain he 's a cross dresser.





rantlotl
Official Spokesperson of SlipSEC

Where's my salamander?!

Melbourne is fucked.

Usually, I like this town. It's nice, I like the weather, the lawns are neat and tidy, and there's a relatively good ratio of wankers to people-I-like.

Today, in fact - this month as a whole is very, irredeemably different. Why? Three words my friend; Commonwealth Fucking Games.

I'm all for sporty type activities. I like watching them, I like playing them, and overall I think they're fun. But the Commonweatlh Games have got to go. The atheletes are fine, but the bastards keep fucking appearing everywhere, the volunteers are mad, yet self righteous about donating their labour to an event no one even cares about, and it's giving those fucking Monarchists something to carry on about. In the end all it really is, is a bunch of fucking wannabe Brit toffs trying to pretend they're part of a decrepit almost non-existant empire. Look at our subjects perform for us! Oh-ho-ho! Look at South Africa! They have black men on the team now! Look how they've grown, look how they've learnt! Oh? Another Gin & Tonic? Please, and bring me my pith helmet, boy!

The only manner in which the British Empire still exists is in the form of the worlds stupidest fucking professional level sporting event - the Commonwealth Games. So spare a thought for the people of Melbourne as we go through the pain that is inherant of hosting a 'world class sporting event' in the middle of a fucking War on Terrorism. Suddenly, it's not just the Lebanese who are terrorists anymore, it's every fucking person who isn't a games volunteer or athlete. They removed our bins! They replaced a few of them with stupid clear sided versions, so 'bombs' could be seen in them. What the fuck were they thinking?! You know, if I was a terrorist, I'm going to make some effort to hide my bomb. Maybe that's why I didn't get into terrorist school; because clearly, they must use big red sticks of dynamite with a ticking clock attached, marked TNT in bright red letters. Like this:


It might not need to have the exclamation point though.

But seriously, we're getting fucked in a big way. Our trains aren't running, and the games haven't even started yet. The announcement I heard at the station tonight was that our trains had been delayed due to 'security concerns'. They didn't tell us how long we could expect to wait, they didn't tell us what particular trains were effected, and worst of all, they didn't bother to share the interesting details of what sort of 'security concern' could delay an entire branch of trains for over half a fucking hour. If I watch the news tonight and find out that our central station hasn't been blown up, I'm going to be seriously pissed off.

"Dear customers,
The next Upfield line service will be delayed 15 - 20 minutes this evening, because this train is a pipe bomb. Connex apologises for the inconvenience."

If the public transport stupidity isn't enough, it seems that Melburnians aren't even good enough to use their own roads or bike paths or parks anymore. Entire public parks have been sectioned off for use by athletes in preparation, competing cyclists have taken over the roads, and the cops have cordoned off entire sections of the city, once again, for the increasingly mysterious 'security reasons'.

Clearly, the State government didn't go far enough in simply clearing the homeless, young drunks & graffiti off the streets. To save time and effort later, they really just should have shipped the entire population of Melbourne to Tasmania. It would've been easy. They could've just diverted all the roads 'for security reasons' straight into a really large crate on a ship. Then, they could've run all the rail lines into another large crate on a ship (these are really big ships). Send them packing, and there we go; most of Melbourne removed - problem solved, Games a success. We'll bring them back in a couple of weeks or so. Maybe...

And also spare a thought for women having a urine test. It can get surprisingly messy, and I guess it's a bit of a no-no to ask if you can borrow a funnel...


Rantolotl.

PS - Links for those who would like a Commonwealth Games alternative in the coming weeks, and a Pith Helmet:

The Graffiti Games 2006
The Stolenwealth Games

Updates on a few posts...

Well, when I recently posted my academic discourse, I did so on the assumption that my workmates, let alone boss, wouldn't be reading it. Turns out I was wrong. Here's the email...

From: bossdude@bossdudesoffice.com
To: rantolotl@rantolotlsoffice.com
Subject: rantolotl

um.... I just read your last blog entry.... is there something you want to tell me?

Regards,
Bossdude


Ooops.

Turns out I upset a few academics, too. But that's okay, because as far as I know, none of them work where I do, and given all the shit I've copped from them over the years, they should consider themselves lucky that they didn't recieve something more solid. To the head.

So, bossdude, if you're reading this... there's nothing to worry about. It's all in satire and drawn from experiences at Hell University (where I used to work). Well, that, and the fucking annoying calls we've been getting all week. If you hear any rumours involving pools of blood, missing people, and academics, ignore them. It's nothing. Really.

By the way, Bossdude is most definately not the man pictured here.

I also managed to offend people with the word 'cunt'. I've decided to rectify this with positive discrimination, and developed a ratio system to manage this. In effect, every time I use language that could be considered obscene that has a gender reference/base, I will endeavour to hold the following ratio of 1 female based insult : 3 male based insults. For example:

If I were to say: "Amanda Vanstone"
I would then be inclined to say "John Howard! Kim Beazley! Tony Abbott!". But please, if you're trying this at home, don't repeat it to a mirror three times, because urban legend has it you'll die.

I've decided that 'asshat' is gender neutral, so you can expect to see that a whole lot more. You Trollop.


In other news...

• The above post was a long way to travel for a single joke.
• Bossdude really isn't the guy in that photo.
  
• Dominos still won't deliver to us.
• The surveys I placed in the toilets were gone the next day. I'm still none the wiser.
• The tap that caused a minor flooding issue has stopped spewing red water, but has issues with dispensing warm water.
• I still drink Hudsons coffee, and am now not at all shocked when I find salty, sugary or other miscellaneous crunchy bits in the cup.
• I really fucking love this picture from the pants post. It's my proudest creation to date. I'm also quite fond of my diagrams in that post too.

Fin.

Dear god, make them stop

How to kill an academic in 3 easy steps…

Step 1) Ask them to read an instruction manual.
Step 2) Don’t respond to their queries that could easily have been answered by reading the manual
Step 3) Wait.

Starve them attention and they’ll die pretty soon. Probably in a big, sobbing, loud & obnoxious mess.

To be fair, not all academics are bad, but the ones who are more than make up for the lack of insanity by the others. I mean really, they’re like spoilt fucking children. They whine whenever something doesn’t go absolutely 100% right for them (actually, they usually find a way of whining even when it does), and they refuse to take any responsibility for fixing their own fuckups. Then come the threats.

Here's a summary of every conversation I've had with an academic in the last few days:

academic: I’M THE KING OF THE WORLD! WHY CAN I NOT LOG IN?!
rantolotl: Because you entered the wrong password. You changed it last week, remember?
academic: BUT I’M SMARTER THAN MY PASSWORD! I’M SMARTER THAN ANYONE WHO’S EVER TOUCHED THIS SYSTEM! I’M AN ACADEMIC! I’M THE ACADEMIC!
rantolotl: This may be so, but unfortunately, you will either need to remember your password, or we can reset it for you.
academic: THAT’S UNACCEPTABLE! I SHOULD BE ABLE TO USE THIS PATHETIC SYSTEM WITHOUT HAVING TO CALL PEOPLE UP TO BEG AND GROVEL FOR ACCESS. WHY HAVE YOU NOT IMPLEMENTED THE CHANGES I’VE SUGGESTED TO YOU BEFORE? WHY SHOULD WE BE CONSTANTLY INCONVENIENCED BY THE LACK OF SERVICE AND SENSIBILITY HERE?!
rantolotl: Excuse me, but…
academic: I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT! THIS IS PATHETIC. HOW AM I MEANT TO WORK LIKE THIS?! YOUR INSISTENCE TO SABOTAGE MINE & MY STUDENTS WORK HAS GONE TOO FAR. I’M WRITING YOU ANOTHER SUGGESTION.
rantolotl: I’m writing you one too, sir. I mean, I look forward to passing it on to my supervisor. I mean... okay.
academic: WHY DIDN’T THIS REQUEST GO STRAIGHT TO YOUR SUPERVISOR ANYWAY?
rantolotl: Look – we can solve this very simply.
academic: THAT’S NOT THE ISSUE ANYMORE, IS IT? THE ISSUE IS THE ONGOING HARASSMENT I EXPERIENCE FROM YOUR SYSTEM. I'M SPEAKING TO THE VICE CHANCELLOR ABOUT THIS.
rantolotl: I’m sending this job to my supervisor now.
academic: BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH
rantolotl: Goodbye…
academic: BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH!!!
rantolotl: *click*

I love this idea that they think that the Vice Chancellor (big boss) would even care. It'd be fucking great to unleash a swarm of them into the VC's office and watch them compete for attention. I can picture it now. No! The VC loves ME more!! Fucking arsehats. What the hell do they even contribute anyway? An enhanced sense of reality for the rest of us? An accurate demonstration of what an overinflated ego is (or more to the point, isn't) capable of? Why do we continue to nurture these arseholes? It's always going to end up at our own demise. There can be an argument made for them studying enough to do something useful - like develop a cure for cancer. And while this sounds good, it's misleading. Sure, they could develop a cure for cancer, but then... oh boy. Like a fat child in a candy store. First, they'd lecture about their cure - no details given, but purely self praise. Then, they'd write abook about how fanstastic they are for removing all this misery from the world, while going from overseas junket to junket speaking at conferences, panels & hospitals. But would anyone ever get to hear of the fucking cure itself? Of course not. Fucking inconsiderate bastards letting everyone die. If you see one, punch them in the face for me.

The only thing more annoying than an academic are those morons who constantly praise them, thinking that every piece of drivel that slops from their mouths is gold. Wake up and smell the self obsessed wankers already.

In summary;

Academics: Only thinking of themselves and pissing people off in their wake. Fucking cunts.