Sordid filth!

Today, on my merry way to work I saw one of the oddest things... Were you to walk through Melbourne Central at about 9 today, you would've been in for a treat; or at least, that's what the guy who started jerking off in front of a large group of primary school children thought...

Yep, that's right! A bunch of schoolkids, probably about 7-8 years old, were happily taking photos of that fucking stupid clock doing it's thing, when some dodgy old guy comes out from behind the clock and starts singing something rather hymn-like (often mentioning Jesus in said song), performing for the children in tandem with the clock - with one hand deep in trouser pocket, working away furiously (much to his obvious enjoyment). The kids continued to take their photos of the clock, completely oblivious to the situation at hand. I think it's safe to say that this incident will hamper their future attempts to learn roman numerals...

Can you imagine what's going to happen when these kids' parents get these films developed?

"Oh look, Billy, here's a nice one of you and Sally in front of the State Library. Oh, and here's one of you eating lunch at that big McDonalds. Oh, and you saw the clock at Melbourne Central! ... hang on ... What's this?! Excuse me billy, I need to make a phonecall..."

I feel so fucking sorry for the teacher in charge - she's either going to have to explain this to the kids' parents in advance and watch them seriously overreact to something their kids were totally oblivious to, or start recieving the photos in the mail accompanied by death threats and beaten-to-death-bunnies a couple of weeks later. Can't say I'd want to be in her shoes.

But really, it was inevitbale. I've noticed that Melbourne Central is slowly but steadily becoming dodgier & dodgier. Sure, it's no Flinders St Station yet, but still, the decline is there. First there were the fucked up CEC members handing out their filth, then there was the clock incident, but now, there's further evidence - a letter I found in the precinct last night (which I've taken the liberty of typing out word for word); a sordid tale of betrayal! BETRAYAL!

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Subject: Hi
Date: Mon, 01 May 2006 13:55:03 +1000 (EST)
From: Cam Stewart

Hi Mel,

How are you?

Myself, I'm not so great at the moment. You see in getting in contact with you again I have to explain a couple of things that I did not want to talk about on the evening that we met. I am currently in a relationship with a really nice girl. The problem for me at the moment is that we have been having some problems for awhile. One of the main ones is that we have hardly been intimate with each other for quite a few months. This is a problem that has been building within me for some time and when I met you last week I just did the wrong thing and pursued my own desires without thought about my girlfriend. Unfortunately I am now paying for it with guilt.

I cannot help but to have really enjoyed the evening that we shared together, (i guess I have yearned for that type of intimacy for some time), however in the light of day I know it was the wrong thing for me to do.

At the present I am still trying to sort out a really rough patch with my girlfriend, and it would be wrong for me to be dishonest with you.

I have kept our secret and to prevent causing any hurt to my current partner it would help me to know that you, our night can remain just between the two of us?

You are such a nice girl, and I am just trying to do the right thing from this point.
I hope you can understand.



Subject: Hi
Date: Mon, 01 May 2006 14:56:03 +1000 (EST)
To: cam stewart

Hi Cameron,

Wow, you really are a jerk. Unfortunately being honest with me now does not and never will absolve you of the fact you cheated on your girlfriend.

I wonder what your girlfriend would say if she knew that after the Anzac day football match your took me to the Sofitel for the night. I honestly hope she finds out what you're all about. Perhaps if you took HER to the Sofitel you might find that the intimacy in your relationship improves.

You see Cam our night at the Sofitel cost you about $350 but the price you really paid is the guilt you're now feeling and the regret at making a big mistake.

I am thrilled to hear you are "just trying to do the right thing from this point" perhaps the right thing to do would have been to remember you had a girlfriend.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

BAM!

Take that Cameron! I think my favorite line is this one; "The problem for me at the moment is that we have been having some problems for awhile. " Yeah, Cam, buddy - I think I see where the problem is... you keep accidentally putting your dick in places your girlfriend wouldn't approve of.

You see? Melbourne Central = sharp moral decline! Never again will it be the makings of school excursions with afternoon tea, kittens & rainbows. It can remain only as a host to the sordid tales of the bottom feeding scum of the earth - Cam, and of course peadophilia-man. And those fucking terrible stale chips that kebab shop sells. They really make me angry.

I don't think there's a lot more I can even say about this - except if you're going to cheat on someone, then write letters about it; don't. It's a stupid idea. Clearly this exchange found its way to a printer, and eventually into my devious hands. Hey Cam, you know what can't find its way to a printer? A phone call, dickhead.

Helper monkeys gone wrong

Regular readers will be aware of my increased frustration with uni students. Some of you would even be aware of my ongoing fantasy of punching the bastards in the face (repeatedly) when I cross their paths in public - Like on the public transport they infest with inane chatter & squealing. Or when they attempt to buy coffee at the same place I do and clog up the lines with their hapless stupidity, unable to make the simplest of decisions, like soy, or regular milk. Fucking cretins.

Anyhow - I think it's time we introduce the partial cause of my ongoing frustration with students (for new readers, I work at a university in a service capacity), because to be fair students pay us, and then be a pain in the arse. The group I'm about to introduce are actually paid to filter out the most pain-in-the-arseish elements of our job. They're meant to act as a barrier of sensibility between us, and them. They are meant to be the gatekeepers, if you will. But, in order to fulfil this role in its entirety, they are meant to be competent. And that's where the whole system crumbles. This group? The good ol' helpdesk.

I'm sure we all have our helpdesk horror stories - something breaks, and you end up with some fuckhead on the other end of the phone trying to tell you to check your powerpoints, even though you're actually calling about a software incompatibility. But I've been on both sides of this razor topped, 6-foot thick concrete wall of a fence, and I understand there are a lot of morons that helpdeskers have to deal with, so there's a great deal of dumbing down of information handed out to people in case they pick up the scissors and start running, so to speak. But in this age of IT-meets-customer-service, we're seeing a real, genuine stupidity in heldpesk roles. Hirers care only about the customers experience of friendliness over the phone, not the end result of the 'help' they recieve; so sunshine-and-fucking-lollipop personalities keep being hired into these roles, completely unable to dispense anything that resembles technical advice. What's worse, is that these people fail to understand that sometimes, 'customers' requesting advice actually do require a good kick to the head. Some people are just arseholes and will take helpdeskers for a very fucking long ride, and then get them into large and horrendous amounts of trouble, just for the pleasure of it. You can literally bend over backwards for these people, for something that's completely unreasonable, do them a massive favour and put yourself on the line in the process; but at the end of the day these pricks will still complain and try to get you fired. Why? Because they're bored, overpaid jerks who can't understand why someone employed in a service capacity should not wipe their arses for them. This is why you need to have a helpdesk staffed with people who actually know what they're talking about, and can see through the bullshit.

But no, that's not how it's done anymore, is it? Helpdesk at the uni's I've worked at have been reformed within an inch of their lives, and have virtually turned into a messaging service - calls come in via phone or email, and they distribute them to the most appropriate department. Sounds cool, right? Sounds like it'll work well, yeah? But what happens when you employ people with very lovely sounding voices and excellent manners and customer service, but with no fucking organisational skills? You fucking piss people like me off, and increase our workload 20-fold; that's what.

No really, it can't be that bad, can it?, You say.
Well, I assure you, it can.
No, you're just exaggerating.
Nope, 'fraid not.
Yes you are.
NO I'M NOT!
YES YOU ARE!
FINE, GO FUCK YOURSELF!

Right. Now we've got rid of the timewasters, lets get into the gory details; to do our job properly at this end, we require three simple pieces of information - identification, details of the problem, and where the problem occurs. Doesn't sound hard, does it? But at least a third of our calls are missing at least one of these pieces of information. Sometimes, we actually get calls that don't have a single piece of any of that information there;

"Can you fix John's problem? Thanks"

And that's the extent of it. Ah, that John! Of course, why didn't I think of him earlier? It all makes sense now! All I have to do now is work out what his fucking problem is!

And yeah, a lot of this happens because the user doesn't send in all the info to begin with - but what the fuck is the point of sending it to us, just so we can't do anything with it?! We'll close off the call, the user will get all pissed, and then start bitching and moaning, and in some cases, crying, until we manage to sort what passes for information out of their babbled, inane, tear-slurred speech. Fucking idiots.

But this brings me back to my main point - we're not paid to deal with these arseholes! We're not paid to analyse their particular brand of insanity into a coherant request for a new password! The helpdesk is, which is why you couldn't pay me enough to work on a helpdesk ever again. It fucking sucks.

I think we should have a response button to incomplete calls - one that sets off an elaborate series of contraptions, but has the end result of either a staple-gun at point blank to a preferred area of the body, or maybe a boot up the arse, Warner Bros. style. Call it incentive, if you will.

I know there are good helpdeskers up there working under duress, and I feel sincrely sorry for them. I really do. But one false move, and BAM! staple to the hand, rantolotl style!

Coming to helpdesk near you! (minus the children)

P.S. For extended theory on Scones, check out rantinan's lj

Square peg in a round hole...

Today, rantolotl will take you on an insightful journey through an ongoing epic of good and evil. Of light and dark. Of pandas and penguins. Consider it educational, or maybe a complete waste of your time. Normal transmissions will resume in due time.


For awhile now, a battle has been raging over the burning issue of our time; Scones. Should they be round, or should they be square? In my last rantolotl, I fired a cheap parting shot to the Defenders of the Square. I don't regret it - I am right. Scones should be round. What I do regret though, is the re-emergence of the bitter embroiled battles around the issue. The Defenders of the Square just can't face facts. They're poor losers, their arguments are weak and baseless, and they are fucking dirty fighters.


krus says: picture

krus says: ha! square scone

rantolotl: ... that's a stone. Not a scone.

krus says: its a stone and a scone

rantolotl: IT IS NOT!

krus says: its the stone of scone

krus says: so its a scone

rantolotl: That doesn't mean it is a scone!

krus says: yes it does

rantolotl: No, it doesn't!

krus says: yes... yes it does. and anyone who dis-agrees is a tard

rantolotl: Your theory is a tard.

krus says: you just hate tards don't you!
krus says: this is why i don't bake anymore! I don't know what shapes will be acceptible to you on your high shapey horse!

rantolotl: Tell me... is the horse square too?

krus says: see! hate

krus says: the square scone is the best! how else are you meant to make a scone house?

rantolotl: with sheer stupidity? Anyway, everyone knows the best houses are made with pineapples.



So - with that little exchange over and committed to the history books of inanity, in comes Kipper...

"Scone dough must be lightly handled, not squished into rounds. That is why the best and lightest scones are cut into squares."

There is absolutely no difference in handling or general squishing when cutting scones in a circular shape! You use a scone/cookie cutter, or you can use your favorite scone-sized glassware. Either way, no difference in handling. You, Kipper, are talking out your arse.

So. Why the Way of the Round, you ask? Because it's the way of the motherfuckin' righteous! Round scones are not only aesthetically pleasing (unlike their square brethren), but there is an inherantly lower risk factor. You are far less likely to cut the roof of your mouth biting on a round, rather than square scone. Think about this. Think about the halfwits who probably made your square scones in the first place - and think about their handling of a knife in this operation. One cut to your mouth with a square scone, and you're braving the dangers of blood borne diseases! Aids! Hepatitis! The Flu!

But the Defenders of the Square are no strangers to risk taking. Many moons ago, at the very birth of this raging inferno of an argument, Kipper launched into violent debate with me over the shape of the scone. Subsequently, I locked her out of my car. Not taking this lightly, she attempted to stop my car from reversing out of its car park (holding a cake under her left arm the entire time), by standing behind the car and pushing all her weight into it, all the while yelling emphatically about square scones. Eventually I stopped trying to reverse over her, and unlocked her door - only to drive off when she stepped away from the back of the car.

So now again, as was before; I emerge the victor. Unscathed by Square scones, and righteous in the Round! I have no doubt you Squarites will continue to argue; you will continue to assert your beliefs of a square scone utopia. But you know what? I have sanity on my side. You're all fucking barking.

Fin.

BURN!

What a weekend!

Remember our neighbours? The inconsiderate knob-ends who regularly attempt to make friends and influence people by taking enormous amounts of drugs and partying to 10am the next day? Well, guess what? They were motherfucking arrested! Ha!

My partner & housemate dude watched on in glee as these guys were led out of the house and into the paddy wagon, followed by more cops seizing 'evidence', including a large shop-front banner reading "BONG SPECIALIST". Hahahahaha!! I could not be more pleased! If I ever find out who ratted on them, I'll make them a cake! A tasty one, maybe a large tiramisu or something.

So a few hours later, we return from our celebratory dinner and settle down to crap tv and cold beer. I'm on the phone, when I hear the unmistakable sound of shit hitting the fan... and it sounds like a truck. A fucking large one. Running into things. Namely, into the power line to our house. Followed by the equally unmistakable sound of a truck doing a runner, as only trucks can - stealthy and traceless to be sure. Upon inspection with a torch, the fuckhead has managed to completely remove the powerline, the connector that fits on the streets mains, and our fucking phase box - yes, the bit that is normally physically attached to our house.

That's right, the truck has driven off with a portion of our house, trailing a power cable like some sort of bizzarre and electrified tail. Now - if we're thinking that the truck driver was a bit of a jerk, wait until you hear about the landlord. When she was told about the accident by our estate agent, she simply declared that it wasn't her problem, and no, she wasn't going to pay for the electrician to come out and fix it.

"But isn't that her responsibility?", you may well ask - and you would be correct. The agent pointed this out to her too.

Her response? "I didn't cause the damage, so I'm not paying for it".

O....kay.

You wouldn't believe how many times she's pulled this sort of shit. Last year we spent about 6 months with a fucked bathroom door handle, because she wouldn't just have it fixed. Anyone who foolishly shut the door when they went to the toilet would end up having a choice of;

A) climbing out the bathroom window, or;
B) dismantling the doorhandle with the emergency bathroom screwdriver

Sure, we laughed, we cried, and then we laughed even harder when a visitor, high on lsd, got trapped in there and literally started trying to climb the walls; but mostly, we cursed the tightarse landlord.

We knew we were in trouble when the estate agent rang us, crying. In a rare moment of estate agent/tennant unification, we reassured her that 'yes, the landlord is a fucking bitch', and 'no, don't you listen to that nasty lady' . The good news is that I don't think she'll bother us with a house inspection for awhile, and that she called the electrician out anyway. The bad news is that the landlord is still alive.

Slumlords fucking suck. If you can't really afford to buy the house in the firstplace, then you're sure as hell not going to be able to afford the upkeep on it. So don't fucking buy it. Simple equation really; I'm not sure how these people don't understand it. They buy shit houses, rent them out, don't fix anything properly, and then expect you to be thankful for the priviledge of forking over your hard earned cash every month. Fucking pricks! Eat the rich!

Maybe we should send the neighbours over to her house to show her how to have a good time - I can picture it now - a large wooden crate appears on her doorstep... she takes the lid off, and *bam!* Bongs everywhere!

But I hear you cry "But what about my slumlord?! Who can help me, rantolotl?" Well - I'm here to help, and help is what I'll do. I hereby call for the formation of the Tennant Liberation Front! We'll unite and fight for our rights to heating, water & electricity! We'll keep databases of slumlords, and occupy their houses when our essential services remain fucked. When the bastards make us live with substandard repairs, shoddy floorboards, and falling down fences, the TLF will come to the rescue. We'll cut their brakelines when they raise the rent! We'll slash their tyres! We'll fill their garages with hungry dobermans! And sharks! And afterwards, when the battles have been fought and won, when we bask in the warm glow of acceptable housing, we'll have scones and tea.

*ps... the scones will be nice, traditional, round ones.

Fools and kippers

Sometimes when I've recently updated rantolotl, I spam everyone on my MSN/AOL lists to let them know it's up. Here's a recent conversation

The Rantolotl: updatalotl

Idiot: Is an updatalotl a rantolotl update?

The Rantolotl: No. It's a fucking penguin.

Idiot: What?

The Rantolotl: Never mind - wrong window. And yep, it's an update.

Idiot: Ah, ok! I'm reading it now!

To tell the truth, this happens a lot. The moral of the story is to not combine words willy-nilly. It clearly fucks with peoples sense of time and space, and general equilibrium. Save them for a day where you can have an entire conversation with them in imaginary words, and wait for the satisfying "pop!" of their head exploding. Then make tacos.


Now, speaking of foolishness, check this out: Christian lunacy takes a stand.

Some of my favorite quotes and a bit of a summary...

"With her lawsuit, the 22-year-old student joins a growing campaign to force public schools, state colleges and private workplaces to eliminate policies protecting gays and lesbians from harassment. The religious right aims to overturn a broad range of common tolerance programs: diversity training that promotes acceptance of gays and lesbians, speech codes that ban harsh words against homosexuality, anti-discrimination policies that require college clubs to open their membership to all. "

" The Rev. Rick Scarborough, a leading evangelical, frames the movement as the civil rights struggle of the 21st century. "Christians," he said, "are going to have to take a stand for the right to be Christian." "

" The legal argument is straightforward: Policies intended to protect gays and lesbians from discrimination end up discriminating against conservative Christians. "

Gah! What pisses me off most about these people - just like the right to lifers trying to outlaw abortion - is that they seem to think they have the right to force their particular strain of religion onto everyone else around them - yet the courts keep listening. But what else would you expect from the country that allowed schools to outlaw the teaching of evolution, in favour of creationism. Secular my arse. Now I went to a religious high school, and yeah, they spoke a lot of bollocks about this and that, but on the whole anyone there who gave a toss about god really didn't give a shit what was going on around them, wether it be Sean & Mike shagging behind the sports sheds, or the regular poker game being run during Sunday chapel - they simply just got on with their day and left us alone. But Fundamentalists? Even at the tender age of 15, they aspire to be intolerant arseholes - organising squads of thuggish schoolmates to beat up the kids who didn't adhere to their high moral standards, harrassing and even getting teachers fired - generally being total fuckheads. By year 10, they'd usually copped a pretty fucking good beating for their efforts.

People bitch about fundamentalist Muslims, but I'd be more worried about the Christians - the government doesn't spend millions of dollars trying to keep them out of the country. These people run for parliament and make statements such as 'Lets drive satan from the suburbs', and 'lesbians are witches who should be burned at the stake' - that sounds like terrorist activity to me, Ruddock. Lock them up! Lock them up!

Fundamentalist anythings are fucking bad news. I don’t even know what they think they’re achieving. Beating the shit out of a queer is not going to make them, or anyone near them, any more inclined to believe in your god. In fact, it’ll probably do precisely the opposite. But when God is on your side, apparently you’re allowed to beat people into submission, oh, I mean, beat them into faith. Yes, faith.

I think Fandango says it best;
“It's things like that, people like that, that lead me to believe that there are a significant number of people who 'find God' purely to justify their own fucking predujices”

I think it’s about time for Rantolotl to get all holy on their arses and create its own religion with all the frills. We’ll have religious holidays, we’ll have a government registered charity, and we’ll write a few paragraphs in our holy book that might be construed as permission to slap morons with kippers. Repeatedly. Hell, our temple will be a fucking brewery. And you know what? The government can fuck off with its liquor licensing laws, because we’re fucking fundamentalist holy beer drinkers. We’ll fight for our god given right to kick the arse of any of these fucking blasphemous tee-totallers. Fuck them and their puritanical livers. If they’re found dead in a gutter with a couple of kippers sticking out of their jumpers, then ask no questions - we’ll tell no lies; THE FUCKING BLASPHEMOUS CUNTS DISCRIMINATED AGAINST US BY REMAINING SOBER! CRUSADE! CRUSADE!!

Oh! oh! oh! And we’ll have special hats!!!


But really - children have imaginary friends too, but they keep them to themselves. Just because you’re all grown up now and have worked out you can act like an arsehole under the banner of religious worship doesn’t make you righteous – it makes you a total fucking prick. The next time you see a kipper, fucking run. It has your name on it.

More with the pants!

If I was king of the world, I would decree that every person named Meg be renamed to Mog, and then forcibly equipped with their choice of cat tail or ears. Trust me, it'd be for the greater good.

That aside, lets get onto more important matters. Like what the fuck is wrong with the youth of today. I'm walking down the street today looking for my usual mid morning coffee fix, when I see a kid somewhat akin to the guy second from left in the following promo photo for a band that call themselves "Lower Class Brats":

I think they've got it wrong. With pants like that, they should be calling themselves "Upper Middle Class White Trash". They can sing about rebellion in the mall. And shoes. And how mean their parents are. Hey guys, only kidding - I like your music, and respect your garment related freedom of choice. But really, once Ashton Kutcher's worn your style, it's over - these pants are the new mullet.

I really don't understand why people actually would wear these pants. There are fucking heaps of styles around that really suck; I hate the 80's style wide belt that serves absolutely no purpose, often found on young women in malls. I can only laugh at guys in designer pink shirts with upturned collars and what can only be described as 'chicken head' hair styles; they look like early nineties gay bar rejects (funnily enough, these are the exact same guys who beat up on queers today). I don't even begin to know what people were thinking with the moccassin-boot trend, but skinny-leg pants still take the cake. Wear them, and it's a slippery slope to fashion hell; you will probably end up bearing a resemblance to an overdressed 14 year old on their way to a hardcore stylin' party (and by the way, Billy told me that Jenna's older boyfriend might be bringing a six pack along... SCORE!!!). But the consequences might be even worse... take the tight pants fetish too far and you could end up like this;

And once you've got there, the decline is inevitable. First this;


And then fishing around in another mans tight pants...



And then, well, total loss of dignity. Standing around in a field in your underwear, 'fighting'...

All of this humiliation for no payment. They had a choice. They chose to wear bad pants. For christs sakes, save what's left of your dignity and become a hooker, earn some money and buy some real pants.

Fashion is dangerous my friends. Not unlike those 60 year olds you see getting around in psychadelic mu-mu's, wearing tinted glasses and refusing to admit they are not the new black anymore, some people will not grow out of this fashion. DO NOT BECOME A VICTIM. The next time you go shopping, ask yourself these questions:

1) Will you have to punch yourself in the face in 5 years, if you find this garmet in your closet?
2) Does this garment make you look horrendously unattractive?
3) Does this garment cause you physical pain?
4) Will you look like a fucking idiot?

If you get a yes to any of these, I suggest reconsidering. Sure - there are waves we all participate in, one way or another, that we cannot deny in later years look stupid. We probably had an inkling all along, but were prepared to risk it, because we liked it. But if you're doing this to fit into subculture a, b, or c, then go for another look - get a mohawk, paint yourself up a nice leather jacket, or go get some chains... whatever suits you best, whatever you find comfortable. Because tight jeans suit absolutely no one, and when I'm king of the world, my second decree will be to burn every fucking pair, irrespective of the fact you might be wearing them.

I'd like to thank turkishwrestling.com for their assistance in this timely public service announcement, and wish to take this opportunity to remind you all of the rantolotl caption competition (go to the comments section for details). C'mon, there's free crap to win!


The rantolotl.

Cooking with Rantolotl!

It's time to expose readers to a side of Rantolotl that's not been seen before; cooking!

I decided to start simple, and when visiting the market yesterday I picked up this little beauty;

That's right, it's a nice, fresh MallowBunny! I pity the poor little fucker who gets one of these given to them for easter. Granny's cruelest present yet, but ideal for our purposes today. We're going to use this Rabbit to create a lovely coconut encrusted roulade, and of course, a drink to accompany our dinner - a unique version of the Fluffy Penis, originally created by Nodge; that we'll name the Fluffy Bunny. All in time for Easter!

Step 1) Behead Brer;

As shown below, a swift chopping motion, partway back from the head, about halfway along the ears, at an angle back towards the head, will create the cut we need. See Fig 1 & Fig 2 below for reference.

Fig 1. Remove Rabbit's head


Fig 2. The cut should look something like this

Step 2) Prepare the Fluffy Bunny;
You'll need a blender for this task. Pour a metric cup of Vodka into blender, with a handful of ice. Place rabbit head in blender (Fig 3), and blend until smooth in consistency, and crunching ceases (Fig 4). Pour mixture into a margarita glass, and garnish.

Fig 3. Vodka, Ice & Rabbit placed in blender


Fig 4. Blending the mixture


Step 3) Prepare the Roulade;
While you've been preparing the Fluffy Bunny, the remaining section of the rabbit will be slowly marinating in its own juices. Now, this is a dish best served rare; so this step is a simple one. Place rabbit on chopping board, and slice into 1/2 cm width portions. Arrange as below.


Fig 5. Tasty coconut encrusted rabbit roulade!

Excellent! You've created your very first MallowBunny recipe! Now you can sit back and enjoy your delightful meal of Coconut Encrusted rabbit & Fluffy Bunny in preparation for easter.

Fig 6. Krus Enjoys his Fluffy Bunny.

human missiles of stupidity

What the fuck is wrong with people today?

I get to work this morning and endure a handful of students in the lift, talking in stupid-speak (possibly a local dialect). What the hell are students on these days? The stupid little chatty bastards were all pep and fucking rainbows this morning, I tell ya. What the hell right do they have to be that cheery that early in the morning? I mean, I hate being awake at that sort of hour, but I get paid to do it! They don't, and they're meant to be poor and starving - the least they can do is be fucking miserable about it.

I don't normally have to deal with students this early in the morning because I'm lucky enough to work in an unmarked, standalone building (in a brown paper bag), so I retreat to a corner of the lift and quietly sip my coffee and hope they'll leave soon; a hope soon shattered by their incompetence in simply pressing a button corresponding to the level they want to get off at. They go sailing past their floor, and travel all the way to the top with me; all the while seemingly talking in acronyms and babble. I have no idea what they were on about, I could only guess by the flailing and intonations the 'words' were accompanied by. I know I often sound like a whining fucking 80 year old, but technically, I'm young, and should be up with so called trends enough to know that they were uncool - but right now I'm going to have to hazard a guess at that fact, because I have no idea what the hell they were doing. Maybe they were aliens.

So - thinking that my daily dose of ridiculous was over, I feel safe heading into my lunchbreak. Never have I been so wrong. In fact, never have I seen such an unchoreographed, incompetent and downright ungraceful example of Melburnians. Normally, our streets work like a moderately oiled machine - people more or less walk at a good pace, on the right side of the path for their direction, and the idiot percentile is low enough so that dodging them when they randomly stop or weave is pretty effortless as long as you keep your eyes open. Today, that all went to hell. people were all over the fucking place; shoppers standing still on corners, people walking at right angles to the flow of foot traffic at the lights (they felt like examining the middle of the intersection, perhaps?), and piss all people bothering to walk at a speed that might indicate they had full brain functionality. Then, there was the guy in front of me (GIFOM).

I see another hapless idiot standing on the corner to the entrance to a popular shopping centre/train station, eating christ knows what out of a bag. Seeing that the dude is clearly well tied up in the task of stuffing his face and isn't about to move anywhere, I start to move around the outside of him. GIFOM instead decides that this guy is an obstacle that must be dealt with - he stops abruptly (forcing me to stop too), and then ORDERS this guy to get out his way

GIFOM: "Excuse me, get out of the way" he barks, while starting to shove his way through.

Obstacle Man: "Wha?" The guy looks puzzled as he pulls his feed-bag away from his face. I start to try and move around the pair.

GIFOM: "I said get out of the way!"

At this point, he literally shoves Obstacle man out of the way, who struggles to keep his balance. I don't know which way to move. GIFOM then keeps walking, and I slip in behind him as the fastest way to get through. A torrent of abuse comes from behind us, as Obstacle Man realises what's happened. I'm mid-turn, looking to see if Obstacle Man is following GIFOM, when I see her arms go up, and then there's the scream.

"AHHHHHH!"

THUMP!

Flowers everywhere.

Looks like the widened area of chaos GIFOM created off-balanced some woman carrying an armful of flowers - she's lying on the ground, people are helping her up, and Obstacle Man is telling her all about what a prick GIFOM is, while picking up her flowers. I continue to wander down the escalators in search of food, and GIFOM strides ahead, without looking back. I get the feeling he does this often.

Now down the escalators, there's a little food court - there's soem good food there, and then there's KFC & Maccas, etc. Out of curiousity, I follow GIFOM some more, interested to know where it might lead. He heads straight to KFC, quickening his pace with every step. He gets to the line, shoves past a few people, and then promptly leaves it again, doubling back towards me, as I stand outside a Sushi joint (where I'm planning to eat). GIFOM darts in front of me at the display cabinet, and then shoves past another handful of people so he can see what's available. Seemingly unsatisfied, he continues on his merry way, leaving a trail of confused people in his wake. I stopped following him at this point, sound in the assumption that someone took their angry pills this morning.

Man. Some people just take lunch too seriously. Maybe GIFOM should spend his time working on his social interaction skills. Or maybe, he should just be branded with the words 'DOES NOT PLAY WELL WITH OTHERS' for the safety of, well, everyone.

Road Rage

A little while back, I ran someone over while cycling to work. It was great!

But while on the road, I'm downright sick of fuckheads doing stupid and dangerous things, when they know full well what they're doing. Like the moron in the car that sees you entering the intersection, knows they have to legally give way to you, yet still makes a conscious decision that they're bigger than you, so they should just do what they want - even if it means you'll be eating gravel for breakfast. What total fucking wankers.

So - when I ran over that pedestrian a few weeks ago, it felt thoroughly satisfying. Hell, he wasn't being an asshole, he fit right into that category of road users who make mistakes - which really is probably all of us. But the good news that when someone fitting into this category has a bit of a scare, they actually learn from it. The next time this dude wanders across a busy street with slow moving & stalled traffic, he'll listen for a *ding! ding! ding!* , and look for a very fast moving person atop two wheels about to fly past.

The happiest moment of my day after someone changes lanes into my bike without bothering to do a headcheck, is seeing the stunned and apologetic look on their faces afterwards - it's like they actually realised they did something silly. Most people do this, but you'd be amazed how many actually look at you on your bike, peddling away in the marked bike lane, and still just cut across into you, just like you can somehow levitate out of their way or something (while doing 40kph on a downhill run). It's almost worth the weight penalty to carry bricks in my backpack, ready for these assholes when they turn up - they fucking deserve it.

I used to ride a motorbike, and often dreamed of studding the outside of my boots with metal studs, just ready for them. My favorite motorbike moment of all time was riding down the Eastern to work, as I did every day of the week, and encountering the usual half asleep driver changing lanes right into me - magically expecting me to deal with the concrete barrier on my other side. This particular driver though, had gotten about 3/4 of the way into my lane, and still hadn't noticed me beeping and gradly gesticulating at her - until I rode up next to her, and gently rapped on her drivers side window with my kevlar glove. Man, did she freak out! When she finally stopped swerving, she retreated back to the far left hand lane, well away from anyone else who might be tempted to scare the living daylights out of her.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those lunatic cyclists/motorcyclists that you see screaming at cars as they pass them, flipping them off left right and centre, and cutting off their fellow road users (cars, motorbikes and cyclists) - they're fucking incosiderate road nazis, no better than the shitheads in 4WD's that they so enthusiastically throw their bikes at.

Which reminds me. Krus (a.k.a Germ-Boy) threw an excellent tantrum on a crowded platform at Flinders St Station last week, very much in the same vein of Mr "I'M ANGRY AND I RIDE A BIKE!" type people mentioned above. It was excellent. Some might even call it spectacular... here on a crowded platform on Grand Prix day, after we were forcibly thrown off another stupid Connex Service (we were simply trying to get to Melbourne Central) and being forced to change trains, 10 minutes later we found ourselves on a very crowded platform waiting for either one of two delayed trains. Krus attempted to do what any reasonable person would in such a situation, and sought a snack. He returned, triumphant with a potato cake, and a great story about how the person behind him asked for the same snack, but instead called it a "potato scone". We decided they were South Australian.

So, Krus was seemingly enjoying his deep fried bag of tasty, as I paced about impatiently randomly insulting Connex trains, until he asked me if I could see a bin nearby. When I responded there were none, that they hadn't replaced them yet (Read more about the theft of our bins here), Krus screws up his paper bag, and lobs it over the platform full of people onto the train tracks. We look at him (as does most of the platform), he's folded his arms, and looking angry... and then he erupts...

"WELL IF THEY WON'T GIVE US ANY FUCKING BINS, WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY EXPECT?!"

He pauses. More people are staring

"OHHH!" He says, addressing the crowd, arms flailing. "MY BAG WAS A PIPE BOMB! THAT'S RIGHT! A PIPE BOMB! THAT'S WHY I CAN'T USE THE BINS. FUCKING DEAL WITH IT! FUCKING CONNEX!"

People have now turned around and are moving away from us using slow and deliberate movements. Krus has managed to litter, cause a public scene, and create a minor bomb scare, all within a minute and a half.

But hey, at least people stayed out of our way when we finally got on the train. Clearly, the only way to deal with Melbournes public transport is to walk the fine line of being socially unacceptable, scaring people and avoiding arrest. And to always blame the bike nazi.

I'll get you next time, Krustopher!

My sincerest apologies for the lack of posts in the last few days. I blame germ boy. You should too. He made me sick and now all I do is sleep. Before, I used to rant and sleep. What a bastard.

You can address all complaints, abuse, and of course pipe-bombs to Germ Boy, care of the hovel at the back of my house.