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Re-building the Life of Such.

So it’s been a while… years in fact since I’ve spent any time here. I used to write everything and anything here… since 2005 this was the weird, wonderful and inconsistently irreverent playground of my mind. And then this year, everything crashed – and was gone.

But I found a text file backup. So stick with me – as I slowly pull my posts back together – from 2005 – 2014.

Nine years of LOS madness.

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the profit margin…

(From SMH.COM.AU)

 

I was at work last week, but part way through giving a customer her change, I had a total brain freeze. I ended up staring at this little 8 year old Asian girl like a dear in the headlights of an oncoming truck. I was about to become a figurative hood ornament. When I snapped back to the conscious world, I couldn’t remember how much change to give her… I looked at her and caught her smiling at me.

Not only had she already worked out how much change I owed her, but she had already worked out the cost price and profit margin of the bread… including GST.

Kids are getting WAY smarter.

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festivus for the rest of us!

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There has been a move over recent years designed to erode the traditional values of Christmas so as not to offend those that don’t partake in this Christian holiday that overlays an old pagan ritual, people like Jews, Muslims, angry old men & Grinch’s.

I don’t believe a cultural tradition should be changed because a minority is offended. I don’t believe that traditions should be changed, renamed or scrapped by an unhappy few.

Take Santa for instance. Every year without fail he has delivered me presents, left at the end of my bed. He is always jolly, and has red cheeks, a fat stomach, and bright red nose… all of which can be explained by an excess of alcohol.

But its time for this fat present delivering alcoholic to move on. This year, I’m voting against Santa, and for Chris Christmas Rodriguez

Stolen from stirman.net.
Check his site, tre cool.

EDIT: For those wallys… click the link that is in blue. Monkeys. Really.

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beetle juice…

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I don’t think it would be a whole lot of fun being a Christmas beetle.

You hatch from an egg, wander around for a day, fly into a shop and then immediately crawl underneath the pie warmer & die. If you’re one of the lucky ones, you’re dying up against the glass behind the newspaper stand – looking out at the world.

If Karma hates you – you’re ending up as chunky smudge on a windscreen, or a dismembered white splotch of mangled leg and wing on a driveway.

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Round 3…

“Look…. You just can’t go away, You can’t leave over Christmas”

“Well I am.”

“You are?”

“But I’ve checked with the area manager, and we can’t have one policy for you, and one policy for everyone else – you have to work”

“But I checked with the previous manager – and he said it was fine!”

“No”

“And……..?”

“”You’re not allowed to go away””

I jump up, and rip my work uniform off revealing my black ninja outfit complete with ninja stars and katana sword and proceed to cut up his computer and desk and even his printer that ALWAYS JAMS. Just for good measure I make sure I leave a ninja star wedged in the middle of next years calendar before back-flipping out of the office, and riding off into the sunset with the slurpee machine…

“Well, the point is… I AM GOING AWAY and wont be here for Christmas or New Years… Thats how it is.”

I think he is getting the point.

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a little spew…

It all started when I saw my little four year old sister running around in frantic circles in the living room – a desperate look in her eyes – with her tiny little hands over her mouth and her cheeks puffed out like a chubby kid who’s just been caught eating the neighbours birthday cake.

And then it happened.

She stopped, looked at me, looked at the floor, looked back at me – and then slowly tilted her head down towards her feet – and promptly put a little spew on the floor.

That wasn’t all. In a panic, she started to run around the house, trying to work out what to do. She ran through the dining room, and put a little spew on the floor. She ran into the lounge-room – and put a little spew on the floor. She ran into the hallway, leaving a trail of little spews around the house.

Since then, my three littlest sisters have all caught the vomiting bug. By day two, my mum and dad decided to share in the vomit-festivities. It’s become so bad that my dad took pillows into the bathroom, and LITERALLY SLEPT ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR next to the toilet for speedy access to the vomit zone.

I don’t want to sound selfish or anything – but this bug is totally affecting my quality of life. I can’t eat ANYTHING from the house, due to the high risk of being poisoned and die from something I catch something in the food. I walk around the house with my t-shirt covering my mouth and nose so I don’t catch their SARS-Vomiting bug.

And you know the worst thing? I’ve had to have my rain CD up really REALLY loud and on repeat all night, just so I don’t get woken up in the middle of the night by some member of the family violently emptying their stomach into the bowl in the bathroom 1 floor above me.

Sheesh…

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Pensioner Fury.

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Pensioners are often viewed as meek and mild, caring knitters, affable bingo players, and raging Pokie-machine addicts at the R.S.L. or bowling club… I’d like to add a few more words to that list.

ANGRY. MENACE. DANGEROUS. VIOLENT.

Today in Woolworth’s I witnessed an old man charging along with a shopping trolley. I mean, this old man was moving at serious speed. His knobbly little knee’s had obviously been greased in goanna-oil, and his creaky little bow-legs had obviously been charged with a few tablets of Viagra, because they were pumping up and down like a hormonally charged 15 year old boy in their bedroom with a Pamela Anderson poster… which, you know is like – totally fine.

The problem was, like the teenage boy in the bedroom, he had some ‘control issues’ at high speed… his metal trolley was starting to slide out of control. He had a lock-up, and had to drag his woolen slippered feet for about a metre and a half to stop the kart from smashing into a teenage girl who was kneeling down to get something from a shelf. The metal bars of the trolley came within inches of pressing her skull into a stand of oranges. Dangerous.

Then on my way out of Woolworth’s I got punched by and old lady looking at flowers. I literally walked around a corner – and there she was, waiting for me. She just spun around and smacked me straight in the arm. For those that say life slows down in the pensioner years has it wrong. These freaks break out, and speed up. Problem is, their brown slippers and motor skills just cant keep up.

So here’s the thing – and I’m looking at you Woolworth’s…. what are you going to do to keep me safe from the rising Grey tide?

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round two…

As you know my manager has decided to refuse to give me holidays… well it may have escalated a little today.

It ended up being a series of rolling battles at work… He started by listing all the stupid little things that I haven’t managed to do at work because I was busy serving customers while he was sitting out the back picking his nose… important things like moving lolly-bags, or washing a mirror, initialing a form here, recording a number-plate there.

He was picking at me to get under my skin the same way he picked at his nose to remove that speck of nose cheese.

THEN he went off at me and made the comment “I’m used to talking to mature adults, and not having to repeat myself”. I almost grabbed the stapler and attached the word ‘LOSER’ to his over-sized glasses.

After this the feud went OFF. I’ll spare you the details… but in case your interested, a few notes for my manager.

1) How dare you call me immature and complain about having to repeat yourself. I had to repeat myself EIGHT TIMES so you could understand the phrase ‘THE MILK ISN’T SCANNING’ and ‘THAT IS A BARCODE’. Learn to speak English Apu. Seriously, you should be used to having to repeat yourself because literally ZERO of our customers can understand you.

2) Despite your demands to manage my social life with your position – I will not consult with you before I ‘Decide to do something outside of work’. It sounds childish… But you’re not the boss of me!

If you look at your 2 week history at work, You will realize that YOU are borderline incompetent – and I’ve had to train you in every aspect of your job. Because you don’t know your job.

3) Don’t stare at me after saying I cant take time off and wont be reimbursed for cancelling and expect me to give you a hug.

4) Yes… I WILL be taking holidays ‘regardless of the consequences’. Although you don’t know it yet. Because you are waiting for me to change my mind… I, on the other hand are waiting till 2 weeks out from my holiday, when I will quit, leaving you severely understaffed over Christmas and new years.

I have worked every single public holiday in the year without complaint for years, and I want one week off… seriously.

Bring on Round three. Bring it.

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