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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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’tis the season to be jolly.

Christmas isn’t meant to be an un-merry time. It is meant to be a merry time, hence the song. Some old dude wouldn’t have written a song called ‘We wish you a merry Christmas”, if it was a time of grumbling. Besides, ‘we wish you an un-merry Christmas’ wouldn’t fit the music.

Last Sunday I went Christmas shopping… Sure, some people might think I’ve left it a little late, but I should remind you that I regularly leave my Christmas shopping till December 24th, so in my mind, I’m at least a week early.

I have never been more pushed, shoved and bustled around in a shopping complex in my life. Mostly by women who have an insanely terrifying inability to safely drive shopping trolleys. I shall refrain from making the obvious connection between shopping trolley’s and cars *cough*. Also – can I just say that women shoulder charging other people is NOT a good look.

My point is, that no-one looks happy at Christmas time in the shopping centre. Although, to be fair I probably looked pretty happy when I saw a Dad, obviously frustrated by his wife and kid, break down and have a temper tantrum in the middle of Westfield. It was pretty awesome to watch him storming off and leaving his wife whining about how she wasn’t able to slowly waste another 15 minutes of his life casually browsing another stupid shop with ZERO interest in actually purchasing anything.

When I shop, there is never any perusing and fluffing about. Its all military style… quick insertion, hit the target, fast extraction. That’s it. The End. I get in, get what I need, get out. But at Christmas, it seems most women doing the Christmas shopping turn into bloodsucking vampires, and hapless dads are destined to be dragged around by their toenails, forced to carry over-loaded shopping bags, and enter thousands of shops just to look, even though the female fully knows they will not buy a single thing. Just cruel. I think it’s deliberate.

Christmas doesn’t seem all that jolly. Or does it? Despite the shoulder-charging customer-shoving people-hitting trolley-smashing father-breaking she-vampires that emerge from their little wooden coffins around Christmas time, there is a good side to the shopping…

Spend a day down at the local centre, and you are destined to see all those friends that live literally 15 minutes away from you, but that you haven’t seen in over 9 months. Friends that used to mean so much, that shared in so many happy memories, but became memories themselves… Christmas shopping is a time to enjoy, wander around, and reconnect with your memories.

Christmas shopping isn’t about the presents, the money, the pushing or even the shoving. Its about a chance to see your old friends, get together, and celebrate the value of relationship. Because, at the end of the day, regardless of what you believe, Christmas is about God sending Jesus so man could have a relationship with him.

Christmas is all about relationship.

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…and the Bogan award goes to:

*Kid with a mullet walks into the store… approaches counter and stares behind me at the bay of cigarettes.

“How old do you have to be to buy cigarettes?”

“18”

“Are you sure – I thought it was 16?”

“Where did you grow up?…. Penrith??”

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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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