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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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Time to meet the new boss.

So, a new manager started at the store – and it’s been seven whole days of new management now. So it’s high time I remove his ‘settling-in’ privileges, and start remorselessly mocking objectively writing about him here on LoS…

Unsurprisingly, like the other manager, & not unlike the rest of the fuel industry in Australia – he’s Indian, complete with the oversized business shirt, the thickest accent I’ve ever come across, and a mumbling high pitched voice. We have entire conversations that roll on and on, where he apparently complains about me moving the Pen from one side of the counter to the other – and while I try to explain why I moved the pen I’m fairly sure he is mumbling something about lettuce.

He talks like he is constantly biting the side of his tongue. I don’t understand his mouth words, he doesn’t understand English.

Also – Personal space.

Apparently this was written out of our contracts at B.P. under this new manager.

He is totally unaware of just HOW MUCH SPACE he is taking up at any moment in time – and is always walking into people… usually me. And that is when he is moving around the store. Normally he is just sprawled across the console area like a giant spider from Lord Of The Rings so that ABSOLUTELY ZERO PEOPLE can get to the till, customers, phones or cigarettes. And because he’s the manager – it clearly isn’t his job to do any of those things.

Oh, and finally – like my last boss, he has a certain aroma… it’s quite pungent. Seriously. I actually would like to take him outside and roll him around in the garden bed to in a totally non-sexual way just to make him smell a little less like that ‘I didn’t bath this month but still play contact sport every day’ smell. Because being in close confines with him – and having him smell like dynamic lifter and old cigarette butts from our garden would be preferable.

My first experience with the new manager was little scary… somewhat unexpected and definitely disturbing. I was serving customers at the counter & could hear my old & new managers standing behind me – both mumbling & not actually working – while invading my personal space. Also, there was quite a lot of ‘public nose picking’ going on in front of customers apparently – but I only found this out a few minutes later…

…how did I find this out? Well, I finished serving a customer, and turned around from the counter and collided with him. I didn’t want to collide with him – but he was standing RIGHT BEHIND ME.

He wasn’t close in a ‘Oh, sorry there isn’t space on this crowded train & I promise I’m not trying to touch your butt‘ type of way…  he was lurking behind me in the ‘Hi, I’m Gary, & I just got out of prison this week – can I smell your hair?‘ type of close.

The worst thing was, when I turned around & awkwardly bumped into him… almost man-bits touching man-bits – I accidentally bumped his ‘nose-picking’ arm…. the same ‘nose-picking’ arm that at that very moment – was 2 knuckles deep into his left nostril. By the time I finished my spin and accidental shoulder charge, that finger was even MORE firmly jammed in his nostril. To be honest, I’m surprised his wasn’t touching his own brain by the time that finished…

I’m a firm believer that there are certain levels of etiquette that one must have in the workplace. Lets just bypass the obvious ‘DON’T PICK YOUR FREAKING NOSE IN FRONT OF CUSTOMERS / ANY OTHER PEOPLE’. Because its obvious that the newbie does not adhere to that – or the, don’t stand awkwardly close to your staff members… or basically any other kind of etiquette. In fact, he told me off for not being careful. I think he has different rules, like the ‘Don’t move while I’m smelling your hair’ etiquette & the ‘Don’t bump my picking arm’. Because I was mid-pick, that’s just so darn rude. You don’t bump during a pick, you should excuse yourself, and allow them to dig for nuggets until they are satisfied…

So I hereby apologise for turning in a way that would make contact with your picking arm. But if you weren’t trying to touch my butt and smell my hair in that freaky molesting kind of way we wouldn’t have this problem.

And now, I leave for counselling.

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…oh please don’t stop!

I was late to work this morning.

I was 15 mins late because I somehow managed to fall back asleep standing up leaning against the bed. When I woke up again my legs had such bad pins and needles that I couldn’t stand or walk properly, and unfortunately kept tumbling around the floor in my underpants like a drunk gymnast. True story.

So this morning this older gentleman was paying for his fuel, and while I was running the transaction through, he started moaning…

“Ohh.. Ahh… *clears throat…. hmmmm…..”

I looked up, confused.

“Sorry – did you say something?” I thought he may have been having a pleasurable reaction to using Viagra up against the counter, or was enjoying me swipe that credit card through the machine “Oh yeah – swipe that – slower”

He apologised, and began to go into PAINFULLY EXCRUCIATING DETAIL about his stomach bug. He actually used the words “since breakfast it’s really rumbling and uncomfort.. ohh.. ahh… there it goes again”.

The whole transaction was filled with moaning and groaning.
It was like he was having a stomach orgasm. Eww.

Some things I do not need to know.
Others I will write about on the website.

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just add water…

My friends went away for the weekend, and let my good self use their couch and kitchen, their DVD & TV, and for goodness sake EVEN their bathroom! They are so generous. And I took full advantage of that.

As many of you are aware, I can be extremely a little annoying – just a little. But, as the old Native American saying goes, ‘when the cats away, the pigeons will play snooker’ or something like that… so snooker I did.

I found a pair of my mates underpants laying around – and it got me thinking. “What would he love to see when he gets back?”.

After a while, I went to the kitchen & got a milkshake cup, put the undies in it, filled it with water, and put it in the freezer.

Yes. You read right. I am so retarded, that I used my OWN HANDS to pick up his dirty undies and then put them into a kitchen DRINKING UTENSIL THAT IS USED FOR CONVEYING LIQUID INTO PEOPLE’S MOUTHS – for fun.

He doesn’t know this yet, but when he gets home tonight there will be something more than just frozen Ice-cream awaiting him in the freezer.

Does anyone else need their house looked after?. Go on a holiday & enjoy yourselves, just leave me a key to your house, and you too may experience the delights of frozen delicates.

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hey essay!

“If you can’t explain it simply, you don’t understand it well enough.” – Albert Einstein

Ironically University seems to be a system set up to do the exact opposite sometimes… to get good grades in essays, you need to talk a lot of crap & spend all your time making the simple sound more complex than they are, and will ever need to be.

During Essay time I tend to make simple things far more complex than necessary.
The following is a before and after snapshot of phrases from my most recent essays.
‘The world’ = ‘the international audience at large’

‘That stuff we remember about sports and sports stuff’ = ‘Australia’s rich and complex sporting mythology’

‘show the’ = ‘epitomize the character and idealistic notions of’
Also. It’s now 12am and I’ve just downed a Red Bull… I’m also well on my way to finishing a whole bag of jelly babies. All I’ve done on my essay since getting back from soccer is re-organise some sections, and scribble in the margins a bit. Oh, and procrastinate A LOT. This assignment needs to be handed in at 10 am this morning. That’s 9 hours and 56 minutes away.

…oh look! A paperclip!

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joy is…

A few weeks ago my cell leader asked me to define the word ‘JOY’ at a combined connect group meeting…

My response:
‘Happiness transcending circumstance’.

I feel heaps smartera n stuff now.

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some dream of Jeanie, I dream of kung fu children…

I’m not usually one to record my dreams. It’s a bit lame really. But last night I had about 8 dreams back to back. I only remember one of them though… and it’s a weird one.

So – It all started when i was leaving a friends house… I was driving up the road and these kids were skateboarding on the roundabout near a bridge. In my dream, I decided to be a bit of a pain in the butt and play a game of ‘tag’ on the roundabout… something I actually do a little bit in real life too. For those that DON’T know, ‘tag’ is all about speeding up as you drive into & through the roundabout, in an attempt to get close & ‘tag’ the car in-front, and then beep them for not giving way to their right hand side… ha!
*Edit – I’ve since learned that it isn’t actually a law to have to give way to the ‘right’ on a roundabout. Awks.

Well, not only did I play tag in this dream, I also decided to do a second loop around the roundabout, which meant that I nearly drove over one of those little punk skater kids twice. He probably had it coming.

So I did the loop, and went back down the street to my friends house. Needless to say, they got a little bit upset that some skinny white guy tried to drive their car over one of their friends – so I got a lot of death stares & finger gestures. But because I’m way gangster I was hanging out my window shouting ‘hey… come on man, im trying to drive here’ in a thick New York accent & got all up in their Grill about it.

This is where sh*t got crazy.

These little 14yo skater punks mustn’t have responded well to my taunting. In fact, quite the opposite, because somehow they got some big red Chevy V8 and drove down the street where they proceeded to try to run my friends and myself down. Needless to say, fourteen year old children cant drive that well, and they missed us all and drove off down the street. After a few laughs, me and my friends went inside.

Now we don’t know how they did it, because this was a DEAD END street, but they appeared in their big Pickup, in the backyard, but with big bags of ice… Yeah. Ice. They chased me & tried to cover me in ice. I mean, perfectly logical. If someone tries to run you down in a car while you’re skateboarding, it’s perfectly fair to make them a little bit cold by tipping ice on them.

For those of you that don’t know, I have the reflexes of a cat, and I pretty much barrel rolled my ass out of there… and did the most appropriate thing I could think of by grabbing one of them, pinning them to the ground and putting the little pieces of ice down his shirt…. No biggies there. I roughed up a 14yo skater by putting ice down his shirt.

Understandably, these little sk8r b0i’s got MORE angry, and yelled lots of abuse, like little tough kids do. But I was like “hey – all talk, no action”.

Wrong. They waited until I had turned my back and then punched me in the back of the head, only it didn’t hurt at all, partly because it was a dream, and partly because 14 year old kids aren’t that strong and cant aim punches and stuff. Then it was like time slowed down, because I went all Kung Fu on their asses, and fought them all at the same time. I was blocking the punches of two of the punk kids, one with my massive left arm, and one with my massive right arm, and in cool dreamlike fashion, SIMULTANEOUSLY blocking the other two kids with a leg each.

It wasn’t quite Neo in the matrix style, but was a little more like Jackie Chan in Rush hour. SO THEN one of my friends shouted ‘get that one down on the ground’ (not sure why… but being a dream I do what I’m told), so I somehow jumped in the air (while using my hands to simultaneously block punches from the other 2 kids) and used my legs to grab this kid, and then flip his skater boyness sideways… The whole time, I was blocking punches from the other kids and then slapping their faces, and they were getting really grumpy. As you would.

THEN i ordered some pizza for my friends… (evidence that men CAN multitask) and i went all teacher on the little kids, and made them sit down (under threat of further slapping) on these little kiddies chairs at the end of the balcony. They were forced to watch me paint this silly old painting… in fact, I wasn’t even really painting it, I was trying to make it better, but kept stuffing up this stupid tree with too much green paint. Stupid tree.

Eventually the pizza came, and i gave some to the kids, who by this stage were behaving quite well, well enough that the neighbours walking along the street made comments about how well they were being. They also said something about colouring-in books. I shook the skater kids hands hands and said they could go if they wanted to. And by this stage they ended up liking me and laughing. And then they went home to eat Pizza.

The End.

And I’m like… what the actual frick?

Which brings me to my next point. Don’t eat a high cheese content dinner & overheat in your sleep because you’ve put too many blankets on your bed. It messes with you.

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The Dove ‘Larger ladies’…

dove-models-real-beautyI’m at Uni at the moment… working lurking in the computer lab.

Well – to be clear it’s my teaching tutorial class. I mentioned to my tutor that I am teaching a film study introduction to my class using TV ads as my sources. She asked if I had seen the Dove ads, and suggested I use those in my lesson… I was like, “Dove ads”? Which “Dove” ads are you talking about?

She then proceeded to mention to the entire class the fact that the new Dove ads, with the ‘large’ ladies parading around in their white underwear and G-strings, were great ads, and that sales had jumped by over 20% in Britain.

I don’t think I feel brave enough to show a class of year 8 boys an ad with scantily clad chubby chicks posing AND ask them to analyse all the angles, shots and camera zooms!.


Anyways, she is patrolling the room, and im tired of clicking and hiding and pretending to do work. Time to go.

Oh, and Steve… you look WAY too interested in that syllabus document. Nerd.

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…the view through the smoke.

sexy smokingI could never smoke. Apart from being a chronic asthmatic who would probably cough up a lung and then die if I tried to impersonate a chimney, it seems that over the years I’ve just seen too many weirdos who smoke. The impressions they’ve left on me are imprinted on my soul…

First off, the wheezy Dunhill blue man. Let’s call him “Wheezy Mick”. He hobbles around with his walking cane. His fingers and teeth are yellow, and he cant walk more than 10 metres without wheezing and coughing. He can’t event talk anymore, and communicates by grunting and he couldn’t cough hard enough to worry a dandelion – let alone clear the crap from his lungs. Oh, and his circulation is so poor his skin is purple. Literally purple. How the feck his blood works around his body – I’m genuinely surprised he is still alive.

Secondly, the Winfield Blue Lady. Call her “Scrappy May”. She walks barefoot to work. I don’t think she washes her uniform regularly. When she passes the door of the store she is usually still eating Vegimite on toast. (I’m not knocking Vegimite at all by the way). She doesn’t know how to do her hair, or moisturize or wear makeup. I’m almost 100% certain she could bash my dad in a bar fight. Looking back, I’m also sure she’s a part time hooker and meth addict.

Thirdly, the Marlboro man. “Yellow Steve”. I think he is possibly related to the Dunhill blue man, just… younger… and well on his way with yellow fingers, teeth, and skin that looks like it’s holding its breath.

The Winfield green lady 1. “Menthol Mary”. Smokes in the car with her kids. Bogan.

The Winfield green “lady” 2. “Menthol Manny”. Uber-muscles. About 57. Still wearing miniskirts. Another serious lack of hygiene… she can’t brush her teeth, or her hair. Or if she can, it’s obvious that she’s the toothbrush and hairbrush the wrong way around.

Finally… the Horizon man. “Speedy Pete”. This guy I saw when I was around 11 years old, visiting my Grandmother in a mental home after her breakdown when my Grandfather died. This 55 year old man would continually walk around the mental compound garden wearing a push-bike helmet, and making motorbike noises with his mouth. Bike helmet. Motorbike racing noises. Always had a packet of Horizon cigarettes. He did give me and my younger sister lollies when we went back to his room though. Cool guy.

But no smoking for me.

Can’t remember why we went back to his room though….

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