Like Grumpy Cat, reports of my death are greatly exagerated.

"I hate you and everything you stand for"

Yes, well, bit of an hiatus there.

First of all, thanks to Melba and Catlick for their emails, asking if I was OK.

I'm fine, thanks.

Actually, I'm in my usual mode of "barely contained, teeth-gnashing" rage, largely due to my stupid habit of continuing to read political commentators in the media.

Why, I don't know.

It's not like any of the fuckers are ever going to say anything different, or well written or even vaguely interesting.

But the really depressing thing is that they constantly contradict themselves, without showing the slightest sense of shame.

Take, for example, the recent flap over the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS). For days, they shrieked that the Gillard Government should rush the NDIS legislation through the Commonwealth Parliament before the next election.

Despite the fact that for some months before hand, they had been shrieking at the Gillard Government to not rush the the new communications legislation through Commonwealth Parliament before the next election.

Or the fact that the discussion over the recent deferral of the carbon levy compensation has been led almost entirely by political commentators discussing whether is was good politics or not, rather than the economics correspondents discussing whether it was good policy or not.

I give up.

As Tom Lehrer once famously said "When they gave the Nobel Peace Prize to Henry Kissinger, I realised political satire was obsolete,".
Next; adorably cute kittens and why they suck.

Weekend Wrap - Last Edition

As I expected, Ramon Insertnamehere in real life was not anywhere near the cantankerous cunt-cunt he purports or desires to be. In fact, he was a caring and charming fellow... something I'm sure he doesn't want anyone to know. Melba was her usual vivacious and sexy self.

What I want to know is how come Melba left with about 67 lemons, and I left with five.

*

Sorry everyone. I got home Tuesday night after The Melbourne Cup and wasn't in the mood to type. I planned to write the post Wednesday morning but two things happened. One, that mosquito of existence, reality, invaded, and I was forced to confront work things. Two, when I finally got the chance to do the post I found myself reluctant. I'm over my weekend wraps. There's the small issue of Obtusa reading these entries, but the larger issue is that the therapeutic value which I thought I was gaining by writing the posts turns out to be nothing but a fallacy.

In a way, the five days (Fri-Tues) shoulda / coulda been my greatest ever post. There were Suicide Girl tantrums, there was a mad and drunken party in my house with sex and fights and even a creepy room invasion. There was a band gig that involved classic rock-pig adventures. There was a post-Death family Cup Day party to ponder and examine. There was the Very Important 'Third Date' with Obtusa that of course requires subsequent reflection and decision and offer... So much to consider, and so little motivation to publish it all, other than to entertain you all. Which I want to do, but not at the expense of my dignity, which finds itself, for the moment, a little frail.

I am in a way melancholic, and in a way free.

If I ever get a girlfriend I'll let you all know.

This weekend I plan to do my weeding, and like Melba's accurate assesment of the narrative structures of contemporary Australian novels, this weekend "As Perseus takes to his garden with a trowel and gloves to rid the yard of unwanted growths, he unwittingly reflects on his own life and the emotional weeding he must attend to..."

All that's left is Discharge's 'Love Gumby' doll, with totally un-authentic tie-colour selection. And a much better tan than I have.