Marrying Yourself?

It was reported by News.com, today, that a 42 year old American woman changed her name to Beautiful Existence, travelled to Paris and legally married herself.
Yep, it really happened. This made me think what it would be like to be married to myself.

Here's the good and bad of it. First of all, it appears that a weird name change would be in order. Something hippyish from the 60s and 70s. A few choices would be Fragrant Armpit, Silky Backhair, Unshaven Sweetcheeks and of course my favourite, Saggy Nads. However to do that would be a pain in the bum (how about Rosey Hemhorroid?), due to having to change all my personal details, bank accounts, licenses etc.

Life would be kind of boring because I'd always agree with myself and domestic violence would mean self flagellation. I really can't see myself caning my own butt because I agreed with myself too much.

I'm also not too sure about the sleeping arrangements. I can't imagine curling up at night with an overweight, hairy, unshaven me, complete with whiskey breath and flatulence. With that in mind, I've just made a mental note to buy some flowers for my lovely, long suffering wife for putting up with me.

Then there are all the things that I would get to share with myself. Little things such as all the cleaning, cooking, clothes washing, food shopping and taking the garbage out. Hang on. I already do most of that, anyway!

So, all in all, the whole exercise seems like a waste of time and energy. I'll just stay blissfully married to the missus.

Strange Happenings Over Easter

As you are no doubt aware, strange things happen around my home, particularly over the holiday season. Maybe that's not quite true. Maybe it happens all the time and I just notice it more, because I'm at home.

Fortunately, I had my not so trusty camera at the ready, just to prove my claims which, without photographic evidence, would appear absurd.

At this time of the year, insects grow to enormous size and are quite bold and somewhat dangerous.This particularly applies to bees and cockroaches. A bee recently picked up my Labrador and flew away with her. You think I'm joking? Look below for photographic proof.

See, I told you so! I think the bee could also be trying to mate with her. 

Would the offspring be called Labeeradores? Or possibly Labees?

Happily, she returned a few hours later, unharmed, and liberally coated in honey. Looking to take advantage of the situation, I scraped all the honey off the dog, heated it gently (the honey, that was), strained it through an old sock and bottled it. I now have enough honey to last a year. The downside is that it does have a faint smell of flea repellent and sweat

Easter is the time we can all enjoy Hot Cross Buns. Actually, we can enjoy them from mid January, because that's when the supermarkets start stocking them. Being a traditionalist, I wait until Easter. But I digress. This morning, I had just taken some buns out of the oven, when there was a knock at the front door. As I opened it, I was rudely shoved aside by the largest cockroach I have ever seen. 

This huge insect ambled over to the kitchen table, hissed aggressively at me and proceeded to eat the Hot Cross Buns. Not content with the buns, the bloody thing ate the knife, the butter and the daffodils, before swaggering back outside and flying off.

For some strange reason, it didn't drink the coffee. 

Probably because it was instant coffee, not percolated.

As I said, strange things happen in my home at this time of year. Happy Easter and don't answer knocks at the door!

A Very Quick Post On Terrorists

I usually deliberately write posts that are either ridiculous or slightly amusing. However, this post is as serious as I can get. This is my take on terrorists. These filthy, gutless, stinking pigs are a blight on our world. They randomly and senselessly murder innocent men, women and children for no reason other than to cause fear. For this alone, they deserve to be exterminated, like the vermin they are.

First of all, the media need to stop sensationalising the activities of the terrorists. Instead of 30 minutes of graphic reporting of each terrorist attack, they should just announce the event in a restrained manner. Making it a sensation might attract viewer ratings and sell more advertising, but it is just playing into the terrorist's hands, by spreading fear.

Secondly, when governments around the world uncover the identities of terrorists, either real or seriously suspect, they should arrest them, remove the citizenship or revoke the visas of the terrorists extended families and deport them back to their original countries. It is reasonable to believe that some family members are aware of their relatives' terrorist intentions and are therefore guilty by association by not alerting the authorities. The knowledge that they will be deported may even push them to call the relevant authorities.

Finally, we need to pressure our political leaders into taking stronger, more immediate action.
That's all I will ever have to say on this topic.

The Birth Of McAlithumpia

I quite often get asked which religion I belong to. I find this a very rude question, as it is my personal  belief, and no-one else's business but mine. Usually, I tell the enquirer to piss off or mind their own business, or I will just say, "I'm a Calathumpian". This lead me to thinking that creating a new philosophy for life, called Calathumpia, would be a good idea. Sadly, a little bit of investigation revealed that the name Calathumpia was not remotely original and could refer to a new philosophy (good), a noisome band, a criminal gang, a theatre or a premises. I was gutted! My dreams were shot down!

As a resilient and shy kind of guy, I pondered for a long time (about 10 minutes) and decided that, as the founder of this new life philosophy, its name should reflect mine. I'm proud to announce the birth of McAlithumpia, pronounced Makalithumpia. This reflects my Scottish ancestry and the Mc prefix of my surname. Fortunately, I don't have a problem with modesty or self promotion, therefore the name is totally apt. As the illustrious founder of McAlithumpia, I can be referred to "Your McEminence".

My McEminence

I suppose the answers to some, soon to be, frequently asked questions should now be addressed,

FAQs
Q. Who should I worship?
A. Who gives a damn? McAlithumpia is a philosophy of living, not a bloody religion!

Q. What rules do you have for those of us who want to follow McAlithumpia?
A. None. Make your own rules, If you end up in prison or get killed, it's all on you. Don't try to lay any blame on me or McAlithumpia.

Q. How often do I have to pray to you and in which direction should I face?
A. If you are silly enough to want to pray, pray FOR me, not TO me. As for the direction, try into the mirror. You can get to see a real idiot.

Q. What exactly is McAlithumpia's philosophy?
A. At last! A good question. Very simply there are only a few rules to follow.
     1. Don't hurt yourself or others.
     2. Be true to yourself and not controlled by others.
     3, Any other rules that I may think of on a day to day basis.

Q. How much do I have to pay, if I want to be a McAlithumpian?
A. Absolutely nothing! However, if you feel philanthropic, you may donate as much as you wish to enable me to lead a lifestyle that will allow me to expand on McAlithumpia and write full time about its wonders.

As you can see, McAlithumpia will be a boon to mankind. Feel free to write to me for personal advice, which I will post on this blog.

Just an afterthought, McAlithumpia is covered by copyright.

A Semi-Apocalype Maybe

In my last post, I predicted an Apocalypse, during my up coming camping trip. It didn't quite work out that way. Several things changed prior to the trip and during it.

Some of the good things that happened were that my wife's nephew couldn't make it and my Blue Heeler dog didn't fart in the tent. In addition to that, the scenery at Johanna Beach was spectacular and the drop toilet didn't harbour any redback spiders and were surprisingly clean. Although, I must admit that the provided toilet paper ran out on the second day. This was not from any over use by my wife or I. Fortunately, due to a very brief spell as a Boy Scout, I was prepared and had taken our own supply of toilet paper. I'm sure that you needed to know that.

The 2 metre surf at Johanna Beach was consistent for 3 days

The drive down to the beach was around 200 kilometers and took about two and a half hours. We only had one minor problem on the way. On a heavily forested country road, I took a bend and ran over a large, hard, black plastic object laying in the middle of the road, which promptly got jammed up under my car. The car was loaded with about a tonne of camping gear, food, water and dogs, which needed to all be removed to let me access my jack, to allow me to lift the car to remove the black plastic thingy. Several phone calls to to RACV for road side assistance were fruitless. Just as I was about to unload the car, a good samaritan drove past, saw I was in trouble and stopped to help. Fortunate, he had a jack in the back of his truck and we were on our way again a few minutes later. He was really nice guy and and I was very grateful for his help. 

We finally arrived at our camp site and started to erect the tent. The tent was brand new, very large and had no manual showing how to put the bloody thing up. After about an hour of swearing, struggling and sweating (it was about 30C) we finally worked out how to do it.

We finally got the bloody tent sorted out!

By the time we finished with the tent, put up the gazebo and unloaded the car, we were tired, irritated and sunburned. 

Our finished camp site.

To celebrate the completion of the herculean task, Kim and I took the dogs for a walk to check out the beach,

Me, the dogs and the beach.

And for a pleasant change, Kim and the same dogs. Same beach, too.

That night, we inflated our brand new queen sized air bed. We were really tired and looked forward to a comfortable night's sleep; only to discover that the bloody bed had a nasty habit of deflating over night, requiring us to get up and reinflate it every three hours! At this point, I would like to say that the tent, wtihout instructions, and the leaky airbed were purchased from Ray's Outdoors. Enough said. My bad.

The mongrel leaky air bed

Day two was basically a cool, relaxing, recovery day, spent walking reading eating and drinking a bottle or two of shiraz. The only downer was that our bloody great Labrador managed to drag her walking chain across my right shin, effectively removing a large portion of skin.

 Me, book and dogs.

Now, let's get to night two. The overnight forecast was for a comfortable 17C. IT WENT DOWN TO AROUND 5C!! We absolutely froze all night and we had no warm clothes nor blankets. Thank God for shared body warmth. I guess you really didn't need to know that, either. Added to the cold was our ever deflating bed.

So, it was not surprising that, on the third day, we decided that enough was enough. We had to wait several hours for the heavy dew on the tent to dry. As soon as it did, we packed up and left.

We decided to take the long way home along The Great Ocean Road. Everyone should drive that road at least once in their lives. Amazing scenery at every turn, and there were lots and lots and lots and lots of turns. As I said, everyone should drive it at least once. Or better still, take a bus.

All in all, it wasn't  Armageddon. It came close on a few occasions, but generally it was quite enjoyable. I realise that I've focused on the crappy bits and I make no apologies for that, as I find gushing, warm, fuzzy travelogues nauseating.

To my horror, Kim is already planning our next camping trip, sans deflating airbed. Wish me luck!