The Citizenship Debacle

This post has been reprinted from my blog Pathetic Politicians of Australia.

In recent times we have seen a number of elected politicians being forced to resign due to having dual citizenship, in many cases unknowingly.

I'm not sure where or how this absolutely stupid witch hunt started, but a smug Shorten, who is resisting members of his own party being investigated, smells pretty bad.

Australia is one of the most successful multicultural countries in the world. This multiculturalism is one of things that makes this country such a wonderful place to live. And it is not a new thing. Our country has been home to people from different countries, races and cultures for over two hundred years.

Since Federation, you can safely bet that many of our elected officials, from Local Government through to the Prime Minister, by accident of birth, have been dual citizens. Has this been detrimental to Australia? Not one bit!
If that is the case, why are we having this seemingly well orchestrated witch hunt now? Who is going to benefit from it? Certainly not Australia.

To our current crop of seriously pathetic politicians, I say, " Do the job you were elected to do and nothing else!"

If they proceed with the witch hunt, then at some point, they are going to have check the background of all previously elected politicians and, just possibly, nullify every piece of legislation, submitted by a  dual citizen, that was ever passed into law. Sadly, some of the morons we elected will probably want to follow that path.

Scary, isn't it?

Turning 70

I haven't posted anything on here for a while. This is due to achieving the milestone (or should that be the pending tombstone?) of making it to seventy years old.

The effect on me has been far greater than I ever imagined. Prior to my birthday, I really looked forward to achieving something that three prior generations in my family had never attained.

I woke up on the morning of my 70th to the usual aches and pains, hobbled off to the toilet, as usual, grumbled as I fed my dogs, as usual, grumbled and abused my noisy pet galah as I fed it, as usual and mumbled under my breath as I woke up my wife to get up and get ready for work, as usual. Nothing had changed! Except that I now felt OLD!

I looked into the mirror, prior to shaving and noticed that the few lines on my face now looked old. I'm sure that it took at least five minutes longer to brush my teeth to the same whiteness as the day before. No matter how much I scrubbed myself in the shower, I was sure that I smelled old. All the shampoo, mouthwash, soap and aftershave couldn't disguise the smell of old! Even my regular efforts in the toilet smelled older!

It sounds terrible, doesn't it?

All very negative and old. Until my birthday party! A few of my favourite people attended, plus a few others, all bearing gifts and good wishes. One of the bottles of wine the one of the "others" brought must have cost at least $3. I actually heard the bacteria scream, as I tipped it down the sink. I should have saved half and tipped it down the toilet. They say that it's the thought that counts, not the gift. I'm still not sure what they thought about my waste water system.

All in all, it was a wonderful party and made me appreciate the special people in my life.

What's more, I'm enjoying every day and stretching the boundaries of how much bad behaviour is tolerated by society towards the elderly!

The "Just Looking" Jubblies

"What the hell is a Jubbly?", you ask. I have no idea. It's just a descriptive noun that I created to describe the people who wander aimlessly around shops looking at nothing in particular. The only words that come out of their mouths are a mumbled "Just looking".

I think those words are a well thought out and rehearsed defence mechanism, used by Jubblies, to ward off sales people who may intend to sell them something, rip them off, intentionally make them look stupid or inferior or, just possibly, genuinely want to help them.

It's just possible that these defenceless Jubblies spend hours in front of the mirror, perfecting the blank, gormless look and practising intensely for hours to create the the perfectly toneless "Just looking".

I can imagine the Jubbly couples getting home after wandering up and down the aisles of numerous retail outlets wearing their expressionless faces, cheeks almost cramping due to the muscle control needed to maintain that look, hands firmly thrust in their pockets, having spent nothing. There would be a lot of mutual cheek rubbing to relax the cramped cheek muscles, vigourous hand rubbing to unclench their long pocketed fists and wild grimacing to restore some facial expression.

All that would be followed by wild rejoicing in the fact that they had, once again, outwitted all those dimwitted salespeople who were after their money. They would probably celebrate with a weak cup of tea made with a thrice used teabag, as they hadn't allowed someone to sell them a new packet of tea bags.

All hail the victorious Jubblies!

Why I Should Be The Next James Bond

Rumours abound about who will play James Bond after Daniel Craig exits the role. Some morons are even touting a woman to play the part. Are you shitting me? Who would ever quake in fear of a woman called James? Nigel, yes. James, no.

Sean Connery, the original Bond is around the same vintage as me. A few years older maybe. The differences are that I still have all my own hair and teeth and I'm also sans wrinkles. The wrinkles thing is best explained by asking the question "Have you ever seen wrinkles on a balloon?". This brings me to my next point. Chronologically, Bond would now be in his late 70s. With a judicial application of makeup, I could look that wasted.

Connery also had copious quantities of body hair which was considered sexy in those days. In addition to my full head of hair, I still have copious quantities of body hair. Front and back. Long flowing locks of it. Enough to be styled in a succession of silken, silver plaits down my back. Bond girls, now in their late 60s, if you believe their publicists, would swoon over it. Think of the Rapunzel stunts I could do with that hair! Amazing!

As for acting ability, I have none. However, neither did Connery in the early Bond movies. But his ability evolved, as would mine. Also, in my favour, I have a strong tolerance for Martinis, shaken, not stirred of both the gin and vodka varieties. As for the physical and sexual stuff, I could use stunt doubles. Especially with the sex scenes involving 60+ saggy, wrinkly actresses.

As you can undoubtedly see, I would make a perfect new Bond, possibly with a slight name change. Bruce, Bruce Oldfart.

70th Birthday In Review

I've just turned 70 and I suddenly feel old! Very old! "Why?", you ask. "It was only a day or so ago. Nothing has changed!"
Wrong! Everything has changed! Getting out of bed in the morning is more difficult. Getting dressed requires more effort. I'm sleeping less, eating smaller meals and becoming irritable over small issues.

Oh, by the way, none of that has anything to do with turning 70. It's all about the world's worst bloody hangover, after my birthday party. It was the best party in my, ever fading, memory. I laughed so hard, my bottom lip split. That's another reason that I'm irritable. It hurts.

The table before the onslaught.

My wife invited 10 people to help me celebrate. Mostly her relatives and friends, A couple of them I'd never seen before. It didn't matter. They came bearing gifts. Mostly wine. Sadly, one of them must have spent $1.95 on a bottle of unidentifiable red wine. I vividly remember taking one sip, spitting it out and pouring the rest down the sink, where it managed to unblock a drain.

Among the guests I knew were my lovely ex wife, who came bearing an amazing bottle of very good single malt Scotch whiskey, which is why I referred to her as "lovely". Other known guests included my sister in law and her husband with nice gifts and my nephew in law (Is there such a thing?) and his wife with very drinkable wine.

The kitchen antics cracked me up. At one time there were four Vietnamese women working and arguing together while concocting several mouth watering dishes. It's sad the dishes tasted better than the food placed on them! Just joking! Great food. While all that was happening, my ex wife was conducting a master class in advanced sushi making. Absolutely amazing! My kitchen isn't that big and all that booty bumping made me feel young enough to want to boogie in the middle of it all!

After the onslaught.

During this time, my Italian brother in law, my Japanese ex wife, my Vietnamese nephew in law and I were conducting a multi national running commentary on the proceedings as it were. The result was great fun, great company, great food and an even greater hang over the next day.

Which is why I feel old! Very old!

An Old Fart Living The Dream

In less than two weeks, I'll be 70 years old. Many people, including relatives, friends, co workers and customers, have said that now is the time to slow down, relax or just chill out. Are they bloody crazy?

To those people, I say, "You clowns don't know what the hell you're talking about. I'm living the dream!". We oldies all have different ideas of what "the dream" is. For some it's taking a sea cruise, becoming a grey nomad, sleeping, eating and drinking your life away, gardening or even sky diving. It is a very personal thing and whatever dream we choose is OK. It's our dream. We neither want nor need your opinions. Rant ended.

The dream that I'm living is really simple.

I work part time in a retail environment which keeps me physically active, more or less mentally alert and provides constant interaction with work mates and customers, all of whom I constantly take the piss out of. Is it a perfect environment? Does it pay a great salary? Is it mentally challenging? Does it provided scope for advancement (At my age? Are you crazy?), The answer to all those questions is a resounding NO! Would I change anything? No way, it amuses the hell out of me!

I'm happily married and even my ex wife is one of my closest friends. I spend my free time repairing broken things, building stuff for my wife's garden, playing my drums, reading, writing this inane blog and sharing my opinions with all and sundry.

Having written all this, I reserve the right to change the dream I choose to live, without notice.

Amazons In The Aisles

This is one of my favourite posts from a previous blog of mine.

I was going to call this post "Feral Female Terrorists In Our Shopping Centres" but I didn't because, if I had, I would have red flagged all the security services and agencies, nationally and internationally, who monitor the internet looking for any references to terror and those who inflict it. To those  people I say "Well done and keep it up. We rely on you".  I guess that red flagged everything anyway. Sorry guys.

I was, in fact, referring to the aggressive pushers of prams and shopping trolleys who absolutely know that it is their God given right to own whichever aisle they're pushing said pram or trolley at any given time. These Amazons are easily recognised by their resolute glare and stony faces as they unwaveringly aim their trolleys up and down the aisles while spending the family budget on necessities such as biscuits, soft drinks, chips and anything carrying a "Special" price tag, regardless of whether they really need it or not. Woe betide any luckless male that dares stand between them and a bargain. In fact, it is so dangerous that I think supermarkets and department stores should be compelled to carry liability insurance to cover injuries caused by unyielding Amazons.

I also need to warn people not to comment directly to the Amazons about their lack of manners. A quiet "rude bitch" will result in a screaming tirade that will not only be heard by every other shopper in a kilometre radius, it could also cause pacemakers to malfunction, heart attacks in the elderly, possible broken glass damage and a fast response from the store security, who will automatically take the Amazon's side and evict you from the store. This because the store security will not risk their own safety for yours. Smart people!

The answer to this potentially dangerous situation is to smile and give way to the Amazon. Apologise when she rams you with her trolley and remark on how cute her child is. Warning! Don't do the last one if you are dressed as a priest! Good luck.

Pathetic Political Correctness

OK, I admit it.
I hereby confess to being totally against the stupidity known as Political Correctness.

That does't mean that I'm homophobic ( just ask my gay friends), nor am I a misogynist. After all, I did marry a woman, who I'm devoted to. Come to think of it, I'm not racist either, as my Vietnamese wife will attest.

However, I do despise the tip toeing we are expected to do in our day to day communication, lest we offend someone who is of a different gender, a different race or has a different sexual bent (pun intended).

It is a fact that, in some way or another, we are all different from each other, so let's call it for what it is. There are men and women in most fields of employment. Policemen and policewomen, foremen and forewomen, waiters and waitresses, stewards and stewardesses (sometimes it's difficult to identify which is which here). Whoa! Was that homophobic?. Anyway, you get the idea.

Acknowledging a person's gender does NOT denigrate them. It just tells it like it is. Just a thought. The German language has the gender based der, die, das to identify all objects. Have they done away with der and die? Is everything or everyone just a das now? Who cares?

Recently, in a group of MEN and WOMEN, I told a couple of gay jokes. This horrified several of the group, in spite of the fact that the jokes were bloody funny. In my defence, the jokes were told to me by several of my gay friends who didn't care one iota that I retold them. When I related this incident to them (my gay friends), they fell about laughing.

I also told a very bad joke about a dwarf to a group men and women that I work with. I was told my one idiot that the term dwarf was derogatory. The bloody joke wouldn't have been remotely funny if I had referred to the dwarf as being a vertically challenged person.

All I'm saying, people is it's time to lighten up! Relax and stop tip toeing your way though conversations. If you offend someone, tough luck. Maybe they need to lighten up, too.

The Current State Of Play Between The USA And Europe?

As I see it.

The Parasites In Parliament

In my opinion, parliamentarians in general are parasites. They survive by eating from their publicly funded trough. Their sole purpose is to retain their overpaid jobs.To this end, they have no scruples or interest in the people they are supposed to serve. And Australian politicians are amongst the worst  in the world.

For example, they have spent a ridiculous amount of time debating the recognition of our indigenous people in the Australian Constitution. For years this huge problem has divided the parties and wasted a vast amount of time and money for no result. This is despite the overwhelming support of the Australian people for the change to occur. Not only that; the Australian aboriginals were the first Australians, predating European settlement by MORE THAN 40,000 YEARS! So, how dare our mongrel, parasitic politicians procrastinate, waste time and money and play their point scoring games over such a simple and important problem. As a tax payer and voter I say to all you political bloody parasites, "Get your grubby, fat fingers out of your collective fat arses and do your job, just for a change."

Also, if you really want to represent the majority of voters, legalise same sex marriage. Forget referendums and useless debates. JUST DO IT!

Having written this, I'm not holding my breath in expectation of these parasites doing anything remotely useful.

An Old Flame Rekindled

Usually, I write a lot of tongue in cheek nonsense. However, this post  pertains to an event currently happening.

Prior to my current marriage to my lovely wife, who I adore, I was married to another woman for almost twenty years. In fact, we have a quarter of a century of history. Five years ago, we divorced quite amicably. There were a number of reasons for this.The main one being that we lived and worked together in our various businesses. We were with each other 24/7 with no time apart to rest and relax away from each other. . This continued for our entire marriage.

Over time, this situation caused the deterioration of our relationship. Even though we loved each other, we often couldn't stand not having our own space, leading to a lot of fault finding with each other, resulting in our divorce.

Five years on, I'm very happily remarried and my ex wife has a permanent partner, whom she is happy with.

Recently, we came in contact with one another, due to my ex wife's desire to see the dogs that we had as pets, when we were together. I had no problem with this so she visited my home. Coincidently, and it was a coincidence, my wife was overseas, attending her daughter's wedding at that time.

When my ex arrived, it was as if we had never been apart. What was intended to be a short visit turned into four hours of happy, natural conversation, catching up on what had happened in our lives over the last five years. Was their sexual tension? Yes, there was. Did anything happen? No it didn't and nor will it. We both love our current partners and will never do anything to hurt them.

So, what is the outcome of all of this? I have rediscovered my ex wife. We both still love each other, but not as lovers. We will keep in contact and have I am happy to have her as a trusted friend and confidant forever. Fortunately, she feels the same way.

Ain't life grand?

The Pros And Cons Of Being Ancient (part 2)

In my last post, I touched briefly on the cons of being ancient. I'm writing this between urgent dashes to the toilet, due eating some chicken for dinner, last night, that was probably older than me. If I appear to be rambling, you now know the reason why. I guess that's just too much information. Damn it! If I have to suffer, so do you! Pain shared is pain halved, or some such rubbish.

The Pros (of being ancient)

Surprisingly, there are some good points about being old. A fading memory isn't one of them. If I concentrate a bit, I might be able to remember a few.

As I may have previously mentioned. I work part time in retail. This means that I deal with a large number of people, each week. Most of them are nice but there are always some idiots and arseholes. This is where it gets good. I can get away with saying the most ridiculous things to the cretins who just put it down to my senility. If I said those things as a young man, I'd probably get fired. I do enjoy that part of my job immensely.

I don't have to get out of people's way in the shopping centres. I just wear my grumpy old fart face and keep walking in a straight line. People actively avoid me. Walking through a crowd is like Moses parting the Red Sea. I'm thinking of not showering or shaving for a few days. I think I could clear the shopping centre.

I don't have to help with the housework. I just tell my wife that I'm having a "bad back day". If I play the bad back thing really well, I can often get a back massage, my favourite food cooked for me and even a glass of whiskey delivered to my hand, as I agonise in front of the TV. I'm really careful not to overdo that one as I could be dumped in a nursing home.

I don't have to buy new clothes. I'm expected to look untidy as disheveled. I don't mind looking like that, as long as my clothes are clean. I'm particularly fond of  twenty year old T shirts that have air conditioning holes under the arm pits, if you know what I mean.

As an ancient old fart, I can often play the fading memory card. You have no idea how convenient that can be in the workplace, in the home or even if I'm wandering around the back yard, naked. Don't try to picture that last one, it might put you off your meds.

There are many other good points about getting old. I'm just having trouble remembering them, but you get the idea

The Pros And Cons Of Being Ancient

Being a wise old fart, I see the glass as being both half full and half empty. Half empty tends to annoy me, along with screaming, unruly children, harping women, smelly old people, rude people in general, political correctness, governments, "know it all" young shits, cheap red wine and any whiskey other than single malt, just to name a few. So, while on the negatives, let's start with the cons of being old. At least that way, I'll end up on a positive note, assuming I don't kark it mid sentence.

The Cons:
They all start upon waking up in the morning. Invariably, I will have slept in an awkward, unnatural position, reminiscent of Quasimodo, which results in several degrees of agony, as I attempt to roll out of bed without falling on my face. As I hobble to the toilet on arthritic feet that I haven't seen for several decades, I ponder if I'll be able to accurately pee into the toilet, and not miss. This often poses a problem, as I haven't seen that part of my anatomy for several decades, either. Although my wife tells me it still exists.
Other difficulties include maintaining my balance while getting dressed, not spilling breakfast on my clean shirt, trying to remember whether I've already taken my tablets and failing to check my zipper before leaving the house.

Driving to work is always interesting. Younger drivers seem to think that older drivers should automatically get out of their way, regardless of the road rules. I'm really not a doddering old fool on the road. I like to think that I'm just being careful. When other drivers sound their horns at me and scream abuse. I smile and wave at them, Although, sometimes they don't seem to realise that the reason my middle finger sticks up is due to arthritis.

I work, part time, in a retail environment. That, in itself, is not a big deal, unless I stumble and accidentally push a snotty little kid out of a trolley. I swear that whenever that happens, it IS purely accidental. The major problem is, because I'm old, the customers think I'm supposed to know where everything is located, its price and whether it is a good product or not. Don't these stupid people realise that I have trouble remembering where the hell I am, let alone the answers to their useless, inane bloody questions?

When I get home in the evening, the problems continue. My wife asks how my day was. How the hell am I supposed to remember? She then asks me what I'd like for dinner. Surely, by now, she'd realise it all tastes like soggy cardboard, so why ask the question? Finally, going to bed is pretty much the same as getting up, just in reverse, but it lacks the excitement of waking up, knowing I made through the night.

Oh, I realise that that you think that I forgot the pros of being old. I didn't forget. I just can't be bothered typing any more. Maybe next post.

On Death And Ageing.. A Serious Post

In a few months, I'll turn 70. I never thought, or even hoped I'd make it this far, given the events in my life. Recently, I've been reflecting on this. I've noticed that most of my heroes have passed on. Great sportsmen and women, a few politicians, wonderful actors and, most of all dear and valued friends.

At work, I often bore my colleagues with, what I believe to be, funny and wonderful stories about times spent with my, very eclectic, group of friends and acquaintances. I enjoy telling these stories but, upon reflection, I realise these wonderful people are no longer here. I am richer for their being but much poorer for their loss.

Sometimes, it seems like I'm the last man standing. This is a seriously lousy feeling and, at times, I feel like I don't want to carry on.

Fortunately I still have a wonderful shining light in my life. Her name is Kim. She is my wife. Her beauty, honesty and love keep me going, give me the will to create new things and appreciate the good things surrounding me.

So, to my departed heroes, friends and acquaintances I say "Vale" and look forward to new adventures and new friends,

The almighty "Mystery Bag"

In Australia, many retailers choose to support worthwhile charities by providing facilities for those charities, clubs and associations in the form of a "Sausage Sizzle" in an effort to raise funds. This facility is not charged for.  Ten points awarded and hats off to those retailers for a great community service. Also, ten points to those who who use that facility to raise funds.

The product served is a "sausage", served on a slice of cheap, white bread, topped with some kind of sauce and/or onions.

This gourmet delight is known by a number of names, such as "sausage on bread" (how original), " sausage sandwich", "sausage sanga" and others. I prefer the name "Mystery Bag".
"Why Mystery Bag?" you may well ask.

Have you ever been to a supermarket and checked the ingredients on a a pack of sausages? There are generally some poor off cuts of meat and offal, cereal and a shitload of chemicals to stop it rotting. Charities will generally buy the cheapest sausages possible, in order to raise maximum funds, hence a plethora of chemicals.

That's why I call it a "Mystery Bag". You have no idea what the hell you are eating!

Having said all that, I wish you bon appetit with your next Mystery Bag.

Aussie Women March Against Trump

Harpies Bazaar in Melbourne

WTF!

Australian women around the country rallied and marched against President Trump's Inauguration. Why?
He's not our president. We didn't elect him. And, for all we know, he is no better or worse than any previous President, re his alleged locker room statements on women. We do know, however, that he has been vilified by the American press and, so called, celebrities.

As for the "locker room" comments, how many of the protesting women have never said rotten things about their husbands, boyfriends, bosses or other men to their circle of friends or acquaintances? Whether they meant it or not, they've ALL said something evil at sometime or another. If that is the case, surely the protesters are, at best, hypocrites or, at worst, evil, mean spirited busy bodies interfering in something that is none of their business.

A personal note to all those protesters. It seems to me that since you have no bras left to burn, you've turned into judgemental harpies. Let it go! Perhaps your outrage and indignation toward politicians should be turned towards our own inept mob.