The Semi-Qualified Proctologist

While we were waiting...

2012-09-14T17:40:00.001+10:00

Indulge me whilst I share a project from my online writing group..

While the participant were enthusiastically enrolling, I threw in an ice breaker (as I do) and suggested a quick challenge. I'll post a picture, and please write a paragraph or two to explain, or hint at the back story. It has been well received and the responses are quite sensational.

But in keeping with good writing protocols I shall only share my response. If others wish to add theirs in the comments, I welcome it as there are some talented folks out there

From me...

Thank you all for attending at short notice...I shall read from a prepared statement.

“I would like to confirm that I was involved in a late night incident approximately three weeks ago in the London Olympic village, and would like to clear up some of the scandalous rumor and innuendo that has been circulating on social media since.

Some have questioned why I was in London in the first place given that I had no interest at all in the royal family up until now. I will admit the prospect of a chance meeting with Pippa Middleton’s butt may have been a contributing factor, but can I state for the record that I was there to “visit the Queen”.

My attempts to access the palace were initially successful, but the unfamiliar surroundings meant that instead of frightening a little mouse under a chair i was accidentally locked in a closet in one of the Royal corridors. I may have been stuck in there for longer, but was saved by the fact that it belonged to Prince Edward, and he wanted to get back in there. I was ejected from the palace by a burly Guardsman named Precious, but I digress, this was not the incident I am here to explain..

Later that evening I found myself at the Olympic village precinct, accepting an offer from Usain Bolt to Party. Prior to this I had never drank Powerade.
Yes, I will admit that I was under the influence of electrolytes and red food colouring, and yes I should have stayed with the Swedish Handball team, but instead I found myself in the company of the Siamese Judo squad. I was coerced into drinking jello tequila shots with another outsider within the group, whose flowing mane of black hair and elfen like features hypnotized me. Her sleek long body and the signature white stripe that ran from her neck to the tip of her tail...and it was only when I held her close in an alcoholic embrace that I realized she was not who I thought she was. This was the second worst mistake of the evening.

I have now come to realize that screaming out “SKUNK” is not the smartest thing to do in a room full of strangers. Compounding this was the fact that my tequila speech defect made it sound like “Skank”. These two elements led to half of the room deciding to make a frenzied rush for the nearest exit, which was just behind me, and the other half of the room taking personal offence at my name calling. Last thing I remember was high pitched screeching, breaking glass and the unsettling sound of ping pong balls falling to the ground...then darkness.

Doctors say that I will make a reasonable recover, regain 90 % vision in my left eye, and full lateral movement in my neck. They still wonder how I lost my right front leg, as do I, but avoid asking why I have difficulty sitting..and when I do, why can I smell coriander and peanuts.

I have nothing more to add at this point in time, except to say that I look forward to Rio 2016 Paralympic games...

Thank you
Bronson ‘Tripod’ Rangaman”

Now...back to your own beds and I'll tell yer fer why

DB

The Frank No Pants GPS

2012-03-28T21:29:00.000+10:00

The GPS is a strange device, considering many of us don't like being told where to go. Apparently the recorded voice which gives the directions can sometimes have a bit of a meltdown and start saying things that make you uncomfortable.
"Well, Clarice - have the lambs stopped screaming?."
Or just paranoid...like they are HAL the computer from 2001 A Space Odyssey.
"I'm sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that..."

Recently I had the pleasure of participating in a number of writing exercises with a group from the USA. Unfortunately I was accompanied by the Esteemed Frank No Pants, and was obliged to include him in the above mentioned exercises.

One of the exercises has relevance to the topic of GPS and what can happen when you are guided by the misguided. For your reading pleasure.

Warning: May contain adolescent humour

The Quest

Frank’s voice reeked of “I told you so’s”

“This is important so please stop your whining, have a spoon full of concrete and toughen up. You got us into this mess and I’m going to have to get you out of it!”

I hated every word that came out of his self-righteous mouth at the moment, even more than usual.

“Frank, I’m still on the Riverside Expressway heading west. The GPS seems to have been reprogrammed to make flatulence noises followed by giggling every time I try to press a button..”

“Well that’s a problem then isn’t it”

“Yes, it is a problem!!”

“I thought I had it reprogrammed to only do that when you took a wrong turn”. Frank paused to consider the implications of this, dismissed them as irrelevant and continued with the task at hand. “Once again, as with most things in life, I will guide you.”

Although I had the phone on loud speaker, the urge to pick it up and yell at the pompous twit on the other end was simmering.

“Please concentrate then, and no messing me around. I’m under a lot of stress at the moment. Which exit do I need to take and how long do we have?”

Frank No Pants adjusted his headset and opened the screen for Brizgoogle Hanidmaps.

“Ok, coming up on your left is the exit for Margaret Street. This is a one way street leading to Eagle street pier.”

“So I’m heading for Eagle street?”

“No, you’re heading for Elizabeth street, which is the second exit on your left”

“Why did you tell me about the Margaret Street exit if I’m not taking it?!!”

Frank seemed miffed. “I just thought you’d be interested to know where Eagle street Pier was. There’s a nice fish place there called C Food & Eedit. We should go there sometime...”

“Do I take the Elizabeth Street exit?”

“Yes, weren’t you listening earlier?”

“Ok, turning off now”. The white van handled like a dream in the busy city streets, but unfortunately I was in the Red Festiva and it groaned everytime it was asked to react to my actions, like it was some kind of four wheeled sullen teenager.

“Frank, where am I heading?.....Frank?....FRANK!!”

“Steady on, Fangio. I was just checking some information”

“Frank, get off Facebook and help me here. How much time do we have left?”

“You have twelve minutes and thirty seconds, and ….yes!”

“What? Something I need to know??”

“I just scored sixty three points with SPURN on Words with Friends”

“Frank!!”

“Now now, remember Groundhog Day ‘Don’t drive angry’...You are heading to the Myer Centre so you’ll need to turn left at the next set of lights...but proceed with caution as the road conditions change slightly”

“Ok, I have a green light...Frank? Is this a pedestrian Mall? Why are you asking me to drive into a pedestrian mall??”

“It’s a short cut. Proceed with caution”

It was at times like this I wished I had repaired the air conditioning in this car. It was midday on a hot Tuesday in February, and here I was...trying to be inconspicuous in a red hatchback driving through a crowded pedestrian mall. The sweat was pouring off me, and the band of the black baseball cap had long ago admitted that it had one of the crappiest jobs going and had refused to soak one more drop up in protest. Winding the window down wasn’t an option either, not with the mall full of lunchtime office workers who seemed to be taking offense at my attempts to nudge them out of the way. Time was ticking.

“How long now, Frank? And where am I heading to?”

“Ten minutes and thirty seconds...oh did I mention that you are heading to a loading dock on your left?”

“A loading dock! What is a loading dock?!”

An area for delivery vans and trucks, It should be a driveway.”

“Like the one I passed twenty seconds ago? And by the way....I don’t have a van or a truck!!”

“Well back it up then, that a good lad. I’m sure you will blend in.”

“Like I am now, reversing through a crowd in a pedestrian mall....”

Frank rehearsed the next instruction in his head. “Best to treat it like sticking plaster”, he thought, “and just rip into it.”

“Do you have the satchel?”

“What satchel?”

“The large red bag on the back seat”

I checked over my shoulder. Yes, of course there would be a red satchel I knew nothing about on the back seat.

“Why is there a red satchel on the back seat??? And WHY am I just finding out about it now!!?”

“Nine minutes...you can be such a whiney little sproglet sometimes. Always with the questions...Why is there a red satchel on the back seat? Why do I have to drive to the city?? Why cant I walk barefoot in the bathroom?? Just trust me..”

“Last time I trusted you I ended up handing out fake How To Vote cards for the Pheasant Plucker’s Party. I still can’t get that jingle out of my head.”

Frank whooped with laughter, “That’s was classical gas. I’m not a Pheasant Plucker, I’m a Pheasant Plucker’s son, and I’ll keep on plucking Pheasants ‘till the Pheasant plucking’s done”

“Oi Frank! Seriously...where am I heading to now? I’m at the bottom of the driveway!”

“Ooh you said bottom! Hahahahah!!!!”

“Frank!”

“Seven minutes! Alrighty then. Serious from now on. You need to park somewhere on the left hand side of the basement area, grab the satchel and find the service lifts marked 14 & 15.”

On the far wall there was an open landing and a pair of elevators, and just as Frank had described they were marked “14 & 15”. As I waited for the lift to arrive I scoured my mind for a reason for this day unfolding as it has, and the time frame.

Random phone call..not so strange coming from Frank at any hour of the day...going to a vacant lot, finding the car that belonged to Frank’s spiritual advisor (I didn’t even know he had a car) ...the keys hidden behind the mudflaps. “Just stick your hand in the flaps and grope around a bit....” and he had amused himself with that one. Then following vague instructions like “just drive to the city for a bit”..

The ping of the lift arriving snapped me out of the dazed state I was beginning to enjoy, and satchel in one hand, phone in the other, I stepped forward.

“What floor, Frank?”

“Go to the fourth floor and exit to the left”

Specific helpful instructions....about time.

“Four minutes” Frank chimed. I’m glad someone was relaxed.”

The doors of the lift opened and I stepped to the left, which incidentally was the only direction you could go without walking into a wall. I followed the service corridor with what seemed to be a blue marble tiled floor glazed with glitter. This opened out into a vast food hall and cinema complex with an atrium style glass mosaic roof. And it was crowded.

“Three minutes, thirty seconds!” Frank chanted, “come on, I promised you could do this within the time frame”

“Well, where too now?” I waited for a vague and condescending response.

“This is the technical part or the task. head to the left and follow the railing around to amusement arcade. There you will find a door with the numbers 432 on it. Knock three times on the door and a Chinese man will answer. You need to say to him ‘the lamb is cool, chillin in the fridge’. Got that?”

“Yeah, I got that...seriously? Whatever..”

“Three minutes!”

And of course I followed the instructions to the letter, knocked on the door and a sleepy Chinese man in a dirty apron answered, looking blankly at me.

“The lamb is cool, chillin in the fridge.”

He slammed the door shut.

“Frank, what the hell was that about?”

“No time to explain...two minutes. Head towards the cinemas on the far side of the atrium. Start walking and I’ll explain...Do you still have the satchel?”

“Yes, I still have the stinking satchel. I’m heading over but there are slow moving over weight geeks everywhere in sweaty T-shirts..”

“That’s right, Star Wars 3 D is playing. Be careful, don’t stand still and look like a Cheeseburger. It’s after midday and they probably haven’t had breakfast yet.”

I finally made it through the throng of “Biggest Loser” contenders (in more than one context) to the ticket box area.

“Ok, what now?”

“To your left there are two elegant gentlemen seated at a small coffee table. One is laughing hysterically at you, and the other has a laptop and a mobile phone.....”

…........................................................................................................................................................

“OMG Frank, he really is a gullible Numnuts....”

“Yes Coco, I told you he would do it.

A Right Royal Monarchy

2011-10-31T00:20:00.001+10:00

Dear Numnuts

The question of the day came from avid reader Jenny, who asks;

"Why do the monarchists think it is okay to modernize the laws of succession for the royal family. Yet when it comes to being a republic they say "if it isn't broken don't fix it" Laws of succession aren't broken, they are as old fashioned as the royal family. Why are we fixing them?"

So much anger!!! I didn't understand very much of that so I needed to break it down to basics and do research...

In light of the Queen's visit to Australia this week, the topic of The Royal Family has been suggested to me as a subject to be investigated. Brilliant, I thought! I dearly need to know more about these people, why they are who they are, and what that means to the average Australian in this day and age.

When I entered that question into the WikiQuickie web search engine, the response was

"So, You are asking why the Royal Family is a Freak Show?"

I wasn't really expecting that answer. When I typed "information about the Queen", I found lengthy entries relating to Freddie Mercury, his band, George Street in Kings Cross, and an address at 28 Breadsticks St, Porpoise Spit. Clearly there are sections of the internet world with their minds on other things regarding this subject. But this is not helping me! I need to get back to the basics. Why do we have a Royal Family?

Is it because we need more scandalous public figures to laugh at? No, seems to be no shortage of those...

Do we watch their exploits and the odd "Annus Horribillis", relieved that that isn't happening to us? Maybe

Are they needed to sell magazines? Yes, and no...there seems to be plenty of fodder out there for the tabloid publications but there is a need for their specific target market. Without the Royals and associated sideshows, many Probus Club members would have to go home from their meetings with a copy of Mother Trucker's Monthly, which will feature a story about someone's "Anus HillBillius" instead.

The most popular response seems to be this - we have a royal family because we are too apathetic to do anything about it. They are like that tree root that has grown up into the lawn, just there to be hit by the mower, but you can't be bothered digging it all up and re-turf the place again. And like a good Fig Tree, there are probably more indiscriminate roots in unexpected places once you start to dig around.

So the Queen and Prince Philly Cheese stay with us, visiting occasionally, seeing people in Hospitals, visiting Schools, and going for long slow walks through flower festivals. Really they are just like a couple of old pensioners who travel the country spending the kids inheritance, and drop in every so often to say "Hi".

Do they act as other pensioners in their '80's do? Make meatloaf out of dog food, (what's good for beast is good for Man, Auntie Mavis used to say), spend long hours on the throne (similar!), and be supported by the Government of the day with subsidized travel!!

Surely it's not that simple!

These people are revered, chased around by lunatics with long lenses, and paparazzi...There had to be more to this..

Eventually I had to give in and ask my esteemed colleague, Frank No Pants - a Royal watcher from way back - to shed some light on a Dark Ages subject.

Frank No Pants

Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away from reality, lived a remarkably unremarkable Royal Family. Notable for their inbreeding, and their penchant for all things English including funny pompous hats, small ridiculous dogs that look like kit bags with teeth, and gin, this royal family was idolised by throngs of equally imbred subjects that enjoyed nothing better than a Public Holiday where they could eat cholesterol laden meals, prepared with love at the local chip shop, by a man, who looks like a woman, trying to look like a man, and failing in both departments. These dishes would be skillfully and traditionally prepared, ensuring that minimal cigarette ash fell into the newspaper as the lard soaked produce was lovingly packaged.

Dressed in the ceremonial Union Jack print garments, they would hop the bus back from the High Street to their council flat where they would share the feast with like minded friends and family in front of the Television.

The more affluent would enjoy a weak pot of tea between them which tasted like cat urine, as only the most affluent could convince a cat to live there, let alone pee in a teapot shaped like Prince Charles's head

(Note - the Prince Charles Teapot, with the large ears that act as handles is favoured by the general royalist over the Prince Harry Novelty Teapot, which features a giant arse in which you insert the handle, and the tea pours out an unremarkable spout on the opposite side. This is reported to be a replica of the handle Prince Charles made and used at Timbertop, although Derrilyn Argeparcel from Anitques Roadshow disputes that stating "that the handle, like Prince Harry, does not resemble anything produced by Prince Charles...")

The British love their Royal Family, and just like the Americans they insist that it they love it, then the rest of the world must love it. The Queen needs her guard changed regularly, and this is done by a number of large men water buffalo lodge hats who don't smile. The theory is that like the Queen Mother, as she gets older and the Gin takes over, she will need a number of large of men to change other things regularly, and that's certainly nothing to smile about...

The Queen's husband is a prince, and her son is a prince, and her daughter is a princess. It seems that you have to distance yourself quite a bit from them before you can be a Lady.

Lords and ladies are together, Dukes and Duchesses are also together, and the occasional Duchess has a Footman...or someone who sucks on their toes. A Duchess is not necessarily Dutch, even though a few have reportedly been quite good authorities on dykes.

The Queen has subjects, all of whom live in the United Kingdom, even though there isn't a King. Protocol decrees it cannot be called a Queendom as this may give the wrong impression, and there is officially only room for one Queen. It seems this rule of names applies in certain circumstances elsewhere as well. For example, an Apple is from an Apple tree, a pear is from a pear tree, and a Earl is from a country......sorry my phone was ringing....Estate.

The Queen also speaks on behalf of her husband as he tends to upset everyone when he talks, and she also speaks on behalf of the subjects. This is necessary as most who live in council flats eating soggy chips can't be understood when they open their mouths and have a tendency to only say "Ee by goom..chooky chooky".

And the Queen loves Horses.....that pretty much sums them up!

So there we have it, the Royal Family explained...

I know what you are about to say - What a lot of rubbish...

Pensioners haven't been feeding their Grandchildren meatloaf made out of Dog Food all these years! I don't wish to upset those on you that have grown up believing meatloaf was good unless being served as pre-match entertainment at a major sports event, but the truth is undeniable. Pensioners are in their prime when they have a wet runny nose, and are wearing a shiny coat.

Frank No Pants also tells me that as a consultant for the Clustrefuch Institute, he has seen a study that 8 out of 10 Geriatricians advised that Elderly pensioners would be eaten by their pet Guinea Pigs if they didn't feed this type of meatloaf to their grandchildren at least once a month. He noted that it took a while to find 8 doctors who would say that, but they got there eventually.

I'm sure there was a question to be answered at some stage....Oh well

And so, I tell yer fer why

The Working Class Man - whoa whoa whoo

2011-09-19T12:22:00.000+10:00

Dear Numnuts,

Temptation is a double edged sword.

This profound statement came home to roost last week, like the proverbial over-sized turkey raised by chickens to think it was pigeon ("It's ok dear, you're just a bit different than the other pigeons, and that's why you are special to us....and your mother was a crack whore").

The whole identity confusion amongst farm birds is not uncommon as turkeys were often convinced that they were pigeons in order to reduce the stress of the upcoming Thanksgiving/Christmas period. Studies on the effectiveness of this approach were funded briefly at the Clustrefuche Institute for Non-Human Behavior, but was withdrawn when the administrators realized that the long term psychological impact on the turkeys could not be measured as none of the participants made it past the Thanksgiving/Christmas period. In order to retain their funding they continued their work on Parking inspectors.

But back to the tumultuous events of last week.

For the past few weeks I had found an increasing level of comfort in being unemployed, and the temptation was to continue in this state of limbo indefinitely. The continuing cycle of inactivity and procrastination was no longer a vicious circle, but more like one of the more memorable rides at Pissweak World. Certainly not at the level of the Captain Underpants' Escape Hatch, but definitely above Wheelie Bins of Fire Dodgem Derby.

The concerns I had about being a burden on society and non-contributor to the community had been tempered slightly after watching a local current affairs story about the neighboring suburb of Angler's Crutch. Highlighted was the alarming figure of 65% unemployment amongst Males between the ages of 25 and 45. This was counter-balanced with the statistics showing that this same 65% were very satisfied with their daily lives and had lower levels of stress than the rest of the community. As a footnote to this, another study on health and dietary habits in Angler's Crutch said that 65% of males between the ages of 25 and 45 regularly have beer for breakfast.

So it was in this cloud of blissful ignorance that I ventured out to the local shopping center several evenings ago, armed with a very brief, yet oddly disturbing shopping list for my colleague Frank No Pants. He had asked me to get a large jar of Fish Oil capsules, a 48 pack of toilet paper, and the latest edition of Furry Feckers, a "Lifestyle" magazine. It is only now that I write this that I an realizing there was a reason he sent me.

With the items in hand, and a loaf of bread as an impulse buy, I proceeded to the checkout only to be told that I had no money in my spending's card account. This was the second most embarrassing thing to happen that night. The first was the price check announcement by the lovely "Emalli" which boomed across the whole store 'Price check for Furry Feckers monthly with bonus sealed section'.

The "no money" aspect of being unemployed suddenly made it a far less comfortable state of being, and strangely had slipped both of our minds. The reality was that we need to get back into the workforce......and fast. And the 'We' part of the statement alluded to another conversation that Frank No Pants and I had to have which can be summed up with his closing argument "but if I'm not here all day who's going to harvest my crops, feed my zoo creations, keep my gnomes busy and find all of those hidden objects and gather the clues to solve the mysterys..." and mine "Not working is the Third of the two options on offer...".

And there were jobs available, we had just chosen not to take them. Numerous excuses were always offered. Mine included "I don't have transport so I won't be able to get out of bed" and" I cannot operate heavy machinery this week because of the medication I intend buying in the park this evening". Frank had the less credible comments such as "Feck me, I'm not cleaning that up!" and "I don't wear beige on Fridays".

So, a call was made, and two positions were offered despite Frank's insistence that he would like to demonstrate at least 4 positions. We were to start at the local aged care facility as cleaners, a position we primarily secured by saying we were handymen....as in handy because we lived three doors down. I had no experience in this field, as being a management figure I was only responsible for creating mess and clutter, not cleaning it up.

Frank No Pants, on the other hand, claimed to have had extensive experience dealing with bodily fluids, soiled areas and door handles. I refused the temptation to ask more questions, although I believe it may have something to do with his education at a boarding school. I was in his hands (gloved), and we picked up our daily check lists and worked through the morning.

At the time of writing we were still employed in these positions and as each day progressed I believe I can proudly say I have learned some new skills. An avid reader had posed a question recently, asking how do you actually clean the iconic Australian Dunny, (or toilet for those of you overseas) and that was partly the reason for this blog entry.

"Dear DB, Now that you are officially (It's on Centrelink) unemployed, I reckon you might have a few spare moments to contemplate the bigger questions of life. It's a dilemma that's troubled me for some time, and I feel only you may have the answer. So, here's my question. How do you professionally clean a dunny? It's no longer that hole in the ground dinkum-dunny or that tin-can balanced precariously between two planks. No, it's a wizz-bang-flushable new thingy. Oh, and it's not to be confused with a bidet. Any suggestions? Zak."

And my response;

"Dear Zac, You nearly threw me with the bidet because I don't know what that it. Frank tells me it's a European Teeth brushing sink so I'm off with my toothbrush to try it out. This obviously needs more investigation...and may also be the subject of a childrens book. I'll get back to you during the week.. PS just tried the bidet....leaves a nutty taste in your mouth DB"

So with this information, and the fact that Frank No Pants was in charge of training me to clean the above mentioned Dunny, I will document the standard operating procedure that I have to follow, as written below;

Water Closet Cleaning and Sanitizing

Author - Frank No Pants 2011

Assemble the equipment required

Mop
Bucket
Scrubbing brush (referred to as a scrubber)
Long straws
Plastic water bottle
Hospital Grade disinfectant
Bubble Bath
Toilet Closed for cleaning signage (see below)

Toilet closed for cleaning

Personal Protective Equipment (PPE)

Safety First

Once all equipment is assembled, apporoach the toilet area with caution. Remember, no innapropriate behaviour in a strangers toilet area.

Check for spiders

Before beginning the cleaning process, fill the water bottle with a sample of the water in the toilet bowl. This is to be tightly sealed and placed in the Supervisors mini fridge with the other water bottles for quality testing.

Add an unmeasured amount of the hospital grade disinfectant to the toilet bowl. To check the correct amount has been added, take a long straw and sip a small amount out of the bowl. If you feel a shortness of breath and cough twice, the quantity is correct.

Using the mop, agitate the water in the bowl until the entire toilet has been rinsed. Mop the surrounding area because someone had just been in and splashed water all over the floor. This mop and bucket should be retained to mop the staff kitchenette.

Scrub the seat of the toilet with the scrubber. Once finished present an offering to the patron saint of public toilets, George Michaels, by going outside the toilet block and chanting "I've made that Scrubber on the Toilet Seat my bitch"

Finally pour a generous amount of bubble bath into the top of the water cistern. This helps with the sanitizing of the toilet and makes the user feel better about what they have just had to deposit

Repeat this process for each toilet

Frank assures me this is the latest approach to toilet hygiene and is an industry standard.

And so my friend, I think with this new skillset my future employment is secure. In fact, to make sure I'm going to make time to let the supervisor know that it's me, not Frank, that has been putting the water bottles in his fridge. I want the credit for doing such a consciencious job because I don't think anyone else is doing it.

Good help is hard to find, isn't it.

And so, I tell yer fer why

DB

Job Seeking 101

2011-09-02T17:15:00.000+10:00

Dear Numnuts,

Life moves on...sometimes when you least expect that it is ready to move. When these things happen we react accordingly.

I recently had that "unexpected movement feeling", not the sort that you normally get after eating a dodgy kebab at 2.00am in the morning. It was the "didn't see that coming, so grab your chattels and get outta Dodge" type. This kind of situation can arise out of nowhere but in my case it was a combination of timing, the declining US dollar, and a certain individual with no pants.

The Probation Period scenario may have some people living like a goldfish in a blender waiting for the "on' button to be pressed, but not usually me. In fact I was only vaguely aware it existed.

The US dollar on the other hand was world news, even out where we were at Camp Spider Monkey (named not because there was a colony of Spider Monkeys living there, but because the Chef in Charge's head looked like a Spider Monkey...no matter which end of the Spider Monkey was facing you at the time). So, with the green-back worth just over two flat rocks and a stick there was a need to balance out the downturn in business by injecting more cash into the coffers. This, of course, comes from deciding to not pay wages by removing employees from the payroll.

The third component was a little more unusual, although for me not unexpected. My illustrious colleague, Frank No Pants, had decided that Camp Spider Monkey...with it's pristine location and serenity...would be the perfect location to start pagan worshiping rituals. For Frank No Pants that required the following ingredients;

a large stainless steel bucket
a listing of the sunset times
a large slotted spoon
a goat
a short white apron
two rolls of duct tape
a hamster

Prior to organizing the last item I thought it was mostly harmless as he had always wanted to join a Masonic lodge. But the inclusion of the Hamster, which he immediately named Amy Winehouse (even though it was male) made me confront him for an explanation. His initial response was that he lived in a free and democratic society, and even though he had only ever written 'shite' on the ballot paper this still entitled him to a voters freedoms, and that he shouldn't be discriminated against on religious or sexual preference grounds. When I asked what sexual had to do with any of this he quickly tried to change the subject ("look .. there's a naked backpacker behind you") and piss bolted through the camp, clutching the bucket which contained the spoon, the duct tape, and Amy Winehouse. As he was my responsibility, being manager of Guest Activities - Other, I had to chase him.

We may not have attracted as much attention if he hadn't been screaming "Whoop Whoop Camel-toe" as he ran straight through the Over 35's Come As You Are Yoga session...twice. Finally I caught him in the sand dunes with a diving spear tackle, and with the on-looking crowd looking both disgusted and intrigued, I restrained him in what would be referred to in wrestling terms as "the Referee's Position".

As unfair as it seems now that it has all been explained, the combination of that position, the sand dunes, and that he wasn't called Frank No Pants for nothing, may have been the deciding factor in the management's decision to terminate my contract within the Probationary period with the explanation that we were "not the right fit" for this resort. And Frank No Pants, smirking and giggling as he asked the GM if he would try him in another position to see if that fit better, didn't help.

So, several months older and hopefully better for the experience, it was time to move on and see what else was going on in the world. The best way to do this was to move back to the familiar surrounds of Porpoise Spit where Frank No Pants has a friend who apparently requires someone to house sit. I am thinking this is not true as the occupants of the house are known to me, and under no circumstances would they approve of Frank being inside their house in a time of desperation, let alone while they are on a 4 week cruise to Fiji. Also we would have been left a key to get into the house, not a garden spade which apparently "had been specifically designed for opening the kitchen window". Well, there is some food and a plentiful supply of alcohol in the fridge of the next door neighbour...again I need to question that at some stage.

Unlike Frank No Pants, it has been a very long time since I have referred to myself as Unemployed. This is unfamiliar territory to me so I have had to make some enquiries to how the hell this works. As with most activities requiring research, I enlisted Frank No Pants to investigate this

Being unemployed presents many challenges to most people, but to the experienced campaigner such as myself it is a process that needs to be followed. It is not so much how am I going to get another job, rather it is opportunity to explore how many people you can draw into the experience of not being successful at getting any sort of job. The initial response from well meaning friends and family is to suggest approaching local businesses, look at training opportunities for re-skilling and updating your resume. What I suggest is to start with a visit to Centerlink and see if you can frustrate the clerk to the point of needing a ten minute smoke break despite the fact that they don't smoke.

Start by filling out only half of the first page of the enrolment form, and when they enquire why you had stopped advise them that you had forgotten that you were illiterate, so you had to stop. They cannot discriminate against illiterate people so they will have to fill the rest of the form in for you. Preparation is the key, the next two pages need to have had the juices of the # 33 combination seafood noodle with extra fish paste leaked all over them...4 days before. Be sure not to remove any chunky pieces as that adds to the artistic finish. Once the Clerk has gagged his way through filling those pages out he comes to the final page, which you have taken the time to cover every sentence with correction tape because you heard that the last page might need to left blank. He has now spent a great deal of time filling out the manual form you have bought in, and is so frustrated that he starts filling out another form despite deep down in his subconscious knowing that it should all be done online. Then, in a display of incredible efficiency, you application process has suddenly been finished and you are instructed to go to the nearest employment agency...and any further questions can be answered online THERE IS NO NEED TO COME BACK INTO THIS BUILDING!! subtle notes on you file will state that payments should proceed without question because it is a small price to pay to avoid having to deal with this client.

The next stop is one of the many Government accredited Employment Agencies. The link between the politicians (Government) and the Unemployed is defined by their common interest in lying. One does it most of the day on the couch, the other most of the day in Parliament. My personal favorite is Mission Employment, and the way to introduce yourself to them is to walk into the offices and ask in a very loud voice "Is this Missionary Employment?" Again, an unfortunate, and definitely not-paid-enough-to-deal-with-your-crap clerk will politely ask if she can help you with a "welcome to Mission Employment". Follow this up again in the loud voice with "Do you have any positions?" By now everyone in the building has your full and undivided attention. The very helpful and slightly naive clerk (they always send then to greet the 'special' customers) may then follow up with something like "yes, would you like to see some?". Finish the session off in full Monty Python mode with (loudly) "yes please, can we start with the Missionary Positions....."

Quickly pretend to answer your mobile phone (set on vibrate....doesn't everyone keep theirs on vibrate in their front pocket?) and say "Coming Dear.." and leave the building before a security person is summoned...

At this point I have decided to stop following the rest of Frank's advice while there are still some employment agencies that I am able to enter. Unfortunately this comes after taking some advice off him on how to get a job online.

He put me onto a local "Job specialist" forum as he called it and they were known for their openings, where enquiries led me to talk to a lovely Filipino lady (with a strangely deep voice) named Maxi. Very plush reception area, and when I said I was looking for a job she told me they start at Fifty Dollars. I said that was ridiculous, and that I've never had to pay for a job before to which she replied "I highly doubt that, sugar, just by looking at you..." It was around about this time I realized that I may not be in a employment agency, although it made sense being located in an industrial area. I left, without a job and also somewhere to work. In case I misjudged the situation, their website is www.bigboysdocry.edu.au .

Once again I hope my experiences are in some way helpful in your endeavors to get a job, or gainful employment.

And so it is, and I tell you fer why.

Generation Text -Text Talk

2011-08-03T01:11:00.002+10:00

or Txtng abt mi gnr8shun

Blogging is like most bodily functions in that if you don’t do it for a while one of two things may happen. One is that you may become blocked, like a proverbial pipe and when it finally clears it’s enough to make your eyes water and you promise yourself never to do that again...or secondly if you don’t use it, you may lose it, or at least lose the proper use for it. This makes people immediately think that I’m talking of the need to buy magazines from that section of the newsagency that you don’t go to unless you have a specific need. I do go there, as I find word puzzles and Sudoku books exercise the mind and keeps it sharp. That is what we were talking about....wasn’t it.

Anywhoo, I digress from the job at hand which is the latest entry for the Semi-Qualified Proctologist in which I, with the help of learned colleagues, will dip into the world of Text Talk. What the hell is it, what does it mean, and who can be bothered.

I firstly have to admit that I am not a habitual user of these abbreviations. In fact it is only recently that I began to understand some of it. Unfortunately this meant that I had been using some of these abbreviations incorrectly for a period of time, resulting in several people not returning my messages. The most embarrassing incident (which led me to Google some of the terms) was when responded to a writers forum request from a lady who was interested in corresponding with mature internet literary forum members from remote outback farming locations. My reply was” that I was also looking for a MILF..ROFL if you want a casual session occasionally..” shortly after that I was blocked from that site.

So, to avoid embarrassment, and possible litigation in the future, I have decided to investigate the culture of text abbreviations. OMG, did I make some discoveries (see, I can do it)

Back in the day, we used to have some of these in the language, but we used to call them acronyms. There were SNAG’s, DINK’s, SOB’s, and SWF’s. You could tell someone to POQ and they wouldn’t bother you, and we were proud of our ANZACS and former POW’s. All of these were usually used in sentences that contained regular full words. For a full and colourful explanation of how this has taken over our correspondence, I needed someone on the cutting edge of modern Culture. Unfortunately I couldn’t find anyone, so Frank No Pants explained it to me as follows;

“the origin of the text message comes from the need to send so much information as quickly as possible, which wasn’t actually a need until everyone got mobile phones and decided that they were so damn important that they needed to be messaging as many people as possible, as quickly as possible, and all the time having nothing to say that was so important that the previous 100 years of human communication hadn’t worried about coming up with a solution to the problem. And because most of these people could only rely on their thumbs to accurately hit the keys, the process would be too slow if complete words were to be used. So the SNERT’s (Snotty Nosed Egotistical Rotten Teenagers) started shortening and abbreviating everyday words. Although mostly annoying, especially when they creep into spoken conversations, there are a few examples that I found that are worth using.

ACORN –A Completely Obsessed Really Nutty...

FBKS – Failure Between Keyboard and Seat

IMAO – In My Arrogant Opinion

NASCAR – Non Athletic Sport Centred Around Rednecks

WOMBAT – Waste Of Money, Brains, And Time

ROR – Raffing Out Roud (Scooby Doo Language)

This is all actually true. YCMTSU! AFDN I will be ALOL when I find that I was LSHITIPAL, so I PIMPL (If I wore pants, that is).

And not all efforts are suitable in conveying the message in the correct manner. For example, See You Later Alligator works as CYLA...but See you Next Tuesday will not translate as well. This is a language that continues to evolve, but like most modern the users will be judged as a Fad Actually Guiding a Generation Of Tosspot Students. On that note, I have an appointment with my BOB, so I’ll TTYL...”

As usual, Frank got me and Numnuts thinking. What are future generations going to think of this language of the 21^st century? Will it be looked on as a quirky bi-product of the time, to be ridiculed in sitcoms of the future like has happened to the sixties. Will Generation Text still be messaging each other in 50 years as they are today? Well, if they are they will need some adaptations to the current words.

WOL – Wheeze Out Loud

BBFF – Best Between Four and Five

WROFL – Wheelchair Rolls On the Floor Laughing

FML – Filled My Lycra

WTF – Where’s The Food..it’s past 4.30

SFO – Soft Food only

CTN – Call The Nurse

WAMIP – Where Are My Incontinent Pads

CYTMH – Can You Take Me Home

And for the dementia sufferers

WMNA – What’s My Name Again

NFED – New Friends Every Day

I suppose some of us will continue to seem ridiculous in our pursuit of correct spelling, and thanks to spell check and other technology we can all seem much cleverer than we could ever hope to be. Of course, I am not the first to question how our language has been turned upside down by new meanings to favourites. I have attempted to add a link to an educational youtube video from Ronnie Corbett which deals with the same topic.

http://youtu.be/kAG39jKi0lI

What does it all mean? BMADAITY

And so I end, and I tell yer fer why.

To Sue with love – Legal Fleagles

2011-02-04T12:50:00.000+10:00

Dear Numnuts,

Let me just say straight up that I know nothing about Lawyers or the legal system, which means the following blog is about educating both of us. I apologize if any of the information is not accurate or up to date, but I have researched the topic the best way I can with my usual sources. For further information on why I would attempt this, best you read my introductory article from a few weeks ago.

It seems that we all need legal representation at some stage, and are constantly reminded of this. But what sort of lawyer do you need? Do you really need one, or like exploratory bowel surgery, can you just do it yourself? Do solicitors spend their time soliciting, and does that mean they are similar to prostitutes? They must be covered by the same employment award as the pay rates are similar. Do Barristers hang out in bars, or on stairs? Does a Queens council represent anyone, or just Drag Artists? How many of them are named Sue and can sing a Johnny Cash song?

I have a contact called Demented Kitty who will probably provide full and comprehensive answers to the questions posed, but until then we refer back to our source, Frank No Pants. He was very eager to help out, and although he spoke very quickly (mumbling something about trying something on for size) I was able to learn the following;

Legal representatives are a part of everyday life in the modern age. You are told to “get a lawyer”, “talk to my lawyer”, and “you’ll hear from my lawyer”. Therefore it can be concluded that Lawyers are like Arses – everyone has one and tends to talk through them when they want to sound important. To understand the role of today’s modern Lawyer you need to watch a lot of TV. Therefore all legal representatives are intelligent, attractive, well spoken Sociopaths who work 25 hours a day, have dysfunctional families who they regularly have to represent, and wear nice shoes.

Legal representatives work for large and small companies, and sometimes open their own businesses called Practices. With lots of time spent practicing, they will eventually have a Firm, and the more associates that help them will eventually give them a Large Firm with a massive name and a large pleasure boat (although they still have small feet). A lot of them wear suits, file suits, and all talk about a girl they once knew called Sue.

So now we have some idea what lawyer are, and feel a lot more comfortable talking about them. But do we have enough of them? If we all need one, do we have to make sure we have one close at all times? More research was needed into how many Lawyers there are, and what were the government doing about controlling their numbers. Do we need to bring more in to the country?

Under the FOI act, and via Wikileaks, Frank No Pants has provided me with details of a plan that was devised to ensure Lawyers did not go the way of the Cane Toads and Rabbits if they were selectively introduced into the natural habitat, and the effects of a population explosion.

The Clusterfuche Project

A social experiment was set up on a remote property in North Eastern Victoria to test how a large group of Lawyers in a controlled environment would affect the environment. This was set up under the cover story of shooting a documentary for SBS, but was actually a government contract to address the potential spread of introduced species. The Clusterfuche Project (as it was known) placed 200 Lawyers, Solicitors, Barristers, and Conveyance Specialists in a large climate controlled Perspex dome for 12 months and their interactions were observed.

Needless to say, the Boffins observing were forced to abandon the project after two months, as the subjects were yet to decide how they were going to survive, and had taken injunctions out against each other so that no further discussions could be held on the subject. Although all food and amenities were provided, the participants were deteriorating to the point that they were openly stating that they were learning a lot from reality TV, and that Justin Bieber was a musical genius.

In response, the Boffins decided to ask them to abandon the site. The lawyers dutifully refused as they believed they were contractually bound to see the project through to completion, or at least until the next season of Jersey Shore had been shown with Justin Bieber making a guest appearance. The Boffins then had no other option but to limit their primary coping instincts, and therefore degenerating their cerebral cortex, by cutting off the life support and driving them out.

This did not take long, but not before irreparable damage had been done to the participants, who all left singing “Good Ol’ Collingwood Forever”.

The only positive outcome from the failed project was a children’s book written by one of the Boffins early in the project called “Jack, Spot, and Sue the Vet”. Here is an excerpt.

See Jack Run

See Spot Run

Jack Sees Sue

Sue Sees Spot

Spot Bites Sue

Run Spot Run

Sue Gives Spot a Shot

Jack Sues Sue

And so on.

So, once again Frank No Pants has shone a dim light on a shadowy subject, and we are all the better for it. I will update this article with any corrections from Demented Kitty, if of course there is any need for corrections.

And so, I tell yer fer why

Virtual Proctology 101 - The Facebook Enema

2011-01-27T01:01:00.000+10:00

Dear Numnuts,

Over the past week I have had several kind readers contact me and ask “Why the Semi-Qualified Proctologist?” They then go on to say that I owe them money; I should do something creative with my time, and for all of our sake increase your medication.

So why do I consider myself a Semi-Qualified Proctologist?

Well, when you have dealt with as many arseholes over the past 25 years as I have, you would have to be at least Semi-Qualified. My friends and relatives with medical backgrounds will be divided to whether this is a serious issue that needs to be reported to a government authority of some sort, or whether he is just being “like that” again and what good would a government agency do anyway (for crap sake we work for one, we should know)….and so on.

In order to give some credibility to my claim let me present the following essay;

The Facebook Enema – Keeping Your Friends Close, And Your Enemas Closer

There are times when we peruse through the pages of a social network site like Facebook and wonder out loud “What the hell is wrong with these people?” Why do I need to know that they feel like a sandwich? Since when is it important to know why I am at the shopping centre, how many pairs of socks I just bought, and why I now regret going to the shopping centre in the first place because I didn’t really need the socks at all and now I can’t afford to buy the marshmallows I have just seen in another aisle and cannot possibly go another minute without telling everyone I know how much I need them….Enough!

A purging of the source of this material is sometimes in order, or what I call The Facebook Enema. Take a moderate dose of reality and think “How many of these people would I be happy to stand next to as they said these things” and “How many of these people would I be tempted to fake a major need for toilet, just to get away from when they drone on about these things”.

Those that fall into the second category may need to be removed, so boldly remove them from the virtual friends you subscribe to. This is the only enema known to be successful by blocking.

I felt that I needed to know more about the psychology of making virtual friendships with people who annoy you in real life, but suddenly become necessary in the on-line community. I consulted an expert in this field, Frank No Pants, and with a moderate size glass of Wild turkey at the ready; I have learned the following.

The need to engage with vast numbers of people that you barely know via the internet is a primitive one, and directly related to the obsession we have had with the shiny objects in the night sky. This combination of Astrology and Astronomy is called Astrologonomy, or Star-gawking. Although this may sound like nonsense, it encompasses why we desire to look at the stars, be with the stars, take candid photos of them on their holidays and sell them to magazines, and all the time wonder about how much time we spend obsessing over them. This is the Time/Space continuum.

The planets are largely to blame for the way Virtual friends behave on Facebook. Put simply, Bars are from Mars, Jupiter is a casino on the Gold Coast, and Saturn provides high quality bed linen for major retail outlets so therefore most status updates on Facebook come from Uranus.

Scientists from The Clusterfuche Institute in North Eastern Victoria are currently working on the origin of the self-actualization derived from posting such pointless updates, and it’s correlation to the orbit of the 13^th planet Clymaxo Minor. After several years of telling themselves that they knew what they were doing with the heavenly bodies, these scientists stumbled onto this one afternoon by mistake during a game of Spin the Test Tube.

The discovery of Clymaxo Minor gave them an enormous feeling of self importance for several minutes before the euphoria passed and they all felt like taking a nap. The same feeling of self importance is obtained when you tell all of your virtual friends that your eye hurt when you stuck your finger into it, and they “like“ it. The person now feels good about regularly doing boring things, which leads to self actualization. Therefore they don’t have to get a real life.

So once again Frank No Pants has been able to take what is essentially one of the more difficult questions facing today’s generation, and simplify it. I will now post on Facebook how happy I am about learning this, and how I wish I had a Mars Bar right now.

And so, I tell yer fer why.

Wordy Wordy Num Nums – word verification

2011-01-20T20:49:00.000+10:00

Dear Numnuts,

A very smart person commented on my toe-dipping into the world of Blog, with the suggestion that we should find out more about the “give way” sign at the bottom of each post – The Word Verification. Obviously my first reaction was ….the word what???

It was only after returning to the site to add a comment to someone else’s work that I noticed this annoying little feature. What is it for? Who put it there? Why is it so? Is there a glass and a half of full cream dairy milk in each 200 gram block? I would have to investigate.

If you type this into a search engine, you will come up with thousands of articles on the subject. When you go to log a comment on any of these, it asks for word verification. And if, like me, you have difficulty deciphering the combination of letters and numbers, you won’t be able to leave that comment, ask that question, or do anything productive for the next six minutes because you have to wipe the spit off the screen for all of the cursing that you have done because of the damn word verification…

So I called another very smart person who knows about such things, and asked for a brief explanation.

This person (let’s call him “Frank No Pants”) explained the concept to me. Unfortunately I couldn’t understand very much of it as I was bored within 25 seconds and starting to think about how much beer was in the fridge. What I can remember roughly translates like this;

Word verification is called CAPTCHA and is designed by people with glasses and Star Wars t-shirts to try to prove that they are smarter than computers. People in X Files t-shirts with poor social skills (called Hackers) have already figured this out so it is pointless. So if the human user gets the code wrong they cannot progress to say what they wanted to say and this decision is made by a computer which generated the scribble in the first place…and so it goes around. The Star Wars t-shirt people are constantly trying to outsmart the X Files t-shirt people, who probably live in the same filthy unit as each other and in the meantime neither has a real girlfriend. Apparently you don’t need word verification to get to porn on the internet.

Frank No Pants was not helpful really, but he gave me the email of a local guy who writes these things. The correspondence went as follows;

Darcy Barkers - Can you explain why you make these codes?

CAPTCHA Nerd – To mess with your head..

So that only told me that half of these guys were kids that grew up cutting letters out of the newspapers and creating messages with them, while the others become kidnappers and magazine editors.

Now I have labored long and hard over this word verification issue, and come to the conclusion that it is here to stay so I’m going to have to adapt, evolve, and learn how to read them. Thankfully for you, dear Numnuts, I have trained myself to do this, and you can too by following these simple steps;

1.       When confronted with a word verification window, go to the kitchen and get a bottle of Wild Turkey
2.       Drink two double shots and put on some loud music, preferably The Doors
3.       Take a permanent marker and inhale the fumes gently up the left nostril, while carefully pouring another Wild Turkey with your right hand
4.       Toss down the third shot and try to put the lid on the marker with one hand. This will give the Wild Turkey enough time to work
5.       After you drop the marker on the floor the second time, slowly haul yourself up to the level of the desk and lay your head on said desk approximately 45 cm from the screen
6.       Stare at the screen for 15 seconds without blinking and the word verification code will start to become clear.

7. Type the code in as required. If you get it wrong, return to step 2

Note: If you start seeing little purple goblins dancing around the edge of the computer screen, you have probably left the lid off the marker too long, or forgotten to blink.

I have found that it is easier to have a friend assist with the typing in of the code as this will stop you developing a serious drinking problem.

So there you have it – word verification explained and solved for all of us.

I will finish by saying that if half way through reading this little story of mine you paused, typed word verification into the search engine of your web browser, and started trying to find out the background to this test, then get up now and put on a Star Wars T-shirt, eat some cold pizza for breakfast and let some fresh air into your room…you deserve it.

Now it is done, an I tell you fer why….

Before you read any further........

2011-01-10T15:57:00.000+10:00

Dearest Numnuts,

Before you read anything I will ever post on this blog, you need to know some basic rules;

I may say something occasionally that will offend some people
I may contradict myself in the next paragraph in order to be absurd
I have this inside voice which, no matter how hard I try will come out occasionally (read regularly)
I like saying things that offend some people, but in fairness I try to insult everyone equally
I will deny having written anything in this blog that offends, as I have obviously been hacked
And finally, where possible, the names and places have been changed to protect the identity of stupid people. Of course, this is a pointless exercise as Stupid people have a way of identifying themselves without my help

Usually this blog would be best described as written by a rambling fool, and probably not the place to go for life coaching. Over time you will discover why I am a semi-qualified proctologist, what darcybarkers are, and why I talk to my dog and cats. There may be points of view on topical subjects, and anything sensible will have SERIOUS ALERT posted in the title.

There may be old stuff some of you have read before, probably not for a while so you have forgotten most of it like I have.

And, of course, you can comment on anything I have put here as I appreciate the time the reader has taken to do this, and I have seen how I can delete comments if I wish.

Finally, I address all Blog postings to Numnuts. Well, Philip Adams used to talk to Gladys on LNL, so my conversations will be addressed to Numnuts. As seen on Alias Smith and Jones, it will be an idiot who knows everything talking to an idiot who knows nothing.

'An' so I tell you for why'

DB