life in the mumblet satellite science headquarters was pretty lame. it sat on the edge of the 980 foot “west crater” described in 1969 as the “sea of tranquility”. it was later named by the company as the “slosh point” due to the near mishap with the fuel sloshing about in apollo 11 and setting off a low fuel warning as it landed. it landed men on the moon. the company liked words that had a liquid feel or sound to them for some reason. they considered calling it the “squelching pad” but it sounded rude. 

back in the days of this first man landing on earth’s moon and the ongoing american space exploration, everything was controlled by nasa. america was the large and rather annoying country that lead to world wars 3 and 4 and their boffins were the masters of the whole schibang. the other super power of the day russia, had it’s own boffins but they had slipped down the totem pole of space exploration at that time.

so the mumblet compound sat on the edge of this crater, it squatted like a bear trying to wipe it’s backside with a nice white rabbit. it had three arms or wings that bounced out from the main body section and could rotate around, as and when required. as viewed from above the compound had an awkward look and sense about it. that look and sense was right, it was both, and some.

trevor nubleous sat in his personal lodging module and just started out the window. he felt awkward.

of course as trevor nubleous was half man and dog, he couldn’t see much because the window was so low down. he had to scamper up the maze of ramps and frames to see out the top through the ceiling like window opening above him. a little like kevin, trevor thought himself as a he. he didn’t know any different, as he had no sex, no genitalia or inkling that he should have any. that’s what the employees were for, they could pop out oens very quickly. this would in the end, save “him” from exploring his non existent sexuality.

trevor remained squat at the lower window and wee’d against the wee post he demanded be installed there. it had great plumbing, was free from static electricity and provide a sweet smell, after his sour smell had hit the pan. there was even a little mirror to help adjust anything that needed adjusting, although he didn’t have much to adjust. he was waiting and he was nervous.

back when they landed the headquarters here at the slosh point, this small satellite science headquarters ended up being called – muddle. muddle didn’t fit with liquid theme of course, but was the pilot’s terribly enlarged adenoids that caused him to announce ….

look out we’ve arrived and it’s a muddle ….

he was trying to warn of an enormous puddle. he thought the west crater had filled with water and alerted everyone to a very wet and dangerous landing, by screaming muddle. he screamed that much and that often during the 20 minute landing procedure that everyone though the place was called muddle. so muddle it is. it wasn’t water, he was only looking at a reflection from the crater’s floor.

trevor had a “sort of” friend and it was this impending visit that had concerned “him”. trevor was quite worried about the outcome of this visit and his report about the strange happenings on the science palace in the stars.

a mind blowing realisation has hit me. the fact that i do nothing at all. i blog a lot, i read a lot, i speak a lot and i work. oh and of course i’m learning the bass. well i suppose that’s a few things. the best part about doing nothing, is that it is relaxing, the worst is that it does get a tad boring at times. my lovely old puppy dog bingo is sound asleep and snoring beside me, ( after having his breakfast ) and my bride is preparing herself to prepare me and organise my day. we have a day off together. it will be relaxing for sure.

this day off is going to be spent doing nothing, maybe some driving, shopping, some dreaming, hoping and the mind blogging “realising” that there’s nothing being done.

it’s interesting this posting in a blog that i do nothing. well course that’s not interesting, it’s the sheer gaul i have to think you might find it vaguely interesting, that’s interesting.

cheeky me.

i have another wish for today and that’s to do some more writing. it’s becoming very addictive, for me to write and i hope for you to read. here i go again being cheeky. if you have any complaints, tips or feedback either on the kitchens can kill, or the science palace in the stars, please give me a shout.

i’ll continue on the path in developing both story lines, as well as the characters involved. in the meanwhile, please be assured that for the moment – i’m doing nothing. it’s a day off.

robert had caught some of the corridor racing, the banging, whishing, banging, whishing and banging. he even heard vibrations in the floor. it was the banging going on in the smouldering module, although he didn’t know what was causing that. after the rambulous rumblings of moony and carol’s love making had stopped, robert peeked a look outside the stretching chamber. the high heels he was wearing had disappeared. he was now shoeless and wearing a very odd and inflated white ballon suit, the extra air inflated within that suit would capture the spoilage of the stretching. as it hadn’t occurred he was half bouncing, flying and falling about the place as he sneaked a look into the corridor.

kevin stumbled by and failed to see the blimp boy robert in his flash suit. kevin was preoccupied with something behind him – he’s missed them. as well as failing to see robert the wanker.

hurry .. kevin grunted, he had work to do and these missed distractions were getting him nowhere.

robert had to get to the funnel. the only place for the captain he thought, he thought he was still the captain. even though that idiot moony had splodged him and placed him in the stretching chamber – he was still in charge.

damn that moony and where the blinkers is that silly clone i made to pleasure carol with ?

robert realised he was stumbling this self questioning out loud, to no-one or anything in particular.

why’d i bother with this carol fixation, woman aren’t really my thing and i know i’m not theirs.

robert had found the release valve for the balloon suit which was unfortunately on his backside. the opening of the suit gave him a good push along, but his butt was now on display. robert didn’t care though he was in a hurry but he knew that there was no-one to see his derrière, only the eyes and they didn’t care. they were distracted by the salacious sauciness in the smouldering module anyway.

robert was deep down, a very lonely man, without much going for him.

he was 53 years old, dyslexic, colour blind and had very hairy ears. he was also rather short, balding, overweight and had the misfortune of wearing the oldest and badly stained set of second hand dentures. these dentures had a purple stain and were the only ones he could afford, just prior to boarding the space palace. the purple teeth signaled ( to those unfortunate to see ) a particular price bracket which was nick named shit poor. his haste to get laid while celebrating this assignment to the palace, saw his chance for new teeth, a hair transplant and two minute lipo suction pass him by. the autbot pleasure machine that took his fancy, took his money card and his identification pass. he only managed to bluff his way onto the palace with a plausible story. the story was so piss poor that the ship couldn’t possibly deny it’s pitiful truth. the “pitiful truth” was exactly what the ship tagged each of robert’s uniforms with.

he wandered about prior to this recent upheaval, in a mauve overall suit, with “pitiful truth” printed on his chest, his purple teeth and a certain dribble that could never be removed. of course he had three pairs of lovely high heels that he would swap with gay abandon.

he was just at the funnel door, when he saw that an eye was staring right at him  ….

This morning I was opening my e-mail, as I do every morning, to see if I got any comments on my blog. When I opened one from alan at tbaoo.com, instead of getting a cheery, upbeat bit about how wonderful my quirky drawings are, and what a great wit I am, I got a request for a guest post, featuring a drawing of what I thought he looked like, along with some commentary to match. 

Well, drawing comes naturally to me. And commentary is a breeze. But making the two cohesive with some degree of sense to it all; that could be a problem. Also, I don’t do portraits. Doing likenesses is difficult, and I tend to shy away from all things difficult at this stage of life. But during a brief flash of lucidity, I thought, “Hey, I’ve never seen the guy (bloke) before in my life, and there’s no pictures of him on his blog.

No Problemo”. And besides, if he wants me to do a likeness of what I think he looks like, then if it don’t really look like him, it’s his problem, and he better get to work and start looking like my drawing.

Now I’ve been following tbaoo for well over a year, and I don’t really know much about alan (besides his first name). I know he lives in Australia, somewhere near the beach. But the whole place is just one big island, so that don’t help. He has some kind of mysterious job, that he goes to sometimes, or is in between. He does have good taste in music; seems fairly progressive; and supports our President Obama. So he’s not a total wanker. Then there’s his on-going story about Moony (a Bloke?) and his wild R-rated adventures (an alter-ego?).

Anyway, I don’t know why I drew him as being bald, maybe that’s the way he sounds to me from his blog. Strangely, when I read him, I don’t hear an accent of any kind. Must be all them lower case letters he uses, and his refusal to capitalize anything.

So there you have it and there it is. Pretty cool for old Hansi, who has now gone international. Be sure to check him ( www.tbaoo.com ) out. Hansi is now here as well.

Now how’s that for for one big happy daisy-chain? – Hey Alan, what’s buggering?

all credit for this visual representation of tbaoo can be given to hansi – check out his work here.

hansi – thanks for the visuals, your thoughts and your support.

it begins ….

1

This morning’s wank was one of the best in a long while, although I don’t know why, maybe it’s the new soap. It’s refreshing that a shower has so many uses…

So another work week begins in my newly acquired career as an EHO. No fucker except an EHO knows exactly what that is though, not even the people I work for. “Environmental Health Officer” is the current name for what used to be known as a health inspector. Of course I could rattle through the complete and professional description, but hey – we control, reduce, remove and even penalise the impact of humans on each other and the environment.  Some major industries dominate our time such as boat building & repair, manufacturing, mechanical workshops, food & fuel, and in some parts of the country even legalised and licensed fucking, not for me though, I don’t have that physically draining task. I can’t imagine keeping a straight face while filling in the claim form for a mornings round of full body massage, stress relief and head jobs and then writing the report on how the events proceeded. Some weird performance issues may well occur. None of that in the shower though….

This new career is the reward for completing a 3 year full time stretch at University, doing a Bachelor of Science degree…sure it’s an entry level science degree but a degree none the less. As a mature age student you would be right in thinking that I came to it with a fat set of preconceptions. Well!! They were all shattered; the place was run by buffoons who charge around 16 grand for the privilege of enduring their buffoonery. It was a hard slog, and like all students without their parent’s financial support, it was a 7 days a week affair – made up of full time work & full time study. The work I found myself enduring, while fitting in with my action packed schedule, was the truly joyless experience of driving drunks about, whilst offering the highest level of courtesy in a bus, for a local club….”almost” enough to put me off drinking for life.  I even had the unfortunate pleasure of separating urine affected pokie stools from the general population, I mean can’t you get up and go for a piss rather than just weeing on the seat you’re sitting on, what a bunch of soulless, desperate, incontinent folks. Many visit the club every day of the week, some of them all day every day, with their biological need to play the pokies and drink booze, completely satisfied in the warm bosom of a licensed club, alongside other such addicted breast feeders. To be kind, I am grateful the club allowed me to adjust my work roster around the Uni schedule, but certainly not for the endless stream of sad and smelly patrons they exposed me to.

Working here in Lincoln Point has tremendous advantages, although being an ageing cynic who doesn’t exercise, or take advantage of the surf and other local natural wonders, it seems a waste. It’s a pity though; I like it here but I normally admire the splendour from my lounge while watching TV, movies or my laptop. The weather is almost tropical, warm, turning to eyeball burstingly hot at times, as humid as a bag of oranges left in the sun at others, with a very blue sky mild winter that sees other Australians spending their winters here.

2

Queensland and in particular Lincoln Point, is also a magnet for overseas tourists who love the beaches, tropical rainforests and even seem to enjoy being ripped off by their country men and women in organised tours and uniquely priced shopping outlets. Some of the world’s best known beach breaks are here to, but it’s been 35 years since I stood on a board.

So Monday begins, as does every working day, shit, shave with the less than satisfactory result that is electric shaving, the wank in the shower, coffee and a few cigarettes and then I’m off to the boredom that can be Local Government. Not all the time though, it’s amazing how tedious things can be one minute and then change into something quite exciting the next. The provided Council ute, which is certainly not Ford Australia’s answer to a greener environment, is a gun metal grey 6 cylinder fuel guzzling machine, but it does give me the opportunity to pick up my weeks supply of milk, although it seems I supply about 10 milkless scroungers at work, a supply of instant espresso coffee and my mail from the post box, then I can move onto the task of yawning and perving my way through the peak hour traffic to work. I keep myself occupied sometimes by spotting evil polluting dickheads who toss their fag ends out the window; this stupid act gets them a $300 penalty infringement notice in the mail. Got you, you bastard!!

Well you can tell its Monday morning at work, it seems extra tedious already. I’ve only been here for ten minutes, a long time to my next fag, but this morning’s the same as others, dealing with unique or in some cases strange mixture of people I share the building with. People who really have an odd way of interacting with the rest of the workplace, striding head down along the corridor or passage way, looking elsewhere with such intensity, it’s as if something really vital or life threatening needs to be dealt with, away from my smiling face. They offer no hello, no acknowledgement at all and if I didn’t say anything to them during the day ( I’ve tested this ), they wouldn’t say a god damn word, not one word, smile, or nod – Nothing! Nada!!   I remember when manners and basic social skills were taught to people as they grew up, when they were young; maybe this batch of somewhat aloof, rude, or just plain ignorant buggers missed those lessons.

There’s an odd collection of backgrounds and personality types in Council, although not many outward, gregarious souls who enjoy the banter of social intercourse with others. Conservative, shy and sheltered could best describe them, not all of course, but too many for my liking. Indeed I think that some are more inclined to be knocking on your door on a Saturday morning, trying to insist you change your long held religious views and life’s beliefs.

3

If you’ve never worked in a Council, I’ll give you a run down, far too many bosses, supervisors etc and not enough workers, that’s pretty normal in any work place sure, but at each level of management there is a complete lack of will, ability or wish to make a decision, they just pass it on to the one above and so on. How the fuck anything actually gets done astounds me, but there you go its Council. The public thinks we do nothing of course, but to our defence, “Hell!!”… We do heaps”, but it’s a bit top heavy that’s all. Indeed they, the great unwashed, look at a work site, see three people talking without actually digging in the hole and think that there’s no work going on. Bullocks, to that I say! There is plenty of decision making going on; it might just be that it’s three layers of management in action, i.e. deferring a decision.

While talking about a group of people standing around during an onsite event, I was standing in the middle of a brightly highlighted group of people in the blocked north bound lanes of the back highway one evening recently. It was a slurry/mud and concrete spill and as the road was closed, here we were Police, Main Roads and others, all in our own version of fluro safety vests, assessing the situation, while traffic heading south was slowing to an excruciatingly slow crawl checking it out. Some ignorant prick heading south, yells at me out his window,

“Why the fuck? Am I carrying out road works at this time”….. and whilst showing concern for my long suffering social life suggested that;

“I should fucking well hurry up – Arsehole”

The last part was very well phrased and the entire one way interaction although very sincere, made me realise just how much I loathe the general population at times. I think my generous smile to this particular gentleman conveyed these sincere thoughts.  The fact that I’d liked to have stretched his scrotum up over his forehead and set it alight, shall remain my secret.

This morning I’ve been blessed with a wide range of complaints coming in, it’s still only 09.30 and the first is a rather stressed young professional woman ringing Council to complain about the number of ibis gathering at the Merlin Beach cafe precinct and would you believe, shitting in her car.

“Yes Betty”… I agree “Wildlife at the beach is a terrible inconvenience”… holding back the smirk.

And although I personally think that birds’ defecating in your new BMW convertible might be justified from a socialistic perspective and rather humorous…. I reply;

“I’ll see what I can do”…. said with a chest full of professionalism.

This never ending stream of complaints does keep the day interesting; you talk and empathise with them, follow up with a site visit, (if appropriate), and then report on the event and outcome. Slightly trivial yes – but it does help to pay the mortgage. I make it to lunch and wander around thinking about the frightening shit that happened last night. Seriously frightening! – Yet lucky shit.

4

In what could only be described as a momentous stroke of luck, while I was on my way to drop off a couple of DVDs, a car ran through the red turn right arrow on a bullet like aim towards me and just missed wiping me out as I was walking along the footpath. Not because of his superior driving abilities, he had just ran a red light after all, or even my athletic prowess, I simply managed to jump or stumble, in a rather ungainly fashion, into the bushes. Another late fee averted and my demise narrowly avoided, me thinks. Why this skinny drug crazed dickhead and his dozy looking girlfriend ran the red light I couldn’t tell you, but they did appear to be headed straight for me. His lard sized girl like companion nearly smashed her hooter into the windscreen when he came to a stop and she then proceeded to abuse the crap out of her genius associate driving the car, it couldn’t have been for upsetting her makeup, there isn’t enough available in the market place to improve her sour and well stretched puss.

Maybe he was actually trying to get rid of the unpleasant bag of shit sitting beside him. I would have just driven off and left her at the shop they were probably heading to. She would be I thought, proceeding to buy her industrial strength feminine hygiene products, as she looked like she suffered from a very serious and odorous water retention problem in addition to having too much skin stretched over her small round frame. Just pug ugly and fat!! Bit like a super ball, but without any bounce and certainly not super. She could be awarded the classic “roll her in flour and look for the wet spots”, type of sexual positioning. She was dressed by the cheapest $2 dollar shit shop in their most recent, clear out the rubbish clearance sale, maybe Homer’s moomoo outfit impressed her?

Wow, shit is right.

Anyhow, back to work and back to reality, the inspection I scheduled myself for this afternoon was at a high rise resort’s pool side restaurant called Girls on Film, why the fuck it’s called that I don’t know. Maybe they’re fans of Duran Duran, greased pole pillow fights with lingerie draped sex machines or even just plain old soft porn. Maybe they wear sensible shoes and like photography. Hell who cares, the manager is an incredibly friendly and teasingly good looking MILF called Cherry Bell. She would have lost her’s a long time ago though, no matter what team she played for. She has a cleavage that reminds me of a black hole, sucking all surrounding things that matter into it, what fun it would be to end up in that dimension. Her left breast has a large and tasty freckle delicately placed for all to see, it defiantly requires further scrutiny, no matter what the light, but I’ve yet to try my luck at that warm nurturing sweet spot, maybe I can come at it later. The business of the inspection though, is not to study the remarkable Cherry and her décolletage; it’s supposed to be about the handling of food, overall cleanliness and the structural conditions within the restaurant.

Cherry does have a firm grip on the staff, sensible shoes or not, and most of them seem to be keen to do the right thing. Whether they do though, is the reason for my visit. The first thing that hits you when you walk into Girls on Film is that not all employees have a clue about the level of personal hygiene required, it smells like teen spirit. Dressed in a collection of mini skirts and shorts, hardly there tank tops, strapless and tasteless with open roman sandals. They look like they’re ready for drinks at the pool, not in the kitchen supplying food to the pool patrons. The flooring has a dirty crusty soup like appearance which must come from the sheer hatred and complete disregard the staff have for their non existent cleaning schedule. No one seems the slightest bit concerned when I raise their apparent hatred of, and lack of application this required procedure. In fact they laugh at me! What sort of a reaction is that? I speak with the new chef to discover that she is from Spain, a backpacker working her way around Australia. Good one, does she have training in the Australian/Queensland food legislation – NO! Does she understand me, NO! The best thing to do is target my enthusiastic approach to Cherry again. The food I find in the cool room is uncovered with a wide and exotic range of foods dangerously interspersed throughout the shelves, raw chicken dribbling on salads like some desired marinade, combined with raw and cooked meats swimming together in a container that looks like it was last cleaned in 1976. Shit! How hard is it to understand? In fact is pretty bloody simple, all you have to do is apply the basic principles and that’s why an EHO is required to ensure compliance. They don’t apply these principles of course!!! They have a thousand excuses, financial difficulties, holidays, staff problems. Everything but a straight forward; I just haven’t a clue of how to run a food business and as a result – don’t seem to care if I cause a food borne illness outbreak, poison a customer or even kill the odd granny or elderly aunt along the way.

Hey, turnover and profit is what it’s all about. Most food businesses in Lincoln Point don’t manage to make fuck all of either.

5

So we enter into the battle of inspections, which is the application of legislation to the practical world in which we live, and we as EHO’s find all sorts of standards of training, ranging from absolutely nil to less than required, not often do we find complete and satisfactory. I do my slow in English speech to the new chef, dropping español words ( I think ) like ¡hola buenas días (hello, good afternoon), asta luego (see you later), cerveza (beer), she seems suitably interested to make me continue although, as per normal, I probably go on to far and bore the shit out of her, or maybe she just doesn’t understand me at all and smiles sweetly. She did say she si ( yes ) to cerveza though, I must remember that, is it appropriate to sleep with chefs I’m chastising? Of course I’m kidding myself that a 20 something bronzed and well toned female backpacker would like to have a drink and a game of horizontal canoodling with a greying gentleman of a growing portly proportion, but, if you don’t ask you don’t get, right. While fantasising about this moral dilemma, I don’t actually have many of those, dilemmas of the moral kind I mean, I trap Cherry in the cool room, showed her my pertinent and ever pressing issues, most revealing, and then write out the receipt we give to food operators regarding the works and complete change of attitude required. Once I’d finished all that serious public safety stuff, concluded my flirting with Cherry and wondered what the words for “let’s just do it” are in Spanish, it’s off to the shitting ibis, BMW or not.

For obvious reasons my two windows were closed as I cruise ever so gently into the car park, it’s another Council award winner, bitumen, white lines and a couple of garden beds on the boundary, wow can’t we do better than that?, I find that a car, very similar to the red light runner, is parked in way that it’s claiming two bays? The man driving this car, if my own self described or as Pink Floyd so beautifully put; amazing powers of observation – is right, it looks like the heroin affected fashion victim who drove the car last night, seems to be watching me with binoculars. As he is facing me I can make out that the large folder he’s holding seems to have my name embossed on the front cover. Wow! This is weird; I’m too young for this is your life!. Once I’ve come to a stop I get out of the car with my trusty digital camera. I always have this on my belt, I feel like a regulatory version of batman sometimes, with my utility belt at the ready, this stupidity does make it easier to take photos and I do take loads of photos of all sorts of strange things, some even work related.

This action of getting out of the car, while looking at Mr “my social drug habit seems to have overtaken my life guy” seems to have frightened him. He stumbles to place the binoculars into the case and tries to close the folder. This unusual act of absurd neatness and juggling combined with the impact of nature seems to have put him off balance, because just at this precise Kodak moment one of the ibis, who had given up on tagging the interior of luxury motor vehicles, took great delight in dropping the entire contents of its stomach on his right shoulder. The folder, binoculars and case fall to the ground and while trying to remain in control he slips and falls off the small wall he was sitting on, straight into the freshly fertilised garden bed behind the car park boundary.

See!! Council does do some work around the place, although it must have been smoko time as 27 Council workers were sitting on another wall sunning their knees while obviously not struggling with their feminine side, were bleating and laughing like a row of crows in unison, in an R rated and sexist tone. They were making just as much noise as the ibis shitting tour group, who seemed to think the targeted aim applied by their mate was an award winner”. No cards with scores, just screams of excited ibis and the Council workers crow like foul language and laughter. I couldn’t resist laughing myself at this poor attempt at limb gymnastics and went to take some photos of the ibis and their sporting toilet behaviour. A shame I missed a photo of the guy’s surf t- shirt though, with its new ibis graffiti art plastered all over it. Billabong surf wear would have been proud and claimed it as one of their designs and then had it made in China.

The mobile goes off and I look to see who is interrupting this tremendous social interaction. The ring tone is one of my own creations, a stolen riff section from a Queens of the Stone Age song, whose name I can never remember. Dave Grohl on drums and the clip has a vengeful reindeer driving a car. no one knows.

“Good Afternoon this is Alex!”….. I said in my casual yet professional manner.

“Alex, I’ve decided that you can attend the new EPA legislation training course we talked about”

Dam! It’s Warren, the latest in the long line of supervisors running the geographical region I work in. Warren is about 2 minutes off retiring and seems to be hanging on by his finger nails. He has a colourful and tenuous connection to his work colleagues and the wider community. Warren hails from places unknown with a mixturous family background that would make a professionally trained eye witness struggle to identify features such as origin, age, height and in some light – sex. Let me say though he is a very helpful, extremely friendly and generous guy, but today’s world is not his world. His 2 minutes are not ticking over quick enough, set the alarm.

“Great” I reply with the necessary enthusiasm. “When is it exactly?”

“It’s in 5 months – April 6th, at the Mostly Bumpy Greek Resort” says Warren, getting the name wrong yet again. It’s actually called the Misty Bumble Creek Resort. His heavy accent combined with his complete unawareness of what goes on around him makes clear communication very difficult and very funny at times.

“Ok, I will check it in my diary – thanks Warren”….. I’m thinking can this really be the reason for the call, that’s a bloody long time away? It’s December now.

“Oh Alex” … Yep here we go I realise… “There’s a problem that has come to my attention”

“Yeah, what is it Warren?”

“A disgruntled member of the public has made a number of very serious threats against a Council EHO, we don’t know which one yet, but when senior management became aware of this issue, …well, … hum, … you know,… they, ah, kind of thought it must be you! Does super sun grass mean anything to you?”

Again I’m thinking what could that phrase really mean?, I run through a few alternatives in my mind …. dope heads, the next big music festival planned for Lincoln Point, or a rural cow food manufacturer. No Idea!!

More of a worry was that an obviously deranged and overly excited member of the public makes threats against a Council EHO and management immediately think of me, that’s either very thoughtful or more likely it’s a reflection of how they feel about me, my performance, work ethics or that missing moral compass they suspect I use to navigate my way through life. Who am I kidding, fuck it must be me!! Who though, this will take some serious thinking time to sort out!

“Well no Warren” I replied…. grass is not high on my list of things to imbibe.” I’ll be back in the office soon, just as soon as I finish here”, I was hoping he’d just say thanks and hang up.

“OK, see you then”…… says Warren with a confused tone in his voice; it’s as if he wonders which office we are talking about, or even like me wonders what grass or super means. It’s remarkable that he makes it to work in the morning, home at night and returns to the same building the following day.

As I drive into the office car park I notice that the Police have taken my car space and their bright red and orange Holden Commodore dominates the scene. I wonder if they are here to discuss the threat, or are they up to something else. I fit in between two other ( ticket worthy ) illegally parked vehicles, light a fag and enjoy it on the way inside talking with the other cigarette desperadoes. Interesting, isn’t it that my fellow addicts are social, friendly and somewhat able to converse with others, even if they talk shit! I throw my butt in the ashtray and then take a moment to be a gentleman on the way inside.

6

Comfortable pissing has taken on a new meaning to me now as I’m turning 50 soon and the horror that is prostate cancer maybe something I should be testing for, it sure feels like it at times. I did have a guy stick his tree trunk like finger up my arse many years ago, it was invited, but not in a dinner and drinks kind of way. He actually chatted throughout the whole procedure, probably trying to make me feel comfortable, but that was impossible. If there ever is a need for digital dildo mould model then this guy’s finger would have been rated solid gold or rubber latex, right down to the bumpy bits I felt on the way in, while swirling around inside and then on its return journey out. The popping sound it made when it was over and out is forever ingrained in my memory and although the test results from this impersonal probing were fine, it brings a blood stained tear to my eye whenever I think about it.

Gay men and virginal Greek women must have uniquely powered sphincter muscle, I cried like a sick hungry baby when this guy tickled the back of my throat from the inside. It bloody well hurt. In fact my walking back to the car would have been a sight to behold from behind;  I was holding the bee in my behind on the inside. Well a successful pee finished, with no serious drips and it’s time to face the Police, senior management, Warren and whoever else wanted to be involved in this recent threat to my well being. That big fingered guy was well in touch and charged accordingly to pinpoint my well being.

While being avoided in the corridor, heading to face this interrogation, I remember my release from high school in year 11 and salubrious entry to the workforce. Why now I don’t know, but as I get older I have these reminiscing flashes of my past and I continue to realise that it’s not just getting closer to 50 that has turned me into a grumpy little shit; I’ve been one since I can remember. Flash back time, here comes the memory…..

In order to get permission to leave school, an outcome I had to achieve rather desperately, I had to get a job first, so I walked the streets thinking of what I could do, or get. Butchery I hear you scream, what a bloody obvious choice. I think it was because there were so many butcher shops about and as they removed the spirit of keen individuals quicker than a coffee enema scouring out waste from a dubiously female member of the Jackson family, there were plenty of openings.

So here I was, like many of my age listening devoutly to Deep Purple in Rock, with my life having recently been turned upside down by Reg Livermore’s original Sydney version of the Rocky Picture Show, taking the most obvious step of entering the world of retail Butchery, What? I got a job with the prospect of an apprenticeship and boom; I was out of school and catching too many buses in my carefully chosen and realistically meat smelling butchers outfit.  After suffering at the hands of a height challenged, as in he was an angry short prick, megalomaniac, I was offered a new position with a better company. Off I went, at sparrows fart in the bloody freezing cold on my pushbike to a leafy suburb on the north shore of Sydney, about half an hour’s ride.

This is where I learnt how to whistle, count money, acquire a sense of my own sexuality while hiding my erection under my apron and develop the skills to interact with the public, as well as how to ride a pushbike through Sydney’s traffic without getting killed. This new position also included learning how to scare the living crap out of workmates and customers, when called upon.

If you’ve ever been standing in a traditional butcher shop with loads of ceramic tiles, metal benches and counter tops with glass and mirrors everywhere, concentrating on your purchase and probably joking with the butcher to score a better cut of meat or ensure they keep their thumb off the scales, you’ll know just how much echo there is in there. So when a stainless steel tray hurtles, like an albatross about to die on a fishing boat’s long line, sight unseen from the back area, crashes on to the tiled floor, you would have some sort of personal urinary or bowel reaction. This sudden stopping of the tray and resulting noise reverberating around the shop, used to scare the living shit out of everyone in the store, except me of course. It’s a miracle that I didn’t kill anyone.

The lucky female who owned the supermarket next door, liked practical jokes which made her a special target, she’d give as good as she got and was worthy of delicate, well planned retribution to her own brand of practical jokes. When a fresh pig head ended up in my hands, the obvious place for it to be was in the toilet bowl of her outside and more importantly, no lock on the door, lavatory. We and everyone in the leafy north shore suburb heard the screams, it nearly made the news, but the networks would not believe it. She had gone to conduct her business and when, as we all do, glanced backed to see her handy work, she was confronted by the glistening pig head that was staring right back at her. The pigs face had of course been covered with a certain deposit. The recipient although deeply scared by such a stunt, laughed it off after an excruciatingly long 6 weeks and we all called a truce, which was honoured. We were not cruel, after all.

Cruel would be to take anything the regularly confused Warren was saying to heart, or even hold it against him, YES!!  He’s a nice guy OK, but he’s completely out of his depth and should remove his toes from the water immediately. I walked into his workspace cubicle area to find the Police sitting there trying to understand him, he was smiling and uttering something that even I, with my well ingrained Warren expertise could not fathom.

7

There were 2 fun stoppers sitting in the workspace, actually one could be better described as a fun partaker, she was lovely, all muscle and curves, that softened the intent of the harsh blue uniform in such an inviting way. It especially strained the front of the Police blouse to look like that bag of oranges I use to describe the humidity level. Police Constable Sally Burton was enormously gifted in the tits department. Wonder if she has a freckle?

“What the hell does the “Church of the Sunshine Grass” have to do with me?” ….. I demand, trying to assert my grasp on the dynamic before me.

Well it turns out, according to Warren, that the nut crushing soul after an EHO, not the fantasy I have of the Spanish chef, might be from this church’s collection of earthy, butt naked and deluded congregation of potential suicide victims based in Northern NSW, who have a deep seated hatred of adult entertainment and the resulting by-product of sinful activity that is masturbation. The leader of this collective is Rupert K. Asquith ( who i’ve named special K ), who fancies himself as a re-born version of an enema loving brother that was the originator of corn flakes, Seventh Day Adventist John Harvey Kellogg. This detail is on a print out prepared earlier by Ms Police Woman I’d like to, and seems to have been taken from Wikipedia. Something on the page catches my eye;

quote: Kellogg worked on the rehabilitation of masturbators, often employing extreme measures, even mutilation, on both sexes. In his Plain Facts for Old and Young, he wrote that a remedy for masturbation which is almost always successful in small boys is circumcision, especially when there is any degree of phimosis. The operation should be performed by a surgeon without administering an anaesthetic, as the brief pain attending the operation will have a salutary effect upon the mind, especially if it be connected with the idea of punishment, as it may well be in some cases. In females, the author has found the application of pure carbolic acid ( phenol ) to the clitoris an excellent means of allaying the abnormal excitement. He also recommended, that to prevent children from this “solitary vice”, bandaging or tying their hands, covering their genitals with patented cages, sewing the foreskin shut, and electrical shock.

I conducted an inspection of this fruit bat’s food stall recently at the mullet day festival, where they were selling ( with their own restricted version of love ) their 10 bean mix, faux meat pies. I discovered and responded in my own way, to their discouraging remarks regarding each customer’s potential for the “solitary self pleasuring vice”, and these were given unselfishly to each and every punter, I mean what the fuck’s it have to do with these followers of a strange fashion ? The drugged out, pissed festival punters just wanted some great thumping music, quick food and respectful safe shagging, although not from the stalls staff. The question of lifestyle should never have raised its private head, and it wouldn’t in the punters mind, unless they missed out on wet bump and grind that day.

So it would seem, if special K had his wish ( and he does often ) the crew running the food stall shouldn’t be able to masturbate at night, as he binds their hands and makes all members sleep with cricket boxes on. Jonestown seemed normal compared to this groovy collection of deluded souls, with rope burned wrists and rock solid genitals. Maybe their pies have the same effect, well no actually, I remember I had one at that event and that wasn’t the result. Diarrhoea YES! Abstinence from sin NO!

“I mean how could a bunch of serious fun stoppers aim to hurt me?”……. I asked Detective Sergeant Arthurs. “What would that achieve; we’re all guilty of wanking”… “Ms Police Woman I’d like to” Sally, smiled at my use of the stopper phrase.

“I don’t think we need to discuss your personal habits” …. mumbled the rather out of proportioned policeman, who was deeply embarrassed in talking about wanking with his young female associate Sally sitting beside him, a bit too far away it seemed.

How is it that each time you see a cop show team on TV they’re perfectly matched into either a good, bad, young, older, fat, thin etc type balance. The real world would be very different you’d think, but no! Here’s Arthur and his younger and distinctly shapelier assistant. Right out of a Wolf Films – Law & Order script.

Talking of Arthurs aka Detective Blobby how do people like this senior detective end up with such a huge lower half while possessing an almost doll like look and size at the top? A lot like those toy fulcrum birds, that once set in motion continually swing down to drink from the edge of the glass they’re perched on. This guy had the smallest, narrowest shoulders I’ve ever seen on a human, how does he pass, or surely continues to avoid, the medical assessment with that rotund backside?

“Well what makes you think that this group is responsible?” …. I asked while visualising the blobby copper at home in his repetitive bending over routine.

We have another threat, he blurts out as he offers me the letter, which was sent to the Big Bouncy Boobs Dance Review in Summit Park. It requested that the girls stop arousing their patrons to such a large extent. The girls, according to Detective Blobby, leave their patrons in a delicate place of suspension and should not be doing so. The letter demands that the club be closed down and the girls counselled to protect the community from further distraction …… It seems that the wording on the letter received here at Council is in the same style, and it was signed RKA as well.

I can’t believe this nonsense, put the brakes on pole and private lap dancing in order to stop the population carrying out sinful acts, what a strange request. Why would special k want me dead ?

Is Sally going to speak or is she just going to blush her way through this whole interview ? She’s ready to offer an insight but seems reluctant to save her squirming senior officer.

“If you could let us know if you can think of anyone else who would want to hurt you Alex” offered Detective Blobby.

They haven’t even confirmed it’s me they’re after, but they do seem concerned, isn’t that nice.

Warren remains very quite through this discussion and offers only a grunt in an indeterminable dialect when it’s over. Hands shaken, assurances given and then I escort the dynamic duo out to the main exit doors …. bye! I make a mental note to ring Sally and pursue my great love. Time to go home, I grab my stuff, wander outside, have a fag and head to the car park proper and the grey gas guzzling monster, you evil polluters beware, I’m mobile.

8

Opening the garage door I see that Michelle is home, she has a knack for parking just ever so slightly in the wrong place; it’s easier that way, making it very hard for me to fit into the remaining space. She has an early finish and as normal she’s navigating the house wandering about in only her knickers and socks. Not a bad way to end the day, all this talk of sin and corn flakes has me in the mind to realise what I’m supposed to be guilty of. Sex with Michelle is perfunctory, not on fire as the Kings of Leon claim, but it sure gets the evening of to a good start. She has a knack of making me crumble without complaint. A couple of Carlton Mid’s are produced, none of that cats piss for me, even the famous TV detective Morse said it’s not spelt with XXXX’s for nothing,  we then sit down and talk about our day, she has had the clients from hell – same old same old, and I begin to tell her of mine. This frank sharing of views stalls when I start to tell her about the letter from special k and the Church of the Sunshine Grass. She tells me again about her day, but this time I’m forced to listen, well I was enjoying the afterglow wasn’t I. Usually I do vague out the first time she’s telling me about the titivating days she’s had, I must admit.

“The church was the client from hell” she says.

“What the Fuck” I scream with enough energy to spill my beer.

What did they want from Digby, Mullins and Battens Pty Ltd, the shitty little mortgage brokers Michelle worked for, and what were they complaining about?

“Did they say anything about a Council employee?”

“Ah no I, I don’t think so” stutters Michelle;

They were just concerned about fixed or variable rates and wondering which way to go. Phil Digby gave them half an hour and away they went. It was funny though, there were 9 of them all squeezed in the office with Phil and when they came out they were very flustered, even Phil.

“Does D.M.B look deal in a professional sense with Ally Mullins from Big Bouncy Boobs Dance Review in Summit Park ? .. i manage to say”

I asked hoping that the answer would be no, Michelle would remember that I dated Ally for some time before we started living together, the fucking big yellow and black Ally / Alex tattoo on my arm would probably continue to remind her.

“No not directly, but the sleaze bag who owns the club does, his name is”

I had cut her off as I knew who owned the club, it was me, but no other bugger except for Ally and Slim knows that detail, not even Michelle.

When I won the SBHA Prize Home, I put the proceeds to good use.

“It’s someone called John C. Millar, he must be a sleaze, I’ve never met him but who else would own a big boobs, firm bums and lap dancing club?”.… Michelle told me this with no option for me other than to offer my full agreement.

My unreserved agreement would be a bit difficult wouldn’t it and that description threw me a bit, that’s quite colourful in its accuracy and intention, the only thing she left off was the lack of a happy ending, that sort of licensing wasn’t available when I first opened the club and the drama with the 1% er’s wasn’t worth it. Even now with Queensland’s prostitution act, it’s still not possible, but creative types can work around that, I just couldn’t be bothered. The club earns a shit load of money as it is, with most of the money in cash; I have a hard time explaining to the taxman. I have an accountant Slim, who trains his thinning hair into unnatural styles and positions, but he know his shit and he gets me through the big picture, which is tax avoidance, it’s just that some of the cash is left off the books so I can grease the wheels of industry when they need greasing, without a happy ending of course!!

The SBHA win was amazing, I’d just packed up the house in Sydney and was all set to drive to the Gold Coast when I spied an envelope selling the latest prize home tickets. The Soldiers Back Home Association has been buying land and engaging builders to provide a prize worthy of everyone’s dreams and selling tickets at an affordable price to the public for a bloody long time. They also arrange and give away cars, cash, gold bullion and holidays.  It was silly of me at this time as I had just bought a new house and a car for my move to Queensland, but as I’d always bought tickets I thought why not! I’ll help them out, you never know.

Well of course I won! Didn’t I. Precise luck would have it that the house was around the corner from my recent and less than glamorous purchase and the prize car was better than the shitbox Toyota Camry I’d bought. It was a royal blue Mercedes 500SL, just like the two Mercedes I’d bought for the fat guy in Sydney all those years ago, I mean he paid for them I just went shopping for them, while confusing the shit out of the snooty salesman. The clichéd “look like a homeless person”, but buy two brand new 500sl’s, sedan and coupe. Well what to do? I sold the purchased house and Toyota and moved into the new one with my new German made status symbol. It was the proceeds from this gleeful sale that I invested in an adult review club right in the heart and spilt guts of Lincoln Point’s version of a night club/red light district.

It was a partnership with a guy whose sexuality was a constant source of amusement and confusion of all who met him. He could pull pretty well immediately in any location, gay or straight and the elderly Asian ladies who frequented the Casino loved him. This partnership ended when he was rather tragically killed in a machinery accident, he was helping a friend in his T shirt printing factory where he was savagely embroidered to death, over and over the words, “Mac’s Boulders are always bigger” were stitched into his chest and abdomen, resulting in serious blood loss and ensuing heart attack . It was the apostrophe in the word Mac’s that caused the most damage. Actually that’s the stupid story I tell everyone to get a laugh, but he really died at the hands of a jealous yakuza who didn’t like his wife bonking a round eye behind his back. Little did the guy know, but my mate would’ve loved to be bonking behind his back in the true “man love” style as well.

This tragedy had a silver lining for me though, my far from androgynous mate had named me the sole beneficiary in his will, and so I ended up with the entire club, his collection of bisexual porn, his 1976 Datsun 180B and 100,000 in cash that I managed to stumble across hidden in the boot. What a fabulous fucking windfall, in fact that was one of his favourite jokes “How many gay men does it take to change a light globe?” and he took great joy in screaming the answer: “10, one changing the light globe and the other 9 prancing about in their loudest voice yelling – Fabulous” He will be sadly missed in just a few dangerously exotic communities here in Lincoln Point, not to mention the stores that specialise in offering that certain something different.

So there I was fully cashed up, with a rubbish 32 year old car and owning the entire club. It was a small, smelly and yet sexy club called the Rumpy Pumpy Review, which I promptly closed down. It was hidden out of view, aside from the phallic and flashing neon sign out on the street, above an all night supermarket, which for some reason closed down when I moved to new premises I’d built in Summit Park. I learnt that all of the girls, limo drivers and many of the patrons purchased their tissues, condoms, cigarettes, headache tablets and power drinks from Tim’s supermarket. Well bugger me!!

But how the hell can the Big Bouncy Boobs Dance Review, the Church of the Sunshine Grass and this most recent threat to my personal safety be connected?  Oh no – don’t tell me…. has special K found my secret web of ownership?, and does he want to impose some sort of unique punishment for my single handed outbreak of mass masturbation amongst the horniest members of our community, I mean many men and women have enjoyed the serious teasing Big Boobs offers, why does special k want to hurt me?  Well, tomorrow might be fun.

well that’s it so far .. there will be more ..

the nonsense here at tbaoo is getting thicker. the random writings are getting stronger, wilder and yet remain so naive and first steps like. i do believe that the more i produce, the better it might get, a little better at each attempt. only you dear reader can judge how things are going.

the moony and carol story is a prime example. after reading some wise advice and contrary to what i originally thought, i’m just letting it rip. as it happens is how the story develops, the plot, the characters combined with the tone and style. no real pre-thought, skeleton or reams of research. it’s all just popping out as i type ( a bit like this post ) and it’s really all i’ve done since i started tbaoo.

the product is of course for a small, niche market. widespread acceptance could be a hard task. i’ll keep going though because the real reason for the blog, is that it’s me and i’m very different. different in a good way i think, you – maybe not.

i’ll be writing and mixing up content as time goes by and i really hope you come along for the ride. the categories might ( read will ) change, as i rearrange the content into more specific spots.

i would still love some guest posts. i’ve even written one that’ll be online soon and i’ve just received a guest post for tbaoo. if you’ve a short story, a review or just some stuff you think might fit, i’d love to have a look and if it does – make it fit.

so all the very best to you dear reader, you’ve been loyal and supportive, although you need to tell all your fiends and their neighbours, so tbaoo can grow even more. one thing i need to do is find time to support others a lot more. my twitterfeed is doing a good job of that, but i need to personalise my support.

trust me – you have it.

time for some music – groove armada style - http://youtu.be/YSg9Y-16fl4

photo credit

it began, it happened over and over and over again. moony was pleasantly surprised at how he managed it. carol was equally surprised, she was so surprised she screamed it out over and over and over again.

moony as it tuned out was fit, so fit he was a gentle yet forceful fit into the ocean that was carol. his size did matter and wasn’t carol appreciative. she lay back in the smouldering module, wet with sweat, passion and tears. this amazing session of sexual gymnastics had only just begun yet carol had reached orgasm at moony’s very first touch. it was a caring and thoughtful touch she’d never thought moony capable of. the kiss, the sweeps and the nibbles were just enough to spark the reaction, it was a full throated scream. it was that much of a whole body reaction that moony thought at first he’d something wrong .. that was until she pushed his head even further in and he understood that he was on the right track.

her first sweeping climax and drained relaxation state over with, she decided to return the favour. the history boffins looked at the footage many years later – yes the module had a secret eye recording feature, ( unbeknownst to carol or moony ), and wondered how she managed such a feat of sexual athleticism. especially as oral sex had been banned my mumblet. it in it’s dominating way had thought that the name and the act had a certain sameness. not the act, joy or outcome, it was that the street slang for a head job was; to enjoy a mumblet or indeed be mumbleated. this could not be allowed, so the act of he on she, she on he, she on she and he on he had to stop. stop it did, as far as the universe thought, but not really, it was just driven underground. in fact a new slang word appeared and kept on the low down, it was to company, to provide or receive or endure being accompanied.

carol and moony didn’t care, they had half of their suits off and had already reached a strong company position. carol had a complete takeover underway and she knew it, while moony hoped that she could take over more. her appetite became ferocious as did the thunderous orgasm that nearly twisted moony’s neck. carol’s neck remained remarkably rigid, as moony became less so.

once both of them had recovered enough, the act of serious pelvic bumping intercourse lasted for about twenty minutes. carol screamed some more, both came some more and even the module’s secret eye screamed, it was all too much. too much noise, too much mess to absorb and every conceivable space in the five metre round facility had to be wiped down. the ship would be very upset when it found out.

the conception was complete and the storage tube automatically popped out of it’s dispenser in preparation of the almost immediate birth. no-one knew how it knew but they always did, they just went pop !! and landed in the lap of the first human female within the fifteen metre range it was set for.

the company had decided a number of years ago to reduce the time of “conception to placement” in the maturation storage tube. it was now down to three minutes, not even enough time to come down from the high, to pull up your pants or zip up the zip. but it was just enough time to get the ugly transfer spatular ready. growing oens wasn’t a glamourous affair, even if the affair was.

the regret and recriminations from this spectacular sexual coupling was yet to come.

welcome to the ‘blogging and friends’ blog hop. tbaoo has dived in and and is happy to see you here. the organisers and the word look forward to reading your thoughts and ideas. thank you for participating and i now share my contribution and the few simple rules, tbaoo will always follow the rules, if not the use of capitals:

Write a post about Blogging and Friends. You can write about yourself or you can compare and contrast to another friend’s blog. Include the following intro to your post:

Linking into the ’Blogging and Friends’ blog hop at Bongo Is Me  and Living with Food Allergies and Celiac Disease.

Follow the instructions and leave your link to your blog post at this location.

Blog hops are a great way to meet new bloggers and read new material, so don’t forget to visit other participant’s entries and show them some love.

This linky will remain open through to the 31st of May at midnight.

here we go then …

i’ve been fortunate to be exposed to loads. loads of people, many new friends and many who i’d shake my head at if i met them in person. the head shaking would be my response to hard fought over and developed ideas, political and world views. this rather odd reaction is the same as when confronted with people at my secret day job. thankfully most are good souls, with all the outward looking attributes i like to share. like minded souls, well at least at first glance and within tentative social meetings ..

this convoluted ranting above is where taboo is heading, i’ve started writing less often and putting more into my posts.

the most amazing thing about tbaoo and blogging is the exposure to loads of tremendous people, the many people that i’ve connected with over the last couple of years. some i come across i don’t know how to connect with all that well of course, topics that are that raw and so emotional i can’t bring myself to engage too deeply with. i find myself just skimming across the surface at times and sadly at times overlooking because of their subject matter.

this doesn’t mean that my life is not richer for sharing our blog writings / postings .. it’s just that some are easier for me to banter with. others i find very hard.

this blog hop is a prime example, how do i write about the friendships i’ve made in my normal style ? pretty damn difficult, which is why i’ve delayed responding.

complicated soul that i am, i’ve left a few good groups that seemed for whatever reason to direct me away from what i thought i was trying to be – shit this is getting very heavy. one group became overrun with a doctrine and praise like fervor that i couldn’t take anymore. the other seemed to become, by default, a tedious school like homework assignment all intended with love i know, but not a topic, process or feel that i had even intended or continue to be involved in.

i’ve changed my direction and as tbaoo has done over the years, directed myself to a morphed fiction, nonsense, random and deliberate writing style. time will tell whether this direction is right, the steps are forward, the steps are steady and each one feels good.

i think i have made some really good online friends, i really enjoy their support while most of the time feeling guilty about my own less than overwhelming support in return.

it’s time for a tip, become involved, be yourself, be happy and be prepared for the growth that will follow.

it’s about time, it’s overdue and it’s a step in the right direction. admitting that you’ve changed your mind when you’re the leader of the free world is also a “fan blooming tastic” thing .. there’s hope for america after all, all we need to do is show americans that there is.

here’s an email to tbaoo from the main man himself, mr president – barack obama.

Hi — ( that’s what he calls me )

Today, I was asked a direct question and gave a direct answer:

I believe that same-sex couples should be allowed to marry.

I hope you’ll take a moment to watch the conversation, consider it, and weigh in yourself on behalf of marriage equality:

http://my.barackobama.com/Marriage

I’ve always believed that gay and lesbian Americans should be treated fairly and equally. I was reluctant to use the term marriage because of the very powerful traditions it evokes. And I thought civil union laws that conferred legal rights upon gay and lesbian couples were a solution.

But over the course of several years I’ve talked to friends and family about this. I’ve thought about members of my staff in long-term, committed, same-sex relationships who are raising kids together. Through our efforts to end the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy, I’ve gotten to know some of the gay and lesbian troops who are serving our country with honor and distinction.

What I’ve come to realize is that for loving, same-sex couples, the denial of marriage equality means that, in their eyes and the eyes of their children, they are still considered less than full citizens.Even at my own dinner table, when I look at Sasha and Malia, who have friends whose parents are same-sex couples, I know it wouldn’t dawn on them that their friends’ parents should be treated differently.

So I decided it was time to affirm my personal belief that same-sex couples should be allowed to marry.

I respect the beliefs of others, and the right of religious institutions to act in accordance with their own doctrines. But I believe that in the eyes of the law, all Americans should be treated equally. And where states enact same-sex marriage, no federal act should invalidate them.

If you agree, you can stand up with me here.

Thank you,

Barack

……………………………………………………………….

note: thankfully rick santorum does not email tbaoo

photo credit

to say that the story was told was rather premature. it has only just begun. the words had gathered on the page but the master hadn’t yet spread or laid them out in order of merit, intrigue or even sense.

words like – enormous, incredulous, mist, moist, table or ignored. simple words ready for action and ready for publication. if only the master knew how to lay them out, what order, what use or abuse.

learning to write wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. the master reads a lot, talks a lot and has some hardened opinions but that isn’t enough. a lot is a lot, or not ? could he dribble on about something and watch it become clear as the words fell into place. why not, he’d done that before. a lot. so why not this time, what was it about these words that had tumbled from his snappy fingers.

maybe it was that the words had no meaning. sure they meant something, but no meaning to him today. tomorrow’s words might be better, but maybe not. tomorrow meant putting off today. what is todays topic then ? what brings the words into focus. who cares. that was a comment once, who cares ? well the master cared. he cared too much. those words used that day meant something and it’s a shame that today seems like the words mean nothing.

“bill sat watching the morning’s television offerings. his monster television sat on his enormous coffee table. it was obvious that the largely ignored protagonists in the drama that was being broadcast, endured the drivel and sat back in their chairs, bored out of their minds. they looked just like the numb and dumb waiter that lurked in this dank and empty restaurant. the incredulous bystander standing outside in the cool and overpowering mist, seemed to be looking in ( and fogging up ) the dirty windows. this saturated stranger drooled while pretending to breathe in the moist lamb roasts that were cooling down on the kitchen counter. sweaty lamb and gravy was just what peter needed for lunch. this deep throated voice over shattered bill’s concentration“

so the master has mangled the words into something, something’s better than nothing, but is it enough ?

maybe not, but he’ll try again tomorrow.

so random this writing goo.gl/fb/OuHXX

— tbaoo (@tbaootweets) May 7, 2012