PLEASE LET IT BE CHOCOLATE

I've never ever been a big fan of public toilets my least favourite being the ones where anyone can go to do their business and I try and avoid them like the plague. I could even tell you of some horror situations I’ve experienced in China (the land of the squatter). However, I don’t mind toilets at work as you expect a certain level of cleanliness.

But today I went to the bathroom cubicle at work at to find a dollop on the floor. I shit you not! A dollop of shit was on the floor of the cubicle. Now I’ve tried to think of a number of ways it could of gotten there but none of them make logical sense.

1.The fella was busting so hard that when he got there he shot an explosive turd into the back of the cistern, a piece of which then flew between the gap of his legs and the front of toilet seat onto the floor without him seeing it. Probability – a billion to one. If this actually happened he should buy a lottery ticket.
2.He was using his hand as there was no toilet paper and flicked it onto the floor. Probability – a trillion to one. There was plenty of paper in the bathroom.
3.The offending item was hanging off a dag when he turned around and it fell onto the floor. Probability – ten to one.

What baffles me is wouldn’t you try and clean it up? The fact that he left it there for the next poor unsuspecting soul to see (and deal with) is what really pisses me off.

I now suspect everyone of being the culprit (the dirty poo dolloper) and watch them suspiciously as they enter the bathroom. All I know is that there’s some bugger on my floor whose hand I don’t want to shake.

Dag (aussie slang) – wool on a sheep’s bum. A dag is usually covered in faeces as sheep obviously can’t wipe their bottoms.

Mulesing (verb) – a practice where skin around sheep’s bum is removed with very sharp shears. Prevents dags.

I suggest that this man be found immediately and given a mulesing quick smart.

AMELIA ROSE DOOLEY

Quote - Born 6:36am Saturday morning, 7lbs 4oz, all are well.


Congrats Phil & Erin. Can't wait to get back home to see the kiddie.

OH THE HUMANITY!

For those who know me well when it comes to girls I have an incredible ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. My Saturday night in New York was a case in point unfortunately witnessed in all of its glory by Britney. I was hurting bad after the night before when I had hopped straight off the plane and bar hopped round 3rd and 37th till 5 in the morning and our dinner at Mandoo Bar was playing havoc with my stomach. I was retching and literally had chest pains (love my Korean food). Britney and I had decided to go to the meat-packing district to get into whatever club which would let two fellas in. Crobar had guest DJ Roger Sanchez so it was declared the winner. (This guy plays all over the world – lucky prick). It was a pretty impressive looking club. They even had performance artists. My favourites were the ones in period dress dancing to a cracking rendition of “Amadeus, Amadeus”. That’s entertainment!

Off to pack some meat

Performance artists. Can't get enough of em.

Onto the embarrassing detail, once we had gotten in it didn’t look good. Frankly it was a sausage factory (well I’m hoping it was and not a gay club though there were a shit load of pre op trannies and they were celebrating the anniversary of some gay pride thing). The mix was roughly 80/20 blokes to sheilas. Britney and I were in for a tough night or were we? (The more I think about it the more it’s all starting to make sense)

Anyway I had noticed a fair few nice asian birds starting to come into the club now and had noticed one in particular. Even though I was playing hard to notice after a while she came straight up to us for a chat. Turns out she was Korean American from LA studying law at NYU (I knew she was Korean). How hot was she? She was pretty damn hot. Britney, who’s only requirement is that they be blonde and tanned (notice no age requirement so he likes the prune like ones too) was impressed and took great pleasure of reminding me all weekend. How keen was she? She was pretty keen (I think it’s my new pointy hair do) Now, If you’re not paying attention this is where I dropped the ball. After her friends had convinced her to go dance, I probably should of gone with her. What did I do? Nothing! At this point Britney should of given me the kick in the arse and smack across the head I deserved but was it forthcoming? No! (I have to at least try to blame someone else)

Even better, as I danced amongst the heaving mass of blokes! (Roger Sanchez is farking good DJ. I’d dance with Satan himself) who suddenly popped up with her friends and what did I do. Nothing! Oops dropped the ball again! She left in a huff. It felt like dropping the ball over the line with the line wide open and the World Cup there to be won.

I’m only writing about this failure as it was particularly galling and I wanted to set the story straight before Britney got his dirty grubby fingers into it. I think Britney summed it up quite nicely when he described watching it to like watching the Hindenberg going down in flames in 1937. I couldn’t disagree. Oh the humanity!

I’ll write more on New York when I’ve got more time. Let’s just say it’s the best city in the world and I had a great time proven by my hacking smokers cough. (Why doesn’t Joe Camel ever cough his guts up on TV?)

The Slug Count - I've lost track I think it's seven!

ASSES OF BUDAPEST

Okay admittedly not very pc but check it out anyway. Pictures from the Hungarian Grand Prix. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I can only think of one. Wowser! Thanks to the Sush man.

SOUTH KOREA DREAMIN' ON SUCH A WINTERS DAY

Anyway for those who don't already know I'm going to Korea (the motherland) in October. The only reason I was even thinking of going was because Bavan is working there for two weeks internally auditing somebody (he he that sounds rude) and my original intention was to get shit faced in Seoul for a week but somehow it now includes visiting family who I haven’t seen for donkey’s years.

It’s been almost 15 years since the last time I visited. My impressions of Korea as a kid were amazement at the masses of people, the joys of bathing with thirty other people, a child’s appreciation for the easy availability of fireworks and bibi guns (I’m lucky to have made it back with two good eyes and all my fingers), how much fun it was to order dog and fight with over the four drumsticks, the stupidity of eating toxic snow and marvelling at the kindness of relatives whom I had never met before. My impression may have been slightly biased as I went during new year celebrations and you are given money for bowing and paying respect to your older relatives. Amazing how quickly you can learn a new language when there are cash incentives. I came back minted. My mother offered to hold my cash for me and to this day I haven’t seen a cent!

I’m not sure what to expect this time round. Like myself I’m sure Korea has changed immeasurably since the last time I was there. For instance my mother was cutting my hair with a bowl back then. I assure you she no longer does this now. My biggest concern is my really piss poor Korean. It's probably the main reason why I've stayed away. Bunking off Korean school after Mom had dropped me off has really come back to bite me on the ass. You can get around Korea without the language as many locals are keen to help the lost foreigner around but I guess knowing it would be somewhat expected from me. Luckily I know all the swear words so if some sly fucker tries to play the let's smile at the foreigner while actually swearing at him trick I can kick him in the nuts.

My father is worried that my uncle (his brother) will treat me poorly. Let’s just say things are frosty. One visit home in 28 years pretty much says it all. To make a good first (well technically second) impression I am now required to wear a suit, tie and good shoes and hand out business cards like confetti while repeating my position, salary and national insurance number like some prisoner of war. He just thinks that I will get more respect from my uncle if I do so and hence he encourages me to do the same when introducing Bavan to any of my other relatives. His exact words were “Don’t give him shit (in front of the relatives). Tell them how smart he is and that he has an important job with a big company”. Considering that my father doesn’t know Bavan from say Yudesh (I’m kidding) I don’t think it would of mattered if Bavan cleaned toilets or was an internal auditor to my uncle he was going to be next CEO of Fox. This is going to be hard.

Happy Birthday Hodges. I feel like absolute crap this morning so I must of had a great time. Sosho was fucking cool last night even though I had to stumble back home early. Anyway I'm off to V Festival today in Chelmsford.

I've never actually eaten dog but you gotta keep the punter's happy.

FROM ZERO TO HERO!

Apparently this is me.

Three cheers for the office bludger - the zero who became a hero
By Nick O'Malley, Workplace Reporter
August 20, 2005

Bored by meaningless work, management jargon, memos and meetings, a new type of professional slacker has emerged - the actively disengaged. Rather than quitting and moving to the coast, this species avoids work where possible and puts up with corporate drudgery just to bank their pay.
These time servers have a new hero in Corinne Maier, the French author of an angry manifesto against modern working life, Bonjour Paresse, to be published here next month as Hello Laziness: Why Hard Work Doesn't Pay. The book was outsold in France only by The Da Vinci Code last year and was a best-seller in Europe and the US.
"In the biggest companies seek out the most useless positions: those in consultancy, appraisal, research and study. The more useless your position, the less possible it will be to assess your 'contribution to the firm's assets'," says Maier, an economist with the state-owned Electricité de France. "Once you're safely out of sight, avoid all change. Only the most visible managers are let go."
Maier argues the modern corporation is a stultifying beast that demands everything and returns little. You should give it as little time as possible, she says. "The corporation's claim to mobilising your whole being to its own advantage leads to the opposite: it makes clear your oppression, to which you should respond, without retreat, irrevocably, by becoming a parasite," writes Maier in her penultimate chapter, "Begin Your Sabotage Tomorrow".
The malaise Maier identifies is as much Australian as French, says Carol Royal, a senior lecturer at the University of NSW School of Organisation and Management. She says anti-intellectualism and fear of innovation are entrenched in financial institutions.
"It's stifling in these companies. People who've left tell you that when they offered new ideas or innovation they were always knocked back," she said. Those who can afford to retire early are doing so. Others are disengaging by setting up consultancies or niche businesses - anything to get out of the office.
Tim Orton, the managing director of The Nouse Group, a consultancy specialising in management and leadership, says this torpor is part of the pathology of the corporation.
All large organisations have departments that contribute nothing to the core of the business but are vital nonetheless. Staff in these departments may tune out because they have little sense of how their work contributes. But he suspects the deliberate disengagement advocated by Maier is a more typically French than Australian response because of our more competitive working culture and because we have fewer large corporations.
Maier's greatest venom and darkest satire is reserved for empty management jargon. "It is a ground zero of language where the words no longer mean anything at all," says Maier. "Only communist regimes have churned out more jargon than modern business. George Orwell was the first to understand that Soviet jargon was not a jargon like any other, laughable and inoffensive, but a genuine metamorphosis of language triggered by ideology."
Such jargon was an American-Anglo creation that has colonised the world, said Dr Marion Baird, a senior lecturer in work and organisational studies at Sydney University. Hello Laziness could be the intellectual equivalent of a French peasant taking a McDonald's apart with his tractor. The book might have sunk without a trace had Maier's employer not taken legal and disciplinary action against her for "spreading gangrene through the system from within".
Le Monde picked up the story and its success was sealed. The legal action was quietly dropped. So why, asked one journalist, has she not quit her job? "Because it makes my boss very angry."

LAST NIGHT I HAD THE STRANGEST DREAM....

Last night I had the strangest dream. Normally I don't remember my dreams. This time was different as I woke up in a cold sweat. All I remember is that for some unknown reason I had saved up a humungous pile of praline flake (my favourite chocolate bar at the moment). The exchange rate was currently two and a half Australian dollars to the flake. In a moment of weakness I devoured the pile of flake leaving me with nothing but empty wrappers. It was this point in time that I awoke in a cold sweat thinking that I had just eaten my entire life savings. Pretty weird huh? In the event that I do have some psychic ability I suggest you all withdraw your savings from ING now!

I'M ON THE ROAD TO NO WHERE

Some of the fellas and I were going up to Manchester on Sunday to catch the fourth day of the third Ashes test. To say we were pumped to watch an Ashes test was an understatement. The Aussies were fighting a rear guard action and we wanted to be there to cheer them on. I had gone home early from drinks the night before in preparation for the long drive while others like The Bigness had partied through till leaving time. At six in the morning the boys piled into the trusty Rover and we zoomed up the M40 until disaster struck. With 80 miles to go to our destination the electronics gave way on our trusty Rover and we were fucked (I know we probably should of walked the last 80 miles). With no alternative transport available, the man from AA giving our not so trustworthy Rover the last rites (and people whinge about Korean cars - at least they work) and the duplicity of English scalpers we had to admit defeat and head back to London.

After finally making it back to London at two in the arvo we decided to make the best of a bad situation and head for the Slug for some e-sports and e-dancing. It was messy.

So instead of pictures of action from the 4th Test at Old Trafford I give you our day in Bassets Pole, Staffordshire.

Looks like we aint going no where!

Desh gets the bad news. Rover is going to the big kennel in the sky.

Waiting for the tow truck.

Still waiting for the tow truck.

The tow truck!

The Slug Count - Four

Listening to The Magic Numbers - Magic Numbers. They may be porky but they can sure play the music.

BELLY OF THE BEAST

I was flicking through the channels on my magical sky box the other night when I came across a movie called Belly of the Beast starring Steven Seagal The Great. I thought to myself “hey this should be good for a couple of hours of wanton, mind numbing violence”. I was sadly mistaken. On this effort arguably Steve’s best years are behind him. My first reaction on seeing the man was a mix of horror and disbelief. Horror, as he is so horribly fat now and disbelief, as I still haven’t figured out how he swallowed that whale. The man is ginormous. In the past Steve’s greatest strength (or weakness) was his stone faced demeanour. This mask of indifference carried him though Under Siege 1 and 2 with great success. His face is so pudgy now that I found it difficult to distinguish a smile from constipation.

As for the movie, Stevie plays an ex CIA operative (he’s always playing an ex something) trying to rescue his/someone’s kidnapped daughter in Thailand. Watching a fat white man in a kimono effortlessly negotiate the seedy underbelly of Bangkok’s underworld was farcical. No, wait actually I’ve been to Bangkok and he would of fit right in. I’ve probably seen him there perched up on three stools in some go go bar on Soi Cowboy and not given him a second glance.

I couldn’t help but feel that Stevie is wrestling with more spiritual matters than making a decent movie. Much emphasis was placed on his appreciation of “the teachings of the Buddha”. Shots of temples and monks were interspersed with shots of Seagal and more monks. I suspect his Buddhist leanings have tempered the once unquenchable thirst for blood and the body count in this movie suffered as a result. Compared to his best films he just wasn’t dispatching his foes with the same gusto. His heart just wasn’t in it.

An alternative view after watching it while high on crack cocaine.

Link to be added due to numerous complaints.

The Slug Count - Three

THROW ANOTHER SHRIMP ON THE BARBIE!

The fellas and I were invited to a good old fashioned barbeque at Anh’s place last night. She has a really nice place even though it’s out in the sticks (Eltham? Where the hell is that?). I must thank Sandy for preparing the food which was top notch (great potato salad) and Anh the bean salad that you bought from Sainsburys was also very nice. The massive tiger prawns were delicious despite the prawn shit. Anyway I had great fun if the amount of red wine I drank was anything to go by. Apparently I had been chugging it like water and all I really remember doing was tugging at everyone’s shirts and saying “Hey Mister! What are you doing to my mommy” It’s a long story. My motto for this week is “Show me a bottle of red and I’ll show you an idiot!”

I’d rate my hangover this morning a five out of ten.

I will be putting up some pictures of Budapest over the next week. Most of which will be under “Asses of Budapest”. I give you all a knowing wink.

SLUT AND LEGLESS

Yet another Sunday night spent at the Slug. In my defence, my extreme proximity to the place makes it difficult not to call it my local. I can literally see the place from my front door. I now find it strangely comforting that after a few snake bites you can find yourself tapping your feet to classics like Jump (For My Love) by the Pointer Sisters, leering at the bar staff as they take their tops off and I challenge you not to have a tear in your eye as the aussie anthem is played at closing (now 12AM for extra drunkeness).

For the nostalgic a slug medley

Jump, jump for my love
Jump, I know my heart can make you happy
Jump in, you know these arms
Can feel you up
Jump, you want to taste my kisses
In the night then
Jump, jump for my love

Do you come from a land down under?
Where women glow and men plunder?
Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?
You better run, you better take cover.

Australians all let us rejoice,
For we are young and free;
We've golden soil and wealth for toil,
Our home is girt by sea;
Our land abounds in Nature's gifts
Of beauty rich and rare;
In history's page, let every stage
Advance Australia fair!
In joyful strains then let us sing,
"Advance Australia fair!"

The Slug Count - TWO

Desh is serenading me with live music from the Craig David concert. He is actually singing which is worse.

YOU'RE MY WONDERBALL!

I know we didn't win and I'm still pissed off at Yudesh for calling me up on Sunday morning to tell me that we we only needed 50 runs to win. Of course I got out of bed and stupidly watched and stupidly began to entertain the thought that we might win. Hope blossomed and grew until it was crushed under the glossy black jack boot of Billy Bowden.

You may of seen Warne waving the ball at the crowd every time he got a wicket. Apparently it was because instead of the normal stick the poms give him about his weight/hair/lewd texting (take your pick) they were teasing him about his recent marital problems. I believe the chant was "Warnie where's your missus?"

But how farking good is Warnie? The balls that removed Strauss twice were absolute magic. The flight, the dip and the ripping turn were there for all to see. He's so good that Mattel should start pumping out Warnie action figures. Fighting crime with zooters, googlies and the deadly flipper after downing cans of baked beans Popeye style. Beware his only weakness, no not kryptonite but Indian food. Look I'm not a Warnie sycophant. At times he can make me cringe with his off field exploits but I can acknowledge when I've seen a great in action.

I'm just glad I got to see him play so that one day I can tell my adopted grandkids (from every continent - thank you Angelina Jolie) that I watched the bastard play and damn he was good.

CROOK AS A BUTCHER'S DOG

I haven't been able to write much this week as I've been crook as a butcher's dog and I've had to go into work every day. It may of been all those dodgy Hungarian Malboros but more likely due to the fact I'm feeling generally run down. Don't worry Mum I'm okay it's the phlegm fur balls I'm worried about.

Probably way to much information there. Anyway, I'm not going to write about work very often as you never know who's reading this crap but this is priceless. I've been "recommended" by my manager for this rising talent programme (sort of like Young Talent Time with Johnny Young). What they are trying to do is promote networking and profile awareness amongst the next generation of future managers. Ha ha ha.

I had my first meeting with the other go getters from my group today. We had to pick a topic which we would work on together and present to the rising talent forum (sadly no Danny Minogue in my team). Big Brother informed us that if we did not participate it would be noted when we were all ranked against each other in the annual shit fight for promotion. I love it. Mix 8 parts ambitious guys & gals, 1 part carrot of promotion, mix and sit back and watch as they try and outdo each other.

Mental note to self - Must be even more incompetent at work so that I will never again be considered for this shit.

As I write this The Bigness is looking for fellow pacmen but I'm too fucked to respond.

I know you all used to sing along with Johnny as he waved goodbye and those snotty kids would say "Goodnight Austraya!"

Close your eyes and I'll kiss you,
Tomorrow I'll miss you;
Remember I'll always be true.
And then while I'm away,
I'll write home ev'ry day,
And I'll send all my loving to you.

I'll pretend that I'm kissing
The lips I am missing
And hope that my dreams will come true.
And then while I'm away,
I'll write home ev'ry day,
And I'll send all my loving to you.

All my loving I will send to you.
All my loving, darling I'll be true.

ZOLTAN GRANTS YOU A WISH! I WISH I WAS BIG!

Zoltan was a cabbie we met in Budapest who upon learning that Sush was a doctor proceeded to tell us about his battle with testicular cancer. We were all pretty sauced up so it made for an interesting and funny conversation or at least I thought so.

ZOLTAN: I have de ahhh cancer of (points at crotch)

BOYS: Of the foot, of the penis, testicles.

ZOLTAN: Yes, yes testicles.

SUSH: Oh man that's horrible. Like Lance Armstrong. Lance Armstrong is my hero man.

ZOLTAN: Yes, yes like Armstrong. But now it's okay.

SUSH: Lance Armstrong is my hero man.

ZOLTAN: Yes but Lance he has the best doctors. I have no money for this.

SUSH: Yeah you're right man. Fuck Lance Armstrong! You're my hero Zoltan. Did they have to cut one of your balls off?

ZOLTAN: Yes but it's okay. You know I have a wife, I have two sons and I have a mistress.

BOYS: Woohoo! Go Zoltan! You da man!

ME: How old is your mistress?

ZOLTAN: She is phifteeeee......

BOYS: Woohoo! Go Zoltan! You da man! Zoltan still got it! He has a 15 year old mistress! (I have no idea why we were cheering this)

ZOLTAN: No I think you misunderstand she is fifty not fifteen.

BOYS: Woohoo! Go Zoltan! You da man!

PERFECT DAY

Dedicated to Goldfingers in Praha. I guess you had to be there.

Just a perfect day,
Drink Sangria in the park,
And then later, when it gets dark,
We go home.
Just a perfect day,
Feed animals in the zoo
Then later, a movie, too,
And then home.

Oh it's such a perfect day,
I'm glad I spent it with you.
Oh such a perfect day,
You just keep me hanging on,
You just keep me hanging on.

Just a perfect day,
Problems all left alone,
Weekenders on our own.
It's such fun.
Just a perfect day,
You made me forget myself.
I thought I was someone else,
Someone good.

Oh it's such a perfect day,
I'm glad I spent it with you.
Oh such a perfect day,
You just keep me hanging on,
You just keep me hanging on.

You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow,
You're going to reap just what you sow...

Listening to The Woods by Sleater-Kinney. This album rocks!

VIVA LAS BUDAPEST!

Another weekend of smoking and boozing has left me feeling very seedy this morning but god damn I had myself a swinging time.

I went to Budapest to watch the Hungarian Grand Prix. I was meeting Sush (Deshy's cousin) and a couple of his mates Kyp and Samwise. They had flown in from a week of boozing in Barcelona and I was looking forward to more of the same.

It wasnt till late Thursday night that I realised that I was actually flying out of Stansted and not Heathrow as I had assumed. Stansted is bitch to get to and that meant a very early morning wakeup. I was grumpy.

It was a typical fucking stinking hot day in Bombay, I mean Budapest. It was HOT. To say I feared for my milkish, wheatish, yellowish complexion was an understatement. Compared to a mild 20 degrees in sunny England we were looking at 37 degrees. I was going to get some colour whether I liked it or not. I digress, I jumped in a cab (this was not cheap) and headed for the Hungoraring race course for the first practice session.

I had only ever previously seen an F1 on television and the first thing that struck me is how loud these cars are. Almost like a jumbo jet turbine or for the geeks, a pod racer in Star Wars. I was suitably impressed.

After such a long day I was pretty keen to get wasted and the easiest way I know is to drink scotch (only the good stuff of course) on the rocks. The other fellas were keen for kip before we headed out so Sush and I made an early start on the Johnny. In hindsight that may of been a mistake after we had polished the bottle off we headed for Rio. If you are into your latino jungle beats, caipirnhas and that brazilian martial arts stuff then you may like this place. I don't so my opinion is slightly biased and I was drunk. If it's not house it's not grouse! (That's pretty shit and I should delete it but I'm not going to)

Later in the night I was looking for the fellas. Now you would think it would be easy to find a bald, black man in a club full of white people but it really wasnt. Especially, when the person you are looking for has passed out in the garden. The bouncers had been using him for target practice with pebbles. That's how friendly they are in Hungary. In London they would of kicked your drunken ass out, in Hungary they just use you for sport. Hey Sush got stoned in Hungary!

I’ll apologise in advance to the ladies as I know there are a few who read this garbage. Please avert your eyes as there are a number of sexist comments about to be written now. I'm sure you've all heard those stories of how the girls in eastern europe are hot. Well it's true. It's like there was a hot girl competition in Budapest and nobody left. Logically this means that there's a country out there full of ugly girls.

On Saturday night the fellas and I headed out to Dok Beach which we had found out about off the back of a flyer and had confirmed with the Gillette promotions gals (Wow!). It's part of a larger area on the banks of the Danube with a bunch of other clubs. It was pretty rammed, the music was pretty cool and the girls were pretty (Check out the website http://www.dokkbistro.com/). Hungarians sure are a friendly bunch or it could of been the fact that everyone was pilling off their faces. We danced till dawn and it was time to go home. The race beckoned.

Now what I know about cars can be summarised in one phrase. Red ones go faster. What do I know after going to the Hungarian GP? Red ones have been faster for the last 7 years but not this year. As with all these types of events it’s not just the race you go to watch but the people. Fluorescent flexing finns with Kimi hard ons, sweaty spaniards in full matador dress (these guys were nutters) and italians and germans both cheering for the one man (not the first time). To be honest they were much interesting than the race which was pretty exciting in it's own right. Personally, I would of preferred more crashes but that's just me. There's just something about watching millions of dollars of machinery disintergrate that get's me off.

Fellas! I don’t care if you have to beg, borrow or steal. Sell a kidney (sorry Kyp!) if you have to but get out to Budapest if you can. You won’t regret it.