Kitchen wankers

Would you like some extra nasturtium with your schnitzel? Welcome to 2011 where this years food fad is edible flowers and of course using the word Heirloom wherever possible on your menu. The er aof the food mile, and the kitchen garden and every home cook now being a chef and or major supermarkets jumping on the band wagon with their organic this and no extra hormones that

Welcome to the era of the kitchen wanker.

"Its all Mastechefs fault" you cry.

Well yes, of course the little greek guy, the fat pom and Fatty Cravaty Nom Nom have a lot to blame for as we become a nation of food wankers who no longer serve their food but plate it up, with mounds of Jus stacked appropriately and with our kitchens full of expensive implements. (WTF is a water bath!) and I will personally punch on the nose the first person I meet who has their own blast freezer. And Masterchef is of course culpable in the continuation of the celebrity chef and the reintegration of Donna Hay back into polite society. 

But no. Its not their fault that the number one threat to this country isn't the cane toad but the kitchen wanker. We should have seen this coming! Look at our recent history for our whole hearted love of the wnker ingredient How soon we forget the great sun dried tomato invasion of the early nineties or in recent years the introduction of chorizo in everything. And yes they are great sausages of yumminess but there is such a thing as too much. Look at the poor sun dried tomato, now as popular as pork chops ( which have of course been replaced by pork belly)
 
People what are we doing? Where is this going to end? If anything, think of our parents, who a watermelon balled with mint was specialfancypartyfood, cherry tomatoes gourmet and a lasagne dinner party food. That  eating out was the all you can eat buffet at the faux Swedish eatery and KFC was still Kentucky Fried Chicken and salads and fast food were like cold war Russia and America.

Let me digress here momentarily and provide one minutes quick reminiscence on Ol' Pops Ranty Pants and his special meal "glop" archeological teams are yet to work out what made it so damn good but I can tell you it wasn't flowers, seeds, fancy salt encrusted foreign pork bangers or anything that didn't come out of a packet)

Think of the undue pressure we are putting on our parents? Lets get our hands off of it and back into making good simple stodge flavored by chemicals and cheese. And when I say cheese if it doesn't come out of a tube then lets drop it off. If Kraft Cheddar was good enough for me growing up , both as a food and as a sponge in the bath, then its good enough for a cheese board. Piss off all those fancy aged stone washed rind mould surrounded by dried things! Dried things! The only dried thing on a cheese board should be beef jerky

Lets get right down to the core point of it all this absolutely ridiculous flowersonfoodsillyreducedsaucesandweirdocookingtechniques is un-Australian. We like our food simple, preferable over cooked and with as few complicating flavors as well. If it can't be cooked on the bbq with beer as the only sauce then it should piss right off.

I advocate a return to three herbs. Mint, basil and MSG. There is way too much wankiness with multiple mints, and such herbs as chervil and tansy and oregano. Just because we can grow it doesn't mean we should. or use it. Don't start me about you home gardeners. Take your green bags, worm farms, eco-awareness and back to old homely values attitudes and rack off. You can also take your reduced food miles with you when you piss off!

And can we please bring back Moselle (preferably in the case) - all these fancy vioginiers and pinot griwhateveros and what not is confusing. Its white wine. You drink it after the beer and before the red, and you drink sparkly at a wedding with a little dash of orange juice so it tastes okay. simple.

food should be simple.

As a ray of hope for doing food simply lets celebrate the Federal Hotel, in Mount Gambier. (You can call it MG) the Capital of South Australia - the food lovers state. The Federal Hotel, the home of the schnitzel, which has on its menu 128 different versions of Schnitzel. No fancy sauces, no fancy herbs, just every possible piece of flesh battered senseless, crumbed and deep fried. Either done with cheese, with tomato sauce or not. Plus some for the Vegos. Brilliant

Schnitzel good solid Australian food.

Let me understand this

Scene; Corporate Meeting room of financial institution

A strategy meeting

Enter: Advertising maestro

Advertising Maestro; So I've got it. We need to show that we are trustworthy, reliable, unlike the other banks and a little bit hip. Lets make our spokesperson an Orang Utan!!!!!!!!!!!!

An Orang Utan

Whatthemotherfrackinghellwheretheysmokinginthatadverttsingmeeting

What is it about an Orang Utan that suggests banking? What? Nothing. Why would I want to give my money to a bank which uses an Orang utan as its spokesperson. And not just any old orang utan but a smug, zen like pompous English Orang called Charles. Charles!

What is it that suggests trustworthy about Charles?  Reliable? Should we marvel at the fact that because he has discovered speech and how to use an mac-book pro that we should believe him. Really? He's still nude. I am sorry ! do not take financial advice from anyone whose evolutionary trail hasn't led to clothing

And whats more haven't they seen Planet of the Apes! I am fairly sure this is how it started and I don't want to be half naked running across a post apocalyptic wasteland being chased by a sanctimonious vaguely English advertising spokes-animal like Charles

Now I love Orangs as everyone knows (well you didn't but you do now) and I celebrate their arboreal nature and admire the fact one pissed on my ex girlfriend when I was trekking through the wilds of Sumatra. (yeah you heard me wild of Sumatra, take that Bear Grylls and shove it in your urine covered hat) So Orangs are okay with me. Right on Orangs! Orangs in positions of financial authority. No

and diverging just a moment.

Dear Mr Sam Neill

Re your meat television advert with whatshisface the Orang Utan

ORANGS DON'T EAT MEAT SO HE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT THE BENEFITS THAT MEAT HAS ON THE BRAINS AND LETS BE FRANK ABOUT THIS, YOUR NEED TO CREATE A SOCIETY OF MEAT EATERS IS WHAT IS PUSHING THE ORANGS OUT OF THE RAIN FORREST AND INTO DODGY CAREERS IN THE ADVERTISING INDUSTRY

whoops. shouted. Back to you ING

Okay I do realise the brilliant reason Charles the primate prat is the spokesperson is because he is orange.  (yes i know everything in his room is Orange. But if he is such an advanced being why would he choose to live in a house with the color scheme of an early 80s fast food outlet?)

Yes. Orange. (which incidentally is the color that makes people leave quickly. Maybe not the sort of reaction you want from long term investors)

So ING have picked their corporate symbol on its color. Brilliant.

With that understanding let us look forward to meeting

Perkins the Sanctimonious Orange songbird in charging of tweeting

Steven the Parrot in charge of Investment strategy

Violet the Starfish in charge of listening to customer complaints

 

and of course the Managing Director of ING

 

and to finish, a sombre thought

We share 97% of the Orang-utan’s DNA, but we have destroyed 80% of their habitat. In just five years time there will be no Orang-utans living in the rainforests of Borneo, because there will be no rainforests. Today the continued expansion of oil-palm plantations is the greatest threat to the orang-utan. If action is not taken immediately, we will have to explain to future generations that we knowingly sentenced the species to extinction. 

  I am a member of the Australia Orang Utan Project as well as sponsoring two Orangs. (see I really do like them). Costs me $15 a month. Could cots you as little as $5

I wonder if ING Direct are donating any money to their corporate symbol or like many advertisers using animals, blithely using their intellectual property with no return to the animals making them money.

The Post Office

What a magnificent thing our postal service is. You write a little something to someone anywhere in the world, shove it in an envelop, put the address on (for anywhere in the world I must repeat) put a square of sticky paper on it and give it the nice peeps down at the post office

and they deliver it! Magnificent

and at Christmas you can go up with your parcel of goods to send to Aunty Christine and the kids, possibly wrapped, possibly not. Not important but you grab the postpak and take the armful up but then it doesn't fit so you have to go around again but its okay we can wait because the post office is a wonderful place and we love sitting in the line heck why not comeback say three or even four times with quite specific question but its okay we can wait because the post office is a wonderful place and we can browse their collection of slim dusty CDs and mobile phone prepaid plans while you work out how to put everything in a box which none of us think your presents will fit but its okay we can wait because the post office is a wonderful place and we have nothing else to do and why not take all the desk spec with your things its okay you have obviously never been in a post office before or even knew they had a website www.auspost.com.au/ which provides details on postpaks and weights and things but that's okay we can wait\ its all Christmas cheer which is a little different form the cheer we all make when you finish

and a quick shout out to my favorite post office. Fitzroy north, Scotchmer St 068. A great combination of slow, confused and annoying (if I have the card from my PO Box its is probable my card as I would need the key to get it out! )

Cool because I work here

Who doesn't like the cool shops?

There is nothing greater than finding a little shop with cool knicks equally cool knacks, good clothes and general quirkiness. You know the one, the place you wander into while having a shopping stroll and you are immediately struck by it, with its cool sound track of hipness playing over its tastefully trendy speakers

You got from area to area of the store discovering more to more while your wallet heats up in your pocket and your credit card girds its loins for another brutal beating.

And as you pick up a particular item of want you look over and see the shop assistant sneering at you

Because they are soooooooooooooooooo cool because they work there and lets face it life would be better if they didn't have customers so why don't we all go somewhere else and don't you knwo this shop is way tooooo cooool for you.

ATTHEENDOFTHEDAYYOUAREASHOPASSISTANT!IPAYYOURWAGESYOUMINIMUMWAGEMONKEYANDWITHOUTMEYOUWOULDBEOUTTHERELOOKING HIPWITHNOMONEYTOSPENDONYOURCLOTHINGACCESSORIESANDTRYINGSOHARDTORUNWITHTHERESTOFTHEHIPSTERFLOCKOFTRYHARDSHEEP

Of course this phenomenon is not reserved to shops alone, the worst offenders are bar people who obviously have the best time in the world at their bar and we are all just lucky they let us visit. Waiters too at cool cafes are similar (uhm you do know you are just serving food?)

Whats the best way to combat this>? (aside form the usual pummel them with chair legs)

I like to employ the overwhelm them with the give "them what they expect" strategy. Obviously they think you are not worthy and beneath them so i like to prove them right with an unending list of questions/ conversation and geenral over the top friendliness

Some key pointers

1. Introduce yourself
2. If they have name tag use it every sentence
3. Don't start with the really obvious questions save them to the last
4. Call the shop by its wrong name. Twice
5. Be over familiar
6. Have a small interchange to begin with then go back again. they'll be delighted to see you again.
7. Repeat some questions.
8. Apologize profusely repeatedly, they will just hate you more for it
9. Ask for discounts
10. Don't actually buy anything. (of course) Or if you do have the wrong currency
11. Ask for the shops number so you can call them later

Oh the fun

Food Halls

Remember that iconic time when food halls were the epitome of fine dining for you and your family?

When a visit there, you in your pajamas, Mum and Dad with their cask of Moselle under the arm was the great meal out (1) Oh the wonders, the choices, the food. It was like traveling around the world without leaving the suburb

Can i help you what do you want?

What happened? Now they are all the same. One big melting pot of MSG laced flavorless bile served out by automatons in a plastic myopic cesspool. The innocence and joy has gone. Did we gerow up ro did they become shit(er)?

Lets face it they are all the same now. Go into any food-hall in the country and you will tick off the same food chains. Lets face it turn left at the wrong place and you may jump shopping centres. 

Can i help you what do you want?

• A Japanese (with three flavors of Sushi and anything fried called Teryiaki) - CHECK
• A Juice shop staffed by annoying cap wearing tweens - CHECK
• McDonalds, Hungry Jacks or the Dirty Bird (KFC) - CHECK
• At least two Chinese shops - CHECK (Which leads me point out that peas and diced carrot with some rice is not a fried rice!)

Can i help you what do you want?

• A roast of the day shop - CHECK
• An ironically named Vegetarian shop (no, bacon isn't a vegetable) - CHECK
• the ubiquitous Indian  - CHECK which leads to the inevitablE " Our food hall is good, we have a good Indian" Do you? Do you. No. ( Pat on the head poor deluded food-hall user) They are all shitty

 Can i help you what do you want?

and don't start at me about food halls are good because of the choice. Choice! I am sure they are all cooking the same thing from the same vat of protoplasmic goop at the back.

and don't even mention the people serving with their glazed eyes and grease covered aprons

Can i help you what do you want? 

NO YOU CAN'T HELP ME AS I AM ONLY CHUCKING MY FIFTH LAP OF THIS HELLHOLE TRYING TO FIND SOMETHING THAT WON'T SEE ME HUGGING A TOILET BOWL, B) TASTES VAGUELY LIKE IT CAME FROM THE NATURAL WORLD AND C) SOMETHING I HAVEN'T SEEN IN EVERY FOOD-HALL IN THE WORLD AND POSSIBLY YOU SHOULD GIVE ME AT LEAST 3 SECONDS TO LOOK AT YOUR MAGNIFICENT DISPLAY OF COMESTIBLES BEFORE ASSAULTING ME WITH YOUR MAILED IN ENTHUSIASM.

(1) Possibly you don't because you weren't born and raised in a suburban wonderland like Seaview Heights, The Northern Beaches of Dullsville

I liked them before they were famous

Oh you like I liked them before they were famous

Is there anything more pratty, more annoying, more donker like than this line (1) Usually delivered by some dickhead who is desperately clawing onto their coolness as they become as relevant as beta max (look it up kids. Not relevant)

Just because you happened to be in a bar when this band was playing seeing your boyfriend/ girlfriends failed pop/ polka fusion band doesn't make you any better of a person. It was just plain lucky. And there are no awards for being an early adopter. None. Its not like evolution, just cause you grow legs and walk first it doesn't mean you wont end up back in the primordial shit like the rest of us (2)

And do you think the band will care that you knew them before they were famous? They are probably embarrassed by their early albums! Have you listened to U2's Boy? Have you! And we all know the "i knew them since" is only the first line in the paragraph that ends " i liked their older stuff better than their newer stuff"

Who cares when you made your opinion. Does it influence me? No.

Nearly as annoying is

I know someone in the band

Anyone who most point out they know anyone famous is quite obviously a prat. And not famous, although secretly they aspire for fame. But there is no benefit from name dropping dipshit! AND WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO BE FAMOUS!

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(1) Well yes, and i have pointed most of them out but for the sake of this argument lets say yes.
(2) To be honest I don't understand that metaphor either but work with me. I'm ranting

Ewoks

A guest post by Jimmy the Jawa

Utinni!

Why I hate Ewoks (or as i like to call them the Dirty Furry Balls of Hate)

People often ask me Jimmy why do you hate the ewoks so much (they also ask me if they can buy droids which is bit insulting as I got sacked from the Sandcrawler years ago after a certain casual clothes Friday incident. Insensitive)'

Ewoks are smelly, rude, obnoxious and over hyped. I am sick of seeing yet another Star Wars merchandising bonanza including yet another ewok inclusion. Toys, clothes, books, cups, shoes, lplush things, next there will be the ewok tom tom. Its crap.

Type Jawa merchandise into Google and what do you get? Nothing. How are we ever meant to get out of the desert, out of these scratchy robes and into some fine threads without some royalties?

But its not just the economic inequality which annoys me or the fact they only appear in one movie while Jawas are all over the place (cause we are movie magic).

Ewoks are evil. Utinni? utinni! UTINNNIIIIIII

Yes. Evil. Remember Return of the Jedi? They were going to eat Han, Leia and Luke. Yes Nommy nom nom noms on the heroes. They eat humans! They weren't burning Vader as some sort of last rites, he was a BBQ for the party, to go with the stormtroopers shishkebabs

Have you ever wondered why there isn't any movies after. The little shitballs ate everyone. Thats right. Everyone. The whole new order to the universe became rissoles

Evil

and they smell like burnt hair

and eat with their mouths open.

and don't return their library books on time.

Ewoks. Dirty furry balls of hate

Utinni!!!!!!

and people say Jawas are bad. All we did was cruise around the desert, wave our arms in the air, sold a little second hand goods and shout utinni on select occasions. When did that become offensive? utinni

Universities

Guest post from Vitriol Girl 

I am a postgraduate at a very well-known Melbourne-based university. In general, my tertiary experience has been a rather positive one. It was, for example, the catalyst for my introduction to the Captain here—a privilege rarely afforded the lowly, unwashed masses. (Knowingly, anyway.) But the elation I get from a good thinking session or a tidy HD on a paper is rather overshadowed by the fact that the whole institution often feels completely disorganised and totally arbitrary.

Dealing with the university administration system, for example, is like being blindfolded at a party and told to hit the piñata. Only, the piñata is in another building, and so is the party for that matter, and it’s on a different day at a different time, and nobody told you because you weren’t at that unscheduled meeting in the faculty lounge last Friday at 3:37pm where all of this was discussed. They’ve also cancelled the cheese platter but there’s no point in coming anyway because the free champagne is only for professors and you’re just one of their lackeys.

By the way, emailing me five minutes before an event begins does not count as giving me notice.

Speaking of email, no, I haven’t filled out that survey about the inadequacy of the size of the car spaces for the Science Faculty because I don’t park there and I don’t care, I’ve never had anything to do with the Science Faculty and spamming me about it isn’t going to change that.

I’m so sorry I followed the instructions on that form and submitted it to the graduate school office like it told me to do. Next time I’ll completely ignore any written directives and make sure I annoy you with every piece of pointless documentation the system might require of me. Would you like to check over my Medicare claims and tax returns as well? I’ll even attach some passive-aggressive notes to them, just to keep things interesting. ‘Yours in anticipation’ indeed.

And why must the web enrolment system be formatted like a questionnaire from Quiz-Your-Friends? Don’t we have an entire department devoted to information technology? Surely they can come up with something better than highlighted bullet points on a glorified Word document.

Finally, I don’t know what part of ‘I want to have adventures’ sounds to you like ‘I want to sit in an office with a view of a carpark and teach Derrida to bored undergraduates for the rest of my life’ but that’s not what I said and that’s not what’s going to happen.

Don’t get me wrong, I understand the appeal of a room of one’s own and an adjustable desk chair as much as the next person, but I’ve never once considered the institution as a long-term career and I’m not going to start now. I have a life and I intend to live it.

Vitriol Girl blogs over here when she is trying to rescue her soul from her university

Tourists

Guest post from Vitriol Girl

Fact: being a tourist makes you look stupid.

I've come to the conclusion, there is no way you can be a tourist and not look stupid. First of all, tourists look at shit, and there’s nothing more annoying than someone who actually takes notice of their surroundings. Don’t try to hide it because we can spot you miles away. No, it’s not the backpack. No, it’s not the bum-bag or the passport pocket or even the Lonely Planet guide. It’s those velcro sandals. You know, the ones that you bought from that outdoorsy looking store because you can walk in them AND it doesn’t matter if they get wet? Them. Nobody—nobody—wears them except for tourists—as if you couldn’t guess, given how they make you look like you’re wearing kneepads on your feet. Kind of like Crocs. Nobody in their right mind would be caught dead wearing them in their regular neighborhood, but for some reason tourists decide that the regular rules don’t apply to them.

And don’t pretend we can’t see you ooh-ing and aah-ing at the top of your lungs over something totally arbitrary. “Look, honey! Look at that chipped plaster awning! Look at this artfully placed rusty spoon! Look at that cup of coffee! / that incredibly common mammal! / your cocktail! / your foot ulcer!” For some reason, the exact same shit that was totally mundane in your own backyard becomes fascinating to you as a tourist. If you’re not gushing about it, you’re bitching about how that rock / building / tree / painting / rusty spoon / kangaroo / foot ulcer wasn’t as impressive as you thought it would be. What do you want it to do, give you a lap dance? Maybe it just looks unimpressive because you’re viewing it through the lens of your camera. Incidentally, is that surgically attached to your face? No? Then remove it. What’s the point in traveling to new places if all you’re going to do is take photos of them? Did you pick up the tourist brochure and go, ‘Hey look at the photos of this place! Let’s go there so we can take our own photos of exactly the same thing!’? You did, didn’t you? How many times are you actually going to look at them? Let’s be honest—you’re going to beg EVERYONE YOU KNOW to gaze at them in wonder (even the blurry ones and the 45 you took of that cockatoo from different angles) but when you sift through them yourself, all you’ll be looking for are the hot / buff / half-naked ones you can post as your Facebook profile picture.

And you know that campervan you’re hauling halfway across the country? It’s fat, ugly, a waste of energy and an oxymoron. You’re not camping; you’re carrying a house. You’re not ‘getting away from it all’; you’ve got ‘it all’ attached to your towbar. Don’t try to tell me all about how you’re getting close to nature; you’re sitting on your arse watching ‘Deal or No Deal’ at 5:30pm just the same as always, only this time you picked it up with a satellite dish next to a gum tree instead of through the antennae on your tiled roof at home. You’re in a national park. Perhaps you might like to listen to the sound of night birds and crickets instead of Andrew O’Keefe. And if you turned that generator off and walked outside you might even—gasp!—see some stars

Additionally, I understand that hauling a 6-tonne pile of scrap metal around the country means you can’t go faster than 75km/h even in your brand new shiny-clean black twin-cab Nissan Navara, but when I’m 8 cars behind you and you’re behind a road train I kind of want to slash your tyres or shove a potato up your exhaust. Not only does it make you the slowest jerk on the highway, but when the speed limit is 130km/h I’m pretty sure it’s a crime against humanity.

Don’t think you backpackers are any better. 

The only thing worse than an overprepared tourist who doesn’t actually want to leave home is an underprepared backpacker who has decided that the most important thing for them to spend their money on is booze, and that because they’re not at home they can be the most obnoxious wanker on earth. Of course  your $12 tent doesn’t keep out monsoon rain, no I won't shout you dinner. 

What kind of dipshit goes for a 20km walk in thongs, without a water bottle anyway? And that car—baby, you’re lucky it got three blocks from the rental yard let alone halfway to Brisbane. Nobody cares about how smashed you got last night, or how many wrong hostel rooms you walked into, or how many girls you failed to hook up with, or how you spewed all over the public toilets, or how you lost your phone, or how hilarious it was when you threw your beer can at that emu / homeless person / member of an ethnic minority / small child. 

It’s like someone sold you epic failure and convinced you it was adventure, and now you’re inflicting your idiocy on the rest of us. When you get hypothermia because you passed out on a rock in the middle of the desert in the middle of the night after somebody shaved off your god-awful dreadlocks, nobody is going to feel sorry for you.

Incidentally, could you move downwind? Clearly you haven’t showered since you left whatever planet it is that spawned you, and can you go back there as soon as possible? PLEASE? 

Vitriol Girl blogs over here when she is in a better mood

I have an overwhelming grump for tourists who 'do' things. "Then we did Salisbury on our way to  doing Stonehenge after which we will do Avebury." If you are just ticking places off a map then go and frack off. 

PS Don't start me on backpackers

PPS or travel photos

Captain AR Pants esq

Tracksuits

It seems we have come to one of those moments when your good Captain has to remind you of something. On this occasion, the correct times to wear a full tracksuit

Never.

So stop it. all of you. Wrong! You can never, ever wear a full tracksuit in public. Never

Well okay next to never.

There are a few very select occasions when it would be permissible to garb yourself to head to toe in matching clothing of stretchy material

1. You are in a sports team. On this occasion you are allowed to wear it to and from the game and when you are sitting on the bench. No other times. Never. Ever . Also once retired from afore mentioned team you are not allowed to frame it to put it up in your den. It is not a moose you shot in the woods. It is a silly garment.   
2. You are contractually obliged to wear it. Then you are money hungry bastard you deserve all the scorn that can be poured on you for wearing such an insult to fashion and style everywhere. Go and choke on your sports drink.  
3. You are Snoop Dogg and you are awesome We obviously do not need to spend any time discussing the afore mentioned awesomeness of the Dogg. he is allowed to wear a full tracksuit and when he and I start on our spoken word and rap tour " The Captain and the Dogg; Rhymes, rants and racey ladies" then I too will be allowed to wear a full tracksuit. Only then.
4. You are at home Obviously if you are residing on Club Couch then of course you can rock out the full tracksuit. In fact zipperless attire is the dress code of the club. Obviously when the pizza arrives you will have to change into a nice pinstripe suit but at all over times Club attire is comfy clothes, if not Defcon Pajamas time.
5. You are Italian Well they can seem to rock it as a look. Although you need to be the stylish sort of Italian and not the guy who runs my local deli

Which leads me to the biggest point of concern with this whole full tracksuit disease. When did tracksuits become the standard for school uniform? What are we teaching our kids? That school is comfy time? That its okay to signal surrender with our clothes?

It is juts plain wrong turning our children into an army of tracksuit wearing slobs. This must stop now. Who is this generation going to grow up to be? There's enough people in the Western Suburbs we don't need more moving out there so they can blend in

But what can they wear in its place Captain? I hear you cry

The Kaftan.

Stylish, timeless, magnificent. Warm in winter and cool in Summer and wonderfully gender unifying as well as making Australia's a truly multicultural nation. The design options make it ideal for schools to show their colors in one more step back to the good old days of tribalism. Obviously the really forward thinking schools will replace the national anthem with one of Kamahls latest and greatest and on special occasions a school rendition of Goldfinger with everyone wearing the schools uniform of Shirley Bassey wigs.

Hell while we are at it lest make kaftans the clothes of choice for national sports teams, too! Why not? Who doesn't want to see Punter rocking the green and gold kaftan? No one, that's who. When you think of it there is much more advertising space on the kaftan so obviously those corporate hoars sportsmen making a little extra can now make more. Goody.

The kaftan is just win-win

In short. Full tracksuits=bad. Kaftan=win

The post was written by the Captain wearing his favorite Batik print royal blue full length (with stitched hem) kaftan. 

Incidentally the Captain is always open to promoting things on his kaftan but must point out he doesn't leave the house and when he does he generally clotheslines bike riders, hisses at people and talks to dogs

Real Estate Agents...

...are crap

End of rant

But seriously. They really are.

"Why you ask" already knowing the answer

It's not because they advertise their properties so maliciously with their artful photographhs that hide the fact that you would have to open the front door to exhale and their genre literary writing of their housing descriptions.

It's not because they make you jump through so many hoops to be able to open your wallet and pour it into theirs at rent time, with referees on applications which they never call, certainly seeing none fo them have the highly developed communication skill of talking.

It's not just because their avergae age is 19, similar to their IQs, and their suits have been bought form the factor outlet and they spend more time on their mobile texting than engaging in anythign like face to face communication

It's not just because they are totally incapable of turning up on time for anything. Ever. Including the ten measly minutes they have a property open.

It's not just because they never do what they say they will, hello bin without wheels which was to be replaced the next week and still has no wheels almost 6 months later. I look at you through the window which doesn't open. Again to be fixed next week.

It's because their inspections are a sham. Yes. A sham.

You  clean the place in preparation for their laughingly called regular inspection for them to walk into the kitchen and then walk out

Yes, they walk into the kitchen, pick up the form you have filled in highlighting everything they haven't fixed and they they walk out. If you are there they may chat. But I don't know why you'd want to talk to those 9 to 5 junior drones who have a life ahead of them solely of desk jockeying, matching stationary, the newest mobile phone, getting pissed at the local on the weekend and the intellectual and cultural depth of a pigeon.

They just inspect the kitchen. and when i say inspect i mean they WALK INTO THE KITCHEN AND THEN WALK OUT!!! That's it. End of story. That's the whole deal

What are the going to discover in there then? That the oven has dissipated, that your crockery doesn't match, that the place smells from the dead bodies in the pantry. That you have set up a meth lab to subsidize the ridiculous rental amount they charge (and everyone knows you set the meth lab up in the laundry next to the whiskery distillery and the washing machine. Ridiculous.

Is it so hard to walk around the house, I don't know, maybe go crazy and check you haven't put more hooks up (which you haven't), marked the carpet (which you don't) and have kept the place in a generally good shape (which you do)

They walk into the kitchen. They walk out. There goes your three monthly inspection

What a pointless waste of time, effort and me putting my cat in a catery for the day

Photographs of your kids

yor Fuck You, and Fuck Your Kid’s Wallet Sized Photographs
A guest post by Angry Trvel Gurl

Last night, I had the great pleasure of dining at my mother-in-law’s house, where, my sister-in-law, (who is my arch enemy) started boring me with the details of her two children’s most recent photo shoot. Now, mind you, these children have had professional photographs taken, literally, every three months since they were born. Not counting all the cutesy iPhone pics in between all these sessions. To this I ask: why?

Seriously. Fucking why?

Why do your children need to be photographed every three months like clockwork? Are you that afraid they will be ‘napped within the three month period and you need their most recent photo for the John Walsh Brand Child Tracker Program? (God forbid something horrible ever befall my niece and nephew.) And more importantly: whyshould I give a damn about your kid’s pictures? How does this directly impact me and my day-to-day ability to survive?

“The sitting fee was only $75.00!” She gushed, “And the photos so affordable! She gave us a special rate, and we only paid $230 for everything! (Sitting fee not included.) I’ll be sure you get a wallet size picture, okay?”

Goddammit.

I cannot begin to count the number of wallet sized photos I have of these kids. At least thirty. Probably more. From Christmas, Easter, Halloween, birthdays, more Christmas, random summer portrait sessions, and many more. And each time, I dump the photo in my office, and it eventually gets thrown into a filing cabinet drawer.

Why do I need these? I don’t. I remember what your kids look like. I see them at least once a month, and you post pictures of them on Facebook EVERY FIVE FUCKING MINUTES. And then, you send me e-mail copies of all the pictures you post on Facebook.

“That’s okay,” I said, “We don’t need one, I’ll just print a copy from Facebook.” (Lie.)

“YOU’RE GETTING A WALLET PICTURE!” Sister-in-law roared, as her skin melted away to reveal a demon of the most horrific magnitude, and she leapt across the table,
karate chopping me, severing my spine and draining me of my life force.

(I got better.)

You know what I hate even more than wallet sized photos of my nephew and niece? People at work who whip open their wallets to show me their wallet sized pictures of their children/grandchildren. I DON’T FUCKING CARE! I’m trying to do my job here, and looking at pictures of your snot-nosed ginger grandkids is not helping me make a paycheck! Fuck off!

Last week, a manager skipped up to my desk with a POSTER SIZED photo of her child. That’s right. POSTER SIZED. WHY? I promise you right now my parents never had poster sized pictures of me, thank God. I’d be mortified. Can you imagine your kindergarten photo, blown up, POSTER SIZED? Me with my front tooth missing and all the freckles and frizzy hair?

AHHH!! AHHHHHHH!!!!

“ISN’T SHE ADORABLE??” The manager gushed, thrusting the poster in my face.

Another question I hate. Especially if your kid is ugly. Like this one. Seriously, I’m not a baby hater or anything, but I call ‘em like I see ‘em. And this kid is ugly. If it wasn’t for the pink feather boa and lacy white headband the kid was wearing, you wouldn’t know if it was a boy or a girl. The child is
18 months, and still has no hair. This freaks me out. No idea why, but it doesn’t seem natural. It’s like a Chucky doll or something.

“Erm, yes, she’s lovely,” I say, trying to turn back to my paperwork. “LOOK!” Says manager, shoving a portfolio in my face, “THE PHOTOGRAPHER TOOK OVER 100 SHOTS, AND I WEEDED THE PHOTOS DOWN TO 75, LET’S LOOK AT EACH AND EVERY ONE, OKAY?!”

“Okay,” I sob quietly, while trying to tie a noose out of my phone cord.

Seriously parents? Just stop with the photographs. How can you afford this shit, anyway? Recession, my ass. If we get parents to stop whoring out their kids to photogs, I promise you, we can pay China back our national loans like, ASAP.

Reporting live from the battlefield, this is AngryTrvlGurl

I agree totally. One of the reasons I left facebook. That an every fracker wanting me to feed their cows on Farmville. One of my main problems with friends offspring is their middle names, they always introduce to the world using all names and I spend the first five years of their life not remembering which name is the one to use.  In other slightly related news, I have implemented a policy that if the kid can't say "why are you so grumpy Uncle Captain Ranty Pants then they are no good to me. Captain Angry Ranty Pants

An open letter

Dear Scientific Community of Australia

Hello. I know you all do great stuff and I know the world at large doesn't know the clever stuff we do (aside from the Hills Hoist, spray on skin, the orbital engine and the Aussie oi oi oi chant  ) I know there has been lots more. How can we ignore wool clothing with a permanent crease,  zinc cream, the aircraft's black box and of course the Wine cask. ( which, no surprise to anyone, was invented in Adelaide)

Despite this tidal wave of cleverness I cannot say we are a clever country. Why not you ask? I have two words for you

Cane Toads

What the fuck were you thinking?

You introduced a venomous and mean as fuck toad to catch a moth that lived at the top of the sugar cane and toads can't jump! They can't jump? No jumpy jumpy for MR Toady. Well done Einsteins So what did they do? Get bored and go and eat other things. Every thing

Now they are everywhere. EVERYWHERE. and admittedly we can live with sacrificing Queensland for them, but there is a colony in Sydney, they have been found in Melbourne and it's just a line of tracksuit wearing freaks keeping them at bay in Western Australia

Where will it stop?

By 1945 they had reached Brisbane, early 1980s Burketown, 1983 Iron Range on the Cape Yorke Peninsula, 1994 the tip of the Cape, 2001 Kakadu National Park and by 2003 cane toads were established at Yamba and Port Macquarie. The cane toad is expanding its range southwards at about 1.3 kilometres per year.

1.3 Km a year! One day the little fuckers will be hopping down every street of the country and tidal wave of amphibian obstinate hate and you know what'll happen then? The Wombats will attack! Those shifty round furry balls of loathing will roll into town and start chewing their way through our society. And you know who will be at the head wombat, riding it as the leader of the new wombat order. Of course you do...The Grainger 

I told you all I would be your Grand Overload one day and subvert you all to my whim you worthless small minded minions to be. Bwa-ha-ha-ha  

Well done you stupid nob head scientists. You have damned us all to hell

Cheers

Captain Angry Ranty Pants

The Hipster

Guest Post by Ben Russell

I decided to rant about the one thing that all of us get the shits with, the one thing that no matter the race, colour and maybe religion, if you’re not one of those damn terrorists, can all agree really shits the tears out of us, wees on those tears and then throws a bucket of shitty wee tears in the face of all good, hardworking, robot fearing folk; You.

For you are the Hipster.

 http://www.no2emo.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/hipster2.jpg

 

You have a moustache, you ride a fixed gear bike, you listen to bands with stupid names as well as some old school Hip Hop to counteract the crackers and you pretend like there is nothing in the world that can make you excited. 

Everything is something that you’ve had better of at some point in your life. You wander through your existence pretending like you know shit and yet your just as afraid and in the dark as every other poor bastard on this planet.

Now let me take a breath by saying that I have been called a Hipster and I can see why on the outset, I have large thick rimmed glasses, I ride a bike (thought not fixed geared, I prefer bikes that aren’t fucking stupid) and I used to have a regular spot on RTR fm. So things aren’t looking great for me, but the main difference is I love life and continually gets surprised by new information and people, plus I have the facial hair of an adolescent street urchin.

Of late I have been working at a popular internet t-shirt distribution centre, collecting t-shirts and putting them in bags to send to happy people who love puns. You would not believe the sheer amount of dirty hipsters that work at this place. They are all in some band or date someone whose in some band, they all dress amazingly and at the smallest chance they will hijack the iPod and put some shitty short, fast, loud band on and faux yell at each other, because that shit is funny. I go down to Wicker Park and I’m suddenly in a sea of whimsical tattoos that “their friend the artist designed for them”. There are so many tattoos I sometimes feel I’m being edgy by not having one, when asked if I have a buxom she panda with a robot squirrel on its shoulder holding a flaming dice in each hand and inform them that I’m too edgy to fall into the trend people shall gasp with fear and admiration... or continue to ignore my very existence, after all I’m not in a band.

Now there is a way to be these things and get away with, you just have to be interesting. The payoff has to be worth the hype otherwise we are left with the equivalent of a Roland Emmerich film with Jeff Goldblum mumbling down our faces with his dick out about what is essentially nothing and Bill Pulman giving a speech about how the 4th of July is now not just America Day but World Day.

So why don’t you take your shitty, baseless opinions, your amazing looking hair and skinny jeans and fuck off. Maybe I’m just jealous, jealous of having a defined cultural identity, I can’t call myself a Hipster because I like things, things that may be considered Commercial, plus I just don’t have the time to go through all the clothes at the Op –shop. Maybe if you weren’t so fucking pretentious all the time and didn’t think that you were somehow better than everyone else I would want to join you as a bracket of our social network. Maybe I’m just happy wondering the nether regions of society, every now and then giving the goods a poke and tickle and finding some enjoyment out of life...

wait, wait that didn’t sound right.

I agree totally with Mr Russell although I have never been accused of being anything like a hipster but I have on occasional wanted to hit them on the forehead with an open palm and shout at them. Captain Angry Ranty Pants

 More by Ben Russell can be found here

Airports.... again

Airports. They use to be fun.

I remember when a trip to an airport was an eye opening event full of funness and frolics, the sense of optimism hanging in the air as you met Auntie Whatsherfacce arrive from someplaceelseville. You’d sneak into the toilets and check all the funny vending machines, maybe use a bit of money to buy yourself a disposable toothbrush with bristles that could scour steel. You’d read the arrivals black and white television to see the 6 flights arriving from funny other places, maybe go to the newsagents to get something you couldn’t get anywhere else. Maybe go through the security reader, past the bored operator who stared blankly at nothing hoping that the machine may go ping and you would be waved through as obviously not a security risk.

Airports were fun, exotic and exciting. Fun. Airports=fun.

What happened?

Ignoring for the moment the anal level of security and how that's taken the fun out of airports. I have now been bomb checked so many times that I can run the machine myself and by reflex head straight to the bored operator. I also now know that if i do ever make a bomb I won't put my hands in my pockets, in my bag or unzip my fly.

The main reason airports are crapper than they ever were was they made airflights so cheap that people from the suburbs could afford them. (and don’t start me on people from the suburbs. Read my blog Adelaide for more on this subject. And yes, I haven’t written it yet! Patience!)

Now the Airport is like some sort of souped up uber-shopping centre, reminiscent of the suburbs these people are coming from. (I must briefly apologise for the use of uber. Won’t happen again. At least it wasn’t Zeitgest).

 

The airport. That melting point of average. It’s the super shopping centre of someplace else (its always disappointing when alliteration lets you down. Kind of like a kindy teacher who gives you a D)

• Parking at Airports is like a shopping centre (except of course no shopping centre do you have to empty your wallet to pay for staying thirty minutes in it),

• You can never find a trolley that works (and has paying for trolleys really stopped stealing of trolleys or just put a generation of trolley delinquents out of a job? Where can the young prebuscent boys get socially demeaning jobs, that pay little and increase your chance of getting bashed up on a Thursday night? And. And! If we had more opportunities for Trolley boys would Corey have held that party? Of course, I agree the excitement fell out of the Trolley Boy industry when they banned the Oky strap. Sad days but still...Trolley Boys, their absence as a viable career is felt.

• Airports are full of generic crap. Three newsagents in the average Airport and they are the same. Exactly! Why can’t there be an interesting little book shop? A music shop. Bugger it, A petshop. Why does it have to be just stuff you bring on planes. And if it is just stuff you can bring on planes being sold why can you buy luggage at an airport? Bit late for packing isn’t it?

• It’s overpriced, maybe this doesn’t link to the average shopping centre but ITS OVERPRICED! Talk about screwing your captive market. No wonder American Express is advertising there. You need a gold credit limit to buy your water, pack of mints and a magazine to read.

• It’s full of people you wouldn’t invite over. I don’t think we need to discuss this much more

• It’s full of people you wouldn’t invite over. Well it is isn’t it?

• It’s full of people you wouldn’t invite over. Go on, make conversation in the queue next time then if you don’t agree

• It’s full of people you wouldn’t invite over. And they all stand too close to the luggage carousal. One step back people do you really think that your luggage will come out quicker if you stand knees pressed against the metal! One step back and we can all see what’s going on. One step back and we can out luggage off without having to break the laws of physics in getting it off, and I don’t know what the laws of physics are but I am sure one of them is take one step back dickwad and we can all go further in this life. It is you luggagecarouselcanoodlingcockrags that are holding civilisation back! One step back. One! Step! Back!

and while at luggage, lets pause a little and look at the new tactic of airlines encouraging people to fly by keeping their advertised prices down by making everything an add-on cost. Food, luggage, entertainment, checking in with a real person. Where will this end? Hostess attention will be paid on demand, toilets with coin slots, window seats extra

This habit of paying for luggage is particularly disturbing. Not because its an awful added cost (which it is but if you can afford to fly then cough up your luggage money tight arse) but because of the ridiculous level of luggage people bring as carry on

This is not carry on luggage

http://www.themissadventures.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/dsc00661.jpg

This is not carry on luggage

http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/thumb_274/12120537347e0sRE.jpg

This is not carry on luggage.

You shit me

The Cast of Twilight

woooo we work too hard

woooo everyone tells us what to do on each movie

woooo we are all to busy

woooo the paparazzi follows up when we go to parties

woooo everyone tries to friend us on facebook

Cast of Twilight get over yourselves you whingeing, whining bunchy of complaining gen y shits. Enjoy the scant extra time added to your 15 minutes cause when the movies run out its a life of conventions for you.

and

THE MILLIONS YOU MAKE WOULD FEED MANY, MANY FAR HAPPIER AND HUMBLE PEOPLE

PS Kristen Stewart go eat a sandwich and cheer the frack up

Open Offices

Guest Post by Grumpy Girrrl

Wow am I grumpy.

I’m grumpy because I don’t have my own office in my new job.

 Actually I’m grumpy about my new job in general, but I digress.

What I’m really grumpy about is the decline of office etiquette since I last had to mix with you unwashed masses in an open plan office.

I’ve spent years in my own little office, with tidy book shelves, a complete lack of personal paraphernalia  (save for some carefully selected high-end stationery products) and a secret bottle of spray and wipe for a good, thorough, weekly desk clean.

And now I find myself thrust into your noisy, dirty, uncivilised world. Well let me share a few choice thoughts with you.

1. Speaker phone is Not. Ever. Ok. Keep your hold music and your inane conversations to yourself. I can’t even begin to fathom why you think your laziness at being able to pick up and hold a telephone receiver makes it ok to subject 20 other people to your conversation.

2. Your ringtone is not cool and I don’t want to hear it. Even if I liked Lady Gaga, 15 second bursts of it across the day would not be my preferred way to enjoy her greatest hits. That’s why mobile phones have silent buttons. And in case you’re in anyway unsure, vibrate is not silent

3. Tuna has no place in an open plan office. Nor other stinky food like re-heated mashed up leftovers from last night’s attempt at recreating Masterchef. Take it somewhere else so I can put my gag reflex away.

4. Keep your family photos in your wallet, your kids craft on the home fridge and your mouldy mugs out of my line of sight. This is a place of business.

5. And just because we’re forced to spend 8 hours a day in close proximity doesn’t mean I want to be your facebook friend. I don’t know you, yet I can hardly say no, so I’ll accept it and then put you on limited profile. Pointless.

End of rant. I’m off to spray and wipe.

xoxo

Grumpy Girrrl

I work in a cave in the dark so this doesn't affect me. Captain Angry Ranty Pants

Lists

I should start out by saying this isn't a rant against to-do lists. I love them. Every day when I arrive at work, another worker day slave to da man, I like to make myself a to-do list

1. make a to do list
2. confirm to do list
3. review to do list
4. tick off item one
5. confirm ticking off number one

See? There's organisation and achievement right there,

What I am annoyed about today (oh, aside from ridiculously big baby strollers, patchouli and the fact beer isn't tax deductible) is celebrity lists. You know the one where some c or b grader who has a new project is pushed out by their publicist to tell us about their ten favorite things or the objects they have to have. Each weekend magazine has one, with slight tweaks on the same theme and they are all the same.

"oh here's a photo of my family who keep me grounded and here's a picture from childhood and here's some art I got a the markets but i'll pretend i got it form an exotic destination so you think i am both well traveled and rounded and books so you know i read and of course theirs a keepsake and the photo of my partner and if i don't have partner here's my pet to show you my compassion. Also i cook, cooking's popular with the plebeians at the moment isn't it?, and here's my fanciest piece of equipment aside form my microwave but they are so passe. "

They are always the same. Every. Single. Time. Now I will accept the possibility that the typing monkeys (no offense to Typing Monkey tm) at the papers are just getting some happy snaps then rocking out a series of pre written answers with slight variations.

Oh shes an athlete then we better either have books, art or some sort of cultural thing in shot. Do the have a guitar maybe? Model? Better have a shot of her Creusset pan. Politician? Ground them with something fun and informal. Maybe a toy from childhood?

They are always the same. Every. Single. Time. And okay maybe there is a universality among all of us or maybe cause there are so many you don't remember the highlights (Hell I have even done one in a former life. I would like to point out at this point I did lie a little. I didn't own the dog. Feel better after that confession)

No. I have thought about it and they are all boring and so samey samey yawn yawn. A stunning highlight of the beigeness of Australian 'celebrities'. Wheres the interest? The curiosity? The novelty?

I would love to see more with this sort of action

2. Grizzly Bear Hide; Oh i got this when shooting bears in Siberia. My gun jammed and i wrestled with this. Oh we laughed, then me and Putes' (that's what i call Putin) drunk Vodka and bare fist fought. As you do

or even a little some brutal honesty
5. Photo of Family. Well they aren't my family per se but they are a little overweight, and way too western suburban, and would compromise my existing contracts so we got this model family in instead. Nice aren't they.

or the right to the point

8. Shoes Oooooh I love shoes because i am such a vacuous cow that its all about appearance with me. Its where all my money goes, looking fabulous. Charities? I am my own charity and I make people happy by being me so i don't need to give people money do I!

Sustainable fishing

Guest Post by Tynon the Dugong

Helopo. i am Tynon. a Dugong

I hope you all are habving a rweallly rweallly lovelly swwimmm somrewwjhere. i am
 
i love to habve a rweally lovpoley swwimmm and i pray fpor clean oceasns so we can allll swimmm

wjhaty is miopdasty worruyinmgh! Wew are running out of  fioddasdashgs. No mpore fioddasdashg means noi more fioddasdashg and vjhips.

I don't eats fioddasdashg or vjhips (i eat seaaw grass. I'm a vergan) but i like fioddasdashg and we shoudl protect them. I swwimmm with thenm and fioddasdashgare [ppoirttyyt aNMDS FIUN

No fioddasdashg! Itsd worruyinmgh! asop, dszfj apoi worruyinmgh!

it sdfhk awehj msdfjli xcvi ansda whTY M,wqioulk we fpo wjhemn opiur po cceamn sa doie? whjat!yoiuy salklk nrewerwd topi styoippo eatyytiuongh spo m,uichj nbnadlky mciuaghhjt fiosjh. miopdasty worruyinmgh M,wqioulk we fpo wjhemn opiur po cceamn sa doie? whjat!yoiuy salklk nrewerwd topi styoippo eatyytiuongh spo m,uichj nbnadlky mciuaghhjt fiosjh. M,wqioulk we fpo wjhemn opiur po cceamn sa doie? whjat!yoiuy salklk nrewerwd topi styoippo eatyytiuongh spo m,uichj nbnadlky mciuaghhjt fiosjh. M,wqioulk we fpo wjhemn opiur po cceamn sa doie? whjat!yoiuy salklk nrewerwd topi styoippo eatyytiuongh spo m,uichj nbnadlky mciuaghhjt fiosjh.....worruyinmgh worruyinmgh worruyinmgh!!!!!!!

(Hmm. We may stop it there. Tynon types with his flippers. When he gets excited he loses all sense of what he is saying. Which in this case is that the decline of fioddasdashg fish stocks is worruyinmgh worrying! Buy fish for the future. Can't afford it? Can you afford not to? Sustainable fish info here and here and here  Captain Angry Ranty Pants)

An open letter

Dear Australian Car Drivers

In starting this letter I would first  like to apologize to the car driving population of that Western Land on the edge of yesteryear, Perth. I am sorry. I have long said you were the worst drivers in Australia, with your selfish use of your wide roads, your lack of knowledge on how to drive in traffic and your constant whingeing about your 40 minute long peak hour. I am sincerely sorry. You are not the worst

After living, and driving, in four states I can safely say

You are all shit. All of you.

I have long ranted about Perth where three cars is traffic and roundabouts are just curvy straight things you drive through at speed but Sydney, Melbourne and Adelaide you can't smirk. This country just cannot drive. Yes, you all have your own peculiarities ( Sydneys merging and cornering issues, Melbournes bullying way of pushing in and Adelaide...well think about it any city which thinks the Clipsal 500 is a cultural event will inevitably have problems on the road) but you are all as bad as each other.

Let's look at your universal points of crapness

Indicating. It isn't to tell us what you have just done. It's a device for us to be warned about your driving aspirations.

Indicating should be a conversation like this

"Hello. Excuse me. I would like to join your lane. Would you mind terribly if I merged?"

Instead its a conversation like this

" HELOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO I'M IN YOUR LANE"

and don't start me on merging. Actually, too late, I've started. I practice safe indicating, on the occasions I do build up the courage to join the carnage on our roads. I always practice the required three bleeps before merging over. So don't speed up. Are you in such a hurry that you think one car space will make the difference?

Two quick facts. Holding and speaking on your mobile phone like a microphone isn't any better  than putting it to your ear. Zebra crossings are not optional and don't glare at me if I stop in the middle to stop your gas guzzling Goliath of a car.

Corners are also good to practice cornering not displaying the wide turning circle of your car. Ironically this is even more important if you live in a suburb with thin streets and windy roads. Let us say for example you live a inner city suburb somewhere with too many cars and not enough room, maybe, just maybe its a good time to use the full range of your steering wheels rotation and do a little less of the swing out that makesmescreechtoahaltandascreemingpanicasyourcarcareenstowardsme.

When traffic is busy please learn to reverse parallel park ( Sydney, this one is really for you) I have had enough of your look of determined commitment to getting your ridiculous car backwards into the smallest space. Especially when 50 meters on in a much better park. But its okay, we can all wait for you because you are soooooooooooooooooooo important.

and Australia why the frack do so many of you need 4 wheel drives? Going over a  speed bump isn't 'going off road" and the beach isn't 'going bush" and buying it because of its road holding ability is one of the stupidest excuses in Stupidsville. Or because you can get more of your overstuffed green bags (cause you are so eco-friendly) in when your beast of  car is blocking the Coles carpark. I can, of course, understand if you have it as a tool for the upcoming zombie invasion but you are all so dim witted that would hardly be the reason. (and also you may not have enough seats in the normal 4 wheel drive for the required 8 person escape & human race renewal party).

Incidentally blocking up an intersection then smiling inanely is not to be found anywhere in the road rules. Do it again and I will open your back door and walk through your car, regardless of your 'baby on board' hanging propaganda or, dependent on weather, I will bounce joyfully over your bonnet.

and don't start me on supermarket car-parks and peoples complete confusion over the simplest of societies rules. Oh hold on, I have ranted about that before

In conclusion, Australian car drivers. Stop being so shite.

Yours Sincerely

Captain Angry Ranty Pants

PS Bike riders don't sit their smirking with your lycra bound moral superiority. The next one of you who dings me to get out of the way on a FOOTpath will get majorly Dinged in return.