THUNK FOR THE DAY
Nature may rail in wind, sea, fire and ice, stars may die and fall from the sky, nations and empires may ebb, flow, swell and collapse, aeons speed by like minutes, and technology change the very fibre of our lives, but you’re always five or ten cents short of exact change.
ASSCLOWN DU JOUR
In a lounge-room no great distance from Leapster Towers, one afternoon recently.
I say, Squiffy old girl, do you know what would be frightfully indulgent!
Oh, do tell Aggie, I’m simply hopeless with guessing games.
Well, we should just throw caution entirely out the window, stuff some wood in the old fireplace and have a bally old rollicking old fire, don’t you know.
Oh, what jolly japes of a funtime variety – let’s do.
Jolly G, Em! Bags I ignite the stinkwood.
Oh what simply utterly mad fun. I’ll man the bellows to produce extra dense and pungent smoke. And heave these old mildewed mattresses on the blaze to produce that special savour to wow the neighbours.
Wizard thinking, Squiffy. I’ll drop trow and shit on the logs so they’ve really got something aromatic to ponder on.
(Fire takes effect, all smoke billows straight over to Unca Leapster’s street where it sits in a pall over the area, except for about the stuff that marches right in and occupies the bedroom, lounge-room and kitchen at this address. Entire area smells about halfway between a crematorium and a local tip that caught fire.)
I don’t know how dumb these people are. I mean, I’ve got a fair notion of the general level, but not an exact numerical value you could pin to a scale of scientifically calibrated idiocy.
I do know that they aren’t so considerate that the hacking, coughing pleas of an entire suburb around them would be a hugely motivating factor to them. But the bare facts persist that one can buy a pretty serviceable electric oil-column heater for under $200- and then you wouldn’t have to be the only FREAKS in an entire area to run a wood heater and poison every fucker around like some sort of bizarre wildlife cull, only aimed at humans.
If this goes on, I’m bringing back the age-old (and formerly perfectly legal, believe it or not, kids) pastime of “burning off”, where you just set rubbish on fire whenever you like. I’ll be doing it right out the front of their place. Then we’ll see how they like to have their immediately surrounding environment smell like fiercely burning athletic socks of plague victims and marsupial armpit hair.
A BRIEF WORM FROM OUR SPONSOR
Those pipsquirts and squacknards within federal government and the general community anxious to restrict access to those seeking entry to the country on humanitarian grounds might serve the nation best by acknowledging the vital need for those individuals in our society.
Frankly, someone’s got to keep buying all those halogen work lights and outdoor cafe blinds routinely touted in the Bunnings hardware ads, and realistically our relatively modest population has deployed all of these highly specific goods it can possibly use some time ago, and is probably going round for seconds out of habit.