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~ The Home Pub of the Famous Pink Drinks and Trotter's Ale

Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle

Category Archives: Emmjay

Tallest Poppies

04 Sunday Mar 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay

≈ 30 Comments

Tags

Bill Gates, Howard Florey, IBM, iPad, IPod, Steve Jobs, Tall poppies

Selectron 2400 - wasn't a big success - guess why.

After much brou-haha, fan fare and some controversy over whether he was the Messiah – or just a naughty boy, the passing of Steve Jobs and the release of Walter Isaacson’s authorised biography, FM and I were discussing how, after working the IT industry for over thirty years it seems that our industry has always had its giants.

Whether you regard jobs as some kind of eccentric megalomaniac with a gift for design, head and shoulders above his peers, or whether you see him as some uber-geek with dodgy personal habits and a penchant for bullying in the  workplace, the story as told by Isaacson is an interesting journey.

The IT industry, so dominated by the Americans, has a hall of fame that ought to eclipse the music, movie and publishing industries, but which tends to hide its light under a scanner. For example, has anyone heard of Bob Metcalf ?  No, I thought not.  Bob invented the Ethernet – the first widespread network technology connecting PCs and other computers.  Do we know who were the fathers of Arcnet – the precursor to the Internet ?  No, me neither.

And with the exception of a few huge names like Bill Gates and Larry Ellison (owner of Oracle – major database technology for the less well informed) the lions of IT are invisible to people outside the technology and communications industries.  Do we know the names of any of the geniuses who design and build the information storage technology on which practically everything that uses electricity depends ?  The processors at the core of every computer, large and small, every mobile phone and these days, goddamnit every set of traffic lights and even if not most many kitchen appliances.

Bardeen, Brittain and Shockley ring a bell ?  Inventors of the transistor at Bell Labs in 1947 (nobel Prize for that in 1956),  Jack Kilby and Robert Noyce (silicon chip in 1961 at Texas Instruments), Federico Faggin and Ted Hoff microprocessor  at Intel between 1969 and 1971),  mass storage (there is a really good summary of this fascinating area in http://royal.pingdom.com/2008/04/08/the-history-of-computer-data-storage-in-pictures/ ) and so many of the storage revolutions have come from our old friend IBM’s laboratories.  The chaps at IBM astounded the world this January by revealing tunnelling electron microscope pictures of their latest experimental memory – storing a byte of data in 8 x 12 ATOM increments.  http://www.wired.com/wiredenterprise/2012/01/ibm-scientists/

For me, the light went on about the revelation in technology when Apple brought out their first iPod – then soon after one that could store 40GB of data or songs.  I had recently run all my vinyl LPS onto MP3 songs by hooking up my Yamaha amp to the input on an old Windows 98 laptop running a piece of freeware – that captured the sound and wrote digital files.  Over 200 LPs took up about 13GB – less than half the iPod’s capacity and I could use some more of that huge pocket-sized storage to backup the last ten years’ work files – and still I had space left over.

The early iPods had tiny rotating disk storage.  Rotating disks consume far more power than memory chips, are slower and have moving parts – that are prone to wear after a rather long time, admittedly.

After that came memory chips up to 32GB each for less than $150 a piece – on USBs, then Micro storage of the same capacity – killing off CDs and DVDs as the storage media of choice for movies and audio files.  And at the same time opening up wonderful opportunities for portable audio / video capture and playback – and supporting the contemporary mobile phone industry.

More data drives both the software industry and processor chips to be able to handle huge volumes in acceptable time frames.

The iPad was the device I should have seen coming but didn’t.  Laptops got smaller and smaller and not much less powerful but the cornerstone of the next computer / communications breakthrough was combining computing power and storage capacity with mobile telephony technology AND touch screen technology that for the first time had become fast and reliable (up to a certain level of consumer abuse).

Make no mistake, the early touch screen phones were no great shakes.  Two years ago, Telstra gave me a Samsung Wave phone.  Touch screen.  No keyboard.  Worked when it felt like it.  Two repairs under warranty.  Apple’s iPhone 4 had antennae problems – not good for a phone costing $900.  Two years later I have a new iPhone 4s – and cannot believe how good this thing is.  Lost in Melbourne ?  No problem.  Open up Maps, tell it where you want to go.  It knows where you are from the mobile grid – and shows you how to get to your destination.  Not in Melbourne ?  Doesn’t care.  Works wherever it can see some GPS satellites.

So, as much as Steve Jobs has been lionised for his breakthrough technologies, this in my opinion is because the technologies themselves open up the boundaries for so many other geniuses to develop useful things to do.

Not the least of which is e-books.  Now I know that many of us (including me) are rather partial to the feel of paper and I don’t deny the right of generations of Mr Gutenburg’s progeny their place in the sun.  However I can also appreciate that reading the Steve Job’s story on my iPhone (at less than half the cost of the paper book) has a certain appeal when the extra half kilo matters – on planes and in one’s bag on the train, bus or walking across town.

Moreover, the cost of not chopping down a tree, not typesetting and printing the book, shipping it across the world, putting it up in expensive retail stores and (yikes !) paying the wages of serfs to sell it to you – has advantages for a planet groaning under the weight of moving stuff and consuming ever-increasingly expensive energy.

And the phone – or iPad – or other e-book readers can store far more books than can be read in a month of Sundays.

So how come Australia doesn’t have any Steve Jobs – like lions ?

In our IT global IT and communications industry, there is one common thing underpinning the pivotal discoveries, marvellous software and hardware engineering.  Huge deep pockets for research and development.  And HUGE markets to sell the sometimes underdone products into – producing the cash to finish the job properly.

There is a piece of jigsaw that Australia seems to lack entirely.  The bit that can bring wonderful ideas and prototypes into full-scale production.  And make serious money for the people who invented them and their larger tribes.

What happened after Australian Nobel Florey and Brit Fleming rediscovered penicillin and more importantly collaborated with others to produce it in large quantities ?  The pharmaceutical world-changing equivalent of the microhip ?  Florey’s royalties should be keeping South Australia in research dollars till eternity.

Answer:  Working at Oxford at a time when Britain considered that patenting medical discoveries was unethical, Florey and his team had to fly to America to find an organisation with the resources and cash to scale up production.  You can join the dots, now.

There’s more on Florey at http://www.abc.net.au/science/slab/florey/story.htm but the truth seems to be that there is little information because Florey was a humble man shy of publicity.

Perhaps that in itself adds the last missing piece – that a great and inventive mind needs resources and an ego big enough to make investors line up.  A tall poppy, isn’t it; the kind that the uber-egalitarian Australian society hates to see making it truly big.

Ironic is it not that we seem to be OK about the megawealth accrued by worthless obese mining magnates who, by accident of birth and sheer greed personally own enormous fortunes, but lack the foresight to know what to do with it beyond accumulating more.  Those individuals also lack the decency to give something to people who do have the foresight to create the next big things.

Mega wealthy, maybe but certainly no Steve Jobs or more particularly Bill Gates.

Lord of the Drains

03 Saturday Mar 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay, Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 26 Comments

Tags

Efflinglibs, Lord of the Drains, political satire

AJ Abbott - Lord of the Drains - Apologies to Ivan Albright

Digital Mischief by Warrigal Mirriyuula

In the Coalitious Swamps in the jungles of Transtoriania dwell the Effinglibs.  Their leader is the evil Lord of the Drains.  The Lord of the Drains is reputed to have clothes made from souls of the dead and from recycled body parts and equipment of Harold the Great of Portsea and a relic of Howard the Horrible.

Since childhood, the Lord of the Drains has been the black hole of mirth and generosity for the Effinglibs and is known for his fierce negativity.  The Oracle of Warragamba it is said, holds that if two Lords of the Drains were lain end to end, they would repulse each other and draw unto them at each of their polls, the wicked, ignorant, megawealthy overlords of Strip Miningg.

The Lord of the Drains has a lifetime quest to find great wealth in the Caves of Frakking.  The road to his eldorado is paved with the dried and dusty bones of the powerless Solaria tribe who have been sunjugated by the Unicorns of Laboria and lay strewn on the fields of Open Cuttia, Long Wallia and the Lands of Subsidia.

It is written in the scrolls of Hansardia that Peter the Great and Penny the Stern Witch of Wongomia had tried to defend the powerless Solaria but lacking the support of the 5 Swans a Swimming, they were forced to flee to the safety of the Woods of Backbenchia.  Fearing the wrath of the Bishop of the Death Stare, they have not been seen since visiting the Advisors of Media.

The Red Witch of Yarralumla has cast a carbonian spell on the Kind and Queen of Minallovus which can only be lifted by the Lord of the Drains and the Efflinglibs by wielding the great sword of the polls and killing the Red Witch of Yarralumla with a single stroke to the neck.

Fortunately for the Solaria, the Red Witch of the Yarralumla is protected by the silver shield of Tim O’Shampoo, Prince Steve and Count Melucky of the Trade-Weighted Indices and can only be in danger if the Great Banks of Reservia smote the interest rates and witness the Treasure of Exchangeria Ratus being plundered by the short selling traders of Forexia.

But all is not well in the Halls of the Effinglibs.  Some say the Giant of Hockania and the Minotaur of Turnbillia are this very day plotting to block the Lord of the Drains with the Undermining Wads of Cashola.  It is said that they fear that the Lord of the Drains has no battle plan and the Effinglibs will face slaughter on the Plains of Electoratia.

Tunic next week and see whether The Duchess of Pynea will save the Lord of the Drains and the Effinglibs from certain doom.

IMF Brings in the Big Gun – #2

01 Thursday Mar 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay

≈ 15 Comments

Tags

Greek crisis, IMF, Jesus

.... You know that thing you did with the loaves and fishes ....

In a dramatic turnaround, the Chief of the IMF, Serge Pants has agreed to call for divine intervention in the Greek debt crisis.  Scott Free, the Pig’s Arms Boozecasting (PABC) correspondent in the Haig chocolate shop in the Strand Arcade reported this afternoon that the IMF has decided to opt for a three-pronged solution:

  • Throw the foreign exchange and future derivative traders out with the tampon of the temple.
  • Turn the other cheque.
  • Feed the 15 million while cheeseburgers are only a buck each at Maccas.

Sauces close to the barbecue were feeling the heat and they said it would take a miracle to get out of this mess but something had to be done souvlaki or later.

** Fundamentalists, please don’t crack a fatwah over this, it’s just a joke, OK ?

Shadow Immigration Policy Tango (on Stopping the Boats)

29 Wednesday Feb 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay, Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 19 Comments

Tags

asylum seekers, diseases, Opposition immigration policy, Refugees, tango

Deep Deep Shadow Minister for Immigration Scott Morrison - our thanks to the Monthly

– a new Coalition low – Inferring asylum seekers are riddled

with nasty diseases

Hideous Diseases Tango

Step off the leaky boat here and then we will scarya,
And accuse you of rampant malaria.
We’ll whisk you all off in our spotless new buses
As you cough up a lung with pertussis.

And if it’s your dickie that smarts and often tingles,
It’s probably syphilis or shingles.
So if you decide here and now you will threaten us,
We’ll know from your lockjaw – it’s tetanus!

Step off your overloaded barge with a nasty discharge –
As you dance to the Hideous Diseases Tango.

Well, look here, midst your underweighted babies
I could swear that I see some definite signs of rabies
But in the growing xenophobic hysteria
It could well be a case of dyptheria.

And those dribbly drops of pus
Gonorhhoea, it seems to us
As you dance to the Hideous Diseases tango.

Wasting away ? Another TB day !
Sc0tt M0rris0n’s here to say
“Take your Hepatitises away!”
And we’re sorry that we must leave ya
With just a touch of Chlamydia or Dengue fever
Dehydrate ?  Oh my, it’s important not to die
As you dance to the Hideous Diseases tango.

So take your partners and the underweighted kiddies
Cousins, nieces and hairy toothless biddies
To some sh1thole Malays1an hotel
You won’t notice the smell !
And you can dance to the Hideous Diseases tango!

As we fiddle the refugee Grand Total,
You can contemplate lice that are scrotal.
We’ll pretend to process your shonky application.
Feel grateful for the love of our great nation.
We might process your batch –
If you try not to scratch,
Just keep dancin’ the Hideous Diseases tango !

Ole !

Pig’s Arms Calendar

28 Tuesday Feb 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay

≈ 30 Comments

Sarnoff's Roses, 1943

Important Dates for Your Calendar
Sunday 12 June Unduly Pessimistic Monday
Wed 25 Dec Naive Optimist Wednesday
Thu, Fri, Monday Naked Self-Interest Day
Personnel Dept Picnic Day International Sort Out Your Own Shit Day
Pancake Tuesday Money for Jam Day
Cancelled – funding World Help Out a Poor Bastard Day
Jan 1 – 7 Normal Looking People Week
Jan 8-13 International Incompetence Week
Tuesday Feb 31 Secret Saturday
Local Council Decision Comfort a Waif Week
Coincides with F1 Grand Prix International Punch a Fuckwit Fortnight
Coincides with Sleep Apnoea Hour Religious Tolerance Hour
Coincides with Oscars Week Gorgeous But Dumb Week
First Tuesday – Reserve Bank (sponsor) Slightly Below Average Tuesday
Rex Hunt’s Birthday Pity People who Fish Friday
Lawyers Picnic and Policeman’s Ball Stay Inside Saturday
Coincides with National 4WD Gymkhana Can’t Drive for Shit Sunday
August – or Feb depending on season Give Me a Break Month
1 April Climate Denialists Day
Mondays Until Oct Smartarse Footy Tipping Monday
National Rifle Championships Stay Inside Saturday

When the Chips are Down – Wrap them Up

26 Sunday Feb 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay, Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

Abbott, Albanese, Gillard, leadership spill, PM, Pyne, Rudd

I'm voting for you. You're Dead Meat.

The Pig’s Arms Boozecasting Corporation (PABC) psephologist and race-caller, Antony Puce – ever the man for an each way bet has been staying up all night sucking on his insider sauces.  Here’s his latest update on the Rudd / Gillard debacle / fisco / coup / sledging competition.

[[
I was mulling over the complex shitfight known as Australian politics last night.  Burning the midnight absinthe and Merv rolled up in the passenger seat of a chauffeured Turramurra starlifter.  He was sitting next to Giles – the best attired occupant of said vehicle.

On the back seat were a sartorially startling couple on their way back from the St Ives Golf Club Ball and Liberal Party fundraiser.  Merv had amazingly coaxed them this side of the big swamp (otherwise known as Sydney Harbour).  It was lucky Giles knew the way, because I’m certain they had never been out of the leafy northern suburbs since birth, except to streak to Kingsford Smith International airport – by way of transiting to Paris at the pointy end of an Airbus 380.  Possibly one of THEIR airbus 380s.

Rumour has it that the harbour tunnel was built so that they didn’t have to actually look at any of the dwellers on the south side on the way to overseas.

But Fern and Godfrey were not both halves of your average mega-wealthy couple.  As they took up comfortable seats in the Pig’s Arms ladies lounge, and quaffed the first of several bottles of Kurg (Merv would later have words with Manne over the little slip up with the label hastily stuck over the bottle that strongly reminded me of Porphyry Pearl), Godfrey let fly with some deeply inside information of the as he said “laughingly called” Labor shenanigans.  Quaff Quaff.

He said that according to Michael Crocker (at least I thought he said “Crocker”), Kevin Rudd has no expectations of winning the PMship.  It’s just a justification for reluctantly accepting his fate – the OK Corral Monday 10:00 – and opening the way for Rudd to have his shot at the main game – Secretary General of the UN, by way of first being the member for the backbench nearest to the unisex toilet and nappy-changing room.

Godfrey said that Crocker stepped it out for him – Julia wins the PM again – Rudd pledges full support for Julia – Crean sprays coffee out his nose, trying not to die laughing in front of the cameras.

Godfrey said that that last trip to Washington was to stitch up Hillary’s support for the Rudder to take over from Bunky Moon next year – just before the election.

Julia is supposed to lose in a Ruddslide.  Abbott cannot win, so he will need to run across the road in a triathlon and be mowed down by a paper truck owned by Fairfux who by then, will in turn be wholly-owned by Gina Rawhide.  Alternative theories suggest a return to that old conservative tactic – the Harold Holt man oeuvre board.

The replacement for Abbot will be problematic.  Turnbuckle is too wet for the miners, Jumpin’ Joe is just not bright enough, but is at least malleable – provided Christopher Pyne-o-clean does the thinking for him.  So the Turnbuckle / Pyne-o-clean team gets up.

The independents will be massacred and buried in unmarked shallow ballot boxes.

The Labor party will have an across the board spill.  Anthony Albuqueque – who has shown great courage and personal integrity by voting for Rudd – as a protest against Rudd getting shafted in a “not the Labor Party” way, without admitting that he also recognises that the massive disaffection with Rudd is based on the reality that Rudd was, is and always will be a micro-managing tosser who happened to run against the most hated Liberal since Bob Menzies played in the Bethlehem under sixes.

Julia refused to accept Albo’s resignation for fessing up that he’s not going to vote for her – possibly because without Albo, Labor does not have an attack dog in the front row – but more probably because he has the respect of many in caucus because he gives not a shit about anything else except punching out Tories.

On that basis, Julia has confirmed that she’s not tough enough to be PM – remembering that Australians prefer a PM that reminds them of their dad after he’s had a skinful and feels like fighting coppers.

So Albo will be our man – but not for ….. say …… ten years of total misery by which time….  prolonged mining in WA will cause Australia to overbalance and half slide off the East Coast continental shelf, pranging into New Zealand.

There will be a massive voter backlash due to proximity discomfort from Dame Kiri.  And Albo will be the man of the hour.  Clive Palmist, Twiggy Foreign and Gina Rhino will start mining the Pacific Ocean, Antarctica and Bill Grate’s bank account – figuring that it’s easier to just mine money and cut out all that dirt and noise – that requires (gasp) labour.

Rudd as UN chief will preside over the subjugation of the Arab states by the Chinese – brought about by a mistranslation of the mandarin for “we’ll have all of it” as “we laugh at awful tit”,

People will remember with fondness / deep anger Australia’s experiment with a hung parliament and a government led by our first shiela PM, but being Australians we will cop it sweet and stand by our man.

Our Man Albo.

I finished copying down Godfrey’s diatribe, Emailed it off to the editor (Voice – who will take out ALL the dashes and a goodly-proportion of the apostrophes) and toddled into the Ladies lounge for a share of what was left of the Porphyry Kurg.
]] (sic*)
*Editor’s note: The proof-reader is currently on emergency leave of absinthe.

It’s A Win for Doomocracy

23 Thursday Feb 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

Gillard, horse racinf, Rudd

Story by the PABC (Pig’s Arms Boozecasting Company) psephologist and race caller Antony Puce.

It was two in the afternoon when Antony Puce slouched into the Pig’s Arms and drew up a stool at the bar.  Merv could see that he had had a big night and it was no big deal guessing what was on his mind.

Merv tossed the ice into the shaker, added his magic pink liquors, capped the vessel and shook it like he meant it.  “Hold the little paper umbrella”  said Puce.  And Merv decanted the Pink into a cocktail glass fit for …. a bit of a cock.

“The main game?” said Merv, well-knowing that a leadership spill against a PM is likely to happen only once in a lifetime.  “Of course.” said Puce.

He adjusted his Anthony Squires bag of fruit pants to restore the blood flow to his wedding tackle, raised the Pink and downed it in a single smooth fluid flourish.  Without needing prompting, Merv reloaded the shaker, shook and charged a fresh glass, forgetting to leave out the paper umbrella.  Puce picked out the offending poolside miniature and flicked it in the general direction of away – as a smoker might discard a butt from a car window in bushfire season – and with the same amount of care.

“It’s like this:” Puce said and Merv adopted his old kung fu stance – the sleeping horse and readied himself for a distillation of Puce’s take on the spill.

This is a big spill.  It makes Exxon Valdiz look like catshit on the carpet.  I mean, when Gees minders gelded Rudd, they broke the unwritten code.

” What’s that ?” asked Merv. “Dunno” said Puce.  “It’s not written down”.  But Puce had a feeling in his waters and his water feelings rarely let him down.  I’d say that it doesn’t matter how big a deadshit the PM is, his or her party must back him or her until the electorate throw the bastard out.  The electorate decides when to change the lead horse.  The parties only pick the jockey.  So when The Gee team gelded Rudd, they were taking a big punt that came within a gnat’s whisker of not succeeding.  Still might not in the last furlong.

But to roll the dice on another scratching and a bloody resurrection is beyond wild irresponsibility with the crown jewels.  It’s fuckin’ suicidal, said Puce, who by now was feeling his oats and the warming effect of a Pink and a half was unmistakeable.

I’ve been down to the track.  I’d say it was hard.  The owners and trainers are taking up their positions in the Members’ Stand.  I’d say they could not care less who wins this one – or the minor placings.  These magnates are building their war chests and preparing for a big killing in the 2013 season.  The bookies in the ring are sending every fuckin’ mixed message they can think of to keep the punters unsteady on their feet.  Now just because Rudd’s handlers have scratched him today, does not mean he’s been put out to grass on the backbenches, much less sent off to the knackery.  He’s a definite starter for Monday’s steeple and despite indifferent form overseas, he can’t be ruled out – at least for a place.

“But the big filly has to have the shortest odds, surely, Puco” said Merv.

Maybe, but there’s a lot of activity amongst the handlers and there’s a strong chance that a dark horse might surprise everyone.  “Wot, like Christopher Pyne-o-clean ?”, joked Merv.

No.

Pink.  And make it snappy !

I’m sure there’s been a lot of preparation over at the Smith stable and there’s talk that the Palomino from Grayndler – or should I say Albermino, are capable runners.  But across the scales, I’d say they were stayers running just out of the placings.  Lightly handicapped for a good reason.

“I think it’s probably a mistake to put either horse in the jumps.” said Puce.  “Too many falls.  Too many serious injuries.”

“And too many deaths”, added Merv. “Ida thought that a pony that’s lost his nuts in a previous fall would be smart enough to not draw attention to that.  After all, it’s not much of a stud that touts a gelding as it’s big name draw card, is it ?”

The hangers-on and listeners-in in the bar murmured that they were keeping up and were keen to have some insight into the result in advance – so they could lay on their bets at decent odds before the form had been thoroughly analysed to death.

“Listen, this is how I reckon it’ll play out” said Puco.  The handlers and owners gelded the Rudder because they were shit sick of him misbehaving in the stalls and not working with the stable hands.  He’d become a show pony in a show of one pony.  Look at his form.  No results in three years.  Didn’t take the team with him.

Now, Big Red likes a rails run, but I have to say that the filly has a few results racked up on pretty difficult tracks.  Not a great record, no outstanding wins greater than a half head, and a tendency to be distracted by dark horses on the wrong side of the track,  but none-the-less she does have a few wins.

“What fuckin’ wins would those be ?” said a crusty from Queensland.  “Well, she got up with carbon in a late finish, the economy didn’t fall apart like most of the rest of the world, she got a tiny tax on the trainers and owners and she’s safe with kiddies.

“Last in dressage” piped up some wag from South Australia.

“Yeah, true, but she looks a lot more appealing than some fuckin’ Dalek in red speedos.

“I reckon it’s come down to that” said Puco.  “It’s a country with crappy bush tracks, shitty hay and hopeless handlers.  No way are we gunna get world-class performance from the nags here “ said Puco – and the punters took their time finishing their Trotter’s Ales.  No hurry into the TAB, the odds just weren’t attractive enough.

 

 

Sorry SMH, Your Time is Up

22 Wednesday Feb 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

Gina Rinehart, goodbye SMH

Cartoon borrowed from Mitt Nerraw - http://mitnerraw.wordpress.com/category/mit-nerraws-cartoon-blog/

The Editor

Sydney Morning Herald

Dear Sir or Madam or Gina.

I’m sorry to not address you by name.  I know it’s impolite, but I tried to find out your name from the website: it’s apparently a secret – or the editorship changes so frequently that the web master isn’t prepared to commit to posting it by random selection from a database of Australian journos.

Anyway, after you’ve read this subscription cancellation, perhaps you might like to hand it on to the circulation people who doubtlessly are experienced in handling these things.

I apologise for being so pissweak that I can no longer cope with the once great paper’s slide into massive negativity.  In short, I have to stop reading the paper for my own mental well-being.  After considerable thought I have decided that I really do not benefit from you telling me all the shit that is happening in the world – from the micro (e.g. death of a child from neglect despite the child being well-known to DoCS), the meso – NSW Police unable to deal effectively with the daily afternoon drive by shooting to the macro – the killings in – pick a location – say Syria today.

And the illusion you are creating of massive economic oblivion – unspecified but shit-scary, eh ?  Riots in Greece.  500 QANTAS workers getting the shaft, a thousand bank staff to help maintain record profits – so we can be serviced from some tin shed call centre in a third world country where string and barb-wire repairs are considered luxuries and super glue is unheard-of.  Keep that profit up, advertisers !

The puzzling thing, despite people at my work walking around oozing fear of retrenchment (thanks to you and the other media), looming unemployment is given the lie by the fact that employment statistics are stable.  I’m not suggesting that you are lying to us, Gina.  But hey, prove to me that you’re not being just a tad selective with the truth.  I heard two dudes on the train yesterday talking enthusiastically about how the “new grads” were about to start at their organisation and that they were excellent candidates.

Maybe this kind of news eludes your posse of seekers of truth.  Must have this time, I guess.

I know that you think the Rudd Gillard shenanigan / farce / farrago / imbroglio is a kind of light relief, which might be qualitatively true except that the alternative is some kind of Dalek in swimming trunks.  It’s not funny, Gina.  It’s sad beyond belief.

And depressing.

So depressing.

So, in the balance, how much worse off will I be by not paying any more for you to bring me down when every day I open the front door only to be confronted by screaming headlines about some parliamentarian who fucks prostitutes, cheery fad diet tips from vacuous stars and pouting photographs of Marieke Hardy ?

Clearly, when you chew on it for a while, cancelling your subscription is as healthy as laying off salt, fat, sugar, alcohol, tobacco and as good as a weekend on a Zen retreat.

I suggest you try it too.

Good luck going forward.

Emmjay.

The Scum of the Earth

13 Monday Feb 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay

≈ 33 Comments

Tags

Calgon, Gina, Rupert Murdoch, scum, Tony Abbott, Twiggy Forrest

You know what I hate.  What I really, really hate ?

What’s worse than soap scum that builds up in the shower ?

Answer:  The substances only slightly less toxic than nuclear waste or hexavalent chromium (look that up Orica plant neighbours or Erin Brockovitch deniers) – namely supermarket products that boast they can remove soap scum with NO SCRUBBING.

This is complete and utter bullshit.  No such substance exists nowadays.  Go ahead, scrub your arms off, disappointed punters.  Then check yourself into the respiratory department of the local hospital until you grow some lung lining back.

I think, as an act of faith, that if civilisation can invent soap, designed to get rid of dirt, it behoves an industry the size of six or seven Greek economies, sorry, make that nine Greek economies by the time you’ve finished this sentence, to invent a substance to get rid of soap and dirt – or scum to you.

Now, I recall in my salad days there used to be a substance that was supposed to be really good for this purpose.  By accident, the manufacturers or their advertisers discovered that the water softener “Calgon” was an ace remover of soap scum build up in washing machines.

Which is why you can’t find it on the supermarket shelves any more.  Too convenient, I suppose.  Too effective and likely to prevent the sale of a humungous mountain of ersatz soap removers.

So I googled “Calgon” and found a plethora of Wiki info, including stuff like it was invented in 1933, and the formula was changed so that the phosphates didn’t screw up wastewater treatments, probably completely neutering the product, but the only answer to “Wheredoyagettit?” was a five year old reference to Tesco selling it in the home of hard water – namely the UK.

But cop this, lucky punters, the Pig’s Arms research department (ever on the lookout for cleaning products that will enhance the flavour of Trotter’s Ale) have found a Calgon supplier in St Kilda Melbourne.  Get right over there, Ato…..

And they have “companion products for ladies” – including “Morning Glory Shower Gel” – a snip at $5.47 – postage and handling $13.53 (I kid you not).  I thought morning glory was one of Brkon’s responsibilities – but there you go.

In case you think this is a bit limited, they can offer you “Hawaiian Ginger Body Mist” and “AHH Spa Intensive Tropics Body Scrub”.  Where would we be without  marketing boffins ?

Wait !  Did you just read the word “scrub” ?  Oh my, my, my.  The decline of product effectiveness.  Right here.  Right before your eyes.  I’m sorry to report, folks that it falls to us to remain nose to the Mondrian Brothers’ tiles, scrubbers to the individual.

Footnote:  Come on.  No fibbing.  How many of us thought this piece was about Rupert Murdoch, Gina Rhinegold, Twiggy Forrest or Tony Abbott ?   I thought so.

 

Pig’s Arms Psephologist Predicts US Election Outcome

10 Friday Feb 2012

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay, Politics in the Pig's Arms

≈ 67 Comments

Tags

humour, predictions, US Presidential Elections

Mitt Neutridge and one of his wives - formerly married to the Joker

The Pig’s Arms political correspondent and serifologist, Anthony Puce has been studying the US presidential pre-elections and the curious Republican dog and pony show. 

Here’s his report.

Much like everyone on ABC News 24 – who seem so hard-up to find 24 hours worth of news to report, many Pig’s Arms patrons have expressed something rather close to complete indifference to the US presidentials – and who can blame them.  No matter what the outcome, it’ll be some redneck semi-“religious” super wealthy dude with a trophy wife and good teeth versus the first black president to inherit a giant hole in the financial universe and an unwinnable war from a previous Republican redneck semi-“religious” super wealthy dude with good teeth and an IQ approximating his shoe size.

This time, American voters (both of them) have a serious challenge in working out which candidate has the stupidest, most ridiculous name.  We have an amphibian and a piece of baseball equipment for starters.  Can you imagine Queen Elizabeth addressing a leader of the western world as Mr Newt or Mister Mitt ?  For Pete’s sake !

The big unknown about the US presidential election is whether six or maybe ten people might bother voting.  So the result is usually a totally random outcome.

So it beggars belief that this crop of clean-shavens spend tens of millions of dollars to embarrass each other and themselves in front of a couple of hundred million TV viewers and the news of the world.  Forget the war in Afghanistan, Kazakhstan, Stanistan, or wherever – Newt Bigrich has six wives and still scored with a political volunteer from Detroit in 1969 !  Woooh-hoo !

Does anybody remember the hooting tootin shootin and bespectacled wonder who had a shot at the Deputy’s job last time ?  The western world would have only been a heartbeat away from being run by a moose-botherer – and since the Republican nominee was about 170 years old, the last heartbeat was a fair bet at the time.

There was a lot of hatred towards the outgoing president last time – for badly mismanaged disasters – including the first global sub-prime loan failure driven meltdown, Hurricane Katrina, most of the west coast and Yellowstone National Park burning to the ground, Iraq, Enron……. the list is endless.  This time we see something approaching despair and disappointment towards the incumbent for failing to engineer the much-needed reform of minor things like universal health care, sustainable education, replacement of infrastructure, environmental degradation – anybody remember a bit of an oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico ?) , détente with China, nuclear proliferation and climate change.

Mind you, Obama had a balance of power issue the envy of lesser mortals like our own PM.

Failure to deliver on promises is already a cornerstone of electorability in both parties.  And so too is the wildly rational behaviour of gun-totin white trailer trash with two working teeth, massively obese carcasses, pick-up trucks on perpetual hire purchase and no visible means of support beyond selling moonshine hooch and bathtub speed.  These people clearly fear communist liberty-robbing initiatives like affordable health care and quality education far more than they fear their offspring coming back from Afghanistan in body bags.  And Rupert’s Fox-driven nonsense – like Obama’s middle name being a sure sign that he’s actually a member of Al Qaida plays well with the congenitally hyper-prejudiced so that’s a really good reason for voting for Root Nitridge.  Go figure.

So here’s our prediction:  Obama by a short half head over Mitt Neuteridge, allowing for a new technology stuff-up that will make unreadable chads, chedds, chits or whatever look plausible.

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