Tag Archives: humour

Indian Call Centres – Fighting Fire with Fire

11 Tuesday Oct 2011

Posted by in Emmjay

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Simulated Emm-tel Call Centre

The other day I made the mistake of trying to work from my home office.  The phone rang.  It wasn’t my mobile.  It was that piece of Bakelite artistry up the end with the Neolithic dust and the desiccated cockroach carapaces.

I answered it.  Pause.

“Hello – can I speak with the home owner”
“She’s out”
“Who am I speaking with ?”
“Who’s asking?”
“My name is Darren”
“Hello Darren – who are you with ?”
“I’m calling about your mobile plan”
“Why are you calling me on the landline?”
“Is this your mobile number xxx-xxx-xxxx?”
“Might be – what interest is it of yours?”
“I’m calling to offer you a better plan?”
“Why don’t you just give me the better plan?”
“…. something garbled…….. Telstra…….”
“Where are you calling from, Darren ?”
“ I am calling from the Telstra call centre”
“Where?”
“The (somewhere in India) Telstra Call Centre”
“I thought so”
“I am able to offer you an improved plan for your mobile”
“I sincerely doubt that, Darren”
“Do you want to hear about the plan ?”
“No, I was trying to earn a quid to pay my phone bill”
“OK, thank you for your time”
“No, the pleasure was all mine”

It seems that two of the most frustrating timewasters in modern life are accepting rubbish marketing calls – and the other side of the coin – complaining to Telcos when something goes awry.

But I chanced to let the two pains in the arse stew awhile together and in the manner of the old aphorism that if it doesn’t kill you it will make you stronger – or that a tiny amount of some poisons are actually useful, and I think I have come up with one of the great inventions of the 21st century.

I plan to set up my own call centre in some place that’s cheaper than India, – let’s say Chad- but which costs a shitload of money to call from anywhere, but especially from India – maybe even Tierra del Fuego) – and I rent a slice of it out to you.  Well, I rent out a very special service that I can offer you for a very reasonable price.

Here’s how it works:

When a call centre calls your phone, the service switches the call to my call centre where it is answered on your behalf.

“Hello, this is Gez and Helvi’s service, how may you help us?”
“Is this Hung One On’s mobile number XXX XXX XXXX?”
“No, this is Gez and Helvi’s service, how may you help us?”
“Can I speak with Warrigal?”
“No, he’s busy at present”
“When will he be available?”
“Who, Hung ?”
“No, Gez or Helvi”
“I thought you wanted to speak with Warrigal”
“You said that Warrigal is unavailable”
“I could find out if Neville Cole is available”
“Is this his number?”
“No, perhaps you would like to speak with Voice or Vivienne”
“Are they there?”
“No, this is Gez and Helvi’s service – how may you help us ? – I might be able to put Big M or Jayell on”

Of course we would get a cut from TeleChad or TeledelFuego – and we would pay you a dividend for every call that went over half an hour.

But it gets better.

Suppose you need to complain to Telstra about your ADSL line dropping out.  Only a mad person would want to call Telstra directly – otherwise you get to spend an eternity in hand-offs amongst every call centre in the western and eastern worlds.  And I for one love the good people of the Philippines, but their telephones, well, ………

So here’s how my outgoing call service  helps you.

You write your complaint on a crisp $10 note and send it to Emm-tel, briefly detailing your issue / problem / complaint.

We ignore the words and bank the $10.  Then our Chad operator calls up Telstra and complains that your service is not working and that you want it terminated immediately.  We say words like Telecommunications Ombudsman.

We demand a full refund of all monies you have paid for the service and say that we will be phoning Ellen Jones – using our neighbour Sandshoe’s phone.

They offer a full refund and a superior plan.  We say that we will consider their offer after we have had a chat with Optus.  They offer an even better improved plan.  We say that we will consider it.

They say that you can have x amounts of free stuff.  We say we will get back to them.

We call Sandshoe and she asks you whether the deal is a goer or not.
It’s your call.
Nobody recontacts the Emm-tel Chad.
They go ahead anyway.

Note, we suggest (but not strongly) that you only use this service if you have a genuine complaint – otherwise that wouldn’t be ethical, would it ?

Stay tuned we plan to offer a premium service where we call Microsoft for you.

Pig’s Psalm 20 – On Saturday Arvo They Rested

30 Friday Sep 2011

Posted by in Emmjay, Pig Psalms

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Blessed be the tireless workers, Our Merv,
For they shall inherit the Long Weekend
At the end of the footy season and
Before the wasteland before the Cricket
And in the morning, it being sunny,  the beach will beckon

But not the beach where the post-season footy tour goes.
Especially the losing teams.
Our Merv, grant everyone their wish for a great season.
Deny only the massed highway patrol their double demerit points.

And the virtuous supporters and the valiant players will walk with thee
Out of the change-room and into the sunny upland of the Sportsman’s Bar.
And restesth there for evermore, with bent elbow and laconic smiles.

Goat Man

26 Monday Sep 2011

Posted by in Neville Cole

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"My goat is very alluring", says Neville, just before .....

Story by Neville Cole

I am Goat Man

As I write this it is 4am. I am brewing some coffee. The sun won’t be up for hours; but I am.

I have just woken from a lucid dream. I was convinced at first I was not asleep but merely dozing. The dream started when I noticed my bedroom light flash on briefly. That seemed strange but I was too tired to open my eyes fully and see what was going on. Then I sensed a woman crawling into bed behind me. Naturally I wanted to turn and see who this mysterious woman was but I could not open my eyes or move. I suddenly became aware I was dreaming but I was convinced that the woman was still behind me. I told myself to wake up. I had to repeat the command a few times but eventually I did open my eyes and roll over to the sudden realization that I do, in fact, live alone and that I was, in reality, just having a weird dream.

I think I know why this dream happened. Call it a perfect mental storm.

For one, I am still very jet-lagged from a recent flight back from Australia. I have made that flight more than 20 times but for some reason this time I have struggled mightily to get back to my own time zone. I have been up each morning by 4 since I got back. I have been napping at sunset for a few hours and for two nights in a row I have been put right to sleep by Bill Maher. Now, I don’t agree with a lot of what Bill says, but he almost always keeps me engaged and entertained.

Apart from this obvious sleep deprivation, I am currently working through a recurring pattern of obsessive self-doubt and regret that is part and parcel of my bi-annual whirlwind tours of my homeland. Add to my fear and loathing the fact that I am currently reading Jon Ronson’s The Men Who Stare at Goats and it is pretty easy to see what is going on.

Ronson’s book is barely recognizable as the source of the enjoyable motion picture romp of the same name featuring among others Ewan McGregor, Jeff Bridges, George Clooney, and Kevin Spacey. At the beginning of that movie is the warning that “more of this is true than you would believe;” but falling into this brief, rabbit hole tale is mind-bending experience of the tallest order. The Men Who Stare at Goats is like something concocted by Hunter S. Thompson for Rolling Stone. In just over 250 pages, Ronson manages to tie the spoon bending skills of Uri Geller; the Heaven’s Gate cult suicides; the atrocities at Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay, and the popular US military slogan “Be All That You Can Be” back to the new age ideas of one Vietnam-vet-turned-hippie.

Ronson sets up his tale by asking his reader to accept one of four possible scenarios:

1. It just never happened.

2. A couple of crazy renegades in the higher levels of the U.S. Intelligence community acted alone to put these events in motion.

3. U.S Intelligence is the repository of incredible secrets, which are kept from us for our own good. Or…

4. The U.S. Intelligence community was, back then, essentially nuts through and through.

As each page turns these four scenarios shift about in your brain (or just maybe they actually shift your brain about in your head). “No, that didn’t happen. Oh, that makes sense. Oh my god! Why did I never think of that before!”

The title of the book refers specifically to some secret experiments reported to have occurred at the military installation at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Apparently, a select group of soldiers were trained to kill goats just by staring at them. It’s not clear how many goats, if any, actually died; but the program had enough success that a group of psychic soldier (PsyOps) known as the Earth First Battalion was created. The book suggests this group has been reborn today within the U.S. Department of Homeland Security to help fight the War on Terror.

In the end, it’s not the truth that matters; as whichever scenario you finally accept, the story is still by turns entertaining and harrowing but always thought-provoking. All of which adds up to exactly the wrong kind of book for a highly fatigued and self-doubting individual to read into the early hours, especially on a work night.

Still, as Robert Plant once famously sang: “Ooh, it makes me wonder. Ooh, it makes me wonder.”

You see, I have, for a good part of the last two decades, turned my back on metaphysics and anything even remotely new age. That’s not to say I haven’t had my moments of elevated thought; but, for the most part, I have stayed grounded (and mostly satisfied I might add) in the here and now.

I was raised in the distinctly new age, some say cultish, religion known as Christian Science. Yeah, that’s right, the ones who don’t believe in doctors. As my faith faded, I dabbled, as many ex-CSers do, in Eastern thought, Tao, Zen and Buddhism in particular; but finally, in my early thirties, I resolved to accept that life was indeed a cabaret and decided that I would be a lot happier if I just learned to enjoy the cabaret.

I have been pretty happy and pretty lucky and remarkably healthy ever since. I haven’t wasted much time wondering what it’s all about. I’ve been resigned to fate. I’ve described myself from time to time as a secular humanist, a cynical optimist and an hopeful pessimist. I’ve tried to do my share of good things mostly because it feels good to do so. I’ve noted that, for the most part, when I make the effort to do something that I don’t have to do – especially something creative – well, somehow it seems to work out that I gain something from that effort. I’ve also seen that things I’ve tried to hide or lied about eventually get uncovered. I don’t call this karma. To me, it’s just the way things work.

The only problem is, when you leave things mostly to fate for too long, you tend to feel a little bit out of control and I’ve been growing increasingly tired of that feeling. As a result, I’ve been spending quite a bit of time trying to figure out how to get a little bit more proactive with my existence. I’m tired of doing OK. It would be really nice to excel for a while. Maybe I have fallen down the rabbit hole myself a bit this morning but I have a very real sense that somehow things are about to fall into place.

Yesterday, on a whim, I sent in a headshot and resume to a casting agency and asked them to arrange an audition for an upcoming TV commercial. I could really use the extra cash right now. I also have a long term plan. I would like to return to acting before I am forced to retire and see if I can finally realize my dream of getting a decent role in one really good movie. I am interested to see if I can influence my future in some small way right here, right now. Can I project myself to that audition? Am I able to influence the casting agency from a completely blind call and get myself in front of the director? If I do get the audition, how do I overturn past failures and finally find some success? After all, I gave up acting all those years ago because I was useless at auditions.

But now I am getting ahead of myself. If I’ve learned anything from The Men Who Stare at Goats is that metaphysical projection takes intense focus. I need to start with some baby steps. I can’t kill a goat right out of the box. Let’s see if I can get that audition first. Then I’ll take things from there.

After all, if I can control my dreams, why shouldn’t I be able to control my reality? Isn’t it better to be the man staring at the goat than the goat?

Father O’Way in Sri Lanka

08 Thursday Sep 2011

Posted by in Mark

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Licky licky goo goo

 

Hi, look Father O’Way here. I’m really miffed. The Bish, you know Bishop Bishop of the St Generic Brand Church of Inner Western Cyberia has got the audacity to ring me in the Caribbean on my holidays with the beautiful Belinda to do a job.

 Anyhoo, enough whingeing. I have to go and find out what is going on behind the scenes in the Australian cricket team. Apparently the selectors have been dumped and everyone hates Greg Crapell, I mean, is this the bleeding obvious or what.

So I fly to Sri Lanka, you know the home of the paradise island, tea, coconuts and rocket launchers. Geez, thanks Bish.

Using some suspicious white powder, some green looking dried vegetable and gold bars I work my way into the inner sanctum of Australian cricket, the bar.

As usual all of the players have finished their lines, cocaine usually and are chatting around the bar.

“Did you all hear old chaps that Greg Crapell will be staying on for the tour?” I asked the group of players.

Ah f#@k, s@#t, p@#s, Geez a@#s were some of the more notable replies.

“What do think Greg can add to the team?” Geeps, who are my script writers, I’ll get killed for this.

F@#k all, he’s absolutely s#@t from a alpaca, for f@#k sake burn him at the stake and he doesn’t even eat meat, eeeewwww, were some of the more common answers.

“You have won the first test and would be confident going into the next match. I see that a former groundsman has been capped and did well, what are your thoughts on this?” Man, I’m shitting my self asking this one, I mean these guys are on coke, pissed, rich, ego centric, fit, aggressive, nasty, win at all costs sort of dudes.

F@#king good on ‘im mate, geez them wops are p@#s weak, can’t beat a f@#king groundsman, a@#s lickers mate, again were some of the more notable comments.

“Do you think Greg  Crapell is the sort of guy that attracts lots of # symbols and @ symbols?” I venture rather nervously. This crowd is getting ugly.

F@#king oath, you bet you a@#e and F@#k you uncle, again were more of the notable replies.

Father O’Way here. Signing out, in his lounge room, Nowhere, I hope….

Pig’s Psalm 18 The Pub is My Shelter

24 Wednesday Aug 2011

Posted by in Pig Psalms

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I love you, our pink slice of heaven.

I’m loving you all through and through.

From your chromium-legged laminex tables

To the Mondrian Brothers’  tiled loo.

I love your pub ceiling yellow

And the tiles that bedeck all your walls

The nourishing pub food sustains me

And the beer puts fat hairs on my balls

I love all the patrons who attend thee

I’m loving our dear Mervyn too

Say hello to the beautiful Janet

Say hello to the Hell’s Angles crew.

And the bands that rock all our socks off

In the Nathan Rees Memorial Ballroom upstairs

I’m fond of the Hedge in the carpark

And the deals done when nobody cares.

I like all the Cooks River Fishies

And most of the Sea Scouts, don’t you ?

And the always-rigged Friday raffle meat tray

Lady bowlers who hang out there too.

Let’s give thanks for our

Wonderful Pig’s Arms

And Bless all who go for the view

The writers and painters and poets

The clowns and philosophers too.

So we can all come and raise up our glasses

Drink a toast to the great Trotter’s Ale

Drink a toast to the friendliest piglets

Drink a toast to the curl in the tail.

 

FOW – Climate change for Dummies

22 Friday Jul 2011

Posted by in Mark

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Hi. Father O’Way(FOW) here. You know me now as Sandy, affectionately I’m sure. Anyhoo I have been asked to interview Lourdes Shitstirfer Muckrake(LSM). As you know there has been a lot of debate going on over at The Drum about climate change so I’m interviewing a leading critic against climate change. Here’s a transcript.

 

FOW: So, Lourdes Shitstirfer you oppose climate change and even say that the planet is cooling?

LSM: Please, call me Shit. Most people that know me refer to me by that name.

FOW: Okay, Shit, you claim that the planet is cooling?

LSM: Yes, from one year to another the temperature changed, big deal, I mean who gives a fig. If you look at 2000 to 2010 the temperature went down.

FOW: However the temperature from 1880 to now has gone up, how do you explain that?

LSM: That’s crap.

FOW: Sorry, I thought you said it was Shit.

LSM: Yes, it’s Shit but that’s crap.

FOW: Crap?

LSM: Yes, shit.

FOW: Hmm, how about the oceans are acidifying?

LSM: Hey, nothing wrong with a bit of acid man, I mean, my school days and that, wow.

FOW: What about the rising coastline?

LSM: Yeah, man, surf’s up in the western suburbs, whoa!

FOW: How about renewable energy?

LSM: If it’s renewable and that energy can be renewed then I think that renewable energy is very renewable and therefore renewable.

FOW: That’s crap?

LSM: No, Shit.

FOW: You actually didn’t say anything

LSM: No shit.

 

Sandy O’Way signing out, In His House, Nowhere.

Hell Hospital, Episode 16

19 Tuesday Jul 2011

Posted by in Astyages

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Smile and the world smiles with you ....

By theseustoo

(Disclaimer: this series of stories is completely fictional and none of the persons, places or institutions in these stories are real, but figments of my imagination. Any similarity to any real person, place or institution is entirely coincidental.)

“I sometimes think I’m not real, doc…” Dave was saying, as Dr Frood listened sympathetically, “…as if, well… I act… I sorta do things but it’s all empty… meaningless… not really anything to do with anything I want to do… not my own motivation… I kinda feel sometimes like I’m a character in a novel… Or a cartoon, more like… It doesn’t really matter what I do ’cause it’s all decided in advance by someone else anyway…”

“Decided by whom, do you think?” Dr Frood asked, intrigued by this line of thinking.

“I suppose by whoever it is that’s writing the story…” Dave had not really thought this far before; he was in the act of discovering these strange, hitherto indescribable feelings himself; Frood, as a professional psychologist, was proving to be an excellent sounding board to amplify hitherto nebulous feelings to such an extent that they began to take on discernible outlines… His gently probing questions began to fill the outlines with color… There was that cartoon reference again, he thought…

“You mean, ‘God’?”

“No…” Dave drawled thoughtfully, “Not ‘God’… It doesn’t have the same feel as ‘predestination’; with that you still have to think; to make choices and it seems as though you yourself are achieving your ‘destiny’… But this just feels somehow two-dimensional… empty… It’s like I’m just going through the motions… motions of actions… and even thoughts and conversations, which are all… empty! Which have all been somehow scripted by someone else… It’s as if most of what constitutes me isn’t really here at all… as if most of me is somewhere else…”

“I see…” Dr Frood said, “So you feel you have no volition of your own at all? Not even when you threatened that doctor?”

“No… I mean, I felt the pain when he twisted my foot, and that was my immediate response, but I’m not really a violent person, Doc… I’d never have acted on the threat; can’t think why I made it… It’s as if that sequence of events, like everything else in my life, had been scripted by someone else; someone who doesn’t really know me very well, either!”

“Hmmm, very interesting… But we’ll have to continue next week; time’s up for this session. I think we’re making progress though… your violent inclinations seem to stem from a sense of absolute powerlessness, which you express as these ‘cartoon-like’ feelings… But where does this sense of powerlessness come from? That is the question we must ask ourselves! You can think about that until next week’s session… ‘Bye for now…”

“’Bye Doc… and thanks…” Dave was surprised at how easily he’d been drawn into cooperating completely with his treatment… Although he’d more or less decided to ‘go along’ with the doctors and ‘play their game’ so he could get out of here as quickly as possible, he found himself actually fascinated by what his treatment was revealing about certain aspects of his personality he’d never thought about before. Even his choice to acquiesce to his treatment was itself ’empty’, he thought. Powerlessness? Yes… he felt powerless… Somehow he needed to discover just who or possibly what was the ‘Author’. And what was the plot? Or did he really want to know the plot? Perhaps it was better not to know… Would such knowledge be of any use anyway? Would there be any way he could influence the Author’s ‘writing’ even if he knew who it was? But then, he just couldn’t stand not knowing… Yes, he thought as he walked back to the ward, he had much to ponder.

***** ******* *****

Catherine’s hysterical outburst brought nurses running. Immediately realising that the baby was missing, and spotting the open french windows, they automatically assumed the dingo must have taken the baby out through them and gave chase immediately. On the way they bumped into Nurse Paula, who was quick to hide her cigarette behind her back as, fearful for her job, she improvised hastily, “Yes! I saw it! It went thataway!”

As she hoped the rescue party also assumed that Paula was part of the posse which had been stirred into action by Catherine’s distressed yells. As the nurses chased their imaginary dingoes out through the french windows, doctors also arrived; one of the latter prepared a syringe with a strong sedative and within a few seconds Catherine was unconscious. Later, when she regained what in her had passed for ‘consciousness’ for the past few months, she was once more her ‘normal’ zombie-like self, almost totally lacking any emotional responses, her mind now once again totally withdrawn into itself.

***** ******* *****

When Mirriyuula introduced himself and their baby sibling as their new, FaYS-appointed guardian, explaining that he had come to take care of them all and that he had also brought their baby sibling to them too, because the hospital could no longer care for the baby, which in any case, needed to be with its family, they saw nothing the least bit questionable about his story except perhaps for why it had taken them so long to decide what to do.

They were, however, a bit more sceptical when he tried to suggest that they were all in danger and that he needed to move them and the baby to a place of safety forthwith. Vivienne, always the sceptic, however, even when completely missing the point, did not entirely trust the sharp-faced stranger, in spite of his almost constant smile.

“How do we even know it’s really our baby though? I mean, how do we know you brought the right bub?” she demanded.

“Yeah! ‘Sright!” some of the younger ones immediately chorused, “how do we know it’s ours?!”

Before Mirriyuula could even begin to formulate an answer, however, John interrupted, “That’s easy!” he exclaimed, and, taking the cricket ball out of the blazer pocket it habitually lived in, he aimed the leather-bound missile straight at the infant’s head. The Dog-Spirit gasped in fear as the missile sped towards the baby’s head, but at the very last instant the baby’s tiny arms both shot up and caught the ball firmly as it gurgled enthusiastically, “Owza’?!”

“Well then,” said John with finality, “there’s no doubt about it now! It’s ours alright!” Turning to Mirriyuula, he said, “Okay Mr… where do you want to take us?”

***** ******* *****

Foodge 26 Foodge Gets into a Scuffle

27 Monday Jun 2011

Posted by in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

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Foodge tried to relax in the Emergency Department bed, but, clearly they were designed to discourage both, relaxation, and any desire to stay on the med for more than a couple of hours. He was waiting for the doctors to read the CT scan of his head, but, by the sound of the conversation, weren’t looking at his. “Fair bit of brain shrinkage.”

“No focal signs, but could have dementia.”

“Sometimes see this sort of pattern in older alcoholic males, but, seems OK for a sixty two year old.”

“Look at the date of birth, he’s only forty two.”

Forty-two, thought Foodge, I’m forty-two. Sounds bad for the poor old fellow.  A young doctor, wearing green ‘scrubs’, who, to Foodge looked more like a mechanic’s apprentice than an Emergency Physician, pulled the curtain back.

“Mr Foodge, I’ve reviewed your CT with one of my colleagues. We think you’re OK to go home, as long as you stay with someone, do you have any family?”

“No…err…actually, yes.” Foodge had a bright smile on his bruised and battered face. He realised that the Pig’s Arms was his second home, and that Merv and Granny would keep an eye on him. Wes had driven him to the hospital, in Merv’s Bedford truck, straight after the incident, and had hung around to see if Foodge was OK (this wasn’t strictly true, Wes has spied a pretty emergency nurse, and was trying to invite her out for a drink).

“Who’s your local doctor, Mr Foodge, so I can send a discharge summary out?”

“Doctor Hewson, near the Pig’s Arms Hotel.”

“I think you might be telling porkies there, sir, as he’s been deregistered for some years, you know, after the ‘trouble’?’ The doctor winked conspiratorially. “How about I send the letter out to the new medical centre on the main road, and you can make an appointment this week?”

The doctor closed the curtains so that Foodge could remove the backless gown and struggle back into his, now, torn trousers and jacket, and picked up the flattened, felt disc that had once been a new black Fedora. He hobbled passed the nurses’ station, picked up a copy of the discharge letter and into the waiting room where young Wes was happily typing his number into the aforementioned nurse’s mobile phone. “Ah, Foodge, you OK? Uncle Merv said to bring you back to the pub, if that’s OK with you? Do you want me to swing by your joint, to pick up some toiletries, or whatever?”

Foodge shook his head, and immediately wished he hadn’t as all the hangovers of a lifetime came back for drum practice. “No.” He whispered.

Like all of the events at the Pigs Arms, there’s a story to it. It was early evening and Foodge had carefully parked his Zephyr in the area behind the pub, and felt quite lucky, as he’d managed to park in a single parking spot, between the shed and the chicken coop (it was really the parking spot that was reserved for Granny, but she preferred Merv’s truck), and was whistling away, looking forward to a debriefing with Wes, who was still on the surf gang case, as well as a cleansing ale, or three. Out  of the shadows stepped a figure which deftly pulled the back of Foodge’s jacket down, pinning his arms behind him as a second figure punched him in the eye, whilst a third started Flamenco practice on Foodge’s ribs. He remembered someone yelling to ‘kick him hard in the guts!’ almost at the same time as a familiar voice yelled, “Get outa ‘ere you flamin’ dingoes!” Merv appeared and helped Foodge into the Main Bar, where Granny started applying first aid.

“Must’ve been six of them, big blokes, they were.” Mumbled Foodge, as Granny dabbed blood away from his right eye.

“No, Foodge, three. Three teen-agers, in fact. Our local identity beaten up by three kids.” Merv shook his head. “ They’re the little buggers who hang around the back of pubs trying to con someone into buying them some beers.” Merv was interrupted by Janet’s screams (The sight of blood had set her off, again), followed by the cries of the twins.

Merv and Granny had insisted that Foodge go to hospital to have his ‘noggin’ checked out, so Wes, being ‘nearly a doctor’, in spite of the fact that he wasn’t yet a nurse, was allocated the job of escorting Foodge to and from hospital.

Foodge returned to the pub to find that Merv had made up a room next to Wes’ on the third floor. He ended up spending two nights, which is about the same time that it took for the headaches to settle. Foodge was intended to pay mere lip service to the doctor’s request that he go to the new medical centre, but Granny physically dragged him there (it was in the same shopping complex as Aldo’s). Foodge had assumed that the doctor would find that he was the fittest forty two year old he’d ever seen. Unfortunately the truth was somewhat different; overweight, hypertensive with abnormal liver enzymes and hypercholesterolaemia. The doctor’s advice was less beer and wedges, more leafy greens and exercise. Merv decided that he was just the right person to sort Foodge out with ‘boxin’ lessons’!

One week later found Foodge in front of the Pig’s Arms at 06:00 a.m, waiting for Merv. Foodge had only ever seen six in the morning from the other side, having been up all night ‘on a case’, or, more often, drinking. Merv, Granny and Wes all burst from the front door of the pub, all in running shorts, T-shirts and joggers. “Who’s car are we taking?” Foodge looked around.

Merv laughed. “Car! We’re runnin’, it’s only five clicks”

I won’t describe the journey, but, let’s just say that it wasn’t a ‘run’. They arrived at ‘Doc Morton’s’ gym, which, like all boxing gyms, stank of sweat and dust. There was the usual boxing ring in the middle, weight lifting area in one corner, punching bags in the other, with the other two corners clear for skipping, etc. Merv and Wes headed over to the weights where they started on some squats whilst Granny tried to teach Foodge how to skip. She terminated the experience after he’d fallen for the fifth time. Merv and Wes decided that the best way to learn was for him to watch them spar, with Granny giving running commentary, which started with simple things like, ‘Merv’s got a great right-left-right combo’ and, ‘note how he punches from the waist, uses his whole body’ but quickly degraded to “Give it to ‘im, Wes.” “Get orff the ropes.” “Hit him harder!!!”

Merv put Foodge in the ring with Wes and tried to teach a basic move which involved stepping out of the way of a punch, then countering with a  right to the mid-section and a left to the side of the head as the he stepped past the opponent. Unfortunately Foodge got his left and right mixed up for the first four attempts, so walked straight into Wes’ fist. The fifth time he literally tripped over his own feet, landing heavily on the canvas.

“OK Foodge, that’s enough for today, ready to run home?”

Foodge shook his head, pulled out his iPhone and called for a taxi. Training was over for the day!

Father O’Way: Religion for Dummies

24 Friday Jun 2011

Posted by in Mark

≈ 37 Comments

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Hello. Hung One On (HOO)  here. Look, all this brouhaha about religion has sent me to the far corners of the earth to interview our own parish priest form the inner western suburbs of Inner Cyberia Father “Sandy” O’Way (FOW). As two intellectual giants we will battle it out about religion, God and life after death. Here’s a transcript.

HOO: So Sandy, all this stuff in the media lately about religion over at the old Unleashed, you know about how Chaplains are being placed in schools and how they may proselytize?

FOW: Sorry Hung but I take deep offence that you accuse us of us having sex with little boys.

HOO: No, Sandy, that’s paedophilia, I mean proselytize.

FOW: If you think that I’m going to get dressed up in black suspenders and stockings and stand on a corner then you have another thing coming.

HOO: No, Sandy, that’s prostitution, I mean proselytize.

FOW: We can never be guilty of that however we usually do this,  convert someone to another religion or opinion; convert to another religion or faith; enlist someone to one’s cause (also proselytise) . Get the picture?

HOO: So Sandy, the big one, is there a God?

FOW: Well, there’s a Gordon but don’t know about God.

HOO: Is there life after death?

FOW: No, unless you owe the tax office.

HOO: What do you think about the articles posted by Astyages an atomou concerning their views on Greek mythology?

FOW: Isn’t it marvellous watching two geniuses arguing over absolute bullshit, I mean they take bullshit to a new level. I mean the different side of the river bank, cut me to pieces that one.

HOO: Hmm, Do you speak with God?

FOW: Oh, shit yeah, all the time, I have his number in my mobile, lets talk to him.

[Ring, ring]

GOD: Hello God, here, Gordon O’Donnell [GOD]

HOO: Er, Hung here God, there has been a bit of a storm here lately about religion and you know the big one, life after death, that sort of thing and I was wondering if I could get your view on these issues?

GOD: Jesus Hung, pretty big subjects but let me see, religion is the choice of the individual but should be kept away from kids, life after death, well sort of, I’d probably give you two to one on but you probably just die, well sort of, you know what I mean.

HOO: But Gordon, that sounds like you are trying to have a bit each way?

GOD: Well Hung, I’m not dead yet so I can’t answer the question, anyway got to go, watching 25 years of The Bill.

Whew, heady stuff. Anyhoo I’ll sign off, Hung One On, Inside his House, No Where.

The Eye of God as seen from the Hubble Telescope

 

PS: For Warrigal, hopefully a smile has been delivered by the good Father.

They Don’t Call it Monster.com for Nothing.

15 Wednesday Jun 2011

Posted by in Neville Cole

≈ 7 Comments

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Weasel Words

Story by Neville Cole

Editor’s Note:  This piece carries a special spelling and grammar warning for grammarians.  You know who you are….

A while back I was looking to hire some writers. I posted a notice on Monster.com clearly stating that the work would be writing educational video scripts for the Elementary Education market.

I always request a cover letter in addition to a resume as history has shown that having someone write about themselves can be very telling.

 NOTE: These excerpts were all copied and pasted directly from the responses I received. Only names and any specific details have been removed

One candidate made a most interesting offer.

I am interested in applying for the writing position I found advertised on Monster.com. I craft short erotic stories on a regular basis and cater to an online fanbase of about 2000. I am unsure how to include writing samples, as monster.com allows only a cover letter and resume. Could you contact me with a way to send some to you?

One sent as a sample that was definitely not at grade level.

They still had a great sex life despite of or maybe because of, his extreme efficiency. Once, afterwards, she said “you just fucked me like a machine, like the pistons of some engine.” This side of her surprised him, and he was ashamed of how turned on it got him. He couldn’t count the number of times he had used that memory to masturbate in the on-site porta-Johnny.

One was very friendly but had never heard of spell-check.

Hello I was browsing monster.com for a few moments, intisipating more work fullfilment. I came across your enthusiactic job posting. I am totally determined, eager, motivated and motivating, just a come together type of person to accomplish goals of success. Success is what I live for in everything I do. I also enjoy knowing company peers encourage each other to succeed.(This would be an awesome place to work for.) I would encourage you to believe in the words I speak and give me consideration. Yes! I want to be part of a properous business work place, to contribute to making your great company greater. I am ready to pick up the baton and go! and hold a position in a company or corporation I can believe in. Over all Dear one, here’s your candidate look no further. Enough about me, I would love to here more about this company I am eager to work for, for any questions or offers,(smile) feel free to call or reply.

One proposed a philosophical argument:

I may not have professional writing experience, but I do have a writing intensive degree. A philosophy degree is at its essence a degree in logical exposition, or writing in a detailed and concise manner that follows an argument. Educational writing is a cousin of logical exposition, or as some call it legal writing. I think that the type of writing that your company is seeking is a type of writing that will come very naturally to someone of my educational background. The reason that all this is an advantage to you is that I come cheap.

One described how her previous job was brought to a dramatic end:

I have served for seven months as Contract Administrator for the valley’s largest towing company. Unfortunately, we suffered a corporate take over and my position was abolished.

One spoke very highly of himself:

Although you will find I maybe be over qualified for the position for which I make application, I bring many skills which I will fully share to benefit the entire organization. Though my resume is quite detailed, it cannot fully profile the manner in which I have been successful. This can only be accomplished in a face-to-face meeting where we can exchange information, get to know one-another and examine whether there might be an employment opportunity that has mutual interest. Thank you for your time; I look forward to meeting with you soon.

One had impressionable skills, a good work ethnic, and an ablility to arrange words in an almost random order:

OBJECTIVE: An opportunity to utilizes my impressionable writing skills to further my personal and professional growth within the writing industry. Description of my perfect job: A company that has a good work ethnic and provides an outstanding way of communicating their mission objective. Wrote the book Corporate America: an exceptional investigation of the working relations with fellow colleagues successfully. A creative observation into corporate politics in the pursuit of succeeding the trials and tribulations. Beginning with our attitudes that are crucial to surviving the journey, the book outlines pertinent questions that are answered by CEO’s, managers, and non-salaried employees to overcome pitfalls in corporate America. The book presents an exceptional investigation of the working relations with fellow colleagues in a successful and fulfilling approach. Develop and wrote the course for the Joy of Reading. Concentration was made on the curriculum development for a friendly atmosphere thru out the different stages of the course. Providing weekly content for the promotion of his book, monitoring the message boards, proofread and verifies related links t o post on his site. Post bulletins in the literary world, polls, moderate the forum, and plan events. A book reviewer and write profile articles on prominent business owners. Certified professional writer was achieved with this course that provides an individual the elements of the publishing industry. Recognizing the differences between staff-written and freelance articles, explaining the process of submitting a professional manuscript and listing the various freelance markets by describing the types of writing appropriate to each. In addition, the course has extensive writing assignments in ever genre. I currently have written five fiction novels, two non-fiction novels as well done book reviews. I have written computer technical and women issues articles and I can do proposal writing. In addition, I developed and is the existing Editor of the Aetna African-American Employee Network. My passion is writing and I can focus on any agenda a company wish to accomplish. I look forward to hearing from you regarding future assignments.

I passed on all these candidates and I have not tried to hire writers on Monster.com since.