On god being a bastard.

It has come to my attention that in a past lives I was possibly both Genghis Khan and Adolf Hitler. This is the only explanation I can come up with to explain current events which, in the immortal words of Millhouse, started off like Romeo and Juliet, but ended in tragedy¹.

My employer, you see, has just moved offices. I found upon arriving to work this morning that my new office was, on cursory glance, far superior to my old one in every respect. It's larger, it has a lovely view of Moreton Bay and there is no dentist on the other side of the wall. In general, in fact, the new offices are far better than the old ones. Life, I said to myself this morning, is truly sweet.

In a sadly short period of time, however, the minty fresh sheen evaporated from this new working space. The first thing which indicated to me that perhaps all was not well in the state of Denmark, as it were, was that my lovely view also includes a primary school, which means that if I stare too long at the bay I look a little dodgy. This, however, was nothing to the dread realisation that hit me like a lead pipe in the hands of a man named "Bubba" at approximately 9:30 this morning. You see, while it is certainly true that I am no longer next door to a dentist who hates me more than he loves life, I am now directly above a fucking gym. This is, apparently, not a problem for anyone else in the office in as much as for some reason the loud duff-duff style "yeah, let's work those abs!" music that drones on in the place doesn't reach any office but mine. This, I discovered, is on account of an open door to a fuse-box which cannot be fucking well closed!!! I've tried pushing, kicking, and alternately praying to every deity I could think of and rocking back and forth in a fetal position whimpering. All to no avail. The only thing I have yet to try is strolling into the gym with shotguns akimbo to explain calmly to the denizens of the establishment in question the benefits of working out in silence. This, clearly, must be my next step.

¹Given how often I use this phrase in everyday life, it is perhaps a little surprising that I only just now worked it into my blog.

On Why the Dentist is not Dead

My much-publicised¹ vendetta against the dentist on the other side of the wall came, as some of you are aware, to an uneasy truce recently. This truce owed itself to the fact that the music seemed to have died down some time ago, which naturally made me very nervous that the tooth butcher in question was reading my blog. I was living daily in fear of his tracking down where I lived and giving me an involuntary root canal. It was a very trying time for me.

I have now realised the real reason for this decrease in volume. 

I have been leaving the loovers near the roof closed.

¹ If you count this blog as heavy publicity, I guess....

On Why The Dentist Must Die

O.K. So, it's occured to me that my blog has essentially become the blog about nothing. I've eased off adding to it of late, perhaps hoping to have something meaty, deep and profound to add. Instead, all I really have to report is that over the last two weeks or so I have developed a messianic hatred of the dentist on the other side of the wall from my desk. This is perhaps a lie. Not the hatred bit - that's perfectly true¹- but I suppose I could be reporting other things also. There is, as it happens for instance, a very good hole-in-the-wall cafe just down the road I discovered in the last week which completely invalidates my previous post². This has left me happy that I can now purchase a hot liquid that leaves me convinced, upon tasting it, that it was derived originally from coffee beans and not the testicles of a diseased rodent. This has also made me a bit annoyed that I've lost a perfectly good topic to rant about³.

Another important milestone in my life I feel I should tell you all about is my discovery of the curried prawn pie, which can be purchased from a dodgy-looking pie⁴ shop a few metres away from the office. The curried prawn pie is, I feel, an invention of genious⁵ to rival that of the wheel, sliced bread and the baby's dummy⁶. I mean, seriously, think about it. Firstly, prawn meat is a hell of a lot tastier than the usual pie-filling fare. But the real kicker is the curried nature of the pie. A major problem with your standard meat pie is that they are expected to be an in-expensive food-stuff and are yet also expected to be filled with beef which is, nowadays, not actually that cheap. So how does the vendor make a profit? By filling the pie with those portions of the cow that John West Rejected, that's how. The curried prawn pie on the other hand is filled with a few prawns and a cheap, presumably vegetable-based curry-sauce type filling infused with a prawny flavour. I mean, seriousy people - GENIOUS⁷. You get your cheap much tastier pie safe in the knowledge that you're not eating intestine and hoof.

Anyways, back to the dentist. I am convinced that it has become his purpose in life to drive me insane⁸. The man's waiting room lies, as I have previously mentioned, just on the other side of the wall against which the monitor I spend my rather dreary day staring at sits. He plays really loud music into this waiting room. Music which is generally of such a calibre as I am convinced he does it to convince his patients that the experience of their scheduled root-canal is actually downright pleasant by comparison. The patients, however, get to leave⁹. I, on the other hand, have to stay there all fucking day. I ask you, dear reader, is there a jury in the land that would convict me for his long, drawn-out murder? Well, O.K. so yes, yes there is. Probably all of them, come to that. Since I may be forced to do it anyway, I'd just like to put in a request to any interested party that they act as a character witness at my trial. Thanks.

¹I'm actually considering arranging subtle hints to Lorenz that it was the dentist in question, and not I, who ate his noodles then letting nature take its course. Well that, or bursting into his office with an axe yelling "here's Johnny!". Helena should take this as a subtle hint to re-send the Stanley Kubrick quiz link on facebook, as I've just decided I'll give it a try. She should take the previous sentence as an explicit request to that end.

² Though not all of it, in as much as statistics didn't suddenly get interesting overnight. Actually, there is a rather interesting post to be had in elaborating on just what exactly I've come to realise the purpose of my current post is. I'll leave this as a 'Gabbo is coming' style teaser to hide the fact that the revelation in question, when it comes, would have otherwise not really been all that interesting if you were to sit down and think about it for too long.

³I've actually considered, in my idle moments (of which there are many) whether or not it might be a good idea to burn this cafe to the ground. I'm also just now considering whether or not I should shoot for a post in which most of the content is to be found in the footnotes. As to the former consideration, I rather think my motivation may be a little difficult to adequately communicate in a court of law. As to the latter..... we'll see how it goes, yeah?

⁴ I say this, of course, not to denigrate the pie shop. Decent pies cannot, in my experience, be purchased from non-dodgy-looking pie shops. Note the gratuitous attempt here to get footnote text to over-take main text.

⁵This misspelling has been deliberately left uncorrected to allow me to place another footnote.

⁶ The ultimate in a win-win situation. You want the baby to shut the fuck up, and the baby wants to suck something. Seriously, the dummy is a work of genius. And why the fuck am I trying so hard here, anyways? The footnotes are clearly ahead.

⁷ This time I've purposefully misspelled the word for the same reasons the last instance of it was left uncorrected.

⁸ I rather think he's not the only person I know who's adopted this goal either, lately.

⁹ Luck bastards. This probably really should have been placed in the main text, hey? Also, the previous sentence was clearly unnecessary. As was the last one. Oh, and that one too. Maybe I'm taking this footnote thing too far......