Now first and foremost, I should say that I’m a coffee snob. That is to say, I’m not satisfied with the ground up dirt that passes your average quality control program for mass producing suppliers like Nescafawful or Home Brand Moulded Roasted Beans. Having said that, I don’t need to prove my taste buds by drinking “Kopi Luwak” coffee that only achieves the right “flavour” after the beans are defecated from some kind of feral animal.

This all started about four years ago, when a global cafe chain run by some kind of clown issued a public advertising blitz apologising for their woeful product. They claimed that they were going to turn the customer’s frowns upside down, which I guess has something to do with the clown. Given that their newly appointed 15 year old baristas have about as much experience drinking coffee as they do with personal hygiene, I viewed the announcement with some suspicion, to the point that I avoided the place like the plague… and I sincerely mean that if the plague is still around, then I’m sure you will find it in one of these establishments.<!–more–>

Anyway, after a sleepless night, then a 2 year old screaming in the car on a trip along the highway to hell, the only “cafe” I came across just happened to be the aforementioned McPlague Cafe. I quickly analysed my options… fall asleep at the wheel and kill an innocent family, tell a 2 year old “NO, we can’t stop at the playground”, or option 3, replenish my caffeine levels with a “barista made coffee” at the new an invigorated Plague Cafe. As the 2 year old’s scream peaked at 140db, the deal was sealed. I yanked the wheel and cut across 3 lanes of traffic to make the exit ramp. I got honked once to “You fucking maniac,” but I’m not sure if they were commenting on my driving, or choice of cafe. I think it was the café.

We walked into the *cough* cafe (I’m not sure why I coughed, it could have been a nervous reaction, or possibly my immune system kicking in) and the 2 year old dashed for the play ground.

“WAIT… put your rubber gloves on… and for the love of clowns, don’t lick anything!!”

After ordering my cappuccino, a double shot extra hot no sugar extra clean, I stepped back and had a chance to look at the other clientele. There were the gray nomads or pensioners, with their seniors discount cards who could only afford to share a stale muffin and small sized coffee. Then there were the truckers… eyes blazing from methamphetamines, needing a double caf with 20 sugars to wash down their “meds.” Their were some tourists who didn’t speak English, except when it came to picking items from the menu of this place. There was also a teenage guy in a hoody, who didn’t seem to order anything… I think he might have been a boyfriend or pimp to the 14 year old girl who was playing “expert barista” today. Then I zoned out for 3 minutes.

A wimpy voice murmured, “Number 897! – Cappucino, extra snot.”

Did she say extra snot, or extra hot? What happened to extra clean? “THAT’S ME!” I yelled.

I sat down and nodded at my partner as I flicked off the plastic lid to peer into the cup. She looked at me with sorrowful eyes, then glanced at the brown stain on the lid, “Are you sure you want to do this…. what’s in it?”

I looked down sorrowfully, noticing my shoe had just picked up a fresh piece of gum, “It’s better not to think about that. I’m hoping for caffeine.”

As the first luke warm liquid past my lips and touched my taste buds, I shuddered. I had a vivid flashback of 40 years ago, when as a child I fell into a stagnant pool of water in a gravel car park and received a mouthful of yuck. The skim milk I didn’t ask for simply wasn’t old enough to mask the stale aftertaste of the coffee beans that had been harvested 10,000 kilometres away then ground too early and left sit in an unsealed coffee grinder that was possibly cleaned when it was manufactured. Taking care not to put my hand on the flap of the bin, I pushed the cup through in one fluid movement, “it’s back to whence you came.”

Inspired from this News article


It’s not often I attack my end of the organisational chain, however we have an employee in my department who is well and truly in crazy town. He believes it is the role of the company to ensure the following:
· He never gets stressed
· His performance is never evaluated
· He can take leave at short notice, for as long as he likes, whenever he likes
· His team is kept over staffed to ensure he is NEVER over worked

Now I know what you’re thinking, this inspiring employee is me. Well, as much as I like to take credit for raging against the machine, in this case it’s not me. While in principal, I do advocate for general shenanigans in the workplace, I feel that corporate quit stayers should only wreak havoc in a covert manner. This is both for self preservation and for the sake of my fake professional exterior.
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Being an expert in everything, I often get asked questions on general health.  Originally I assumed it was because I was a tower of fitness and picture of good health, but upon reflection (in a mirror), I now believe this is simply because some people really don’t have a clue in the world.
So after a recent discussion with a colleague, I commented that I only drank when thirsty and only smoked when I was on fire.  Their response was, “Man…. I need to cut down on drinking and smoking… I just don’t know how to do it.   What is your secret?”
Given the fragile mental state of this person and the fact that they were asking me a desperately serious question, I felt obliged to give my response due consideration.  After 2 seconds, I formulated an appropriate solution to the world problem of alcoholism and smoking.  My recommendation was that he increase the duration and frequency of his habits.  Furthermore, I advised that he needed to immediately switch from cigarettes to Cuban cigars and ditch boutique beer for pure vodka. <!–more–>
Now on the surface, it would appear that I am ignoring the cash cow Dr. Phil slogan, “you can’t change what you don’t acknowledge.”  But since my colleague actually likes to drink and smoke, the actual crux of the issue is not one of acknowledgement, but actually why he considers there is a need to change.
Being a victim of mixed messages, he was misled to believe that his choice of addictive drugs and associated disease was an undesirable choice in comparison to a more healthy lifestyle.  I explained to him that essentially he was buying into a marketing exercise run by a non-hidden government agenda.  This was getting in the way of his REAL ambition, to live like a Marlborough Man.  Under the guise of a “health initiative,” the government banned cigarette advertising to stop people believing that they were essentially sexy young go getters, so long as they are pissed and puffing nicotine. Yes, I know, it’s an outrage.  So my unfortunate colleague apparently had no idea that increasing his intake of addictive substances, was actually going to make him more likely to have a good sun tan, athletically superior, have a babe hanging off each limb and an all round amazing individual.
So essentially, our impressionable weak minded citizens are now receiving messages that a long boring life is better than a disease ridden dopamine enhanced shorter one.  This is of course a value judgement.  Yes there is scientific evidence that proves smoking and drinking harms your health, but that data fails to take into account the viable “live hard, die young” preference.  When people take up smoking, they have already made the choice that they agree to suffer, it’s now just a matter of speeding up the process before they become a long term burden on our health system as they age.  It works for all kind of issues.  Got a cholesterol problem and hard arteries because of your addiction to deep fried everything?  Run a marathon.  Like speeding cars?  Stand in the middle of a freeway.  Don’t believe in gun control? Give your 2 year old a sub machine gun and ask them to shoot an apple off your head.  Anxious to find out if you’re going to get liver disease or cancer?  Remove doubt, smoke and drink more often!
Most of the time, people only begin to have doubts about their addiction because they begin confusing aging with the harm caused by addictive substances and sometimes because of their frequent admissions to emergency wards.  This is not a time to analyse foolish choices, but a time to abandon fear and embrace your right to live intoxicated, then die.
Everyone knows quitting is hard and let’s face it, if something is difficult, then it probably isn’t worth doing.  Take for instance eliminating your boss.  You’ve identified that they are incompetent and are standing in the way of your career.  Yet when you explore the intricate details of murder by paperclip, disposing of an overweight body through a paper shredder, removing nasty carpet stains and coping with lengthy periods of incarceration with people more mentally disturbed than yourself, you start to realise that deep down, it’s just easier to take a pay cheque.  In fact, it’s much more productive to just continue encouraging other staff to reach the breaking point where they go postal on your senior management structure.  Comments like “Hey Bob, I heard through the grapevine that the boss indicated that you are under performing, ugly and that he thinks your wife is rubbish in bed.  I wouldn’t take that if I were you,” are great for distancing yourself from your own bad choices.
Anyway, back to quitting.  Drugs of dependence are designed in a way to make sure the user really feels the need to continue subsidising multi-national companies. Ideally, these companies don’t want their customers to die, however death rates are more than offset by their ever expanding markets.  While consumers of these products rightly tend to trust these companies products conform to standards, they tend to overlook that these standards actually permit the consumption of chemicals that will eventually cause death.  Legislation is not protecting you, it’s ensuring your painful death is a slower process.
This leads me to explore the link between ethics and profit.  Well, after much analysis, it appears to be an inverse relationship.  Companies selling addictive substances are similar to a church who wants to protect a paedophile.  They both know something nasty is happening to their customers, it’s just that the cost of providing compensation is not really affecting their business model.  They believe that screwing people over is just another valuable service on offer, so as a cashed up spiritually empty consumer, why wouldn’t you want to hand them over your money?  I guess their organisational conclusion is that cigarettes and paedophiles are not damaging people’s health in any serious way.  So what I’m actually saying is, if you want to screw over our children, you should smoke big fat cigars and drink vodka.  I hope that clears everything up.


Apparently there are a lot of people going around lately professing that their god has explicitly instructed them to strike fear into the heart of infidels. While this is nothing new in human history, you would have hoped that in this day and age promoting your beliefs would come through persuasive argument rather than the old “join me or die” mentality.

Unfortunately, religious nutcases relying on medieval concepts to integrate with modern society, still feel “blow shit up” is a constructive method of community engagement with the added benefit of appeasing their vengeful gods. As far as I can tell, they mainly have a beef with people who don’t fit their definition of the ideal human, which happens to exclude anyone that has an ounce of common sense.

Their religious definition goes something like this…
Ideal Human: fucking nut who uses threats of physical harm or death to encourage other humans to join in the lewd behaviour and worship an invisible entity who provides them with immunity from judgment over immoral conduct, while promising sex and riches after followers have a glorious death whilst committing gross acts of violence.” Read the rest of this entry »

Team workIn the workplace, I am on the constant receiving end of communications commencing with the word “Team.” There seems to be a misconception amongst organisational managers and supervisors that language used to motivate a football club, somehow transfers to the office. Let me be clear about this, it does NOT. It especially does not apply to saboteurs such as myself, whose primary function in the office is to thwart the actions performed by the manager of the day.

According to Dr. Google, a team is defined as “two or more draft animals that work together to pull something.” So you can see right there, the term cannot possibly relate to anything going on in the office, or at least, anything that “should” be going on in the office. I guess there is the odd exception, like the annual drunken xmas party that doesn’t have any respect for animal rights, but I’m not going to dignify that kind of activity by writing about it on a fine upstanding blog like this one. I’m not even curious as to why a group of people might have a team of draft animals in their office or indeed interested in the logistics in getting a draft horse into a service elevator. Although I guess it’s easier if your office is on a ground floor. Read the rest of this entry »

Bad blogs
No… no they won’t. I’m not going to tell you how to write a successful blog, because as it should be patently obvious already, I have no idea what constitutes a successful blog. Like the vast majority of bloggers, I have a big enough audience of voices in my head not to worry about how many people I am “reaching out” to in the blogosphere. Read the rest of this entry »

Quite keg time
Don’t get me wrong here, I love a beer. Some of my best insults and most thought provoking retorts have come after downing a stubby or five. Like the day someone called me an idiot while I was drunk and I said “You… wewf… aft…*burp*!” Yep, they had no comeback for that one. Check mate!

But I find myself constantly revisiting this old beer advertising slogan, “A hard earned thirst means a big cold beer.” Now I don’t think I’ve ever had a “hard earned thirst.” Going by the footage in the ads, most of the time you will only develop this intensity of thirst if you are doing something energetic, like say, wrestling a crocodile, digging for uranium with your bare hands, or scaling a mountain of lava. Since I’m basically lazy, I consequently only get a low earned thirst. But these days, now that I’m a wise and a mature adult, if I’m dehydrated, I’m under the impression that a nice glass of water, maybe even some electrolytes (aren’t they found in car batteries?) is the way to go. Read the rest of this entry »

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and I’d just caught a mouse
I teased it, I tormented it, then squashed it like a louse

I left it in a pool of blood, slain on the freshly polished floor
Raising my champagne I smirked, you won’t bother me anymore
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Snoozin' for a bruisin'

Snoozin’ for a bruisin’

Does anyone hold the secret to a good night’s sleep? Please tell me… I’ll pay!*

In my world, I have all the necessities for sleep. Let me see… there’s tiredness, check, a dark quiet room, check, a bed, check, a pillow, check. But despite all these luxury items, when I drag my weary body to bed, I just get into a fight with Robin. Robin is the name of my pillow, they said I needed to name it, in order to build a positive relationship.

Now I should say, I don’t have any real beef with Robin personally and even though we see eye to eye most of the time, we just haven’t bonded. So inevitably, I end up punching Robin, hard, shortly after I lie down each night. Robin is particularly stubborn though, so I usually follow up by thrusting my shoulder forcefully into its guts. The poor thing offers little resistance. “Victory is yours,” right?
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I aint afraid of no ghost

I aint afraid of no ghost

After a recent fit of senselessness, I started visiting a gym to try and ward off “weak as a kitten syndrome.” While it didn’t work, I did find that gyms are fascinating places. When I say fascinating, I mean horrid dens of oppression, full of self-loathing creatures desperate to recapture their youth or at least try to rebuild imperfection. Oh, but gymsters come in other forms too, not everyone is attempting to appease their guilt without attracting undue attention to themselves. Some are just outright exhibitionists or apparently drunk on their own magnificence. In my busy gym sessions, I’ve managed to stay productive through categorising my fellow gymsters, so here’s what I’ve spotted so far.
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