I will soon be out of a job as the Big Oil Company I work for has decided I am superfluous to requirements. I am very excited that I must look for a new job because I now have the opportunity to expand my skillset with another caring and sharing company who will screw me senseless and spit me out onto the scrap heap of Big Issue selling.
Finding a new employer to bend over for has meant that I have spent quite some time searching the job search websites. I wish I hadn’t because recruiters write rubbish like this:
“This is a one off opportunity if you could see exactly how awesome your new place of employment is you will have already sent your resume to the link below”.
Umm, yeah like whatever, I like watersports and riding horses.
It gets worse though. Just have a read of some of the shit that they write when devising key selection criteria. As someone who has spent quite some time responding to key selection criteria I am over it, because they in no way predict a person’s ability to do the job. This is why my good friend CP and I have devised selection criteria for the modern office slacker. The nine key criteria are;
- Do as little work as possible and constantly distract colleagues.
- Productively use company IT facilities to create world-class blogs.
- Respond to all queries in a timely manner, somewhere between five and six working days.
- Go to work hung over and late every Friday (I already do that).
- Participate in team meetings by telling your superiors how crap their latest policy is.
- Violently attack managers whenever they use clichés, like “at the end of the day” and “we really need to hit the ground running on this one.”
- Contribute to process improvement by saying how much better it was when we did things the old way.
- Blame people who have left for everything that goes wrong.
- Participate in workplace flexibility by working flexibly at the pub or bar.
Good God, I think I have found a new job.
Brain meltdown of the week from Miss South Carolina at the annual Miss Teen USA pageant.
Question: Why is it that one in five Americans cannot find the us on a map?
“I personally believe that US Americans are unable to do so, because, is that some people out there, in our nation, don’t have maps, and I believe that our education, such as South Africa, and the Iraq, everywhere like, such as, and I believe that they should, our education over here, in the US should help the US, or um should help South Africa and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries, so we will be able to build up our future, for our children.”
She came third!
Filed under: Actors, Australia, Existential Crisis, Fiction, Hillsong, Humour, Morrissey, Music, Neighbours, Religion, The Smiths, Toadfish Rebecchi
I am going to put the fun back into fundamentalism.
Regular readers of oneplanetmikey will be aware of my ongoing Scarlet O’Hara issues. You know, those terrible existential questions of ‘where shall I go, what shall I do’? Well finally, I have the answer.
I am going to join the Hillsong Church.
It is a perfect plan. There is a men’s group where I can meet my husband. The church-goers share an intense sense of community. And finally and most importantly; there is singing and dancing.
The singing and dancing is what sealed my decision for me to put the fun back into fundamentalism.
This is because I am an excellent lounge-room Sinatra and no-one can sing Sugartown quite like me. With that said, I just know the boys of Hillsong will love my tunefulness and sunny presentation skills. They boys are also going to love my incredibly groovy dancing which was perfected atop many a dancefloor podium while pilled-up to the eyeballs. (Please note that when dancing that I do keep my shirt on. I may be a trahbag but I still have some decency and propriety left).
So all I need to do next Sunday is go straight (ain’t that the truth) from club to church, and sing sweet Jesus. After all, coming home with the Lord would have to beat coming home with some of the mange-ridden mutts I have picked up at the Peel.
On a Hillsong Desolate. Or why I want to be Morrissey.
Well, the Hillsong Church thing didn’t work. I sort of had a few health issues when I woke on Sunday. There was this awful feeling of illness and dehydration, accompanied by projectile vomiting and a reasonably nasty headache, which may or may not have been a migraine.
Lord knows what brought on that sudden illness, because I was fine when I stumbled into bed and passed out at 3am Sunday.
Anyhoo, now that I realise organised religion aint for me, I still need to do something about my ongoing and endless Scarlet O’Hara questions. You know; “where shall I go, what shall I do?”
I think the first question can only be answered after the second is, and I done answered that one while walking to work this morning. What am I going to do? I am going to be Australia’s first professional Morrissey impersonator. It is a bit like impersonating Elvis, but Mozza ain’t dead and I’ll have daffodils poking out of my arse while singing about charming men, and hillsides desolate.
I came to this conclusion after spending several hours over the weekend listening to Manchester’s greatest band, The Smiths. I have long admired Marr and Morrissey as one of the finest and funniest musical partnerships ever. And now this hilarity will continue as I sing “There is a Light that Never Goes Out” at weddings, warble “Some Girls are Bigger than Others” at Fernwood Fitness Centres and croon “Still Ill” at hospices and infirmaries.
For me, the saddest thing about The Smiths was how soon it was all over. Five years, four studio albums, two compilations, one live album, several wonderful coverstars and me……the boy with the thorn in his side.
Just be glad dear reader that I don’t write bloody awful poetry.
Visited by a vision splendid.
I was so very excited about my new-found career as Australia’s first professional Morrissey impersonator that yesterday I left work early so I could buy some Daffodils and practice my singing at home. Slight problem though, once I got home I realised can’t fucken sing. Well, I can a little bit, but I sound more like a drag queen with an electronic larynx than the divine Mr M.
My unfortunate discovery that I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket even if it hd handles caused me to reach for the bottle, which was fine because I ended up being quite happy in the haze of a drunken hour.
Anyway it was rather fortuitous that soon after opening the second bottle, my good friend Kennel Cough* called and asked me to go to the Neighbours trivia night at the Elephant and Wheelbarrow in St Kilda. She has a thing for backpackers and has spent many a night there, often ending up under the table. I duly gargled some Listerine and sprayed Brut on my pulse points as I ran out the door and walked to the bus stop.
I had a great night, but unfortunately for my partner in crime her luck was out and the only offer she received was a promise from a spotty Kiwi that he would be a great root while once he sobered up and wiped the vomit from his shoes. Dejected, Kennel Cough retired and left me to my own devices because she had an early morning meeting with her probation officer. I was going to follow her out, but soon saw that a man had left his gin and tonic on top of the cigarette machine, and knowing as I do that a free drink is a free drink, and free booze is the best tasting booze ever, I stayed for anothery. It became four. And when I fell on the floor ……I drank more.
It was then I ralised that I had been visited by a vision splendid, a hunk of spunk named Toadfish Rebecchi. Yes, yes he of Neighbours fame and method acting ability. Soon we were gripped in intimate embrace as we danced the light fantastic to Aga Do, by Black Lace. I really do think I am in love. Again!
This morning with a smile on my dial and with a date for tonight already lined up, I am remembering the words of my mother, who told me as a small boy; “Michael, just remember you can marry more money in five minutes than you can make in your entire life.”
I’ll let you know what happens as soon as it happens.
* Name changed to protect the reputation of a trashbag who works at the Australian Tax Office.
It wasn’t Toadie, but a real life toad.
Obviously my search for meaning has hit a few snags because by the time I arrived home from work yesterday and started coming down, I realised that not everything which I believe happened on Monday night, actually happened. If I have misled any of my readers; then I sincerely apologise.First up, after security at the Elephant and Wheelbarrow asked me to leave for allegedly stealing drinks, I decided I would make the short stroll home from St Kilda to Thornbury. Unfortunately, I must have been quite tiddly as the attempted the 20 kilometre walk in my new Jimmy Choo’s, not realising that I already had blisters from when I crawled up Hoddle Street the Saturday night before.
Anyhoo, this is where my problems started as I had to sit down and rest my blistered and aching feet. While sitting, I now believe that I mistook flashing traffic lights for disco lights.
As for the vision splendid which appeared on the dancefloor in the form of Toadfish from Neighbours – I now believe that was an hallucinogenic toad I met while actually resting and handjiving at the lights on Hoddle Street. (I do hope that this explains some of my ongoing problems with perception and reality). Please note that despite my vision splendid being a toad, I am not too upset as this toad was nicer and a better conversationalist than the last toad I picked up.
We did have a nice time, however I am slightly embarrassed about being a trashbag on a Monday night. As such, I have decided clean up my act and attend a twelve step programme. Because I find the idea of any organised group therapy horrendously ghastly, I will tonight institute an informal get together for bad people over drinks and spliffs at my place.
Trashbags-not-so-Anonymous will take anyone. You do not have to be sober or pious to join and we will not make you apologise as part of the healing process. It will be an informal and supportive group for people with dependence problems.
If you are coming tonight, please bring your own drugs as sharing is good and we don’t want to run out.
I seem to have founded my own cult.
It really is quite weird how life turns out. Just last week I was going to attend the Hillsong Church as part of my search for meaning. Today I find myself elected the benevolent leader of the democratic cult of Trashbags-not-so-Anonymous. I had never really fancied myself as a David Koresh type character; more of a wonder-man like Kim Il Sung or Ho Chi Min.Anyway, there I was last night, at home with my real and imaginary friends hosting the first meeting of TNSA, when my dear friend Horse Flu, suggested that the mystical ways of the Trashbag should be celebrated, and that we should continue to celebrate and I was the one to lead people further into temptation.
Reluctantly I agreed, on the proviso that all members of Trashbags-not-so-Anonymous, participate in my wondrous new ten percent plus GST tithing scheme.
All agreed, and I am now democratically benevolent.
If there is anything to be learned from my adventures over the past few days it is that the power is within.
Filed under: Australia, Mary Kostakidis, Media, Personal, SBS, World News Australia
Yesterday I wrote about newsreader extraordinaire, Mary Kostakidis and my ongoing obsession with, err admiration of her. I wrote that I would turn for her. And while that is true, it in no way encapsulates my love for the Queen of Cool.
Dear readers come with me on a journey and cast your mind back to 1990, the year that I truly became a Kostaphille. It was the year that Australian children were scheduled to stop living in poverty. And it was the year I flew the parental coop by moving to Canberra to live as a poor arts student in a grotto.
Now Sydney is a just a short four-hour bus ride from Canberra, and SBS is in Sydney; so it was quite logical that Charlie Smith* and I would travel to Sydney to meet Ms Kostakidis. We did, arriving at Milsons Point on a cold, wet June day.
Once there Charlie and I stared nervously and excitedly at the non-descript building which housed our prey, err I mean the SBS newsroom. After an hour or two of waiting and hoping and wishing and praying and peering into cars, it became rather obvious that we weren’t going to meet her that way, and we decided that because the Lord helps those who help themselves, we needed to display some initiative. We did because we concocted a story that we were both journalism students from Sunshine TAFE who were great admirers of the news service and please mister, ”would it be possible to have a look at the newsroom and perhaps kidnap a presenter”? Or somefin like that.
With a final cigarette to steady our nerves, it was on. We walked to reception and asked in stern, butch voices to have a look at the newsroom. Sensing that the answer was to be no, Charlie spied a door and sneakily and surreptitiously walked towards it in a manly and resolute fashion. Having played spy games as a nipper I knew the score and desperately tried to distract the security guard. If I wasn’t going to meet Mary, then I sure as hell would do all I could within my power to help Charlie meet her.
After about thirty seconds Charlie returned to me at the reception desk. He looked deflated as he walked out of the utility room.
I never did meet Mary, and to my knowledge neither did Charlie.
*(Name changed to protect international law lecturers at Johns Hopkins University).
Filed under: Australia, Mary Kostakidis, Media, SBS, Stan Grant, Tabloid Hack, Television, World News Australia
The evildoers have won. SBS legend and one of the few women I would turn for, Mary Kostakidis has reportedly quit her post as Chief Newsreader of World News Australia. Mary resigned after becoming increasingly unhappy, with the increasingly lame and commercial-laden bulletin.
I guess it didn’t help matters much that Ms Kostakidis had to share the bulletin with failed tabloid hack, the egregious Stan Grant. Here was a newsreading partnership doomed to failure. The coolly elegant Mary paired with Stan Grant, the washed-up and recycled former presenter of Today Tonight and its’ still born predecessor, Real Life.
Now that the evil dragons have slayed the mighty newsreading queen, and because the World News has descended into tabloid mediocrity; there really is very little reason to watch now. I guess I will now join the 38, 000 people who have turned off at 6.30 and stare blankly at the wall, waiting for the ABC News at 7.oopm.
This is Charlie Cox. He is an actor. I am in love and he will be my husband. All I have to do now is stalk, err meet him.
Filed under: ALP, Australia, Election, John Howard, Kevin Rudd, Liberal, Politics, Strippers
I am amazed, no flabbergasted, that Kevin Rudd is human and went and watched strippers in New York City. That he freaked out and left a short time later is even better.
But what has the world come to though? If every person who has done something dodgy in their past is prohibited from entering politics, then there are not going to be too many people left who can put up their hand and say ‘elect me, elect me.’
And another question; why are the Liberals desperately mudslinging, so early? I know they know, they are going to lose. But really folks, do it with some dignity.
After all, if I had evidence that Janette gave John lapdances, and that he shoved $50 notes down her cottontails, I’d keep that a secret.
Promise.
Filed under: Australia, Election, Pauline Hanson, Pauline's United Australia Party, Politics
Media whore and failed Dancing with the Stars contestant Pauline Hanson is back, announcing the formation of a new political party and yet another wasteful tilt at the Senate.
If the intellectually under-resourced red-head gains more than four per cent of the vote in Queensland she will receive a whopping $1.90 per vote. While this won’t make her rich, I would suggest that it is enough to make her reasonably comfortable until the next election. Aargh, talk about rorting the welfare state!
So what’s changed? This time around the functionally illiterate hedgehog has stated that instead of being swamped by Asians, we are in danger of being over-run by Muslims and overseas trained doctors who cannot be trusted because of their alleged links to terrorism. Sweet Jesus, if it wasn’t for overseas trained doctors our health system would be as sick as it is in the US.
I know I’m going off, but I thought we had dispatched her to the scrap heap pf Ipswitch long ago. The woman is just white noise in an already loud election campaign.
Where the fuck are the retrospective abortions when you need them.
Filed under: Australia, Election, John Howard, Liberal, Peter Costello, Politics, Tony Abbott
Seriously, it couldn’t get much worse for Johnny Numbnut and the 50 year-old boy Treasurer. Could it?
With new revelations from three of Australia’s most highly respected journalists (who’d a thunk I’d ever say that), that the man with no iceberg underneath had planned to take out his little bee bee gun and topple the dear leader by carping and back-stabbing his way to the back bench, Costello has now been shown to be a coward and worse still; a plotter and a schemer.
Costello’s reply to the revelations splits already thinning hairs and relies heavily on semantics. After first saying he had been verballed, Costello then claimed that the date provided by the journalists was wrong and finally, that he didn’t say these things because these things didn’t happen.
But as Michelle Grattan wrote in The Age today, “the Prime Minister stared them down. Nothing happened because the Costelloites were forced to retreat from their threats, not because they didn’t make them in conversations with journalists.”
You can tell just how much bother the Liberals are in because the mad, medieval monk Tony Abbott had to spring to the defence of Costello by claiming most dis-ingeniously that the entire conversation was off-the-record and shouldn’t have been reported anyway. In a piece of spin not seen since Warnie pulled up stumps, the health monster, err minister bleated; “If something is off the record, it in effect doesn’t exist, and there’s nothing wrong with denying something that didn’t exist.”
Alistair Campbell would be proud.
Filed under: Death, Humour, Jeanne Calment, Murder, World'd Oldest Person, Yone Minagawa
Yone Minagawa, who for eight months was the world’s oldest person, has died. Her untimely death at 114 follows the death of the Emma Tillman, who was the world’s oldest person for just four days. Tillman took the record from Ms Emilano Del Toro who reigned for forty-four days. Ms Del Toro claimed her title from Ms Elizabeth Bolden who managed to hang onto her record for almost four months.
These deaths now make Ms Edna Parker from Shelbyville, Indianna, the world’s oldest person as she has clocked up 114 glorious years. And if I were Ms Parker I would be worried, very worried.
So why are these people dying?
Is it “natural causes” or is it something far more sinister? I would suggest that there is evil in this world, and that these people are being bumped off at an alarming rate by the second oldest person in the world. My reasoning is simple; since January 2000 none of the world’s oldest people have held the record for longer than twelve months. These long living runners-up have the motive and what a motive it is; fame and having your name published in the Guiness Book of Records.
So today I am calling for an Interpol investigation into the murders of the world’s oldest people. The killing must stop and must stop now.
I am amazed, appalled and alarmed that worldwide, not one police service has discovered the link between these murders. Why is it that I am the only person who can see these things?
