Saturday, 22 February 2014

Some People Are Real (The) Pills

Yeah, I wrote about this the other night, but it's the story that doesn't seem to want to go away.  I saw on the news tonight an interview with the pharmacist who is letting the customers know he is not happy to provide The Pill for contraceptive purposes.  He spoke about Pope Paul's instruction on this issue, and I sat there in total stupefaction that somebody in a position of trust with our health feels entitled to be influencing people's contraception choices based on the words of some long dead dude who, let's be honest, was a superstitious man in a white dress practising celibacy and living in comparative luxury.


Circuses have to be more creative in their entertainment these days, given it is very un-PC to capture and keep wild animals in small cages to perform tricks for the entertainment of gurning fools gobbling popcorn and Pluto pups.  What they appear to have done is taken over the media, and seem to be recruiting the AFP into the show.  What a tiresome debacle the AFP raid on Channel 7 offices was.  I'd rather see a raid on a shipment of high quality eccy pills, but maybe that's just me being whimsical.  I don't get why there had to be a raid about whether there had been a deal between Shappelle Corby and Channel 7 for a 'tell-all'.  Cheque book journalism is nothing new, and has probably been going on since the town crier was slyly palming off chickens and bottles of ale to the informant who told him about Lord Upperclass-Twittington doing the scullery maid in the larder whilst Lady Upperclass-Twittington was left to serve tea to the reverend in their sitting room.  What I will admit to being unsure of is whether Corby was convicted of any crime under AUSTRALIAN law, and if not, why must everyone lose their shit about her possibly benefitting from the proceeds of a crime, if it's not a crime under Australian jurisprudence.  What must the minions of Channel 7 have thought when the Feds marched in?  I know what I thought once when present at an AFP raid.  Yes, I have been present at such a, a thing.  I was working in a law office years ago, and several Feds came marching in waving warrants and ID badges like flags on Australia Day.  I recognised the bloke in charge straight away, who strutted in like a peacock with an erection; I had gotten into an argument with him in a pub a few months earlier.  This was a pub where the legal fraternity liked to drink, and for some reason that evening a few of the Feds decided on cleansing ales there, as well.  I was having a drink with a good buddy of mine, a barrister, and made a rather disparaging remark about the quality of food a suspect would likely receive whilst in police custody.  I thought nothing else of it, and when it was time to leave, slung my handbag over my shoulder.  Before I could walk out the door, this Fed started to berate me over what I had said, and ordered me to leave the pub.  I pointed to the licensee notice, and said that unless that was his name up there he was not entitled to order me to leave the premises.  He went on and on and on, bitching and bleating and blathering that I had insulted him, I had insulted his fellow officers, that I had insulted everything he believed in.  I stood there wondering what kind of developmentally stunted knob-end this guy was, and stole a glance toward my barrister friend, who was clinging to the bar for support as he laughed himself practically into a hernia.  As one of my other friends later said, 'What a cry-baby!'  The office where I worked was only a block or so from AFP headquarters, and if I happened to see him outside having a cigarette on my way to work, I'd shoot him a dirty look for fouling the air, and he'd shoot me a dirty look because I was, well, me.  And then, as mentioned, a few months later he was strutting into the office.  I don't know what the clerks at Channel 7 did, but I had to duck down behind the front desk and snort laughter through my nose, and didn't surface again until I was able to contain myself.  The raid itself was pretty run of the mill; my boss exchanged a few terse words with them over some semantics, and I slipped him a note reading: 'This is the idiot with whom I had a fight at the pub'. 

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