1. Went to the gym. This wasn't much fun because first of all I stood on the scales there, and all I can say is the bloody machine's busted. It has to be. I cannot weigh that much. No. Denial, thy name is Bingells. Second of all, as I cycled and listened to the piped music, which is tuned into a local FM station, I heard a song that just made me wonder, 'Why?' It was a remake or interpretation of Rod Stewart's 'Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?' I don't think it was the N-Trance cover from some years back. I'm not sure who did the cover I heard today. More alarmingly, I don't know WHY someone would cover this song. Who sits at a brainstorming meeting and says, 'I know! Let's have our latest auto-tune wunderkind cover a naff and somewhat sleazy song by a thirty-three year old bloke who was wearing spandex! It doesn't matter that the song tends to make people cringe because it's so kitsch, and because people are embarrassed to admit it's a bit of a guilty pleasure. Even though covering it is pointless because it won't have the same vulgar Studio 54 zeitgeist of the original, we will go ahead and make a cover! What's that rapper's name again?' - here our intrepid, cocaine-fuelled producer intercoms his assistant Sh'Nae - 'Hey, Sh'Nae! Get me the number for Tone Def's people!'
2. Goofed around on Twitter. Not for long, but long enough to read a scurrilous article by a tabloid newspaper about Shapelle Corby applying for the dole. This putrid piece stated she was expecting taxpayers to fund her 'lush lifestyle' on the Gold Coast. I do know the name of the journalist who wrote this piece, but I'm not going to bother saying it here. I do wonder how the dole will subsidise a lush lifestyle, given it barely subsidises food. I do wonder why such a thing is even considered newsworthy. Let me break it down for those who have a problem with this: she has a notoriety that is hanging around like a swarm of flies on a humid day at the moment, and finding employment might be somewhat difficult for a while. Until such employment is found, or she goes into business for herself, she has to eat. It's a funny little quirk about being a carbon based lifeform: we need sustenance. So annoyed was your blogger, I responded. The journalist replied, and I have decided to just use a screen shot of this part of our convo. I removed the journalist's name with my newfound editing skills:
It is exciting and satisfying to take a journalist to task over a misspelled word. Maybe not to the point of orgasm, but it is exciting nonetheless.
I also took the opportunity to state my view that this sort of reporting is a manifestation of the skid marks in the underpants of humanity.
3. Sneezed. A lot. Possibly it is because Spring is sprung. Possibly it is the glass of wine I drank tonight, you know, sulphides and all that. I've never had an issue with wine before, but that doesn't mean a particular brand isn't going to NOT affect me. I hope not. I like this wine. But I've been sneezing and sneezing to the point where I thought my nose was going to fly off, and I would be like Michael Jackson, had Michael Jackson been reasonably slim white woman (oh, wait...).
4. Wondered why Minister for Immigration Peter 'Duds' Dutton has such an detestable and punch-worthy face. My guess is that it's because he is an ex-Queensland copper describing lawyers appearing pro bono for asylum seekers as 'unAustralian'. Duds, you're a coprophagus prick to say this. Not only are you attacking the fundamental right of everybody being equal before the law and entitled to representation, you said 'unAustralian'. This is the most shitful, bog-standard, and stupid word thrown around by people who have no argument to use against people with whom they don't agree. Get a clue, why don't you?
It's been a somewhat crazy and emotional week for me. I've been dealing with an inordinate amount of bullshit, the volume of which would overtake that left in the Okay Corral following muster. I cannot write about the genesis of this taurine scatological situation, but let's just say it's caused much misery. But it's also forced me to be strong, and use my literary skills to - I hope - my advantage. Time will tell.
Anyway, happy Fathers' Day to all the dads out there tomorrow. I no longer have my dad. It was his birthday yesterday. He'd have been Two Fat Ladies: 88. I think about him every day. Mr Bingells no longer has his lovely dad, either. Tomorrow we are going to a camping ground and having a BBQ. The food is marinating as I type.
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