Oh, Puh-LEEEEEEEZE

 Today, I read an article that stated workers quarantined in St Kilda have had their solitude and isolation compromised by sex workers knocking on doors at all hours offering to do 'anything' for amounts ranging from fifty dollars to one hundred dollars. Okay, on the count of three. One, two, three:

'Oh, puh-LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZE!' 

Would not the hotel security have stopped them,  or CCTV have footage of these amoral Jezebels sneaking into the premises, hell-bent on luring those innocent lambs, much like singing sirens luring the hapless sailors to their doom?

A less preposterous scenario is this: one of the quarantined dudes tried to make a booking and got caught. To cover his own arse, he concocted this story. Who's with me on this?

This story was brought to my attention because a retweet was commented upon by a person I follow on Twitter. The retweet was from an angry professional whose photograph had been used, minus her permission, to accompany this salad of baloney and malarkey. The so-called journalists have since removed her photograph.

You know, even if this yarn was true, and working ladies were knocking on the workers' doors, do the workers no longer have free will and the power to decline services? Oh, and to call security?

It's difficult to not get just a tiny bit over people at times, isn't it?

Whingers and Whiners

 Genuine question to the Libs in Victoria: do you have a workable solution to offer in staunching the spread of Covid, or do you just want to engage in political mud slinging at the Premier? Do you guys conduct Zoom meetings (presuming you have the common sense to not congregate in a lair) coming up with asinine insults to put out on social media? Who's telling you to do this? Why are you doing this? And you people listening to the Libs in Victoria: why are you doing this? 

What's got me ranting about this is the small ad Magda Szubanski appeared in, as her mad netballer character Sharon Strezlecki (spelling?), wherein she gives a brief spiel about hanging in there, and that the virus is the enemy, not lockdown. Important message, I would have thought. But this wasn't good enough for Liberal Member for Brighton, James Newbury, who thought it would be a great idea to post a tweet saying that Victorians have turned on the loved Sharon character because Magda read a 'condescending' script written by Premier Dan Andrews. First up: no he didn't; Magda wrote it and told you so herself. Second of all: is this the hill you're going to die on? You might want to get some tweezers to pull out the splinters you've sustained from scraping the bottom of the barrel. And in the midst of all the petty sniping, did you offer a solution? *Listens to the crickets*

Some of the assclowns on the Twitter thread complained Magda had been paid for the ad. Um, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, so fucking what? She's a professional actor who did a job. Why should she not be paid? She apparently donated her fee to a charity, but that wasn't good enough for the professional whingers, as well as some of the top-ranked amateurs. They demanded she name the charity. To the whingers: Magda is under no obligation to name a charity she patrons to anybody, and she is under no obligation to divulge details of how she disbursed lawful income. How about someone asks you how YOU spent your last pay? Offensive, right? Then take your moaning and shove it up your butts. 

I'm aching like crazy at the moment. Today, I tackled my garden and am now wondering was it worth the ache in my knees which I currently suffer. To reward myself for my labour, I reclined on the lounge and watched Puberty Blues. My mini fox terrier lay on my knees, which provided relief, and I put a rug over us, and watched the trials and tribulations of the fictional teenagers in late-Seventies Cronulla. I still recall buying a copy of the book when I was fifteen, and it went around the school, and was returned to me in tatters. I still have that copy, and it's held together with a suitably sized bulldog clip. I have a memory of one of my male friends attempting to corrupt the impressionable Year Sevens as he read to them the infamous panel van scene. 

But the question for now is: do I continue to work on my assessment, or will I watch some more Puberty Blues? I don't much feel like thinking. I want some more cool dialogue like: 'Redskins are unreal!'

Bye for now.

GET OUT OF THE GENE-POOL!

 Whilst I was taking leave from my role as blogger over the last week, Blogger decided they would alter the style for making posts. Dudes, and I say this with the utmost respect: LEAVE IT ALONE! DON'T RE-INVENT THE WHEEL! FAAAARRRRRRRKKKKKK!

Ah, that's better.

All I've been doing lately is plodding through the vicissitudes of life (as are we all), and I'm sure they've not been all that interesting. Indeed, the most exciting part of my life lately has been, whilst I was in a small town about an hour away, realising my driver's licence had expired and having to drive further up the highway to the nearest town where it could be renewed. This in itself doesn't sound particularly thrilling, but there is the added adrenaline rush of wondering whether you will be pulled over by the Highway Patrol and wondering whether you will be believed. Whilst not a race against the clock, it is a battle against statistics and chance. My brow was beaded with sweat (but what the heck, maybe it gave me a dewy complexion) and my heart raced a little as I scanned the road ahead, searching for the alarming sight of the car with red and blue strobes parked at the side of the road, and the uniformed walloper with the broad-brimmed hat and high-vis vest gesturing for me to stop.

No such apparition materialised, which is good because some of the highway patrolmen in my area have a reputation for being less than understanding, and more than officious. I made it to that town sans incident, and renewed my licence. 

And this, dear reader, is my idea of what has been exciting in my life this past week. 

Today, I have been preparing notes on why Shakespeare is still relevant nowadays, and enjoying it. Call me a fuddy-duddy, but I believe the Bard is very relevant and relatable, and I enjoy telling students why this is the case. 

Before I go, I will share with you the dumbest thing I have read in a long time. It is the copied text from a tweet posted by some braindead dunderhead, and here it is:

if a man says no to a womans orgasm but she orgasms anyway while they are having sex, isnt that like rape?

No, I'm not making that up. Someone asked that. *Dons terry-toweling hat, sunglasses, smears white zinc across nose, climbs to the top of the high tower, sits in the seat, blows lifesaver whistle, and shouts to this imbecile: 'YOU! GET OUT OF THE GENE POOL!* 

Karens, Hacks, and Mick Jagger's Lips

I haven't been blogging as much as I like to because I've had a lot of work on, and also because there's only been news about the dreaded virus. It's altogether very dispiriting, and I really feel for the people in Victoria at the moment. However, it's six weeks, and I can't promise it will fly, but if the six weeks helps staunch the spread of this virulent mongrel thing, then it's been worth it. When it's under control, if  not completely knocked on the head, there will be one huge party - you mark my words.

I'm going shopping soon, and will mask up. I will not be travelling interstate. It's just how it is at the moment. I'm a reasonably healthy person, but if I caught the virus, then as well as getting sick, I could compromise the health of someone who is elderly, immuno-suppressed, or undergoing chemotherapy, and I'd like to think I'm just not that inconsiderate or stupid,  unlike the 'Karens' of Bunnings, or those dimwits with the puffed up lips (Mick  Jagger rang and said you're doing it wrong) who attempted to cross the State borders.

What's also giving me the irrits is the insistence of the Murdoch press upon having a field day with the employment of one of the women who was arrested. She works as a topless waitress, so naturally the Herald Sun have to make a big deal about this. Honestly, who cares? It's her lawful income. I care about the fact that she's a completely thoughtless shitgibbon who'd happily compromise the health of others. Let's complain about that instead.

The News Corps(e) stable of bitter mangy old nags should be ashamed of themselves (but they won't be). Columnist Rita Panahi, a Melburnian, tweeted she hasn't felt this oppressed since living in Tehren and referred to Premier Dan Andrews as 'Ayatollah Andrews'. Seriously, lady? Andrews is trying to get this crappy virus under control and it's not like he has a blueprint from which to work. He's possibly listening to epidemiologists for advice, and I'd understand why he would be listening to a bunch of ignorant hacks or petulant whiny Libs from the Victorian opposition party .Maybe News Corps(e) journos could ask their puppet master Murdoch why he's so intent on destroying Andrews and doesn't care about the population. When did that scabrous, desiccated old fart last pay tax in Australia? The economy can rebuild. The dead can't.

Anyway, I have to go to the library and organise some photocopying for my tutoring.  Ciao for now.

Oh, one bright(ish) thing: I've put in application to be a panelist at an Indie Festival in Maitland scheduled for February, 2021. Let's hope 2021 knocks 2020 into the ballpark. In a good way.

Thinking of the people in Victoria.