It 'Shore' Is Obnoxious

 Spring is in the air; as is the pollen. People are flocking to the hardware stores to purchase gardening supplies, and other people are feeling inspired and getting right into the spring cleaning. Traditionally, a young man's mind turns to fancy, but middle-aged people's minds often turn to clearing out the car port, which is a good thing because my car port has been driving me crazy-apeshit bonkers. Being September, there is another tradition rising to the surface, and that is the Year Twelve Muck-Up Day. 

I like this tradition, except when people behave badly. Has anyone else read about the checklist for the boys at one of the private schools in Sydney? It is a pretty offensive one, truth be told. The items to be ticked off include spitting on a homeless man and whacking some random in the genitalia. To my knowledge, Shore School is verifying the authenticity of the list, but if it is real, it makes me wonder about the mindset and entitlement of some of these boys, who seems to be fast-tracking themselves for membership to the Young Liberals. Astronomical school fees and these hellclowns don't know that assaulting someone whether with your saliva or a thump in the nads is wrong? As an aside, on the off-chance they DO whack a random in the genitalia, I hope the random recovers quickly enough to retaliate with a well-aimed roundhouse kick to their stupid, boater-wearing heads.

My oldest had his own Year 12 'Muck-Up' last year. He donned an inflatable Tyrannosaurus Rex suit and went on a scavenger hunt with a some of his classmates, who were dressed in drag. I'm proud to say he didn't assault anybody. I remember my own, all dem years ago. I didn't commit an act of assault on anybody, either. Some might say flour bombing teachers is an assault, but hey, they gave as good as they got. I still remember the squicky feeling of having a rotten tomato squashed onto my head by the relieving geography teacher. The worst stunt we pulled was booby-trapping the toilets with Glad Wrap. The unfortunate victim was the cleaning lady, who actually apologised to us for ruining the trick. If it were me, I would have strangled us all. I suppose it was a piece of luck she had her mop and bucket with her.

But making a to-do list that includes challenges that border on plain offensive elitism and criminality? Never mind firing some people into the sun, these little arse-hats should be yeeted right into Betelgeuse. 

Because It Is Wrong!

 Some of you don't know what 'cause' means. Let me enlighten you, and I will try not to be my usual supercilious self when it comes to snarking thus (mainly because I've spent the afternoon lying down after being sick through the night). Oh, and if you want a hint as to my upcoming spiel, have a really good read of the bracketed segment of my second sentence; therein lies the hint.

Okay, 'cause' has a couple of uses in our vocabulary. It can be both a noun or a verb. If you are using the word as a noun, is is something that gives rise to an event or phenomenon; to demonstrate: 'The cause of my lethargy and malaise today is the tummy bug that assailed me last night with the stealth and suddenness of a seasoned ninja'. Got it? 

Its other noun usage is a principle or political movement, like in: 'They presented a petition with over ten thousand signatures backing their cause to Parliament'.  Got it?

If you're using the word as a verb, then you're discussing making something happen. Here is an example: 'Mixing a lot of drinks will cause an awful hangover'. Got it? Oh, the hangover reference has nothing to do with my illness today - I haven't had a drink for a few days. I've just got some wretched tummy bug.

What the word 'cause' is not is a conjunction. It is not a subordinating conjunction. It is not a prepositional conjunction. The word needed in these instances is 'because'. BE-cause! Got it? If you're trying to write a creative piece in a voice that would have the narrator dropping the 'be-' because (!) he or she is hip and casual (or as I prefer to call it: ignorant), then you must put an apostrophe at the beginning to indicate there are missing letters. Your sentence would thus read something like this: 'I don't want to to to the movie 'cause I don't like that genre.' Got it?

I'm seeing too many instances where 'cause' is used as a conjunction and it has to end. It is pure evil. 

Feeling crummy is such a bitch. I'm off to have a shower and put on some clean pyjamas now. This program that runs the blog into which I'm typing has underlined the word 'pyjamas' as being incorrect spelling. Bite me, program. 

There is  currently some campaign called 'Give Dan the Boot' wherein supporters upload a photograph of their boots outside their domicile to show their displeasure at Premier Andrews. If you want to do that, then fine. It's your right. However, some numbnuts put a pair of boots outside the shed where the Premier's late father's funeral was conducted. Whoever did this, you are an arse and a numbnuts, and you should get in the bin. 

Hating People But Loving George Harrison

 I try not to be a surly misanthropist, but it gets difficult sometimes when you encounter untold nincompoopery at every turn. Anyway, here are the three reasons I'm hating people at the moment:

1. Some lame-brains sparked a wildfire in California after using an incendiary device at a gender reveal party. This occurred on or about 8 September. I will admit to being one of those people who does not get the appeal of this type of gathering, but then again, I did not want to be informed of my unborn children's sex. When pregnant with my first, it was necessary for me to undergo a CVS. I informed the clinic I did not want to be told the baby's gender, but somebody in the doctor's surgery sent me paperwork where it was clearly printed: 'XY - MALE'. I was furious at this blunder and practically ripped them a new arsehole. This was NOT the way I wanted to learn about my baby's gender. It was soulless and upsetting. I learned my second child's gender when the midwife handed him to me. Which is what I wanted. I understand some people cannot wait to know, and respect their right to find out if it is their wish. But I do not understand the Byzantine lengths to which people go just to let other people know about their unborn kid's junk. I'm trying to imagine how this kid will feel when he is older and realises his folks were such colossal bogans they did a blue-smoke burnout and sparked a conflagration that destroyed plants and wildlife.

2. People have been abusing the lineswoman in the Novak Djokovic disqualification incident. Look, da rulez is da rulez, and Djokovic did something that warranted disqualification, okay? Why abuse the woman who was hit by the ball? It wasn't her fault. Those of you decrying the level of her injury, let me tell you this:  you don't get to decide another person's pain threshold. Maybe the ball would not have hurt you personally, but I would love to see a fit tennis player whack a fast one at your respective throats to test the theory. You don't have to hold qualifications in ballistics to understand being hit with a ball can hurt. The woman was hit in the throat and neck area; what if she had been asthmatic? How cowardly to send her threats over this, and the threats likely come from obese losers clouded with acrid body odour, hiding behind their keyboards set up on their parents' basements.

3. So-called journalists writing for The Australian about Catherine Andrews (wife of Victorian Premier Daniel Andrews) blocking some of them on Twitter. Given that the Murdoch press has done nothing but vilify her husband, why would she NOT block some of you on Twitter? It is her right. She is a private citizen and can choose what she wishes to see in her feed. But why do you write about this? Let me tell you something: this does NOT constitute news! I had a look at the obnoxious article wherein it was stated Melbourne had gone 'full Mean Girls'. Do the bimbos who write this shit have any concept of irony? Is this what people aspire to when they decide to pursue journalism as a career? Is this the legacy of Woodward and Bernstein? Great steaming shitballs, I would be embarrassed to have written such a fatuous load of rubbish.

Oh well, I must away. Those who know me well know I turn to music when I don't feel great. Music has lately had quite the Sisyphean task, given there has been nothing but misery in the news of late. Yesterday, I turned to Here Comes the Sun by George Harrison. It's a beautiful song, and its message resonates today.  Also, there is a hospital where it is played when a Covid patient is declared fit and healthy again. Oh, bless and love. 

Tedious Tunes & Dull Ditties

 When people hate on songs, it's often for obvious reasons like in the case of novelty songs that really grate on your tits after - or even halfway through - the initial listen. I loathed Shaddap Ya Face the moment I heard it, and the forty-year time frame since Joe Dolce committed that unforgivable felony has done nothing to temper my detestation of what is just pathetic dung accessorised with lyrics. 

Yet, there are some songs that are loathsome simply because they're as boring as the dried bad guano adhering to the floor of a cave. I've made a little list and beg your forgiveness as I remind you of these turgid, torpid, turd-like tunes.

1. Breakfast at Tiffany's by Deep Blue Something. This song is so banal. Dude, she's breaking up with you because you bore the shit out of her, and this song has, in her mind, galvanised her resolve to never speak to you again.

2. Africa by Toto. This is just so...bloody...BORING. What is the point to this shite-fest?

3. I Don't Like Mondays by The Boomtown Rats. I have the utmost admiration for Bob Geldof as a humanitarian. Live Aid was the seminal pop culture moment of my young adulthood. But oh God, this dreary song! How on Earth did Geldof and his Rats manage to juxtapose such a horrifying subject matter against such a dull song? I cannot stand this song, and practically sprain my wrist turning off the radio should it come on when I'm driving (I'm old; I listen to AM, okay?)

4. 7 Years by Lukas Graham. It's just whiny bloat that goes nowhere.

5. All of Me by John Legend. Sometimes it's nice when an artist releases a paean directed to the love of his or her life. Not this time. This tedious offering has me vacillating between catatonia or else barfing my guts out into a sick bucket.

Anyway, that will do for now. If anyone wants to leave a comment about songs they personally don't like or find boring, I'd love to read them.