sock puppet blog

Ok first blog for 2009.... this blog needs a theme. So my theme is sock puppets. Send me your pictures of sock puppets, and I will have cute sock puppet of the day every day

Rosie the Dog

This morning when I walked my dog I realised I would never, ever fit into my suburb.

Before I left I picked an outfit. Most of my clothes were in my floordrobe, so I picked a t shirt I was given last election when I gave out how to vote cards.

My Mia Handshin 'Labor for Sturt' t-shirt is a fine t-shirt.

It's bright orange. No-one would ever hit you with their car wearing it. Actually it is flourescent orange, even more orange than my netball skirt and far more orange than an actual orange.

This was the only thought that went through my head when I put it on.

When I was walking in the park I saw this other dog playing in the middle of the road.

It was a very little, very girlie dog. And it was oblivious to the fact it was in the middle of the road. Clearly about to get hit by a rampaging four wheel drive. So I tied my dog to the fence and went to make friends with the lost dog.

It had no name tag on it, only the council tag. I thought about carrying it home because as I said it was a very small, girlie dog, but I thought I would see if I could find it's home first. When I walked up to it the dog rolled over on its tummy and whimpered at me, then followed me when I walked across to the other side.

I could here some people talking in a house. A man, in particular, whose voice was as camp as a row of tents. And lots of children.

I called out to the camp man 'excuse me, have you lost a dog?'

'No' he said. 'Hang on, does it look like a Jack Russell'

'Yep' I replied.

'OOOh! said the camp man. I think that is my dog'

Then the camp man came out of his house, chasing the dog.

'Rosie!!! Rosie' he called, flapping his arms in a very unmanly way. 'Rosie'.

Then he looked at me.

'You supported my opponent in the last election' he observed.

'I did' said I.

'I' he continued 'am Christopher Pyne'

I almost ran away.

That's when I realised I would never fit into my neighbourhood. Every blue ribbon, Liberal voting house of it.

It was so strange I even forgot to gloat. I wish I had said something like 'enjoying opposition ha ha...'. or 'Not so smug now are we?' but no, the words did not come out.

I like to think I would have returned the dog even if I did know whose dog it was. I am a dog lover, even if I detest the Liberal party and everything it stands for.

I even more wish I had got to return a better politician's dog. Maybe Greg Combet's dog? But then again if Greg had a dog he probably would look after it properly and not let it run onto roads.

Maybe the whole dog freedom thing merely represents Liberal party ideas about market freedom. Maybe Pyne thinks the dog should be free to choose whether it wishes to be run over or not, and that if every dog owner had a fence it could restrict the market share of Smackos. Or the market in new dogs?

Anyway, I'm moving to a Labor area as soon as I can. Or an area with a Socialist Alliance member, if I can find one.

Slim Dusty's Voice is Trapped in my Brain!

I don't really want to but I think I might have to make a financial claim for my pain and suffering.

Recently I blogged about my recent journey on the Indian Pacific. How I thought it would be somewhere in between an Agatha Christie novel and the Raj. Nu-uh! It was sort of like being on a suburban train, like maybe the all stations to Penrith via Yagoona and Mount Colah. The suburban train experience was because a) the train never really went over 60km per hour, and there were frequent strange stops when the driver felt like he or she needed a nap. Anyway, enough bitchin.

The real reason I want to sue Great Southern Railways is that while travelling, I contracted a terrible disease. A brain-worm. A brain-worm is what happens when a song travels around your skull like a frustrated working sheepdog stuck in a suburban back-yard. Or like when a mosquito is trapped in your small kitchen and it buzzes around going NEEE! NEEEE!

My brain worm goes like this "The Indian Pacific Spans the Land" over and over again with bushwhackers style backing music. I hope it goes away soon!

The Darkest Material on Earth.

Milwaukee's goth scene will never die!

US researchers say they have made the darkest material on Earth, a substance so black it absorbs more than 99.9 per cent of light. It's made, not from the tears of Robert Smith (that's goth juice hairspray) but from upright carbon fibres. The makers of the darkest material on earth are going to be ZILLIONAIRES!
Why?
Because emos the world over won't be able to get enough of it.
They can make clothes, hair dye, ugly platform boots with inexplicable, non-functional buckles. No goth or emo will be considered cool without The Darkest Material on Earth.
They can make vinyl bags, body piercings, guitars, outfits for Vince Noir.
A word of warning, though. According to the latest issue of Cheekbone, just delivered to me by ninja, it's already out of style.

The Train

On Saturday night I had possibly the most un-rock and roll Saturday night. Of. My. Life.
It was the Indian Pacific's fault.
The night of horrors started just after we pulled out of Sydney's Central Station, and the loud speakers crackled to life. They spawned a soundtrack of terror- voiced by BOTH Slim Dusty and Bud Tingwell. Obviously designed to appeal to folks like my dear grandfather, who sit there in their Gold Kangaroo class sleepers reminiscing about the war. I think people like that probably like Slim Dusty and Bud Tingwell. Ol Bud is supposed to be a much loved actor, by the way. I wouldn't know, I haven't seen him in anything. Didn't he die recently?
Anyway, Slim has written a whole song about the Indian Pacific. I know all the words now! I think I will have to have a conversation about that with my counsellor, I feel I've been scarred for life.
After we crossed the Blue Mountains (at walking pace, goddamm, or indeed walker pace) the real fun started. The foetal position, Will This Ever End, Oh My God, sciatica inducing horrible pain of the Day/Night Sleeper. While the gin-soaked sots in their sleeper carriages stretched their legs and massaged themselves with moisturiser from their free Indian Pacific toilet bags, I tried to sleep. It was OK until the bastard next to me started snoring.
I started to fantasise about clobbering him on the head with one of my thongs. Thinking about it like I was some sort of creepy stalking serial killer, debating with my creepier instincts. Then my id got the better of my good manners.
"Oi!" I said. "Mate", I said. "YOU SNORE REALLY LOUDLY IN THAT POSITION!" I snapped. "I just thought I'd tell you" I continued feebly. "Sorry" he said "I don't usually sleep like this". No you don't... because it is totally inhuman and horrible!
One of my friends used to work on the trains, and she said the train people partied really hard, all night every night. Now I know why... they can't bloody sleep!
The first night in my own bed, I slept for eleven and a half hours. That was more like it.
Next time, It's Gold Kangaroo gin sottism all the way! Or, I'll fly in an aeroplane like sensible people!

The election

I am so, so, happy that Labor won. So's big Kev.
yay yay yay yay!
Take that you miserable old bastard! Kev and Julia, you rock. While you'll probably not actually abolish capitalism and set fire to the Business Council of Australia, I like you anyway.

I haven't forgotten about my blog, I haven't!

I was on the phone to Optus this morning when I had a scary ageing experience. Only recently recovered from the trauma of 'going up a box' from 18-24 into 25-34 (I know I can't complain) the Optus lady believed me when I said I was a 56 year old woman! Due to various bureaucratic sillies, the internet account has to be in the name of the phone account holder. That's my mum, born in 1950. So when I rang up, and I gave my birthdate as January 1950, the optus lady didn't even pause. She just believed me. I sounded like I could plausibly born in 1950, the same year John Howard froze his mojo and the same decade it was cool to wear pointy bras.
Ouch.
She didn't say 'Don't be ridiculous, I can tell that you are actually an overgrown teenager'. She didn't say 'Now dear, is your mum there?' No, she just belived me.
Oh, my lost youth!

Hydro-lord The Game

I don't live in Glenelg, but I found one somewhere in the depths of Magill. Thankyou mysterious hydro-lord delivery force!

I got one!!!!

Here is a picture of prizewinning wowser, David Smith with his free copy of Hydro Lord The Game. Ingrate. Doesn't he know it would have cost him $30 at the shops?
Here's the article that appeared in the local paper.

Drug-themed game put in 20 driveways

Article by Adam Todd
The Messenger (Adelaide) 23Oct07.

David Smith with the board game Hydro Lord, which was found in the front yards of at least 20 homes in Glenelg East. Picture: Neale Winter
A BIZARRE marijuana-themed board game has been mysteriously delivered to at least 20 Glenelg East residents. The game, Hydro Lord, is a Monopoly-style game where players have to buy hydroponic set-ups, then harvest and sell the marijuana.More than 20 copies of the game, which is covered in images of marijuana leaves, were dumped last Thursday (October 18) in the front yards of several houses in Fifth Ave, Sixth Ave and Keen Ave, Glenelg East.Glenelg East resident David Smith discovered the boxes on Thursday while delivering magazines to letterboxes.``I just started seeing more and more of them, they were in driveways, on the footpath... there had to be at least 20,'' he said.Mr Smith, who has a son, 5, said he was concerned for any children who may have come across the game.The aim of the game is to buy hydroponic set-ups, survive without being caught by police for four months, harvest the crop and reap the cash.Hydro Lord's website claims it is ``an exhilirating (sic) board game that takes you into the lucrative money making world of hydroponics; the trials and tribulations, the highs and of course the lows''.The game's box also carries a warning: ``The game accepts no responsibility for ideas players may acquire during the game.''Mr Smith called police, who collected all visible copies of the game from front yards.``They said they'd never seen anything like it before,'' Mr Smith said.Police at Glenelg Police Station told the Guardian Messenger they had never heard of the game and would launch an investigation into the matter.Sturt Police Chief Inspector Les Buckley, who took over the investigation, did not return the Guardian Messenger's inquiries before deadline.The Guardian Messenger attempted to contact the makers of the game through their website but they did not respond.

There are some things I like about Australia.

Australia, Australia. There are some things I hate about it, like Quadrant magazine and the Young Liberals.* I think Prince Charles... whoops, Kevin Adrews' comments about Sudanese migrants are shameful and ignorant. Somehow I don't think he spent his childhood in a dangerous refugee camp! Anyway, these issues are serious. They are enough to make me move to a less racist and narrow minded country, like maybe somewhere in Scandinavia.

But there are one or two things I do like about Australia. This one is from The Australian...

"Australian doctors used an intravenous feed of vodka to keep an Italian tourist alive after he consumed large quantities of a poisonous substance.
The 24-year-old man, in an apparent bid at self-harm, had swallowed ethylene glycol, found in antifreeze, which can cause death.
Doctors administered pure alcohol, the conventional antidote, but exhausted the hospital's supply.
Desperate to continue the treatment the doctors at Mackay Base Hospital in Queensland state hooked up an intravenous feed of vodka, hospital officials said."

Woo Hoo! I'm going out to get some antifreeze right now!!!

*I'm going to the Young Liberals ball next year, it will be soooo funny! I just need to figure out how to get tickets. If anyone can help me out, I will be so grateful!