It was always the movement and the skin

I used to be a chilled, calm type, but these days I have much anger. Some is directed at the idiots who run this country, some is directed at misguided socialist types, some is just misdirected. And some I have for the way modern words are misused. Don’t start me on random. This paragraph isn’t about random. This paragraph is reserved for partner. A partner is someone you are in business with, a partner is someone you trust in a gunfight at the cathouse, a partner is someone who watches your back. A partner is not your other half. A partner is not your chosen life mate. That debases the whole boy/girl thing. (Yeah, yeah, I know.) Who wants to be equal? Not me. For being equal implies no sense of need, no sense of want, I need to be wanted, and wanted to be needed. If we were equal, I wouldn’t need another.

Look! I can be relevant, I can do current affairs!

Brats cause havok at school. This was on the radio, and second male child did quoth: Huh, let away with things? Doesn’t happen in this house. Tantrums get us less. We get away with nothing. Proper order. This paragraph is just to say, despite the odds, my children are sensible, witty, clever, and don’t get away with throwing tantrums. As I don’t get away with it, so damned if they will.

Hiding cigarettes is just dumb. Sure, like pr0n, they will end up getting it from the intertubes, and no tax going to the thieving, lying, scumbag NuLab administration. But this isn’t a civil liberties paragraph, oh no, this paragraph is to highlight the quote some policy wonk made this morning on the radiogram. Look she said We don’t want to be a government who just ban things all the time. Bit late, youse all set your stall out on that score long ago.

Young farmer will be in trouble for misusing the Sunday roast. Ah, the showgrounds. Manys a time I was there for The Show (back in the day when the school closed on Show Day, as there would be no one left in class, due to all the farmers, hey) and the odd time for football. But I have never, in all the matches I have been to all over the country, seen anyone use an uncooked joint as a projectile. But this paragraph isn’t about that, it is about the first line. What has it got to do with an animal welfare charity? I doubt there was a slaughtering down Warren Street, and the leg thrown at the Distillery lot.

Oh dear, I guess I am wrong too. Don’t go check out their myspace page. It is all wrong. Wrong enough to stop me typing.

Family types fly out at silly o’clock to Germanicland tomorrow/today/yesterday/a while ago, leaving me on my own for a couple of days. Offers?

Caught in the half-life, of threats and bribes