Monday, 22 June 2015

Does My Stupid Look Big In This????

Sometimes  I think we have stopped evolving as a human race.  If you need evidence simply read the instructions on the back of almost anything you buy.

I purchased a packet of peanuts recently, and just reading the labelling made me despair for humanity.

First it was the big bold letters that said  "Warning - May contain traces of nuts" - well, duh - but it was the second line that really pushed me over the edge.

It simply read "Open Packet, Eat Nuts"  Phew lucky the put that there!!

But it's not just nuts that have gone nuts.  I bought a glass biscuit jar the other day, and it came with instructions. Think about that for a minute. Bloody instructions?  I'm sorry, but if you need instructions to open a glass jar, I really don't think you should be trusted with glass.

Is there truly anyone out there who looks at a glass biscuit jar with a lid on it and thinks - "But how do I get the biscuits in there? Damn, I wish this thing came with instructions."

It gets worse.  I got some sleeping pills for a holiday flight once and on the packet it said "Warning, may cause drowsiness"  Really??? Well I'd better have a few cups of  black coffee and a couple of Red Bulls to take the edge off then!!

That's like having a packet of Aspirin that reads "Warning may relieve the symptoms of a headache" or a packet of viagra that says "Warning may cause Grandpa to chase Grandma around the kitchen table."

There is actually an electric power drill that comes with the warning "Not to be used as a dental drill".  Yes, it's time RPA meets Better Homes And Gardens. "Look, we have used the drill for the pergola, now let's use it for that pesky molar." I'm sorry, but if you need that information on your power-tool, then you are the real tool.

Or the hair colouring that comes with the instruction "Do not use as an ice-cream topping". Uha ... although to be honest, if you are stoned enough to think that is a good idea, you are ;probably stoned enough to eat it too.

Then there was the pepper spray that apparently comes with the disclaimer "Caution ... never aim spray at your own eyes."  Now, I have to admit that this does sound like sensible advice. Maybe you've heard of the hair dryers that now come with the warning "Do not use while taking a shower".  Again, I feel that this one comes under the heading of 'moron' - at the very least, because using it while in the shower must limit it's effectiveness. "Ummm, I have it on high, but for some reason my hair is still wet."

This is right up there with the toilet brush that comes with the warning sticker "Not to be used orally".

OK, first, unless you have teeth the size of Larry Emdur, who thinks a toilet brush is a good idea for dental hygiene?

One of my favourites was the dishwasher that came with the instruction  "Don't allow children to play in the dishwasher."  Although, I guess if you provide them with some snorkles, it would be a pretty quick way to get them clean. But please, whatever you do, don't dry them off in the oven.the microwave is much quicker.

Without doubt, my absolute, absolute favourite was the mattress that came with the warning "Do not attempt to swallow"

Now this warning disturbs and amuses me for as couple of reasons. First, it is so random that you know the only reason that it is there is because someone has tried.  Secondly, how stoned do you have to be before you try and eat a mattress?

I mean there are not enough marijuana filled boogie board bags in the world to try to make me eat a mattress.

Honestly, idiocy is all around us.

If you want any further proof, check this out ... I read somewhere that in the last 10 years , 31 Australians have died from watering Christmas trees while the lights were still plugged in. What's worse, at least a few of these were watering plastic Christmas trees!!!

Now I don't want to seem callous, but to me, that's not a tragedy. That's natural selection.

You see, from what I can vaguely recall from science at school, when we weren't sitting up the back trying to turn household items into bongs, there was this bloke named Charles Darwin who came up with this Theory of Evolution.  (And to reward him they named the least evolved city in Australia in his honour.)

In basic terms, it was Survival of the Fittest.  In every generation the strongest and most intelligent would survive, they would breed together and we would evolve. Well, no more. We have stopped evolving as a human race.  It's no longer Survival of the Fittest, it;s now Survival of the Idiots.

And why have we stopped evolving? Well, it's simple.  All these warnings are keeping the morons alive.  And today, I haver three words for you ladies and gentlemen .......

LET ..... THEM ..... GO 

Monday, 8 June 2015

... For my friend Brendon

I turned 30 something this year, which – touch wood – should mean I'm well under halfway through my life. So here’s my question – why does it feel as if the extended warranty on my body ran out a couple of years ago and since then everything has started to fall apart?

If you think it’s hard to find spare parts for a second hand European car, try sourcing them for a broken down body.

I first started noticing it when something as simple as moving came with it’s own soundtrack.  Five years ago, when I got out of bed in the morning, it was done silently.  These days it’s accompanied by a groan akin to a Hungarian weightlifter completing the clean and jerk, crossed with the type of phone call that’s charged at $4.95 per minute.

OK. I was out with my radio jock friend recently and he seemed a little too happy, so I asked him what the problem was. Seems his brother is getting married and he was asked if he’d be best man.  He loves him and all of that, and is privileged to be part of his brother’s special day, but secretly, I think he’s so pleased because he get’s a title – Best Man!!

I really don’t think he’s ever been referred to as ‘best’ of anything  To be honest, as the sort of bloke who calls ‘Hire a Hubby’ when something goes wrong at his house, he’s just pleased to be called a ‘man’.

It has to be said, though, that the title of ‘best man’ at a wedding is a little overstated.  For starters, your presence there is a certainly less important than, say, the groom, which immediately relegates you to ‘second best man’.

Of course, the priest is usually male, and if you believe in that sort of thing, he has a direct line to God, so that knocks you down the order again.  Then more often than not, there’s a father of the bride, which means you’re now not even on the podium, coming in as ‘fourth best man’.

I seriously can’t begin to imagine how it works at a gay wedding where there are two of everything.

This is how the conversation went – He said he was excited but also nervous about his duties.  He only has one brother so even if he’s the fourth best man, he still wants to make sure he does a good job.

He said he can handle the speech bit, but he’s not got any idea of the rest.  Does he book a stripper?  (For the buck’s party, of course as – he says – even he knows that it would be in bad taste at the church)
Needing help, we took out the iPad, looked online and after spending a few minutes on sites that seemed to skip the ceremony and concentrate on the wedding night, we found that he needed a “Dummy’s Guide To Being Best Man”.

I told him he would have to dance with the bridesmaids.  Not a problem there, he said.  As long as they know the steps to the Macarena, the Time Warp and YMCA.  He is also happy to organise the tossing of the garter.  However he’s not sure if he can find enough single men, because, let’s face it, at our age ………… so would it be wrong to invite those whose relationships are a bit rocky?

Oh, don’t worry.  It’ll be OK on the night.  After all, you’re the fourth best man!!

We had been invited to a fancy dress party!!!  My complaining started the minute we received the invitation in the mail. Fancy Dress Party: Come dressed as the thing that scares you most! “But I’m not scared of the usual stuff like spiders, snakes, vampires and ghosts” I complained, “and the costume shop never has something for existential angst!”

“Stop being a wanker,” my friend replied, “just make a list of things you are scared of and then choose one of those.” So I did, and you know what, it turns out I am scared of heaps of stuff.

For example I’m scared that when people around me are speaking in a foreign language that they are talking about me being fat. 

I’m terrified that I will die before the final episode of Game of Thrones  and I will never understand what was going on with that bloody series; I’m even more terrified I will see the final episode of Game of Thrones and I will still not understand what was going on with that bloody series.

Babies… you know, just in general; 

I’m anxious that the fun I had in my twenties will destroy my brain and I will become one of those old sheilas who just repeats her same stupid jokes all the time; 

I’m scared that I am too happy most of the time to think of anything genuinely deep to say; 

I’m virtually terror-stricken that one day soon a comedian will make a joke and the Australian Family Association will complain they really shouldn’t be joking about things crossing roads, I mean won’t somebody please think of the chickens? 

I’m scared of having an ugly baby, but I don’t know it’s ugly and all my friends pretend but then one day I am walking down the street and someone says: “Why do you have that monkey in a pram?”; 

I’m fearful that I will be shunned at dinner parties in Fitzroy and Newtown if I tell my friends that even though I loved The Wire, I think SVU is a far-superior crime series; (Oh and while we are on a roll I didn’t get the end of Twilight either); 

I’m scared that one day I will push a cotton bud too far into my ear. 

I’m worried I should have kept more receipts; 

I’m scared that I’ll never be mature enough not to giggle when they mention former IOC President Dick Pound’s name on the TV; 

I’m scared our government will never have the balls to let gay people marry and I will have to be ashamed of that all my life; 

I’m scared that someone will be staying at my house and open a cupboard and find something embarrassing like a bong or a DVD box-set of Home and Away; 

I’m terrified I will become one of those boring middle-aged people who gets angry at young people for doing the exact same things I did when I was young; 

I’m scared that I’m right and there is no God, and existence is meaningless, and I really should have just gone to the beach; 

I even more scared the crazy guy in the mall with the cardboard sign is right and there is a God and he is going to be really mad at what I did as a teenager; 

I’m afraid that I should have done something productive in my life like settle down and have a baby; 

I’m scared shitless that if I did settle down and have a baby I would immediately regret it and wish I had spent the money on buying DVD box-sets which I would enjoy a lot more and would never tell me they hated me and that I had ruined their life; 

I’m terrified of falling over and knocking out some of my front teeth, I’m even more terrified this will result in people thinking I am British; 

I’m scared that pain in my hip that I have now had for a couple of years, and assumed would go away at some stage, is now just how my hip feels; 

I am scared the person I am in my head isn’t the way that other people see me; 

I’m afraid I don’t tell the people I love that I love them enough, and I am terrified I tell strangers in the mosh-pit at the Big Day Out that I love them way too much; 

I’m scared that I will die young and never get to see Hawthorn win another premiership; 

I’m scared that I will live to 100 and get a telegram from King William that says: “I’m sorry you never got to see Hawthorn win another premiership”; 

I’m afraid the one thing I will regret just before I die is that I didn’t eat enough chocolate; 

I’m scared that I should have spent more time in my life worrying about things like world poverty and less worrying about whether I set the tape for Masterchef Australia; 

But, you know, where do you get a costume that says that?