tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68450782293275508322024-03-05T18:00:10.796-08:00The Furry ChroniclesA story of a blokes bloke, life, love, stuff he likes doing, stupid shit he's done, and things he's blown up.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-72154356616266626492008-08-25T18:10:00.000-07:002008-08-25T18:11:05.851-07:00Where have you been Uncle Furry?Hi all, it’s been a while. The last post was on the 14th November and it was the day after it all went a little haywire. This post is more of a reflection on the last 8 months since that post, an in sight into a journey of recovery, (if you like).<br /><br />On the 15th November I was told that my father had cancer of the pancreas, liver, lungs. The diagnosis wasn’t all that flash. I went through a monster of emotions; initially I wished him an awful, painful death.<br /><br />Then I rode the roller coaster, I questioned why he “hated” me. Questioned why the childhood I had with him was the way it was. The situation required me to re-contact my family. I decided that my 3 kids were not going to become involved again in the circus that is my family.<br /><br />I re-lived the fact that my brother’s felt that I was “antagonistic” & deliberately upset my father & I “deserved” the beating I got. I make no bones about that, I freely admit I did things to anger my father & get him to re-act; I deliberately took the brunt of his anger, because I felt I could handle it. If he tried the same on my younger brothers, he’d have killed them.<br /><br />I remembered, relived, the many, many fights we’d had. I remembered the night when I was on leave from Big Bangs R us & for whatever reason decided to go “home” as opposed to living at my mates flat like normal. How deathly quiet it was while I stood at the back door, the explosion of noise the second the door was opened.<br /><br />The screaming & shouting was overpowering. As I rounded the corner, seeing my younger brother on the ground, pinned against the kitchen cupboards, being kicked furiously by my father.<br /><br />I remember my peripheral vision blurring & he, my father, becoming the whole center of my attention. The grabbing him by the hair, slamming his face into the over head cupboards, spinning him around, a couple of well aimed knees into the stomach/chest area.<br /><br />Shoving him back into the wall, pinning him against the wall & whipping out the stiletto (the double edge Commando dagger we used) and thrusting it up into his neck. It broke the surface & I held it there for what felt like eternity. To this day I still wonder why I never sliced him right to left.<br /><br />Then, amongst all this anger & bitterness, there was a potential road rage incident. This scared me. I was moments away from basically stopping my car, hauling a driver out of the car & unloading on them. Knowing what I’m capable of, what I’ve been taught, and the fact I came from a violent background, I really frightened myself.<br /><br />Sought help from a therapist, and it helped a little. Getting to talk to Aunty Jean & Uncle Des, helped heaps. Uncle Des was very much the “suck it down, move on” style, not surprising he’s lived it hard, especially as a Merchant Sea man in WWII. Aunty Jean hit the nail on the head when she said, “some people are just wired wrong”.<br /><br />I saw him three times before he passed. The first was the only time we spoke. I noticed I was all on my own with him & 15 minutes in he got a call from my mother to make sure everything was OK. This disgusted me, with all those years, all that history that’s gone under the bridge; you’d think if my mother or brothers were in fear of his safety, they’d be there to protect him.<br /><br />We spoke of politics, environment, just crap in general. I left after 45 minutes & it would be the last time he saw me. The next two times I saw him he was in a comma. My father passed on Boxing Day & I went to the service.<br /><br />People spoke of this wonderful warm, sharing, loving person. Who was an honor to know. As the curtain closed, I flashed the coffin the bird & thought to myself, you can take your shit with you, it goes with you. Seems to me you can be a prick all your life & people are compelled to bullshit about the person you really were at your service.<br /><br />Uncle Des came that day. Just to make sure I’d be OK. In other words, he came to make sure I was safe. And I was, with PG, Uncle Des, Joe & Bart all present; I don’t think anyone was game to interfere with me.<br /><br />And I was sure PG was amazed with some of the comments, like, “Oh we’ve been dear friends of the L’s for 20 years, never met you before, how do you know Eddie”?<br /><br />When they were informed that I was the eldest, it was like “Oh” & they’d simply walk away.<br /><br />I came clean to my kids, the eldest two were gutted that I didn’t tell them about my father’s illness, Spud especially since he always said he make contact when he turned 18 & was robbed by only 2 months. In saying this, he still hasn’t gone out to make contact with any other family member since.<br /><br />Then there was the passing of my ex father in law. He was actually closer to me than my own father. I saw him a couple of times in hospital, went tot his service, and wake. Re-met ex family members, had a few beers, left.<br /><br />Throw into the mix of just the average day to day life pressures & issues; I’ve been pretty busy achieving fuck all other than surviving. PG, again, has been my rock & all the kids seem to have come to terms with the deaths of both Grandfathers.<br /><br />So yeah, next week I’ll search the old grey matter for some silly story or antics from an era gone by. Today I just thought I’d give you a heads up on where I’ve been.<br /><br />Cheers<br /><br /><br />Furry.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-47265526292104574542007-11-14T21:45:00.000-08:002007-11-14T21:45:31.563-08:00Blog Bloke Salutes Our Soldier Heroes -<a href="http://www.instabloke.com/2007/11/blog-bloke-salutes-our-soldier-heros.html#comments">Blog Bloke Salutes Our Soldier Heroes - blog tips tools by Blog Bloke</a>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-83915607371454542692007-11-14T20:39:00.000-08:002008-12-09T04:59:49.113-08:00The Killer Tree-stump<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEVyALfmUUzR8uzjq-XV7WhUtyXbLMhqd3MvF3Y3ysUTXHibYNR8tvwwAYmercpAxWBVgx__cWpASwdBaBaZvoR1w7A46MIJelFoo202KIT0pZsFL_tzGCcJPG52znBxO1Bkid9_XDruV/s1600-h/250px-Tree_stump1_30u06.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5132924840803549122" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEVyALfmUUzR8uzjq-XV7WhUtyXbLMhqd3MvF3Y3ysUTXHibYNR8tvwwAYmercpAxWBVgx__cWpASwdBaBaZvoR1w7A46MIJelFoo202KIT0pZsFL_tzGCcJPG52znBxO1Bkid9_XDruV/s320/250px-Tree_stump1_30u06.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Hi everyone </span><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br />Kick back & relax with another chapter from the "Furry Chronicles" as Uncle Furry tries to impart some well learned parenting pit falls. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />As you know, Uncle furry is the eldest of 4 Furrys. Was automatically designated as the "leading" role model </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">in the development of the younger 3 furry's. My parents had a slightly "alternative" </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">style of parenting, as well as, what could only be called, a slightly unorthodox view on what was "normal & acceptable".<br /><br />A classic example was, while it was acceptable for the older 3 furry's (15,11,9) to walk around the farm with rifles, it was not acceptable for the youngest, but, Father furry was willing to allow the 7 yo Furry to have a cross bow, which performed far better than our .22 cal rifles! </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Slug guns (air rifles) were fine though. To the point where all of us had them at our suburban home. We would "skeet shoot" </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">for example. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">How it was done was to run as fast as possible past the bedroom door, and the one inside the bedroom would try & "nail" the fast paced furry running past the door way. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">The record was 8 passes untouched, </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">set by the youngest furry, he was bloody fast! Must have been his training in out running the zombie chicken. He was also the best shot! Second place record was 4 passes untouched! </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Furrys being Furrys, we often played war, but really got over the youngest furry arguing about when he was actually "shot". </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">So, being the resourceful Furrys we were, we decided that we'd use the slug guns (firing chicken feed pallets), (because air rifle slugs got really expensive with the amount we'd go through), and the problem was solved. When he, or you got shot, you knew it & couldn't really "hide" the fact. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />We were slightly "different" from the average family. For Example all the family was involved in motorcycle racing, even mum. In the early 70's she would "woman handle" a 750cc Kawasaki H2 Mach 3 around a race track in A grade races. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">If this doesn’t seem too impressive, the old Mach 3 was an animal in its day, and was only ridden at full bore by the most fearless pilots. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />The family property was in Dargo, (for those not familiar with Aust., its up near the area they filmed "The man from <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Snowy</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place>") and was 400 acres of pure bliss. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Rolling hills, beautiful ranges, and tree covered hilltops, and was the most peaceful place on earth. The Furrys did their best to destroy this peace. It was also the first place where PG & Furry’s crossed paths. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">She would come up with friends to go horse riding next door with girl friends from school.<br /><br />"WE" were the "noisy boys next door, who rode loud motorbikes & scared the horses". And when I was 16, the 3 younger furries were racing bikes nationally & I'd just finished my first season on the 750cc Grand Prix & Super bike circuit in <st1:place st="on">Europe</st1:place> & the States. So I suppose, sometimes we might have been perceived as going a little quick. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />I'll not bore you with how many visits the parent Furrys undertook (it was 4 hour return trip) to the nearest hospital to repair a crumpled furry, but there was a few. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">The bush would also occasionally "reclaim" a vehicle. And the number of times father furry would yell, (once it was decided we weren't "too" crumpled) "I fucken know you can jump the creek (or fence, or road, or embankment) on ya bike, but what made you think you could do it in the ute (car)!" <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Given half a chance, we’d have done a reverse Evil </span>Knievel<span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">,</span> in as much as we’d try & jump 17 motorbikes in a double decker bus.<br /><br />Tonight’s funny story was the removal of "The Killer Stump". What happened, the previous owners removed all the trees in this particular area by the old "terfor method". <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Imagine a huge manual winch, you hook up both ends to separate stumps & crank away, eventually the stump is pulled up. You repeat this as many times as required & eventually you're left with one stump only. Which is removed manually, which is a bitch because it's normally the biggest one in the area. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Well this stump was a "Killer Stump". It was right in the way when you drove the Ute down to the creek to fill the water tank. No matter what angle you took, you hit the bloody thing. Well, father furry got sick of the panel damage to the Ute & decided the stump "had to go". Well I'm big on energy conservation, so I thought, "fuck that" when he suggested we dig it out. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Being a highly mentally evolved furry </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">that I am, suggested that we wait 'til winter. Every weekend we'd pour flammable liquid over it & light it up. After all, it's dead & full of large borer holes (termite like insect) & should be gone in no time! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Well picture painting time, its winter in the high plains, it's cold, nearly snowing. We prepare some coffee (father furry & your's truly). Start the Ute & off we go. As sure as a politician is crooked, we bounced off the killer stump. Pulled the Ute to a halt down near the creek & I lugged 2 x 20ltr Jerry cans back to the stump.<br /><br />After emptying the contents all over the stump, I lit it up. Burning furiously in front of me the killer stump was consumed by fire. It was beautiful; the warmth of the fire warmed me. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I decided, "A smoke & a coffee would be nice" and wander back to the Ute with the two empty cans. Tossing then into the back of the ute, father furry muttered, "what, not done enough fucken damage to me Ute today, gotta do some more do ya?"" </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />He was precious about his fifth Ute he'd bought for the farm (fifth in the last 2 1/2 years, others still on the property but "planted" in various areas & at differing angles). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">The normal greeting was returned, "Get stuffed & pour me a coffee". </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />As I walked around to the driver’s side to get my smokes off the dashboard it was as if I was scooped up by a giant hand and thrown through the air. A massive boom followed. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">As I sailed through the air I thought, "WHAT THE! " </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Landing flat on my face, I rolled over to see the Ute had also moves 90 degrees to the way it was originally parked. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">There was all sorts of crap falling from the sky & smoke everywhere, I looked over to the front of the ute to see father furry furiously fanning his crouch, (later turned out he slipped my coffee in his lap) and thought "That's a little strange, even for us". </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Finally I got up and wandered groggily over to the car, as the smoke cleared the "Killer Stump" was no more.<br /><br />In its place was a crater, about 10 feet deep & 20 feet wide. It turns out that the pervious occupants of the land had drilled holes into the stump, placed dynamite into the holes & forgot about it for the next 3 years or so. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">The Ute was also a little worse for wear; the complete left hand side was punctured with bits of the deceased "Killer Stump". The Ute was then known as #6, and still is probably down by the creek.<br /><br />So, how does a furry get to my age? Beats me.<br /><br />Next weeks episode will be titled, "How to confuse father furry, and why is the creek dam getting so large? Eldest Furry, detention cord from the Army & a fishing we will go!" <o:p></o:p></span></p>purple goddesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05205284829507903435noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-44589094022229748232007-10-30T22:22:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:49.330-08:00Why Furry's don't do the "C" word...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDzh4ayxnw3Tk7pGz4Hp_dNxt5rCrxEu2vNIgNi31M07w345-JvlHOovyeeCc0bw8wgPZoEJPH-oRl-eNK39szxq_5ULmNTRctoMJzIuSU9LZwrp8A5jlmFARWFJQ2c-bpBWmCsrZu4tK/s1600-h/HalfDoubleCrochet.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDzh4ayxnw3Tk7pGz4Hp_dNxt5rCrxEu2vNIgNi31M07w345-JvlHOovyeeCc0bw8wgPZoEJPH-oRl-eNK39szxq_5ULmNTRctoMJzIuSU9LZwrp8A5jlmFARWFJQ2c-bpBWmCsrZu4tK/s320/HalfDoubleCrochet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5127368336345192994" border="0" /></a><br /> <p class="DefinitionTerm"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="" lang="EN-AU">Hi everyone, its Wednesday afternoon, and its time to invoke the SOP’s & for any newbies reading this for the first time, I’ll explain ‘em to you. Those who want a drink, glasses in the cupboard, coffee mugs next to ‘em, kettle on the bench, white wine & the milk are in the fridge, red in the pantry, bourbon in the cupboard, ice in the freezer. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="DefinitionTerm"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="" lang="EN-AU"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="DefinitionTerm"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="" lang="EN-AU">While you’re up, some one grab Uncle Furry a big glass, chuck in ½ a dozen ice cubes, fill it up with bourbon. Pull up a bit of floor & relax for another installment of the Furry Chronicles. Those who smoke, outside & well away from me. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="DefinitionTerm"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="" lang="EN-AU"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="DefinitionTerm"><span style="" lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size:100%;">Today for some reason I’ve got a huge “Jones” on for a smoke, even though what happened recently is still very fresh in my mind, today I feel like I really could go one.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Relax all; the stats are enough to keep the urge in check though. Lets see if I got this right, 25% of the people who have had this sort of heart attack have a second (which is normally fatal) with in the next 5 years. Those who return to smoking, 50% will have another heart attack & of them, 50% will be fatal. So yeah, the urge is kept at bay.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Anywho, today’s story is why Furry’s don’t knit, sew or do that other “C” word, (crocheting). It dates back to when I was younger, (Year 9), back when it was a High School, not a College as they are called today). And the school I went to is today, still a shithole in the middle of a shitheap suburb. It’s nice to know that some things will never EVER change.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Now, it was decided that boys needed to learn “new” skills. Things like typing were offered to the lads, (please note I took up typing, it was a great way of chatting up girls with little or no “competition”). And may I say, to this day I’m not an exceptionally quick typer, but it was a “target rich” environment, that’s for sure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Other skills that were foolishly made “compulsory” were things like wood & metal work for the girls, home economics (cooking), needle craft (sewing, knitting & crocheting) for the boys. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Well, “Blind Freddie” could have seen this had disaster written all over it. There was the normal cuts from sheet metal, that was a given, and the occasional chisel wound, that was going to happen regardless. It was cooking where we young lads excelled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >I think the very first sign that there was a flaw in this wonderful idea was the knife fight in class between two young rivals. Who knew that celery was such an important commodity? I suppose it is when you’re making vegetable soup. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >The second sign that unfortunately went under the radar was one of the boys was carrying a huge pot full of (thankfully cold) vegetable soup, slipped on something on the floor & went “arse over head”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Now we have a couple of kids, completely covered in, (or wearing, a very stylish, off the shoulder) soup. Well, we were all in teams of three, so an argument is raging between teammates as to “who the fuckwit was who” spilled whatever that caused this disaster to occur. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Well, one of the team cracks the shits, slams the griller closed on the oven/stove combination. Normally all good, but did I mention we were making cheese on toast to accompany our soup?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Well, a tea towel is thrown in disgust on top of the stove, also during a very “firey” debate. At about this point, the teacher has now disbanded the three-man team. About 5 minutes later, no sooner has someone said, “Do you smell something burning?” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >When all of a sudden we have a gas stove fully engulfed in flames. The teacher fainted & it was left to about 8 kids to carry her out, (she was a good teacher, this is obvious, if she’d been crap, we would’ve left her behind). Some one raised the alarm & soon there were about 10 fire engines all for us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Yep, there was an investigation & it all seemed to be a case of shit happens. Well home economics for the whole school was put on hold until the damage to the classroom could be repaired. (My mates & I were yet to take out the record for the most amount of damage done in the shortest amount of time).<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >So, now all our attention was focused squarely on our newest love, Needlework. Yeah you’re right, I’m bull shitting. Needlework was nowhere near a much fun as pottery. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Why was pottery fun? We would deliberately make air pockets in our pottery so as they would explode in the kiln. Throw lumps of clay at each other’s head, or put the clay off centre on the wheel, dial it up to full bore & see if you could “nail your mate in the nuts” as he was walking past. The last one really was Russian roulette. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Sometimes the clay found its desired target, others it got you. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Anyway, back to needle work, in the first couple of days we hand stitched bits of cloth together. There were the normal injuries, and we discovered if you got an injury, you were sent to the sick bay for a band-aid. This was great, it gave you a chance to nick off & grab a mid class smoke, and that my friend, made you uber cool.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Crocheting was quite dangerous. No really it was. No I agree, the “normal way” is quite safe, but our method, left a little to be desired. You know the hook thingy, well we’d sharpen them up on the concrete, and during class, fire them from rubber bands into the roof. The person who got it to stick in the roof, the highest, was the winner. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >The problem is, they ricochet, like a bastard, off just about anything. As such, they quite often had a bit of a mind of their own. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Anyway, this particular day we graduated to sewing machines. I was a bit pissy because I wanted to piss off for a mid class smoke & that wasn’t going to happen now. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Before it was easy to accidentally, (on purpose), prick you finger on a needle, but now, for fuck sake, these things meant business. So I argued with my mate to go first so I could “nick out” of class when I’d finished.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Well he was also a bit pissy with me because he wanted to do similar. I was still arguing with him, looking backwards over my shoulder, when all of a sudden his face dropped. I looked around & I’d inadvertently sewn ½ way down my pointer finger to the webbing at the base of my thumb on my right hand. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Now I was really fucked, he was laughing, (read pissing himself laughing), and my right hand was pinched under the foot thing near the needle, the needle was down through the skin & the scissors were about a foot away, also on my right hand side.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >So, I manually wound the needle up, released the foot thing, got the scissors & cut the thread. Wandering up to the teacher I’ve said, “Um excuse me miss, we have a bit of an issue”.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >“Oh, what is it now” she snapped back before she’s actually turned around. There was me with my hand outstretched & a bit of fabric looking like it was sitting happily on my palm. “Well what is it?” she snapped again, this time I turned my hand over, gave it a shake or two & looked back at her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >It was sensational! Her eyes rolled back, her knees came together & she went down like a bag of spuds, (potatoes). Well, we dragged her to the sick bay as well. It was all-good. I got the fabric removed, didn’t need stitched, already had ‘em, HA HA HA HA. The teacher, she did however. In her haste to meet Mr Floor she hit her head on the desk & needed about 15 just above her eye.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Well there was one more incident that saw boys being sent back to metal & woodwork & girls returning to home economics & needlework. Unfortunately it really wasn’t funny at all. A young lass was using a lathe to buff, (polish) a piece of metal, (as done a thousand times before & since). <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >It got progressively hotter & she decided to hold it with her metal work apron. One of the ties on the apron wrapped around the spindle of the lathe, the other was around her thumb and WHOOMP, no more skin left on her thumb. </span><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >It was re-attached but was never quiet the same. <o:p></o:p></span></span><!--[if supportFields]><span lang="EN-AU" style="'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-family:font-size:10.0pt;"><span style="'mso-element:field-begin'"></span>PRIVATE "TYPE=PICT;ALT=Smile"</span><![endif]--><!--[if supportFields]><span lang="EN-AU" style="'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-family:font-size:10.0pt;"><span style="'mso-element:field-end'"></span></span><![endif]--></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Please don’t think I’m saying boys can do this & girls can't do that or that there are clear lines of demarcation. There isn’t. What the story is about is that it was just a series of unfortunate events, most could have been avoided if there was better supervision, and others if I’d been a little more focused.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Anyway, that’s it for today. Have a great weekend <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Heaps of love & cuddles<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <span style="font-size:100%;"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Uncle Furry.</span></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:10;" lang="EN-AU" ><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span> <!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--> <!--[endif]--></span>purple goddesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05205284829507903435noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-51623675833226313642007-10-23T19:08:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:49.572-08:00Bob's yer Uncle!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNmzqGSisor8XDy01XDmXxLKjqcCxUz57aBl7Dhi-lQPexGJWAQvHdoTKZVsLjzi7R8P7GNxHdRYvKrmRhzcdzFmttgTAPvE8oeTrJhtN4ZVOqQdXCdMGY5WiyCO76Nw4fHw2ncz3dBsak/s1600-h/wild-buffalo.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5124721074016244482" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNmzqGSisor8XDy01XDmXxLKjqcCxUz57aBl7Dhi-lQPexGJWAQvHdoTKZVsLjzi7R8P7GNxHdRYvKrmRhzcdzFmttgTAPvE8oeTrJhtN4ZVOqQdXCdMGY5WiyCO76Nw4fHw2ncz3dBsak/s320/wild-buffalo.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">G’day all, Uncle Furry here.<br /><br />It's Friday afternoon in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Melbourne</st1:place></st1:city> so it's time to assume the SOP, (standard operating procedures). Those who have weak pelvic floors, off you go to the potty, we don’t want puddles should you laugh. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Those who want a drink, glasses in the cupboard, coffee mugs next to ‘em, kettle on the bench, white wine & the milk are in the fridge, red in the pantry, bourbon in the cupboard, ice in the freezer. While you’re up, some one grab Uncle Furry a big glass, chuck in ½ a dozen ice cubes, fill it up with bourbon, grab me an ashtray & my smokes. Pull up a bit of floor & relax. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Listen, important announcement before we start, any pissing & griping about passive smoking, I’m there with you, these fuckers cost me a fortune, so if you’re passively smoking, stop winging & chuck some money on the table, it’s about time you paid your way. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />I was going to write a whole story about how PG & I met, our first coffee, first date, and when I crashed, (not fell) in love with her. I’d better get that flight plan approved before I try & float that one. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Today’s story is about when I was the tender age of 16. Some one at work today said, “Bob’s your uncle”. It’s an Aussie saying, it means everything is OK or going according to plan. Well, that invoked some memories. <?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Furry had an Uncle Bob & he live in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Darwin</st1:city></st1:place>. Uncle Bob was a plumber, had a couple of blokes working for him. He always complained about the indigenous people being lazy, yet, in the 6 weeks I was up there, I never saw him open the tool box, let alone use a spanner, not once. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />I remember the first couple of days there, we’d go around checking his blokes were working & giving them new jobs to go on to. People would yell, “Bob, when are ya gunna fix me dunny, fuck ya, there’s shit everywhere!” </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">(translation “Excuse me Bob old chap, when do you think you’d be available for repair my toilet? It is in quiet a state of disrepair”).<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Well Bob really didn’t have the right to speak ill of the activities (or lack there off) of our indigenous people, because his answer was always, “Aw for fucks sake Bill, I’m under the pump, I’m as busy as a one legged man in an arse kicking competition. Even flown me apprentice nephew up from <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Melbourne</st1:place></st1:city>, I’ll fucken get there when I get there, alright?” </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">(Translation. “Terribly sorry old boy, currently we are experiencing a workload far in excess of our resources, I’ve even had to source semi-skilled labour from interstate to cover off the minor issues & assist in the short term. We have identified your situation as a high priority & we will be there in the very near future to rectify the situation, Cheers”). </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Anyway, after a couple of days Uncle Bob said, “Look fuck ‘em, I’m sick of being busy, I’m always fucken busy, run off me legs all the time, let’s relax & go camping”. This scared me, any more relaxed & Bob would need a respirator! </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Anyway we (read ME), </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">load up the Ute with swags , food, fishing rods & dog. Uncle Bob then recommends I choose a gun from the “storage room”, (which was basically a complete room converted into a gun safe. There were more weapons than the Australian Army has access to!) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Anyway I chose a .375 H&H magnum (something not to dissimilar to a howitzer in calibre) because it was basically the biggest gun I could carry. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Off we go to Kakadu, & I’m assuming just about everyone knows where I’m talking. We set up camp on the first night there, on the fork where two rivers converge. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I’m a little concerned because on the other bank is a “large” </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">croc, (read about 24 foot long & he’d lost about the last 3 feet of tail in a blue) so yes, he’s a little large! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Uncle Bob is quiet cool about it all, “They’re territorial, and so if he’s there, there’s no more about to worry us”.<br /><br />Well we’d wade down to the water, slop through nearly waist deep in mud, throw in the prawn net, catch the prawns & use them as bait for Barramundi (a great eating & fighting fish), all the time making sure the croc was in eyeshot. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">On the third day, the dog “disappeared”, and I can only assume he became a “munchies” for the croc. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />On about the fifth night, we are sleeping under the stars, as per normal, and about 4 – 5 foot apart, when suddenly; Uncle Bob smacks me in the ear. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I’m assuming its because I’m snoring, I sit up, ready to return the “favour” </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">when I notice something moving between the two of us. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Frozen by absolute fear I realise it’s the croc, he’d come into the campsite to eat our food scraps. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />I spent the rest of the night sitting bolt upright in my swag, flinching at every single noise. Come daylight I drag out the gun/howitzer & put a round into the head of the croc on the opposite bank.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Uncle Bob runs up, “What the fuck are ya doin’, their protected!’ “Nowhere as much a me” is my reply. So we decide its time to pack up & skip off before a ranger turns up & charges us with shooting a protected animal.<br /><br />On the way home, Uncle Bob declares, “I know this place where we can go Buff hunting”, now I was a little skeptical because in Aussie slang Buff means naked! A</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">s fond of Uncle Bob as I was, hunting naked was a “getting a little to close for my liking” </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />It turned out he meant <st1:city st="on">Buffalo</st1:city> hunting (Asian variety which are a feral animals in <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Australia</st1:country-region></st1:place>). So off we go looking for a buff buff, (a naked buffalo? Or hunting a buff in the buff? I’m still a little concerned). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">We are hiding along the back of a billabong when this old male buff comes down the bank for a drink. He is many, many years old & had a great rack, </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">(again according to Uncle Bob, which confused me further because in Aussie slang I knew that rack meant tits, and wasn’t he a bull?) In this case, it turned out, Uncle Bob meant horns. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />So, there is the poor creature. Bent down having a drink, me sighting him up through the scope on the rifle, the cross hairs resting just below the ear, slowly increasing the pressure on the trigger, expecting any second the gun to explode & the recoil of this cannon to land me back in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Melbourne</st1:place></st1:city>. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />All of a sudden the water “boils” around his head, and scares the shit out of me. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">A croc had leapt out of the water & had grabbed him around the head. Now normally the croc would roll, twisting the animal off balance, causing him to fall, then drag the poor creature into the water & drown him. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Well the poor croc confused ambition with ability on that fateful day; </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">instead, the Buff dropped his head down & charged, trampling the croc on the bottom of the riverbed. The buff continued to trample the croc until it either died or got the fuck outta there. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Either way, the Buff walked out of the Billabong, looking back over his shoulder as much to say, “You, me, carpark, NOW”, (Aussie slang for “let’s fight”). </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Uncle Bob was nudging me going “go on, go on take a shot”. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">All I could see in my minds eye was, me, after all the excitement, misplacing the shot, the Buffalo looking down where the bullet had struck him, </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">dusting the area off with his hoof, looking back up to me with absolute hatred in his eyes & saying, “Right! Fuck it! That’s it! This was me good suit & you’ve put a fucken great big bloody hole in it! I’m gonna cane your arse ‘til your nose bleeds!” </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />So I did what any self respecting, unafraid, virile, strapping young Furry would do when faced with what was probably the equivalent of a runaway, totally out of control, pissed off Mack truck with PMS. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I hid! </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I made me really, REALLY small. Furry might be smart like rock, strong like tractor, (really big tractor but), and Furry might be able to lift heavy rocks over his head & chuck ‘em really far, but he’s not fucken stupid! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Sometimes it’s smarter to get real small & keep real quiet. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />The drive home was pleasantly uneventful, well apart from the 3 ‘roos we hit, and crashing the Ute into a lamppost, (after only being on the sealed road for 50 yards). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">See what happens is ‘roos move around at night & are hard to see as the come in from the side as you drive along. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">The lamppost situation is common because you’d drive some 700 miles on dirt & dust roads, where there is no speed limit. You turn well before the corner & drift through the corners like a Rally driver. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">When you hit the sealed road, you use the same technique, and unfortunately the sealed road offer a far greater degree of grip &, well, the car turns where you point it, not where you wanted it. Resulting in BANG, you win! You just bagged yourself a lamppost! </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Yep, Uncle Bob definitely supplied me with a “quiet” time camping & for this I was very thankful. Who knows, if it was “eventful” the excitement might have killed me! </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Have a fun weekend all; I’m off to protect PG’s roses from the marauding possum </span>purple goddesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05205284829507903435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-35772646106933903952007-10-18T19:13:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:49.729-08:00When do Furries get interested in blowin' shit up??<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBNvHWUJ5bqhseztuIlRcqE6K3nWjKXukopEu4PZRpxnXDc5S99938rRXdWTub6jQgPVcWSUcr158P3R9RoNychbow8navQfXCGsfz0m3jGYVJ3jdnq1HLeOcJLsTMyJr6HjztbEf4FMRk/s1600-h/Furry.bmp.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122867963856352962" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBNvHWUJ5bqhseztuIlRcqE6K3nWjKXukopEu4PZRpxnXDc5S99938rRXdWTub6jQgPVcWSUcr158P3R9RoNychbow8navQfXCGsfz0m3jGYVJ3jdnq1HLeOcJLsTMyJr6HjztbEf4FMRk/s320/Furry.bmp.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Hi all, It’s Friday afternoon in good ol’ <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Melbourne</st1:place></st1:city> town. I’m feeling really fucked today, so, to entertain my small brain, there is going to be an imaginary change to the SOP’s this week. Instead of being on the floor at “The house of Fur & Purple love” (suburb residence), I’m imagining it at “Chez Fur” (beach house). <?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I’m also imagining it finished (like that’s ever gonna happen), so ….. It’s time to assume the SOP, (standard operating procedures but different location). The SOP’s are, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 36pt; TEXT-INDENT: -36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Those who have weak pelvic floors, off you go to the potty; we don’t want puddles should you laugh. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Those who want a drink, glasses in the cupboard, coffee mugs next to ‘em, kettle on the bench, white wine & the milk are in the fridge, red in the pantry, bourbon in the cupboard, ice in the freezer. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 36pt; TEXT-INDENT: -36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">While you’re up, some one grab Uncle Furry a big glass, chuck in ½ a dozen ice cubes, fill it up with bourbon Pull up a bit of floor & relax.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="MARGIN-LEFT: 36pt; TEXT-INDENT: -36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Grab my smokes, & smoke ‘em if you got ‘em, yeah, yeah, Uncle Furry is lacking self control & discipline, yeah, yeah, keep whingeing, I’m listening, yeah, yeah, take a sip from the cup of “shut the fuck up” and let me get back to my story.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">People, especially here, wonder, “when do Furry’s become interested in things that go BOOM?” Honestly, there isn’t a point where one goes, “Hey wait a minute, I’m interested” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">It’s more like experiences like the one below that join with other experiences, that eventually become part of a stock pile, that eventually become an interest.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I mean, Sir Hilary, a great man, very intelligent, climbed Everest because it was “there”. (He’s not a Furry though, actually he’s a bit of a pussy. He wore all that winter gear. Ask PG what I wear in winter, I mean, it would have been far easier to fly over Everest. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">So, based on that rationale, Furry’s blow shit up, because, well it’s there. Sure it’s easier to walk around it, but, NOWHERE near as noisy!)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Now, when Furry was a young lad, (Furry under development), he went to a not so classy secondary school. Today it’s called, “<st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Noble</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Park</st1:placetype> <st1:placename st="on">Secondary</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">College</st1:placetype></st1:place>”, in my day, it was Noble Park High. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">It’s in a Southern suburb of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Melbourne</st1:place></st1:city>, and was in those days, a shit hole, and probably still is today. I was at school when we called it Forms, not Years, and, as my 16 yo loves to tell me, that was in the period after Margaret Thatcher, but prior to Jurassic Dinosaurs.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Well I was in form 3D in the last year there. (That was prior to me being asked to leave, because I was such a good student). Form 3D was the dumping ground for a variety of “naughty” lads (all 32 of us), and 4 unfortunate lassies, (this was a real shock, and these girls were really well behaved before they got into Form 3D). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">To give you an indication of how bad this place was, the Police turned up to school in a Ford XB interceptor (THE ultimate in pursuit cars at the time) because one of our classmates got busted shoplifting & wagging class. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Well my best mate Paul had dented his mother’s XB boot lid when he closed it with the lawn mower not properly stowed. He was threatened with the cost of repairing “such damage”. Well, the Police car exactly the same colour, and therefore, the boot lid was quickly relocated to Paul’s mum’s car, at no cost to Paul. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">The Headmaster (called Principle now days) was quite animated about the attack on “socially acceptable moral standards” at next Monday’s assembly. Demands were made that the culprits come forward, or, their identities be disclosed to a teaching staff member. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Well that never happened, and we just saw it as Paul saving some cash. And Paul’s mum stopped nagging about the damage, so where was the problem? Hey, we even got a special treat for fixing the car, so again, where’s the issue?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Further, we’ve all had partners in crime. Well Paul was mine. A classic example was Paul’s dad used to get really pissy about next-door's homing pigeons shitting on the garage roof. The guttering would block when it rained. So we took it upon ourselves to “assist” in the issue. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">We got seed, mixed it with some of Paul’s dad’s Vodka, (his nightly drink), and feed it to the birds. We’d do this on a Saturday, sell the birds on a Sunday at Dandenong market, the birds would sober up & all be back home by Wednesday night. At $5 a pop, almost every weekend, for about 20 birds at a time, we cleaned up big time. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Oh yeah, we convinced Paul’s dad that Vodka can & does evaporate when the seal is broken.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Now, Furry was then, and previously, and still is, the class clown. It was the first week of the very new school year; we were in Science for the first time. We had a teacher called Mr W. Mr W was a huge (exceptionally tall & broad). Now Mr W had a speech impediment, and Furry was copying him. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">His issue was “S”; he pronounced it as “SH”. So “sit down” was hysterical. So, here was young Furry, being a smart arse, mimicking poor Mr W, when all of a sudden Mr W roared “Are you taking the pish out of me shun?” (Translation are you taking the piss out of me son?) The class fell completely quiet, sure that the young Furry’s life was about to be terminated.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Well fearing for my life, (did I mention he was a big son of a bitch?) with MR W glaring at me, I answered the only way any self-respecting, close to imminent death, Furry could. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">“Shit no shir, itsh an shpeach inpediment & actually I’m quite embarreshed about it”, and with fluttering doe eyes Mr W melted. “Well shit down shun & shtop shtuffing around”.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Now, I’ve matured a lot since then, and don’t EVER make light of someone else’s plight. But now, I had now created a rod for my own back, for every time I spoke to Mr W, I had to have a speech impediment. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">So, to make matters worse, I had to interact with Mr W on his own, because I didn’t have this impediment anywhere else. So in his class, I HAD to behave myself, because the “Bertrum Cruiser” & “The Hunter” (nicks for the Assistant & Headmaster at the time) knew exactly how I spoke, so the gig would be up.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Anyway, this particular day we were, (Paul, myself & two other unfortunate souls), had a series of practical experiments to do. Very strict guidelines needed to be adhered to ensure that there was no contamination of results. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Well, and this was when I was a little disrespectful of the fairer sex, took this opportunity to, well, ummm, try (unsuccessfully) to get into the pants of one of the 4 young ladies in my class.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Well, there we all were, typical little males, sniffing around when Mr W announced, “You boysh, have you finished your exshperimentsh yet?”, “No shir” I replied, “”How many have you done?” asked the increasingly annoyed Mr W. “We’re closh to finishing our firsht one shir” was my answer. “Well you’d all better shtop shtuffing around or you’ll go fucken hungry at luncsh time, caush thatsh when you’ll finish them!” was his agitated reply. “FUCK, we got ten minutsh,” said I and we launched into action.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">The required “strict guidelines” were slightly adjusted. Instead of scraping the plate clean, washing it thoroughly, using ethanol to dry it & then doing the next experiment, with very carefully measured quantities, we just kept piling chemicals on top of each other & heating the shit out it as quickly as possible. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Now the normal method of heating was a Bunsen burner under the plate, because we had so much shit piled on the plate, we heated it with flame, from above.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">At, or about experiment # 7 out of 12, there were 4 Furrys crowded around the prac, scribbling furiously, with one of us with the Bunsen burner in hand heating, when we heard, “Cool, look at the purple & green fluoro smoke”. Three heads lifted at exactly the same time & BOOM!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">There was a huge scorch on the roof, 13 lower level windows were blown out, 7 upper level windows blown out, and 7 special glass display windows were shattered. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Across the classroom were 4 Furrys, school jumpers smoldering, no eyelashes, hair smoldering, and faces black as the “ace of Spades”. Deathly quiet descended, “Cough, cough” was heard from one of the Furry’s & then, these words of wisdom from me …………<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">“Fuck me, that wash great, did anyone get the reshipe”, Mr W’s reply was sensational. “You’ve fucked it now boysh, itsh off to “The Hunter” you go”. Well, if I remember correctly that was 2 weeks suspension, and $3,000 damage to the Science wing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">That’s when I realised; I could blow shit up, without even trying.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Have a great weekend, it’s 3.30pm in <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Melbourne</st1:place></st1:city> & at 4.00pm I’m outta here.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-INDENT: 36pt; TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Big, BIG kisses<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoTitle" style="TEXT-ALIGN: left" align="left"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Uncle Furry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>purple goddesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05205284829507903435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-926554107008883122007-10-16T15:37:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:49.946-08:00Is that Thunder?? and DON'T WHIZZ ON AN ELECTRIC FENCE!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVbUC_XLKmDTIImB62JGJJwVKh9VlYCkke3pmNrz43HBITsEU-VBR55oKWVrM3pKa5OUqQcmtjkHfN2sjgD3gJN7ReiPXaBlnlAYDvevKInc3v8cwPaT9Jukdzio7eGypjz-itec6bm2By/s1600-h/image37b.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVbUC_XLKmDTIImB62JGJJwVKh9VlYCkke3pmNrz43HBITsEU-VBR55oKWVrM3pKa5OUqQcmtjkHfN2sjgD3gJN7ReiPXaBlnlAYDvevKInc3v8cwPaT9Jukdzio7eGypjz-itec6bm2By/s320/image37b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122071556660590226" border="0" /></a><br /> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >As in previous posts we’ve chatted about my father’s land up at Dargo. We’ll we’d met our neighbour, Mr T who was “just next door”, (read a 5 mile walk along the road or 3 miles through the paddocks)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Now we came to a barter agreement very quickly, we had a natural spring on our property, which became a lovely little creek that never dried up. We also had access to the State Forrest, because there was no need to run a fence along that part of the property. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Well Mr T had horses, and it was ideal for them, heaps of land for them to run around on, a fresh continuous water supply & lots & lots of grass.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >My gain for the deal was, Mr T would find me a “good” horse, negotiate a “brilliant” price. He’d look after it, shoe it, medication & teach me “horsemanship. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >In return, his horses would be have free run on our property, at no cost. We, (the junior Furrys & I), would keep a watchful eye on the horses & if we saw anything out of the ordinary, we’d tell Mr T & he’d come out & check it out. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Explain to us what it was, whether it was a concern or not, and if it was what needed to be done to remedy the situation and the ill effects if it went untreated. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >It should be noted, at the time Mr T was about 70, chain-smoked hand rolled cigarettes, had been on the land all his life. He was as fit as a mountain goat and would consistently walk up hills leaving 4 struggling Furryies, who were at least 50 plus years his junior, in his wake gasping for air. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >He taught us all sorts of horsemanship over the years with him. He was the first to spend time with furry teaching him how to read animal tracks & what signs to look for when tracking. He was of the old school & not very different to Poppa L.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Anyway, the boys had implemented the SOP’s for the first full day up at Dargo. That was, to check the water in the tanks, pump up water from the creek if required, ensure there was sufficient wood, and then check on the horses. We normally just jumped on the bikes & rode up into the State Forrest. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >This particular day, we found a horse blanket, so it was decided that we needed to return it to Mr T ASAP, as winter was fast approaching, and we didn’t want any horses to catch a cold. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >So back down to the cabin we go, tell the furry parents where we’re going & ride our bikes down to the front gate with our dog ,Patchette in hot pursuit. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >See we found Patchette wandering the streets near home, and the youngest “dragged” her home & with the dog standing there with bleeding paws announced, “Can we keep her, she followed me home!”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Mum said ok & what should we call her, we all said patch, because she had patches & mum decided it wasn’t lady enough for a female, hence the French slant of Patchette. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >I think my mum might have got one too many hits to the head with the race track while racing 750cc Mach III Kawasaki’s in the 70’s.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >So anywho, we parked our bikes, crossed the road & looked around the paddock for Tiny. We were always a little concerned when Tiny was “in town”. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Tiny was just your average Brahma Bull, tipping the scales at some 20 tonnes, (you think I’m exaggerating don’t ya? Aussie humour requires something called Tiny to be FUCKEN HUGE!). He was so large he had his own postcode.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >So, Tiny was nowhere to be seen so off through the paddocks we go. We’re all wandering, chatting, laughing. The dog found a fresh cowpat & rolled around in it. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >There was heaps of hoo-har about it all. In the lapse in the conversation & all the laughter a faint rumbling sound was heard. All the boys looked skyward, as it was quite a regular occurrence to get high altitude military aircraft flying over our property. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Even the dog was looking skywards, (stuffed if I know why) as we scanned the heavens looking for the plane & its telltale vapour trails.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Nothing, strange, & the sky was clear, so could it be thunder? Steadily the “thunder” got loader, & quizzically all looked at each other when Furry #3 eyes suddenly looked like something from a Ren & Stimpy cartoon, in as much, they almost leapt out of his head. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Next, he clearly pronounced “FUCK” at the top of his voice & turning we saw Tiny now cresting the top of a small rise, in top gear, bearing down on us. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >It resembled something similar to a cartoon, all of a sudden, ZAP, all five of us were gone, in different direction, and heading for the safety of the nearest fence line, and all that remained was our outlines in dust. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >There was no strategy to my decision, just to run. I also had the horse blanket under my arm, which I held firmly, (probably in sheer terror), now felt like it had the aerodynamics of a parachute on a drag car. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Well all the Furryies made it to the safety of a) an electric fence & b) an actual fence line with barbed wire, all except me. I’d inadvertently chosen the longest path to run, about 2 miles. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >I could hear Tiny getting closer, I could FEEL Tiny getting closer, (I reckon I could feel his hot breath on my arse), and I could hear my little brothers screaming he was getting closer, even the dog was barking! (I think it may have been her method of giving me the last rites).<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >All I could hear was the thunderous sound of Tiny getting so loud I thought I’d explode, and the fence line seemed frozen in the distance. Running my absolute guts out I cleared the electric fence and one desperate leap, landing one foot on a fence corner straining post and leaping ½ way up the embankment before hearing the WHOOOMP of Tiny hitting the huge post I’d just cleared.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Tiny quickly retreated, after some huffing & hoofing the ground & glaring at me, because he was getting zapped by the electric fence. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >I laid there, heart almost leaping out of my chest, and the first of the furry brothers started to arrive. One said, “I thought you were fucked!” all I could do was nod in agreement. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >The other, “Shit you can jump”, again, just a nod. Furry #2, (the deaf one) signed, “That was cool” & got the middle finger extended in reply.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >After gathering myself & the remnants of my dignity we tramped off to Mr T’s house & returned via the road. It was decided a 5 mile walk required less energy that a 3-mile run of fear. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >I also had a very strong respect & like of electric fences, in fact at that point, I liked electric fences very much.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >The love for electric fences changed about 2 weeks later. I’ve mentioned that Father Furry wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed (not exceptionally clever) and sometimes thought Manual Labour was a Mexican Tennis star (was a bit lazy). <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >We were out spotlight & shooting a variety of feral animals (pigs) on our property one Saturday night when Furry needed to “take a leak”.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >So off the back of the Ute, and facing a tree, furry lets rip. Well father furry had ran out of insulated, glow in the dark stakes that are normally used when operating a electric fence & simply nailed the insulators for the electric fence onto the tree.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Well furry whizzed on the electric fence & that was it. Unable to stop the flow, received a 12 volt kick, kick, kick to the “boy bits” until I collapsed on the ground, sure that every drop of liquid had been completely drained from my body, (that included blood, brain fluid, tears, everything).<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >No real damage other than passing blood for the next week. So, you see why my father & I had issues, many, many issues.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Anyway, I’m off, have a great weekend & DON’T PISS ON AN ELECTRIC FENCE! IT’S NO FUN, TRUST ME!<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" ><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Love <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: left;" align="left"><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12;" lang="EN-AU" >Uncle Furry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>purple goddesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05205284829507903435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-40947230726779833032007-10-10T20:21:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:50.155-08:00Furry discovers Little Furry's don't float!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjNec3nW83hkEMmbAky7PzaKutmljk_t2YSL6tWwIKd2JYj_xcI6fMQJi9fuDC5zV7-lOXCFNfIWu-hXcHZxmSf6UeOgIR8BjNTId6inCvqRfY4FalUYmXIczkSLVcee5NJuoOJu0e1kSM/s1600-h/CHAPTER_1_scene.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119915822380414418" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjNec3nW83hkEMmbAky7PzaKutmljk_t2YSL6tWwIKd2JYj_xcI6fMQJi9fuDC5zV7-lOXCFNfIWu-hXcHZxmSf6UeOgIR8BjNTId6inCvqRfY4FalUYmXIczkSLVcee5NJuoOJu0e1kSM/s320/CHAPTER_1_scene.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Hi everyone, grab a cup of your favourite beverage, (while your at it could someone pour me a bourbon), and get to a comfy seat. For it's that time of the week where Uncle Furry gives valuable lessons in child up-bringing. </span><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">As some of you are aware, Furry comes from a family of four furry boys; </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Uncle furry is the eldest, with a 5, 7 & 9 year gap. My parents were busy running their motorcycle shop & Nanna & Poppa K looked after the boys on the weekends, starting Friday night. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Poppa K was a piss head (alcoholic), </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">and Nanna K was a drama queen. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I mean, she was always flying into a panic about things, while Poppa was normally fairly calm, (that comes from being permanently hammered I guess). </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Furry was 11, furry #2 was 6, Furry # 3 was 4 & smallest furry (#4) was 2 1/2. This particular day we decided to build our own parachute. Now, furry had become a lot smarter that the earlier days (refer to the tree climbing story) and wasn't going to take any unnecessary risks.<br /><br />We decided that if we "stepped" up the weight as we went along, then we'd find the point where the newly designed "bed sheet" parachute went from a gentle landing to a "rough" landing <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Well, furry #4 was made to stand still, a belt was then tightened around his waist, and then from the belt, ropes were tied and carefully measured & cut to length. Then one by one, they were tied to the knotted end of the bed sheet. The belt was then removed & we all climbed up on to the roof of the carport, (which used to house a very large truck)<br /><br />Gathering at the edge, Furry #4 was re-belted. Great care was taken to make sure the ropes were aligned; the furry #4 was coaxed to jump off the carport. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Now the other furries (1, 2 & 3) weren't stupid you know. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">W</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">e knew that the parachute wasn't to be dragged off the carport, that it need to be thrown up into the air if it was going to work at the exact time furry #4 jumped or was coaxed into jumping. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br />Anyhow, furry #4 was a little hesitant about jumping, </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">and this made the timing of throwing the chute into the air almost impossible. Well it was decided on the count of 3 that furry # 4 would be assisted </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">in "jumping" off the roof.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">On the count of 3, furry #4 was sent plummeting to the ground, and the chute skywards. Next thing the chute catches on the roof and furry 4 is suspended above the ground. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Well, it turns out that furry #4 was a little too heavy to hoik </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">back onto the roof. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">So we decided that we'd go and rescue him from the ground. I mean there were three really good reasons for rescuing him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">1). He was screaming his tits off </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br />2). We'd be killed for leaving him hanging there </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br />3). We had further "experiments" we'd needed to cover off on this particular Saturday, and he’s input (well body at least) was required. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />So we got the ladder from Pop's shed, I climbed up, and wouldn't you know it, all I could do from here was grab his feet. So as any self-respecting brother would do, I hung off his feet to see if I could get it to "give" a little more. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Well it didn't & in fact all this succeeded in doing was to make him scream loader, bloody sook! So we had to confess. Well Furry #2 was sent in to see what condition </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Poppa was in & thankfully he was 1/2 cut so this meant 2 things. Firstly he'd say to Nanna, "Aw leave 'em alone, that's what boys do" </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">& secondly he'd feel brave & confident enough to rescue Furry # 4 himself. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Well as sure as shit sticks to shag pile carpet, (sweet Aussie saying). Poppa went up the ladder, furry # 4 was now feeling the ill effects of our experiments into space travel & the effects of zero gravity on a 2 1/2 year old, </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">and was now in full song and very animated, (kicking like a bitch possessed). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">In the protest, furry # 4 lands a perfectly timed kick to the chops on Poppa, who reals backwards, falls heavily & lands perfectly on the concrete path. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Well, we have Poppa bleeding from the mouth, missing 2 teeth, (his only remaining two teeth that he actually grew), and complaining that movement was both near impossible, </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">and extremely painful, (did I mention that he wasn't talking to quietly either)? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">All the while we still had furry # 4 protesting about his imminent planned re-entry & about how long he was still required to orbit earth. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />It's about here that Nanna over reacts & also starts to carry on, I mean everyone who's seen Apollo 13 knows how you're supposed to react. It would have been much more acceptable to say, "<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Houston</st1:place></st1:city>, we have a problem".<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I mean, yes he was hanging like a pinyarda (is that how its spelt?), but we weren't hitting him with stick, yet anyway, to see if he was filled with lollies that would fall out of his butt. That was next week’s experiment for Christ sake. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />So it falls upon me to ring for help. So I pick up the phone, dial 000 (Aussie equivalent of 911) and they ask me if I want Police, Fire or Ambulance. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I reply, “I don't know, who gets little brothers who are stuck on a roof and crumpled Poppas off the ground”? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">They answer, “I think we'll give you over to the Ambos”. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">This came about because when he suggested the fire brigade come out, I asked “didn't something need to be on fire for the firemen to come out?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I mean if that's what it takes to get a fire engine out the front of your house its a small price to pay & a sacrifice I was willing to make, as was furry #2 & #3. It was simply a matter of finding something we didn’t like & set fire to it.</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />So it's a lovely discussion I had with a very nice man, he also suggested that the send the fire brigade over "just to have a look", and maybe a policeman or 2. Well it was no later than 2 minutes and the first of three fire engines turn up, followed by 2 ambulances & 2 police cars. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Poppa is diagnosed with a broken collarbone, hip & leg, & that was really cool. I still held the record for the most number of broken bones in one hit (refer to superman story), but for big bones, that had to be a new record! </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Furry # 4 was eventually released from his "holding pattern" over the Earth’s surface & yes, there were a couple of bruises & a few grazes. But hey, Furrys #1, 2 & 3 didn't feel anything. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Poppa was loaded into the back of one of the ambulances, Furry # 4 was given a "clean bill of health", although, all of the firemen, ambulance & policemen were a little doubtful about the furry #4's ability to actually tie his own knots. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Eventually, the respective fire engines, police cars & ambulances disappeared. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Furry's parents were called about the incident, and this is where Furry's 1, 2 & 3 discovered that gravity actually does hurt, when Furry's father appeared at Nanna’s & Poppas we weren't able to sit for a while let me tell you. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br />Well, that's about it, over time all wounds healed. On the up side, no animals were hurt in this story, (zombie chicken was in a later incident) but that's a story form a previous post.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">See Ya<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Uncle Furry<o:p></o:p></span></p>purple goddesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05205284829507903435noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-49445443611437761932007-10-09T15:07:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:50.304-08:00Furry The Builder<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGVE4V-9CEKMnY7BGNHrN6xHYzCm_H7CzQPibD8jD5G6R9yTXi-HTEd-FkqZqzpulbI1ap6lvuoiRvWjZjHxbt-Anw1dJIP05JB_OH5lk19GnUtTWw0vS5fK695Wkb7Q-HZEXJ8Yjryg2D/s1600-h/builder_jpg.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5119464013295711682" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGVE4V-9CEKMnY7BGNHrN6xHYzCm_H7CzQPibD8jD5G6R9yTXi-HTEd-FkqZqzpulbI1ap6lvuoiRvWjZjHxbt-Anw1dJIP05JB_OH5lk19GnUtTWw0vS5fK695Wkb7Q-HZEXJ8Yjryg2D/s320/builder_jpg.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Ok, guys. I was away with my kids last week, so you only got one chronicle. So invoke the SOP, which you should all be familiar with by now and we'll get started. Like in the previous story, this takes place when I was a young Furry, living in a new housing estate. Well, as with any property development, houses started to be built. It was in the days when there were no fences around these sites. No one broke windows, no one pinched stuff. <?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">The builders didn’t care if they turned up to work & there was a dozen kids running around the house with guns built from off cuts of wood & dropped nails, playing war. Shit, you could even have lunch with them, or at least, I used to.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">You see, I was getting paid a shilling (one bob, 10 cents) for collecting all the off cut wood & rubbish & piling it up out the front. It was also in the days when builders used handsaws, hammers & nails. So there were always the dropped nails on the ground where these guys worked. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Well I started keeping an empty nail box or two. I’d pick up the dropped nails, clean them on my T-shirt if required, and then started filling up the empty nail boxes. When my builder mates returned, I presented them with a full box of “recovered” nails. The older builder (obviously the boss) asked me where I got them.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">“Off the ground all around here & inside the house”, I informed him. Then I told him how they were cleaned, (by wiping them on your shirt of course) and repacked exactly like they were when he got them from the shop, (ie all the nails standing up, one point up, one point down). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">“When’d you do this?” he asked, <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">“After you went home” I replied. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">He was so wrapped and I got 3 bob a box for recovered nails.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Mum came over early in the piece & said to the builders “If he’s any trouble or getting in your way, just send him home”. The boss Builder replied, “Naw he’s alright missus, no problem at all”. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">It then got so bad that my Mum hated the weekends, because I couldn’t “go to work” and spent the day walking around the house in a shitty mood. So, instead of having me carry on & being miserable, she’d send me off to the sites & clean up and recover nails anyway. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">That suited me because my working days were getting busier because I was helping “hold stuff” while they got nailed to the wall. Or moved planks of wood (floor boards) around the rooms for my builder mates to nail down. I even went out to the Ute to get hammers, saws, levels, and all sorts of cool stuff. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">It got to the point that Mum used to pack me sandwiches, frozen cordial in a bottle & off to work I’d go at 6.55am in the morning, with my little TAA (now defunct Aussie airline) bag my Poppy gave me. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">The drive to work was never a problem for me; you’d just walk across the paddocks. Even better, the guys would sometimes also have to buy lunch, (because morning tea was eaten for breakfast, lunch was eaten for morning tea, so something had to replace the now relocated original lunch). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">On these days they’d “shout” lunch for me as well. And that something else that replaced the original lunch was a meat pie & tomato sauce (or in Aussie slang, “Dog’s eye & dead horse”). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Man, these were the BEST, big chunks of meat (beef), gravy & quite often, home made tomato sauce. As opposed to the over processed crap we eat today. Imagine, two or three big burly blokes, (were talking mid 1960’s here), overalls, flannel shirt, boots, sitting on boxes & the like, eating meat pies & drinking soft drink, with a little “Mini-me”, dressed almost exactly the same, copying them letter perfect. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">The guys were so taken to have a Mascot that Mrs Boss made me a pair of overalls, one of the other blokes brought me a flannel shirt & mum brought me a pair of black gum boots, (there wasn’t steel cap boots available in size “Mini-me” in those days). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">So yeah, if you ever wondered when a Furry starts to become a Furry, it’s probably at birth. I mean this story was when I was about 4 ½ to 5 years old. It was before playstations, Xboxes & personal computers. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">It was before I knew what Wars really were & had no idea what a Terrorist was. It was when I was young & innocent.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">It was well before I knew how to “blow shit up”. It was well before I was trained to live off the land & make things that go bang out of kitchen products, and things you’d find in a farm shed. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">It was before I was trained to be a “homeland” terrorist should we be invaded, come under attack & become separated behind the lines. It was well before the attacks in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">London</st1:place></st1:city> and Bali & those on September 11,would make me feel dirty.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I’ll apologise here & now for forcing the readers to sit & wade through what was probably a mountain of boring shit. I know it’s not the usual “tongue in cheek, blow shit up, injuring & crippling of little brothers” stories of my past, but today, that just seems a little to disrespectful. I just wanted to remember when I was innocent, once, a long time ago.<o:p></o:p></span></p>purple goddesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05205284829507903435noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-37751691149571968822007-10-03T17:59:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:50.482-08:00First Mate "Cuddles"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RwQ9Dd0-7YI/AAAAAAAAAHY/32Ey4Rnlbpg/s1600-h/pirate.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5117282206355484034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RwQ9Dd0-7YI/AAAAAAAAAHY/32Ey4Rnlbpg/s320/pirate.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">OK everyone today seems to be a bit of a struggle. I’ve been crook with the flu all week, given it to PG, because I love her & we share stuff. Like she wore one of my shirts to work yesterday, so I gave her my flu. Fair is fair. Yeah?<?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">However, I don’t really think she’s overly happy with me for sharing the flu with her, go figure. It’s a little bit difficult to think about humorous things with, like this cloud hanging overhead. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">But, as PG always reminds me, laughter IS the best medicine, so, with this in mind, lets invoke the SOP’s & the addition of rule 101. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">For any newbies reading this for the first time, I’ll explain ‘em to you. Those who want a drink, glasses in the cupboard, coffee mugs next to ‘em, kettle on the bench, white wine & the milk are in the fridge, red in the pantry, bourbon in the cupboard, ice in the freezer. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">While you’re up, some one grab Uncle Furry a big glass, chuck in ½ a dozen ice cubes, fill it up with bourbon. Pull up a bit of floor & relax for another installment of the Furry Chronicles. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">These stories go way back, when Furry wasn’t even going to Primary School. We, (Mum, Dad & Furry) moved into a new estate in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Keon</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place>, and were one of the two first houses in the area. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">There were paddocks everywhere. We lived directly across the road from <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Burbank</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Primary School</st1:placetype></st1:place>, which was my first school I ever went to. There were roads all around so I could ride my bike, (bicycle), flat out (as fast as possible) around the court behind my parent’s house.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Anyway, being an only child at the time, and there not being any other houses, let alone kids around, one had to play with imaginary friends. Cuddles my Cocker Spaniel was my partner in crime. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">The best thing my Father ever did for me was he somehow got his hands on an old wooden motorboat, (there was no motor & the thing was rotting under my very feet), but as a little boy, it became my palace. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">This boat was a Destroyer one day, next a Battle Ship, then a sailing skip, next day an old Tea Cutter, next it was an aircraft carrier, (even became a sub on a few occasions, mostly after a good rain). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Cuddles was my first mate, but sometimes the only order “First Mate Cuddles” would effectively undertake was the command to “sleep”. Lucky the boat was firmly sitting on its keel with 100% contact with good old mother earth, because there were occasions where her refusal to follow a direct order almost got her keelhauled!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Now, the first part of the story takes shape, this particular day young Furry was belting around the court on his pushie, when he attempted to “brake & corner”. Unfortunately it was a little too late & at a pace just a little to quick. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Being a Furry, and not always learning from previous life’s experiences, it's something I'm guilty of doing a couple of thousand times since, on things a whole shit load quicker & heavier. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Anyway the pace caused the front wheel to wash out & young Furry to "kiss the asphalt”. The tyre rolled off the rim & that forced young Furry to walk home, missing a considerable amount of “bark” (skin) & what looked to be a fair amount of sap (blood) flowing from all the new grazes.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Well, it was always easier & quicker to walk through the paddocks. Picture a little Furry, dragging his wrecked pushie along, heaps of bark missing, sap flowing, tears, snotty nose & dirt all over. All I needed was a bandage around my head, (I had the limp going as well), and I would’ve resembled a walking wounded from the Civil War. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Feeling ABSOLUTELY miserable, when all of a sudden, I struck gold. There it was, in all its glory, absolutely magnificent, <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">a toy gun.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Well as any respecting Furry would do, I picked it up. Now there wasn’t a house in the area that had another kid, not for miles anyway, so it was definitely a case of “finders keepers”. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Now this was a beaut, (wonderful thing), and heavy, like you’d better believe it!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">They just don’t make toys like this any more! Home I go, at a million miles an hour, throw the bike in the shed, have totally forgotten about the previous "crippling pain" & summoned “First Mate Cuddles” and off we sail. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">I spent the afternoon fighting the battle of Midway, <st1:placename st="on">Pearl</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Harbour</st1:placetype> & the <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Malta</st1:place></st1:country-region> blockade, all at the same time, single-handed, and of course, winning. The missing bark & the drying sap all adding to the ill effects of war.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">For hours I was busy, with my new toy. IF it were capable of firing rounds the barrel would have been glowing red hot. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">My father turned up after a day at work to see his urchin of a son, deep in play, and “First Mate Cuddles” faithfully following the “fast a sleep” order she’d obviously received earlier that afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">“Where’d you get that boy?” my Father asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">“In the paddock, no where near anywhere” was my chuffed reply. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">“Can I have a look at it?” dear Dad asked. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">“Yep, but it’s mine & I want it back” demanded young Furry.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">These were the terms & conditions of inspection and as far as Furry was concerned they were “Not Negotiable”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">“You know, I’ve got a friend who would be really interested in just having a look at this, it would make him very happy to see this. Can I call him & just keep it ‘til he gets here? I’d hate for it to get broken before he could get a good look at it” dear Dad announced after quite a detailed inspection.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Well that wasn’t well received, but negotiations with rewards of both fireworks (5 bobs worth, or fifty cents in today’s speak) AND 2 bob (twenty cents) of mixed lollies sealed the deal.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Well fuck me, it turned out that Dad’s friend was a Policeman, and he was very interested in my gun & where it was found. So were his Police mates, who came down, put sticks in the ground, and tape all around the place. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Years later I was told it was a 9mm Luger, (Second World War German Pistol) & there was a round (live bullet) in the chamber. Almost a full clip (magazine), as well. Thankfully the rust was sufficient that I couldn’t pull the trigger with my little hands. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Turned out, it was a suspected murder weapon. Good news, yeah right! The Policeman was sufficiently wise to bring over ANOTHER toy gun, which he swapped with mine, plus the initial 70 cents my Dad owed me was matched cent for cent by the Policeman. $1 worth of fireworks took me (and Dad) a whole week to discharge. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">However 40 cents of lollies took no time, but made me soooooo sick.</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Copulater!!<br /><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-11861532435625315222007-09-27T17:53:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:50.626-08:00Furry, cousins, brothers, billycart & a steep hill.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCi9WRnExcge2xzoeFlnk39ODV4Pig9S0PxlTXnCj_WytCZt2Iiygy9l7XSe2e5APC3UJzRltxx4ZhawCA40tStkef7D3H4Et_84700k0hk35yzJtgE7SvLW1w4PvdlnIuCPngzM4WIclf/s1600-h/billycart_wideweb__470x315,0.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5115054946153075426" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCi9WRnExcge2xzoeFlnk39ODV4Pig9S0PxlTXnCj_WytCZt2Iiygy9l7XSe2e5APC3UJzRltxx4ZhawCA40tStkef7D3H4Et_84700k0hk35yzJtgE7SvLW1w4PvdlnIuCPngzM4WIclf/s320/billycart_wideweb__470x315,0.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Hi all, Uncle Furry here, feels like ages s</span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><span class="postbody">ince I posted one of these. Thought that since I was at home, relaxing, that I'd sit down & do a post. Now, just in case it actually has been ages, here goes ....... </span><br /><br /><span class="postbody">"Those who what to have a "cough & a drag" off you go, those who want a coffee or tea, (or that other shit called Chai that PG drinks), there's the kitchen, milk, water, kettle ..... Those after something more, white's (wine) in the fridge, red's in the pantry, bourbon in the freezer, near the ice, pour me one while you're out there ....... everyone pull up a piece of floor & off we go ......... </span><br /><br /><span class="postbody">Today's story is, eldest cousin, steep hill, young furry & a billy cart </span><br /><br /><span class="postbody">You see, we, (Furry mum, dad, and kid brother) when I was in grade 3, (I was around 9 yo), lived in a flat in a shithole of a suburb called Dandenong West. It was on <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Jones Rd</st1:address></st1:street>, where this monster of a steep hill is located. <?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">It was as bad walking down the hill as it was climbing up from school. No matter which way you went, at the end of it, you're legs screamed. </span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br /><span class="postbody">Well, my eldest cousin, (and Lainie) came over with Aunty Jean & Uncle Des for a visit. Jeanie was so way cool. She was 8 or 9 years older than me & she did stuff like, talked to boys, (her boyfriend then, became her hubby, was a Commandant with Big Bangs R Us), she drove cars, (learners permit), listened to cool music and was just way cool. </span><br /><br /><span class="postbody">My brother, Lainie & I, got bored shitless really quickly with the visit, so we decided to take the billy cart out for a run. The billy cart needs some describing. Now, Poppa L worked at THE AGE newspaper, back in the days where "foreigners" weren't seen in a poor light. (Foreigners are jobs performed at work, while still being clocked on, (like making stuff out of their steel), for a project at home). </span><br /><br /><span class="postbody">Well this was the case for the billy cart. Some furry bloke, (in 1970), made this billy cart frame out of tubular steel. The wheels were these huge bearings, which had a rubber casing on the outside. (These bearings were what the huge rolls of paper sat on as the paper was being feed down a printing line). The billy cart was near indestructible; it was built like a tank. I shit you not; this billy cart weighed about 80 tons. </span><br /><br /><span class="postbody">Anyway, we were preparing ourselves for the first run down the hill (Lainie & I) when my cousin Jeanie came out. She asked what we are doing and we told her of our plans, she decided she wanted to take Lainie's place as passenger & give it a go ......... I was wrapped because the "cool" cousin wanted ME to do something with HER </span><br /><br /><span class="postbody">Well to paint a picture of <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Jones Rd</st1:address></st1:street>, at the very top, just where the hill starts, is a street. At the very bottom, where the hill ends, there is a crossroad. So for the full run of the hill, there is no interruptions, to speak of. Well Jeanie decides she is going to stand in the back of the billy cart, (not sit as suggested) and start the party by pushing the billy cart off "scooter style". </span><br /><br /><span class="postbody">Jeanie is pushing as hard as she can, and the billy cart is hardly moving, "Is that it?" asks my cousin. "Naw, it'll get faster,” replied young Furry. "It'll need to" comes the disgusted reply. Slowly the billy cart starts to build up pace, "That's better" she replies, until, ........... About 1/2 way down the hill a little old lady, complete with purple hair & a walking frame, hobbles out of her driveway. </span><br /><br /><span class="postbody">Now, at 9, I had manners, so little Furry is heard to say "Excuse me please" as we are fast approaching, "FUCKEN MOVE!" is screamed over my head by my cousin, who was obviously lacking in any social manners or graces & who is now hunkered over the top of me, holding on to my shoulders for grim death. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><span class="postbody">The little old lady responds by a) turning grey as she sees the out of control kids, and b) throws the walking frame onto the nature strip & dives backwards into the drive way. Thinking back on it today, she would have looked at home in a black leather coat in a MATRIX movie.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><span class="postbody"></span></span> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><span class="postbody">As we streak past, young Furry is heard to say "Thank you". </span><br /><br /><span class="postbody">At about the 3/4 mark, my cousin screams, "SLOW DOWN, SLOW DOWN, USE THE BRAKES". Furry looks up, basically right up her flaring nostrils & calmly mentions, "We don't have brakes" </span><br /><br /><span class="postbody">My cousin looks at me, like WTF!!! </span><?xml:namespace prefix = v /><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"><v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"><v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Ella\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.gif" href="http://www.topfreeforum.com/forum/images/smiles/icon_eek.gif"><span class="postbody">and screams "HOW DO WE STOP, HOW DO WE STOP?". <o:p></o:p></span></span></p></v:imagedata></o:lock></v:path></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:stroke><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I was sort of getting over the volume she was broadcasting at by this stage & calmly replied, "We don't, I'll just go around the corner, but there's a fair chance you'll fall out 'cause you're standing up" </span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br /><span class="postbody">AGAIN she looks at me like WTF!!! a</span><v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Ella\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.gif" href="http://www.topfreeforum.com/forum/images/smiles/icon_eek.gif"><span class="postbody">nd replies "WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING ....... WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!" and then announces "FUCK THIS I'M OUTTA HERE!" </span></v:imagedata></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Ella\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.gif" href="http://www.topfreeforum.com/forum/images/smiles/icon_eek.gif"><span class="postbody">She is poised for a second & bails (jumps) out of the cart. She later told me her intention was to grab a signpost, spin around it a couple of times, (like a pole dancer), and after a couple of rotations gently put her feet on the ground. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p></v:imagedata><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Well any furry knows that wouldn't work, brother Kev tried that on the first day & it damn near killed him. </span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br /><span class="postbody">Jeanie jumps, grabs the pole just enough to skew sideways & then get slammed into a tree, pretty much as did Kev when he tried it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">She completes rolling on the nature strip, (not the one with the tree, but the next one down) and sits up in time to see furry pull onto the last nature strip, put the billy cart into a huge slide, back on the footpath, sufficient grip restored and cornering on the two out side wheels. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Now I've just had a thought, what happened if someone was walking around the corner at the same time? Never thought of that back then, go figure ...... ‘Spose I would have just said "Excuse me please". </span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br /><span class="postbody">The ride finally comes to a stop; I turn it around & start pulling it back up the hill. Eventually I get to where my crumpled cousin is still sitting & there was a "fair" degree of blood I must admit. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Now, not only didn’t she help pull the cart back up the hill, (unwritten law people, you ride, you help, OK - remember that one, it's important), but she wanted me to pull the billy cart, & her, up to the top of the hill because she was hurt!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Yeah, as fucken if! That was never gonna happen! </span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br /><span class="postbody">Well she hobbled on her own, I dragged the billy cart up & my brother, the family dog & Lainie came running down the hill, full tilt (flat out). </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><span class="postbody">The little old lady, now seeing a couple of out of control kids & a dog bearing down on her, throws her recently collected frame back on to the nature strip & bails back into the drive way, AGAIN.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Seriously some people never learn. Wouldn’t it have been easier for the old lady just to go back into her house and have a cup of tea? Sooner or later one of the kids would have to go to hospital & then the billy cart would have been banned for the remainder of the day. Then she'd have free run of the footpath!</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Well, Cousin Jeanie thinks the kids coming at full bore and all this is for her & feels so much better that the others at least are concerned for her. </span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br /><span class="postbody">Not so, kids land on & around the billy cart, and proceed to help me push & pull the cart up the hill, I mean times money and there were plenty of more "trips" to be had. Jeanie eventually makes it back to the flat, stumbles in the door & soon afterwards is taken to <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Dandenong & District</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Hospital</st1:placetype></st1:place>. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">The diagnosis is </span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Ella\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image002.gif" href="http://www.topfreeforum.com/forum/images/smiles/Groaner.gif"><br /><br /><span class="postbody">Broken Nose </span><br /><span class="postbody">Missing tooth </span><br /><span class="postbody">Fractured Cheek Bone </span><br /><span class="postbody">Broken Forearm </span><br /><span class="postbody">Broken Pinkie Finger </span><br /><br /><span class="postbody">What did Uncle Des & Aunty Jean say? "If you sat down as Furry told you too, you'd be fine too. You're fault for not doing as the driver said".</span></v:imagedata></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Ella\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image002.gif" href="http://www.topfreeforum.com/forum/images/smiles/Groaner.gif"><span class="postbody">Silly bitch still got the billycart banned for the remainder of the day, but!</span></v:imagedata></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Ella\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image002.gif" href="http://www.topfreeforum.com/forum/images/smiles/Groaner.gif"><span class="postbody">Unfortunately, the billycart died one day soon after. Kev decided to run an experiment. He wanted to see if the cart was quicker actually on <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">Jones Rd</st1:address></st1:street> that on the footpath. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p></v:imagedata><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">You see the old lady was becoming a bit of an obstacle & a real pain in our tits. I mean there is a limit to the number of times someone should announce "Excuse me please".</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">So the billycart was released at the top of the hill by young Kev, driverless of course, he wasn't stupid you know! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">As such, it wasn't able to avoid the Grenda's bus that was coming up the hill. </span></span><br /><span class="postbody"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I know I said it was built like a tank, maybe it should have been "built like a bus!" </span></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><br /><br /><span class="postbody">Anyway, have a great weekend, I'm off to Chez Fur </span></span><br /><br /><v:stroke joinstyle="miter"><v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"><v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"><v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"><v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"><v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"><v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"><v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"><v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"><v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"><v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"><v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"><o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"><v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Ella\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.gif" href="http://www.topfreeforum.com/forum/images/smiles/icon_eek.gif"><v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Ella\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image001.gif" href="http://www.topfreeforum.com/forum/images/smiles/icon_eek.gif"><v:imagedata src="file:///C:\DOCUME~1\Ella\LOCALS~1\Temp\msohtml1\01\clip_image002.gif" href="http://www.topfreeforum.com/forum/images/smiles/Groaner.gif"></v:imagedata></v:imagedata></v:imagedata></o:lock></v:path></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:f></v:stroke>purple goddesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05205284829507903435noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-63845598106961769342007-09-25T19:41:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:51.000-08:00Furry Fights False Advertising<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RvnIczwCU8I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/3zeRdxfstHI/s1600-h/bird+seed.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114339249109488578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RvnIczwCU8I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/3zeRdxfstHI/s320/bird+seed.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">It's only Wednesday arvo & quite frankly over I'm work for the week. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">So, with everyone else in "hump day" mode, I thought I'd share a couple of silly "when I was a younger furry" stories with you all. <?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Frankly, at parties, when I'm 1/2 cut, (pissed (drunk) for those confused </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">), with the actions </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">& facial expressions, </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">there are often a few victims of tear filled eyes & sore ribs from laughing. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">And I must add here, no one died in these events, although we did try really hard. For those trying to be good parents, feel free to use these as tips for NOT what to let your kids do.<br /><br />Event #1<br /><br />In grade prep, at the tender age of 5 years, I had a dear friend we shall call Shane. Shane & I were inseparable. We were infatuated with Superman, (we are after all going back near 40 years ago). We tried & tried to fly, and of course, failed. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">We figured that the issue was we didn't have enough hight for the take off, so we launched ourselves off the steps, the verandah, the railing, the back of his dad's truck, off the top of ladder & eventually from the 2nd story balcony of his house. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Well that was our first trip together to the hospital, there's not a lot that can be done for broken bones in one's feet!<br /><br />Event #2<br /><br />Shane's mum had a veggie patch, (vegetables), and in those days everything was grown from seed. Well, we planted tomato seeds & tomatoes grew, carrot seeds & we got carrots, sweet corn seeds grew sweet corn.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><span style="font-size:+0;"></span>So, one day, Shane's mum brought home a budgie (basically a Australian native small parrot). He was beautiful & we found out she'd paid the equivalent of $20 in today's finacial environment for him.<br /><br />Well, now that Shane & I had spent some time together and had “behaved”, (not that we were naughty, it was more a reward for not killing or maiming each other), as a reward Shane’s dad gave us 4 bob (40 cents each) & we were allowed to go to the Milk Bar & buy “whatever we liked”.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Well that wasn’t always the case, sometimes we liked crackers & fireworks, but the bloke who owned the shop refused to sell ‘em to us with out an “adult” being present. Fuck me, seriously, how much damage could 2 almost 6 year olds do?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Anyway, Shane & I arrived at the local milk bar (small supermarket), we were scanning the shelves for “what we wanted” when we saw "budgie seed". <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Well we examined it carefully. Pictures on the bag confirmed it was Budgie seed, we looked at it and there was thousands & thousands of seeds, and that could only mean, thousands & thousands of budgies.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">We decided at $20 buck a pop, (each), we didn't know how much it was, but we were going to be RICH, RICH, RICH.<br /><br />We purchased the budgie seed, with what was normally 3 weeks lolly money, raced back to Shane’s, and planted it in the veggie patch, watered it regularly & waited patiently. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">In a few weeks there was growth, then buds, we dreamed that soon there were going to be budgies EVERYWHERE. We weren't too worried about them flying off, 'cause babies just don't do much, do they?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Well, the buds flowered & died & not a single budgie. We took our plants back the Milk Bar man & complained, he simply laughed, (uncontrollably) at two very pissed off young wanna be businessmen.<br /><br />That night when Shane's dad got home we were scornfully told off about "throwing our plants at his shop window". <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">We knew no one saw us, but could never figure out how he knew it was us.<br /><br />Event #3<br /><br />Shane lived near a park, with huge old pine trees. Shane was a blessed child, in as much, gravity loved him! Shane would, ALWAYS, get ¾’s of the way up a tree & fall. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Well we were watching a TV show one day and there were two guys climbing a mountain, they were joined by a rope you see, the second guy slipped & fell, the first bloke held on & when the rope went tight, the second guy clambered back up the mountain.<br /><br />GLORY BE! We thought, here's the answer to Shane’s problems. We took a length of rope of Shane's dad's truck, (even though we'd been threatened with murder if we even LOOKED at his truck, let alone touched ANYTHING), but some things just have to be done.<br /><br />We got to our favourite tree, tied the rope around our waists & up we climbed. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Sure as shit, ¾’s of the way up, Shane fell; <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">I held onto the tree & waited to save Shane. The rope went tight, as expected.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Shane was about 2 foot from the ground when it happened. His heals & head hit the deck, at that EXACT moment I was pulled from the tree. I came crashing down on Shane. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">In much, much pain, we dragged our damaged little bodies home, (still joined by the rope), to Shane's place.<br /><br />Well we got our butts belted by Shane’s dad for knotting up his rope, for touching his truck & for being stupid. It was a day of many lessons learned.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">After a while the swelling in our arms caused some concern. Off to hospital again, Shane's left arm was set in plaster, as was my right arm.<br /><br />It was about now, after what was our 7th or 8th joint trip off to hospital together, that our parents decided that it would be more beneficial for both of us not to play together anymore.<br /><br />Go figure!<br /><br />That's all for today, next week Uncle Furry will read another chapter from "The chronicles of a young furry". But be warned! If I did this to a friend, what do you reckon happened to my brothers?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">See Ya<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Uncle Furry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-80917356712595217082007-09-20T22:25:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:51.160-08:00Blind Puppies and "GO AWAY NAUGHTY HEAD ACHE!!!"<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RvNXoTwCU7I/AAAAAAAAAHI/IYhgc8GmIDE/s1600-h/puppyraising1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112526352003781554" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RvNXoTwCU7I/AAAAAAAAAHI/IYhgc8GmIDE/s320/puppyraising1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Hi everyone, its Friday afternoon, the working week is grinding to a halt. PG is slowly getting over her injuries, (guess who makes pole dancing pissed at a Party a full contact sport?).<?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Well its time to invoke the SOP’s (Standard operating procedures) & for any newbies reading this for the first time, I’ll explain ‘em to you. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Those who want a drink, glasses in the cupboard, coffee mugs next to ‘em, kettle on the bench, white wine & the milk are in the fridge, red in the pantry, bourbon in the cupboard, ice in the freezer. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">While you’re up, some one grab Uncle Furry a big glass, chuck in ½ a dozen ice cubes, fill it up with bourbon. Pull up a bit of floor & relax for another double installment of the Furry Chronicles. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><br /><br />Listen, another important announcement before we start, all that pissing & griping about passive smoking, has finally worked. PG & Furry as of last Saturday decided to give up the smokes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">So if I’m a little pissy and people are talking while I’m telling my story, I’ll be as compassionate as ever. So expect to hear “Tuff shit & shut the fuck up” if your talking while I’m trying to interrupt with my story!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">The first is when I was a sweet & loving young lad. As I’ve said before in my posts, Poppa & Nanna L often minded Cousin Lainie & I. Now Poppy L was as cool as they came. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">He’d love spending time with us, and quite often would take us on excursions. At the tender age of 3 & 4 Lainie & I would go to the Fitzroy Gardens in the city, look at Captain Cook’s cottage, the fairy tree, have a picnic lunch, feed the birds (ducks) bread, etc.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Poppy never ran out of ideas, or things for us to do. Museums, churches, country drives, shopping in the city, all these activities were done with Poppa L. Nanna was a "little beige", and ALWAYS had a headache & therefore seldom ever came on these outings. Her company was severely missed, and that brings us to the first half of today’s story. Furry medicine! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">This particular day was the first time we were going off for a picnic & to play with the blind puppies. Here’s the picture, Nanna is sitting on her chair at the end of the table, with a cup of black tea. Head in her hands because she had a “headache”. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Poppy has just told Lainie & Furry that we’re going out for a picnic & to visit the blind puppies. We first thought that the puppies were blind & Lainie & Furry bawled their little eyes out, our hearts broken as we bawled "The Puppies are gonna crash into walls & trees BAH HAW HAW HAW". <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Poppy trying desperately to gain control, then explained that these "were the puppies that blind people used to see with". There was silence .... then we bawled even more. Furry announced "They take the puppies eyes give to the blind people ..... BAH HAWWWW" . <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Poppy, now desperately trying to get us to stop, then explained that the people were blind & the puppies kept them safe by helping them walk around things & cross the roads, etc. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Well we now bawled for the people who were blind & couldn’t see. Today I think back & go “Well done Pop, maybe you should have just stuck with the blind puppies & called it quits there”. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">So, there’s Nanna, now probably with a migraine. Lainie & Furry bawling their eyes out, Poppy having to be louder than normal to get heard over the wailing. He then plays the trump card, today we’re off to have a picnic at <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:placename st="on">Studley</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">Park</st1:placetype>, on the banks of the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Yarra</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place> & then go visit the puppies & play with them all day. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Apparently it was part of the training for little puppies & was designed to get them used to human contact. So the thought of a) a picnic with Poppy & b) romping & rolling away the afternoon with cute little puppies was just too fine to mention, so we went from tears to cheers in about a second.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Lots of yipping & yapping from Furry & Lainie. Lainie then looked across to Nanny, seeing her with her head buried in her hands climbed up on the table in front of her. Gently cupping Nanny’s face she asked -<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">“Nanny, are you coming with Poppy & us to play with the puppies?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Nanny “No dearest, Nanny has an awful headache & just wants to lay on the bed in the dark”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Lainie “Does this headache make you feel sick in the tummy too Nanny?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Nanny “Yes darling, Nanny feels quite unwell”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Furry “I’LL FIX IT”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Now Poppy used to have a stash of Barley Sugar & Toffees that Nanny ate when she (or we) felt unwell in the tummy & usually Furry would rush off & get her a couple from the “secret stash”. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">So there’s Nanny, faintly smiling, her cheeks cupped by Lainie, smiling to herself that her grandkids were going to look after her when -<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Little furry climbs up on the back of the chair & holding on with one hand, proceeds to smack Nanny REALLY HARD in the back of the head while screaming at the top of his voice “GO AWAY NAUGHTY HEADACHE”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Well we went off to the picnic, and had a great day. We played all afternoon with the puppies, and fell into bed exhausted that night & slept all the way through the night. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Nanny also was a lot better, showing no ill effects of bearing the brunt of furry medicine.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">When we finally saw her three days later!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">But furry medicine really does work. Next time someone is complaining of a headache, sore finger, etc, stomp as hard as you can on their foot.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">They soon forget about everything else, other than their foot.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-41219603698917556352007-09-18T16:29:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:51.291-08:00Killer Caramello Koala!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RvBgs1CdZvI/AAAAAAAAAGg/7JA-vw64sgU/s1600-h/1966_caramel.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5111691900333418226" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RvBgs1CdZvI/AAAAAAAAAGg/7JA-vw64sgU/s320/1966_caramel.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">When I was a wee Furry, a short while after the events of the last post, Poppy thought he'd be clever. He took us to a newly opened Supermarket in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Bulleen</span> (in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Melbourne</st1:place></st1:city> eastern suburbs). Since it was such a big event, anyone who was anyone was there. Since all these celebs were about, everyone who was after a "meet & greet" or cheap goodies was also there. And of course, all sorts of promotions were in full flight. <?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Poppy took the opportunity to do a “little shop”’ to take advantage of the specials. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Lainie</span> & I had developed a cunning strategy. Both of us would run forward of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Poppie</span> & the trolley. One of us would stop, the other would keep going. We'd see something that took our eye & would rip it off the shelf, screaming, "CAN WE HAVE THIS? CAN WE HAVE THIS?" at the top of our lungs.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Should Poppy try & explain that we'd already had sufficient sugar uptake rations we'd protest "IT'S NOT FAIR, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">IT'S</span> NOT FAIR"! and basically we'd shame (read <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">embarress</span>) him into caving in to our demands.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Well, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Lainie</span> & I had finished in one aisle & were running ahead when Poppy warned, "Don't go to far - there could be bears here". </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">We looked at each other, today it would be a look of "What The Fuck"????</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/thefurrychronicles/BigBangs/photo?authkey=E0ssJcxVteQ#5111692596118120194"><img src="http://lh3.google.com/thefurrychronicles/RvBhVVCdZwI/AAAAAAAAAHA/AbT3AHxddgw/s400/PICT0267-medium.jpg" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Unknown to us <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Caramelo</span> Koala, (a man wearing a bear suit, who was the face of a national sweet range, (much like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Freddo</span> frog), but in the shape of a Koala), was in the building giving away sweets. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">We looked at each other, decided that Poppy had lost his mind, and after 3 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">nano</span>-seconds concern over Poppies mental health, we shrugged our shoulders & ignored Poppy's warning and took off around the corner like rat's up a drain pipe.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">You see, if you found something you liked as soon as you got into the new aisle it gave you the extra time to invoke the negotiating system of yelling, (nay screaming) "CAN WE HAVE THIS, CAN WE HAVE THIS" and then argue about it not being fair. </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"></span></p><span lang="EN-AU">That was our logic anyway.</span> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">So, we were off & racing, came zapping around the corner at nearly a million miles an hour, to ran almost smack dab into this <span style="font-size:130%;">HUGE <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">FUCKEN</span> BEAR</span>. The bear, seeing two excited children suddenly appear, assumed we were there for him.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">He lunges forward & booms , "<span style="font-size:130%;">COME 'ERE & GIVE ME A HUG</span>". <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">We locked up, our heals ripping up the floor covering & <span style="font-size:130%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">FUCKEN</span> SCREAMED </span><span style="font-size:100%;">the most blood curdling of screams ever heard in a horror movies to date! So loud in fact, the roof near <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">fucken</span> caved in. We turned tail, and bolted. As we approached the corner, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Lainie</span> had the inside racing line, forced me wide on the turn.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">With both of us banked over at an angle that would do a racing bike proud, along came Poppy & his trolley.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Lainie</span>, with the inside racing line, shot between the trolley & the shelves & grabbed Poppy first. By wrapping herself around Poppy's leg, this opened Poppy’s angle further, with the trolley now slowly drifting across into <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Furry's</span> flight path.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Furry in sheer terror, hip & shoulders (crunches) the trolley out of the way, in order to get to the protection he required from Poppy, turns the trolley from a slowly graceful arc, into a high speed weapon of mass <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">destruction</span>. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">It could be said, at about this point, not all things were going to plan. The trolley spun at high speed & hits Poppy in the “family jewels”, (nuts, cods, lads, testicles, call ‘em what you will). T</span><span lang="EN-AU">he trolley</span><span lang="EN-AU"> then crashed onto its side, spilling its contents all over on to the ground. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Poppy, (still with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Lainie</span> firmly attached to his leg) is now on the ground, holding his groin, with </span><span lang="EN-AU">little Furry’s arms wrapped firmly around Poppy's neck, (I think it was this that made his face start to turn blue). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Now <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Caramelo</span> Koala has realised he’s fucked the pooch (made a slight judgement error) & in actual fact he's scared near 3 shades of shit out of the children. Somehow, I’m sure, w</span><span lang="EN-AU">hat ensued was not the intended outcome of this promotional campaign. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Caramelo</span> started forward, arms outstretched, to "help" calm the children and clear the carnage. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Little Furry screamed "<span style="font-size:130%;">HE'S GONNA EAT US</span>", and that "possibly" caused Poppies "slight" hearing <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">deficiency</span>.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Lainie</span> & Furry realise that Poppy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">isn</span>’t well, so it was up to them to protect him. </span><span lang="EN-AU">Side by side, we stood, gallantly, armed with little Aeroplane jelly crystal packets, throwing them, and anything else they could get our hands on, at the marauding bear. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><br /><br />Well the battle raged for what seemed ages, </span><span lang="EN-AU">but Furry & Fairy power was eventually superior and the bear was forced to disappeared, never to be seen again, </span><span lang="EN-AU">(while we were there anyway). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><span lang="EN-AU">We returned home & Poppy told <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Nanna</span> about what had happened. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Nanna</span> was a little embarrassed, </span><span lang="EN-AU">but Poppy said he was so proud of his "little champs" because they fought off the big bear and saved him. </span><span lang="EN-AU"><br /><br />Two things have happened since this day. 1). <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Lainie</span> & I would carefully peer down every isle in a supermarket prior to turning into it, & 2). to this day, neither <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">Lainie</span> nor I like eating <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Caramelo</span> Koalas ...........</span><br /><br /><span lang="EN-AU">Go figure</span>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-29925568746312406192007-09-16T22:15:00.000-07:002007-09-20T14:00:19.103-07:00Web ring.Ya know what?? If I was a trans-gender lesbian vampyre single father Fundie Christian foodie who likes to dip my left earlobe in Vaseline and Flickr it, there'd by 27 basquillion web rings I could join to promote this site.<br /><br /><br />But you type in "men who blog" or "blokes who blog" and you get like 3 site in the whole WWW.<br /><br />Bullshit!!<br /><br />So I took my cyberwife SG's advice and started one.<br /><br /><span style="color:#3333ff;">Straight Blokes Blogging.</span><br /><br />This name was my second option, I really wanted "The almighty ring of <strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">KABLAMO!</span></strong>", but the likes of ASIO might get a little sensitive.<br /><br />I completely dig that there's rings for gay teens coming out of the closet in Anchorage Alaska, and support for teen single lesbian mums in Dubai, I really really do. But, like me, if you're just an average bloke, who likes to blog about your motorbike, your fishing, your BBQ, going out with the missus, teaching the kids to drive, wingeing about the gardening, the footy (any code) or musing over bathing the dog, then you're stuffed.<br /><br />So if you know anyone who might blog and might like to join, give 'em the link.<br /><br />Oh, and it's not as altruistic as it sounds... I just want to add Ring Master to my CV.<br /><br />Anyhow... click on the<a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/netring?action=list&ring=Furry"> <span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">HERE</span> </a>to go to the web ring and join up.<br /><br />;)Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-10209728137652117602007-09-13T18:25:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:51.405-08:00Lost and Found!!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RunjR1CdZuI/AAAAAAAAAGA/y7kZJZbsCzY/s1600-h/knk06.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109865147663214306" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RunjR1CdZuI/AAAAAAAAAGA/y7kZJZbsCzY/s320/knk06.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">Hi all, Uncle Furry here, it's 2.30pm on a Friday afternoon (EST) in good ol’ <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Melbourne</st1:place></st1:city> town. Uncle Furry has a couple of meaningless tasks to finish off before jumping into the beast, fighting the good fight home, (because I share the road with fuckwits who don't understand its all about "Me, me, me" and they should just piss off outta my way). </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">So it’s time again to invoke our SOP’s.<span style="font-size:0;"> </span>So, <span style="font-size:0;"></span>skip off to the “dunny” (toilet, potty, rest room, whatever you want to call it). Grab a drinkie, and some munchies (snacks, crisps, chips, burger rings, etc, etc) and hunker down in your favourite possie (position) for this week's Uncle Furry revelations.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">While someone is up, can you grab Uncle Furry his smokes, a big glass of Bourbon, with ½ a dozen ice cubes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">“AWWWWWW FUCK ME & someone put those dogs out (Mrs Peaches & Stella) – Their farting somethin’ rotten. The kids must have fed them boiled eggs again”.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">Their putrid those two! And with what they’re “venting”, they could kill a black dog at 20 paces. Which is a concern, since both are black!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><br />Anyway, that's not going to detract from this week’s story. They used to be called chronicles, but that was before the "Prax the Spell Checker Nazi" kicked in & now Uncle Furry is just gonna use little words he knows how to shpell.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">So, on to the story ……..</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">Once upon a time, when Furry was a small child, Poppy & Nanna L would look after him & his cousin Lainie. (This was the Poppy who was a WW2 hero & someone I really loved & respected), not the piss head that lived in <st1:place st="on">Seaford</st1:place>. Nanna was a little beige at times, Poppa was really cool, and my cousin & I were always immaculately dressed. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">Lainie would wear shiny little shoes, anklet frilly socks, cute little "Shirley Temple” style dresses. Her hair in pony-tails. Getting the picture? Furry would wear shiny back shoes, short socks, royal blue shorts, white short sleeved shirt. Hair combed nicely. We'd be polished like a button.<br /><br />As with anyone who’s ever dealt with kids, well poor Poppy, we sort of inadvertently fucked with his head a bit (possibly even a lot). One particular day, Poppy took Lainie & I into the city to Myer's, (a very large department store). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">You see, when I was growing up, EVERYTHING was in the city, Dentists, Doctors, Accountants, I mean everything. We’d go into the city, get what needed to be done, & then we were to be treated to a lunch in the Coles/Myer cafeteria. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">The Coles/Myer cafeteria to a kid was just "so cooool", you had a tray, you walked along, picked what you wanted, and kept pushing the tray along until you got to the register. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">So it was a special day for us. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><br /><br />Poppy had to go to the department store (Myers) to buy a present for Nanna's upcoming birthday, and we were sort of pissing him off. We’d constantly ask , “When’s lunch?” or “How much longer” or advise him, “We’re STARVING” or “I'M GONNA DIE!”. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">We sort of thought this would move him along. The out come was better than we could have expected!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">After a while it got too much & he said, "Look, go & find something to occupy yourselves for a couple of minutes". Well, we did EXACTLY what we THOUGHT we were told to do. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">We asked this very fine lady some directions & off we set. 3 flights of escalators later we are in the toy department. Well, do you know how much fun it is to occupy yourself when you’re busy opening boxes & playing with brand new toys?<br /><br />"Occupy yourselves for a couple of minutes"? I think not baby puppy; I'd still be there today given half a chance. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">Well, we’re playing happily, to the point where we weren't even fighting! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">E</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">very now & then over the intercom system someone would say, "We are looking for a little boy & a girl, if you are lost please talk to one of our Sales people". Poor little buggers we thought, this place would be a scary as all fuck to be lost in, & back to playing we'd go. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><br /><br />A very lovely lady asked if we were lost & we told her no, we were fine thanks, and off she went. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">Well we played for ages. Still they called for these lost kids & still we played happily. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">Eventually Poppy turned up; he wasn't looking overly happy to see us. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">He had a man with him, he was the manager we found out later & the lady who asked if we were OK in the first place was there too. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">Poppy asked, "Why did you say no when this lady asked you if you were lost?" We explained to him that we weren't lost. That we found the toy department so we knew exactly where we were! He then informed us that HE couldn't find us & HE was scared.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">He must thought this was the best option open to him to guilt the two children into never disappearing again. Excellent plan Poppy, the road of life is littered with the crumpled & torched remains of “excellent plans”.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">Imagine the next scene, two little kids bawling their eyes out, hugging Poppies legs, telling him it was OK, we'd found him now & he's safe. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">My cousin reaction was the best. "Poppy, why didn't you ask one of the Sales people to call us over the radio & tell us where you were? You didn't need to be scared of them, they are really very nice people", <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">A</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">pparently, little furry walked up to the man, shook his hand & thanked him for finding Poppy & bringing him back, repeated the same to the lady. Instead of shaking her hand, Furry gave her a kissed on the cheek in appreciation. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">Wiping tears from our eyes, we told Poppy that we wanted to skip the Coles/Myer cafeteria lunch; we just wanted to get him home because we knew how upset he'd be after being lost. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><br /><br />My most prized memory of that day was, we were all getting ready for bed, and Poppy, bless him, would clean his teeth with us so we knew that there was no more sweets for anyone tonight. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">Well the conversation went this way, please understand my cousin Lainie had a horrid stutter, and I'm definitely not talking the piss out of her, (teasing her), but the story needs to be as it was said. It took place while Poppy was cleaning his teeth.<br /><br />Lainie - "Ppppppppooooppppppy ........."<br /><br />Poppy - "Yes darling".............<br /><br />Lainie - "Ppppppppppooopppppppyyyy tttthhhhhh"<br /><br />Poppy - "My little darling, take a deep breath, another, that's my girl, what is it precious" <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><br />Lainie - "Pppppoopppyy tttthhhatttsss thhhhhe tttttoooooothhhh bbbbruuushhhhhh Fuuurrrryyy & I uuuuuusee tttttooo cccccclllleeeeaaaannnn tttthhhheeeee ppppppooooooottttttyyyyy" </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;">- Translation "Poppy, that's the tooth brush Furry & I use to clean the potty (training toilet) <o:p></o:p></span></p><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';font-size:12;"><br />Well Poppy spat a lot more than normal that night, rinsed even more so, gargled & gargled, then cleaned his teeth all over again with another tooth brush !!!!<br /><br />Don't ask, I had no idea why .....<br /><br />See ya next week<br /><br />Furry.</span><br /></span>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-36808376869554765292007-09-13T18:19:00.001-07:002008-12-09T04:59:51.767-08:00Family History<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RunhoFCdZtI/AAAAAAAAAF4/9kbMklTkr_s/s1600-h/convicts.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109863330892048082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RunhoFCdZtI/AAAAAAAAAF4/9kbMklTkr_s/s320/convicts.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><h6><span lang="EN-AU"><span style="font-size:100%;">Family History<?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></span></h6><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">This is going to make Nanna L flip in her grave, but our family history is we were sent out to <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Australia</st1:place></st1:country-region> on the first two boats, courtesy of the British Government. Apparently it was an all expense paid trip. When I was younger, I thought they must have won a competition on TV.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">My ancestors apparently had an issue with “some relocated stock”. Apparently the Great, Great, Great Grandfather ripped off (stole) some bread & the Great, Great, Great Grandmother swiped some potatoes. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">So fuck me, as you can see, we were crims who moved major weight. It was rumoured that the two, actually never “really” married. This was of great concern to Nanna L as somewhere in the past, some one was illegitimate.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">The other thing that was a “blight” on our good name was Poppa L’s dad. Apparently he was renown for running Burlesque Houses, SP Bookies (illegal bets), Sly grogging (making & selling booze & not paying taxes), and worst of all, Brothels. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">It seems that the family wealth was gotten somewhat illegally. It was pissed against the wall by Poppa L’s father due to his major gambling habit. Nanna L was mortified whenever this history was mentioned.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Poppa L was one of the major influences in my life. In my eyes he was a great man. He was awarded the Oak Leaf in the Second World War. From what I’ve been told, there were less Oak Leaves awarded in WWII than the Victorian Cross. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">You were nominated for the VC by your Commanding Officer, The Oak Leaf nomination was from your peers. Poppa L got his by rescuing his CO in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Papua New Guinea</st1:place></st1:country-region>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">As for my parents, and brothers, well that tie has been cut long ago. They have successfully pissed me off, to the point, they (in my eyes) are not worth the effort or further disappointments. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Was married at 25, and that marriage failed after 13 years. Occasionally the ex sticks her head up and causes me grief. I’m willing to admit, on occasions I’m wasn't exactly virginal (not a “little” bit to blame) either. There were times I felt that a yapping mutt just needs a good kick in the guts, but now if figure the Karma bus is gonna run over her dogma some day. So I really don't give a fuck anymore.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">It wasn’t all bad though, I’ve got three beautiful kids from that marriage, their nick names are, Spud, Yarz & Els . Remarried only 2 years ago to PG, and as such, now have two step-children, Madam Mouse & LeeLee .<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Do all the kids get on? Yeah, their just like any “normal” family, fighting & hating each other one second & involved in an all in blue in the park because some kids picked on one of the other kids. Go figure.<o:p></o:p></span></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-83887336775172174672007-09-10T18:13:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:52.282-08:00Zombie Chicken!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RuXt1ANQP1I/AAAAAAAAAFY/H1GZMd53wJM/s1600-h/zombiechicken.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108750847166136146" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RuXt1ANQP1I/AAAAAAAAAFY/H1GZMd53wJM/s320/zombiechicken.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><h4><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Uncle Furry,<span style="font-size:+0;"> </span>Little Furrys & the ZOMBIE CHICKEN!<?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></h4><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Told this story to Prax last night & others on the board today have been wondering, so here it is!<br /><br />I'm the eldest of 4 boys; </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">the story takes place when I was 13. My brothers were 8,6,4. Parents were busy with their shop so on the weekends my grandparents would mind all 4 boys. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Pop K was an alcoholic, & usually </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">hammered by 6.00pm on a Friday night & crawling off to bed. <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:place st="on">Nan</st1:place> K was exhausted by 7.00pm & we ALL were usually in bed by then. At 7.10pm <st1:place st="on">Nan</st1:place> would be sleeping & all 4 boys would be up. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><br /><br />On Friday nights "Deadly Earnest" </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">was aired on Channel 10, (in those day’s it was Channel 0). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">It was a show where the host would be all spooky & scary, and showed a variety of horror movies every week. One week vampires, next mummies, etc, etc. On this particular Friday night it was a movie about Zombies. These fuckers just wouldn't die. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">All 4 boys on the couch JUST peering over the blanket, all shit scared, but no one willing to say so. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Everytime there was a noise, there would be 4 fresh dents in the roof!</span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><br /><br />Important to the story, whenever Pop K & Nan K had a fight, Pop K would go to his shed, sit there drinking beer, with his favourite pet Bantam rooster sitting on the bench. While hand feeding the bantam he’d bitch to it about Nan K. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">This bantam was a bastard of an animal. It ruled the backyard like Hitler. All us boys were scared of it, as was the dog, because it would lay in wait & ambush us.<br /><br />Picture this, a large backyard in Seaford (<st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Melbourne</st1:place></st1:city> beachside suburb, but a shit hole of a place), long path to the car port, big leaf vegies (pumpkins etc) on the left, tomatoes & the likes on the right. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">It was here that you were most at risk of being ambushed.<br /><br />Tired of the constant & unrelenting attacks a plan was hatched by the 3 eldest boys to scare the bantam into submission. The plan required the youngest brother to be sent down the path as a decoy. Again, much, MUCH coaxing was required. You know, it would have been so much easier for us if he just did as he was fucken told & not argue all the bloody time. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">We (the 3 eldest) then armed ourselves to the teeth with projectiles (stones, dirt bombs etc), and as planned the bantam attacks! Young brother was off & running in first place, bantam in a close second, projectiles flying, (young brother received some "friendly fire" damage), with some missing the designated target, some hitting. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">We adopted the very much used US Army "pray/spray" mentality of warfare. And again, the 3 brothers had already discussed this plan & it was a risk we were willing for him to take.<br /><br />Suddenly, second brother lets fly with a pearler (great) throw, nailing (hitting) the bantam in the back of the head. The bantam slumps forward, skids along the ground & comes to rest; face down; it’s wings spread, totally motionless & unmoving. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Our focus now moves from the bantam & our peripheral vision expands. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">We all start to take in the scene & carnage around the same time. Feathers slowly fluttering down from the heavens, dirt, dust, stones all around the yard, as it unfolds we all realise that a). Pops favourite bantam is dead, b). Black feathers are ALL over the yard & c). When Pop finds out, we’re all dead!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">We decide to clean the yard up PRONTO. As for the missing bantam, we are adopting Sargent Schultz’s (from Hogan’s Heros) response to questioning. That is “We know nothing, NOTHING!”. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">If further questioned, “It must have just escaped”!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">With our plan hatched, a place at the very back corner of the yard, where nothing ever grew, was selected as the burial site, a shovel was taken from the shed, and a hole was dug, DEEP! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">The bantam was picked up on the shovel, carried carefully as far away from you as possible (as if it was going to explode any second), and then the lifeless body dropped unceremoniously into the hole.<br /><br />A second shovel load of dirt was dropped on the poor departed bird when suddenly it jumped up out of the hole, screeching, flapping it's wings & attacks! <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Second youngest brother screams </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">"ZOMBIE CHICKEN, ZOMBIE CHICKEN" </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">and the now revitalised & very pissed off bird attacked the 4 boys, and dog. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Picture this, 4 boys, 1 large dog, all in real fear of their lives, running full bore towards the back door, one screaming “ZOMBIE CHICKEN, ZOMBIE CHICKEN” with the bird hard on our arses.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Pop on hearing the commotion, </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">opens the door just in time to be mowed down by the fearful 5.<br /><br />Pop, now laying flat on his back, looks up between his feet, to see the bird, the feathers, the carnage. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Demanding to know what has happened. Your’s truly, seizing the opportunity to save his & his furry brother’s lives, yells, "Mr Jones' cat attacked the bantam". <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Mr Jones, also a pisshead, disliked my Pop as much as Pop disliked him. So next thing Pop & Mr Jones are in a full blown punch up over what was latter to be referred to as “That fucken cat & That bloody bird debacle” by the boys anyway. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><br /><br />On a much needed positive side, we boys were saved from an absolute belting & Mr Jones & Pop were able to maintain their "normal" relationship.<br /><br />Several weeks later the </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">ZOMBIE CHICKEN </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">passed in an unfortunate accident. 2nd Youngest brother (Zombie Chicken boy) was in a hurry to get the "good seat" in the car for the trip to the beach (the seat between Nanna & Poppa) and was therefore desperate to get to the car to claim it.<br /><br /></span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">ZOMBIE CHICKEN </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">true to form, attacked & chased the poor lad, he dived into the back seat of the car (because that was the door that was open) and slammed it shut. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">ZOMBIE CHICKEN was 50/50, (half in & half out) so on the back floor of the car we have a chicken head trying to peck little brother, a headless body doing laps of the car & a 6 year old on the parcel shelf of a car, trying to get out via the rear windscreen, screaming </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">"ZOMBIE CHICKEN, ZOMBIE CHICKEN" </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">at the top of his lungs.<br /><br />So that's the story, I don't like it when animals are hurt, but ZOMBIE CHICKEN had it coming! </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><br /><br />Still don't know why brother #3 is in therapy. Maybe it is partly due to ZOMBIE CHICKEN; maybe it was when I ran him over with a motorbike & sidecar. </span><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;">Ahhhh that's another story.<br /><br />Have a great day<br />Furry<br /></span>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-77900152864264666702007-09-10T18:09:00.000-07:002008-12-09T04:59:52.458-08:00G/day!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RuXuDQNQP2I/AAAAAAAAAFg/jxYBhjd5FEg/s1600-h/Furry.bmp.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108751091979272034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZCFSRhYyZ_g/RuXuDQNQP2I/AAAAAAAAAFg/jxYBhjd5FEg/s320/Furry.bmp.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I’m a Furry. Even my nickname is “Furry”. What am I? I’d like to think that I’m a “normal” bloke (Aussie male at least). You know the type, and I refuse to believe that we (Furrys) only live in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Australia</st1:place></st1:country-region>. <?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I believe we can be found worldwide. You know the type of bloke I’m talking about. You see us around BBQ’s in summer. T-shirts, shorts, thongs, a stubby, (small bottle) of beer. We love cooking dead meat over a fire; we love poking it with a stick while it cooks.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Furrys? Come on, you know us! We’re the ones laughing loudly, telling a yarn (story), hands in the air, exaggerated movements, laughing & joking. We hang shit on (tease) our mates (friends). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">We are the type of blokes that when you pull their finger, we fart, and we always find this hysterical. We’re the sorts of blokes’ kids flock to, they listen eagerly to our stories. They embrace our humour. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">We’re the keepers of “history” and the storytellers of the tribe. We’re the blokes you find kicking a footy (football) or throwing a ball, out in the front yard with the kids. We are the ones who fake a huge tackle on a little “bloke”, and when he evades, goals, scores or touches down.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">We, Furry’s, are the sorts of blokes that the upper crust looks down on. We hear them say, “They’re rough & crass, they’re loud and uncouth, they’re not well spoken or educated, they’re “beneath us”.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">We really don’t give a fuck, we’re the ones they call so they don’t dirty their hands, or break a nail, or when the shit hits the fan. We don’t really care what they think, we have a “warrior mentality” and we see them as below us. Actually, there isn’t many people who’s view really means much to us.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">What do Furry’s do for a job? All sorts of things really. We are Tradies, (Plumbers, Builders, Electricians). We are Coppers, Ambos, Fireys (Police, Ambulance or Fire Fighters). We are Grunts, (in the Armed Forces, Army, Navy, Air force). We are Miners. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">We can also be graceful enough to hold down “a Highly Professional” career. We may act dumb, be warned, it’s a cover. We hide lots of things behind our big, simple, even gruff exteriors.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Furry’s like all forms of racing, “The Nags” or “Hayburners (horses), “The Dogs” (Greyhounds), Cars (Formula Ones, V8’s, Rally, whatever), “Bikes” (Motorbikes, Formula One, Super bikes, Motocross, again whatever). We love cricket or football, or soccer, or gridiron, or baseball. We love contact sports. We like hockey, we like almost any sport imaginable. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">The only two sports thing we want to change is Synchronised Swimming & Skeet Shooting.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">We’d like shark fishing introduced to the sporting arena, run in conjunction with Synchronised Swimming. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Even better, Skeet shooting & Wavewasting (Jet Skiing). If I close my eyes, I can imagine it now, the “WHA WHA WHA” of the Wavewaster bouncing over waves & “PULL” BOOM!!! Of the shooter. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Ahhhhh to dream, one less fuckwit I’ve gotta share the bay with.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Anyway back to it, my wife tells me that being a Furry isn’t just about wearing a mohair singelet, (ample body hair), it’s a complete package. She reckons Furry’s have a touch of the “ever so’s” about them. You know, “ever so naughty, or dangerous, or even, ever so dirty”. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">She reckons that we walk with confidence & ease. That our presence can be intimidating, (due to body shape, confidence, stance, posture). She reckons that you can see a Furry is confident in his skin. That they have accepted who they are, where they’ve been and their lot in life.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">I don’t see it myself. I think we are just “Blokes”. I see us as what a bloke is meant to be. We are the hunter/gatherers of a tribe. We don’t think anything about grabbing a club, racing up behind a Dinosaur, and giving the bastard a fair smack to the back of the head, repeatedly if need be. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">Again, we aren’t stupid, after a couple of decent smacks to the head, if Dino the Dinosaur hasn’t fallen down pissing blood from his ears, we are smart enough to know he’s about to turn around really pissed at us. We then evoke option two, run, run fast.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';">We love a joke, a laugh, time spent with our loved ones. We are passionate with what we do, who we are & who we can be. We Furry’s are re-known for leaving our mark. We’ve left them on the world (in the form of craters, or huge impact scrapes). <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU" style="font-family:';font-size:12;"><span style="font-size:100%;">On those we love, (anything from hug bruises) from what my kids used to call “pop ya head off cuddles”. You know the ones, huge squeezy cuddles full of love. On those we aren’t so fond of, grazes. But for the most of it, we leave marks on people or the world that are unique, and positive.</span> <o:p></o:p></span></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-8954035391973581282007-08-22T18:03:00.001-07:002007-09-04T19:36:30.346-07:00Big Bangs Are Us<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="EN-AU">Big Bangs R Us – (ARMY) – </span></b><span lang="EN-AU">Joined the reserves while at<b> </b>Secondary Colleage. You see we were given a choice of doing sports, (Fencing, La Cross, Basketball) and being the late 70’s teenage skips (Aussies) thought all these sports were for “Pussies or Poofs”. The other option for us was to join the reserves, so me & my 4 mad mates wandered around to the local regiment & joined.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Now, we were the first in the school to take this path. So, no one knew exactly what was expected. Every time there were parent/teacher interviews, school concerts, productions we were “busy” doing ARMY stuff. We got away with murder, citing that if we didn’t go, we’d be court marshalled.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">AS IF!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">We then left school before the final exams, signed on fulltime in the AIF, and with our previous experience, accelerated through a variety of course. We eventually went into the RAR. 3’s in NSW where I got my “jump wings” & snipper training and later into the 2’s in Townsville in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Queensland</st1:place></st1:state>. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Clocked up a total of 6 years with the AIF, 2’s & 3’s before I left altogether. One of my mates passed away in the service, two went on into the SAS, (one later discharged after assaulting two Police Officers), and one off into the fairly newly created counter terrorism unit. The one who was originally in the SAS went to the Queensland Special Operations Group, the one in Counter Terrorism went to the SAS. The one that did time for assault, later got charged & jailed for growing dope hydroponiclly in the back of his workshop.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">I haven’t spoken to my remaining mates for some 20 years. The one dealing drugs was cut very early in the piece, the others, we just drifted away.</span></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-27726261919442602542007-08-22T18:02:00.001-07:002007-08-22T18:02:42.260-07:00Me Bruffa's<p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span lang="EN-AU">My Brothers</span></b><span lang="EN-AU"> – As mentioned earlier, there were 4 boys in the family. I was the eldest, and then came Kevin, (who was born deaf), Garry & Geoff, (a 5, 7 & 7 year gap respectively). As the eldest, when ever they fucked up, it was my fault. That’s the down side of being the eldest I suppose.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">We were a typical bunch of boys, hated each other at times, fought like cat & dog, but if someone else took on a brother, then they took on us all.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">We did some horrific things to each other, run over one or another with bikes, cars, whatever. Shot at each other with air rifles, tried to blow each other up, threw the youngest off the garage roof, (to see if he could fly), and all sorts of horrid things. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">The youngest, Geoff, was always used to solve arguments. Things like, “see, I told you. Even though he’s light, he can’t fly!” As he lay bloody & crumpled on the concrete below.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Wonder why he’s still in therapy?</span></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-58082929751360616712007-08-22T18:00:00.000-07:002007-08-22T18:01:30.184-07:00The Parents.<p class="MsoNormal"><b style=""><span lang="EN-AU">My Parents – </span></b><span lang="EN-AU">Probably the best way to describe them was “different” to the norm. They owned a Motorcycle shop, and instead of a teething ring, I’d gnaw on a front knobbie tyre. Both Mum & Dad raced bikes, and in the early 70’s Mum piloted one of the most “nastiest” pieces of motorcycle ever made. The much feared 750cc Kawasaki Mach III. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">They raced 250’s, 500’s, 750’s and later 900’s. It wasn’t unusual for the family to turn up at a race meeting with anything up to 10 bikes on a tandem trailer. My brothers & I would have a selection of TM’s (Suzuki motor cross/ mini bikes) that we’d ride around the pits & surrounding area.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Here’s a classic example of my parents “slightly different” parenting style. One year, for Christmas all four boys were given air rifles. The ages were 5, 7, 9 & 14 years old. So, you don’t think that was not a recipe for disaster?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Another example of a wonderful parenting decision. We had land up at Dargo. My father decided that my youngest brother, at 6, was too young to have a .22 Rifle, (it was OK for the 8 & 10 yo, and a .22 magnum for a 15 yo), so restricted him to a compound crossbow.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">So yeah, they were a little left of centre, and not exactly what you’d call “normal”. In their defense, with 4 boys, who would be “normal”?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">They did their best, with the skill sets and past experiences they’d acquired along the way. I need to remind myself, every child reckons their parents did a shit job.</span></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-8673705938636793942007-08-22T17:59:00.001-07:002007-09-26T19:40:42.898-07:00Nanny L<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="EN-AU">Nanna L</span></b><span lang="EN-AU"> – was of course Poppa L’s wife. She was a bit of a snob, always immaculately presented, always proper. She was a very intolerant person, and we (Lainie & I) never really got to warm to her. We always felt an arms distance away.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Every time we went on an adventure with Poppy, she had a migraine. I thought for years & years she was just playing on a sickness, but when she died of a brain tumour, I wonder.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Whenever we were over she spent a lot of her time locked away in a dark, almost blackened, bedroom. She passed away before Poppa L, and he faded quickly after.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-88841097448887745342007-08-22T17:57:00.000-07:002007-09-26T19:41:08.776-07:00Poppy L<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span lang="EN-AU">Poppa L</span></b><span lang="EN-AU"> – Poppa L was a/the major influence in my early life. He was a nuggetty little bastard, only about 5’5” or 5”6” tall, wiry, but strong as a bull. Prior to the Second World War, during the Depression he made money (got by) by competing in wood chopping comps, fighting in the tents & baking. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">The fighting tents had a prize (purse) that increased in value as new fighters entered the ring. A pound was put into a hat, and the last fighter standing at the nights end, got the purse. 20 to 30 pounds could be up for grabs in a night, so it was a much sort after prize during the tight times.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Poppa L, being a shortish bloke, he was always introduced as an “easy beat”, early into the night’s proceedings. He was used by the promoters to lure much large opponents into the ring. It wasn’t unusual for Poppa L to be involved in 20 odd fights in a night, and still walk away with the purse. (He was also paid a shilling a fight by the organisers).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Maybe they didn’t mention the fact he was a Victorian Junior Golden Gloves 3 years in a row during his younger years. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">He further supplemented his income shooting bunnies (rabbits) & selling them cleaned & gutted to people around his neighbour hood.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">During the Second World War he was a soldier, and was highly decorated. I’d wear his medals to Kindergarten or Primary School on Remembrance Day. I told him when I got older; I would join the ARMY & get lots of medals too. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">He told me that medals were to remind people how silly they’d been.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">He served almost the entire war, firstly in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 /><st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">New Guinea</st1:country-region></st1:place>, then with the “Rats of Tubruk”. He spoke very little of the war, of his experiences, even of his feelings. He didn’t attend the RSL (Returned Serviceman’s League), because he felt it glorified the war too much. I think that personally, there were too many reminders for him on the walls.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">He also never attended a Dawn Service, an ANZAC march, or the after celebrations. If I recall correctly, he was always quite sombre on those days.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">After he returned from the War, he was one of the founding members who got ASIO up & running. He received his Commission when I was about 3 years old & eventually left the Armed Services/Government sector. His final job was with “The Age” newspaper in some sort of Maintenance position, (I think).</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">He was, the best Poppa anyone could want. He looked after (adored) both my cousin (Lainie) & I when we were children. He was always taking us on picnics, adventures, outings. Everyday with Poppa L was a learning experience, but better than that, every day was fun.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">He taught me how to shoot. He was very much of the old school. No pray & spray, but one timely shot. Quick, clean, fast. He used to say, “Shoot only what you need for today, and make every shot “clean”. You owe it to the animal”.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">We’d go out shooting together, regularly. Poppa taught me how to track, what signs to look for, where animals gather, why they gathered, and, how to shoot. First with the old open sights, then with telescopic sights. What he taught me put me in good steed for when I joined “Big Bangs R Us”, (the ARMY)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">I was the black sheep of the family, and in late childhood/early teens he was about the only person who looked out for me. When my Poppa L passed, my life & interaction within the family unit altered dramatically. With my support base gone, I was a lamb to the slaughter. That’s all I want to say about that.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">He also made the best cream sponges & lemon meringue pies EVER!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-AU">Ta Poppa.</span></p>Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6845078229327550832.post-16917095669884751932007-08-21T15:05:00.000-07:002007-08-21T15:06:03.235-07:00What to do if you think you've got/are a Furry??Post you Furry stories here in our guest book, and if we think you or your Furry make the grade, we'll post them here!!!purple goddesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05205284829507903435noreply@blogger.com0