No Salad, You. I Deride Your Dinner Making Ability

Hey, do you eat salad? I bet you do, but I bet you hate it. Yes you do! I’m utterly convinced people only eat the stuff because it’s by far the easiest ‘healthy’ thing anyone can think of. As Homer Simpson said, ‘You don’t make friends with salad’ – it’s something to live by. Let’s have a look at what salad IS.

It’s raw vegetables. This, right away should tell you to steer clear. I eat vegetables, and sometimes raw ones, but we have so many amazing cooking techniques available to us, that an entire bowl of this stuff seems like overkill. Some extremists would have you believe that they grow these things in their yard. I get it, you want us to think you are better than us store bought salad people. I tell you – it’s hard work taking care of one potted plant, let alone a variety of edible ones that need constant care.

The texture is another thing I can’t deal with. Stupid lettuce leaves squealing over my teeth in an apparent attempt to re-create the chalkboard sound, right in my mouth. Mealy tomatoes that looked good yesterday, but nothing can be done to them today to make them palatable. Salad dressing that’s so incredibly boring that it’s worth trying BBQ sauce instead. Nuts and cheese that sink to the bottom so that you don’t even fucking know that they are there til you finish all the boring shit first, and then of course you are just shoveling cheese and oil into your mouth which is what will be stuck to your face all day long. Even the so-called ‘exciting’ additives of a salad like avocado, and corn chips can’t save it.

Now, I know there are ‘salads’ with meat in them, bacon even. But like me, you probably pick the good bits out and eat them first. Then sit there sadly toying with whatever caustic leaves are left over.

What about these crazies who order salads in restaurants? I mean, you finally tear your boring ass away from staring at a) The Wall, b) Your annoying kid, c) Your annoying partner, or d) Your toenails; and you go to a moderate to fancy place where you have to wear shoes and everything, and you ORDER A SALAD. I can’t be friends with you, unless you supplement that with something fried, like a water buffalo or a Chrysler.

You may whine that you are on a special diet, or are allergic to something that you have been eating for many years until your favourite reality star said she was allergic to it (fake, fake, FAKE) but to you, I say. Die. If you can’t eat normal foods and insist on making me listen to your pseudoscience about why it’s ‘healthier’ to avoid everything but green lentils and quinoa, then I just don’t think that you are meant to be here. What if, on Dec 21st this year, the apocalypse happens, and the next day, all there is to eat is charred Koala meat and leftover white bread? What then? Can the normal survivors kill and eat you, or will you change your mind and eat the fluffy little sucker?

If you do change your mind and partake of the random assortment of native Australian animals, and baked goods, then by god you better get sick from it. Otherwise we were all right to call bullshit on your acquired diet and beat you to death with a lettuce.

Martian Law!!

With everyone talking incessantly about Mars, I thought I’d start a comic called “Martian Law!!!”

I was drinking some ‘conversation juice’ the other night, watching a bad cop show when I had the best idea ever. A cop show, set on Mars, called Martian Law.

I bet you didn’t see that coming.

Public Transport Blues

I catch public transport to work, and I have noticed a distinct class system in the sample of passengers that I encounter. I tend to make pithy snap judgements that make me feel superior, and I sneer or smile to myself behind my expensive sunglasses, where no one can tell where I am looking.

When I first get on the bus in the morning, it is filled with professional types; all wearing what I call ‘normal’ clothes. Men in suits, women in shift dresses or pants and a cool top. We are all carrying gym bags or lunch bags, and are silent. Completely silent; which is my preference on public transport. This portion of the ride is no problem.

A few blocks down the route, a few deadheads get on. I can only assume that they have spent the night in Kings Park, by both their smell, and clothing choice. “F%^# youu ccuuuuuuu%#” they say to each other, repeatedly. For no reason. They politely tell other passengers that they will ‘kick their teeth in’ if any ‘homos’ touch them. I’m yet to see this, which is insane, seeing as by this stage the bus is so busy, everyone is getting friendly. These guys don’t get on too often, and sometimes, I don’t see them for a week or so. They must sleep through the alarm.

A quick clean and off we goNow that I’m all fired up from that display of a waste of existence, I get to transfer to a bus that goes past Centrelink. So.. You can see that before I even get to work, I’m upset.
The amount of deadbeats that don’t even know if they should be on this bus is electrifying – they hold up the driver, asking question after stupid question; when all they had to do is read the sign next to the stop. Or just remember from the last damn time they got on.

The best example of lower-middle class judgement I dish out, is over payment. If someone gets on, and doesn’t use a Smartrider; I super roll my eyes and mouth “F*&%ing LOSER”. I mean, who carries CHANGE any more? This tends to hold up the trip by about 1 minute per loser. Although it’s much worse when a drunken dole bludging family hops on, and simply refuse to pay, stating that “Ahm gunna cennerlink” as the replacement for paying for a ticket. The amount of prams is almost criminal. If you have 5 babies with you, why get on a bus? You’d think, by the (un)sanitary conditions of these kids, leaving them at home to fend for themselves is a better idea. But, no – let’s inflict them on paying bus users, and go and collect your dole payment/child support with absolutely no intention of either getting a job, or using contraception.

Listen Lady Solution:
See image. But, make sure I’m not on the bus.

The Circle Of Lying

Now, everybody lies. I know it, and you know it – but I find it very funny when you overhear someone lying, rather obviously, so obviously that the person being lied to also knows it, but they are not in a position to point it out.

This phenomenon can be seen in action in a job interview. The best bit about a job interview is that both parties are lying through their teeth, as usually both are desperate. One of them to get a job, and the other to replace the dead-shit that just left without notice. My office recently had a round of interviews to hire a newbie, not to replace someone per se, but because of expansion. What actually happened would have been hilarious if it wasn’t so odd. You see; my boss and his lap dog act like insane robots, or like aliens vaguely trying to pass themselves off as human.

First there was the discussion of what the ad should be like.

Lap Dog: OK, we have to write this in a way that will only attract people that are like us.
Boss: Yes, I read a book once about office socialising; apparently it’s important for … blah blah blah.

He didn’t say ‘Blah Blah’ but the one sided conversation filled with psychological inaccuracies went on earnestly for about 20 minutes.

Then, of course the first resumes came in.

Boss: This guy has a Russian name; I don’t think we should hire someone from Russia.
Lap Dog: But we might get to pay him less. (Grinch-like grimace)
Boss (On phone to accused Russian): So I’m calling to ask you why you applied for this position if you are Russian…..Oh you live in Perth now? But why is all your experience from Russia?…. You just moved here? How did you get here so fast, your last job only ended two months ago?

Etc. There was no talk of an interview, just ten minutes of weird questioning. When the interviewees were finally invited in is when the fun began.

Boss: Now remember, when they get here, to smile and pretend to be nice.


When the first young man arrived, he was super enthusiastic, and the Boss and his Lap Dog responded in kind, making my colleagues and I feel sick. He widened his eyes to a comical size, in an effort to simulate a ‘smize’; what Tyra Banks calls a smile that reaches your eyes, in other words, genuine. Neither the Boss nor the Lap Dog has ever been seen doing this naturally, so you can imagine my distress.

From the closed door, I could hear buzzwords and such lies as ‘flexi-time’ and ‘work-life balance’ and ‘teamwork’. It sounded like a nice place to work; I wondered what the Boss was talking about. The Lap Dog chimed in a few times to impress upon the young man that we were a company devoted to keeping ahead of technology, and the Boss almost had an orgasm as he described a piece of software he is proud to use, one that no one else does ( one which doesn’t work, but hey, at least it’s new).

When this young man wasn’t good enough (Lap Dog: I think he’s a Gay?) the gruesome twosome regrouped to formulate a better strategy. The next few interviews were spent asking weird personal questions, veiled as innocent chit chat.

Boss: So, thanks for coming in, are you married?

The poor interviewees probably didn’t see it coming, because when you are looking for a job, you can rarely see past the salary package and the frequent mentioning of ‘flexi-time’. In an effort to gain these things, they too will lie.

Interviewee: Of course I speak fluent French. I also want to learn Suomi so that I can holiday in the far European North. I find that languages really help in this industry.

Interviewee 2: I certainly don’t mind coming in early, I like to throw myself into work so that I can better know the business better.

Interviewee 3: I’ll definitely stay for two years minimum.

Interviewee 4: I used to work for the Space agency, so I’m sure that I’ll already know how your network works.

This is why that most workplaces are filled with people who can’t do the job properly, or can and hate it. The moral to this story, is to be yourself.. but a better one is to never work.

Xmas? No thanks, I’ve already had a breakdown this year.

I hate conversations this time of year. With anyone. You know how it goes; “Ooh, what are YOU doing for Xtmas?” “Something boring, what are YOU doing for Xmas?”


And the same reply, year after year, person after person: “Oh.. you know.. just some family stuff.. maybe see some friends… have a few drinks to celebrate, haw haw.”


Sad Cat is Xmas SadTell it like it is, you self righteous jerks! We all know that it is the time of year to mindlessly spend money on people, 90% of which you couldn’t care less about. Think about all the Secret Santas, the extended family you have to email around about to get the correct names for, the family member that only shows up because there is free food and booze. The list goes on. What about your real family? The ones you actually spend time with during the year? Why is it time to shove them off to their respective nightmares only to enter one yourself, voluntarily?

If you walk past a door with screams coming from the other side, would you, in your right mind, enter? That is what Xmas lunch/dinner becomes. It starts off like a teen horror movie; everyone looks pretty, everyone has the best of intentions, and then, BAM. Here’s a serial killer. Well, maybe not literally, but it’s a screaming mess of the past, present and future there to bite you in the ass.

I like the Costanza way. Festivus; for the rest of us. I especially like the feats of strength physical challenge. Who doesn’t want to end the year punching someone in the face?

Ok ok, I can see that OBVIOUSLY I don’t get the “Holiday Spirit’ or whatever. But is it too much to ask that people just refrain from being douchebags just a little bit, throughout the year, instead of concentrating all the cheer on one day? An entire day of cheer is un-natural at best.

I say, if you don’t know/have any kids to buy dangerous toys for, then Xmas is no place for you. It’s basically a day to mess with the mental wellbeing of children, convincing them of an imaginary friend in a weird red and white suit, while simultaneously telling them that the voice in their head that makes them eat dirt is WRONG.


Of course, it’s always good if you get a good present. From someone you aren’t hiding from. But then what if your present to them isn’t as good? Then, they’ll just bide their time, waiting to get you a foot spa for your birthday. The one present that everyone hates.

I do like the time off though, and the after drinks drinks, and the cheer.

..Wait. 🙂