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.

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.

How to Future Proof Your Life

From age 13, wear sunscreen daily, forever. Start younger if you can. YES in winter too, the sun still rises doesn’t it? I can already hear a few idiots thinking “But the sun isn’t damaging in winter!” Newsflash: The sun is the same sun ALL YEAR.

From age 15, make sure at school you do subjects that might count later, like chemistry or something. Sure, theatre sports and abstract macaroni art are easy and you’ll definitely pass, but then you are doomed to go on to get a Bachelor of Arts, which is useless. If you like ditching school, do it, but still come to school on test days. Redirect your family phone to your mobile to intercept those pesky phone calls from the school.

Woo! Look at me now!

This could be you

From age 17, resolve to stop drinking fruit juice, especially if your mother/father is fat. Juice is just sugar with an easy delivery system, ditto with soft drinks. If you have chosen your university/TAFE courses by now, please realise that you will probably change this at least once in the next few years, unless you are Asian, in which case, ask your parents.

From age 19, don’t do too much work experience (i.e work for free) unless you are a masochist. It’s better to get a low paying job in your field, that way, they can promote you. No one ever gets promoted from “Butt Monkey”.

Random dating advice for the next 5 years: For guys, if your girlfriend cries every time you make plans with your friends, get rid of her. For girls, if your boyfriend lives with his parents or has a muscle car, get rid of him. Neither should ever date a person with a moustache, or two first names.

From age 21, if you haven’t travelled to many places yet, do it now. You can always come back to this, but you won’t have as much fun and when you are older, you’ll constantly be worried about getting time off work. If you already have a child by this age, consider it a failure on your part. Make friends with older people who are successful in the area you want to be in, like begets like. Just don’t be friends with assholes.

From age 25, you should have an ok job and maybe an idea of what you want to do when ‘you grow up’. If you don’t, PANIC NOW. Just kidding, although this is the age where I started drinking and working more. Depending on the economy, you may have to work two jobs if you want to live by yourself, and that’s just renting. It’s a good idea to get some sort of financial education at this age or even earlier, because pretty soon you will realise that the ‘work for someone else = money’ equation does not stack up. Most people that I have encountered have completely forgotten any sort of math they learned in school at this point.. Start your own business, or if you are happy with anonymous work, get a job that you don’t ever have to think about once at home. Ladies, if you have any appearance issues now, invest in fixing/preventing them, they will get worse with every year. Gentlemen, if you are getting hairier/less hairy/fat/creepy/ please seek help. Anyone who points out these things to you should be destroyed, however.

Random tip: Drink water all the time. Really.

From age 30, if you haven’t done any of the above, you may now be spiralling out of control in a job you hate with less money than when you were 19. If this is true, try to avoid the pharmaceuticals and instead just get out more. Try to enjoy something, anything – once you do, you will find that you can think clearly about other things. I like to keep busy by compiling a list of companies that have wronged me, then once a week I call or email them to complain. If you get no replies, and they go into the ‘red zone’ you then have a hearty killing spree list for when you snap in about 4 years.

Well, I haven’t gone past here myself, but looking at the ‘elderly’ around Perth, I’d say, don’t live in a suburb that has more than 3% state housing, don’t shop at malls, and don’t give money to the homeless – all of these things will confuse and anger you.

What is retardation in these times?

Sorry, we’re calling it ‘special’ now aren’t we? Which is retarded in itself, because when I was a kid, the word ‘special’ had connotations of something good, a present, a surprise or something; never would I have imagined that it was used to describe a drooler that can’t read.

tards - you probably ARE oneNow, don’t get me wrong, I know I’m being ‘politically incorrect’ and I don’t care. I am that insensitive. I am also talking about people who DON’T have organics brain malformations or a hereditary disease, or even those with mums that are so old, they shouldn’t have had babies in the first place.

I am talking about the losers (yeah, “loser” NOT “looser” FFS) that walk around with their mouths open, and the jerks who stop dead still in doorways and at the tops of stairs. These people like to think of themselves as educated, productive parts of society, which is why I’m at a loss as to why they are so retarded. You know the ones, they walk around like zombies, bumping into things, flailing their arms around and get into queues at the shopping centre and just clump there, instead of forming an orderly line. If there was a fire alarm, you can be sure they’d wedge themselves in the doorway and just burn to death.

Slack Jawed Yokel Gets What is Coming

Image by The Oatmeal

I think these imbeciles just walked out of school and promptly erased their brains of common sense. Which is a pity, so many of them seem to get by, fooling the norms out there with no observation skills.

Listen Lady’s Solution:

Random pop quizzes. That’s right folks, I want there to be some sort of IQ pop quizzes, sort of like random breath testing for booze. The topics can be far reaching, and just general, like spelling, or the name of the current leader of the country they live in… It’s not rocket science, people.

Lofty Dreams – You Wiley Nutcase

Most of us have lofty dreams, the ones we thought up as a kid (Boy, you sure stuffed up on that one, adult me) and the ones our more mature minds have decided upon. I actually think the ones I think up now, day to day, are more outrageous than the ones I thought about as a child. I mean, as a kid – dreams were meant to be about your career (because that’s how you answer the most common question in the world; what do you do?) or who you’d marry. As an adult, dreams are about who you would smite if you had absolute power or how many boats and private islands you’d buy if you were super-rich.

No wine and no TV make listen lady..something..somethingWhen I was in school, maybe grade 3 or 4 I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. I replied “Mad Scientist”. I don’t know why I thought the “Mad” tag was a good idea; maybe I’d been watching too much James Bond or Inspector Gadget. If you take away the prefix, being a scientist wasn’t that bad a dream. It’s easily achievable, comes with a certain measure of respect and probable steady employment opportunities.

So anyway, I grew up and tried a circus of careers. They all totally worked out; I just got bored of them quickly. I even enrolled in a chemistry degree, only to quit a year later because of financial difficulty. Recently, I have figured out something that I should have thought of years ago.

Life is easy, but I suck. You do too, probably. Now there is only one sure fire way for me to become a rich, popular, successful, smart, good-looking woman with god like powers: I have to become insane. That’s right – my young self was partially right, just remove the “Scientist” bit.

I don’t want to be one of the marauding insane, like a homeless person. I want to be one of those cushy padded cell types, like in Terminator 2, but without the abuse. I can finally do all the things I want, and it’s all in my head, so it’s all totally safe. I hated the Matrix, but with a few tweaks, that whole living in a pod idea has merit, if you can program what your life will be like yourself.

No work, no obligations hurrah! It’s like retirement but you aren’t old and incontinent! Why, today I think I’ll go out on the water in my luxury speedboat, have a long lunch of lobster, stuffed with tacos, and then teleport over to Europe for a spot of shopping. When I get back I shall go on an adventure of epic proportions and smite my enemies with my awesome power.

So that’s why if I had three wishes, I’d only need one: I wish I was insane!! That won’t backfire at all.