Saturday, June 1, 2013


Back in the bad old days slaves were required to wear distinctive clothing so that any slave stepping out of line would be dealt with, with minimal fuss, immediately.

I don’t know what clothing the slaves in the other states of this failed democracy are required to wear but up here in queensland the slaves seem to be divided up into various classes.

The senior slaves (the trustees) seem mostly to wear dungarees with an orange shirt or jacket.
Sometimes the sleeves and trouser legs on the rig of the more important ones have these retroflective stripes.

The REALLY important ones get to wear a hard-hat and a dicky little vest that they may readily di-vest when they nip off to an important meeting or down to the pub.

The lower deck seem to wear a paler shade of lemon yellow or pale green and like with the armed forces the retroflective bands and bits are usually narrower and of a lesser quality.

Amazingly enough, there even seems to be an incredible number of ‘wannabes’ lurking the streets all hours of the day and night.

It has reached the stage that about two thirds of the male loiterers in our shopping centres are dressed (at least from neck to what passes for their waist) in some daggy, jack-cheap, canary coloured, polyester confection.

Frankly the illusion is utterly blown from beergut down with their daggy shorts and those rubber thongs on their gnarly feet.

I suppose, though, that it is a generational thing.
A generation ago their fathers used to nip down to the pub  at the crack of 10am resplendent in their string singlets, crosschecked Bermuda shorts, and those same toe jam blackened rubber thongs they’d graciously passed down to their favourite sons.

Okay. Only an observation.
But I notice the only women stupid enough to fall for this game are the likes of our female ‘politicians’.
But of course, they were those instrumental in writing up these stupid regulations in the first place.

Hell yes.
The brightest coloured parrots still get creamed by vehicles.
They still fly headfirst into plate glass windows and the odd tree.
And meanwhile so do our similarly pea-brained underclass.

All of which takes this person back to around about 1980 – writing a paper to the Australian association of surgeons about their intention to pull the same stunt with certain vehicles and their operators.
You guessed it fellas.
Which riders would have to wear all that crap that the slaves and wannabes are wearing now.

And Q-switched brakelights and God only knows what other crap by the time they’d finished gaining their ‘funding’(always about ‘funding’, isn’t it.)

So when I humbly asserted that children and rock falls, potholes in the road, balls bouncing across the street and Christ know’s only what else would somehow have to be somehow predicted, designated, then illuminated,  immediately discombooberated; then legislated against.
When I mentioned that THEY might have to pitch in and cover some of the massive expense themselves – was when they dropped their smartarsed game.

Maybe in Beattie’s/Bligh’s queensland they found a softer target  - and bags of funding.
This world is full of shiteheels and dupes.

Trouble is the dupes vastly outnumber the shiteheels – which does tend to make a complete mockers of trying to operate a reasoned, sensible, reasonable, civil society

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