Tuesday, 30 June 2009

My first 'album'.

Just asked Jen on Twitter what her first album was as a result of this comment:

@havock21 On the radio this morning a guy was talking about his first vinyl record. He said " it was my most memorable 12 inches" and I DIED

If you need a yap or a laugh, join us ON Twitter. Twitter is why none of us update our blogs.

Anyway, on Xmas morning, 1980, I opened a pressie that contained my first 'album'. That year, as a family - (Parents, me, brother, and my sister) - ventured north from Dunedin, UnZud, aiming for Auckland.....driving the whole way. Two islands and a coupla thousand K's.

IT's funny, now that I think about it I can remember a WHOLE heap about that trip. The trip on the inter-island ferry, Wellington with the Beehive, and the reclining trees, Tawa - (where 'Lynn of' lives) - Taupo, Waioru - (the Army museum and UnZud's base for 'Basic Training') - mum screaming - literally - down the open top hydro slide at Taupo, Rotorua and the mud pools, geisers, buried town, HUGE trout, and the little candy fruit that came in the little wooden crates, and the smell of sulphur, then on to staying at 'whoevers' farm near Hamilton, then on to Auckland and so much more there. Those are some of my highlights, not including my first album that everybody HAD to listen too for the whole damn journey.

I was JUST 8, and the album - (in the form of a casette) - was The Magic of Boney M. - 20 Golden Hits. Loved it. 'Daddy Cool', 'Rasputin', and 'Ma Baker' were my standouts. I still know the words to 'By The River Of Babylon'.

What was yours, and what did it mean to you?.

Monday, 29 June 2009

I LOVE the smell of two-stroke in the morning.

Thinking about tackling this guy today.

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She's probably easily 50 feet long and half a meter thick. Probably about two years worth of fire wood in it. It had shallow roots as a result of the drought we had for 7 or 8 years then it pissed down. Over she went.

DO you think you can give the wood away?. Lazy fuckers. We won't use the wood as fire wood so am thinking about making shit out of it....or giving it a go, I should say. I'm not a good artist, but I'm good at copying stuff if I'm looking at it.

Thanks heaps for everyone's contributions to my previous waffle. Much appreciated.

Saturday, 27 June 2009

Obama and Palestinians.

I think it's important for the outside world to observe the region so as to avoid the Palestinians finding themselves wept out to sea and the Israeli's suddenly finding themselvs with lovely new digs on the coast and all sweeping the ground with their straw brooms looking at the camera going, "WHAT Palestinians?".

The ACTUAL inflence someone like Obama has on the region amounts to nothing more than propaganda. After Obama's speech - earlier this month? - in Cairo, some Palestinians love him for comparing them with the struggle of the African Americans . Israel is just going, "LOL Yeah, as if...he didn't say that...".

Can anyone tell me why the Israeli/Palestinian drama is SO important to America?. They've been endlessly offering pointless envoys to the region since Israel was created. The only way the region will fix is if fundamentalists from both sides stop being fundamental. Just WILL NOT happen.

Thursday, 25 June 2009

Edward Kranson Chap 1 Part 1

Twas getting a bit long. Thought I'd post it before NO ONE read it....or just DOC....anyway LOL

Chapter 1: The Hunt

I’m so fucking tempted to start my tale with “It was a day like any other...”, but it wasn’t, it was a day of awesomeness...then total shit.

Today was Friday. At the start of the week I had just bought a new rifle that I saved up for friggen months for. According to the missus it was just a fraction over $1000, with ammo. The reality written on the various receipts now tucked away in my safety deposit box in the city – where various other receipts reside away from the prying eyes and apocalyptic judgements of the Minister for War and Recreation – was just a fraction under $2500.

She was a fucken beauty tho; the rifle. I had done a lot of shooting when I was younger. Those trips through the Alps to various ranches and life styles acres were what gave me the love for the planet I have. You hunt for fun. That’s the truth. But you don’t kill for fun; or you shouldn’t. You do everything in your power to make the demise of your prey as swift as possible. During those years I used everything from .22’s to pump action shotguns and the occasional ‘sporterised’ ex-Chinese assault rifle. I loved the early mornings stomping through remote hillsides with the smell of total freshness and crispy grass. At certain times of the year that grass was crispy from the frost, or crispy from the dry. Either way you always felt privileged to be there. You know that these areas haven’t changed a bit since before people felt inspired to write the bible or the dinosaurs were in their death throes.
I missed that. It may sound odd to you, dear reader, depending on your hobbies of course, but without hunting in my life I felt like something was missing from me.

That morning I woke ten minutes before the alarm. I had sourced a farm to shoot at via a friend of a friend – you know the story – and had scouted out the area during the week previous. I knew there were varying assortments of introduced feral animals roaming the hills unaware of their inevitable demise.

I had packed the car the night previous and after a restless night I beat the alarm clock to the punch.

That moment is the moment you WISH you spent an eternity cherishing.

Her warmth...

...and that slight groan only they can make to acknowledge your presence by the slightest of kisses on her mostly unconscious body. Looking back you wished you had made love and told her how much the time you’d spent together meant to you. You wish you held her for five more minutes, or really, stayed and had gone with her. You wish you could’ve made her breakfast and watched her eat and all the time giving you mischievous smiles and taunts. You wish....

You just wish.

The reality of the situation is though, that if I had rubbed my morning boner in the crease of her arse wanting to get a quick one off before “running through the hills slaughtering innocent animals”, as she put it, I would’ve got a resounding, ‘Fuck off’. I was still ever so slightly still in the ‘dog house’ for blowing $1000 on a “stupid fucking gun”. If only she knew.

I kissed her on the cheek and told her I loved her and that’ll I’ll ring her when I was on my way home. An ever-so-sleepy “Okay, I love you too” is what I got back. I doubt if she even knew I had gone. It was 04:00 in the morning, after all.
Dodging dogs at that time of the morning in an effort to make your departure as quiet as possible is a near impossibility considering those little bastards are awake ‘at the drop of a hat’. I guess you get that for being able to sleep when all’s quiet, day or night. Of course their tails bang and crash and you scream at them in the quietest of 4am voices. I grabbed my keys, lunch, freshly charged video camera and left them all to it.

I had spent a couple of hours the night before skiting about the shoot ahead to my friends on Twitter. My last message was, “Nite all, see ya’s on the flip side suckers”, to which I got a scattering of “hope you forget your ammo”, “hope it rains you bastard”. I would take a monsoon to stop me. As for ammo, that’s something I’d remember before my own birthday.

While the car was warming in the cool pre-dawn air I sent my last Twitter message on my phone, “Enjoy work, mwahahah mwahahaha”. The time on Twitter would’ve registered at 04:10. They would’ve known. The journey ahead was only an hour. Dawn at this time of year was a bit after 06:00 so the sky would begin to lighten up just on my arrival with the sun wiping its bleary eyes on the horizon as I hiked into the hills.

Heading out of town I stopped at the service station to grab a pie. I knew the attendant only by my patronage and all he wanted to do after a long night of watching fuck all in the fore-court was discuss every article he had read in every magazine he flogged off the shelf and read front to back. The guilt of basically turning my back on him and waving bye after paying for the pie lasted mere moments. Within two minutes of pulling in to the service station, I was off again.

To be continued...

Wednesday, 24 June 2009

Transformers: Rolling on The Floor

Didn't look right so I looked it up. It's actually Revenge of The Fallen....but seen ROTF so many times I was waiting for Frodo to appear....or is that LOTR....ANYWAY....the movie.

So we establish Megan Fox is hot fairly early. Oh yeah, she's still hot. And still, and again yep, OH nice pout....cleavage....yeah.....arse......ok....cute smile, gotcha, rightio, cleavage again....ALRIGHT.....GET ON WITH THE FUCKEN MOVIE....Jesus.....and there's no nipples. This review lied to you ya.

700 billion trillion bucks on CGI is gonna max out the senses...and hearing. Too bad the plot is as deep as a foot wash, and in the action scenes you really have NO IDEA what the fuck is going on. I suggest just pashing till you see who's left standing.

Wait for the DVD. The ads at the start will give you the shits. Then it's 14 hours long.

10 on the explodey goodness scale...well, might make that an 8. I saw a preview for '2012'. That'll get a 10 for visual coolness.

7/10 as a movie.

Tuesday, 23 June 2009

Undemocratic Democracy

The Iranian stuff has got me thinking. How Democratic ARE WE?. I'm not an Australian citizen so I can't vote - (I'm a permanent resident on special visa in case it matters) - so anything I know about the Australian version of Democracy is based totally on heresay and half arsed attempts at research.


Lobes kindly pointed out the blank bit where other stuff was, was shit. He didn't comment on the below. Keep reading then...

The Australian 'Bill of Rights'

Ummm Nope.

"Even though Australia has signed all five international treaties that make up the the International Bill of Human Rights, none of these treaties are legally binding in Australia. Nor is there is a Bill of Rights in the Australian Constitution. This means that the fundamental rights and freedoms of everyone living in Australia are not protected by the law."

Crikey, streuth, and stone the crows I hear you all say. So how democratic IS Australia?.....and not caparatively. IF you're gonna compare it. Compare it against your idea of a democracy...

Monday, 22 June 2009

Terminator: ....Umm ..... Whatever It's Called.

Just got back from watching the latest Terminator at the flicks. Liked it; twas good.

Seriously though, why don't directors film as much as they need to film then sit down, watch it, and go "nah....that's shit house".

Two points.

1. The future Terminators have teeth, and a jaw. Why?. Wouldn't Skynet have refined them by then?. I get why Arnies did, why the ones in the future that exist only to kill?.

...and don't get me started on the one at the 'stock yards' with the bandanna on.

2. The 'motorbike' scene with JC - (only clicked with the link in the initials in THIS MOVIE. Fuck I'm slow) - on it. Hang on a mo. This thing is a ROBOT. Where's the throttle?.

Anyway, didn't ruin the movie for me. Great special FX and enjoyable crap going on. Another coming sometime in the future. Will look out for it. You'll get the most outta the special FX at the flicks, but if you've got a good tele wait till the DVD.


Sunday, 21 June 2009

Woolies Self Serve Checkout.

Our new supermarket opened a few months back and employed really no one from our town. GO figure.

ANYWAY, the thing I hate about those self serve checkouts is the staffer standing ready to pounce on ya when prove to her that you're totally fucken retarded in the head space by hearing that, "Oops HAHA YOU FUCKED UP" beep. KNEW it was gonna happen when I heard the beep. Of course, Commandant Check Out Chick comes over and says in the most condescending voice, "It's okay, it happens to everyone...".

I couldn't verbalise "Bitch, step away or i'll end your day now ".

...then the bags were melted together and I was having issues breaking them apart. Guess who rocks up.....I felt like ripping the rack off the wall and beating her with it.

Damn rain.

Saturday, 20 June 2009

Edward Kranson (prologue part 2)

I was gonna tag this bit on the start of the first chapter, but decided just to knock it over to start fresh on chapter one.

Edward Kranson: Prologue Part 2

I’ve been here sitting for some time trying to figure out the best place to start my story. Should I tell you about my family when I was young, my school holidays, should I cover the trouble I caused, and avoided, my first girlfriend; my last?.

Do you want to know?.

I guess, in part, it depends on why you’re reading this. I’m sure your story is similar to mine. I’m sure your family and friends disappeared just as mine did. I’m sure you have your own heartache and emotional tragedy. I’m positive you don’t need mine on your conscience, as well.

To be straight up and honest, dear reader, I’ll tell you now. I don’t have the answers. I don’t know why this happened. I don’t know how it happened. All I know is that everyone other than me disappeared one day....there is no more to the investigation than that.

It’s funny though, you never really stop wishing for answers. You look and look for some clues, or truth. I’m sure you’ve come a long way and understand fully what I’m saying. Your mind is always looking for ‘that thing’ to fill the blank. The single....big....blank. That shit is the killer.

I’m no sailor, nor pilot. Due to my location it seems a fraction silly to kill myself in an effort to try and be either. I don’t know for a fact that I’m alone on this planet. I just haven’t found, or seen, any evidence to the contrary. At the marina I have a boat. Not my boat, as such, but no one has come to claim it back. I wish they would. I use it for fishing and travelling up and down the coast searching....for anything, but I don’t have the skill, nor courage, to tackle international travel by yacht. I did get to the north end, and that story will come in due course. I’ve been tempted to give it a nudge by hugging the Asian coast line, but common sense got the better of me.

So anyway, dear reader...to my story. I only write this to share the information and knowledge I’ve gained from this experience in the hope that it helps you in your efforts and for you to know that you weren’t alone if I don’t get the chance to share my story with you myself. To be brutally honest with myself, this is mostly for the purpose for filling time. I’m bored fucken stupid. I don’t actually believe you exist but somewhere in some far off corner of my soul there is some sorta hope for mankind...or maybe that hope is more directed inwards. I idea of keeping myself alive, for nothing, is worse than the death of everyone to grasp. You’ll have to forgive my lack of storytelling skills though, I’m not trained as a writer and I’m a fraction rough around the edges. I’ve been dealing with this shit for quite a while now so you won’t get TOO much in the way of soppy shit. But I’m sure, given the circumstances, you don’t give a fuck.

To be continued.

Thursday, 18 June 2009

Edward Kranson

It’s a lot of work being me.

Is what Frankie Machianno thinks when his alarm goes off at 3:45 in the morning.

That’s the opening two lines of my favourite book. It’s not my favourite book because of Frankie Machianno. It’s my favourite book because of the author.

The author wrote in a style I hadn’t come across before. I recommend reading it if you ever come across it. Frankie was a cool dude who could cook, run a business, kill people, and fuck like he was making a Bolognese sauce – Inside joke, dear reader. That one’s between me and Frankie .

Reading those two lines makes me laugh inside now though. When I first read the book I agreed, it was a lot of work being him, but now, I’d trade places with Frankie Machianno in a heartbeat.

I guess he has one thing on me still. I don’t miss the alarm clock. Well, in some regards I do. An alarm clock creates meaning.....a purpose, if you will, to your existence. An alarm clock lets you know there’s a brand new day just been handed to you by God and you have to be somewhere and you had better get cracking.

I actually miss that sort of purpose. I guess I could go looking for an alarm clock. The problem is that early on in my story I found all the alarm clocks I could, put them in a pile, and turned them into a dust cloud with explosives. LOTS of explosives.

Phones were next.

Then a house.

I regret the house. I regretted turning that house into wood chips from the moment I saw the head of a little girl’s doll in the dirt. It wasn’t that nice of a house, and there was no one in it; I’m not a murderer. But it was someone’s house. You could tell they loved the house by how neat and tidy it was. How everything had a place and by how everything was in its place. The garden was just as orderly as the house, and I had taken their delicious vege’s. The lawn was manicured and trimmed, just so. The clothes on the line weren’t flash, but they were clean and cared for too. Their car wasn’t that nice, but it ran, and well. The interior was worn from years of use, but still, it smelt new.

I think that’s why I blew their house apart. And how I laughed.

“TAKE THAT YOU FUCKERS. NOT SUCH A TIDY HOUSE NOW.....IS IT...” I screamed as my ears rang from the concussion wave of the explosion. I kicked dirt, chucked debris, and laughed. Thinking of that moment makes me smile. I smile until I remember turning my back, walking a few steps away, then seeing the doll’s head laying in the dirt. It stopped me. It stopped me cold. I just stood, and stared. I stood and stared and then the tears started. I lay in the dirt and wept just like the little girl would have at the sight of her precious little doll all but vaporised for no other reason than fucking shits and giggles. I felt like such an arsehole for days, weeks even.

I guess, dear reader, you’re beginning to wonder what you’re reading. Who this psycho is stealing vege’s, blowing up houses, phones, and alarm clocks?. Who is this person weeping in the dirt over a doll’s head?. Where is the little girl that owned the doll, her parents, the police even...?

Well, dear reader, I’m fucked if I know.

I’ve spent a while trying to think of a story that sort of sums up who I am, where I am, and what I’m doing. One story that comes reasonably close might be Z For Zachariah. I read that at school. My English teacher at the time, Mrs Witty, a hot young 20 something who was born in my home town and who had moved to the States, got married, and came back to start a new chapter on her life had introduced me to short stories. Z For Zachariah - not so much a short story - is one that stood out.

The Sniper, was the best.

The question I ponder the most may clue you in to my situation.

‘If everyone other than yourself is nowhere to be found, are you lost?’

There are no piles of gelatine-esque sludge on the ground where mankind once stood. No Triffids, no freaky as fuck undead/diseased people murmuring “Braiiiinz” and trying to eat me. There is no nukes, nor biblical apocalyptic drowning from polar caps and such. No earthquakes, nor second comings.

There’s just me, and you, dear reader. Welcome to my story.

My name is Earl.

Inside joke again. My name is Edward Kranson.

Wednesday, 17 June 2009

On Tasers...

TOTALLY blows my mind that the Police would release THIS statement. Anywho, they did, and OFF it goes. They didn't even say what a 'cycle' is or even offer 'we are investigating a malfunction'. Mate, hand the guy a noose and get it over with....Jesus.

I find it hard to believe a 'year old' copper would would effectively torture someone to death for 28 'cycles' without intervention from others on the scene. TWENTY EIGHT....twitch your finger like you're pulling a trigger 28 times...

What is a 'cycle'. It seems a 'cycle' is a pull - charge - and release of the trigger. That could be a microsecond long and up to 3 days long...

How do Tasers work?:

When you pull the trigger of a Taser gun, a blast of compressed nitrogen launches its two barbed darts at 55 meters per second, less than a fifth the speed of a bullet from a typical pistol. Each projectile, which weighs 1.6 grams, has a 9-millimeter-long tip to penetrate clothing and the insulating outer layer of skin. Two whisper-thin wires trail behind for up to 9 meters, forming an electrical connection to the gun.


The X26--the model commonly used by police departments--delivers a peak voltage of 1200 V to the body. Once the barbs establish a circuit, the gun generates a series of 100-microsecond pulses at a rate of 19 per second. Each pulse carries 100 microcoulombs of charge, so the average current is 1.9 milliamperes. To force the muscles to contract without risking electrocution, the signal was designed to exploit the difference between heart muscle and skeletal muscle.


Skeletal muscle constitutes 40 percent of a typical person's mass and is responsible for making your biceps flex, your fingers type, and your eyelids wink. It's organized into bundles of single-cell fibers that stretch from tendons attached to your skeleton.


...opening nearby ion channels that are triggered by voltage instead of by acetylcholine. As a result, a wave of voltage rolls outward along the fiber toward both ends of the muscle, moving as fast as 5 meters per second. As the voltage pulse spreads, it kick-starts the molecular machinery that contracts the muscle fiber.

By directly jolting the motor nerves with electricity, a Taser can stimulate the muscle and get the same effect.


The force with which a skeletal muscle contracts depends on the frequency at which its nerve fires. The amount of contraction elicited is proportional to the stimulation rate, up to about 70 pulses per second. At that point, called tetanus, contractions can be dangerously strong. [...] The Taser, with its 19 pulses per second, operates far enough from the tetanus region so that the muscles contract continuously but without causing any major damage.


To see just how different skeletal and heart muscles are, let's look at what it takes to seriously upset a heart's rhythm. Basically, there are two ways: by using a relatively high average current, or by zapping it with a small number of extremely high-current pulses.

In terms of average current, the 1.9 mA mentioned earlier is about 1 percent of what's needed to cause the heart of the typical male to fibrillate. So the Taser's average current is far from the danger zone for healthy human hearts.

As far as single-pulse current goes, the Taser is again in the clear. The heart's chronaxie is about 3 milliseconds--that's 30 times as long as the chronaxie of skeletal muscle nerves and the pulse lengths of a Taser. The single-pulse current required to electrocute someone by directly pulsing the most sensitive part of the heartbeat using 3-ms pulses is about 3 A. Because a Taser's 100-ms pulses are such a small fraction of the heart's chronaxie, it would take significantly higher current--on the order of 90 A--to electrocute someone using a Taser.


In the United States, about 670 people die each year under police restraint, according to the U.S. Department of Justice's Bureau of Justice Statistics. These incidents include arrests and attempts to control an uncooperative person who needs medical assistance, as well as suicides after arrest. Studies have shown that stun guns were used during about 30 percent of in-custody deaths in the United States. Although Tasers were involved in a sizable fraction of these deaths, one should not leap to the conclusion that Tasers caused them. One study found that 100 percent of in-custody deaths involved the use of handcuffs, and one might apply the same faulty logic to argue against ”killer cuffs,” but that would, of course, be absurd. Medical examiners have cited Tasers as the primary cause of death in only four cases to date, and three of those were later thrown out of court.

I think we'll find out it wasn't the Taser itself that was responsible for the guy's death. Put 20 bucks on it...anyone?.

Info gained from: HERE

Good grief... (potty mouth rant)

Watching a stupid fucking bitch on stupid fucking morning show stupid fucking thing and the stupid fucking bitch was whinging about princess movies. She wants to ban them. Yep, FUCKING PRINCESSES. Snow White is apparently feeding her glorious biological little perfect princesses misrepresentations of reality and how life actually works in regards to men and love....OMFG.....SHUT UP.

You'd be tempted to laugh this crazy fucking mole off, but a round of "Baa Baa Rainbow Sheep", anyone?.

Tuesday, 16 June 2009


Bit of escapism for ya dude. I know it isn't your favourite bit of this movie because of there being no Wagner, but I think it's the greatest sequence of ANY movie.

As a sequence of its own it's kinda out there, but if you put it into the perspective of the movie and its message then it's a prelude to what's wrong with war and how it warps peoples perception when they're out of the loop in extraordinary circumstances.

Hope you like it. Took me YONKS to upload. lol

Apocalypse Now: Napalm in the morning.

Coming Soon....

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Sunday, 14 June 2009

Moko centering his Chi.

Alrighty, this is where I'm at.

I finished me course and passed. WOOT. I'm waiting on the actual results to see how well. Not that that makes any difference in anything other than ego. But it'll gauge how my all round performance.....okay, still ego.

I NEED a job. I'm really looking at anything but hoping for some night work cleaning or something so I can train hard during the day. I'm naturally an unmotivated person until I actually get my teeth into what ever I wanna do then I tear it to shreds.....but getting started is where I lack discipline.

Getting into the coppers is doable, so I've found, but I want to be a prepared as I can be physically and mentally to be able to give my best shot. The course I did set me with fore-warning on what I need to know. For example, it'll be handy to have a head start on the Powers of Arrest from the Police Powers and Responsibilities act. Wouldn't it...of course it would.

I found out also that the psychometric tests take practice. I need to do LOTS of them.

I've had tips on how to get through exams. Don't know it?, don't answer it. The whole process is one big exam.

When we were leaving the course for the last time on Thursday we basically were 'kinda lined up' to say thanks to the tutor....more ambling out...whatever. I watched him say, "bye", "seeya", "have a goodin", etc etc till I got to him and he stuck his hand out. That was cool.

The stars are lined up in good spots and the way is lit.....or something. I'm not wanting to rush it. I wanna get it right. I attempted to join the Territorial Army (reserves) in NZ when I was young. I wasn't prepared and I failed...I got in, and got selected as an Assault Trooper, but I failed myself. THAT is my only life regret, so far. I don't wanna add this to that list. I'm happy if I don't get in but I prepared the best I could. That's all you can do. And you may not get it the first time. I'm giving myself till 40 to achieve it.

But first, I need a job.

Thanks for listening, universe.


Thursday, 11 June 2009


Helping myself to some online sexies.

The Author and the Director.

Don't think it's much of of secret that some authors fucken hate the director's 'interpretation' of their work when they magically turn words into pictures.

I notice that the director that did Frank Miller's '300' and 'Sin City' kept asking himself, "what would Frank do", when he came up against some directing issues. Having said that, all five minutes of 'The Spirit' that I watched was total shit. Maybe the comic was too.

Do directors have the right to 'interpret' an author's piece of work, or do they owe it to the author give it their best?.

Wednesday, 10 June 2009

Racist By Default

Why is it that when people think of racism against, say, Indians, the default thought is that it's Anglo's doing it?...


Sunday, 7 June 2009

The Morning Ritual

I have a ritual, I'm sure we all do. It's funny, it hasn't change in YONKS. I get up...and such...then grab a coffee, feed the dogs AFTER said coffee or they're a pain in the arse EVERY morning, like they are anyway, but, meh. Jump online, crack open the Tweet deck, open my blog and see who's written what. While they're loading I'll open a BING page and get that one cracking on Youtube for me messages and new vids etc. Read fellow bloggers blogs and leave occasional insight with a rather pleasant tang of wit. Tap out a few Tweets in between. Either barge into a tweet convo or get started on the new subscription vids on Youtube.

Find out BF1943 hasn't released a release date STILL. Ya know, it's due THIS MONTH and they can't pick a number.

Then head over - (this is a NEW one. I don't recommend it. SERIOUSLY addictive) - Facebook - (which I FUCKEN HATE) - and pry the lid off Farm Town and employ some pickers of do some picking and buy BUNNIES. MWAHAHAHAHA MWAHAHAHA MWAHAHAHA...

Finally, I look up and it's 1000....


Wednesday, 3 June 2009

Internet sevice provider.....which one is best?.

Da Missus is FINALLY considering fast Innanet and a possible alternative to Telstra. GASP.

So which one?. iinet apparently do a fast one with free xbox live downloads (which helps me *snicker SNORT*).

We're paying $60 at the mo and don't want it to change that much. Anyone sitting on a gold plan they wanna share the details of?.

Bing (the search engine)

I recently came across Bing (that's the Aussie one) randomly and by accidental like so I thought I'd give it a nudge, and report back.

Bing was brought out by Microsoft. That sums up all I know about the history.

I tried it all day yesterday and that quickly discovered I like it more than Google. The ONLY reason I've previously used Google was because on the home page my inbox for my gmail account was displayed. That's it. Don't really like it as a search engine; I liked Chrome even less.....well, that's a fraction harsh, just nothing stood out for me.

Three things I use a search engine for mostly is, 1) Spell check, 2) Images (stills and vids), and 3) Research....*cough*...read: googling random shit...web pages and stuff.

Ok, Spell Check: Some times a spell check doesn't work as well as it should or you need to check the meaning of a word...before you use it to try and sound smart *cough*. Type it into Bing and it'll correct the spelling automatically. That be handy if it knows what you're thinking. Type in '*word* meaning' in Google and it'll come up with a link to the dictionary. Bing will display the meaning under the word so you don't need to click to another link. I like that. +1 on Google.

Images: This is the REAL cool function. Search an image and it'll display images...obviously, but it displays the image WITHOUT the info associated. Run the cursor over the image and the info pops up. IT also displays subsections of the search.

Click here for example of 'tree' search.
+1 on Google.

Search videos is even cooler. It's even BETTER than searching videos for Youtube IN Youtube itself. Your search will display videos relevant to your requirement. But run the cursor over the video and you get a preview of the vid itself from ANY website. OR-SUM. Beats searching Youtube and having to spend ages filtering the shit.

Click here to check it out. +5 on Google.

Research: Bing's search 'world' is A LOT smaller than Google. But it hasn't let me down yet. Run the cursor over each page result and it displays info about that page. I liked that. +1 on Google.

Overall...it's cool. I like it more than Google, obviously. Try it, you might like. I use it in conjunction with Firefox.

Tuesday, 2 June 2009


Mohammed entered his classroom.

"What is your name?" asked the teacher.

"Mohammed".... answered the kid.

"We are in Australia and, there is no Mohammed. From now on your name will be Bruce," replied the teacher.

In the evening, Mohammed returned home. "How was your day, Mohammed?" asked his mother.

"My name is not Mohammed, I am in Australia and now my name is Bruce."

"Ah, are you ashamed of your name, are you trying to disown your parents, your heritage, your religion? Shame on you," and she beat him.

Then she called the father and he too beat him savagely.

The next day Mohammed returned to school. When the teacher

saw him with all the bruises she asked:

"What happened to you little Bruce?"

"Well, Miss, 2 hours after becoming Australian I was attacked by two fuckin’ Arabs.

Monday, 1 June 2009