I Am Your Father...

Divorcing Darth Vader

By some guy called Neil Henderson.

Useless Advice to ESL Teachers #1

If at first your students are unresponsive to idle chatter, babble. Search for something, anything, to drag a bit of conversational blood out of, and run with it for a while, perhaps with a few mind-numbing anecdotes from your own life. Repeat ad nauseam. When your inner-teacher sense screams STOP! then stop.

Awkwardness...

...is a moment marked by galloping introspectobotics, coupled with gooey internalisations of the supposed happenings in the immediate environ.

It’s uncomfortable too.

YACK YACK!

There are ethics, and then there are ethics. And movie viewing has ethics.

First of all, NO punk can talk during a movie, else I slowly karate chop the lawbreaker’s knee cap off, no matter how long it takes.

Second, turn off your bloody mobile phones!!!!!!! Else I violently appropriate them whilst spitting phlegm upon thy brow -- you smelly snail-entrails! -- and dash thy handset to smithereens upon the earth.

Third, fidget not! Else I shall strap you down and administer electric shock therapy, using my blown out hairdrier as the medium of castigation.

Fourth, watch the movie!! That’s why yer here, iddinnit? Else I shall lock you in a small pink room aerated by nought but a breezy flatulence-charged air-conditioner.

Confusion

It is becoming increasingly difficult to know what the correct interpretation of the Bible is these days. Gone are the days of old when one could sit happily within the context of a shared communal interpretation of the text and declare "Thus sayeth the Lord..." Now a plethora of competing readings abound for every conceivable Biblical topic under the sun.

Take just one theological issue, for example. Anything. Then try and master it. The complexities, the arguments, the opposing viewpoints, the counterarguments, the rebuttals. Intricate hermeneutical considerations, the chest pounding, the shouting matches, blah, blah. This could, at a very generous estimate, take a few years of devoted study to master.

Now, multiply that by the hundreds of delicious issues that face us in interpreting the Bible and, well... I not only end up scratching my head, but my arse as well. It gets very itchy and confused.

Life is in your face. Really, it is. Not all of us who have jobs, a family, a social life, a private life and whatever else we humans do suddenly have the energy, time, motivation and desire to earnestly contend for the narrow-minded interpretation of some, say, Reformed heresy hunter - God's appointed pontiff and safeguard of our wonderful heritage (but yours sucks, btw).

I am not advocating withdrawal from studying the Bible, or for giving up on theology, or whatever some zealous ignoramus nitwit might charge me with. I am calling for a little more humility on the part of those who think they have a corner on God's truth and have the correct Biblical interpretation. Chill out, wouldya?

Thus Spake Zar... Charles Buttercup

Charles Buttercup sauntered about daringly, contemptuously facing the omni- deluded rabble. The mindless throng thrived thriftily all about him in contortions of ant-like gyrations.

Hatred fogged the cognition, a swirling maelstrom storming merrily in the phenomenological madness. The booming buzz of presentness poured itself mercilessly into his stream of consciousness, gouging out the eyes of tranquillity.

Colours-shapes-noises-smells raping his sensibilia not stopping all about coming here it is go away all around stop it stop it! STOP IT!

Charles Buttercup seized upon the private property of tax paying citizen who the f#$k are you?, ravaging upon open flesh. Feast. Girl boy? Doesn't matter.

Screaming. Shuddup! Shock crowds. stunned. Blood streams down his cheeks.

"You don't... it's... not here..."

Voices tempestuous. Legion. Was he talking?

"He's..."

Coughing. Where am I?

"HE'S DEAD! GOD IS DEAD! This is a..."

What?

"... it's not real. YOU! YOU'RE JUST DREAM VAPOUR!"

Charles Buttercup flailed about, preaching the NOT-real. The road loomed menacingly ahead, the buzzing shape-fluff cars ZOOM!

"There's no f&%*ing real!"

The truck driver. Then Charles.

Connection.

Death.

Judgement.

Mindless Marital Ethical Assumptions

Many folks that I have come across in my short lifespan, particularly those with a secularistic Western mindset, cling tenaciously to the buttocks of idiotic assumptions regarding relationships. What annoys me, in particular, is when these folks thoughtlessly and dogmatically universalise these assumptions as both a moral 'givens' and applicable to all people. Following are some of the silly universalized assumptions.

* Thou shalt... what? Thou shalt not get married at a young age.

* Thou shalt travel throughout the world and visit many places before daring to mention the 'M' (marriage) word.

* Thou shalt have many boyfriends/girlfriends to find what thou likest in a partner.

* Thou shalt not have a short engagement, but rather, marry 2-5 years after the proposal.

* Thou shalt livest together in sexual synchronization before thou art be-wedded.

* Thou shalt pee on the sanctity of marriage.

* Thou shalt adjust thy marriage associate on the flimsiest pretext.

For Da Bitchin Funkies...

It’s all based on business, you see. Ethics is all relative to the size of your arse. Given the flab-ometers readout, your arse is OK, and so is mine. Just as long as you arse doesn’t become dogmatic and dictate to my arse how to arse, yeah?

More Birthday Funkies

My nasal parts inhaled wafting aromas of breakfast-in-bed delights, awaking mine snooze, heralded by the wondrous appearance of my wife. Naked upon my crib, I received most graciously the platter upon which stood my eggs, bacon, herbed sausages and fried tomatoes. Tea and juice were next in line, awaiting the HEY-I'VE-JUST-BEEN-SUPPED! experience. The light of day soon expired their terminal tastiness.

Next, we traversed the rain drenched streets of Brisbane to embrace the café culture of Oxford Street. There we gobbled, wolfed, munched and devoured some delectable fodder amidst the company of friends. Most enjoyable.

To be continued...

Cruisin...

I’ve gobbled half a birthday down already, thanks to my groovy wife.
We kookaburra-ed pleasingly on a wee boat trip round the shark infested Brisbane river, complete with buffet dining, accordion toting "moustache joke-a-minute sailor entertainer" men and scrumptious desserts. They even, ahem, double-booked our table.

Da Christmas special of The Office was betoken and delivered in one smooth gifting from the Tash-meister, which we summarily consumed and digested in retinal revelry. And what a fitting ending to a fine mocumentary!

Tomurruz gonna continyooz da celebratin, man.

Birth, Move, Groove

Soon, I'm going to be older. Not that I suddenly go VLOODI-OOP and age 1 year on my birthday or anything. But I mean officially 1 year older. And so time, whatever that is, grinds inexorably on.

This new abode of dwelling is great, that is, our new apartment. It's got cool views of stuff, coz we're on the upsy-upsy floor numero 3. Man, but it was a botheration hurling all those household goodies up 3 flights of stairs from a truck that was parked on the street because it couldn't get into the complex due to low hanging powerlines.

Etc.

So....

U-huh, so yeah, we got back from the honeymoon.

Taw-RIFFIC!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, and we did naughty things too!

Got us a new place, with a view of lights and houses on a hill.

Anyway, I think that there's a lot of twiddle-headed dogmatism with no undies out there. Lemme see. Though I've been trained in Calvidoodism, I'm brave enough to embrace the other. Not that I've abondoned my heritage and that, but I reckon, for example, the Bible NOWHERE teaches the cessation of the more, shall we say, charismatic gifts. Read Are Charismatic Gifts For Today? for an utter dismantle-smashing of the arcane cessationist position.

There we go, kids. Reformed dogmatism at its bravest.

BLAH - mospherics

IF I told you the S*#t that's happened this year, you wouldn't believe me.

Like, it's like, I've had a couple and this big HOLLYWOOD demon came and made a movie outta my life. But it's going well. You know, happy ending and all that.

THE GOOD bits. Is that I is married. And yes, my GRAMMAR is WRONG ON PURPOSE.

Them's the GOOD bits. Marriage. So why should the fact that bad things have happened stop us from enjoying good things?

HUH?

For Andrew

Times of Hurricane, Maelstromic Vortextualism and the Namby Pamby vengeance of Auntie Merciless are three recent visitors to the madhouse of Jonny and Tash.

They came. They saw. And yes, they kicked our asses with spiked boots. They even messed up our toilet a little. But they didn't win.

That's OK, see, because they're gone now. And merriment, mirth and gaiety didst visit us thereafter. They spake kindly and with flattering truths. And didst we correspond jointly in mental covenant.

Marriage, soon, shall lay bare its deluxe entryway unto us. The 13th of November doth speak with rhapsodic jingles. It beckons with soft irresistibility, favourable to the hallowed uniting of two as one.

Lodge Ik

Major Premise: I am the, plus Yesterday was tomorrow. The deduction to flip was not abstracted, henceforth shall your name be 'Harold.'

Minor Premise: Sensing a broken number 7, Harold sought to repair it. And it was happy.

Conclusion: Therefore, I exist.