Great And Not So Great People

Around about the year 1862, Pierre Lallement began a magnificent legacy by coming up with a great and simple invention: the bicycle. Around about one hundred and forty seven years later his idiot descendant son Jacques returned to that legacy by leaning too far out on the road during an Alpine stage of the Tour de France and knocking race leader Alberto Contador off his bike, costing him the race in the process. Pierre turned in his grave. Jacques didn’t learn a thing.

Mother - Heaps of Energy

Some time ago, I got a free can of Mother, a 500ml energy drink produced & distributed by none other than Coca-Cola Amatil itself. Since I’ve had it I’ve had no desire whatsoever to drink it, but I decided to a little research on the nutritional information and, low and behold, it turns out that it contains just 10% more energy than the orange juice in my fridge. Of course, it also contains hefty doses of caffeine and sugar to set the heart racing but I’m no dietician and I’ve no idea how to technically measure that.

So the attraction is that it’s fizzy and tasty in a tangy, energetic kind of way, so you can down it (the whole 500ml can) with relish, unlike half a litre of orange juice which, thinking about it, would probably be a tough enough ordeal and leave your face grimacing and your stomach squirming. Then the drink sets your heart rate spiralling upward and your brain starts whizzing.

Now, as an occasional Buckfast drinker, I can appreciate the adrenaline buzz, but this product is prominent in every supermarket and store in Sydney, up there with your regular Coke, Sprite etc. making it a popular drink with the general consumer. So given that there are health concerns about a 250ml can of Red Bull, how can people in their right minds want to double the dose with this stuff for the sake of an energy pick up? I mean, the way I see it, if a cup of coffee can’t pick you up, it’s not because you’re heart rate is too low. If you’re that short on energy, you need sleep. As an occasional quick-fix it may be worth the health consequences, but to rely on it to keep you alert or energetic is madness.

Ok, ok, I know, the people who drink it don’t give a shit about the health concerns. But take a look at he product labelling. The death metal style font hints of violence. The black and red colour give me the idea of drinking petrol. Across the top is the slogan “Warning Heaps of Energy”. The whole thing says to me, drink this if you want to slaughter pigs with a hatchet.

And the following two warnings are printed on the can:

“If you need a MOTHER of an energy hit, you need MOTHER. It delivers double the hit**, in a big black can.
So now when a mate turns up with a wussy-sized can, you can raise your MOTHER up and proudly say ‘did yours come with a man bag’.
**Compared to a standard 250ml energy drink.”


“Warning! High caffeine content… Ok, we know that’s why you’re drinking it but our lame legal guys made us warn you not to feed this to kids, up the duff women or the weak who just can’t tolerate it.”

Intensity, extremity, excess. Drink more, take more, have more. Be faster, stronger, louder. Have you got the balls? Yes you do. You do. Yes. Don’t you? Yes you do...mate!

How far can it go?

Day Two and I'm Gaspin'

Day two of induction and it is clear that my life has taken a new direction. As I sit in the meeting room around a table with my fellow trainees and course trainer, going through the erroneous and fraudulent details on documents that I am to spend my time combing through, I realise that once I have spent enough time doing such diligent work, I will have the ability to deviously create such false documents that I can submit them to obtain huge funds and fraudulently but securely pass them through the whole system.

Yes, as I sit there, nodding in agreement at my tutor, focusing and forming questions, wide eyed and holding off the sleepiness, a concept deep in my sub-consciousness slowly emerges and I realise that I am destined to piece together the perfect crime that will see me amass a fortune overnight at the expense of this grand organisation and disappear calmly into oblivion leaving nothing but a trace of deception. Deft as a vixen yet ruthless as a wild dog.

I will live out my days as a clandestine in the exotic provinces of Southern Brazil with a lady companion who will not be my wife but a mere companion who will be addicted to my mischievous and cunning nature. I will feel forever youthful being aware of the fact that I have criminally taken my wealth from a fortress of systems and security. I will smugly grow old in the knowledge that I have refuted the conventions of the people around me, the people close to me. And in the end, all they will have received from me is mystery and wonder. Oh what a legacy.

That and I kinda wanna go back on the fags.

Is it me or is this ridiculous?

Budget, love, budget!

I Long For A Pint

“Lovely day for a Guinness” thought the bird to himself, as he sat perched atop the wind vane, looking down over the village on this crisp morning. “Ah yes,” he thought, “a good pint of the black stuff will put big red feathers on my hefty chest”.

Worst Piece of Advertising

Maybe there is some merit in this ad, what would I know? OK, they are getting at the 500 is at the complete opposite end of the spectrum to the Hummer, two extreme products. But my first two reactions to this were:

1. Is that slogan supposed to be funny? Because it’s not. In fact it’s a very very lame joke. If it’s not supposed to be funny, then it doesn’t describe the product, or inspire you about the product.
   
2. They have gone and plastered the name of a different product on the poster.
   

I just think the whole thing is so vague – “only different” and “very Italian”. It should be to the point, and specific about the product.

Philious Phogg on the positives and negatives of his new job

Sad Face, Happy Face - The Contrasting Moods of Philious Phogg

Congratulations on the new job Phogg, you must be quite happy.

Yay!

But it’s in processing mortgage applications, pretty mundane stuff.

Boo!

Then again it’s pretty respectable and reliable work and you won’t be returning to Ireland with its economic strife and employment drought.

Yay!

But you miss that place don’t you.

Boo!

Then again you can now afford to go out more than once a week. Plus you’re getting an hourly rate and overtime so when the long hours come along you’ll see the cash rolling in.

Yay!

But this stuff is way off what you want to get into.

Boo!

Then again these are hard times and beggars can’t be choosers.

Ya…no wait…Boo!

Although it’s large organisation with a household name, something that’ll look good on the CV right?

Yay!

But you’ll be stuck at a desk all day studying data on screens. And under time pressure too. All of you’re concentration will be used up by this same process, day after day, so that your brain will be sapped of creativity and wit, even come the weekend. You know how it feels Phogg, you’ve had all of this before. Only before, there was an ocean of diversity to your work compared to this stuff. You’ll be the proverbial number in the organisation, with your responsibilities according to company policy. You’ll be restricted to act only in accordance with procedure, with no room for judgement, opinion or criticism. For god’s sake you’ll barely even be communicating with people.

Boo!

Then again whatever way you look at it, it’s a professional job and there’s a bit of respectability in that. I mean you’ll be wearing a suit, acting in a somewhat professional manner and at least have some status to your name.

Yay!

But there’ll be no more craic on the bike. No more freedom to act as you wish. No more being all over the city in a day. No more bumping into people at any time. No more enjoying all the influence of the streets and the people. Your fitness will waste away. Your clear head and freshness will suffer. The creative side of your brain may go dormant.

Boo!

But now you won’t be working for bastards who enjoy such a dominant position in the industry that they can afford to abuse their power over their contractors. And besides, one can’t be a bike courier for ever.

Yay!

But such is the nature of the commercial rat race, you won’t exactly be getting pampered here.

Boo!

Well look, at least you don’t have to deal with those poxy recruitment agents for the time being.

YAY! (Rapturous applause)

Scene 1: Dial Tone...

Cast:
Me - Me
Tony - Recruitment Agent

Me: Heya doin Tony, it’s Philious Phogg here. How are you?

Tony: Oh, hi Phogg, yeah good thanks, how are you?

Me: Yeah not too bad, not too bad. Just giving you a quick ring to see if you have any updates?

Tony: Yeah nothing at the moment, it’s still pretty quiet out there…

Me: Tony for fuck’s sake I need a fucking interview. You’re pissing me off. Look at your computer, pick a job and fucking put me down for it. I’ll fucking do it. I’ve got hands and legs and eyes and ears. I’ll sit down at a desk and do it. If I don’t know how to do it, I’ll learn how to do it. And I’ll be fucking good at it. I was good in my last job, damn good. Ring them, ask them. They know.

Tony: Well in fact there is one role we have…

Me: That’s a bit more fucking like it Tony, now what’s the job?

Tony: Well it’s with the…

Me: Yeah just put my fucking name down for it Tony. How much does it pay?

Tony: They are looking at around…

Me: Ah Tony you’re pissing me off. Just put my fucking CV through for it and make sure I get an interview. And fucking well ring me back about the interview yeah? Now how’s the missus and the kids?

Tony: The wife is fine but the girls are getting a bit overweight for their wage.

Me: Jesus, Tony will you watch what you’re feeding them? They’re fucking overweight because you’re feeding them shit and they’re not getting any exercise right?

Tony: Yes you’re right, but it’s Mary, she’s giving them lunches with too much junk food, and then gets fast food far too often.

Me: Tony whip the wife in line yeah? A bit of proper order here, these are your daughters for fuck’s sake. Tell the missus to get off her lazy arse and make them some sandwiches and cook some proper dinners for them. I bet she’s on the phone to her friends half the time she should be in the kitchen doing a bit of proper catering.

Tony: She’s got a lot of friends…

Me: Well she can fucking well make time for her friends outside of family time. Tell her the fucking kids are overweight and she has to stay off the fucking phone to make sandwiches. How’s your sex life?

Tony: I’m happy with it.

Me: Yeah? How many times a week do you do it?

Tony: I’d say twice, usually at the weekend.

Me: What?! It should be double that at your age. I’ve seen you, you’re a young man. You should be whacking it into her every second day at least. Does she orgasm?

Tony: I’m not sure about that.

Me: Well make sure she fucking does. Get some proper action going man. Try a bit of foreplay, do some new positions, buy a book about it. And get yourself in shape too. Now how’s the car going?

Tony: Oh she’s a beauty.

Me: Yeah? Any problems with it?

Tony: No it’s been great since I got it.

Me: Yeah? When did you get it?

Tony: Oh a year ago now.

Me: What kind of car is it?

Tony: Audi A4.

Me: That’s a nice fucking car Tony. How many miles to the gallon do you get?

Tony: Forty I reckon, but I’m not measuring it.

Me: Well fucking measure it Tony, it’s a simple calculation. You don’t know how inefficient your car is. Forty, ah Jesus forty? That’s fucking shit Tony. You’re driving it in the city all the time, what the fuck do you need a big car like that for in the city? Chip the fucking engine, you’ll get way more out of it. You couldn’t organise a piss up in a brewery Tony, you’re fucking useless. I have to go.

The Black Hole Of Capitalism

Today I got a written warning for writing the word “cunts” where I was supposed to document a name as proof of delivery of an item (I won’t go into the whole procedure). In a, let’s say, humorous moment, they (2 managers) presented a printout of it and said “You wanna explain this?” I let out a quick laugh/smile, I guess to try to ease the tension. I mean I really didn’t give a fuck, and I wanted them to realise that I wasn’t a disgruntled man work wise. So I acknowledged the issue at hand and gave the whole ‘it won’t happen again’ shite, and it went down OK enough in the end.

But the whole thing originated because I was pissed of about something small, and legitimately so even though it only ever made a difference of $2. But when I explained my issue to them they were ready to aggressively argue against it. It wasn’t hard to sense that, and I wisely moved onto the issue of the profanity and went on to play the whole thing down. But if I stuck to my guns and pursued my issue, I would have been bulldozed over. The two boys are headstrong, hardnosed bastards when it comes down to it and they’d stubbornly dismiss my argument nomatter how much I argued. I always knew they were cunts and that’s pretty much why I wrote it, even though it was only an act of idleness. Fucking middle management is the black hole of capitalism.

Anyway I have hopes of having a new job within a fortnight, a decent job. I hope to god I get it.

Just A Simple Cappucino Man

I’ve been going to a Gloria Jeans coffee house over the last week or two for the free internet and I think it’s damaging my piece of mind.

Amongst my encounters, I’ve been sitting next to couple of schoolgirls and a boy, who flicked through magazines exclaiming the likes of “She’s hot”, “She’s hot”, “She’s so hot”, and “Which one’s the hottest?” That’s about as much as I remember them saying over my earphones, though I do recall the little bitches being pretty hot themselves.

Then tonight, some young yuppie guy who was talking on Skype referred to me as he was talking to some girl. Reacting to something she said, he jokingly replied “Yeah there’s a guy across from me who’d really like to hear you sing.” And it wasn’t a casual comment either. When I sat down first he offered to plug in my power cable because the socket was slightly on his side of the table. Then when it was plugged in asked me if it was ok, which it obviously was, and I could sense enough attention from him that I could start a conversation if I wanted. Then after a while I reacted out loud to something on facebook, exclaiming “Jesus” through my breath (I don’t normally do that, I was just very surprised). Only for the little shit to do the same thing a few minutes later, making some abrupt reaction out loud. It’s nice when women do that kind of stuff, but not yuppie little guys in coffee houses, fuck that.

And there have been numerous couples, next to me or beside me, having their coffee shakes or whatever, with their little personal jokes, and kisses and giggles, creating amusement out of complete mundanity. Like kids I guess.

These coffee houses, Starbucks, Gloria Jeans, or whatever else, with their funky interiors, background music and warm, easy going atmospheres, I have to say, are all-round wanky places. Nothing of any use has ever been said, discussed or debated in a coffee house, ever. I’m pretty sure of that. People seem to think that they’re going to a sophisticated, snug little refuge where they’ve piece of mind to chill out, pass time, read a book, have a chat or enjoy the coffee. But they are such a haven of mediocrity that people just go there and feel comfortable stating the obvious and being as mindless and stupid as they want. Stupid people, stupid conversations.

And I might as well have a rant about the coffee while I’m at it. Why is it served in plastic cups when you’re having it in the shop? Why is a large cappuccino like a milk shake with an espresso in it? Why is a small cappuccino bigger than what a normal sized cappuccino should be? Why do they have to have a ‘system’ of taking your name? And now that I think of it, why didn’t I get any chocolate flakes on my cappuccinos? Unfortunately I’ve never bothered with all that latte or frappaccino bollox so I can’t really go into any of that. I’m just a simple cappuccino man.

Complete Normality

Phogg you prick, what are you up to these days.

McKane Jesus, you havent’ changed a bit. Still a cunt.

Shut the fuck up. Whats with the designer glasses

Keep your fucking hands off them

Your suit is shit. Have you got a job?

Playing the stock market. What the fuck are you drinking?

What, liquor, what the hell does that involve, are you a trader.

In a sense yeah. Why do you have any understanding of it. Its complicated

Phogg you fucking retard, I know what the stock exchange is, don’t be so fucking hostile. What have you been making losses like everyone else? Your suit is shit by the way.

You really haven’t changed, and in fact…

Show some fucking interest and you might learn something about me, you social retard. Do you realise how insulting that is? Anyway whats the story have you been weathering the storm with your investments or what? Commodities?

No I deal in shares only, I’ve invested in renewable energy. Most of that sector is pretty strong.

Good for you. Whats your net worth.

Ten billion. Whats yours

Ten point one billion.

Very good, that’s very impressive McKane, I said Ten billion and you said ten point one billion, that means you have more money than me. Congratulations, pity your wit doesn’t match your ego.

You’re a little fan of sarcasm aren’t you.

Not really, anyway what the fuck are you doing with yourself captain McKane?

Would you really like to know.

Yes I’d also like to know if you’ve got fat little children yet.

No I don’t have any kids you fucking paedophile.

What do you work at?

I’m a doctor.

Really? I thought you had all the qualities of a prison officer.

Au contraire my imbeciled friend, I am a doctor by day, I am held in high esteem, I show empathy, regard and warmth to my patients, and by night I do this shit.

What kind of doctor are you?

Psychiatrist in fact.

A fucking shrink. That’s a surprise. Do you treat depression? Do you enjoy working with nutjobs?

Everyone needs therapy, not just nutjobs. Some people need to pay for it.

Do you treat nutjobs.

Of course I’ve treated nutjobs. I’ve treated psychopaths, schizophrenics, manic depressives. I’ve treated murderers, rapists…

Do you get any pleasure out of that?

Pleasure is not the word.

Most people here could do with some treatment.

This is their treatment. They don’t have any problems.

Yes they do. Everyones’ addicted to this shit. That’s the problem.

Why is that a problem

It’s socially unacceptable.

Shut the fuck up, you’re talking like a town councillor.

Listen as long as this is kept secret its fine. But it’s all going to spiral out of control eventually, it’ll be a social catastrophe.

It won’t spiral out of control.

Yes it will. Its addictive, its an obsession. People are going to get carried away. Look at that bitch over there, she’s hysterical.

That doesn’t matter. She’ll be back to normal by the time its over.