I kill dogs

Which Horrible Affliction are you?
A Rum and Monkey disease.

Interesting coincidence

Via viral email:

Year 1981
1. Prince Charles got married
2. Liverpool crowned Champions of Europe
3. Australia lost the Ashes
4. Pope Died

Year 2005
1. Prince Charles got married (again)
2. Liverpool crowned Champions of Europe (again)
3. Australia lost the Ashes
4. Pope Died

In future, if Prince Charles decides to re-marry and Liverpool
wins another European crown.... please warn the Pope :-) ..

Of course, perhaps God sacks his CEO if he fails to achieve certain KPIs.

Pretty Spot On

The Oz Politics Blog is beta testing a political view quiz. I'm left/left-centre. Well, duh!

Old

You know you are getting long in the tooth and your years of repressing the English language have been in vain when you find the following worthy of a guffaw:

Triumphant triontologias

TWO weeks ago we noted that you would be doubly truthful if you said of a computer-assisted tomography scan of a cat: "This is a cat scan" (20 August). We dubbed such statements diontologias and wondered whether there were any triontologias.

The challenge proved irresistible but hard to meet. The groan factor was high as readers struggled to find ways to satisfy the criteria using words such as "catastrophe", "catalogue" and "tomography". None really succeeded, and it was left to Nigel Steel to come up with what we felt was the best solution: "If you did a number of scans using positron emission tomography and an image of your own domestic animal companion was your personal favourite, then the statement, 'this is my pet scan', would be true to the third power."

Quite right Nigel, and thanks. Thanks also to Tom Gallard who reached almost the same solution with his "pet pet project". And we should mention the effort by Richard Saunders, who pointed out that if he bought a large musical instrument for £1000 and thought it was quite splendid, then the statement, "This is a grand piano", would be true three ways.

Strip generator

Helo!

chas Vam želi pokazati svoj strip z naslovom 'With bells'.

Ustvarite svoj strip - STRIP GENERATOR

Paartay

Paartay
Originally uploaded by ChasRover.

Sardines

Sardines
Originally uploaded by ChasRover.

Mugged

The part of the encounter that hurt the most was not the beating or the humiliation of being robbed, but the fact that such callousness and lack of compassion could exist in the world. Cuts heal and bones mend but the knowledge that people could turn off, or worse never have developed, empathy and kindness produces a deep malaise that threatens to engulf me. That people could be so selfish that inflicting pain on others was somehow acceptable for no other reason than it provided a brief monetary gain makes me yearn that I had not nurtured empathy.

What made it worse was they weren’t even real.

All these moments

All these moments
Originally uploaded by ChasRover.

Life, a beach

Life, a beach
Originally uploaded by ChasRover.

The bear

The bear
Originally uploaded by ChasRover.

Seerenity

Seerenity
Originally uploaded by ChasRover.

The Seer gives his blessing

The Seer gives his blessing
Originally uploaded by ChasRover.

Wedding

Wedding
Originally uploaded by ChasRover.

Brisvegas supreme

Brisvegas supreme
Originally uploaded by ChasRover.

Chas at Sin City port of air

Chas at Sin City port of air
Originally uploaded by ChasRover.

Sin City to Brisvegas

The Seer say: The journey of a thousand mile begin at airport with more runs than a ski resort!

Sin City -> Brisvegas

Damn you schnitzel sanger that which I had for lunch! Damn public loos to the hell of comunal bogs!

P- pho-blo?

P- pho-blo?
Originally uploaded by ChasRover.

P-blo

Does phone blogging still work?

The Seer Saw It All

You must understand, dear reader, that The Seer may be omnipotent and omnipresent (I am standing….right behind you!), but when he reads about dohickies that turn Microsoft Word into The Seer’s own personal blogging publishing devicerama-mibob, he calls immediately for Chas. The Seer does not sully his hands with the work of a peon.

“Make it work, damn you, damn peon” The Seer asks politely of Chas.

“Just downloading it now”, Chas utters in his soooo-Buddhistly calm you can tell he is about to throttle a puppy to death with its own tail due to the simmering under the surfaceness way.

“FASTER! MUSH!”, The Seer quietly urges.

Chas explodes in a tirade of expletives against Google and Microsoft (he may have said Poogle and Mycuntsoft, but The Seer does not condone swearing. The Seer has been everywhere and seen everything and swearing bores The Seer). Chas ponders why Outlook cannot be open while The Seer uses Word to blog. The Seer would explain it to him, but fears his feeble peon mind is not ready. The reason really is a doozy.

Chas explodes in a tirade of expletives against The Seer. Chas explains that it is logically impossible to be both omnipresent and omnipotent. If one was everywhere at once, they would be everyone at once. If everyone at once was omnipotent, then everyone would know everything and this is clearly not the case.

Poor Chas, I haven’t the heart to tell him he’s the only one.

Happy Quote

"Happiness is a butterfly, which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you" - Nathaniel Hawthorne

Mofos

I have had the craziest life, when it comes to ideas. Being somewhat mad, I come up with ideas all the time. I usually fire off these crazy ideas to friends in emails and quietly note to myself that I should patent and/or get off my arse and pursue some of these ideas. Invariably, a day or a month or a year or so later my idea pops up in someone else's head and they make a billion dollars. A couple of months ago, I was remarking to a friend that surely the future for the iPod was as an input/storage device. You keep all your worldly files on your iPod, and simply connect it to devices all over the place. You put it in a small client-style laptop (ie just keyboard, processor and display) and it acts as hard disk and mouse. You put it in an ATM and it acts as an ATM card. And so on.

The fucktards at Apple are on to it. I'm going to start wearing a tinfoil hat.

Fafblog, now with more bogflaf

As always, Fafblog makes me laugh. I laugh so hard, milk comes out my nose. Except, I don't drink milk as I am lactose intolerant. A lactose bigot, you might say. I am lactosist. Nerf lactose. Nerf Chinese lacotse farmers. So coffee comes out my nose instead. Black coffee, with two sugars. This caused an expresso machine to come out my nose. So, I made a coffee with it and drank the coffee with heady anticipation of the next Fafblogism.

Q: So what's the plan?
A: The plan is to stick with the plan! If it ain't broke don't fix it.
Q: Why do we need the plan?
A: To stop terrorists like Saddam bin Laden from building another World Trade Center in Iraq - just so they can blow it up again.
Q: That would be horrible! How is the plan stopping them?
A: The plan is the central front in the war against terror! We invaded Iraq to get Iraqis to fight us in Iraq so they wouldn't fight us at home.
Q: The plan has cleverly lured them to where they already were, only in terrorist form!
A: Now you're catchin on!
Q: Hey, I know! We should invade like a small cardboard box. When all the terrorists attack there, we'll jump out of the way, tape up the box, and throw it in the ocean! No more terrorists!
A: Hey! No peeking ahead at the plan!

She didn't have a shoulder so she cried into her pillow.

Needies!

Plush toys that compete with each other for human attention. They're for co-dependent people. I am shuddering with uncontrollable giggling. It's not funny, but it is. Hehe, lol, snigger, chuckle, gaffaw.

I just know the poor sod who came up with this was sniggering too. It is such a great idea that is completely unfunny, in a funny kind of way.

Zombie dogs, Human flavoured tofu and now co-dependent pillows. This has been a great week.

Do you suppose when you are out at work, the pillow cries into itself?

Labor leader tells it like it is.

No, not Latham. Beattie, who always tells it like it is. I like that about him, it makes him a good leader in my book. The Howard media-byte style of politics is nauseating.

But I hadn't realised how subtle Beattie can be:

"I believe that central commitment to ordinary Australians remains and Kim epitomises that. I believe he can win the election."

Kim Beazeley epitomises ordinary Australians. Yes, he is Australian and yes, he is ordinary. That's the problem. Who wants to be led by ordinary?

It really is a great picture

As mentioned by Digital Retrograde!

I think I could start a cult using this picture.

The only thing lacking is a beer in the robot's left arm/hand/extremity.








Kamichi was smiling nervously as he hoped he
had not confused the foam and fuel symbols.

I am Chas' Not Post

This isn't really a post. Nor is it a door knob. It is a piece of string designed to remind Chas to go back and see if this site has turned on its Atom or RSS feed so I can read it. Of course, if you want to go visit Lightning Strikes Itself, I ain't going to stop you. I haven't really delved deeply into its mysteries yet, but at first glance it seems to be a bubble of info-goodness wrapped in coolophane.

But anyway, Chas, HEY CHAS! Remember! REMEBER! open your mind. OPEN YOUR MIIIIIIIND!

5pm Friday!

ROTFLMAOTMREACTWWEWTFBBQKTHXBYE

Excellent post about downloading gOtSX -intel.

Cats are making me crazy!!!

This is so unbelievable, it has to be a joke. Is The Times are respected newspaper?

The gist of it is that cats infect us with a parasite that makes men aggressive, scruffy loners and women promiscuous sex kittens. Do you mean to say cats infect us with catitis? CATS ARE CONTROLLING US!!!!

Actually, it turns out the rats are controlling the cats!! RATS ARE CONTROLLING US!!! Douglas Adams was right!

Perhaps what is becoming clear is the "possession"-like nature of diseases. Exorcists were ancient doctors, after all. Ever got the flu and simply wanted to kill everyone? That's the flu talking. Ever find yourself meowing on a fence for females? That's the catitis talking.

We are all DNA strands struggling to make sense of it all.

Forgive Them!

They know not what they do!

These mad scientists are creating a Philip K Dickbot! Philly K was always worried that he had been replaced by an android and went to great lengths to explore the possibility. By all that is sacred, what madness is this! The Dickbot will be programmed to act exactly as the speed-addicted-cia-harassed-cult-leader-sci-fi-genius. The android will be paranoid that it is an android! It's frankly Phildickian in it's phildickianess!

Mark my words, this will all end in saline excretions via a small tube connected next to the Dickbot's eye-camera.

Oh, and today, Michael Jackson was found not guilty. But in the Court of Chas, to the charges of Offending Life Itself, I find him GUILTY ON ALL CHARGES, except for owning pornography which is not a crime in the Law of Chas, except if it is child porn, in which case HANG, MICHAEL JACKSON SPAWN OF DEVIL, HANG! His punishment will be to live as Michael Jackson for the REST OF HIS LIFE! Too harsh? Perhaps, but the Court of Chas is cruel in it's Justice. For, as Daredevil teaches us, JUSTICE IS BLIND! As in, blind drunk!

Now, pass the Jesus Juice, I feel a revelation coming on!

Stolen From Simon World

Not sure who the author was, but tear-jerkingly true:

The Aussie Bar-B-Q "Tong Master"

Macca was at the barbecue and Jonesy was at the barbecue and I was at the barbecue; three men standing around a barbecue, sipping beer, staring at sausages, rolling them backwards and forwards, never leaving them alone.

We didn't know why we were at the barbecue; we were just drawn there like moths to a flame. The barbecue was a powerful gravitational force, a man-magnet.

Jonesy said the thin ones could use a turn, I said yeah I reckon the thin ones could use a turn, Macca said yeah they really need a turn - it was a unanimous turning decision.

Macca was the "Tong-Master", a true artist, he gave a couple of practice snaps of his long silver tongs, "SNAP SNAP", before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of his wrist, rolling them onto their little backs.

A lesser tong-man would've flicked too hard; the sausages would've gone full circle, back to where they started.

Nice, I said. The others went yeah.

Kevin was passing us, he heard the siren-song - sizzle of the snags, the barbecue was calling, beckoning, "Kevinnnnn ...Kevinnnnnn......come".

He stuck his head in and said any room? We said yeah and began the barbecue shuffle; Macca shuffled to the left, Jonesy shuffled to the left, I shuffled to the left, Kevin slipped in beside me, we sipped our beer.

Now there were four of us staring at sausages, and Macca gave me the nod, my cue. I was second-in-command, and I had to take the raw sausages out of the plastic bag and lay them on the barbecue; not too close together, not too far apart, curl them into each other's bodies like lovers - fat ones, thin ones, herbed and continental. The chipolatas were tiny; they could easily slip down between the grill, falling into the molten coals & heat-bead netherworld below.

Carefully I laid them sideways ACROSS the grill, clever thinking. Macca snapped his tongs with approval, there was no greater barbecue honour.

P.J. came along, He said "looking good, looking good maaaaaaaaate" - the irresistible lure of the barbecue had pulled him in too. We said yeah and did the shuffle, left, left, left, left, he slipped in beside Kevin, we sipped our beer.

Five men, lots of sausages. Jonesy was the Fork-pronger; he had the fork that pronged the tough hides of the Bavarian bratwursts and he showed lots of promise. Stabbing away eagerly, leaving perfect little vampire holes up and down the casing.

P.J. was shaking his head; he said "I reckon they cook better if you don't poke them". There was a long silence, you could have heard a chipolata drop; this new-comer was a rabble-rouser, bringing in his crazy ideas from outside. He didn't understand the hierarchy; first the "Tong-Master", Then the "Sausage-Layer", then the "Fork-Pronger" -and everyone below was just a watcher.

Maybe eventually they'll move up the ladder, but for now - don't rock the Weber.

Dianne popped her head in; hmmm, smells good, she said. She was trying to jostle into the circle; we closed ranks, pulling our heads down and our shoulders in, mumbling yeah yeah yeah, but making no room for her. She was keen, going round to the far side of the barbecue, heading for the only available space.... "THE GAP" in the circle where all the smoke and ashes blew. Nobody could survive "THE GAP"; Dianne was going to try.


She stood there stubbornly, smoke blinding her eyes, ashes filling her nostrils, sausage fat spattering all over her arms and face. Until she couldn't take it anymore, she gave up, backed off.

Kevin waited till she was gone and sipped his beer. We sipped our beer; yeah.

Macca handed me his tongs. I looked at him and he nodded. I knew what was happening, I'd waited a long time for this moment - the abdication.

The tongs weighed heavy in my hands, firm in my grip - was I ready for the responsibility?

Yes, I was. I held them up high and they glinted in the sun. Don't forget to turn the thin ones Macca said as he walked away from the barbecue, disappearing toward the house. Yeah I called back, I will, I will. I snapped them twice, SNAP SNAP, before moving in, prodding, teasing, and with an elegant flick of my wrist, rolling them back onto their little bellies.

I was a natural, I was the "TONG-MASTER"...

Until Macca got back from the toilet....

The Judgement of Corby

Ms Corby will soon know her fate, as the whole of Australia follows her trial. Personally, I think the only interest here is the interest shown. Fascinating seeing people's prejudices out for show. The verdict is surely a simple one. She was found with 4kg of marijuana in her bag. Witnesses claim she pannicked and tried to stop the Indonesian customs from opening it. Biased witnesses, that is her family and friends, claim the drugs weren't in the bag when she packed it. Heresay from a convicted rapist indicates a conspiricy involving baggage handlers and drug smuggling. There isn't enough evidence to apply a charge of importing a narcotic or trafficking. There isn't enough evidence to deny a charge of possession, which carries a maximum 10 years in gaol. I predict 5, which includes the 6 months she has already done. It really doesn't deserve this kind of media and public scrutiny and the martydom of Corby. Studying co-workers reactions to all this, they are treating it like Big Brother or Survivor. One even asked whether the coverage today was the "Final Verdict Show", in all seriousness. My friend, it is only the last episode in the first series, there will be an appeal either way (3, in fact). I hope they bring in Keifer Sutherland for the second series.

Sydney Morning Herald has the right idea. Here is the url for their live coverage: http://live.smh.com.au/live/olympics/generic/comp0/game74/commentary.html

I, for one, would love to see trials become an Olympic sport too!

Update: Well, 20 years. Must a bid by the judges to force an appeal. I really don't think the evidence supports importation, and an appeal will drop it to possession. More time on the world media stage for the Indonesians!

Winner of The Internet - May 2005

http://outpostnine.com/editorials/teacher.html

If this guy hasn't picked up a TV sitcom deal already, I'd be happy to get it organised. Not that I am in such a position, but his tales of being a an assistant English teacher in Japan are pure gold.

Denial

To: Department of Mental Management (dmm@brain.chas.person)
From: Department of Complex Tasks (dct@brain.chas.person)
Subject: Speed enquiry

To whom it may concern,

As you may be aware, we are currently engaging in the task of driving a motor vehicle. The Department of Visual Awareness has informed the Department of Complex Tasks that the speedometer reading is 80 and the local area speed limit signs say 60. Could you please inform us whether this is legal?

Regards,

Brian Rainer

******************************************************

To: Department of Complex Tasks (dct@brain.chas.person)
From: Department of Mental Management (dmm@brain.chas.person)
Subject: re: Speed enquiry

Dear Brain,

Our records indicate that the policy most relevant to your situation is the "I'm Not Good At Maths Act 1987".

Sincerest regards,

Damien Nial

******************************************************

To: Department of Mental Management (dmm@brain.chas.person)
From: Department of Complex Tasks (dct@brain.chas.person)
Subject: re: re: Speed enquiry

Dear Damien,

We are fully aware of the "I'm Not Good At Maths Act 1987". We are also aware of the "Simple Skills Required For Driving Act 1998", which clearly states that "simple maths tasks are to be performed by the relevant department as requested for the purpose of driving a motor vehicle”. Please furnish us with relevant data.

Thanks,

Brian

******************************************************

To: Department of Complex Tasks (dct@brain.chas.person)
From: Department of Mental Management (dmm@brain.chas.person)
Subject: re: re: re: Speed enquiry

Dear Brian,

Ah, yes, our mistake. We will request the information you require and have it for you shortly.

Damien

******************************************************

To: Department of Mental Management (dmm@brain.chas.person)
From: Department of Complex Tasks (dct@brain.chas.person)
Subject: re: re: re: re: Speed enquiry

Dear Damien,

Please disregard my previous request. Please supply us now with procedures for dealing with a police officer.

Brian

******************************************************

******************************************************

******************************************************

To: Department of Mental Management (dmm@Brain.chas.person)
From: Department of Reflex Tasks (drt@Brain.chas.person)
Subject: Tiger

To whom it may concern,

Could your department, with all due haste, please inform us of the procedures to follow when confronted by an enraged Bengal tiger?

Sincerely,

Simon Pinal

******************************************************

To: Department of Reflex Tasks (drt@Brain.chas.person)
From: Department of Mental Management (dmm@Brain.chas.person)
Subject: re: Tiger

Dear Simon,

After an extensive search, the only relevant information we can supply you is contained in the “It Can’t Happen To Me Act 1977”.

Regards,

Damien Nial

******************************************************

To: Department of Mental Management (dmm@Brain.chas.person)
From: Department of Reflex Tasks (drt@Brain.chas.person)
Subject: re: re: Tiger

Dear Damien,

That is ridiculous. Prepare to hear from our lawyers.

Simon

******************************************************

To: Department of Reflex Tasks (drt@Brain.chas.person)
From: Department of Mental Management (dmm@Brain.chas.person)
Subject: re: re: re: Tiger

Simon,

Our lawyers welcome your legal challenge and we believe we have legislation and law on our side. Naturally, the department denies that there is, was or ever will be a Bengal tiger and stands behind our claim that there is no feasible way this government could have made contact which such a thing. Even if it did exist.

Damien

******************************************************

To: Department of Mental Management (dmm@Brain.chas.person)
From: Department of Reflex Tasks (drt@Brain.chas.person)
Subject: re: re: re: re: Tiger

Damien,

As we both wait impatiently for the pending legal case, could you please marshal your resources and discover the procedure for stemming blood loss due to a gash in the femoral artery? Any and all information would be VERY MUCH appreciated.

Simon

******************************************************

To: Department of Reflex Tasks (drt@Brain.chas.person)
From: Department of Mental Management (dmm@Brain.chas.person)
Subject: re: re: re: re: Tiger

Please note that Damien Nial is away on annual leave. If you have an urgent enquiry, please assume the department denies all knowledge of it.

Nearly a month between drinks

Blogwise, that is.

I don't have anything to add, really. Only that I am incredibly bored at work today. Haven't gotten the hang of the grind since I came back. I'll get there.

I am so bored I am doing the trick of watching the backup program and periodically writing a file name down on a piece of paper. It really looks like I am doing something excruciatingly important, especially as I have a concerned frown plastered on my brow.

The trick, however, is not to look too concerned, or else my boss will ask what disaster I am presiding over.

It's a fine line. I have cured myself of feeling guilty when the work is slow, however. It is a blessing that all is running smoothly and all tasks have been completed. It won't be like that for long.

Match of Hope

Dear Diary,

I note with great displeasure that every one of your pages contains information about me. What, are you stalking me? Stop following me, or I will have to invoke legal action. You have been warned.

Speaking of warned, I was watching a rather boring exhibition match of football, otherwise known as soccer to least cultured, held in Barcelona to raise funds for the tsunami. It featured some of football's more prominent has beens, including David Beckham who, I swear, only touched the football once, and even then it was more of a dodgy priest/Michael Jackson kind of touch than, say, a touch of brilliance. I only mention it, as the company I was with at the time wondered whether he was sending an SMS to Shane Warne, to which I mentioned that the message was probably not an SMS, but a texticle. We determined that a texticle is shorter than a full blown SMS and invariably is of lewd content. Despite that, all correspondence between us since has been referred to as a texticle. What do I have to do to make this word common parlance? I personally think a texticle is much nicer than a text, txt, sms or whatnot.

If I were Orange, and by that I mean the telecommunications company Orange, not "if I were the colour orange", I would hire Lance Armstrong to advertise the new, cool, totally chic new way of communicating with your friends via "Orange Texticles". He could say "When I won the Tour de France for the seventh time, I sent a texticle to Shane Warne so he could send texticles to the world. Send your Orange Texticle today."

France

I wasn't going to write anything on this damned, DAMNED, blog while vacationing in the mother land, France, which is where I am, in case that wasn't clear, but I will anyway. France just nicked their 6 nations match against England, otherwise known as the old foes, for headline reasons no doubt. I tip Ireland will take the 6 nations. France looks out of sorts and England are crap.

Some spam for you:

Subject: Do you covet to sense satisfactory next morning ? (Ed: damn straight. Every morning)

A modern survey displays that it needs an average of just 2.3 drinks to induce a hang-over. But this tablets supports you avoid katzenjammers and awaken sensitive splendid from head to stomach and everywhere else.

I, for one, am sick of katzenjammers. They are all jammy and katzenish. Splendid. Oh, and don't bother asking me for the link to buying this magic substance, I have bought their entire stock.

So, from the mother-land (as in: the land of my mother, she is French you know), a bientôt.

Short but sweet

Does anyone know what software Delta Goodrem uses to write her music? It is quite clever. I can't wait for version 2.0 when it might start producing some good music.

Why is God always Forbidding and Allah always Willing? Or is it the other way around? Buddha says it is all three.

I'll put it out there: Scientists have been trying to figure out what the anti-gravity force is. They call is cosmological constants or dark matter or stumps me. I think it is free will. There, I said it. I am sure of it. What we call free will is a form of energy. It oposes gravity. It is a weak force of the same magnitude as gravity. This will be proven one day. Just not by me, I can't be bothered. But, think about it, it makes sense.

I'll leave it with you,

WOW

Chas is now an entity in World Of Warcraft. He is currently a level 19 Human Warrior. This means his user, when not at work, is plastered in front of the computer guiding Chas through the world of Azeroth, running, chatting, buying, fishing, mining, blacksmithing, making bandages and fighting. Mainly running. It is a big world, after all.

Chas' first MMORPG. Dear Christ, it is addictive.

Still, one of the benefits of not having a life is the time available to live a virtual life. In fact, any remnants of a life I still have are in the process of being eliminated.

But good riddance to it. I have had enough of having "a life". My liver can't take it anymore. I have tasted most of life's riches; I have travelled both physically and mentally, I have discovered spirituality, eaten fine food, laughed with good friends, loved and lost. Hell, I even jumped out of a perfectly good aeroplane on Sunday at 14,000 feet. Unfortunately, there was this weirdo strapped to my back who saved my life with a parachute. So, adieu "having a life". Time to strap on the Metallica t-shirt, turn the lights off, crank up the pot noodle and settle in to computer geekdom. L33t.

The blog may stay, though. It might be useful to chronicle the exploits of Chas in this new realm.

The Seer saw it coming.