Monday, 30 June 2008

A USA Jail - Some interesting Reading .


I would vote for this man and set him up in the UK Australia or in fact everywhere. as well.

These are some of the reasons why:
Sheriff Joe Arpaio created the 'tent city jail' to save Arizona from spending tens of millions of dollars on another expensive prison complex.
He has jail meals down to 20 cents a serving and charges the inmates for them.

He banned smoking and pornographic magazines in the jails, and took away their weightlifting equipment and cut off all but 'G' movies. He says: 'They're in jail to pay a debt to society not to build muscles so they can assault innocent people when they leave.'
He started chain gangs to use the inmates to do free work on county and city projects and save taxpayer's money.
Then he started chain gangs for women so he wouldn't get sued for discrimination.

He took away cable TV until he found out there was a federal court order that required cable TV for jails. So he hooked up the cable TV again but only allows the Disney channel and the weather channel.

When asked why the weather channel, he replied: 'So these morons will know how hot it's gonna be while they are working on my chain gangs.' He cut off coffee because it has zero nutritional value and is therefore a waste of taxpayer money. When the inmates complained, he told them, 'This isn't the Ritz/Carlton. If you don't like it, don't come back.' He also bought the Newt Gingrich lecture series on US history that he pipes into the jails. When asked by a reporter if he had any lecture series by a Democrat, he replied that a democratic lecture series that actually tells the truth for a change would be welcome and that it might even explain why 95% of the inmates were in his jails in the first place.
With temperatures being even hotter than usual in Phoenix (116 degrees just set a new record for June 2nd 2007), the Associated Press reported: About 2,000 inmates living in a barbed wire surrounded tent encampment at the Maricopa County Jail have been given permission to strip down to their government-issued pink boxer shorts.
On the Wednesday, hundreds of men wearing pink boxer shorts were overheard chatting in the tents, where temperatures reached 128 degrees. 'This is hell. It feels like we live in a furnace,' said Ernesto Gonzales, an inmate for 2 years with 10 more to go. 'It's inhumane.' Joe Arpaio, who makes his prisoners wear pink, and eat bologna sandwiches, is not one bit sympathetic. 'Criminals should be punished for their crimes - not live in luxury until it's time for parole, only to go out and commit more crimes so they can come back in to live on taxpayers money and enjoy things many taxpayers can't afford to have for themselves.'
The same day he told all the inmates who were complaining of the heat in the tents: 'It's between 120 to 130 degrees in Iraq and our soldiers are living in tents too, and they have to walk all day in the sun, wearing full battle gear and get shot at, and they have not committed any crimes, so shut your damned mouths!'

Way to go, Sheriff! If all prisons were like yours there would be a lot less crime and we would not be in the current position of running out of prison spaces.

If you agree, pass this on.
If not, just delete it.

Sheriff Joe was just re-elected as Sheriff in Maricopa County , Arizona

POSTED BY NIGEL COLEMAN, Vest's Nephew in the UK. Vest is busy.

Saturday, 28 June 2008

Rain From Nowhere. By Murray Hartin.

Have your hanky at the ready before reading this.

'Rain from nowhere' by Murray Hartin

The much requested poem about the drought and the struggle many of our farmers are facing.
This poem was submitted to the program by a listener, Murray Hartin. It's both a beautiful and a sad piece that reflects with brutal honesty the situation many outback Australian farmers are facing today.
Rain from nowhere By Murray Hartin.
His cattle didn't get a bid, they were fairly bloody poor, What was he going to do? He couldn't feed them anymore,The dams were all but dry, hay was thirteen bucks a bale, Last month's talk of rain was just a fairytale. His credit had run out, no chance to pay what's owed, Bad thoughts ran through his head as he drove down Gully Road, ‘Geez, great grandad bought the place back in 1898, Now I'm such a useless bastard, I'll have to shut the gate.’‘Can't support my wife and kids, not like dad and those before, Christ, Grandma kept it going while Pop fought in the war.’With depression now his master, he abandoned what was right, There's no place in life for failures, he'd end it all tonight. There were still some things to do, he'd have to shoot the cattle first, Of all the jobs he'd ever done, that would be the worst. He'd have a shower, watch the news, then they'd all sit down for tea. Read his kids a bedtime story, watch some more TV. Kiss his wife goodnight, say he was off to shoot some roos. Then in a paddock far away he'd blow away the blues. But he drove in the gate and stopped - as he always had To check the roadside mailbox - and found a letter from his Dad. Now his dad was not a writer, Mum did all the cards and mail But he knew the style from the notebooks that he used at cattle sales. He sensed the nature of its contents, felt moisture in his eyes, Just the fact his dad had written was enough to make him cry.‘Son, I know it's bloody tough, it's a cruel and twisted game,This life upon the land, when you're screaming out for rain.There's no candle in the darkness, not a single speck of light But don't let the demon get you, you have to do what's right.’‘I don't know what's in your head but push the bad thoughts well away, See, you'll always have your family at the back end of the day.You have to talk to someone, and yes I know I rarely did, But you have to think about Fiona and think about the kids.’‘I'm worried about you son, you haven't rung for quite a while, I know the road you're on 'cause I've walked every bloody mile.The date? December 7 back in 1983, Behind the shed I had the shotgun rested in the brigalow tree.’‘See, I'd borrowed way too much to buy the Johnson place,Then it didn't rain for years and we got bombed by interest rates.The bank was at the door, I didn't think I had a choice, I began to squeeze the trigger - that's when I heard your voice.’‘You said “Where are you Daddy? It's time to play our game, I've got Squatter all set up, you might get General Rain.”It really was that close, you're the one that stopped me son, And you're the one that taught me there's no answer in a gun. ‘Just remember people love you, good friends won't let you down, Look, you might have to swallow pride and get a job in town. Just 'til things come good, son, you've always got a choice And when you get this letter ring me, cause I'd love to hear yourvoice.’Well he cried and laughed and shook his head then put the truck in gear, Shut his eyes and hugged his dad in a vision that was clear, Dropped the cattle at the yards, put the truck away Filled the troughs the best he could and fed his last ten bales of hay. Then he strode towards the homestead, shoulders back and head held high, He still knew the road was tough but there was purpose in his eye. He called for his wife and children, who'd lived through all his pain, Hugs said more than words - he'd come back to them again. They talked of silver linings, how good times always follow bad, Then he walked towards the phone, picked it up and rang his Dad. And while the kids set up the Squatter, he hugged his wife again,Then they heard the roll of thunder and they smelt the smell of rain. Murray Hartin February 21, 2007

Thursday, 26 June 2008


THANK YOU Jane for the Beautiful flowers we received a few minutes ago for our Emerald Wedding Anniversary. Stand tall sweet lady, we all love you very much, again thank you for your kind wishes, we should have realised you hardly ever forget.XOXOX :))))))))))))))))) BIG HUGS.
Jane, as she prefers to be called, is our niece and the daughter of my dear departed brother.
Jane lives in Bicester England and is a wonderful person.

ANNOUNCEMENT, June 26 : 08

KYLIE. Our senior Granddaughter and Daughter of Anthony(Tony) Our #2 son, is heavily preggers with twins which will compliment her other two daughters.
Rosemary and I will become Great Grandparents for the fourth time, there are no known multiple births occurring in the various family lines within the last few generations.

David having read a former post and remembering that we always remember, David our #3 son sent Anniversary wishes, he apologises profoundly for being late. Thank you David and Mandy.
David will be 49 on Sunday June 29 : 08 , "Happy Birthday David" Card in the mail.
And of course while I am in family mode, How about "Happy Birthday to Tony" Who will be 51 tomorrow. Tony and Rebbecca his long term lady friend are to be married on Sept 6, it will be his third trip down the aisle.
Ah well, its all happening, nothing stays mundane for long, er indoors has hers a week Sunday and I follow 11 days later, seems mid Oct to Christmas is our mating season.

Wednesday, 25 June 2008

LADIES PUBLIC LOOS, Please, no comments from Asian loo users.

When you have to visit a public toilet, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the cubicle doors. Every cubicle is occupied. Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants! The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mum, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door hook, if there was one, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mum would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!) down with your pants and assume ' The Stance. In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or to lay toilet paper on it, you hold 'The Stance.' To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Dear, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!' Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your bag (the bag around your neck, that now you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail. Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work. The door hits your bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest and you and your bag topple backward against the tank of the toilet. 'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, while losing your footing altogether and sliding down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get. By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that covers your bum and runs down your legs and into your shoes. The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a sweet wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the taps with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it?) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this. As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and why is your bag hanging around your neck? This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public rest rooms/toilets (rest??? you've GOT to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers that other commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs. It's so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand you Kleenex under the door. This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so accurately. Send this to all women that need a good laugh. A Friend Is Like A Good Bra... Hard to Find Supportive Comfortable Always Lifts You Up Never Lets You Down or Leaves You Hanging And Is Always Close To Your Heart!!!

Posted by ROSEMARY.......... Vest is too busy today.

Was very busy. He arose from slumber at 0935 had a breakfast of large glass of water, two slices of toast plus two eggs and baked beans. shortly after sought out the toilet in a hurry then washed his hands - showered and dressed to go out.
Vest left in 'Henry' the falcon wagon for the garage and shops at 11 32 and he said he would be out a fair time to complete his several tasks. which are posted below.
Called into Garage(Service Station) for registration check on vehicle, Which included a road test plus brake and visual test of car for damage in need of repair. then the front wipers were renewed plus the multi purpose fan belt.
During this activity he went shopping calling back to the garage to place our groceries in unattended car - when the garage guy charged him $104. According to vest it was cheap speedy and done proficiently.
Vest arrived home in Henry the Falcon at 1216.

This 81 year old bloke was busy for at least 44 minutes which would take an 18 year old half the day.
He told me as it was such a beautiful day he had to get back home to tell me he loved me, the silly old bugger, luvs ya too vesty.......Rosemary.

Sunday, 22 June 2008


There is that old saying what ever it was; that , friends are more reliable than relatives . So a spade being a spade and I don't give a stuff who I offend, I shall promulgate a list of those who sent congratulations for our fifty fith Anniversary and not those who didn't. Bearing in mind that, my wife and I rarely fail to communicate regularly or send Gold, Frankincense or Myrrh to our deserving relatives on the two major gift giving days of the year, I find it pathetic and offensive that not one single card or communication was received from any of our relatives, other than verbal congrats from two granddaughters and two sons. My main reason for this tirade is simply that my Wife Rosemary - the Matriarch of our family who bends over backwards to maintain the Status Quo within the tribe deserves better than this, although Rosemary and I have never been afforded the privilege to send a significant marriage time frame congratulatory message beyond(Wood- Five Years) to any of our prodigy, we would have certainly done so, should there have been an opportunity, I suppose it is the sign of the times; like the throw away society of today, where selfishness rules supreme . In my case it would not bother me too much, as it would provide an excuse for knocking up a ( I am frightfully sorry; I forgot list) Or as the Irish lady said to her son " I was going to send fifty dollars; but I had already sealed the envelope" I am not sure I would send a 'go and get stuffed message - but then you never know, maybe simply to let them know I am still around, A cheap shop card - with the message"Things are tough - times are hard here's your effing birthday card".

There were Thirty seven email and blog comment messages received from friends here in Oz and overseas and those who sent them we thank you.
Rosemary and I exchanged Cards & flowers and other niceties.
Other than that, the only other card we received was from an ex Governor General and his wife, Sir William P Deane and Lady Helen Deane. Thanks Bill and Helen.

It's really a wonder that I haven't yet dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. yet I keep them, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart. I suppose we must learn which ceremonies may be breached occasionally at our convenience and which ones may never be if we are to live pleasantly with our fellow man.

P S. In lieu of 'Effing' you may read blesse'd if you wish.

Have a Happy and Wonderful day, VEST.

Thursday, 19 June 2008

Five years Further up the track to the present time but remembering the past

Tomorrow, the twentieth day of June 2008 Vest and his darling lady will be celebrating their 55th
Wedding Anniversary. It is expected that, this will be a low key affair as very little info has infiltrated to vests agents from MI,6, Mossad the CIA, KGB or the Mafia with regard to any planned festivity. In the past, costing of an account draining thingy like bringing the family together for any particular reason was borne by yours truly, and hardly likely to be changed during this period of fiscal downturn which will be used as an excuse not to push the boat out or change family tradition; so to speak. That being the case I have decided that our resources will be better used for our own personal indulgence. I expect we shall pop down to the club for a skinful, have a kiss and cuddle and that will be about it, However, if by chance I am able to relate something differing to what is expected, I shall let you know

Below is an account of the celebration five years ago, some names of friends and of all family members have been changed.

Fifty Years.
Our Golden Wedding anniversary celebrations on 21 June 2003 went well. Mary and I were very pleased. I thought Mary looked very beautiful. She was complimented by most of my former shipmates, who suggested she looked more like my daughter. The dinner was excellent and our friends and relatives were well turned out and very polite to one another. The reason for the niceties was the imposing presence of my ex-naval friends and their partners, who did their level best to be as pleasant as was possible. My good friend, Harry delivered a complimentary speech. Every one enjoyed the good quality dance music. Mary danced with all five sons and every other male person at the party. Our sons were photographed with us displaying happy smiles, although their shaven heads and dark clothing reminded me of the TV family ‘The Sopranos.”
I was quite surprised when Bruce turned up at the club looking quite fit and healthy. Bruce told me he had met his wife, Shirley at the Lady Jane Nudist beach in outer Sydney, where he said she had fallen in love with him at first sight. He said it was a match made in heaven, as Shirley was young and beautiful, owned a logging business in Tasmania, and was ‘stinking rich.’ Bruce told me that he and Shirley had been married nearly eleven years, and had three daughters aged ten, nine and eight. This had apparently kept him celibate six months out of twelve during the first three years of marriage; however, visits to the logging sites to check out the female office staff were always rewarding. He had heard that they referred to him as ‘Mr Whopper’ or ‘Hoss the Boss.’
Bruce told me that he intended to stay a few days, as he was interested in learning a few new dance procedures that Miss Twinkletoes had promised to teach him. If his energy permitted, he would also call on a few other ladies to whom he had been enamoured in the past.
My beautiful Mary put on a sporty smile and introduced Bruce as Mr Bruce Kranski from Tasmania, which raised a few eyebrows and a lot of giggles. After eyeballing our five sons who looked as tough as nails, Bruce told me he would keep a low profile in their presence. Mary later told me Bruce had said something quite explicit but complimentary to her and that his mere presence and past reputation left her weak at the knees. I have not heard from Bruce since our 50th.
George our son stayed to the end of the celebration but his family members left early.
At midnight, the house was filled with family members and friends, but by two o’clock, only relatives remained. This was when Henry and William had a minor disagreement after they had indulged in a smoko session. I would like to mention that all of our sons are on good terms with us, although they are aware I disapprove of some of their goings on. Christopher, our eldest son, is very philosophical about it all. He is dedicated to his computer and his music and enjoys the company of fresh lips rather than long-term involvement with the available ladies. Although Christopher loves his brothers, he objects to the pot smoking.
George’s brothers have described Brother George as a trifle irritating at times, particularly when he constantly explains to all and sundry about the value of his house and land. They say it’s a pity George’s mind doesn’t have the same values, referring to his silly pornographic jokes. Despite everything, however, his brothers have told me they love George as brothers should and would defend him to the end (although Steven, being gay, is not too sure he should say, “I love you, George.”)
Having been divorced twice, George lived with several women in the gaps between his marital disasters, one of whom I had heard was ‘bi lingual!’ George’s current partner, Rachael has stood by him for about nine years. Although I must admit Rachael has had a steadying influence on him, I am not privy to their domestic scenario. The lady in question is now a compulsive non-drinker due to her unsociable tendencies when overcome by alcohol, but her present responsible attitude to her past problem is to be admired. However, it seemed at the time, her brief kiss on the side of my cheek last night was about as welcoming as a bite from a black widow spider. Rachael who was dressed in a stunningly beautiful creation, looked very attractive for her thirty-five years; with her new blonde-by-choice look. Although I would have loved to have told her how beautiful she looked, I was reluctant to tell her so in case of a possible rebuke. Rachael is well supported by George, who is certainly not a slacker and apparently loves his on-site underground sanitary engineering job with the city council.
George is currently at loggerheads with his younger brother, Steven, who after seven years of marriage, two children, and a divorce is now gay. Steven has had several affairs but has settled down to a business-like and friendly partnership with Adrian, who I know to be a very pleasant person from a very nice, supportive family. At first, Mary and I were unhappy about Steven’s decision, but now we are more tolerant and supportive.
Steven’s ex-wife, Marie refused to allow her two children to attend our 50th bash. Since I have known her, I have never been rude to her and have made every attempt to be nice to her. Now, Marie still owes me about $12,000 and still borrows from time to time. Her decision to attend a barbecue party instead of our 50th could have jeopardised our ‘diplomatic friendliness; however, access to our beautiful grandchildren might be at risk if we don’t impose the patriotic art of lying to protect our interests, so I shall continue to be courteous to Marie.
Steven and Adrian sent photographs of themselves dressed up at a gay party to George’s fifteen-year-old daughter, Coral Rose. George was concerned that the photos would corrupt his ‘pure’ daughter. (I thought the photos were harmless and quite modest, as no genital or body parts were on display.)
Beautiful much loved Coral Rose arrived at the reception with her Mentor – none other than Rachael, George’s quite attractive live-in lover. I was permitted to kiss only one cheek so that I wouldn’t ruin her make up. I said, “Hallo, darling granddaughter. It is nice to see you again. You look so beautiful.”
Coral Rose replied, “Hallo” and walked off. She had been well indoctrinated. It would appear Coral Rose has lost the art of intellectual conversation, in particular being able to say “thank you.”
George, a man of strong family principles as mentioned earlier, describes his younger brother being gay; as a despot unworthy of his family’s recognition. Yet, George is aware that his very young daughter is on the pill and possibly having relations with a male friend.
I am having difficulty deciding whether George is the ‘Kettle or the Pot’. Then again, George may be trying to stem a flood of new arrivals. Kimberly, his eldest daughter who we love dearly, is very pregnant with our great grand daughter, the father of whom I have never met and who has shot through to the outback far beyond the black stump. It is a pity one cannot teach wisdom to the young. Nevertheless, I love George and all my sons equally, as a good father should. George is a good supportive father.
Mary and I have had two very pleasant visits to George, Rachael and Kimberly and her baby, beautiful Polly, at their home three months after the party, where all differences of opinion were shelved and we left on a happy note; after burying our hatchets six paces north of the hills hoist clothes post! However, at the party earlier, Steven and George eyeballed each other. I warned them “One word and out you go.”
It was after midnight when we returned home. Most of our guests had travelled far and were staying at local motels. Our family members continued to imbibe.
Having had little sleep overnight, Mary and I arranged for Steven and his partner Adrian to do the barbecue breakfast, they being employed by the best firm in the business; ‘ Barbe ques Galore’ at Kotara near Newcastle NSW, and they, knowing only too well; how to make your sausage sizzle! By one o’clock pm, we were at last on our own to spend the rest of the day recovering.
We received many cards and beautiful presents from well-wishers, among them a card from that little baldy bloke who is our nation’s leader and one from our Federal member, Ken Ticehurst, who is deserving of our thanks for his good work. Thanks, mate. There was another from our liberal Senator, Dr John Tierney; a splendid fellow and always busy, and a card from our temporary stand-in Governor General (who is also the Governor General of Tasmania), Sir Guy Green, Administrator of the Commonwealth of Australia, and his lovely wife, Lady Rosslyn. The card we really treasured, (not to demean the others which were are all very nice) was the card from The Honourable Sir William Deane and his lovely wife, Lady Helen Deane, (formerly Gov Gen Sir W. Deane and Lady Deane) who described us as old and valued friends of theirs. Thanks, Sir Bill and Helen. There were many occasions that Mary and I would have morning tea with Helen, during which time we would discuss family issues and I would tell her son jokes. I firmly believe that Bill and Helen Deane were the finest people to grace their exalted positions of Australian representatives of the British Monarchy.
There was no mention from Bob, who held the State’s top job. Maybe it was because of that nasty letter that I sent him in January when I was enraged over some stupid political nonsense. It seems his memory extends further than most political leaders. Bob is really a nice bloke, but his advisers are constantly getting their sums wrong.
Two years ago when our leader was in the USA, an American journalist asked one of his minders about his name.
“Mr Hunt, isn’t it?” enquired the journalist.
“No,” said the minder.” But don’t worry, you almost had it right.”

Have A Wonderful Day, Vest.

Monday, 16 June 2008

If It's Size That Counts... Come into my garden of love..Or was it Wishful Thinking.

ONE of my hobbies includes the growing of exotic and expensive vegetables, mainly for our own family use. However, one not too exotic and easy to grow veg is the Oriental Radish, its flesh is not as pungent to the taste as the smaller red & white up to 60mm variety and they tend to mature quickly within a period of 8 to 10 weeks. According to the legend on the seed packet, these Oriental Radishes will grow to a length of 30cm and attain a diametor of 45mm which I am able to confirm; although some of these only attain runt size about that of a large carrot. At the present time there will be at least two weeks to wait for the next crop to reach maturity.On Tuesday June 3, Rosemary and I went shopping(pain in the arse and aching limbs from walking on those hard sup/mark floors), after our reg stop at the grog shop our last port of call was the massive (feast your eyes) on the largest variety of fruit vegies known to mankind storeAthough the consumption of animals various still forms part of our diet, I in particular have a penchant for a variety of vegies to be included, in most cases up to seven varieties per day chosen from possibly twenty or more.Then I saw them, several bunches of them, yep they were Oriental radishes alright, couldn't believe my eyes, the size of them was hard to believe, they all exceeded the proportions of those on my seed packet.Waitng in line at the checkout for several minutes with my large bunch of Oriental radishes created smiles and several guarded comments from ladies also waiting to be served.Then the gorgeous checkout chick; not to be outdone by the others, flashed her eyes and smiled stating 'Crikey they are huge', causing more titters from the waiting customers.But then the waiting ladies burst out into uncontrollable laughter when I replied to The checkout chick.

"I Wish I could get mine to grow as large as these".

A red faced vest exits the store amid more laughter.

True story by vest.

Saturday, 14 June 2008

Having More Pussy Than You Need Can Be Fun.

Vest said...
Went to club last night with er indoors, sat with Johnnie Walker listening to bang clang band,lots of young chicks and roosters jockeying for a trundle in the nest box, but mostly old boilers like us. Lost forty bucks on keno and pokies went back to the igloo turned up the heat then sat with Jack Daniels watching the 20-20 and the barmy army cheer on the poms to a nine wicket win over the black caps with three overs to spare.
Out of bed at 9:20am to shoo off a group of seven day wonders, was scolded by the neighbours for using the F word. Went back to bed, two mins later 'ring-ring' avon lady calls; er indoors is out shopping, the anti ageing creams and lotions cost me $49-50,,, a tub of lard would have been cheaper and could be more effective. Married 55 years next Friday. love is an enduring thing. VEST.
1045:am doorbell again. Lady and Gent inform us that they are the owners of 'Barney' who live a .5 kl distance away in a different street, and so the saga of the large pussy unfolds at last.
In the beginning(not Genesis) our #5 son was temporarily accommodated (11Months) with us , bringing with him three desexed cats. When we were not feeding them they were destroying my garden beds. My affinity to cats and dogs is limited to tolerance and returning any affection when shown. However, it came to pass that, about six months before our son and moggies moved out, a huge cat, who we now know is named 'Barney' became a regular caller to our residence and was a popular visitor, our sons pussies became very friendly with Barney and it was amusing to notice how well they got on together even to the point of sharing food and nuzzling each other. Barney had a red collar which we removed to search for his identity, for fun we replaced it with a white flea collar, two days later we put the red collar back on Barney then the collar was removed later on and a blue collar put on. this swapping continued until I attached a note in a small plastic bottle to Barney's collar when he continued calling long after the other cats had left. It is five days since Barney called last, but his grateful owners are happy to know he will be well cared for on his travels afield.

Tuesday, 10 June 2008

When Animal rights protesters get it wrong , PETA is the leading force.

THEY oppose kids keeping goldfish. They oppose people riding horses. They even oppose blind people using guide dogs.
But who would have thought that some so-called animal rights groups would end up promoting animal cruelty?
Back off PETA!!
That is exactly what has happened with the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animal (PETA) protests calling for an immediate ban to mulesing.
It is not the first time this organisation has been on the absurd side of an argument.
The reason for mulesing is simple - it prevents the sheep from being killed by flesh-eating maggots.
Our merino sheep were developed through selective breeding, some time around 1870 - about the same time the blowfly made it here from South Africa.
The folds in the breach of the merino's skin together with the introduction of the blowfly became a lethal combination, creating a new disease: flystrike, where the folds in the skin become infested with maggots and the sheep dies a slow and painful death.
That's why mulesing was first introduced. Removing some of the wool and skin around the breach prevents the sheep being eaten alive. Farmers don't enjoy doing it, but the alternative is far worse.
The American-based organisation PETA knew that Australian industry had agreed to a 2010 phase-out of the practice to provide time to develop alternatives to mulesing.
Some of the alternatives being developed have involved clips, sprays and selective breeding. But then earlier this year PETA decided to embark on a campaign which, if successful, will only cause more sheep to die through flystrike.
They called for mulesing to be banned immediately. Then they went to different retailers around the world and tried to talk them into boycotting Australian wool because we had not met our 2010 deadline.
That's right. PETA complained that a 2010 deadline had not been met in 2008. Industry is confident it is on track to have alternatives in place for 2010. That allows us to work towards improving animal welfare while still supplying the best quality wool in the world. In the meantime, extremist organisations should drop their attacks on Aussie farmers.
If PETA had its way and wool growers stopped mulesing today, we'd see an immediate rise in the number of sheep dying through flystrike. It's yet another case of extremists harming the cause they claim to support.
Foot in mouth PETA Protesters have enough problems to follow up within the North American sector of their operations, cruelty within their Zoos and circuses, the problem of the clubbing of harp seals, the KFC Chicken slaughter methods just to name a few.
I suggest PETA concentrate on the stinking mess in their own stuffed up poxing Cuntry, like curbing the activities of the raving loonies who hunt animals for fun. I suppose the answer made by a Sth Carolina cab driver to me back a bit was when its Quiet on Sundays its coon shooting time.
So why is Australia copping all this Shite. Australia is the third largest Sheep producer in our world, China is the largest and New Zealand the 2nd largest.
Australia is 'Not' the only country involved in this 'Mulesing ' thingy or haven't the PETA Loonies travelled further than OZ.
Mulesing. You could describe it as an equal to a tetanus shot or a cholera or yellow fever inoculation ( I have had a few) and they can be painful for a while , but you know you are not going to catch that dreaded lergy, and as for the sheep an ass full of maggots which is the choice of PETA for our Australian Sheep. Are these PETA Ites; Seventh day wonders as well?
I suggest that PETA travel to China to take a dekko at what is happening there. but that Bonehead Bush would soon drop the lid on that Idea , "Can't antagonize the yellow hordes, never know what might happen".

Wednesday, 4 June 2008

Batchelor Ladies, Independent Freemales, A personal Choice.

You know you're a freemale when:
… the idea of getting married brings you out in a cold sweat.
… you go to bed in a face mask and socks.
… your impressive collection of newly bought shoes is not hidden away at the back of the wardrobe.
… the lid of your lavatory is always down.
… you have a female friend listed as next-of-kin.
… all of your best male friends are gay.
… the only man who tells you what to do in your bathroom is your plumber.
… the only thing that needs looking after in your life is your cat - and yourself.
… the only time you read the lonely hearts column is for a laugh.
… you pity smug mums in TV ads sniffing laundry and gushing about freshness.
… you've never been speed dating - but you're an ace at the karaoke machine.
… before going on a (rare) date, you book an appointment not with your hairdresser but a counsellor.
… you buy your own jewellery.
… your holiday first aid kit is full of hangover cures, rather than Calpol.
… you haven't lost touch with all your friends.
… you're not waiting for Mr Right - or even Mr Right Now.

...Ultimately if you are worth your salt falling in love will trap you, a deep down desire for motherhood and lasting friendship will tip the scales of the loneliness of Independence and free love.
R ..Daily Gaggle.

Monday, 2 June 2008

Hope Not Hate 2008. This will keep you busy.

Hope Not Hate 2008

Ryan Giggs: You must speak out on abusers
For Manchester Utd star Ryan Giggs having a black father meant he suffered racial abuse as a child.

Our two-week grand tour to beat racism
After two weeks on the road a journey that began in Liverpool city centre ends today when the Daily Mirror’s Hope not Hate bus arrives in Brixton, South London.

Rio Ferdinand: Football is a great way to defeat the racists
The latest England football captain personally experienced racism but refused to suffer in silence.

Hope not hate bus ends tour with concert

Music is the food of hope

Ainsley Harriott: The magic of food brings us together

10 reasons you should not vote for the BNP

Stars, writers, union leaders and athletes urge a vote for tolerance

PM backs the Mirror's message to kick out bigotry

Rockers hit Brixton Academy to rally against racism

Hope not hate: Vote for equality, freedom and hope - By Gordon Brown

The Levellers and Alabama 3 for Rock Against Racism

Sir Alan Sugar's sidekicks fired up for Mirror's Hope Not Hate campaign

Emmerdale cast backs Hope Not Hate campaign

Foodies join our Hope Not Hate tour for hotpot and sushi

Corrie stars turn out to back our campaign bus

Hope Not Hate 2008: In pictures

Sugababes back our Hope Not Hate anti-racism battle

Kick out the BNP for good, says David Lammy

Soccer star John Barnes kicks off our Hope not Hate bus tour 2008

Take a look at the Hope Not Hate 2008 route map

Video: Hope Not Hate - The journey begins

Hope Not Hate 2007

A land decked in glory
It’s just over a month since the Daily Mirror and Searchlight launched Hope not Hate, a special campaign aimed at celebrating modern Britain.

Ten reasons not to vote BNP
DID you know the BNP doesn’t even support the England football team because it has black players.

A road to hope: Key moments in the campaign and locations
THE KEY moments in the campaign and locations.

more hope not hate 2007
Hope Not Hate Video

Video: Hope Not Hate 2008 - The key moments in the campaign
The Daily Mirror campaign Hope not Hate has been touring Britain – celebrating modern Britain and visiting lots of different communities in a 1964 Leyland open-topped double decker bus.

Hope Not Hate video diary: Brixton
Our anti-racism bus reaches South London.

Hope Not Hate video diary: Day 10 - Victoria Park
At Victoria Park for the hope Not Hate Carnival.

Hope Not Hate video diary: Day 9 - Dagenham

Hope Not Hate video diary: Day 8 - Wembley

Hope Not Hate video diary: Day 7 - London

more hope not hate video

Sunday, 1 June 2008

Man Convicted of Assault with Hedgehog. (Sequel to post dated 4/11/2008)

Man convicted of assault with a Hedgehog

A man has been convicted of assault after hitting a teenager with a hedgehog and asking him if he wanted to "wear a hedgehog helmet".
William Singalargh, 27, was fined for assault and offensive behaviour by a court in Whakatane, in New Zealand.
He was fined NZ$700 and ordered to pay the bulk of it – NZ$500 - to his victim.
The 15-year-old boy was returning home with two friends in February when he was confronted by four men on the road near his house, Whakatane District Court heard.
One of the men, Singalargh, was holding a hedgehog and asked the boy: "Do you want to wear a hedgehog helmet?"
When the boy indicated that he would rather not, Singalargh threw the animal, leaving a large red welt and four quills lodged in the teenager’s hip.
When the boy's mother intervened, Singalargh pulled down his trousers and exposed his buttocks.
He had pleaded not guilty to the charges, claiming he was not the hedgehog hurler.
But judge Ian Thomas preferred the evidence of other witnesses who identified him by the bright orange trousers he was wearing at the time.
A more serious charge of assault with a weapon — the hedgehog — was dropped. Had he been convicted of that charge, he could have been sentenced to five years in prison.
"He admitted to having been in possession of a hedgehog," police Constable Lyndon Reid said. "He originally claimed that the group had been playing hacky sack with it," Const Reid said, referring to a game in which the aim is to keep up a small ball or bean bag in the air.
It was not known whether the hedgehog was dead or alive at the time of the attack, but Senior Sgt Bruce Jenkins said earlier in the case that it was dead when collected as evidence.
European hedgehogs were deliberately introduced to New Zealand and are now considered a pest.
Vest Say's, Like rabbits, Hedgehogs were part of the staple diet years ago in England, like the turnip was before the Spud arrived from the Americas in the luggage of Sir Walter Raleigh.
Hedgehog Recipe:
Handle Hedgehog with thick gloves, Then kill by piercing head swiftly through the eye into its brain. (Wash Hedgehog in hot water to remove bugs, Optional). Then remove intestines and flush cavity with water, encase Hedgehog in clean garden clay and place in burning campfire embers until clay cracks, pull apart clay-spikes and skin leaving a delicious gourmet repast for one starving Gypsy. If you are not a Gypsy without a domestic oven in your vardo, Warm your oven to 180F - 350 C and bake Hedgehog for 25 mins per lb or 450gr. "Bon Appetite".

Hedge hogs are a protected species in the UK I am told. However, due to them being a pestilence in the land of the long white cloud, I see a possible opportunity for normally unemployable Kiwis,
like KFC, how about, K B H , 'Kiwi Baked Hedgehog' With Fries, franchises.

Prospective franchise owners should contact your local dragons den entrepreneur for advice.

Vest Has Left the Building

To advise that Vest (Les Bowyer) passed away this morning. Regards, Chris (Son).