Great Expectations

Of course, if anyone English had asked me about the cricket this morning, I’d have said “there’s a game on at the moment? I didn’t know”; but the truth is, I spent the morning bouncing nervously on the red swiss-ball I use for an office chair, completely unable to type anything of value as I listened to the commentary slowly eek itself, ball-by-agonising-ball over the radio.

We lost of course, and it was hugely disappointing, not because it looked like we would win (it never did), but because it looked like we could win, which is even worse.
A win when you “should have”, is no fun; in fact, it’s been the problem with Australian cricket for the last 15 years.

There’s no point celebrating when your world class-team absolutely thrashes some third world squad where the wicket-keeper can’t even afford gloves (I’m looking at you New Zealand), and why should there be? If there’s no contest, there’s no fun.

I don’t want to see Mike Tyson punch his opponent’s head clean-off the body in the first round because the best person they could find to fight him was a blind, four-year-old kid in a wheel chair (although if televised, that would rate well), I want to see a fight between two, evenly matched, equally reprehensible, human killing-machines.

Thankfully the departure of “Fingers” Warne, “Angry” McGrath and the big-hitting human-wingnut that is Adam Gilchrist, allowed the Australian cricket team to atrophy (it/s easier to accept than the fact that England may have improved). That, and a disastrous first-innings, resulted in an almighty second-innings run chase that looked impossible from the outset, and didn’t look any better after the English bowlers went through our top order like dysentery.

Our only hope for avoiding embarrassment and disgrace came in the form of the valiant, Clarke (and his squire Haddin) who not only showed that we weren’t going down without a fight, but at one stage looked like he might win he game, slay the dragon, save the princess and bang her in the car home, all at the same afternoon.

Unfortunately, a little bit of hope is a dangerous thing, and once Clarkey let Graeme Swann rip out his off stump, it was all-over, red-rover.

I’m sure Australians the world over are feeling not only disappointed, but also anxious at the verbal drubbing they’re going to get at the hands of every Englishmen they know (I’m in London and shitting myself). I think however, that we Aussies should all take heart: we may not win every single game that we play from now on, but at least we can actually celebrate a win when it comes, with all the sledging and bragging it deserves. We can shout and drink and swear and sing, content that the match was won fair and square, not in some one-sided, smash-fest against an opponent too incompetent to even realise they were playing (I’m still looking at you New Zealand).

Adaptation 2: My Gay Apple

Yesterday my power adapter died on the way to doing a gig in Buxton. It should must have been an omen, a portent of things to come, because the gig was subsequently cancelled after some sterling comedy-apathy was demonstrated by the good people of said town.

“I may have no pre-sales” I thought foolishly, “but at least I’ll be able to buy a new power adapter.”

Oh how wrong I could be.

Here are some things that you can get in Buxton:
– Free, fresh spring water from a tap in the side of a hill
– Wonderful views of the peak district
– Homophobic ridicule for owning an apple computer
– Wet

Here are some things that you can’t get in Buxton:
– A comedy audience
– An Apple power adapter

There are a number of computer repair/retail shops in Buxton, but I decided to call off my search for the adapter after the proprietor of store #2 told me that “there isn’t much call for those gay computers here.”

To be honest, I was disappointed that I couldn’t get a new adapter, but I knew what he meant: Apple computers are pretty gay. Not just a little bit either, but full-blown gay; 100% homo. I can understand why he wouldn’t stock any in his shop, and in hindsight, I’m a little embarrassed for asking him.

It was after-all, my computer’s homosexuality that resulted in the broken power adapter in the first place. It’s a well known that fact that all Apple computers are homosexual, but what most people don’t realise is that these abnormal (and distinctly unchristian tendencies) stem not from the computer is self, but are vile, unholy, unnatural urges emanating gayly from the power adapter. It’s not unheard of for Apple power adapters to exhibit sexual aggression and even violence towards men that it fancies as the gayness takes hold and it attempts to sodomise everything in site.

It wasn’t so much that my adapter broke, it’s more that it was destroyed by an angry Scotsman who took umbrage at my adapter’s clumsy attempts to penetrate him anally. The Scotsman promptly flew into a (completely justified) anti-apple rage, pulling the plug of my power adapter from his sphincter and flinging it into a nearby brick-wall where it smashed into several camp-looking pieces. It should be noted that said Scotman didn’t spill even one drop of the IRN-BRU he was drinking while all this occurred.

Thinking back on the incident now, I’m ashamed that I even took my broken adapter into the stores of the fine men and women of Buxton as I probably exposed them to near-fatal levels of homosexual radiation (gay-rays) that are leaking from my crippled power cable. If they, or any of their children “turn gay”, then I’ll have to live with that forever.

I was chased out of Buxton this morning by an angry mob of PC techs and laptop salesmen angrily wielding USB dongles and CAT-5 cables and so I’ve come to Manchester to finally end this madness by throwing my adapter, laptop and finally myself into the gaping anus of the city’s incinerator – apparently it’s the only way to purge the world of the evil that I unwittingly unleashed on the fair town of Buxton.
As I type these words, flames are lapping around me and itunes shuffle started to play Rocket Man by Elton John, a song which I’ve never purchased, but is of course part of Apple’s factory default settings.

Farewell my friends.

In for a £ing

I’m not sure whether it’s malnutrition, a lack of self-confidence or maybe it wasn’t breast-fed as a child, but there is something horribly wrong with the Australian dollar. A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazon and suddenly the AUD is face-down on the canvas, losing blood and spitting out teeth. I don’t care if our dollar can’t throw a punch, but it should at least try to occasionally kick the Pound in the balls.

It would even be O.K. if all the other currencies were failing, but they’re all standing tall, leering at our dollar as it lies hog-tied on the floor, whimpering through a gimp mask. I’d like to think that it’s going to get up, but the Deutsche Mark has a boot at its throat and the Danish Kroner is fetching the Vasoline. I think it’s going to be a long recession.

The weird thing is, Australia would never accept this kind of pounding if it happened in any other area. If we were thrashed to within an inch of our life on the world sporting stage, then there would be a nation-wide uproar, a royal commission and lots of angry men in pubs. But when the Aussie Dollar goes down 5-0 to Paraguay, suddenly we pretend that don’t understand and we blame it on the finance boffins.

Well I think it’s time to take a stand, because it’s getting embarrassing, and I think I know why it’s happening. I think that our dollar likes to be punished. Here we were, all this time, assuming that our dollar hates being humiliated on the global markets, sneered at and pissed on by the other currencies, but I think that’s exactly what it’s into. We’ve got a dollar with masochistic tendencies, it likes the humiliation and pain.

Now I’m not presuming to know what’s right and wrong in the area of global economics, but I’d really prefer to have a less-kinky currency. Can swap this dollar out for a new one that doesn’t enjoy getting a regular pounding? If not, can we at least make sure that it knows what the safety word is?