Record gathering of zombies in Queensland.

Thank You Yahoo For Your Headline.


Few academic Australians under fifty years of age would remember Hitler’s infamous propaganda minister, Goebbels, and why his name became as reviled as his Fuhrer, yet on the contemporary fascist scene all Labor backroom sycophants from $1,000 a day vermin like Mike Kaiser, to tyro cadres like Tery O’Brien would have short stasi lives if they didn’t follow his dictum of repetition, “Tell the people a lie often enough and they’ll come to believe it. This old news dates to the Ark but I get shit-off when mealy-mouthed Bligh overdoes it. Poor starving pensioners is more a Federal favourite, I’m thinking. The George Street pus likes offering tributes to pensioners in electoral euphoria, then jamming the finger up us the rest of the time.

My place of abode is a 12 unit government housing precinct, sited between Wongaburra Aged Home and Mt. Lindsay highway. ideal place from which to observe human behaviour. Most fellow tenants are recidivist crims slowing now, but only by the dictates of encroaching age. These systematic bludgers have a history of petty crime and stand-over tactics and now collude with Woodridge white-collar criminals; Rebecca, Murphy, Jean, Kimberley, Terry O’Brien, and Turner, led like lambs most likely by the epitome of a Labor Government rectum dag, Charmane Schoutens.
Most fellow tenants are recidivist crims slowing now, but only by the dictates of encroaching age. These systematic bludgers have a history of petty crime and stand-over tactics and now collude with Woodridge white-collar criminals; Rebecca, Murphy, Jean, Kimberley, Terry O’Brien, and Turner, led like lambs most likely by the epitome of a Labor Government rectum dag, Charmane Schoutens.

Schoutens made a determined, but unsuccessful and illegal attempt to bring me down for having repulsed a physical attack by major RSL boofhead and troublemaker, Keith Garvey. Beaudesert police generally oblige every RSL demand without question but wouldn’t touch this one with a forked stick. Garvey then appealed to card-carrying NLP stooge Victoria, dumb pal of reviled Labor apparatchik, Woodridge Housing employee, Charmane Schoutens, who obliged with the failed, out of order eviction attempt. them form offence to think for themselves, that using common-sense is possible if the motives of Labor Government public servants can be monitored from straying off the track without petty State public servants seeking retribution unless on dissidents. But the present Australia Labor Party is as mind-controlling as was the German regime in 1933 which formerly declared its hand in 1938. Independence A dirty black adjective that one word to the Welfare State Whatever became of that Governmentsobvious, in your face brain-washing right from the top where Gillar bemoansthe advice should be to get off arses, cultivate common-sense by doing your own thinkingand think for yourself nothing subliminal about Gillard’s condemnation of common-sense works best on welfare recipients from

The nanny-state mentality is stuffing Australia. It has stuffed the economies of those countries whose unctuous legislators have corrupted a once grand welfare concept for the false, feel-good theorem of instant gratification, not unlike the laziness that follows an acceptance of masturbation over the real thing or being satisfied with a rare poker-machine win. While the subject of aging and its consequences is anathema to commercial TV broadcasting, ABC TV conversation programmes like Q&A et al often feature the views and opinions of widely accepted interviewees who all stress the need, indeed the necessity of keeping the brain as stimulated and as tuned as the body should be. Active older minds are induced into a state ordered comatose condition, and working, still active minds of self-reliant oldies like the writer spits on Gillard’s rhetoric picture of life’s,”…hard done-by pensioners suffering deprivation,” surviving on cat-food, pitifully attired in rags seeking alms by rattling a rusty jam tin. Melodramatic violin straining heartstrings in the bare, cold attic where our poor little hands stay cold until summer’s zenith when the air-conditioner breaks down on cue. Don more socks or remove them to suit the climate. It works for me. I keep a late model Falcon in better than legal and safe condition, get regularly ripped-off by computer parasites, eat too well by utilizing the major retailers to my own advantage, won’t recognize fast-food establishments, last partaking of their overpriced and overblown product post-funeral in 1997.

Geo St Pox and Geo. Orwell;

Queensland’s inarticulate Premier admires the pensioner’s integrity. Came from her very own mouth on Rudd’s election night celebration, so it must be a gen-u-ine and considered observation rather than an impulsive, spur-of-the-euphoria moment. Gee! Was that early spin you say? Must give her my vote. I hope she reminds us frequently of our value. The offensive and venal Bligh doesn’t remind us often enough of our unforgettable contribution to the nation and I tend to forget.

As the older residents of this pensioner-intended Government flat precinct fall off the perch, they are replaced by lazy and fiftyish, anti-social, mobile-phone obsessed idiots. The latest morbidly obese crazie sits on her veranda pre-dawn scooping porridge into her maw between screaming into her phone. She is engaging the only asset she has and knows…her rank stupidity. Her very presence and mien has one wondering if she is not Myra Hindley reincarnated who will resume gnawing into a baby’s corpse after the porridge.

During the day she will prop outside my flat ditto. I reminded her of the 50 unfenced acres surrounding us which must have a good reception spot somewhere. ” Go get a life , ya so and so,” she kindly advised. This is a preferred tenant, who moved in at 10 P.M. with a loud party of gomeral assistants, leaving the diesel running for the duration of the unloading.

“The car eased into the parking area where Lorna and I were exchanging pleasantries after having checked our respective mail boxes. The driver was an amiable fellow of some forty years. The tubby, older passenger had the demeanor of a chronic haemorrhoid sufferer and a lifetime of rehearsing, a pouting, sullen lower lip, fashioned to trip over. Was he a failed dramatic actor; an embittered artist in the Hitler arch-megalomaniac mould? A studied straight ahead look to avoid eye contact completed the instant character summation. Here is one tubby and very petulant, unhappy drama queen who won’t clear his rear impaction until he finds a new way of shafting an opponent.

And another bombastic bastard; as if this variety wasn’t over represented already. Contrasting vividly with his passenger was his young driver companion who was without a doubt, Pettum’s parole officer, an amiable and polite fellow who sought the location of the flat they had come to check out.

Larry Pettums moved in within days and was quickly self-promoted to king of the kids.

Larry Pettums wasted little time taking over the podium, and having secured the limited audience with tales of undercover police work in the “States,” quickly segued to his preferred subject; his sexual frequency and up-standing potency. This was an old jail-bird positioning himself on re-admittance to the inside and an unabashed and serious ego-tripper, soon to be revealed as an intimidating moron who had lived as such and gave no indication of self-doubt, given his six decades of stupidity. I walked from this boor before he relinquished the soap-box and in à la classic jilted lover, won his eternal enmity.”

…and ad nauseam. ( approx. 1100 words on this ugliness.)

Dealing with egos and the actions of the vacuous minds of most of these inhabitants stimulates the brain as does the two daily crosswords, simple enough to whet my average intellect for the day. The real and tilted challenge comes from the easily biased and vindictive Housing Commission sycophants, one of whom introduced herself as Kim on Tuesday, April 23, 2009 at 1445 hours, and went on to make offensive comments in a phone call and I focus on that particular incident later. It is mentioned now in relation to the present anecdote.

A hymn of hate. The words just came from the past; undoubtedly a phrase from my childhood. A Wiki check has its origin as WW1 Germany against their hated detractors, the British. Its usage carried over to WW2 parents and older relatives trying to pacify squabbling siblings and the observation made in a fit of great vexation and despair. Am somewhat perplexed at convincingly transcribing the task I have set myself. It’s about hate, would you believe and like Churchill’s lesser concern of four columns of enemy troops about to demolish his men, of greater concern was of the enemy within his own tent whose acquired tactical knowledge could inflict terminal damage. The term fifth column came about and was earnestly adopted and applied by the Queensland Housing Department to become an integral cog of their M.O.

Hate is what? I don’t have the nous or the spare decades to delve too deeply into the dark side of envy, but this Housing accommodation precinct fronting Beaudesert’s Wongaburra Convalescent Home must be the micro-harbour of exacting retribution on those perceived as a threat to the rule of the megalomaniac.


Less resolute people capitulate to the never-ending mantra of Australian politicians. The rhetorical asks what is more repugnant or depressing than Gillard’s constant reminder to all welfare recipient of their gullibility. Will they ever get the message to get off their fat butts and help themselves? Greece is today’s model of Australia twenty years hence. Much sooner if primary exports fall over. Mandatory, State-enforced helplessness; compulsive compliance of nannyism is not helping the independence of conscionable oldies like me in conflict with a State Government which throws millions more into self-promotion, we care for and lovconsiderate’ look-good, anti-smoking advertising, but behind the bull-shit, an entirely different scenario. I am reviled by Queensland Housing because of my opposition tThroughout life Ive striven to sort-out my own problems, an early manifestation of the ‘trust no one’ philosophy. Being extraordinarily perceptive which means my shit detector was well-honed, that the bland acceptance of deceit as the template of the health industry easily persuaded me to avoid their practices and their practitioners.

The retailers don’t buy Dickensian nonsense either and their serious homework matches my conclusions, in that only about 35% of the pension was essential for survival which leaves more than $200 a week to skim from the “poor pensioners.” With about $900 a month to play with after rent, food and utilities I find I could drop $200 a week and walk from the machines whistling, knowing that more fun-money is always around the corner. My homework also found I could circumnavigate the globe for as few as six pension payments. Take for example the feel-good, well-meaning organisation who coerces tons of food from compliant companies

Carting around an ugly time-worn countenance, worsening into classic boofhead with advancing age and constant open mouth to assist breathing, I am seen as an easy target by biased Queensland Housing representatives. They are taken aback to learn I can manipulate the mandible into making near human noises and their vengeance knows no bounds and their retaliation is bizarre. Told one how the prevailing winds carried cigarette toxins 24 hours a day into my government rented flat was giving me health problems answered with, “Why don’t you just get out”? Another replied she would inform the police if I followed through with my consideration of sleeping in my car to escape cigarette smoke. Yet another of Housing’s inflated public servants declared she was prepared to ignore QBuilds verifying my doorway wind deflectors and remove them simply to satisfy spite. Elsewhere is described a tenant union representative’s opinion of the dim thinker that I must be.

I choose to remain in this unhealthy environment not especially for the cheap rent, though the saving provides more poker-machine play money, but at life’s end, moving camp is too bloody tiring and battling the harpies an ongoing mental exercise.

Assist the really needy, decisively and meaningfully rather than loading the bludgeing filth who scream poor after stuffing machines till they have to scrounge a lift home while polluting the atmosphere with stale nicotine stench then spreading take-away residue where-ever the fortnightly fling came to its conclusion. In Australia I see a Greek repetition within two decades, sooner if primary production goes arse-up. The proposed anti-gaming machine reform is more bullshit, designed to mean and achieve sfa. Remind these chronic losers somehow, that the friendly mine-host is a cunning and conniving crook who smirks at the dickheads who make doctors and accountants of their kids while providing frequent overseas trips and up-to date cars for their families. Even the owner/managers of tiny bush pubs attests to this.
Recently on this site, I praised the computer imps for their adeptness at freezing my working document file and then, on recovering same, discovered that the only text missing was the story I was working on. When file-zapping started about a year ago, the whole lot usually went west reducing a multi-page file to one blank page with its title the only visible evidence of that hard-won, smart-arsey prose. Subsequent and extensive searching in the document folder and in the bin and under full stops and where-ever else came to naught with the only logical conclusion that cyber heaven had claimed another victim. Those of us who struggle to string a few words together know the impossibility of exact replication and after a period of mourning, gets back to the same story if the writer is compelled to make known a grievance. It is true what the pundits say about external hard-drives; that the pc owner swallowing this ‘back-up’ drivel is oft left in the shit without a paddle when confronted with drama.

I took the bait, bought and installed Seagate/Memeo external for $70, without seeing advice I had just paid for trial software and was soon advised the “free” trial was about to finish and to send cash to retain these wonderful benefits. Ignoring the message, thinking it referred to another app. thing, I found that by failing to remit more cash, I was denied access to whatever data it held. So, in effect, the only loss was my current text file: a major inconvenience for sure since we all think the shit about to go to screen is the ultimate. All program discs are reusable so it’ll be another slow day before I’ll fall for the bull-shit of back-up.

I dared not ask why, or even delve into the computer for answers, my old age a constant reminder of my stupidity and non-person status, the subject, incidentally on which I was working, with the confidence of having made a reasonably good fist of apologizing for my idiocy and ignorance and for my very existence. Researching beyond three Google pages is a tiring task, a tardiness that has allowed devious, immoral Queensland Housing gorgons, one of whom, Charmane Schoutens tried to have me evicted for defending myself against attack by a favored tenant. She and the ultimate hate-merchant and practitioner, Kimberley Hillhouse, long ago relinquished any right to manners by me, their fair treatment never offered the writer. I was rather taken aback on learning I was supposed to be contrite in the presence of this ill-mannered crap; that he, the nice QBuild representative was not to be feared, that Housing were the heavies.

Stasi area chief Paul Gladmann, using annual premise inspection as a pretext to do inspections of another sort, was taken aback that an obvious retard should ask him to formally identify himself, but the assumption by biased Housing “officials”that a classic I am a lolling-headed helpless dolt was shitting me. has left me with no alternative. Previous annual ‘inspection’ visit by piranha, Celeste Turner on Nov 25 2009 found her on the defensive and confrontational, most unexpected, having never before met her. Her behavior apparently, a result of colleagues feeding a scattery head.

Bligh continues to have Murdoch’s editorial support it seems. Had another letter rejection by the Courier in which I again pleaded for smoking restrictions in aged flat precincts. Their opinion is shared by the tenant union’s LANARTA JEAN, who is evidently just another despicable Government lapdog who finds assisting retarded tenants bothersome, as are cigarette smoke toxins in aged flat precincts, to quote her, not of her concern.

One looks at the bullshit surrounding the talentless druggie, Amy Winehouse and the 27 club nonsense with ho-humity. Good and proper age to go out, what with diminishing sex appeal inducing soft-ons. What concerns me a great deal is how supposed adults who mourn this no-hoper, with Queensland Labor Party support, can demand entrance til 8 p.m. with instructions to quit griping about cigarette smoke and the unnecessary noise of fellow tenants.

I expect retribution from Qld. Housing’s stasi section after I found a way to circumvent the hacking of my document files. Only time will tell of course, if I crow too soon.

Schwarten look-alike no. 10 with obese baby-eater talking loudly and earnestly as I awoke Sunday arvo. His reappearance after a couple weeks absence, allowed nasty and venomous loquacious queen Woodward to sneak away early Mon. a.m, creeping back little while back bit after 1900. hrs. This sick prick eviction Judas-tenant running out of luck and in need of retraining; huge failure with too smart a competitor this time around. Kisses, Les.

The mind has more diseases than the body.

A hundred metres to the east runs the Mount Lindsay highway and certain units become the repository of its ever-increasing carbon-monoxide content while the ever-decreasing westerlies only a brief reprieve. For a couple of weeks in August, the winter wind blows in a rare whiff from the nearby fertilizer plant, but has no adverse effect on health. The cigarette smoke and visitors who leave cars idle are a problem, and my plea that parking should be well away from our residences induced a nonsense, bullshit letter of admonishment of speeding within the precinct grounds. Unless the renter is part of the fifth column, suggestions from outsiders are sneered at as part of the belittling ritual and explains why my protests and complaints are chronicled in this forum.
By far though, the greater offender to the senses, and more importantly to the dignity, is the flamboyance and arrogance of the cigarette smoker with the poisoned, sickening fumes of rotting and tarred, ever-coughing bodies of the dying lungs of do or die smoking sickos who, like aids-infested sexual predators, are compelled to inflect their toxins on whoever they can, while they can, and on as many as they can before their hate of order and decency brings them down. What doesn’t get trapped in our pillow-slips and curtains and lungs and books, our walls and our carpets is swept into the convalescent home of 120 plus old people on whose ailing, frail bodies these poisons must be having an adverse effect. Of far greater consequence to any human body are the toxins exhaled by diseased bodies in the form of used cigarette smoke that I am forced to inhale. Of all the things that drive men to sea, the most common disaster, I’ve come to learn, is women. – Charles Johnson, Middle Passage (1990)

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