Let Me Tell You…

a. What is wrong with you.

I know what it is, because it is the same thing wrong with me.


I have a Facebook account and so do you. I can post either the most outrageously false material or provable scientific truths and it’ll pop through on your screen just the same.

c. Everything. About my life, my lunch, and my love affairs. All the little intimate details that I dare not breathe for fear of scandal. I’ll just post them on social media.

You don’t want to know? But, Darling, you don’t understand. This is me I’m writing about…

d. Nothing.

e. Something to your advantage.

This is the classic phrase used in 18th century advertisements in the broadsheets when wicked lawyers wish to find victims for their plots. I know, because I have read novels written in that period. The advantage generally concerns a legacy or a mansion somewhere in the mist.

f. A story.

Once upon a time there was this columnist who reviewed social media every day. One of his late friends was a doctor in a VD clinic and he reviewed social connections every day too – long before the internet existed – and from a different angle. He had the advantage that they issued free rubber gloves.

From conversations with him many years ago I gathered that his opinion of the social behaviours he was called upon to peer at were much the same as the Facebook posts I read. They seemed, sometimes, to ooze…and not with life, either…

g. Goodbye. And a good day to you. I shall have one, in as far as it is in my power to make it for myself. You may choose to do likewise. It will only require a cheerful thought that rewards you or an evil one that succeeds undetected. I shall go cut fuses now…

The Proper Use Of The Nose

I always used to take my nose for granted until I started to think about it. Consider:

a. Most people in the ancient world did not know what their nose looked like. They were poor and could not afford mirrors of any kind. If they lived in dry places that did not even have pools of water to look into. The only thing they ever saw of the organ was a blob on either side of their eyesight when they looked cross-eyed. Short-nosed people probably missed out on that.

b. This did not stop them from picking the thing pretty efficiently. The finger has a self-guidance system for the nostril.

c. You just tried that, didn’t you?

d. The nose smells everything until it hits on something that is so pungent that it cancels all sensation for a period. This might be natural naphtha emissions, rotten fish, or one of the Trudeaus. Cold weather in Canada right now, so a lot of the citizens are safe, eh?

e. You can find out things with your nose, and not all of them need to be where the drains are up. You can locate flowers, fresh rain, and a new car.

f. You can express emotion with your nose – disapproval with a sniff, contempt with a raised nose, etc. Some people can imagine sexiness in a twitchy nose, but then if they are reduced to getting their rocks off with that they might as well look at armpits or boils.

g. Phoooarrrr….armpits…

h. You can poke your nose into other people’s business pretty effectively these days and if you are a multi-billionaire media controller you make it sound as if you are doing something of public value. After you’ve snuffled around long enough you can sell the information you get for more billions. Eventually you’ll go to jail, but the more billions you have the longer away this can be.

i. Fill out this internet form, play this game, tell me all your details. I ‘ll scratch my nose while you do.

Who You Voted For Is None Of My Business

Over the last few years there have been a number of state and federal elections here in Australia and in the United States of America.

Whether someone moved a lever on a machine in Milwaukee or pencilled a paper in Perth, the fact that the ballot in both of these cities was secret means that as soon as the levers snapped upright again or the paper was pushed into the cardboard ballot box – their choice became none of my business.

If I had tried to get into the curtained booth or the cardboard cubicle with them I would have been detained by the authorities and brought before a magistrate – and fined or jailed for attempting to interfere with a voter.

I would have been free up until they entered the polling place to try to convince them to vote for whomever I supported. Or against whomever I hated. There might have been restrictions on how this could be done within a designated radius of the polling place but outside of that I could have swamped their social media with memes and smarmy shared videos all I wanted. I could have made a right social pest of myself.

I was also apparently free afterwards to applaud or boo their choice through those same social media channels – dependant upon several things:

a. Whether my side won or lost.

b. Whether I could find out who they voted for.

c. Whether anyone gave a damn.

I am a firm supporter of the free, private, election system and the legal protections that keep it so. I also accept that there will be politicking of an amateur nature before the vote by anyone who can push a mobile phone button. But I am getting butt-sick of the aftermarket catcalling that tries to restructure an election or refight a lost battle.

In simple, if crude, terms – who you voted for is none of my goddamn business, and who I voted for, none of yours. This sentiment is even more valid if you try to make me cry political crocodile tears for another nation’s electoral choices.

Western Australia’s got enough of our own crocodiles to occupy us for the forseeable future.