I asked ChatGPT to write a poem about bank closures in the style of Banjo Paterson. The heading is mine but the poem is pure AI:
When I asked Chat GPT to write a HUMOROUS ARTICLE about BANKS CLOSING the result was a pure OCKER FARSE here.
I’ve written, maybe, 2000+ articles and many are online. So I asked ChatGPT to write an article for me. Can I retire now? Just use AI to write my articles? The results were hilarious but not in a good way.
The words HUMOROUS and AUSTRALIAN prompted an ANCIENT OCKER text:
Headline: Crikey! Bank Closures Down Under: A Hilarious Twist in the Aussie Banking Saga
Subheadline: The Great Downfall: How Kangaroos and Koalas are Dealing with the ‘No Cash Mate’ Situation
By Kerry Cue | May 19, 2023
G’day, mates! Hold onto your Vegemite sandwiches because we have some ripper news from the land of kangaroos, koalas, and cash flow conundrums. It appears that the Australian banking scene is experiencing a fair dinkum shake-up, with banks closing faster than you can say, “Chuck a sickie!” But fear not, for we’re here to give you a fair-dinkum, tongue-in-cheek tour of this laugh-a-minute rollercoaster ride.
Now, what’s the dinky-di reason for this banking brouhaha? Well, it seems like Aussies have been embracing the cashless lifestyle faster than you can down a schooner of cold brew. Between tapping their credit cards, zapping their smartphones, and throwing payWave magic at every purchase, they’ve left good ol’ bank branches feeling as empty as a snag sizzle without the snags!
As we all know, banks used to be the place where you could pop in for a yarn with Sheila behind the counter while depositing your hard-earned dough. But now, those snazzy self-service machines have invaded our beloved branches, leaving poor Sheila twiddling her thumbs and wondering if her “how’s your day going, mate?” skills are still relevant.
But what about the locals, you ask? Well, they’re in a proper flamin’ state of bewilderment, that’s for sure. Picture this: Barry, your typical Aussie bloke, rocks up to his local bank branch, only to find a note on the door saying, “We’ve gone walkabout, mate!” Poor Bazza is left scratching his mullet, wondering how he’s going to withdraw a crisp twenty to shout his mates a few cold ones at the pub.
And don’t even get us started on the wildlife down under! Koalas are furiously debating how to eucalyptus-tap their payments, while kangaroos are hopping mad because they can’t figure out how to use a smartphone with those pesky paws. Crikey, even the emus are running around in circles, trying to find a teller who can cash their checks!
But fear not, our resilient Aussie spirit won’t be swayed by this banking brouhaha. We’re a resourceful bunch, always ready to adapt and have a chuckle along the way. We’ve already heard rumors of Wallabies hosting financial literacy workshops, teaching fellow animals how to use their joeys to press buttons on ATMs. It’s a sight that’ll leave you laughing like a kookaburra on nitrous oxide!
In all seriousness, though, the closure of bank branches is no laughing matter. Many rural and remote communities are left high and dry, facing the challenge of accessing essential financial services. It’s crucial for banks and policymakers to come together, take a fair dinkum look at the impact of these closures, and find innovative solutions to keep the Australian spirit alive.
So, cobbers, let’s raise our lamingtons and salute the Aussie battlers, both human and animal, who are navigating this “no cash mate” situation with resilience and humor. As we forge ahead into the brave new world of digital transactions, let’s not forget to appreciate the Sheila behind the counter and the sense of community a local bank branch provides. After all, a fair-go attitude and a good ol’ belly laugh can make any banking blues seem like a dropbear scare. Cheers, mates!
Here is my orginal article on banks closing:A Lesson in Modern Banking for the Lost and Bewildered
Shock! Horror! Outrage!
The NSW Australia Day Council threatened to publish the Rules of BACKYARD CRICKET way back on Australia Day, 2018. The result of this outrage was that nothing happened because there are no rules. That’s the point.
I wrote a LETTER TO ALLAN BORDER in 1988. This comic story about the crazy make-them-up-as-you-go rules of Backyard Cricket was published in The Age, SMH etc.
Ian (Macca) McNamara read out the letter on Australia All Over, ABC.
LISTEN to Macca read: A LETTER TO ALLAN BORDER (above)
Yarra River, 2023
Summer reading. Crime novels. Joe Nesbo this year. His Harry Hole fits the crime detective trope of the single, middle-aged, morose, driven misfit too!
Here are just a few of my favourites in this category: Morse, Lewis, Bosch, Wallander, Rebus, Perez, DCI Banks, Frost, Foyle, Cannon, Montalbano, Jesse Stone, George Gently, Longmire.
Readers keep sending more names. Add Vera (fits the bill despite being female) and Jack Irish.
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Kerry Cue article several newspapers 2005. Bzzzz! Ugh! Bzzzz. Thwack! Missed. Damn mozzie!
It happens every Summer. The Aussies Vs The Mozzies Test Match. And the mozzies win because there are zillions of ‘em. There are, in fact, 400 types of mozzie in Oz with names like Aedes Sollicitans. So at least one blood-sucking pest is also a lawyer makes perfect sense. Now each of these 400 mozzies has its own modus operandi. Some buzz around your head. Some go for the ankles. Some go for plump, sporty blokes.
According to Tokyo researcher Dr Yoshikazu Shirai mozzies like Type O blood – marinated in a good wine, slightly aged and warmed in the sun – and, apparently, more blokes have it. If you are a fit, fat, sweaty bloke, now you know why you’re invited to barbecues. You’re the mozzie decoy.
But we all get mozzie bites. It’s the female mozzie doing the damage. And here’s the scary bit. She uses your DNA to make mozzie eggs. 200 to 300 of them. She spreads you around. And there may be little Bazza and Shazza mozzies out there that look a little like you about the blood-shot eyes.
But mozzies aren’t just annoying. They’re nano bio-terrorists. They spread fevers, plagues and mental diseases. This may explain the odd behaviour of Queenslanders at times.
So how do you outsmart mozzies? First, you must understand the mozzie psyche. Unionists, they work mostly at dusk and dawn attracted to smell, sound, carbon dioxide, warmth and light. An evening barbie is like yelling ‘come’n get it!’ to a mozzie.
Aussies use many concoctions and contraptions from coils to sprays to zappers to get rid of mozzies. But do any of these devices work?
I can tell you. For we Aussies have a secret weapon, the Australian Mosquito Control Manual (2004) written by Darwin Medical Entomologist Peter Whelan. And here’s the low down. Anti-mozzie devices from citronella candles to zappers only work in confined spaces. That’s inside, mate. Any device that lures mozzies is useless because the kamikaze mozzies simply snack on you midway through their death dive. Sonic-repellent gizmos don’t work. Mozzies like others with brains the size of a pinhead enjoy one-note techno music.
Ritual flame torches help. Mozzies aren’t attracted to yellow light. But if you don’t want your backyard to look like a fake tribal set from ‘Survivor’, just use yellow globes. Shrubs don’t help. Maybe you can squash the leaves and rub them on the skin. Or better still just grab some tea tree branches and thrash your guests. It mightn’t deter the mozzies, but it would scare off the neighbours!
Wind is good. Mozzies can’t fly in the wind. So the perfect time for a mozzie-free barbecue is just when the plates are flying off the table in gale-force winds. Sprays and gels work. But Aerogard is not enough. It keeps off flies. You need the big guns for mozzies. Tropical Strength Aerogard. Rid. Bushmans. Muskol. Repel. Use them all!
Now you’re on holiday. Camping. In come swarms of mozzies. It’s an emergency. What do you do? You open your Australian Mosquito Control Manual and read on. Peter Whelan suggests to avoid mozzies in an emergency you cover yourself in mud, camp downwind near stock (They’re cows, city folk.), burn dung (Well, you’re near cows!) and if necessary bury yourself to the neck in sand and cover your head, which sounds like a fun camping trip for all the family.
And one other thing. If all else fails. Run. Like the wind, I guess.
Ivy came to our house one day while she was undergoing chemo ahead of a bone marrow transplant for Leukemia. She had bald patches. She was bloated. She had the chemo plugs hanging out of her back. She had shingles. Her medicine made her feel sick. She was 4 years old.
I’m a writer. My daughter is an artist. You’ll find the book we made for Ivy (who is now a wonderful young woman) to DOWNLOAD FREE so you can read it, print it or email it to another chemo kid: A New Hat for Ivy compressed
Or just read it out loud from the pages below.
So I was wondering ‘How would Shakespeare prove I AM NOT A ROBOT?’. Then I found Ye Olde Tyme News. The rest, as they say, is history, sort of. Link below.
I, the Bard, conjurer of thespian apparitions, am haunted thus by a fiendish vision that doth appear in my looking glass. The eye sees not itself by reflection but, alas, a suit of armor, a robot, so-called, that demandeth, before I can quill one word, I look into the ghostly glass to proveth by some wanton game that I AM NOT A ROBOT. (More here.)
This is an edited extract from an article I wrote in 2004 for the Herald Sun titled ‘Why is everyone so angry all the time?’ It still seems relevent today. But the best bit is:
“Why are there so many angry people? The first reason is stress. Modern life (including wars and pandemics) is demanding what with the bills, the job, the traffic, the blood pressure pills and rushing around. Then there are the bureaucracies. Large companies today don’t listen, don’t care. You get fobbed off with recorded messages. You line up to fill your own petrol tank and then line up to pay. You can’t even get off a mailing list. This apology was printed recently in Harvard Magazine. ‘We have learned that the obituary of Erik Humphrey Gordon ’95, which appeared in the July-August ‘01 issue, was based on false information provided by the subject himself in an effort to get off Harvard’s mailing list. Mr Gordon is alive and well in New York City. We apologise for the error.’ Bravo Mr Gordon. He got imodern life namely that you have to stage your own death just to get off a bloody annoying email list!!!!! “
kerrycue 
