Tag Archives: Kerry Cue Blog

Hissy Fit Nation

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That’s it. Right. I’m over it. I’m not putting up with this idiocy anymore. If I have to deal with this nonsense one more time – just ONE more time – I think I might take an axe and smash … no, not an axe. I’ll pepper spray them… look, you can only take so much of this ridiculous, mind-numbing incompetence before you snap. Snap! Just like that!

Damn! That feels good. What’s my problem? Nothing really. Everything, maybe. I was just practising being a Drama Queen. Have you noticed that we Aussies have turned into a nation of hissy-fit throwing Drama Queens? Even if you’re not a main contender, the other 22 million Aussies are up for it. There is always someone on the tellie, in a crowd, in a shop, in a restaurant or in a queue somewhere, who is annoyed, outraged, spitting the dummy, stamping their feet and/or generally getting really pissed off with the service, the government, the universe and everything.

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Anarchists R Us

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Happy little campers around the world have set up tent cities or, as in Australia, mini-Global Villages in solidarity with the Occupy Wall Street anarchists. Entertaining YouTube clips show a passing parade of blood-smeared zombies, dread-locked jugglers, wide-eyed babies in pushers, sign-totting anarchist nana’s, unshaven rough-necked unionists with megaphones, thin, wispy-bearded, hand-knit-jumper-wearing vegans, red coated trombonists, Che Guevara flags and hand-made protest posters everywhere.

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Hens Behaving Badly

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Weddings. I’ve been to a few: traditional, hippy, Greek (Vows were pledged in Greek then translated. The feminists gasped when they heard the word ‘obey’), Italian (400 guests seated at trestle tables in the local town hall with little boys in suits running and skidding on the polished floor boards), on a farm (with mooing cows. It was more an ‘I moo’ than an ‘I do’.), in a restaurant (my own wedding), at a registry office (The bride was 8 months pregnant and wore black), in a church with Millie the Golden Retriever as a bridesmaid, a B-team wedding (Married the week before, the couple dressed up again for a party with the B-team guests. We got the B-team speeches too!) and more.

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Generation Whinge

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‘I’m driving in my car … I turn on the radio … Dada-da-da … something, um … You’re a liar … Da-da. Ooooo! FIRE!’ All right. I’m no Bruce Springstein. I was driving in my car, radio on, and turned off to the world when I heard voices. Natasha Stott Despoja was being interviewed on the ABC. She said she loved hearing people like demographer Bernard Salt explain distinctions between the generations. And I quote. I have to write ‘And I quote’ because I nearly ran off the road when I heard her following statement, so I podcast the interview to check the facts.

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Holy App

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You have probably heard about the new blessed iPhone/Smart Phone App called ‘Confession: A Roman Catholic App’. Developed by three young US tech-heads with the blessing of the local church, the App provides a step-by-step guide to confession for Catholics. The age-specific, sin check list includes questions like ‘Did I tattle tale or sulk?’, ‘Am I chaste?’ (That’s a little olde worlde. Young readers will have to Google ‘chaste’. It’s not chased or chaffed.), ‘Have I been guilty of masturbation?’ and  ‘Have I been guilty of a homosexual activity?’ So it’s a user-friendly Sin App for the time-pressed sinner.

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Psycho Oz

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Australians all let us freak out

For we are spooked you see;

We’ve a scary land, we don’t understand;

Our home is so creepy. Our land’s red heart is sort of weird

There’s freaking nothing there!

We cling to the coast, a British outpost;

Freak out Australia, yeah!

How is it that yet another national disaster has hit us and we are, yet again, shocked, stunned (like a mullet, I guess), and wandering around in dazed disbelief? What is it about our short-term/long-term memory loss that we have forgotten, willfully or accidentally, that it has all happened before? Is this, perhaps, some form of widespread Aussie Alzheimer’s?

Moreover, what is it about our market-driven, managerial-cliché muttering mentality and our spin-swallowing, nanny-state, needy attitudes today that we think we are in control? Have we learned nothing from inhabiting this wide brown and savage land for 200-plus years or, in some cases, 40,000-plus years? We Aussies are cot cases. Honestly.

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Cricket Explained

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Cricket tends to cause great confusion among novice spectators, recovering alcoholics and Americans. It is, after all, a game where grown men stand around for days looking bored with no balls or madly hug and kiss each other following a duck. As a consequence, I have taken it upon myself to explain cricket to those who wouldn’t know a gibbon from a googly.

The game of cricket came from that part of the world that also gave us golf, chess and Morris Dancing. Those who do not have the patience for golf, the lunatic grin of a Morris Dancer but who drink to much beer for chess play cricket. Players need good hand-eye co-ordination and a mum who knits white, woolly vests.

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The Bimbo Nation of Oz

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This is like ….look …. This is a very difficult matter to address. It’s outrageous. It’s shocking. We – that’s each and every one of us in this Great Brown or, maybe Ochre or Burnt Orange Land Whatever. – every one of us in this Great Orangeish Land has been heinously insulted. Some jumped-up, half-baked, self-righteous, smart-Rs of an expert has called Australia ‘The Dumb Blonde of the World’.

How could he do this to us just when we Aussies are making our way confidently in the world? We know who we are! Of course, we do. We are ‘The Drunken Yobs of the World’. Anywhere you go on or off this planet where there is a sporting event, a running of the bulls, a naked bungy jump or just two flies crawling up a wall, you will find an Aussie in thongs, shorts, and optional t-shirt with, possibly, a yellow-painted face and curly green wig, holding a stubbie and yelling ‘Aussie. Aussie. Aussie. Oi. Oi. Oi.’

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How to Win a Nobel Prize in Economic Theory

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Today, boys and girls, we are going to have a lesson in Economic Theory. Even if you haven’t studied Keynes, Hayek or Economic Theory for Idiotsand you are generally clueless about how the economy works, do not feel discouraged. These are the exact qualifications needed to write a book on Economic Theory and/or win a Nobel Prize in Economics.

Before you race out and buy your white tie and tails for the Nobel Prize ceremony, we ought to, perhaps, cover some of the basics of Economic Theory so you have some thoughts to string together for your acceptance speech. We will begin with budget estimates. Think of a number between 1 and 10. Don’t laugh; this is serious. Now multiply this number by one trillion and you have just calculated the USA National Debt, China’s monthly surplus or the number of hits on Britney Spears website. As you can see you will get a handle on this Economic Theory business in no time at all.

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OMIGOD IAMGOD

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This week I’m God. It seems we have been struck with alarming bouts of biblical weather, of late, and many claim these tempestuous events are some sort of sign from above. As I am God (or to be precise I am Acting God Level 3) it is my duty to bring clarity to this situation.

How I came to be God is interesting. I read the ad seeking an enthusiastic, committed and self-motivated individual or deity ready to employ their powers of omnipotence to introduce a program of universal harmony and co-operation and I thought ‘That’s for me’. So I applied for the position of Team Leader of the Asset Management Group, Universe Administration Office, Job Reference No. 0000003, temporary and, to my surprise, I got it.

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