Tag Archives: Kerry Cue Canberra Times

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.

Full Article: Cricket Explained

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.’

Full Article: The Bimbo Nation of Oz

Welcome to Bugga Up Air Flight 179!!

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Good Morning Ladies and Gentlemen, Bugga Up Air Flight 179 to, um, that place … What is it? Wait. I’ve got it here somewhere, written on the back of an envelope. Here it is. Flight 179 to Syderney. Soderney. Whatever. Yous all know ‘cos yous booked online. Nothin’ to do with me.

Anyhows, Ladies and Gentlemen, your flight to. Wait. My colleague, Toolulaba, tells me Flight 179 is to Melbun. By Melbun, we at Bugga Up Air mean an airport near Melbun, say, only 200 km away from the GPO for your convenience. You can buy a bus timetable from any of our helpful ground staff for $15. Now as yous have all booked online for one of our direct express, cut-price, low-fee, off peak, unbundled, lease-a-plane, rent-a-crew, outsource-an-IT-guy, scab-some-maintenance-guys cut-cost carrier with work experience cabin staff, drug-recovery-program baggage handlers and an Afghani trainee pilot, we need to go over some of the in-flight features before yous board the plane.

Full Article: Bugga Up Air

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.

Full Article: How to Win a Nobel Prize in Economic Theory

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.

Full Article: OMIGOD IAMGOD

A Tribute to Fathers

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Fatherhood is a complex job. These days a father is meant to be a psychologist, a literacy and numeracy expert, the birth support team leader, the weekend fun guy, the custodian of sports team allegiances, DIY almost-everything handy man, the kid-money accountant, the Human Google Service, the local CSI unit (Who ate the last chocolate?), the Lost Computer File Recovery Unit, the Home Theatre hardware expert, the back of the toy box instruction reader, the All-Sports Sports coach, the driving instructor, the First Aide Expert, the mum calmer, the resident surf life saver, the 24/7 On-Call Homework tutor, the BBQ King, the referee, the Stop Whinging Enforcer, the gopher (especially of medicine in the middle of the night), the Piggyback Guy, the camp guru, the resident furniture mover/removalist, the all round navigator/driver, the Cheer Up Squad after the Grand Final/Audition/Competition loss/failure, the (swear word free-ish) IKEA flat pack assembler, the cycle team transport/manager, the local faction of WWF, the second hand car expert and/or financier and much, much more.

Full Article: A TRIBUTE TO FATHERS

Stop Pinging at Me!

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I appear to be failing modern life. My first surreal, Clockwork-Orange-tinged experience began a while back when I entered the kitchen and casually commented “Oh! Something is pinging!’ Having a modern kitchen meant there were a number of contenders.

I checked the fridge, the microwave, the oven timer and the remote phone hand-pieces. They all appeared to be in full working order but the pinging remained. Next I inspected the smoke alarms, the digital alarm clocks and our 4 mobile phones for flat batteries. Mobile phones tend to ‘chirp’ rather than ‘ping’, but desperation was building; I began to twitch. Nothing.  The drier, the washing machine, the computers, the fax, the radio, the CD player all turned up a blank. At this point, I started having conversations with appliances. ‘I know it is one of you. You’re not going to get away with this, you know!!!’

Full Article: Stop Pinging at Me

The Idiot’s Guide to Banking

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I’ve made a decision. The time is right. You may think I’m being a little impulsive, but I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to buy a bank. The reasons for buying a bank are obvious. Firstly, they’re very cheap at the moment. You can probably pick up a middle-sized bank on eBay with a lovely portrait of the Madonna and child burnt onto toast thrown in at no extra charge. And the thing is, my current bank has been so eager over the past few years to extend my credit limit; I think I could actually afford to buy a smallish bank on my VISA card.

The next reason for wanting to buy a bank is the prestige. Let’s face it, in all of those Occupations-You-Trust Surveys journalists usually rank somewhere between nightclub bouncers and Charles Manson. From now on, at dinner parties and the like, instead of admitting to being a journalist and therefore responsible for the decline of Western civilisation, general morality, community values, grammar, spelling and IQs everywhere, I can say ‘I own a bank’.

Full Article: The Idiots Guide to Banking

Super iPhoneman

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Look up in the sky. It’s a bird. It’s a Plane. It’s Super iPhoneman! You may think those fanatics, who were crazy enough to camp outside shops overnight in winter so they could get their hands on the first iPhones available in Australia, are super geeks. But this is not true. They are the superheroes of the new millennium. All right, Super iPhoneman may not be able to fly unaided, but you will find your friendly, neighbourhood super iPhoneman is nearby, ready, willing and able to fight for truth, justice and other stuff as long as it involves a really cool mobile phone with amazing functions. Oh Yes, Super iPhoneman is about to save the world.

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It’s Over, Paul!

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You can’t stop me. I’ve thought about it and its over. I’m going to divorce Paul McCartney. It’s been a long term relationship. Me and Paul go way back. When The Beatles first stepped off the plane onto the tarmac in Australia it was love at first sight. It had to be by sight because I couldn’t hear a thing as my friend Lynette spent the entire broadcast screaming at the black and white tellie. We were both in Year 8. She loved Ringo.

But it’s over with me and Paul. I’m talking about the end of a 44 year relationship. That’s a better track record than some of his other relationships. It was intense too. I had all the Beatles Albums. They were in my head, actually, because we couldn’t afford records. I can hum the entire Beatles collection. You try and hum Maxwell Silver Hammer. It’s not easy. I was so dedicated to Paul I was even prepared, if I had twins, to name them Ebony and Ivory. Now that we’re breaking up I think I deserve something. I wouldn’t ask for much, maybe, a masseuse for my dog and a small Lear Jet. There will not be custody issues. I’ll return those bootleg videos of The Beatles recorded live, obviously, by a drunk in a swivel chair.

Full Article: It’s Over Paul