I am racist to racist races.
With their beady eyes and little spiteful faces.
Full of hatred for foreign places.
I am racist to racist races.
Racist races lack good graces.
They hold beliefs that are often baseless.
Please don’t come to their country with full suitcases.
I am racist to racist races.
A racist race think hate is ace.
Nothing you say will help erase,
the hate they spew with straight face.
I really hate a racist race.
I am racist to racist races.
They scour the family tree for any traces,
of embraces with coloured faces.
I am racist to racist races.
Racists races won’t swap places,
with other countries hardship cases.
Let them hang by their shoe laces.
I am racist to racist races.
Racists races hate misplaces,
all the people who are looking for spaces,
to build a home for warm embraces.
I am racist to racist races.
A racist race will deface,
any race they can debase,
their words and actions will disgrace,
the nation of the racist race.
I am racist to racist races.
With their beady eyes and little spiteful faces.
Full of hatred for foreign places.
I am racist to racist races.
Instalment Sixty Four
The day you became an adult isn’t the day you think it was.
It isn’t the day you first fell in love or the day your heart first broke.
It isn’t the first time you had sex or the day you turned 18, and if those are the other way around for you, keep your legs crossed next time.
You are not an adult when you get your licence to drive.
You are not an adult because you had a child.
You are not an adult when you realise that one day you will die.
You are not an adult when you realise one day soon your parents will die.
You are not an adult when you realise you will continue to make the same mistakes.
The day you become an adult is the day that when invited to attend an average event with free alcohol and you think, “No, my time is worth more to me than what I would save drinking free, I would rather pay for my own drinks somewhere I WANT to be.”
Once that happens, you are all grown up, so go out and be immature with your friends. Talk about when you were young.
It isn’t the day you first fell in love or the day your heart first broke.
It isn’t the first time you had sex or the day you turned 18, and if those are the other way around for you, keep your legs crossed next time.
You are not an adult when you get your licence to drive.
You are not an adult because you had a child.
You are not an adult when you realise that one day you will die.
You are not an adult when you realise one day soon your parents will die.
You are not an adult when you realise you will continue to make the same mistakes.
The day you become an adult is the day that when invited to attend an average event with free alcohol and you think, “No, my time is worth more to me than what I would save drinking free, I would rather pay for my own drinks somewhere I WANT to be.”
Once that happens, you are all grown up, so go out and be immature with your friends. Talk about when you were young.
Instalment Sixty Three
Out of all the jobs and all the workers. You, me, us, WE! We have the worst reputations and yet no representation! It is a crime. We work hard, fight for others, the rights of others, the dignity of others and what do they do? What does the media do? What do the politicians do? Fling mud at us, call us names, call us greedy.
Mark, what did they call you yesterday? Fat Cat. In black and white, in the paper for all to see, for your children to see! Why? For doing your job. For helping others.
You fight for the rights of workers but who fights for the rights of you?
No one, no one stands up for you, the hard working Union Representatives. You catch hell on all sides. It’s not a “long lunch” it is a never ending meeting.
This is why I am here today, I have a proposition for you - A Union for Union Representatives.
We work hard for hard workers. Contract negotiations every four, three, in some cases EVERY TWO YEARS! And do they thank us, do they balls!
So join me in joining the Commonwealth Organisation for Righteous Representatives of Unions for Perpetual Talk (CORRUPT).
Mark, what did they call you yesterday? Fat Cat. In black and white, in the paper for all to see, for your children to see! Why? For doing your job. For helping others.
You fight for the rights of workers but who fights for the rights of you?
No one, no one stands up for you, the hard working Union Representatives. You catch hell on all sides. It’s not a “long lunch” it is a never ending meeting.
This is why I am here today, I have a proposition for you - A Union for Union Representatives.
We work hard for hard workers. Contract negotiations every four, three, in some cases EVERY TWO YEARS! And do they thank us, do they balls!
So join me in joining the Commonwealth Organisation for Righteous Representatives of Unions for Perpetual Talk (CORRUPT).
Instalment Sixty Two
Walking home I saw a handwritten sign cabled-tied to a phone pole, “Work from home: www.workhomefromhome.com.au.”
As I hate my office and the people in it, I looked up the website and called the number listed.
“Do you have neat hand writing?” the voice asked. I said I did.
“A home to work from?” Also yes.
“Great, job’s yours. We need 1000 Work from home signs everyday.”
“The job is writing the signs advertising the job?” I ask.
“You betcha! We’re expanding; need all the people we can get. Blank cards will be at yours in the morning, leave them out overnight, another 1000 will be there the next day.”
The next morning blanks were there.
I wrote them all and left them out the front.
Next morning, more blanks.
I wrote them all and camped out with them over night.
5AM a car pulled up. “These yours,” the driver yelled pointing at blanks on the passenger seat.
I opened the car door.
“What do you do with them?”
“Stick’em to poles,” he said.
“Why?”
“Answered a job ad – Own your own car? Clean licence?”
“This is futile,” I sigh.
“What do you think a job is mate,” he replies.
As I hate my office and the people in it, I looked up the website and called the number listed.
“Do you have neat hand writing?” the voice asked. I said I did.
“A home to work from?” Also yes.
“Great, job’s yours. We need 1000 Work from home signs everyday.”
“The job is writing the signs advertising the job?” I ask.
“You betcha! We’re expanding; need all the people we can get. Blank cards will be at yours in the morning, leave them out overnight, another 1000 will be there the next day.”
The next morning blanks were there.
I wrote them all and left them out the front.
Next morning, more blanks.
I wrote them all and camped out with them over night.
5AM a car pulled up. “These yours,” the driver yelled pointing at blanks on the passenger seat.
I opened the car door.
“What do you do with them?”
“Stick’em to poles,” he said.
“Why?”
“Answered a job ad – Own your own car? Clean licence?”
“This is futile,” I sigh.
“What do you think a job is mate,” he replies.
Instalment Sixty One
The hippies, I am afraid to tell you, were right. People do ‘give off vibes.’
They aren’t vibes though, it’s energy, stray mental energy. They were right though about the good and bad, ‘I’m getting good vibes offa that guy,’ or ‘Bad vibes man.’
Maybe massive consumption and erratic combinations of hallucinogens gave them the ability to see these ‘vibes’ but if that is true then they would have seen us.
When someone is happy they radiate positive mental energy, beaming out from their very being. There are people in the world, you probably know one, that are always going out of their way to help someone, make a joke, cheer you up or just generally try to spread cheer. These people, and they don’t know this, are powered by the good mental energy. So subconsciously they run around being nice and happy only to benefit themselves.
Then there is us.
While the terminology isn’t correct, the easiest way to explain us is this – we are Misery Vampires. Pain parasites.
And we know what we are doing.
Causing people grief feeds us, bad energy nourishes our soul.
There’s most likely someone like me in your office, watching, waiting to feed.
They aren’t vibes though, it’s energy, stray mental energy. They were right though about the good and bad, ‘I’m getting good vibes offa that guy,’ or ‘Bad vibes man.’
Maybe massive consumption and erratic combinations of hallucinogens gave them the ability to see these ‘vibes’ but if that is true then they would have seen us.
When someone is happy they radiate positive mental energy, beaming out from their very being. There are people in the world, you probably know one, that are always going out of their way to help someone, make a joke, cheer you up or just generally try to spread cheer. These people, and they don’t know this, are powered by the good mental energy. So subconsciously they run around being nice and happy only to benefit themselves.
Then there is us.
While the terminology isn’t correct, the easiest way to explain us is this – we are Misery Vampires. Pain parasites.
And we know what we are doing.
Causing people grief feeds us, bad energy nourishes our soul.
There’s most likely someone like me in your office, watching, waiting to feed.
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