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Monthly Archives: January 2013

The decline and decline of GOF

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The cost of not living up to the expectations of others.

 

Taking a different point of view

Taking a different point of view

The decline started early and I take full responsibility. My parents did their level best to raise me as a sociable, successful and communicative contributor to Australian society.  It is no reflection upon them that they failed. Many of the principles of life which evolved in my young head as I wandered alone through the Victorian bush just happened to be poles apart from those of my dear parents.

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My parents decided sixty years ago that sending me off at the age of five to the local Yandoit Primary School for one week of initiation would act as a kick-start to my academic learning.

I took the more instantly rewarding view that the 12 year-old girl assigned to chaperone me was far more interesting than anything being written on the blackboard.

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My parents believed that unquestioning adherence to their brand of Christianity would provide the most structurally sound framework for me to live my life on Earth, but more importantly it would guarantee a front-stalls ticket to the heavenly afterlife.

I progressively formed the view that except for teaching the Ten Commandments, organised religions were a divisive sham, and attachment to any particular brand was not a prerequisite to being a good human being.  I could not discover any evidence in the natural world which surrounded me that there was a possibility of life after death.

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The White Hills Technical School Headmaster apparently expected much more from me.  He generously pasted the following unsigned 1963 end of year character reference in my report book which conveyed the idea to potential employers that I was worthless.

I took the point of view which I now hold with even greater conviction that Headmaster Robt. M. Wiseman was a disgrace both to his profession and the ancestors who bequeathed to him that surname.

Robt. M. Wiseman's gift to GOF.

Robt. M. Wiseman’s gift to GOF.

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My father believed that joining the secret society of Freemasons was the best way for me to enhance my career prospects and social status.

I chose instead to walk in the opposite direction and take complete responsibility for my own success or failure.

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In 1974 my Public Service employer in New Guinea generously promoted me from doing rural development field work to a much more highly paid administrative position in town.

I took the view after just six months in office that I would use my newly acquired executive powers to post myself back to the bush from whence I came to work with the people in the place that I loved, and in doing so relinquish the higher salary and all future prospects for promotion.

(It is a very special time for me and Mrs GOF at the moment as we read our daughter’s continuing series of stories about ‘returning home’ at the age of 30 to this place she never knew.) (here)

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My capitalist society believes that accumulating wealth and expensive houses and possessions should be amongst the highest priorities in my life.

I chose the view that this is a totally ludicrous and mindless preoccupation best left to others.  Beyond having a roof over my head, a modest financial reserve and some land from which to make a living, I don’t give a rat’s arse about company shares, financial indices, interest and exchange rates, negative gearing or any other form of accounting trickery.

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In accordance with my strict Rules of Engagement with Humans, I occasionally tolerate visitors to GOF’s Paradise.  Some fail to see the natural beauty of the landscape or appreciate the sounds of silence, instead preferring to take note that our mains-powerless home is of inferior quality and size to their half-million dollar residences in town, and they conclude;
“The GOF’s live in squalor in the middle of the rainforest.”

Plumbing held together with Araldite superglue.

Plumbing held together with Araldite superglue.

Insulation falling off the verandah roof.

Insulation falling off the verandah roof.

Lichen farm on the roof.

Lichen farm on the roof.

Snake-shit stains on the verandah wall.

Snake-shit stains on the verandah wall.

I promise I’ll clean up the snake shit……everything else will take care of itself.

Mrs GOF and I built and furnished this little home with our own four hands in 1983 for the cost of just $8000.  It, like us, is now showing signs of age.
It has survived three major cyclones and many other gales, been struck by lightning, sheltered us from 150 inches of rain every year, kept us warm through thirty winters, been a safe haven in which to raise a child, and provided a barrier most of the time to tree snakes who also like to call it’s roof space home.

I take the view that it would be a fitting end if, shortly after Mrs GOF and I fall off our respective twigs, our house collapses of exhaustion from a job well done and also returns to the earth from whence it came.
“Resale value” is something for others to worry themselves sleepless about. I don’t give a rats about that either.

So as you can see, my life has been a series of abject failures to live up to the expectations of others.

Regardless of all the other bloody stupid mistakes I’ve made along the way, you cannot begin to understand just how happy, fulfilled and contented this makes me feel.

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The rill on the hill

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(another rhapsodic and poetic offering from GOF)

Top secret location in Wooroonooran national Park.

Top secret location in Wooroonooran national Park.

Enchanting trickles wayside rill,
Bubbling merrily down the hill.
Joyful gurgling, Spring’s rebirth.
Quenching thirst of Mother Earth.

This place to sit and contemplate.
To be, or deeply meditate.
I linga longa than I orta.
Here flows beer instead of water.

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Tabernacle of The Bucket

Gawd strewth mate, they’re back ‘ere again!

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Oh yes, I’m talking once again about Sharapova and Azarenka, those two shrieking and screaming ex-Soviet disgraces to both professional tennis and sport in general.

Well strike me pink, you’d think they wouldn’t have the nerve to show their faces in Australia again after the severe tongue lashing I gave them last year.

Obviously that wasn’t enough, so maybe I’ll have to resurrect my very own nineteen-sixties four step protest procedure which saw me single-handedly stop the Vietnam war, abolish capital punishment, and ensure that more bras were burned than were strictly necessary to promote the liberation of women in Australia.

These two loudmouthed horrid unsporting little tarts swindlers need to be gagged and deported before they distract and defraud any more honest opponents.

GOF’s 1960’s Escalating Public Protest Procedure;

1.  Raise right eyebrow in contempt.

2.  Expectorate with indignance.

3.  Hoist myself up and dangle precariously from the flagpole at Parliament House, Canberra. (Late springtime activity only due weather constraints)

4. Streak at public events with protest message bootpolished on my backside. (summertime only)

Now according to Mrs GOF and the arresting Officers who apprehended me last week during my Stage Four protest sparked by the planned bulldozing of Cairns City Place, I am no longer in peak streaking condition.  I therefore need another failsafe option to deter these two screeching tennis prizemoney poachers from ever coming back to Australia again.

When I was six my Dad deterred me from engaging in all manner of aberrant behaviours by putting me over his knee, pulling my strides down, and flogging my bare arse black and blue with a wooden spoon.  It worked a treat. For more than half a century now I’ve been recalcitrance-free.

You will be delighted to know that I have just secured myself a job as a linesperson at Rod Laver Arena for this weeks Azarenka v Sharapova tennis match. I urge you not to miss it.

You will never again get the opportunity to witness this unique interaction between one linesman, two players, and one tennis racquet handle.

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The Piles Foundation

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Warning;   Contains childish themes. Guidance from a juvenile recommended.

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The Bucket’s name is synonymous with philanthropic support of medical research around the world.  Most notably, in this digital age, it is the primary benefactor for toe and finger nail wedge resection survivors.

Today many diseases both real and imagined are represented by empire building friends of pharmaceutical multinationals  charitable organisations, and here at The Bucket we feel it is incumbent upon us to fill one of the few remaining vacancies.  Haemorrhoids.

THE PILES FOUNDATION could not have been established without the compassion, wisdom, legal expertise and personal experience of Mr. Trevor Fulcrum Q.C., Senior Partner in the firm Smirnoff, Fulcrum and Gof.

The name of the Foundation was specifically selected to snare a percentage of ambiguous and/or inaccurately addressed financial transactions of;

(a)  The Local Authority of Piles, Valencia, in Spain.

(b)  The Estate of General Sir Frederick Pile, GCB, DSO, MC 1884-1976 Commander of anti-aircraft attacks in Britain during WW2.

(c)  International Shag Carpet Makers Association.

(d)  Pile Data Division of the Mathematicians Collective.

(e)  The Museum of Graphite Pile Nuclear Reactors.

Whilst our primary funding source will be from these misappropriated  innovatively procured monies we will also be selling inspirational tee shirts to foment a formidable and stubborn global movement which will demand the
ELIMINATION OF PILES FROM OUR PLANET FOREVER.

Piles tee shirt

Please phone 1800 PUSHITGOOD during the next ten minutes to secure your collectors item tee shirt, personally worn, signed, strained and winced over by an actual piles sufferer, for the special price of just $49.99.

(plus $107.95 postage and handling)

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The Summer of my Discontent.

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Normally on Christmas Day Mrs GOF cheerfully decorates, cooks, drinks more red wine than is strictly required to reap any health benefits, and entertains the neighbours, whilst I play my usual role as a joyless yuletide yoke around her neck.

This year I was so deficient in wives upon which to inflict this misery, and so sick of living on Weetbix, that I carted my dismal countenance off down the mountain range to Cairns to see if I could at least find some personal happiness by casting a shadow of gloom over some unsuspecting strangers and foreign tourists who hitherto had been enjoying their day on the Esplanade.

Here are some highlights of my day;

Obstructing pedestrians on the boardwalk along Trinity Inlet.

Obstructing pedestrians on the boardwalk along Trinity Inlet.

Threatened to seriously thump some younguns at BoxinFun

Threatened to seriously thump some younguns at BoxinFun

Hijacked a buggy and terrorised a group of senior citizens at the Marina.

Hijacked a buggy and terrorised a group of senior citizens at the Marina.

Canceled swimming intentions after being mobbed by young women as soon as they saw me in my Speedos.

Canceled swimming intentions after being mobbed by young women as soon as they saw me in my Speedos.

Being escorted from the helipad after offering to fly the next group of tourists out to the reef.

Being escorted from the helipad after offering to fly the next group of tourists out to the reef.

Inhaled some refreshing Eau de Greasetrap wafting over the mudflats on the south-easterly breeze.

Inhaled some refreshing Eau de Greasetrap wafting over the mudflats on the south-easterly breeze.

Police confiscated my slingshot at Cairns Library.

Police confiscated my slingshot at Cairns Library.

Found great amusement at people who had left cars parked beneath the fruit bat colony.

Found great amusement at people who had left cars parked beneath the fruit bat colony.

ROFL (Rolling on the footpath laughing) at some tourist's windscreen. (Very happy GOF) :-)

ROFL (Rolling on the footpath laughing) at some tourist’s windscreen. (Very happy GOF) 🙂

Extreme disappointment when told that tours of Honey were unavailable on Christmas Day.

Extreme disappointment when told that tours of Honey were unavailable on Christmas Day.

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