MELLIPOP PASSES THE BUCK

Ok, so one last word regarding work today. Promise.

What do you say to a five year old who, after contemplating a tray of loin chops with a plastic pig stuck in it saying "Fresh Pork", looks up at you and asks, "Why did you kill Babe?"

What could I say? I told him that the butcher did it....

MELLIPOP AND THE TERRORIST THREAT

Ok, so I found myself in the midst of a true-to-life terrorist threat today.

So I was at work this afternoon, going about my daily business in that courageous yet stoic way that people do when they live surrounded by the constant threat of terrorism. I work in a bona fide terrorist hot-spot, see.

Castle Hill - a north-western suburb of Sydney, for those of you fortunate enough to never have visited.

Castle Hill is the Christian "bible belt" of not only Sydney, but the Entire Continent Formally Known as Van Diemen's Land. Castle Hill is directly responsible for Hillsong, an allegedly "hip" new-school church of Christianity that breeds Stepford Adolescents toting "New Testament for Teens" Bibles and ripping Hillsong CDs with titles such as "God is in 'da House" to their iPods (umm...ok, so the real title is actually "God is in the House", but the former is marginally more humorous).

So it would raise no eyebrows were I to suggest that the mujadheen might want to blow the bugger to smithereens. I mean, fuck, even I want to blow the fucking joint to smithereens. The people in Castle Hill seriously annoy me. For example: one of my overly uptight customers came back to complain about me ONE WHOLE WEEK AFTER OUR TRANSACTION HAD OCCURED because I had the audacity to call her “mate” during said transaction. The boss (aka my father) was fairly unmoved by her complaint. I believe his reply was - and I quote - “Well, this IS Australia, love…”. Though what she thought of him calling her “love”, one can only guess.

Anyway, irritating customers aside, as mentioned before I was at the centre of a real-life terrorist threat today in the shopping centre where I work.

So I was serving a customer. She ordered 700 grams of veal schnitzel. After asking if it were cut fresh today - with an affirmative reply from the butcher - she still insisted that we cut more fresh for her because according to her the perfectly OK veal schnitzel on display looked “dark”. Being accustomed to the illogical, unreasonable and unfathomable demands of the general public, the young butcher cut and pounded fresh veal schnitzel for her without comment.

It was during this interval that my customer mentioned to me that she had just seen an “unaccompanied” green-bag over near the ATM machines, and insisted that we call security. I was utterly unmoved by both the situation and her request, with absolutely no intent of following up on it. I was far more bemused by her sincere belief that this was a potentially dangerous situation, and one deserving of anyone’s attention at all. Besides the senile senior citizen who left her loaf of bread, Sensodyne denture paste and Tena Lady pads in a Coles green bag beside the ATM machines around the corner in her haste to get down to the local RSL club so she could blow the last of her pension money on the pokies.

I mean firstly, this customer of mine had already proved herself to be an unreliable source of information. She was “alert, but not alarmed” by the state of our veal schnitzel. AND SHE WAS WRONG! It was a complete FALSE ALARM! The schnitzel on display was FRESHLY CUT! It was this overreaction that first led me to doubt the veracity of her terrorist-bomb-threat-in-Castle Hill claims.

Secondly, she had this weird lazy eye thing going on. Her left eyeball was completely out of whack with the right eyeball. If I’m going to phone a bomb threat through to centre security, I need to know that my sources are accurate. What if the senile, incontinent, denture-clad pensioner was in fact standing RIGHT NEXT TO the allegedly “unaccompanied” Green bag at the ATM machines, but my customers’ obvious visual impairment made it impossible for her to process both stimuli simultaneously. It was essential that I required another verifying witness before acting. Or possibly an actual explosion.

Thirdly, my customer did not consider this information vital or urgent enough to report before she ordered her 700 grams of freshly-cut veal schnitzel.

And forth and most importantly, my customer totally reeked of that pompous air of self-importance characteristic of those who like to “dob in a dole cheat”, pen long-winded "letters to the editor" complaining about the miserable state of the public health system and gleefully bring to light the various and sundry shortcomings of others in everyday conversation. Like the “class snitch” in high school, or those crotchety old pensioners with so much time on their hands yet so little to whinge about, this woman was one of those types who just wanted to feel important by “reporting” SOMETHING. ANYTHING. NOTHING.

So I didn’t bother calling in the potential Al Qaeda Coles green bag threat to security today. That may indeed make me a loathsome and irresponsible citizen. I simply refuse to buy into the cacophonous “impending threat of our immediate annhiliation from terrorists AT ANY SECOND NOW” scaremongering chorus led by our government and media, just because some stupid bogan left their shopping behind.

Oh, and if you hadn’t already guessed, everyone in the shopping centre emerged with all their limbs and organs still intact. Though I don’t know whether that old pensioner got her groceries back. Maybe I should have just turned the mysterious green bag into the "Lost and Found" at Centre Management instead.

MELLIPOP AND COMMENT SPAM

Ok, so within ten minutes of posting my previous rant, my blog post has already attracted three random spam comments. Two of which have been duly deleted (oh, the anti-climactic disappointment of the fake comment!), though the one on "French Kissing Tips" (they're free!) has been left intact for interested punters.

Fucking internet.

Oh, and please don't ignore that overwhelming desire to post a comment on the previous artefact of my vented spleen just because I posted this brief yet indignant comment on comment spam.

Cheers.

MELLIPOP FIGHTS THE GOOD FIGHT

Ok, so I’m REALLY fucking fired up tonight.

I’m trying to think of a word worse than “cunt”, but am struggling to think of something truly obscene. Mammoth-cunt, mega-cunt, exponential-cunt, infinity-cunt, infinity-times-infinity cunt?

However, none of these terms seem appropriate. The kind of rage I am feeling is – I presume – generally manifested outside the arena of language, and more in the arena of direct action. Something which would involve a chainsaw, perhaps. And a lot of someone else’s blood.

However, tonight’s post is not just a desperate expression of my impotent rage. It also stands as a cautionary tale to those of you who may be interested in self-improvement generally. Damn fools.

My succinct and (briefly) obscenity-devoid words of wisdom tonight - and I can’t stress this enough – are,

DO NOT EVER SIGN UP FOR A GYM MEMBERSHIP.

EVER!!!!

Unless, however, you happen to be a litigation fetishist who gets off on slapping on the Braveheart facepaint and going toe-to-toe with a "dodgy credit card fraud outfit disguised as a law-abiding health and fitness establishment" like the HEALTHY LIFE FITNESS CENTRE IN PEPPERMINT GROVE, WA.

So the battle rages, spanning both sides of our esteemed continent. At my long-distance phone call expense, of course.

A few pertinent details, now that I have expended some of my ancilliary rage.

So Anton and I signed up for a gym membership at the "dodgy credit card fraud outfit disguised as a law-abiding health and fitness establishment" aka the HEALTHY LIFE FITNESS CENTRE IN PEPPERMINT GROVE, WA, on September 6 2004. A mere three days after we landed in Perth. Enthusiastic, yes - sensible, no.

Our 12 month memberships should have expired on September 6 2005. I emailed and faxed the the gym on August 9, 2005 to advance written notice of our intention to cancel our membership. We also went into the gym to fill out their cancellation paperwork before we left WA on September 3.

We were assured that our cancellation would be processed and that no further payments would be debited to our credit cards after the expiry date. This was reinforced on a follow-up phone call I made when the promised phone call from the gym to confirm the cancellation was not forthcoming.

Since we have been in Sydney (a month) , three fortnighty payments ($50.45 a pop) have subsequently been debited to our credit cards (just in case we happened to be in the neighbourhood and felt like jumping on a treadmill, no doubt). The third illegal debit had been helpfully extracted even after I spoke with the “manager” Sarah after the second illegal payment was debited. Sarah promised to call me back but must have, ahem… “mislaid” my number. I’m sure she fully intended to sort everything out for us the first time we spoke.

But lo and behold, we get yet debited the third illegal installment of a gym membership that has already expired for a gym that is in the vicinity of 4000km away.

So I’m thinking that maybe I wasn’t clear enough the last time we cordially discussed the issue as mutually respectful adults.

As a result, I called the motherfuckers again tonight. Bad Mellicop this time, not Good Mellicop. And not just Bad Mellicop, but Bad-Mellicop-on-three-beers-Mellicop. Let me tell you, you don’t mess with THAT bitch.

So after more than a few angry “fucks”, allegations of “serious credit card fraud”, frothy-mouthed threats to make formal complaints to the "relevant authorities" and rabid threats of litigation, it apppears that we may have progress. (??) Though I’m not entirely sure… I was so venomously, bile-spittingly angry that it appears that I accidentally gave my mum’s home number as my contact number for Sarah to call back (oops!), instead of my new home number.

So my parents just called to say that they have had a phone call from sputtering Sarah saying that the payments will be fixed up – and they gave her my actual home number for her to call me (oops again!). Though I am still waiting for said call. Fucked if I am going to make yet a another long distance call to sort this shit out.

But it appears, at least, that we have progress.

And if it turns out that we don’t have any progress on the credit card fraud front, I’ll make yet another long distance phone call to the "dodgy credit card fraud outfit disguised as a law-abiding health and fitness establishment" aka the HEALTHY LIFE FITNESS CENTRE IN PEPPERMINT GROVE, WA. And I’ll be bringing out the “cunts” for this one. Unless I can feasibly come up with some greater as-yet-unestablished obscenity.

Though bar flying over to WA, wielding a rusty chainsaw and spilling some Healthy Life Fitness Centre taut n’ toned blood, I can’t think of anything more irascible than the ever-trusty expletive “cunt”.

Sigh….The limitations of language…..

Postcript: Sarah called back in the middle of dinner (eye fillet steak and stir-fried veg…mmm… the perks of being a butcher bitch again....). Contrite apologies offered, membership has been cancelled and she is going to "consult her managers” regarding the other illegal payments.

Fuckers.

And the moral of this long-winded and otherwise yawn-inducing story?

a) Don't sign your life and finances away to a gym. Be fat and unattractive instead.

b) Being obnoxious, offensive and obscene gets results.

c) Don’t fuck with bad Mellicop. She keeps all the pertinent paperwork in order. And is not afraid of slinging a few uncouth “fucks” around after a couple of tinnies of full strength, in addition to throwing around some vociferous yet empty threats of legal action. My brother-in-law-to-be is a lawyer. He’s in insurance law, but no-one needs to know that.

Mellipop 1, Fitness Fraud Motherfuckers 0.

MELLIPOP: MARLOBORO LIGHT UPDATE

Ok, so Sydney is quite embarrasingly superior to all the other states in this wide brown land in many respects. AFL, Rugby League, road rage incidents, air and water toxicity levels, and so on.

But most importantly.... The Marlboro (Lights) are FUCKING AMAZING. They taste exactly like cigarettes should. FUCKING AWESOME.

Let's just put all that WA "dog-shit-tasting-cigarettes" unpleasantness behind us now. I'm back in Sydney and my beloved fags look and taste the same again. White butts, smooth flavour, same sexy carcinogens.... Sigh....

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY MELLIPOP!!!

Ok, so in true Mellipop style, I've forgotten yet another birthday.

My own.

As of September 28, Mellipop is one year old! Happy birthday to me!

Bugger. If I remembered my birthday I would have organised a Mellipop party. But considering that a) remembering things and b) organising things are not exactly strengths of mine, it's probably for the best.

I'm pretty sure that I have also missed two other far more important birthdays of late. Two of my "bridesmaids" and very best friends Barry and Tarun have celebrated birthdays recently. I think. Fuck. I am chronically ABYSMAL when it comes to remembering these things. I really must get a calendar or something.

Esteemed apologies again, friends. I suck really badly, I do realise that...

MELLIPOP BACK IN THE SADDLE

OK, so friends and bloggers have noted my distinct lack of communique of late. My blogging absence can be explained by a serial aversion to the internet of late (which is maybe more honestly expressed as an aversion to seek.com specifically). My telecommunications absence - well let's just put that down to my usual ineptitude with such things (in addition to the usual work excuses). Plus Anton is using my phone now, as his mobile is now officially dead.

None of you would be surprised to discover that our cute little four-legged antichrist was the architect behind that one. Tonka. I swear this puppy is the devil incarnate. Am thinking, in hindsight, that the name “Damien” may have been more appropriate. The balance sheet on this particular animal is catapulting even further into the red, but we do still love him very much, despite the steady stream of calls for us to despatch him with a silver bullet or two.

So Tonka didn't EAT the phone. He has been far too busy eating the walls. Yes. EATING THE WALLS. Though we have concocted a delightful little home remedy for that particular problem. Mix citronella oil, curry powder, fresh chilli and Rexona deodorant and smear it on the walls. Bingo! Puppies suddenly don't enjoy eating the walls so much anymore. So our house has the distinct odour of an East-Indian eatery located in a gym locker room with the obligatory outdoor bamboo torches burning for ambience. But the walls remain intact (though the pre-Staffy value of Anton’s investment property is maybe not so intact).

Anyway, back to Anton’s recently departed mobile phone. So yesterday he takes both pooches down to our old stomping grounds at the doggie café at Leichhardt. Tonka’s first time. For those who have never been - by lieu of geography or by lieu of not having a dog (oh how I envy you!) – the park has a stinky sewer-ish canal running along one side of it. Tonka likes water, and thinks he can swim. Hell – we thought he could swim!

He can’t. So he’s seen the water and hurtled down to leap into the canal at which point he then proceeded to drown. After he had gone under about three times - with a look of abject panic on his poor little puppy face - Anton realised that he was going to have to jump in after him to rescue him. So he did, with phone, wallet, keys and sunglasses still intact. Phone died. Tonka survived. Though the poor little blighter did vomit up a lot of water.

Anti-social behaviour, wanton destructiveness, chronic disobedience, the complete lack of heroic initiative, the tendency for chaos and acts of pure evil to manifest in his mere presence....

Damien, yes. Lassie, no.