LAS Vegas

A short one this week ... for those dopey twats who can't get this right, let me spell it out for you. Literally:


It's LAS Vegas, not LOS Vegas. It's spelt 'L-A-S' not 'L-O-S'. It's not difficult. Unless you're a mong.


You don't say LAS Angeles, so why do you say LOS Vegas?




Think about it and get it right.


Because it bloody annoys me.


Thank you.

Body Odour

What would you do if someone at your workplace had very noticeable body odour? Would you say something, not knowing how they'd react? Would you just complain to other workmates behind the stinker's back and do nothing? Would you drop hints? Would any of these things improve the situation or just hurt the person's feelings and ruin a working relationship? To be honest, I'm not sure what I'd do but I'd like to relate something that happened to me the other day ...
... I'm ordering a coffee from my local coffee shop when - just as I'm explaining that I want no froth on my flat white - which itself is a blog for another day - this bloke of about 50 stands right next to me. As the first wave of his odour tsunami hit my nostrils, I had to grip the counter in case I passed out. It was the worst B.O. I'd ever experienced. And I've been to India. He moved away from me to check out the pastry display and I regained my senses enough to say to the girl serving me, "Jesus, did you get a whiff of that?" She had. No sooner had the words tumbled from my gob than he was behind me, waiting to order. It was torture. Finally I got my coffee and sat outside in the fresh air to read the paper.


About an hour later I was in the supermarket next to the coffee shop when I saw Mr Stinky in the cereal and spreads aisle. I couldn't help myself ... my social conscience was pricked ... I went to the toileteries aisle and grabbed a can of home brand deodorant. I tailed Mr Stinky until his attention was taken by the myriad choices of canned tuna, and placed the deodorant in his trolley, carefully burying it under a DIY pizza and a 12-pack of Sorbent.


Did I do the right thing? I like to think so. I really hope he took it home and started using it. It's more likely that he gave it to the checkout person and said it wasn't his. But maybe I've given him a fresh new lease on life. Or at least dropped a hint ...

Cloak Rooms - A Hidden Evil

To me a cloak room represents everything that is bad about society today. A place where you are often forced to store items - which you may desperately need - at a cost.
Take for example the cloak room at Acer Arena. First off, it is not explained clearly that bags must be cloaked before attending an event, then when you arrive you must queue for upwards of fifteen minutes with many other disgruntled, sweaty customers. The claim ticket then states that venue staff have no liability for lost or damaged goods. How is this fair? We haven't asked if we can store our belongings; you've forced us to, so take some responsibility. Pregnant women are even told to queue and store their bags - where's the common sense? What if I was to state, "I take no responsibility for lost or stolen claim tickets"? You wouldn't buy it.
At least this venue doesn't charge to store belongings, and chances are you'll get back what you left in one piece. But over at the Enmore Theatre, they pull the same trick but charge you for it, three dollars no less. With this slightly less professional storage system you feel less confident entrusting your possessions with staff. And again, no responsibility will be taken for lost, stolen, mutilated, eaten, regurgitated, sat on, express posted, entombed, boiled, cured or possessed possessions.
My question is, what's going on back there that you can't guarantee the safe return of my property?

Talent Comes In Five Colours

For the first time last night I participated in the phenomenon that is Guitar Hero. I'd never had the slightest inclination to play it before but once I picked up that (pretend) Gibson guitar, I was unfortunately hooked.
I say 'unfortunately' because I always held the opinion that it was a pointless game because you're not actually learning an instrument. I still firmly believe this and when someone said to me, "I don't have a single musical bone in my body, but with this I feel really talented", I thought to myself, "Well you're not muscially talented, you just hit some buttons at the correct time, much like you would playing Tetris, Mortal Kombat, or Lemmings.
It's just that now I can't wait to play it again, and again, and again. Gotta nail Kings Of Leon's Sex on Fire.
All I really want to know is where's the guitar hero that teaches an actual semblance of real guitar? If you are rewarded by singing in Singstar, then why can't you be similarly rewarded in a game with a real guitar? Even the drums in Rock Band resemble drums.
There have been so many amazing advancements in video gaming yet with this we are restricted to five coloured buttons and a white strumming thing.

Or, maybe, just maybe Paul McCartney used a Gibson Les Paul like this:

Self Serves No Purpose

Not many of us remember it but there was a time when a grocery store was a place of utter service. Everything was done for you; it was almost regal. Bread and Milk? Just ask the attendant to fetch it from behind the counter. He might even use a ladder to get it or would have to measure out the amount you wanted.
Then just before the WWI, this evolved into the self service store and America and the world never looked back. We now even have the hypermarket - a combination of supermarket and department store - which may in time see off its creators.
Now this, I have no problem with. Yes it is sad that the corner store is largely a thing of the past but we now have choice and convenience as never before.
What I do have a problem with is serving myself. Anywhere. If I wanted to serve myself I'd shoplift.
Some supermarkets and department stores now insist on inserting self-serve checkout lanes about their premises. I feel like we've taken a humongous step backwards here. Actually no, more like a fall sideways where you grazed your knee but thought, "I was standing perfectly still, how did that happen?".
Is this only the beginning? Will we soon have fully automated, self-stocking stores where the site of a red-haired midget named Gerald employed reluctantly under equal opportunity by the 19-year old manager Mischa is a thing of the past? No more asking where toilet paper is only for the unshaven Steve to shrug and continue listening to Slipknot whilst stacking Weet-Bix? An end to having a the hirsute George wipe his forehead ungloved before handling your six slices of devon?
Well there's good news here. As long as there's credit cards, faulty technology and idiots, there'll be staff to happily serve you. There may only be one, and he may take twelve minutes, but there's staff nonetheless. And it's fair enough too - he was checking everyone's signatures and helping them insert their hard-earned into the ridiculously-difficult-to-use coin machine. Hey come on, don't rush him! He's currently escorting the local special lad Petey out after he shoved croutons down his pants for the third time this week.
Hmmm, not so self serve after all.
The saddest part of this is that tomorrow's youth will stare blankly at the screen when you show them this sketch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cz2-ukrd2VQ
What a world we live in.

On Hold

They call it progress but technology is for the most part a pile of crap. And most of today's customer service can also be put in the 'crap' pile. I could leave it there and everyone will know what I'm talking about but for the purposes of padding this out a little and airing my grievances, I'll elaborate.

Today I had some technical difficulties with my internet connection and called the service provider to assist me. I was greeted by several different recorded voices asking me to say my phone number into the phone. After five attempts it accepted. Then I was kindly informed by another voice (this time a charming American accent) that my call would be answered in around twenty minutes. So nothing to do but sit back, relax and enjoy the musical stylings of ... Oh that's right. you don't play real music. Instead it's a mix between Kenny G and SARS. To mix it up a little you'll play what can only be described as the deformed twin of Muzak. (How did they ever go bankrupt with every hotline on the planet playing it incessantly?)

To their credit I was relieved of the pain in my ears after only seventeen minutes. A guy answered who I'll call Jim-Bob because I can't remember his real name. Jim-Bob was definitely friendly but so friendly that it bordered on creepy. He started by taking my name before commenting that it's a very nice name and very short and fitting. I then told him my problem and asked if he could help. He assured me he could because this is what he enjoys and that he will help me with anything I need because we're buddies.

I double-checked the 1300 number I had dialled to make sure it wasn't a man-man chatline. It wasn't which made it more disturbing.

In amongst the weird chitchat Jim-Bob was quite helpful but sometimes I wish people would quit with the formalities and get to the point. He kept telling me how he could do something and would do something and how happy he was to do it. As Elvis wisely sang, "A little less conversation, a little more action please". 

My question is, who trains these people to be so chummy? Or was he just a happy man? My guess is the latter because I called another internet helpline a short time later and the lady who answered was quite blunt. Come to think of it she was fairly rude and sounded bored; maybe it was her last day on the job.

If only more people had her attitude.

Open Letter To Braggers

This is an open letter to the braggers out there.


Every so often I come across your type; loud, talkative, uninterested in those around them but strangely entertaining, like watching a building implode. You will happily control a conversation on your terms, letting everyone in earshot know how much you earn or where you've been or who you've met.


I don't care.


You'll get frustrated when a new topic arises and it doesn't revolve around you. Thinking quickly you'll find a tenuous link as to how it does relate to you, thus swiftly guiding the chat to your side of the court.


I don't care.


A third person joins the discussion. A breath of fresh air. A different voice for just five minutes at least. But no, instead you regale him or her with the same tales of nothingness you've just dumped on me. I'm sure we're all impressed with your salary that is so much greater than ours.


I don't care.


There comes a point where I start to think that not only is this laborious to listen to, but it is not possible that these conquests, scenarios and encounters actually happened. So you're a fishmonger by trade but also designed an airport, rode military aircraft, argued with celebrities over unpaid fees and are buying a Jaguar because you have to. The list goes on. You have travelled to every continent on earth (and presumably some that have not yet been discovered), you also designed something that is top secret so you are forbidden from revealing its details.


You are not James Bond.


Not content with just unloading this mostly usless information on us, you treat everything like a competition. Saying "I won" when you complete a task that no one else attempted does not seem fair. But please, take all the glory, of which there is none to take.


You are a tool.


How you have the hide to then complain about your situation is beyond me and oh so irksome. "Oh I have to travel overseas with my $150,000/year and classic car but it's going to be cold." Buy a fur coat and gold-plated slippers you twat.


Such a tool.


But I will say this: Thanks for the entertainment, prawns and beer.

Back In 14,700 Minutes

We're taking a week off. I'd say it's because of holiday or other commitments but it's out of laziness more than anything else.
I would however like to thank the bus driver who swore at me earlier this week. It's people like you Mr. Driver that make our transport system what it is today: a massive joke.

5 Must Haves And Must Nots For This Decade

1 week into 2010 and it's not impressive. Nothing at all like the film 2010, in which humans have made contact with aliens and supercomputers such as HAL exist aboard spacecraft. Nor is it like 2010 as portrayed by The Simpsons, where CNNBCBS exists as a combination of America's television networks. Although they may as well be with the amount of inanely superfluous programming we are subjected to these days. Which brings me to number five on the list.


5. Reality Television is up there with terrorism as an unnecessary evil. The only saving grace are the titles; they don't mess about. Take Amish In The City, Elimidate, Wife Swap, or Farmer Wants A Wife - all great examples of TV execs getting straight to the point. You'll never hear anyone say, "What's Who Wants To Marry My Dad about?"
It's not all dating and talent quests though, with some shows surely bordering on the illegal and perverse. Case in point Japan's Susunu! Denpa Shōnen, which put a naked man in an apartment for a year-and-a-half and made him win clothes: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=di-cjruci-0&feature=related
I once heard a comedian say, "What part of eating bulls' testicles whilst hanging upside down is reality?" That sums it up for me. But now, after discovering video of LaToya Jackson being tasered (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=by5_8SpGX-E), I'm undecided.


4. The English Language seems to be dying out. I don't mean dying out as in we'll all be speaking French in 2013 but in that English as we knew it ten years ago has changed dramatically, primarily due to computer abbreviations and text speak (txtspk) - the hideous result of the economy of language used in mobile phones so as not to incur a dreaded charge for spilling on to a second text message.
I was once pilloried for using a ten letter word in a message; apparently it's not cricket to type things in full anymore. And apparently all messages should read something like this: "gr8 1ce u c it well meet. wots ur addy cos idk whr! cyt."
d wrld iz feckD!


3. Children's Television used to be great. With compelling storylines up there with the likes of Law and Order and The Bill, it was part and parcel of a morning as you hastily dressed for school. Shows like Postman Pat had it all nicely packed into fifteen minutes. Who can forget classic episodes such as Postman Pat And The Hole In The Road or Postman Pat and The Tuba? Then there's Fireman Sam - the hero next door, who continuously entertained with pals Elvis Cridlington, Basil Steele and Penny Morris.
Now when I turn on the TV see IgglePiggle and a Tombliboo and nothing happens! It's as if all the ideas for children's television have been exhausted and since The Teletubbies, it's been a combination of nonsensical names and bright colours. I can imagine those charged with concocting these ideas in a brainstorming session:


Man 1: Now so far we've got a show set in a fantasy land with four characters but we need some names. Anyone?


Woman 1: The land should be called Cobbleponsington or Spodderchawdletart.


Man 2: I like Cobbleponsington, it's different. How about the main character is called Cynanche? And his friends are Impetigo, Podagra, and Billy?


Man 1: The first three are diseases ... I like it. Billy's no good though.


2. People Who Stop Unannounced And Stand Obstructively should be counselled, or even better sent to a 100 square metre island where they can perpetually get in each other's way. Especially evident in old people and tourists, this condition (for lack of a better word) is immensely frustrating to the average, normal human. I'll set the scene and give warning signs for those who don't know the type (hard to believe). You're walking down a busy footpath and a person (usually badly dressed) stops dead, scratches their head, turns 360 degrees and scratches their head once more before either walking on or continuing to stand motionless for who knows how long.
Now fair enough, people get lost and confused (especially when they're old or foreign) but if you do, move out of the way, preferably into the road. We're not standing in an open field, it's a path barely wide enough for two people to walk down as it is. If society hasn't eradicated this blight by December 31st 2019, I'm moving to Antarctica.


1. Scientology makes it to number one with ease. As we all know, once you die that's it. No reincarnation, no trips to purgatory and nothing pulling you towards a white light. Now Scientologists may agree with me there but apparently we are immortal spiritual beings which makes much more sense.
Tom Cruise once stated, "When you are a Scientologist, when you drive past an accident it's not like anyone else. You drive past, you know you have to do something about it because you know you are the only one that can really help. So people, now when you see two cars smash into each other do not under any circumstances call the emergency services - they cannot help. Simply dial 1-8-0-0-E-M-E-T-E-R and you will be audited, sorry I mean assisted, as soon as possible.
The church even has its own cruise chip, Freewinds which hosts the usual - jazz concerts, movie performances, training for Operating Thetan level eight and various other surely harmless activities. You know how the old saying goes, 'What happens on Freewinds, costs several thousand dollars'.
For more useful info on this religion/sect, visit this page: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xevBWYRMqq0

5 Regrets From MMIX (that's 2009 in fancy speak)

Paul Anka got it all wrong when he penned the words, "Regrets, I've had a few, but then again too few to mention". Bollocks has had a few regrets in 2009 and just enough to mention in this here web log.
We all know what Anka rhymes with.


5. The demise of the Slovak koruna probably isn't in everyone's list of 2009 regrets but we at Bollocks feel it deserves a place here if only out of sympathy; it really was the little currency that couldn't. Lasting just over fourteen years, Slovakia's currency was shunted on January 1st for the Euro (bully).
It really is a travesty but luckily korunas can be exchanged at your local NBS (National Bank of Slovakia) branch until 2013. Phew!


4. This petition was rejected by the British government:
'We the undersigned petition the Prime Minister to Protect British Culture - Protect British Boosh.' This was rejected as it is not inside the remit of the government but it should be. American broadcasters are bidding for rights to make a local version of the Mighty Boosh which is a hideous idea but this goes much deeper than Boosh. For too long Yanks have been stealing ideas and making shoddy attempts at British (and Australian - Kath and Kim is one shining example) shows, most of which were originally intended as comedies but become something far more sinister in the home of the brave.
Kirstie Alley was cast in a pilot for a remake of The Vicar of Dibley reimagined as The Minister Of Devine, which hardly deserves to be set in italics because it doesn't exist. Executives stated the show lacked a crucial quality - it wasn't funny. And that's saying something judging by the tripe they allow on American television.
Germans aren't exempt from this either, commissioning Das iTeam, their version of The IT Crowd. It was cancelled shortly after airing. Seems like they just couldn't fight facts: Germans aren't funny.


3. 2009's resolutions weren't kept which is a shame because Bollocks was really determined this year! On New Year's Day we sat down and outlined 5 things we'd like to do this year and now, 2 days from 2010, all bar four (so one) were kept. No. 5 was easy on paper - grow a beard, but proved harder than Kanye keeping his opinions to himself. In at No. 4 we had 'give country music a go'. We boiled the kettle, sat down and put on Keith Urban's Somebody Like You. The music stopped at the line "I've forgiven myself for the mistakes I've made". Glad you could forgive yourself Keithy, we couldn't.
No. 3 stated we had to watch a sunrise. Suffice to say we didn't and settled instead for Channel 7's Sunrise. You have to get up just as early and it's just as painful to watch for prolonged periods. Mission No. 2 for this year was to finish a cryptic crossword. One of many clues that stumped us was 'Greetings Mrs Marples (said to be an unprepossessing creature)'. Quit the riddles and say what you mean crossword!
Admittedly the one resolution we kept was never in doubt, but in hindsight doesn't actually make any sense. It read 'don't break this resolution'. We're still scratching our heads.


2. Revelation is Peter Andre's "comeback" album. Peter, mate, wherever you've come back from, could you not have stayed there? Bollocks cannot verify this but we heard you were in prison for three years for abuse to music. Please confirm or deny.
We have not listened to the album, having only briefly considered purchase for use as a coaster, but can tell by song titles alone that this is a ripper of a release. Track four, The Way You Move (Up In Here) shows Pete's party side, track eight Outta Control shows his rebellious side (see what he did there joining 'out' and 'of' together? Such a bad ass), and track nine displays his lovin' side: XOXO.
For us he hits the nail on the head with track six, Go Back. Ponce.


1. This guy:

Two years since his inauguration and Bollocks still cannot find the words to aptly describe Kevin Michael Rudd. The closest we can come is smarmy prat.