Friday, May 24, 2013

Welcome to the 'eat shit or spinach' edition of the mullers and packers union of australia where we at the mpua fuck with the 'opposites attract syndrome' in an election year dear to us all.. in the upcoming federal election debate a worthy consideration in this foxtel sportsbet tabcorp odds-on-favourite cuntry of ours is that the lesser of two evils is still fine cotton in anyone's lingo...ask mum, ask the stewards enquiry, ask robbie or singo or fitzy but mostly ask yerselves...as a campaign for the hearts and the minds of the electorate unfolds we, the critical masses at the mpua, throw down for your consideration a timely proselytisation that undulates across time & space with more front than nock & kirby and all the common sense & conviction of Joe the gadget man proudly brought to youse this day by us spin & witchy poo doctors at the mullers and packers union of australia




Welcome back my little ATMs and Swineharts all, to the 'shit or spinach' edition of the mpua-in which we argue that the 'lesser of the two evil' theory has no place in the upcoming federal election debate. 

A worthy consideration in this foxtel sportsbet tabcorp odds on favourite that the lesser of two evils is still fine cotton in anyone's lingo...ask mum, ask the stewards, ask robbie, but mostly ask yerselves...have a punt, risk the odds, tote up that bet, calculate the preferences and ah betcha bottom dollar that the upcoming federal ballot is the mightiest test of character and resolve this cuntry has ever seen. 


A campaign that brings out the worst in a person. 


A media frenzy for our times that unfolds hypnotically undulating across time and space, with more front than nock and kirby and none of the conviction of Joe the gadget man. A short essay for your perusal, proudly brought to youse this day by the spin and witchy poo doctors at the mullers and packers union of australia.








I have like lots of us in this land, lived through the dystopia of Maggie Thatcher and Reaganomics, and seen the Tory influences in this colony, across parties, further perpetuated by Blair and Bush, Cameron and Obomba et al.



In this colony-Hawke taking us to war against Iraq the first time 'round. His selling out the pilots union to sir Peter Ables and the branch stacking from the executive that led to the deregistering of the BLF here in NSW, the former ACTU boss who schmoozed and lulled us into The Accord  with the forced amalgamations of disparate trade unions. 

The recession we had to have in order to avoid a banana republic-Keating and his forced free trade agreements which has gutted industry and manufacturing and accelerated the privatisation of infrastructure-leaving us, like most western countries in decline, a bloated economy of knowledge and service industries dressed up as a foodie film festival theme park island. Ick indeed!

A bi-partisan agreement to excise our country from the map, off shore processing, and more ghastly, our humanitarian obligations supervised by ASIO (!) the Salvation Army, and off limits to our own human rights commissioner. Outsourced to ‘for profit’ companies, and more ghastly still if that is possible, is that in countries where we participate in war, we offer no immigration advice via our embassies and consulates, and inflate and inflame the numbers of 'illegals’ swamping our shores.

All this and more, from the Federal ALP mob!

The intervention in the NT and Bankstown, recently extended another decade under the feds, the forced removal of single parents into dire poverty once the kids are 8- when historically we recognised supporting parents and their children until the kids were 16-another ALP initiative.

The lack of a treaty with the first nations peoples shames and appalls me. Our polite racisms that see non-anglo names interview up to 60 times more than white fellas for jobs, and a neo-colonial legislative, socio-economic and systemic desire for an assimilation of Indigenies and non-whites into a middle class of anglo western ideals.

The fact that we couldn’t find the dosh for the community radio sector to go digital, the axing of the dental health scheme for the chronically poor, the commercialisation of the CSIRO and her researchers.

The lack of political will and muscle to fund, retain and reform our ailing social, built and geographic ecosystems and infrastructure.

I am tired of how callow we are in this land of seeming plenty. I despair whoever forms the next federal parliament. I am close to taking me bat and ball and walkin’ off the pitch altogether.

We fail at the social ideals Whitlam raised us on and Don Chipp's reminder to keep the bastards honest got lost in the spin.

I may just vamoose to south america or the hinterland of the south coast and ah let it pass me by. I am displaced by too many years of political bastardries, and the flow on/trickle down effects thereof-globally and in me own land.

Excised from the map?! Amoral to the power of infinity.

I have no heart for worldly affairs.

I think also, and this is where I'm optimistic and hopeful, is that if enough people vote below the line, another 'hung parliament’ could well be the beginnings of the making of us.

Lots of people think that we will only achieve a hung parliament if more people recognise the danger of Abbott than at present, and while this is blindingly glaringly obvious, I reckon that you get more of a shot at a convincing argument if people also are cognisant that the lesser of two evils are still evil.

This either or thing-shit or spinach-as the bumper sticker says-has to go!

Vote below the line, scrutinise the preferential flow of votes, and the costed policies on offer.

Is it too much to ask, in this age of mis/information?  

If I were to run a social media campaign-it'd be 'Vote below the line-keep the bastards honest. It’s time for change.'

And I know a lot of people think that a single non-preferential vote not  directed against Abbott is a vote for him and his  cohorts in the LNP, but I argue that preferential voting is both more representative of all of us, and a bloody good foil against Abbott & co-if only us weary self interested masses remembered our social studies classes from late primary school.

Voting below the line is the only way to go-both houses under scrutiny...almost outside of personality and ideology-how to sell it though?

'Vote below the line keep the bastards honest. It's time for change.'

It resonates and possesses a certain je ne sais quoi. With or without an hashtag to announce intent...

!fuk Murdoch and Swinehart and the main stream media drones, and our corporate politicians and aparatchiks- we are raised better than that.




Whatta youse lot reckon?





                    fini


and that's it from us lot the great unwashed down here in speakers corner; standing tall on our soapboxes, grinding axes as we speak, so to speak, and standing firm in our convictions, agitating, battling and spruiking for change and thoughtfulness at the ballot box dear comrades and scrutineers all... and as we merchants of chaos are wont to say here at the mpua hq, vote early and vote often-dead men don't tell tales.





 *** the mullers and packers union of australia retains any and all intellectual and creative copyright in this and all or any subsequent and previous posts..the mullers and packers union of australia also respects acknowledges and sources to the best of it's ability all and any other copyrights in play that are used in the commission of the creative goals of the author and the mullers and packers union of australia and all who sail with her. ***


Tuesday, April 16, 2013

track & field- a showcase of a sports carnival-the mullers and packers union of australia style- with all the grace of pageantry and very much in honour of an athletic home-made pride and a well stocked tuck-shop...on ya marks get set !go





Track  and field- a showcase of a sports carnival- the mullers and packers union of australia style- with all the grace and faded glories, the fanfare and pageantry, and very much in honour of an athletic home-made pride and a well stocked tuck-shop...

on ya marks     get set


   !go


A big stopwatch of a mullers and packers union of australia welcome back to youse sports lovers, aficionados, officials and time keepers all.


Pitch that tent, set up that trestle table and fold out those chairs, mark out that 400metre track and rake that sandpit.


                     

                    Homage to a sports mad childhood.



When we were kids we played across the backyards of the 'hood a little known game-we called it 'olympic games'. We set up obstacle courses and events and played for the ribbons medals and trophies we had garnered across our sweet suburban sports ovals and clubs.

When I was a kid we did little A’s.

Little athletics.

At school as well as for the Nepean and later the South Sydney district clubs as under 12’s.

Back when South Sydney fielded a junior club that fed into the Randwick Botany Harriers senior athletics club -12 years and over.

Winter was cross country running out along the Castlereagh road, the Fisher's ghost** run in Campbelltown and later Parramatta and Centennial Parks, with training held in the old Cumberland hospital site.

In summer we ran the city to surf.

And ah the walk. We did the walk. Race walking. Heel and bloody toe man.

Arms loose bent elbows kept close to your sides, pushing and propelling like pistons-forcing the legs to keep pace.

Torso extended shoulders down and wide, and the knee straightens as it passes under your pelvis.

Feet barely touching, scraping through the surface of the turf. Heel and bloody toe.

Stay on the ground at all times- just scraping through the turf as you straighten and flick forward your knee.

Four cautions and you get a report. Three reports and you're disqualified. They hold up cards, call out your number, issue a caution and make a report.

Even if you cross the finish line first you don’t quite believe the victory until the officials’ have tallied up the caution and report slips.

Thrilling.

Cautions and reports are given for bad technique and violations of the rules that govern the sport.

Four cautions and you get a report. Three reports-you’re disqualified.

Flagged off the track by an official.

Try that at speed over 800 or 1500 metres or more at the oval and the sports ground.

Laps and circuits of Centennial and Parra Park in autumn winter early mornings and dusky twilight meetings.

Staggered and handicapped starts over the season depending on age and race event clocked times.

Selling homemade cakes and toffees and raffles to keep the club going.

Loving every breath taking moment of hijinks and sports.

Winter track and field at its finest.

Ice cream sandwiches, the occasional devonshire tea in the rotunda, playing chasings and exploring swampy duck ponds and riverbank full of fiercesome looking eels.

I loved the field in track and field. Threw a javelin, a discus and a small cannon ball of a shot !put with some medals and distinction.

I love the long jump and long distance running.

I was a frustrated but valiant hurdler.

The weaponry of the jav and the discus and the shot sees me keen the first time I ever remember seeing the older kids compete.

Like archery.

To throw and hurl and let fly an arrow, a spear, a disc of some weight, and a small cannon ball.

To reach your target. To hit your mark. To find and keep your measure.

Sports mad me.

There’s ceremony ritual and pageantry in the athletics we did as kids.

We are out there to win-make no mistake there and none of us make any bad bones about it.

We are all out there to win.

Tempered by the underlying ethos of personal best the pursuit of excellence and the spirit of fair play.

And the repetitions of training-you know the drill.

Then by god! It was every fella for themselves!

Running and jostling a crowded start and pacing the herd. Jumping a crouch start sprint, the thwack as a baton is passed palm to palm and on the run, and who would dare ever to forget the leaping backwards over a high jump bar and landing a loosely backward somersault in a squishy fosby flop.

Taking your place on the dais with a well earned first second or third.

Across all obstacle. Faster higher stronger.



** see the legendary fable of Fisher's ghost here:


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fisher's_ghost

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L-7Vu7cqB20

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gEy5OOS1eAI





                        A humorous cartoon from the 1936    
                                         Berlin Olympics       
            suggests the use of propaganda techniques
                 and blanket coverage in years to come.

         Cartoonist for the Berliner Illustrierte Zeitung.


                      http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wEI_Cd8azBY
                                

                                     

                                        fini




from all of us @ the mullers and packers union of australia-us lot here- victoriously raising a cheer up and over our heads  from us up high on the dais to youse there at home-how good's that my little betty cuthberts' and ron clarkes' all? a medal tally we do well to remember on and off the paddock swathed in a crown of olive bay wreathes of leaves we step back shake hands swap jerseys singlets and trakkies and retire to the mpua dressing sheds and clubhouse
                                       
                                          and

ah as we are wont to say at the mpua hq as we rejoice in victory and consider our losses:

                                     
                                  Up ya Bums!




    *** the mullers and packers union of australia retains any and all intellectual and creative copyright in this and all or any subsequent and previous posts..the mullers and packers union of australia also respects acknowledges and sources to the best of it's ability all and any other copyrights in play that are used in the commission of the creative goals of the author and the mullers and packers union of australia and all who sail with her. ***







Wednesday, April 10, 2013

!show us ya tits a tale of the fabled urban mythology writ large and lively a veritable feast of a story brought to youse to sup upon forever and a day-cheerfully brung your way by us clever wastrels at the mullers and packers union of australia








!Show us ya tits a tale of the fabled urban mythology writ large and lively a veritable feast of a story brought to youse to sup upon forever and a day-cheerfully brung your way this happy day by us clever wastrels here at the mullers and packers union of australia.

                              
Hail fellows well met less met and as yet unmet. 
A big fat welcome back and the heartiest of good health and a rude cheer to ye all.

For all youse fellas, youse clever dextrous workers and scandalous scoundrels from all walks of life and from all over the years of life and the times yet to come.

                        here’s a ripping good yarn for all.

Amen for youse all.

Ah men.

Engineering-it’s like maths but louder.

Lounge supine in that banana chair. Kick back in your Jason recliner. Sprawl artlessly in that there bean bag. Rip the tab offa your tinnie, pop open those crisps packets and spliff the fuk up kiddies. Let’s  get this story goin'


            !show us ya tits. A salaciously short story. 


Once upon a time in the all too recent past

I met this fella across a rowdy dancin’ rockin dj and a great rugby game on all the screens the liquor license would allow for.

Spilling out across tables the footpath up onto the verge all toe tappin’ wisecrackin’ bonhomie.

Heaps a kids. Lovely.

Rock and rollicking.


I meet a man all craggy devil handsomely cheeky. Far and away more cheekier and smart arsey-er stronger than me.

Sparkly fun.

At one point, across a bunch of us, across tables of goodtimers he says leaning into me

 -show us your tits

our eyes and grins flashing across the sparkle

 -show us your dick I lean back at him.

Arc that.

We stare pointed looks at each others’ tits and nether regions and back up at each other.

Lascivious. Licentious even.

Big bad wolf smiles pass between us.

-Show us ya tits
-Show us ya cock.

He pulls forward his work pants leans in and scoops up and under his testes in a half mime as he shows off for me and for my eyes only.

I lift up my top and lean across and into him not touching each other no

my hands cupping under my bra cupped titties.

Arc the fuck that up.

Offer it up.

This mime and dance of  dirty sexuality happens more than once across the darkening skies of early autumn daylight saving time.

He is fatal.

Across the din and cheeky frustrations and flirtations of the late afternoon I see him and his mate leave.

I make my excuses and head off after them.

He is in his car, key in the ignition by the time I catch him up.

I make the rolldownyawindow motion as I walk up to the driver’s door.

He does.

We smile big.

He says

-show us your tits.

This time I do.

I lift my top up leaning forward a little, as I free my boobs from my bra.

I stand up shoulders back, proud as he motions for me to lift my top higher

and so I do.

I hold soft fold my hands under my breasts, and we look at each other and at him watchin’ me watching him look at my tits.

No one says anything. Not me not him not his mate.

-they’re beautiful he says.
-thankyou.

We stay in a tableau of gaze and electricity.

I begin to shimmy and let my top fall as our eyes lock all large pupils dilating shiny darkness

the big bad wolf grin is back between us.

We say goodnight as he starts his vehicle.

I step back and outta his path as he indicates, pulls out into the traffic and drives off.

                                   Offer it up.

                                
                                

                                   fini



                                 How sweet is that
       my little crème catalanas and hazelnut gateaux

          a lusty slice of the finest that life has on offer

                a flirt of epic proportions to reignite
                                 and recalibrate 
                     our sometimes somnolent palette...

                from all us stumblers jugglers’ minstrels 
               tumblers and carnies here at the mpua hq
                                      it’s time for us to
                     make like the bananas and split

                              !hasta la vista bebeeese






    *** the mullers and packers union of australia retains any and all intellectual and creative copyright in this and all or any subsequent and previous posts..the mullers and packers union of australia also respects acknowledges and sources to the best of it's ability all and any other copyrights in play that are used in the commission of the creative goals of the author and the mullers and packers union of australia and all who sail with her. ***






Wednesday, April 3, 2013

the mullers and packers union of australia... an unholy shimmering aromatic and spice addled oasis of funlovin’ freethinkin’ rest and recreation far from the lands of the persecuted amigo hombre and yanqui all.









Welcome back to the mullers and packers union of australia... an unholy shimmering aromatic and spice addled oasis of funlovin’ freethinkin’ rest and recreation far from the lands of the persecuted amigo hombre and yanqui all.  

Across allah and all the very blessed compass points in between.

Where we if we are worth our salt we are honour and duty bound to be like nwa.

Full fucken stop.

Testify and bear witness....we are each others’ keeper.

Always and forever.

Since the beginnings of forever. Amen.

For real and for true.

No shit Sherlock and Shirley.

Absolute. far  far beyond relatives and pseudo theories of relativity.

Uhuhha.

True story.

Hallelujah and amen-can you sing it?

Honest gospel.


Truth crosses my heart and hope to die for.


Ask yourselves and riddle me this youse rollickers and riggin’ friggers all -  

-who is friend and ah foe is whom? why and how and ah what done or not done or even harder to make undone- who did what with whom and why was them doin’ that what with them that day, what made them do this and why? who or what or how or why or to whom did we do what we did when we did what we did with whoever- and which of us and those of them has also brought about and introduced this lot into the state of play on this that ever’ other day.

Where were you?

Who is foe? Where is friend?


I reckon, that in all probability all of us are in real life in real time ‘Where’s Wally?’ kind of wallies.

Always hostage and accountable to where we wallies are in any given moment, unguarded or otherwise with no-one really wanting to enquire of us ‘how are ya wallies how youse going you good things youse!’

buya a beer sis? bro?

Ask yourselves, if you would indulge me, but a moment of your time gentlemen, who this foe/this friend is.

Who is staunch with context nuance jest and chivalry and ah which one is bluster callow and a chance best left untaken.

Who among us talks shite and a premium shite at that and ah yesthanks bro I’ll have another reschs.

Hail all fellows well met until met otherwise. Yep.

The merely curious and ah somewhat adventurous we are so welcome.

Put up or shhuuushhh up.

Like fish in a barrel us lot.

Or not.


Today mums and dads boys and girls old fullahs and youse young ‘uns we’re gonna talk the turkey.

Leave your attitude at the door and try and surf this walk or throw that shoe so to speak.

yes. 

Shooting straight from my hip to yours. one barrel to another.

As jack sparrow and the jolly rogers’d say ‘parley any of ye?’

Game of pool the pinnies hopscotch or handball?

Spin the bottle?

Chasings. chess. rugby. !uno. the tail and the donkey.

Chinese burn?

Elastix!

Fun and jest.

Sport and fair play.

Truth or Dare.

Pistols at dawn.


Queensberry de marquis rules ok.


Fair weather or foul.


Boom and bust.


!shape up or ship the fuk out

Life’s great curtain call of conviviality and carnivale.

A slow game’s as grand if not a mostly better game than the fastest of games despite the hype.

Stop    revive   survive   engage    adapt   !evolve

youse’d already know that from old.


I would ask of no man that which I would not do myself.

Could be just me though. Mebbe mebbe not.

At your pace gentlemen.

To each their own.


I call and offer a !toast good scoundrel noble gentlemen and gentlewomen.

I give hard to us all a toast! a worn sword oath that forever we will fly the colours and hold aloft the standards of:

Our right to silence. To the secrets and histories and confidantes the wise counsel the near misses and the bullshit.

The right to total and absolute dishevelment on the wayward paths of damascus and redemption.

godbless god speed and may we forever and ever deliver from our own evil temptations.

Amen and !hallelujah.

All aboard who’s gettin’ aboard the resurrection express. first stop redemption. all aboard to petticoat junction via Timbuktu.

All aboard the train.



                  as we are want to say here @ mpua hq

                                                                       
                                  ! youch one touch all













    *** the mullers and packers union of australia retains any and all intellectual and creative copyright in this and all or any subsequent and previous posts..the mullers and packers union of australia also respects acknowledges and sources to the best of it's ability all and any other copyrights in play that are used in the commission of the creative goals of the author and the mullers and packers union of australia and all who sail with her. ***