Not much time to blog today so it’s time for another of GrodsCorp’s completely irregular series of GrodsNibbles.

1) No manners, no service
So I’m at an interschool sports carnival yesterday nursing the largest fuck-off hangover I’ve had in a while (an Irish friend of mine was in town for a few days and could only meet on a school night.) It’s cold and very windy, and every now and again it rains for a bit. I’m doing crowd control with dozens of hyperactive kids. It goes without saying that I wasn’t having a very good time.

At 11am the canteen finally opens and two hundred hungry kids run screaming to spend all their money on sugar. I canter gingerly with them to get a cup of tea or even just a cup of hot water — anything hot. There is a big handwritten sign over the cash register that reads: No Manners, No Service. Two bitter old hags man the shop and it’s clear they’ve written the sign. Instead of rejoicing the fact that their sports club is going to make a killing from the hordes of customers they’re standing there bitching about it.

“I can’t believe it’s this busy.”
“God, I hate kids.”
“Got no manners these days.”

They reluctantly serve the lines of kids who, despite being over-excited, are polite to the old bitches but can’t avoid their wrath. I finally reach the front of the line and briefly consider giving them a piece of my mind but my mind is still soaking in a pool of stale whisky, so I politely give my order.

“Can I have a cup of tea please?” I ask.
“White with no sugar?” croaks the witch.
“Um, one sugar, please,” I reply.
“Well!” screeches the hag, “Why didn’t you say so? I can’t read minds, you know.”

I tried to make the gears in my head turn faster so I could come up with a suitable response to this stunning bitchiness but before I could come up with anything she limped off mumbling to briefly dunk a bag of Lipton Black Tea in a cup of tepid water.

My day failed to improve from that point.

2) More Prodos
Prodos has launched his doomed campaign for the State seat of Albert Park with a garden BBQ. If you thought Lachlan Connor’s campaign launch party was lame, you ain’t seen nothing yet. After the BBQ Prodos was in Acland St “mixing it” and talking to “a group of young dudes who were interested in talking about respecting wealth and the rights of both the rich and poor, and the injustice of using taxes to force people to ‘help’ others — instead of allowing individuals to choose who they wanted to help and how – according to their own values – not the values of politicians and bureaucrats.” Funky.

It seems that GrodsCorp isn’t the only one who’s critical of Prodos’ self-proclaimed intellectualism and critical thought. Came across this the other day:

Who will be Father Bob’s new representative for the Victorian parliament? Prodos.

I don’t know if I should be amused or afraid. I’ll lean towards afraid for now.

He lives up the road a little, he’s an Australian Greek, a capitalist, an activist, and something of an Objectivist. Not too bright, not too insightful, not too good at running his over-engineeired capitalism meet-ups either- and I’ve been to enough to know!

I’m fairly unflappable, and the last to care about Ayn Rand’s personality, but the last time we were together there was smoke comming out of my ears as he bungled his way though misinforming those gathered about the nature of our philosophy. Raising my hand to be able to speak, being 4th in line to do so, at a table of 7 people (for god’s sakes! as if it would be anarchy without his damn gavel…)…had me spluttering and self-combusting and politely asked to stop “snorting.” Meanwhile, Ayn Rand gets put through the mincer! And, if I ever see Prodos scratch his head and ask what the word “normative” means, I’m either going to laugh or cry.

Ouch.

3) Pee-off
Was having a quick bite in a Little Bourke St restaurant with aforementioned Irish friend and McBec the other night, when I went to the little boys room to answer my frequent call of nature. Standing at the urinal doing my thing I glanced around the room and saw a large container of cleaning liquid next the line of urinals.

It’s called Pee-Off, it’s stored in the dunny, and it’s for ovens and grills?