Cracking Wise

Some time ago back in the before time at JS, I wrote about the improbability of Karl Marx making it as a Marx Brother. I couldn't imagine him getting half a sentence through explaining "Surplus Value" without the boys destroying him. They certainly wouldn't keep him as a pet a la Zeppo or Margaret Dumont While Karlo would be droning on about the alienation of the worker from his labour Harpo would snip away the bottom of his beard and hand it to a blushing Margaret Dumont to use as a merkin. Groucho would then set it on fire, retrieve it and light his cigar. Then put the flaming merkin back. Which brings me to the cigar chomping man and a few other heroic wisecrackers.

Say, can I buy back my introduction to you?

Groucho was the champion of the witty retort, the razor put-down, the leer, the eye-brow wiggle and basically anything to get a rise out of people. So who else do I rate?

Gotta have Bugs.

Yooh hoo! Say Mac, are you looking for me?

Bugs was master of outwitting a series of bungling fools and giving them a few cool jibes. He was one of my faves. He was tres smart.

As was Colonel Hogan.

Carter, get Klink's car ready. I have a date.

Bob Crane played this role to perfection. Never ruffled and always had an ace up his sleeve. He wasn't averse to giving the Krauts a verbal pasting.

Finally we have Hawkeye.

Hey, Frank! Kellogs want their diploma back.

Hawkeye was great when he had Trapper, Henry and Frank to play with. He was good when BJ came along but with Winchester on board it became all tosserish. Without Henry and Frank the lameness was never going anywhere but north. Hawk simply became too damn preachy, which should have been left to Mulcahy.

I haven't kept track of wise-cracking heroes over the past couple of decades mainly because sitcoms tend to be more ensembles consisting of insipid unfunny people attempting to wring the obvious out of the even more obvious. They don't seem to have a defined front man with the sharp quip and the cunning plan. I may be wrong and you bunch of wisenheimers are free to set me straight. To quote Groucho.
- Well, Art is Art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water. And east is east and west is west and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does. Now you tell me what you know.

The Compromise Caper (A Story From The Chocolate Team Files)

The leader of the Chocolate team, Chocko, was worried. Ice Cream had just been in a big fight which Lollies had won, rendering Ice Cream motivated and desparate for the next struggle. Biscuits were also lurking, looking for a win.

These Impulses were always in conflict with one another, jockeying for position to get the tactical teams on side. The Brain was a very complex place, full of competing factions and bizarre relationships.


Chocko paced around his small cubicle of the cortex figuring out how to emerge triumphant. Well, this is why he got paid all those neurotransmitter hits. Time to get to work. He rallied his team;

"Okay guys. We need the next victory. Our bonuses are at stake. Think. What can we use this time?"

Silence. Chocko noticed a disturbance a few neurons down but ignored it. One of his new recruits, recently graduated from Milk, piped up,

" Why don't we suggest a few tears? Used to work back in the day."

One of the older stagers smirked,

"Listen mate. This ain't kindergarten, tears don't work no more."

The disturbance started getting louder, its cause had come closer. Chocko looked out and saw a band of young'uns dancing up, getting closer. They'd escaped from the Babysitters. This was going to be bad news for everyone. Once they escaped anything could happen whilst the control squads were sweeping all the cortexes. Their chants started to fill the cortex with sing song voices,

"When we were two we did a poo" , followed by;

"When we were three we did a wee".

Chocko ruefully shook his head and hit the Parental Impulse Alarm. He turned to his team, trying to get the meeting back on track

"There's one thing we can try. It won't be a big win but its ..." he was interrupted by the chanting

"When we were two ..."

He signalled over to Ice-cream

"...its something which may be useful for the future."

The chant continued

"...we did a poo!"

The Ice Cream Team Leader came over, "What's happening? Trouble, eh?" eyeing off Chocko with the eyes of a dingo leering at a new born lamb.

"When we were three ...."

Chocko was wondering what had happened to the control nazis. The Young'uns needed a quick smackdown.

"...we did a wee!". They got the last chant out before a line of Beige Shirts swamped them. They vanished into seeming nothingness and then the beige wave simply flowed away.

Chocko restored his composure,

"Look, Icey. Here's the rub. Lollies and Biscuits are getting way too much. We need to come up with a new strategy, because we're both hurting., not getting enough wins. I have an idea."

Icey nodded. Deep down she knew Chocko was on the money. "Okay, Mr Brown. Shoot."

Chocko hesitated, gathering his thoughts.

"Right, here it is. We split this one 50-50. We go for chocolate coated ice-cream."

Icey didn't budge. She was thinking it through. She looked down the cells where the Sex trainees were still in nappies. They wouldn't be a threat for a while. The Senility crew weren't due to advertise for crews for decades yet. Alcohol, Nicotine and Narcotics were barely a bump in the radar. They may never be activated. Incontinence also was a long way off except for rare appearances when Curry or Bad Meat got things wrong. Ice Cream and Chocolate were sure-fire long term career prospects. Together, they could carve out riches for themselves for years to come.

"Okay, we'll split it. I"ll get my team moving, you scope out Tactical." Icey moved off back to her own crew.

Chocko smiled as he turned back to his team,

"This is the dawn of a new era. Today we launch an alliance unheralded in Brain history..."

*********************************************

The ten year old Therbs was next in line as an ice-cream truck pulled up ten metres down the road from his house. He was first in line having tracked its siren song for the past few minutes.
He was oblivious to the battles which had raged in his brain, simply repeating his own prayer;
"Chocolate ice-cream, chocolate ice-cream, chocolate ice-cream,"

He thrust out an eagerly fumbled coin to the dealer.

"Choc heart thanks mate!".

Yum! Everyone wins!

Space Bats, Robots, Evil Lair Now With Added Stephen Conroy!

ITS TIME TO BE SCARED

Alien Space Bat Hitching A Ride On Discovery

Ya see this critter here? Well it just happens to be an alien space bat hooked on to the side of Space Shuttle Discovery earlier this week. Here's the proof. Sure the animal lovers will say it was a regular earth bat but if it was, why would it hang onto a bloody big bomb and get fried? No, it was an intelligent, alien space bat well used to blasting through planetary atmospheres in its never ending quest to conquer ordinary, harmless, good natured planets such as earth and turn us into space slaves to work in blood mines. No matter that we have the Giant Mutant Space Frog to worry about, now we find these alien freeloaders using Our Technology against us. If you want to save the world, go and kill as many bats as you can find.

This brings me to another problem.

Not really cute robot girl

So the Japanese are now producing fembots. Don't they know what happens when the machines start taking on human characteristics? The bloody fools. Sure, one day its smiling and winking and mouthing discordant platitudes, the next its zapping us with fancy robot ray guns. For fuck's sake Japan, stop it! That is unless you want to build one of these beauties. Its the only robot I'll consider saving.

Cute robot girl might be allowed to survive

So where does this leave us? Alien Space Bats, not-so-cute robot girls and the possibility of annihilation. Well, if you want to know, Professor Boylan is currently building his secret lair somewhere near Tonga. Makes a mess doesn't he? Nevertheless it will be a good place to hide.



I'm going to be there on opening day and make myself indispensable by pouring drinks, while someone else deals with the alien bats and evil robots. And don't even mention The Outbreak.

Edited to include a link to asking questions of Senator Stephen Conroy, the Minister in charge of makin a serious mess of the internet in Australia. From never-to-be fast broadband to nationwide censorship of whatever he decides at the time, this bloke has screwed the pooch. So ask him a question or two about being a zealous, right-wing coward whose incompetence is only matched by his ill placed hubris.

You Dirty Damn Apes!

Its happening. Our primate cousins have commenced their quest to oust us as masters of the planet. Maybe the chimp was pissed off with being called Brother Kwan. Perhaps the peanuts were no longer enough in these times of global economic catastrophe. Another suggested and more likely motive however was the British boarding school treatment which his master used to serve up. Despite their merits I have ruled out these motives. It is obvious that the chimps, monkeys, apes, orangutangs, crab-eating macaques and gorillas are now intent on doing us in and Brother Kwan is one of their shock troops. Yes, one day its performing tricks on a bicycle in a cute circus outfit, grinding an organ or fetching a coconut, next its extermination of the human race. Enough is enough!
Fortunately our cousins in Africa are doing their best to wipe out the silverbacks through direct and indirect means. Shooting them and clearing out their habitat is the way to go. But it is not enough. We must intensify our efforts across all of these species of pretend humans.
This is not speciesism, it is self defence.
Next time you're in Bali or India and think that the playful monkeys are cute, just think of Leilit Janchoom then catch up on some training.
Anyone for a banana daiquiri?
Not me, I'm off for a beer and to ponder the chances of winning a fortune at Randwick Races tomorrow. Oh, and the footy (NRL) starts tonight.

Peanuts - allergies shmallergies!

The alleged culprits

The peanut butter sandwich is an old favourite and comes in several guises. There's the deep fried Elvis version, the peanut butter and jam (jelly) fave, peanut butter and honey and an original devised by a family member; peanut butter, lettuce and salt with no butter.

Try and feed any of these to a kid today and they'll need an ambulance at the very least, with a bloke carrying a scythe looming large in the background. For some reason there's a widespread allergy to peanuts going on. This is very disturbing to say the least. Modern kiddies are missing out on a lot. A helluva lot. So I started investigating, beginning with the ringleader of the peanut cabbal.

Therbs: What do you say about the allergic reactions kiddies today are having to Peanuts?

Blockhead: Good Grief!

Therbs: Thanks blockhead. Go feed your dog and say g'day to the red haired chicky-babe for me.

Good grief !

I then tracked down the beagle with the Walter Mitty complex and asked him about the brouhaha.

Therbs: G'day, Snoop. What's your take on this allergy thing.

Beagle (thinks): I don't see no full dinner bowl here. Take a hike, buddy! (Runs off).

Therbs (shouts): I hope the blockhead forgets your dinner!

Taking off to Yankee Dog's place for beer 'n pizza

This was a bummer as I found myself having no luck with comic strip characters. Nevertheless I decided to go to the perennial football puller.

Therbs: Hi Luce. What do you make of this allergy BS?

Pretend Shrink: I reckon its a beat up myself. Look, in the early days we had no problems with this. Kids loved us. How many Snoopy dolls helped youngsters get to sleep each night? Millions! What it does show however is that kids are having more trouble dealing with their own world. With us, we had few adult rules so we made them up ourselves.

Therbs: Is that why, for example, you kept on pulling the football back on CB?

PS: Yeah, but I was also trying to tear down his insecurities by exposing them through that trick. It was also a big pile of fun, I gotta tell ya!

Therbs: Was it a therapy designed to get him to eventually go and talk to the red haired girl?

PS: That was one result I was hoping for. I thought that I needed to break it all down for him, block by block.

Therbs: Hence the term 'blockhead'.

PS: Good eye, Freudo. Now you've used up your play money its time to get on with your quest. Vamoose!

Leave now. Your currency is worthless here.

So after a bit of research I was able to come up with something. My conclusion is that it looks as though the allergies are a sort of physical manifestation of childhood angst. In Philosophy Now, Jan/Feb 2009, Nathan Radke observes that:

"In order to combat despair, Charlie Brown succumbs to bad faith, which is to say, he denies his freedom: “I wonder what would happen if I went over and tried to talk to her! Everybody would probably laugh ... she’d probably be insulted too ...” It is only by falsely denying his freedom that Charlie Brown can overcome his despair. But by hiding behind bad faith, he does himself no favours. Another lunch hour is spent alone on a bench with a peanut butter sandwich."

http://www.philosophynow.org/issue44/44radke.htm

So it ends up back with the peanut butter sandwich. Its just one big bloody circle. A bloody great mandala hanging around the psyches of our young'uns to be played with and teased out by the likes of Lucy. I guess that's a result CB's mob could be proud of.

Celebration time for the unjustly villified

Cockroaches and Crustaceans.

Last night I was kicking back watching a show about Aussie crime gangs and thinking about stuff in general. Stuff I'd done as a kid, like the time we went on a prawn trawler on the Hawkesbury River. That got me thinking about prawns and crayfish. I grew up close to bushland and there was a creek which ran down to the Berowra catchment. It included this nice waterfall where we'd jump from the top into the billabong below. Daredevil stuff, probably stupid but a lot of fun. One time I was hanging around the billabong with my brother and other kids and saw a yabbie (freshwater crayfish). After a quick conference I wrapped my half-eaten Mintie in a bit of foil for later, grabbed the yabbie and an hour later I was hoeing into fresh yabbie on bread and butter, in the kitchen at home.

Damn, I'd left my half-Mintie on the rock back at the billabong and there were no more left. Oh well. At least i'd had delicious yabbie.
While I was thinking about this I noticed a few cockroaches zapping about the loungeroom. These are locally called "Bondi Butterflies". Damn, my roach baits must need renewing. These things were acting like they were in some sort of rutting frenzy, wildly launching themselves around the place on darting, strafing missions. I waited until they came to a stop and whacked them with a sandal. Got two in one blow. Problem is there were more of them. I've never had this problem as bad before and was getting rattled. Eventually I'd sprayed and bashed them into submission with the same murderous intent and ferocity as displayed on the TV re-enactment of gangland killings in Sydney's south-western suburbs. Very puzzling where the roaches came from and why, all of a sudden this invasion. Getting new baits and spray today.
Crustacean Crime Scene (A Yabbie's Tale)
Yeah, that's me in one of my photo shoots. That McCormack guy really nailed my good side in this one. But let's step back a while. Back before the media got hold of me, when I was just a regular working bloke trying to do his best in a world of con men, killers and saucy females.

It was a lazy summer afternoon, one of those days which send even the sleep cells to bed. I was half dozing in my rock den when my junior assistant clattered up, waking me with his clumsy, youthful noise. The kid could never be quiet. He was nervous but managed to speak.

"H-Hey boss. Gotta sheila outside wants to see you. Says its a cold case going back generations."

He scuttled away and in walked the femalest yabbie a bloke's ever clapped peepers on. I played it cool, keeping a rogue feeler in check;

"So you got an old shell needs scraping? What's the story?"

She sidled closer and I got a full broadside of her body. Man, her shell was tighter and shinier than a clean opal and had bumps in all the right places. She didn't waste time in bringing me back to ground.

"Mind on the case, not the carapace."
I looked up.
She went on, "Goes back over twenty generations. Its a Wild Killer." The way she swung her tail showed she wasn't to be clawed with, but what she said next set my feelers flying around like those Crazy Stalks kids get in the joke emporiums.

"I have an artifact. Original evidence. Here!"

She flung down a piece of foil.

"We've been preserving it for decades. Open it!"

I excitedly clawed it over and unwrapped the thing. It was a soldified mass, some sort of human food. I was vibrating and it wasn't just the babe running my engine. I was eager, maybe too eager;

"The Killer's? You have to be kidding me. That's unheard of!" She just blinked back,

"It's true enough matey. I'll leave you with it. Don't waste time on this one handsome." She swayed her way out of my den, maybe out of my life forever. Didn't even let me tell her my rates. That didn't matter, I had to get to work. It was a rare chance and I wasn't going to let a rock roll over this one.

"Hey junior, get in here." The young bloke scrambled in, kicking up a few pebbles in his haste. "Get this down to the lab and take good care of it. Its an original. Tell 'em to pull out all the stops. We're after a Killer!"

He jetted out and down the creek beed, Down to The Cave where we sent all of our hard stuff. They have blokes down there in the Crustacean Crime Lab can tell you what tree a leaf came from fifty years ago. They can pick out a speck of sand from a creek bed and send it back to the coast where it started out as a piece of cliff. Yeah, they're good. The best.

*************************************

It would be silly to say that I'd forgotten her but a month later I was resting back at the den after a tough couple of weeks sorting out what ended up as a suicide case. Some teenager had decided to ride a Yabbie Pump and landed as dinner for a whiting, out near Lion Island. You couldn't pick these ones and I was flicking a few thoughts across my mind on the temptations, wildness and occasional stupidity of youth. Something a bit tastier flicked across my vision and set off all sorts of lust alarms. It was Her. You couldn't miss that sexy slide of hers.

I reached down and pulled out a package. It was stamped "CCL". Below it in big red claw marks was "Confidential." I casually flicked a stray rock across my desk. It clattered to the floor just as the young bloke clattered into the den, all legs and feelers still not under control. He took one look at the sheila and almost boiled himself into a stew as he stammered,

"B-B-Boss, she's b-back. Ya know the one ...", then he gasped. She was looking extra shiny and her bumps had taken on a life of their own. What a sort! She just had to be ready to roe. Her voice was huskier than I recalled and there was a tough set to her peepers.

"That it?" she asked, jabbing a claw at the parcel.

"All yours, sweetness." She jagged it open and there sat a file. It had a picture, a name and an address. Attached was a hundred sheets which listed places been, crustaceans killed and current haunts. The boys down at CCL had done a bloody good job, one of their best yet. Problem was it definitely was Human and this was going to be tough. Very tough. Humans were impossible to kill but we could still make trouble.

"A dirty Human! Just as I thought." she started to sniffle. Then the blubbering started. I motioned for Junior to go grab some water. I handed her a tissue box. This happened a lot with clients.

I slid around and put a claw on her shoulder, giving her a gentle stroke at the same time.

"Don't worry. We're gonna nail this guy if it takes the last claw standing. He won't know what hit him."

She looked up, shrugged and drew her features back into resolve.

"Sorry, but this is pretty big for our family. We've been waiting for justice for generations. I just, just, you know ...". She shuddered but quickly regained composure.

"We'll fix this. Starting now!" I emphasised my determination by hooking up the blower and asking the switch for a direct line I'd used before, "Get me Bondi Roaches."

An hour later I found out just how much gratitude she felt. She sure was ready to roe!

Tactics of the Ice Cream War - (from the front line).

I was really hanging out for an ice-cream. It was hot. Very bloody hot. I was certain the tar on the road surface was bubbling. I had the hunger-thirst and was squirming, wriggling like those silkworms I'd nurtured in late Spring.

There were six of us in the family station wagon and I was hoping that the holiday budget still had a dollar or two left for frozen treats. I looked around and got the silent command from older brother and sisters. Once again I was to launch the assault, just like Sergeant Saunders in 'Combat'.

The 'Sarge'

The difference was that he had a sub-machine gun and a shield of invincibility . All I had was a child's voice and eight years of life. Bugger. This was the last time I was going to be the youngest child in a family. I'd have to get myself either a fake moustache or a machine gun. Nevertheless the order had been given. Form up and get on with it.

"Can we stop for an ice-cream?" My opening ploy was always reasonable and to the point.

"You just had lunch!" Mum was always the first to repel the first advance.

"That was hours and hours ago!" Never leave exaggeration in the ammo bunker.

"Stop complaining!" Shit. That was middle sister blindsiding me. She was the one usually masterminding our assault tactics but here she was, leaving me on the wire with parental machine guns swinging around, ready to open up their horrific, great maws. At me. Shit!

"Yeah, you're always doing this." older brother came in like one of those really nasty Kraut half-tracks which always threatened to ambush Sergeant Saunders and the squad.

Man, something was wrong. Terribly, horribly, desparately wrong. I shut up, the equivalent of ducking behind a hedge so the Nazis couldn't see me. But what had happened to the squad? And our objective of liberating the Land Of Ice-cream? So my siblings were now Nazi Synthesisers (as my brother called the traitors)? A bit late for that! The war was already well progressed and we'd made significant ground over the past couple of years. My sisters had bicycles, I had a toy guitar and older brother had a cricket bat. Man, I was shell shocked. I gazed out the rear window. The thousand yard stare. I was trying to figure out the song line I'd missed as we motored down the Pacific Highway. Pacific? Hardly.

Here I was looking at where we'd been, picking out white horses and trying to figure out how the squad had been turned by The Enemy. Sarge would have known. He would have spotted the traitors. War was hell. After a few minutes of this and I was almost asleep. Catching a soldier's nap between battles.

Then it came:

"I guess its not that bad of an idea" eldest sister opened up from a flanking position, startling me back to weapons-ready status.
"It is pretty hot and we've still another two hours to go." she added with teenaged wisdom. God bless her hockey socks!

"Oh, s'pose so." older brother from the other flank. The squad was in action at last!

"Yeah, okay then." Middle sister, tactical genius, bordering Machiavelli, confirmed the order in the form of a fait accomplit. Would it work? Was The Enemy ready to haul up the white flag?

The tension was now roping us kids into a tight, nervous bundle. Would we become prisoners or victors? Would They concede the battle? Now I knew how Corporal Kirby felt as he waited for the half-track to pass by.

Dirty krauts

"Okay, we'll stop at the next shop. Who wants what?" Victory! Yeah! Fireworks went off and The Dancing Man cut his jig down the highway.

Yip yip yip yahoo! Victory!

I reckon Mum secretly loved this. She gave in a lot of the time. Dad gave in e-v-e-r-y time but only when he was alone in battle. He really really loved ice creams. Four decades later I'd bust him out of his dementia nursing home to go on ice-cream sorties.

Siss had really figured this one out well. I could see her consulting with the Sarge. I'm sure that I saw him sauntering back behind a distant copse as we pulled over at the next shop. He gave a casual tip to his helmet as we all piled out yelling our victory song.