Hey guys. As you should all know, i am now on holidays till the 3rd of february. Go team! It has started of pretty good. I went to a mate’s birthday party, and he was admitted to hospital the next day, mickey got an ear infection and wont sleep properly, the toyota broke down so we cleaned the commodore up only to have it break down cause it had no oil from sitting for so long and then today the Piece de Resistance happened…

Just before my holidays i was told that i had to make a choice. I am too broken to be an infantryman so i had to decide 1 or the 3 options on the table.

#1 is to corps transfer to become an Infantry Clerk. Basically a secretary in the same corps i am in now. A shit job with no thanks, i would still be expected to do all the same work as now but add on administration paperwork and responsibility. Not only that but my boss woud be Warrant Officer Podonik. A polish cunt that incessantly refers to me as a Serb.

#2 is to corps transfer to become an Administration Clerk. Basically a secretary but i would work in an office and have to take a pay that is 2000 dollars a year less. Plus i would most certainly end up in melbourne or darwin or some fucked up shithole out the back of nowhere.

#3 is to tell them to shove those jobs up their asses and take the medical discharge. This would entitle me to an involuntary separation package including them paying 75% of my tafe course bills, a top up to my current wage if i am earning less than what im on now until i am fully trained in the vocation of my choice and assorted other “comenpsatory” things.

Now this bit of information is supposed to be given to me so i have 14 days to decide, seeing as it is a decision that will affect the rest of my life thats fair, right?? Well, apparently not, i was given the letter and had to make the decision in 4 days. 4 fucking nerve wracking days. I finally came to the decision and went to work today to sign the form taking option 3, the medical discharge.

I went in and saw WO2 Podonik and he expected me to take the clerk job [cause its such a great job...] and when i said that i would take the medical discharge he looked at me like i had spat on his whole life.

he said, “why wouldn’t you want to be a clerk? it may not be as glamorous as infantry [you can tell he has never done the job before] but at least its a paycheque”

to which i replied, “its a 2000 dollar less pay sir and i cant afford to move away from brisbane because of my family…”

so he let me make my choice then told me that my discharge date will be around the middle of february.

:-O

that means that i finish my holidays and basically will be out on my ass before i get a chance to arrange work and tafe courses. Fuck i hate the army!!

angered, i went to my car to leave but realised that i left my keys in his office. as i returned i saw him pretending to be me saying, “ooooo, look at me, im PTE mahatmavic, i cant leave brisbane cause im afraid to leave bri…” and he saw me… instantly broke eye contact and walked away. fuckin jewish polack cunt…

sigh, and the best bit? im not allowed to be upset because when i start to get upset edina yells at me and tells me that she has it worse…

Best. holiday. EVER…

Sometimes i just want to cry…

Well, here i am again boys. In the 6th Battalion Guard Room. 1st line of defence against… err… well… everything maybe??

Guard is basically 6 blokes tasked to watch the Battalion to “apparently” ensure the security of the unit, to ensure the security of the soldier accomodation and to ensure that no monkey business in general goes on at night time.

However i know the truth. There is actually civillian contractors [Chubb] paid to ensure the base is safe from thieves and the only reason we are here is because me are a fire watch. So here i sit. Midnight shift. Online. Wishing syphilis and ghonnoreah all my bosses in their sleep.

Get me the fuck out of this unit [insert deity's name here] and i will forever be in your debt…

I’m not sure if I told you guys or not but I was supposed to be going to Warwick for a bit of track time with a mate. We were going to chuck the bikes on a trailer and drive them the 300 km along with my tools and bulk fuel so that we could have a ball with no worries for the whole day. Now it was all prepared, I had the cash to pay for it, I had the trailer, the car, the wife and kid sent to my parents house, the mate willing to come. Hell, I even had my bike working properly for a change!!

About 2 weeks ago i even applied for leave for this weekend to ensure that I could go and wouldn’t be put on a guard that weekend and they told me, “Don’t be stupid! You don’t need that leave application, its a weekend. Of course you wont be working…”

So this monday I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I was put on guard on the Saturday meaning that my saturday would finish at 7:30am on sunday. However I am supposed to be at Warwick by 8am though. Either I would have to be able to defy the laws of physica and travel at the speed of light or I would have to piss and moan about this guard and try to get the bosses to get me off it. Of course they couldn’t really be bothered cause they are useless cunts. So I kicked up a massive stink and said that I would go talk to the person directly in charge of writing the guard lists and they said that they would see what they can do for me.

I eventually got changed to the Friday [today] and was a little less pissed off because I would still be able to make it to Warwick after a good nights sleep. I am now writing this whilst stuck in the fuckhole guard room.

Now i’ve just checked my email and recieved this…

**AHEM**

Track day cancelled

Due to circumstances beyond our control we have had to cancel this Sunday’s track day at Morgan Park Warwick (23rd October 2005).

We have just been advised by the track operators that there is damage to the track which would pose an unacceptable safety risk.

We are hoping to be able to reschedule the track day for a date within 6 weeks time, we will update the website & send another email when we get confirmation of this new date.

Our sincerest apologies to all, we were looking forward to Sunday as much as you guys!

DAMMNIT!!!
DAMMNIT!!!DAMMNIT!!!DAMMNIT!!!DAMMNIT!!!DAMMNIT!!!

Now I have since discovered that the damage is on a portion of the track on which only motorbikes ride. I have seen cars destroy parts of the track before, hell i’ve seen them take out spectators. But i’ve never even heard of a motorbike damaging the track to the point that they have to close the track for 6 weeks…

Now ever since my local track, Darlington Park Raceway, was closed by its lazy stupid fuckhead owner Tony Jr. [anyone that has "Jr." as a proper part of their real name must be a dickhead anyway...] it’s been fucking months since I managed to find time and a reservation at a decent circuit within a 1000km radius of Brisbane that isn’t closed or boring as fuck. This is starting to get out of control. It’s as if I have to move to Melbourne so that I can ride my bike…

Now I have to replan my whole weekend and organise a group ride on sunday but i’m stuck at work and cant organise shit….

I can see it being a bloody boring weekend…

/rant

For fucks sake.

This has been offically the worst 12 months I have ever had to endure. Since August last year, nothing but shit has happened to me and my immediate family. 1st out of the blocks was my ill-fated work trip to Malaysia where i was labeled as a lazy useless cunt because of my injuries. Then i got back to Aus only to discover that my Corps transfer to Information Technology was declined because i am “too broken to work behind a desk for the rest of my life” and that i had to stay in the Infantry carrying 40kg packs and living in dirt and filth. Then after i was told i wasnt entitled to all my christmas leave i got back to work only to discover i was to be sent back to BTT company in 6RAR, a place that they throw all the injured members only to get treated like a malingerer.

Oh yeah, i love being injured, it gets me out of so much work… wait, no i doesnt. It gets me more duties than normal…

Then my Non-Evil Grandmother suddenly starts dying and eventually dies of cancer. That literally destroys my whole family. My parents nearly divorce, my sister loses her mind, my wife is crushed and all our family in Bosnia start fighting because she isnt there to keep them all in check. We evenually overcame that hurdle and accepted that she is gone and my sister’s soon to be father in law is diagnosed with terminal cancer.

Fuck this shit… Fuck it all to hell…

We have now accepted that he refuses Chemo cause it makes him feel like shit and he is comfortable with living out his life as is. All seems ok for a few weeks as my work life changed for the better as i began working at the Boozer, the on base pub. Then Butthead, the guy i worked there with nearly kills himself and someone else by running them over and crashing his motorbike. Then he goes on course and leaves me to run the Pub and i find all and sundry of bookkeeping fuckups that make it look like the boozer is running at a major loss. It almost looks like some sort of fraud has happened…

Anyway, i just found out my Dog Gypsy has a brain tumour and is gonna die in a few days and my Best mate and Mickey’s Godfather has been involved in a massive car crash and is in surgery as we speak…

I gotta go… Fuck this shit…

Well, i had a kid. W007!!1!!!

Anyway, im a lot more excited than i thought i would be. I had a son and he is cute. Now comes the sleeplessness. And the poop. And the spontaneous pissing when he is naked. And the poop straight after you change him. And the sleep, or lack thereof.

Sigh

But its all worth it when he looks at you with the “What the fuck is that giant thing looking at me making all and sundry of weird goo goo noises?” or when he does something that amazes you like today he pulled his dummy out of his mouth, realised it, cried, then used his own hands to put it back in and went back to sleep.

Pure gold…

oh yeah, just for you doyle…

Baby-baby-baby!!

Well, today was the day of a much anticipated motorcycle ride over Mt Mee. The well over due rains have ceased just enough to allow a few friends and i to have what was originally agreed to be a “Leisurely cruise to allow Wesley to break in his new CBR 1000RR”

Me and my stupid throttle hand…

We got to the foothills leading to Mt Mee and the speed limit was posted at a brisk 100kph. In my infinite retardedness i decided to speed up and have a bit of fun. Seeing as i own the smallest bike in the group, at only 250cc i figured i would get my ass handed to me by the bigger bikes but as it turns out, i didnt. I was wringing my little bike’s neck doing 18,000 RPM in sixth gear and seeing as the speedo only goes up to 180kph when it went off the clock i could only estimate what speed i was doing. I slowly pulled away, not cause my bikes faster but because my mates arent as stupid as me, the only guy to stay with me was my mate and his new CBR1000…

Bad choice Wes, bad choice…

As i rounded a brilliant right hander at about 170/180 with the perfect line, weight shift spot on and all the planets aligned i made eye contact with the Police Officer coming the other way in his car. FUCK!!! I slammed down a few gears and started running like the wind. I was probably sitting on about 200kph or so and i just kept my head down and ran. I must have been sitting at max speed for a minute or two till i realised that if i didnt slow down i would leave my mates behind and thats somehting you just cant do…

So i slowed down and prepared to recieve the angry long armed anal-fist of the law. Wes caught up and very short time later i saw the flashing lights drawing near. We both pulled over and the first thing i said was,
“G’Day mate, whats up?”
“G’Day, ive pulled you over because i clocked you at 163kph in a 100 zone on the mobile radar”
i thought to myself “fuck! damn mobile radar car!!”
i said “Really?? i thought i was only doing about 110,” with a half hearted look of sincerity…
“Mate, i ride a bike too, and i know that you know the difference between 110 and 200 too…”

After i gave him my licence he went over to his car to write up the ticket, i panicked about the o-ringless race chain and the distinct lack of rear indicators and other assorted non-roadworthy, track only parts on my bike. As i quietly sweated bullets knowing that i had just thrown my licence away my other mates rocked up, the ones that decided [wisely] against running the gauntlet. The smirks said it all. They all dismounted and came over to find out what happened to which i said nothing. Eventually the cop came over and the words that came out of his mouth made no sense at first…

“Well, i got a few questions for you mate. Have you gotten any speeding tickets in the last 12 months?”
“nope…”
“good, ive written you a ticket for 139 in a 100 zone so that you dont lose your licence straight away. You can go to the transport dept and ask to get put on a Good Behaviour Bond [1pt for 12 months] but you will get all your points and some more in September cause you get your open license then. So in 3 months you will have 12 points. But the fine will be $350, i cant do anything about that.”

I stood there just blinking for a few moments, so before he got a chance to chage his mind i said “righto” took the ticket off him and looked over at my mates who were staring wildly also not believing what they had just heard. I got my license back and the cop told me i could go. One of my mates came over and whispered, “i dare you to do a wheelie as we leave,” and i just started laughing. The cop went one way and we went the other. The rest of the ride ended up being as previously agreed a nice leisurely cruise over the mountain.

If that had been a motorcycle cop instead of a senior sergeant i would have been in jail and my bike would have been impounded and auctioned off at the hoon auctions. I now believe that not ALL cops are cocks, but i still stand by the fact that motorbike cops are fuckbags.

The best part was telling my pregnant wife that i have to throw 350 bucks away because im a dickhead. She took it surprisingly well. Nothing was thrown and im yet to be stabbed with a large knife. So far so good. Tell you what though, im not gonna tell my old man, he would not take it very well at all and would probably take to my bike with a sledgehammer, even though he as lost his license a shitload of times for streetracing as a young man…

Sidenote : For legal reaons, this is a complete work of fiction, any similarities to situations, places or persons, living or dead is purely coincidental and the author does not condone the breaking of any laws…

Well, this is officially my first “Blog” as it were and will be used to vent a frustration that I have encounterted one to many times now…

I purchased a set of sprockets and a new chain for my motorbike, woke up this morning and decided that seeing as I shall be working tomorrow that I would replace everything today. Managed to pull her apart and even cleaned the road grime off and out of all the little nooks and crannies around where the chain goes. Anyone that knows me will realise that if I am cleaning without being ordered to then I am VERY motivated. After getting her to a nearly pristine state of cleanliness I realised that my chain slider [little rubber thing that stops the chain from contacting any metal] was a bit worn. I picked up the phone and called a bike shop to see if they had any in stock. Of course one thing we should take into consideration is my bike is over 10 years old now so usually you have to order parts in, so I was only a little bothered when i was told that I will have to wait till Wednesday before i get the new slider.

I then replaced the slider, put the new drive sprocket on, then put the new rear sprocket on the back wheel. “Now for the chain and im all done…” I eagerly thought…

How I was wrong…

I noticed that as i opened the packaging for the chain it seemed like it had been opened before. Whatever i thought and carried on. Got the chain looped all the way around onto itself, opened the little packet that has the connecting link in it. Tried to fit it but its the wrong size…

The wrong fucking size…

I looked at my watch, quarter to four. For fuck’s sake…

At this point I erupted into a long unbroken sequence of explicatives that would make a sailor blush. I haven’t seen my dogs in a while, I think I scared them into hiding. But this was the result of a long history of getting fucked around by bike shops… The first time it was having my bike STOLEN by a guy that worked at the same shop. That sucked. Then it was a long list of things, parts that take forever to get ordered in, parts that NEVER arrive, parts that are broken and refused refund or replacement, parts that fail way too soon, salesmen that think that I am [and call me] a fuckwit for riding a 250cc motorbike, salesmen that are stupid, salesmen that overcharge, salesmen that only want to sell you the most expensive parts insead of the parts you want and if i continue, I will end up in an assylum being fed Diazepam-Hydrochloride intravenously whilst being strapped to a bed in a room with padded walls.

*sigh*