ALIAS POOR YORICK

So I'm driving down a busy outer-suburban arterial listening as you do to Brian Schadenfreude's Concerto No 7 for violin, fish and cocktail onion. It's a great piece, if a little flashy in parts: I prefer the earlier Concerto No 6 for violin, oboe, and four-year-old in the back seat whining "what is this shit can't we listen to Justin Bieber instead". It's music that speaks directly to the rotting core of the rotting corpse that is our depraved and decadent modern society. And what a funky  beat.Anyway, I'm sitting at the lights beside a four-wheel-drive monster (and you should see the car she's driving, Boom boom. I ought to be ashamed of myself) & in the back seat her six-month-old baby gives me the finger. So young, so angry. Sign that baby up for those rebirthing courses now. They'll be all the rage again in twenty years. Back to the fascination, or why a life's work, beliefs or just general thoughts must be expressed in sticker f

You're probably wondering why there hasn't been a post from ALIAS POOR YORICK in over a week. Look it's been hell. The GFC finally caught up with us at parent company AMPERSAND. Which is why blogging and trading on the Blog Index has temporarily been suspended. I blame myself. With the Australian vowel rising sharply in value against the American vowel I thought I'd get a jump on the market and buy up big on American vowels. Who knew the Aussie vowel would keep rising ! Shit. Anyway we were stuck there with about two million in American vowels, and on top of that my idiot son Rupert's in Africa trying to open up diphthong derivative markets. F--- !  On top of that those bastard Brazilians flooded the market with cheap split-infinitives and shonky future pluperfect subjunctive clauses. By which time I would have already been totally rooted had I not ... oh forget it it. I told you they were shonky subjunctive clauses. And no Rupert, we are not going to invest in

Bring me my camouflage pants ! Bring me my Ed Hardy T-shirt with the flaming sword and "No Fear" on it. Bring me my thongs of total terror. War's about to hit the streets and whether it comes to the mean streets of Glen Waverly or Mt Waverly or even Waverly Gardens, I need to be there looking right and looking real. War is hell and wardrobe is of the utmost importance. WAR. What is it good for ? Looking good in black for a start off. And let's face it, war makes you look a damn sight less stupid for wearing camouflage pants. People. What exactly were we attempting to blend in with ? Apart from all those other people wearing camouflage gear. We need to leave something for the people-in-the-army ( or soldiers if you want to get picky about it) to wear. So they know they're in the army. And we're not. Except when it come time to fight the Battle of Glenhuntly. Be there or be shockingly unhip. You have been warned. I read somewhere that Iggy Pop has no socks,