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"The saints sit up in heaven twiddling their thumbs because so few people pray to them any more." - St Madeleine Sophie Barat

Potter in a Harry - March 2008

Dear Mum 01. (Environmental Endolphins Swimming).

March 31st 2008 11:19
Oh, I can die in peace now.

I don't think I'll even bother trying to be much of a blogger. I'll just put my son's letters up. I'm going to number them!!!

Today was his birthday. He wrote to me. What more could a mother wish for?

Here is his letter.

Dear Mum,

Birthdays come and go. It was just another day. One of the saints said we shouldn't even celebrate our birthdays, because it was the day we were born with the stain of Original Sin on our souls. He preferred to celebrate his Baptismal day. And said our real birthday was the day we were born into eternal life. As in, our death. (I like that. It makes sense to me).


Anyway, Mondays are huge days for posties. They're always the biggest day of the week. I start at 6.30am on Mondays. I was half-cut on the way to work this morning. Make that 3/4 cut. I spent the entire weekend drinking and writing. I've gone completely off eating. (It's boring eating alone, so I'd rather just not eat at all). I just yell out at the power-joggers on my way to work. Things like, 'Baby!'

Then I nearly crashed into a street sign. (I wish women would wear more clothes in public). Anyway, I got to work on time. Started sorting the mail for my postal round. Which is in Grange. I'ts a humongous round. 1200 houses (or points as they call them in postie lingo). So that took me 6 hours to sort. I finally loaded up the postie bike and hit the road at 1pm. I didn't finish until 6.30pm. It was dark. I was putting the letters in front of the postie bike headlight to read the addresses.

But I don't know of a better job than this one for someone like me. I mean the day was magnificent and glorious and everything you'd want a day to be. There I was burning around on the footpath, just looking at the mailbox slots and trying not to think of women. It's the vertical slots that get to me most.


I'll be ripped soon mum. I'll have a six pack at home in the fridge, and a six-pack washboard stomach. I'll take photos of myself and put them up on the net. Just to tease women. It's only justice.

Oh, did I tell you, I've turned gay again?

Settle, mum. I'm only joking, okay?

I love this working for a living. I didn't want to finish tonight. I wanted to deliver post until midnight.

I honestly think God put me on this earth to work. God I love work. I'll end up desiring martydrom soon.

We have a break from 10am until 10.30 for lunch. A food van comes around, and blows it's musical horn. All the posties just stop immediately and flock to it like hungry seagulls. They're a bunch of scavengars, posties. I think they're all on health kicks. I mean the food is absolute shit. I'm suprised a couple of Vegans weren't there protesting?

There's two women who drive the food van. One is one drug-stuffed individual. But she has a lovely bum-crack. I forget all about food when she is there, and just stare at her bum crack.

The other woman is quite buxom. She likes posties. Especially when they mention how great her tits are? She's a really nice woman. She just has a laugh.

I usually buy a sausage roll. I bought one this morning. But I didn't eat it. I just put it on my V-frame sorting table. And ignored it. I work on a couple of coffees and a few cigarettes most days. I'm on an alcohol / tobacco/ coffee detox? I worked for twelve hours and just didn't have time to eat. I brought the sausage roll home in my rucksack. It's still there. It's full of preservatives anyway. It will still be edible in 2049.

Yep. I was born to work. I was born to suffer. Yet the funny thing? Work ain't suffering. Work is fun. I love working.

I just come home each night and drink a six pack, or a slab on Friday nights. Until I run out and go and get another one? Usually around 11pm. Do you think drinking 20 cans of beer between 6pm and 11pm is a bit excessive? I don't. I think it's normal. Sometimes I think about how wonderful it would be to have a woman in my life, so I would enjoy eating. But that's not going to happen. Women don't like blokes who drink and smoke. They want to marry white-picket guys who are wowsers and yes-men? I'll pay for sex if I ever want a root, mum. You pay for it if you get married anyway?

I am definitely insane, mum.

Work is a drug to me, mum. I get high on it. It gets my environmental endolphins swimming.

I wonder why it took me 48 years to work out what was good for me? I'll just leave it all up to the mercy of God. Some days I just tell Him to get stuffed. And leave me alone. But I think that's a kickback from dad.

How He puts up with me is beyond me. I'm not going to get away with my lifestyle for ever. But if Australia Post keep the work up and make me work for twelve hours each day? I'll end up losing interest in things like enjoyment. I'll end up enjoying suffering.

The most bizarre thing is this. It's not suffering at all.

I was going to give up wanking for Lent this year. Some days my loins just burn with such an intense heat, all I want to do is explode inside a woman. Thank God for work. I don't have time to wank. I'm under PRP (Performance Review Procedures), being a newbie. I call them Pump Arse Pressure Reviews. These guys are pumping my arse, mum. It's okay. I can deal with it.

I learnt the most valuable lesson in life. Dumb-Down.

Love, David ...





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Another letter from my son!!!

March 29th 2008 15:58
My daughter bought me a motorised wheelchair this week. I've got it in the lounge.

The nurse came around and brought me four chairs. Wooden ones. Does she realise how bony my backside is? I'll have to buy cushions for them.

Sometimes I think my son knows more about life than corporate people. He tends to look at life in all its simplicity. He wrote to me again this week. He rang me twice. I'm so happy he has his life on track. I told God, I refuse to die until you get my son's life back on track. You have to speak to God like you'd speak to a human. That's why God became man. To teach us humans how to go about life. Be honest. Work hard. And thank God for giving us life and the opportunity to go to heaven. And God is such a merciful God, He answered my prayers. I love God. And his Mother Mary. God is extremely wise. He existed from the beginning. He had no need of humans. He created them out of charity. Because he's a giver. Like a mother. And to convince humans that He is not an ogre? He chose his own mother and created her perfect in His workshop. So that even bitter twisted women could relate to a male God. And if they ever had any problems? They could call upon the Mother of God. Someone they could identify with. God may be male but he did actually create females, so He knows a fair bit about our problems. What a shame and pity that modern women don't realise this. And want to be so independent. Independent from God is not a good thing my fellow women. God will protect you if you become a real woman. If you want to be independent slatterns, then don't expect God to help you out on Judgement Day. You'll all wish you'd lived your life differently, the moment you're facing death. Modern thinking is a load of tommy rot.

So, for those of you who are interested, here is what my son wrote to me this week.

I've learnt to cut & paste, so I don't have to type it out!!!

Dear Mum,

You are a wonderful human being. God put you on this earth to be a mother. You have run your race. Finished your course. And come out a winner, because you are a valiant and virtuous woman. You could have been or done anything in this life, but you chose wisdom and virtue over big-noting yourself in the eyes of the world. I admire you immensely for that. You can now go to my God and your God, look Him in the eye and say, "God, I have lived for my family."

What can He Who is Truth itself say? Apart from, "Bernice, I know you have. I have watched your life, and you have done everything I asked of you. Come into the Kingdom of Heaven, my blessed servant."

May God and His holy angels wrap you up in a cloud of happiness when you depart this life. May God wipe all the tears from your eyes and give you an eternity of bliss. May you be in heaven waiting for me.

Please pray for me when you get to heaven. God knows I need your prayers, mum. I'm still struggling.

I'll never not go to work, because that will make you happy. You can go, 'My son works for a living.' But in my spare time, I'm still struggling.

I struggle with my own pride. And the pride of others. I've tried to make friends, but the minute (moment) I tell them the truth as I know it, they never want to hear from me again. They don't realise I haven't written them off. I carry them all around in my heart.

They think they know everything. Well, I'm dumbing down. I have dumbed down. I go to work and pretend I'm a real dumb fuck (sorry about the f word, but people treat me like a moron and it makes me angry, because I've forgotten more than they'll ever learn). So I go to work and people treat me like a moron. So I dumb down. I'm a creative soul mum. I'm a great actor. I can play a dumb fuck. If it means my employer will pay me $1000 / wk? I'll be as dumb as they want me to be. I'm finally liberated. Owe no man nothing? But pay your debts to God? THat's justice.

I see so many people banging on about different things on the net. They need a cause? There is only one cause in life, mum. To save your soul. I'm getting there.

I just have to work out how to find a real woman. And stop using alcohol as a woman substitute. But I''m a man. Beer never nags or critcises me? Beer never chucks a hissy fit. Or says, "Listen to what I'm saying" when I've been listening? And the woman never listens?

Most women are so up themselves, they're in danger of turning inside out. I'll leave them to live their lives of delusion, and live in my own deluded world?

He who has ears to listen, let him listen?

Yep, I'm a happy little Vegemite. Not 100% happy, but 99.9%. That's life. I'd like a good root, but I'll probably have to pay for that. Still, it will be cheaper than having a wife. They suck you dry. All they think about is having a comfortable lifestyle living off your money?

Nup. I'll spend my own money on alcohol and tobacco, and the occasional root with a hooker who won't do my head in? All women are hookers mum.
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The Price of Eggs

March 25th 2008 19:29
A Egg.


Boy adults have some stupid arguments. Especially if they’re married. To one another.

They always argue over the secondary issues. Because the primary ones are too hard to deal with?

Or they’re in denial? And want to educate others on how to get out of denial? While remaining in denial?

Seriously, humans are stuffed in the head.

Dad and mum hardly ever argued about their differences, or the real issues. Like how they were both stupid to marry each other. And have me?

They argued over eggs.

The price of eggs. And the way to go about cooking eggs.

Men and women are always at crossed purposes.

Sometimes they’re so dumb, they’re both arguing the same point without even realising it. It’s like watching two debating teams that have both been given the same point to prove, but neither of them realise. And they both want to win, so as soon as the other team get up and say the same thing in different words, they lose the plot and just start talking over the top of them, and telling them how stupid they are. To make the same point as they just did in different words?

People are seriously stuffed in the head. It’s the pride of life.

It’s okay for a man to like his eggs one way and a woman to like them another. Before you get married?

I don’t know why people say they love someone just the way they are and then spend the rest of their lives trying to change that person once they get married.

At least I prevented a few bad marriages and stupid arguments by killing so many people. I hope I put a few marriage counsellors out of a job. They never seem to do any good anyway. They just earn a wage like psychiatrists and psychologists by telling other people how to fix their lives up, over a period of forty sessions, when one would do if they told people the truth. They’re so dumb they don’t realise they’re not qualified to deal with a human soul or marriage. And what they’re doing is not only idiotic, but it’s ignorant to the max. In one breath they’ll say a priest isn’t qualified to speak on marriage because he’s not married. And they’re single marriage counsellors? And if you tell them marriage is a sacrament, and it’s a priest’s job to teach on marriage? They go all pagan on you. Even when you’re a heathen and infidel yourself.

Anyway, eggs.

One day mum brought the shopping home. And she’d bought eggs. And potatoes (or spuds) and steaks. Because dad only ever ate one meal at night. The same meal every night of his life. Steak, chips and eggs. And they all had to be cooked just right. And mum had better have bought salt and pepper to drown them in.

People are fussy with eggs. Dad was fussy with eggs, chips and steak.

Cook an egg for someone the wrong way? They’ll screw up their face. Or not eat it. Or crack a tantrum and cook one for themselves the right way? Or use the occasion to educate you about nutrition? And how a true Vegan would get a restraining order against all animals so they didn’t come within 200 metres of them, and infect them?

If I’d had my wits about me a bit more when I started my killing spree, I would have targeted Vegans. And force fed them vitamised steak. Through a drip. Injected it into their veins. Fattened them up for the kill. And made them look semi-anaemic? But put duct tape over their mouths so I didn’t have to listen to their rubbish?

I don’t like fussy eaters. Or Vegans. If you haven’t guessed that yet. Everyone should get some human flesh into them. And kill animals with their bare hands and eat them. Or just bite live chooks heads off and get a bit of nutritional blood into them?

I’m not fussy. Male flesh. Female flesh. Young. Old. I miss human flesh. I’d better not kill and eat another prisoner. I’ll end up getting 325 years?

Mum wanted to talk about the price of the eggs. Actually she wanted to talk about herself and her experience as a checkout chick, and how it qualified her to buy eggs, because she knew which ones were on special and which ones weren’t and how supermarkets operated, and the best time to go to a supermarket to get the specials, and how if something is cheap, it’s better.

Kids take everything in. Even when they’re only four. Especially if they’re super intelligent like I was.

Dad wanted to talk about the quality of the eggs, and how the reason he worked hard was so he could afford non-cheap eggs.

So instead of saying, We shouldn’t have got married. We’re too different. They argued about eggs.

If mum cooked the eggs for dad’s dinner, dad would cut into the eggs to test them before taking a bite. Mum would sour up. No thanks for cooking was how she saw it. Dad would remind her, “You know I don’t like my eggs runny.”

Mum would get up and cut into his steak. Dad would say, “What are you doing?” Mum would say, “I’m checking to see that your steak isn’t runny.”

Dad would explode. He’d throw the plate clear across the room and it would smash against the wall. And cheap, runny egg yolk and cheap runny egg white would drip down the wall with bits of cheap broken crockery all through it. And land on the steak and chips on the floor.

Dad would cook his own tea after that. Mum would go to bed. To get some practice for spending the whole day in bed the following day. Practice makes perfect?
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Kalamazoo

March 24th 2008 19:08


Humans love making decisions. And then doing nothing about them


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I finally found out where my son is. I'm so happy!!!

March 23rd 2008 21:17
My son used to have a couple of blogs on here. He lost them because he's quite a loose canon. He never told me what happened. I gather he upset a few people. He's a very confrontational young man. He's sworn at me a lot of time, and he knows I don't like swearing. But I love him. I gave birth to him. I would never not love him. I'd die for him if I had to. And I don't care how many people call me stupid or tell me I'm an idiot for helping him out. He's my son. And I love him.

He disappeared a few weeks ago, and I've been worried sick. But I just received the most wonderful news I think I've had for fifty years. He's got a job and is living in Brisbane. And he did it to show his gratitude to me for everything I've ever done for him. I just have to share this email with you


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Duck Down

March 23rd 2008 18:32
A Down Duck.


Mum and dad didn’t speak to each other much. Unless it was to have an argument


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Leaving Whyalla

March 22nd 2008 22:07
"I'm still alive.


So, anyway, dad went out looking for mum on this pisser of a night. With his inside-out umbrella


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How to find Joy. Shop at Curse Direct.

March 22nd 2008 20:19


When I was a baby, mum didn’t like me crying. “For God’s sake. Shut up!” she’d scream at me. Over and over again. I didn’t know any better. So I’d keep crying. I wanted her to pick me up and hug me, I guess. But she just left the house. She didn’t like noise


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Retaining things anally. Without strapping your starfish up with duct tape.

March 9th 2008 09:18


Dad couldn’t find a job as a recently-finished electrician’s apprentice in the country


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When the cat’s away. Kittens get really lonely. Meow!

March 5th 2008 18:59
Meow!


Leaving Whyalla

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Never cut off your hand to spite your wrist.

March 3rd 2008 01:59
RSI


Nothing Land

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“God chose carpentry?”

March 2nd 2008 09:36
Grandma


Nothing Land

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The Iron Triangle

March 1st 2008 11:10


Nothing Land

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Gypsy Blood

March 1st 2008 00:00


My son is starting to disturb me more than he usually does. And that’s saying quite a bit. He’s being conspicuous by his absence at the moment. I’m sure other mothers haven’t had to suffer like I have. I’ve done everything in my powers to help him. All my life. Nothing seems to help. It’s not like he lacks intelligence. Maybe his father was right. “He’s too smart for his own good.” He should talk. I’ve never met a more cunning serpent in my entire life. He was a liar and a thief. And a lazy bastard to boot. My mother tried to warn me. Sometimes I wonder if I married him just to spite my mother. As my son keeps reminding me, “You wouldn’t be the first


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