Troppo has been quite blokey lately, what with Wen and Sophie AWOL and Jen in Melbourne. So I thought I’d post over the fold something to indulge the prejudices of female readers just for a change. There is of course no resemblance to my own domestic behaviour in any of these items, and any comment by Jen to the contrary should be treated with the contempt it would deserve.
NEW EVENING CLASSES FOR MEN!!!
ALL ARE WELCOME
OPEN TO MEN ONLY
Note: due to the complexity and level of difficulty, each course will accept a maximum of eight participants
The course covers two days, and topics covered in this course include:
DAY ONE
HOW TO FILL ICE CUBE TRAYS
Step by step guide with slide presentation
TOILET ROLLS- DO THEY GROW ON THE HOLDERS?
Roundtable discussion
DIFFERENCES BETWEEN LAUNDRY BASKET & FLOOR
Practicing with hamper (Pictures and graphics)
DISHES & SILVERWARE; DO THEY LEVITATE/FLY TO KITCHEN SINK OR DISHWASHER BY THEMSELVES?
Debate among a panel of experts.
LOSS OF VIRILITY
Losing the remote control to your significant other – Help line and support groups
LEARNING HOW TO FIND THINGS
Starting with looking in the right place instead of turning the house upside down while screaming – Open forum
DAY TWO
EMPTY MILK CARTONS; DO THEY BELONG IN THE FRIDGE OR THE BIN?
Group discussion and role play
HEALTH WATCH; BRINGING HER FLOWERS IS NOT HARMFUL TO YOUR HEALTH
PowerPoint presentation
REAL MEN ASK FOR DIRECTIONS WHEN LOST
Real life testimonial from the one man who did
IS IT GENETICALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO SIT QUIETLY AS SHE PARALLEL PARKS?
Driving simulation
LIVING WITH ADULTS; BASIC DIFFERENCES BETWEEN YOUR MOTHER AND YOUR PARTNER
Online class and role playing
HOW TO BE THE IDEAL SHOPPING COMPANION
Relaxation exercises, meditation and breathing techniques
REMEMBERING IMPORTANT DATES & CALLING WHEN YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE
Bring your calendar or PDA to class
GETTING OVER IT; LEARNING HOW TO LIVE WITH BEING WRONG ALL THE TIME
Individual counsellors available
Jeebus Parish, what sort of a sit-down-to-piss lefty pathetic excuse for a male are you?
First thing you do is leave the dunny seat up for the duration, including number twos, and never brush- no matter if it looks like the starting grid from the last V8 Supercars round.
Second, loud music is mandatory- even if you have a hangover that makes you see through space and time, Barnsie is a good start but old Deep Purple and Sabbath, especially on vinyl so all the scratches and pops are amplified, and illustrate how hardcore you are.
A motorcycle helps, but if you’re too big a girl to have a scoot, a Commodore will do- make sure it is prior to the current shape, has lots of decals and filth covering its bodywork and if it doesn’t have a 5 litre Chev and a twin system, drill holes in the exhaust so it at least sounds like it does- also play the same volume of ugly rock and roll in the car as you do at home.
You should start drinking as soon as you awake- if you haven’t made it to the fart-sack all the better. As the day wears on, you should start to make items of clothing from discarded beer cartons- a hat made out of a stubby carton is particularly fetching.
At this stage, a mobile phone is handy- if you can muffle the ruckus of Cold Chisel through the PA you’ve hired and Davo doing burnouts in the backyard ‘cos he’s just got nitrous on the HQ, you can convince the old bat that you’re feeding the cat (who unfortunately was having a lie-down on Davo’s rear Pos-A-Tractions).
If you don’t smoke, take it up. If you did enjoy a darb, the old bat would be on you like the ABC on bad news, so she’s not there to hector, time to light up a cheroot.
On no account do any washing up or cleaning, otherwise she’ll think you’ve turned gay or have another shiela.
Leave the place looking like the Serbian army have bivouaced in the lounge- she’ll rib you a bit, some boys will be boys banter, and be happy in the knowledge that if left to your own devices the house would look like a flat in Fellujah.
Sage advice.
Sage indeed. But I think I already married you.
Thankgoodness Parish is a closet heterosexual.
Once when I was visiting relatives in Germany, there had been some minor preparations prior to my arrival.
When lifting up the toilet lid there was a sign that read:
“Heir steht Man nicht!”
which means, ‘one does not stand here’.
Apparently German men are very well trained, and such a course is not necessary. Their economy however, is tanking. Maybe there’s a connection here somewhere.
Losing interest in invading Poland comes at a price.
For God’s sake Ken – I didn’t think that you would take it seriously. I recommend a slab of VB immediately, followed by more VB until the symptons disappear
He’s trying to ingratiate himself and get me back. (I ran away) Pathetic isn’t it. Especially considering I love being dragged around by the hair.
PB, I’m trying hard to think of you as a full on RWDB wanker but:
“Losing interest in invading Poland comes at a price.”
was bloody funny.
There’s hope for you, or Warsaw, or me yet.
Incidentally, Ken’s symposium forgot a crucial topic.
“Toilet Seats: Time for the Third Way?”
Live demonstrations. Paramedics on call.
Rex,
When I lived in Japan I moved into a new apartment that had similar instructions not to stand on the toilet. Then again the old toilets were of the squat type.
The Beloved and I have had a good laught at this. No sessions on the etiquette of farting. An oversight?
Damn right and a serious oversight at that.
This should be added to the closet hetero school of Aussie male ettiquette. The one Parish goes to has a comprehensive course on all emmissions.
The following is a brief guide to breaking wind.
Never fart ON another human being.
Do not fart in bed.
When farting in company say ‘excuse me.’
Shame about the Ozemail cockup really. There would have been quite a lot to be said in favour of your father banning you from using his Internet connection along with the car.
So we can expect more of this Ken and jen badinage over dinner tomorrow night?
I only ask cos’ Barista’s offloaded the seating arrangements onto me. Boy, girl, boy, girl, public servant, boy, girl, boy, girl and couples deftly broken up and dispersed around the table I presume?
nabs – you still up watching Le Tour de France?
I have just escaped from CS and got home. I had to drag him out of a cut price lap dancing joint in Carringbush West and push him, dry retching, into a taxi driven by an unshaven islamist with an out of date Melways. I couldn’t get him away from the smack dealers in Russell St near maccas and had to drag him screaming off an undercover vice squad drag queen before the uniformed plods arrived. He kept asking passersby for money for cigarettes and busking by singing, offkey, obscure Keith Richard’s songs with his beret on the footpath and abusing, in French for Bastille Day, those who didn’t leave a $20 note in the hat. He kept “wetting his whistle” as he put it, with a small bottle of Corio Whisky he had hidden in a brown paper bag.
I think if he sobers up he might be making it to your “at home” Friday night. Hope it goes ok. Someone said he’s not such a bad guy sober. Dunno.
Wot? Yer not coming along tomorrow, um, tonight, Frankie X?
Mallrat’s said she’s gonna do that horn jumping thing with the bull again.
Seating arrangements? I thought we were lying in a heap in the street outside Nab’s joint with his many cats.
Australia, btw, has a new phenomenon in toilet seats, which I think come from China. When the seat is up against the cistern, it falls forward automatically.
Thus either spraying urine over the room, or landing with a nasty whack on yer dick.
Stop laughing Jen.
Nabs as master of ceremonies you are without equal.
‘What a world that hath such people in’t’ or words to that effect.
I don’t know when I had such a good time. Thankyou.
David
You sure know how to get folks together. Again, thanks.
A camera is a great thing.
Heaven help me, I am as discreet as you are.
There is a silent plea there.
It’s over not yet. Right now I have a passed out Chris Shiel on my sofa – apparently due to a surfeit of Irish whiskey and Goats Head Soup. Doo Doo Doo Doo Doo.
Yes, the berroccas have been placed close to hand, and the cats chased off from potential choking positions.
And it’s sure been a cold, cold winter … errr, that would be the second bottle of Irish whisky Nabs … and don’t worry, like jen I believe in discretion … but Christ man, can you snore or what … the whole flat was shaking, and even the girls/boys were complaining as my feet were draggin cross the ground through your parking lot … and Frankie will keep, as now I’m going back to burnin’ my bell, book and candle.