The "Theory of Don"

I was thinking the other day about evolution...well,it was raining and there was nothing on TV.
I think what bought it on was the discovery of "IDA", the skeletal remains of a female primate which had apparently been sitting in some rich guys closet for the last 25 years...and was apparently possessing of some strikingly humanlike anatomical features...that he wasn't about to share with us.

The thought, that then occurred to me, was that evolution, can only be viewed by looking backwards. I mean, I'm sure that 47 million years ago Ida wasn't sitting out on her front porch, in a late Eocene afternoon patch of sunlight... munching fruits and berries and thinking to herself..
"you know, being bipedal would be a lot more efficient form of locomotion than this fused talus and prehensile tail that I seem to have inherited...but.. thank goodness evolution will take care of that, and will probably also sort out these few other biomechanical faults and flaws that I seem to have inherited...Hmmm.. you know, I might just pop over and see that new Australopithicus family that has just moved into the neighbourhood"

My opinion,.. and now gentle reader, remember that you have read it here first...is that we do not, and have not, evolved in the lineal progression of slithering along like a salamander to upright perambulation, that has been foisted upon us...I mean I read the other day where Dolphins actually went BACK into the water...now how dumb is that?... for all time missing the jigaboo antics of Robert Mugabe and that Ill Bong wot's his face who has his finger on the big red button marked 'NUKE'

In my opinion, all we have done really, is to have lurched mindlessly from one catastrophe to the next,searched frantically for our next decent feed,stressed, paniced and taken fright at all sorts of real and imagined dangers..and judiciously taken advantage of any series of opportunistic sequences that have presented themselves to us... In time we may have adapted, and god forbid, perhaps raised our pathetic existances above that of the masses, and become comfortable with ourselves...we may even have found a mate who has taken enough pity on us to have mated with us and bred offspring who have inherited enough genetic nous to have survived long enough to do the same.

I am reminded here of the differences between say..an Olympic Highjumper, and an Olympic shotputter...neither could do what the other does, do any great degree of accomplishment...now, say they continue down each path, both shot and jump for, say...oh, I don't know...45 million years... what sort of evolutionary pie bald misfit would you get? Or perhaps you could even add to the mix a computor geek and a Texan pie eating champion...Prehensile tails and opposable thumbs would actually seem tame by comparasion with what these dudes could morph into...I mean, come to think of it, will txting even remove the necessity for opposable thumbs, for example.

I am reminded here too, of the tree swingers from our distant past...why, and how, did they possibly learn to walk upright?...Well, maybe it was as simple as having to get across a creek to get to the Hagen Daz shop on the other side......what can I say...I'm a wimp,always have been, and despite spending my days swinging by vines...I would bloody well walk upright if it meant keeping my balls dry while crossing a creek....and just imagine how many times you would laid if every day you were the only one bringing home Hagen Daz from across the creek..pffftt and there you have it... suddenly all the kids can walk upright.

SEE...it is by adapting to the niche that you happen to find yourself in, that you then morph into something else...something more efficient, something stronger and sexually more desirable...after all attaining immortality is about getting getting yourself laid..If this niche is removed, then, the process becomes simple,millions of years of development reverses itself and you become extinct. Just like the VCR, or the Olympic typewriter...lose your desirability, get replaced by something stronger and more efficient...don't get yourself laid...and pfffft...you're consigned, for all eternity, to an historical dumpster.

No, it's only by looking backwards that one sees this evolutionary process or journey...So then the question I have to ask myself, (quietly too I might add, just in case someone sees me fondly cogitating my verbs)...do we actually, even today,know that we are,evolving?..and in what direction are we doing so....or even hope to do so...I mean for crissakes I don't even know what I'm having for lunch, let alone what I'll be doing in 45 million years...
Ahem,...and I pause here to add, that I believe there is anecdotal evidence that says women can even be domesticated... can actually be trained to carry out simple instructions and to also do things like household chores and shopping...Hard to believe I know, but this is an important process when it comes to evolving...it frees up men to focus on important stuff...like playing computor games and watching sports.

I use the word 'evolve'...only because I havn't yet invented a word that describes the opportunistic adaptation to the specialised niche that we find ourselves in...and that someone of the opposite sex who shares the same niche and interests also finds herself in...and who also wants to have sex with you,.. and who is fecund enough to conceive from your miserable attempt at copulation.
The "Theory of DON" springs to mind, but it is a working title only, until something more opportunistic comes along.

Hmmm... now I have forgotton already where this was taking me...and since it has just taken me half an hour to find the right button on the remote to remove the black line that appeared across the top of the TV screen...I'm not really sure that I have evolved as far down the evolutionary track that I really would have liked to have travelled...
...I still wouldn't mind getting laid however...even if not for the greater good of mankind and the survival of the species...but just because it feels funny.

I need to test this crap for faecal coloforms

God, life is so boring right now...I mean it must be, when today I got a vicarious thrill from getting the results of a Laboratory test for Faecal Coliform.

A process that we use for treating sewerage had managed to lower the FC's from 270,000 down to 2900...not quite drinkable but...OI!! what the F..are you still awake?...this stuff is both thrilling and riveting, so pay attention please.
Anyway quickly moving on..., before you expire from torpor...what this means,is that dairy effluent can be spread onto pasture without a 10 day withholding period because of the FC's...the cows won't eat the grass anyway...cos it tastes like...well..crap.
The effluent can also be spread close to water sources without ...without...zzzz...oh, all right you can all go to the toilet.

The market has been treating me well this week, everything that I have touched has shown some lustre...just as well I suppose, cos a few of those are a holding in General Motors..They havn't died yet..but I suspect that they might enter their death throes sometime in the next week...unless of course you wouldn't mind popping out and buying a new car...NOW, would be good... the surprising thing is that despite the trauma they are still ahead of what I paid for them...it also shows the human condition for hope and optimism beyond all...well, hope and optimism...cos I still have the bloody things...it's like watching a train wreck...and not getting the fuck out of the way.

Today I went and watched the god kids compete in the provincial duathlon champs..it was a beautiful day beside the great lake...Lib got second and her brother got third, which made her mother screech with parental delight...until I told her to shoosh...that people were looking.

Oh, and I forgot...on Sunday night I went to the movies...watched the new Star Trek movie...it was actually very good...and, I have to say.... that as Luke Skywalker flew over the corn fields of Idaho on his way to take over the Enterprise...I swear that I saw Kevin Costner building a baseball diamond...
...now I am off to test all this drivel for faecal coloforms

He left at free firty ona pus

It's been a tough week.
Last Friday 'free firty ona pus'was roaring, rolling, rollocking drunk. He was so drunk that he dropped his diary. It fell open at a page that had my name on it. It was a handwritten contract that sold my product to a man I didn't know,and delivered to a place that I knew nothing about...and certainly hadn't recieved any money for. A little discreet enquiry revealed that he had been lining his pockets at my expense. Needless to say it was his last day in my employ.
oh, how he ranted and threated and cajoled, to no avail I might add.He arrived at free firty ona pus...and I geuss he pretty much left the same way.

On Saturday morning I ran at some ungodly hour with Mike, then after showering, raced through to stand in the rain and wind to watch my kid play netball.
It was worse than being waterboarded.
Then after a bite of food, jumped on my bike with god kid, where she proceeded to reduce me to idiot savant...We caught up to some competitors in a bike race. I have never experianced such relief as to be slowed down by a bike race.
Sunday a.m. though, bought a modicum of revenge. Mike, Jon, God Kid and me ran a local 15 miler called the Fanny Hill (called that cos it fucks you). It is a run over nothing but hills and forest tracks and it is gutbusting tough.It was Libs first time over 15 miles, let alone something as tough as this. She went well for over an hour and then the sky fell on her head.
I have never seen such a look of eye sunken malice, when I glanced over at her, as we trawled up the last hill two miles from home.It had taken her 34 minutes out to the barn, but 45minutes back. Tough?...you have no idea how tough this kid is...she never looked like quitting.

My new yard manager starts tomorrow. He is an irrascible old scotsman named funnily enough 'Jock'. He has a scar from his chin to his navel, where surgeons removed what was left of his shrivelled up heart.He turned up to the interview, unpretentiously enough, in drawstring track pants and a flurescent shirt.
He is however a mechanical genious and I am looking forward to working with him. When I explained the details of the latest project I have been working on, he grasped the concept immediately and was able to offer some quite thoughtful insight.
What I am really looking forward to though is chucking him the phone, and getting out of this weather to somewhere that will warm my pituitary to a temperature that will actually kick start the freakin thing.

I'm thinking perhaps of Singapore for some shopping,(they have electronics to die for)Mediterranean Turkey for a little historical culture and sun, and then maybe New York for some awe, inspiration, and a ride on the subway.

It was worse than the battle of Actium.

I was in the urinal of one of the local pubs on saturday. Which is not such an unusual place to be while the local rugby team is playing (and winning) and all the tickets are sold.
A couple of porcelains across was a fellow who couldn't walk, talk or see properly so pissed was he. He was leaning against the wall, head resting on forearm, eyes closed...and well, urinating..he turned across to me and said "jeez this place stinks" I thought "thats curious,the last thing that you lose is your sense of smell"

I was there with an old school mate, who was lamenting the fact that he played for the same team, and in the same position, for twelve years in the days when they didn't get paid...now he's a real estate agent, in the middle of the biggest real estate burn since the great fire of London. His timing, one has to say, has been appalling.

Friday night, I had the married one over...she had decided that she wanted to stay the night...NOW, It wasn't really the 16 txts seeking affirmation and reassurance that pissed me off, it wasn't even the arriving two hours late, and it wasn't even the smashing of the wine glass with a drunken sweep of her arm...nup, the unbridaled passion made up for all that..things were actually going rather swimmingly, until, that is, she slipped into the arms of morpheus.
I was just drifting off myself, when someone started up a chainsaw next to me...jeez..it was louder than...than...the squawk of that Goose that got hit by the plane, before it crashed into the Hudson... I gave her a hopeful poke, she grunted, and carried on snoring, I poked her again...ditto. I read a book...and thought of Lisa and wished I had her ear plugs.(she has a train running under her apartment)
It's bloody funny looking back on it, but it wasn't so at the time...I kicked her out at 6a.m...and, now, of course, she is blaming me...I'm an insensitive degenerate pig, and wholly deserve neutering...and I am left thinking..."isn't it curious how the last thing that goes is your sense of smell."

What an incredible stroke of good fortune.

I was just thinking the other day about what incredible good fortune I have.

Some 800 years ago 17.2 million people started on a procreational journey that 35 generations later has resulted in ME, ME ..ME.. ME.
Not only did I arrive here relatively unscathed, but each one of my forebears managed to arrive unscathed as well...it was probably fortunate that for the first 700 years electrical sockets hadn't been invented, and for the first 150 years, neither had firearms.
Just as an example, in 1348 bubonic plague killed some 70% of the population of England. The population dropped from about 6 million people to 1.8 million. Not one, let me repeat that...NOT ONE of the of the 4.2 million people who died during that plague was one of my ancestors..and it only had to get ONE of them, just one, for me not to have been born.
Then in 1845 one million Irish people died from the potato famine. Not one of them was an ancestor of mine. Revolution, wars, famine, accident, disease, we escaped them all...as of course, if you are reading this, did you.
As you can, no doubt imagine, this is an unimaginable peice of good fortune.

Anyway, getting back to the story,...Then, every 22 years or so one of my ancestors not only had to find someone who would take pity, and have sex with them, but also had to have the incredibly poor judgement in achieving conception.
Then they had to survive childbirth, not succumb to disease, pestilence, famine, war, their own stupidy (it's amazing how many people this kills)

Just how fragile and tenuous this genetic string can be, was bought home to me, when in 1891 in a frontier town in New Zealand a midwife delivered of an unwed mother a son. The skill of this midwife lay in the fact that both mother and child survived the primitive conditions. 6 years later the mother, now wed to my great grandfather,had my paternal grandfather. In an ironic twist of good fortune,the midwife went on to become my great great grandmother on my mothers side...which of course wouldn't have happened if say she hadn't have washed her hands and had killed my other great grandmother.
I was thinking too that in the year 1206 (gee, that doesn't seem that long ago) when my 17.2 million ancestors started out making me, the average male orgasm was probably pretty much the same as it is today. That is some 17 seconds. Now 17 seconds multiplied by 8.6 million men is 144.5 million seconds.
Essentially what this means is that I started off as an orgasm that lasted some four and a half years.
It also means that I started out as enough semen to float the Titanic...eewww.

A Tale of two Harry's

The skirl of the pipes woke me ANZAC morning.
I would have thought that they would have done their practising at home, instead of leaving it until the last minute before they were due to march...and while they were some way from my window, their skirl was not.

I never knew Mad Harry, no reason why I should really. He died in a car accident in 1966.
During the first world war though, he won the Victoria cross, the highest of all the British armies decorations, and but for a line of barbwire that he couldn't get through, came within a whisker of winning another. Winning instead two distinguished service orders..or D.S.O. and bar to use the correct vernacular. The French gave him the Croix De Geurre.
It was the skirl of the pipes that reminded me of him.
The pipes are to comemorate the fallen, and the returned, soldiers of the Gallipoli campaign of 1915.

My Grandmothers brother Harry was one of them. He enlisted in the New Zealand army, and became what was known as a Mainbody man, which meant he was one of the first of the idiots to arrive on Gallipoli.In his favour however, they did tell him that it would be like going on holiday and that he would be back home by Christmas...He got there in April of 1915. Mad Harry was another.He was a shiftless wastrel from Tasmania, who to get out of working in a logging camp, enlisted in the Australian army.His life so sorely lacked purpose that he thought Gallipoli was an upwards career move.
So, there they were, both Harry's fighting for the Empire against the Turks, over a god forsaken stretch of dunes that you would have trouble raising spit over.
It is, however, perhaps one of those ironic quirks of fate that one Harry's sister ended up raising the other Harry's son.
See, Mad Harry, despite all his medals for bravery, was actually a coward.

After the war Mad Harry got married, nothing wrong with that, (except perhaps the shonky alliteration.) Then his wifes neice came to stay, nothing wrong with that either. It was the tupping of her that caused all the ensuing problems.
"What steps are you going to take?" said his wife. "Big bastards" said Mad Harry and promptly left the country,pregnant neice dutifully in tow. Wife got the cattle station, and stayed silent.
It was the other Harry's sister who answered the add in the paper to adopt Mad Harry's bastard.
Mad Harry for his part, married the, by now, ex wifes neice, and went home, sans child, to a life of reflected glory, considerable fortune and two more children. (legitimate ones of course)
For a time there was word that he would even be made Prime Minister of Australia. It was probably this story,stored away in the skeleton closet, which caused him to turn down the offer.
His son, for his part, never fell far from his fathers tree, and dutifully spent his life spreading his genetic pool as far afield as he possibly could. He unfortunately did not have a Gallipoli to redeem him, and he died of Emphysema a matter of days before the cancer would have got him.

I checked Mad Harry's six pages of biography on Wikipedia, and read the book about him. Not one mention was made of the abandoned son...who, incidentally,for better or worse, came to share my name.

The other Harry too managed to survive the carnage of Gallipoli and cheat the death trenches of France. He even managed not to get hit by any bullets or bombs, which was more than Mad Harry could do.
No, in a somewhat ironic paradox he managed to get to within a month of the end of the war only to be bitten by a mosquito while drinking warm beer in a downtown bar in Cairo. The resultant Malaria then killed him.
The moral here, I geuss, is to always check what they tell you about the holiday destinations that they are sending you to.
He is buried in the grassy calm haven of the War Memorial Cemetary in Cairo.
Cairo, a pox of a place, where even today you can still get a reasonable choice of pain filled death from Malaria, Typhoid or Cholera,caught while drinking warm beer in a downtown bar.

The day before ANZAC Day my god kid was competing in the New Zealand Secondary Schools Triathlon...Lord, where was that little fat kid,who couldn't jump off the ground. She swam, Biked and ran alongside the best athletes in the country and she never gave them an inch all day...and who I have since watch grow up into such a delightful young lady. To come within a heartbeat of taking a medal was all that I could have asked of her. I was so proud I had to turn away and pretend I had dust in my eyes.

and the moon shone magical.

Power mainfests itself in many different ways, and power exchange I find just as quirky.
She txts me Saturday morning and suggests we meet that night.
It's not a complete surprise to me, her marriage is in trouble, and so I guess she is dipping her toe in the first pools of psychological freedom, even though she hasn't reached that point legally...either that or it's because the moon is new.
I tell her what to wear, because I like doing that, and she does so because likes to acquiesce.
We meet in the carpark of a bar midway between between where each of us lives, and we park in a space next to each other.
She has on a short black dress, with a zip that runs down the length of it. It is tempting not to strip her naked in the dark recesses of the carpark.
She has on sheer stockings, but no bra and no panties..I know this because I check.
I don't even speak to her, before grabbing a handful of her hair and bending her head backwards so that my breath enters her mouth. Then I run my tongue down her neck, and bite the hollow point where the muscles of her neck join her shoulder...she groans with pleasure, as I take ownership of her and power from her.
I don't hold her hand as we walk, I hold her wrist...it gives her comfort but not intimacy, and is a reminder that her power is being slowly removed.
Inside the bar, the music is so loud, that the resonance vibrates through my heart and rattles off my ribcage..all the band wear ear plugs, but none of the crowd...
The lead singer has a great smile and a level of showmanship that makes up for his lack of ability. It's not that he can't sing, it's just that he has to fake his way through some of the high notes.
I make her sit on a high stool, facing the room, it makes her skirt ride up, so that the top of her stockings show. The men ogle her unashamedly. She squirms when I tell her to spread her legs. She does so behind the protection of her cardigan. She gulps a glass of Chardonnay like it was the last one in the bar.
We talk easily for two hours, a lot of it revolving around sex and me telling what I am going to do to her later. I talk dirty to her, and when I hit a raw spot she makes a noise in the back of her throat like a growl...it is so visceral that she doesn't even know that she is doing it...and it thrills me inwardly to know that I have this power over her.
In the carpark later I am busily reducing her to a puddle, when a man comes over and asks if I want to make 50 bucks... I am so deeply into the moment that I think that he wants what I am having.
I have to shake myself back to reality and ask him what he has in mind. It's almost dissapointing to find that he and his mates are from out of town and that all they want is a ride back to where they are staying.
I say "no problem" and collect $65 bucks off them before their drunken minds register that they have parted with the money.
Once we are underway they immediately start a drunken sexual patter aimed towards her, she loves the attention...I lean towards her and suggest that I give her to them, and she again emits that visceral groan of pleasure, and her hands unconciously move between her legs. I check as well, and she has an absolute puddle down there.
I find where they are staying and there are fervent invitations to come inside...or more to the point for her to come inside...I laugh them off, and say that I will rent her to them but that selling her is not an option, and that anyway I have to get her home to her husband...she is by now gurgling with salacious sexual anticipation about what I am going to have her do next.
My plans however do not include sharing her with a bunch of drunks, although taking the rest of their money, I have to admit, is a passing and tempting thought.
I stop in a deserted industrial carpark , and in the backseat of her van...I bite her shoulders, neck and cheeks, not caring that she has to take the marks home.
I push her skirt up around her waist, and tell her what a dirty little whore she is for wanting all those men to use her....and when I thrust into her, I tell her that as a punishment she is not allowed to come until I tell her that she can...she acquiesces and then grunts with the effort of trying to obey. I have one hand around her throat, one on the seat for balance, while all the while I am pouring a torrent of sexual vissicitude into her ear.
She starts to sweat with the effort of trying not to come, while all the while emitting the gurgles and growls from deep in her throat that tells me she is not too far from losing conciousness.
With several deep thrusts I ejaculate into her, and then in my deepest stenorian voice I tell her to come...Bloody hell, It was like releasing a bronco...she just howled... gutteral, visceral and deeply primeval. Her face contorted purple, her shoulders hunched while the rest of her writhed and twitched as the waves of orgasm engulfed her... she comes again and again and again.
..and all the while the moon shone magical over her.