Captain Fatty Poobags is gonna fart Thanks to Disney Pixar

Mike's Pith & Wind - OB City
Chris and I popped into the Forest Hill Chase shopping centre on Saturday morning to post a couple of orders for CD customers. Mission accomplished we had a bit of a look round, as it’s been some ten years or so since we were last there By the time we sat down in the food court for a cuppa I was beginning to feel a little uneasy, but the unease started turning to alarm when I couldn’t find one person in my range of vision that wasn’t grotesquely obese, or ‘fat’ as we used to know it. Even the skinny people seemed to be overweight.
Maybe I’m just a little sensitive at the moment, because for the past few evenings, Chris and I have been prowling the streets of Heathmont and adjacent suburbs to find something to eat, and, in the process, we’ve surveyed most of the popular fast food franchises.
Just for the record we went to the Heathmont La Porchetta as well as the local Chinese, Sha Tin, (known affectionately by the locals as the Shat In), the Bayswater North Fasta Pasta and Filthy Fuckin’ Jacks, a half decent Chinese in Boronia and the Manhattan Hotel’s bistro. To Chris’ possible chagrin we didn’t bother with McDonalds, but I’m sure that universal experience doesn’t really need to be chronicled again by me; and anyway, unless there’s absolutely no alternative, I refuse point-blank to go to McDonalds ever again.
And it’s true – for the most part, the food on offer is appalling, but, funnily enough, in the context of the obesity epidemic, I don’t think quality.. read more

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Dick's Toolbox - I remember it well
‘The horror of that Moment,’ the King went on, ‘I shall never, never forget!’
‘You will though,’ the Queen went said, ‘if you don’t make a memorandum of it’
Lewis Carroll – Through the Looking Glass’
There are some few horrors in my life that I will neither forget nor tell, but given the reasonably long period of time I have been hanging around this and the past century there are vast deserts of forgetfulness behind me - large tracts of existence where the path of my memory seems to have vanished without trace. There are no broken twigs, bent leaves or faint scents for a skilled tracker to find, and while I can see the hills that I have crossed, the rivers of time that I have forded, I have little or no recollection of the journey.
Even where the journey has been read more