A sobconcious continuation (infatuation)

I was sitting on the train, autonomously feeding maccas chips into my mouth 3 or 4 at a time (I wasn't actually hungry. I just knew that if I hadn't have bought maccas for lunch I would've had to spend 5 minutes at home microwaving a pie) then drinking a mouthful of my extra special caramel milkshake (I usually just have coke, but I spoiled myself today! I just blitzed my bio exam, so I deserved it.) before I'd even had a chance to swallow the blob of faux potato, the combination forming a salty-sweet mush in the back of my mouth. Wiping the excess salt and grease off on my new $90 trackies (they're comfy. I might buy another pair in black) before I changed the song on my iPhone (God forbid I get a slimy screen) discarding song after song until I found a self indulgent ballad of first world depression. It was at this point I sat back and said to myself,
All this waste, the excess consumption... All this want and reckless desire... All this work for useless purchase. This is the height of capitalism. This is the epitome of consumerism. And I love them both.


As a side note, I'd just like to say, I had no intention of writing about capitalism straight after a communist rant. It just happened that way. Hence the title.


On a completely different note, I have, as of today, moved up an echelon in the rebel ranks. "How?!?!" you might ask? "You? Shane? A rebel? Ha! I would sooner expect to see a flying tortoise with mighty claws carrying the carcass of a halal butchered lamb directly into the sun!" You might conject. Well, one Matthew McCarthy aka Uncle Tongs (I prefer using Uncle over Crucible ever since his recent D.I.D post. Just sounds cooler [I also prefer writing in brackets because I already over use commas{In case you hadn't noticed}]) planted the seed in my mind. So I blame him for all legal ramifications.
Anyways, as I got off the train at Box Hill shortly after my yummy money insight (see above), there were 3 cops on the platform. That's right, my rebellion involves police officers. I, like everyone, had a natural curiousity as to what the hell they were doing, which turned out to be nothing as far as I could tell. So as everyone crowded on to the escalator, I stood on the left cause I could not be ballsed walking on the right. Let me encapsulate the scene for you. At the moment, two cops were above me on the escalator, and one was still below me walking up the escalator on my right. On one of the officers higher up on the escalator, I saw his service sidearm. Aka, a gun. This is what reminded me of Monsiuer Tongs challenge.
I remembered him saying something about the ultimate act of rebellion being to touch a police officers gun... Now I know the conclusion you've probably jumped to, and I'm not that stupid. After all, the gun is holstered on the police officers right, and I was on his left so reaching around to touch the hallowed death-bringer and retaining enough subtlety to avoid suspicion when surrounded by onlookers whose eyes were focused on the out-of-place police officers would have been suicide. Luckily for me, however, his taser gun was holstered on his left leg. So I listened carefully, hearing each heavy footstep policeman made in his heavy, steel capped boots.... Closer.... Closer... Closer... Almost... Then just as he's about to pass by me, I extend my hand just as if I was flexing a cramp out and BAM! I touched the handle and, somehow, the trigger of his taser gun without him noticing. Please update me to Mega-Ultimate Rebelmon, good sirs and madams.

Just in case you were wondering, this is about 95% true. The untrue parts are the pre-meditation and the act of me actively extending my hand. In other words, his taser gun bumped my hand as he bumbled past and I created this story in retrospect. But still, I have rebellious retrospect! That's gotta count for something, yeah?

.... I'll be quiet now.

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-aaack

Hello Imogene Rantson, my long-forgotten Internet mistress. Oh how I've missed you. I'll never leave again!

Unless i hit another unimaginably long absence of imagination. In which case, you're screwed. YOU ALL ARE!

First thing I'd like to get off my chest, I never really understood the whole cliché (which I admit I've used before) "communism works on paper, just not in practice!". If it doesn't work in practice, then it doesn't work on paper either. Unless you're writing lies.

Point 1:

If it's just a fancy way of saying "it's a theory" then it's a wrong theory. Like the (generally creationist) hydroplate "theory" that "theorizes" Noah's flood burst out from under the crust of the earth and shot out with such force that water flew off the earth and resulted in the craters on the moon and created every meteor in the universe. Aka, calling something a "theory" doesn't automatically make it rawrsome and infallible.

Point 2:

Its like saying "this blueprint for a plane works on this fancy-pantsy engineering paper" (I really want some of that paper...), but when you follow the blueprints and build the plane it turns out to be a giant, robotic bull frog or a sentient, wise-cracking George Foreman grill or.... uh... I dunno, a piece of IKEA furniture. And no one wants IKEA furniture. Well, not the same kind of people who read fancy-pantsy engineering blueprints and want to build planes anyway.

Wow. I'd almost forgotten about my tendency to ramble. Moving right along...

Speaking of ranting, I have a new job Imogene! (That's what I'm calling my blog from now on)
You'd really like it there. There's lots of sexy eReaders you could get nice and close to. Lots of letters, if you know what I mean ;)
I'd go for the Touch version. It's 1 inch bigger ;)
.... Now I'm just making jokes only I'll understand...
Oh, by the way Imogene, I work at Borders.
It's quite interesting, always fresh. But it can be slightly annoying when people just assume that I've read every book under the sun. Or when people ask "Do you have a book called.... Uh.... The... Um... The Something? I can't remember what it's called, but it starts with THE" or even worse, "I want a book, don't know what it's called, but it's about this guy who got a dog from this chick he met in Vietnam and she dies and the dog gets her soul and she can't talk to him but she still loves him and he gets with another girl so Vietnamese chick goes crazy and mauls the other womans children and plants evidence to distract the police/vet people and make them think the family dog did it....." etc
To which I reply "Sounds like you've already read the book about 5 times, why do you wanna buy it?" And by "reply" I mean "Think-of-a-witty-response-and-later-use-it-as-material-in-a-blog post". That just pisses me off. Or when I say "Hi, how are you?" And they just death stare me and keep walking, or even worse, just glance sideways at me and keep walking. You know what? I DON'T like my job, Imogene. I hate it! It hates me and I hate it!
I kid, I kid. Ily Borders. You make my soul sing.
Um... Where was I.....?

I guess what I'm trying to say is, in a very round-about way,

Fuck you Karl, you lying German bastard! YOU work on paper!