That's the true spirit of Christmas; people being helped by people other than me.

Continuing our preparation for the conquering the pole, I've set Ezra on an extracting regimen of САМозащита Без Оружия.

If the lads are expected to survive the tests that crossing Antarctica barefoot (we need more sponsorship money for proper shoes) will throw at them, a sound knowledge encyclopaedic knowledge of the fighting arts is vital. I expect that the Emperor Penguins will not take too kindly to interlopers, and thus my intrepid explorers must be ready to take all comers.

Sambo will give them this. I have it on good authority that penguins are well versed in ju-jitsu...

Comments

Roddy said…

Sambo? Unarmed combat? Why not just take a big stick and hit the penguins over the head. From what I've seen of Emperor Penguins they are very standoffish. Would rather run away rather than fight.
And why do the kids have to cross Antarctica barefoot? Have them see me and I will finance footwear for them.

12 July 2010 at 20:11

Magpie said…

He seems to be calculating the precise time of day by his shadow. An important talent to have.

13 July 2010 at 03:05

Kris McCracken said…

He is quite the rugged individualist.

16 July 2010 at 11:28

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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