Snuggie electrical storm

Thanks to my Mother-In-Law the Cookster household now has its own Snuggie. And before I go too far, we are very grateful for the new addition... Mrs Cookster is looking forward to many snuggie nights ahead.

Me? Well, let me just say straight up that if the Snuggie was a restaurant, it would be a pie van at the local football ground as opposed to a fine diner. It is in a word, NOT snuggie.

It is advertised as a convenient blanket replacement, but it's not blanket material. In fact it's felt. Mrs Cookster says it's "fleece", but that would be fleecing the truth somewhat. So felt it is and thin felt at that which isn't very snuggie at all.

However, the material is particularly good at building up static electricity. After two minutes of draping this material around my person, I began to generate my own micro-electrical storm. The air was fairly crackling with static, my hair was on end and *apologies to the weak of stomach here* even my chest hair was at 45 degrees. Every hair on my body was at attention, much to the disgust of Mrs Cookster who suggested a good waxing might be in order.

Of course, the kids were roaring with laughter at Daddy's clownish sci-tech display, but the two-year-old got the fear when a small lightning bolt shot out across the room and struck Dixie Marshall on the cheek. Okay, okay, I made this bit up.

It was only when the Western Power rep smashed through the front door trying to plug me in to the grid, to "harness my Snuggie potential" that I realised it was time to shed this quasi-religious static suit before someone got hurt.

Of course, it didn't take long to get it off, because it doesn't have a back. It's the hospital gown of leisure wear, designed for the person who likes to share their backside with the world. Thinking back to the TV ad, I can't remember seeing a whole lot of butt on display... a half ar5ed idea perhaps?

This is my considered opinion and even though some people clearly get off on the Snuggie phenomenon, a static-charged felt blanket with baggy arm holes and no arse covering is just not for me. Go figure?

I'm thinking the duvet suit might be more my style...

Daylight saving zombies - part II

The story continues, as told by the Herring affected, but often brilliant scribe David 'Teh Rage' Cohen, author of Rottobloggo: To make sense of the many non-sensical references - of the non literary variety that is - you'll need to visit The Worst of Perth... for herein doth the secret lie...

It was a dark and stormy evening; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in Fremantle that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the scented candles that struggled against the darkness.

Through one of the obscurest quarters of the beautiful port city, and among haunts little loved by the gentlemen and women of the police, a man, evidently from the distant suburb of Floreat, was wending his solitary way. He stopped twice or thrice at different bong shops and houses of a description correspondent with the appearance of the quartier in which they were situated,--and tended inquiry for some article or another which did not seem easily to be met with. All the answers he received were couched in the negative ("F#@k off", were the plain'tive cries); and as he turned from each door he muttered to himself, in no very elegant phraseology, his disappointment and discontent: "C#*ts".

At length, at one house, the landlord, a sturdy sniper, after rendering the same reply the inquirer had hitherto received, added,--"But if this vill do as vell, Cookie, it is quite at your sarvice!" Pausing reflectively for a moment, Cookie responded, that he thought the thing proffered might do as well; and thrusting it into his ample pocket he strode away with as rapid a motion as the wind and rain would allow. He soon came to a nest of low and dingy buildings, at the entrance to which, in half-effaced characters was written "Fremantle Markets." Having at the most conspicuous of these buildings, a boutique brewery or fusion-food restaurant through the half-closed windows of which blazed out in ruddy comfort the beams of the hospitable hearth, he knocked hastily at the door. He was admitted by a lady of a certain age, and endowed with a comely rotundity of face and person.

"Hast got it, Cookie?" said she quickly, as she closed the door on the guest.

"Noa, noa! not exactly--but as I thinks as ow . . ."

"Pish off, you fool!" cried the woman interrupting him, peevishly. "Vy, it is no use desaving me. You knows you has only stepped from my boosing ken to another, and you has not been arter the book at all. So there's the poor cretur a-raving and a-dying, and you . . ."

"Let I speak!" interrupted Cookie in his turn. "I tells you I vent first to Poor Lisa’s, who, I knows, chops the whiners morning and evening to the young ladies, and I axes there for a rocket-propelled grenade launcher, and she says, says she, 'I 'as only nunchuks but you'll get a RPG, I thinks, as Bedford Crackpot’s,--the deranged, as we knows.' So I goes to Bedford’s, and he says, says he, 'I 'as no call for weapons--'cause vy?--I 'as a call vithout; but mayhap you'll be a-getting it at the bong shop hover the vay,--'cause vy?--the bong seller’ll be damned!" So I goes hover the vay, and the bong retailer says, says he, 'I 'as not a RPG: but I 'as a dirty bomb laced with canola, and mayhap the poor creturs mayn't see the difference.' So I takes the dirty bomb, Mrs. Poor Lisa, and here they be surely!--and how's poor Lazy Aussie?"

"Fearsomo! Men are beasts! He'll not be over the night, I'm a-athinking."

"Vell, I'll track up the ammo!"

So saying, Cookie ascended a doorless staircase, across the entrance of which a chunk of corflute, stretched angularly from the wall to the chimney, afforded a kind of screen; and presently he stood within a chamber, which the dark and painful genius of the bloke who painted the pic of the kneeling woman and the Alsation might have delighted to portray. The walls were white-washed, and at sundry places strange figures and grotesque characters had been traced in burnt orange by some mirthful inmate, in such sable outline as the end of a smoked herring stick or the edge of a piece of charcoal is wont to produce. The wan and flickering light afforded by a farting candle gave a sort of grimness and menace to these achievements of pictorial art, especially as they more than once received embellishment from portraits of Brendon Grylls, such as he is accustomed to be drawn. A low fire burned gloomily in a sooty grate; and on the hob hissed "the still small voice" of a kick-arse pan of mandrax. On a round deal-table were two vials, a cracked cup, a broken spoon of some dull metal, and upon two or three mutilated chairs were scattered various articles of female attire. On another table, placed below a high, narrow, shutterless casement (athwart which, instead of a curtain, bloodied mayoral chains had been loosely hung, and now waved fitfully to and fro in the gusts of wind that made easy ingress through many a chink and cranny), were a looking glass, sundry appliances of the toilet, a box of cricketers’ boxes, a few ornaments of more show than value; and a watch, the regular and calm click of which produced that indescribably painful feeling which, we fear, many of our readers who have heard the ravings of the Daylight Savings Murder Posse can easily recall.

To be continued...

Movember - pledge your support!

During Movember (the month formerly known as November) men, young and old, across Australia will be cultivating some form of growth on their collective upper lips.

This year Cookster has signed up to become a Mo Bro to help change the state of men's health and to join the fight against male depression and prostate cancer.
Current statistics show that:

Depression affects 1 in 6 men...Most don't seek help. Untreated depression is a leading risk factor for suicide.

Last year in Australia 18,700 men were diagnosed with prostate cancer and more than 2,900 died of prostate cancer - equivalent to the number of women who die from breast cancer annually.

Men are far less healthy than women. The average life expectancy of males is 5 years less than females.

If you would like to sponsor my Mo can go to http://www.movember.com/au/donate enter my registration number which is 75928 and your credit card details. Or you can sponsor me by cheque made payable to the "Movember Foundation" clearly marking the donation as being for my Registration Number: 75928. Please mail cheques to: PO Box 292, Prahran VIC 3181. All donations over $2 are tax deductible.

The money raised by Movember is donated to the Prostate Cancer Foundation of Australia and beyondblue - the national depression initiative, which will use the funds to create awareness, fund research and increase support networks for those men who suffer from prostate cancer and male depression.

For those that have supported Movember in previous years you can be very proud of the impact it has had and can check out the detail at: Fundraising Outcomes.

More info is available at www.movember.com
GO THE MO!!!