Friday, September 27, 2013

More from Bugga Me Bronson

All these local councils cover various villages and suburbs, all of whom are claiming that they are not looked after, and that the councils favour one part against another. Surely that couldn't be true, I mean the men and women on these councils, after trying to secure the position, notifying the major political parties that they are on the way up and making sure that the council job had plenty of expenses for various important council business, like study tours to the summer resorts to see how to put up beach umbrellas. Even if the Shire they represent is three or four hundred miles from any ocean. Once these important matters are attended to, they will look, at length, to spending ratepayers monies on a few lucky ratepayers.

Bugga Me Bronson reiterated in the pub, of course, that if he was on the council, he would be as concerned about these above matters as much as anyone.

“Ya' mean lookin' after the ratepayers?”

“Na' the other stuff. Ya' gotta have graft and corruption on these jobs so that y' will be well trained for when ya' enter politics.”

No one seemed to argue with that concept, and just accepted Bugga Me Bronson's superior intellect on things in the 'Them' department, because it has always been Them and Us and that isn't going to change.

“The best and only way to stop the suburbs and villages complaining about not getting' nuffin'” Sed Bugga Me Bronson, “Is don't give anyone anything, then they can't complain about someone else is getting' more than them, Hey?”

“So what do ya' do with the money ya' save?”

“Build a bigger, better Shire Office to make it look like the council is doing good, money wise...Simple.” Advised the great adviser, Bugga me Bronson.

One of the biggest arguments in the Shire meetings is the one about who is going to be the mayor. This job, especially in the Outback is not like that of those on the coastal strips, where it is a matter of prestige to be the leader of the pack. The Outback Mayor is most often barred from most pubs because of the fights between him and someone that disagrees with him, which is almost everyone, as far as the average pub patron is concerned.

At the particular council meeting where the election for the mayor is likely to come up, the absenteeism is at a peak, with the fellow councillors being left to decide amongst two or three who had forgotten what that nights agenda was to be.

“I nominate Norm,” Sez one.

“I second that” sez another

“I decline.” Sez Norm, “But I nominate Bluey Jagger.”

“Blue's not here tonight, he is playing darts in the finals at the pub.”

“Looks like your it, Sam.” Sez Bill Bottemly.

“But I wuz mayor last year.” Sez Sam.

“So you are again this year....All in favour say aye, passed, Sam is the mayor.”

“We will meet again in a couple of months to consider our agenda for the meeting after that.” Sez Sam.

“That's it, meeting over...See ya' at the Pub to discuss business, I want an opinion on sumthin' from Bugga Me Bronson.” The mayor knows the ropes and usually wont do anything, if anything should be done, unless he consults with Bugga Me Bronson.

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Introducing 'Bugga Me Bronson'

All the problems of the world, and all the problems of this country are fully solved in the many bars, between many drinking men who know about the problems of the world and the country, but never really had anything other than opinions on how to solve such problems adn woes.

This is a fact, it is not the aberration of the mind of someone that has spent many hours solving the woes of the world, not only solving the problems and woes, but trying to get those that are paid copious amounts of money provided by those that think that the problem solvers are there to do just that, solve the problems of the world, that is, to think about what they are there for.

Bugga Me Bronson, a very genuine, yet not terribly educated bloke, could solve any problem, be it world wide, or on the local scene. He proved that many times with local council elections when he expressed his brilliance on why someone should be, or not be elected to the local council, and if those that he thought shouldn't be elected, got elected, he would praise their efforts until such times that they opened their mouths on any subject at a council meeting...Such was the brilliance of Bugga Me Bronson, who had the ability to say what people wanted to hear, be it, right or wrong in amongst the actual facts of the time.

“Bugga Me, Bronson!! why don't ya' put ya' hand up for council yersef'?” many would say.

“Ya' gotta be jokin', me amongst all them deadheads would only confuse 'em more than they are already.”

There was one time, at least, that Bugga Me Bronson hit the nail on the head, or hit in the general direction of the nails head, which most would agree is far from the point that most councils hit, if they are having a hit or not.

The question arose in council chambers as to where they could put the local brothel, which for years had been operating out the back of the town pub, but only on Saturday nights, and never on Sundays, unless the Bishop was drunk and had cancelled church, on which days he would probably be the first Sunday morning customer anyway.

The question was bandied about, and nothing was decided; however, Bugga Me Bronson had no problem with the location, if it had to be changed.

“Bugga Me,” Bugga Me Bronson burst forth in the bar on the night after the council meeting, where no matters, which had been considered in council meetings, were to be discussed in the local public arena, had been released to all and sundry immediately after the said meeting.

“Bugga Me, “ He said, The only place for the brothel is in the industrial area, after all it is a wholesale business, ain't it?”

Of course, the local publican was a bit miffed with Bugga Me Bronson's simple solution when he said, “What am I gunna' do with the rooms out the back...I jist had 'em all painted.”

Bugga Me Bronson was never stuck for an answer and came up with the advice, “Mate, put in for 'condensation' from the council on the grounds of loss of income relating to the income that you are related to and about to lose out on.”

“Yeah! I could do that.” the publican said.

“Didn't he mean compensation?” one of the drinkers asked.

“He could have, but it has been hot and steamy out there lately.” Councillor Norm Cleverly advised.

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Hard Luck Harry

Me' old mate, Hard Luck Harry, was always trying to make a quid, somehow or other, and somehow or other he never quite made the grade.

Take for instance his breeding of chickens that tasted like Black Snake, he did this so that he could sell the cut meat of the chickens, which he found some that were not venomous, to use as genuine Fair Dinkum, cusine for the flash Cafe market in the Big Smoke.  He had no luck of course, as Black Snake tastes like chicken to start with.

So, off he goes into another bit of an attempt to break into this lucritive market  of Black Snake for the gormet trade and other supermarkets, he starts to set up a Black Snake farm, breeding the fatter variety of Snake than the common bush dwelling  critter that tastes a bit gamey, more like an old rooster than a chicken, and a bit more difficult to handle straight out the their feralness.

He ended up with ten good breeding females, but only one male, I mean a male Black Snake does not like it very much if you try to look at its nether parts for too long, and a black snake objection is often quite painful.  The girls don't seem to  mind so much.

Twelve months went by and not one wriggler from the ten sheilas, so having tamed the male a bit over that time, Hard Luck Harry takes the critter off to the vet, who takes the snake into the examination room, which is set up with anti-venom and other such stuff, like a loaded shot gun, and has a bit of a check on Harry's breeding buck.

"Harry, Old mate, I have to tell ya' that although the snake is healthy, he suffers from reptile dysfunction, and nuffin' can be done."

"Gees," Harry sez "That's darn right hard luck, I reckon."

Which is why we call  him Hard Luck Harry, and becasue his name is Harry, of course.

PS: To explain to those that love Black Snakes, alive, the shotgun is to shoot the Vet if the anti-venom  has run low.

Sunday, September 1, 2013


There are many frogs in Australia, not as many as in France, but we do have our share.  I don't know why it is, but our frogs seem to have many aberations of character that leave  one's mind boggling.

Before I go on, Let me say that the following is Fair Dinkum, straight from book of wonderful science in Nature, which is about to be writ.

One frog that has drawn my attention is a species of Tree Frog, of which there are many.  This particular Tree Frog has one habit that may seem peculiar to some, you see, It wont climb trees and spends its life on the ground  going "Nope, Nope Nope" or a sound very much like "Nope".

I am told that its mother will say, "get up the tree" and the little frog will say, "Nope, Nope."  In a Frog croaking type of lyric, ifn' ya' know what I mean?

The above is basically correct, and I think I know why this Tree frog will not climb trees.  There is another Tree Frog that will climb trees, and it is called the Maniacle Cackle Frog.  Would you, If you were a Tree Frog, with some hang ups about climbing trees, climb a tree if you thought that you would come across the frog of the later descriprion.

I don't care if the Maniacle Cackle Frog is also called the Perons Tree Frog, I ain't going up there....Nope, Nope No way."

You will note that  these sites do not use Fair Dunkum, so it is reasonably safe to take what is said as being somewhere near true.