Avant garde, no?

Oh, Amerika...

I'm going down to the staff room every quarter hour, ostensibly to get a drink of water or something, but really it's to watch the election result unfold.

I'm so naive. I haven't changed at all since the last one.

Vegie and I went up to the graphics room at recess to listen to the news bulletin on the Js and discover who the new leader of the free world was. Okay, so it hadn't been decided yet. That's cool.

We returned at lunchtime. Still no decision.

A few weeks later... there you go. Nice going, Amerika, I sighed, resigned to four years of... what? How could we have known the horror that would unfold?

At first he seemed harmless enough - what a spazz. But then, like a puppy that rips out the throat of your civil liberties and launches pre-emptive strikes- he turned bad.

It's interesting that I should have brought the subject of a race war up in yesterday's entry, because today I had a complaint.

An actual, in person complaint.

That is, a complaint at the station, nothing to do with this blog.

So, everybody is out at lunch or whatever, and ding. The little bell out the front rings, so I go out to pick up the delivery or whatever, and there's this guy.

And he tells me (repeatedly) about this ad that was on yesterday, about winning some trip up north, and the bloody girl in it, the bloody girl, she kept on repeating the phone number, she said it, she said it, she said it, eight times.

Perhaps his constant repeating of his complaint was some sort of vicious satire?

Anyway, he and his wife were shocked that someone would dare pay for commercial airtime, and furthmore, that they would dare advertise their product within that commercial airtime, on his television show that he doesn't actually pay for.

He then went on to tell me: Eight times. It was on eight times. My missus said, "She's said the phone number about eight times." It made me think, the aussie race must be pretty sick.

Vreeep. Hold up.


He told me: It made me think.

A pause for emphasis.

The Aussie race must be pretty sick.

What. The. Fuck.

Seriously, that doesn't even make sense. He then brought up how sick the aussie race must be a few more times, then I pretended to write his complaint down and he went away.

The Aussie race must be pretty sick? You're the nutjob, you man of vague origins, you.

The Aussie Race? What?

Anyway, naturally, I then filed his complaint officialy and returned to my work. Oh, wait, I didn't.

I'll let you in on a little television industry secret. If you ring up a television station and complain, they'll write it down in a complaints book.

Unless it's about the signal dropping out, it will then never be looked at again. For the most part, I skip this process.

In my entire time working in television, I've only recieved 10 or so complaints. This is because I'm not a secretary. I'm an editor, so I only receive complaints when absolutely nobody else can answer the phone.

Of those 10 or so, I'm yet to receive one that was in any way valid.

Seriously. This was one of the more sensible complaints, compared to say the guy who complained that a "snake is not an animal." That really happened.

And now, some hours after the start of the entry, it looks a lot like GWB has another four years of presidential booty to shake.

Figuratively speaking, I hope, oh God do I hope.

So, let me just say this: Nice going, Amerika. I hope you're happy with yourself.

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