External Brain

Remember back in May I had my number plates stolen off my car? Well this morning as I was leaving for work a detective called me to arrange for a time for me to give a statement about it. Yes that’s right, we are in August — plates stolen in May, so that’s roughly 1, 2, 3 months since the incident.

Okay, so the police have better things to do with their time, I understand that. I just don’t exactly understand what else I could possibly tell them. I parked my car here. I came back to car after work and found plates gone. Um — gone, yeah, you know as in no longer there. Yep, both of them. Front and back. Stolen — ’cause I don’t remember putting them in my pocket, or setting them down anywhere… I mean I checked behind the couch, and like in between the cushions, in jacket pockets, but they were really gone man.

Okay, now I’m being stupid.

On a similar car-like tangent, my condolences to Simone’s car, who after a couple of weeks undergoing repairs from an unfortunate accident, has been involved in another accident. From what I hear the owner of Simone’s car is okay, and still has full control of her swearing faculties. Yes Simone, it is a sign for both of us, and yes, the rest of the world can fuck off now. * Fuck-tards!

* Word thieved from Dave.

Cambodia’s Ministry of Tourism is drawing up grandiose plans to upgrade the final stronghold of the Khmer Rouge into a million-dollar theme park

A word of advice to prospective car thieves — look INSIDE the car before breaking in otherwise you could find yourself wasting time and effort. I say this because my car got broken into while it was parked at Holsworthy station. I’m a 23 year old web designer, so it’s not like I keep valuables in the car, due to my inadequate salary and lack of stupidity, (my stupidity may or may not be questioned due to my chosen profession).

The contents of my car consisted of the following: copied audio cds (that you can’t even sell), street directory (I think you can get five bucks for it at a second hand book store), a second hand sherlock holmes novel, some hair elastics, screws (my dad had my car for a couple of days while my number plates got stolen from same station), 20 cents (which theives left behind), a black furry scarf, a lilacy-silvery scarf and a gargole dangling from the rear vision mirror. The only thing worth taking from my car is the cd player, which from this experience has proven to be quite immoveable. Not a scratch on it. I suppose I should be happy they didn’t/couldn’t take the whole car.

My car is an Astra, it’s a nice car, (mind you I say this as my previous car was a purple girly charade, which is a car with character), and it’s not even a year old yet, so I can see how a prospective theif (who from here on in will be refered to as fuckwit), would think woo hoo! Goodies mate!! Now I can get me some winnie bloose. winnie bloose = Winfield Blue (cigarette brand of choice of the discerning fuckwit yobbo from the west. Mullet optional). Well, they were very fucking wrong now weren’t they. One would think that my gargolye, black furry stuff and second hand book would’ve given them a clue as to the highly unlikely possibility of my car containing anything worth smashing windows for. Yes, yes I know, the CD player you dickhead, or the car, but fuck man! Even a fuckwit has to have standards and an effort to loot ratio to follow. How else are they going to be able to get as many cartons of winnie bloose as possible?

Two other people had their cars broken into this evening from the same station. Police have said something along the lines of surveillence cameras that are monitored, but I don’t think the fuckwit or wits in question will be caught or charged.

After having two badges and both number plates taken over the past few months, I have decided to end my affiliation with Holsworthy station. I highly recommend that others do the same.