Handle every stressful situation like a puppy.
If you can't eat it or play with it, just piss on it and walk away.
Scarily the dead deer looks like the critter hanging off a neighbours chimney.So I should call the council rangers...?
Sweetheart, you know there is nothing that i could possibly do, nor say - that would help you through this.Cheers, nutcase.
I saw this yesterday and choked on my coffee. It's just sooooo awful.
Jayne, it was a toss up between this and one of the scary Santa cakes but the sheer grossness of the brown icing just made it a winner.Nutcase, Moi? Davo you know me so well and nice to see the heat hasn't knocked you off your perch.River, there's a demented elf with a grudge against Santa running around disguised as a baker. Some of those cakes would give me nightmares.
This is a cake, you say? Sold in shops? Where? To whom?
Elizabeth, fortunately it's in America, the land of ghastly cakes. I couldn't eat this if I were starving.http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com will make your day.
RH's Christmas Message.Darlings I am writing this on a big army-surplus desk brought here tied to the roof of an old Valiant, stolen by my Biographical Subject weeks before. He later drove the car to the hills, tipped cans of paint into it and set it alight. I don't know why. Here's a letter by my mother.My Dearest Mother + Father Just a few lines hoping to find you both well as it leaves myself + baby the same at Present I am writing these few lines to let you know that Eric's wife isn't able to look after my little Clara any longer as she said she is going to work and the father isn't paying anything towards her. PoliceWoman Martin rang up + ask Matron to ask me if she would make her a Ward of the state and put her in Royal Park Home I said you Dad would take her + look after her for me she has to have treatment you would have to go to the Children's Welfare Dpt at Railway Buildings Flinder's St + tell them that you are able to maintain Clara + and if the Inspectors are satisfied with your Home I think you may be allowed to keep her as the Place is nice + comfortable and you are both resceptable people I'd like you to take her so you will have to go straight away + see them if they can't let you have her you will have to go + see PoliceWoman Martin + and write or ring Matron and let me know what happens if you can't have her I suppose she will have to go out there + when I go out [ from here] I'll be able to go to work + help to keep the children but you do the best you can for me it is very worrying + I think the father should be made to pay something for his children I think I shall have to try + see if I can get maintenace off him if I can there won't be any good of worrying with him again Police Woman Martin met him in the street the other day + she couldn't talk any sense to him well Mum + Dad I don't know that I can tell you much more at Present till I hear from you again so I will draw to a close now hoping the future will be better for us all with love to you bothIremain xxxxxxxxYour ever lovingDaughter MargaretWell darlings this thing will be buried with me. Or go up in flames, the moment I do.-Robert.
Bingo last night where the newly married Miss N won a thousand dollar jackpot and gave me fifty. I protested of course and got an awful fright when it appeared she might give in and accept it back. Meanwhile hubby was up in his pulpit calling the numbers. “Do you know,” I said to her, “He calls a much better bingo since your wedding.” I expected a big laugh around the table for this but only an old Greek woman gave a cackle. And rather eerie it was too. Enigmatic. Here's a letter by my sister:Mr . A. G. Booth,The Director,Social Welfare Department,Family Welfare Division,P.O. Box 2765Y,Melbourne, C.1.Dear Sir,I wish to find out whether I am adopted or not. I wrote to you in June last year regarding the possibility and you said in your letter that unless I could furnish the original name under which I was recorded as a state ward (if I ever was) you could not assist me.I have always lived with the people I thought were my parents (I'm 22 now). My foster father? died when I was ten and when I was sixteen my foster mother told me I was adopted. My foster father was very good to me but unfortunately my foster mother never did like me in fact that is an understatement still that has nothing really to do with the matter.I am writing to you now because at last my foster mother has decided to tell me that my real name is Clara Jean H. This name may be a fabrication but I do not think so as she seems agreeable to this investigation as I'm sure she realises I have no wish to trace my real parents only to clear up the matter once and for all.Could you please send me back-copies of certificates (if any), perhaps my first birth certificate.It has been suggested to me by your department that this enquiry is just to satisfy a whim, it is not a whim but because my present doctor has advised me that unless I find out the truth this continual worry whether I am adopted or not may be the cause of severe mental illness in later life. I would be grateful for any information you can give me.Yours faithfully,Jean Cowlishaw.Enc. Two 10c stampsOne for certificate to be sent back.P.S. Don't worry anything coming as a shock to me Ive had so many now that nothing would surprise me.Miss J. Cowlishaw,99 The boulevarde,Dulwich Hill,Sydney. N.S.W.Dear Madam,I have your letter of 20th November 1973 and am able to confirm from departmental records that you were Clara Jean H, the daughter of Alan and Margaret H, and that you were born at the Women's Hospital, Carlton, on 10th March 1951. As a State ward, you were boarded out to Mr. and Mrs. Cowlishaw from 28th of August 1953 until you were legally adopted by them at the County Court, Melbourne, on 17th August, 1961.Upon the making of an adoption order, the original birth entry of the adopted child is marked “Adopted”, and it is thereafter unlawful for the Government Statist to furnish any person with any copy or extract from the original record. It is not possible therefore to furnish you with a copy of your original birth certificate.Yours faithfully,[initialled]for Director Of Family Welfare.
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Arrrgh! What is that thing?
Robbert, that is an all too familiar story. Miss O'Dyne had a post a month or two back about a research project called "sanctioned evil" and how mothers were coerced into giving up their children. Very sad reading although it seems your mother just couldn't cope.Therese, I don't think I'll click on any of these although it'll be handy if I ever want to know about Indian buses.
These letters etc are old government reports obtained by my social worker niece, she reads them out at dinner parties. I've just wrenched them from her, but she'll get more. Victoria Police.Elizabeth Martin States:"The father of the child is addicted to drink, very irresponsible, and well-known to South Melbourne police. At the time Mrs H entered Fairfield hospital their house was in an appalling state. There was no bed for Jean, she slept in a pram and was verminous. Mr and Mrs H were sleeping on a mattress on the floor. I said to Mister H. “Did you go to Fairfield hospital to see Margaret and take a bottle of wine with you and the matron took it from you?”He said “Yes.”He is a man of ill repute, a wine drinker, and suffers from venereal disease. He may be difficult to locate as he frequently changes his place of abode."We were born with it, syphillis. Good heavens!But here's my favourite:"Mrs H does not look too bright to me, she was grubby, as was her son, a rowdy little boy of about three years who was making a nuisance of himself and swearing profusely. When I was walking past him down the passage he said to me “Hello you dirty bastard.” and on two or three occasions I heard him use the word “S—t.” The mother said he learnt it from the boys in the street...."How cute. I learned it from my father.
I don't generally support adoption, and dirt alone is no reason to remove kids, and I don't think we should have been removed. Psychological harm is a different matter, that's why I oppose 'same sex' child-rearing, and always will.
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