Monday, February 06, 2006


The Russian Stock Exchange has been disrupted by a computer virus.

How unfortunate!

If I didn't find this inherently amusing, you wouldn't be reading about it here. If I thought it a well written article, I'd have copied it here but the possibilities for gigglage were just hanging in the wind like a fat grandma's bloomers on a clothesline in a strong breeze.

What on earth do they trade on the Russian stock exchange anyway? Shares in coal mines? Vodka distilleries? Potato farms? Gee, they'd be worth a packet. How about nuclear power plants... oooh, bad!

Personally, I was unaware the Russkies even had a stock exchange. It's a massive wasteland where everyone thinks food is a luxury to be afforded only by the corrupt, the wealthy and western tourists.

I know that's not a terribly accurate view of Moscow and St Petersberg and probably one or two other large cities, but in the far east of that country, the peasants live on nothing but whale meat, brought to shore in those funny little boats you see being used as fishing boats in tourist brochures for the Philippines. Only there aren't any Philippino fishermen within cooee of Vladivostok.

In other news, I'm feeling decidedly dejected because it seems whilst the owners of my current gig were away on holidays, several thousand dollars went missing and I had everything and nothing to do with it.

I gathered and recorded the taking of the money in the first place, but between my hands and the bank, wads of it went missing and they have their eyes firmly planted on me as being the culprit.


If I'd pinched a few thousand dollars in a two week spree, what's the chances of me still being there to wait for the fallout? Not a snowflake's chance in hell. I'd be sunning myself in the Victorian high country, throwing stones at errant cattle and - with my laptop computer, plugging in and writing like someone possessed.

I wish I knew where the money went too. I'd rest easier then. It's one thing to be accused of something I haven't done but it's bloody uncomfortable having nothing with which to prove my innocence because it's my word against the paper records I kept - some of which have also gone missing through no fault of my own - and it makes me look as guilty as sin.

There are a couple of things in my favour though. Firstly, I put in very long hours and don't record them which means they're getting my time for nothing. Secondly, mishaps have occurred when I haven't been there. Thirdly, the bloke they entrusted with the shop's management while they were on holidays has been playing funny buggers with them for the last two weeks over unrelated matters.

But I'm still feeling exceedingly disappointed that the finger of blame and incrimination is pointed almost exclusively in my direction and I don't have an adequate answer.

If this gets worse, I'll just quit. I don't care, I'm not going to stand for being accused of something I haven't done and be branded as untrustworthy - a liar and a thief - in short. I just won't.

What bugs me no end though is that I can't tell for sure who's bullshitting whom but I'm piggy in the middle.

I'm going to get some professional advice from Lance on this one. I seriously want out of this whole stupid situation not of my making but I want to get out in such fashion it doesn't make me appear to be guilty of something I haven't done.

I want to help these people, not rub their noses in the dust of lightfingeredness. But I'm still number one in this equation. I'm not about to compromise my own integrity for the sake of a brawl between the proprietors and whomever it is who either should be able to account for the missing money or who should be held accountable for it having actually gone missing.

All that just isn't me. I get involved with the business, not the warping and undermining of it.

Enough of that.

Some jerks put out the most pathetic remake of one of my favourite songs - Forever Young - and whilst the film clip is a good one, the rendition is pox. I hate it.

Too bad. I'm going to listen to a bit of Simon & Garfunkel then go to bed.

Sod the whole world for a few hours. It can bloody well take care of itself without me for a bit.

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