Do I mean all Asian people? Well of course not, because that would be generalising and only people who think laser printers have a “stun” option would be that stupid. So I have a few things to tell this “group”.

Firstly, “Immigrants, not Australians, must ADAPT” is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. I’ve heard dog’s make that stupid “ruurrurrur hfurf hurrrurr huf.. khuf” noise when they’re dragging their stupid face through dirt, grass and dead animal while wagging their tail and it makes more sense than this statement.

Who need to adapt? Who are immigrants? No-one besides Australian Aboriginals have been here longer than 221 years so if you’re not one then you’re here because of immigrants. You are the product of immigrants. By your logic you should be able to tell where your family are from if you have adapted to Australian culture, because it would be painted on your body. If you don’t know what that means, you’re not a real Australian.

On the subject of “Australian Culture”, what the hell is that? If you say meat pies I’ll kill your children. Meat pies are a cheap copy of an English steak pie but instead of using steak, they use pulped, reclaimed leftovers from the carcass of, and I quote this from Food Standards Australia New Zealand: “beef, buffalo, camel, cattle, deer, goat, hare, pig, poultry, rabbit and sheep”. Mrs Macs also has a Scottish name, idiots.

Waltzing Matilda was written by the son of an immigrant, what do you think of that? He even ripped it off using a song that Christina Rutherford Macpherson showed him, around 1895. He was biting someone else’s tune. Who wrote our national anthem? I’ll tell you before you cry, it was Peter Dodds McCormick, a Scottish immigrant. Who was the first American President? I bet you knew that, but who was our first Prime Minister? Look it up before you comment on your “culture”. Who designed our flag? Did you know it’s made of English, Scottish and Irish flags? The Southern Cross? It is actually called Crux and it was discovered by Ancient Greeks, then mapped by an Italian and just because you’ve associated it with your concept of culture and stupid tattoos in reality, it’s just a few stars. There are billions of them.

I’m trying to think of what else is “Australian culture” but I can’t, because we haven’t been here long enough to establish a real culture. If Australian Culture means having a V8 ute that doesn’t even utilise its power because it has illogical weight ratio and is therefore fucking useless, a pie that is made of roadkill, a tattoo of a Greek/Italian constellation when everyone knows tattoos of stars are for girls and extra-happy people, a Scottish bloke’s national song, oh, and a disrespectful, reckless and violent history of systematic genocide toward the indigenous culture of the most beautiful land on Earth, then count me out.

To all new and old immigrants to Australia, sorry about these idiots, welcome to Australia and thank you for what you have given us.

Hey ya’ll.

This is just a quick one to let you know that Red Cross is desperate for blood donations right now.

It is also desperate for donations, did I say tears? I meant money. This is to help the currently disgusting state of child welfare in Australia’s remote Aboriginal communities. Excessive prices and lack of quality and selection within these community means children are undernourished and have a massive malnutrition and disease rate. This simply isn’t acceptable in a place we call “The Lucky Country”.

Last but not least, it needs volunteers. All of these things you can learn more about on their website:

Aussies: http://www.redcross.org.au

Yanks: http://www.redcross.org

Poms: http://www.redcross.org.uk

Everyone else: http://www.redcross.whereeveryoulive

According to Westboro Baptist Church: http://www.godhatesfags.com/

Lucky for “fags”, God isn’t real.

So, my gripe with this isn’t about homosexual rights, the gay community is tough enough to stick up for itself I’m sure (not that you need to defend yourself against an imaginary bronze-age fictional character). It’s not with God botherers either. I don’t believe there is a god, and I don’t like kissing boys, but I believe it’s your right to bat for either of those teams if that’s your thing.

My gripe is the fact they are teaching this hate to children.

I can’t remember how I found the Westboro Baptist Church’s website, but I must have googled “eat my baby” or something, yes, it really tells you that you’re going to eat one. I thought it was a joke site but it appears to have regular pickets and there are quite a lot of pictures with children holding questionable signs.

In my books there is no room for excuses when it comes to teaching children hate and intolerance, it’s the reason this world has so many problems already. Intolerance inhibits development and leads only to negative outcomes. I don’t even need to quote sources for this, just read a book on human history.

What you can do:

IMPORTANT: With either of these suggestions keep in mind that acting with aggression, abusive behavior or disrespect for basic human rights is completely counter-productive to your cause and is not what I am asking you to do. If you behave like an idiot you are wasting your time and not helping anything so don’t do it.

If you live in the U.S.: On their website is a schedule of the various pickets they hold, get a BIG group together with LOTS of children and mimic their sign style (apparently 2 minutes on MS Paint will do it) with messages of tolerance, kinship and cultural awareness, and have a free ice-cream stand for the kids with a pirate serving the ice-cream. This will make the “hate” kids start hating their picket because it will suck because it has no cool ice-cream stand with free pirate ice-cream. Kids will ALWAYS jump ship for ice-cream.

The aim of this is to smother any attempt these people make to further their cause and infect other children and families. Showing you have lots of kids promoting a fun and caring way of life, and have ICECREAM PIRATES FOR BACKUP will help to break any faith these WBC children have in the teachings of this dangerous crud. Please note I am not aiming this at all Baptists and I’m sure there are lovely ones out there who are good people.

If you live in a country outside the United States: Contact them and flood them with messages of distaste for the intolerance they teach to children. Explain to them simple logic and why preaching intolerance in a church that follows the teachings of a guy who said “Do not pass judgment unto others, lest you pass judgment onto yourself” is a little hypocritical and they should maybe rethink their agenda.

Bonus laugh: http://lovegodsway.org/

It is now cool to live your life like a bored pensioner peeking through venetians taking down number plates of those suspicious looking cars driving down the street, you know the ones, the ones with number plates, and writing letters of outrage to the SBS after a recent offensive episode of Inspector Rex where the dog in question was wearing no pants. Let’s take the latest stories. On the website the first one I see is “Cop accused of excessive force.” It appears Police aren’t robots that have brains made from potpourri, cupcake sprinkles and Superman undies the way I thought they were.

They are apparently individuals who can also be arseholes at times, and that the uniforms they put on in the morning don’t actually cannonise them via satellite connection direct to the Pope’s saint register database. Who would have thought? What an outrage. Labels that lie! Well I’ll be damned. So Coco Pops aren’t just like a chocolate milkshake, only crunchy? I’m going to smash that stupid monkey straight to the face when I see him. He hangs out at the Royal Show and I’ve seen him at a few kids shows at the shopping centre too. And that OMO chick, tell her I took my “salmon” shirt out of the wash last week, and that thing was NOT brighter than bright. How can ANYTHING be brighter than bright??? WHAT AN OUTRAGE. LIARS, ALL OF THEM.

What other outrageous things are there? OMG. 27 year old Meagan Jackson… wait for this… HAS NEVER BEEN KISSED. If this wasn’t on Today Tonight, I would be ringing Today Tonight. This is a complete outrage. By “complete” I mean “so” and by “outrage” I mean “fucking unremarkable”.

Today Tonight; In Ireland, a woman has a one in 48,000 chance of dying from pregnancy or childbirth complications. In Niger, it is one in seven. In Sri Lanka, the International Red Cross, you know, the people who take care of stuff we don’t want to know about so we don’t feel bad, have been so overwhelmed by the needs of displaced peoples in the area because of conflict, they are at red alert and need donations from anyone and everyone willing to give anything at all. The situation is THAT desperate.

How about being outraged about something that MAKES SENSE TO BE OUTRAGED ABOUT, rather than stupid, fucking ridiculously non-sensical and completely unimportant shit. Today Tonight is a paradox. It is an outrage in itself. You have the potential to make a difference with the timeslot and channel you have been graced with, why not use it properly?

Now OBVIOUSLY this is a reference to the Australian underworld TV series, as opposed to my finely chiseled, single stomach muscle. It is not a reference to direct consequences of my cooking, noises that may or may not occur when I roll over drunk and it has nothing to do with Thor’s abdomen.

T Cat 3 is going to be costume themed around the infamous Australian Underworld which is completely inappropriate and therefore perfect for Thundercat. Dress like Chopper, a whacked guy, even a greasy Lygon St Mfiauxo (see what I did there?).  As always, the money raised will go to kids, BECAUSE KIDS RULE, MAN.

When? Not sure yet, this is a heads up that it will also be my BIRTHDAY which of course is the Festival of Scotty the God King. What the hell? I hear you say. Well, let me tell you the story from last year…

I love history, I love reading about it, I love watching docos on it, I love it long time. I have noticed though that many historical figures, including the pharoes of Egypt, named themselves God Kings. This as we know is rubbish in our enlightened age of science and Wikipedia.

Gods don’t exist, or do they?

It appears these guys just named themselves “God Kings” with little or no qualifications. I guess having a few loyal subjects added a little to the credentials, as does possession of some gold, but there doesn’t seem to be any specific qualifier to that either. There is no Governing Body of God Kings as such. What does this mean? It means that although I cannot legally call myself “Dr. S. Schmid” or “S. Schmid. CCNA, B.Sc, MCSE, ABC, MTV” whatever, I can actually without any legal implications, declare myself a God King.

Subjects? Well, my girlfriend seems to like me, and so do my mates. I guess they would rally around me if anyone wanted to go to battle with me or invade my bedroom to loot, rape and pillage it and its inhabitants too. This I would take as being loyal subjects. I have a diamond earring, a gold chain and bracelet, I also have a little box in my room with a few gems and various glittery things bits and bobs. “Riches” I believe they call this. I think I qualify.

The advantages to this are many, but I have discovered a major one. My birthday often falls each year on a crap day like the Tuesday it surfaced on this year. Tuesday. Think about how much this sucks just for a moment…

Right, so I found a solution. First declare your God King status to your loyal subjects. This may be rejected by neighbouring tribes, random people, and even some subjects, but this is normal as history has shown in the past. Once declared, the first order of business is to declare your annual festival. This is generally your birthday. I have made mine 5 days. 5 days will change though, it was designed this year to begin on Friday, and come to its finale on my actual Birthday so you can still celebrate it after you’ve worn out the “It’s my birthday” cries from the previous weekend debauchery.

My festival finished Tuesday and was followed yesterday with an impromptu One Day Festival in which my goddess celebrated her God King’s love for Dim Sum, Shopping and Tepanyaki. That’s the good thing about being a God King, you can make a festival anytime you want. I highly recommend it to anyone.

2. Helping the wrong people

Under no circumstances should you ever give money directly to a representative of a government, orphanage, school, village, or any other “cause” you may think you have found. If cash is the only way you can help, give it to UNICEF or World Vision. Handing money to the wrong people can help finance military regimes, supply rebels, or buy some fat local chief’s Nokia a pearl case to match his pearl Landrover. Meanwhile you sit smugly in seat 17A looking wistfully out the window of your budget airline homeward bound thinking the place you felt the money should go to would actually see it. Fail.

3. Unintentional damage

Sometimes, you can do more damage than good. A classic case is handing candy to children in poor areas. Candy makes kids need to go to the dentist because it rots teeth when they don’t have yummy flouride in their drinking water like we do. Unfortunately they can’t afford to go to the dentist, and even if they could, there probably isn’t one anywhere close, and even if there is one close, he probably isn’t a real dentist. They have a hard enough time eating already, give out fruit so they still have teeth when they turn 15.

4. Useless help

Not a hard concept. If you turn up to an orphanage full of blind kids with a bunch of kaleidoscopes, not only will you look stupid, but you will look stupid to stupid people. The key is to research a little, ask the centre (some even have websites with wish lists) or find out what issues are faced in the place you are in. Relevance in what you give is not just important, it is the whole point.

I’ll update these as I make more mistakes in my travels, or remember other stupid things I’ve done in the past and learnt from.

Please, if you can afford it, give whatever you can to the Red Cross who are currently taking urgent food supplies and beggining evacuations as quickly as possible.

Donate here (International Committee of the Red Cross)

Walking through Q2 in Saigon is different to the cotton-ball comfort of the Q1 tourist district, and reading maps is a good idea before you embark on foot toward Dieu Giac Orphanage. I can wholly endorse to any Guinness Book of Records judges that may be reading, that Lương Định Của Street in Ho Chi Minh City is the longest street in the Universe. It certainly appears so in 40 degrees (Celsius that is, for our Elizabethan readers) carrying two huge bags of toys and fruit where every single shop on the way, all 60 million of them, sell warm bottles of water. In Vietnam, cold water is for amateurs.

We reached a place, only 500 metres from the Dieu Giac Pagoda, after walking for hours, that was like an oasis in the desert of an alien world. The strangest desert in that alien world, where even the aliens get lost and say “Damn, this is like a desert in a strange alien world”. Headless ducks, packets of snacks that were completely unidentifiable and seemingly unpalatable, warm water, rice vodka (of course I recognized that), strange looks and god almighty heat. The place looked like a café in Hollywood, completely out of place in the dirty streets and ramshackle shops. We entered, sweating and exhausted and I ordered 2 Café Sue Da and 3 bottles of ICE COLD water. They bought them out and I swallowed 2 coffees and 2 waters, Heidi did what all women do and slowly savored her cold bottle of water so that after I had greedily inhaled mine she was like the cat with the cream.

I paid the bill, the Vietnamese Coffee kicked in, and off we went. Walking through the gates of the pagoda was at first distressing, there was a fairly desolate look to the outside. People were repairing motos and preparing food when they spotted us and with a smile, pointed us toward the gates of the orphanage. Well, the kids had spotted us well before we had seen any of them. I’m sure in retrospect that they had sentries located around the perimeter… 

“SHHHHK Wall-E to Lord of the Flies, NPWGs (nice people with gifts) are approaching from the Northern Gate, please advise, over. SHHHHK”

“SHHHHK Roger Wall-E deploying attack party, please stand by for further orders SHHHHK”

“Attention all personnel, we have an NPWG breach on the Northern Gate, Hug team and Cute team deploy, this is NOT an exercise.”

“SHHHHK, Wall-E this is Lord of the Flies, Teams Hug and Cute have been deployed, ETA 3 seconds, what is your SITREP?”

“SHHHHK Roger LOF, NPWGs have reached the main gate, sighting Hug Team 5 and Cute Team 7 on route, engagement should occur within the gate area, over”

“SHHHHK Roger Wall-E, stand by”

BANG!

One of the (Attention again Guinness Book of Records people) cutest little girls in the Universe took a running jump and landed a 10 point finish into Heidi’s arms, it was faultless. I had atleast 3 kids attached to each leg, one had somehow reached my shoulders and one for each arm just for good measure. These kids were scared of nothing. It became a day of colouring-in, playing soccer, and children climbing all over you like K2.

A word of advice to people who have just been molested by the Inspiration Fairy: These kids have healthy, but still developing teeth and it costs these orphanages more than a blonde, green eyed chubby woman in Saudi to keep them white, shiny and continually attached to gums. Do not take candy. Fresh fruit is cheap, tastes just as good to them, and is much better for their growing bones, minds and teeth. Secondly, if you don’t want to cause a riot, buy toys they have to share. We bought soccer balls, badminton sets, da cau (badminton type featherballs they kick like hacky sack) and plenty, and I really mean plenty, of colouring paper and crayons. As a side note, be prepared to clean up the colouring paper as after about 30 minutes of colouring time it turns into the tear-it-up-and-throw-it-everywhere game. GO ON BILL GATES, KEEP UNDERLINING “COLOURING”, I’M NOT GOING TO STOP. *Right click, Add to dictionary*.

Here’s some pics, oh and if you’re keen on visiting, the website is http://www.orphaned.org:

I forgot to mention a very cool thing; It was night-time when we were heading to the Homestay on the river that Friday night when the boat driver stopped the motor and said to look up in the trees and be very quiet. It was pitch black and after about a minute or so they stopped freaking out from the sound of the boat motor and resumed doing their thing… thousands upon thousands of fireflys. It was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen, and then it became unbelievable. As the bugs began to glow again, after about 5 mins, they synchronised. I’m talking hundreds of thousands of them in the trees both sides of the river and as far each way as we could see, were flashing in complete synchronicity like Christmas tree lights. On further reading since our return, I have discovered this is a phenomenon known as Biological Synchronicity. I prefer to call it Freaking Awesomicity. Either way, I thought it was a story worth sharing.

So back to the present time, Saturday morning and breakfast at the Homestay was 7am sharp. I kissed Shorty good morning and wished her a happy Valentine’s and told her I’m taking her to breakfast in Vietnam for Valentines day. “WOW!” she said, “That’s a LOT of effort!”. “Ahhh, it’s nothing” I said. We opened the door, walked outside and sat at the breakfast table. Breakfast was of course, Pho Bo and fresh fruit. Perfect. Now as you may have noticed, I’m all for a good chat, but the trip back to Saigon is basically Chapter 14 in reverse so I won’t repeat myself. If you really need all the details, you could possibly read that chapter backwards then continue to the next paragraph. The rest of us will wait for you, off you go.

Hey! Welcome back, OK so we’re back in Saigon and have organized to meet our new friends David and Brenda at the Go2 Bar. It is Saturday night and tomorrow we will be preparing for the orphanage visit and packing for the next leg of the trek; Nha Trang. So, Go2 Bar, pretty much a staple for any backpacker in the Q1 backpacker area. It has good reviews and bad reviews throughout the internet, but my personal opinion of it is fantastic. It changes a lot but currently consists of 4 floors: Go2 Bar, Go2 Eat, Go2 Bed and Go2 BBQ. Eventually you get used to ignoring touts, and also get used to having enough money to cover the little kid touts with eyes like a cross between a puppy with a thorn in its foot and Bambi re-incarnated as a baby seal that you are about to club because a pirate-gangster-rapist-lawyer-terrorist is forcing you at gunpoint. Once you master these skills, sitting outside on the corner at the Go2 Bar is a very relaxing place.

We never went to Go2 Eat, although I’m told it becomes a nightclub later in the night. Go2 Bed is not a guesthouse. It is for, so they told us, “getting away from the noise” when you are trying to have a conversation with one of the many Vietnamese girls sitting by themselves downstairs at the bar after 9pm who happen to like sitting alone at a tourist bar talking with fat, old, sleazy western men. Go2 BBQ is the coolest. Two for one drinks and propane BBQs in the centre of each table. The menu is unreal, prices not even a middle-aged tourist from Kensington would complain about and the staff are awesome. There’s not much to tell about the rest of the night, except maybe that when we left I had to hold Shorty’s arm, when we got to our hotel I had to hold her arm around my neck, and when we got to the staircase I had to carry her. I have to give it to the little trooper, David and Brenda are a ~50 year old Irish couple who are no strangers to drinking sessions, and Shorty kept up drink for drink. Bless. 

Sunday was easy. We slept off a formidable hangover and decided that before we leave for Nha Trang, we need to send half our luggage home. Word of warning: If you plan on spending a month in South East Asia, don’t start in Bangkok. The Vietnamese postal system is extremely efficient, reasonably priced and safe. We sent off 8kg of stuff back to Australia and it arrived in perfect condition within a week. But seriously, talking about postage is somewhere in between playing scrabble at a Tool concert and reading National Geographic articles to a hot naked blonde. So here are some pics:

14th of February, it’s a date that nags me every year the day before it occurs which by my calculations is the 13th of February or thereabouts. I can never remember exactly what the occasion is and I go crazy trying to remember. Queensland vs. NSW State of Origin Rugby League match? Car due for a service? My birthday? A quick check of my Nokia calendar confirms it is none of these integral engagements, along with verification it is not Christmas or Steak and BJ day. An uncomfortable mixture of relief and curious anticipation erodes my concentration as I attempt in vain to decide which pairs of underpants in my backpack is the clean ones so I make the executive decision to go commando for the day, have the laundry done and Google “14th February”. So it’s the 45th day in the Gregorian calendar, Captain Cook got nailed by some Hawaiians, Valentine’s Day Massacre in Chicago, I got nothing. OH CRAP!!! I JUST REMEMBERED!!! I still had a Tiger Beer left in the mini-bar fridge!

Since we arrived I wanted to do a trip down the Mekong River, or travel through the delta at least and since we had until Monday before we were due at the orphanage, I decided to surprise Shorty with a romantic trip and overnight stay in a village on the Mekong Delta. I went down to reception and booked it and it just so happened that we had to leave in 30 minutes for the next one which is a 4 hour bus ride, then an all-day boat trip to three villages. Perfect. I ran back upstairs to tell Shorty the good news; this will be a perfect way to fix her hangover once I wake her up.

Well, the whole day was just awesome, the river delta system is simply breathtaking and we met our first Westerner friends along the way, a lovely Irish couple who although much older than us, thought we were the funniest thing since clown noses on backwards on a chicken. We eventually were shuffled onto small canoes and two by two were floated down a secluded stream through thick jungle to the coolest little village I have ever seen. The locals produce coconut candy, coconut and banana wine, and also rice vodka here, and you are treated to singing, dancing, drinking, eating and looking at three giant pigs reclining comfortably in their own food babies. Shorty and I quickly warmed to the eating and drinking part so once the carafe of complimentary wine was finished, and they had no cold 333, Tiger or Saigon beer left, we commandeered a bottle of coconut wine, and rice vodka. Drunkeness, and our particular brand of “Hi, we’re in ur village, drinkn ur booz”, ensued.

It’s a little blurry until dark when we arrive at our home stay, a typically traditional Vietnamese home on the Mekong just like the brochure said: rows of ruthlessly maintained resort-style villas, a small hut full of “Vietnamese family” and a table set far away from any Vietnamese where a German guy, a French couple, their daughter and a mute guy are already digging in to the food already. The “Vietnamese daughter” of the “family” pointed to the table and handed us a key to our room. The food was delicious, the “service” was, well, the rooms were just beautiful. And atleast we were in a real jungle.

Enough jibberjabber, here’s some pics: