Don't worry about it mate i'll get to you....at the moment I'm as busy as a one legged bloke in an arse kicking contest.

Passport - A Letter from an Aussie to His Government

Dear Mr Minister,

I'm in the process of renewing my passport, and still cannot believe this.  How is it that K-Mart has my address and telephone number, and knows that I bought a television set and golf clubs from them back in 1997, and yet the Federal Government is still asking me where I was born and on what date? For Christ sakes, do you guys do this by hand?

My birth date you have in my Medicare information, and it is on all the income tax forms I've filed for the past 40 years.

It is also on my driver's licence, on the last eight passports I've ever had, on all those stupid customs declaration forms I've had to fill out before being allowed off planes over the past 30 years.

It's also on all those insufferable census forms that I've filled out every 5 years since 1966.

Also... would somebody please take note, once and for all, that my mother's name is Audrey, my father's name is Jack, and I'd be absolutely bloody astounded if that ever changed between now and when I drop dead!

****! What do you people do with all this information we keep having to provide? 

I apologize, Mr Minister. But I'm really pissed off this morning. Between you and me, I've had enough of all this bullshit!

You send the application to my house, then you ask me for my bloody address!  What the hell is going on with your mob? Have you got a gang of mindless Neanderthals working there!

And another thing, look at my damn picture. Do I look like Bin Laden? I can't even grow a beard for God's sakes. I just want to go to New Zealand and see my new granddaughter. (Yes, my son interbred with a Kiwi girl). And would someone please tell me, why would you give a shit whether or not I plan on visiting a farm in the next 15 days? In the unlikely event I ever got the urge to do something weird to a sheep or a horse, believe you me, I'd sure as hell not want to tell anyone!

Well, I have to go now, 'cause I have to go to the other side of Sydney and get another bloody copy of my birth certificate - and to part with another $80 for the privilege of accessing MY OWN INFORMATION!

Would it be so complicated to have all the services in the same spot, to assist in the issuance of a new passport on the same day?

Nooooo…that'd be too bloody easy and makes far too much sense.

You would much prefer to have us running all over the bloody place like chickens with our heads cut off, and then having to find some 'high-society' idiot to confirm that it's really me in the goddamn photo! You know the photo... the one where we're not allowed to smile? You bloody morons.

Signed - An Irate Australian Citizen.

AUSTRALIAN LETTER - I think the sender might have been upset!

The above is an actual letter sent to the DFAT (Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade) Immigration Minister. The Government tried desperately to censure the author, but got nowhere because every legal person who read it couldn't stop laughing! 

The wise old turtle women

Every Sunday morning I ride the boundary fence line around the property.  There’s a lake located  near the aboriginal homestead on one corner of our property. Each time I ride by this lake, I see the same old woman sitting at the water’s edge with a small metal cage sitting beside her.

This past Sunday my curiosity got the better of me, so I stopped riding and walked over to her.  As I got closer, I realized that the metal cage was in fact, a small trap.  There were three turtles, unharmed, slowly walking around the base of the trap.  She had a fourth turtle in her lap that she was carefully scrubbing with a sponge type a brush.

“G'day,” I said.  “I see you here just about every Sunday morning.  If you don’t mind me asking, " I’d like to know what you’re doing with those turtles.”

She smiled.  “I’m cleaning off their shells,” she replied.  “Anything on a turtle’s shell, like algae or scum, reduces the turtle’s ability to absorb heat and makes it harder for it to swim.  It can also rot and weaken the shell over time.”

“Well!  That’s mighty good of you!” I exclaimed.

She went on: “I spend a couple of hours each Sunday morning, relaxing by this lake and helping them little fella's out.  It’s my own strange way of making a difference.”

“But don’t most freshwater turtles live their whole lives with algae and scum hanging from their shells?” I asked.

“Yes, sadly, they do,” she replied.

I scratched my head.  “Well then, don’t you think your time could be better spent?  I mean, I think your efforts are kind and all that, but there are fresh water turtles living in lakes all around the world.  And 99% of these turtles don’t have kind people like you to help them clean off their shells.  So, no offense… but how exactly are your localized efforts here truly making a difference?”

The old woman giggled aloud.  She then looked down at the turtle in her lap, scrubbed off the last piece of algae from its shell, and said, “Mate, if this little fella could talk, he’d tell you I just made all the difference in the world.”

The moral:  You can change the world – maybe not all at once, but one person, one animal, and one good deed at a time.  Wake up every morning and pretend like what you do makes a difference