In the still of the night, I could hear the irregular beat of the crowbar tapping on the concrete. Ever since I had moved into the now abode, there had been the distant sound of tunk, tunk, tunk.

At first I thought it was some part of the new construction next door. A cast iron door, like those you would find on a letter box, left swinging in the wind. But it had now been well over a month, the construction completed, but still this sound, tunk, tunk, tunk called out in the night. Not man nor beast could be responsible for such a noise. It was carried in the cold night air, sent to destroy any hope I had of an night of sleep. So much hurtful was the sound, that I feared ever having someone else share my room, for the very thought of the sound of the night keeping them a,way, and driving them into the depths of insanity, or at least down the road to a hotel.

Tunk, tunk, tunk, it called out. But not every night, and not for any reason. For the life of me I could not find this sound, but instead took a small comfort in its origins being that of a headless construction worker, using his crow bar in the night, to try to find under which slab of concrete his head had been buried, so that his body could unite it as one again. It may have been creepy to think of such a thing, but it gave me resolution.

But still, the noise of the night continued at will, as though sent to taunt me from my very bed, where on a nightly basis I form my intentions to enter into the land of tiredness, and drift away into a wonderment of dream and relaxation. No instead tunk, tunk tunk, would prevent me.

Now I may appear misleading in my description of this noise. It was but faint, but audible. It was but not always tunk thrice, but often tunketh but once, or tunking for a period longer than that of a Justin Bieber concert. Oh how I would have preferred the horrors of Baby, Baby over tunky, tunky a thousand times over. But alas, such a drawn out hell would not give me the benefit of it’s ways.

Tonight, as I returned from yet another night of duties in a place of employment, the noise of the night had returned. Tonight, I would end this horror of horrors for the final time, enough is enough is enough, I breach copyright if I go on, I can’t go on. With torch in hand I wandered out into the night to find the noise. It took me around fifteen minutes of searching, but there it was, in all it’s glory, right before my eyes stood a magnificent sample of a fine thoroughbred horse.  It’s mane billowing in the slight breeze, it’s chestnut coat shining in the dim light of the torch. A more fine example of an equus I had never seen. But still, this fine beast could no longer keep me from my slumber. With one swift movement of my hand, I unhooked the damn plaster cast from the nail in the brickwork, put it on the ledge and came inside.

Now, can I get some bloody sleep for once please, and don’t say neigh.

A few years ago, us cows walked away from the television set. No we didn’t upgrade to some now wangfangled digital aged wonder, we just simply stopped watching for watching sake.

Now don’t get us wrong, this is not an anti television rant, we simply moved on. The days of sitting down to watch whatever was on are gone. Now, if we happen to pass a television and something takes our interest, we’ll watch it, but there is no going through the television form guide to pick out a winner.

These days, thanks to social media, we can see if a show will take our interest. We watch a few clips on the net, maybe even download an episode or two, and if the interest is there, we buy the series on DVD.

What this has meant is noticing of a lot more hours in the day that need to be filled. That can be a dilemma at times, but it also means we are free to do things as they come up, with out worrying about missing our favourite show. While that may sound dire to some people, it’s a nice feeling not being shackled to a screen in the corner of the room.

Now sure it means we have missed out on a lot of news of things that have happened out there in the world, but you know, we’re sill chewing crud in the paddock, so who really cares. No news is good news as they say, and we’ve never felt gooder*.

So why not try it for a month, switch off the box, and just walk away, and see what you’re really missing out on. We bet you wont miss a thing, or at least not get cranky at the commercials being so much louder than the programme.

*Cows are permitted to use the word gooder, because it rhymes with fodder.

There is no situation that can not be improved by boobies. To celebrate Monday, here are some boobies for you. If you can think of any more, please add them to the list.

• ( . )( . ) Boobies
• (  .  ) (  .  ) Big boobies.
• (.)(.) Little boobies.
• ( o )( o ) Big nipples.
• (( . ))(( . )) Fake Boobies.
• { . }{ . } Bad faked boobies.
• ( ^ )( ^ ) Perky nipples.
• [ . ][ . ] Tissue Box Boobies
• ( $ )( $ ) Stripper Boobies.
• | – | | – | Robot Boobies
• ( @ )( @ ) Tasselled boobies.
• ( * )( * ) Perky Kissed Boobies.
• ( . )( , ) Pierced Boobies.
• ( x ) ( x ) Porn Boobies.
• ( . )( . )( . ) Martian Boobies
• ( ? )( ? ) Where are my boobies?
• ( : ) ( . ) Supernumerary nipple boobies.
• ( vv )( vv ) Vampire teeth boobies
• ( i )( i ) Apple iBoobies.

One fine winter’s morning, as the sun shone down just bright enough to warm your day, but not hot enough for you to notice the melanoma that was forming on your face, three friends set out to find the elusive grand wizard, Andy B.

There was Boobs the green hippo, a funny sort of fellow with a penchant for farting at inappropriate times, like when in a elevator, or 6000m down under the sea in a diving bell

Explosions the green zebra, who is known for his farting, and is in no way a direct rip off of “Donkey” from the Shrek series, who we all know was really just Bambi on crack, played by Eddie Murphy snorting speed off the belly of Naomi Campbell.

Finally there was Chips the green seagull who during the opening few paragraphs, while waiting for his character description was caught up in an old discarded fishing line, and choked to death, his still warm remains torn to shreds by private school students out on an environmental studies excursion.

With much vigour and salt & vinegar chips they could carry, our three friends, errr, two friends set off across the wide open plains that would one day form the car park of the Chadstone shopping centre. As they disappeared off into the distance, Mish arrived all but too late, and instead went back to her own blog to finally do a post her readers have been waiting months to see.

As Boobs and Explosions trundled along through the forest, they sung a little song to keep themselves happy:

La di da da da,

We’re travelling so far.

La di da da da,

To find the Andy B

La di da da da,

Look out for the skidding car.

La di da da da,

Bugger it just hit me!

Lucky for Explosions, the car hit Boobs, which is strange, because everybody likes Boobs. With nothing more than a bruised ego, and a large compensation payout the two friends set off again on their adventure.

Suddenly they were surrounded by a gang of blind thugs. Boobs and Explosions could tell they were blind, because the assailants kept pointing their white canes at them.

“We’re going to beat the crap out of you” said the gang leader.

“Oh no!” wailed Boobs and Explosions, “please don’t hurt us, you have to give us a chance!”

The gang leader threw them a die and said “Ok, we’ll give you a chance. If you roll a one, a two, a three, a four, or a five, we’re going to beat the crap out of you.”

“And what if we roll a six?” Asked Boobs tentatively.

“You get to roll again.” Came the reply.

At this point Explosions saved the day by farting a fart so smelly it knocked out the gang, and our two friends could continue along their way.

After a musical montage that was too creative and spectacular to put into mere words on this page, Boobs and Explosions finally made their way to the land of Spatula, where they seeked out Andy B.

“Oh great Andy B, he who is all knowing, and who lights they way in a way only Brenda Peerce wish she could. Please oh wise one, please tell us the secret of life.”

Andy B leaned forward, and whispered to our two adventurers who had experienced the journey of a life time, as only a green hippo and a green zebra (let’s all just forget about the seagull, that character was poorly developed) could experience, “The secret of life is to always read Crap Joke Tuesday”.

The two friends nodded a knowing nod, and together as one, ate every last piece of Andy B. It was the worst meal they had ever eaten, but they knew they had done the world a favour.

Hi Readers, if there are any of you left out there. After all, no cow has put hoof to keyboard recently, so you might all be off looking at soy options.

Well it all comes down to a bit of writers block, and everything we try to write sounding even more cow pat than the stuff we usually write here. So here’s the idea. First three comments on this blog entry will be turned into a story. Ok, go!

Maddy Cow has been at it again, here’s the story of another on of her adventures from last night.

I was doing my weekly feel around just now. As a cancer survivor each week I have a feel around my breasts, under arms, neck, and other bits. It’s something everyone should do, as a way of checking for things that shouldn’t be there.

Tonight was going along like any other night, Barry White was playing on the record player, the room was candle lit, I was laying on a bear skin rug, with chestnuts roasting on the fire. Ok, none of those things happened, but I’m allowed to imagine. Anyway, I was feeling around, and under my left arm I felt a lump.

Ok, sure my world just fell apart, but calm down, count to ten. No do it again, and this time take more than a nano second to do it. Ok, again and this time more than a millisecond to do it. Have a feel around, and see if it is a lump.

Ok, other side checked, back to the left arm pit, yep it’s a lump. Oh no. Is it a lump? Yes, it is a lump, I can feel it under the underarm hairs, must shave those, but not much point if there is a lump there. Oh great, Chemo City here I come.

I look down, maybe the lump isn’t as big as the pea size I am feeling. Sure as soon as I look at it, it will jump up and bite my face off, sucking on my eye balls like peanut M&M’s.

I looked, and there it was…, the lump…, the lump of head hair rolled up in a ball that somehow got lodged in my underarm. Ha!

And people have the gall to call me a hypochondriac.

Recently blog posts here have been on the loooooong side. So we are going to correct that now.

Personal assistants to Administrators should be called “ADMINIONS”

Forges is closing, and with it goes the heart and soul of Footscay.

I grew up in Footscay, and it was always a great place. So vibrant, full of energy, a meeting place for locals, that had everything you could need. Now the place is becoming a seedy ghost town, and is one stop off becoming a no go zone. So why the harsh words? Well for the reason to that, we have to go back a few years.

Footscray use to have a Coles New World. For those of you old enough to remember a world with out personal computers, or microwave popcorn, CNW, was like no other store. You name it, you could get it there, as well a yummy meal, with free jelly, for under a dollar. It was like an ikea store, except it had stuff you wanted, and you didn’t need to work your way through a maze, defeat the dragon and save the princess before you left. But then Coles New World closed.

The reason for the closure was to build a new store, a bigger store, one that was a Kmart, a Coles, speciality shops, corporate area, and multilevel car park. Across the road, on the former CNW site, City West was created, more shopping space, filled with absolutely nothing. To this day many of the shops have never been leased, but I am getting ahead of myself.

Naturally while all of this building was going on, people had to shop somewhere, and that somewhere was the shiny new, big, and wonderful experience that was Highpoint West Shopping Centre. From then on, people stayed away in droves. Footscray started to become a ghost town, shops were closing, because with no one shopping, shop owners couldn’t afford the rent, and things kept spiralling down.

Around this time, many new migrants, mainly from Vietnam began setting up shop in Footscray, and once again, the place became vibrant. While the socio-economic structure had changed, there was at least business being done in Footscray. Then the council merge happened.

Footscray as a municipality disappeared, and we were presented with new boundaries that formed the City of Maribrynong. In this new city, Highpoint City Shopping Centre (As it was now known) became part of the new city, and with it, the rates income came to council. With the wonderful new big cash cow in the city, what need was there to keep Footscray alive? After all, we were in a new era, the City of Maribrynong era, Footscray was no longer the city, nor the football team (They became the Western Bulldogs), it was time to move forward, Maribrynong forever!

So for a while, Footscray suffered a slow painful death. At the time, many new migrants were attracted to the area, and Footscray became vibrant again, but in a different way to the past. It became a hussling and bustling hub for a community, but it’s diversification also attracted the scum of society and the junkies moved in. Footscray became a place you only went to if you knew you could hold onto your purse with all might, and don’t go there at night.

Then as things change (yet again), there was an increase of student activity in the area, as Footscray still served as a public transport hub. With new housing going up in the Maribyrong area, the tram connection to Footscray station saw more people in Footscray. While they were not attracted to the place as such, they had to go through there. So the council made an effort to tart the place up a bit, and it worked. People started coming back to Footscray, and the vibe of the place changed again. Now there was an issue of too many people in Footscray, so step up the council policing of everything under the sun, to the point where it has become a hell hole again.

So now we get to Forges of Footscray. The store that has seen more changes in Footscray than hot meals it has served. Forges is Footscray, and is the place that has kept the hub going for many years. But for no more. The large expanse of land the Forges store(s) are on has been sold off, and no doubt will become high rise housing. With the closing of Forges, I no longer have a need to go to Footscray, and as such, will be one of many that will stay away.

Actually I tell a lie there, I will get off the train occasionally to get a doughnut from the caravan at the station, but with the new regional train line development taking place at Footscray station, I wonder for how much longer this will last.