Stephen says...

Oh, the other slight blow was that I only found out for sure that I didn't get the Top Gear TV gig a couple of days before getting sacked*.

I was actually given a screen test and interview, which means I made the final 20 in the country.

And for months they've been telling me I was still in the running and that I could potentially do both, the mag and the show.

Just gutting. Not a great week.

* Malibu says: I think 'sacked' is journo-speak for getting back-stabbed by a preschooler suffering hair-envy. Or talent envy. Take your pick.

Hey, Monty?

Message from the Corbster

Ha, you weren't expecting it. Imagine being me.

It's 3pm. A clear day. And out of that clear blue sky I'm invited to take a walk to HR (Heads Removed). I honestly thought I was going to sign some papers to do with leaving.

Then they mentioned two blog comments I'd made, something was said about "upstairs" and "not happy", and then there was a flash of silver and the feeling of cold steel in my back.

The executioner followed me back to my desk and had to stand there and watch me pack up, to make sure I didn't access the system - ie, write any kind of farewell on my blog - and then walked me out of the building, took my pass and, bizarrely, wished me all the best.

It was all surreal, and so cruel, nasty and unnecessary. I had 16 working hours left in that company, they probably could have let me work it out, and just taken the blog away. But. No.

The collection for my present was stopped and the farewell front page mockup torn up. Management called staff together and gave a speech indicating I was the devil and was probably going to burn in hell.

I can't go into details about the farewell drinks party last night, because it makes me feel ill. Still.

Shockin' photo, I know!

I've been searching for some funny/clever/unusual/bizarre car pics to put up here. But haven't found anything inspirational, so here's my lovely old Valiant.

Allegedly the longest coupe ever built in Oz. And it had the 318 Fireball, so revered by Chrysler-heads. Every time I see a Dodge Dart in an American movie, I get WAY too excited about it.

Damn, I loved this car.

It's gone! Forever! Should I sing Auld Lang Syne, or something???

So, I've just checked MOS to see if there was a final farewell, or a vicious blog, or something... and it's blank. No archives, no nothing. Someone with an agenda ripped it all offline before the body was cold (unlike when Anita Quigley left, though I see she's finally disappeared from the list of bloggers today. And who is Pops McDonald? And more importantly, WHY is Pops McDonald?).

Oh well. Hope the Corbster is getting drunk as we speak. I hope the magazine hits the stands when it's due. And I hope it kicks butt.

I've been on every news site I can find that's had a report announcing the Australian Top Gear show hosts, commenting with something like 'yeah, I'll watch it and give it a chance, but what I'm really hanging out for is the new Aussie Top Gear magazine'. Someone did once promise me a position as circulation manager. Ha.

Watch the countdown, boys & girls. I will do my dutiful, um, duty as the self-appointed MOS-reunion-organiser, and try my best to keep you updated as to the progress of Top Gear mag.

"So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye
I leave and heave a sigh and say goodbye -- Goodbye." (To MOS anyway... the rest of ya ain't getting rid of me that easily.)

For your entertainment, I present...

... a post that has nothing to do with me.

I found this while I was trawling through the MOS archives earlier. And I thought it was interesting, considering where the Corbster is going, and the fact that he wrote it nearly 2 years ago. Maybe those who haven't been hanging around MOS since day 1 haven't seen it yet.

http://blogs.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/mos/index.php/dailytelegraph/comments/getting_into_top_gear1/

(Oh, dear. I've used 'I' 3 times already. My insincere apologies to the blue one, who is convinced that I'm some sort of anarchic literary terrorist, plotting to overtake the world of male blogging. Yawn.)

Beyond cute. Try utterly gorgeously cute.

Look. I have to be honest. This baby could belong to the local drug-dealer, and I'd still swoon.

Those eyes. Those eyelashes. Those cute cheeks, just begging for raspberries to be blown on them to make him giggle. He is just gorgeous, and will be a heart-breaker come pre-school, believe me. (Yes, it starts that young these days.)

If he doesn't win the Bonds thing, then it's rigged.

(I have a WHOLE lot more to say about the baby beauty pageant thing, but I'll save it for the blog.)

I want one!

Does anyone else...

... find it ironic that the oestrogen outweighs the testosterone here? (I know, Benny, it's because everyone hates me because I'm a nasty bitch & I take the bait & I'm superior & I'm self-opiniated &... yawn. Sorry, lost track of all my faults.)

And when, oh when, OH WHEN, is the official announcement of the new job? The suspense is killing his fans, are you listening, people-in-charge-of-Corby's-new-job? You should really take advantage of the enthusiasm. Don't wait for the casual readers to get bored & forget about him. Don't rely on us fanatics. Strike while the iron's hot, people-in-charge-of-Corby's-new-job.

At this rate, I'm going to be bloody 40 before it's announced! (Not that that has anything to do with anything, but it was the best I could do. Look, it's late, alright? I had a bad night last night, had nightmares about MYOB & tax & BAS, and may my boss's accountant go to South America soon and bloody well stay there. And could he please take my ex with him? That's not too much to ask, is it? Oh, hang on, this isn't my blog, this is the MOS-missers blog... right, forget all about that, just insert sounds of silence here.)

Eeeeew!

Not too fussed with the white print on dark background...

Benny, I had to do this under my pseudonym, because you have to use a current email address & I'm already registered here, it won't let me change my name for a different blog. Just getting in first before you have a hissy fit that my name comes up on the right-hand side. Okily-dokily?

So, here we are...

Thought I'd start off with something familiar, so you know you're in the right place!

Um. Well. Yep. Insert tuneless whistling here. Does anyone else hear crickets???

What's the verdict on the background? It's the blokiest one I could find. There's brazillions of girly ones (my personal blog has a pinkish abstract-butterfly thing going on), but the blokey ones are few & far between.

Happy Mothers Day to Ike (if she's still reading), Anon and ddeebb (I think you both are mums... not 100% sure, now that I think about it), and any other regulars I've forgotten. And Mrs MOS of course, and Mother-of-MOS too. And to me. (Note to self: teach Grace to stir the coffee before next May, so I don't have a mug of unsweetened coffee followed by a coffee-flavoured-syrup shot at the last mouthful.)