Writing Angles: Fictional Eulogy of an Abattoir worker

As an assignment for uni this year I had to write a eulogy for a fictional character. Here's what I come up with. The story and characters are totally fictional, although some research was done into the mental impact of working in an abattoir.

I think everybody thinks their Dad, is the best dad in the world; I’m much the same, with one small difference. I don’t think mine is, I know it. Dad sacrificed so much and so willingly that for most of my childhood I took it for granted. Despised him for it sometimes, but that’s the kind of man my dad was. He never wanted recognition, never wanted anyone else to feel like they were a burden. I guess my dad was a bit like a superhero in that way.

Dad would probably be a bit embarrassed on a day like today. He wouldn’t think it was worth the fuss. I remember on his 60^th birthday, we threw him a huge party. All his favourite foods, his family, his friends, everyone was having a great time. Halfway through the night I realised I hadn’t seen my dad in hours. I went looking for him, he was outside, giving helium balloons to the kids and watching them float away. I asked him why he wasn’t inside enjoying his party, after all it was all for him, he said “oh that’s a bit much for me, but I’m having fun out here, and I am glad you are all having fun”.

Many of you won’t know this, but until my mum fell pregnant with me, dad was an aspiring writer and a vegetarian, something that his father wasn’t too pleased with. According to my mum, when dad told Granddad that he wanted to be an author Granddad said “you want to tell stories, I’ll tell you a story, once upon a time your father worked day and night to put you through school and he’d be damned if he’s going to let you waste it by trying to write silly books”. In many ways I think that shaped the kind of father my dad tried to be, maybe even the kind of man my dad tried to be.

Mum said that not long after that she found out she was pregnant. Dad, wanting to provide found a job working at the abattoir. At first he had planned to keep writing, this was just one of my dad’s many plans that got put aside for other people. I think maybe my dad was so hurt by my grandfather that he went out of his way to make sure I never felt like I owed him anything. To make sure I never felt like he was sacrificing anything for me.

I try to picture it, my dad working at that place in the early days and it still doesn’t fit. I only ever saw my dad’s work once. When my Aunt died and we picked him up from work, he told me that it was the shop that farmers bought their animals from. He let me feed his ‘favourite’, a lamb he named Snowflake. He was so gentle, so convincing. I remember for weeks I’d ask if we could keep Snowflake, if I could come visit. I had no idea. I still think about how hard that must have been for him.

I remember the first time I saw dad cry.  One afternoon I was sitting on the couch, eating a bowl of ice-cream whilst watching ‘The Looney Toons’. Dad was sitting on the couch beside me, I turned to him and said “isn’t that funny dad?”, and he burst into tears. I had no idea what was going on. I only recently found out that dad was one of the many workers who battled severe depression as a result of the harsh reality of his job. 

I asked my mum a year ago, what dad was like before all this, back when he was a vegetarian and a writer. She smiled, paused, her eyes lit up the way a 13 year-olds would when you mention the name of their first crush. She told me how my father and her had met when they were 15, how it felt like a life-time ago that he had asked her out on a date and she had said no. She said “he just smiled at me and said, not a date then, we’ll just see a movie together, it will be fun”. She told me she spent the whole night waiting for my dad to turn it into a date, and instead when he walked her home he just thanked her for the wonderful night. They kept having “non-dates” together until eventually she couldn’t resist. That was one of the many wonderful things about my dad. He had an uncanny ability to enjoy things as they were, as if what he wanted never really mattered.

I processed what my mum had told me and thought about my dad’s dreams. Thought about the sort of person he was and is, and I remembered the man who sat on the couch crying uncontrollably at seemingly nothing and it all led me to one conclusion. I had ruined my dad’s life. If it wasn’t for me, he’d have pursued writing, never even ate an animal himself let alone work in that horrible place. When I found out dad was sick I got up the courage and I asked him “Dad, do you think I ruined your life?”

Before I tell you what he said I should tell you this. After my dad was diagnosed with depression he spent some time unemployed. He was 33, without skills that translated to another area of business. At the time I was 15, the same age my dad was when he met my mother. I was in love for the first time, and I really wanted a pair of Nike Air max shoes, for $140. Obviously with my dad not working that wasn’t possible, in fact even if he was it wouldn’t have been, but I digress. At 15, I thought these ridiculously expensive shoes were going to help me win over the girl of my dreams. My dad told me that we couldn’t afford them, and I threw a tantrum. In the heat of the argument I said “Dad you’re ruining my life, why can’t you just work like everyone else’s dad”. Even then he didn’t argue, he didn’t yell, he didn’t tell me that the reason he didn’t work was because he took a job he was never made to do, to try and support me. He just looked at me and said calmly “you don’t mean that” and I replied “O.k. you’re not ruining my life, but you’re making it very hard”.

So there we were, dad and I. Dad, having recently been told he is terminally ill, he was old, he was frail, he was dying and his life never got close to what he’d hoped for, and now, his son, his only child had asked him whether having a child ruined his life. My dad lets out a long sigh, he looked me in the eye and said “Michael, you didn’t ruin my life”. He reached out and put his hand on my leg. Still holding my gaze, he smiled and said “but you made it very hard”. We laughed, and then we cried, and then we sat there, not saying anything, his hand on my leg and I realised, like always that was more for me than it was for him. That was his way, of letting me know, that whatever happened, he was ok with, so that I didn’t have to carry that guilt.

As I was going through some of dad’s things after he passed, I found a little leather bound notebook. It seems he’d taken to writing again in some way. It was an autobiography of sorts. The book was full of these rich descriptions of his struggle. His story told of how despite working there for over 10 years it never got easier. He never felt ok about what he was doing. There was the story of Snowflake, and how for weeks after my visit he’d go and feed snowflake cloves, talk to her and cry.

Reading my dad’s story I felt this whirling of emotion. It was full of all the nuances that made him such a great man. His story was filled with his humble honesty, a willingness to do what was needed, and a surprisingly gentle sensitivity. I never wanted to get to the end of this little notebook. I felt that as long as I was reading it I was still connected to him, still in conversation with him. I was learning about my dad as a man and not as a dad. I had a sneaky and illogical hope that his story would turn. That somewhere, somehow, against all odds I would read that he did write a novel and did get it published, that it was just another side of him that I never noticed. When I remembered that I actually knew this story and knew how it ended, I was heartbroken. I felt like my dad had got an unfair deal. He asked for nothing, he worked hard, he looked after his family, he always looked on the bright side of life and he hadn’t been rewarded with riches. Just when I started to be weighed down with these thoughts, I reached the end of his book and he had left me one last gift. It was as if, like always, dad had again wanted to make sure I didn’t feel bad on his behalf, so he wrote:

 “As most lie in bed, waiting for sleep, it’s natural to wonder if we’ve made the most of our waking hours. If there was something we could have done differently, something we could have done better. I tell you now there is nothing I would have changed. I only need to look at my wife, my son Michael, and I know that I have tasted the sweetest success. In my own way, I have given more to the world through them than I have given in any other way. Their love is worth the love of thousands and their happiness, my greatest reward. When I wanted to be a writer I would often say, “If I could help just one person with my stories, inspire them, touch them, what an amazing achievement that would be”. I look at Michael and I know I have inspired, taught and raised a man; his story is the greatest I have ever created and nothing else can compare to that”.

Dad, I love you, I love you for the man you were and the man you have helped me to become. I was going to say I can only hope to be the sort of man that makes you proud, but I know that you’ve done such a good job at setting an example and raising me that I don’t need to hope. Dad, I will miss you every day and I just want you to know that your death hasn’t ruined my life; but it has made it very hard. 

People dropping C-Bombs on T.V

Do you know what, I find people dropping the C-bomb on T.V. hilarious, a lot of people will call me immature for that, but that's o.k. because I think you're a bunch of c... I can't say that, or maybe I can these guys certainly did. Here's the best C-slips I've seen.

Gerard Healy - The Gold Coast Suns it's a c-slip waiting to happen

Tax Cuts-  Perhaps this is the most fitting C-Slip you will ever see. This guy doesn't even flinch, what a bad cut.

Bucketloads - The most beautiful expression was born out of this c-slip, incidentally"Bucketload of Cunts" sounds less like a weather report and more like the lyrical description of bogan nightclub.

The tax man get's it again this time with the less official title of the "spending cunts"... Spending cunts that's what we should call women am I right lads, I'm not right, I'm not right at all, and there are no lads.

   The all new and deadly war transport the Helicunts

And we all love when Government officials meet to raise the amount of cunt in a country

It's obviously a big problem when people can't get in or out of the cunt

Here's a cunt saying cunt on T.V it's rather meta really.

Here's a cunt being called a cunt on T.V

And finally I will leave you with one of Britan's big 6 cunt's finally making the news

I think what all these people needed, was a little bit of cunt control

Thank you and goodnight.

An Open Letter to Internet Racists.

Dear Racist Fucks,

                           Let me start off by saying I mean no offence by the opening, it’s just my understanding that the collective noun for racists is fucks. This is intended to be a peaceful letter, so I hope I haven’t gotten off on the wrong foot.

Recently on Facebook, I saw a post by one of your fellow fucks. The picture was that of a war ship firing it’s cannons with the text “what asylum seekers?” I posted a response saying that I found the picture disgusting and was informed by a different fuck that the post was in fact “a joke”. Upon revisiting the picture with this new information I realized how silly I’d been to take offense in the first place. This is clearly a funny joke; it’s a boat, allegedly blowing up people for being desperate and daring to dream that they could have a life that didn’t involve the constant threat of persecution. It’s hilarious, as a sometime stand-up comedian I couldn’t write a joke as hilarious as blowing up a boat full of innocent people for simply wanting the quality of life I was born with. I can see some of the more politically correct of you looking uncomfortable, but you guys just need to lighten up.

I was then able to witness what I assume was an educational seminar on why I too should be a racist. I learnt that racism has a high correlation with poor spelling and grammar, and thought perhaps racists wanted foreigners to “learn English” so that they could then teach them or at the very least lift our literacy rates to compensate for the fucks.

I learnt that you could say things like “I’m not racist but asylum seekers will ruin this country” to which I say, “this is not an insult but you’re a dickhead”.

I also learnt other things. For example, apparently asylum seekers are potential terrorists. I thought, what with up to 90% of security checks on asylum seekers finding them to be legitimate refuges that it was unlikely, but it seems not. Because, of course, a criminal mastermind at a terrorist organization is going to send a key player in his evil plan on the mode of transport that is a) the longest b) the most dangerous and c) the one that ensures his evil doer will undergo the most background checks upon arrival. After all he is an evil mastermind and he likes a challenge.

Secondly, I learnt that “these people pay thousands of dollars to come here illegally”. I didn’t know that racists underwent financial background checks to find out how much asylum seekers were paying. I stupidly thought that any fee paid would have been out of desperation, but apparently not. Apparently these people are rich and that is why they pack up everything they have to travel crammed into a rickety boat to leave behind the life that made them rich, because honestly, who wouldn’t want to risk life and limb to be treated like a criminal, it’s the dream right?

Thirdly, “these people hate this country” which surprised me considering they allegedly spent thousands of dollars to get here. But apparently it’s true; people pay thousands of dollars to leave a financially rewarding and safe life to travel on a rickety boat across dangerous seas to a country they hate. Does that sound like the sort of person you want living in our country?

One lady said “we take these people in but then we keep our criminals in jail it’s disgusting” which was another learning experience for me. You see, I was mistakenly under the impression we locked our criminals up so that they couldn’t commit crimes against us, or for some kind of educational tool or as a deterrent but apparently not. Apparently it’s a space issue, which doesn’t make all too much sense, but there you go.

A lot of your fellow fucks were religious which puzzled me, as I thought religion preached acceptance and love. As someone who is not religious, I have not read the bible and that is obviously where I was mistaken. Apparently the bible has “thou shall not kill”, and “thou must love thy neighbour” with the caveat that if thy neighbor is a foreigner then thou shall ignore the first two and blow thy neighbour up. Obviously this was confusing, because that would mean god created foreigners simply to be blown up by white people, which I thought would make god a bit of a sadistic douche, but apparently he did, and it doesn’t make him a douche, so more learning.

I learnt that all foreign women wear the Burqa, which seemed like it would be statistically unlikely, but there you go. I learnt that the Burqa was a potential threat because a woman wearing a Burqa could potentially commit crimes. Even though that is something that has never happened ever, I appreciated the concern for our safety and understand the right to be proactive. Just because something hasn’t been used to commit a crime yet doesn’t mean we shouldn’t prevent it happening in the future. I say, why stop at the Burqa though? Our safety is the most important thing in the world. Why not be more proactive and take greater measures to prevent crimes. That is why I propose that we outlaw hands. Hands are a danger to us all. Hands can be used to hold guns, detonate bombs, and touch people funny against their will. In fact I’d say every crime ever in the history of the world was committed with the use of hands. Hands can make potentially offensive gestures. Hands are a terrible hazard and should be outlawed immediately for our safety.

I have now realized the error of my ways and how silly I was for thinking that all people were equal and deserved the opportunities I was lucky enough to be born with. What a chump I was. I’m so glad you guys have taught me.

Thank you

Regards

Your new fellow fuck. 

Take a Look at Me Now

I’d like to think somewhere in the world Paris Hilton was watching ‘Being Lara Bingle’ last night thinking ‘you mean I only had to have a topless photo leaked to get my own show… I sucked cock for fuck sake and this bitch didn’t even show a nipple’

Sadly I am just young enough to remember a time when being famous was a by-product of some other talent… it required something other than being vapid, self-indulgent and having no self-respect or care for your own reputation or privacy.

I’d love to be able to say that the Lara Bingle’s and Kim Kardashian’s of the world are the exception to the rule but unfortunately I can’t. If you have ever been to a pop concert (and if you have a girlfriend and you haven’t I envy you) you’d know that there is an increasing amount of girls who are in such hysterics to go to the concert that they forget to get dressed and end up leaving the house in their bra and underwear.

It did however strike me by surprise when one of these young ladies yelled “what are you looking at you pervert?” at a guy standing next her… I thought this is rather awkward, she doesn’t realize she is standing in public in her bra and knickers, someone get this girl a coat and fix this whole mess up.

She then said “What, a girl can’t go out without having some perve staring at her tits…”

I’m sorry what? You mean you left the house like that because you didn’t want people looking at you? I can see how hard you’ve tried to avoid attention there. How dare he look at the body you’ve so clearly tried to cover up, I don’t know why he’d do such a thing.

It’s the same across every bar and nightclub in every city, people whose good idea of a good time is paying $10 bucks for a drink and taking a million photos to post on Facebook, just to show you what a good night out they had... taking photos, to put on Facebook.

And it doesn’t end there, reality T.V is built upon people who desperately want to be famous. Masterchef is full of people who claim their life long dream and passion is to be a chef. They wanted it so bad that they spent there time working in industries with no relationship to cooking at all. Wishing there was a way they could break into the cut throat hospitality industry, some kind of apprenticeship or something. Unfortunately, the closest thing available is a Bachelor of Subway Sandwich Arts.

In reality a show like Masterchef isn’t about cooking, it’s about being famous. A show full of people who want to be on T.V and fancy themselves as an alright chef.  It’s not just T.V though, people are always exploiting these kinds of things in the real world too.

I work at an office where one dude regularly makes and brings in cakes for the office to have… Now I know what you’re thinking “Anthony that sounds like a lovely thing how could you be mad about that?”

I’ll tell you why, because like a B grade, real world Masterchef contestant, he doesn’t just leave the cake and leave you alone, he watches you eat it, and then he wants you to validate his existence by saying “mmm yum” and then everyone in the office wants to talk about what a nice guy he is.

He’s not a nice guy; he’s a show off… A show off who wants to hear you say nice things about him. A show off who thinks he has the right to decide when you want to eat cake.

‘The Biggest Loser’ is just another example of this, fat people who discovered the secret to losing weight was to be publically humiliated on national television. Huzzah…

Again, if you have ever had someone at your workplace lose weight you’ll know that no camera is required for someone to put their face in your life and not leave till you say “wow you’re looking good have you lost weight?”

The chance to be on T.V has been bringing out the idiot in humanity long before reality T.V even existed. If you’ve ever watched any kind of live broadcast there is always the guy who makes his way to where the camera is to make a hilarious face or wave. I’m sure he then messages everybody he has ever know and says “you know how I’m a useless know, well now you can see me being a useless knob on T.V for a split second”

Just once I’d like to see one of the people who fight their way to be on camera say something of meaning and value like ‘The resources of the planet are finite please take care of the planet” or even “don’t talk to strangers”  or a simple “wear a condom” instead of “hi mum, look at me I’m a fuckwit on T.V”.

Reality T.V doesn’t turn people into idiots and fuckwits, it just rewards them for being the idiots and fuckwits they already are. If you want to know the true value of a person’s integrity, put a camera on them. 

Thank You Metro

Dear Metro,

                        I am writing this letter to thank you. Your actions forced me to look at the person I was, I didn’t like what I found and so I guess you can say you have made me a better person.

It all started a couple of months ago. In a tired rush I forgot to validate the ticket I had purchased. Luckily your friendly and understanding ticket inspectors pulled me up. With their kind and condescending attitude and their smiley faces they taught me a valuable life lesson. They only charged me the reasonable fee of $176.00 for this lesson.

At first I was surprised, as your inspectors had taught a girl in front of me the same lesson for free. Once more your gracious employees were happy to explain to me that she was shown these privileges because she had breasts. It made sense, I mean people talk of sexism and discrimination but I think these people are completely disrespectful to breasts. Breasts are good and the owners of breasts should be treated as better people, because lets face it, they have nice breasts. 

I was ashamed of myself for making a simple error, how could I do such a wicked thing? Especially when Metro make it so easy to purchase a ticket. I mean 1 in every 38 stations is manned for your convenience. Unmanned stations have amazing machines, which take 1 in every 10 notes, and if you are unlucky and your note is not accepted, then 1 in every 12 times your bank card will work. It’s like a fun game of chance really. Of course you can always play it safe and pay by coin, but make sure they are gold because the machines only accept a certain amount of coins per transaction (because we wouldn’t want a coin machine filled with coins now would we?)

I then realised perhaps I am not paying for the train ride itself but for the life experience that is riding a train. You see, you not only do a fine job in teaching people lessons on life for $176.00 and making tickets easy to acquire but you also do an outstanding job at making sure a train ride is a pleasant, entertaining and enlightening journey.

I witnessed a fight between a middle aged bogan couple. At first I was ambivalent to it and did not pay it much attention as I felt it was simply a modern mash up of Big Brother and Home and Away. Then I heard the man call his wife / girlfriend a “fucking slapper cunt”. I reveled in the charm of their argument, understanding that nowhere else would I experience such raw eloquence.

Yesterday I saw a man trying to hide in a corner whilst he urinated into an empty bottle. It may sound like an unpleasant experience but I assure you it is one that everyone should have. I watched intensely at his human struggle as he tried to ensure that his penis did not slip out of the bottle as the train moved, his determination was inspiring.

I saw a girl no older than 14 being fingered in a similar corner. I was ecstatic for the opportunity. Anywhere else in the world I would have been arrested for watching child pornography. Who knew Metro was the secret hot bed of kiddie porn? I thank you for this.

Also it was on the train that I learnt that despite headphones being a device to listen to music personally, proper etiquette is to in-fact turn that music up so loud that the rest of the train can hear. You have to share, it would be rude otherwise. If it was not for this lesson I would still be walking around with my music at a level that I can enjoy and that does not annoy others like a selfish asshole.

So I thank you Metro for giving me a place to enjoy child porn, watch bogans yell profanities and watch a man piss into a bottle. Most of all, I thank you for helping me to become a better person, if not for you I’d still think that making honest mistakes was an ok thing to do and I’d still think headphones were for me alone to listen to my music.

Regards

Anthony

My Reply to Bubble O'Bob

Dear Bubble O’Bob,

Thanks for your reply, I can’t help but noticing you never actually said no to me, perhaps you need more convincing on why we are meant to be together?

I have spent almost my whole paycheck on Bubble O'Bill's, chewing their nose imagining it was yours. Sometimes, when you aren’t on the T.V I take out a Bubble O'Bill just to stare at it, imagining it was you, my Bobby. I have attached a photo of you I made. 

I fear if I don't get a reply soon I will go broke. Bubble O’Bill’s aren’t cheap.

Those educated people, those horrible fools who try to make you sound dumb just because you say dumb things. They don’t realize you are only an asshole because god tells you to be. They don’t realize god wants you to deprive people of freedom. It is a little known fact that god actually said all men are created equal unless you are gay.

But I know this Bob. That's why I know you are stupid for god, in the same way I am stupid for Bob cock. How could I not love such a rugged ol school lump of a man.

Those smart guys, they might say that Christian's believe God made everything and they believe everything god made is good and therefore god must have made gay people and that must be good to.

They just haven’t read the bible I quote Matthew 7:12 directly when I say Do unto others as you would have others do unto you… unless they are gay, fuck those guys… but not literally.

They don't get that God made the gays so he can hate on them because god was a bit of a prick too. This might be why I am so turned on by you. By being a prick you are like God.

Despite all this I think the fact that you didn’t say no gives me hope. I have been designing shrines to you. I hope you like it. After our coffee (and by that I STILL MEAN SEX) you will see how natural gay marriage would be.

In fact maybe we can be the first gays to get married under the new laws. It’s my fairytale and a boy’s allowed to dream right. 

I know you are just playing hard to get Bobby otherwise you would have said no, you could have but you didn’t. I look forward to hearing from you again. I know you wouldn’t reply to everyone, but you did to me because we were meant to be together.

Yours faithfully

Anthony.

Bob's teams reply

Thank-you for your comments to Bob, and may we take this opportunity to clarify his position on these matters.

Bob understands people are entitled to lead the lives they choose, and his choice to lead a life with Christian values includes his opposition to homosexuality and his support for the institution of ‘natural’ marriage and families.

Bob wants to see the Australian population grow, not diminish as in western societies where the traditional ‘pair bond’ of marriage between a man and a woman is in decline.

Bob also understands that while the issue of same sex marriage is important to some among Australia’s homosexual community, others in that same community have previously expressed their agreement with his long-held belief that there are more pressing issues facing our society as a whole.

Bob has spoken a number of times in Parliament on his Christian beliefs and stance on moral issues – in almost every speech he has made some reference to his strong held beliefs, which he considers fundamental to any kind of policy debate.

Again, we appreciate your comments, which will be taken into consideration.

Kind regards,