Shit In Gelato: Respect For Australia In Free Fall
Call me old-fashioned, call me anything you like but Australia’s international reputation IS important. So important that currently, we have a PM who spends more than half our GDP living overseas, constantly spreading the message of an urbane, sophisticated Federation.
So, how could it come to this?
Pile of Gelato (flickr credit: Gio JL)
Before someone put shit in someone’s chocolate gelato served up in the bistro of Sydney’s iconic Coogee Bay Hotel, Australia had only been mentioned once this year in the international media. That was when the first of the Steve Irwin impersonators started do live crocodile taming acts in pubs around outback Queensland.
But now, thanks to the the most unspeakable case of shit sabotage ever reported anywhere, we’re hitting the international headlines like never before. I’m NOT proud and neither should you be….
Click here for:Â Trusted Sample Of International Shit-In-Gelato Coverage.
So….Where to now?Â
I am heartened that a raft of government and sweets industry authorities are working around the clock to identify the someone who put shit in someone’s gelato. A trusted insider told me that the normally sedate laboratories at the Australian DNA Tracking Station now resemble a CSI set. Everyone - from top forensic scientists to shit kickers, has been told to do what it takes to identify the someone who put shit in someone’s gelato.
Meanwhile, a very, very nervy spokesperson for the Australian Chocolate Gelato And Chocolate Mousse Manufacturers Federation, said that when the Someone’s Put Shit In Someone’s Gelato Disaster Mangement Plan was formulated way back in 1967, the general feeling was: God help us if we ever have to put this into action, God help us…….
I commend the Federation for its forethought. The Someone’s Put Shit In Someone’s Gelato Disaster Mangement Plan is fearless, breathtaking in its scope. It works on a process of suspect elimination. All gelato found not to have shit in it is tracked back to the professional who last handled it. Up to 11pm last night, 2,909,687 hospitality workers were in the clear - their names added to the Responsible Servers Of Gelato Register.
But undoubtedly, the worst thing is NOT knowing where we’re headed on this one. You don’t know, I don’t know, Kevin Rudd doesn’t know. Late yesterday, news came through that all overseas Ministerial travel has been cancelled. It’s just too dangerous. For example, our best ever FA Minister, the gorgeous Stephen Smith, is in Paris right now trying (God Bless Him) to rekindle passion for the Doha Trade Talks and pick up a couple of new suits. His one media conference was a disaster. He was asked 103 times……
Le Ministere, didd youuu puet sheeat innn sumwons glace?
So, I am asking on behalf of the nation:
ARE YOU THE SOMEONE WHOÂ PUT SHIT IN SOMEONE’S GLACE?
Trust me, by coming forward, you’ll feel better. You CANNOT, just CANNOT sustain the pressure of your double life…….responsible citizen and someone who put shit in someone’s gelato.
Take heart. Australians are a fairly understanding, forgiving bunch. The worst case scenario will be 18-months in the white elephant that is the state-of-the-art detention centre on Christmas Island. You will be looked after. Staff/Someone Who Put Shit In Someone’s Gelato Ratio: 147-1. And after you have paid your debt to all of us, you’ll be given a new identity and offered safe lodgings in a modest cottage near Land’s End.
And in 2038, when the someone put shit in someone’s gelato file is NO longer subject to the 30-year supression rule, YOU WILL open your door at 3am one blustery day to find a hard-bitten, very agitated, veteran Sun reporter. Understandable. He’d been salivating at the thought of an interview with the likes of you for close on 50 years.
Always love to hear from you……particularly if you’re the someone who put shit in someone’s gelato. Lots to talk about. Have you ever chanced upon incongruous matter in your food? Will our international reputation ever recover from the shit-in-gelato scandal? Are you still ordering gelato? What should happen to our homegrown shit saboteur on arrest? Is the hysteria surrounding the someone put shit in someone’s gelato justified. Anything else?
Just click on the ‘comment’ thingo and follow the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the ‘website’ space - not necessary!
October 30th, 2008 at 4:02 pm
What if a sniffer dog was called in to track the dastardly gelato shitter? What if an identical twin was the culprit? How then would justice be served? Better everyone who ever wished to shit in someone’s food (or face) put their hand up and fess to the deed. At least one identical gemini would go free and those Xmas Is. employees would have to earn their keep.
October 31st, 2008 at 7:57 am
ah, kerrie jean. what a bunch of worry warts you leetonites are - and should I say un australian - to be concerned about our reputation over a trivial matter like shit gelato. shit is one word australians are proud of and is smeared over our language like vegemite. I quote a few examples directly from the macquarie dictionary on my desktop. (my apologies to international readers for the long list. I’m sure true aussies can provide more)
10. miscellaneous matter or items generally; stuff: what’s that black shit on your shirt?, whose is all this shit on the table?
adjective
11. unpleasant: I’ve had a shit day.
12. of poor quality: that was a shit book.
interjection
13. an exclamation expressing anger, disgust, disappointment, disbelief, etc.
phrase
14. and all that shit, and all the rest.
15. a shit of a ……an extremely difficult, unpleasant, disagreeable, etc…. : a shit of a job.
16. bad shit, bad things that happen.
17. dump (or heap) (or pour) shit on, to denigrate; criticise.
18. get the shits, (sometimes followed by with) to become exasperated or angry.
19. give someone the shits, to arouse dislike, resentment, annoyance in someone.
20. good shit, something considered to be of excellent quality.
21. have one’s shit together, to be in complete control of one’s life, emotions, etc.
22. have shit for brains, to be extremely stupid.
23. have shit on the (or one’s) liver, to be ill-tempered.
24. have the shits,
a. to have diarrhoea.
b. to feel fed up or weary.
c. to feel annoyed; to be in a bad mood.
25. have the shits with someone, to feel fed up or angry with someone.
26. holy shit, an exclamation of surprise.
27. in a shit, in a bad mood.
28. in deep shit, in serious trouble.
29. in the shit, in trouble.
30. not worth a pinch of shit, completely worthless.
31. piece of shit, a despicable person.
32. push shit uphill, to attempt the impossible.
33. put shit on, to denigrate; criticise.
34. scare (or frighten) (the) shit out of someone, to give someone an intense fright.
35. shit a brick, an exclamation of astonishment, wonder, dismay, etc.
36. shit happens, a catchphrase expressing an acknowledgement that in life unpleasant and unfair things happen.
37. shit hot, extremely good; excellent.
38. shit it in, to win easily.
39. shit oneself,
a. to soil oneself with excrement.
b. to be terrified.
40. sure as shit, absolutely sure; positive.
41. the shit hits the fan, the trouble begins.
42. tip a bucket of shit on (or over), to disparage or denigrate.
43. tough (or stiff) shit, an exclamation indicating a lack of sympathy for another’s misfortune.
44. up shit creek (without a paddle), in trouble; in difficulties.
45. up to shit, worthless; useless.
[Middle English shiten, Old English scitan (noun scite dung)]
shit-
â€
Colloquial a word element meaning ‘extremely’, used as an intensifier as in shit-hot, shit-easy, shit-scared, shit-tired, etc.
shit fight
/’shit fuyt/. â€
noun Colloquial
a furious row or disagreement.
Also, shitfight.
October 31st, 2008 at 9:57 am
Stan, You won’t find me arguing against the sheer elegance of the Australian treasure that is its Scatological Folio. HOWEVER: I see NO point adding to it at a time when our reputation OS is back to the level of Nation Of Hicks. I would absolutely hate it if the events at the Coogee Bay Hotel lead to gratutious new Folio entries. For example:
As bad as shit in your sweets - meaning: as bad as things get, things can’t get any worse. Alt. As bad as a turd in your trifle.
See what I mean Stan? NOT useful.
October 31st, 2008 at 12:05 pm
KJ, I was so excited to be back, having taken a slight break (so to speak) to give birth to my son, Mr Chucklehead. However, logging on I am overwhelmed by a feeling of guilt and nausea! I’m not 100% positive, but it is entirely possible that we may be responsible for said shit in gelato. Maybe not - it has been a while since I enjoyed any time at the CBH, but these days I am finding deposits of shit everywhere I turn. I’m talking fairly inoffensive, milk based baby poo, but still. I think I’ll head back to the nursery now, and spend some time with Mr Chucklehead before the AFP comes to take me away for a DNA test.
October 31st, 2008 at 12:08 pm
I’m sorry kerrie jean, I must disagree with your leetonite analysis of how shit sandwiches or gelato damages our national reputation. our reputation has long been based on slightly off the wall objects, ideas, people and climate. your proposition that a shit-based gelato transforms us into a nation of hicks simply isnt true. boatloads of people are lining up to come to our wondrous land, to consume our tinned peaches (sadly no longer tinned in Leeton). So I for one need more evidence that shit based gelato will damage our national pride.
KJ: Stan, let me put it this way. IF we had a Statue Of Liberty the words would read:
Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled mass yearning to be free…….
AND WE’LL PUT SHIT IN THEIR GELATO.
October 31st, 2008 at 12:37 pm
EP - Welcome back and a big hello to the dear little Chucklehead!
Might I say, I am 100% sure that you are not the someone who put shit in someone’s gelato. Delusions of shit grandeur are very common for women with new babies. Still, I think it would be a good idea to spend a little time reassuring yourself. That’s if you do feel comfortable talking over your delusions of shit grandeur with the man you used to lovingly refer to as your Dear Husband. I trust he’s still around.
November 1st, 2008 at 5:47 am
It was during my final studies in forensic science at Trinity College, Dublin that I encountered Hercule Potpourri, the eminent Belgian detective, a man who would stand out in any crowd with his waxed moustache gleaming like an aspidistra and his pudgy hands waving as if they had a conversation all of their own.
Our meeting was quite dramatique, as Hercule would say.
His fat little hand, greased by some unguent from across the water, flashed over my glass before I could even taste the libation, let alone let an absinthe drop fall in memory of the long-gone Protestant Ascendancy academics who had once ruled the bog Irish.
- Please not to drink - it may be how you say, purloined, sorry, poisoned by an unseen hand, said the eminent criminologist, his eyes quickly scanning the bar room of the No Friends At All Snug, which is within walking distance of Trinity.
- There is perhaps a butler in the room at this very instant, and one cannot be too careful, the great man continued.
Only a great man could stand between The Ginger Man and his absinthe, but I relented.
Potpurri screwed a jeweller’s eye glass into his right eye socket and examined my drink with the expertise that only a great master detective can demonstrate.
Finally Hercule relaxed.
- Drink up my new friend, all danger has passed. There is not a trace of Australis Excreta Borealis. Bon appetit ! Enjoy! Good luck to your family!
November 1st, 2008 at 10:07 am
Hey KJ,
All of this fuss could have been averted had the Shit Scooper invoked the batter solution? Think: Chiko Roll .
November 2nd, 2008 at 7:05 am
KJ
I wonder now, will this become a mandatory practise in the certificate 111 surliness/put shit on your customer module for chefs.
I had a friend contract a VD (the big G) from complaining about her meal; shit is not the only thing that comes back as a response to your demand of satisfaction.
This all comes about from the chef not being able to retaliate the old fashioned way - rush out and take to you with a knife or cleaver. That’s not a knife - that’s a load of shit.
cheers
November 2nd, 2008 at 9:44 am
Hello Allison,
Just when we ALL thought things could get any worse you weigh in with the most alarming piece of kitchen confidentalia ever. The next time I’m pleased with my restaurant meal, I don’t know whether I’ll CLAP…..or cry……
November 2nd, 2008 at 10:02 am
……………….Within a very short time Hercule and I were firm friends.
He explained that he was in Dublin to present at Trinity the results of his research into the mysterious death of Alexander the Great.
- Some say that it was from consuming twelve, how you say, pints of undiluted wine – ah, how those Macedonians could drink, and the King of Macedon was the champion – which give him how you say powerful gastrointestinal pain and fever, how you say? Crook in zee guts.
-Aha, my friend but there eez more to zis story zan meets the ocular. One has to use the little grey cells.
- The death in Babylon may have been caused by White Hellebore, Venatrum album, a purgateev which weakens zee heart and gves great stomach pain, or strychnine, per’aps.
- His friend, Hephaestion died in the same fashione and Alexander built for his boyfriend the biggest feu de funerale ever seen, and he cried for weeks. What a barbecue for la Mort !
-Ah, they were great poufs in those days.
I inquired from my new friend if he had uncovered the answer to Alexander’s death in Babylon in 323 BC at the age of thirty-two.
Hercule’s dark eyes glistened, His pink palms were moist from his enthusiasm and the hairs on his hands were erectile,
-Only I, and that ridiculous English female identity thief Agatha Christie, may the angelii forever curse her, know the answer. I can, peut-etre, offer a little clue. Excreta Hostilis in Vino.
My Latin from Trinity is immaculate, but Hercule was not making any sense.
- Please explain, I demanded from the master.
Hercule was patient .
-In thise days there were no butlers. Only cup bearers. Pretty boys for les grandes poufs! One them ees, how you say, out of sorts, he miss a kiss from the great conqueror, so what does he do? My friend, it is a horrible revenge, a weapon terrible, sacre bleu!
- It was dastardly, a crime de passione, formidable! A case of Merde en Vin.
Still I did not understand. I insisted on a simpler explanation,
Hercule pressed his moist hands to his forehead and adjusted his black tie before answering.
-Excreta in refreshment ! Poo in the plonk! Sheet in the shiraz.
Ah, my friend, a terrible end for the Conqueror of the World.
Hercule’s words have been restored to my memory after all of these years now that ASIO has engaged my services to investigate the Coogee Bay Hotel Gelato fiasco.
My first suspects were Macedonians, but I have ruled them out. My suspicions were at first aroused because some of the poorer wines from that region taste indeed like shit, so no wonder poor Alexander did not wake up to the murderous ploy after drinking pints of the stuff. Furthermore, he liked his drinks ICED.
Instead I am looking for a young man, probably in his early thirties. His landlady says he is quiet, unassuming and always pays his rent on time.
His mother lived with him for years until she disappeared suddenly.
Neighbours say, however, they have seen a shadowy image of her in a cane chair by the window of the apartment. Despite his quiet demanour, he is a serial perpetrator.
What pictures does he have on his wall? Rudd? Turnbull? Mr Whippy? He will strike again, mark my words.
Scata Gelato is still on the menu.
November 5th, 2008 at 4:39 pm
A month or so before the gelato story broke, I received an email from my brother in Canada saying that Australia had made the Star Phoenix , a small town paper, not once, not twice, but three times in one day. The first entry was because of the Minister of Police doing a bit of dirty dancing; the second story was about the guy punching our a kangaroo while his friends cheered; the third reported that some bozo streaker in Adelaide knocked himself out at a sporting match and was carried off the field, still naked, by St. John’s Ambulance. My sibling ended by saying ‘I’m so glad I’m Canadian.’
A while later, Steven Harper, the illustrious Prime Minister of Canada, was exposed having plagiarised a chunk of John Howard’s speech. Quelle damange! How embarrassing, lifting material from that incipid little twerp. So I immediately wrote and told him I was shining up my Australian passport.
Alas, the shit-on-a-stick is now back in the Australian forefront. I think I’ll wear a maple leaf pin until this turd cools and the Canadians again hit the international press with something embarrassing. Dual citizenship is the way to go.
Jody – Canadian this week — Hanson
November 8th, 2008 at 7:35 pm
Hello there Jody - I’d kill to do a shift or two at that Star Phoenix. Those guys sure know what a story is! Many years ago, I worked at the The Port Pirie Recorder, South Australia’s Iron Triangle’s (PP, Whyalla & Port Augusta) best organ of record. In my time at The Recorder, I was constantly denied the opportunity to use the word ‘Australia’ in my stories. Local, local, local, we are LOCAL, chief-of-staff-of-two Ronnie would shout whenever even ‘Adelaide’ appeared in my copy. It was terrible pressure for a young journalist to be under. Once, when the then PM, Malcolm Fraser, came to town to bless the big lead smelter, Ronnie warned: And if you mention that he lives in Canberra, you’re sacked! I had to move on. It was a tense little farewell party. No one knew where I was going. Ronnie had banned all questions of that nature. I just disappeared.