From the hard hitting news desk that is laughykate.blogspot.com comes another winner

IN a world of earthquakes, tsunamis and locked-up Roman Polanskis I bring you the story of thieving Burmese cats.

Oh yeah, I am really knocking myself out here. (Actually you can blame my cousin, who seems to be providing rather a lot of fodder for this blog, lately).

Anyway, check this guy out.
Does he look shifty to you? Well, he should. He's a light fingered little monkey.

After a life of murdering, he's turned his paws to stealing.

Eggs.

Two weeks ago Gisborne couple Frank and Cheryl Amor woke up to find fresh eggs on their back doorstep. This happened a few times and they were confused as to the identity of their good samaritan, until one morning Charlie walked in to the kitchen, opened his mouth and out rolled an egg.

He's since turned into being quite a good thief, he's stolen his staff about a dozen eggs.

Unfortunately Cheryl isn't so keen on using her ill gotten gains, so she's returning them.

Now, if only she could teach him to pick up the paper.

Headlines you never want to be associated with.

I was watching breakfast news on TVNZ this morning and one of those crawling headlines caught my eyes....'Top jockey Jim Cassidy forced to miss spring season due to accident in garden.'

What? He got attacked by the lawn mower? Accidentally ate the datura? Assaulted by a pissed off gnome? Got an allergy?

Is there any way they could have given his accident less cred?

The Australian gives treats him with a little more respect with this headline, 'Cassidy to Miss Carnival with Serious Injury.

He was trimming a hedge when he slipped and sliced two fingers on his left hand, slicing through to the bone. He's currently in hospital about to have surgery.

Gah, hospitals and headlines, places you want to stay out of.

AwkwardFamilyPhoto.com strikes again.

Want this photo to appear normal? Simple, compare it with this photo.

I'm just curious as to which one would have the most issues in this picture? Mum, or the boys?

The four legged variety takes on the two legged (and possibly wins).

Meet my cousin's family's cats. Yes, one of them, has featured before.

This is Oscar. He knows he's a cat.

He's supercilious, treats his staff with disdain and can often be spotted sunning himself in various different windows of houses around the neighbourhood.

This is Angus. He thinks he's a dog.

A lunatic of a dog.

He can be found in cupboards,

paper bags....

and has been returned on more than one occasion by the plumber and a number of painters after being discovered in car, some kilometres from home.

Like a dog, he has the tendency to follow you around everywhere. He will sit outside the bathroom door, howling to be let in while you're having shower. I tell you, it can do your head in. I only discovered this after I found myself yelling out, 'GO AWAY! Can't you just leave me alone for a while?'

And then realised I was talking to the cat.

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.

.

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*looks at feet and shuffles quietly out of the room*

Conundrum.

Could someone please explain why, when I know I am in the position of being able to marinate in a gloriously decadent sleep in, my brain goes BING! at 6 a.m, explodes into action and wants to play? Especially when the day before I practically had to call the police to come and haul me out of bed by 7.30 a.m?

Sometimes I find myself so incredibly irritating to live with.

Nom de plume

I find people such fascinating things. I can sit and watch them for hours, I think that's why I like airports so much - especially international ones. You get to see so many different breeds of people. I like to invent their life story with the visual clues you get to work with. (And in my case, I reckon I would most probably have a ten percent hit rate, accuracy wise. But, hey, it's not a competition.)

However I reckon it's interesting the way you build pictures of what someone might look like if you only know them from their voice, or their writing voice and nom de plume. For a few years I have been working with a team in Sydney and, when I first walked into their office (after a few months of communication) one woman exclaimed, 'But you're small! I thought you were going to be a big woman!' I must sound and write tall.

My brother Sunshine first started me with a blog. Originally he set me up with an actual website, wrote all the copy for it, as he had grand plans that it would be a fantastic platform to sell my book. However, as it's still making a name for itself getting rejected by publishers around the world, there seemed no reason to carry on with that site so I came over to Blogspot. (But as Toby Young*, whose book 'How to Lose Friends and Alienate People' got rejected twenty-two times before being published said to me, 'Just remember they're all wrong, and you're right,' don't think I shall be giving up anytime soon.)

*is aware of shameless name dropping.

So when it came to setting up a blog, the first thing we had to do was pick a name. We wondered about a few and Sunshine suggested Laughy Kate. When Master Sunshine and Little Miss Sunshine were very little they asked the question, 'Why is Kate so laughy?' (Oh, because she's always drunk. Apart from that, no reason.) About a week later they were discussing a Kate, 'Which Kate, is that?' asked one of the parent-Sunshines. 'Laughy Kate', was the answer from the small-Sunshines. And it's sort of stuck ever since.

Anyway, this post is a very scenic route to the point, it's time for you guys to put out. I want to know why you picked the nom de plumes you have.

As my first sentence would indicate, basically I'm nosy.

September Issue

I went to see it last night.

Two things.

1. I reckon it's a fantastically crafted doco.

2. Anna Wintour is a miserable old grinch.

How not to run a restaurant. In my humble opinion.

Recently some friends and I were staying in a wee tourist town and were in need of some dinner. I had been to a restaurant there some years ago and it was really good, so we decided to give it a whirl. I rang, just to make sure they were still feeding people and and they said they were - as long as we were there before 8.30 p.m.

We rock up at 8.15 and duly ask for to be shown to a table.

'We're only serving only soup and chowder,' says the waitress.

'Oh really?' says I, 'you didn't say that when I rang.'

'Oh, you're the people who rang.'

('No, they're on their way.') 'Yes.'

'Here are some menus, you can order here - now.'

'Could we possibly sit down and at least read the menu?' (Isn't that the fun part about going out for a meal, meandering through the menu, deciding what to eat?)

'Oh, sure. Come this way' Clenched grin.

The waitress was like she'd been dipped in cow shit and then sprayed perfume on herself to disguise the eau de merde. While she smiled, she clearly didn't want us there.

We sat down and approximately a minute thirty later she was back at our table.

'Can I get you anything?' She said perkily, but it sounded like, 'The chef's in a filthy mood, the owners aren't here and I want to go home early.'

'Some more time.' I think but, like the waitress, keep it on the inside.

'A bottle of wine.....when we've had time to read the wine list.' Says another member of the team.
She gave us a pinched smile and left us. (I hate customers.)

Two minutes later.

'How are you going with your menus?' (Pimp my Ride is on at 9.30. )

'We'd go a lot better if you would leave us all alone to contemplate them.'

No, I didn't say that, either.

I won't continue with a blow by blow,but you get the picture of the evening. They could have got a whole lot more money out of us as everyone was keen for coffees and a round of puddings, but the Arctic wind that blew from the waiting staff was not worth enduring.

And when you realise that you're actually paying for the privilege of her and her colleagues' bad service, it kind of makes the whole situation kind of ironic.

And then you think of the restaurant owners who have employed this team of people who are merrily trashing their restaurant's reputation.

There are some days I am really pleased I don't own a restaurant, and that day was one of them.

That, and the fact that I would be really rubbish at it.

Yet another example to support the theory 'You should never eat something bigger than your head.'

This post is courtesy of my sister, I would link to her but she's not a blog.

Behold some pictures below for you.

On the left we have a lizard who looks likes he's hired some fangs to go to a vampire party and on the right we have a lizard lying beside a centipede.

Now here's something you may not know, apparently lizards aren't rocket scientists. (You won't be finding any Mr G Geckos on a NASA staff emailing list, anytime soon.)

Anyway, if you weren't aware of this theory, I've got a story to support it.

On the left is a lizard with what staff at the Reptile Park where he lives believed to be were legs of a cricket. They thought that Mr Lizard had just polished off a mighty feed. However, closer inspection revealed the legs belonged to that a centipede. (Isn't that like me attempting to eat a very hungry shark?)Understandably, staff thought it too risky to remove the centipede, so they decided they'd leave him alone to digest it in peace.

Later they came back to discover that the lizard harboured bulimic tendencies, as he had barfed his centipede right back up - all in one piece.

I do like what the of the reptile park owner, Ivan Orich, had to say on the matter. He reckoned that a combination of poor eyesight and even poorer intelligence might explain the gecko trying to eat something longer than itself.

"I have the impression they're not the sharpest knives in the drawer. When you go in to feed them, they got for your foot rather than the foot your are bringing to them."

As the title of the article suggests, it does bring new meaning to 'long lunch.'

The last two days of work have included...

...twenty-six river crossings, many many bunnies, a dog who I swear is a reincarnation of Princess Diana (big sad eyes, shy head tilt, crazy mother) and views like this-
Now, if I could locate the bus that has run me over....

Some dogs should just stick to chasing cats.

Mental note to self:don't give the dog the car keys.

Oh, that's right I don't have one.

Maybe just don't give car keys to this dog.
Cause he's a rubbish driver.

Yesterday his owner left Wilco in his Cheverolet ute while he popped into the mall. Wilco obviously got a bit bored so decided to take the ute for a wee spin. He pushed down on the column gear change, putting the vehicle into drive.

And drive, the vehicle did - right into the front doors of a nearby cafe.

Luckily the cafe owner is insured. But can you imagine the insurance agent? 'So a dog drove a ute into the front doors of your cafe? Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.'

(Almost as stupid as having to tell the quack that your badly sprained ankle is due to being run over by a dog. But let's not go there, today).

I think my favourite part of the article is the last line, 'Police were still investigating the incident.'

What? Have they not finished interviewing the dog yet?

I don't think I want to think about this too much.

I was around at my mate's and her man-the-antiques-dealer last night. The antiques dealer had just been at an auction, where he'd been talking to a local eccentric. He enthused about the character of this man, 'Oh he's this, this and this and....'

And I was about to pipe up with 'it's just that he's fucking crackers.'

But he beat me in the race to finishing his sentence '....he really reminds me of you.'

Arse.

Supressing overwhelming urge to shout Alan! Alan! Alan!

This is funny. Watch it.



At least I thought so.

Octomum, eat your heart out.

Ali
Edie
Laura
Nellie
Bertha
Sid
Trissie
Eddie
Arthur
Fred
Frank
Gerty
Kitty
Mark
Dolly
Jo
Jane
Dolly's chair.

Jo was the gardener, Jane was the housekeeper and for some unknown reason they always added Dolly's chair.

Dolly was my great grandmother.

Did you know....?

....that Lego have diversified into wigs?

Jermaine Jackson is a big fan.
A big big fan.

Just another day at the office.

I have just been in the middle of nowhere. Literally.

Warning: this post is shamelessly cut and paste from another blog.

I was over at Harry Hutton's blog Chase Me Ladies, I am the Calvary reading his latest post,which was on the death of Ted Kennedy.

This is what he had to say:

'Like everyone else in my generation, I have no idea where I was when I heard the news that Edward Kennedy had died. I can't even remember what town I was in.'

His comments always make for an entertaining read, so I was meandering merrily through them reading about everybody's take on it (from 'Will he be given a state funeral, or be bundled into the trunk of a car and thrown off a bridge?' to 'The world is certainly a darker place with his passing. He did, after all, have such a bright red face'), when I stumbled over an out-loud-snort one. It was from a blogger by the name of Ulaca who said, 'I don't think he ever came to terms with the fact that no one wanted to assassinate him.'

Hah! Hadn't ever thought of it like that, it does put a nice spin on things.

Does this mean I've just spoken ill of the dead......again? Oh well, I'm picking that Ted having too much fun partying with other dead Kennedys to really give a toss what's being said about him on earth. I bet he's being referred to by his dead relies as 'the one that got away.'

Another from the glorious team at Awkward Family Photo

'Honneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey!'

'Yeeeeee -es?'

'Honey, could you do me a favour?'

'Sure thing, Hon.'

'Could you get me Baby's gun?'

'Which one?'

'The pink one.'

'Okay.'

'Oh, and one other thing?'

'What is it?'

'Could you get the camera, too?'

'Oh yes, sure'

'Thanks, Honey.'

'Where are you, Hon?'

'In the bath with the dog.'

While I love Samoa...

...I think I will be giving it a wide berth over the next few months as they get their heads around driving on the other side of the road.

Call me cynical, and I really hope I am wrong, but one word springs to mind - clusterfuck.

And I am only saying that because I know that if the country I lived in decided to drive on the opposite side of the road - while I think I would be fine at the beginning -down the track I reckon my default setting would stick its hand up and deliver me an almighty bitch slap me when I didn't have my wits about me.

Good luck Samoa, I really really hope it goes better than I fear it will.

Hit me, baby.

So it's just been announced that Peter Jackson's latest movie is going be 200 million dollar epic based on the life of Russian mobster Igor Borisovich Rabaev. While it hasn't been confirmed who is to play Rabaev, there has been a lot of speculation over who may get the role. Says Jackson, 'We had hope to cast Michael Jackson, however we have had to rule him out after his burial last week.'

While he won't yet reveal where the movie will be shot, it has been rumoured that Hobbiton is one of the locations being considered.
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That, good people, is obviously a completely fictitious bunch of sentences shamelessly designed for the purpose of gaining traffic to this blog. As I have said before, aside from the time the Australian Daily Telegraph linked to me for this post the most hits I have ever had was the day I wrote a post that included Peter Jackson and Russian mobster.

So why the need to up the ante on the traffic?

Well, you see, yesterday I received this email from my brother-in-law :

So far today:LaughyKate has had X unique visitors and X page views.
Quote Unquote has had (insert many more) X unique visitors and (insert many more) x page views.

No, I don't understand it either.

Ya see, the thing is, normally we get in the same vicinity of hits, however yesterday this blog was royally spanked by his blog.

And I'm sorry, but I am not taking that lying down. I have standards. Hence this post - an unashamed, unadulterated attempt to regain some ground by me acting my shoe size.

And while I'm here I might as well give myself all the help I can, so here we go - Google Search, I hope you have your ears on cause I'm talking to ya; Playboy Mansion, Brittany Spears naked, Daniel Craig naked, how to make money fast, All Blacks scandal, Anna Nicole Smith's drug cocktail, Star Wars, playground padding (you would be surprised/unnerved at the number of people who google this), knitting patterns (they tell me knitting is huge), what is Scientology, Chinese for beginners.

And why don't we throw in 2008's top google searches, just for good measure: sarah palin, beijing 2008, facebook login, tuenti, heath ledger, obama, nasza klasa (me either - it's a Polish social networking site), wer kennt wen (German one) ,euro 2008, jonas brothers.

Righto, I think that's enough for now.

Game on, let's sit back and count.

This week....

...I have been playing with archaeologists.

It was very muddy.

The End.

By Kate.

P.S Growing up, I always had the romantic notion that I would quite like to be an archaeologist - you know, digging up artefacts and treasures (read: jewellery) around ancient ruins in Eygpt. The reality of it, 'Under this mud and hard earth are some piles of a house. Here are some trowels, start digging and see what you find,' is not quite as appealing to me.

However, I think many would argue, that that is a blessing for archaeology.

If I was casting for one of Cinderella's ugly sisters, Dr Frederic Brandt would be on the shortlist.

I was watching a story on non surgical face lifts on 20/20 on TV3 last night. They were interviewing the Dr Frederic Brandt, a guy who is apparently responsible for some of the maintenance on Madonna.

Now this photo does him all sorts of favours.
He has got to be the owner of one of the scariest faces on the planet. And it doesn't move. He admitted that he can't frown or look angry. It's as if his forehead is in a Valium induced coma.

But what struck me is, if your face guru guy looked like that, wouldn't it concern you that he doesn't have a great handle on the concept of beauty and that you're more likely to come out looking like someone who's off to an Adams family reunion rather than someone who has just put a couple of years on ice?

It's almost like asking these ladies...

..for some nutrition tips.

Or this guy...

..for a weights program.