Vale work for the dole (?), 1998–2017
The bloke that runs the seminars goes by the handle of Baz ‘Bloody’ Coogan*.
Six foot one of blood nutted, paratroop training, ‘spade’s a spade’ Aussie legend.
Now, Baz, bless his regulation number two with big ‘fuck off’ goatee, is a practical man.
A man with opinions.
Opinions generally gleaned from talkback radio.
Not Triple J’s Morning Show.
No bloody hippy wooftas like Steve ‘tree hugger’ Cannane for old Baz.
We’re talking 2UE style, golden microphone delivered, straight up soapbox working class opinion brokering.
Who better to sculpt the impressionable minds of North Melbourne (and surrounds’) morale-starved job hunters?
Not averse to a touch of rhyming slang (shanks’ pony?), Baz tutors his impressionable young charges in the finest in homegrown employment seeking wisdom.
What do ya fuckin’ mean ya don’t want to be a forkie?
Thrill! As media analyst Baz expounds on why today’s news media is ‘all bullshit!’.
Wonder! To Baz’s deft impersonations of some hapless ex-student with a pronounced ‘listhp’ and a violent nervous tic!
Pluck your jaw off your chest! As gender theorist Baz explains why ‘pushing your tits up and wearing a micro mini’ is no sure fire path to a career in administration!
* Epilogue, later in 2004:
‘Fuck this noise!’, I thought to myself, and fluked a job designing the ‘sexy phoneline’ ads that used to show up in the back of porno mags.
I’m sure Work For The Dole architect and renowned Marist brother Tony Abbott, MHR, would have been thrilled to know he’d been in some small way responsible for my so-called career’s panicked detour into vice and smut.
Image: nothing better than a crispy freedom sausage after a hard day’s toil picking up dogshit and raking leaves. No other program prepares you for the modern workforce with more demoralising, dehumanising aplomb!