'THE MEANING OF EXISTENCE (AND OTHER SHORT STORIES)' is available for purchase! Just follow the link for an on-line shopping experience that will surely blow your mind.  Upon request, Stuart will sign your copy, either with his name or that of somebody else selected by you.  The book was launched on 28 November 2011 at the Wheeler Centre and is now orbiting the third sun of Jupiter.   In doing so, it has become the first collection of short stories to reach a major cellestial body since Max Walker's 'How to Puzzle a Python' was smuggled on board the Soyuz TM-4 Mir Space Station by one of the cosmonauts.  Also, the first chapter of Stuart's upcoming novel 'GOODSIR' is available in a newly released anthology.  It can be downloaded for free from Amazon by using the following address: http://www.amazon.com/Writing-Novel-Anthology-2012-ebook/dp/B009YNMPPW  Frankly, it would be cheap at half the price.

Wedding Singer For Rent – Has Own Transport and Shoes

This is a first for me. Never before have I been asked to participate in a Postal Survey. I did once get embroiled in the Napisan Challenge, but that was more a ‘whiter than white’ rather than a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ kind of thing. And despite my best efforts to remove stubborn household stains, my use of a domestic-strength cleaning product failed to result in any major legislative amendment. That I know of. Worse still, I strongly suspect my involvement made little difference to the overall result.

A Remembrance of Teaspoons Past

It’s innate. A part of the human condition that is near impossible to resist. Hard-wired into our souls is a need to accumulate and preserve both for posterity and ensure that those who lease storage units for money will never be without income. Personally, I reckon the urge to collect is one of the few remaining remnants of our ‘hunter / gatherer’ phase. Just as a crocodile reminds us of a prehistoric age, so too does our desire to gather take us back to a time when our knuckles hung a little closer to the ground. It’s in our nature to collect souvenirs.

How Much Ken One Person Take?

They’ve finally gone too far. For reasons known only to themselves, they’ve made an extra-special effort just to humiliate him. Goodness knows how they broke the news. Whether the boss scheduled a special meeting with HR or, perhaps, he simply turned up to work one day to find that all his co-workers were avoiding eye contact with him. But however it was done, there is no doubt that Ken Carson has had to bid a sweet farewell to his dignity. That’s because Ken – long-term boyfriend of Mattel’s Barbie – now has a man-bun.

Come In Fidget Spinner

I have no idea. I don’t know what purpose they serve and I find their popularity a source of continuing bafflement. Others can resort to extreme measures to secure the last of what appears to be a finite resource, but I won’t be among those clenching their fists and pleading to the gods to intervene. No sir, not me. For I have heard this particular tune one too many times before and I know better than to give my heart and soul to some craze that will last about as long as a litre of milk left in the sun. The world may well be in love with ‘fidget spinners’ but I remain immune.

Achy Breaky Heart of Darkness

Can you believe it? An entire quarter of a century has passed since one of modern civilisation’s greatest cultural catastrophes descended from the heavens like a satanic death-clown to be unleashed on an unwitting world. On that day, the course of human history was forever altered and life as we knew would never be the same again. I’m not sure how the anniversary will be marked. Stamp? Commemorative coin? Or, somewhat ironically, a minute’s silence? Whatever mode we choose, it’s inevitable that we’ll all pause in the coming days to wonder how it was that we were ever seduced by whatever meagre charms it possessed. I speak, of course, of the release of ‘Achy Breaky Heart’ by Billy Ray Cyrus.

Blurbs for the New Suburbs

Talk about squandering an opportunity. Given the chance to jazz up the joint, we have instead opted for banality. Seventeen new suburbs will be added to Melbourne’s metropolitan firmament and there’s barely a decent name among them. Sunbury South? Please. Taking an existing suburb and adding ‘south’, ‘west’, ‘north’, ‘upper’, ‘lower’ or any other form of locational qualifier is simply cheating and lacks imagination. We deserve something bold. Something inspiring. Something – dare I say it – that might make someone want to live there.

The Baden Powell Merit Badge Fiasco

It just feels wrong. Although technically speaking I’m entitled, there’s something not quite right about the fact that I have them. I am (I suspect) not acting in accordance with community expectations. It’s a shame; I was so proud when I received them. Amidst the pomp and ceremony, I couldn’t contain my glee. But the harsh truth is, these days I couldn’t tie a sheepshank knot if my life depended on it. That’s why I’ve decided to return my Scouting merit badges.

The Great Escape Claus

It must have sounded so promising – a coveted job as part of a high-profile family. It would have been too good to resist. But even things that seem enormously exciting can quickly lose their glittery charm. What starts with a bright, warm burst of optimism quickly turns cold as the bitter wind of reality sweeps in. Imagine; your eyes scanning the classifieds when you fatefully stumble across the following words: Wanted – Mrs Claus. No previous experience necessary. It would be as though all your Christmases had come at once. How apt.

The Tortoise and the Hair

‘Good morning Mr. President.’

‘Who is this?’

‘It’s Malcolm Turnbull.’



‘Hey, Tumble, I want answers. Like where the hell is my pizza? I ordered that thing thirty minutes ago and if I don’t see a stuffed crust super supreme in front of me in the next sixty seconds, you know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna call the Pentagon, get a dozen five star generals and not only will you bring me pizza, I’ll make you pay for it. Mark my words.’

Deck the Hollis

It used to be so easy. Once, Christmas happened as if by magic. All I had to do was wake up and it was there, in all its shiny, glittering glory. Not anymore. Christmas now is not magic but a looming deadline for a whole range of tasks. From that moment in about mid-October when you hear the first strained snippet of a Christmas Carol seeping from the supermarket speakers, the weight of an awesome responsibility begins to settle on your shoulders. It’s both a test of endurance and race to the finish line. That’s because Christmas requires the kind of planning ordinarily reserved for a land-based invasion. And almost as many casualties.