More on the legend of Choc 'n Bits

The following was posted in reponse to my stupid story entitled Lamentable Enterprise. I feel an obligation to post the comment out of respect and the obvious authority that the poster clearly commands on the whole question of the orgins of Choc n Bits. Might I add that that commenter's work is his own, and I deny all legal liability in relation to any subsquent actions claiming defamation, slander or any similar. Enjoy - NS


Re: Choc N Bits FAN Club, I mean what the fuck, what are the chances of? I am not sure if Nino Spirelli is aware of it or not, but in fact, a Choc N Bits Fan Club has been thriving in the business community of Melbourne in particular for over a decade, and in fact, it even has cells in Sydney (where an Australian commodities tycoon come movie maker is well known for letting the phrase 'Choc N Bits' role of his tongue each and every time a member of his crew comes out with an economically dim-witted business concept just before he fires them. "What the fuck I am paying you for? Don't waste one more second of my time and life with your lame duck Choc N Bits ideas, and get the fuck out of here".

The club itself was founded by a renowned player in the grain business (late 80s/early 90s), quite famous for making money where there was none to be made, in an industry that sends suited cowboys to the cleaners year in year out. The individual involved, while on a road trip to the depths of the grain belt to visit growers, heard a community radio announcement broadcasting of course none other than the latest fabulous rural news the grand opening of Choc N Bits, in (well where the hell do you think?) Dimboola of course!

Driving along a barely used road that branches off the Western Highway, in the outer sphincter of nowhere, as the never ending hot bitumen road kept flying beneath his executive edition Commodore's bonnet (and that is what all the new money business folk used to drive back then), with destination arse-hole of the universe� not seeming to get any closer, our man was out of mobile phone range, mobile towers where few and far between in those days, and mobile phones were like bricks in volume and weight, so it was just him, the car, and a good old dose of rural isolation, broken by the occasional wheat truck flying by in the opposite direction. Totally consumed with the pressure of running an export focused industrial business, our dear founder received no therapeutic benefit from the rolling fields of wheat stubble, the sheep huddled under the shade of the branches of ancient gum trees, or the sight of the glorious Grampians on the horizon, and feeling quite frustrated and stressed, thought he would lighten his substantial mental load by listening to a little country radio.

Wanting to escape the game of business ping pong going on in his head (business does that to you), he butted out his International Passport to Smoking Pleasure cancer stick into an over flowing ashtray which had the word stress written all over it, and started fidgeting around with his radio dial (back and forth, back and forth), desperately searching for a clear signal. "The fuckin thing" he thought, as he nearly lost control of his car in the gravel on the side of the road. Anyway, as soon as he managed to finally lock onto 3WM (three standing for three cents short of the full two bob, not two, but three cents, and WM being the abbreviation for Wimmera Mallee, although to this guy, it might as well have stood for Wasted Money) well, within seconds of him finally managing to get something at least audible from his pioneer speakers (pioneer being all the rage back in those days, young women were attracted to men who had pioneer sound systems in their cars), out comes the Choc N Bits announcement, with all of the fan fare in the world.

The announcement went from the radio, to the ears of our man, to his brain. He stared blankly ahead. Seconds went by that felt like hours. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, the whites of his knuckles began to show, and our dear founder began to sweat, his face twisting and contorting with anger. Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech – in the middle of no-where, he slammed on his brakes, and his car came to a complete stand still, engine stalled. Sitting there, the smell of burning rubber in the air, with no living animal in sight, the silence being broken only by the distant hum of a tractor engine, he buried his head into his hands and thought. "What the, what the, my God, what the, what the fuck was that? Fuckin Choc N Bits? What the, what the fuck! Fuckin Choc N Bits! I, I, I, I must be dreaming, FUCKIN CHOC N BITS, FUCK, FUCK, I CAN'T STAND IT ANY LONGER. FUCKIN CHOC N BITS!!!!!!!".

Well, we are all entightled to a mini-nervous breakdown when the nearest human being is 50 miles away. Our dear founder did thankfully recover from that moment. He has never admitted it, but we all think it did make him weep, not tears of sorrow, but tears of anguish and frustration, the kind of tears that an irate toddler who can open the fridge door sheds tears brought on by the frustration of knowing that someone actually exists that thought of a business plan called Choc N Bits, that they brought it to the table, and they actually went about bringing it to fruition. Our poor founder was deeply insulted by it all, his business brain was slapped in the face by it (not slapped, that is not strong enough, punched is better, his business brain was punched in the face by it) � what he thought was going to be the sounds of some relaxing country radio might as well have been a shot gun going off a centimeter from his left ear. So, the story goes on - he got out of his car, poured some water from his water bottle into his handkerchief, wet his face, took ten deep breathes, got back into the car, started the engine, promptly turned the radio off, and went on his merry way, later in the day buying 5000 metric tons of grain to be shipped to India and Bangladesh.

But, and there is always a �"but", the insult of Choc N Bits endured. Each week, our man would make phone calls to other business people, in non related business areas, to discuss business in general, these mini phone conferences, which were more about talking about business in a universal sense , in a relaxed and comfortable manner (since the folk involved were in different industries, and thus were not necessarily hostiles), well, each and every Friday they were made (just before pub time, what they were, they were pretty much wind down and relax calls, but still with a general business focus, since people in business find it very hard to talk about anything other than business). They went nation wide (because our founder in fact had friends from school, and friends he met via business, across the entire continent, across the world in fact) � well anyway, they were called 'the whip around' and it was via the �whip around that the legend of Choc N Bits was established, and Choc N Bits became the label to attach to any dumb business, any failed business, any stupid idea at all in fact. � "How did your week go Banger? Mine was busy as shit! Man, you would not believe what I heard on the radio the other day, it just about did my head in. Some people are so fucked. Fuckin Choc N Bits! There is this fucking idiot"

Choc N Bits then grew in notoriety - members of THE Whip Around Gang (originally a gang of three), would then make calls to their own groups, and so forth, and so forth and so forth, and the news of Choc N Bits gained momentum, and raced around the globe. I am sorry if the above bores you all but that folks, was the true beginning of the legend of Choc N Bits – no shit.
It is now pretty much in the Australian Dictionary of Business to describe any failed business. I was once in a hotel foyer in Sri Lanka, and witnessed an Australian business man, who I had never met, and knew nothing off, throwing a tantrum and berating his Sri Lankan business partner for having conned him into investing in a Choc N Bits business. Choc N Bits – just fabulous!