THE GRAHAM NORTON SHOW WITH MARTIN SHEEN (2008)

In April 2008, the U.K.'s Graham Norton interviewed actor Martin Sheen, and as far as I'm concerned it's one of the most enjoyable and entertaining interviews I've seen an actor give since Andrew Denton was interviewed by Richard E. Grant on "Enough Rope".

Sheen talks about his marriage of over 40 years, his 67 arrests for peaceful civil disobedience, and of course, his role as U.S. President Jed Bartlet in "The West Wing". In Part 3 of this interview, Sheen demonstrates the Aaron Sorkin "walk and talk" method, and it is a beautiful and wondrous thing to behold.

I've embedded only Part 1 of the proceedings here. The other 4 parts will pop up in the menu when it's done.

If you're a fan of "The West Wing", or just a great admirer of a fine, graceful, and unaffected actor at the peak of his career, pour yourself a glass of whatever takes your fancy, sit back and enjoy ...

A HERO FOR OUR TIMES

I'm Ross Sharp and I fully endorse and approve of this man's actions.

THE 1ST ANNUAL SMELLY TONGUES "SNIFF MY FINGER" AWARDS ...

... For the relentless pursuit and presentation of random stupidities that will forevermore stand as a testament to how the human race eventually managed to devolve back into a puddle of pond-scum ...

THE "SOMEBODY FAMOUS FARTED" AWARD (or, "WHY THE FUCK IS THIS NEWS?") goes to ...

The Sydney Morning Herald for it's breathless report about how, when Lindsay Lohan's girlfriend Samantha Ronson arrived at Sydney airport in September, 2008, she exited the terminal and lit a cigarette.

As the story is uncredited, the award, a Vegemite jar of famous people's farts will be presented to former SMH editor Alan Oakley. What a whiffy way to go, Alan, old chap! Well done, what!

THE "PHILLIP TRAVERS" AWARD for incomprehensible chatterbot claptrap comments on the intertubes goes to ...

What a fucking field of worthy contenders, ladies and gentlemen, and my-oh-my-oh-my, did this one put our judges to the test this year! Two of them stabbed themselves in their eye-sockets, and another ripped his own face off in indecision, so I guess that leaves the choice of this year's inaugural winner up to myself. It was a last minute entry, but by God, it worked for me ...

From Scott Weinberg's Cinematical review of Frank Miller's film "The Spirit", "Serge G" had this to say ...

"I'd like inform you that Scarlett Johansson (actress)actually is a clone from original person,who has nothing with acting career.Clone was created illegally using stolen biomaterial.Original Scarlett Galabekian last name is nice, CHRISTIAN young lady.I'll tell more,those clones(it's not only 1)made in GERMANY-world leader manufacturer of humans clones,it's in Ludwigshafen am Rhein,Rhineland-Palatinate,Mr.Helmut Kohl home town.You can't even imaging the scale of the cloning activity.But warning,H.Kohl staff strictly controlling their clones spreading around the world,they're NAZI type disciplined and mind controlled,be careful get close with clones you will be controlled too.Original family didn't authorize any activity with stolen biomaterials,no matter what form it was created in,it's all need to be back to original family control in Cedars-Sinai MedicalCenter in LA.Controlling clones is US military operation.Original Scarlett never was engaged,by the way"

Congratulations, Serge! Your award is this very special lead coated space bar which will be presented to you in the form of a severe beating about the head. Enjoy your brain hemorrhage, Serge! You've earned it, baby!

THE "PIERS 'I CAN'T SEE MY PENIS FROM UP HERE' AKERMAN" AWARD for services to sexual hysterics, pedophile paranoia and moral panic about pretty much anything ado about fucking and genitalia goes to ...

Jesus Christ on a cross upside-down and split up the arse with a eucalypt log, people! Where the hell can we start with this one?! Ladies and gentlemen, this was a field stuffed to the stocking top with notable nominees and, to be fair to all, no one individual stood above any other. And so, in a historical first for award programmes across the globe, we are proud to announce that everyone's a winner!

Yes-indeedy-do, this year's award will be jointly and proudly shared by ... Family First Senator Steve Fielding for suggesting that adults should be banned from viewing adult material on the internet; Miranda Devine, Hetty Johnston, Kevin Rudd and Morris Iemma for having dirty thoughts about an image of a nude adolescent and thinking everyone else on the planet is just as obsessed with sex as they are (the dirty little fuckers); and Senator Stephen Conroy just because the dumb little cunt wasn't scraped, bagged and flushed into a toilet back when he was a zygote.

Our hearty congratulations to all! Your prize will be awarded to you backstage by forty-seven Masai warriors on ice, all of whom are right now feverishly working their sixteen-inch weapons of mass destruction into a lather of rhythmically throbbing gristle on your behalf and for your pleasure.

And remember, folks, bukkake ain't another word for a bridge-game! (Please remember to collect your super-size sponges from the stage manager afore you venture back to the green room, ta).

And, last but certainly not least! May I have a drum-roll and a boom-tish, please!

THE SNIFF MY FINGER "GOLDEN JACKBOOT" AWARD!!

Generously sponsored by Odour Eaters, Stormfront and the German National Democratic Party, this year's winner is ...

ANDREW BOLT!

For his inimitable irrepressibility, snide insinuations and suspect views about anything that ain't white, ain't right and ain't about 120 years old, Andy was always a frontrunner favourite for this award and, by dang and dagnabbity goshdarn, he deserves the recognition!

Andrew's prize will be a fully escorted tour (courtesy of the N.D.P.) to Passau where he will be encouraged to slit the throat of a police officer while uttering the words, "Greetings from the Herald-Sun and Rupert Murdoch, you left-wing police pig" ...

It oughta be a doddle.

Thank you all for your attendance and attention and we look forward to doing it all again next year.

Oh, by the way, if there are any footballers in tonight's audience, try to avoid raping the ushers on your way out, boys ... I know it's a party habit thing with you guys, but it takes a helluva long time to get the stains out of the carpet ... Why don't you just go home and shove a wine glass in your girlfriend's face instead, you gutless little fuckers? You'll get a talk show out of it, I guarantee ...

ROBIN WILLIAMS ON OBAMA'S ELECTION

The reign of error is over ...

I HATE THE INTERNET

One last thing ...

News.com have just released their 100 most-clicked upon stories of the year. Here are the keywords from the Top 40 headlines ...

40. Racy Stephanie Rice
39. Bingle topless shots
38. Xbox
37. Schoolgirl raped
36. Named and shamed
35. Naughty Nikki
34. Brisbane Broncos
33. 19-year-old / Suicide / Webcam
32. David Brown / Sunrise
31. iPhone
30. Cosmetic surgery addict
29. Suicidal jumper
28. Girlfriend was a bloke
27. Stolen Generations
26. Orgies / Nude resort
25. Incest couple
24. Teenage / Orgy
23. Sonia Kruger
22. Sex act / Toilets
21. Lindsay Lohan / Lesbian lover
20. Mark Priestley
19. Porn
18. Ex-Idol
17. Penis
16. Sex / Video
15. Porn shock
14. Call girl
13. Google
12. Horrified
11. Jess Origliasso / Porn
10. Brendan David Dennison
09. Giant spider
08. Alien
07. Bigfoot
06. Patrick Swayze
05. Stephanie Rice
04. Pink
03. iPhone
02. Fishy-smelling
01. Heath Ledger

My natural inclination toward misanthropic nihilism just got a whole lot worse.

NOSES OFF

I couldn’t be bothered for the rest of the week.

I’m on annual leave from Friday until early January, so there won’t be nothin’ going on here but spam and dust bunnies and virtual tumbleweeds.

So, have a happy whatever and a merry thingymawhatsit …



From ?, Jane Siberry “Love Is Everything (Live)”

SWOON

Yeah, I know it’s a lazy excuse for a blog entry, but whaddya think you’re gonna do about it, huh?

Swoon.

JOBS! JOBS! JOBS!

VIRTUAL LAY DOWN AND DIE FRIDAY

I’m in a murderous mood.

I will not go into details, but it’s a filthy, foul, hateful, horrible murderous mood, and if anyone so much as looks at me askance today, I will slit their fucking throats and shit down their fucking necks.

Understand?

Now, as the scummy, low-life, gutter-sucking thrush buckets at Universal Music Group don’t allow embedding of their fucking material, go here to see Richard Kern’s clip for Sonic Youth and Lydia Lunch’s “Death Valley ‘69”. That's where my head's at right now.

In a similar vein, what I wouldn’t give to see Siouxsie Sioux beat the crap out of shiny-faced, pump-titted scrags like Spears, et al with a nail-studded baseball bat …

I’d pay good money for it. Fucking lots of money.



From 1983, Siouxsie & The Banshees “Helter Skelter”

TOM ♥ JULIE BISHOP

You and your pussycat nose, whoa-oh-oh-oh …

A PLAGUE OF JESSICAS

A few days ago I was lurking about the handsomely appointed lunchroom upstairs (handsomely appointed due to the presence of coffee and biscuits in it and a few chairs that don’t break when you sit on them), when I began to leaf through one of the many magazines that live there.

There's a truckload of these things laying about, some of them dating back to the days when Michael Jackson was still vaguely recognisable as a human being and Madonna didn't look like Agnes Moorehead from "Bewitched".

"Women's magazines", they call them, though no woman I've ever had more than a passing acquaintance with would be seen dead reading one of the things, and if I ever did have a passing acquaintance with a woman who admitted to reading such stuff, I'd probably shoot her in the face with a musket as an act of mercy.

These things have oodles of pictures, mostly of people I've never heard of who do things I've never been aware of, but by golly they must do ‘em well and do ‘em often cause their faces, their bums, their armpits, their blackheads, zits, nits and shaving nicks are plastered all over these magazines for the benefit of our viewing and reading pleasure.

There's not much text in these things, though if someone vaguely “known” has announced an impending pregnancy, these magazines will often run a photo of the person with a texta-like drawing of a little circle with an arrow from it pointing at the woman's belly, just as a way of reminding us (I guess) that babies come from women’s tummies and not from storks.

Fancy that.

Happily, the editors have refrained from adding little texta drawings of that thing that mostly enables a pregnancy to begin, but it's early days yet. So don't be too surprised if you pick up one of these magazines one day and find it full of little texta penises and little squiggly tadpoles heading off to party up some poor lass’s crotch. With an arrow to guide them on their way.

But on this particular day, as I was leafing through this particular magazine, I began to feel vaguely unsettled in a chilly “someone wants to eat my soul” kind of way.

For on every page I looked at, page after page after page, a JESSICA looked back at me.

There was JESSICA Alba. There was JESSICA Biel. There was JESSICA Simpson. There was JESSICA Mauboy.

There was a Sarah JESSICA Parker, too. She has a big spot on her face, did you know? It’s name is JESSICA too.

A veritable plague of JESSICA’s had taken nest in this magazine and I wondered if I’d accidentally stumbled upon a Stepford Wife conspiracy of sorts.

You see, JESSICA Alba looks like JESSICA Biel’s younger sister. And JESSICA Simpson looks like JESSICA Biel would look if you stuck JESSICA Biel in a bleach bath for a year and wrung her out with a white shagpile rug. JESSICA Mauboy looks like an "Australian Idol" contestant and, strangely enough, Sarah JESSICA Parker looks like a horse with a big spot on its face.

Also, they all have these blindingly white teeth. Or at least, I think they’re teeth. Every time one of them smiles, it’s like peering in at a bunch of enameled miniature Miele appliances and all you want to do is move in and set up house and whip up a stir-fry. Or a quiche.

Or, in Sarah JESSICA Parker’s case, hose the poop out of the stable and bring in some fresh hay.

And another thing. They’re all actors. Except for JESSICA Mauboy, who was an "Australian Idol" contestant, so we can stop mentioning her right now ‘cause the rest of her life is utterly irrelevant to any aspect of reality anymore.

Now, I’ve seen JESSICA Alba in some films, but I can’t remember a damn thing about her in any of them. She was in “Sin City”, a film I loved to bits, but as far as I can recall, all she did in that was go twirling around a pole in her underwear for a while. Not an entirely unpleasant thing to watch, but whether or not she can actually act has yet to be determined. She was also in a movie called “The Eye”, which I may have seen, but can’t really remember, though I think it was about a possessed eyeball doing whatever it is possessed eyeballs do. By the way, did you know that the name JESSICA is derived from an ancient Hebrew word meaning “foresight” or “clairvoyance”? Uncanny, what?

And JESSICA Biel was in the remake of “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre”, which I do remember because I liked it. But all she did in that movie was run around in a shirt that was tied off above her navel and ultra-tight jeans. I found it quite distracting. In a pleasing way, I guess, but I’m watching a horror movie and it’s beginning to resemble an episode of “Baywatch” gone feral, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing for a horror movie. By the way, did you know that the first noted usage of the name JESSICA was for a character from William Shakespeare’s “The Merchant of Venice”, a quite nifty and entertaining little play about paying debts with chunks of your own bloody flesh? Unsettling, isn’t it?

Unfortunately, all I know about JESSICA Simpson is that she once had pimples. She slapped her face with some acne treatment stuff and got rid of her pimples and decided to raise some breasts instead, which appears to have worked out quite handsomely for her. Lucky girl. By the way, did you know that the word “pimple” is derived from the Latin “papula” or “papilla” which means nipple? Are you getting chills yet?

As far as Sarah JESSICA Parker is concerned, she made a name for herself in a show about dildos and shoes, which must have been a novel experience for those who watched it, but I much preferred her early stuff. By the way, did you know that the name Sarah means “princess”, and that there was once a famous princess who wore shoes and died in a car crash?

So.

What may we glean from this plague of JESSICA’s?

If we …

…

…

…

…

Um.

…

…

…

…

I KNOW!

LET’S START OVER! …

A few days ago I was lurking about the handsomely appointed lunchroom upstairs (handsomely appointed due to the presence of coffee and biscuits in it and a few chairs that don’t break when you sit on them), when I began to leaf through one of the many magazines that live there …

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

LISTEN! NO-ONE’S MAKIN’ YA READ THIS CRAP, YA KNOW!!

…

Leave me alone.

I’m unwell.

THE WAR ON WHITE PEOPLE

I’ve been blissfully unaware of the war that currently rages against white people such as myself, but Andrew Bolt has been bustin’ hisself lately to bring this latest threat against the dear hearts and gentle people of the commonweal to wider attention …

“David Warren on a new mixture of stupidity and ignorance:

Last Monday, the student council of Carleton University attracted much attention to their university and to the city of Ottawa—around Canada and the world—with their decision to cancel their annual Shinerama fundraising efforts on behalf of the Canadian Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. Their argument was that this disease afflicts ”white people and primarily men.” They would rather choose a charity that is more “inclusive.””

This little snippet of silly shit comes to Bolt courtesy of the obviously ‘lerted and ‘larmed “reader Perturbed of NSW” who’d been poking about the pages of the world-renowned journal of note, the Ottawa Citizen, and was so desperately disturbed by the behaviour of this globally influential university student council and their decision to raise funds for something other than the something they’d previously raised funds for that he/she felt an A.P.B. to Bolt and his Whackjob Patrol was in order .

For Satan’s godless minions are once again afoot.

(As an aside, a telling detail of the evil that stalks the land is that “Shinerama” contains the last 3 letters of the devious tobacco-suckin’ U.S. President-Elect’s surname which may just be enough to convince decent, God-fearin’ folk to start packing the shelters with bottled water, dried fruits and grains. Of course, “Shinerama” may just be a live action version of “Futurama” using ankle-sock puppets, but hell, why take chances at this perilous time in our lives?)

And so, devotees of Chaos Theory one and all, Bolt’s monkeys take this as just another signpost pointing to the impending end of civilisation as we know it …

“Western civilisation as we know it is in rapid decline, and history will show it was a suicide.” k1w1 of Brisbane (Reply) Tue 02 Dec 08 (12:49am)

“Then why don’t they piss off and join their inclusive brothers in the Middle East? Now there’s an inclusive culture for you where all are equal ..equally deranged that is .. “ frankly fed up of melbourne (Reply)

“The above says it all really..but what Cystic Fibrosis really needs is a touch of Islam to sanitize it and make it appealing to progressive thinkers like these dunderheads.” uptothebackteeth of Brisbane (Reply) Tue 02 Dec 08 (06:18am)

“I’ll bet these freaks are all in favour of AIDS “charities”, though. The type of behaviour that leads to that disease is ‘inclusive’ enough for them.” RWDB of Normalcy (Reply) Tue 02 Dec 08 (07:10am)

“Maybe this group could instead raise funds to combat Islamic Mental Derangement (IMD), a genetic illness that affects young, disaffected people used as tools by others who are even more mentally crazed … In the Islamic world, the main symptoms are an unbalanced sense of grievance and victimhood, and a desire to slaughter and terrorise others, wipe out all infidels, keep women in cages, institute brutality and cruelty and take the world back to the Dark Ages … In other parts of the world, particularly Western academia, the disease manifests itself in increasingly self-destructive and near-suicidal tendencies, a strong sense of imputed guilt, and a wish to toss away liberty, equality and hard-won freedoms with a view to undermining established democratic systems, all accompanied by an inability to think for oneself.” Baden of Sydney (Reply) Tue 02 Dec 08 (09:10am)

So, according to these colossal colonic polyps, three of them think this decision has something to do with the Middle East and Islam. That sort of flew under my radar, I must admit. Another thinks it has to do with gay sex. I missed that connection, too. Strangely, I thought it was about a bunch of students trying to decide which Canadian charity they’d throw their efforts into this time. But no, their decision is the flapping of a butterfly’s wings in the Amazon and a dark portent of times at their end.

And then, just when you think sanity is only a name for a chain of crappy music shops, along comes Bill from Tasmania …

“It’s their fundraising effort, they are free to choose who they do it for as we all are. Their reasons are nobody’s business but theirs.” Bill O Tas (Reply) Tue 02 Dec 08 (07:46am)

Nobody’s business but theirs?

Fancy that.

Bloody Tasmanians.

SMELLY TONGUES IS ONE

This blog was one year old on Sunday 30th November, 2008.

And, as I’ll be taking leave in a couple of weeks and will be flat out busy from now till then with work, there may not be too much happenin’ hereabouts for the rest of the year. However, maybe that’s just as well …

… For here are some of the things people have wanted to find out about over the last year which led them to this site.

None of them stuck around for very long, and I do believe they left none the wiser for their queries ...

pretty tongues
black man smelly
black women tongues on youtube
fat people tongues
girls with smelly tongues
hard smelly tongue
holy martin is smelly
is childbirth smelly
lindsay lohan tongues
mentally ill sufferers speaking in tongues
painty smelly
people with smelly tongues
power smelly
smelly
smelly andrew
smelly black snake
smelly bush
smelly cunts
smelly flies
smelly knicker movies
smelly knicker vids
smelly knickers
smelly music
smelly nuts
smelly pincle
smelly radio
smelly sniffing
smelly teeth
smelly war
snakes with black tongues
tongues and perfect
tongues, australian for
tonguing milf
troy buswell chair sniffing smelly
ugly smelly milf
video free petite longue tongue
youtube kids tongues
youtube very smelly

People are deep. Very, very deep.

LESBO VAMPIRE KILLERS HOT VIDEO ACTION!!

Dear Rupert,

I have taken the trubble to revise the layme hedline to this story as u can see from the above up there (up above).

I don’t feel your currant hedline riters and sub-editers are doing ur orgnisation the justise such a fine pubication deserves.

Give us a job, ya scraggy old cunt.

Yours Sincerely,
Ross Sharp

VIRTUAL PANADOL FRIDAY

From Dikipedia …

"The only thing Sarah Palin seems to enjoy more than having children is giving those children ridiculous names and inadequate sex education …

… On August 29, 2008, Republican presidential candidate Senator John McCain performed perhaps the greatest political mindfuck in American history by announcing that he had chosen Sarah Palin as his running mate. Palin celebrated by ovulating."

Now ... WATCH ME SEGUE! ...

From ovulating to the chilly twilight of barren, menopausal misery, Filmthreat have compiled their Frigid 50 for 2008, “The 50 Coldest People in Hollywood” … Curiously, neither Tom Cruise or Lindsay Lohan make the cut, which must surely mean their careers are no longer just cold, they’ve decomposed altogether and have now become one with the ether …

Coming in at No. 13 this year is …

“Scarlett Johansson - Funny how quickly that Next Big Thing title slips away, isn’t it? Not to worry, Woody Allen never tires of his young ingénues. Just ask Mia Farrow.”

Awww, poor Scarlett.

I must confess I’ve never really paid much attention to Ms. Johansson’s acting abilities. Although I do seem to recall her arse featured quite prominently in the opening credits of some movie a while back … What was that called? “Virgin Suicides”? … Whatever …



Yeah, that one. Meh.

I think it would be quite a good idea if all movies in future opened with a close-up of Scarlett Johansson’s arse. Might be just the ticket to give a much-needed lift to all these dark and depressing “small” films that blight the cinematic landscape so, with their vanishing-point narratives of doom and wretched angst, stuffed with spotty teenagers or those horridly inconvenient wobbly folk with their unsightly disabilities; fat slapper mums in fluffless fluffy slippers with upper arms that look like punched pudding dough and drugged-out deadbeat dads forever hauling slabs of XXXX from the ute to the dunny fridge who like to piss on the family dog at night for giggles.

It’s just what movies need these days, I reckon. More arse.

Yet topping (so to speak) the Frigid 50 list at No.1 is “our” Heath Ledger, the man whose face I’d like to put on a t-shirt accompanied by the slogan “Best Sleeping Pills Ever” …

“Develop the posthumous ability to go back in time and read some pharmacology textbooks that might’ve clued you in to the fact that mixing OxyContin, hydrocodone, Valium, temazepam, Xanax and doxylamine wasn’t a wise move. Hell, go ahead and lend them to River Phoenix while you’re at it.”

Run, River, run!!

And with that, a smoother segue into song you will never find. On this blog, at least …



From 1995, Suddenly Tammy “River Run”

"PSST!! THE PRESIDENT HAS GENITAL WARTS ... PASS IT ON"

Where's the love?

PENNE?

It's life Jim, but not as we know it ...

A MAN caught by police with his penis in a pasta sauce jar was still pleasuring himself while resisting arrest, a court has been told.

Police thought he might have a weapon because they saw him doing something with his hands in his lap, the Herald said.

Instead, they found him partially clothed with his genitals in a jar, a police statement said.

Jar jar bonking.



From 1979, Amii Stewart “Knock On Wood”

THIS YOGHURT KILLS BABIES

I wrote this a while back (October 2007) on a blog that no longer exists (an early effort), however, in light of poor old Andrew’s mournful whining today about poor old Kevin Andrews, an apparently “cautious and deep[ly] Christian” fellow and an “honest man”, I thought it an apt and dandy time for a recycle …

Oh, those were the days, my friends, those were the days …

We thought they'd never end.

THIS YOGHURT KILLS BABIES (REDUX)

On the ABC television program "Insiders" of August 5, 2007, host Barrie Cassidy interviewed Kevin Andrews, the current Federal Minister for Immigration about his decision to deport Dr Mohamed Haneef on the basis of allegations that Haneef had been mucking it up and hooning about with some of those despicable terrorists we're forever being 'lerted and 'larmed about. Of course, most of these allegations have now been widely discredited and dismissed, and the good Minister Andrews in his desperately clumsy attempts to convince us all that his accusations were justified continues to reveal himself to be a man whose grey matter appears to comprise little else than a few dusty tumbleweeds and a blowfly.

And, aside from those pesky Indian doctors, Andrews ain’t too keen on foreign black folks either.

However, at the tail end of the interview, Cassidy began to ask Andrews about another matter entirely ...

Broadcast: 05/08/2007

BARRIE CASSIDY: I also read this morning that you are an adviser and an honorary patron to the radical - as it's described in the newspaper - radical pro-life group Life Decisions International. Is that true?

KEVIN ANDREWS: Look, I've been a patron, the Americans used the word "honorary adviser" because in America a patron is someone who pays money. I've been a patron of a pro-life organisation for about 10 years.

BARRIE CASSIDY: This group advocates economic boycotts against companies producing contraceptive pills. Is that something that you support?

KEVIN ANDREWS: Can I say, I'm a patron. I'm not involved and have never been involved in the day-to-day operation of the organisation. I'm, you know, patron of a variety of organisations.

BARRIE CASSIDY: But as a patron you lend your support to that organisation?

KEVIN ANDREWS: That's right.

BARRIE CASSIDY: And you wouldn't put your name to it unless you supported their tactics, and their tactics are to support an economic boycott against companies like GlaxoSmithKline, for example.

KEVIN ANDREWS: It's a free world, Barrie. People can advocate what they like. But as far as I'm aware, there's nothing illegal involved. As I said...

BARRIE CASSIDY: Nothing illegal about an economic boycott but it's something that you clearly support otherwise you wouldn't put your name to it.

KEVIN ANDREWS: Look, the bottom line is that this is an organisation which is pro-life. Everybody knows I'm pro-life. I'm patron of an organisation that's pro-life.

BARRIE CASSIDY: And pro-economic boycotts.

KEVIN ANDREWS: Well, as to the way in which they advocate a pro-life outcome, that's fine.

BARRIE CASSIDY: I'm just curious, one thing - what have they got against Walt Disney? Why are they demanding a boycott against Walt Disney?

KEVIN ANDREWS: (laughs) As I said, I'm not involved in their day-to-day operations. I'm a patron of it. I'm not running away from that. It's been on my declaration of interests forever and a day or ever since I've been a patron of it. That's that.

BARRIE CASSIDY: Thanks for your time this morning.

KEVIN ANDREWS: My pleasure.

Walt Disney aside, that Lion King of theirs having been long revealed to be queerer than a carpentry joint tacked together by someone with St.Vitus' dance, Life Decisions International also appear to be dead-set opposed to that infamous "culture of death" concept known as carpet on floors, listing among their "boycott targets", the companies Carpet One, Flooring America, Flooring Canada, and Flooring One.

Now, I know nothing of carpets, plush rugs never before having struck me as particularly sinister, but, perhaps summat's afoot aboot that lump of piles on my floor which has yet to shew it's evil intentions.

But why on earth would the poor old Coach Dairy Goat Farm of Pine Farms, New York be in their sights?

What have they got against a decent lump of curd?

NOT "THE ENGLISH PATIENT"

I’m wandering back to work from the CBD and I pass a door leading upstairs to a bar of some sort. On the wall next to the otherwise unadorned entrance is a small poster advertising what is no doubt the chief attraction of this most salubrious establishment of malty excellence …

“Beer & Breasts Fridays”

Now, despite an oft-indulged penchant for the occasional cheap jug, I passed this unique enticement by (it is only Tuesday, after all), however, in that one brief moment did I come to realise that Brisbane, my adopted home these last 3 years, can now lay claim to be the one true spiritual home of worldly sophisticates everywhere …

And somewhat in that same veiny cup …

This movie looks bloody awful.



From 2008, "Bitch Slap", trailer, directed by Rick Jacobson

...

I must see it.

...

And this just looks plain silly ...



From 2008, "Machine Girl" trailer, directed by Noboru Iguchi

I! WANT! A! TICKET! NOW!

VIRTUAL PANADOL FRIDAY

Talk about a filthy frame of mind …

I’m holding the elevator door open for a couple of guys who are only a few steps away. Polite thing to do, I reckon. They get to the elevator and stand outside the door, peering in, as if in awe that it is open. So I say …

“Either get in or feel free to loiter, but I’m going and I’m going now”.

So in they get. In a somewhat sheepish fashion, shall we say.

Yes, I know.

And while I’m at it, if this thing actually happened (which I very much doubt), it’s just a damn shame they didn’t pull the trigger and blow his ugly fucking face off. Wearing a hairstyle like that in public should be a criminal offence punishable by death anyway. What a silly little cockhead.

Anyhow, this clip is from an age when women with “attitude” (Hello Granma Madge, Pink, et al) didn’t have to throw themselves about in front of a camera like so many Z-grade porn-zombies in order to get a little attention …

Yummy.



From 1987, Siouxsie & The Banshees “The Passenger”

DEAD MEN'S FORESKINS

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TIMBER FALLS

Two new "horror" films (straight to DVD) currently available for rental ... give "Insanitarium" the flick (it has a performance from Peter Stormare that's hammier than a smallgoods smokehouse) and head straight for "Timber Falls" ...

An effective, efficient little chiller, "Timber Falls" takes a swag of what, by now, are well-trod "horror" cliches (a young couple; the woods; cabin; nut-sack crackers) and manages to put a fresh spin on them by virtue of (1) a coherent script (2) believable motivations for the actions of the characters, and (3) excellent performances, most notably from Beth Broderick as Ida and the always superb Nick Searcy as Clyde.

Set in the United States yet filmed in Romania, the film is nothing profound or ground-breaking by any means (it did remind me, thematically at least, of Jack Ketchum's short novel* "Right To Life"), but there are far worse ways to spend a lazy weekend afternoon with a few beers and a bag of chips, believe me.

And, thankfully, it eschews supernatural mumbo-jumbo (wanna know how to deal with pesky spirits? ... Get out of the house and run the fuck away) and the tiresome, mindless excesses of the slasher/torture-porn genre** so popular these days with those spotty little tools who, until they can get around to dipping their denuded wicks into an actual woman, seem to enjoy watching women get killed as a way of getting themselves all gooey in their sagging arse-crack pants.

"Giglio doesn’t quite seem able to decide what his tone is, incongruously mixing goofy redneck humor with harrowing scenes of intense pain, but horror fans should dig it nonetheless — I did. Not recommended for the devoutly religious, moralistic scolds or anyone with a sensitive stomach." Luke Y. Thompson - L.A. Weekly

*I will not call it a "novella". I loathe that word.

**There are nasty bits, but the "Saw" and "Hostel" franchises, it ain't.

WONDERS NEVER CEASE

Andrew Bolt reckons Obama weren't raised black, he were raised right, er, white.

One of Andy's simpering simians (Paul of Hervey Bay- Wed 12 Nov 08 (02:16pm) reckons ...

"Andrew, it is a fact that Obama has Black skin. When people meet him on the street they assume he is a black man."

Fancy that ...

ANAPHYLAXIS ALERT!

CAUTION: MAY CONTAIN TRACES OF NUTS.

$!!!!##@!~!!! ...

So I wander up to the local Blockbuster on the weekend ... they've changed their system for television series rental. Instead of one disc at a time (3 or 4 episodes), you can now rent an ENTIRE SEASON for six and a half bucks a week.

WOO-HOO!

Having heard good things about it, but having not bothered when it was on free-to-air television earlier last year or whenever, because, when it comes to free-to-air television these days to do so is a waste of time, I rent season one of the “re-imagined” "Battlestar Galactica" ...

Season one, disc one, episode one ... it begins ...

"Previously on Battlestar Galactica ..."

Previously?

PREVIOUSLY?!

WHADDYA FUCKING MEAN, PREVIOUSLY?! THERE IS NO PREVIOUSLY!!!!

SEASON ONE, DISC ONE, EPISODE ONE!!

ONE!! ONE!! ONE!!!!!!!!!! O-N-E!!!!!!!!!

Oh, you mean you DIDN'T put the pilot episode on?

....

You miserable, tightarse, filthy little fuckers.

I hope you all die of cancer.

FELIXUNGERALIA

Welcome to the anal-retentive capitol of the world. Mixing up the best of a spotless Singapore street with a delightfully German sense of humour, may we now present to you the funnest place you’ll ever visit …

SYDNEY!!

A place whose leaders may well be utterly incapable of running a health system, a public transport system, an education system or pretty much anything else that may actually matter to you, but hey, godammit, they have ways of keepin’ ya tidy!

... Police officers have been encouraged to issue fines of up to $400 for washing car windscreens at intersections or putting up posters on power poles ...

... NSW Police Commissioner Andrew Scipione, who is championing the initiative, said it is not a revenue raising exercise, instead insisting it is what the community wants to feel safe ...

... Mr Scipione said he ranked this with other "quality of life issues" such as noise, car hoons and alcohol-related crime. People being approached in their cars at intersections or walking through streets "just covered" in posters may feel like they are in a dangerous situation, he said. So the crackdown is about "making people feel like they are being looked after"...

1. I've never felt threatened by a poster. I've never walked past a poster and had it whisper at me, "Gotta fag? Spare change? Wanna buy some hash?" Even when the poster has been half-unstuck from it's place of stuckness, it's never thrust a copy of the Watchtower at me or tried to talk me into taking a personality test. It's a poster.

2. And I've never felt in a dangerous situation because I may have been walking through a street "covered" in posters, especially if the posters are advertising, for example, Richard E. Grant in "My Fair Lady", or Andre Rieu or "Happy Feet". They’re posters, for Christ’s sake, not suicide bombers.

3. "Making people feel like they are being looked after" means giving them the impression that something is being done for the greater good when, in fact, nothing is being done at all. This is the New South Wales state government’s main stock-in-trade now, and has been for the better part of a decade. Hell, before I moved up to Brisbane, we used to laugh at Queenslanders, but now Queenslanders are laughing at Sydneysiders. All the time. Even the Queenslanders who’ve spent the last 200 years marrying their first cousins and giving birth to kiddies who’d make Leatherface look like George Clooney are pissing themselves. These days, tell someone interstate that you’re from Sydney, they’ll just put an arm around your shoulder and say, “You poor bugger … can I buy you a beer?”

4. Scipione's an insufferable cockhead. But then, we already knew that.

There's been mention of this on radio as well over the last few days, and most people don’t seem to be the least bit bothered by posters advertising bands, shows and exhibitions or cool and groovy "happenings" where the young folk go to take drugs and get themselves knocked up and give birth to disabled quadruplets nine months later and wind up on welfare while dad grows one of those stringy little black beards that looks like a leper’s pubic hair and he’s got that sunken chest thing happening (all the better for tossing a salad if you run out of Tupperware bowls!) and it’s tattooed all over with the names of his kiddies, who are all dead now anyway cause mum and pop locked them in a cupboard for 6 months and went on a Tim Tam and Kettle Chip bender. Is that the problem, Scip?

Although, there are a few who say such posters are “visual pollution” …

But so is Bert Newton’s shiny new face and hairplugs and those bloody things are all over the place; on the sides of buses and in newspapers and magazines and television advertisements which pop up when you least expect it and send you tootling up the hall in horror to shit out your stomach lining (fifth time since you got home, you’ve lost a kilo and half in two ad breaks and your arse feels like it’s been scraped up and down a gravel driveway).

Visual pollution?

There's Meriton apartment blocks.

And teenagers with zits.

There’s fat people with backsides the size of battered Volkswagens and faces like dropped bread'n'butter puddings, teeth the colour and shape of cloves, and fatrolls that could tyre a Mack truck and cushion it up the Andes with nary a rattle. They’re pretty unpleasant to look at.

There's Belinda Neal and John Della-Bosca, and Piers Akerman. There’s Michael Costa, and Joe Tripodi and Eddie Obeid and Milton Orkopoulos. Horrible, horrible, ugly people. Millions of them.

Hell, look, life is full of really fucking ugly people and they’re all around us. Every time you go outside and up the street for a walk or turn on a television or look at a newspaper, there they are.

Horribly ugly ugly people being horribly ugly all the horribly ugly time.

Even people who, in olden times, weren’t renowned for their horrible ugliness, have gone horribly ugly now, having spent the last several years sticking pins in various parts of their noggins out of some deranged desire to look like a land-dwelling puffer fish.

The only way to reduce visual pollution in our cities and towns is not to ban the glueing of posters to power poles, but to kill all the horribly ugly people at the moment of conception. It would be the most effective way of reducing the number of media magnates, mining magnates, stockbrokers, bankers, music industry lawyers, real estate agents, and has-been actors and actresses, not to mention putting a stop to any of them breeding a posse of horribly ugly offspring, who nearly always wind up being uglier than a ten-gallon-hat full of cane toad colons anyway.

Scrape 'em, bag 'em, flush 'em.

Birds gotta fly, fish gotta eat.

Andrew Scipione’s idea of visual pollution. A “street poster” from 1995. I have one of these in my possession, purchased in Perth from the venue and signed by Lydia Lunch and Rowland S. Howard. Visual pollution, my arse.

HOW I FEEL ABOUT I.T. CONSULTANTS PT.3

No further explanation required.

VIRTUAL ECSTACY FRIDAY

I'm currently feeling way too good about things to blog anything even remotely coherent ...



From 1968, The Staple Singers, “Reach Out, Touch A Hand”

AH, CRAP …

Oops.

…

…

Monday, October 10th, 2008 will be the first day.

Sheesh.

This ain't gonna be pretty.

ASPLODING PUDDLES OF HAPPY!!!!!

CONGRATULATIONS, MR. PRESIDENT-ELECT!

ASK A STUPID QUESTION …

In response to Peter Beinart’s column in the Sydney Morning Herald this morning, I couldn’t resist …

Dear Editor,

"Why has America turned on Sarah Palin?", asks Peter Beinart (5/11/08). It's simple, Peter. Having handed the administration of their country to an idiot for the last 8 years, they're probably well in the mood for putting someone with a brain in charge for a change.

THE MINDLESS MENACE OF VIOLENCE

Take 6 minutes from your life and listen to this …



From April 5 1968, Robert F. Kennedy, Cleveland, Ohio

I PROMISE ...

If Barack Obama is elected President of the United States on Wednesday 5th October, 2008 (Australia time), I promise that, after 30 years, I will give up smoking.

Seriously.

EYES ON THE PRIZE

From 2007, Mavis Staples “Eyes On The Prize”

VIRTUAL PANADOL FRIDAY

I was planning on posting a colossal dummy spit about what a thoroughly crappy decade this has been so far …

Maybe next week. Depending on what happens next Wednesday, maybe not.

In the meantime, this song popped up on my IPod yesterday as I was walking home from work. This is the live version …



From ?, Cassandra Wilson, “Harvest Moon”

GO AWAY!!!

The music industry’s equivalent of an albino blaxploitation Freddy Kruger is threatening to scare the world shitless again by poking his horribly deconstructed visage back into public view to squeak out some daggy old tunes in a pretty desperate and transparent attempt at shoving some moolah back into his much-depleted coffers.

God help us.

“Bad”? “Dangerous”? For fuck’s sake, the guy’s about as “bad” and “dangerous” as Don Knotts and those anemic gyrations of Jackson’s would make a St. Vitus afflicted Wiggle look hot by comparison.

I've never owned a copy of Jackson's "Thriller". Not even a single off it. Or anything else he’s done. Well may people say it's the biggest-selling album of all time or whatnot, but you couldn't sell one to me if it had a pair of tits growing from it or projected a hologram of Scarlet Johannson wandering around my living room stark naked …

[…]

[…]

[…]

[…]

Well, maybe you could sell one to me if it projected a hologram of Scarlett Johannson wandering around my living room stark naked, but I wouldn’t listen to it …

[…]

I can’t think straight right now.

Come back tomorrow.

LIBERALS AND POWER

Peter van Onselen has "edited" a "book", a large chunk of which was "written" by faceless men and women on behalf of men and women whose faces we’re familiar with, but who are incapable of writing their own material. He's also "edited" a "book" that is supposed to reflect contemporary, that is, current, Liberal Party ideology and future directions but has, instead, "edited" a "book", a large chunk of which is just recycled weasel words and cliched newspeak dating back to the 1980's and '90's.

Van Onselen is an Associate Professor in Political Science. He says about the book "if he ever takes on a book of politicians' essays again", he will be more vigilant. "If ever a book publisher is going to find out whether any publicity is good publicity, this will be the test of whether that phrase is true," Dr van Onselen said.

Here's a heads-up, Peter - If you ever take on a book of politician's essays again, pay attention boy. You're dealing with bloody politicians, not individuals of honesty, integrity or professional ethics. And no, I am not being cynical just for the sake of smartarsery. You are not dealing with people who got where they are today by being forthright, upfront and straightforward in their dealings with others. You make a study of politics, Peter, don't you know this already? Are you naive or just stupid in this regard?

Secondly, consider yourself bloody lucky a publisher expressed an interest in this slim volume of political bubble-and-squeak speak in the first place. Publishers do not take on such projects with the expectation of reaping great gobs of cash and reams of publicity in return. It’s more an exercise in goodwill for the sake of maintaining an historical record of the time rather than an exercise in the excitement of publishing and edge-of-the-seat book launches. If it were not for publishers who are prepared to lose money on publications such as this with the hope of making up the loss from, say, the latest “sword ‘n’ sorcery” epics, our “historical record” would be left in the hands of fish ‘n’ chip wrapper hacks like Andrew Bolt and his crotch-fiddlin’, dribblin’ one-tooth ilk.

The libraries and the halls of academe are grateful for such volumes as yours Peter, but the publisher is waiting to see, after two royalty periods (12 months), what the damage is going to be as far as (a) the possibility of recouping any advance that may have been paid (b) will retailer returns be copy by copy or by the palette, and (c) can they pulp what stock is then left or dump it below cost to a wholesaler or library supplier so they can make room in the warehouse for something of substance that people may actually want to read.

It’s a 280 page book for $36.99 about people who are really, really bad at losing and haven’t shut up about it for almost a year. And your publisher now finds that some of the content may be older than you are, Peter? And not correctly attributed?

I don’t think your publisher would regard this as “good publicity”, Peter. In fact, I imagine they may be more than just a little pissed off right now, mate.

THE DAY I RUINED THE WORLD

WORKER CHOICES

From Talking Point …

Dozens Of Call Center Workers Walk Off Job In Protest Rather Than Read McCain Script Attacking Obama by Greg Sargent - October 27, 2008, 5:18PM

Some three dozen workers at a telemarketing call center in Indiana walked off the job rather than read an incendiary McCain campaign script attacking Barack Obama, according to two workers at the center and one of their parents ...

... "They walked out," Williams says of her daughter and her co-workers, adding that they weren't fired but willingly sacrificed pay rather than read the lines. "They were told [by supervisors], `If you all leave, you're not gonna get paid for the rest of the day."

The daughter, who wanted her name withheld fearing retribution from her employer, confirmed the story to us. "It was like at least 40 people," the daughter said. "People thought the script was nasty and they didn't wanna read it."

A second worker at the call center confirmed the episode, saying that "at least 30" workers had walked out after refusing to read the script.

"We were asked to read something saying [Obama and Democrats] were against protecting children from danger," this worker said. "I wouldn't do it. A lot of people left. They thought it was disgusting."

This worker, too, confirmed sacrificing pay to walk out, saying her supervisor told her: "If you don't wanna phone it you can just go home for the day."

And they did. Bloody terrorists.

You can listen to McCain's "robo-slime" here.

STEVE & STEPHEN MAKE NO PORNO

Kevin Smith has "made" a new "movie".

It's called "Zack and Miri Make a Porno" ...

From "Variety" ...

"Fifteen to 20 newspapers rejected ads for the pic, while Boston and Philadelphia ran them without "Make a Porno." Salt Lake City's Larry H. Miller megaplex, which played "Tropic Thunder" and "Sex Drive," warned in advance that it would not book the movie -- "on moral grounds," says Faber."

"Family" "First" "Senator" "Steve" "Fielding" has yet to be reached for "comment" on whether He will "permit" screening of this "entertainment" in the temple that is our "country" in the "forseeable" future, however, a "spokesperson" for the "Senator" confirmed today that He remains "committed" to "vigorous" examination of any and all "material" that may "include" "adult themes" potentially “unsuitable” or “unfit” for viewing by "adults".

“Senator” “Fielding”, added the “spokesperson”, now reserves the right to confer or withhold the status of adulthood on or from whomsoever He chooses.

Somewhat surprisingly, “Senator” “Fielding” is not a “horse”.

These days, He’s the Emperor.



From 2008, “Zack and Miri Make a Porno”, Trailer, directed by Kevin Smith

THE CHILLER FROM WASILLA

Christopher Hitchens really doesn't like cut-snake crazy Sarah ...

"This is what the Republican Party has done to us this year: It has placed within reach of the Oval Office a woman who is a religious fanatic and a proud, boastful ignoramus. Those who despise science and learning are not anti-elitist. They are morally and intellectually slothful people who are secretly envious of the educated and the cultured. And those who prate of spiritual warfare and demons are not just "people of faith" but theocratic bullies. On Nov. 4, anyone who cares for the Constitution has a clear duty to repudiate this wickedness and stupidity."

MURDER IN AISLE THREE

It’s Friday afternoon after work. You’re at the supermarket to pick a few things up. You’re in the “12 Items or Less” checkout lanes. There are 3 of them. Only 1 has a person behind it.

Oh my, look at all the people in this line, you think to yourself. Oh dear, I’ll be here for hours, you think. Frantically, you spin your head this way and spin your head that way looking desperately for a queue that isn’t a queue, something that will deliver you from the injustice of having to spend … oh, 5 minutes of your life, your precious, special, extraordinary life, in a situation so banal, so beneath you, so not deserving of your valuable and valued time in this squalid little supermarket shithole full of queues.

Oh my, you think to yourself, I wonder where the other 2 people are? Slacking off, most probably, you think. Can’t they see us all waiting here? Can’t they see ME waiting here? Who do they think they are, keeping us all waiting here while they fritter away time doing God-only-knows what but I bet it’s certainly not work, you fume, your eyes narrowing to little rifle-slits and your lips twisting themselves into two snarling ribbons like a couple of shagged out flatworms. The only person they do have is taking an awfully long time with things, isn’t he, you think to yourself, not taking much notice of the fact that everyone he’s dealing with insist on buying their 2 or 3 items of goods for a grand total of $7.87 by using EFTPOS and getting some extra cash to go, thanks, ta, oops, wrong number, I’ll swipe that again.

Oh, here comes someone now, you notice. She looks rather harried, and is wiping her hands, most likely from a quick dash to the mall rest-rooms for a much-needed waste-expulsion and subsequent ablute*.

Well, you think to yourself, that’s understandable, I suppose, fair enough. Though you’d think they’d call up a relief for such circumstances, wouldn’t you? I mean, look at all these people just stuck here in this horrid line! And all because someone went to the toilet. What is the country coming to?

Anyway, there are three checkouts, where’s the third person, then, hmmm?

Of course, you haven’t really noticed that the third person has been stuck out of sight at the cigarette counter for the last ten minutes patiently trying to explain to the brain-dead dingbat on the other side that the 2-for-1 special only applies to 2 items of the same thing and that no, you can’t get 2-for-1 for 4 bucks when you’ve only got one of the things that are on special and the other thing you have is a half-kilo block of tasty cheddar which sells for about 7 bucks by itself, so no, that doesn’t count, I’m sorry, would you like us to go and get you another box of Chicken-In-A-Biscuit, ma’am? … No, ma’am, the cheese isn’t on special. It’s the biscuits that are on special …

Oh, there’s the other person, you notice as you inch ever closer to your destination. At the cigarette counter.

Well.

I don’t know why, you think to yourself, I don’t know why the smokers get precedence in service over those of us who look after ourselves and take care of our health. Surely, they should be the low priority when it comes to attention. I mean, shouldn’t they? It’s only right.

Oh, look. Here you are. At the checkout Well, at last. After all that wait and bother.

Honestly, if you were a person of temper, you’d have more than a few words in their ear about this appalling state of affairs, leaving us all waiting here for so long with so few people to take care of us. Given the prices they’re charging these days, I can’t remember the time I last had a decent piece of meat, but given the prices, you’d think they could afford to put a few more people on, wouldn’t you? Why, they must be making a fortune …

But no, not being a person of temper, you won’t say what's on your mind. Not so much as a peep.

Instead, you’ll take your little bag of hard-queued for goodies and go home to spend the rest of the afternoon sprinkling ground glass into your husband’s "Just Right" before he gets home drunk from the pub again.

*Not a real word.