Monday, 26 May 2008


A brief interview with Leo Schofield ...

... and below is the letter I fired off to the Sydney Morning Herald this morning. Very possibly a good way to gather a death threat or two ...

"Bill Henson's work is to pornography what bashing nails into one's forehead with a mallet is to brain surgery. Child pornographers seek to produce and distribute images of abuse. There are no abusive elements to Henson's images. And pedophiles will be aroused by the depiction of children in any context, whether it be a television commercial for nappies to live footage of attendees at a Wiggles concert. With the rising cacophony of tabloid outrage now reaching a fever pitch from people who probably think art begins and ends with a Mona Lisa tea towel, I feel we may now rightfully claim the mantle of being the most hysterically stupid nation on the face of the earth."

Friday, 23 May 2008


We are now the most hysterically stupid nation on the face of the earth ...

Gallery manager Amanda Rowell said the reaction was blown out of proportion. "It has never been like this before. This is no different to any other exhibition he's had and he's had many exhibitions here," she said. "He's a master, there's no one in the world like him."
College of Fine Arts Associate Professor Joanne Mendelsohn thinks the reaction to Henson's work is surprising. "I remember seeing a major exhibition of his work at the Art Gallery of New South Wales, it might have been his Venice works, about 10 years ago. Not a peep, not a murmur, and yet the work that was shown then is remarkably similar to the work that has caused such an uproar now," she said.
Well, 10 years of a government led by a man with a grand passion for a tracksuit and who once argued for the rights of various redneck, racist dickheads to
take Australian flags to a fucking rock concert will do that to a country, I guess. And it won't be getting any better at any time soon, given that we are now governed by a man who feels the appropriate way to celebrate an election victory after 11 years in opposition is with a cup of tea and a fucking biscuit.

... Of all the countries on the planet, I am convinced that Australia now leads the world in having the highest percentage of whingeing, whining, grasping, greedy, pseudo-puritanical poncing little fusspots, busybodies, moral panic merchants and general all-purpose knobjockeys and know-it-all and know-what’s-best-for-you obsessive-compulsive hysterics within its borders ...

... So let us dispense once and for all with the mythical "Whingeing Pom" for the noise they make is but a distant whimper compared to the perpetual cacophony of complaints that greets every new dawn from the footsoldiers in the legions of the stupid that comprise the good ol' true-blue, dinkum Aussie bloke and sheila, the "ordinary, average Australian working family" who now run rabid throughout the land in a manner that would make a plague of cane toads seem but a mere piffling trifle ...

When it comes to whingeing, we just never seem to quit.

... We are now a nation besieged, apparently. A pedophile lurks at every corner. A hundred million billion images of child pornography fester behind every link on every website one may ever conceivably click. That man in the park with that boy, that child, is not his father or grandfather, but an evil minion of Satan definitely up to no good. That bloke going into that public toilet is not going there to take a pee, but intends instead to loiter with dastardly criminal intent. That teacher looks suspicious. That single fellow who lives down the road ... hmmm, he's a quiet one, he is. You know what they say, "You've got to keep your eye out for the quiet ones" ... "Let us kill him in the public square" ...


And I only earn $150,000 a year and was intending to have children, but
however will I manage now without a government handout?

Poor me. Poor them. Poor us. Oh, woe.

Can people honestly believe that the dirty little creeps who regularly deal in child pornography and pedophilia will leave their sweaty little keyboards behind and don a plastic mac in order to pop off to an art gallery, sip some cheap wine, nibble a canapé or two and then slink off to the gallery toilet to have a quick fiddle with themselves? What utter rubbish.

Cheesus Crust on a cross, as a nation we've all gone completely ratty in the head, it would seem. About anything and everything imaginable.

As at 8.55 a.m. this morning what were the most "popular" "news" stories of the day on the website? How about
"Web dating can be disappointing" at No.1? How about "Jodie "cheated" on dumped lesbian lover" coming in at No.2? Or "Teenage boy jailed for taking call in court" at No.3? And "Briefs may fly in Zaetta sex scandal" at No.4? And at No.5, "Police raid on naked kids "art"?

What a pack of brain-dead fucking maroons we have all become.

New Zealand looks inviting ...

... Or Tasmania perhaps. That's practically another country. I might go there.

I hear they give good fruit.

UPDATE: Same as it ever was - Jonathan Jones from The Guardian

Wednesday, 21 May 2008


What does this look like to you? ...

I thought I was looking at the internal organs of some strange-looking deep sea critter. Or a preserved fur-ball from ye olden times. Apparently, it’s food ...

A chef with three Michelin stars has created a schism in Spanish cuisine by labelling avant-garde creations that revolutionised cooking "pretentious".

Restaurants like culinary superstar Ferran Adria's El Bulli near Barcelona, the world's best according to Restaurant Magazine, have dumped traditional kitchen techniques in favour of high-tech creations distilling flavours into foams and gels ...

If I wanted to eat "foams" and "gels", I'd save myself a fortune, stay home and swallow my own toothpaste and chow down on some shaving cream.

... The menu of Can Fabes features dishes such as suckling pig served with lobster and lamb with figs, compared to El Bulli offerings like Rabbit Ear Crunchy and Hare Juice with Apple Jelly-Cru and Black Currant Marinated Gorgonzola Shell.

Rabbit Ear Crunchy? Hare Juice? HARE JUICE!?

Crunchy Frog, anyone? Ram's Bladder Cup with Lark's Vomit? Cockroach Cluster? Anthrax Ripple?

Ferran Adria should be bashed to death with a gorgonzola shell. Full of concrete. Wanker.

Hare Juice. Fuck off.


Federal Opposition Leader Brendan Nelson was like a diamond being forged under intense pressure, opposition health spokesman Joe Hockey says ...

Diamonds are forever

They are all I need to please me

They can stimulate and tease me

They won't leave in the night, I've no fear that they might desert me

Diamonds are forever

Hold one up and then caress it

Touch it, stroke it and undress it

I can see every part, nothing hides in the heart to hurt me ...

Tuesday, 20 May 2008


When Andrew Bolt rails against Australian government film-funding (as he is often wont to do), he never fails, much like his ideological compatriots Gerard Henderson or Michael Duffy, to point out that a particular film or other is “taxpayer-funded”, the inference being that, each year, hundreds, if not thousands of your hard-worked-for wage dollars are being untimely ripped from your pay packets to subsidise the peculiar hobbies of the lunatic left-wing fringe of elitists and intellectuals that comprise the “fillum-making” community ...

... As far as “elitists and intellectuals” are concerned, I suspect Bolt has never sat down for a chat with a gaffer or a boom-operator. I also suspect that if he were to call Bryan Brown, Colin Friels, John Howard or David Fields an “elitist” to their faces, that those particular individuals would simply haul back and tear him a new one ...

But first, a few statistics ...

"In 2006–07, government funding represented 17 per cent of the total funding for Australian produced and co-produced feature films in production ... In 2006–07, the FFC (Film Finance Corporation Australia) invested $76.1 million in ... new film and television projects ... The total production value of these projects was $195.6 million.

The Australian Government currently funds the FFC with $70.5 million annually."

And a few more statistics ...

"In 2006, the 20 major performing arts companies ... received Australian Government base funding of $16.96 million. Australian Government funding for these companies will now rise to $22.9 m in 2008. The companies include ...

... Bell Shakespeare Company, Black Swan Theatre Company, Circus Oz, Company B, Melbourne Theatre Company, Malthouse Theatre Company, Queensland Theatre Company, State Theatre Company of SA, Sydney Theatre Company, Australian Brandenburg Orchestra, Australian Chamber Orchestra, Musica Viva Australia, Opera Queensland, State Opera of SA, West Australian Opera, The Australian Ballet, Bangarra Dance Theatre, Queensland Ballet, Sydney Dance Company and West Australian Ballet ...

Additional Australian Government funding of $36 million for the State symphony orchestras, Orchestra Victoria and Opera Australia, has already been provided separately as a result of the outcomes of the Strong Review of Orchestras."

22.9 plus 36 equals $58.9 million bucks. That’s a lot of dosh.

... Andrew Bolt never tires of rattling on about his love of opera, regularly posting clips over which he is prone to swoon of this peculiar and archaic art form. Frankly, I would rather hammer nails into my testicles with a mallet than subject myself to this form of aural torture, yet I have no problem whatsoever, nor do I have an argument against, opera companies being government funded and supported through subsidy. If opera’s your particular thing, by all means, have a nice night. Knock your fucking self out ...

But ...

... If you are going to rail against the evil spectre of government, that is to say, “taxpayer-funded” subsidies for popular entertainments, rail against it all, not just that which fails to mirror your ideological obsessions and interests or about an industry about which you know absolutely nothing ...

... Yes, we can and we often do make films that are utter rubbish, and I for one will not be queuing up at the video store for first dibs on the appallingly titled
“Hey, Hey It’s Esther Blueburger”, and nor could I give a flying fuck about Bruce Petty’s latest effort in left-wing hysteria and conspiracy theories, “Global Haywire”. But then I didn’t bother with “Spiderman 3” or “Alien vs Predator” or “Disturbia” or “I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry” either and these four pieces of utter shit did quite well with the Australian movie-going public, graceful arbiters of good taste and the finer things in life that they invariably are ...

... Yet, even though I have no interest in either "Blueburger" or Petty's film, I cannot whip myself up in a lather of indignation that they may received a few bucks of taxpayer's money to be made. No filmmaker deliberately sets out to make a bad film or an unpopular one. Over a period of many years, they gather together a cast and crew, go cap in hand to everyone from the FFC to the local grocer for a few bucks worth of production money or sponsorship and, even then, there's no guarantee that their efforts will even be rewarded with a brief cinema release ("Jammed" for example). Every filmmaker desperately hopes that their product will find an audience, be lauded throughout the land and reflect the popular zeitgeist, yet, as William Goldman put it in "Adventures in the Screen Trade", in the movie business, "nobody knows anything" ...

... No matter how large or small the budget, no matter who the "stars" may be, no matter what the plot or the subject matter is, there are, simply, no guarantees that any film, anywhere, may necessarily succeed ...

... Yet Bolt, self-anointed tastemaker for the conservative masses, seems to believe that if he's not interested, if he doesn't like it, if he doesn't even like the sound of it, then it's simply not worth a pinch of shit and has no right to exist ...

The man is a fool.

... A ticket to a movie costs 15 bucks. Throw in a bag of popcorn or an icecream and a drink and you’ll enjoy a few hours in the dark for less than 25 bucks. A family of four can get in and out for maybe $100 ...

... According to the
Australian Bureau of Statistics, “The cinema had the highest attendance rate of all the venues and events included in the survey, with 65% of people aged 15 years and over (10,431,400 people) having been to a cinema in the 12 months before interview ... Over half (54%) of those who had visited the cinema during the 12-month period had visited at least five times.” ...

... Given that (again,
according to the ABS) the population of the country currently stands at 21,304,515, that works out at roughly 48% of Australians who regularly pop off to the flicks for an eyeball massage ...

... However, “Around one in six people (16%) aged 15 years and over attended musicals and operas in the 12 months before interview in 2005-06. An estimated 2,402,000 people attended musicals and 405,700 attended operas” ...

... Not surprising really that only 1.9% of the population went to the opera considering that, if you wanted a ticket to
Opera Australia’s upcoming production of “Don Giovanni” it’ll set you back anywhere from $102.00 to $246.00 ... A family of four? Well, sell the kids to the Russian mafia and you just might be able to manage it ...

... What’s all this bullshit about taxpayer-funded film-industry elites again? Why is an art form that can only attract a paltry 405,700 people in any given year so heavily subsidised by the beloved Australian “taxpayer” (Peace be upon him. And her. And you too.)? Perhaps Andrew Bolt can, at some point on his ridiculous exercise in creative typing he calls a blog, provide a justification for the benefit of us all. No doubt the clusterfuck of cretins who regularly roost there will be riveted ...

However, why the fuck should it not be subsidised? ...

... If it were not for “taxpayer funding”, or “government subsidy”, there would cease to exist in Australia any form of creative and imaginative entertainment industry at all ...

... Instead, we would all soon be reduced to getting our jollies from sitting back on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon and watching lognecked lugnuts like Wayne Carey or Barry Hall push a ball around a fucking paddock with their feet, occasionally to plant said ball between two wooden sticks in the ground. That is, when they’re not shoving glasses into the faces of their girlfriends or trying to channel Joe Pesce’s character from
“Goodfellas” ...

... So, you. Yes, you. The Bolts, the Duffy’s, the Henderson’s and all you other snotty, snobbish little deriders of the most popular form of entertainment in the country. You lovers of opera, cultural connoisseurs and sippers of fine whines. Each year, each and every one of us pays 6 bucks and 7 cents so that we may have something resembling an entertainment industry, 3 bucks of which goes to film ...

... The cost of a burger with bacon and cheese (which is what I just had for lunch). That’s 1.6 cents a day. And about this, you have a problem? ...

Fuck off, you prissy little tossers.

... Perhaps you’d be far, far happier to see our hard-earned wage dollars put to use (to the tune of
200 million bucks a year) in stuffing our letterboxes with glossy pamphlets imploring us all to talk to our kids and our parents about drugs ...

... But, I suspect my father, now 80 years old, would know absolutely naught about drugs beyond the ones he gets from the doctor for blood pressure, so I think I’ll leave him in peace on that issue for now.

I might go see a movie instead.

UPDATE - I've added a few new paragraphs after the line "finer things in life that they invariably are" as the point of my argument was getting lost in the heat of the rant.


Tim Colebatch, Economics Editor for The Age ...

"Then there are the pensioners. Their leaders claim they got nothing from the budget — how unfair! Public sympathy is always with the pensioners. This time, however, the facts are not. From March 20, along with the second half of a 4.1% annual rise in their pension, pensioners had their Utilities Allowance for electricity bills lifted from $107.20 to $500 a year. They will get a one-off bonus of $500, help with internet connections and transport concessions. Pensioners got nothing? Rubbish.

It's true that the pension is just $273.40 a week for singles, or $456.80 for couples, and you can say that's too low. But pensioners have not been neglected, and don't face the same costs as working people. Few have mortgages, few have children. Their doctors bulk bill, they get cheap pharmaceuticals — free, if they need a lot of them — they get rent subsidies, cheap loans and concessions on everything from council rates to car rego, public transport and energy bills. And they pay no tax.

And pensions are rising. Since 2003, pensions have risen 24%, while wages rose 21% and prices 15%. Who pays for all this? Working families, paying their taxes."

So. There you go. You can put your
clothes back on now. And shut up.

Monday, 19 May 2008


This ...

Aged pensioners have slammed the Budget calling it "contemptible" for not raising pensions but the weekend's survey showed Labor's problems with mature Australians run far deeper.

Opposition Leader Brendan Nelson admitted there was a strong argument to increase the pension which can be as little as $270 a week for singles.

But Dr Nelson, whose own government was not advocating a rise when it was in power, refused to make a commitment.

Mr Swan said the Government would listen to pensioners' concerns but insisted the Government had assisted the elderly.

"There's something like $900 (per head) additional in this Budget for pensioners and seniors, but I accept that many are doing it really tough, and that we do have to look at the underlying issues," he said.

And this ...

Angry pensioners and a Family First senator have stripped off and stopped traffic on one of Melbourne's busiest intersections in a protest against a lack of support for seniors in this week's Federal Budget.

Well, excuse me ... BUT.

Where the fuck were all you "angry pensioners" the last 11 years? Asleep? Comatose? Out bowling? Did you, a mere 6 months after the election of a new government, suddenly realise that your pensions were but a pittance and have been so for the best part of a decade? Where were your voices then? The protests, the activism, the placards, the stunt-parades of drooping and withered flesh?

What have you been doing all that time? Were you, instead, simply content to wrap yourself in a knitted shawl and shiver in terror as the now-flushed, previously unflushable turd in a tracksuit spun tales of terror about the imminent invasion of the country from yellow hordes of religious fanatics hell-bent on raping our women and force-feeding us all falafels for forever and a day? Fuck off.

Yes, of course your pensions are rubbish. But pardon me if I cannot, at this point, share your sudden and passionate surge of outrage over the situation when you could've easily made your voices heard at any time, and at the polling booths, the previous 11 years.

And precisely which part of "$900 (per head) additional in this Budget for pensioners and seniors" has flown underneath your rippled and wrinkly radars?

Friday, 16 May 2008


What can one say about the hapless Federal Opposition Leader Brendan Nelson, he of the disappearing eyes, that has not already been said time and time and time again?

On and on and on and on he goes, imploring the current government to do this and do that and not do something else, all the things he wishes to be done and undone being things that neither he, nor former Prime Minister John Howard, the now-flushed, previously unflushable turd in a tracksuit,
had ever considered doing or undoing over the previous 11 years.

It really does beggar belief.

The man’s wetter than a thrice-used condom in a toilet bowl. Fuck off, Brendan.


In other news, Andrew Bolt’s just now cottoned on to the theory that
fat people will kill us all. Ahem ... Well, Andrew, this little blogger right here picked up on that particular topic about a month back when a rather hysterical letter on the topic of obesity appeared in the Sydney Morning Herald.

See? Anyone could do Bolt’s job and do it a damn sight better too. So. Gis a job, eh? Come on. Gis a job. Ya lazy cunt.

Now. Let’s see ...

... As I continue in my frantic efforts to avoid the cacophony of whingeing and whining about "budget-related" topics in order to prevent a possible brain aneurysm and try instead to occupy my time with things pleasing to the eye and ear, down below is a rarely seen clip by the wonderful
John Lurie and his Lounge Lizards from their 1986 album "Big Heart: Live In Tokyo"...

... Unfortunately, Lurie, who to many would be more familiar as that actor fellow from Jim Jarmusch's
"Down By Law" and "Stranger Than Paradise", has not been able to perform for many a year due to a mysterious and debilitating illness, and now spends most of his time painting (sorry about this John, but no, I cannot buy one of your prints for 500 US bucks right now as I've just forked out 300 bucks for a new pair of reading glasses and the electric bill and the dentist is due next month, so I'll take a raincheck old chap. I'll give you a hoy-hoy sometime in 2015 perhaps) ...

... Anyway, this track (Lurie on sax and screams), and the clip, is an absolute corker. Play loud. Trust me ...

From 1987, The Lounge Lizards "Big Heart"

Thursday, 15 May 2008


Honestly, listening to the cacophony of complaints as footsoldiers from the legions of the stupid whine about the unfairness of being expected to cope with life and the raising of their kiddies on a salary of 150K per annum in light of recent budget cuts is enough to make a person want to punch a wall.

It would, as one letter writer in today's Sydney Morning Herald put it, "bring tears to a glass eye".

On ABC Sydney radio 702 yesterday morning, a woman rang host Deborah Cameron to inform her that, even though her and her husband's combined income was over 150K per annum, it was quite a stretch to raise 8 children on such an appallingly piddly little amount.

8 children.

As subsequent callers were compelled to point out, hadn't the woman ever heard of contraceptives? And, frankly, if you are planning on having a large family, make damn sure you can afford to do so in the first place. Otherwise, just fuck off.

No doubt this rabidly reproducing creature and her eight womb warts will be in the thick of it come World Youth Day ...

Let's see now ...

... Last night, as I wandered past the local pizza joint on my way to the pub for a spot of B!I!N!G!E! D!R!I!N!K!I!N!G! (3 schooners,
2 of which will apparently increase my risk of cancer by 75% fuckyouverymuchandpleasepassthefagsgotalight?), I spotted a poster advertising an upcoming tour from the cooler-than-fuck Barry Adamson during June ...

... Adamson, one time member of seminal 80's post-punk outfit Magazine and subsequent Bad Seed, has been pumping out albums of down-and-dirty-noir-funk-faux-soundtrack excellence for the better part of two decades now, and I shall definitely be in attendance when he pimp-rolls into Brisbane ...

... Here are the dates - Brisbane, Wednesday 18th at The Zoo, Fortitude Valley; Melbourne, Thursday 19th at The Corner Hotel, Richmond; Sydney, Friday 20th at The Factory, Enmore; and Perth, Saturday 21st at The Bakery Artrage Complex, Northbridge ...

... Adamson's eighth album
"Back To The Cat" is out now and must be purchased. Understand? Get thee to a discery ...

... In other news, my inner nerd-cum-Comic Book Guy went slightly spastic with pleasure this morning when I heard of the imminent release of a new X-Files movie,
"I Want To Believe" ...

... Yes, yes, I know, don't say it, for I well realise that, as I slouch towards this so-called milestone of age that is FIFTY, my pleasures should be more in tune with stuff such as "The Bill" or "Midsommer Murders", a spot of tea and a little light opera, but the first few seasons of Chris Carter's series were damn fine things and the memory of their excellence should not be forever sullied simply because of the utter crap it became in it's final dying days.

It's my second childhood and I'll have it as I choose.

And, no. I will not go to my room.

So there.

From 1989, Barry Adamson “The Man With The Golden Arm”

Tuesday, 13 May 2008



So ... the rest of the day, the rest of the week will be filled with “discussion” about this THING that, for ages now, appears to have taken on the import of the imminent second coming of Cheeses Crust ...

... Outrage! Applause! Disaster! Prosperity! Inequality! Equality! It’s a disgrace! It’s swell! Our children are fucked! Our children are saved! ...

... “But what about the ...?” “No, never mind them, they’ll be ... ” “No, they won’t ... “ “Yes, they will ... “ “Look, I’m telling you ... “ “Don’t you tell me, I’ll tell you ... “

And so on and so forth.

I really don’t give a fuck.

Let’s see now ...

I’ve been adopted by a small, orange fuzzball.

The next door neighbour and her son recently bought a kitten. Said creature is able to wander from their balcony to mine as both balconies are connected by a ledge. It appears that, even though I have not been feeding it, or given it anything other than a pat and a scratch, it has chosen to spend more time at my place than at theirs. I’ve let it into the flat at times whereupon it plays with my sandals and likes to hurtle its way up the hallway and then hurtle its way back down it and wrap itself around my legs (claws retracted, thankfully). After which, it plops itself on my couch, shoves its head into my armpit and has a nap, all the while making a noise like a month old baby with emphysema.

I’m more of a dog person than a cat person. About 25 years ago, a girlfriend of mine wanted us to get a cat. We did. I insisted we call it “Vomit”. We did. It ran away after a few months. I wonder why?

Nevertheless, I’m ... well ... this small, orange fuzzball’s company I am finding quite agreeable.

I must be going soft in the head.

Monday, 12 May 2008


See Andy at work. See Andy at play. See Andy do pretty much fuck all on any given day but regurgitate the output of others whose views happen to align with his own and do a little top ‘n’ tailing ...

Half of this announcement is good:

Insert excerpt + link

The other half, I’m afraid, may be largely cash wasted in bureaucracy and bloated salaries. For instance, after the UN’s last big “flash appeal”:

Insert excerpt + link


Insert excerpt + link


Insert excerpt + link


Insert excerpt + link


Insert excerpt + link


Insert excerpt + link

Why trust so much of our aid money to such a dubious outfit, with such high overheads? Why not let Australian aid be delivered by Australians - more efficient and more to our credit? I suspect Rudd’s UN ambitions are interfering with wise decision-making on our aid money.

1 pronouncement. 1 assumption. 6 excerpts from the work of others and 6 links. 2 rhetorical questions. 1 unsubstantiated inference.

“Dis journalism ting ... It's weally hard. Me Google good but. Me most connoversial jurnalist in der country ... A-hur, hur, hur.”

Lazy cunt.


Hillary hangs on. And on. And on. And on ...

Friday, 9 May 2008


This would be a far more effective thing to shove on cigarette packets than pictures of diseased mouths and such ...

Let’s see. Started smoking at 20. Now 49. Pack a day ...

Current price of a pack ... $10.60 ...

29 years times 365 days ... 10,585 days ...


Fuck me dead. It works out to almost four grand a year.

I think I'll start making an effort ...

... Something I didn’t do with the Robert Zemeckis film from 2000,
“What Lies Beneath” ... I mean, a so-called horror/suspense film starring Harrison Ford and Michelle Pfeiffer from the guy who gave us the interminably dreary salute to the innocent joys of cretinism that was “Forrest Gump”? Fuck off.

However ... after reading a favourable comment about it somewhere recently, I decided to check it out. After all, it was only a 3 buck rental ...

And surprisingly well worth it. The last 20 minutes or so, if one were to do a shot by shot analysis, were pure Hitchcock. There’s some beautifully filmed work in evidence ... for example, the sequence where Pfeiffer’s character flees her house is shot in the reflection of a car’s side-view mirror, and as Pfeiffer approaches the car, in the background you’ll see a chair on the verandah rock back and forth slightly. It doesn’t sound like much from this description, but it’s the type of carefully choreographed detail that shows real thought and planning. Also, Alan Silvestri’s score amps it up in these final scenes and barrels straight into Hitchcock territory quite shamelessly, paying very effective homage by blending elements and motifs from Bernard Herrmann’s scores for “Psycho”, “North By Northwest” and “Cape Fear”. Derivative for sure, but I’d say that’s precisely what Silvestri was aiming for.

The so-called “horror” elements are pure hogwash, but not so risible that they ruin the film. Regardless, well deserving of a look ...

... And toward the end of this month, I may take a rare foray into the cinema to catch a couple of films from the
Spanish Film Festival, specifically “[REC]” and “The Orphanage”, about which I’ve heard very good things ... In fact, all four films under the “Cine Fantastico” banner look pretty good ...

... This, on the other hand, I reckon I can live without ...

... A “MySpace Original Feature”? ... Yech ... What next, Facebook Films? ...

... While I’m on the topic, Rob Zombie’s “re-imagining” of John Carpenter’s
“Halloween” is a damn fine piece of work. The last 20 minutes or so are simply a re-plod through the original elements of Carpenter’s film and have a cursory, slapped on feel to them, but for most of its length, Zombie gives the impression that he’s finally beginning to learn some lessons about narrative and character development, things that were completely absent from his first two features “House of 1000 Corpses” and “The Devil’s Rejects” ...

... There’s some very nice acting work from
Sheri Moon Zombie as the mother of Michael Myers as well, and it’s probably the first time she’s delivered a performance with quiet moments of subtlety, something that was certainly not on the requirements list for “Corpses” or “Rejects” ...

From 2007, “Grindhouse” Trailers

Thursday, 8 May 2008


Alex Wodak, Director of the Alcohol and Drug Service at St Vincent's Hospital (my emphasis added) ...

"I don't want to see that [industry] fall into the hands of tobacco companies or rapacious businessmen.

"I'd like to see it fall into the hands of the failed business people Australia seems so good at producing or the Australia Post that seems so successful in driving away customers."

He made the proposal for taxed and legalised cannabis at the Mardi Grass festival in Nimbin on Sunday, but said he would be happy to express his opinion to the Federal Government. A spokesman for the Minister for Health, Nicola Roxon, said the proposal would not be considered.

And here’s Miranda Devine, Sydney Morning Herald columnist ...

Dr Alex Wodak's plan to have the Government sell cannabis in little packets at the post office wasn't just a throwaway line to a bunch of senile hippies at the Mardi-Grass festival in Nimbin last weekend.

It was part of a considered strategy by the esteemed director (for 26 years) of St Vincent's Hospital's drug and alcohol service to convince authorities to legalise marijuana and other illicit drugs ...

Miranda then goes positively whacky with numbers ...

2 million ... 12-to-15 year olds ... 15 per cent ... 6 per cent ... 12 to 15 year olds ... 28 per cent ... 13 per cent ... 6 per cent ... 40 per cent ... 50,465 Swedish Army conscripts ... age 18 ... 2.4 times ... 15 years ... 6.7 times ... 1037 people ... ages 15 and 18 ... age 26 ... 1.1 billion in 1998 ... 1.3 billion in 2010 ... 147 million.

Fuck me, if that wouldn’t give a person a headache.

Now, these 2 letters, also from today’s Sydney Morning Herald ...

"Lest Dr Alex Wodak thinks his is a voice in the wilderness (Cut cannabis use by selling it at the post office: expert, May 6), I would like to assure him that many people share his views: they just tend to be drowned out by the howls of fervor from the committed anti-legislators.

Acknowledging the damage that marijuana and other illicit drugs do, and supporting provision of these same drugs through regulated sources and management of the health effects of use, is not tantamount to advocating use of these substances. It is just the recognition that prohibition achieves its opposite intention.

The most recent figures, quoted by Dr Wodak, that access to marijuana in the Netherlands is associated with less exposure to more dangerous substances than occurs where marijuana is prohibited, again offer facts against fears."

Dr Elizabeth O'Brien St Leonards

"Philip Cooney (Letters, May 7), whether or not a drug leads to sickness is not a valid reason for it to be illegal. If it were a valid reason, tobacco and alcohol would no longer be legal.

Many members of the community use cannabis with little or no ill-effects, yet they risk a criminal record for indulging in a drug that causes less social and financial cost to society than alcohol.

Neither alcohol or cannabis use is good for you, however, it is logical and sensible that the government regulate the use of cannabis, so it may earn revenue from its sale.
Surely police resources could be better used directed at violent crimes that occur every day due to alcohol abuse?"

Mitchell Beston Woy Woy

Note the conspicuous absence of numbers and statistics in these 2 letters and Alex Wodak’s quote, numbers being a thing totally irrelevant to anyone who’s ever smoked a few, or even a large number of spliffs over the course of their lives.

Numbers, however, are the stock-in-trade of those creative typists in the various organs of the media whose job it is is to frantically Google their pretty little heads into a frenzy in their desperately stupid and patently transparent efforts to scare us all shitless through the employment, proliferation and promotion of what Jack Marx once
referred to as junk science and voodoo statistics.

I’ve smoked pot. All of my friends over the many years I’ve known them have smoked it. None of us, not a one, ever went belly up in the brain. This means nothing in and of itself to anyone other than ourselves. However ...

Here’s a few statistics of my own ...

Four of the five women I’ve had significant relationships with over the course of my life were raped as children by members of their own family. By brothers, grandfathers, stepfathers and fathers. Between the ages of 8 and 12. Repeatedly. The perpetrators were never reported, charged, convicted. Nothing. Nada. Scot-free.

Using the same voodoo statistics that Miranda Devine and her ilk regularly employ to promote their self-absorbed and self-righteous moral and intellectual superiority over people who, like Alex Wodak, have actually worked in the front-line of the field of drug and alcohol use and abuse, one could reasonably assume, therefore, that 80% of Anglo-Saxon, Caucasian women from working class families have been raped as children by members of their own families. And not a single perpetrator, which would represent 80% of Australian men, have ever paid for their crimes.

However, this “statistic” is patently stupid. There is nothing, other than my own experience and knowledge, which is personal to me, to support it.

That blah percentage of blah to blah year olds may have blah blahed whilst blahing their blahs in the wind in winter and up a koala’s bum during blah to blah means blah blahs of fuck all, quite frankly.

And take a close look at the emphasised part of Wodak’s quote and the context in which it was delivered, for here is the context in which I feel it was meant to be taken ...

... Australia Post shoved a glossy little brochure in my letterbox a week or two ago, and within its 4 pages were advertised products such as fluffy toys, colouring-in books, staplers, ink cartridges and, wait for it ... compact discs and DVD’s.


It’s not like they would have a dedicated and wide selection of music from Mali and Cuba, or the latest offerings from the likes of Nick Cave or Lydia Lunch nestled among a fine bundle of those lovely box sets that
Rhino do so well which invariably set me to drooling with greed and desire.

It’s a fucking post office for God’s sake. Buy a stamp, send a letter or a package, cash a money order or what not, and leave. If you want a compact disc, go to J&B, for that is what they do, and, for fluffy toys, the children’s department at any K-Mart will surely be able to meet all your fluffy and fluffable needs.

Wodak is taking the piss.

For he well knows that no Australian politician from any major political party will ever, ever have the bottle to argue the case for the legalisation of any currently illegal drug for fear of being stoned to death in a public square by a noisy rabble of tabloid talkback hysterics and half-witted hacks.

He has for 26 years now, as Devine points out, been working directly on matters of drug and alcohol use and abuse, and he has no doubt seen and heard it all. Devine sits on her arse and gets paid to not only make hay, but have her readers work themselves into a feverish sweat looking for needles there that don’t exist.

“Ah, fuck it”, he thinks ... “I may as well bang my head against a wall.”

And thus, his comment; dry, sardonic, darkly humorous, especially the bit about Australia being a world-class producer of insanely stupid “businessmen”, which of course, it is, as any cursory perusal of any newspaper on any day will prove.

A throwaway line, indeed.

Pull your head out of your arse, Miranda. Live in the fucking world.

Wednesday, 7 May 2008


Just another day at the office. Phone rings ...

"Hello, Ross Sharp."



"Hello? ... Yes, I am one of your payees ...?"

"And what’s your name, please?"

"John Smith."

"What can I do for you, John?"

"I’ve received a ... er ... a statement from you?"


"Ummmm, what, ... am I supposed to do anything?"

"How do you mean, sorry?"

"Sign it? Something ... something with it?"


"Ah ... so, what do I ...?"

"Just keep it somewhere. Give it to your accountant at tax time. File it ... It's yours to keep."

"Ah ... Okay, thanks ... Also, I ... I have received a cheque?"

"Yes. And ...?"

"The cheque ...?"

"Take it to a bank."

"A bank?"

"Yes. A bank. Take it to a bank."

"Ah ... okay. Good. Thank you."

"No worries. Bye."

From 1939, The Marx Brothers “Lydia, the Tattooed Lady” from “At The Circus”

Tuesday, 6 May 2008


I've been drunk, I've been stoned, and I've danced around the loungeroom under the influence of both on many an occasion in my life to many a merry ditty, but I have never, ever, under any circumstances whatsoever, felt the need to adorn my noggin with a
brown paper bag or a pair of horns with beer cans stuck to them.

Not even a pair of underpants have snuggled their way atop my denuded pate.

I do, however, wear a hat at times.

I feel that I may have led a joyless and sheltered life these many years.

Oh, the pain.

Friday, 2 May 2008

@#$! OFF!

I really should give up listening to and watching news programs and reading newspapers as, it seems, every day I feel that life on earth as we know it has been taken hostage by some of the dumbest fuck-knuckle dipshit halfwits that have ever been spat from the womb of woman to walk upright on the earth.

It happened yesterday, and it's happened again today ... On
Deborah Cameron's morning radio program on Sydney ABC 702, debate continues to rage about the pro's and cons of the usage of the word "fuck" on television shows like Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares and Underbelly. Like cockroaches scuttling from a kitchen cupboard in the presence of light, the morally upright maggots of the righteous as typified in this particular case by Fucking Liberal Fucking Senator Cory Fucking Bernardi are howling like stuck fucking banshees about the hellish fucking effect that this fucking word "fuck" will have upon the fucking children, innocent and pure as the driven fucking snow the little fuckers have heretofore always fucking been.

What a fucking load of utter fucking rubbish.

It matters not how often one says it, but the message never appears to sink through to the withered and denuded organs that (allegedly) function as "brains" for these witless fucking tools ...


Good God almighty, if you won't smote these stupid fucking bastards sometime soon, I swear to fucking Jesus, I'm going to go fucking postal in a mall and do it all my fucking self.

There is no law that is writ as far as I'm aware, that says that you, the viewer of free-to-air television, have some right to have your easily-addled little noggins coddled like eggs in a plush cushion of velvet.

So fucking turn it off. Understand? Clear?


And, if your delicate little fucking petals, the joyous and innocent fucking fruits of your meaty fucking loins want to watch it, pull your head from out of your fat fucking arse and tell them to fuck off to their fucking rooms and go to fucking bed.

There, they can always entertain their fucking little selves by logging on to YouTube and watching some of their fucking schoolmates beat the living shit out of fat and disabled kids.

No doubt far healthier entertainment for them than a television show about fucked up fucking restaurants.

Fuck me dead.


Thursday, 1 May 2008


A headline to lift the spirits of a nation's people ... A thing of rare beauty ... An uplifting tale of inspiring perseverance in the face of an angry mob's most hateful accusations, bigotry and prejudice ...


"He has said everything that needs to be said about it and it's obvious to anybody that has seen Troy Buswell that he's extremely remorseful about it and he's changed his behaviour," Dr Nelson said.

He's sticking to bicycle seats from now on. And he'll only sniff 'em when they're parked. Maybe chew on a Tampax occasionally if the mood's right.


My published contribution to the letters page of the Sydney Morning Herald of April 30, 2008 ...

“I've yet to hear a declaration of "war" on flatulence and teenage masturbation, however, considering the hysterical moral panic over pretty much everything else of late, I'll hazard a guess they're not far off.”