BRIEFLY BRENDAN

This is what really happened on last night's 7.30 Report when host Kerry O'Brien asked Federal Opposition "leader" Brendan Nelson a few questions about some stuff ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: Given the struggle that you've been having to establish some sort of credibility with the electorate as leader, how big a political setback do you think this is?

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: And you so far have completely ignored my question. Is it true that you said it to your party the joint party room today that you apologised at the start for the lead-up to this policy decision and that you took responsibility for what has been a mess?

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: Did you apologise to your party room?

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: You don't think it's important enough, that this is an important issue for the electorate to know whether you as leader of the Coalition felt it necessary to go into your joint party room today and apologise for the way you have conducted your side of the climate change debate in recent weeks.

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: This is how the Australian media have reported the outcome of your Shadow Cabinet room yesterday:

The Financial Review: Nelson rolled on emissions plan.
Sydney Daily Telegraph: Brendan Nelson humiliated.
Sydney Morning Herald: Nelson's team leaves him high and dry on climate.
Melbourne Herald Sun: Nelson gives in on policy.
Brisbane Courier Mail: An Embarrassing double back down.
Adelaide Advertiser: lame Duck Nelson Loses More Feathers
The Australian: Nelson's new client shift.

A pretty comprehensive picture of leadership failure, wasn't it?

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: This represents nine of Australia's most senior political correspondents. Do they have it wrong?

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: You've said time and again that Mr Rudd is in too much of a hurry on emissions targets, he's in too much of a rush. You talk about his missionary zeal.

Yet all he is doing, it seems, is honouring his election promise to introduce an ETS some time in 2010. He went to the election saying 2010, John Howard said 2011, or 2012.

Kevin Rudd won the election, he's implementing a promise. Why is that irresponsible?

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: Dr Nelson, isn't it true that you are still not yet committed, definitely, categorically, to a 2012 start-up? Isn't that right?

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: Isn't that right?

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: It is open ended still, isn't it, when you would commit finally to introducing a scheme. You might not introduce it before 2013 or later. You say probably 2012.

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: Which might be after 2012?

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: But might start later?

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: But might start later?

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: A simple yes or no Dr Nelson. It might be later than 2012?

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: Dr Nelson I'm simply trying to clarify with you what your position is. So potentially an ETS under Dr Brendan Nelson's Coalition might not be introduced until some time after 2012.

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

KERRY O'BRIEN: Dr Nelson thanks for talking with us.

BRENDAN NELSON: ...

I wonder if Kerry went home and punched a wall afterward?

Brendan Nelson's such a thoroughly damp little squib I doubt he could manage to set his own farts aflame after a month-long bean-eating tournament.

BUSH OR BATMAN?

From SecretPants.net, average Americans are asked to identify the original speaker of various quotes. Was it Bush or Batman?

Watch out specially for the old bloke in the white t-shirt with the magazines …

MAMMA, PLEASE MAKE THEM STOP

Well excuse me, but if the newly released film "Mamma Mia!" is a musical, then I'm Fred fucking Astaire.

Understand I have no particular antipathy toward Abba, their songs or their success. Good luck to them. Beats making an honest living from something like margin lending, I suppose. But I have no great nostalgic fondness for their work either, having been far more interested in other musical genres at the time of their chart supremacy, and I'd always found their lyrics a little ... well, dumb ("Feel the beat of the tambourine"? Tambourines don't have a beat, and the only time you'd ever "feel the beat" of a tambourine is if someone thwacked you over the head with one. Talking about the beat of a tambourine is akin to talking about the "exquisite tonal range" of a bloody kazoo. It's just silly).

Now, most actors who’ve undergone some form of sustained professional training in their craft will have, at some point, been required to do a little singing. It’s an excellent way of instilling and understanding the basics of breath control, phrasing, and hitting key words in a text (Frank Sinatra was, in my not-so-humble opinion, the best example of this talent for hitting specific key words in a lyric and I still regard him as the finest interpreter of popular song from the 20th century. So there).

Yet most actors can’t sing, and some really shouldn’t be encouraged to try. However, if a director really insists on it, they should also insist on ensuring that the actor or actors in question sing within their range and register, even if that amounts to the type of rhythmic speak-singing that Rex Harrison admirably managed to get away with in “My Fair Lady”.

But for Christ’s sakes, taking a bunch of extremely talented performers and asking them to belt out a bunch of insipid pop songs at the top of their bloody lungs and rip their throats to ragged shreds in the process is just fucking insane. It’s a form of horrible abuse for the poor actors and complete and utter torture for anyone being asked to listen to it.

Stop it. Stop it at once.

Anthony Lane, writing in The New Yorker had this to say …

“I thought that Pierce Brosnan had been dragged to the edge of endurance by North Korean sadists in his final Bond film, “Die Another Day,” but that was a quick tickle with a feather duster compared with the agony of singing Abba’s “S.O.S.” to Meryl Streep through a kitchen window. Somebody, either a cheeky Swede or another North Korean, has deliberately scored the number a tone and a half too high, with visible results: swelling muscles along the jawline, tightened throat, a panicky bulge in the eyes. There is no delicate way of putting this, but anyone watching Brosnan in mid-delivery will conclude that he has recently suffered from a series of complex digestive problems, and that the camera has, with unfortunate timing, caught him at the exact moment when he is finally working them out. What has he done to deserve this? …”

And this …

“… Study any of the classic musicals, and you see how they pull away from head shots and become meditations on bodies in space and voices on the move, whereas Meryl Streep, given a windy cliff top, a red silk wrap, and “The Winner Takes It All,” is obliged to hold still and belt it out like Cassandra calling down ruin on Troy. And poor Brosnan (him again) has to stand in the blast area and listen to her at a distance of eighteen inches, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as if to check when he last shaved …”

And, as for “dancing” … well, jumping up and down on the spot or skipping along a footpath waving your fucking arms in the air with no thought to rhythm or reason is not dancing, it’s St. Vitus’ disorder with a soundtrack.

It’s simply horrid.

Vincente Minelli and Bob Fosse knew how to make a musical. The people responsible for “Mamma Mia!” do not.

Nor should they ever try to do it again.



From 1979, Ensemble “Take Off With Us/Air-Otica” from “All That Jazz” directed by Bob Fosse

VIRTUAL PANADOL FOR A FRIDAY AFTERNOON

Thank God it's Friday, so ...

... I've always loved this song in all its incarnations whether it be by Linda Ronstadt, Mike Nesmith (who wrote it) or The Lemonheads.

Here's another version, and a fine one it is, too ...



From (?), Susanna Hoffs and Matthew Sweet “Different Drum”

A LOATHSOME, STUPID MAN

I don't intend to go into much discussion about this piece of contemptible filth by the boy-child typist from Melbourne's Herald-Sun as it is being appropriately dealt with and properly denounced over at The Blair/Bolt Watch Project.

However, upon reading the repulsive cunt's post yesterday, I was compelled to fire off a quick email to the ABC's MediaWatch, the first time I have ever done such a thing ...

Dear Media Watch,

I'd like to bring this item to your attention -

[Insert URL]

Andrew Bolt is attempting to draw some hysterical metaphor between the finding of a baby's body in a green shopping bag to the "environmental" movement.

It's an utter disgrace, and possibly one of the most maniacally stupid things I've ever read by Bolt. Some of the comments are worse.

I feel it warrants some attention from either yourselves or the Press Council.

Kind Regards
Ross Sharp.

Last time I checked on the post in question (this morning), there were 346 comments, which makes this remark by Darryl Mason on Blair/Bolt Watch very interesting indeed ...

“What’s even more fucked up than The Professional Idiot somehow connecting the tragedy of a dead and abandoned baby to people favouring far more practical ‘green’ bags over plastic is that Bolt gets bonus payments for heavy commenting and traffic flow on his blog. Payments that he demanded when advertising first began appearing on his blog.”

None of the 346 comments were made by myself. I'll be damned if I'll be helping to line the pockets of the filthy little whore.

Oh.

I've just realised this is my 100th post. Wheeee.

VIRTUAL PANADOL FOR A FRIDAY AFTERNOON

Wow.



From 1997 (?), Emmylou Harris and Robert Duvall “I Love To Tell The Story”

21st CENTURY OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDERS

In his excellent book about "end-of-times" devotees in the United States, "Have a Nice Doomsday", author Nicholas Guyatt points out that while the lunatic fringe of the “right” have their global apocalypse scenarios, so too do those of the “left”. These scenarios are inevitably environmental in nature – global warming, overpopulation, mass food shortages, resource depletion and so on.

To my mind, these are far more compelling and logical arguments than are those that posit the destruction of the planet by an Antichrist, or being carried off to the 9th circle of Hell by flocks of flaming homosexuals.

Yet one thing continues to elude me about these theories of man-made, environmental doom, and that is the science behind them.

I have no aptitude for science whatsoever.

I also have no aptitude for tennis. Or electronics. Or carpentry. Or tax returns. When confronted with the whys and wherefores of these topics, my brain turns to taffy and my thoughts wander to subjects that I feel far more comfortable with. Like sex, for example, and why I haven’t managed to get any for ... oh, never mind, you get the picture.

As far as global warming and climate change are concerned, every day, every week, every month for a few years now brings new articles for and against, graphs and maps and statistics. The science of this, the science of that, elements and chemicals and gases and measurements from here to here, from there to here, from one moment in time to another, analyses and arguments and theories and conjectures, rebuttals and confirmations and more and more bloody statistics, proposals and schemes.

I’m sorry, but frankly, my eyes glaze over just thinking about it all. I can’t even manage to herd all my marbles for long enough to even contemplate a position either for or against because ... well, I just can’t be fucking bothered. I simply can’t sustain an interest in the science of the thing, and in that I do not think I am alone in the world.

It’s not that I am skeptical of the claims that are being made in the case for climate change, it’s not that at all, as many of them, on the face of it, seem perfectly valid.

I just have a whole bunch of other things to occupy my mind, and I honestly don’t feel much like shuffling about in a perpetual cloud of despair and gloom every day for the rest of my life worrying myself into an early grave over the potential end of life on the planet as we know it.

I mean, for fuck’s sake, there’s bugger all I can do about it, so stop fucking hollering at me all the time about this stuff. I don’t know what the fucking answer is. I can’t think of any solutions. Fuck off and leave me alone. Go throw some darts at the head of an Exxon executive, why don't you.

I’m almost middle-aged, I live by myself in a flat, I don’t own a car, I don’t even own a fucking microwave oven. I walk to work and back most days. I turn appliances off at the power-point, not out of any environmental concerns, but purely because it helps keep the bills down. When I’m at home, there’s usually only one light on at any given time, and that would be the light in the room where I happen to be at. If I’m in the living room, I don’t see much point in having the fucking light on in the bedroom or the laundry, ‘cause there ain’t nobody there. And it helps keep the bills down.

And also, I put my cigarette butts in a bin instead of dropping them on the ground or in the gutter where they can get flushed into the ocean and choke flathead, so fucking shut up about that too. Piss off and mind your own fucking business.

I have an air-conditioner in the unit I’m renting, but it was there when I moved in, and by Christ, in the searing heat and humidity of the summer months up here in Brisbane, I fucking well use it and I use it often. If that offends you, I don’t care. You too can fuck off.

I have an electric toothbrush. It has a little green standby light on it, indicating that it is charged, and it’s the only appliance (aside from the refrigerator) that I do not turn off at the power point. This little light would emit no more in the way of greenhouse gases than farts from a butterfly. I’m leaving it on. Understand?

But whether for or against the case for climate change, the issue has, for some people, become an all-consuming obsession, one that appears to be threatening to tip their minds over the edge of sanity and render them completely and utterly unhinged.

Whether for or against the case, both sides need to realise that, when they insist on preaching from the farthest extremes of the argument and preach with such stridently raucous frequency, a vast number of people, myself included, simply switch off.

Witness, for example, the seemingly infinite number of posts on the topic (for the case against) from everyone’s favourite boychild-journalist Andrew Bolt. It appears to have sent him thoroughly ratty in the head, for there is nary a day goes by where this particular drum of his doesn’t get the shit thrashed out of it.

Yet, Bolt is little more than a staggeringly unremarkable and unimaginative writer with no scientific qualifications whatsoever or investigative chops for a DAILY TABLOID, for God’s sake. He is to science and the deliberations and particulars of evidence-based scientific research what Paris Hilton is to the evolution of pop music.

The last couple weeks, I’ve done a round-up and summation of the topics Bolt has addressed in his “nervous tic as blog” and you can see from those how big a part the whole climate change topic plays in his world.

However, yesterday, Thursday July 17, 2008, this is what I found ...

12.07am - Global warming cunts.

12.08am - Global warming cunts.

12.13am - Global warming cunts.

05.54am - Global warming cunts. Chinese cunts too.

06.11am - Global warming cunts.

06.13am - Kevin Rudd is a cunt.

06.17am - Global warming cunts.

06.31am - Nude cunts.

11.43am - Global warming cunts.

09.13pm - Global warming cunts.

Extraordinary, isn’t it?

For the casual passer-by (such as myself), it exerts the same fascinatingly morbid voyeuristic appeal as does a car crash. Or watching a lobotomised chimpanzee masturbate itself into a coma.

Unhinged. Utterly. Utterly. Mad.

I won't be doing these round-ups and summation of Bolt’s “blog” again as, quite frankly, it really is starting to do my fucking head in.

The man is in desperate need of a prescription. And I'm in desperate need of a Panadol.

MEN OF GOD

Adapted and edited for clarity from this source ...

World Youth Day co-ordinator, Bishop Anthony Fisher, BLAHED yesterday that some victims were "crankily dwelling … on old wounds" ...

... He was BLAHING to news that a Melbourne man, Anthony Foster, was returning ... to confront Cardinal George Pell and Pope Benedict over the repeated rape of two of his daughters by Father Kevin O'Donnell at a primary school in Melbourne's Oakleigh parish.

The Archbishop of Sydney refused to BLAH BLAH yesterday and gave no BLAH that he would BLAH Mr Foster, as he had requested. Cardinal Pell said BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Mr Foster's eldest daughter, Emma, committed suicide last year, aged 26, after a long struggle with drugs. His second daughter, Katherine, who turned to drink, was hit by a car in 1999 and left physically and mentally disabled ...

... Yesterday he branded Bishop Fisher's BLAH outrageous. "We are still grieving over our daughters ...”

... Cardinal Pell said BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. He said BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH.

"BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH, BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH; BLAH BLAH BLAH. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH." ...

... But Sister Angela Ryan, prevention officer for Towards Healing, said BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. "BLAH BLAH BLAH, BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH, BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH."

The director of the Vatican press office, Frank Lombardi, gave a BLAH BLAH that BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Bishop Fisher did not BLAH to media inquiries..

COME HAIL OR WHINE

My published contribution to the letters page of the Sydney Morning Herald of Saturday 12, 2008 ...

What Alexander Downer was really trying to say was, "Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I think I'll go and eat worms."

BIG BOTHER

"Big Brother", after 8 years, is no more.

I have never watched a single episode of "Big Brother". Ever.

I have not so much as watched 5 minutes of any episode of "Big Brother". Ever.

There have been times when I have wanted to watch something that followed "Big Brother", yet, as seems to be the way of such programs, "Big Brother" inevitably ran over time. In which case, I chose something else or punched the mute button on the remote until it had ended and the program I wished to view began.

"Big Brother" was, essentially, a program about various groups of witless fuckwads sharing a house.

I shared houses with various people for about 12 years. Why I would want to watch a program about people sharing a house I do not know. The attraction to viewing such a thing eluded me then and it continues to elude me now.

I have done it in real life. And it was not like "Big Brother". Nothing like it at all. It was "real life".

"Big Brother" bore no more relation to "real life" than a wank can be equated to a really good fuck. It was about one thing, and one thing only - encouraging a group of retarded fuckwads to humiliate themselves and humiliate each other, and to encourage the audience of retarded fuckwads who watched this shit to regard themselves as being "entertained" by the humiliation on display. And so they were. I guess that’s the post-modern definition of success in today’s la-la land of commercial television.

"Big Brother" was, like all reality television shows, a program conceived by, produced by and presented by, middle-aged arrested adolescent dick-twiddlers possessed of not even a modest modicum of talent, creativity or intelligence. Not for them the intricacies of a script, of a story, of the development of characters in whom we may take an interest. Not for them such trifles as a plot, a purpose, or even a desire to inform, educate or enlighten on any particular topic.

No.

Instead, the best these utterly worthless and intellectually denuded little twats could come up with was, “Hey, I know. Let’s stick a dozen people in a house and film ‘em takin’ showers and shittin’ an’ sleepin’ an’ stuff! An’, an’, an’, hey, let’s make sure that a couple of ‘em got really good tits! Yeah?” “Fuck, man. That’s excellent! Wanna snort?”

And the retarded fuckwads who watched it are no better. In fact, they are worse, as they encouraged the candy-nosed dick-twiddlers who made this rubbish to make more of it and fling it onto our television screens at any and every available opportunity.

Every night for 8 years while this program aired, millions of these drooling, slack-jawed, monosyllabic fuckwads plopped themselves onto their couches and armchairs, mobile phones in one hand, jumbo packets of junk food in the other, as they shouted and screamed encouragement or disapproval at unremarkable strangers of remarkably unremarkable intelligence doing and saying unremarkable things for no apparent purpose or aim other than the fact that “I’s on der tee-vee! Lookee me! Lookee me!”.

So.

May I say to you if you were one of the witless idiot yokels who thought “Big Brother” worth watching for some reason ...

Kill yourself. Stab yourself now. Throw yourself off a fucking cliff. Take an overdose and go die in a gutter somewhere. Walk in front of a train. Play in the fucking traffic. Ask your parents for a retrospective abortion.

For your mere existence is an insult to the universe and its multitude of wonders.

And we need the space. With a few million less of you “Big Brother” fanatic fuckwits out of the way, just think of the savings in greenhouse gas emissions.

Go on. Make the sacrifice.

Knock your fucking selves out.

WEDNESDAY WITH ANDREW BOLT NO.2

Last week I posted a quick run-through of topics from the obsessive-compulsive nervous disorder that the nation’s “most connovershal jurnlist” Andrew Bolt calls a “blog” just to see what type of things rattle around the little fella’s peanut on a regular basis. This week, I thought I’d have another whip-through just to see if anything has changed ...

12.03am - Boris Johnson is a cunt. (1)

12.04am - Global warming cunts. (1)

12.06am - Global warming cunts. (2)

05.38am - Visual artists are cunts. (1)

05.43am - Global warming cunts. (3)

05.46am - Petro Georgiou is a cunt. (1)

06.50am - Global warming cunts. (4)

09.01am - Global warming cunts. (5)

09.04am - Global warming cunts. (6)

09.31am - Kevin Rudd is a cunt. (1)

As at 9.31am, he’s even with the previous Wednesday’s count of 6 on the number of “Global warming cunt” posts, though he’s way off the mark so far with only one “Kevin Rudd is a cunt” item as opposed to last week’s count of 4.

And there’s just 10 posts today compared to last week’s 16, though we may be able to put this down to the fact that everyone’s favourite “ce’brity colummist” is probably boning up his bully-boy-talk-over-everyone-else tactics for his upcoming appearance on the ABC’s “Q&A”, something Andy’s been prattling on about the last few days to anyone who could be bothered listening.

Still, at least he’s maintaining a consistency of sorts by throwing in the usual item about what a bunch of cunts contemporary performers and visual arts practitioners are, and we can definitely look forward to a few more of those ... Probably around the time a new Australian film is released or Cate Blanchett gets her photo taken for something somewhere.

New to the rundown this week, small “l” Liberal Petro Georgiou comes in for a serve for daring to suggest an opinion contrary to the current party leader and Upstanding Man of Tinfoil, Brendan Nelson, which makes Petro something of a cunt, though what the UK’s Boris Johnson has to do with anything of relevance to anyone I’m fucked if I can figure out.

Our boy Andrew’s just full of spiffing little surprises some days, ain’t he?

What a source of constant joy.

DOWN AND OUT

Alexander Downer is all a-twitter over journalist Peter Hartcher’s summation of his brilliant career ...

What more can a poor boy do ...

“I’d spent 40 minutes talking to him to help him with a book he is writing about the Howard years.”

A whole 40 minutes?! ... No doubt the provision of this valuable and extensive source of vital information will result in a 3 volume epic ...

“And the week before he’d been at a conference with me in Washington and seemed perfectly affable. He was pleading with me for time to help him with his book.”

Pleading? "Oh, please, Alex ... PLEASE! PLEEEEEEEASE!" ...

Somehow, I doubt it.

“Mind you, we all know there’s nothing worse than an insincere opportunist.”

Oh, for God’s sake, just fuck off, Alex. Take your WMD's with you and blow 'em out your stockinged arse, you huffy little twat.



From 1980, Split Enz “Poor Boy”

FOUR SECONDS

A mother takes a photo of her child for artistic purposes and the morally righteous wrath of the nation's so-called "leaders" crashes down upon her head.

A Catholic priest sexually abuses a minor, is given a "token sentence of four seconds", and the nation's so-called "leaders" fall over themselves to throw cunts like this a week-long party.

By these criteria, if convicted pedophile Dennis Ferguson had been a priest, he would've scored ... oh, about 20 seconds of punishment for his crimes. What a slog.

No doubt Ferguson now rues the career path he chose for himself in his younger days. I'm sure he would've proven himself a fine "servant of the Lord".

THE PERFECT DATE MOVIE

No comment.



From 2007, “Teeth” Trailer

WEDNESDAY WITH ANDREW BOLT

It’s all steady as she goes in Andrew’s world ...

12.03am - Global warming cunts. (1)

12.03am – Barack Obama is a cunt. (1)

12.03am - Global warming cunts. (2)

12.04am - Middle Eastern cunts. (1)

12.15am - Belinda Neal and John Della Bosca are cunts. (1)

05.20am - Kevin Rudd is a cunt. (1)

06.05am - Toilets. Cunts shit in them. (1)

06.19am - Kevin Rudd is a cunt. (2)

06.20am - Dead celebrities are cunts. (1)

06.21am - Kevin Rudd is a cunt. (3)

06.34am - Judges are cunts. (1)

08.36am - Global Warming cunts. (3)

09.46am - Global Warming cunts. (4)

11.57am - Global Warming cunts. (5)

12.35pm - Puppy Dog Sits in a Hat. What a cunt. (1)

02.52pm - Kevin Rudd is a cunt. (4)

03.04pm - Global Warming cunts. (6)

Yep. Steady as she goes ...

WELL BUGGER ME, IT’S THE POPE!

I'm stumped.

“EXTRAORDINARY new powers will allow police to arrest and fine people for "causing annoyance" to World Youth Day participants and permit partial strip searches at hundreds of Sydney sites, beginning today.”

This rubbish is simply beyond the realms of parody.

10's of millions of dollars to perve on a corpse. 10’s of millions of dollars to have a massive clusterfuck of bead rattling and wafer munching while an old bloke in a glass cage whizzes around the city streets and then, to top it all, a re-enactment of a guy with a beard getting nailed to two chunks of wood.

As Gordon Ramsey might say, "Fuck me".

If you're unfortunate enough to be in Sydney on World Youth Day, may I suggest that you do please be annoying by wearing a special Goatboy t-shirt to mark the occasion and organising a whole bunch of mates to gather in Martin Place for a massed vocal rendition of Tom Lehrer's "Vatican Rag" ...

After which, go find a church and pee in the holy water.



From 1965, Tom Lehrer “The Vatican Rag”