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”

WARNING

The following clips contain graphic sexual and/or erotic images, concepts and allusions which may be unsuitable for viewing by children.

To prevent the occurrence of any potential trauma developing in the delicate matter of your dearest darlings at some future stage of life, we recommend you install a bunker under the stairs of your home and lock your innocent sweeties in it for 10 or 20 years until all danger has passed, and the deviant miscreants responsible for these outrages against public morality have been duly apprehended, charged and hanged in the town square.



From 1980, Kate Bush “Babooshka”



From 1976, Blondie “In The Flesh”

CALM DOWN, IDIOT

Andrew Bolt and his flock of flying fuckwits certainly love to whip themselves up into a seething frenzy of stupidity over the merest whiff of a non-story on a regular basis, and here they go again ...

... A couple of publicity-deprived Islamic ratbags have stated that they'd like to see polygamy allowed by law in Australia. So, as far as Bolt and his monkeys are concerned, sharia law - it's on der cards, run fer da hills, stock up on dried goods, and grabs yerselves a gun or six to protect der wimmin and chillun from der impending eeeeee-vil dat stalks der land ...

What a load of bullshit.

...There are all sorts of dickheads in this country who'd like to see all sorts of things made law, and all sorts of other things banned ...

... Whenever a particularly ghastly crime is committed and reported, a whole bunch of them call for the re-introduction of the death penalty ... Whenever teens misbehave, another bunch of hardnuts holler for the re-introduction of the draft ... There are people who'd insist that religion be a compulsory class in public schools, that creationism be taught in science and evolutionary theory not; that we close our shores to immigration from people of colour; that we deport the ones already here; that smokers be denied medical treatment ... Frankly, there are far too many stupid ideas, theories and propositions floating about on any given day from any number of ridiculously silly tosspots than can possibly be countenanced here, and all the time in the world wouldn't permit a comprehensive summation of them ...

... Needless to say, every ideology, whether religious or political in nature has its fair share of thoroughly unhinged knobjockeys, noisy little turds who pop up on a regular basis to grab a headline or three by saying something patently stupid, leaving the more moderate of their kind to shake their heads in astonished wonder and despairingly mutter to themselves, "Ah, shit. Here we fucking go again." ...

... Inevitably, the ratbags will take it upon themselves to insist they "represent the community" or are "spokespeople" for it, when essentially, they represent no one but themselves and their own hard-core adherants and whackily whacked-out admirers - a minority, in other words ... and one begging for attention, from anyone, over anything, and, preferably, all the time ...

... Most men and women of faith however are quietly content to practice and observe their beliefs in a manner and fashion that brings them comfort. That is why they chose it. They seek not to impose it on, or bother and irritate others with their beliefs, even those who may well be members of the very same club. Many Catholics will practise contraception and so they should if they so choose. George Pell's view is an irrelevancy to them. Many Anglicans have no problem whatsoever with the existence of gay men and women in their midst, and so should they not if they want. Peter Jensen rules not in their church. Many Buddhists probably get thoroughly pissed off from time to time too, and may well have had occasion to swat at a dive bombing mosquito in the dead heat of a summer night. Good for them ...

... And many Muslims would not want a bar of Sheikh Khalil Chami and Keysar Trad's absurdly stupid notions, preferring instead that both of them would simply shut the fuck up and stop making people of their faith look like a ratpack of whining, radical dickwads ...

... They, like we others of a less hysterical bent, would realise immediately that such a proposition will never be adopted or promoted by any Australian politician from any party at any time, and that it is, instead, a rather sad bleat for attention from a couple of fools, Trad having had his taste of media fame after lurking about in the fevered wake of Sheik Taj Din al-Hilali's "uncovered meat" statements of 2006 and having been reduced to public irrelevancy ever since his pal was told to fuck off and shut up ...

Unfortunately, Bolt and his sour-milk-fed creche of cretins can't see that, so enamoured are they of their own brand of ideologically driven perpetual hysteria.

It's a non-story. It'll never happen. Bet on it. Move on.

And take your meds.

MARATHON WUSSMAN

9 a.m.

Tuesday.

Periodontist.

Sharp metal poking sticks. Sticks that scrape. Sticks that go “whirr”.

Poke. Poke. Prod. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Poke. Poke. Prod. Scrape. Scrape. Poke. Poke. Poke. Poke. Scrape. Poke. Poke. Pain. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Pain. Stop. Pain. Ouch. Stop. Ouch. Pain. Please. Kill. Me. Now.

For 45 minutes. Feet trying to twist themselves off ankles. Hands grabbing armrests. Sweat through shirt in 22 degree weather. Finally. Over. Wobble off chair. Wobble out to reception. Extract debit card from wallet. In a wobbly fashion. Wobble off. Less 200 bucks.

See you again in 4 months.

Yeah. Good. Can’t wait.

Below - Chucking a wobbly ...

/////////////////////////////////////////////!
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\!
/////////////////////////////////////////////!
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\!
/////////////////////////////////////////////!
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\!
/////////////////////////////////////////////!
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\!

... Wobbly chucked.



From 1986, Steve Martin “The Dentist Song” from “Little Shop of Horrors”

“WHO WANTS TO EAT THE GIRL?”

Dario Argento has a new film coming out, “Mother of Tears” ...

The line, “Who wants to eat the girl?” is destined for greatness. Fucking priceless.



From 2007, Dario Argento “Mother of Tears” trailer

FREQUENTLY FUNDING

My published contribution to the letters page of today’s Sydney Morning Herald ...

Re the Senate inquiry into swearing on television, I am more than happy to help the industry "clarify what is meant by the terms "occasional, some and frequent" coarse language" for the benefit of Senator Bernardi. Occasional – Sometimes; Some - A bit; Frequent - Often. Can I have my cheque now, please?

BAD MOOD BUBBY PT.5

AN expletive-laden episode of celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay's TV show has prompted a Senate committee to recommend changes to the way we all watch television.

From now on, we shall all be required to don three-piece dinner suits and stand on our fucking heads.

The report, unanimously endorsed by the committee, recommended parental lock-out systems should be made an industry standard for all digital televisions sold in Australia.

Oh, joy. Yes, please. Let's lock out the parents. They can throw a blanket over the Hills Hoist and sleep on the fucking grass from now on.

The report also recommended broadcasters should consider permanently displaying the classification symbol of a program on screen.

Nothing like another little symbol on the fucking tube to burn out your screen in one specific spot.

The industry should also clarify what is meant by the terms "occasional, some and frequent" coarse language, it said.

Occasional = Sometimes. Some = A bit. Frequent = Often.

Bad mood was getting better. Now worse. Need beer. Now.

BAD MOOD BUBBY PT.4

From “The New Yorker”, "One Angry Man" by Peter J. Boyer on Keith Olbermann ...

[Olbermann] wrote ...

"Mr. Bush, I hate to break it to you six and a half years after you yoked this nation and your place in history to the wrong war in the wrong place, against the wrong people, but the war in Iraq is not about you. . . . It is not, Mr. Bush, about your golf game! And, sir, if you have any hopes that next January 20th will not be celebrated as a day of soul-wrenching, heartfelt thanksgiving, because your faithless stewardship of this presidency will have finally come to a merciful end, this last piece of advice . . . when somebody asks you, sir, about your gallant, noble, self-abnegating sacrifice of your golf game so as to soothe the families of the war dead. This advice, Mr. Bush: Shut the hell up!"

Phil Griffin, the senior vice-president in charge of MSNBC ..., raised the matter of tone. Why did Olbermann need to end his commentary by telling the President of the United States to “shut the hell up”?

“Because I can’t say, ‘Shut the fuck up,’ that’s why, frankly,” Olbermann responded.

This pleases me. Mood improving. Time for food.

BAD MOOD BUBBY PT.3

I am fucking sick and fucking tired of CGI superhero and “epic” movies. They’re fucking crap, pretty much all of them. Slick, sleek, soulless lumps of shit shoved together by twitchy packs of arrested adolescent dickheads with bad skin permanently hopped up to the gills on a steady diet of Coke and triple-cheese, stuffed crust pizzas and Twinkies, their sweaty fucking hands forever fiddling about with their fucking joysticks and fucking function buttons ...

“Hey man, if you F8-Shift-Control-Alt then Left Open Square Bracket Close Right Bracket and hit Enter, you can make a Roman!”

“Way cool, dude.”

Go stab yourselves, the whole fucking lot of you.

I’ll take George Reeves’ “Superman” any day over Brandon or Brendon whatshisname.

And you can shove “Gladiator” up your fucking clacker as well and run “Spartacus” instead thank you very much. At least Kirk Douglas knew he was only making a fucking movie, unlike Russell fucking Crowe who thought he was starring in his own autobiographical adventures, the tedious little twat.

Happily, I find I am not alone in my views ...

Paul Byrnes from the Sydney Morning Herald on “The Incredible Hulk” ...

“These guys have crafted more movie superheroes than anyone would have thought possible, or desirable. I wish they would stop. I am sick of superheroes. I'd like to see a movie about an under-performing hero or just someone who didn't go weird on the full moon. Bruce Banner, Peter Parker, Wolverine, even Clark Kent just won't go away. They are a blight on the movie landscape: overblown, banal, numbingly noisy epics of emptiness aimed at the desperate American desire for righteous heroes.

The finale, in New York City - where else? - has two mutants duking it out, rather than one, just as in Iron Man (and 50 other superhero-mutant hero movies). lf there is anything duller than two computer-generated giants fighting each other, I have yet to see it. It's like two bags of marbles being thrown against each other for 20 minutes.

These movies are as tiring as kryptonite.”

Righteous!

And Peter Bradshaw from The Guardian is hilariously scathing about same ...

"Hulk. Smash!" Yes. Hulk. Smash. Yes. Smash. Big Hulk smash. Smash cars. Buildings. Army tanks. Hulk not just smash. Hulk also go rarrr! Then smash again. Smash important, obviously. Smash Hulk's USP. What Hulk smash most? Hulk smash all hope of interesting time in cinema. Hulk take all effort of cinema, effort getting babysitter, effort finding parking, and Hulk put great green fist right through it. Hulk crush all hopes of entertainment. Hulk in boring film. Film co-written by star. Edward Norton. Norton in it. Norton write it. Norton not need gamma-radiation poisoning to get big head. Thing is: Hulk head weirdly small. Compared with rest of big green body ...

... Critic remember Ang Lee version. Ang Lee version slagged off. Yet rubbish new Hulk film make that look like Citizen Kane. Critic exit cinema miffed. Film take away two hours of critic's life. Critic not get time back. Ever. Rarrrrr."

I know how he feels.

“Rarrrr” indeed.

God, I’m in a filthy frame of mind today. Did I mention?

BAD MOOD BUBBY PT.2

Here she fucking goes again, Miranda Devine, self-anointed spiritual leader of the sensible shoes, twin-set and pearls perpetual puritan practitioners of professional hysterics set, lurching back and forth, back and forth, back and fucking forth between her dual obsessions of the day – drugs and porn, drugs and porn, drugs and fucking porn.

Today, it’s fucking drugs again with Darling Devine whipping herself into another fucking snit over an information booklet for teens about illegal drugs ...

Let’s get something into your thick fucking head, you stupid fucking bint ...

No one in their right fucking mind wants their kids to be spending their time pulling fifty bongs a day behind the school toilet block or dropping a dozen ecstasy tabs during an early morning session of Video fucking Hits ...

... However, if a teenager, whether they be 15 or 19 or even 25, find themselves in a situation where illegal drugs are on offer and they choose to partake, it is far better for them that they be reliably and sensibly informed as to what it is they may be about to consume and what effects and potential dangers the consumption of said drug may produce than to be endlessly hollered at by a bunch of saggy-titted, dreary middle-aged ideologically-addicted irrelevancies furiously flapping about like so many whirling dervishes on a carousel in a fucking hurricane screaming, “Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!” ...

She writes ... "Among "a few tips that might help" in the brochure is advice to "use only small amounts and not too often" ...

Yeah, right. Shocking stuff. Like, totally, yeah, right, no, yeah, like, WOW, Miranda!

Fuckwit.

She goes on ... “To be fair, the brochure also states: "The best way to keep your head together is not to use drugs at all." But it immediately goes on: "BUT, if you choose to experiment …"

“To be fair” ... Well, that’s like, rooly, rooly generous of you deary. What part of “The best way to keep your head together is not to use drugs at all” hasn’t quite penetrated your thick fucking head exactly?

I tell ya what, you sensibly stylish little luvvie you, why don’t you send a copy to Glenn Milne ... I reckon he could do with a little helpful advice.

Stupid cunt.

Have I mentioned what a foul fucking mood I happen to be in today?

BAD MOOD BUBBY PT.1

“An exhibition by the Australian artist Mike Parr, which includes a film showing a live chicken being decapitated, has prompted a complaint to the RSPCA and a visit from police.”

For Christ's sakes, it's a fucking chicken, not a baby on a fucking stick.

People hack the heads off millions of fucking chickens every day of the fucking week and shove 'em into fucking ovens for fucking food.

What the fuck do people think they're going to see at a fucking Mike Parr exhibition anyway, for fuck's sake?

Fucking paintings of bowls of fucking fruit?

Jesus Christ, I’m in a bad mood today ...

GORE VIDAL, MY HERO

As splendidly splenetic as ever ...

LET THE RIGHT ONE IN

It's not often that I manage to whip through a 500 page novel in 2 sittings, but that's precisely what I did manage on the weekend with John Ajvide Lindqvist's novel of contemporary vampirism in Sweden, "Let The Right One In".

This is not, in any sense of the word, a "typical" vampire story, and potential readers may well be put off by the novel's by-line, "A Vampire Love Story" which may indicate the book to be some sort of ghastly cod-gothic Anne Rice rubbish. Nothing could be farther from the truth ...

... Set in 1981, it is the tale of Oskar, a much put-upon incontinent 13 year old boy, bullied, tortured and alienated at school, who, when he finds the chance, is taken to working out his pent-up frustrations and anger by stabbing trees in a nearby forest with a knife, all the while imagining the trees to be his much-loathed tormenters. Living alone with his mother in a drab and characterless housing estate in the Stockholm suburb of Blackeberg, the closest he has to a friend is 16 year old petty thief Tommy, who spends much of his time avoiding his own mother's new boyfriend (a devoutly religious, faintly ridiculous and potentially violent cop) by retreating to the apartment block basement to sniff glue and petrol and flip through porn magazines ...

... And then, Oskar meets Eli who, with her father, has just moved in to the apartment next door. Eli is a rake thin 10 or 12 year old girl who speaks in a voice and with a knowledge that sits rather uncomfortably with her apparent youth. She also smells quite strange and her appearance on any given night can range from the disheveled and sickly to the ethereal ...

... This is a bleak and chilly novel indeed, and it would be bordering on the nihilistic were it not for the tender and sensitive rendering of the awkward relationship that blooms between Oskar and Eli, that relationship being the sole thing that infuses the book with warmth, hope and the promise of redemption. Despite what we know about Eli, what we come to know and what we know will keep on coming, we, as readers, can wish her no ill ...

... And much of this may be due to the fact that, with little exception, the adults in this book are thoroughly fucked up, miserable individuals who spend most of their lives in an alcoholic fog of cynical self-absorption and emotional denial. There are no happy family folk to be found lurking within these dark pages, that’s for damn sure ...

... (And with its disturbing undercurrents of pedophilia and teenage sexuality, it’s a wonder that Australia’s self-anointed guardian of the public moral and protector-general of “our children”, Hetty Johnston, has not scattered her hysterically feverish minions throughout the land to rip the book from the shelves, yet, happily, she remains oblivious to its existence, preferring to lurk and lurch about in fucking art galleries for now) ...

... There are some excellent set-pieces in the book, moments of vividly described grand and grotesque guignol, a few of which may strain credibility, but for the most part, they work and work well (the flatful of cats scene is a hair-raiser), and the book concludes precisely as we would wish it.

That it has now been made into a feature film comes as no surprise, and, though the movie has yet to go into widespread commercial distribution, its inclusion in a number of film festivals (including the current Sydney Film Festival) has already garnered it much praise ...

Marlow Stern from Film Review Manhattan Movie Magazine

"With its deft mix of horror and a heartwarming love story, it comes as no surprise that the movie won the big prize – The Founder Award for Best Narrative Feature – at the 2008 Tribeca Film Festival."

Scott Weinberg from Cinematical

“Suffice to say that Let the Right One In is a pretty unique beast, and it's a flick that would NEVER arrive via the Hollywood studio system, seeing as how it deals with hardcore gore, pre-teen sexuality, and some rather nasty kid-on-kid violence. And yet, for a movie that has a lot of dicey components, it sure comes off as a really sweet story. That's not just good filmmaking; that's real intelligence behind the camera.”

... An American remake or adaptation is currently slated, and, as is always the way with such things, I expect they’ll thoroughly fuck it up. Let’s hope we get the opportunity to view the original (unfortunately, there doesn’t appear to be a subtitled trailer available yet, so we shall have to make do with the Swedish version for now) ...



From 2008, “Let The Right One In” Trailer

WHERE'S KEVIN, WALLY?

Oh, woe. Dey seek him here, dey seek him there, wherefore he be, and whyfore he not be wherefore he should be at when he be wherefore we wanted him before and now he be there and not here ...

KEVIN RUDD has been criticised for failing to meet the Dalai Lama during his visit to Sydney this week, leaving the official meeting to a relative unknown, Senator Chris Evans.

A spokesman for Mr Rudd said the Prime Minister, who is in Japan, could not arrange a meeting because he was not returning to Canberra until Sunday night and the Dalai Lama was to leave on Monday morning.

The Opposition Leader, Brendan Nelson, has agreed to a meeting, and yesterday a spokesman for him questioned why Mr Rudd was not doing the same.

"Kevin Rudd met with the Dalai Lama as opposition leader. Why wouldn't he now? Dr Nelson will meet him, just as the opposition leader did 12 months ago."

Okay, Brendan. Listen carefully now ... What part of, "He's not meeting him because he's not in the fucking country right now, he's in Japan for a week" has yet to penetrate that sorry, soggy addled little peanut of yours?

Idiot.

I WANT TO BELIEVE

So, not only does Federal Government MP Belinda Neal not swear, she's also in the habit of striking up random conversations with vicars ...

By the way, did you know that "Hamlet" was written by a monkey? Also, Hannibal Lecter's a vegetarian.



From ?, Terry Jones & the BBC “Flying Penguins”

SO PRETTY

Isn’t classical music pleasant? Isn’t it nice?

And classical art? Isn’t it sweet?

Quite lovely, yes ... quite ... unintrusive.

A balm for the soul in these horrid, troubled times where mankind, his ribs, and civilisation itself teeters on the brink of moral destruction and infernal, infinite purgatory ...

Pftht.

I don’t mind classical music. I even own some (though I can well do without opera, as that particularly ghastly form of singing makes me want to bash puppies). I’m quite partial to 20th / 21st century Estonian composer Arvo Pärt, for example. And classical art doesn’t bother me in the least. Landscapes and portraits and such, sweeping vistas and rolling hills and bowls of fruit and scrummy vegetables and lovingly rendered depictions of various young and old men and women, their every fold of flesh dripping delightfully with all manner of just-dicky detail. It’s all very inoffensive and unthreatening really, isn’t it?

Poncing about on the innyweb the other day, I landed at the London Review of Books and began reading a few articles (as one does), this one to be precise, and was struck by a comment from the reviewer ...

“As an apprenticeship in dissidence, a childhood sacrificed to classical music is hard to beat. Classical music is always acceptable to authority because it cannot overtly challenge power with subversive ideas or disturbing representations. Parents and states know they are on safe ground when their children or subjects are playing Mozart or Schubert – and enjoying it.”

Halle-fucking-lujah.

And so it is with visual art. Thus, Bill Henson was not acceptable to authority, and should not be acceptable to us who do not regard ourselves as authorities, authority in this case resting only in one professional paranoid hysteric, and two of the nation’s most ridiculously populist creative typists who continue (mistakenly) to refer to themselves as “journalists”.

Therefore, Hetty Johnston and Andrew Bolt and Miranda Devine, may I say to you all with deep and heartfelt sincerity, from the very bottom of my soul ...

Suck it up, cunts.

HARLAN ELLISON "DREAMS WITH SHARP TEETH", THE FILM

In my teenage years during the 1970's this guy was my favourite author, his stories and opinions being a seminal influence upon my own views at the time, many of which still prevail to this very day, though I've read nothing by him for many, many years ... He appears to have done very little over the last decade or so beyond republishing his short stories in new anthologies and formats ...

But now, someone's made a movie about him ... and the reviews are rather good.





From 2008, Harlan Ellison “Dreams With Sharp Teeth” Trailer & Clip

A STAGGERING IMAGE OF HEARTWARMING BEAUTY

TRY THIS INSTEAD ...

I am currently unwell and just couldn’t be arsed for a few days.

So, whoever you are, watch this clip instead. It beats getting tied up in knots over the continuing frenzy about Bill Henson ...

... Somebody has put together a clip using footage from various Hollywood films and set it to the tune of Iggy Pop’s “The Passenger”. I think it works a treat ...



From 1977, Iggy Pop “The Passenger”