I'm trying to think of an appropriate response to this story from today's News.Com ...
But all I can come up with is ...
GET. FUCKED.
GET. FUCKED.
Friday, 13 February 2009
Thursday, 12 February 2009
SHINY HAPPY PARASITES MUST BURN
From last Friday to Wednesday of this week, I was laid up sick with an unidentified stomach bug that had me rushing from the couch to the sink (closest receptacle available) to dry retch every 20 or 30 minutes. Over the course of 5 days, I've eaten 2 pieces of toast and an apple. The upside (upchuck?) is that I've lost a notch a half in belt size, so I've fought the good fight against the rampant obesity epidemic, going from a whopping 32" waist to about 30".
Fuck you, Jenny Craig.
And during this time, my brain being too rattled to concentrate on anything requiring coherent or sustained thought, I sat in front of the television whimpering like a whipped dog from the pain of a stomach in knots, and watched as the horrors of death, destruction and inconsolable grief flickered their way across the great glass teat of pop'lar ennertainment.
By Tuesday morning, enough was enough.
Thank God for SBS and the ABC, for they were the only two television channels that made any effort to report actual news about the events of that weekend rather than wallowing like fat happy pigs in the hollow pits of pain and loss that once were people with lives, with futures and with pasts, and who, now, wandered like shell-shocked soldiers through a battlefield the likes of which they could never have imagined in their most outrageous nightmares.
The shiny, happy parasites of commercial infotainment, self-anointed Masters-Of-The-Universe-As-Gods-Of-Pain outdid themselves in the rush to see which “host” of this once-in-a-lifetime entertainment opportunity could best make der unhappy, scrunchy face and convey to you, to us, just how horrible everything had been, how much worse it was going to get, and just how thoroughly and utterly fucked everybody involved were.
For we would not be able to grasp the deep import of these events without a familiar face to guide us through the proper meaning of loss, something only they could convey and can we please have some music for the underscore just in case anyone missed it? Thanks very much, Pachelbel’s Canon will do just fine, but after the break can we toss in some R.E.M. or Jeff Buckley? Cheers, thanks, ta, we have an annual licence so there’s no probs with der rights, eh?
And so, with their faces duly pasted and painted so as to take the shine off their shiny, shiny foreheads, they cast their eyes about for the wasted and the wounded, knowing full well they’ll be met with little resistance from the shocked and the stunned as they shove microphones and cameras in the faces of people who’ve lost husbands, wives, sons, daughters, parents, their homes, their pets, the entire record of their lives on earth to date and ask the really, really pertinent questions that really, really begged for an answer …
“You’ve lost your wife and your children and your home and your pets and the entire record of your life on earth to date … How do you feeeeeeeeeel nowwwwwww?”
The answer I wanted never came, or it was certainly never broadcast …
“How would you feel if I shoved this fucking microphone and this fucking camera between the flappy folds of your saggy, spotted buttocks until your fucking pinhead pops off your scrawny fucking shoulders, you ghoulish fucking lump of insensitive cuntspit?”
Better luck next time, perhaps.
And in their wake come the whores, hacks and harlots of the “popular” Australian press, ever eager to drive the standards (?!) of Australian journalism (??!) and reportage (???!) into the mediocrity it so enthusiastically and increasingly embraces ... (Hey! Psst! Wanna see a photo of Salma Hayek breastfeeding a kid? WE GOT IT! Tits, man! And boy, ain’t she got a set! Hubba hubba!).
Yet that shouldn’t be too surprising, given the “popular” press is mostly owned by some pussy-whipped old fart whose hair goes through more colour changes in a week than Joseph’s Technicolour Dreamcoat could do in a 6 month Broadway run.
Yep, round up the usual narcissistic deadshits and set ‘em to work to preach from the same old bully pulpit as always - Hell, you need talent, intelligence and imagination to think up something new and actually write about it in depth and no one wants to read that shit these days, do they? Is Australia, mate, the “lucky country”, don’t you be gittin’ above your raisin’ an’ puttin’ on airs an’ graces boy, an’ gettin’ deep on us all.
There’s a predictable lad.
Ah, fuck ‘em all. Throw some money in a bucket or a tin can or organise something at work or donate some blood or whatever, but next time these cunts of commercial “news” suggest splashing the face of someone writhing in the throes of uncontrollable grief for “your consideration” in some special extended agony remix edition, turn the fucking thing off or turn the page.
Enough is enough.
Fuck you, Jenny Craig.
And during this time, my brain being too rattled to concentrate on anything requiring coherent or sustained thought, I sat in front of the television whimpering like a whipped dog from the pain of a stomach in knots, and watched as the horrors of death, destruction and inconsolable grief flickered their way across the great glass teat of pop'lar ennertainment.
By Tuesday morning, enough was enough.
Thank God for SBS and the ABC, for they were the only two television channels that made any effort to report actual news about the events of that weekend rather than wallowing like fat happy pigs in the hollow pits of pain and loss that once were people with lives, with futures and with pasts, and who, now, wandered like shell-shocked soldiers through a battlefield the likes of which they could never have imagined in their most outrageous nightmares.
The shiny, happy parasites of commercial infotainment, self-anointed Masters-Of-The-Universe-As-Gods-Of-Pain outdid themselves in the rush to see which “host” of this once-in-a-lifetime entertainment opportunity could best make der unhappy, scrunchy face and convey to you, to us, just how horrible everything had been, how much worse it was going to get, and just how thoroughly and utterly fucked everybody involved were.
For we would not be able to grasp the deep import of these events without a familiar face to guide us through the proper meaning of loss, something only they could convey and can we please have some music for the underscore just in case anyone missed it? Thanks very much, Pachelbel’s Canon will do just fine, but after the break can we toss in some R.E.M. or Jeff Buckley? Cheers, thanks, ta, we have an annual licence so there’s no probs with der rights, eh?
And so, with their faces duly pasted and painted so as to take the shine off their shiny, shiny foreheads, they cast their eyes about for the wasted and the wounded, knowing full well they’ll be met with little resistance from the shocked and the stunned as they shove microphones and cameras in the faces of people who’ve lost husbands, wives, sons, daughters, parents, their homes, their pets, the entire record of their lives on earth to date and ask the really, really pertinent questions that really, really begged for an answer …
“You’ve lost your wife and your children and your home and your pets and the entire record of your life on earth to date … How do you feeeeeeeeeel nowwwwwww?”
The answer I wanted never came, or it was certainly never broadcast …
“How would you feel if I shoved this fucking microphone and this fucking camera between the flappy folds of your saggy, spotted buttocks until your fucking pinhead pops off your scrawny fucking shoulders, you ghoulish fucking lump of insensitive cuntspit?”
Better luck next time, perhaps.
And in their wake come the whores, hacks and harlots of the “popular” Australian press, ever eager to drive the standards (?!) of Australian journalism (??!) and reportage (???!) into the mediocrity it so enthusiastically and increasingly embraces ... (Hey! Psst! Wanna see a photo of Salma Hayek breastfeeding a kid? WE GOT IT! Tits, man! And boy, ain’t she got a set! Hubba hubba!).
Yet that shouldn’t be too surprising, given the “popular” press is mostly owned by some pussy-whipped old fart whose hair goes through more colour changes in a week than Joseph’s Technicolour Dreamcoat could do in a 6 month Broadway run.
Yep, round up the usual narcissistic deadshits and set ‘em to work to preach from the same old bully pulpit as always - Hell, you need talent, intelligence and imagination to think up something new and actually write about it in depth and no one wants to read that shit these days, do they? Is Australia, mate, the “lucky country”, don’t you be gittin’ above your raisin’ an’ puttin’ on airs an’ graces boy, an’ gettin’ deep on us all.
There’s a predictable lad.
Ah, fuck ‘em all. Throw some money in a bucket or a tin can or organise something at work or donate some blood or whatever, but next time these cunts of commercial “news” suggest splashing the face of someone writhing in the throes of uncontrollable grief for “your consideration” in some special extended agony remix edition, turn the fucking thing off or turn the page.
Enough is enough.
DEVINELY STUPID
Sent to the Sydney Morning Herald this morning, prompted by this crap from the female Paddy McGuiness …
“For investigative journalism of skill, intelligence, common sense, balance and reasoned argument, Miranda Devine makes a nice typist.”
Wednesday, 11 February 2009
A LETER TOO THE ARTHER
An actual letter (handwritten) addressed to a (former) political figure and author. This is an accurate transcription of the layout, spelling and rather odd little P.S. at the end …
I boughttheyour book, “- ------ -- ------” for 50 cents, a couple of months ago from the ---------- Library, -------- they bought it on Dec 2005 $33. and were getting Rid of It, in Setp./Oct, 2008, the Book was in pristine Condition, obviously not many people borrowed it, if any.
I myself read other books that I bought at the same time,
By looking at the Cover, it gave me the impression it would be a Boring Political Spiel.
However when I started reading it, I was Very Pleasantly Surprised, I am at Page 141 Half way In my opinion this is a TERRIFIC Book (“You cannot judge a book by its cover” applies here)
I want to THANK YOU for your contribution to Bettering the Lives of the Working Class of Australia, Especially when you being from a Middle Class family could very well Ignored the Issue as most people in your position do. (THEM I calling them) You are an Inspiration to me, you have Done, what I was thinking Should Be Done (But I was to Busy Working), but did not have the Knowleg to Bring it to Reality.
May I sugest that you reissue the Book, but with a Cover showing 2 Beatyful NAKED Women, (I am serius), People will them open the book (expecting something else) and some may get interested and get the Book and Read It, they Should.
Men will have the Book on their Desk, just to look at the Pictures but they will read some of it. (otherwise is a case of “out of Sight Out of Mind”)
Regars, Best Wishes to You and Your Family
J--- C------
----------, VICTORIA
2 Good Looking NAKED MEN for Women and Homosexuals
It will go very well with YOUNG PEOPLE today, (Sex, Drugs, Rock & Roll)
DO A SMALL RUN and see how it goes, (they will sell like hot cakes) if you are SCARED.
Scared?
Yes.
Yes.
Very.
Thursday, 5 February 2009
FROZEN MEAL IN BOX
I’ve never eaten “Frozen Meal in Box”.
Ever.
By “Frozen Meal in Box”, I mean those things that are tricked up to look like a full-fledged proper meal with a proper name and all the trappings and accompaniments. Like “baked potato” and “fresh peas” and “creamy sauce” and such.
I’m not talking about stuff like frozen fish fillets or frozen pies, both of which I’ve eaten on occasions and, especially in the latter case, have always wondered why on earth I bothered to put the stove on in the first place.
For frozen pies are fucking horrible. You’ll never eat a frozen pie and say afterward, “Damn, that was good”. It’s as if someone’s deliberately gone out of their way to present you with a pastry that has the consistency of a Gingernut biscuit which has been soaked in an unidentifiable meat flavour for a few seconds and then baked on the lip of an active volcano for a week or three.
And the packets advertise contents like “tender chunks” or “herbs and spices” being present in the foodstuff. If your definition of a “chunk” is something the size and shape of a toenail cutting and to you “herbs and spices” means a midget pinch of white pepper, you might find this type of mulch to your liking.
To me, however, “herbs and spices” means you add the spice to the fucking food, not wave the stuff about over the top of the pot for an eighth of a nanosecond.
Anyway …
“Frozen Meal in Box”.
Yesterday, I saw some “Frozen Meal in Box” advertised in a Coles or Woolworths brochure, and they were on special for four bucks a pop. I thought to myself, “That’s pretty cheap. Maybe I should buy some “Frozen Meal in Box” and give it a try.”
And then I thought, “Hang on. Is this an indicator of something? If I begin to eat “Frozen Meal in Box”, does this mean that I will have started an irreversible decline into old age where, by the time I’m 70, dinner will mean a slice of toast with half a tomato and a glass of milk, because I just couldn’t be bothered anymore?”
That’s what happens when people get old, isn’t it? And I’m now officially middle-aged, aren’t I?
And now, after 30 years of mostly making my own meals, I find myself at a point in life where I’m beginning to think “Frozen Meal in Box” may be a plausible option for food?
It presents me with a vision of my life 12, 13 years from now when (I hope) I’m retired …
Where every morning at about 9.56am I shall shuffle from my one-room bedsit above a bloodhouse pub somewhere in Deliverance country down to the scarred, piss-and-vomit smelling public bar (for that is all I shall be able to afford) there to sit for 8 or 9 hours grunting meaningless familiarities to the bartender, nursing 3 or 4 schooners of basic beer over that period of time as my brain slowly turns to blancmange from the constant hum and throb of Fox Sports on the 478cm holographic plasma television that hangs above the Kettle Chip rack.
And, at the end of the day, before the bar I have now come to call “home” will be invaded by loud, gaudily dressed, rude young things and their horrible music, I shall shuffle back to my tiny little nook in shapeless trousers and shapeless shoes, a shapeless t-shirt flapping about my shapeless frame of shabby bones to plop into a shapeless chair, the highlight of my day being the keen anticipation felt for the next 25 minutes as I patiently wait for my special weekly treat of “Frozen Meal in Box” to unfreeze …
“Ooh, look dear, you can get 4 varieties for 10 dollars at Aldi this week …and they have some very good generic denture solvent for only $1.75 too.”
It’s life Ross, but not as you’ve known it.
Yet.
Ever.
By “Frozen Meal in Box”, I mean those things that are tricked up to look like a full-fledged proper meal with a proper name and all the trappings and accompaniments. Like “baked potato” and “fresh peas” and “creamy sauce” and such.
I’m not talking about stuff like frozen fish fillets or frozen pies, both of which I’ve eaten on occasions and, especially in the latter case, have always wondered why on earth I bothered to put the stove on in the first place.
For frozen pies are fucking horrible. You’ll never eat a frozen pie and say afterward, “Damn, that was good”. It’s as if someone’s deliberately gone out of their way to present you with a pastry that has the consistency of a Gingernut biscuit which has been soaked in an unidentifiable meat flavour for a few seconds and then baked on the lip of an active volcano for a week or three.
And the packets advertise contents like “tender chunks” or “herbs and spices” being present in the foodstuff. If your definition of a “chunk” is something the size and shape of a toenail cutting and to you “herbs and spices” means a midget pinch of white pepper, you might find this type of mulch to your liking.
To me, however, “herbs and spices” means you add the spice to the fucking food, not wave the stuff about over the top of the pot for an eighth of a nanosecond.
Anyway …
“Frozen Meal in Box”.
Yesterday, I saw some “Frozen Meal in Box” advertised in a Coles or Woolworths brochure, and they were on special for four bucks a pop. I thought to myself, “That’s pretty cheap. Maybe I should buy some “Frozen Meal in Box” and give it a try.”
And then I thought, “Hang on. Is this an indicator of something? If I begin to eat “Frozen Meal in Box”, does this mean that I will have started an irreversible decline into old age where, by the time I’m 70, dinner will mean a slice of toast with half a tomato and a glass of milk, because I just couldn’t be bothered anymore?”
That’s what happens when people get old, isn’t it? And I’m now officially middle-aged, aren’t I?
And now, after 30 years of mostly making my own meals, I find myself at a point in life where I’m beginning to think “Frozen Meal in Box” may be a plausible option for food?
It presents me with a vision of my life 12, 13 years from now when (I hope) I’m retired …
Where every morning at about 9.56am I shall shuffle from my one-room bedsit above a bloodhouse pub somewhere in Deliverance country down to the scarred, piss-and-vomit smelling public bar (for that is all I shall be able to afford) there to sit for 8 or 9 hours grunting meaningless familiarities to the bartender, nursing 3 or 4 schooners of basic beer over that period of time as my brain slowly turns to blancmange from the constant hum and throb of Fox Sports on the 478cm holographic plasma television that hangs above the Kettle Chip rack.
And, at the end of the day, before the bar I have now come to call “home” will be invaded by loud, gaudily dressed, rude young things and their horrible music, I shall shuffle back to my tiny little nook in shapeless trousers and shapeless shoes, a shapeless t-shirt flapping about my shapeless frame of shabby bones to plop into a shapeless chair, the highlight of my day being the keen anticipation felt for the next 25 minutes as I patiently wait for my special weekly treat of “Frozen Meal in Box” to unfreeze …
“Ooh, look dear, you can get 4 varieties for 10 dollars at Aldi this week …and they have some very good generic denture solvent for only $1.75 too.”
It’s life Ross, but not as you’ve known it.
Yet.
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
I WISH I'D WRITTEN THAT ...
Buffalo Beast list their 50 Most Loathsome Americans of 2008 and the charges against them ...
I doubt these three could be bettered for descriptions ...
I doubt these three could be bettered for descriptions ...
At No.43, You ...No.11 reminds me of someone ...
Charges: You think it’s your patriotic duty to spend money you don’t have on crap you don’t need. You think Hillary lost because of sexism, when it’s actually because she’s just a bad liar. You think Iraq is better off now than before we invaded, and don’t understand why they’re so ungrateful. You think Tim Russert was a great journalist. You’re hopping mad about an auto industry bailout that cost a squirt of piss compared to a Wall Street heist of galactic dimensions, due to a housing crash you somehow have blamed on minorities. It took you six years to figure out what a tool Bush is, but you think Obama will make it all better. You deem it hunky dory that we conduct national policy debates via 8-second clips from “The View.” You think God zapped humans into existence a few thousand years ago, although your appendix and wisdom teeth disagree. You like watching vicious assholes insult each other on TV. You support gun rights, because firing one gives you a chubby. You cuddle falsehoods and resent enlightenment. You think the fact that 43% of whites could stomach voting for an incredibly charismatic and eloquent light-skinned black guy who was raised by white people means racism is over. You think progressive taxation is socialism. 1 in 100 of you are in jail, and you think it should be more. You are shallow, inconsiderate, afraid, brand-conscious, sedentary, and totally self-obsessed. You are American.
Exhibit A: You’re more upset by Miley Cyrus’s glamour shots than the fact that you are a grown adult who is upset about Miley Cyrus.
At No.20, Joe the Plumber ...
Charges: The Che Guevara of bald, pissed off white men. In a lot of ways, Samuel Wurzelbacher really does represent the average American—basing economic opinions on unrealistic expectations of personal future success, blaming his failure to meet those expectations on minorities and old people, complaining about deadbeats getting his taxes when he isn’t actually paying his taxes, and advertising his own rudimentary historical and mathematical ignorance by warning of creeping socialism in a country whose highest income tax rate has dropped by half in thirty years. “Joe” indeed symbolizes the true American dream—to become undeservedly rich and famous through a dizzyingly improbable stroke of luck. As American folk heroes go, Wurzelbacher ranks somewhere between Hulk Hogan and Bernie Goetz.
Exhibit A: "Social Security is a joke...social security I've never believed in, don't like it. I hate that it's forced on me."
At No.11, Rush Limbaugh ...
Charges: The father of modern stupidity, Limbaugh spins reflexively, never struggling with issues, because he knows his conclusion must favor Republicans, and his only task is finding a way to get there. In other words, he may or may not actually believe what he’s saying, but it’s beside the point. His job is not to say what he thinks, but to instruct his listeners on what they should think. If the facts don’t agree, he can always change them, as his “ditto heads” are already armed against the contrary evidence with the all-purpose “liberal bias” attack. “Rush is right,” as the slogan goes, and all those nerdy reporters in the “drive by media” are lying, because they secretly love terrorists. It’s this creepily worshipful, breathtakingly infantile abdication of intellect to a blatantly dishonest hypocrite that makes Limbaugh’s audience so goddamn sad. These pathetic, insecure, failures of men look to Rush as the champion of their impotent rage, helping them to externalize responsibility for their own deficiencies, pinning the blame on those darn liberals and their racial and gender equality.
Exhibit A: You have to marvel at the sheer ignominy of someone who coins the term “Obama recession” two days after the election.
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
HUH?
It goes on the credit card.
Thanks.
UPDATE: Well, that was a short-lived hope. Thanks a bunch, Malcolm.
Cunt.
Monday, 2 February 2009
OH, TO BE A SUB-EDITOR ...
From the front page of today's New York Times, this lead-in to its Sunday Styles feature ...
"Lost tribes of lesbians from the early era of communes and feminism try to stay vital to a new generation."
I can't wait to see the movie.
Friday, 30 January 2009
NO CHANGE FOR SOME
"The Obama era comes after years in which white supremacists have successfully exploited the immigration debate – both providing racist propaganda that seeps into the popular culture and benefiting from the vilification of Latino immigrants. Mainly as a result of the bigotry and xenophobia surrounding the immigration debate, the number of hate groups operating in the United States has risen by nearly 50 percent – from 602 to 888 – since 2000.
Now, these groups have begun to turn their attention to Obama – distributing racist propaganda, filling Internet message boards with threats and messages of hate, and, in some cases, taking more direct action against minorities. Here is a sampling of racial incidents reported in the wake of the election:
Police in Riverside County, California, said five attacks on minorities were likely related to the election and were believed to have been carried out by a local white supremacist gang.
In Shreveport, La., a black man wearing an Obama T-shirt was brutally beaten by a group of white men screaming "f--k Obama" and "n-----r president." The attack left the man with a broken nose, broken eye socket and broken tear duct, requiring multiple surgeries.
In Springfield, Mass., a black church was burned hours after the election was called for Obama. Authorities later arrested three white men.
In Staten Island, N.Y., a black teen was bloodied and bruised by two white teens who shouted "Obama" while pummeling him with a bat and pipe.
In Rexburg, Idaho, second- and third-graders on a school bus chanted "assassinate Obama."
In Torrance, Calif., swastikas and racial slurs were spray-painted on homes and cars of people who displayed Obama signs or bumper stickers.
In Milwaukee, a poster of Obama with a bullet going through his head was discovered in a police station.
In Maine, a sign at a convenience store invited customers to join a betting pool on when Obama would be assassinated. The sign said, "Let's hope we have a winner.""
And it's not surprising then they get bitter, they cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren't like them ...
Thursday, 29 January 2009
I'M NOT FALLING FOR IT
Some clever group of individuals have managed to hack their way into the White House website and photoshopped a young, skinny black guy in place as President of the United States ...
... It's pretty clever, too. They've got official looking documents about real sounding things, a bunch of names that seem genuine enough (for example, no "Richard Heads" or obvious giveaways like that), videos and a there’s a whole bunch of photographs about of a so-called "inauguration" that was supposed to have taken place on January 20, 2009 …
Bwah-ha.I suspect it's just another one of those viral campaigns that have become popular the last few years and wouldn't be at all surprised if it turns out to be for some movie we haven't yet heard about ...
... An imaginary biopic perhaps about a black POTUS? Morgan Freeman would probably turn up at some point ... Or an adaptation of another Philip K. Dick story, something about paranoia and split personalities and identity crises and such ...
That could be good.
I’m glad they’ve found an unfamiliar face for the role, too. I’m getting sick of seeing Will Smith in every bloody thing lately.
The man should take some time off and give us a fucking break for a while.
Wednesday, 28 January 2009
ANDY'S CLOUDY CRYSTAL BALL
On Tuesday, January 27, 2009 at 02:23pm, Andrew Bolt predicts that the newly-elected U.S. President will be way too busy to bother giving Kevin Rudd a call any time soon ...
On Wednesday, January 28, 2009 at 9.24am, AAP reports ...
On Wednesday, January 28, 2009 at 9.24am, AAP reports ...
Barack Obama has made his first phone call to Prime Minister Kevin Rudd since becoming US president.
Mr Obama phoned Mr Rudd on Wednesday morning, Australian time, the prime minister's office confirmed.
No further details are available, although there is speculation the US will ask Australia to commit more troops to the conflict in Afghanistan.
Friday, 23 January 2009
WHEN YOU’RE SLAPPED, YOU’LL STAY SLAPPED
A self-taught Muslim cleric says some idiotic things, thereby revealing himself to be an idiotic individual, the Islamic equivalent of a Pastor Fred W. Phelps perhaps.
"Self-taught" says it all, really. Imagine being a "self-taught" nuclear physicist at a job interview ...
"And what are your qualifications?"
"Oh, I don't have any formal qualifications. I just learnt myself real good."
"I see."
"..."
"..."
"Atoms are small."
"Yes. Quite."
... If every political or religious cracker who ever yearned for a platform from which to spout their particular brand of lunatic bullshit were given equal time in the media, then our media (such as it is) would come more and more to resemble the rabble-rousing histrionics of an Andrew Bolt blog.
Unfortunately, every fuckwit within coo-ee of a microphone who happens to identify as Islamic, and tries to pass their religion off as justification for their fuckwittery is fair game for a few slabs worth of headlines, especially from the typists at Murdoch's toilet-paper tabloids who are always on the lookout for an opportunity for a new belch of dark-people panic. Not to mention an invitation to "outraged Aussies" to post "their say" on such matters, which they inevitably clamour to do and do with such admirable clarity of point, too …
Fuckin' hell. I thought "bill" of sydney was a cafe. I'm never eating there again.
Why must so much of the media devote so much of its time and energies to breathlessly reporting the rantings and ravings of ignorant imbeciles like Samir Mohtadi as if those rantings and ravings mattered a damn to anyone with an ounce of common sense?
Rather than engage, argue or attempt to place such comments in any type of perspective as there is no perspective in which they can be placed unless you're a retard, the appropriate response is an offhand dismissal of the man as an utter fucking moron yabbering utterly moronic things to a small bunch of other utter fucking morons who've got nothing better to do with their time.
And, having done so, we may then move on to news of actual import and get on with the business of living in the world.
Here endeth the lesson.
"Self-taught" says it all, really. Imagine being a "self-taught" nuclear physicist at a job interview ...
"And what are your qualifications?"
"Oh, I don't have any formal qualifications. I just learnt myself real good."
"I see."
"..."
"..."
"Atoms are small."
"Yes. Quite."
... If every political or religious cracker who ever yearned for a platform from which to spout their particular brand of lunatic bullshit were given equal time in the media, then our media (such as it is) would come more and more to resemble the rabble-rousing histrionics of an Andrew Bolt blog.
Unfortunately, every fuckwit within coo-ee of a microphone who happens to identify as Islamic, and tries to pass their religion off as justification for their fuckwittery is fair game for a few slabs worth of headlines, especially from the typists at Murdoch's toilet-paper tabloids who are always on the lookout for an opportunity for a new belch of dark-people panic. Not to mention an invitation to "outraged Aussies" to post "their say" on such matters, which they inevitably clamour to do and do with such admirable clarity of point, too …
The thing about Muslim clerics and their apologists in the leftist (read “ABC") media is that we don’t get to hear half of the rotten things they *leave out* of their toxic sermons. “Preparing bread on the stove” is she? Notice the complete lack of Sea Kittens in this picture?
Either the Muslims don’t cook Sea Kittens - which would be a complete rejection of the prophet Jesus, whose friends were fishermen - or they *do* cook Sea Kittens anddon’t want us to know about it!
Which is the more sinister?
Preparing bread on the stove. Yeah right. Not likely, unless that bread is going toward Barak Obabma’s hamburger which he ate on Air Force One (Obama’s hamburger, Tim. Seriously, “I ham what I ham.” Friday’s blog).
Barak Obama eating a hamburger (not a Sea Kitten, note) prepared by the wife of a Muslim cleric - in an unforgivable affront to the Jewish and Christian faiths! No! Just the Jewish one. Wait! Which one doesn’t eat ham again? Oh yeah, the Muslims.
bill of sydney (Reply)
Fri 23 Jan 09 (05:28am)
Fuckin' hell. I thought "bill" of sydney was a cafe. I'm never eating there again.
Why must so much of the media devote so much of its time and energies to breathlessly reporting the rantings and ravings of ignorant imbeciles like Samir Mohtadi as if those rantings and ravings mattered a damn to anyone with an ounce of common sense?
Rather than engage, argue or attempt to place such comments in any type of perspective as there is no perspective in which they can be placed unless you're a retard, the appropriate response is an offhand dismissal of the man as an utter fucking moron yabbering utterly moronic things to a small bunch of other utter fucking morons who've got nothing better to do with their time.
And, having done so, we may then move on to news of actual import and get on with the business of living in the world.
Here endeth the lesson.
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
Monday, 12 January 2009
HE’S DEAD. GET OVER IT.
By all accounts, Heath Ledger was a pretty good actor.
But …
Maybe it’s just me, but does anyone else think that the endless and quite hysterical hype that has accompanied his performance as The Joker in Christopher Nolan’s “The Dark Knight” is a lorry load of utter bollocks?
Sure, Ledger’s performance was a good one – dark, creepy and committed, it avoided lurching into comic book cliché and caricature – but, if one were to buy the buzz, one would think that this one performance by this one actor reinvented the art of acting in much the same way as the printing press reinvented the book.
And that, if Ledger does not win a Golden Globe, or an Oscar, there will be blood on the streets, as a grave injustice has been inflicted upon the decent folk of the commonweal.
What bullshit.
Here’s two performances that, in my opinion at least, are lightning streaks ahead of Ledger’s Joker …
Ted Levine as Buffalo Bill in “Silence of the Lambs” – Levine was nominated for nothing in the role, overshadowed by Anthony Hopkins’ Lecter, yet it is his (very brave) performance that ratchets the creep factor up to 12 and keeps the tale rooted in some semblance of reality, unlike Hopkins’ fantasy super serial-killer.
Ben Kingsley as Don Logan in “Sexy Beast” – Nominated for an Oscar and a Golden Globe as supporting actor.
Won neither.
I mean, really … Fuck. Off.
I‘d hazard a bet that Kingsley’s Logan could wipe the grin off Ledger’s Joker with naught but his little pinkie, a puff of smoke and a damp Chux …
From 2000, Ben Kingsley “Sexy Beast” (Acting Lessons 101)
But …
Maybe it’s just me, but does anyone else think that the endless and quite hysterical hype that has accompanied his performance as The Joker in Christopher Nolan’s “The Dark Knight” is a lorry load of utter bollocks?
Sure, Ledger’s performance was a good one – dark, creepy and committed, it avoided lurching into comic book cliché and caricature – but, if one were to buy the buzz, one would think that this one performance by this one actor reinvented the art of acting in much the same way as the printing press reinvented the book.
And that, if Ledger does not win a Golden Globe, or an Oscar, there will be blood on the streets, as a grave injustice has been inflicted upon the decent folk of the commonweal.
What bullshit.
Here’s two performances that, in my opinion at least, are lightning streaks ahead of Ledger’s Joker …
Ted Levine as Buffalo Bill in “Silence of the Lambs” – Levine was nominated for nothing in the role, overshadowed by Anthony Hopkins’ Lecter, yet it is his (very brave) performance that ratchets the creep factor up to 12 and keeps the tale rooted in some semblance of reality, unlike Hopkins’ fantasy super serial-killer.
Ben Kingsley as Don Logan in “Sexy Beast” – Nominated for an Oscar and a Golden Globe as supporting actor.
Won neither.
I mean, really … Fuck. Off.
I‘d hazard a bet that Kingsley’s Logan could wipe the grin off Ledger’s Joker with naught but his little pinkie, a puff of smoke and a damp Chux …
From 2000, Ben Kingsley “Sexy Beast” (Acting Lessons 101)
Friday, 9 January 2009
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
ATTACK OF THE WEEING WOMEN’S BABY-KILLING ALIEN ACID PEE!!!!
According to the president of the International Federation of Catholic Medical Associations …
You can’t make this stuff up.
Although it gives good material for a catchy headline.
Although it gives good material for a catchy headline.
Monday, 29 December 2008
THE GRAHAM NORTON SHOW WITH MARTIN SHEEN (2008)
In April 2008, the U.K.'s Graham Norton interviewed actor Martin Sheen, and as far as I'm concerned it's one of the most enjoyable and entertaining interviews I've seen an actor give since Andrew Denton was interviewed by Richard E. Grant on "Enough Rope".
Sheen talks about his marriage of over 40 years, his 67 arrests for peaceful civil disobedience, and of course, his role as U.S. President Jed Bartlet in "The West Wing". In Part 3 of this interview, Sheen demonstrates the Aaron Sorkin "walk and talk" method, and it is a beautiful and wondrous thing to behold.
I've embedded only Part 1 of the proceedings here. The other 4 parts will pop up in the menu when it's done.
If you're a fan of "The West Wing", or just a great admirer of a fine, graceful, and unaffected actor at the peak of his career, pour yourself a glass of whatever takes your fancy, sit back and enjoy ...
Sheen talks about his marriage of over 40 years, his 67 arrests for peaceful civil disobedience, and of course, his role as U.S. President Jed Bartlet in "The West Wing". In Part 3 of this interview, Sheen demonstrates the Aaron Sorkin "walk and talk" method, and it is a beautiful and wondrous thing to behold.
I've embedded only Part 1 of the proceedings here. The other 4 parts will pop up in the menu when it's done.
If you're a fan of "The West Wing", or just a great admirer of a fine, graceful, and unaffected actor at the peak of his career, pour yourself a glass of whatever takes your fancy, sit back and enjoy ...
Sunday, 28 December 2008
THE 1ST ANNUAL SMELLY TONGUES "SNIFF MY FINGER" AWARDS ...
... For the relentless pursuit and presentation of random stupidities that will forevermore stand as a testament to how the human race eventually managed to devolve back into a puddle of pond-scum ...
THE "SOMEBODY FAMOUS FARTED" AWARD (or, "WHY THE FUCK IS THIS NEWS?") goes to ...
The Sydney Morning Herald for it's breathless report about how, when Lindsay Lohan's girlfriend Samantha Ronson arrived at Sydney airport in September, 2008, she exited the terminal and lit a cigarette.
As the story is uncredited, the award, a Vegemite jar of famous people's farts will be presented to former SMH editor Alan Oakley. What a whiffy way to go, Alan, old chap! Well done, what!
THE "PHILLIP TRAVERS" AWARD for incomprehensible chatterbot claptrap comments on the intertubes goes to ...
What a fucking field of worthy contenders, ladies and gentlemen, and my-oh-my-oh-my, did this one put our judges to the test this year! Two of them stabbed themselves in their eye-sockets, and another ripped his own face off in indecision, so I guess that leaves the choice of this year's inaugural winner up to myself. It was a last minute entry, but by God, it worked for me ...
From Scott Weinberg's Cinematical review of Frank Miller's film "The Spirit", "Serge G" had this to say ...
THE "SOMEBODY FAMOUS FARTED" AWARD (or, "WHY THE FUCK IS THIS NEWS?") goes to ...
The Sydney Morning Herald for it's breathless report about how, when Lindsay Lohan's girlfriend Samantha Ronson arrived at Sydney airport in September, 2008, she exited the terminal and lit a cigarette.
As the story is uncredited, the award, a Vegemite jar of famous people's farts will be presented to former SMH editor Alan Oakley. What a whiffy way to go, Alan, old chap! Well done, what!
THE "PHILLIP TRAVERS" AWARD for incomprehensible chatterbot claptrap comments on the intertubes goes to ...
What a fucking field of worthy contenders, ladies and gentlemen, and my-oh-my-oh-my, did this one put our judges to the test this year! Two of them stabbed themselves in their eye-sockets, and another ripped his own face off in indecision, so I guess that leaves the choice of this year's inaugural winner up to myself. It was a last minute entry, but by God, it worked for me ...
From Scott Weinberg's Cinematical review of Frank Miller's film "The Spirit", "Serge G" had this to say ...
"I'd like inform you that Scarlett Johansson (actress)actually is a clone from original person,who has nothing with acting career.Clone was created illegally using stolen biomaterial.Original Scarlett Galabekian last name is nice, CHRISTIAN young lady.I'll tell more,those clones(it's not only 1)made in GERMANY-world leader manufacturer of humans clones,it's in Ludwigshafen am Rhein,Rhineland-Palatinate,Mr.Helmut Kohl home town.You can't even imaging the scale of the cloning activity.But warning,H.Kohl staff strictly controlling their clones spreading around the world,they're NAZI type disciplined and mind controlled,be careful get close with clones you will be controlled too.Original family didn't authorize any activity with stolen biomaterials,no matter what form it was created in,it's all need to be back to original family control in Cedars-Sinai MedicalCenter in LA.Controlling clones is US military operation.Original Scarlett never was engaged,by the way"
Congratulations, Serge! Your award is this very special lead coated space bar which will be presented to you in the form of a severe beating about the head. Enjoy your brain hemorrhage, Serge! You've earned it, baby!
THE "PIERS 'I CAN'T SEE MY PENIS FROM UP HERE' AKERMAN" AWARD for services to sexual hysterics, pedophile paranoia and moral panic about pretty much anything ado about fucking and genitalia goes to ...
Jesus Christ on a cross upside-down and split up the arse with a eucalypt log, people! Where the hell can we start with this one?! Ladies and gentlemen, this was a field stuffed to the stocking top with notable nominees and, to be fair to all, no one individual stood above any other. And so, in a historical first for award programmes across the globe, we are proud to announce that everyone's a winner!
Yes-indeedy-do, this year's award will be jointly and proudly shared by ... Family First Senator Steve Fielding for suggesting that adults should be banned from viewing adult material on the internet; Miranda Devine, Hetty Johnston, Kevin Rudd and Morris Iemma for having dirty thoughts about an image of a nude adolescent and thinking everyone else on the planet is just as obsessed with sex as they are (the dirty little fuckers); and Senator Stephen Conroy just because the dumb little cunt wasn't scraped, bagged and flushed into a toilet back when he was a zygote.
Our hearty congratulations to all! Your prize will be awarded to you backstage by forty-seven Masai warriors on ice, all of whom are right now feverishly working their sixteen-inch weapons of mass destruction into a lather of rhythmically throbbing gristle on your behalf and for your pleasure.
And remember, folks, bukkake ain't another word for a bridge-game! (Please remember to collect your super-size sponges from the stage manager afore you venture back to the green room, ta).
And, last but certainly not least! May I have a drum-roll and a boom-tish, please!
THE SNIFF MY FINGER "GOLDEN JACKBOOT" AWARD!!
Generously sponsored by Odour Eaters, Stormfront and the German National Democratic Party, this year's winner is ...
ANDREW BOLT!
For his inimitable irrepressibility, snide insinuations and suspect views about anything that ain't white, ain't right and ain't about 120 years old, Andy was always a frontrunner favourite for this award and, by dang and dagnabbity goshdarn, he deserves the recognition!
Andrew's prize will be a fully escorted tour (courtesy of the N.D.P.) to Passau where he will be encouraged to slit the throat of a police officer while uttering the words, "Greetings from the Herald-Sun and Rupert Murdoch, you left-wing police pig" ...
It oughta be a doddle.
Thank you all for your attendance and attention and we look forward to doing it all again next year.
Oh, by the way, if there are any footballers in tonight's audience, try to avoid raping the ushers on your way out, boys ... I know it's a party habit thing with you guys, but it takes a helluva long time to get the stains out of the carpet ... Why don't you just go home and shove a wine glass in your girlfriend's face instead, you gutless little fuckers? You'll get a talk show out of it, I guarantee ...
THE "PIERS 'I CAN'T SEE MY PENIS FROM UP HERE' AKERMAN" AWARD for services to sexual hysterics, pedophile paranoia and moral panic about pretty much anything ado about fucking and genitalia goes to ...
Jesus Christ on a cross upside-down and split up the arse with a eucalypt log, people! Where the hell can we start with this one?! Ladies and gentlemen, this was a field stuffed to the stocking top with notable nominees and, to be fair to all, no one individual stood above any other. And so, in a historical first for award programmes across the globe, we are proud to announce that everyone's a winner!
Yes-indeedy-do, this year's award will be jointly and proudly shared by ... Family First Senator Steve Fielding for suggesting that adults should be banned from viewing adult material on the internet; Miranda Devine, Hetty Johnston, Kevin Rudd and Morris Iemma for having dirty thoughts about an image of a nude adolescent and thinking everyone else on the planet is just as obsessed with sex as they are (the dirty little fuckers); and Senator Stephen Conroy just because the dumb little cunt wasn't scraped, bagged and flushed into a toilet back when he was a zygote.
Our hearty congratulations to all! Your prize will be awarded to you backstage by forty-seven Masai warriors on ice, all of whom are right now feverishly working their sixteen-inch weapons of mass destruction into a lather of rhythmically throbbing gristle on your behalf and for your pleasure.
And remember, folks, bukkake ain't another word for a bridge-game! (Please remember to collect your super-size sponges from the stage manager afore you venture back to the green room, ta).
And, last but certainly not least! May I have a drum-roll and a boom-tish, please!
THE SNIFF MY FINGER "GOLDEN JACKBOOT" AWARD!!
Generously sponsored by Odour Eaters, Stormfront and the German National Democratic Party, this year's winner is ...
ANDREW BOLT!
For his inimitable irrepressibility, snide insinuations and suspect views about anything that ain't white, ain't right and ain't about 120 years old, Andy was always a frontrunner favourite for this award and, by dang and dagnabbity goshdarn, he deserves the recognition!
Andrew's prize will be a fully escorted tour (courtesy of the N.D.P.) to Passau where he will be encouraged to slit the throat of a police officer while uttering the words, "Greetings from the Herald-Sun and Rupert Murdoch, you left-wing police pig" ...
It oughta be a doddle.
Thank you all for your attendance and attention and we look forward to doing it all again next year.
Oh, by the way, if there are any footballers in tonight's audience, try to avoid raping the ushers on your way out, boys ... I know it's a party habit thing with you guys, but it takes a helluva long time to get the stains out of the carpet ... Why don't you just go home and shove a wine glass in your girlfriend's face instead, you gutless little fuckers? You'll get a talk show out of it, I guarantee ...
Friday, 12 December 2008
Thursday, 11 December 2008
I HATE THE INTERNET
One last thing ...
News.com have just released their 100 most-clicked upon stories of the year. Here are the keywords from the Top 40 headlines ...
40. Racy Stephanie Rice
39. Bingle topless shots
38. Xbox
37. Schoolgirl raped
36. Named and shamed
35. Naughty Nikki
34. Brisbane Broncos
33. 19-year-old / Suicide / Webcam
32. David Brown / Sunrise
31. iPhone
30. Cosmetic surgery addict
29. Suicidal jumper
28. Girlfriend was a bloke
27. Stolen Generations
26. Orgies / Nude resort
25. Incest couple
24. Teenage / Orgy
23. Sonia Kruger
22. Sex act / Toilets
21. Lindsay Lohan / Lesbian lover
20. Mark Priestley
19. Porn
18. Ex-Idol
17. Penis
16. Sex / Video
15. Porn shock
14. Call girl
13. Google
12. Horrified
11. Jess Origliasso / Porn
10. Brendan David Dennison
09. Giant spider
08. Alien
07. Bigfoot
06. Patrick Swayze
05. Stephanie Rice
04. Pink
03. iPhone
02. Fishy-smelling
01. Heath Ledger
My natural inclination toward misanthropic nihilism just got a whole lot worse.
News.com have just released their 100 most-clicked upon stories of the year. Here are the keywords from the Top 40 headlines ...
40. Racy Stephanie Rice
39. Bingle topless shots
38. Xbox
37. Schoolgirl raped
36. Named and shamed
35. Naughty Nikki
34. Brisbane Broncos
33. 19-year-old / Suicide / Webcam
32. David Brown / Sunrise
31. iPhone
30. Cosmetic surgery addict
29. Suicidal jumper
28. Girlfriend was a bloke
27. Stolen Generations
26. Orgies / Nude resort
25. Incest couple
24. Teenage / Orgy
23. Sonia Kruger
22. Sex act / Toilets
21. Lindsay Lohan / Lesbian lover
20. Mark Priestley
19. Porn
18. Ex-Idol
17. Penis
16. Sex / Video
15. Porn shock
14. Call girl
13. Google
12. Horrified
11. Jess Origliasso / Porn
10. Brendan David Dennison
09. Giant spider
08. Alien
07. Bigfoot
06. Patrick Swayze
05. Stephanie Rice
04. Pink
03. iPhone
02. Fishy-smelling
01. Heath Ledger
My natural inclination toward misanthropic nihilism just got a whole lot worse.
Wednesday, 10 December 2008
NOSES OFF
I couldn’t be bothered for the rest of the week.
I’m on annual leave from Friday until early January, so there won’t be nothin’ going on here but spam and dust bunnies and virtual tumbleweeds.
So, have a happy whatever and a merry thingymawhatsit …
From ?, Jane Siberry “Love Is Everything (Live)”
I’m on annual leave from Friday until early January, so there won’t be nothin’ going on here but spam and dust bunnies and virtual tumbleweeds.
So, have a happy whatever and a merry thingymawhatsit …
From ?, Jane Siberry “Love Is Everything (Live)”
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
Monday, 8 December 2008
Friday, 5 December 2008
VIRTUAL LAY DOWN AND DIE FRIDAY
I’m in a murderous mood.
I will not go into details, but it’s a filthy, foul, hateful, horrible murderous mood, and if anyone so much as looks at me askance today, I will slit their fucking throats and shit down their fucking necks.
Understand?
Now, as the scummy, low-life, gutter-sucking thrush buckets at Universal Music Group don’t allow embedding of their fucking material, go here to see Richard Kern’s clip for Sonic Youth and Lydia Lunch’s “Death Valley ‘69”. That's where my head's at right now.
In a similar vein, what I wouldn’t give to see Siouxsie Sioux beat the crap out of shiny-faced, pump-titted scrags like Spears, et al with a nail-studded baseball bat …
I’d pay good money for it. Fucking lots of money.
From 1983, Siouxsie & The Banshees “Helter Skelter”
I will not go into details, but it’s a filthy, foul, hateful, horrible murderous mood, and if anyone so much as looks at me askance today, I will slit their fucking throats and shit down their fucking necks.
Understand?
Now, as the scummy, low-life, gutter-sucking thrush buckets at Universal Music Group don’t allow embedding of their fucking material, go here to see Richard Kern’s clip for Sonic Youth and Lydia Lunch’s “Death Valley ‘69”. That's where my head's at right now.
In a similar vein, what I wouldn’t give to see Siouxsie Sioux beat the crap out of shiny-faced, pump-titted scrags like Spears, et al with a nail-studded baseball bat …
I’d pay good money for it. Fucking lots of money.
From 1983, Siouxsie & The Banshees “Helter Skelter”
Thursday, 4 December 2008
Wednesday, 3 December 2008
A PLAGUE OF JESSICAS
A few days ago I was lurking about the handsomely appointed lunchroom upstairs (handsomely appointed due to the presence of coffee and biscuits in it and a few chairs that don’t break when you sit on them), when I began to leaf through one of the many magazines that live there.
There's a truckload of these things laying about, some of them dating back to the days when Michael Jackson was still vaguely recognisable as a human being and Madonna didn't look like Agnes Moorehead from "Bewitched".
"Women's magazines", they call them, though no woman I've ever had more than a passing acquaintance with would be seen dead reading one of the things, and if I ever did have a passing acquaintance with a woman who admitted to reading such stuff, I'd probably shoot her in the face with a musket as an act of mercy.
These things have oodles of pictures, mostly of people I've never heard of who do things I've never been aware of, but by golly they must do ‘em well and do ‘em often cause their faces, their bums, their armpits, their blackheads, zits, nits and shaving nicks are plastered all over these magazines for the benefit of our viewing and reading pleasure.
There's not much text in these things, though if someone vaguely “known” has announced an impending pregnancy, these magazines will often run a photo of the person with a texta-like drawing of a little circle with an arrow from it pointing at the woman's belly, just as a way of reminding us (I guess) that babies come from women’s tummies and not from storks.
Fancy that.
Happily, the editors have refrained from adding little texta drawings of that thing that mostly enables a pregnancy to begin, but it's early days yet. So don't be too surprised if you pick up one of these magazines one day and find it full of little texta penises and little squiggly tadpoles heading off to party up some poor lass’s crotch. With an arrow to guide them on their way.
But on this particular day, as I was leafing through this particular magazine, I began to feel vaguely unsettled in a chilly “someone wants to eat my soul” kind of way.
For on every page I looked at, page after page after page, a JESSICA looked back at me.
There was JESSICA Alba. There was JESSICA Biel. There was JESSICA Simpson. There was JESSICA Mauboy.
There was a Sarah JESSICA Parker, too. She has a big spot on her face, did you know? It’s name is JESSICA too.
A veritable plague of JESSICA’s had taken nest in this magazine and I wondered if I’d accidentally stumbled upon a Stepford Wife conspiracy of sorts.
You see, JESSICA Alba looks like JESSICA Biel’s younger sister. And JESSICA Simpson looks like JESSICA Biel would look if you stuck JESSICA Biel in a bleach bath for a year and wrung her out with a white shagpile rug. JESSICA Mauboy looks like an "Australian Idol" contestant and, strangely enough, Sarah JESSICA Parker looks like a horse with a big spot on its face.
Also, they all have these blindingly white teeth. Or at least, I think they’re teeth. Every time one of them smiles, it’s like peering in at a bunch of enameled miniature Miele appliances and all you want to do is move in and set up house and whip up a stir-fry. Or a quiche.
Or, in Sarah JESSICA Parker’s case, hose the poop out of the stable and bring in some fresh hay.
And another thing. They’re all actors. Except for JESSICA Mauboy, who was an "Australian Idol" contestant, so we can stop mentioning her right now ‘cause the rest of her life is utterly irrelevant to any aspect of reality anymore.
Now, I’ve seen JESSICA Alba in some films, but I can’t remember a damn thing about her in any of them. She was in “Sin City”, a film I loved to bits, but as far as I can recall, all she did in that was go twirling around a pole in her underwear for a while. Not an entirely unpleasant thing to watch, but whether or not she can actually act has yet to be determined. She was also in a movie called “The Eye”, which I may have seen, but can’t really remember, though I think it was about a possessed eyeball doing whatever it is possessed eyeballs do. By the way, did you know that the name JESSICA is derived from an ancient Hebrew word meaning “foresight” or “clairvoyance”? Uncanny, what?
And JESSICA Biel was in the remake of “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre”, which I do remember because I liked it. But all she did in that movie was run around in a shirt that was tied off above her navel and ultra-tight jeans. I found it quite distracting. In a pleasing way, I guess, but I’m watching a horror movie and it’s beginning to resemble an episode of “Baywatch” gone feral, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing for a horror movie. By the way, did you know that the first noted usage of the name JESSICA was for a character from William Shakespeare’s “The Merchant of Venice”, a quite nifty and entertaining little play about paying debts with chunks of your own bloody flesh? Unsettling, isn’t it?
Unfortunately, all I know about JESSICA Simpson is that she once had pimples. She slapped her face with some acne treatment stuff and got rid of her pimples and decided to raise some breasts instead, which appears to have worked out quite handsomely for her. Lucky girl. By the way, did you know that the word “pimple” is derived from the Latin “papula” or “papilla” which means nipple? Are you getting chills yet?
As far as Sarah JESSICA Parker is concerned, she made a name for herself in a show about dildos and shoes, which must have been a novel experience for those who watched it, but I much preferred her early stuff. By the way, did you know that the name Sarah means “princess”, and that there was once a famous princess who wore shoes and died in a car crash?
So.
What may we glean from this plague of JESSICA’s?
If we …
…
…
…
…
Um.
…
…
…
…
I KNOW!
LET’S START OVER! …
A few days ago I was lurking about the handsomely appointed lunchroom upstairs (handsomely appointed due to the presence of coffee and biscuits in it and a few chairs that don’t break when you sit on them), when I began to leaf through one of the many magazines that live there …
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
LISTEN! NO-ONE’S MAKIN’ YA READ THIS CRAP, YA KNOW!!
…
Leave me alone.
I’m unwell.
There's a truckload of these things laying about, some of them dating back to the days when Michael Jackson was still vaguely recognisable as a human being and Madonna didn't look like Agnes Moorehead from "Bewitched".
"Women's magazines", they call them, though no woman I've ever had more than a passing acquaintance with would be seen dead reading one of the things, and if I ever did have a passing acquaintance with a woman who admitted to reading such stuff, I'd probably shoot her in the face with a musket as an act of mercy.
These things have oodles of pictures, mostly of people I've never heard of who do things I've never been aware of, but by golly they must do ‘em well and do ‘em often cause their faces, their bums, their armpits, their blackheads, zits, nits and shaving nicks are plastered all over these magazines for the benefit of our viewing and reading pleasure.
There's not much text in these things, though if someone vaguely “known” has announced an impending pregnancy, these magazines will often run a photo of the person with a texta-like drawing of a little circle with an arrow from it pointing at the woman's belly, just as a way of reminding us (I guess) that babies come from women’s tummies and not from storks.
Fancy that.
Happily, the editors have refrained from adding little texta drawings of that thing that mostly enables a pregnancy to begin, but it's early days yet. So don't be too surprised if you pick up one of these magazines one day and find it full of little texta penises and little squiggly tadpoles heading off to party up some poor lass’s crotch. With an arrow to guide them on their way.
But on this particular day, as I was leafing through this particular magazine, I began to feel vaguely unsettled in a chilly “someone wants to eat my soul” kind of way.
For on every page I looked at, page after page after page, a JESSICA looked back at me.
There was JESSICA Alba. There was JESSICA Biel. There was JESSICA Simpson. There was JESSICA Mauboy.
There was a Sarah JESSICA Parker, too. She has a big spot on her face, did you know? It’s name is JESSICA too.
A veritable plague of JESSICA’s had taken nest in this magazine and I wondered if I’d accidentally stumbled upon a Stepford Wife conspiracy of sorts.
You see, JESSICA Alba looks like JESSICA Biel’s younger sister. And JESSICA Simpson looks like JESSICA Biel would look if you stuck JESSICA Biel in a bleach bath for a year and wrung her out with a white shagpile rug. JESSICA Mauboy looks like an "Australian Idol" contestant and, strangely enough, Sarah JESSICA Parker looks like a horse with a big spot on its face.
Also, they all have these blindingly white teeth. Or at least, I think they’re teeth. Every time one of them smiles, it’s like peering in at a bunch of enameled miniature Miele appliances and all you want to do is move in and set up house and whip up a stir-fry. Or a quiche.
Or, in Sarah JESSICA Parker’s case, hose the poop out of the stable and bring in some fresh hay.
And another thing. They’re all actors. Except for JESSICA Mauboy, who was an "Australian Idol" contestant, so we can stop mentioning her right now ‘cause the rest of her life is utterly irrelevant to any aspect of reality anymore.
Now, I’ve seen JESSICA Alba in some films, but I can’t remember a damn thing about her in any of them. She was in “Sin City”, a film I loved to bits, but as far as I can recall, all she did in that was go twirling around a pole in her underwear for a while. Not an entirely unpleasant thing to watch, but whether or not she can actually act has yet to be determined. She was also in a movie called “The Eye”, which I may have seen, but can’t really remember, though I think it was about a possessed eyeball doing whatever it is possessed eyeballs do. By the way, did you know that the name JESSICA is derived from an ancient Hebrew word meaning “foresight” or “clairvoyance”? Uncanny, what?
And JESSICA Biel was in the remake of “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre”, which I do remember because I liked it. But all she did in that movie was run around in a shirt that was tied off above her navel and ultra-tight jeans. I found it quite distracting. In a pleasing way, I guess, but I’m watching a horror movie and it’s beginning to resemble an episode of “Baywatch” gone feral, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing for a horror movie. By the way, did you know that the first noted usage of the name JESSICA was for a character from William Shakespeare’s “The Merchant of Venice”, a quite nifty and entertaining little play about paying debts with chunks of your own bloody flesh? Unsettling, isn’t it?
Unfortunately, all I know about JESSICA Simpson is that she once had pimples. She slapped her face with some acne treatment stuff and got rid of her pimples and decided to raise some breasts instead, which appears to have worked out quite handsomely for her. Lucky girl. By the way, did you know that the word “pimple” is derived from the Latin “papula” or “papilla” which means nipple? Are you getting chills yet?
As far as Sarah JESSICA Parker is concerned, she made a name for herself in a show about dildos and shoes, which must have been a novel experience for those who watched it, but I much preferred her early stuff. By the way, did you know that the name Sarah means “princess”, and that there was once a famous princess who wore shoes and died in a car crash?
So.
What may we glean from this plague of JESSICA’s?
If we …
…
…
…
…
Um.
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I KNOW!
LET’S START OVER! …
A few days ago I was lurking about the handsomely appointed lunchroom upstairs (handsomely appointed due to the presence of coffee and biscuits in it and a few chairs that don’t break when you sit on them), when I began to leaf through one of the many magazines that live there …
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LISTEN! NO-ONE’S MAKIN’ YA READ THIS CRAP, YA KNOW!!
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Leave me alone.
I’m unwell.
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
THE WAR ON WHITE PEOPLE
I’ve been blissfully unaware of the war that currently rages against white people such as myself, but Andrew Bolt has been bustin’ hisself lately to bring this latest threat against the dear hearts and gentle people of the commonweal to wider attention …
For Satan’s godless minions are once again afoot.
(As an aside, a telling detail of the evil that stalks the land is that “Shinerama” contains the last 3 letters of the devious tobacco-suckin’ U.S. President-Elect’s surname which may just be enough to convince decent, God-fearin’ folk to start packing the shelters with bottled water, dried fruits and grains. Of course, “Shinerama” may just be a live action version of “Futurama” using ankle-sock puppets, but hell, why take chances at this perilous time in our lives?)
And so, devotees of Chaos Theory one and all, Bolt’s monkeys take this as just another signpost pointing to the impending end of civilisation as we know it …
And then, just when you think sanity is only a name for a chain of crappy music shops, along comes Bill from Tasmania …
Fancy that.
Bloody Tasmanians.
“David Warren on a new mixture of stupidity and ignorance:This little snippet of silly shit comes to Bolt courtesy of the obviously ‘lerted and ‘larmed “reader Perturbed of NSW” who’d been poking about the pages of the world-renowned journal of note, the Ottawa Citizen, and was so desperately disturbed by the behaviour of this globally influential university student council and their decision to raise funds for something other than the something they’d previously raised funds for that he/she felt an A.P.B. to Bolt and his Whackjob Patrol was in order .
Last Monday, the student council of Carleton University attracted much attention to their university and to the city of Ottawa—around Canada and the world—with their decision to cancel their annual Shinerama fundraising efforts on behalf of the Canadian Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. Their argument was that this disease afflicts ”white people and primarily men.” They would rather choose a charity that is more “inclusive.””
For Satan’s godless minions are once again afoot.
(As an aside, a telling detail of the evil that stalks the land is that “Shinerama” contains the last 3 letters of the devious tobacco-suckin’ U.S. President-Elect’s surname which may just be enough to convince decent, God-fearin’ folk to start packing the shelters with bottled water, dried fruits and grains. Of course, “Shinerama” may just be a live action version of “Futurama” using ankle-sock puppets, but hell, why take chances at this perilous time in our lives?)
And so, devotees of Chaos Theory one and all, Bolt’s monkeys take this as just another signpost pointing to the impending end of civilisation as we know it …
“Western civilisation as we know it is in rapid decline, and history will show it was a suicide.” k1w1 of Brisbane (Reply) Tue 02 Dec 08 (12:49am)
“Then why don’t they piss off and join their inclusive brothers in the Middle East? Now there’s an inclusive culture for you where all are equal ..equally deranged that is .. “ frankly fed up of melbourne (Reply)
“The above says it all really..but what Cystic Fibrosis really needs is a touch of Islam to sanitize it and make it appealing to progressive thinkers like these dunderheads.” uptothebackteeth of Brisbane (Reply) Tue 02 Dec 08 (06:18am)
“I’ll bet these freaks are all in favour of AIDS “charities”, though. The type of behaviour that leads to that disease is ‘inclusive’ enough for them.” RWDB of Normalcy (Reply) Tue 02 Dec 08 (07:10am)
“Maybe this group could instead raise funds to combat Islamic Mental Derangement (IMD), a genetic illness that affects young, disaffected people used as tools by others who are even more mentally crazed … In the Islamic world, the main symptoms are an unbalanced sense of grievance and victimhood, and a desire to slaughter and terrorise others, wipe out all infidels, keep women in cages, institute brutality and cruelty and take the world back to the Dark Ages … In other parts of the world, particularly Western academia, the disease manifests itself in increasingly self-destructive and near-suicidal tendencies, a strong sense of imputed guilt, and a wish to toss away liberty, equality and hard-won freedoms with a view to undermining established democratic systems, all accompanied by an inability to think for oneself.” Baden of Sydney (Reply) Tue 02 Dec 08 (09:10am)So, according to these colossal colonic polyps, three of them think this decision has something to do with the Middle East and Islam. That sort of flew under my radar, I must admit. Another thinks it has to do with gay sex. I missed that connection, too. Strangely, I thought it was about a bunch of students trying to decide which Canadian charity they’d throw their efforts into this time. But no, their decision is the flapping of a butterfly’s wings in the Amazon and a dark portent of times at their end.
And then, just when you think sanity is only a name for a chain of crappy music shops, along comes Bill from Tasmania …
“It’s their fundraising effort, they are free to choose who they do it for as we all are. Their reasons are nobody’s business but theirs.” Bill O Tas (Reply) Tue 02 Dec 08 (07:46am)Nobody’s business but theirs?
Fancy that.
Bloody Tasmanians.
Monday, 1 December 2008
SMELLY TONGUES IS ONE
This blog was one year old on Sunday 30th November, 2008.
And, as I’ll be taking leave in a couple of weeks and will be flat out busy from now till then with work, there may not be too much happenin’ hereabouts for the rest of the year. However, maybe that’s just as well …
… For here are some of the things people have wanted to find out about over the last year which led them to this site.
None of them stuck around for very long, and I do believe they left none the wiser for their queries ...
And, as I’ll be taking leave in a couple of weeks and will be flat out busy from now till then with work, there may not be too much happenin’ hereabouts for the rest of the year. However, maybe that’s just as well …
… For here are some of the things people have wanted to find out about over the last year which led them to this site.
None of them stuck around for very long, and I do believe they left none the wiser for their queries ...
pretty tongues
black man smelly
black women tongues on youtube
fat people tongues
girls with smelly tongues
hard smelly tongue
holy martin is smelly
is childbirth smelly
lindsay lohan tongues
mentally ill sufferers speaking in tongues
painty smelly
people with smelly tongues
power smelly
smelly
smelly andrew
smelly black snake
smelly bush
smelly cunts
smelly flies
smelly knicker movies
smelly knicker vids
smelly knickers
smelly music
smelly nuts
smelly pincle
smelly radio
smelly sniffing
smelly teeth
smelly war
snakes with black tongues
tongues and perfect
tongues, australian for
tonguing milf
troy buswell chair sniffing smelly
ugly smelly milf
video free petite longue tongue
youtube kids tongues
youtube very smelly
People are deep. Very, very deep.
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