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 ...

/////////////////////////////////////////////!
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/////////////////////////////////////////////!
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/////////////////////////////////////////////!
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/////////////////////////////////////////////!
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... 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”

BILL HENSON SPEAKS ...

A brief interview with Leo Schofield ...



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

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

IT'S OFFICIAL ...

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

Gallery manager Amanda Rowell said the reaction was blown out of proportion. "It has never been like this before. This is no different to any other exhibition he's had and he's had many exhibitions here," she said. "He's a master, there's no one in the world like him."

College of Fine Arts Associate Professor Joanne Mendelsohn thinks the reaction to Henson's work is surprising. "I remember seeing a major exhibition of his work at the Art Gallery of New South Wales, it might have been his Venice works, about 10 years ago. Not a peep, not a murmur, and yet the work that was shown then is remarkably similar to the work that has caused such an uproar now," she said.

Well, 10 years of a government led by a man with a grand passion for a tracksuit and who once argued for the rights of various redneck, racist dickheads to take Australian flags to a fucking rock concert will do that to a country, I guess. And it won't be getting any better at any time soon, given that we are now governed by a man who feels the appropriate way to celebrate an election victory after 11 years in opposition is with a cup of tea and a fucking biscuit.

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

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

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

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

... Those teenagers at that pub ... they're ... DRINKING! And SMOKING! And then ... and then ... My God, then, THEY'RE GOING TO HAVE SEX AND DESTROY THE WORLD! ... THOSE FAT PEOPLE WILL KILL US! THAT BURNT SAUSAGE YOU HAD 25 YEARS AGO AT THAT BARBECUE WILL GIVE YOU CANCER! SO WILL YOUR MOBILE PHONE! ... AND SOMETHING MUST BE DONE ABOUT GORDON RAMSEY, FOR HE IS THE ANTI-CHRIST WHO WILL DELIVER OUR CHILDREN UP UNTO A PIT OF HELLFIRE AND ETERNAL DAMNATION!

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Zealand looks inviting ...

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

I hear they give good fruit.

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

SAUSAGE ROLL WITH SAUCE, PLEASE

What does this look like to you? ...

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

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

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

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

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

Rabbit Ear Crunchy? Hare Juice? HARE JUICE!?

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

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

Hare Juice. Fuck off.

DIAMONDS ARE A JOE’S BEST FRIEND

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

Diamonds are forever



They are all I need to please me



They can stimulate and tease me



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



Diamonds are forever



Hold one up and then caress it



Touch it, stroke it and undress it



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

SIX BUCKS. SEVEN CENTS.

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

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

But first, a few statistics ...

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

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

And a few more statistics ...

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

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

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

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

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

But ...

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

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

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

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

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

The man is a fool.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck off, you prissy little tossers.

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

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

I might go see a movie instead.

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

THE ANGRY PENGU ... ER, PENSIONERS

Tim Colebatch, Economics Editor for The Age ...

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

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

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

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

THE PASSION AND THE PENSION

This ...

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

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

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

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

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

And this ...

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

Well, excuse me ... BUT.

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

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

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

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

BLUDGET? BLODGET? ... IS THAT, LIKE, ONE OF THOSE BLOG THINGAMYS?

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

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

It really does beggar belief.

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

Idiot.

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

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

Now. Let’s see ...

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

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

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



From 1987, The Lounge Lizards "Big Heart"

BUDGET? BUDGET? ... IS THAT, LIKE, A TYPE OF SMALL PARROT?

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

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

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

8 children.

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

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

Let's see now ...

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

So there.



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

HOW TO MAKE A SKULL BONG

I read about this on the weekend and it set me to wondering ...

"The Kingwood teenager's story of decapitating a corpse and using the head to smoke marijuana was so outlandish that at first Houston Police Department senior police officer Jim Adkins did not believe it."

Thankfully, Arthur Delaney from Slate has provided an explanation.

Now I know.

BUDGET? WHAT BUDGET?

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

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

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

And so on and so forth.

I really don’t give a fuck.

Let’s see now ...

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

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

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

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

I must be going soft in the head.

DER PROTESTUNT WURK ETTIC AKORDING TO ANDY BOLT...

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

Half of this announcement is good:

Insert excerpt + link

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

Insert excerpt + link

And:

Insert excerpt + link

And:

Insert excerpt + link

And:

Insert excerpt + link

And:

Insert excerpt + link

And:

Insert excerpt + link

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

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

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

Lazy cunt.