muttarsdotcom

2011-04-01T01:46:00.002+11:00

I've been trying to think of something to write here in this blogger-type thing but like a wise man once said, "there's nothing new under the sun".
Which is to say, society faces the same issues and problems it always has, and pretty much all those issues can already be found in this blog, or discussions thereof to be more exact.
So, it occurred to me, what better way to reintroduce myself to it than to showcase my latest purchase.

A mighty Yamaha R1. Not just any R1 though; this is a replica of (the also mighty) Valentino Rossi's World Championship-winning Yamaha M1, specifically the 2009 model.
Fate brought us together it seems. It was either buy a motorbike or pay off one of my credit cards.
So to ebay I went, and almost immediately happened across this jewel. I have always wanted an R1, ever since their introduction in 1998, but never imagined ever owning one as they were always outside my affordability.
Fortunately for yours truly, the fellow selling this one didn't realise exactly what he had and let it go for significantly less than it was worth.
In any event, it's now all mine.

All hail the Mighty R1.

sometimes love just aint enough

2011-03-24T01:39:00.000+11:00

Hootie and The Blowfish - let her cry

2011-03-21T14:05:00.000+11:00

Guns n' roses knocking on heaven's door (studio version)

2011-01-06T03:15:00.000+11:00

Guns N' Roses - November Rain

2011-01-06T02:01:00.000+11:00

IT'S AS PLAIN AS THE NOSE ON MY FACE

2010-11-09T18:43:00.002+11:00

Why can't anyone else see it? I have several pieces in here dealing with dogs and kids and each piece says essentially the same thing.

I really don't know how to put it another way.

In this instance, a Border Collie, not typical of the breed of dog that bites, bit a 3 year old on its cheek, just below the eye reportedly. The child approached the dog while it was "eating a sausage". Mistake # 1
A vegetable knows not to get between a dog and its food. I can with my two; I'd expect most owners can with their respective dogs, and even then it's with a little caution.
But a stranger? Add to that the age of this particular stranger and the fact that at 3 years, ignorance replaces fear or caution - with quite often disastrous consequences.

In this case nearly the loss of an eye.

The dog undoubtedly will now be destroyed. This is no rabid pitbull I should add (owned by an equally rabid, or at least wannabe, meathead). This is a Border Collie. Classically intelligent (for a dog - which puts it head and shoulders above the average rugby league player), friendly, calm, the epitome of man's best friend. Now to be destroyed or at the very least labelled as a dangerous dog.
This innocent animal to pay the price for the incompetence of others. Nothing was reported concerning the whereabouts of the owner or the parents for that matter. The incident was just a quick soundbite at the behest of the station managers who are concerned with the truth and facts as much as the average lawyer. "Quick - another dog attack - get it out there; who cares how it happened, just report that a kid was bitten, that'll get the handwringers going"

And so the (becoming) old-age question remains: Where were the parents? Those who are ultimately responsible for the brat, who at 3 years of age should never be more than an arm's length from them. Mistake # 2

HMMM...LET'S NOT BE HASTY

2010-09-15T19:21:00.002+10:00

It seems I may have been premature in my accusation of Brett Stewart (though I'll reserve my right to re-judge at a later stage if needs be).

His trial began today and the salient facts are:

The 17 year old had some redness around her vaginal area (Stewart stands accused of forcing his tongue into her mouth and digitally penetrating her). That is apparently all the physical evidence.

However, the accused's mouth and fingers were swabbed and no trace of the girl's DNA was found to be present. This in and of itself doesn't guarantee an acquittal obviously but that combined with the following certainly brings the veracity of the girl's story into doubt.

The girl has been receiving treatment for "psychosis" and "hallucinations". This is quite damning.

Maybe Mr Stewart isn't as typical a rugby league player as I thought (though he was on the piss all that day and was asked to leave the bar).

Nevertheless, innocent til proven guilty and all that so...

Watch this space.

THE MIGHTIEST OF ALL BLACKS?

2010-09-14T14:35:00.003+10:00

Of course I'm referring to the New Zealand All Blacks, those all-conquering chaps of the international rugby world.

The first team in the history of the Tri-Nations tournament to do a clean sweep, that is to win every game they played.

Though they almost didn't make it; the Wallabies under Robbie Deans (a Kiwi, and the ex-coach of the mighty Crusaders Super 14 team) have finally under Deans tutelage been whipped into a team resembling something worthy of attempting to claim the next World Cup (next year whoop whoop!)
And to be fair, if it wasn't for the inaccurate boot of Matt Giteau, the Aussies would have beaten the Blacks.

That said, Henry (the Blacks coach) had made 5 changes to the team, and most noticeably, Dan Carter was out with an ankle injury. Carter is the kingpin of the side.
But, given that all the silverware is already in the closet (Bledisloe, Tri-Nations) Henry is obviously giving his men a run in order to build an unbeatable team for the 2011 World Cup.

Are they they best ever? A matter of opinion between men with more knowledge than I but one thing's for sure, they have steamrolled all before them so far.

Roll on the Cup. Godwilling, I'll be there for it.

HELLOOOO - NICE OF YOU TO KEEP UP!

2010-09-14T14:00:00.003+10:00

There are several pieces in here dealing with alcohol abuse and I unapologetically make no excuse for my contempt towards those who sink piss like it's going out of fashion then behave like an animal towards some innocent bystander on the street.

I've made mention of how this disease has extended it's reach to the fairer sex (females have now overtaken males in thwe statistics appertaining to alcohol induced violence). It would seem in their quest to be regarded as equal to males (an absurd and asinine claim) these intoxicated females are turning on one another with a ferocity not seen since...well, ever actually. I was going to say since neanderthal times but even then the males did the vast majority of the fighting.

So, the authorities decided to mount an operation with the intent of cracking down on said alcohol-fuelled violence.

In one weekend, something like 1500 arrests were made and the police are left shaking their heads in stunned amazement.

So, blah, blah, blah followed as one would expect, with "experts" giving their considered opinions on the reasons why it has become such a problem (nobody asked me, though - or read this blog, where they would find the answer).

And today Andrew Scipione, the police chief was on talk radio and low and behold, the penny finally dropped (the very penny I first posted here years ago). "I open the paper", he says, "and I can't turn 3 pages without seeing full page spreads offering all kind of alcohol at bargain basement prices".

Yeah, dead on, Andy, welcome to the class - nice of you to join us!

MORE HEROES

2010-09-14T13:46:00.002+10:00

Those of you who have had a passing interest in this blog thingy will remember the two Gregs. I of course speak of Greg Bird and Greg Inglis.

In case you don't I'll give you a quick reminder. Mr Bird was the "hero" who thought it would be heroic to smash a glass in his girlfriend's face, leaving her with significant lacerations, then proceeded to tell the police that his mate did it.
Ultimately this dopey girl refused to press charges, instead claiming she was trying to hurt herself and in the course of protecting her Bird somehow smashed the glass into her face. Victims of domestic violence the world over must be horrified at this woman's behaviour and that it has set their cause back years.

Greg Inglis, on the other hand, allegedly gave his piece of ass (for surely that's all these women must be to these "heroes") a tasty shiner. That's all I have ever heard about this case, which is disturbing in itself. Another beaten woman feeling like she was responsible perhaps?

Anyway, these two fine examples of mankind are back playing rugby league and being lauded like some sort of supermen.

So the moral of the story? In Australia, as long as you are a "sports star" it would seem you can get away with almost anything.

However, there may just be some justice. Brett Stewart, another idolized player was in court recently facing charges of indecently assaulting a 17 year old girl on his way home after a night on the piss. I certainly hope this girl sticks to her guns but judging by recent events, I wouldn't put money on it.

BOO HOO

2010-09-10T22:40:00.002+10:00

Bill Crews is a 26 year old policeman - or rather, he was. The unfortunate fellow got shot it the head during a drug raid in Towelhead-land just south west of Sydney city.

Immediately it was assumed that one of said Towelheads, or should I say, alleged drug possession/dealing Towelheads was responsible.

And just as immediately talkback radio, television et al jumped at the chance to voice horror and outrage (woe is me, waste of a young officer's life, how dare they shoot at a police officer?...and here I'll digress for a moment. Police officers, and soldiers too in fact, have a weapon - several weapons in fact. And they're trained to use them, that is to say, the use of deadly force to protect or apprehend. I don't enjoy such security, so they are charged with its provision. I ask you, exactly whom else should be shot at? Me? You?).

And boy, did they milk it. A newspaper editor was stood down over daring to suggest that the death would shift more copy. Remember TV, radio, and the very medium in question, newspapers were all running this story as a headline. Just bear that in mind.

Cut to several days after the shooting, post post mortem as it were. It transpires that the bullet that killed poor Bill (that actually struck him in the neck, not the head as earlier reported - not that it matters a whole lot...) came from none other than a senior constable (a senior constable in the keystone cops it seems). The family of Bill have since told this SC that they don't hold him responsible. How nice. Apparently the SC went to the same target practice school as the bunch of cretins who took ten shots to bring down a 14 year old a few years back (see earlier post).

So there y'go. More sterling work from the Boys in Blue. Australia's finest.

***************************

Another example has also occurred lately; the case of a soldier killed during a firefight in Afghanistan, in which a claimed 30-odd insurgents were killed. More hand-wringing and woe is me (regarding the dead soldier - not the Taliban insurgents obviously). As alluded to above, but more so, if anyone is trained in the use of weapons it's a professional soldier; likewise said soldier is expected to use his weapon to kill the enemy.
Furthermore, this isn't World War One or Two. Conscription no longer exists in the western world. No-one held a gun to this fellows head. He joined the army of his own accord. Why, only he knows but one thing's for sure, once that first round whizzed past his head, he had (as defined in the ROE - rules of engagement) full authorization to return fire with the sole intent of killing the enemy - an enemy with a family, a mother, father, sisters and brothers perhaps.
If he was too slow/hadn't enough cover or was simply a poor shot then that's just bad luck. It's war. It isn't pretty. And whilst I empathize with his immediate family and friends over their loss of a loved one, I think we need to remember that in life, in certain occupations, the risk of death and/or serious injury is clear and present.

Prior to this piece, Washington State executed a rapist/torturor/murderer by lethal injection. So it would seem that human life isn't actually sacrosanct when it suits us. How wonderfully civilized, yes?

Hazel O' Connor "Will you"

2010-08-10T03:14:00.000+10:00

Peter Gabriel & Kate Bush -Don't Give Up

2010-08-10T02:33:00.000+10:00

Sarah Mclachlan - In The Arms Of The Angel

2010-08-10T01:05:00.000+10:00

HEY "ANONYMOUS"

2010-02-09T14:07:00.001+11:00

FUCK OFF...

IF YOU'RE SELLING THOSE PUPPIES, I'LL HAVE THE ONE WITH THE PINK NOSE.

2009-12-17T03:38:00.006+11:00

I haven't had a lot to say of late but man, I have to get this down. This is priceless.

I'm out walking the Boys, as I do every night and as I approach the top of the hill where lies a junction (intersection to Yanks and Aussies) I hear the noise typically associated with people having a good time. In other words, drunk. Drunks concern me. Drunks can be erratic and unpredictable.
So my ears pricked up so to speak (read on...) and I prepared to call the Boys to me lest they aggravate the inebriated.
I needed have worried as it becomes clear that the noisemakers were 4 girls in their 20s I'd guess. Girls go all gooey over the Boys so I relaxed a bit.
Now here's were it gets surreal:

Two of these young ladies were topless; strolling down the middle of the road drunk as you like and making a fair racket.

Then I hear, "There's someone coming" and the girl on the left of the pack covers her chest with her top - doesn't put it on - just covers. But the other exhibitionist has no such shame and proudly stands there calling at me with her hands in the air displaying her...wares, lets call it (or should that be "them"). And asking me, "Do you think these are sexy?" (Oh man, as I say, priceless hoho).
So me being the gentleman I am, keep my distance and continue to walk, not wanting to do what a man would do when faced with a naked woman in the street, and stare lasciviously. (I had to look, though - it's rude to ignore people).

Enter the Boys in this little tale. They decide to sod of down this small walkway after God knows what, leaving me standing there with this girl loudly asking me these questions concerning the sexiness of her shape.
So I must reply, in between Shouts of "Boys!" I return with noncommittal remarks like, "not bad" and "yeah it's alright". And, "you've scared my dogs off". All said in good humour. (Christ, what else could I say?).

Surreal, huh?

But wait, there's more:

This chick then bends over and drops her (shorts or miniskirt - can't remember, I was understandably distracted...) and stands up completely buck naked but for a pair of briefs (fairly unflattering ones I might add - I neglected to mention that to the girl...).
And begins to, well, "jiggle" would describe what happened next.
Her friends, including the other topless one now sitting on the kerb holding her top to her chest and feeling I would imagine, a little sheepish, were attempting to curtail their friend's demonstration.

Eventually the Boys returned and I carried on my merry, yet mildly astonished way.

This is where I live.

LET'S SEE YOUR BASTARD CAT DO THAT!!!!

2009-10-28T17:11:00.002+11:00

One Alsatian dog. It's master.

Heard on the radio; details unknown as far as where - was listening to the heroics.
But in essence:

Jim, I think that was his name, and his trusty Alsatian, name not given, were in each others' company when Jim collapsed, suffering a heart attack.

...need a name for the dog, answers on a postcard. For now we'll call it Spike.

Upon witnessing his master's collapse Spike sprang onto Jim's chest and proceeded to make a commotion, in order to keep Jim conscious.
Spike then ran outside and by indulging in more of that commotion stuff, attracted the attention of someone, a passer-by presumably, and led him into the house to where Jim lay, all but dead.
Jim's now doing well, having survived the near death experience. One would presume Spike is still by his side.

'Tis a beautiful story and only the darkest heart would fail to be warmed after hearing it.

THE fundamental difference between dog and cat.

Some would cite dogs as easily browbeaten, the eternal pleasers, insinuating that this was an undesireable trait. I would counter - this animal was not beaten, this was...a dog and his master, his companion, his friend.
And seeing his friend in need, leapt into action. First by trying to keep the man cognizant, then by going for help.

Cats would probably see the chest as a nice place to sit, that's if they even noticed, and if so, that's after coming out from behind the sofa after scarpering in cowardly fright when Jim hit the floor.

I remind you that I would still never do any animal, cats included, any intentional harm, and in fact would, and have leapt to their defence as Spike did for Jim.
However, cats are the epitome of narc

Michael Crawford-- The Music of the Night (Extended)

2009-10-09T23:50:00.001+11:00

The Music of the Night -Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman

2009-10-09T19:13:00.001+11:00

WHERE'S MY PHONE

2009-09-09T18:10:00.001+10:00

I saw a report on the TV news today concerning sniffer dogs, and their being trained to locate mobile phones in prisons.

They detect the lithium in the batteries.

How handy would that be, eh???

(Boys! First one to find my phone gets a Schmacko).

Love to see bastard cats do that!

ARE YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELVES KILLED??

2009-09-09T17:34:00.002+10:00

First we have some wee girl, a slip of a thing of sweet sixteen, setting off on a warm-up trial run for her lauded round the world trip, running into a sixty thousand ton cargo vessel, comparable in size to an oil-moving supertanker. What, didn't you see it???

Christ! Her boat was...yep, pink!

Sounds like it was the same wee girl who whilst chatting on her phone to her bestest friend, slammed into Scoob way back when (he's in great shape by the way - recovered completely...)

Then we have this, well I can't decide whether it's this slimy fuck, or retard, Greg fuckin Combay who has suggested females be allowed into Commando units in the army. Even going so far as to suggest the SAS. The SAS? What!!!!!

It must be the slimy option. Surely no-one in their right fucking mind would...a. seriously entertain females on the front line, and...b. allow them to fail at SAS selection, because fail they would.

So much more to say on these but no time now.

CREDIT WHERE CREDIT'S DUE

2009-08-19T18:00:00.002+10:00

I was in the supermarket again today (as one does) and was checking the egg section to see if the McGrath cage eggs were still there.

It seems they've been removed and replaced with barn/cage free eggs.

So bravo to the Foundation. I'll buy your eggs now.

But still, enough with the pink League uniforms.

MUST BE A GREG THING

2009-08-14T17:44:00.002+10:00

We all remember that cowardly invertebrate, Greg Bird, he of the glassing incident. For those who don't, a quick recap:

Greg Bird, the one-time hero league player (those two words alone should tell you where this is going - to some offensive act of a retard), who was idolised by thousands, men and women alike.
Such idolatry reached its zenith when Birds girlfriend refused to press charges after he smashed a glass in her face (what is it with you chicks, man? Seriously, what are you thinking???).
For his part, Bird attempted to avoid the charge by claiming a friend committed the act, only to be refuted at a later stage. The spineless git now plays for a French side (in France obviously). I only hope if and when he returns to Oz no-one ever lets him forget what he did.
Anyway, so, there you have it. Bird the coward; the woman beater. His mother must be sooo proud.

Enter Greg #2.

This namesake's surname is Inglis and Inglis, like Bird, is another "superstar" of league, again idolized by fans of both sex and all ages, including kids. "Mummy, why is my hero hitting his girlfriend? Is it okay to do that then?"
Inglis has just recently been accused of giving HIS girlfriend a shiner or two. Shiners can only be caused by either something hitting the eye hard or the eye hitting something (think the ubiquitous "walking into a door", an explanation used often to explain such an eye by those to embarrassed to admit the truth).
In this particular case, the victim/girlfriend has come out to say, no, Greg didn't hit me, I was attempting self harm and he was trying to stop me. Oh, and by the way, I'm no longer his girlfriend".

Cue girlfriend #2

A girl, who fancies her own taste of fame at whatever cost, has chirped up now claiming she in fact is now Inglis's bint.

It's all getting very tawdry and would be funny where it not for the fact that an act of violence from a weak, weak excuse for a man has started it all.

Leaguesters eh? Pure class all the way!

DON'T YOU JUST HATE THAT...

2009-08-14T16:33:00.002+10:00

When you've just spent a wad of dough unnecessarily?

Mutters (currently also known as Hopalong on account of his being unable to put any weight on the wounded paw) returned from one of his forays the other day with a significant slice out of one of the pads on his front left paw.

Right away Dr Doolittle (that would be moi) diagnosed broken glass as the likely culprit (fuckin' wee pisshead bastards breaking their bottles out in the bush!)

A deep slash leaving a thick sliver of flesh exposed with the other part separated flapping in the wind almost. So the professor (that's me too) got to inspecting the damage close up and discovered that if the "flapping" piece was simply pushed in its natural direction it settled into the gap perfectly.
And immediately remembered the time when I very nearly lost a finger due to an argument with a vicious dropsaw (I consider it a draw as I still have a fully operational finger). In that occasion also, I discovered that when I simply held the sides of the 35 millimetre slash together, they fit like the proverbial glove (Note: human flesh, before the blood gets to the area to do its work, is uncannily like cooked pork, i.e white - then the blood catches up and everything goes crimson...). So I pinched the sides together, slathered antiseptic cream, (the human equivalent of dog saliva) on it, wrapped it in a piece of toilet roll, and taped it up with masking tape. Changed the dressing twice daily and hey presto! Job done. Just a nice scar left.
Anyway, back to Mutters: As I said, push the flap back and do the same. Unfortunately for reasons known only to myself, I left it for 3 days before "operating" and the flap had become more wayward. I also had concerns about possible infection though on subsequent inspection the wound, by virtue of the aforementioned saliva, was clean.
Nevertheless, hesitate and you're lost as the saying goes and I felt I'd perhaps missed my window so off to the vet I went.

Who proceeded to do exactly as I have written, that is, to push the flap back into place and wrap the entire paw in a tight (ish) bandage and give him an antibiotic with a course of five days' worth to go.

Then about 3 minutes later - charged me like an infuriated bull. Kerching!!

Now I'm thinking, as I look at my empty wallet, I should have had more faith in myself.

Yep. I hate that!

I'm also reminded as I watch my wee man hopping along three-legged, of my contention that we all could learn something from animals with injuries, dogs especially. Not a whimper; not a whine, just a get on with it attitude. Us? We'd be bawling our bloody eyes out. "Boo hoo, I'm so sore/sad/upset".

A SHAM OR NOT A SHAM

2009-07-18T02:22:00.006+10:00

By now everyone in the English speaking world will have heard the name Jamie Neale.
In case you've been living under the proverbial rock, he's the 19 year old British backpacker who recently emerged after 12 days lost in the Australian bush in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney.

The SES, Police, and volunteers scoured the mountainous bush searching for him only to discover after the 12 days he walked into a fellow bushwalkers camp, for all intents and purposes unharmed.
Rejoice! As one could imagine. The would-be prodigal's father flew from England and joined the search, going as far as scratching his son's name on some rocks in an area his boy was assumed to have been.
The media, like vultures, leapt at the story, quoting words like miraculous, amazing, astounding - and currently is in its final throes. Lost walker found; congrats all round, slaps on back; media interest and offers for exclusive.

The TV images of the boy, I'd have to say were of a...well, normal boy with red nostrils. Thin, but not gaunt; pale, but not in any fashion emaciated. Wide-eyed, and a bit reserved but not traumatized into speechlessness.
In short, arguably not what one would expect from starving for 12 days and having to resort to eating berries.

Frankly I hadn't much more interest in this tale than I had in the recent bombings. But as the media had it shoved down my throat with its half-hourly reports, I found myself unable to not ruminate over the reported story and its facts.

One of which is the recent emergence of a certain 200,000 dollars offered by 60 Minutes for the exclusive. Which the chap took, with the assurance to give "most" of it to the volunteers. (The initial reported offer, one day after, was 60,000, all of which apparently was going to the 'teers).
The same day another report surfaced regarding the lad's competing in an eating contest which saw him down four large pizzas in an hour, the night before he set off on his hike. That's a significant amount of fuel, I mean, four large pizzas. That could effectively last a body between 5 days and a week. Yes, one would feel hunger, but there would still be plenty of "fuel" to run the engine for that approximate length of time. The following 5 days could be accounted for with, say 3-5 days worth of chocolate bars. After the gluttony, 1 bar per 24 hours would suffice - for, though admittedly not indefinitely, a period of 5-7 days at least.
Also, water is plentiful in the mountains.

That's it - that's all would be required. Then after the requisite amount of time, in this case 12 days, you just walk into a camp, look exhausted and let the rescuers do their thing.

So gorge yourself before leaving, bring along several bars of high energy food (chocolate, it has to be chocolate) and off you go. That's how I'd do it. Then hang out in the bush for a while conserving your energy, snacking on the chocolate, drinking stream water.
Wait til you've had enough and look appropriately grubby, the saunter into a bush walker's camp.
Couple of nights in the hospital, statement for the media, story offer.
Kerching!

DEVILS ELIXIR

2009-07-18T00:54:00.003+10:00

Aka: Grog...Piss...Booze.

On a radio show today, the host was conducting a segment on the proposed outlawing of alcohol advertising in sports.
There was much hand-wringing of course, though any sanctimony was thankfully absent, replaced instead with a stoic professionalism - fabricated of course.
Nevertheless, the predominant leaning was towards the shaking of the head, the "what can we do?" syndrome.
Present on the show were the two men; the presenter and an industry product representative.
Playing the sycophantic advocate first, the presenter started with the veiled accusation that alcohol management had indeed reached an out of control stage and that its promotion through every sporting event was simply an exacerbation.
The rep responded as if reading from an industry guide on preselected cliched responses.

"Inappropriate behaviour..."
"wont be tolerated..."
"we support responsible comsumption..."

et al, et al...

He goes on...

We supply the small regional clubs with revenue, in turn keeping people in work, supporting the youth, developing them to the top rung of the sport. If alcohol advertising in sport is banned, the "bush" will suffer. (This a veiled threat of his own).

So on they parried; "Isn't it the case that...?", "No, we are committed to..." a choreography in formal appropriateness. And earning the station a substantial revenue.
Meanwhile those who embrace the "buy one get one free" sales pitch continue to purchase gallons of piss, proceed to tip it down their addled throats and drunkenly stumble through life acting like league players.

Everybody gets their cut, condemns it, again, and lets it slip from public interest until the next time, which historically, is never far away.

The thing is, (that the various protagonists are fond of sweeping under the carpet) alcohol is a moneyspinner for all.
It is a mutli-trillion dollar business - in global terms, not just here in Oz. From those who manufacture it, including those who gather/grow the ingredients to those who sell it at the counter, and at each stage in between, everyone takes their percentage.
Including the radio station and its talent, who duplicitously camouflage this with the facade of "giving the public a voice".
The fact is, each and every presenter of mainstream radio follow an agenda set by their employers, themselves driven predominately by political preference.
So in fact, a given presenter can rarely if ever be trusted to give their honest opinion - unless said opinion concurs with that of his/her employer.
The whole thing is driven by the need to earn revenue and the God's honest truth rarely, if ever enters into it.

And this...is why alcohol abuse will, much like climate change has become, be one endless talkfest with the odd tax grab thrown in to help swallow the bitter pill.

ANTICHRIST DOING THE ROUNDS AGAIN

2009-07-14T01:22:00.002+10:00

We of course by now all know to whom I refer. Al Gore.

Well, he's travelling the globe again, in the obligatory jet plane depositing more pollution than I, for example, will ever leave. Presumably Mrs Gore remains in the McMansion burning the midnight oil (which, to repeat, uses more power in one single month than the average American home does in an entire year!)

There is zero point at this juncture in the rollercoaster that climate change has become in entering into debate, especially when one considers the multitudes of retards who have fallen for Gore's propaganda.

And while these retards comprise about 50% of society the world over, that fortunately means there is 50% who don't subscribe.
Unfortunately, as previously alluded to, the whole thing is now a self-perpetuating leviathan and those who drive it have all the power. (World leaders et al).

Which sucks a bit.

However, on the positive side, it would appear that those who are attending the current "trough" (free holiday, plane rides, hotel accommodation, self-congratulatory slaps on backs all round...) aren't very enthusiastic about any agreement being reached. Probably, almost certainly because the draconian measures suggested are going to cost the various protagonists not a little amount in terms of loss of jobs, industry etc.

A few home truths about climate change ("global warming's been consigned to the redundant bin...).

It was raining here in Oz yesterday. Today it's sunny. That...is climate change.

With a population of 6 1/2 billion and counting, there is no way we're NOT going to have an effect on our world, especially when we seem intent on ripping up forests like they've been deemed illegal. Vegetation is the planet's lungs and if the lung capacity of an organism is reduced, the ability of that lung to work is also diminished. In this case, the extra CO2 that 6 billion people do produce is not processed and released back into the atmosphere as life-giving oxygen. Vegetation, as I'm sure you know, thrives on CO2 like we do on oxygen.

So do not listen to anything that charlatan has to say for his agenda has nothing to do with saving the planet. Just a way of cementing his name in the annals of history.
Word of caution though, Adolf Hitler's name is well ensconced in the same history.

OPI SAYS NO TO TAZERS

2009-07-13T21:37:00.003+10:00

The Office of Police Integrity will release a report next month attacking Victoria Police over the number of police shootings.
It is for this reason the OPI also have serious misgivings about arming officers with the new Tazer electric guns (in case they shoot each other maybe...).

I wrote a while ago about the case of the 15 year old boy, by the name of Tyler Cassidy. This boy, a 45 kilogram boy, having just been robbed on the public rail system, had returned home in an agitated state, grabbed a knife or two, and left, still in a state of high agitation.
His mother immediately contacted the police and informed them of the circumstances, seemingly secure in the knowledge that the police could and would apprehend the boy and bring him home safely.
Well, the rest as they say, is history. Four, that's four armed police officers indeed did locate the boy and in an act more reminiscent of a Nazi death squad, for all intents and purposes executed the youngster.
The coroner is currently investigating the boys death.
It should also be noted that although 10 shots were fired, only 7 found the mark.
And what happened to the cops? Counselling. Boohoo, poor wittle powicemen had to summarily execute a boy and they get counselling.
This would also tend to laugh in the face of the Police Association secretary, Senior Sargeant, Greg Davies' statement that "the force was well trained".

The OPI report, which is a wide-ranging analysis of Victoria Police's use of force, "will also recommend officers not be given Taser stun guns", OPI spokesman Paul Conroy said.
"There was insufficient emphasis on alternative uses of force and insufficient monitoring and analysis of use of force", Mr Conroy said.

"Alternative use of force" I would suggest could well involve four grown men/women being able to subdue a 15 year old boy no matter how many knives he was carrying. There was four cops for God's sake. That's one from each point of the compass. Are we seriously to believe the cops in this country are so utterly fucking useless at their job, that they can't disarm a young boy when it's 4 to 1???

"The education and training is not focused properly and insufficient," he told AAP on Monday. "The police are not in a space to be issued with Tasers".

"A lot of work needs to be done in training needs."

So there you go. These people whose job it is to protect us from the violent and criminal are in short, inept. That is of course unless they're sitting in their cars pointing hairdryers at inadvertent speeders. Then they can protect us like mfs.

And you see, we're told ad nauseum to respect the "police officer" like he or she is some sort of divine protector. Well, let me tell you something, any respect I have for anybody has been earned or they don't get it.
Respect can't be bought; it can't be awarded, it can't be bartered. It isn't conferred on the back of some title. It can only be earned.
And I can count on the fingers of one hand the amount of cops who have indeed earned such respect. I'll wager I'm not alone either.

SOMEONE NEEDS TO CLIP THIS BIRD'S WINGS

2009-07-06T17:56:00.003+10:00

The "Bird" of whom I speak is one Greg Bird, the cowardly rugby league player who was recently prosecuted for glassing his girlfriend.

Well, it has emerged that he is now facing yet more charges for assaulting another woman, this time in a Cronulla nightclub.

This spineless coward needs to be locked up. And then his fellow inmates need to hand out some natural justice in the form of beating him to a pulp. Then we'll see how hard he is.

Cowardly excuse for a man.

CHURCH Vs STATE

2009-07-06T00:40:00.002+10:00

John Howard, the former Prime Minister of Australia, has given a broad-ranging interview to Macquarie Radio.
In part, he spoke about the "stolen generation" issue, an intervention that saw children removed from their natural parents in the name of protecting them.
Said children were being abused, often sexually, and really, what else could have been done? The innocents in life must indeed, be protected from such a life. Kids of white parents are to this day removed if such action is warranted. And rightly so, any decent person would agree.

He also stood by his decision not to "say sorry" to the indigenous people for the intervention, saying, "No, I took the view that it's very easy for the current generation to apologise for mistakes of an earlier generation, and because it's so easy to do that I think it's meaningless,"
In this particular decision, I agree entirely. "We" didn't remove their children (from sexual abuse remember). Why should "we" apologise?

Howard went on to say he never regretted any of the major decisions his government made.

I should add that, notwithstanding the fact that Howard was a carreer politician of some forty years, and therefore pondlife, I have also held him in higher regard than most of his kind.
And I have agreed with the majority of his decisions.

However, in the radio interview he brings up, and sides with, the matter of one's personal beliefs being "brought forward into their public life".
And in principle, when one's referring to, basic moral values (interestingly, something the average politician chooses to ignore when it suits - if indeed they were ever awsare of a thing called moral value), I would also agree.
But one must also be cognizant of:

Tony Abbott - and his ilk. My utter contempt for this man is well known.

Abbott has attempted on several occasions to force his religious beliefs on this nation via legislation; first with the abortion drug RU 486, then in handing a pregnancy counselling service to his mates in the Papistry.
RU486 is a drug that facilitates miscarrige and is used globally as a safe way to terminate a pregnancy. Abortion is a personal choice taking in a myriad of factors and normally arrived at after much soul-searching and heart-rending acceptance of facts.
But Mt Abbott's a raging Papist and in his position, if he doesn't agree with abortion then neither can the public it seems. (In point of fact, the bill was voted down in the House, thank goodness - but nevertheless, that this odious little man could attempt such a flagrant violation of the pro-choice demographic is an indictment in itself...).
Not satisfied with his defeat, Abbott then "back-doored" the matter, and slyly awarded the pregnancy counselling service to the very people who share his belief - the young boy-buggering robed ones in the catholic church. Yeah, like we're going to get a fair shake now...
In fact, the Papistry is at least as dangerous as Islam. They may not be actively involved in a war with anyone currently but the reach and control they have over the world's 2 billion catholics has a greater effect on the world than we may be able to conceive.
So the last fucking thing anyone needs is some papist in government expanding this reach on those who deny such a belief.

Careful Johnny.

BETTER THAN...SEX

2009-06-10T00:35:00.011+10:00

Those who know me will be well aware of my all-consuming love of two wheels. I've often been asked to explain what it is that thrills me so. To try to explain this I’ll describe a lap of Eastern creek racing circuit (as it’s the freshest in my mind…).

...crossing the start/finish line a few laps in and in a rhythm, the machine – in this case the bike in the pics, a ZX7R, is in top gear approaching 260 kilometres an hour. Which in fact, compared to the one litre bikes, is a bit slow actually – the modern litre missiles would be scraping 300 perhaps.
It has just exited turn 12, a relatively tight left-hander and rocketed down the straight.
Heading for turn 1.

Turn one is frightening; a fast left sweeper, with a brutal bump right on the apex.
And the secret to this corner requires nerve, the sort of nerve that defines racing; one has to wait until the very last minute – almost until over-shooting seems certain – before tipping it, or more accurately muscling it, into the turn. At this point the entire machine, even the best set-up ones, is flirting with instability as the forces of physics battle with the suspension/frame etc.
Nervous time.
It gets "nervouser" 
Mere seconds later (the machine’s at about 200 clicks here – after scrubbing of speed and banging it down into 5th) the bike’s tilted over to about 40-45 degrees from 90, the knees slider’s on the tarmac, a raw scuff being heard, and felt through the knee.
Maximum (or close to it, restricted by machine set-up and aforementioned rider nerve) lean. To lose it here is a bowel-clenching thought – good chance of serious injury to person – quite possibly death, and undoubtedly a smashed to bits machine.
Hit the apex, clench over the bump, and wind back the throttle as the machine exits the turn, the rear wheel begging to let go its tenuous grip on the tarmac, to be followed by "losing it" (smashed/injury/death…).
As it straightens up, more power can be fed into the tyre and in a matter of milliseconds the bike is at full power again heading for the far side of the track in the classic racing line.
Here we come to the part of the explanation I like to call, "nearly shitting my pants".
Following the racing line, and at full power, around 250 plus again, the machine encounters the second irregularity in this particular corner. Except this time, as mentioned, it’s at full power. At the apex, it’s at the run-through part – coasting almost - albeit momentarily. Motorbikes, any race vehicle in fact, behave very differently when under power.
How this particular beast reacted to this bump under said power, was to violently "tankslap", an action where, because the front wheel is very light, the clip-ons (handlebars) slap from side to side, only being arrested by the lock stops. Believe me – the rider, supposedly in charge, is no more than a passenger at this point (always meant to get a steering damper...).
Thankfully, as can happen, the sheer momentum carried the bike over the bump quickly and the "slapping" subsided. Phew! Pants okay – no need to change.

Back onto full power again and scream towards turn 2, a hairpin, though not officially (officially the hairpin is turn 9...). The aim here, is a speciality of some, namely yours truly who is the master of the thing I’m coming to – late braking. Don’t master this…you’ll never win – end of story.

Similar to turn one, the machine races up to the turn, leaves it until the very last moment, almost to the point of overshooting again, then leaves it a split second longer...and "stands on everything", a colloquialism for braking extremely hard. Sit up (to catch the wind with the body); stick out elbows, stick out knees, fill lungs with air to increase surface area and provide unfettered view of corner, and lock arms, all the while yanking the brake lever in with 2 fingers.
If you’re doing it right, you’re at this point on one wheel – the front; the back’s in the air, and usually "fishtailing" left and right as final approach adjustments are made.
This time however, something else altogether more potentially "pant-filling" occurred. What I’ll call "shitting my pants #2".
Remember the "tankslapping" episode, just seconds ago, from which the pros have already recovered. Well, so vicious and violent it was, that when our intrepid racer yanked on the lever, it came right into the handgrip without any stopping power at all. Now normally this is because the front end has flexed under the extreme trauma of the slap and the brake pistons have been pushed back off the discs. Easily fixed. Just pump the lever and braking power swiftly returns – no big deal.

Wrong!

This time the right brake line had got caught between the lock stop and whipping steering head – on subsequent inspection the line was hanging by a few strands on outer sleeve.
So...250 clicks and no brakes. If you didn’t know what your sphincter was before, you can now taste it in your throat!
Eesh.
Suffice to say, and to cut a long story short (er), I managed to stop before hitting the tyre wall – by about a metre. See what happens when you let a dickhead fit your brake lines!!.

Anyway, to get back to the hot lap: reviewing: hard on the brakes, that work this time (I went and got another line and put it on my bloody self and went out next session…), fishtailing etc. knocking it down the gears from 6th to 1st, and tip it into the turn. The knee slaps against the tarmac, followed by the footpegs and outside toe of boot. (See pic)

Again, clip the apex, and feed in the power, the rear tyre protesting under the power. Threatening to spin while the front, in equal protest, tries to break contact with the surface; the only thing preventing it, the rider leaning his weight (yes, his – women can’t race, don’t even try arguing with me on this, ladies...) over the front.
Race towards turn 3, a fairly fast right-hander, short-shifting from 2nd to 3rd. Tipping in, feeling knees contact the surface, hit apex, feed in power, rear threatens again (for the record it does it on the exit from every turn, or you're not trying hard enough so...) and as the turn straightens out into a rise, front heads skywards (more leaning). Over crest and down the other side into turn 4 with more hard braking. Braking downhill is very, very risky. Gravity’s against you, too.

Round turn 4, knee on the deck and blast toward 5.

Whereas heading for 4 there’s plenty of time to show off with a nice power wheelie, 5, although also uphill with a crest at the top, has not enough distance to wheelie and get the front down in time to reduce speed for 6 and 7 which constitute the chicane. Also probably the third-hardest braking area on the circuit. Fortunately, there’s a cheat, which is more yet another test of nerve, where if an opponent gives an inch, big-balled racers take a mile and whip across the packed earth on the inside of the "rumble strip" whilst flashing past the not so big-balled rider on the way to more "eyeball against the inside of the visor" braking. This my friends, is one part of the attraction. At the point of tipping-in, the entire front end is under incredible pressure and the rider’s experiencing about 3Gs. A lonnng sweeper follows (see pic)

and begins to rise yet again. As always, the power is fed in, precisely this time, spinning the rear intentionally in parts, while trying to conserve the tyre integrity (a million races have been lost due to tyre disintegration). Eventually, though, inevitably of course, the exit is reached and with a final controlled spin, the machine yet again rockets towards its destiny.
I’ll digress again here to tell of on "off", another racing term to describe falling off, or sliding off as the case maybe.
Slingshot is a term that describes a particular method of cornering popular in the 90s. it involves, instead of the classic slow entry method; high in-corner speed, low but consistent lean angle way, a method whereby the rider drives straight through the entry in a straight line and brakes hard, (can’t win without it!) completely bypassing the traditional apex, slams the bike onto its side, smashing everything off the ground, knee, peg, boot, turns hard and fast, and "slingshots" out in an identical straight line to the entry vector. This method is known as the quick entry. And its principal fundamental is the removal of the corner proper, entirely. It works.
So off I went, "in the zone" as they say. Blitzing it (also as they say). Screaming round the circuit. Up and down the gears. Heading for my next challenge to be undisputedly conquered.
Or so I thought...
In my supreme confidence I did as all the greats do – I overstepped. I went too far – out into the track ne’er used, awash with track detritus, slippery, unstable...no sir – don’t want to be in there...no place for two wheels to be...
Both my tyres – ultimately the only thing keeping the machine upright; two patches of rubber no larger than the palm of a man’s hand – simultaneously gave way. At the angle of lean I simply "settled" onto the tarmac and let the greater weight of the machine draw it away from me. Off we went, my trusty steed and I towards the grassy run-off area. It’s not an entirely unpleasant experience sliding off like this – it’s almost like an adventure park ride at about 80 ks. And one learns to slide with the bike mere feet in front so that when the speed reaches acceptable levels the rider can start to pick the bike up before they stop moving.
I didn’t time it quite perfectly this time though but nevertheless still sprung up myself and bolted towards the arresting machine. (Effectively, the race is over, but it never has nor will stop us trying to win).
Damn and blast! All was well but for one crucial point. My baby...my crutch...without you I cannot win. The front brake lever lay embedded in the grass, right into the soil beneath. Broken in two – but two inches left. Dirty bastard. Off to get another – found a delightful chap who gave me his spare (racers are the nicest people). Back out next session. Seeing a pattern here?
Returning to the lap, as it’s become known: correctly, we would race up the rise in a straight line towards this new, more aggressive apex, go through the motions: hard braking et al, slam various expendables of the ground, turn the machine, lift bike upright and bury it, often laying a huge black line as the tyre attempts to strip itself of its surface layers (part of the attraction #2). Hell on the rubber though. See "million races lost".

But the effects otherwise are instantaneous as the full power transmits through the significantly larger surface area of the upright machine and the bike screams out of the turn like a crazy Irish banshee.
Heading down (again) towards the second hardest braking point on the circuit. Turn 9 – the hairpin proper, officially. In truth it is actually identical in terms of tightness to turn 2, (my hairpin...aye, it’s moine!)
More crazy braking, rear in the air (honestly, the rear brake on a racebike is obsolete frankly), fishtailing, the engine roaring as it’s fed down through the gears, using the engine as yet another arresting technique...tip into the right this time. It has a slight camber, along with the mild downhill slant. Straightforward.

This side of the tyre, though, is a double-edged sword; though rarely used by this point on the track so it is, to be fair, fresh - plenty of rubber, but at the same time, cooler, almost certainly not at optimum operating temperature. This can carry the risk of the bane of a racers existence – the always injurious highside. A brutal ind often ignominious way to dismount, resulting in breakages to body (arms, legs, feet etc. I in fact, broke my right forearm, mangled pinkie finger, broke back of hand). They never don’t hurt. Makes a fair mess of the bike – especially when it catches on something and cartwheels, when it proceeds to disintegrate in front of the eyes. Pieces exploding off it. Fairing plastic, tank, wheels even. Fuckin thing just comes apart...
So easy does it; feed in the power, get upright as quick as you can. Employing the fast in technique leaves the door wide open for a block pass here so fairly tight, the requisite hard braking and follow the classic line. A straight awaits and here we tuck the head behind the screen; the knees tight into the tank; elbows in and wind the throttle to the stop firing 3 gears into it in not many more seconds. The engine howls in ecstasy; this...is what it lives for. At this very moment we both live for this. We are one. I lie pressed close to her heart; she to mine. I have her by the throat, wringing every last ounce from her. Underneath she obeys, eager to please, on wings of fire she catapults me towards my desire. Rearing like its organic cousin – in triumph. I let her coast for a while, huddled down behind the screen, I tease her by shifting balance...
Enough. Time to get down; the next turns approach, another chicane, but so fast and wide, it can be ridden straight through. Drop the wheel. Another thrill electrifies me. Can this get better? Surely not, surely this is a peak – it must be. My heart races. I feel like I can fly. I am a single-minded machine. I have but one purpose...
The final two turns: 11 and 12 – which can easily be transformed into one lonng sweeper. Into 11, straight through, let her come right out to the rumble strip; caress it; continue the smooth turn, set it up right, the exit from 12 leads to the start/finish straight. It is essential, imperative to get good drive onto this. If you’ve previously fucked your tyre with your fuckin around sliding the rear, then this, second only to lack of hard braking, loses races.
My steed and I explode onto the straight and once again I lay close to her as we blast like a ride-on guided missile across this straight. Putting every gear into her we soon reached our top speed, around 270 clicks.
We do this another 30 times.
Afterwards in the garage as she plinks her satisfaction whilst cooling down, I wander the pit in a state of ecstasy, the adrenaline, though diminished, still flowing with purpose – like an engine shifted into neutral at speed slowing exponentially.
Strangely, my high lasts until nearly precisely my partner is cold. While she sleeps, her work done, I float the rest of the day.

As I said - better than sex

GOTTA LOVE THOSE CHASER BOYS...

2009-05-28T14:23:00.002+10:00

For those not in the know, the Chaser boys are a group of five characters who produce a TV comedy show for Australia's ABC.
Their irreverence is the stuff of legend - and not just in Oz. If you've been keeping a watching brief here you'll remember the APEC stunt. The link below is a reminder:

http://muttars.blogspot.com/2007/09/apec.html

Well they've just begun their third (and last apparently) series. And in it they've taken a shot at the Cronulla Sharks Rugby League Team (see post beneath this).

They somehow got into the control box of the stadium during a game and announced over the PA system, to the entire stadium, "Would all players involved in the sex scandal 7 years ago please come to the office?"

They were last seen scarpering after someone was heard to say, "someone call security".

LMAO. Classic Chaser.

MATTHEW JOHNS

2009-05-15T17:28:00.003+10:00

My first thought was, Looks like the Johns boys are at it again”, referring to Andrew Johns’ discretion of being caught by the London Bobbies in possession of the much maligned “e” tablet. At that time I sided with Johns, citing that he was considered the best 5/8th in world rugby league and as such he could just tell them to get fucked! (The result if he did so couldn’t’ve been much worse an outcome after they laid him bare at the altar of public condemnation. Poor bastard. Completely subjugated by relentless, withering castigation.
What got my head in a bucket was the stomach-churning sanctimony – compete with finger-wagging. Oh how I’d like to grab that finger and snap the fucker!!)
Anyway, I digress. “Joey” (Andrew Johns’ nickname from his adoring public) got over it, as people do – the Rags quickly lose interest and move on after they’ve milked the story for all it’s worth. The sanctimonious even themselves I’d suggest, got tired of their own bleating on and slithered, noses in the air, back to whichever rock they live under ready to spring out again should anyone smoke a joint or say fuck in public.

Not to be outdone by his pill-carrying brother, Matthew Johns, the younger sibling, decided to stick it to some starstruck chick in a hotel room. To be precise, “Matty” Johns (His nickname, also from an adoring public)…and friend decided to stick it to her. Though the “friend” hasn’t presented himself (who could blame him, really – why would you???) and Matty’s lips are sealed (and coming from a man where “grassing/squealing” was paid for in kneecaps, that’s as Ali G would say, “Respect”, with the hand flourish those rapper types use).
So, to recap, we have a 19 year old woman (whilst still in the teens, a 19 year old is considered an adult woman) who freely and uncoerced went with two rugby league players (remember, these boys have been hit too hard once too often and can quite often be observed thinking with the wrong head…) to a hotel room. Why would she do that? To “talk”? To maybe play one against another? Or to have theem both? Either way it’s fairly clear to all but the most fanatically feminist or blinkered head-in-the-sand that this girl/woman was intent on having sex in the room.
Which indeed proved to be the case. The other Johns brother nailed her. And when considering the Godlike status in which he was held, she would have been a keen recipient. All day every day these women throw themselves with wanton abandon at these league stars. In toilet cubicles (Sonny Bill Williams and Candize Fallon), alleys, wherever they can actually, and both Johns’s were the cream of the crop – apparently (least they weren’t pretty boys, I’ll give them that).
It’s unclear who the friend was as I’ve mentioned; also unclear is whether or not he jumped on for a go after Mattty – or at the same time).
Now here it gets a bit odd, as the room started filling up with more players – some even going to the extent of entering through a bathroom window like the zombies of the old films.
Where they proceeded as is reported, to engage in various sex acts with the woman, including but not restricted to I believe, whipping out their weiners and “shoving” or waving them in the girls face (while you’re down there, love…).
This all occurred 7 years ago. The woman recently approached the authorities with the information approximately 5 days ago, creating, unsurprisingly, a shitstorm not unlike the one Matty’s brother faced about 5 years ago. This one driven by the tide of female respect advocates (Note: this author is an advocate of womens’ rights himself – as long as they understand this author by virtue of being a male, is superior). The rape crisis centre was even quoted despite the NZ Police fully investigating and finding no legal case to answer.
Case closed.
Until now. Johns appeared on TV like a good little soldier and gave a heartfelt apology to the schtuked woman. His wife, sat stoically supporting her husband in a show of solidarity, though it’ll be years before Matty gets any honey from this one I’d suggest.

The schtukee had everyone fooled with her tearful recollection of the night. Her face blurred, with only her chin and lower lip clear, she has refused to identify herself, despite Johns being international news.
Back and forward the sides of the argument swung. League players not having the best reputation, were vilified; the suits came out in force, condemning and assuring. Womens’ advocates threw their own shots, laced with the ever-present emotion and demanding women be treated with respect, damn it!
On and on it went. Reaching a stalemate of sorts. The NZ Police declined to reopen the case citing, again, no charges to press. And then out of nowhere came a witness for the defence.
A friend or workmate of the woman, on a Channel Ten report tonight, claims she heard the woman “five days or so after” boasting that she had 5 or 6 men at once. She could be lying but this is consistent with the earlier quote from Johns, that the woman, after Johns had dismounted as it were, said, “someone get over here and have sex with me”. Which is, quite obviously a damning statement, demand even.
Somebody in fact did, “get over there”. Johns is staying tight-lipped. And a further report has just emerged of the woman's employer witnessing her boasting for several days about the great night she had with two league players.
Cat amongst the pigeons time. This in complete contradiction to her earlier televised performance.
Virtually case dismissed, such as it was. But mud sticks and the already well-known anomie of Rugby League, not long recovered from the last transgression mere weeks ago, will suffer another blow.
The fact is, this should have never left the Johns’ home. It is about personal fidelity towards one’s wife. This distasteful episode has all the hallmarks of a chase for easy money. The woman claims she only recognised Johns. Are we to believe she had no recollection of the second man? The one who was in the party of 3, who originally went to the room? Wasn’t he one of the “5 or 6”? The second, surely?

Lucky you didn’t knock her up, eh Matty? Sue ‘em, Matty, sue the fuck out of them and beg your wife’s forgiveness…and keep your dick in your pocket, y’fuckin’ caveman.
The media leapt at this, immediately, as they do, to the defence of the poor put-upon woman. (Make up your minds for fuck’s sake – thought you were equal??). Forcing Johns to bear humiliation on international TV. The wife; the kids. The intrusion in their lives.
With, it transpires, only half the story…
And they have their own money – no government (read taxpayer of course) baleout. AND…Rupert Murdoch, the newspaper and media giant, who has to quote Denny Crane, “more money than God”, has created new charges for his online viewing or something similar.

Yeah Matty, take ‘em to the cleaners!!!

Christian The Lion At World's End

2009-05-01T20:38:00.001+10:00

MUTTARS' NEW TOY

2009-04-25T10:53:00.003+10:00

Well, I looked for quite some time and finally found it. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you:

'O1 WR 426F

Tah-dahhhh!

Wonder how long it'll take me to get arrested on it...

NICE OF YOU TO CATCH UP, DAILY RAG

2009-03-29T08:01:00.003+11:00

About 5 years later...

Because for about that length of time I've been telling you, (to no avail, obviously) that women are in charge.

Now a poll has stated that in terms of buying a home, only 7.8% of men make the final decision. Apparently women's influence was impacting on house design.

Like I said - nice of you to catch up.

FYI - the same applies to cars, TVs, clothes for their men (for men read boys), where they live, work, everything. This because after about a decade of women being told they're equal (do NOT be fucking ridiculous) they've in effect castrated men resulting in this hybrid or third sex. A hairless, tight boxer-wearing, exfoliating, pretty boy who looks upon his wife more like his mother and spends more time in the bathroom "prettying" himself up than his bloody woman.

And then they have have the nerve to ask, "where are all the men?"

There aren't any left, ladies - you've seen to that. Well done. Reap what you sow, knuckleheads!

CALLING ALL RETARDS...

2009-03-28T18:19:00.002+11:00

Cretins, numbskulls, morons, and the terminally stupid.

Earth Hour is all but upon you. Starting with the Kiwis who, given that stupidity's a global issue, must have cretins of their own. KB lives in New Zealand. Hope she has the common sense to ignore this nonsense. (And I hope it doesn't effect the Crusaders' game tonight). Then next is Australia, and by Christ, I KNOW how many boneheads are in this country!

I wonder can I drive around in my ute with the lights off. "It's Earth Hour, officer - I'm just doing my bit!"

I also wonder if all the burglars are preparing to go to work.

Y'see what you slow of mind people have let the Antichrist start! I don't know about weeping but Jesus must be sitting in stunned disbelief at what's going on.

BANKS FIGHT AGAINST FRAUD

2009-03-26T17:28:00.004+11:00

Banks in Melbourne are fighting against a group of men who've stolen $500,000 dollars of customers' money by ATM scams.
Puffing out their chests and congratulating themselves at their actions. Great. But hang on - what about the 10 BILLION the banks themselves steal from the very same customers with their insidious fees. If we could get rid of those I'd gladly give up a measly half mill to scamers!

Meanwhile, in Edinburgh, Scotland, the head of the now defunct Royal Bank of Scotland (who after heading the collapse of the institution) has had his multi-million dollar home attacked by a group calling themselves "Bank bosses are thieves". The thief in question also had his 400,000 dollar Mercedes vandalized to.

I would chuckle if it wasn't for the fact he more than likely has comprehensive insurance on it which will repair the damage free of charge - then the company will increase premiums to cover the loss, premiums held by Joe Ordinary. If ever there were greater thieves than banks, it's insurance companies.

Can't win really.

YET MORE STERLING WORK FROM THE FILTH

2009-03-23T16:33:00.003+11:00

TIME: Early afternoon
PLACE: Sydney International Airport

Yesterday afternoon in Sydney International Airport a man was set upon by a group of men and beaten to death. Right in the middle of Terminal Four in front of stunned onlookers.
The victim had arrived from Adelaide and was connected to a bikie gang. The (alleged - it's before the courts, don't want to be sued) offenders were part of a street gang by the name of Notorious.
It's reported that the men grabbed the steel poles that are used to create the lines for passengers and beat the bikie to death right there in front of everyone.

Where were the filth? They might have been busy puffing out their chests and chatting up the pretty young things in the stores around the complex (wanna see my big gun, love?); they may also have been out front handing out tickets to drivers who happen to stop for more than a millisecond at the front of the complex (look at my badge - it gives me carte blanche to do whatever the fuck I want...); they may even have been stuffing doughnuts into their fat, useless faces (criminals? what criminals?).
But I'll tell you where they weren't - doing their fucking jobs - and the result is a man gets beaten to death while those who witnessed the violent attack were traumatized, probably resulting in the need for some sort of subsequent counselling (have you ever seen a man beaten to death in front of you...?) and quite possibly legal action against the government.

Listen to this for God's sake: the whole incident took over five minutes and took place over five different places in the airport resulting in five separate crime scenes, then, after the attack, the offenders actually all got into a taxi and left.

Not a cop to be seen. Eh? see what I'm saying?

Yet break the speed limit, don't wear a seat belt, talk on the phone whilst driving...and every copper in town comes out of the woodwork.

Fucking...
useless...
fuckers.

Now of course the Filth management are doing what they do best - slamming shut the stable door whilst vehemently exclaiming, :this will not be allowed to happen".

As I say - useless fuckers.

EARTH HOUR 2009

2009-03-21T17:10:00.002+11:00

28th of March.

So...every light in the house on, TV, stereo, air-con on (both of them), fridge door open, turn on the ute and leave it spitting out diesel fumes, and smoke two cigarettes at once.

Earth hour indeed. Such a load of wank...followed by such a load of cretins!

BIG FAT HAIRY SPIDER.

2009-02-26T00:55:00.002+11:00

I walked face first into one of these the other day...felt like Indiana Jones. The entire web flexed as my face pushed it backwards. I swear I felt the Big Hairy One scurry away.
For my part, as the threads of super-strength silk began to impress on the skin of my face like elastic, I froze and immediately backed off.
Disaster averted (more so for the spider than me it has to be said - fair bit of work in constructing one of these webs actually - I know, I watched once).

Up close he (or she) was working his/her mandibles, as if eating, however, it could have been grooming. Perched head-down on its eight perfectly formed legs.

Impressive spider - no doubt.

I walked through a couple of these webs tonight, early into their construction as I think they were only support cables - foundations if y'like, but they wrapped around me and I had to pick them off me for minutes after - unsuccessfully I discovered whilst sitting on the sofa.

As I proceeded to remove the silk, it was like pulling a thread of cotton from a piece of clothing. I could see the clothing pull with the silk as its terrific adhesive qualities resisted; could hear the faint noise that came with it.

I gathered it all up in the same fashion one would when rolling up a piece of cotton thread - rolling it between thumb and index finger.

Now I have a small ball of pure spider silk. This from one or two threads. Amazing stuff.

POWER TO THE PEOPLE

2009-02-18T01:23:00.003+11:00

Banks eh, don't you just love 'em?

They are known as "the Big Four", here in Oz. And they are all - not to put too fine a point on it - fucking ruthless!

In fact, it's now the Big Three as, like a creeping oil slick, one of them has absorbed a smaller, less hardy in the current conditions minnow.

Their power increases while consumer choice narrows. And a consequence of these changes is the recent advisement that the strapped for cash leviathans are increasing ATM fees, by about 300% or something equally as extortionate. Going so far as to charge for checking account balances.

And at this point I've had whats known in the business as - enough. And I'm taking my money off them. Granted, I don't have a lot, but still...

Let me tell you about banks. In short, banks take your money and use it to make more. In itself, that's fair enough, but because they are lazy/incompetent/Devil's Spawn, they obviously don't make enough to satisfy their needs (overseas trips, yachts, penthouses etc.) and so apply those nefarious account-keeping fees - fees for your money which they use to make more money. We all know of these fees. They disgust us.

Therefore, it follows that if they have less to begin with, the less they can make (Dorothy! Better sell the yacht!).

Now, of course, they'll get wise to this eventually should people en masse start withdrawing all their money. And then it'll be, "sorry, you can't have your money - we're going to keep it. In fact, be advised, it's no longer your money - it's our money and we'll use it as we see fit until such times our future earnings are secure".

The secret obviously is to either a. sneak it away surreptitiously before they notice or b. not give it to them in the first place.

Either way, only rich people need banks. The tiny interest rates banks provide are worthless to sums less than 100,000 so if you're an ordinary Joe and have, say, 10,000, the interest per annum, providing you don't ever touch that sum is about 600 bucks. Whoopee-fuckin-doo! Just let me go out and buy a...TV, half a sofa...?
And you think it's safe?
I'll just keep my money and manage it myself thank you very much, and probably make more off 10Gs in a year than 600 poxy bucks - and no fees either.

So what I'm saying is...everybody whip out their money at the same time, sit back, and watch the fatcats scramble to jettison their ill-gotten gains whilst they fight amongst themselves like rats in a bag to avoid being clobbered by the falling rubble.

Now, THAT would be entertainment!

VICTORIAN BUSHFIRES: WHO'S TO BLAME?

2009-02-15T08:28:00.006+11:00

By now, pretty much the entire world has heard of the all-consuming bushfires that tore through several small towns, some not more than villages, in Victoria, Australia.

However they started (and I by no means have accepted that they were deliberately so) they ceased after razing 413,000 hectares of bush, and almost everything within - a total of 800 or so homes. Some homes were spared - by a mixture of accident and design.

So far, 181 people have died, and let's face it - they burnt to death, roasted alive in pure, shrieking agony.

The most intense period has now passed; smaller areas still burn but none are a threat.

Now the focus turns to how it happened. Fingers shot up and out as everyone pointed en masse. And most accusations are valid.

Ineptitude,
complacency,
Stupidity.

One man has been arrested and charged with several offences, including starting a bush fire. Causing death by fire and a few more the prosecutor can think of. An electricity company is also facing a class action suit, after it emerged one of their power poles collapsed and allegedly started one of the fires.
It must be said, though, that somewhere in the region of 40 or so fires raged around the Melbourne area. Are we to believe they all were either deliberately started or as a result of electricity poles? A bit of a stretch wouldn't you say?
And consider this: in temperatures sitting around 50 degrees celsius, all it takes to ignite bone dry tinder is a simple piece of broken glass at just the right angle to direct and intensify the blistering heat. Once started, as has been proven, it won't stop until the fuel runs out.

This is the reason this horrifying act of man and nature occurred.

The authorities were caught napping. A warning system trialled in Victoria wasn't implemented for reasons of privacy and the eventual victims were unaware of the danger approaching. In fact, of the 181 killed, the vast majority died whilst fleeing the flames, because they were driven by 100 kph winds and came up on homes rapidly. Leaving them with the only option to stay or flee and as people do - they panic. Panic kills.
This "napping" is similar to the American's Hurricane Katrina response. Currently our intrepid heroes are "backburning", a classic case of "closing the stable door after the horse has bolted", hence the allusion to Katrina.
Typical bloody experts.

The homeowners, for their part, enjoyed a self-imposed blissful ignorance. Like a mantra, they silently thought, "it'll never happen to me". All Australians think this at one time or another. They built their homes, or moved into one, virtually IN trees; the foliage so close as to touch the structure. Very beautiful indeed - until the worst happens then...
(FYI: Eucalypts, or Gum trees as they're otherwise known, have an oil in their leaves which roars like a blowtorch when consumed by fire). They sat silent, in the peaceful surrounds of their mountain bush paradise, while the trees shed. Gum trees, shed their bark every year. Resulting in this thick carpet of material roasted by the fierce heat of a summer Australian sun, and as flammable as petrol. To give an idea of how dry this material is, it's akin to walking on cornflakes. Everything is brittle, completely devoid of any moisture.
(Let me put it this way: ONE match - just one, could - and did, we're told, start this fire).

The local council, backed by Peter, "I used to be a rock star" Garrett, and his cretinous greenie mates in Parliament, refused to permit adequate clearing of risk material at a high risk distance from the given property. One homeowner, whose home it must be said was protected from any danger on account of the clearing the man had done, was fined 30,000 dollars by his Gestapo-like council for committing said clearing. To be fair though, if every man and his dog were to move into an area, and each cleared the requisite amount, then the bush itself would disappear (affecting soil structure, animal life etc.) Nevertheless, if it comes down to a few trees or my home...the jumped up little Hitlers at council can get fucked, frankly!

Ultimately...you're responsible for your own home. If you choose to move and/or build in an area that clearly constitutes "high risk", then it's on you to have an escape or defence plan if ever a blaze does erupt. A case in point has emerged where a man stayed with his home and armed with just wet towels and buckets of water, prevented it from being burnt down.. But for the main - people froze. And looked to their government to protect them. Are we learning yet, people? The above "ineptitude" and "stupidity" refers to the best efforts your government were able to provide. But man, do they have their hands on that stable door now!

Australians, white Australians, have lived on this continent for 200 years. Captain Cook, in his journal, made mention of the fires he saw from his ship off the coast, and in those days, fires of unimaginable magnitude raged through the continent. So in fact, before white man set a single foot on the continent, the existence of these fires was known.
After 200 years, one would imagine they would have figured a way to prevent or harness them. Actually, they will never be prevented. Fires are all part of the regeneration process. Postpone them this year and next year they'll return with a vengeance. Postpone 10, 20, 30 years...and we have the recent bushfires.

Ineptitude,
Complacency,
Stupidity.

Of course this will happen again. If they can't learn in 200 years, what makes anyone think this latest inferno's going make any difference.

And hey - the media's having a field day with it. A veritable smorgasboard of heroes, and tragedy; heartwarming fluffy animal stories; the mob raging for the hide of the alleged arsonist.

IT'S NOT ABOUT MONEY

2009-02-08T17:46:00.002+11:00

Peter Singer is an author. He's also described as, "one of the most influential thinkers of our time".

His most recent offering is entitled, "The Life You Can Save", is about saving money, essentially. And putting that money to a more magnanimous cause, such as saving a life. (Pass the bucket...).

"Around the world", he says, in response to a bottled water comment, "a billion people struggle to live each day on less than you paid for that drink".

Sure, I'll tell you what, Mr Singer, I'll just give all my money to the poor Africans and go live on the street. Find myself a nice brudge (hehe - that was a typo but then I thought I'd just leave it there for my Kiwi reader...) and live like a troll. Will that make you happy.
Notwithstanding that money, IS all that matters in the modern world (is there a better example of this than what's occurring now...?), throwing it at poverty isn't the answer. Socialism, as heart-warming as it may be, doesn't work. These people need to stop breeding like rabbits. Either that or accept that they're responsible for the life of that child - not some do-gooder on the other side of the world.

Take this American woman, whose IVF treatment resulted in eight more offspring - this on top of the six she already has. Are we seriously to believe this (unemployed) woman will cover the cost of bringing 14 children to adulthood, a cost currently standing at approximately 250,000 dollars a year?

Yeah, right on. You're not going to be scabbing of the system.

So, Mr Singer, I will continue to buy my tin of Coke and respectfully decline to save my 2 bucks in a wee tin to be sent dutifully to little Um Cawaba whose mother and father never once considered the ramifications of their rutting. And I'll give your book a miss, too.

FROM THE SUNDAY RAG

2009-02-08T17:20:00.002+11:00

"WOMEN ARE DRIVING THE DOWNSHIFT IN CAR SIZE"

This is news apparently? Not to me - I've been saying this for years now. That women are running the world. Maybe not at CEO level, but undoubtedly at "grass roots" level. And it's not just in terms of cars. Where families live; what they eat; wear, go on holiday - these are all determined by the females in families (presumably while the "male" (snigger snigger) is down at the hairdressers with his girlfriends getting his hair done.

Here's something else too. The article that follows the above headline comprises 8 columns. Not one mention of the point is made until the 5th. The writer just waffles on about who's selling the most and how the industry has collapsed in the wake of the downturn. Blah, blah, blah, spacefiller.
This alteration in decision making started long before the current crisis; in point of fact, this shift in control began some 10-15 years ago.

Actually, in a related matter, NDT (Nasal Delivery Technique) is an impotence prevention medicine for those "men" who are having trouble "keeping their end up" as it were.
The manufacturers of this product, when it first emerged, directed the ads at men. Presumably men, for whatever reason (embarrassment, denial, whichever) ignored them. So the ad companies have now switched their focus to the ladies, saying things like, "would you like a deeper more complete orgasm? Tired of waiting for your man to be a better lover? Try our new Nasal Delivery Technique and achieve the orgasm you've been searching for!" LOL Oh man. Hoho.

Men eh? Hahahahaha!

Funny thing is ladies, this is all your own doing. All these years of female empowerment have gelded your stud. Well done. No, seriously, lol, top marks! Hoho.

Oh man. Stop it, you're killing me with this shit.

FOR KB

2009-02-08T16:33:00.003+11:00

The Boys buggered off into the bush this morning. You'll probably be aware of the heatwave NSW is currently experiencing. Mid to high 40's in degrees. Brutal.
Anyway, they eventually reappeared about 2 hours later; Scoob first, puffing and panting but not overly so followed by Mutley about 15 minutes later...

...And he was fucked. I mean really knackered by the look of things. So much so that his panting had an "edge" to it - a hoarseness I've never seen nor heard before and his heart must've been working at 200 beats a minute.

Here we get to the point; his tongue was noticeably redder than usual (usually it, and in fact his gums, is a healthy pink). It also was lolling out of his mouth further than usual and had expanded at the end to approximately twice the normal width. In doing so it had reduced its thickness by half so in effect it was a wide, thin sliver. It was red because it was engorged with blood trying to cool near the surface of the tongue and the change in size and thickness increased the surface area and decreased the distance the blood vessels were from said surface.
All combined in cooling the blood.

All the while he's panting like his life depends on it. So hot and bothered he appeared, he couldn't even drink from his bowl for more than a few laps at a time, just enough to take on some desperately needed fluid while cooling the tongue, then would return to the verging on apoplectic panting (I really thought he was going to expire so frantic was he. Shit, I know if I was breathing like that, a heart attack would have eventuated).

After about 20 minutes of this, his rate began to slow, his tongue shrunk back to it's normal size and returned to the normal pink.
Was he walking around leaving small damp patches on the floor from his "sweating feet"? No - don't be absurd.

Let me tell you about sweat, KB. We (humans - for the purposes of this explanation. Horses as well - and no doubt other species) sweat to cool down. We do this by sweating obviously; the fluid lies on the surface of the skin and acts very like ether (if you remember your schooling, the ether experiment was where a small amount of the liquid was placed on an area of skin which would immediately feel cool...).
Human sweat works in the same fashion - i.e. cooling the skin, and the blood rushes to the surface of the cooling skin to take advantage. Similar to a car radiator where the water circulates and is cooled by the wind.

This is why animals with heavy, uniform body hair don't sweat. I will concede, however, despite having no evidence per se, that there may be sweat glands on the feet but they are so insignificant as to be pointless in terms of heat control.

So, your source? Go up to him/her, slap him/her about the head - one of those "THWACK" glancing blows that leaves the hair sticking up in an odd fashion, and say, "see next time you think about opening your mouth - don't!"

Be good KB - don't believe everything you read - or hear (except of course here, where you'll find the Gospel!)

MICHAEL PHELPS AND THE BONG

2009-02-07T17:30:00.002+11:00

Michael Phelps, the American Olympic swimmer who won something like eight gold medals and set as many records at the 2008 Olympics in Bejing, has been caught bang to rights smoking a bong. The picture was published in Britain's News of the World newspaper which frankly is a hair's breadth above toilet paper. But anything for a scoop, right?

I have to say though, the entire phrase, "smoking a bong" brings a smile to my, and most peoples' if they're honest, face. I mean, how can anyone take such a chucklesome statement seriously? Smoking a bong indeed, hoho.

Well someone has. In fact, several someone's has, not least of which, Kellogs, the cereal company and Phelps' multi-million (reportedly) dollar sponsor. They have decided Phelps' actions are not consistent with the image they present and are not renewing the swimmer's contract after it expires at the end of February. (Mind you, come the next Olympic Games and considering how much money Phelps makes them, money, as per usual, will talk and no doubt he'll find his way back when the suits at Kelloggs realise what they've done).

Swimming USA have also slapped a 3 month ban on him. However, several of his other sponsors have stuck by him presumably treating it as it is - that being, just a bong. It's hardly mainlining heroin.

Phelps himself has come out and shown the appropriate amount of contrition, admitting, under obvious yet unspoken duress, that he made a bad decision and that he nevertheless intends to continue training during the forced exclusion.

The funniest part of it all - other than the whole "bong" thing (hoho), is the one person he is most terrified of facing - his mother.

Hey Mike, give your Ma a full and unfettered explanation, I've no doubt she'll understand. Kelloggs? Tell them to get fucked! After you've set another plethora of world records, they'll be on their collective hands and knees begging to sponsor you again.

HAVE A GO AT THIS CRAZY BITCH

2009-02-07T03:19:00.007+11:00

Dominique Fisher and Wayne Robinson hooked up in a bar in a bar in Blackpool, England. As one does, they partied into the night, went back to her place, and spent the night together, snorting coke along the way.

All good.

They went their separate ways the following morning and later that day bumped into one another again.

More of the same ensued; more coke - with added valium chasers, hit the sheets and pass out.
Except this time when Wayne awoke, he found Dominique, while he was wasted, had taken a Stanley knife and cut her name into the flesh of his arm. Reasonably tidily too, I'd have to say - remember, the nutbag is off her head! (And Dominique, frankly, is no short name either, it's worth mentioning, I mean, it's hardly Kate or Emma or Jo, for example, and lots of curved letters...).
Seemingly on a roll and stirred on by her handywork, she proceeded to cut a tribal pattern on his left arm and a star on his back.

At this point I feel compelled to ask - exactly how wasted was he? Sounds like she could've had his nuts and he wouldn't've awoke. So there y'go kids, another reason not to take drugs!

Mr Robinson says he awoke to find himself covered in blood with Dominique snoring away next to him (no mention is made of the whereabouts of the "tool". (I'm not sure what would upset me more, the slashes on my body or the woman who the night before in my addled state had seemed like a goddess, snoring away like a fat trucker!)

Needless to say, our "body artist" was arrested and is currently on bail pending her trial. She claims he consented. He, obviously, denies such claims. (Well, he would, wouldn't he?)

Crazy, crazy woman.

MORE ON THE FILTH

2008-12-15T09:03:00.003+11:00

Figures have just been released showing 1400 of the boys in blue have been caught speeding in the last year, a significant amount in school zones (these zones have a 40kph limit to protect dumb as a stick kids who rush out onto the road without looking. Isn't that what the bloody parents are for...???).
Right away, Jason Morrison of radio 2GB, that fat tub of lard, leapt to the defence of "our police officers", claiming that "by the law of averages, bearing in mind how much time they spend on the road, the chances of breaking a road rule are greatly increased".
Fucking sycophant!

Let me tell you something fat boy; the bloody filth speed about because they think that because they ARE the law, they're above it.

He also spoke on his program about the Melbourne shooting and, surprise surprise, defended that also, spouting some shit about another case where some nutbag woman armed with a knife stood outside a police station and called the coppers out with intent to harm.
They came out and in the process of attempting to disarm the woman, one cop "suffered a cut to his head".

Is this really the standard of cop we now have in the force? These pathetic soft cocks who spend more time in counselling than they do protecting the public?

Oh boohoo, poor wittle powice officer got a cut to his head.

There's a common term that fits perfectly here and it starts, "if you can't stand the heat...".

LA COMES TO MELBOURNE

2008-12-14T14:33:00.003+11:00

Ive never had much of an opinion of the filth. Ever since my days as a young man when I raced about on my Powervalve (it's a motorbike - such a motorbike) and was relentlessly harrassed by a bored Police force which had been strengthened after an IRA bomb exploded in the town, and now several years on had nothing to do, my opinion towards them was one of contempt. You have to understand I was stopped three or four times a night and asked to show my licence to these bored cops. A pain in the arse!
(However, let me even the scales as it were by saying that in Ulster - Northern Ireland - in the late 60s, 70s and 80s, terrorism was at its peak and certain areas were virtually war zones – the worst being the county of Armagh, aka “bandit country”, and the border between the north and south where the PIRA (Provisional IRA) constantly ferried weapons across and sniped at security forces, killing dozens. The police and army who were based in this area had to wear flak jackets and carry sub-machine guns. Helicopters and armoured vehicles constantly patrolled.
So dangerous was this place, only unmarried officers were sent there as compensation claims were less than if a spouse or children were removed of a husband/father).
Nevertheless, aside from these dangerous areas, the Filth were nothing but a bloody nuisance.
And the following does nothing to change that opinion.

In Melbourne just recently, a 15 year old boy was shot and killed by four police officers, echoing the style of LA cops who have often shot before asking and regularly beat citizens, well, for fun it would appear.
It has, understandably, caused quite a stir.
This young boy, who had lost his father 4 years previous, had just a few hours earlier been robbed and beaten on a train (where were his protectors then?) He had come home upset, and left again in a state of distress. His mother had called the police, concerned for her son’s safety and asked them to find him and bring him home. She "had faith that the system would protect him from harm. The system failed him".
At some point the boy had acquired a knife. Shortly thereafter the police caught up with him at an empty skate park. He reportedly screamed at them, “kill me or I’ll kill you”. The boy was obviously disturbed but at this point was threatening no-one other than the four, adult, trained (allegedly) police officers. The boy was 5 foot 7 inches tall and weighed just 58 kilos. The cops apparently used capsicum spray on him but again apparently to no no effect. I've seen this substance demonstrated and if used correctly, i.e. in the subject's eyes, it is extremely effective. So our keystone cops must've aimed at his body or something...

Here’s where the travesty occurs: there were four, that’s right, FOUR police officers in attendance and when faced with a clearly disturbed youngster, they shot him seven times in what has been seen as a blatant execution. They claim they were threatened (all four of them? By a small boy?) Are we seriously to believe that four trained police officers, even given two were female, couldn’t disarm a 58 kilogram boy?
Moreover, why the hurry? The boy wasn’t a threat to anyone, except maybe himself; why couldn’t these supposedly trained cops have waited the boy out? Tried to talk him down as it were? He could only attack one at a time so that left three to restrain him. Was there any real need to fire seven shots from three guns into him? (It should be noted that in actual fact, ten shots were fired – three missed – so much for professionally trained police!) And who gave the order to shoot? Which one of these supposed professional police officers decided that four of them couldn’t disarm a slip of a teenager, and had to execute him? For Christ’s sake, I’m fairly confident I could disarm a 58 kilo boy by myself! Yet four cops couldn’t???? What is wrong with this picture?
This reeks of trigger-happy cops. Either that or cops who were trained so badly, they couldn’t handle the situation, in which case they shouldn't be cops. Well, their mishandling of it has resulted in the totally unnecessary death of a teenage boy. I think they should be charged with manslaughter – at least. Of course they won’t be; their actions have already been defended by their Commissioner. “Oh we have to keep the public safe”, he claims. What fucking public? It was the youngster and them – that’s it!

There is something very wrong here, when the people paid to protect us, go off like gun-toting cowboys from the Wild West. And undoubtedly get of scot-free.

HELLOOOOOO, POLLYEEEEEE!!!!!!!

2008-12-03T12:57:00.000+11:00

I've been communicating lately with a customer service person by the name of Polly. (Full name withheld obviously).

Python fans will recognise the title of this post immediately. And myself, being one such fan, did too, the first time I greeted the woman with the immortal words.

And now, every time I greet the woman, I'm reminded of Cleese and Palin in the famous Parrot sketch. Cleese swinging the, blue Norweigan I think, by the feet, banging it off the counter while loudly speaking, "Hellooooo, Pollyeeeee. Wakey, wakey".
Hahaha, oh man...priceless.

And leads to...

That, my friend, is a dead parrot. Deceased; bereft of life.

No it's not...it's sleeping!

Honestly, if you want to get anywhere in life, you have to complain til you're blue in the face!

Annnnyway...I'll never think of "Polly" the same way again.

UN-BE-FUCKING-LIEVEABLE #2

2008-11-28T03:30:00.002+11:00

WATER USAGE CHARGE ------------ $17.71

TOTAL SYDNEY WATER BILL ------------ $156.70

NUFF SAID!

NO MORE FREE BLOOD

2008-11-16T15:38:00.002+11:00

The NSW economy is in a shocking state. After years of mismanagement, first under Bob Carr, then after he saw the writing on the wall and then like the proverbial rat and the sinking ship, defected to the millionaire factory (the Macquarie Bank), the reigns were thrust upon Morris "the fuckwit" Iemma (remember that cretin...).

Iemma, then sacked by his own party for screaming incompetence, handed said reigns to Nathan Rees.

Rees, who's been under intense pressure ever since to do...something, anything to repair the damage has taken the chopper to the economy. First he has cancelled all students' bus passes. Now they have to pay for transport to their respective schools. He has also cancelled the pollies free transport on the public system (not that they ever used a train or bus - merely content to assure the desperate public as they squeezed into overcrowded, un-airconditioned trains, that the system was improving).

But now, in what has to be the most Scrooge-like of decisions, he has deemed it necessary to, wait for it, CHARGE PEOPLE FOR GIVING BLOOD!

Yep, you heard right; those people who give up their time and their very own blood are now having to pay for that privilege. This at a time when blood stocks are at an all time low and when the Red Cross et al are desperately advertising for more donors to come forward.

Good luck with that!

Un-fucking-believeable!

TO ANNOUNCE SCOOB'S PROMOTION TO "SUPERDOG".

2008-11-12T18:23:00.002+11:00

I always knew he was tough - my big man. He has never backed down from a rumble (in which he defends against an offence, it's important to point out) and remains undefeated in his battles.
Just recently he chased off another impertenent who dared puff out his chest. And this, one day after the event.
The event? I hear (someone - it might be just me playing devil's advocate, a means I use regularly to gain objectivity in all things...) ask.

Well, Scoob got hit by a car 3 nights ago. And when I say hit, I mean, SLAMMED! Front and centre. Virtually to the inch, the bumper of the vehicle right where the number plate lies, impacted with the left side of the his body at about 60kph.

He disappeared under the vehicle which, I must add, didn't slow down; no flash of brake lights, no change in engine pitch, just the dull thud of impact as it flattened Scoob in an instant.
A millisecond later the car sped on and revealed Scoob, who immediately sprung to his feet and bolted back towards home (thoroughly freaked out I'd imagine).
So off I went after him, noticing immediately that he was running perfectly well, therefore he mustn't have broken any legs. Of course, adrenalin, that most addictive of natural chemicals, could explain that but still, he was running fluently and so far he hadn't uttered a sound of pain or distress.
Nevertheless, internal injuries are, perhaps more so even, life-threatening so off I puffed (*damn you Winnie Blue!).

We arrived, (myself and Mutley, who at this point was feeling a tad ripped off at the "half-walk") to find Scoob on the back porch, panting away, but otherwise, to the naked eye unharmed, save for a skinned "elbow" of his front right leg.
Which he has proceeded to periodically over the days since zero hour lick clean. It's healing up very nicely. (Canine saliva - for canines - is like penicillin for dogs, a magic substance that appears to cure all ills).

So anyway...a note about the driver of the vehicle. As I have said, the vehicle didn't alter speed in any way. It was almost like she (bear with me) didn't realise she had hit anything at all; probably thought it was a bottle, or stone or something. An incorrect assumption no doubt facilitated by the loud "doof doof" music and the excitable jabbering to her bestest friend on the other end of her 25 megapixel superduper mobile phone.

I say she, because it was a "girl's" car (you know what I mean - one of those wee small gay looking cars in which hoards of teenage/young girls zip around like they're trying to kill themselves). It had the green "P" plate signifying the driver's inexperience too.

Scoob himself I've decided is partly to blame for stepping out in front of the car but he's only a dog, as they say so his responsibility is little.
Ultimately it is myself who must bear the greater responsibility. I know that. And I'm thankful to the power that decided to merely teach me an invaluable lesson, rather than enduring a much more painful end. One more foot either way, another millisecond in time, and Scoob would've been crushed under the wheels (wonder would he driver have stopped then...). Hard as he appears to be, he surely would've died should this have happened.
I won't let this happen again.

My self-obsessed ramblings aside, this post is to announce Scoob's promotion. Henceforth he shall be known as Superdog (But he knows "Scoob" so when out it'll have to remain that if I want him to obey).

* Winnie Blue - colloquially altered name of Australia's most popular tobacco, apparently.

THE FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT

2008-11-06T02:30:00.002+11:00

Barrack "Hussein" Obama. Hoho, now there's a name. Many thought they'd never live to see the day an African American won the race to the white house. Well, that day is now here. History making stuff in fact.

Except...

He's not really black. His father is black, an indiginent of Kenya, but his mother is a white American so he's more of a half caste type. Actually I haven't seen his mother but i have seen his grandmother in a picture from 1979 and she's white as bread so it follows.
So half black, half white. And to look at him you can see it. Not that there's anything wrong with that you understand but I wonder if he'd been full on black would he be there or is this halfway measure a way of breaking in the public for a full negro next time. Nothing wrong with that either, it's just a curiosity.

Anyway, he's in, and he's been handed the biggest bag of shite of an economy since time (America's at least) began.

Bit of work ahead. As I've said before, interesting times ahead.

THE VALENTINO EFFECT

2008-10-20T16:20:00.002+11:00

It's of no surprise of course, that Valentino has fans all over the world - and rightly so.

What is a little surprising though, is that when asked who he would like to be if he wasn't a hugely successful movie star (and the man of many a woman's dreams...), Brad Pitt replied, "Valentino Rossi".

It seems Braddy boy's a big MotoGP fan. He has visited Rossi in his race pit several times. Lucky bastard! (Pitt, not Rossi).

(Wouldn't mind being Rossi for a few days myself...).

A FAMILY AFFAIR

2008-10-13T07:24:00.001+11:00

The Bathurst 1000 was run yesterday. A V8 "Supercar" (as they like to refer to them) race which has over time achieved unparalleled adoration from fans. The race of races.

Bathurst Council, however, seeing the potential for money - (mmmm...loads of lovely money which they can use to buy hookers, go on overseas trips, bleed the system like a MF), have along with those easily led cretins in the world, promoted the race meet as...a family affair.
Bring your caravans, your 4000 dollar tents with barbecue, and worst of all (fucking nightmare in fact…) your kids. Yep, they’re not going to fuck up the weekend! I can just hear it, "Excuse me...do you mind not using that kind of language in front of my child".
Have you ever considered you dopey fuckin bint, that I (and others) may not love your wittle bundle of fun as much as you do? That the wee brat running around screaming actually annoys me (us) more than my swearing (at a race meet!!!) does, you?

Not to sound overly cranky, but it’s a motor race we’re talking about here. It’s not for families. I mean, really, it’s for gangs of blokes – not "gang" gangs, as would be typically imagined, but groups of blokes, beer, semi-naked girls etc.
Having a great ole time.
But his whole “family” thing seems to be at the heart of everything and no better place to see it nauseatingly demonstrated than morning fucking TV. Those news shows with the pretty presenters, the females (though they’d rather go to the sword than confess…) dressed in teasingly slinky clothes.
Hey, don’t blame me – I have to look a the women as sex objects to combat the aforementioned stomach-churning “family”… … bollocks!

A family affair indeed. FUCK OFF FROTBATYLDWY.
And stay the fuck away from my motorsport with your brats!!

NEWS IN BRIEF SUNDAY 12TH OCTOBER

2008-10-12T12:35:00.003+11:00

There's not a great deal in this weekend's Rag. Unsurprisingly, the current financial crisis takes up most of it. Turns out, the mammoth 700 billion rescue package may not actually be enough. Ouch.
I should point out, though, that the rescue packages from the various governments (US, British, German, Icelandic...to name but a few) aren't a product of the goverments' benevolence as they would have one believe. No, this is taxpayers' hard earned money that is taken from them.
And now it's being used to protect banks. Banks. Remember them? Those MFs who rip us off at every turn.
Now they're in trouble and good old Joe Blogs is having to bale them out. Then, when they reright themselves, it'll be back to stroking their benefactor.
Is this the definition of irony?

There's a piece inside the Rag which tells of "$7 Trillion wiped out by mad panic". Global shares it seems, have taken a battering. The US market fell by 18% - the worst weekly performance since 1914 apparently. The spite in me takes a certain amount of satisfaction from the knowledge that the rich aren't so rich anymore (mind you, they'll survive - they always do).

Britt Lapthorne, the Australian backpacker, has been found in the sea off the coast of Croatia. The headline of the story says, "Murdered and dumped at sea...). Further reading reveals that she was missing her arms too. A shark taking the limbs has been discounted which goes to add a rather macabre element to the already disturbing story. The parents are as one could imagine, devastated.

Returning to an old story, there's a small side piece entitled "Risk to obese mums". This article tells of the 45% increase of diabetes in the last ten years. Experts attribute such an increase to two things - women having children later in life and obesity. Frankly I think the later childbirth thing is simply to soften the blow for the fatties. I can't possibly see how having a child in later years can cause diabetes but obesity on the other hand is well known and proven to cause just that.

"Aww, don't vilify the fatties...it's not their fault. (Let's give it to the bastard smokers instead!!)"

Further in...a bit about the US Government investing heavily in banks, therefore extending the 700 billion package, and in effect nationalizing some. As I said, interesting times ahead.

Sarah Palin's in the news again (mind you it's an election year so she'll be in there every day for the duration...). This time she's accused of abusing her authority when she attempted to have her former brother-in-law, a state trooper, sacked by using her husband's contacts in the Governor's office.
Yeah...whatever, I'd still eat chips out of her pants!

The Pope has offended Jews apparently - by supporting declaring his controversial WWII predecessor Pius XII, a saint. Controversial because he refused to condemn the Holocaust.
The Pope offending someone??? Surely not!!!

That's about it. Some domestic stuff for which I can find no interest, the pretty people at parties, and that's all folks!

2008-10-10T21:02:00.003+11:00

Hardly Valentino I'll admit, but let me put it this way - what he is feeling as he's crouched over his mighty Yamaha M1, I'm feeling on the lesser yet still perfectly adequate ZX. (It matters not what one races - as long as one races...).

Concentration, focus, heart-pounding excitement. And a single-minded desire to push the man and machine to their absolute limits.

Nothing compares - except maybe a fighter jet but I haven't had the pleasure so who knows...

HOW MUCH # 2...

2008-10-10T20:08:00.002+11:00

In an earlier post I talked about the enormous figures being used nowadays to describe the global economy - tongue in cheek but as with most humour, an element of truth lies within.

Well, I heard a news report yesterday concerning America's "Debt Clock". This is a clock that records America's current debt level (which is so large it's almost incomprehensible...).

The current debt has reached such epic proportions that a digit space has had to be added to the already 14 spaces currently in use. I only saw a flash image of the clock so don't know if they display the cent figure, i.e. two more digit spaces after a digital point. One would understand if it was considered pointless - much like the fazing out of the diminutive "penny", or one cent. These figures, ironically, so tiny that they become effectively unusable - but for the sake of accuracy, they might remain pertinent.
Regardless, it's "the other end" of the fantastic figure that concerns this post.

And with this new space comes a new title for yet another level of numeracy.

"Quadrillion", apparently. I have no idea exactly what this "number" represents but as the previous highest was a trillion, and in maths quad represents four...

Mind you, current logic jumps a level, instead of a thousand million it's a billion so by that logic, a thousand trillion would be, what, this new quadrillion?

So for example, 4 thousand trillion would be 4 quadrillion.

See what I mean? When one speaks in this almost foreign tongue, the amounts represented are just "silly money" as they might say. Monopoly-like figures that have in part lost their meaning.

What's next? After quadrillion?

TWENTY-NINE YEARS OLD...EIGHTH WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP

2008-10-04T12:51:00.005+10:00

I'm talking of course, about the sensational Valentino Rossi.

Starting as a fresh-faced 16 year old in the 125 class, he spent his inaugural year learning the circuits and machine.

Second year he won the championship, becoming the youngest ever rider to win it. Record number one.

Next year he moved to the 250's. Again, the first year was spent learning the machine.

Second year he won the championship,

Then he moved to the sought after Premier class, at that time the vicious 500cc machines, which were all but guided missiles.

...Learned the machine, next year...well, you see where this is going.

Then he defended it the next year which is the true sign of a real champion.

He has won 6 times since, including five on the trot; 2001, the final 500cc race before the change to the MotoGP, 2002 and 3 then the switching of manufacturers from Honda to (the struggling at the time), Yamaha, and 04 and 05 followed. This winning spree also saw the machines develop from the 500s to the updated MotoGP machines which are (now) 800cc four stroke machines. They were 1000cc but deemed by the authorities too fast so the cc was reduced. Then motorcycle development being in perpetual motion as it is, saw the 800's being quicker than their larger, (therefore heavier) cousins.

And along the way he has broken record after record, including the revered title of most races in the Premier class, held since the 60's by Giamaco Agostini.

He now has but one record to chase - the most wins over all classes, a record held also by Agostini at 123. Valentino has 88.

So all hail Valentino; he is beyond question the most successful motorcycle pilot of all time - and still only 29 years of age.

SIR RICHARD'S AT IT AGAIN

2008-10-02T18:49:00.002+10:00

Yep, after, (successfully it must be said) taking on credit card institutions and the established airlines (British Airlines in fact were found to have acted unprofessionally when they attempted to prevent Virgin from operating - and were fined appropriately...) Sir Dicky, has now entered the fitness market.

And in typical fashion, and what we've come to expect from the great man's Virgin brand, he is offering a pay as you go fitness club without any of the extortionate exit fees that members have been charged for years.

I have a lot of time for this self-made millionaire.

More power to ye, Sir Richard.

lRISHMAN STILL IN COMA

2008-10-02T18:14:00.003+10:00

Twenty-nine year old David Keohane, an Irishman holidaying in Australia was out drinking with friends at the Coogee Bay Hotel in Sydney's Eastern Suburbs on Friday the 8th of August.

By 3 AM on the Saturday morning he was found unconscious on the street nearby. He was rushed to hospital where he slipped into a coma.

His parents flew him home to Ireland where he remains in the same condition. To the credit of his spirit, when his parents agreed to have the ventilator switched off, expecting him to pass away, he continued to breath on his own.

We can only hope.

A 20 year old Towelhead has been arrested and charged with attempted murder and faces other charges including robbery (the reason for the heinous attack). His skanky (probably Towelheaded as well) girlfriend has also been charged with hindering police and concealing a serious offence.
The police are searching for, and are confident of locating, a second man. No doubt another fuckin Towelhead.

This is why I don't go to bars - especially the notorious Coogee Bay Hotel which has a well-known shocking reputation for such acts of violence from its patrons.

Here we have a young man just out for a drink with friends, completely unaware of his immediate future and then...this.

Out of nowhere his life and that of his family and friends, is shattered.

Towelheads! Why don't you just fuck off back to you own country. (In all fairness though, this sort of behaviour isn't exclusively the domain of Towelheads - more young men of any creed - a fact of which I've always been aware, from the first day I went to a bar).
However, in this case it WAS a Towelhead so...I stand by my contention to send hem back to their own country.

I truly, deeply hate people like this and given the chance would beat them to death. Tell me I'm wrong!

THE WORDS THAT GAVE US THE MOST TROUBLE

2008-10-02T11:25:00.004+10:00

A list of words that in a poll of 3000 people, they found the most difficult to pronounce (they couldn't spell them either).

Phenomenon,
Anaesthetist,
Remuneration,
Ethnicity,
Philosophical,
Provocatively,
Anonymous
Thesaurus
Aluminium
Regularly
February
Particularly
Prioritising
Pronunciation (yeah - seriously, and hilariously)
Prejudice
Facilitate
Hospitable
Onomatopoeia

Aside from the last one, these are not difficult words to either pronounce or spell. Now, being that I have had a reading age above my actual age since day one, one might argue it's easy for me to say but I would maintain that anyone with even a modicum of education wouldn't find these difficult, and it just illustrates the woeful state of the modern day education system. (Governments for years have been reducing the pass marks so they can boast about how many students are passing exams. The result? Well, see for yourself. A nation of clots while the powers that be congratulate themselves).

It's a worry - and bloody phone text is almost singly responsible. That and spellchecker on computers. I don't use it myself - I have it switched off - because I can spell - because I was taught when young.

I must add, however, that I'm not infallible and do on occasion let the odd one past the keeper as it were but...fuck it, I'll just blame this poxy blogger!

WHY AM I NOT SURPRISED...?

2008-10-02T11:02:00.002+10:00

Some...TWAT has recently come out and said - with a straight face it must be said - that fatties should be allowed to claim their obesity on Medicare. (Medicare is the public health system - funded by the taxpayer).

I've no idea who the twat is, and could care even less, frankly, other than to display my derision towards him/her. But once again we see shocking discrimination. Fat bastards, who cost billions to health systems the world over, are being treated with kid gloves. "Aww, the poor fatties - it's not their fault - they have an illness, they can't help it; we must help them".
Well I'll tell ye what - first let's help them GET THEIR FAT ARSES OFF THE SOFA AND AWAY FROM BUNS AND CAKES. Like a buddy of mine said a while ago when some fat chick claimed it, "was water retention" that caused her obesity.

"Water retention, eh? More like cake retention". Hahahahaha!!!

But seriously though; once again, a disease (of the mind - and voluntarily in my opinion) is being treated with sympathy while the poor, much maligned smoker (who in fact costs LESS by comparison) still has to put up with vilification and those deeply fuckin offensive images splattered all over the packets.

This is the definition of discrimination. I'm going to find me a sharp American lawyer (because this type of lawyer only exists in the good ole US) and sue the fuck out of the government.

I've had enough. And I'll say one more time - how can one facet of society be forced to endure such oppressive criticism, yet the other, which now surpasses the former in terms of costs - not to mention needing TWO seats on public transport (trains, buses, planes etc), doesn't?

Anyone? Can anyone at all out there explain this to me? (A rhetorical question of course because there simply is no explanation for discrimination).

Y'fat tubs of lard.

ONE IN FIVE UNFIT TO BE A PARENT, EXPERT SAYS.

2008-10-02T10:42:00.002+10:00

This is the headline in an article in the Sunday Rag. And it refers to the claims of former Australian of the Year, Professor Fiona Stanley (Professor in what - talking shit??? An indication of the type of cretin chosen to be Australian of the Year. Tim Flannery was another one - he's a climate change freak).

She starts of well to be fair and frankly I agree - some people simply shouldn't be allowed to breed.

Stanley, an advisor to PM Kevin Rudd (another knucklehead who as it happens, in his short 6 month tenure as PM so far, has had 16 overseas trips while he rubs shoulders with the other world leaders - not to say HE in fact is a world leader), goes on to claim some parents lack the means or the life skills to adequately raise children.

So far so good, Fee.

But alas, it doesn't last. As she goes on to drop this spectacular clanger and with it, loses any semblance of credibility. You ready?

I quote:

"What we need is"...(brace yourself...) an AL GORE for child development".

Sweet Jesus.
Dear God.
In the name of...

Ms Stanley? Just keep your fuckin mouth shut love because if this is anything to go by you've got fuck all worth hearing!

Expert my DICK!!!!!

WOW - -HOW MUCH???

2008-09-25T10:54:00.002+10:00

America's deficit, it's recently been reported, is 11.3 trillion.
A staggering amount and as I started to write this, it just occurred to me that figures are becoming so immense in the modern day that "new" names for such amounts are being created - custom money, if y'like. Nothing has been seen before; amounts are becoming so vast that we no longer have established names for them. We must surely be approaching "gazillion". Or the hysterical, "brazillion" from the Bush joke, Three Brazillian soldiers have been killed, oh my God, how many's three brazillion!)

Setting the funnies aside, to try to add some perspective, 11.3 trillion is 11 thousand, three hundred separate piles of a billion dollars. Remember when a billion seemed to be a fantastic amount? (To add a little more perspective: 5 figures is a large amount to the majority - though admittedly less so than say three decades ago, which further supports the point. US deficit is...shit, hang on, I'll have to write this one down! Fourteen figures - in debt).

Money has become this monster after which we all crave; it is in fact our existence. Without it one can simply, not exist.

And now, in the midst of the recent financial instability, those with it are in large part, panicking - scrabbling to hold on to what they have.

The huge majority of individual homeowners who have lost said homes pale into a long-forgotten insignificance beside the recent collapse of massive mortgage houses whose disintegration has freaked out governments the world over - not less so the mighty US who've had to bale out several of them - at a cost of 700 billion.
(The government in fact are hoping it's an investment as traditionally the housing market has always bounced back so they are banking on -heh heh, pun IS intended - the market recovering and they making huge profits. Only time will tell. But keeping in mind this deficit, and the continuing amounts they are sinking into the Middle East, this move could be the definition of "sailing close to the wind".

Interesting times ahead.

RIP RICK WRIGHT

2008-09-23T18:01:00.002+10:00

Rick Wright, for those not in the know, (shame, shame, shame on you!) was the keyboard player for Pink Floyd. He died aged 65 from an undisclosed cancer.
Wright was the creator of the sublime intro to "Shine on You Crazy Diamond" (a touching lament for the founder member of "The Pink Floyd Sound" as it was known in 1965, Syd Barrett. Syd's erratic behaviour saw him replaced eventually with David Gilmour).
He also wrote "Us and Them", another classic from the equally sublime and world famous Dark Side of the Moon. This album often tops the list of world's best albums - and rightly so (no pun intended).

Wright and another member, Roger Waters had what best can be described as a turbulent relationship which eventually led to Wright being forced to resign from he band during the recording of 1979's The Wall.

Just after recording The Final Cut, Waters declared Pink Floyd, "a spent force" and left himself - and subsequently sued he rest of the band over rights to the name. Eventually he lost that fight.

Interesting sidebar: during their concerts, they often used these two enormous dirigibles in the shape of pigs that would float above the stage connected by cables (the same pig can be seen on the cover of their "Animals" album floating above London's Battersea Park. Hilariously, at one point one of the cables snapped and this massive "balloon" floated off across London and had to be shot down by the police).
Waters declared that they could no longer use these beasts either. So the rest of the band got round this by castrating the pigs. Y'see, they had been male - the rest of the band considered that if they cut the nads off them then they wouldn't be the same - exactly - hence hey could continue to use them.

Said David Gilmour of his long time friend:

"No one can replace Richard Wright. He was my musical partner and my friend. In the welter of arguments about who or what was Pink Floyd, Rick's enormous input was frequently forgotten. He was gentle, unassuming and private but his soulful voice and playing were vital, magical components of our most recognised Pink Floyd sound. I have never played with anyone quite like him. The blend of his and my voices and our musical telepathy reached their first major flowering in 1971 on 'Echoes'. In my view all the greatest PF moments are the ones where he is in full flow. After all, without 'Us and Them' and 'The Great Gig In The Sky', both of which he wrote, what would 'The Dark Side Of The Moon' have been? Without his quiet touch the Album 'Wish You Were Here' would not quite have worked. In our middle years, for many reasons he lost his way for a while, but in the early Nineties, with 'The Division Bell', his vitality, spark and humour returned to him and then the audience reaction to his appearances on my tour in 2006 was hugely uplifting and it's a mark of his modesty that those standing ovations came as a huge surprise to him, (though not to the rest of us). Like Rick, I don't find it easy to express my feelings in words, but I loved him and will miss him enormously".

Anyway, RIP Rick, your legacy will live on for years to come.

NEWS IN BRIEF - - SUNDAY 21ST SEPTEMBER

2008-09-21T13:44:00.004+10:00

I'll start with an exasperated sigh as I open the "Body and Soul" section to see a double page spread reporting on our need to "rethink our relationship with the sun's rays".

After years and years of the "slip, slop, slap" campaign to encourage people (morons) to put on sunscreen, hats and sunnies, we are now told, "hang on - maybe we were a bit too hasty with that".

Quelle surprise.

Dr Muttars has written about this before; that a body needs the suns rays as it's the primary source of vitamin D, and to completely isolate oneself from such a source will inevitably lead to problems in the future - hence this article - and its claim of increased reports of vitamin deficiency.

The headline concerns the NSW Premier Nathan Rees being told not to ask questions of his boss at the time, Milton Orkopolous, the child sex offender, if he wanted any kind of political future. Political expedience at its most insidious.

Page 8 has a report about child snatch cases; they seem to be on the increase which is a worry. Around 20 cases of attempted abduction have been reported in the last fortnight. Disturbing, (yet relieving to me at least that I don't have children).

On the opposite page is a picture of the dopey bint, Kate Milligan, she of the "glass in face" episode. And a report of the Police's dismay at Ms Milligan's refusal to cooperate with them regarding the case. They say the case is in danger of collapse because the woman would prefer to talk to the media rather than them. The accompanying picture of Ms Milligan shows the scar; admittedly it's not an enormous scar but that's hardly the point is it?
So yet another violent offender gets off scott free because of a weak woman.

A double spread on 14/15 reports on "The MOTHER OF ALL BAILOUTS". This concerns the one trillion rescue package from the Bush government for the shaky financial markets in the US. This on top of the 500 billion the Iraq/Afghanistan war has cost so far (with more - oh so much more - to come).
Not to be alarmist but this could be the beginning of the end for the mighty US. Although it may seem so, America's coffers are not a bottomless pit.

Page 30 has a report, again echoing what I have written many times in the past. That junk food should be treated as just as dangerous as cigarettes. They don't actually go as far as claiming that (because the editor wouldn't allow it - because he has to cater to the anti-smoking lobby - and politicians - and bleeding hearts - and ALL the rest) but the intimation is the same. That being that burgers, fries, chocolate et al are every bit as dangerous when overindulged, as tobacco (more so in fact - obesity is now a bigger killer than tobacco - and it costs health systems the world over, more. More exasperation from yours truly as I've been saying this for years...).

Page 33 carries a small piece about the injuries being experienced by parachutists in the Australian army. Some blah, blah, blah that ends with, "Military parachuting, as with civilian, is inherently risky. Which is why a reserve chute is carried".
I have skydived (skydove...?) about 200 times and frankly can't understand how people die doing it. If one packs one's chute correctly - which is quite simple actually - there is no reason why it won't deploy - as mine did every time of the 200 so...go figure, I think's the term.

34 and 35 have a report from a female cop whining on about how awful it was to have been attacked. Yeah, boohoo love - if you can't hack it get another job then - you're meant to be a tough police officer - not a baby! Join the ranks of something like 45% of cops who are currently on leave for "counselling" because they saw something "scary" or "upsetting". What...the fuck...happened to tough policemen? Keep bloody women off the front line for a start. How the hell can a five foot nothing female restrain an over six foot nutter? Answer: she can't. Nuff said there.

Next we have an article entitled, "What gives us stress?". The NRMA (a motoring organisation, strangely enough...) has conducted a study asking the question.

Smelly people,
Unstocked supermarket shelves,
The office know-it-all,
...are some of the top offenders.

I don't work in an office; supermarket shelves, stocked or otherwise, don't bother me, but don't get me started on stinking, smelly, unwashed and apparently unaware of a marvellous invention called soap and fucking water, mingers. It's the main reaon why I don't take public transport.

Page 39:

Ur kids r L8 4 skool.

With the subheading: Schools go high tech. It's a story about schools texting parent if their kids don't turn up for school. Dear God! High tech? Have you read the line. More like dumbed down if you ask me - and from a school too. Methinks here we have the answer as to why students are failing miserably at English.
But let's just consider this for a second. Someone's brat doesn't turn up so you send a text. Are you telling me that you life is so incredibly hectic that you can't even text, "Your kids are late for school"? Seriously? You're sooo busy you have to resort to this...this...abomination of English. Shame on you teacher/principal and if this is how you're going to act then you can kiss goodbye to any more money or holidays!
And staggeringly I just noticed on the same page, slightly lower, a small article concerning teachers "plea for funding". Gadzooks!!!

In world news, Tony Blair, the ex-British Prime Minister, is at the prestigious Yale University in the US. Preaching his message of faith to the Ivy-League students. Which faith?
Fuckin PAPISM!!!!! I'd prefer he preached Islam, frankly.

Russians attack Rice:

...Is the headline on 44. Condoleeza Rice, the American Secretary of State, gave a speech in Washington, claiming the Russians "had gone too far in Georgia, was taking a dark turn towards authoritarianism, and was on a one-way path to self-imposed isolation and international irrelevance".
Don't hold back Condo.
Russia replied with, "this is not the first time that representatives of the US government have grossly distorted the events by Georgian aggression against South Ossetia".
Looks like the fox, Sarah Palin could be right.

Politics, politics, politics...a bit about Sean Connery and how success put him under huge pressure (boohoo Sean - my heart bleeds!) cartoons and the pretty people at parties.

That's the Sunday Rag for this week, folks.

KATIE TELLS ALL...

2008-09-20T11:08:00.002+10:00

In a headline in the Saturday Rag that's sure to infuriate all previous victims of domestic violence, Katie Milligan, the abused girlfriend of Greg Bird, claims, "My Greg would never hurt me".

My first thought was, if this isn't hurting her I'd hate to see what would be. Remember, this man (loosely speaking of course) smashed a glass in the girl's face causing severe lacerations. And if this isn't "hurting", what's left - murder?

Yet in the words of Dolly Parton, she's "standing by her man".

Brings a whole new meaning to love hurts eh?

NEWS IN BRIEF

2008-09-14T12:00:00.002+10:00

Source: The Sunday Rag.

The front page carries the headline "POLL-AXED" and refers to the beating Labor has taken at the recent council elections. All as a result of Iemma and his co-conspirators' incompetence. (To be fair though, whilst absolving none of the blame, they were handed a bag of shit from... ...fucking Bob fucking Carr, that...fuck!!! Another Labor man.).

It's joined with a picture of Liz Kemp with her son. She is the (now) separated wife of "held in God-like status" Brett Lee, the idolized cricketer. Page three in fact has an almost full page spread of her enjoying more time with the kid.
Which is exactly what she accused Lee of doing yesterday. So, they both seem to be exploiting their parenting to the max.
Dirty, nasty stuff.
Anyway, boohoo, the rich and their "woe is me", "life's so hard", self obsession.
Stop it - you'll have me cryin into my yellow pack cornflakes!

Next two pages - politics. Snoozeville.

Next two ads and more politics, focussing this time on Reba Meagher, the ex-Health Minister - a truly woeful one.

So it's page nine before we get to anything worth caring about. A picture of a Great Dane standing over a Chihuahua and a story about "most destructive" dog breeds. This story will rely purely on statistical information and therefore flawed, but with the cutsey story about Rottweillers and their $3300 vases. Nevertheless it still beats politics! And let me add something here; one is more likely to be bitten or acted aggressively towards by the Chihuahua than the much larger dog. Fact.

Oh God. Page 13 has a story about Bob Irwin, the son off the late Steve who was tragically killed by a stingray barb in some paradise somewhere while filming his latest show. I think he actually was a decent sorta Joe and am certain he'd be turning in his grave at some of the exploits of his capitalistic wife, Terri.
Just as we're getting over the sickening overexposure of the pig-tailed Bindi, Bob's sister, now Bob is set to have his own show.

Next we have a double page of the Packers new 3.7 million dollar pool. Yep, you heard right - just the pool. The Packers are Australia's richest family. The patriarch, (Kerry - bit of a girly name) is dead; Jamie the son is now in charge. A shockingly unattractive man, just quietly, yet with a hot wife.

Oh oh. Page 17 carries a bit about the Papists and how they're being held responsible for the flu that currently seems to be affecting the general population. "Pilgrims" from 100 different countries, it seems, were a bit manky, bringing their diseases with them. You are well aware of my opinion of these people. And yes, by "these" I mean Papists!
The opposite page offers me my "last chance" to join the Fun Run. Yeah righto, where can I put my chair?

The teachers are planning a day of action. Because of the new "staff-transfer" system which allows for Principals to have ultimate control over hiring of new staff. As sympathetic as I am I can't get over the two months annual holidays, frankly.

A bit about Teens raiding their parents' pill closets for the hit is in there. No real biggie - kids have been ingesting powder and pills for decades. The much larger concern is still the piss.

America's getting whalloped by yet another hurricane. Dubbed "Ike", this one is similar in power to the famous Katrina. That makes four. Poor bastards.

A bit about Sarah Palin, the running mate of John McCain, who recently claimed America should consider going to war with Russia over the Georgian affair. She claims it's inevitable.
I think she's a fox.

And that's about it. Politics fills the rest of the Rag, then the comics and pictures of the beautiful at parties.

I SHOULD BE HAPPY...

2008-09-07T12:41:00.003+10:00

...but I'm not...well, I'm thrilled that Morris "the Fuckwit" Iemma and his band of merry incompetents, "Dr. Evil', the slap-headed Michael Costa, and Reba Meagher, the disastrous health minister, have been ousted, but such thrill is marred somewhat by the knowledge these cretins who almost single-handedly destroyed NSW's economy will leave with a 180,000 or so a year publicly funded pension - for life.

These morons should be forced to get a real job and pay their own way.

So we now have a new premier, who has ascended to the position by virtue of Iemma's sacking/resignation (he jumped after being told he would be pushed).

Some ex-garbo called Nathan Rees. In a poll, 50% had never heard of him, 30% thought he was a labour backbencher (which he is), 19 thought weatherman, and 1, an AFL star.
He in fact was a senior staffer to Milton...Akapocolis (or something like that) who recently has been jailed after being found guilty of child sex charges. (Rees denies any knowledge of it - he would wouldn't he).

Front page of the Saturday Rag sees him claim with gusto, that he wanted to have "a red hot go" at fixing the State's financial issues.

Well, Mr Rees, what if you're red hot go isn't enough? Iemma said much the same thing. In fact it was his catchcry for re-election. "There's more to do - but we're heading in the right direction". (The dead from the neck up majority believed him and re-elected the cretin. Now look where we are).

So do we now just wait to see if this similarly risen to power nobody by virtue of a resigned Premier can fulfill his hastily uttered promises?

If this one's anything like Iemma, then the State will be bankrupt in just a few years.

Christ help us then.

ME, THE CARPET RAT AND THE BOYS #2

2008-09-07T12:19:00.002+10:00

In the history of stupid dogs, this carpet rat must be king. Again it came scampering out of its garden, barking and carrying on like it's demented...and whether Scoob was the preordained target or just the closest, it went straight for him.

(Hellooo...little doggie...haven't we been here before? Remember? You shat yourself and ran away?)

This time Scoob defined cool. He dropped his head, growled from somewhere deep in his gut, and almost tediously chased the rat back into its garden. Sortof, "go away little dog - you're bothering me!"

New sheriff y'see.

TITS AND ASS

2008-09-05T17:41:00.002+10:00

It's the rating season on TV and the commercial channels have released their best offerings ("best" being relative of course).

Channel Nine's "best" is a show called The Strip and it concerns a bunch of pretty people solving crimes on the Gold Coast (Australia's equivalent to Venice Beach) and announced by a menacingly deep-voiced voice-over man in an attempt to convey the importance of the show.

It's been being advertised with that most popular of ways, the slow motion walk. The pretty ones strolling with purpose along the Coast's golden sands. Handsome men, pretty women with a body of a honey in the foreground (more tits).

I was at a colleague's house and happened to see a few minutes of the programme, hence the "tits and ass" heading for the post. Because really, that's all it is and what the producers are counting on to attract viewers - who'll be predominately men.

Take away the half-naked people and it's a mediocre show (even with the half-naked people it's still mediocre, frankly).

Compare this drivel with a re-runned show on Channel Two by the name of Wildside. This is also a cop show (from the 90's) based in Sydney's underbelly - gritty, dark, with great writing and quality actors who, whilst they're not hideous, cannot be described as pretty.
No beaches or colourful attire; just a dark, brooding snapshot of the underworld of Australia's premier city.
With great storylines and engaging characters. Top stuff.

AND AGAIN...

2008-09-04T07:15:00.005+10:00

I don't know if you're tired of hearing about it. For sure I'm getting tired writing about it.
What? You ask.

Sexual abuse by the papists.

This time it involves a 65 year old former priest of St Stanislaus College in Bathurst, west of Sydney, among others. The papist faces 33 charges of "sexual assault and gross acts of indecency on juveniles aged between 10 and 18".

It also transpires that one of the accused (it's not clear whether it's this priest or another) was a chaperone during the World Youth Day celebrations. Kinda cheapens it a bit really. I mean, here we are, meant to be celebrating all things Christian and at least one of the "leaders" is a sexual abuser.

When the fuck are you catholics going to do something about your sick masters? Or maybe that's how all papists get their jollies. Maybe you secretly like it. Maybe that's why you've embraced the faith - for the better sex life, whether your victim wants it or not.

Tell you what, shall we just sweep it under the carpet? As per usual? Shall we just continue to ignore your papist priests' indiscretions?

Or...maybe...nah, dumb idea. No wait, let's call them to account. Let's not just ignore it and treat the papist master in the funny hat like he's God's right hand man (which he's not, in fact). Let's take the awesome power away from the papists and make them pay for their paedophile priests. Let's get the fuckin pope to answer for the years of abuse - and when I say answer, I don't mean a stuttered apology. We don't want your fuckin apology, papist, we want you to stop your fuckin priests (no pun intended) buggering and raping young boys.

Again and again, we hear of yet another sicko priest touching up young boys while he rubs himself hard.

Catholics. This is your fault - all of you. You alone are responsible and only you can stop it. Don't you want to? Do you secretly condone it?

With your Hail Mary's and your bloody beads. Christ! Have a look at what you believe in for God's sake.

ME, THE CARPET RAT AND THE BOYS

2008-09-03T19:41:00.003+10:00

I was asked a while back if my Boys would defend me should I ever be set upon by someone. At the time I replied that I didn't know because, well, I've never BEEN set upon by someone.

That changed yesterday; except it wasn't someONE as much as someTHING. You'll remember the carpet rat that Scoob chased a short while ago? Well, the wee bastard came running out of its garden yapping away as per usual. And as per usual I, and the Boys, ignored it as a mere nuisance.

However, this time it ran up behind me (as all cowards do) and took a chunk out of the back of my leg (wee...fucker). It didn't hurt, nor really bothered me that much.

But my Boys leapt to my defence, immediately racing after the rat which proceeded to yelp like a wee girl and take off back to the safety of mummy.

So in answer to the question - yep, the Boys will defend me.

Go Boys!

DIRTY DOG

2008-09-03T18:08:00.002+10:00

Just recently, Australian soldiers in Afghanistan captured four Taliban fighters. Once captured and therefore prisoners of war, they had to be sequestered somewhere to prevent them being any more trouble.
And the only place at hand (they're in the desert remember) was several pens, that had reportedly been used to house dogs of some kind previously (attack, guard, something like that).
So in the Taliban fighters went. End of story. Move on to the next engagement.

Well not quite. Turns out the Afghan league, or society or Towelhead incorporated or something, in Australia are up in arms because their Muslim buddies were caged in a dog pen. They claim cultural insensitivity. Tch! Poppycock! More of this PC bollocks.

Y'see, apparently the Towelheads think dogs are "dirty" creatures. In fact, they aren't allowed in "living" areas of humans. (Which, frankly, is rich coming from those sandal-wearing, skirt-wearing, bearded, unwashed dirtbags).

Well I've news for you, Towelheads - this is a war - and many would say you lot started it so suck it up. (Of course, a fair few would say you just reacted but that's for another day...).

Bottom line: I'll take a dog over a Towelhead any day of the week!

CHURCH KNEW OF ABUSE ALLEGATIONS

2008-08-31T12:24:00.002+10:00

Of course it did. It knows about them all and just chooses to sweep them under the carpet.
This is the Papistry. And how it works. I'm not going to go into it again. Suffice to say the Catholic church is a veritable hotbed of corruption and sexual abuse.

And no-one seems to care enough to bring these sickos to account.

THUGS OF LEAGUE

2008-08-31T12:11:00.002+10:00

Sonny Bill Williams is an ex-Rugby League player who reneged on his 5 year contract to go play Union in France (for a shitload of money).

His only explanation - "I've had enough". I suspect he refers to the following amongst other things.

Greg Bird is, or rather was, a current League player for the Cronulla Sharks, (he's been fired). Why? Well, it seems Mr Bird, for reasons known only to him, "glassed" his American girlfriend, Katie Milligan, in the face. "Glassing" is the disgusting practice of smashing a glass in someone's face, causing severe lacerations at best, loss of sight and permanent scarring among the worst results.

A cowardly act, even more so against a woman - and beggaring belief when considered this particular woman was the man's girlfriend. What would make someone do such a thing?
Anyway, the bottom line is that he's been sacked from the club and rightfully so, and is now facing charges from the police (unless of course the woman, who must suffer from self esteem problems, retracts the charges. THAT would be hard to believe but it happens...).

So you see, whilst there are exceptions, League players ARE thugs in the main and frankly I don't blame Sonny Bill for wanting out.

METROSEXUAL OUT - - RETROSEXUAL IN.

2008-08-24T11:10:00.004+10:00

Yet another breed with a fancy title.

The Retrosexual. At least according to Dave Besley, author of The Retrosexual Manual. He describes them as, "real men who, value biffo, beer and breasts". I’ve news for you, Dave – that’s not a real man for a start – that’s a Neanderthal. And there’s damn all new about them. Actually, the over-indulgence in the second usually facilitates the involvement in the first.
Australian actor, Joel Edgerton, who welcomes the return of such a man says, "bring back the Steve McQueen types". He claims he is definitely not a metrosexual, that he's "not that into preening". Asked if he was the new Retrosexual he replied, "maybe I'm just lazy".
Soap star and Matrix actor, Clayton Watson (never heard of him...and that film was shite – all of them) says, “I think girls are over guys who are worried about waxing and exfoliation”. (If true, this has been your own fault ladies. I told you to be careful what you wish for).He goes on to claim he’d rather spend his weekends at the pub with his mates rather than shopping for clothes. (That’s of course, if his woman permits it!).
He goes on to say of his self-professed kind, “we like drinking beer; we swear a lot and we hate shaving”. Aside from sinking piss, does this remind you of anyone, readers? Yeah, that’s right – ME!!!
I’ve been saying this since the creation of the metrosexual – that spineless, gay as a tutu weirdo.
I’m a man. A real man. Hairy (but not Italian hairy); I don’t cry in public and definitely not in front of other men; I don’t use creams of any sort; I go to a barber, not a hairdresser; I don’t wear cute chains around my neck or bangles round my wrist; or, God help us - flip-flops; and yes, I swear – like a f**kin trooper.
That said, I know how to treat women, though the new, emboldened "equal to men" (which is absurd) women are a bit much to handle, being that they seem to hold Germaine Greer as their Queen.
I’m educated, well-spoken (hey, between the swearwords, I’m very articulate...so much so in fact that often I have to dumb down my language to be understood) and polite.

I have written of this before (it obviously fell on deaf ears - most of what I say does unfortunately...). Now it seems what women want, according to Dave...is me. A man, who's not afraid to act or look like a man. Rough, tough, yet smart and at times sensitive (but remember, let's not get carried away. There's sensitive and there's blubbing into one's coke at the movies!)

COLIN/COLINETTE

2008-08-22T20:20:00.003+10:00

Six days ago a young humpback calf wandered into Pittwater, a bay area just North of Sydney Harbour, and a playground for the well off.
It had clearly been separated from its mother and was lost.

Enter Australia’s finest, the NPWS (National Parks and Wildlife Service) and the catalogue of incompetence, rivalled only by fuckwit Iemma and his cronies in the NSW Labor Government, began.
We’ll fast forward to yesterday, some five days after the initial sighting of the distressed young whale. A day when they discovered he wasn’t in fact, Colin, so much as Colinette, a she.
Good work NPWS – only five days.

Back to the beginning.
Colinette, as I mentioned, drifted into Pittwater obviously lost and in distress, and began to swim up to any boats in the area that resembled the size of her mother.
The NPWS watched, and in their oh so important epiletted uniforms, discussed what to do.
One day turned into two; two into three; into four.
The young whale was starving to death while the “experts” (I have such fucking contempt for these people) sought advice from...well, fuckin everybody. Meantime, the whale starved and in its way, as a frightened child might, pleaded for help, demostrated by its constant nudging against the hulls of boats. A heart-tugging sight.
The NPWS continued to procrastinate. They set up an exclusion area to prevent those who had the wherewithal and desire to help, from coming near the terrified young whale.
At no time did they attempt to feed the hungry infant, despite having a precedent in America where they did exactly that. They watched it starve and as its health deteriorated, they wrung their collective hands and said, “there’s nothing we can do”. So not so much a “can do” attitude as “can’t do” then…
Six days later, they put the helpless animal to death.

The public were divided into two groups; one side claiming it was nature at work and people need to get over it, the other outraged at the NPWS’s apparent lack of action in helping the animal and it’s eventual destroying it.

The first group are a mixture of callous and indifference and are the sorts of people who if they own a dog for example, keep it outside. They cite examples in nature where this happens often. We know nothing about it, they argue. And they’re right –it does. Nature is very harsh at times. But on this occasion it didn’t. It occurred in full view of us and it is, (or at least, is in my world) incumbent on us as rulers of the planet to do what we can to protect those that can’t protect themselves – no matter what species. They should have towed it out to the migration lanes and waited. Sooner or later an adult would’ve appeared. They cruise up and down that coast all year round. True, they do have a “season’ as it were but also, it’s not unheard of for individuals just expelled from the group to be nomadic.
And if the worst was to eventuate and a surrogate didn't appear, well, at least they tried. Here they didn't. Didn't do a fucking thing - just let it suffer while they dawdled, the destroyed it.
They should've fed it, at least for the short term, to give it some breathing space. But no, the experts froze, completely stunned in their incompetence.

The second group have, judging by the radio calls I heard, the animal’s best interest at heart and fail to see how something can’t be done.

The geniuses with the university degrees (what, in sinking piss and rutting each other like pigs…?) towed the animal out to sea at one point and…left it. Sort of, “Ok, this’ll do”.
The whale followed them back, alone and frightened, seeking help.
The experts were stumped.
This was about incompetence and money, make no mistake. They didn’t want to spend the money they use to fund their cars and “educational” trips on just a whale.
It fine when they’re reaping it in while the whales migrate, when they charge king’s ransoms to send out their boats to whalewatch but when the time comes to step up and help one of the money making machines…
Tough shit for Colin/Colette.

KNOCK KNOCK - - WHO'S THERE.

2008-08-21T12:34:00.003+10:00

The Jovies, aka, Jehovah's Witnesses. Two Honeys in fact; a middle aged one with a pretty young novice in tow (Boing!).

Yep, they just called at my house to tell me that the Lord's return is imminent and that I should treat it as urgent (I said "He'd better get a move on - I've to go to the shops). They showed me a passage from a bible from a man who claimed such urgency, wait for it...around 300 BC. So...not really that urgent.

From some American reprint of the actual bible. New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures. I've never heard of it and the writer of this particular passage I've never heard of either and I know the bible (being that I was a Christian once upon a time - and a Sunday School teacher at that).

Anyway, the pleasant and courteous fellow that I am, I gave them the time to chat and they left me their publication, Watchtower from the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society of Pennsylvania, (made in Japan - isn't everything these days).

Anyway anyway, after they declined my offer to come in and get naked I gently 'chucked' them on their respective chins and sent them on their way.

I'm such a good boy!

ANOTHER SPECIES FACING EXTINCTION

2008-08-21T11:37:00.002+10:00

Sharks. "Terrors of the deep". Those prehistoric creatures who rule the seas and have done since the year dot (every living thing on earth originated from he water).

After the scare of "Jaws", that great film, they were hunted by the uneducated and ignorant, spurred on by fear. (Because, let's face it - it's OUR ocean - how dare they swim in it when we want to).

They're now in the sights of the capitalists. In search of the dollar. And for what do they slaughter these magnificent creatures? Their fins. That's it. They catch them, cut off their fins and throw them back into the sea where they drown.

Fuckin slopes!

And these wankers in Australia are no better. Between them, Melbourne, Brisbane and Cairns export approximately 200 tons of shark fin. Just to sate the unquenchable appetites of the billions of slopes. (These are the same people who are responsible - along with the US and India - for the majority of the world's greenhouse gases and who refuse point blank to sign the agreement to reduce said gases).

And so another species, which along with crocodiles, are the oldest on the planet - veritable dinosaurs in fact - are facing extinction.

What will happen when they're gone? Oh dear, no more shark fin soup!

Next!

FROM OUR WIRE SERVICES...

2008-08-18T19:07:00.003+10:00

...which appear to be bent, frankly.

The article pertains to the recent MotoGP round from the Czech Republic's Brno circuit.

I watched the race and Stoner and Rossi both buggered off on the rest of the field, creating a 7 second lead after just 5 laps. Stoner was trying to break Rossi and Rossi...well, he was doing what he does so well - just hanging behind, keeping pace, checking out his opponent's weak spots.
Lap 7 saw Stoner lose it when after braking hard into the turn and then releasing the brakes, his front end just let go sending him into the "kitty litter". Game over for him. Rossi went on to win by just shy of 17 seconds from Elias and Capirossi.

These are the facts.

The Daily Rag's report:

According to the Rag, Rossi said, "Without Stoner's fall I probably wouldn't have won".

Bollocks! I saw the race and the post race interviews (which is surprising in itself as no Aussies made the podium) and not once did Rossi even intimate such a thing. What he did say, however (paraphrased), was that he had Stoner's pace and was happy to sit there for the time being secure in the knowledge that he could pass him at will later in the race. It's classic Rossi.

He now has a 50 point lead with 6 rounds remaining. If Stoner wins every remaining race (hardly likely) and Rossi gets second, Rossi will still win the championship.

Number EIGHT. That's right, eight world titles and he's what, 26 or something?

As for The Daily Rag. Glorified toilet paper.

TRI NATIONS TIME AGAIN -- WOOHOO!

2008-08-16T07:04:00.002+10:00

From the home of the World Champions, the Springboks. They take on the Mighty Blacks, who, as it happens, are fielding a squad of almost new talent (eight new players debuting).

This will be very interesting. The Boks as far as I know are themselves fielding their usual team with probably a few minor changes.

But the Blacks have their apparent secret weapon - the spectacular Richie McCaw.

Let the battle commence.

STAND UP PEEING

2008-08-04T18:35:00.002+10:00

Some "athlete" ws on TV just a while back explaining what is entailed in taking a drug test for the Olympics.

She describes it as:

"You stand and lift your shirt up to your neck, and drop your trousers to your ankles and pee in a beaker - with a chaperone watching to prove it's actually your urine".

Hoho. Pretty straight forward for the men (matter of fact, some showoffs could go for distance haha. John Thomases are quite handy at times), but how does it work with the women? Does someone hold the cup while the girl stands knees apart? What about direction? Splashes?
And what if you let a fart sneak out while your flexing??

More importantly, isn't this very pose the favourite of flashers? (Not that I would know, you understand).

Oh man, such an image. Think I'll stick to the sofa...!

...And pass on that job!

PERSPECTIVE

2008-08-04T18:27:00.002+10:00

In Mugabeland, where inflation sits at two million percent, a loaf costs, what was it, 200 billion or something as ridiculous?

In the normal world where inflation is about 3-4 percent, the American Hello (or something - they're all the same to me), and another British mag have paid 15 million for pictures of the Brangelina offspring.

Credit to the parents, mind, they've donated it all to charity but still...15 million??? For baby pictures? They'd need to be able to flap the wings on their arses and fly for that sort of dough if ye ask me!

My word!!!

VENGEANCE SHALL BE MINE...

2008-08-02T23:41:00.005+10:00

...Saith the Mighty Blacks.

And such vengeance it was.

I watched the game at a mate's place and as it unfolded I was thinking, "KB'll be doing a happy dance. Sure enough, when I returned home there was an email informing me of exactly that.

A spectacular performance from the men across the Ditch. Beginning with a new version of the famed Haka, the Maori war dance. And it's a whopper...a real beaut, arguably (by me at least), the best ever. Ali Williams is one scary looking MF. Matter of fact, during it they all look scary.

They crossed for four tries against Deans' men's one. Dan Carter's boot was for the most part on target (you missed one Dan - try harder, Giteau missed none!).

Nonu was in scintillating form, breaking for it time and time again and scoring two of the four tries in the process, his second heartbreaking one, after the time horn blew (they let the play finish - for those not in the know).

The Wallabies fought back for a while, scoring a try themselves but eventually (and historically inevitably, notwithstanding the rather shocking double loss recently) succumbed to the might of the Black's offence which was relentless. Time after time the men in green and gold left the field with blood flowing from various tears to their heads.
Richie McCaw, the captain returned from injury led his troops like a legend. The TV commentator alluded to the enormous weight on the young man's shoulder (the weight of a nation, were I think the commentator's words...). He was everywhere, almost omnipresent but it was quite obviously a team effort as every man had a go, breaking, dodging, slamming...
Still the juggernaut continued.

A final score of 39-10 sees New Zealand move to the top of the Tri-Nation's ladder, virtue of Nonu's bonus point awarding fourth try, with tonights defeated Wallabies in close second, one point behind but with a game in hand. The Boks (current World Champions) are in last, also with a game in hand, on 5.

Note: I discovered this from the Sunday Rag the next day as the dickhead Australians didn't show any interviews (both captains/both coaches) because they lost and like spoilt little children they "took their ball home". Christ, I have to get the fuck out of this place! Where will I move to? Answers on a postcard...

Anyway, the comp is still wide open.

Classic All Blacks just stompin' their foe.

Two weeks til the next Tri Nations game (The Blacks vs The Boks)

Dance away, KB.

BLEDISLOE CUP - - GAME TWO

2008-08-02T14:53:00.002+10:00

It's on. After getting well beaten by Dean's Wallabies, the Mighty Blacks now have a home game at Eden Park, Auckland to seek their revenge.

And they have their inspirational captain, Richie McCaw back, returning from an ankle injury.

Whatever happens, it'll be a beaut. Ever since Deans took over the coaching duties of the Wallabies, they haven't lost. And that, considering the Wallabies' previous woeful record, is quite the accolade. So no matter what happens in future (this for you, KB) console yourself with the fact that each success is down to a Kiwi.

Game on people. Woohoo!!

GET THEM OUT OF SIGHT...DON'T GO NEAR THE LEPERS

2008-08-02T14:26:00.004+10:00

There’s a brutal anti smoking ad on tv. It shows a middle aged man who in life would have been quite the larrakin, but now, after having suffered a stroke as a result of smoking (allegedly – I believe nothing those people say and I’d give them the cane, were it up to me…! I of course refer to the anti-smoking Nazis) he is now trapped in a paralysed, stroke afflicted body, being tended to by his destroyed but stoic wife.
He talks about his kid, so although we don’t see them in the ad, it’s clear they exist and the intimation is that they, too, are suffering the same fate as their mother – minus the clear understanding.

It’s a fucking rough advert, and no mistake.

It’s also a fact – but not a guarantee. It’s like this:

I know smoking is detrimental to my health. There exist wee men in deepest darkest Peru with bones through their noses who fucking know as well.
However, you simply cannot guarantee that this end will be my (or anyone’s end). Which is exactly, word for word, what you’re doing. A desperate act from a cartel bereft of ideas and with no concrete evidence, resorting to scare tactics - which history has proven doesn't work.
Smoking, in point of fact, doesn’t always kill. (It does however, fuck one’s lungs but that isn’t my current point – and even if it was, who the fuck are you to tell me I can’t. There are countless ways life can kill us and if you’re going to start instructing me in how to live, complete with vicious fucking legislation, then life is truly at an end…)

Another of these ads show a smoker being operated on by surgeons to remove “fatty deposits” that can “lead to a stroke, blindness” blah, blah, fucking blah. Once again – a possibility, not certainty…
What is a certainty though, is that if you are obese, remember them, you know who I mean...the fatties, those blobs of human dough who sweat and wobble through life gorging on whatever they can lay their meaty, sausage-like fingers on, they will die earlier than expected. And be every bit as unhealthy (arguably more so) as the much maligned smoker. A smoker's health is affected predominately by the reduction in lung capacity - a fatty's by the fact that their body weight has doubled, tripled in size, thus putting their heart under incredible strain as the organ created to carry a finite amount now has to cope with this amount doubling/tripling.

And if you want facts and figures...go and look them up yourself (I've never been a researcher) but the crux is this:

Global obesity now costs more in terms of human life and strain on the health systems than tobacco related diseases. This is a fact – look it up.
And so, employing society’s own rationale, and given that our roly-poly friends don’t have to view the same deterrent as a similar group, then it can only be deduced that a form of discrimination exists.
And has done for years. In fact, now, under instruction of that fuckwit, Iemma, the cretinous NSW Premier, all tobacco products are now being forced “under the counter” – to protect the young from their fatal influence.
Meantime said young are imitating their porky parents and eating themselves to the aforementioned early grave. While washing it down with copious amounts of piss and staggering their way to beatings, stabbings and unwanted pregnancies.

The humble smoke doesn't seem so bad now...

INFLATION HARDLY DESCRIBES IT...

2008-07-23T12:28:00.003+10:00

Mugabe land, aka, Zimbabwe, has just produced its first 100 billion dollar note.

What can one buy for such an incredible note?

Two loaves of bread. That's it. 50 bil a loaf.

Far out.

MADDIE

2008-07-22T11:35:00.002+10:00

The Madeline McCann case is now officially closed. The little girl still hasn't been found but the authorities have given up looking.

It means the McCanns can now access the police file, which while the case was open, was blocked.

They say, as one would imagine, that they'll never give up looking but it's been more than a year so...God Himself only knows where the girl is. Whether she's alive or dead.

I don't know which would be worse; dead, she's at peace, but if she's alive, who knows what horrors she must have faced and is still facing.

The parents must be out of their minds.

OH-OH

2008-07-21T23:42:00.002+10:00

After some months of experimentation and research I have come to the conclusion that I have emphysema of the upper portion of both my lungs. (I also have chronic fuckin heartburn - think it was the fish and chips earlier. The two aren't connected).

Fuck! I'm not invincible after all!

Might be time to stop smoking. And maybe take up the football I've been thinking of. I train my mate's young fella in the art of striking (as I used to play often as a wee lad) and it turns out I still have great accuracy.
Can curve it and everything.

Hey, I'm like the David Beckham of Warragamba (without the fitness...and the good looks...and the adoration...oh yeah - and the wife's underwear!)

Reminds me of a joke"

First man: "I can't wait t'get home to get the wifes knickers off".
Second man: "Yeah"?
First man: "Yeah, they're fuckin killin me"!

US MOTOGP

2008-07-21T18:31:00.002+10:00

It was run early this morning AEST. And from the lights onwards it was between two protagonists. Casey Stoner and Valentino Rossi.

The Australian, Casey Stoner, is the current World Champion, a title he earned more off the back of Ducati's superfast machine than his ability. (That said, the young chap clearly has ability, I don't question that...).
Italy's Valentino Rossi currently leads the World Championship and if this race is anything to go by, fully intends on recapturing it.

Stoner had been the fastest throughout all the practice sessions by a cool half second, which as anyone who's ever raced would know, is a fair amount (for example, times 32 laps is a sixteen second lead on the last lap).

Right from the get go these two raced away from the rest of the field, opening a seven second gap in as many laps. In a league of their own, they were never more than a few bike lengths apart (and often not even that).

Stoner on Pole, had a trademark fast start; Rossi, from second, too (albeit not so trademark - not that it matters a whole lot as he simply carves his way to the front regardless...).

Over the next laps they each overtook one another, Stoner clearly attempting to break the tow, and aware of his practice time advantage, took the lead.
Immediately Rossi backed it in and retook the lead.
Again stoner.
Again Rossi.

This went on all race, at times fairings and elbows touched as one (Rossi) through sheer will forced his way through. It was tight - so very tight, and is generally considered to be exciting, nay thrilling racing to watch ('s pretty bloody good to take part in too actually - woohoo!)

Anyway, in short, Rossi did to Stoner, the same thing he did to Gibernau some years ago (when on the final corner he just stuck it up the inside forcing his competitor wide. Note: In point of fact, Gibernau did "leave the door open" as they say. I saw it). Time after time. And eventually, demonstrating perhaps his true ability, Stoner cracked, and overshot, ending up in the gravel. Race over, for first at least - he remounted and finished second such was the lead they had.
To Stoner, Rossi's moves weren't quite as vicious, more...determined. (There's a mentality in sport where one's mindset is more vital than physical or machine ability).

That didn't however, stop Stoner crying like a baby after the race. Boo-hoo, those moves were too tough, he whined.
Yes they were, but

a. they weren't dangerous, and
b. if the "wheel's space" wasn't there, the move couldn't've been attempted.

So...

Away back to your dollies wee lad if you can't hack it.
Or toughen up because this is exactly what broke Gibernau's career. He couldn't hack the constant pressure from the undisputed world's best rider. (He didn't win 7 world championships by being nice (Heh heh, thataboy!)

Fact is, there are few, if any, who can defeat Rossi in a head to head. It's not unheard of, but his trademark is to apply serious pressure when he's right on the shoulder of the leader, trying to force an error - and almost always succeeds.
This isn't a gentleman's club - it's a bike race, and if you leave an inch...well, all one needs is a front tyre width. That's enough.

LMAO - TWO ARSEHOLES

2008-07-20T12:11:00.002+10:00

Gordon Brown called Alastair Darling into his office one day & said, '
> Alastair , I have a great idea! We are going to go all out to win back
> Middle England '.
>
> 'Good idea PM, how will we go about it?' said Darling.
>
> 'Well' said Brown 'we'll get ourselves two of those long Barbour coats,
> some proper wellies, a stick & a flat cap, oh & a Labrador. Then we'll
> really look the part. We'll go to a nice old country pub, in Much
> Something or other, & we'll show we really enjoy the countryside,
> ........ oh & remember not to mention the hunting with dogs Act'
>
> 'Right PM' said Darling. So a few days later, all kitted out & with the
> requisite Labrador at heel, they set off from London .
>
> Eventually they arrived at just the place they were looking for & found
> a lovely country pub &, with the dog, went in & up to the bar.
>
> 'Good evening Landlord, two pints of you best ale, from the wood please'
> said Brown .
>
> 'Good evening Prime Minister' said the landlord, 'two pints of best it
> is, coming up'
>
> Brown & Darling stood leaning on the bar contemplating new taxes,
> nodding now & again to those who came in for a drink, whilst the dog lay
> quietly at their feet. As they drank their beer they chatted about how
> heart-rending it was that pensioners were being imprisoned for not
> paying the council tax.
>
> All of a sudden, the door from the adjacent bar opened & in came a
> grizzled old shepherd, complete with crook. He walked up to the Labrador
> , lifted its tail & looked underneath, shrugged his shoulders & walked
> back to the other bar. A few moments later, in came a wizened farmer who
> followed the same procedure.
>
> To the bewilderment of Brown & Darling people of all ages & gender
> followed suit over the next hour.
>
> Eventually, unable to stand it any longer, Darling called the landlord
> over.
>
> 'Tell me' said Darling, 'Why did all those people come in & look under
> the dog's tail like that? Is it an old Custom?
>
> 'Good Lord no,' said the landlord. 'It's just that someone has told them
> that there was a Labrador in this bar with two arseholes'.

FUCK MAN --THEY'RE HERE.

2008-07-15T23:28:00.004+10:00

Papist Day has arrived. Papist week actually.

200,000 odd of them crushed into Darling Harbour and surrounds for the opening mass.

And on stage - a couple of hundred 'hats'; the leaders of the throng (no Pope as yet though). Cardinal George Pell, who's facing issues of his own currently, involving carpets and the sweeping under thereof, spoke about how good it is to celebrate freedom and love (as long as you're not gay...or exercising your right to NOT have a child...or wearing an annoying t-shirt).

And proving the world DOESN'T stop turning just because the Pope's in town - the humble Aussie meat pie is now the World Youth Day meat pie. Complete with the 'swishes' of the Opera House rooves.

Gotta love those capitalists.

I wonder what God really thinks*. I can't imagine He'd approve.

*About the Catholic church and its ways - not the pies (man's gotta eat...or Mrs Mac in this case - who's probably eating caviar with the proceeds off all the flogged pies!)

BOKS/ALL BLACKS' TEST MATCH

2008-07-13T23:17:00.004+10:00

As you know I no longer have Austar (remember those fuckers?) and so I have to seek out other places to watch the Test Matches (except the ones involving Australia which are shown on terrestrial TV - wankers!).
Which means bars. Now I’m not a big drinker – in fact, I have barely contained contempt for those who imbibe as a way of life (which is pretty much all Australians. There’s a macho, beer-swilling (yet fearful of their women) mentality about these people that irritates the fuck outa me).
Anyway, bars it is.
So I go to my “local”, which isn’t really my local as I live half an hour away; my actual local is this plastic, glass and steel establishment whose atmosphere more represents an airport lounge than a bar.
Note: I love airports so it’s not like I have anything against lounges but…we’re talking bars here. Aussies, it seems, can’t do bars.
Anyway, anyway, this particular local is local to my mate’s place – a two minute walk so it’s handy. And they have satellite TV. Ergo, they would be able to show the game. You’d think, right?
Well think again – this is “footy” territory, known by it’s real term, Rugby League – game much the same as rugby, and with the same strong, muscled young blokes except with little in the way of grey matter.
Fans of such knuckleheads, (aspiring knuckleheads with no talent) who were of course, hammered, presented their case with typified class last night.
As I’ve said, it’s footy territory, and so I actually, (despite their being about 15 TVs in the place…) had to request the viewing of the rugby. Which, credit to the wee girl behind the bar (think it was more my accent than the request…), was readily granted; presumably because they too, knew there was a plethora of TVs.
That was at 5 PM.
At 530, the manageress came out (because I and my mate smoke so yes we could watch the game, but it would have to be outside in the cold…BRRRRR!!!) and started searching for the correct channel. 3 Knuckleheads had been sucking down piss (and had been for some hours judging by their state – leaning on things to prevent sway, incoherent rambling, accompanied by the odd jettisoned wayward spittle – why do they always lean in close? – and get pushed back to arms length by yours truly. It always seems to halt their flow, the slight on their piss-induced attempted camaraderie. Kinda like, "Hey man, fuckin buddy up over there"!
And they were content to watch “the ponies”; horse and single man cart racing on which people spend copious amounts of money in a vain attempt to make a fast buck. Some successful, some not so.
So, immediately after the girl started flicking, the rabble was startled from their drunken state momentarily as they voiced their disapproval of the channel being changed with a chorus of unintelligible grunts and snorts.
The natives weren’t happy.
But the wee girl, power to her, wasn’t having any of it and told them straight, someone requested it. Eventually the question was asked, “who wants the League?”
Everyone but me (hoho – a prince amongst buffoons). And my mate but he was here more for the piss and chance, however slim, of meeting a woman.
Damn.
I discovered subsequently, however, the rugby was being played on a 4 times bigger TV – the old Plasma TVs – inside and I could also see it from outside while I sucked dowm my own particular vice.
So the buffoons it seems just shot themselves in the foot (Hoho)
We went inside, thus avoiding the cold and the aforementioned incoherent but intrusive ramblings from the drunks. And chased away an aul boy (with an audible
“Hrmph”) who had been silently sitting at the plasma screen which previously had been showing footy but due to his footy mates outside, now found himself banished outside into the cold.
Anyway, I eventually go to watch the match which was between The Springboks (South Africa) and the Mighty Blacks (New Zealand), who it turned out weren’t quite mighty enough this time around.
It was a hard game with the Boks scoring two to the Mighty Blacks' one with the rest scored by the boot, finishing 30-28 to the “Boks”. Defence was the key. The importance of this emerged at the 2003 World Cup and has carried on since. It can make for a slower game, true, but we can’t tell teams not to defend – it’s an essential part of the play. The opposition will just have to try harder; it’ll make for a good hard slog, which this game was. Probably the two strongest packs in the world. It’s no wonder the poor bastard stuck in the middle looks like he’s gasping for breath – he probably is!
I wonder how the absence of Richie McCaw affected the outcome. Can’t be ignored.
Anyway, I saw it and it was good and as a bonus created a bit of a stir amongst the yokels.
Result.
Back in a fortnight to see another. The Boks play the Wallabies (Australia) next week and should pound them, notwithstanding the “Deans” factor.

JERRRY... YOU HAVE TO SEE THE BAAAY-BEE...

2008-07-09T22:53:00.007+10:00

Heh heh. One of Seinfeld's classic episodes - one of many...

Nicole Kidman’s been knocked up by Keith Urban the country singer. It happened nine month’s ago in fact, (about 11 I think, actually, the sprog's out and about).
Anyway she was and she’s dropped it out. And the gossip mags have been all over it and the pair every chance they have. One going as far as claiming they are Australia's "Royalty" (meantime doing all they can to disassociate themselves from their actual Royalty - the Queen of England is still their Head of State much to their dismay, vocal dismay often).

They’ve called it Sunday…something, the second name is relatively normal, it’s the Christian name that’s a bit out there.
Apparently it’s after some…person of interest who must have done something remarkable. I think it was writing or speaking out or something, it's not essential to the piece. Unless of course, like most pieces it's to blow sunshine up the arse of the woman to justify giving the kid such a name. (You just know she'll be called every other day of the week by all and sundry...Y'know, some parents really should take more care when naming their offspring. And if she turns out to be as loose as her namesake I can just see her being referred to as "anyday". Read on...).

The thing is, they claim the name as being synonymous with a worthy ideal, that the person after whom the kid’s named is some sort of intellectual who waxes lyrical on a daily basis; which she may well do but it should also be noted, this apparent noble carried on a ménage a trios with her husband and some other joe for a large part of her life.

Some chick havin' it away with two joes? That’s just a little too keen of the long hard one to warrant me to naming a child after.

What? Should I give my congratulations? Righto. Congrats Nic – for getting knocked up. On ye Keith for knocking her up. I’m thrilled for ye – rolls eyes, wonders what so hard about getting knocked up...no pun intended

THEY JUST CAN'T KEEP IT IN THEIR KAKS...

2008-07-09T22:39:00.003+10:00

You may well be beginning to think that just maybe I have a particular dislike of the Catholic church (…and you’d be right…), but in my defence...

Cardinal George Pell is Australia’s most senior catholic. He stands accused of covering up a case of homosexual abuse involving one of his priests.
He labelled the published claims as an embarrassment leading up to the Papist day celebrations. And allegedly sent misleading information to the victim.
He now claims the missive was badly worded and a “mistake”. (Beep, beep, beep??)

Whether he covered it up or not although serious enough considering the corruption ramifications is bad enough but let’s not forget yet another fuckin priest is up to no good again. Sticking his dick where it shouldn’t be.
And they’re coming here to celebrate. And I’m not allowed to protest unless I follow what surely is the sternest set of guidelines since the Nazis. The laws introduced for the event "suspend political and civil rights" according to an independent report. And the Council for Civil Liberties is suing the State Government over it.

What do they expect me to do? Just forget what they do – and have done – and currently do? Just so they can recruit? (By the way, the first batch of "pilgrims" arrived today).
To bask in glory at my expense (it’s not about the money – but fuck me, 130 million? What’s that, a percentage measured in single figures of their total, outrageous wealth?)

How could God condone this? Surely he doesn’t. Where does that then leave the Papists?

CHECK THIS OUT.

2008-07-07T21:38:00.006+10:00

The picture really speaks for itself. This joe jumped in after the bear - after they'd shot it in the arse with a tranquilizer dart (would tend to make one bolt...).
and it raced straight into the water where it passed out and began to drown.

Lucky bastard (the joe - not the bear).

The arse shot (it's okay, it's not naked!)

Everyone here's (excepting the bear) a puddin'! See what happens when you stop people smoking!!!

*Images courtesy of the Courier Mail*