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.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
MADDIE
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.
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.
Monday, July 21, 2008
OH-OH
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"!
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
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.
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.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
LMAO - TWO ARSEHOLES
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'.
> 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'.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
FUCK MAN --THEY'RE HERE.
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!)
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!)
Sunday, July 13, 2008
BOKS/ALL BLACKS' TEST MATCH
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
JERRRY... YOU HAVE TO SEE THE BAAAY-BEE...
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
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...
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?
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?
Monday, July 07, 2008
CHECK THIS OUT.
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*
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*
Sunday, July 06, 2008
HOW DESPERATE IS THIS...?
The latest thing, according to TV execs.
"Battle of the Choirs". A bunch of no-marks singing to a panels of "expert" judges.
OH
MY
GOD!!!!!
"Battle of the Choirs". A bunch of no-marks singing to a panels of "expert" judges.
OH
MY
GOD!!!!!
BILL HENSON'S LEGACY
In the continuing Bill Henson saga (you’ll remember the imfamous nude 13 year old pictures from that exhibition, at the Roslyn Oxley9 Gallery in the Sydney suburb of Padington …) the art community, specifically The Art Monthly Australia, has fired off its latest salvo in defiance of the somewhat media-driven public outrage.
This time, in a move that puts the 13 year old in the positively adult bracket, a six year old is seen to grace the cover of July’s edition of the magazine – naked of course.
Some of Bill Henson’s works are featured within.
Maurice O’Riordan, in the editorial of the magazine, writes that he chose the 2003 image of the child (the photographer’s own child apparently) in the, “hope of restoring some dignity to the debate” and to, “validate nudity and childhood as subjects for art”.
The artist, Ms Papapetrou, said she supports the publication of the work on the cover of the magazine.
She goes on to claim, “we need to be clever enough to distinguish art from other types of images otherwise we live in danger of eradicating any image of childhood in this culture for future generations to see”.
Premier Morris Iemma ( not that I put any stock in what that moron has to say, but for purposes of the article and in view of the fact hat he was elected - albiet by equally moronic voters) has immediately threatened to withdraw the funding Art Monthly Australia receives from the State Government. It also receives more than 50,000 from the Federal Government.
He claims, unsurprisingly, “Images of this kind are distasteful, exploitative of children – a cheap, sick, stunt at the expense of a young child”. (Mr Iemma can’t think for himself though so…make of that what you will).
A spokeswoman for the Australia Council who fund the magazine, defended their decision to do so
To play advocate to the “popinjays”, (and let’s face it, with a name like Maurice, how could he be anything but…) they claim that any given image of any given thing, be it man, woman, or child, can be viewed from a purely artistic perspective and in fact it’s not a naked picture of a child they see, but an expression of childhood.
The opponents claim that it’s simply another example of the sexualisation of children and that the risk that it could provide fodder to those with less noble or artistic motives is simply to big a risk to take. Because, in their defence, paedophiles can't be identified just by sight.
They cite examples of clothes manufactured for children as young as 3, which are clearly intended to duplicate a sexy look more typically used by older teens and adults.
Then of course, as in all things, the zealots on the fringe who outrage about paedophilia put in their tuppence worth – which frankly isn’t helpful, and whose only purpose is to give the media something they can exploit in order to whip the dumb public into a frenzy (thus sell more copy - I’m not sure this motivation isn’t worse.
It seems any way one looks at it, the children in question are fast becoming pawns in the game of oh so civilized chess).
I also find it indictable of the The Daily Rag, that in a clearly transparent attempt to discredit the publication's legitimacy, refers to it in the headline as merely a “mag” like it shares the domain with a cheap soft porn one. The clear intimation.
Meantime, Henson's, and other similar works, increase in value.
This time, in a move that puts the 13 year old in the positively adult bracket, a six year old is seen to grace the cover of July’s edition of the magazine – naked of course.
Some of Bill Henson’s works are featured within.
Maurice O’Riordan, in the editorial of the magazine, writes that he chose the 2003 image of the child (the photographer’s own child apparently) in the, “hope of restoring some dignity to the debate” and to, “validate nudity and childhood as subjects for art”.
The artist, Ms Papapetrou, said she supports the publication of the work on the cover of the magazine.
She goes on to claim, “we need to be clever enough to distinguish art from other types of images otherwise we live in danger of eradicating any image of childhood in this culture for future generations to see”.
Premier Morris Iemma ( not that I put any stock in what that moron has to say, but for purposes of the article and in view of the fact hat he was elected - albiet by equally moronic voters) has immediately threatened to withdraw the funding Art Monthly Australia receives from the State Government. It also receives more than 50,000 from the Federal Government.
He claims, unsurprisingly, “Images of this kind are distasteful, exploitative of children – a cheap, sick, stunt at the expense of a young child”. (Mr Iemma can’t think for himself though so…make of that what you will).
A spokeswoman for the Australia Council who fund the magazine, defended their decision to do so
To play advocate to the “popinjays”, (and let’s face it, with a name like Maurice, how could he be anything but…) they claim that any given image of any given thing, be it man, woman, or child, can be viewed from a purely artistic perspective and in fact it’s not a naked picture of a child they see, but an expression of childhood.
The opponents claim that it’s simply another example of the sexualisation of children and that the risk that it could provide fodder to those with less noble or artistic motives is simply to big a risk to take. Because, in their defence, paedophiles can't be identified just by sight.
They cite examples of clothes manufactured for children as young as 3, which are clearly intended to duplicate a sexy look more typically used by older teens and adults.
Then of course, as in all things, the zealots on the fringe who outrage about paedophilia put in their tuppence worth – which frankly isn’t helpful, and whose only purpose is to give the media something they can exploit in order to whip the dumb public into a frenzy (thus sell more copy - I’m not sure this motivation isn’t worse.
It seems any way one looks at it, the children in question are fast becoming pawns in the game of oh so civilized chess).
I also find it indictable of the The Daily Rag, that in a clearly transparent attempt to discredit the publication's legitimacy, refers to it in the headline as merely a “mag” like it shares the domain with a cheap soft porn one. The clear intimation.
Meantime, Henson's, and other similar works, increase in value.
COST OF THIS PAPIST RECRUITMENT DRIVE??
One hundred and thirty million - to be picked up by the Australian taxpayer. Eighty-five million of which by the NSW taxpayer (me and the other taxpayers).
I don't even like bloody Papists - how come I have to pay for this? Especially given that the catholic church has more money than Bill Gates!
And it turns out even some catholic priests have problems with the whole merchandizing side of things - feeling like it's undermining the true cause, which is to celebrate catholicism.
No real surprise that Morris "the fuckwit" Iemma, out glorious Premier is involved. Betcha he's a Papist too.
Again - bloody Papists.
I don't even like bloody Papists - how come I have to pay for this? Especially given that the catholic church has more money than Bill Gates!
And it turns out even some catholic priests have problems with the whole merchandizing side of things - feeling like it's undermining the true cause, which is to celebrate catholicism.
No real surprise that Morris "the fuckwit" Iemma, out glorious Premier is involved. Betcha he's a Papist too.
Again - bloody Papists.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
COMPETITION TIME
In the vein of the reknowned T-shirts, "My friend went to such and such and all they got me was this lousy T-shirt", if anyone can be arsed, have a go at finishing this one. I've given a few to start...
I went to the World Youth Day and all I got was...
A dose.
Arrested.
Lynched by an angry mob of Papists.
I'll add some more as they come to mind.
I went to the World Youth Day and all I got was...
A dose.
Arrested.
Lynched by an angry mob of Papists.
I'll add some more as they come to mind.
STILL WITH THE ANTI-SMOKING
A new ad campaign has hit the screens to encourage people to quit smoking. A very graphic campaign – just like the images we see on packets.
Verity Firth, the health minister, with a zealous glee almost (do they ever use anything else?) cites all manner of statistics. X amount of deaths per year; strokes, blindness (which is such bollocks and so obviously a scare tactic by a government desperate to do something...anything).
Well I’ve news for you, Ms Firth, (who it must be said is hardly waif-like; Verity is obviously fond of her burgers) ; as obesity now costs more in terms of deaths and costs to the health system, when will we see similar graphic ads of fat bastards wheezing as they haul their lard-stuffed arses off sofas, or puffing and panting as they unsuccessfully attempt to kick a football around with their equally porky kids? Or wedging their mammoth bulk into an aeroplane seat with the flab hanging over the sides like escaping ooze from a squeezed sponge. (Matter of fact, some airlines have recently demanded that the obese now pay for two seats - the fatties went apeshit. Slap it into ye, you fat turds! Now you know how we feel).
Or is that discrimination? Maybe so, but where's the difference? Why should I and my ilk (smokers) be forced to view images like these and constantly have to bear the repeated waffle from the anti-smoking lobby, when the group of people who now cost economies more are apparently protected from the same? Isn't that then discrimination - the epitome of such in fact?
And not only do fatties take up at least twice as much room with their enormous bulk. They tend to smell as they sweat more with their poor over-worked, under pressure frames struggling to move such obesity. Y'see, a body when it is created, has a heart built to suit. If that body is doubled (tripled, quadrupled in some fierce cases) in size, the heart, which is designed to carry only a certain amount, is under severe pressure and any exertion can and usually does have fatal consequences.
And don't EVEN get me started on pissheads with their wife-beating, raping, drunk driving, stabbing, violent protagonists!!! Not to mention liver and kidney disease. Bloodshot eyes, beer bellies, sick days...
Fuck man, smokers are veritable saints by comparison.
Tch!
Verity Firth, the health minister, with a zealous glee almost (do they ever use anything else?) cites all manner of statistics. X amount of deaths per year; strokes, blindness (which is such bollocks and so obviously a scare tactic by a government desperate to do something...anything).
Well I’ve news for you, Ms Firth, (who it must be said is hardly waif-like; Verity is obviously fond of her burgers) ; as obesity now costs more in terms of deaths and costs to the health system, when will we see similar graphic ads of fat bastards wheezing as they haul their lard-stuffed arses off sofas, or puffing and panting as they unsuccessfully attempt to kick a football around with their equally porky kids? Or wedging their mammoth bulk into an aeroplane seat with the flab hanging over the sides like escaping ooze from a squeezed sponge. (Matter of fact, some airlines have recently demanded that the obese now pay for two seats - the fatties went apeshit. Slap it into ye, you fat turds! Now you know how we feel).
Or is that discrimination? Maybe so, but where's the difference? Why should I and my ilk (smokers) be forced to view images like these and constantly have to bear the repeated waffle from the anti-smoking lobby, when the group of people who now cost economies more are apparently protected from the same? Isn't that then discrimination - the epitome of such in fact?
And not only do fatties take up at least twice as much room with their enormous bulk. They tend to smell as they sweat more with their poor over-worked, under pressure frames struggling to move such obesity. Y'see, a body when it is created, has a heart built to suit. If that body is doubled (tripled, quadrupled in some fierce cases) in size, the heart, which is designed to carry only a certain amount, is under severe pressure and any exertion can and usually does have fatal consequences.
And don't EVEN get me started on pissheads with their wife-beating, raping, drunk driving, stabbing, violent protagonists!!! Not to mention liver and kidney disease. Bloodshot eyes, beer bellies, sick days...
Fuck man, smokers are veritable saints by comparison.
Tch!
THEY JUST DON'T STOP...
Just when you thought it couldn't get any more tacky:
The Papists, in order to capatalize on the Papist Day, have opened up a souvenir shop. Yep. The holy ones are offering all sorts of merchandise to “celebrate” (read exploit) the week (or should that be "weak"!).
Hats, T-shirts, “Pope on a rope’s”. bumper stickers – all manner of things. As if they don't have enough money. (The Catholic church is arguably the richest organization on earth - but it steeped in secrecy so no-one but its accountants really knows...though as I've previously mentioned, they had to pay 600 million to the American victims of their paedophillic priests, which is really just a drop in the bucket. Mind you, maybe that's their motivation behind such merchandising).
Frankly, they really should produce condoms with a picture of the Pope on them because believe me – those who believe in this "opium of the masses" as I heard it referred to recently, are getting fucked anyway, may as well get your money's worth!
Or go into the arms trade. Kalasnikovs with the Pope on them..."this bullet brought to you previously blessed by His Holiness".
I was at World youth Day and all I got was this poxy fuckin hat!!
But hey, at least I had fun winding up the Taigs!
The Papists, in order to capatalize on the Papist Day, have opened up a souvenir shop. Yep. The holy ones are offering all sorts of merchandise to “celebrate” (read exploit) the week (or should that be "weak"!).
Hats, T-shirts, “Pope on a rope’s”. bumper stickers – all manner of things. As if they don't have enough money. (The Catholic church is arguably the richest organization on earth - but it steeped in secrecy so no-one but its accountants really knows...though as I've previously mentioned, they had to pay 600 million to the American victims of their paedophillic priests, which is really just a drop in the bucket. Mind you, maybe that's their motivation behind such merchandising).
Frankly, they really should produce condoms with a picture of the Pope on them because believe me – those who believe in this "opium of the masses" as I heard it referred to recently, are getting fucked anyway, may as well get your money's worth!
Or go into the arms trade. Kalasnikovs with the Pope on them..."this bullet brought to you previously blessed by His Holiness".
I was at World youth Day and all I got was this poxy fuckin hat!!
But hey, at least I had fun winding up the Taigs!
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
THE LAST STRAW
With 14 days to go until the papists descend on Sydney, the police have been given new powers to search and/or arrest those who, and I quote, “annoy” the pilgrims (Papists).
Not content with shutting down hospitals, train services and bus services, or with commandeering public parks and Sydney’s premier racecourse, the once Nazi Pope’s Gestapo have facilitated the rushing through of this new legislation (on the QT of course).
The report also claims anyone wearing an “anti-catholic T-shirt” (define that one!) can be arrested. Anyone handing out condoms too (because the Papists don’t agree with contraception – that’s why there’s so fuckin many of them) can be incarcerated.
And, get this, for some reason that’s beyond me...ride a skateboard and you’ll also get your collar felt!!!
Eh...???
...Anyway, to return to this “annoy” word. “Annoy?” Let’s just dwell on that for a moment. If you cut me off in traffic, I’ll be annoyed, right. I could have you arrested. If you turn away to talk to someone else whilst I’m talking to you, I’ll be (fuckin pissed off actually and may well give you both fuckin barrels y’fuckin contemptuous wanker!!!). Then I’ll have you arrested.
So, potentially, during Papistville (and notwithstanding corrupt coppers…):
If I smoke, it’ll almost certainly annoy someone – I’ll be arrested.
If I fart in an enclosed space – I’ll be arrested.
If I loudly belch – I’ll be arrested.
If I say fuck (yeah right, like that’s not gonna happen) – I’ll be arrested.
If I don’t look reverent of the occasion – I’ll be arrested.
If I don’t speak highly of the Pope – I’ll be arrested (Christ only knows what they do to me when they see my “The Pope’s a Nazi” placard…).
Basically, if I don’t believe – I risk being arrested. Like that's not Hitler-esque.
And there’s more; these Nazi-like powers don’t only apply to the police. No, the – get this as well – Rural Fire service and the State Emergency Service too have been employed to enforce this arbitration.
Two words – Get Fucked!
Well I for one am drawing the line so incensed I am with this violation of my human rights. (I may even contact the Court of Human Rights in fact...) I’m going into Papistville during the event with a T-shirt with William of Orange on it and a reference to 1690 (Google it). Maybe I’ll carry a copy of Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code; that seemed to piss them off when it was released.
Or a shirt with, “I’m protestant and proud!!”
And I’m not alone. An S.C. (Senior Counsel) from the NSW Law society was on the radio a short time ago expressing her own outrage at this blatant violation of freedom of speech and movement. I doubt she’ll be so proactive as yours truly but then she’s not willing to be arrested!
Either way, this is outrageous and actually does compare with Germany in the forties. Getting arrested for annoying someone? I'm staggered...truly.
Not content with shutting down hospitals, train services and bus services, or with commandeering public parks and Sydney’s premier racecourse, the once Nazi Pope’s Gestapo have facilitated the rushing through of this new legislation (on the QT of course).
The report also claims anyone wearing an “anti-catholic T-shirt” (define that one!) can be arrested. Anyone handing out condoms too (because the Papists don’t agree with contraception – that’s why there’s so fuckin many of them) can be incarcerated.
And, get this, for some reason that’s beyond me...ride a skateboard and you’ll also get your collar felt!!!
Eh...???
...Anyway, to return to this “annoy” word. “Annoy?” Let’s just dwell on that for a moment. If you cut me off in traffic, I’ll be annoyed, right. I could have you arrested. If you turn away to talk to someone else whilst I’m talking to you, I’ll be (fuckin pissed off actually and may well give you both fuckin barrels y’fuckin contemptuous wanker!!!). Then I’ll have you arrested.
So, potentially, during Papistville (and notwithstanding corrupt coppers…):
If I smoke, it’ll almost certainly annoy someone – I’ll be arrested.
If I fart in an enclosed space – I’ll be arrested.
If I loudly belch – I’ll be arrested.
If I say fuck (yeah right, like that’s not gonna happen) – I’ll be arrested.
If I don’t look reverent of the occasion – I’ll be arrested.
If I don’t speak highly of the Pope – I’ll be arrested (Christ only knows what they do to me when they see my “The Pope’s a Nazi” placard…).
Basically, if I don’t believe – I risk being arrested. Like that's not Hitler-esque.
And there’s more; these Nazi-like powers don’t only apply to the police. No, the – get this as well – Rural Fire service and the State Emergency Service too have been employed to enforce this arbitration.
Two words – Get Fucked!
Well I for one am drawing the line so incensed I am with this violation of my human rights. (I may even contact the Court of Human Rights in fact...) I’m going into Papistville during the event with a T-shirt with William of Orange on it and a reference to 1690 (Google it). Maybe I’ll carry a copy of Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code; that seemed to piss them off when it was released.
Or a shirt with, “I’m protestant and proud!!”
And I’m not alone. An S.C. (Senior Counsel) from the NSW Law society was on the radio a short time ago expressing her own outrage at this blatant violation of freedom of speech and movement. I doubt she’ll be so proactive as yours truly but then she’s not willing to be arrested!
Either way, this is outrageous and actually does compare with Germany in the forties. Getting arrested for annoying someone? I'm staggered...truly.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
