Anyone who wears a Che Guevara t-shirt …

Is a cunt!

MK shows what a stupid racist prick he is

MK, the fucktard’s fucktard over at A Western Heart has done one of those (to quote TISM) “I might be a cunt but I’m not a fucking cunt” posts which has a go at the horrific treatment of Zimbabwean migrants in South Africa.

MK writes how mobs of black South Africans, murdered, beat and looted from migrants, who they blamed for unemployment and rising food prices.

Fair enough, it’s a horrible state of affairs, not that MK feels sorry for the Zimbabweans, who are black after all.

The point of the post is simply to say “See lefties, that’s what you call real xenophobia, we supposed xenophobes here in the west have nothing on these bloody savages.”

So his brand of xenophobia (which includes referring to black people as savages - I bet he never used that language after the Cronulla riots) is OK because it doesn’t resort to violence. What he doesn’t understand that the fetid, racial hatred he espouses is one step away from the sort of bloodshed witnessed here.

While I don’t condone the violence in Johannesburg, it’s fair to say it was driven by desperation and the migrant workers became easy targets. While abhorrent, it’s a lot easier to explain than the rantings of some shithead blogger whose only reason for being a xenophobic racist cunt is the fact he doesn’t like the colour of certain people’s skin.

Note: I would have happily posted my opinion of MK and his post at A Western Heart, but I am banned from commenting. I welcome any comments from him or anyone who agrees with his views.

I pissed on John Howard

I had a rare Saturday-night venture into Melbourne’s CBD at the weekend for a friend’s birthday drinks and after spending an enjoyable evening at Rue Babylon’s surrounded by a group of gorgeous women, we ventured to a great little joint called the Horse Bazaar, which, despite its involvement with experimental art and music, was an enjoyable and rather unpretentious venue, which uses visual media, in the form of projections on the wall, as well as music to entertain.

The urinal in the men’s is the best I’ve ever seen. It actually has a movie on it, obviously rear projected as I caused no shadow standing in front of it. As I did what it was that led me in there I noted that the vision being shown on the said piss tray was Riverdance, which was rather exciting because I can think of nothing better than pissing on the image of that obnoxious, God-awful Irishman Michael Flatley.

As I tried following directing the stream of piss at the foot-tapping ponce, I realised with great joy John Howard’s head super imposed in the footage of Lord of the Dance - talk about a great way to ensure men don’t piss on the floor!

Fortunately someone else has done what I wish I did and filmed this brilliant piece of functional art on their camera phone.

It only occurred to me after I left that I never checked the story inside the cubicles. Next time.

 

 

Vale Colin Murdoch

I had a good idea once - alcoholic iced-confectionary, that went as far as a friend and I buying his sister an ice cream maker for her birthday so we could try out our innovation, only to find alcohol has a much lower freezing temperature than water - which pretty much fucked our plans and consigned the ice cream machine to the bottom of the kitchen cabinet next to the bread maker, waffle maker and Soda Stream.

I have never invented anything of use hence, like jugglers, I am in awe of the talents of people who invent really good useful things - not least because they managed to come up with a new idea after 150 years of industrialisation. 

One such man is New Zealander Colin Murdoch, who sadly passed away at the weekend. Known mostly for inventing the disposable syringe, Mr Murdoch also patented the the tranquilliser gun (what a great trivia question), the childproof bottle cap and the silent burglar alarm died.

And us Aussies crap on about the fucking Hills hoist!

Why is this man not a more famous New Zealander than Sir Edmund Hillary and Lucy Lawless? A statue should be built in his home city of Christchurch at once!

Chair sniffing is the new turkey slap

The Age reports West Australian Opposition Leader Troy Buswell has broken down at a press conference and admitted he sniffed the chair of a female Liberal Party staffer for a laugh.

Imagine the chat with his advisers:

“Any skeletons in the cupboard that we should know about Troy - hookers, rent boys in toilets, chats with Brian Burke; the odd “where’s my fucking eggs bitch” violent tirade at the missus; locking your daughter up in a cellar and having seven children with her; impregnating teenagers in a polygamy compound, urinated on a police station or restaurant window; ever found with GHB on your self; shared crack and had a loud sex romp with Amy Winehouse, head-butted Scott West, organised a police escort for kd lang, submitted a Here’s Lookin At You letter to mX, been photographed with Brendan Nelson, appeared on Big Brother? Anything bad like that?

“Nah, I once sniffed some sheila’s chair as joke, but nothing will come of that.”

“Fair enough … was she good looking?”

 

 

I might be drawing a long bow here …

I noted comments on the Herald Sun web site about the Olympic Torch Relay and the huge turnout of Chinese nationals in Canberra to support their government. Some people took this as an affront to Australia, as though what they were doing was against our national interests.

People couldn’t understand why Chinese Australians would want to celebrate the Beijing Olympics torch relay and show support for their country.

I find that a curious attitude when you consider the thousands of Australians who are gathering to celebrate Anzac Day in Turkey, France, England and even the US.

Why are we shocked about Club 21 when it simply echoes popular culture?

A story broke today about about a Queensland Catholic school with student club called Club 21 where membership is dependent on being one of the cool, good-looking chicks.

According to the Herald Sun web site:Year 11 girls from the co-educational St Patrick’s College in the central Queensland city of Mackay are ranked according to looks, weight and their popularity with boys.
Members of the elite club, dubbed “Club 21″ or “Big 21″, parade their ranking from one to 21 on their wrists.
The skinnier and prettier the girl, the higher her rank.
One respondent to an internet forum on the issue said: “Ugly girls need not apply.”

The school’s principal has rightly defended his students to the ever judgemental talk-back media saying “‘in’ groups and ‘cool’ groups had always existed in schools”.

Girls have always had cliques and hierarchies and this as shown in every second teen movie and TV show such as Sleepover Club,  St Trinians, Hairspray, Lizzie McGuire, Clueless, Heathers, Hannah Montana and of course Mean Girls  - it’s worth noting that in most of these it’s the so-called ordinary girls who come out winners.

If anything the outrage at Club 21 is patronising towards those who are supposedly not pretty enough (yet) to qualify in that it seems to endorse the view that looks are the most important thing for a girl to have.  Would there be outrage against a club for smart, sporty or emo kids only?

I bet Club 21 is despised by more girls than it is envied. As one student wrote on an internet forum: ”They are a group of year 11 girls at St Pats who think they are top but really pathetic sociopathic sluts.”

Go to Gallipoli any day but Anzac Day

One of the first things that struck me was there were no birds. In fact, apart from the wind and the gentle lapping of the water on to the pebbled beach at Anzac Cove, there wasn’t a sound to be heard as though, even 90 years after the last shots were fired at Gallipoli, the birds still know to stay away.

The silence is as moving as Attaturk’s message to the Anzacs and the lines of graves of dead teenagers. For this place to be exclusive to the handful of us who were there seemed like a privilege and in no time you’re consumed by the quiet and able to communicate and share emotions without saying a single word.

This is what makes Gallipoli so special, which is why I  don’t understand why anyone would want to share it with tens of thousands of others on Anzac Day, where that spiritual calm is lost in an almost theme park atmosphere.

I write this because Victoria University academic and Gallipoli expert Anne-Marie Hede, has called to put an end to the annual Anzac celebrations at Anzac Cove because it’s becoming unsustainable with thousands of tourists, big screens, seating, lighting and portable toilets ruining Anzac Cove.

Professor Hede will probably cop a barrage for suggesting Anzac Day celebrations remain in Australia, but while I gree with her I don’t write this to defend her but to recommend that it’s the peaceful solitude is what makes Gallipoli so eerily sacred and not the day that we have chosen to celebrate it.

The courage, suffering and death didn’t stop after April 25, which is why every day at Gallipoli is sacred, as the various dates on the headstones testify.

Picture: The Age