Beyond the soft palate


When I was made redundant last month after ten and a half years with the company, I did not spend the ensuing few weeks lurking and loitering outside the entrance to the office, scowling, sulking and skulking, singing my own praises to anyone entering on the off chance someone may take pity upon me and offer me my job back.

No. I did not.

To whom do you think I may be drawing a parallel?

/////// ?

SMELLY TONGUES will return in mid-April.

There will be blood.

And a t-shirt and a coffee mug.


Thank you for your comments and for reading.

In the meantime, some of my most recent posts have been re-published on Australian Independent Media Network and for continued, informed and intelligent commentary on the rancid state of #AusPol, there’s always the Something Wonky podcast.

Until then …

Leben ist leben.





3.45pm, Tuesday, February 16, 2016.

I am called to a meeting with my manager who informs me that my position with the company has been made redundant. Some aspects of my work shall be outsourced, others taken on by remaining employees (of which there aren’t really that many left).

“Oh. Okay”. I reply, flatly.

I am provided with a “Deed of Release” which sets out the terms of my redundancy. I sign it.

By 4.30pm, I have left the office, walked home, and sit at the local pub, reading the days’ papers and drinking a Peroni.

Ten years and seven months. It’s over.

“Fucking brilliant!”, I text a few friends.

Then I think, “Shit, I have to move. Pack, clean, move. Organise things.

“Shit”, I think, “I’ll have to buy a computer”.

I’m still getting around to that.

Having never been unemployed before over 40 years of work, getting out of the habit is strange. There has always been somewhere to go, and things to be done, even if they were loathsome.


That’s where I’ve been these past several weeks.

Sitting on the couch mostly. Thinking. Or, to put it more aptly, procrastinating.

Procrastinating about thinking. And so on.

In other news, it seems the country has come to realise that our “new” Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull has turned out a rather gammy little squib.

Aw, shucks.



My name’s Lyle Shelton*.

I’m the Managing Director of The Australian Christian Lobby.**

We are urgently calling on the Australian Federal Government to temporarily over-ride anti-discrimination laws during the upcoming plebiscite campaign on whether same-sex marriage should or should not be legalised.

As you know, we are strong advocates for a “no” vote, but I would like to stress and reassure you all that we are not urging this action to say anything even remotely bigoted, nor would we consider doing so under any circumstances, but simply be allowed to put forward our argument, which is millennia-old, that marriage should only exist between a man and a woman, and that we be permitted to speak fairly and freely on this during the campaign without vilification or being subjected to the extremely low threshold strictures of our current anti-discrimination laws.

We are not going to be bullied by the gay lobby’s hate language into meekly surrendering our position against this proposed legislation which seeks only to normalise risky and unnatural behaviours as a so-called lifestyle “choice”. We know, and studies have shown time and time again, that health statistics among the gay community are worse than those for smokers, that choosing a homosexual lifestyle is more likely to place you in peril of excessive drug-taking, careless promiscuity, mental health disorders and suicide. That is the very nature of the homosexual lifestyle, and that is what it mostly entails.

Our children are forever being bombarded with and exposed to the hotly contested social and political agendas of the gay community, where “rainbow politics” are time and time again relentlessly imposed upon them and expected to be recognised as “normal”, regardless of the views of the parents. We have schools now openly encouraging children to cross-dress, to study gay and lesbian sexual techniques, anal sex and so on, and to view these behaviours in the context of innocent “experimentation”, rather than what it is, potentially damaging in the extreme if not life-threateningly catastrophic.

These children will become our new “Stolen Generation”, robbed of their very biological identity, and denied the stability and certainty that only marriage between a man and woman can provide.

This whole campaign, has, from the start, been nothing more than a remorseless, insidious and febrile assault on Christian family values, Australian values, the rights of a child to grow up in a loving, protected environment, an assault that Joseph Goebbels would be have been proud of, on long-held, long-respected sacred traditions and institutions.

It is an assault, orchestrated by the gay lobby, the Left and the liberal mainstream media, on the freedom of religious liberty in Australia, an aggressive secularism dressed in the fashionable moral cause of anti-discrimination which seeks not just to transform our values, but drive religion from our lives, from our very culture, and into the shadows, if not destroy it altogether.

It is a form of sexual Stalinism that is being proposed here, elevating unnatural habits and lifestyles of self-indulgent depravity and excess to a form of religion in itself, and doing so in the name of so-called “equality”, simply to satiate the desires and expectations of a noisily insistent few.

In other words, we are on the brink of institutionalising a form of sexual behaviour, often destructively compulsive, that is, by its very nature, medically and morally problematic, and we are on the brink of institutionalising it by trashing one of the most essential foundations of our society, trashing a child’s intrinsic right to both a mother and a father, and crushing a parent’s right to teach their child right and wrong as they know it, and we are on the brink of doing this simply as an act of psychotherapy for depressed and frustrated homosexuals.

As I said in the beginning, we are not urging the Federal Government to suspend the current anti-discrimination laws so that we may indulge in bigotry and cant, cheap shots or name-calling.

We simply request the right for our argument to be heard and to be put to the Australian people in a rational, reasoned and well thought out manner for the benefit of all concerned, most crucially our children and future generations of Australian men and women, fathers and mothers, husbands and wives.


*No, it’s not.
**No, I’m not.


All I want is a coffee.

I pay you. You make it. Give me change if change is due.

Don’t ask me how my day is going. It’s not “going” anywhere. It’s a day. There’s another one tomorrow.

Don’t make lame jokes like, “Do we look like a coffee shop to you?”, and then laugh at your own joke. Did you see me smiling just then? No, you did not. No fucking ho.

Yes, it is a “hot one” today.

I’m fucking standing in it, you stupid bastard.


There are occasions, mostly moments of boredom or lethargy, when a perverse impulse takes me to Andrew Bolt’s Blog With No Name, where I quickly scroll down the numerous items he posts on any given day just to reassure myself that, in this ever-changing world in which we live, some things remain soothingly constant and shall be so forevermore.

In Andrew’s world, the song always remains the same, scratched-up old-timey tunes blaring from out his battered bakelite and neon conservative cliché jukebox, songs of woe, calamity and fear, Old Shep has died and someone’s stolen the truck again. Barbarians from the wilds. Dark savages at the door. Murther most foul. They wantonly defile our most sacred, revered institutions and traditions, they spit in the face of decency, they that are “they”. These people …

The Islamists. The blacks. The ABC. Women.

A race war cometh. A clash of cultures and civilisations. The white race satirised, vilified, shamed, abused, and by whom? …

You shall see the Lord of Life and Death,
You shall see Heaven in Hell,
You shall be blinded by light,
You shall see darkness.

In Andrew’s world.

Not so long ago, just last year in fact, and for almost two years, Andrew was on top of his world, he was in, he was connected, he had the ear of a Prime Minister no less, a true insider with a seat at the table, the table of power, true power.

Do you remember?

Then it all fell apart.

Tragedy struck, and it struck Andrew hard. As it did Piers Akerman and Janet Albrechtson and Miranda Devine and Gerard Henderson and Greg Sheridan and Paul Sheehan and Alan Jones and their pain, their loss, their rage reverberated throughout the land, column after aggrieved column, anguished comment upon anguished comment, they spat their displeasure and disappointment, their hurt, upon every stage whose boards they took to treading.

“Rupert? Wherefore art thou, Rupert?”, whimpered their Great Leader, their Chosen One to His Master’s Voice.

Nothing could be done. Nothing.

Rollover Red Rover.

A vile conspiracy of smears and black innuendo, of monstrous abuse and ridicule, a remorseless conspiracy of Brobdingnagian proportions had been orchestrated by the collective brute forces of Stalinist savagery to fell their Most Beloved Man.

O most heinous villainy, the very oceans and seas themselves did swell with the outpouring of so many bitter tears!

Blood did fall upon the wattle. The blood of Tony Abbott. Former Prime Minister …

What are they going to say about him? What? Are they going to say he was a kind man? He was a wise man? He had plans? He had wisdom? … The man’s enlarged my mind. He’s a poet warrior in the classic sense. I mean sometimes he’ll… uh… well, you’ll say “hello” to him, right? And he’ll just walk right by you. He won’t even notice you. And suddenly he’ll grab you, and he’ll throw you in a corner, and he’ll say, “Do you know that ‘if’ is the middle word in life? If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you, if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you”

For one brief moment in time, one fleeting moment, they were no longer mere observers, they were Players in The Game, with a tumefied swag of Glittering Prizes within their grasp, they were Kings and they were Queens, and they could’ve been Heroes, forever and ever.


Just for one day.

Where are they now?

Greg Sheridan lays a damp, cool cloth across the furrowed brow of his friend, a soft kiss upon the cheek to soothe his troublesome fevres, “It’s all right Tony, it’s all right, my friend”, and returns to his lowly position as foreign editor in a broadsheet nobody reads much anymore.

Gerard Henderson continues as Executive Director of a “tatty living room of a terrace house” called The Sydney Institute to regularly host “about 20-30 superannuated types who have driven their Daimlers over from Mosman for a nice talk and a few ports”.

Miranda Devine has taken a sabbatical from a Sunday night radio show nobody much knew she ever had, to “spend more time with her family”, and no doubt reflect upon the fate of her luminary paladin, her knight in tight red armour. Where once she did squelch, now there is only chafing.

And Andrew. Poor Andrew.

Andrew Bolt’s column continues to be syndicated in Rupert’s tabloids, and is still to be found just a few pages before the classified ads where you can find listings for young, busty Asian girls to satisfy your every desire, couples welcome. His show, “The Bolt Report”, television’s finest vaudevillian political comedy of our time awaits news of its fate and placement, possibly Sky News, because, well, everybody subscribes to Foxtel.

Don’t they?

Flow, my tears, fall from your springs!
Exiled forever, let me mourn;
Where night’s black bird her sad infamy sings,
There let me live forlorn.

Down vain lights, shine you no more!
No nights are dark enough for those
That in despair their last fortunes deplore.
Light doth but shame disclose.

Never may my woes be relieved,
Since pity is fled;
And tears and sighs and groans my weary days, my weary days
Of all joys have deprived.

John Dowland, 1596


You need these …

“Four Women” Meshell Ndegeocello

“Strange Fruit” Cassandra Wilson

“Pushin’ Against A Stone” Valerie June

And this …

“America” Laibach


Jacked up on marijuana, she drops acid and is screamed at by a hot dog.

This is a 1969 educational film from Lockheed Aircraft. The horror. The horror …


Malcolm seems a pleasant man, happy in his work.

We only want what’s best for Malcolm.

Malcolm has a nice smile. A nice smile in a symmetrical face.


Malcolm likes to speak.
And he loves to be spoken to.

Malcolm is the Prime Minister of Australia.

Turnbull. Malcolm Turnbull.

On February 8, 2016, Malcolm announced …

“$4 million each for the Little Scientists and Let’s Count programs as part of the National Innovation and Science Agenda. 350,000 more pre-schoolers will now have access to these programs which will help to inspire Australia’s next generation of innovators and entrepreneurs.”

On February 4, 2016, it was reported

“Up to 350 positions at Australia’s Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation (CSIRO) will be made redundant, with its climate research divisions to bear the brunt of the job losses.”

Because … “Successive federal funding cuts, including a $115m reduction in the 2014 federal budget, have seen the agency’s staffing levels shrink by 20% in the past years, equal to around 1,400 jobs.” and … “that science and research roles were hit hardest by the cuts.”

On October 21, 2015, at the Prime Minister’s Prize for Science ceremony, Malcolm said this

“We have to recognise the central role of science and the work of scientists and people who follow the scientific method.”

Scientists, he insisted, were key to Australia’s goal to remain a “high-wage, generous social welfare net, first-world economy”. Science literacy was vitally needed not only in universities, but in primary and secondary schools.

Is Malcolm confused?

Once upon a time Malcolm “was a staunch supporter of marriage Equality, even publicly expressing his support for a free vote (conscience vote) in Parliament on the issue”, and on May 26th, 2015 Malcolm said this

“If you think about, say, the British Commonwealth, if you think of the old Commonwealth, the Dominions, they are all now supporting same-sex marriage.

“Australia I suppose is the odd one out or is the one that has not yet turned its mind in a parliamentary sense to reviewing the law.

“The point is the context has dramatically changed and we can’t be blind to that.”

However, “in his first speech to Parliament as Prime Minister, Turnbull wasted no time in casting a cloud over the prospect of marriage equality anytime soon. His decision to opt in to a plebiscite (national vote) instead of a conscience vote in Parliament highlights how politics can overshadow beliefs.”

Malcolm wants to spend $160 million to ask Australian folks all over a question, the answer to which is already known.

I’ve had pisses that have lasted longer than Malcolm Turnbull’s convictions.

In the five months since ousting Testicles Tony from the top job to the relief of a most happye nation, Malcolm has spoken long, and at large, on and about many things. He has spoken coherently and intelligently, on domestic violence, climate change and homelessness, science, research, medicine, all manner of things

“In October last year, he told the New South Wales state council of the Liberal Party: “We are not run by factions.”

The line elicited more than giggles, in fact. It got great guffaws. And groans. And interjections – among them “Come off it!” and “Should have worn gumboots!”

Smiling uneasily, Turnbull took on the interjectors.

“Well, you may dispute that,” he said, “but I have to tell you, from experience, we are not run by factions, nor are we run by big business, or by deals in back rooms.””

Behold, Our Malcolm of The Immaculate Moral Equivalency.

A Proud Man, A Vain Man, and now a Man Captive to the antipathetic obsessions of those comically narcissistic conceits of pure political ideology and the men and women who BELIEVE them, the dog-eat-dog, fuck-your mother and I Spit On Your Father’s Grave No Frills trademark so historically beloved and embraced by his Firm, the Big Business and Billionaire Corporate Conglomerate otherwise known as The Liberal Party of Australia.

Malcolm ain’t nothin’ but the mongrel breeding bitch of the puppy farm now.

An Empty Man.

A Nowhere Man.

Doing NOTHING the best he can.

Malcolm speaks of “reform”, but there is and can be no “reform” from Malcolm for Malcolm is not in charge as much as he would like us to think, instead there continues, in the tradition of his predecessor, a cruel Calvinist covenant of neither works nor grace, but of banishment and desolation.

No law, no love, just a bleak oppression of body and soul, not entered into willingly, but thrust upon our heads and shoulders with a savage and relentless force under the guise of a new austerity, difficult “challenges”, unending “crises”, and a cycle of perpetual threats and constant dangers which are forever menacing our great state, may Advance Australia Fear.

Everything old is new again.

What does Malcolm stand for?


He must be happy in his work.

His whole future is as good as sealed.

They’re making plans for Malcolm.

They only want what’s best for him.

He just needs a helping hand.



Amanda Chantal Bacon, owner of American cult juice bar Moon Juice

“At 8am, I had a warm, morning chi drink on my way to the school drop off, drunk in the car! It contains more than 25 grams of plant protein, thanks to vanilla mushroom protein and stone ground almond butter, and also has the super endocrine, brain, immunity, and libido- boosting powers of Brain Dust, cordyceps, reishi, maca, and Shilajit resin. I throw ho shou wu and pearl in as part of my beauty regime. I chase it with three quinton shots for mineralisation and two lipospheric vitamin B-complex packets for energy.”

Wake in Fright Pleasance


In the light of current events, I decided I would rewrite our national anthem “Advance Australia Fair” as if it were a track from Laibach’s 2007 album, “Volk”

“We kill your men.
We rape your women.
We pulverize the minds of your children to dust with this,
!!!!!The Glorious Confusion of our Warsong.
Our Land is closed to you.
We defend it. Against you.
Your criminal hordes.
Traitors to your motherlands.
You from across these seas.
Our boundless plains are desert.
Our soils arid.

We fight. We live. We die.
For Freedom. No Tyranny.
Culture. Civilisation.
As One we Rise to guard our Native Strand.
Our Homeland.
In every stage of History’s page,
Our Victory is clear,
As One combined of Heart and Hand,
Advance Australia Fair!
Advance Australia Fair!

Much better.

*Edited several times since first posted. I’ll get it right eventually.


From the “Consumer Medicine Information” pamphlet for a medication I have been prescribed, but have not yet taken …

  • Do not use if you have ever had an allergic reaction to indacaterol maleate (the active ingredient).
  • Do not breast-feed while using this medicine.
  • This medication may interfere with other medications, including:
    Medications for lung disease.
    For high blood pressure or heart problems.
    Medicines used to treat depression and other mental disorders.
    Medicine for glaucoma, including eye drops.
    Medicines for hay fever, coughs, colds, runny nose.
  • Tell your doctor if you notice any of the following side-effects:
    Combination of sore throat, blocked nose, coughing, headache.
    Muscle pain.
    Muscle spasm.
    Swollen hands, ankles and feet.
    Crushing chest pain.
    Neck pain.
    Sore throat.
    Runny nose.
    Blocked nose.
    Dry Mouth.
    Pressure/pain in cheeks and forehead.
    Chest pain/discomfort.
    Pain in muscles, bones or joints.
    Excessive thirst, high urine output.
    Increased appetite with weight loss, tiredness.
    Tingling and numbing.
  • If you use too much (Overdose):
    Immediately telephone your doctor or;
    Poisons Information Centre (13 11 26)
    Go to the Accident/Emergency ward at your nearest hospital.
  • Symptoms of overdose may include:
    Fast, irregular heartbeat.

I feel so reassured.



Liberal Senator Eric Abetz, former Minister for Employment in the Abbott Government, wee nyaff, nudnik and vainglorious shtunk, has a degree in law and a curious habit of speaking factitious nonsense on matters he knows nothing about.

Starkly bereft and deficient in experience on anything resembling tangible matters of substance, oblivious to the realities of life in this, our real world, and who has, during his political “career” achieved nothing of benefit for anyone other than himself, this daft, dopey and nescient bed bug on the encrusted, befouled sheets of our nation has lately taken to the habit of inserting his splenetic and choleric self into conversations and issues of national import to hate-vomit his peculiar brand of dead-from-the-neck-up fatuous and asinine fuckwittery almost every day now since he was unceremoniously jettisoned from his ministerial position in September last year.

Herr Abetz is rapidly becoming the political equivalent of Mitchell Pearce, turning up to every party unannounced and uninvited to piss on the furniture, vomit on the rug, root the dog, call the Asian and black guests chinks and niggers and then, when asked to leave, loudly complains that he was just havin’ a laugh and that the world has been hijacked by “atheists, feminazis, homos” and political correctness gone mad.

There is nothing in his life, nothing in his so-called career which will ever be classified achievement enough to rate so much as a footnote to a footnote to a footnote’s footnote to any political history of this nation or time, and if, when the most blessed and hoped for day comes when he pops his clogs and shuffles from this mortal coil, the news of his demise shall probably be met with total silence or something like …

“Who the fuck was he?”

“Dunno. Politician. His uncle was a Nazi.”

Turn page.

Abetz is like a third nipple on a man. We already know that two of them serve no function, but are somewhat mandatory features, so what the fuck and why is this third one here for?

Like a eunuch turning up to a flophouse, prompting all the working girls to exclaim with wide eyes and dropped jaws, “Are you serious?

He has claimed there is “a link between abortion and breast cancer”. There is not. In 2014, he proposed a plan that would have required the unemployed to apply for 40 jobs every month, and strip them of any benefits for six months, in other words, no income whatsoever, perhaps in the belief that poverty and starvation are character-building, a trait, possibly genetic, inherited from his Jew murdering Nazi uncle Otto.

He continues to rail, wail and whine against and about marriage equality, no doubt labouring under the delusion that if introduced, it will bring about the complete collapse of civilisation as he knows it, city walls will crumble, and towers fall, the sun shall plunge into the ocean, and the earth erupt in flame.

He has written “study after study, time and time again, shows that children benefit from having a father and mother”, and cites no such study because none exist.

He has also said this …

“Most people in a democracy believe social policy should be determined by the people, not by dubious interpretation by an activist judiciary”.

He has recently, however, altered his opinion about the “power of the people”, stating if a plebiscite on the matter is put to the Australian people, and they say “yes” to marriage equality, he will ignore it

“There will be people in the parliament who could not support the outcome of a plebiscite whichever way it went.”

Eric does not like democracy when democracy does not suit Eric.

Eric is a schmuck.

A yokel.

Science has proven a link between Eric Abetz and total stupidity, and it did not take long.

Zolst zein vi a lomp-am tug sollst di hangen, in der nacht sollst di brenne.*

Don’t be an Eric.

Another Christian Dickhead

*Yiddish: “He should be like a lamp, hang during the day and burn during the night”.


Richard Cooke from The Monthly ….

“The federal government says it will consider backing Kevin Rudd for a top United Nations job if the former prime minister puts his hat in the ring.”

That’s not just a top job, but the top job, the full Kofi Annan. And you can feverishly check the date all you like, but that news item is from the Year of Our Lord 2016. It is Julie Bishop offering that support; Labor are on board already. Kevin Rudd has bipartisan backing to become head of the United Nations. The United Nations of Earth.

If you haven’t seen Kevin Rudd, let’s recap. The two-time former prime minster isn’t just an arsehole, he’s the Dalai Lama of arseholes: the kind of arsehole that comes just once in a generation, mystically identified from childhood, then goes on to fulfil the ancient predictions of a sooth-sayer by how showing much of an arsehole he is. One of the difficulties Julia Gillard suffered as prime minister is that she was never allowed to disclose just what a titanic, unworkable arsehole her predecessor was.



“Where is Tony Abbott?” “What is Tony doing?” “What has Tony done?” “What will Tony do?” “What has Tony said?” “Tony said what?”

“What does Eric Abetz think?” “What does Kevin Andrews think?” “What about Cory Bernardi?”

“Let’s write a column about it. Let’s write two. How about a couple hundred?”

“And two dozen editorials. And three hard-boiled eggs”.

The Guardian Australia runs a hagiographic fiction on Abbott by Tom Switzer who writes

“As unfashionable as it is to say so, there are very few people in public life with finer personal qualities than Abbott.”

And this…

“Sneered at, patronised, condemned, he has battled on. Abbott, at 58, is relatively young and exceedingly fit, he is highly experienced, a man of enormous talent and a magnificent parliamentary performer and an adept and compelling politician.”

Greg Sheridan, Foreign editor at “The Australian” Rupert’s broadsheet comic book observes of Abbott

“No politician in modern ­Australia, at least since Malcolm Fraser in 1975, has been subjected to such sustained, vitriolic and personalised abuse as Abbott.”

Think on that for a moment. There is something very wrong about it.

Sheridan continues …

“If he left politics, this would subside. The former prime minister is a strong and resilient person, but this kind of abuse takes its toll not only on the person ­directly affected but also on their family. It is also the case that the sooner he left, the sooner it was likely his record of substantial, perhaps historic, achievement would be reassessed.

No other prime minister could have stopped the boats.”

It is reported “that Tony Abbott has been “in mourning” after losing the top job and has been urged to remain in politics by his former chief of staff Peta Credlin.

“He appears from what people are saying to be quite bitter, quite resentful, in fact I think it’s got worse,” a Liberal source is quoted as saying.”

Abbott denies this. Of course.

Former Minister for Employment in the Abbott Government, Eric Abetz states “Tony Abbott has always been about one thing – namely the Australian people” and resident parliamentary whackjob Cory Bernardi “says it has been the custom of the party to allow former leaders to choose their next role” and warns “against efforts to “muffle” Tony Abbott’s future contribution in party debates.””

Abbott announced last week that he intends to re-contest his seat in the next federal election, and appears to under the impression this may pave the way for his return to the Prime Ministership.

And this week, Abbott will be jetting off to the United States of Murder to address a group known as The Alliance Defending Freedom, a gay-hate group which describes itself as “an alliance-building legal organisation that advocates for the right of people to freely live out their faith. Along with our work to defend human rights such as free speech and religious freedom, ADF affirms the good of marriage and the value of strong families around the world, particularly on behalf children, who flourish when society honours and promotes the roles of both mothers and fathers in children’s lives,” and “seeks to recover the robust Christendomic theology of the 3rd, 4th, and 5th centuries“.

Read, “defending human rights such as free speech and religious freedom”, as imposing their sexual and religious bigotry on others, abolishing abortion, burning witches at the stake and stoning gays to death in the public square. They probably believe Arthur Miller’s “The Crucible” to be a guide on how to go about it.

Since Abbott was thrown from his job last September, and replaced by Malcolm Turnbull, the political “news” in our mainstream media (including the ABC) has concerned itself with little else but gasbagging speculation, gossip and rumours about what Tony is going to do with his life, will he stay or will he go, how he feels, how others feel about how he feels, and how we should feel about it all as well. In a country of over 24 million people, this is the political issue that should consume our attention and be of primary concern to us, according to our media and its commentators.

I could not give a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut or a wrinkled rat’s arse if the idiot threw himself off a fucking cliff, and I suspect I may not be alone in that.

However, within the closed minds of the ageing anal polyps on the arse of journalism that comprise the Canberra press gallery, this is the best they can come up.

We don’t do policy. We don’t do analysis. We don’t report on the de-funding of TAFE’s across the country, the shrinking pool of teachers and students, the discontinued courses, the ones which remain priced so far out of reach denying a generation of youth who have no wish to attend university to learn a trade. No. We don’t do that. We don’t report on the slow and inexorable dismantling of Medicare. No. We do not report on the cuts to community legal services, family violence prevention centres, charitable organisations and mental health services. No. We don’t do that.

Not on our front pages. Not in our headlines. No.

NSW Premier Mike Baird removes over 40 century old fig trees in Sydney’s Moore Park to make way for a light rail system as a sup to the gambling and racing industry so they may have quick and easy access to their club in order to watch horses run around in fucking circles, and there’s barely any scrutiny of the decision in our media. A couple reports, a column, a few letters to the editor, and it’s over and done with.

Nice work if you can get it. Why not concentrate on Mr. Baird’s chummy tweets instead? Too easy.

Demonise the poor. Stigmatise the single mother. Disenfranchise the young. Reduce penalty rates. Reduce the minimum wage. Axe the aged pension.

We are being hugger-muggered and carom-shotted into a world of black darkness and confusion. The rising of this century will not bring catharsis. The rising of this century shall not bring salvation. The crack is getting deeper, the flames are rising higher, and the political predators of this great divide shall cut our throats, slice our flesh, and drink our blood.*

Existence as we know it is over.

The End of Democracy. Only the illusion remains.

The Ascent of the Idiocratic Oligarchy is here.

Gore Vidal once remarked that the greatest, most grievous error the Ruling Classes ever made was teaching the Underclasses how to read during the Industrial Revolution, essentially so as the Underclasses could comprehend the instructions for operating the machinery of the time, and it is an error the Ruling Classes have been attempting to correct ever since.

He was right.

And they’re winning.


*Apologies to Laibach


Here is a letter (no link, sorry) from today’s Brisbane “Courier-Mail” in response to Mark Latham’s claim that domestic violence issues have been “hijacked” by “left-wing, man-hating, feminists”

“I was completely unsurprised by the backlash aimed at former Labor leader Mark Latham for having the temerity to challenge the dominant feminist position relating to domestic violence. I too have repeatedly challenged the feminist position that men are the sole cause of domestic violence.

The Courier-Mail’s pro-feminist stance on this issue has ensured that my legitimate challenge of that position has never seen the light of day, thereby sparing feminists from having to respond to criticism.

Latham is totally correct in his observation that the domestic violence debate has been hijacked by feminists for political gain. It is ironic that victims of domestic violence, and those who work in the field, are permitted such dominant voices in policy formation and funding distribution, yet the same privileged position is not extended to teachers when it comes to finding solutions to lifting education standards.” – Lawrence Di Bartolo, Kedron

I was 11 years old when the 60’s ended, so the whole feminism/sexual revolution movements passed me by, but here are a few things I know and understand.

  1. A man is employed to do a job. A woman is employed to do the same job. Pay both the same amount of money.

Not feminism. Logic.

  1. Do not hit a woman. Do not hit a man. Do not hit anyone for any reason other than your own self-protection and defence if necessary. Do not fight. Walk (or run) away from fights. They never end well.

Not feminism. Common sense.

  1. If a woman has come to the decision that the man she is in a relationship with (you) is no longer worth her time, suck it the fuck up, shut up and shove off. Yes, it may hurt your feelings. You will get over it.

Not feminism. Adult behavior.

  1. If there are children involved in this relationship, and the relationship has ended, do not use the children as leverage for some form of “revenge” upon the woman, such as killing them. They are children, not “property”. Nobody gives a fuck about your poor, bleeding broken heart. Fight it out in a courtroom, not the living room or the kitchen with a fucking knife. Grow the fuck up.

Not feminism.


There is no ideological dimension to these observations, none whatsoever, and all 4 points could be conveniently condensed to 4 simple words …

Don’t be a cunt.

Got it?

Mr. Di Bartolo is a knob.


Mark Latham used to be a politician. Of sorts.

He briefly served as leader of a political party. For 13 months. The shortest tenure of any federal Labor leader since 1916, and left politics in January 2005, having never held ministerial office.

Having achieved nothing in his career for the benefit of anyone other than himself, the point of Mark Latham has never been particularly clear, although he did succeed in garnering some attention in media at the time and from the public by calling all manner of people a variety of names including “arseholes”, “roosters” and other colourful epithets, and described himself as a “hater” which he has since gone on to prove himself to be with spectacular success.

Mark Latham appears to be a man who has never met a person he hasn’t taken an instant dislike to, mostly, it seems, because they’re not Mark Latham, proving without doubt that his head is stuck so far up his own arse with an inflated sense of self-importance that it is a miracle his navel does not flap whenever he draws breath.

Mark Latham once suffered from testicular cancer, and survived to go on to breed some children with his partner, which some may consider to be quite unfortunate, for, if his children turn out anything like their father, beating them to death with a hammer may become the only means of ridding the planet of his bloodline.

In recent years, Mark Latham has drawn attention to himself by criticising women he does not like (which seems to be all of them), including journalists Anne Summers, Leigh Sales, Lisa Pryor, Mia Freedman and Annabel Crabb.

He has been particularly vitriolic toward 2015’s Australian of the Year, Rosie Batty, whose son was violently murdered by her former husband in a public place, and who has ever since worked tirelessly to highlight the scourge of domestic violence and violence against women in general across Australia, to the acclaim and appreciation of pretty much everyone except Mark Latham, who has recently dubbed Ms. Batty “part of a feminist group using domestic violence for political gain and a campaign “against all Australian men”, and that “domestic violence is a tool of the feminist left”.

Mark Latham seems to be under the impression that Australian women (all of them) would like nothing better than to bite the cocks off Australian men (all of them) with steel dentures, and feed them to the family pet, because … well, patriarchy and feminism and matriarchy and Mark Latham.

Mark Latham thinks “political correctness” has gone “mad” in Australia, and would like the freedom to use words like “nigger”, and “whore”, and “kike” and “spic” in everyday conversation without criticism, because … well, Mark Latham.

Mark Latham is a cunt.

A 54 year old, pudding-faced, man-boobed, addle-brained, leg-humping, staggeringly unsuccessful ex-politician who will be sucking on the public teat for the rest of his miserable life.

At our expense.

Mark Latham has now been afforded his very own radio program on a commercial network where, for a period of time, he can earn some extra money by planting his sagging arse on a stool and barking into a microphone at people, telling them how and what they should think on things.

They should think like Mark Latham.

Which is not much.

For these, and many other reasons too numerous to list here, this is why I believe Mark Latham should be beaten to death with a hammer*.

After which, we can invite all the people he has offended and aggravated over the last few years to piss on his twitching corpse.

Also, it would be fun.

I hereby pronounce this day from hereon in to be national “MARK LATHAM IS AN IRRELEVANT FAT CUNT DAY”.

Please celebrate as you see fit.


*Not to be taken literally. It’s illegal.


The first “story” on ABC News 24 this morning was a five minute “report” on how some guy who hits balls over a net with a stick for a living has decided to give up his “work” and retire.

Five minutes.

This earth-shattering information follows hot on the heels of another leading story a couple weeks back on how a bunch of guys who kick balls around a paddock for a living were found guilty of taking illegal substances to boost their ability to kick balls around a paddock for a living.

Front page news. Pages of it. For days.

Is it too much to ask that “news” contain some actual “news” in it, and that stories about sport be confined to the sports report section or pages where they fucking well belong?

Sport is not news. It is sport.

The only time we should have reports about boys and their balls leading our news is when it involves information or research on testicular cancer.


I am at my local pub Monday afternoon, and I am flipping through that days copy of “The Australian” (it’s a quick flip) (and no, I did not buy it, there was a copy on the bar), and I come across an article by one Alan Howe, a commentator and columnist (ooh-er), who has chosen for his topic of the day, David Bowie’s lyrics, which he proceeds to describe as mostly “nonsensical”, “rarely interesting”, his “Achilles heel”, and that Bowie himself based his own career on “spotting and appropriating” the styles and sounds of others, or “trailing the blaze” as Howe puts it.

As I plod through his own dreary words, I wonder to myself, “Who the fuck is this guy?”, as I had never heard the name before, and shall probably never hear it again, as he appears to be one of these tedious, cockwalloping fudpuckers so full of their own self-importance, and so consumed by their own opinions on all manner of things, they feel it necessary to ruin the service for the rest of us by pissing in the Holy water and nicking all the wafers.

There’s always one.

“Putting things into perspective” for the alleged benefit of us poor, deluded souls out here whose thinking needs be “corrected”, and corrected by none other than some random creative typist in a broadsheet tabloid which uproariously calls itself a “newspaper”, and the rest of us call “shit”.

I shan’t go on much more, but, whilst Bowie and his work, his art, his fashion and influence will be discussed, debated, and analysed for decades hence, Alan Howe’s shall not be remembered five seconds after his expiry.

There’s some “perspective” if you need it.

Alan Howe

Alan Howe. Life of the Party. Twat.


Alan Rickman makes a cup of tea …

It’s a little like watching God create and then destroy the Universe. Only better.


Sarah Blasko covers David Bowie’s “Life on Mars?” …

Performed live in the studio on January 14, 2016


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 263 other followers