SMELLY TONGUES

Beyond the soft palate

Category: AUSTRALIAN POLITICS

YOU’RE LIKE A RAINBOW

Hello.

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.

acl

*No, it’s not.
**No, I’m not.

THE ARISTOCRATS

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.

No.

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

MAKING PLANS FOR MALCOLM

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.

Nice.

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?

Malcolm.

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.

turnbull

WARSONG

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.
Barbarians.
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!
Advance!
AUSTRALIA!
FAIR!”

Much better.

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

ABETZ MACHT FREI

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”.

TONGUE OF THE DAY

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.

Perfection.

THE DAY THE CLOWN CRIED

“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.

3000

*Apologies to Laibach

NOT FEMINISM

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.

Civilisation.

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.

REASONS WHY MARK LATHAM SHOULD BE BEATEN TO DEATH WITH A HAMMER*

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.

Dickehead

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

IT’S PETER FUCKING DUTTON AGAIN

This shall not take long.

Federal Immigration Minister Peter Fucking Dutton, recent and most worthy recipient of Crikey’s “Arsehat of the Year” Award, has greeted the new year in style by referring to a female journalist in one of Rupert’s daily comic books as a “mad fucking witch”, after which, all hell broke loose across the nation and continues to do so with tens of thousands of words of condemnation, outrage and pant-squirting heebies being written and spoken on the matter.

Personally, I could not give a fuck, so excuse me for not enlisting in this new branch of Outrage and Offence Junkies Inc.

I have written of Dutton once before, and shall not write of him again.

For as one journalist wrote some time back, “in a government which prizes making a goose of oneself, Dutton excels”, and there are only so many times one can say such things before one begins to sound like a broken record. Or Paul Sheehan.

He is incompetent, yes. He is a liar, yes. He is dumb, yes.

He is a fool, yes.

We get it.

But, as I did write of him that once, he is also this …

“As the current Immigration Minister, Dutton joins a long and undistinguished line of callous and unfeeling arseholes who have, for almost 15 years now, been enabling the rape, torture and physical and psychological abuse of already seriously damaged men, women and children by flinging them off to corruptly governed foreign islands so as to sate the primal fears of a nation whose populace now seems consumed and diseased by cowardice and new tribal hatreds, hatreds lovingly nurtured and fed by the frenzied illogic of the white trash on heat in our tabloids, and their political equivalents.”

Responsible for this

A six-year-old refugee was allegedly sexually abused on Nauru and the perpetrator caught in the act by her parents, but the man is yet to be arrested or charged, the father has said.

He (the father) has since had a number of run-ins with the accused man on the tiny island. “Police didn’t arrest him, not the first time, not any time, and now he is free,” he said.

The girl’s father said his daughter still suffered mental health issues after her time in detention, exacerbated by the alleged attack. “She’s crying all the time. She gets up in the midnight,” he said. “They didn’t do anything – the child protection office.”

The Nauruan child protection services referred Guardian Australia to police, who could not be reached.

The government of Nauru, through its Australian-based public relations representatives, did not respond to questions.

A spokesman told Guardian Australia the Australian immigration minister, Peter Dutton, was aware of the allegation. “The matter is under investigation and is a matter for the Nauruan police force,” the spokesman said.

There is your outrage, boys and girls, there is your outrage right there.

Not “mad fucking witch”.

Now what, as Malone said to Ness, are you prepared to do about that?

Hello?

Hello?

Is anybody there?

Hello?

Is this on?

NO, WE DO NOT NEED TO “TALK” ABOUT ISLAM

Just recently, I spied yet another column of commentary in one of those comic books with horoscopes oft referred to as “newspapers” imploring us, we, the populace in general, to “talk” about Islam, which is to say, talk about terrorism and the small clutch of adolescent sots who, on occasions, take leave of the little sense they have to gibber about blowing people up and other such nonsense. That, on occasions, they succeed in their aims provides perfect fodder for Rupert’s comic books – a squawking headline about SO BIG, an appalling pun, and the throwing about of words like “evil” and “terror” and “threats” to public safety lurking ‘round every street corner.

The “We need to talk about Islam” meme typically comes from opinion pieces compiled by the typing monkeys who work for these aforementioned comic books and boils down, in most cases, to this …

“I don’t like your religion, and I don’t like you and I wish you’d all piss off because you’re all fucking crazy”.

These monkeys are often aided and abetted in their cause by various politicians and public figures of a conservative bent, such as former Prime Minister Tony Abbott, a man seemingly now intent upon going the full vagina every time he plops himself into public view to rattle his sabres and flap his budgie at us all.

The “We need to talk about Islam” meme is similar in tone, if not downright identical at times to the “We need to talk about multiculturalism” topic which crops up occasionally, because the person wanting to “talk” thinks – nay – knows it (multiculturalism) doesn’t work and besides, they get nervous ‘round niggers, chinks and spicks and such and keep wondering where all the white folk have gone, which is probably down the local Thai joint for a larb gai and lassi for tea.

There’s also the “We need to talk about abortion” thing, a thing usually “talked” about by those self-styled warriors for the unborn who, when they’re not banging on about the sanctity of life, have a tendency to lurk outside family planning clinics harassing anyone who dares enter, or, depending the country you’re in, blowing holes through people’s heads with shotguns because, well … sanctity of life and all that.

As one of those individuals who comprise a “we”, I do wish these other “we’s” would shut up and keep their chatter between their silly conspiratorial selves and leave the rest of us the fuck alone.

But, alas no.

Article after article, column after column, commentary piled atop commentary, all of it essentially urging “we” should all “talk” about the same damned thing, even if we don’t know anything about it … but, goddammit, we sure as heck need to do some talkin’ ‘bout it because, well … some of them folks are doing some mighty crazy shit and, well … you know, talkin’ an’ shit.

I cannot “talk” about Islam simply because I know nothing of it, or any other religion, and have no inclination, and never have to find out. This is not a statement I make in contempt of religion or those of faith, but the likelihood of my engaging with a religious community to learn of religion is about as distant as the likelihood of my buying a Taylor Swift album, not because I have any issues with Taylor Swift, but because, well … it just ain’t for me.

I care not what religion, colour, race or creed you may be, it’s whether or not you’re a flaming fucking arsehole that will determine whether I engage with you or not.

Those who wish to “talk” about Islam as a “problem” for us all have allowed themselves, and actively seek to encourage others, to feel terrorised, panicked, by a small but noisy pack of attention-seeking, brain-dead, hoofwanking bunglecunts whose sole purpose in life, aside from pulling themselves, is to fuck other people up, deadshits representative of nothing at all, no faith, no country, no race, no colour.

They are nothing.

“We” do not need to “talk” about Islam.

Shut the fuck up.

Watch this instead …

Filzmoos Power

 

THE YEAR IN REVIEW – TERROR, TRASH-TALKING AND TONY THE TALKING TESTICLE

Such a year.

For a brief (very brief) period of time, Australia was governed by an inarticulate, unintelligent and deluded madman and his far-right minions until it became perfectly clear this was no longer sustainable or viable, and they were told, in no uncertain terms, to pack their swags and bugger off.

That’s the type of “leadership” best left to the United States. It comes natural to them. Down under, it all became just a little too weird.

After September 2015, posts were few and far between (about 7 or 8) due to personal matters (the illness, hospitalisation and subsequent death of my father), so my heart was not really in it and still isn’t. Besides, everything that needed to be said has been said, and then said again and again by all manner of people.

Please note that, come the New Year, there will be no posts made on this blog about Donald Trump. Ever. At this point in time, I have less life ahead of me than behind me, and I refuse to waste so much as a billionth of a nanosecond on such a yatebedam.

“The man who establishes his argument by noise and command knows that his reason is weak.” – Michel de Montaigne

And so, without further ado, here are some of things I ranted, raved, and swore about (profusely) during 2015.

Good night and good luck.

“The pendulum of the mind oscillates between sense and nonsense, not between right and wrong.” – Carl Jung

January 30, 2015

“YOU’RE FUCKED, TONY”

From awful to fucked in the space of one brief week, Prime Minister Tony Abbott, our Dear Leader, the walking, talking testicle of contemporary Australian  political life, and embodiment of everything that is, and has been wrong with it these last several years, has morphed toot sweet from the once proudly simian gaited and throbbingly tumescent Cock ‘O’ the Walk and King of the Hill to flaccid impuissance, an instant noodle body-slammed into a bowl of his own steaming hot faeces.

February 12, 2015

“SOMEBODY OUT THERE LOVES YOU, BUT WE THINK YOU’RE A CUNT”

You’re a cunt, Tony.

You have no policies, only punishments. You do not seek to govern, you seek to rule. You thrive on the disorders and despairs of others, fear is your aphrodisiac, loathing a love letter perfumed with the blood of disabled babes, the chaos of the underclasses a contemptible slander on your strivations to the Übermensch. You are The Overman, and in your world, everyone knows their place and keeps it, and if they do not, one will be found for them, and that place shall be decided by the heft of their wallet, the rattle of their chains, the number of their slaves, and the avarice that glints in their eyes, they who whisper sweet visions of many little murders of the soul, to bring the great unwashed to heel, to their heel, so they may be crushed for base entertainments, to satisfy the savage indulgences of The Rich and The Powerful in their habitual fits of cruel whimsy.

February 27, 2015

“I AM A GOD”

Previous observations I have made, of predictions, clairvoyant in nature, that have subsequently proven to be true, have convinced me that I have now become a God. And therefore, and thusly, I do say unto you, take heed of the following …

Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull shall inform Federal Treasurer Joe Hockey that his services are no longer required, and they will now be performed by Scott Morrison, with Foreign Minister Julie Bishop retaining her position. Mr. Hockey shall spontaneously burst into big, wet tears and shout, “IT’S NOT FAIR! IT’S NOT FAIR AND YOU KNOW IT AND YOU CAN ALL GET FUCKED I’M NOT PLAYING ANYMORE I’M NOT IT’S NOT FAIR AND YOU CAN ALL GET FUCKED!”, after which he will be forcibly escorted and removed from the premises by security. Mr. Hockey will subsequently resign his seat, and retire from politics altogether.

March 6, 2015

“EVERYTHING IS SHIT”

I have seen the sights, the sounds, and the shape of the Future and it is Shit.

The Intergenerational Report released yesterday by the Abbott Federal Government has made it perfectly clear to us all, in the starkest possible terms, that this country faces challenges ahead, in all aspects and walks of life, that must, and can, only be met by all of us willingly engaging in a broad, national conversation about the sacrifices and pressures we must all endure in order to remain a strong, secure and economically sound nation into the near and distant future, for the sake of our children, for the sake of theirs, and for all that lies ahead, all that can be ours, all that can be theirs, if only we, all Australians, men and women, are willing to grasp the opportunity to do so now, before it’s too late.

In short, there are far too many old cunts fucking it up for the rest of us.

March 11, 2015

“SICK OFS”

Since 1972, when I was thirteen years old, I have observed Prime Ministers from the late Gough Whitlam through Paul Keating through to the shambolic dysfunction and shrill, shrieking chaos of the Rudd-Gillard-Rudd years, but of the current incumbent, Tony Abbott, I have now come to the sad, but somewhat predictable, one could say inevitable, conclusion that Our Prime Minister’s Brain Is Missing.

In its place, an organ of purely intuitive compulsion, which, when prodded or stroked, no matter how strongly or gently, spawns an instantaneous stream of insensate gibberish, his words like spores from a brooding coral, jerkingly spat into the wider atmosphere layering everything beneath it with a thin, cream layer of oozing slime which, rather than reproduce, suffocates and destroys all that lay before it.

This organ, if it were donated to science, would probably reveal itself to comprise something resembling a lone, mushy pea atop a small, grey ball of gnarly gristle.

April 22, 2015

“FASTER, FASTER, YOUNG AUSSIE TEEN “SAND ‘N’ SANDAL” DESERT EPIC ENTHUSIASTS, KILL, KILL!”

Somebody’s left the gate open at the cunt farm again …

terrifying troupe of terrorist teen tots and twenty-somethings had been planning to launch an extreme assault upon the Australian public on our nation’s finest and most revered of days, Holy of Holies, Oh Woe are We for We are Besieged by Evil!

They were going to go at it with a knife and a sword somewhere to avenge the death of some other dickhead with a name that sounded like a brand of Turkish nougat who bought a knife to a gunfight outside a police station a while back and got himself shot for his troubles.

As you would.

May 26, 2015

“PEACE IN OUR TIME”

We are in a War.

We do not understand this War.

We did not ask to be in this War.

We should not be in this War.

We are now the Enemy of Government and the Enemy of Each Other in a War that is being sold to us shrouded in the weasel words of Nationalism, Fiscal Austerity and Personal Sacrifice. Team Australia. Leaners. Lifters. Enemies. Friends.

Government has now fully abnegated its responsibility to govern on behalf of the citizenry, and has, instead, fully embraced and expressed its desire to Rule, to Dictate, and to Command.

We are a nation now fully divided into strictly delineated class structures. The weak, the poor and the aged are to be vanquished through neglect and shamed for their impositions upon us. The young and the meek shall be inculcated to abide by and unquestioningly obey the New Rule of Universal Law that is the “Cult of Work,” a cult in which, once enlisted, you shall never leave, you shall never think of leaving. Dissent from the Proletariat will not be tolerated, and will be met and dealt with by threats and intimidation, by force if necessary, until silent submission to this New World Order of Infinite Productivity and mute and grateful  service to the state can be restored and maintained.

Sklaverei ist Freiheit!

We are in a war.

Humanity preys upon itself, like monsters of the deep, and here we sit at safe distance, dispassionate and incurious of mind, steadfast in resolve, and with smugly imperious certainty know what may seem cruel abominations to minds less rigorous in thought than our own, are in fact tender mercies and blessings from the wings of doves delivered with the sweetest of charity, and in the name of peace, and of love, and safety of passage.

July 2, 2015

“WHITE TRASH ON HEAT”

We can stunt and dull our senses with the psychological thalidomide of asinine entertainments and “moral” panics, we can redact our hearts and hide our minds from themselves, we can spit our collective contempt upon the faces of the feeble, the frail, and the a’feared, we can choose to live every minute of our future as a memory of our past, but nothing, nothing, will ever, wipe these sordid stains from our history or from our souls.

September 2, 2015

“PETER FUCKING DUTTON”

As the former Federal Health Minister, he was regarded, by health professionals, as “the worst health minister in 35 years” and “will be remembered as the dullest, least innovative and most gullible for swallowing the reforms from his think tank … Although I am glad he has been demoted, it would have been good if he was still around to take responsibility for the current chaos he has caused.”

To put it unkindly, the man’s not worth a pinch of shit, and we all know it.

Let us also not forget that, as the current Immigration Minister, Dutton joins a long and undistinguished line of callous and unfeeling arseholes who have, for almost 15 years now, been enabling the rape, torture and physical and psychological abuse of already seriously damaged men, women and children by flinging them off to corruptly governed foreign islands so as to sate the primal fears of a nation whose populace now seems consumed and diseased by cowardice and new tribal hatreds, hatreds lovingly nurtured and fed by the frenzied illogic of the white trash on heat in our tabloids, and their political equivalents.

Stay sane. It’s not you. It’s everyone else.

Patrick B 422 X 539

BRATS IN THE RANKS

In the decade during which I have been in the employ of a corporate concern, a multinational, I have witnessed people, too many to name, who have suddenly found themselves rudely and unceremoniously shuffled into irrelevancy, unemployment, deemed excess baggage or incompatible with whatever budgetary constraints are constraining the budget at whatever time, after working five, ten, twenty, even thirty years of their lifespan for said “concern”.

“Redundant” is the weasel word applied in such circumstances, which typically come about when a company undergoes or announces it is to undergo a “restructure”, which, as those of us living in the real world know, means one thing and one thing only – they’re going to sack a shitload of people and ship the work offshore where it’s cheaper.

When such news is delivered, recipients can react in a variety of ways. Anger. Resentment. A sense of betrayal; in some cases, even grief, that the work they do, that they’ve done, how they have gone about the doing of it, is no longer required, is no longer useful, and is no longer of value.

It is hard news to take.

Yet none (at least, to the best of my knowledge) ever reacted by trying to wreck the place before they left it.

There was no dancing on tables during spontaneous piss-ups, or breaking of legs, or the removing of shirts and beating of hairy man-boobs with clenched fists whilst bellowing how everyone can all get fucked. No, there was none of this. No foul-tempered, sulky, sooky ‘n’ sour spoilt-brat hissy-fits were sprayed at whoever may have been unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity at the time the news was given.

Most thought it unfair, which of course they would. Some simply shrugged with resignation, having expected it anyway, and some just didn’t care much at all, as they’d been there so long they’d grown sick of it. Some people in management got called “cunts” I suppose (especially the Americans), and a few may well have told a power-that-is on the odd occasion to take his/her job/company and shove it where the sun don’t shine, but everything and everybody soon settles down and gets on with business, either the taking care of it or the leaving of it, and doing so with a necessary modicum of restraint and decorum.

Which brings me to this small knot of squealing dickheads we’ve been hearing of, from and about the last couple months, a small knot of squealing dickheads from the rank of our body politic who were turfed from their jobs not long back because they were shit at them, and they haven’t shut up since.

Tony Abbott, Joe Hockey, Eric Abetz, and Kevin Andrews.

In less than the two years they held them, these men were sacked because they were crap at their jobs.

Not redundant.

Sacked.

They were incompetent in their work.

In the weeks since those events, we have borne embarrassed witness to the childishness of Abbott in the immediate wake of his usurpation, all glowering scowls and dark, sullen glares; we have listened to Joe Hockey’s specious delusions of grandeur, his sense of self-importance, and we have heard how both men, by their own assessment, were blessedly infallible in their words and actions, all of them, and how their untimely demise sprang not from any faults or failures of their own, but from grim and grubby deeds of treachery done dirt cheap on the sly by forces of pure evil.

Former Minister for Something I Can’t Remember Anymore Because He Was Crap At It, Eric Abetz, has had a few petulant grumbles to make on these shenanigans among other matters, as has former Defence Minister, Kevin Andrews, who still hasn’t quite managed to come to terms with the description “former”, and who yesterday saw fit to gift our nation his sage and sound advice – no doubt gleaned from years upon years of arduous study – on how to correctly prosecute a ground war against IS in Syria, advice that shall no doubt be pounced upon and devoured with gusto by the gormless gits currently in charge of the world’s military, because socially conservative, anti-gay, rabidly anti-abortion suburban Christian barristers are really shit hot at planning wars in desert ratholes they can send other people’s children to die in.

It’s the sheer gall of their ego’s, the fictions they’ve fed themselves as facts, the absorption in their own self-righteousness, the wilful ignorance on world matters they insist on showcasing and sharing as hard-won wisdom, the indulgent parade of bruised egos and damaged pride, and the conviction they seem to have that this, that they, still matter to us, and should matter to us, when most of us would prefer they just shut up and leave us all the fuck alone, we’ve been there already, enough, enough.

What a sad and sorry quartet of sore losers are these; graceless, bitter and undignified in defeat, still dishing up the same old hits ‘n’ memories to an audience who’ve long since changed channels.

I rack my brain trying to remember what it was they did when they had their jobs, and can think of nothing significant, nothing of real, tangible, substantive purpose beyond the chanting of clichés and the peddling of stereotypes, of clumsy and bellicose vindictiveness, of cruel judgments made and swingeing corrections imposed; these mutts could dish it out alright, but dish it back, they’re off like a bag of ha’penny crackers.

Here in the real world, where lives, not ideologies are lived, where the work we do is not just an abstract notion or mere statistic under consideration for a report, the likes of Andrews, Abbott, Abetz and Hockey may do well to reflect that, aside from themselves and a few like-minded, mouthy muppets in the media, no one gives a fuck about what they think on a thing anymore or why, nobody wants their opinion, and above all, nobody is in the least concerned about how they felt or still feel about losing their jobs (because they were rubbish at them), so could they suck it up, shut up and shove the fuck off and stop giving us all the shits.

You are no longer in the game.

Stop playing.

Go. Away.

Kevin Andrews

THAT’LL DO, PIG

Malcolm Turnbull is addressing the media.

I am sitting at the kitchen table in the dining room of my parent’s home in Sydney’s south-west, my mother is in the living room watching a murder mystery on ABC One titled “Vera” when the program is interrupted by a “flash” of news, news that Malcolm Turnbull will shortly be addressing the media.

He does.

He will be challenging the incumbent Prime Minister, Tony Abbott, for the leadership of the Federal Liberal Party, and for the Prime Ministership of the country. He will be challenging tonight.

This “flash” of news becomes rolling coverage and keeps a-rolling for the rest of the night, thoroughly pissing off my mother who shall now never know who murdered who or why in the show she was watching, and she makes her feelings about this known to me more than once over the next few hours (as mothers are wont to do), whilst I am left to my own thoughts, chief amongst them this, “He (Malcolm) would not be doing this if wasn’t absolutely certain he had the numbers.”

He has the numbers.

You’re fucked, Tony.

I feel a sense of relief at this turn of events, a great sense of relief, and, about 11.30pm, I finally bed down for the night to the baying of various callers on ABC Radio 702 lulling me to satisfied slumber with howls of betrayal and outrage and anger over what has been done to “their” Tony, and how none of them, ever, ever again, will be able to bring themselves to vote for the Liberal Party, ever, ever again, not after this, and I think, “So, you’ll all be switching to Labor and the Greens now, will you?”, how I wish they’d take their oh-so-righteous, instant knee-jerk apoplexy and moral “outrage”, shove it and shut up.

So precious. So very delicate.

I do not own a computer, and my phone is not smart, and I am in Sydney for two weeks (unexpectedly) “managing” my elderly parents, one of whom is in hospital, so I am spared the incessant white noise of social media during all of this, and I am spared the views of people whose views don’t count to me; I am spared tens of thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands of words explaining to me what has just happened and why, what context I must place it, how I must feel, and who I must feel it for, and instead, all I am left with is a sense of relief.

What has just happened and why?

A tiresome and tedious fool has been expelled from the Palace, banished from the Kingdom, he had no hand to eye co-ordination, his slapstick was shit, and every time he flicked the switch to vaudeville, the auditorium exploded.

Tony was a silent movie star playing to a dark theatre, and the rest of us had all long ago fled to the talkies.

Tony was a fucking idiot, and he had to go.

It was reported, by whom I cannot recall, that upon being told he was to be challenged for the leadership by Turnbull, Abbott asked, “What do you think I should do?”, and this, this forlorn and bootless plea, this pitiable yelp alone stands as a simple, yet exquisite measure of this “man” made as he always was and always will be, in the image of a child.

“What do you think I should do?”

“You’re in charge. Don’t you know?”

The tabloids fired up Photoshop after his deposition, doing a few tricky things with Turnbull, with Shorten, and they cranked up their pun generator for a couple days, but overall, it really did feel as if their hearts were not truly in it, and now that their boy was gone, not only did Rupert have no one to order around anymore, neither did they have to continue their desperate defences of Abbott’s unrelenting talent for saying and doing things that made both him, and the country, a laughing stock and embarrassment across the globe.

The obituaries have not been kind

“He will not be missed. He should not be praised. He was a failure selfishly wishing that the world would fail with him. We can only hope his like will not be seen again.” The Saturday Paper, Editorial

There will be more of them, at least of the ones that matter, but it may take some time for these to fully develop, to ripen, for all the tawdry facts and fantastic fictions of these last two years to be laid bare, and to fully explore his failure as a man, and as a government, to do him the justice he so truly and richly deserves, to dish back at him the contempt he so freely and frequently dished out at us, a contempt ably illustrated by his assuming the portfolio of “Minister for Women”, a ministry he did nothing with, but claimed purely as a juvenile, middle-finger “Fuck You” to every  woman in his past personal and political life who had ever dared take issue with his infantile brand of lip-smacking, nod-and-wink patriarchy.

That’s Abbott, the little fella in the kitchen banging away on a saucepan with a wooden spoon, driving the adults crazy but they won’t shut him up lest he have a tantrum; his entire life and political career one long, continuous “Fuck You” to anyone or anything that challenged his view of himself as some Golden God on high, wise, noble, all-knowing and just, infallible, in charge or taking over, and, as former PM Paul Keating once noted, “wrecking the joint if you don’t give him the job”, then proceeding to wreck it anyway because he can’t think of anything else to do.

“The man does not want to be who he is, and thus, when he can do anything he wants, he became a force of destruction and failure.” Guy Rundle, Crikey

Thank God that’s over.

Of course, there are some in the media, print media mostly, who have been moved to decry his fate, the usual suspects; they have turned to poetry and prose, hymns, elegies, and soaring symphonies of praise they have offered up in honour of their favoured saviour, but nobody with eyes or ears or who has been conscious in this world over this brief time is buying that shit anymore, not least without laughing a lot. Andrew Bolt, the Herald-Sun’s resident expert on Andrew Bolt, went all Jodi Picault a couple days ago and made himself cry.

People laughed a lot.

Former Liberal Minister For Something I’ve now forgotten, Eric Abetz, marked the occasion of Abbott’s removal by declaring “The King is dead, long live the King”.

No.

Rather, let’s grab a shovel, dig him a hole, and dance on his fucking grave.

Fuck you, Tony Abbott.

You were shit.

THE INTERRUPTED TONGUE

Three weeks ago, my 87 year-old emphysemic father did topple, in a most unseemly and indelicate fashion, face-first onto a heavy wooden dining table, and then did flip backward onto the kitchen floor, causing two bones in his neck to fracture, necessitating a quick visit to the hospital via ambulance where stitches were sewn across the bridge of his nose, and a neck brace fitted to him which looks like something from a science-fiction film – “Alien” came to mind first time I laid eyes on it.

He did lay there for two weeks, looking like one big, bruised, broken vegetable until, early last week, he was transferred to an aged care transitional facility where he is to be slowly re-introduced to the novel concept of walking without falling over (firstly, stand up while hanging onto something), and moving his head about.

This little episode did require my presence in Sydney for an extended period to deal with all manner of things (not least, a 77 year-old mother who is deaf, and cannot hear anything across a phone line), and during which time I had no computer or internet access (because I do not own a computer and my phone is not smart, not so much the affectation of a Luddite as it is my continued penchant for exploring the uncharted and challenging extremes of mind-numbing procrastination within the known – and unknown – dimensions of this, our infinite universe ).

This is about the fourth or fifth fall he has had in as many years, and if things keep going on like this, I may suggest to him that if he likes acrobatics so much, why doesn’t he just go join a fucking circus?

So.

I understand we have a new Prime Minister, that his name is Malcolm, and he speaks in complete sentences.

How’s that working out for people?

INCONVENIENT CATASTROPHES

Melbourne, today

MOTORISTS and passengers can expect a hellish ride into the city Friday morning with roads jammed, trains cancelled and trams packed.

Metro workers are walking off the job between 10am and 2pm but services will start thinning from 8.15am and are not expected to resume to full capacity until 4.30pm.

VicRoads and Public Transport Victoria have urged those who can stay home to do so, with road congestion to be at peak hour levels all day long.

The stoppage will bring seven hours of chaos with 300,000 passengers disrupted and almost 700 train services cancelled.

Europe, now …

I see millions of hands
They are raised to the sky
I see millions of hands
They are raised to the sky
I see visions of outrage
I see visions of outrage

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We are questioning peace
In the absence of god
We all pray to police
Oceans of people
Oceans of souls
Oceans of people
Oceans of souls

_83111786_027288173-1

Europe is falling apart

“Eurovision” Laibach, 2014

The Australian Prime Minister, Tony Abbott, comments

 “We saw yesterday on our screens a very sad, poignant image of children tragically dead at sea in illegal migration,” Mr Abbott told ABC radio. “Thankfully we have stopped that in Australia because we have stopped the illegal boats.”

11204402_10153131982228404_7388792995334059603_n

Such a mensch.

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend’s or of thine own were: any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee. – John Donne

PETER FUCKING DUTTON

Federal Immigration Minister Peter Dutton was on the television yesterday morning, on two channels that I noticed, twice, his gape-mouthed, dead, dull-eyed stare its usual blank and impenetrable fortress of vapid dumb, he’d been wound up with his talking points for the day and nothing, nothing, would sway him from his course, an insistent stream of hollow nonsense, bullshit and bluster, weary clichés and sulkily defensive hostility.

At one point Dutton accused Fairfax and the ABC of conspiring to topple the Abbott government by reporting news with news in it, such as the Australian Border Force fuck-up in Melbourne last Friday, another one of those masterstrokes in public relations our government has come to specialise in and which we, the citizenry, so abjectly fail to appreciate them for time and time again.

I stop listening, and the words “taking responsibility” come to mind. I leave the room, go have a shower (an apt thing to do after hearing or seeing Dutton at any time), and get ready for work. By the time I get there, Dutton’s all over the fucking internet, being rightfully lambasted and widely mocked for his remarks, and for generally carrying on like a sooky cunt.

To date, Dutton’s career as a government minister has not exactly been covered in glory, his exploits have heralded no fanfares and inspired no heroic monuments be established in his name; instead, as one Fairfax scribe noted “in a government which prizes making a goose of oneself, Dutton excels.”

Let us also not forget that, as the former Federal Health Minister, he was regarded, by health professionals, as “the worst health minister in 35 years” and “will be remembered as the dullest, least innovative and most gullible for swallowing the reforms from his think tank … Although I am glad he has been demoted, it would have been good if he was still around to take responsibility for the current chaos he has caused.”

To put it unkindly, the man’s not worth a pinch of shit, and we all know it.

Let us also not forget that, as the current Immigration Minister, Dutton joins a long and undistinguished line of callous and unfeeling arseholes who have, for almost 15 years now, been enabling the rape, torture and physical and psychological abuse of already seriously damaged men, women and children by flinging them off to corruptly governed foreign islands so as to sate the primal fears of a nation whose populace now seems consumed and diseased by cowardice and new tribal hatreds, hatreds lovingly nurtured and fed by the frenzied illogic of the white trash on heat in our tabloids, and their political equivalents.

Let us not forget this

“The story of Beth, a young refugee who was released into the Nauruan community in May. Allegedly Beth, whose name I have changed, was sitting on the beach with some other women when local men gave her a drink. Beth began to feel woozy, before being dragged into bushes by two or three men and raped. They then poured fuel on her and set her alight. I have seen photographs of her after the assault. Her left breast is so badly burnt that the skin has blackened and lifted from the flesh.

As a result of the rape, Beth became pregnant. A solemn Christian, the thought of abortion appalled her but she decided to go through with it. Beth was flown to Brisbane for the termination where, not long after, she attempted to hang herself with a bed sheet. She is now back on Nauru.”

Let us not forget this

“We, as a country, are effectively running overseas prison camps filled with people who have committed no crime, camps where abuse and neglect and maltreatment are routine, where the exercise of power is arbitrary and accountability is non-existent.”

Yet on such topics, Immigration Minister Peter Dutton has this to say …

“In Australia, the Department of Immigration and Border Protection, and the minister’s office, did not respond to detailed questions about the sexual assaults …  and conditions on Nauru for settled refugees.”

Not worth a pinch of shit.

Given that our government of the day has always argued against gender quotas in parliament, insisting that ministerial positions within it are accorded on “merit”, and, as one person put it, “being the worst [at something] is the best you’ve got”, as it is in Dutton’s case, the definition of “merit” becomes as shaky, flaky and psychosis-inducing as our onion-eating, coal and chimney-sweep fetishist Prime Minister, and one realises, one knows, that no media report of any kind, from any channel, could wage a better “vendetta” against the current government than its own members.

All they have to do is talk.

And we respond …

“You people are shit”.

Or …

“Peter fucking Dutton”.

“Bit of a dickhead, that one”.

“Reckon”.

Dutton

TONGUE OF WHAT?

Dr Kevin Donnelly is a Senior Research Fellow at the Australian Catholic University and the co-author of the Review of the Australian Curriculum. Donnelly taught for 18 years in government and non-government schools and was a branch president of the Victorian Secondary Teachers Association. In 2004 he was chief-of-staff to Liberal Party Minister Kevin Andrews.

Here is Dr. Donnelly on ABC’s The Drum holding forth in support of our Prime Minister’s latest example of Mad Cunt People Skillin’  by doing his “Nope, Nope, Nope” thing on marriage “equality” …

” … many of the arguments in favour of same-sex marriage are flawed. Those wanting change argue that defining marriage as involving a man and a woman discriminates against lesbians and homosexuals.

Ignored is that there are many examples where society and the law allow discrimination to occur. Women-only gyms and clubs are allowed to exclude men and those under 18 are not allowed to view X-rated films and videos.”

I’ll just leave that “logic” lying there for you people to ponder on, because it’s got me fucked.

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HANDS UP WHO WANTS TO READ ANOTHER FUCKING ARTICLE ABOUT THE FORMER (HOORAY!) SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE BRONWYN BLOODY BISHOP AND HER HELICOPTER HABIT BECAUSE I SURE AS SHIT DON’T

No matter how many tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of words have been written or spoken about this woman and her history of immoderate extravagance, there is no “sniff test”, no “pub test”, no context one need put it in, no perspective to be applied, there is only this, and always has been only this ….

“You spent $5000 bucks chartering a fucking helicopter to go a ninety minute car drive because you were late to a fete?  OH, DO FUCK OFF, YOU STUPID FUCKING CLOWN!”

If only that were the headline the first time, and for the few days after, we would not have had to endure the last three weeks of front page photographs and footage of the woman, looking like The Joker playing Cruella deVille in a bawdy vaudeville pantomime – “Bite your pillow Australia, I’M STRAPPIN’ ON AND GOIN’ IN DRY!”

“BOOOOOOO!” the audience respond and recoil in unison. Some even flee the theatre.

A few weeks before all these shenanigans, the host of ABC News Breakfast interviews former Liberal leader John Hewson on various things, and asks Hewson if he is disappointed, if he despairs, the current level of policy debate and discussion in politics, its lack of substance.

Hewson replies that he does, and that he has observed its slow and steady degradation over the past twenty years or so, and I think to myself, “Yes, I too have noticed”.

Not too long before this, Creepy Rupert’s stable of News Corp arse-rags were all a-flutter with excitement that Federal Opposition Leader, Mr Brown Paper-Bag, had been summoned before a Royal Commission into something-something unions and asked questions on matters nobody but they seemed to give a flying fuck about, a matter that has since incuriously and understandably disappeared from the news cycle to make way for all these  lurid tales of the aforementioned old bat Bronwyn and her ratty delusions of aristocratic grandeur.

And while Mr. Paper-Bag’s Royal Commission appearance provided the work experience folk at the Photoshop and Pun Departments of Rupert’s papers oodles of jolly good fun for a day or two, a rather subdued announcement was made at that same time that a whopping great open-cut coal mine is to be constructed on a food bowl, and I think to myself, “Are you fucking kidding me? Really?

Our Prime Minion also declared war on “wind” a while back, but unfortunately for the rest of us, the opening salvo in this war on wind would not consist of blowing his and Joe Hockey’s head off with an air rifle.

Nobody’s perfect.

Tony got the shits with windmills, and he’d like the rest of us to have the shits with them too.

Jesus H. Christ.

Imagine a run-down, dilapidated amusement park.

In that park is an out-of-control carousel, spinning and spinning and spinning, careening this way and then that, a kaleidoscopic frenzy of speed, tawdry colours and bright lights, and on that carousel are the cast of inmates from “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”, all of them drunk or off their medications and whooping it up something wild, hanging on to their horses for dear life, laughing, screaming, waving their arms, the organ music’s at max volume and it’s always out of tune.

Welcome to Australian politics.

Each day, it lurches from deliriously, impenetrably weird to full-blown shrill psychosis and back again; one moment it sits quietly in a corner cackling to itself in a warm puddle of its own pee, and the next it’s flinging it’s poo at anyone and everyone in  sight, barking at shadows, hollerin’ batshit crazy things at random passers-by, it’s where “Medication Time” never comes, never has and never will, for there are no pills for this.

Waleed Aly writes a column in Fairfax’s Sydney Morning Herald, observing …

“Labor refuses to prosecute a difficult argument. The Coalition cannot prosecute one without finding an enemy to prosecute along with it. But no one is inviting us into a civil exchange. Perhaps with our instant online outrage and shallowing media cycle we’re not the best guests. Sure, I’ll accept that. But politicians aren’t merely self-interested combatants. They’re custodians of our political culture. And on that score there’s a problem because it’s never been easier to win politically by destroying politics.”

Aly notes that “Our disillusionment with politics is now complete”.

When 70% of Australians polled think leaders of both major political parties are about as useful as a couple eunuchs in a flophouse; when only 8% of Australians get their news from traditional print media, and almost 50% of those do not trust that media; and when the influence of this media is so rapidly declining that its public persuasion factor is almost nil, one may be more inclined to think that it not so much disillusionment with politics, but outright contempt, and a large, sloppy return serve of it to those in government and media who regularly see fit to regard the Australian public with same.

As Rodney Tiffen noted in his Inside Story article from June …

“ … the main medium that picks up on the tabloids’ coverage is commercial talkback radio, which then amplifies the papers’ sense of outrage even further. It should be remembered, though, that their elderly listeners are quite similar to the readers of the tabloid newspapers. Together, the two media form a self-aggrandising and self-referential noise machine, and their volume and bluster should not be mistaken for outreach.”

Tiffen goes on to add …

” … there is an increasing sense of editorial desperation among the Murdoch papers as their commercial plight worsens. Like a one-trick pony, they try ever-bigger versions of the old sensationalist ploys. Politically, the result is even less willingness to report fairly on parties and views they don’t support. Where there was once a populist touch, now there is just a grinding predictability. Where there was once a profitable balance between sensationalism and credibility, now the confected outrage and the beat-ups rarely hit home.”

None of these trends and statistics come as any surprise, for they perfectly reflect my own attitudes toward politics as it is played today, and those in the media who “report” on it, and confirm that I am, most definitely, not alone.

Which begs the question – Who are these people writing for?

Themselves and each other.

And the politicians who still think we’re paying attention to what these alleged “influential” columnists and “opinion-makers” have to say.

As Hadas Gold and Michael Hirsh noted in Politico last year …

“The combination of hyper-polarization and social-media frenzy has created a situation where it seems every spin-meister’s message and TV ad is exaggerated to such absurd lengths that they’ve effectively become meaningless—especially because they’re addressing audiences that are either (a) already fully committed on one side or the other, a choir that doesn’t need preaching to or (b) such sophisticated users of social media that they just don’t buy the crap any more.”

Nobody need read an entire column by anyone in (as Tiffen describes them) “our media’s stable of largely interchangeable and wholly predictable columnists” to know which way they’re whistling and how goes the tune. The headline, the byline, a quick glance at content, reliably daffy keywords are guaranteed to crop up every time, repeatedly, like “leftist” (whatever the fuck that means), and you’re done.

Why bother?

I have often wondered of these so-called “commentators”, the likes of Paul Sheehan or Andrew Bolt or Janet Albrechtson, precisely who they think the fuck they are that their opinions are supposed to matter to anyone who’s not already going to agree with them on a thing, because those who don’t never will.

My opinion on a thing is not fed by the opinions on that thing of others, but by facts, reportage, statistics, peer-reviewed, certified, actual information. WHAT. WE. KNOW.

When Federal Employment Minister Eric Abetz writes a column for Fairfax Media all a-frettin’ and a’fearin’ on the certain moral delinquency that shall arise in the wake of marriage equality (should it ever come to pass), not only shall I not read it, I shall also be inclined to briefly despair at the state of a media whose dearth of talent is such these days, that it would choose to publish such shit.

Or when the likes of Rowan Dean are given space anywhere in a nation’s mainstream press media to air their simple-minded and insubstantive sniggerings, or former political parrots Amanda Vanstone or Peter Reith in The Sydney Morning Herald, and don’t even get me started on Maurice “You Can Call Me The Space Cowboy” Newman in the “The Australian”, not paying attention becomes mandatory.

When “the politics of policy” matters more than the policy to the players, when it becomes nothing but an unending bellowing ululation of frenzied irrationality and fear, when criticism becomes treason, when the tactics are always dirty and the umpire’s always on the make, the audience stop listening, the game is rigged and we know it, it’s a sting, a gyp, a monkeyshines hustle, we know when we’re being diddled and played for patsies and we just ain’t buyin’ this crap no more.

“The Abbott government’s failure to implement so many of its own pre-election promises has contributed to a perception of it as an inefficient government. It has also experienced some very public reversals and botches on policy, including the Medicare co-payment, delaying payments for unemployed young people, cuts to the age pension, race discrimination law, jobseekers applying for 40 jobs a month, deregulation of higher education, and Tony Abbott’s signature paid parental leave policy.” – Sally Young, The Sydney Morning Herald

We do not perceive these things in the context and perspective from which our politicians and their pimps and panders in the mainstream press would like us to, we perceive them in the context and perspectives of our lives as we live them, and as we know others do, and the perception has lead us, has led a great many,  to the conclusion that this government is shit, and there ain’t nothin’ no-one can do or say that will change that as long they continue to keep proving it to us every day by carrying like a pack of full-retard fuckwits.

Goodnight and good luck.

Rosss nervous breakldown small

The above image was auto-generated based upon Facebook information, and you can get your very own front page here. I must say when mine turned up, I did laugh. Aloud.

TONGUE OF THE DAY

From the letters page of “The Age”, July 22nd, 2015 …

The last time I took a helicopter to a Liberal Party function was during the Vietnam War. – Les Anderson, Woodend

Ouch.

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