THE EGO HAS LANDED

Andy Angry Pants Bolt is Angry.

Angry Andy, The Angryman, who can take any sunrise and sprinkle it with spew, is well and truly Angry today, Angry that his political party and government of choice, under the stewardship of Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull, went to an election, and sorta-kinda-maybe-maybe not fucked it up royally, leaving the country “damned”, “ungovernable”, and in a “catastrophic” state, Turnbull “destroyed” and “devastated”, “humiliated, “temperamentally unsuited” to leadership, a “disaster”, who had the temerity, the vicious temerity to treat people such as Angry Pants like “dirt”, “pathetic”, Malcolm don’t know how to play the game, he cheats, he lies, he makes Andy wanna cry, and if you wanna know what that sound is, darlin’, it’s the sound of his tears fallin’.

Who can take a rainbow, colour it with bile, soak it in a sewer and call it something vile, The Angryman can.

Veins popping, throbbing, and apoplectic with incandescent fury, Andy Angry Pants, Queen Bitch of Thundering Bluster and Bombast, imperious, delirious, and, forever true to his deform’d form, did rail and rage against the dying of the Right, and did issue a most stern ultimatum to its nemesis …

“RESIGN!”

God’s blood, this bumptious kvetch has been pissing and moaning, whining and whingeing, screaming at mirrors and screeching at clouds, night and day, day and night, ever since Tony Abbott, Captain Clownshoes, was unceremoniously pissed off from his brief stint as Prime Minister for being an embarrassing fucking idiot, yet Andy’s longing for Tony has yet to quit, oh no, oh no, it follows wherever he goes, like the beat, beat, beat of the tom-tom, there’s oh such a hungry yearnin’ burnin’, and its torment won’t be through, there’s a voice within him keeps repeatin’, you, you, you.

“I’s tired of not havin’ me a buddy to be with, or tell me where we’s comin’ from or goin’ to, or why”, bewails Andy Angry Pants, in bitter lamentations of woe, dire prophecies of downfall and moral decay, but fear not Andy, the ranks of The Sore Losers Club hath swollen today …

Miranda Devine’s face don’t move no more, Piers Akerman’s lost his drool-bucket, Gerard Henderson has phoned Philip Nitschke on account Lifeline’s too busy to take his calls, Paul Sheehan’s back on the magic water, slumped in a gutter somewhere singing “Sweet Adeline”, wishing someone would give him a job so he could tell people what to think again, Alan Jones is retiring to write a Lonely Planet guide to the public toilets of London, Eric Abetz wishes his ol’ Uncle Otto were here to sort this shit out, Cory Bernardi’s locked himself in the bathroom again and you don’t wanna go there, and Lyle Shelton’s reading Ambrose Bierce and watching “Cruising”, thinkin’ ‘bout leather.

And Malcolm?

Malcolm Turnbull’s been musing (again) on why his mother left him when he was just a wee lad, and he’s only just now figured out the answer.

SHITGIBBONS AND THUNDERCUNTS

Today, Saturday, July 2^nd, 2016 your presence is requested, nay, demanded at your local school, church or community hall, so that you may cast your vote to decide which Claw of Shitgibbons or Clutch of Thundercunts shall be “governing” this country for the next three years.

The winner, regardless of brand-name, shall be FEAR, the go-to squeeze-toy whoopee-cushion weapon of choice in Australian politics ever since John Howard told us of dark, foreign ghastlies throwing their children off boats, and Tim Fischer spun scary stories of blacks in the night claiming our backyards as sacred sites for ancient rituals and corroborees, the oppression/destruction of all manner of whitefella shit, barbecues and pool parties mostly.

Amongst the “winners”, but in a strictly Charlie Sheen sense, will be a minor straggling gaggle of so-called “True Blue” wrinkly dinkum Aussie cunts desperate to “reclaim” for themselves an Australia that never existed, and who have a tendency to squirt their pants, knock their knees, and suffer from strange ataxic paroxysms upon sighting any woman up the shops or down mill wearing a scarf. They may claim a Senate seat, make some ugly noises when and if they do, but once that’s all over and done with, they’ll be forgotten quicker than you can say Steve Fielding.

Another winner, unfortunately, and by virtue of nothing but the Donkey Vote, may be The Health Australia Party, which has nought to do with “health” and everything to do with providing a meeting place for whacked-out, crackpot conspiracy theorists who would like the right to refuse their children and yours vaccinations against diseases which may kill or disfigure them, want to remove fluoride from drinking water, and other crystal-rubbing, “djembe-banging in the forest” shit too tedious to type out here.

On a far more positive note, The Greens will do well, simply because the more the major parties and Murdoch’s media maggots rail against them, the more votes they attract, especially from men and women over the age of 18 and under 30 who, far more well-informed and media-savvy than political careerists and commentators give them credit for, prefer evidence-based facts to ideologically driven fictions.

This is the demographic oft forgot by the shitgibbons and thundercunts of mainstream political fuckwittery, the demographic who can’t be push-polled by pollsters because they don’t have landlines to answer. It’s the demographic who may very well be fed up to the fucking back teeth being bleated at by irrelevant numpties like Peta Credlin, told to work for four bucks an hour by Michaelia Cash and little inclined to cast their vote in accordance with the exhortations of print media editorials and commentary, if inclined to consume this form of media at all.

“Piss off Rupert, doddery old fuckmuppet, fuck off”, one might expect them to say, and justifiably so.

Young people do not vote Liberal and will not do so, unless of course they rich, privileged cunts, or are members of the Young Liberals, in which case their calendar of “things to do” would be full to brimming with items such as “Send dick pick to Sarah Hanson-Young”, “Call a gay candidate a faggot”, “Call a black candidate a nigger”, “Get a girl blind drunk and rape her in a toilet”, and then “Don’t forget to vote”.

Young Liberals invariably become Old Liberals, then sometimes they’re elected, and then they go well out of their way to prove how much better off we’d all be if their mothers had scraped, bagged and flushed them into the fucking toilet the moment they were conceived. For example, Liberal Party Senator Zed Seselja whose scummy activities (which he has apologised for, on behalf of his “volunteers”) have only just been bought to public attention by the Greens candidate for the ACT, Christina Hobbs …

“Last night I was tweeted at by a young woman who was walking home past Senator Seselja’s office when she spotted his campaign mini van parked out the front with disturbing images of me and the Greens’ candidate for Fenner taped to the front dashboard with vile and sexist comments.

The comment attached to my image included the phrase that “I want a railing”, the word ‘railing’ being a term for violent sex, often associated with rape.

There is no way that the Senator can deny seeing these images, this is his campaign bus, parked outside his campaign office. Many of us have seen him getting in and out of this van over the past week and whether he was in the front seat or the back seat, these pictures stuck to the dashboard would have been hard to miss.

Throughout this campaign both me and my campaign team have put up with aggressive behaviour by a group of young men dressed in ‘Team Zed’ jackets being bused around who I understand are largely from interstate.

At a prepolling booth in Tuggeranong, two young women from another political party told me they felt ‘intimidated’ by around ten of these young men. I identified at least one of them as being a man who had heckled me about being pro-abortion at a community forum only a week earlier.”

Perhaps Zed will win. Perhaps he will lose. Either way, let us hope he gets hit by a fucking bus on his way to or from the polling booth tomorrow.

Other losers?

Barnaby Joyce. Please.

Malcolm Turnbull.

Winners?

Labor. Minority government.

The Greens. The Arts Party. Nick Xenophon. The Australian Sex Party. Tony Windsor.

Release your hounds.

FAHRENHEIT 5000

Do you own books? Do you buy them? Do you read them?

I have a suggestion for you.

Throw them out. Throw them out now.

Construct for yourself a wondrous and fearsome pyre so that you may purge your life of these vainglorious conceits, these words. Clean your mind.

Is there art on your walls? Originals, prints, posters?

Turn them to face your walls, and gaze on them no longer.

Dispose of your music, vinyl records, your compact discs. Delete your iTunes.  Throw out your devices. All of them. Films? Those too. Out, out. Your television, your radio. Everything. Out.

Objets d’art? Jewellery? Curios? To hell with them all.

Do you eat from plates, with cutlery, do you drink from glassware, do you sit on chairs or sofas, do you sleep on a bed?

Stop this now.

Visit no cinemas, no theatres. No galleries. Attend no concerts or recitals.

These things, these foul things, are but the disposable externalities of the human condition, depraved, a hollow and unprofitable condition of mankind’s docile and self-indulgent intellectual degeneracy.

You will live in a concrete box, a brick box. You will sleep on cardboard, and let newspapers be your coverlet. You will wake each morning, you will clean yourself, you will drape yourself in shapeless rags, you will go to your place of work, and when your day’s work is done, you shall return to your box, your pasteboard bed, your paper blankets, you will stare at walls, through windows, and nothing shall disturb, arouse or engage your senses.

Nothing.

Do you understand?

You are living in a world without art, without design. Without science. Nothing to capture your eye, nothing to turn your head in wonder, astonishment, no sights, no sounds, no words in which to lose yourself, all memories lost, all history dead, all life a grim parade of achromatic gloom, function without form, an aesthetic without aesthetic, to brutalism and beyond.

You will return to your box one night, you will take a knife, a sharp knife, and you will plunge it deep into your throat, draw it across your neck, severing both carotid arteries, and as your flesh splits, as your blood spills, you will write on the wall, this crimson scrawl, the only thought you have left, this …

“See that my grave is kept clean”.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

There is a tendency among the smug, sneering maggots of commerce and industry, and their chittering, conservative counterparts in commercial/tabloid media to dismiss and deride “the arts”, especially contemporary arts, as the mere follies and fripperies, the unfathomable and mystifying works of “luvvies”.

To these silver spoon-fed, elitist toffee-snots, anything which challenges, which confronts their preconceptions of what “art” is, or what it should be, is deemed either laughable or of no value whatsoever, mere entertainments. What they cannot comprehend is what we should not, and to defy their ignorance, to enter into an argument of defence, is to be branded a “luvvie” as well, which is pretty much all they’ve got, and ever have had, by way of comeback.

Poor Precious Petals.

These conservatives, or “libertarians” as many now brand themselves so as to avoid (perfectly justifiable) comparisons to far-right madmen like Anders Breivik (with whom they share so much in common), see fit to anoint themselves judge and jurors, willing and ready to gleefully indict any who trespass, who dare transgress against their safe, staid and stodgy tastes, the comforting pleasures of predictability afforded them by the classicism of Dead White European Males, where every note is known, where the rules are never broken, the authorities are always supermen, and all things are always reassuringly pretty and happy and gay.

“Luvvies”, indeed. Poor Precious Petals. So soft, so delicate in the sensibilities.

Irrespective of the discipline, our ruling classes, die führungsschicht, find “the arts” too harsh a mistress, too unforgiving an adjudicator, cruelly comic reflections of the grotesque banality which lay under their skins, skins so easily pricked, thin, grey and papery, prick them they bleed, outrage and offence, they howl, they squeal and they squeak, “Indecency!”, “Disgusting!”, “Criminal!”, “Barbaric!”, “Pornography!”, yet these, these leaders, these politicians, these stinking base whores to a fast buck, hypocrites all, thieves in our modest temples, kings and queens in theirs, these are the ones who’d think nothing of fist-fucking a five-month old baby in the backside on the off-chance there were a gold coin to retrieve for their efforts, the ends always justifying the means, they would argue.

It’s the economy, stupid.

Fuck the economy. Stupid.

Ingeborg Van Teeseling, from “The Big Smoke” …

“Not only does art momentarily release us from ourselves … It tells our stories, broadens our minds and makes us think. It fills us with ideas and feelings and, if it is really good, it empowers us. Those are all things politicians do not want in voters. They want us to focus on “jobs and growth,” on whether we can afford to buy a house (and negative gear another), on “the economy,” whatever that is. They don’t want us to think outside the box, or feel something different, because then we become difficult to manage … Art is, therefore, the scariest thing around for politicians. Art reminds them that they are temporary [a blip in human history] and, in the scheme of things, not very important.”

There will be no clamour of crowds in attendance at the funeral services of former Prime Ministers Rudd, Gillard or Abbott, as there will be nothing to remember, nothing to commemorate. The books have already been written, there’ll be nothing but chapters left to write, perhaps nothing but paragraphs, “in the scheme of things”.  In “human history”.

No legacy. Nothing.

Poor luvvies.

Unlike H.L. Mencken, unlike Gore Vidal or Studs Terkel, there will be no “collected works” forever in print from the likes of Mark Latham, Andrew Bolt or Miranda Devine or Rowan Dean and their ilk, there is nothing to collect, nothing of substance at least, nothing of lasting import, no history, their documents record nothing beyond their own sense of bloated self-importance, their irrational fears and prejudices, madly and artlessly spat, shat, upon the pages of partisan political pamphlets published by a tweeting fool who fancies himself Emperor Of Our World, Master Of The Universe when, in reality, in “the scheme of things” he is little more than a flea in a sandpit.

Just another Dumb Cunt With Money, one withered fist clutching a bottle of hard-on pills, the other a pre-nup.

Poor old petal.

They all have our best interests at heart. So they say.

They would like us to know what is, and what is not, suitable for our consumption. What is valid, and what is not. What our chillun’ should or should not be a-learnin’. To disagree, to argue, to challenge their edicts is not something they take kindly to, these luvvies, and difference of opinion is not simply that, but a vicious smear, a foul slur, an assault on their right to hold an opinion, “My freedom of speech! My freedom of speech! I have a right to be free with my speech!”, they bleat, oblivious to the fact they have offered their opinion, they have been free with their speech, and a whole lot of people have heard and read same and have quite simply told them to take their opinion and their speech and blow it out their fat, fucking arses.

The conservative “elite”. They’re a little soft of belly, the poor dears.

The Age, May 26, 2016 …

“Books, plays and films studied for VCE will soon be screened to ensure they don’t offend religious and cultural groups.

Education Minister James Merlino has ordered the Victorian Curriculum Assessment Authority (VCAA) to review its text selection process for VCE English, literature, drama and theatre studies.

A spokesman for Mr Merlino said the Minister requested to “extend” the guidelines to “ensure that the views and sensitivities of cultural and religious groups are considered”.

President of the Australian Association for the Teaching of English Monika Wagner said challenging texts encouraged students to think critically. “It [the review] does tend to suggest that there would be a single homogenised heteronormative, culturally normative type of text that is considered acceptable. I don’t know what that text would be but that’s what I would be afraid of.””

Hanya Yanagihara, Author, “A Little Life” …

“I think if we go into the world of art with warnings, we stop looking at visual art, we stop listening to songs, we stop going to the movies, we stop reading fiction, and in the end, you end up cocooning yourself because you’re afraid of getting hurt. I understand that – I understand not wanting to put yourself in situations that are going to call back old traumas, but the fact is you’ll never know how you’re going to react until you start reacting.  I think trying to live life in a preventive way does no one any favours.”

The purpose of art, of science, all of it, is not to soothe, to pander to preconceptions, misconceptions, it is to fuck with your mind, to mess it up, or, as John Waters said, “wreck what came before”.

To a conservative, “critical thinking” is one thought too far, an offence to ideology, beliefs held so close to their breasts, and in their minds, that both heart and mind atrophy from lack of real-world experience, from genuine inquiry, inquisitive minds do not need to know, they need to be told what they must know, unquestioningly accept disciplined, righteous instruction on what is wrong and what is right, forget the why of it, curiosity kills cats, a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, too much …

Edward Snowden.

Snowden, and others who came before him, Daniel Ellsberg, Jeffrey Wigand, Sherron Watkins; the doctors and workers from Manus and Nauru who have defiantly documented the horrors perpetrated (in our name) upon refugees in those criminal hellholes are, whether they know it or not, all engaged in the “art” of deconstruction, challenging the status quo, finger-fucking the lazy, hazy minds of those who complacently accept and obey it, hauling the sacred cows of authority to the slaughterhouse, fucking things up, and wrecking what has come before, what we thought we knew, they’re making life difficult, they’re making people think. Critically.

These are the enemies of the people, as are all artists, of the state, the Demonic Other, who would dare reveal “democracy” as nothing other than a polite and highly developed form of commercialised totalitarianism, where authentic forms of social consciousness must be ridiculed, marginalised, subjected and replaced by a chaste, Spartan ideology as promoted by the vainglorious conceits and unselfconscious hubris of extreme right-wing cultural fascists whose seething and resentful hatred of complexity, of thought, intellectual pursuits, honest reflection and creativity itself is their only aesthetic, the brute aesthetics of fear, of loathing, of the violence of body and of the mind.

A humane politic, which is to say, that capable of bridging the gap between reality and the mobilisation of spirit, is no longer possible, nor is it achievable. It is not even desirable, and so art, all art, in all its forms, must embrace the political, its memes and tropes, in order to kill what has come before, to transform it, to wreck it …

Peter Frankopan, The Sydney Morning Herald, May 25, 2016 …

“Societies that are inclusive, self-confident and successful go out of their way to promote the arts. Even the Mongols, whose reputation is considerably lower even than the present [Australian] government, singled out artists for particularly generous treatment. Those involved in creative arts had immense resources pushed in their direction to encourage them to create works of beauty that would frame their legacy. Cities and monuments across Asia bear witness to the funds lavished on culture by the Mongols and their successors. It is saying something when modern politicians stand up badly in comparison to Genghis Khan, Timur the Great (Tamburlaine) and those around them.”

We are not that society.

Richard Flanagan, The Guardian Australia, May 19, 2016 …

“The disenfranchisement of the imagination is ever the disempowerment of the individual. There is, after all, both a bitter irony and a profound connection in a government that would condemn the wretched of the earth as illiterate, while hard at work to rob its own people of their culture of words.”

$55 million to “settle” two refugees in Cambodia. $632 million to “maintain” refugee detention camps on Manus Island per year. $582 million ditto for Nauru. Per year. $50 billion to construct twelve submarines. So that we may defend ourselves against countries we cannot defend ourselves against.

In 2014, $100 million cut from the Arts sector. In 2015, $104 million.

Kate Mulvaney, Actor and Playwright …

“… knows there are “bigger issues” than the arts, with Indigenous people and refugees being “silenced”. But it’s the arts community that “historically has the guts to speak out on these issues”.

“Like so many of the characters and narratives that exist in society, there’s only so many times you can be told ‘You don’t meet our model of excellence’ before you start to get worn down and a very dark fear kicks in.

“Our community suffers. Our families suffer. Our culture suffers. That moral compass spins out of control, unattended. When these things happen, our stories disappear – sometimes tragically.”

The Guardian Australia, May 4, 2016 …

“Fairfax photographer Alex Ellinghausen snapped Australia’s immigration minister apparently emerging from the shadows to front to the media on Tuesday. [Peter] Dutton was holding a press conference about the self-immolation of a second asylum seeker on Nauru, which he said was the fault of refugee advocates.

Stephanie Peatling, Ellinghausen’s colleague and political correspondent, tweeted the photo with the caption “eek”. She was contacted by Dutton’s office, who asked that she take down the “unflattering” image.”

It didn’t work.

This did …

“Every reference to Australia was scrubbed from the final version of a major UN report on climate change after the Australian government intervened, objecting that the information could harm tourism.

[Will] Steffen is an emeritus professor at the Australian National University and head of Australia’s Climate Council. He was previously executive director of the International Geosphere Biosphere Programme, where he worked with 50 countries on global change science.

“I’ve spent a lot of my career working internationally,” Steffen said. “And it’s very rare that I would see something like this happening. Perhaps in the old Soviet Union you would see this sort of thing happening, where governments would quash information because they didn’t like it. But not in western democracies. I haven’t seen it happen before.”

You will see it happen again.

Perhaps you will not even notice. Perhaps you will not even care.

Then …

You will live in a concrete box, a brick box. You will sleep on cardboard, and let newspapers be your coverlet. You will wake each morning, you will clean yourself, you will drape yourself in shapeless rags, you will go to your place of work, and when your day’s work is done, you will return to your box, your pasteboard bed, your paper blankets, you will stare at walls, through windows, and nothing shall disturb, arouse or engage your senses.

Or.

You can go the polls on July 2^nd, and you can cast your vote to fuck things up, to fuck it up beautifully, to hang our parliament, to embrace chaos and dysfunction, to outrage and horrify, to make people nervous, fearful, distressed, discomfited.

Let transgression be your creed, deny respect to those of wealth and power who expect it be their birthright. Use ridicule and satire, be offensive, and laugh in the faces of those fools who would allow fear define their lives.

Cry Havoc! Solemnise and Celebrate it!

Returning once more to John Waters, “wreck what came before. Is there a better job description than that to aspire to?”

Kunst ist Kunst! Leben ist Kunst!

Glück Auf!

PRIORITIES

Compare and contrast …

Dwight D. Eisenhower, POTUS 1953-1961

“Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed.”

“This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children. The cost of one modern heavy bomber is this: a modern brick school in more than 30 cities. It is two electric power plants, each serving a town of 60,000 population. It is two fine, fully equipped hospitals. It is some 50 miles of concrete highway. We pay for a single fighter with a half million bushels of wheat. We pay for a single destroyer with new homes that could have housed more than 8,000 people…”

“This is one of those times in the affairs of nations when the gravest choices must be made, if there is to be a turning toward a just and lasting peace. It is a moment that calls upon the governments of the world to speak their intentions with simplicity and with honesty. It calls upon them to answer the questions that stirs the hearts of all sane men: is there no other way the world may live?”

Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull and Federal Defence Minister Marise Paine (2015-?)

Our decision to expand our submarine fleet to 12 regionally superior submarines [cost – $50 billion] is a decision driven by national security. Indeed as set out in the White Paper, by 2035 around half of the world’s submarines will be operating in the Indo- Pacific region. We need submarines with considerable range. We need the capacity to remain undisturbed and undetected for extended periods of time. We need submarines that are quiet, that have advanced sensor technology to detect other submarines. When we announced the CEP in February 2015 we made it clear that we required a submarine that had range and endurance similar to that of the Collins Class and superior sensor technology and stealth characteristics.

And …

The federal government would stop funding public schools while continuing to support private schools under a dramatic change to the nation’s education system outlined by Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull.

And …

Not only is the Turnbull Government going ahead with the freeze on Medicare rebates, the government is also keeping in place its decision to cut the bulk-billing incentive for pathology tests. These two measures will ensure that patients are being charged a co-payment when they see their GP; and then they’ll be charged an up-front fee to get tests done. There is absolutely no way for the Turnbull Government to spin this other than it being an attack on the healthcare of all Australians.

Just when you thought it’s safe to go back in the water, they drain the pool.

ONAN ALIVE!

Andrew Bolt, the Herald-Sun’s resident expert on Andrew Bolt hath “written” a screed. Its title is “Worth Fighting For” and it will be produced by Wilkinson Publishing – “Great books from the people you can trust” – responsible for such “great books” as “Face Secrets”, “Fast, Fresh and Natural Smoothies and Juices”, three books about Justin Bieber, “Kochie’s Best Jokes – Volume 5”, six books about One Direction, and “Stain Busters”, to name but a few.

During the course of this month, Mr. Bolt has been tireless in his efforts to inform his “readers” of his forthcoming literary masterwork …

May 17, 2016

I have a new book coming out in July, just in time to console you over the election result. From the publisher’s blurb:

Andrew Bolt is Australia’s most prominent and controversial commentator. In this second book of columns and reflections, Bolt is again in the front lines of our most urgent political and social debates, from Islam and immigration to the green movement and the rise of the slacktivist. But he also reveals his more personal side – the experiences that have shaped his values and love for this country.

For some this book is ammunition. For others it’s fair warning. But for everyone it’s a test of their own values – and the reasons they hold them.

The book doesn’t just contain what I think are my best columns since my last collection, but also diaries I wrote for Spectator Australia, blog items and reflections written just for this edition.

May 18, 2016

The book contains not just my favorite columns since my last collection (a reprint out soon), but also diaries I wrote for Spectator Australia, blog items, an essay on my favourite books and many reflections written just for this edition – on what worked, what failed, my set-backs, my satisfactions and my hopes..

To pre-order your copy of Worth Fighting For with free delivery and a later special Bolt Bulletin update go here.

May 19, 2016

The book contains not just my favorite columns since my last collection (a reprint out soon), but also diaries I wrote for Spectator Australia, blog items, an essay on my favourite books and many reflections written just for this edition – on what worked, what failed, my set-backs, my satisfactions and my hopes..

To pre-order your copy of Worth Fighting For with free delivery and a later special Bolt Bulletin update go here.

May 20, 2016

The book contains not just my favorite columns since my last collection (a reprint will also be out soon), but also diaries I wrote for Spectator Australia, blog items, an essay on my favourite books and many reflections written just for this edition – on what worked, what failed, my set-backs, my satisfactions and my hopes.

To pre-order your copy of Worth Fighting For with free delivery and also – as a bonus – a Bolt Bulletin update of special material to be mailed out later go here.

May 21, 2016

The book contains not just my favorite columns since my last collection, but also diaries I wrote for Spectator Australia, blog items, an essay on my favourite books and many reflections written just for this edition.

To pre-order your copy of Worth Fighting For with free delivery and also – as a bonus – a Bolt Bulletin update of special material to be mailed out later go here.

May 24, 2016

Quadrant Online adds links to a column from my book, out next month. You may find them useful, but it is better I don’t comment. Sad, but our laws against free speech are dangerously and absurdly broad, as I know only too well.

To pre-order the book, plus a Bolt Bulletin update, go here.

The book contains not just my favorite columns since my last collection, but also diaries I wrote for Spectator Australia, blog items, an essay on my favourite books and many reflections written just for this edition.

May 24, 2016

More on the new morality in my latest book:

To pre-order the book, plus a Bolt Bulletin update, go here.

The book contains not just my favorite columns since my last collection, but also diaries I wrote for Spectator Australia, blog items, an essay on my favourite books and many reflections written just for this edition.

May 25, 2016

More on the new morality in my latest book:

To pre-order the book, plus a Bolt Bulletin update, go here.

The book contains not just my favorite columns since my last collection, but also diaries I wrote for Spectator Australia, blog items, an essay on my favourite books and many reflections written just for this edition.

May 27, 2016

My latest book will now be available from next month. It will be launched at events in Sydney and Melbourne in July (and possibly in other states, too).

Readers who pre-order will get Bolt Bulletin updates which will give them, among other things, priority booking for the launches. Details to follow.

But about the book:

To pre-order the book, plus a Bolt Bulletin update, go here.

The book contains not just my favorite columns since my last collection, but also diaries I wrote for Spectator Australia, blog items, an essay on my favourite books and many reflections written just for this edition.

I have nothing further to add but this …

Onanism – Hypochondriasis, hysteria, chorea, epilepsy, apoplexy, and palsy, constitute part of the list of dire maladies induced or immediately excited, by onanism and immoderate or ill-timed coition. The memory and intellectual faculties, in general, are enfeebled, and there are instances of complete idiocy, brought on by early and continued onanism, and of insanity from similar excesses later in life. — The Eclectic Journal of Medicine. Vol 3, No 4. Nov 1894.

Or, from Urban Dictionary …

to wank,
to tame the one eyed monster,
to make the cyclops cry,
man’s favourite outlet,
a date with mrs palm and her five lovely daughters,
toss yourself off,
etc, etc.

For example – “now on the subject of onanism…we don’t want to find you hunched double on the sofa bed pumping your fist”

Please feel free to draw your own conclusions.

IF …

… I were in the audience of ABC’s “Q&A” program, and there was one federal Liberal MP and one Labor on the panel, this is the question I would ask …

“The last company I worked for a decade and a half until February this year, embarked upon a “restructure” about four or five years ago, “restructure” essentially meaning sacking a few busloads of people and outsourcing and offshoring the work to India. These were men and women who had given that company ten to thirty years of their life, men and women in their late fifties and early sixties, suddenly sent packing, none of whom could afford to retire as they did not have enough in savings or superannuation, none of whom were yet eligible for the aged pension.

We know, from evidence, from fact, that men and women of this age often struggle to find employment, and so, may be compelled to apply for unemployment benefits, and we know, from evidence, from fact, that if they do, they shall no doubt be referred to by the maggots of the Murdoch tabloid media mafia, “bludgers” or “rorters”, a stain upon the face of our society and an embarrassment to our kind.

My question is this … When one of your mob decide to call it quits so you may “spend more time with the family” or you were kicked from your electorate because you were crap at your job, and other such rubbish, and then proceed to write another dreary bloody memoir in dead, dull, self-serving prose that makes the average reader want to stab themselves in the eyeballs with a pencil, why do you feel you are entitled to receive one or two hundred thousand bucks a year for the rest of your miserable, useless lives, and why do you believe we, us “little people” out here have to damn well pay for it?

Could you kindly justify that entitlement for me please, and why you feel you deserve it?

Can you defend that?

Can you? Do you dare?

It’s certainly got me buggered, that’s for sure. So, here’s a suggestion …

When you call it quits, when you are thrown from your electoral train a failure, why don’t you all just piss off out of it, and GET ANOTHER GODDAMN FUCKING JOB LIKE THE REST OF US ARE EXPECTED TO, YOU SACK OF BLUDGING FUCKING SUCKHOLES?!”

Question posed, I would no doubt be frog-marched post-haste from the studio, and, in the aftermath, the wash-up from it all, the trash, the bottom-feeding filth, the commentators, the shock-jocks, stuffed to the gills with their own sense of self-righteous, self-importance would do doubt begin to dig into my life, my private life, my past.

They would contact former employers, partners, they would hack my phone and my Facebook page, they would trawl through every comment posted, every blog I had written, and there would be painted a picture most unflattering, a portrait, no doubt, of emergent evil and psychopathy.

Headlines would read “Not So Sharp”, or perhaps, “Foul-Mouthed Pot Smoker Too Blunt In The Head To Make Sense”, Miranda Devine, Andrew Bolt, or the Herald-Sun’s most odious Damon Johnston who would no doubt tweet with impish glee “FRONT PAGE TONIGHT!”.

Satirised. Demonised. Crucified.

Yet, the question would remain unanswered.

It has no defence. It cannot be justified.

And nothing, nothing at all would be done, or would ever be done to correct this most foul of inequities.

Class War?

Count me in, and BRING IT ON.

Together, we will break us free.

Together, let us storm the gates of Vaucluse. With pitchforks and flaming torches shall we march, to throw the demons and monsters from their gaudy towers of conspicuous consumption, of wankery and greed, eviscerate their corpses, their entrails to crows to feed upon, and we, Night’s Black Angels of Righteous Vengeance shall scatter their remains, beaten and abused, into the seas.

Viva la revolución!

If.

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 26^th, 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.

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 …

A 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.

DON’T WRITE CRAP

So said former Prime Minister Julia Gillard to a murmuration of dodgy “journalists” some time back, when said “journalists” had been doing little else but for the duration of her reign. Crap about her past, crap about her partner, crap about her wardrobe, crap about crap, a whole lotta crap, and fuck all substance.

Now we have a whole new brand of crap being written about the current Prime Minister and his Government, only this crap is all about us. We’re fucking it up for Tony and Joe and Co., we’re deliberately fucking it up out of selfishness, out of greed, a sense of entitlement to past favours that are well beyond their use-by date, and can no longer be extended because INTERGENERATIONAL THEFT, and we ought to damn well wake up to ourselves and take our medicine, no matter how vile, toughen the fuck up, and accept “the gift” of good government we are so generously being offered for our own good, but, more importantly, for the good of the country, and to ensure future generations will not grow up a pack of overfed, bedwetting nancies.

I was flipping through a copy of “The Courier-Mail” the other day (it’s a quick flip), and found myself glancing over a piece of crap from News Corps resident expert on media bias, Andrew Bolt, aka Whistler’s Motherfucker.

Motherfucker had this to say …

“THE ABC is trying to destroy Tony Abbott. Its bias — actually unlawful — has never been so ruthless.”

One could easily accuse Bolt of being a tad tunnel-visioned, but that would be a grave understatement. He’s the whole fucking tunnel, and it’s closed both ends.

On he rattles …

“Most dramatic was the flagship 7.30 program’s hostile interview of Treasurer Joe Hockey.

Host Sarah Ferguson kicked it off with a contemptuous statement lightly disguised as a question: “Is it liberating for a politician to decide election promises don’t matter?”

Then there was Lateline host Emma Alberici, who asked a Coalition MP: “Do you think voters are really stupid and can’t recognise a lie when they see one?””

There are perfectly legitimate reasons such questions need be asked, something about holding a government to account when they say a whole bunch of things prior to an election, and all of them, all of them, turn out to be pure bullshit after. Getting to the point by asking a direct question on the actual subject under discussion rather than farting about the shrubbery and hearing a whole bunch more bullshit from these clowns is an extremely effective way (if I may say so) of helping viewers not scream at their television sets in a foaming rage of frustration and scaring the shit out of the family dog.

Motherfucker goes on to wail …

“It [ABC’s Insiders Budget Special) actually had three Leftist journalists against a lone conservative: Laura Tingle, Lenore Taylor and host Fran Kelly up against poor Niki Savva.”

“Poor Niki Savva”.

The Left. Leftist. These are now proper nouns. I’m fucked if I know what a “Leftist” actually is, but I’m sure Bolt would have me pegged me as one. In the singularly focused and hysterically obsessive mind of Whistler, “The Leftists” exist as dark and alien forces of pure evil, a corruption of both mind and body, a shape-shifting shadow of millions upon millions of desperately lost souls, all connected, one hive mind in a fugue state, bent on the dissemination of falsehoods, of fears, and intent on spreading their consciousness sucking tentacles into and across every aspect of life, of work, of enterprise, and bring them all crumbling down through a bleeding heart holocaust of the warm ‘n’ feminising fuzzies, all of this assisted by strangely cloaked bodies foreign of darker hues. You have now entered The Twilight Zone.

The man is a fucking idiot, he’s the village idiots avoid.

“If a Left exists in Australia at all, now, it’s simply as a shorthand description of those who don’t agree with the prescriptions of the modern Right, which seems primarily interested in reversing many of the intellectual and democratic gains of recent decades and centuries and restoring and confining power and privilege to the few rather than the many. To be labelled “left-wing” by the modern Right is probably an endorsement that one’s ideas are sound.

In the end, the Left exists largely in the Right’s own mind – as a straw man onto which to project its delusional and self-interested chatter.” Russell Marks, November 2014, The Monthly

The second tent in this clapped out circus of typing monkeys belongs to the withering remains of Fairfax, whose daily editions now more resemble pamphlets and wherein you will find the plodding inanities of their very own resident hyperventilating antiquity, Paul Sheehan.

Earlier in the month, Sheehan wrote a sorta-kinda “defence” of Tony Abbott in 843 words telling us all what a nice woman Tony’s wife Margie is, and how we’re going to be seeing much, much more of her dragging about with Tony on the hustings because EVIL PETA CREDLIN RUN AWAY AND HIDE.

In this piece of crap we learn that Margie drives herself to the shops, does her own shopping, drives herself to and from Canberra, don’t have no truck with fancy airs ‘n’ graces, has a job, has kept it, is a “patron” of some things, and has been married to Tony for 26 years.

Gag me with a spoon.

What Sheehan is trying to communicate with this crap in unclear to me. Vote for Tony because he has a nice wife? “Policies can win the day”, he adds. Perhaps he’d prefer Margie outline these “policies” to an increasingly frazzled and fed-up electorate, because every time Tony tries, he royally fucks it up.

You may also have seen Gerard “Ol’ Man Underpants” Henderson on ABC’s Insiders program just recently (Sunday 22^nd February), going mano o mano with notorious Stalinist and Terrorism Apologist David Marr, one of the few journalists we have who can actually write, Gerard getting himself worked into a tetchy snit trying to fend off perfectly valid criticisms of Abbott with crap, all to no avail, and finally whining, all sad and plaintive like, “Well, why don’t we just blame everything on Tony Abbott”, aw-gee-shucks, not fair, I’m taking my bucket and spade and I’m telling Mummy.

It’s pathetic. It’s crap.

Three spoilt brats having a sook.

Their “Chosen One” has been found wanting, by the public, by his own party, his bovver-boy shadow-boxing antics the club-footed manoeuvres of a feeble mind rattling with fevred imaginings and fantasies of power, control, of “His Way” or the Highway, “His own worst enemy” as Julie Bishop allegedly told him after 40% of the tribe voted to banish him to Coventry in favour of an empty chair, our Prime Minister has been revealed to all and sundry as a man whose thoughts run no deeper than a scribble on a sandwich-board, and every time he opens his mouth he proves it.

Yet to these three sad fuckers, these desiccated fartleberries clinging to the greying arse-hairs of their conventional mainstream media outlets, their Prime Minister (and he is theirs, not ours) is a veritable fount of Wisdom, Intelligence, Strength, and Virility, a potentially Inspirational Leader for Troubled Times who has had the misfortune to be shunned, snubbed, by a greedy and ungrateful populace unwilling to embrace personal sacrifice for the future of the Reich, and scrape and bow in subjugation to its rightful rulers.

It’s our fault Tony is a dick.

Janet Albrechtson of The Australian says so.

Fuck off, Janet.

SOMEBODY OUT THERE LOVES YOU, BUT WE THINK YOU’RE A C#NT

Our Prime Minister is a chastened man. He has listened. He has learnt. A kinder, gentler polity shall henceforth be embraced, and a far more collaborative, consultative, and collegial fellow shall he be, for he’s the jolly good captain, a steady hand on the tiller for these times of toss’d and tempestuous  seas.

It’s all bullshit, and we know it.

But it feeds the “chooks”, so to speak, and the little fuckers do come a’ runnin’ and a cluckin’, predictably and most excitedly to quaff it all, every crumb, they chumble indiscreetly and most rough, then gob it back at us in the form of immaculately manicured soundbites and talking heads talking to talking heads talking, in “opinion” pieces, in analyses (a form of “opinion” with the occasional fact or three thrown in for substance and prestige), “unnamed” sources, luridly melodramatic pleas for peace and understanding in our times, and wearisome fossicks through the numbles of mythical beasts in search of some revelatory “meaning” to it all.

If I read or hear or see one more of these “reports” about the why’s, where’s, and how’s of this current government’s infecundity, and the “real” reasons for Tony Abbott’s trip down the tin-brick road to insolvency, I feel I shall be compelled to seek out the offending member or members of this said media cabal, and slap the lot of them upside their fucking heads with a mallet.

Much ado about nothing writ hysterically large and at numbingly tedious length, and all of it saying much the same thing for reasons that need no further explanation.

Don’t tell us what we already damn well know, and why we have come to know it.

This government is shit. You’re awful, Tony. You’re fucked.

Somebody out there loves you, but we think you’re a cunt.

No amount of News Corp propagandising on your behalf will change that. Not now.

Listen, you dog, you pussy, you skank ho’ nickel and dime crack-bag of ideological fuckwittery and crackling spoof … It’s YOU.

YOU. Are. The. Problem.

YOU.

You may be a fighter, but you ain’t no fucking dancer.

We’re not buying your policies because your policies are crap. Simple.

The justifications you claim for these policies are hallucinatory, a cruel chimera of callous indifference, wilful ignorance, and gasp-inducing stupidity and pretence, and we’re not buying it.

“One of the things the Labor Party did not do during the campaign was to highlight the extent to which Tony Abbott is capable of changing his mind on important elements of policy. The climate change policy was one of them. If he’s changed it once he can presumably change it again. Indeed, he did tell us that he doesn’t always say what he means … I think Tony Abbott would do what he felt he needed to do to get into power or have power …” Malcolm Fraser, Q&A, 2012

There is this …

“I’ll leave social media to its own devices. Social media is kind of like electronic graffiti and I think that in the media, you make a big mistake to pay too much attention to social media,” Mr Abbott said.”

Then there is this …

“The Abbott government has created a hub of 37 communication and social media specialists to monitor social media and offer strategic communications advice costing taxpayers almost $4.3 million a year.”

As my grandmother was oft wont to say, “You’re all over the shop like a madwoman’s shit, mate”, and our nostrils are beginning to burn, are eyes are beginning to water, our ears are ringing with the echoes of hollow words dully muttered over and over by rote, and we’re beginning to realise just how much shit there’ll be to clean up after you’ve done with voiding the manky pits of your dead, dull mind atop the already pounding heads of the constituency.

“Abbott has proven so incapable of clear policy thinking, so unwilling to consult with even his own ministers and advisers, and so poor at communicating that he has to go,” wrote the CFR (Council on Foreign Relations) senior fellow Joshua Kurlantzick, a US specialist in south-east Asian politics.

“Abbott’s policies have been all over the map, and the lack of coherence has often made the prime minister seem ill-informed and incapable of understanding complex policy issues,” he wrote – The Age, February 11, 2015

There is this …

“[Tony Abbott} announced he would be implementing new measures to fight domestic and family violence. On Tuesday he announced he would create a new national advisory panel on domestic violence and appointed [Rosie] Batty and retiring Victorian Police Commissioner Ken Lay as its founding members.

He also announced he would elevate domestic and family violence to an urgent agenda item for the Council of Australian Governments. He said he would urge the Council to agree on a framework for a national domestic violence scheme.”

Then there is this …

“Batty has said that these announcements are meaningless unless Abbott takes action to reverse the cuts he has already made to crucial domestic violence services …

The cuts she refers to are to family violence services as well as homelessness and crisis accommodation services across the country. Altogether, the cuts are worth $300 million. Several services across the country will be forced to close after having their federal funding slashed or even removed in its entirety.

The cuts also mean that specialised staff across the country that are trained in assisting victims of domestic violence will be displaced. These services assist women and children fleeing violence in a variety of ways; from providing crisis accommodation in a safe and secure environment to providing legal assistance with domestic violence apprehension orders …

… The family violence and homelessness sector is already unable to accommodate the tragically high demand in Australia, and these cuts will see even more women and children denied support.”

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.

You’re a cunt, Tony. You are a liar.

Your words are stuttering, stammering bleats of vacuous inanity undeserving of the air that carries them, blurted squalls of self-referential nonsense where you have cast yourself as Leading Man, The King, The Captain, and we are the extras, abhorrent enemies of your New Order to be quashed in this monochromatic, small-screen extravaganza of wanton idiocy and self-righteousness, your words carry nothing, no weight, no authority, no intelligence, nothing.

You’re stupid, Tony. You are a fool.

Whenever you open your mouth, you prove it.

We do not like you.

We have made that clear.

You have made it clear you do not like us.

The spin doesn’t work. We’re not listening. We’re all tuckered out, and feeling slightly nauseous, and we’re no longer paying attention. You’re full of it, and we’re done.

You have placed the “policies” you are so desperately trying to sell us – the boots that you would have forever stamp our faces – in the hands of errand boys sent by grocery clerks to collect a bill that’s already been paid.

We’re sending them back, marked “Refused”.

Reasons?

“Work not completed to specifications. Shoddy craftsmanship. Sub-standard raw materials. Tacky finish.”

And because you’re a cunt.

Tony.

“I say unto you: one must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star. I say unto you: you still have chaos in yourselves.

Alas, the time is coming when man will no longer give birth to a star. Alas, the time of the most despicable man is coming, he that is no longer able to despise himself. Behold, I show you the last man.

‘What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?’ thus asks the last man, and blinks.

The earth has become small, and on it hops the last man, who makes everything small. His race is as ineradicable as the flea; the last man lives longest.

Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche “Thus Spoke Zarathustra”

IT WAS A VERY SMELLY YEAR

That’s it from Tongues for another year. Internet off. Vacation.

It’s been a year of somewhat sporadic posts for all manner of reasons, yet as I noted in the last piece, there are only so many times you can spend your time writing something that ends up at the same conclusion … “This Government Is Shit”.

And so, just in case you’ve missed a few, here are the various ways during 2014 in which they proved it beyond any reasonable (or unreasonable doubt) …

February : The Day My Wallet Blew My Bum Off

“It is Kristallnacht in Australia.

For the worker, for the low-paid, for women, for the infirm, the ill, unions, teachers, public schools, public hospitals, Medicare, industry, science , public broadcasting, the arts, public servants, immigrants, refugees, environmentalists, the environment itself, the land, the water.

The end of dissent. The end of truth. The end of society.

Tony Abbott has now become a God.

Of vengeance.”

March: 13-11-14

“A “policy” has been Frankenstein’d into being at the behest of 60% of Australians who “want the Abbott government [and the three governments before it] to “increase the severity of the treatment of asylum seekers”, because that, and that alone gnaws at the very core of their being, day after day, month after month, minute by minute – in the home, the workplace, the pub, the coffee shop, every day is a Bad Day at Black Rock, there be strangers comin’ to town, and pokin’ their noses into things they ain’t got no business with …

… The Howard “battlers”, Hanson’s children, slumped into their Harvey Norman 3-Year, Interest-Free, Nothing-To-Pay Now* (*conditions apply), 4-seater beige bonded leather lounge with chaise, poking at a Playstation, a tabloid on the coffee table, 2GB on the radio, all they hear and read are the headlines, the screams and the screeches, and they say things like “Won’t recognize the fucking country in a couple years ‘cause of all these cunts they’re lettin’ in”, and “It’s not the Australia I grew up in, that’s for sure”, and “They let these cunts in and throw fucking money and welfare and fucking houses at ‘em, and what about us, eh? What about the fucking rest of us?” …”

May: “Nation’s Pride”

“I have seen the future according to Prime Minister Tony Abbott and, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a load of wussy, namby-pamby, half-arsed faggy bollocks.

I for one, and I’m sure I speak for a multitude, if not the vast and overwhelming majority of honest, decent, hard-working, God-fearing Aussie blokes and sheilas are fed up to the fucking back teeth with these bludging toe-rags on welfare. Why the fuck should my taxes be used to subsidise the lifestyle choices of doddery old cunts and cripples and retards and latte-sipping lazy leftist shitheads from the inner-city who are more motivated by the thought of going out and getting another fucking tattoo or piercing than they are by getting a fucking job?”

May: Silly Buggers Talking Bullshit

“I am sitting at a table at my local pub, outside, having a quiet beer on a perfectly fine day, minding my own quiet business, idly flipping through the pages of Saturday morning’s Courier-Mail, when I hear a faint hub-bub from behind me, a hub-hub that soon grows into something of a din, when into the pub, trailed by a small fleet of cameras and photographers and a couple minders, and completely unexpected and unannounced, strides Federal Treasurer Joe Hockey on a meet ‘n’ greet soiree with some of the common folk …

… He talks of “heavy lifting” and “sharing the pain”, and that’s when I throw my beer over him, make a Harpo Marx face, flap my hands and belt out a quick chorus of “Hello, Dolly!” before his minders wrestle me about a bit for the benefit of the cameras, someone calls the cops, and I am duly charged with assault with a refreshing alcoholic beverage …”

June: Who Put The Dickheads In Charge

“Politicians, Captains of Industry, Business Leaders, Corporate Directors, People with Money, the lot of them Dickheads with dead eyes and soft, milky jowls, their fat necks bulge up and over their stiff and starched white collared business shirts like so many baby hippo’s straining to break free from the womb. They comb their hair just so, like all Dickheads do, they like blue ties and dark suits, and they speak in Dickheaderese, a language only they understand, but with which they choose to flog and berate and nag and whine and whinge at the rest of us, we Non-Dickheads, of whom they do not approve, they do not approve of us at all, because there are times when we disagree, we object, we protest, we resist their reproaches, we argue, and they can’t have that, they won’t, because they are The Dickheads and they are in charge, and that is just as the world should be.”

July: Australischen Arbeiterjugend

“You are, as of now, conscripted into the service of the State. You will accept this service. You will carry out all and any duties requested of you by the State. You will do so with pride and dedication. You will receive a small allowance for your service, but you will be granted no other rights or benefits. Your blood, your sweat, your tears, the dust of your bones shall fertilise our fields, grow our crops, and help feed our people. Your words shall be whispers to the ears of the deaf, your hopes the vain follies of indolent youth.

Welcome to Our Green Army, Australischen Arbeiterjugend!”

October: Dumb Cunts With Money

“Amanda Vanstone, former Government Minister for Something turned talking head/typist for hire recently did a spot of creative typing for Fairfax media on what she feels is the unseemly habit of “average” Australians (that is, people who work for a living) to criticise millionaires and billionaires (that is, people who like fucking people over who work  for a living) for being nothing other than dumb cunts with money who talk out their arses about things they know fuck all about, and lie and cheat and steal their way to riches.

Vanstone calls this “the politics of envy”.

Reading this piece (if you can bring yourself to) of muddle-headed, badly written primary school prose, complete with a few dodgy statistics thrown in, is an exercise in tedium about as compelling as being whacked across the head repeatedly with a water-logged copy of “Atlas Shrugged” whilst being buggered up the arse with a Platinum Amex card.

The nub of Vanstone’s Big Dick vs. Little Dick “argument” is that when dumb cunts with money who talk out their arses about things they know fuck all about, and lie and cheat and steal their way to riches , us little people should realise that not all dumb cunts with money are cunts …”

October: You Make Life A Fairy Tale: Grim

“You may find yourself in a quiet moment, a fond reverie, a warm remembrance of things long past, back when the world seemed a little simpler to you, a little more optimistic, pleasantly positive even, when, from out of nowhere and unbidden, someone grabs you by the back of the neck, shoves your face in their arse and blows farts in your mouth …

… These are the type of dull bulbs who’d begrudge a person a muffled exclamation of pleasure after a good fuck, and on Tuesday October 21st, their names included “journalists” Greg Sheridan and Andrew Bolt, and Alan Jones, a man with a head like a bleached beetroot stuck with fish-lips who talks shit on a radio station in Sydney.

The reason for these gentlemen’s embittered disgruntlement on this otherwise fine October day was the loving veneration and condolences afforded Gough Whitlam, Australia’s 21st Prime Minister, on the occasion of his death at age 98, from multitudes of other Australians, many journalists and commentators and people who talk shit on the radio included.”

November: Two Little Boys

“There are only so many times you can wake in the morning, take in the news, find yourself muttering, “Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me” or “Oh, for fuck’s sake”, before you become sick of the sound of your own voice and simply stop paying attention.

Greg Hunt and Peter Dutton are merely two examples – fine ones – of the dizzying level of stupid that now inhabits the feeble minds of this motley, miserable mob of gibbering shitheads, yokels, and other assorted bugs and goblins who currently infect our nation’s body politic on all levels of government. On all sides.

Engage?

Their legislative “successes” are written up and offered only as “personal victories” or “vindications” of their positions, “achievements” that achieve nothing for the greater good of the country or of the commonweal, yet shall we “engage” by attending this lurid spectacle of so many defiantly  stupid men massaging their outsized egos in public over decisions they have made about things they know nothing about?”

Thank you for reading, and try not to let the bastards grind you down.

I shall leave you with this fine tune which I hereby dedicate to our Loving Minister For Marriage, Relationship and Sex Counselling, The Honourable Member for Minding Your Family Business, Mr. Kevin Andrews …

Garfunkel & Oates “The Loophole” aka “Fuck Me in the Ass Because I Love Jesus”

THIS GOVERNMENT IS SHIT

Have I missed anything recently?

Has anything happened?

Excuse the paucity in posts of late, but I have been paying little attention to matters of national import.

Are there any?

Are they dire?

I have come to understand the Federal Government has a Defence Minister and that his name is David Johnston.

It is a name I was most unfamiliar with, and I could not put a face to it, as I was quite unaware as to whether Mr. Johnston had ever made a statement addressing matters in his portfolio during his time in government. Maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention at the time, or maybe I thought that was Scott Morrison’s job. Scott Morrison often seems to think so.

Anyway, Mr. Johnston said something stupid recently, and found himself in the shit.

Prime Minister Tony Abbott leapt to Johnston’s defence, insisting he said nothing stupid, he’s not in the shit, and everything’s just so.

This is silly.

No one is listening to this shit anymore.

For the political tragics, for those whose job it is to write and comment on or analyse such matters, or those who make it their job, there are rich pickings to be had from the current crop of dunces in this government, although much of it, most of it defies any intelligent analysis, but all of it, the columns, the commentary, the criticism, pretty much all of it, amounts to the same thing, said over and over and over again.

This government is shit.

I don’t need thirty fucking columns by thirty different people inside the space of a week telling me what is, and always has been, plainly self-evident from the get-go to anybody willing to pay even the slightest bit of attention, and that is –

Tony Abbott is a lying cunt, and Tony Abbott has always been a lying cunt, and has spent pretty much his entire time in politics lying through his fucking teeth every time he opens his fucking mouth …

And so it goes.

Communications Minister Malcolm Turnbull may be willing to make a tit of himself on national television twisting Abbott’s “no cuts to the ABC” comments every which way, but nobody, least of all himself, buys it.

Former Victorian Premier Dennis Napthine is told by a random stranger “the bullshit just keeps coming”, and so it does, they keep shoveling it on, we just learn to hold our noses, and walk on by.

No one is listening to this bullshit anymore.

“Spin, as an art, has totally jumped the shark. It’s so overdone, it’s dead. It’s self-parody. Low comedy. Kitsch. For years, as the country and political parties have grown more polarized, we’ve been moving the goal posts of spin-surdity. The farther Republicans and Democrats drifted apart, the more the spin-meisters followed and stretched their rhetoric beyond any recognizable reality. The more wacked-out the rhetoric got, the fewer people listened. Now we’ve gotten the point where even some spin-doctors think that there’s not much point any more. “I think everyone’s kind of caught on to it,” says James Carville, who, once upon a time, was to political spin what Picasso was to rearranged anatomy. “Everybody, the journalists, everybody sees through it.”” Politico, November 2014

When Foreign Minister Julie Bishop “chides” US President Barack Obama for his comments on climate change and its impact on the Great Barrier Reef, and insists “We have demonstrated world’s best practice … to ensure the Great Barrier Reef is preserved for generations to come”, nobody’s buying it because it’s bullshit and everybody knows it …

“Professor Terry Hughes, who is the director of the Australian Research Council Centre of Excellence for Coral Reef Studies, says there’s an extraordinary disconnect between the government’s position and what scientists across the globe are saying.

Prof Hughes said he couldn’t explain why Ms Bishop’s views were so far removed from the science.

“I think you’ll have to ask her that,” he told AAP.

Government support for the development of the vast Carmichael coal mine in the Galilee basin is also inconsistent with reef protection, he said.

“(The mine) will have a Co2 footprint that’s three times larger than New Zealand’s if it goes ahead,” he said.”

Bishop, like all of Abbott’s timid others, speaks with, and only with, Her Masters Voice, and he speaks for His, and his Masters are a troupe of medieval fools, dumb cunts with money, and not an ounce of common sense between them.

No one is listening to this bullshit anymore.

There is simply too much of it.

Did Bishop and Co honestly think, during the Brisbane G20, that they would be able to insist, or even have the gall to suggest, the President of the United States refrain from any mention of climate change (among other topics) during his address to students, that he would simply acquiesce to such a thing? Nod his nappy head with a “Yowser, masser” and play along like a good little nigger, just so as not to upset the white folk in charge?

Fuck off, you stupid little bastards.

All this and so much more is way too much of nothing to be bothering with.

Which gives rise to a dilemma of sorts.

No matter which way you spin it, no matter how many words you may use, no matter what argument you may mount, and how carefully you may mount it, no matter the detail, the logic, it is simply not possible anymore to attach any substance, any significance to anything anyone in this government has to say about any fucking thing because all of it, from all of them, is fucking nonsense.

“True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country” – Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

I understand some have said that the government lacks “narrative” or has yet to find “narrative”, but the narrative, to my mind, seems perfectly clear –

“Frankly, you need a mighty lot of unfairness before most people notice. But this one had it all. Make young people wait six months for the dole? Sure. Cut the indexation of the age pension? Sure. Charge people $7 to visit the doctor, and more if they get tests, regardless of how poor they are? Sure.

Charge people up to $42.70 per prescription? Sure. Lumber uni students with hugely increased HECS debts that grow in real terms  even when they’re earning less than $50,000 a year? Sure.” – Ross Gittins, Sydney Morning Herald, November 30, 2014

They want to rape you, kill you, spurt on your corpse, make your skin a lampshade, expect a round of applause for their efforts at making all these tough decisions, and then, just when you think they’re done, they decide to skullfuck your dog and make your cat into a slipper.

What’s not to like?

After a year of achieving little else but pissing the potential votes of whole demographics of people up against the wall in pursuit of God-Only-Knows-What-The-Fuck, we can now say, with safety and certainty in our hearts, and our minds set firm, that anything said by Tony Abbott, Scott Morrison, Eric Abetz, Joe Hockey, Christopher Pyne, Greg Hunt, Peter Dutton, Julie Bishop, Malcolm Turnbull in the past, present, and the future, can all be dismissed as total bollocks.

No one is listening to this bullshit anymore, boys.

We may be inclined to forgive people for occasionally fucking it up, for screwing the pooch, but when they start beating the pup to death with a fucking mallet and rolling in the viscera, it’s time to look away. For something a little more edifying. For something a little more substantial.

“Twenty years ago, during a long, leisurely lunch conversation about the Liberals and their history, John Howard expressed the view that the party no longer attracted the sort of people it once had. He spoke frankly – at the time, his chances of a comeback looked close to zero – and I pressed him on the issue.

These people, he suggested, wanted something rather than wanting to offer something. It was a big difference.”  Norman Abjorensen, Inside Story, November 2014

There are hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of articles and comment and criticism available, of blogs and tweets and Facebook posts, of lengthy essays and features, profiles and analysis out there to be had about this current Abbott government, and all of them now seem to be saying the exact same thing.

This government is shit.

There is your headline for the next twenty-four months.

This government is shit.

And no one is listening anymore.

As for myself, I’m going to have to find some new things to scribble about next year, because these people are too stupid for time.

SCOTT MORRISON, A PETSELEH IN A SHANDHOIZ

Back in February 2011, I wrote this for another (now-defunct) blog. It has a whole bunch of those words I was looking for in my last post just now, only in Yiddish …

Scott Morrison, opposition immigration spokesman, has a problem with taxpayers ponying up some cash to pay for the funerals of those who were killed in the Christmas Island tragedy …

Seven survivors of the Christmas Island boat tragedy will travel to Sydney today to bury family members. Among them, Madian El Ibrahimy will bury his eight-month-old daughter, Zahra and Hussein al-Husaini will lay to rest his three-month-old son Sam.

Both men’s wives drowned, or are missing.

The opposition immigration spokesman, Scott Morrison, yesterday attacked the government for flying 21 detainees from Christmas Island to attend the Muslim and Christian funerals at Rookwood and Rouse Hill for victims of December’s horrific boat crash.

Family members of 12 of the victims live in Sydney and requested they be buried here.

But Mr Morrison said transferring detainees to Sydney raised security issues and showed the government ”doesn’t understand the value of the taxpayer’s money”.

Mr Morrison told radio 2GB: ”If people wanted to attend the funeral service from Sydney, for example, who may have been relatives of those who wanted these funeral services, well, they could have held the service on Christmas Island and like any other Australian who would have wanted to go to the funeral of someone close to them, they would have paid for themselves to get on a plane and go there.”

He should die of cancer. A shtunk, er zol vaksen vi a tsibeleh, mit dem kop in drerd! …

Scott Morrison, this crusted cum stain on the fabric of the universe, this bloated, block-headed bucket of thrush from out the communal washbasin of a heizel, a kuppe drek, this plyoot karger, this farkakte proster chamoole, it k’vitsh’s “Tzufil!!”, “Too much!! Too costly!!”, the money we spend to bury the children of these “niggers” from across the sea, these invaders, these illegals, their foreign ways they bring to these pristine white shores where pristine white people go about their pristine white ways, and now we, the “taxpayer”, we pay our shekels to bury their rotting dead?

“Gai feifen ahfen yam!” it whines, such a yatebedam it thinks it is, such a man, counting our pennies for us, counting, counting, counting, bed bugs I have seen with more character than this yukel, this shtunk, this fat-faced tamaveter with its crooked beaver teeth, its dead man’s eyes, a feier zol im trefen!! … Such a grober is this boy, this shtik drek, his words are like the loose bowel movements of crazy old grandmothers that carry on the breezes that brush over a field of unburied corpses.

Kish mir en toches, groisser potz!! Me ken brechen!!

Ah, fuck him, his testicles are sultanas, his penis is a noodle.

Scott Morrision, zolst zein vi a lomp-am tug sollst di hangen, in der nacht sollst di brennen!!

Gai trenz ich, Morrison, gai trenz ich!!!

…

…

Farshtaist?

*Translations in comments.

WHO PUT THE DICKHEADS IN CHARGE?

We did.

We keep putting Dickheads in charge of things that are far too important to be left to Dickheads, and then we express shock and surprise, outrage and anger, that the person whom we’ve always suspected to be a Dickhead turns out to be a far bigger and far more dangerous Dickhead than we ever could’ve imagined.

Fancy that.

Politicians, Captains of Industry, Business Leaders, Corporate Directors, People with Money, the lot of them Dickheads with dead eyes and soft, milky jowls, their fat necks bulge up and over their stiff and starched white collared business shirts like so many baby hippo’s straining to break free from the womb. They comb their hair just so, like all Dickheads do, they like blue ties and dark suits, and they speak in Dickheaderese, a language only they understand, but with which they choose to flog and berate and nag and whine and whinge at the rest of us, we Non-Dickheads, of whom they do not approve, they do not approve of us at all, because there are times when we disagree, we object, we protest, we resist their reproaches, we argue, and they can’t have that, they won’t, because they are The Dickheads and they are in charge, and that is just as the world should be.

This, these, are the lessons we must learn.

Dickheads make shit up, and they like to call fictions and fantasies “facts”.

Dickheads speak in broad, sweeping generalisations about things they know nothing of, and have no experience in whatsoever, and they are not inclined to pay attention to those who do know things, because those people are not Dickheads, and if they are not Dickheads, but happen to be in charge of something, they will very soon find themselves out of charge and right royally fucked over …

Van Badham, The Guardian Australia, June 5, 2014 …

“What this means applied to the Australian example is this: what is informing the policy agenda of Abbott’s government is not expertise, experience or research based on comparative modeling. It is not considered opinion, nor consultation with stakeholders. It is not practicality, not economics, not populism (as the post-budget polls clearly show). It is an ideological agenda to punish the poor for being poor, the sick for being sick, addicts for being addicts, and those who who are not rich but wish to learn for having ambitions above their station.

And the Coalition will pursue this agenda exactly as far as the Australian people allow them to get away with it.”

Dickheads dream Very Big Dreams.

Very Big Dreams of Very Big Arenas and Stadiums and Cities filled with the clamour and love of legions of adoring hordes too numerous to count, slogans are chanted and fists are raised in salutations of adulation, flags are flying and banners with strange and unusual symbols on them hang proudly from the balconies of public buildings in the Kapitol, and there are stalls selling eintopf and kasespatle and sauerbraten and brezel and, for die Kleinen, as much schwarzwalder kirschtorte as they can eat, badges and streamers and confetti, and pamphlets praising the multiple virtues of these Dickheads Who Are In Charge of Very Important Things, pamphlets written by these very same Dickheads, for only a Dickhead knows what a Dickhead knows, and only these Dickheads know what is best.

Dickheads say the darnedest things …

NEIL MITCHELL Radio 3AW Melbourne: Are penalty rates still part of the issue here? I know there’s a review, but do you think penalty rates need to be seriously reviewed?

PRIME MINISTER Tony Abbott: Well,again, that’s a matter for the Commission, as it should be, Neil, but one of the real problems we’ve got at the moment is that if you want to keep your café or restaurant open on a Sunday or on a public holiday, it’s very expensive. I don’t know what things were like last Easter in Melbourne, but last Easter in Sydney, it was very hard to get a cup of coffee outside well known tourist destinations and I think that’s a pity.”

Awwwwww, poor Dickhead.

Dickheads do complain a lot. The richer, or more powerful the Dickhead, the more they complain. Mostly about Non-Dickheads …

Non-Dickheads don’t work hard enough. Non-Dickheads want to be paid when they do work, but the Dickheads in Charge complain that Non-Dickheads are paid too much, even that they expect to be paid at all, which is appalling when you really think about it.

That they want to be paid, that is.

“Layin’ it down here, Boss!”. “Pickin’ it up here, Boss!”.

Dickheads don’t like old people, because old people get sick and cost money. Dickheads don’t like young people, because young people just lay about all day doing nothing and asking for government handouts. Dickheads don’t like people with disabilities because they’re embarrassing. Sometimes they have deformities, or they look funny, or they make noises. They just gum up the gene pool, and the Dickheads would prefer it if somebody could simply Glen-20 the whole lot of them into oblivion or something, so they wouldn’t keep wasting the taxpayers money on wheelchairs and crutches and respirators and drool buckets.

From “The New Statesman”, Alan B’stard (Rik Mayall) …

“We hear an awful lot of leftie whingeing about NHS waiting lists. Well the answer’s simple. Shut down the health service. Result? No more waiting lists. You see, in the good old days, you were poor, you got ill and you died. And yet these days people seem to think they’ve got some sort of God-given right to be cured. And what is the result of this sloppy socialist thinking? More poor people. In contrast, my policies would eradicate poor people, thereby eliminating poverty. And they say that we Conservatives have no heart”.

Dickheads “believe in things”, so much simpler and convenient than actually knowing a thing. You don’t have to do any work.

Dickheads have spent their entire lives concocting “theories” on how we should live, and these “theories” are called ”ideologies”, which is to say, they are “systems of belief”, not to be confused with “Systems of Romance”, a fine album from the late 1970’s by the John Foxx led Ultravox, before Midge Ure came along with all the puffy shirt shit and fucked it all up.

Dickheads worship money and any Dickhead who has money is a good Dickhead by Dickhead standards, and should be listened to and paid all due and diligent deference and respect, because having money, oodles of it, means you know everything there is to know about everything and you should be put in charge of things. Very important things. Immediately.

Yet all across the country, hundreds of thousands of voices are now being raised in shock and surprise, anger and outrage, that so many Dickheads are in charge of so many things, and they seem to be murderously intent on fucking them all up and the rest of us with it, and there is simply nothing we can do about it.

Tim Dunlop, ABC …

“Of course, Mr Abbott is perfectly free to assert that a skeleton government, unionless workplaces, reduced public services, cuts in welfare, cuts in wages, and a minimally taxed business sector is a recipe for a fair and decent society, but we all know that that is rubbish.

How do we know?

Because we have a 40-year experiment in precisely the sort of policies he is now pursuing and we can check the outcome. That experiment is called the United States, and it is one the least equal developed nations on earth, decaying from the middle (class) out.

So we know how the story ends.

And yet this is where we are heading, mere months into the first term of an Abbott government. We are, as a nation, being transformed from a society into an economy.”

You cannot argue with a Dickhead.

You cannot reason with a Dickhead.

The Dickheads are in Charge.

And we put them there.

Who are the Dickheads now?

This post contains 1,340 words. 44 of them are Dickheads.

SILLY BUGGERS TALKING BULLSHIT

Imagine …

I am sitting at a table at my local pub, outside, having a quiet beer on a perfectly fine day, minding my own quiet business, idly flipping through the pages of Saturday morning’s Courier-Mail, when I hear a faint hub-bub from behind me, a hub-hub that soon grows into something of a din, when into the pub, trailed by a small fleet of cameras and photographers and a couple minders, and completely unexpected and unannounced, strides Federal Treasurer Joe Hockey on a meet ‘n’ greet soiree with some of the common folk.

He shakes a few hands, clasps a few shoulders, has a chinwag and a chuckle or three, buys a beer – a midi, $4.40 – and then he wanders out to where I am, having a quiet beer on a perfectly fine day and minding my own quiet business, thrusting his hand into my personal space, introducing himself, and then, and then, he … sits down, opposite, and he begins to talk, not to me, but at me.

He talks of budgets and deficits and debts and disasters, he talks most excitedly and terribly, terribly seriously, his every word a portent of doom for future calamity and catastrophe if desperate measures are not taken and taken immediately to halt the country’s imminent collapse into cannibalistic primitivism and anarchy ….

He talks of “heavy lifting” and “sharing the pain”, and that’s when I throw my beer over him, make a Harpo Marx face, flap my hands and belt out a quick chorus of “Hello, Dolly!” before his minders wrestle me about a bit for the benefit of the cameras, someone calls the cops, and I am duly charged with assault with a refreshing alcoholic beverage …

Some time later …

I am confronting my fate at the hand of The Law, and The Law doth ask me if my name is my name and my address is my address, to which I reply in the affirmative, and then I am asked, “Mr. Sharp. Did you throw a glass of beer at the Federal Treasurer, Joe Hockey?”

“Yes, I did”, I say, “Only the beer, though. I kept the glass”.

“Why did you throw beer at Mr. Hockey, Mr. Sharp?”, I am asked.

“Because he’s a dickhead”, I say.

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s a dickhead.”

“Could you possibly elaborate a little further, Mr. Sharp?”

“I’m having a quiet beer on a perfectly fine day, minding my own quiet business, idly flipping through the pages of Saturday morning’s Courier-Mail, when in waltzes Hockey who, completely uninvited by myself, plonks himself across the table from where I’m sitting and begins to rattle on and on and on at me about budgets and debts and deficits and disasters, all of which is complete and total bullshit, but no matter how many times you try to point out what bullshit it all is, or how hysterically over-the-top it all is, they keep on with it, they keep pressing the point that the entire country’s totally stuffed and will turn into a basket-case of epic proportions unless the government is allowed to screw people who can’t afford to be screwed any more than they’re already being screwed into chalky dust and economic oblivion. Bollocks. Where am I? The Democratic Republic of Congo? Nigeria? Haiti? North Korea? Is this Detroit, Michigan? Is this Baltimore, Maryland? No, it is not. Is it too much to expect a sense of perspective about a thing occasionally? A blue moon would do. But no, every single day, some lumpy-arsed wally is a-hollerin’ and a-howlin’ about some so-called “mess we’re in”, or some new “crisis” or “emergency” that will tip the planet off its axis and send us all hurtling into the sun. About the only damn “crisis” I’m seeing these days involve a bunch of frothing political lunatics whose intellects are so unevolved, whose imaginations are so devoid of anything, anything that might even come close to a coherent idea, a workable policy, that if you took a peek inside their pea-sized brains, all you’d see would be a couple tumbling tumbleweeds and a blowfly, and even the blowfly’s fed up to the back teeth and beside itself trying to get the fuck out. Silly buggers talking bullshit. I’ve had a gutful of silly buggers talking bullshit. My head feels like a scurry of squirrels have taken up residence in my skull. They hurt my head! These people are simply not rational. They say one thing one day, the opposite the next, they’re all over the bloody shop like a mad woman’s shit. It’s bad enough they’re talking all this bullshit on television and radio and newspapers and whatnot, but when one of these silly buggers turns up in my actual life and begins talking bullshit to my actual person, about “heavy lifting“ – What, are we supposed to haul Gina Rinehart’s fat arse across the fucking Nullarbor on top a high-chair? – about “sharing the pain”, then I figure I’m gonna share some of the pain that this silly bugger was inflicting on me, and throw my beer at him, even if only to get him to stop talking bullshit and just piss off. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, Mr. Sharp, I think I would. May I ask you one more question?”

“Sure.”

“After throwing your beer at Mr. Hockey, did you make a Harpo Marx face, flap your hands, and sing a chorus of “Hello, Dolly!”?

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“The occasion seemed to warrant it.”

“That’s all I need to hear, Mr. Sharp. Thank you very much for your time. Case and charges dismissed.”

Imagine.

Imagine that.

What a Wonderful World.

It Would Be.

13 11 14

For almost 15 fucking years now, I have been listening to one bunch of dopey bastards after another gibber and squawk about refugees or asylum seekers and boats and “illegals” and I’m fucking fed up to the fucking back teeth with it all.

There has been no discussion. There has been no debate. A conversation has not been had.

A “policy” has been Frankenstein’d into being at the behest of 60% of Australians who “want the Abbott government [and the three governments before it] to “increase the severity of the treatment of asylum seekers”, because that, and that alone gnaws at the very core of their being, day after day, month after month, minute by minute – in the home, the workplace, the pub, the coffee shop, every day is a Bad Day at Black Rock, there be strangers comin’ to town, and pokin’ their noses into things they ain’t got no business with …

… The Howard “battlers”, Hanson’s children, slumped into their Harvey Norman 3-Year, Interest-Free, Nothing-To-Pay Now* (*conditions apply), 4-seater beige bonded leather lounge with chaise, poking at a Playstation, a tabloid on the coffee table, 2GB on the radio, all they hear and read are the headlines, the screams and the screeches, and they say things like “Won’t recognize the fucking country in a couple years ‘cause of all these cunts they’re lettin’ in”, and “It’s not the Australia I grew up in, that’s for sure”, and “They let these cunts in and throw fucking money and welfare and fucking houses at ‘em, and what about us, eh? What about the fucking rest of us?” …

Tad Tietze – “Those reasons (for the continued asylum debate) are defined primarily by the political needs of elites to create scapegoats and distractions for their failure to provide security to ordinary people already living here – not of borders, but of a social kind. That is, they seek to displace social insecurity into a defence of national integrity, here in the form of ‘border security’, in the process shifting blame for social ills onto an external ‘other’ that is threatening to invade and disrupt our livelihoods and cohesion. While previously the natural territory of the Right, the mainstream Left has been drawn into playing this game the more it has abandoned its traditional support base in favour of pro-corporate neoliberal policies.”

The very character of our country is being assaulted by the devious and the deviant on a daily basis, our way of life, our traditions, our culture, our Holy days (Lest We Forget), it’s all going under, can’t you see?

FUCK OFF, WE’RE FULL.

Donald Horne – “Australia is a lucky country, run by second-rate people who share its luck.”

Fifty years after Horne first wrote those words, we’re right back there now, the second-rate are in charge again (with a vengeance), small-minded provincialism masquerades as “national pride”, mediocrity is applauded as modesty, philistinism is back in vogue, and expertise is dead …

“There’s also that immutable problem known as “human nature.” It has a name now: it’s called the Dunning-Kruger effect, which says, in sum, that the dumber you are, the more confident you are that you’re not actually dumb. And when you get invested in being aggressively dumb…well, the last thing you want to encounter are experts who disagree with you, and so you dismiss them in order to maintain your unreasonably high opinion of yourself.

All of these are symptoms of the same disease: a manic reinterpretation of “democracy” in which everyone must have their say, and no one must be “disrespected.” … This yearning for respect and equality, even—perhaps especially—if unearned, is so intense that it brooks no disagreement …

…Thus, at least some of the people who reject expertise are not really, as they often claim, showing their independence of thought. They are instead rejecting anything that might stir a gnawing insecurity that their own opinion might not be worth all that much.”

At the same time Government holds a Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse, we traffic refugee children from country to country, telling them neither why nor where they will be sent, but for certain it will not be pleasant, of that we will definitely make sure …

David Marr – “The miracle is that after nearly 40 years of this we’re still as confident as ever that once the latest brutal campaign is done, once the boats have stopped again, we can go back to being the decent people we thought we were. We don’t read it for what it is: a permanent regime of cruelty.

A long time ago we set the dial at brutal and we’ve kept it there. That’s hard to face. It goes against our deepest sense of ourselves. But stopping the boats is about us as well as them. The major parties, the Murdoch press and tabloid radio is urging the nation not to lose its resolve. But while a slew of inquires ask what happened on Manus it might be time for Australians to start asking: what have we become?”

True to ourselves.

This is who we are at heart. Who we really are.

We are not egalitarian. There is no such thing as the “fair-go”. We are not “relaxed and easy-going”.

We are petty, small, mean and vindictive, a nation of mailroom clerks wedded to “due process” and rules and regulations, orderly queues to tidy messy lives, “serves you right”, “you should have known better”, to the sounds of “What About Me” from Moving Pictures on an endless loop, multiculturalism a takeaway curry from the local Indian on a Friday night after a piss-up and a packet of Laksa mix in the pantry.

We are White Australia still.

Australia for the White Man.

The tens upon tens of millions upon millions of words that have been written, spoken, broadcast over this last decade and a half on this matter turn not the heads of the 60%.

A man is bashed and dies, a child drowns, a mother wails.

Bomb alles!

Fuck ‘em.

The 60% shout, “We are not for turning!”

The 60% don’t read David Marr. They read The Daily Telegraph, The Herald-Sun, they look at headlines, big headlines, headlines about “these people”, “these people” who are “BREAKING OUR RULES!”, coming here to take our jobs, wasting our taxes on handouts, and fucking tins for fucking biscuits and coathangers to hang their fucking clothes from, for Chrissakes.

“WHAT ABOUT OUR FUCKING BISCUIT TINS!?”, the 60% wail.

“These people.”

“We’ll teach ‘em. We’ll teach the bastards. You don’t fuck with Aussie, mate. You don’t fuck with us, you fucking vermin, you fucking terrorists, you fucking cheats, you liars, you scum, you dogs, you mongrel fucks, go back to where you fucking came from, you cunts.”

So sayeth the 60%.

Our rage is impotent. Our protests mere irritants to the ears of the 60%, the hollow rattlings of blunt sabres in the far-off distance, hearts bleeding in silence, a confusion of noiseless whimpers in the dark, the whimpers of dogs whipped into submission, whipped into silence, whipped, whipped, whipped, for now and forevermore.

The 60% say …

“We won.”

Yes. Yes, they have.

The rest of us?

Wir sind jetzt die Flüchtlinge.

WHAT’S THAT? TONY ABBOTT IS PRIME MINISTER??! … SORRY, I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!! … LA-LA-LA, DI-DI-DI-DO, LA-DE-DO-DA-LA-LA-LA … *

Why does a box of soap have “Open other end” on it? What difference does it make, it’s a BOX, all you need is what’s IN it.

What’s going to happen you open it the “WRONG” end, your FACE blows off??

 

*I mean, for FUCK’S SAKE.

 

TONGUE OF THE DAY

This guy on that guy …

And then there’s this guy …

Once we had Prime Ministers who were men. Now we have a mouse.

A mouse who roars …

“Indonesia believes Tony Abbott may be deliberately inflaming tensions between the two countries for political reasons and to allow his government to continue turning back asylum seeker boats …

… Government spokesman Agus Barnas said Mr Abbott’s blunt comments in Davos about sovereignty ”will only worsen the prospects” of trying to normalise relations.

”It may be [that Prime Minister Abbott is deliberately making inflammatory statements] because he’s tied to his campaign promises,” said Mr Agus, the spokesman for co-ordinating security minister Djoko Suyanto.

”Maybe he is also receiving big pressure domestically, but turning back boats is not the answer, because that only benefits one party, namely Australia.”

President Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono’s special adviser for political affairs, Daniel Sparringa, agreed Mr Abbott was being deliberately provocative. “He has done more damage than good. Such a pity.””

Reckon.

Happy ‘Straya Day. Might be the last one.

JOIN THE DOTS

My emphases …

November 11, 2013

“The federal government’s top business adviser has criticised the cost of the National Disability Insurance Scheme and the school funding reforms, slammed wages as too high and industrial relations as being too rigid, and urged the government to push the envelope in order to “repair” the economy.

In a fiery speech on Monday night, Maurice Newman, the head of the Prime Minister’s Business Advisory Council, lamented as “hasty” Tony Abbott’s pre-election promises to quarantine such areas as health and defence from budget cuts and suggested the Prime Minister “disturb the comfort zones of many’’ to pay down debt and cut the deficit as soon as possible …

… “There’s no point in beating around the bush, worthy though the causes may be, in the circumstances, it was reckless.’’ He stopped short of suggesting the Coalition abolish the policies …

… Mr Newman echoed the concerns of his peers that the cost of business was too high. He singled out over-regulation, anti-competitive practices and wages, noting that Australia’s minimum wage was well above that in the US, Canada , Europe and New Zealand. This was compounded by the IR laws.”

November 12, 2013

“The Coalition government is distancing itself from controversial comments by Prime Minister Tony Abbott‘s top business adviser, who said that wages were too high and the government could not afford education and disability funding promises.

Education minister Christopher Pyne said he did not think the government shared the views expressed on Monday night by Mr Abbott’s handpicked adviser, the former ABC chairman Maurice Newman…

…Asked whether he agreed that wages were too high, Mr Pyne told ABC radio that Mr Newman’s job was to “give frank and fearless advice to the government” but it did not mean that the government would always agree with him…

…”That’s what it is, it’s advice,” Mr Pyne said. “It doesn’t mean that the government will always take it”

Christopher Pyne. A man true to his word, as we know.

December 4, 2013

The Coalition’s pro-business agenda will transform the country within a few years, Tony Abbott has vowed, as he called on the business community to “campaign” against those trying to stop the new government from implementing its policies.

“Australia will be quite different in a few years’ time because a Coalition rather than a Labor government has been calling the shots, and calling them with a preference for freedom,” he said.

“I am confident that the BCA will continue to tell the government what it should do: repeal the carbon tax, repeal the mining tax, cut red tape and get the budget back under control,” he said.

“Even more importantly, I hope that the BCA will campaign against everyone who is trying to stop the government from putting that good advice into practice.

“The government’s job is to make it easier for our good businesses to do their best,” he said.

“Certainly, when I look at a business audience, any business audience, I don’t see people who exploit workers, rip off customers and damage the environment.”

Let the disenfranchisement of the proletariat begin.

LOOKING GLASS CAROUSEL

“Debt ceiling”.

What?

What?

That’s an American thing.

Isn’t it?

I didn’t know it was an Australian thing.

I’m confused.

I’m very confused. People are speaking of things they’ve not spoken of before. Threatening things. People are speaking of things they say they’ve not spoken of, but if they have, they’ve spoken words misheard, and then they GO SPEAK THEM ALL OVER AGAIN.

People are holding up photographs of people holding photographs with PEOPLE HOLDING PHOTOGRAPHS IN THEM …
 

People are speaking of treason. Of treachery. Of betrayal. Collusion with enemies, a foul conspiracy of dunces threatening our national security that could send us off to war with little brown savages on distant and primitive isles.

People do a thing, and then a couple years later, other people come along and undo that thing, and then they go and do it the VERY SAME WAY AGAIN.

You could go nuts thinking about this stuff. Couldn’t you, Cory?