From today's SMH

Taken from here

Society guilty of lacking ordinary manners, says top judge

By Michael Pelly Legal Reporter
January 31, 2006

Related coverage

• Full transcript: Chief Justice Jim Spigelman's speech

LAWYERS had resisted the decline in civility apparent elsewhere in society but danger signs were emerging, the state's top judge said last night.

Chief Justice Jim Spigelman said there were "well-known pressures, mainly of a commercial character" which threatened traditions of courtesy and respect.

In addressing a Law Society dinner to mark the opening of the legal year, the chief justice lamented the prevalence of boorish behaviour and lack of ordinary manners. He said there was "a growing concern with personal conduct in many areas of discourse" and cited:

� Road-rage;

� The behaviour of parents at school sporting events;

� Offensive language in many spheres of social interaction and popular culture;

� The sensationalism of a media driven by declining circulations and audiences;

� The indifference to the tranquillity of others by the infliction of noise, whether from boorish conduct or mobile phones;

� The vulgarity and rudeness of reality TV shows;

� The selfishness of littering;

� The virtual disappearance in common discourse of words such as "please", "thank you" and "sorry".

Chief Justice Spigelman said the law was a profession of words and that "we must continue to express ourselves in a way that demonstrates respect for others".

He said others could learn from the profession but conceded rules aimed at fostering civility and tolerance were sometimes breached. "Competition for clients sometimes leads to a 'win at any cost' attitude that may manifest itself in aggressive conduct and even rudeness.

"For example, a solicitor may seek to prevail by threats of retaliation in abusive communications.

"Prosecutors sometimes become overzealous, bordering on the self-righteous. Defence counsel in criminal matters sometimes run hopeless cases and bad points, hoping for some error on the part of the prosecution, which they perversely believe they may honourably exploit."

The chief justice said there had been concern in the United States over a crisis of civility in the legal profession. He said breaches of professional ethics "are more frequent than they once were", but that there was "no such crisis" in Australia.

-------------------------

I have to agree with him on that one. As a kid I was raised to be polite. Now it's true I have a potty mouth which I struggle to control at times. For example calling my failing computer a cunt and offending a new co-worker unused to my earthy ways. But it's true it seems to me that there is a general lack of politeness around nowdays. Like not holding the lift for someone, or apologising if you bump into them, or not waving thanks when let into traffic. It's really not that hard and all politeness to me does is reinforce the notion that you respect someone else and deserve to be respected. I admit sometimes I have a habit of saying sir and ma'am from months of exposure to polite Americans. Which can be a little creepy. But that aside, you can be egalitarian and polite at the same time. It's really not that hard.

How do you teach it to kids? Not sure. It wasn't beaten into me or anything. I think my dad hit maybe three times in my life (my mum however did slap me the first time I ever swore, causing me to instantly swear, and get a follow through backhander). And yes I got both a Christian upbringing in a pleasant welcoming environment (until I left feeling I'd outgrown some of the preachyness). I was also sent to a private school that wielded the cane long after state schools had not (though I never received it despite going unarmed postal a few times).

My dad is an incredibly honest and polite person and I now in hindsight respect that a great deal. And I try and live up to it. And fail numerous times, like saying cunt. And of course I like to use the words 'fuck' and 'fucking' as conjunctives much like 'and' and 'the'. Which I do near friends and here in blogland.

But I suppose at the end of the day it's about teaching people to respect one another. You can't make laws on respect. That's where big brother comes in. But you can teach it. You see little suger hyped up shits with snot pissing out their nose chucking mentals in supermarkets and calling their mums a bitch and stuff and you gotta think that maybe someone in that house ain't steering them right. But then there are many families where they struggle with the demons of low income, depression, and parents with a shitty upbringing themselves.

Of course I use the terms fuckwit and twat fast and loose here so I am in no real position to judge others. And let's not forget those who are superficially polite are often scheming pricks.

I don't know. I guess superifically polite is better than deep to the bone incivility. I remember on Dr Katz there was this one scene where a patient marvelled how in the olden days the rudest thing anyone could say was 'good day to you sir!'

Something to think about anyway.

Classic graffiti of a history classroom exhibit as seen in year seven - wish I'd thought of it

Paris Hilton is the tumor that represents cancer in society

She is the distillation of everything that is wrong with consumerist western society (which has many awesome points such as a general absence of class warfare, and access to education and the ability to succeed). But one of the sucky points of being anglo-west is the creeping acceptance of celebrity for the sake of it. And Hilton, the vapidist mole that has ever faced this green earth, is the all time greatest example of this.

And look, well done for her turning her limited pea brain into a career of sorts and acutally getting businesses and night clubs to shell out tens of thousands of bucks in appearance fees, not to mention the free shit they chuck her way simply for being seen with their stuff. The problem does not lie with Paris Hilton. Like cancer, she is the symptom of what is wrong much like a tumor. The cause being the ever present need of publicity seeking and awarding for doing so. The magazines that bloat our newstands filled with detritus and minutia of celebrities cocking their head like a fucking dog and looking at the camera with 'no brain behind them eyes', or even worse grainy shots of those celebs taking their kids out for a fucking milk shake.

We are lauding the stupidist and most ill creative of society. Yes actors entertain us, and some parley their fame into constructive causes (go Brolie !). But they voice words written by others. And don't get me started on the music machine that churns out corporate warblers with a pretty voice, pretty face and about 50 million dollars of marketing behind them.

It's fucked and I hate it. And Paris Hilton, bless her stupid cotton socks, is just a poor brainless lump that managed to plump her 15 minutes into a never ending saga of a succession of even tinier mammals from all branches of the animal tree, nightclub appearances, and will she/won't she engagements. Not to mention a TV series where she gets even more fame for carpering around like a poorly trained faeces flinging monkey.

What bought this on? Today's SMH article on the heiress (sourced from the Tele in London - which according to Paris is outside the UK). And juts as an aside I hate anyone proud of the term heiress. To me it is the ultimate in leechery a title to be borne - as in 'I didn't earn it, and I am going to get it all baby - TOGA TOGA TOGA etc).

Her'es the whole thing. It came from here

Paris Hilton's ditsiness beyond doubt
January 30, 2006

Paris Hilton ... confusion.
Photo: Reuters

Ever since her rise to fame on the international party circuit, the debate has raged in the gossip columns. Is the heiress Paris Hilton really the most air-headed socialite the world has ever seen? Or, as her supporters claim, is her dizzy bimbo act so outrageous that it can only be a deliberate, if off-beat, self-marketing ploy?

Now, it seems, a leaked transcript of a legal statement she made in private may have proved the prosecution case beyond doubt. Her responses to a series of lawyers' questions reveal that the heir to the Hilton Hotel fortune admits not knowing some of her friends' names, thinks that everyone in Europe speaks French, and believes that London is not in the United Kingdom.

Her comments came when Hilton, 24, responded to a defamation lawsuit brought by the actress Zeta Graff, who has accused her of planting untrue tabloid stories about an alleged fight the pair had in Kabaret, a London nightclub, last June. Graff will admit only to an argument over Hilton's former fiance, Paris Latsis, who was also a former lover of Graff's.

Asked to remember who she was with in Kabaret on the night, Hilton tells her lawyer: "I meet so many people. I don't even know some of my friends' names."

When asked about the last name of a companion identified as Terry, the best she can offer is: "It is like a weird Greek name. Like Douglas."

Asked whether the offending newspaper article appeared in any "UK publications", she replied: "No. There is stuff in London."

She blamed her confusion about where the article might have appeared on the fact that she had spent last summer in Europe, where English-language television and newspapers were, she said, unavailable.

"I was in Europe the whole summer, and all there is is like French," she explained.

"I didn't see anything because I wasn't in America."

Asked what caused the nightclub bust-up with Graff, Hilton explained: "I just said to her, she is old and should stay at home with her child instead of being at nightclubs with young people. And just that, I just - what else did I say? Just that she is not cute at all."

It is not the first time Hilton has portrayed herself as a resident of the more remote regions of Planet Celebrity.

Some, however, believe she is simply manipulating her image to bolster her own brand.

Telegraph, London

Cyclopedian Monopoly released upon unsuspecting humanity

Parker Brothers, a division of Hasbro, has announced today the release of an exciting new product - Cycopledian Monopoly, also known as Cthulhu Monopoly, as a tribute to the works of HP Lovecraft, the company hoping it will be 'brain sucked' up by many fans of his works.

'All hail the dark one beneath the waves,' intoned Malcolm Black, senior company rep for the product line. 'Long may he slumber unless summoned to life to cleanse the unbelievers.'

Naturally the sunken city of R'lyeh where Cthulhu himself sleeps dreaming of dreams of power, occasionally woken by a burst of frenetic ship eating activity, has taken the pride of place of the best address on the board - where Mayfair or Boardwalk are normally found.

Other addresses include the Hayades start cluster where Hastur, Lord of the Interstellar Spaces dwells, the mountains of Peru where winged horrors about seeking the rare metals of earth, and of course the great city atop and incredible plateau in darkest Antarctica.

'Railway stations become 'Portals' to summon the Great Ones,' said Mr Black in a dispassionate monotone, idly scratching at tiny pinprick scars that ringed his scalp. 'Utilities are now instead a gun shop and a travel agents, the frequently most visited businesses by those seeking to thwart the dark. And, naturally, Jail is in fact Arkham Insane Asylum, with the inmates seeking to prove their sanity in order to leave, or bribing the psychologist to certify them clean of mental illness.'


Left: Cthulhu is pleased with the Cyclopedian Monopoly and has promised to only consume one out of four of the product team by way of gratitude.

Parker Brothers has noted that playing the game will result in a 0/d3 sanity loss check at certain key points, such as landing on Go, and Free Parking will not add the commonly accepted bonus of all payments collected during the game, but rather strip the player's soul from their body leaving a fleshy husk to be inhabited by one of the nether spirits from the darkness beyond men's souls.

But apart from those small differences Mr Black said Cyclopedian Monopoly would be 'fun for the whole family ... both the living and the dead ...ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.'

Small print on the reverse of the box will inform those purchasing the game that their willing acquisition of Cyclopedian Monopoly indemnifies Parker Bros from any 'soul strippage, damage to persons or property, haunting, or slipping on ecotplasmic goo resulting from use of this product.'

Advance Australia Fair should be taken out the back and shot

Seriously we should be applying triage at the Horse Hospital methods here. As an anthem it sucks, to use the Aussie vernacular, dead dogs balls.

It really is a hideous, hideous anthem. So hideous that it looks like the work of some Stalinist committee whose members were later convicted in a show trial and got 20 years in some frozen gulag.

It also uses the word 'girt' which as far as I know is the only song in human history to use that word for the definition of encircling something.

It's not inspiring. It's insipid. Yes athletes piss tears when they sing on their 1-2-3 podium, but chances are its because they're thinking 'holy shit, I spent four years of my life leading to this, it was decided on the basis of a fraction of a second, and now that I am done I can go off and sex/drink myself silly until it's time to go home.' And I don't blame 'em. And look, AAF was certainly a patch on the previous miserable bit of gear God Save the Queen, which is as relevant to the Australian condition as the actual royal family is.

And at least I suppose AAF mentioned the country, unlike GSTQ. Alas AAF then goes on to list principal exports and resources like a poorly crafted year seven assignment. Golden soil and wealth for toil to me translates as listing our top two GDP earners for the last three quarters.

It fails to mention indigenous Australians, hardly anyone knows the second verse, and, most importantly it's tuneful oration is as boring as anything can possibly be set to song. It sound like a funeral dirge, which is exactly what it would be perceived as by spotty gormless youth chewing gum and assembly bored to tits by the minutia that is High School mid noughties who are now supposedly about to be forced into singing it. See the SMH story here

Hell I can remember as a tacker pretending I knew the words and flapping my mouth open and shut in the manner of a goldfish in acute heat distress. I even got an award for my apparent dinky-di patriotism, which being a non-discerning member of year one I gleefully accepted.

There is nothing quite like injecting a bit of forced patriotism into the school system is there? That's what inspiring countries like North Korea do. I wouldn't be surprised if the Howard Hagiographers attempt to stick a 'Dear Leader' reference in a newly minted third verse on the anniversary of the 30th year of his rule, of which the date will coincidently be 01/01/30 thanks to all our calendars changing in worship of him 12 years before.

For those of you not from around here, here are the official two verses of AAF according to wiki.

Australians all let us rejoice,

For we are young and free;

We've golden soil and wealth for toil,

Our home is girt by sea;

Our land abounds in Nature's gifts

Of beauty rich and rare;

In history's page, let every stage

Advance Australia fair!

In joyful strains then let us sing,

"Advance Australia fair!"

Beneath our radiant Southern Cross,

We'll toil with hearts and hands;

To make this Commonwealth of ours

Renowned of all the lands;

For those who've come across the seas

We've boundless plains to share;

With courage let us all combine

To advance Australia fair.

In joyful strains then let us sing

"Advance Australia fair!"

Not only is it pathetic but it conjures up strait laced Victorian era colonialists singing in time to a brass band in the park as kids run past playing stick and hoop as confused aboriginals trained to be domestics and in uncomfortable servitor dress look on in incomprehension at whiteys wearing woollen clobber on a day tipping near 40 degrees c. I do note however with some irony the middle bit of the second verse stands in stark contrast to our current policy of 'nail 'em up I say' immigration policy.

Joyful strains my distended painfully rubbed raw rectum. The only thing joyful about mumbling this is that almost religious in ecstasy buzz you get when it's finally over.

I am rarely jealous of the yanks and the French, though both have bills of rights that Howard today noted could be 'misinterpreted or have unintended consequences' such as stopping him from detaining those overdressed brown people that do the weird chanting five times a day when he's trying to listen to the cricket.

But the yanks and the French have anthems that are rocking awesome. I get a lump in my throat when I hear the Star Spangled Banner go off, or the La Marseillaise, the latter's lyrics including the joy one gets when you slit the throats of your enemies (not that the French will ever again be able to do that unless their country has been occupied by the Germans again four wars running).

The nearest we come to that is possibly With courage let us all combine. Which is hardly music to commando stab someone in the back to, Ninja style.

A song which would be far more appropriate and, unlike AAF actually engenders feeling of pride in our nation (and which actually overtly mentions our brown folk not only existing but being here first) is I am Australian by Bruce Woodley of the Seekers, our wholesome non drug taking 'no sex for us please' answer to The Beatles.

Left: The Seekers, presumably agreeing to Mrs Bately's offer of another round of cucumber sandwiches.

Check this out. It truly is awesome. And unfortunately I believe the rights are owned by some company who use it as backing music in a vain attempt to convince us they are not some sort of grubby operation whose soul is held in a jar shared on alternate Tuesdays among the "…Share Holders…" – that mysterious group of people who for some reason dislike things like environmental accountability and fair and equitable labour laws.

In fact let's see who owns it … ah there we are. According to wiki the company in question is … Telstra.

Anyway, the lyrics.

|: We are one but we are many
And from all the lands on earth we come
We share a dream and sing with one voice
I am
You are
We are Australian :|

I came from the dream time
From the dusty red soil plains
I am the ancient heart
The keeper of the flame
I stood upon the rocky shore
I watched the tall ships come
For forty thousand years I'd been
The first Australian

I came upon the prison ship
Bowed down by iron chains
I cleared the land, endured the lash
And waited for the rains
I'm a settler, I'm a farmer's wife
In a dry and barren run
A convict then free man
I became Australian

I'm the daughter of a digger
Who sought the mother lode
The girl became a woman
On a long and dusty road
I'm a child of the depression
I saw the good times come
I'm a bushy
I'm a battler
I am Australian

I'm a teller of stories
I'm a singer of songs
I am Albert Namajera
And I paint the ghostly gums
I'm Clancy on his horse
I'm Ned Kelly on the run
I'm the one who waltzed Matilda
I am Australian

I'm the hot wind from the desert
I'm the black soil of the plains
I'm the mountains and the valleys
I'm the drought and flooding rains
I am the rock, I am the sky
The rivers when they run
The spirit of the great land
I am Australian

Less like the year seven assignment on the Australian economy, much more like a rip snorter of a song that captures beautifully the country and its people. And while you can in fact sing Advance Australia Fair to the tune of Working Class Man by Chisel (thank you Adam Hills), even with that in its corner, I Am Australian takes AAF by the scruff of whatever part of a song could be considered the scruff and washes out its mouth with carbolic soap like an angry 50's housewife response to hearing her kids striney voice echoing some curse word they learned from a drunk who bellowed it at the pub down the road for not letting him into the lock in after 6pm.

Left: Ivan Milat in his cowboy hat (from The Age). In article reference below.

You know what Telstra. You're selling the last bit of the govie stake soon. How about this? As you fully embrace the status of a 'fear my presence lest thou taste my wrath' commercial entity perform one last act of humanity. Give up the rights as your gift to the nation to this song, and let the movers and shakers in our fair society try and insert this in the national consciousness. I bet us Ozzer's would embrace this bad boy as ours and give AAF the much needed bullet behind the ear and buried in a shallow unmarked grave deep in Belanglo State Forest.

And you can't give a corpse a more Aussie farewell than that.

Noooooooooooooo !!!!!!!!!!

Don't you fucking hate it when you spend 20 minutes writing something and *%$*&^%*(%*( internet explorer crashes and you fucking lose it?

Bill Gates, you're lucky you're a generous man on a crusade to right the wrong of inequitable health care for the third world. Because by crikey sometimes it makes me so mad…

A Nat leaves a sinking boat for a slightly less sinking as fast bigger boat

In a surprise move, the Nationals Senate whip, the dude allegedly responsible for keeping others in line, has elected to leave the Nats and head for the bright lights that is the Liberal party.

Wow. It's almost as if he thought 'well I'm living in a quasi fascistic state. But it could be a lot more fascist. Who could do that for me? Where could I see puffy directing pants moving in stiff legged marching formations through the plaza's of this country? What party, apart from One Nation and the Citizen's Electoral Council, affords me the chance for natty armbands and the rounding up of minorities or, at the very least, eroding their rights?' Hmmmmm...

Naturally the Nats, the last hiccup for regional Monarchist Australia, are somewhat annoyed. But, as always they will 'suck it up Buttercup' to ensure pork for the Nats seats keeps on a coming. Because the alternative is no more guarranteed power in the Senate for the coalition. Of course the coalition have done all the shitty stripping of rights from us stuff and now face a couple of years of planting the old kisser on aspirational behinds to ensure that they pork them as much as they've porked some areas in regional Australia. So we forget about all this 'less rights for the poor and mostly brown' crap they just sprayed at us.

Man I am lucky I am an educated whitey. I don't have to worry as much as all the huddled poor left in this country. Phew !

For more on the Julian McGauran defection see the SMH here

I do find it delcious that McGauran is running in slow motion, arms outstretched to be enfolded in the sweaty pits of Messers Howard, Costello, Abbott, and Downer, when it's that very party who were on watch when the AWB conned the UN into giving Saddam 300 million.Of course the Nats were there too in the form of the Minister for Trade, and Deputy PM Mark Vaile, so that might be something there.

Gee I wonder if farmers are going to get irked by this. It certainly puts paid to any form of head held highness we could do on corruption. I wonder if our corruption indictator will shift? 300 million is a lot of dosh after-all

We just went and saw Supersize me ... and now we're going for a walk

"Waaaah ! Watham bwoke my camera, waaaaaaa"

The Daily Telegraph's editor has a little sooky wook at his employee's camera being taken into a shed and smashed repeatedly with a hammer by Mark Latham, former ALP leader.

Check out Sarah's take on the story here

Scrooge McHussein about to dive into his AWB earnings

And now a rant about ties

Is there anything on God's green earth (or insert whatever favoured Intelligent Designer meets primordial soup here) more useless in function than the man's tie?

I don't think so. Sure anyone who joined the KKK or who believes in the concept of a master race is by definition fairly useless, but even with goose stepping sympathies factored in, I still believe there is nothing more fucking useless than the man's tie.

I mean what fucking purpose does it serve save to end up as a shitty 'could not think of anything else to get you' RRP $19.95+ present? What does it actually add to the human race as a whole? Nothing, that's what. As best as I can tell these are the only pros.

The pros

A handy accessible emergency tourniquet if nothing else is available.

Sometime novelty value when a really large tie is worn and it covers up one's nob.

Left: 50% of the pro tie argument right here.

And the cons? Well let's see here …

The cons

The wasted resources that went into their manufacture.

Complete absence of any environmental protection (ie it does not warm or cool you) despite being clothing.

Restricts breathing*.

Hazardous around certain equipment such as the office shredder, an auger, or elevator/car door (if it's a Dilbert tie)*.

Spreads disease (I read recently how Doctors were told they should piss it off since the textile dangle they wrap on can drape in germs and pass it around the traps – for example corpse juices. Especially a really old one).

Left: Dilbert's tie - an accident waiting to happen.

The existence of those fucking tie and sock mini counter shops in malls.

Is somehow regarded by fuckwits as seemingly important to workplace morale despite all the other cons associated with it such as dying or being unable to breathe properly.

Some people, likely fuckwits, look down on people like me who don't wear one.

It's an excuse for private school prefects to embarrass younger students in front of assembly just because they didn't tie their fucking tie properly.

The Nazis wore ties. Ever see a piccie of a Nazi without one? No siree.

Are hazardous around animals like Lions, Gorillas, and tie-hating Komodo dragons.

Adds several seconds to the work day when putting one on and taking one off.

Several minutes if you have muscular dystrophy like those poor fuckers that Westfield's in Victoria made crawl to their car when they took their rented wheelchairs off them. See the story here.

Are extremely dangerous when in a brawl because your opponent can grab your tie and use it to 'lock on' like they're a fucking stinger missile then pop you one (which is why many bouncers routinely have false ties attached via elastic since the now surprised brawler begins to topple forward which enables said bouncer to knee them in the teeth).

Are worn by bouncers, especially psychotic steroid enraged ones with lots of acne and testicles the size of their uvula.

Received as a shitty thoughtless present (and yes I have received them before).

Some people fixate on their choice of tie, much like the protagonist in American Psycho obsessing over the perfect business card, and believe somehow it makes them more professional at their job. Which is completely false and, anyone who feels that way about ties is likely a fuckwit.

Are synonymous with uncomfortable situations like funerals and job interviews.

Take up space in our closets.

Are directly responsible for the niche motorised tie rack industry.

Are incredibly annoying when you tie the fucker and the back bit ends up longer than the front bit and you have to re-tie it due to the cultural expectation that the front bit should be longer. When in fact the cultural expectation should be that all ties in the world should be destroyed utterly.

Is uncomfortable against your skin when you tuck the back bit under your shirt.

Are used by dead people, who, for some reason, get buried in a fucking suit. Like you'd want to spend eternity in a fucking suit and tie if you came back as one of the undead. I mean what the fuck?

Can be accidentally left at the woman you've been seeing's house and her partner finds the tie, knows it's not theirs, comes around to your place, and strangles you with it.

This is especially bad if the person you cuckolded happened to be a 5^th level Ninja.

Ever see a Ninja with a tie? No, I don't think so.

People who get assassinated tend to be wearing ties when they are taken out. Likely because they are important – and there is an expectation that they should wear a tie. And also because the tie proves a handy item to enable a sniper to get their aim in, ie the head is above the tie, the heart is to the right, and the tie also serves as a rather large arrow pointing in the direction of the testicles if it's one of those emasculate him but let him live hits.

Mafiosi wear ties. And track suits – but that's another story.

A tie killed my brother. It was two times over the legal drinking limit and sideswiped my brother with a pick-up.

Aliens, if they came to earth, would take one look at our tie affectations and decide we are an inferior race and enslave / destroy / rape / eat / "molest out the back of the shed whilst saying it's our secret" us.

* If you don't believe me, then see the ABS stats on mortality by external causes. There were 1092 deaths between 1998 and 2003 due to 'Accidental Threats to Breathing'. And apart from the odd aging leather pants clad rocker that used his belt, you just know a bunch of those were due to 'Tieusfuckusyouintheassus'. Link available here.

See 30 top notch reasons to avoid ties. Sure some of them are a stretch, but points one through five should be enough reason to give the old neck strangler the heave ho.

I mean, we have fucked off stupido fashions before. Hot Pants are relegated to down market prostitutes and Bratz dolls. The Elizabethan ruff is only seen on BBC documentaries about the Renaissance or Blackadder II repeats. That spiky helmet the Prussians wore – gone the way Prussia did. Then why, in the name of all that is holy or unholy, seen and unseen, begotten not made, does humanity, or the male part plus some lesbians, cling to the outdated notion that the tie is somehow useful apparel?

Left: Ruffs. No longer seen in modern society unless the delightful Blackadder II is on.

Cause it's fucking not.

Now I've told the truth I likely will be the target of the military-tie complex whose access to tie-related resources is vast. But I don't care. I've taken a stand.

"No more ties ! No more ties ! No more ties !"

… and so forth.

Treason?

There's been much ado in the press of late over the revelation that the Australian Wheat Board allegedly paid the Saddam regime $$$ in the form of inflated invoices for trucking services during the Oil for Food program administered by the UN. Kickbacks right up until we went to war with Iraq - where allegedly Iraq saw it was coming and further inflated invoices for 'trucking the wheat' in advance of a US/UK/OZ/Polish/Micronesian strike.

Now, is that treason? Aiding and abetting the enemy? Feh, probably not if a mildly competent defence lawyer is on the case. But that aside it is nice to see Downer in his rich plumy tones defend the federal government's having turned a blind eye to the goings on. I can just imagine the 'off with their heads' cat-calls Downer would have been making had they been in opposition and the ALP the ones with their hand in the wheaties jar.

Anyway, here's the latest on the whole business - go here

Fucking IQ tests

I was reading a blog that happened to have one of those Tickle IQ test in it. So I went and did it. I did okay, but still not as good as the wife did sometime before (mutter, snarl).

It should not irk me that she does better at these things that me, but, well, it does. Because I am a petty nob.

Here then is my history of IQ testing.

I got tested by the School Counsellor back in high school (secretly arranged by my dad because he was worried about me) and did ok. Except the 'assemble the puzzle' was done upside down and it turned out to be an elephant. I thought it was a foam hand like you see at the footy.

Then I took the %#*^@*% Eddie Maguire IQ challenge off the tellie (which was held a few years back) and did shit house - with the wife nipping me by a point or two. I claimed that the severe abdominal pain enjoyed by me at the time resulted in this loss, which was a lame face saving measure at best.

Then I did a tickle test (which the wife beat me on by several points) - I did ok at that because it was not timed. Then I did this new tickle test and got about the same as I did last time.

Still hungry for satisfaction I knew was not coming I found a '15 minutes or you're locked out - no do overs' on the web (which had no count down). I panicked about my remaining time - stupidly not having looked at a clock before I started - and did about as bad as anyone who could claim to be a good old boy and/or ate nuthin' but mamma's homemade grits.

So being an uber nerd I found another test which was timed, but showed the clock. I did ok at that (same score as the Tickle one).

Left: A piccie of grits and bacon, from the site of a fellow blogspotter (note: this blogger is not a good old boy and are in fact someone who escaped the south for the north-west here. Apologies to anyone from the South for such a blinkered, stereotypical depiction.)

Now I'm not going to embarrass myself by listing my scores - which were ok save for the 'The name's Jim Bob, I justs gots out of the army' 15 minute no clock test result (the test being heavy on the math). Let's just say "Hi ... I'm in Delaware".

But I got to thinking. It means fuck all. At the end of the day who gives a fuck that you can spot the next number out of 1, 3, 6, 10, and fucking 15. It means nothing. Though I do find it delicious that in the 2004 election, the 'better performing in the IQ stakes' states sided with Kerry (see here).

So why then does it burn me that my wife, whose smart, creative, and the funniest person I know, beats me on these tests? Is it because as a fat wheezy boy with a note from matron the fact I have a slightly higher vocab than someone who thinks pigs knuckle sandwiches are acceptable cuisine is perhaps my only saving grace? I'd say probably.

Anyway, tests to try out on are as follows (if you've got a spare 15 minutes and a healthy ego not too frayed if you get a shit result).

The Tickle Test

The test that I fucked up on and consequently feel stoopid as a result; timed but no visible count down - so look at a fucking clock or something; note: allegedly no do overs

High IQ Society test (timed - but you get a fucking count down)

Finally, just what the fuck are grits anyway, and for those of you who have sampled them, what were they like?

Area Man stores up mental image of co-worker for wank at home

Brisbane, Australia: Mark Ormund, 23, today mentally captured an image of colleague Sandra Christie, 17, as she bent over to retrieve a pastry, the image fodder for a later masturbation session planned for that evening. 'I saw that tatt she has at the base of her spine, and just the barest hint of crack,' said Mark, smoothing his Gloria Jeans apron. 'Needless to say when I am giving it to her tonight, it will feature prominently.'

In the planned session Sandra will have asked Mark to adjourn to the alley way and help her with 'the bins'. From there she will either A) beg for sex or B) simply smile crookedly, and give him a 'come hither' finger waggle, and lead him to behind the hopper bin.

'I hope I don't see Homeless Gary today,' said Michael. 'Because I just know that if I see him out the back, where he loiters waiting for the scraps to go in, he very well may accidentally appear in the midst of a carefully constructed coitus dreamscape.'

Left: Homeless Gary, a sometime unwitting guest star of Mark Ormund's sex fantasy scenarios

If Homeless Gary does appear, it is probable that the indigent coot will simply watch the action with a gap toothed grin, as he takes a swing of the cheapest spirits he can find from a bottle in brown paper bag, all the while whilst rubbing at the crotch of a very dirty pair of pants he liberated from a charity drop off.

------


On a side note, I seem to talk about masturbation a lot. Or peenees. Or both. I don't mean to. On a further side note, does 'unwarranted intrusion' ever happen to you?

How to spot a fake Sheikh

In the wake of Sven Goran Eriksson being suckered by Fleet Street by a fake sheikh offering him a new job (Sven Goran Eriksson being the British football coach), The Times have run a 'How to Spot a Sheikh' graphic. Awesome.

Freakonomics = the good shit

I bought this late last year and read it in a night. It rawks. Freakonomics is by Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner. The books consists of a number of essays of weird and wonderful theories based on their crunching available data in a way not many statisticians have considered before.

Left: Image from the Freakonomics website (URL below)

Studies include proving that the typical crack dealer in the early 90's earned less money than at McDonalds and had a risk to their life from their trade many thousands of percent higher. That executives are more likely to abuse the honor system when unattended food is sold on their floor. That the Superman Radio show dramatically lowered the KKK as a viable organisation. That Real Estate Agents have little to gain by keeping your house on the market longer than the bare minimum and, most controversially, that the abortion rate in the US was a likely factor in the drop in crime in the 90's.

It's very readable, with a minimum spent on the mathematics, and is well worth the $30 I paid for it. It's also laugh out loud funny in spots. I'm also happy to lend it to anyone who would like to read it.

Let me know if so and send me your address or something. you can get me via mikeynerd@yahoo.com.au . As Mort will attest I am a slack wad when it comes to checking it and so it will take a while for me to respond.

If you want to read more on Freakonomics go to their website I guess.

http://www.freakonomics.com/

WARNING: Girls - this will make you hot

I also hate the fucking house of lords

Now I can legitimately rant here because the ruler of England is also the ruler of Australia. Yes I am aware the current ruler is a ruler in name only and not the practical ruler (that being Howard - Long May He Rule Us).

But apparently while other inbred yokel with money royal families across Europe have embraced the concept that Primogenture and being the eldest child and a woman should be no obstacle to getting the crown/thrown/dried hillock/holy stone of lower Reisling, the UK has said no.

Here's the article. The below piece found at this link

Lords reject equal right to reign

January 12, 2006 - 10:38AM

Proposals to reform the ancient rules of succession to the British throne - by giving women the same rights as men - have been rejected by politicians.

Members of the House of Lords, said there was no "groundswell of support" for change.

Lord Alfred Dubs, a former Labor MP, put forward plans to overturn the system by which a monarch's eldest son succeeds to the throne, even if he has an older sister.

"The monarchy should reflect the values of our society. It cannot do that if succession is based on discrimination against women," he said.

"The Queen has demonstrated throughout her reign that women can do the job as well as, and probably better than, men."

Succession is determined by laws written in the 17th and 18th centuries and any change would require the drafting of new legislation by the British government.

The Lord Chancellor, Lord Charles Falconer of Thoroton, who is head of the judiciary, said: "It is not right to have gender discrimination, including in the choice of the succession, but there is no groundswell for change.

"A change would require complex constitutional legislation and consultation with the Commonwealth. We have no plans to embark on such a course."

AP

Oh boo hoo. Fix the mistake you loser fuckwits. It burns me that my ruler is already slated to appear from only one particularly genetically heavily interlinked family and that they cannot be a Catholic or Jewish (or Other). Can't you give us the chance for a future woman ruler too, even if she has brothers?

Assholes.

Of course ideally this should be a moot point with us becoming a Republic before Willie manages to start sprogging off.

I wonder if his sperms come with tiny crowns, buck teeth, and receeding chins? And polo mallets. To strike lower caste sperms with.

This made me laugh at work until the tears rolled down my cheeks

Which I really needed, falling small and sad and sick to be back at work. A friend sent it to me. Normally she passes on Hoff related stuff (and I am all Hoffed out), but this is a fucking gem.


Available at the following website: http://www.chucknorrisfacts.com/

Top Ten Chuck Norris Facts (actually it's eleven - and there's more at the site).

1. Chuck Norris' tears cure cancer. But he is so badass, he has never cried. Ever.
   
   
2. Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.
   
   
3. Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.
   
   
4. The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain.
   
   
5. If you can see Chuck Norris, he can see you. If you can't see Chuck Norris, you may be only seconds away from death.
   
   
6. Chuck Norris has counted to infinity. Twice.
   
   
7. Chuck Norris does not hunt because the word hunting infers
   the probability of failure. Chuck Norris goes killing.
   
   
8. Chuck Norris doesn’t wash his clothes, he disembowels them.
   
   
9. Chuck Norris is 1/8th Cherokee. This has nothing to do with ancestry, the man ate a fucking Indian.
   
   
10. In fine print on the last page of the Guinness Book of World Records it notes that all world records are held by Chuck Norris, and those listed in the book are simply the closest anyone else has ever gotten.
    
    
11. There is no chin behind Chuck Norris' beard. There is only another fist.

Wiki naturally has reported on this phenomenon.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chuck_Norris_Facts

(It has links to other Factoid sites - awesome)

Fuck I hate fat booner bogan bikie fuckwits

He lives down my street. Every now and then he rips up and down on his chopped Harley with presumably his muffler missing since nothing is actually muffled.

The wife and I were walking back from a visit to some friends when she noticed water pissing down a drive way and down the drains. From the distance the water had reached it had been happening for some time. So she went to the house to tell them. I stepped off the drive in question and must have stood on Bogan's drive.

30 seconds later he stepped out in a classic Aussie Blue Wife Beater singlet, with tatts up his arms, mullet, and goatee.

'You got a problem mate?!?!' he demanded of me.

I said something to the effect of 'there's an overflow happening and my wife is sorting it out.'

He blinked stupidly, his Harrangueman like gut nestled against his stained wife beater, and he watched me with narrowed pig like eyes until we left.

What a waste of fucking space.

Pete's Bar and Tavern

Today I spent the last day of my hols getting my arse whipped at pool. Not only did I win but 2 out of 20 games, I lost one by 7 balls, which, in Oz, means traditionally you're supposed to do a lap of the pool table with your pants around your ankles.

Seriously Mort, if you read this and you may be interested in an Oz sojurn, note this rule.

It's also one shot rule which means the honesty system prevails.

Anyway. I'm now back from 5 hours of pool and ancillery consumption of alcohol. Of which there was much. And I am back at work tomorrow.

But, seriously, Pete's Bar and Tavern, located under Retravision in Belconnen, is an awesome place to go. Because we were alone there (plus bar lady) for three hours, and it rawked. And I spent $100 on drink/games/jukebox.

I wanted to say Duke Box, but it implies royalty once removed meets groinal protection. So I won't.

Back at work tomorrow. Sigh. Me wish it were not the case :(. Especially since the last job I had in 2005 appears to have failed badly and is still 4 weeks overdue. Lousy contractor bastards.

Pure Gold

I love Letterman, and would stay up for it if I had the will to do so (me no drink coffee and diet coke no more).

Whilst trawling Botlwatch I saw where a poster had linked to a clip from Letterman where Letterman had the reprehenisble Bill O'Reilly on.

Letterman handed him his head on a plate. Go Letterman.

Letterman takes out O'Reilly

Pat Robertson strikes again

I watched Pat Roberston, Christian far right broadcaster, owner of indentured labour powered diamond mines, and proponent of assassination of people he don't like, on an excerpt on the Daily Show claiming Sharon's stroke was as a result of giving up a chunk of the holy land.

See the Daily Show story on the website (go two bits down and follow the link. The title of the clip is Sharon hospitalised).

Man oh man, is Robertson a fuckwit or what? Maybe Sharon should have been tucking into the age defying pancakes and shakes that Patty spruiks on his website. Then God would have spared his wrath I am sure.

Oh Robertson also claimed recently that God will turn its back on the Dover school board who voted to overturn the insidious 'Intelligent Design' crap that the last board had recommended schools teach.

For more on Pat's whacky views, check out the 700 club website here

Look, I know it's easy enough to sit on a blog and slag people off. After-all, what have I ever added to humanity about from a bunch of pollution? Not much.

But, that being said, Robertson is a ginormous twat who corrupts the simple message of love one another that Christ of the New Testement bought to people, and instead sucks money out of the gullible and the weak and lobbies to push a hard right agenda in US and world politics. In short, the man is scum, and the sooner he has pushed off the mortal coil through self-caused means the better.

Hopefully because a horse he possibly fucked broke the harness and in turn kicked him in the head (or the pelvis, and it went septic). I'm not saying he's a horse fucker. Whatever he does in the sack is his business, provided of course his "...partner..." is a willing participant. But if Robertson went that way, well, I for one would not be sad.

Except for the horse of course.

Bragging about a purchase

To those fellow p&p gamers that sometimes tramp past here, I got the Serenity RPG.

I plan to inflict it on y'all at some point.

It rawks.

Introspection

New Years is a traditional time to sit around your stinking hot house (made all the more stinky for my forgetting to switch the AC component of the AC on), thinking about life, experiences, and what's to come for the future.

Today was the second last day of my Summer break. I be back at me workstation by Thursday's morn I be.

Anyway, I realised today that I had never seen a camel give birth. Not once. Not live, nor as a photo.

So here's a photo I found via Google Image search.

Bring back the damn Daily Show SBS

I'm forced to go to the website at Comedy Central and watch snippets. The constant fricking buffering is driving me nuts.

But it is well worth it. Go to the below site for Jon Stewart and co goodness.

The Daily Show

Speaking of 'if a tree falls in the forest and no one hears ...'

Whilst touring IKEA land in Sydney, my glorious wife gave me a get our of jail free and sent me off to the movies for a couple of hours while she admired all the 'some assembly required' goodness that the Swedes have proved so very good at creating. In between their being neutral and topping themselves I suppose.

And why is it that all four members of ABBA are still alive? I mean with a 'top yerself off' rate like that, you'd think it be down to two at least.

I digress. I went to the movie multiplex at the other end of the shopping centre away from the looming IKEA presence and had a scan of what was on and what met my 'be out be oneish' timeframe.

I selected the remake of 'The Bad News Bears' featuring a surly Billy Bob Thorton in the grumpy male lead. It had started 10 minutes before but I figured what the hey and got a ticket.

The credits had past, and the movie was well underway when I entered.

And it was empty when I got there. Not a soul. Nadda. Zip. Zero. I was the only one, and the movie had already started.

So there you have it. If a movie starts and no one is there to see it, is it on? The answer is yes.

By the way, the movie, not so bad.

By jove i've solved it !

In today's SMH, there was an article on a stolen python. You can find the article here . Apparently taken from Newcastle last week.

Then I saw this in the very same paper ...

A member of Monty Python meeting with a croc at Taronga zoo.


A coincidence? I think not...

Blogshares ... what the?

I was tooling around the web during Futurama and found this.

http://blogshares.com/blogs.php?blog=http%3A%2F%2Fharrangueman.blogspot.com%2F&PHPSESSID=04d85a470522136d119389e6ab4345f0

What the hell is this? Any ideas? It's this free blog with money listed against it for some reason. Is this some sort of get rich scheme?

A cheese ad I'd like to see ...

(INT/DAY)

AN OLDER MAN, HIS HAIR RECEEDING, IS SITTING DOWN TO LUNCH IN HIS LOUNGEROOM. ON THE WALLS CAN BE SEEN PHOTOS OF THE MAN WITH HAPPY, SMILING CHILDREN, AND AN ATTRACTIVE MATURE AGED WIFE, PERFORMING FAMILY TYPE ACTIONS.

(IN UP UNDER: SOUNDS OF CHILDREN PLAYING AND LAUGHING IN THE DISTANCE)

THE MAN CARRIES A CHEESE PLATTER AND SOME BISCUITS TO A LOW TABLE. THE CHEESE IS OUR PRODUCT. IT LOOKS FRESH AND CRISP. THERE IS A CHEESE KNIFE ON THE PLATTER.

THE MAN SITS DOWN AT THE TABLE, HIS LEGS APPEARING ABOVE THE RIM ON EITHER SIDE - FOR HE IS A TALL SUCCESSFUL MAN.

WITH GREAT CARE HE OPENS THE CHEESE PACKAGING AND DEFTLY SLICES OFF A GENEROUS SLIVER. HE HOLDS IT UP AND ADMIRES IT. THERE IS A BURST OF LAUGHTER FROM OFF CAMERA LOUDER THAN BEFORE FROM A CHILD.

THE MAN EXAMINES THE SLIVER OF CHEESE FROM A NUMBER OF ANGLES, SMILES BROADLY, AND TAKES A BITE. HE MASTICATES WITH OBVIOUS RELISH. ONLY WHEN HE HAS SWALLOWED DOES HE ACTUALLY SPEAK.

Man:
Fuck me. That's great cheese.

END

Kancer Kids save Christmas ... at cost to long term survivability

Beckie and Jeremiah Phol, plucky twins with several advanced cancers, have undoubtedly saved Christmas for the children of St Swithians hospital according to local children, despite the obvious punishment their frail bodies have taken in the process.

'Well, there was this Christmas tree in the foyer of the Hospital,' said Cole Netwrait, Leukaemia sufferer aged seven, referring to the celebratory tree erected by compassionate staff and festooned with presents by local well wishers, keenly hoping to left the spirits of the very sick and terminal children trapped in the kiddies ward on that one magical night of the year.

'But on December 23, half the presents went missing! Fortunately Beckie and Jeremiah were on the case and soon solved their whereabouts.'

Beckie and Jeremiah, aged 10, are recurring patients in the ward, sponsored by some fucking clown that spruiks unhealthy food, and who unfortunately have suffered a number of degenerative diseases that have left them weak, bald, and sickly.

'We <cough> noticed the distinct reduction in pressies,' said Jeremiah. 'And we <cough, cough> resolved to find the culprit responsible for the dearth of gifts, so that those <cough, hack> children who had a chance of seeing out December 25 got a present to remember the day by, at least, before they died and their parents sadly either left them for other sick enfeebled children, or gave them to charity.'

Beckie, with a tube in her nose, recognised the Janitor, Mr Serj Dubjec, snooping around the gifts on the night of the 23rd, as she contemplated the last of her golden blonde locks wafting off her bare scalp, and theorised with her brother that the sanitation engineer may in fact be responsible.

'So we crept ever so carefully, making sure to oil the wheels of our IV stands so their squeak would not give us away this time, down to the staff room where the ethnics, I mean, the sanitation staff consume their horrible not-from-around-here-foodstuffs to investigate. And sure enough, we discovered  Mr Dubject covertly stuffing some of the pressies from the tree into a garbage bag.'

Pausing to vomit up blood from her 12th round of chemo that week, Beckie then went on to note how she had rung security and that Mr Dubjec, likely an immigrant that lied on his application to enter this country and jumping any existent queue to do so, was a dirty foreign thief.

'Please, my little ones, they nothing have,' confessed Dubjec when confronted by his 73' Kingswood with the incriminating bag of gifts in question lodged in the back. 'These gifts to children sick be wasted. Little Dubjecs would get much joy.'

Sacked instantly, the Kancer Kids said they are most happy that the foul Dubjec will not show his ugly face about the hospital again.

'There are plenty of other Australians that did not cheat to come here <cough, cough> that would greatly welcome the chance to earn a reduced minimum wage on a casual basis with no loading whatsoever,' said Jeremiah, coughing dark blood into an already soaked hankie. 'We certainly don't need his sort.'

Unfortunately, the exertion undertaken by the Kancer Kids in their investigation into the Case of the Missing Presents, has likely greatly reduced their already vastly shorted lifespan according to attending physicians.

'I give them to the New Year tops,' said Dr Birmingham, recently appointed junior resident stuck in the hospital during the festive week. 'Well, at least, I likely would if I wasn't a just starting doctor on 100 hours a week with no actual time to sleep and able to make an accurate diagnosis. But since right now I am hallucinating that you are in fact two of the three members of Silver Chair, all I can ask for is an autograph and to voice my approval of Natalie Imbruglia. Or Humphrey B Bear. I can't actually determine who is romantically involved with you, but, suffice to say, if it involved Daniel Johns, whoever it was they would not need pants.'

At that point Dr Birmingham inserted his penis through an open fly, grasped his member by the shaft, shouted 'charge', then ran through the children's ward making rooster noises.

Love Actually

I am a sucker for Richard Curtis movies. He is in fact my idol. Yes, I know, Idols are supposed to be Buddah shaped and come with trippy fortunes like 'if a tree falls can anyone hear it if they are not actually there' (duh, no … er … yes). But it's true. He is. He co-wrote Blackadder, he wrote Vicar of Dibley, Four Weddings and a Funeral, Notting Hill, and, the best movie ever, The Tall Guy ("Shag her until her ears drop off").

So he is without a doubt the person on the planet I'd most like to emulate, if I was able to impersonate anything other than a side profile of Alfred Hitchcock fucking Presents. Which I can't. On account of A) the weight and B) the inability to write anything that wasn't the sort of thing that looks like a slug in a white fur coat on the footpath, but in fact turns out to be casually evacuated excrement from poultry that is embedded on the concrete and without any deterrence from the cat cutout with spheroid eyes that was rammed into the earth nearby in a vain attempt to scare said poopers away from the area.

I am a sucker for Romantic Comedies. I don't know why, maybe it's the Romantic in me, but I am. I sniffle in the sniffley bits, and laugh in the laughy bits. And yes I still am a guy enough to wonder what it would be like to bang the romantic female lead. But I am a sucker, and especially for Love Actually, which is what the Wife and I decided on as our post NY crossover movie event. Which just finished.

So for those of you who have yet to thumb on Love Actually and regard Romantic Comedies as the celluloid equivalent of a Bodice Ripper Meets Jokes then give it a chance. It rawks. And, if you're engaged with a sig other it helps you appreciate them – or – if not – gives you hope for the future.

Good on you Richard Curtis. In m humble opinion you've managed to leave this world a little better for your being around.

If I saluted I would salute you. Then drink a big glass of water. On account of how much fucking alcohol I drank and how seedy I am going to feel when I wake up later this year.

By the way, first shit of the year. Tell everyone in a sing song voice "I just did the first shit of the year !" when you do one.

They will appreciate it.

So what is a Yorkie anyway?

Well, then , that's a good question. In fact, this is quite hard to type. I thought it would be easier but it's not. Probably because of all that I drunk, or even drank. Which was a lot. And what was it? Well mainly Yorkies. What is a Yorkie Harrangueman with two r's? Well my wife invested er invented it this very evening. It's delicious. It's very girly. If it did in fact put hair on your chest it'd be soft and silky and what you'd expect to find on the chest of a member of the Ian Thorpe Genus. Which is fair enough – because if anyone was going to convince you to play for the other team, well it's a silky smooth Thorpie – rwooorrrr.

Well according to the wife (and boy does she love that name) it's one part Midori, one part Vodka, lots of crushed ice, and a hefty chunk of some sort of Splenda filled fizzy drink (on account of my inability to consume aspartame goodness). We drank quite a lot as we played Simpson's Monopoly (from my bro for Christmas), made all the more challenging because the good people at Parker Bros accidentally included the Spanish speaking board with the English speaking game. Los Simpsons Monopoly rawks.

So there you have it. Yorkies. So named because Wifey accidentally mispronounced New Years Eve as New York's Eve. Hooray ! Good old Yorkies. In the end we ran out of Midori and went with whatever fizzy we had and Vodka.

Hooray again!

Best New Years ever. I always said you could judge your incoming year by the quality of the NY you had. Last year it was unpleasantly drunk on milky drinks and Thai food in my bro's flat watching DVDs. This year it was Los Simpsons, UNO, and movies with just us two love birds, plus dips in our mosquito infested wading pool out the back. Naturally, rockus maximus.

So, happy Judeo Christian calendar (which is like four years out anyway) event to one and all. May all your NY's resolutions work (sort of), at least, the ones you actually want too as opposed to the shithouse ones you don't really mean to keep. Like me and losing weight and being nicer to people I don’t actually like.

God bless us everyone. Oh, wait, that's that Tiny Tim fucker from Dicken's Christmas Carol. Ok then, bless us all anyway. You rock Australia.

Fuck me I am out of it…

By the way, if it's not against the "… reformed …" sedition laws, can someone please take out Richard Wilkins?(*) There's only so much of that shit I can take on the final count down to the tick over.

Oh, as an aside, and completely devoid of guerrilla marketing, 80's Singstar for Playstation 2 rawks. I finally beat my wife on something (lousy mol has an awesome voice mutter grr). Unfortunately for me it was not Eye of the Tiger which I had hoped, but actually Karma Chameleon by Boy fucking George.

Can you fucking believe it ???

Oh, and by the way, Come on Eileen by Dexy's Midnight Runners is actually really fucking hard to sing outside the chorus bit…



*Obviously by "Take Out" I mean to lunch or something. Someplace really bad that lessens his self esteem or impacts on his elaborate coiffure.