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Burka Shennigans

Burka Shennigans

So the Parliamentary Burka ban has finally been reversed. How strange, I thought we were facing a matter of national security, how do we know who is behind that veil and how do we know they’re not carrying guns, knives, or suicide vests? Well the speaker of the House, Ms Bronwyn Bishop, and the Senate President Stephen Parry, both felt the risk was to great to ignore, so they directed anyone wearing a burka to sit in a glassed off section of the public gallery where they could be monitored, along with groups of school children. Yes, that’s right, those people we don’t trust, that hide their identity beneath a veil and could be anyone carrying  anything should forced to stay with the kids. Such wonderful logical thinking from the best of our very best. Of course it was always about security, not fear of an an “unknown” culture, or “casual” racism, or victimising of women (any man that came dressed as a Muslim woman would also be segregated of course), or even blind stupidity. It was all about keeping the citizens of this great land safe… from other citizens. But of course that’s all been reversed now, there’s no longer a ban on anyone not dressed appropriately from watching the political machinery of this great nation working flawlessly. Instead we have resorted to plan B, asking the person in question to show their face to verify their identity. You have to wonder sometimes how these sorts of things get decided. “We need to do something about these people that hide their identity when they enter parliament.” “How do you mean, are they wearing balaclavas, motorcycle helmets, fake nose and beards?” “Worse than that, it’s devilishly clever really. They’re wearing religious garb, veils that cover most of their face.” “Burkas?” “That’s the one, we need to do something about it, they could be carrying anything under that outfit.” “Well we do have security…” “It’s not enough, something has to be done.” “Well okay, we could get them to show us their face and match it with their photo id…” “That would take too long, we need to do something right this minute.” “How about segregation then? We could keep them separated from the general public.” “That’s what we need to do, segregation, we’ll keep them away from us… I mean the general populace.” “Okay, but where do we put them?” “In that glassed off section would be ideal.” “With the school children? Don’t you think that’s a bit risky if they are out to cause mischief?” “Nonsense, those kids need to learn about self protection eventually, might as well be...

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Reality TV, Anything But…

Reality TV, Anything But…

Another season or Australian Big Brother has started. Hooray hooray, let this day be heralded throughout the land as the day that… errr… oh damn, I lost my train of thought. Reality TV is the new Prozac, deadening our senses and killing off brain cells faster than a bucket full of Tequila Slammers. And the funniest thing of all is that this form of television is as close to reality as a 21st birthday party is to alcohol-free. Put a group of people in an enclosed house, or maroon them on a desert island with no food or whatever, then stick cameras in their faces and ask them to “act natural”. It doesn’t work, and it never will. What you end up with is stressed show offs trying to be anything but who they really are. Then there are the media “Personalities” that host these shows. Gretel Killeen used to host BB until she was axed (more like mercy killing) to make way for Jackie O and Jabba the Hutt, oops, I mean Kyle Sandilands. These two want to “shake it up” and “mix it up” while the rest of us “throw up” at what they laughingly call entertainment. Yes, Jackie and Kyle are going to save Big Brother from another year of television mediocrity by causing all sorts of shenanigans in the BB household. At last, a refreshingly new take on BB that we haven’t seen since… LAST SEASON. Honestly, how much more of this pseudo voyeurism crap will we have to put up with until Ten finally puts a bullet in the entire concept. Oh wait, maybe they could have some controversy that will get blown out of all proportion in the media, that should save it. It will have to be something bigger than a turkey slap though. Maybe they could seriously injure one of the housemates this time. I guess the only way forward now is if BB could persuade one of the housemates to off themselves in front of the cameras. Then we would have to have celebrity suicide shows, then “Hunt a Celebrity” and Celebrity culls until there’s no one left to present any of this mindless drivel. Hmmm, I may be onto something here, and just think of the royalties. In the meantime I’m off to turky slap Sandilands… with a real...

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Teenage girls are ruining my life.

Teenage girls are ruining my life.

I often like to sit and watch the news so I can keep up with what’s happening in the world. Sometimes I learn something educational and sometimes I want to put my head in a blender and switch it to Frappe. This is one of those times. The Australian Government has decided to save binge drinking teenage girls by raising the price on “Alcopops“. Alcopops, for those that are wondering, stands for pre-mix drinks like Bacardi Breezers and such. The thinking behind this marvelous piece of societal crap is that teenage girls won’t be able to afford to buy these “Alcopops” and will therefore stop drinking and go on to live happy and fulfilling lives. At this point I would like to warn our younger and/or more impressionable readers that there may be some profanity on the next line. BULLSHIT!! Ah, much better. Now, unlike politicians I live in a place I like to call REALITY. Anyone who has spent more than fifteen seconds with a teenager, or even possibly been one themselves in the deep distant past, will know they are not idiots. Mostly. If they can’t afford to buy these drinks then they will simply switch to cheap wine and beer like the rest of us did when we were their age. Ah yes, I have fond partial memories of spending many a Friday night, Saturday, Saturday Night, Sunday getting hammered on beer and goon (look it up), though not necessarily at the same time. That was saved for special occasions. Remember Passion Pop? I do, I even have some memories of actually drinking it. Passion Pop, for the uninitiated, is an extremely cheap wine that has the uncanny ability to effect the drinker from the ground up. You can sit and drink for hours, just so long as you don’t try to do something silly like drive, operate heavy machinery or stand up. It is evil tasting crap but you didn’t drink it for the taste, you drank it to get cataclysmicly drunk. This is what today’s youth are doing with these Alcopops, they might taste sweet and have the extra function of being something pretty to look at after losing the ability to speak in coherent sentences, but the basic intention of drinking them is to get drunk. You take them away and kids will drink something else. “Okay,” I hear you say, “But what does this have to do with you?” Well I’ll tell you, if you would be so kind as to stop interrupting. I have been known to have the occasional tipple and my drink of choice is Johnny Walker and Cola. This is not the choice...

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A Tale of Two Twits

As Australia stumbles headlong into another election the plight of the Federal Liberals seems to go from bad to worse. With an opinion rating lower than Lindy Chamberlain in the early eighties, John “Don’t ask me, I’m just the Prime Minister” Howard is currently wondering if it’s just him, or does the Australian public hate all Liberals. It’s a dark time indeed for poor Johnny. He has a country to run and being less popular than a pair of budgie smugglers on The Biggest Loser is not helping. But not to worry because his good mate, Treasurer Peter “Keating is my role model” Costello is here to help. By telling the Australian public that John Howard is an utter… utter… utter bastard. Yes, he’s still upset that John didn’t give him the top job after one and half terms in office. And there’s a good reason for this. Look, I think maybe I should talk to Peter privately about this. Could the rest of you just busy yourselves with other things until we’re done? Okay, Peter me old china, mate, buddy… no one likes you. Now don’t go getting upset, it’s nothing personal. It’s just that you come across as this smarmy, arrogant guy that no one likes being in the same hemisphere with. Don’t get me wrong, we think you’re doing a great job as treasurer, keeping us in the black and all, making sure the jobless rate doesn’t get out of hand, keeping interest rates down… actually we won’t go into that one. But all told you’re doing a marvellous job. But we still don’t like you. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth. And to be honest we would rather have John in the top job than you. Actually we would rather have Rudd than you, and Gillard, and Beasley, and you know that Doctor they got locked away for talking to terrorists? Yup, him too. In fact, of the twenty-one million Australians that are available you would probably come in around 20,999,990th, just above Ivan Milat. Now excuse me while I talk to the rest of the folks. Now where was I? Right, Peter Costello for PM just doesn’t have the same ring to it as say, Die Westerner Scum or This Bathroom is Closed. But hey, is John Howard any better? According to his wife, Janette, Howard had a habit of promising things to people and then reneging on the deal. He was only looking out for the one that mattered most… himself. Now you can believe John or you can believe Peter, the choice is really up to you. But come November when this nation goes to the polls...

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At last, a new minority to pick on.

Of course I am talking about that race of people that no one likes. They’re filthy, disgusting throwbacks to a bygone era. The sooner they’re eradicated from the face of the earth the better it will be for all of us right thinking folk. No it’s not the rebirth of Eugenics, it’s the new found sport of smoker bashing. That’s right, it’s fun for all the family. Come one, come all and join in the bigotry that we can all partake in (well mostly all) because we’re the majority and they’re a minority. Plus, they smell. Smokers, the great unwashed masses that are easy to spot, they’re the ones huddled together outside their place of work, trying vainly to warm themselves over the smouldering embers of their chosen vice. Come rain or shine, if they want a smoke they are OUTTA HERE! Here in sunny Queensland, the only Australian state worth mentioning these days, our lovely Premier Peter Beattie took it upon himself to ordain the legalisation of minority bashing by making it a criminal offence to smoke. Yes, you can be arrested for smoking. Sharon stone would be rolling over in her botox grave. Well okay, you can’t really get arrested, well at least not straight away. If you don’t pay the hefty fines they throw at you for lighting up within 4 metres of a doorway, or in a wide open area like a beach, then they can do whatever the court says they can do to you, and that includes locking you up and throwing away the key. Ironically once inside prison then you can smoke with impunity, as well as take drugs and other… things. But public clubs and bars are the best. They are allowed to have smoking sections, but they must be outside and way from everyone else, plus they have to be in special sealed off areas. These areas are typically small, I mean what establishment wants to spend a fortune one what is basically a minority client? So you get a pile of people crowded into a small smoke filled area. If you didn’t have lung cancer before you went in there you will most likely have it by the time you leave. I wonder how many law suits will ensue from enforcing lung cancer on smokers. Not that it matters really. They’re a small minority and getting smaller by the minute. Dying off or converting to the majority, these smokers really are a dying breed. Pass the Winnies Dear, I’m starting to feel...

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Save the World for just $99.95

Save the World for just $99.95

What a wonderful world we live in, the sun is shining, thebirds are chirping and EVERYONE IS GOING TO DIE!!! God I love environmentalists. Their happy warm thoughts and views about how we’re all going to fry to a crisp, if we don’t drown first. And to that end we have Live Earth, brought to you by the King of all that is warm and glowy, Al “Dude, where’s my Presidency?” Gore. Yes you to can join the growing movement of people willing to pay for their cause. That’s right, pay. Just take a look at the site. You can buy a T-Shirt for the ever so cheap price of $50AUD. Fifty dollars. For a T-Shirt. It doesn’t make you coffee, or tell you nice things about yourself, you just wear it for a few weeks then use it to wipe bird crap off your SUV. Of course Live Earth is really part of a legitimate ground swell in popular opinion. That opinion is that we have been pumping CO2 into the atmosphere at an unprecedented rate, like nothing that has ever happened before in this planet’s history (please ignore any and all volcanic eruptions thank you) and now we are going to pay for it. And pay for it we shall with the new economy of carbon trading. Basically that allows people to start up industries that sell us… nothing. And for that privilege we will now pay through the nose for those things that rely on non-renewable resources like coal and oil. Now I don’t know if anyone ever told these idiots but most of the world’s production of anything relies on fossil fuels, so when the price for these goes up, everything goes up. It’s not just a few extra dollars for your electricity or a couple extra cents per litre for your petrol, this will bump up the price of EVERYTHING. Your bacon and eggs are going to go up, your fruit and vegetables are going to go up, your clothing, your mobile phone, your public transport, even your dope is going to go up. Now this is all well and good for Al and these wonderful artists that performed at Live Earth, they can afford to pay extra for the little things in life (like private jets and six-packs of mansions) but for the rest of us poor folk, we are going to cop it in the neck. So you may want to think about how much it’s really going to cost to feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Meanwhile I’m going to put up my feet and watch the tractor pull on my Big Screen...

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I have a guitar and I must whinge.

The better half and I (yes, I have a better half. I know that’s hard to believe considering how good the original half is but there you go) decided to go to the local Karaoke bar last Friday night. Now for us this is what’s classified as a good night out. A few drinks, some good music plus some not so good music and some god awful music thrown in to make you appreciate how good the other stuff really is. While we were relaxing in the “Cancer Clinic” (which is what they call the spacious 2×2 foot cubicle the pub sets aside for those who wish to have a fag, but that’s a different rant) we realised that a great deal of todays music has become what we classify as “Tanty Rock”. Tanty Rock, for those that are wondering, is basically that classical form of rock music where the artist vents his or her spleen about shite that makes their life miserable. This can range from when their Dad did stuff to make them miserable children to when the Dole office cut off their supply of goverment funded cheese, or whatever. Basically it’s three and a half minutes of whinge, whinge, whine, insert guitar solo, then whinge some more. Whatever happened to positive upliftng music? What about “Shiny Shiny”? I had no idea what the hell they were talking about but at least it sounded happy. The Divinyl’s “Touch Myself” was, at least for her, pretty uplifting. AC/DC’s “JailBreak” was good uplifting, exercise based rock music. Okay, the ending wasn’t great but hey, he made it out and that’s the important thing here. My point is you can make good rock music without whinging about how screwed up your life is. So all you young people with musical instruments get out there and writes some good old fashioned Rock ‘N’ Roll. Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to put on some Hank...

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