New Year's Revolutions.

I’ve never understood this peculiar mania for making lists of improvements to be contemplated over the next year, otherwise known as “New Year Resolutions”.

Never done it, never will.

I could, theoretically;

Give up smoking – nup,

Cut down on the drinking – nup,

Exercise more – as if!

Still, tonight promises to be very special. Air Crash Investigation is on Seven.

Fuck, I love Air Crash Investigation.

Some holiday thoughts.

Christmas Day.
Oddly enough, the gathering of the Insertnamehere clan at Lenin House this year did not result in fist-fights, food-fights or agonised discussions about who did what to whom in 1976*.

From this I conclude the best way of dealing with my family is to shove vast amounts of food into them as soon as they arrive.

The Second Test.
Could this match get anymore exciting?

I spent most of Sunday, watching the game with my jaw firmly lodged on the floor.

And how fuckin’ good were JP Duminy and Dale Steyn**?

I hope you’re enjoying the match, Melba. It really doesn’t get much better than this.

Harold Pinter
Proof again that being a playwright of some note doesn’t stop you from being a complete cunt in other aspects.

And here was me thinking Ertha Kitt was rhyming slang.

*I didn’t even tell my sister to “put a feckin’ sock in it” when she kept rabbiting on and on about reflexology – such was my restraint.

**The answer – fuckin’ good!

I don't care who's making the feckin' gravy

People must know by now I’m a huge Paul Kelly fan but in the lead-up to Christmas, 774 in Melbourne has been flogging perhaps his worst song pretty much non-stop.

“How to make gravy” is a compendium of crap Paul Kelly songs; musically overblown, trite and schmaltzy.

But these lines really give me the flying shits.

Just add flour, salt, a little red wine and don’t forget a dollop of tomato sauce for sweetness and that extra tang.

Fuck Paul, who makes gravy like that?

Spoon the stuff out of the Gravox tin, whack it in some boiling water and get back on the sauce like everybody else.

And on that festive note, I’d like to wish all the wonderful CuntCunts at TSFKA best wishes and happy travelling.

See you when all this madness is over.

The "liberal blogosphere" can shove a stick up its collective clacker.

It seems, comrades, we’re ending the year pretty much as we started it.

The Canberra press gallery is disappearing up its own orifice at a rate of knots, the Australian is still looking for the brooding prince of Higgins, Peter Costello, to spring forth from the backbench to save the Libs and “Punter” Ponting still looks like a sour-faced prat.

One worrying trend however seems to be gathering pace; the slightly odd obsession for some of the current affairs blogs to worry obsessively about what all the other current affairs blogs are saying. Thus, Crikey* reports that the Rudd Government ETS plan is “wildly unpopular in the liberal blogosphere”.

And what “the liberal blogosphere’ inevitably seems to produce is either carping acceptance of Kruddy or vitriolic opposition – the sort of low-level whining you get when your fan-belt is slipping on the car or you’ve stumbled into a meeting of well-off NIMBYs.

Sections of the “blogosphere” reminds me of those terribly polite middle-class dinner parties (to which, happily, I am no longer invited) where everybody is terribly agreeable and terribly well read and can reproduce large slabs of comment from the Age or ABC without ever engaging their brains and nobody ever really disagrees.

Well, who gives a fuck?

Why should I care what a pack of cunts with an opinion and a computer think? I’m a cunt with an opinion and a computer and nobody cares what I think. Not even me.

It’s this nervous reluctance to move too far out from the pack that annoys me. If you have an opinion, for fuck’s sake express it.

Or not.

Up to you.

But spare me this timid cut and paste from “the liberal blogosphere”.

Oh and Salon opined recently:

There was a bit of controversy in the liberal blogosphere that's worth noting, if only for its implications regarding the future of blogging on the left.

Sweet Jesus!

*Which has been pretty shit** recently, so no surprises there.

** Apart from Firstdogonthemoon.

What We've All Secretly Been Waiting For

Finally! I mean, jesus, those canny bloody publishers really made us wait for this one. Mercedes Corby on the front cover of Ralph. You bloody bewdy! I've been calling for this for a couple of years now. All us salt of the earth, average Strayans feel we know old Merc pretty well after seeing her in that ripper doco on channel 9 earlier in the year. Or at least plenty of sheilas like her. Doesn't she scrub up a treat! What a stroke of luck having her sister thrown in jail for all those years. Just the break she'd been waitin' for. Fuckin' ripper, mate. Made me Chrissy it has.

Much better, Punter!

A goose but at least he's managed to shave.

To those who doubt the power of TSFKA, I say - observe.

I was griping some months ago about Ricky Ponting, captain of the Australian Test team and scruffy slob - specifically his inability to shave before appearing before the media.

Well, the Seff Africans may have given us a complete pantsing but at least he's managed to locate the razor.

And in completely un-related news father of local nutjob, Terry Hicks, says his son won't go back to Afghanistan.

Well, bully for him.

Give up the murderous anti-Semitism as well Dave and you're well on the way to running in an un-winnable seat as a Green Party candidate.

Dorothy Parker Friday!

Razors pain you;

Rivers are damp;

Acids stain you;

And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren’t lawful;

Nooses give;

Gas smells awful;

You might as well live.

Enough!

Oh dear God, haven’t we suffered enough?

News reports;

Australia's most famous housewife, Dame Edna Everage, will share her beauty secrets with the world by launching her own cosmetics collection.

It is made in collaboration with MAC, and Dame Edna is the first Australian celebrity to have an international collection with the brand.

Sorry Pers, I know you think Barry Humphries is the goat’s knackers, but even you would have to concede this goes too far.

There are so many, fresh, talented Australians on the world stage. Why pick this tired, one-trick pony?

But by far the worst thing will be the inevitable fawning over this unpleasant cunt by the local media when he makes a flying visit to Australia to flog the product.

Again we’ll be treated to countless gushing articles about how Humphries is a “comedy legend” with a “sharp tongue” and “comic flair”.

No he’s not. He’s a nasty old man with a talent for picking on the defenceless and a fondness for making pompous pronouncements about a country he hasn’t lived in for 30 years.

The paper goes on

Adelaide stylist Filip Odzak said he thought it would be successful.

"When we think of Dame Edna we don't see a man in drag - she is an Australian icon."

Again, no he’s not.

An icon is devotional painting of Christ or the saints*, of particular relevance to the Orthodox Churches. Barry Humphries is mostly devoted to himself.

*Sadly, not Ed Kuepper or Chris Bailey.

The 3rd Way

I was going to write the following theory as a comment to Ramon’s Hezbollah post, but decided this was such a political and philosophical breakthrough that it deserved its own little space.

The left wing/right wing political scale is sadly inadequate. It's just 1 dimension after all. Perseus helps by creating the 'south wing' and also creating, by implication, a 'north wing'. Still, this doesn't go far enough. We're still only working with 2 dimensions here. Most of us live in a 3 dimensional world.

I therefore propose a political scale based on 3 dimensions: Left and Right (Width), North and South (Height), Front and Back (Depth).

The left and right indicates economic orientation. Strict, state-controlled socialism at one extreme and pure free market capitalism at the other.

On the north and south axis we have social orientation. We have a free or liberal society with values such as unlimited freedom of thought and speech to the south and social conservatism, with its old fashioned, Howard-like values to the north.

On the front and back or ‘depth’ axis, we have total, government-less anarchy at the front and dictatorship at the back.

We now have a much wider – if not somewhat more complex – range of labels to use. And we love labeling people don’t we? The names of these labels are yet to be determined, but, for example, if you were right, north and back (RNB), you’d be a pure fascist.

The book should be out for Christmas.

Buy me this for Christmas, you crunts.

I think you'll find it's a bit more complicated than that

Details here.

Are we still "all Hezbollah" now?

You may recall, at the time of Israel’s recent invasion of southern Lebanon, certain members of the “left” marched under the slogan of “we are all Hezbollah now”.

This was in turn a reference to the murderous fascist scum engaged in fighting the Israeli army.

Oh, I’m sorry; did I describe them as “murderous fascist scum”? I mean, of course, “heroic freedom fighters against western imperialism”.

Well, it seems the sons of fun in Hezbollah aren’t that keen on a free media, either*.

The Guardian reports;

In the run-up to its launch next week, the glossy quarterly Jasad ("body" in Arabic) has been generating plenty of curiosity and hostility as it prepares to take on some of the most powerful taboos in Arab culture.

Issue one of the Lebanese title includes articles on self-mutilation and cannibalism as well as stories on sexual themes by authors from Egypt, Morocco, Syria and Palestine. Pseudonyms are not permitted. Regular features will include Body-Talk, Voyeur's Corner and My First Time.

The paper also notes

Officials of Hizbullah, the powerful Lebanese Shia movement, tried to close Jasad's stand at this week's Beirut book fair.

The paper doesn't say what "tried to close" involved, but I'm guessing it wasn't a stern blog post.

You’d think, that at some point, certain people might be able to work out that Hezbollah really, really isn’t an organisation any rational leftist would care to embrace.

But comrades, don’t hold your breath.

*They’re not that fond of Jews either.

Or secularists.

Or democracy.

Or voting.

Or women.

Who cares?

This piece in today’s Age fills me with inertia.

The paper notes;

Sir Paul McCartney has disputed the long-held view that John Lennon was the political Beatle, arguing that his views galvanised the band to take a stance against the Vietnam War.

Ignoring music magazines to speak to the intellectual magazine, Prospect, McCartney describes how he caught a taxi to the Chelsea home of philosopher Bertrand Russell and this unplanned meeting sparked the musical foray for pacifism.

Well, whoop-de-whoop.

The paper quotes Sir Paul as saying about his meeting with philosopher Bertrand Russell

“He was fabulous. He told me about the Vietnam War … I remember going back to the studio either that evening or the next day and telling the guys, particularly John Lennon, about his meeting and saying what a bad war it was.”

Paul, do you really want to be associated with kicking off the odious trend of “celebrity” activists, who seem to think their (often limited) achievements in one field gives them the right to bore us rigid with their turgid opinions on all manner of modern ills?

Previously that role had been filled by the cunt Lennon. We may now have to re-think and pelt McCartney with eggs the next time he appears in public.

And as a special treat for the PETA people, I plan to be cremated in a coffin filled entirely with meat*.

*Meat other than my corpse, I mean.

We're Not Racist But...

What’s with this kid Tyler Cassidy?

I’m no great fan of the police, particularly when they over-react, and particularly when it involves the use of guns. And particularly when they book me for an illegal u-turn when it wasn’t even a u-turn you fucking cocksucking bastard! But if this kid was genuinely threatening the police with knives and they shot him out of self-defence, then they had no real alternative. Shoot him in the legs? Not likely with limited practise, adrenaline-driven excitement and an antiquated shooting implement.

It’s no good when somebody’s shot. When the person shot is a kid, that’s even worse. But what’s going on with him? He was a member of the Southern Cross Soldiers, an ultra right wing group of illiterate rednecks out to rid the country of immigrants. What’s with that? Hasn’t he enjoyed a good lasagne, a curry or a kebab? (Yes I know it’s not all about food but I’m hungry).

He didn’t deserve to be shot – who does – but what business does an ill-informed 15 year old have brandishing knives at Northcote Plaza? Probably looking for gooks, niggers or wogs to cut up. Possibly off his head on drugs or, more tragically, severely mentally disturbed. This is disastrous and nothing good’s going to come of it. Why can’t people just get along and make love, not war?

Ironically, he was shot at the All Nations Park.

Good Evening.

An open letter to the Victorian Transport Minister, Lynne Kosky.

Dear Cde. Kosky,

Look I hate to trouble you, what with that Myki thingo you’re wrestling with (and by-the-way, how piss-funny was it when you were demonstrating how simple Myki was to use and the front of the machine fell off. And all the television cameras were there. You do know that the tellies will continue to use that clip every time your name is mentioned from now until the sun expands into a yellow giant and vaporises the earth, don’t you?).

Anyway.

My beef concerns those new, yellow trams. The tone produced when the stop button is pressed sounds alarmingly like the opening chords of “Heaven (must be there)” by the Eurogliders.

I didn’t fight against fascism to have my ears assaulted by bad ‘80s synth-pop every time I jump on the tram. I suggest something more suitable, like “Love will tear us apart’ by Joy Division.

Won’t somebody please think of the children?

Hoping you’re keeping well.

Fraternal regards,

Cde. Ramon Insertnamehere.

The Emperor Is Wearing No Clothes

Mr E. Discharge's mention of Yoko One reminded me of a post I was going to do a while back...

I know Boogeyman doesn't think much of my disclaimers, but I'm going to make another one. I'm a Beatles fan. I have all their albums. When I was loading them all onto I-Tunes, as I do with all my albums, I'm selective, and only bother to upload the songs I like so that if I hit the 'Party Shuffle' function I'm guaranteed to get songs I enjoy. 52 Beatles songs made the cut. That's a lot of songs to like. But from their most renowned and respected album 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band'? Three. Yes, three.

(Actually, only two made it from Abbey Road which is a bag of shit, but that's not the album that gets the muso-intelligentsia all jizzin' over their Bang & Olufsens).

Let me look at the tracks.

Side one
"Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" – 2:02

A good start! I like this track. It's a bit rockin', it's quirky and foot stompin' and makes me wanna drop my 'g's from the end of words. It made my I-Tunes list.

"With a Little Help from My Friends" – 2:44

If it wasn't for his most excellent work with Thomas The Tank Engine, I'd be calling for Ringo to have his adenoids removed. This song is bad enough without listening to his nose sing it to me. Then, to make it worse, fucken Joe Cocker force-feeding us an insufferable cover version that we're stuck with to the grave. It's an overly-sentimental sing-song best suited for a campfire at a Seventh Day Adventist Youth Camp.

"Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" – 3:28

See this is why people shouldn't take drugs. Instead of Government paying millions to advertising executives with ponytails and cocaine budgets that exceed Fiji's GDP to come up with hard-hitting anti-drug ads, all they need to do is buy some advertising space from a network, play this song to a blank screen, and right at the end bring up the text: "Don't do drugs."

"Picture yourself on a train in a station,
With plasticine porters with looking glass ties..."

No, I won't do that John because I'm not a potheaded hippy drongo.


"Getting Better" – 2:47

Is it? Is it Paul? Not if this song is anything to go by. Did you learn this melody line at kidergarten? Sounds like it.

"Fixing a Hole" – 2:36

McCartney himself said he was smoking too much pot when he wrote this song. The song fell into context for me when I read that. You know when you're at a party and some pothead starts talking crap about how we are here and they are there and we're just a hole in the wall and we have to fix it man? Well this song just puts the incoherent ramblings of boring odorous potheads to music. And what's with the harpsichord? Whose idea was that? The Stranglers used harpsichord in the brilliant 'Golden Brown' but no other band has ever managed to make it sound cool.

"She's Leaving Home" – 3:35

Tolerable, but it didn't make my I-Tunes. I did consider it though. Still, 'tolerable' is not a word generally applied to the so-called 'genius' of this album.

"Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!" – 2:37

Oh fuck off. No wonder he went to Yoko Ono. Her 'art' was as vaccuous as the childish musings on this supposedly 'surreal' piece. To quote TISM: "It's novel, it's unique, it's shithouse." You know, surrealism isn't meant to be indecipherable garbage, but it invariably is. And you know what else? YES IT IS A FUCKING PIPE! And Andy Kaufman can get fucked too.

Side two (if you can get that far)

"Within You Without You" (George Harrison) – 5:05

Ever been in a cheap Indian restaurant eating 20c pappadams and $2.95 dahl and having the distinct feeling that the hygeine standards in the kitchen are sub-standard? Well, this is the soundtrack to that feeling. Oh, and just because Eastern religions are older doesn't mean they are any better. Have a fucking shower, and then you can tell me about my chakra you HIPPY.

"When I'm Sixty-Four" – 2:37

A ditty. Dennis Walters wouldn't even touch it.

"Lovely Rita" – 2:42

Another ditty. Oh, I see... because they're like the biggest rock band EVAH if they do a nursery-rhyme ditty it's cool? But if, say, Miss Helena from Romper Room wrote and sang it, it would be a nursery-rhyme on a K-tel compilation? I see.

"Good Morning Good Morning" – 2:41

The morning alarm clock from HIPPY HELL. How can the same man that wrote 'Mother', 'Happiness Is A Warm Gun' and 'You've Got To Hide Your Love Away' also write this? How is it possible?

"Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (Reprise)" – 1:18

Love it.

"A Day in the Life" – 5:33

Love it. At least it finishes alright.

*

I ask you, am I wrong?

The Weight Wagon

So Oprah’s fallen off the weight wagon. That truly is a shame because she helped Obama get where he is today (actually, where is he!) and I want her to be happy.

I never watch her show so I really don’t know what it is she does to achieve her status as world’s most famous and admired woman. Luckily some of her stuff seeps into international – well, western – consciousness such as the Tom Cruise couch jumping routine. Couldn’t live without moments like that. Anyway, it’s never good to see people get fat, especially when they don’t want to be. Sadly this is, I assure you, the vast majority. Even Oprah was "embarrassed".

She blames her thyroid. At least she didn’t blame big bones. I appreciate that thyroid issues can contribute to weight gain. Also, people have varying metabolisms which means some people gain weight easily while some people can barely gain weight at all. But here’s a simple little equation I’ve devised:

Energy consumption > Energy expenditure = Weight gain.

Phew, I think I solved it. After much thought, I think that’s it. No more fad diets, no more lite ‘n’ easy, no more avoiding carbs, fats, meat, dairy, whatever the current thing is we're supposed to avoid. I can boil it down to an even simpler statement: exercise more, eat less. You heard it here first.

Ok, ok. Maybe you think I’m over-simplifying things. But you know, I’m really not. Yes, people who have slower metabolisms have to work harder. That’s true. Sorry, but that’s your lot. You have thyroid problems? I’m sorry to hear that, but you have to work a little harder too. You have big bones? Nobody has big bones. That’s not bone hanging over your jeans.

Exercise more. Eat less.

I’ve done it myself. Lost 20 kgs. How did I do it?

I exercised more and I ate less.

It's Nylex or it's nothing

I recall reading some years ago an account of the Mushroom 40th anniversary concert, held at the MCG and a description of Paul Kelly’s set stuck in my mind.

Paul had launched into the opening of Leaps and Bounds with

“I’m high on a hill, looking over the bridge
To the MCG”

when the crowd of around 60,0000 roared back the next lines

“And way up on high, the clock on the silo
Says 11 degrees.”

As I say, it stuck in my mind for two reasons. Firstly, it is such a beautiful evocation of a time and a place (a freezing Melbourne winter day near Punt Road) and secondly, I can’t imagine a crowd in any other Australian city doing anything similar.

I might be wrong, but I can’t think of any other Australian city being so commemorated in song than Melbourne. Certainly other Australian bands have been closely associated with their home towns; The Triffids (Perth), The Whitlams (Sydney), The Go-Betweens (Brisbane) but Melbourne seems to have a special place in the hearts of its songwriters.

A few quick examples; Sykhooks (“Balwyn Calling”, “Lygon Street Limbo”), The Sports (“What did the detectives say” with its reference to the then Russell Street police headquarters), Weddings, Parties Anything (“Party in Fitzroy”), The Zimmermen (“Don’t go to Sydney”), The Warner Brothers (“Stuck down in Melbourne again”), Underground Lovers (“Rushall Station”) and too many Paul Kelly songs to mention.

For others, see here.

I’ve often wondered why a flat, cold city at the arse-end of anywhere seems to inspire such devotion in music.

My answer – buggered if I know.

Any thoughts?

Who Writes The Headlines?

I saw in today's Age the headline: "Winslet panned for trivialising the Holocaust" and I thought, "Oh no, my equal with Natalie Portman number one hot actress chick has said something stupid... Noooooo!"

But when I went to the actual article to find out what my darling Kate said, I discovered that the headline had little to do with the news report.

What's actually happened is Kate Winslet appears in a film, along with probably hundreds of other actors, not to mention a support crew of hundreds, that one film critic suggests 'trivialises the holocaust'.

If you are to single out who is responsible for (allegedly) trivialising the holocaust, surely it would be the script-writer, or the producers who commissioned the script-writer, or maybe the director if s/he trivialises what would otherwise be a measured and earnest script. To create a headline inferring Kate Winslet is the perpetrator is clearly wrong.

And in any case, this is just one man's opinion. A film critic. Who of course is entitled to his opinion and may indeed be correct in asserting the film trivialises the holocaust.

Point is: Why didn't the headline reflect the story? It should have read, "Film Critic Suggests Movie Starring Kate Winslet Trivialises The Holocaust". I mean, I'd still read the article if that was the headline.

Lift your game, Fairfax.

In related news from the article, the film features Kate Winslet nude. Winslet. Nude. Oh I'll be seeing the movie and making my own boobs up on the assertion that the film boobs trivialises the boobs.

Homeopathy is foolish and must be stopped

Why seemingly intelligent people continue to believe in homeopathy, let alone practice this mumbo-jumbo on a nine-month old, is beyond belief.

Let me stress that this couple have not been found guilty of anything and are entitled to the presumption of innocence, but honestly!

The article notes;

The inquest was told the infant was severely malnourished when she died and had been suffering from such terrible eczema that much of her skin was split.

Her homeopath father and her IT professional mother allegedly treated her with homeopathic remedies rather than her prescribed medication.

FFS!

There is no, repeat no, scientific evidence that I’m aware of that homeopathy is anything other than complete snake-oil. If you know anybody who believes in this nonsense, you may want to print out a copy of this article and shove it under their fucking noses.

The AFI horror, the AFI horror!

So, the AFI Awards.

The “Red Carpet” segment of this nonsense with be hosted by… Julia Zemiro!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, God, the dilemma.

Normally I’d rather have my eyes gouged out by owls than sit through this but, you know, Julia Zemiro!!!!!!!!!!

I suppose I could just watch the “Red Carpet” segment, but do I really want to listen to the current crop of nominees?

But still.

Julia Zemiro!!!!!!!!!!

In related news, could the current bunch of films up for a gong get any lamer? I could film my cat engaged in her favourite pastime of slowly destroying my record collection and it would be up for 11 major AFI Awards.

Has anybody actually seen an AFI nominated film this Year?

Also,

Julia Zemiro!!!!!!!!!!

Dialectical materialism made easy!

People often come up to me and say “Ramon, you filthy Marxist. Explain the concept of dialectical materialism or we’ll kill your cat.”

To which my response is always, “Yeah, fine, go for your life. She’s a vicious, furry anarchist thug and poses a threat to the peace and security of the neighbourhood.”

To which they usually say “Umm, well, we won’t actually kill the cat, but can you explain the concept of dialectical materialism anyway?”

Only too happy to oblige.

The concept of the dialectical goes back to ancient Greece but the concept was refined by the nineteenth century German philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel – or “Fred” to his mates.

Hegel believed society progresses through the conflict of opposites and that everything contains within it the seeds of its own negation. Essentially an existing condition (thesis) gives rise to its opposite (antithesis). Conflict between the two produces a new condition (synthesis) which in turn becomes the new thesis.

Marx accepted the idea but applied it to the material world, rather than the world of ideas, thus “turning Hegel on his head”*.

In Marx, the feudal order saw the rise of the bourgeoisie who gained power in the great revolutions of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, only in turn to face the challenge of the proletariat.

So there you have it.

Pers. trot this out at parties and any woman you desire will be putty in your hands.

*Which I believe was a popular pastime in 19th century Germany.

The "slow food" movement shits me.

It’s getting increasingly difficult to open any “quality” publication these days without coming across some pompous bore droning on and on about “slow food”.

As implemented in Melbourne, “slow food” basically seems to consist of some self-satisfied bourgeois demonstrating their environmental credentials by gathering with other self-satisfied bourgeois to woof down “horse intestine stuffed with larks’ testicles” or whatever the hell this nonsense is supposed to consist of.

In the end, of course, it’s all about conspicuous consumption; showing to your friends how enlightened and cosmopolitan you are without actually doing anything practical for the environment like – you know – not driving young Felicity to her trombone lesson in the family four-wheel drive.

And isn’t it funny how the regions targeted for “slow food” are the usual foodie wank-objects; Italy, Spain, France. How come we never see “slow food” festivals for the northern European countries?

“Well Sven, what do we have for ‘slow food Norway’?”

“OK Jacinta, we have picked herring that’s been marinating in its own slime for six-months, matched with some yellow pickled vegetable and washed down with a spirit we make from rotting potatoes.”

“Sounds delish!!”

Not that I’m a great fan of “slow food” in general.

Some of its principles are;

“Lobbying against government funding of genetic engineering.” Why? If genetic engineering is safe – why not use it, why this blanket ban?

“Lobbying against the use of pesticides.” Well, why not genetically engineer plants to be pest resistant so you don’t need pesticide? Problem solved.

“Preserving and promoting local and traditional food products, along with their lore and preparation”. FTW does this mean? Human societies change all the time, that’s what makes them human and that includes food. Should we preserve “local and traditional food products” from 1350 AD, from 1750 AD, from last Tuesday?

I like food as much as the next bod*, but honestly chaps – don’t you have anything better to do with your time?

*Although probably not as much as Witchie.

Well, If Nobody Else Wants Him...

Artist's sketch of Ben Cousins as a Tiger.

Poor Ben. Stupid Ben. Brilliant Ben. Awesome Ben. Drug-fucked Ben. Gentle Ben. Big Ben. Who knows what Ben a football club will get should they recruit Cousins, Ben. What we do know is that at his peak he was awesome on the field. He could turn matches. He could rip the hearts out of opposition supporters. He could make grown-ups weep in envy at his talent.

We also know he was the type to walk to the front of the line at nightclubs, say "Do you know who I am?" and walk straight in. Eventually, one guesses, that lead to his downfall and his immersion in drug culture.

I can't talk. I have three of four E's a year, and maybe a line of cocaine once every two years... but my occupation, income and reputation is not in any way hindered by this recreational use of drugs. I can't say he is bad for taking drugs mmkay, but I can say he's an idiot for doing so.

Without footy, he's just another bogan.

He has had all year to a) break the habit and b) impress the clubs with his recovery. Working on the premise that 'a' was achieved, he has failed miserably at 'b', even with the assistance of his family, former clubmates and Anthony Mundine (and I'm not being facetious there. Mundine did actually try to help the guy and told him to be a 'man'.)

No clubs picked him up on the weekend, and his only chance now is with two or three clubs at the next round of drafting... one of which is my club, Richmond.

One of the problems was that when the AFL announced that Cousins' drug-testing conditions would be more difficult than any other player, he should have come straight out and said, "No worries!" Instead, there was this murky shit involving his manager claiming it was unfair. I, and many others in the footy world all said, "Shut the fuck up, say 'yes', and play some footy".

If I were Ben Cousins I would have spent all year in schools talking to kids about how bad drugs are mmkay, and at footy clubs, getting fit, working out, impressing them. Cousins hasn't done that. He's failed.

BUT. But. But. Who are we to demand anything of him? He's not our property. All this shit about how sponsors won't like him and how clubs have standards to apply... it's all modern gobbledygook litigious-society weasel-wording OH&S garbage.

Clubs have one core responsibility: To win football matches, playing within the rules of the game.

If Ben Cousins is off the drugs and is ready to play then every team should want him. It is an insult to their members if they do not offer him a spot on their list. What's the harm? Put him on minimum wage, give him a fairdinkum go, and if he gets back on the drugs kick him out on the streets! But if he's off the drugs, give the kid a run. He could win matches for you.

So, as self-appointed President of the Richmond Football Club, I hereby offer Ben Cousins a 1 year contract at minimum wage.

UPDATE:

With the power of MS Paint behind me, I have three other options for Richmond to consider should the Cousins thing fall through.

1. Usain Bolt: As long as he got the ball, not a person on Earth would catch him. Not even Shane Crawford.



2. Christopher Hitchens. He could use his wit, logic and obscure quotes from Ovid's lesser-known works to convince opposition players to let us win.



3. Jenna Jameson. Because Richo has always wanted a team-mate to penetrate.*




* I think he meant a player to penetrate the opposition's defensive zone, but, you know, close enough.

Charles Darwin was never called an arsehole

Ladies, form a queue

Or, Do intelligent people get more roots?

Last night I was watching the excellent doco Judgement Day: Intelligent Design on trial on SBS – which, BTW, is a comprehensive thumping of the Intelligent Design bollocks – when a sudden thought struck me.

“I wonder what Darwin’s sex life would be like if he was alive today?”

Picture the scene;

A nightclub in Melbourne* when a familiar figure sidles up to two Goth chicks chatting at the bar.

Charles Darwin (for it is indeed he) “Splendid Gothic ladies, I am Charles Darwin, the driving intellectual force behind the theory of natural selection. May I buy you both a drink?”

First Goth chick: “Charles Darwin! I’m going to take you home and ride you like a pony!”

Second Goth chick: “Hands off, scrag. I saw him first”

FGC: “Visigoth!”

SGC: “Heretic!”

Charles Darwin: “Ladies, please. There’s more than enough Charles Darwin to go around.”

Goth chicks: “Thanks Charles Darwin. No wonder you’re widely regarded as one of the modern world’s most important intellectuals.”

Am I onto something here? Or do I need to increase my meds?

*Or indeed, in Darwin - if you prefer.