The only Poll that makes sense.

Robespierre had a very bad press.

Well the catch up with Melbs, Mr E and Kettle on Saturday was ace.

Much beer was drunk and many lemons were...errr...lemoned.

Over the course of the conversation, we discussed a number of ideas about the future of this blog. In the spirit of half-arsed democracy that hovers uneasily, I wouldn't mind getting your feedback about where we should be headed.

Would people like;

* More posts analysing the meeja/politics?
* Book/film reviews?
* Obscure/possibly fanciful aspects of history?
* Amusing cat stories?
* Stuff that passes over my mind?

I know Kettle is keen on more PSF, so I'll crank that sucker up again.

Or should we just say "enough is enough" and put this puppy to sleep?

Over to you.

Well strap me vitals, another year!

Awwwwwwwww

As this blog staggers towards its third birthday, it’s usual at these times to say something gushing and faintly maudlin like “This blog couldn’t exist without the enthusiasm of all the writers and contributors. It’s you who make it special.”

So I will.

Ahem.

This blog couldn’t exist without the enthusiasm of all the writers and contributors. It’s you who make it special.

And after a year of (often furious) discussion about politics, sex, religion, bad science and owls I think I can speak for us all when I say there was one thing we can all agree upon.

And that is that Laid was actually pretty shit.

Onwards and upwards, comrades.

I'm back comrades! Did you miss me?

"Honestly, I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and shit a better media release than that!"



I’m back, but my back still isn’t 100 per cent so I’m stalking the halls with my trusty walking stick*, snarling at people who get in my way**.

In fact, based on my recent experiences, I’m writing a screen play about a brilliant, grumpy cunt with a walking stick and alcohol and drug issues.

I’m thinking of calling it Brilliant, grumpy cunt with a walking stick.

Catchy, eh?

* And this isn’t one of those wimpy aluminium walking sticks you see about town these days. This is a good, solid lump of wood that says “get off my front lawn, you kids”.

** Which I tend to do anyway. But now I’m got a reason.

Introspection ahoy!

For some reason, this site seems very popular with podiatrists*, who like to pop in now and then to brighten our day with their very special brand of nonsense.

Yesterday “Flecy” asked

Interesting blog. It would be great if you can provide more details about it. Thanks you.

Well, “Flecy”, I’m glad you asked.

The Site Formally Known As** – and for convenience, we usually call it TSFKA – was created just over two years ago in the aftermath of two other sites crashing and burning in an orgy of screaming and painful death.

Here at TSFKA we’re passionate about;
* Eating,
* Drinking,
* Shoes,
* Politics,
* Chocolate,
* Cats,
* More eating,
* More drinking,
* Handbags,
* Poetry and
* The evil of owls.

Contributors tend in drift in and out, but major ones tend to be;
Perseus – Texan Goth and musician. Living in a small coastal town in Victoria, his hilarious antics in trying to find love has delighted many and lead to the creation of the term ‘love gumby”,

Squib – Poet, badge-maker and party-thrower extraordinaire,

Puss in Boots – Short chick and heat freak, living in Brisbane. Her handbag and shoe collection has delighted some and horrified many.

Lewd Bob – Often hilarious and possibly deranged. Currently absent, and

Me – Turn Ons include drinking, eating, staring moodily out of the window and the Labor Party. Turn Offs include Liberals and owls.

I think that just about covers it.

Oh and if you could work the expression “dick-biscuit” into your everyday conversation, that would be ace.

* Possibly because they’re looking forward to all the work Puss will bring in, once she gets a bit older.

** We’re well aware of the grammatical error in the title, so there’s no need to point it out.


Again.

Is it another year already? Crikey!

Senator John Faulkner - a credit to all concerned!

Well, this blog has stumbled through another year and what a wild old topsy turvey/roller coaster/Malcolm Turnbull sort of year it’s all been.

Some highlights for me include;

• After what seemed an eternity of love-gumbyiness, Perseus has finally ended up with more hot rumpy-pumpy than one could poke a stick at,
• Puss revealed the extend of her slightly disturbing obsession with shoes and hand-bags,
• Everybody’s favourite poster, EMS, toddled off to the one place colder than Hobart and unleashed her hitherto unsuspected political reportage skills.

But in what was surely a Lost style moment of revelation, Alex was unmasked as a chick.

Boy!

Bet you didn’t see that one coming!!

I can only speculate that the creator of this blog, Stubbadub, has retreated into some “Mister Kurtz” style madness, peering at his creation from time to time only to mutter “the horror, the horror”.

Also – my local Labor Commonwealth MP just rang, wanting to know if I would have a “Vote Labor” sign in my front yard for the federal election.

Things are afoot!

A Post About Nothing

I haven't posted anything for a little while. Largely because, right now, I have nothing to say. I seem to go through periods of complete and utter stagnation, where I am creatively bankrupt, my thought processes are abuzz with swarms of flies and I suffer writer's block. Not just here at the superior blog site know as TSFKA , but at my work where I'm required to churn out inspired proposals and stimulating scripts. As well as contribute clever witticisms, sharp retorts and shrewd observations to the bemusement and chagrin of those around me.

Nothing interests me in these periods. Not sport, politics, movies, music. Not even the alleged gender of contributors and commentators on this blog. It's not a depression thing, but rather a simple lack of motivation. It's more like a sluggish lethargy. Laziness perhaps. I'll get over it. I always do. Maybe I'll contribute four posts next week, each more breathtaking than the last. Or maybe the week after.

At last, a social media site which isn't shit!

Robert Llewellyn is an interesting fellow.

If you haven’t seen this, then why haven’t you?

It basically consists of English actor Robert Llewellyn* driving an electric car around London chatting to people he finds interesting.

Could Andrew Denton do this? Of course he fuckin’ couldn’t.

Also, should I get a twitter site? I suspect if I did, it would largely consist of me saying “cunt” at random intervals.

*Or Kryton from Red Dwarf, if you prefer.

All's Well That Ends

Get this:

On Saturday afternoon, Suicide Girl and I headed to the birthday picnic of my good friend Spud (who is the little sister of Artemis). It was a nice picnic in Edinburgh Gardens (though the state of the men's toilets was a disgrace... on yer bikes, council) with nice food and good company. Normally, Spud has rather big birthday parties with 50-100 people in attendance and I thought it was going to be one of those affairs, but no, it turns out that this picnic was just for her inner sanctum and there was in fact only 14 of us. This gave me a good chance to see how Suicide Girl mingled, close-up and soberly, with my mates.

She did well! We were at the picnic from 2pm-6pm and she talked with everyone and I was thinking, "This is good, she can mingle!"

We then went back to Spud's flat for more drinks and food by which time we were all getting a bit drunken. Suicide Girl not only continued to mingle well, but actually made an appointment to have lunch with one friend of mine, and talked to others about catching up at my house for a weekend of fun. I was very, very impressed.

Then, six of us headed off to see Melt-Banana at The Forum. In the taxi there, now quite shickered, she even discussed with me the possibility of her and her Mum and two younger siblings spending Christmas day with my family and I was open to this.

All was travelling smoothly.

But what's a Monday on TSFKA without some sort of drama arising from the pathetic choices I make in my life?

The first sign of trouble came in the queue to get in. Doofus appeared and stood with us. You may recall, Doofus is the guy that spewed on Suicide Girl a month ago after she took him home during a brain-fade. This made her very tense. In my life, I have found that when normal, well-adjusted people get tense over something, they do what has to be done to recover, but, maladjusted and unhinged people with a bellyful of 'issues' can't do that. They let situations take control.

I didn't know it yet, but Suicide Girl had lost it.

But before I get to that, here's an aside...

I spent the first half hour of the Melt-Banana gig looking for Mr. E Discharge (who I discovered the next day was unable to make it due to a family medical emergency - yo, Mr. E, I hope all is okay). I texted Mr. E and told him to meet me next to the stage right bar, back section, near the first booth (where the rest of my gang were sitting), and I stood there waiting.

Whilst standing there, an incredibly hot and beautiful woman approached me. She leaned up close and said, "You're Perseus, aren't you?" and mind you, she said 'Perseus' and not my actual name.

I didn't recognise her. "Who is this?" I thought, "Pepsi?"

I asked her, but the band had started and it was very loud. She told me her real name, and said she had recognised me from my blog. I figured she meant this blog, I figured further that she had read my entries over the last two weeks and I figured she was on the look out. So, I figured I'd point out the characters. "That's Suicide Girl there," I said, pointing to our booth, "And that's Artemis," I said, pointing. The girl looked at me confused. She had no idea what I was talking about, so I got confused too. It seems she was not a TSFKA person, but just, somehow, recognised me, maybe from my book blog. She told me her internet name but I was all a bit freaked and I can't remember it now, but it had two words, and it was some sort of description, like 'Didactic Explosion' (but not that).

I sat back with my friends. Me and Hippy Mate decided to go into the moshpit for a few songs. On my way back out of the moshpit, I bumped into the hot chick again. Jeez she was hot. And seemingly alone. So I said to her, "We're going to Cherry Bar after this," and she said, "I can't. I'm going to The Carlton Club," and that was it.

Whoever she was, that was the last I saw of her, and who knows, she might be an enemy, but even so, wouldn't mind knowing thine enemy, so if you're reading, umm, hi.

End of aside.

The gig itself was awesome. As soon as it finished, Suicide Girl and I bid goodbye to the other four, and we headed to Leggy's birthday drinks at Cherry Bar. That's when the night went sour.

We got in there and Suicide Girl refused to mingle with anyone, including her good friend Fanboy (Leggy's boyfriend, and the one who set us up). She refused to talk to me. She started flirting with men, and if I went near her she shunned me, and started getting physical with whichever man was closest. I didn't know what I had done, so I confronted her, and she said (in a drunken drawl), "This place is so fucking boring unless I'm on the prowl,,, I only like coming here with my girlfriends," so I said, "Well, we can go home if you like," and she said, "No, I just don't want you here... I don't want to be responsible for anyone," and I said, "Okay," and I left the Cherry Bar, and that, dear readers is the last time I will speak to her.

You see, I spent six years with Andromeda 3.0 and I learnt a lot about the unhinged. Put alcohol in them, their issues arise, and they take it out on whoever is closest and nothing can stop them except years of therapy. I am wise. So wise in fact, that I knew exactly how this would play out... I would get grovelling messages the next day.

They started at 6am.... seven missed calls from an unknown number. When I checked the messages they were drunken, howling messes. She was saying, "I got robbed, I lost everything including my phone so I'm calling on my flatmate's phone... I'm so sorry, I fucked up, I can't believe I did what I did, I am soooooo sorry, call me, please call me, I love you..." and so on and so on.

During the course of Sunday she called eight more times, on two other phones, plus SMSs, all of them grovelling apologies, but six years of putting up with this sort of pattern from Andromeda 3.0 has hardened me. She can get fucked.

It is one thing for issues to arise. It is another to take one's insecurities or turmoil out on the very people who can assist you with these things. There's no excuse for it.

So, here I am, back to square one, but I feel, in a way, proud of myself. I am not a whipping boy. I saw the danger, I avoided it, and I am safe and secure again.

The greatet adventures are those that end safely at home.

An award for bravery in the face of ridicule and scorn (along with silliness and absurdity)

It gives me great pleasure tonight to award the Kingotis Memorial Thread title. The following decoration is bestowed individually upon Perseus and collectively upon all the commenters on TSFKA for their role in pushing Perseus' 'Weekend Wrap' thread to an all-time high count for TSFKA and for reminding all of us of the ancient glory that was TSSH.

Congratulations everyone. Wear this specially-commissioned MS Paint art with pride.



And also for reaching 150 posts, a special display of the inaugural Kingotis Memorial Thread award has been approved.



In other news, I'll be posting a Poetry Slam Friday tomorrow in place of Ramon (if there are no objections).

It's our birthday, but you get nothing. Nothing!

A year ago today, a man called Stubadubb had a dream.

A dream of a blog, attracting the finest writers on the internet. A blog where the important issues of politics, culture and music could be discussed in a lively, intelligent manner. A blog which could range from the whimsical, to the serious, to the furious without regard to shibboleths or doctrine.

A blog, in short, that would finally realise the potential of the information revolution.

But he couldn’t come up with any takers, so he started this site instead.

A year, eh?

Fuck, who’d have thunk it?

Watsinanaym?

Oh no. Sam Worthington, of 'Love My Way' Ozzie soap opera fame has scored the role of PERSEUS in some big Hollywood blockbuster re-make of Clash Of The Titans which I bet will suck shit big-time.

Why re-make what is a fine film in the first place? Oh yes, the effects are dated, but so what? Make another film, cunts, with a different storyline, not the same one again. Do we have to re-make every fucking film that has even been made? There's more myths to choose from you know!

But I digress.

Point is, my internet name is about to become cheap and cartoony. I may as well be called Wolverine or The Hulk.

I picked the name 'Perseus' because I had read the book 'Clash of The Titans' when I was about 10, and I was already heavily into Greek mythology at the time... and then when the movie came out I was very excited (though at the time I did say (for the first of many times in my life), "It wasn't as good as the book."). The story of Perseus intrigued me as a 10-11 year old, particularly the Medusa saga, and my interest in the story has held over the years.

So when I made it on to the internet and had to pick a name, it was one of many I considered (others I considered were 'Jesus69' and Captain Kneejerk), but it won easily.

And so, I ask you all to let me know how you picked your internet name (maybe with the exception of 'Alex'.... unless that's not your real name.)

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.

Normal shrieking will resume shortly.

Comrades, after due thought I’ve decided to lay off this blogging caper for a week or so.

I’ve been banging on the interwebs since the glory days of TSSH and I think I need a bit of a re-think about what I’m trying to say and how I say it.

I’ve also had a look at some of the pieces I’ve written here recently and they’re a bit, shall we say, sub-par*.

I will be back, as I am a desperately insecure man who needs the approval of others, but I need to do some serious drinking thinking.

I may pop in from time to time to shriek abuse at you.

Or not.

As the case may be.

Please support the other fine writers here**.

*Actually, they were shit.

And no, I’m not going to tell you which ones.

And I’ve deleted them, in any case.

So nyerr, nyerr, nyerr.

** Except Boogey. He’s a CuntCunt.

Help a n00b out

In exile, Ramon Insertnamehere curses his lack of internet smarts.

Some of you may have noticed the absence of any comments from me recently, with their characteristic mixture of pithy advice and abuse, on this blog,

This is because, for some reason, Blogger has declared a fatwah and won’t let me comment.

I can post OK, as you can observe, but every time I try and write a comment I either get a “done, but with errors on page” or “javascript: void (0)” message thingo.

Now, “javascript: void (0)” did initially have a rather lovely Pinteresque quality about it, but quite frankly, it’s getting tiresome.

Is there anything I can do to fix this myself, as I’d rather not involve the Department’s computer bods.

Or must I be like Napoleon* in exile on St Helena, outcast and forgotten, brooding over past wrongs and devoting my time to writing a series of self-serving memoirs.

This is not an opportunity to slag me off while I can’t reply, either.

*I mean of course Napoleon I, Emperor of the French, not the Napoleon who used to comment on TSSH.

Things I've done (so far) on my holidays

1. Drink a beer.

2. Go to Ikea (not through choice).

3. Get involved in a major blogging war.

4. Drink a beer.

5. Become involved in a new, disgusting blog.

6. Drink a beer.

7. Swear at the Age.

8. Assemble Ikea furniture (while drinking a beer).

9. Swear at Ikea furniture.

10. Think about drinking a beer.

Cripes, and it's only the first week.

I do lead a rich, full life.