Archive for May, 2008

Pamphlet Monkeys – Stupid, Bastards or Both?

Posted in Crap Jobs with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 8, 2008 by Buck Frain

It was raining this morning. I was disappointed to find that the postman had been unable to get my letter all the way into my letterbox and as a result it was a little wilted from the rain. It wasn’t the postie’s fault, one of the local pamphlet monkeys had stuffed my letterbox to the brim with catalogues from Big W and a whole host of other corporate propagandists. Incidentally, my letterbox does have a clear legible label, politely written with: No Advertising Material Accepted Thank You!

This happened a couple of months ago. I rang Big W and spoke to their person-who-deals-with-this-sort-of-thing and calmly explained that their pamphlet monkey needed to be re-educated in basic sign recognition. She assured me that they’d “get on it” and thanked me for my politeness. 

So what the SHIT-EATING JESUS is going on? Do I have a new illiterate monkey in my neighbourhood? Do my monkeys have memory problems so the conditioning only lasts a couple of months? WHAT THE FUCK??? I fucking hate this shit. I mean everyone hates spam in their email. But this is worse, this is the original, REAL spam. It’s fucked not only because you don’t need or want it. It’s fucked because it fills up your mailbox so your real mail has to hang out in the rain. It’s fucked because it would be better left as trees that give us oxygen and facilitate our continued existence on planet Earth. It’s fucked because I asked them really nicely to CUNTING WELL STOP and now they’ve started again! 

If I was doing that cuntingly useless job, I’d try and find a way to deliver less pamphlets not more. A mate of mine in high school was a pamphlet monkey for a while. He hated it, said the money was shit even back then when we were all broke and any money at all was cool. His scam was to do his round in a really half-arsed way so only one in five houses got a pamphlet and then dump the rest in the building site behind his house, it was genius…until they sprung him, but he figured they were ripping him off so he’d just rip a bit back.

My local monkey must be a complete idiot. I’m all for shit people having jobs, but how do you fuck a job like that up? Even if you can’t fuckin’ read you can learn that sign on mailbox mean no pamphlet. Can’t you, you fucktards? I could train a dog to understand that! Either my monkey is a complete bastard and he’s doing it deliberately or Big W just think they can break my spirit with a WWII-style propaganda drop. Well, if it is Big W, they can bloody well go fuck themselves. I won’t be shopping at Big W-A-N-K-E-R-S, it doesn’t matter how many trees they shove through my letterbox, they won’t break me. And if it’s just a psychological problem that my pamphlet monkey is suffering, I may just have to grab my trusty cricket bat and re-educate the fucker myself.

Whose Grass Are You Really Cutting?

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 6, 2008 by Buck Frain

I worked late last night. Thankfully, I don’t work 9-5 all the time. I sometimes think the one thing that saves my sanity is that I don’t have a strict routine. Last night I finished up around midnight, got home by 1am. Of course, getting home at that time you don’t want to go to bed straight away, so I sat up and had a glass of wine and watched some TV, knowing I didn’t have to get up too early – all very civilised. 

My bedroom is being torn apart. Jesus, mother and fuck, wha…? I roll over too abrubtly and crack my eyebrow into the corner of the bedside table. ARSE!!! I’m awake. 

Still squinting one eye beneath a hot, smarting brow, I reach for my mobile to check the time. 8:30am? My middle aged neighbour is mowing his lawn, or more specifically the nature strip outside my fence AT 8:30am! BASTARD BASTARD BASTARD!!! Between him and me there’s a wooden fence and a glass sliding door – he might as well be mowing my fucking doona! What the fuck sort of person does this? Who the fuck are these people who have nothing better to do at 8:30am than mow their cunting lawn? This fucker is constantly mowing his lawn. He must have fucking mowed it twice a week every week since I moved in, it’s a miracle there’s any fucking grass left. I’m serious, the mad bastard’s out there every three or four days mowing! What the shitting pissflaps drives a person to obsess like this over a fucking shitty piece of lawn? 

It’s not a golf green. It’s a pissy triangle of lawn on a corner block and a nature strip outside his fence. With water restrictions he hasn’t been allowed to water the shit for years, but arse-rape me with a bag of carrots if the old ballbag’s not out there twice a fucking week trimming the cunting Jesus out of it. I think he must be retired, he’s always at home and only other thing he does is have screaming matches with his wife through the kitchen window. Now, that’s just fucking weird, and that always happens first thing in the morning too. It’s always the fucking same – with him in the garden and her indoors screaming at each other through the closed kitchen window – at least no-one gets hit. They’re Greek so I don’t understand a fucking word of it but I think that may be a blessing. Who the hell wants to know what two people, who’ve been married way too long, scream at each other about? But I do think about it – well, it’s not like I’ve got any choice when it wakes me up and sounds like they’re actually in my house. Part of me really wants to know what they scream about. Maybe I could help. 

Today it came to me. The lawn. It’s a metaphor. They’re an older couple and things have cooled down. She must have a big-ol’-retro-bush, she wants action, but he wants some new-school-pruned-punani. The manic mowing and the frustrated screaming – it’s all part of the same problem. What a thoroughly disgusting revelation – fuck you, brain! But, fuck, that’s what it is, I’m certain of it. The real question is whether they’re actually talking about it. Are they actually yelling at each other about it or do they shout about petty domestic trivialities unaware that the whole problem is a difference of aesthetic tastes in personal grooming and an inability to be sexually open with each other? That’d be a fucking tragedy, an ugly tragedy… but a tragedy nonetheless. If I could solve this I’d be able to get some fuckin’ sleep. But what the fuck could I realistically do? Leave subtle presents in their letter-box? Razors, wax strips, hair removal cream? That’s pretty fuckin’ scary. I’m so fucked off from sleep-deprivation I just want to run out into my yard and shriek at the top of my lungs: For fuck’s sake, SHAVE YOUR FUCKIN’ PUSSY AND LET ME GET SOME SLEEP!!!

Yeah…that could work. It could… On the other hand it could just get me murdered, there’s no explaining that shit away. BASTARD! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST FUCKIN MOW AFTER 10???

“Rambo” – The Big Merino

Posted in Tourist Attractions That Suck with tags , , , , , , , , , , on May 5, 2008 by Buck Frain

Australia is really big and flat and empty. The roads are long and if you’re travelling you eventually have to stop somewhere (inevitably in some dog-fucking backwater) to refuel, re-hydrate and eat. In the hope of encouraging your stop, and the minor financial benefit it brings, small communities all over the country have created tourist attactions that …well, suck.

In the sheep-wheat country of NSW, the rural city of Goulburn has The Big Merino, a fucking enormous concrete sheep affectionately known as “Rambo” by the culturally starved locals. He’s 50 ft high and 60 ft long weighs a shitload. Almost a year ago he was moved 800m up the highway, for reasons nobody will ever care about, but the move was the most exciting thing that had happened in Goulburn since Rambo first appeared in 1985.

Below his enormous, pendulous ballbag there is a gift shop where you can buy things made out of wool and/or sheepskin. There is also a café where you can buy greasy truck-stop food. For the truly adventurous, there is the walk up inside Rambo, to look out his eyes at the amazingly picturesque FUCK ALL that surrounds him. There is NOTHING TO SEE HERE!!!

Sheep are stupid and boring, even when they’re really big. This monstrosity is a testament to the damaging effects of isolation on the imagination. If you take your kids here they will hate you unless, of course, they’re a bit weird and really want to see a huge pair of cement sheep balls. This really is a tourist attraction that SUCKS! Fuck you, Goulburn!

 

Miley Vs. G-Bay – This Week In The News

Posted in Rage Against The Machine with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 3, 2008 by Buck Frain

With all the pants-pissing over Miley Cyrus’ Vanity Fair pics, some real news all but escaped notice in the west.

 

Sami al-Haj, a Sudanese cameraman for Al-Jazeera, was released from the U.S. concentration camp at Guantanamo Bay after spending 6 years, the last 16 months of which he was on hunger strike, without charge. This man was a journalist, a reporter, imprisoned for no reason other than the fact that he was a muslim reporting on U.S. human rights violations in Afghanistan in 2001. He was never alleged to have hurt anyone nor proven to have engaged in any unlawful behaviour, however he was imprisoned, without trial or charge, tortured and deprived of the most basic human rights afforded even the most vicious rapists and murderers. For 6 years. The U.S. government still will not admit that they’ve let him go, they simply say that they have “transferred” the prisoner to his own government. The Sudanese authorities have politely indicated that they see no reason (other than his health) why he cannot return to his previous life.

 

The USA prides itself of being a paragon of virtue and freedom and yet is guilty of some of the most abhorrent human rights abuses seen in recent times. It will quickly jump to condemn other nations or groups for their transgressions but appears completely untouchable itself when committing the same and worse offences. Don’t worry, I’m not just America-bashing, John Howard’s Australia was a perversely willing accomplice to the international crimes of the United States, even when those crimes were perpetrated against one of our own citizens, David Hicks. Hicks rotted in Guantanamo for 6 years before finally being broken to confessing crimes in a desperate effort to get out. Physically and mentally devastated, he returned home a criminal to serve more prison time, and legally gagged from ever talking about elements of his ordeal. Australia could have secured his release instantly simply by asking for him back. John Howard flatly refused say a word until 51% of the population of Australia demanded he do something. But this is not news.

 

Guantanamo Bay is not news, Miley Cyrus is. The citizens of Australia, the UK and the USA are happy to be scandalised by seductive photos of a near-naked 15 year-old. We can safely fear the sexualisation of our children and suspect our menfolk of paedophilia (it’s a great photo). We can rail against the parents who pimp their children to the entertainment industry and we can be fucked off with Billy Ray Cyrus because we fucking hated Achey Breaky Heart and hoped we’d never see the lousy shit-sack ever again. The reason this is safe news and these are safe fears is because they don’t require we think about the fact that the values that underpin our societies have been abandoned. Our governments engage in illegal wars and routinely flout the values they extol. They are the worst possible kinds of criminals, hypocrites and evil-doers, perpetrating hideous crimes against humanity for financial gain thinly disguised as moral imperative. We have become the world’s bad guys. By continuing to support these democratically elected monsters we have become the bad guys. That’s just a bit too much to deal with, isn’t it? She’s hot, am I a paedo? That’s a bit easier.

 

But what happens when you do this to people? I mean, lock them up for free and torture them for years on end. What sort of person does that produce? It’s been well documented that legitimate, civilised prisons produce very angry people. What do concentration camps do? Well if you believe reports from Dubai this week, a Kuwaiti man released from Guantanamo in 2005 blew the fuck out himself and some others in a suicide bombing in Iraq recently. We can assume he wasn’t guilty of anything before going to G-Bay, because if there was even a remote possibility of his guilt he’d either still be there, or in prison, or dead. Regardless of the man’s beliefs before going to G-Bay we know he never blew himself up before. Did G-Bay produce a suicide bomber? Is Guantanamo Bay a terrorist factory?

 

I don’t know. I do know that if I was locked up for no reason, deprived of sleep, exercise or counsel. If I was held never knowing if I’d ever get out, never knowing why. If I was routinely interrogated and tortured. If this went on for years. And if then one day they let me out …I’d probably be a bit miffed. Especially if the people who locked me up still ruled the world, and if they still had all their power despite abusing it so reprehensibly…I don’t know…I might be the angriest bastard on the fuckin’ planet. I would not forgive, I would not forget and I may well dedicate the rest of my life to hurting them in any way that I could. Obviously, you can’t have a stand-up fight with a super power, they’re way too big. You have no choice but to fight dirty. I don’t know but I reckon I could be pissed off enough to blow myself to pieces if I thought I could take a couple of the cunts with me in the process.

 

I’m a big fan of life, but if I was angry enough I wouldn’t need the promise of glory in the afterlife to want to fuck people’s shit up. I’d just do it to even the scale a bit.

Self-absorbedness & The Illusion Of Public Solitude.

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 2, 2008 by Buck Frain

Congratulations, you have a mobile phone! Ooh, it’s exciting, it takes photos and plays .mp3s, you must be really proud.

I understand that new technology is exciting. I too have a great love of toys and gadgets. But, I do not try out all of my 57 new ringtones in public. I don’t play music out of my phone on its piss-weak speaker at its tinny top volume in the middle of a crowded tram. I don’t do this because I recognise that I live in a society with a bunch of other people, some of whom may not share my taste in complete banality. I don’t do it because I’m not a complete fuck-waste. I mean really, you fucking bogan, put the fucking phone away. I don’t want to hear your shit music. I especially don’t want to hear it on public transport through a pissy phone that was never designed to be used as a public address system. Who the fuck are these people? This genetic underclass, they are who I picture when Marx (no, not Richard, cunt!) describes the lumpenproletariat, they are social scum. Fuck me, it’s Deliverance in a tracksuit and with an ice habit! Did you actually originate from a sexual act or did your obese, inbred mum pick you up from a deranged alcoholic’s wank-splatter on a public toilet seat? I just want to grab their fucking phones and hurl them out the tram window. Fuck it, why stop with the phone? GORMLESS CUNTS!

Slightly above these fuckers on the genetic inferiority scale are the shitbirds who have really loud phone conversations on public transport. These people can look quite normal, even respectable but because they can’t hear the person they’re talking to very well, they assume that they also can’t be heard, so on a quiet train carriage, they yell their conversation so everyone onboard hears it whether they want to or not. It could be business or the most personal shit in the world but they’ll just crap on like they’re alone. I fucking hate it. It really fucks with me, I don’t want that kind of intimate knowledge of a stranger’s life. It’s like some an unsolicited spiritual fingering, it’s fucking disgusting, mind-raping bastards! The only retaliation I have found is to offer the offender my opinion on their conversation after it’s over. Now that really fucks with them, they get really shitty. You know, it could be Hep C, was Sharon in jail? Or: He’s fucking you, man, if you pay more than $1500 you’re totally getting done! It’s amazing how they suddenly think I’m the bad guy. The whole carriage may be trying not to laugh because they all got the same shit as me, but no, to the freak, I’m the evil eaves-dropper. IT’S A TRAIN, YOU FUCKHEAD – YOU’RE NOT ALONE!!!

Of course, you don’t have to use a mobile phone to be an obnoxious PT passenger. There are plenty of fuckstains who can’t help projecting their conversation to the entire carriage when the other person’s sitting next to them. Are they drunk? Are they deaf? Are they actors? Are they just teenagers who haven’t been sufficiently beaten-down so they realise they’re not alone on the planet? Could be any or all, one thing’s for sure: They’re annoying bastards and fuck me dead if I don’t want to hack off their heads with a ripped-open Coke can.

In conclusion, if like me you use public transport, please: read a book, listen to your iPod, even have a quiet chat, but for fuck’s sake remember there are people around you. People who tolerate your presence only because you respect theirs and because they don’t want to go to prison for silencing you with a pen Joe-Pesci-style. Just because you have your head up your arse doesn’t mean the rest of the world ceases to exist, you’re not invisible! There is no “privacy” in public and just because you don’t care about other people doesn’t mean you can’t piss us off. If you push us too hard, if you play your shit music, if you shout to your mum about your herpes, one day… we’ll crack and we’ll choose prison. Why? Because it’s QUIETER!!! Ask yourself whether that Gwen Stefani track is really worth bleeding to death in a tram for!