Archive for the Human Stupidity Category

Victorian Police Officer Caught Dancing At Murder Scene

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 18, 2011 by Buck Frain

The Victoria Police is embroiled in scandal today as journalists captured photographs of a female officer apparently doing a ‘ribbon dance’ with police tape while cordoning off a murder scene in Bendigo.

The close community, already shaken by such a violent crime, has reacted strongly against what it perceives as disrespectful and grossly unprofessional behaviour.

A source outside the newsagency at the time said: “It was unbelievable. It was such a sombre scene and she just breaks into some sort of rhythmic gymnastics routine. A couple of people giggled and that seemed to spur her on, she was getting right into it. I just thought it was completely out of order.”

The dancing officer was allegedly pulled into line by a colleague who ushered her away from the media and assembled public, some quite disturbed by her antics in a scene that threatened to turn very ugly.

“Someone’s been murdered, for f___’s sake, have some respect.”, shouted an onlooker.

The outraged Bendigo community wants an explanation. Victoria Police has declined to comment on the matter pending further investigation.

All-in-one Kitchen Revolution!

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 4, 2010 by Buck Frain

Amazing breakthrough technology. 

Imagine a device so flexible and multi-purposed that it allowed you to throw away virtually all of your cumbersome kitchen appliances in one go.

It’s a slow-cooker, it’s a rice cooker, a bread maker, pie maker, fryer, boiler, roaster, steamer, griller and more. Entrees, mains, desserts, it can do them all. It make a thanksgiving dinner for the whole family, it can toast bread, it can even make you a cup of tea or coffee!!!

Anything you need to cook that requires heat can be prepared to gourmet chefs’ standards using this one device. 

How much would you pay for such an appliance? 

How about NOTHING AT ALL? 

Too good to be true? 

Not so! 

In Australia every house either rented or sold has one of these devices ALREADY!!! 

Yes, you miserable shit-sucking fuckholes, IT’S YOUR FUCKING OVEN!!! 

LEARN TO FUCKING USE IT AND STOP TWATTING ON ABOUT DOUCHEBAG, STUPID, PIECE-OF-SHIT APPLIANCES YOU’VE BEEN CONNED INTO BUYING BECAUSE YOU’RE A CUNTING USELESS PIECE OF MINDLESS EXCREMENT!!! 

LEARN TO COOK OR KILL YOURSELF AND SHUT THE  FUCK UP BECAUSE I’M FUCKING TIRED OF IT!!!

Get Some Privacy For Christmas!

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 22, 2009 by Buck Frain

With his marriage in tatters, a gaggle of money-grubbing slappers circling for their 15-nano-seconds-of-fame-with-accompanying-media-stipend and sponsors running for the hills because they can’t see the Woods for the sleaze, golfing titan Tiger Woods is heading for the high seas. And who the fuck can blame him? Not me, Jim-lad, that’s for cunting sure! 

I’ve been watching this media car crash for the last couple of weeks and I have silently listened to all the banal water-cooler conversations about how his wife should take him to the cleaners; his sponsors should all ditch him; how he shouldn’t be allowed to play golf because he’s such an evil human being and how surprising it all is seeing as he never looked like one of those guys who does that sort of thing

What sort of thing? Fucking? OK so rich, attractive, athlete at the top of his game, the best in his field in the entire world? And he’s fucking a lot? Whoa! How could this possibly happen? 

Jesus fucking Christ! I feel like I’m losing my mind! WHO THE FUCK CARES??? I know I regularly rip shit out of  sportos for being reprehensible pieces of shit but this is different. He has broken no law. The girls were all legal and consenting. For me this is pretty fucking simple – LEAVE HIM THE FUCK ALONE! He may be a crap husband but really that’s between him and his wife. Public figure or not, I don’t give a shit, it’s no other motherfucker’s business and no-one else in the entire world has any right to feel one way or the other about it SO JUST SHUT YOUR STINKING HOLES AND FUCKING DIE!!! 

I feel for Tiger and I don’t know what’s worse, realising that when you’re rich everyone sees you as nothing more than a meal ticket, having your mum tell the tabloids she’s angry and devastated by what’s going on in/out of your marriage or having a notorious wanker like Boris Becker come in faux support of you. Fuck all that for a game of soldiers! I reckon Tiger’s got the right idea – load the boat full of booze, grab a few  mates and get the shit out of there. Maybe go to the Bahamas or anywhere you can get enormous drinks with umbrellas and fruit sticking out of them and ridiculously big joints, somewhere people are living their lives enough that they’ll leave you alone to do the cunting same.

 

I’m just glad that the PGA Tour still saw fit to award him Player Of The Year. Ah, who the fuck else would they give it to? He even plays a mean game of golf! Merry Christmas Tiger Woods!

 

Merry Christmas to the rest of you as well…except the cunts out there I don’t like – FUCK YOU GUYS!!! I’m putting snow on my blog. I don’t know why, it’ll probably shit people off but fuck it, it’ll be gone soon and Australia’s fucking hot over Christmas so I need all the cool I can get.

Water On The Motherfucking Moon!

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 14, 2009 by Buck Frain

water_moon

With almost 100 Angry Place posts up and on the cusp of 100,000 hits, I interrupt the normal flow of meaningless drivel about celebrity pet diets and bizarre sexual fetishes of the rich and famous to bring you this exciting news: There’s water on the motherfucking Moon, bitches! Yep, that’s right, actual, physical Earth-style fucking water, right up there on the fuck-me-dead-it’s-not-really-made-of-cheese Moon. Those super-smart motherfuckers at NASA took a big ol’ gamble with an arseload of public money and crashed a spacecraft into The Moon. Right the fuck into it!  – gotta be the first time the cunts can celebrate a crash – They collected some of the debris and proved once and for all there is water on The Moon. FUCKING WOW!!!… But…actually, what does this mean?

One school of thought suggests that it means we can set up a long-term base on the moon – presumably for astronauts to twat about taking really cool photos of Earth rising and setting before one or more of them goes bat-shit crazy from cabin fever and murders everyone else on the base – because all you really need is an abundance of water, a digital camera and of course a webcam to chart your mental decline. Amazingly, there’s no shortage of lonely scientists already signing up for that mission.

Another school of thought has it that when we’ve completely trashed the Earth – and we’re nearly there – we can all colonise The Moon for a few tens of thousands of years or until it all grows back. Obviously, this is a genius plan because The Moon is a total shit-pile so we can’t possibly make it any worse than it is already. Unfortunately, it’s an idea that’s in complete denial of our basic nature. It relies on our species being able to co-operate, not kill each other and live within our limited means in an unbelievably hostile and ultra-spartan environment. Personally, I can’t see it happening. As a species humans suck the bag. We breed, consume and pollute without giving it any more thought than protozoa does, and living on a shit-pile like The Moon isn’t going to improve our basic nature one iota. 

Of course, any hope of even that slim avenue of salvation will disappear if NASA don’t get armed people up there fucking pronto because now there’s a space race on between the Evian and Perrier companies to see who can be the first to secure and market the most exclusive and expensive bottled water in the known universe. Get a military presence on the Moon. IMMEDIATELY!!!

perrier_moon_water

If you can afford to drink water imported from the moon, writing your name on a hot chick’s arse has to be a piece of piss!

Ultra violence and chocolate eggs.

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 10, 2009 by Buck Frain


jesus_gets_hammered

Q: What’s this? 

A: A cunt of a way to spend the Easter long weekend!

 

Happy Easter, bitches! Eat chocolate, celebrate rabbits and the amount of fucking they do, buy lumber and nail someone nice to it! I appreciate a couple of days off work as much as the next bloke, but fuck me dead if I don’t wish there was something decent on TV.

Do Bunnings have an Easter sale? That’d be kinda funny.

Why haven’t dairies got involved with a series of commemorative Easter cheeses? Cheeses for Jesus! Sounds good to me, they’d go down a treat with all the cunting bread and red wine. Eat this cheese, for it is my cheese – OK, maybe not, but that whole speech was already pretty creepy stuff. The wine’s your blood, huh? How many of these have you had, J-bagger?

On that note why isn’t there an Exorcist-inspired ice block for Easter? Y’know, lemonade crucifix on a stick with a rasberry jelly Jesus. It’d be fucking great! Try new Lick Me Jesus! Fuck yeah, the kids would love it! 

Ah, shit! It’s only Good Friday, I’m already bored as a twat and there’s still three days to go. Fuck this shit, I’m going down the pub to get wankered!

 

I’m Telex You, Gestetner Fax Outta Here!

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 15, 2008 by Buck Frain

What the prolapsed rectum is with people who persist in using fax machines? I’m sorry but there’s no fucking excuse anymore. NO FUCKING EXCUSE!!! Get out of the cunting stone age, you great-grandmotherfuckers! 

 

I had mistakenly believed the enduring references to fax numbers on letterheads and business cards were just an indication of a laziness in updating stationery. If the last few days are anything to go by, however, I am wrong and there is army of tree-murdering recalcitrants out there desperately hanging on to their fax machines and forcing others to use them in the hope they’ll eventually acquire some kind of officeretro coolness. It’s pitifully fucked. 

 

I applied for two jobs recently where the recruitment monkeys asked if I could fax my resume in. Could I? I don’t know, could you go fuck yourself in the arse with a big rubber prick? To the first I replied: 

No, I’ll have to email you, I don’t have a fax machine. 

 

I was perplexed. People still use these things? WHY? Why would you use a fucking fax machine? They suck! How’s carrier pidgeon, will that do? I just don’t get it. The second time it happened I was got fucked off, however, I tried to remain cool and nonchalantly replied: 

No, I’ll have to e-mail you. My fax machine’s been less than reliable since I chopped into pieces with an axe. 

 

There was a stunned silence as the HR guy tried to process this information until, finally, he gave a weak: 

Ahm…I’m sorry? 

 

I don’t have a fax, dude, I’ve got a computer…and…I was messing with you. 

 

Nothing. Why is it that the people who work in human resources are the people with the least grip on humanity? Maybe it’s the same crushing irony of careers advisors – what a shit job, why would anyone listen to them ever? 

 

I applied for yet another job, a real job I had thought. I was reasonably interested in the business, the position looked promising…until I received a call from them requesting my fax number so they could send me some information to look over before the interview. 

How about I give you my email address? 

 

The vacant and, I assume, blonde entity on the other end of the phone gave a petulant sigh and tried to ply me for the path of least resistance:

Your fax number would be a lot quicker…for us, you know. 

 

I somehow doubt that – I don’t have a fax. Could you TELEX me?

 

Oh, I don’t know…I don’t think we have that…well, is there a fax at your post office? Or…well, I suppose I could send it by regular mail but there’s no guarantee you’d have much time with it before the interview… 

 

The job had lost all its lustre. It was dead to me now.

My Post Office? What the fuck? Are you calling me from the past? What the shat-in-fridge is wrong with you? E-mail, you stinking fucker! Have you not heard of it? It’s great: it doesn’t kill trees, it doesn’t degrade the quality of documents, it doesn’t cost you money and it has fuck all of a carbon footprint, BINT! You know what? Fuck you! FUCK YOU!!! Take the documents, the interview, the job and your whole company, fax it all to yourself, roll it up and shove it up your ARSE!!! I hate you! I fucking hate your short-sighted, environmentally cancerous, shit-sucking, lazy fuckedness! I hope to find you trapped under a vending machine early one Tuesday morning after a long weekend, a breath away from death so your last memory can be me hanging a big steaming shit into your gasping mouth!!!

 Hmm…that’d have to confuse the Jesus out of the forensic team, wouldn’t it? 

 

I digress. Unfortunately, none of that tirade actually came out of my mouth. I did manage to impart that if the facility of e-mail was too complicated for her company then I probably wasn’t too interested in working there, gave her my e-mail address and hung up. Yep, Won’t be hearing from those bastards. You wonder why I’m trapped in my dead-end limbo existence? Too bad. Fuck it!

 

Faxes have no place in our world except perhaps in a Museum For Boring Shit That Always Sucked. They’re a bad piece of equipment – they ruin everything, they jam like bastards, they use that stupid replica toilet paper and they have been thoroughly superceded in the most remote parts of the planet for well over a decade. Anyone who ever uses one now is obviously a complete CUNT and should be beaten to death with their stupid, cunty, shit-ridden fax machine for being an irredeemably FUCKED human being. GET FUCKED!!!

Things To NOT Do When You’re In a Hurry.

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 12, 2008 by Buck Frain

#1. Shave Your Balls.

 

I slept through my alarm this morning. Well, that’s not exactly true. I kept pushing snooze, getting another five minutes, pushing snooze getting another five minutes, pruning down the things I had to do before leaving the house with a semi-sleeping brain, pushing snooze, you get the idea. At some point I guess I must have pushed Off by mistake and just kept sleeping.

 

I awoke with a jolt. It was late. Not too late but I have a thing about being late – namely, I fucking hate it – so I was in a state of mild distress. I could still get to work on time but I was under pressure, my insufficiently oxygenated calculations on what had to be done and how much time I’d need were abysmally poor, I was looking down the barrel of no breakfast, possibly even no coffee. No coffee, as you’ll remember, means no shit and starting the day all bunged up – ah, it would be a cunt of a day!

 

I jumped into the shower and in retrospect could have cut down time by leaving certain personal grooming details for another day, but I didn’t. I decided to shave my ballbag. I first shaved the bag about six years ago. I tried it once to impress a girlfriend and just never went back. Yes, it did work, she was quite impressed, it was the rest of me that ruined things there in the end, but I digress. The freshly shaven bag is a wonderful thing. Gentlemen, if you’ve never tried it, I highly recommend* it. Unfortunately, the scrotum is not the easiest thing in the world to shave and today, with the pressure of lateness upon me, I was rushing. I nicked the bag.

 

Just a little nick. For a moment I wasn’t even sure if I’d cut or imagined it. Of course, that moment was very short-lived and followed by extreme panic as it began to bleed. It didn’t spurt or anything graphic like that, it just dripped with determined rapidity. Oh fuck! I’ve cut the bag! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I examined the wound, the warm water of the shower washing it clean. One tiny cut, less than a millimeter, not deep, just a layer of skin but right on a vein. The water was quite hot, the bleeding was quite consistent, the ballbag is nothing but thin skin covered with small veins, my heart was pumping, the shower looked like Psycho. The bag!!! Fuck it, I’ve cut the bag! And I’m late for work!

 

I turned the taps off and grabbed a towel and, carefully to avoid the balls, compressed the damaged piece of scrotum in the towel to stem the flow of blood. First aid training, you beauty! Compress the wound to stop the bleeding. I had to get it to stop quickly because I was going to be late for work so I stood in the bathroom like a hunchback, one hand compressing my slashed bag, the other doing a crap job of drying the rest of me with another towel. What a pathetic sight, I was so glad to live alone.

 

How could I have been so stupid? Why didn’t I leave it for another day? IDIOT!!! After about five minutes of compression I checked the bag. The bleeding started right back up exactly like before, a rapid dripping. Oh fuck! How to make it stop. I grabbed a bottle of liquid styptic out of the medicine cabinet. I use it on my face when I cut myself shaving, how is it I’ve never cut the bag before? I dabbed styptic on the bag. SWEET SHITTING FUCK MONSTER!!! Wow, I thought that shit stung my face. No result, still bleeding. I tried again. CUNTING ARSE PISS MOTHERFUCKER!!! Yep, that really does smart. Still bleeding. My bathroom was starting to look like a crime scene. Could I bleed to death from this? What a hideous way to die. Fuck, they’ll think it was some bizarre suicide. Humiliation even in death. I’ve GOT to get ready for work. Band aids. Yes! That will work. Applying band aids to a scrotum is no easy thing either. Who designed balls? Who fuckin’ did this? How fucking ridiculous…? Alright…calm down! The band aids wouldn’t stay on because the blood soaked straight through them. I was starting to worry that I might be losing a dangerous amount of blood. Also, how could I explain this? What would I tell The Wobblers? No no no, it was all too terrible to contemplate. I decided to bleed freely all over the bathroom floor while I rummaged through the contents of the medicine cabinet. Fabric Elastoplat. One large one and a packet of normal size fabric elastoplast. They’re better than the plastic band aids because they’ve got that hardcore adhesive and they’re fabric so they stretch. I opened the big one and about fifteen little ones, peeled all the backings off them and laid them sticky side up on the washing machine. Taking the big one in one hand, I wiped the scrote clean with the bloody towel and quickly stuck the big plaster over the wound. I pressed all the edges down – very careful to not press ball, just bag. Then before the blood could soak through, I reinforced it with the smaller plasters, building up a barrier against the bleeding, I would make it stop. Ha! Fuck you, circulatory system! I kept peeling and applying plasters until I was satisfied. I waited for a few minutes…it held. This would have to do.

 

Of course, my balls by this stage resembled a softball. As I got dressed I realised my cunning strategy may well attract a lot of attention. Not more attention than a bleeding crotch perhaps, but still it wasn’t a good look. What a choice: elephantitis balls or man-struation? Too late to worry now.  I left the house of horrors and caught the train. I kept glancing at myself fearing that the dressing wasn’t holding the blood flow. I was certain on a few occasions that I felt wetness in my pants. Terror! No, I was just Buster Gonad and His Unfeasibly Large Testicles.

 

The easter egg in my pants held. No-one commented about by abnormally huge balls, for which I was very thankful. I kept a very low profile at work, I kept all movement to a minimum. I worked and left. On removing the dressing when I got home I discovered the bleeding had stopped and I was fine. I cleaned the abbatoir that was my bathroom.

 

I will continue to shave my bag, despite today’s near-death experience. Not because I’m some sort of self-mutilator or adrenaline junkie, but because I like the feeling of a smooth scrote. But, I will only shave it when I have time to be leisurely about it. They’re the only balls I have and they deserve better than a hasty once-over with a fucking razor blade.

 

 

* What I don’t recommend is waxing. Tried it, don’t go there, it’s bad. Very, very bad.

 

 

You can indulge my lust for popularity by voting for this post at http://humor-blogs.com …or not, hell, I don’t know who you are. Hmm, but strangely I crave your approval.