Archive for Alcohol

Queensland Government Fights The War Against Glass!

Posted in Rage Against The Machine with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 28, 2009 by Buck Frain

Good work Queensland, you fucking gimps! What a stupid, stupid place to live. Queensland, the home of XXXX ‘beer’, Bundaberg Rum and rampant stupidity. Let’s ignore the fact that the recalcitrant fucks have refused daylight saving because it fades the curtains and confuses the cows. Let’s ignore the fact that no bastard in the entire state knows how to make a decent cup of coffee. I just want to focus in on this latest piece of idiocy.

The Queensland Government is in the process of banning  glass in pubs. Why? Because the lousy, cowardly bogan fucks of Queensland, just like those found elswhere across the country, have taken to glassing the shit out of anyone they take a dislike to when they’ve got a skin full of piss.

glassing_victim

I don’t think there’s any doubt that glassing is awful. It’s shithouse! There is very little that’s quite as reprehensible as taking glass to an unarmed opponent. It’s a piss-weak piece of hooliganism that seems to have been adopted from the UK – thanks for another fine cultural export, right up there with foxes, small pox and convicts! I have the greatest sympathy for victims of this sort of cowardice, however, the problem I have with the removal of glass from pubs is that it doesn’t solve the fucking problem, it’s just a thoroughly cock-brained piece of policy-making that fucks up everyone’s pub experience. As civilized adults we should be able to enjoy a cold beer from a chilled glass. We should be able to drink wine, or whatever else for that matter, from glass vessels. Glass is beautiful. Organic. Dignified. Plastic is carcinogenic and arse! We shouldn’t be relegated to slurping out of plastic beakers like children just because there are a percentage douche bags in our midst. Why should everyone’s lifestyle take a dive because a minority is fucked in the head? IT CUNTING WELL SHOULDN’T!!!

broken-glass

If you take a glass to someone you should be charged with attempted murder. That’s what it is. Glass is a potentially lethal weapon. You glass someone, you may not be trying to kill them, but you are maliciously trying to permanently disfigure them in a way that will – especially in a society as superficial as ours – destroy their life as they know it. You should be locked away for the rest of your stupid life. Get fucked! You should not be allowed to be part of society. It’s that fucking simple. I realise that people are stupid and that drunk people are doubly so but, seriously, a fuckload more people would exercise some restraint if they thought they’d never see the light of day again. Lock the dickheads away. Shut them away forever. Until they fucking well die. Then the rest of us can get back to enjoying our beers out of good old pint glasses like grown-ups rather than drinking out of plastic cups like we’re at some 7 year old’s birthday party.

If you ban glass, society’s shit-sticks will just find other things to mutilate people with. What will you ban next? Pool cues? Pool balls and anyone wearing socks? Chairs? Pencils? What exactly will you be left with? Why not ban alcohol? While you’re at it ban cars, toasters, lawnmowers, cutlery and toothbrushes? Why not ban razor blades – they’re fucking dangerous, and fuck it, I’ll still feel like a man shaving my face with Veet! WHY NOT MAKE THE ENTIRE WORLD OUT OF CUNTING MARSHMALLOWS??? WHY NOT JUST FUCKING KILL YOURSELVES YOU FUCKING USELESS, TERRIFIED CUNTS??? FOR FUCK’S SAKE: TAKE THE FUCKHEADS AND LOCK THEM AWAY!!! THAT’S WHAT WE HAVE CUNTING PRISONS FOR!!!

11 Shit Things That Make Share-House Living Suck – #9

Posted in 11 Shit Things That Make Share-house Living Suck. with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 4, 2008 by Buck Frain

appetitelarge 

#9. Homebrew, Hydroponics & An Appetite For Self-Destruction.

Welcome to the jungle, we got fun and games…  

 

You’re young. You’re poor. You’re forced into sharing squalid surrounds with strangers. But you’re alive and parent-free and filled with a burning need to fuck and recreationally self-medicate as much of the time as possible, and why the balls not? The world is going to hell and holds little to no meaning, and the possibility of finding a job that you don’t want to top yourself for doing for the rest of you life is miniscule. Your best bet is to have some laughs and destroy as many brain cells as you can in the hope that you’ll stop caring and render yourself able to become a useful member of society. 

Good news: For over 15,000 years people with sod all money or education have been successfully brewing their own beer and getting right off their chops. It’s way cheaper than buying beer and provides you with a feeling of accomplishment whilst freeing up more of your precious cash for hardcore pharmaceuticals.

 

Good news 2: It’s fuckin’ legal!

 

You don’t have to be living with economics students to know brewing your own beer makes good financial sense, shit knows I wasn’t. Our entire house was, for the first time, unified in the mission of brewing and we became a little monk-like for a couple of weeks – checking, obsessing, focusing all our energies on the brew. We bottled and started another brew going. We bottled that and started another. Our cellar grew week by week and we waited for the brews to mature.

 

This enterprise inspired diversification in our endeavours and we constructed a small hydro setup in the ample broom closet and started growing two plants. We were set to become completely self-sufficient in basic intoxicants and we were very excited. The plants grew rapidly aided by a small UV light and numerous very questionable chemicals.

 

Finally, we harvested half a pound of buds once we’d run out of room in our makeshift cellar for bottles. We dried the weed and then chilled down a couple of dozen beers. To try. We tried. Ooh! Success. The beer was a pale lager style beer modeled after Mexican beers like Corona. Except it was about 6.5% alcohol so along with its crisp, refreshing taste and easy drinking body, it had a kick like a mule. The pot stopped time and rendered speech impossible.

weed_pot 

Five months later we were still wasted. We were producing nearly four cartons of beer a week and had to put in a serious effort just to make sure we were drinking that much so as to keep the cellar from increasing. Also, having large quantites of free pot lying about meant that we were smoking bongs incessantly. Someone in the house always had a doobie going or so it seemed and no matter where you’d come from or where you were going someone in the house would offer you a hit. We had endless parties, we invited our friends for barbecues and told them just to bring meat. We were kings. Mad, mad, debauched maniacal kings. Intervention and/or rehab was inevitable.

 

So where’s the cunting problem, Buck, you fuckin’ ingrate? I hear you ask, and well you may.

 

My housemates and I were sitting in the lounge room one evening. We were suitably toasted and idly entertaining the possibility of roping in our chemist mate in to help us make some LSD, a move that might well usher in a golden age in our Kingdom of Lad. We all jumped at the sound of the front door being smashed open. It didn’t come off its hinges but the deadlock tore through the frame and the inner handle punched a hole through the gyprock. I turned to face the sound and saw a flash of dirty denim and ginger goatee before the end of his baseball bat sank into my solar plexus and I crashed to the floor with the fear that I’d never be able to breathe in again. A heavy boot stomped between my shoulder blades forcing my cheek into the roughly finished floorboards. The double barrels of a sawn-off shotgun quickly filled my field of vision. I could hear the distant pleading of my house-mates amongst gruff threats and the sounds of the house being torn apart. My eyes were full of tears and my diaphragm was spasming air in and out of my body in such a way that I felt like a fish drowning in air on the deck of a boat.

…you’re in the jungle, baby! You’re gonna die!!! 

 

I couldn’t get my head around the terrifying reality that I was about to die in a gang related drug den massacre. My mum really didn’t deserve this. The voices were increasingly impatient in their demands and my body refused to let me answer. I pointed desperately to the esky in the middle of the lounge room floor. Calloused fingers flung the lid off the esky and pulled out a garbage bag full of weed. Congratulatory cheers followed. The shotgun withdrew. Another neanderthal returned to the room having found our meager broom-closet greenhouse with the verdict: Nah, it’s bullshit, they’re just cunts! Laughter. Ah well, thanks cunts. Oh, and don’t remember us or we’ll come back and kill yas! More laughter. Exit the bogan horde in a roar of Harley Davidson belligerence.

 

It seemed that despite our relatively small social circle, our friends had regaled their friends with tales of our enterprises and the resultant parties. These tales had been passed on, embellished and degrees of separation had closed until a group of hairy, stinky fucking outlaw bikies had decided to shut down our non-profit crime empire. It also seemed that I’d pissed my pants. Fuck you, near death experiences!

Door-to-door Euthanasia – The Business Of The Future!

Posted in Crap Jobs with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 15, 2008 by Buck Frain

I had a great idea for a direct marketing business today. It just came to me. Door-to-door Euthanasia. Genius! Think about it:- The planet’s chronically overpopulated, we’re consuming natural resources at a thoroughly unsustainable rate and we’re polluting our environment to an extent that the planet will be uninhabitable by humans within 100 years. The human race is done. Most people are already killing themselves, in a slow, cowardly consumerist way at least: cigarettes, alcohol, junk food, drugs, mobile phones, driving whilst doing any or all of the former. Most of these people recognise the subtly suicidal undertones to these behaviours. Most of these people also wouldn’t be able to give you any decent justification for their continuing existence on the planet. It’s a pretty easy sell.

Huddled into their dingy homes crammed with unused exercise machines and sporting memorabilia, glued to commercial TV banality, stuffing their obese bodies with fatty home delivered death, all the while decaying intellectually and spiritually, and refusing to participate in the affluent democracy that spawned them. All they want is someone to show them a product they can buy, that doesn’t require any effort on their part other than an outlay of cash, and that will solve all their problems – forever.

It’s just an idea at this stage and I realise I’d have to dress it up with some quasi-spiritual promise of wealth, stardom and beauty in some sort of afterlife. Not to mention a serious money-back guarantee, but I’m on to something, that’s for sure.

Oh fuck, I’ve turned into Satan! I gotta start looking for another line of work, I don’t think I’m very well.

Australia – Rule #1: Don’t Spill Ya Piss!

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 13, 2008 by Buck Frain

 

When I was in college a couple of my dear friends made up a list of rules for life. Rule number one was Don’t spill ya piss! (For the international visitors: “piss” is a colloquial term for any alcoholic beverage). The other rules slip my mind, the important thing was that every odd rule was Don’t spill ya piss!

 

Today I read this article about a driver pulled over in the Northern Territory who allowed his five year old child to sit on the floor of his car whilst his precious, his carton of beer, was safely secured to the back seat with a seat belt, between two other seat-belted adults. What a complete wanker.

 

This is about as Aussie as you can get. The only real cultural identity we have, outside of an unhealthy obsession with sports, is a culture of binge drinking which places more value on alcohol than even the safety of our own children. I suppose it’s only fitting seeing as the first currency of colonised Australia was rum.

 

When people ask me why I’m not patriotic I tell them because most of the people in any country are complete fuckwits, Australia is no different and I can’t really get fired up to associate myself with fuckwits. Patriotism is an archaic pile of horseshit, it’s just another version of tribalism, sectarianism, or a whole bunch of other –isms that attempt to disguise a very base animal behaviour, the aim of which is to alienate and ultimately kill anything other. Fuckin’ stupid monkeys! The only benefit in pulling this guy over and stopping him from killing everyone in his car was the possibility he might have taken a useful citizen or two with him.

 

I love a drink, beer is a great friend of mine, but people like this cunt just make me wish for the stupid-bomb to hurry up and cleanse the world of this plague of fools. Bring on the idiot apocalypse! Die you useless fucks! Please just die!