Archive for Anger

Fuck Christmas

Posted in Rage Against The Machine with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 19, 2014 by Buck Frain

lp

Christmas 2014 is shaping up to be the most miserable in living memory for Australia. An increasing number of Australians are taking to the streets in T-shirts declaring that they will not be celebrating Christmas at all this year as they’re saving all their party stuff until Prime Minister Tony Abbott dies.

Hatred for the PM has reached fever pitch in many parts of the country, and without a productive outlet for the rage, people are increasingly turning on the institution of Christmas as a focus for their anger. Frank Jelbart, 87, of Coonamble NSW said: “What kind of country are they running here anyway, where a fine young lad like Philip Hughes is struck down playing cricket for God’s sake and a snake like Abbott destroys the country and walks around breathing the air that mates of mine died for. Christmas be fucked this year, I’m just going to take out the 12 gauge and shoot holes in some road signs.”

Vicky Pettigrew, 44, of Happy Valley SA said: “Tony Abbott has ruined Christmas in our house this year. We get a tree each year but neither my husband, Darren, or I can even look at a Christmas tree now without imagining it on fire and stabbed right down that creepy lizard[Abbott]’s Jap-eye.” Mrs. Pettigrew, well-intentioned but a bit of a casual racist, told how the family had tried to persevere with the Christmas spirit until the couple’s thirteen year old son had replaced the traditional fairy atop the tree with a paper cut-out of the Prime Minister. “I think Ethan he thought it was funny or something but when Darren saw it he went berserk. He just dragged the whole tree out into the yard, decorations and all, doused it with two-stroke fuel and set it ablaze. He said no-one in our house would be having any fun until he [Abbott] dies.”

Similar scenes are playing out all over the country. In Mulgrave Vic, Trevor Farnsworth, 53, said the only thing he would be doing this Christmas was taking a hammer and knocking the handles off all of his 82 sporting trophies attained over 35 years of competing in a range of sports. “It’s been my life”, he wept, “but now they all just remind me of that dirty, big-eared cunt. Why can’t someone just fuckin’ kill him?”

You would be mistaken to think that the discontent stops at our sovereign borders though, interviewed at his well-hidden North Pole factory this week, the usually-jolly Santa Claus let fly about the Australian PM when asked about the down-turn in festive participation this season. “Tony Abbott is cancer in Speedos, he can get fucked! I’m not even going to Australia this year. I’m sorry kids but you can just fuck right off as long as that prick’s breathing. I’m serious! Cunt [Abbott] wants to pretend global warming doesn’t exist? I live in the fucking North Pole, bitches! Do you know how much I’ve had to spend on foundation re-flotation and sea-floor mooring just so the factory doesn’t sink into the fucking Arctic Ocean? It’s like Venice-On-Ice up here – it’s fucking bullshit – and that filthy weasel shit-fuck [Abbott] spends most of his time gobbing off Big Mining like coal’s a good fucking idea. No surprise that Tony Abbott’s death is Australia’s second most wished-for Christmas item this year, but I’ll tell you now: if you want him dead you’re going to have to do it your lazy fucking selves. I wouldn’t let Rudolph piss on that beef-jerky-looking bastard if he was on fire.

santa-mad

With the big man in red seeing red, our intrepid reporter wasn’t game to ask what the number one most wished for Christmas item was from Australia, although my money’s on having a truck-load of pineapples smashed up Scott Morrison’s arse with a sledgehammer. Whatever it is, there’s no doubt that we’ve lost our way with Christmas. Sure as cunts I can’t buggered with it! Like the kids are saying: Fuck Christmas – I’m saving all my party stuff ‘til Tony Abbott dies.

Christmas In July – Please Make Tony Abbott Die.

Posted in Rage Against The Machine with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 30, 2014 by Buck Frain

Dear Santa,

 

It’s been a while since I wrote to you but at this point you’re probably the only one who can help me. Seeing as Christmas In July seems to be a thing now, please find below my list. It’s not very conventional but neither is Christmas In July so I’ve attempted to go for non-commercial presents that will be of benefit to lots of people, not just to me.

 

1. Please kill Tony Abbott. No need to make him suffer. Just make him stop being alive. He’s hurting pretty much everyone. He’s happy about it. His actions benefit no-one other than handful of ultra-wealthy people who don’t really need him. He brings nothing good, kind or honest to the world, only selfishness and suffering.

2. Please kill Joe Hockey. He’s a liar and a thief. He’s lied about his family’s business interests for 14 years while he lines his pockets and now he wants the rest of us to put up with unnecessary poverty. I would accept austerity in a time of hardship but in a boom time when Australia is strong it’s empirically wrong. He’s cynically and systematically destroying middle Australia and creating suffering for millions while he and his mates live large.

3. Please kill Scott Morrison. He’s overseeing a system of illegal imprisonment, people trafficking, psychological, physical and sexual abuse, torture and murder of innocent men, women and children. People fleeing the worst horrors imaginable and seeking our help. He has them to concentration camps in the world’s least liveable places to punish them and their families for daring to seek shelter from cruelty.

4. Please kill Christopher Pyne. He’s destroying education for Australians and making it harder for anyone who’s not already rich to compete with their fellows for an equal chance to make a good life for themselves. He’s stealing the future for generations to come and he’s a smarmy little cunt as well if you don’t mind my saying so.

5. Please smack Mattias Cormann really hard, right in his box-shaped, Belgian fucking head about 50 or 60 times, really, really fucking hard. I fucking hate that prick!

 

That’s my top 5. I could go on – George Brandis, Kevin Andrews, Julie Bishop, Arthur Sinodinos, oh God there’s soooo many of them – but I know you’re busy and lots of people will be asking for things. I know I’m not perfect but I’ve been as good as I can, Santa. I haven’t killed anyone, cheated anyone or told any lies that have damaged people’s lives. Just the normal stuff like: “No, you were just a little bit tipsy, no-one took it badly, you were quite amusing.” Oh wait, well, maybe I should’ve been a bit more honest there but seriously…this is getting off topic.

I don’t want to be greedy. If you can only deliver on number 5 I’ll be massively grateful but please, please start at the top. It’s not just for me, these are gifts for all of Australians, for the whole world even. Please, Santa, please bring me Christmas in July – please make Tony Abbott die.

 

Lots of love,

Buck Frain

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!!!

Hunting The Bogeyman.

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 7, 2009 by Buck Frain

OK, so here I am. Again. Back at my stupid, stupid, fucky old job facilitating the acquisition of accurate research data for sociopathic multi-nationals. Ticking boxes and going through the motions for malevolent, imbecilic and monstrous bints. Yeah, it sucks but what really fucks with me is how the cancer of toxic personality trickles its way down the corporate ladder infecting everyone in the whole organisation.

I went to the staff toilet on our floor today. I think it’s the first time I’ve been to the toilet whilst at work since I’ve been back. No, not because I’m afraid, but because I don’t drink enough water, although after today’s experience I don’t want to go back. Standing at the urinal I couldn’t help but notice that the wall at eye level was spattered with bogeys. I’m not talking about a dried phlegmy spit which is gross but quite common to see in male toilets, but a serious spattering of crusty boogers.

I examined the form and pattern trying to work out what the volcanic arsehole was going on. There was no way this was just an unguarded sneeze, there must have been over 100 of them. This was a conscious and premeditated work undertaken over months while I’ve been absent. It was a veritable nose-goblin collection that Stimpy himself would have been proud of. I was fucking appalled!

stimpy_nose_goblins

So, was the Bogey Collector just leaning back while pissing and blowing the loose bogeys out onto the wall? No. I don’t think so. That may have been how it started but it had since gotten way out of control. He really liked this. He liked putting the bogeys up and he loved that they were staying there and that there was nowhere else to look but at them. There were some that were definitely picked, I could see what looked like smear marks trailing from some of them. This meant he was standing there, pissing, dick in one hand, other hand stuck up his nose fishing out grunties and then wiping them on the wall. Now that is just cunting well wrong! I don’t blame the cleaners for not cleaning the bogeys off. That’s not their job, this is vandalism, this is some crazy fucking act of mucus terrorism. ONE OF THEM HAS A CUNTING GREAT HAIR IN IT, FOR SHIT’S SAKE!!! Quick – call forensics! I need that fucker DNA tested so I can track this snot-fiend down.

I left the toilet. Nauseated. Outraged. Bogeys on the fucking wall! WHY!!! It doesn’t hurt The Wobblers, they don’t use the gents…maybe they do – eew!!! As a form of protest it is completely redundant. It’s just fucking gross. It only serves to further demoralise people who hate being there anyway. Even the most inarticulate graffiti has a message, this has no message… Or does it? Is it just a pure emotional expression? Is it a visceral interpretation of the rage generated by corporate containment and the impotence of the individual? Is this the post-modern answer to conventional graffiti? Could this be the future of street art? NO! NO! NO! IT’S NOT AND IT SHITTING WELL COULDN’T!! IT’S BOGEYS ON A MOTHER-FUCKING WALL!!! IT’S FUCKING FILTHY AND WHEN I FIND YOU, BOGEY COLLECTOR, I’LL FUCKING EXPOSE YOU FOR THE SHIT-EATING, CUNTFUL DEVIATE YOU ARE!!!

DON’T SMEAR YOUR FUCKING BOGEYS ON WALLS!!!

I WILL FUCKING FIND YOU!!!

ARSE!!!

 

Hiatus, not dead!

Posted in Tales From Hell with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 31, 2009 by Buck Frain

Balls and Arse!!! Fuck you, Oliver Coppin, I’m not dead – I’m just a lazy bastard!

I apologise, dear readers, for deserting you for so long. I had a rather nasty bout of contentment there for a while which very nearly proved fatal. However, thanks largely to the grace of ridiculous, archaic fictions and the inescapable facts that: (a) the world is fucked and: (b) the majority of people are either stupid, complete cunts or both, I pulled through and return to you more or less intact.

I must thank planetross, sweetchief and Corinna for your concern, enquiring as to my well-being. My sincere thanks. It took you long enough, you fuckers!!! I could have been trapped under my fridge starving to death in the most ironic way possible and no-one would have been any the wiser. Nobody would have given a flaming shit sandwich! I could have been one of those sad fucks who dies and no bastard notices until the stench of decomposing lonely wanker interferes with their TV reception. But, thankfully, I didn’t. I’m still here, large as life as twice as shitty.

I’ve got heaps of time on my hands now I’m back at work in market research hell being wobbled by imbecilic, malevolent monstrosities and it’s been over 40˚C for the last 3 days so it feels like real hell. I should soon be able to vent to you about all of the many things that have given me the absolute cunt during my hiatus from divine fury.

I realise this is a bit of a nothing post. Again, sorry. To compensate, here’s a little bit about me:

buck_history 

Can’t even be bothered typing it out again…lazy fucker!

Muti-tasking Or Being A Useless Twat?

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 17, 2008 by Buck Frain

Multi-tasking. What the fuck is the modern obsession with doing 50 million things at once? I don’t fucking get it! Yes, life is busy. Yes, the world is moving faster than it did before people had mobile phones, wi-fi internet or the wheel. But, seriously, are you saving time by doing a half-arsed job of a bunch of things? What the cunt are you doing?

 

 

It makes me sick. I’m a singular focus person. I like dedicating myself to a single thing and doing it properly before moving on to the next thing. I’m also a guy and doing more than one thing usually fucks me up. Women seem to be better at multi-tasking and good luck to them. I draw the line at walking while listening to music or watching telly while drinking beer, that’s the limit for me. Whatever! The thing that nauseates me, like a floating turd in my breakfast cereal, is the useless cunts who insist of multi-tasking at the expense of both tasks.

 

 

The attention-deficit FUCKHEADS who try to compose text messages while riding bicycles. These are truly useless people and I want to buy a big car just to run the fuckers over. No clue! No fucking clue where they’re going, what’s around them and I dread to even think about the spelling in their stupid messages. They cunt along at walking pace all over the road like they’re just screaming to the world: KILL ME NOW!!! Oh no, I better answer the message now or my pathetic social life will crumble. Ooh, no but I’d better not stop pedaling or time will stop and I’ll miss my vegan-sexual-philosophy tutorial. DIE!!!

 

 

DECIDE!!! Text OR ride! Not both! You’re not saving time. If you stop, type and send your message, then start riding again, you’ll be riding faster and you won’t give everyone around you the steaming shits by forcing the guilt of manslaughter on them, and the person who gets the message may even understand it. What the fuck is the point in fucking up both tasks? It fills me with boundless fury. They don’t deserve the oxygen they’re wasting on their atrophied brains. They should be legally designated outlets for public indignation and repressed rage. I want to snatch your stupid phone out of your hand and smash it on the road, and when you come back around to ask me in your neo-hippy-passive-aggressive way what my problem is, I want to swipe you off your bike with my cricket bat and smash your chinless body into a greasy paste in the bike lane!

 

 

Multi-tasking is bullshit, except when done by girls…sometimes, and only because they can make it work. Note the word can, they can make it work, and if they do – fine. Anyone who can’t should abstain from it and just learn to fucking well PRIORITISE!!!

http://humor-blogs.com

Shutup, Sluthead! You’re not saying anything!

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 5, 2008 by Buck Frain

What the dog-felching fuck is wrong with motorists? The horn. The fucking car horn – the single most useless automotive accessory ever, with the possible exception of Baby On Board signs. Whilst everything to do with cars has been improved over the last 100 years, the horn has become electric and that’s it, other than that it’s the fucking same.

 

Indicators, on the other hand, are great. They’re articulate, they say: I’m turning left or I’m pulling over, if you count hazard lights as well: I’m a bit fucked right now, watch you don’t get fucked too. Horns do fuck all. The just scream AAARGH! indiscriminately at everyone nearby. Even variations in duration or number of horn-blasts communicate nothing except possibly a very subjective rendering of the user’s emotional state. They have no real meaning, there is nothing they communicate categorically, and this is largely because dumb-fuck motorists use them for everything huh, it makes a noise thus making their sound utterly redundant. Horns also have no direction and so no-one really knows who’s using the horn or who at, except the person using it huh, I told him stuff! It’s all cuntfully stupid.

 

How many times have you seen some suburban sluthead leaving a friend’s house and giving the horn a cheery beep beep! What the fuck? You said goodbye to your friend before getting in the car, you thanked them for dinner, you did all that, they already know you have a car, they know you’re in your car, they can fuckin’ see you! Why the horn? It’s fucked, it’s an absolute cunt and makes me want to chase their vehicle with a cricket bat and smash the weeping-arse fuck out of it. SHUT UP, YOU SHIT-EATING FREAK!!! SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!

 

They think the beep beep! means something? Of course it doesn’t, the same sluthead will use the same beep beep! at the lights to gently wake up the catatonic fuck in front of him who’s turning right. Sluthead  will do this even though he can’t see the CF in front of him is not moving because of something like, oh, oncoming traffic. CF doesn’t interpret the beep beep! as good-natured. He thinks that Sluthead is having an impatient go at him, so in return, he gives him the finger. Fuckwits collide! You see how poor communication can lead to people being bludgeoned to death at the side of the road with tyre irons?

 

Personally, I have no sympathy. I think every car should have a loaded gun in it and it should be legal to shoot to death anyone who uses their car horn ever. In the name of articulate communication I say death to horn users. The horn is a piece of cowardly, passive-aggressive bullshit and has been rendered completely ineffective through misuse.

 

beep beep!

 

DIE, FUCKBAG! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

Winter – A Time To Share Sickness.

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 3, 2008 by Buck Frain

So this is winter. Winter started two days ago and already it feels like there has never been anything else. Miserable bastard cold that soaks into your bones but that you feel guilty whinging about unless you’ve never been to a country where they have a real winter. Melbourne winter sucks, but if you were English and looked at the technical specifications you’d think of it as a rather mild summer. Of course, if you were Canadian you’d just laugh in my face or beat me with an ice hockey stick for even suggesting that we have a winter.

Aside from the bed-inertia that comes over me in winter, I don’t mind it. Except for sickness. Naturally, I don’t like getting sick myself, but other people’s sickness is what is truly detestable, and the beginning of the season it seems everyone gets something. Public transport becomes a disease swap-meet – sniffles, sneezes and coughs all on offer, the freshest and latest bacterial and viral concoctions, some oldies and some newies so resistant to modern treatments you’ll get comments back from the pathology lab doing your blood tests, or maybe even a personal letter from Kofi Annan suggesting you let weapons inspectors into your lungs.

Seriously, what the biologically-terrorising fuck is wrong with people? On the train this morning most of the diseased commuters were politely mopping their sniffles with tissues or covering their mouths to cough, except the middle-aged gentleman opposite me. Sitting there reading a book, not attempting to cover the occasional coughs that burst from him. The first cough surprised me and I realised I was in some danger of infection, but it was just one cough and, hell, maybe it crept up on him, maybe he was just too embarrassed to apologise for it. No. A few minutes later a little double cough, again no reaction. The fucker was doing it deliberately. He just didn’t give a fuck about anyone else. He could turn the pages of his book OK, so his fucking arms worked fine, maybe he was just so pissed of about being ill that he thought he’d take it out on the rest of the train. Maybe his head was so far up his own arse that the idea of other people hadn’t occurred to him at all. It was at this point I realised my circulation was fine, all of a sudden I was warm, even starting to sweat a little.

The third cough came. Again, this selfish fucker did nothing to cover his filthy diseased mouth. Excuse me, I said, would you cover your mouth when you cough please? He stared blankly at me. Did he not understand? You were coughing. Could you cover your mouth when you cough?, I restated. I was pretty happy with my composure, I was Mr Calmly-Assertive and I felt the few commuters aware of our interaction were probably understanding where I was coming from. Still, he met me with a blank stare and then went back to reading.

OK, don’t lose your mind. Maybe he’s got the message. Maybe he feels humiliated to be coached on cold etiquette on public transport and at his age. Let it go.

Again! He fucking coughed again! Didn’t cover it – cunt! HEY!!!, Now I had his attention, and pretty much everyone in the carriage had turned to see what was going on, but there was no way of bringing my tone down to a more intimate level. If you’ve got to cough, cover your fuckin’ mouth! Do you understand me? I’ve asked you nicely, now stop coughing in my fucking face. He was just staring at me. He went to return to his book again. HEY! I’m fucking talking to you! You’re sick. I don’t want your cold, so cover your mouth. Do you fucking understand? DON’T COUGH IN MY FACE! He was well aware that he was in trouble, he knew the game was up, but a nervous cough escaped him and he didn’t raise a hand. That was when I lost my mind. I leapt forward and placing one hand behind him onto the back of his head, I clamped my other hand over his mouth and screamed into his eyes: COVER YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, YOU DISEASED CUNT! PEOPLE HAVE TO LIVE AND WORK, THEY DON’T WANT YOUR FUCKING SICKNESS. COVER YOUR SHITTY MOUTH WHEN YOU COUGH OR STAY THE FUCK HOME! I SEE YOU NOT COVER YOUR MOUTH AGAIN, I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!

I had been shaking his head on every syllable. In his eyes was sheer mortal terror. I let him go. Everyone was looking at the madman. That was me. Ooh. I had just threatened a man’s life. On a packed train. Step away from the scared man. Nothing to see here. The train pulled into a station, not mine, I got off anyway. I waited for the next train.

I feel extremely stupid and ashamed, and I’m jumping at every little sound because I’m expecting it to be the police come to cart me away. I’m not a violent person, I’m not a crazed, militant, vigilante type, and I didn’t hurt the man. Despite what you may think from what you read here, I don’t put my hands on people, I’m all talk. I just hate bad manners and I really hope if I ever see the coughing man again that he just doesn’t cough in my face. I don’t think I’d go well in prison.

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???

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!