Archive for Banality

Packed To The Rafters With Gormlessness!

Posted in Shit That Sucks & Blows with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 10, 2010 by Buck Frain

A top psychologist has come out to warn fucking idiots obsessed with a piece-of-shit TV show that the death of a fictional character may cause them to feel an emotion. A major news outlet scrambled to alert an apathetic and increasingly gorm-deficient populace to this inconsequential drivel in the hope they could avoid having to report any of the significant events or issues that might warrant genuine social consideration.

If people start feeling emotions about things that aren’t real, they reasoned, it’s a real possibility that they may one day experience an emotion about something that is real. If this happened, then it’s down the slippery slope to people forming considered opinions about the world they live in and even taking actions towards making it a better place. This sort of thing could seriously threaten big business.

Fuck you, Australia, for taking it! Fuck you, Channel 7, for producing the flyblown arse that is Packed to the Rafters! Fuck you again for trying to disguise blatant plugs for your own TV show as legitimate news! – Yes, they seriously tried to pass plot plugs for the show as genuine news that implied that an actor had died! – And fuck you to the psychologist, Dr. Jan Hall, who thinks that experiencing emotions is something that the public need to be warned about! Are you fucking serious? I mean, are we as a society so alienated from our emotions that we need a public warning about the catastrophic grief we may experience at the loss of a fictional character on a TV show? Get fucked!

“Tell yourself it’s only a TV show, exercise to release the ‘happy drugs’ in your body, or watch a soppy DVD that makes you have a good cry,” she said.

Fuck the fucking fuck right off! Seriously, Dr Hall, do you actually think that people have forgotten the purposes and possible effects of drama? People empathising with fictional characters and experiencing emotions as a result of fictional events? What the cunting shit do you think has been going on for the last 2000 years? Theatre and catharsis – ring any bells? You fucking stupid cunt! JUST FUCKING DIE!!!

A massive FUCK YOU has to go out to The Herald Sun for giving any of this even the slightest consideration. YOUR ORGANISATION SHOULD BE OBLITERATED FOR CRIMES AGAINST THE NATIONAL INTELLECT!!!

By the way, the two million people who watch that excremental suburban banality should be set on fire for their lack of imagination or taste. Gormless fucks! I’m serious, I fucking hate you all!

Australian Supervisor – Banality TV or just another s#!t job?

Posted in Tales From Hell with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 25, 2008 by Buck Frain

Some are born mediocre, some achieve mediocrity and some have mediocrity thrust upon ‘em. 

Oh, for simplicity. Life has become a cheesy, unkempt socialist minge clamped suffocatingly over my red-wine-hungover face. Why, for the love of mercy, can’t I die in my sleep? Why don’t angry gang members just randomly shoot me while I’m buying coffee? I apologise, dear reader, for the infrequency of my entries of late but life my has taken an hitherto unprecedented turn for the feculently absurd.

My evil mouth-breathing minotaur of a boss called me into her office at the end of the week. She was terribly excited and that scared the living fuck out of me. If L.F. is happy about anything then either Creed are in town or something else is very wrong in the world. Indeed it was the latter.

She’d called me in to offer me the opportunity of vying for a promotion. Not to offer me one but to tell me I was now part of a bizarre selection process that appears like a cruel and unusual punishment in itself, for a position that no right-minded person would want in the first place.

They want a new supervisor. Supervisors are the pitiful wastes of humanity who oversee phoneroom work but have no real power except their own bitterness. So The Wobblers have selected four of the more literate and socially presentable interviewers, myself oddly included, to train as Team Leaders (Team Leaders are the people who listen to the calls that you agree to being listened to when bastards like me phone you) for a couple of months, at the end of which one of us would win* and be the new supervisor. She actually said win, I can’t wait for the day my doctor tells me I’ve won cancer.

The only thing I could think as she described this absurdity was that I should immediately call Channel 31 and tell them to get some RMIT students over here to turn it into a reality TV show called Australian Supervisor. It would be brilliant, the briefings and meetings with all their many office sub-plots streaming off. The learning of the ropes, the discussions about  troublesome interviewers, the monitoring the calls between interviewers and the general public, the confessions as we cry about having to reprimand our former comrades over petty transgressions, the patronising analyses of L.F. and the other supers as they rate us against one another. Of course the reality TV version would be much more exciting than the actual reality as the public would be able to vote on us and someone other than ourselves would bear witness to this pitiful existence. The sad banality is far more hopeless, but to my own surprise, after a little resistance, I accepted the offer. I tried to shrug it off initially but L.F. really wanted me to do it, any reasonable employer would have fired me on the spot for my lack of gratitude and work ethic.

Gee, I don’t know. The good thing about interviewing is I can leave for a week or two and still have a job when I come back. Can I still do that as a supervisor?

Well, …yes. I’d need notice but …yes, that’s fine.

How much extra do I earn an hour for all this?

Well, initially…not much…but the successful applicant will make $ 😦

You know, that’s not very much for being accountable for stuff?

Yes, but you’ll find this is a gateway position in the organisation and you could go from here to anywhere if you work hard enough…

What a cuntful pack of bullshit. The words market research and career should not end up in the same sentence together…ever! I should have dropped my trousers in front of her and snapped off a big steaming shit right on her desk before walking away forever, but I didn’t. I listened to the bullshit, I nodded and smiled and I acquiesced. I deluded myself that I would defiantly take the system for all I could at any opportunity, but really…?

In truth, I just sold out. I’m a weak piece of shit the same as all the many people I despise. Fuck, I hate myself, but sadly looking down the barrel of the continued mindless tedium of interviewing, I couldn’t say no. I am such a whore, but like a convict faced with the choice between continued incarceration or parole into an unforgiving world of prejudiced oppression and at-best minimum wage slavery, I chose parole. At least it breaks the tedium, I’ll still be a casual worker with no penalty rates or paid holidays, sick leave or job security, but at least the shifts are longer. Fuck me, who’d have thought I’d ever want to spend more time in that shit-hole than I already do?

If anyone knows how to make bombs out of paper clips and photocopier toner please email the recipe to buck.frain@gmail.com .

 

*She didn’t tell us what would happen to the three applicants who lose, does it not seem strange that none of us actually asked that?

Confidence – if your singing career’s gone to crap, just get your tits out!

Posted in Wankers In Denial with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 11, 2008 by Buck Frain

What the fuck’s going on in the world? I thought I had a fair handle on it all, the 80’s were over and even The Church Of Scientology was failing to help Kate Ceberano from fading into obscurity where she belongs. All of a sudden everywhere I turn, on bus shelters and the appropriately-obsolete phone boxes there she is: moose-jawed, proud-as-punch, showing off her tits.

Those who know me will understand how out-of-character it is for me to complain about tits on display – I’m a big fan of breasts. I guess, I just don’t really need Kate’s. Again, I’m glad she’s not singing and before everyone goes mental – yes, I do applaud the use of models with real bodies as opposed to the photoshopped, surgically-enhanced skeletons who resemble pre-pubescent boys that we’re usually bombarded with.

What I don’t like is the Ceberano. Considering all the impoverished but talented, hard-working musicians out there, Kate Ceberano has made a killing out of being complete bollocks. It’s an insult, it’s a travesty, it gives me the CUNT!!! And then to top it all off, when she should have crawled off to die quietly in a corner somewhere, when even the deaf wankers who liked her have forgotten her and jumped on the Andrea Bocelli band-wagon, she turns up again as wank-fodder for the homeless. I’m fucked if I understand this move, the campaign is just so crass.

Is it just denial? Is she so out of touch she feels that a flash of the norks is a way back into the ears of Australia? Is it just another piece of couch-jumping-maniacally-optimistic craziness? Hey, yeah – bugger integrity, let’s just plumb the depths of desperation and do a dodgy lingerie campaign: sex sells records, Kate, and fuck knows you’ve never had anything to offer as an artist, this may be the career defibrillation you need – get ’em out!!! Kate Ceberano gives me roaring-vindaloo shits and I wish she would just put them away and fuck the fucking-fuck off!