Archive for Communication

On Filming The Ginger Minge Of Hate.

Posted in Shit That Sucks & Blows with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 20, 2009 by Buck Frain

 

Every so often an idea comes along that is so comprehensively stupid one has to consider moving to a country where it’s easier to buy firearms. I was reading this article about idea-starved, fuckstick filmmakers Leanne Tonkes and Steve Kearney who have apparently managed to weasel over $110,000 of government funding to develop a biopic on the life of Pauline Hanson.

 

What the fuck???

 

For those of you who don’t live in Australia or remember, Pauline Hanson is a national joke that people stopped laughing at the better part of a decade ago. In the mid 90s she rose to notoriety for being an ignorant, bitter old racist fish and chip shop owner who decided to stop selling heart disease to the bogan masses of Ipswich in favour of peddling xenophobia and right-wing reactionary hate as a politician. And didn’t the rednecks love her? Half of Queensland wanted her cannonised and the other half just wanted to fuck her – sick bastards! Either way it was good business at the polls and conservative politicians all over the country got very nervous. But she was complete bollocks and after a few years everyone got sick of her crap and she disappeared in disgrace with a fraud conviction and a stint in jail. Nowadays, she’s a minor celebrity and was most recently seen on Dancing With The Stars, methinks probably because most stars thought it was a fucked show and producers needed to make up the numbers somehow.

pauline2 

Who the dead-cat-up-the-arse thought making a film out of this was a good idea? Who the have-a-shit-right-on-me-Jesus gives money to fuckwits pitching bullshit like this? Film Victoria, that’s who. That’s right, the state government funding body set-up to squander public money on film projects with absolutely no commercial or artistic merit and undermine an already crippled film industry. But fuck, what do I know? Maybe it’s a great idea. I mean they made successful films about Nixon, JFK and Ghandi so why not? But, oh yeah, they did stuff. They had an impact on the world they lived in. They weren’t DEADBEAT, BIGOTTED, BLOODNUT BITCHES, WERE THEY??? NO, THEY CUNTING WELL WEREN’T!!! I MIGHT AS WELL MAKE A FUCKING FILM ABOUT MY BOGAN FUCKING NEIGHBOUR – HE’S A REAL CUNT AS WELL!!!

 

It’s OK, I’m calm. So. Things the panel at Film Victoria should have discussed or at least thought about that may have helped them realise they were feeding a turkey.

 

  • What is the fucking genre? It doesn’t have enough pathos to be drama, it’s too lame to be comedy, it sure ain’t a western, there are no thrills, no sci-fi, maybe a bit of horror if you’re lucky, let’s hope to Christ it’s not porn – ew! Who the shit wants to see some poor prick banging away at the ginger minge of hate? No, it’s a biopic – the least cinematically interesting type of film you can make, so, artistically you’re fucked from the outset.
  • The biopic can only be commercially successful if there are people who are interested in the central character’s life and that can afford cinema tickets, so commercially you’re fucked as well.
  • Pauline Hanson is a mean-spirited offensive cunt and a purveyor of ignorance who has never had anything to say and has failed at pretty much everything she’s ever attempted. Why would anyone care to pay money to watch a film about her?
  • Who is the target audience? Foreign audiences aren’t going to pay to watch this shit and Australian audiences generally despise Australian films unless they’ve won significant critical acclaim or better: foreign approval first…and even then they’ll probably wait for it to come out on DVD then borrow it off their movie-buff mate and use it as a coaster. The only people who will pay to watch this dross are the middle-aged rednecks with a medically enhanced stiffy for Pauline Hanson and you’ll be fucked if you think there are enough of those old cunts to put the film into the black.

 

I think Film Victoria have been sucked in by the producers’ claims to have been in touch with superstar Cate Blanchett about the role. Let’s face it, people will pay good money to watch anything with a star of Blanchett’s magnitude in it. But let’s look carefully at what they say:

 

“She’s very busy,” Kearney admits. “It really depends if we deliver a script she likes.”

 

Now, I don’t know Cate Blanchett, but think about this just a little bit. Apart from being one of the greatest actors on the world Cate Blanchett is polite. She’s not me, if you came to me with an idea like this I’d tell you to go fuck your mother and threaten to kill your pets if you ever darkened my doorstep again. She’s very busy. It really depends if we deliver a script she likes. Which if she’s seen it she obviously doesn’t yet and if she hasn’t it just means you turd-polishing fucks will have to make something really fucking amazing. Maybe NOT a crappy biopic about a non-entity. Get the hint, fuckheads, she hates the idea! Maybe if you decided to make a film about something a bit less SHIT you might have some luck.

 

Hmm…maybe, but the poor cunts wouldn’t get any funding from Film Victoria then, would they?

11 Shit Things That Make Share-House Living Suck – #8

Posted in 11 Shit Things That Make Share-house Living Suck. with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 17, 2008 by Buck Frain

#8. Power, Politics & Paranoia

Someone much wiser and more educated than me once said Everything is political, they were bloody well right too! Even the most politically apathetic, socially recalcitrant house-mate will become a political animal once placed in the share-house arena, in fact they’ll probably be the absolute worst, grubbing around for every little piece of leverage they can get.

 

There are many different types of political animal to be found in share-houses. I’m sure you’ve met a great many of them. The annoying shit-stirrers, painful meeting-obsessed peace-makers, militant law-makers, to name but a few. Then there are the innumerable games they play and the territories they try to annex to mark out their power base in the house so they can feel at home. Ownership of the remote control, occupation of the couch, rights over the stereo, responsibility for putting out bins. Pigs, bitches and borrowers are political positions and indicative of the ever fluctuating power dynamic of the share-house.

 

Whether you like it or not you’ll play the game. It’s impossible to avoid unless you want to be the bitch. Guys play different to girls, singles play different to couples but everyone plays.

 

Power, or Hand is what they all want. It makes life easier. The great thing about having Hand is that you rarely have to use it. A look is enough. A raised eyebrow or a carefully understated turn of phrase has the other player tying themselves in knots to avoid a conflict they can’t win. But Hand is a fickle mistress. She has to be maintained and can be very easily lost. One night where you get so drunk you wake up in the hallway without pants can end your political reign in a house. Or not – just like in real politics, if you can spin the facts in your own favour you may walk away with more respect than you had to start with.

 

In an enlightened household where mutual respect is the going currency the need for this struggle for Hand is minimal and everyone can relax, unfortunately, such households are generally regarded as fictional. The share-house is not like a home, it’s more like a battlefield. It’s all about survival and your enemies are everywhere, smiling like dirty bastards and then stealthily sticking passive-aggressive notes to the fridge as soon as no-one’s looking.

 

I don’t like aggression, especially at home, it’s unnecessary and crude. Passive-aggression, though, really gives me the right royal cunt. There is nothing more fucked in the entire universe than the smug, cowardly shitfulness that passive-aggressive people ooze out onto the rest of humanity. Just be up-front and honest! I don’t mind people getting the massive screaming shits with me but I cunting well hate passive-aggression with a vengeance. If I was ever to murder someone it would probably be because of some smarmy passive-aggressive piece of skullfuckery. Unfortunately, whilst murdering people is relatively easy, getting away with it is not and the authorities seem to take a pretty dim view of it even when there’s compelling evidence that society is better off as a result.

 

So what’s to do? I could fight back, honest aggression style, I could fight back like a dog-felching-passive-aggressive wank-stain, but fighting leads to a win-lose situation that may not be stacked in my favour. What if I’m not tough enough to win on aggression? What if I’m not enough of a douche-bag to win the passive-aggressive-I-wish-I-was-Oscar-Wilde-cunty-shit-eater game? Guess I’d just have to take the loss, huh? You’d think that, wouldn’t you? You’d probably be able to go back through all those previous house-mate battles and count up all the victories where you had Hand, wouldn’t you? Yeah, that prick just had to fuckin’ wear it, ha ha! And maybe you’d be right. Maybe your adversary walked away with his tail between his legs and took the loss like an honourable man. Hmm…honour…there’s the rub. If honour were present we wouldn’t really have this problem in the first place. Never underestimate your opponent, and never, ever fuck with a coward!

 

Remember your toothbrush. Remember where it is. How vulnerable and alone it is when you’re not around. Remember all the dirty things in its immediate vicinity. Have you ever brushed your teeth and thought your toothbrush tasted funny but shuffled the thought away with a rationalisation like: It’s winter…it’s damp…the air doesn’t circulate in here. What lies have you told yourself so you didn’t have to acknowledge that your toothbrush may have visited the toilet? That your toothbrush may have been pissed on? That it may have been up the cat’s bum? Because it may have. It’s conceiveable – when did you last see the cat? But, no, how pissed off would someone have to be to do that? Maybe a lot…hmmm, maybe not so much – how widely hated is the cat? There are many areas where you are vulnerable to a terrorist attack by the people you live with. Yes, a terrorist attack. Terror is the only response available to the oppressed so think about it. If someone dunked their nob into your cottage cheese and stirred it around a bit, then put the cottage cheese back in the fridge – would you know? In a world without honour, how much Hand do you really have?

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!!!

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

Idiots Enslaved By Technology.

Posted in Tales From Hell with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 13, 2008 by Buck Frain

The life of a market research interviewer is tedious at best. Sitting in a booth phoning people and boring them to death with mundane questions about crap they don’t care about. I’m serious, where the fuck do you find people aged 18-34 who don’t use libraries but do want to spend 15 minutes answering questions about why they don’t use them? Genius! Aren’t you glad you pay tax?

I freely acknowledge that my job is stupid, pointless and on occasions invasive but I’m constantly amazed by the psychotic levels of rage it incites in seemingly ordinary people, and for that matter how stupid most people are. I mean, I don’t sell anything, I’m not asking for money, all I want is time. If you don’t have any or if you’re not interested, no worries. Thanks for your time, see ya – I move on. But, no,  people lose their shit. It seems to me that there are a massive number of people who are so disempowered and shat-upon in their regular lives that they need to cut loose at someone, anyone,  and the lowly, anonymous market research interviewer is a perfect target. Most of them are pretty unimaginative:

Fuck off, ya fuckin’ cunt!

That’s cool. Occasionally, I get mildly more imaginative attempts.

You shouldn’t be phoning me, I’m on the witness protection programme.

Yeah, and you tell people that? Smart. But then there are the people who think we’re deliberately targeting them ‘cause they’re oh so important!

Why do you call at dinner time, everyone’s having their dinner, don’t you people know that?

Oh yeah, that’s right, this is the legally designated, universal, unvarying time when the evening meal is consumed, it can’t ever happen at another time and we’re calling you so yours gets cold. Are you stupid? Fuck off and die!

Dontcha know I’m watchin’ the fuckin’ footy?

Of course I do, I can see you on the camera we put in your lounge room, I’m just ringing to fuck with your puny mind! Would you like to buy some DVDs of you shagging your dog?

Then there’s people who go crazy that they have a silent number and I’ve rung them on it, and they don’t even know me. Angry as piss because they pay for something that doesn’t prevent anyone calling them. I’m polite to these people but Jesus they’re ridiculous because, despite their protestations, they don’t actually want to end the call. They want to crap on and on and make me feel guilty for intruding into their lives – never gonna happen! I’d be happy to leave them in peace but they won’t let me, they want to lecture me on being an evil fucker for wasting their lives. Shit, I’m not wasting it, fuckface, it’s a phone – HANG THE FUCKER UP!!!

For fuck’s sake, do you have to answer your phone? If you don’t want to speak to people, don’t, I don’t make you. Just don’t pick it up. Stop being a slave to your technology! Get the fuck over it! And while we’re at it, if you’re angry at your life don’t expect me to give a fat rat’s clacker – hell, I’ve got my own shit to deal with. Pathetic Pavlovian shit-brains – I have absolutely no cunting sympathy! Don’t answer your phone if you don’t wanna talk to people! Don’t respond to the bell like a dog to a whistle! Remember – YOU HAVE FREE WILL. Well, some of us do.

This is the saddest thing. So many people have become completely enslaved by their means of communication. I’ve called people who have answered the phone while fucking. They don’t usually tell me but it’s pretty obvious what’s going on. Then they have the nerve to get mad at me about it. Hey, I’m not the fucktard who answers his phone mid-root. Damn, isn’t that what voicemail’s for? Ooh, but what if it’s important? If it’s important they’ll ring back. People are stupid. The human race is doomed!

How To Lose Friends & Gross The Fuck Out Of People.

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 12, 2008 by Buck Frain

Am I just old? Am I repressed? Am I a prude? I wouldn’t have thought so, but I have been forced to reconsider. Like most people in the world who aren’t being starved to death by western capitalism, I have a Facebook page, and surprising as it may seem, I have friends. Well…I have people who have added me as “friends” and that’s really what it’s all about – the appearance of popularity.

The problem I’ve always found with social groups of any sort is there are people who are your friends, and then there are people who you’re just supposed to accept because they have some space-time connection to the group. They don’t necessarily fit, and they may give everyone the right royal shits but for some reason no-one has the heart to fuck them off. Note well: If your social group doesn’t have a crap friend like this, have a good think because that crap friend may just be you.

Normally groups find ways of containing the unpleasant or embarrassing behaviour of crap friends Shutup Shon! Don’t worry, he’s OK, he’s just a bit of a tool.  But Facebook removes that ability to contain. It allows crap friends free reign to publish their inappropriateness to your whole social network. It allows the crapness to spew forth like a geyser of well…look up tubgirl if you really want to know. Actually, don’t.

I’ll get to the point. I logged into my profile for the first time in a couple of weeks and was shocked to find one of my brother’s crap friends had sent me a big picture of goatse. I wasn’t familiar with goatse and for those of you who also haven’t experienced it, in the name of taming it down, here’s a jack-a-lantern depiction of it.

Let me tell you, I’m not easily unsettled but goatse is fucking gross. But that wasn’t really what shat me. What really fucked me off was that for a week my real friends had been confronted with a hideous goatse on my page that had not been removed…for a week, therefore lending credence to the notion that I found it funny or acceptable or that it was in some sense my taste. I mean, fuck! People I work with, people I respect are checking my profile and one lowbrow fucker I added out of guilt is fucking my relationships up because he has no sense of the appropriate and has no internal censor. Inappropriate shit should be at least contained to personal emails, not broadcast to everyone you know.

So, before I have my entire social life undermined by one sick bastard, I’m getting honest. I’m doing some Facebook pruning and I urge you to do the same. Anyone who offends me or who I don’t genuinely like is going. That’s it, you’re out, get fucked! If you’re more of a liability than an asset, fuck off! It sounds mercenary, nasty and intolerant but I don’t give a fuck. If I embarrass myself that’s one thing, I’ll even cope with friends embarrassing me, but when some random shitstick vandalises my social page with grotesque fetishist wankery it’s time to cut the ties. NO MORE FACEBOOK GUILT FRIENDS!!! Fuck you, crap friends!

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!