Archive for Crime

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!

Nick D’Arcy – Ambassador For A Nation Of Convicts.

Posted in Boof-head Sporto Fuckwits with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 8, 2008 by Buck Frain

 

Fuckin’ sporto jockstrap boof-head wankers! In this country, they are a priviledged class that sits above the rest of us mere mortals purely because of a genetic predisposition to be good at sport. They get worshipped, pampered and paid exorbitant amounts for playing games. It may be heresy to say in sport-obsessed Australia but what they do is of NO benefit to society. I don’t really care about any of that, what really shits my bed is that the Australian public are happy for athletes to flout the law, behave like reprobates and still be held up in the international sphere as paragons of our society.

 

Nick D’Arcy, the swimmer charged with assault over breaking another athlete’s cheek, jaw and palate when drunk and full of himself, looks as though he’ll still be going to represent Australia at the Beijing Olympics. The AOC and The Court of Arbitration For Sport are tying themselves up in knots trying to find a decent justification for letting him go that won’t make them look like the supporters of criminal violence that they are. I was disgusted to read this piece of apologist bullshit in The Age, desperately trying to illicit sympathy for a man who should be in prison rather than being endorsed as a cultural ambassador of his country.

 

The AOC is obliged to consider the consequences for D’Arcy if he is booted out. Cyclist Jobie Dajka was kicked out of the Athens team in 2004 after lying to a drug inquiry. Three years of depression and alcoholism ensued, and a suspended jail term for an assault on a cycling coach. “I was drinking six litres of wine a day to numb the pain,” Dajka said last month.

 

What the fuck was that? If he’s punished he might become a sad, violent substance abuser? Big fucking deal! He’s already a violent substance abuser, the only difference is he might get sad. What? Don’t most criminals become depressed when punished for their offences? Is that because punishment is not nice? Why is it we don’t feel sorry for ordinary crims? Could it be because the lousy fucks aren’t any good at sport? Yeah, what fucking losers!

 

What the ball-chafing fuck is wrong with this country? It’s Newton’s Third Law, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Just because sportspeople are too thick to be able to comprehend the consequences of their actions does not mean they should be exempt from those consequences. Yes, people fuck up. But the way people learn to not fuck up is through consequences. If a normal person gets drunk and smashes another person’s skull in a momentary fit of drunken rage, they go to prison. Any average crim would get laughed at if they said, Yeah, sorry I bashed him but can I still go to that sports carnival? The judge would say No, fucktard, you cannot. You can get a jolly good rogering from your cellmate for a couple of years while you learn to control yourself?

 

I’m well aware Nick D’Arcy probably feels pretty bad about what he’s done, as he fuckin’ well should, but I’d wager that most of why he feels bad is because he stands to lose something he cares about. Punishment has no meaning if it doesn’t hurt, so fuck him! 

 

The AOC needs to get its shit together and take a hard line on boof-head Nick D’Arcy. He’s a fucking criminal and, good athlete or not, he shouldn’t represent Australia in Beijing. If he does, we might as well teach our children to fight and tell them that bullying is fine if you’re good at sport. We might as well make certain our kids forget everything in their lives except sport because if you’re good at sport you can bash and rape your way through life with impunity. This is Australia. We’re convicts. Get fucked!!!


You’ve Got Buckley’s.

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 18, 2008 by Buck Frain

I received this yesterday, I thought I’d share it with you.

Dear Mr Frain,

It has come to my client’s attention that you have been reproducing her anecdotal material in written form on your blog entitled “Buck Frain’s Angry Place.”

Not only does this action breach The Privacy Act, as my client was not approached for permission before publishing details of her personal life, but it also constitutes fraud, as you have been passing off events in my client’s life as your own experiences. Perhaps most seriously, you have on several occasions voiced your desires to make profit from the blog. Doing so would constitute theft of intellectual property.

My client fully intends to take swift legal action unless a settlement can be reached out of court. At this stage, I suggest damages of $50,000.00

My client and I eagerly await your response.

Yours Sincerely,

[name withheld]

I’ve withheld the name and list of legal qualifications in the interest of avoiding further legal action and seeing as the persons in question are evidently reading the blog, rather than actually replying to them personally, I thought I might just answer it here:

Get Fucked!!!

First of all, I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. Secondly, even I’m not stupid enough to think anyone actually makes money out of blogging. Thirdly, if I had $50,000, which I don’t, I’d sooner blow it all on cocaine and hookers and get whacked by hired goons than give you one pissy cent. Bring on your legal action. Bring it! I live for this shit. You think you can touch me? I’m a fucking fictional character. Any resemblance I have to persons living or dead, or that anything in my world has to people or events, real, imagined or hallucinated is purely coincidental. You can eat my fictional shit! Ha Ha Ha!!! My life might suck pretty bad and not really exist but I’m damn near invincible. The only person who can touch me is my author. Ow, that was my eye! Fuck! That really hurts! …CUNT!

In conclusion, [name withheld], I reject your suggestion, I spurn you and your client, I regard you with the utmost contempt, I question your credentials and your parentage, I have placed your letter in my yard and I intend to piss on it every morning this week, and should I ever come to visit your house I will wipe my nob on your curtains.

BALLS! ARSE! CUNT! PISSFLAPS! JISM!

Buck Frain.

Miley Vs. G-Bay – This Week In The News

Posted in Rage Against The Machine with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 3, 2008 by Buck Frain

With all the pants-pissing over Miley Cyrus’ Vanity Fair pics, some real news all but escaped notice in the west.

 

Sami al-Haj, a Sudanese cameraman for Al-Jazeera, was released from the U.S. concentration camp at Guantanamo Bay after spending 6 years, the last 16 months of which he was on hunger strike, without charge. This man was a journalist, a reporter, imprisoned for no reason other than the fact that he was a muslim reporting on U.S. human rights violations in Afghanistan in 2001. He was never alleged to have hurt anyone nor proven to have engaged in any unlawful behaviour, however he was imprisoned, without trial or charge, tortured and deprived of the most basic human rights afforded even the most vicious rapists and murderers. For 6 years. The U.S. government still will not admit that they’ve let him go, they simply say that they have “transferred” the prisoner to his own government. The Sudanese authorities have politely indicated that they see no reason (other than his health) why he cannot return to his previous life.

 

The USA prides itself of being a paragon of virtue and freedom and yet is guilty of some of the most abhorrent human rights abuses seen in recent times. It will quickly jump to condemn other nations or groups for their transgressions but appears completely untouchable itself when committing the same and worse offences. Don’t worry, I’m not just America-bashing, John Howard’s Australia was a perversely willing accomplice to the international crimes of the United States, even when those crimes were perpetrated against one of our own citizens, David Hicks. Hicks rotted in Guantanamo for 6 years before finally being broken to confessing crimes in a desperate effort to get out. Physically and mentally devastated, he returned home a criminal to serve more prison time, and legally gagged from ever talking about elements of his ordeal. Australia could have secured his release instantly simply by asking for him back. John Howard flatly refused say a word until 51% of the population of Australia demanded he do something. But this is not news.

 

Guantanamo Bay is not news, Miley Cyrus is. The citizens of Australia, the UK and the USA are happy to be scandalised by seductive photos of a near-naked 15 year-old. We can safely fear the sexualisation of our children and suspect our menfolk of paedophilia (it’s a great photo). We can rail against the parents who pimp their children to the entertainment industry and we can be fucked off with Billy Ray Cyrus because we fucking hated Achey Breaky Heart and hoped we’d never see the lousy shit-sack ever again. The reason this is safe news and these are safe fears is because they don’t require we think about the fact that the values that underpin our societies have been abandoned. Our governments engage in illegal wars and routinely flout the values they extol. They are the worst possible kinds of criminals, hypocrites and evil-doers, perpetrating hideous crimes against humanity for financial gain thinly disguised as moral imperative. We have become the world’s bad guys. By continuing to support these democratically elected monsters we have become the bad guys. That’s just a bit too much to deal with, isn’t it? She’s hot, am I a paedo? That’s a bit easier.

 

But what happens when you do this to people? I mean, lock them up for free and torture them for years on end. What sort of person does that produce? It’s been well documented that legitimate, civilised prisons produce very angry people. What do concentration camps do? Well if you believe reports from Dubai this week, a Kuwaiti man released from Guantanamo in 2005 blew the fuck out himself and some others in a suicide bombing in Iraq recently. We can assume he wasn’t guilty of anything before going to G-Bay, because if there was even a remote possibility of his guilt he’d either still be there, or in prison, or dead. Regardless of the man’s beliefs before going to G-Bay we know he never blew himself up before. Did G-Bay produce a suicide bomber? Is Guantanamo Bay a terrorist factory?

 

I don’t know. I do know that if I was locked up for no reason, deprived of sleep, exercise or counsel. If I was held never knowing if I’d ever get out, never knowing why. If I was routinely interrogated and tortured. If this went on for years. And if then one day they let me out …I’d probably be a bit miffed. Especially if the people who locked me up still ruled the world, and if they still had all their power despite abusing it so reprehensibly…I don’t know…I might be the angriest bastard on the fuckin’ planet. I would not forgive, I would not forget and I may well dedicate the rest of my life to hurting them in any way that I could. Obviously, you can’t have a stand-up fight with a super power, they’re way too big. You have no choice but to fight dirty. I don’t know but I reckon I could be pissed off enough to blow myself to pieces if I thought I could take a couple of the cunts with me in the process.

 

I’m a big fan of life, but if I was angry enough I wouldn’t need the promise of glory in the afterlife to want to fuck people’s shit up. I’d just do it to even the scale a bit.

Connex – Making Money From Alienation And Violence

Posted in Rage Against The Machine with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 23, 2008 by Buck Frain

What the cunting Jesus do Connex think they’re playing at? According to this article in The Age last weekend, a group of their Authorised Officers (AO’s) have hospitalised a man who had a valid ticket and concession card because he refused to give them more personal information than he was legally required to. They dragged him out of the train on to a deserted platform and proceeded to beat the shit out of him. When challenged by a concerned resident who heard the victim’s cries, they claimed to be the police and told her to go away.

Stories like this are far too familiar although few of them reach the media. I have a friend who was on a train late at night when four or five burly AO’s confronted a lone teenager and stood over him prodding and threatening when he couldn’t find his concession card. When my friend, the only other person in the carriage, concerned that the young man was being unduly intimidated asked him if he was OK, the officers turned on the defender. They told my friend he was interfering with their work and that they were going to fine him for impeding official business. He tried to explain that he was concerned for a young man who appeared scared. They dragged my friend off the train (yes, he did have a valid ticket and, no, he had not done or said anything inappropriate) at the next station, once again a deserted platform, where one officer punched him in the face and another kneed him in the chest, knocking him to the ground before threatening to do further harm if he got up. My friend stayed down, went home and made no official mention of the incident.

Many incidents don’t get reported because with AO’s working in gangs of 4 or more, they have the strength of numbers. 6 people with uniforms telling the same story against one person with no witnesses. What’s the point in contesting it? The propaganda is pasted all over the trains about what they’re allowed to do and when they choose to extend the boundaries of their powers, what can an ordinary member of the public do?

It would seem these Gestapo-like goons are just part of the great new public transport plan. There’s Metlink’s ongoing publicity against the Fare Evader. What the fuck? Every customer on trains is exposed to this insulting campaign that assumes a level of criminality in everyone. I used to buy tickets all the time but I don’t now because I’m sick to death of being patronised and insulted. Fuck that! Treat me like a criminal and I’ll fucking act like one.

A former Connex employee tells me that even if everyone paid for tickets all the time Connex would still lose money. They pump up the figures of loss due to fare evasion to illicit public sympathy and to justify a policy of mob-like standover tactics. Their real revenue, what gets them over the line is fines! Yes, they rely on people NOT buying tickets because the fines are worth more than ticket sales! Think about it: one fine equals over forty passengers on two-hour full-fare tickets – pretty good way to beef up the day’s takings. They deliberately put a publicity campaign in place that disenfranchises their customers and then further fuck us off by openly treating us like prison-fodder with their thugs threatening, harassing and assaulting anyone who even vaguely steps out of line or questions their actions. Connex don’t provide the service that we’re paying for, trains routinely being either late or early and their frequently cancelling services without notice. They’re unaccountable, untouchable and openly hostile. The natural human reaction is to protest in the easiest way available – not buying a ticket. I mean why not? Fuck them, the multi-national bastards. Connex doesn’t give a fuck about the people of Victoria.

It’s nothing short of robbery. Isn’t Public Transport social infrastructure? Until the government sold it, we paid for it not only with tickets but with taxes, we owned it. It never had to be profitable because it was something we deemed a benefit to society and we wore the cost. The whole PT culture has changed, every tram used to have a conductor. He’d sell you a ticket, tell you where you needed to change or get off, he’d ask undesirables to leave. Everyone bought tickets and without contest because he provided a service as well as being a point of sale. It was civilised and human. It was socially inclusive.

These AO’s are the outward expression of a PT system that is cynical, punitive and criminally violent. They’re complete arseholes. Not smart enough to be cops, not tough enough to be bouncers, they’re like parking inspectors with a license-to-detain. They flock onto already-over-crowded carriages and fuck with people who are already shat that they’re an hour late, and then have to put up with some stink-mouthed fuckhole barking at them to see a ticket they should never have paid for. I can’t wait for the inevitable day when AO’s unwittingly pick on someone with some self-defence knowledge and get the absolute cunt kicked out of them.

One person confronted by six can get away with using quite a lot of force in self-defence, and since we know AO’s routinely abuse their power it is quite reasonable to think that you may be in serious physical danger if surrounded by AO’s, especially if you’re in a deserted environment. So, theoretically, it may be possible to get away with killing one of the bastards even if you got caught. This little piece from the College Of Law at ANU’s website offers a small ray of hope:

Burden of Proof in Action: a case of self defence.

Lets examine how the evidential burden operates through the example of a killing which the defendant claims was done in self-defence. The legal burden rest with the prosecution to prove all the elements of the offence of murder: the killing was intentional, defendant’s act caused the death etc. To allow the jury to consider self-defence, the defendant must adduce some evidence to support that argument: some evidence that the killing was a reasonable response to the act of the victim. The defendant does not have to prove that it was self defence. If there is sufficient evidence for the issue to be considered, the prosecution bears the legal burden to prove that the killing was not in self-defence.

Well, it’s food for thought. I’m not suggesting that anyone should go around hurting other people, please remember that violence is not a solution unless you’re getting paid for it. However, if you know anyone who has bashed a Connex officer, let me know, I need a good laugh. I’m don’t think I’m gonna bash anyone. I wish I could sometimes, but sadly I never learnt the skills – the kicks-to-the-knee, the pressure points. Damn…all that wasted youth. I’m just gonna fire up the PS3, shoot some virtual cunts and dream of freedom. Die you grey-coated fucks!

 

10 People I’d Love To Smash – #4

Posted in 10 People I'd Love To Smash with tags , , , , , , , , on April 15, 2008 by Buck Frain

#4: Thomas Towle

If only it was against the law to be fucked in the head. If only there was some sort of test that everyone had to do to weed out the Criminally Fucked In The Head from the rest of us in order that regular citizens might be made a little safer. I’m not talking intellectual elitism, just filtering out the toxically imbecilic.

 

If it wasn’t in the news you’d never believe anyone could actually be this much of a fuckhead.

 

Imagine:  You used to have a problem with smack and amphetamines. That’s OK because you’re on methadone now. Although tonight you haven’t had your medication and you’re drunk instead. So you get in the car. Pissed. You’ve got a string of offences under your belt for drink-driving, driving while disqualified, you name it, you’re a serial offender when it comes to vehicles. Next, you put your kids in the car. Nine year old daughter in the back seat and your four year old son, who wants to drive like Dad, well what would any dad do? You put him on your knee and let him steer. Before you leave, your brother asks you if you’ve seen all the kids from the party down the road. You say you have. He tells you to be careful driving back. What happens next?

 

Because you’re Criminally Fucked In The Head, this: You drive at speeds of up to 150km/h with your four year old in your lap until you lose control of the car and plough into the group of teenagers you were warned about, killing six and wounding eight. Then… you run away, leaving your children, one of whom is also injured, behind in your car.

 

But, hang on, you then tell someone else to call an ambulance. I mean… you don’t call anyone yourself but you get it done, you’re not a monster.

 

 

Thomas Towle is appealing the 10 year sentence he has just received for six counts of dangerous driving causing death and four of dangerous driving causing serious injury, despite the fact that he could be out in only five years from now. Friends and relatives describe him as a very nice quiet person. He is a loving boy. He has always been lovely.

 

Rottweilers are often described as lovely by their owners, but they get put to sleep after mauling a child. Thomas Towle is a rottweiler who mauled 14 children. He’s human excrement. He should be used as a fucking speed hump. Nice guy? I don’t care. 10 years? Fuck you! This level of fuckheadedness should not be tolerated by society. He should never see the light of day again. What possible benefit does society gain by having someone like him re-introduced back into it? He is pathologically stupid, he’s an unredeemable menace to society. Why let him keep fucking up the lives of others? Fuck, I’d be happy to run the prick over, I’d back over him to make sure he was finished. It would be a mercy killing, a sweet mercy for society. Putting him out of our misery. Fuck you Thomas Towle, I hope you get stabbed in the fucking shower.

Aussie Royalty.

Posted in Boof-head Sporto Fuckwits with tags , , , , , , , , on March 18, 2008 by Buck Frain

Wayne Carey

Fucking Wayne Carey! What a thoroughly reprehensible human being. The man known as “The King” when he played football. Beloved of football fans all over the country, disgraced himself toward the end of his career by sleeping with his “best mate’s” and teammate’s wife. Finally fizzled away from the oval to be reborn into a lucrative media career.

He loses his media career due to very publicly outing himself as a violent degenerate, beating his girlfriend, attacking police and having to be subdued with capsicum spray. But that’s just the most recent in a long list of incidents. The regularly hanging out with prominent Melbourne underworld figures, the $15,000 paid to hush up a sexual harassment case, the time he smashed a wine glass in his girlfriend’s face in the U.S. and narrowly escaped serious legal repercussions there.

But this is the way of it: narrowly escaping. Why “escaping” at all? Because he’s a celebrity, a sporting hero, an Aussie legend. The proof of the pudding is that New Idea apparently just paid him somewhere around $200,000 to tell the pissing sob-story of his harrowing substance abuse problem. Not apologising for being a misogynist violent bastard, just: boo-hoo poor Wayney likes his coke.

Now here’s why I’m pissed off. I don’t care if he does drugs – who gives a shit, he can afford it and an adult should be able to do whatever they want to their own body. I could possibly even forgive the violence if, and only if, he wanted to stop it and acknowledged that it was a problem and his problem and not just fob it off as aww gee, I was off me tits! But where the whole thing becomes truly evil is where he makes $200,000 out of such anti-socil behaviour. He profits, and tidily too, for bashing his partner and punching on with the cops. Why? Because he’s rich, he’s famous and he’s really good-looking too – don’t forget that, I mean if you’re gonna get beaten up by someone how lucky would you be to cop a bashing from The King? Isn’t that what all girls dream of?

God knows, Carey’s not the only one. Didn’t Ablett inadvertently kill a girl his son went to school with after they got loaded up on pills together in a seedy hotel rootfest? And how many rape scandals have been hushed up across all the major codes of football? How many brawling incidents make the news but result in no meaningful penalty?

The world’s a violent place and people are flawed. I know. I accept that. What I can’t accept is that there are no real consequences for people like Wayne Carey. They are above the rest of us. When was the last time a sports star did serious time? I don’t remember one. The team comes in, the lawyers come in and the money goes out. Witnesses get paid off or threatened into withdrawing their allegations.

The whole thing makes me fucking sick to my stomach. What are we telling our children? What are we telling our Australian sons and daughters? Hey son, kick the footy, run fast, be good at sport and then one day the world will be yours. Fuck learning, fuck thinking, fuck values. If you get good at sport you’ll have it made. You’ll get all the drugs you’ll ever want, you can go and gang-rape girls with your mates, you can bash chicks, bash blokes and even smash the cops. Nothing will ever happen to you. There won’t be any consequences, you’ll still be rich, people will pay you more just to hear your story. You’ll be invincible. And after it’s all over, the sports bars will still be filled with nubile, naïve young girls with stars in their eyes, ready to bow down before the altar of a sports superhero, faded or not, and get the living Jesus reamed out of them before getting their heads kicked in. Hey, daughter, you know you could do a lot worse than getting fucked by The King – he is an Aussie legend.

 

If anyone ever deserved to die pants-down on the fucking toilet, it’s Carey.