Archive for Criminals

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

11 Shit Things That Make Share-House Living Suck – #10

Posted in 11 Shit Things That Make Share-house Living Suck. with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 9, 2008 by Buck Frain

 

#10. Financial Usurpation & The Crafty Bail-Out.

 

Contrary to the postulations of that twat, Bean-bag-dick Peter, I do not share the opinion that the majority of people choose to share accommodation with strangers out of some altruistic sense of community and shared resources. I do not believe that people are driven by socialist virtue into the company of randoms. I tend to think rather that people live with strangers because they are too fucking poor to live on their own. Yes, that seems a good deal more reasonable to me – poverty not choice forces share-house living. Don’t believe me? When was the last time you saw the Sultan of Brunei looking for a relaxed, employed, dog-friendly male or female non-smoker to share sunny 3 bedroom house in St Kilda with unfeasibly wealthy monarch and yoga instructor? Never, and that’s not because he lives in Altona, it’s because he’s fucking rich and doesn’t have to bum around looking for vaguely trustworthy/tolerable fucksticks to share a rat-infested shit-hole with.

 

One of the fuckedest things about share-house living is that your poverty forces you, not only to live with strangers, but into financial interdependence with them. How people deal with money is a very personal thing. It’s not like personal hygiene, you can’t tell financial responsibility by looking at someone or by having a close chat with them and sniffing for cheese. No, you’ve got to wait until the fucker moves in to find out what they’re really like. I tend to think I’m pretty financially responsible. I’ve never had lots of money but I try to live within my means. I pay my bills on time. Boring perhaps, but I find I’m less stressed when I don’t have people chasing me for money and I take pleasure in the little things like being allowed to stay in my house and electricity. A lot of people don’t seem to see things the way I do. A lot of people don’t care for being financially responsible nor for financial commitments nor for the impact their lack of responsibility may have on their co-habitants. I’m no great fan of the rich but a lot of poor people are, in my experience, complete cunts.

 

Why?

 

Rent. Even before you move in you know it’s there. You know how much it is and when it’s due. You don’t own the house, therefore you have to pay rent – that’s the deal. Simple, you may think, but how many excuses are there?

 

Wow, is it this week?

It’s the same week every month and you never get it right. Can I offer you a calendar and some nice bright marker pens?

 

Oh, no, I’m broke.

I know, you’re also an alcoholic who’s addicted to poker machines. Your addictions are now impeding my recreation. Personally, I’d feel better about paying the rent on your room if it were empty and I knew you were living in a public toilet, blowing married businessmen for change.

 

But I’ve been living at my girlfriend’s place this month!

But your shit has been here, dog-fucker, pay the slutting rent!

 

Even worse than the fuck who can’t pay his rent is the criminal shit-sack who takes everyone’s cash to pay the rent but goes on a bender instead, a fact you find out two weeks later when the landlord sends you a letter telling you you’ll all be evicted if you don’t pay up immediately.

 

I’ll pay it back, jeez!

ARSE!!! I’ll stab you in your fucking sleep!!!

 

People are selfish and fucked! How many petty little arguments do you have to endure about bills?

 

Why should I pay more for the phone bill? I thought we were splitting it.

Well, you’ve racked up $300 from calling your ex-boyfriend in Japan. Fuck you!

 

Hey this is too much for electricity, I’m not paying this!

Eat shit! Maybe you’d like to get your stupid girlfriend to chip in seeing as she’s living here rent-free to get away from her parents, is unemployed hence here all the time, using all the hot water, eating my food, leaving her crap everywhere and she never cleans a fucking thing. How’d that be?

 

Of course, you may have it all worked out. You may have house-mates who pay their bills and rent. Congratulations, fucker! But what happens when circumstances change? Do they still remember their responsibilities? I came home from work one day to find a note from one of my house-mates the day before rent was due:

 

Hi guys, Dave and I broke up. I’m really screwed up so I’m going back to Sydney to get my shit together. I’ll miss you, Marnie xx

 

Fuck you, Marnie, where’s the shitting rent? Where’s the bill money? Where’s the 4 weeks notice? Why has your mobile phone been cut off? Nice work, bitch, just bail out. Just fuck right off and leave us carrying the shit! Fuck missing us, I HOPE YOU GET SCALPED IN A WORKPLACE ACCIDENT!!!

 

You’re completely trapped in a share-house. You’re bound in a loveless, sexless polygamous marriage ‘til death do you part with people you don’t know and have never loved. Even if you manage to extricate yourself from an ugly share-house situation, the utilities are probably in your name and gradually over the next 10 years your credit rating will be decimated by unreliable goat-felching bastards you never even met who aren’t paying their bills.

 

Some people are poor because they weren’t born with money and haven’t made it yet. Others are poor because they can’t count and are crap with money. But then there are those who are poor because they share houses with bastards who refuse to honour their commitments or plan or budget and instead just suck the life out of anyone who comes anywhere near them. I fucking hate these bastards. I want to make them pay. I want to kill them. I want to fuckin’ kill them! I WANT TO FUCK AND KILL THEM!!!

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!

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.