Archive for Jesus

Frain on Film – Eat Some!

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 20, 2009 by Buck Frain

OK, so I’ve been pretty absent of late and today I’m trading boundless rage for shameless self-promotion but there is a time for everything.

A most excellent Melbourne film maker, Craig Fox, has adapted my post about The Jesus Spoon into a short film starring none other than Ian Smith, best known for his role as Harold on Neighbours.

ian_smith_jesus_spoon

I’ve seen the film and it’s a fucking champion so I urge all you lovers of film, Frain, Jesus and/or dog shit to logon to the I.F. Awards and support independent film by voting for this haunting tale of youth and culinary experimentation.

Thanks for your support and I’ll write again soon…something’s bound to shit me off pretty soon!

Ultra violence and chocolate eggs.

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 10, 2009 by Buck Frain


jesus_gets_hammered

Q: What’s this? 

A: A cunt of a way to spend the Easter long weekend!

 

Happy Easter, bitches! Eat chocolate, celebrate rabbits and the amount of fucking they do, buy lumber and nail someone nice to it! I appreciate a couple of days off work as much as the next bloke, but fuck me dead if I don’t wish there was something decent on TV.

Do Bunnings have an Easter sale? That’d be kinda funny.

Why haven’t dairies got involved with a series of commemorative Easter cheeses? Cheeses for Jesus! Sounds good to me, they’d go down a treat with all the cunting bread and red wine. Eat this cheese, for it is my cheese – OK, maybe not, but that whole speech was already pretty creepy stuff. The wine’s your blood, huh? How many of these have you had, J-bagger?

On that note why isn’t there an Exorcist-inspired ice block for Easter? Y’know, lemonade crucifix on a stick with a rasberry jelly Jesus. It’d be fucking great! Try new Lick Me Jesus! Fuck yeah, the kids would love it! 

Ah, shit! It’s only Good Friday, I’m already bored as a twat and there’s still three days to go. Fuck this shit, I’m going down the pub to get wankered!

 

God is Love, eh?

Posted in Rage Against The Machine with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 14, 2009 by Buck Frain

carl-bloch-jesus-and-the-little-children

If ever the atheists of the world wanted proof of the non-existence of God, surely it must be right here in front of our faces in the fact that The Catholic Church still exists. An organisation that exploits the poor, promotes the spread of AIDS, protects paedophiles and war criminals, hates and discriminates against women and gay people and imprints its members from birth with fear of eternal torture beyond their wildest imaginings for failure to conform to its dogma…oh, and the guilt that they deserve said eternal torture. Surely if the omni-present, omnipotent, compassionate deity they worship actually existed, He would have blasted their cult from the planet’s surface Sodom-&-Gomorrah-style for its blasphemy!

 

I imagine you’ve read about the 9 year old girl in Brazil who was impregnated with twins by her step-father. Under Brazilian law a woman may only have an abortion if either she has been raped or if the pregnancy threatens her life. This case met both of these criteria. If the victim carried the twins to term they would almost certainly have killed her due to her small pelvis and in that event it’s doubtful that the twins would have survived either. YET, the local arch bishop has excommunicated the girl’s mother  and the doctors involved for their participation in the abortion – a crime against God. And the Vatican has approved the move!  That’s right, according to men who base their entire lives on a specific reading of an incomplete book of 2000 year old fairytales, the doctors and mother – trying to save any semblance of life this poor girl might salvage – are the criminals. On the upside, the rapist step-father is still welcome in church, or at least will be if he ever gets out of jail. He may have raped his step-daughter and her disabled sister for three years but, fuck, nobody’s perfect! WHAT THE CUNT???

 

I tend to believe they’re all better off without the church. But, Hell, I believe the world would be a better place if every organised religion in the entire world was dismantled and their vast capital used for the betterment of humankind rather than being allowed to continue to enslave the under-educated with superstition and cheap con tricks. Unfortunately, I also believe that people should be able to believe whatever they like so long as it doesn’t interfere with anyone else’s existence and I don’t really have any power so the bastards are pretty safe for now.

 

The truly fucked thing is that The Catholic Church has a long history of siding with bad guys:

  • Their record of either committing, supporting or covering up paedophilia is so poor that you can’t even make jokes about it anymore. 
  • They helped Nazi war criminals and a good bit of their loot escape after WWII, and today there are bunch of neo-Nazi priests in Brazil who are denying the holocaust ever happened. 
  • Does anyone remember Crusades? That was kinda fucked up! I mean surely it’s hard to point the shitty stick at Muslim extremists after that.
  • What about the Holy Inquisition? The holocaust which claimed up to 9 million lives across europe – 80-90% of them women – but I guess they can argue that was justified, after all they sure got rid of all those fucking witches!

 

Organised religion is a fucking cancer! It openly relies upon and endorses people behaving like sheep – being loyal and docile and never questioning even the most absurd bullshit. Fuck that! Bring on education! Bring on curiosity, questioning, discussion and dissent! We have over 6 billion people choking up the planet, facing extinction and a representative of one of the world’s richest multi-national organisations focusses on making one small child feel worse about herself for being sexually abused and impregnated than she already does? How the fuck does a compassionate God justify that shit? Hmm…He doesn’t, does he? No, strangely, as always God remains silent on the whole thing while a bunch of sexually-repressed men who’ve never lived in the real world have to interpret His will from the ether.

 

God has spoken to me

 

Yeah, sure he has…and Elvis has spoken to me – he says you’re a lying cunt! God is not speaking to these people, those voices are just other, more powerful guys in more ornate robes, and that’s the way it’s always been with organised religion – evil men telling fantastic stories to frighten the general population into submitting to their will. A will that invariably leads to greater wealth and power for the men telling the stories. The people running the church and brandishing compassion and forgiveness are the same people who nail mouthy do-gooders to big pieces of wood for saying we should ditch the church and just be nice to each other.

 

The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing the world that God existed. There is no God. There is no afterlife. It won’t all get magically better after you die – you didn’t really fall for that, did you? It may not make you happy but this is as good as it gets…unless we get off our lazy arses and make it better ourselves. We created God in our own image so that we wouldn’t be afraid of the dark. Well, if we don’t fucking well grow the shit up, all we’ll ever have is darkness! Forever! YES, THAT INCLUDES YOU SMUG FUCKING CHRISTIANS TOO!!!

raptor-jesus 

Stupid fuckin’ monkeys!

11 Shit Things That Make Share-House Living Suck – #4

Posted in 11 Shit Things That Make Share-house Living Suck. with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 4, 2008 by Buck Frain

#4. Sleep Deprivation & Forced Live Audio Porn.

 

In retrospect, the polished floorboards in the entrance hall weren’t as great an idea as they looked. When every bedroom comes off the hallway they turned out to be a complete hedgehog-stuffed-rectum amplifying even the most discreet of entrances into major seismic events. Fuck you, aesthetics! It was a bad call – go for carpet next time!

 

That’s just life, the stuff that really sand-papers my nob, however, is the blatant lack of consideration shown by supposedly civilised adults to their co-habitants. I don’t mind GTA at 3am, if I didn’t have to be up in three hours it could be me sitting in the living room belting ‘round in a stolen Camaro running over innocent bystanders and shooting gangsters. What I mind is that it’s at a volume that has the bass rattling the window in my bedroom. What the shit is wrong with you? Are you deaf? Did you forget that you don’t live alone?

 

There are various permutations of this sort of selfishness, random 4am techno music, the bastard-o’clock* pissed domestic dispute.

You’re a fuckin’ cunt! You never loved me, you just haven’t got the balls to tell me to my face!!! Have ya? Nah, I didn’t think so!

 

Let go a mah fuckin’ hair ya mad bitch! Jesus, why d’you fuckin’ reckon I drink? Couldn’t put up wi’ your shit sober!

 

I’m not stupid enough to leave my room to find out who’s stuff they’re smashing, I’ll just make sure I remember to put on shoes before I go to the loo. Even worse than the domestics though, is the forced live audio porn show. Maybe I should blame architects for poor sound insulation but – fuck it – you know you live with other people. I’m all for people having fulfilling sex lives but when I feel like I’m on the fucking sideline and all I want to do is sleep, it’s fucked. The last thing I need is to hear my nineteen year old house-mate brutally training her new beau in the delicate art of cunnilingus.

No, there. No…no…no, get over here…here!!! *slap* OW! Don’t fuckin’ bite it! Lick it, dickhead! There. There. Yeah! NO!!! *slap* There…put your finger in! No! Like this…yeah? Yeah…that’s it…yeah…no, there…NO!!! *slap slap slap* Well?…get back down!

 

Poor bastard had the absolute piss slapped out of him. He didn’t last. I admire a girl who knows what she wants but not when I’m trying to sleep. She was scary, she woke me up one night and I thought I was next-door to The Exorcist.

Fuck me Jesus! Fuck me hard, Jesus! Ooh, harder, Jesus!

 

I’m serious – she was actually calling him Jesus, not just blaspheming-in-the-heat-of-passion. I saw Jesus the next morning – his name was Brian…he didn’t even have a beard!

 

I had a room for a while next to a guy who always got himself into trouble for trying to slip his female visitors a backdoor surprise. He got a lot of very colourful reactions including a nasty cut above his eye that needed five stitches. On the other side, he once ended up with a young Greek girl he couldn’t shake for about six months, she didn’t seem to like him at all as a person – not many people did – but he had certainly touched a nerve with her.

 

I suppose it’s all terribly comical when it’s not you, isn’t it? Yeah, ha-ha-cunting-ha! But what if it is you? What if you get no sleep at all? What if you then have to do a full day’s work or uni or both and then come back to a quiet house only to have it all start again as soon as you’ve fallen asleep? It would become wearing, don’t you think? Just a bit? Sleep deprivation does bad things to people. It does very bad things to the brain and caffeine alone cannot fix them, no no no it can’t. SHUTTUP!!! IT FUCKIN’ CAN’T!!! You get too many sleepless nights due to the selfishness of the deviates you live with and you can start to lose that easy-going approach to communal living. You can get snappy, unfriendly…violent even. I don’t know, maybe I’m just a bad and intolerant person but I need my sleep. I FUCKING NEED IT!!! SO, IF YOU DON’T LET ME SLEEP, I’LL KILL YOU ALL, YOU CUNTY, CUNTY, COCK-STAPLING FUCK-FREAKS!!!

 

* Bastard o’clock –  The hour of the morning when you realise there’s too much light in the sky for there to be any hope of feeling even vaguely normal at any point during the next 24 hours.

The Power Of The Jesus Spoon

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 2, 2008 by Buck Frain

When I was three years old there was a strange boy who lived over the road from us. He was only a year older than me but to me at three, he at four seemed huge. His name was Danny, he had red hair, freckles and smelt a bit funny. He was also very strong. I think it must have been summer, I remember it as being hot, I remember the sound of cicadas and that we both wore t-shirts and shorts.

 

The thing that set Danny apart from anyone else was that he always carried with him a tarnished old silver teaspoon with a Christ-like figure on the handle. The photo above is a spoon I found in an antique shop a few years ago, it’s identical to the one Danny used to carry. The antique dealer told me that they came in sets of twelve and depicted the twelve apostles. To me, however, it was always The Jesus Spoon.

 

I don’t remember Danny and I being friends as such or ever playing together. I do remember being over at his house once. We were in his front yard one afternoon and he had his Jesus Spoon. He led me over to a big piece of dog shit on the lawn and we looked at it for a while. It was quite fresh and probably came from his dad’s dog, Brutus, a German Shepherd that scared the absolute piss out of me even from across the road.

 

Danny dug a scoop of shit out of the glossy turd on the lawn with The Jesus Spoon. If not for the odour it could have been a scoop of chocolate mousse. I watched with fascination as he turned the spoon and put it into his mouth poo-side down and drew it back out clean. He moved the shit around in his mouth and swallowed. From his mouth movements it looked as though some of it had stuck to the roof of his mouth like peanut butter. The thing that amazed me was that he did it and didn’t appear to be suffering. How did it work?

 

He dug out another scoop and offered it to me:

 

Try some. It’s nice.

 

I was unconvinced.

 

No thanks

 

Really? It’s really good.

 

He put the second spoonful of dog shit in his mouth and ate it. It was quite a trick. I couldn’t work out how it worked. Was it the spoon? Did The Jesus Spoon have some magical power over the poo that made it taste like something wonderful? He really was enjoying eating it and it really was poo. This was a very interesting day.

 

He went for a third scoop and offered it to me again. I was starting to feel a bit of pressure, he was 2-0 up on me and I knew that, if push came to shove, he could probably force me to eat it if he chose to.

 

C’mon, try it, it’s really good.

 

Hmm. No thanks. (pause) I’ve seen where it comes from.

 

There, I’d said it. I wasn’t going to be fooled, but how would Danny react? He stood looking at me, spoonful of dog shit in his hand. He looked right into my eyes, taking me in, looking for some sort of clue as to what was going on in my three year old mind. I knew I couldn’t run, he’d catch me easily and force-feed me poo, I just had to stand there and wait.

 

Too bad.

 

He just shrugged and stuck the third spoonful into his mouth and smiled a big gleeful poo-smile. He swallowed it and for a moment I wondered if maybe I really was missing out on something. Only for a moment though, I saw my cue and went home.

 

See ya, Danny.

 

Danny and I never became friends. Our differing views on munching dog turds set us apart. Plus, I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t try and force me to eat the poo one day. He never did, but a few days later he came over to my house and ate some of my dog’s poo.

 

This is my earliest memory and it still haunts me a little to this day. I suppose that’s why I bought a Jesus Spoon and put it on my wall.

Why does the fish man smile at me like that?

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 31, 2008 by Buck Frain

Within the seafood industry there is a joke. A nasty, nasty joke.

 

I went the market on Wednesday and bought some fish. I enjoy cooking and fresh fish is a wonderful thing.  So I looked at the various things on offer and my eye was caught by some big butterfish steaks on special. I lived in South Australia for a while and butterfish is the standard fish-n-chip-shop fish. It’s a mild, white flesh fish, nothing fancy but very pleasant. These steaks looked fantastic, they were from a much bigger specimen than the fish-n-chip-shop fillets back in S.A., thickly cut, succulent-looking and at a price that was impossible to go past.

 

I asked for one of the butterfish steaks and the thin guy behind the counter pointed at them with eyebrows slightly raised to check he’d heard me right. Yeah, just one. I confirmed with an upheld index finger. He smiled a little quizzical half-smile, barely noticeable, was it a polite acknowledgement of a wise choice? Was it nothing to do with me? I paid for the fish and thought no more about it.

 

I pan-fried my butterfish steak with some chopped spring onion, fresh ginger, soy and lime juice. Served with steamed vegetables and wasabi mash, and accompanied by a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, it was pretty damn good if I do say so myself.

 

The next morning I got the joke.

 

I had to go to work early, there was a briefing for a new business job that was coming into field. Fuck, briefings are boring. Sit in a plastic chair and listen to some reasty twat who doesn’t know the first thing about communication, with a monotone, barely audible voice drone on and on about some bullshit survey. Sweet cunting Jesus, I could fucking kill myself! I stopped at a café on the way to buy some liquid fortitude.

 

While waiting for the coffee I felt the sharp pain of a rogue fart just bursting to get out. There was no-one else around me so I figured I could just gently let it out silently and no-one would be the wiser. I misjudged. Not by much but it was enough. It would have been literally a matter of milliseconds before I resecured my sphincter but the damage was done. No sound, but the deadly warm wetness of a shart. I’d shat, just a little but there was no mistake. In the middle of a coffee shop I had shat myself. Escape. I caught the eye of the girl making my coffee Excuse me, I just need to use the bathroom. I shuffled off to the bathroom trying desperately not to look conspicuous or to spread the damage too far, or more imortantly to let go of my tightly clenched sphincter which, I was certain, was holding back a great tsunami of shit.

Through the door, into the cubicle, lock, belt, trousers-undies-sit, release. Oh fucking hell! A terrifying splatterfest of semi-solids and jetting liquid erupted from me. The stench made me dry retch. My own stench made me dry retch. The tsunami subsided. I realised I was sitting on the toilet arms outstretched, bracing against the walls of the cubicle. I relaxed my arms and looked down at my underpants to inspect the damage. It was just a small streak of liquid at the arse crack. I checked and it hadn’t soaked through to the pants. Big relief. Leg by leg I extricated myself from the soiled undies replacing my pants. What to do with them.

 

I stood and turned to see the damage in the bowl. WHAT THE FUCK? To my unmitigated horror, the fairly regular, squishy looking turds floating in the bowl were in surrounded and coated by a layer of clear orange-brown oil. I swear it is true. There was a layer of oil over the water in the bowl. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. I’d shat an oil slick. I looked at the crotch of the undies. It was oil. I sniffed them. EW! Only once, dry retch again. They stank of shit (surprising!) and old fish. Fucking butterfish! That was the fucking cryptic smile. He fucking knew. THAT DIRTY MOTHERFUCKER KNEW AND HE SAID NOTHING!!! CUNT!!!

 

Butterfish should come with a warning – MAY CAUSE ANAL LEAKAGE! I never understood the term anal leakage before but this was it. The sphincter, that wonderful muscular device which can tell solid from liquid from gas so effectively. That magical sphincter is rendered completely useless by oil. And just for those of you laughing your arses off right now: anal leakage SUCKS!!! FUCK YOU, FISH GUY!

 

Keep it together. I had to get my coffee and go to work. Ah, the coffee. Fuck, work! My gut rumbled. Ooh. There was going to be more visits today, I would be on anal guard like a bastard all day. But now I knew the score, I wouldn’t get caught again. It’s not a fart, just remember it’s not a fart, maybe you’ll never be able to fart with pants on ever again. That’s OK, I can live with that, just please let me not shit myself at work.

 

I wiped and straightened myself out. I flushed. Oh God NO!!! The horror. Oil, being lighter than water, doesn’t want to flush away. After four flushes I gave up and left a few little pools of oil floating in the bowl. I opened the cubicle door, still alone, took my oil-shat undies to the sink and washed them rigorously with hand soap, wrung them out and stood at the hand drier drying them, silently praying no-one would randomly enter, or even worse, come looking for me. Fuck, how long had I been away?

 

The undies dried. No-one came. I was ready with a what-the-fuck-are-you-looking-at expression if someone did come in. What, you’ve never seen a guy drying his underpants before? Back to the cubicle, pants down leg-by-leg undies back on. Two more flushes, just for luck, out, wash hands.

 

I returned to the café, paid for the coffee and left. It was cold, the coffee girl looked at me a bit funny, I realised I was sweating, she probably thought I’d gone in for a sly phone-wank, I was late for work – fuck you, wobblers! During the course of the day I had five more shits – all with, thankfully, decreasing amounts of oil.

 

I tell you this: everything in this post is true. Beware of butterfish! Be afraid of butterfish! VERY FUCKING AFRAID! Butterfish causes anal leakage. Unless you are buying it from a fish-n-chip shop in South Australia, in which case I suspect it’s just flake, DON’T FUCKING BUY IT!!! It’s a joke fish, we’re not meant to eat it, fishmongers stock and sell it purely for comedy value, the rotten fuckers! If you buy and eat it then your arse will leak oil and you’ll shit your pants.

 

If, on the other hand, you’re looking for something to serve to people you hate, this is the dish for you, it’ll fuck ’em!

How To Get 1 Million Hits On Your Blog!

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 28, 2008 by Buck Frain

The World Is Yours.

Getting one million hits on anything on the internet is fucking easy and if you can’t do it you’re fucking idiot and you should consider having yourself euthanased. Just ask me, I’ve never done it! On the upside I’m not asking you for any money and you’re already here so you might as well hear me out. 

The internet, just like the real world, is full mostly of complete cretins. Brainless fucksticks with about as much imagination as your average carrot. It’s at this point, I’d usually cut sick at the stupidity of humankind for another paragraph or so, but for what we’re doing today human stupidity is a good thing, and you want your million hits so I’ll try to stay on track. 

The way to get hits is to have text in your site that people search for using search engines. The more people search for specific phrases that appear in your site, the more hits you get. Now, you could subscribe to numerous sites or download all sorts of fancy applications that measure search engine traffic in order to find what’s hot right now and help you choose a niche that you can exploit for whatever it is that rubs your rhubarb. Rather than list any of those applications here, I’ll just say: Don’t fuckin’ waste your money! The internet is simple and people are shit. People are online for three main reasons and these never change:

  • Porn
  • Cash
  • Salvation

Dating is also pretty big, but pointless for us, and then way down the list there’s also people doing genuine research or looking for actual information. These people are pretty useless for our purposes because they’re smart and interested in too wide a variety of subject matters, also, we’re really here to get hits, yeah? Fuckin’ yeah! So let’s stick with the three. 

For porn sites you need text like: 

Free XXX, big tits, hardcore fucking, free teen cum sluts, amateur porn pics, lesbian college party, fat hairy bitches, massive cock gallery, tit-fuck, donkey-punch creampie, dirty rim-job, fisting the dentist, gobbing the teacher, anal probe alien, fuck-monkey latinas, asian ping pong pussy, pissing on cops.

Of course if you ad some pictures or videos, some people might come back especially if they’re porn pictures and videos. 

For Cash sites you need text like: 

Free home business, make cash from home, free start-up, make a fortune online, $100,000 per month guaranteed, best online business, retire in one year, lucrative investment opportunity, be your own boss, be a millionaire, earn millions, chance of a lifetime, fully-automated business, no work – huge rewards, have a shit on your boss.

Again the text is all you really need to get the hits but if you want to branch out into actually turning those hits into money, you’ll need to offer some sort of publication and charge for it. The idea isn’t to provide anyone with anything that earns them money, it’s about stringing them along with a sniff of earning potential, getting them to sign up for a zine that has all the answers for a nominal fee like $50 that you’ll refund if it doesn’t work in three months. The zine has to offer vague hints, links and pointers to things they have to buy and lots of encouragement because people who go for this shit are desperate and fragile and need lots of reassurance. This also stops them from giving up and asking for a refund for the first 3 months. You can send them emails containing new links to bullshit products every few days to keep tham thinking they’re getting business coaching. You don’t have to worry about whether it works or not, most people will realise they can’t be bothered trying your ideas so they’ll give up. Yay, free cash for you! Those who do try it may have some degree success which means you win again, and those who try it, fuck it up and want refunds – well, fuck them! 

The salvation sites need text like: 

Fuck this shit, who can be bothered? I mean, you get the idea, don’t you? Blah blah blah. Really, why even bother with the salvation sites, porn and cash are what most people want so stick to that. I just put salvation in because three options look better than two, so find your own fuckin’ words, you lazy cunt! I mean, maybe I’d give you salvation if I was getting something out of it but I’m not and I’m in a pretty bad mood anyway so you should just be happy I’ve been as generous as I have. 

So that’s it! That’s your lesson on how to get 1 million hits on your blog or whatever the fuck else you feel like putting up on the internet. Getting hits is all about bullshit, cheap tricks and usually involves annoying the piss out of everyone you know until they hate you. So in that spirit I’ll ask a favour. No, there’s no such thing as a free lunch, are you really that naïve? I’ll ask that you copy the address of this page and send it in an email to everyone you know, paste a link to it into your Facebook, Myspace or any other webpage you have access to, and tell them all this is the most important thing they’ll read this year and even though you don’t normally pass these sorts of things on, you felt compelled to share this gem with them. Why? Because I want a million hits too, I too am a big sold-out bitch who yearns for the adulation of complete strangers, so do the right thing and don’t let the Buck stop here, pass it on! 

Thanks!

 

Damn! You fuckers will read anything!