Archive for People

Fuck Christmas

Posted in Rage Against The Machine with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 19, 2014 by Buck Frain

lp

Christmas 2014 is shaping up to be the most miserable in living memory for Australia. An increasing number of Australians are taking to the streets in T-shirts declaring that they will not be celebrating Christmas at all this year as they’re saving all their party stuff until Prime Minister Tony Abbott dies.

Hatred for the PM has reached fever pitch in many parts of the country, and without a productive outlet for the rage, people are increasingly turning on the institution of Christmas as a focus for their anger. Frank Jelbart, 87, of Coonamble NSW said: “What kind of country are they running here anyway, where a fine young lad like Philip Hughes is struck down playing cricket for God’s sake and a snake like Abbott destroys the country and walks around breathing the air that mates of mine died for. Christmas be fucked this year, I’m just going to take out the 12 gauge and shoot holes in some road signs.”

Vicky Pettigrew, 44, of Happy Valley SA said: “Tony Abbott has ruined Christmas in our house this year. We get a tree each year but neither my husband, Darren, or I can even look at a Christmas tree now without imagining it on fire and stabbed right down that creepy lizard[Abbott]’s Jap-eye.” Mrs. Pettigrew, well-intentioned but a bit of a casual racist, told how the family had tried to persevere with the Christmas spirit until the couple’s thirteen year old son had replaced the traditional fairy atop the tree with a paper cut-out of the Prime Minister. “I think Ethan he thought it was funny or something but when Darren saw it he went berserk. He just dragged the whole tree out into the yard, decorations and all, doused it with two-stroke fuel and set it ablaze. He said no-one in our house would be having any fun until he [Abbott] dies.”

Similar scenes are playing out all over the country. In Mulgrave Vic, Trevor Farnsworth, 53, said the only thing he would be doing this Christmas was taking a hammer and knocking the handles off all of his 82 sporting trophies attained over 35 years of competing in a range of sports. “It’s been my life”, he wept, “but now they all just remind me of that dirty, big-eared cunt. Why can’t someone just fuckin’ kill him?”

You would be mistaken to think that the discontent stops at our sovereign borders though, interviewed at his well-hidden North Pole factory this week, the usually-jolly Santa Claus let fly about the Australian PM when asked about the down-turn in festive participation this season. “Tony Abbott is cancer in Speedos, he can get fucked! I’m not even going to Australia this year. I’m sorry kids but you can just fuck right off as long as that prick’s breathing. I’m serious! Cunt [Abbott] wants to pretend global warming doesn’t exist? I live in the fucking North Pole, bitches! Do you know how much I’ve had to spend on foundation re-flotation and sea-floor mooring just so the factory doesn’t sink into the fucking Arctic Ocean? It’s like Venice-On-Ice up here – it’s fucking bullshit – and that filthy weasel shit-fuck [Abbott] spends most of his time gobbing off Big Mining like coal’s a good fucking idea. No surprise that Tony Abbott’s death is Australia’s second most wished-for Christmas item this year, but I’ll tell you now: if you want him dead you’re going to have to do it your lazy fucking selves. I wouldn’t let Rudolph piss on that beef-jerky-looking bastard if he was on fire.

santa-mad

With the big man in red seeing red, our intrepid reporter wasn’t game to ask what the number one most wished for Christmas item was from Australia, although my money’s on having a truck-load of pineapples smashed up Scott Morrison’s arse with a sledgehammer. Whatever it is, there’s no doubt that we’ve lost our way with Christmas. Sure as cunts I can’t buggered with it! Like the kids are saying: Fuck Christmas – I’m saving all my party stuff ‘til Tony Abbott dies.

All-in-one Kitchen Revolution!

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 4, 2010 by Buck Frain

Amazing breakthrough technology. 

Imagine a device so flexible and multi-purposed that it allowed you to throw away virtually all of your cumbersome kitchen appliances in one go.

It’s a slow-cooker, it’s a rice cooker, a bread maker, pie maker, fryer, boiler, roaster, steamer, griller and more. Entrees, mains, desserts, it can do them all. It make a thanksgiving dinner for the whole family, it can toast bread, it can even make you a cup of tea or coffee!!!

Anything you need to cook that requires heat can be prepared to gourmet chefs’ standards using this one device. 

How much would you pay for such an appliance? 

How about NOTHING AT ALL? 

Too good to be true? 

Not so! 

In Australia every house either rented or sold has one of these devices ALREADY!!! 

Yes, you miserable shit-sucking fuckholes, IT’S YOUR FUCKING OVEN!!! 

LEARN TO FUCKING USE IT AND STOP TWATTING ON ABOUT DOUCHEBAG, STUPID, PIECE-OF-SHIT APPLIANCES YOU’VE BEEN CONNED INTO BUYING BECAUSE YOU’RE A CUNTING USELESS PIECE OF MINDLESS EXCREMENT!!! 

LEARN TO COOK OR KILL YOURSELF AND SHUT THE  FUCK UP BECAUSE I’M FUCKING TIRED OF IT!!!

Declaring War On Arse Terrorism

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 31, 2010 by Buck Frain

Pants. They’re great. One leg in each side, pull up, fasten – BOOM – you’re clothed. Girls, you may require something more. But seriously, they are a pretty simple thing, right? I love pants. They cover and protect while allowing freedom of movement, and the many different varieties of colour, fabric, style and design provide something for every taste and occasion. So, how the fuck does it come to pass that not being able to wear them properly should become cool? Why is every gormless nob-end, usually with haircut requiring 3 hours work per day just to keep it looking like a spontaneously gang-raped dog carcass, wearing their pants below their arse cheeks now? WHAT THE FUCK DID I MISS HERE??? When I gave a shit about cool, it had some sort of meaning to it. I didn’t necessarily buy into it but at least I could understand. Not being able to put on a pair of pants is just stupid. It just makes you look like a complete fucktard. I mean, you’re not more attractive with 4 inches of your manky underpants on show to the world.


Aside from the aesthetic repugnance of this devolution of human achievement, wearing pants like this doesn’t make life easier. Movement is restricted and one has to widen one’s stance to the ridiculous in order to keep the pants on, thus undermining one of the many great features of pants, i.e. they automatically stay on until you want to take them off. These cunts walk like they’ve just shat themselves and if they ever had cause to run they’d lose the pants in a second and either have to run holding them up (impractical at best in case you’ve never had to run) or fall face first into the ground. IT’S FUCKING STUPID!!!

I’ve looked into the phenomenon and apparently it all started in the US where African American kids decided they’d get way more respect if they dressed like they were in prison. In prison you’re not allowed to have a belt because you might hang yourself with it or maybe even use it to hurt someone else so it follows that prisoners’ pants don’t fit so well. OK, so I understand the origin. I even get that stupid kids think it’s cool to emulate criminals, however, at least some of the African American kids have the good grace to cover their ill-fitting pants with long t-shirts that cover their arses…and can also, incidentally, be conveniently used to conceal weapons. Sadly, dumbfuck Aussie white kids have once again completely missed any point that might have been there. They twat around in designer clothes their Liberal-voting mum paid for, they never carry guns and they wear short shirts to advertise the fact that their only statement to the world is fail pants. It’s completely fucked. And then to add insult to injury they add a belt to the ensemble. A CUNTING BELT!!! For fuck’s sake, the only purposes belts serve are to keep your pants above your hips or  to put holsters, handcuffs or superhero shit on, which will pull your pants down if you don’t have them on properly.

Having pants that don’t fit says:

  • a) I’m poor
  • b) I’m just out of jail where I did hard time as a large man’s wife and/or
  • c) I’m armed, fuck you!

Having pants that look like they should fit, are assisted by a belt but still sit below your arse cheeks says:

  • a) I’m intellectually disabled and my carer didn’t help me after I went to the toilet
  • b) I’m a mindless follower of a consumer culture I don’t understand and/or
  • c) I’m so unredeemably shit as a person that I like deliberately getting simple things wrong to complicate my pointless existence, you should grab me by my stupid hair and fling me down the nearest flight of stairs or into the path of the nearest oncoming train!

Why does it offend me? What? You mean apart from it being both ugly and stupid? You mean you need more? Well here it is: these miscreants sit on public transport and everywhere else in their underpants. That’s right. Stinky undies right on a seat that I have to share. The pants are so low they don’t get sat on! What, your designer jeans cost so much you don’t want to wear them out by sitting on them?  GET FUCKED!!! Put some cunting clothes on. Do you think you’re so beautiful that strangers want to see your arse or maybe even share its contents? YOUR MUM WAS BEING NICE!!! You’re not cool, you’re not hot, you’re a useless, ugly cunt! For shit’s sake, cover your stinking arse! Your pants are supposed to go there. They’re not just for you, they’re a barrier for everyone else against your e-coli and convict jizz. If you’re not wearing them over your arse there’s no point wearing them at all. It’s what they’re there for – THEY’RE MADE TO COVER YOUR ARSE!!!

Stupid sagging pants fuckhead.

In the end this amounts to nothing less than Arse Terrorism. I believe it’s a campaign of terror by fetishists who like to put their dirty arses on other people’s things and I cannot tolerate it any longer. I urge everyone to take action against these purveyors of ugliness, stupidity and disease. Whenever and wherever you see them with their stupid arses, or strangely often lack-of-arse, hanging out over pants that have been forgotten at half-mast, I urge you all: kick them! Punch them! Throw the remains of your coffee on them! Push them into traffic! Set them on fucking fire!

The only way these arse terrorists will learn to wear pants properly is if it becomes vital for their survival. We have to draw a line, and let’s face it, people with their pants half down can’t fucking chase you so fuck ’em, you get a free shot!

Queensland Government Fights The War Against Glass!

Posted in Rage Against The Machine with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 28, 2009 by Buck Frain

Good work Queensland, you fucking gimps! What a stupid, stupid place to live. Queensland, the home of XXXX ‘beer’, Bundaberg Rum and rampant stupidity. Let’s ignore the fact that the recalcitrant fucks have refused daylight saving because it fades the curtains and confuses the cows. Let’s ignore the fact that no bastard in the entire state knows how to make a decent cup of coffee. I just want to focus in on this latest piece of idiocy.

The Queensland Government is in the process of banning  glass in pubs. Why? Because the lousy, cowardly bogan fucks of Queensland, just like those found elswhere across the country, have taken to glassing the shit out of anyone they take a dislike to when they’ve got a skin full of piss.

glassing_victim

I don’t think there’s any doubt that glassing is awful. It’s shithouse! There is very little that’s quite as reprehensible as taking glass to an unarmed opponent. It’s a piss-weak piece of hooliganism that seems to have been adopted from the UK – thanks for another fine cultural export, right up there with foxes, small pox and convicts! I have the greatest sympathy for victims of this sort of cowardice, however, the problem I have with the removal of glass from pubs is that it doesn’t solve the fucking problem, it’s just a thoroughly cock-brained piece of policy-making that fucks up everyone’s pub experience. As civilized adults we should be able to enjoy a cold beer from a chilled glass. We should be able to drink wine, or whatever else for that matter, from glass vessels. Glass is beautiful. Organic. Dignified. Plastic is carcinogenic and arse! We shouldn’t be relegated to slurping out of plastic beakers like children just because there are a percentage douche bags in our midst. Why should everyone’s lifestyle take a dive because a minority is fucked in the head? IT CUNTING WELL SHOULDN’T!!!

broken-glass

If you take a glass to someone you should be charged with attempted murder. That’s what it is. Glass is a potentially lethal weapon. You glass someone, you may not be trying to kill them, but you are maliciously trying to permanently disfigure them in a way that will – especially in a society as superficial as ours – destroy their life as they know it. You should be locked away for the rest of your stupid life. Get fucked! You should not be allowed to be part of society. It’s that fucking simple. I realise that people are stupid and that drunk people are doubly so but, seriously, a fuckload more people would exercise some restraint if they thought they’d never see the light of day again. Lock the dickheads away. Shut them away forever. Until they fucking well die. Then the rest of us can get back to enjoying our beers out of good old pint glasses like grown-ups rather than drinking out of plastic cups like we’re at some 7 year old’s birthday party.

If you ban glass, society’s shit-sticks will just find other things to mutilate people with. What will you ban next? Pool cues? Pool balls and anyone wearing socks? Chairs? Pencils? What exactly will you be left with? Why not ban alcohol? While you’re at it ban cars, toasters, lawnmowers, cutlery and toothbrushes? Why not ban razor blades – they’re fucking dangerous, and fuck it, I’ll still feel like a man shaving my face with Veet! WHY NOT MAKE THE ENTIRE WORLD OUT OF CUNTING MARSHMALLOWS??? WHY NOT JUST FUCKING KILL YOURSELVES YOU FUCKING USELESS, TERRIFIED CUNTS??? FOR FUCK’S SAKE: TAKE THE FUCKHEADS AND LOCK THEM AWAY!!! THAT’S WHAT WE HAVE CUNTING PRISONS FOR!!!

Avian Swine Flu Pandemic Berserker.

Posted in Tales From Hell with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 20, 2009 by Buck Frain

SWINE_FLU_WARNING

Swine flu! Fucking swine flu! We’re all going to die! Fuck, let’s all run around like stupid ill-informed fucktards until we drop dead from exhaustion or get murdered by someone sick to their back teeth with our mindless hysteria!

It seems the whole cunting world has lost its shit over the latest style of cold. Last year it was bird flu. Everyone was pissing themselves that bird flu was going to destroy the world. What happened? Fuck all. This year it’s swine flu. At my workplace we all got a patronising fucking email from HR last week telling us all to be vigilant about hygiene in view of the threat of the swine flu pandemic, to use tissues when touching door knobs and never to put our hands near our faces because that’s how germs are spread. Then today I come to work to discover that anti-bacterial handwash dispensers have been installed all over the fucking place. Yes, I’m fucking serious! For cunt’s shitting sake! There’s only been one reported case of swine flu in the whole of Australia and even worldwide the disease, generally speaking, just makes people a bit sick. Naturally the media are going to beat it up into the biggest thing in since sliced bread but anyone with half a brain knows it’s all a pile of horseshit. Add to that, that swine flu is a virus not bacterial so the logic behind installing anti-bacterial goo dispensers becomes even more obscure. 

The people in this building are fucking idiots. Panic over a disease that one person in Australia might have, wash your hands ‘til the skin drops off…but then stuff your obese pie hole with Krispy Kreme and McDonald’s – but it gives me comfort – Fuck yeah, fear the swine flu! Fuck knows, heart disease never killed anyone did it ya fat cunts? You’re gonna die of pig’s arse not pig’s fucking flu. I fucking well despair at the lack of perspective, the blind fear and the wanton stupidity. 

The human race is a blight on the face of the Earth. I watched that tossy remake of The Day The Earth Stood Still last night and I have to side with Klaatu on this…well…before his superior intelligence gave way to emasculated sentimental fuckheadedness and he left the whole planet to be destroyed by people because we’re vulnerable and occasionally nice to each other. What the shit??? 

Fuck everybody, I say! Bring on the swine flu pandemic. May it mutate with avian flu and create a berserker-super-virus that dessimates the human population and leaves us cowed and beaten, fighting for survival against mutant flying pigs. I’d be prepared to die for the cause just so long as a good 5 billion or so useless cretins bite the dust with me. The planet is grotesquely over-populated and the human race is too selfish, infantile and stupid to ever make the necessary decisions to save it. We need an apocalyptic catastrophe to make what remains of humanity consider changing the way they do things. Nothing short of near-annihilation will get the message through, we’re just not smart enough for subtle hints. Stupid fucking monkeys! Survival of the fattest is not sustainable, it never fucking was. Bring on epic Darwinian cruelty! The dinosaurs had their time and we’ve had ours. Hell, if any of us survive we can use the dead as fertilizer and replant the bloody planet! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGHHH!!!

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

Posted in 11 Shit Things That Make Share-house Living Suck. with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 23, 2008 by Buck Frain

pennywise

#11. Other People’s Psychos

 

So, you’re a pretty good judge of character, huh? You’ve been around the share-house world long enough to know a few probing questions to ask of potentials, you’ve read books on body language and psychology and you know how to pick house-mates. Good work. Congratulations! You may well be great at telling what sort of people you want living in your house but how the fuck can you tell what sort of people they let into their lives? Ah, you didn’t think about that did you?

 

With every house-mate who’s not a complete nut-job-loner themselves, comes a horde of acquaintances, friends and relatives, some of whom may or may not be completely unhinged. And the best thing is that you’ll never know until you experience them first hand.

 

It’s 11:30pm I answer the door to a mournful, unsunned, waif.

 

Is Stephen in?

 

Stephen. Maybe I should have known. He wasn’t much of a ladies man but I didn’t think he was this depressed.

 

No, he’s…

 

I’ll just wait for him!

 

Stephen’s bedroom door slammed shut behind her. I was still standing at the door amazed at the nimble stealth that had propelled her under my arm and up the hallway. This definitely wasn’t a good sign. Welcome friends don’t scam their way in like that. No, this was bad. This was really, really bad. I’d let a complete stranger, a very sketchy-looking complete stranger into my housemate’s bedroom. Bad. Bad. Bad.

 

I shut the front door in case she was just the first of a legion of emo-zombies ravenous for the taste of non-suicidal brains. She’d only been in my house for seconds and already my will to live was ebbing away. I phoned Stephen and described his visitor.

 

You cunt, why did you let her in?

 

I fucking didn’t! She just dodged past me. Who the fuck does that?

 

Well, tell her to get out.

 

Fuck you, cunt, you get her to go, she’s your fucking girlfriend!

 

SHE’S NOT MY FUCKING GIRLFRIEND! WHAT’S SHE FUCKING DOING? FUCK!!!

 

He hung up. The girl had locked herself in his room and wouldn’t answer me when I tried to speak to her. This was becoming a cuntfully unpleasant scenario. Stephen rang back and swore at me and told me he wasn’t coming home for a couple of days in the hope she’d just leave. I told him he was piss-weak and that her being in our house at all was unacceptable, let alone for a few days, that she had locked herself in his room, wasn’t coming out and wasn’t talking, and that if he didn’t get his stupid arse home and get rid of her I would call the police. I added that if they got her out and he wasn’t back it was my firm intent to have a shit in his bed.

 

The police indeed came, they had to break the bedroom door to get in. The silly bitch had taken a bunch of pills and was unconscious in a big pile of vomit on his bed. The vomit made me feel a bit better about the situation. The ambulance came and they took her off to hospital and, yes, she was fine, and yes it may be sad and I don’t mean to treat suicide lightly but that wasn’t what this was. She wasn’t trying to kill herself, it turns out she just does this shit! This was her fucking schtick! Her equivalent to a shitting chat-up line, if you will! When she likes someone she has a bit of a failed-suicide at their house to illicit sympathy and create emotional ties based on a shared crisis and the lay foundations for a chronically unhealthy relationship. Personally I think she should fucking top herself, everyone would be better off, she’d be happier and, really, it’s not like the planet’s short of people, is it?

 

That’s just one story, though, there are fucking psychos everywhere. If you’re not already, you should be terrified…of everyone…all the time – people are fucked! A former house-mate of mine had a friend who seemed fine, just like a normal bloke…except…he liked to shit in weird places. You’d get up after having had a party the night before and you’d find a massive human turd in the driveway…or on the balcony…OR IN THE FUCKING FRIDGE!!! We thought someone had a serious grudge against one of us but then it started happening to people we knew at their parties as well. There was a phantom shitter at large. It took years of freak-outs and an eventual triangulation between circles of friends to work out that it was Cam and he just likes to pinch one off at parties– like it was some kind of satanic house-warming gift. Hey, he wasn’t my fucking friend!

 

There was the six months after Dion moved out when we realised that he’d been dealing speed the whole time because his crazy, junkie, scum-bag clients kept coming ‘round in the middle of the night to score.

 

Then there was Trish, she was a kinda cool rock-chick but her hardcore-militant-feminist friends made Romper Stomper look like Sesame Street and made me put a massive cunting lock on my bedroom door for fear of being emasculated in my sleep.

romper_stomper 

So that’s it – 11 shit things that make share-house living suck! My hand is a lot better, I still live on my own, I will continue to do so and, Peter, you’re still a pathetic ballbag! People, don’t be fooled – Bill Hicks was right about human beings – We’re a virus with shoes! People are completely fucked and if you’ve any sense at all you won’t live with any of them, EVER!!!

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!

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?

11 Shit Things That Make Share-House Living Suck – #7

Posted in 11 Shit Things That Make Share-house Living Suck. with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 14, 2008 by Buck Frain

#7 Other People’s Genitals

 

I don’t have issues with nudity per se. I think streakers at sporting events are funny and I’m cool with the genitals of anyone I’m intimate with. However, other people are another matter altogether. I am OK with other people having genitals just so long as they’re not flapping around at eye level when I’m sitting in the kitchen trying to eat my breakfast.

 

What the weeping-nob-scab is wrong with people? So, you picked up my house-mate last night and brought her back to a house you’ve never been to before inhabited by people you’ve never met and in the morning you wander out through the kitchen in search of the loo…naked. Nice one! And then you look at me like I’m the one with the problem and ask:

 

What are you lookin’ at?

 

I don’t know, fuckhead, is it a bonsai penis? I was worried you were going to try to fuck my breakfast with it!

 

Seriously, what are you doing? Do you have super-complex underpants that take 3 hours and a Ph.D to put on? Use a fucking towel, arse-face!!! In an ideal world one might hope that girls would have more modesty, however, I haven’t really seen any evidence of that.

 

What are you doing here?

 

I live here. I’m eating my breakfast. The toilet’s that way…um…you’re dripping on the fucking floor.

 

One morning I walked out to see a naked guy sitting with his naked arse on one of our chairs at the kitchen table eating our fucking cereal. What the SHIT??? I don’t mind too much about the cereal but how can I use a kitchen chair that’s had some fucker’s sweaty nut-sack and unwashed ring resting on it? Do I disinfect it or just throw the fucking thing away?

 

Inhibitions – they’re great! We have them for a reason. We have them because we aren’t solitary animals, we live in societies and these have only maintained a semblance of order and civility because people covered their genitals up and stopped scent-marking everything in sight. I’m stoked that you’re comfortable with your hairy, hail-damaged body, but do me a favour: COVER IT UP!!! No, really, take this guest burkha! Not because I have issues with my own body, not because I won’t be able to control my primal urges but because I can’t eat and vomit at the same time and I can’t spend my whole life buying new dining furniture.