Archive for Police

Victorian Police Officer Caught Dancing At Murder Scene

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , on October 18, 2011 by Buck Frain

The Victoria Police is embroiled in scandal today as journalists captured photographs of a female officer apparently doing a ‘ribbon dance’ with police tape while cordoning off a murder scene in Bendigo.

The close community, already shaken by such a violent crime, has reacted strongly against what it perceives as disrespectful and grossly unprofessional behaviour.

A source outside the newsagency at the time said: “It was unbelievable. It was such a sombre scene and she just breaks into some sort of rhythmic gymnastics routine. A couple of people giggled and that seemed to spur her on, she was getting right into it. I just thought it was completely out of order.”

The dancing officer was allegedly pulled into line by a colleague who ushered her away from the media and assembled public, some quite disturbed by her antics in a scene that threatened to turn very ugly.

“Someone’s been murdered, for f___’s sake, have some respect.”, shouted an onlooker.

The outraged Bendigo community wants an explanation. Victoria Police has declined to comment on the matter pending further investigation.

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!!!

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.