Archive for Wankers

Happy Shitting Birthday! Pape smear, anyone?

Posted in 10 People I'd Love To Smash with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 21, 2009 by Buck Frain

I didn’t get a cake but if I had, I imagine it would have looked like this:

shitcake

This week marked the 1st anniversary of the creation of Buck Frain’s Angry Place. Happy Birthday, Place! One whole year of public spleen-venting…and what a cunt of a year it’s been! I’ve gotta say I’m surprised that people have actually paid any notice to my ravings, it proves to me that the world is a far sicker place than even I had imagined. Nonetheless, I thank you all for your attention, your adoration, contempt and disdain and your comments, positive and negative alike. Ya fuckin’ sickos! Rest assured, there’s plenty of rage left in the tank, I’m just as fucked off as I was this time last year but then not a lot has improved in the world so what the shit does anyone expect?

 

This year everything was starting to look OK for everyone who earned less than $80,000 last year with the government announcing a stimulus package to support working Australians that would see us all get a rebate of $900. That’s $900 cash. Each. From the government…for free! That’s brilliant! It’s excellent! At a time when we’re all pretty fucked, the government actually gives something back to the people who fuckin’ need it! Woohoo!!!

 

But then, a slimy-toe-rag lawyer, university lecturer and former National Party toady named Bryan Pape came along and has challenged this payout in The High Court. BASTARD! He says it’s unconstitutional…and The High Court is hearing him on 30th March! THE ROTTEN, MISANTHROPIC, BALL-GRATING, EAR-FUCK!!!

 

He’s wealthy, he’s a miserable old cock-sucker and he wants all that money – your and my fucking money – to go back to the shitting government! It was ours to start with anyway, it was our cunting tax money! If the government wants to give some of it back, why the steaming-shit-sandwich should that be deemed unconstitutional??? ARSE!!!

 

Well fuck that, I’m not putting up with it! If The High Court knows what’s good for it it’ll boot Bryan Pape out on his wrinkly old arse and tell him to go and get fucked by bikers! I mean, what could be more un-Australian that stealing $900 each off 8.7 million members of the working population. He’d better hope his case fails because if it succeeds  there won’t be a pub in Australia where the cunt can safely get a beer! So, in the interest of public vengeance, on the chance that this ridiculous, mean-spirited old wanker actually succeeds in robbing honest Australians of a bit of relief, I offer this:

 

KNOW YOUR ENEMY!

This is him. And his contact details. This cunt is Bryan Pape, the old bastard hell-bent on robbing you of your $900. Feel free to drop him a line and tell him what you think of his plan! Hell, find out where he lives! Have a shit on his mum!

bryan_pape

 Once again, I suppose for the benefit of those without a sense of humour or who are in some other respect gorm deficient,  I should clearly state: This is not really a call to action. I do not wish any actual harm to come to Bryan Pape no matter how much of a twat I think he is. For cunt’s shitting sake, this whole site is just intended as a bit of a laugh, chill the fuck out.  If I asked you to jump off a bridge, would you do that too? Actually, that’s not a bad idea: Jump off a fucking bridge! I can recommend the West Gate and the Bolte if you’re in Melbourne. Please, for fuck’s sake, don’t waste yourself in front of a train – the fucking things get delayed or cancelled enough without useless cunts clogging up the wheels. Remember, some of us do have something to live for!

Old People Are Rubbish.

Posted in Wankers In Denial with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 7, 2009 by Buck Frain

RENTON:   Right. So we all get old and then we can’t hack it any more. Is that it?

SICK BOY:   Yeah.

 

RENTON:   That’s your theory?

 

SICK BOY:   Yeah, beautifully fucking illustrated.

 

RENTON:   Give me the gun. 

 

Old people fuck me off, I’m not going to lie about it. They just give me the fucking shits. I mean, I completely understand that I’m headed that way, as we all are. I’ll get old, I’ll lose my shit and I’ll die. Inevitable…unless I get killed while I still have my faculties – which, considering how many people I seem to piss off, is a real possibility. I know there are a load of things that old people are great for – stealing prescription drugs from, telling really long, pointless anecdotes badly, smelling weird – but generally, old people are rubbish and nowhere is this more apparent than on the road.

 

Twice today I’ve nearly been killed by stupid old wankers in cars. The first was a senile old bint who was so shrunken she could barely see between the steering wheel and the dash. Long after the light had turned red and people filed onto the pedestrian crossing this daft old crone pilots her ancient Peugeot through the intersection. I was over half-way across the road so she’d had plenty of chance to work out the light was red. Two people ahead of me leapt forward to get out of the way, I had to jump back wards to avoid being hit. As I went back I slapped the roof of the car as it went past. Eventually she reacted, screeching to a halt, gazing around, wide-eyed, spasmodically gaping and pouting like a fish drowning in air and blinking furiously behind coke-bottle glasses.

 

THE LIGHT’S FUCKING RED!!!, I screamed.

 

She continued pathetically to fish-mouth at the world and blink, I made my way to the imagined safety of the footpath. The lights changed. She stayed there. The cars behind her started to blast horns at her to move her decrepit arse out of the shitting way. This spooked her even more and I was starting to wonder whether she was having some kind of stroke when finally synapses must have fired and with a cliché grind of gears, the old beast lumbered into motion and lurched unsteadily across the intersection before limping on up the road. God help the poor fuckers up there.

 stupid_old_driver

Deciding I needed to take a breather from the world I ordered a coffee at a nearby café and sat at one of their outdoor tables on the footpath where I could watch the world go by…or so I thought. A geriatric fuckstick in a late 70s BMW dropped in on me. Literally. He reverse parallel parked his way into my table. Slowly. Meticulously. He reversed until the back wheel of the BMW mounted the curb. Then he continued…into the steel barriers the café had erected next to their tables. Neither the sensation nor the noise of the collision registered. I stepped away from the table and yelled an indignant Hey! as he continued back pushing barrier into chair into table and scraping Jesus out of the side of what had looked to have been a pristine automotive specimen. Still no reaction from Jurassic Heidfeld. Satisfied, he applied the handbrake, turned the car off and got out. He wouldn’t have looked back except that I finally broke his fog with a hearty:

 

HEY! Nice parking, mate!

 

Whaaat?, He enquired.

 

I said NICE PARKING!!! What are you doing? You just parked in my fucking coffee!

 

Again just the vulnerable, vacant stare of second childishness.

 

Look! Look at this. You could have killed someone. Look! Are you blind? You’re on the footpath, you smashed into all this stuff! Didn’t you hear it???

 

Slowly he came around and saw the remains of a bent chair trapped between barrier and a now-mashed-but-sturdily-bolted-down table. He studied the side of his car and the damage. Eventually looking up he asked:

 

Are you alright?

 

Yes, I’m fine, but fuck dude, maybe you shouldn’t be driving! You could have killed someone.

 

Oh…(long pause while he gave the impression of considering all this new information)…sorry.

 

And that was it. He just shambled off across the street to do whatever crazy old man shit he had to do. I was amazed. WHAT THE SHIT??? The café manager came out, he was righteously fucked off at his bent table and chair arrangement. I explained what had happened, left my details with him if the police or insurance needed a statement and left him to it.

 

Why the backed-up-colostomy-bag don’t old people just admit it? I mean, they must fucking realise that their reflexes are shot to shit, that their peripheral vision is virtually non-existent and that their brains have scaled back all sensory input to a bare minimum despite the world carrying on just as it always has. Surely they must realise they’ve fucking lost it! I guess like the rest of the species they’re just in denial about their own shitness. I suppose it makes sense, why start facing up to it after the fun bits have gone and you’re back to shitting your pants, eating dog food and begging for attention.

 

The only responsible solution for society is that we take their fucking licences away so they can’t destroy the lives of people who still have something to live for. Fucking test their reflexes, test their vision and hearing. Every fucking year! and as soon as they start to lose their shit cut the shitting licence up. Fuck them. Let the old fuckers walk home, or catch the bus or buy a fucking zimmer frame. Anything so long as they’re not running over people who’ve still got some miles on the clock. SELFISH OLD SHIT-SACKS!!!

 

You think I’m being ageist? Fuck you! I’ll take the fucking test. I don’t fucking care. Make everyone take it. I’m happy for anyone who’s a useless fucktard to be taken off the road. I’m happy for us to start euthanasing the pathologically useless en masse. I mean, tolerance is great but I don’t want to get killed by it! FUCKIN’ WAKE UP, HUMANITY, IT’S NOT LIKE WE’RE SHORT OF PEOPLE ON THIS ROCK!!!

11 Shit Things That Make Share-Living Suck – #6

Posted in 11 Shit Things That Make Share-house Living Suck. with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 8, 2008 by Buck Frain

#6. Burning The Midnight Toast.

 

This particular share-house phenomenon took its name from a quite inoffensive event. After a suitably boozy night when several members of the house had returned late from their respective nights out, we arose to find two ice-cold pieces of blackened toast sticking out of the top of the toaster. Beside the toaster sat the butter and there was an unused butter knife on the counter over an open cutlery drawer. The evidence all pointed to someone being so heavily shit-pantsed that they’d decided to make toast but either forgot the cause part-way through, or weren’t up to completing the task and just went off to bed. As each member of the house surfaced, they were asked: 

Hey, who was burning the midnight toast last night?

 

It was loveably roguish behaviour and burning the midnight toast made its way into the household’s vernacular as a euphemism for any strange domestic rearrangements that may have taken place overnight, possibly under the influence of intoxicants.

 

Unfortunately, the term began to lose its lustre as it became used as an excuse for all sorts of unpleasant indiscretions. The following are all 100% genuine questions we had to, and did, ask house-mates over the course of several months:

 

Excuse me, do you know who…

 

     …left an uncooked cake in the oven?

 

     …owns the dildo on the couch?

 

     …kicked over the stereo?

 

     …ordered a prostitute?

 

     …screamed abuse at the neighbours last night?

 

     …left a used condom on the kitchen floor?

 

     …tried to poke vomit down the plug-hole in the bathtub?

 

     …had a piss in the fridge?

 

It’s bad, bad, bad, wrong, wrong, WRONG!!! Everyone has their moments and most people burn the midnight toast at some point but there are limits, people, FUCKING LIMITS!!! Get help, get counselling, go to rehab, leave me the stomped-ballbag alone because I don’t want to fucking well live with you filthy fucking animals ANY-CUNTING-MORE!!!

Get Ya Han’ Off It!

Posted in Shit That Sucks & Blows with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 18, 2008 by Buck Frain

In Australia we have a saying. When I was growing up it was something of a catch cry. It was an emphatic indication to the recipient that whatever they’d been saying was complete wank, that they were by default a complete wanker and, therefore, that they should shut up. Get ya hand off it! That said it all.

 

 

I watched the movie Hancock yesterday and the cry came back to me. I love a good superhero movie, truth be told I don’t even mind a bad one on the odd occasion, I really wanted to enjoy Hancock but it was never going to happen. I concede that I got three decent laughs out of it, which in the past has been enough to turn a film for me, but not this time. The eminently watchable Will Smith plays John Hancock, an alcoholic superhero destroying Los Angeles despite his best intentions. I can just hear the coked-up pitch:

OK, OK, OK! How would people like Superman, huh, if he was…if he was a bum??? Get it? No cape, no suit, just stinkin’ of booze, tryin’ to fight crime, but fuckin’ everybody’s shit up like a…like a…an invincible drunk driver! Huh??? ‘Cause he’s got no fortress of solitude, he’s got no Marlon Brando who loves him, he’s just alone in the world with…with his powers!!! Eh???

 

Director Peter Berg fucked this film right in its arse. How you take a cast like this, an interesting premise and $150 million and turn it into a turkey like Hancock is beyond me. Peter Berg, you’re a fucking goose! Other than some basic slapstick laughs the film is piss boring and as sappy as a week of Days Of Our Lives. It seems as though Berg has tried to make a fuckin’ drama out of what might have become quite an interesting and dark comedy. Gags like our hero shoving a crim’s head up another crim’s arse, how do you make that NOT funny? Berg did it, the lame cunt! How do you make Will Smith and Charlize Theron look insincere? How do you make Jason Bateman look lamer than he did in Teen Wolf Too!? At every turn the film got progressively fuckeder. Plot twists that were so heavily telegraphed that characters’ surprise at their revelation was completely unbelievable, character histories referenced in a way that made them looked like tacked-on afterthoughts that even the actors didn’t know about. Everyone knows going in that it’s a superhero movie so suspension of disbelief is hard to break, but the banal misdirection of this film succeeds at smashing it to buggery. Peter Berg, you suck! You’re a fuckin’ douche bag, get fucked!

 

 

If you haven’t seen Hancock, don’t bother. It’s cock – not hard cock, but floppy, stupid, useless cock! If you still want to see it, I say: wait till it comes on free-to-air TV then watch something else!

 

http://humor-blogs.com

You’re so vain, you probably think I’m trying to kill you.

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 3, 2008 by Buck Frain

 

People are far, far more stupid than I had realised. It’s days like this where I despair for the human race and just want the cockroaches to take over – I doubt they’d do a worse job. I know I’m not the most charitable chap when it comes to evaluating the average intelligence of my species, but I think even I may have been overly generous thus far.

 

I read this article today and I’ve been hearing similar bulletins all over the radio warning the mobile phone owners of Australia not to respond to a text message scam saying:

 

Someone paid me to kill you. If you want me to spare you, I give you 2 days to pay 5000 dollars. If you inform the police or anybody, you will die, I am monitoring you.

 

How fucking stupid are you? If you’re enough of a douche bag to fall for that, you deserve not only to lose your money but to be beaten with a sledgehammer, dragged behind a car, chewed by wild dogs and set on fire. WAKE THE FUCK UP!!! How many hitmen tell you they’re going to kill you? How many hitmen ruin their own professional image by letting clients buy them off? How many hitmen can be bought off by clients for a meager $5000? I mean, how much was the cunt hired for in the first place? A bag of weed and some 2-minute noodles? What the shit-streaked pants are you thinking?

 

So…have you crawled out from under the bed yet? Will you be able to sleep tonight? If you’re still scared just ask yourself this: Who the fuck are you that someone would want you dead and feel strongly enough about it to spend money getting it done? Be honest now. No-one. Not one single person gives that much of a fuck about your imbecilic arse, do they? In fact, if you died tomorrow in your apartment, it would be a couple of weeks before the neighbours complained about the stench – that’s the truth, isn’t it? Yeah! So just shut the shit-eating-fuck up and relax!

 

If you’ve had a text message like the one above and after reading all this you’re still worried, please contact me at buck.frain@gmail.com  Include your address and when you’re likely to be home and, when I have time, I’ll make a special trip over to kick the living cunt out of you for being a stupid sack of self-absorbed shit. With all my heart: GET FUCKED!!!

Paw Paw Pocket Protection.

Posted in Things Rank And Gross In Nature with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 11, 2008 by Buck Frain

 So Nick D’arcy has been banned from the Beijing  Olympic Games once again. Thank fuck for that! The little fucker’s lucky his dad’s a fucking plastic surgeon or he wouldn’t be able to afford all the lawyers, and he’s appealing again. What do the poor violent athletes do? How do they cope? 

My joy at justice actually working was short-lived, however. I had a $2 bet with a co-worker that D’Arcy would be allowed to go. I was glad to lose the bet but I reached into my left trouser pocket where I keep my keys and coins and pulled out a handful of Oh fucking hell! Horror. Both mine and hers as I proffered a fist full of keys and coins clumped together thick with the lip-balm that had evidently suffered a packaging failure in the same pocket. Our eyes met and for a fraction of a second I think she actually believed I was being premeditatedly weird. I exited stage left to the bathroom with all appropriate haste and stealth. Please, don’t let The Wobblers see me with a fist full of lubricated keys!

 

In the bathroom I started using paper towel to soak up, wipe away the lip balm. Fuck! There was so much of it. One little tube of Lucas’ Paw Paw goes a fuck of a long way. After scraping all the excess grease of my hands, keys and change I had to wash them with soap to remove the rest of it. I recommend Lucas’ Paw Paw Ointment for its staying power. Three or four washes got them more or less clean, the keys still feel a little more moisturised than keys should. I looked in the mirror. Cunt, bollocks and shit! The pocket! I remembered I still had a pocket full of warm grease. I remembered it because I saw that it had fucking soaked through to make a vaguely cummy-looking grease stain on the front of my pants. I turned the pocket inside out and scraped as much lip balm as I could out of the fabric. The greasy stain I was stuck with. I couldn’t risk getting busted washing and drying my pants in the bathroom, not at work.

 

I returned to the phone room. I paid my debt with the cleanest coins seen outside the mint and went back to work. I’ve spent the rest of the day trying not to notice the faces of people as they notice my stain. Fuckin’ dirty pants-starers! Looks of disdain and disgust, I’m sure tales of my depravity and perversion will fill my foul workplace for months to come. IT’S NOT CUM, YOU FILTHY-MINDED BASTARDS!!! IT’S ON THE LEFT, HOW WOULD I CUM IN MY OWN POCKET??? IT’S LIP-BALM!!! IT FUCKIN’ BROKE OPEN IN MY CUNTING POCKET! YES, IT’S GROSS! I SHITTING WELL HATE IT TOO!!!

 

I should make clear this is not a sledge on a product and that I will continue to use the same lip-balm, it’s good. The truly fucking horrible  thought is that I might have to invest in a man bag to avert future such misadventures. A cunting man bag – ah, I might as well just cut off my own balls! It’s all cunts! I think I’m getting sick. I hate my life.