Daily Diatribe

and that’s just the judges- you should see (and smell) the artists. This year’s $35K sling has gone to senile dementia-pinup pillowbiter John Olsen, a long-time critic of the prize as a “chook raffle”; it looks like Olsen’s done better than his fellow senior citizens manage at bingo, and for a work that would get his fellows a quick kero bath and a hose-off, then confinement in the maximum security wing of the geezertorium:-

Smearing a wall with your own poo, then finger-painting what appears to be Geoff Kennett with rickets, wearing a carnival mask on the back of his head and making a speech into an old Shure 10A microphone would usually be an indication that the medication isn’t up to the job, and you’re in need of some secure rubber pantaloons.

Of course the luvvies think it is brilliant, devine, challenging and sublime; challenging possibly, unless you have no sense of smell, and are liberally coated in insect repellant.

I’m really in the wrong game- Tracey Emin can flog the Turner her grubby sheets upon which she appears to have shagged a few gentlemen of the road, and old Jimmy Olsen can score 35 gorillas for smearing shit on a canvas, but if I park a pavement pollock I stand a good chance of having my collar felt, and copping a bluey.

I need to move in different circles, possibly not the concentric ones which interfere with my nocturnal navigation.

UPDATE This post and thread has been hijacked by perennial troll and traffic-siphon Darp Hau, aka Matthew Henderson, who has accused me of making a racist jibe at his apparent Maori heritage with a comment and linked photo on this thread at Tim Blair’s. Have a look if you can be arsed, and form your own opinion- has Darp been villified on the basis of his claimed race, is he a wanker with a thin skin and no sense of humour, or is blindly thrashing around, trying to raise a smokescreen for his blatant and oft repeated porkies? You decide.

Not only is it loafing labourers who have a spot of bother in southern Africa with playful and peckish pussies, now tourists are being advised to take some precautions about feisty felines:-

It may seem a little harsh, but it seems like a reasonable response to trade unionists who hold their clients to ransom*; However,large carnivores may well draw the line at eating academics, after all- some things are too repulsive and disgusting even for dogs to roll in.

*That’s of course if anyone notices- academics withdrawing their labour is somewhat akin to Margo Kingston withdrawing her fecund favours.

Seeing as we claim to be a market-based blog, we have to respond to demand- and when the demand is for more young ladies who seem to have mislaid their outer garments, we’re happy to oblige!

Yet another scoop as well- first photos of the finalists in this year’s Miss Universe and there’s another Aussie in the running; you have to go through to the last photo, but it’s worth the wait! What a stunner!

UPDATE Bushy has submitted a late entry, from that home of hornbags, the National Press Gallery:-

Hubba Hubba!

Here’s a tip, Toots, you’ll never get a bloke by shrieking like a fishwife over some half-baked issue that no-one gives a fuck about*- well you might, but he’ll look like this.

Get yourself a nice frock, get your hair and nails done, and some shoes with heels, and you’ll be fighting the fellas off with a shitty stick.

*Except for Bob Brown and the perpetually outraged- do any of these fruitcups really think the Australian government is going to hand over billions of dollars of oil and gas royalties to a pack of third-world commies who are just as likely to spend it on AK47s and ugly hats made from dead critters?

Or possibly wax dummies, or some strange Doctor Who type ice warriors, at least in the view of Hollywood bigshot, climatologist and noted anthropologist Jake Gyllenhaal:-

“Unfortunately, the Inuit people put a human face on global warming, they are literally melting away. They are the canary in the coal mine,” a bundled-up Gyllenhaal told reporters.

Fortunately Jake was bundled up in his insultated and airconditioned survival suit, or he would have been reduced to a puddle by the blistering sun, concentrated by swirling greenhouse gases.

Selma Hayek was also there, to add her own personal perspective:-

“I came to learn from the ice and the Inuit,” said Hayek. “We have a lot to learn from them if we follow their wonderful wisdom,” Hayek told reporters in a conference call. “Just listen to the land.”

Here’s what the ice taught her- it’s cold, and turns into water above zero degrees celcius. The wonderful wisdom of the Innuit included “whale blubber is scrummy, especially if washed down with anti freeze”, “igloos are cheap to decorate if you’re into Scandanvian minimalism”, “walruses make useful openers for giant novelty beer bottles” and “if you get shitfaced and fall off your ski-doo out on the ice, and are found by a polar bear, you will find out that in this case, bears don’t shit in the woods”.

Selma is still listening to the land, but it’s not returning her calls.

We’ll all sleep safer in the knowledge that these giant intellects are pondering the perils of our future.

In case you were wondering where the lovely Chezza Kernot was lurking, and why there’s been a noticable lack of whining about being robbed of her seat/victim of sexism/invasion of privacy and any other of the daft gibberish she was reknown for, thanks to a provision in the UK Migration Act that allows for second generation Poms to return to the Old Dart, the mad old bat is annoying the British electorate now:-

Cheryl Kernot, in The Guardian, says Lynton Crosby is a threat to British democracy:-

IN 2001 I was seeking re-election to an outer Brisbane seat as a Labor candidate, having won this second most marginal constituency in [Australia] by 176 votes in 1998. In both campaigns I experienced first-hand the “under the radar” Crosby tactics.

While the Westminster village has been preoccupied with the big picture of national issues, Crosby will have been orchestrating campaigns of personal attacks and innuendo in marginal constituencies: that the Labour sitting member is not a local, that they are more interested in seeking a place on the frontbench, that they are soft on crime/immigration/abortion.

And in the background of the national campaign Crosby will have been conducting a war of attrition against the public broadcaster, claiming bias and unbalanced coverage.

An Australian newspaper freedom of information request revealed that, during the 2001 campaign, 75 per cent of all complaints from all political parties to the public broadcaster, the ABC, had come from Crosby. BBC take note. And constituents, even those with unlisted numbers, should prepare themselves for automated message calls from Michael Howard. Ask him where he got your number.

Having improved my vote by 6per cent prior to the focus on asylum-seekers, I still lost my seat in 2001, but thanks to my Scottish grandparents I’ve been fortunate to have lived and worked in the UK for two years now. Crosby’s tactics represent a truly serious threat to the civility and robustness of British democracy and the way most politics is conducted in this country. It may be all downwards from here on. A “colonial” legacy of the worst kind.

Where do I start? Chezza’s seat was safe Labor until they parachuted her fat arse into the pre-selection; the fact that she showed no loyalty by bailing from the Democrats probably was her biggest hurdle, followed by the fact that she is a dribbling idiot, well known for peculiar statements and irrational outbursts of vitriol.

Being sprung for porking Gareth Gareth was probably the last straw- the electorate will tolerate a member who is insane, thick and even corrupt, but one found to have a prediliction for unnatural acts is beyond the pale.

Ageing hippy and futurist* Richard Neville is a bit peeved at the USA.

Aerial bombardment of civilians is still standard US practice, often involving the use of weapons outlawed by the 1977 Geneva Protocols. The US employed chemical weapons in Korea, napalm and Agent Orange in Vietnam, depleted uranium in the first Gulf war, cluster bombs in Kabul, vacuum bombs in Tora Bora, phosphorous bombs in Falluja and most of the above various parts of the Iraq and Afghanistan. On the way are nuclear tipped bunker busters. Taken all for all, despite the best intentions of its citizens, the US Government has committed more acts of airborne terror than all the other nations of earth put together.

Yup, them Luftwaffe boys were pussycats, especially over London and Coventry- and what’s a few randomly aimed rocket-propelled bombs? Those whingeing Poms- at least with the V1, you knew you were for it when the engine cut out; the V2 would just drop on you, not even giving enough time to shit yourself.

And of course El Que’da (and all the other advocates of air piracy before them) learnt all they know from the US- you surely remember all the times the CIA took over commercial aircraft, killing crew and passengers for some feeble political aim?

But not to worry, because we’ll all be saved, and to a snappy toe-tappin’ swinging beat!

This had completely passed me by, until a tip-off from extreme blogger, John Kaminski. Much of it is inspiring, embracing many genres, and every bit as revolutionary as the soundtrack of the years spanning the Civil Rights movement and the counter culture. The daughters of George Bush have reportedly presented their dad with an I-Pod. Here are suggestions for his playlist (all available online, if you know where to look): Falluja, by David Rovics; What Would You Do, Sonic Jihad; Know Your Enemy, Dead Prez; It?s a Rich Man?s War, Steve Earle; To Kill the Child, Roger Waters; We Can?t Make it Here; James McMurtry; Self Evident, Ani Di Franco; Bomb the World, Michael Franti, who sums it all up: ?We can bomb the world to pieces, but we can?t bomb it into peace.??

I’m sure the military/industrial complex quakes in its steel-capped, hobnailed boots whenever John Butler caterwauls some incomprehensible and incoherent gibberish, accompanied by what sounds like cats being fed into an industrial compactor.

*If your definition of futurist revolves around someone who has never left 1968.

Another dozy web quiz, this time swiped from Niner Charlie:-

Air StrikeYou preferred a weapon with 63% power over speed and 90% range over melee.

You use Air Strikes. Fighting? Fighting is for idiots! All you have to do is make a quick walkie-talkie call and have the ground ahead of you carpeted with explosive charges. Your enemies will be searching frantically for refuge as you chuckle from afar.

Last night’s Insight on SBS TV featured yet another yammer-fest on the iniquity of mandatory detention, with many of the usual suspects present- the lovely Pamela Curr was at her strident, self-rightous ill-informed and worse mannered harpy best, until nailed in the last 5 minutes by SA MPChristopher Pyne- not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but fucking up an idiot like Pammie is no big ask.

The after-show chatroom is worth a visit if you need amusement based on incoherent ravings by illiterate yahoos, it’s a hoot. Here’s an example:-

i was so move by tonihts program i was forced to get on line and make comment.

Makes Webdiary read like the New York Review of Books.

The audience wasn’t fully loaded as usual though- there were a few locals who put forward the radical idea that people who arrive without valid travel documents, who are found to have no valid claim to refugee status and who have no legal right to remain in Australia, let alone be allowed to roam loose, should be banged up and deported as soon as possible; this didn’t go over well with the keening crowd or the mental health professionals and refugee lawyers who could see a pot of public gold dissapear over the horizon with their departing clients.

Unfortunately Marilyn Shepherd was strangely absent- I believe it was a full moon last night, so she was probably out chasing cars and dismembering kittens.

I’m off on the pop tonight to catch the last show by Ed Keupper (with his former drummer from the Laughing Clowns) at some dive in the Valley. Home late and pissed.

Are you sick of the ming emanating from your rug-monkey’s shreddies, and no matter how many times you try sensitive new-age techniques to encourage the little tacker to plant his or her whiffy expulsions in the pot, they keep doing more follow-throughs than Don Bradman?

Let’s face it- most adults (even those who drink) can generally find the big white telephone 90% of the time, but if someone would wipe our arse, rub it with oil and puff it with powder, all the while making caring sounds, would we bother getting off the couch when the footy’s interesting?

When all else fails, time to try some tough love- guaranteed* to work.

*Not guaranteed at all in any jurisdiction where I can be prosecuted for incitement to child abuse- in this case, you heartless bastard! For shame!