Daily Diatribe

You too can have juvenile sacreligious fun at the Church Sign Generator site.

Submit all entries- those most likely to result in eternal torment in the pits of hell will be published.

Bloody hell- I just discovered a disturbing beatnik reference that may forever destroy my credibility as a heartless capitalist exploiter and cultural philistine:-

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery
dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops,
storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon
blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree
vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn,
ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,
who chained themselves to subways for the endless
ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine
until the noise of wheels and children brought
them down shuddering mouth-wracked and
battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance
in the drear light of Zoo,
who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford’s
floated out and sat through the stale beer after
noon in desolate Fugazzi’s, listening to the crack
of doom on the hydrogen jukebox…….

(From Howl, by Alan Ginsberg).

Crazy, man! Get me a skivvy, a beret and some bongos- we’re gonna groove with all the other hep-cats!

How now, brown bureaucrat……………….nah, doesn’t seem to fit. He’s right about the pong of stale beer, and I’ve had some real weirdos passed out on my floor over the years, but I don’t recall a fat, dead, gay poet; a friend of mine slept with a dead chick one night, got up and went to work and was surprised when the cops grabbed him at lunch-time to explain the corpse in his cot.

Who would have predicited this- a series featuring supposedly dinkum Aussie blokes, twittering around like brainless inner-city tarts, written by a hatful whose next will quite likely be her first, has flopped more than Michael Moore’s paunch when his control brief lets go.

Certainly the scriptwriter/producer is connected, but what was Channel Seven thinking? A pinko pooch wouldn’t have the first clue of what average Australian chaps think or say, with her only exposure to blokes being cheese-dick Che’ wanna-bes from South Yarra and great flaming radishes from the world of the Yartz- what a fertile ground to pick up vernacular and views.

Last Man Standing joins an impressive list of Australian dramatic failures, currently joined by the ABC’s second series of MDA, featuring unfunny twonk Shane Bourne in one of the lead roles and a viewing audience level so low it can only be observed from a diving bell. Of course, it’s all John Howard’s fault:-

Simpson identifies key reasons: the decline of the ABC as a prolific producer of drama, the increasing difficulty of securing international investment and the demise of the Commercial Television Production Fund.

The fund was set up in 1995-96 by the Keating government to increase “the amount, quality and diversity of Australian television screened on the commercial networks”. It invested $54.9 million in 38 projects, including the award-winning mini-series about the Granville train crash, The Day of the Roses, and Simpson and Le Mesurier’s quirky crime series Good Guys, Bad Guys.

“There were promises made by the Howard Government that they’d replace the Commercial Television Production Fund with something else, but they haven’t,” Simpson says. “That fund was important to commercial television because it would take the risk of pilots. It gave producers a chance to get a pilot made as a way of demonstrating to a network what you could do.”

Nothing to do with the fact that local productions have been unmitigated bollocks; the ABC had a good run in the ’80s with quality, well scripted, tightly produced grittily realistic productions like Phoenix, Janus and Blue Murder; the rot set in with the unbelievably politically correct Coreli and Wildside; when dramas start to hector viewers, they’ll switch off in droves.

But when the series stinks on ice, they barely switch on in the first place; when your main target demographic thinks the show idiotic and insulting, perhaps some more in-depth market research should have been performed prior to going into production:-

Presumably, there is an audience that thinks three friends chatting at a wedding and realising they’ve all slept with the bride is enormously hilarious.

That audience doesn’t include me.

This is the first big joke of Last Man Standing, so I should have been laughing. Instead, I could almost hear the brains of the scriptwriters crunching as they set up one cliched situation after another: the embarrassing wedding “reading”, the daggy theme for the reception, the silly speeches and the former boyfriend (one of the aforementioned guys) who’s determined to find out whether he was “the best” - or, as one of his mates put it, a “better stickman”. Clearly, he must be: that’s why the bride married someone else.

When are we going to see the end of local content rules, which only serve to ensure the most retarded dross is dished up to a captive audience?

BTW- how’s the commie clobber company going, Fitsy?

In case you’ve been wondering why Magro Tonking has been absent from Printdiary, it’s not because she’s been on a bong bender in Byron; like sausage-eating psycho Cornleia Rau, Magro has been illegally detained by Hobnail Boots In The Face Of Orphans Johnny Howard!

I explained all this to our few remaining sea creatures, with whom I was ILLEGALLY INCARCERATED for six months. My special friend, a fish called “I Am A Fish”, was just beginning to understand when the corporate brainwashers broke through her defences and made her think she was an insurance clerk with three children. I bet they did it so she’d buy them McKFC! Harry the Octopus couldn’t even smoke because they tied up all his arms! The neo-liberal scum! While I was LOCKED UP UNRIGHTFULLY, many sea creatures came and went, but they seemed to keep me the longest.

This disgraceful fascist abuse of power was ignored by departmental flunkies and heartless politicians, and when they got sick of her and booted her out, this was the pathetic response:-

“Assessment of Magro Tonking by the Director of Public Psychecutions”

It must be made clear at the outset, although Ms Tonking was aggressive and constantly told lies designed to deceive, this does not wholly excuse her incarceration in Filofax’s Canberra Bureau.

She was initially admitted under false pretences, claiming to be a serious journalist.

The patient came under the care of my department when she burst into a private dwelling and threw a goldfish, under the custodianship of “Timmy”, child, out the window while claiming to be “liberating our few remaining sea creatures.” The fish could not be revived.

I note in her past medical history she was struck by lightening, twice, while wearing her aluminium foil hat. After numerous mental state examinations by my staff and myself, I marvel that that is all she has been struck by.

The appearance of the patient was marginally consistent with stated age but not stated, any, gender. Facial features were highly suggestive of magromegaly.

(Full text on the link).

This travesty can not be tolerated! Meryl Sheepherder intends to write many incoherent and incomprehensible letters to all national broadsheets, and famed yartz afficionado and sometime lawyer Julius Burntbum will file an action with Judge Judy, demanding 800 Gazillion dollars in compensation, damages and punitive damages, and a side action to clear the name of the couragous freedom fighters for the establishment of worldwide Sha’ria law of the foul slander and besmirchment levied on them for a Zionist/CIA publicity stunt:-

These are the same people who wired the North World Trade Centre Tower with explosives in a controlled detonation and blew up the South Tower with a Navy torpedo, as proved by some photographs with red circles I saw on the internet. Those poor planes liberated by Al Qaeda were innocent bystanders! This scandal would benefit from gendered analysis.

Take to the streets, people! Free the brains!

When you can slurp away on a long, cold one at home.

Leave your tasteless, objectionable and dubious advertising slogans in comments.

(Thanks to Raff).

There’s an organisation in the US who want to mandate a 40 miles per gallon standard for all new cars- this in a country that is currently paying US$2.30 a gallon (about 70c a litre to we Southern Hemisphere peons).

I’d like to help out Greenpeace’s campaign to stop coal going to those greedy consumers in the Third World, and convert my Caddy to coalgas.

I’ve room in the boot for a cubic metre or two of anthracite, and it would provide employment oportunitites, as I would need a couple of stout stokers.

Cleaner than Snow White’s arse, uses a nasty resource locally and provides jobs for the unskilled- Bob Brown should get behind this, but not behind me.

She’s an absolute font of valuable insight:-

And think yourself lucky, young lady, that hubby’s not a khat crazed Somali- you’d be hoping like billy-o he couldn’t find that particular appendage, because he’d be coming after it with a scimitar.

Is there any relationship issue that Aunty can’t resolve?

Should the unthinkable happen in eight weeks and Kiwis re-elect the kraken-like Hulun Clark and her inept socialist government, Australians will be faced with a new wave of aquatic asylum seekers, this time from the Shakey Isles across the Tasman.

Seeing as any bugger can get resident status now as long as they whine enough and have a chorus of cassandras backing them up, we’re going to have to know how to communicate with the new arrivals.

As a public service, P&CDD is providing a handy translator, which will allow the refugees from a crushing, soul-destroying state to at least handle simple conversations until they learn English, probably in about three or four generations:-

Pelted with marshmallows, anyway; reader C reports on a half-arsed blockade of Newcastle harbour by Greenpeace, where they anchored their yacht in the main channel and attached themselves to a non-operating coal loader, then the NSW Water Police boarded and comandeered the vessel and arrested the trespassers.

Lloyds List reports they held up exactly zero coal from being exported, and thus prevented absolutely no carbon being released into the atmosphere; in fact, by farting around the harbour, Greenpeace would have had to use their diesel to maneuver, thus adding to fossil fuel usage and resulting hydrocarbon emissions.

Just what have these bulk carrier botherers got against CO2 anyway? What do they think causes a nice cold beer, or a sugary sody pop to fizz and foam when opened? What do they propose be used to carbonate beverages- vegan hippy bodily emissions? I can see sales plummet when you pop the top off a cold one and are assailed by the ming of a mungbean and tofu fart- and what about the volumunous output of alternative lifestyler’s methane mouthpieces? Are any of them fitted with catalytic scrubbers, or do they vent straight into the atmosphere?

They did manage to win some support for their pointless and pathetic exercise in abject failure:-

Australian Greens senator Bob Brown praised the protest, saying it highlighted the wrong environmental direction the Howard government had taken.

Like earning foreign exchange, assisting development around the world and providing a resource that allows electrical power to be generated cheaply- for shame. Just the sort of posturing that Captain Planet can relate to- brief, noisy and futile.

Any future attempts at piracy of this nature should be dealt with by sub-contractors; I reccomend this job be handed out to the French, who have some experience in this matter.