Daily Diatribe

The gibbons over at GetUp.org have a new petition up as part of their futile campaign against voluntary student unionism- get over and add you own 2 roubles worth.

Here’s my effort:-

I support freedom of choice and freedom of association- ignore this petition, and pass the legislation. Student unions are one of the last bastions of half-baked Maoist idiocy.

Still looking at bloody properties and trying to get on top of work, as I’m off for a week from tomorrow; turgid tripe, tomfoolery and twatting trotskyites will be patchy for at least 8-10 days.

Speaking of bastions of Maoist idiocy, teaching is well and truly overdue for a good old-fashioned Stalinist purge:-

On Tuesday, Ms Byrne (Education union president) told The Australian her brief in addressing the Queensland Teachers Union conference was to “talk about public education and give John Howard a couple of whacks”.

She said she wrote it as a unionist for the conference, and that it should not be confused with what happened in the classroom, where teachers, as professionals, encouraged critical thinking by students.

She said her speech did not prove true Peter Costello’s belief that teachers had promoted anti-US bias in the classroom.

In the address, Ms Byrne also attacked the rise of conservative values in education under the Howard Government.

“They certainly haven’t won the curriculum debate but they have made significant inroads in framing education to fit their version of the world,” she said.

“The conservatives have a lot of work to do to undo the progressive curriculum.”

If I had a rug monkey, I wouldn’t let these cretins teach it to wipe its arse.

Elsewhere, the VRWC marches on with the stomp of many hob-nailed jackboots- this time giving some welly to poor single mothers:-

Estimates by the welfare lobby suggest that when mothers are taken off parenting payments and placed on the dole they will lose an average $29 a week, growing to as much as $42 a week within three years.

This of course has the welfare lobby up in arms, having ignored the obvious answer to loss of income, getting a fucking job.

Also on the recieving end are media hacks who have delusions of being covered by the same sancrosanct confidentiality of the Catholic confessional- and maybe this is why The Margoyle leapt on her broom and fled the cossetted comfort of Fairfax.

Luvviedom hasn’t missed out either, with much gnashing of perfect teeth over the decline in local production:-

THE much-heralded arrival of the recent Australian dramas The Alice and Last Man Standing may have prompted a glimmer of hope, but they gradually fell from grace, and now it’s official: the production of Australian drama on television is in a downward spiral.

The Australian Film Commission survey of film and TV drama production shows that spending on local TV drama is in decline, falling $188million from its peak of $393million four years ago to $205million over the past 12 months, well below the 10-year average of $297million.

Local TV drama hours have fallen, too, from an average of 722 a year during the latter half of the 1990s to just 575 hours in 2004-05, with the $195million value of production below the 10-year average of $213million.

AFC chief executive Kim Dalton said it was a “significant and worrying trend”.

“Australian television drama content is culturally significant and it’s also the bedrock of our audio-visual industry,” he said.

I’d like to know just who finds badly written, hackneyed, banal crap performed by monotonal imbeciles culturally significant?

The only thing that could be better than all this anguish would be seeing a planeload of Kyoto protocol activists crash on a beach strewn with stranded whales.

There’s been far too much coverage of the complete lack of output from the new-look Webdairy - what the fuck, are they milking goddam funnelwebs now for a quid?

But not to be missed is this item of haute’ quoture, or maybe hate culture’:-

I have no idea who the ugly cunt is who’s modelling this abomination, but he needs to invest in a ski-mask quickly; his garbed visage would cause less consternation in a bank branch than his exposed cruet, and be less likely to draw gunfire from twitchy tooled-up guards.

On a completely unrelated matter, Mumdouh Habib claims he was set upon by unknown and un-identified assailants. Given the fact that the alleged recipient of this assault was wearing a baseball jacket at the time- perhaps he was set-upon by some of his fellow adherents who abhor any exhibition of American/Western hegemony, like Nike shoes and Kappa tracksuits- hang on, they would have to beat themselves up.

Is there anything more soul-destroying, pointless, unpleasant and time-wasting than bloody house-hunting?

Oops, yes there is, and it’s called Joan Baez.

In the meantime, if you have any kiddies in need of back-to-school advice, they need go no further than heed the tips of a below the border blowie.

At least the incredibly inept Queensland Liberal Party managed to post a win, in fact two, in a complete opposite of the ability of the even more inept Wallabies to beat time with a bass drum.

P&CDD managed an interview with Wallaby captain George Gregan after the game:-

George Gregan: I’m not dead!

P&CDD Interviewer: What?

Wallaby Fan Who Knows More Than The Crazy Jap Currently In Charge: Nothing. Here’s your ninepence.

George Gregan: I’m not dead!

P&CDD Interviewer: ‘Ere. He says he’s not dead!

Wallaby Fan as above: Yes, he is.

George Gregan: I’m not!

P&CDD Interviewer: He isn’t?

Any Random Rugby Pundit Who Knows Shit: Well, he will be soon. He’s very ill.

George Gregan: I’m getting better!

Everyone In The Fucking Country Except The ARU: No, you’re not. You’ll be stone dead in a moment.

Some European Club That Will Pay The Has-Been Dud An Obscene Amount Of Money: Oh, I can’t take him like that. It’s against regulations.

George Gregan: I don’t want to go on the cart!

Rugby Fans Who Would Like To See A Fucking Win For A Change: Oh, don’t be such a baby.

Some Poonce From Benneton : I can’t take him.

George Gregan: I feel fine!

A Public Desperate For A Return To Wallaby Supremacy: Well, do us a favour.

ARU Selectors: I can’t.

The Wallaby Backs: Well, can you hang around a couple of minutes? He won’t be long.

ARU Selectors: No, I’ve got to go to the QRU. They’ve lost nine today.

Increasingly Desparate Rugby Fan: Well, when’s your next round?

ARU Selectors: Thursday.

George Gregan: I think I’ll go for a walk.

The Rest Of The Wallaby Team: You’re not fooling anyone, you know. Look. Isn’t there something you can do?

George Gregan: [singing] I feel happy. I feel happy.

[whop]

A Thankful Rugby-Loving Population: Ah, thanks very much

(And thanks for the idea from Murph).

And it’s not shining out of Buddah’s bottom, reflecting off the crown on Jesus’ noggin, caused by the suttee immolation of a Hindu’s ball and chain or the result of a disciple of the Prophet tugging the cord on his Det-O-Boy(c) Martyrmatic underpants- it’s the light of reason, logic and reality produced by the Noodly Appendage of the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

As a long-term cynic and skeptic, suddenly discovering enlightenment and faith in a pasta-based deity was an entirely new experience ; I intend to spread the good word by gorging on the ravioli of revelation and the esino of enlightenment, and giving a solid sermon out the cab window on the way home.

Such devotion can even get you a day off work.

Anyone who’s missed the culture-confusion hilarity of a big-budget western movie dubbed into an Asian language needs to check out this, a series of screen captures of a pirate DVD of Revenge of the Sith, dubbed into Mandarin then subtitled in a direct English translation of the awful dubbing.

Featuring lines such as he big in nothing important in good elephant and the front is a lemon avenue flying straightly, it makes more sense than the original screenplay, and hopefully Jar Jar Binks has been mistaken for some exotic animal with mythical medicinal properties and ground up to make a malodorous soup.

Also linked from the same site is an all-text version of the original Star Wars, featuring the finest special effects that alpha-numeric characters can deliver.

I think we may have to keep an eye on Winterson in the future.

Give some thought to this poor bugger then.

She’s had countless pizza counter boys, hotel reception clerks, postal workers and anyone else who asks her name expose themselves to her, and has never known why.

Barnacle Joyce has a grin like a deep-sea mullet on his inane dial since being greased with a very large bucket of public money over Telstra, but his moment in the sun may indeed be fleeting.

No longer the pin-up boy of the idiot left, he’s now regarded as a cheap, unprincipled chiseler, acting out of self interest. They’re quick off the mark, these lefties- after all, he is a politician.

He’s now even on Leaky Bill’s shit-list:-

I don’t know the internal machinations of the federal Liberal party, but one would expect they’re clued up enough to realise that city-bound conservative voters are starting to tire of the constant moaning and expectation of privilege held by rural residents, well summed up by Janet Albrechtsen:-

WITH a three-billion dollar win under his belt over Telstra, new Nationals senator Barnaby Joyce might get hooked on playing this rural blackmail game. But Barnaby, mate, be careful what you wish for. Do you really want Australians paying more attention to the way our national wealth is shared between city and country? City folk might start asking by how much, and for how long, they have been propping up the bush. They might begin to question the basis on which they have been doing that. They might just say enough already.

City folk have traditionally accepted that the bush, with its tyranny of distance, needs to be subsidised in all sorts of ways. To do anything else looks mean-spirited. And it serves our own romantic notion that being Australian was inextricably tied up with the bush. But how much is that romantic notion worth?

We have pumped money into the bush with few questions asked. The carve-up of GST revenue, for example, is based on the long-standing Commonwealth Grants Commission formula which requires closely settled states such as NSW to subsidise less populated states like Queensland.

The Telstra deal for the bush, $1 billion in immediate investment and another $2 billion for a future fund, is but the latest in a long series of wealth transfers.

Given that Australia is a highly urbanised country, with more than 85 per cent of us living in cities or on their edges, Joyce’s grandstanding about rural Australia may have one surprise benefit. Rising anger among the urban 85 per cent at Joyce’s success in shaking them down for the benefit of the rural 15 per cent may well subside into a more productive emotion. Analysis. Careful analysis of the way our national costs and benefits are distributed.

On some indicators, obviously including access to specialist medical services and cutting-edge technology, distance does create tyranny. But these disadvantages are frequently no more than the necessary flip side of great blessings no resident of rural and regional Australia would willingly forgo. While Joyce may whinge that RARA is entitled to parity of price and parity of service from Telstra, are his constituents willing to accept the congestion, pollution, noise and occasional violence that city dwellers tolerate as the quid pro quo for the services available in closely settled areas?

Bingo- there has never been any serious questioning of the validity of drought aid, despite rural endevours being a commercial enterprise and as such subject to market pressures and the need to insure against down-turns. Nor is there any consideration of such things as the fuel excise rebate scheme, which effectively provides cockies with untaxed fuel, or the myriad other kickbacks, concessions and slings provided to primary producers.

We’re a long way from riding on the sheep’s back- in many cases we’re like the Jolly Swagman, carrying several obese jumbucks in our tucker bags (ugh- what a hideously John Williamson-like anology). Most export revenues come from broad-acre enterprises which more often than not are run by multinationals who can afford their own sattelite comms. Mining makes up the bulk of export earnings, and it is far from being an imdustry in need of subsidisation.

Barnacle may indeed discover the meaning of what goes around, comes around.

An’ I don’t mean tattoos, like them skippy chicks have on their arses- they make you look like you’ve been in jail, and we don’t need to advertise that- we’ve all been to a place full of bars that isn’t the Rooty Hill RSL, if you get my drift.

What we’re looking at today is how to get your Datsun 120Y coupe’ looking like the fine ride it really is, and not some fuck-ugly rust-riddled shitbox what your mum wouldn’t drive, even if your Uncle Hassam would let her.

Our fine artists have a number of snappy paint jobs to classy it up, and thanks to this internet and computer shit you can look at what it’ll look like before you go to all the trouble and expense of shoplifting obtaining all the spray cans you’ll need. See, it’s not just for porno and sending dodgy bank emails to old bats to get their PINs and account numbers, eh.

Skulls and flames- hard to top, but may cause you some problems with bogans on Harleys who reckon they’ve got copyright or sum shit.

More skulls, this time with wings- once again, nearly as classy as a big clock on a gold necklace, but may cause you similar arguments as eluded to above. Eluded, what the fuck’s that? Taking Serepax an’ eccies at the same time?

Mario- where would we be wifout him? Possibly employed, God forbid. There’s little chance of some fuckin’ big monkey throwin’ barrels at youse, but if you drive around Bondi the skegs will chuck beer cans and brown-eyes, eh.

This is just fuckin’ ace for getting you off the hook with the Catholic coppers, eh, but might cause you some grief drivin’ around Lakemba. We’ve got an optional one, wif’ Abu Musab al Zarkawi cuttin’ the place up old school wif’ an’ AK.

It’s already been ordered by this bloke.