Daily Diatribe

News has just filtered in about the demise of sometime funkster, singer and dancer and full time chemical-relaxer, misogynist and subject of police chases James Brown.

Brown is possibly best remembered for his vital contribution to automobile security.

This is also possibly the first hungover Boxing Day* in which I agree with Was Not Was.

*I’ve always thought that Boxing Day and Christmas Day should exchange titles, as all the fisticuffs happen during the latter- the formers name would be much more apt. Most folks are too busy dry retching, chugging bicarb and mainlining codeine to be bothered punching on when the 26th of December rolls over; a bit after lunch on the 25th, when the booze, heat and long held animosity kicks in is a different matter all together.

Straight from El Jazerra, so it must be accurate- this is how you so called peaceful Christian dogs celebrate the birth of your saviour, and one of our prophets:-

And your dirty hippy animal-rights types call us barbaric* for our treatment of goats and sheep under Halal, yet you use big nazi boots to oppress creatures**.

This is nothing more than how your fascist imperialist zionist pig army and their lackeys in Israel oppress and stomp on our fearless freedom fighting mujahadeen in occupied Sianai, Mesopotamia and the Greater Caliphate of Punchbowl.

Hypocrisy, your name is democracy.

*Except they don’t, and we sell them Hezbolllah flags at street protest for wonderful profit, better margin than the bags of parsley we flog as genuine Lebanon Bakka weed, grown by courageous fighters against the Zionist hegemony.

**We find these creatures haram, and would neither consume or interfere with them. We would strap semtex to them and let them loose in a Jew kindergarten.

Which best reflects my thoughts on this special time of year:-

To the next person who says Merry Christmas to me, get fucked. I fucking hate Christmas with a vengeance, this year seems to have evolved from being mildly irritating and tiresome to being a collosal pain in the arse.

At least this bloke seems to have the right idea:-  

Drunkenly ranting and railing at the passing parade of lumpy, sweaty, hot and cranky lumpen proles staggering under the weight of ugly, over-priced geegaws and useless consumer items they’ve felt compelled to buy due to a barrage of advertising and whiny, spoilt, bratty and quite possibly developmentally challenged rugmonkeys sounds like rather a wheeze, as does sleeping in your own filth beneath a bridge rather than enduring another family get-together, where everyone gets shitfaced and starts sniping at each other, while said spoilt brats break the crappy toys they’ve just been given then go on an ADHD rampage, all the while having a background soundtrack of the most saccharine, nauseating pap music assaulting your ears. And not even any cricket on the teev.

Time for a bender methinks. 

Up ’til now, the general consensus (among moonbats anyway) is that polar bears are drowning due to shrinkage in the Arctic ice shelf, brought on by gerbil wormening.

As usual, this site is at the forefront of debunking widely held but fallacious views, and we have photgraphic evidence to support our contentions:-

These furry freebasers are drowning because they’re either:-

Passed out shitfaced, mostly from scarfing on glycol and sterno-soaked Eskimos (Innuit), themselves only falling prey to these chemically-dependent carnivores because of their advanced alcoholism;

 

Too busy posing for gay porn shoots* to notice the rising waters;

Soliciting for the purposes of prostitution to feed their nasty drug habit, then being whacked on the head by a sociopath sloe stalker/seal scoffer and dumped in the drink;

Spending the long evenings dancing to I Love the Nightlife and YMCA and doing lines of flake in the toilets, then deciding to go on a night-time swim while wasted and losing their bearings;

Or doing cone after cone of hydro skunk, and listening to endless loops of Seattle grunge; it’s either a shotgun in the gob or a final emersion after that sort of depressive overdose.

These high latitude hopheads need rehab, not a re-freeze.

*I believe Bears are quite popular in this form of gentlemans entertainment.

Yet another vote on admission of females to full membership of Brisbane’s Tattersalls Club has been defeated again, despite the cause being promoted by the club executive. 

The charge to repeal the ban was again led by rampaging receptionist Sarina Russo, who seems to think that there should be no such thing as male-only enclaves. Many members see the long bar at the club as their last refuge from rampaging feminism, particularly in the labor hack-infested legal fraternity and judiciary.  

I note their is no such like attempt by men  to force entry to female-only facilities such as Fernwood, who use blatant sexism (and imbecility) to promote their gyms.

I’d imagine there’s a bit of this happening in Brisbane offices this morning:-

Get back in the typing pool, Toots, and make me a coffee while you’re at it. And don’t wear that skirt again, it makes your arse look big.

UPDATE:- Following several complaints (and a couple of threats involving using my bollocks for click-clacks), the editor apologises for the sexist slant of the above item, and is also sorry that apparently many women have no sense of humour. To make up for it, the staff of the DD would like to extend the compliments of the season, and in a manner which promotes the best features of womyn worldwide:-

As if it’s not bad enough running electrical appliances for the rest of the year for such selfish, facile reasons as keeping food fresh, making life comfortable and bringing light entertainment into otherwise dreary lives, every year planet-vandals exascerbate the waste by bedecking their MacMansions with row upon row of blinking lights, wasting energy and causing more global warming and species extinction (the lights might distract the navigation of nocturnal creatures, casuing them to crash into woodchippers. Maybe.) 

Even worse, behemoth ocean-fouling ships ply the seas, bursting at the seams with Chinese sweatshop-built consumer products, which are the unnecessary results of eco-degradation, and further shorten the life expectancy of every species, and Gaiea herself; not just that, they might bump into whales and other cetaceans, giving them whiplash.

There is hope though- if you must celebrate this arcane religo-social event (but not if you’re celebrating the summer solstice, as that’s in tune with nature and not at all a self-indulgent wank. Same goes for Ramadam, which is a non-consumption festival, and an expression of resistance in the face of military-capitalist hegemony by a repressed, highly developed culture), you can participate in a sustainable manner.

Or you can get on the pop, squander resources, have loud, drunken parties (and squabbles), and be rude to the neighbourhood:-

 

Probably well up there is to not get rat-arsed at The Windsor, try to impress some girlies by doing a burnout from the lights in your nice new ragtop Ferrari 360, lose it because you’re so bladdered and put it into another set of traffic lights, then hang around the scene waiting to be carted off by Old Bill, all the while being mocked and ridiculed by the assembled bogans.

UPDATE The SMH reports the driver of the seriously modified spaghettimobile was the nephew of Carla Zampatti, who not only blew .15 but prior to his little contretemps with the post decided to have a bit of a punch-on with the pub bouncers. I’ll bet he wishes he stayed home surfing for porn, or designing some frocks.

Hey Cuz, we’re always on the lookout for a means to ease the suffering of daily existence, especially when you have to eke out a subsistence from signing on at Centrelink in four names, turning over the odd “liberated” WRX, selling some dyed cold tablets to infidel heathens as “geniune Dutch Es, came in stuffed in a backpackers twat” and redistrubiting wealth from the corrupt and depraved non-believer ruling elites by twocking their home theatre systems and mobile ‘phones.

All this effort smacks of hard work, and we all know such activity is reserved for mums, sisters and arranged wives (as long as they cover up while they’re at it- those hair rays distract a ‘bro from fulfilling his potential, what with the beatings and uncontrolable lust). While Sale of the Century  looks like easy money, you’ve gotta turn up for 5 nights (when you could be out doing burnouts on Parra Road, or stabbing some unbeliver in the neck from behind with a screwdriver, as ordered by the Big Kebab upstairs), an’ what’s more they never ask questions about Beiruit, the current price of smack in the Bekka, the fire rate of an AK or how to hook up nitrous to a R33 without burning out the exhaust valves and putting the driveshaft through Achmed’s head in the back seat, you know, useful shit. It’s racist, is what it is. An’ while you can score big on lotto or scratchies, it’s hard work filling out the coupons, and even harder crawling through the ventilators at the newsagent to get to the cabinet where the instants are locked up. And then Mum’s too busy scratchin’ them all to get dinner.

Luckily there’s another way- get yourself locked up as an illegal or a El Queda hero, and you’re fartin’ through silk. Shit, that Phlipilino chick was stagin’ car prangs for compo when she got grabbed, just like Uncle Ahrim, and got a four year holiday in the Phlipilines (where I hear the chicks are really hot), then comes home first class an’ gets a cheque from Fat Mandy for a coupla’ mill; that other ‘Bro just spun sum bullshit that he was grabbed because he’s a fuckin’ Muslim, and the Great Satan’s thrown him a coupla’ mill as well. you’ve gotta grind the VINs off a lotta Subes and Nissans for that kinda’ scratch.

Come and get me, I’m gonna put a pipe bomb in John Howard’s undies, an’ I bought my visa from some prick in the mall at Cabramatta.   

No wonder all these galoots are dead:-  

When a man steals your wife, there is no better revenge than to

let him keep her.

Certainly the enlightened treatment of recidivist criminals has a bit going for it, after all it’s difficult to continue nicking when you’ve got no hands*.

What’s brought on this obdurate attitude to those dispossessed, deprived and disadvantaged among us who have no choice but to embark on criminal behaviour because society doesn’t provide a workable safety net, you ask?

When I staggered blearily to my car this morning to face the daily weave through the (barely) moving chicane that is Brisbane traffic and on to my place of business, I discovered some fucking douchebag arsehole fuckwit had ripped the drivers side wing mirror off; it was no-where in sight, so I assumed it wasn’t collected by one of the many bicycle nazis who whirr past my house day and night. We have two claques of juvenile delinquents in the street, but their form normally runs to explosions and waterbombs (they fire rockets up the street, but haven’t done so since the last time when I returned fire with a flaregun), and a ready reserve of winos who inhabit the park opposite- (see the photo below of one of the gentlemen of the road, being cared for by Mr Plod who seems to have run him over).

School holidays are a real boon worldwide  it seems, giving the little darlings lots more free time to act like arseholes, and cost people who are too busy creating wealth to breed even more than they do the rest of the year.

The Missus found the mirror over near the park entrance, and advised that assorted bins had been up-ended further up the street, indicating the happy japesters were celebrating invalid pension day in their usual display of contempt for visible representations of the fruits of labour.

The hounds proved their worth by remaining comatose throughout the entire event- if a possum dares to place a toe on the roof, they carry on like they’ve contracted rabies. When some imbecile is performing an act of criminal damage outside their window, they choose to not get involved.

If I find out who’s responsible, retribution will be swift, and unpleasant.

 

*I’m reminded of a cartoon in the National Lampoon (when it was still funny) of two turbaned twits walking along, one with visible stichmarks on both wrists- the other is saying to him “I see you won your appeal then”.

Tee Hee.