Another thought on the Raelians: It seems odd that a cult that's so heavily into "free love" (i.e. mad rooting) should also be obsessed with cloning, which -- apart from being unethical -- is also hyper-clinical, antiseptic and therefore anti-sexual (sex being synonomous with all them sticky body fluids and all).

Also, Raelians say their interest in the technique is related to their desire to create physically and intellectually superior people. But cloning isn't improvement, it's just replication. So, invoking the super-race argument implies that the would-be clonee thinks he's already perfect.

That said, why do they bother with cloning at all? They just need to get all the sect members who want to be cloned to ditch their frangers and dutch caps before the next "sensual meditation" session (i.e. balls-to-the-wall clusterfuck) then harvest the resulting sprogs.

That'd save a lot of time and effort wouldn't it?

Speaking of the sad randomness of beauty, here's another example: Brigitte Boisellier, self-proclaimed human cloning mastermind. Okay, so she's not Claudia Schiffer, but she does scrub up alright. And that's pretty sad considering what she's just done (or at least, has been trying to do). Wouldn't it be easier to stomach if she was just really butt-ugly?

There are some good points in this Miranda Devine piece about how ferndamentalist zealotry has made things worse for da cute fwuffy aminals rather than better. She argues that halting small hazard reduction fires leads to an immense build-up of ground fuel that ultimately leads to massive conflagrations.

The article reminded me of some ferndies I saw begging for funds a fortnight ago in Sydney. Each wore a t-shirt with a picture of a koala on it and the words "Please help save my home" (followed by an exhortation to give to the Wilderness Society) written underneath. Having heard this ground fuel argument before, I looked at the t-shirts and had a quiet cack. I felt like saying: "Shouldn't that read, 'Please help destroy my home and me with it you arseholes!'?" But I didn't because one of the ferndies was a very scrumptious, bosomy babe and she flashed me this pearler of a smile. I just melted, I'm afraid.

(That's the really tragic thing about these young ferndie sheilas. Why do so many have to be so gorgeous? It's just too cruel!)

Please Lord, not again -- I beg you!

I love reading pieces sledging flashbulb addicts who think they can change the world. Here's another one.

Just had a thought I decided to run by you:

The destructive effect of all this moral relativism over the last thirty years has left the twitizens of Artsville (and other fluffy wuffy strongholds) in a weird situation. In their view there's no wrong or right any more -- only moral shades of grey. But why are they so certain of themselves? Because they've simply replaced wrong and right with two other concepts: "right-wing" and "left-wing" respectively. And what's a "right-wing" person? Why, someone who believes there's a difference between right and wrong, of course!

Hence, when a bunch of sexually constipated yokels slaughter thousands of innocent people, the fluffs have great difficulty in seeing why it's flat-out wrong. That is: America and her allies are run by "right-wing" (morally absolutist) governments. To be "right-wing" is wrong. Terrorism is against America, therefore it can be classified as "left-wing". To be "left-wing" is right. Hence the terrorists are right -- or at least not wrong.

So, it should be remembered that the fluffy wuffies aren't all morally wrong, they're just morally up-shit-creek-without-a-paddle.

Poor pricks.

I find this whole debate about fox hunting fascinating. Many of the fluffs campaigning against it say that it should be banned because it's cruel. But so's nature -- foxes particularly (ask any rabbit).

The blue-bloods who enjoy the ritual say they should be allowed to continue it because foxes are vermin, and the sport supplies a kind of agricultural service. But this is a tactical mistake (even though it's true) because the fluffs think of livestock domestication as oppression, so any tacit support of this receives no sympathy. I reckon that the blue-bloods should try a different tack and say that fox hunting is karmic retribution for all the cute wittle wild aminals dat da big mean foxes have killed. Then maybe the fluffs will remove the ban.

In a fascinating article in today's Age -- sorry, couldn't get link to work -- Gerard Henderson explains that many of today's Australian "conservatives" actually began their careers as lefties. It gives them greater credibility, I reckon, because it means that they've seen things from two different perspectives, and have made an informed choice about which is superior.

The same cannot be said of the lifelong lefties I've met in Artsville, many of whom started off as red-diaper babies then grew into smug, bong-suckling Stalinists without once having a questing, skeptical thought about the pre-packaged world-view that was handed to them by their parents, then reinforced by their uni tutors and peers. Odd that these people should see themselves as rebels. They're the most dutiful, unquestioning conformists you could imagine.

Some good thoughts on the fluffy wuffy denigration of Christmas are found here. (By the way, I'm not a great fan of the ritual. I reckon Santa's a dickhead, quite frankly. And elves creep me out big time. Also, I find the attendant hols bloody draining, since everything's shut for the duration. It's horrible. In Perth -- where I am now -- this is a disaster. The joint is like a morgue at the best of times, but now it's like a post-apocalyptic friggin' wasteland. Still, Chrissie does mean a helluva lot to heaps of people, and the fact that anile squittering fluffs continue with their mean-spirited campaign to ruin it really shits me.)

Have just read a great article by Roger Sandall in the Oz. He's getting stuck into the fluffy wuffy historians for arcing up about Keith Windschuttle's challenge to them. It really sums up the bankruptcy of their whole philosophy. That is, if they want diversity of opinion (as they say they do) and opinion A is just as valid as B and C, etc, then why endorse B over C or A? Also, why are they so vicious in their condemnation of those ideas they don't like? It's another sad variation on that tragic leftist syndrome, "We are all equal, but some are more equal than others". Yep, the commisar has no clothes.

Because of persistent fluffy wuffy campaigns over the last several years, Christmas is even more angst-riddent than it used to be. As well as the stress of buying all your pressies and cards etc, you have to worry about whether you've caused non-westerners some deep offense.

I have no problem with mutual respect. In my mind, when Ramadan is on, non-Muslims should try to understand this. When Christmas is on, Muslims should be sensitive to it. That is: respect should work both ways.

But in the tiny mind of the fluff, it's only ever westerners who have to do the adjusting. The implication: that only westerners are capable of it; that only westerners are sensitive, concerned, and responsible -- a truly Eurocentric, prejudiced point of view if ever there was one.

I had an experience related to this just recently. At my place of work there's this sweet Muslim woman. A few days ago we had a bit of an end of year get-together. I was about to say "Happy Christmas!" But then I pulled back, and said, "I hope you have a nice break" instead.

This clearly made her uncomfortable. Then she smiled and wished me well also. (I think she may have even wished me a happy Christmas. I was walking out the door, a tad flustered, so I can't recall exactly.) Anyway, I do remember her feeling of discomfort. In retrospect I think that she was more put out with my excessive caution than anything else. That is, I suspect that if I'd openly said, "Merry Christmas!" she would have been more comfortable. I think she thought it was more appropriate for her to defer to me, in a way, so when I turned the tables it put her out a bit.

My point: just as hate begets hate, so do shame and excessive caution.

Thanks fluffy wuffies, for putting yet another wedge between people with your patronising push for more "cultural awareness".

So to all non-fluffy wuffies reading this: Merry Christmas! To the pin-hearted, pin-headed, PC fluffs: I hope Santa shits down your chimneys!

I love the title of this piece by Janet Albrechtsen. The rest is a great read too!

It's also got one of the best summations of the true spirit of conservatism I've read: "Because at its core, conservatism values individual personal responsibility, a buck-stops-with-you, non-negotiable philosophy where government empowers people to determine their own success or failure and to assume responsibility either way."

Well put. And it's the secret to Howard's continuing success. The electorate knows that sanctimonious hand-wringing, sheltered workshop-ism and blaming "society" for all of its ills does buggerall good. Now we've just got to convince all those squittering fluffs in the media, academe, the legal professions, and the arts of this as well. (Either that or friggin' shoot 'em!)

Yet another flashbulb addict gets political! I can't get the link to work, but the New York Times tells us that Viggo Mortenson appeared on some silly talk show recently wearing a "No blood for oil!" t-shirt. He was determined to ensure that the new fantasy epic The Two Towers doesn't get used as war propaganda.

That's thoughtful of him. I'm sure that possibility has been occupying the minds of the Bush administration for yonks. "Gee, Colin, I hear tell that Tolkien film is real stirring stuff. Can you lean on the producers an' make 'em hold off the release date until just before we go in there an' whup Saddam's ass?"

Note to Viggo: Unlike your good, noble self almost all of the people who see these fillums can actually distinguish between reality and fantasy. Uh, they are actually aware that it's just a movie, okay?

Typical friggin' celeb. Thinks the sun shines out of his arse.

As I've slowly come to learn what a bunch of tossers lefties are, I keep asking myself these questions: How can they be so confident in their shoddy reasoning? Why do they continue to believe so childishly in utopias? I mean, they're adults, aren't they? Why are they so steadfast in their belief that democracy and capitalism are evil when the evidence is so clear that -- while not perfect -- they really are the best systems on offer? How can these peckerheads have it so friggin' arse-about?

Obviously the answers are manifold. But I think I've figured out one of the main ones: vanity.

See, I was walking down George Street tonight, on the way to the internet lounge within which I am typing these words. I saw this very distinguished-looking, slender, grey-haired bloke standing a little way ahead of me. He was wearing a very dapper white suit. Next to him was a scrumptious babe about half his age. He had a very definite aura of glamour about him. I couldn't see his face, because he had his back to me. I thought he was someone famous, perhaps a visiting mega-thesp making a fillum at Fox Studios. Then he turned round and I realised it was John Pilger.

I had a friggin'-epiphany: Pilger loves to be the "dissident", standing up to the big bad West because by doing so he becomes heroic; a media Lancelot, slaying dragons and making young maidens swoon. Of course he doesn't need to offer any proof of, er, dragonhood. The important thing is to play the role. Media organizations are more than willing to indulge him and the benefits accrue: fame, adulation, money, celebrity. He gets to travel all over the globe, get up in front of tens of thousands of adoring fans, quack on for hours and seem really important (kind of like that super-wanker Bono -- probably a mate of his).

Yep, vanity -- or egomania to be more precise -- that's what it's all about. This is why so many lefties act like friggin' movie stars -- and vice versa.

(I know this is entirely conjecture; I've got no footnotes to my thesis. Still reckon it's bang-on-the-money, but.)

Many people reckon that the term "politically correct" is out of date, because the power of the institutions perpetuating is waning. Maybe. But in Artsville, where I spend much of my time, it's still going strong (or should that be piss-weak?). Personally, I hope it kicks on for a while yet because I'm basically a lazy humorist and I'd rather just observe people being absurdly small-minded than actually having to make stuff up.

But re the phenomenon: Here's a great summary of its key idiocies all on one page. Hits the nail right on the head, I reckon.

I'm all for being politically incorrect and everything. But sometimes people can take it just a bit too far. Have a look here. Not unlike my nemesis Derek Sapphire, I found myself saying, "This is just appalling!"

(Pissed myself laughing, though, I'm ashamed to say.)

Correction to my exhortation to Dubya (below): Before you nuke Iraq, nuke Hollywood!

Jeez, Sly. Give it a rest will ya!

Quick, Dubya! Nuke Iraq in the next three days. Sean Penn will be there!

Hey everyone, guess what? I'm a real wordsmith after all. I just found out I was a finalist in the Writer's Spot International Spring Short Story Competition. See, there's my name, half way down the list! Credibility at last!

This is great news. It means I can take the opus I've been working on for the last ten years to a publisher and say, "See, I'm a true artist. Now will ya publish me collection of filthy limericks, or what?"

From a shockin' opinion piece (linked below) to a really good one: have a look at this dissection of Trent Lott. It's a pearler.

(And regarding the kerfuffle Lott caused in "liberal" circles: Why do the fluffs get so upset about someone espousing segregation? Their separatist view of the world has more in common with segregation than not. Like the self described "militant" pacifists, the irony of their position escapes them completely.)

How on earth does Fitzy the Boofhead keep his gig? This is supposed to be an opinion piece. But what's his opinion; what's he trying to say?

This: "Teachers are grouse. So, to all youse grouse teachers who are retiring I'd like to say, er,... I think you're grouse."

There, all over and done with in about twenty words (and it could have been cut back to just three: "teachers are grouse"). What the hell are they paying this guy for?

(I know! He's an ongoing community service announcement about the dangers of sport. The Fairfax editors want to say, "Look, fellas, this is the kind of damage you can do to your intellect when you stick your head up countless blokes' arses in rugby scrums for several years and don't wear a helmet. Play safe, now."

Mel Gibson is to star in a new Mad Max fillum called Fury Road. What a crap title. Well, it least it's better than "Anger Avenue".

I imagine that a lot of the spoiled, malevolent yokels in the anti-globo movement will be avidly reading this book over the silly season.

Why do I do this readers? I'm not earning any money from it. And I don't have the slightest clue who's reading this -- if anyone is. You might all just be other bloggers -- weird, dyspeptic sociopaths just like me!

Ugh! Frightening.

Britney Spears' ascent into the very top tier of Celebritalia is now complete. See, she has a stalker.

This whole obsessed fan caper really confuses me. I mean, I always feel it's like the stars who are the real stalkers. After all, they're the ones with the greatest, most pathological need for attention (and not just from one person, but millions!). And they seek to feed that need round the bloody clock, at every opportunity!

Gee, it'safunnyoldworldinnit!

A couple of drearily PC Canadians have decided to become human shields against a possible Seppolian attack on Iraq.

I suspect that this tactic might just backfire. Knowing how deep the Seppolian disdain for their northern neighbours is, it might provoke Dubya into even faster, more brutal action.

But then, it might help avoid war, too. The terminal dullness of the well-intentioned Canadians may well deaden the fighting spirit of the Iraqi army so severely that they'll just surrender unconditionally.

Soon after Val Kilmer played cinematic man-whore John Holmes, Angelina Jolie has decided to play Linda Lovelace! What is it with these porn star biopics? It's like a whole new genre.

I think Hollywood is going to try and dramatically document the lives of every Seppolian stunt-cock and boff-babe who ever lived. Considering how vast the smut industry is, was, and will be, methinks that -- not unlike numerous John Holmes' co-stars -- these moguls might have, er, bitten off a tad more than they can chew.

More evidence that fame and celebrity aren't all they're cracked up to be.

Now these guys have just got way too much time on their hands, I reckon.

Tim Blair asks a good question: if Carmen is so pissed off with Labor's direction of late, why doesn't she resign from the whole party? The answer: she has no spine, of course. Her modus operandi is always the same: pompous self-aggrandisement, sanctimonious squittering, crocodile tears and victimism. Carmen always spits the dummy, but never leaves the creche.

Like all feminist bimbos she's not truly independent, but a simpering ingenue who demands -- and invariably receives -- special consideration from the blokes in her party. But the Liberal women? They wipe the floor with her every time. It's so odd that these chicks -- who ask for no special privileges and quietly, competently get on with the gig -- are presented as the anti-feminists. The irony is too cruel for words.

PS: The other obvious question is: Considering how unpopular the silly Stalinist bint is, why doesn't Simon Crean just tell her to show some guts and piss off entirely. If he did this instead of being so ameliatory he might actually get some support from the electorate.

Bonehead.

Andrew Sullivan describes exactly why all that PC squittering about the Islamo-fascist rampage after the Miss World comp was so friggin' nauseating.

Those wacky animal rights nuts are at it again. Here they compare the slaughtering of farm animals to the serial killing of women.

The PETA peckerheads would say that they don't want to lower the rights of humans, just raise the rights of animals. But it's clear from this case that raising the rights of animals automatically lowers the rights of humans. That is, if we believe this guff about meat being murder, and it's thwocked into millions of impressionable people for long enough, then not only will beasties be seen as inherently worthwhile as people (a scary thought) but their brutal behaviour will be perceived as somehow benign, or at least acceptable. Look at the ferndamentalist ferals. Like animals, they treat each other like shit.

Civilization is constructed against nature. Pull it down and you let nature back in. We can't let this happen.

So I exhort you all to stand up for human rights. Kill an animal rights nut today!

The SMH story is titled: "Garrett's new gig a mystery". Ooh, spooky.

One paragraph states: "It was announced yesterday that Peter Garrett, Midnight Oil's lead singer, was quitting the band after 25 years to 'immerse myself in those things which are of deep concern to me and which I have been unable to fully apply myself to up to now'."

Wonderwhatit'sgonnabe...

Let me think... "Things which are of deep concern to me and which I have been unable to fully apply myself to up to now."

I know! He's finally gonna learn how to write good song lyrics and sing in tune!

And won't that be a fucken relief.

Perhaps I shouldn't tell you this, since I'm worried I might get sprung by the Internet police or something. But I'm actually not online from home, so I update my blog from a public library. (I know, that's something a leftie might do. But I like to think of myself as the exception that proves the rule. Also, it doesn't seem illegal since the rule is: no chat or e-mail. Blogging is neither.)

Anyway, whenever I'm in here there are always these weird old blokes walking around in shorts being really unpleasant to the staff. They're very rude and obstructive to other library-goers, and you practically have to drag them off their seats so you can use the PC you've booked. And they all play computer chess.

Is this some sort of secret society? Or could it be yet more unpleasant societal fallout from the Whitlam era? Who knows. Whatever the reason, it's weird as all get out. I'm gonna describe this phenomenon to Desmond Morris in an e-mail. He might want to make a documentary about it.

I've mentioned this guy before, but I thought I'd do so again. He's been in fine form of late. The post "Yep, they need a homeland" (Nov 27) had me laughing out loud.

Speaking of Bob the Boulder, here's another couple of thoughts (extensions on a previous post) on his recent comments about terrorism:

So he says that Howard shouldn't warn us about a vague threat, since it will lead to complacency if no attacks occur. As I wrote before, that's ridiculous. The rational argument against a vague and ultimately false warning would be that it would lead to unnecessary panic, not complacency.

Also, if Howard issues no warning because he doesn't want to panic (or, taking Bob's advice, make overly complacent) the populace, and then an attack does occur, then bloody everyone -- Bob included -- will yell, "Why weren't we told?".

So obviously issuing the warning was not only the wisest thing for us. It was the wisest for Howard. He had no other alternative.

But Bob the Boulder's idiocy doesn't end there. He recently said that we should investigate what was known of possible threats before Bali. So, retrospectively, he's saying, "Howard. Why weren't we warned?"

Astonishing! Since now, he's saying, "Even if you have knowledge of a threat, don't warn us."

This is typical fluffy wuffy "thought": Take any posture, no matter how absurd and self-contradictory it is, as long as it puts your nemesis in the worst possible light.

It's not just irrational. It's anti-rational. Not surprising, since Bob the Boulder is anti just about everything. He's anti-reason, anti-democracy, anti-technology, anti-civilization, anti-humanity. About the only thing he's for is being a friggin' peckerhead. (Oh, and dancing with the bilbies, of course.)

I've just found a nickname for Bob Brown. It's "Bob the Boulder". Why? Because, not unlike this character, his acolytes are infantile. (Also 'cause his IQ is equivalent to the average igneous rock, and he wants to take us back to the Stone Age.)

Just an amendment to yesterday's post about GM food aid being taken away from Zambia: It might have seemed as if I thought that ferndamentalists were entirely responsible for the tragic balls-up. Well, I know that's not the case. The Zambian government made the final, stupid decision to reject the food. But the ferndies still contributed significantly to it, no doubt. So I can still be pissed off with them, okay?

Expect some really shat-off chanting from the Hare Krishnas in the coming weeks.

More idiocy from Hugh Mackay. We know that crazed yokels intend to kill Westerners for having a good time -- hell, they've already done so many times already -- and this gimp is having a go at John Howard for asking us to stay alert.

In his insipid attempt at satire, he berates the PM for asking us to be "calmly alarmed". So what does Hugh want us to do, not give a tinker's? Be calmly calm? Be alarmedly alarmed? Fuck, surely Howard couldn't have said nothing.

In his puerile, witless nitpicking Mackay resembles the always-cretinous Bob Brown. Recently Bob also condemned Howard for making a vague statement about a terrorist threat. This was unwise, the dull-eyed karri-fondler intoned, because when no attacks do occur it might cause a "cry wolf" syndrome and lead to complacency.

That might have some validity if there is no threat, yet clearly there is. But obviously the ever-tolerant and understanding Bob doesn't think so. Otherwise he wouldn't have invoked the cry wolf argument. So, if there's no threat, what's the problem with complacency?

That's what happens when you dance with bilbies for too long. You make no friggin' sense whatsoever.

Bob's latest folly is to say that Australia should now thoroughly investigate possible warnings and clues about the Bali bomb! Incredible.

Hey Bob! It happened shit-wit. It was horrible. We don't want it to happen again. That's why we should act aggressively and pre-emptively. Pour the bucks into nailing the bastards before they nail us. Not spend millions to sift through the ashes to try and find dodgy evidence of incompetence that you and your allies can use to hurl at the Government. (Anyway, what's all this seemingly anti-terrorist posturing, Bob? Don't you think we deserve these attacks anyway? Aren't they all our fault for being culturally insensitive capitalists?)

Fuck, why am I addressing this to Bob? He's not going to read it. It makes sense, something he has a pathological aversion to.

See what these fluffs do? They rile you so much you lose your cool. Eventually you end up as nutty as them.

I know! I'll head off to Newtown to shoot some ferals. That'll calm me down...

From the SMH: "A clearer picture is also emerging about the operations of JI in Australia, how it was funded and how it survived for as long as it did. While much of the initial focus since the September 11 attacks in the United States has been on Sydney, because of its many Muslims, the nucleus of JI was based in Perth."

In Perth, of course. Makes perfect sense. West Aussies are really nice and everything, but they're just way too tolerant. Any state that can elect Carmen Lawrence as Premier needs its friggin' head read.

Personally, I blame the sunshine. The joint is just too pleasant, the sky too blue, the lifestyle too easy-going and hedonistic. Because everything's really nice there -- particularly for the sushi-Stalinist middle classes and their retarded, bong-suckling sprogs -- they just don't understand how something really nasty like Islamo-fascism could develop. And when its adherents start recruiting under their very noses, the Perthites can't even spot it either! Why? Because "these people are ethnic, and they wear robes and stuff so they must be really nice".

I hope the Greenhouse Effect does kick in. With the climate in disarry, it'll bucket down in Perth all the time and the sunshine- starved sandgropers might friggin' wake up!

I found this incredible story via Bizarre Science.

The people of Zambia are starving, but heaps of food is being taken away from the country. The article states: "This relief effort in reverse follows the Zambian government's decision in August to ban the distribution of all genetically modified food."

But the West consumes heaps of GM food, so why not give it to the starving Africans? Well, no, that would be inappropriate. Greenies and other assorted fucktards have been campaigning against it so it must be evil. And when the pro-GM Seppos want to give it to the Zambians, ferndamentalists accuse them of exploiting suffering. Fuck! They're trying to end it!

Even if that accusation is true, and they are using the situation to their advantage, that's still not as despicable as actually blocking the relief effort (and facilitating its reverse) which is what the ferndamentalists have done. That is: exploiting suffering is nowhere near as bad as exacerbating it. (D'uh!)

This whole GM fear campaign is a friggin' joke. Genetic modification is what we've been doing for yonks anyway -- although much more slowly than now -- through selective crossing of crops etc. It's also what nature does, er, naturally through natural friggin' selection.

Even if every now and then a new plant or product does carry some risks, then surely it's better to take them when people are starving. Ferfucksake, feed the people first. Ask nitpicking, arbitrary questions about the food's acceptibility later.

Just a note to say that if anyone wants to have a squizz at my archives for this blog, they're here. (They're not at this address because that shifty fluff Derek Sapphire tampered with my blog settings. Bastard!)

There are reports that some of the events in the Osbournes' reality TV show are staged.

Some events staged? They all are! See, performers and celebs are putting on a facade 24/7. Even when cameras aren't rolling or bulbs aren't flashing, they're imagining they are. These people sleep for a friggin' audience, ferfucksake. (Also, these traits are heritable, so the sprogs behave in exactly the same way.)

There's a really interesting post by Tim Blair in response to criticisms that he's gone all wet an' lefty by condemning Creepy Phil's Suicide Social Club. There are some good points there that I wholeheartedly agree with. I'd basically sum them up as: No man is an island, even when he's a carcass.

And with the world as chockas as it is with pain, misery and murder, it's worth sticking up for life every now and then, I reckon. I've often thought committing suicide was a fine solution -- not for myself, of course; only for lefties, greenies and audiences that didn't laugh uproariously at all my gags -- but I would never say that this idea should be enshrined in law. Yep, get up and say offin' yourself is great, by all means. But don't ask our government to make this right official, accessible and claimable on Medicare.

It's kind of like the rootin' thing. Even though sex is not death (well, it is a little one -- or so the Frogs reckon) you can apply similar pro and con arguments to it. The right to die is similar to the right to thigh. (Sorry. It was there, I had to take it.) Mad rooting, though mostly benign, does have consequences for those other than the participants. Think, for instance, of the dutiful wife who's husband is happily shagging anything with a pulse behind her back, or the Quaker granny who's grand-daugher becomes a porn starlet determined to break the world man-juice smoothie-skolling record. I mean, crikey, ya gotta consider other people's feelings occasionally, at least.

I used to think: All sex is fine, as long as it's between consenting adults. Now, as I've learned a little about just how wacky people can get in the sack I've amended that to: All sex is fine, as long as it's between consenting adults who are alive, awake, and human.

So, regarding both big deaths and little ones: In the end, yes, people should be allowed to do with their bodies what they wish, but it must be within reason.

Put another way: It's impossible to police or prevent suicide, self-harm, or extremely wacky (but ultimately not illegal) sex acts. But that doesn't mean that we should encourage these things. If as a society we say, "Anything goes and fuck the consequences!" we'll end up in all kinds of strife.

That dippy Frog philosopher Rousseau once wrote: "Man is born free but everywhere he is in chains." He was only a quarter right. Quite often it's the chains that free us.

I've just found another rather, er, vivid expression from Urban Dictionary. It's "Map of Hawaii". "Mr Aloha" defines it as a slag term referring to "puddles of semen that resemble the island chain". Example: "I pulled out early and put a map of Hawaii on her stomach."

Just below it in the listing is "Map o' Tassie", which of course refers to the (usually) triangular female pubic region.

I wonder if anyone has used both in the same sentence? For instance: "Oh mate, me an' the missus had a top night. We played hide the sausage for bloody hours and then I pulled out an' left a big map of Hawaii all over her map o' Tassie!"

Which begs the next question: How long before the sex act itself becomes known as amateur cartography?

Another thought: I suspect that while the sentence imagined above may have been used occasionally by white-trash, red-necked, blue-collar slobs, it has never been used by any sensitive left-leaning swains. This is because the image of a US state obscuring an Australian one implies a kind of American imperialism. But if the map of Palestine were inserted in Hawaii's place, then it would be used as commonly as the phrase "Little Johnny Howard" in next to no time without a doubt!

Anyone who's read this blog will have realised that I really like words -- the more abrasive, colloquial and friggin' onomatopoeic the better. So, imagine my joy when I discovered a site that is chockas with e'm. Have a look here.

After ten seconds I found a pearler of a word: "Sacrilicious", which the submitter (someone called "kerspunk") has defined thus: Both SACRILEGIOUS (grossly irreverent toward what is held to be sacred) and at the same time DELICIOUS (extremely pleasing to the sense of taste). For example: "Upon eating a pancake that he believed to be God, the dimwitted man uttered 'Mmmm...sacrilicious'."

Expect my language to become even more colourful from now on.

I just felt the need to shit-can the bong-suckling capital of the world Fremantle again so I did a quick search on Google. I ended up with this page titled "Things to do in Perth and Fremantle". Looks normal enough. But check out the top left-hand corner. There's a little button reading "Places to Eat". Shouldn't that read: "Places to Eat At". Or have the athletic West Aussies become so humungous and hungry that they chow down on whole buildings now?

Ugh. Derek Sapphire's just posted a couple of photos. I think I'm gonna throw up.

I used to be pro-euthenasia. But now I'm not so sure. I'm starting to concur with the main arguments against it; that basically life is precious and that you should hang on if it's not too 'orrible, and that doctors shouldn't help hasten the death of the terminally ill, since it's a (fairly short) slippery slope towards taking the lives of people who aren't dying and/or don't want to -- people like deformed and severely retarded sproglets for instance. Shit, they may not be too bright, but they're still human. So, once you say that's okay, then it's another rhetorical hop, skip and jump towards offing your inconvenient political enemies as well.

Here's more info on this matter that gives me the chills: As the story states, this retired academic (still in robust health and with all marbles clearly still uncracked and in her possession) offed herself because she didn't want her quality of life to deteriorate. It was basically the "quit while you're ahead" rationale.

But if she topped herself at 79, then why not 59? And if 59, why not 39, etc? Crikey, if we're not careful it'll become trendy like yo-yos were at high school and bloody everyone'll be doin' it.

Before doing the deed she penned a note saying that Dr Phil Nitschke inspired her to take her own life. What, inspired? Shouldn't that have been expired? (There's a song parody here, based on that Leo Sayer hit of yore: "You make me feel like dying. I wanna throw my life away... etc.")

Gawd, what weird charisma Creepy Phil must have! He convinces healthy people to wanna stop breathing. Ladies, if this guy ever approaches you at a bar, just don't let him buy you a drink, alright!

Want more lefty-bashing? Try this site. Has some great observations you can use to really get up the noses of the squitterati.

Regarding an earlier post about a controversial skin-flick that was shot on a sleepy Seppolian campus: I said they should have renamed the muff-movie Carnal Knowledge. Snobby cinephiles among you might be thinking, "That's the title of a mainstream film made decades ago. Hence the pun is unoriginal, and therefore unamusing."

Yeah, I know, smartypantses. But the two stars, Anne Margaret and Jack Nicholson didn't nude up and go the rodfest (well, at least not on screen, anyway). So it doesn't really count. The gag's still worth a smug chuckle, or a wry snort, I reckon.

Memo to the porn producers: Next fillum you shoot in an institute of higher learning (lower yearning?) you should include a kinky knee-trembler-in-the-dunny scene. Then you can call it Uni Sex Toilet.

(Sorry, that was shockin'. But I'll include it because it's very much in accordance with the whole ballsily anarchic, devil-may-care spirit of blogging.)

Publish and be damned!

This is unbelievable. Now the feminists in the West are cracking the shits with the Miss World competition!

Let's have a look at this.

Right, now the Muslim fundies in Nigeria go spacko over a friggin' beauty comp, provoking riots which result in hundreds of deaths. Okay, so what does that reveal? Does it reveal that the organisers and competing babes are bad and wrong and that the open adulation of feminine grace is an evil which cannot be tolerated and justifies acts of extreme violence? Or does it reveal that the vengeful fundies are the ones we should be worried about? Gee, it's a tricky one to call. But I think I'll go with the second answer.

Therefore, do we say (as some of the ranters did before becoming killers), "down with beauty!"? Or do we say, "No, down with the fucktards who chant 'down with beauty!'"? Again, tough call, but I'm gonna choose number two once more.

So now, if you're a feisty feminist chick who claims to be devoted to emancipating women and affirming their sexual power, who do you blame for the whole bloody disaster? The people who believe female beauty is evil, or the people who believe female beauty is tops? This time, I'd say, go for number one. But what do the (purportedly) pro-women sheilas do? They choose number two, of course.

Haranguing the organisers (and the spunky contestants) on their return is like what the Christian fundies do in blaming Eve and her apple for all that subsequent sin and shit. It's proof positive that sacred cows like Germs Greer and that piss-weak punster with the shit-eating grin Kathy Lette are not only retarded beyond belief; they're also seriously twisted misogynists.

In this SMH story on multi-culti in Oz, the director of the Centre for Cultural Research at the University of Western Sydney says: "I think multiculturalism makes people happier in some ways despite the fact some say it means people become more insular, culturally speaking. By giving people the opportunity to hold onto their language and cultural practices, it actually prepares them much more for integration as well."

What friggin' psycho-babble. That's like saying that flat-Earthism prepares people for a science degree; that telling adolescents that their bodies are evil prepares them for a fulfilling sex life.

There's no unity in diversity; only diversity in diversity, and eventually balkanisation. (Which is not to say everyone has to be the same; just that we should all share a few central beliefs like, er, stealing things is bad, murder is wrong, and women shouldn't be treated as second class citizens who need to have their faces covered. You know, just basic shit that more and more people just can't seem to get their heads around.)

Here's a story about a "bad sex in writing" award. I could win the one for bad sex in reality, I reckon.

The squitterati continues to claim that PC doesn't really exist; that it is all a massive lie by some vast right-wing conspiracy. Yet shit like this keeps happening.

I'll see if I can score above a five on this blog hotness-ometer

A porn fillum shot on a leafy American campus with fresh-faced frat boys schtupping up a storm is destined to make big bucks because of the controversy it's created. The masterpiece is titled Campus Invasion. Not that memorable. How's Carnal Knowledge as an alternative?

Here's a good piece on media bias by Andrew Sullivan. He argues that Pomgolian TV is extremely one-sided, unlike in Seppolia. I wonder what he'd think of the ABC here. Gawd, it makes the Beeb look like the very definition of diversity and balance.

Crikey. Imagine what's gonna happen when they finally get porn on cable TV?

If Ben Affleck is the "sexiest man alive", then who's the sexiest man dead?

In this report on the risks of Hollywood's favourite facial-freezer botox we learn that "animal experiments have shown that botulinium toxin affects the transmission of afferent nerves", and that the toxin "has been shown to play a part in inhibiting the release of neurotransmitters".

Maybe this explains why so many celebrities are so fucken dumb.

In a pearler of an article a couple of days ago, Miranda Devine summed up the great cultural battle that's going on in the West as the Romantics versus the Vulcans. It was a good analogy, but I wouldn't call the people she classifies as Romantics as all that, er, romantic. They're just very immature and petulant. Yes, on the outside they seem well-intentioned, sometimes even warm. But if they don't get their way they're often very nasty indeed. Get 'em in a pack and they're friggin' dangerous!

I thought that the Klingons would be a more appropriate title for them, since they -- like Vulcans -- also hail from the Star Trek universe and the name itself implies a kind of clutching relentlessness. They cling on to their grim green dogmas; they cling on to their favourite accusations ("racist", "sexist", "homophobic", etc); and they cling on to their puerile belief that if they just keep clinging on (and chanting stupidly in packs) that one day they'll make da whole world a big happy shiny pwace full of da huggy-wuggy people and da cute wittle dancing bilbies!

Coincidentally, they even look a little like their namesakes from Star Trek. Here's one. Look at that dumb fuck. Stick a couple of rings in his nose, replace his dagger with a baseball bat, and whop one of those ridiculous tea cosy beanies on his hollow bonce and he'd blend in perfectly with the no-necks who disgraced themselves the other day at Homebush. (Actually "disgraced" is probably the wrong term. They had no grace to begin with.)

Back to Devine's dichotomy: I do consider myself to be a Vulcan (er, without them weird pointy ears, but). Yes, I am proud to be rational, calm and detached -- and if anyone says I'm not I'll punch 'em in the fucken mouth.

I've just found out that there are other bloggers as shat off and dyspeptic as me. Have a look at this site, which I discovered by way of the similarly grumpy (and very link-rich) Quit That!.

Curmudgeons of the world unite!

How dumb are these ferndamentalists? Here's Ian Cohen, NSW Greeds MP talking about NSW cop boss Michael Costa on Lateline: "I found Mr Costa to be someone who looks like, acts like and sounds like a Mussolini."

Typical Stalinist: ad hominem, ad nauseam. Ironic too, since Mussolini began his illustrious career as a friggin' lefty.

In response, I'll ad another ad hominem insult -- which I'm allowed to do because I'm a comic, not a politician (he, he): "I found Ian Cohen to be someone who looks like, acts like and sounds like an Ian Cohen."

Now that's a really nasty thing to say about someone.

Gawd. I think I'm about to vomit. Susan Sarandon reckons all arty wankers should fall in behind her and her smirking toy-boy and fellow traveller Tim Robbins in the, er, war against war. Well, I'm an arty wanker, with well over a decade's experience as a writer, comedian and actor. So, what do I have to say on the matter?

This: Hey, Suzie babe! Don't tell me what to think you silly old hippy. Do what you do really well, which is pretending to be fictional characters dreamed up by people far more talented and far less well-off than you. Whop yer sanctimonious Saddamophilia right up yer clacker and take a flying fuck at a bouncing dildo!

Ah, now that's better.

Okay, readers, I'm having to start this bloody thing again from scratch. See, my arch nemesis Derek Sapphire got hold of my computer, found out my username and password and jiggled things so that all my posts got re-routed to his Blogspot Plus account. (Typical lefty, a crafty bastard!) So everything I posted ended up going to this site, a subdomian of his.

Damned if I was going to let that happen!

I tried to sneak into his penthouse to find the relevant usernames etc, so that I could regain control of it from him (or "reclaim" it, in his words). Unfortunately I was ferociously attacked by his cat Jocelyn. I left bleeding and cowed.

He won the battle, but the war continues here: No meditation retreat. No meditation surrender!

Posting again soon...