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...