A fluffy wuffy who is close and dear to me -- no, I'm not being facetious -- described the war today: "It's a terrible business. It's just awful. I'm not going to find any joy in the outcome."

The subtext to this remark seemed to be that, well, yes it's good that Saddam Hussein is gone or going, but it's not appropriate to be happy about it.

Then I saw the elated crowds in Baghdad on the teev tonight. They held a slightly different view.

How ironic is that? Fluffs are appalled at the bombing, but the civilians of the city that was bombed are over the friggin' moon! Crikey, the fluffs are so solipsistic and sanctimonious, they won't even give (formerly) oppressed people credit for their own jubilation.

Speaking of sanctimonious solipsists: Heard Carlton Lite masturbating his larynx on the radio yesterday. He was quacking on disdainfully about the installation of an "American puppet" in the near future.

My first reaction was, well how do you know that this Iraqi will be a "puppet"? And even if he is, isn't that still an improvement on the puppet master who ran the joint before?

Weak-as-piss Carlton, like so many sad ol' lefty dreamers, clearly believes that Western capo-democracy is inferior to atavistic totalitarianism. Yet he's a deejay who makes squillions on a commerical radio station. It's hilarious! Hasn't he figured out that the very fact he can intersperse his unctuous oral advertorials with little pinko puffs of indignation and suffer no ill consequence whatsoever clearly illustrates how superior our system is to all the others on the planet -- let alone one that employs a human threshing machine to stay in power?

Obviously not.

What a tosser.

But back to the "terrible business" of war: Of course it's a terrible business. The battlefield is hardly a joyous and life-affirming work environment. And being a military commander, while not physically dangerous (er, unless you're an Iraqi one -- he, he!) is not exactly a pleasant gig. Apart from the knowledge of what you're going to do to the enemy, imagine how it feels to send your own citizens into danger? Does anyone actually believe that blokes like Rummy and Tommy Franks are actually enjoying their duties? Certainly, they are gaining satisfaction from knowing they are removing a tyrant. But I'm sure the feeling is very mixed. The worst that can be said of them is that they are looking at things in a cold and uncompromising manner, like a surgeon who looks at a gangrenous limb and realises all he can do is lop the bastard off.

Heartless? Perhaps. Cruel? No way.

John Lennon said "give peace a chance". The West does, all the time. Gave "peace" a chance for 12 years in Iraq.

I don't like the idea of violence. I'm a complete wuss. I've been known to wet myself when the pimply kid from the local video store phones to say I've got a fillum overdue. But how else do you deal with an immense group of mass-murderers and rapists who have complete control of an entire country. Send them an aromatherapy pack with affirmations? Some soap from the Body Shop? A little book of friggin' hugs?

Shit. Grow up fluffs. Evil is its own force. It's not evil to beat it down with greater force. The quicker and more thoroughly it's done, the better.

I was just scouring the Deckchair Theatre website for something to annoy me. Sure enough, I found it. (They never let me down.)

Here, on the "Late Suppers" page was this description: "THE LATE SUPPERS are an exclusive opportunity to discuss the craft of theatre with those whose work you've just enjoyed."

The obvious response to this is, why are they so damned sure you will have "just enjoyed" that night's play? Or is having a critical opinion of it a friggin' thought crime?

I just feel like having a bitch about young blokes and their dumb music. See, I'm in an internet cafe, as usual. (Still haven't gotten around to getting online from home.) This peckerhead next to me had earphones on and was playing music so loud my screen was shaking. (Well, I'm a exaggerating a little, but it was certainly clearly audible. And being the sensitive, artistic type that I am it really fucking annoyed me!)

I politely asked him to turn it down. "Eh?" he barked.

"Can you please turn it down a little?"

He lowered one of the earphones.

"Could you please turn it down? It's really loud."

He just stared back at me vacantly and said, "So?"

No change.

As I moved to another PC I made a couple of snippy comments about him having brain damage. Don't think he heard me, but.

Now, I'm proud of being very un-PC and all, and I'm more than a tad shat off with bimbo-feminist carping about men (that sentiment probably comprises half this blog, I reckon). But what is it about blokes, Walkmans, and stupid music? Whenever you hear that moronic backbeat in a train carriage or on a bus and you look around to locate its source, sure as shit it's never a woman.

Whenever I see these guys I want to say: Do you know what you're doing to your brain with that crap? (In fact, I have said that a couple of times. Either they don't hear me, or they just shrug disdainfully and turn the volume up.)

Don't get me wrong. I'm not a wowser. But imagine how loud that music would have to be that people several metres away can hear it and be annoyed by it? And it's always crap music. It's never Mozart, Pachelbel, or even Ray Charles now is it?

What are these guys trying to do? Is that malestrom of androgens causing them so much friggin' psychosexual angst that they just have to erase it with sound? Or is it some primal tribal thing? Or maybe it's because their neurons are so numbed already that only a thousand decibels at point blank range will do the gig?

Shit I dunno. Whatever the reason it really pisses me off. There oughta be a law, I say!

If you ever thought that fluffy wuffies were basically caring, sharing, huggy wuggy types whose only fault was their excessive zeal, then have a look at their reactions to the death of Michael Kelly.

They just glow with liberal love and goodwill.

Maybe not a smoking gun, but certainly a poisonously mouldy one.

(And re that whole WMD thing: Wasn't it nauseating to hear squits in the media carp petulantly about how long it was taking to find 'em during the war, when before it began they kept saying, "More time. More time!")

I found an amazing graph via Andrew Sullivan's blog. It shows which countries armed Iraq, and to what extent, over the last 30 years. As you'll see, Saddam acquired a large proportion of his weapons from France and Russia, two of the countries chanting, "Lay off him. He wouldn't hurt a fly!" (And contrary to the fluffy wuffy line, the Seppos have sold him close to buggerall.)

It's so revealing I'm almost suspicious of its veracity. Looks dinkum, but.

They called him "Chemical Ali". But now Ali is nothing but chemicals.

Poetic justice or what!

Hey Disney execs, you should check this story out. It says that at least one species of dinosaur habitually devoured its own kind. So they're not as cute and cuddly as that nauseating cartoon you recently inflicted upon us made them out to be.

My guess is that all dinos were so viciously cannibalistic they would have killed themselves off even if that comet hadn't hit the Yucatan Peninsula all them eons ago.

Dumb fucken lizards.

Gawd. Derek Sapphire is arcing up again -- this time about censorship. He reminds me of many bilious bolshie blowhards I've met in Artsville over the years. To them freedom of speech is the right to shout other people down.

Here's a bit of a cack. To get around anti-smoking laws, a restaurant in Noo Yawk is keeping the nicotine addicts happy by cooking meals with tobacco. It's not entirely original, since people have been eating hash cookies for yonks. A clever idea, but.

Will smack sandwiches be next?

Madonna balks at airing her explosive, Dubya-destroying fillum clip. Why?

"It was filmed before the war started, and I do not believe it is appropriate to air it at this time. Due to the volatile state of the world and out of sensitivity and respect to the armed forces, who I support and pray for, I do not want to risk offending anyone who might misinterpret the meaning of this video."

Bullshit, bimbo. You wussed out because you saw what happened to the Dixie Chicks, whose anti-war stance severely eroded their popularity and earning power.

Posturing pinko David Marr has been cranking out the corporate conspiracy line again. At some plonk-sodden toss-fest "Marr suggested that political and business 'elites' had inverted that term and directed it towards mostly poor and marginal artists. In response, literary novelists had retreated from the sharp edge of public debate."

What garbage. Arty wankers continue to squitter up a storm, dutifully squawking in crock-step with paranoid sushi-Stalinists like Marr. If some have grown silent it's probably because they've finally pulled their heads out of their arses and are actually contemplating things for a change.

The whole irony of being in Artsville is that you remain poor and marginal if you don't obey the lumpen squitterati, not if you do. (Even then you never become filthy rich, of course. Bureaucrats still nick most of the money. You do get slung a few bucks and a lump of stale gouda every now and then, but.)

This is way out of date for the blogosphere, but I just wanted to say a couple of things about the Oscars the other night: You've got to wonder about a bash that gives a fillum of pure fantasy (Bowling For Columbine) the best doco award and gives best actress honours to the insipid Nicole Kidman. Hell, the only convincing element of her performance was her friggin' nose, which was fake.

How prosthetic!

John J Ray deftly describes another good reason for invading Iraq:

"Simple: Once both Saddam and the Taliban are gone other Muslim leaders will get the message loud and clear that they must co-operate in the fight against terror or else. Simple and rational and highly desirable.

"If it was about oil why did the US intervene in Kosovo? No oil there. They intervened there for purely humanitarian reasons. If it was about oil they would have taken over Saudi Arabia. It produces more oil, has an army of only about 7,000 men and could be taken over in an afternoon. Which is why the Saudis try to be friendly of course."

And I'm sure there'll be other states who will be a lot more friendly when the war in Iraq is over.

If Whacko Jacko and Lisa Marie Presley weren't so damn super-famous, they would surely have ended up on Jerry Springer.

Here's Michael Moore on his anti-Bush rant at the Quackademy Awards: "I just hope I generated a discussion about Mr. Bush and the war."

What, like there hadn't been one already up to that point?

Solipsistic turd.

After recently discovering that Saddam has more than one female bio-terrorism expert, I suspected that the dashing dictator might have still others in his employ. And yes, I found out that as well as Dr Germ and Mrs Anthrax, there's also Sister Salmonella, Ms Malaria, Lady Legionella and Princess Plague.

Now that's what I call a-germ-ative action!

After over a month's inactivity my arch nemesis Derek Sapphire has resumed blogging again. God help us!

I'm not a journo or anything, but I think I've just stumbled on an editorial balls-up at the SMH. See, in this story about a video of one of Hussein's creepy meetings, the headline reads: "Saddam's 'Dr Germ' seen at meeting, says US".

As the story states, Dr Germ is Rihab Rashida Taha. Yet the chick in the vid is identified as Huda Salih Mahdi Ammash. Now her nickname is not "Dr Germ", it's actually "Mrs Anthrax".

They've got their Baath Party bio-terror babes all arse-about! So, either the army PR guys have made an error in attributing nicknames, and the SMH has just repeated it, or the editor has confused the two women. Either way it's pretty shoddy work. Also really sexist, since I doubt the SMH -- a renowned bastion of political correctness -- would make a similar mistake about men.

Jeez, it makes me so angry! When are women gonna be treated equally by the Western media? I mean, Saddam wouldn't make such a mistake now would he?

Sick to their stomachs from holding "vomit-ins", American appeaseniks are now holding "die-ins" where they all lob in a group and symbolically cark it. Jeez, wouldn't it be nice if they'd do it for real...

One down, several million to go.

Dr Helen Caldecott is a pacifist and a feminist. In other words she's at war with men. (Men who never fight back, of course; men who would die to protect her.)

What a nasty little half-person she is. No wonder so many women have deserted her movement.

Here's a punchy article by Debbie Schlussel slamming the fictionality of Michael Moore's Oscar-winning Bowling for Columbine.

She pithily describes Moore: "A fictitious man living in a fictitious time. With a fictitious, Academy Award winning 'documentary.' As Brian Rohrbough, whose son Daniel died at Columbine, said, 'This is just a guy trying to capitalize on the tragedy of others.'"

That last line really nails him. He's capital-izing alright. As a result of his surreal, mean-spirited fantasy the sly slob is rolling in it!

Yet his boneheaded acolytes still can't spot the irony. Many were heartened by his victory at the Oscars. Surely, as enemies of corporate greed and cultural imperialism (which are the very foundations of Hollywood) you'd expect them to be disgusted, or at least disillusioned by it. I mean, the award's a gleaming golden bloke ferfucksake. That alone should have rung some alarm bells!

But nope, the tragic tossers were utterly bedazzled -- unlike the mainstream working stiffs ("corporate dupes") who avoided the show in their millions to keep up to date with events in Iraq.

Yep, colour and movement (and money). Hooks the pinkos every time.

Tammy Bruce has a great new label to describe the posturing flashbulb addicts of Tinseltown. She calls them "malignant narcissists". I reckon it's spot on.

James Morrow refers to some shockin' media bias in its war reporting. One of the ITN newsreaders apparently used the phrase "appallingly heavy bombing". While watching the ABC a night or two ago, I saw one of their bolshie Barbie doll anchors use the phrase "US propaganda machine".

No one with one eye half open and an IQ over fifty is gonna say that the army PR guys are entirely honest all the time. But "propaganda machine"? Gawd. Emotive or what?

Surreal simpleton Senator Andrew Bartlett doesn't like the idea of liberating Iraq, because "Australia is now diplomatically and militarily handcuffed to the United States. We will be unavoidably now part of Mr Bush's new world order."

Yeah, a world order that involves the removal of children-gassing, women-raping, dissenter-shredding brutes. Sounds like a damn fine thing to me.

Like most fluffs Fartlett has an extremely selective moral code and despises Western values. Yet he's a "Democrat"? Gawd. That's like saying Ted Bundy's a friggin' feminist!

(Er... actually that was probably a bad analogy. Some feminists were actually pleased as punch with the slick lady killer because he blamed smut for his murder spree.)

I'll try again: Yet he's a "Democrat"? That's like saying Phillip Adams is an intellectual.

Ah, that's better.

But back to Fartlett. Not only does he ignore man's inumanity to man when it suits, but he's more upset about man's inhumanity to ham. Some Republicans may be chicken hawks, but Fartlett's a chicken chook. His whole philosophy can be described thus: "If in doubt, pullet!" Have a look here and you'll see how fowl his reasoning is.

The interview is a real quack-up. It includes a classic photo of him dolled up with a hen (probably his significant other). Susan Sarandon's conservative mother (last post) says she has to tread on eggshells around her daughter. But if she ever lobbed at the Fartlett household, she'd have do that literally as well!

What a silly cock-head he is.

Gawd! Lenora Tomalin, mother of uber-squit Susan Sarandon, is actually pro-Bush! Perhaps there's some serious Freudian shit going on there underneath Sarandon's regally oblivious exterior? Would be nice to think so. But I doubt it. I don't think she possesses a subconscious. Years of living in Tinseltown with other sanctimonious, over-rewarded egomaniacs would have removed any psychological complexity she may once have possessed.

Tomalin describes the discomfort of visiting her daughter's house. She says she has to "tread on eggshells". I know the feeling. Whenever I'm around fluffs I'm forever biting my tongue (sometimes to stop myself from laughing at their arse-about reasoning and/or ignorance, but usually because they're already spitting foam over some petty point or other and I don't want to rile them even more with dissent). This cracks me up, since conservatives are so often portrayed as unreasonable and overbearing!

Gee. Some Smothers do 'ave e'm!

Hello again readers (or should that be singular?). Sorry for the absence. I've just been flat out like a lizard drinkin' for several weeks. Many times recently I resolved to resume blogging. But other things came up. Today I saw that I hadn't done so for almost a month. Thought it was just a week!

Amazing how the older you get, the quicker time seems to pass. Why is that? I read somewhere that your neurotransmitters get all out of whack, causing a shift in time perception. But I don't buy that. I reckon there's a purely mathematical explanation. See, when you're a day old, one day is your whole life. When you're two days old, it's half your life, etc. By the time you're forty, then a day is around about one fifteen thousandth of your life. See what I mean?

Remember the immortal lines from that classic Seppolian soapie? "Like sands through the hourglass so are the days of our lives."

Piss off! That should have been: "Like droplets of water from a high pressure hose (which is increasing in pressure at an exponential rate) so are the days of our lives." But then, that's ungainly, and a tad depressing. The housewives watching at home wouldn't have liked that.

But back to the task of blogging: Here's a great article by Sophie Masson. She writes that "the US and Britain launched a series of air strikes on Baghdad on December 16, 1998. These were intended to be only of limited range - regime change had been rejected, as much as a full-scale war."

So they weren't serious, full-scale attacks. But surely many innocent lives were put at risk, if not snuffed out altogether. Yet the appeaseniks were mostly silent, and remained fully clothed the whole time. I don't recall so much as a righteous nipple or a brazen pube flashed in defiance back then.

Why the double standard? Well, it's obvious. Appeaseniks are just suckers for star-power. They don't understand or respect anything but pretty faces, pretty pictures, pretty sounds and pretty words. They were star-struck by Clinton, fellow traveller and celebrity prez. Just like metaphorical Monicas, they kneeled down before him and indulged his whim.

But Dubya? No way. No figurative fellatio for him! He has a moral code he's serious about. He has a spine, and a mind and a heart. To the po-mo appeaseniks that's just not sexy. And if he's not sexy, he must be evil.

Dumb fucks.

Scary thing is these pinheads seem to be multiplying. Yep, there's a leftie born every minute.

Some thoughts on the mindset of the fluffy wuffy demonstrator: The thing that has always amused me about many habitual placard-wavers is not the intensity of their commitment, but the lack of it. They go along to demos much as people go to the footy: because it's a ritual, all their friends are doing it, and they get to shout a lot and let off steam.

I remember once bumping into this Fremantle fluff on a train, whom I'd previously met at a party. We made a bit of small talk about non-political subjects. I'd expressed nothing to suggest -- either then or at the party -- what my political views were. Completely out of the blue she told me that there was an anti-development demo on the weekend. "If you're not doing anything, you might want to come along."

I felt like saying, "Well, I'll have a read about what's happening. If I decide I sympathise with the demonstrators' cause, and think that jumping around chanting some silly slogan will do any good for it, then I might show up."

Of course I didn't. I simply politely refused. She shrugged, and we changed the subject.

The thing that amazed me was the casualness of the suggestion. She clearly had no real emotional or intellectual commitment to it. She was going to lob there because, well, that's what you're supposed to do. It was an automatic, conditioned response, kind of like the staff at Macca's saying, "Have a nice day!"

I've often encountered this automaton-like behaviour amongst lefties. The reason they don't understand other opinions is because they don't know that there are any other opinions. I doubt they even truly know what their opinions are either. They've never really thought about anything much. They're just like lumps of seaweed, swaying back and forth with the tide. If this woman's friends were Nazis (er, real ones, not mere wannabes like me) then I'm sure she'd be doing the goose-step in no time at all.

Of course the foam-spitting ferals are a different kettle of filth. They are deeply committed to their nasty, idiotic ideology. They can't see reason because they're terrified of it, and are trapped in a constant state of fear and loathing.

This is why we non-fluffs shouldn't be too worried by the huge turnout against the war. I think most of the people who lobbed belonged to the two groups described above -- they were either air-heads or rumble-gutses. They weren't people who'd thought long and hard about the subject and finally, calmly decided to become appeaseniks. Still there's obviously a huge social problem to contend with when there are so many people out there who are that friggin' dumb.

Have a look here and you'll see how deep the fluffy wuffy cancer is in the country. I can imagine the staff at the SMH assembling this group of photos with a real sense of pride, confident that it shows what a kind and humane lot we tolerant, peace-loving Sydney-siders are. But I find it truly creepy.

Have a look at the pregnant chick in the bottom left hand corner. Her sign reads, "Power is in giving life." Well, I have no argument with that. But has it not occurred to her, and to the many bong-suckling barbarians in beanies that marched alongside her, that getting serious with the Butcher of Baghdad is not a contradiction of the sentiment she's expressing, but a confirmation of it?

By disarming Saddam (forcefully if necessary) we will be preserving and improving the lives of the oppressed citizens of Iraq, and protecting the lives of people in the West and Israel and other states in the Middle East. And if the UN comes along for the ride, the coalition of the willing will also be preserving any last vestiges of dignity and authority that institution retains. Surely she should be in support of that, if nothing else.

As a feminist (and I assume she is -- any appeaseniks who aren't?) she should also be aware that Iraq, like some other barbaric shit-holes in the region, isn't exactly chick-friendly. If she were to lob at an anti-government demo in Baghdad Uday and his mates would soon have her guts for garters (literally) and her tongue for dog food. Her head would probably be nailed to her front door just for good measure.

There's also the irony that this woman, or at least most of the women there, would be defiantly pro-choice. Peace rallies full of right-to-lifers? I doubt it. They're all "right-wing loons" aren't they?

So a more thorough encapsulation of the appeasenik position on the life-giving paradigm would be: "Power is in giving life... er, unless that life is deemed inconvenient to me. Then I'll pop into the nearest abortion clinic and have it ended pronto, and the body that contained it sucked out and spat into a bucket. My body my choice!"

Hey, bimbo! Why not just hold a sign reading, "Tyranny rocks, dude!"

I've long found the UFO phenomenon fascinating, mainly because it's so wacky -- particularly the whole abductions caper. But I've always looked at it from a very rational point of view, and never believed any of it. Lately, however, my fascination is becoming less detached. I keep looking at the sky, hoping to see a flying disc. I watch alien abduction docos repeatedly, and find myself thinking, "Maybe there's something in all this... I mean, these people really seem to believe this happened to them!"

Gawd. It's disgraceful. Why am I feeling this way? I reckon it's to do with all this anxiety about terrorism. When you're scoring dangerously high on the angstometer you keep yearning for some sort of certainty, a spiritual Prozac pill to calm your troubled psyche. If you're an atheist, you can't turn to some old bearded bloke up in the ether. You have to settle for a bug-eyed, spindly-fingered, dome-headed mega-midget from Zeta Reticuli.

I really hope that this Saddam-Osama problem is solved quickly. Otherwise the angst will take its toll and I'll soon end up being one of those credulous boneheads hocking Roswell conspiracy theories! With my brain sufficiently softened, I'll be sucked in to all this anti-American hysteria that's been going on of late. Gawd. I might even end up at some anti-WTO demo, babbling bilious bullshit with a friggin' tea-cosy on my bonce!

So, I dearly hope that Saddam complies pronto, or gets comprehensively thwocked in the shortest time possible. That will be a giant step towards saving the world from terrorism. It will also save my mind from complete and utter disintegration.

Gawd. Derek Sapphire has just accused me of ruining his blog. What a crock!

Hey, Derek, you jasmine-scented super-wanker! Considering all the bullshit you've been spinning over the last few months, have you considered your blogging troubles might be the result of bad karma?

Oh no, of course you wouldn't have. Whenever smug lefties and New Agers have it rough, it's never their fault. Then it's oppression or persecution. But whenever anyone else cops it, then it's cosmic punishment for wrongs the victims have committed.

Hey Mr "fellow traveller", I hope your PC catches that "Sapphire worm" that's crashing computers all over the joint. Hell, it's got your name on it.

Fluffy wuffy arsehole.

Was that Whacko Jacko doco full-on creepy, or what? I didn't watch all of it, but I saw enough to make me feel both disturbed by and sorry for the poor prick. I mean, he's known by bloody everyone in the entire world, yet he's completely and utterly alone. Watching him lope dopily around the joint pursued by legions of gawking, prodding fans he reminded me of John Merrick, the "Elephant Man" -- except that Merrick wasn't a mega-deluded, psychosexually twisted friggin' nutbar, of course. (Er, and his nose was in better shape, too.)

And re all them creepy goings on in the Jackson bedroom: Of course the Whackster's stubborn refusal to understand interviewer Martin Bashir's horror was cause for alarm. But what about the complicity of the kids' parents or guardians? Either they're being paid to let their children stay there (a possibility) or they're completely under the spell of his celebrity. Either way that's a bigger worry. I mean, it's sad enough for an abused, lonely, neurotic multi-millionaire to seek refuge from reality in Neverland, but it's worse when lots of "normal" people indulge his bizarre fantasy by offering him their children.

For people interested in the turmoil in Zimbabwe, here's a good collection of articles. It includes a story published in The Oz (it's the fourth one listed) about an interesting doco made by a former resident of Zimbabwe called Chloe Traicos. Not only is Chloe a film-maker, but she's also an actress and playwright. Yet she's only in her mid-twenties! Keep an eye out for her.

Anyone who thinks that the United Nations possesses a moral authority greater than Seppolia's should have a squizz at this great article.

Another fictional character is causing offence. Apparently a bunch of Moscow silks are a tad shat off about the character of Dobby in the latest Harry Potter fillum. They reckon he looks too much like their leader, Vladimir Putin.

Here's Vlad. Here's Dobby. You decide.

Apparently an MTV cartoon called Clone High has caused a ruckus. It's all about a school chockas with the clones of famous people throughout history. Gandhi is presented as an out-of-control horn-dog. Understandably, the people of India aren't too happy about that!

The irony is that the characterization probably isn't too far off. Gandhi was a class-act, of course, but he was still human. And look at the lives of other gurus like Koresh, Jones, and Bagwhan Shree Rajneesh. All of them used their power to extract sexual favours from women (and sometimes children). In fact, I suspect that's why they set off on the "spiritual" path in the first place.

And it's well known that Gandhi loved the company of spunky young babes. He would get them to spend the night with him, starkers, so as to test his ability to resist temptation. He was getting his rocks off, by keeping them on! Don't know about you, but that seems extremely kinky to me.

Dirty bastard!

More silly squittering from Susan Sarandon. Now she's carping about Tony Blair's position on Iraq. But why was she speaking publicly in the first place? To promote The Banger Sisters, a silly, mediocre and inconsequential fillum about a couple of superannuated tarts!

Gawd, she should make up her mind about whether she's an actress or an activist. If she does settle decisively on the former career, then the ol' bimbo should start choosing better scripts before she loses all her hard-earned cred in that area, too.

This fillum Confessions of a Dangerous Mind looks interesting. It's based on a dodgy autobiography by Chuck Barris, visionary creator of early reality TV shows like The Gong Show. This piece makes a few interesting points about how what was seen as decadent, degrading and shocking then would be deemed tame now.

Makes me wonder what reality TV will be like a few years hence. I reckon we'll see desperate bachelors lining up for blind dates with goats and chickens and the weekly loser on Big Brother being slaughtered and eaten by all the other inmates. When people complain the defence will be the same: "Oh come on, the show's all in fun. We all know that. Don't be such a kill-joy."

Gawd. Now stalking is considered a "cultural" issue. The West today is a relativist's wet dream.

I'm a bit of a net and blogging newbie, so please don't roll your eyes when you read this. But I've just found this amazing page on Google which maps all the searching trends. This is fantastic, because not only can I learn about the contemporary zeitgeist (love that word, don't you?) but I can also use it to get more hits for my site.

For instance, some top searches for early January were "Iraq", "Clonaid" and "Joe Millionaire". So, if I keep whopping in these names, I'll get my hits up. The problem is, how do I put them all in the one post (er, aside from merely listing them like I just did)?

Give me a while to think about this, I'll get back to you...

This story, about a SNAG slowly discovering his inner lech, is an absolute classic.

If you thought that the man-hating feminazi is merely an invention of appalling misogynists cop an optic of this. It's a story about Mary Daly, serious advocate of the "gendercide" of men. She's just the kind of bizarro creepoid this tosser would adore, I reckon. Needless to say she's way cool amongst the twisted sisterhood.

Good to know that Dubya is sticking it to tiny-minded tyrants at home as well as abroad.

There's a pithy post from Tex at Whacking Day on the drug legalization debate. I concur with a lot of it. But I'd like to make a couple of dissenting points.

Firstly, he says: "You're seeing the picture here: drug prohibition makes everything worse, legalisation makes everything better." Can't buy that one. Nothing's that simple, surely.

Another point: Nowhere in the post does he say that drug-taking is often stupid, wrong, and destructive not only to the person who does it, but also to people around him.

At the risk of sounding like a tight-arse, whingeing wowser this point should be made occasionally at least. I mean, you should invoke morality at some point in these arguments. Otherwise, what's the point? My view: you can still make something legal, or permissable, while simultaneously discouraging and condemning it. It's like abortion. Abortion is wrong, no doubt about it. But often it is the lesser of two evils.

(By the way, please don't see this as me being indecisive; having a bob each way. Or maybe you can, I suppose. But I'd rather you didn't. Er, but either way I don't want to judge you for it... Look, it all depends on the context, doesn't it?)

Faaaaark! I'm becoming a fluffy wuffy!

Gawd. Another glitz-orific circle jerk for the flashbulb addicts of Tinseltown. Crikey, it's like there's one of these bashes every friggin' week! I'm amazed they even have time to sleep, let alone make the fillums they are constantly congratulating themselves for.

And why do these people take themselves so seriously? They're just emotionally retarded egomaniacs playing pretendies, after all. Sure, fillums are enjoyable, and occasionally even thought-provoking. But they're never actually important.

Any celebrophilic fluffy wuffs out there who don't believe me? Okay, try and think of any fillum which actually had an impact on society and demonstrably changed the world in the same way that a great invention like the dunny did, for instance.

See, ya can't, can ya! Because there aren't any. Art is a mirror. Not a hammer. Stick that up yer arse and smoke it, fluffs.

And here's another excellent piece of lefty-bashing by Chris Corrigan. In it, he shows how destructive the unionist cult of mediocrity is by transposing it to the footy field.

You could so the same thing in Artsville, I reckon. If you hired arty wankers on the basis of talent and skill, rather than on political allegiance, then there might actually be a few Australian plays and fillums worth seeing!

Here's a lovely piece by Peter Ryan, ageing lefty-basher. It gracefully encapsulates what I've been thinking a lot lately, that Howard's persistence is finally paying off, and that the jackbooted fluffy wuffies really are on their way out. More and more people are finally realising that Howard really has got his lucid, humane eye on the truly Big Picture. (Unlike Keating, who had his reptilian, gimlet eye on one the size of a friggin' laptop screen.)

In the future, Howard, along with Reagan, Dubya and his old man, and Maggie Thatcher will all be remembered as great leaders. But Clinton, Keating, Whitlam, etcetera? They'll all be forgotten almost entirely. If they are remembered at all, it will only be as bad examples.

More on that infant-ingesting clown from Beijing: As this article states Mr. Zhu, the alleged artist -- a Christian -- is shown explaining to the doco maker "that he set up the baby-eating performance after realizing that no religion or secular law expressly forbade cannibalism".

Yeah, well, I reckon no religion or secular law expressly forbids shoving a live taipan up yer blurter while rollerblading back and forth along the top of a train as it rapidly approaches a tunnel, but that doesn't mean you should fucken do it!

Ugh! The pure, distilled idiocy of it!

Fuck but it shits me.

Here's a pretty unequivocal piece on how best to deal with terrorists from a former Seppolian soldier. It's as funny as it is persuasive.

Bob Ellis pads out a really threadbare piece on the cloning kerfuffle. His argument: because so many bubs are born in different ways, what's the difference if some are cloned?

But the sad old sot doesn't understand. There is a big difference. A cloned child is completely unlike any other that has come before, because it, er, has come before. It's a copy, not a unique being. It has no real parent, only an original. This is the unalterable fact from which so many ethical risks emanate.

These include the possibility of people using cloning for spare parts, or the rich and powerful using it to further increase their advantages (as a leftie Bob should be pissed off about that one).

And what about being the clone himself? Imagine knowing that you are in effect the twin of your "mother" or "father". Imagine realising that the only reason you exist is to replace your long dead twin, because your "parents" still can't get over his early death. That'd do your head in for sure.

Yep, there's enough about the mere idea of cloning to creep out any reasonably intelligent, compassionate person. No wonder the fluffs don't have a problem with it.

In this article about the fallout from a notorious doco about a baby-eating artist in China (see my post of 1/1/2003), the peckish performer in question is quoted as saying that it was his "duty as an artist to spark debate about morality and art". Yeah, well it's my duty as an artist to say that this guy's a fake and a tosser, not to mention an extremely sick fuck.

Talk about the end of civilization. Just do something truly revolting, call it art and the squitterati will herald you as a friggin' genius. (And moral considerations aside, where's the skill in what he did? If he'd expertly diced and fried it -- or perhaps juggled the body parts while riding a unicycle -- then he might have scored a few points for acumen. But nup. Couldn't be bothered. Just wolfed back the infant raw. What a talentless prick.)

This particular "performance" did take place in China, but it's just a matter of time before it happens here. My guess is that at the next Melbourne Whinge Festival some bong-suckling barbarian in a beanie will out-bleck! the Chinese cannibal. He'll pull about six titanic cones on the trot, get a ferocious attack of the munchies, then completely devour some poor bastard in the front row.

The cops will show up and arrest him, but not before he dismembers at least one or two of them. The Age will run a story about police brutality, and Barrie Kosky will be seen on Lateline quacking on pompously about "the death of creative freedom under Howard's totalitarian regime".

Fuck. I'm an atheist but I'm considering becoming a Christian just so I can pray for lightning bolts to strike these fucking tossers and turn them into piles of ash!

Now that would be a work of art. (Wouldn't get a grant for it, but.)

Are there any celebs who aren't either petty thieves, bong-sucklers, smack-heads or out-of-contol friggin' dipsos?

Boffins reckon that sex is actually good for the brain! But if that's true, then wouldn't that make this bloke the most intelligent man on earth?

Maybe he is, and he's just been hiding his light under a bushel...

Here are two great pieces on the power of tribal emotion to wash away rational thought in even quite brainy people.

Yet another thought on the Raelians: They're clearly not Christians. In fact, their whole philosophy is about as far away from that world-view as you can get. So why did they call the alleged cloned sproglet "Eve"?

Bloody unoriginal, I reckon.

Lazy cultists.

Gawd. Talk about "cutting edge"!

While I'm making predictions, here's another one: I read a letter in a recent print edition of The Oz. (Sorry, can't recall exactly which issue, so don't have a link or complete text.) Anyway, it was a pithy missive referring to the Windschuttle challenge to the "black armband" approach to Australian history. It more or less stated that "factual correctness" would -- or at least should -- challenge political correctness in the universities.

Well, I reckon this will be the start of a whole new process. Factual correctness will be abbreviated to "FC" and be invoked by non-fluffs in the same way that "PC" is currently invoked by fluffs. For example: "Er, I know I'm being really, um, FC, here. But shouldn't you be able to give me some sort of irrefutable, empirical evidence to back up your claim that all men are rapists?"

Similarly, the fluffs will claim that they are oppressed by the right-wing orthodoxy of factual correctness. Eventually we'll read headlines like: "Australian Union of Students demands an end to FC on Curtin University campus!"

Then we'll know for sure that things are improving.

Sorry, but here's yet another post on the Raelians (I know, I've got sects on the brain). This time I want to make a couple of predictions:

This report tells us that Clonaid has thousands lining up to be replicated. This number will surely grow the longer the cult is in the headlines. At 200 grand a pop, that's extremely big money. This whole cloning claim was clearly a scam to get hold of it (d'uh).

So, I reckon they'll keep taking orders, while all the time delaying inspection of the sprog like Saddam on valium.

Then what? The wannabe clonees will become extremely shat off and demand their money back. But it won't be forthcoming. With the authorities on their tails, the head Raelians will go underground. We won't hear anything of them for several months.

Then they'll hit the headlines again when their lifeless bodies are found in a basement in a secluded farmhouse somewhere in the French countryside. Yep, it'll end just as all them other wacky cults do: with a mass suicide.

You don't reckon? Just you wait and see.

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.