Tuesday, December 20, 2011

The Bogan-People

I often sit back, relax, sip my caramel latte and wonder if Bogans own mirrors. Is it just me or do you often wonder if they are aware that they are exactly the same as every other Bogan? They are all so unmistakable, it’s uncanny. They have that leathery, brown skin that looks as though it was just draped over a doctor’s office skeleton that had a can of bourbon and coke propped in its hand and then sent on its way at ten in the morning; and when they aren’t under-weight, they’re over-weight. Then there’s the poor-speech and lack of pronunciation; the forward head posture; the ‘it’s never my fault’ mentality; those white ten dollar hoodies that are noticeably pilled with that dirt-yellow tinge you get in your whites when they don’t get washed; the trash Aussie pride that puts me off being proud myself (see blog) and, how could I not mention, that…[slow exhale]…classic mullet. But, even though they are the succubus scum of our country and we essentially fund their habits with our taxes, I kind of love Bogans. They actually perform a bit of service to the country. Somehow, they have inadvertently established themselves as a minority here; almost like a new race of people, and yet because they aren’t actually a different race of people, we can still tease the shit out of them and laugh at their frequent public-shenanigans without looking prejudice.

I don’t know about other Australian cities, but here in Sydney, a lot of the Middle-Eastern youth seem to feel that their ethnic-roots obligate them to act like morons and turn our roads into racetracks. The problem here is that it’s hard to have a laugh about any of that without looking like you’re launching into a racially-motivated attack on every Middle-Eastern person in the world, and there are people that I’ve met who genuinely believe that all of them are trouble-makers…all of them. I may make jokes, but I’ve never shared this belief. But despite all of that, at heart, we are all a little prejudice, no matter how open-minded you think you are. The general belief that Asians can’t drive is probably the best example of this that I can think of.

Like I was saying before, you’ve seen one Bogan and you’ve seen them all, and I know that, but do they? Because the young Arabs that I speak of seem to live on a ‘my brother/sister/friend does it so I’ll do it’ attitude, and that’s how it has become this widespread trend, but I get a feeling that Bogans don’t share that same level of self-awareness, like they all stumbled into it by accident or something…y’know, because they’re stupid. A Lebanese kid trying to assimilate himself into a friend group will stand in front of a mirror for hours, making the conscious decision to look and act like his friends in a bid for acceptance, but I don’t see Bogans doing this, especially considering that being Bogan is probably the last route you’d want to take when seeking acceptance.

This is the beautiful service that Bogans offer us Australians. They give us a group of people who aren’t different enough to be officially established as a minority group, but just different enough to be generally-recognised as a deviated group regardless, a group whom we can distract and unload our own racism on without actually being racist at all. The delicate art of loopholes.

And there you have it, a prejudicial post without actually being prejudice – a distraction for anybody who has something negative to say about Middle-Easterns, Europeans, Asians, Blacks, Whites, the disabled and the homosexual.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Gay Purgatory

I'm as straight as they come, so the whole gay marriage dispute doesn't really affect my life at all, but that doesn’t seem to stand in the way of it getting me as frustrated as Lewis Black on a rainy day. In the past, I figured it would be something that would never actually happen so I've generally been pretty blaze about the whole thing, but recently, something changed - I had a bit of an epiphany. I started putting myself in a homosexual's shoes (but not their pants) and I've realised how fucking irate I would be if I had to put my life on hold because of something I was born with to fight a battle that will inevitably be won anyway.

It usually starts with the hypothetical question 'what if heterosexuality was the weird thing and being gay was seen as ‘normal’?' And as I ponder for an answer, I realise that my life would be as follows: birth in a time slightly more discriminatory than it is now, confusion for a little bit, then discovery of the vagina, meeting one I want to be with for the rest of my life and then, while all my gay friends are pairing up and getting married, some bunch of fuckwits tell me that my girlfriend and I can't live as man and wife because it makes them and their god uncomfortable. So then for the next decade, I have to sit in the government’s version of a doctor's waiting room, living in some sort of pseudo-marriage waiting for actual marriage to be approved, all the while taking time out of my day to attend protests, lobbies and rallies. If I were gay and I found out that my love comes with a homework assignment, that vein above my right-temple would explode, with my chairs, my moisturiser bottles and my Sex and the City box set being hulked across my house.

My biggest gripe, I guess, is realising the fact that it can either happen now or later, but either way it's going to happen. Everybody knows that right? It's becoming more abundantly clear every week of fighting that the gays are nearing the pinnacle of this same-sex marriage mountain they've been climbing for decades. Since 2001, there have been a number of national and state legislation passed allowing same-sex marriage, with more adding to that list every year. Federal recognition in the United States is also currently under review and here in Australia we are seeing more and more politicians warming to it (wish I could say the same for our party leaders though), with the possibility of a conscience-vote. So, if it's going to happen anyway, why not just do it? It’s so simple, so why do governments insist on wasting people's time, that's my question? If not for the people, how about for their own image? I'd hate to say it but if I were a public-figure, I would rather forfeit my principles than appear as a dismissive and prejudicial person.

Ah! How silly of me; it’s religion!

Religion is the petroleum that keeps getting thrown on this fire. It's my personal opinion that religion is really becoming irrelevant in relation to this issue. I don’t even see the whole notion of marriage as a spiritual act anymore – it’s not about God, it’s about the chick I want to bang for the next eighty years. People may not agree with me here but I feel that somewhere along the line, marriage got severed from religion and became secular in people’s eyes. That's the way I see it anyway, I mean, I'm quite anti-religious, but I'd still get married, in a church even; the ceremonies are beautiful. So, if it’s not just me and that is the general-consensus on marriage, can we really keep playing the religion card? A card that, of course, doesn't come without its holes. Murder me for repeating what has already been said, but an article I read recently brought up some good points that if the whole gay marriage issue boils down to the fact that a woman plus another woman won’t equal offspring, then what's the word on people suffering with infertility? How about elderly women? Or elderly men, for that matter? Our politicians don't seem to be drawing any attention to the men who shoot blanks who get married, but when two people of the same-sex who will probably end up taking a kid who was abandoned by his 'normal' parents out of foster homes and into healthy ones, that's no good. Unfortunately, I say this, not to tease or force my views on religion, but to illustrate that not only are people's time being wasted here, but it's being wasted on the basis of broken-logic amplified by broken people.

I guess it's a little silly to be complaining about this now. Homosexuals have definitely seen worse days, but what it is that I have a problem with is that, even in today’s western culture’s unfastened acceptance of race and sexual orientation, people are still saying no to same-sex marriage when we have clearly reached the point at which a winning verdict is foreseeable. There is no doubt that the means are no longer justifying the end. The troubling thing here is that the only thing we have to blame for the delay, and the whole thing for that matter, are the world’s sacred texts. It would seem that they have managed to breed a generation of bigots akin to those that still support genocide and slavery, bigots who can hopefully be superseded in conscience voting. Guys, it's time. It's time to identify with the fact that there are still Hitlers in the world that need ignoring and it's time to realise that now we are simply just biding time 'til gay men and women anywhere can marry without the need for plane tickets, so just do it already and let us get on with...ah, I don't know, withdrawing the troops, fixing the economy, running the country? Those are just some suggestions, just as long as it’s not unnecessarily preventing people from living their lives.

‘Civil-unions are basically the same as marriage.’ Fuck you.

12/12/11: Added photo, because, let’s face it, I had to.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

St Pauls Catholic College

If my high school ever had a reunion in twenty years’ time, the rsvp on my invite, in addition to the traditional two, would need one more option: 'attending', 'not attention' and -the one I would tick – ‘I'd rather be dead!’ People often ask me why I hated going to St Pauls Catholic College, Greystanes so much, and sure, I always mention conflicts with other students and the relatively minor bouts with bullying, and that all goes without saying, but that's only the half of it. The biggest stone in my shoe I always had to deal with being a St Pauls student was that the school itself wasn't so much an educational facility as a business masquerading as one. From an outsider’s perspective, this may seem like a petty administrative issue in relation to a student, but in actual fact, a money-obsessed undertone was always at such a constant that it had some influence over every ridiculous decision that was made, be it regarding the students or not, and I was done with it.

Businesses have mottos, and like a business, St Pauls’ motto is: preserve self-image at any cost. This meant that, while other students were getting crucified for minor things done while off the premises in the public-eye, the universal approach to any incident that happens within school grounds, no matter how severe, would involve little punishment for those responsible and a cover up operation akin to a gangster-hit in a Scorsese film. Essentially, to the principals at St Pauls, students were just meat-bags with family bank accounts, so if things aren’t looking picture perfect to the prospective public, fewer parents will enrol their meat-bags for the following school year and, thus, fewer parents can be billed.

And let’s not pretend that St Pauls doesn’t have a history of cover ups. In fact, get this, the name ‘St Pauls Catholic College’ itself is the result of a cover up operation, orchestrated five years before I was enrolled. The story is: back in the days when the school was known as Newman High School, its parish priest was a man named John Gerard Patrick Sweeney. To say the least, Father Sweeney liked little boys…and he’d been liking them for eleven years before he and his pseudo-catholic ring of paedophiles were publicly exposed around 1994. Sweeney was later convicted in 1998. That same year became Newman High School’s final one. That’s right, as opposed to bearing the responsibility of foolishly turning a blind-eye on sexual assault for over a decade, operation St Pauls Catholic College came into effect that following year.

That’s basically the school I attended for six years - Newman High School. Don’t get distracted by the new name, the warming tagline, the pretty emblem, the welcoming school song or the amended school history found in every standard-issue diary, because that same business-mentality that existed in Newman lives on in St Pauls - a mentality where school fees become more important than the life-long trauma that is inflicted upon a student when the very people they trust molests them.

This constant fear of public-perception is the number one reason why all of the issues the school had with me were never regarding things that had gone on inside of school. For example, I used to have a load of trouble regarding my uniform when getting to and from school. Anybody who lived close-by or were picked up from school would’ve had little to no trouble here, as they’d be home within ten minutes, but for me, it often took me well over an hour to get home due to bus connections and other bullshit I’ll get to later. Not only did it take that long, but I would sometimes stop off at the library on my way home to do some homework, which meant that sometimes I wouldn’t end up getting home ‘til dark that night. But St Pauls being St Pauls had this no excuse policy that you either wear the uniform fully and properly or get your fingernails ritualistically removed, regardless of circumstance; it was a full stop, ‘I don’t give a shit about your life policy. So, this library was only fifteen minutes from my school and some teachers, for whatever reason, would sometimes be in the vicinity to see us walking around. So what this meant for me was that I basically couldn’t even loosen my necktie until I got home late that night unless I wanted to risk an eye-piercing pink detention slip, which happened time and time again. I mean, how ridiculous. And it wasn’t just me, others did the same and were punished all the same. Meanwhile, in my last year there, there was this boy who had been having some sort of escalating playground back-and-forth with another boy, both in my grade. One day in class, one taunted the other so badly that he grabbed a pair of scissors and stabbed the other in the arm. I’m not sure how severe it was or the specifics of what happened next, but what’s important here is that neither of the students were expelled and there was, what I like to call, a really big hush-meeting, which was basically a strategic move in operation cover up. They basically pulled my entire grade out of class, gathered us around and told us not to tell anyone, like all one hundred and fifty of us had to keep this dirty little secret for the rest of our lives…but I digress. The hypocrisy is gleaming, where at six at night, I can’t walk from the library to a bus stop with my blazer in my bag without earning a detention but somebody stabs somebody else in one of our classrooms and they got…a stern talking to? Questioned by the police? MY point is if I was getting detentions, they should’ve gotten expelled. So, were St Pauls really meaning to say that missing an item of clothing outside of school is a bigger offence than a potentially dangerous assault inside? In a word, yes, because it was never about what happened, it was about where it happened.

That brings me to my final point: the transport to and from school. My primary school was a lot closer to home than St Pauls and when I was in my final year there, St Pauls was the school that visited us to try and sell the school to us (a.k.a. the prospective market). Because they did this every year, and St Pauls was, I’m ashamed to admit, one of the better schools in the area, a considerable amount of the male students would go on to become St Pauls students; to my misfortune, I was one of them. One of their selling hooks that day, and at a parent information night months later, was that the wheels were in motion for a direct school bus route between my primary school’s suburb, where I reside, and the St Pauls grounds. In fact, they actually talked like it would come to fruition sometime in my first year. That was 2002. When I left school in 2007, they were still using that same business hook. I’m not sure if it was all talk on St Pauls' part, if they just kept having issues with the bus company or just the fact that coming up with a direct route from home to St Pauls isn’t something that can be done in under a decade, but it just never happened and nobody ever explained why. Nevertheless though, having to catch two buses to get to school wasn't the problem, as for me there were an ample amount of services, it’s what happened after this where it all just got a little too ridiculous for words. Six months into my first school year, either because the bus company got sick of the misbehaving group of St Pauls students who caught the buses or because the school did it as punishment to those students, the two buses we had each in the morning and the afternoon got cut down to one. This meant that, in the morning, there was now a forty minute gap between my connecting bus arriving and the overcrowded school bus departing, but that's still not the problem. Mind you, I was still on tenterhooks waiting for this direct bus from my area, merely treating this connection as a meantime alternative. So the following year rolled around and some kids from Greystanes High School waiting for other buses at the same stop began giving me some trouble. These kids were just arseholes and to prevent things coming to blows, I began to catch the public route to school, which was similar to our school route only that it meant a five minute wait, as opposed to a forty minute one. Long story short, this was an ideal resolution to all of my AM transport problems. The bus drivers never asked questions, they accepted my bus pass, it got me to school early, drama-free and I did this for years. The following year I made friends with a boy in a younger grade from up the road, which would catch this bus with me for the same reasons. Who knows what prompted them, but then a year later some St Pauls morons came along and fucked everything up. They started doing what we were doing, the only difference was that they were doing it noisily and disruptively, and within months, the school held one of their 'you can’t eat' lunch meetings telling us that we were no longer allowed to catch the public routes from that particular stop. I didn’t feel like it was there place to police how I got to school, so I continued, but because our principal was now on the case, St Pauls stonewalled us. Whenever I would try to get on one of the buses that wasn’t that one designated bus for my school, the drivers, who knew my face from years of no trouble, would mention my dick principal, Chris Dutfield, by name and tell me that he had told them that we couldn’t catch that bus anymore. I’d argue and argue but there was never any use. So when I tried politely explaining to Dutfield the full story about the trouble I was having and my elaborate journey between school and home, I basically got the same responses I got from the bus drivers, an ‘I don’t care’ response. I pretty much felt like he was saying ‘if you don’t like it, don't catch the bus to school, and he had the audacity to make me feel that way after dangling the direct route infront of me for years. The way I see it is they can do what they want inside there grounds, hell, they could've expelled me, toward the end I was encouraging that, but as long as they still had me down in the roll book, they had no right to tell me what forms of transport I could take to get to school and which ones i couldn't, as long as I got to school on time.

The situation itself was just ridiculous, and it ties in with everything else I’ve mentioned – St Pauls wanting to police us anywhere, anytime. I mean, they had some guts telling us what we could and couldn't do outside of school. I mean, where does it end then? Will they start telling us that we can’t catch taxis to school? What about what shops to eat at and what footpaths we can and can’t walk? And what’s the cut-off time there? Is it really ethical for somebody to be getting punished for wearing a uniform incorrectly after the sun has set? It was just such a silly set of ambiguous rules. This is no joke, but once when I was jigging school, I caught a public route to Parramatta wearing my uniform and no body batted an eyelid, but catching that same bus going the opposite way to get to school, that wasn’t allowed!

Unfortunately, that was the tip of the iceberg when it came to transport, because then there was the whole I have a penis and you’re a Muslim problem. If I could count for you how many lunchtimes this whole thing stole from me, you’d wonder how nobody ever put a bullet in their brain, what I can tell you was that for a while there, it seemed like we – and when I say we, I mean any student who caught this particular school bus - were having meetings once a week. The catalyst to these meetings was that the afternoon bus had recently been merged with Holroyd High School’s bus, which meant that the bus would first pick us up and then we would stop off there on the way. For anybody who doesn’t know, Holroyd High welcomes a lot of refugees and migrants and is specialised in teaching their foreign students how to speak English and, for what I’m assuming is a precipitating factor of this, this meant that the school had an abundance of Islamic students, male and female. St Pauls, however, was an all-boys Catholic school. The problem St Pauls had with us was – get this – that we weren’t getting out of our seats when we arrived at Holroyd. According to our teachers, according to Islam, 'practicing Muslim females' cannot sit next to males. Firstly, I did Islam for my HSC and I never found any hard facts to support this, is that even a thing? Secondly, regardless of how fabricated the facts of their case, let’s get this straight: they decide to mix an already crowded bus that an all-boys catholic school has been comfortably and privately catching for years with a school which consists of a large number of Islamic girls, who, allegedly, are not allowed to be next to males. So, after we’ve settled into our seats, because they’re Muslim, we’re in trouble because we won't cater for them. Let's call it the entrapment of St Pauls - a conspiracy contrived so that we don't eat lunch. Not only was I losing lunchtimes because of this shit, but we were once parked on the side of the road for forty minutes being lectured by an inspector and getting our bus passes collected, causing all types of trouble when catching my connecting buses and any buses the following day. I mean, talk about being bowled over by the weight of your own balls. And what does it all come down to, how we look in the eyes of everybody else. God forbid, can’t be the school who won’t forfeit their seat for Muslims!

And those are just a few things that I hand-picked from the batch. I could write a separate blog on my five years at St Pauls.

You see, St Pauls want to make themselves look like a great school, but the irony here is that their methods in trying to achieve that prevent them from being so. St Pauls’ attention was just always too busy to concentrate on education, for example, too busy creating mind-pretzeling verbal policies, too busy keeping count of how many students are attending and making sure everybody knows about it, and too busy smuggling Mr Dutfield and his mail-order wife out of the country after he makes a mess of a student’s HSC exams. And, I know, the teachers won't admit it, but some of them were around when those boys were molested in the ‘90s, including the aforementioned principal. So, don't be fooled; when it comes to a student-count mantra, cosmetic-trickery and educational slight-of-hand, St Pauls are the experts. Sure, private schools need money, but it shouldn’t be the focus and that’s what creates a significant disparity between a well-run school and St Pauls Catholic College, Greystanes. Don’t send your kid there.

“All it takes for evil to succeed is for people to say 'It's a business'.

Just for the search engines: St Pauls Catholic College Greystanes, Chris Dutfield, St Pauls Catholic College Greystanes, Our Lady Queen of Peace, St Pauls Catholic College Greystanes, Newman High School, St Pauls Catholic College Greystanes, Our Lady Queen of Peace, St Pauls Catholic College Greystanes, Chris Dutfield, St Pauls Catholic College Greystanes, OLQP, Newman High School, St Pauls Catholic College Greystanes, Our Lady Queen of Peace, St Pauls Catholic College Greystanes, Chris Dutfield, Christopher, St Pauls, St Pauls, St Pauls.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Hide & PCeek

A few posts back, I very lightly brushed the topic of the Windows Phone market share in Australia – by that, I refer to the virtually non-existent market share. Within the walls of my house lives a Microsoft ecosystem and when it comes to forking out money for electronics that fit cohesively in that ecosystem, it’s always met with some nervousness on my end. You see, it needs to be understood that ever since the second generation iPhone, Australia has become one of Apple Inc.’s most prized bitches, this unfortunately pushed Microsoft Australia to the way side. This wide-adoption of Apple means a national absence of the latter, and if Apple has taught us anything, it’s that presence means ease – the very thing that drives the success of any piece technology on the market today.

Sure, Bill Gates’ brainchild, Windows, has charmed its way into the homes and offices of many, but that doesn’t change the fact that the name Windows Phone 7 means little nothing to Australians, that retailers are yet to even start offering Zune devices (‘Zune’ being Chinese to anybody that I mention it to, if indeed it still exists, even Microsoft don’t seem to be sure on that one) and that we are so far from having our very own Microsoft store that I don’t see it ever happening. Meanwhile, you could throw a rock into one of our city streets and hit someone who’s carrying an iPhone, probably even an iPod too if we could pry it from their person, and that doesn’t even graze the fact that we have eleven Apple Stores nationwide, with three more in the works, giving the company the ability to offer every product they offer overseas here; and there’s the biggest kicker, the Apple Stores. These outlets allow for face-to-face support and a try-before-you-buy mentality of every product under the same roof – and that's just buying and repairing your device, I haven’t even mentioned the products themselves. When it comes to Microsoft, if you want a phone? Visit the phone store, not just one either, I mean all of them; An Xbox? Go to a gaming boutique; An MP3 Player? You’d have to get that off the internet; Windows? Go to a computer store. And how will you find out how well all of these devices communicate with each other? You won’t, at least not until after you buy them all and stick them together. Then if one of them breaks, it means a plethora of phone calls and sending your stuff to Acer or Dell or HTC or the US to be looked at. However, if I walked into an Apple store, I could see how an iPhone can be used with Apple TV, I can see how an iPod will connect to a Mac, Christ, I could probably test drive a MacBook’s performance while running Final Cut Pro; a whole family of products, all under one roof. Needless to say, being a loyal Microsoft customer in Australia is a pill that gets tougher to swallow each day that I continue to reject the idea of purchasing an Apple product.

Not only that but I watch the recent Windows Phone event in New York City and that, like many other overseas technology related events, just reminds of Microsoft’s national absence here, in fact it reminds me of the absence of technology in general. That’s not to say that Australia is a bad country or anything, but if you’re a tech-geek, sadly this isn’t the best-suited country for you, for any corporation really, it just so happened that Apple were able to become the high point in our low market.

So, anybody like myself who chooses to deny the allure of a company that essentially spits out products that are shrouded in how easy they are to use and, instead, adopts a corporation who probably think that our continent is just kites and Amish farmland, you’re basically choosing to play a consumer version of hide & seek.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Baths are like Space

I’ve always avoided any real interest in the universe and outer space like the plague, simply because unanswered questions really bother me, so… By the same token, I’ve never been a fan of baths, because lying in my own stagnant filth really disgusts me. However, the reason why I would one day like to live beyond the sky and the reason why I occasionally take a bath and not a shower are oddly enough the same: because I want to live in a world where stuff just floats around, and barring any unforeseen apocalyptic shit, a bath is the closest I am ever going to get to a world such as that.

There’s not a lot I know about living on a space station, but the way I understand it is that the gravity isn’t as dense as ours and - I’m just going to say it straight-out - if I ever had the privilege of living in one, it would be my sickest and most perverted time. Honest to god, I can’t be held accountable for the sick shit I’d get up to, I’m talking trying to smash glass, lighting a match, trying to drink water out of a cup, seeing how far one of my farts can propel me, dropping deuces mid-room like a fish, standing on the wing firing off a semi-automatic I smuggled on board…needless to say, it’s going to be a strange time for the whole crew. So, I guess the equation is: zero gravity + me = the most annoying housemate you’ve ever had. And I say ‘don’t judge’ because you can’t tell me that Buzz Aldrin never walked floated in on a butt-naked Neil Armstrong while he was checking out his own junk and how it sort of hangs, but not really, y’know, like it is when you’re in the bath. With a face like Armstrong’s, I wouldn’t put it past him really, I mean, they don’t call him ‘Armstrong’ for nothing…but I digress. In fact, if NASA or the Russian fellows did an International Space Station version of Big Brother without telling them, I’m willing to bet we would just be seeing unclad genitalia all the time. If it were me up there – fair warning - it’d be mine all over your screen; hands down. Well, that’s me in the bath, checking myself out naked with everything I need, not on the side, but in the water with me – the bar of soap, the shampoo bottle, the loofah, the razor – it’s all just floating around me…somewhere. Anyway, the message here is that my mother calls it the bath; I call it ‘My Little Space Station’ (only because I can’t think of a name as cool as SkyLab!).

Fuelled by my curiosity of the weightlessness of space, I personally think that Richard Branson should stop trying to get consumers to space and just bring space to us. I’m not talking about everywhere, maybe just a few countries, you know, we’ll start with the socialist ones, like China and Egypt and then we’ll work it out from there. I mean, do surfaces even get dirty in space? Can liquid spills and dust truly attach themselves to anything? Who knows really; all I know at this point is that the only thing putting dust and liquid all over my fucking furniture seems to be gravity; maybe gravity is the world’s problem. Maybe the Chinese government have a dust problem and that’s why they hate everyone, because they have dust-frustration like me? I mean, there’s no communism in space is there? No wars either, apart from the ones in George Lucas’ mind and that weird one at the end of Moonraker. That’s the reason why we should have zero gravity on earth, because nobody likes dust or Chinese politics, and definitely not because I want to be thrown across the room by the burst of my own natural gas.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Things I Loved About Gaddafi

I often sit back and wonder if terrorists and dictators only exist so that comedians have material. It’s true what they say, they are just about the lowest and most evil breed of human lady parts have had to offer the world so far, no doubt about it, but without them, where’s the humour? There's the thing where Hitler thought that you could catch Judaism if somebody sneezed it on you; bin Laden had that major objection to chilled water – it’s shit like that that makes this dude just chuckle. So, here’s a short list of the laughable shenanigans that Gaddafi got up to in his life that I love (and probably had Saddam coming in his insane pants):

The Mythical Berbers
Ahhh, the Berber thing. I was never much for leaving the best 'til last, so here it goes: Gaddafi’s attempt at suppressing Libya’s indigenous people - the Berbers. Berbers are a non-Arab people who settled in Libya long before any Arab populations arrived there. Here in Australia, when we decided that we didn’t like our indigenous people, we just tried to breed them out, inevitably driving them to an eternity of anarchy and substance-abuse. In Germany, when Hitler didn’t like the Jews for whatever mixed reason he had, all he did was fumigate them. But when it comes to Gaddafi and his ethnic cleansing, he certainly takes the cake: he told the Libyans that they didn’t exist! He tried to have them believe that the Berbers were just some mythical group of people thought up by the West (big surprise). I mean seriously, what did he think, that people wouldn’t notice them walking around on their donkeys? Makes no sense.

The Gaddafian Calendar
One of Gaddafi’s many feats of insanity during his autocracy was the changing of the Libyan calendar. Gaddafi, like everyone else that is as ugly as him, despised the West, and Libya, at the time, followed the calendar we follow, the Gregorian calendar. He hated the West so immensely and was so egotistical in himself that he couldn't just change the calendar to another existing one, so what did he do? He created his own. Even though he strangely chose the English translation over the Arabic, it was just one big fire sale on anything Western – ‘July’ had to go as it pays homage to Julius Caesar, so it was changed to ‘Nessar’ to honour this other crazy guy Gaddafi thought about vigorously in his private time; August had to go too, as it was named after Augustus Caesar. But it didn't stop there. To accommodate the crazy leader's Islamic roots, on the first of December 1978 in our calendar, he also changed what year it was so that it coincided with the death (or birth – who knows) of the Prophet Mohammad; a system similar to the Islamic calendar, but not quite. Now I just love this, because it's one thing for a leader to change the calendar to one that he prefers, but it’s ‘pack your bags and get on a plane’ time when your leader starts renaming months and changing what year it is. However, not only did he change the year, but he was never quite clear on what year he changed it to and, thusly, neither were his people. Now, that’s fucked up, I mean that’d be like if I were to say that it’s 2009 right now, but then you ask somebody else and they say that it’s actually 2019. It was pretty stupid, and insane, to say the least.

The Real Footloose
Up until now, I never realised it but, under Gaddafi’s rule, Libya was a real life, albeit sandy, Footloose town! This article from the National Geographic Adventure magazine just says it all:

“’Nightlife’ requires a new definition in a country without alcohol, where the population abides by strict codes of male-female conduct that require both sexes to stay virgins until marriage—there are no dance clubs, no bars, no young couples strolling down the street, holding hands. And in conservative country towns like Ghadamis, the subdued air feels like perpetual Sunday morning. I go in search of the town hotspot and discover it to be the local internet café, where crowds of young men play video games, enter English-language chat rooms, and examine—however surreptitiously—Western porn sites. It takes me a few minutes to notice that there’s not a single woman in the place. Away from the progressive cities of Tripoli and Benghazi, women stay largely in the home, out of sight. A local man, Mahmud, tells me that women here aren’t allowed to see or interact with males outside of their immediate family, including any would-be husband.”
I mean this shit is uncanny. It’s like Gaddafi read the Quran and watched Footloose all on the same day and then he became some sort of Muslim John Lithgow, who thinks that a ban on dancing and sex is the only thing standing in the way of a total meltdown in Libya, but a forty-plus year dictatorship is a-okay!

Needless to say, Muammar Gaddafi was one twisted and horrible treasure trove of laugh-worthy ridiculousness, and that’s the funny thing about people like him. Without politicians that sniff women’s chairs and terrorists that like water but will go on a rampage when it’s chilled, what would I have to do? Comedians would need a permanent marker and the careers section of a local newspaper; I’d have to write about my feelings; it would just be a sad, sad state of affairs - that’s why I loved Gaddafi, because he was just a psychotic dose of humour for all of us make fun of.

Monday, October 17, 2011

You Had Me at ‘Religion’

I’ve been blogging for about four years now and I’ve been biblically incorrect and a devout agnostic for a little longer than that. Excluding the post about religious healing I wrote years back, the one reason I’ve never combined the two and used this blog as a soapbox for how much I oppose religion is the same reason I stray away from writing about drugs and cigarettes: because there’s no point repeating what everybody else is already saying.

I post what I write so that I have a platform on which I can bring new things to the table and expressing something that every atheist, realist, rationalist, political talk show host, comedian and whoever else is already saying is just a waste of my time, and frankly, a waste of your time if you bothered even reading it. So, instead of presenting my universal opinion on religion, and by that I mean directly putting it down, I might as well just present to you what I think, only from somebody else’s lips, and who better to choose than one of my hero’s, Bill Maher.

If you’re interested, I suggest you go and watch Religulous. That’s all I’ll say.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

$1200 with a Rubber Band

When the screen on my flip phone ended up on one side of the room and the keypad was on the other, I knew that I wanted my next phone to be a high end smartphone, but now all I want is to stick what I ended up getting up HTC and Microsoft’s hind-ends. The story begins the day I grew irked of the very long and very exhausting line of mediocre handsets in my past. I figured that since I now had the money for a better one that the more I spent, the better quality product I'd get - sort of like a 'you get what you paid for' deal - well, when it comes to technology, it would seem that you don't get that deal. I didn't want a safe iPhone, so I ended up getting myself a dangerous HTC Touch Pro2 and danger I got. With the aid of my false logic, I spent more money on this phone than I did on the top of the line computer I bought midway this year. That computer has been nothing short of a dream, everything that I paid for, this phone, however,...well let’s just say I've had better experiences with a two-hundred dollar Nokia I bought eight years ago which sported Snake 2 and WAP internet. Honest to God, I've taken shits in my toilet that have performed a better service than this phone.

I'm loathed to mention this, but I think the onus is on Microsoft rather than HTC in the overall scheme of things. It's been about two years since I bought this phone that came stocked with Windows Mobile 6.1 and, I'll give it to you straight, I've seen better software on my microwave dial. Windows Mobile 6 is a little like Windows 98 - it was great in its time but has no place in this era of computing and, comparing it to everything else that was on the market at the time, it was basically extracted from Bill Gates' toilet; pure and simple. It should be mentioned to those that don't know that Windows Mobile was such a bad product in fact, that Microsoft literally hurled the brand and the entire underlying program code into the virtual trash, began new coding on a blank document and out popped Windows Phone 7. WP7 is essentially something that doesn't cost an arm and a thermos of horse semen to own and yet has a product quality commensurate to iOS and Android. But, more importantly, Windows Phone holds not only a candle to Windows Mobile, but a fucking cauldron, so much so that even Steve Ballmer, the current CEO of Microsoft, was on television chuckling at the very mention of the product, he even said elsewhere that Microsoft ‘screwed up’ Windows Mobile. Straight from the devil’s mouth.

However, for my handset in particular, Microsoft can't take the whole wrap for its disgrace. HTC as a whole shouldn’t have continued carrying a broken operating system in the first place! What’s more, they shouldn't have been producing phones that couldn't handle running the OS, better yet, Microsoft shouldn't have still been offering it to HTC and any other hardware manufacturers, for that matter. Nevertheless, what they did with Windows Phone was a great idea which was executed years too late. The very moment the first iPhone was announced, either Ballmer or Gates should've been on the phone closing the Windows Mobile department down to replace it with Windows Phone, but instead that ended up occurring years later. It was a strategic mistake and they all know it.

So, now I have the inevitable conundrum fueled by the very capitalist in me that started all of this: do I wait ‘til an Australian carrier offers a Windows Phone handset that I like into the limited market we have in this country - which at this point could be years, riskily obtain that handset unconventionally over the web – paid outright, or go with the answer to all my problems and just bite the forbidden fruit - an iPhone? The answer isn’t as obvious as it may seem, and with every day that passes, I only draw closer to the day where I make my decision and rid my pocket of a product that even Microsoft thinks is a fucking joke.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Who Saved What Now?

Just in time for the tenth anniversary of the September 11 terrorist attacks, a memorial was unveiled at the site where, ten years ago, United Flight 93 crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, the flight famous for its passengers who allegedly revolted against its hijackers. “They [the passengers] gave the entire country an incalculable gift. They saved the capital from attack. They saved god knows how many lives. They saved the terrorists from claiming the symbolic victory of smashing the centre of American government…and they did it as citizens.” Bill Clinton said in his speech at the unveiling held last Saturday. Clinton wasn’t the only one to speak at the memorial, George W. Bush and Joe Biden made speeches about the passengers also, each of which I have watched several times out of complete bewilderment. Call me crazy, but can somebody please explain to me when it was decided that the passengers being responsible for saving Washington D.C. from attack is factual? Call me nuts, but do we really have enough hard evidence to transform that theory into fact?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not here to dissuade you of this or back some paranoid 9/11 Charlie Sheen conspiracy bullshit. In fact, I'm not even saying that a passenger revolt isn’t what happened on that plane, but by the same token, nor am I saying that people inexperienced at flying Boeing 757s at low altitudes can do it without burning up in a fireball. What I am dismissing, however, is anybody who treats the brief and ambiguous evidence we have regarding Flight 93 as solid and conclusive testimony to support that the passengers became hostile with the hijackers, which lead to the plane crash. I'm no lawyer, so correct me if I'm wrong, but any evidence they do have is speculation and heresay, is it not?

First, let’s lay the cards out on the table - we have passengers saying on their phones that they're considering 'rushing' the cockpit and then we have the terrorists in the cockpit screaming 'They're coming; they're coming'. Around the same time also, the plane was recorded as, what I understand, bobbing up and down and from side to side. So, we have two recordings that don't tell us much at all and a plane flying erratically; wow, they've cracked the case wide open haven't they. I mean, are we really doing this, saying this is what definitely happened?

Now to explain the hands - what anyone fails to say out loud is that whenever the media uses quotation marks to 'quote' what was said in the sixty two calls that were made from the plane by passengers, they aren't quoting the actual passenger, they are quoting the passenger's husband or wife or relation's testimony. And, given that, how valid could these quotes be, even if the source is trustworthy? Let's look at it in context: Within the hour, two airliners have just gone into buildings in New York City, with a third plane crash at the Pentagon in Virginia, now somebody you love and adore is calling you saying that there are men on their plane whom have attacked the pilots and claim to have a bomb. If there is anytime you're going to have a euphoric mix of emotions, it's right now. Let me ask you, could you properly quote what was said in any of those conversations, given the circumstances? Not only that, but at the time you would be quoting this, there's also the added trauma of losing your loved one and finding out about it from the news. You see, I’m quite positive that nobody has heard these calls. The only phone calls we have actually heard and can accurately transcribe are voice mail messages that were left and maybe (a big maybe) we can trust the GTE operators who claim they spoke to passengers...but even they have emotions, so who knows. Heresay.

Secondly, the recording of the last half hour in the cockpit is just something so open to discussion that we might as well just forget it; in fact, lets just nix it, right now. They said 'They're coming; they're coming', that very well could be referring to passengers, but it might actually be referring to fighter jets they thought they could see in the distance, it could mean that they were watching porn, who knows, that's what I'm saying. As for the plane going all over the place and then crashing: of course we can assume that they were trying to stop the passengers who were about to knock the cockpit door down and that when that failed to stop them, they realised that the operation was going to shit and decided to crash the plane into the ground. But let’s not forget, apart from the theoretical knowledge, Ziad Jarrah's (the head hijacker) skill at flying those planes was novice at best, I mean they all thought that they were speaking to the passengers on the intercom when, a matter of fact, they were talking to some control tower, that's how well they knew the controls. Any skill Jarrah did have was learnt by flying two-man, light aircraft, not Boeing 757s that can carry two hundred. So when heavy aircraft is flown by someone who hasn't so much as been in a simulator for that plane, whatsmore, at such a low altitude, isn't some struggle with the controls and a subsequent crash quite a big possibility? Can we really say for sure that the crash wasn't just a mishap? On that note, can we say for sure that Jarrah didn't just have second-thoughts? I mean, the shit is fucking nuts. In fact, the only evidence we do have here is that the auto-pilot was redirected to head in the direction of Washington D.C., another theory factualised by Clinton & Biden at the unveiling, which still isn't what one would call 'solid'.

See? If we happened to put this handful of victims on trial in any western court on charges for heroism, the jury would come back and read 'Not guilty! Not Guilty! Not guilty!'. The law system would use words like 'inconclusive','speculative' and 'heresay'. It would be like one not-guilty orgy down at that courthouse. So what I'm saying is that it's certainly quite possible that those passengers did ‘rush’ the cockpit and it's quite possible that the plane crashing into nothing is a precipitating factor of that; I won't lie, the evidence indeed points that way. In fact, you could say that I'm about ninety percent sure that’s what happened, but what I'm asking is this: is ninety percent really enough? Is it enough for two former US presidents and a former US Vice President to talk at a memorial unveiling like we can be a hundred percent certain of what occurred? I mean, a seed of doubt, no matter how miniscule, is still a seed of doubt. The dumbest part of any of these speeches was when Biden said ‘we are here to honour those whose courage made history’, if ninety percent is all you need to go down in the history, then I question the legitimacy of America’s history. The smartest part of the speeches, surprisingly, came from Bush when he used the phrase ‘most likely’ before speaking about the plane’s alleged target, which is something that each speaker should have said before pretty much saying anything regarding United Flight 93. It's just really childish to try and put some sort of positive spin on this just because people have lost their lives, especially when the positive spin is potentially a fallacy. I don't care what anybody says - Obama, Bush, Billy Bob - remember this: there is and only ever will be enough evidence available to support a theory here, not a fact.

>> Clinton & Bush Speech Snippets

Thursday, September 8, 2011

People Say Things

It’s true. I pride myself on writing honest post titles. People do say things. I say things too, like ‘I have respect for religion’ and ‘I don’t cheat at Words With Friends’, they aren’t particularly true, but I’ve said them nonetheless. Just the same, those things that people say usually end up being pretty erroneous when you actually look into them. It might not be because they are trying to be disingenuous, but mainly because they have unwittingly succumbed to some half-baked theory. So without any further ado, here are the things that I often hear people say, in descending order of frequency, that are in need of some serious debunking:

“Macs don’t get viruses”
If there is anything that trumps everything that is illogical and shallow-in-thought in the world, it’s this. For those that aren’t aware, the theory that Macs don’t get viruses was manufactured by a retarded phenomenon of thought, born inside the mind of some envious indie kid in the hopes of winning over Gates supporters about a decade ago.

The whole theory is just a paperweight on people’s intelligence; a grinder of thy bones. It’s sort of like if somebody were to one day discover a huge hole in the vault wall of a major bank, giving just about anybody free reign to just walk in and make themselves rich. The discoverer doesn’t take any though; the discoverer just tells people where the bank is and its closing times. So, as the word spreads, the hole still doesn’t get repaired, money continues to flow into the vault and nobody but those authorised ever touch the money. Over a decade later, Justin Long has made everybody aware of the bank and the opportunity that surrounds it, yet in all that time and all that publicity, nobody ever pockets any money; not one cent. Ridiculous, you say? Bullshit, I say. We live in an exploitative world. Before the word even spread, the bank would’ve been cleaned out. Well, that unlikely tale is actually just this virus-free Mac theory, just applied in another scenario. To translate: Mac OS is the bank, the fact that if a hacker wants to do something, the hacker can do it is the hole and the people are us.

The whole point that I am driving towards is this: Sure, Mac OS probably didn’t have any viruses in the early adoption stages, but that would be true of any new operating system, at least until everybody starts boasting about how it doesn’t get viruses…oh hey! That’s exactly what’s happening now. In fact, a few years ago, an anti-malware feature was sewn into the lining of the platform. See what I mean? Do you really think – and I mean really think – that everybody believing that ‘Macs don’t get viruses’ and then leaving their machines unprotected in light of that belief wouldn’t prompt hackers to exploit the shit out of it?

“All soft drinks have caffeine”
Time and time again has somebody tried to convince me that all soft drinks have caffeine in the mix and it's time I rung the bullshit-bell. I'm not sure where along the line people got the silly idea that carbonating somehow goes hand-in-hand with caffeinating, but it’s a total fallacy, I mean, cups of coffee don't have soda in them, do they? As a teenager, I made it my life's work to guzzle as much of anything fizzy possible, and even though I have seriously toned down my consumption these last couple of years, I like to think that I know what it is I’m about to drink whenever I crack open a bottle, but to cover my black ass, I did my homework anyway.

Whenever I was exposed to this misinformation, my standard argument I'd always give these morons was that only cola-flavoured soft drinks contained caffeine. Admittedly, after reading into ingredients on the web, I found that my defence to the theory was as incorrect as the stupid theory itself - in Australia, Dr Pepper and Mountain Dew contains caffeine. The fact that Dr Pepper has caffeine failed to surprise me, but when I read about Mountain Dews caffeine content, it blew my freakin' mind, so the following day I picked up a can of my own and only after reading the ingredients on the back for myself did I realise that I'd been dooped (so if you ever stumble across this site, take anything it says with a grain of salt.) That leaves us with Colas and Dr Pepper, and I won't fuck around, should the latter even be counted in this? Australians don't drink it and it's seldom found in our refrigerators, in neither the shop nor the home.

So, in review, lets have a look at Australia: soft drinks that contain caffeine include cola-flavoured ones, Dr Pepper,…oh, wait; that’s it; hmm, that doesn't sound like all soft drinks, I mean, off the top of my head, that leaves the entire Fanta range, Sprite, Mountain Dew, Ginger Ale, Sunkist, 7 Up...need I even continue?

“Reverse your PIN code at the ATM to call the cops”
This shit has ‘R.I.P. Jackie Chan’ written all over it. The idea is if somebody's mugging you and wants you to empty your bank account at the ATM, you can secretly call the cops by typing your PIN code backwards, while the offender is none the wiser. At first glance, the theory sounds like a smart and plausible idea, but then when you analyse it for any more than two minutes, you realise that it’s just as stupid as door handles in a restroom. Now, I don’t know about you, but whenever I go out mugging people at quiet ATMs, I do it after they’ve typed their PIN in, sometimes even after they’ve taken their cash out; it's just a rule of thumb in my robbery repertoire. What good is someone that might be calling the cops under the guise of typing in a PIN code? Besides, this saves me using my gun. Hey, I know a neat trick: next time you go out to get some fast-cash, type your PIN backwards three times and see what happens.

“It’s safer to work in a prison than anywhere else”
This probably doesn’t even deserve to be on this list. It could be discussed ‘til the end of time. The argument is that working in a high-security facility, manned by armed guards, is safer than working in a place that has no armed guards, and in that respect, I give this observation a stadium-applause. The part that I struggle with is the part where the guarded workplace is a prison, frequented by burglars, murderers and rapists; meanwhile, any other workplace is just a peaceful and conventional location, which would rarely come across any of those sorts of people. It’s a little like standing near a guy who is erratically firing a machine gun in your direction, but you argue that you’re safer than everybody else in the world, no matter how far away they are, because you’re clad with Kevlar; it’s hardly looking at the big picture.

"No gherkin and the McDonalds Cheeseburger is a dessert"
Myth, myth, myth – even the thirteen year old cashier selling it to you knows that there is nothing supporting this; case closed.

“Lenseless glasses look mega rad!”
What moro…enough said.

So, there's some food for thought. Unfortunately for us, there are so many myths, old-wives tales and urban legends flying out of people's mouths and into earshot that we can't possibly fact-check everything without some sort of assistant to guide us through every interaction. My main goal here was to do the fact checking for, not only your education, but for mine too. The disrespectful tone in this post, however, is the tenth-degree burn I feel in my brain whenever a large group of people haphazardly bow-down to and then spread theoreticals that really don't require an internet connection or an encyclopaedia to realise that whoever sneezed it on you is clearly a moron, it only requires some good 'ol common sense, something that we as a people have become so bankrupt of. I mean, ‘Macs don't get viruses’? Really, people? Where are we living? A fairy tale land? Think about the shit you're spreading, guys.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Kids are Dipshits

Cats are awesome. When I get married, I'm adopting...a cat. They clean themselves. They don't need clothing, schooling or a great deal of food. The males fuck around, but that's okay; they're animals, that's what animals do. It will never call me to bail it out of prison and rarely will it have me up at all hours of the night worrying. Plus, they'll keep the birds from shitting all over the car, not to mention, the mummies from haunting the household. Why the hell would you want a kid? I'm never having kids; I'm having cats, damn it!

People often have a fear of commitment; I have a fear of having a kid that I can't in good conscience drown in the bath tub. Fuck kids! It's a jungle out there and kids are dipshits. Why the hell would I want to be a parent? So I can be up at all hours of the night wondering if my daughter is out doing a re-enactment of ‘George of the Jungle’, but with cock? What kind of parent would I even be? The last thing I'd want is to be the corseted helicopter type parent who runs there household the same way the Chinese run their country, but on the other hand, in this day and age, not being one of those parents could actually been seen as negligent. Boys live with their dicks in their hands; most young girls are living with them between their legs, not because of will but out of some clever male trickery. God forbid, if I have a girl, under ‘name’ on her birth certificate will read 'Touch My Daughter And You Die Quinn'. Carved on the inside of my son's door will be 'If you're penis is out while there's a chick in here and she's not your girlfriend, you might die; if she's somebody else's, then I'll frame you for your sister's boyfriend's murder.'

f0072_ORIG-NakedGunfullbodycondomIn all seriousness though, I'm living my whole life in a comically-large condom, like the ones in the love scene in ‘The Naked Gun’, because honest to god, there's no telling what I'd do if I had kids. Bringing life into this world is no doubt a wonderful thing, but from watching girls and boys my age living in a world built on penises, vaginas and drugs; having any rug-rats of my own sounds like an act of self-harm.

The thought of a daughter of mine going to clubs half-naked, being offered drinks and drugs and, more importantly, being in the cross-hairs of the male population scares the hell out of me. Is this the Saturday night her drink gets spiked? Has she tried pot yet? Why does she have so many guy friends? The constant questions and the constant worry would be enough to drive you insane. My only hope is that either she is so ugly that she'll be disillusioned to sex and die a virgin or she meets a good guy to date before she leaves school. And I don't use 'good guy' loosely - I mean somebody I've met multiple times, whose parents I've met and broken bread with, whose house I've been in, who I've had a conversation with, and then from here I'll be able to judge whether the girl has struck gold or cum. Dating a nice guy would mean half of the worrying would be removed from my job. Let’s not dance around it, though, the odds of her beginning a long-term relationship in school, let alone, a wholesome one, is slim, but fingers crossed for my, hopefully, hideous future daughter.

That brings me to if I had a boy. If I found out that my son was walking around with his tongue half out and his brain in his dick like some arsehole, I'd thump him. I want other parents to look at him and see that same good guy that I'd like my own daughter to be with; someone who isn't solely interested in depositing as much spunk into the world as humanly possible. If I was the parent of some of the boys I've met over the years, their shit would be on the lawn! I want my household to be one of substance and good values and I won't accept anybody to act like Shane Warne while baring my surname.

Even though I consider myself to be that 'good guy', when you look at it from this perspective, it's a little hard to blame parents for being draconian with their teenagers. I'll repeat it again - kids are dumb; they have no clue what they're doing. I really empathise with parents these days, mostly because the thought of being one myself is already spine-chilling, and I'm not planning on having children for another decade. That's why I want a cat, because cats can’t end up on the show ’16 and Pregnant’.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Mama’s Early-Bloomer

I’m not too far from my twenty-first birthday, and every year so far has been a journey on a yellow brick road shrouded in presumption. Often I’ll say that if a motherfucker wants to make a presumption about me, then let the motherfucker presume away, but there are a couple of things that I feel have come to a place where they need be set straight, the first being relatively trivial and the second one being on a heavier note.

Firstly, the whole late-bloomer, twenty year old virgin thing - When I was in high school, I was the victim of a lot of misguided presumptions regarding my sex life. I’ve never been one to brag, so rarely did I ever feel comfortable defending my man-parts in that respect, but it was always a massive blow to my ego. The hypocritical thing here is that I often made the exact same assumptions about other students at the same time. I would always just assume a bulk of any of the advanced academia classes were one hundred percent unexposed, unkissed virgins and would stay that way well past there eighteenth birthdays. When it came to my year twelve exams when everybody actually did start turning eighteen, I had been proven wrong left, right and centre. By then, a number of them either were in sexual relationships, got diddled somewhere along the way or, at the very least, had had their tongue down someone’s throat. Exactly like the others who had wrongly assumed about me, some of them had been sexually active for years, even while I was ignorantly casting the dispersion that they wouldn’t for decades.

This transformed my entire judgement process. Whenever I meet somebody now, I just always assume that they are buttering somebody’s toast, regardless of their circumstances. I let the surprise be that they aren’t having sex, as opposed to being surprised when I find out that they are. Believe it or not, eight years on from when the assumptions first began in the school yard; they are still made about me. I don’t understand what it is, I mean, people know that I’m twenty. They must just see the dental braces, the skinny, pale body, the thirteen year old fuzz on my face that takes a week to grow, not to mention, the strong bond I have with my mother, and they’re brains immediately scream ‘virgin!’. Regardless of the reason, I thought it was insane back when I was fifteen, so imagine how my ego feels now in my twenties.

That brings me to my next point – Parental relationships. I am a self-proclaimed mama’s boy; there is no doubt. I live with my mother and life at home is great. She’s a caring, hard-working, understanding and loving parent. There isn’t anything I can’t speak to her about, and vice versa. She’s trusted me enough to let me do whatever I like since I became a teenager. We even do lunch; we do movies; we do concerts, et cetera – in other words, she’s more of a really good roommate that I’ve made a habit of freeloading off, as opposed to a parent.

Two things: the first being - Having this sort of relationship with my mother is in no way and never has been indicative of the fruits that fuel either my social or sex life. I have meals out with my mother because we wanted to try out a restaurant; I see movies with her because we both thought the trailers looked good; I see concerts with her because we both happen to like the artist; not because I’m single, and not because I’m friendless. This may be hard for some to understand, but strong platonic and sexual relationships can coexist with strong paternal ones; if there is anything you take away from this post, don’t forget that.

The second thing – People who find the strong paternal relationship I just mentioned unconventional or peculiar, I really feel sorry for. Just because your parents are part of some tightly-corseted faith or you can’t hold a conversation with them or your dad’s always on the turps or whatever, does not make me the unorthodox one, nor does it give you a free pass to look at me strangely. I apologise to the ones that have been unlucky in this respect, but to those that have the opportunity, I think every child should have this sort of relationship with their parent and their parent with their children; I mean, this isn’t the highly-strung 1920s anymore; c’mon.

Just take it from me, no matter how disgusting the attitude, how pasty the skin, how strong the family bond, how utterly boring the conversation, there is always - at the very least - a few people out of seven billion out there who want to touch their genitals, and probably already have; write that down, motherfuckers.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Doll-Headed People!

Australia’s first child pageant is on and has been since earlier today, so if you need me, you can find me in my room with the lights off, rocking back and forth in the foetal position until this shit is over. Normally I am a major supporter of just about anything that aggravates the prudish hoi polloi that resides in this country, from something an uneducated radio presenter has said to biblical-blowjobs in Californication, by all means, if it’s pissing someone off, keep doing it, but I’m going to have to go with the prudes on this one – child beauty pageants are fucking creepy!

Yes; not just creepy, fucking creepy.

Like a clown to a coulrophobic, you can pretty much say that I have another fear to add to the emotional line-up. When I see images of the pageants, even if it’s just of one contestant for a few seconds, my stomach churns. I get the same feeling I get when I watch a poorly adultised sitcom with a child actor in the cast or Willow Smith in the ‘Whip My Hair’ music video – the aura of paedophilia. I feel like I’ve typed the wrong thing into Google Images and I need to hit the back button quick before someone sees (or before I throw up), but there’s never a back button…because it’s on the television…or on the magazine I just happened to open. I feel like I’m being forced one step closer to selling child porn and the cops are about to beat down my door with M16s to tear out the hard-drive from my computer so they can indict me. It’s wrong. It also plays on the fact that it would really freak me out if someone walked around with a doll’s head instead of their own, which is basically what these girls are doing. I don’t know about you but I’m not into the whole doll-headed thing; that sounds horrible…I’m also not into kids, just for the record.

Originally, I had a plethora of clever and degrading ways to describe pageant-parents which I was more than keen to share with you, like ‘child abusers’, ‘wacked bitchezz’ (okay, maybe not so clever), but I don’t see any point in saying what a number blog search results can already tell you. All you need to know here is that child beauty pageants have haunted me since I was old enough to get the gist of the nightly news reports and now the doll-headed people are in Australia and frankly, being in Australia isn’t the country’s biggest fish to fry, in my opinion, so I don’t mind too much, that said, I’m real, real scared. But hey! Big ups for the paedophiles in this country, congratulations, guys! I know that when news broke, earlier this year, they all jizzed simultaneously, but for me, these kid’s glowing, little, pouty smiles makes this smiley-guy less of a smiley and more of a trembling blank-lipped dude trying to pretend that there isn’t a five year old in a bikini on his screen.

Monday, July 4, 2011

No Action for Transport 2020

All aboard the bullshit train, folks; the NSW state government is at it again…

allaboardbullshit 

If there is anything that I take with a grain a salt, it’s anything that comes from a bogan’s mouth and railway proposal talk. Railway proposals are the lesbian pornography of the New South Wales government – a lot of noise gets made, but it’s almost always followed with no results. Whenever some state politician starts talk of some elaborate billion dollar rail proposal they’ve put in front of the professional head shakers of our government, all I see is the start of yet another string of cancellations, broken-promises and completion dates predicted to be so far in the future that the plans being proposed won’t even be remembered by the former Minister for Transport who proposed them in the first place. It’s an all too familiar song and dance we do in this state.

This whole thing has been happening for as long as I can remember. I mention this of course in the dawn of the proposal for the North West Rail Link, another possibly doomed idea which has already been on its own thirteen year rollercoaster. The number one issue I always see with NSW transport is square one; let me explain. This square one issue doesn’t lie with CityRail, RailCorp, the indecision of our government or the reality that there has to be a square one in every plan, no, the issue lies with the fact that our government changes our minister for transport like it’s a weekly agenda, and with each new one, we always end up back at square one. This is the genesis to our long list of short-lived ideas and cancelled plans. We’ll always start at square one, then one minister will announce these plans that are expected to be completed by 2020, but by the time the 2017 construction rolls around, we’ve already gone through one or two different ministers who, let’s be frank, will be gone too quickly to care, meanwhile all having their own turn at toying with these plans at their own disposal, sometimes quashing them completely, and funnily enough, more times than none, it all ends with us either returning or remaining at square one.

In the respect to our political issues with square one, the North West Rail Link has been a political harlot. Since the proposal was first put forward (or started putting out) in 1998, it has been through six different transport ministers and two political parties over a thirteen year period. Since then, in chronological order, it was first announced with a 2010 completion date, then revised to be completed in 2017, then back to 2015, then they changed the name to the North West Metro, then extended the plan to somehow include the Sydney CBD via Drummoyne with the possible use of Hogwarts witchcraft, then they decided against that because it was clearly impossible, so they shortened their plan to extend the original plan, then it was cancelled, then they went back to the original 1998 plan in 2010 (the year the ’98 plan was meant to be finished) for construction to begin in 2017, renaming back to the North West Rail Link and now this year, 2011, our newly-appointed state premier has begun to seriously consider the 1998 plan…in 2011...thirteen years later.

If you’re still with me and haven’t yet passed out from just reading about the CityRail yo-yo that half a dozen ministers have had a go of, this is just one of many. The North West Rail Link was part of a position paper released by the government in 1998 which outlined seven projects, with three possibles, which were to be completed or at least started by 2010. The paper was called Action for Transport Plan 2010, so you’d think with what the paper was promising and having a name like that, if not all but most of it would essentially be put into ‘action’, ERRRRR! Incorrect. Of the seven proposals, one and a half were completed: the Airport Link, because it had already started construction, and the Parramatta Rail Link which was actually never truly finished, so they just threw it under the bed, said it was completed and called it the Epping to Chatswood Rail Link; none of the others have started construction. So, just to juice the comical and ironic element here for all it’s worth, a paper called ‘Action for Transport 2010’ was released back in 1998 outlining projects that were meant to have at least been started by 2010, and now it’s 2011 and majority of those projects haven’t even seen the light of day, let alone been completed…and it’s 2011…thirteen years later.

That’s just what was in that paper; as well, since the mid-90s, there was also the proposal for Bondi Beach Station; the CBD -Metro, -Relief Line and -Rail Link; the Anzac Line; the South West Rail Link; the North West Metro (mentioned above); the Western -Express, -FastRail (this would’ve been awesome) and -Metro; plus everything mentioned in the ‘Christie’ proposals and 2009 Blueprint. There is also currently an extension to Circular Quay on the existing Sydney tram line which is still floating around, possibly awaiting cancellation. By the way, did I mention that it’s 2011?

I’m no politician, but speaking as someone who has lived in Sydney all of my life and has witnessed promise after promise only being made to never come to fruition, the NSW government needs to change two things:

  • They need to stop haphazardly proposing these piss-weak, impractical and over-expensive ideas for our rail network with the rapid-fire approach. For well over a decade, it has seemed like we are just vomiting out any number of ideas in the hopes of hitting a bullseye, but instead, all we have managed to actually complete is some underused, semi-private train line to and from our international airport and the Epping to Chatswood section of the Parramatta Rail Link. What we need is to start working on some practical ideas which are properly and seriously thought out, are cost-effective and aren’t just spat out and proposed the moment the thought is born. Even if this means only having one proposal announced every five years, I’m confident that this slower approach will deliver more results in thirteen years than half a train line and another line that nobody really uses. High speed rail and train tunnels everywhere sounds really awesome but they cost too much money; we need to get real with our propositions.
  • In turn, if they actually want to see any plans get completed, they need to bring a halt to this rotation of ministers they’ve got going on; it’s what has marred the proper growth of our transport system since the ‘90s. We need a minister who can commit to the job in the long-term and not one who is just biding their time before becoming the NSW Treasurer. When it does come to leaving the position, which is inevitable, they need to be replaced with someone who will respect the proposals already in place and not one who wants to apply their own touches to all of them, creating a mess as a result. The bottom line of it is that nobody can effectively grow a complex rail network while playing a twenty year game of musical chairs; we’re getting nowhere with this shit, stop it.

Despite the dismissive tone, I personally don’t want to make too many predictions about the North West Rail Link. By building an information centre and actually having some sort of plan of attack, the government are making an obvious point of saying that they are serious this time, but only time will tell if we are just hitching another ride on the bullshit train or not. It should probably also be noted that the government have taken a crack at satisfying areas without rail with rapid bus services and that a lot of the bus (and road) proposals made in the ’98 paper were implemented, so it seems that our bus network doesn’t suffer from square one like our trains do. I know that I’ve already said it twice but it needs to be emphasised again: with thirteen years and only really accomplishing a large paper-stack of ideas and one and a half rail lines, it’s getting increasingly difficult to see state rail proposals as anything more than just a fireworks display, and that’s really sad.

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

The Smog When Smoking

Whenever I hear someone use the term ‘minority’ or ‘minority group’, my mind immediately jumps to those who have been subjected to discrimination, be it a result of race, religion or disability, but there is one particular group of people that my mind has never gone to when minorities are the topic of conversation, and that group is smokers. If there is anything that I hate more, it's when smokers try to minoritise themselves as a group. We have Africans, Asians, Natives, people suffering from Cerebral Palsy, Parkinson’s, Epilepsy, Down syndrome - all examples of people under unavoidable circumstances - and yet smokers have this audacity to speak like smoking is as unavoidable as a paraplegic having to use a wheelchair. I look on talk of that nature with a big ‘shut the fuck up’ painted across my face.

On the special occasion, out of leisure, I’ll smoke a cigar; with that said, I have never smoked a cigarette in my life. I mention this for two reasons: to illustrate the fact that I am not a smoker and to make the point that if I had a particular place where I have always smoked when I’m out and about, and management decides that it would be best to ban smoking there, I would ash my cigar and stop smoking at the place straight away. Simple. Don't get me wrong, I would be more than peeved, but I wouldn’t disagree and I wouldn’t argue, because what would I dispute if I did? That I need it for my health? No. I realise that I say that from the stand point of someone who isn’t addicted, but be that as it may, addicted or not addicted, I don’t understand when, where and how smokers acquired this bullshit mentality that it’s our tolerance that needs to mould around them, not their dirty and unnecessary habit around us. Please tell me, because I can't even pull a cynical remark out out of my arse to solve that mystery.

Considering the basic facts that smoking is socially acceptable and that governments around the globe chase their own tales in where to stand on big-tobacco, here’s another hypothetical to put things into perspective: we live in a parallel universe exactly the same as the one we live in now, however, the advent of drugs never came about, the world is absolutely drug-free, but instead people become addicted to lighting up small fire crackers. These aren’t normal firecrackers though; these ones release toxins into the air which are harmful to the user and anybody nearby, but they are big business which is why the government doesn’t outlaw them. I know; it sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? I have a strange imagination, ‘people in the street lighting up toxic fire crackers’, what a bizarre idea, but can anyone demonstrate to me that toxic and irritating fire crackers is anymore ridiculous than cigarettes? That letting off loud cracks in public which are a nuisance to our sense of hearing and detrimental to everybody's health is anymore absurd than people burning sticks of smoke that are an insult to our sense of smell and have adverse repercussions to the health of not only the smoker but those with the displeasure of being in the vicinity? The short answer is no, it isn't, but whenever somebody wants to ban smoking somewhere, that little nugget never seems to stop smokers from jumping up and down and carrying on like children, no sir. Whenever some apartment building owner wants to ban smoking throughout or some educational facility is considering remaking itself as a smoke-free facility, they all band together like Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels and waste precious breath about phony rights they have that seem to ignore everybody else’s existent ones. Fuck them if they think that that shit is on, because it isn't.

The brass tax of this post is that just because something is popular and has become a social norm does not, on any level, make it a human necessity and, therefore, is not something that we – non-smokers - have to deal with. As a wide-practice, Australians used to kidnap Aborigines; the Americans used to enslave Africans, if we took this rationale that smokers have and applied it to how we eventually dealt with those particular widespread social norms, well, they would still be normal. How about we apply it to murder? People get murdered every day; should the bible prepare for a tweaking? 'thou shalt not kill...but y'know, if the international figures begin to peak, then...yeah, it'll be fine'? Speaking of murder, speeding in our cars is always popular with people my age, should we start petitioning to just turn our streets into speedways? We could just turn this whole country into a circus, just turn Sydney into an all-out downtown Baghdad if we applied this thinking to everything, but we don't, so why do it with smoking? If only smokers, at the very least, could find a patch that stops them from complaining when human rights come into play, because if they did, I’d stick it right over there obnoxious mouths. That’s all I have to say, so I will leave you with something that I have been saving for quite a while: the next time they ban smoking somewhere and a smoker even twitches a lip, remember...

Happy World No Tobacco Day
Thank you, Larry David!
…and, you know, if that still hasn’t helped, check this out.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Insecure Interregnum

In saying what I am about to, people will probably disagree. They may say things like ‘I don’t think you’re stupid’ or ‘it was them with the problem, not you’, but I just don’t know. Without glorifying the truth, I haven’t had a real lot of insecurities since I finished high school. Without a doubt, my high school years have been my healthiest thus far. It marked the very period of my life where I grand-theft-auto’d the vehicles needed to overcome the fears and insecurities I enrolled with. Nowadays, I do my best at maintaining that with a head-up-high outlook when caught in the teeth of confrontation and reminding myself that words spoken by idiots don’t necessarily need to have anything to do with me, and thusly, will not have anything to do with me. It upsets me to admit, however, that no matter how much I have tried to act like it has, that same mentality has never truly extended into the workplace. My self-esteem has never been a great match against the scrutinising eyes that rest inside the faces of my employers, even the ones that have liked me. My previous boss happened to fall into the category of bosses that want me dead, so I resigned. Now I find myself in this familiar financial interregnum, terrified of what’s ahead and trying to pinpoint on the workplace calendar where it all went wrong, ultimately asking myself the question: was it them with the problem, or was it me?

In short, my recent boss thought that I was a moron. She didn't need to say it straight out, I just knew from reading between every smartarse remark, every comment delivered with a tone and every question which was never quite rhetorical but not exactly answerable either. I know what was being said behind her eyes when I would walk in and behind my back when I’d walk out; she thought that I was stupid. I could have simply chocked it down to an isolated incident with a person that didn’t know how to be a manager, because let’s be blunt, she didn’t - she was a non-communicative woman who blatantly bitched about employees to other employees, who never properly trained anybody and who was too afraid to fire people – but it was hardly isolated, as I had similar issues with the managers at my position before that, however, the same can be said about them as well. They were two brothers who were fresh out of hating their lives and new to running a business, who failed to properly schedule a staff-wide training day which meant that I simply missed out; to my misfortune, this was never something that was considered whenever I was having my first go at anything and that’s why, among other things, I was the least favoured. After I left, one of them were quoted saying that I was ‘the shittest worker’, however, they then followed that statement by impugning trivial things like my taste in music and such, which says a lot about how much their opinion was worth. The bottom line of it is that these people are children, plain and simple.

When I was younger, my father would always say that no matter where I go, there will always be a dickhead, and at these last two jobs at any job I have had, that has rung true. In my previous two, it just so happened that those dickheads had been made or had made themselves managers without having any managerial training to go on, and I don’t take that personally; from that perspective, it was them, not me. Up until here, my nights generally go unscathed, but then I consider the employees who didn’t run into the problems I did, the people I observed as being better trained than I am, who got along with the managers, who got tasks done quicker and better on their first try than I could on my first. Initially, I was asking myself why they picked up things when I couldn’t, wondering what the fundamentals are that I seem to be without, but then I realised that I care less about that sort of comparison when it’s only being made in the privacy of my own mind and care more about my employer making that same comparison in their mind. For some bizarre reason, my brain has simply cut a rope and let my superiors transcend like a helium balloon above all of my peers and all of the teachers that are paid to assess me …and the fact that I have made their opinion matter so much is stealing precious shut-eye from me at night. Like I said - I can’t shake it, and the thought of it is just killing me.

It’s not an easy task admitting a substandard self-worth, that’s why getting this particular subject off my chest has been like pulling teeth. These last few months have just been a persistent battle with an unusual stint of low-esteem, a nasty demon who incessantly asks me how this has happened twice now; who inquires as to how I could leave two jobs and three bosses in my dust without any references to show for it; who, more importantly, wants to know if some sort of tally will soon be necessary. Last night I was writing a cover letter for a job application and every time I had to retype it, I came ever closer to the realisation that I am just terrified, terrified of another workplace and another dickhead who will label themself my boss and me an idiot. That has been my defining thought this year, my future employers, because as the ratio between the jobs I have had to the amount of employers who I can reference on my CV gets more and more unbalanced, I can feel the ice start to thin from beneath me, and I just can’t seem to get off the fucking lake.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Samsung are Idiots

A couple of weeks ago, in a rare occurrence, I watched regular television for a few hours and managed to catch a few viewings of a stupid Samsung commercial for a campaign of theirs called ‘Turn on Tomorrow’, in which Australia’s own Simon Baker became the ambassador for last year. From the title alone, it’s not a strain to imagine what this clip will entail before you’ve even watched it: a semi-conceptual, near-futuristic concept about the future and how their products will shape it - a platitude that every electronics company has to its name in some way, shape or form. This isn’t why I think Samsung are idiots though, watch for yourself and see if you can spot something that just doesn’t seem quite right in a commercial blabbering on about ‘tomorrow’:

Did you see it? Because aside from the Android phones, 3D televisions, internet tablets, internet capable digital cameras, clever fridges, automatic floor cleaners, device networks, you know what people are really on tenterhooks for in the future? Windows XP! It would seem that either everybody who worked on this advertisement, especially the marketing team, should be fired immediately or that Samsung actually think that an operation system which has been surpassed twofold and is four months shy of celebrating its tenth birthday is the future; idiots. I must admit, XP was certainly something Bill Gates can proudly put on his mantelpiece, but it is not ‘smarter’, nor is it ‘more efficient’ than, say, Windows 7 or Mac OS X, and certainly not something easy to screw up in a campaign which I am sure cost quite a bit of money; idiots. I guess the question that Baker should really have been asking was if tomorrow had already been delivered ten years ago?

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Girl-on-Girl

I don’t know about you, but I am male, so naturally that means that I am a major advocate of girl-on-girl action. Being the proud owner of male equipment means that I am only obligated to raise an eyebrow (and something else) at one girl straddling another, cleaning out the insides of each other’s mouths with their tongues, unfortunately that's the law set by the dude-police...or so I believe. You see, that stuff is treated like gold, but it isn’t gold. I have never understood the male predilection to lesbian behaviour - girl-on-girl is bore-snore!

Without falsely making it sound like my life is like living an American Pie flick, I have been the witness to the sensual union of many female tongues and often it’s met with ample-anticipation and neandathalic-excitement from the male guest list of whatever social-gathering I am at, and I never get what the hub-bub is about. Behaviour like that over something that will essentially go nowhere just gives me the drive I need to revoke my penis. Lesbian action shouldn’t even be considered ‘action’, it’s not even a comedy, it’s more of a b-grade drama about Elvis; in clearer terms it's boring. Whoopty-do! Two chicks are kissing, now what? Are they getting naked? No. Will it eventually lead to sex? Probably not. Am I embarrassed to be part of a gender distracted by the smoke and mirrors of it all? Yes. Those same guys who edge straight girls on for lesbian acts or gawk at actual couples like little R. Kellys in training, I guarantee are the ones that frequent (chose that word carefully) a lesbian porn collection at home.

Speaking of, for something that is designed to excite, lesbian porn is even more uneventful than these petty shindig hook-ups. Not to say that I watch a great deal of porn, especially when I'm involved with someone, but in the little lesbian porn I have ever bothered exposing myself to, nothing ever happens! It’s just two girls who never truly come to a close and look just as bored as I am, and after it's done, I am only ever left with an impulse to switch on an episode of Sesame Street.

In a nutshell, do you want to know what happens in any gratuitous lesbian behaviour, be it some lip-service at a party or in front of the camera? Nothing. When it does actually come to...clears throat...watching pornography - and this will sound several different kinds of wrong - I really need a penis in there somewhere to make it at all exciting. Let's face it, gratuity is a car and that car is best driven by a man; it’s the truth.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Angry About Birds

I love Hollywood and all of its spawn. Even if I need to rifle through a dozen romantic comedies and talking-animal animations in order to get to one great film or television show, it never ceases to engage me. I've watched movies since I was an infant and have since built up a phrenic list of my all-time favourites, films and shows that I can see myself showing my own infants one day and even looking on with geriatric eyes in my much wrinklier years. The unfortunate thing about Hollywood is that it happens to also be its own worst enemy. It now has a knack for ruining anything great that has been done and then milking it for everything it's worth. This is exactly what’s happening with the Angry Birds brand right now. Every plan they have for the Angry Birds franchise is a clear reflection of this same mentality, not exactly Hollywood's but just a reflection in general of the whole cash-cow business strategy that goes on, and that mentality makes this bird truly angry.

Needless to say, screenwriting is a creative process. It’s all about thinking outside of the box, about making people like me go ‘whoa!’, but I’m beginning to feel like a lot of movie-makers and screenwriters are going down a path where they attempt to make people go ‘whoa’ without having to step out of that box. What exactly is it that I am referring to? I am talking about every remake, reboot, adaptation, spin-off, prequel and decade-waited sequel out there. Nowadays, when a screenwriter opens up a blank cover page to a yet-to-be-written script and begins to type up some superhero flick or a reimagining of Gilligan’s Island (it's only a matter of time), half of what makes the creative-process just went out the window. It’s a creative epidemic, all a result of money-hungry laziness. Angry Birds is worse, because at least when you begin to convert a comic book into a feature film there is a conceivable story in it, but Angry Birds is a video game, one that was born in the iPhone App Store no less, and they plan to turn that into a physical board game and, more importantly, an animated feature film with the possibility of a television show. Let me say it again, Angry Birds, a mobile phone game about sling-shooting wingless kamikaze birds at pigs that reside within poorly built structures is going to become a feature film – you know, ones that run at the cinemas for about an hour and a half – and perhaps even a television show – like ones that make a hundred episodes and get syndicated around the world. They're desperate!

Angry Birds is just a prime example of what the film industry does when it strikes gold, polishing until the lustre is lost, especially consider that investors have a confidence in it worth forty two million American dollars. At the moment there are also a litany of ridiculous films in their early stages, namely: Footloose, The Bodyguard, RoboCop and Total Recall remakes; Shakespeare in Love, Clerks, Mad Max and Die Hard sequels; and then anything Will Smith has done, including I Am Legend, Hancock and Independence Day (two planned) sequels, and don't get me started on the Annie remake he's lining up to star his black daughter. A remake of The Bodyguard? Really? Footloose too? What the fuck, Hollywood? Who remakes a fantastic film that stars Kevin Costner and Whitney Houston, one that was made in the last twenty years no less, that's asking for trouble. To make matters worse, it's rumoured that Rhianna might be taking Houston's character. What does this mean exactly, you ask? It means that they are considering someone who can't actually sing (or act probably) to play a character that was once played by a singer slash actress who can; excuse me? Same goes for Footloose too. I guess I just want to know why; apart from money, I would like to know why producers are so hell-bent on ruining the good. Want to hear something else that makes me gag? The Buffy movie in pre-production at the moment. That's right, don't worry about rereading the previous sentence, I said a new Buffy movie. Here is a breakdown of everything that is wrong with that idea: it will have nothing to do with the original creator, it will have nothing to do with the original story, perhaps not even the original characters, it will be a new cast, there has already been a Buffy movie like that and it was so bad that even the makers hated it, it's been nine years since the show ended (eight years since its spin-off, Angel, ended) - which is way too soon - and, because of all that, the end result will come out looking like another Twilight. I'm not sure about other fans, but another more personal reason the thought of this makes me sick is because I absolutely loathe the whole vampire thing that is all the rage at the moment, it's just another cash-cow. The one thing I appreciated about Buffy and Angel when the first Twilight film came out was that the shows were no longer running and, therefore, were unable to be tarnished by that ugly foreheaded guy (I couldn't care enough to look up his name) and the deadpan chick who can't act (Kristin Stewart); this whole new Buffy remake thing completely undermines that! If this movie goes ahead, what I held sacred about the Buffy and Angel series will be washed away by the drool dripping from the crowds of undersexed teenagers who will frequent the theatres that show the film and fundamentally finance another god-forsaken sequel.

An example of an unsuccessful milk of the Hollywood cow which i have just been itching to share is the My Big Fat Greek Wedding disaster. Personally, I have never had a real lot against romantic comedies unlike the hoi polloi that do. I have heard the films increasingly cop a lot of slack, and sure they're low production, recycled, predictable and are being released left, right and centre, but nonetheless, they're a bit of fun and I enjoy myself a good rom-com on occasion; My Big Fat Greek Wedding falls into that category. For those that haven't seen it, it basically follows a somewhat sheltered, Greek woman who lives in America with her family who happen to be very well vested in their cultural roots. She meets an American man. It's a romantic comedy so naturally she falls for him, there is a clash of cultures, they all get over it, the two get married and everyone lives happily ever after, and the same goes to how I left the theatre - happy...but no! It couldn't just end there. Hollywood whipped out its mighty erection and just blew it by creating My Big Fat Greek Life; a situation comedy continuing from the film. Now right off the bat, I was never exactly sure who thought the transformation from romcom to sitcom would be at all smooth, but I hope they got the sack. Yeah, they're both comedies, but that doesn't mean anything. From the pilot episode, I wasn't seeing a show from the movie, I saw a completely different show with the same cast members that were in the movie; the show just had a completely different feel and a completely different theme. The thing is: a romantic comedy that runs for eighty minutes is reliant on both the romance and the comedy (go figure), which means that we can deal with five minutes of straight out romance and no comedy, however, with a sitcom that runs for about twenty to thirty minutes, five minutes of no laughs is Nelson suicide. And that's just the show itself, the cast were an issue too. A US sitcom typically needs a comedian, it's a mould in any show that's been a success, just at least one comedian that can deliver words off a page in a way that will make people laugh - The New Adventures of Old Christine has Julia Loui Dreyfus, Seinfeld had Jerry Seinfeld, Everybody Loves Raymond had Ray Romano, Rules of Engagement has David Spade; all successful American sitcoms. My Big Fat Greek Life had none, and therefore, once again, the delivery that worked in the comedic film just wasn't cutting it for television. The story differences between the film to the show were a little difficult to grasp as well, not only that but I found them unnecessary as well, for example, the minute changes in some of the character names and locations, things that matter enough to ruin the flowing illusion of the story but not enough that the details needed to be changed for any reason at all. The biggest difference, one that I feel should've been taken as a bad omen, was the replacement of co-star Jon Corbett. I don't know about you, but when the second on the cast list can't do it, you forget it. Not only that, but for some insane reason they then had Jon Corbett guest star on the show as another character, which just confused the hell out of everyone…idiots.

Much like the Buffy thing, I am becoming more and more uneasy over films that still exist on their lonesome. I’m beginning to get the sense that the films that haven’t had some remake or sequel attached to them are just sitting ducks and that it’s only a matter of time before the armed, fatigue-clad Hollywood rises from the bushes and starts making a mess of something else I love. One of the worst things about it are the audiences that either don't know or are too forgetful to know about the original, usually the same bunch who unwittingly offer praise of remakes and subtle sequels without its origins to compare it with; it's always a big shame in my eyes. It just seems that there is no room for two films with the same name in some moviegoers minds. I just wish that there were films that can be thrown in a metaphorical vault and be left unscathed and untouched for eternity, because when it comes to show-business and money, it just doesn't seem to me like anything is sacred anymore, and believe me, if they are considering adapting feature films from iPhone apps, then whatever film or show you hold sacred is just another bird waiting to be picked off by the pants-pockets of Hollywood’s producers, mark my words.