Monday, April 25, 2011

#261: War

As people remember ANZAC Day, also remember Winston Churchill. Due to his ignorance, intolerance, his lack of intelligence, military or otherwise, combined with his usual drunken incompetence, he treated a generation of Australians and New Zealanders like his own personal cannon fodder by insisting that they go forth to be massacred so that heroic English troops could land safely, drink cups of tea and avoid any hint of a fight.

Remember also that 15% of all Australians killed in World War I died at Gallipoli.  So the next time some cretin mentions the Royal Wedding, or asks that we all salute the Queen today, remind them that, without the utter stupidity and thevattitude that all Australians were inferior because we weren't English, we'd not have ANZAC Day.

I know which I'd rather.  And I have no issue with anyone who's gone to war, my issue has always been with the cowardly politicians and generals, those who sat behind the scenes and send children and young adults to fight their battles because they were too weak to do so themselves.  If wars were fought by those who declared them then we'd have no war.

Lest we forget, lest we forget all of the reasons.

And remember kiddies, ANZAC Day isn't about Collingwood and Essendon, no matter what Fat Ed would have you believe.

"Winston! The Australians are dying!"
"Fuck 'em, there's plenty more where they came from."

#260: Happy Easter

What the hell - I'm a Buddhist.  Have a good one peoples!

Tuesday, April 05, 2011

#259: Dirty Day

If you must kiss me, then mean it
Fuck me I’m depressed tonight. I hate getting old and having to deal with all this grown up big boy shit. I emailed a pal of mine today, who told me about her grandparents, sad story, but the usual one, one near death, the other has no mind. I have no words. Another chum of mine was nearly forced into a very illegal series of events as a close pal of his rode the horse once too often and is now paying the price. And to cap it all off, my niece will be spending her 15th birthday in hospital as she begins her battle with the Big C. So you can understand that, as I sat there this afternoon eating a shitty Subway, it took all of my willpower not to get up and urinate on the person behind me who was whinging because his girlfriend won’t suck his dick. I felt like screaming for him to find a real issue to complain about. Mind you, looking at him I can understand why she’d leave it alone, the skinny, pasty-faced waste of a decent sperm count.

I emailed my best pal back and said that I wished I could be back in the days when the only thing I had to worry about was where to find money to go out clubbing, what drink to drink, what drug to take and what bird to bonk. Those were the days, when I’d dance on tables and not give a shit about how I looked, sounded or what I did. Now all I see is a fattening, balding old fart in the mirror every day who wakes up, washes, eats and heads to work in order to make money that he rarely sees, heads home and does it all again. If not for the presence of the Bear I think I’d have shot myself years ago.  I need to lose weight and exercise.  I eat right, I walk about 15kms per week and my weight has stayed the same for two months now.  Work that one out, Dr Kildare.

There's nothing funnier than a German going arse up.
And I know that there’ll be people sitting there saying, “Yes, but life goes forward yakkety yakkety yak…” Yeah, well, I know that, so fuck off. I want to rant. I want to move backwards, just for a little while. I want to go back in time to certain events and tell myself to enjoy that moment just a bit more because it won’t come along again. Seeing the sun rise over the city after a brilliant New Years Eve, as we sat and ate pizza and drank coffee after dancing the night away. Seeing the sun set over the tropics. Seeing storms rolling in over the Bight, massive grey-white clouds dumping more rain in an hour than most people will see if a lifetime, winds that rocked a brick house like it was plywood. Seeing the desolation that surrounds Maralinga, and realising, for one frightening second, that a wrong move would mean I’d never be seen again. Swimming with Southern Right Whales. Hitting dolphins. Diving into an ocean that is pure blue and realising that the ocean floor is too many miles away for me to count. Exploring caves that went on forever, finding long abandoned properties and feeling the spirits of those long departed, hearing the whispers as the wind blows through the corrugated iron roofs. Dancing with people I’ve never met and would never see again, drunken sexual encounters in secluded, yet very public, places, exciting not so much for the sex, but that almost anticipation of being caught in the act. Simple things, like meeting the Bear for the first time. Hearing the Bear say her vows and watching her cry as I said mine - I mean, shit, I didn't think they were that bad.  Finding that song, hearing that album. Being with an girl who was about to leave me and having her kiss me with such violence and passion as Jeff Buckley sang Last Goodbye on stage in front of us, as we both wept. Saying a sweet goodbye, having the chance to say goodbye properly. My first kiss. My last.

Punch him again Bazza
I’m maudlin tonight. Fret not, I’ll snap out of it. I might go and see if I can spot any old people falling in the streets. I’m sure there’s a Worlds Dumbest Fuckhead show on tonight, they always cheer me up.  If not, well, there's always something to do.  I can wait.  I can always throw on one of my favourite movies, like Streets Of Fire, and think back to those times when someone has kissed me in the pouring rain and whispered how much they loved me, and realise that the last time someone did that, well, they're upstairs right now.

Oh, and because someone asked before – I’ll be doing a short spot at the Rhino Room as part of my Sermons On The Mounted routine this Thursday the 7th of April. The doors open at 8:00pm, but I’m stuffed if I know when I’ll be going on. I have worked up a new joke for this one though, but with my luck some other peanut will beat me to it. Wait and see. And I’ll happily pay anyone $10 for the head of Richard Stubbs. See you there – I’ll be the guy who looks the least like Jesus Christ, so amble up and say hello…