The Continuing Adventures Of Your Own Personal Jesus

Not everything is happy days and fun stuff like someone going out on a home visit and having a dog engage in carnal knowledge of their leg. For everything that happens that makes you chuckle at the sheer insanity of people and situations, someone will always come along to bring you right down to earth, with a shattering, not shuddering, thud. Not everything that happens has a happy ending and something always happens to remind you that, despite any amount of years and knowledge thatg you've gainedThis was one such day. It started out as a perfectly normal interview. I was happy that a support worker was in attendance, and it was a support worker that I’d dealt with before and had established a rapport with. All was well really, the usual stuff, domestic violence, drugs, alcohol abuse – you name it, it was there. The person in question had almost reached the milestone birthday where life begins anew and already had twelve kids to their name, with ages ranging from the ages of...

To further a recent discussion I'm having on that evil thing called Facebook... It'd be nice to go just one day when I don't see someone trying to push some ignorant, misguided, hatemonging media racist's views down my throat? Be the US elections, be it the recent protests against the wankers who made the movie that attacks Muslims, be it anything - where is the tolerance these days?  I was raised to accept everyone on their merits and not to hate anyone on the basis of their colour, creed or religion. Trust me, if I don't like someone it's due to their failings as a person, nothing more, nothing less. Eventually this world will implode beneath the racial hate and religious intolerance that it now wallows in. I'm not advocating love for all, but, by the maker, take a step back and stop believing everything that the media blowhards say. They know nothing more than anyone else and only appeal to the largely uneducated masses so they can...

To all of your bastards who were wondering where I'd gotten to, let's just say I was busy having a gigantic shit.   Browsing that evil ole Facebook this morning I saw this photo and had a chuckle.  I pointed out, in the comments section, that it reminded me of some graffiti that used to be in the men's growler of the upstairs nightclub in Rundle Street in the 1990s and the story that went with it.  The night in question I went with my then girlfriend and a pal for some quiet drinks - an anomaly at the time because I was well into my phase of drinking myself into oblivion and swallowing almost any happy pill that was offered (or not).  Loads of fun really.  On the night in question some peon thought it'd be a good idea to crack onto my then girlfriend, who also thought it'd be a good idea to flirt with the guy in front of me with the view of making me jealous.  Really, we were as bad as each other, and I could never understand that.  Oh well, s...

Go ahead, name all of these guys- some of the finest men to grace the wrestling ring, ever, and some of the greatest duds of all time. Ok, we all know Classy Freddie Blassie - our Patron Saint...so fuck off you pencil neck geeks! This little fucker wrestled back in the days when it was acceptable to call him a midget.  Now you say midget and people get the shits up, but it's alright to call someone a hillbilly or a retard - go figure. Somehow I get the impression that this guy might have been gay.  If he wasn't then he should have been.  Life At The Outpost indeed!  Sean Delaney would have LOVED this dude. Fuck it, let's call it as we see it - a hillbilly midget!!! This man got more pussy than you ever will, and rightly so.  Say hello to Gorilla Monsoon.

What can anyone say about Grenville Dietrich that hasn't already been suppressed by the courts under defamation laws?  Well, quite a lot really.  I remember seeing Grenville line up for North Adelaide after sharing quite a few ales with him the night before at a nightclub owned by a guy who used race Speedway cars on Friday nights.  I say the night before, but I'm being quite kind here; we stopped drinking at around 5am, whereupon Grenville tried to chat my mother up and duly lined up for North Adelaide at around 1:30pm the same day.  He ambled out onto the ground, took his position, attacked the ball, kicked a goal and promptly spewed his guts up.  And they were quite considerable guts indeed. Grenville got his start with Richmond, but ended up at North Adelaide.  Richmond were more than satisfied with the bald headed goal kicking machine that they had in the form of Kevin Bartlett, and, let's be frank here, once Kevin got the ball nobody else touched ...

People often ask me, who was the King of the Duds when it comes to AFL.  Could it be Port Adelaide's Matthew Westoff?  Romano Negri? Could it be someone like David Gallagher, who was a dud at two clubs?  Or someone else?  Well, to that I say no, because those duds played the game at AFL level - even duds like Adam Saliba and Jim West played at least one game.  I hear you utter names like Trevor Clisby, who never played a game despite being on an AFL list, but he was only ever drafted by one club. The King of all Duds has to surely be this guy - Darren Bartsch.  You may rightly ask who.  Bartsch was drafted by West Coast Eagles, but he stayed in Adelaide, conversely David Hynes, one of the best ruckmen that Port Adelaide produced in the 1980s, went over to the Eagles at the same time that Bartsch was drafted to be rewarded with a premiership medallion.  If, as is claimed, that grand finals are won and lost in the ruck, then Hynes was a bette...

Can you just imagine the sheer research that went into this document? Those poor FBI agents had to sit through multiple screenings of Deep Throat, solely to research it and write down a synopsis, detailing each sordid act that was on display on the big screen. No wonder the Special Agents in charge of the investigation redacted their names out of the end result, but such are the sacrifices that one has to make in the course of such investigations. I hope they had a decent supply of popcorn and tissues on hand.  I'm not sure if this would have been one of the perks of the job, or one of the drawbacks. I can see having no problems sitting in a dark theatre watching a porno for a few times, but I can't see how you'd be able to watch it with a notepad perched on your knee being expected to jot down a detailed synopsis of the plot, such as it was.  And not look at anyone else.  And not stick your hands in your pockets.  Sounds like special torture to me.  ...

Watch the video and sign the petition . It's a worthy cause and, trust me, naming an alley after one of Australia's most influential musicians is a damn sight better than naming it after a politician or some other cretin who nobody knows and who nobody will remember 30 years from now.  Rowland's music lives on, and will continue to live on for decades to come.  So, listen to Jesus here and do the right thing - sign up and let the state of Victoria know that you want to visit the Rowland S Howard Laneway .

What?   They faked it?   Both in the beginning and up to the present day?   Say it ain’t so, Joe!!!   According to former Village People lead singer, Victor Willis, the whole thing was one big fraud, from start to finish. None of the other Village People ever sang on an album, let alone sang live - none of them could carry a tune!   Hell hath no fury like a musician wanting royalties and revenge, and hell definitely hath no fury like a woman scorned, especially when she's a lawyer. Before we get into the who’s and what’s, let hear from Victor himself, via recently filed court documents.   “I am the original lead singer of Village People, and writer of such hits as "Y.M.C.A," Macho Man," "In the Navy," and "Go West.",” writes Willis.   “In 1977 I was recruited by Can't Stop Productions (Henri Belolo) to record an album for a non-existent recording group called Village People.   Henri Belolo told me that if the album failed to be a suc...