Blog Storm

There’s something so disappointingly repugnant about representatives of a minority unanimously agreeing to stoop to the lowest common denominator by caving into the intellectual bankruptcy of our times and adopting a self-styled “politically-correct” nomenclature. So the term “atheist” has misguided connotations of anarchy, communism and nihilism. Whose frigging problem is that? The masses of ignorant, bigoted, narcissistic, god-fearing, Coulteresque peons, that’s who. All you’re doing by adopting a trendy, new-agey, aesthetically agreeable blanket term is implying that you can’t beat Joe McCarthy’s legacy, so we might as well sidestep the issue by tinkering with semantics. Fuck that. Why even dignify it with an iota of serious, non-mockingly abusive attention it clearly doesn’t deserve?

You know it was good when you’re positive all the pain, sweat, cramping, bruising and exhaustion was worth it in the end.

You know it was great when you’re not, but you don’t give enough of a fuck to analyse it because you just want to pass out for about five years.

And with that subtle entry (which successfully bridges the yawning chasm between double-entendre and non-sequitur), I bid you all Adieu, Adieu. (French, Latin AND a Shakespearian reference in the SAME sentence?? I think I just broke the English launguage… oh well… look at the monkey…)

Tee-hee-hee…

Oh, I don’t know what to write. Vague allegories regarding idiots who may or may not have impacted my life in a negative way. Sport. More sport. Even vaguer rants about some shit on television. It’s too much I say! Too much! Who do you think I am, Bored? I need inspiration. *dramatic sigh*

And why do I have to cater for them? Why don’t they cater for me? And why are they permitted to have so much of an impact on my life? Does that seem fair to anyone else? I don’t interrupt them while they dribble and slobber and gibber and strut around with their chins out, earnestly indulging in their impotent little power struggles and pretending they’re not mere evolutionary dregs clinging desperately to the arsehole of society, contemplating meaningless bullshit and working menial jobs ten years after they’re dead. Halfwits. Fucking halfwits. Why can’t they just leave me alone?

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

Complete and utter domination. Favourites? Put your tongues back in your heads and toddle off back home you choking sheepfuckers. Fancy, poncey France? Slow, old, boring, penalty-pulling England? Doesn’t bother me. There’s no getting through a defense like that, and only so much you can do to repel an enterprising attack like that. When you write Australia off, that’s exactly what you get. Chili on a stick, inserted rectally.

England captain Martin Johnson, speaking at yesterday’s press conference, told the assembled media they’re confident they can kick more penalties than France on Sunday.

One of the most insidious forces of evil in the universe since Anthony Robins visits our airwaves once again next week (interestingly only 6 months after the last stupid fucking pointless one). I speak of course about the syndicated “National IQ Test”, which I’m led to believe has swept the globe in the past 12 months, spawned by the mind of a creative feeble who, by all intents and purposes, in any fair society should’ve starved to death years ago, in a wave of success predicated upon the artificial expansion of the egos of the Moronic Majority into actually believing that they have something useful to contribute to society. Don’t be fooled. Underlying network television’s lust with derivative and subversive reconstitutions of “interactive reality shows” such as “Pop/American/Australian/Columbian/Cypriot/etc Idol” “Who Wants To Pay Some Millionaires?” is a proven ratio of Effort to Revenue which would make any network executive ejaculate with glee. Here’s how it all works. The network which has won the bid to own the rights of the concept (in this case, Packer’s Nine Network) gets in contact with a major mobile telecommunications carrier and strikes a cooperative deal in which the corporation provides a phone number in return for the receipt of a significant percentage of the text message revenue. The network further profits from the sale of the magazine also required to participate (some shitty little rag no doubt owned and operated by a subsidiary of the same media company), in addition to advertising revenue overinflated by the hype which attracts millions of idiot consumers like moths to a flame. So at the end of the day, Packer and Telstra have a few extra hundreds of thousands of dollars in their Swiss bank accounts, morons are slightly poorer and as stupid as they ever were, and television has slipped another creatively-bankrupt piece of shit past us. And I’m assuming that they’re not subtle enough to realise that allowing oneself to become involved in a mind-numbing, bank account-sapping activity masquerading as an “IQ test” gives you an automatic fail in some sort of catch-22 scenario.

I don’t apologise for it. Recently, when I’m not sleeping, I’m earning money, and working turns you into a doer, not a thinker. That’s probably the whole point, so you never seriously ponder how much you’re taking home per dollar after taxes once you creep above the paltry tax-free threshold, or how the public education and health system is a shot duck. I’m even starting to hate whiny, know-all university students, even though technically I’m still one. Oh well. A-working I will go…

(and no, this entry will be no exception)

Isn’t Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade just the greatest movie ever? I think I must’ve watched it about 10 billion times between the ages of 8 and 13. OK, Raiders is better, but by a strange coincidence I wound up seeing them for the first time in reverse order, and sure it’s about the Holy Grail and all that Christian rubbish, but so was Castle Wolfenstein: Spear Of Destiny and that kicked arse. Dammit I’m a Nazi tragic. And I don’t mean like this guy. Take Hitler, the SS, and a bit of Biblical mythology, and I’m totally there.

I think I had a sex dream about Kelly Osbourne last night. I rarely remember my dreams, but this one just came flooding back to me about 2 minutes ago. I think working crazy shifts is somehow starting to affect me psychologically. Odd…