A Rookies Guide to Romance: How (not) to pick up chicks for dummies…

Recently a big market has developed around books on how to ‘pick up’ women.  Normal, objectively socially functionally people have sworn by books like The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists. Conversely these books also seem to be another weapon in the arsenal of desperate social retards out there that will try and do anything to ‘pick up’ (which p.s, sounds like you’re trying to find girls at a visit to the local drycleaners).

Now I have never read any of these books, I can only imagine they’re full of a bad mix of bullshit and pop psychology that play on the insecurities of some, and give to others an unnecessary and nauseating sense of self confidence.

Being the last of a dying breed of romantic idealists I (probably deludingly) believe that eventually my well-intentioned dorky charm will prevail.  I’m just a fool whose intentions are good…Anyway, for the first time in a while there was a girl that I liked, to cut a long emo-bullshit story short which would be best reserved for the glossy self help pages of Cosmo, I ended up expressing myself like David Hasselhoff circa this (well, not quite that disastrously…), and in the process clumsily destroying whatever prospects I may have had.

Point being, if a book on how to ‘pick up’ chicks can be so successful is there hope for a book on how not to go about doing it?

Admittedly you’d learn sweet FA, but the stories are bound to be more entertaining and relatable. These stories would also play nicely into societies morbid obsession with watching people fail.  It’d be the literary version of Jackass for wannabe Cassanovas.

So here are a few of the biggest epic fails I’ve seen/heard of/and a couple (and only a couple I swear) that I’ve even been party to, which go beyond the standard accidentally pouring of a pint of beer all over the girl you’re trying to speak to type of rookie error:

1.      Doing thirty commando style push-ups on the dance floor of a crowded popular city bar just to impress nobody in particular.  Upon completing push ups proceeding to tell every girl present that you’re on a break from an SAS tour, and are around for a ‘good time and not a long time’.  In the process running into someone who actually was on leave from the SAS and proceeding to get your arse kicked for being a disgrace to the uniform.

2.      Seeing a group of stunners on the other side of a large fence at a university party.  Climbing and jumping over the large fence Spiderman style to impress and initiate conversation with the girls.  Requiring a knee reconstruction and months of physical rehabilitation as a consequence of awkward landing.  Not ending up speaking to group of girls.

3.      Going home with Ashleigh (not real name) and accidentally waking up in Amanda’s bed (not real name) after getting lost on the way back from the bathroom.  Scaring the hell out of Amanda and ruining any future prospects with Ashleigh.  Subsequently being kicked out of the house without your jeans which had been left in Asheligh’s bedroom and awkwardly trying to navigate your way home.

4.      Calling the girl that you were seeing at the time whilst on an interstate trip with the boys.  Telling her that she had been included in a makeshift will that you had recently drafted as you feared her ex-boyfriend, a notorious Perth gangland identity, would kill you upon your arrival back in Perth.  She would have been fortunate enough to receive the last $76.75 in your bank account in the event of this happening…

5.      After seeing some shit go down in the city you proceed to go home and message the girl you had a crush on with a tirade of drunken incoherent bullshit on Facebook (Whilst at the time thinking you’re a modern day Leo Tolstoy mid epic).  Immediately realising the stupidity of this, the next day you frantically search the house for the piece of paper with the girl’s number on it and subsequently text message her, only amplifying the awkwardness of the situation.  Despite these clumsy and impulsive tirades, bizarrely hoping you’re still in with a chance…

6.      Meeting forward thinking gorgeous Swedish girl of dreams in Bali who after six of the bounties famous Arac attacks, and the best part of 15 large bintangs, bore an uncanny resemblance to Victoria Silvstedt (for a picture of this girl and proof she existed see below). You ask her back to the hotel room where you were staying to ‘talk’ about cultural experiences.  Subsequently boring poor Swedish girl of dreams to death (figuratively speaking of course) with discussions of the history of Bathurst and V8 motor racing in Australia generally.

7.      Meeting two Danish girls in a pub in downtown Sydney, who after about 10 pints of Tooheys New both bore an uncanny resemblance to Victoria Silvstedt (for pictures of these girls and proof they existed see below).  Upon being asked back to the girls’ hotel room, playing it cool you reply “I’ll meet you there, I just want to finish my drink”.  Subsequently forgetting both the room number, and name of hotel where the girls were staying at and proceeding to run around the main/mean streets of Sydney at 1 O’clock in the morning in a desperate attempt to find them.  In the process finding yourself on the run from local security and law enforcement agencies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8.      On the same Sydney trip being fortunate enough to find yourself sharing a spa with the cheerleading team from the NRL’s Newcastle Knights at some seedy pad in Sydney’s Kings Cross district. Accidents happen, and often so does something else.  Enough said.

9.      Meeting a girl in a notorious city club.  Things were going well and you ask if she’d like to grab a meal sometime.  After she says yes you insist on taking her to the (in)famous City Kebabs (where all good nights go to die)  right there and then.  You subsequently go home in a taxi with sour cream and sweet chilli sauce covering your shirt, needless to say also alone.

10.  Telling a girl you’re a lawyer, involved in law, studying and/or interested in law, this actually has happened to me, it just feels dirty.

2011 Predictions: The year ahead…

Reviewing the year just gone, for better or worse, is a popular and perhaps important pastime for many.  This is particularly  the case for those amongst us prone to instances of notriously bad judgment and an activity that dominates much of the popular press at this time of year.  What is much more entertaining though is making predictions for the year ahead…

 

Film: Mel Gibson will reform his misogynistic woman beating ways and make a film entitled The Passion of the Housewife (She Cleans for Her Sins) – It will be a black and white, three and a half hour ordeal concerned with the anonymous Housewife’s epic struggle to cope with middle aged, middle class femininity.  There will be no dialogue in the film, only subtitles allusively alluding to what the housewife is thinking of as she goes about the daily grind.  The half an hour scene dedicated to the Housewife battling with the dishes will be remembered as a defining scene in contemporary cinematography.

Jenna Jameson will tragically retire from pornographic cinema and make her dramatic debut in a film entitled Love Never Runs on Time – a film about a prostitute’s desperate and failed attempt at finding true love with a client in their weekly hourly appointment.

 

Television: Matt Preston will leave Masterchef in hostile circumstances due to creative differences about how much he should be eating.  He will go on to produce his own television show Masterpest, a show featuring a group of obsessive compulsive contestants playing off against each other to see who can best ensure that restaurant kitchens are kept sanitary and bacteria free.

Channel 10 will aim to revive the careers of both Rove McManus and Matthew Newton by pairing them up for a late night variety show.  Matthew Newton will find himself spending an extended period of time in prison for attempting to murder Rove McManus upon hearing this news. Nevertheless, the viewing public in a rare display of sympathy towards him will consider Newton a hero for sabotaging Rove’s comeback to television.

Politics: Tony Abbott will regrettably win control of the House of Representatives after promising the rural independents that he will scrap the daily ‘Question Time’ in favour of implementing  ‘Prayer Time’.  Politicians will reluctantly spend the majority of Prayer Time praying that Rob Oakeshott is not given another opportunity to speak in public.

Julia Gillard will aim to neutralise growing public and internal party opposition to her position on same sex marriage with the introduction of a radical policy position advocating for the introduction of no sex marriages.  The move will attract bi-partisan support, as most politicians are more than happy just fucking themselves anyway.

 

International Affairs: The Catholic Church will again find itself facing a massive public backlash after Wikileaks publishes a series of damning photographs.  They will show the Pope, and The College of Cardinals, snorting cocaine and getting drunk on church wine with Silvio Berlusconi and his entourage of prostitutes at a party in the Vatican on Christmas Eve.  The Church will quietly be thankful that for once it was not plagued by a scandal involving young boys.  The Church reminds future Cardinals and Popes to enhance the strength of their Facebookp privacy settings to prevent future embarrassment.  The Church will also implement a large scale counselling program after an internal inquiry reveals hard-core systemic abuse of church wine amongst the priesthood.

U2’s Bono and Barack Obama will swap jobs for the day in a blockbuster reality TV special designed to raise money for reducing world poverty.  After Bono realises that he makes a better world leader than he does a rockstar, and after Obama realises that he makes a better rockstar than he does a world leader, the US will find itself in the midst of a constitutional crisis previously unparalleled.  Financial markets will collapse to pre industrial revolution levels at the prospect of Bono being vested with a position of real responsibility, the music world however will go wild at the prospect of the release of Obama’s first album – Songs in the Key of Wonderful: The Black Prez’s Tribute to Stevie Wonder.

 

Sport: Australian cricket will continue to collapse.  No one cares.  Ricky Ponting will be relegated to the dustbins of history reverting back to his violent alcoholic ways.  Still no one cares.  The Royal Wedding between Prince William and Kate Middleton will however have to be cancelled in the most spectacular fashion after sordid pictures of Kate Middleton being caught in a compromising position/s with Warney out the front of a London kebab shop are published in News of the World. Every one cares, particularly super vein Warney who thought he looked fat in the photos.

Nick Reiwoldt will have a much more difficult time convincing the hardened Melbourne football press that he is not gay after a graphic sex tape surfaces featuring him and Zac Dawson in that same Miami hotel room.  In 2012 he will go on to become the face of the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Madi Gras as pictured below.

However, in what will be the feel good story of the year Nick Dal Santo will be reconciled with the 17-year-old girl that leaked the nude photos of him for the purpose of a Today Tonight ‘exclusive’.  They will fall madly in love with each other, get married, sell the coverage of the wedding to Dolly and assorted teen magazines for $250 000.00, and subsequently get divorced – Just your regular modern day romance : )

 

Happy New Year to you and all those around you!

The Bogans’ Guide to Summer

Bogan essentials:

1) Prominent tattoos (common varieties – Southern Cross, General tribal form, something tastelessly alluding to the Anzacs…)

2) Designer sunglasses (common varieties – Chanal, Dolce & Gabbana, other varieties that consume whole of face and were actually designed for female bogans…)

3) Board shorts – Will contain traces of fluro or other bold offensive colour schemes.

4) V8 Ute – self-explanatory (bogan may choose to travel in a stretch limo as a mode of transport, most likely a hummer, if heading to meet other bogans at a music festival).

Bogan optionals (usually not required):

1) T-shirts or other items of clothing designed to cover the top half of the body (Bintang singlets occasionally excused if the bogan has just arrived home from Bali (see below).

2) Footwear.

3) Knives and forks; other cutlery (although bogan will insist on eating his takeaway food hall Japanese with chopsticks in order to demosntrate that bogan is ‘cultured’).

4) Social etiquette.

Sound track:

1) Stereosonic, Summadayze, Future music, 96fm’s guide to the Australia day fireworks.

Beverage of Choice:

1) Low carb beer – Hahn super dry, Pure blonde etc (bogans have a general preference for tasteless things).

2) Female bogans will frequently drink – Jacobs Creek (‘Cobs Creek’), Yellow, or Brown Brothers variety of wines.

Calendar:

September: Hit the gym. Bogans will actually spend an extended period of time checking themselves out in the mirror at the Gym, whilst hoping that all those steroids that they have been pumping since July in preparation for summer are working.

October/November: Fly out to mine site.

November/December: Fly to Bali.  Bogan will spend most of the money they made at the minesite (see above) on a cocktail of bintang singlets (see above), magic mushrooms, scooters and prostitutes.  Bogan will be spotted in natural habitat on stage at the Bounty poorly singing covers of Cold Chisel songs (the only Cold Chisel song the bogan can actually remember the words to is Khe Sahn, also a song prominently featuring an instance of south east asian prostitution, a topic close to the bogan’s heart).

December/January: Return to Perth for end of year festivities and Christmas parties.  For the more privileged bogan this will involve some sort of boat cruise along the Swan River where strippers will provide both the entertainment and the hospitality.  For the less privileged bogan this will mean getting involved in fights with other less fortunate bogans at every pub and hotel along the coast (Bogan hotspots this year include – Carnegies, Tiger Lils, The Left Bank, The Cottesloe Hotel and generally anywhere north of, and inclusive, of Scarborough).

January – March: In between periods of compulsory relegation back to various minesites this is the bogans favourite time of year.  Favourite activities for the bogan at this time of year include;

1) Attending music festivals with fellow bogans. Condition precedent to this for the male bogan is not wearing a t-shirt (see above).  The male bogan loves nothing more than showing off the new tattoo that was recently acquired in some dodgy Balinese alleyway to attract the attention of an unsuspecting female bogan.  Oddly enough, the same male bogan will in reality spend the vast majority of his time posing shirtless in photos where he is hugging and showing affection towards fellow male bogans (see below).

2) Australia day and the Australia day fireworks. The typical bogan being easily amused is particularly attracted to the bright lights and loud noises of the fireworks – the perfect backdrop for fighting (see below). On Australia day the bogan may even depart with their no t-shirt policy and choose to drape themself in an Australian flag.  Bogan will proudly tell all that on Australia day we celebrate the day that Captain Cook found Australia…The bogan is so proud of their knowledge of Australian history! Above all the bogan loves Australia day as it allows the bogan to indulge in two of their favourite past times. Firstly fighting (refer to above and below).  Secondly racism – on Australia day in particular, the bogan will take great pride in citing instances of ‘unaustralian’ behaviour wherever they are and whatever they may be (this is usually levelled at people who refuse to consume as much bundy and coke as the bogan does, or those with the common sense to realise that cricket actually really is a notoriously shit sport).

3) Finally at this time of year the bogan will take great pride in uploading pictures of bogan activities onto facebook. The bogan will want to show everyone their recently ‘souped up’ SS Ute proudly decorated with a ‘Fuck off Where Full’ sticker (literacy, like history, was never the bogan’s strong suit).  Similarly don’t be surprised to see photos of the bogans trip to Bali and escapades at the various music festivals around town surfacing shortly.  If you see photos of two over sized shirtless dudes simulating sex acts with each other, now at least you know why…

Some Introductory Words to the Australian Electorate From Tony Abbott

Ahhh hi there.  I’m Tony, but call me Ton. Most of you probably only know me for my croaky voice, awkwardly laughing at my own jokes, saying ‘ah’ a lot, and perhaps even looking like the velociraptors from Jurassic Park (ha ha, I guess I really am a relic of prehistoric time and age).

Now, you see I’m not a bad bloke.  I’m a man of deep faith and religious conviction.  I spent many years in the Seminary until it occurred to me in an incredibly rare moment of self-awareness, that God probably wouldn’t waste his time on an arse hole like me (ha ha, but praise be to the Lord, he really does work in mysterious ways, Hallelujah baby Jesus!).

Ah despite God’s intense personal distaste for me, that little fucker’s been good to me, and what a wonderful political ally he makes.  You see any time I need to tell women what they can do with their bodies…I turn to God.  Or any time I need to tell women what kind of medication they can take…I turn to God.  Now umm, unfortunately they don’t seem to be listening, which makes me wonder if I should employ my skills as a champion boxer and see if that makes the bloody women listen (I know my reverent mentor Wilson Tuckey would be ever so proud, and ah…look, we all want to smash Julia Gillard…HAHA!).

Anyway, back to more important things…Like let’s see, God.  If there’s ever any talk about dying with dignity…I turn to God.  Or even worse, if there’s ever even any talk about stem cell research…I turn to God.

And when you want to get all new age and trendy and talk about climate change, I turn to God. I turn to God and I see the famines, and the plagues, and the droughts, and the floods, and the myriad of natural disasters in the Old Testament.  I don’t get worried, I kneel down, genuflect, and get a little excited  (speaking of excited don’t even ask about what I use to do the nuns back in the day after a few cheeky glasses of church wine…talk about the second coming…ha ha).

And when I become Prime Minister and I need a chief of staff…I’ll turn to God.

But look despite my faith in God I am human, and as the story of Jesus teachs us, the human condition is frail.  This one time I got a teeny bit jealous of Pauline Hanson (come to think of it that’s another woman I’d like to smash, ha ha…) You see the thing was that bitch was stealing all those redneck voters I’d proudly called my own for so long away from my party.   It broke my heart to see those aboriginal hating, gun-waving hicks leave their natural home, but in the spirit of reconciliation all is forgiven.

And I pray to the Lord that you all can forgive me too.

God Bless you Australia  (ha ha)

Ton.

Wilson Tuckey at the Gates of Hell

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wilson Tuckey:  Knock, Knock.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Satan at the Gates of Hell:  Who’s there?

Wilson Tuckey: Who’s there? Who’s there? have a fucken guess who arsehole, that’s who?

Satan at the Gates of Hell: Ummm…Excuse me?

Wilson Tuckey: No listen, you heard me you old bastard.

Satan at the Gates of Hell: Look in between spreading hatred, poverty, creating wars, destroying currencies, ruining relationships, collapsing financial markets, making arrangements for the Bush family, and of course choosing which American state to inflict the next natural disaster on, I really don’t have time to put up with this sort of crap.  Now who is this?

Wilson Tuckey: Oh shit, Well umm excuse me your holiness. It’s me, you know, your old mate Wils…

Satan at the Gates of Hell: Ahh fuck, Wilson Tuckey?  I told you before to stop bothering me.  I thought I saw the last of you after I plotted the downfall of that bastard Howard.

Wilson Tuckey: I do apologise your holiness.  Now in my defence I am one of your most profitable Angels of Hatred, my track record on spreading the wonderful words of vile and disdain against environmentalists, journalists, women, unionists, refugees, the young, the old, the rich and poor is second to none.  Pick a minority group and I’ve vilified it, I’m your man baby!

Satan at the Gates of Hell:  Hmmm, well I see, you raise a good point and I’m disappointed you forgot to mention that your track record on inflicting violence upon indigenous Australians is second to none.  That was careless Wilson.  Careless, you’re a real first class arsehole and that’s why I love you.  Now what do you want?

Wilson Tuckey: Look now listen, the thing is I need boats.

Satan at the Gates of Hell: Boats?  Now I say this in jest, but what on earth would a senile country dwelling redneck prick like your good self do with boats Wilson?

Wilson Tuckey: Now look, umm, I’m concerned that if this cocky little bastard Rudd remains in office much longer, Australians might develop a heart, a social conscience, a sense of decency, or some other bullshit lefty ideal…I need something to bloody hijack this positive message, something to recapture the hearts and minds of all Australians, something that’ll instil some fear back into those little fuckers.  I need some boats.

Satan at the Gates of hell: Oh now I see.  Well I’ll see what I can do.

 

#24 – A Weekend Out In Perth

Friday Night:

 

Time 4:30pm:

Beers Consumed:  None.

Activity: Charge facebook/ call/message/ make any attempt to communicate with remaining people that  you haven’t managed to alienate on basis of previous antics.

Time 7.00pm:

Beers Consumed:  2.

Activity: Pre – Pre Drinks

Decide, mostly unimaginatively on the city. Depart for friends place.  Foolishly neglect to turn computer off.

 

Time 7.30pm – 9.30pm:

Beers Consumed:  4 – 8.

Activity: Pre – Drinks

Arrive at friends.   Try to quell the voice in the back of your head that is wondering why you still keep company with the Neanderthals surrounding you considering they almost got you killed on at least five different occasions the last time you went out with them. Try and mentally calculate how much they owe in unpaid cab – fares to kill time.

 

Time: 9.30 – 11.30pm:

Beers Consumed:  8 – 14.

Activity: Destination # 1

Arrive at Belgium Beer Café/Tiger Lil’s.   Discuss amongst group why we bother coming back to these places again, considering we never liked them that much the first time, or 100 times thereafter.  Check out members of opposite sex.  Attempt conversation with varying levels of success with said members of opposite sex.  Refuse to be disheartened when the epic looking blonde girl declines your advances refusing to believe you can actually play banjo and piano simultaneously, knowing full well you can’t actually do this.  Move on to next venue “anywhere but Carnegies, I hate Carnegies man it’s like the fucken Newport floated up the river”.

 

Time: 11.30pm – 3.30am

Beers Consumed:  System Error.  Cannot Calculate.

Waters Consumed:  Try to present image of respectability by spacing drinks with water.  This is now hopeless.  See Beers Consumed above.

Activity: Destination # 2

Arrive at Amplifier.  Curse yourself for leaving the last venue that you even didn’t like in the first place earlier, especially considering, “how pretentious all the chicks were at that place, I am a very talented musician you know”.  After long wait in line cordially greet security staff who now recognise you for your famous feets of stupidity.  Proceed to try and convince moronic friends (see 7.30 – 9.30pm) who have now almost got you killed three times this evening to buy you exotic drinks.  Bizarrely acquire a tendency to start smoking a thought that would have been completely repulsive only hours ago (see mental state at 4.30pm).  Dance obscenely on the dance floor throwing shapes that make the last Brianna Loves Jenna movie look like a Disney film.  Tell elaborate stories which either go for at least half an hour and have no point (hey man, Neil Young had this fucken prairie right, and their was this old man right…), or are complete bullshit (I am from Akron Ohio and am playing Saxophone with Steely Dan who are currently touring) to a young crowd of bizarrely enthusiastic admirers.   Feel proud of yourself for the cult- hero status you are acquiring when it comes to talking bullshit, start imagining how long it will be before the alternative kids gathered around listing to your stories start wearing your face on a t-shirt.  Warmly bid farewell to security staff “I can’t believe you didn’t kick us out 3 hours ago, you know us too well”.

Time:  3:32am

Activity:  Enter Kebab store.

 

Time:  3:32am and 30 seconds

Activity:  Proceed to laugh at moronic friend who truly is a monument to stupidity after falling flat on his arse on the slippery floor of the crowded kebab store.  Spend next twenty minutes telling everybody in sight and repeating, “that was the funniest shit I’ve ever seen”.

 

Time:  3:50am

Activity:  Get taxi home.  Try to relate to morbidly obese taxi drive by commenting on the amount of drunken dick heads he must of put up with throughout the night, pretend not to be disheartened when taxi driver replies “nah mate, you’re the first dick head I’ve picked up all night”.  Proceed to make awkward small talk desperately clinging to hope that you make it home alive after noticing the Taxi Driver’s uncanny resemblance to Ivan Milat (see below).

Time: 4:10am

Activity:  After being greeted with an overwhelming sense of relief upon making it home, it’s time for bed bed.  Noticing you left your computer on you carelessly proceed to log onto Facebook and update your profile and status, with volumes of philosophical insight and wit about life, love and everything in between.

 

Time: 9.00am

Activity:  Wake up feeling, surprisingly energetic with the knowledge that the hangover probably won’t set in until lunchtime.  Oh fuck! You now realise that you forgot to turn your computer off last night (see 7.00pm).  Realising that you’re not actually Plato, William Blake, John Belushi or even someone spiritless like Dave Hughes you quickly log onto Facebook and delete evidence of last night’s incoherent musings (see 4:10 am). Hope no one saw evidence of said rants, and more importantly that no self-respecting individual is up at that time on a Saturday morning, or at the very least not on Facebook at that time, I mean get a life.  Spend next three hours on Facebook.

 

Saturday Night:

Repeat Friday Night: See 4.30 pm – 9.00am above.

 

But really? Belated Rant Warning:

The above is a partly truthful, partly fabricated depiction of a standard weekend in Perth.  Everyone has their own routine similar people, similar places, similar outcomes.  The point is in a city like Perth it’s easy to fall into the same routine each weekend.  Often the options the city presents us with are inverse to the sprawling landmass it occupies.  Is this a problem with the city, or a problem with the people who live here?  For mine, I think it’s probably a bit of both – it’s too easy, and often trendy to have a negative mindset and criticise Perth without acknowledging its benefits (see picture below).

On the other hand, I think it’s arguable that it lacks both the cultural vibrancy, and facilities that many of our cousins in Sydney and Melbourne take for granted.  Where are the small bars?  The cool music venues?  The top tier sporting facilities?  The nightclubs that cater for different crowds?  The street art? The genuine pubs with positive vibes not hijacked by cashed up bogans?  The major events…I mean Red Bull air race, seriously?  Those out their trippers that manage to be as intriguing as they are crazy?  Anyway you spin it I think the city for all its attractions could benefit by offering some greater versatility, hopefully this is an attitude our politicians and planners embrace as the population continues to increase.  After all it might give you something different to do on your weekend.

 

Peace.  Have a good weekend.

 

MDG.

Fashion Faux Pas‘

At the outset I should probably confess ‘fashion’ isn’t my strong point. I like to keep it simple and low key and get the most out of the limited wardrobe (re same three shirts jj) I own. None the less in modern times we have seen the advent of some truly ridiculous styles

 

1) The Shirt, Jeans and Tie look:

 

Now I don’t know this guy, but if you do please tell him he looks stupid.   Not only is he committing the cardinal sin of taste with the tie, but he really manages to leave his dignity someplace foreign with the inclusion of the bow tie.  Is he living out some delusion of a lost opportunity to be privately educated?  There’s only ever three occasions where wearing a tie is justified. At school. In the workplace. Or at a social function usually catered for with an abundance of alcohol where the look of formality usually masks the sloppy debauchery that ensues at such a well planned piss up.

 

2) Fluro Singlets/anything fluro:

Bust A Move

 

Above is a link to Young MC’s timeless classic ‘bust a move’. It was around the time of that film clip that fluro may have been acceptable (1989), it was only a month or so after that film clip’s production that fluro was relegated to its rightful place in the dustbins of history. The mind boggles how it has managed to revive itself as an accessory amongst  trendy young things some twenty years later. Perhaps these same trendy young things are self conscious to the extent that they need the colour of their outfit to match the colour of their glow sticks.

 

3) Elaborate V Necks:

Perhaps this isn’t the best example as the dude in the picture pulls off the washed up anemic hobo vibe commendably. What you really have to visualise is an over the top sports star, with the best part of a tub of hair product, wearing a pink (or other hideously coloured) one, with an inflated and entirely undeserving sense of self-confidence and ability. For instance picture someone from the Fremantle Dockers (Byron Schammer is a perfect example)/any other mediocre sporting franchise, wearing this elaborate v-neck and you should get the drift.

 

4)Skinny Jeans:

Enclosed above is a picture of Bon Scott. Beyond being a middle of the road musician, and an inspiration to generations of eager young bogans, the date of Bon Scott’s death (1980) should have been the last time it was appropriate to wear skinny jeans. No amount of rock n roll posturing can ever literally restore the damage and integrity done to your manhood that wearing skinny jeans will do.

 

What next?

So it’s obvious that a whole lot of fashion trends manage to slip through the barometer of good taste. Other items I can’t be bothered ranting about include pink shirts, those massive guess handbags, crocs, joggers and jeans, corduroy jackets (although admittedly this is a personal favourite of mine), the $350 flannelette shirt etc, etc.

 

Now I don’t pretend to have the answers to these affronts on propriety, however they do provide a good laugh. In fact I often wonder if these ridiculous trends are just practical jokes concocted by fashion designers to see how undiscerning and stupid consumers are willing to be, and see how much consumers are willing to pay for it in the process. What price do you put on your stupidity?

 

Peace.

MDG.

An open letter to the Western Australian public from your premier Colin Barnett:

I must first say I am honoured to offer this post to The Comprehensive Blog of things that are Shit, and its readership of about five people. I of course pride myself on the fact that I have single-handedly redefined shithouse in my overwhelmingly mediocre career as a politician.

Now I have been asked to defend several aspects of my triumphantly reformist legislative agenda, an agenda that some people have labelled ‘draconian’, ‘regressive’, or more aptly ‘fucking stupid’.

Now with this accusation of ‘fucking stupid’ I must of course agree. However, in my defence it would be inappropriate to be anything other than this as I fear this would put me out of touch with a ‘fucking stupid’ electorate, and surely a government employing common sense or ability would be disastrous in the opinion polls. Now as they keep telling me a crisis of competence, is a crisis in the polls.

This is remember, the same electorate that voted against daylight savings on the basis it would interfere with the sleeping patterns of farm animals, cause curtains to fade, and signal the end of the world amongst other things. It is also the same electorate that not only elected myself but my collective ensemble of morons. An ensemble that of course includes a treasurer with a range of sick fetishes, the most pedestrian of which is a slightly peculiar thing for sniffing chairs (don’t even ask what he does with rulers in cabinet meetings), and a police minister who regularly has to be reminded that he is the police minister, because look – he just has no idea. This of course came at a time where I had resigned myself to a comfortable retirement, where I alone was going to dig my canal from Perth to Port Hedland, or maybe even Broome if I had enough time.

So what about my revolutionary reform agenda? An agenda that includes such marvels as the abolition of the right to silence, reintroduction of late night curfews, wide ranging search powers for police, and tougher cannabis laws. Well in terms of the right to silence I am actually a big advocate of it and wish the Labor party, aboriginals, civil libertarians, minority groups, trade unionists, teachers, environmentalists, public servants, employed, unemployed, children, adults, males, females, humans and animals alike would exercise it more liberally. Unfortunately many Western Australians in my experience struggle with conversation beyond talking about the weather, so encouraging people to talk is probably in the public interest, even if it means we have a few thousand extra innocent people decorating our gaols (as this of course covers my obvious pomposity and makes me look tough on law and order).

Now I know it’s uncharacteristic for a politician to be honest but in terms of wide ranging police powers it was actually a deal with the police union. You see now the union was complaining that many young officers (and old officers too) were sexually frustrated. They just couldn’t get any action, as apparently the police uniform is only a turn on when it’s not a police officer wearing it. So as part of their collective agreement I promised them wide-ranging powers where they could go and randomly ‘search’ (read wantonly feel up) anyone they found sexually desirable without having to justify it. The point is if you’re not particularly attractive you don’t have to worry as the police force are unlikely to sexually harass you. If you’re good looking, maybe move to Melbourne. More importantly this policy kills two birds with one stone, 1) it serves the interest of a sexually satisfied police force and 2) it keeps the electorate living in a state of fear.

Finally I must say stupid is, as stupid elects. As long as the Western Australian public keep demanding to be showered in stupidity, I solemnly swear I will do my utmost to deliver on this. After all, it would be stupid not to.

Kind regards,

Your premier Colin Barnett.

The Bogan Mentality:

Now in fairness, before this rant takes off, I must concede that the bogan mentality extends beyond people with tattoo’s, and souped up HSV’s with ‘fuck off we’re full stickers on them’ – though usually these are both prerequisites to be initiated into such an illustrious group of fuckwits.

The bogan mentality was on display when those juveniles cloked valiantly in Australian flags rioted in Cronulla in a deluded display of patriotism, the bogan mentality was on display at that Cultural Wasteland pub you frequent where in a rare display of collective creativity everybody had southern cross /Australian made tattoo’s. The bogan mentality was on display when the same people with the abovementioned tattoo’s could not identify the Southern Cross, and their knowledge of Australian geography was limited to the idea that we are being invaded by ‘boat people’.

The bogan mentality was on display at the last festival you went too. They were the people who after taking four flippers were enlightened and inspired to the extent that in another transcendent collective realisation they all took their bintang singlets off, tucked them into their board shorts, ever so cleverly jumped into your photos, and then decided to look for fights against anyone who managed to keep their shirts on/shit together – because why would you do that?

The bogan mentality was on display on your last overseas trip, they were the one’s who were perplexed by the existence of other ethnicities, and people who did not frequently pollute their sentences with copious amounts of ‘ayes’, ‘cunts’ or other expletives.

The bogan mentality was on display after 8 seasons of Big Brother and far too many seasons of Australian Idle.

The bogan mentality was on display from St Kilda to Kings Cross, on your television, at your supermarket, at your university, in your workplace, at your pub, in your dreams, nightmares and pretty much anywhere other than your local library, as enlightement is the bogan’s kryptonite.

The bogan mentality – it’s not a class thing, it’s a taste thing.

And as this wave of neo-philistinism marches towards an unwavering crescendo, all that is left to do is add the bogan mentality to the comprehensive list of things that are shit!

MDG

The Comprehensive Blog of Things That are Shit! #22 – Self Important Wankers:

 

Some time ago I embarked upon the rather ambitious task of compiling a comprehensive list of things that are shit. It featured prominently on my Facebook page, along with a whole lot of other crap on my facebook page that still features prominently, unfortunately there were too many shit things on the list that it had to be removed due to the oppressive and ridiculous constraints forced upon it by the fools at Facebook. For those out there who were not enlightened as to the content of that list, and harbour some delusional interest in this project here it is in its previous incarnation:

1. Every article published in The West Australian’s 171-year history.

2. Emo’s – tip from a winner you’re meant to stop crying yourself to sleep when you’re three.

3. Birds – particularly magpies and peacocks.

4. Poor mobile phone reception.

5. West Coast Eagles players past, present (and future).

6. Beer bottle caps that require bottle openers. The unnecessary inconvenience of good beer.

7. Bruce McAvaney who does everything within his limited ability as a human to make football irritating to watch

8. Cricket without Warney. Cricket in general. Cricketers. People who follow cricket, and worse of all people who want to talk to me about cricket.

9. Bob Geldof and his one famous song.

10. Cyclists and the laws that protect them from being run over.

11. The fact that no matter where you go there’s always bloody road works happening.

12. The fact that no matter where you go the roads are polluted by people with over sized four wheel drives.  Seriously you only need one in the city if you’re taking the thing off road in an attempt to run over cyclists (see #10).

13. The Twilight phenomenon, although in fairness I can’t say I have actually read any of them, but the air of trashy faux literature that it reeks of is more than enough to justify its inclusion on this list.

14. Bands that think they’re too good for guitars.

15. Clumsy fuckers lacking adequate co-ordination who stumble into you and make you spill your beer and then think an apology is adequate compensation. Buy me another beer, or at least a bundy and coke buddy.

16. Phil Collins and any musical project he’s ever been involved in (with the exception of those precious three minutes thirty of sonic bliss in Sussudio).

17. All members of the most comprehensive exercise in incest of all time – The British Royal Family and the people who are interested in there entirely over rated existence.

18. John Howard and his collective of hatred.

19. Commercial radio DJ’s, and the same ten songs they play, and the same ten jokes they use, and the lame smug bile they insist on spitting out polluting our airwaves.

20. Police generally, who think their job is to protect and punish rather than to protect and serve largely disposing of any regard to common sense and decency.

21.  Anything fluro other than highlighters.

 

Now you may think such a list is a self-indulgent exercise in monotony. And it mostly is. However, the reality is that this blog (what the hell is a blog anyway?) is not intended to foster hatred and prejudice by paying limited attention to the laws of defamation/good taste and going on endless tirades. In fact I like most things (well at the very least I am particularly fond of large amounts of beer, music, and the slightly concealed smile of a gorgeous girl). The intention of this list is that it is an outlet composing of observations about the things in life – significant, mundane or otherwise, that are shit. And if any of this offends you? Well at the expense of sounding repetitive, self-important serious wankers are the latest addition to the comprehensive list of things that are shit!

 

Peace. MDG.

The Comprehensive Blog of Things That are Shit! #21 – Self Important Wankers:

Some time ago I embarked upon the rather ambitious task of compiling a comprehensive list of things that are shit. It featured prominently on my Facebook page, along with a whole lot of other crap on my facebook page that still features prominently, unfortunately there were too many shit things on the list that it had to be removed due to the oppressive and ridiculous constraints forced upon it by the fools at Facebook. For those out there who were not enlightened as to the content of that list, and harbour some delusional interest in this project here it is in its previous incarnation:

1. Every article published in The West Australian’s 171-year history.
2. Emo’s – tip from a winner you’re meant to stop crying yourself to sleep when you’re three.
3. Birds – particularly magpies and peacocks.
4. Poor mobile phone reception.
5. West Coast Eagles players past, present (and future).
6. Beer bottle caps that require bottle openers. The unnecessary inconvenience of good beer.
7. Bruce McAvaney who does everything within his limited ability as a human to make football irritating to watch
8. Cricket without Warney. Cricket in general. Cricketers. People who follow cricket, and worse of all people who want to talk to me about cricket.
9. Bob Geldof and his one famous song.
10. Cyclists and the laws that protect them from being run over.
11. The fact that no matter where you go there’s always bloody road works happening.
12. Anything fluro that’s not a highlighter.
13. The Twilight phenomenon, although in fairness I can’t say I have actually read any of them, but the air of trashy faux literature that it reeks of is more than enough to justify its inclusion on this list.
14. Bands that think they’re too good for guitars.
15. Clumsy fuckers lacking adequate co-ordination who stumble into you and make you spill your beer and then think an apology is adequate compensation. Buy me another beer, or at least a bundy and coke you mug.
16. Phil Collins and any musical project he’s ever been involved in (with the exception of those precious three minutes thirty of sonic bliss in Sussudio).
17. All members of the most comprehensive exercise in incest of all time – The British Royal Family and the people who are interested in there entirely over rated existence.
18. John Howard and his collective of hatred.
19. Commercial radio DJ’s, and the same ten songs they play, and the same ten jokes they use, and the lame smug bile they insist on spitting out polluting our airwaves.
20. Police generally, who think their job is to protect and punish rather than to protect and serve largely disposing of any regard to common sense and decency.

Now you may think such a list is a self-indulgent exercise in monotony. And it mostly is. However, the reality is that this blog (what the hell is a blog anyway?) is not intended to foster hatred and prejudice by paying limited attention to the laws of defamation/good taste and going on endless tirades. In fact I like most things (well at the very least I am particularly fond of large amounts of beer, music, and the slightly concealed smile of a gorgeous girl). The intention of this list is that it is an outlet composing of observations about the things in life – significant, mundane or otherwise, that are shit. And if any of this offends you? Well at the expense of sounding repetitive, self-important serious wankers are the latest addition to the comprehensive list of things that are shit!

Peace. MDG.