Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

DerterkederrrToday I saw a video on Aron Mcmaster‘s Facebook page, check it out here.

I have 10 things to say to this fucken kitten squeezer, so I hope you’re reading this, Aron Mcmaster. You should be able to read all of it during whatever time smoko is at your job as dick swallowing master at Unoriginal Vapid and Stupid Cunts, Inc.

Before we start, “Islam” doesn’t hate you. “Islam” is a fucking verbal noun you endless mountain of fuckwit. Maybe you meant Muslims, whatever, I also now hate you because you began your important, ground breaking, revolutionary political Facebook career video by exhibiting the same type of integrity found in a cardboard box full of rampant feminists at the bottom of whichever the dumbest ocean is.

Now let’s go over some stuff you probably won’t understand.

1. What is “your Australian ways and your Australian values”? I don’t know where you come from, but in Australia we have an official statement of the values Australians hold. It’s called… wait for it… the “Australian Values Statement” (https://www.immi.gov.au/living-in-australia/values/). This includes the respect for the freedom of religion, equality of men and women, (here’s a big word, grab a milk crate) a spirit of egalitarianism, that embraces mutual respect, tolerance and a whole bunch of other shit that shoots you down before we’ve even got started… but if I finished now it wouldn’t be any fun.

2. Your second reason for hating “iz lamb” is because you believe the Islamic prophet Muhammad was a paedophile for fucking a 9 year old.

He lived in the 7th Century, A.D. when your missus only lived until 25. Everyone fucked 9 year olds. Everyone used death as punishment for any excuse. Everyone was pretty stupid. No one had invented fucking 18 year olds yet, because a) most of them were dead and b) the ones who weren’t had just as little right to consent as 9 year olds.

That’s right, you turtle head, sex is based on right of consent, and the ability to give it using firm, robust and logical reasoning, which our modern society agrees is 18 years of age as minimum. Let’s be honest, just like you, 18 year olds find it hard to do anything using their brains so in the future, we’ll probably all be considered paedophiles too.

Oh, and your Christian god most probably fucked Mary when she was 13, a year after she married Joseph (who actually fucked her because imaginary people can’t make babies).

3. “A paedophile, and a filthy paedophile at that… that’s just disgusting”. Well I’m glad you cleared that up for us, for a second there we could have thought you meant just a plain old normal paedophile. Also, your socks are disgusting.

4. How does being a paedophile and chopping off people’s heads not make you a prophet? They’re mutually exclusive things, and only one of them is imaginary. NO ONE IS ACTUALLY A FUCKING PROPHET, YOU EVAPORATED HOPE. HE ALSO WASN’T A PIXIE, A JEDI OR A WIZARD HARRY. Is your brain compartmentalised into small departments that take turns using your mouth? Do some other departments include “tattoo of dead bull terrier location selector”, “I’m a Holden man but drive a Kia” and “these socks would look great pulled up with shorts”?

5. Don’t apologise to Katut for fucking Rhonda, apologise to your dick. And Rhonda.

6. “Islams” don’t come to “our country” and “line up at Centrelink”. They make up 2% of our ENTIRE population. They use the same immigration process that your Scottish “Christianities” did when they came here to dump your septic genome somewhere as far away from their family name as possible. I don’t know what is more ironic, the fact that you are that bad at mathematics that you can’t fathom any of this, or that Muslims developed most of the mathematics we know today. Take that irony and go fuck yourself with it.

7. They (“Islams”) “line-up at Centrelink like nothing else.” So you are saying that a verbal noun that is in and of itself representing a people who this word both means and doesn’t mean are unlike any other thing, including nothing, and are like nothing, when falling into lines only of themselves which are 2% by definition and at the same time nothing and themselves by your definition, at Centrelink? What are you? Schrodinger’s bogan? I just learned LESS quantum physics than I knew before because of this, thanks a lot. Fuck head.

8. Note to self: Truck Depots are now an Australian thing. Alert the authorities and update the list of things that are “Australian”. Note to Aron: Just kidding. CARGO VEHICLE LOADING STATIONS ARE NOT AN AUSTRALIAN PECULIARITY. There is not a SINGLE Banjo fucking Paterson poem about Truck Depots. NO JOLLY SWAGMAN HAS EVER CAMPED BY A TRUCK DEPOT.

9. Genital mutilation has nothing to do with Islam, it is a regional tradition in North Africa that pre-dates the religion. The same way language mutilation has nothing to do with being Australian, it is isolated and unique to mouth breathing troglodytes. Just sayin’

10. You sound like a kazoo.

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1. Realise You Don’t Own The Artist

So you are shitty they have changed their sound? That’s because they’re artists. If you were in charge of music, none of it would have changed for 1000 years and some fat cunt would be playing a bouzouki to a bearded woman smacking a log with a sloth femur while faggots like you reached for the lasers in some cave and bitched about how much better it was back when Ug and Bogo used to play there. So fuck off, an artist can do whatever the fuck they want with their music. It’s for their expression, not your personal minstrels.

2. Try Making Music That Sells Records.

Before you EVER criticize a musical artist, try writing and producing a song that enough people like to make it viable for a record label, and distributor, to sell. Then have it actually sell. Have someone actually pay for a song you wrote and produced. Actually make the decision that your music is worth the money they earned sitting at an office desk all week listening to some knob-end boss ask them if they submitted their TPS report.

The talent, effort, patience, sheer guts, talent, persistence, talent, heartache, talent and talent that it takes to do this is beyond words to describe, so fuck off with your “this song is shit”. Write one yourself, you green skinned talentless bag of shit dreams.

3. Your Taste In Music Isn’t Everyone’s Taste In Music

Infact, it’s most probably really, really shithouse. Did you ever stop and think that the band you listen to hasn’t gone commercial because they love struggling to afford another guitar pick after buying a cheeseburger? It’s because the music they make is only liked by you and three other people. Who are deaf. Do you think that’s because you have really cool eclectic taste and the 6 billion rest of us don’t?

The reason millions of people love Skrillex, Justin Bieber, Madonna, Pendulum and whoever else the fuck your slut of a 16 year old sister likes is, wait for it… because they’re fucking good at what they do. They create amazing sounds that no-one has heard before. They push right to the limits of their genre, then fuck it right up the arse until it falls off the cliff of banality until it blows the mind of millions of people who buy their music and they make enough money to buy a $20,000 Macintosh so they can make better music and read your shit comments about it from your shitty little gaming computer with “Leeeeeroy Jenkins” wallpaper.

Your band is shit, they are dying from malnutrition and they don’t have a “sound”, they have instruments that are all broken because they found them in a skip bin. And they’re deaf.

4. Who Made You The Boss Of Your Genre?

Did the rest of us, who sell records to people who like it, miss a memo or something? Did you become the CEO of Subgenre X while we were busy making shit music that everyone else but you likes? What qualifications do you have? You read an article on Wikipedia and then aquired a PHD when you discussed the nuances of Rob Swire’s manipulation of a VSTi plug-in that you couldn’t get much more than a sound somewhere between a cat being choked by a kazoo and a reverbed owl drunk on metholayted spirits? Fuck off you did, you’re just a fat dude behind a computer keyboard, which is the only keyboard you can use, wearing a Jason Donavan t-shirt to be “crucial, ironic and edgy”.in your perceived musical intelligence. Get a diet and some clearasil, fat cunt.

5. Die, From Ear Cancer

This will clear up a few things, like you for instance. Also let musical artists get on with doing what they do, like stuff you can’t, wont and never will do. Sucked in.

1. It’s an alternative to bashing someone.
When things piss you off to a level that knife-claws start growing out of your hands and you start talking in a language that uses only the letters M, F and N which sounds like “mmmfffn fn mmmMMM fnFFFFn MMMfn” then USUALLY a ciggy will reduce the fever to a level that allows the person who pissed you off to escape, unscathed. However when you’re giving up smoking, this potential 10-metre kill-zone becomes a 5km epicentre with you and your steaming cow-pat mood standing at ground zero. Fuck everyone, fuck everything, fuck that, fuck you, fucking RAAAAAAHHHHHH. Sure, many people die from smoking every year but has anyone ever tallied up the resultant deaths of people who got in the way of someone quitting? I bet it’s like infinity or something.

2. There’s only one thing worse than being a smoker.
That’s being a non-smoker. Bunch of self-righteous, whiney, lung capacity having muthafuckers. There’s nothing more annoying than sitting with non-smokers while the smokers go outside the restaurant to have a smoke. You non-smokers have NO idea what we talk about out there but HhhhHHOho HO BOY it’s good. I can’t tell you though because it’s secret. That’s the way us smokers stick together. Blood in, cancer out.

3. Exercise Is Shit Boring
When you quit smoking, you have to exercise. It seems like you gotta choose one or the other. Why can’t I just be a lazy nose-breather? People who exercise are the most shit boring people on the planet and I don’t want to become one. How many health nuts do you know use it as a personality enhancement on Facebook and bore us shitless every day with posts like “Great Workout! 10km Run! Man I’m Gonna Hurt Tomorrow!”

Who cares! Don’t fucking do it then if it hurts! Why do you substitute exclamation points for full stops! Do you have an electrical cable inserted up your arse!

4. There’s nothing to do after sex.
What the hell am I supposed to do after sex? Have a conversation? Girls don’t even know about football or cars so what the fuck am I going to say? Nice root? Cheers big ears? Where’s my fucking smokes.

I stand corrected, as a friend of a friend, Rich points out: Post-sex Sammich. This quitting shit could be OK, must stock up on bacon.

5. Smoking alternatives are worse than smoking.
Have you ever seen those dickwads standing around holding a little white bit of plastic with nicotine in them pretending they’re smoking still? YOU’RE NOT REALLY SMOKING. PRETENDING WAS SOMETHING YOU DID IN YEAR THREE. STOP BEING A DOUCHE BAG AND MAN-UP AND ADMIT YOU DON’T SMOKE. WHAT ARE YOU A ROBOT? IS THAT WHAT THAT IS? A ROBOT CIGARETTE? AN ASTRO FAG? THAT IT? FAGGOT. FUCK OFF AND BURN.

6. Your mood and style of writing during a blogging session is somewhat ebullient.

7. Tough guys don’t look cool without a ciggy.
Can you imagine Bruce Willis mumbling his lines during a scene without smoke billowing from his nostrils? Besides when he plays the non-edgy All-American cop saving his daughter from Muslims, I mean the gritty, dishevilled, living in his beat-up car ex-cop Bruce Willis that has been contracted to stop Mafia selling a shipment of cocaine to black people so he can save his marriage and get his old job back Bruce Willis. What the fuck am I talking about?

8. Air doesn’t come in Light, Mild, Rich or Menthol.
I’m not quite sure why it would or why I would want it to but the point is it doesn’t, smokes do. GET SOME FLAVOURS, AIR. EVERYONE ELSE DOES, KEEP UP.

9. I can’t be fucked with 9.
Or 10 either. I’m too busy looking at the plastic nicotine inhaler I have and wanting to throw it at someone’s eye.

So far, the top ten Google searches of 2011 are pretty boring and unsurprising. What is surprising is how fucking stupid some people must be to search for them. Anyway, for no other reason but for getting more hits on my site I’ve written some haiku for each term. Go me.

1. Facebook
Broke up with girlfriend
Google search for emo song
Must update status

2. How To
I’m searching Google
Can’t find how to do something
Try adding a verb, dickhead

3. You
Search for “you” online
Who do you mean? Them or you?
Jesus what the fuck?

4. YouTube
Funny dog! Haha
It’s singing to death metal
lol *share* *Facebook* *Tweet*

5. Lyrics
Broke up with girlfriend
Change status to lyrics from
Shit eclectic band

6. Yahoo
You do realise
No one uses Yahoo, right?
OK, just checking.

7. Google
Googling Google
It doesn’t make sense, does it?
Stop it you fuckwit.

8. Games
You mean like X Box?
Or the relationship kind?
I’m shithouse at both

9. Craigslist
My best feature: Eyes
Because you’re old and fat
Include blurred photo

10. Weather
Searching for weather
Need something to talk about
At water cooler

1. They’re like little hypo-allergenic pet monkeys.
Kids, especially the little ones, don’t have brains yet just like monkeys, which makes them extra entertaining when they’re switched on. How many times have you seen a kid with something sticking out of their nose, self inserted of course, and a cute little dumb grin on their face like something astonishing has just been achieved in their continual research in the exploration their own body. They are just like a stupid little monkey without the hair, which makes them very suitable for parents who are allergic to fur.

2. They are an excellent contingency plan.
Research has shown that kids eventually grow up into adults most of the time, although sometimes they just grow bigger but don’t actually grow brains which is a common condition with males. This growth into adulthood allows for preparation time to train them into hard working high-end money makers who, in the event you never make that “lotto win”, will allow you to be comfortably pampered and looked after during the period of your life where you regress back into a stupid wrinkly monkey.

3. You don’t have to share helium with them.
You know those parties, when everyone gets drunk and all those helium balloons suddenly become the best toys ever. Kids naturally produce their own helium hence the funny chipmunk voices they have, so you don’t need to share your helium with them.

4. You don’t have to share your alcohol with them.
Kids also naturally produce their own blood alcohol level which accounts for them continually falling over stuff, dribbling and slurring unintelligible words then yelling at you, then crying, for no apparent reason in their drunken emotional roller coaster ride of life. For this reason, and because it’s illegal, you don’t have to share your beer with them and they infact prefer (the same as men) putting boobs in their mouth rather than stubbies.

5. You can support them by attending “Thundercat 4” on 24th June, 2011.
The biggest, baddest, craziest fancy dress party is back. Bigger, badder and this time…  It’s all about Disco. As always, 100% time, effort and money goes toward kids in need. This time it’s PMH Foundation and winter appeal for St Vincent de Paul. Thundercat 4 brings you back to the era that made DJs superstars, it made the dancefloor a battle ground and it made pants so tight it spawned The Bee Gees. This Thundercat is set to be the biggest one we’ve ever done, starring a massive line-up including Roller’s mix master DJ Devo, the man with 1000 platform shoes DJ Jazza and Mr Studio 54 himself: Greg Packer.

This Thundercat’s money goes to the wonderful people at Princess Margaret Hospital Foundation which will benefit research and equipment for young children, which is what Thundercat is all about. Also, due to the onset of a crazy cold winter, we ask for you to bring any old CLEAN warm clothing and blankets, sleeping bags, doonas etc along with you as we will have a St Vincent de Paul representative collecting them on the night for those who really need it this winter. With a killer lighting rig full of mirror balls and colours by F.O.R.C.E. Entertainment, Perth’s best DJs (and Scotty Assassin) playing the biggest bomb tracks of the Disco era, and the big warm dance floor of the Rosemount’s main room, this is the Thundercat to be at. Don’t get mad if you miss out on the biggest disco event of the year, blame it on the boogie.

So if you would like to donate to an amazing cause even if you can’t make the event, you can donate here: http://www.everydayhero.com.au/thundercat4

How Awesome Is Your Dad?

Posted: June 1, 2011 in Uncategorized

I miss my Dad already.

He lives in Townsville, North Queensland and I rarely get to see him. After the death of both my grandparents in the last 12 months, and my little sister’s wedding, and my baby sister’s brand new baby girl, he thought it best to come over and see us all for a few weeks.

My Dad is like most of your Dads I imagine, the real Darryl Kerrigan from The Castle. He’s no “drongo”, be he’s a simple man who enjoys simple pleasures. He wears those king gee shorts that finish well above the knee, with a belt and a collared stripey polo tucked in, no matter how cold or wet the weather is. He speaks a curious combination of Australian English and Dad Jokes. Although the Australian English is used only to convey the most important messages, it’s mostly dad jokes.

He pours at least half the table salt on his food and he has to squint when you show him stuff. When Heidi and I were making breakfast the other morning we pulled out our bag of freshly roasted coffee beans and put them in the grinder, asking Dad if he and his wife wanted a coffee. “Pfft, darl go and grab our coffee can please?” he said with a proud look on his face. His wife returned with a bottle of Jarrah Cappucino ‘indulgence’. “You should try this.” he said, and to him, it really was miles ahead of our petty slow roasted East Timorese peasant coffee.

I came home with a bunch of nice fat scotch fillets for dinner the other night and he sent me a text saying he was cooking something special for dinner. When I got home he had been to the shops and was soaking my scotchies in Masterfoods ‘teriyaki’ sauce. “You wait til you try this.” he said. “Japanese” he said, nodding for my approval.

Last night was their last night here sadly. I miss him pretty badly. The man taught me everything I know about fishing, WD40 will infact take the fish smell out of your hands and leave a lovely WD40 scent not unlike musk lollies mixed with Brut. The ladies love it.

So he decided to take us all out, my two sisters with their new beaus, Heidi and I, and he organised and paid for it all. Sizzlers. I love this man so much and I owe so much to him. My Dad ❤

People who never shut up about going to the gym.
You went for a run??? OMFG, CALL CNN. When you post on forums, update your Facebook status, mention at dinner or the pub how sore you are from a workout, how great the run you just went on was or excited you are about beating your “record”… do you realise how exhaustingly boring you are to everyone else? Here’s a tip: You can’t substitute your gym updates for being genuinely interesting. Unless you’re an Olympic athlete: Shut the fuck up.

News networks on the “planking” bandwagon.
I know it’s been a slow news year with just boring stuff like millions dying in Congo and that thing with the arabs or jews or whatever they’re called, but do we need to hear more about planking? Planking didn’t kill anyone, stupid people killed anyone. PEOPLE LIE DOWN ALL THE TIME YOU FUCKING BOTTOM FEEDERS, AND BY BOTTOM I MEAN ANUS.

A recent ex, telling people I have a small dick.
Well, no I don’t. I would have thought you felt differently too, due to the noises you used to make that sounded like a cross between a cat in a George Foreman grill and a cheap porn actress with tourettes. In fact you sounded almost like your friend did, except she didn’t have bad fake tits. On the subject of inserting objects into inanimate hollow carcasses, I assume this also explains your choice of size-anxiety insults which would account for your decision to insert those unrealistic chest bubbles into your bone embossed chest. Be more original with your insults, you odorous stick legged chicken wrap.

Quit Smoking ads on TV by the Australian Government.
Stop selling them then you fucking idiots.

People who tell you they’re going to do something then don’t.
There are a fair few of you people out there, and guess what. I hope you’re clinging to life one day and begging me to help you, screaming for me to save your life. GUESS WHAT FUCKERS? I’m going to tell you “Yes, no problems! I will definitely save your life.” Have a big bowl of fucking death.