Nov 19
A living room. Somewhere.
“THEY’RE TAKIN’ THE BLOODY SPORT AWAY!”
“What, dear?”
“They’re takin’ the BLOODY SPORT AWAY! The communists, they’re takin’ the bloody sport away and all the bloody money and they’re givin’ it to the blacks!”
“New Zealand, dear?”
“No! The blacks, the blacks, the bloody blacks in the desert, they’re givin’ the money to them! … ”
Nov 18
When Boeing first introduced its 747 in the late 1960s, it presented a future of luxury flying. A spiral staircase led to a swanky lounge area that looked like a super cool bachelor’s lair, where you spent long trans-continental flights chatting up fellow jetsetters while swirling ice in martinis.
Assume the brace position
Of course three decades later we know the reality is a little different. For most of us the spiral staircase, which leads to business class, is merely a cause for envy as are herded into cattle class areas resembling a student squat with seats barely more comfortable than stolen milk crates. And the closest we ever come to bar chat at 38,000 ft is going to galley to beg for a Bundy and Coke from uncaring Qantas stewards who prefer we sleep all the way from Hong Kong to London.
So it was with much scepticism that I viewed similar presentations from Airbus Industries about its giant A-380, which showed an airborne dream world of bars, gyms, massage rooms, cinemas and private bedrooms that will allow you to join the mile high club even of you’re not a contortionist with a penchant for fucking in filthy toilets.
First thing I thought was, nah, they’ll just shove more seats in the gargantuan bus of the skies. Sadly I was right. French airline Air Austral will be stuffing 840 seats in its all-economy superjumbos and it won’t be the only airline to do so.
While many see this as an efficient, environmentally friendly way to transport people around the world, I see nothing but rough skies ahead.
Think all the shit that comes with long-haul flying and double it. Twice as many screaming kids, twice as many fucktards who will storm the gate door when the flight is called forgetting the marvels of ticketing means there will be no shit fight for the best seats and that the plane ain’t going nowhere without them.
There will be twice as many fools who reckon 21ABCD actually says 34EFGH and will actually think you’re being unreasonable when you ask if they can get out of your seat.
There will be twice as many greedy people filling overhead lockers with Krispy Kreme donuts meaning you’ll have to walk half a kilometre to find a place for your bag, twice as many spivs in suits arguing with cabin crew about using their mobile phones and laptops on take off, and twice the chance of suffering concussion from a backpack strapped to the back of an idiot with poor spatial judgement (true story, once on a Virgin Blue flight a woman did that to me and when I yelled “Ouch, watch it would you?” it turned out to be the lovely Sigrid Thornton – the bitch).
The chances of sitting next to a fat bastard who has over-active sweat glands and no sense of personal space will double, as will the likelihood of being subjected to advice about the real estate market, the-next-big-thing racehorses and where to find the best prostitutes in Macau.
Then when you get to the other end you’ll have landed with three other 840 seat A-380s meaning you’ll have to queue up behind the entire population of Tenterfield to clear immigration and customs.
My advice is when you next book your next flight choose an airline that flies 350-seat A-330s or 777s.
Nov 18
I won’t pretend to be on top of the detail when it comes to AGW. But let’s assume, for the sake of argument, that it is a real problem.
Does anybody seriously believe that the ETS, a market solution, par excellence, is going to make the slightest bit of difference? That in placing all of our eggs into the capitalist basket, we are trusting in a magic talisman that can, at best, merely tinker on the margins?
Using capitalist structures and processes as a means of combating AGW is like trying to fight a live bushfire by opening up a a farmers’ market, and putting a tax on undergrowth.
And this at a time when support for ‘the market’ has never been lower.
Nov 16
Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for Groupthink’s first ever caption competition. Pretty simple, really: just submit your caption in the comments by 5pm Wednesday, and the panel of judges (me) will announce first, second and third places on Thursday.
Today’s photo comes from over the seas; a place the locals call “France”. In the photo, “French” President Nicolas Sarkozy is giving a movie star named Clint Eastwood (from some country called “the USA”) a medal for making movies or something. Clint Eastwood says that “France” is his second home, even though he doesn’t speak “French”, and Nicolas Sarkozy says that movies bring the two countries together even though they don’t really like each other.
Have at it!
Hello. My name is Lawrence Springborg and I’m a family man.
When I say I’m a family man, that means I’m a man with a family.
Families have men in them.
Do you have a man in your family?
All families need a man.
A family needs a woman too.
If your family has a man and a woman in it, you have a family.
When a man and a woman join together in holy matrimony until death do them part, that’s called a family. That’s where families start being families.
And that means the man of the family can put his wee-wee into his woman’s wah-wah and wiggle it about a bit until the stork comes over with a baby.
I like storks.
Do you like storks?
I’ve heard that some people think a family should have two men in it. And no woman. Which is weird because if there’s no woman in a family, where would a man put his wee-wee? There’s no wah-wah.
Someone told me that some men like to put their wee-wee’s into other men’s … ewwww.
…
…
That’s just gross. I don’t believe it.
Some people think a family should have two women in it. And no man. But if there’s no man, there’s no wee-wee and a wah-wah can’t wiggle about in a wah-wah. Only a wee-wee can wiggle about in a wah-wah.
That’s what wah-wah’s are for. For wee-wee’s to wiggle about in.
Until a stork comes over with a baby.
If a family had two men it or a family had two women in it, the storks would get confused and crash into airplanes and then all the airplanes would fall out of the sky and people would get hurt.
I don’t want to see that happen.
Because I’m Lawrence Springborg and I’m a family man and I’m not keen on confusing the storks.
I like storks.
Nov 13
There seems to be a misconception that the ABC’s Q&A program is engaging and rewarding television. It’s not. In actual fact, it is vaudeville bullshit.
In more recent times and with the advent of the twitter machine, this misconception has only grown. Many observing the twitter hashtag on a Thursday evening (AEST) see #qanda become a “trending topic” and start to get giddy, thinking “Our ABC has really made it on the world stage now”. Unfortunately this popularity spike occurs all too frequently and I hate to spoil things but it’s actually our communist Asian neighbours mistyping their lovable bamboo eating mascot.
As you may not know, ABC star employee contracts frequently stipulate that as soon as the first Christmas decorations appear in shops, programs must begin to wind up or cease to broadcast for the year. Not much happens in November and almost nothing in December, so the view is that little should keep the ABC luminaries away from Paris in winter or the sanctity of Pearl Beach. In keeping with this, Q&A has already packed up for the year and it is a good time to reflect on what could have been.
The worst part of Q&A is how unbearably predictable it all is. Watching the self-righteousness of David Marr with that smug grin and all knowing whine or Sophie Mirabella. Well, two words are enough to describe her.
In fact the only participant that I honestly enjoyed watching was Janet Albrechtsen. Seriously. She knows what she thinks and she just says it. No façade, no sensitivity or groupthink (if you can excuse the irony there). Sure, the underlying sado-masochistic, power suit/corporate lawyer look is pretty stale but as a form of political entertainment, I think she is a star.
I rarely read her column in the Oz because it is predictable and equivalent to unpacking seventeen gaffa taped boxes to find little inside, but on TV she is great. She is so great that I think she should have her own ABC program. Before the wowsers start wailing about ABC Board members being ‘impartial’ – what about Quentin Dempster, he somehow manages to walk the impartial tight rope? I’m sure Janet can too. Instead of the conservatives constantly complaining about Left wing bias or the lack of conservatives on the ABC, why shouldn’t Janet have the chance to have a chat with those forgotten people ignored by our Leftist media!
The other thing that has become apparent is the complete lack of engaging female conservatives. Besides Ms Mirabella, Helen Coonan, Julie Bishop or Bettina ‘Blackshirt’ Arndt, there isn’t a lot of media talent. Poor old Miranda Devine belts out columns but she hasn’t got it for TV. Mind you, she’d be great to play Scrabble with, “Hey MD, can I borrow an UM?”
As an interim measure, I suggest Mark Scott punts Tony Jones into a new show where he can truly blossom, reading his own poetry. I think Q&A in 2010, hosted by Janet Albrechtsen would be compulsory television.
Nov 11
As you all know I’ve been following the climate change and emissions trading scheme debate very closely. Earlier this year I travelled to the USA to consult widely with the Heartland Institute and they gave me a nifty graph to show to all my friends at Parliament. Nick Xzennophone asked if I made it myself in crayon but he shut his mouth quick smart after I showed him the quality of the laminate and the superb laser printing.
I like to make sure that I look at both sides of the story, and the ETS debate is no different. I’ve looked at the government’s side (anthropomorphic climate change is definitely real and we need an EMS right now) and the opposition’s side (anthrophomorpic climate change is possibly real and we might need an LMS sometime in the short or medium term), but Family First’s side of the story is quite different again: anhtro antro antrhop man-made climate change is a myth and the PMS is completely unnecessary and will destroy man’s way of life.
But you wouldn’t believe the trouble I’ve had in getting my view heard! Penny Wong and Ian Macfarlane meet regularly to thrash out a version of the government Bill that the coalition might support, but the way they’ve dismissed Family First’s role in these crucial negotiations is a disgrace to Australian democracy. Imagine a democratically-elected Senator being manhandled and ejected from meetings inside Parliament House! It’s not like they didn’t know I was coming; each time I’ve told Xzennophone to tell Barnaby to tell Macfarlane, and Xzennophone to tell Conroy to tell Wong.
Some nights I’ve been in tears at home, burning up with the indignity of the way the other MPs treat me. I tried telling David Hawker about the teasing and bullying but he didn’t seem to care. Even my son, when he got home from school the other day and found me on the lounge with Blanky, told me to “harden the fuck up”. I told him that’s not very Christian language but he just mumbled something about wishing he was adopted.
So when I heard some people this week start talking about a One World Government that might be formed in Copenhagen soon, I got very excited. Maybe I could run for election to a government that is kinder and more accepting. A government that is inclusive and considerate. A government that looks at all of my sides of the story. I mentioned to Susan that this new government will add significantly to the Pope’s workload given that he’s the head of the world, but Susan told me he’s only the head of the Catholic Church. And you could’ve blown me right there and then when Susan dropped the bombshell that the Pentecostal Church is not part of the Catholic Church so the Pope isn’t even the head of me! A lifetime of delusion, it seems.
Anyway, I’ve started doing some research into how one would go about running a campaign for the One World Government, and I’m trying to book a flight to the Hungarian capital to be at the centre of the action at its inception. Given that Australia is part of the world, and the One World Government will be the world’s boss, I will be able to have much more influence over Australia’s PMT policy from the OWG Parliament than from the chamber of Australia’s Senate.
Until next time.
Nov 10
Two months ago I had a dream. And last night my dream, and those of the millions thousands hundreds dozens of Twitterers who had joined the #PwnedNudieRun cult, were answered.
Which means that Garry Linnell, and Paul Kent, and their first rate sources, to use a word beloved of the computer-gamers, have been well and truly pwned.
That’s P-W-N-E-D. And I didn’t know the word either, until I started using Twitter. I rather like it.
Ladies and gentlemen …
And what an awesome way for Jonathan Holmes to say it. Classy and perfect.
But within seconds of That Word leaving @jonaholmesMW‘s lips, every single #PwnedNudieRun-ner foolish enough to make their pledge about as public as it can be, had their bluff called.
@clubwah: Strip off you fat bloggy nerds!
So we did.
To commemorate the current tour of a certain singer dancer miming personality, here is an encore presentation of “The Tale of Britnay’s Momma” from “Rebus Flatbush’s Famous Fables & Folk-Tales from the American Mid-West” …
“Now … Feetus, Teetus an’ Meetus, you boys git in here and settle yerselves up for bed cause I’m a gunna speak a story at yer … This here’s a story ‘bout Brit-nay’s momma …
Once upon a time Brit-nay’s momma done once lived raht here in this ol’ trailer park, an’ afore she done popped out Brit-nay, she useta set in her trailer a’drinkin’ an’ a cussin’ at herself ‘cause she weren’t a fam-ous person. She’d rub her big bumpy belly and take a big swig a’ corn likker and tell herself, “Mah baby’s gonna be someone one day, yessir she is, I’m a gonna show ever’one I ain’t no common piece ‘a trailer trash, no sirree I ain’t! I gots talents! An’ so will mah chil’, dagnabbit!!”
Then she’d let go of a buncha burps and farts so loud they fair stunned all the woodchucks fer miles aroun’ and set the grizzlies a-runnin’ for higher ground and then she’d fall down lahk a dead person an’ set fire to herself agin an’ we’d all haveta come a-runnin’ with buckets ‘a water and put her out. This useta happen, oh … ‘bout every day or two.
(Feetus … stop rubbin’ yerself agin yer’ brothers an’ pay attention, boy … )
Anyhoo, Brit-nay was popped outta her momma’s belly one afternoon in the toilet block while she wuz givin’ Otis the janitor a seein’ to ‘bout sumfin’ (though why they wuz both nekkid at the time ah ain’t ever been able to figger, but ah guess that’s a’ no mind of mine to think upon), an’ she picked her baby up outta the toilet bowl an’ says “I gots myself a ticket to a fortune at last!”
An’ she taught that chil’ how ta dance an’ swivel her liddle hips an’ poke out her chesty bits and sing into a hairbush, all the time tellin’ her, “You gonna be fam-ous, Brit-nay, yes you are, an’ ah don’ wanna hear any arguments about it, you gonna be someone and ahm gonna be someone too! … Now you gotsta learn how to poke out yer liddle baby pillows sum more and smile when all those nahce men from the talents agency come ‘round … Oh!, that reminds me … we gotsta git yer teeth bleached agin! … You stay raht there now whiles I git the Persil.”
An’ sure e-nuff, Brit-nay got herself fam-ous an’ made a whole buncha money, an’ her momma made a whole buncha money too coz she done went and made herself Brit-nay’s manager person.
An’ then one day, when Brit-nay was a lot older, she started actin’ jes lahk her momma what with the drinkin’ and the smokin’ an’ cussin’ an’ gettin’ herself tattoos an’ havin’ a baby wif some fella who lahked to wear his pants ‘round his knees so as to show off his unnerwear an’ such … Yessirree, she was actin’ up sumfin’ feerce all the time, an’ she got herself a dee-vorce an’ lost custody a’ her own l’il baby, an’ on top a’ all that, she went an’ tol’ her ol’ momma to go feck herself, ‘cause she was mahty sick of her.
An’ her poor ol’ momma soon found she had no more money left an’ she weren’t fam-ous no more an’ she had to come back an’ live with Otis the janitor in the toilet agin’.
Now, the moral of the story, boys, is this – no matter how many times you change the size an’ shape of yer trailer, the trash’ll always stay the same …
(Er, Teetus … take yer thang outta Meetus’s earhole and git yerself off to sleep, son.)”