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Thursday, August 23, 2012

PRETTY FLY FOR A SHORT GUY.

   I saw two guys in the park the other day who were obviously friends. They were both white, scrawny little guys with oversized basketball jerseys and caps sat at an angle to neither lend shade from the sun nor attract members of the opposite sex. They met up with an exaggerated high five, bumped chests, and I'm sure I heard one of them say, 'Yo nigga, sup?'
   They sort of looked like this guy.



   Now I live in Australia, this happened in Australia, (not the U.S. of Australia) A U S T R A L I A, in a park that is, like most parks here, relatively clean and visited mostly by the elderly, or dog walkers, or an amalgam of both. Its not gang territory and its not 'the hood'. It couldn't be the hood if it wanted to be the hood. It could probably do a good rendition of a trailer park, given some time, but there will never be a chopper with a spotlight overhead and no-one will ever write a hip hop song about it.
   Am I now so far out of the loop, so over the hill that I missed when it became ok for little white guys to call each other nigga? Did that become cool at some point?
   Actually that reminds me of something else that I'll mention now before I forget. A couple of years ago, I was at a music festival in Brisbane and in-between bands they played music over the P.A. That was fine, though most of it was poppy crap, it kept people in the spirit. At one point however, the DJ played that Snoop Dog song where he says "Drop it Like its Hot" in repetition a number of times throughout the tune. As I looked around at the crowd, mostly white kids with sunburns, I noticed that loads of them were making hand gestures that I thought were only ever used by hip hop musicians. You know the sort of thing, fingers bent or pointed out in random spastic combinations, and waved around like a hot kipper.
   It looked wrong. White people should not try to act like gangstas. It doesn't look cool, it doesn't suit, it just looks stupid. 
   But anyway, back to what i wanted to talk about. The two guys in the park calling each other nigga.
   I think they might have lost the meaning of the word somewhere, which, you know, I suppose is possible. Its not really heard anywhere these days unless its on a tv show with U.S. gang members. So maybe they think its a term of endearment, and hell...maybe it is now. 
   I see loads of black lads on tv calling each other nigga, so maybe its changed the meaning of the word. Maybe its that thing where people try to take the power out of the word by using it in an unusual way. Thats fair enough. I can get behind that. I wish the nazis didn't fuck the swastika and the Charlie Chaplin moustache and maybe the power of those images can be diffused as well. Perhaps if a "My Little Pony" had a Hiltler moustache or Batman started wearing a swastika?


(I thought, 'what the hell' I'll google "batman nazi"'. I did not expect that anyone had imagined Batman quite in this way but there you go).

(ok...what the fuck? Can you just google anything now and something comes up?)

(I guess you can)
   ANYWAY...
   Can this sort of thing work for everyone?
   Are their disabled people out there right now yelling out across the street, "Yo retard," or "Hey spastic", to their disabled friends?
   That also reminds me of something that happened to me once, while on a train in Melbourne. A young fella in a wheelchair rolled up next to my seat. I don't know what his condition was. He was the sort of lad who had pretty limited control of his hands, (they moved a lot, I just don't think he had great control of them) and he looked like he was trying really hard to lick the back of his throat.
   So he asked me, 'Hey...do you know who I am?'
   I said, 'no...no I don't know you.'
   He then asked me if he was a spastic or a retard.
   How do you answer that?
   I wasn't sure if either of them was PC but I figured I had a 50% chance and so I said, "retard".
   For a few seconds there was silence. I looked from the guy to everyone else on the train and I swear everyone looked unsure, but when the guy started telling me off about calling him a retard, just about every face on that train became that of an accuser. 
   There were a few that just looked thankful that they hadn't been in my position, but most took on the air of the high and mighty, damning me for my ignorance.
   Fucking disabled people shouldn't set traps, its an unfair use of their disability and you can't defend yourself against it without looking like a prick. I could get attacked by a gang of kids with down syndrome and left bloody and comatose in a gutter and people would still think I was the asshole. When you think about it, its very patronising, but I must admit, if I was disabled, I'd probably milk it a bit. I'd shit my pants...just once...just to see what its like. Just saying. 
   I've since found out that neither "spastic" nor "retard" are kosher and that recently, even "disabled" is frowned upon. "Ability challenged" is the latest. I'm not sure if a guy with no feet is "foot challenged", that having feet for him is a challenge, its an impossibility. There's no challenge, its not like if he concentrates hard enough he might get feet. He's disabled in that he's not "able" to have feet.
   I guess nobody told the spastic guy on the train what he was supposed to call himself.
   Midget? Dwarf? Are any of those ok for describing little people? Is "little people" ok? Its certainly descriptive. Height efficient? I don't bloody know. I figure dwarf must be dodgy right? It gives them a sort of "sword and the sorcerer" feel, but then maybe they like that. Is it cool to call a tall person a frost giant? I have an X that I've often called an ogre, but I suppose that's just childish and hurtful......to ogres.
   But you know what? I don't think the scrawny white guys using the term "nigga" are taking the power out of the word, they're just turning it into something shitty again, in a different, perhaps less volatile way than before, but its still shitty.
   Anyway...I'm sleepy...so here's a photo of a kitten.


STAY FILTHY.

Saturday, June 23, 2012

FILTHY'S ESSAYS ON THE LONG PIG #2

Hypothesis: That the Long Pig (human) doesn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon so perhaps urging a measure of decorum is the best thing the rest of us can hope for.
   There is a behavioural study that was done on baboons somewhere in Africa recently that poked a few reasonably sized holes in the old "Might it right" theory that a hell of a lot of long pigs seem to base their life around.
   Though it has been a popular belief in the past that the strong, brutish, "alpha" males in, not just the baboon troops, but family groups of all primates, were the ones most likely to mate with the females and pass on their genetic junk. The study has shown otherwise.
   Now I could use terms like "alpha" and "omega" and "procreate" and stuff like that, but I understand that many long pigs can wary of discussions that don't relate directly to, or make mention of, themselves, so I will simplify things.
   Instead of "Alpha Male", I shall, from this point on, use "Robbo".
   When talking about the "Omega Male", I shall now use "Geoffrey".
   Instead of "Females", I shall use "Tina", "Rhonda" and "Charleen".
   Instead of calling them "the Troop", as that is what a family group of baboons is called, I shall call them the employees of "Drake & Leister: Chartered Accountants"...you know...to simplify things.
   So its the time of the yearly company Christmas party and this year Drake & Leister: Chartered Accountants have put on a pretty good do. Though they haven't hired out a restaurant or paid for everyone to go on the ever popular, but annoyingly messy, "booze cruise", they have brought in a caterer named Felipe who once worked in a restaurant down the street from Jamie Oliver, and who must be good because he has a French accent.
   They've also got a band to play, but as its the boss's son's band and they do little else but regurgitate whatever flavour of "pub rock" was popular when everyone was wearing flannel, nobody expects too much and therefore nobody is let down when they suck.
   Robbo is in fine form. He was partly drunk when he turned up and has taken full advantage of the well stocked bar, which is operated by Inga, the Polish immigrant with the big blah blahs and long blah blahs.
   She was a professor in astrophysics in Warsaw but because she doesn't speak English well enough in Australia's "multicultural society", her credentials don't mean squat. Inga would rather be back in her 2 bedroom flat that she shared with 5 Irish girls, eating lentils in front of Moulin Rouge, but she's stuck serving slobbering wankers like Robbo, for what she is fairly sure is a good bit less than minimum wage. On her breaks she runs through the necessary equations for creating a small nuclear warhead in her mind.
   Robbo hasn't noticed her obvious apathy toward his loud and annoying attempts at humour, her disdain for his lewd gestures, or her revulsion at his slipping her his address on the back of a square of toilet paper.
   He believes that a love of football, perfect vision, and the ability to be heard above any other human being, makes him the most charming man alive. He hates that he's an accountant, is embarrassed by it. His footy mates think he's a roof tiler, a vocation that he came up with without considering the implications. Roof tilers, from being on roofs all day, are ridiculously tanned and so, to keep his lie plausible, Robbo goes to a tanning salon twice a week and has done for the past 5 years.
   Robbo has come to the Christmas party for 3 reasons; #1: So that he can take advantage of the free booze. #2: So that he can hopefully take advantage of his boss' good will to climb the company ladder through blokeish yammerings about football, thereby foregoing the need to do the actual work that would otherwise be necessary. #3: So that he can take advantage of a drunk Tina, Rhonda and Charleen, who he believes will be impressed by his polo shirt because it has a crocodile on it instead of a penguin.
   He has a video camera set up in his bedroom and rohypnol in his pocket.
 
   Geoffrey wasn't sure whether "fashionably late" was still fashionable, so turned up at 8:30 instead of 8pm as was stated on the invites. He ma have a couple of drinks, or he may not, but he's seen what Robbo is like and his interest in a beverage wanes.
   His ignorance of most things sporting means he is left out of a lot of Monday morning conversations at the office and that he has no way of climbing the ranks in a football centric workplace than by busting his gut and working hard, which he does, not so much with passion, but with the she defeated resignation felt by a great portion of the population.
   His beard makes him look part bushranger/part Rolf Harris. His jeans are pulled too high and he believes that frilly cuffed shirts, like his, will soon be the rage thanks to the growing popularity of pirates and Jonny Depp, even though his last attempt at pre-empting fashion, two tonnes skivvies, like those in Star Trek, failed miserably and garnered suspicious looks from parents of small children.
   He is polite, sympathises with the Polish bar girl, and therefore doesn't bother her with mindless prattle, and offers to get drink for other, not so that he can spike them with date rape drugs, but because he honestly believes it is good manners.
   Tina, Rhonda and Charleen turn up and, having picked up the $3:95 scent of their generic pharmacy brand perfumes, Robbo lunges into his mating dance, which consists of a rich tapestry  of laughing and talking loudly, and putting down any perceived rivals for the ladies affections.
   Ignoring Geoffrey, he turns on his best mate at work, Jonno.
   Jonno's mates think he's a plumber, and whether its a private school upbringing or the fact that he doesn't irradiate his brain twice a week for a tan, Jonno manages to hold his own.
   An unannounced drinking contest erupts between Robbo and Jonno, understood by both men to be a sure-fire way to the girl's hearts.
   Meanwhile Geoffrey chats to Tine, Rhonda and Charleen. He comments on their dresses and hair and gives them heart-felt, well thought out presents that show he has paid attention to them over the past 12 months. He nods sympathetically when they complain about cramps and mid-cycle spotting. He pulls out their chairs for them, is supportive, and later, when Robbo has passed out into his pavlova, and Jonno has pissed himself and is rocking back and forth under the toilet hairdryer, trying to dry the urine stain before anyone notices, Geoffrey has a four-way with Tina, Rhonda and Charleen on the supervisor's desk.
 
   This is basically what they've noticed with baboons. The males who are more attentive, caring and respectful are the ones who are more likely to pass on their genes than the chest beating macho types. The newborns in the baboon troops and perhaps also in Drake and Leister: Chartered Accountants, foregoing the use of birth control, are far more likely to be genetically linked to the Geoffreys than the Robbos. Making the Robbos of this world akin to a genetic Nazi party. They make a lot of noise and draw a lot of attention, but in the end...they're just wankers...literally.
   My point is this. There is a point to not being a wanker, and though the last thing that I want any of you to do is procreate and expand on the already oversized 7 BILLION OF YOU, I would like to see less dumbarses born, so that some actual thought might go into things and you might all realise breeding is fucking things up royally.
   Lets look at that number; 7 Billion. That's 7 with...a sizeable number of zeros behind it, 7,000,000,000 if you go by the U.S. standard and 7,000,000,000,000 pretty much everywhere else. Any way you look at it...its a lot...TOO MUCH!
   At the turn of the 20th century there were 1.5 billion and Europe was starving because the earth wasn't able to sustain us. It was thought then that the earth had reached the limit of how many of us it could support. Science stepped in the ease the problem with the invention of nitrogen based fertilisers, but like with most things, the long pigs learnt nothing from the past.
   They didn't say, "Hey...luckily we've averted disaster with science, but we'd best go easy on population from now on because really...we've just bought ourselves some time is all." No...long pigs go into a breeding frenzy and within 100years they multiply the population by a whopping 500%.
   It is expected that at current rates there will be 12 billion of you by 2050. Thats pretty much twice as many people as we have today. Twice as many cars, twice as much food consumed, twice as much resources used, twice as much land built on, twice, twice, twice!
   Just consider it: Litter, traffic, queues.
   When rats are in a situation where there are too many of them, they go mad and start murdering and eating each other, and the same thing happens with piggies on farms. We know we're looking at trouble in the near future, we are already experiencing a "global food crisis". If animals go nuts and kill one another when there are too many of them and food is scarce, what do you think you long pigs (animals each and every one of you) will do?
   By the way if you are wondering where I got the term "Long Pig" from...its apparently what the cannibal community (yes there's a community of them) call humans. I guess it helps distance them from it. Ha! They literally ARE what they eat. Silly cannibals.
   Stay Filthy and check this out. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wB6yoeS3vm4

FILTHY'S ESSAYS ON THE LONG PIG #1

Hypothesis: That the Long Pig (human) is an enigma, surviving its own continued attempts to end itself.
SOMETIMES I WISH YOU WOULD ALL JUST BUGGER OFF AND DIE SO THAT THE REST OF US COULD GET BACK TO EATING EACHOTHER IN PEACE!

Saturday, March 10, 2012

MOTORHEAD ARE GONNA BE PISSED OFF.

   I was just watching an advert for 60 minutes today and i think they've lowered their standards for stories. Its a shame because 60 minutes used to be one of the few stand up, serious, informative, well produced current affair programs on tv. Yes there was an over use of Quentin, the spastic boy, to draw in viewers in the 80's but generally its been pretty good.
   Now the story that has made me lament the 60 minutes of old is one about a flying fox in Asia, (probably Thailand as they opened the advert by saying "to our youth its a party in paradise destination" and other than Bali, Australian youth seem to choose Thailand as the place to get wasted, "find themselves" and generally act like absolute wankers).
   The advert shows some Australian youth hanging from the flying fox over a river. (For those who might not know what I'm talking about, a flying fox is where you have a cable tied between two points and you can slide along the cable by holding onto a bar attached to a wheel that runs on said cable). He lets go of the cable near the shore and the film freezes. The voiceover then says, "A few seconds later...he was dead!" The rest of the advert shows various drunk and sunburnt looking white people with blood pissing out of their heads or passed out on the ground, from using the flying fox and hitting the pebbly bottom of the river which is, obviously, somewhat shallow.
   The voiceover bandies on about how our youth are being killed and how nobody in the unnamed asian  country seems to care, and about how someone needs to be held responsible, blah blah blah.
   You know what? If you're dumb enough to go on a flying fox without checking the depth of the water then the gene pool may be better off without you fouling it up. Jumping off a flying fox near the shore head first is not a genius move and is simply an example of Darwin in action. This is how the species moves forward, this is how we develop. We cut the fat, the idiots fall by the wayside and we move on a smarter and safer race because of it.
   There is no room for risk takers in the pride. This is how the rest of us grow stronger. We learn from the failures of the idiots.
   Its really annoying that instead of the report being about how incredibly dumb and retarded these kids are, it comes down to finding someone else to blame. It'll no doubt be the Thai government not setting safety standards, or the people who put the flying fox there being evil for not measuring up to western safety standards. It really is shitty reporting.
   Unless of course I've read the advert completely wrong of course and then 60 minutes is great.
   Oh man...as I'm writing this, I'm also cleaning my ears and it feels so good. Cotton buds really are just ear dildos aren't they. Its amazing how nice it feels.
   Not that I know how a dildo feels. I'm a straight bear.
   I have wondered about the gay lads though. I've contemplated what they do and how it must feel and I've come to a conclusion. Having anal sex, for the sexee (is that what you call the one being shafted?) must feel like a grog bog. It must feel like you have a load that just won't leave the warehouse. A mouse that won't come out of its hole. A poo that not only won't leave the cavity but crawls back in deeper. And while I can see how passing a log may be enjoyable at times, especially when reading a good book, it ain't sexual...AT ALL.
   While we're on the subject of the birds and the birds...I've got some tips for the lesbian girls who might be reading this. Its simple but I'll put it in capitals to make it clear.
IF YOU ARE A GIRL WHO IS INTO GIRLS WHO ARE INTO HOT LOOKING GIRLS...DRESS LIKE A HOT LOOKING GIRL!
   You see I thought this would be a pretty simple idea. If you your trying to bag a girl who is into other girls, dress like a hot girl. You're chances have to be better than if you dress like a guy because guess what; lesbians aren't into guys. That's one of, if not the main, point of being lesbian.
   I see lesbians that look like guys and I think, "poor bastards. They have the tools but they don't know how to use them. Its a waste because we straight men can't have the lesbians and these manly looking girls, who should have a leg up in this case, are just throwing away their advantage.
   I dress like a guy. I know how poorly it works and that's when I'm trying to pick up girls who are supposed to be into guys. How the f*#k is it supposed to work on girls who like girls?
   Poor stupid bastards.

   Oh hey have you heard about Satan lately. What's he been up to?
   Well nothing basically because like god he probably doesn't exist, but did you know his number changed?
   No not his phone number.
   Recently archaeologists found fragments of the oldest surviving book of revelations, dating back to the 3rd century and written in ancient greek. In this version, (the oldest version) the number of the beast is written as 616...not 666.
   Good one satanists. Can't you get anything right?
   So I figured as we're supposed to be looking out for the number of the beast as a sort of warning, I might just do a quick google search for the number, just to see what was out there.
1: The comic book company, MARVEL, who publish Spiderman, the Xmen, Thor, Ironman and many more tittles, have dubbed the continuity in their books; Earth 616, meaning that everything that happens in the comics happens in the EARTH 616.
   There is even a character at MARVEL who is like Satan, called Mephisto. Could be a lead but I doubt it.

   Other than that there was a wiki entry on the number 616. (below)
   616 is the 25th member of the Padovan sequence, coming after 265, 351, 465 (it is the sum of the first two of these). 616 is a polygonal number in four different ways: it is a heptagonal number, as well as 13-, 31- and 104-gonal.


   That's all I could find which I think is a good thing. After all the number is supposed to harken in the coming of armageddon and screw that. So if there are no entries for 616 and unless you believe that spiderman is the devil, (and let's face it, the 3rd movie was terrible) or that math is from hell (which it might just be) then Satan probably isn't here yet.
Yay. I was so worried that the creature that doesn't exist was going to come and hurt me. Phew.
   There's a fly on the wall and I think he's looking at me so I'm going to go now. I need all of my concentration to resist his telepathy.
   Oh hey and can you people stop this shit! Its really fucking pissing me off!
STAY FILTHY

 

Sunday, January 8, 2012

My name is Dracula and...well...I'm a Vampire...

   I'm sitting here flicking through the channels in the cave and have settled on a ridiculously bad film named Sharkboy and Lavagirl. Its not just bad, its attrotious. I have no idea who most of the cast are but Sharkboy, I have noticed, is familiar to me, and then it hits.
   Sharkboy is that kid who plays the werewolf in those Twighlight movies.
   Though terrible, I actually think Sharkboy is a better role than the werewolf. It has better dialogue and he has some pretty cool powers. Sure he might not turn into a giant dog (he doesn't look like a wolf, he looks like a dog) but he has a cool fin on his back and, hey look...he just grew some sharp teeth.
   But you know what really makes Sharkboy a better role? He's not in a movie with a winey, PMSed out cow and a skinny enemic nancy boy who sparkles in the sun.
   Yes I have seen the first 2 Twighlight movies. I was tricked into the first one, but watched the 2nd out of some sort of perverse curiosity. I had to see if it was possible to make 2 films that were that bad.
   The 2nd was markedly worse. Where the 1st shit on the vampire myth, the 2nd shit on it, scooped it up in a doggybag, marinated it for 4 days, and then served it up with fries and a hot apple pie.
   Now when I was a kid vampires were scarey bastards with fangs, some limited mind powers, super strength and they could turn into a FUCKING BAT!!! They were badass, and drank blood, but then they had their troubles. They couldn't eat garlic, so italian food was out, they couldn't go near crucifixs, you could stake them with a "WOODEN" stake (not silver. Silver is for werewolves!!!) and if they went out into any sunlight, even on a cloudy day, they burst into flames and died.

   The vampires in Twighlight are of a different, more palitable breed. They don't seem to have problems with religious parafinalia, they can cook with garlic (even if they don't actually eat it), they don't turn into anything furry and/or vicious animals, they're all frozen at the age of 17, and yet none of them are stricken with an eternity of acne, random hard-ons, or (and this is what really makes them unrealistic) none of them seem to have an eating disorder.
   Well...unless you include the blood thing...but the main vampires in these movies don't even do that, or at least they don't go around sucking on virgins anymore (well that's not completely true). They drink blood but instead they pilfer it from the hospital, that's right, the red cross.
   This is supposed to be okay? Stealing blood from the hospital? So the ads I see on tv all the time asking for much needed blood at your local red cross don't mean anything to these people? Huh...maybe they are evil pricks after all. Its more of a white collar crime this way though I figure, like tax evasion or embezzlement.
   But look the worst thing about these much watered down vampires, I'm sure you will agree, is their reaction to sunlight.
   I don't know how else to say this but to just lay it out...they sparkle.
   There's no burning, no sizzling of flesh, no peeling of skin, not even a blister, or a nasty rash. The Vampires in Twighlight...sparkle.
   Huh?
   I sat gagging through the second movie and watched as, fraught with the pain of leaving his girlfriend (who is just a little young for him don't you think. The guy is a vampire. He's like 200 years old. He should be going out with senior citizens or at the very least adults...not seventeen year old girls. Its creepy, and I don't mean in the horror sense, I mean in the Pedophile sense) the main "vampire", who's name escapes me now, showing that I have at least a shred of self respect left, decides that he will expose himself to humans, thereby sentencing himself to death at their hands.
   There's a problem with that. Nobody would give a shit.
   I mean am I supposed to believe that people would see a sparkling kid and that the first thing that would come to their minds would be "Oh shit! Its a vampire! Kill the evil bastard!"?
   At best he might raise a few eyebrows. Its possible that their might be some conservative old folks passing by who might just be homophobic enough to sneer at, what to anyone, would look like some stupid kid with his shirt off wearing glitter, lipstick and foundation. Oh and hair product.
   Really the author should have just called them something other than vampires because I'm not really seeing the resemblance.
   Mind you, this is just another example of how western culture is making everything more safe and easily digestible, like how American football was made vaguely watchable by having girls play in lingere, or how now a packet of nuts has a warning on the label saying "MAY CONTAIN NUTS". I should bloody hope so.
   So where do we go from here?
   Perhaps I'm a vampire. Yes. I do believe I am a vampire. I'm a vampire for the modern cotton wool, you can't smack your kids, or show pictures of a baby with a penis drawn on the side of its face on facebook, age.
   It sucks being a vampire. The life of a vampire is a burden. Too much garlic gives me heartburn. I have trouble sleeping more than 7 hours per night. I will live for a very long time, some 80 or 90 years at best guess, and in that time I shall see the world change. I have watched as my loved ones, mainly my parents and grandparents have died, leaving me emotionally challenged and alone. I have seen the era or good saturday morning cartoons come and go and then come back again.
   I can be killed with a wooden stake, just like most vampires, which I think is fairly reasonable proof, and I can't go out in the sun...for more than 15mins...without a hat...a shirt...and sunscreen...or I'll get burnt and eventually, if I'm also genetically predisposed, I may die of skin-cancer.
   God its hard living with this curse.
   And don't get me started on True Blood.
   I'm not sure when Melrose Place became a vampire show but I have to say that I was a lot more afraid of Heather Locklear than I am of any of the characters on True Blood.
   Angel is a more believable vampire...and that's saying something.
 
   Anyway...
   I don't get riled often but there's something else that has caught my attention of late and its shitting me off a bit. Its the use of the phrase "the old".
   Its used mostly, as far as I can tell, to lend a familiarity to things, objects, etc. You might hear people refer to things with the preface "the old", as in the old car, or "the old" house. I'm not talking about when it might be used in a descriptive fashion. These people aren't saying that the car or the house are old as such, only that they hold an affection for these things.
   It goes further than that and people are using it to describe things like governing bodies and even concepts. People say things like, 'Oh the old governments doing a pretty shit job ay?' and I've even heard someone say, "the old Philosophy is a bit of a tough nut to crack."
   There may be nothing inherently old about these things.
   Do you see what I'm talking about?
   The straw that broke this camel's back was hearing a guy talking about his newborn at the beach and saying, "the old baby gave the missus a fair time comin' out. Reckon he was draggin his fingers against the sides."
   Its a baby...its NOT old! Unless its a vampire baby, in which case it must have been a neuveau vampire like me because it was pretty sunny out.
Stay Filthy.