Thursday, May 21, 2009

Rugby League - I have the solution

It seems like the league boys just can't help getting in trouble. There's been a lot already written by people angry about players glassing girlfriends, raping young neignbours etc. Personally I think the whole Andrew Johns incident was completely overblown. All the parents who say he is a terrible role model now just sound completely hypocritical when they tell their kids to share.

Apart from misbehaving players the NRL also has to worry about clubs failing financially, players getting poached from Union and a competition which isn't really that national. My solution would instantly solve all of these problems.

They need to change league to a prison based competition.

There are so many benefits. Players are locked into contracts, don't get paid very much at all and can't just piss off to France when they feel like it. Important regional centres like Golbourn and Cessnock will have teams and we'll still have some great local derbys like Parramatta versus Silverwater. Best of all we won't have players being judged by the media - a jury will have already saved them all the trouble. Plus it would be great to have their crimes listed in the player profiles. I reckon I might even buy footy cards if it happens.

I imagine there would be awesome fights too.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

I'm too normal to find a car spot

I understand the necessity for disabled parking and even though there generally seems to be way more spots than cripples I don't begrudge them their special spaces. If I become paralysed being able to easily find a parking spot wherever I go will no doubt prove a little ray of sunshine.

What I don't get however is special parking spots for people with prams. Sharon having too much passion pop and neglecting to bother with birth control should not entitle her to a better spot than I can get. I understand that kids are a pain in the arse but surely that's part of the bargain. Parents are not cripples. These days they all have super dooper jogging prams that I'd imagine could sustain an extra two minute roll to the shops. If the weight of their kids is too much for parents to push maybe they should let the wee little fat fucks out for some excercise. Or maybe they should just stop going to the shops and buying all that food.

Today I also had to avoid parking in a spot for hybrid cars. If these people really were environmentally conscious they would have ridden a frickin bike freeing up that spot for my ordinary filth spewing car.

If they really wanted to create a special parking space category it should be for people who are shit drivers. Give them all massive car spaces and put padding on all the pylons. Maybe have a few attendents with ping pong bats guiding them in like a plane. There could also be an instant scratch repair place on that level and maybe an insurance claims centre.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

The tragedy of not being special

My last entry got me thinking about a trip I made to Wollongong a few weeks ago. I tried to block out many of the things I saw in Wollongong because they were kind of weird and scary. The main things I remember were:
A: A large number of drug addicts eating rainbow paddlepops at 8am.
B: A bogan woman loudly berating her new puppy for its continued diarrhoea.
C: The Australian Unicycle Championships.

Now if you come from Broken Hill and you get round town on a unicycle I imagine you’d really stand out from the crowd. People would say “There’s Gavin. He’s a bit different. He rides a unicycle.” But when people like Gavin from all over Australia gathered in Wollongong, they immediately ceased to be all that special.

Sure, some of the competitors probably liked the feeling of being part of a community but in most I sensed a feeling of deep disappointment. No longer were they special or different. They were profoundly normal.

All of them were craving some way to capture some attention. I think that is why the woman in the picture above has impaled a tiny horse on her unicycle and is trying to eat its arse.

Monday, May 11, 2009

Small Rebellions Will Make You Punk

I am deeply afraid of finding a finding a place where I fit in. There is comfort in being odd. It’s a healthy reassurance that I’m not like everyone else. In my own unique way I am Superman. Not because I have XRAY vision, awesome flying powers or a little curl in the front of my hair, but because I have some inkling that I am actually from a different planet.

Fitting in is failure. Who ever did the extraordinary by fitting it? I admire rebels. But you don’t have to be Mandela, Ghandi or Evel Kneival. While overturning apartheid, defeating colonial rule and jumping the Grand Canyon are all way cool things, there are other ways in which you can differentiate yourself from society. I admire people who call their babies stupid names. I love grandmas who dye their hair pink. I rate people who don’t wear shoes when shopping.

The punk movement was a good idea but it was bound for failure. You can’t be non-conformist if you just become part of a scene and conform to its norms. If you are walking around with a mohawk, facial piercings and bondage pants you have completely missed the point of what it is to be punk.

You can become punk by staging small rebellions. Maybe ditch that Fitness First bag. Put a load in the dryer without cleaning the lint filter. Eat a Golden Gaytime even though you are not gay.
Gradually you will break free of society's shackles.

Friday, May 8, 2009

Guerrilla Poetry - The Book

Now that you can publish photo books way cheap I'm going to pull my finger out and put together a flash GPO tome.

The first thing to think about is obviously the title and I have come up with a few that could work and a whole lot more that probably won't work. Let me know your favourites and any other suggestions.

Plastic cutlery and a plan for mayhem.

Eating my words and finding a hair.

Force feeding the mentally malnourished with dollops of creamy goodness.

Sitting on the shoulders of a dwarf, I still can’t see the band.

Sick of the bitter cold, the Eskimo resorted to self immolation.

Covered in syrup yet no one will lick me.

Armless army wanting a wank

Eat my words.

The offensive offensive

Tackling a streaker and trying to keep the dangly bits away from my face.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

I don't think, therefore I aint

I haven’t made a post for a week. Why? Because I haven’t really had many worthwhile thoughts. I blame it on the noise of modern society.

Back in the dreamtime they didn’t have car radios, iPods or Foxtel. They didn’t have long working hours or waste their weekends at IKEA looking for exciting interior solutions for their bark huts. They just had heaps of time to think. That’s why they came up with awesome stuff like the thing about the rainbow serpent.

Constant entertainment is nice to have but I’m betting on their deathbeds most people of my generation will be wishing they hadn’t pissed away quite so much of their lives obsessing about which model/chef/fatty/dancer/singer/wanker will get eliminated next or what Darren’s current Facebook status is. We all just need some thinking time.

When I was at kindy we used to just stop half way through the afternoon and have nap time. I wasn’t always tired but I really liked it. Not only did I get to bed down right next to Rebecca, I also got to come up with all sorts of exciting thoughts while I was supposed to be keeping quiet.

For your mind to come up with something interesting you have to let it wander and explore all those weird and wonderful places that most never visit. If your mind has become sadly sedentary I suggest this – take a really, really long shower. Fuck conserving water, they are building a desalination plant. As you stand there don’t bother washing yourself, just let the droplets bounce upon your skull and eventually a thought will come into your head. It will be awesome.