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Bootlickers Ball- Victoria State Labour Conference 2019
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Mere days after State Premier Daniel Andrews angrily applauded violent police, protesters created a healing and cleansing walk of shame for conference attendees.
My girlfriend woke me and I rushed into the other room and as I watched a plane fly into a building I thought, what's the story with morning television? How benighted are motherfuckers if they simply have the TV on, just on, just there spouting drivel into a private living space, a space where you are not required by law to listen to strangers dibbling shit or watch them smile like money is being fired into all their holes? People will cry their eyes out at whatever tragedy is slipped into them by experts. People will also avoid reflection on weighty matters. Hey people, the inside of your head will not give you AIDS if you touch it. (The TV was on because news radio was alerting the world that there was great footage to stroke to. Yes, we listen to news radio in the morning because we are superior beings. Kneel, dogs.) As the buildings collapsed I thought, I mean, are people that scared of having an original thought that they have to crowd out any possibility of a clue arriving ...
The WikiLeaks Party review is out and full of no surprises for anyone, anywhere. For those who believe the party was betrayed by the mob who left crying foul, the review helpfully suggests these people may not have even existed, which must be comforting. From word go those who joined with WikiLeaks but refused to join the cult have been edged out as soon as they complained of dodgy doings. There is now an international network of ex-WikiLeaks people who have been burned by the cutting edge robot-boy behaviour of Julian Assange, a man well suited to living in a bubble, untroubled by the reality of other clever people. The review was controlled by Julian's father John Shipton, a manipulator whose charm seems old school but is simply the mask of an elite piece of shit who also never saw a bubble that didn't fit like a calf skin glove. The fucker will create bubbles out of thin air with his bullshit genteel behavior. It's all so lovely and nice cups of tea. I was singled ou...
I was eighteen and one of the peak local meatheads had just taken a shit in a neighbour's back yard, holding eye contact with the neighbour the whole time. This was Carrum in the eighties. Growing up we moved around a lot but finally settled on the most violent suburb around and there I remained from the age of twelve having horrible experiences until I was twenty-one. Carrum was a hate camp and by the time I left my main skill was drinking until I vomited. I was at the Prince of Wales in St.Kilda, blind drunk, and a friend of a friend offered to buy me a plane ticket so I could get away from all these people. 'These people' were the pissheads I gravitated to because hey, if everyone's drunk, everything's cool, but it wasn't cool, it was sad. Imagine that, a dude takes a shine to you and tells you you're wasting your talents. I didn't know I had any. Around the same time I overheard a friend say to another, "He has no idea how talented he is...
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