I Have No Idea What To Call This So I'll Call It This




 

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Have a fucking crack

In the United States a cop murdered a black man by shooting him in the back, putting him on the ground with as many bullets as he could manage conveniently. He then faked up the crime scene, probably thinking (and quite rightly) that a little bit of stage magic would make the whole thing go away. Unfortunately for the badge wearing murderer the whole thing was caught on video. The only thing that remains is to see exactly how he eventually doesn't face justice. Because he won't. They never do. Black people in America are inconvenient. They were shipped in to build an empire and haven't had the sense to disappear now that they are no longer necessary. White people in America are largely desensitised to the brute facts of the thing: you used black people to build your empire of comfort, your Sloth Heaven and you don't even realise you want them dead. You live off the suffering of others and facing that fact would be so hard on yourself that it's easier to be philoso...
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Hotdog Warlord

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  I was getting mad that the Wagner boss who seems to have attempted a coup in Russia is being called the “hotdog warlord”. Once upon a time he had a hotdog stand and I was displeased by what I saw as middle class wankers having one of their little laughs at such a working class activity. I was right that they are laughing, but I was wrong about what they were laughing at, which was of course hotdogs. In my rush to always shit on anyone in a suit, in an office, their pretentiousness and out of touchness, it was I who was out of touch, because hotdogs are funny. Sometimes people are just having a laugh. I don’t have to jump down their throats. I could try chilling out to be honest. Hotdog Warlord. How did I not reckon that was funny? What a humorless lefty piece of shit I am. What a terribly earnest party pooper. What a fuckin killjoy. I should be sent to the work camps in Siberia. I should be on a list. I should be transported to Australia and flogged with a cat’o’nine tails. In th...
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It's Best If You Think Of It As Black Comedy

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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