So, I hate. A lot. And, after all, why not? As 2005 slowly vomits up the first staggering moments of 2006, the world seems to be more depressing and irritating with each ticking second of the clock. As a forthright, university educated intellectual, it is difficult not to wake up of a morning, gently ease onesself into blossoming consciousness, and suddenly be struck with the terrible realisation that 99.9% of the population should just be fucking killed. At night, I kneel before my bed in my flimsy, silken nightgown, and I pray for total nuclear armageddon, because I know in my heart that although I'd be incinerated in less time than it takes me to have one off the wrist, I'd be taking a lot of total and complete a-holes with me on the big black choo-choo train to hell.
Unfortunately for us (read: me), total and complete annihiliation of the human race isn't possible - especially without access to large scale weaponry. Hans Blix came to my house last night and stated, categorically, that my parents house poses no clear and present threat to anyone but our neighbours and our postman, so the only viable option is to get cracking, and do the job one person at a time.
But, where to start? After all, there are so many who deserve to feel their flesh being ripped from their faces as I blow the smoke from both barrels of my shotgun - but if I'm going to take a chance on incarceration, or worse, becoming somebody's boyfriend, it had better be for a goldurned good reason.
I know you feel the same, so - with a view to making 2006 the best it can be - here's a brief list of people who should simply fucking die. Using a special scale that I've devised, I will rate each one according to the probability of their death, allowing you to make informed decisions as you load up the stolen Datsun, and head towards the Gulf of Carpenteria, with thoughts of illegally-imported firearms dancing in your sexy little minds.
Rove McManus
Okay, Rove. Now, even channel 10 has acknowledged that you're a no-talent moron, who seems totally oblivious to the fact that everyone in the civilized world knows that you steal every segment of your crummy show from Dave Letterman. Your wife looks like she really DID cark it, and every time you step out in public, it's like 'Weekend At Bernies', only at the end of the night, you bang the corpse.
Likelihood: 2 out of 5.
Doesn't smoke. Doesn't drink. Doesn't do drugs. Probably gets to bed by 10pm every night. Our only hope is an out-of-control driver bisecting him with a speeding Cortina. Failing this, he has generated enough hatred in the wider community for someone crazier than me to take an axe to his grinning, vapid cranium.
The Bali Nine
Oops. Sorry, guys - you snooze, you lose. You should have strapped something else to your bodies - perhaps some kind of plastic explosive. I hear that's very popular in the region.
Likelihood: 5 out of 5.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Big Kev
Guess he got a little bit TOO excited.
Likelihood: Dead.
Your stuff never fucking worked, anyway.
U2
You bastards. You were never any fucking good. Your music attracts only the most utterly worthless members of humanity. Yesterday, because I'm better than everyone in the world, I went to buy my tickets for the Aunty Jack Show, and I had to fight through a line of slavering, mouthbreathing U2 fans. They were all desperate to bathe in the glory and majesty of Bono. Fuck Bono. The man is such a cunt that I almost can't believe it. He wears stupid glasses, prattles mindlessly about the worst kind of pseudo-leftie nonsense, and his music is utter shit, excreted from the bowels of the sonically bereft. Just because you worked with Eno, it don't make you good. Fuck you, and fuck your fucking fans. Go back to Ireland and get blown up, you piece of shit.
Likelihood: 1 out of 5.
Not a chance. He's probably had himself cloned so that when Bono #1 dies, his brain can be implanted in his new body, so that he can terrorize future generations with his vapid, middle-of-the-road shit. Oh, and anyone who calls themselves 'The Edge' is just begging to be shat on. The only thing that guy is on the edge of is Sissy Cliff.
Anyone Who Says Mean Things About Other People's Dogs
Aunty Kathy's coming for you, bitch.
Likelihood: 5 out of 5.
Not gonna be pretty.
Anyone 'Creative'
God, you make me sick. Your stories, your poetry, your 'novels in progress', your short films, and your abstract artwork can all go and get fucked. You have no idea how sick I am of listening to the mindless ravings of 'creative people'. For fuck's sake. You know who I'm talking about, too. I'm talking about those utter arseholes that you see flocking around Brunswick Street and Smith Street, with their fucking pinstripe pants, and their fucking vests, and their fucking ruffled shirts, and their fucking copies of 'Henry Miller's Guide To Batting Off On Your Missus'. Every time I end up there for a bevvie, I find myself surrounded by 10 guys all called Stuart who want to talk about Proust and modernism and Leonard Cohen. Fucking bastards. Just once - just once I'd like to be out in public at one of those places, and I'd like to see someone telling dirty jokes about blowjobs, while wearing a blue singlet and tipping beer over the guy next to them. I'd like to go somewhere and hear a rock band consisting of drunken losers from the suburbs singing about the places they like to empty their balls, instead of the fucking Viennese mandolin trip-hop that I have to put up with every time I want a fucking Melbourne Bitter. And if they LIVE in the inner city, they can get DOUBLY fucked - if you live in the inner city, you are a pervert and an arsehole by definition, and you have already developed an attitude which suggests that just because you sleep in your own piss and shit in a dirty, sweaty shitbox on Gertrude Street, you are somehow more Street and Real than my Dad, who sleeps in his underwear in a weatherboard house in fucking Greensborough. Fuck you, you cunts.
Likelihood: 5 out of 5.
If the drugs don't get them, the influx of hooligans to Brunswick Street will.
Harry Potter
Is there anyone in the world who isn't sick of this fucking shit yet?
Oh, I know. The moving tale of a humble schoolteacher who conquered the literary world with her lyrical tales of a young wizard, and his cheeky monkeyshines is something we heard about roughly every 3 minutes back in 2003, but surely the world has grown up by now, and we know that J.K Rowling is a no-talent hag with a big schnozzola, who writes derivative, hackneyed nonsense? She wouldn't irritate me so much if I didn't have to hear about her and her 'journey' every time I turn on the fucking wireless. Hopefully, her journey will end in 2006 at the most appropriate point of all - beneath the freshly turned dirt of her grave.
Likelihood: 1 out of 5.
It won't happen, but her next book should be 'Harry Potter And The Rotting Corpse Of J.K Rowling'.
Nu-Metal
Look at me! I'm scary! I sing in a sissy death metal voice about how I'm gonna rip that bitches heart out and take a bite from her shit-encrusted ventricles! I jump around and pull intense faces, and sometimes, I sing in a gentle, soft whisper about the pain I feel within.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, SHUT UP. Take all of them - Slipknot, AFI, Limp Bizkit, Linkin Cunting Park, and anyone else you care to name. They are about as metal as my grandfather. I remember a time when rock bands understood the simple truth that nobody gives a fuck what they have to say, unless they're talking about the pearl necklace they gave to some skanky groupie last night, or about how their rock is the most rocking of all. Somewhere along the line, rock bands decided that they ALL need to be Nick fucking Cave, and need to blather at length about how back in 1987 their Nintendo broke and that's why they can never truly love a woman. Fuck off and die.
Likelihood: 5 out of 5.
Oh, come on. You know it had to happen sooner or later.
Bloggers
"Today, you won't believe it, but Crag SMS'ed me from Poly and told me that he'd been thinking about me. I didn't know what to say, but I SMS'ed him back and told him that I'd been thinking of him too - and we organized to meet up. Well, I just got back from that meeting - and let me tell you all - it was just... amazing. LOL. We sat and really talked, and I think I really got to know him. He's sooooo different when he's not around his mates. He asked to see a copy of the vampire novel I'm working on for my writing course, and I told him I'd send it to him. I'm pretty nervous, tho - LOL - after all, blah blah bullshit bullshit waffle blah blah"
Of all the evils that the internet has spawned, blogging has to be the worst. Suddenly, almost overnight, every web-toed retard in the world decided that they were a 'writer', and initiated their campaign to convince the rest of the world's population that their most asinine thoughts are of deep significance, worthy of study and consideration by the finest minds in the known galaxy.
This is, of course, pure shit. As anyone with even 10% of their brain stem remaining knows, almost every blog in the world is a spouting sewer of unstoppable bullshit. From the mouths of losers, into the ears of retards, the blogging world continues - with blogs falling into two categories:
Fuckwits who write about their stupid, worthless day-to-day lives, trying to convince themselves that anyone gives a shit.
And...
Fuckwits who write 'political' material, whether they either rail against the facist evils of the Bush/Blair/Howard trifecta, or they rail against the relentless lunacy of 'the left', and the hilarious, misguided things that they do and say.
Both are total rubbish. I am hopelessly addicted to blogs, and I read them every day, scoffing at the cornucopia of worthlessness that they provide.
Except for, like, mine.
Likelihood: 1 out of 5.
They are unstoppable, and they are multiplying. And we all think the Muslims are our enemies. Ha! Think again, motherfuckers.
People Who Think They Are Funny, But Just Suck
The next a-hole who yells out some hilarious observational quip about some meaningless bullshit or another is going to get my foot through their fucking pelvis. That horrible, disgusting show 'Seinfeld' made every douchebag in the world think that making hilarious observations about The Man In The Fridge Who Turns The Light on, and Male Nipples, and How Do They Get The Tea In The Teabag is good - nay, great comedy. They think observational humour is funny. I'll tell you what's funny. Observing me shattering their fucking teeth with a spanner is funny. I can't stand it anymore. I saw some DVD the other day in Sanity, with this bald-headed cunt on the front, claiming to be 'The Master Of Observational Humour'. That is much like being The Master Of Taking A Piss Without Ending Up With Wet Shoes. For fuck's sake - it doesn't take a mind that hums with comedy genius to stare at a wall and suddenly shout 'WALLPAPAER! So, what's that all about, huh? There's a wall, and there's paper, but you don't write on it!'
Likelihood: 3 out of 5.
I dunno. K-Mart had lots of unsold copies of the 'Seinfeld' boxed sets today. Hopefully, people shouting out things like 'Potatoes! What's THAT all about? I've never seen a pot with toes before!' is over, and we can return to what we REALLY crave - the comedy stylings of Mr. Andrew 'Dice' Clay.
Australian Idol
Take any of them. Shannon, Casey, Guy, Anthony, the silly bitch who won this year - any of them. They suck the life out of the planet with their very existance. I saw Shannon Noll being interviewed on Bert Newton this morning, and had I been a little less conscious, I surely would have accidentally jumped into the set and bitten out his throat. Listening to that no-talent shitkicker yammering on about his fucking 'journey' was almost more than I could bear at 9 in the morning - and hearing even 10 seconds of his inspirational new track, where he waffles on about 'shining' or some such bullshit really made me want to vomit my own entrails into my lap. My hate for Shannon Noll intensifies with each passing millisecond - although, it is shared amongst the 'winners' of the stupid fucking show. A special seat in the hottest flames of Hades, however, is reserved for that Kyle Sandilands motherfucker. Holy shit - I have never seen such a sad, pathetic loser in my entire life. What a fucking tosser. His idea of a creative and witty insult is telling journalists to 'go suck their own vomit'. What in the fuck is that even supposed to mean? You stupid bastard. Watching him abusing a bunch of stupid 17 year olds made me long for the days of public executions. I want to tear his still-beating heart out of his chest and urinate on it in front of his dying eyes.
TOUCHDOWN!
Likelihood: 5 out of 5.
Ratings and record sales don't lie, sweeties. See you in hell.
Paris Hilton
This vapid, worthless whore is the ultimate celebrity of our time. Completely and totally bereft of any recognizable talent, she absorbs the fibre of western society through her very presence. Every time I see her on television, I just want to hack her stupid head off with an axe. Not only is the loathsome bitch the star of The World's Worst Porno Ever, but she continues to pollute the minds of Mother Earth with her nauseating show 'The Simple Life'. I assume the 'simple' part of the title refers to Ms. Hilton's brain power, since it is clear to me that I could disconnect her brain at the base of the spine with a scalpel, and she would still function at roughly the same level. She has a fucking autobiography out. What in the fuck could POSSIBLY be in that book? The stupid cow hasn't actually DONE anything with her life, except be photographed by every retard in the media. She truly is the world's appendix - a useless, confusing organ, which could be removed on an operating table with absolutely no harmful side effects to the patient. Metaphors aside, I'd like to cut her in half with a shovel.
Likelihood: 0 out of 5.
She ain't going nowhere. Dammit.
Metal City
Oh, look at me! I'm so intense and confrontational! Oooh! I hate! Hate, hate, hate! I threaten people, and talk about killing them - while in REAL life being the biggest pussy who ever lived. There are little girls, currently playing in sandpits in sweet, woolen pullovers knitted by their grandmothers who could kick the shit out of me if I looked at them the wrong way. I'm such a fucking posuer, that you should have covered your monitor with puke roughly halfway though this post. Look back at my archives. Oooh, I'm so artsy and intellectual - yet I rail against fuckwit poets and writers. Aren't I clever? I'm so complex and confusing! I'm just a big question mark! And I'm just so insecure! All I need is the love of a woman! I need to be held! Oh, me! The pain of the brutal childhood! Sob, sob, wah, I got beaten up a lot! I'm such a complete and total sissy boy. But, look at how witty and confrontational I am! Look at those really difficult targets I attack, like Shannon Noll and Rove! How clever! You have no idea what a pose this is - and I can't even use the old 'It's to impress the chicks' ruse, because the chicks ain't impressed. What am I, an arsehole?
Likelihood: ?
Can anyone actually get past the first paragraph of this without the need to masturbate? I don't know whether its the flimsy nightie or the hate. Mmm.
I believe the new HP book is 'Harry Potter and the Get Me Out of this Contract'. Or 'Harry Potter and the Annoyingly Faux-Whimsical Grown Man'
"As anyone with even 10% of their brain stem remaining knows, almost every blog in the world is a spouting sewer of unstoppable bullshit"
That's bullshit! Grrr. I'd write an angry diatribe about it, but I already have a post planned outlining the minutae of my morning (no sultana bran left! it was crazy!!!)
Andrew 'Dice' Clay. I have the perfect anecdote involving Ford Falcon as to why my ex-flatmate was shit. Tell you IRL.
Posted by: Desci at December 7, 2005 09:24 AMDunno about the blue singlet or spilling beer (too precious to waste), but if you want dirty jokes about blowjobs, I find that they often occur in my vicinity.
Posted by: sarni at December 7, 2005 05:42 PMDesci,
The first paragraph makes you feel tingly 'down there', because I wrote it naked. I'm glad that the sensuality of the moment has been communicated through the text.
So, when are we going out? Hmm?
Sarni,
Excellent. Your vicinity sounds like it is filled with My Kinda People.