At what point of this episode would you have realised something was slightly dodgy and fled the scene?
Thomas Grimm, a former assistant principal at Kerkstra Middle School in Oak Forest, pleaded guilty Friday to sexually abusing a 13-year-old boy in his office… Grimm answered the judge’s questions in a quiet voice, admitting that he directed the child to perform oral sex on him while the boy was in his office on a disciplinary matter in May 2003. When Grimm asked the boy to take down his own pants, the boy became uncomfortable and left the office, according to [prosecutor Kate Moreland]. The boy recorded the incident on an audiotape recorder that was hidden in his pocket. Grimm told police that it was his voice on the tape, Moreland said. The child told police that he hid the tape recorder because Grimm had made sexual advances on him in the past and he wanted to be prepared if it happened again.”
Now the article doesn’t make it entirely clear whether the directions were followed but it implies they were. So explain to me how and why the kid knew the principal was a dirty pervert but still blew him and only ‘became uncomfortable’ when he was asked to drop his own strides. Then he just walked out. Why not just walk out right from the start? Mysterious.
Meanwhile how long until the tape is on the net. Fatboy Slim remix is a must.
Community Service Announcement: If your teacher is a dirty perv ship him/her to the cops immediately on 000. Before you actually shag them.
Wednesday, 12 January 2005
Tuesday, 11 January 2005
I predict a riot
Oi. A reminder that the Melbourne Blog Bang is on next Friday night. Clear your crowded social calendar and be there. Even if you live in Bunbury.
There’s been a lot of talk about people not having their pants on at certain stages of the evening. Sounds bizarre. I, however, will retain my strides at all times. The thought of the Melbourne blogging community being some sort of bizarre swingers club is too distressing to consider.
While you’re pondering whether or not to show up please consider the plight of those who have been busted by their family and have had to explain blogging.
Klassic komment - “Oh, God. They wear costumes, don’t they? Like, capes and big hats?” Laugh? I almost died.
There’s been a lot of talk about people not having their pants on at certain stages of the evening. Sounds bizarre. I, however, will retain my strides at all times. The thought of the Melbourne blogging community being some sort of bizarre swingers club is too distressing to consider.
While you’re pondering whether or not to show up please consider the plight of those who have been busted by their family and have had to explain blogging.
Klassic komment - “Oh, God. They wear costumes, don’t they? Like, capes and big hats?” Laugh? I almost died.
My god
This state is an absolute disgrace. The whole thing. I know that from 1991 to the present that the only way to keep the budget alive has been to (in order) flog public assets, put p***r machines on every corner and nick drivers for going a kilometre over the limit but things have finally hit rock bottom. And it’s been more than four years since the supposed anti-christ of State Premiers was replaced with the “honest option”. I’m having trouble telling any difference other than the distinct lack of people whinging.
Read this story in it’s entirety and tell me who the villains are..
PROFESSIONAL gangs are systematically stripping Melbourne’s gaming establishment of pokies jackpots.
Armed with calculators, mobile phones, pagers and wads of cash, the syndicates swamp venues when jackpots are imminent, leaving minutes later with up to $5000.
Regular punters waiting patiently for a significant pay-out have been left angry and frustrated as pro-gamblers swoop on the big money.
Up to 20 gang members arrive together at venues before pumping thousands of dollars into the p***r machines, giving them almost unbeatable odds of scooping the pool.
By playing as many “lines” as possible with the maximum number of credits in the machine, syndicate players believe they can dominate the jackpot chances at venues, leaving the average punter with little hope of winning.
It is believed syndicate scouts monitor venues, paging or calling gang members when jackpots are due to be won.
“If everyone was betting the same amount of credits . . . then you would have an equal chance,” said a Tabaret employee we’ll call “David”.
“But the thing is, the syndicates know that by betting maximum credits they get a greater chance of winning the jackpot.”
As soon as the jackpot is won, syndicate members refund the original stake and collect their winnings before going to the next suitable venue.
David, who works in an eastern suburbs Tabaret, told the Herald Sun the highly organised groups sweep into venues literally minutes before the jackpots go off.
While Tatts Pokies have statewide jackpots linked to every club or pub, Tabaret has “Wildcash” machines isolated within a single venue, allowing gangs to dominate those due for a jackpot.
These professional players have been known to pressurise other punters into leaving the jackpot machines.
“When it’s coming towards the end of the jackpot they flood the machines,” he said.
“They stand and watch other players on the machines and take up all the spare Wildcash jackpot machines. I can’t believe how organised they are. It astounds me every time they walk into the venue.”
Working around the clock, the gangs can make tens of thousands of dollars each week as they move from venue to venue.
“They come in at all sorts of time . . . 10 o’clock in the morning or two o’clock in the morning,” David said. Regular customers who are thwarted by the gangs are angry and frustrated about the practice, which is perfectly legal.
“When (customers) see them flood into the venues they just become so down and they approach me to kick them out or something . . . but there’s nothing I can do,” David said. “We want gaming to be fun . . . this is a slur on the entertainment aspect of gaming.”
Golda, a regular gambler at an inner-eastern suburbs venue, said pokies punters should be made aware of what they are up against.
“Joe Bloggs is sitting there patiently waiting for the jackpot, but he has got no idea that he has Buckley’s chance of winning,” she said.
Tabcorp initially denied there was any evidence of professional pokies gangs operating in its Tabarets, but later admitted it was a continuing problem.
“It is becoming a far less frequent issue, but Tabcorp has systems and practices in place to identify these people and have them removed,” a company spokesman said.
“Any behaviour that is threatening or abusive to patrons will not be tolerated, and groups trying to systematically target jackpots will be removed from our venues.”
Who are the villains? The idiots who own the machines in the first place of course. They’re quite content to take as many dollars as they can from the punters but when somebody comes up with a good way to win they whinge loudly and try to dress it up with some sort of “oh the regular players are being ripped off” conspiracy theory. Of course pokie players are being ripped off - THAT’S THE WHOLE POINT OF FUCKING P***R MACHINES YOU ASSES. Anyone who goes in expecting to win money needs a good dose of electric shock therapy. Any half sane person knows that they’re going to lose. And the less than half sane don’t care.
What the Hun journalist fails to mention in the article is that Tabaret tell you when the jackpot is going to go off. They have signs saying that it will go off somewhere between $900 and $1000. So who’s fault is it that people know the exact range in which to show up and start gambling? Are they somehow cheating by taking advantage of the information given at the venue by the company and gambling in a normal fashion? I can’t see how. And what about the “threatening and abusive” behaviour? Laughable.
And how about that Herald-Sun angle where they come out in favor of the ‘battlers’ and ordinary pokie bogans. What a rubbish paper. We should be standing up to applaud when massive companies who make their money from an industry deliberately rigged towards making them huge profits get stung legally. If it was men in balaclavas kicking in the door and putting a shotgun in some barmaid’s face I’d be against it but in this case I rise to applaud.
Of course the State Government are having a colossal whinge about it. What are they going to do if people decide that they’ve got no chance of winning the pokies and stop playing them? State revenue will go through the floor and they’ll have to come up with some more bullshit ways of fining drivers instead.
Bring back Kennett? Erm no, been there and done that. Bring back Kirner? Surely you jest. Bring back Cain? Fuck off! Bring back somebody. Anybody else.
Seriously - this is fucked. Find me something illegal and/or immoral that these people have done and I’ll think about a retraction.
UPDATE - I shouldn’t read stories like this when it’s hot. Rampant stupidity and heat combine and I start to feel feint.
Read this story in it’s entirety and tell me who the villains are..
PROFESSIONAL gangs are systematically stripping Melbourne’s gaming establishment of pokies jackpots.
Armed with calculators, mobile phones, pagers and wads of cash, the syndicates swamp venues when jackpots are imminent, leaving minutes later with up to $5000.
Regular punters waiting patiently for a significant pay-out have been left angry and frustrated as pro-gamblers swoop on the big money.
Up to 20 gang members arrive together at venues before pumping thousands of dollars into the p***r machines, giving them almost unbeatable odds of scooping the pool.
By playing as many “lines” as possible with the maximum number of credits in the machine, syndicate players believe they can dominate the jackpot chances at venues, leaving the average punter with little hope of winning.
It is believed syndicate scouts monitor venues, paging or calling gang members when jackpots are due to be won.
“If everyone was betting the same amount of credits . . . then you would have an equal chance,” said a Tabaret employee we’ll call “David”.
“But the thing is, the syndicates know that by betting maximum credits they get a greater chance of winning the jackpot.”
As soon as the jackpot is won, syndicate members refund the original stake and collect their winnings before going to the next suitable venue.
David, who works in an eastern suburbs Tabaret, told the Herald Sun the highly organised groups sweep into venues literally minutes before the jackpots go off.
While Tatts Pokies have statewide jackpots linked to every club or pub, Tabaret has “Wildcash” machines isolated within a single venue, allowing gangs to dominate those due for a jackpot.
These professional players have been known to pressurise other punters into leaving the jackpot machines.
“When it’s coming towards the end of the jackpot they flood the machines,” he said.
“They stand and watch other players on the machines and take up all the spare Wildcash jackpot machines. I can’t believe how organised they are. It astounds me every time they walk into the venue.”
Working around the clock, the gangs can make tens of thousands of dollars each week as they move from venue to venue.
“They come in at all sorts of time . . . 10 o’clock in the morning or two o’clock in the morning,” David said. Regular customers who are thwarted by the gangs are angry and frustrated about the practice, which is perfectly legal.
“When (customers) see them flood into the venues they just become so down and they approach me to kick them out or something . . . but there’s nothing I can do,” David said. “We want gaming to be fun . . . this is a slur on the entertainment aspect of gaming.”
Golda, a regular gambler at an inner-eastern suburbs venue, said pokies punters should be made aware of what they are up against.
“Joe Bloggs is sitting there patiently waiting for the jackpot, but he has got no idea that he has Buckley’s chance of winning,” she said.
Tabcorp initially denied there was any evidence of professional pokies gangs operating in its Tabarets, but later admitted it was a continuing problem.
“It is becoming a far less frequent issue, but Tabcorp has systems and practices in place to identify these people and have them removed,” a company spokesman said.
“Any behaviour that is threatening or abusive to patrons will not be tolerated, and groups trying to systematically target jackpots will be removed from our venues.”
Who are the villains? The idiots who own the machines in the first place of course. They’re quite content to take as many dollars as they can from the punters but when somebody comes up with a good way to win they whinge loudly and try to dress it up with some sort of “oh the regular players are being ripped off” conspiracy theory. Of course pokie players are being ripped off - THAT’S THE WHOLE POINT OF FUCKING P***R MACHINES YOU ASSES. Anyone who goes in expecting to win money needs a good dose of electric shock therapy. Any half sane person knows that they’re going to lose. And the less than half sane don’t care.
What the Hun journalist fails to mention in the article is that Tabaret tell you when the jackpot is going to go off. They have signs saying that it will go off somewhere between $900 and $1000. So who’s fault is it that people know the exact range in which to show up and start gambling? Are they somehow cheating by taking advantage of the information given at the venue by the company and gambling in a normal fashion? I can’t see how. And what about the “threatening and abusive” behaviour? Laughable.
And how about that Herald-Sun angle where they come out in favor of the ‘battlers’ and ordinary pokie bogans. What a rubbish paper. We should be standing up to applaud when massive companies who make their money from an industry deliberately rigged towards making them huge profits get stung legally. If it was men in balaclavas kicking in the door and putting a shotgun in some barmaid’s face I’d be against it but in this case I rise to applaud.
Of course the State Government are having a colossal whinge about it. What are they going to do if people decide that they’ve got no chance of winning the pokies and stop playing them? State revenue will go through the floor and they’ll have to come up with some more bullshit ways of fining drivers instead.
Bring back Kennett? Erm no, been there and done that. Bring back Kirner? Surely you jest. Bring back Cain? Fuck off! Bring back somebody. Anybody else.
Seriously - this is fucked. Find me something illegal and/or immoral that these people have done and I’ll think about a retraction.
UPDATE - I shouldn’t read stories like this when it’s hot. Rampant stupidity and heat combine and I start to feel feint.
Monday, 10 January 2005
Fiery pits of hell
AKA.. “The day I learnt cricket is best enjoyed on television”
The last time I went to any sort of One Day International was in the late 90’s. I think it was Sri Lanka vs England at the MCG. I remember nothing - NOTHING - from that game except that it was the day that they had the funniest picture of all time in the paper. The one with Rachel McQuillan bending over with a tennis racquet in her hand that looked as if she was about to perform some perverted stunt perfected in Bangkok. One day I’m going to the State Library, finding it in the archives and copying it. It deserves a wider audience.
Anyway. I broke the ODI drought today by rocking up to the MCG for the Tsunami appeal match and predictably, given my shithouse record when it comes to heat, failed to last the distance. Never again. Had I been roped into going to some normal match I probably would have stayed till the bitter end , even if it meant passing out in my seat from heatstroke and waking up only to spew across half the arena in order to make my $40 worthwhile but I thought tonight as the money had already gone to a good cause that I’d get the hell out of there before I made myself seriously ill. The first ten overs were a nightmare as a power failure knocked out the scoreboard so that nobody knew what the hell was going on - thankfully they got it right eventually.
The World team put on a colossal tonk in their innings - very rarely have I ever watched a game where 345 came up - but I simply couldn’t appreciate it while I was frying my ass off. At least the day I was roped into going to the Boxing Day test I managed a good 5 hours in the TAB to 1 hr in the sun ratio. Top innings by Ponting, and an entertaining slog from Chris Cairns to go with it.
Stacked on top of the heat issues is the fact that due to an unexpected (and rare) indoor soccer marathon on Sunday my body is broken like an Iraqi POW. Back, arm, legs, feet - all wrecked. I can barely move. Not the right day to be trying to curb my un-Australian hatred of the heat.
The fucking idiot award goes jointly to,
* The people who persisted in trying to start a Mexican wave. Is it that difficult to see that doing something called THE WAVE at an event raising money for the victims of a GIANT WAVE is potentially insensitive. Petty I know - and almost certainly not deliberate but a bit dodgy nonetheless.
* The very minor portion of the crowd who pulled out the eternally dreary “No Ball” cry when Murili bowled his first ball. It wasn’t funny three seasons ago and certainly had no place in a charity game. Thankfully I’m assuming that they were smacked down thoroughly by everyone sitting around them because you never heard it again.
I was going at the dinner break anyway - as things didn’t look like getting any cooler - when the Melbourne FC logo came on the screen and they started talking about Troy Broadbridge and how he’d played his last game on this very ground. I looked down to where I sat that day, right behind the goals at the Southern Stand end and thought about how somebody who had stood a few feet from me just a few months ago - finally fully fit, not much older than me and in the best form of his short career - was now gone. No longer alive. And the horrible, horrible tragedy of what has happened hit me harder than ever. 200,000 people wiped off the face of the planet. I don’t mind saying I came close to shedding a tear. I know that even the biggest moron on earth doesn’t need that sort of sign to take in the gravity of the situation - and I was certainly aware of it beforehand but this just hit me like a baseball bat. And people dare to say there’s some kind of merciful god running things. What a load of shit.
Apparently Melbourne are going to play Collingwood in a 20/20 cricket match. Presumably it’ll be at the Junction Oval. TSP will be there for a full report on Colin Sylvia going the tonk.
Anyway. I may not have seen the likes of Tendulkar and Jayusariya bat in person but I’m sure I’ll appreciate more in the safety - and relative cool - of my own home. Good to see so much money flooding in. I even payed $4 for a 600ml bottle of Coke without whinging for once.
UPDATE - My other whinge came from the songs that played when the bowlers changed and new batsmen came out. While I’m quite willing to believe that Chris Cairns would have picked Back In Black willing (though in an ideal world he’d come out to Slice of Heaven by Dave Dobbyn and Herbs off the Footrot Flats soundtrack) I refuse, REFUSE to believe that of every song on earth Charminda Vaas chose “You Get What You Give” by the New Radicals as his personalised theme song. They must have a very, VERY small list of tunes to pick from. If it had to be jaunty crowd pleasing music I’d pick “Danger! High Voltage!” by Electric Six. That’d get the crowd going.
And what the hell song did Steven Fleming come out to? I’ve never heard it before but kind of liked it. Sadly I was too busy dying to take in enough lyrics to search for.
The last time I went to any sort of One Day International was in the late 90’s. I think it was Sri Lanka vs England at the MCG. I remember nothing - NOTHING - from that game except that it was the day that they had the funniest picture of all time in the paper. The one with Rachel McQuillan bending over with a tennis racquet in her hand that looked as if she was about to perform some perverted stunt perfected in Bangkok. One day I’m going to the State Library, finding it in the archives and copying it. It deserves a wider audience.
Anyway. I broke the ODI drought today by rocking up to the MCG for the Tsunami appeal match and predictably, given my shithouse record when it comes to heat, failed to last the distance. Never again. Had I been roped into going to some normal match I probably would have stayed till the bitter end , even if it meant passing out in my seat from heatstroke and waking up only to spew across half the arena in order to make my $40 worthwhile but I thought tonight as the money had already gone to a good cause that I’d get the hell out of there before I made myself seriously ill. The first ten overs were a nightmare as a power failure knocked out the scoreboard so that nobody knew what the hell was going on - thankfully they got it right eventually.
The World team put on a colossal tonk in their innings - very rarely have I ever watched a game where 345 came up - but I simply couldn’t appreciate it while I was frying my ass off. At least the day I was roped into going to the Boxing Day test I managed a good 5 hours in the TAB to 1 hr in the sun ratio. Top innings by Ponting, and an entertaining slog from Chris Cairns to go with it.
Stacked on top of the heat issues is the fact that due to an unexpected (and rare) indoor soccer marathon on Sunday my body is broken like an Iraqi POW. Back, arm, legs, feet - all wrecked. I can barely move. Not the right day to be trying to curb my un-Australian hatred of the heat.
The fucking idiot award goes jointly to,
* The people who persisted in trying to start a Mexican wave. Is it that difficult to see that doing something called THE WAVE at an event raising money for the victims of a GIANT WAVE is potentially insensitive. Petty I know - and almost certainly not deliberate but a bit dodgy nonetheless.
* The very minor portion of the crowd who pulled out the eternally dreary “No Ball” cry when Murili bowled his first ball. It wasn’t funny three seasons ago and certainly had no place in a charity game. Thankfully I’m assuming that they were smacked down thoroughly by everyone sitting around them because you never heard it again.
I was going at the dinner break anyway - as things didn’t look like getting any cooler - when the Melbourne FC logo came on the screen and they started talking about Troy Broadbridge and how he’d played his last game on this very ground. I looked down to where I sat that day, right behind the goals at the Southern Stand end and thought about how somebody who had stood a few feet from me just a few months ago - finally fully fit, not much older than me and in the best form of his short career - was now gone. No longer alive. And the horrible, horrible tragedy of what has happened hit me harder than ever. 200,000 people wiped off the face of the planet. I don’t mind saying I came close to shedding a tear. I know that even the biggest moron on earth doesn’t need that sort of sign to take in the gravity of the situation - and I was certainly aware of it beforehand but this just hit me like a baseball bat. And people dare to say there’s some kind of merciful god running things. What a load of shit.
Apparently Melbourne are going to play Collingwood in a 20/20 cricket match. Presumably it’ll be at the Junction Oval. TSP will be there for a full report on Colin Sylvia going the tonk.
Anyway. I may not have seen the likes of Tendulkar and Jayusariya bat in person but I’m sure I’ll appreciate more in the safety - and relative cool - of my own home. Good to see so much money flooding in. I even payed $4 for a 600ml bottle of Coke without whinging for once.
UPDATE - My other whinge came from the songs that played when the bowlers changed and new batsmen came out. While I’m quite willing to believe that Chris Cairns would have picked Back In Black willing (though in an ideal world he’d come out to Slice of Heaven by Dave Dobbyn and Herbs off the Footrot Flats soundtrack) I refuse, REFUSE to believe that of every song on earth Charminda Vaas chose “You Get What You Give” by the New Radicals as his personalised theme song. They must have a very, VERY small list of tunes to pick from. If it had to be jaunty crowd pleasing music I’d pick “Danger! High Voltage!” by Electric Six. That’d get the crowd going.
And what the hell song did Steven Fleming come out to? I’ve never heard it before but kind of liked it. Sadly I was too busy dying to take in enough lyrics to search for.
Hmm
A fair amount of weird shit has happened to me over the years. I like to think that I’ve had a boring life but the evidence stacks up to say that the amount of bizarre and/or entertaining things that have happened in my lifetime is comparable to any other 23-year-old who has been too lazy to get off his ass and travel the world. Every once in a while something triggers memories of things that happened years ago and I had forgotten. I’m sure one day I’ll wake up and remember some more evil shit that happened to me in a child care centre - but not today. Save that for the regressive memory therapy and the subsequent lawsuits.
This would have taken place in the mid to late 80’s. Somewhere between 1987 and 1988. I’m not entirely sure. My grandparents lived in a flat in a street just off Burke Rd, Camberwell - near the junction for those of you will a fetish for deadly intersections. I used to spend all my school holidays there and thus most of the time was taken up piss-farting around the local area and making trouble with the girl who lived next door in a prototype juvenile criminal partnership. I can’t think of any bigger crime we committed than kicking some flowers and ringing people’s doorbells and legging it but it all seemed pretty hardcore at the time. When they got evicted and left all their possesions behind I climbed into their garage and pinched a vinyl single copy of Bruce Spingsteen’s “Dancing In The Dark” that I listened to ad-bloody-nauseum on my grandmother’s record player. What a dumbass kid.
Anyway - this is all scene setting shite. We’re getting to the main issue. Somehow in the course of our childhood shenanigans we came to know these two Chinese student girls who lived in the next block of flats to the left of ‘ours’. I’ve got no idea how we ended up there but I distinctly remember them giving us tea and the fact that we hung out there for two or three weeks solid of a school holidays. I totally had a crush on one of them - as much as you can when you’re six/seven years old and have no idea what’s going on - and took every opportunity to go there.
Then one day, probably a month after we’d started visiting them, I almost got run over by a car caning it out of the driveway of their flats. It was being driven by a rather stern looking Chinese guy and the girl from the flats was in the backseat on her own crying. I never saw her, or the other girl she lived with again. I often used to wonder whatever happened to her but I hadn’t thought about it for years. Then today I must have read or seen something that triggered it in my memory. What had she done? Who was she? Obviously I’ll never know but I expect that image of her in the car to come back on and off through the rest of my life and haunt me.
P.S - If you were the people who lived next door to my grandparents I’d like to formally apologise for nicking your vinyl single. Write in and we’ll discuss compensation.
This would have taken place in the mid to late 80’s. Somewhere between 1987 and 1988. I’m not entirely sure. My grandparents lived in a flat in a street just off Burke Rd, Camberwell - near the junction for those of you will a fetish for deadly intersections. I used to spend all my school holidays there and thus most of the time was taken up piss-farting around the local area and making trouble with the girl who lived next door in a prototype juvenile criminal partnership. I can’t think of any bigger crime we committed than kicking some flowers and ringing people’s doorbells and legging it but it all seemed pretty hardcore at the time. When they got evicted and left all their possesions behind I climbed into their garage and pinched a vinyl single copy of Bruce Spingsteen’s “Dancing In The Dark” that I listened to ad-bloody-nauseum on my grandmother’s record player. What a dumbass kid.
Anyway - this is all scene setting shite. We’re getting to the main issue. Somehow in the course of our childhood shenanigans we came to know these two Chinese student girls who lived in the next block of flats to the left of ‘ours’. I’ve got no idea how we ended up there but I distinctly remember them giving us tea and the fact that we hung out there for two or three weeks solid of a school holidays. I totally had a crush on one of them - as much as you can when you’re six/seven years old and have no idea what’s going on - and took every opportunity to go there.
Then one day, probably a month after we’d started visiting them, I almost got run over by a car caning it out of the driveway of their flats. It was being driven by a rather stern looking Chinese guy and the girl from the flats was in the backseat on her own crying. I never saw her, or the other girl she lived with again. I often used to wonder whatever happened to her but I hadn’t thought about it for years. Then today I must have read or seen something that triggered it in my memory. What had she done? Who was she? Obviously I’ll never know but I expect that image of her in the car to come back on and off through the rest of my life and haunt me.
P.S - If you were the people who lived next door to my grandparents I’d like to formally apologise for nicking your vinyl single. Write in and we’ll discuss compensation.
Incompetancy in crime
Try explaining this to your kids when you’re older. “Yes, I was going to kill you. But I accidentally chopped half my hand off and couldn’t do it. Which is great because I love you all so much and I’m glad I didn’t gas you to death”. Lunacy.
Three little boys escaped being murdered by their mum when she sliced her fingers off starting a petrol mower she planned to gas them with. The mother was involved in a bitter custody dispute with the father of the youngsters aged ten, five and four, a court was told yesterday… She put the lawnmower in the back of the family car to kill the kids, of Denbigh, North Wales, with the fumes. But as she started the machine she sliced off two fingers, a Mold Crown Court judge heard. The 32-year-old - who cannot be named for legal reasons - pleaded guilty to three counts of attempted murder
Of course regular disclaimers apply given that the story comes from the Sun (English version), a paper whose website has so much tit I can’t even open it on my work computer for fear of being cast out. Given their track record for beating stories up she was probably just going out to mow the lawn.
Assuming that it’s all legitimate the story once more throws up evidence of what a bunch of twats humans are. How many times do you see one of these murder-suicide things with parents murdering their own children just to make some sort of twisted, fucked-up point to their estranged partner. How evil is that? Sounds wrong to say it but if you’re going down this path anyway why not just kill the other person? Wouldn’t that cut out the middleman and get right to where you’re trying to go? I can’t understand why you’d want to bring the kids into it. It’s not their fault that you bred despite the fact that your relationship was a walking timebomb and you were clearly not sane enough to raise children.
Pah. Odds on that if I ever sell out on my lifelong commitment never to breed I’ll do it with some bunny-boiler like this. Get your bets on now.
Three little boys escaped being murdered by their mum when she sliced her fingers off starting a petrol mower she planned to gas them with. The mother was involved in a bitter custody dispute with the father of the youngsters aged ten, five and four, a court was told yesterday… She put the lawnmower in the back of the family car to kill the kids, of Denbigh, North Wales, with the fumes. But as she started the machine she sliced off two fingers, a Mold Crown Court judge heard. The 32-year-old - who cannot be named for legal reasons - pleaded guilty to three counts of attempted murder
Of course regular disclaimers apply given that the story comes from the Sun (English version), a paper whose website has so much tit I can’t even open it on my work computer for fear of being cast out. Given their track record for beating stories up she was probably just going out to mow the lawn.
Assuming that it’s all legitimate the story once more throws up evidence of what a bunch of twats humans are. How many times do you see one of these murder-suicide things with parents murdering their own children just to make some sort of twisted, fucked-up point to their estranged partner. How evil is that? Sounds wrong to say it but if you’re going down this path anyway why not just kill the other person? Wouldn’t that cut out the middleman and get right to where you’re trying to go? I can’t understand why you’d want to bring the kids into it. It’s not their fault that you bred despite the fact that your relationship was a walking timebomb and you were clearly not sane enough to raise children.
Pah. Odds on that if I ever sell out on my lifelong commitment never to breed I’ll do it with some bunny-boiler like this. Get your bets on now.
Sunday, 9 January 2005
The joys of St. Kilda
What a suburb. Sometime between yesterday afternoon and 2pm today somebody actually took the time to egg my car. And just then somebody lobbed a glass bottle out of a moving car into the street.
It’s hardly surprising. You could murder somebody in cold-blood in the middle of the street here and the cops would be too busy administering a faulty drug test to an 87-year-old woman who they caught doing 71 in a 70 zone to do anything about it.
It’s hardly surprising. You could murder somebody in cold-blood in the middle of the street here and the cops would be too busy administering a faulty drug test to an 87-year-old woman who they caught doing 71 in a 70 zone to do anything about it.
Saturday, 8 January 2005
Meet the Press
The Mark Phillapousis explosion (part 345) at the tennis press-conference the other day reminded me of much I love it when those things go horribly wrong.
Of course my favourite is the incident highlighted on the now sadly deceased Maynard’s Rewind show on Channel V a few years back where some bogan Aussie journalist asked William Shatner if he’d ever experienced any hardship because he had the word SHAT in his last name. Cue the Shat sitting there, looking absolutely mystified and asking for clarification. So the journo asked it again with some minor explanation as to why he should be ashamed. He just sat there for a while looking incredulous that somebody would actually ask such a stupid question before a publicist dived in and saved him by calling for the next question.
Naturally it was made ten times more hillarious by the fact that the words “SHAT” would start flashing on the screen randomly throughout it all. What a top show that was.
Your favourite press conference disasters in the comments please. I know there’s a million of them but I can only think of one off the top of my head.
Of course my favourite is the incident highlighted on the now sadly deceased Maynard’s Rewind show on Channel V a few years back where some bogan Aussie journalist asked William Shatner if he’d ever experienced any hardship because he had the word SHAT in his last name. Cue the Shat sitting there, looking absolutely mystified and asking for clarification. So the journo asked it again with some minor explanation as to why he should be ashamed. He just sat there for a while looking incredulous that somebody would actually ask such a stupid question before a publicist dived in and saved him by calling for the next question.
Naturally it was made ten times more hillarious by the fact that the words “SHAT” would start flashing on the screen randomly throughout it all. What a top show that was.
Your favourite press conference disasters in the comments please. I know there’s a million of them but I can only think of one off the top of my head.
WORST defence ever
Bar none. If there has been a worse one in recent times I’d like to see it.
Ian Finlay of Shadyside, a former computer security expert at Carnegie Mellon University’s CERT Internet policing center, told a Westmoreland County jury yesterday that he was baiting state police in the summer of 2003 when he solicited a 15-year-old Latrobe girl for sex in online chat rooms and e-mails. After exchanging more than 60 sometimes-explicit e-mails with a policeman posing as ‘Kelly,’ Finlay was arrested outside a McDonald’s restaurant in Hempfield Aug. 22, 2003, where the ‘couple’ had agreed to meet for sex… Finlay, 28, said he knew police were then training at Edinboro University on how to pose as girls and nab child molesters who solicit youngsters for sex on the Internet. He decided to pull a prank on the police, he said. ‘I always had a real dislike for cops,’ he told the jury.”
So he knew it was all a scam eh? Then why did he show up at the meeting place? I suppose he was merely going to laugh in the police faces and then walk off. What a twat.
Pulling a prank indeed. That’s absolutely rotten. I can’t believe he’s trying to get away with it on that basis. Throw away the key just for that.
Ian Finlay of Shadyside, a former computer security expert at Carnegie Mellon University’s CERT Internet policing center, told a Westmoreland County jury yesterday that he was baiting state police in the summer of 2003 when he solicited a 15-year-old Latrobe girl for sex in online chat rooms and e-mails. After exchanging more than 60 sometimes-explicit e-mails with a policeman posing as ‘Kelly,’ Finlay was arrested outside a McDonald’s restaurant in Hempfield Aug. 22, 2003, where the ‘couple’ had agreed to meet for sex… Finlay, 28, said he knew police were then training at Edinboro University on how to pose as girls and nab child molesters who solicit youngsters for sex on the Internet. He decided to pull a prank on the police, he said. ‘I always had a real dislike for cops,’ he told the jury.”
So he knew it was all a scam eh? Then why did he show up at the meeting place? I suppose he was merely going to laugh in the police faces and then walk off. What a twat.
Pulling a prank indeed. That’s absolutely rotten. I can’t believe he’s trying to get away with it on that basis. Throw away the key just for that.
Friday, 7 January 2005
Dumbass internet craze alert
This will be everywhere. EVERYWHERE. Within a few weeks. You heard it here second (pinched from NYLPM)
A four-year-old has beaten Robbie Williams and Kylie Minogue to the top of the German pop charts.
Joy Gruttmann’s Snappy the Little Crocodile was released as a single after it was posted on a website by her family.
The joke nursery song, with its chorus: “Schni schna schnappi schnappi schnappi schnapp”, was picked up by a local radio station in Cologne.
Joy is the youngest recording artist in German history to make it to the Top 10 and her song is outselling the likes of Kylie’s I Believe In You and Robbie Williams’s Misunderstood.
Joy now has her own official website, where Schnappi baseball caps and T-shirts can be bought along with the official Schnappi CD, the Schnappi video, Schnappi DVD and the Schnappi video game.
Schni schna schnappi schnappi schnappi schnapp is the story of a baby croc’s teething attempts on his father’s leathery leg - and how proud mother crocodile is of him.
MTV Germany has also started playing a dance remix version that is being played at Germany’s hottest clubs.
So that’s what happened to Nikki Webster etc…
UPDATE - As predicted the search engines have gone wild. Hello to all you child sex offenders who are searching for it.
A four-year-old has beaten Robbie Williams and Kylie Minogue to the top of the German pop charts.
Joy Gruttmann’s Snappy the Little Crocodile was released as a single after it was posted on a website by her family.
The joke nursery song, with its chorus: “Schni schna schnappi schnappi schnappi schnapp”, was picked up by a local radio station in Cologne.
Joy is the youngest recording artist in German history to make it to the Top 10 and her song is outselling the likes of Kylie’s I Believe In You and Robbie Williams’s Misunderstood.
Joy now has her own official website, where Schnappi baseball caps and T-shirts can be bought along with the official Schnappi CD, the Schnappi video, Schnappi DVD and the Schnappi video game.
Schni schna schnappi schnappi schnappi schnapp is the story of a baby croc’s teething attempts on his father’s leathery leg - and how proud mother crocodile is of him.
MTV Germany has also started playing a dance remix version that is being played at Germany’s hottest clubs.
So that’s what happened to Nikki Webster etc…
UPDATE - As predicted the search engines have gone wild. Hello to all you child sex offenders who are searching for it.
Radio Friendly
Are you chained to your radio, struggling to contain yourself waiting for the next blockbusting edition of Sunday Bloody Sunday? Well now you can have the joy of listening to the same shit music as I do thanks to the good people at Last.Fm. With the added bonus of not having to hear a couple of bogans waffling on between each track. And you can skip the ones it does throw up if you really object - which could be helpful when you land straight in the middle of a six-in-a-row from The Fall.
Yes indeed it’s your own personal Radio Supermercado whenever and wherever you like. You have to sign up but it’s a formality - give them your email address at president@whitehouse.gov for all they care. Random sample of the first ten songs it picked out and played at me…
* The Rolling Stones - Shake Your Hips
* Steve Earle - Copperhead Road
* Curtis Mayfield - Pusherman
* Sheena Easton - For Your Eyes Only
* The Smiths - Still Ill
* My Bloody Valentine - Feed Me With Your Kiss
* Madness - Our House
* Prince - Little Red Corvette
* The Jam - Happy Together
* Lou Reed - How Do You Think It Feels
Certainly shits all over Triple M and their new random playlist. You could be doing worse while you’re at work/pissfarting around on the internet/jacking over Swedish midget pron. I won’t accept commercial radio again until the day I hear selections from Berlin played on it. Let’s all cross our fingers and hope that the new Melbourne station is going to play farcically uncommercial music all day and make me their head programmer. If it didn’t ensure that you ended up on a special list at Federal Police headquarters I’d ring up and request the one where they made the kiddies cry by taking them into the studio and telling them that their mum had died. Classic.
Yes indeed it’s your own personal Radio Supermercado whenever and wherever you like. You have to sign up but it’s a formality - give them your email address at president@whitehouse.gov for all they care. Random sample of the first ten songs it picked out and played at me…
* The Rolling Stones - Shake Your Hips
* Steve Earle - Copperhead Road
* Curtis Mayfield - Pusherman
* Sheena Easton - For Your Eyes Only
* The Smiths - Still Ill
* My Bloody Valentine - Feed Me With Your Kiss
* Madness - Our House
* Prince - Little Red Corvette
* The Jam - Happy Together
* Lou Reed - How Do You Think It Feels
Certainly shits all over Triple M and their new random playlist. You could be doing worse while you’re at work/pissfarting around on the internet/jacking over Swedish midget pron. I won’t accept commercial radio again until the day I hear selections from Berlin played on it. Let’s all cross our fingers and hope that the new Melbourne station is going to play farcically uncommercial music all day and make me their head programmer. If it didn’t ensure that you ended up on a special list at Federal Police headquarters I’d ring up and request the one where they made the kiddies cry by taking them into the studio and telling them that their mum had died. Classic.
Decisions, decisions
Tomorrow night you’ve got two standout options. Tune in to 7, 9 or 10 at 8.30pm for the Australia Unites telethon.
or… The Comedy Channel @ 8.30pm for,
Porky’s
Do people really need to see Rove McManus join Eddie McGuire and those two twats off Sunrise before they’ll give money to a perfectly worthy cause? Obviously not because we’ve forked over a fortune already. I’m all in favour of gouging out every last cent but must we do it with added Guy Sebastian and the stars of Home and Away?
Watch Porky’s in protest I say. Unless the telethon can provide an All-Star, cross-network, newsreader lesbian fingerbang featuring Tracey Grimshaw, Jennifer Keyte and Jessica Lane then I shan’t be tuning in.
You should, however, hand money over in spades to the following “no stars of Australian Idol present” charity organisations,
Care Australia
Red Cross
Unicef
In fact give to the telethon as well - but only watch it during the ads of the delightful teen sex romp.
UPDATE - There’s at least one person who’ll be defiantly having a pull at 8.3o tomorrow night and not handing over dollars,
The Australian Shareholders Association has expressed disapproval at companies pledging money to the tsunami relief effort in Asia, saying they have no approval for their philanthropy.
Association spokesman Stephen Matthews says firms should not generally give without expecting something in return.
Mr Matthews says that in most circumstances, donations should only be made in situations that are likely to benefit the company through greater market exposure.
Maybe they could put Coke t-shirts on the rescue workers and prop some bloody corpses up and put a can of Diet Coke with Vanilla in their hands? What an absolute crunt.
or… The Comedy Channel @ 8.30pm for,
Porky’s
Do people really need to see Rove McManus join Eddie McGuire and those two twats off Sunrise before they’ll give money to a perfectly worthy cause? Obviously not because we’ve forked over a fortune already. I’m all in favour of gouging out every last cent but must we do it with added Guy Sebastian and the stars of Home and Away?
Watch Porky’s in protest I say. Unless the telethon can provide an All-Star, cross-network, newsreader lesbian fingerbang featuring Tracey Grimshaw, Jennifer Keyte and Jessica Lane then I shan’t be tuning in.
You should, however, hand money over in spades to the following “no stars of Australian Idol present” charity organisations,
Care Australia
Red Cross
Unicef
In fact give to the telethon as well - but only watch it during the ads of the delightful teen sex romp.
UPDATE - There’s at least one person who’ll be defiantly having a pull at 8.3o tomorrow night and not handing over dollars,
The Australian Shareholders Association has expressed disapproval at companies pledging money to the tsunami relief effort in Asia, saying they have no approval for their philanthropy.
Association spokesman Stephen Matthews says firms should not generally give without expecting something in return.
Mr Matthews says that in most circumstances, donations should only be made in situations that are likely to benefit the company through greater market exposure.
Maybe they could put Coke t-shirts on the rescue workers and prop some bloody corpses up and put a can of Diet Coke with Vanilla in their hands? What an absolute crunt.
Lovely
Classic commentary on the Channel Ten news from the coach of the Australian volleyball team tonight regarding the deaf side.
Words to the effect of,
“They’re just as competitive as able bodied athletes”
How is a deaf athlete not able bodied? I know where he’s coming from but it’s still a pretty shonky thing to say.
And bonus points to the people behind the Comedy Channel who five minutes later played the episode of Family Guy where the deaf team miss the opening of the “Special Games” because they can’t hear their alarm. It’s all coming together.
Words to the effect of,
“They’re just as competitive as able bodied athletes”
How is a deaf athlete not able bodied? I know where he’s coming from but it’s still a pretty shonky thing to say.
And bonus points to the people behind the Comedy Channel who five minutes later played the episode of Family Guy where the deaf team miss the opening of the “Special Games” because they can’t hear their alarm. It’s all coming together.
Thursday, 6 January 2005
The horror
There’s been plenty of comment over the years on this blog about bad jobs. Leader of Hamas, coach of Richmond etc.. But no matter what ‘job’ you’re getting shafted in you’re at least getting paid for it. I officially declare the worst unpaid role in the world to be..
Guest speaker at a school assembly.
Just think back to the sorts of shenanigans you used to pull during these things. We never cared that the woman talking up the front had just single handedly killed a tiger in the deepest African jungle - we just knew that it was a free hour when you didn’t have to pretend to be doing work and you’d treat it accordingly. If the ones you were subjected to were anything like mine there would have been a herding en masse into a school gymnasium where you’d be surrounded by a ring of teachers, most of whom you’d never seen before in your life, and subjected to some long winded wanky speech by the Principal/Co-Ordinator/other assorted stooge. Some other tossers - school captains and other assorted jerkoffs - would make a wanky speech or two and then they’d introduce the poor guest speaker.
It’s only now, four years out of high school, eight years out of a private school, that I feel sympathetic towards them. We were little shits - nobody was listening. If it was in the hour before lunchtime we were usually sitting at the back somewhere organising what the teams were going to be for our lunchtime sporting tilt (usually soccer - before it was fashionable and you’d get threatened with physical violence by bogans for daring to play it) and trying to keep the talking as low as possible to avoid the infamous scenes when teachers would bust you and pick one person to stand up and be moved somewhere else.
I’d also like to publically apologise (for the second time on here I think) to my Year 8 French teacher. We were little shits and she clearly wasn’t cut out for it. In retrospect I would have gone her something shocking. Anyway..
One of the great moments in the history of school assemblies,
The venue: The hall of the Melbourne University’s pissy little campus on Auburn Rd, Hawthorn
The year: 1997
The guest speakers: Rohan Connolly (the footy writer guy from the Age) and some champion classical pianist
Traditionally we weren’t taking any notice of what was going on. Connolly was an obvious attempt to engage the kiddies by dragging in the biggest sporting name they could find. Sadly what the Anglo Principal, Anglo Vice-Principal and set of Anglo Level Coordinators obviously didn’t compute was that 75% of the school population were of the hairy Mario variety. Including the chicks. And that nobody gave a shit. He got booed loudly when he started crapping on about Essendon - I remember that. And he never mentioned Melbourne once which probably had something to do with the fact that we (they? I only went to one game in 1996-97. Against Carlton in ‘97 when we won) were the shittest team going around. Stupid AFL having to murder Fitzroy to get their love children Port Adelaide in the league..
The memorable moments kicked off in earnest when the pianist showed up. Apart from the traditional ripple of laughter across the room when the word ‘pianist’ was used her performance started casually enough. She didn’t even bother giving speech. It was then that the guy sitting three seats down from me who had been enthusiastically playing a Game Boy for the duration of the assembly yelled out, no really yelled, “THAT’S THE MUSIC FROM FAT ALBERT!” Naturally I absolutely died when I heard that. It was a full scale tears down the face job. In fact I hadn’t even regained my composure when the door at the back of the hall flew open and some chick ran in, shouted “YOU HIT MY SISTER” and started punching the fuck out of some bimbo at the back of the room.
To her credit the pianist just played on. If she’d suddenly switched to playing “Eye of the Tiger” instead I would have declared her the greatest musician the world has ever seen.
What a morning. The phrase “You hit my sister” was officially entered into history that day.
Guest speaker at a school assembly.
Just think back to the sorts of shenanigans you used to pull during these things. We never cared that the woman talking up the front had just single handedly killed a tiger in the deepest African jungle - we just knew that it was a free hour when you didn’t have to pretend to be doing work and you’d treat it accordingly. If the ones you were subjected to were anything like mine there would have been a herding en masse into a school gymnasium where you’d be surrounded by a ring of teachers, most of whom you’d never seen before in your life, and subjected to some long winded wanky speech by the Principal/Co-Ordinator/other assorted stooge. Some other tossers - school captains and other assorted jerkoffs - would make a wanky speech or two and then they’d introduce the poor guest speaker.
It’s only now, four years out of high school, eight years out of a private school, that I feel sympathetic towards them. We were little shits - nobody was listening. If it was in the hour before lunchtime we were usually sitting at the back somewhere organising what the teams were going to be for our lunchtime sporting tilt (usually soccer - before it was fashionable and you’d get threatened with physical violence by bogans for daring to play it) and trying to keep the talking as low as possible to avoid the infamous scenes when teachers would bust you and pick one person to stand up and be moved somewhere else.
I’d also like to publically apologise (for the second time on here I think) to my Year 8 French teacher. We were little shits and she clearly wasn’t cut out for it. In retrospect I would have gone her something shocking. Anyway..
One of the great moments in the history of school assemblies,
The venue: The hall of the Melbourne University’s pissy little campus on Auburn Rd, Hawthorn
The year: 1997
The guest speakers: Rohan Connolly (the footy writer guy from the Age) and some champion classical pianist
Traditionally we weren’t taking any notice of what was going on. Connolly was an obvious attempt to engage the kiddies by dragging in the biggest sporting name they could find. Sadly what the Anglo Principal, Anglo Vice-Principal and set of Anglo Level Coordinators obviously didn’t compute was that 75% of the school population were of the hairy Mario variety. Including the chicks. And that nobody gave a shit. He got booed loudly when he started crapping on about Essendon - I remember that. And he never mentioned Melbourne once which probably had something to do with the fact that we (they? I only went to one game in 1996-97. Against Carlton in ‘97 when we won) were the shittest team going around. Stupid AFL having to murder Fitzroy to get their love children Port Adelaide in the league..
The memorable moments kicked off in earnest when the pianist showed up. Apart from the traditional ripple of laughter across the room when the word ‘pianist’ was used her performance started casually enough. She didn’t even bother giving speech. It was then that the guy sitting three seats down from me who had been enthusiastically playing a Game Boy for the duration of the assembly yelled out, no really yelled, “THAT’S THE MUSIC FROM FAT ALBERT!” Naturally I absolutely died when I heard that. It was a full scale tears down the face job. In fact I hadn’t even regained my composure when the door at the back of the hall flew open and some chick ran in, shouted “YOU HIT MY SISTER” and started punching the fuck out of some bimbo at the back of the room.
To her credit the pianist just played on. If she’d suddenly switched to playing “Eye of the Tiger” instead I would have declared her the greatest musician the world has ever seen.
What a morning. The phrase “You hit my sister” was officially entered into history that day.
Electoral College = Farce
From Wikipedia’s 2004 presidential election article
One elector in Minnesota cast a ballot for president with the name of “John Ewards” (sic) written on it; the Electoral College officials certified this vote as a vote for John Edwards for president. None of the electors admitted to casting the Edwards vote for President; it is assumed to be an honest mistake. The remaining 9 cast ballots for John Kerry. All ten electors in the state cast ballots for John Edwards for Vice President.
Honest mistake? What an red hot lunatic. Their entire job is to rock up and vote for one candidate and one candidate only - one of the two guys who has had his head on television non-stop for the last six months and he/she gets there and somehow manages to ‘accidentally’ vote for the wrong guy and spell his name wrong at the same time. Tool. It also means he voted for Edwards (or Ewards if you insist) to be both President and Vice President at the same time.
That’s some crazy system they’ve got happening there.
One elector in Minnesota cast a ballot for president with the name of “John Ewards” (sic) written on it; the Electoral College officials certified this vote as a vote for John Edwards for president. None of the electors admitted to casting the Edwards vote for President; it is assumed to be an honest mistake. The remaining 9 cast ballots for John Kerry. All ten electors in the state cast ballots for John Edwards for Vice President.
Honest mistake? What an red hot lunatic. Their entire job is to rock up and vote for one candidate and one candidate only - one of the two guys who has had his head on television non-stop for the last six months and he/she gets there and somehow manages to ‘accidentally’ vote for the wrong guy and spell his name wrong at the same time. Tool. It also means he voted for Edwards (or Ewards if you insist) to be both President and Vice President at the same time.
That’s some crazy system they’ve got happening there.
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