The Good. The Bad. The Asinine.

Too: Steve Noyce, Re: Todd Carney

Hi Steve,

My name is Tim, and I’m writing too you too share my thoughts on your recent sacking of Todd Carney.

I should first point out that I’m not a particularly huge fan of the Rugby Leagues, as the scrums are just to fiercely contested for me. Every time I see one I think “OMG they look like they’re actually pushing this time”. It’s very stressful. I’m also not a fan of oceanic mascots for land-based sporting teams. Sorry, Steve, but a shark just isn’t believable. They can’t move backwards, for starters. And I hear they get quite emotional at the sight of blood. Assuming, that is, that they haven’t just suffocated a few seconds after kick-off. Armadillos are land animals, though. And I’m quite good at drawing armadillos. Well, I’m good at tracing them. I’d be happy too trace you a new mascot if you like. His name could be Adillo and he could be accompanied by a speech bubble that says “I’m Adillo”.

As for Todd Carney, well… I don’t know him from a bar of soap. Sorry that’s probably an exaggeration. I’ve never met Todd personally, but I’ve seen photos, and he doesn’t look to much like a bar of soap, so I think I probably would know him from bar of soap. Although I guess it if was dark and the soap was a life-sized replica of Todd Carney, then maybe I’d have too ask them both a few questions too make sure. Whatever. The point is I’d never wash myself with Todd Carney. Not with his mouth anyway, as it’s probably full of urine.

Which brings me too the subject of my letter.

As much as everyone has been asking what was going through Todd’s mind when he pïssed in his mouth, I want too know what was going through your mind when you sacked him for it. Do you remember when you were a kid, and you went too the bubbler on a hot day, and the water came out warm at first, and you let the water run on your hand for a while so you knew when it was cool enough too drink? Well I do, Steve, so naturally my first thought was “Why didn’t Todd piss into his hands first?” I didn’t want too play the blame game though, so I stopped wondering that and just hoped that he hadn’t had any asparagus for dinner. Then I decided that he probably just likes too recycle.

But what were you worried about? What concerned you so much that you felt you had too end his career? Did you think his poor aim at the urinal would affect his kicking game? Because if you did, I think I should point out he wasn’t aiming at the urinal, he was aiming at his mouth. So his aim seems pretty good, and you should probably let him kick more. Then maybe you’d stop coming last.

Oh sorry, I just saw your media release! Let’s see if it sheds any light on your motives. You sacked him because you are

committed to building a successful club, a club with strong values and a club which sets and respects high standards in all aspects of its operations and activities.

Is it a shame thing, Steve? Has he brought the Sharks into disrepute? Will people start showing less respect too a bottom-of-the-ladder team that has never won a premiership and was fined $150,000 for salary cap breaches and $1,000,000 for the use of illegal supplements, just because a single person pïssed in his mouth while not at work? Now that I think about it, do you think that maaaaaaybe you might have more reason too terminate your own contact?

Or is it a role model thing? Are you worried that hordes of impressionable young children will start skipping off too the urinal every time they’re thirsty? Because if you’re worried about role models, Steve, there are bigger issues too worry about. For example, you might have too start sacking people who throw to many forward passes. Or who punch another player. Or spear tackle. Those are some pretty heavy issues, Steve. And I haven’t even mentioned the most heaviest.

You may have noticed the odd grammatical error in this letter (if you haven’t, look again, they’re not to hard too find). They make the letter quite difficult too read, don’t they? But it’s not my fault, Steve, it’s Todd’s.

You see, Todd is a huge role model, and has a profound impact on the actions of all impressionable Australians. Well I’m an impressionable Australian. And I saw Todd’s tattoo.

Todd Carney tatt

So yeah, now I write like an idiot, and anyone else who’s seen Todd’s tattoo writes like an idiot to. That’s the real danger here, Steve. People can pïss in their mouths all they like, and they only harm themselves. But bad grammar… bad grammar is infectious, and just to annoying too tolerate.

Think about it, Steve. Take a stand against bad grammar and media hysteria and hypocrisy. Re-hire Todd, make him fix his tattoo, and sack yourself.

Take it from someone who doesn’t care about Rugby League, or the Sharks, or Todd Carney – it’s the right thing too do.

Yours sincerely,

Tim

Miranda Devine is a fücking idiot

Well, she is. But don’t worry – I’m not being Mirandaphobic, because “fücking idiot” doesn’t mean what you think it means.

You see, a few weeks ago, a rugby league player called one of his opponents a “fücking gay cünt”. The NRL then suspended him for lack of creativity homophobia. Miranda was outraged:

There was no problem with the players trying to punch each other. No problem with the foul language. No problem with the sexist c-word. But woe betide the player who ­offends the gods of homosexuality. Let’s get one thing straight. “Gay” no longer just means “homosexual”. The word has changed meaning over the last decade. Young people use “gay” to mean lame, or dumb or stupid, as in: “That’s so gay.”

I don’t know who the “god of homosexuality” is, but I think it might be Jesus, since he not only seems to be the one making all the gay people, but can rock a tunic and sandals like nobody’s business. In any case, it would seem that according to Miranda:

  1. Yes, “gay” does mean homosexual; but
  2. It also means “stupid”; so
  3. It’s not homophobic.
  4. P.S. Calling someone a “cünt” is sexist.

That’s all fine, but how does it make Miranda Devine a fücking idiot? Well, to make things easier for us, Miranda claimed that calling someone a “cünt” is sexist. And that allows us to say this:

  1. Yes, “cünt” does mean vagina; but
  2. It also means “fückwit”; so
  3. It’s not sexist.
  4. P.S. Calling someone “gay” is homophobic.

Ergo, Miranda Devine is a fücking idiot.

Now, at this point, you may be thinking that I’m being Mirandaphobic. But you’d be wrong. You see, dear reader, words can change their meaning over time. And since I started this post, “fücking idiot” no longer just means “a person of colossal stupidity” – it now also means “a person of Devine-like intelligence, capable of both making an argument and defeating it in the same paragraph”.

Which means I’m off the hook.

But she’s still a fücking idiot.

On political correctness

I hate “political correctness”. Even the name, “political correctness”, is politically correct. We should just call it what it actually is – lying.

You see, words are important. How could I write these words and how could you read these words if words didn’t exist? You couldn’t, because neither of us would know what words were, because words would be non-existent. And non-existent things don’t exist. So, yeah, it’s pretty good that words exist.

But while the existence of words is important, the meaning of the words is also important. Actually, the meaning could be even more important than the existence. But I haven’t thought about it a lot, so I’ll just say they’re equally important, and call it a tie. Not one of those ties that you wear around your neck, obviously, because that makes no sense. Maybe I’ll call it a draw instead. A draw is like a tie. But not one of the ones you wear around your neck, obviously. See what I mean? The meaning of words is important. Things can get very confusing if you’re not clear on the meanings of words. That’s why I always use the right words for things.

Why can’t people be like me, and just say what they mean? I just want to call a spade a spade, and so should you, unless you’ve named your spade “John”, in which case you may call it “John”, although I should tell you that “Doug” is a much better name for a shovel. But whatever. The way you people dance around the truth with your silly euphemisms is just ridiculous. I think it’s time we all started being a little bit more honest.

Like when I see a woman feeding her child in public, I say “Would you mind tït-feeding that human parasite someplace else?” Imagine the confusion if I said “breastfeeding”, or “baby”. She might have thought I was asking her to stop feeding chicken to the girl from Dirty Dancing, and then she’d be confused, and I’d still be grossed out by her selfish act of infant nourishment. That’s what we call a lose-lose situation. And I much prefer win-win situations. Or win-lose situations, where I’m the winner, and you’re the loser.

And for god’s sake, don’t say “vision-impaired”, “intellectually-challenged” or “executive assistant”. Just say “blind”, “spastic” or “secretary”. Because that’s what they are. Likewise, don’t tell your wife you want to “make love”. Love isn’t made of anything, so it’s impossible to make it. Fücking isn’t impossible though, so do that instead. And don’t tell your colleagues you’re “going to the bathroom”. Not only is there almost certainly no bath at your work, but everyone knows what you’re really saying, so you might as well just say it: “I’m going to the shïtter to play Angry Turds.” Don’t say “I’m sorry for the loss of your mother”. They haven’t lost her, she’s inside that coffin over there, with a scarf covering her tracheotomy, slowly decomposing. Don’t ask your seven-year old daughter “Is it itchy down there?” Just tell her to stop scratching her cünt. Don’t say “gender-neutral”. Say “freak”. Don’t say “African-American”, “Japanese” or “Jew”. Say “nigger”, “nip” or “kyke”. And FFS, don’t say “gay”. Gay means happy. And yes, they all usually look quite happy. I can be happy too, but I’m not a faggot.

And if you happen to be at a funeral for a vision-impaired, intellectually-challenged, transgender, homosexual African-American executive assistant who died from smoking-induced lung cancer, and you get the urge to make love to yourself in the bathroom, just be honest and say “Well I guess that blind spastic freakish gay nigger secretary got what it deserved. I’m going to go fück myself in the pïsser.”

Sure, you might upset a few of the funeral-goers, but that’s their problem. You’re just telling the truth, and protecting your right to free speech.

And as an added bonus, I’m sure they’ll be happy to tell you to go fück yourself.

An open letter to Cory Bernardi

Dear Cory,

Man, if only I had a dollar for every time I started a letter with “Dear Cory”. I’d have at least three dollars now. I wrote my first “Dear Cory” to Cory Haim to tell him how much I loved The Goonies. My second “Dear Cory” was also to Cory Haim, to apologise for confusing him with Cory Feldman. At that stage I probably should have written to Cory Feldman to tell him that I loved The Goonies, but I found the whole thing quite embarrassing, so I didn’t. I can’t confuse you with those Corys though – you weren’t a famous actor in the 80s, and Cory Haim doesn’t write awesome books like you do (because he’s dead), and Cory Feldman was married by MC Hammer. Were you married by MC Hammer? I don’t think you were, because then you would have written a book about how awesome it is to be married by MC Hammer, and how it doesn’t undermine the sanctity of marriage at all.

Anyway, I haven’t bought your book yet, because it’s $27, and I already gave all my money to Hillsong. But even though I can’t buy it, I won’t download it illegally, because that would be wrong. As my married biological parents always said, “It’s wrong to download shït books using BitTorrent”. That’s one of the things that I love about my married biological parents – they know stuff that unmarried non-biological parents don’t. Things like “Don’t steal” and “Only deny rights to minorities” and “The floppy skin on your elbow is called a weenis”.

And that’s what it’s all about, right? The fact that children do best with their married biological parents? It’s like your identical twit Bill Muehlenberg said, when he quoted the American Sociologist, Sara McLanahan:

Children who grow up in a household with only one biological parent are worse off, on average, than children who grow up in a household with both of their biological parents, regardless of the parents’ race or educational background, regardless of whether the parents are married when the child is born, and regardless of whether the resident parent remarries.

Like you, Bill is just “following the evidence where it leads”. It’s just a shame that it didn’t lead him to the rest of Sara’s paper, where she said that:

While living with just one parent increases the risk of negative outcomes, it is not the only, or even the major, cause of them… Low income – and the sudden drop in income that often is associated with divorce – is the most important factor in children’s lower achievement in single parent homes.

I guess that means that children might do best with their two married biological parents and a steadily-employed live-in lover named Cerise (or Pablo, I’m not here to judge). At the very least it means that, if we’re so concerned about child welfare, we should give single parents all the help they can get. What they really need are sanctimonious lectures by people who have no idea what they’re going through, but all they keep asking for is money and time and cigarettes. Actually, maybe we should ignore the bit about loss of income being the biggest detrimental factor – Sara’s a single mum herself, and she’s probably just looking for handouts. We can also ignore the part where she said “regardless of whether the parents are married when the child is born”. But the rest of it supports our preconceived ideas, so it’s fine.

When did you find out that the people who raised you were your biological parents? I still remember when I found out. It was a few weeks ago, when I received the DNA test results. My life had started to fall off the rails a bit. I stubbed my toe, and I lost my Renegade DVD box set, and I had the sudden urge to yell “FIRE!” in a crowded cinema. I suddenly realised that the best way to make myself a better person would be to confirm that my DNA came from the two most loving people I have ever known, and not some fückwits who didn’t know you shouldn’t yell “FIRE!” in a crowded cinema. But it was all OK. The test results came back fine, and I turned back into a good person with lots of friends and nice furniture. It was the second best day of my life. The best day was yesterday, when I found my Renegade DVDs.

What we really need is a plan. You and Bill and I know that children do best with their married biological parents, but what are we going to do about all the weird families with shït kids? Bill Muehlenberg reckons they should be “frowned upon”, so I’ve started walking around the city frowning at parents who look non-traditional. You can tell they’re non-traditional because they have nose-rings and their kids are stealing cars. It’s a bit weird at first, but after a while you realise that it feels good to express displeasure at your inferiors. I think I’m pretty good at it, but it doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough. That’s why I’m happy you rail against abortion, too. Because if you think married biological parents raise the best kids, you should see what happens when parents have kids they don’t even want.

I really admire you, Cory. It can be tough finding rationalisatons for untenable, faith-based prejudices. These days, it’s not enough to just say “It’s true, because I cherry-picked it from the bible”. People want evidence, and it’s quite annoying.

But don’t despair. We must battle on, despite the evidence. It’s what we conservatives do best.

Yours sincerely,

Tim

Block & Roll #3 – Dishing it Out

Block & Roll 3

An open letter to Fred Nile

Dear Reverend the Honourable Mr Fred,

I am writing to you for two reasons. Firstly, I would like to congratulate you on finding love again. Secondly, I thought I’d better let you know that you can’t actually get married.

That may surprise you, so allow me to explain.

1
My personal definition of marriage is “the union of one man and one woman, to the exclusion of all others, entered into voluntarily for life, as long as the man is not more than one year older than the woman”.

You and your fiancée are 23 years apart, so, obviously, you cannot possibly get married, and to do so would be intolerant of my beliefs.

2
You may think your marriage and my marriage are completely separate, and your perverse version of marriage could not possibly affect the sanctity of my own. But you’d be wrong. I have no evidence for this, however, so you’ll just have to trust me.

3
If I allow you to marry someone 23 years younger, then soon people will want to marry people 30 years younger, and then 50 years younger. Eventually we will have a whole swarm of 90-year-olds wanting to marry embryos, and even you’d have to admit that no one wants that. I mean, even if she could find a dress that small, just imagine how hard it would be to try on in the changing womb. And I don’t even want to think about how the groom would put the ring on at the ceremony. Ew.
_____

I’m really sorry, Reverend the Honourable Mr Fred. I know this has probably been a difficult letter to read. If it makes you feel any better, it’s been a difficult letter for me to write. Mostly because I’m a really bad typist, and my ‘W’ key is a little sticky.

Anywho, please don’t hesitate to let me know if you have any questions. In particular, feel free to e-mail me when you meet someone new, as I am more than happy to tell you if your choice of partner offends me in any way.

Yours sincerely,

Tim

Submission impossible

The scene: Joe and Mary want to get married. Unaware of Sydney Anglicans’ new marriage vows, they approach their local Anglican priest to enquire about using his church for the ceremony…
___

Joe: Hi there. I’m Joe, and this is my fiance, Mary. We were wondering if we could talk to you about getting married in your church.

Priest: Hi Joe! Come in, please. Will Mary be waiting outside?

Joe: Excuse me?

Priest: Oh, you’re one of those. Fine, fine. Come in, please.

Joe: Thank you.

Priest: So, you want to be married in my church?

Joe: Yes, if that’s possible.

Priest: Shouldn’t be a problem. You’re both Christian, I hope?

Mary: Yes, we are.

Priest: Good, good. And I assume you know what will be expected of you, as soon-to-be-married Christians?

Joe: I think so. We should at all times be to each other what Christ was to his followers.

Priest: And that was…?

Mary: Respectful, loving, forgiving —

Priest: Goodness gracious! Where on earth did you hear that?

Mary: Oh, I thought the bible —

Priest: Haha, poor little thing. That’s not what the bible says at all… Your husband is your master!

Joe: That doesn’t sound right…

Priest: I can see how you might have missed it. I mean, it’s only in the first frikken book. “And the Lord God said to Adam, It is not good that you should be alone; I will make an help meet for you.”

Mary: An help meet?

Priest: Well, OK, the wording is a little silly. But there’s more, Mary! “Thy desire shall be to thy husband, and he shall rule over thee”. See? You have to find him sexy, and he gets to boss you around.

Mary: Oh… It really says that?

Priest: And more! This is the best bit. Adam wasn’t punished for eating the fruit, he was punished because he listened to his wife! “Because thou hast hearkened unto the voice of thy wife, cursed is the ground for thy sake”.

Mary: Well, maybe, but that’s just a story, isn’t it…

Priest: Don’t be so worried! Submission isn’t a bad thing, Mary. It’s like dancing. The man always leads, right?

Mary: I guess so… but a dance doesn’t last 50 years, does it?

Priest: OK, OK. Bad example. Think of it more like an altar boy submitting to his priest.

Joe: Well that doesn’t sound so bad. Right, honey?

Mary: Yeah, that does sound better!

Priest: So, we’re all on board?

Joe and Mary: Yep!

Priest: That’s great news! It’s great being Christian, isn’t it? Imagine being one of those damned Muslims. The way they treat their women. Disgraceful…

Hypocrisy, thy name is Jim

If there’s one thing I hate, it’s only being able to list one thing that I hate. Oh, and I hate those little stickers that they put on fruit. They are very annoying.

Jesus hated a few things, too. Fig trees, for instance. But also, hypocrisy:

“And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother’s eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?
Matthew 7:3

“And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men.”
Matthew 6:1-6

“Ye hypocrites, well did Esaias prophesy of you, saying, This people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips; but their heart is far from me.”
Matthew 15:7-8

With that in mind, you’d think that his modern day followers would also hate hypocrisy, wouldn’t you? And fig trees, of course.

Sadly, that doesn’t seem to be the case, at least, not if the Australian Christian Lobby is anything to go by. Not only are fig trees readily available from a wide range of nurseries, but the hypocrisy of the ACL, and its managing director in particular, apparently knows no bounds.

As I mentioned here the other day, Jim Wallace, the aforementioned MD, was a little put out when 7’s Sunrise came out in support of same-sex marriage:

That a TV current affairs show, let alone TV station, should take sides in such a highly contentious issue in the public square is disgraceful.

Fine Jim, fine. As long as you’re prepared to label any corporations that support your position as ‘disgraceful’, too. You wouldn’t have a problem with that, would you Jim? So when Gloria Jeans donated $30,000 to your organisation, an organisation that spends most of its time battling against equality for gays and lesbians, you just gave the money straight back, didn’t you Jim?

Jim? Are you there?

Didn’t think so.

You’re probably out battling fig trees.
____

Chrys Stevensons’ awesome summary of Gloria Jeans’ connection to homophobia can be found here. And, if you’re so inclined, there is a Facebook page, too.

Bronte and Jim go to the dog park

I have two golden retrievers, Bronte and Rory. They are awesome. But Bronte hides a terrible secret.

When she was born, I said to myself, “As long as she doesn’t get my nose, I’ll be happy”. And I was happy. Well, as happy as you can be if you have a nose like mine.

The weeks went by, we ran, we played, we pooped in the backyard. As her personality began to express itself, however, I started noticing things. Bronte started noticing things, too. And by “things” I mean “much smaller dogs”. And by “noticing” I mean “seeking them out in the dog park and forcing them to play with her against their will until they ran back to their owners for protection and a doggie treat which she thought was all part of the game so she’d run over to their owners as well and jump on them and steal the treat and then sit there asking for more and thinking ‘This is the best game ever, I can’t believe I invented it'”.

To be fair to Bronte, she always had good intentions. Golden retrievers are nothing if not big, smiling, balls of goofy happiness, and Bronte certainly fits the mould. But you can’t escape facts. And, sitting at the dog park watching her playfully terrorise anything smaller than herself, the fact seemed to be that she was a bully.

After a couple of years, we started to wonder that perhaps the reason Bronte was so, er, enthusiastic, was that she didn’t really get to play with other dogs that often. I’m sure Bronte was wondering things, too. Mostly why the government set the carbon price at $23 per tonne, but also why none of her little playmates ever visited. Anyway, we decided the time was right to get another dog. Another goldie. Someone to keep her company, and teach her some playtime manners.

Ah, Rory. The definition of a letdown.

I’m kidding, of course. Rory is absolutely sensational, and we don’t call him “Rorgeous” for nothing. But teach Bronte manners? He practically begs her to pick on him. Don’t get me wrong, they get along like a doghouse on fire, but Bronte’s bullying seemed to just carry on as normal.

Enter Trixie, Mum and Dad’s german shepherd. Trixie loves playing with Bronte, in much the same way that Bronte loves playing with small dogs with treat-laden owners. And Bronte doesn’t like it, not one bit. As I was watching them the other morning, a sudden thought occurred to me. Bronte and Jim Wallace, the managing director of the Australian Christian Lobby, have a lot in common.

You see, Jim is a bully, too. That’s all his opposition to same-sex marriage is. Bullying.

Jim is happy to stand up and tell homosexuals that they are immoral. That they aren’t fit to raise children. That his dogmatic definition of a family, cherry-picked from a randomly-selected holy book, is better than everyone else’s. That his opinion on your personal life is worth more than yours.

But don’t you dare disagree with him. He doesn’t like it:

What it says for the respect they have for alternative opinion, even our values, is extremely disappointing and we need to register our disappointment.

We must respect your opinion that gays are inferior? Sorry Jim, but no, we don’t. You’re just a bully, running around telling everyone else what they have to think and believe, and then crying foul when someone disagrees with you. Which is exactly what Bronte does.

Although, she’s a young dog, and means well.

You’re an adult human, and just, well… mean.

It’s time to have a look in the mirror, Jim, or pretty soon no one will want to play with you at the dog park. Not even Bronte.

Umm… which values?

A kindergarten teacher in Queensland has lost her job. Not really news in itself, except that the school has been accused of sacking her because she became pregnant, and is unmarried.

The school’s principal has declined to comment on the actual reasons for the sacking, except to remind us that:

As a Christian College we require that all staff have, and demonstrate, a faith and lifestyle consistent with the Christian beliefs taught here.

Hear, hear! I, too, hope that the staff live a life consistent with Christian ideals. You know, like, giving people second chances, and recognising that people aren’t perfect, and turning the other cheek, and giving people what they ask for, and treating people how you would like to be treated. I think the principal can hold his head high on those counts.

But then again…

Maybe the staff should be attempting to kill their children because god told them to, or stoning witches, or destroying perfectly good fig trees, or throwing hissy fits at enterprising capitalists, or severely limiting masturbatory abilities, or making jogging more tedious than it already is, or providing rather stupid legal advice.

It’s all so confusing.