Flimsy fashionistas: beasts, or what?

The Age today reports on what brand-obsessed retards can expect to see at Melbourne Spring Fashion Week.

The heading: A taste of what will be in fashion



The answer, if this accompanying pic is any guide? Bones. Bones, and lotsa ugly. Lashings of it.

Blowhard actor's grim climate forecast

She came, she lectured, she fucked off back to Tinseltown.

Cate Blanchett took a few days from her hectic schedule of Hollywood parties and highly paid dress-ups to hector Australia's two major parties to do a better job of confronting the issue of climate change.

And good luck to her. She's just as qualified as I am to lecture on the scientific evidence that the climate might be changing because of pollution spewed out in the course of daily Western-style indulgence.

The problem is, she's just as qualified as I am to lecture on the scientific evidence that the climate might be changing because of pollution spewed out in the course of daily Western-style indulgence.

Who is Cate Blanchett to swing by Australia, pumping a couple of tonnes of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere as she wings her way across the Pacific from a nation unfathomably more wasteful that our own, to lecture Australia's politicians on how to tackle the complexities of climate change?

No-one.

Fuck off back to your sprawling LA mansion, Cate, and take the horse you rode in on with you.

Give us a Hinch and he'll attract the vile - with hilarious results

His reputation took a battering when he dubiously claimed televisual icon and closet man-lover Graham Kennedy died of complications caused by AIDS, and when he later declared motor racing legend Peter Brock to be a wifebeater within days of the nine-time Bathurst 1000 winner's death last year.

And that was after he earned the scorn and derision of his 3AW colleagues for quite correctly revealing that sports announcer and Victorian cricket coach David Hookes was seeing another woman when a bouncer fatally punched him outside a Melbourne pub.

This somewhat embarrassed all his broadcast mates, who had painted Hookes as an innocent family man of great virtue who was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But Hinch has a special placce in my heart for sprays like this against gangster's moll Wendy Peirce.

She now admits she provided a false alibi for her late hubby, Victor, who was found innocent with three others over the ambush murder police constables Steven Tynan and Damien Eyre in the Melbourne suburb of South Yarra in 1988.

Peirce himself got his just desserts in 2002 when he was shot in his car in Bay Street Port Melbourne, reportedly by Andrew Veniamin, who himself died on the wrong end of Mick Gatto's revolver (in an act of self defence, thanks lawyers) at a Carlton restaurant less than two years later.

But it was revealed at the weekend that Victor and Wendy's four kids have received crime victims compensation for his murder.

This, for the children of a bloke who Wendy Peirce now admits killed Tynan and Eyre, was a major player in the gangland war and peddled drugs around murder for decades as part of the infamous Pettingill clan.

Derryn launched into a typically tough editorial on his AW show today condemning the compensation cheque for the Peirce kids, then intervuiewed Victoria's Shadow Attorney-General on the matter when, at 5.35 or so into the recording, Wendy Peirce phoned in to defend herself.

The result is radio gold. As Molly Meldrum might say, "Do yourself a favour and ... arrrhhh ... check it out".

Priest Kickout video: kick him out now

Yes, the skaters baited Monsignor Geoff Baron of Melbourne's St Patrick's Cathedral into his now infamous, foul-mouthed outburst.

Yes, they trapped him by filming it.

Yes, they enraged him.

I'mm not even that worried about the torrent of swearing from the monsignor.

But there's no way anyone can justify the racist, sexualised and homophobic comments made by this so-called man of the cloth, one of Melbourne's most senior religious leaders.

And believe me, plenty have tried to smooth it over this week.

Archbishop Denis "Have A" Hart of the Melbourne Catholic Archdiocese has done the right thing by going all Shiekh Hilaly on Varon's arse and putting him on indefinite leave.

But he needs to go- one step further and sack him, for the good of the church.

Then he should turn a blind eye and let Baron do his worst to the little skating maggots that caused the furore in the first place.

My spider senses tell me this is pretty fucked up

This sheep would be the ideal poster boy opposing the gentle art of genetioc engineering, but sadly he's a natural creation.

New Zealand sheep Jake the Peg (dee-da-dee-da-la-da-dum ... with three extra legs ... dee-da-dee-da-la-da-dum), has a number of things to worry about, apart his over-abundance of limbs - one with two hoofs.

In fact, he's not really male at all, but was born a hermaphrodite. And he's missing a part of his bowel, which prevents him from excreting - and means he'll have to be destroyed.

Veterinarian Steve Williams at the Canterbury Vets clinic in the rural town of Methven said he believed he believed an error during embryo formation, which happens once in several million sheep, resulted in the extra limbs, AP reported.

The six-day-old lamb was born last Friday on the farm of Dave and Di Callaghan.

Mr Callaghan said he had found seven-legged creature, born with a normal twin, walking round in the paddock with its mother.

"I have never seen anything like that," he said according to AP.

Well, Dave, it's a good thing you kept the poor creature alive this long, to satisfy the world's curiosity.

Rumours Jake's birth resulted from a crude experiment of Farmer Dave's, using ram semen, sheep shit and Di's kitchen blender to create a sheep with not one, not two but three inviting anuses are, of course, false and defamatory.

Moron beats mincer to BB prize

Like every Big Brother winner before her, Aleisha Cowcher has proved you don't need a brain to walk away with the BB chocolates.

Big Brother 2007 came down to a battle between blondie Cowcher, of Cobram up on the Murray River in northern Victoria, and mincing poofburger Zach Douglas, from a little further downstream in Echuca.

Naturally, inclusive Australians made sure the bitchy fag missed out on the $450,000 and gave the prize to Reggie Bird-lite, a woman who has confessed to never reading a book from cover to cover.

Now that's an achievement.

Then again, I suppose we should be grateful that we didn't see her engage in a masturbation contest or fellating a bottle of West Coast Cooler in the spa.

Still, it's surely the last year of Big Brother. Whatever will the radio shock jocks do without being able to pretend BB is a social barometer for the nation's wayward youth?

Love with Kerry a scary prospect - just look at Gretel

Ita, if you did it, I don't care if you loved him. I don't care if you laid down and thought of England for the sake of your career. I don't care if you had a fetish for lumpy, bumpy business tycoons with bad kidneys.

There is no excuse for doing Kerry Packer. That was the time you should have claimed celibacy.

PS: If it was for the career, honey, in future take a leaf from Richard Wilkins' book - get some incriminating pictures of the boss and his son and you have a job for life without the need to interact with his crusty bedflute.

Sit and spin it rotate, sucker DJ

If the various travails of Schapelle Corby, Michelle Leslie and the Bali Nine have taught me anything, it's that it's probably a bad idea for anyone to go anywhere near Indonesia with drugs on their person.

This allegedly did not stop Australian DJ Nick Taylor, aka Nicholas Bernard Taylor, from popping over to Bali with 0.3 grams of Colombian Marching Powder in his sky rocket.

In fact, if he's convicted - and if he can't convince a panel of three judges that he is hooked on the stuff - he faces a 10-year stretch in a dank Indonesian jail. This may put a dent in his acclaimed career playing various records in sequence to the delight of other chemically enhanced fuckwits in nightclubs around Australia.

This is no comfort the the thousands of moronic Schapelle Corby supporters, who will whine that their girl has gone down for 20 years for carrying 4kg of hydroponic weed into Bali, which she didn't because she's so beautiful and you can tell she's not guilty and that the drugs were PLANTED ON HER IN SOME VICIOUS CONSPIRACY.

Ahem.

But seriously, the greedy and the drug-fucked should probably just avoid south-east Asia. Barlow and Chambers, and good old Van Nguyen, would tell you the same thing if they could.

Kelly's skating on thin ice with that excuse

Jackie Kelly, pictured with some poofter, farewells her western Sydney electorate. Or something.


The workload of a Federal backbencher and parent is almost to great to bear, according to the outgoing member for the western Sydney seat of Lindsay, Jackie Kelly.

Kelly, 43, and with almost 11 wasted years behind her in her Penrith-based seat, says she blames her "gruelling workload" and the pressures of raising her two children for causing her to run her car into a tree at 80 clicks, writing it off, after working on a Liberal Party stall at a Blue Mountains school fete in 2003. She says the accident almost killed her, her then three-year-old daughter Dominique and son Lachlan, then 1.

"I kept thinking I could keep going, keep carrying the pack, but then I would think of these two little people that I nearly killed,'' she said.

Kelly broke down at a Liberal Party state conference last week, explaining why she just had to walk away from politics.

Because of the fatigue and the strain.

Four years after her dreadful accident.

Just as the Libs look like getting a walloping in outer suburban mortgage belt seats just like hers.

Now she has qualified for her parliamentary super.

And, as the photo above might suggest, about a year after she took time out from her job - and, presumably, her little cherubs - to strap on her skates and perform in the Nine Network's Torvill and Dean's Dancing on Ice.

Happily for us little people, Kelly feels very bad about her decision and fears people who have supported her in the past might think she's an "ungrateful cow".

"It was simply a way of saying thank you and apologise for squibbing it,'' she said. "I did feel guilty - it's an awful time to go - and I kept talking myself out of it. But I've been thinking of leaving since the car accident in 2003.''

Yes, Jackie. I'm sure all the hard working party faithful types aren't hoping you take your hefty super payout and choke on it. And I know I'm not willing the same fate on you, bitch.

Horse's arse Brumby first past the post: Victorians lose

John Brumby no longer needs to look envious at soon-to-be former Victorian Premier Steve Bracks because, unless he gets hit by a bus between now and tomorrow's Caucus meeting, he's about to become Victoria's 45th Premier.

To borrow phrase from Bob Carr, this should be a diverting three-and-a-half years.

Brumby is a failed former Federal MP who was parachuted into a Victorian Upper House seat in the early 1990s and then into his safe seat of Broadmeadows when Labor stabbed honest toiler Jim Kennan in the back. Made opposition leader to replace Kennett five minutes after entering Parliament, Victorians rejected Brumby resoundingly at the '96 election to give Jeff Kennett a second term. Then, his own party dumped him six months from the 1999 election in favour of Bracks. Bracks went on to beat Kennett, forming a minority government, and cemented his hold on power with a huge victory in 2002. Since 2000, Brumby has toiled away as treasurer, doing well to maintain the king's ransom left when Kennett sold the farm and repaid the state's debts.

You could compare his path to John Howard's, I guess, but Brumby isn't so much Lazarus with a triple bypass as Lazarus without his meds, brought back to life, mad as hell and chained to the helm, determined to take himself and everyone else out before his second demise.

Friends who have worked with Brumby report he is a control freak who screams at his staff and keeps his office in a constant state of fear. This should appeal to the Lib sympathisers who long for the grand old days when Kennett was throwing kids out of schools and selling the land off to his developer mates, or putting hospitals under the wrecking ball.

Victorians might be stuck with Brumby the horse's arse for three long years but this is how I like to think he will end up when the electorate, rather than his party, gets a hold of him in 2010:






Thanks again for nothing, ALP.

Why am I here?

URL's the name, and I am in the business of karmic realignment. Think of me as a flanelette-clad Robin Hood, stealing good karma from the least deserving and serving it up to you in good, safe, therapeutic doses here. There is so much of this work that needs to be done. It would be just peachy is you joined me as we rip the cunts of the world a collective new one.