Filler by Proxy XXI: Utilitarians in the News

Tuesday 19 July 2005

A legitimate news source speculates on the burgeoning corrections industry, takes time out to bait Jeremy Bentham.

Filler by Proxy XX: я не знаю как баша сомрютер роботает

Wednesday 6 July 2005

I don’t know what that means, but I’m easily pleased and didn’t know I could type in Cyrillic. Maybe all you can see in the title is ccccccccccccccccc. Things could be worse than the bunker: I could live in the Ukraine. Worse still, I could not live in the Ukraine yet want to move there. First, there is the Ukrainian Embassy to deal with:

there was about twenty uki’s hugging the damn gates… so i asked someone what was happening. “nothing,” she said, “this is the embassy, nothing happens here.”

Luckily, crying works on Ukrainian customs officials. In a mere eight hours, you can scam a visa into… well, somewhere.

the train to nikolayevka is a twelve hour trip and costs 37 hryvna, roughly equivalent to 10 australian dollars or 6.20 euro. BUT a ticket to budapest, which takes twice as long, costs 550 hryvna, or 147 aussie dollars slash 91 euros…fark!

My knowledge of Eastern Europe is a bit sketchy, but perhaps Budapest is a slightly more desirable destination than somewhere in Belarus.

Filler by Proxy XIX: That’s Stallone on the right

Thursday 9 June 2005


He’s defeated the Soviet Army, Mr T, Rutger Hauer’s credibility, Stephen Berkoff’s film career, several mountains, the Cannon Group, Rod Steiger’s Hispanic accent, and cinema releases for his movies.
Now, Sylvester Stallone challenges you… TO EAT PUDDING!!
This is not one of those only-in-Japan deals, either. Start ordering now, so he can fund his Edgar Allan Poe biopic. Love the name of the company, too: is he referring to his co-star in The Specialist?

Filler by Proxy XVIII: If you can’t say anything nice, come sit with me

Tuesday 7 June 2005

Book lovers: have some of the authors you have admired for so many years started to show unmistakeable signs that their heads have adjoured to a warm, sunny place up their own arses; have you heard muffled, lazily-constructed sentences from these exalted recesses to the effect that they like what they see and don’t care to withdraw any time in the forseeable future?
You are not alone! But wouldn’t you love to give them a piece of your mind, perhaps even – faint hope – penetrate the thick layer of self-regard that has fattened their heads, and just maybe shake them a little from their slough of complacency? Not from the comfortable redoubt of a book review or (god forbid) the sinecure of a literary column, but to their faces?
One man has done this, not once, but twice in an afternoon. You would think he had peaked when he asked Martin Amis if it’s ever occurred to him that he’s become the same dreary old fossil his father turned into, but not long after he’s quizzing Christopher Hitchens about whether he can honestly compare himself to George Orwell while simultaneously currying favour from George Bush’s moneyed cronies. Modestly, he describes both encounters as “accidental”.
Hail PolishBobStupak, making the literary world a better place, two writers at a time.
Link found via Bookslut.
BONUS: Nastiest. Review. Ever. Forget who forwarded this to me; it was some time last year. When someone begins “This is the worst thing I’ve ever read” and still has 1,339 words of elaboration left in him, you know you are in the presence of pure, burning hatred.

Filler by Proxy XVII: a labour-saving device we should all get behind

Monday 16 May 2005

At last, someone’s putting in the effort to piss away their intellect on obsessively dissecting Nick Hornby’s egregious failures in cultural fortitude. Of course, many have done this before, but not on a regular basis: the London News Review presents a recurring column, urgently titled Stop Lying Hornby!
This is a new feature dedicated to telling Nick Hornby that he has to stop lying. It’s possible that he’s just accidentally wrong, but it seems improbable that anyone could persist in making so many egregiously false statements in that matey, trust-me manner just by chance.

Three columns so far and counting. How wonderful: someone to hate him so I don’t have to!

Filler by Proxy XVI: I’m Enjoying the Sodomy, Though

Tuesday 12 April 2005

Random quotage to be found by the bucketload, at Overheard in New York (Note: one of these statements may in fact be something I said over the weekend):
Yo, that’s an oxymoron. That’s like saying ‘Peter picked a pail of pickles’ and he’s a vegetarian.
I want Gloria Steinem’s eyeballs in my fucking martini!
Yeah, deers aren’t that bad. You’re in trouble if you hit a cow, though. And even worse would be a moose, because if you don’t kill it it’s gonna kill you!
No, I am serious. Three is menage a trois, but after that it is just an orgy.

Filler by Proxy XV: PostSecret

Tuesday 22 March 2005

http://www.postsecret.blogspot.com/

Filler by Proxy XIV: Trenchant, Incisive

Monday 21 March 2005

The Spin Starts Here hunts for the most boring blogger in the world.
Their runner-up has been reading William Gibson, a writer whose books I thought had only recently been excavated by archaeologists digging through subsoil in search of a clear underlying stratum of Douglas Coupland for sampling and accurate carbon dating, undisturbed by eruptions of older deposits of Tama Janowitz and Brett Easton Ellis.
However, I am forced to consider Gibson’s oeuvre in a new light given the forceful analysis to which dno has subjected it. He encapsulates the reading experience in telling detail, while judiciously weighing up the merits and weaknesses of each book surveyed.
You may need to set aside an afternoon, but you’ll be richly rewarded.

Filler by Proxy avalanche! Gratuitous exclamations!

Tuesday 8 March 2005

New frontiers in legal testimony!

She later told police the gunman was a good-looking, fit man about six foot tall and aged no more than 25. She told the court the gunman reminded her of a young Bert Newton.


Crap drawings!
But I bet you can’t do better.
Bad Toon Rising is a collection of drawings of well-known cartoon characters produced by amateur artists entirely from memory and without any reference materials whatsoever. We can all picture what Mickey Mouse or the Pink Panther look like in our minds, but getting that image down on paper is another matter! Never mind, we think that some of the worst drawings are the best.


Random image from someone else’s blog!
In Korea, expect a traditional breakfast like this:
Wholesale swiping from other websites!
Nick Hornby: About A Young Boy.
It was Monday. I was at home listening to my 10 inch original of Turquoise’s “Tales of Flossie Fillet” on my stereo. It reminded me of when I first heard that Arsenal had signed John Rape from Spartak Lowestoft. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, as I’m a sad bald cunt with only football memories and crap ELO records for friends. Also, my son is some sort of spastic and he can’t knock on doors. He can tap them, though; he’s got a headstick which John Cougar Mellencamp signed. I hope he doesnt snap that headstick. It’s got sentimental value now. Anyway, it was a young boy. About 10, I guess. And black like my favourite black singer. You won’t have heard of him, but trust me he’s very black.
Anyway, this boy appeared to be bleeding heavily. I went to phone an ambulance but then I saw this boy’s vein spurting blood all over my floor – some of the blood was trickling towards my pile of old bus tickets. Nooooo! I kicked the little bastard out to die on the stairwell. Then I turned the volume up on the stereo and waited for the police.

Filler by Proxy XIII: a deadly portion of whup-ass

Saturday 5 March 2005

Krankiboy goes shopping for manilla folders and meets a shop assistant who takes the Real Ultimate Power website way too seriously and is writing a screenplay. Insanity ensues.

If you think most movies are crap, at least you can thank kooks like this for reminding you there are plenty of worse movies that could be made. Dozens of them:
Imagine Julia Roberts, Pres. George W. Bush, Mick Jagger and Olympic Gold Medalist Marion Jones all in the same room. Suddenly the doors to that room are locked behind them, and the famous four are forced to play ingenious and twisted games of survival until only one is left alive.
This is the first screenplay in a planned trilogy. It is told in a non-linear narrative style. A group of kids form a math club which turns into a nightmare of bureaucracy and ends up consuming their lives. It eventually leads to someone’s murder.
“Eyna!” (South African for “Ouch!”) is the comedic tale of a man, a manly-man, a sports-legend, national hero, nay a cricket god, who finds himself… pregnant? Ah, the fickle finger of fate and misguided storks.
Actually, I can imagine that last one as a comeback vehicle for Yahoo Serious.

Filler by Proxy XII: Top 10 Reasons Why I Hate Fake Lesbian Porno

Thursday 17 February 2005

Well, it’s why Rollertrain hates it, actually. But I’m sure we all agree with her, don’t we? Especially you, auntie.
Answer me this, bitches: If a dick devotee like myself can figure out that all clitori pretty much require the same kind of stimulation that mine does, then why – you eighteen-year-old Californian cretins, with your sexual boundary issues and your ass tattoos and your daddy deficits and your navel rings and those cheap plastic stripper shoes – shouldn’t you?

Oh yeah, and for christ’s sake cut those stupid fingernails.

Filler by Proxy XI: Your Band Sucks

Thursday 17 February 2005

Dr David Thorpe at Something Awful does a beautiful job describing the joy I find in listening to crap music.
As far as I’m concerned, claiming to like a song ironically is a cop-out. Whether you’re spinning “Rump Shaker” by Wreckx-N-Effect with the intent to smile wryly or with the intent to actually zoom-a-zoom-zoom and a boom boom, it matters not; you’re still spinning “Rump Shaker.”

Amen to that, and exactly why I’m listening to “The Al Wood Orchestra plays the Hits of Rod Stewart” while typing this and grinning like an idiot. You can’t like something ironically any more than like it sarcastically.

Also, this succicntly explains my irony-free, ever-expanding collection of crappy old LPs:
Why is it that a snob like me will joyfully listen to crap from the past while violently eschewing crap from the present? Let’s put it this way: the war against shit like Maroon 5 is still claiming lives. However, the war against Bobby Brown was won over a decade ago… in ten or fifteen years, the songs you hate today will probably be hilarious instead of annoying.
You’ll be driving your kid to school in your hoverbubble with the radio tuned to “00’s Retro Breakfast,” and a smile will creep across your face as Hoobastank’s “The Reason” comes up. “I remember this song,” you’ll tell your pasty and unpopular son. “This song used to be crap!” And you’ll love every minute of it.

Filler by Proxy X: The Ten Greatest Songs To Listen To While Making Sweet Love If You’re A Premature Ejaculator

Thursday 10 February 2005

This invaluable public service provided courtesy of TMFTML. To which I would add The Smiths’ “William, It Was Really Nothing”, Black Flag’s “Fix Me”, and Yoko Ono’s “Toilet Piece/Unknown”. Please note that, like Pele in his TV ads for Viagra, I used the word “would” in the previous sentence.

Does this count as Binge or Purge? (Summer Fun Pak*)

Wednesday 2 February 2005

It’s summer, so I haven’t been going anywhere or doing anything. It’s too hot. At least I expect it’s too hot, because since new year I’ve been hiding in the dark under the bed with some 1.5 litre bottles of Kirov and a pallet of Tiny Teddy biscuits, waiting until it’s finally March. But I did find a power point for my laptop, which means I cd fritter away my downtime tinkering with the layout of the site. So in the meantime you can…
1. make your own joke about a clueless rock dude whose name is “Bassman”;
It’s partly because I’ve already mentioned Dimebag Darrell getting shot onstage, and partly because rather than write my own stuff I’d prefer to swipe it from No Rock&Roll Fun, or any website that updates daily. How on earth do they manage it? Do they all have servans? What with all the hours I have to spend staring into the bottom of bottles and testing the patience of phone sex operators I have barely enough time to brush my teeth once or twice a week, let alone write rubbish for this stupid site. Anyway, here’s the quote.
Paul Bassman, manager of Damageplan, is still puzzled about the whole thing. “How this man got onstage without encountering security is the most puzzling question,” Bassman says.
That’s right, I’m sure nobody has ever been at a gig before where people have ever got on the stage, run about, hugged the bass player, sung two lines of a song, kissed the singer, trod on the effects pedal, danced about like a pansy-boy or simply dived off the stage back into the crowd. It just never happens, does it?
2. make your own joke about this kid getting wedgied to death next day at school;
The BBC has reported that a 12 year old boy has discovered five mistakes in the latest edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica.
Lucian, who attends Highgate Junior School, spends several hours a week reading through the encyclopaedia’s 32 volumes.
3. amaze your friends with your ingenious plan to drive McDonalds out of business;
Just eat lots and lots of Happy Meals! Next time you rock up to CERES with a gob full of french fries you can look your feral friends in the eye and tell them you’re sticking it to The Man because Maccas loses money on every one sold. Of course if they do go out of business, where is there left where you can still score a good old brown paper bag?
… if you are on a high street and feel heart palpitations, a shortness of breath and an extreme feeling of anxiety, pop into McDonald’s, tell the waitress you are having a panic attack and a staff member will immediately issue you with a paper bag in which to breathe.
These and eight other reasons to stop worrying and love the Ron at AK13.
4. not bother reading The Age;
It’s only just February and they’ve published their third column for the year about how Melburnians are obsessed with coffee.
5. suck all the fun out of people’s inane prattle about the Oscars.
Tell them the best film award can be determined by a formula. Download the spreadsheet. Hand out printouts of the spreadsheet to your coworkers. Explain the calculations to them. Mark the important parts with a highlighter pen. Show no interest in telling them what’s actually going to win this year.
Now for no reason at all I’m going to post a picture of an angry baby and then I’m done. Enjoy.

* Does not contain actual fun.

Filler by Proxy IX: Something’s Gotten Hold Of My Brain

Monday 17 January 2005

Why didn’t anyone tell me* that Marc Almond was in a coma last year? I know, you’ll just say “Because, Ben.H, we know you don’t give a shit about Soft Cell, let alone Mr Almond’s solo career,” but that doesn’t mean I’d have laughed dismissively at the news of his terrible motorcycle accident. Thankfully, he’s getting better. Anyway, I’m only mentioning it now becuase of his miraculous parrot-assisted recovery, as reported at No Rock & Roll Fun:
The range of benefits of keeping a pet bird have expanded by one, with Marc Almond revealing that he was roused from his coma by someone playing him the CD that he usually played to his parrot. We’re not entirely sure why he made a specific compilation for his parrot, and we don’t know what was on it – Chicks on Speed, we suppose. We’re also not sure who had the idea of playing Marc the parrot’s CD – we like to think it was maybe the parrot – but it worked.
Athough he’s recovering, Almond has got a way to go – in addition to the physical injuries, he’s discovered his childhood stammer has returned, and his hair has, Leland Palmer** style, turned grey overnight.
* Yes, Australian celebrity babe ASCII art.
** Or maybe Leland Palmer.