Why shouldn't the lil facebook dude be laughin'?

yes, Mark Zukerberg does suck, but so do you

So, you want to have your farmville and super-poke too, and all without even the trace of a smirk from the lil whipper snapper responsible as he logs on to the pleasing sight of his (net)bank account?

Yep, I know, I hate the smug little bastard as well...Bloody Mark Zuckerberg...he is barely old enough to drink and yet he's been hacking into the Pentagon database since he was but a wee tyke not even toilet trained.

Now, you almost beg him to extract every snippet of status info, all in creating a magnificent sidebar of attractive products placed just for you...including helpful ways to lose weight and get laid...all of which imply some kind of monetary or barter practice?

and yes, he's havin a laff...at your expense, though you think cos it's a free site there is no charge, but there's the whole thing of only having yourself to blame for that really.

From the reported conversation in question (though whether it was actually with anyone, seems rather suspect..)

Zuck: Yeah so if you ever need info about anyone at Harvard

just ask.

Zuck: I have over 4,000 emails, pictures, addresses,

Zuck: People just submitted it.

Zuck: I don't know why.

Zuck: They "trust me"

Zuck: Dumb f--ks.

Well, in a nutshell, bloody oath those preppy college kids are dumb fucks, and he has every right to belittle this blind faith in the guy who created a glorified platform for obsessive ex lover's and nosy parents to spy?

But in fact, he has backed down since this smug little exchange, quoted as "absolutely" regretting being caught out...sounds pretty definite

Oh, but, hey: just in case this public lack of respect is the final dealbreaker for you, i hear farmville is shithouse anyways..but rumoured to make cameo appearance in upcoming movie bout ole marky mark. 

I say, hmmm, perhaps i misjudged the prosperity in shackin up with a plain ole doctor..but errr, might leave this lil one to his toys...

Why you'll always RSVP with SKANKFREE..(.com)!*

It was a cheap thrill during the height of the Sex and the City hey-day, but 5-10 years later is your promiscuity is only earning you a bad reputation, whilst insisting it is empowering?

Whilst once your "Cadbury's Girl" tag of gettin trashed in a gutter after imbibing a stoli (albeit, them black ones...) was endearing, people are now muttering under their breath now as they carry you over the marital threshold....

...and straight in front of a toilet seat for a night of unrequited passion and despair in a sea of swarming white porcelain and late night macca's remnants in your hair...

As you defiantly remain so "deliberately barren", using aids of common sexual protection in support of the potential PM, Julia "Skanky Spice" Gillard (circa 1998) whilst driving your poor mother to the brink of insanity, though rest easy (I guess):

 In truth, it seems most likely the Leading Lady gets none at all off her tres camp "partner", Tim, thus rendering her an impossibility in terms of giving Granny and Grandad Gillard a chance to make up for a nightmarish stint in what can only be deemed as bad parenting - 

And there will always be someone to inadvertently refer to the idea that you are evolving in time...

As Alec Baldwin says in 30 Rock: "I'm nearly 50! That's like a woman at 32!" and he isn't just a Baldwin brother cos he looks like a penguin neither..

Herein lies a significant issue: women have had much thrust upon them since the old days of sex CBD style (like Oxford St at any given hour really) the series. Now, the likes of Tina Fey writes subtle, unrelenting humour that doesn't patronise women by in turn patronising women...And let's not even go to the sad inevitability that is, J.Gill, sighhhh...!

Well, whatever the cause, singledom is all the more pressing and hence a quick-fix solution must be offered by way of the twitter notion, 140 should give me the lowdown, that and how many follow you...

Don't cave gf (sorry if that actually means: Get Fucked) you aren't quite there in a mass realm of recently divorced mumsy's with full custody as an asset.

A new study finds nearly a quarter of couples met online, with predictions of this taking over our entire notion of chancing upon that special someone...that's if you ignore the proceeding article that, like Prince, deems the web as we know it to be a virtual goner...

Call me a hapless romantic, but is this the new era of love at first site- don't knock my cheap puns, please...

Dang though, I was horrified by some mate's past endeavours to find "The One" by logging on as "SHY/CUTIE/SEXY_GAL3889" choose the appropriate cliche or something coyly akin, to meet the perfect match: "SHY/LUVABLE/HOTTTT_GUY6578978" (ie, Chronic Masturbator)

Inevitably, he pertains to be of GSOH, DTE characteristics, open to the possibility of kids, but not if it means you'll end up fat with matching stretch marks 

-but hey! they did specify you needed to possess an either: athletic/slim/possible eating disordered type of build for this earthly gem - you, on the other hand; need not have kids right now = skank w baggage - not very DTE appealing to his GSOH-

Only it turns out he is the same douchebag you might have come across at your local, but hey, at least then the beer goggles are on, and you don't need to know of his own ridiculously high standards that come with paying for dates.

And so I present to you! All you single white/black/otherwise female/male/hermaphrodite/post/pre-op transsexuals:

skankfree.com - it's blind dating, on crack! **

The ONLY online dating service that promises a screening process more arbitrary and ill-fated as the proposed internet filter in accordance with "dating community standards" which will make up a blacklist containing RC or Refutable Carnality..

RC will not be tolerated and will include the likes of:

• Crack dealers awaiting a new moll to bring back the crystal meth twinkle to his eye
• Those that only feel accomplished upon having their number immortalised near a urinal trough
• Dutch courage misogynists (you know the type, if not: email me..)
• Anyone that is looking for someone non-descript: ie, easygoing, likes to socialise, errr, yeah
• Anyone warping her sexual identity in order to appear alluring
• Any dudes using their exorbitant bank balances to finance a series of well-meaning one night stands, only to discover, the potential mate wasn't DTE enough...
• NO MID LIFE CRISES in any way, shape or form

As much as me mumsy may cringe at this, I am unable to use these Eros-esque powers to alter my own single status, so i may as well capitalise on my Fiddle on the Roof reprisal..

Hey man I am about as Yiddish as anyone you've ever met! I have even starred in a Woody Allen play, that's how core I can be! 

So, all the single ladies let me hear you go:

Matchmaker, matchmaker: make me a match

Find me a find...catch me a catch 

just remember: NO SKANKS!!

* as of this moment the "skankfree" concept is hereby patented so all you boring blogger-heads out there who can't be bothered with anything, like, fresh...bugger off! you wouldn't even get past the 1st screening process...

**just as a matter of thought, how much more hilarious is it when using simile with the additional "on crack" disclaimer! see, ABC 24/7 (Auntie's on crack!!!!)

Why narcissism boosts your online following

Whilst for many, the opportunity - indeed, the encouragement - to utilise the web as a means of publishing your diary or nearest equivalent (particularly if you intern within a government agency) is a dream come true for many.

For all too long people were unaware that your room's a mess, you just got all your exam results back - and with exceedingly great results to boot - and that you just cannot, CANNOT wait for the premiere of Junior Masterchef.

Even by way of 140 characters, abbreviations are adapting, arguably at the expense of the English language, twitter just won't die out of the fad period.

With the (favourable) exception of my mumsy, who thankfully protects her professional discretion as a psychiatrist, bloody everyone is on facebook.

Each day carefully tending the Farmville harvest whilst posting another lot of photos you scanned through from 10 years ago or in the case of my auntie in Israel, regaling second place in a bridge competition.

But would you believe that for many people, twitter is a bloody nightmare, and yet: a Necessary Evil.

For wannabe journos anyhow. If Tom can get a job simply by launching an innovative blogger page, then you can imagine how many similar pipedreams are born around this very notion.

I do feel self-conscious over the perverse number of social networks that I belong to; albeit, half-arsedly, but in this day a new existential crisis has arisen: if it's not on facebook, it doesn't exist...

This is obviously the feeling of another good mate - and comrade - who is on twitter purely to better her chances of securing employment within the ABC...


Her current following stands at around 10 - and I say this not at all scathingly: hell I don't exactly have any potential as a cult leader if twitter is any kind of indicator - but may soon surge into the hundreds.

Well, thanks to a couple of throwaway lines from myself, she is learning just how easily one can blow their own trumpet in the nonchalant fashion of twitter and it's been a breakthrough..

For example, whilst using the 2ser twitter login to plug some wares or another, I asked her how long it took her to get 2ser onboard with her own account.

Wide-eyed with awe, she was amazed by the genius notion, and has since gotten to the stage of suggesting (read, coercing) others to RT her tweets.

I may just have created a monster...

Why does the idea of a musical intelligentsia scare you so?

Given our current musical landscape, it is hardly surprising that the brain work is notably absent from the majority of musical compositions..




In an era of jailbait chart-toppers and the MDMA sampling culture - "Blow my whistle, bitch!" - churned out across clubs all over the world, good lyrics are hard to come by...


Particularly when faced with the daunting predicament of belonging to the "punk genre" where your mark is made from telling ditties accompanied by gritty and minimal instrumentals...


A far cry from anarchy in any vicinity, the average pub-band punks I believe was best epitomised at a recent "live acoustic" set behind work  where the repertoire consisted of working class anthems such as "Pissing in the Shower" and "Called her a BITCCHHHHH!!" 


Whilst perhaps not quite what the Hammersmith crowd were hoping to leave in its wake, it is fair to say that lyrics have lost significance over time..


Where then do we fit the storytellers of the old school era: those who wish to evoke a telling visual picture with the most complex of their songwriting tools: a healthy vocabulary and an appreciation for  poetic style...


Hence my joy and elation is materialising once again as my favourite singer, Australia's answer to the postmodern musical Bard, Darren Hanlon (left) has achieved yet another milestone, his latest musical magnum opus, "I Will Love You at All"*..


For those who enjoy music to serve a wallpaper purpose, quickly tune out those short attention spans and resume youtube trawling, but for those who pine for genuine, attention-grabbing ditties, here is just one couplet exemplary of the genius of Darren "Dazza Hazza" Hanlon:

I finally got around to vacating the nest

But my knowledge of survival was pedestrian at best... 

That is why I regale Dazza and have done so for ten many happy years...It's been a decade since his amazing minimalist compositions jam-packed with lyrical insight and yearning have given me goosebumps and it feels like only yesterday..


So I wish all of those out there who appreciate the art of "cerebral songwriting" a happy anniversary to whomever you have stayed musically committed towards...


don't forget the relationship may experience some problems, but a good musical marriage shall outlive petty quibbles... 


* having slight qualms of grammar with title

Why the sisterhood's a sham!

I've been much probed of late to reveal my thoughts about our new PM, Ms - that's right, MS, she might as well be Penny Wong - Julia Gillard, and how this how incident well invariably dictate the entire political outcome til the Armageddon (of which, Ms Gillard, is disinclined to believe in being a Satanic atheist type).

Honestly, I don't think that I am lending the correct response, judging by the vaguely crestfallen response I see when I shrug and offer up some wanky-non descript sort of response, such as "hmmm, time will tell"

Besides her being a ranga with a vocal range akin to a pubescent boy's, this is all pretty whack to be happening right before the election. And time now plays a major role in determining our political fate..

Because I once - not that long ago - was convinced the modern western world was becoming a free-lovin age of aquarius bunch a socialists without any of the rage of the Socialist Alliance part members.

Luckily I have been curbed of such delirium with threats of internet filters and massive oil spills, but politics turns time at the speed of light really. 

Was it really that long ago that we were under the Howard bloody government with no end in sight when a slightly dorky, effluent, Mandarin speaker took Labor, and in turn, the country, to better places?

And, no, I don't think his tears warranted jeers and calls of our shafted PM being a soft-cock...and in any case, don't you think he shall be suffering from this very symbolic castration performed by his ball-busting wife glad to have taken over the driver seat again...

And Jules is far too controversial to secure the vote...The theory of the reality TV contestant Voting Pattern may be applied:

 Women shall not induct fellow women into any state of superiority: Women shalt not win Big Brother unless intellectually delayed, which will attract an altruistic and condescending group of bill-paying followers..

The same happens in Australian politics...Women don't cut it, unless they're thick as shit... 

You're either "deliberately barren" such as the case with our Jules, or use your children as political trump card and eventual excuse to leave the Democrats - Natasha SD...

Or the malicious favourite being "That whore, Cheryl Kernot.." versus "That stud, Gareth Evans..."

As of yet the stakes are high - and the bets are on - to try and hazard a guess over the imminent date with the polling booths..I reckon the longer it's left, the crazier the shiznay will get...

Just ask Regina from Big Brother

Why I just may out po-mo* you all!

I have been in a crisis of augmented existence: My two worlds seemingly transposed, so that during the last 6 weeks where I have been without a home, so too, have I been without a home(page)...This posting obviously indicates a happy ending in both the virtual and real worlds...


What this retracted online presence may have done for the marginal perusals i may have once accumulated, i must accept...i may now resort to desperate BP like measures in order to direct through some traffic via google...


Though, arguably, I was in such a state of shoe gazing, wistful crisis, the one thing I may credit myself for is willful restraint from using any such social networking site to articulate my internal dilemmas.. 

I read recently with great amusement over the furore caused - from some protest, or fundraiser...or street fight - when people were accused of being grossly offensive by making the statement of adorning themselves in the attire of a homeless person.


You know, that whole bum thing scarecrow like stuffing of mismatched shirts; some - gasp! - worker pants (but for the purpose of the character, I am sure that these brave pioneers acting in the name of the un-resident-ed would have ripped a couple of token holes around the knees for added measure)..


So then, I guess if this is the seasonal look of the homeless, I may just have been considered, haute couture...


What? An audible gasp (wtf? i thought i was on myspace!?) This precious lil postgrad wants to clutch at the poverty chic of the uni days (mi goreng noodles resulted in an ulcer)  by identifying as homeless...


..."Well, try harder, you upper middle-class scum, you!!" You are thinking as you prepare to pound out an anonymous comment to that effect.


Obviously someone had a more enriching study plan for their HSC, not having to add "Life Management" to their timetables...Because, in fact, one may be "homeless" according to its scale that measures the varying degrees, with #1 = sleeping on the street and #10 = an extensive hotel stay****


And whilst I (thankfully, blessedly) was not on category 1 terms, but when it gets to the stage where you are taken for a drunk dickhead from a land that boasts a better economy and you are staying in a skanky arse Backpackers in Bondi, you are probably not having dinner parties...


Actually, the one fun part was pretending to be a tourist from an assortment of different countries, and for the first time in my life (except when I was in France) I was accepted as a frog! Quel dommage!


Not to mention the slightly dubious insinuation by an ex-cop from oppressed Fiji, now acting as a caretaker for some serviced apartments in Drummoyne that I could come and stay "anytime..we could, you know, work something out.."


That'd be right, the girl known around the UTS Radio Journalism class as "Rent for Sex Girl" (long story, even for me, my dignity remains intact though), could well have been propositioned for a similar type of deal...


Though imagine the awkwardness of settling the bill had we, indeed, got our wires crossed...


*Unnecessary to define to all those who are "true", but this means postmodernism; as in pomo-mofo**


**Unnecessary to define to anyone


***This is a completely inaccurate representation of the scale

Why do I have a fat radio voice?

Apart from Steve "Sex on Walkley legs" Cannane (whom I had the great fortune of sharing a cafe with this arvo, he likes his flat white on skim...not as wangy as soy anyways..) pictured at left,I have always been greatly disheartened, upon seeing radio presenters in the flesh for the first time.


They're always uglier..or fatter than you may have envisioned from their on-air persona..there's a lot to be said for that age old label applied to that "face for radio"...


Apparently this is generous of my mental artist to paint such a favourable image, and the opposite may be applied in my own case, in fact, as I discovered last night at the pub...


...But not - mind you - in a good or particularly flattering way that suggests that i'm too good-looking for it...


The week prior I made a concerted effort to go over and say g'day to a couple a dudes whom I knew by sight from 2ser, as they're always recording in Studio 2 after I am done with drive every tues..and finally apply names to faces, etc...


So, John, who smiled politely and promptly left, although forgetting what my actual name is, in fact revealed himself to be a regular listener of my show. 


The thing he couldn't get around was how I actually appeared in the flesh following a distinct mental build-up of my physique..


Intrigued, to know what he was envisioning instead of what was on display, I ask John, "Preytell, what did you think I looked like, by the by?" His response(!):

"Well, i thought, you were a lot....errrr....bigger..."

 I have never published any pictures of myself on anything really, I am already filled with hardcore dread whenever that fateful advisory email: "You've been tagged in an album, called..." on facebook.


This is a once-only exception - I promise - of rear-end idea of how I look, as pictured at right looking intently at some of the psychedelic memorabilia to feature at the Melbourne museum special seasonal exhibition all about drugs..it was a great way to make up for the fact they had taken down the Neighbours exhibit that delighted me and my sis so much the last time we visited the fairer city..


Now I am left to the peril of your scathing judgement over the proportions of my derriere..then get me a pizzzaaaaa....grrr...now i wonder, what a fat voice may be...


Please advise..

Why migspace was taking back seat..and now it's ridin shotgun

In the vain hope of communicating with whomever originally stopped by for s scathing once-over, I return to the post of self-obsessed web-publishing abuser


in a bizarre moment where I am not - refreshingly - obsessing over ways in which a group of year 6 girls may debate over the virtues of whaling, or hounding some self-proclaimed media expert or the like for a 4th Estate story (this, in fact is not due to any great virtuous act of my own, but more the fact that there is absolutely shit-all to report on in the "maligned democracy" that is our 4th Estate..


Oh, wait, except of course that awesome coincidence of Herald Sun revelation of lil drug moll jr. Dakota Williams goin to some poxy private school - and off our hard-earned tax dollar, fancy! -  but, dang, turns out some lil bastardo already has sorted out this role of media in the death of underworld serial killer, Carl Williams...Case closed, I revert back to the medium partly responsible for killing the industry...


And goatie is a case in point, just how the bloody hell does this "footage" denote even the slightest inclination towards cinematographic merit, almost any youtube clip would boast greater credits...


I believe that it was Leunig that regaled the existence of this deadly assassin, in his book "Goatperson" he pens a poem that concludes..

Good morning, well connected, Goat!

Parental guidance only required in cases of hyper-imagination...


This is all of great concern as I have been in an extremely casual position of radio producer for all of a couple a months and even since then, the signs seem all to point against any potential for a hip and happenin shock jock wannabe as myself..apparently it's all a boy's club, so dang, I am in fact, in the hardcore throes of repressed opression..


But, hey, in fact, I am no longer spending lusty and longing nights in the company of the saucy Spaniard cleaner (whom, for lack of imagination, have dubbed, "Rosa") emerging via secret passageway slinking her way around 2ser, adorned in neon rubber gloves and a world-wearied frown...what with her and the graveyard blues man KK, it was becoming quite the intimate occasion..


What this in fact means is that my sanity levels are increasing with improved production measures of 4th Estate..but hey judge for yourself if you so desire, i enforced a twitter reportage ban awhile back now, so don't think that this is in anyway an inspired or new idea in media reportage..


So, now, I turn back to the old faithful, typing ground that doesn't break off with a dazed look of befuddlement as I continue on in digression...(today on the show was a corker, going from Melbourne Talk Radio to pharmaceutical conspiracy based product placement, although, on paper, it doens't seem like such a stretch..)


So, watch this (mig)space, more shall evolve, including the most amusing anecdotal part of my life, my role as debating coach for Year 5, 6 and 12 girls belonging to one of the most opulent and grandeur educational institutions (the term school doesn't quite cut it here..) that my skanky Newy past has never quite readied me for...


Receiving critical acclaim for excellence in the field of Friday-night pub banter: a startling insight into the pageant world of North Sydney debating competition...expect a wordpress blog, "Mass-Debating"...bedtime now, methinks...

Why super poking takes on a whole new meaning.....

And now for yet another cutting edge revelation to be reported on involving new evidence presented concerning the  psychological/physical/sociological evils attributed to the use of facebook. 


It always comes from some poxy sounding "body of research", inevitably groundbreaking and usually accredited to someone who at least sounds clever enough to boast a doctorate and a lot of time on their hands


- though, let it be said that at my graduation ceremony someone can now claim the title of "doctor" due to an intensive examination into Bollywood dancing - 


Now, it would seem that a bit of social networking on the old fb could in fact give you give you syphilis

well at least this is allegedly the situation currently plaguing certain areas of the UK..to the mass extent of an increase by the "fourfold"


It seems that the likes of Sunderland, Durham and Teeside claim a large number of randy residents intent on mass infection..


kinda like vampires but with even worse consequences than resembling an anaemic Tom Cruise...via complex means of cyber transmission.


Hiding in the devil's lair committing other various social networking crimes of mass application invites and constant attempts to get people to come to watch their boyfriend and his lame band..

So, just remember kids: when logging on to facebook: always use protection

Why ageing rockstars of the yester-year should go to rehab instead

Cryogenic freezing was once only an honour to be bestowed upon our favourite anti-semitic and slightly delusional cartoonist, Walt Disney...

..And even then, it was only one of those long-term urban myths, but why dream about it when we have the technology to do it??

So why not apply such God playing modern miracles towards all these poor, haggard and washed-out musos, whose hay-day pre-dates 25 years as a bare minimum.

Cases in point include: the unexpected release of a new album from the Hoodoo Gurus, and, of course, the busy touring schedule of them grungey rockers that inspired the likes of "Smells like Teen Spirit" and other such hits of the 90's angsty youth, before they were emos...

 I am talking about Pixies (Kim Deal pictured above; Frank Black, below), who are finishing up their "Doolittle" touring extravaganza of Sydney tonight after a three day touring stint in Sydders...

And never will you find two band members placed so strategically far away from one another:Kim occupied the far (far) right of the stage, whereas Frank occupied the opposite end towards the left.

It's no secret that the band cannot stand one another, so my question is: Why bother???

Both Frank Black (aka Black Francis) and Kim Deal, have both arguably achieved moderate corporate success off the back of various side projects...Breeders, anyone???

Now, don't get me wrong, I bought these tickets about a year ago, and eagerly awaited a very fan-friendly set, which included an encore of favs not featured on "Doolittle", such as "Gigantic" and the track that saw a resurgence after that movie about a dead Brad Pitt and a busty Meatloaf, "Where is my mind"...

And I was happier still to have seen them previously about two years ago, when i thought that realistically, I would never be allowed such an opportunity to revel in the bands of my pre-teen revolt...

It is obvious that they're preying on the nostalgia of disgruntled gronks and skanks such as myself - lost and confused in a labyrinthine array of soft (cock) rock and nympho poppets entirely dependent on post-production -

In the past 18 months alone, our fair shores have ultimately been invaded by Coppel-endorsed baby-boomers, like:

- Leonard Cohen

- B-52's (yeah, sure, it was a rock lobster...)

- Brian Eno (and Wilson)

- Toto*

- Tears for Fears

- (an amended) Buena Vista Social Club

- Smashing Pumpkins (or what little does remaineth..)

But the ultimate would have to be the news that riot grrrrl and junkie pin-up, Courtney Love, has crawled back into the studios to release a new Hole album...Dang!!

Might I suggest Betty Ford as the slightly less appealing, but ultimately gratifying long-term solution???

* debatable as to whether Toto ever in fact had a hey-day...

Why I may end up on tour with Billy Corgan...

So...it was definitely one of the greater disappointments in my life when - after a mighty manhandling effort  to boost my arse over the barricades to ensure the closest look possible - I saw a band for whom I have been passionate about since the tender age of ten, The Smashing Pumpkins...at a festival which I do not wish to inadvertently promote, but starts with V...


Disappointing..How so, Mig, you ungrateful cretin?? you may ponder...Well, it is because, in fact, it was more of a sad exercise in exhibiting Corgan's inflated ego...


In fact, all that represented the "Pumpkins essence", was the former disgraced member, heroin addict, Jimmy Chamberlain... At least I THINK it was his vacant stare meeting the crowd behind the drumkit...

Gone are the amazing factions presented via James Iha and D'arcy, instead replaced by trashy chicks donning display guitars in an effort to plug the 2008 release, Zeitgeist...


And now it's even worse: instead of generously standing aside in order to allow new and emerging musical talent, he publishes a book of poetry and does open callouts for auditioning new members...


So all ye bassists and keyboardists (I wonder whether they're still hunting down a replacement following the death of their previous touring keys player who OD'd on heroin, hence, busting Jimmy in the act..) if you have a shred of talent, proffer your services to the rather sad decline of a band that once rocked my world...


My mellon collie and my sadness, is, indeed, infinite...

Why our beds will end up burning...

I have always been wary of that spindly limbed, elastic Gumby-like physique projected onto Peter Garrett, and not just cos of his shithouse dancing - which, incidentally resembled "The Monkey" on crack, but cos he's highly questionable..

And this creepy, sinister shadow was cast even BEFORE he sold his tree-huggin soul out to the Federal government, embraced by some indulgent, bullshit ministerial role.

So, Kevin Rudd reasoned:

"he's a rock star and he likes to sing about hardcore greenie type issues, so let's make up this all-encompassing portfolio of, say, the arts and the environment or something...we might need to whack water onto it at some point.."

With a trademark flash of his beady eyes and a recoiling gesture from his play dough wrists, he went about mass destruction...laughing maniacally to himself, he noted to himself one night in front of the bathroom mirror:

"It's just too, too perfect..I mean to cut most of National Music Academy's funding now that I've milked the bloody industry for all it's got...then...oh then, those, bahhh haaaa uranium mines! The irony is almost lyrical, like one of my awesome songs.."

 Then there was that sinister little warning he issued by reuniting with the Oils only to sweat and pant over the yesteryear hit of "Beds are Burning"... at the bushfire relief concert..

I figure that the sick bastard has been plotting national genocide all along, from the day he formed midnight oil..the power and the passion should not be applied to our pink batts in any case..

Well I am glad almost that I suffer in sweaty pools of security knowing that I have no midnight oil in my music collection and no bloody insulation in my roof..

Is this the scary pre-emptive glance into a bleak political future cluttered with homicidal and washed up celebrities, dumb as shit? 

Sorry, this little outburst has stemmed from a bit of prior Pobjie study...click above for reference..

**Let me be explicit in disclaiming this as a JOCULAR blog posting, simply a JOCULAR posting**

Why Steve Jobs' all Apple(s)

Come on kids...I gotta ship three loads of them new ipads we started demandin' of ya, what do ya reckon, ipods, ibooks, they're all gunna get smaller, and so will you...


Ahh such a life, ordered into an early retirement at the grand old age of ten due to an extension in those nimble little Chinese fingers...


But dang, I mean, it's no picnic being Steve Jobs, now is it?? Sure, sure he's loaded (even more so from this lil shonky buck-passing exercise of endorsing sweatshop labour), but you know he's come from adversity, fought the good fight...is perhaps, terminally ill..?


So from this smh article it hits me: that's why there has been a mass influx of teeny tiny versions of the originals...ipod shuffles are the size of thumbtacks and the like...i almost feel a bit rank owning one myself...then there's been those constant outbursts whereby I loudly extol the virtues of his bloody computers over Gates' Vista friendly PC...("Once you Mac, you never go back," i would declare beaming at my own shameful emac..)


and you know what, the worst thing is that a google search would be all over this as a bloody product placement...and i aint nuffin but a corporate whore..


And for what? It doesn't seem like I would be scoring any bonuses anytime soon off "Give everyone else the" Jobs...


Apologies to Descartes when I say:

iPod, therefore, I am...

with apologies for the numerous template changes, this one is finally vaguely visible i've found, so no more from now on!!!

Why shouldn't I aspire to be the doctor's wife???

It seems that because I have a set of (genuine) tits, I am therefore required to take a hardcore on-air stance come International Women's Day - May 8, and NOT as I mistakenly babbled at 5:59pm this arvo, next Monday. 


I must take the chair habitually occupied by everyone's favourite ranga and music trivia host, Al Erskine, whilst trawling over the likes of websites which advocate the breast-feeding of puppies...These inherent bottle-fed issues are certainly crucial to the notion of women over the likes of my own feminine guiles, surely..? 


This would in fact, be 1 March and seemingly appears numerically and chronologically superior to the following 8 March.


However, I am apparently a woman of great disregard, to promote its existence in a false or misleading  manner by which, come Monday, poor old Al may have to close that browser window in order to assert his masculine presence..


Not to mention the fact that I sound somewhat like a male, albeit a vaguely castrated one, as well as the death stares I managed to direct squarely at self by suggesting we all incinerate our bras whilst dancing around skyclad chanting nonsensical statements of feminist affirmation...


But I want to be a kept woman!!! Hence, I am a fraud...


But hey, when it gets to the point in your life when you march defiantly past the fluro vested Centrelink earners, muttering: "Mate, I've got bigger issues..." and you owe the debt equal to a house deposit on Bugger All (excuse me, I mean, extensive Tertiary education....) and the extra hit of the Master in Bugger All and bugger all to speak of, can you blame me for checking whether my GP's is wearing a wedding band????


I don't think I quite epitomise a young Germaine Greer...though I do agree with her post Hormone Repalcement Therapy treatment ideas: Steve Irwin asked for it!


I may, at this stage, need to point out that I do, in fact, love and adore MY FAV RANGA AL! The master of trashy drunken post-show trivia!

Why Sarah Henderson wants Abbott's ass...

And not in a sexy, budgie smuggling frolicker, tank-driving Opposition Leader kind of a way, either...


...more like, she wants his ass for dead...


It was the perfect set-up, he was even there to discuss road safety


and then dang, too bad about that narrow escape..


In fact, the smug bastard used it as a political ploy expressing his concern over the very road which nearly saw his car written off...


Perhaps next time good ole Hendo could ask Peter Garrett over?

Why you may just skip this one

 Yep, you know it...I am being hell crass and self-indulgent, (yes, ONCE AGAIN, but hey: such is the nature of blogging generally, yeah..?) but am shamelessly parading my audio wares..


As per my show - TUESDAY OVERDRIVE - I am required to provide regular weekly content by way of segments and such..


So here is a glimpse at what shall be declared "regular" by the week

• 4.30pm: POBJIE'S PISSED: with Ben Pobjie - a satirist
• 5.15pm: ARTY-FACT
• 5.30pm: MUSICAL MICROSCOPE (DEBUT AIRS NEXT WEEK!!!!! YEA YEA!!)

In the meantime, if you haven't been keeping, err, well, "regular", get this dosage of audio metamucil into yr soul (like a birdhouse i guess, a la, They Might Be Giants, but not crappppp)

TRACK #1 - Happy, happy birthday...BENNY BOYYYYY...now here's some syphilis

TRACK #2 - The Latest and Greatest in the GAFFA GALLERY

TRACK #3 - Takin' it to the Streets

TRACK #4 - MUSICAL MICROSCOPE: focussing in on the dawning of low-fi

TRACK #5 - How to be an Artistic Persian Feminist

Why you have to be tuned into Overdrive

Syphilis, street parties, new spaces and new segments

This week on Tuesday Overdrive, the show's title will prove rather apt.with the new year well into the swing of it, all segments are resembling Metamucil-induced regularity...


4.30pm will see me facing off with the Pobs about his latest Podcast episode, Gather Around Me, featuring Cam "Sexenheimer" Smith, as they manage to leave Tony Abbott out of it for at least five minutes whilst quibbling over the "syphilis holocaust"...


Plus from 5.00pm -  ARTY-FACT goes double time as we take back the streets of Newtown with this Saturday's Street Party hosted to celebrate art and music without all those backfiring cars...as I am having a brief chat with the awesomely named, Chris Lego, who is partly claiming the reclaim...

and a catch up with Gaffa Gallery director, Kelly Robson, about the hot new premises - which shall be revealed this Thursday - hosting the years (and the space) debut exhibit FIDELITY... 


If there's time, I shall launch the long-awaited (for me, anyways) segment - MUSICAL MICROSCOPE - but just in case, I'm posting the pilot episode just for you migspace-heads..


107.3FM 4-6PM - 2SER.COM (LIVE STREAM) - TUESDAY OVERDRIVE
xx

Why I Love Ads..

I always just pictured some sickly alabaster medic presenting the next project to that uber-chic, cutting edge - practically arthouse - ad agency...

"Now," he says, "it's not an easy one, but we need to make genital herpes sexy...make that quarter of the population feel a little less...well...ostracised like lepers, I guess..."

Well, that's what I envision every time I see a flourid display of sexy undergarments on display while we're told in soothing tones that it's fine to be all red and itchy "below the belt..."

And as such, this recent posting from the legendary media and marketing umbrella site founded by Tim Burrowes called Mumbrella (genius!):

"Scientologists Plan Aussie Ad Blitz" (Feb 3)

Interestingly enough, a focal point in the article revolves around similar issues of banter between me and Ben Pobs on the show: the Indie man of the House, Nick Xenophon, and his Cabinet outburst last year likening Lafayette Ron Hubbard and his sci-fi principles of theology as similar to the workings of a crim gang...

Ben thought that he was simply acting as a mouthpiece against evil forces..His name, after all, bein XENOphon,,closer than any other politician to that of the Intergalactic War Lord, XENU...Crafty..

Anyways, seeing that such a rare and marvellous opportunity presents itself, my mind now wonders at the possibilities... up to a million cinematic greats akin to that of Battlestar Galactica or perhaps the John Travolta remake of Hair Spray???

I guess it is necessary to add that, I am without a TV remote...In fact I cannot recall a time that I have ever lived with one

No, I haven't got "one of those great Universal ones...for all the gadgets and whizzbangs attached to one easy device!"

As such, I watch - and, admittedly, enjoy - ads more avidly than most in this day and age of pausing live TV and what not...So I consider these types of issues that face the journo usurpers, just in case the occasion should so require...

I'm thinking perhaps, a Twilight motif..