Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Just popping in to let everybody know the good news.
According to some chick I met in a Pub who reads Ralph magazine while she's at the dentist, (or some such) I can now confirm that it's become official.
Ballarat is now the easiest place in Australia (I'm saying all of Western Culture) to pick up.
Not the Town itself, (the buildings and surrounding land weighing many millions of tones and being a large logistical feat to move), but rather if you're suffering from the dreaded midnight horn and need some relief, then you're living in the Town where it's now quicker and simpler to find a drunken hussy than it is to pop a Panadol.
Now, I don't know about you, but having been born in this buggered burg and having flung my oats as every passing paddock, but this news bought a tear to my eye and I'm all choked up with civic pride.
I was sure Geelong would have held the title, what with the Grand Final final and everything, but there you go.
We, the Good citizens of Ballarat, are town of mythically easy roots.
What surprises me is the lack of coverage of what must be the town's greatest achievement since all those crazies staring digging up the joint and screaming for the right to get pissed at lunchtime (or whatever is was. I was behind the shelter shed having a squiz at a young ladies credentials when they were teaching all that guff. No regrets).
I'm also surprised that when Ballarat had a shot at being a Tropical Paradise (thanks to Global Warming's gentle tourist tantalising touch ) the beloved Courier trumpeted the possibility loudly and proudly.
And that was just pure conjecture! (as far as i know the aforementioned tropical haven may occur sometime in the next five hundred years, but whether or not the possibility that all of humanity will have all been eaten by some sort of huge irradiated space wombat and that might somehow curb the tourist revenue is yet to receive the same serious editorial consideration).
But now that our young lads and ladies have actually gone out and shown unsurpassed hospitality to visiting locals, regardless of the weather conditions, you would think our beloved Courier would confidently promote Ballarat as the Amsterdam of the South, a wondrous place where you can buy a slab and get your doobries fondled by the time you've knocked back the first sixer.
But no.....I'm putting it down to a quiet silence that bespeaks volumes of our accomodating character.
Now, to be fair, I'm not sure how this accolade was arrived at.
Although the writing staff at Ralph magazine are peerless journalists, like any media outlet, some scrutiny is required.
But let me say this......
If I'm caught in a tricky conversation as to whether or not it is possible to have a drunken three-some with coked out swimwear models and still come up for the perfect excuse as to why I can't show up on Monday to pitch my new advertisement for New Aussie Tampons (Get 'em up ya!), then Ralph is my first port of literary call and they are yet to lead me astray.
Tremendous fellows all.
So I'm quite sure the research crew where meticulous in their fact finding mission to find the Australia's Easiest Town.
Perhaps a well built young man walked into drinking establishments in various cities and yelled through a megaphone "The first young lady with legs akimbo wins a quickie and a coupla lines" and then a cohort (probably a sub editor of some sort) would hit a stop watch to time how long it took for some Gal to back up beeping.
I'd guess that in most other towns the Young Gentleman had to finish his amplified speech, perhaps even buy a drink or two, but rumour has it that when they were about to run the tests in Ballarat, a young lass (who'd worked her way through the Breezer rainbow and had been freshening up at the Hamburger Cart) approached the Ralph Rep and offered him the old Hong Kong Hammock as he was getting out of the car (apparently his ability to reverse park was the sexiest thing any male had ever said to her. )
There was no time for stop watches. Or flowery speeches. Just good old Goldtown spirit.
So. A quick be-fannying later and the record was ours.
Viva Ballarat! A place where where you can get your bits wet in minus ten seconds as long as you don't mind the car smelling mildly of dimmies.
Once again I'm swelling with pride (easy....).
I've long regarded this place as a kind of weird, free wheeling libertarian utopia, where love flows through the streets and we can all be as one. Where the Squares will just have to dig it coz we got a Great Big Convoy chugging back the fine liquors and thrusting their reproductive organs at anything that can stand upright or at least fall over in a co-operative manner.
And now that a reputable bunch of loveable larrikins like Ralph have officially given us the nod all I can say is Ladies, I owe you a beer.
That's all for now,
Mick "The pre-mix King for Mayor!" Dog
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
World Series Protest Australia began in such nice fashion... By 4pm that day the only videos on Google Video were from Central China TV - saying it was all very orderly and pleasant.
Over at the Daily Telegraph, Garry Linnell's video report (watch it, it's good on the spot stuff) and the accompanying text painted a different picture... The Abe (excusee.. Ballarat term for the dear old Aunty Broadcasting Corp) in Canberra gave it a good nudge too, getting amongst it down on the front line for a good understanding of the vibe amongst the team members on either side.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Ladies and gentlemen we are under starter's orders. We have Chinese security who are determined to form a human ring around the torch. We have every remaining Kombi from the North Coast and patchouli-powered Corolla from North Shore Sydney along with every Private School Marxist from Melbourne gathered in the nation's capital. We've got a feisty Federal Police force determined not to have the Chaser make them look like dickheads. We've got roughly 10,000 Chinese members of Amway loose somewhere north of the Murray.
China’s Foreign Ministry have warned against protests in Canberra because the torch "belongs to the whole world". That the corrupt thugs who run China (latest
effort – dispatching a boatload of weapons to fellow despot Bob Mugabe) object to expressions of dissent even in other countries is no surprise. But let’s get over this fetishisation of the Olympics.
Year after year the same faces, the Kevin Gospers and John Coateses who are apparently on the Olympics gravy train for life, stand up to declare that it’s all about the sport, or world peace, or the youth of the world. In fact it’s a giant media event designed to generate massive revenue which, this time around, is being employed to promote one of the world’s most brutal regimes.
And you can see where these sports administrators come from.
Just about every athlete or sports person parrots the same lines about sport having nothing to do with politics or, for that matter, morality, as if sports – professional, international sport, in all its cash-generating glory – is somehow a priori disconnected from basic ethics and standards of
For those planning to have a crack at disrupting the relay, or who just want to marvel at some wonderful security overkill, the event kicks off at 8.30am tomorrow morning.
Oh yes, we've begun making our own tv. You might notice the Youtube channels over there on the right hand corner of the page... Our man at Handl TV does indeed handle the tv... his work both the Smith, the Lash and with Lenny has been a constant companion for the Show, and bless his fireglass prostate he's been recently been visiting us in downtown Ballarat, and inspired us to fire up the Atari home-edit suite ourselves
Here's just a taste of one of our big sponsors over the 378 years we've been at the top of showbusiness, our man known as The Lash.
More news at 11... now sports.
Many of us are more than familiar with the proposition that if you were to place an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters and then left them to type for infinity eventually they would write and record the KISS album Hot in the Shade. I seem to have started this article in the middle, a common enough literary device nowadays but let me take you back to the beginning.
The year is 1978 the place Ballarat, Victoria, Australia. Yep where the kangaroos drive buses and wombats hassle the elderly. At this time I am 8 years old and as far as I know ABBA is music. Down the road, two houses in fact, are the towns toughest family. Three brothers who when not playing cricket with me on my crutches (not a permanent fixture happily) are down at the local bowling alley breaking into pinball machines or beating seven types of christ out of whoever gets in there way.
Their are fights in primary school defending the musicality vs the show. In truth I'm barely 9 and what the fuck would I know? It's loud and freakish. Just like me. Now although Paul was the first to catch my eye I find myself gravitating towards the Spaceman and the Cat. They seem to be infinitely cooler than the other two merely by not being such try hards. Also by this point I have begun belting holes in every cushion at my folks house and am on my way to becoming a budding drummer.
One day later and it seems like they were never here and are replaced by the Village People. THE FUCKING VILLAGE PEOPLE!! The kids at school ask "Are you gonna get into them now?" "Piss Off!!" I say "they don't even write there own tunes! Or play them!" "KISS are dead man" they take great relish in telling me. "No way they're coming back" I plead but for all intents and purposes they are right.
A great hush falls over KISS world but me an my brother keep the faith until about a year later a clip pops up, a poncy ballad! They've all got short hair and that WANKER Simmons cries at the end! Still I am loyal and take to The Elder with gusto even though I haven't the foggiest notion what it's about. Unlike only one year before, the whole country patentedly couldn't give a rats arse and the album sinks like a stone. The KISS brethren, me, basically, don't give up and soon enough Creatures of the Night comes out. It's cool, it's heavy, good cover but there's something fishy about it. Why aren't there any Ace songs on it? Third bomb. Ace has left the building! First Peter now ACE!?! What the fuck are they doing/ We see the 1st pictures of some Egyptian freak and all of a sudden the classic rock is out and the gutless 2nd guessing pretend metal is in. So begins the long decade of the soul. Lick it Up.
1996 rolls around. The reunion tour is on!! Simmons, and I quote "We may have had our differences in the past but so fucking what? Nothing beats the magic of Paul, Gene, Ace and Peter". "Well alright" I thought "the fat cunt has come to his senses." they came to our shores once again and this time I saw them and it was truly the stuff that dreams are made of!!! Like being shot out of a cannon. Ace played like a GOD! The best thing for mine was that because Peter and Ace were so seemingly fragile Gene and Paul couldn't just gloss over into being a gutless memory. Because it was so spastic they had to play AS A BAND!! It seemed like it could fall apart at any moment. BUT IT NEVER DID!! It was dangerous wild and loud! Fucking KISS man!! All was forgiven. And then there was news of a new album? A new album? I was dubious but it was the four of them and the gig was so staggering I felt I had to give them the benefit of the doubt. I jumped on a tram, slipped into the city bought this thing called Psycho circus slipped back home and chucked it on. Later that day my housemate Ruddo laughed as he told me how while he was sitting outside in the back yard that afternoon he could hear the cries of "OOOOOOOOOOOOH!!" and "YOU FUCKIN WANKERS!!" The shit, as they say, was fucked up. It just reaked of being done by committee. Shitty gutless over produced slop that went nowhere and stayed there. By the time I got to Peters "I finally found my way" I thought "Like fuck you have" and threw it against the wall in disgust. Seasoned fans and old friends said "It's pretty good really" as if they were pleading with me to cut it some slack. "Bullshit" I said "It's a record for cunts by cunts". Then they toured again. My bro said "You gonna go?" "Nah" I said "that night was magic, I'm not letting them fuck me over a second time". Then comes the news. They sack Peter, Ace leaves and I say to myself "You're not telling me they're about to fuck it up all over again in exactly the same way they did the first time?" Yes. Yes they are.
So here I am in 2007 (8) A KISS fan who not once, but twice has had to watch those greedy fuckheads water down the legacy that I used to fight for as a child. Truth be told, I did go to one more show. One afternoon my bro rings up and says "C'mon, it's two for one, they can't fill the 2nd night." "Alright" I say and off we went. Strangely enough it was 20 years later and here I was on crutches again. We stood about ten metres from the front dead centre and on they came and y'know? It was ok. Tommy Thayer? Well who gives a fuck y'know? eric Singer seemed a cheeky fucker who gave it some boot and I had to hand it to Paul. Seeing hi that close was pretty cool. He still puts in. But Gene, Gene, Gene. If ever there was a more grotesque waste of a concert stage going through the motions so he could pocket another hundred grand that he didn't need then I've never seen it. It was blood spitting time. He hit the first "BOING" on the bass and he did all his neck wrenching. then out came the blood, there it was! Now because it was only two thirds full with a lot of families to boot, the sheet metal applause you hear on alive 1 and 2 wasn't there and there were several moments when you could hear a pin drop. This was one of them. Out came the blood and seeing the whole ludicrous display up so close made me laugh from the gut in the sort of high pitch you might've heard from say, oooooh, Ace Frehley? Gene heard this laughter and looked me straight in the eye. All the fans around me looked immediately as if to say "What the fuck are you doing man?' There he was the fat old God of Thunder and Betrayer the man who says "It's all about the fans" then calls them "scum" behind there back and charges $200 bucks a pop and that's just for the nosebleed section. There he was looking me in the eye. And I laughed in the fuckers face. That WANKER Simmons.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Of course, it's not all peace, love and no more Howard; there's the imminent sign on the horizon of how we'll see the next commercial virus attack on the ABC - the dear old Beeb have just announced their first international advertising team. We'll see that here in a couple of years, folks, according to the Principle of the 5 Year Lag for South Pacific Peasants...
No reasons to be cheerful come more plenty than that. The ongoing developing of a new world sport right under our noses - a sport I've wanted a television show dedicated to for years.
I'm talking about World Series Protest, folks, and its time has come.
For now we are embarked on our very first series of globally televised Olympic Quality protests as the torch makes its way around the world, and I for one, welcome it.
From the get-go I want pay my respects to some of the quality protests that have come before this year - of course thre's been some awesome protests go on throughout the world over the decades, but I want to pay my respects to the people at the S11 protest back in 2000 in Melbourne, who via the most superior use of non-violent Tetris-based logic, managed quickly self-organise into a chain and re-arrange those big arse lego-brick plastic wall bollards and boxed the rough-tough Special Squad detachment of leeather gloved bruisers in fair and square.
The leatherboys were forced to admit defeat, and in a most Australian demonstration of sportsmanship, were kindly thanked for coming as they filed back out from the gateway of Crown to the back of the fray. Upon the world stage of protests involving all sorts of thrown, belted, stomped aggression, it made me feel proud to be an Aussie watching a crowd tell a loudmouthed yob to shut the fuck up and give the coppers a nice round of golf-clap applause as they walked back to the vans.
But ye cannae deny the sheer simple genius of the mad bastard who ran at the Olympic torch with a fire extinguisher...
Of course, the French can bring the noise when it comes to community turnout for a protest - and I only managed to catch my initial impressions of how the Olympic Torch Protest series went in gay Paree via the glory of the AM radio show,
(Sound of protesters jeering)RAFAEL EPSTEIN: With protesters visible ahead of the convoy on a bridge, a very concerned torch-bearer in a wheelchair was
suddenly stopped by the torch organisers, and the flame was extinguished on the
orders of shouting Chinese officials.
It was with complete surprise that I happened upon this French video showing the Chinese security team stopping the torch and really pissing off the big burly French judo champion who was trying to jog with it. A far cry from what the dear old ABC showed us on Lateline...
Today, the Torch arrives in Islamabad. And with it, the hopes and dreams of a nation raised on the idea of protest. Local communities with a long association of taking to the streets and throwing shit at the blokes with the big sticks and the mean looks. Of course, it's going well so far:
"Plans originally called for athletes to relay the torch along a nearly
two-mile route from the white marble parliament building to Jinnah Stadium,
but that was changed to just a run around the sports complex itself."
What could possibly go wrong? It's due in India next week - New Delhi to be accurate - we shall see how the local teams there take to it. And still very little word on how the Aussies are going about preparations, though. We've got a lot of tryhards amongst the diehards - do the creative and the funny still outnumber the surly and vicious? What creative heights do you imagine our national commercial news networks will rise to?
Will Kochie be the one to extinguish the flame - on the kerosene soaked robes of Stan Grant?
Just don't forget that we could be doing this again in four years time - albeit on a bigger, more international scale. A worldwide invitation to the meek, to the downtrodden, to the forever fucked over, to the folk who've been cut off from the riches of the 21st century - come and see if you can put the torch out. Stand up for your people and bring your mates - we're going to have a world -representative goon team, with thanks to our sponsors Blackwater Inc.
I want to see a return to that protest I saw years ago from Italy - it was not long after the movie Gladiator came out - when the locals invoked their own forebears and formed the perfect Roman infantry shield wall and roof,and advanced upon the poor old team with the water-cannon trucks and tear gas guns.
And I want to see our friends from Indonesia allowed to bring those fuckoff big bamboo poles withe flags on 'em to the party. There is classic news vision of which I can't quite find yet... so I can't quite exactly show those 18 foot poles getting deployed upon the hapless uniforms about 20 people behind the frontlines. Tt's hysterical... And I wanna see it - much more - on the telly...
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Thursday, April 10, 2008
"why don't people find rock bands funny?"
TISM were funny. The funniest. And clever. And talented. And Jock Cheese was one of 'em. And he never took off his mask. And they never sold out/copped out/fucked out. And there will be no public shows of grief or anything as shit as Wally Meanie's infamous 'ciao bella' epigraph because these guys had no time for fools.
Jock had been sick for a while. In fact, it's my dodgily held theory that you can pick up some lyrical hints as to how sick he'd been in songs such as this:
My best concert experiences are of TISM gigs. Monash Uni, Old Greek Theatre, Rosebud Drive In, Prince of Wales, Collingwood Town Hall, EVs in Croydon, Big Day Out. All awesome. Never a shit night.
I'm glad Jock got to knock out some solo stuff and hit the road touring it. I'm glad we never knew who they were, although I'm sure some self-important fuckhead at the Hun or the Beige will dig it up in the 'public interest'.
Yes, the spirit of TISM lives on in the band Root! And bless Humphrey B Flaubert and his unseasonably large sack of goodness for putting the cunty back into country. But nothing, nothing will compare with the opening bass lick of I'm Interested in Apathy for wanting to get this big dopey Skip on the dancefloor.
Jock, you made us realise just how fucking average so much modern music is. And I thank you.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
We promise. We never heard of the video. Anyhoo, tonight we rocked out good and hard for a couple of epic, historic moments. Sally from Home and Away has left, leaving a Grand Canyonesque hole in the Australian minor celebrity grid (just think! now everyone will demand their own mini-issue of TV Week).
Husker Du - Sorry Somehow
The Bellrays - Change the World
The Saints - Erotic Neurotic
The Dirtbombs - Leopard Man at C&A
Kiss - Watchin' You
Big Mama Thornton - Hound Dog
King Curly - I Am Coming Back
Alice Cooper - Cold Ethyl
Frank Zappa - Zomby Woof
The Hives - Outsmarted
The 7 O'Clock Do You Remember the Episode Where Sally Went Nude Car Surfing Slot
Motorhead - I'm So Bad Baby I Don't Care
The Monarchs - Loud
Dead Kennedies - Drug Me
Butthole Surfers - Some Dispute About T-Shirt Sales
The Supersuckers - On the Couch
The Who - 5:15
Soul Asylum - Get On Out
Prisonshake - Bedtime Beats You Senseless
Detroit Cobras - Slummer the Slum
Nebula - Do It Now
Sonic Youth - Youth Against Fascism
Painters and Dockers - Die Yuppie Die
Wayne Kramer - Boys Got that Look
The Von Bondies - It Came From Japan
Bay City Rollers - Shang A Lang
What they hey - here's a band I never heard of doing a cover of a toe-tappin' Ministry number... dedicated to all the people on television.