The Show With No Name is proud to present the newest addition to the Ballarat television family - finally, after 78 years of behind the scenes work, our longtime stalwart of the local entertainment industry Mr Dirty Bongo Monday is to be hosting a new program incorporating health education, exercise and a good singalong - live from the Sebastopol studios of BTV6.
Here's a sneak preview:
Friday, July 31, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
The Dog Report 2. Seeking the prequel.
Hello there fellow inebriates!
Once again, welcome to the Dog Report.
This week the ever speckled Dog Report brings you the brand new and slightly puffy ORC scale, where you, dear listener, can now kick in and get that venomous hair off your curly bonnet by joining in our poll of ....
Ballarat's Hottest Over Rated Cunts (or BHORC! Use vomit as a handy reminder!)
It's very simple and works like this.......
Example 1. The Rolling Stones.
The Rolling Stones are a bunch of arch-ORC's.
Any bunch of English dip shits who make plagiarism and mediocrity the corner stones of modern music deserve to be strung up by their sagging, aged balls and strummed mercilessly by cannibal death Gypsies with spiked tongs.
The only reasons people like the Rolling Stones are-
1) If a bleeding tit monkey was given a can of coconut milk and a box of fuzzy felt for enough time, it too would eventually write Honky Tonk Woman and Dead Flowers .
2) You are a repressed person of pale appearance, who wishes they had some genuine culture but aren't really sure about all that poverty and flies and shit and simply wish you were a smacked out box jockey but duly worried that too might interfere with lunch on Thursday with Mum.
3) Instead of a brain, God gave you frozen horse sperm.
The Rolling Stones are a bunch of dog raping ORC's
9.5/10
Or you could go like this-
Example 2. Kevin Rudd
Kevin Rudd is a fucking ORC.
Yep! Sure It's all gone Animal Farm out here in Sunny Oz (and by that I mean the legendary High School Porn movie and not some wacked out shit about Communist Chickens running the Alfalfa trade) but is really any better than before?
Lets cast out minds back shall we, as fair comparison, to our last beloved leader........
There we all were, huddling in the Mortgage Ghetto, while Anne Frank Real Estate made out like a bandit.
Sure, we locked up the Darkies when they came over here, claiming they'd had their freedom saxophones shoved up their asses by the squares.
Sure, we marched into war with some buck toothed Texan then gave ourselves a jolly good hard time about what an un-Christian act it was to destroy other religions.
Sure, we hated how the Baggy Green Eyebrow Lord turned love into shiny new ten cent pieces, compassion into Hardiplank and kindness into stale urine, but at least we could hate him like the mean ol' Grandpa he was and be safe in the knowledge that soon the Aorta fairy would come and stab him hard in the guts with a broken bottle of Cooper's Sparkling.
Because we knew, as a Nation, that the old prick was gunna die soon and that we could all watch the dimming light in his eyes, have a joyous collective wank and then eat all the Kahlua flavoured Fantails we could fit in our sassy gobs...
But this new floppy haired prick........
He's like some weird dude your Mum brings home "after the divorce", who is nice to you while she's in the room, then gets cold and weird after she leaves, leering at you, slightly disgusted by the way you clutter up the joint like a discarded hymen.
You suspect he's doing horrible things behind your back, shoving his cold, dripping spaghetti balls up your Mum's clacker at night in order to get his twisted rocks off, then taking her out to dinner where he secretly pisses in the soup.
You get this feeling that he takes off his human skin off at night, then goes down to the lab where he tests lipstick and jokes in Mandarin on restrained rabbits, who get electrically shocked if they laugh or pash each other.
The odd feeling that he's already sold your organs to Wilson Tuckey to use as pig bait, but has decided he'll keep your brain alive in a jar to poke with Hb pencils or to house water scorpions, rancid skittering beasts in that burrow into your frontal lobes and lay eggs in your childhood memories.
Creepy........but no one will believe you...you've been to the Police after you saw him eating kittens in a phone box...they just laughed......you talked to your friends but they were too pissed on lotto tickets to care.........you rang that local talk back show and cried "He's Evil! He's Evil! So what that he apologised to the Abo's! All they got out of that was jack shit and a box of pencils!" but they shut you down with a Suzi Quatro song and you only got a single pass to Jerseys Boys, right up in the back row, where the ghost of Frankie Valley had a vapourous shit.
It begins........................
Kevin Rudd is a fuckin' spooked out ORC
9/10
and so on and so forth...........
So! If you've got an ORC deserving a rating, then start tapping away at whatever you've got (plumbing, dance shoes, Vic 20..) and lets have at it!
'Til next time......
Mick" Vlad the Impaler played the button Accordion.' Dog.
Once again, welcome to the Dog Report.
This week the ever speckled Dog Report brings you the brand new and slightly puffy ORC scale, where you, dear listener, can now kick in and get that venomous hair off your curly bonnet by joining in our poll of ....
Ballarat's Hottest Over Rated Cunts (or BHORC! Use vomit as a handy reminder!)
It's very simple and works like this.......
Example 1. The Rolling Stones.
The Rolling Stones are a bunch of arch-ORC's.
Any bunch of English dip shits who make plagiarism and mediocrity the corner stones of modern music deserve to be strung up by their sagging, aged balls and strummed mercilessly by cannibal death Gypsies with spiked tongs.
The only reasons people like the Rolling Stones are-
1) If a bleeding tit monkey was given a can of coconut milk and a box of fuzzy felt for enough time, it too would eventually write Honky Tonk Woman and Dead Flowers .
2) You are a repressed person of pale appearance, who wishes they had some genuine culture but aren't really sure about all that poverty and flies and shit and simply wish you were a smacked out box jockey but duly worried that too might interfere with lunch on Thursday with Mum.
3) Instead of a brain, God gave you frozen horse sperm.
The Rolling Stones are a bunch of dog raping ORC's
9.5/10
Or you could go like this-
Example 2. Kevin Rudd
Kevin Rudd is a fucking ORC.
Yep! Sure It's all gone Animal Farm out here in Sunny Oz (and by that I mean the legendary High School Porn movie and not some wacked out shit about Communist Chickens running the Alfalfa trade) but is really any better than before?
Lets cast out minds back shall we, as fair comparison, to our last beloved leader........
There we all were, huddling in the Mortgage Ghetto, while Anne Frank Real Estate made out like a bandit.
Sure, we locked up the Darkies when they came over here, claiming they'd had their freedom saxophones shoved up their asses by the squares.
Sure, we marched into war with some buck toothed Texan then gave ourselves a jolly good hard time about what an un-Christian act it was to destroy other religions.
Sure, we hated how the Baggy Green Eyebrow Lord turned love into shiny new ten cent pieces, compassion into Hardiplank and kindness into stale urine, but at least we could hate him like the mean ol' Grandpa he was and be safe in the knowledge that soon the Aorta fairy would come and stab him hard in the guts with a broken bottle of Cooper's Sparkling.
Because we knew, as a Nation, that the old prick was gunna die soon and that we could all watch the dimming light in his eyes, have a joyous collective wank and then eat all the Kahlua flavoured Fantails we could fit in our sassy gobs...
But this new floppy haired prick........
He's like some weird dude your Mum brings home "after the divorce", who is nice to you while she's in the room, then gets cold and weird after she leaves, leering at you, slightly disgusted by the way you clutter up the joint like a discarded hymen.
You suspect he's doing horrible things behind your back, shoving his cold, dripping spaghetti balls up your Mum's clacker at night in order to get his twisted rocks off, then taking her out to dinner where he secretly pisses in the soup.
You get this feeling that he takes off his human skin off at night, then goes down to the lab where he tests lipstick and jokes in Mandarin on restrained rabbits, who get electrically shocked if they laugh or pash each other.
The odd feeling that he's already sold your organs to Wilson Tuckey to use as pig bait, but has decided he'll keep your brain alive in a jar to poke with Hb pencils or to house water scorpions, rancid skittering beasts in that burrow into your frontal lobes and lay eggs in your childhood memories.
Creepy........but no one will believe you...you've been to the Police after you saw him eating kittens in a phone box...they just laughed......you talked to your friends but they were too pissed on lotto tickets to care.........you rang that local talk back show and cried "He's Evil! He's Evil! So what that he apologised to the Abo's! All they got out of that was jack shit and a box of pencils!" but they shut you down with a Suzi Quatro song and you only got a single pass to Jerseys Boys, right up in the back row, where the ghost of Frankie Valley had a vapourous shit.
It begins........................
Kevin Rudd is a fuckin' spooked out ORC
9/10
and so on and so forth...........
So! If you've got an ORC deserving a rating, then start tapping away at whatever you've got (plumbing, dance shoes, Vic 20..) and lets have at it!
'Til next time......
Mick" Vlad the Impaler played the button Accordion.' Dog.
Friday, July 17, 2009
The Dog Report
Howdy do, you little bran muffins of funk.
Thanks for coming to the meeting. Lets get the agenda underway shall we?
1) The public outpouring of bullshit over Michael Jackson.
Lets see now ....war all over the joint......water running out...faiths threatening to shit down each others necks...freaks running the country....people being lost at sea on leaky smugglers boats...everybody too fat to get to the heart attack help station......rampant alcoholism.. mass extinction of wildlife.....Tooheys.....
Ahhhh...but lets face it....who the fuck can be bothered giving a toot about this trivial shite when some bizarre, skinny, self absorbed hermaphrodite carks it after going loop-o-bananas from eating too many whitery man magic pills over the last 30 years?
Granted you don't often get the combo of dainty robot hoofer and yipping funk terrier everyday and I will admit for a while there he was the shizzle (If you like your shizzle in a six inch shizzle-lite combo), but may I also refer to the saccharine ton of burbling pap that was the last 20 years of ol' Jacko's career?
Granted, my heart is more like a chain smoking oyster with Alzheimers that a pop pump station of lurve, but really.....you're putting this one gloved nozzle up as the greatest entertainer of all time?
And why not?
Because Star Wars was a magnificent docudrama! And Pee Wee Herman was the funniest comedian ever! And A-Ha were the best metal band ever! And the Rolling Stones were actually ABBA on smack! (Hmmmm...I might have to check that one...)
For my two cents, Jackson was like some weird, gull-winged experiment car that was cool for a while but got more and more bad retro as the years rolled on.
Perhaps the truth is that evolution was rooting about with some plasticine in a wind tunnel and thought it might be cool to whip up a funky JacksonWagon in order to tell God to get fucked at the next motor show. (It was the 60's you know.......)
Sadly, like any veteran vehicle, when it costs more to fix than it's worth, what choice do you have but to let the rego run out and wheel it off to the great wreckers in the sky?
I'm just glad that all those weeping kiddies, (and their fat Mums), out buying the Michael Jackson Platinum edition boxed sets are sending their cash to a good cause and not wasting it propping up a family of debauched miscreants who'll probably invest it in pimping Jacko's littlies until they run out of cute.
(That little girl at the funeral will apparently shit in a bag for you if you've got 10 grand. EBay comes alive!)
Word to the wise though- Billy Ray Cyrus has already cornered the market on World conquering progeny, so stick that up your ebony hole with an ivory hole poker, Joe.
2) Stawell Gift.
Yippee! More sport!
It's always great to see a bunch of country hacks running around knowing they'll never make the Olympics, or be of any earthly use to anything, outside of keeping the manufacturers of short shorts in the pink.
Now, I don't care who runs the sausage sizzle on this one. When it comes to dick heads running around in a circle I'm just over come with the urge to scream "Go you bandy legged bastards!"
It's just great to see people who know they'll never crack it for a top spot in anything, (other than 2nd place the Koroit Burping Competition), donning the togs for a quick zoom up he back straight.
It's also good to see that Ballarat has got it together to draw some white lines on the City Oval and has applied for funding to asses the feasibility of eventually acquiring an action team to draw up plans to create a document that strongly advises for a consultancy body to take positive action on approving a first phase plan of possibly creating a think tank to head up a proto-document assessing the need for a committee to get some string to run through at the end.
Those square-headed rubes in Stawell could never get that together! Look at the Civic Hall!
In the time it took to approve the paper work needed to rort the town senseless, all Stawell did was build a hospital and provide free lunch for the poor!
Buncha fuckin dim wit country cow squeezers! Getting things done is no way to get things done!
If it's one thing we Ballarations know how to do it's fuck around like a bunch of Cornish tin miners on a footy trip to Thailand!
More event stealing! We'll fuck any shit up! We don't care where it comes from!
Onwards to Pyramids and a space program I say!
3) JJJ Hottest Turdburger
So Nirvana wins the Koroit Burping competition......
Not bad for a corpsicle, a guy who has released a plush toy called the Dave Grohlliwog and a guy who could work at the Sebas servo for all we know.
Let me just say this again......rock and roll and all it's subsidiary holdings (the shampoo, the ice cream, the baldness therapy sessions etc.) is dead.
It's a corpse to be poked out of pungent curiosity when you're rafting down the river of your mid thirties.
It's a bewildered, tired old Nan sitting in a rest home waiting for a major label to come and change it's shitbag.
It's a tyre marked road kill, spurting a little more infested guts each time the big ol' eighteen wheeler of re-release comes trundling along the Nullabor.
It's a senile wombat bloating in a ditch being slowly consumed by re-mix GenY bacteria.
It's a tired old hooker turning blue in a Shepparton caravan park after coughing it's cunt up for YouPorn.
It's like getting nostalgic about shitting your pants in high school (Those were the days! And what a great puff from the old poop shoot Nevermind was!)
Hottest 100......where was Haircut 100 you might well ask?
Until next time,
Mick "Winter is like death trying to bot a durrie" Dog.
Thanks for coming to the meeting. Lets get the agenda underway shall we?
1) The public outpouring of bullshit over Michael Jackson.
Lets see now ....war all over the joint......water running out...faiths threatening to shit down each others necks...freaks running the country....people being lost at sea on leaky smugglers boats...everybody too fat to get to the heart attack help station......rampant alcoholism.. mass extinction of wildlife.....Tooheys.....
Ahhhh...but lets face it....who the fuck can be bothered giving a toot about this trivial shite when some bizarre, skinny, self absorbed hermaphrodite carks it after going loop-o-bananas from eating too many whitery man magic pills over the last 30 years?
Granted you don't often get the combo of dainty robot hoofer and yipping funk terrier everyday and I will admit for a while there he was the shizzle (If you like your shizzle in a six inch shizzle-lite combo), but may I also refer to the saccharine ton of burbling pap that was the last 20 years of ol' Jacko's career?
Granted, my heart is more like a chain smoking oyster with Alzheimers that a pop pump station of lurve, but really.....you're putting this one gloved nozzle up as the greatest entertainer of all time?
And why not?
Because Star Wars was a magnificent docudrama! And Pee Wee Herman was the funniest comedian ever! And A-Ha were the best metal band ever! And the Rolling Stones were actually ABBA on smack! (Hmmmm...I might have to check that one...)
For my two cents, Jackson was like some weird, gull-winged experiment car that was cool for a while but got more and more bad retro as the years rolled on.
Perhaps the truth is that evolution was rooting about with some plasticine in a wind tunnel and thought it might be cool to whip up a funky JacksonWagon in order to tell God to get fucked at the next motor show. (It was the 60's you know.......)
Sadly, like any veteran vehicle, when it costs more to fix than it's worth, what choice do you have but to let the rego run out and wheel it off to the great wreckers in the sky?
I'm just glad that all those weeping kiddies, (and their fat Mums), out buying the Michael Jackson Platinum edition boxed sets are sending their cash to a good cause and not wasting it propping up a family of debauched miscreants who'll probably invest it in pimping Jacko's littlies until they run out of cute.
(That little girl at the funeral will apparently shit in a bag for you if you've got 10 grand. EBay comes alive!)
Word to the wise though- Billy Ray Cyrus has already cornered the market on World conquering progeny, so stick that up your ebony hole with an ivory hole poker, Joe.
2) Stawell Gift.
Yippee! More sport!
It's always great to see a bunch of country hacks running around knowing they'll never make the Olympics, or be of any earthly use to anything, outside of keeping the manufacturers of short shorts in the pink.
Now, I don't care who runs the sausage sizzle on this one. When it comes to dick heads running around in a circle I'm just over come with the urge to scream "Go you bandy legged bastards!"
It's just great to see people who know they'll never crack it for a top spot in anything, (other than 2nd place the Koroit Burping Competition), donning the togs for a quick zoom up he back straight.
It's also good to see that Ballarat has got it together to draw some white lines on the City Oval and has applied for funding to asses the feasibility of eventually acquiring an action team to draw up plans to create a document that strongly advises for a consultancy body to take positive action on approving a first phase plan of possibly creating a think tank to head up a proto-document assessing the need for a committee to get some string to run through at the end.
Those square-headed rubes in Stawell could never get that together! Look at the Civic Hall!
In the time it took to approve the paper work needed to rort the town senseless, all Stawell did was build a hospital and provide free lunch for the poor!
Buncha fuckin dim wit country cow squeezers! Getting things done is no way to get things done!
If it's one thing we Ballarations know how to do it's fuck around like a bunch of Cornish tin miners on a footy trip to Thailand!
More event stealing! We'll fuck any shit up! We don't care where it comes from!
Onwards to Pyramids and a space program I say!
3) JJJ Hottest Turdburger
So Nirvana wins the Koroit Burping competition......
Not bad for a corpsicle, a guy who has released a plush toy called the Dave Grohlliwog and a guy who could work at the Sebas servo for all we know.
Let me just say this again......rock and roll and all it's subsidiary holdings (the shampoo, the ice cream, the baldness therapy sessions etc.) is dead.
It's a corpse to be poked out of pungent curiosity when you're rafting down the river of your mid thirties.
It's a bewildered, tired old Nan sitting in a rest home waiting for a major label to come and change it's shitbag.
It's a tyre marked road kill, spurting a little more infested guts each time the big ol' eighteen wheeler of re-release comes trundling along the Nullabor.
It's a senile wombat bloating in a ditch being slowly consumed by re-mix GenY bacteria.
It's a tired old hooker turning blue in a Shepparton caravan park after coughing it's cunt up for YouPorn.
It's like getting nostalgic about shitting your pants in high school (Those were the days! And what a great puff from the old poop shoot Nevermind was!)
Hottest 100......where was Haircut 100 you might well ask?
Until next time,
Mick "Winter is like death trying to bot a durrie" Dog.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Stawell closed, Ballarat Gift to be opened
It's official: Ballarat is so bereft of ideas of its own it's taken to grabbing whatever is happening up the road at the neighbours' joint.
Thanks to some B-town oldtimers in the Premier's Department the folks at Stawell got the "you're on your own, tiger" mail from the Guvmint, and approximately 35 seconds later a press release went out from the Shitty of Ballarat that they'd help by moving the whole lot to Sturt Street.
We're a bit excited about the Ballarat Gift. So much so we took to the streets of the interwebs and asked people what they thought the Ballarat Gift involved:
"The Ballarat Gift is being able to walk home from the pub and not be beaten to a pulp" - Len
"Will you be allowed to use a shopping trolley and beat anyone to death who gets in your way?" - Tim
"The Ballarat Gift will be the greatest public assembly in Ballarat since the last time an Adelaide footy team made the AFL finals" - Jamie
"A Ballarat Gift is where you get beaten up outside the pub, but they don't kick you in the head or steal your gold claim." - Matt
"I think the Ballarat Gift is something you're born with. Makes it easier to get Centrelink payments." - Tim
"Heh heh! I remember when high school teachers had to stomp out flaming bags of Ballarat Gift left on the porch." - Mick
"The Ballarat Gift: a winter's day above 10 degrees" - Jamie
"The Ballarat Gift: being able to kick on in the backyard at a party in a t-shirt no matter what season." - Steve
But what route will the runners be taking in Ballarat?
An early leaked report states that the Ballarat Stawellen Gift will indeed be run at night - along Lydiard Street, down Policeman's Alley, past Karova, through the carpark at Big W and Dan Murphy's, through the Mall, intothe Safeway carpark - an obligatory dimmie stop at the Hamburger Cart - and then in to the police station.
If you can make it that far without being beaten by vicious teenage thugs on a Smirnoff Ice frenzy, you get a souvenir hand-picked by Ballarat historical character Bendy Vendy.
The question we have to ask right now is: can you run a footrace holding a bunch of begonias?
Stay tuned - our Deep Sole has promised much more inside news from the depths of our elected representatives!
Show With No Name playlist July 14, 2009
Aaaaand... we're back.
Whiter and more manlier than any Triple J Hottest 100 of All Songs On the iPods of Accountants. More annoying in our dedication to publicly broacasting classic rock tunes than Radio Dave, and far sketchier in our income details than Dodgy Butch the Second Hand CD Pimp...
Whiter and more manlier than any Triple J Hottest 100 of All Songs On the iPods of Accountants. More annoying in our dedication to publicly broacasting classic rock tunes than Radio Dave, and far sketchier in our income details than Dodgy Butch the Second Hand CD Pimp...
It's the Ballarat institution that's been putting bums on radio since 1914; a collected 367 years in show business that thrusts deeper than anything Gavin the Boot Rooter had a go at in his time.
After the appropriate amount of mourning for Jacko "I'm an Individual" Jackson, we've hit a new timeslot on the airwaves - 8pm till 10pm Tuesday nights - with a new range of cocktail friendly tunes.
The podcast is on its way! Catch up with the other podcasts here
Playlist Tuesday July 14
Sensational Alex Harvey Band - Midnight Moses
23rd Elvis - Destination Midnight
Frank Zappa - Cocaine Decisions
Andrez Williams - Chrysler 300
Sunnyboys - Trouble In My Brain
You Am I - I Can Hear the Grass Grow
Fugazi - Sieve Fisted Find
Funkadelic - Super Stoopid
Scientists of Modern Technology - Technology Illiterate
The Anti-Nowhere League - Streets of London
After the appropriate amount of mourning for Jacko "I'm an Individual" Jackson, we've hit a new timeslot on the airwaves - 8pm till 10pm Tuesday nights - with a new range of cocktail friendly tunes.
The podcast is on its way! Catch up with the other podcasts here
Playlist Tuesday July 14
Sensational Alex Harvey Band - Midnight Moses
23rd Elvis - Destination Midnight
Frank Zappa - Cocaine Decisions
Andrez Williams - Chrysler 300
Sunnyboys - Trouble In My Brain
You Am I - I Can Hear the Grass Grow
Fugazi - Sieve Fisted Find
Funkadelic - Super Stoopid
Scientists of Modern Technology - Technology Illiterate
The Anti-Nowhere League - Streets of London
Half-time oranges served
Iron Maiden - Fear of the Dark (live)
KISS - Shout It Loud
Fat Thing - Beaufort
TISM - The History of Western Civilisation
Capsicum - Don't Fuck With the Wongs
Split Enz - Give It a Whirl
Thin Lizzy - Bad Reputation
Pere Ubu - Waiting For Mary
Roky Erikson - It's a Cold Night for Alligators
Dead Milkmen - Punk Rock Girl
Joe Jackson - 5 Guys Named Moe
It's great to be back, in the heart of the hairy black Satanic anus of winter!
KISS - Shout It Loud
Fat Thing - Beaufort
TISM - The History of Western Civilisation
Capsicum - Don't Fuck With the Wongs
Split Enz - Give It a Whirl
Thin Lizzy - Bad Reputation
Pere Ubu - Waiting For Mary
Roky Erikson - It's a Cold Night for Alligators
Dead Milkmen - Punk Rock Girl
Joe Jackson - 5 Guys Named Moe
It's great to be back, in the heart of the hairy black Satanic anus of winter!
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