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.