The poor me complex

The preacher makes an entrance once a week.  I know he chooses Wednesdays because that’s my worst day, and the day I’ll be most irritated – he does it just to annoy me.  As his jovial face comes into view, I can’t help but think his immaculately trimmed beard resembles a vagina.

He talks of humming birds, rainbows and orchids.  I call his rainbow, and raise him Ebola and flesh eating bacteria.  He counters with sunsets and dolphins dancing on the horizon, but I’m ready for him and spit out tsunamis and earthquakes.   Defeated, the preacher skulks away.  I smirk and wallow in my own sense of unwavering moral realism, let out a silly giggle and hurl the book he left on my desk, hitting him on the back of the head.  

The silly cunt who works in the front office scheduled an appointment for me outside of my normal working hours.  The sour bitch did it because she knew I wasn’t well, and wanted to take advantage of the fact.  She nodded her head apologetically, but I knew I could see a smirk underneath her mock concern.  I wondered what the fuck went on in her vacuous skull, and concluded probably nothing.

There’s this fat arsed bitch who runs lingerie parties, and leaves catalogues around the office.  I enjoy running my eyes over the dumb slut models between the pages, but any guilt I have is quickly drowned out in a wave of mighty self-righteousness.  I can perve on these slags, and wank to porn, and still be untouchable because I’m one of the enlightened ones.  I imagine the toad hostess wearing some of the outfits in the catalogue and suppress an urge to vomit on her.

I’m vaguely aware of a woman telling me a story about being continually raped by Salvation Army Officers whilst she was a resident in a girls home.  She said one would insert a bottle inside her, whilst the other masturbated on her face.  I file this story away for my next enounter with the preacher, and can’t help but smirk.

Another woman is complaing about money.  You see apparantly some bitch owes her about $50, and she’s pissed off that she’ll never get it back.  The ‘bitch’ who owes the money bought her stash of methodone, then had the poor manners to die of an overdose.   “Cunt” she screams out, as she pushes her instant coffee off the stool.

Finally in bed, I’m distracted by those motherfucking termites I can hear eating my fence.  The cunts with their single minded hunger chose now to start their chomping, because they know now is exactly the time that will annoy me the most.  I can also hear the bubbling of the septic tank.  Those cocksucking bacteria have conspired with the palm tree root – the one causing the crack in the side of the concrete.  I know this, because it’s the section right outside my bedroom window, and  is the place the stench of the rank fetid fluid can most easily make it to my nostrils.

The rain is getting heavier now, water is running down the inside of my walls, and the animals are stirring.  My arm is sore, and I realise that my baby is lying on it.  I’ve had to hold her to sleep again as she sobbed miserably – a regular occurance.  I listen to her rythmic breathing, and wonder how I’ll make it, and where the fuck the alleged hummingbirds are.

Published in: on June 23, 2009 at 12:50 am  Comments (3)  

Therapy of the collective

We humans tend to build our identities around particular stories and narratives that are constructed and changed over time.  How we define these stories is what’s at the centre of  how we feel.  If our  story is viewed from a purely negative perspective, then it makes sense that our quality of life will be diminished. 

For example, a woman I recently worked with described her story as being about a weak and broken person.  It’s not unusual for her to feel this way as she had endured many years living with terrible domestic violence.  (more…)

Published in: on April 7, 2009 at 3:31 am  Leave a Comment  



From here.

Published in: on March 12, 2009 at 8:42 am  Comments (3)  

Oh dear

Your morality is 0% in line with that of the bible.


Damn you heathen! Your book learnin’ has done warped your mind. You shall not be invited next time I sacrifice a goat.

Do You Have Biblical Morals?
Take More Quizzes

Published in: on February 25, 2009 at 5:55 am  Comments (3)  

Complicit in abuse?

When I hear members of the religious right and other moral panic merchants speak about the evil of pronography, I’m always dubious as to their motives.  Are they genuine in their concern for the degradation of women?  I really doubt it.   When a conservative says that they have the ‘utmost respect for women’ they are lying. Conservatives dislike women, and dislike feminism even more.  On one hand they bleat about the ‘evil’ of pron, yet their very ideology demands adherence to strict gender roles that cast the woman in the demeaning role of  the servant with the man as the master: a power sharing arrangement that closely resembles that of a man and his dog.  Conservative misogyny demands a post of its own, but this is about something else.


Published in: on January 13, 2009 at 2:42 am  Comments (5)  

Eat your heart out ladies!


I can’t add a poll due to my idiocy a technical problem, so here are the options.

1) OMG! I didn’t think that that the embodiment of a perfect man existed until now!!

2) OMG! an almost 40 year old trying to look like a 20 something.  How cute!

3) Fuck man, are you going for a comb over or what?

4) One earring = poof.  2 earrings = fucking poof.

5) Bron luvs Albi



Published in: on January 8, 2009 at 12:40 pm  Comments (13)  

Parity – Not!

I received an email from a dickhead reader the other day in which he claimed that sexually aggressive women harass men far more frequentlythan the vise versa.  Not only that, but the loyal reader went onto tell me that this harassment was not only more prevalent, but also more emotionally disturbing.  Additionally!!  ‘predatory women’ have made the streets unsafe for men these days!!


Published in: on January 8, 2009 at 12:12 pm  Comments (8)  

Object fixation

Over the fold is another puff piece that I wrote for the local paper earlier this year.


Published in: on December 23, 2008 at 11:36 pm  Comments (2)  

I write articles!

Most fortnights I write a small puff piece for the local regional newspaper.  The paper is so small, it doesn’t even have a web presence!


Published in: on December 18, 2008 at 5:30 am  Leave a Comment  

A general rant about fathers and daughters

Princess and angel are the two words I hear most when I hear men describe their daughters.    As the father of two, I can’t describe the feeling I had when the doctor in the delivery room said ‘it’s a girl’.  Because both girls were caesarean, I got to hold them first while the doctors went about stitching (stapling) my big girl back together.  They both had healthy lungs, and protested their rude arrival into this hideously sterile theatre very loudly.  The thing I remember most about holding these yelling little pink bundles was their breath.  It’s a smell that I haven’t smelled since, and I struggle to know how to describe.  It was earthy and beautiful, and it occurred to me that I was the first person to ever smell it.



Published in: on December 18, 2008 at 2:25 am  Comments (1)