tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67682049761694601872024-03-05T18:37:39.464+11:00Clever BitchThe Bitch welcomes you to join the party and explore some of the strange issues confronting us in this confusing, dangerous, but entertaining world. Fresh from the dark heart of the inner city.Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-58603193706258128312014-12-12T14:57:00.001+11:002014-12-12T14:57:43.792+11:00The Bitch is BackApologies for the protracted absence, folks, but the Bitch is Back and you can expect to see some changes around here very soon.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Starting with the format. It's no news that <a href="http://www.pinkstinks.co.uk/">Pink Stinks</a>, after all. Please stand by, and thanks for your patience. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In the meantime, enjoy yourself a <a href="http://symmetrybreakfast.tumblr.com/">Symmetry Breakfast</a>, combining some of my favourite things (being food porn, beautiful flatware and an obsessive, anal attention to detail).</div>
<div>
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-61669127489438450462012-05-11T15:33:00.002+10:002012-05-11T18:15:22.972+10:00Forget Marilyn<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<br />
<img src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lgnfv9C9t31qz9qooo1_500.jpg" /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><i>I've never fooled anyone. I've let people fool themselves.</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><i>They didn't bother to find out who and what I was.</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><i>Instead they would invent a character for me. </i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><i>I wouldn't argue with them.</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><i>They were obviously loving somebody I wasn't.</i></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">― Marilyn Monroe.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
On August 5th of 2012, it will be fifty years since the death of Norma Jeane Baker, also known at various points throughout her life as Norma Jeane Mortenson, Norma Jeane Dougherty, Norma Jeane DiMaggio and, most famously, Marilyn Monroe. </div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
Norma Jeane (pictured above) died in 1962 - the death of an older woman, alone in her bed with a stomach full of barbiturates. Yet, it would seem that, even today, Marilyn Monroe remains very much alive and well. Actually, she's everywhere.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=43821441" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=43821441" style="font-size: 100%;" width="200" /></a><a href="https://encrypted-tbn3.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQTvyKbbO3mzvEQ9oIQkGv1W_yU_jUM8KZ5NLWZMtuNqUAunoWj4A" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQTvyKbbO3mzvEQ9oIQkGv1W_yU_jUM8KZ5NLWZMtuNqUAunoWj4A" style="font-size: 100%;" width="181" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQnuPoEbUIFU7e4C3mlwgzYmbV0IpD1g9fPcejWfTl02RygVA95" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQnuPoEbUIFU7e4C3mlwgzYmbV0IpD1g9fPcejWfTl02RygVA95" style="font-size: 100%;" width="200" /></a><a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQSVN6dKyfDjfIzjlMaxHk17uBMQs3LM67q0boK05PwcUcg666D" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQSVN6dKyfDjfIzjlMaxHk17uBMQs3LM67q0boK05PwcUcg666D" style="font-size: 100%;" width="135" /></a></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal;">
Her face adorns a huge array of consumer products, including clothing, handbags, leather furniture, cigarette lighters, homewares, and even vodka bottles. According to <i>Forbes Magazine</i>, Monroe's name, voice and likeness continue to earn approximately $8 million every year, with no sign of profits declining any time soon. </div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<img alt="Absolut Marilyn Monroe " src="http://26.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l8uqch5NOZ1qbjk4so1_500.jpg" /> </div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
The cultural (or should that be, pop-cultural?) fascination with Marilyn Monroe is further evidenced by the steady sales of over 600 books written about her life. She has been the subject of over a dozen film and television biographies, portrayed by actresses including Mira Sorvino, Michelle Williams, and in one upcoming tribute, Naomi Watts. She is regularly listed as having one of the most recognisable faces in the world.</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
And, despite her luscious figure, it is always her face, framed by its platinum halo, which is the most articulated in these images. <span style="font-size: 100%; text-align: center;">The problem is, whatever image of Marilyn Monroe you encounter, in whatever format and emblazoned on whatever piece of mechandise, she's apt to be smiling.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
Call it ironic, anachronistic, or even downright ghoulish, but the insistent fetishization of Monroe's beautiful face, and particularly of her smile, belies a few uncomfortable facts. Firstly, that this was the face of a deeply disturbed and unhappy woman who apparently took her own life. Secondly, that Marilyn Monroe simply does not exist. And she never did.</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
In the manner of many a mythological being, Marilyn Monroe emerged fully-formed from the void at some point during 194<span style="font-size: 100%;">5, around the beginning of the time that the world began to forget Norma Jeane, if she had ever been known at all. Many volumes have detailed the procedures involved in the metamorphosis; the acting, singing and deportment lessons, the meticulous attention to makeup, lighting, and camera angles, the cosmetic surgeries and hormone creams, and the drawn-out search for the "right" shade of blonde, to name but a few. Studio executives determined that Norma Jeane should take her mother's maiden name of Monroe, and being the types of guys who prefer to market an alliterative package, proposed the first name of Marilyn - a name that Norma Jeane is said to have both despised and initially protested.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 100%;">The resultant package was only too marketable. At the height of her fame, Norman Mailer dubbed Monroe to represent "every man's love affair with America". The ultimate blonde bombshell, Monroe captivated women and men alike with her breathless lisp and coy glances. Rubbing shoulders (and sometimes more) with actors, politicians and sports-stars, the intelligentsia and the gutter-press, paupers and Presidents, Marilyn played the part of the perfect sex symbol. </span><span style="font-size: 100%;">Not that she cared that much for the role. "Being a sex symbol is a heavy load to carry," she commented, "especially when one is tired, hurt and bewildered". </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;">Tired? Hurt? Bewildered? These adjectives are almost irreconcilable with the lingering and saturating images of Marilyn Monroe at her flirty, voluptuous best. Yet, she frequently commented on her deep discomfort with the image she was forced to present. When travelling alone, she made notable attempts to shed the cumbersome image and name of Marilyn Monroe, checking into hotels under pseudonyms and wearing scarves to cover her famous, platinum curls. </span><span style="font-size: 100%;">"A sex symbol becomes a thing", she said, "And I hate being a thing".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;">But we have made her a thing. The images that we see now of Marilyn Monroe represent a commodity, not a person. Even in death, Norma Jeane was unable to shed the image of Marilyn. Shortly a</span><span style="font-size: 100%;">fter her premature death, Hugh Hefner made a public display of buying the burial plot next to hers, ostensibly so that he could spend eternity lying next to the most beautiful woman in the world. Over forty years later, he sold this plot at a substantial profit. Norma Jeane found no escape from Marily in death: she is still a fetishized sex symbol, even in her grave.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; line-height: normal;">
<div style="font-style: normal;">
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Andy Warhol also was quick to cash in on Norma Jeane's demise, glibly recounting that he had started experimenting with silkscreen printing during August 1962, and that "When Marilyn Monroe happened to die that month, I got the idea to make screens of her beautiful face." One of these prints now resides on permanent display in New York's Museum of Modern Art.
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; text-align: center;">
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRpiYReDKY3EhQt1VEB5s78pr_AZJI2tMKxZXsiMWMhJ_VDNf28pA" />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
In 1973, Elton John released "Candle in the Wind", further glamorizing (and cashing in on) Marilyn Monroe's life and tragic death. At first glance, Sir Elton could be credited for his sensitivity, for his inclusion of the lines, </div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<i>They put you on the treadmill/ And they made you change your name, </i><br />
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
and his acknowledgement that,</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<i>Even when you died/ The press still hounded you/ All the papers had to say / Was that Marilyn was found in the nude. </i><br />
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Yet, the song becomes uncomfortable for its fetishization of female vulnerability. Illustrating Marilyn as a fragile candle, "never knowing who to cling to when the rain set in" clearly invites the listener to insert themselves as savior into an abortive rescue fantasy where Marilyn might just be alive today if only some special person would have treated her better. <span style="font-size: 100%;"> A certain hypocrisy also emanates from Elton's castigation of the media for feasting on Monroe, while he himself profits from picking the carcass of her suicide. </span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
In any event, Elton John snatched back his tribute to Monroe in 1997 and slapped it onto the proceedings of Princess Diana's funeral, re-branded as "Goodbye English Rose". Now we have a choice of vulnerable, blonde, females for our rescue fantasy. </div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
A worthy question in all this is, why Marilyn? Certainly she is seen to epitomise beauty and glamour but, both in her day and later, no more so than other screen sirens such as Rita Hayworth, Lana Turner or Kim Novak, whose beautiful visages have faded into a relative obscurity with the passage of time. Likewise, Marilyn's popularity can't be put down to her talent, or Bette Davis, Katharine Hepburn and Vivien Leigh would be similarly feted. </div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
The jarring and inescapable truth is that our fascination with Marilyn is inextricable from the manner and timing of her death. <span style="font-size: 100%;">She died at her peak and left an image that cannot be tarnished, of eternal youth, glamour and beauty. We will never see her aged mugshot in the manner of Zsa Zsa Gabor, or her eventual, octogenarian demise, like Elizabeth Taylor. When she picked up that bottle of pills in 1962, she escaped all temporal considerations and became ephemeral. </span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Certainly, it is no news that Hollywood loves a premature death because it contributes to a perpetually youthful star whose image is always saleable; one need only look to the examples of James Dean, Jean Harlow, or Natalie Wood for evidence of that fact. But there is no equivalence between these icons and Monroe, either in the manner of their deaths or the magnitude of their posthumous fame. Dean died in a car accident, Harlow of kidney failure, and Wood in mysterious circumstances suggesting foul play - Monroe is the only one suspected of dying by her own hand. And, crucially, only in the case of Monroe may we reasonably suspect that inability to cope with the incredible pressures placed on her by her fame and promoted public image were instrumental in her death. </div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
And Marilyn is the only one worth $8 million per year, 5o years later.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
Doubtless, a candle-lit vigil, or other expression of misguided public grief, will mark the anniversary of her death in August of this year. And doubtless, it will be accompanied by these very same images of Marilyn Monroe, worn on T-shirts or held up on placards, plastered on thermoses and wristwatches and cosmetic cases, even tattooed on bodies.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; text-align: center;">
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn3.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSe-zjKD7WLPy88xZrBCNxXHhkltJCWrJtl6OMj3v3drdIoFHmMvQ" />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
But in the context of her death, such iconography surpasses the inappropriate and borders upon the grotesque. We do her a disservice in remembering her under a name that she hated and which was not hers, and by glorifying in the manufactured images that burdened her so much. Trapped on a pedestal, Norma Jeane has been dehumanised by the glowing, golden Marilyn. Reduced to a buzzword, a sex symbol, a two-dimensional marketing strategy, this iconography freezes her forever as the very "thing" that she did not want to be. And it is these images, these conjured abstractions, that we forever associate with her, worshiping the construct that crushed Norma Jeane.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br />
Moreover, what do we teach young women, focusing as we do on such glamorized depictions of Marilyn Monroe, if not that the safest path to fame and adulation is to look sexy, die young and leave a beautiful corpse? Even if beauty and fame cost you your happiness. Even if they cost your very life.</div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
The only way to truly honour her life, or respect her death, is to do away with Marilyn Monroe. </div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 100%;">We need to forget Marilyn, and start remembering Norma Jeane.</span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; text-align: center;">
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRs_m-oJOYZIcsdXJNBQ_yw542f_UjXkHe75loe4E6WtCrkz4Mlyw" />
</div>
<div style="font-style: normal; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>RIP Norma Jeane Baker </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>June 1, 1926 - August 5, 1962</i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="font-style: normal;">
</div>
</div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-36300496359251929662011-08-11T11:26:00.006+10:002011-08-11T21:39:34.592+10:00Apocalypse, Soon<div>"You mark my words," says Spike, ex-army from the top of his buzz-cut to the tip of his heavy leather boots. "It's all going to shit, and you've got less than five years to make it out."</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Spike takes a long, contemplative swig of his scotch and growls, ominously, "You mark my words."</div><div>
<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://loverev.files.wordpress.com/2011/05/four-horsemen-of-the-apocalypse.jpg" /></div><div>
<br /></div><div>From the verandah of his comfortable house, nestled into a few thousand acres of pristine bushland, the world doesn't look at all like it's going to shit, but perhaps that's just a function of the tricks that the sunlight plays in the eucalypts on clear days. On the hillside, the rustling treetops resemble showgirls in spangled skirts - the effect is one of glitter. Below the treeline, Spike gestures proudly to several brand-new water tanks, augmenting a battered original.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>"There'll be enough for over a year of drought," he says. "And of course we're good for power with the solar grid. A hundred percent self-sufficient, in three years, that's the goal. We're at eighty percent, now. And that's not to mention the vegetables..."</div><div>
<br /></div><div>As he shows me the beds of tomatoes, eggplant and pumpkin, and seed potatoes and the chili bushes, there's a flinty edge to his eyes and his voice belying the facade of merely an enthusiastic gardener. In a sense, nothing has changed for Spike in the twenty years since he was a Special Ops sniper in Bosnia - he is still a man on a mission for survival. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Spike says, "If it's not the oil crash, it'll be water. Either way, things can't go on much longer. Everybody smart is getting the hell out of the cities..."</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Back in the city, Spike was my neighbour. Then, as now, he was an hospitable host with the ability to charm and unnerve his guests in equal measure.</div><div>
<br /></div><div><div>"...The cities are doomed," he says, oddly cheerfully. "They'll be dying like flies."</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I realise that "they", includes me.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>"There'll be nothing," he shakes his head, "no water, no food, violence, it'll be like Mogadishu, but worse. The end of society, the end of fucking everything. But we'll be set, out here. It'll only be the farmers that survive. And if anybody comes to try and steal my water, my power, the food for my daughter, I'll be waiting for them." </div><div>
<br /></div><div>There is a long pause. "I've got over ten thousand rounds."</div><div>
<br /></div><div>And a gun-safe, well stocked. And that decade of Special Ops training. I suppress a shiver as the possibility occurs to me that, far from dreading an apocalypse, Spike's looking forward to it. </div></div><div>
<br /></div><div>"I've a daughter to protect. A family. I'm not taking any fucking risks. From the house, I can take a person out from the top of the driveway." The driveway starts nearly a kilometre from the house, but Spike reels off the specs of several semi-automatic rifles he owns that could easily make the shot. He asks me if I have ever seen a gunshot wound.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>"It's not like in the movies, where a bullet goes in and there's a neat little hole," scoffs Spike. "Shoot a person with something like this," he gestures to his shotgun, "and there's nothing left of them. It's like a bag full of guts, exploding. Cut you right through the middle." He rubs his hands together and his voice is grim with overtones of glee. "I won't be taking any chances. You mark my words."</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I try to reconcile the competing images of Spike offering me a drink, and Spike blowing out my midsection with a semi-automatic rifle. Even I'm surprised by how easily the two seem to follow. Men like Spike are made of hard corners, which social niceties will only ever barely obscure. There is no doubt in my mind that, given the slightest threat to his family, Spike's tenuous civilian mindset would give way to the warrior sensibilities in which his character was forged. Something about the edge to Spike's voice assured me that, old friend or not, he'd blow me to pieces without a shred of dissonance should circumstances require. This is a man who has taken lives, before. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Some old soldiers, if you ask them in a quiet moment, admit an unfashionable truth. Some of them say that, despite the pain and futility and waste of it all, the things they saw and did, and the things that were done to them, war was still the best time of their lives. Some talk of the excitement of it, or of the camaraderie, or even just the sense of fighting for a "right" cause in a wrong world. Still others, for whom the war represented only the extremes of fear and horror, see peace and safety as bafflingly unrealistic concepts, flimsy as stage props and bound inevitably to crumble under the weight of reality. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>For one reason or another, many men live with rifles tucked just behind their eyes. Whether they fear the return to savagery, or whether they long for it, they always expect it. And soon.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>From inside the house comes the sound of Spike's little daughter, laughing and babbling after her bath. Spike's face lights up as he goes to embrace her. The evening passes pleasantly but my eyes are drawn back at times to the gun-safe, guarding the tools with which Spike will protect his tiny kingdom when the apocalypse comes. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>The next morning, on my way home to my doomed city, I drive past the marker at the top of the driveway. As it recedes into the distance, I feel a palpable but inexplicable sense of relief.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>
<br /></div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-85245676144679569742011-07-12T21:39:00.006+10:002011-07-12T23:51:00.586+10:00The Hidden Wrongness of Harry PotterThese days, everybody wants to be a wizard. How could we not? The Harry Potter universe is so beautifully realised that it feels like you could walk right in, pull up a Butterbeer, and chat with the Order of the Phoenix like you've known each other for years. Not to mention that the place is freaking AWESOME in every respect, from magic wands to dancing chocolate frogs, unicorns, dragons, potions, and high school that never involves maths or science.<div><br /></div><div>Of course, you have the downsides - Lord Voldemort, a variety of terrifically lethal monsters, sadistic teachers, irritating blonde enemies - but, let's face it, nobody ever looked <i>less</i> cool for smiting any of the above. If you don't mind the occasional near-death experience (and zombies, there are fucking zombies), then it would be unbelieveably, incredibly awesome to live in the Harry Potter Universe.</div><div><br /></div><div>Except that it totally isn't. Some scary and seriously overlooked shit goes down in the Harry Potter universe. Stuff like...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b>1. Fat people are evil.</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Let's play a game. First, let's have a glance at some of the heroes from Harry Potter:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://www.poster.net/potter-harry/potter-harry-harry-potter-iii-everything-will-change-harry-ron-and-hermione-3700863.jpg" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The three main characters</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQXYui4X84EtkZovErhBRQaEPhn9NCcaLeRw5p-zHY39M1ZMEpCGg&t=1" /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Dumbledore's Army (the entire student resistance)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Get a good look? Now, here are some images of Harry Potter villains:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://www.memecenter.com/uploaded/e1abe0ffdea57f5bb66b9e4fc4cf3efc.jpg" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Harry's asshat Uncle Vernon...</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://images.wikia.com/harrypotter/images/4/4c/Dudley.gif" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">...and Cousin Dudley</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://content8.flixster.com/question/63/34/10/6334102_std.jpg" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Draco's fat, stupid henchmen; Crabbe and Goyle</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://www.collider.com/uploads/imageGallery/Harry_Potter_Order_of_Phoenix/harry_potter_order_of_phoenix_image_imelda_staunton_as_dolores_umbridge.jpg" /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Sadistic, chubby torturer; Dolores Umbridge</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Getting the idea? Of course, I can already hear the bitching start, "But most of the Harry Potter villains are thin! And so is Imelda Staunton and you're full of shit!" To that, I say, take a closer look at Harry Potter and you'll notice that there is <i>not a single fat character who is a nice person*</i>. And that Dolores Umbridge is supposed to be fat in the books, with a double chin, bitches. J.K. Rowling really seems to have it in for the fatties in her novels, but occasionally must have felt like she was pushing the envelope as she settles, now and then, on simply ridiculing the appearance of unpleasant characters. Let's take Slytherin student Pansy Parkinson - a mere footnote to the story, she is rarely mentioned without Rowling adding, with relish, that she has a face like a bulldog.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b>2. No sex ed. And probably, no sex.</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">As Harry and the gang grew up, there were more than a few clues as to their romantic awakenings. And, at first, these seemed to be right on cue. By the fifth book, Harry sneaks a pash with Cho Chang, and it's not long after that Ron spends half of an entire book sucking face with Lavender Brown. Even mousy, bookish Hermione enjoys a flirtation with Viktor Krum - at one point even hinting that she may go to visit his home over the summertime.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">And then, right when everything seems to be steaming up... nothing. J.K. Rowling avoids the mention of sex almost studiously - no mean feat in novels featuring adolescent students of a co-ed boarding school. By the final novel, despite being alone, terrified and full of teenage hormones, seventeen year-old Ron and Hermione share perfectly chaste accommodation for months on end. The only hint of physical contact we are informed of is the scandalous detail that they <i>actually fall asleep holding hands</i>. But then, as explained by Rowling earlier in the series, women in the Harry Potter universe are curiously devoid of sexual desire - apparent in the fact that the girls' dormitories are equipped to keep the boys out, but the boys' dormitories require no such security measures.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Maybe it's a good thing that nobody at Hogwarts is getting down and dirty, though, considering that at no point are they ever seen to receive any sexual education. We readers would have really benefited from some as well, come to think of it. I have unanswered questions about wizarding contraception.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://www.twwn.net/Movie%20Pictures/HP2hermione_potion.jpg" /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"I can't handle another unplanned pregnancy!"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b>3. It's all about the... *ahem*, wand.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">In case you haven't noticed, it's a wizard's world out there. But I like to think that Rowling's hand was forced on this; in a climate where she was encouraged to use a gender-neutral pen name, she may have naturally (and probably correctly) realised that the series would have the most mainstream appeal if it featured a male protagonist.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://www.infobarrel.com/media/image/24498.jpg" /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"Guys, you ever get this feeling when chicks feature in books?"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Of course, Harry's best friend is also a guy. So is his mentor, Dumbledore, and his only remaining relative, Sirius. And his arch-enemy, Professor Snape. And his super-arch enemy, Lord Voldemort. There's Hermione, of course, but she's mainly there in a Lisa Simpson context; as a mobile encyclopaedia and force of temperance against the constant wand-stroking going on by the male main cast.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhofU0RiBPAj4wMw2H865EC99GGYqpcrA5yFd3J1cY19V5vUFpHoWEerWRLchDEs8e1QMwvIpNx6be2s5qDioBdBLHJn86YRFD9Z-dOgtZsqTHDNQ9ZRWC5Phgx297nxTGv3YmCxjlS7VMv/s1600/harry-potter-with-wand.jpg" /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">"Hey Voldemort! Wanna... duel?"</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Aside from the scarcity of female leads, the Harry Potter universe doesn't present women particularly well. In the <i>Goblet of Fire</i> Tri-Wizard Tournament, we not only saw the standard ratio of three men to one woman, but a female competitor who came last in<i> all three events</i>, and needed to be <i>rescued</i> (by men) in two of them. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Life for witches in the Harry Potter universe presents some considerable drawbacks, as well. Most wizarding marriages seem to take place straight out of high school, and any suspicions we have about wizarding contraception would seem to be borne out by the fact that women like Lily Potter, Molly Weasley, and Fleur Delacour all became mothers before their twenty-first birthdays. But that's not much of an issue, so long as their children don't turn out as...</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b>4. Squibs</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">For the uninitiated, a Squib in the Harry Potter universe is a child born to wizarding parents but without any magical powers of their own. Wizard attitudes to "special" children fall on the "only-just-above-Spartan" level, in that they don't merely fling the unfortunate prodigy from cliffs. However, Squibs are seen as a source of shame and embarrassment, often hidden, and usually sent into exile in the Muggle community because it's "kinder" that way. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">Rowling hints that a culture of Squibicide may have even existed in the wizarding world, what with widespread acceptance of the conspiracy theory that Dumbledore's sister was a Squib, deliberately done away with by the family.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://iowahouse.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/sad_kid.jpg" /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Don't worry, kid, Muggle society is used to failure<i>. You'll fit right in!</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">* </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; ">I should also point out that Hagrid isn't "fat" so much as "retarded half-giant". </span></div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-5085887558234669012011-05-12T15:47:00.000+10:002011-05-14T06:54:12.677+10:00Taking It Back?<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-language:EN-AU;mso-no-proof:yes">Most everyone with an internet subscription has probably heard of SlutWalk by now.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-language:EN-AU;mso-no-proof:yes"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://resources2.news.com.au/images/2011/05/10/1226053/625850-slut-walk-boston.jpg" /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-language:EN-AU;mso-no-proof:yes"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-language:EN-AU;mso-no-proof:yes">It all began in January of this year, when a Toronto policeman told a group of ten young women that “I've been told I'm not supposed to say this – however, women should avoid dressing like sluts in order not to be victimised." <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-language:EN-AU;mso-no-proof:yes"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://www.wearysloth.com/Gallery/ActorsP/13428.gif" /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="mso-fareast-language:EN-AU;mso-no-proof:yes"><i>Biggest "Police Fail" since Kill Bill.</i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="mso-fareast-language:EN-AU;mso-no-proof:yes"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-language:EN-AU;mso-no-proof:yes">The women were so (understandably) outraged at this betrayal of misogyny by those appointed to protect them, that they held a protest in Toronto on April 3, publicly condemning attitudes which blame and shame victims of sexual violence. They named it SlutWalk. Founders justified this decision in their online manifesto;</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-language:EN-AU;mso-no-proof:yes"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span><o:p></o:p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">"Historically, the term ‘slut’ has carried a predominantly negative connotation. Aimed at those who are sexually promiscuous, be it for work or pleasure, it has primarily been women who have suffered under the burden of this label. And whether dished out as a serious indictment of one’s character or merely as a flippant insult, the intent behind the word is always to wound, so we’re taking it back. 'Slut' is being re-appropriated."</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Change the word "slut" for the word "bitch", and you're left with a pretty reasonable explanation for the title of this blog. In naming it, and myself, Clever Bitch, I had hoped (perhaps naively) to preempt the most obvious epithet used to criticise opinionated females taking the wind out of its sails and the sting out of its tail. Yes, the writer of this blog is a Bitch. She's takin' it back. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Yet, while I thought of this move as empowering, an entire subsection of women resent the move to re-claim misogynist language. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">Not all participants in SlutWalk are advocates of reclaiming the word for our own use. Some march in outright hatred of the word, and refusal to accept that their dress or behaviour should warrant such a label. For them, reclamation of hate-speech is dangerously close to self-hate. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">"Why stoop to their level?", asked a friend. "What can we have to gain in taking on the language that has been used to oppress us? If we start to normalise and identify with words like 'slut' or 'skank', in the end we just devalue ourselves." </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">She may have a point. Indeed, it can be argued that our reclamation of hate-language can work to feed, rather than undermine its legitimacy. Society may have been largely rid of the sickening racial epithet "nigger" by now, were it not for the African American community "taking it back". Despite the way the word is thrown around self-referentially by rappers, it doesn't appear to have lost any of its sting in an inter-racial context. Vis a vis, the world of shit that rained down upon comedian Michael Richards when he taunted a largely-black audience with the 'N' word. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><img src="http://reelcollectors.com/Images/Category_10/subcat_113/Thumbs/PorchMonkey.jpg" /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 18px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span">"Taking it back" doesn't always work.</span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 18px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">There is, however, a definite potential for the reclamation of hate speech. Take the word "queer", originally an adjective, which in a few short decades has morphed into the proud adjectival noun, "Queer". If the gay community can do it, can women do it too? </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;"><img src="http://www.avoiceformen.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/slutwalk3.jpg" /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><i>I have a dream...</i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><i><br /></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><b>Slutwalk will be held in Newtown, Sydney on 13 June.</b></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><i>Do you think that hate-speech can be effectively reclaimed and re-purposed by women? Or are we selling ourselves out?</i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; "><i><br /></i></span></span></p>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-35671315197634918512011-02-16T11:39:00.004+11:002011-02-16T15:47:18.621+11:00Tough Call<div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://www.cat-pause.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/02/black_cat.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div><div>A few years ago, a bout of the flu and an overdose of daytime television catalysed a decision I had meant to make for years. Somewhere around the third consecutive day of infomercials broadcasting the wasted bodies and sad eyes of poverty-stricken children, I picked up the phone and said those fateful words, "Yes, I would like to sponsor a child." It seemed like such a straightforward decision. Then came the question that almost knocked me off my feet.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Do you have a preference for the gender, age or location of your sponsor child?"</div><div><br /></div><div>It had never occurred to me that you were able to select a sponsor child the way you might select a pet from a shelter. The question almost seemed offensive - as though I were being asked to play God with the futures of any number of starving children, to determine who was the most worthy of my sponsorship dollar. So I was surprised to hear myself smoothly responding;</div><div><br /></div><div>"A girl, please. Give me the first little girl on your list."</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, I had my reasons. There is plenty of evidence that the weight of poverty falls the hardest upon women and girls. Where food resources and educational opportunities are scarce, it is daughters rather than sons who tend to miss out. I liked the idea of giving a little girl a hand up, ensuring she got enough to eat, sending her to school and maybe even paving the way for a tertiary education, meaningful vocational training, and a way out of poverty. It sat well with my beliefs as a feminist and underdog-supporter to help the person I thought was least likely to benefit without it. So, a little girl it was.</div><div><br /></div><div>This decision never wore particularly heavily on my mind, especially when the photographs and letters from my sponsor child and her family evidenced that she was, indeed, happy, healthy, vaccinated, fed and attending school. Good on me, I thought. Pat on the back for helping out the little girl in need.</div><div><br /></div><div>And then came the letter. My sponsor-family had moved out of the area, wrote World Vision. However, they have taken the liberty of assigning me a new sponsor child so that I may continue to help families in need. Accompanying the letter was a photograph of my new sponsor child - a little boy in Central America. They "hope this is not a problem".</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, it's a brilliant tactic to retain sponsors, as it's much easier to refuse a new sponsorship than to cancel one that you are already associated with. They gave me a face, a young, adorable face, to associate with my new sponsorship, one that I and anybody else made of less than 50% concrete would have terrible trouble refusing. But part of me was annoyed. This totally ruined my little feminist plan to promote the well-being of the global sisterhood! I didn't sign up to be thrown a random child, I wanted to choose, god-damnit! I should call them up and let them have a piece of my mind.</div><div><br /></div><div>Then came the creeping fingers of moral panic, coldly up my spine. Was I seriously on the verge of abandoning a child in poverty because they were the wrong <i>gender</i>? Wasn't this male child also in need of food, schooling and medical care? Wasn't this the very type of sexism and gender-based system of privilege that I was seeking to avoid by sponsoring a girl in the first place? Stumped again, I never made the call. For almost a year now, I've been sponsoring the little boy, and never do I receive a statement from World Vision without feeling that churning feeling of reprehension in my stomach, knowing that I would rather sponsor a girl but also that it is morally indefensible to make the switch. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our choices and prejudices about who to help creep up on us in other unlikely places. For example, I recently came across the disturbing fact that black cats in animal shelters are euthanased at twice the rate of cats of other colours due to far lower adoption rates.* Whether it's down to superstitious beliefs, individual evaluations that black cats are too "plain", "common", or "lacking in distinguishing features", or even latent racism, the fact remains that black cats are routinely overlooked. Several animal rescue groups have even begun educational campaigns encouraging potential pet owners to go for black when adopting a cat or kitten in order to redress this imbalance.**</div><div><br /></div><div>I breathed a sigh of self-satisfied relief reading such articles because, happily, my beloved rescue-kitty is blacker than the Ace of Spades. I'm helping the problem! One less black cat euthanased! But, in consideration that only about one-quarter of dumped cats are eventually adopted out, I have to acknowledge that my choice was utterly moot in real terms. No matter which colour we choose to take home with us, another two or three cats of various colours are hitting the electricity. Adopting more black cats won't reduce overall euthanasia rates, simply skew them towards a more equal colour scheme. If this is equality, I'm not sure what the point is.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, giving advantageous treatment to a statistically disadvantaged group, be it women or black cats,<i> seems</i> like the responsible thing to do. I recall that, at the shelter where I adopted my little Black Panther, the kitten who had received the most expressions of interest was a little tabby, missing an eye. Everybody wanted to adopt him, the workers said, because everybody thought that nobody else would. Everybody wanted to be the saint who helped the overlooked and marginalised, with never a thought that they were creating a new status of marginalisation for the supposedly "privileged". Their group may look stronger, but it is still comprised of vulnerable individuals, be they cats on death row or children in poverty.</div><div><br /></div><div>Is this the area to which I verged in seeking to send my finite resources to a girl in poverty, rather than a boy? I hope I have made the right decision in the eyes of the world. A little girl will miss out, but, unlike my little boy, I will never see her face. More importantly, I will never look at either face and say, "I want to help someone, but sorry, I had something else in mind."</div><div><br /></div><div>* (<a href="http://www.mchumane.org/blackcat.shtml">http://www.mchumane.org/blackcat.shtml</a>)</div><div>** (e.g. <a href="http://www.itsaboutcats.rescuegroups.org/info/display?PageID=2175">http://www.itsaboutcats.rescuegroups.org/info/display?PageID=2175</a>).</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Would you choose the gender, age or location of a sponsor child?</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>And seriously - aren't black cats just awesome?</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-45109361891007592882011-01-31T11:39:00.005+11:002011-01-31T13:28:22.316+11:00Are the kids alright?You might not guess this at a glance, but somewhere underneath the Hollywood styling, designer accessories and buoyant coiffing is a little girl of ten years old.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://www.nowlisten2this.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/willow-smith-fashion-karate-kid450.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">... And if that's not scary enough, this photo was actually taken when she was nine. Her name is Willow Smith, and she's widely touted as the Next Big Thing on the pop music scene after the success of her first single, <i>Whip My Hair</i>. She's not the first child in her family to hit the entertainment scene in a big way before she even hits her teens; </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://images.eonline.com/eol_images/Entire_Site/20091201/300.karate.smith.lr.120109.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Recognise him? That's Jaden Smith, as he appeared opposite Jackie Chan in the remake of <i>The Karate Kid. </i>If the parental penny hasn't dropped yet, here's a family portrait to jog your memory:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/ef/Nobel_Peace_Price_Concert_2009_Will_Smith_and_Jada_Pinkett_Smith_with_children2.jpg/300px-Nobel_Peace_Price_Concert_2009_Will_Smith_and_Jada_Pinkett_Smith_with_children2.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Yep, Will Smith's kids are looking to end up as famous and successful as their Mum and Dad. And not everyone's happy about it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Author Terry McMillan recently tweeted that:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>The Smith children already act like child stars. There's an arrogance in their demeanor and behavior. I find it incredibly sad. It feels like the Smith children are being pimped and exploited. Or, they're hungry for fame. What about 4th grade?</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">She further hit out against the gushing descriptions of the children in public media - often from the children's parents - describing their prodigal talent and enthusiasm:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>These kids don't already know what they "love". Total bullshit. They're not prodigies. They think Hollywood is real. </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">And it was in this comment that she tapped the vein of the issue. The coverage of the Smith children has always been carried out with a considered, kid-glove professionalism that ensures a message of their empowerment and stomps upon the merest suggestion of exploitation. The army of managers, choreographers, songwriters, agents, stylists and make-up artists behind the scenes are played down as far as possible, and the resulting efforts touted merely as each child's "individual style", as though it was arrived at in the usual course of nine year-old experimentation, during an afternoon with Mum's pilfered makeup and jewellery.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://www.holamun2.com/files/images/mun2-images/news/best-video-moment/best-video-moment-willow-smith-whip-my-hair.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Not pictured: realistic styling by a 9 year old.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">In September 2009, then aged 9, Willow Smith told radio host Ryan Seacrest, "just be an individual, you can't be afraid to be yourself... and you can't let anybody tell you that's wrong". Neat, both in the sense that it would seem to both prove the child's utter commitment to their public image, and absolve any adult stakeholders in Willow's career should things go down the proverbial shitter. Listen to the child, people! She's not being exploited or marketed, she's a talented child, expressing her individuality!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Now, naturally the world is full of little girls and boys who would love to be actors, singers, rappers or the like. In fact, this trend is so common that in a recent survey of British schoolchildren, the most frequent answer to "what do you want to be when you grow up?" was simply; "Famous". Many of us remember our abortive childhood fantasies of rock stardom or Oscar acceptance speeches, and dreamed feverishly of "real" parents who would pick us up one day and turn out to be rich and famous, paving our way to the red carpets and superdomes of the glamorous people. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">No doubt, offered the deal that the Smith children have been born into (mega-star parents, unlimited access to the gears of fame creation) we would have jumped at the chance as well. We would have recorded the singles, we would have starred in the movies. We would probably have loved it - and we probably would have said so just as enthusiastically as Willow and Jaden. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">We probably would have thought pretty highly of ourselves, too. Not in our scene, the busboy actors and taxi-driving musicians looking for a break in an industry where it's always been about who you know. Not for us, the cattle-call auditions where children are seen and dismissed in their hundreds per hour. Not for us, the agony of forging a new brand in an industry already splitting at the seams; the talented rubbing elbows with the mediocre, the beautiful frantically exercising their advantage over the ordinary, the rejects by their thousands lining the exit corridor, bitterly stroking the fantasy of a big break that never came.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I can imagine any of us, styled to perfection and adopting our image as our individual style, sitting on a couch with Jay Leno, saying how we were "born to do this", speaking of our love and passion for our work. I can imagine us believing in the adoration, in the money, in the fame, perhaps even until it became integral to who we were. Would we ever be able to be happy without the flash of the cameras and screams of the fans? Would we ever know another desire for our future lives?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">So is this exploitation? Or, as McMillan would have it, pimping? Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith didn't respond publicly to McMillan's tweet, but it's clear that their intention is to give their children the best possible foothold in the slippery Hollywood market. Talented though the children undoubtedly are, it is understandable to criticize the way that coveted movie roles and recording contracts have fallen to them as a birthright, and at an age where they will be more likely to internalise their success as the deserved recognition of serious talent than to recognise it as a lucky side effect of their parentage.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But yet, the sheer volume of tickets and albums sold seems to speak for itself in that, for now, the Smith children are at the top of their games, and we are happily spending plenty of money to see them play. Perhaps someone is being exploited, and perhaps it is us.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>What do you think?</i></div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-30239732577641496012010-12-08T15:32:00.009+11:002011-02-01T12:16:43.458+11:00Terrifying Search Terms<span class="Apple-style-span">Sometimes the details dished out and presumed necessary to our lives can be far, far too much. For example, despite the media's insistence that I find this out, I never needed to know that Prince Charles murmured to Camilla that he wished to be her tampon. I have no idea what possessed my grandmother furnish me with a detailed description of the premature rupture of her hymen. I never needed to see Tara Reid's botched breast and stomach surgery. Or to hear that John Mayer waxes his pubic hair into the shape of a lightning rod, Lindsay Lohan is a "fire crotch", or that Lady Gaga thinks her creativity can be stolen through her vagina. I could have happily lived my life without any of this information.</span><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">But the very apex of my list of things I didn't need to know were some of the search terms that lead the net-surfing public to my humble little blog. With occasional blog titles such as <i>Jew Skin Lampshade, In case you ever wondered what humans taste like </i>and <i>An Historical Compendium of Dick Jokes,</i> some may argue that I brought this upon myself, but the fact remains that I was much, much happier before I logged on to Google Analytics.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The first few entries are misleadingly vanilla. For example, <i>Jim and the Indians</i> comes in with a healthy 121 searches this year. Variations of <i>What not to name your kids </i>and <i>Vengeance is Mine Inc. </i>total up to several hundred each. And then it starts getting more abstract.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img src="http://www.needlesandsins.com/2010/01/04/preserved%20tattoo%20skin.jpg" /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>Bitches</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">People must love us bitches cause over 300 individual search terms featured the word. Most were prosaically along the lines of <i>bitch girl names, clever bitches </i>or <i>hot bitches take it up the (name your orifice)</i> but some solo-handed surfers out there managed to go one better. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">My favorite, terrifying search terms including the word <i>bitch</i> were fortunately limited to one search each, and include;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-<i> Can you name your kid 'bitch'? </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">My response: "no".</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>- LBJ was a jew bitch</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I wanted to put this in the next section but the "bitch" part seemed rather more operative than the "Jew" part.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>Zeus was a bitch </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Totally agreed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">AND THE WINNER:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>5pm is bitch raping time</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Actually, this came up <i>four times</i>. I'm terrified.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>Porn</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Most readers will not be surprised to hear that this simple concept was elaborated in nearly 500 different search terms, most also including the words <i>bitch, secret</i> or <i>nasty. </i> And then there were some other somewhat inexplicable keywords, including:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>clever porn</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">This came up almost 50 times. Can someone please explain what makes porn clever?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>vengeance is mine porn</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Did Roald Dahl sign off on this script?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><div><span class="Apple-style-span">AND THE WINNER:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>Admit it bitch, you were porn</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I have no idea what this is meant to mean.</span></div></span></span></div></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>Tattoos and Jews</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">It seems that, despite my mother's horrified reaction to the idea, there are many sick individuals out there who have also toyed with the idea of preserving their tattoos after death, as I discussed in my first-ever post <i>Jew Skin Lampshade</i>. Over 50 searches were based on variations of "<i>preserve tattoo after death"</i>, but the true horror only becomes evident when you scroll down and discover that</span><span class="Apple-style-span"> variations of<i> Jewskin, </i>and<i> Jewskin lampshade </i>were searched OVER 100 TIMES. In addition, some charming individuals searched terms including:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>Where can I buy Jew skin?</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I wouldn't have guessed you could, except...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>Jew skin for sale</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Now I'm officially horrified.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">AND THE WINNER:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>How to skin a Jew</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Honestly - is there somewhere you can report this sort of thing?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>Historical sex</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">On a lighter note, some people just can't get enough of Zeus' sexual shenanigans. The exact term<i> Zeus rape </i>appeared 17 times, but variations on the phrase pushed searches into the hundreds. Some stunners on the topic included:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>Did Zeus rape Danae?</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>- Did Zeus rape Europa?</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>- Did Zeus rape his mother? </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Yes, yes, and - sadly, yes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>- Ron Jeremy as Zeus?</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I can't scrub my brain clean enough, I tell you.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">AND THE WINNER:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>Beatrice's tits in Dante's inferno</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Searched twice to lead to this blog, despite no references anywhere here to Beatrice's tits.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>The taste of humans</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Sounds like the grand taboo is no longer that taboo. 12<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre; "> </span>searches were run using <i>humans taste like pork? </i>as keywords, an equal number for <i>pork taste like human</i>, and dozens more referenced cannibalism, pork, crackling, firemen, William Seabrook and "long pigs". </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">AND THE WINNER:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">-<i> Rump girl meat cannibal</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">This was searched up to A DOZEN times - by someone sick, no doubt.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>Tony Abbott</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Dozens of people came across this site whilst searching for Tony at election time, mostly with keywords including <i>misogynist, abortion, adoption, shocking </i>and <i>hypocrite. </i>Yet it seems that Tony is never without his fans, and thus;</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">THE WINNER:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>Tony Abbott sexiest ioning board (sic)</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">As I previously pointed out, his abs would look great at Mardi Gras.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>And then... </b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">There are those keywords that defy any decent categorisation - or even an explanation of how they lead to this site, such as:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>Clever masturbation</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Is there a "smart" or "dumb" way to rub your dick until jizz comes out, dude?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>receding hairline beer belly sexy</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><br /></i></span></div><div>And then finally...</div><div><br /></div><div>THE WINNER:</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">- <i>live donkey show</i></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Somewhere on this blog I must have mentioned one, or this search term wouldn't have lead you here. I'm sorry... really. </span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-2027260873970478292010-09-08T07:05:00.001+10:002010-09-08T07:06:18.581+10:00Awesome Ways Movies Predicted Future Technology<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" >The future has arrived... and it looks oddly like an eighties film. Despite the fact that a quarter of a century after </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" >Back To The Future</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" >, we </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" >still</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" > do not have hoverboards, flying cars, or cold fusion, a lot of modern ingenuity has yielded results that look, well, pretty much like the movies we grew up with.<br /><br />Here a few of the more brilliant future predictions from films of previous decades.<br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" > <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" >The Roomba</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://www.freewebs.com/futurecities/roomba.jpg" src="http://www.freewebs.com/futurecities/roomba.jpg" /><br /></span></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">Predicted by: Star Wars, The Fifth Element</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /><br />Oh, the mind-blowing, fantasy-inducing concept of sitting back with a cold one while a robot cleans your kitchen for you! When Zorg leans back in his chair and ruminates on the beauty of his robotic cleaning appliances, it's hard to disagree. Also hard to disagree with is the sort of elephant worm-baby he keeps as a pet.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://www.blogcdn.com/www.cinematical.com/media/2010/04/picasso-1270460861.jpg" src="http://www.blogcdn.com/www.cinematical.com/media/2010/04/picasso-1270460861.jpg" /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">It has HUMAN EYES!!</span><br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Elephant aside, it seems we didn't need to wait until the year 2263</span> for some tech geeks to put the ultimate human fantasy into motion. Product: the Roomba. A freaking robot that cleans your freakin' house, while you sit back with a cold one.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://www.robotster.org/images/hacked_roomba.jpg" src="http://www.robotster.org/images/hacked_roomba.jpg" /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Guaranteed not to overthrow the universe.</span><br /></span></div></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Robotic Limbs</span><br /><br />Predicted by: Star Wars, Cyborg, The Six Million Dollar Man<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Recent advances in prosthetics have yielded replacement limbs so cool as to almost take the sting out of losing a limb in the first place.<br /><br /><br /></span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/445_pigmarket.jpg" src="http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/wp-content/uploads/2009/06/445_pigmarket.jpg" /></span></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">A good sense of humour can also go a long way towards this end.</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">But seriously, behold the beauty that is the myoelectric limb:<br /><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://www.feinberg.northwestern.edu/bin/g/m/imes_scheme.gif" src="http://www.feinberg.northwestern.edu/bin/g/m/imes_scheme.gif" /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" >These nifty devices operate using myoelectrography - that is, sensors attached to the remaining limb interpret output from voluntary muscle movements. You might not have a forearm anymore, but you have muscles in your upper arm that would have controlled its movements. The prosthesis extrapolates what your forearm or hand <span style="font-style: italic;">would</span> be doing when those muscles are moved, and moves the prosthesis accordingly. The most recent models allow complex movements of the fingers and thumb, allowing for rotation and adjustment of grip, giving users a fairly good approximation of normal hand movement.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://www.medgadget.com/archives/img/56y4q3.jpg" src="http://www.medgadget.com/archives/img/56y4q3.jpg" /><br /></span></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: normal;font-size:100%;" >You can even get a fancy cover for these prosthetics, called a cosmesis, which approximates the appearance of normal human skin. Copy and paste the link below for some great images of just how realistic this can look, as well as an enthusiastic testimonial from a user.<br /><br />http://www.gearability.com/2007/07/18/a-life-like-fully-articulated-prosthetic-hand/</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span></div></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Neural Prostheses</span><br /><br /></span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://escience.anu.edu.au/lecture/ivr/vr/image/johnny.jpg" src="http://escience.anu.edu.au/lecture/ivr/vr/image/johnny.jpg" /><br /></span></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><br />Predicted by: Johnny Mnemonic, The Matrix<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Ok, it doesn't really look like that. It looks much more like this:<br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img style="width: 335px; height: 288px;" alt="http://www.deaflion.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/02/Auditory-Brainstem-Implant.jpg" src="http://www.deaflion.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/02/Auditory-Brainstem-Implant.jpg" /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />Pictured: Less frightening</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Fortunately, the 90's shocker that was "Johnny Mnemonic" predicted the technology but not the application. Rather than nefarious purposes such as information-smuggling, modern medicine employs these implants for things made of sheer awesome, such an enabling deaf people to hear again. Oh, and speaking of sheer awesome, did I mention that these devices are basically computer chips that are configured to </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >fit into and work with your brain,</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> replacing damaged or impaired neural networks?</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" > </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br />With these types of advances, it's only a matter of time before we can download Ju-Jitsu straight into our skulls.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://www.cinemablend.com/images/news_img/6264/6264.jpg" src="http://www.cinemablend.com/images/news_img/6264/6264.jpg" /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><br />And, presumably, stop bullets while looking like a stone-cold douchebag.</span><br /></span> </div></div></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" >Androids</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><br />Predicted by: Blade Runner, Alien</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">The Japanese android or "actroid" DER-01 contains 47 moveable joints, and is capable not only capable of performing complex hand and foot movements, but mimicking a range of facial expressions.</span><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://moreintelligentlife.com/files/two%20men.jpg" src="http://moreintelligentlife.com/files/two%20men.jpg" /></span></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-size:85%;">In a really non-convincing way.</span><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" >Potential uses for this type of android have not been clearly articulated - they don't really need to be, as most tech-geeks are happy enough just to stare at the thing in wonder, and ruminate on how much it might cost to buy one. My personal prediction is that they end up somewhere between interpreter droids and sexbots:<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img style="width: 276px; height: 554px;" alt="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/16/Actroid-DER_01.jpg/299px-Actroid-DER_01.jpg" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/16/Actroid-DER_01.jpg/299px-Actroid-DER_01.jpg" /></span></div><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:85%;">We are already frightening close on this score.</span><br /></span></div><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Any others?</span></span></span>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-1848008545508299172010-08-16T20:19:00.006+10:002010-08-16T23:08:23.066+10:00An Historical Compendium of Dick JokesClever Bitch is up to her elbows in her Masters thesis, so it seems like time for something light. It's hard to get lighter than dick jokes, so here is a collection of stunners from the last couple thousand years.
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="width: 216px; height: 405px;" alt="http://robert.accettura.com/gallery/var/resizes/museumofstupidity/photoshopmadness/slightly_adult/washington_monument_peni.jpg?m=1280098752" src="http://robert.accettura.com/gallery/var/resizes/museumofstupidity/photoshopmadness/slightly_adult/washington_monument_peni.jpg?m=1280098752" /></div>
<br />
<br />Yes, they really do go back that far.
<br />
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">Martial (circa 38 - 104 AD)</span></span>
<br /><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When you hear clapping in the baths,
<br />
<br />You know some moron with a giant dick has arrived.</span>
<br />
<br /></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" >Juvenal (circa 100 AD)</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:100%;">When you've run out of luck, it doesn't matter how long your dick is.</span></span>
<br />
<br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" >Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519)</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-size:100%;">This little treasure was found scrawled in the margins of one of da Vinci's notebooks:
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">A woman was washing her clothes, and her feet were very red with cold. A priest who was passing by asked her in amazement, whence came the redness and the woman replied at once that it was the result of the fire she had burning below. Then the priest seized that part on his being that was responsible for his being a priest and not a nun, and drawing close to her, with a sweet and soft voice, begged her to be so kind as to light his candle for him.</span></span>
<br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204)" >
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">William Shakespeare (</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >Twelfth Night, </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-size:130%;">1601-1602)</span></span>
<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">
<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">Fool: <span style="font-style: italic;">Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage. </span>(Hahah, geddit?)
<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" >
<br />William Shakespeare (<span style="font-style: italic;">Anthony and Cleopatra, </span>circa 1603-1607)</span></span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>Iras:<span style="font-style: italic;"> Am I not an inch of fortune better than she?</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>Charmian:<span style="font-style: italic;"> Well, if you were but an inch of fortune better than I, where would you choose it?</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>Iras: <span style="font-style: italic;">Not in my husband's nose.</span>
<br />
<br />(Translation: in his fucking pants.)<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204)" >
<br />
<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Mae West (1936)</span>
<br />
<br /></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;" >To a Los Angeles police officer who was to escort her:
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Is that a pistol in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?</span></span></span>
<br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);font-size:100%;" >
<br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" >"Alexander DeLarge" (</span></span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" >A Clockwork Orange, </span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" >1971)</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-size:100%;">To an attractive girl, sucking on a popsicle:
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Bit cold and pointless isn't it, my lovely?</span>
<br /></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:130%;" >
<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><span style="font-size:130%;">Robin Williams (1951 - present)</span></span>
<br />
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When in doubt, go for the dick joke.</span>
<br /></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><span style="font-style: italic;">
<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Amen, brother.
<br />
<br />Please add your own!</span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">
<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-24524858627788458772010-07-19T11:03:00.007+10:002010-07-19T11:46:00.834+10:00Divided Loyalties<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX8mWsATUOXtJpL-VjE5Lme6w6K46snvbOeOyxri-gxZZY-9oIbcoSwlj2p5lG9CR6IzoDoz-gBlM-sVRJKsOWad0vFoc0XClwps0b6US9PHY4XhwE6TRp1pbVq3biJ0j_7IdhBp8OUrc/s1600/us_soldier_silhouette.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 177px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 238px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495426617012622386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX8mWsATUOXtJpL-VjE5Lme6w6K46snvbOeOyxri-gxZZY-9oIbcoSwlj2p5lG9CR6IzoDoz-gBlM-sVRJKsOWad0vFoc0XClwps0b6US9PHY4XhwE6TRp1pbVq3biJ0j_7IdhBp8OUrc/s320/us_soldier_silhouette.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>Amy is an army wife, who met me for our appointment armed with an eight week-old baby and a stiff upper lip. She's impressively calm, considering her age (21) and her first-time mother status. That, and her husband has been on deployment for the last month.</div><br /><div>"He was here for the birth," she chirrups, happily, nudging a pacifier into her baby's mouth. "I guess that's the important thing. And next week he'll be back. We have three whole weeks before he's deployed again."<br /></div><div>"How long is his next deployment?" I asked.</div><br /><div>Surprisingly cheerfully, Amy responded that Nathan would be away for six months. And, incredibly, she's happy about having a mere three weeks of her married life before he goes.</div><br /><div>It suddenly occurred to me that I was never going to share her attitude. </div><br /><div>I've always considered military service as a sort of relationship deal-breaker. This could cop me a lot of flack (no pun intended), but if you ship out, don't expect me to be here when you get back. Short of a major war posing a direct threat to our country, my policy is that your first duty is to your family. Asking to have a career in the field and a family waiting patiently at home seems to me a bit like wanting to have your cake and eat it too. </div><br /><div>Nathan's enlistment is more than just a powerful contract between himself and the armed forces. It is an enormous sacrifice on the part of his family. Nathan will not be here to see his son learn to sit alone, to crawl, or to start babbling his first words. His son will miss the chance to bond with his father, imitate his voice or play with him. In effect, when Nathan returns from his stint overseas, he will walk into his son's life as a total stranger.</div><br /><div>All alone in her comfortable, military-funded apartment, Amy will endure sleepless nights, tantrums, teething, colic, and probably at least one midnight trip to the Emergency department with a screaming baby - all without the support of her husband. A weekly direct-deposit into her bank account will be, for months on end, the only sign she sees of him apart from an occasional, rushed phone call from a ship's satellite. And when he comes back, a few months of respite before it is all repeated again. That, of course, is assuming that Nathan returns at all. It's hard to imagine the sleepless nights, the unrelenting anxiety that he might not come home... and the grim reality if he does not.</div><br /><div>In the end, Nathan's career choice has left Amy holding the baby.</div><br /><div>Amy is happy - at least for now. She respects her husband's career and certainly enjoys the benefit of being able to stay home with her baby thanks to Nathan's income. But, to me, it would never be enough. Nathan has sworn an oath and signed a contract stating that his primary loyalty is to his country - his family, by necessity, will come second. </div><br /><div>To me, that's the ultimate deal-breaker.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><em>What do you think?</em></div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-64236691498494314892010-07-02T14:46:00.005+10:002010-07-04T18:19:09.237+10:00Is "Sorry" Ever Good Enough?"Zoe" furrowed her brows as if in physical pain while she told me the story, and asked me, almost imploringly;<br /><br />"What could I say to her? I was supposed to disagree - to take control of the situation, somehow - but everything she said was true."<br /><br />Zoe is finishing up her training as a psychologist, working in a psychiatric clinic where she is responsible for running group therapy. There are a range of personalities, backgrounds, and clinical presentations amongst her clients - many have mood disorders such as anxiety and depression, some have addictions, whilst others suffer from post-traumatic stress. All are on shaky ground in many respects. There's a lot of pain in the little room from which she runs the afternoon groups. And a raw nerve was touched last week.<br /><br />One group member, "Rachel" told the group about how she had been a bully as a teenager. She related in detail how she had emotionally, and occasionally physically brutalised a particular girl she disliked, isolating her socially and effectively running her out of the school. Zoe sighed as she told me this part of the story, because, in her words, "She said she felt sorry, but Rachel sounded a lot sorrier for herself than for the things she did to that other girl. She was trying to relate it back to how troubled a teenager she, herself, had been. She had a point, but... well, I can see why it triggered what happened next."<br /><br />What happened next was that another group member, "Jane", threw a chair at Rachel. As Zoe frantically tried to calm the situation, Jane screamed that bullies like Rachel had ruined her life, and that she didn't want to sit here listening to a sob story about how hard it had been for them to do it. And it was right then that Zoe faced her worst professional dilemma so far. She was obliged to defend Rachel - but she secretly agreed with Jane.<br /><br />I can understand how torn Zoe must have felt. She, I, and many millions of other people around the world can remember only too well what it was like to be on the wrong end of a high school bully. When I was 15, the new Queen Bee pulled a Rachel-style attack on me, and it's painful to admit that, a decade later, I still have occasional nightmares about that time. Within a few short weeks, she had orchestrated a coup that permanently cost me the girls who had previously been my best friends. Of course, she didn't stop there. In typical Queen Bee Bully style, there were my secrets to disseminate, nasty rumours to be spread, and boycotts to be organised. To this day, I'm still not sure why I was the particular object of her wrath - but then, the motives of bullies are generally mysterious to their victims. All I know is that she was wrathful, ruthless, and extremely efficient in her stated aim of destroying my confidence and shrinking me into a miserable wreck for the remainder of my high school years.<br /><br />Two years after I was shredded by the bullies, my old best friend, who had not spoken to me since, decided to try to apologise. I was at an end-of-school party when she approached and asked rather nervously for "a moment to talk". For a moment, I was so happy I nearly choked on my beer. Maybe, after all this time, she was going to say she was sorry for how she had treated me, and maybe try to patch up our friendship which, despite everything, I still missed. Maybe she was going to admit that Queen Bee had been wrong.<br /><br />She did apologise, in a sense. Once we got out of earshot of the other partygoers, she told me that she felt "pretty bad about everything". She hoped I could forgive her, she said.<br /><br />I was caught somewhere between happiness and indignation. I tried to keep my voice steady.<br /><br />"After all this...? Well, I mean, if you want to sort of make an... effort to --"<br /><br />That's as far as I got. Her eyes flickered nervously as she stammered;<br /><br />"Oh no! I mean, not like that... like, make an effort or anything...", she trailed off lamely, and suddenly there was almost a nakedness between us of perfect understanding.<br /><br />"You don't actually care what you did to me, do you? You just want me to forgive you so you don't have to feel bad, right?" My voice shook a little and a tear dripped down my nose during the long pause before she shook her head, sadly, and walked off. We never spoke again.<br /><br />Would sorry have been good enough if it had come with reparations?<br /><br />I can't say. All I know is that it felt empty to hear her ask for forgiveness without ever needing to suffer, or acknowledge the suffering she caused me. Jane must have felt the same way, listening to Rachel talk about her past and ask the group to acknowledge her experience. Jane's life had been scarred by people like Rachel, and now Rachel was asking for forgiveness, sympathy - all the things she had not shown her victims. To Jane, these were the crocodile tears of an unrepentant predator.<br /><br />In the end, Zoe had managed to defuse the situation, calm Jane down, and get the group back on track. But she was shaken, having realised a weakness she hadn't known would affect her professionally. Part of her had wanted to stand up with Jane and yell at Rachel that Sorry wasn't good enough, and that No, she was not understood. She was Not Forgiven. Of course, she didn't. Her years of training served her well, and she ran through her usual spiel about how the group was a space where we had to show respect for others and allow them to express themselves and how criticism should be brought up in a respectful way and yada yada yada.<br /><br />"But the whole time," she said to me later, "the whole time, I felt so wrong inside."Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-32442602065643693762010-06-23T13:01:00.010+10:002010-07-04T18:19:23.373+10:00Tony Abbott: The Finer Points of Idiocy in Public<span style="font-size:100%;">With the approach of yet another Australian Federal election it becomes the right and privilege of bloggers around the country to bag out the candidates. In accordance, here is the sordid little history of Tony Abbott, and some of the highlights of the two decades he has spent ritualistically assassinating his own public credibility - seemingly without political repercussions bar being nominated as the Coalition candidate for (gulp) our next Prime Minister.<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://afreshstartinaugust.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/tony-abbott-ray-strange.jpg" src="http://afreshstartinaugust.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/tony-abbott-ray-strange.jpg" /><br /><br />You're laughing already, aren't you, bitch?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Here is a collection of some of Tony's most memorable public statements, foibles, and episodes of apparently total public idiocy.<br /></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">Back to your Ironing, Woman! (2010)</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />Tony was having a good old chin-wag with a country local dry-cleaner earlier this year about the proposed Emissions Trading Scheme. Being the sort of guy that he is, Tony thought he'd put in the terms of an ordinary person. This comment was taped:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">What the housewives of Australia need to understand, when they're doing the ironing is if they get it done commercially it's going to go up in price, and their own power bills when they switch the iron on are going to go up.<br /></span><br />When his comments were criticised for being old-fashioned and sexist, Tony did little to reassure angry women, standing by his comment and claiming that his wife did all the ironing in house. When the predictable backlash occurred, Tony organised a film crew to follow him to a laundromat, where he learned to use an iron for the first time in his life, at the tender age of 52.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The Dying Man is Pulling a Stunt (2007)</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />Specifically, this guy:<br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://www.adri.org.au/images/photos_bernie_banton_3a.jpg" src="http://www.adri.org.au/images/photos_bernie_banton_3a.jpg" /><br /></span></div><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />His name was Bernie Banton, and he was dying from advanced asbestosis and mesothelioma. Here's a visual aid to put that into perspective: </span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://www.texas-mesothelioma.com/images/mesothelioma-patient-xray-photo.jpg" src="http://www.texas-mesothelioma.com/images/mesothelioma-patient-xray-photo.jpg" /></span></div><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:100%;" ><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Banton was a social justice campaigner representing thousands of workers who had been exposed to asbestos and other dangerous building materials in previous decades. During the lead-up to the 2007 Federal Election, Banton had been compiling an enormous community petition to try to have a new mesothelioma medication added to the Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme - in other words, so that those who needed the drug could afford to get it.<br /><br />Understanding the delicacy of the situation, Tony accepted to meet Banton at his electoral office and receive the petition - and then basically blew the meeting off cause he was interstate. Rather than apologise, Tony labelled the event as a stunt, and stated;<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I know Bernie is very sick, but just because a person is sick doesn't mean that he is necessarily pure of heart in all things.<br /><br /></span>For the record, Bernie died three days after the election.<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;">Gay People Are Threatening (2010)</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />Tony has never made it a secret that he feels this way, repeatedly opposing gay marriage, access to IVF for gay couples, and generally any extension of social recognition to homosexual relationships. To this day he remains unashamed of his standpoint, as recently evidenced by the failure of his tongue to communicate with his brain in a <span style="font-style: italic;">60 Minutes</span> interview. Upon being asked how he felt about homosexuality, Tony replied;<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I probably feel a bit threatened... as so many people do.<br /><br /></span>He "clarified" this comment the following day, stating that:<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />There is no doubt that (homosexuality) challenges, if you like, orthodox notions of the right order of things.<br /></span></span><br />I suppose the one thing that the guy has going for him here is that he can actually admit he's a bigot. Unfortunately, he seems to think that everyone else is, too.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://www.thepunch.com.au/images/uploads/abbott_swim.jpg" src="http://www.thepunch.com.au/images/uploads/abbott_swim.jpg" /><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />And it's a shame, cause he would fit in perfectly at Mardi Gras.</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:100%;" ><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Tony Wins! (2002-present)</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" ><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">The Ernie Awards are to a political honou</span><span style="font-size:100%;">r what the Razzies are to the Oscars. M0re specifically, the Ernies are annual awards for Australian men who make the most sexist, misogynistic, or otherwise unhelpful remarks about women. They've even compiled a book of this crap.<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img alt="http://www.canterbury.nsw.gov.au/resources/images/Ernies.jpg" src="http://www.canterbury.nsw.gov.au/resources/images/Ernies.jpg" /></span></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Tony, who seems to have a peculiar dislike for women's policy issues, was "honoured" with the 2002 Silver Ernie for Politics, for stating that a paid maternity leave scheme would happen "over this government's dead body!". He has been awarded four "Repeat Offender" Ernies in 2002 and 2005-7, and was also nominated for the Gold Ernie for his 2004 comment that "abortion in Australia has been reduced to a question of the mother's convenience."<br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />There's a hot tip out there that he might well be re-nominated this year. If not for the ironing board remark, then for his bafflingly hypocritical statement to the Australian Women's Weekly that young women should consider their virginity to be a "precious gift" they should not give away lightly. Hypocritical? Well, yes, in light of...<br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><span style="font-size:130%;">The Phantom Love-Child (2004)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">In 2004, a young man who had been adopted as a baby went in search of his biological parents. He found his mother, who directed him to the man she thought was the father - Tony Abbott, who it seemed had fathered a baby boy at the age of 19. Tony found himself in a peculiar and delicate situation - a son he had never met, a media pack swarming around his every door, and the need to reconcile the current scandal with his heavily self-promoted image as a Christian family man.<br /><br />He ended up using his reconciliation with his son to promote his anti-abortion, pro-adoption stance - conveniently, in the run-up to the parliamentary vote on RU486. He published several mushy interviews expressing his delight in finally meeting his "long-lost son", and condemning how "callow" he was to put the child up for adoption in the first place.<br /><br />In all the excitement, nobody bothered to wait for the results of the DNA test. By early 2005 it had become apparent that Tony bore no biological relationship to his widely publicised "son". Tony was left with a soiled reputation and no long-lost family members to show for it.<br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">Don't Believe Me (2010)</span></span><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:100%;">As though in an attempt not to merely piss all over his credibility but actually stomp it into the ground and bulldoze it into submission, Tony came out with this purler on the ABC's </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >7:30 Report</span><span style="font-size:100%;">. Inexplicable failures of grammar and thought processing do little to mask the brilliance of this half-hearted admission to lying during interviews;<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Politicians are going to be judged on everything they say, but sometimes, in the heat of discussion, you do go a bit further than you would if it was an absolutely, ah, calm, considered, prepared, scripted remark.<br /><br />Which is one of the reasons why the, the the statements that need to be taken absolutely as, as gospel truth is those carefully prepared, scripted remarks.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:100%;">You have it from the horse's mouth</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:100%;">.<br /></span><br /></span></span></span></div></div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-8085937519657632572010-06-02T22:46:00.015+10:002010-07-04T18:19:35.177+10:002010: A Vampire Odyssey Comes Full CircleFor a genre that may have seemed to have had the blood sucked out of it a long time ago, vampire films have proved a remarkable ability to evolve with the times. It's taken a few subtle and not-so-subtle turns before arriving at the present-day sorry state of affairs. (Seriously, fucking <em>sparkling</em> vampires?<br /><br />Clearly, the best place to start would be...<br /><br /><br /><br /><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 230px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478165993463437954" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUyL0Du1eepPjXUMpfWpjQbUHKQBH4y7h9Jpo0NYL3X2viPLrL5nMQSeA8KTbpD_wuDcSPRigltpXPA4jqAC1e1pCGANoif2eUNzucavoI4Mq7sfJ-LK9MNC2l-_pn9Yyv1_hLq1NEoh4/s320/nosferatu.jpg" border="0" /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >Stage 1: The Monster</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><em>Nosferatu</em>, 1922</span><br /><br />Film was new, horror was new, there wasn't a great deal of subtlety in the industry - and yet this is one of the best vampire films ever made. (Note to Stephanie Meyer: If it ain't broke, don't fix it.)<br /><br /><br /><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 90px; display: block; height: 90px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478165807836023346" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm2ytrcvwjH-JjB0HVegmkVz3GnI3ljZojmmIRWCAbIVf3b9ErDOslo8fXViWydRamwn7A___JsI2O_68CZwnAQUd1T95UKODzRrV4LYym85ZkQPeAIZmWMMu_pf14TkpxY6DWObvSYzA/s320/downarrow.gif" border="0" />Moving right along to...<br /><br /><div><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 236px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478165639928670786" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4kvMCig9p7hXtiXiyg7ONfumyzSgndS5db31u8ASl8gfze9ypVQeuvPo4eyB6MjmFrn5GWMr1f9DDuEIUPi_m_MRqGU8hbda-tndJf1ja8TWnnRXVcFnMnx_Q7uOd83UQMhde0IPZfGI/s320/large_bela_lugosi_dracula.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >Stage 2: The Creepy Foreigner</span></div><em>Dracula</em>, 1931</div><div> </div><div>Despite the fact that he seems to have a girl's name (and even though you used something close to it in <em>Twilight</em>, Meyer, you bitch), Bela Lugosi makes a formidable Dracula. And, let's not kid ourselves here, it plays nicely into the deep post-WWI suspicion of all things Eastern European.<br /></div><div><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 90px; display: block; height: 90px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478165423196378146" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkRCzpNs9sGLOmj57X-w2xtjaym4o4_obfdEMZnk_A67Txf9d_gdO3aG3IUG4glFTy1XfK3GUtqLQ453H_P5PGzWgqznl5hc-3VZ4y46GfTF2-N5k-rsA8S46ZCy0VWGCgMDog5BAJEMc/s320/downarrow.gif" border="0" />Which brings us nicely along to...<br /><br /><div><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 224px; display: block; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478165200393083570" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigZ8zecqcEe6d6aiRhbjoA0DE_m72LThhNYb0TAOryXU5raK-01i_ZyEpv0A0-f3Q67Xya4eAB1sBnkw9rOLOrZSsFH2BURWGL0qpY22qeBo_B66YOj3n8_NFiHu5hpAI15GRpf2Uggds/s320/christopher-lee-vampire2.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >Stage 3: The Even Creepier Foreigner</span></div></div><div><em>Dracula</em>, 1958<br /></div><div>In the early Cold War years, it was time to up the ante on just how creepy and threatening those Russians could be. Christopher Lee proved just the man for the job, despite being, a) British, and b) camper than a row of tents. Also, he seems to have pinkeye.<br /></div><div><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 90px; display: block; height: 90px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478165030661760786" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo6Mk6NXRvP2at4TQeUxTXa4zAIUF-qoZg0fCe9Hb5E6twvTuGMvR-ZfhDw7jCSImUmjmofXPMbTw0Cd4iQaS_AXuRiYe1_bfXLfxHYQQg-k2hn-DJJ4lm_kII1DUZZaY22DdczhnmPdA/s320/downarrow.gif" border="0" /></div><div>Things move along in a similar vein for while, until the world is stunned by...</div><div><br /><div><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 214px; display: block; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478164887204933090" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3hFB8DJSKXj1OqtQMCM_hyLAIj-J4kvSqBv9-ES4fQnMGjjV4YjCzB-xDwv5wLW4WN6sO75q0NaCu52fMhP-ZKzQCebigdSzVtSF3Jma2r5vl_0H4ChxghI-nfNtwDDXQSB7sk8XkhVw/s320/blacula.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >Stage 4: Blacula</span></div><em>Blacula, 1972</em></div><em></em></div><div><div><br /></div><div>By the 1970s, vampires had visited genres ranging from traditional horror to Westerns (<em>Billy the Kid vs. Dracula -</em> seriously), t0 pornography, and finally blaxploitation. This defies description except for the curious fact that it is the first known film to include a subplot about gay vampires.</div><div> </div><div>Which sets the scene for the next incarnation...</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 300px; display: block; height: 300px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478164537424419010" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbban1cK93zBaA76MPVUxQvvn59p5OGA7GREpGvrc_Z75-8BnHG6T1HG-jY_POtodGgtfn2e-RGCaQ9vvT19CQ-7bUo9XNFi14SEhkOhVhcFJ5sUEN8W4AxJAgCZ9qjGbfqAdclOnMi8Q/s320/300_sutherland_lostboys_031809.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >Stage 5: The Cute Bad Boy<br /></span><em>The Lost Boys</em>, 1987</div><div><em></em> </div><div>Problem: the genre had been flogged for decades, then finally pissed upon by the advent of far scarier movie monsters such as <em>Alien</em> and Freddy Krueger. </div><div>Solution: Shaggable vampires on motorbikes.<br /></div><div><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 90px; display: block; height: 90px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478164272099324690" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEbrk0xx37zoyFtzZsSpFgszoBTGmcl87lZATbBAm6AphK2dBCq4fjnZQ_dD0sGNAReEAgIz0KviXj6vlmEGEDPaDsFWyR_tKo-YmmLLbcZLBpUSvQz8onfLKbBMLC-ISW7qJXthd3nOQ/s320/downarrow.gif" border="0" />And speaking of shaggable:<br /></div><div><div></div><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 194px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478164115075390354" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAWHX-FrCEhIUSu37LkfiqcOAo7CDZtcFTY1pqmVG9x9U_u9ZB9bAOgqw1VsFLXHSDLeyoiX37vfoN0jVC1rEzbW6PZlWkYU2Y673oGne3IZUc3-5AcAojHCpLanPGaoIoDfqXJWn1zFY/s320/gary+oldman.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >Stage 6: The Sexy Super-Freak<br /></span><em>Bram Stoker's Dracula,</em> 1993</div><div> </div><div>It's probably a good thing that this film wasn't released in the current climate, as it probably would have resulted in a barrage of horny Emo teenagers storming Gary Oldman's house and crushing him before he had a chance to make <em>The Fifth Element</em>. Even though in this film he tends to spontaneously fluctuate between human form and that of various monsters and demons, a new tone was set for sexy vampires. (Again, Meyer: YOU ARE NOT NEEDED HERE.)<br /></div><div><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 90px; display: block; height: 90px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478162468817653234" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiieTLdbuQ3s7j02i1b8m3svDsbxv9E2451pYRn1tCB3acs_HPiACNuXxkfbBIs9oUNXpW4lKjcYs6g-rwdnBij6rK9y9ofVTgIdG2ubYb6_xZZc3ifS6md0xUlfeH7cio_yBR3ztBgV6k/s320/downarrow.gif" border="0" /></div><div>Unfortunately...</div><div><br /><div><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 320px; display: block; height: 273px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478161831295589762" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg5wqcpY64R4ycqJUEyb9U8_KCGaLDSF6_8glAyAYJME-6DZsczEi3fdUkiZzXccgMxIbjTQ6wms-4eFMIIO2o5aCjzxrX5KS-MlKHtqJXaySVn5u_oH5vE13SpDRGZmhiTjL3RM1dtIE/s320/angel.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >Stage 7: The Sensitive New Age Guy</span></div><em>Buffy, </em>1997- 2003</div><div> </div><div align="left">... they went and ballsed it up. Vampires were just getting good again when someone decided to unleash a great new concept - the <em>non-threatening</em> vampire. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">If you're not familiar with the series, the above photo depicts the vampire Angel (David Boreanaz) - who not only has a girl's name but has an awesome history of murderous and sexual mayhem. Unfortunately for the audience, he was cursed with remorse for his crimes, and resolves to be a soft-cock for the entire damned series. That is, until he finally does something vampire-like and Buffy kicks him into Hell's mouth.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 90px; display: block; height: 90px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478161529950380018" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibmOwxwmfw_ZKz0Uj-NHhX6UtQ2b7s3whmXC3TnOIiOMrfwYKavvLEoErXUSxOauogOnSH5pExC7cib0Noyz5SUsBYMcQsJBXTpCuq_Zx3UbfHpH1Rckmw_7PWJrFZQ3YiwxQhnrkpnWo/s320/downarrow.gif" border="0" /></div><div>However, he is nowhere near as bad as...</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="text-align: center; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 222px; display: block; height: 320px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478161162729647378" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Vh3gK3wHwHlz2hd2qAPKeFjJeW8m9Ql0obeHEmvwZggUO0GW8NF3qSH6juZirQRQe6GuPzPQ5tOYxT9wSDRKvqwm-CXKgxVze3TFihu0f-cMS2ldO70TTg5lu5ss6UlfRfB-XQmLaFY/s320/new_moon_poster_shirtless_edward_cullen-450x648.jpg" border="0" /></div><div><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);font-size:130%;" >Terminal Stage: The Boy Band Member</span><br /><em>Twilight</em> series, (2008-10)</div><div> </div><div>There are so many things wrong here that I don't know where to start. Suffice to say: I hate you, Stephanie Meyer.<br /></div></div></div></div></div></div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-41654351161742973502010-05-04T17:02:00.006+10:002010-08-25T21:06:19.452+10:005 Awesome Fails by Kill Bill characters<span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" >5. Johnny Mo and The Crazy 88</span><br /><br />It would seem that Johnny Mo was holding down that security thing pretty well down when The Bride showed up to demonstrate some human topiary techniques. You'd have to, right? I mean, after all, you're protecting the head of the Yakuza here. So let's run through a brief list of strategic assets, shall we?<br /><br />Army of highly mobile, motorcycle-riding henchmen armed with razor-sharp katanas? Check.<br /><br />A personal entourage for the Boss, comprising a few top assassins and a personal bodyguard - all armed with razor-sharp katanas? Check.<br /><br />The Boss herself armed to the teeth with a razor-sharp katana? Check and Check.<br /><br />Even ONE individual who carries, say, a gun? Or any other kind of weapon which can be used on a person who isn't close enough to <span style="font-style: italic;">hack you to death with a razor sharp katana?<br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="http://www.dmbosstone.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/crazy88.jpg" src="http://www.dmbosstone.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/crazy88.jpg" /><br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span></span>Oh.<br /><br />Incidentally, Wikipedia states that the eventual casualties that The Bride inflicts upon the Crazy 88 stand at "67 killed, 12 maimed, 1 killed by an axe thrown by somebody else, 1 possible killed, and 1 spanked". Seems like a bit of forward-thinking and a well-placed bullet could have ended this battle before it started.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" >4. Gogo Yubari</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="http://deadia.blog.friendster.com/files/gogo.jpg" src="http://deadia.blog.friendster.com/files/gogo.jpg" /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">The item that the fetching Miss Yubari is holding in her hand is an ancient Chinese weapon known as a Meteor Hammer (which I guess is slightly more subtle than the more obvious Fuck-Christ-Please-Don't-Hurt-Me-Ball), which she uses to beat the living crap out of The Bride at the House of Blue Leaves. She does such a good job of it that she almost actually <span style="font-style: italic;">beats</span> The Bride, landing two hefty shots straight to the chest before good Ol' Beatrix knows what hit her.<br /><br />So why the epic fail? Perhaps something to do with the freaking retractable blades that she doesn't bother to activate on the Meteor Ball until <span style="font-style: italic;">after</span> she has landed what could have been not one but <span style="font-style: italic;">two</span> perfectly lethal blows. Seriously, watch this scene again. Gogo could have annihilated The Bride before a single drop of Deadly Viper blood was spilled - but it totally looked like more fun to mess around with that skilled assassin for a while before getting too serious with her ass. Her decision to give The Bride a couple of practice swings to get used to avoiding the Meteor Hammer seems just depressingly... adolescent, coming from a chick who disembowels losers in bars to have a good time.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" >3. Budd<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="http://www.overthinkingit.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/budd-hanzo-sword-300x225.jpg" src="http://www.overthinkingit.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/budd-hanzo-sword-300x225.jpg" /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Oh, Budd - you were so close. The only character in the franchise, actually, who overcame The Bride single-handed. You even had her tied up in a goddamned <span style="font-style: italic;">coffin</span> - and yet you still managed to balls it up. Too polite to mace the lady before you stick her in the coffin, too cheap to buy a coffin made of anything sturdier than plywood, too thick to search The Bride for any weapons or lighters before burying her alive, Budd really ticks all the boxes in terms of stupidity when dealing with the world's most deadly female assassin.<br /><br />The only thing that mitigates this epic fail is that even if Budd had succeeded to kill The Bride, he still would have died courtesy of several Black Mamba bites to the face.<br /></div><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" >2. Elle Driver</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="http://www.onlygoodmovies.com/images/content/elle-driver1.jpg" src="http://www.onlygoodmovies.com/images/content/elle-driver1.jpg" /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Elle might have a better shot of survival if that syringe contained, shall we say, a dose of Black Mamba anti-venom. Fans will remember that she employed this fanged beastie as a means to dispatch Budd, using a slightly more sophisticated version of the "snake-in-a-can" trick, known as the "snake-in-a-case-full-of-money" trick. But with a real snake.<br /><br />Steve Irwin could have told this woman that there's no use in getting cosy with serpents unless you carry some anti-venom for insurance. You know, in case it all goes wrong and you end up blinded in a trailer containing a pissed-off Black Mamba, in the middle of the fucking desert. Or, for the sake of argument, impaled on a sting-ray.<br /></div></div><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 204);font-size:130%;" >1. The Police<br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="https://www6.miami.edu/public-safety/Emergency_Preparedness_Webpage/Police_Response.bmp" src="https://www6.miami.edu/public-safety/Emergency_Preparedness_Webpage/Police_Response.bmp" /><br /><br /><br /></div>First, please note the organised police response to crisis depicted in the above photograph. Now, please note the complete lack of any images like this in either of the Kill Bill films. Sure - we do get <span style="font-style: italic;">this </span>guy:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="http://www.filmdope.com/Gallery/ActorsP/13428.gif" src="http://www.filmdope.com/Gallery/ActorsP/13428.gif" /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Who looks about as helpful as if he's drowning in a barrel of titties. But that's still a whole lot better than the police response in Tokyo. Careful examination (read: drunken re-watching) of Kill Bill Volume I yields <span style="font-style: italic;">no evidence whatsoever</span> of a police response to the massacre at the House of Blue Leaves. Sure, you say, they probably didn't show up cause they were too afraid of all those Yakuzas running around, right?<br /><br />Well, not really. All those Yakuzas were dead, or crawling away dragging their bloodied stumps in a way that doesn't exactly scream subtlety. And yet, as the carnage rages on and terrified bystanders flee the premises, The Bride manages to not only kill the entire Crazy 88 and their mistress, but <span style="font-style: italic;">actually has time to cool her heels and reflect on what she's done.</span><br /></div></div><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span><br /></span></div></div><img alt="http://www.montrealfilmjournal.com/img/picb/A0000044.jpg" src="http://www.montrealfilmjournal.com/img/picb/A0000044.jpg" /><br /><br />In short, the police say that the Tokyo crime syndicate problem can go fuck itself.<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /><br /></span></span>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-53471368004087213612010-03-25T20:03:00.005+11:002010-08-25T21:06:52.864+10:005 Ways That Zeus Raped His Way To Glory<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ihLeBmiuzHwA70-D-0ayvQhAQ1ShOKkocvF5uc9JP4S6lry-boNtoTMgAaqM_cap49MVD6X5Ct_0wBkhI7CxjxIUy9KnyvT_AoWN8Y2LyaA_tIqmSMwpPUvcYZwg1GJO-Er2G8EdUmY/s1600/zeus_europa.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 400px; float: right; height: 313px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452511746248560034" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1ihLeBmiuzHwA70-D-0ayvQhAQ1ShOKkocvF5uc9JP4S6lry-boNtoTMgAaqM_cap49MVD6X5Ct_0wBkhI7CxjxIUy9KnyvT_AoWN8Y2LyaA_tIqmSMwpPUvcYZwg1GJO-Er2G8EdUmY/s400/zeus_europa.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>History is filthy. And when I say filthy, I don't mean bootleg porno filthy. I'm talking full-scale filthy - somewhere between a live donkey show and a snuff film. In tribute to the sexual sins of our fathers and erstwhile gods, here are the five most innovative ways that Zeus ever used a fantastic disguise for the purposes of stranger rape. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);font-size:130%;" ><strong>5. The chick.</strong></span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The victim: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Callisto.</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The ruse: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">The virginal Callisto was a follower of the goddess Artemis, so it was a simple enough matter for Zeus disguise himself as Artemis in order to lure Callisto into the woods and rape her.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The progeny: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Arcas, king of Arcadia.</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">Oh, and... </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">When Artemis found out that her supposedly virgin follower was pregnant, she turned Callisto into a bear and set her loose in the forest, where she gave birth (as a fucking BEAR) to Arcas. In the conventional wisdom of the Gods of the day, Zeus hid baby Arcas away and never bothered to tell him who his mother was. Again, typical of these motherfucking stories, Arcas goes hunting one day and actually shoots his bear-mother dead. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);font-size:130%;" >4. The long-lost husband.</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></strong></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The victim: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Alcmene.</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The ruse: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">At first, Zeus actually had the balls to approach the married Alcmene in person - and she actually had the balls to refuse him - but that's ok, cause Zeus had a Plan B. Alcmene's husband (and cousin) was away at war, and all Zeus had to do was to stage a passionate reunion, starring himself as Ron Jeremy's stand-in.</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The progeny: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Heracles (Hercules) - the greatest condom-full-of-walnuts in history.</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">Oh, and...</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> We forgot to mention that Zeus just pulled out his time-turner and turned the night he was with Alcmene into <em>three entire day</em>s<em>.</em> If Alcmene thought the Gods couldn't screw her any more than that, then check this out:</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>- Her husband swore against ever having sex with her again, out of respect to Zeus, who is clearly the Most Persuasive Rapist Of All Time.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>- Zeus' wife Hera was so jealous that she sent a bitch goddess to intervene and stop Heracles from being born. Alcmene was in labour for <em>seven entire days</em> before finally tricking the Gods into leaving her the fuck alone. </div><br /><div>Again, it just sucks to be a woman in Ancient Greece.</div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);font-size:130%;" >3. The bull (or was it an eagle)?</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></strong></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The victim: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Europa</span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The ruse: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">There are two equally screwed up version of this story. According to Robert Graves, Zeus became enamoured of Europa, "became an eagle and ravished (her) in a willow-thicket". Or, if you prefer Ovid's version, Zeus rocked up as a white bull, which she trusted enough to "mount its back" - and get carried off and raped. Perhaps the most frightening inherent aspect of these accounts is how any historical sources could have possibly confused an eagle with a fucking bull.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The progeny: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Minos, Rhadamanthys and Sarpedon, who all went on to become Kings.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">Oh, and... </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Zeus named Europe after Europa in the world's most pathetic attempt at making up for getting raped by a bull.</span></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);font-size:130%;" >2. The Swan.</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></strong></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The victim: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Leda</span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The ruse:</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> An oldie but a goodie - why not just try showing up and having sex with a defenceless woman at a waterhole - dressed as a giant swan? Good idea? Great idea.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The progeny:</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> Helen - who later became Helen of Troy. Also the twins Castor and Polydeuces, who later became the sign Gemini.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">Oh, and...</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> Did we mention that the children hatched out of eggs?</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);font-size:130%;" >1. The golden shower.</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></strong></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The victim: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Danae.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The ruse: </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Danae's father Ascrisius lacked an heir, and loved consulting random hacks dressed up as Oracles. Naturally, one of them handed him the type of beautifully self-fulfilling prophecy that we've come to expect from Ancient Greece- namely, that his daughter would give birth to a son who would grow up to slaughter him. The most obvious available solution was to shut the virgin Danae in a tall tower only accessible from a trapdoor in the ceiling.</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Zeus, being the classy fella that he is, decided he was tired of appearing as a giant bird and went to Plan B - which happened to be falling as a "shower of golden rain". Which, we assume, is just a euphemism for "pissed all over her".</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">The progeny:</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> Perseus, who tamed Pegasus, defeated the Gorgon, saved a princess and managed to look hot in a tunic in modern film adaptations.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);">Oh, and...</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> Proving that effective parenting comes naturally, Ascrisius cast Danae and the newborn Perseus into the sea in a sealed casket. Unfortunately for Ascrisius, they washed up onto another island, where Perseus was raised in blissful ignorance of his connection to his homeland. Sure enough, he returned as an adult to kill his asshole grandfather - proving yet <em>again</em> that consulting an Oracle is a fucking stupid thing to do.</span></div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-79598701813337902762010-02-18T13:33:00.005+11:002010-07-04T18:20:15.473+10:00In case you ever wondered what humans taste like...<img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 114px; float: left; height: 126px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439406219065689458" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9mu8KQNecU83EI-0j_AzVg5ijbaJ4B3p6SMcVuKyulp60FKvshGRLWRB7opi48QTxMFMeTJ4niBHnYoE7Mtxku2n4MB7S3BpjwysdS9H5R9hjh_wt0aNH1rj8jFJWzOvn2hW1OZPE0ZU/s400/body+parts.jpg" border="0" />Admit it, you've probably wondered about this ever since Hannibal Lecter sneered about eating an auditor's liver "with fava beans and a nice Chianti". But, let's face it, there are a paucity of people to ask, and those in the know tend to be close-lipped on the subject. In the modern age of broken taboos, the last one left intact might be the frank admission that you chowed down on a person.<br /><br />So what do we taste like? Game? Chicken? If we use Lecter's choice of wine as a barometer, we might taste like beef, which matches well with a hearty Italian red. Or perhaps, if we listen to Fat Bastard from <em>The Spy Who Shagged Me</em>, we taste like pork (the <em>other</em> other white meat). Actually, the pork hypothesis is a strong one - Christopher Hitchens elaborates on the similarities between humans and pigs in <em>God Is Not Great,</em> in an attempt to explain why so many religions eschew pork products. Basically, he surmises, we aren't supposed to eat pork because pigs are much, much too like people.<br /><br />It makes some sense that we would avoid eating an animal so much like ourselves - pigs are balder than most stock, and a lot more intelligent. Their organs are so much like ours that pig insulin was given to diabetic patients until a synthetic type was developed. Pigs are said to cry tears of grief, and to scream in a very human manner when trussed up for slaughter. The slang term for roasted human amongst Papua New Guinean tribes that practice cannibalism is "long pig", and Hitchens notes that firefighters tend to dislike pork, and especially pork crackling. Apparently, once you've smelt a burned human carcass... well, I'm sure I don't need to finish that sentence.<br /><br />So we taste like pork, right?<br /><br />Wrong, according to a New Yorker called William Seabrook, who decided to break the last taboo and try human flesh whilst travelling in West Africa in the 1930s. Finding that it was not uncommon for the locals to munch on roasted people from time to time, Seabrook approached the village chief and asked if humans really did, as he had heard, taste like pork. The chief was puzzled by this question, stating than that he had eaten pork many times and that human flesh was nothing like it, nothing at all. (We can suspect that he must have followed this up with "you dumb-ass whitey", or similar). Seabrook bided his time and waited for the opportunity to find out for himself.<br /><br />Soon afterwards, he found that opportunity, in the form of a freshly killed 30 year old man whom the locals assured Seabrook was "not murdered". Seabrook never bothered to ascertain the man's cause of death, but instead set to work in cooking a small rib roast and a "sizeable rump steak". "I proposed", he wrote, "to make a meal of it as one would any other meat, with rice and a bottle of wine". And make a meal of it he did, as well as taking meticulous and detailed notes on the texture, colour, smell and taste of the raw and cooked portions.<br /><br />If you're still with us, then here is the crux of what he had to say:<br /><br />"I took a big swallow of wine, a helping of rice, and thoughtfully ate half the steak. And as I ate, I knew with increasing conviction and certainty exactly what it was like. It was like good, fully developed veal, not young, but not yet beef...<br /><br />"The roast, from which I cut and ate a central slice, was tender, and in colour, texture, smell, as well as taste, strengthened my certainty that of all the meats we habitually know, veal is the one meat to which this meat is accurately comparable... as to the 'long pig' legend... it was totally, completely false".<br /><br />Seabrook, the man who referred to himself "thoughtfully" chewing on a dead man's cooked buttock, wrote that he felt "a sense of pride in having carried something through to its finish", and congratulated himself upon "a long-standing personal curiosity satisfied at last". At the time of writing his memoirs, he noted that "Neither then, or at any time since have I had any serious personal qualms, either of digestion or conscience". That said, he became known as The White Cannibal of New York, and eventually committed suicide in 1945 amid speculation that he was going insane. (It took people <em>that long</em> to notice something was wrong here?)<br /><br />But one man's pork is another man's veal... and another man's tuna, if we listen to Issei Sagawa, the "Cannibal of the Bois de Boulogne", who famously murdered and ate his unrequited love in 1981 in Paris. Sagawa related that her flesh was "soft" and "odorless", "like tuna". However I think we can assume that any dickhead who considers tuna to be "odorless" (not to mention, any dickhead who thinks he can emulate the health and beauty of a woman by <em>ingesting her</em>) can be safely written off as complete whack-job with too much time on his hands.<br /><br />So to return to Lecter - take a bow! According to Seabrook, our most credible source on the subject, his wine choice (a nice Chianti) is a stylish match with the regional Italian speciality of tender veal.<br />Or person.Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-77705413275383574722010-01-18T17:31:00.010+11:002010-07-04T18:20:27.095+10:00Horton vs. Roe vs. Wade<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nk6YVmA4VfwL7H42UeSGEZ3G6GvW2lrstKET7hYphgqgc6yrfUK_Pz3QMGaBapAuHMI7_qIwG8s2Z8J0DFlLl4EiMI1jJB8VLaGs4L_hE_XoKx5etwUSB4ZiXDnhl37TY3nDtVjae9M/s1600-h/horton+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 110px; float: left; height: 137px;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427987765444541842" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nk6YVmA4VfwL7H42UeSGEZ3G6GvW2lrstKET7hYphgqgc6yrfUK_Pz3QMGaBapAuHMI7_qIwG8s2Z8J0DFlLl4EiMI1jJB8VLaGs4L_hE_XoKx5etwUSB4ZiXDnhl37TY3nDtVjae9M/s400/horton+2.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Anyone who's ever spent time with a kid should worship Dr Seuss. I do. No other children's author has every quite matched Seuss for style; the guy has a back catalogue of over 60 books, and the 222 million copies sold are jam-packed with some of the most original and bizarre characters and stories every created, which not only entertain children, but teach them to read, act as a diction trainer <em>and</em> impart gentle moral lessons - and all without ever sounding preachy or boring. Seuss (actually born Theodor Seuss Geisel) gave up the twin worlds of Preachy and Boring when he decided to throw in the towel as a political cartoonist, and start writing and drawing for an audience who might actually, well... <em>learn something.</em><br /><br /><div></div><div>Some of the lessons sink in early, such as; try new things, you might like them (<em>Green Eggs and Ham</em>); and sometimes the best thing to be is yourself (<em>I Wish That I Had Duck Feet</em>). </div><br /><div>Others come quietly in their wake. Protect the trees (<em>The Lorax</em>); and don't judge people who look different from you (<em>The Sneetches</em>). Seuss didn't stop at environmentalism and race-relations. He railed against materialism in <em>How The Grinch Stole Christmas,</em> against fascism in <em>Yertle the Turtle*, </em>and provided some fairly unclear advice to young boys in <em>Oh! The Places You'll Go!</em> with regards to staying focused despite getting "mixed up with many strange birds".<br /></div><div></div><div>And then, there's <em>Horton Hears A Who! </em>** Purportedly, it's about internationalism, and the importance of reaching out to other cultures (OK fine, it's about a giant sky-elephant and a talking kangaroo). And then, you have your factions who've managed to pull Dr Seuss into the abortion debate. </div><div> </div><div>There are so many things wrong with that sentence. For one, the debate's basically been over for a couple decades***. And, oh yeah, for two: Some jerk actually got <em>Dr Seuss</em> involved in this shite. On what basis, you may ask? Two little lines;</div><br /><div><em>... although you can't see them or hear them at all,</em></div><div><em>A person's a person, no matter how small.</em></div><br /><div>Let's get this straight; when Horton the Elephant uttered those words, he was referring to tiny little people living on a speck on a flower. Seuss was generally pretty clear about the messages in his works. In comparison to the Lorax, who came straight out and said; <em>I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues</em>, there's a notable absence of fetal advocacy here. Even Seuss, the great envelope-pusher, can't be accused of sufficent bad taste as to use children's books as a medium for brainwashing kids about the evils of abortion. </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div> </div><div>Seuss actually disapproved thorougly of his work being co-opted in this manner, and his widow has in recent years threatened to sue several anti-choice protest groups for having the audacity to reprint the phrases on their stationery****.<em> </em>Undeterred by this very clear message, the protesters used the L.A. premiere of the film version of <em>Horton</em> as a picketing ground.</div><br /><div>Without dwelling upon the seeming lack of logic in picketing <em>what they believe to be a pro-life film</em>, or the total lack of style involved in raising abortion at the premiere of a <em>children's movie</em>, there's a beautiful irony here. If you had have asked me, I'd have said that <em>Horton</em> is all about waking up to the world around you - something these guys seem not to have done for a long, long time.</div><br /><div><span style="font-size:78%;">* As Lisa Simpson put it, "possibly the finest book ever written on the subject of turtle-stacking". For more on turtle-stacking, see: </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turtles_all_the_way_down"><span style="font-size:78%;">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turtles_all_the_way_down</span></a></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:78%;">** Seriously, what is with this guy and ending his book titles with an exclamation point? Paging Elaine Benes!</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:78%;">*** Yes, it fucking well is. Anti-choice protesters are just kidding themselves.</span></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-size:78%;">**** Oddly enough, she didn't try to sue the Australian organisation <em>Doctors for Forest</em> for their use of <em>The Lorax</em> in promoting environmental awareness. Maybe that's because the book is... um... actually about saving trees?</span></div></div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-34540121448010485302009-12-17T19:35:00.005+11:002010-07-04T18:20:41.132+10:00Are You Smarter Than A Screenwriter?I'm determined not to write about Christmas.<div>So, instead, I'm providing a compilation of my favourite cinematic fuck-ups, that is, in terms of small matters such as historical accuracy or scientific fact. Of course, we have to allow a little artistic license in films - for example, The Lord of the Rings or Star Wars would never have gotten off the ground if we insisted on a degree of factuality that would rule out aliens, elves, and giant fucking fire monsters. However, some of the shit flushed our way, even in decent films by respectable directors, is just too blatant to go without stating.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Now for the nasty nine...</b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>9. Requiem For A Dream </b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Crime: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Not fact-checking the effect of heroin upon human pupils.</span></i></div><div>It breaks my heart to have to include this gem of a film, but its one glaring flaw is the repeated motif of the characters' pupils <i>expanding</i> after they inject heroin. In fact, human pupils do the exact opposite in response to opiates; contracting to pin-pricks. Which is why junkies often refer to being "pinned". This is Hollywood, people! You can't scrape up a single ex-junkie to talk to?</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><b>8. Troy</b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Crimes: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Many, including Achilles' alleged heterosexuality. </span></i></div><div>Never mind the fact that the producers intentionally ignored and misrepresented the "Achilles heel" component, there was a bigger problem concering Achilles and his cousin, Patroclus. Historical sources including <i>The Iliad</i> (and later, Plato), paint a vastly different picture of the"beloved friends" than does the film. Let's just say it. Sodomy. There. We said it.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>7. The Last Samurai</b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Crime: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">The entire premise. And the entire story. And Tom Cruise being alive at the end.</span></i></div><div>Let's get this straight. Samurai were proud warriors who clung fiercely to notions of caste, ethnicity, and a horribly violent code called <i>Bushido.</i> Barbarians (yes, that was actually the term for Whitey) being allowed to train in their secret and ancient practices? To fuck and marry one of their chaste women? To go to battle, lose the battle, and return home to open arms? Nope. In fact, Samurai don't believe in returning home after losing a battle. At all. It's a pretty Spartan arrangement, what with the whole "Come back with your sword or on it" mindset. If you lose, you either get nailed by the enemy, or commit ritual <i>Seppaku</i>, which is basically disembowelling yourself after a polite tea ceremony. </div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>6. Braveheart</b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Crime: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Mel "Sugar Tits" Gibson unwittingly becomes a paedophile as well as a sexist anti-semite.</span></i></div><div>I understand that this film probably had to include a tacky, tacked-on romance to keep the chicks happy between the gruesome scenes of slaughter, but couldn't they have just made a character up? William Wallace (Mel Gibson) is portrayed as having an illicit affair with Princess Isabelle of France (Sophie Marceau). In fact, when William Wallace was hung, drawn and quartered in 1305, little Princess Izzy was only 10 years old. At the time of the alleged affair, she would have been three.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>5. The People vs Larry Flynt</b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Crime: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">The wrong guy gets shot.</span></i></div><div>Somewhere out there, a man called Gene Reeves Jnr is very pissed off. That's because, in actuality, it was Gene Reeves Jnr, and not Alan Isaacman, who was shot and badly wounded alongside Flynt outside a Cincinatti courthouse. Reeves, and a bunch of other less important lawyers, were neatly superimposed into the one character of Isaacman, to make the story easier to follow. "Um... won't that guy be pissed that he got edited out of history?" ... Yeah. I reckon.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>4. Twister</b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Crime: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">The F5 Twister fails to break a horse harness, or the characters' necks.</span></i></div><div>Despite the fact that it neatly blew several farm houses and silos to smithereens, tossed around some tanker trucks, and just about levelled the entire countryside, the final, giant tornado is finally outfoxed by Bill Paxton and Helen Hunt gripping on to some old bits of leather strap attached to a water pipe in an old barn. Auntie Em, that twister just ain't right.</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>3. Apolcalypto</b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Crime: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">The Conquistadores are about 300 years early.</span></i></div><div>Mel "Are-You-A-Jew?" Gibson contends that the Spaniards who arrive on the beaches at the end of the film, to the disbelief of the Mayan locals, were meant to be the batch that arrived in 1502. Awesome. Except that the last known Mayan cities were abandoned by at least 300 years earlier. </div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>2. Outbreak</b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Crime: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">The miracle antigen.</span></i></div><div>Cuba Gooding Jnr + 1 small rhesus monkey + 5 minutes = enough viral antigen to save a town of several thousand people from a deadly Ebola-type virus. Efficient stuff!</div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>1. Every sci-fi film except "2001: A Space Odyssey"</b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Crime: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Sound in space</span></i></span><br /></b><div>Those great explosions with the cochlear-shredding impact you get in the cinemas require air to travel through if they're going to be heard. Space is essentially a giant vacuum, and by all accounts completely silent. In space, nobody can hear you fuck up the facts.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Apologies to all who were expecting this list to include Tommy Lee Jones holding up a river of lava with a few concrete roadblocks and a garden hose, but I've got it on good authority that the plot of </i>Volcano<i> was technically plausible. In that one respect. Technically.</i></div></div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-20214833836918012842009-11-24T15:16:00.002+11:002010-07-04T18:20:51.859+10:00PurgatorioThroughout the drawn-out process of moving house, it seems that almost everyone I know has sympathetically opined that "it's the second most stressful thing you'll go through in your life", with the first being divorce. I'm not sure where everyone has apparently sourced this piece of information, but it's become a modern axiom - at least in well-fed Western countries where the fear of war, starvation, extreme poverty or genocide has receded into a comfortable background. In any event, I disagree. Moving house was far more stressful than my divorce.<br /><br />"It's like the fifth circle of Hell", Clever Colleague suggested helpfully.<br /><br />"What gets punished in the fifth circle?" I asked, warily.<br /><br />CC furrowed her brows. "Actually, I don't know. It just seemed like a good, mid-level sort of Hell. Would you prefer the seventh circle?"<br /><br />Unknowingly, CC was right on the money. The fifth circle of Dante's <em>Inferno</em> is where the wrathful and slothful are sent for punishment. (I'm a prime candidate in both departments, alternating my spare afternoon hours between road rage and siestas.) Of course, that's not the only place that us lazy bums can end up. The other is <em>Purgatorio</em>.<br /><br />Dante envisioned purgatory as an island of concentric terraces rising upwards out of the Southern Oceans. Each sin gets its own terrace, where the wicked endure various degrees of tortuous suffering in the name of spiritual growth. The punishments, ironically, fit the crimes, and therefore we find the Proud struggling to hold their shoulders up under the weight of huge boulders, the Gluttonous abstaining from food and drink... and the slothful, running in perpetuity to atone for their laziness on Earth.<br /><br />I was struck by the comparison. Rather than being Hell, moving house is basically a form of Purgatory on Earth, where we are forced to confront our months or years of slothful housekeeping and haphazard storage. Thus, for over a month, Clever Partner and I were constantly running to atone for our sins. We marvelled with the hindsight of a soul in Purgatory - didn't we <em>know</em> that the oven should have been cleaned every six months? Could we not have forseen the problems inherent in simply shoving unwanted items out of the way to the top of bookshelves or underneath tables? Should we not have <em>realised</em> that our failure to properly clean out five years' worth of accumulated junk from various expat flatmates would result in a mountain of detritus that would take the council three collections to dispose of?<br /><br />Well, apparently not. We didn't, and, considering the degree to which comparisons between moving house and Hell are readily accepted, nobody else does, either. And now that we have worked out way through Purgatory to the Paradise of the New House, let us bow our heads and pray:<br /><br />"May we always remember to scrub the grout,<br />Have the wisdom to unblock the downspout.<br />Free us from rising damp and insect hordes,<br />From leaking taps and rotten old floorboards.<br />May we never seek to store things overhead<br />Atop shelves and cupboards, or below our bed.<br />Deliver us from black-spot mould<br />And, please, before this house is sold<br />Shall we ever strive to clean, and then<br />Roll up our sleeves and clean again."<br /><br />Amen.Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-44604792555154156282009-10-20T16:14:00.006+11:002010-07-04T18:21:06.579+10:00Unintelligent Design<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj599Y63JQM-n_bowkpaYK5LWGNz6ov-4yrkwq_drYRaBzWVi12q3MDcmtZItCE6Ny74W60WdggF8hXM6L_w-PGZYToIwFZ2c4UWQakrg6Ri__EUJipvJ9_umxlm6FjpaKDMPqs2m-LFQ/s1600-h/darwin+vs+god.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394565151861447682" style="float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 125px; height: 98px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj599Y63JQM-n_bowkpaYK5LWGNz6ov-4yrkwq_drYRaBzWVi12q3MDcmtZItCE6Ny74W60WdggF8hXM6L_w-PGZYToIwFZ2c4UWQakrg6Ri__EUJipvJ9_umxlm6FjpaKDMPqs2m-LFQ/s320/darwin+vs+god.jpg" border="0" /></a> Last week, I found myself in the most amusing of discussions with a proponent of the so-called Theory of Intelligent Design. I've enjoyed arguing against this watered-down little brother of Biblical Creationism since I first came across it, and certainly jumped at the chance to do so with Grinning Devotee.<br /><br /><br />The conversation followed the normal gyrations - first, he put it to me that evolution was "just a theory", which didn't comprehensively account for the complexity of the human body - a creation so marvellous that it must warrant a designer. Ignoring the logical follow-up question ("who designed the designer?"), I argued that there was no real evidence against the theory of evolution, other than the spurious claim that anything complex must have been consciously created or designed rather than having painstakingly evolved via natural selection. Finally, he turned the accusation around. "What evidence is there, looking at the extraordinary complexity of the human body, that it <em>wasn't </em>designed by a higher intelligence?", he challenged.<br /><br />And this is where it got fun. The human body is a veritable laundry list of unintelligent features, just a few of which are provided below for your consideration.<br /><br /><strong>Appendixes: </strong>First on the list would have to be an organ which, despite serving no discernible function, can explode, flood our bodies with poison, and kill us in a matter of days. Intelligent Design disciples have consistently had difficulty providing any explanation for the inclusion of this vestigial organ in an intelligently-designed human body.<br /><br /><strong>Hemorrhoids: </strong>Yes, hemorrhoids. Apart from being painful, the humble hemorrhoid is renowned for occurring exclusively in humans. As the only truly bipedal mammals, humans have evolved in one distinctly unintelligent way. Think about it - can you name another mammal whose anus is <em>directly below its centre of gravity? </em><br /><br /><strong>Semen Allergy: </strong>Referred to in medical circles as Human Seminal Plasma Hypersensitivity, this condition causes around 5% of women to have an allergic reaction to proteins in their partner's semen. The reaction can involve anything from redness and itching, to hives, blisters, and even anaphylactic shock. It's hard to think of a less intelligent factor to include in human reproduction.<br /><br /><strong>Maternal Mortality: </strong>On the note of women's health, the WHO estimates that the lifetime risk of death caused by pregnancy and childbirth is a whopping 1 in 16 for women who don't have access to modern medical techniques such as Caesarean sections and blood transfusions. This rate is a great deal higher in humans than in other mammals. It's easy to see why. Our brains and heads have evolved rapidly to become much larger than the heads of any other ape, whilst our pelvises are disproportionately small.<br /><br /><strong>Wisdom Teeth: </strong>This item should come as no surprise to anyone who's visited their dentist for the painfully expensive, and just plain painful experience of having these yanked out of your head. These teeth are thought to be vestigial remnants of a larger human jaw, containing more teeth for crushing and chewing plant matter, but now they essentially serve the function of creating wealth in the dental industry, and providing mortifying pain and infection to a large proportion of human adults. Archaeologists examining mass graves from the middle ages have surmised that the majority of (non-accidental) adolescent deaths from the period were probably caused by major impaction of the third molars. In terms of the debate at hand, it seems ironic that they're called <em>wisdom</em> teeth.<br /><br /><strong>The Human Spine: </strong>In the course of their lives, up to 90% of adults will experience back pain. For many, the pain will be severe, and debilitating enough to cause significant problems with mobility, work, leisure and sleep. As far back as 1951, the late-great anthropologist and anatomist W.M. Krogman argued that the high incidence of vertebral problems in humans, which is not observed in other animals, can be attributed to the failure of the human spine to adequately adapt to walking upright. As he noted in Scientific American "the result is some ingenious adaptations, not all of them successful".<br /><br />and finally...<br /><br /><strong>Cancer: </strong>It's hard to argue that there's anything intelligent about cells which can be genetically programmed to turn into fatal tumours.<br /><br />Grinning Devotee was amused, but unconvinced by the evidence of poor planning entailed in the human body. He said;<br /><br />"You can't get pissed at God for everything that can go wrong with a good design."<br /><br />"On the plus side", I said, "if you believe in evolution, then you don't need to get pissed with God at all."<br /><br />"Ah," said Grinning Devotee. "Now you're just trying to be clever."<br /><br /><em>How intelligent is Intelligent Design?</em>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-54253339296716020142009-09-27T22:18:00.006+10:002010-07-04T18:21:20.755+10:00Being Right When Nobody Will Listen<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15Dcxmb1f8-1sP08J2480BprluJKY4OTmEHBFV4Bw7G2x3m1w8qBbQP1jjNYL7VmfZP_9gYjuI8qCqSXmNwnJP2352y13kJk_jVgh7xEyUwIN0Yrsf0Ye-CxGL-1nUXRRc-Uc9Gfq2vc/s1600-h/semmelweis.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386795407657773090" style="float: right; margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; width: 89px; height: 115px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15Dcxmb1f8-1sP08J2480BprluJKY4OTmEHBFV4Bw7G2x3m1w8qBbQP1jjNYL7VmfZP_9gYjuI8qCqSXmNwnJP2352y13kJk_jVgh7xEyUwIN0Yrsf0Ye-CxGL-1nUXRRc-Uc9Gfq2vc/s320/semmelweis.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Modern history is strewn with the carcasses of women who died for their cause.<br /><br />This is not their story.<br /><br />This is the story of a man whose life was also laid down to advance the lot of women. His name was Ignaz Semmelweis, and his name should be better known than it is, because women out there, everywhere, owe him big time.<br /><br />Incidentally, "strewn with carcasses" is a good way to start this story, because Semmelweis was a doctor in a time when medicine wasn't too advanced. In the 1830s, a time before antisepsis, anaesthetics, germ-theory, or any of today's medical trimmings and trappings, Ignaz made his way from his native Hungary to study medicine in Vienna. By 1846, he was the head of Vienna's General Obstetric Hospital, where, incidentally, maternal deaths averaged at about 10% of admissions. They all seemed to display the same symptoms; a high fever, abdominal swelling, and skin pustules. Semmelweis wrote that he was perplexed by the death rate - even women delivering in the <em>streets</em> were dying less often than women in the clinic. But by 1847, he had discovered something brilliant - and unprecedented.<br /><br />A colleague of old Ignaz had cut his hand whilst conducting an autopsy, and within a few days died with the same presenting symptoms as the mothers in the clinic. So Ignaz Semmelweis concluded that "cadaverous particles" carried on the hands might actually be causing the deaths. He instituted a policy which was to see him hounded out of the medical profession: compulsory hand-washing in a chlorine solution.<br /><br />Within a few months of his policy's implementation, two things had occurred in a noticeable fashion. Firstly, women were dying at radically lower rates - the death rate had dropped from 10% to less than 2%. Secondly, Ignaz's popularity and credibility had plummeted. Many doctors considered the idea that they carried disease-causing particles on their hands to be both nonsensical and the highest form of insult. Semmelweis was dismissed from his post at the hospital in 1848 on the spurious accusation of political activism, and openly ridiculed by the medical profession to the point where he returned to Budapest.<br /><br />As his credibility wore through, so did his sanity. Semmelweis began writing angry letters to anyone who would read them, and eventually published in 1961 a book of "Open Letters" lambasting the entire medical profession as well as many famous individuals. In the last decades of his life, he became a man obsessed. All conversations were turned to childbed fever. He began stopping unknown couples in the street and tearfully begging them to ensure, should they ever have children, that the doctor washed his hands. He began drinking heavily and visiting prostitutes. Some believed that his brain may have been succumbing to syphilis.<br /><br />Eventually, in 1865, he was sold out. A colleague persuaded his wife to allow Semmelweis to be committed to a mental institution, where he was subjected to beatings, placed in a straitjacket, and administered laxatives and enemas in the customary style of the day. A slight wound sustained in a beating from the guards turned gangrenous, and in an ironic twist which would be glorious were it not so terrible, Semmelweis died from precisely the disease he had spent his lifetime attempting to beat; septicaemia.<br /><br />Had he only lived a little longer, Semmelweis would have seem himself vindicated by history. With the work of Pasteur and Lister, germ-theory became accepted and the sensible policy of handwashing made compulsory practice. Semmelweis' name now graces a university, a museum, and several medical facilities, whilst his visage has graced European coins and postage stamps. In Hungary he is known as "the saviour of mothers". Oddly enough, the psychological catchphrase "the Semmelweis Reflex" is sometimes used to denote the kind of knee-jerk reaction people take to things that fall outside their accepted frame of reference.<br /><br />I guess the take home lesson here is that it's hard to be right when nobody will listen. Ignaz Semmelweis was by no means the first person to find that out (just ask Socrates), but his story is particularly ironic and painful because he wasn't actually asking that much. The man lost his life and his sanity because people didn't want to wash their hands.<br /><br />So, like I said, we owe him big time.</div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-47956347727022241502009-09-08T23:08:00.010+10:002011-07-13T13:03:51.930+10:00Bad For All Involved<div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386795884500274402" style="float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 102px; height: 124px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcy1RevusRFA7BqoYAFU2RD9nygY7SfnOGKTSg9t6XlKaHX76ocFNkLEf7wmqGdvoTTIHzK8qHb7ozfmUKUGoONczte6jMLes07GKylEqpuXJOZbhgxD7iS4FF06FMZWKBYYFpec-A4H4/s320/bonnieclyde.jpg" border="0" />Some relationships just aren't meant to be. Others are <em>really</em> not meant to be, in a way that can be so explosive that it's just bad for everyone involved... and the occasional innocent bystander. CB is loving countdowns at the moment, so, for your time-wasting pleasure, here are some of the most damaging relationships of all time. It's sure to make you feel better about your current partner, or your single status.<br /><br /><strong>10. William S. Burroughs and Joan Vollmer</strong><br /><em>The Background:</em> Vollmer met Burroughs, an up-and-coming writer and drug dealer, in 1944, left her husband for him, and became addicted to benzedrine.<br /><em>Collateral Damage:</em> In 1951, Burroughs famously shot Vollmer in the head whilst drunkenly re-enacting William Tell. He fled to Morocco to write tortured novels including <em>Naked Lunch</em>.<br /><br /><strong>9. Romeo and Juliet</strong><br /><em>The Background:</em> This story apparently dates back to antiquity, so I thought I'd include it for mythological value. It might be the quintessential example of when it's better to just not go there.<br /><em>Collateral Damage: </em>Romeo, Juliet, Tybalt, Mercutio, and Paris die painful deaths.<br /><em></em><br /><strong>8. Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath and Assia Wevill</strong><br /><em>The Background:</em> The famous poet Sylvia battled depression for much of her life, and it seems that Ted didn't help... anybody.<br /><em>Collateral Damage:</em> Ted's affair with Assia destroyed his relationship with Sylvia, who put her head in the oven in 1963. In the following years, as Assia's mental health broke down under the stress of her social ostracism following Sylvia's death, Ted began dalliances with much younger women. In 1969, Assia murdered her daughter and committed suicide by the same method as Sylvia had used.<br /><em></em><br /><strong>7. O.J. Simpson and Nicole Brown Simpson</strong><br /><em>The Background: </em>O.J. was a famous football player and comedic actor, who beat the crap out of his wife Nicole for a number of years. When she left him, she ended up dead, but he managed to dodge a conviction thanks to some very convenient jury filtering.<br /><em>Collateral Damage: </em>Nicole's life, Johnny Cochrane's reputation, the <em>Naked Gun</em> trilogy, and everybody's faith in the US justice system.<br /><em></em><br /><strong>6. Heloise and Abelard</strong><br /><em>The Background: </em>When Abelard was appointed as a tutor to the young scholar Heloise in the 12th century, they soon began a passionate sexual affair, were secretly married, and had a child. Fear of retaliation from her family caused Abelard to place Heloise in a convent for protection.<br /><em>Collateral Damage: </em>The family did retaliate, castrating Abelard, who retreated to a monastery to spend the rest of his life as a scholar and hermit. Heloise unfortunately suffered the same fate, but an increasingly tortuous series of letters between the two former lovers more than hints at her loneliness, sexual frustration, and grief. For his part, he writes that he was only in it for the sex.<br /><em></em><br /><strong>5. Karla Homolka and Paul Bernardo</strong><br /><em>The Background: </em>These two charming individuals met in 1987 and married in 1989, just as he began a spree which lead him to be known as the Scarborough Rapist. Karla always encouraged his sadistic sexual fantasies, but later on, she starting assisting him in fulfilling them.<br /><em>Collateral Damage: </em>The pair raped, mutilated and murdered at least four girls between 1991 and 1993, including Karla's 15 year old sister Tammy, whose virginity was a "Christmas present" to Paul from Karla. Paul Bernardo remains in prison and is unlikely to be released, however, a clever plea-bargain resulted in Karla's being released in 2005.<br /><br /><strong>4. Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow</strong><br /><em>The Background: </em>Both from poor backgrounds in the midst of the Depression, these two progressed up the crime food-chain from petty thugs to full-blown bank-robbing, cop-killing fugitives.<br /><em>Collateral Damage:</em> Nine police, four civilians, and Bonnie and Clyde themselves ate lead.<br /><br /><strong>3. Oedipus and Jocasta</strong><br /><em>The Background: </em>In a spectacularly self-fulfilling prophecy, Oedipus is foretold to kill his father and marry his mother.<br /><em>Collateral Damage: </em>The city of Thebes is ravaged by a plague of infertility as nature backlashes against the royal match. Oedipus eventually discovers the truth about his ancestry after having four children with his mother. She hangs herself in shame, he gouges his eyes out and wanders in blindness until death. Complications of this incestuous legacy result in the deaths of three of Oedipus' children.<br /><br /><strong>2. Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn</strong><br /><em>The Background: </em>Henry needed an heir, and of six children born to his first wife, Catherine of Aragon, only one daughter had survived - Princess Mary. In order to get around the Catholic Church's disapproval of divorce, Henry created his own Church of England.<br /><em>Collateral Damage: </em>Anne was charged with incest, witchcraft, adultery and treason after bearing a female child instead of the promised heir. She was convicted and beheaded in 1536. Henry's defection to the Church of England resulted in the Marian Persecutions, enacted by Henry's eventual heir Mary I. She attempted to revert the population to Catholicism by force, burning over 300 Protestants at the stake between 1555 and 1558.<br /><br /><strong>1. Helen and Paris of Troy</strong><br /><em>The Background: </em>Helen's father was Zeus, who raped her mother Leda in the form of a giant swan. "The face that launched a thousand ships", Helen was married off to the brutish King Menelaus of Sparta, but ran off on a whim with Prince Paris of Troy.<br /><em>Collateral Damage: </em>The seige and sack of Troy, thousands of Greek and Trojan deaths, several dreadful TV miniseries, and the complete loss of Brad Pitt's credibility. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-sHMJOY333QI0Qp0z70Ffg2kQHXDIjIxPws65mxE4bYfn7WLTwKHY-PAzqFaYNrO8kgz12E-Pz4sDT0BVI5ypUyN-pgNZnlKF44GYrHF_PHiW-6EcTefK3IgyctrisGjBYFILNMU_Ibs/s1600-h/homolka.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386797846831473378" style="width: 87px; height: 124px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-sHMJOY333QI0Qp0z70Ffg2kQHXDIjIxPws65mxE4bYfn7WLTwKHY-PAzqFaYNrO8kgz12E-Pz4sDT0BVI5ypUyN-pgNZnlKF44GYrHF_PHiW-6EcTefK3IgyctrisGjBYFILNMU_Ibs/s320/homolka.jpg" border="0" /></a><em><-- Karla Homolka and Paul Bernardo on their wedding day.</em></div><div><em></em> </div><div><em>Who else should never have gotten together?</em></div><div> </div><div><br /></div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-59588306890082322562009-08-18T19:13:00.009+10:002010-08-25T21:07:09.067+10:00Countdown: Top 10 Filthy Song TitlesThere's been too much seriousness recently. For your pleasure, CB has compiled her choice of the most outrageously filthy and disgusting song titles of all time. I'd like to note for the record that I excluded everything by Cannibal Corpse - there were too many to make any meaningful shortlist, and whilst filthy, they were low on the originality factor.<br /><br />Enjoy!<br /><em></em><br /><em>10- The Love You Take Equals The Love You Make So Baby Let Me Bang Your Box </em>by TISM<br />The cultural cringe - writ large. Three cheers for TISM.<br /><br />9- <em>See Her Pee </em>by NOFX<br />This is actually almost cute. He falls in love with a girl, adores her, thinks about her all the time... and just really, really wants to see her pee.<br /><br />8-<em>Please Stop Fucking My Mom </em>by NOFX<br />This is comparatively self-explanatory.<br /><br />7-<em> The Art of Sucking Dick</em> by N.W.A (Niggaz With Attitude)<br />These guys apparently do consider this in all seriousness to be an instruction manual.<br /><br />6- <em>Dick Sandwich</em> by Frenzal Rhomb<br />This is actually the title of an EP, not a song, but I couldn't resist.<br /><br />5- <em>Shoved Up Your Pisshole </em>by Blood Duster<br />Shoved <em>what</em> exactly...?<br /><br /><em>4- Bishop = Handjob</em> by TISM<br />There are a few good reasons that all members of TISM choose to remain anonymous...<br /><br />3- <em>Fisting the Dead </em>by Blood Duster<br />The funny thing is, I found one or two song titles by these guys that were actually <em>worse</em> than this. This is just the worst one I was willing to reproduce.<br /><br />2 - <em>Defecate on my face </em>by TISM<br />This song, as far as I'm aware, broke two records. It's the only rock song in history to feature coprophilia as principal subject matter - and it's the only rock song in history that's written in the first person point of view of Adolf Hitler.<br /><br />1 - <em>The Pope's Cock Makes Baby Jesus Cry </em>by C*ntbutcher<em>.</em><br />My asterisk. No comment.<br /><br /><em>Got any others?</em><br /><em><span style="font-size:85%;">CB would like to thank Clever Friend for his help with the Top 10.</span></em>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6768204976169460187.post-90982543244982087982009-08-16T14:39:00.009+10:002010-07-04T18:22:16.657+10:00Curly Questions 2: Hell and Morality<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw84iembwbk2LIodJxjcC-PSTmnK-gDjGd_Z62b2dTwQUjEclV_QJPdWDThU69sXr1acvHsWyya5y5eEPdGBbbkoh5C38S14O-T5JyfscQveQLSeLk14_Pn1jbV_dcOApUQ05vK3hSSIM/s1600-h/eternity.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386796521207744466" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 150px; height: 112px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw84iembwbk2LIodJxjcC-PSTmnK-gDjGd_Z62b2dTwQUjEclV_QJPdWDThU69sXr1acvHsWyya5y5eEPdGBbbkoh5C38S14O-T5JyfscQveQLSeLk14_Pn1jbV_dcOApUQ05vK3hSSIM/s320/eternity.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>"Eternity."<br /><br />It's not just a word that some guy scrawled in chalk on Sydney landmarks. It's a word that, in fact, defies human logic altogether. Trying to think about the longest amount of time possible still doesn't approach it. Billions of years, aeons, space-time - they all dwindle away to nothingness against the concept of eternity.<br /><br />So now let's consider another concept: An eternity of torture. It's impossible to imagine, but this is exactly what a number of major religions specify as the punishment for earthly transgressions. An. Eternity. Of. Torture.<br /><br />This concept was thrown into sharp relief for me recently, upon watching Sam Raimi's latest offering, <em>Drag Me To Hell </em>(superb - go see it!)<em>. </em>The plot goes something like this: Christine Brown, an essentially nice young woman, covets a promotion at the bank she works at, but is told that she may miss out due to her inability to make "tough decisions". A old, sick, Gypsy woman, Mrs Ganush, shows up the same day and begs for an extension on her mortgage repayments. Christine could help her, but instead chooses to do the wrong thing, foreclosing on the mortgage to prove she can make a tough decision. Mrs Ganush begs, but Christine shames her, so Mrs Ganush places a Gypsy curse on Christine in which she will be tormented for a mere three days by a goat-legged demon before being dragged to Hell for an eternity of suffering. It's a rollicking good story with not a bad twist at the end, but left me feeling overwhelmingly depressed - not to mention confused about the interesting convolutions of moral reasoning that a belief in Hell requires.<br /><br />Firstly, I find it impossible to accept that any crime, no matter how awful, could merit an eternity of torture. Even the most incredibly enormous crime is finite, and therefore the punishment should also be finite, whether or not it was to involve elements of extreme cruelty or torture, as would exist in Hell.<br /><br />However, this is by no means the biggest problem. Even if were to accept that particular crimes were so severe as to warrant an eternity of torture, we're left with the issue of what this says about God. (I'm working under the premise that, if Hell existed, then so would Heaven and/or a God). In the context of <em>Drag Me To Hell,</em> we are left with the disturbing consideration that Christine's (admittedly dreadful) act of foreclosing on Mrs Ganush's mortgage warrants an eternity of torture, but somehow Mrs Ganush's ultimate act of bloody vengeance (sending Christine to Hell for eternity) does not attract the same penalty - it is implied that Mrs Ganush's soul is free and clear, so to speak. So, those who sin in a finite way, on Earth, may face horrible torture for eternity, but those who condemn others to such torture are let off scot-free. God doesn't intervene to save Christine, or apparently to punish Mrs Ganush, which leaves us with the most disturbing of possibilities.<br /><br />1 - That God isn't capable of intervention: i.e. a soul in Hell (or about to be dragged there) is "out of His hands" - meaning that he is not in fact omnipotent.<br /><br />2- (and more probable, considering the tone of the Old Testament) That God is the biggest bastard of them all, the cruellest tyrant, the most bloodthirsty and retributive of dictators. Except, instead of condemning His enemies to death against the wall, He condemns them to torture, without reprieve or hope of reprieve, for all of eternity.<br /><br />Surely, God's moral compass would have to be a bit out of whack to allow this state of affairs. The only remaining possibility is that He would have to condemn Himself to Hell, in retribution for all the suffering He caused by sending people to Hell in the first place.<br /><br /><em>Your thoughts? Do any actions merit Hell? </em></div>Clever Bitchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18314130067282347200noreply@blogger.com0