Mr Adam Goodes is a Flog

Macka’s irrational hate for Adam Goodes reached a surreal climax on the weekend when he was escorted from the stadium following a racial slur. His wife and children stared shamefully at the overflowing sauce on their pies as their husband carried on looser than a school bully’s untucked shirt during a substitute teacher’s religious studies class. For reasons Macka’s missing-link mind struggles to comprehend, his poorcunted passion turned prejudicial and reason was drowned out by the frothing snarl of a man aggrieved by another mans apparent floggotry.

As Macka waits banishment from his beloved West Coast Eagles, he stares angrily at the rusted shell of an EF Falcon that sits unloved in the front yard of his Mandurah duplex. He receives a call from his best mate, “Macka! Saw the footage on the telly, can't believe you got kicked out for boo’ing that fucking flog!” Macka feels the immature self-assurance of a man who refuses to deal with his underlying alcohol and anger issues, “fucking disgrace ay, he’s a bloody flog with a thrashed out rig and a pissweak attitude”. His mate queries, “yeh fuk oath mate, so what did you say anyway?” Macka takes a breath, “aw nah nah nah, like, nothing bad ay, just said they left the flog gate open at the fucking zoo” Oh.

A few days have passed since Macka martyred himself in front of a pulsating legion of bandwagon Goodes haters.  Nevertheless, his angry fever calls for only one prescription: losing himself in the white rage of capslocked apeshitery on a Perthnow forum. His incoherent arsenal is well armed with ambiguous comments about aboriginal war dances and flogging injustice of Goodes being named Australian of the Year.

Macka begins smashing his keyboard in rebuttal to some “leftard” who suggested the public should show Adam a little more respect. His sunglasses-tanned eyes focus intently as he froths like Rolf Harris at the end of a Rugrats marathon. “git FUKCED, cunts alweys whingin, bloody unAustralian and that war dance crap, wyh has he nvre don it befor? see FLoG,... lfeties at tit agian lol”. The debate rages on unnecessarily and Macka’s rage grows like an uncouth rash on the chaffed peen of decency.

Macka was unable to attend work this week due to the infected gash of indignation that festers on his mind. In the absence of gainful employment he checks the news and almost cacks his dacks in fury. “Priddis is a bigger fucking flog than Goodes” he proclaims to his uninterested family. “What now hun?” Macka puts down his fork of last nights sweet & sour pork and slag-fumes his latest agro opinion, “Priddis is turning his back on his supporters and saying we should show that FLOG some respect. Fucking boycott Priddis I reckon ay”.

Now Macka is more off-target than Stevie Wonder at a money-shot party. Settle down mate, he’s just a footy player. 

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The Human Zoo - Mr Reclaim Australia

Roy knew he had a flair for political activism when he first bottled some ethnic cunt at the South Perth Foreshore on Australia Day. The brown shards of his domestically brewed beer embedded in the towel head’s female circumcision loving head and left the pork-dodger with a friendly reminder that Roy wasn’t having a bar of his choice to be an Islam. Roy is now a proud member of Reclaim Australia and the UPF and his unique brand of Southern Cross-patriotism loudly pierces the nation's ears like the smoke alarm on Russell O’Callaghan’s rental property after Chemist Warehouse has a sale on Codral.

On Friday Roy adorned himself in his finest pair of Adidas snap-pants and boarded a plane to Melbourne. He was making a love-it-or-leave-it pilgrimage to the “lefty” capital of the world for Reclam Australia’s Melbourne rally. He offers his vanilla slice-faced son some sage advice, “Melbourne is full of homos, Islams and lefties orrright, time we showed em a bit of Aussie Pride”. The pair tap their Jack’s filled plastic cups together and blow their patriotic load into the unwilling faces of their fellow travellers, “AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE! OI OI OI!”

At their budget hotel, Roy employs some of his award winning charms to sweet talk an early check-in, “can yous fucking understand english cunt? I don't want to wait till 2pm check-in, I paid for me room, so let us up”. After successfully bullying his way into his hotel room a few hours early, he jumps on the WIFI and starts bogan-booking like a true patriot. It’s been awhile since he has posted an anti-Halal meme or gave an unsolicited social critique of Islamic immigration, as these days his time and energy is spent on threatening “leftie communist scum”.  He comes across a Reclaimwat? post that describes the Reclaim mob as being racist dickheads. He puts down his breakfast can and works his magic, “lefty scum, can use koindely tlel us wat RACE ISLAM IS!? sik of suportin use unwashed unistudnts GET A JOB COMMUNISt DeadDSHITs on cnetrlink. I am aganst ISLAM IDOELOGY”.

To date, the high watermark of the movement’s intellectual prowess, is the smug knowledge that they are technically not racist for demonising an entire community based on their religious affiliation.  He will relentlessly argue his point against lefty scum with all the eloquence of a tow truck driver berating a prostitute who laughed at his meth-limped penis.   Does he understand what the left-wing is? Well as the entire movement has the collective IQ of Charlie Sheen’s jizz after a 10 day coke bender, it is fair to assume the “left” is simply anyone who considers people like Roy to be a national embarrassment. He spends the rest of his morning polishing off the mini-bar and joining the Aussie Pride circle-jerk on The Great Aussie Patriot’s Facebook page.

By 11am, Roy is drunk enough to forget the trauma of being stuck in Bali the week before, and rages his way towards the Reclaim Australia rally to join the other 30 or so patriots who have gathered to listen to some white trash cunt spew hate from the tray of a povo work ute. The rally is as underpopulated as a London convention centre during Dental Awareness week. Nevertheless, Roy cheers to the hate mongering alongside a decent array of Swastika tattoos and Union Jacks. A number of patriots were unable to enter the rally, so they decided to cover  their faces in bandannas and throw “heil Hitler” salutes at the pulsing crowd of lefty scum.

The Rally’s keynote speakers struggled to be heard over the dominating chant from the anti-fuckwit protesters and the group was quickly escorted away by a large group of Victorian police. Roy takes to his online soapbox, “Greta day fr PAtriots, cops wuldnt let tosn of us in but tunroutwas HUGEEE… ! lol, lefty scum got peperrsprays EAT SHIT…! cleara swho won the day!”

It sure was mate, it sure was.

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The Human Zoo - Mr Clickbait

Jason first drank from the grubby cup of clickbait when he was in the business of uploading porn movies to his filthy blog. He remembers fondly his first viral success, “The babysitter won't make that mistake again!” His knack for clicksturbation caused his blog to grow faster than the babysitter’s kneeling regret when she unzipped her own exploitation to the used-tissue-delight of advertisers everywhere. Jason knew from that day, it didn’t matter how fucked the content was, as long as some cretin clicked.
Years passed and Jason found it harder to look his friends in the eyes. His income was grubbier than the door handle on a $2 Club X peepshow after Craig Thomson got a new credit card. So he joined Buzzfeed and started pumping out outrageous top 10 lists. He was high on journalism and with each “epic” list he created his brain released euphoric levels of cunt-amine. It wasn’t long before Jason enjoyed the respectful reach-a-round of viral glory with his breakthrough piece, “Top 25 ‘Straya Facts You Won't Believe Are True!” His barrel-scraping fuckery hit a million views and Jason fist-pumped his own respectability into submission.
Like any cock-for-cash street addict, Jason found it harder to get the same high from Buzzfeeding. Writing blithering garbage about insignificant bullshit was leaving Jason feeling emptier than the Red Rooster blind charity dog after Belle Gibson fancied a strip sub. What he did next will shock you! He sent off a C.V to the holy grail of intelligence insulting gutter-journalism: Newscorp. His cover letter merely stated, “Fairfax absolutely hate him! Find out the secret to Jason’s articles today!” True to their publication, hiring Jason was a real “no brainer” and he began streaking his own journalistic skiddies on everyone's favourite virtual toilet bowl: Perthnow.
He made a name for himself in the health & lifestyle section. He knew too well that the nation of ‪#‎inspo‬-cunts and Burger Ring shoveling slobbos would desperately click on easy weight loss and exercise tips. Turns out Jesus wasn’t a carpenter, he was a clickbait journo, and his miracles were bountiful: “The new super-food for weight loss!”, “Tight buns in just 10 minutes per day!”, “The reason you have been exercising wrongly!” Jason was making it rain and the droplets of hollow-content pounded down heavier than the brake-foot of an elderly driver during the great Perth storm.
Jason was the golden goose of ad-revenue and he began writing more serious articles. His first breakthrough piece was in respect to an alleged murder by a man whom was “acting strangely”. Like a total crime cuntespondent, he used classic hype-mongering to bait the dopey click-click birds, “Did Ice play a role? Police May Investigate Whether Accused Was on Crystal Methamphetamine”. Fucking genius, he ever so delicately walked the line of defamation and free press. The “party drug ice” is the gift that keeps on clicking and Jason was hooked.
Jason will eventually retire in the house that clickbait built and he owes his career to the simple idea, that the truth should always yield to curiosity piqued by deceit.

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