Friday, March 14, 2008

Chov's F*cktacular NRL 2008 Preview #10: St George Illawarra

Team: St George Dragons (when they lose) Illawarra Steelers (when they play in scarlet, play at WIN Stadium, or win)

Why I Hate The F*cken Team / F*cken Coach / F*cken Locality:

There is nothing but love in my heart for the Illawarra Steelers, hailing from country that God Lord H. Geezus Almighty Christ hisself have BLESSED, namely my home-town Wollongong and the Greater Illawarra region.

On the other hand, f*ck the St George Dragons up the f*cken ar$e with a broken bottle.

F*cken crybabys, your poor little f*cken decrepit, run-down $hit-hole at Kogarah might not be used for footy games. The reasons, of course, are apparent to everyone else who has more than 4 brain cells functioning in unison - its a F*CKEN $HITHOLE. The SUBURB is a $HITHOLE. The GROUND is a SHITHOLE. Your area contributes three thirds of F*CK ALL to the team. If it weren't for the Steelers, you f*cking pieces of $hit would be calling yourselves the Eastern Suburbs Rooster-Dragons, or even the Sutherland Dragon-Sharks by now - and your hackneyed, cliche, boring f*cken overly-precious little Red V would exist only in your coveted Johnny Raper Masturbatorium somewhere inside the Saints Leagues Club.

Your 11 successive grand finals is NOT a f*cken world record, there are soccer teams in leagues around the world who have won more successive titles. But like all Saints fans, don't let the FACTS get in the way of your F*CKWITNESS.

Like the following FACT for instance: your so-called "Taj Mahal" St George Leagues Club went from a $1.9 million profit into a $1.7 million dollar loss in ONE YEAR last year. And you f*cken peanuts want to talk about f*cking off Win Stadium in Wollongong? SORT YOUR OWN BACKYARD OUT, F*CKWITS.

CEO Peter Doust's decision to cut costs means no senior feeder side for the Dragons in the NSWRL. Fine by Illawarra, which has not only the Carlton Illawarra League but ALSO the Group 7 competition running down there. So f*ck you, Kogarah, and f*ck your red V, too. Who needs you?

Heard of Graeme Langlands? Illawarra boy. Craig Young? Illawarra boy, and his f*cken PUB isn't in f*cken KOGARAH, A$$HOLES, and his SON DIDN"T START IN THE F*CKEN ST GEORGE JUNIOR COMP EITHER. Bob Fulton? Illawarra. Steve Roach? Illawarra. Warren Ryan? Illawarra.

We were contributing to rugby league without our own team for a long f*cken time, ar$eholes, when clubs like yours got the benefits without doing a f*cken thing in return. So f*ck you. We had no team, and kept the faith anyway. You poor little f*cktards lose a few home games and want to cry and go follow basketball instead. F*ck off. Go the Steelers, instead. Dean Schifilliti will NEVER DIE!

Special F*ckwit Watch:
  • Mark "I Wasn't Even There, Except When I Was" Gasnier - When he's not seducing women with his silky-smooth phone-manner from the back of a cab, Gaz is usually threatening to go to rugby union to wring more money out of the NRL and Peter Doust. Or lying on a treatment table.
  • Jason "Pillows" Ryles - makes Shane Watson look like the f*cken Iron Man from Planet Indestructible IV. Once dreamed about walking up some stairs; woke up with a torn heart muscle, period pain, an inverted colon, polio, an erection that wouldn't go down and dengue fever. Was out injured for 11 years.
  • Any and all former St George players. Ever.
  • Bob "Client Number 10" Millward - Here's the former Steelers boss who said NO to Superleague and sentenced the Steelers to 27 lifetimes of f*cken purgatory in his haste to frot Ken Arthurson. "No, no Superleague for us," said the monumental f*ckwit, "far better to die altogether and make Chov listen to the f*cking whining bleating of inane St George fans for ever after." Somewhere I hope Mr Millward is suffering from f*cken piles.

What I'd Like To See Happen In 2008:
  • Home-made sex tapes of Peter Doust and Nathan Brown come to light on the internet. Doust and Brown lock themselves into St George Leagues Club and a tense, 392-week hostage stand-off ensues. Finally, Doust agrees to call off the siege if 10,000 Dragons fans who aren't pu$$ies can be found - or else he will detonate 5000000000000kgs of explosives beneath the club and Kogarah Oval and all along Jubilee Ave. 3 fans turn up. 1 satisfies the criteria, but he lives in Finland. Kaboom.
  • With the Dragons gone, the Illawarra Steelers return and win 2000 premierships in a row.
  • Jason Ryles achieves a personal-best 12 minutes of injury-free time.
  • Medical science discovers why the Morris twins are so f*cking ugly. The Pope insists the secret be buried for a million years.
Overall Hate Factor: (Dragons) = 15/10 , (Steelers) = None. I wear my old Steelers jersey to bed, dreaming of the days I wore the scarlet with pride. I love you Craig Walsh! I love you!

Chov's F*cktacular NRL 2008 Preview #9: Souths

Team: South Sydney Rabbitohs. 100 years of F*ckwittery. What the f*ck is a "rabbitoh"? The genetic freak result of a 'sexy' (and unholy) union between George Piggins and a rabbit? A rabbit who says "sorry"? A rabbit everyone claims to be a "fan" of, but nobody goes to f*cken watch? What?

Why I Hate The F*cken Team / F*cken Coach / F*cken Locality:

Oh I have been waiting for this for some time. Where to start?

F*ck you Souths, you f*cken pi$$-stain on the wall beside the urinal. F*ck you, indeed.

You were good in the '60s or something. So was giving expectant mothers lithium. Get the F*CK OVER IT. It gives you no divine right to F*CKEN ANYTHING in the modern age. For every f*cking obnoxious turd who rallied to get you back into the comp, ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND PEOPLE STAYED THE F*CK HOME. No, not everyone loves you! Not everyone is glad you're back! Some people f*cken hate you with a f*cken passion you can only dream about in your pi$$ant little f*cken fairy-floss and pink butterflies "Book of Feuds" - and I AM THEIR F*CKEN KING.

No, Rusty Crowe, you f*ckwit, we don't all think that league goes well when Souths goes well. Your team has been an insignificant wart in the ar$e-crack of rugby league for 30 odd years, and rugby league has been F*CKING FANTASTIC during that time. Giving out Souths jerseys to every f*cken Hollywood celeb you suck-off through a glory-hole in The Viper Room SETS RUGBY LEAGUE'S INTERNATIONAL GROWTH POTENTIAL BACK FOUR THOUSAND YEARS.

So Ray Martin is a fan? Woop de f*cken doo dah. Ray also thinks David Hicks was just separated from his "Kon Tiki Taliban" tour after pausing to help little Afghani children pick wild chocolate in the fields.

Newsflash Souths: scraping into the finals last season and going ONE AND DONE is NOT f*cken cause to start tipping a grand final within the next 12 months. Scooping up turds off your training field before training doesn't mean your "facilities are world class". Wearing jersey sponsors that are just Rusty Crowe movies is F*CKING STUPID. The Charity Shield really DOES MEAN F*CK ALL. George Piggins is a F*CKING PRAT. A turd in an Armani suit is STILL A TURD.

Special F*ckwit Watch:

  • Russell "It's For You, Answer It With Your Forehead" Crowe - take the amount of love you have for Souths, cube it, double it, square it again - that's how much HATE I have for them. Take your fairy, jessy, wimpy Little Golden Book of Feuds and shove it into your turd-tunnel and then sit back and read my NRL Preview to understand what it means to HATE.
  • David "If You Kids Don't Stop F*cking Around I'll Put My Foot Up Your Ar$e" Kidwell - and he did. And he hurt his knee and missed the rest of the season. I laughed. It couldn't have happened to an uglier man.
  • Nathan "Why Don't I Get Picked For NSW" Merritt - because you are pi$$weak. And $hit. So shut the f*ck up, nobody outside of Rusty Crowe's man-harem cares.
  • Jeremy "Wrong Option, Every Time" Smith - Souths best signing, because it took him away from Parramatta.
  • Nigel "No, It's Not Pronounced That Way" Vagana - you're not the mysterious Fu Manchu. You're just a f*ckwit with a stupid hairstyle and a stupid beard.
  • Dean "Bryan Fletcher Just Thinks I Have A Year Round Tan" Widders - good bench player at Parra, got delusions of grandeur and thought he was fit enough to make an impact for 80 minutes. I laughed.
  • Craig "Pretty Boy" Wing - Posed in a Souths jersey before actually leaving the Chickens. Mouthed off at everybody at the Chickens from the CEO to the kid who peels the oranges. Mouthed off at everybody who likes the Chickens. Mouthed off at anybody who likes anyone who likes the Chickens. Tried to blow up a Steggles truck. And then sooked for Mummy when the Chickens said they were going to "get him". F*ck you Craig Wing, you f*cken lamby-pamby $hit-squirt.
What I'd Like To See Happen In 2008:

  • A petition signed by 3 billion people is presented to David Gallop and the United Nations to eradicate South Sydney from existence. Within hours, armed death squads have hit the streets with orders to shoot on sight. Within weeks of their completing their task, a cure is found for cancer, peace is achieved in the Middle East, Tooheys' research & development division creates 13 new flavours of beer (including one called Tooheys 'Sex with Natalie Bassingthwaite'), petrol is $0.05 a litre and women all over the entire planet elect to live topless, forever after.
  • Also, Rusty Crowe makes a movie in which he portrays Muhammad founding South Sydney in 3000 B.C. He is nominated for an Academy Award and loses to the guy who played Screech in Saved By The Bell. Meanwhile, rabid Islamic fundamentalists all over the world issue a fatwah on Rusty's a$$. He is forced to sell up his stake in Souths and live as a hermit, NEVER F*CKEN OPENING HIS MOUTH AGAIN.
  • And the Eels beat Souths 224 to nil and 843 to nil.
  • Nathan Merritt accidentally runs into a tackle bag at training. He breaks 112 bones and is out for 4 years.
  • Craig Wing gets pregnant.
Overall Hate Factor: 7,212/10 - Altogether now...."F*ck You, F*ck You To South Sydney!"

Chov's F*cktacular NRL 2008 Preview #8: Shire Sharks

Team: Cronulla Sharks. Foreigners welcome. From the Cronulla Tourist Bureau's latest pamphlet (free with every "So you've decided to illegally migrate to Australia" Welcoming Pack) .....: "Enjoy quintessential Australia in this idyllic little sea-side village, where the locals are always more than happy to share with you the secrets of quaint local customs. Join in the "Keep Ostraya F*cken Ostrayn" celebrations on Australia Day, and help locals re-enact the famous ANZAC landing on the beaches at Kurnell. Shire Motto: "Islam-Free Since 2005!"

Why I Hate The F*cken Team / F*cken Coach / F*cken Locality: Well here's a turn-up for the books, I actually don't feel any hate whatsoever for coach Ricky Stuart.

That noise I heard was like a large disturbance in the force - almost as though thousands of readers gasped out in shock, and then fell suddenly silent....

No, it's true. I think he is about the only person associated with rugby league who hates everyone else associated with rugby league with ALMOST the same intensity that I do. I say ALMOST because Ricky still has to be politically correct, with his position as coach and all. Whereas Chov f*cken calls it as he sees it. But that's not Ricky's fault.

Still, he pu$$ied out on the whole Brett Kimmorley thing. He called him $hit, then became his club coach and kissed and made up. Jessy.

But, you know, f*ck the Sharks and all that. Why does every f*cken tosser who mentions this team INSIST on calling them the "Sharkies"?? Every time I hear it, 15 different blood vessels in my eye-ball throb and nearly explode in rage. I want to smash through my TV screen and smash Laurie Daley's face into the desk about eighteen thousand times whenever he says it.

You stop calling them "Sharkies" when you turn, oh, the age of FOUR, f*ckwits. And even THEN, it's only if you're actually a Sharks FAN.

Special F*ckwit Watch:

See it's too obvious to say Paul "The Amazing Human Bonehead - see him move! see him SPEAK! Is he REAL?" Gallen. Yeah, he's a tosser, even his own Mum probably told him to f*ck off on Mother's Day and swung a left hook at him on the way out. But he's really more in the category of "wankers to ignore" - like tools who pump out R&B $hit on their car stereos at high volume. Shake your head, then forget them as they pass out of earshot (13 kilometres away).

No, we all know it's only a matter of time before Greg "Knee, this is Head; Head, meet Knee" Bird does something f*ck-slappingly stupid. He can't help himself, it's like a f*cken chromosomal thing - or like one of those wind-up cars that keeps smashing into a wall and then spinning around and zooming off until it smashed into another wall. He's like the result of Nazi scientists in the last days of the war, in their secret Bunker lab, racing to perfect the human-f*ckwit-automaton. And bless him, bless him I say, because he will give me plenty of material all year long.

What I'd Like To See Happen In 2008:
  • The lame moron (think: advertising executive, on their mobile, driving convertible BMW, balding on top, pony-tail at back) who came up with the brilliantly f*ckwitted idea to play the "Jaws" theme music whenever the Sharks get into the 20 metre zone gets attached to a 700000 volt generator by the perineum - every time the music starts I push the RED button. How "clever" and "quirky" does the f*cken idea sound now, dip$hit?
  • The Sharks lose to the Eels by 18,000 points. No need for f*cken "golden-point" extra time now, huh, f*ckers?
  • Lance "Bloodnuts Should Be Drowned At Birth" Thompson, whilst drinking heavily post-game, gets into a disagreement with a fan about whether he had made twenty-SEVEN or twenty-EIGHT tackles in the second half, and punches the living $hit out of them as a succinct closing argument. Wakes up 2 days later to discover it was his mum.
  • With 1 min to go and tied 12-all with the Bondi Chickens, Ricky Stuart gets so f*cken angry that he runs down from the coach's box, throws on a Sharks t-shirt and some thongs, steers the Sharks 85 metres downfield and slots a field-goal from right in front, backwards through his legs, with his ERECT C*CK, wins the game, tells Brett Kimmorley "THAT'S HOW YOU F*CKEN DO IT PEANUT", runs to the car-park, takes a foot-long $hit right on top of Nick Politis's Ford Ranger, tells a 7 year old autograph-hunter in a Tigers cap to "f*ck off idiot, if you can't even get the team right i'm too f*cken busy", pauses to leave an obscene phone message on Wayne Bennett's answering machine for the 11th time that day, and then receives a new personal-best NRL-record fine in the post-match press conference for calling Shayne Hayne a "f*cking cheating incompetent, dog's-a$$-raping, motherf*cking f*ckturd" 18 times (including writing it on a whiteboard for assembled journalists. Steve Mascord still doesn't get it).
  • Either that or all Lebanon's group matches in the Rugby League World Cup are scheduled for Henson/Toyota/Shark Park.
Overall Hate Factor: 10/10 - f*ck you Sharks, and Mark McGaw was a $hit "Gladiator" too.

Chov's F*cktacular NRL 2008 Preview #7: Penrith Panthers

Team: Penriff Panffers Rulz Roight (pronounced in true Nepean dialect)

Why I Hate The F*cken Team / F*cken Coach / F*cken Locality: I grew up looking at this team playing in white jerseys that looked as though someone had wiped their ar$e with them, leaving a giant turd-brown stain across the top. Then along came Mark Geyer. The rest is Hatred History.

Special F*ckwit Watch: To coach Matthew Elliott, a snivelling skidmark on the underpants of mankind, a very special "f*ck you" from the bottom of my anus. Oh, sure, I had some time for this bloke when he was coaching the Ragedrs - he seemed decent, lucid - even thoughtful. But now I see that was a clever disguise, which only served to mask the giant throbbing A$$HOLE beneath.

What was it this turd-sandwich said after leaving the Ragedrs to coach Penriff? Something about "well, now watch me REALLY coach, now that I have some GOOD PLAYERS instead of f*cken TURNIPS".

Even if it was true, you don't have to say it, ar$ehole. Just go out and f*cken dazzle us with your f*cken brilliance, why don't ya? Look out NRL Premiership, here comes "Supercoach" Elliott and his uber-talented Panffers!!

Except you must not have anticipated the part, while you were wanking to this fantasy on the crapper, where you FINISHED AT THE SPHINCTER-HOLE END OF THE TABLE.

Bravo, f*ckwit, bravo.

What I'd Like To See Happen In 2008:

  • Panffers finish ar$ehole-first in 16th position, with two 423 to nil losses to the Eels.
  • Special bonus losses! - "Supercoach" Elliott beaten by the Ragedrs. Every. Single. F*cken. Time. For the next 2 million years.
  • For just one single F*CKEN YEAR, Channel 9 do NOT f*cken show that f*cken boring cliche footage of Mark "Pussy" Geyer being barge-ar$ed around by Wally Lewis in the pouring rain, Origin '91. Memo: Mark Geyer - you had your f*cken chance, big man, to smash the living $hit out of Lewis, and bring forward his CT scans about 14 years, and you F*CKEN BLEW IT. You F*CKEN FAIRY. So sit down, shut the F*CK UP and stop pretending to be some sort of F*CKEN HARD MAN. Dip$hit.
  • Greg "Has My Voice Broken Yet?" Alexander correctly identifies a tactical nuance in a game of rugby league. Greg, I understand what a "play the ball" is. Trust me. But, f*ck, THANK YOU for pointing out, time after time after time, that a kick from within the 40 that goes out inside the 20 is a....wait for it...."40-20". Ye gods. I just realised without Laurie "The Boston Language-Mangler" Daley on Foxtel, I'll have to listen to more of this ex-Penriff peanut.
  • Phil "The Love" Gould actually goes the whole hog and starts ma$turbating live on air when Channel 9 are covering the Panffers, dropping the f*cken pretence once and for all. Memo: Panffers and Phil Gould - get a F*CKEN ROOM ALREADY.
Overall Hate Factor: 17/10 - F*ck you Penriff, and kiss my nuts "Supercoach" - better luck next year, coaching the Leonay under 7s. Maybe they have the "cattle" for you, peanut.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Chov's F*cktacular NRL 2008 Preview #6: Newcastle Knights

Team: Newcastle Knights, also known as "The Brian Smith Experiment v2.0"

Why I Hate The F*cken Team / F*cken Coach / F*cken Locality: Well, see, mostly I laughed. And laughed. And then I laughed. Oh how I laughed.

I laughed because Newcastle hired on Brain Smith (not a typo), finally ending this Eel fan's purgatory (and starting a new era, but that's another preview). That was funny, but it got funnier.

It got funnier when the Newcastle fans were surprised to learn that Brain Smith, in fact, is a f*ckwit, and he wasn't somehow transformed into a genius on his way up the highway. I mean, in the Church of F*ckwitology, Brain Smith is like the f*cken equivalent of Tom Cruise. He's like up to the f*cken 11th level, where he has his own f*cken spaceship in the volcano, and is interpreting early messages from the aliens that explain the secrets of virtual f*ckwitociousness. THAT'S how f*ckwit he is.

And I can't f*cken stand any of their fans, the ones who really f*cken thought that Andrew Johns interview with Phil Gould was "riveting television". And all the f*cken pin-heads who thought JARROD MULLEN was a superstar after THREE MINUTES OF FIRST GRADE. F*ck you all, Knights fans, and your so-called f*cken "passionate support" - the reason you can catch 56 buses down to Sydney for finals games is because THEY SHUT THE PUBS and none of you HAVE F*CKEN JOBS.

Special F*ckwit Watch:

Obviously Brain Smith is going to push hard each and every week for my special NRL F*ckwit of the Week Award (watch out for that one), but here are some other wet-farts in an elevator:
  • Adam "Mars Bar" MacDougall - the highlight of his career was stomping on Geoff Toovey's face in the '97 Grand Final. Sadly he undid this good work by offering up the lamest (or funniest) excuse for failing a drug-test ever - ingesting a Mars Bar before hand. What. The. F*ck?
  • Jarrod "The Next Joey Johns #327" Mullen - probably not his fault, but f*ck me was I the only person in the WORLD who did NOT jump on this dip$hit's bandwagon during State of Origin last year? He's a peanut. He's played 36 seconds. And you f*ckwits think he's the next Immortal. Puh-lease.
  • Wes "Make The Man Some F*cken Iggs" Naiqama - I think he can get his driver's licence back some time in the year 8040 A.D.
What I'd Like To See Happen In 2008:
  • Brain Smith greeted in the car park by a mob of "passionate Newcastle fans" after the Knights lose 814 to nil to the Eels - bearing burning torches and pitchforks. "Burn The Witch!" they cry....
  • Jarrod Mullen picks up the slack with Joey's "dealer" and starts sniffing Clag and Liquid Paper that has not been diluted in the suggested quantities.
  • Danny Buderus actually plays up to his reputation, especially during State of Origin.
Overall Hate Factor: 12/10 - Get f*cked Newcastle. Even BHP got tired of you and f*cked off.

Chov's F*cktacular NRL 2008 Preview #5: Manlove-ly

Team: Man-love-ly Sea Eagles

Why I Hate The F*cken Team / F*cken Coach / F*cken Locality: See, I'm old-school. When Manly were $hit a couple of years ago, and some f*cktard appeared on my television screen saying something colon-explodingly stupid like "people don't hate Manly as much any more" I wanted to teleport to his location so I could F*CKING KUNG-FU KICK HIS F*CKING APPENDIX OUT THROUGH HIS PI$$-HOLE.

I. HATE. MANLY. What a f*cken ironic name. They're anything BUT.

Special F*ckwit Watch:

Oh, I have a special little warm place in my colon, filled with quietly $hit-bubbling hate, for Jamie "Queenscliff Is Too 'The Bush'!" Lyon.

Because while thousands forget, I F*CKEN REMEMBER.

*I* f*cken remember how poor widdle Jamie couldn't handle them folk in the big city, it was all too busy and scary in the big smoke, and Country-Bumpkin Jamie needed to get back to wide open spaces where you can f*ck a sheep in the back paddock in broad daylight and wave to Farmer Jones when he toots on his way past in the truck, and you don't even have to wipe your d1ck before coming in for dinner. So poor widdle Jamie ran away from the Eels, so far far far away into the country so they could never find him, because he went SO FAR INTO THE COUNTRY that he discovered a tiny little country hamlet just over THE F*CKEN SPIT BRIDGE.

About the only thing I could smile about while watching the Melbourne Scum win the Grand Final last year was the supreme tingle of satisfaction I had in my anus, knowing this little f*ck-stain didn't win. Even his own fans voted him "most over-rated". And that was probably at f*cken Wee-Waa.

And here's a selection of other tossers I'd like to have in a room when I toss a $hitbag into the fan:
  • Brent Kite - A mate of mine once took 17 minutes to drop a turd that was about 1 and a half feet long. It had more footballing ability than Brent Kite.
  • Steve Menzies - has spent a career being called a "second-rower" when his actual position is "laze around 1 man in from the f*cken sideline, catch the last pass and fall over the try-line". F*ck off Steve Menzies. What do you need head-gear for, there's more chance of the f*cken boy in the bubble making heavy contact than you.
  • Every single Manly forward - F*ck you all, you f*cking bunch of girlish jessys. It's YOUR fault the Melbourne Scum are champions, and in case you can't tell, I DON'T FORGIVE. So F*CK YOU. F*cking chicken-$hits. F*ck off.
  • Geoff Toovey - even as a f*cken TRAINER running on and off the field he has a wonderful head you could just smash with a f*cken cricket bat ALL DAY LONG and NEVER get tired of it.
What I'd Love To See In 2008:
  • Manly lose every single game, including two 175 nil losses to the Eels, one of them being Steve Menzie's farewell to Brookvale game.
  • It rains* on Steve Menzie's farewell to Brookvale lap of honour.
  • (*Rains hailstones the size of Volkswagens.)
  • Matt Orford goes for a 40-20 and succeeds in kicking the entire Steeden right up Glenn Stewart's ar$ehole, putting him out for the season. Fifteen operations later, they still can't remove the ball. But they find a f*cken platypus, an espresso-maker and an LCD PC monitor up there as well.
  • Luke Williamson gets a f*cken HAIRCUT.
  • The Daily Telegraph runs a story about a Manly player, and DOESN'T INCLUDE A F*CKEN PICTURE OF THEM WITH A SURFBOARD. It CAN BE DONE.
Hate Factor: 13/10 - old school, baby, old school. Which means f*ck you Phil Blake. And f*ck you Wormald, whatever the f*ck you even are.

Chov's F*cktacular NRL 2008 Preview #4: Nth Qld Cowpats

Team: North Queensland Cowpats

Why I Hate The F*cken Team / F*cken Coach / F*cken Locality:
  • They have jerseys that look like Bozo The Clown took a splattery $hit on a white t-shirt.
  • I'm sick to f*cken death of hearing about how "great the support is up here", get the f*ck over it.
  • For the most part, originally, they were pretty harmless, but then some pompous f*cktard had to go and get f*cken delusions of grandeur up there and start spouting off that the Cowpats were "everyone's second favourite team" or some such similar rubbish. See, everything goes ok until some F*CKWIT opens his MORON-HOLE doesn't it? You are NOT my second, third, fourth or even 900000000000000000000000000000000056th favourite team, DIP$HITS - you're just a pack of inbred hicks from up north who cheer on a rapist because he can kick a footy reasonably well. So F*CK YOU.
  • They're a real loyal f*cken bunch. Ask Graham Murray.
Special F*ckwit Watch: Oh, Carl Webb, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways....

Carl Webb is the f*cken most f*cken over-rated "hard" man in world sport. Galactic sport, even. Here's a little known stat - Carl Webb makes one effective run for every 9 thousand million attempts. But when he does, his bring-Ray-Warren-to-orgasm conversion ratio is 100%. So somehow this lumbering f*cken buffoon has a reputation as some SCARY (eeek!) hard man.

F*ck off. Kiss my nuts, Carl Webb. Your entire career is summed up in the term "f*ck all".

Also not worth pi$$ing on if they are on fire:
  • Jon "She Was Like That When I Got Here" Thurston - knows how to treat a lady.
  • Matt "Run Like You've Got A DVD Player Under Your Arm!" Bowen - oh f*ck off already with all this $hit about how good he is. Whatever happened to TACKLING?
  • Luke "Mummy Kiss Ums Better" O'Donnell - is bringing a note from his Mummy with him to every single game from now on that tells all the other boys not to tackle little Lukey-wookles too hard. F*cken fairy. Have a couple of swigs of this new drink "TOUGHENTHEF*CKUP" and shut up.
What I'd Love To See In 2008:
  • Jon "I Was A Teenage Rapist" Thurston raped by a pack of big black feral Alsatians, who are never punished and instead transfer interstate to other holiday kennels, where they are feted and nobody ever mentions "the unpleasantness" again.
  • The Cowpats get a crowd of 25,000 in the middle of CYCLONE F*CKEN CECIL, finally giving the f*cken mongo Gorden Tallis a LEGITIMATE F*CKEN REASON to say, for the 100000000000000000000th time, that "...they really love their footy up here."
  • The Cowpats wear a$$less chaps to honour former forward Ian Robert's birthday.
Overall Hate Factor: 11/10 - Just f*ck off, cowgirls.

Chov's F*cktacular NRL 2008 Preview #3: Canberra Ragedrs

Team: Canberra Ragedrs - (name courtesy of El Maco Pudendo Magnifico, ruthlessly mauling his phone's predictive-text key-pad to send me a late, drunken SMS. Comedy gold.)

Why I Hate The F*cken Team / F*cken Coach / F*cken Locality: Well I live here and have to endure tacky f*cken promotions like GREEN MILK every year because the Ragedrs wear the single most SICKENING colour to ever stain a sporting field - LIME GREEN. Plus most Ragedrs "fans" $hit me to tears because they all f*cked off to watch the Brumbies at the first opportunity anyway, but still call themselves "hard-core" because they turn up to watch 1 Ragedrs game a year on a "brisk" Sunday afternoon. And then leave 25 minutes early to beat traffic. Finally, this bunch of f*cken ar$ey wankers always seem to manage to jag a f*cken late, come-from-behind win over the Eels, but wet their f*cken pi$$y green panties one week later to lose to the Melbourne Scum by 30.

But mostly, it's because Turd Carney plays for them.

NB: Although I have bagged out the Ragedrs for the purposes of comedy and this f*cken stupid Blog, I reserve the right to close ranks on any and all Sydney-based media who try to do the same. F*ck you, I'm GLAD you don't like Canberra, otherwise you'd all f*cken MOVE HERE and turn this place into a $hithole like YOUR city.

Special F*ckwit Watch: Well say hello to the one and only Turd "I'm Right To Drive" Carney, a truly special little $hit-splat on the ar$e-cheeks of humanity. You remember Turd, right? Turd narrowly missed out on the opportunity to experience "prison-romance" up close with his host, Larry The Biker, because an ACT Magistrate (Motto: "Every third offence free!") reviewed the following events, and, I $hit you not, deemed them worthy of (actual punishment, not $hit I just made up) a $500 fine and $107 court costs (oh, and some community service):

1. Turd got drunk
2. Turd drove himself and his drunk mate in his car
3. Turd sped very fast
4. Local constabulary observed Turd speeding
5. Turd "forgot" that wailing sirens and flashing lights on pursuing cop-cars aren't just a "friendly reminder" to stop or slow-down.
7. Turd "forgot" that having a current driver's licence isn't actually just "suggested best practice" for ACT motorists.
8. Turd also "forgot" that he did this just 3 months ago, which is why his driver's licence was the victim of a ceremonial burning by the ACT Dept of Urban Services.
9. Turd ditched his car, and his drunk mate, and ran away through the bush faster than a French soldier who smells sauerkraut.
10. In time honoured Aussie tradition, Turd got caught and attempted to get out of trouble by selling his mate UP THE F*CKEN RIVER.

Now, of course, because the kid can play footy his club didn't kick him out. Although his mate, who was $hit, got $hit-canned faster than Artie Beetson finishes a KFC Family Pack. But you would think that the kid ought to get into Ragedrs HQ really early every morning, just so he can spend that first 45 minutes KISSING THE F*CKEN BALL-SACK of the Ragedrs CEO, wouldn't you?


Turd is showing his loyalty to the club what discovered him by WAVING HIS C*CK IN THEIR FACE for a few weeks while he gets a new fountain pen custom-made with which to sign a new contract with another club. At the VERY FIRST F*CKEN OPPORTUNITY of contract expiry.

F*ck you, Turd. F*ck you very much.

Also a special mention to former Ragedr Laurie Daley, who, THANK THE LORD CHRIST H. GEEZUS HISSELF, is now gone from Foxtel so I pretty much never have to listen to him again. His contribution to "insightful commentary" is akin to what Catholic priests contribute to "responsible child-minding".

Oh, and Colin Best, who is just such a fairy I can't help but laugh.

What I'd Love To See In 2008:
  • Chov sledges Turd Carney so much, and for so long, Carney attempts to jump the fence and fight him in Round 3, thereby spawning enough material for roughly 8,000 posts to this blog.
  • The Ragedrs avoid the wooden spoon, yet again, just so that all the f*ckwits who write for the Daily Telegraph as so-called "experts" look like f*ckwits AGAIN.
  • That, just for f*cken ONCE, I can go to the footy with my favourite peep Maca "Rough Sex" McDonald and watch my beloved EELS smash 13 different colours of $hit out of his Ragedrs. And laugh at him in the car ALL THE WAY HOME. For ONCE. And I'm not greedy, just one 312 to nil Eels win would be all I'd need.
Overall Hate Factor: 10/10 - Turd Carney accounts for 9 of these points on his own.

Chov's F*cktacular NRL 2008 Preview #2: C*nterbury Bullwogs

Team: C*nterbury Bullwogs

Why I Hate The F*cken Team / F*cken Coach / F*cken Locality: So many reasons, so little time. I mean, just to whip out a couple - the blatant and unrepentant salary-cap cheating, the pack-rapes their players engage in and their scum-of-the-f*cken-earth "fans", what's not to love about hating this slimy bunch of putrid filth staining the earth? There's something in this turd-stain of a club for everyone in the whole family to hate!

Special F*ckwit Watch: Well, you'll have to wait for another club's preview to get me started on Willie "Mr A.D.D" Mason, alas. But never fear, with this all-star line-up of F*CKWITS to hate instead:

  • Willie "I'm Next" Tonga: Willie lists "X-Box" and "Stamp-collecting" as his hobbies. Also "waiting in line to pack rape women at Central Coast motels".
  • Matt "Meat Sack" Utai: The result of a scientific experiment to jam 7 human beings into a single 4 foot tall body. They couldn't find any room for the brains.
  • Hazchem El MajorDick - couldn't tackle his way out of a wet paper bag, wears undershorts for no reason, C*nterbury fans love him, token ethnic minority.
  • Reni Manure - so you're a f*cken "Bra Boy" and you're f*cken "Bra-Boy" tough huh? F*cken puh-lease. Join the SAS then, f*cken heroes.
  • Chris Armpit, Andrew "The Human Eyebrow" Ryan, Justin Tsoulos - f*cken JUDAS TRIO.
  • 10,000 C*nterbury fans - every f*cken single f*cken week.

What I'd Love To See In 2008:

  • An A380 Airbus crashes into the ground at the C*nterbury vs Melbourne Scum game, destroying the entire coaching and playing staffs of both clubs, and up to 30,000 of their fans as a special bonus. (The plane is also full of C*nterbury and Melbourne Scum fans, and piloted by John Ribot).
  • More crowd trouble at a C*nterbury game, however the flares they set off set fire to the entire Bullwog Army. NRL bans the club from all competition for 812 years anyway.
  • Sonny-Bill injured for 25 of 26 rounds. And suspended for the other. Actually, this might well happen.
  • C*nterbury losing 27 times, including a credibility-destroying 6,228 - nil loss to Eels.

Overall Hate Factor: 15/10 - F*ck the f*cken f*ckers.

Chov's F*cktacular NRL 2008 Preview #1: Brisbane Bonkos

Today we begin Chov's in-depth look at the upcoming NRL season, which I'm spreading over a couple of days because it will waste more work-time that way.

Now, there are readers of this f*cken moronic blog who don't really follow sport. Fear not! All you have to do is read my special F*cktacular NRL Season Preview and you will be armed for all manner of tea-room, BBQ and buck's night conversation scenarios. Simply regurgitate any of my comments and you, too, will look like a f*cken NRL genius, winning the respect and admiration of your peers.

As for those who do follow sport, and the NRL in particular, here is a special insight into just why I hate all your f*cken teams so much. If you want to sook because I slagged off your f*cken team, don't leave a comment, just cry into your f*cken pillow instead.

Team: Brisbane Broncos henceforth Lachlan Murdoch's Bonkos

Why I Hate The F*cken Team / F*cken Coach / F*cken Locality: Never f*cken once under the salary cap since they started. Coach is a miserable f*cken whiner, even when they win, and somehow tries to appear miffed with the club even though HE was the f*cken one stabbing them in the back and trying to engineer a move to the Sydney Chickens. Also, he SNUCK OUT A F*CKEN BACK DOOR at the airport, rather than man-up and face the music. And despite having almost an entire f*cken state to recruit talent from, the Bonkos still raid other clubs eg. stealing P.J.Marsh from the Electric Eels. Oh, and they wear f*cken maroon and yellow.

Special F*ckwit Watch: Yeah I remember you, Brad "Big Man Me" Thorn, scoring against the "Baby Eels" in the finals in 2000 - you got up and had a big few sledges to throw in against the kids didn't you, big man? Never mind the bunch of kids ran you close (16-10), you showed them didn't you big man, with your f*cken enormous testicles eh? F*ckwit.

But Thorn has pi$$ed off back to Roogbeh so f*ck him. So some dishonourable mentions to take his place in 2008:
  • Justin "In-Goal Pass Is On" Hodges - why someone who f*cks up so much would have such a big f*cken sledging mouth is beyond me. Dip$hit of the highest order.
  • KHunt - apart from a side-step that looks like he's having a f*cken fit, big f*cken woop.
  • Joel "Pigtails" Clinton - possibly the biggest cat in league, ever - spends more time playing with his hair than, well, anything really. Sleeps with a cardboard cut-out of himself. "Men Of League" Calendar in his fridge is permanently open to his own month. However, well worth laughing at as he'll only ever be remembered for being splattered by Sonny-Bill's shoulder. Gold.
  • Tonie "Australopithecus" Carroll - the ugliest human being that evolution has managed to create so far. Must have been born through his mother's ar$ehole. Possesses a jaw that could munch through 13 inches of brick. Apparently can represent New Zealand but still be a Queenslander. Talk about f*cked up QLD geography.
What I'd Love To See In 2008:
  • Darren Lockyer break his leg in 127 places attempting a field goal in Round 1 - by missing the ball and instead kicking Justin Hodges square in the f*cken head, killing him (after 3 weeks in agony in intensive care).
  • Tonie Carroll correctly identify, on a map: #1 where he was born; #2 the state of QLD and #3 the country of New Zealand. And explain how two of the three CANNOT F*CKEN MATCH.
  • Bonkos losing 27 times, including 157-0 loss to Eels.

Overall Hate Factor: 11/10 - F*ck the f*cken f*ckers.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Claytons - The Drink I Have When I'm Too Drunk To Keep Drinking

Sadly, we must today mourn the passing into history of a watershed moment in Australian politics - Claytons Parliament Friday, or "The Government We're Having When We're Not Having Government".

Remember the ad?

(Scene: The Holy Grail Bar, Civic, Canberra. Drunken, binge-drinking politicians are sprawled everywhere. A forlorn Brendan Nelson pole-dances, dressed only in a feather boa, to an empty dance-floor. Saint Kevin the Infallible, Patron Saint of Working Families, approaches the barman...)

"Claytons Parliament, thanks, Brian..."

"On the wagon, Kevin?"

"F*ck no, just a f*cken stupid idea I came up with on the crapper. Still, a few more hot young lefty socialist chicks at Universities around the country will want to suck my d1ck, so it can't be all bad!"

"Well, now we can all get some sleep!"
(cue: uproarious laughter...)

You remember when our beloved Prime Minister, Saint Kevin the Infallible, Patron Saint of Working Families, ascended to the golden throne? Of course you f*cken do, you all voted for him twice and saw God's own hand anoint the f*cken poindexter at about 8.15 pm, with trumpets and all sorts of God-ish $hit happening. Kerry O'Brien almost spontaneously combusted in orgasmic rapture at the time. Who could forget that?

Well anyway, Saint Kevin ascended to the heavenly throne, pausing only to thunderously announce that Parliament would 'sit' on Fridays from now on, by the power of his mighty, erect, Golden Staff of CRudd!

A tremendous thunder shook the very earth at these words as he smote the floor of the chamber with his Golden Staff!

F*ck me dead, exclaimed the masses, the politicians are going to be working harder than ever before to deliver Working Families unto the Garden of Eden! They're going to be working on Fridays instead of f*cking off to Manuka and Kingston and Barton swank eateries and cafe-bars! It's a new Golden Era!

Yeah, like f*ck it is you morons, or, as I prefer to say: WRONG AGAIN DIP$HITS!!

See, unlike Moses, when Saint Kevin trundles on down from the mountain with stone tablets, you better read the f*cken fine print the smarmy little pr1ck chiseled on there really quickly while everyone was busy laughing at Brendan Nelson trying to limbo beneath his latest approval rating.

On a side note, the reason I don't slag off the Good Doctor much on this ridiculous f*cken blog here is not because I am a right wing Liberal Party sycophant - I f*cken hate those f*cken dip$hits, too - it's more because kicking the Good Doctor while he's down (down at about 9% last I heard) is pretty f*cken lame. I ought to steal some Chupa-Chups from kids while I'm at it. I mean, f*ck, Mike Tyson has a higher approval rating than f*cken 9% with Domestic Violence Support Groups. F*ck, Paul McCartney has a higher approval rating with his ex-wife than F*CKEN 9%!! A f*cken AMOEBA could get more than 9% approval from a typical Australian electorate by f*cken showing up and sub-dividing a few cells! (and maybe then downing a schooner of VB in under 3.5 seconds...)

So there's no comedy there, just f*cken mediocrity. Which would be funny if it was, you know, Jose Mourinho or something, but it isn't. Alas.

So while all the f*cktards that worship Saint Kevin were smearing themselves in honey and faeces and frotting each other furiously at this latest stroke of genius from the hard-working, committed PM, the fine print went undetected. Orgiastic denial is a hell of a thing.

Except f*cken Chov was onto it like a f*cken pensioner onto a virgin poker machine at the RSL. BANG!!

The banner headline read, somewhat:


The fine print read, loosely:

"* except for the Prime Minister himself, who actually won't be there on Fridays at all, oh no, he'll be off fishing or avoiding lunches with Brian Burke..also there won't actually be any questions asked by any member, nor answered....also there won't actually be any debate of legislation.....and...err...what else....oh yeah, no votes to be taken either. And finally, the Friday sitting also can't be used by any member to put in his or her footy tips for the f*cken weekend either. You can pick your nose, though. Maybe."

And see the reason Chov was onto this with more fury than f*cken Pablo Escobar onto a constipated drug-mule was because I adopted the very same concept and applied to my own workplace.

I notified my boss, pursuant to section 4, sub-clause 14 (c), (iii), that henceforth I intended to "work" on Fridays, with "work" to be defined as "staying the f*ck home, casually rubbing one out after breakfast, having 3 beers for lunch and writing angry comments to the Daily Telegraph for the duration, or watching mid-week replays of the NRL on Foxtel" and defining "Fridays" as "any day I deem to be Friday".

However I kindly offered to provide a life-size blow-up sex-doll of myself to sit in my chair in case anyone felt the need to discuss some work-related matter with me by proxy - or should they simply wish to sit on my massive rod for sexual gratification.

Obviously the Opposition heard of my brilliant sarcasm on an epic scale and stole my f*cken idea. They took a cardboard-cutout of Saint Kevin into Parliament on the first Friday that this stupid $hit was put into practice and f*cken ruined it for everybody, didn't they?

That's right. One single f*cken Friday and it's all over because some bad apples had to go and ruin it for the whole f*cken bunch didn't they. Do you know how many more rants I could have f*cken posted on this stupid $hit?

But Saint Kevin dropped the idea because, basically, ALL ALONG IT WAS F*CKEN STUPID, however good luck getting the pompous little turd to admit it. But everyone knew, in terms if f*cktosity, this was SPECIAL, and, alas, kiddies we may not live to see breathtaking f*cktardation of this ilk again.

Unless somehow Wayne "The Ugly Fuckling" Swan gets to be PM, in which case he'll introduce "Come to Parliament Dressed As Your Favourite Sesame Street Character Tuesday".

You'll know him, he'll be the a$$ of Snuffleupagus.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Quick Flashes of F*cktardity #1

Just a quick shout-out to the f*cken useless peanuts at Utopia Records at Broadway in Sydney.

Send me an email on the 11th to tell me you're closed on the 10th.

F*cking genius, that.


Oh, and I see that my beloved St Louis Rams have signed up Trent "My Head Hurts" Green as their back up QB for the next 3 seasons.

He's 36, mind you, and the reason he's sticking with football is because medical science rejected him for use in scientific experiments as his brain has been f*cken CONCUSSED into F*CKEN YOGHURT.

So, yeah, excellent. After our porous offensive line allows Marc Bulger to be back-slammed for the 18th time in Week 1 next season, separating his throwing shoulder and ending his season, coach will turn to Trent and say "you're in". At which point Trent will smile and drool and point at the crowd and say "...looook....pretty colours....."

Of course, the NRL season kicks off this weekend, so the Chovster will shortly be publishing a whip around NRL preview that will make Rusty Crowe's f*cken pussy "Book of Feuds" look like the panties-wetting piece of f*cken fairy-floss that it is. Hopefully he reads this and tries to throw his phone at me, Souths-supporting tosser. F*ck him and the pink rabbit he rode in, in.

Stay tuned.

And a big shout out to my peeps Thumbelina and Back Door Benny Bolton, charging into the semi-finals of 11th grade Illawarra Cricket with the apparently mighty Rail Razorbacks. They are the team EVERYBODY wants to play in the finals. Of course Centrebet has suspended all action on the match until the status of Thumbelina's digit has been ascertained. A club spokesman refused to comment, but this from the cricketing legend himself (with no attempt made to correct spelling or grammar):

"do you know how many times a week u bump your thumb? if you didnt its about 49trillion times"

Rest easy, Rail faithful, your future is in good thumbs.

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

F*ckwits of the Animal Kingdom #1

"Tickles" the cat about to discover, THE F*CKEN HARD WAY, that bird is not a chicken.

Get your SHOULDER off my CHEST, you damn dirty APE!!

Every now and then, some f*cktard comes out with something that is so f*cktacularly stupid that it almost gives me a f*cken aneurysm just thinking about it.

It takes me into a zone that is beyond ranting, where all I can actually see are colour explosions and the video montage that Alex DeLarge was subjected to as part of the f*cken Ludovico Technique.

With some considerable effort I can finally bring myself back into a state that sort of resembles "shaking with rage", which is how I am 90% of the time anyway, so it registers as "normal" on the patented Chov RAGEometer (TM).

Then I have to re-write this blog about fifteen f*cken times, because every time I start writing about the incident that got me angry in the first place I get a RENEWED urge to start "Singin' In The Rain", my droogs and brothers, or having your humble narrator listen to "Beethoven's Ninth" and KICK THE F*CKWIT-NESS out of F*CKWITS who need it. Desperately.

See what happened was some drunk tosser at the cricket last night threw off his clothes and decided to "streak" - that is, advertise his under-sized torkler to the world by getting nude and then sprinting onto the field faster than a Frenchman who heard the word "Achtung!"

Now it's amusing when my youngest brother ruins the Street Xmas Party Annual Backyard Cricket Challenge by doing it, but that's because all the neighbours are d1ckheads anyway, and the only fun thing about it is belting the 9 year old from no.32 for 112 runs off one over.

But there is a time and place for streaking and the cricket, no matter how funny you think it is whilst drunk, isn't it. It's at a mate's wedding, for instance, or at the kids' school Xmas pantomime, where it's funny and ought to be encouraged: or, holiest of holies, when ample-breasted girls decide to streak. In which case praise be to God, we humbly thank thee for the beauty of the world and your infinite wisdom in creating boobs etc etc.

But, I know, this donger-dangling sausage-fest streaking $hit will happen so I deal with it. The streaking itself isn't the problem that has exploded several blood vessels in my rage-filled eyeball.

See, what befell the streaker was not, as he envisaged, tripping over the end of his one-and-a-half-foot schlong in a final, glorious dive through the stumps to thunderous applause from the crowd.

What he got was a Andrew Symonds-sized dose of "toughen-the-f*ck-up, bitch", instead.

Symonds simply dropped the shoulder as the nude moron skipped nearby and F*CKING DECKED THE STUPID PR1CK, who woke up later in the comforting surrounds of a holding cell, catered by the QLD constabulary, and asked for the tattoo of Symonds' shoulder to be removed from his chest, please. And a hot Milo. And perhaps if anyone saw his spleen lying around, that might be handy if that could be returned, too. Last seen erupting from his anus after he ran into a f*cken wall. Ta muchly for that.

For this action alone, Symonds should have scored 1000000000 points towards next year's Allan Border Australian Cricketer of the Year medal, and I will be watching the f*cken vote count carefully to check that justice is, in fact, done in this regard.

Now this morning I was hoping, despite Australia's loss in the match overall, to see front page headlines announcing a one-man ticker-tape parade and book-signing extravaganza, with possible TV sitcom pilot, visiting every single Australian city, starring Andrew Symonds, hero of the people. And, at each event, you could pose for photos alongside Andrew's balls, which would tower over you and cast a shadow across the crowd.

And, if you happened to be the f*cken incompetent mong who was in charge of "security" at last night's event, you could get a free spot on the tour and your job would be to close each day's festivities at the Carnevale de Symonds by KISSING HIS F*CKEN HAIRY BEANBAG in THANKS for doing YOUR F*CKEN JOB FOR YOU, and PROPERLY.

So can you imagine my dismay, nay, F*CKEN GARGANTUAN ANTI-F*CKTARD APOPLEXY, when instead of these glorious headlines I am forced to read, with my own eyes:

"Cricket officials have said Symonds will not face a penalty, but the burly all-rounder may find himself in strife if the man makes an assault complaint to police."

Words fail me.

Let me get this straight - f*cktard of galactic proportions runs onto field, naked and drunk and against the law, gets shoulder-charged into next week (he's going to be early for his court appearance), but if the poor put-upon f*cktard COMPLAINS, then Andrew Symonds could be charged?!?!?!?!?!!??!?!?!?!?!?

Let me express me incredulity a little more by simply typing a bit more punctuation.


There, that ought to do it.

Allow me to play the sub-editor for a moment, and re-write the quote AS IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED:

"Cricket officials have said Symonds will be rewarded with an Ambassadorial role on Australia's behalf to the UNITED F*CKEN NATIONS, and, if the man makes an assault complaint to police, the burly all-rounder will get to smash the STUPID F*CKTARD repeatedly with a cricket bat for FIFTEEN MINUTES at the direct invitation of the Director of Public Prosecutions. The event has already attracted interest from Foxtel's Pay-TV arm, who have expressed a desire to televise it live on a pay-per-view basis. Experts agree that it has the potential to become the most-watched event in Australian television history."

Not to mention that any number of NRL clubs ought to be talking to Symonds this morning, especially clubs that have paper-bag tacklers like Preston Campbell on their roster.

But even if this outrageous piece of F*CKTARDITY wasn't sufficient to almost invert my colon in ANGER, good old "Reg of Sydney" had to utilise the f*cken "comments" facility, didn't he?

Thanks for f*cken nothing, INTERNET.

Yes, he f*cken well did, and in doing so made me want to f*cken euthanase him with a F*CKEN 40,000 FOOT LASER that would have obliterated, with PRECISION and in the most F*CKEN AGONISING MANNER POSSIBLE, not only every fabric of matter that contributes to Reg being the f*cken waste of carbon and oxygen that he is, it would also have destroyed all evidence that Reg ever existed and stained the Universe with his breathtaking f*ckwittosity.

Allow Reg to express himself:

"All i (sic) saw was the Adelaide man running pass (sic) Andrew Symonds, what Andrew Symonds did was wrong."

Who the f*ck is "Adelaide Man", Reg you f*cktocious 'tard? A new discovery by archaeologists? Like f*cken "Java Man", only less intelligent and with a forehead that slopes 3 degrees more? And what was he doing, running "pass"? What, some sort of f*cken rugby league decoy set-piece? It was the CRICKET you stupid f*cken craptacularly f*cktastic MORON.

But there's more!

"He had no right to shoulder the sticker (sic). He should have left it to the cops that was already after the sticker (sic sic sic f*cken sic)."

At this point I realise I am rising above my station and taking on a F*CKEN INTELLECTUAL GIANT. With f*cken grammar like that, I can't understand why Saint Kevin the PM even NEEDS to improve EDUCATION. Where do YOU think Reg falls on the A to E scale? Note: A is the best, and E is f*cken waste of time, and Reg is a new letter all his own, somewhere about 50 clicks past Z.

And "sticker"? What the f*ck? I can understand if Reg's galactic intellect had maybe mistyped "stricker" to at least get it ALMOST phonetically correct, if he were from New Zealand (which would explain a lot of things, right there).

But even that LOW LOW LOW f*cken standard was TOO MUCH TO EXPECT FROM REG.

"Again, we see his mates saying it was OK. Sorry it was not OK"

Well, Reg, that's where we finally agree.

It was, indeed, NOT OK for you to somehow think it necessary to SHARE YOUR F*CKWITACIOUSNESS with the rest of us in this world.

And, yes, I too am SORRY YOU DID.

There, now I feel better.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

And then Skippy the Bush Kangaroo got f*cken blasted with a shotgun. The End. Now go to sleep Timmy.

I have to admit I like it when two sides go to war and I give neither a "flying" nor a "f*ck" either way.

It enables me to sit back and give both sides of the rant equal air-time.

Or I can just point and laugh at everybody; i.e f*ck the lot of 'em.

In the latter category would fall two of my favourite groups of recalcitrant f*cktards - the A.C.T. Government (a local council on steroids) and mincing, whining animal liberationist-type wankers.

Not that I hate animals. And you know I *love* the idiots in politics. It's just that I am a laaaaaazy man. Waaaaaay too lazy to give a "flying" or a "f*ck", as I mentioned, and certainly not to the rabid extent these two sub-species of humanity do anyway.

So what's got them all angried up and looking to come out of their corners swinging (girlish) haymakers?

Well, apparently there is a mob of some 400 or so kangaroos that have taken up residence in northern A.C.T climes. And not only are the dirty foreigners not assimilating with the Osstrayn way of life, roight, they aren't paying stamp duty or land rates to the A.C.T government.

Which means they get what all other A.C.T rate-payers get when they're late with rate-payments - pursued to the death by hired yokels with f*cken shotguns, hooning around in the back of Holden utes with f*cken enormous bullbars and 32 different spot-lights on the roof.

The usual, you know.

But enter the federal Defence Department, whose land, technically, the roos are inhabiting and filling with roo-pellets on a daily basis.

Haunted by the ghost of Steve Irwin (who still won't shut the f*ck up), the Department sought instead to evict the roos and, in the typical bipartisan fashion for which Australian governance is known, basically boot their fat lazy hoppity-hop f*cken ar$es over the border into N.S.W and let THEM deal with the overgrown f*cken jumping-rats.

Now this must have upset the contracted roo-shooters, who had driven their utes all the way from the insignificant $hit-splat on the map called Bull's Turd in remote QLD and had already purchased "vital equipment" (152 cases x Victoria Bitter, 50 bags x crushed ice, 12 x eskies, 14 boxes x Four'n'Twenty party pies, 3 x Bonds blue singlets) in anticipation of the cull.

So Comrade John Stanhopeless, Party Commissar for the A.C.T government, decided "f*ck that" and put a stop to any kangaroo migrations over the border.

Now how did he do that? Build a f*cken fence? Issue a writ? Raise one eyebrow menacingly?

Well, actually, he refused to issue "export permits".

So apparently the kangaroos MARKED FOR F*CKEN DEATH are a civic-minded sort, and wouldn't dare contradict any bureaucratic contrivances designed to keep them where they are for easy targeting - after all, yokels find it hard to hold the shotgun straight after 26 stubbies so the roos better stay the f*ck still dammit.

Now it's the animal-lover type fairies who are getting upset and peppering Comrade Stanhopeless with questions. And, as is always the case when this happens, the good Comrade squirms and writhes like a f*cken cornered rat looking for an out.

"Errr.....," he bul$hitted quickly,"...well, see, a smart smart man called a science-test, wearing a white lab coat, and glasses so he must be real clever because only smart people wear glasses (it's from all the reading they do get it) told me that it traumatizes the Skippys to get moved."

Yes, it's much better for them to be chased around by squealin', pig-fellatin' bumpkins firing shot-gun pellets at the rate of 26 every 5 seconds from the back of a bouncing ute being driven at about 500 kilometres an hour.

F*ck that's calming. Nine out of ten kangaroos nominated that image as their preferred "happy place" in a recent Morgan survey. On the other hand, showing them footage of "moving" made most of them wet their pouch or cry "mummy" which is f*cken significant because kangaroos can't f*cken talk. Or answer surveys.

Also, Comrade Stanhopeless said that he's tried moving them before and it didn't work, so there.

I think he's recalling the time he drove out to Googong Dam and got out of his BMW when he spotted some roos, running and waving his arms and yelling "Gwan! GIT! GWAAAAN! GIT!! GIT! GWAAN! YA MONGRELS! GWAAN! " for about 3 minutes, at which point at least 1 of the roos gazed over at him disinterestedly. And then returned to $hitting contentedly in the grass, which, as I understand it, is all that kangaroos actually do, besides occasionally committing spectacular suicide by jumping into speeding cars on the Federal Highway.

"Well I'm out of ideas" remarked the good Comrade, and that was that.

The next day, crack teams of specially trained inbred hicks blasted some 900 roos into red spray-paint and used the word "yeeehaaaw!" about 5000000000000000 times in only 24 hours.

Comrade Stanhopeless claimed at the time that this Duke Nukem-esque bloodbath was necessary, because the roos were "threatening Canberra's water supply", so obviously he had either uncovered a sinister terrorist plot by the kangaroo community to detonate a dirty bomb and blow up the dam, or else they were planning to COMPLETELY IGNORE the STAGE IV WATER RESTRICTIONS and water their lawns WITH UNTIMED SPRINKLER SYSTEMS!! Egad! F*cken roos! Lil' bit of f*cken KABLAMMMO too good for 'em I say!

Of course, Comrade Stanhopeless got caught out on that one, too.

"Documents obtained by The Canberra Times...showed the cull was opposed by senior government scientists and had been ordered as a result of complaints by neighouring farmers."

Now that just f*cken irks me, because I complain about MY neighbours all the f*cken time and I haven't seen THEM get shot yet. What are my f*cken land rates FOR, anyway?

"They claimed kangaroos were evading professional shooters on their properties by fleeing into the foreshores reserve."

Well I'm not f*cken surprised, considering even a f*cken kangaroo can probably hear the hee-haws playing their Lee Kernaghan CD at f*cken flight-path volume from about 25 kilometres away.

See I can just imagine ole Clem, chewing on a grass stem and complaining to gathered reporters "Well, yeh, them roos is jes gettin away now isnt they?" and shaking his head sadly, before heading inside to have 3 minutes of 'relations' with ole Merle, 'cos it's Sat'dee after all and there ain't been this much fussin' and fartin' in these here parts since young Johnny McJohnston got caught with his d1ck in Nana Thompson's show-winning blue-ribbon 36 kilo pumpkin - and thinkin' 'bout that gets me a bit hot 'n bovvered, Merle me good ole girl, so whip down the britches and git riddy.

Yet again the entire A.C.T government, the legion of imported roo-shootin', sheep-shaggin' good ole' boys and Clem are outwitted by kangaroos that, er, don't stand f*cken still.

So denying the roos the ability to 'export' themselves over the border, as well as canceling ALL A.C.T LIBRARY PRIVILEGES, will obviously make sure the crafty little f*ckers have no choice but to stand still and take a .22 round right in the pouch.

Now the very thought of that brings tears to the eyes of Mr Pat O'Brien, who happens to be President of the Wildlife Protection Association, and also happens to boycott merry-go-rounds because they are an "offensive and unrealistic portrayal of horses". Pat also has an not-unimpressive collection of photos of horse-penises, which he likes to get out at BBQs to impress guests with.

Now Patty, who has a girl's name, is riled up. Sadly, he isn't threatening to run naked in front of the roo-shooter's bullets in order to protect the roos. However, he is threatening to have an almighty sook.

"The Rudd Government and ACT Chief Minister John Stanhope will face SIGNIFICANT PROTEST ACTION."

Presumably this will involve the impressively terrifying MASS PUBLIC TYING OF KNICKERS INTO REALLY REALLY TIGHT COMPLICATED F*CKEN KNOTS.

But then, most fairy-airy types are presently too preoccupied by lobbing acid onto Japanese whaling boats and trying to shag unshaven hippy-chicks to f*cken care.

Monday, March 3, 2008

How to make the banks wet their pants. By Kevin Rudd aged 50 and 1/2.

Well I would apologise about yet another post on politics - if I cared. Which I don't. So I won't.

Come the f*ck on, when there's this much good material how can I be expected to let it pass through to the keeper without a rant on it as it whizzes by?

Saint Kevin the Infallible, Patron Saint of Working Families, is at it again.

And by "at it again" I mean taking time out from preparing his specialty signature-dish "(description courtesy of the Michelin Guide 2008)...pan-seared Ear-Wax medallions accompanied by a red-wine and ear-wax jus, served with an ear-wax and porcini mushroom emulsion..." to rock my world with yet more F*CKWITosity.

Now didn't I just finish explaining to you that Saint Kevin is, in fact, just another lying, cheating, smarmy f*cking politician? I did, didn't I?

Well here's what I'm talking about. PAY F*CKING ATTENTION.

Whilst on the campaign trail for last year's federal election, Saint Kevin The Then-Unascended lost no f*cken opportunity to recite this f*cken boring mantra in relation to rising interest rates, or something like it anyway:

"Five, no wait, six, hold on, seven broken promises"

See what he did there? Oh it was so f*cken clever. He counted the number of times interest rates had risen under the Dirty F*cken Arrogant Liberal Party and called them "broken promises". Oh it's so so deliciously clever isn't it? Oh, I say, Beatrice, doesn't it just make one want to read Dickens and quote Keats so that one may appear as clever as Saint Kevin?


Fast forward to today and Saint Kevin is now the big boss, because everyone voted for him twice and, by the beard of f*cken ODIN THE MOTHERLESS AVENGER, ye olde SAINT KEVIN will show them f*cken banks who's boss alright, won't he? He'll have them bitch-slapped down to their f*cken knees, begging to kiss his Imperial Ring and whimpering like the F*CKEN quivering miserable sycophants they are, right!?

Oh yes, oh yes, oh he will, ye great unwashed masses, for that is what he spake from atop the mountain did he not? That ye, oh poor Working Families, suffering art thou, open thy hands unto Saint Kevin, and he shall pi$$ upon thy hands and thou shalt drink of the pi$$ and call it sweet wine!! Oh joy! Rapture!! Frot me, Saint Kevin, frot me for I am aroused by the very thought of you pimp-f*cking those banks into submission!!

So what happened now to get Chov's arterial-feed to his brain THUMPING against his f*cken forehead in RAGE, threatening to EXPLODE?

Well, see, the Reserve Bank board meets tomorrow and, if we are to believe nerdy-corporate types, apparently way smarter than you and me, it will raise interest rates again.

Also, it will vote for some better Danish pastries for the next meeting, and plunger coffee not that instant $hit. Seconded. Passed. Etc. Then they will all pi$$ off to play squash and slam the north shore party circuit trying to root horny socialites with loose morals until next month.

So here's where Saint Kevin the Infallible becomes Saint Kevin the Hard-Ar$ed Liberator, right?

I mean, that's how the legend goes - the one they'll be teaching in all public schools next year in the National Curriculum - right?

Oh, you can bet on it. Watch him, now, he has fired up! He is wearing armour! He is on his white charger! He brandishes a f*cken great sword and a lance and other weapony-type $hit for smoting! Grrrr!

"When it comes to the individual decisions of the commercial banks, they make those."

Err....what? But....but....YOU'RE the Prime Minister! YOU'RE SAINT KEVIN THE LIBERATOR!! Speak to us, oh Saint Kevin! Spank us if need be! Spank us! But let us not fall to the dust of the earth in despair!

A hush befalls the crowd. Presumably they are munching on some loaves and fish that Saint Kevin has passed around because the f*cken caterers are late. As usual.

He speaks again! Hark! Here shall spring the words of VENGEANCE! A Rallying Cry in the Dark! Hark! Hark again I say! His very words will shake the mountains and CRUSH THE BANKS!

"And if they move outside official interest rate settings, then, mindful of the general circumstances of financial markets at the time," and here his testicles SWELL TO TWICE THE SIZE OF A MAN'S FIST, AND HIS DEEP AND MIGHTY VOICE RAISES, "I'm sure the government won't be RESTRAINED FROM MAKING APPROPRIATE COMMENT."


And if you f*cken try any of that $hit again, banks, he'll be back, and next time he'll f*cken WAG HIS FINGER AS WELL!


The more things change, the more they F*CKEN WHAT? STAY THE F*CKEN SAME!

See this is what happens when you f*cken pinheads out there treat politics like it's a sport.

An election is not a "grand final". True, it is one lot of crooked, lying, self-indulgent, cheating, overpaid, snivelling, whining, immoral, misogynistic, turds going up against another, so there's a similarity there to the Broncos-Storm grand final, I admit, but you people are missing something.

See, unlike a grand final, the result is not worth f*cking cheering and partying over, believe me.

Understand this: politicians are more like the referees of the grand final than the players. Nobody liked them in school, they aren't good enough to actually play, they misinterpret the rules, apply them inconsistently and get all the f*cken major decisions wrong so we're all f*cked over in the end.

So all you f*cken twerps who were out engaging in spontaneous mass-masturbation-parties when Saint Kevin the Infallible (Patron Saint of Working Families) became Prime Minister - LISTEN CAREFULLY because I am about to shatter the masturbatory-fantasy you have of Kevin 07 and render him NO F*CKEN DIFFERENT to any other lying, snivelling turd of a politician.

And I do it because I CARE.

But first, ok I can understand a bit of the joy at seeing the previous Govt thrown the hell out.

Yeah they were arrogant little f*cks alright. I mean, not just "swerve into your parking spot, even though you've got your indicator on and are obviously waiting for the spot" arrogant, either.

No, those pr1cks were so arrogant that, if you caught them with their pants down and d1cks buried all 2-and-a-half-inches into a pig, they would have said "What pig? Where? Me? Pig? Rooting? No, you're mistaken, I've never even seen a pig in my life," without ever once stopping their rhythmic thrusting.


But do you know WHY they get this way?

It's simple.

They get this arrogant because THEY THINK THEY CAN GET AWAY WITH IT.

And, thanks to dip$hits who vote like it's a Grand Final BBQ, THEY MOSTLY DO.

Governments use their first term in office to continuously gloat, break a few of the favourite toys of the previous government and generally start f*cking things up - but not too much, not so that pinheads notice.

So they win the first re-election because all you pin-heads are still in post-coital bliss and haven't caught on yet to all the little things they're f*cking up and laughing about while you're still having a drag on the post-root ciggy.

By the second re-election, about 6-8 years after getting into power, they're into full-blown F*CK-UP mode but you pin-heads vote 'em back in anway, because now you're scared the other lot might be even WORSE.

By the third re-election, now some 8-12 years after wedging their corpulent ar$es into Parliament House, they're into chronic F*CK-UPism, but they're STILL A GOOD CHANCE to be re-elected, providing they haven't sided with the U.S in a war.

So they have this security-blanket backing them up. They know, no matter what they do, they're likely to be around for a DECADE before you f*cks realise all the stupid $hit they've been pulling right in front of you, and EVEN THEN they may get away with it.

I mean, if *I* could get away with it, I would have a porno collection SO F*CKING HUGE it would be seen from OUTER SPACE. But I can't get away with it, so I don't even try, because retribution for my sinful ways from The Samazon would be swift and painful, and she would not be waiting for the counting of postal votes in marginal ballots to decide the outcome.

See, the last Government introduced AWAs, and talked up nuclear power stations, and f*cked over stem-cell research and day-after pills, and sucked George Dubya's d1ck all the way to Baghdad because they thought they could get away with it! They thought, F*CK IT - we can do what we like and the pinheads will vote us back in anyway.

Only the pinheads didn't, although it was the THIRD time they got the opportunity to proverbially get Johnny plastered and shave his eyebrows.

But they couldn't stop there, the pinheads. No, they had to go and party over the corpse and think that, in their own deluded way, they had MADE A DIFFERENCE. That, somehow, Saint Kevin would be DIFFERENT.


So the pinheads turned into f*cktards in the tightening of a sphincter. See, f*cktards are inherently and geneticaly f*ckwitted, so if you give them a fact that they can actually shoe-horn into their f*cktard heads they get all GIDDY and start getting delusions of OPINION which they inevitably feel the need to SHARE with the rest of us.

So they cheered and partied and heralded Saint Kevin's Ascension as though it was the next f*cken Renaissance, because, see, someone "clever" on the radio told them that the reason they couldn't afford their mortgage repayments was because Johnny the PM personally used his PITCHFORK to raise the SATANIC INTEREST-RATES DIAL in his office, all the way up to "MWUHAHAHAH TAKE THIS F*CKERS!"-setting. And only Saint Kevin could exorcise the demons to bring interest-rates down, fix global warming and mount a crusade to rid the ENTIRE WORLD of capital punishment. (I'm not making up that last one, either.)

Only it isn't the great Antipodean Renaissance of the early 21st century, and here's BLAZING F*CKING PROOF WHY....

"The Barcaldine Mayor has defended the $5 MILLION in GOVERNMENT FUNDING that has been secured for a MONUMENT to the Labor Party icon, the Tree of Knowledge."

I didn't even know there was a f*ckhole called "Barcaldine", let alone know that it has a f*cken MAYOR, but then I suppose the tumbleweeds and sheep get all f*cken rowdy and revolutionary without proper government representation for "local issues".

How, in the name of everything in the f*cken universe, does building a 5 MILLION DOLLAR MONUMENT TO A TREE WITH PUBLIC FUNDS make a f*cking drop of sense?

My brain is numbed at how simply fucktastically stupid that is.

Geezus, plant a REAL F*CKING TREE and it won't cost that much and will probably live longer. And, hey, it's the ALP "Tree of Knowledge" so, f*ck, a POT PLANT will probably suffice.

I mean, how f*cking presumptuous is it to call a Labor Party icon the "Tree of Knowledge"?? Presumably it's where GOD appeared to Saint Kevin (back when he was only an acolyte) and told him that he was the ONE, beloved of Jehovah / Muhammad / Baal / Gough Whitlam, and chosen to lead Working Families into a new era of HOME-OWNING UTOPIA, free from the scourge of SATANIC interest-rate rises!

Apparently someone poisoned the real tree last year - probably by burying beneath it the transcripts of emails between Kevin 07's office and Brian Burke. The tree's roots subsequently choked on the bull$hit and it f*cking well died.

But here's Treasurer Wayne "The Ugly F*ckling" Swan trying to polish a turd so that it shines:

"Government spending will have to be cut drastically in the budget to try and ease inflationary pressure."

Woops, wrong speech! Memo to Chief of Staff - don't let the f*cking intern prepare the speech folder!


"It's a legitimate grant [of FIVE MILLION DOLLARS FOR A MONUMENT TO A TREE], that is a legitimate tourist attraction."

A dead f*cken tree is a tourist attraction? Then why do we need a f*cken MONUMENT!?

Oh, here we go, while I was busy venting, Google has located "Barcaldine" for me....

"Barcaldine is in the MARGINAL LABOR ELECTORATE of Flynn."

So put the f*cken corks back into the champagne bottles, dip$hits, and save them for REAL grand final win celebrations.

In the meantime, in Parliament, there's going to be about 9 years and 250 odd more days LIKE THIS ONE.