Tuesday, May 12, 2009

And now, we interrupt our regular rubbish to bring you a serious RAGE interlude..

And so, after a period of dormancy, Chov returns with a rage to blister the paint on his walls and which blew out about 14 of those stupid little downlights around his hut (Chov lives as a recluse in a hut somewhere up in the ranges around Canberra).

I have to think that the period of inactivity on this blog was due to the fact that Chov has not watched much NRL this year.

The last moments of footy viewed happened to be the Eels taking a 12-0 lead over the Cowboys a few weeks back. And then I switched off, disinterested.

And that was with my team of sad-sacks actually WINNING for a freakin’ change.

No interest. And without interest, no rage. No rage, minimal blogging.

Because Chov no longer cares.

Allow me to momentarily expand the rant to pass judgement on why the entire horror movie genre now sucks balls. It’s a meandering parallel but, trust me, it’ll illustrate the point.

Horror movies work when one critical element is successfully implemented by the writers and directors: they get you to care about what happens to the ‘victims’.

If you care, you get emotionally involved on even a minimal level, then what happens to them will trigger an emotional reaction. Even the thought or likelihood of something happening to them, or not happening to them, will make us either anxious for them or relieved.

And that’s where the basis of a good horror flick comes good. You care, you get involved in the plot and voila, the movie is playing with your emotions on that level and makes an impact.

Actually it could apply to any movie, eg who gives a $hit about what happened to Jar-Jar Binks at the end of Star Wars: Episode III?, but horror movies explain it best.

So Wolf Creek was a steaming pile of turd because nobody gave a $hit about the 3 dopey morons who got wiped out. Also the fact that the clich├ęd ending was f*cking ridiculous didn’t help either, but that’s not my point.

Bringing it back to the main road with a thud – Chov no longer cares about the characters in the grandiose NRL movie he is watching, so he doesn’t care what happens to them anymore.

I can’t actually convince myself to give a $hit whether or not a bunch of overpaid misogynist Gen-Y f*ckwits actually score more points than the other bunch or not.

I can’t.

Next person to try and tell me that rugby league is the “toughest” game in the world gets a face full of my vomit sprayed at high velocity.

Tough guys don’t whinge f*cking INCESSANTLY like these gutless turds.

They whinge they don’t get paid enough money, whinging all the way to f*cken France (where archaeologists believe the “SURRENDER” tackle may have originated) if they have to because…..because….well….err…for no f*cken reason at all actually other than they just feel a f*cken ENTITLEMENT to have more money.

It sure ain’t commensurate with their contribution to society. And it ain’t like they have real bills to pay, or real –life to face up to every morning.

They whinge when they can’t go to Japan to play other codes.

They whinge when they have to play “too many” games.

They whinge when they drop 14 balls and miss 32 tackles in a game but BLAME THE REF for some supposedly CRUCIAL call that costs them the game.

They whinge when they get suspended for grapple tackles caught live by 13 different cameras.

But that’s not enough, apparently.

No, this season they have perfected the art of f*cking well WHINGING WHEN THEY GET PUNISHED FOR DOING SOMETHING F*CKING WRONG.

I mean, that’s hubris on a f*cking breath-taking scale.

Turd Carney was having a brilliant unbroken run of alcohol-fuelled incidents that included urinating on a guy’s head for a laugh and that old chestnut, drink-driving. Unfortunately the police don’t prosecute persons of interest for the crime of being a total f*cking tool, or else Turd would be a guest of her majesty right now.

He was released by his club and told to f*ck off by the NRL.

So HE WHINGED.

OF COURSE.

He didn’t volunteer to attend any alcohol-related recovery activity, he didn’t volunteer to do any community service, he didn’t offer to modify his future behaviour IN ANY F*CKEN WAY AT ALL, he JUST WHINGED that the NRL wouldn’t register him to play.

Brett Stewart has “allegedly” sexually assaulted a 17 year old. Police and the DPP thought there was enough in it to prosecute. The NRL suspended him.

And his club and team-mates F*CKING WHINGED ABOUT IT.

Anthony Watmough has a head that looks like it was mashed into a f*cking sandpit by an elephant’s foot. At a pre-season ‘launch’, he acted like a f*cking prat and punched a sponsor in the mouth after making disparaging remarks about the sponsor’s daughter.

HOW DARE THE F*CKING FATHER STICK UP FOR HIS DAUGHTER, EH?

Did Watmough apologise?

F*CK NO!!

The players whinge that they can’t go out and get trolleyed, as though that’s all the rest of society does 7 nights a f*cken week. The players whinge they can’t have non-consensual group sex with any woman they choose, as though it’s some sort of f*cking birth-right of theirs.

They even whinge when a woman they’ve degraded and disrespected doesn’t just shut the F*CK up about it.

How glorious for me that, this week, the f*cking Emperor of Australian White Trash, Matty Johns, should get smeared and exposed as the f*cking Mungo, low-intellect misogynistic tool he really f*cking is and was all along.

Reg Reagan stops being funny after you turn 11, unless you’re a real f*cking mullet-loving booner.

And “hard core” NRL fan.

Involved in a group sex incident with a 19 year old 7 years ago, he is the sort of arrogant twunt who thinks that a token apology to his mates should be the f*cken end of it all. Incredulous that he should even have to apologise a second time.

Upon hearing that his name would be mentioned and the incident described in a Four Corners special, did he make a quiet approach to the show’s producers to pass on a personal written apology to the girl in question? Just, you know, for example?

F*CK NO!!

He went on Booner-Heaven TV (aka The Footy Show) instead and made a half-hearted self-serving apology to himself, his wife (yes he was married) and his own family, surrounded the whole time by the same Neanderthal low-IQ f*ckwits that think he did nothing wrong simply because “no charges were laid”.

So it’s ok to degrade a woman as you see fit, to treat her like a piece of f*cking worthless trash, to act out every selfish misogynistic fantasy your Year 8 educated brain can muster – as long as THE BITCH DOESN’T TELL THE COPS?

And hey, if you’re married, just apologise and that buys you a lifetime of silence, and nobody CAN EVER BRING IT UP AGAIN?

And so now, of course, they WHINGE when it does get brought up again, as though nobody has the right to do that.

The question that Four Corners SHOULD have, of course, asked this woman was – “What did you expect was going to happen by going to the room of a footballer on tour? Did you think it was going to be a romantic candlelit dinner, followed by port and cigars, stimulating discussion and soft, passionate love-making, culminating in a marriage proposal?”

Dumb, dumb, f*cking dumb.

But being dumb doesn’t entitle a bunch of f*cking low-intellect Neanderthal f*ckwits to treat you like that. You don’t ‘deserve’ that for being dumb.

I, by contrast, was raised to treat women with respect. And I will endeavour to raise my own son the same way. Out of respect to all the women I know, including a gorgeous little god-daughter I have whose future I think of when I write this.

Respect women.

What a f*cking concept, eh?

What a f*cking bizarre, other-worldly concept?

And this whole “who hasn’t made mistakes when they were young” thing is getting stretched really f*cking thin.

I was young. I have been on countless football trips. And yes, I made mistakes and drank too much on many occasions.

Somehow, though, I managed to avoid drink-driving, rapes, brawls, getting shot at and urinating on people. Somehow I managed to get through life without using alcohol as an excuse. For F*CKEN ANYTHING.

I must just be f*cken lucky, I suppose.

The NRL apparently runs education courses for young players entering the game, teaching them how to act away from the field.

How is it that you need f*cking LESSONS to teach you how to act like a f*cking HUMAN BEING?

And, amongst all this, I’m supposed to cheer these guys on when they cross the stripe and CARE whether they win or lose?

Can’t do it.