Chicks without wings – or, girls that cant talk.

I’m currently considering reporting to the WHO a potential pandemic due to the increasing numbers of females in the community who seem to have lost the power of speech. Perhaps voice box removal if the latest version of female mutilation, or maybe heaps of them are taking an early vow of silence in preparation for entry into the religious sisterhood. Not that Turkey is known for its large number of convents.
OK, let me explain. Having gained employment in the hospitality sector of Ankara, I seemed to have spent my nights involved in the following dialogue. Or monologue, as it may be:

Me: Welcome!

Girl X: (Silence)

Me: What can I get you to drink?

Girl X: (Silence, followed by muffled conversation with boy seated to her right. Or left. Don’t worry too much about the details.)

---------- Enter new character--------

Boy Y: A Sprite please.

[Lights]

But wait! I hear you say. Boy Y wasn’t spoken to! I hear you say. The question was directed to her! I hear you say.

Precisely. You guys aren’t dumb. Through some malfunction of the human body, thousands, perhaps millions of girls in this city have lost the power of speech. “What do you want” isn’t a hard question. It’s not like I asked them for an opinion on the farming and cultivation practices of the ancient Sumerians. It’s not even like I asked them for directions to the nearest toilet. What. Do. You. Want. It doesn’t require translation and interpretation by a male. It just requires an answer, given to me, the asker of the question. Thats how conversation works, see. Question followed by answer, developed by the human race over thousands of years. There’s even a neat acronym type thing for it: Q&A. Simple, hey!? Its like they all turned into Helen Keller overnight for fuck’s sake.

Anyway, the point is sisters, don’t forget that up against men our voice is our most powerful tool. If you’ve got it, use it, cause there are alot of women out there who can’t use it or forgot somewhere along the way. Next time, tell ME you want a Sprite, cause I didn’t ask your goddamn boyfriend.

Happy New Years everybody!

Hi! I pretend to report news, but really I just print bullshit. My name is the Herald.

HELP! There are men in my backyard wielding swords!


So I was gonna write this week on the decision of a Turkish court to dissolve the DTP, a Kurdish political party, and one which has the support of a significant percent of the population. About 5% nationally and almost 50% in areas like Diyarbakir with big Kurd populations. Anyway, having thought about it, I think its fairly self evident that the decision was one made by a big bunch of retards and is a big pile of stinking crap that will bring more violence to a country that has had more than its fair share of bloodshed. So: Constitutional Court: a big fuck you and may you never sleep soundly in your big beds. Harsh, but fair.

THEREFORE: to keep it light at Christmas time, I decided to return to my usual target of the Sydney Morning Herald. That old chestnut. Ole!

I refer you to an article published December 25: ‘Celebrity Stunts and Stuff Ups’.
Opening line:

Celebrities got themselves into trouble by saying and doing stupid things in 2009.

1. If you look in the Oxford Dictionary, the definition of a celebrity reads like this:

Celebrity (n): a person who does and says stupid things.

So the opening line was kind of like writing ‘Dogs found themselves in trouble this year by using four legs to walk and saying ‘woof woof’ alot.’

2. Referring to Home and Away’s wholesome image, reportedly lost after whatshername called the cops after too much rack. Wholesome: Gingerbread. White picket fences. The Brady Bunch. Visiting Nana every Sunday. Home and Away: Stupid. Mindless. Dribble.

The Home and Away mistakes continued: the show is accused of having a culture of drugs and partying. The show is filmed in Sydney. Its actors are “young and hot”. The show is filmed in Sydney. A culture of drugs and partying is news how?

3. Mentioning the name Kyle Sandilands. The guy could stand at the doors of Dachau, doing the Nazi salute and letting off firecrackers while chanting Seig Heil! Seig Heil! And I still wouldn’t give a shit. No more publicity for this moron please. Ignore him and he will go away.

4. Reporting that Hugh Jackman’s twitter thing got the name of the Opera House wrong. Sorry, I was momentarily distracted by a chair.

5. Referring to Merrick and Rosso as a ‘comedy team’. Try ‘two guys who hang out and say nothing of any value, comedic or not, every day. And broadcast it to the world.’

And so on. One day, in a perfect world, we will be rid of this celebrity rubbish. We wait in angst.

Date With Kate

Having recently had the pleasure of visiting Sydney, also known as the place bars go to die, I was overjoyed to note that my complete lack of faith in the journalistic endeavours of Sydney papers is more than justified. Yes, I refer to the newest addition to the Sun Herald’s ‘S’ section known, very wittily I might add, as ‘Date with Kate’. Cause people go on a date. With someone called Kate.

Get it?

I know it more than stinks of shooting fish in a barrel, but I will attempt to provide you, dear readers, with a weekly summary of the interview of Z list celebrities by anoth...... a person called Kate. The first victim: Kevin Federline. For those of you distracted over the past few years by the chemical formula for salt or instructions on how to make instant coffee, KFed spread his seed in such a way that the world now has not one but TWO of Britney Spears’ progeny. Thanks Kev. Here goes.

Kate: Sooo..... liiike.... how’d you get so fat?

KFed: I embarked on a three month program of consuming nothing but deep fried oreos, bacon cheeseburgers and baileys milkshakes. Combined with 18 hours of television a day and a glass of lard before bed, its amazing how the body responds. I have a new song coming out. You should totally check it out.

Kate: Once, when I was five, I visited the zoo.

KFed: (Silence)

Kate: So...... do you look after your kids?

KFed: We have a specially constructed cage. I throw half a chicken in there once a week. Britney comes and feeds them Starbucks intravenously from time to time. Did I mention my new hot track?

Kate: Sometimes, at night, I like to stare in the mirror and empty my mind of all thoughts. It doesn’t take long.

KFed: Buy my music. Look at me. Listen to me.

And so on and so on.

Kate, you have a chance to ask these people hard hitting questions about their descent into the pool of stinking shit that is known as celebrityhood. Next time, something more along the lines of:

So Kevin, does having a giant dick sticking out of your head make life any harder?

Is Britney as dumb in person as she appears to the rest us?

You and our esteemed PM have the same first name. Any relation?

Would you say you were a democrat or do you swing more along the lines of benevolent dictatorship?

More to follow kids.

Dick Straws.

Quite seriously, if I could eliminate one thing from the face of the planet, it would not be AIDS or war or famine or even Hollywood. As you have probably guessed from my unimaginative title, its those freakin dick straws that seem continue to feature at hens parties world wide.

They. Are. Rancid.

What is this, 1952? Yeah, we get it. Marriage = Dick. Surely we can come up with something funner to drink champagne out of. Like a straw with the characters of Monkey Magic on it. That, I can get into.

Next most shithouse thing on Earth

Homelessness and blogging do not mix. But from the comfort of my new köy in a city, I present the next most shithouse thing on Earth, which is in fact so shithouse that it comprises numbers 25-1: military service.

Australia, of course, has no forced military obligation. İf you want to learn how to kill people, you volunteer for the task and they pay you for the privilege. Not that we need a military. China, İndonesia, New Zealand - if you feel the need to occupy what is essentially a big desert with a couple of people clinging to life on the edges - go for it. The keys under the front door mat. But in Turkey, where a very well concealed military dictatorship calls the shots, it is compulsory for all males between the ages of 20 and 41 to spend some time - generally 15 months - learning to walk in straight lines, clean stuff and fire guns.

There is no option for conscientious objection.

How is it possible for a young man to feel loyalty to a military which imprisoned, tortured and killed hundreds of thousands of people following the 1980 coup? How can they follow the orders of a leadership that felt it necessary to hang a thoughtful, sensitive and intelligent 17 year old boy? How can they serve these men who condemned the mother of Erdal Eren to a life of sorrow and anger while Kenan Evren retires to a life on the Mediterranean with his family and his paintbrushes? How can a young Kurdish man take up arms with the military that forced his family out of their house, stamping their filthy boots all over the carpets carefully looked after by his mother?

The answer? İ don't freakin know. They can't, but they must.

Screw them, and their guns, and their uniforms and their demands that my friends must pick up their guns, wear their uniforms and pledge loyalty to a wing of the state that does nothing but kill and teach others to kill. Stop this bullshit now.

Peace out people.

Top 50 Most Shithouse Things on Earth Part 1.

I've spent many hours researching and compiling this list. Thats a lie. I wrote it last night on a placemat in a bar. So, here it is. The 50 shittest things on the planet, in no particular order. All of them have held the number one spot at some point in my life.

The Ivy. If you have never heard of Ivy before, count yourself very, very lucky. You are one of God's chosen people.

The long green part of celery. Tastes like shit. Stringy, and not in a good way.

Schmiddies. As if poker machines werent enough of a blight on society, publicans decided to introduce what seems to be a shotglass of beer for $8.

Joining the fan club of your country of residence on Facebook. Nationalism isn't cool kids.

Facebook profile pictures involving bikinis, pouting or self takes from above. Narcissism isn't cool kids.

Having to wear a uniform or a suit to work. It sucks enough already, lets not make the experience more uncomfortable.

Visas and passports. Bad idea Persians.

Places with no Yum Cha Restaurants. Get the net, its the greatest meal on Earth.

Rugby League. Actually, all sports with Rugby in the title.

Southern Cross Tattoos. Regular readers will already be aware of my aversion to these boganometres.

Censorship. If you fuckers get to stand up in front of the media and parliament and god knows who else and say whatever you want, so do we.

Fascists, in all the various forms they take.

People who vote for the Liberal Party.

People who vote for the Labor Party and think it will make a difference.

Paying rent and bills. Who decided it was legit to charge people for shelter and water?

Pearl Harbour the movie. Possibly the place too, but I'll keep you posted in case I have any holidays in Hawaii in the future.

Abi conversations. So much talk, so much gesticulation, very little result.

The question "So, what do you do?". What do YOU DO aminakoyim.

Waking up with a raging thirst and realising the only thing to drink is off milk. And the water out of the tap is the same colour as off milk.

Assholes. Similar to Fascists, but from all political persuasions.

Stations. Pass it friendy.

The rules of economics. Why can't we just print more money?

Being too self aware in photos. This isn't Vogue, sweetheart. Get that arm off your hip. It doesn't make you look skinnier, just stupider.

The non existence of teleportation devices. Less weapons technology, more me being able to go to the Carribean for a swim at 4 on a Monday.

The Eagles. Without a doubt, the most bland, pathetic excuse for a band known to man. Aqua has more cred than you. Stop raping my ears.

OK. Thats it for the time being. Second 50 to come soon. All comments and suggestions for stuff YOU think is shithouse are very welcome. Feel free to suggest my blog.

Wasted Turkish Youth

Yeah sure. If I read one more article/book/commentary on Turkey with either of the following, I will projectile vomit:

1. "The bridge between Europe and Asia, where East meets West". When the fuck doesn't East meet West? Isn't a pre-requisite of being East to meet up with West?

2. "The emotional dawn service at Gallipoli is one that no Aussie should miss. The feeling of pride and mateship is unbelievable." Uh-huh. The thought of standing around with a bunch of clowns wrapped in Australian flags, patriotic stirrings in their loins over a failed Imperialist military campaign makes ME want want to storm up the cliffs with a gun in my hand.

Further, I never want to hear the following list of words and shit ever. EVER.

Greenpeace, Don Carlos, Global Financial Crisis, any word relating to the playing or existence of rugby league, glamour, Miranda Devine, backpackers, backpacking, 'so, what are you doing?', stories relating to bogans getting arrested in south east asia, ergenekon, the kurdish question, taxpayer-funded, and selassie.

Why Relief Concerts Suck

Its that time of year again. The Aussie spirit - you know, ANZAC, beer, maaaateship, sport etc etc - is inflamed by natural disaster relief in the form of big, safe concerts at cricket grounds around the country. Its a classic formula. Take veteran Aussie performers to roll out the same 3 songs they have been playing for the past 30 years - Hoodoo Gurus, Midnight Oil, Icehouse. Add the sacred cows of Kylie and Farnsy. Beg foreign touring bands to play a few songs without being cringed out of life on account of the high rate of Southern Cross tatoos in the crowd.

Respectfully, the Kings of Leon did not play Sex on Fire. The following bands should be taken away and shot for their disrespect to the victims of the bush*****:

1. Midnight Oil. Beds are Burning.
2. Coldplay. Fix You Up Good With My Flame Thrower.
3. Jet. Get Me Outta Here Cause My House is on Fire.
4. Royksopp. Happy Up Here in Norway Which Doesn't Catch on Fire Too Often.
5. Regurgitator. My Polyester Girl is Highly Flammable.

I refuse to buy that a country that can afford to give 900 bucks to half its population cant afford to rebuild these places without the help of big, cheesy, flag waving concerts. Or that the world ever needed to be subjected to Coldplay and John Farnham singing You're the Voice. May God have mercy on our souls.

All the news thats shit to print.

Persecuted under Greeks, Egyptians and now Kerry O'Keefe.

I appreciate that many of you are very busy and important, so keeping that in mind I have provided you with a short summary of some of the best opinion pieces from smh.com over the last few days. When I say best, I'm lying. When I say opinion piece, I'm somewhat stretching the truth. So, here is a summary of some of the most unoriginal, self-serving whims of barely functioning retards over the last few days.

Paul Sheehan - 'It's to easy to blame Jews'

I am a white middle aged man that holds views similar to other white middle aged men. Go Israel.

Julia Irwin - 'Getting away with murder'

Being the Federal MP for Fowler is boring. Yesterday one of my staff read a Wikipedia aricle on the Israel/Palestine conflict. Go Palestine.

Joel Gibson (1) - 'I too am a ranga and proud of it'

I recently became part of a persecuted minority, and have risen against my oppresors in the form of this article. Free rangas.

Joel Gibson (2) - Young drinkers, don't get dragged into the pubs fight'

When I grow up I want to be just like Paul Sheehan. The Beastie Boys are still cool, right?

Neil Perry - 'Whats cooking in a chefs mind'

We have a no bookings policy so we can make more money. Ponytails on middle aged men are cool.