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.

It makes you wonder how they remember to breathe.

Sometimes when I am reading the paper I expect a bunch of people to run up to me and shout "SURPRISE! You're on Candid Camera!" or some shit. This is because what I am reading is ridiculous, and appears to be a massive joke dreamed up by a bunch of Fairfax executives in order to shift more copies.

Last night I had one of those exeperiences.

The most read article on smh.com today is entitled "Romantic escape ends with ticket to nowehere." The opening sentence describes the 'unbelievable nightmare' of Jennifer Clarke. This nightmare consists of being stuck in Thailand. On honeymoon. I can glean one of two reasons for this being described in such terms:

1. Jennifer discovered her new husband Adam agreed to the marriage with the sole purpose of getting a trip to Thailand to drink buckets of cheap whiskey and pick up lady-boys named Cassandra.

2. Jennifer ate a pad thai that had been sitting in a bain marie for slightly longer than Australian food safety regulations would allow, hasn't passed a motion for a week and is now desperate to get home to drink 10 litres of Metamucil.

Jennifer also commented eloquently on a bunch of other Australians refusing to pay for the accommodation they had been staying in while waiting around in tropical, nightmarish Thailand: "They are saying its not their fault all this has happened, so why should they pay?". Hey geniuses. Its not the fault of the Thai hotel operators either.

In more breathless reporting about the plight of poor Aussie battlers stranded on holiday, we are informed of the tragic situation of Luke Kennedy. He had to sit in a hotel room and watch repeat Thai television shows. I'm uncertain of what a repeat Thai television show is exactly, but it certainly sounds horrific.

The best was saved for last however, with the sad story of Leisa Chaisty. When her travel agent failed to provide her and her associates with any help, Leisa turned to Dad. Dad told her to call the embassy. Oh, yeah. She must have forgotten that Sarah from STA has little to no contact with Thai protestors jamming up the airport. Or Thai Airways management trying to facilitate the return home of hundreds of distressed Australians journeying to resort islands in the hope of fleeing endless cries of "Same same but different" and "Orange juice 10 baht" and the like.

So when you sleep soundly in your bed tonight, spare a thought for poor Jennifer, stranded on a tropical island, forced to spend a few more nights with her husband Adam. Who likes boys a little TOO much.

Oh, the humanity.

Old People.

Greetings friends and associates.

Today's sermon will be on the subject of our elder friends in the community. Nanas, Pops, Amcas, Great Aunty Bettys and the like. I recently set my own personal record for oldest person I have ever met when I hung out with a friend's great grandpa, who has managed to stick around for over 100 years. Think about it. Dede has lived through 2 world wars, 28 Turkish Prime Ministers, the birth of television, the death of television which coincided with the birth of Big Brother, and the development of little sachets that include coffee, creamer and sugar in one convenient package. Dede has some interesting stories to tell. He has seen shit. He can remember when Turkish was written in Arabic script. He tells stories that sound like they came from arthouse European films shot in black and white awarded prizes in German film festivals. He did military service in Cannakale when Anzac troops were practically still on their way home.

This got me thinking. Thanks to facebook and the popularity of blogs and shit, where any retard (myself included) can record in minute detail every insignificant event in their lives, one hundred years from now people will know far too much about OUR history. The time has come people. Go find the oldest person you know and ask them stuff about when you weren't around. Ask them ANYTHING. You may get a whole bunch of Abe Simpson style nineteen dickety two stories, and amongst all that you may find a little bit of gold. Write it down. Tell your friends. Keep it alive people, cause these people aren't going to be around for too much longer and they have stuff to say.

Onions on belts. It was the style at the time.

Faster and smarter than you.

Regular readers will remember my last rant about censorship, and also my call to the turkish courts to censor my blog instead of youtube.

Friends, the unthinkable has happened. When I tried to access my blog mere minutes ago, a notice appeared informing me that access to this website has been blocked by the Diyarbakir 1st Criminal Court of Peace. No shit. I thought 6 people read this thing, but obviously someone in far eastern Turkey is listening.

So this post serves no purpose except to say - HA. HA. HA. We have ways and means to avoid your filters, fuckers. We have been sitting in our house all day long watching stuff on youtube. I can access my blog whenever I feel like it. You guys can try and ban whatever you like, but at the end of the day we are smarter, faster and better at the internet than you. Or, some people I know are anyway. I can sit here, type whatever the fuck I feel like and you can't do anything.

Suck on that.

Your Mum's got a dick and your father's jealous: Why Turks lead the world in swearing.

Lesson 1: Covering what you already know.

You don't know it yet, but you can swear in Turkish. That irreplaceable audible pause of the English language 'Ummmmm....' translates in Turkish as that irreplaceable word for female genitalia 'Cunt'. Awesome. Thousands of Australian backpackers, not content with offending the locals with drunken renditions of Men at Work, have unknowingly been talking about vag while checking out Sultana Met.

Lesson 2: The versatility of animals

Animals, in particular the donkey, feature widely in Turkish insults. An old favourite of anyone forced onto the barely controlled madeness of İstanbul roads is to refer to anyone and everyone else on the roads as an 'eşşoğlu eşek' - son of a donkey. Recently one of my friends, following 25 beers, announced to me proudly and in English that his grandfather was a donkey. İ guess he was trying to tell me that while he was an asshole, he was only a second generation asshole, and İ should take that into account.

Lesson 3: Profanities are not only versatile and shit in English.

İ always thought the shit hitting the fan was an admirable use of language. Everytime it is used, İ can actually see shit hitting a fan and spreading across a pristine room. İ also appreciate the application of shit to everyday situations, like the operation of a fan. Turks too, have used this principle. 'Kargalar bok yemeden' translates as 'before the crows start eating shit' - or, really fucking early. 'İki ucu boklu değnek' refers to 'a cane with shit on both ends' - a big problem with no solutions. Another phrase for a fucked up situation is the classic 'Göte giren şemsiye açılmaz' - 'An umbrella inserted in the ass will not open'. And how.

Insert here.