There are only two times when Australians drop the pretence and openly hope Goliath will crush David.
The first is the Commonwealth Games, where we treat beating the likes of Papua New Guinea and the Isle of Man as akin to winning the America’s Cup.
The second allowable moment is right now, in that strange time between football and cricket seasons when the general public pretends to like horse racing. Continue reading
Do you think the fuckwit Collingwood fans and their shit-for-brain president will ever get it into their retarded skulls that abusive language is not accpetable?
What that 13-year-old bitch said to Adam Goodes was so insulting but I shouldn’t be surprised a skank like her doesn’t understand how hurtful certain words can be to a person.
Image courtesy of imagerymajestic/FreeDigitalPhotos.net
I prayed last month. And not just a quick mumble before the Sunday roast but a proper “Are you there God?, It’s me, Ben” supplication.
It has been a while since I have been to any place of worship so the gnawing sense of guilt and obligation propelled me to a pew three rows from the front.
The old place – about 4km from the Perth CBD – may be considered sacred but whoever does the maintenance is less than devout. The paint is fading and anyone average height or above has their ears around their knees when taking a seat. Continue reading
Cartoon from the Glasgow Looking Glass, 1825
Fishing and writing go together like the ALP and Howard-era immigration policies. The Compleat Angler was written by Izaak Walton in 1653 and is widely considered to be one of the earliest sporting books ever published.
If Ernest Hemingway wasnât drinking or hunting or passing on suicidal genes to his offspring, he was fishing. I present to you my own fishing tale and, like all good stories, the main character learns a lesson. Continue reading
Mad as a Spoon 