X

webmaster

Satire
The Bachelor Recap
September 22, 2017 at 8:15 am 0
(Originally published in FlawlessVision) Not since Harold Bishop suddenly went missing off Erinsborough pier in 1991, then inexplicably returned to our screens five years later as a sex pest who perved on Madge in the shower whilst playing with his tuba, has there ever been a more underwhelming cliffhanger on Australian television. Overnight, Matty J’s popularity sunk to the murky depths of Jack Dawson rotting away at the bottom of the North Atlantic. Some people (my esteemed colleague in snark, Flawless) went so far in saying that Matty’s eye-rolling histrionics were making their shrivelled tubes pine for Richie’s hideous laugh once more. Turns out dra-Matty had a hormonal meltdown at the fact that Frankston Cage Fighter Sian couldn’t be fucked anymore with living in a prison dorm with 25 other bunnyboilers, whilst being totally ignored by the only thing she was here for. What a nutcase. So in this anticlimactic episode, Matty takes Sian outside into the miserable pouring rain to deliver the final death blow to her ego for daring to question him. Presumably he does this away from his harem of frothing despos, in case his brutal rejection results in him getting shanked in the eye socket by Sian’s sharpened high heel. The remaining ladiez act all mouth-agape shellshocked that Sian has been sent packing. Like a contestant going home after a rose ceremony is COMPLETELY FRICKEN UNEXPECTED. Matty smugly pontificates that he’s definitely not being controlled by the producers like an acquiescent puppet, while he’s got a producer heavily breathing brainwashing commands into his earhole. Okay sure, because a perfectly sane man would keep deluded slurries like Dominatrix Leah, or Keira 2.0 Jen, in the house of his own volition. Yeah. Nah. Next day, and it’s Logie-award winning camera timelapse time in Casa de La Shrivelling Ovaries, just to show to the viewers how mind-numbingly boring this place is while the hot babes sit around waiting to be graced by Matty’s blue balls. Jen and Leah crouch together like scheming goblins on the side of the pool; while the angelic members of the Snatchelorettes sit grouped together like girl scouts, with halos practically drawn on their head in MS paint. Matty’s mum’s youthful doppelganger Lauren reads out the single date card, and whaddyaknow it’s one of the other 20 generic caucasian bronde-haired bishes in the house- delightful no-filter bogan, Simone Warne. Who is going by the name “Tara” in the house. Matty turns up to their date sockless and with his pants rolled up the ankle like he’s just waded through horse piss, riding Mr Bean’s tandem bike. He looks ridiculous, and Tara lols in his face. They spend the next few minutes riding at 2km per hour up a really hideous path, while Tara screams in his ear. Matty finally has enough of her incessant screeching, and he takes her to George Calombaris’ kitchen, which has long since been abandoned because George is in jail now for headbutting a soccer ref. Tara squeals and goes cross-eyed in excitement that she gets to wear an apron, and when the pasta dough comes out, she starts pretending to be a sleazebag Patrick Swayze standing behind Demi Moore in Ghost. Poor Matty has flashbacks to the time Lee’s tongue took his beloved Georgia on a Dirty Dancing date, which was the final death knell in Matty's sacred relationship with George. Matty starts crying, but fortunately Tara can’t see his face because she’s too busy humping his ass from behind. Matty protests that he’s not a fresh piece of tenderloin to be manhandled, and Tara says “Shhh just go with it babe. It’s easier if you don’t struggle”. After she finishes violating him, they sit and eat some horse balls covered in foot shavings. Matty confides in Tara that sometimes, in the dark, he can still hear his ovaries screaming, and then he assesses her suitability in impregnating his mangina. He says he’s super impressed a Super Bogan 9000 like her knows words and emotions other than Devo, Stoked and Heckers. She tries to open up about her insecurities about not being listened to in a relationship, and he promptly shuts her up by accosting her mouth with his tongue and awkwardly fellating her top lip. She finds a rose at the bottom of his tonsils. Back at the Vag Mansion, and Cobie has killed Osher in the Channel 10 basement and stolen his glasses. She waves the group date card around and reads the names out: “Elora” “Lora” “Flora” “Cora” “Whora”. The clue makes the bishes optimistically think that they’re only going to sail down a perfectly reasonable children’s Flying Fox, BUT WAIT TIL THEY SEE THE ALMOST CERTAIN DEATH SADIST MATTY HAS PLANNED FOR THEM, 10 MILLION FEET IN THE AIR. The girls are driven out to Belanglo State Forest, and poor Page 3 glamour girl Simone has a breakdown in the car, because she knows what happens to English tourists in this place. The babes are all wearing identical uniforms of skintight Kmart Jeans and different cuts of white handkerchiefs used as tops, except for Moist Nat, who is wearing black because she’s the black sheep who’s definitely getting sent to the slaughterhouse later on. Matty gets a little stiffy when he realizes how petrified poor Simone is when she finds out they are going Sky Diving to their certain death. They cram into John Denver’s light plane like anchovies, and Nat prays she doesn't let one rip in such close quarters because there’s absolutely no ventilation. The women start screaming and clapping in excitement like they’re a bunch of 97 year olds wetting themselves in the front row of a Tom Jones concert. One by one, they are forcibly pushed out of the plane, and none of their faces move in the 714 miles per-hour free fall because of all the botox they have injected into their arteries. Simone is the last to jump, and Matty can’t understand why she’s hyperventilating, as she has built-in air bags that will surely break her fall in case the parachute fails. Matty’s rowdy harem all manage to survive the fall without dying, and back on the ground they all start jumping on him and humping his leg like rabid horndogs, while he’s lying defenceless on the ground. While Matty reaches for the rape whistle, Osher laments that no one invited him on their skydiving adventure, and he quietly wishes he didn’t tell James Mathison they needed some time apart back in 2001, because he might still have a real friend now. Matty takes Simone on an exotic date to some shitty couch and congratulates her on letting him force her to do something that she hated. He then imitates her: “ERMAHGERD I’M SIMONE AND I'M A BIG FAT SCARED DUMB HEAD”. She laughs. Date over. Cut to the Cocktail Party, and Matty turns up wearing Karl Stefanovic's blue suit that he wore everyday for three years because Lisa Wilkinson refused to do his washing. Nat is worried that Matty is going to send her home because she dropped her guts in the tiny plane, then made the mistake of exclaiming “Phwoar, what’s that smell cunz?!” And we all know Aristotle’s ancient proverb about She Whom Smelt It, Dealt It. To distract herself from her inevitable fate, Nat sings a glorious song about poo to the other girls. Cat’s-ass face Jen says Nat has no dignity, which is deliciously ironic because Jen’s the one walking around with a huge shiny pole up her cleft. Hockeyroo Elise knocks out Matty with her big hockey stick, and carries him in a fireman’s hold to Lake Vag in the middle of Snatch Garden. She then makes him go fishing for various objects that encapsulate her personality; pieces of Nationalistic paraphernalia, her Olympic Gold medal, photos of her family misappropriating Mexican culture at Christmas. She bequeaths him with her lucky coin, and he promises to keep it safe in his sock forevermore. Jokes on her though, because he’s a twat who never wears socks with his loafers. Cop Michelle wants to put a restraining order on Hideous Sequin Undies that Matty is currently being held hostage by, so she can get some alone time with him to show how ARRESTING she is. But she is suddenly informed that there’s some sort of waiting line to talk to Matty’s doodle, by pedantic know-it-all Laura, who is slowly emerging to be as much fun as one of Nat’s farts in an elevator. While the ladiez are arguing about despo concubine protocol, deluded Jen slithers over to Matty’s doodle like a Voldemort’s snake. It’s suddenly Rose Ceremony o’clock, and Matty punishes frigid Cop Michelle for daring to not speak to his supreme holiness at the cocktail party, and shoves her her right down to the bottom two with Flatulent Natulent. But he simply can’t forgive Nat’s flippant use of the word “moist” when they first met, so he sends her packing, which is actually pretty fortunate because she’s dying for a sneaky durry on the dunny. I’m off to knock myself out with some Pinnacle Whipped Cream vodka mainlined into my tear ducts. Till next time, haterz. Stay safe and watch out for Harold Bishop in your windows. xoxox #bachelorau
CONTINUE READING ...
Reviews
Melbourne Fringe Festival- ‘Heroes: Beyond the Practice.’
September 21, 2017 at 6:51 am 0
    Welcome to your post-apocalyptic nightmare. ‘Heroes: Beyond the Practice’ is as psychologically unsettling as it is hilarious, with more repetitions of the word “Covfefe” than Donald Trump falling asleep with his cheek pressed to the Twitter screen. I had attended the last two years of the always satirically confronting 'The Practice', and this incarnation was the most terrifying and the most fun thus far.  I came on my own, and must admit I was nervous and unsure before it begun, but the show is so absurdly amusing and unpredictable, that I emerged transformed.   ‘Heroes’ soars well beyond immersive theatre, with the audience actually becoming integral parts of the production, and bonding with each other in an absurdist experience like no other. The format is entirely unique and you never know what to expect next. Writing your own eulogy, begging the tooting traffic of Brunswick for salvation, and dancing to an impromptu doof are some highlights.  Throw your comfortable inner-city inhibitions out the window and surrender to your charismatic cult-leaders.    The script is whip-smart and jarringly farcical, the brilliantly glib actors unfazed by even the most rogue audience member, and there are more creative uses of an Aldi shopping bag than you can poke Satan's pointy tail at. There was even unsolicited police and eccentric-random-on the street participation at some point. The show is just as funny and inclusive for first-time attendees, but anyone who has attended the last two years will appreciate the thematic continuity (the Bears of Kindness make a subtle cameo).   If escaping your comfort zone and laughing at your fellow man is your thing, grab a friend (or come alone and make friends!), have a drink or two beforehand to steady your nerves (you also get wine during the show, woohoo!), and go and be indoctrinated into the most entertainingly ridiculous post-revolutionary cult in Melbourne. 
CONTINUE READING ...
Poetry
The Bachelorette 2016: HOMETOWN DATES
February 13, 2017 at 2:24 pm 0
 
image Greetings bishes! Tonight is the much anticipated Hometown episode, where George’s spatula-applied eyeliner finally gets the chance to be judged mercilessly by the families of the four remaining wangs. The episode opens with Nescafe Blend 43 dripping lasciviously into a cup (which is clearly a metaphor for all the tears Australia shed last night, after George sent Princess Cameron into a burning house of rejection). In comes George walking pointlessly across a field resembling a rool Dinky-di McCubbin painting; wearing massive come-root-me-in-the-shearing-shed-boys boots, and waxing lyrically about choosing one special member of the gangbang to live forever in her Snatchelorette. **** Matty’s Hometown, Sydney. The Channel 10 drone camera pans across the Cronulla riots and Lara Bingle still looking for her engagement ring in Michael Clarke’s U-bend. Matty J pushes a homeless guy off a park bench, and sits there in his Eddie Vedder flanno, staring pensively at swans. George sneaks up behind him, and for a second Matty thinks she’s Jake, and he reaches to dial Triple 000. Matty introduces George to two horses that he stole from Bart Cumming’s crypt called Selma & Thelma, and he quips that if horse riding is the sport of Kings, then dressing up in his sister’s clothes is the sport of Queens. George laughs uncomfortably. Selma the horse tries to kill George, and Matty comforts her for being even more of a wussy blouse than he is. While trotting along, Matty reveals that he’s actually a privileged Pony Club girl, who is also one $600 bottle of La Prairie lotion away from creepily wearing his sister’s skin. Matty is slightly concerned about what Jorge will think when he confesses that he wants to marry his sister in Tasmania, but he’s sure that all her years as a hard-hitting journo for WIN TV would have opened her mind towards forbidden love. Matty plies George with 18 glasses of Passion Pop, so she’s snockered enough to not run screaming back to Osher’s ample bosom when he breaks the terrifying news that she’s going to meet the entire Royal Family today, including sister/lover Scary Duchess Kate.
image

incoming

Goerge walks into Matty’s house wearing her second pair of root-me-in-the-back-of-your-Kingswood boots this episode. Matty’s family walk straight past poor George when greeting the prodigal son, completely ignoring her like she’s a piece of furniture, and she awkwardly falls face-first into a pot-plant. They shove Matty’s nephew, a 4-month-old future King George into her face, and our Georgia’s ovaries violently recoil back into her chest cavity as she secretly wishes she could put this horrible screaming blob into a basket and send it down the river. Around the dinner table, the brother they cloned out of Matty’s ugly testicle is asking George how she sleeps at night knowing she’s such a slut. Duchess Bitch notices George’s champers glass is empty, and asks her if she wants to join her to get a top up. George looks like ferret being strangled as she reluctantly agrees. The two white privileged vag’s have an excruciating conversation featuring Double Bay Vocal Fry voice vs. Ice Queen Newsreader voice, and Bloody Mary has to turn the volume down on the telly so she doesn’t have to endure this ear canal rape any longer. Duchess says she simply can’t allow her brother/lover to leave, like, Sydneyyyyyyy. Oh and by the way you have to be willing to bequeath your, like, womb to our Royal Cult, so my child gets a cousin. Or you’re dead to us. George says I can’t promise that, and besides I grew up without cousins, and look at me I turned out JUST FINE! Duchess Bitchface cooly tosses her perfectly frosted blonde hair, then smugly takes a sip out her crystal Shandy glass, and snarks: “We’ll see….” Duchess Kate later tells Matty she doesn’t like his odds of winning George’s vag, and besides she’s used up all her breast milk on her new baby, and doesn’t have enough left to comfort Matty if he walks back through those doors heartbroken. Duchess pries the first L word of the season out of Matty, using the same rusted forceps that wrenched Sylvester Stallone out of his mother and fucked up his face forever; and she lets out a squeal of feigned delight that her brother/lover is finally leaving her to be in a socially acceptable relationship. George and Matty exchange herpes on the front stoop, as he tells her chin how perfect he finds it; and George walks down the dark street to go cuddle up with the homeless guy. *** Jake’s Hometown, Gold Coast. The date opens with a montage of Bikies cooking up meth in their Surfers Paradise penthouse, and salivating Toolies warming up rohypnol in their sweaty palms. Jake stands on the street, wearing an oversized white shirt and more gel in his hair than a 1997 Year 11 formal. George totters over to him in her best plastic Courtney Stodden heels, and asks him where the hell they are, because this street looks kinda shoddy. Jake says relax mole, we’re at my parent’s mafia compound, and George freaks out because she thought she could at least be felt up elsewhere before she had to meet the Godfather. SURPRISE, Jake says. NOBODY IS HOME! No prepubescent loser has been this excited about being home alone since Tom Cruise in Risky Business. George starts to freak out at being alone with Jake, because she’s always gotten serial killer vibes from him, but he reassures her that they’re just going to use this alone time to stuff her turkey. George’s pish flaps gets excited, and Jake says no you dirty ho, I mean like literally stuff a turkey. He sneaks up behind her to get a knife, but she’s onto him, and he has to improvise at the last second that it was a spoon he was after. They have a Patrick Swayze / Demi Moore moment with a bowl of soggy mushrooms, except instead of fantasizing about Jorge’s chesticles, he’s getting hot under the Kmart shirt about actual ghosts. They shove the stuffed turkey into the oven, and leave the house to go sit on some dry thistles and drink spew manti, while Jake explains the hierarchy of his mafia family. George is having reservations about walking into her certain death. They open the door, and Mumma Jake fist-pumps then bursts into tears of relief that it’s her son who’s walking through the door, and not Alphonse Gangitano coming to settle a drug debt.
image

no horse heads tonight

SUDDENLY Jake’s younger brother pivots in his chair towards the camera, and Sweet Holy Roberta, IT’S CARL WILLIAMS back from the dead!!!! They all sit around drinking Tropicana, because there’s no alcohol allowed in Casa Del Gatto, and 3 minutes later The Godmother asks all the wiseguys to leave so she can have a heart to heart with George’s chin. The Godmother tells George you can’t wrench my little Uomo D’onore away from his sick mother you selfish bish, go say 100 Hail Marys and repent for your sins. An extremely camp Carl Williams gives George the third degree about what makes Jake better than the other gangbangers. He goes on about respecting the family values, and uses lots of three syllable words in the wrong context to sound faux intellectual to overeducated Jorge. They have a tug of war about Melbourne vs Gold Coast for a while, before The Godmother takes her little Jakey bubs outside to have a chat. Jake smiles ear to ear, and you can see he’s got a little herb from the turkey stuffing stuck in his buck tooth. His father Don Jake Corleone has said nothing the entire evening, because he’s had his finger poised on the ‘send’ button of his Nokia 3210 to hitman Luca Braci, just in case he needs George “taken out of the picture” for breaking up The Family. But The Godmother gives George the tick of approval, and they hug her goodbye rather than kissing her on both cheeks, so she knows she’s not sleeping with the fishes tonight. Jake the Ripper and Queen George tongue each other on the front stoop, and as she leaves, Jake looms there in the shadows, dreaming of all the creepy things he’d love to do to her. *** Lee’s Hometown, Melbourne. The date opens with a montage of flea-ridden beards and try-hards sitting on milk crates in alleyways, listening to unreleased David Bowie on cassette. Lee stands in the middle of the Botanical Gardens with a giant bunch of roses, and George has to swim across a festy pond to meet him. George’s gothic eyeliner sits down with Lee’s pulsating meaty proboscis, and they drink Espresso Martinis on a rooftop overlooking Melbourne’s insufferability. They walk into Lee’s parents house, and his dad’s nose gives George the efnique double kiss, which throws poor Puritan George, whose only exposure to ethnik is the pizza she occasionally orders from Domino’s. Lee’s family warmly greet George, including his sweet senile Grootmoeder, who immediately tells Jorg where Lee’s tongue was conceived. His family warn her that one more outburst like that, and it’s straight back to the nursing home. But nothing can keep a good Grootmoeder down, and she continues along shamelessly, saying that Lee’s not perfect but he’s a sensitive, romantic little tongue, who would make a great vader for George’s spawn.
image

I keep my teeth in a jar of pig’s blood

Lee deflects her embarrassing senility, by saying he loves the way George shares his awful sense of humour. Lee’s mothertongue takes Jorg outside for an interrogation, and tells her that Lee has only ever dated slutty platinum barbies before, and plain mousey girls like her have never had a look in. George completely freaks out that she’s not the kind of trollop he’d usually order from the catalogue, and she leaves the date feeling very insecure. *** Courtney’s Hometown, Sydney. Courtney is standing on the top of a giant lookout, and as George approaches, Courtney and his horrible hat hair have to stifle his impulse control problems so they don’t throw her straight off. George wants to have serious D & M’s, but ever-evasive Courts just wants to play Kindergarten games. George puts on a lifesaving shirt and no pants, and she and Hat Hair run down the beach, diving at some miscellaneous objects that were left behind in Stiffy Mansion (potentially Cam’s heart or Rhys’ dignity). Finally they sit down to talk about feelings, and not since the Invasion of Normandy or Olena Putin stabbing Richie in his heart with his own cool banana Steve Irwin-style, has there been this much carnage on a beach. Courts tells George that he can’t possibly envisage STILL staring at that horrible eyeliner in two years time, then proceeds to give her more mixed signals than Helen Keller directing traffic. Jorge is totally devo.
image

Eyeliner says no

Gerg and Court then walk into Casa Del Macaroni, and Gerg is wearing her 18th hideous off-the-shoulder polyester number this episode, and Bloody Mary is pretty sure sneaky Gretel Killeen is breaking in after hours and sabotaging the Channel 10 wardrobe department. George is greeted by the infamous evil brother Hugo, who stole Courtney’s first girlfriend when he was four years old, and left Courtney with a lifetime of abandonment issues. Around the dinner table, the various Courtney clones are grilling a visibly uncomfortable Queen George about her connection with Courtney, who seems to find his toenail clippings far more interesting than her. She shoves dry toast in her mouth uncomfortably. Evil brother Hugo tells Courtney he’s never seen him so depressed in his life, and he’s got Beyond Blue on speed dial. Courtney doesn’t even try to refute this. George leaves more confused and directionless than Peter Allen during his marriage to Liza Minelli. *** Cocktail Party George walks into the Cock party dressed as a giant red rose. After spending 20 minutes trying to evade the killer bees chasing her, she sits down next to Courtney, who says he feels awesome and the hometown visit was just swell. An incredulous Jorge says I don’t know what season of the Snatchelorette you’re watching matey, but my Spidey Sense thinks you actually hate my guts. Courtney keeps digging himself into a deeper hole, while attempting to explain what’s going on inside his hat hair, and George’s pursed puritan lips become thinner and thinner as her face crumples in shock that she’s getting rejected once again. She finally grows some giant hairy breasticles underneath the 800 layers of red froth, and puts her stiletto heel down. She tells Courtney that she can’t keep doing this to herself, and she wants a forever doodle, not a maybe-potentially doodle. She then says there’s no point having a rose ceremony tonight, and the reality dawns on Courtney that it’s all over for him and his macaroni bracelet. George says I think you should leave now, and cries her Maybelline all over her face. It’s actually a pretty heartbreaking moment for such a soulless show, and I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t shed this many tears into my Aldi Gin since I watched Marley and Me. Phew !!! I have to go be alone now and contemplate the real meaning of love. It’s been a blast everyone, till next time xo
CONTINUE READING ...
Poetry
Summer
December 4, 2016 at 4:45 pm 0
 Summer   Overcast recollections Of a summer of freshly mown grass And northerly-blown Coota-bloody-mongrel wattle Plastic holly in the door frames, and the Dear Santas The slapdash glitter and template trees The smell of paint and powdered milk Children’s cheeks scrubbed raw, ripe hands offering Chubby legs stuck to plastic seats A Mutt of indistinct colour, and a stray Cat My diminutive childheart fell in love Their tongues clandestinely lolled over one another; Two tiny skulls competing for one bowl The cat’s stomach dragging across the floor An overripe water bomb impelling six greasy beans The dog dutifully cleaned the blood and placenta I have just seen the most beautiful sight! In a summer when you could see the Seven Sisters in the sky Overcast recollections Of interminable rain melting colours and smells To a sodden colourless confusion Shapeless and bleached Trees stripped and skeletal Autopsy fingers Green liquid injection given by the jaded vet Her eyes become glassy. The Cat’s given to God. Two kittens moonlighting face-down in the pool Couldn’t cry or swim. The dog, howling for its mate Found a weakness in the fence and escaped In a summer when the cicadas harmonised and the dewy grass soothed I saw the most beautiful sight.  
CONTINUE READING ...
Poetry
Outside
December 4, 2016 at 3:17 pm 0
A ribcage of twisted steel Flushed eyes, scarred palms It murmurs; I'll leave you to heal It lies; I shall do you no harm Bricks rise with the swarthy rain Bells toll as the sun skims and falls Breathe in time, seven eight nine Buildings spin as I stay deathly small Skip, trip through the soulless legs and faces Stare into the ground, I pretend to be blind Stinging weakness, flee as it chases! Siren's dead child that it begs me to find Murmurs are killed, a festival of silence My heart subsists from the tomb where it hides Madness sojourns, my eyes lock up the violence I know not to venture outside  
CONTINUE READING ...
Poetry
Fever
December 3, 2016 at 4:59 pm 0
Fever
  White, Sick, a stone’s throw across the pond From Midnight The click click click of the second hand batters the skull A fever crawls from the feet up, abandons the fingers Like Ice Silence, Hush, I can hear breathing Nothing Masterpiece movies/ static audio gash the silence We’re all fading fading, sketching. Dying In the forty squares of walled loneliness The eyes flicked open once the darkness churned out From the sun Across the horizon the sky is pitch The sallow moon has dust on it, clean the windows wretch The windows are filthy And when the sky is pink and purple The colour of joyful bruising The fever is forgotten, the eyelids Wilt as dead petals The body is still and the breath is deep And that hell-given loneliness Is finally consumed by sleep  
CONTINUE READING ...