Thursday, December 08, 2011

A Letter to Frank: Yet another groundbreaking poem by Carlo Sands







Well, all I can about this is this is what happens when you drink *special* Johnny Walker, with extra ingredients of the sort my good friend Conehead might add, assuming Conehead drank booze. And then follow it with beer and Irish whiskey and special cigarettes at Conehead's. Indeed, as anyone who has been there will tell you, simply *walking in front door* at Conehead's place is enough to put most mortals in a frame of mind required to create a work of art of the sort above.

This is really just an in-between thing, a poetic interlude to pass the time until I finally get around with Ben to creating the much anticipated Conversation V film. Yes, it has been a long time the latest installment of this truly groundbreaking film series -- the critically acclaimed Conversation IV: This Time It's Sensual. All I can do is assure you that the fifth (and final) in the series is not long off...

And in the meantime... enjoy the poem.

I don't pretend, of course, that is the greatest poem ever written. That would be my masterpiece I Kill You Now Fuck Off And Get Me A Drink.

It is not even the second greatest poem ever written. Not while my undeniably brilliant Dedicated to a Fuckwit remains available to the general public.

But I like to think it adds something to a growing body of highly impressive work and the likelihood of random acts of violence against Franks committed by the general public.

Now I know *just* what is on your mind. Who *is* Frank? Well, I think *all* know a Frank, don't we? Frank comes in many shapes, sizes and even cover names. But all these pricks, to me, will always be what they are -- a Frank. Because I said so.

But I have said enough. Far better to let Tony Duggins from Irish-American Celtic punk legends The Tossers explain it far better than I ever could... in this great clip and album version of "Whiskey Makes Me Crazy" -- which YouTube WON'T LET ME EMBED!!!!!!!!






'Irish whiskey drives me nuts, yeah whiskey makes me crazy!"



Monday, November 14, 2011

Hello world, what's been happening?

Hello!

I thought I would just check in. You know, it has been close to two months since my last post and I wouldn't want my many followers to think I had died. Again.

Anyway, it is not like much has been been happening in the world since September 22. I see the financial system now just directly runs Greece and Italy -- which really sounds like the simplest solution all round.

They did such a great job of running the global financial system and, sure, they own the governments but, at the end of the day, if you want a job done properly you have just got to do it yourself.

It sure calmed the whole thing down and I think the crisis is pretty much averted. If by averted you mean spreading to France.

Meanwhile, the British response to the crippling Global Recession is to start torturing the unemployed. Seriously.

Also, in an unrelated development, in cities around the world, a bunch of people have been hanging out having a chat and attacking police batons and tear gas cannisters and what have you.

Israel is continuing to be the greatest democracy in the Middle East, pursing its relentless goals of peace and justice. Libya has been liberated. Afghanistan continues to show how much it loves its occupiers.

The New South Wales police continue to be the non-violent, free speech-respecting and fundamentally progressive force we all know and love.

The world's climate continues to be just fine with absolutely nothing to worry about -- as Rupert Murdoch's The Australian keeps roping in renowned scientist, sceptic and Sydney Catholic Archbishop George Pell to tell us.

Oh, and I was *so* excited... THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND CAME!!! Seriously, she like, came to Australia!!! I love the English establishment, as fans of the blog can attest, and to have the head of the beast -- so to speak -- in my own country was a joy I could barely contain.

Quite rightly, Melbourne Lord Mayor Robert Doyle had the city centre cleared of all filthy commoner types ahead of Her Majesty's visit.

I did but see her passing by... which really makes it hard to get a decent shot fired off before the cops are onto you and you gotta run. I hate running.

In other news, my sister and her partner came to Sydney last Wednesday. They arrived at the train station at 10am, which, coincidentally, was the exact time the pub across the road opened.

And another highly important development. I have declared my latest campaign: to overtake the Devil Child Himself in Twitter follower numbers. Justin Bieber is, at current count, sitting on 14,447,678, which is *roughly* 14,447,632 more than Carlo Sands.

DON'T LET THE DEVIL CHILD WIN! YOU TOO CAN FOLLOW CARLO SANDS ON TWITTER! @CarloSands. Do it for humanity.

And finally, if you want and are in Sydney, you can see Carlo Sands on a stage in the preliminary final of the Comedy @ The Rox comp, at the Roxbury Hotel in Glebe. You might see something like this.





'Singing "God save the Queen"? Well I think fucking not! And I pray every day that in Hell she may rot...' Sydney City Trash, the greatest Sydney-based country folk punk act from Tamworth, express their love for the English queen.


PS: I don't believe I have ever said the word "fuckity" anywhere on my blog before. That has now changed.

Thursday, September 22, 2011

The United States can get fucked -- By Oscar Wilde, preemptively.

Their criminal "justice" system killed Troy Davis. Fuck them.

Let us ignore all the huge flaws in Davis' case, including eyewitnesses later saying they lied under police pressure and absence of any weapon tying Davis to the murder of a police officer. The death penalty in horrific. It always has been and always will be.

Let Oscar Wilde explain it in The Ballad of Reading Gaol, written about a real case of a man who was sentenced to death and hanged for murder during Wilde's two years in Reading Gaol for "crimes of gross indecency".




They hanged him as a beast is hanged:
They did not even toll
A requiem that might have brought
Rest to his startled soul,
But hurriedly they took him out,
And hid him in a hole.






MURDERED







"Southern trees bear a strange fruit, Blood on the leaves and blood at the root, Black body swinging in the Southern breeze, Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees." These days they use lethal injections, rather than nooses from poplar trees. The point remains.

We should all be able to invoke the Israeli defence

I have discovered the hard way that "But Israel gets to kill who they want!" does not actually hold up in a court of law as a legitimate defence.

This is very disappointing and, frankly, deeply unfair.

I guess we can't always get what we want. I mean, I got a friend who wants a tiny rabbit who can fit in her palm who'd be called Subcommandante Marcos so she can set up a Republic in her bedroom and rule it with the tiny bunny. (This is actually a true story -- you may not believe it but it is true: Carlo Sands does have a friend.)

But I still feel it would be fairer if we could all use the Israeli defence.

"The bastard spilled my drink, Your Honour, so I killed three Egyptian border guards and destroyed more of Gaza's power and water supplies."

"Oh, that's alright, Sands! Why didn't you say so! You are free to go, have a lollipop and the Golan Heights."

But no. It is one rule for Empire's favourite mass murderers and another for the rest of us.

It is quite stunning really. I mean it is nothing new but it is still quite stunning. Israel kills three Egyptian cops -- that is, you know, like another country's cops, *in Egypt* and Egypt's government ... asks for an apology.

I mean, they killed three fucking Egyptian citizens in an unprovoked attack. When your military murders another nation's citizen's in their own country for no reason, it kinda counts as a "significant diplomatic incident" -- just behind serving only light beer at the annual embassy piss-up.

The Egyptian people, fresh from having tossed out a US puppet complicit in Israel's crimes, took it a little harder. There were days of furious mass protests outside the Israeli embassy, which gave the world a brand new superhero: FLAGMAN!

Yes, Egyptian man Ahmed al-Shehat scaled the 22-story building that houses the Israeli embassy, and -- to the roars of the crowd -- tore down the Israeli flag and raised the Egyptian one in its place. The flag was duly delivered to the crowd, who promptly burned the fucking thing.

You can watch the glorious even on YouTube.




Finally, a Superhero to be proud of.



But not even Flagman's heroics were enough to shift the situation.

The humiliation for Egyptians was made worse when, more than a year after Israel massacred nine Turkish citizens in an unprovoked attack in international waters (that some fools compared to an act of "piracy", which as I have argued elsewhere is a gross slander on the good name of pirates everywhere), the Turkish government finally responded by cutting all military ties with Israel.

Israel still sees no reason to even say "sorry" to Turkey, let alone Egypt.

So, with the Egyptian regime still refusing to even expel the Israeli ambassador from Cairo despite Israel's refusal to even say sorry for its unprovoked murder of Egyptian citizens, the Egyptian people took matters into their own hands.

On September 9, a huge demonstration descended on the Israeli embassy in Cairo and, with sledgehammers and their bare hands, tore down the security wall protecting the Israeli embassy and then stormed the building, removing a whole lot of Israeli embassy documents in a kinda of mass direct action WikiLeaks moment.

The Israeli ambassador, all the diplomatic staff and their families were forced to flee -- being evacuated back to Israel by plane.

The Israeli media ran stories about how terrible this was, how as the protesters stormed the building, diplomatic staff were forced into some back room with nothing but armed Israeli guards to protect them against an unarmed crowd. Well, their lives were *clearly* in danger because there is simply no way Israel would kill Egyptians in Egypt is there?

It must have been absolutely terrifying for them, which is horrible because the border guards killed without provocation by an Israeli air strike probably at least had no time to be terrified. They were just blown apart with no warning. That is how *civilised* nations do it.




And so the Egyptian people decided to cut diplomatic ties themselves.



Let us recap.

On August 18, there were attacks in southern Israel that left eight people dead and 40 injured. It was, without any question, an atrocity. An atrocity to which no one has claimed responsibility.

Israel blamed the Gaza-based Popular Resistance Committees -- who denied having anything to do with it.

Cue fresh bombings of besieged Gaza. As well as the three Egyptian cops, by August 26, 22 Palestinians in Gaza had been killed, including children.

For attacks no one knows who was responsible for. Despite which, more than two dozen people are dead with no evidence a single one had anything to do with the initial attack.

If someone steals your iPod, and you go around breaking all the windows in your neighbourhood in retaliation, try the "Israel defence" in your inevitable court case. It won't work. You are not Israel.

Balance

But, it occurred it me, I may be guilty here of only presenting *one side* of the story. Perhaps I am not being balanced enough. And, as anyone who knows me can strongly attest, if Carlo Sands is anything, he is -- above all else -- *balanced*.

So I sought out the counter position on the question of Israel and its behaviour in general and I came across an article from The Australian, which being a Rupert Murdoch paper is one of the most balanced news sources you could find.

I found this article to very convincing and it made me seriously rethink everything I had previously thought.

In a June 7 opinion piece entitled "Palestinians' deadly strategy doomed to fail", The Australian's Middle East correspondent John Lyons opened my eyes to the true situation.

"It is time", he said, "for Palestinians to resume a non-violent struggle of negotiations and give up their strategy of confronting Israeli bullets".

This was in response to a series of protests that occurred in early June on Israeli borders by Palestinians and their supporters in the West Bank, Gaza Strip, Golan Heights in Syria and Lebanon.

The Israeli military opened fire on unarmed protesters on the frontier of Israeli-occupied Golan Heights. More than 20 unarmed protesters were killed.

Now you might think the aggressor here was Israel -- shooting down unarmed protesters demonstrating for an end to illegal Israeli occupation. But that is where you would be wrong.

Lyons' explains quite clearly the aggressor in this case is not the ones doing the shooting but the ones getting shot.

The Palestinians, you see, should stop "confronting Israeli bullets" in such a threatening and provocative manner. They were virtually *begging* the Israeli Defence Forces to shoot them.

How else is Israel meant to respond to such thugs confronting their bullets with with their bodies? Such a threat to Israel's very existence can not be expected to go unanswered.

The Palestinians getting themselves shot so willfully, Lyons points out, merely "allows Israel to argue that it cannot agree to a Palestinian state while it has so much instability on its borders".

The logic is so frighteningly simple, I cannot believe I never saw it before. The death of an Israeli at the hands of a Palestinian is a terrorist atrocity. Palestinians being killed by Israelis is "instability".

Instability, what is more, that is the fault of the Palestinians who brought it on themselves with all their unarmed "protesting" and other such anti-Semitic provocations.

So, "rather than being shot trying to climb through barbed wire" in such a horrifically violent way (just *imagine* how traumatising having to shot an unarmed Palestinian is for some poor member of the IDF!), Lyons argues reasonably that the Palestinians should continue to try and negotiate in the framework of the 1993 Oslo Accords that hs brought them so much progress over the years.

I have thought this through and I can finally see the big picture -- this whole "getting shot dead by Israeli bullets" is just the latest anti-Semitic plot to destroy the Jewish race. The Palestinians maybe irrational fanatics, but they are not stupid.

The plot is clear. If the Palestinains can force Israel to shot enough unarmed people asking for the return of occupied lands, as per countless UN resolutions, then surely, eventually, Israel will run out of bullets.

And then they will be screwed.

You only have to think this thing through to its logical conclusion. Who arms the Israelis? The United States, to the tune of US$3 billion a year.

And the richest nation on Earth is mired in a severe economic crisis and has a nationlal debt in the trillions. Some $2.1 trillion in spending cuts are coming -- while most of it will come from social security for pensioners are other luxuries, it cannot be ruled out that a bit, at least, might come from military spending.

The US is weak right now. It is vulneralbe. If only the Palestinians keep up their violent strategy of of forcing Israel to shoot enough bullets at them at their unarmed protests, they might bring the thing to a tipping point.

The bastards.



A Palestinian confronts Israeli bullets in a bid to bankrupt the Jewish state and drive all Jews into the sea. (*** NOTE ON THIS BELOW)


But the plot thickens even more.

There is an arguably *even bigger* anti-Semitic threat emerging *right here* in Australia! Yes, Palestine solidarity protesters have been holding protests calling for a boycott of Max Brenner chocolate stores.

Now, the protesters *claim* this is because Max Brenner is on a list of companies with ties to the Israeli military that dozens of Palestinian civil society organisations have called for a boycott against in a growing international campaign backed by the likes of South African Nobel Peace Prize winning anti-apartheid activist Archbishop Desmond Tutu, but really any thinking person can see it is being targetted simply because the multinational corporation was set up by Jewish people and this is *just like* the Nazi's boycott of Jewish owned businesses in the 1930s.

It has gotten so dire than the poor multinational chain has had to resort to using such renowned anti-fascists as the British National Party-linked Australian Protectionist Party to defend its stores from the anti-Semitic hordes and their chants asking Max Brenner to cut its ties with IDF army units responsible for serious atrocities.

It was the Murdoch press to the rescue *once more*, with a heartfelt piece in The Australian on how poor Jewish chocolatier Max Brenner is stunned to find himself at the centre of the Middle Eastern conflict.

"Max Brenner says he is a man of peace who hates all forms of violence," an outraged Cameron Stewart writes. "So how has this chocolate maker become the target of anti-Israeli protesters in Australia who accuse him of being complicit with the Israeli military?"

Stewart tells his readers that Mr Brenner was "not available for an interview", but produced a quote from 2009, in which Brenner apparently responded to the protests by saying: "Whether it is in Israel or not, anything to do with violence, aggressiveness or appearing at protests or boycotts seems silly (to me). But then again, I am just a chocolate-maker."

What is all the more impressive about this heartstring-tugging piece is that Max Brenner does not even exist.

There is no Max Brenner, he is just a corporate marketing creation.

Nonetheless, I see no reason why his non-existent status should blind us to how much he is suffering right now at the hands of the anti-Semites. Pretend people have feelings too! My heart breaks whenever I think of the fictitious Max Brenner crying himself to sleep every night, make-believe tears rolling down his not-really-there face.



All decent people should be haunted by the fictitious tears of the non-existent Jewish chocolate-maker Max Brenner, the result of his being targetted by anti-Semites asking that the multinational corporation his made-up name fronts stops sponsoring Israeli military units responsible for very real atrocities.


It is a terrible state of affairs. Having taking the time to *truly listen* to the other side of the story, provided with such objectivity by the Murdoch media, I can clearly see the error of my ways. As far as I am concerned, Israel can kill whoever the fuck they want!

Just so long, it is all I ask, that the rest of us are accorded the exact same privilige. It is really only fair and Kyle Sandilands has been *really* pissing me off.




"I wish I could take your tears and replace them with laughter, Long live Palestine, Long live Gaza!" Infamously anti-Semitic Iraqi-English hip hop artist Lowkey's anthem of hate calls for the total destruction of the Jewish race using code words such as "We stand for peace" and "I know there's plenty of Rabbi's that agree with me".


*** It has been pointed out, in the comment section, that this photo is incorrectly captioned. It is not a Palestinian woman in the photo who has so violently confronted Israeli bullets, but an American Jewish peace activist, Emily Honochowicz. Well, this just goes to show that evil anti-Semites come from all sources, no matter how unexpected. For more information on this question, check out http://nabisalehsolidarity.wordpress.com. It'll shock ya.


Monday, September 19, 2011

They are coming for our goon -- stand-up at The Shannon

Dedicated readers of this blog will know that i have had a love and hate relationship with The Shannon Hotel, on Abercrombie Street in the inner-Sydney suburb of Chippendale over the years.

But, give them their due, they let Carlo Sands test out some of the things I badly think need ranting about last Tuesday at their Comedy on the Edge. That's right, five minutes straight of Carlo Sands ranting.

Well, I say "let Carlo Sands". I wasn't actually there, on stage, in person. I got some hack to do it for me. I felt if I tried it in person, the sheer glory of my cheekbones (as can be seen by my profile pic for this blog) would just far too distracting.

So, naturally, I got a redhead to deliver my lines. People always laugh at redheads, either that or physically attack them. (Interestingly, there is some good news for humanity on this front, with an international network of sperm banks banning redheads from donating. Apparently, and understandably, simply no one wants the stuff (except Ireland where sperm of redheaded origin "sells like hotcakes").

You can watch the clips, expertly filmed by a renowned director, who may or may not be both redheaded and Irish, below.

I can't say, in all honesty, I am entirely happy with how it went. I mean, for fuck's sake, I was trying to sound the warning that the FUCKING GOVERNMENT is coming for OUR GODDAMN GOON and these bastards simply LAUGHED! Did they not believe me? I was hoping for small riot at least.

It just goes to show, if you want something done properly, NEVER get a redhead to do it for you.



Monday, September 05, 2011

Eulogy from the man who beat me in a duel to the death



Debate over Carlo Sands has raged amongst philosophers, theologians, exorcists, Carlo Sands, demon hunters, and debt collectors.


As you all know, on Friday from 6pm (local time) was my wake -- occurring everywhere in the world simultaneously. Absolutely *everyone* was there -- whether they liked it or not. My own speech to the wake was prepared in advance. I draw my loyal followers attention to the speech published below, which was prepared for the event by Leslie -- the cad who defeated me in a duel to the death.

Of course, Leslie is a treacherous, murderous bastard. There are elements to this speech that any decent person could only consider libelous and the worst forms of slander. Myself, I notice that it lies by omission. Leslie completely fails to mention -- even in passing -- Carlo Sands' key role in the 100 years war. It only took me 116 years, by I finally drove those Plantagenet bastards from France. This is an important lesson in the consequences in stealing Carlo Sands' beer. I don't give a fuck if you are called "Edward The Third, King of All England", you don't touch my schooner.

But I publish the speech ultimately because it deals with a topic so close to my heart -- Carlo Sands.



Do not trust this man around your stubby of VB.

* * *

Eulogy for Carlo Sands

By The Man Who Defeated Him In A Duel To The Death

Carlo Sands was a complex ... thing. No less so in death, apparently, than in life.

Always quick with a maniacal grin and never slow (after last drinks) to lend a machete to those in need, many myths have grown up around Carlo – most collected together in the Book of Revelations and the tales of Ragnarok. And much of his life has served as the inspiration for much art - the convincing sense of ultimate horror embedded in Lovecraft's Cthulu mythos, Poe's raven, Wilde's Dorian Gray, Conan Doyle's Moriarty, Bosch's visions of Judgement Day and hell, Brueghel's depictions of drunken peasant cavortings, Munch's "The Scream".



Munch's The Scream captures the sense of horror associated with the existence of Carlo Sands.



But I feel the true spirit of Carlo has only rarely been grasped throughout his time on this world. And even then, it is a knowledge that seems to die out very quickly in often mysterious circumstances.

Over the millennia -- almost from the very day he hatched -- the activities of Carlo have prompted conjecture on his nature. At first this was mostly along the lines of screaming and running away. When intelligent hominids came on the scene, it progressed to screaming and running away followed by the survivors' pre-linguistic equivalent of "what the fuck?!" and "WHY? WHYYYYY?!!".

As time passed and we developed better weapons and city walls, the discussion settled down and became more formal and reflective, and ever since debate has raged amongst philosophers, theologians, exorcists, Carlo Sands, demon hunters, and debt collectors.

A major question that occupied them all, second only to "WHYYYYY?!", concerned Carlo's insistence on continuing to be alive against all reason and sanity and persistent efforts to persuade him not to be. Was he immortal, or just remarkably well pickled?

On a day in 2009 that I'm sure found many of us torn between joy and happiness, that ancient question was finally answered. Well, technically, it was answered on October 21, 2008, when Carlo died, but it wasn't known to the world at large until Carlo found out.

To me it seemed like the end of an era. Like there may be no more running in blind panic from enraged emperors, kings, popes, conquering hordes, massed armies, and peasant mobs. No more looking over the shoulder for when the next attempted payback from God(s) would come. No more explaining that I was just holding the bag for someone. No more hangovers that made the big bang seem sedate and whimsical.

The only downside seemed to be that, although tragically dead, he was tragically continuing to insist on existing. Though this, to those who know him well, is not at all out of character and will no doubt provide a much needed boost to the philosophy sector of the economy.

But this is Carlo's wake, and tradition dictates that we must celebrate the departed. And as I -- against all my long-held expectations -- have managed to outlive Carlo and been the only person ever to have beaten him in a duel to the death, I find myself with my back safely against a wall and overwhelmed by magnanimity and benevolence.

Carlo's feats were many. Far too many to remember them all and sleep peacefully. So perhaps I shall limit myself to his earliest and possibly most fundamental contributions to humanity.

Ever since that moment he decided he couldn't be fucked looking for food and was just going to sit under that tree and wait for something to turn up, he has helped shape what we have become.

His inevitable discovery of the effects of fermented fruit. The - perhaps not unrelated - determination that he really, really needed others to share this new knowledge with (and to go get fruit for him). His decision (after some trial and error) that the "monkey people" were the most likely candidates.

Likewise his desire that we should be the beneficiaries of his discovery that if you spilt your grass seeds into your water and forgot about it for a while, you didn't necessarily have to chuck the whole lot out.

Many things that we take for granted today came from these simple acts of generosity. Brain shrinkage, dementia, cirrhosis, pancreatitis, delirium tremens, cardiomyopathy, gout, hangovers, some dodgy food and mating decisions – it is possible that without Carlo, we would never have discovered these, or at least had them in such abundance as we have enjoyed.

Carlo Sands may not have made our lives happier, but he sure made them hazier.




The hangover is just one of Carlo Sands' contributions to humanity that many take for granted.



Now, as his long time personal friend and advisor cum scapegoat and terrified innocent bystander who repeatedly somehow found myself mixed up in the fallout of his activities, I ask you all to charge your vessels and join me in saying:

Slainte, and Good Riddance!

Machete fights will be out back after closing. Thankyou.





'When the world is too dark, and I need the light inside of me, I'll walk into a bar and drink fifteen pints of beer ... I am going, I am going where streams of whiskey are flowing.'

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Message to the world on the occasion of my wake (plus songs)

[Due to the technical issues, I am unable to send to all my countless fans an audio recording of me reading this out. Below is a transcript of my speech for my wake, happening every in the world on Friday, September 2 at 6.30pm (local time).

It is a transcript of what I attempted to record, including an introduction that i have transcribed verbatim.

Also, I have created a playlist on You Tube for the event, which can be accessed at Carlo Sands' wake playlist. YouTube I have placed the videos below. Now, everyone in the entire world, who is attending this wake whether they like it or not, has both a speech to be delivered and appropriate tunes with which to mark the life a truly wonderful human being -- Carlo Sands.]


Hi,

This is Carlo Sands.

Well, actually I feel obliged to point out this isn't my real voice. I've hired an actor to read this on my behalf. This is not what I sound like at all. Carlo Sands' real voice is actually a lot more like, ah, say Sean Connery. You know, sort of deeper and more authoritative.

Actually, probably more Alan Rickman-esque.

It is pretty deep and very sexy and I really wish I could *share* it with you, but unfortunately I have... ah issues of a legal variety and it is really best I stay out of the public eye, or indeed ear.

Which reminds me, if Interpol come asking any questions about Carlo Sands, for christ's sake SAY NOTHING.

So, as I am sure you all know, Friday September 2, 6.30pm (local time), my wake is occurring everywhere in the entire world. This is taking place because, you all also probably know, I am dead.

If you *didn't* know, then I am very sorry to have to break the news to you. It's true. Carlo Sands is dead. I realise you are in a lot pain right now, absorbing this information, but really, think how *I* fucking feel. I am the bastard who's dead, for christ's sake! Have some FUCKING RESPECT!

I have been dead for sometime but never had a wake. This is being rectified. In honour of this significant event, I have composed the following speech to be read out at the many locally organised wakes taking place all over the world, on all continents.

Feel free to just cut this intro bit out and get straight to the speech if you like. Oh, but make sure you meantion the voice thing -- that's very important.


A message to the world on the occasion of Carlo Sands' wake, by Carlo Sands


Dear friends, disciples and Leslie,

It is an enormous honour to address you all on this most important of occasions. It is deeply moving to see so many people turn out to celebrate and/or mourn my life and mourn and/or celebrate my untimely demise.

To see so many thousands of people here tonight is amazing, I just hope those of you packed onto the nearby roofs and at the outer reaches of this human sea can hear me well enough. I thank you all for coming.

To confront one's own mortality is never easy. Death is a confronting experience. I still remember that terrible day sometime back in 2009 when, fool that I am, I made the literally fatal mistake of taking that damned Facebook quiz, "When will I die" and received my answer: October 21, 2008.

To die is one thing. To discover one has been dead for a number of months is especially hard. Luckily, I was drunk at the time so it is all a bit of a blur.

All I can say is Facebook is a dangerous thing, to be treated with caution. It censors you for supporting Palestine, it sells your private information to corporate giants to sell you pointless shit in annoying ads and, if you are not careful, it'll kill you with a quiz answer without so much as a "warning: this quiz may kill you" message to give you the heads up.

An experience like death takes a long time to come to grips with. This is the reason for the long delay before truly accepting it is so and holding the inevitable wake.

This is not a sad day. I lived a full life and had the opportunity to drink with many of the great men and women throughout human history.

And if there is one thing I've learned through the milenia, it is never drink with Ghengis Khan. Seriously, don't do it. It just never ends well. By the time you sober up, half of fucking Asia has been pillaged.

You'll end up richer, no question, but the hangover is really not worth it.

Also, I am sorry about the Welsh. That was my fault. The only thing I can say in my defence is pear cider is one bastard of a drink. Kids, stay off the pear cider.

I'd like to mention a few people here. To Johnny Depp, I'll never forget the times we've had together. Just the two of us and a bottle of absinthe, and my god when you did that thing with... well, you know.

Lily Allen. I forgive you. Well, actually no I FUCKING DON'T! Seriously, how could you marry that builder? A FUCKING BUILDER! Fuck you!

To Tom Waits. Please, please, please return my calls. I am really sorry, I was drunk. Can you really not move on from that night? Just pick up the phone. Please.

To all my loyal fans, I thank you for your continued support through a difficult time. To my disciple of the year for 2010, Mary Ellen, you know exactly what to do to win Disciple of the Year for 2011. This time, make it Irish whiskey.

To Leslie, that cad who beat me in the duel to the death. Well, tonight is yours to gloat but tomorrow shall be mine! My revenge will be sweet and I shall be wearing a large grin at *your* wake, you fucking bastard.

To all who have donated to the important cause that is helping Carlo Sands buy alcohol, your support is appreciated. The struggle against sobriety is not over and the PayPal button can be found at my blog, www.carlosands.blogspot.com, near the top of the righthand column.

Now, all I ask is a minute of respect where no alcohol passes your lips. Just one minute of not drinking. It is surely not too much to ask in memory of so great a man as myself, Carlo Sands.

...Just a minute. One minute, come on. LOOK, ONE FUCKING MINUTE! Seriously ... PUT THOSE DRINKS DOWN! Fuck, stop drinking you bastards! ONE FUCKING MINUTE!!!! You useless bunch of fucking drunks.

Fine, drink, you useless pricks,. Just fucking drink. I don't care. May you fall over and break your arm. Yes, Ben, the OTHER ONE AS WELL you bastard. God damn you all.

thank you,
Carlo Sands
deceased.

Oh, one final thing: FUCK ISRAEL!!!

















Friday, August 05, 2011

Mark Steel tackles booze hysteria and saves me the trouble

You know, I was just about to write a new rant on drinking hysteria when British socialist, comedian and columnist Mark Steel did it for me.

In his weekly Independent column, Steel focuses on the hysteria, which we know more than enough about in Australia.

As we *also* know only too well, the hysteria (of the "four standard drinks is binge drinking" variety) is just ground work for horrific attacks -- such as the outrageous reintroduction of drunk-and-disorderly laws in New South Wales.

Really, it is hard not to take this personally. I would not be surprised to find out the bill was informally known as the "Carlo Sands Law".

So, I warn the Brits to expect legal trouble.

Steel focuses his piece on the situation in Britain. From this we may conclude the attacks on drinkers are international, and therefore so must be our resistance!!!

As Martin Luther King Jnr once said, a threat of sobriety anywhere is a threat to intoxication everywhere.





Remember: When we drink, we are not just drinking for ourselves, but for humanity.


Mark Steel: Alcohol can be a problem, as can doctors

Britain is getting drunker than ever, apparently, with a government "consultation" expected to reveal the shocking statistic that, compared with 20 years ago, there are 80 per cent more documentaries or news items showing a clip of a girl in a short skirt being sick on a bench while a lad with no shirt makes a noise like a werewolf as he's thrown into a police van.

But more worrying is the increase in pompous doctors who come on the radio or programmes like The One Show to give us guidelines, telling us, "Those of us who think we're drinking moderately may still be at risk. For example if you have one glass of wine and then later in life have another, you are technically an alcoholic."

Then they say, "Of course there's no harm in drinking safely. I often enjoy an Italian wine with my evening meal, by opening the bottle and pouring it all into a bush. That way there's only a small risk to my liver, as long as I do it once a month as a treat."

Websites offering advice on safe drinking are full of tips such as, "If you're thinking of having a lager please consult your doctor first." Or, "One way of cutting down consumption while still enjoying a wild girls' night out, is on alternate rounds instead of having a drink have a bowl of soup, or go canoeing."

On the Drinkaware site I looked at, I was told three pints of medium- strength beer, twice a week, can lead to "heart disease, liver disease, impotence and cancer." I didn't check but I expect it went on, "and a fourth pint will cause cat flu, plague, rust, feeling like a woman trapped inside a man's body, fascism and a tendency to suddenly turn inside-out in the morning."

It also told me, "If you consume alcohol to feel good, or avoid feeling bad, your drinking could become problematic." So it's only safe to drink if it's to make yourself feel worse.

Still, alcohol can cause havoc, so we shouldn't be flippant. You only have to look at the demise of poor Amy Winehouse, who presumably had three pints of bitter on a Sunday and then another three the following Friday.

But the campaign against drunkenness doesn't seem to have learned from the "Just say no" anti-drugs campaign, which connects with hardly anyone as it insists drugs lead rapidly to disaster and aren't fun.

But if they weren't fun there'd be no need to tell people not to take them, just as there's no need to tell people "Just say no" to sticking your bare arse into a nest of wasps because no one does it anyway because it's not fun.

Similarly any attempt to reduce drunkenness must depend on acknowledging that people do it because it seems fun. The alcohol industry appears to be aware of this, which is why it markets drinks for teenagers as bursting with fun, then denies they're doing so with comments such as, "The product 'Marshmallow-alco', in which a marshmallow is filled with a cocktail of vodka and Southern Comfort, is not in any way aimed primarily at a younger market range."

But the Government's "consultation" is being run in conjunction with the alcohol industry, to such an extent that the British Medical Association have withdrawn from it altogether as a pointless exercise, because if we were to be cynical, the drinks industry may not be the keenest people to find ways of cutting down the sale of alcohol.

So the complex job of getting young people away from drug addiction and alcoholism will still be done by charities, such as Mentor UK. But they have declared the recent cuts in rehab clinics have made that almost impossible, saying these cuts "could have devastating implications".

So we're left with doctors telling us not to drink sherry on two consecutive Christmases, and if Amy was still around she could have updated her song by singing, "They tried to make me go to rehab but they said, 'Piss off, we've shut'."

Saturday, July 23, 2011

"Would it be alright if I peeled an orange?" Because it is Raymond Chandler's birthday



Because it is Raymond Chandler's birthday and because "Would it be alright if I peeled an orange?" is the perfect response to OUR FUCKING EVIL GOVERNMENTS THAT WANT TO MAKE FUN ILLEGAL!

For those reasons, I post the start of his 1949 classic The Little Sister. For those reasons, and the fact I just stumbled on the text of the whole book online and can't be fucked writing a proper blog post despite the fact I haven't written anything for ages.

(In other news, do you know how many Muslims were responsible for the atrocity in Oslo??? NONE.

It took the media quite some time of reporting it was an Islamic fundamentalist attack before they were forced to report it wasn't.)

Chandler was a good drinker and a good writer, who summed up the art of writing a detective story: "When in doubt, have a man with a gun walk into the room."

He inspired me to write up me own hardboiled experience about attending a talk by a wiseguy on Latin America at Sydney Uni. It really happened, just like I said. I still have nightmares about that experience.

And so...



The Little Sister

The pebbled glass door panel is lettered in flaked black paint: "Philip Marlowe . . . Investigations." It is a reasonably shabby door at the end of a reasonably shabby corridor in the sort of building that was new about the year the all-tile bathroom became the basis of civilization.

The door is locked, but next to it is another door with the same legend which is not locked. Come on in-there's nobody in here but me and a big bluebottle fly. But not if you're from Manhattan, Kansas.

* * *

It was one of those clear, bright summer mornings we get in the early spring in California before the high fog sets in. The rains are over. The hills are still green and in the valley across the Hollywood hills you can see snow on the high mountains.

The fur stores are advertising their annual sales. The call houses that specialize in sixteen-year-old virgins are doing a land-office business. And in Beverly Hills the jacaranda trees are beginning to bloom.

I had been stalking the bluebottle fly for five minutes, waiting for him to sit down. He didn't want to sit down. He just wanted to do wing-overs and sing the prologue to Pagliacci. I had the fly swatter poised in midair and I was all set.

There was a patch of bright sunlight on the corner of the desk and I knew that sooner or later that was where he was going to light. But when he did, I didn't even see him at first. The buzzing stopped and there he was. And then the phone rang.

I reached for it inch by inch with a slow and patient left hand. I lifted the phone slowly and spoke into it softly: "Hold the line a moment, please."

I laid the phone down gently on the brown blotter. He was still there, shining and blue-green and full of sin. I took a deep breath and swung. What was left of him sailed halfway across the room and dropped to the carpet.

I went over and picked him up by his good wing and dropped him into the wastebasket.

"Thanks for waiting," I said into the phone.

"Is this Mr. Marlowe, the detective?" It was a small, rather hurried, little-girlish voice. I said it was Mr. Marlowe, the detective. "How much do you charge for your services, Mr. Marlowe?"

"What was it you wanted done?"

The voice sharpened a little. "I can't very well tell you that over the phone. It's-it's very confidential. Before I'd waste time coming to your office I'd have to have some idea-"

"Forty bucks a day and expenses. Unless it's the kind of job that can be done for a flat fee."

"That's far too much," the little voice said. "Why, it might cost hundreds of dollars and I only get a small salary and-"

"Where are you now?"

"Why, I'm in a drugstore. It's right next to the building where your office is."

"You could have saved a nickel. The elevator's free."

"I-I beg your pardon?"

I said it all over again. "Come on up and let's have a look at you," I added. "If you're in my kind of trouble, I can give you a pretty good idea-"

"I have to know something about you," the small voice said very firmly. "This is a very delicate matter, very personal. I couldn't talk to just anybody."

"If it's that delicate," I said, "maybe you need a lady detective."

"Goodness, I didn't know there were any." Pause. "But I don't think a lady detective would do at all. You see, Orrin was living in a very tough neighborhood, Mr. Marlowe. At least I thought it was tough. The manager of the rooming house is a most unpleasant person. He smelled of liquor. Do you drink, Mr. Marlowe?"

"Well, now that you mention it-"

"I don't think I'd care to employ a detective that uses liquor in any form. I don't even approve of tobacco."

"Would it be all right if I peeled an orange?"

I caught the sharp intake of breath at the far end of the line. "You might at least talk like a gentleman," she said.

"Better try the University Club," I told her. "I heard they had a couple left over there, but I'm not sure they'll let you handle them." I hung up.

It was a step in the right direction, but it didn't go far enough. I ought to have locked the door and hid under the desk.




"This past spring was the first where I felt tired and realised I was growing old ... It's the middle of July now, and things are worse than they were in the spring. In the spring I wasn't holed up in some dingy hotel ducking the police." Robert Mitchum nailing Philip Marlowe in the 1975 film version of Raymond Chandler's Farewell My Lovely.

Monday, July 04, 2011

Sometimes, dreams do come true!

You know, sometimes when you look around the world, everything can seem really fucking dark -- and not just at night.

The goddamn oceans are screwed, Europe's economy teeters in the balance over Greece's inevitable debt default with only the question of whether they can force the already poor and overworked Greek working class to carry the fucking can *again* and avoid potential immediate collapse so as to collapse a little bit later when all the cuts and austerity drive the Greek economy further into recession, and, in Australia, the level of public debate in recent times on refugees has been so hysterical it has made EDDIE FUCKING MCGUIRE seem a voice of reason.

Yes, Eddie "Who Wants To Be a Millionaire -- WELL FUCK YOU I ALREADY AM!" McGuire. Eddie "Western Sydney is Falafel Land" McGuire. Eddie "Let's Make Homophobic Jokes About Athletes at the Winter Olympics" McGuire.

Eddie THE FUCKING PRESIDENT OF COLLINGWOOD FUCKING FOOTBALL CLUB McGuire!!!

So insanely outrageous, so divorced from reality, so mindnumbingly racist is what passes for "discourse" in this godforsaken country over the "threat" of being "invaded" by a few hundred "boat people" each year, that it was actually left to McGuire to call for calm in a Herald Sun article against "the boring, predictable, racist-tinged appealing to the worst side of our nature and the rekindling of fear in the populace led by our politicians and news media".

McGuire said, in a startling and perhaps unprecedented recourse to actual facts in the Sun, that we don't need "scare-mongering tactics over an issue that for the year so far has seen fewer people arrive than sit on one morning train to Flinders St".

McGuire complaining about racist populism must be like hearing Goebells tell Hitler to "steady on, mate" because some of his anti-Jewish rhetoric seemed a bit extreme and what does he have against gypsies anyway?

But that is where this country is at. It is up to the president of *Collingwood* to call Australia out on racism.

Collingwood Football Club being the one whose former president, Alan McAlister, declared in 1993 that Aboriginal players were alright "as long as they conduct themselves like white people ... As long as they behave like human beings..."

That same year, it was the relentless racist abuse by Collingwood supporters against St Kilda Aboriginal player Nicky Winmar during a game that drove Winmar to run to the boundary line right in front of Collingwood supporters and, in a famous image, lift up his jumper and point defiantly at his black skin.

And it was Collingwood captain Tony Shaw who, in the aftermath of that incident, publically defended racist abuse as "part of the game".

This is what this fucking country has been reduced to. Lectures on racism from the president of Collingwood.

So, good news comes as a welcome relief and it doesn't get much better than a heartwarming tale of *another fucking royal wedding*.

Just when you thought every inbred parasite on the fucking planet lucky enough to not be French in the early 1790s had blown their broke nation's budget on stupid hats and champagne in some pointless feudalistic ritual, they found a nation far from broke for a brand new fairtytale.

And what a fairytale Monaco's royal wedding on July 2 was!

There cannot have been a dry eye in the tiny little statelet on the French Riviera as Prince Albert II wed South African swimmer Charlene Wittstock, now "Her Serene Highness the Princess of Monaco".

There is nothing like a tale of true love to improve the world's gloomy mood!

Becoming a princess is, as we all know, every little girl's ultimate dream! And the romantic story of Wittstock marrying her prince is a mighty blow to those cynics who think dreams don't come true!

On the spot, the London Telegraph's Henry Samuel sets the beautiful scene:

"The couple's glittering religious wedding drew crowds of thousands to the Mediterranean principality on Saturday and the guest list included a host of heads of state, European royals and stars of the fashion and sports world."

And the blushing bride all dressed in white?

Samuel continues:

"But sources cited by Le Journal du Dimanche said the former Charlene Wittstock, 33, tried to take refuge in her country's embassy in Paris when she went to the French capital in May to try on her wedding dress.

"Instead palace officials confiscated her passport and persuaded her to take part in the weekend's nuptials.

"Later that month she also tried to escape during the Monaco formula one grand prix, they alleged.

"Then, last week, she allegedly had her passport confiscated en route to Nice airport via the helicopter service that runs regularly between Monaco and France."





"Smile, darling!"







"Don't even *think* of jumping."





Even when on show before the entire world, the deep, heartfelt love they share shines through.


This is a tale of true love. The true love Monaco's 35,000-odd residents have for their tax-free status.

Monaco is a desperate little statelet that that exists as a tax haven for the mega-rich, but badly needs its ruling prince to produce a male heir or else the statelet will revert back to French rule -- and French tax rules.

But it seems their saviour, Charlene, was not happy by some recent news. Samuel refers to Monaco "policy advisers" who are said to have confirmed that the prince has fathered "two illegitimate children, one already born and one on the way".

But did not the princess-to-be not realise? Those kids, even if they *be* male, are *illegitimate*, born out of the sacred bonds of marriage, and therefore completely useless for the principality!

No, if Monaco is to continue being the tax-haven, grand-prix hosting paradise the mega-rich have come to love, they need a woman who has gone through a wedding to get knocked up as many times as takes for a baby boy to be born. By the prince, preferably.

Her Serene Highness may have had second thoughts about a loveless marriage of convenience to a middle-aged, balding, toad of a prince, but Monaco was not about to stand by and let such a fine breeding specimen escape...

And so they "persuaded" the rather desperate princess-to-be to go through with the marriage ... by foiling her three breaks for freedom and confiscating her passport.

No wonder they all look so happy in pictures of the crowds at the wedding. They fucking caught her before she escaped.

A forced marriage. How quaint! It is reassuring that in this day and age, there are *some* who still believe in tradition.

Now, Her Serene Highness needs merely concentrate on doing her royal duty...




"So, as soon as the ceremonies are over, we can begin our duty of trying to produce a male heir ... now come on, darling, don't cry in public."






"Fuck."





"Fuck."





"Oh FUCK!"





"Don't *you* even fucking *think* of touching me! What is it with Monaco and ugly middle-aged men?"


Seeing Princess Charlene on her big day in her white wedding dress really brings to mind...well, Billy Idol.




"It's a nice day for a white wedding..."


* * *

The good news does not end there. Recent events have thrown up other examples of dreams coming true.

As fas as "victories for all humanity" go, they don't come much bigger than Essendon Football Club's heroic victory against Geelong last Saturday.

After a flying start to the season, The Mighty Bombers suffered something of a slump as injuries took their toll and the young team realised it is not always good to believe the hype. Five games in a row they lost.

Then they had to play Geelong -- unbeaten in the first 13 rounds. They had to do so with their captain and star midfielder Jobe Watson and a number of other midfielders out injured against one of the best midfield outfits in the AFL.

Four points. They beat the unbeatable team by four fucking points. And all the critics of Paddy Ryder can go and get fucked.

No one gave them a chance, but Carlo Sands tipped them! And all those who took my advice to put their life savings on a Bombers win are grinning now.

Just when you think the good news can't end, there is more.

Yes, arguably the greatest film ever made, Conversation IV: This time it's sensual. A short film on platypuses and goonbags, has broken the 300 views on YouTube barrier!

This groundbreaking short animated film, the fourth in the Conversation series, was co-written and directed with Ben. It is now the most popular Conversation film, with Conversation III:This time its personal on a mere 280 odd views.

They said 300 was impossible! We proved them wrong.

It wasn't easy. It took extremely wide spamming of the clip anywhere we could think of to achieve it. For a while, it looked too daunting. I was forced to turn to Twitter hastags of whatever was trending. "Check out this great clip of #Lord Monkton talking about the climate change fraud!" That sort of thing.

And "#youcantdateme if you don't love this clip! Also, you can't date me coz I'm dead and that would be weird."*

It wasn't easy, but having placed it in every single Facebook group I could find involving goon, we got there in the end.

Now, Ben owes me a freshly ironed pair of underwear for making 300. If we get to 400, Ben owes the world a naked run down King Street.




A groundbreaking and controversial film. The fourth in the much-acclaimed Conversation series is a sometimes disturbing but ultimately warm look at life, love and platypuses. Executive producer Conehead the Barbiturate. All rights reserved Conehead Studios and Laundering Services.


Don't forget, if you want to guarantee you don't miss out on Carlo Sands' invaluable commentary on world events, you can subscribe to this blog via the icon on the right hand column. You can also ensure I have access to enough booze to get drunk enough to write this stuff by donating via PayPal -- also found on the right.


* This is true. Carlo Sands is dead. It was that Facebook quiz "When will you die?" October 21, 2008. RIP.

Monday, June 06, 2011

More terrible booze news

I don't know if it is true this world is going to Hell in a hand basket. I don't know what means are being used, exactly, to carry this goddamn fucking world into the fire-ridden pits of Hell.

It strikes me, however, that a hand basket would be impractical. Unless it was a really FUCKING BIG hand basket.

And that raises the obvious question of where a hand basket big enough for all the shit going to Hell could possibly be found.

And, if it is a really fucking huge hand basket, is it fair trade? Cos that sounds like a lot of starving African villagers, whose nations have been raped by the IMF, working some pretty fucking long hours.

I suspect it is more likely to be New South Wales' CityRail that is responsible for the travel arrangements, which would explain the overcrowding and delays.

Let us review the evidence, and it really is not very good.

More bad news on climate change with a fresh study showing carbon emissions higher than 2008, the previous record high.

The horrific slaughter of Afghans by their civilised occupiers bringing democracy continues -- as does the persecution of those seeking to expose the war crimes.

And as if that was not enough bad news, latest figures show -- and tears are streaming down my face as I type this -- that beer consumption is down in Australia.

Yes, beer consumption is at a 62-year low in this country. The last time less beer was consumed in Australia, the prime minister was Ben Chifley and he hadn't even gotten round to smashing the miners' strike by bringing the fucking army into the coal fields.

That year was 1947 and the country suffered post-war scarcity issues.

The average consumption per person of beer over 2009-10 was a mere 4.56 litres of pure alcohol coming from beer!

I mean, 4.5 litres??? That is just 12 stubbies of pure alcohol -- or a mere *handful* of decent nights out.

This demoralising statistic is utterly pathetic and embarrassing. To give a sense of how far we have fallen as a nation, in 1974-75, the figure was 9.2 litres per person.

And what is the government doing to reverse this trend? Where is the stimulus package providing incentives to average citizens it increase their consumption?

At the very least, if they are too tight for that, where is the fucking public awareness campaign?





An example of the type of badly needed public awareness campaign to reverse the frightening drop in beer consumption that this government refuses to invest in.


No. The government is moving in the *exact opposite* direction.

You see, in these depressing stats, I was pleased to note *one* area of improvement.

Wine consumption is up -- to a record 3.8 litres of alcohol from wine per person for 2009-10.

Well, more fucking fool me for trying to find a bright spot.

It seems our benighted government -- which seems on a crusade to make alcohol consumption as difficult as fucking possible for its citizens -- also took note of the same statistic.

Their response was reported in the media today. And, even given the crypto-prohibitionist moves this government has already implemented, it is shocking.

The government is seriously considering a proposal that could see the price of cask wine quadruple.

Yes, they want to dramatically raise the price of goon. They want to end this country's proud tradition whereby every citizen has the *goddamn right* to cheap wine!

From the four litre casks of Morris Dry Red to your more fancy two litre casks of Yaaumba Reserve Cabernet Shiraz for the more discerning customer, you can get your goon in bottlos across the country for, if not a tenner, then a twenty with a fair chunk of change.

But for how much longer?

Federal health minister Nicola Roxon has agreed to the development of the concept of introducing a legally binding "floor price" per standard drink.

At the moment, the price per standard drink is about $1.20 for beer, but only about $0.30 for goon.

No wonder beer consumption is down and wine is up.

But rather than doing the fucking obvious and *lowering* the price of beer, they wish to *raise* it for wine to the level of our overpriced beer.

And this godforsaken nation already some of the highest prices for alcohol in the world!

What the fuck are teenagers going to drink? What are impoverished uni students going to do? Or workers who just want something plentiful to put in their glass at the end of a shit day?

Will anyone ever make up a huge saucepan full of mulled wine at a party in this country ever again?




A thing of the past for all but the rich? The 'goonbag on the washing line' was one of Australia's few proud traditions.


You can forget Islamic fundamentalists and "illegal immigrants", this is the greatest threat to our way of life since this *same fucking government* declared four standards drinks to be binge drinking.

And that wasn't even a fucking law -- just the propaganda campaign to set the groundwork for shit like this!

The inventor of the goonbag, South Australian grape grower Thomas Angrove who died aged 92 just last year, must be be doing pirouettes in his grave.

(Our greatest-ever inventor and he didn't even score a knighthood -- which is just another reason in favour of becoming a republic.)

Let us look at the justification for this horrific idea.

Dr John Boffa said the government should not wait for a review but implement the plan now. He said: "We can cut self-harm, cut suicides and cut homicides by doing it now."

Really? Coz this proposal certainly makes this blogger vacillate between suicidal and homicidal tendencies.

Dr Boffa piles insult upon insult, being quoted as saying: "What would change is the price of awful cask wine that no one other than young people and heavy drinkers go near."

It is hard to know where to start, but let us unpack everything wrong with this statement.

First, what an elitist and judgmental fucker.

Awful??? Different drinkers like different things. Some quite like the bouquet on a cask of goon.

Second, what the *fuck* does he expect this nation's teenagers to drink?

They have to drink something or how will they learn alcohol's joys? For christ's sake, WON'T SOMEONE THINK OF THE KIDS?

And I want to say to Dr John Boffa: "YOU USELESS GODDAMN FUCKING HYPOCRITE!"

He grew up with cheap goon to get pissed on and now he wants to deny a new generation the same privilege!

And I will bet what is left of my liver that, somewhere in the world, there's a photo of a passed out 15-year-old John Boffa in a park with goon bag for a pillow.

Nicola Fucking Roxon is probably in the same photo passed out next to him

And third: "...and heavy drinkers".

C'mon John, why not be more precise and say, "and heavy drinkers TOO POOR TO BUY MORE EXPENSIVE BOOZE".

You know, unlike politicians who are famous as one of the biggest-drinking sectors of society -- but on the expensive shit they pay for with OUR FUCKING TAX DOLLARS!

So, the plan seems to be that now only the better off in this society get to destroy themselves at their pleasure in order to numb the pain of existence in this hellhole they have the gall to call a society.

Sure, the better-off like to get wasted, and who can blame them? But they have less of a *driving need* to kill the pain than others.

And so the cruel irony of this plan is it makes it much harder for those that really *need* a decent drink to actually get it.

I mean what sort of society do we actually in live here?

Well, this lovely country is one in which the government moves quickly, in response to public outcry following a devastating expose on a current affairs show, to take action against the horrific conditions in which cows are exported from Australia and slaughtered in Indonesia.

Of course, the treatment of the cows is not particularly pleasant. But this is *the same government* that keeps human beings imprisoned *indefinitely* in horrific conditions, without being charged let alone tried of any crime, in what are little more than concentration camps in which incidents of self harm occur daily.

Some of them, they even seek to deport back to Afghanistan to risk being slaughtered in ways no nicer than the cows -- a country declared "safe" by the government despite the ceaseless atrocities committed by the occupying forces, of which the Australian military is part.

Others locked up despite committing no crime are to be sent to Malaysia.

This is a nation that has never even signed the international convention on the rights of refugees, so as not to even bother with the hassle of violating it.

A nation in which refugees, like those our government is going to hand over, face horrific torture -- including regular incidents of caning so severe that it rips away the victims flesh.

This form of torture, according to Amnesty International, was meted out in Malaysia to 34,923 foreigners between 2002-08.

But the victims of such treatment are not cows -- they are only FUCKING HUMANS who happen to be FUCKING POOR AND DESPERATE. So FUCK THEM!

This is also a country in which we are subjected to governments that like to hand down budgets that kick the poorest and most vulnerable, such as the disabled, single parents and the long-term unemployed.

But a country that *also* has shock jocks and tabloid press that scream bloody murder about the same budget for supposed brutal attacks on those who earn 150 grand a fucking year -- who, we are assured, are most certainly NOT rich.

*This* is the country we live in and they think we DON'T NEED A FUCKING DRINK???




"Mummy, what's cheap wine?" will soon be the question asked in cars all over the country when the "classic rock" stations play this song by Australia's most famous pub rock band. That is assuming our government doesn't ban the song for "encouraging an unhealthy culture of binge drinking".

Do you wish to help resist? You can donate to the Carlo Sands Fighting Fund to help take on the crypto-prohibitionists, by helping ensure I can stay drunk enough to write this shit, via the PayPal button conveniently provided on the righthand column.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Oh for christ's sake, this is too much. On Spain, climate change, Estonia and being ignored by Cannes.

I blame society. I am watching the fucking world and all its reality TV stars and wondering just what the fuck is going on.

First of all, what the hell is wrong with the bloody Spaniards?

Seriously, every since May 15, all these fucking Spaniards have been out on the streets demanding a "new system" and taking over all of these plazas in the centre of cities and towns like they are public property or some shit. We are talking 60 or more of these fucking plazas.

Youth leading the way of course, all going on and on about "corporate domination" of politics and society and the need for something they call "real democracy!"

They especially don't like the fucking banks. Oh, the government had to "bail-out the banks" and there was a fucking debt crisis and there is "austerity" against ordinary people.

Well of course there fucking is. The banks can't bail themselves out -- they are all fucking broke. The money has to come from somewhere.

I mean, what do these idiots think would happen if we had no banks? Where would we keep our cash? I mean, you only have to look at how rich some Spaniards are -- they don't have enough mattresses to stuff their millions of euros under. It is just not practical.

I really cannot see why this is an excuse for thousands of young people to go stand in public squares and wave their hands in the air like fools.




Crazy Spaniards wave their hands in the air in Barcelona's Plaza Catalonia.


A lot of commentators have pointed to the role of the huge level of youth unemployment in this debacle -- which is running at an official rate of more than 40%.

No doubt they are right. The lazy gits have nothing better to do with their time than complain about the capitalist system that has given them *so much*.

And now it has spread to Greece.

The banks just don't need this shit, they have a government to run.

We all know who we can blame for putting the idea in their heads to take over public squares: the goddamn fucking Egyptians.

I warned this whole "Arab Spring" thing would end in tears. You just don't walk around bringing down governments *carefully installed by the Land of the Free* just because they torture you and enforce policies that cause widespread poverty.

Where the hell would this end? I dare say the destruction of Israel.



Thousands of Spaniards take over Madrid's Puerta del Sol square, oblivious to the fact the banks are too busy with the business of governing to deal with their petty complaints.


As if that is not enough, we have fucking a bunch of pricks running around going on and on about the threat of human-caused climate change. Some sort of mobilisation is planned around this on June 5.

In this context, it has been left to none other than the Catholic Archbishop of Sydney George Pell to *once more* express scepticism about climate change and whether it is human caused.

It is especially impressive as this is not a man usually renowned for his scepticism.

This is a man who believes the world was created 6000 years ago and that Jesus's mum was a virgin.

He believes that Jesus could turn water into wine and cure leprosy -- and what is more, that Jesus didn't even *patent* his fucking cure and flog it off to a pharmaceutical corporation like any sensible person would, but continued to administer it FOR FREE!

I always found that the least believable part of the New Testament.

Pell believes the world was created in six days by some invisible bloke who lives in the sky and he sent his only son to go and tell everyone the GOOD NEWS that if you believe this shit you get to enter paradise when you die and spend your time with everyone else who thinks the best way to spend a Sunday morning is listening to some old git like Pell tell you fairytales as opposed to BEING FAST ASLEEP till the hangover wears off.

And that when they, quite understandably, killed Jesus for insisting on sprouting this shit, he rose from the dead three days later and ascended to this paradise -- but fear not he is still in all of our hearts if we only let him in.

No doubt this accounts for the high rates of heart disease in so many predominantly Christian nations.

Through Pell's church you can even *to this day* day drink Jesus's blood and eat his flesh via magically transformed wine and wafers. It does not sound healthy.

Pell believes all this and *still* has the good sense to question the so-called evidence provided by the *entire* climate science community who keep insisting, in countless studies, that the situation is worsening and drastic action is needed.

You've got to admire him for that.

Perhaps even *more* to the point on this crucial topic is US Republican Congressman John Shimkus, who is seeking to chair the powerful House Energy Committee.

His take is quite simple. A November 10. 2010 Daily Mail article informs us that Shimkus "insists we shouldn't concerned about the planet being destroyed because God promised Noah it wouldn't happen again after the great flood".

"Speaking before a House Energy Subcommittee on Energy and Environment hearing in March, 2009, Shimkus quoted Chapter 8, Verse 22 of the Book of Genesis.

"He said: 'As long as the earth endures, seed time and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, will never cease.'"

So let us not be concerned by the melting of the polar icecaps because God PROMISED!



Republican Congressman John Shimkus, who is seeking to chair the powerful House Energy Committee, explains we don't have to worry because God promised Noah we'd be alright.


All I can say is this is just as well, as the organisers of a June 5 national "climate action" marches are backing a government plan to deal with what is supposed to be the most serious threat humanity has ever faced by promoting a policy that -- thank christ -- will actually leave corporate power alone and lead to an emissions trading scheme.

You know, along the lines of the one in Europe that has not only failed to reduce carbon emissions but actually provided the rich with a new opportunity to generate more wealth through wild speculation and widespread fraud.

And this is badly needed, what with the whole subprime gig going belly up in the states back in '07.

I would have thought all this was bad enough, but no. We had to have a weekend, the one just past, that was missing the only fucking reason to actually have a fucking weekend in the first place.

Yes, in Round 10 of Australian Football League, the prime competition of the Greatest Game on this Godforsaken Planet. Essendon Football Club *did not even play*.

They had some sort of so-called "bye" -- and this after the travesty the week before when, through some sort of malicious conspiracy, the Bombers were beaten by *fucking Richmond*.

And as if that is not enough, I am stuck in Sydney in a fucking state whose main game is some sort of stupid sport I can't even *begin* to understand.

As far as I can see, from my brief time trying to watch this "sport", it involves two lines of lumps of beef running into each other, falling down, then repeating the process for 90 minutes.

I can't figure out who these fuckers are they find to play the game, but, going by appearances, they all seem to be pub bouncers. And god knows I hate bouncers -- what with their moralistic stances on "dress codes" and "states of intoxication".

And this is what they offer up as way of entertainment is this goddamn town.



Pub bouncers confront each other on a field.


And last Wednesday, I was told, they had some sort of "big game" on. I couldn't really figure out what it was all about, but someone told me they were going for Queensland.

I am not sure who Qld were playing against, but if they were playing Estonia again no doubt they made the right decision. Fucking Estonians.

People often ask me what the fuck I have against Estonia? They say surely it is just a discreet little place in Eastern Europe with one of the lower populations of any EU nation, reasonably high standard of living and, what is more (they always add) the highest levels of internet freedom in the world! What is my problem?

Let me just say this: If you should be approached by an Estonian who challenges you to a game of Ice Cricket, turn around and run away as fast as your legs will take you.

Yes, Ice Cricket. It is a real thing and the fucking Estonians are responsible for it. Estonia's claim to fame is to be the self-proclaimed Home of Ice Cricket.

This is *exactly* the kind of fucked up shit the Estonians *would* pull. Only the Estonians could invent such a thing.

What it is, should you have never heard of this monstrosity, is, basically, a game that is just like normal cricket only *much much colder*.

I am told the Maroons won on Wednesday and should it have been against Estonia I can only say *thank fucking christ*.




The fucking Estonians have a lot to answer for.


And yet, the horror *does not even end there*.

You will not believe this. It truly takes the fucking cake. But I swear to God it's true.

Conversation III: This Time It's Personal -- the latest film by Carlo Sands -- was *completely ignored* by the May 11-22 Cannes International Film Festival.

Not even a fucking invite to attend, let alone a fucking Palme d'Or or *any prize at all*. Not even a Lifetime Achievement Award.

It is just like Conversation I and Conversation II all over again.

And then, to make matters *even worse*, a further indignity on top of so many others, there was an *incident* involving Ben, world renowned as a co-writer of the Conversation series. Or "script assistant" as I prefer to call him, as it makes him sound less important.

The details are murky, but let's just say it involved a sudden decision by Ben mid-last week to go hitchhiking up the NSW coast.

Somehow, this got out of control when he ended up in Queensland at a Blues festival at Hell on Earth, also known as the Gold Coast.

This is where he was on Saturday morning, stood on the side of the road desperately seeking to flee the Gold Coast, when I received a text informing me: "Qld police really don't like the hitchhiker".

So I was a little surprised when three hours later Ben walked into the room in Sydney.

It seems a man of the law caught him in the act of requesting a lift from strangers. They don't like that of sort of thing up there, so Ben was duly fined $40 and driven to the airport with the heavily implied suggestion that he get the fuck out of the state ASAP.

Ben says he called in a few favours and promptly flew back to Sydney.

Now, no doubt you are thinking exactly what I thought when I heard this tale: how is it possible for some random cop on the beat to treat one so closely associated the Conversation films in such an atrocious way?

How did it come to be that such a person could be RUN OUT OF A FUCKING STATE?

I asked Ben whether he told the cop who he was. He said he was legally obliged to.

And he was *still* run out of Queensland! They truly are backwards, uncultured hicks up there.

It really is enough to drive a man to drink. Luckily, that is where I was *just* heading anyway.

(Speaking of which, check out the PayPal "Donate" button just on the right... getting drunk enough to write this shit is not cheap, but it is *so* important.)

You can view for yourself the artist achievement of Conversation III and the scale of the outrage perpetrated by Cannes and the Queensland cops.




Like A conversation: A short film on DrinkWise ads and ovaries and A Second Conversation: a short film on refugees and gaffer tape, Conversation III has been totally ignored by the film industry.