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Bombarded today from all media angles by the Matthew Johns and co. sex scandal, I finally watched the 4 corners report and just had to laugh with pity at all involved.
From the stupid little skanks (star-fukers we used to call them) that get themselves into these situations. Sorry but if anyone is asking for it then it has to be these over-processed, under-developed half-witted sluts that devote their weekends to adding another star notch to their belts.
They have no self-esteem and self-values so who are they to complain of being made to feel they are nothing? They feel like nothing because they are acting like whores! With only themselves to blame.
No I am not talking about legitimate rape victims just the ones that consent then cry poor me because they feel bad, or because they want the attention and money that comes from spilling their story to the media.
The saddest thing is that attention grabbing tarts like these who cry wolf only act to further blur the line between consensual sex and rape, and make our legal system more suspicious of rape allegations, resulting in lower sentencing and real rapists getting off way too lightly.
Now onto these sexually-confused rugby players. What is it really all about? Team bonding? Well in a way, yes. These boys aint talking to or interacting socially with the chic they are ganging because this is not about her at all this is about time spent with the boys. Or to be more specific, sexual interaction with the boys. The girl serves only one purpose, she legitimates what would otherwise be a gay orgy.
Think about it, if it was really about straight sex, then wouldnt these guys, who (although mostly below-average in appearance and sex appeal) can easily pull a chic on status alone, not to mention their ability to afford hookers. Why share, when you could all have one each boys?
Ah because you like getting each other cum on your cocks dont ya!.... hehehe
All that testosterone, all those bulging muscles, sweat, blood, tears
. Throwing yourselves on top of each other every week.
Its ok, its understandable that you would start to develop these feelings for each other.
Ok, so you want to get drunk and masturbate in front of each other, but you dont want to be poofters. So you grab a girl, any girl, but only one. And now you can tell yourselves that youre all being really manly and brutish and it somehow doesnt matter that your really getting off on each other.
Manic Maze is a new free online game.
The object of the game is to get the little spot through the maze without touching anything.
Sounds simple enough right? But this game will drive you crazy for hours!!
Manic Maze
Play Manic Maze
The mazes get more intricate as you progress, with moving parts and tricky bits because you can only move left, right and down - not upwards. Still trying to get past level 19 myself.
I really hate Melbourne
Travel across the Westgate Bridge and observe the newly-erected safety rails edging the sides. A belated precaution tackling the issue of suicidal jumpers and deranged homicidal parents. A sad necessity obscuring the most appealing view of this dingy shit-hole of a city fuelled by alcohol, greed and try-hard desperation.
Cruise down Spencer Street and see the clusters of skanky youths blocking the footpaths outside pubs and clubs. Loud. Drunken. Obnoxious. Forcing passers-by to skirt around them.
Slimy, self-important bouncers flanking the doorways, smug and self-satisfied tough-guy wannabes.
Little whore-like strumpets in cellophane-tight dresses riding up their arses. Pale legs that spread like warm butter at the sight of a football player - or perhaps the offer of a free drink. Crowned with fake hair, bleached to the colour of new snow and to the texture of dry straw. Faces painted like horror-house wax dolls.
Attached to the tails of these Paris Hilton hopefuls are their equally uneducated male counterparts. Meticulously scraggy with expressions as dark as their girlfriends are empty.
All they know from weekend to weekend is the refined art of city crawling. Drinking themselves into a stupor then finding an easy target for a brawl. Before slinking off home to the comfort of their self-proclaimed upstanding yet voluntarily ignorant parents houses.
On to Docklands now for a nice dinner at our own little Darling Harbour take-off.
Good food, but conversation is difficult over the drunken bellowing of the St Kilda Football Club theme song flowing repeatedly in craggy off-key tones from the yobbo scum at the table beside us.
When their painful chanting stops, their air-headed conversation continues on equally loud and rowdy.
Patrons at tables all around this noisy bunch of feral deadbeats cast frequent, quick, unhappy glances in their direction. Waiters come and go. Nobody says anything. The group themself are oblivious to all but themselves.
Dinner over, Docklands offers little more entertainment.
On to Crown Casino for an up-close look at the real car-crash. Ive avoided this hole for over five years. I thought it could be no worse!
A few structural changes since my last visit. The foyer somewhat resembles a claustrophobic construction site. Round the corner and enter the circus.
Like a box of liquorice all-sorts, chewed up and spat into a bowl. What a jumble of sad-sack human trash.
Along with the previously mentioned fuckwits (over compensating security guard try-hards, Paris Hilton wannabes and their male counterparts) we have piles upon piles of desperados.
Smug suites. Crusty old hags dressed up like Christmas triffle. Ferals in thongs and too-short tracky pants. Leering old losers. And, of course, tons of gambling addicts feeding handfuls of dollars into slots, eyes fixed, sad defeated faces illuminated in the neon glow of the monsters eating up their savings.
The air reeks with the sour smell of body-odour mixed with a sickly-sweet stench of perfume and cologne.
I take a sip of my Vodka-Lemon-Lime & Soda - and gag. Vodka my arse! This stuff was pure Metho! Nothing like the drink by the same name Id had with dinner.
Squeezing through crowded masses and darting for an exit. Out into the smoggy fresh air, and swept into the upstream flow of people on Southgate.
For a while I almost enjoy myself. The filth of the Yarra River is masked in blackness, and looks nice. Stopping here and there to watch street performers.
I side-step and dodge a dirty junkie staggering toward me from the opposite direction. Something about him creeps me out more than your standard run-of-the-mill junkie scum and Im glad when there is some distance between us.
Five minutes later I become suddenly aware of someone walking too close behind me, to my horror its the same junkie creep, not half a meter away and moving in fast. I dart away, and alert the rest of my friends to his presence.
Meanwhile the junkie has stopped along side us, and stands, as if waiting for our next move. We go into Southgate while someone goes to the loo. And junkie waits for us outside a while.
Then, either too wasted to know what hes doing, or blatantly bold (and stupid) he walks right past us and goes into PJ OBriens, only to re-emerge a moment later and linger again.
Hand in my bag, I locate a sharp object I could stick in his throat should the need arise.
Someone suggested we go to the Backpackers Bar, which turned out to be full of more wankers, not to mention the dozens lingering outside having a smoke and making a noise.
Finally it was time to jump in a cab. First time Ive seen one of those taxi-driver safety-box things. A really thick plastic box that goes around the back of the drivers seat and wraps not only around the sides but right up and over the top, so to protect him from a knife to the head I suppose. As I pondered the sad necessity of this ugly piece of armour, it dawns on me that in the case of an accident my head would undoubtedly fly forward and collide with this thing, causing all kinds of damage to me.
Leaving the city, I got that old familiar feeling of relief and remembering why, even though I live just on the outskirts of this god-awful place, I avoid it like the fucking plague.
Witches' Kitchen
Witches' Kitchen is a virtual magic workshop. Enter the kitchen and flip through the Book of Shadows to make yourself familiar with the table. Cast a spell, or make a potion, use the voodoo doll or discover your fortune with the special Tarot cards. You can grow a magic plant to bring love, health, wealth.. and more
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Routleys $7.50 Schnitzel & the Best Mayonnaise.
I was so looking forward to my lunch today. My better-half was picking up chicken schnitzel rolls from the bakery and although I was starving, I was holding out for that plump juicy schnitzel with all the trimmings
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If its shoddy customer service at a ridiculously high price youre after, then look no further than Melbourne IT.
What a joke my dealings with this bunch have been. These guys have been hosting a website for me, and when the domain name was coming up for renewal at the end of January they started bombarding my email with reminder notices
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The first game I ever made, I created StarletTown for my daughter about two years ago. Now I've added a few more things and put it up on the web so that other little girls can enjoy it too.
StarletTown
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Here is my latest game, Seagull aim & poop. I'm pretty happy with the outcome considering I rushed through the whole thing in just over a week. It's the music that gets me.. I think I may be tone-deaf - after spending hours trying to come up with a little tune, with a splitting headache, I managed to come up with something half decent. Ok, so it's not the best, but I did add button so you can switch it off if you find it too annoying.
Aim & Poop
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I am sure many have jested at some time or another of how they would like to push an annoying cyclist from their bike. I admit I have been guilty of such a cartoon-ish fantasy in the past. But for me, as for most decent people, that is where it ends.
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Ok, so here it is... my first movie quiz game.
The object of the game is to work out the movie titles using the visual clues
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Comment by Rachel H
on Routleys Bakery & the case of the shrivelled schnitzel
Freedom in a Fishbowl