Position Vacant

SMELLYMARKETER

Will be selling a range of fragrances to dogs. These include:

- Rotten Egg Perfume
- Dead Fish aftershave
- Essence of Fart

Must have experience in urinating in public and the smellerphone. Apply immediately.

The Pig Issue

Got my copy off Dennis, the Hare Krishna singing vendor on Acland Street.

Orgasmology

One must say that scientists who get to study orgasms must have much more fun than colleagues who look at worms under a microscope. - Darlene Taylor.

---

The Lifework of Dr. Unson - Orgasmologist

The following are excerpts from the personal diaries of Dr. Unson, one of the pioneers in the science of sex and pleasure. The Doctor was an orphan, lived alone, and suffered from many different illnesses. On many separate occasions he attempted to commit suicide, but his own incompetence stopped him from achieving even this. He derived no pleasure from his scientific studies – in fact, they bored him slightly - but he believed in the ‘inevitable progress of the sciences’, and it was to this end that he worked. He was, in short, one of the most miserable individuals to have ever graced the face of this earth.

Monday 1 October, 1951

This morning I will commit suicide.

*

Unfortunately, the rope with which I was hanging myself broke and I merely fell and bruised my head on the floor. I have failed to commit suicide, and now I shall have to live with the shame of having attempted suicide. Despair on despair.

*

I have started a new research project. It is called “The Human Orgasm, as displayed in the Male and Female of the species.”

*

Preliminary Notes:

I have for the past hour observed a roomful of men masturbating. Photographs were taken of their faces at various stages of orgasm. There is a strong correlation between the pleasure of the orgasm and the proportional ugliness of the grimaces. I shall in coming days attempt to plot this on a curve.

The room is now rather messy, and I shall have to send for Martha to clean it up.

*

God I wish I were dead.

Thursday 4 October

Grey sky today. Depressing weather. I stubbed my toe this morning and went to my GP. He said it had to be cut off. He mistakenly amputated my foot. Oh, if only I had majored in physiognomy at University, I could have exposed him for the fraud he is.

*

My work continues, and is bearing fruitful results. Today I scrutinised a warehouse of women moving various phallic implements in and out of their vaginas at periodic intervals. My researchers and I moved amongst the subjects, making notes.

*

Fuck my leg hurts.

*

The results of the experiments are interesting. Having now made our preliminary measurements, tomorrow I believe we shall try and persuade the subjects to attempt to achieve their orgasms in unison.

*

Sometimes I wish I had accepted Betty’s offer of marriage and that I had not killed her. I get so lonely.

Monday 8 October.

Great. I have just learned from the obituaries of the paper that my long-lost brother and only surviving relative is now dead. The tale of how we came to be separated and how we lost our parents on that night in the wilds of Zambia is indeed a strange and tragic one, and now it seems as if the burden of it falls upon me and me alone. Misery, misery.

On top of all this, my GP informs me that I have leprosy.

*

On the itinerary for today: Aural sex, and its influence on both the male and the female.

*

My life sucks.

Wednesday 11 October

After extensive consultations with my GP and Psychiatrist, I have determined a brief list of the mental disorders which I suffer from:

1) Manic Depression
2) Schizophrenia
3) Paranoia
4) Feeling of insignifance
5) Agorophobia
6) Claustrophobia
7) Conviction that I do not exist
8) Melancholia
9) General Angst.

Was so depressed by this list, that I tried to shoot myself. Then I realised that I had misplaced my gun, and was enraged at myself. Then I became terrified when I realised that my gun was lying around the place and that anybody could get hold of it. Those things are dangerous, and could easily hurt someone.

*

I have made an exciting discovery at work today: it seems that given the right conditions (sensual oils, hot baths, soothing music, massage, and clitoral stimulation) the female of the species can experience multiple orgasms. I shall be preparing a paper for Nature magazine immediately.

Friday October 13

Woe!

Saturday October 14

Despair!

Sunday October 15

I believe I shall lie in bed until I expire.

Sunday October 22

I have made a breakthrough in my research. Death shall have to wait. I believe that the only way to discover more about the orgasm is to experience it myself, in as many different ways and positions as possible. I shall arise and fetch my notebook and a prostitute.

*

Preliminary Notes: Sensations arising during intercourse.

(Please excuse my faulty grammar in this passage, as I find myself engaged in other activities while writing this) Mild warm feeling in my groin, shortness of breath, sweat, various odours emitting from various pores all over my body, grunting, moaning, urge to continue moving my nether regions rhythmically up and down, slight pain in my grin, gathering excitement, pain/warmth reaching crisis point, and …

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!!!

Sensations arising after intercourse.

Disappointment, slight shame, self-loathing, general distaste at the clamminess and stickiness produced, tiredness, need to catch my breath, and the gathering feeling of existential horror when I realise that I do not have enough money to pay the slut.

*

God, I’m glad that’s over. Nevertheless, my research must continue.

Saturday, October 29.

Over the past week, I have personally experienced the following acts;

- Aural sex
- Sodomy
- Other orificial sex
- The missionary position
- The doggy position
- Sado-masochistic sex
- Miscellaneous

On the whole, sado-masochism seems to produce the most satisfactory orgasm, since it brings with it at least the possibility that a mistake might be made, and annihilation will follow.

*

I have completed my paper for Nature. I believe I shall just pop out of my study for a moment and commit suicide.

---

After failing again to commit suicide, Dr. Unson retreated for a decade to his room. His seminal paper in Nature was originally received with indifference by the scientific community. Dr. Unson, by nature a retiring and prurient individual, grew to be quite ashamed of his work. It was not until 1968 that his genius was recognised.

---

Monday, October 1, 1968

Have just received the Nobel prize for my research into the orgasm which, they say, ‘has liberated thousands of women.’ I had hoped to forget about those shameful days, but it seems that my shame must be displayed for all the world to see.

*

Life is, as always, shit.

December 24, 1968

I am dictating this to my secretary, after having received a revelation so interesting that it gave me a cardial infarcatation. You know, maybe life isn’t so ba

---

At the age of 81, Dr. Unson died of a second heart attack. Though he left behind no children, his lifework on The Female Orgasm will live on for eternity.

Happiness Concluded, for Karen

The little Blue Bird of Happiness
Sits on my garden bed
I think I'll take my 44
And shoot the blighter dead
Lest the Cormorant of Futility
Come and perch upon my head.



Or the Hummingbird of Irritation
Suck the pupils from my eyes
And the Vaguely Anxious Vulture
Come with sharp dischordant cries
And suck the cerebellum from
My ocular cavities.



Then the Penguin of Cold Fury
And the Slightly Sadist Gull
Will come with evil gleaming eyes
And nest within my skull
And set up a battering and clattering
Within the bloodied hull.



And the waddling and the flapping and the cawing and the screeching
Of that aviary in my head
Shall make me want to end it all
With a bolt of steaming lead
All because that little Bluebird sat
In



MY-DAMNED-GARDEN-BED!

Those Europeans Are Such Interesting People

And now, ladies and gentleman, from the race who brought you such delights as World Wars 1 and 2, the Fall of Rome and Gottedammerung itself … yes, it’s Germany, here to delight you in the 2003 Eurovision Song Quest with their killer song – LET’S GET HAPPY!

Odd, isn’t it – that a continent which has for millennium endured bitter racial, national, religious, and cultural divisions; which has suffered from droughts, floods, fire, and everything in between; has regularly undergone wars (both civil and uncivil); the great cultural movements of Western civilization, such as the renaissance, the enlightenment, modernism and post-modernism, parliaments, ministers, prime-ministers, and democracy – should, at the turn of the 21st century be bringing us music of such vapid insipidity as Germany’s Let’s Get Happy?
60 years before that many Europeans were starry-eyed fanatics marching to the beat of genocidal dictators; now they are – starry-eyed fanatics marching to the beat of a new song. How much has changed?

Well, to answer that question, let’s take a closer look at European culture over the years…

EUROVISION BEFORE IT WAS EUROVISION

The first Eurovision Song Quest was held in 1952 in France; but it began much earlier than that. It’s history goes right back to …

THE FALL OF ROME!!!

100 AD: The Germanic tribes invade Rome and burn the Eternal City to the ground. The Emperor Nero, amused by the German’s forthrightness, holds a musical festival to celebrate. All the prominent musicians of his day are invited. They then have to sit and listen while Nero fiddles and Rome burns. The name of the festival: Nerovision.

1725: J.S. Bach has a musical show-down with George Frideric Handel. J. S. Bach performs his 1718 hit My crumhorn vants to kill your Mutter to an adoring audience.

My crumhorn vants to kill your Mutter,
My crumhorn vants to kill your Mutter,
My clavier vants to burn your Dad,
It gets really angry when I make it mad…

(This hit was later appropriated, without acknowledgment, by Frank Zappa.)
Handel, who is backed by his hand The Oratorio Allstars, responds with a rousing rendition of The Hallelujah Chorus, with a spectacular laser-light show, concluding his show with a cameo experience by God himself. The audience, however, are puritans. They have no sense of humour, and are dulywho are unimpressed by the Deities appearance. The prize is awarded to Bach, who is so happy that he goes home and composes The 48 Preludes and Fugues that night. Handel scowls, hits a nearby Mason over the head with a lute, and returns to England.

1777 International Superstar Ludwig van Beethoven has a show-down with his musical adversary, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. He dazzles the audience by having his 5th symphony played by the Mannheim Symphony Orchestra, a group of travelling minstrels including those later to become stars, such as Al Jolson, Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie. However, Mozart rises to the occasion by composing an Electronic Clarinet Concerto and he is declared the winner. Beethoven retires from the stage in a huff and writes the Emperor Concerto.

1798 Napoleon is so excited by Celine Dion’s win in the 1988 Eurovision song competition that he invades Europe. When he is challenged by Lord Wellington that Celine Dion has not, in fact, won the competition yet, or, for that matter, been born yet, Napoleon is infuriated. He yells, “You English peoples! So bound by zese conventional time/space structures! Ave you not read your Derrida? Your Foucault? Your Bergman?”
He then goes ahead and challenges Wellington and his army to a duel on the field of Waterloo (he figures, since it’s named after one of his favourite Eurovision songs ever, that he can’t lose.)

1823 A group of hip-hopping bohemians calling themselves ‘The Romantics’, led by drug-taking hippy Samuel Taylor Coleridge, tour the continent to great success. Their song Lucy in the Sky with Laudanum is still remembered today:

Picture yourself in a boat on the river,
Mid tangerine mountains and marmalade skies,
But oh! A deep romantic chasm slanted
Methinks you’ve had a bit too much of that opiate, Wordsworth, old chap.

(This hit was later appropriated, without acknowledgement, by little-known British rock group The Beatles.)

1879: Richard Wagner remains an undiscovered talent. He has just completed his early opera Die Meistersinger von Nurnberg, but it is panned by the critics and opens to lackluster audiences. Wagner hits on the idea of creating the Bayreuth festival, devoted to his musical genius. Later that year, he performs his 10-hour tone poem, Generously Proportioned Wenches, to rave reviews. The chorus line has only 10 words in it:

Generously proportioned wenches, you make the classic world go round!

(This hit was later appropriated, without acknowledgment, by Freddy Mercury.)
But it is not until a few years later when his Ring cycle opens that his genius is completely recognised.

1926: Disgruntled by the fact that two of his star musicians – Igor Stravinsky and Serge Prokofiev – have escaped to Europe, Stalin sponsors a new music festival of ‘ideologically appropriate’ music, and invites all of his famous bureaucrats and yeah-sayers. It’s name: Bureavision. No one turns up. Stalin is so annoyed that he sends them off to the gulag anyway.

1932 Little known German musician Adolf Schickelgruber is remade by the promotion companies as “Adolf Hitler, international SUPERSTAR!” His hit-song, “Oh Liebling”, is performed in front of hordes of screaming fans. It goes:

Oh Liebling,
If you go mit me I’ll be your Fuhrer,
No maybe,
Ja, if you go mit me I’ll be your Fuhrer.

(This hit was later appropriated, without acknowledgement, by Australian Rock group The Spazzys).
Buoyed by his success, Adolf declares an international all-day, every-day festival devoted to his musical, artistic, humitarian, and all-round greatness: Fuhrervision.
He goes on to have many more hits, including the still-remembered song, Hi ho hi ho, it’s off to the Gestapo offices we go! before committing suicide in 1946.

Stay Tuned

... for my craptacular take on the Eurovision, a little quiz, and your underpants.

What He Said

Metal City: Death of the Stiff - the Slightly Shorter Version

This film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap

Which, you could argue, is the point - since Star Wars has always been a pastiche. I disagree, though - the original trilogy is a pastiche, the prequels are far different creatures, spawned from a wannabe-auteur who is so insular and ineffectual as an artist that he can only create from within the vacuum of his own sphere: Star Wars has never been less relevant - or interesting - than it is at this point, because Star Wars is only capable of drawing from, being influenced by, and commenting on... itself. The Star Wars universe may be the ultimate in self-referential circle-jerking - and by trying to generate its own mythology from WITHIN its own mythology, it falls flat on its face. This was my main problem with the film - it was climax without context, repeated for two hours and thirty minutes. Every half an hour or so, there was another sequence which was SUPPOSED to be chilling and moving, and was supposed to make my spine tingle and my eyes water - all the signs were there. Swelling, dramatic music, anguish-gripped faces, soggy, waterlogged camera shots that suggest all the mopey resignation of a dog who's bone has just been stolen. But, in the end, what was I actually watching? Who is Anakin Skywalker? Who is Padme? What is a Jedi - really? Who ARE these people, and just WHAT am I watching? Oh, that's right. I'm watching 'Star Wars' - except that 'Star Wars' ceased to be a cycle of films in 1983, and has since been a vehicle to self-propogate its own mystique, fuelled by a multi-billion dollar marketing empire, at the expense of any semblance of artistry or soul.

This film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap this film is crap

Please read it all. It's a long, obscene, and oh-so-hateful review of the latest Star Wars film. Of course, as I said to David the other night, I don't hate anything - even something as undeniably crap as Star Wars. I just mildly dislike them. But he is right. Uncle David of Metal City is always right.

I Am A Number

709, that's me. I have forsaken name and identity and become another figure in the corporate world. All that is important about me is written on a yellow time card which I have to remember to slip into a machine every morning and every night.

I am beginning to forget everything about the outside world. All day I type words and figures into the database, recording the results of a survey of workers from a large Australian company:

You people are a joke

I included a personal phone number in the last survey and you didn't call me. Why didn't you call me?

No one ever acts on these surveys anyway.

A. is a good place to work...

I hate my supervisor

Don't worry. All the results filled out on the survey will either by ignored or fed into the paper-shredder. And I will soon have forgotten the English language and speak in a new, clean, corporate language consisting solely of numbers.

43843754867329?

4643865923939439456838456932486874349636....

Actually, just between you and me, I do have a thing for the cute little office worker a few desks behind me. Her name is 467.

467, I just met a girl called 467,
And suddenly a name
Will never be the same to me,
467, 467, 467.

See you later. Er, I mean, 38745879549.57.

Ways To Amuse Yourself

You're standing on the corner of Street X and Road Y. You've got some cash and time to spare. Here's what you do: hail the nearest taxi cab. Then jump in, and say to the driver:

"Take me to the corner of Street X and Road Y!"
"But," the driver will reply, "We're already there!"*
"Good, good - but don't drive so fast!" your reply will be.
Keep on talking in this manner until you have convinced the driver to do just that. Then begin looking out the window with great interest. Remark on the scenery. Wave at the people passing by. Chat idly with the driver. Then, when you get bored with this, shout:
"Stop the car here! This is fine!"

Once you hop out of the car, look in amazement as the taxi-driver drives away. Say to a passerby, "Hey! He moved the car! I never knew it could do that!"

Then walk off.


*If he doesn't, and starts driving around the city searching for it, the results will be even more amusing.

Fashion Advice

Why would you ever take fashion advice from me? I'm a man: the only fashion rule I know for sure is that you shouldn't wear underpants on your head. And I don't always follow that one, either.

I Hope You're Pleased With Yourselves

Harry Hutton has just banned everybody from his blog. You uncouth swine, you - it's all your fault!

UPDATE - It's okay now, you're allowed back in.

CRANKY UPDATE - *******************************!!!!
You f****** **** ****ers!!!

(*******************************)

All Australians are banned! Curse those Irish bastards from Emerald Bile!

Darp v. Tim Blair v. Margo v. The World!!!

Have you been following the Darp vs. Tim Blair vs. Margo Kingston vs. the World discussion on the blogosphere just recently? It's really quite simple, and very entertaining if you take the time to have a look at it. Here's a brief rundown:

- Once there was a guy called Darp.

- He had a blog.

- There was another guy called Tim Blair.

- He had a blog.

- And another blog.

- And, following that, another blog.

- Not all at the same time, you understand, each after the other.

- Tim Blair's blog was moderated by a person called Andrea Harris.

- Who had a blog too.

- There was also a woman called Margo Kingston.

- She had a Webdiary, which is exactly like a blog except that it's not.

- Tim Blair didn't like Darp.

- Darp had ideological differences with Tim Blair. (Meaning he didn't like Tim Blair right back)

- Tim Blair didn't like Margo Kingston.

- Margo Kingston had significant ideological differences with Tim Blair. She also thought he was evil.

- Tim Blair made frequent posts about Margo.

- Darp complained that Tim Blair usually made fun of Margo Kingston's looks, and 'didn't challenge her on anything of substance'.

- Tim Blair complained that Darp's complaint that he made fun of Margo Kingston's looks was wrong, and that if it wasn't wrong, the least he could do was find evidence of this.

- Darp complained that he couldn't be bothered to find evidence against Tim Blair's complaint that his complaint about Tim Blair making fun of Margo Kingston's looks was wrong.

- Tim Blair complained about this in a post on his blog, and repeated his challenge to Darp.

- Darp promised to do some research and to find the evidence.

- He then waited until others found the evidence ...

- And published it on his blog.

- Although the evidence in itself wasn't that good.

- And Tim Blair replied that Darp still hadn't met the challenge.

- Margo said nothing.

So, is Margo really ugly? Is Darp right? Is Tim Blair wrong? Or is his criticism of Darp's refutation of his challenge about Darp's complaint about (etc, etc) Margo Kingston's looks valid?

And who really cares?

Find out, in the next exciting installment of Darp v. Tim Blair v. Margo v. The World!!!

Position Vacant

STEREOTYPIST WANTED

Must be able to Stereotype at a speed of over 40 biases per minute (40bpm). We want the faster prejudgers in the business!

PS No blacks, rednecks, whites, left-wingers, right-wingers, centre-wingers, men, women, homosexueals, heterosexuals, transexuals, bisexuals, hermaphrodites, androgynites, animals, vegetables, minerals, aliens, upper class, lower class, middle class, any other class, chinese, koreans, asians of any type, french, italians, americans, australians, people with red hair, people with blond hair, people with hair or people with no hair, amputees, non-amputees, people who would like to be amputees, people who have ever known amputees and everyone else, no children, adults, old people, babies, people with non babies, orphans, people who watch Seinfeld, people who watch the Simpsons, people who don't watch the TV at all, people in general etc etc etc.... We are an ENE (equal nonopportunity employer.)

Reading While Walking

There are, of course, one class of people walking the footpath who are entirely noble and wonderful. They are those who read and walk at the same time. It is a task that is hard to accomplish, fun to try. A little like listening to two different people talking over one another in two different languages or solving quadratic equations in your sleep. You inevitably miss little things, like that kid running right up to you on the footpath, or the red lights telling you not to go across the street, or the truck hurtling towards you as you are deeply involved in the climax of another chapter.

Just remember:

- Glance up every paragraph or so to make sure you're not about to walk off a cliff or something.

- If you happen to trip over somebody, like a frame-walker, just remember to jump up and keep on walking before they trap you in their frame and maul you to death with stories about how rude young people are.

- Stop for red lights if you see them. If not, don't worry. Just relax until the bike, car, bus, truck, tram, train, or marching band has gone over you, read a few more pages, then get up and keep on where you were meant to go.

I myself have finished several books in this manner.

How To Have a Political Argument

Political arguments are not like normal arguments. In the course of a normal argument, several points are made and each person involved goes away feeling just that little bit smarter and more informed on an issue.

In a political debate, on the other hand, neither side understands what the other side is saying, nor would they care to. In fact, it's even rarer for a person making a political argument to understand what they themselves are saying, either. It is in this atmosphere of mutual incomprehension that the best - indeed, the only proper - political arguments are made.

Another thing. You should never have a political debate without consuming copious amounts of alcohol first. It's a well known fact that Bob Hawke would never have been one of Australia's greatest prime ministers if he hadn't been an alcoholic. It is one of the tragedies of modern politics that the great tradition of parliamentary alcoholism has gone out of style. The more alcohol is drunk, the greater the incomprehension and befuddlement*. It also makes a handy excuse the day afterwards - you can blame any silly things you said on the alcohol. I recommend martinis, and can personally vouch for their ability to stimulate a lively political debate in which mutual confusion reigns supreme.**

A final point - no matter what you say in a political debate, no matter how little you understand about the topic, no matter how poorly expressed you thoughts are, and no matter how great your confusion - you are always right. This point must always be remembered and, indeed, it is the only thing you ever need to understand during a political debate.

*And therefore, the more political the debate becomes - see my first point.

**Other good drinks are gin and tonic, brandy, and vodka. Avoid wine or champagne, which leads to excessive leftism, and beer, which results in Unionism. Stay right away from the coffee drinkers. They're communists.

Ways to Make the World A More Perfect Place #6

We all hate getting called up by Telemarketers, and Telemarketers hate calling us up. I've seen them. They sprawl around on chairs and gaze at the ceiling and throw little wads of paper around the room. So why do they do it?
I suggest a different system. Instead of calling us up and being polite to us in order to sell us goods and services, we could call the Telemarketers instead and shout at them. In turn, they could verbally abuse and swear at us.

This is something that everyone can agree on, and would make a great contribution to world peace and general niceness, don't you think?

For All Mothers

In honour of all Mother's out there, I have written this Mother's Day* poem:

THE MIRACLE OF BIRTH: A TONE POEM

Oh.... ewwwwrgh... yeeeerghh... ha ... ha ... ha ... ha ... OH ... GOD ... ha ...ha ...ha ...ha ... DOCTOR.... ha ...ha ...ha ...ha ...ha ... I .... DON'T .... THINK .... ha ... ha ... ha ... IT'S ha ...ha ...ha ...ha ...ha ...ha ... GOING TO ... ha ...ha ...ha ...ha ... FIT.... ha ...ha ...ha ...ha ...ha ... yeeeeeeARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHH!!

Waaaaaaaaaaah!!! Waaaaaaaaaaah!!! Waaaaaaaaaaah!!! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!!! (etc)

Congratulations, Frau Hitler! It's a BOY!!!

*I am aware that Mother's Day has been and gone, so you don't have to point that one out.

Random Horniness

I'm blogging in a public library. They've been playing Ravel's Bolero for the past half-hour. I think I'll just nip over and ask the librarian if she wants a jolly good shagging. The 80-year-old one with the rimmed glasses. How can she say no?

In Case of Nervous Breakdown, Please See Your Work Supervisor

I started a new data-entry job today - it should go for two weeks or so. I've been reacquainting myself with those endlessly repetitive and detailed activities that make this mundane work so ... well, mundane:

Supervisor: Welcome to Niggle and Bludge, Australia's Premium Data Entry firm. I'll be your Supervisor for today!

You: Hi, I'll be your slave for today.

Supervisor: The job is quite simple. All you have to do is take this slip of paper here, type this up here, put this here, remembering to mark this here, and note this here, bearing in mind that when this happens to do this, when that happens to do this, and making sure to do this if something else happens. It's all very easy, really. Just don't forget to do this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, this, and not that. Oh, and don't forget to sign this when you've finished. Productivity will be closely monitored. If you don't do this by the end of the hour, you will be devoured by a cage of starving nubile, naked, virginal blonde women. Don't worry, you'll be fine.

You: ...Oh... but why don't I just do this here? Won't that make things much easier?

Supervisor: You ruined the system! YOU RUINED THE SYSTEM! DIE, YOU FUCKER! (Takes out gun and shoots you in the head) That's not the way we DO THINGS AROUND HERE!!!

You: Sorry, just asking.

Supervisor: If you have any problems, just report to me, and I'll attach these electrodes to your genitals and give you a couple of thousand volts. Have a nice day!

So yeah, I had a good day.

Tim Blair Goes Too Far

No, I'm not talking about the 'Tim Blair Makes Fun of Margo's Appearance' debate. I'm referring to this:

PROVOCATIVE ONE-LETTER POST INTENDED TO LURE COMMENTS

j

Really! One letter posts? It might have seemed like a fun idea at the time, but it's not too difficult to imagine what might happen. Soon people might be posting a 'g', or a 'f' or even single items of punctuation such as '?', ',' and '-' - for the sole purpose of stimulating comments. Soon, offensive messages such as -

'hgoenh[lkdwlm'

might be posted on the internet.

Oh, sure, there's nothing wrong with a 'j' - but think of where it might lead. It's a slippery slope, people!