| A Squiz at Australia's | Melbourne, Australia |
SCUM AT THE TOP | 26 March 1999 |
| Editor: Harold Hark | Volume 1 Number 6 |
A Bitter Little Discourse On Masters And Servants Your Tory politician just loves to follow a leader. Bereft of original thought but chock full of vindictive superiority, he especially loves to follow the ideas in books--condensed for his limited intellectual abilities--touting methods to enforce Social Darwinism. But only, he would hasten to add, books written by respectable folk, such as Ayn Rand, Milton Friedman, and Lawrence Mead, to name but a few. As for the likes of Lyndon LaRouche, your Tory keeps his books well hidden under the dark leather fauteuil in the den. When Sunday rolls around and the kids are at Bible class and the little woman is off ironing doilies, he loves to settle back with his Doublespeak Dictionary and read those tantalising chapters on how to really subjugate the masses. Alas, the remnants of an egalitarian society he never wanted has forced him to take the circuitous route of keeping the rabble in their place by legislative means. And who better to help him formulate these means than the above three ideologues. Briefly, Ayn helps him to become a plutocratic hero in his own mind, Milton gives him the economic framework to insure his plutocracy is closed to swarthy plebeians, and Lawrence shows him how to make his inferiors do menial work for the trickle-down scatt* he chooses to deliver them from his privileged anus. Of course, from time to time the lower orders rise in anger to remove his right to rule, often in a most dreadful manner. But they soon see the error of their ways and beg on their knees for his forgiveness. Naturally, he doesn't forgive them; that would be unfitting of a Master Tory. True to his station, he sees to it that their suffering is increased tenfold. He understands that one of him is worth more than thousands of them. And they understand it too. (* see Vol 1 No 1) HH The Howard government, enthralled by the bullies of big business, are living out an adolescent boys-own fantasy where the diversity of views embodied by The Other has yet to be encountered. Because of the narrowness of their pre-adult vision, they can exert a child's focussed energy on the few goals within it, goals which are of the moment and valueless in the long term. We are being governed by children. HH WHERE'S ME TABLETS! After a Hard Day of Doofus Dave Kemp--the federal counterpart of Jeff Kennett's former Minister for Corporatised Education, Don "Psycho Eyes" Hayward--likes nothing better than to pick blowflies out of his funny looking jaw wig while dreaming up ways to abuse the young. Inspired by his mate, Peter "The Gunsel" Reith, he's come up with a real loser-stomping winner. He's going to shut down universities who let student unions continue to collect compulsory fees. Dr Doof still isn't sure whether he's supposed to hate them because of the word "union" or because they actually provide services with their fees, something the good Doctor's government is loathe to do. Either way, it's all good fun. What better sport for a member of the Larval Party than to take away that sense of well being from the young and the old, and everybody in between. (Ed note: The jaw wig is gone!) GS "Dawn of The Dead" Award: Have you noticed how Larval Party women have such uniformly inexpressive faces (Jocelyn Newman, Jan Wade, Pauline Hanson, etc.)? Recruited from the Silent Majority, the Larvals are simply overrun with them, and like George A Romero's immortal zombie shoppers from the above film, we want to give them a special place in our little newsletter. The most recent to give us the willies via the TV screen (7:30 Report) is Sue Knowles, who sits on the Senate Committee to hear submissions on the GST. Not since Bronwyn Bishop sat on a similar committee have we seen such effective interrogation techniques. With an unyielding contempt for those opposed to oppression, Ms Knowles' browbeating of her opponents --a couple of old gents representing the downtrodden--would have made any Auschwitzian commandant proud. Nor did she flinch at the verbal embarrassment of other committee members at her assiduous harangues. No sirree, not the Larval Party's newest Queen of the Uncreate. There is a future for her: Eternal damnation. GS Bye-Bye Brumby, Hello B-B-Bracks Crimanently! What did Victoria do to deserve this! A new leader for Labor announced beforehand by Jeff Kennett and personally anointed by him. The horror and shame of it all! Who knows what kind of a leader Steve Bracks will make, but the majority of voters--with a mean discriminatory intelligence of about twenty-three--will now see the prescient demagogue as all powerful. The thing about that sea of Heil Hitlers in old newsreels is that the stiff-arms actually loved it. They loved following an arse kicker, just as Victorians do now. If only the human race could tell the difference between raising standards and razing the lot! GS Move Over Y2K, We've Got M30J! Yes, the 30th of June looms large on the horizon. Brian Harridine, the geezer who danced with Kooris and then cut out their hearts, the duffer who got so muddled he twice reversed his vote after lunch, this wowser who controls Australia, may or may not sell us out to the cynical Coalition. Our very own Judas is being feted with political pigs on a spit at a phenomenal rate. And all his dreams of a nation with blanks instead of genitals will come true if he just rolls over and votes for the GST. A win win for Brian and the Huns. The poor will have more time to devote to the survival of their masters if those troublesome thingumajiggies are regulated, and the Church can be the regulator! In the end, whichever way Brian goes, his name is mud. Then again, "mud" isn't a very creative moniker. While pinhead resonates brilliantly, most of us think of him as a plain old fool. And the way he loves to show off his foolishness, you'd think he was an ex-vaudeviller, albeit one who was never very good, but through some quirk (a brainless electorate) kept getting gigs. We'll be glad to see the back of you, Brian. GS THUS SPAKE SARA THURSTER After watching Gollywood's Oh-My-God-I-Love-You show, it's Dexsal or die. Four hours! Conclusion: we really do think we're immortal to waste that much time. But I hung in there for two reasons. To see what would happen when Elia Kazan got his honorary Oscar, and to see what Roberto Benigni would do if he won his. I wasn't let down. As for Kazan, I stood and applauded Nick Nolte and Ed Harris for remaining seated (should have videoed for a frame by frame to see who else). It's a difficult call, though. Art and infamy often go together; fortunately the art usually outlasts the infamy. (So too does the work of artists whose spouses and friends reveal the cad behind the greatness in their memoirs and biographies) As a teenager I loved Knut Hamsun's books (thanks to Henry Miller), only later discovering that Hamsun was a Nazi collaborator. If Kazan had just apologised for turning in his peers to the witch hunters! But he didn't. And like our own John Howard, he will simply have to go down in history as a man who served Umeruhcan ideology while committing treason against his fellow man. Anyway, not one of Kazan's movies rates on my list of the one or two hundred Ten Top Films of all time. Roberto Benigni, on the other hand, is a genuine firecracker. And good on him for outdoing the Yanks in the hysteria department. Only trouble is, Life is Beautiful is ultimately flawed beyond redemption. The first half is his best work to date, but what could have been, in qualified hands (whose?), a heart-rendingly bittersweet monument to the resilience of the human spirit, and therefore one of the greatest films of all time, was hopelessly compromised in the second half. Benigni's inability or refusal to give the viewer any idea of the concentration camp horrors he was trying to conceal from his son was artistic cowardice and a terrible letdown. That Hollywood nominated it for an Oscar (has the Italian government been sufficiently palliated over the acquittal of the funicular-severing pilot?), and Miramax spent millions doing an IOC in its last ditch promotion proves the point that the Academy Awards have never been a benchmark for quality. ST WELCOME BACK, |
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