Crisotunity

Fun with Ellipses: Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Mr Crisotunity) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 00:53:00 +0000

Again, from today's 'The Age':

"(Cheney) knows that with John McCain you get a twofer: George Bush's economic policies and Dick Cheney's foreign policies," Obama said in Columbus, before heading to Cleveland for a joint ... with rocker Bruce Springsteen.

Original

Lethal Weapon..?

noreply@blogger.com (Mr Crisotunity) — Sun, 02 Nov 2008 22:56:00 +0000

From today's 'The Age', regarding the 16 year-old boy who died after being king-hit at a party:

Sergeant Guy said the assault was an example of the huge ramifications a punch can have.

"It's very disappointing. In my role I've been involved in a few assaults that have had poor outcomes, but I'm at a loss to explain why teenage boys of this calibre would want to get involved in things like this," he said.

Is this sworn protector suggesting that his mighty fists have inadvertently sent 'a few' lesser men to a premature grave...? And that this is OK for him, but not for teenagers -- especially not ones of insufficient 'calibre'...?

I guess as a police-person, his calibre must be really big.

This guy sounds as tough as Riki-Oh:

Those damn elitists and their... qualifications

noreply@blogger.com (Mr Crisotunity) — Thu, 02 Oct 2008 23:49:00 +0000

Sarah Palin:

"Oh, I think they're just not used to someone coming in from the outside saying, You know what? It's time that normal 'Joe six-pack' Americans are finally represented in the position of vice presidency"

Well, why not? Having a 'Joe six-pack' as President has worked rather swimmingly for the past eight years:

Iraq War statistics

Please Americans, pretty please: heed the sage words of your mighty leader:

Schadenfreude..?

noreply@blogger.com (Mr Crisotunity) — Wed, 07 May 2008 09:44:00 +0000

"Forensic experts in Dortmund were defrosting the babies yesterday."

There's something you don't read every day. In airport-grade horror fiction perhaps, or maybe in Hillary's latest anti-Obama commercial, but rarely in serious journalism.

It seems that infanticide is becoming a major concern in Germany. In this latest incident, a young man rummaging around for a snack in his parents' freezer "stumbled across a bag which was open and through the opening he could see the head and the arm of a baby." This relieves my concerns regarding the unruly state of my own freezer - the scariest things in there are a quantity of bread-crusts voluminous enough to keep a group of park bench-sitting, bird-feeding old geezers* in business for many an idyllic weekday afternoon, and a chicken curry - circa 1992.

While this story relates to one gruesome incident, the problem of infanticide in Germany was first brought to my attention a few weeks ago, under the headline 'Germany Divided Over Baby Killings'. Since my usual process of assimilating new information is to read as little as possible and let my imagination fill in the blanks, I initially assumed that the story was that some babies were killed and a large proportion - enough for there to be deemed a 'division' in the populace - of Germans thought that this was a-OK.

(Is it a tragic reflection of some archaic German stereotype that I considered this a plausible explanation for the headline, or am I just a bit of a dick?)

But alas, my favorite headline of the year-to-date was soon altered to 'Germany Divided Over Baby Killings in the East.' The real, and somewhat more mundane, story is that there's more infanticide occurring in East Germany than in the West. Boo! More stories about the inherent evil of those goose-stepping krauts, please.

The moral of this latest story, I feel, is clear: If you're going to kill your babies, dispose of their bodies - don't preserve them in the freezer. OR, if you simply must freeze them, then hide their little corpses in a box of McCain's Frozen Steak Diane Dinner - no one with a conscience is going to touch that shit.

*Crisotunity Contest - What collective noun best describes park bench-sitting, bird-feeding old geezers..?

Crisotunity’s Candidate Catalogue

noreply@blogger.com (Mr Crisotunity) — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 09:00:00 +0000

After November 4th 2008, exactly 8 months from today, George W Bush will no longer be President of the USA (God bless the 22nd amendment). Who will take his place as leader of the free world and have the unenviable job of cleaning up the giant steaming turd W. has left on the rug in the oval office? One of the people featured in Crisotunity’s Candidate Catalogue, that’s who. Now let’s take a look at the field:

***DEMOCRATS***

Hillary Clinton

3 SECOND GUIDE:

As First Lady, Hillary’s proposed Health Care Bill was famously defeated in 1994. She spent the rest of her First Ladyship more concerned with Bill’s heath care, which included an incongruous number of penicillin shots – the reason for which became apparent in 1998.

RACE SO FAR:

Two things have marked Hillary’s campaign-

1)The fact that the one-time front runner has been dacked by Obama in the last few months - once considered a near-certainty to grab the nomination she may be out of the race as early as tomorrow if she loses big in Ohio and Texas.

2)The tears she shed in early January. Interestingly enough the media’s response to the incident shied away from sexist remarks about pressure and a woman being President and such, like… what if she cries ALL the time? ..when negotiating trade agreements, or when Mahmoud Ahmadinejad says nasty things behind her back, or when she can’t find shoes to match her tastefully androgynous pantsuit…? No, none of that. In fact most media commentators went in the other direction and questioned the sincerity of the tears, putting it down to a stunt and not believing that such a cold-hard bitch could have - let alone express - any such emotion. I was in this latter camp, as I’d read reports that she’d had her tear ducts surgically removed in 2001.

WOULD BE A GOOD DEMOCRATIC NOMINEE BECAUSE…:

…she’d make a formidable candidate in the general election, despite her vagina. Hillary claims more experience than Obama when it comes to matters of foreign policy, which could make the impending tussle with McCain a tad less worrisome. However…

WOULD BE A BAD DEMOCRATIC NOMINEE BECAUSE…:

…she’s given the ‘more experienced than Obama’ angle a solid go for the last few months. It’s her go-to attack, culminating in this fairly hideous advertisement:

This angle hasn’t helped her so far; in fact it seems most voters don’t care if she’s got years of experience, or if her sole practice in foreign affairs is shooing all the Thai hookers out of Bill’s rumpus room.

IF ELECTED PRESIDENT…:

…well she IS a woman, so you can expect her to confound other world leaders with that weird indirect talk that chicks seem to love:

Chick: ‘I’m reading a really great book at the moment.’
Translation: ‘I don’t want to go to the movie. I’d like to stay home and read a book.’

Chick: ‘You know, I think the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty is just nifty.’
Translation: ‘Knock it off with the nuke shit or we’ll shoot you all.’

(On a totally unrelated note – can anyone surmise why I’m still single…?)

Barack Obama

3 SECOND GUIDE:

Isn’t he just dreamy? Listen to the guy talk and you can see why he draws comparisons to JFK and Martin Luther King Jr. Unfortunately these comparisons have also brought fears that his assassination is inevitable. On the upside, if he does get shot the resulting sympathy vote will almost surely deliver the White House to the Democrats. Nice.

RACE SO FAR:

Along with performing far better than most people expected, speculation about Obama’s religion has also been a key feature of his campaign. He has repeatedly had to deny claims that he is a suicide bomber - oh sorry, a Muslim – most recently when the Clinton camp circulated this photo of Obama on a diplomatic trip to Africa:

George Bush had a similar problem a few years ago when this photo did the rounds:

It was thought that his approval rating would take a big hit until it was revealed that Bush is NOT actually a Mexican - he’s just an arsehole.

WOULD BE A GOOD DEMOCRATIC NOMINEE BECAUSE…:

…he has some advantages over Hillary: Firstly he's less likely to have votes siphoned away by Ralph Nader, who is again running as an independent - perhaps Nader's greatest political impact in 4 presidential runs was giving Al Gore's chances a nipple-cripple in 2000 - and secondly, Obama never voted to go to war in Iraq; though this point is possibly superseded by the fact that he didn’t vote against the war either – he wasn’t even a senator when the vote took place. However, his possible inexperience aside, Obama would bring a bit of Rock Star to the general election. The kids love him, lefties love him, and Beatles concert-like swooning has been reported at some gatherings. He could go far, as long as his supporters can control themselves on polling day; tearing ones clothes off and screaming the candidates name is apparently an invalid voting technique - though it makes more sense than the electoral college system.

WOULD BE A BAD DEMOCRATIC NOMINEE BECAUSE…:

…he may get seriously challenged by McCain on the national security issue. With two polarised viewpoints on the war and foreign policy in general, many average Americans may go with the ‘safer’ option of McCain. Also, his name sounds like Osama. And isn’t that BROWN skin, not ‘black’? Desert-browned skin perhaps…? And LOOK! He’s wearing a turban!!!!

IF ELECTED PRESIDENT…:

…well he IS a black guy, so you can expect him to pimp out all of America’s finest bitches to visiting dignitaries; pop many-a-cap in the asses of all those frontin’ mutha fuckers in the desert; and he’ll probably rob a liquor store on the way home from congress or something.

***REPUBLICANS***

John McCain

3 SECOND GUIDE:

John McCain was a prisoner of war in Vietnam for five and a half years. In this time he was beaten nearly to death and repeatedly tortured, yet never gave up vital information (citing the names of players from his favourite football team instead of giving up the names of his men). He even refused early release, as there were men in captivity that had been there longer than him. There goes some grit, right there.

It’s also rumoured that he once ate a raw steak carved from an enemy’s thigh – though the source on that one is a tad fuzzy.

RACE SO FAR:

John McCain has delivered knockout blows to Mitt Romney, Rudy Giuliani, Fred Thompson (and other hangers-on), with only Mike Huckabee and a quite-likely insane Ron Paul delaying his inevitable nomination. Romney was once considered the front-runner for the nomination, but made many conservative voters wary with his Mormon beliefs – where was he going to house all his extra First Ladies? Giuliani was relying almost solely on how he handled 9/11 as mayor of New York, and was expected to be a strong candidate, but his strategy involved a tiny flaw – concentrating on Florida and not campaigning in the early rounds. By the time the old people and alligators got a say, Rudy was already out of the running. As for Fred Thompson, or as he is better (and more popularly) known, District Attorney Arthur Branch, before he quit the race opinion polls showed the only variable having a positive effect on his campaign was the quality of that weeks’ repeat of Law and Order. Unfortunately this weekly bump was severely counteracted when Thompson, in a move against which he should have been warned, spoke in public on the campaign trail.

WOULD BE A GOOD REPUBLICAN NOMINEE BECAUSE…:

… he’s got big, hard nuts. Republicans need to be stern and dour faced, as their primary campaign strategy is to subtly promote Fear and Intolerance. McCain should learn to never smile – when he does it seems quite forced, rather like that deleted scene from Terminator 2 when the brat tries to make Arnie seem more human:

I assume McCain was taught this exact lesson by his campaign manager or a minder or some such:

He should forget it immediately - it could prove a costly mistake.

WOULD BE A BAD REPUBLICAN NOMINEE BECAUSE…:

…he’s less aligned with Satan than many Republicans. While current VP Dick Cheney is surely the Devil’s own progeny, McCain’s position amongst the forces of evil is a little more muddied. McCain previously held sensible views on many issues: he opposed large tax cuts for the rich, proposed a pathway to citizenship for many of the country’s 12 million illegal immigrants, supported legal abortion rather than have women undertake “illegal and dangerous operations”, and was once battling to end the US Military’s use of torture. However, he has changed his view on all these issues in the last few years – and has always been a staunch supporter of the Iraq war and the troop surge. There’s no doubt he was spewed forth from the underworld, but it’s possible he was originally a simple denizen of one of Hell’s minor levels. Judging by his demeanour, it was level 5, where the ‘angry and sullen’ dwell.

IF ELECTED PRESIDENT…:

John McCain will be 72 years old at the time of his inauguration. However, he won’t be the first president to wear nappies. That honour goes to Jimmy Carter, though his use was recreational, and not due to age-related incontinence.

MIKE HUCKABEE

3 SECOND GUIDE:

Huckabee, a Baptist minister, appeals to those voters that like their politickin' with a side order of God. Yeee-hah! Some say he has an all-American charm; I say that his ‘wholesomeness’ is disquietingly similar to that exuded by Dylan Thomas’ character in the film ‘Happiness’:

RACE SO FAR:

Huckabee has been campaigning with Chuck Norris in an effort to lure young voters. This may backfire amongst Vietnamese-American voters, who now have a legitimate reason to fear for their lives:

Huckabee has proven popular in the crucifix carrying states, winning more contests than was expected. This may be put down to the intervention of God, who Huckabee plans to enlist to personally re-draft the US constitution:

“…it's a lot easier to change the Constitution than it would be to change the word of the living God. And that's what we need to do -- to amend the Constitution so it's in God's standards rather than try to change God's standards so it lines up with some contemporary view.” - Mike Huckabee 14/1/08

WOULD BE A GOOD REPUBLICAN NOMINEE BECAUSE…:

Ain’t going to happen: McCain has it wrapped up. I personally think Huck is only staying in the race to prove his popularity in the Bible Belt, which is yet to express its full confidence in McCain, and hence set himself up as a potential Vice Presidential candidate. And as a bonus, if named McCain’s running mate, the cheery, happy-go-lucky Huck and the gruff former POW would transform watching the campaign into a nostalgic throwback to my cartoon loving youth:

WOULD BE A BAD REPUBLICAN NOMINEE BECAUSE…:

Huck lost 50-odd kilograms in 2003 after being given 10 years to live if he remained a fatty. This may not sit well with the party’s base in Middle America, who refuse to lose weight if it means giving up 'value for money' at the dinner table:

IF ELECTED PRESIDENT…:

…then we should, just as I'm sure Huckabee would, all bow down to the glory of the Lord, ‘cos it’d be a freakin’ miracle.

What is it good for...?

noreply@blogger.com (Mr Crisotunity) — Sun, 02 Mar 2008 03:19:00 +0000

Imagine for a moment that your name is, oh, let’s say, Jesus Christ. And imagine also that you were indeed born around 2008 years ago. Let us also compensate somewhat for historical inaccuracies and debate regarding your true birth date by slapping on another 20 years. Let us also imagine that, instead of gifts of frankincense and myrrh, the Magi from the East were of a high enough Level, and sufficiently skilled in Enchantment or Necromancy to cast Immortality upon you at birth. The gift of gold is still given in our invented scenario, though this time you receive not a once-off lump-sum, but gold futures and options that will net you, on average, $1,000,000 per day for the rest of your immortal life. So throughout the centuries as you watch as your name, and that of your pappy, is evoked as justification for persecution, war, and genocide again and again. You reach the 21st century, and while the filthy, arrogant hubris and hypocrisy of those in your various churches leads to the continuation of hideous crimes against children, you continue to collect your one million smackers each and every day. And behold! It is 2008. And lo, it was written: You’re one rich son of a god.

But just how rich are you?

2008 years, plus the 20 year margin of error, times 365 days a year (leap years be-damned), times $1,000,000 = …

$740,220,000,000 or,

740.22 billion dollars

So… you ask: What is the point of this blasphemous hypothetical?

Well, economist Joseph Stiglitz recently calculated that the cost of the Iraq war stands currently at $3 trillion dollars for the U.S. alone – and SIX trillion if you add the cost to Britain and the rest of the skirmish’s participants. And a trillion dollars (let alone six) is such a massive amount of money to imagine that some perspective may be required.

So, if you happened to be born in the year dot, and happened to be bestowed with a million bucks a day, every day, come today you would not be able to pay off one EIGHTH of the bill for the war in Iraq. You’d need to have been born sometime around 16,000 BC to be able to pay the cheque and leave the War Room without washing dishes for eternity.

Oh, and if the bill isn’t paid by 2017, the interest on the money the US has borrowed SO FAR to fund the war will ITSELF equal a cool trillion…

The anger from here could spread to many on obvious place: to the effect of the US economy on the rest of the world, and subsequently how such massive spending is grossly irresponsible; to the sheer waste when you consider the millions of people that such money could help find dignity and self-sufficiency (the homeless, the mentally ill, the survivors of genocide such as the one occurring in Dafur, and, oh, maybe the 4.2 million Iraqi civilians so far displaced by the US’s war…); to the inclusion in this calculation of care for soldiers physically injured during the conflict, but the exclusion of the cost to individuals, families, and society wrought by the trench-like mental and emotional scars that will be borne by too many returning soldiers; and to other such universal outrages, like the fact that at least a few thou' of the six trillion could be thrown Ol’ Mr Crisotunity’s way... Just enough to keep the wolves from the door... I’ve almost been reduced to frying up the mice and lizards my cats have been catching, for god’s sake.

But no, we shan't go there. I’ll simply direct you to this article, which should make clear the dizzying amount of dollars being flushed down the blood-soaked toilet.

Rejoice!

noreply@blogger.com (Mr Crisotunity) — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 09:08:00 +0000

For Crisotunity shall soon thrive once more...

(This loyal reader just got the news)

Speaker for the Dead

noreply@blogger.com (Mr Crisotunity) — Sun, 08 Oct 2006 02:55:00 +0000

First, an apology: As I understand it, a primary condition behind commenting on current affairs is that the affairs are current, and the affairs that inspired this particular commentary are now many weeks old – ancient history in the bizarre little universe of news reporting. However, as you may have already discerned, I am devastatingly lazy. So, for the chronological disparity of these columns, I apologise. For my laziness, despite the causal relationship it holds with said disparity, I staunchly reserve my apologies. ‘Why?’ I hear you think. Because the laziness that prevents me from writing as often as I could, that keeps my novel far from complete, is a part of who I am. And I would appreciate that if anything unfortunate were to happen to me that, during any speeches made by my loved ones, this aspect of my personality was not suppressed like it was a feasible design for an electric car, but celebrated - as will, no doubt, my sunny disposition and love of fluffy kitties; I would appreciate a Speaker for the Dead.

A Speaker for the Dead, as featured in the excellent science fiction novel of the same name, is a person who undertakes extensive research regarding the life of a deceased person and presents their findings at the person’s funeral – big hairy warts and all. The speakee’s life is presented as objectively as possible. And while I believe objectivity itself is a myth more fanciful than Scientology’s core beliefs, the Speaker collates and presents so many subjective accounts of a person’s life that an approximation of objectivity is created. After all, a person is not only how those closest perceive them, or even how they perceive themselves – the most accurate picture of a person comes about through a balanced, well-rounded summation of their actions. So in my case, a Speaker would, with appropriate evidence, show that I’m a fairly kind, generous guy. But, it would also be shown that I often find social interaction a painful chore, which may be perceived by some as coldness or even superiority. The speaker would also be inclined to illustrate that I can be rather gullible and short-sighted – perhaps evidenced by the time when, in primary school, I was tricked into peeing on my own head: "We’re having a contest to see how high you can pee. I hit the roof: can you? Remember, you have to aim straight up..." You see? Balance.

It was this balance that was sorely missing from the media coverage of Crocodile Hunter Steve Irwin’s unfortunate death. I’m not suggesting the guy’s skeleton’s should have been hauled out for public display – the Speaker should only state his findings to those intimate with the deceased. And, as evidenced by the public’s reaction to Germane Greer’s anti-Irwin outburst, it would have been a poor business move by any media outlet to present anything but a highly positive image of Irwin. No, what really raised my ire was the local current affairs programs disgusting, money-prompted hypocrisy. For weeks they near deified Irwin, with the most shameful display coming from Today Tonight’s Naomi Robson - presenting from outside Australia Zoo, dressed in a khaki shirt with a lizard on her shoulder. These are the same programs that tortured Irwin when he dangled his baby in front of a crocodile in 2004. Terror suspects, even those with electrodes attached to their berries, have seen classier treatment than that which was dished out to the Croc Hunter at the time. And now? These same programs have slapped a halo on his head and sent his wings and harp along Express Post. One of the commercial news programs even likened Irwin's death to those of Princess Diana and John Lennon. Between this TV coverage and the Herald-Sun’s minimum 10 pages a day, every day, devoted to the event for almost two weeks, I couldn’t help but picture a group of media executives performing unnatural acts with Irwin’s still warm corpse to the rhythmic sounds of a cash register. Ching. Ching. Ching.

Now, I’m not completely naïve. I understand that such coverage was great for business, that millions watched Irwin’s memorial and the first interview with his grieving wife. I understand that money makes the world go ‘round, and that things aren’t going to change anytime soon. And believe me, I understand that apathy is a solution – it can placate the inconvenient personal upheaval that comes with objection to such base profiteering. But I choose to own my hate, my disgust. Extreme emotions present themselves for a reason; hold them, use them to propel yourself in new directions. Only through personal change will greater change manifest. And while profit is sanctified, peace will remain elusive.

So, you may be thinking: ‘Mr Crisotunity, you truly are a wondrous voice of truth!’ Or, you may be thinking: ‘Mr Crisotunity, you truly are a pompous, preaching, patronising pinko!’ Or, (possibly) your thoughts lie somewhere in between. All these thoughts regarding who I am are valid. They are all me. And I trust that after my death, presumably very many years from now, someone will present them all – and hopefully I’ll have achieved something that will relegate ‘pee-on-head’ stories to the opening act, and not the encore.

Update

noreply@blogger.com (Mr Crisotunity) — Fri, 29 Sep 2006 04:44:00 +0000

Greetings.
You may have noticed the trickle of new posts on this blog has dried up completely of late. For this I apologise, as you have undoubtedly been scratching around the rocky outcrop of life, desperately searching for that trickle; that fresh new drop that would quench your intellectual desires and allow you to go back to your grey little lives, content at having connected a few more dots in your ongoing personal rendering of the universe.

But lo, I've been on holiday. Sux to be you.

You may also have noticed that all the poetry is gone from this page. Why? Because poetry, with all its... feelings... and other such nastiness, has transmuted my manliness so irrevocably that shame now pulsates throughout my being like a maggot gestating in rancid meat? A shame so debilitating that I've taken to slamming down beer after beer, dubbing women who spurn my charming advances 'sluts', and displaying my testicles is public, all in order to reclaim some vestige of my masculinity? Well, no. I simply felt that these silly little rants and the poems (potentially) appeal to quite different audiences. All the poems have found a new home, here. Unfortunately, in moving them I lost all the lovely comments people have left over the last few months. Feel free to visit 'Crisis Poetry' and praise me anew.

So after sweeping out the trash, this page will hopefully be more appealing for those that enjoy slanted, manipulative, factually spurious political commentary. For those nancys among you that enjoy reading poetry and hugging puppies and such, go here.

This page will be reserved primarily for a man and his beefs, and I've got so many right now I might catch Mad Cow disease: The Iraq war's (US) half-trillion dollar price tag; President Bush, in his ongoing battle to legalise torture, bemoaning the US Supreme Court's decision to enforce the Geneva Convention's ban on "outrages upon human dignity", claiming this particular ban is: "...very vague. What does that mean?... it's a statement wide open to interpretation"; the local media's coverage (read: corpse raping) after Steve Irwin's death; McDonald's insultingly congenial 'we use real beef' ads... the list goes on. But such things are for another time. For now, let us leave now on a sunny note - Summer's almost here, birds are chirping... It just makes me feel like dancing:

Dedicated to Sandy's recent adventures. As a friend said: "India: No drugs required".

Censorsh!t

noreply@blogger.com (Mr Crisotunity) — Sat, 02 Sep 2006 08:15:00 +0000

WARNING: This article contains language and scenes not suitable for easily offended readers. If you are, say, my mum, perhaps you should reconsider watching the videos contained herein. If you are a child, wandering unsupervised around the Internet, ask your parents why they don't care about your emotional development. If you are someone that has a complaint due to the loading time of the aforementioned videos, wake up and smell the 21st century – your Internet connection sux.

It was recently reported that scenes apparently glorifying smoking are to be edited from two Tom and Jerry cartoons. But it is not only the cat and mouse that will be affected by this embargo - Turner Broadcasting representatives have stated that they will be scouring “the entire catalogue” of Hanna-Barbera cartoons for similarly offensive material, which they plan to then exorcise. Outrage, of course, abounds; at least amongst the socially awkward who, as adults, still revere cartoons… Givers of life… The sole force of sunshine in the otherwise colourless, despair-ridden abyss that was my… *cough* their childhood.

Ahem.

Anyway, Tom and Jerry are not the first fictional characters forced to give up the durries. Gone are the delightful days of yore when the dangers of inhaling carbon monoxide and countless other chemicals remained blissfully concealed in a cloud of smooth, smooth flavour; smoking is becoming increasingly taboo. In the last few years, the comic book character Wolverine has been depicted strictly sans cigar, previously a common feature of the rugged X-Man’s leisure time. Interestingly, the movie version of Wolverine is still permitted to chomp down on dirty stogies. This goes against the trend in Hollywood, where movie heroes are now almost uniformly non-smokers - they leave the filthy habit to the filthy villains. Gone are the days of Die Hard, and John McClane puffing away while pulling broken glass out of his feet and bungeeing of a skyscraper attached only to a fire hose. This kind of censorship doesn’t really bother me, as it applies only to new material. Marvel Comics is not reprinting classic X-Men stories with Wolverine’s smoking scenes removed. Nor, thankfully, does every director have the George Lucas-like funds, motivation, and influence required to butcher classic films release versions more palatable for today’s sensitive audiences. And here lies another problem with censoring old shows like Tom and Jerry - along with the obvious one, that such actions are petty, redundant, and a symptom of our increasingly overprotective attitude towards children; it may become exceedingly difficult, and one day impossible, to access such material in its original form – which itself exemplifies the time in which it was made. Television shows, particularly satircal ones, are important as historical records.

Tom and Jerry was censored after a single complaint was registered with the broadcasting watchdog Ofcom. This complaint only referenced the incidents of smoking. The complainee apparently had no problem with the wildly violent antics of the rat and fleabag in question. Many others have, however, strongly criticised the violent nature of the children’s cartoons of the 40s, 50s, and 60s. Warner Brothers' Roadrunner cartoons are a particular sore point for the censorphiles. Now, I’m not disputing the fact that the cartoons in question are violent – but I feel that cartoon violence is harmless if the children watching it are able to distinguish fact from fiction, and cartoon violence from real violence. And perhaps, as Dave Chappelle believes, there are subtexts in these old shows that are of greater concern:

I must say that I understand the principle behind some people’s concerns about cartoons aimed at children. The network that took the axe to Tom - in a way only Jerry had previously managed - has a majority viewership in the 4-14 year age bracket. The network caters primarily for children, and if people feel that its content is inappropriate for children then I can understand their concerns, even if I feel said concerns are paltry and flaccid. What has bugged me in the past, but is less of a problem now due to my horde of DVDs and my broadband Internet connection, is TV censorship that refuses to consider its intended audience. An example presented for your consideration: Robocop. Perhaps the greatest movie of all time, and one that at the very least left an indelible mark on my youth. For those philistines unfamiliar, here’s a snippet detailing the film's distinctive brand of justice:

When this film was originally released in Australian theatres, and when subsequently screened on television, it was edited so heavily that even the word ‘arsehole’ was removed. So, when company VP and crime boss Dick Jones is maliciously lecturing an up-and-coming rival about respect for company elders, about knowing “where the line (is) drawn”, the dialogue reads: “We used to call the Old Man funny names – Boner, Iron Butt… Once I even called him… airhead.” Similar fervent censorship rendered the first 15 minutes of Beverly Hills Cop, as screeded on TV, incomprehensible due to the gaps in dialogue where once resided effluence, as commonly spewed forth from Eddie Murphy’s potty-mouth in the 1980s. Robocop can be enjoyed on many levels – as a satire highlighting possibilities regarding the dehumanising ramifications of rampant privatisation, or simply as an uber-violent science fiction film. I am unsure as to which potential audience would be offended by the ‘a’ word.

And Robocop also brings me back to my main beef: I watched Robocop for the first time when I was 12 years old (a fact secreted from my parents at the time). I also watched Tom and Jerry, and the Roadrunner. However, I did not take Dad’s shotgun and shoot anyone. I did not light up. I did not drop an anvil on my sister’s head, expecting her to fold up and then, when the anvil was removed, bob up and down making music like an accordion (although I must admit that last one crossed my mind on occasion). Why did I not yield to television's darstadly influence? Because my parents didn’t use the television to raise me. It was used for what it was designed – entertainment. I was taught the difference between fact and fiction. I was taught to think. And, although I occasionally had clandestine access to violent movies through a friend, my parents monitored what I watched. It seems ludicrous to ban something from television because parents cannot make the effort to ensure their children are watching programs that they deem appropriate. But, it happens. When South Park first appeared, I worked in an outlet selling related merchandise. That first Christmas there was a rush of parents snapping up figurines and t-shirts for their young ones. I would often enquire, when these parents expressed dismay that the “They killed Kenny” T-shirts did not come in size 6, as to the age of their progeny. Many said 13 or 14, while some said 10. Some said 8... Eight years old! Here’s an example of why I shuddered at such moments:

Now quiet down, I hear what you’re all thinking: “I call shenanigans, Mr Crisotunity! That clip was from the South Park Movie! Clearly labelled MA 15+! Parents would not reasonably expect language like that to air on television at 8.30pm, and nor should they! That was a manipulative misrepresentation of which Michael Moore would be proud!”

Yes, yes, you caught me out. Here’s a clip from the television show South Park:

Not offended? Try this:

The show is not suitable for children. It was not made for children. The slightest bit of interest in your child’s life, and inquiry into the nature of this ‘South Park’ thing with which they were so enamoured would have revealed your failings as a parent. But your response? Calls to ban the show, of course. You sicken me, you… oh wait, you won’t be reading, as you’re not my target audience.

Television, games, movies, and music are blamed for problems with deep sociological roots. These problems would see better improvement if parents seized resposibility; rather than using an electronic box to raise their children and then screaming for the censor's big red texta when it comes to light that little Johnny's unsupervised viewing was innapropriate.The parents who don’t have time to check what their kids are watching are the ones that don't have time to talk to them about the problems they’re having, and the thoughts and feelings that are consuming them. Similarly isolated are the children of parents who, conversely, enforce a rigid, sterile, restricted life – often based on a hypocritical religious doctrine - that in no way reflects reality. The youth suicide rate is spiraling upward, and these types of parents must accept some responsibility while there is still time. But since they don't, and since we can't ban the means - we cannot ban trains because ill people use them to finalise their suicidal tendencies - the touted answer is to ban 'Suicidal Tendencies'.

Yes, music often gets paraded about in the afterglow of tragedy, and in one way it must bear responsibility for the most extreme and tragic means employed by today's troubled kids. The music today’s youngsters look to for release - Slipknot, Marilyn Manson and the like (did I just show my age?) - may try to empathise with the pain of adolescence, and it may shock uptight parents enough to appeal to the younglings, but something’s obviously missing; the rebellious outlet provided by music in decades past must have had something that helped keep the killing sprees at bay. Something sagacious. Something erudite. Some kind of magical 80s je ne sais quoi …

Pants on fire

noreply@blogger.com (Mr Crisotunity) — Sun, 20 Aug 2006 02:54:00 +0000

Koko the gorilla, famous for communicating with humans via a 1000 word sign-language vocabulary (and infamous for her nipple-fetish and subsequent involvement in a sexual harassment lawsuit), apparently has another trait in common with her relatively hairless cousins: After a particularly violent tantrum, in which a sink in her enclosure was ripped from the wall, Koko was confronted by her handlers. At this point she gestured to her tiny pet kitten and signed: ‘Cat did it’. Koko’s apparent penchant for untruths, reminiscent of Bart Simpson’s adage: ‘I didn’t do it’, is in turn is echoed throughout my year 7 English class. Therein students swear to their innocence so vehemently that I often doubt my own senses, despite the peashooter still dangling from their lips, and the spitballs stuck to my forehead. I have often lectured along the lines of ‘The Boy who Cried Wolf’; however the concept that blatant and obvious lying to my face in the past has damaged their present credibility remains seemingly foreign.

While lying seems to be universal, the question of whether it is OK to lie is an age-old conundrum. For the religious amongst you, the Bible and the Koran both prohibit lying. However, Jesus himself arguably told a porky – “Go ye up unto this feast: I go not up yet unto this feast; for my time is not yet full come… But when his brethren were gone up, then went he also up unto the feast, not openly, but as it were in secret” (John 7:8-10). Saint Thomas Aquinas spoke in depth about lying, dividing lies into three categories: the humorous, the useful, and the malicious. All were deemed sinful, but humorous and useful lies are only venial sins. So go ahead and tell the one about the chicken in the doctor’s office – you’ll only get a bit of extra time in purgatory. Though I’d think twice about starting a rumour about the new girl in the office’s inflatable breasts - unless you enjoy the smell of brimstone and long for an eternal lease on lake (of fire) front property. But here we begin to spiral off into the perpetual problem with any analysis lying – the problem with which we were undoubtedly going to rendezvous: that of semantics - what may be humerous to some may be malicious to others. Also, to define a lie, we must define the truth, and truth is inexorably linked with the observer. If not as dead as post-modernism would have us believe, objectivity is at the very least enigmatic. Absolute truth does exist, but is a golden thread weaving throughout the fabric of this reality, only detectable by the patient and those with a keen mental eye (and mental patients) – kind of like a cosmic Tasmanian tiger. As for the corporeal world, it is as Nietzsche said: “There are no facts, only interpretations” (which, paradoxically, is itself stated as fact). So, before we fall into a dauntingly lengthy missive on the nature of reality, I will leave this examination of lying - so nascent, so half-arsed - and move awkwardly to the topic that originally prompted these thoughts on the concept of lying – the Australian government under Prime Minister John W. Howard.

Our cuddly PM’s lies are well documented, and delivered with such aplomb that, like my year 7 class, they are difficult to refute. Blatant lies won him a third term after the ‘children overboard’ affair, and the “never, ever” to be introduced GST is now are rarely thought-of part of everyday life. Justified by lies, Mr Howard led us into a conflict that has resulted in tens of thousands of civilian deaths, left a country ravaged by civil war, further destabilised the most volatile region on Earth, increased oil prices dramatically, and has solidified the previously pencil-sketched bullseye on our collective foreheads – colouring it in with the big red texta of foreign policy. The 2004 election was won, in no small part, thanks to lies (‘useful’ for the government, ‘malicious’ for many others); canny lies via implication, that interest rates would not rise under a Howard government, and omission - no pre-warning of the now-infamous Workchoices policy. People voting for Howard based solely on economic performance remind me of Krusty the Clown, when rationalising his decision to vote for Sideshow Bob - “Well he framed me for armed robbery, but man I’m achin’ for that upper-class tax-cut”. And the result for those traditional Labour voters who dreaded the thought of an extra $50 a week on their mortgage? Two interest rate rises in 18 months and ‘Workchoices’ now law.

Workchoices. This is the sunny little number that has removed unfair dismissal laws for companies with less than 100 employees, and has left decidedly more tenuous the ability to live relatively comfortably on a low income. The advertising campaign promoting the introduction of Workchoices was pure propaganda – happy families, more choices, better for everyone, happy, happy, happy. The reality? People are being fired, and then offered their jobs back at severely reduced pay; some apprentices are being paid six-to-seven dollars an hour; workers are pressured into signing away their breaks, holidays, and overtime rates, and being fired if they don’t comply. As reported in the Melbourne Times, a security guard applied for compassionate leave to care for his dying father and on his return to work was fired. The reason given was that compassionate leave is only available to an employee ‘if a relative has died’ before the application is lodged. With no recourse via unfair dismissal, the guard is now unemployed. The path this country is on, when you throw in the government’s disdain for Medicare, leads to sad little place where the cycle of poverty becomes ever more inescapable. And if you feel that poverty is not your concern, seeing that you are university educated, earning a comfortable wage, and working for a large company, consider this: As the ‘class’ division grows, so will drug and alcohol abuse, and mental illness. Concordantly, so will the crime rate: violence, theft – already petrol station ‘drive-offs’ are up 45-odd % this year. These things will not only cost the country millions, but will render many public areas, and transportation, unsafe. We may well end up with our very own ghettos, right here in Melbourne. Well, at least we’ll be more like America.

Speaking of which, the lowest income earners in the USA can work 60+ hours a week in multiple jobs, and still live below the poverty line thanks to a criminally low minimum wage. A short hospital stay can cripple an uninsured family. Their politicians lie too, but there’s one major difference: While Vice President Dick Cheney - like our own Johnny-boy - is a calculated, manipulating liar (read: excellent politician), President George W. Bush seems to genuinely believe most of his lies. This is particularly scary when you consider some Klassic Kwotes from the leader of the world’s most powerful secular nation:

“I don't see how you can be president at least from my perspective, how you can be president, without a relationship with the Lord.”

"I feel like God wants me to run for President. I can't explain it, but I sense my country is going to need me. Something is going to happen... I know it won't be easy on me or my family, but God wants me to do it."

And (reportedly):

"God told me to strike at al Qaeda and I struck them, and then he instructed me to strike at Saddam [Hussein], which I did, and now I am determined to solve the problem in the Middle East."

A Fundamentalist Christian who takes Revelations literally, believes himself to be in direct communication with God, and in charge of the world’s biggest nuclear arsenal. Oh dear.

Many of my students are those that will find themselves on the side of the wealth divide that holds naught but burger-flipping jobs and dial-up internet. I am trying to teach them to identify subtle lies and manipulations, those that bombard us via the media and advertisements, those that lead to them voting for a government that will in turn screw them over, but they are less than receptive; When I spoke to him about the techniques advertisers use to get people to buy things they don't need, one boy offered, in a moment of Zen: "But... I like buying stuff." I am trying to teach them the lesson of ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’, but I sense they are learning an alternate moral from this story, much like Garek in Deep Space 9; they are simply learning to “never tell the same lie twice”.

An eye for an eye...

noreply@blogger.com (Mr Crisotunity) — Sat, 05 Aug 2006 08:16:00 +0000

At the age of ten, I was involved in my one-and-only fistfight. At the time, my family and I lived in a small country town where, it seemed, fistfights were all the rage. For example: two towns over, a football team was kicked out of the local league after an exceedingly violent clash between that town’s residents, rival supporters, and the game’s umpires. The reaction in my town was not one of disgust and dismay that our near neighbour could display such hideous base instincts; rather, an atmosphere of self-conscious shame settled over the town – as we were seemingly no longer the toughest town around.

During these winsome days, a friend had devised a jolly game to play with one of the other boys in our Grade 5 class; he would offer the boy a choice - ‘five dollars or a fight’. The boy, despite being involved in many a round of fisticuffs in his time, would always acquiesce, promising to supplying my friend with the remuneration required to avoid a violent encounter - much to our amusement. No money ever actually changed hands (although I can imagine my friend now readily employed as a standover man); the whole production hinged on the boy’s agreement to pay five dollars, and our subsequent mirth – “Did’ja see that jerk?! He’d rather pay five bucks than fight me! What a loooo-ser!” Indeed, champagne comedy. Yes, fun was had by all, until one day I decided to take a more active role in proceedings – it was my turn to initiate the entertainment: “Five dollars or a fight!” I said to the boy, already looking over at my friend and waiting for his laughter at the inevitable reply.
“OK: a fight,” came the unexpected response. Oh, snap.
My ten-year-old world began spinning – a fight? I looked to my friend for help, but he had (for the first time all day) discovered that schoolwork was fascinating. He was sitting right next to me, but could have been battling giant space beetles on the planet Nebulaar for all the acknowledgment he gave my plight. (Note: if you even think of writing a movie about a young boy battling giant space beetles on the planet Nebulaar, prepare your arse for a lawsuit.)
What was I to do? Though this may come as a surprise, at the age of ten I was less than physically intimidating. Scrawny, bookish… undersized, shall we say. But, I couldn’t back down, because less than undersized was my mask of confidence, ego, and general superiority. So, much to my sub-mask horror, I heard myself squeak: “Fine”, and subsequently arrange a meeting place. It was done.

The time and place was soon upon me; I found myself alone, behind the netball club, awaiting destiny. My solitude was testament to the strength of my friendships in those days – one of my closest friends couldn’t come to support me because his mum had hired Pee Wee’s Big Adventure, and he needed to watch it (again) before it went back to the video store. Conversely, the boy arrived with three buddies – with whom I’m sure he still associated today, whether they have adjoining stools at the local pub, or adjoining cells in the local prison. And so, with my heart pounding so hard my ribcage petitioned for respite, the fight began. The boy threw a punch. I managed to block it – my tae-kwon-do lessons were paying off. Another punch came at me – I blocked again. Instinctively I threw a front-kick, which landed in the middle of the boy’s chest, pushing him backward a few feet. “Hey! None of that tae-kwon-do shit!” the boy barked indignantly.
“Okay,” I replied. After all, I was told repeatedly only to use my yellow-belt level powers for self defence, and since I’d started this fight, it seemed unfair to evoke such an advantage.
The boy swung again, connecting with my upper arm. Ow!
“Uh… when does this end?” I asked, imagining the two of us raining blows on one another, onwards into eternity.
“The first one to get blood on his face loses,” the boy replied.
That made sense as an endpoint; we would trade punches until blood appeared, then cease hostilities. As such we briefly continued, until a combination of my lack of anger – I had no desire to hit the other boy – and a sharp whack to the side of the head prompted me to initiate negotiations. All my bravado from earlier that day was spent.
“Ah… can we stop?” I asked. “I… I’ve never been in a fight before.”
The boys reacted in an unexpected way. For an endless split-second, scenarios rushed through my head – the boys, perhaps all four of them, giving me a bit of a beating, berating me all the while for being such a wuss. But, they simply laughed and walked away. And that was that. I never heard about the situation again. No name calling at school. No snide comments. No surprise dackings, or wedgies, or wedgie/dacking double-plays. My pathetic surrender was seemingly satisfaction enough.

Unfortunately, contemporary aggression between countries, particularly those in the Middle East, lacks a similar endpoint. It is not ‘blood on the face’ of the opposition – a relatively minor, reversible sign of superiority – that will signal the end of the theistic conflicts that threaten the world today. Indeed, adult fistfights often don’t end until someone is in hospital, or even dead. Likewise, protracted destruction and copious innocent deaths is the norm in the Mid East. Also, for one of these opponents to ask: “Can we stop?” is tantamount to them exclaiming: “Your God is first! Ours is the worst!” And of course this is despite Muslims, Jews, and Christians believing in the same God. With religion at stake, no side is simply going to laugh and walk away.

Another troublesome (or perhaps ‘terrifying’) aspect of modern warfare is the phenomena of disproportionate escalation. What if I had refused to curtail my ‘tae-kwon-do shit’? Would the other boy have counteracted my advantage by finding a weapon such as a rock or a piece of wood? Would he have had his friends join in? Both may have seemed to him to ‘even things up’, but would actually have provided an even more lopsided battle. Would I have escalated in response? (No, I would have run away, but that’s beside the point.) Hezbollah (operating out of Lebanon) kidnapped two Israeli soldiers. Israel responds by destroying Lebanon. Hundreds of civilians dead, including dozens of children, infrastructure destroyed, cut off from the rest of the world, over half a million people forced to leave their homes, many with no homes to which to return. Escalation on the part of the Lebanese seems unlikely, until you consider the thousands of potential terrorists created by the destruction, and the fact that Lebanon’s mates, Syria and Iran, could potentially ‘jump in’ at any moment. The Israeli response in this conflict, as Daniel Gilbert of the New York Times has said, is less “an eye for an eye” than “an eye for an eyelash”. I prefer to think of it as ‘a kick-in-the-nuts for a Chinese-burn’. But when Lebanon’s groin is sufficiently iced, what will come next?

I deserved the situation in which I found myself all those years ago – I was cocky, superior, and probably needed a punch in the head to learn some humility. In this current conflict, Lebanon – and especially its civilian population – surely does not deserve the aggression expended by Israel. But, with neither side likely to be satisfied with a bloody nose, with Israel and the USA unlikely to laugh and walk away, and with Lebanon’s mates standing at the ready, the situation is exceedingly dire. Throw in a twitchy, nuke-totin’ North Korea, and we can just hope that netball isn’t cancelled due to the mushroom cloud rising from behind the clubhouse.

Welcome!

noreply@blogger.com (Mr Crisotunity) — Sun, 30 Jul 2006 07:23:00 +0000

Lisa Simpson: “Cheer up, Dad. Did you know the Chinese use the same word for 'crisis' as they do for 'opportunity'?”
Homer Simpson: “Yes! Crisotunity!”

Welcome to the rebirth of ‘Crisotunity”! Lovely it is, to once again bombard the unsuspecting with tirades cobbled together from the occasional coherent thoughts that result from my misfiring synapses. Some of you will remember this column from my failed attempt at co-creating a new Melbourne street press; for some of you those memories will take the form of money-shaped voids in your pockets. Yes, the old print-form ‘Crisotunity’, while fun to write, involved me (and my supporters) getting financially fleeced - actually, I can think of a less wholesome, but similarly alliterate and possibly more accurate verb to replace 'fleeced'. However, thanks to the wondrous series of tubes known as the Internet, you can now be exposed to my dribble without the previous expense, pain, or nights spent weeping in the foetal position (this holds for me, at least).

‘Crisotunity’ (sometimes spelled ‘crisitunity’) is an outlook that can be applied to everyday life. ‘The Simpsons’, as quoted above, simply supplied a new, nerd-friendly name for an old concept - taking whatever is dished out by life and using it as a opportunity to propel yourself forward: to evolve, seize control, and create your own destiny. It is an idea evident in the work of many great thinkers. Schopenhauer (2004), for example, wrote that the afflictions we encounter during life serve a fundamentally positive purpose; “One can even say that we require at all times a certain quantity of care or sorrow or want, as a ship requires ballast, in order to keep on a straight course” (pg 43). Similarly, the concept of crisotunity holds some semantic correlation with Nietzsche’s ‘Will to Power’, and is also representative of the sickeningly sweet adage: ‘If life gives you a lemon, make lemonade!’ (I prefer Henry Rollins’ version: “If life gives you a lemon, say: (growls) Oh yeah, I like lemons; what else ya got?!”) My previous experience with ‘Crisotunity’, and its parent publication, was itself an example of crisotunity in action: The ‘crisis’ surrounding the situation created ‘opportunities’ that forcibly lead me to where I am today (That where I am today is sitting at my computer writing ‘Crisotunity’ is an incongruity not lost on me, smarty-pants).

But enough of crisotunity; back to ‘Crisotunity’. On this page you will find occasional rants (better this than me sitting home alone, yelling at the television), and bits and pieces of poetry and other writing. If history is anything to go by, most entries will be poorly edited at best, and should not be assumed to definitive versions. Take the second sentence of the first paragraph, for example: if shameless, awkwardly extravagant expression (and self-depreciating one-liners) are your kind of thing, then baby we gots ya covered.

So please read. Please return. Please leave comments. But remember that my ego is like a delicate snowflake – don’t stomp too hard.

*Schopenhauer, A (2004) Essays and Aphorisims Penguin, London.