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About this blog:
This is the place for the real Mark Latham; the Mark Latham who toiled his clacker off in grinding poverty to become dux of his school; the Mark Latham who built his own ladder of opportunity, then scaled it himself with buggerall help from anybody else (er, except full-on legend and mentor Gough Whitlam - Dad, I love ya!); the Mark Latham who is mad as hell, and isn't gonna take it anymore - particularly from the Yanks and their pop-cultural, celluloid imperialism!
So, to all my readers from all over the joint: If you want to know the watered-down, official, media-friendly "Latham Lite" then watch me on the box, read about me in the press, go to the ALP website, etc. But if you want to know what I'm really thinking and feeling then keep coming back here, alright?
And please give a few bob if you can spare it. (It's for the ducks, not me.)
Chicks are forever hurling themselves at me (did you know Rachel Ward has a shrine to me in her bedroom?). But if you're not so lucky with the opposite sex, you might want to have a squizz at the sites below. For every sign-up, an orphaned duck finds a new home.
Here are some other sites you might want to have a perve at:
Lest any Tory bastard say that because I'm a socialist I'm entirely against earning a few extra bob, here's a link to the world's largest online classified ad service.
Below is a Seppo outfit. (But it's not bad, apparently.)
Click here to buy posters!
(You never know. They might even have one of me!)
Are you majorly shat off about something? Chockas with existential angst? Or do you just want to talk to someone you know cares big time? Then send your "Dear Mark" letter to: arselicker-kicker at loveable.com (Donations are not mandatory, but they are appreciated.)
 Web Hosting & Domain Registration |
Remember that duck guy I was telling you about? Yeah, well, he's asked me to put a list of traffic exchanges up on my blog.
The bloke's a bit of a dipstick, but considering all the good work he's done for my beaky brothers, I said yes.
Here they are:
Traffic Swarm
Web Biz Insider
Clicks Matrix
Traffic Project
Clickin' Fingers
Pro Hits Plus
Stock Traffic
Funny Farm Traffic
Hit Safari
Traffic Roundup
Weblog Directory - Directory of blogs from all around the world.
Click here to make money doing online surveys!
| "Dear Mark" |
| 04.30.04 (5:59 pm) [edit] |
|
In what would have to be a first for Oz media, one of their dunny roll headlines actually captures the essence of yours truly: "Latham listens to emotional pleas." Bloody oath I do! I'm a lover, not a fighter; a listener, not a talker. And with this in mind I've decided to offer my services as an online social worker - a kind of big, burly shoulder to cry on - to the bonzer people of this pearler of a nation. (Some hacks wrote previously that I'd cast myself as the nation's "agony uncle". Well, I hadn't then - but I am now!) And why? Well, these recent forums we've been running out in the boondocks have been deeply enriching to me. And I've discovered a healing, nurturing side that I just didn't know existed before (maybe it's the man-boobs talking?). So, you can send your "Dear Mark" letters to arselicker-kicker at loveable.com. Ask me anything, from the personal to the political. You'll receive a response pronto (well, as pronto as I can manage - I'm working my blurter off lately) which'll turn your life around sure as shit! I offer this service free of charge. But donations are welcome as always (see Paypal button at left). And remember, if I consider that the letter writer's problem - and my advice - may be useful for other citizens, I'll publish the correspondence on this site. So don't get all snarky if I do, okay? |
| Favour for the duck guy |
| 04.29.04 (7:39 pm) [edit] |
|
Regular readers of this blog would be well aware of my deep reverence for ducks. One day I will tell you the full story behind this powerful, spiritual bond. But it won't be for a while because quite frankly I'm flat out like a lizard drinking. (But I will mention that it started yonks ago when I was but a little tacker in Green Valley, and continues to this very day. It involves a shit-load of spooky synchronicity, and cameos by various Labor luminaries. It's kind of a metaphor for finding yourself, and I reckon it could be as inspiring as all get-out to little tackers with fuck-all - or at best shithouse - bloke role models. So I recently got on the blower to Mem Fox to see if she could whip up something on this theme for the sprogs. I'll tell you how that progresses.) But back to the main reason for this post: For quite some time I have been supporting a charity for homeless ducks, run by this guy. Like all arty wankers he is a bit of a nancy boy. You know, one of these "sensitive" types. But he has assured me that he is a "rusted on" Labor supporter and that his little family of downy orphans has been growing steadily, and that they are well looked after and happy. But whenever I ask if I can see them, he makes some excuse or other and starts trying to change the subject. Sometimes I suspect that this whole thing may be a bloody rort! But then, it could just be his febrile, ponce-arian nature. You know what these creative types are like: weak as piss and scatty as fuck. I shouldn't be so judgemental. Anyway, I bumped into him recently and he mentioned that he was performing some character (I think it was a tragically over-the-top Shakespearian actor or something) at a benefit for a friend of his who's putting on a play, and could I mention it on my blog? I said okay, so here are the details: It's on this Monday evening (3rd) 8.30 start at The Cat and Fiddle Hotel, 456 Darling St Balmain. It'll set you back 10 bucks full, 7 concession. Apparently there are a few other performers doing both standup and character comedy. (Although to be quite honest I can't see this prick being remotely funny.) If you lob, ask him about the ducks. See if he gets all furtive and nervous as per usual. And if he does, call my office would you? |
| Why I didn't lob |
| 04.25.04 (2:42 am) [edit] |
|
It's pretty bloody ironic that some of the more assiduously suckholian fans of Bonsai are now honking on about what a fucking legend he is because he lobbed in Baghdad today. Obviously these same tragic Tories will try and use this to smear me as a gutless turd. But while Howard did run some risk by being there, it was nothing to the kind of danger I would have been in. Remember how my jet broke down in PNG, and how I smelled a rat? Deduced that it was the work of one of the Arselicker's furtive little grease monkeys, didn't I? Then of course there was that hitman of Dubya's offering me an exploding cigar. And all because of their jealous rage over the attentions I received from their love object Rachel Ward! I tell you, hell hath no fury like a head of state scorned. And it doesn't have to be a democratic head of state... You know what I've just learned? That Saddam Hussein also adored Rachie-babe, and watched Sharkey's Machine over six hundred times! (Actually, I don't think it was just the Rachel connection. Have a squizz at the poster. I think he might also have identified with Burt a bit.) In any case, one of the last orders he gave to his feared Saddam Fedayeen was: "Bring me the head of Bryan Brown!" Sure, I'm not that close to Rachel. But I'm close enough. This fact - as well as my status as Oz's next PM - would have made me a major target twice over. I mean, fuck, If I'd gone to the service - as ol' Bob Brown-nose reckons I should have - I would have had the Arselicker, the Arse, and every brimming Baathist in bloody Baghdad out to get me! Which is why I stayed home. Of course, I didn't cite my real reasons. No one would have believed me. So I just went with the old "above politics" line. Fair dinkum. If only the people knew what was really going on. |
| Bobbing for Apple Isles |
| 04.23.04 (5:38 pm) [edit] |
|
When I lobbed in Tassie not long ago, and Bob was being a right suckhole, I knew he was going to demand favours from me. But I didn't think it would be this bloody soon. Now he wants me to intervene in a stoush between the State Government and some arty wanker. This Flanagan rooster, who looks like a bit of a surly prick, describes the joint as "Paradise". I beg to differ. Out in the bush, there, it's no fun. Gets bloody cold at night. And there's nowhere to lob for a beer or a falafel and have a good chin-wag about the issues of the day. That's why I didn't acquiesce to all those Green demands. I mean, apart from jobs being non-negotiable, the forest is just really fucking dull, let's face it. But I don't want to alienate ol' Brown-nose entirely so I'll work out some compromise to keep him happy. You know, something along the lines of, "Settle down fellas or I'll deck you both!" |
| Distressed on a quest |
| 04.21.04 (6:32 pm) [edit] |
|
How's that hoon going spacko near the Arselicker, eh? Bit bloody disturbing. Like I said on the radio, that kind of violence is distressing to everyone. I've always thought headbutting was a particularly stupid thing to do. I mean, if you're going to take someone down a rugby tackle is far more effective - particularly in dealing with cabbies who nick your moolah. And re that: A while back I pointed out that said taxi driver had started his own blog. Not long after I was informed by a comment poster that it was actually written by a chick! (This info was confirmed by one of the Dancing Blair's recent posts.) So that cabbie's gone and had a sex change as well! Just goes to show that my original analysis was correct. As I wrote last year far from ruining his life, the injuries I gave him have allowed him to "smell the roses" (see post titled "Chalk and cheese"). So, he obviously indulged in a bit of that. So much so that he subsequently reinvented himself as a blogger and a sheila! I can't help but transform people's lives, can I? And I've been pondering this all morning. This gift I have; it's kind of like the Midas touch. But why me? I didn't ask for this. It's all a bit bloody Tolkienesque, isn't it? I feel like I've been inveigled into some sort of mythical quest - kind of like that furry-footed little Frodo prick. Shit-hot and bonzer to be sure, but also kind of scary - and onerous as all get-out! Oh, well. It's just another cross I'll have to bear. |
| Bumpkin blues update |
| 04.20.04 (8:11 pm) [edit] |
|
Well I'll be! Splatts is now praising my latest bonzer plan! (See post titled "Sound policy".) And I'm the fucking flip-flopper? |
| Bumpkin blues |
| 04.20.04 (8:00 pm) [edit] |
|
Here we go. That bumpkin hack from Victoria is arcing up again. He calls me "Lacker" on account of my cod deficit. Typical Tory: always plays the man, not the ball... Er, or should that be the other way around? Fuck it. You know what I'm on about: turd doesn't fight fair - unlike yours truly, of course. In any case, I call him "Splatts" on account of the sound he'll make if ever crosses the road in front of me. So, Splatts has been spluttering about my bonzer plan to resurrect the Republic debate: But boofhead Lacker, ever-eager to impress his mentor "Crash-through or Crash'' Gough Whitlam -- Australia's worst-ever Prime Minister by a country mile -- said last night that Australians would vote on a republic by 2007 if he became prime minister. Yeah, well mate, being stuck way out there in the boondocks, country miles away from the action, you wouldn't have a clue what the bonzer people of this pearler of a nation are thinking and feeling, now would you? I mean, if a bunch of fucking wombats were debating about whether or not to hold a plebiscite, you might have some valid input on the matter. But in this case your cred is about one tenth of buggerall. I, on the other hand have shitloads of cred - especially street cred (Struggle Street to be exact). See me on Insight last night? I was a monster hit across all demographics from kiddies to codgers. Have I got the common touch or what! And heeding this visceral sense of connection I have with the bonzer people of this pearler of a nation, I just bloody-well know in my bones that the time for a Republic is near. So keep your pie-hole shut, Splatts. And go and play with your wombats, son. (Oh yeah, and lay off Dad, alright. He's a legend, but he is getting a tad frail of late and can do without your snarking.) |
| Am I that hard? |
| 04.20.04 (3:20 pm) [edit] |
|
You know what's really fascinated me over the last few months since I scored the top gig? Why no smart-arse comedian has taken the piss out of me yet. I mean they've been having a field day with the Arselicker for ages. And even Hawkie copped it big-time from the satirists. But if you have a good long perve through the media, the live comedy scene and especially the internet you'll notice that comics and mimics have basically given me a pretty wide berth. This Ben Knight hack has noticed this, and says as much in his interview with Rod Quantock: "Can Mark Latham be that hard?" he asks, a tad plaintively. I mean, can I? Well, it seems I am... Why the fuck is that? Maybe it's 'cause those who would dare to mock me know I could instantly destroy them with my notoriously powerful intellect and withering invective - or just beat the shit out of them for that matter! But I suspect the reason is less obvious: It's because I'm such a complex bastard. Cunts just can't get a handle on me, now can they? What do you reckon? |
| "Racist" my arse! |
| 04.15.04 (6:26 pm) [edit] |
|
Fair dinkum, when people you really try to help crack the shits with you it bloody hurts, fair dinkum. I mean, we all know what a complete disaster ATSIC is - which is why I proposed that it be scrapped. Now the Arselicker is onto it, nicking my idea - the prick! I knew he would. But still, what shits me is the implication that the proposal itself was racist. But Labor is never racist. Just as we are never sexist. Remember, I proposed that we put something better and more workable than ATSIC in its place. The Arselicker hasn't - which is why his plan is racist. He's just going to carry on with all that Hasluckian assimilationist crap of old. (And if he says he's got something else planned, the suckhole's telling porkies for sure.) So to be called racist by implication shits me off big time. And anyway, how can I be racist? I'm Lath-Daddy, a nigga wit' and attitude! Bling-bling for everyone! Lath-Daddy is in da house. Which house? Da Lower House! |
| More on "bling-bling" |
| 04.15.04 (5:41 pm) [edit] |
|
This True Believer sheila - who seems determined to white-ant my confidence with her snippy comments - reckons my knowledge of hip-hop lingo was somewhat lacking (see box below). She linked to some little piece in the SMH: Latham made the pledge that he would give the youth of Australia more bling-bling if he won power. When asked what bling-bling meant, he suggested it was the noise of his alarm clock. Well, I'd just like to put the record straight. I knew damn well what "bling-bling" meant. I just feigned ignorance out of political expediency. Let me elucidate... While I knew that whippersnappers comprised the bulk of that radio audience, there were a few listeners drawn from codger ranks. If they thought that I was too familiar with the lingo they might have felt alienated, and thrown their support behind the conga line. But I kept them on side, see. Just another one of those savvy little techniques we pollies use from time to time. It's kind of like "triangulation" on a micro scale. But then, you wouldn't understand any of that shit now would you, True? |
| Damned if you do... etc |
| 04.14.04 (5:44 pm) [edit] |
|
Fair dinkum, being the LOP is a bastard of a gig in some ways. No matter what you say, people always take it the wrong way. Like after I did that interview on the radio yesterday - scoring a shit-load of new youth votes, by the way - Carmen calls me up. She was shat off as usual. "How dare you use the gangsta vocabulary like that!" she huffed. "Why? What the fuck's the problem?" She said that it invoked the "appallingly brutal and phallocentric paradigms of hip-hop culture" (or something like that). "But Carmen," I replied, "aren't I championing the cause of the underdog by being a nigga wit' an attitude? I mean, I thought we had a crisis of masculinity here in Oz. But it pales in comparison to the black problem over there (no pun intended). Half the young black blokes in Seppoland are in the slammer. Brothaz be doin' time - big time. Scope that, bitch!" "How can they be underdogs?" she huffed. "They're all thieves, drug dealers, killers... and worst of all misogynists! Have you not heard their lyrics?" "Fucken oath I have, Carmen. Nasty lyrics make me cock diesel and crack a chubby. Makes me wanna grab some booty an' do the wild thing. "An' they be good fo' chillin' too, like when I be hangin' wit' my road dog. Dinkum." "I haven't a clue what you're talking about!" "Stop yo' clucking, chickenhead!" Then I hung up on the 'ho. Misogynist my arse! |
| Shit-hot new lingo! |
| 04.13.04 (8:04 pm) [edit] |
|
Fair dinkum, that "bling-bling" fling was top fun. I've discovered a whole new way to express myself. Hey hacks, hear this: I'm not a flip-flopper. I'm a hip-hopper! And in that vein: Asslicka, watch yo' booty. I'm comin' to getcha! Asslicka, yo' can't scrap a lick. Yo' be tryin' to catch my vapors. But they iz mine Asslicka! Yo' can be big pimpin', spendin' cheese. But you don't got what I got. Yo' forget Asslicka, th' brothaz that fake jacks get laid on they backs. Th' brothaz and sistaz know it - yo' iz a peckerwood, a wigga and a wanksta. And I'm gonna pep ya, Asslicka! Then I'm gonna get busy wit my bitch Janine, crack a brew an' chill. |
| A Tory fan |
| 04.10.04 (5:16 pm) [edit] |
|
Fair dinkum, when this Arselicki Vikki chicki started posting bile-spattered diatribes about me, I thought she hated my guts. But after applying my much-lauded intellect to the phenomenon I've come to the conclusion that the opposite is the case. Yep, the chick wants me big time. I mean, have a perve at her latest rant, and comments. They've got denial written all over them. Poor sheila is suffering an acute case of cognitive bloody dissonance, isn't she? She can't get her pretty little head around my bonzer vision for this pearler of a country, so she has to turn that intense adoration she feels into expressions of disdain. But you never know, that might change. Hey Vikki: One day, when you're all grown up and you can finally see the light on the hill you'll be more open about your infatuation with me. You know, kind of like Rachel Ward is now. Might be a good time for you and me to, er, "press the flesh". What do you reckon, eh? |
| Allen Ginsberg was a cockhead |
| 04.05.04 (7:16 pm) [edit] |
|
Have a perve at the comment box below. You'll see that True Believer says (in reference to my bonzer poem): "Just what we need - an Aussie Allen Ginsberg." Well, TB, I checked out this Ginsberg fellow. And I found one of his poems. It's called Howl, but I've renamed it What The Fuck Am I Trying To Say? I Don't Have A Fucking Clue To Be Honest - And Neither Will You When You've Finished Reading It! It's just a big fat crock; a crock of steaming Seppo psychobabble. My poem shits on his any day. PS: Also, this Ginsberg rooster looks a lot like Tory suckhole David Kemp (well, when he had his beard, that is). Yet another reason to avoid his insane scrawlings - and read mine instead. |
| I'm a poet-ician, not a politician! |
| 04.05.04 (6:32 pm) [edit] |
|
Dancing bear Tim Blair thinks it's a bit of a cack that someone might call me "creative", and that I am a fan of Meat Loaf. Okay, so Robert Bosler's puff-piece does get a tad gushy, but it's more on-target than off. There's no denying it: I am a veritable cauldron of innovation, and a balls-to-the-wall poet to boot! These are both qualities that the fusty, musty old Tories and their next-generation lickspittles just can't hack. And I proudly stand by my admiration for Meat Loaf. Not only is he a creative genius, he could deck this ponce Blair or any of his Tory mates in a second. (Well maybe not now, in his present slimmed-down phase - but in his heyday he could've, no probs!) And to show just how how fucking creative I am, I've just penned this little poem/polemic. I've put it in the form of an open letter to the Arselicker and his conga line. It's chockas with shit-hot verbal flourishes, and contains a little homage to my main man Meat. Of course, there's no way any paper would publish it (and particularly not one of Rupert's dunny rolls). But it gets to the heart of the matter, fair dinkum. So stand back as I use the muse: Dearest Arselicker, |
| "Verballed" |
| 04.02.04 (5:13 pm) [edit] |
|
Fair dinkum, can you believe the gall of these Tories? Senator Hill has accused me of "verballing" Bonighton. Bloody hell. Bonighton couldn't have been more plain. It was he who used the word "fiasco". I wasn't verballing. I was merely quoting. And that wasn't the end of it. He also said that Howard is a "lying ponce", and he called Costello a "smug wankerface". He even went on to add, through gritted teeth: "That mincing poofterhead Downer shits me so bad, I want to deck the stilleto-wearing nancy boy even more than you do, Mark!" (By the way, these weren't the usual voices I hear when I'm shat off. They were clearly coming out of Bonighton's mouth; spoken in that clipped Duntroonian accent - which of course made them all the more shocking! Actually, they made me blush.) And now Hill says I "verballed" him. Fuck! It's me who's been verballed. Verballed by a gerbil. I mean, look at the furtive little rodent. He looks like he'd be quite comfortable up Richard Gere's clacker, now doesn't he? |
| Make war! |
| 04.01.04 (7:01 pm) [edit] |
|
Fair dinkum, I'm still brimming over that censure-fest we had just recently. And the fact that the bonzer people of this pearler of a nation haven't gone for my "make love, not war and bring 'em home by Chrissie" policy is yet more salt to the wound. So, I'll just have to drop all the psycho-sexual theorising. Let's face it: in the current climate, it's about as useful as tits on a bull. No, from this point on I make this vow: No more nudity. (And if anyone calls this another flip-flop I'll fucking deck them.) PS: Of course I won't be publicly renouncing my troops home policy because I don't want to give the Arselicker any more ammo. PPS: On second thoughts I won't deck any one who accuses me of flip-flopping. I'll save my energy for when I next see Lexie Downer. Prick just called me "thuggish". Now, does that deserve a knuckle sandwich or what? |