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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!
| Not a bad effort, I suppose |
| 07.29.04 (9:57 pm) [edit] |
|
Remember those six books being written about yours truly? Well one's already finished. It's by some bloke called Craig McGregor. Sounds like he's done an okay job. But still, my character is just too bloody complex for the poor prick to nail down. Like, here he is yabbering to some ABC nancy boy: There are two or three dualities about Mark Latham. He's intellectually on the right, but he's emotionally on the left. Yeah, and Buddhistically in the middle. That's one sort of... it's a duality which could you could call a contradiction. Why would that be a contradiction? As all we zen masters know, the whole universe is a ginormous paradox, therefore there are no contradictions. He's also a larrikin bovver boy which we're only too aware of. Well, you got it half-right there, Craig. I am a larrikin, sure as shit. But when have I ever been a "bovver boy"? His agro comes out in Parliament and elsewhere. But on the other side, he's a genuine intellectual. Again, why the (implied) contradiction? He's obviously never heard the expression "fierce intellect" (a quality I possess in a-bloody-bundance!) He bangs on for a while longer; way off most of the time. Still, it's an appraisal that shits over most of what you read in the papers. So, I'll give him six out of ten for his effort. Keep at it, son. One day you might turn out a real page turner, like this one! |
| Green with envy |
| 07.27.04 (5:52 pm) [edit] |
|
As I've often stated on this blog, chicks go spacko at the mere thought of me. And blokes don't like it one little bit. Have a lookee here. Some blogger from the Apple Isle is amazed at Toni Collette's latest interview, in which she gushily refers to her purportedly political - but obviously erotic - Mark Latham fantasy: Ignoring the monotesticular truth about Marky, she's issued a challenge for him to prove he has the "balls" to reject the government's proposed Free Trade Agreement with the US.. Well, mate, if you haven't figured it out already, I'm not going to tell you. (And just in passing: I may be shy a cod, but I've still got more balls than you!) Poor bastard. Stuck right in the middle of a map o' Tassie, and he can't even get his dick wet. |
| Out of touch |
| 07.27.04 (5:34 pm) [edit] |
|
Bloody hacks! They're so out of touch - even the ones who aren't Bonsai's lapdogs. Cop an optic of this spray from the (usually balanced) Alan Ramsey. Referring to my trip up to the BB house, and my shtick with the donkey and Kerri-Anne, he writes: What on earth is the Labor leader doing? And what sort of genius thinks this sort of rubbish presents their man in his best light as an alternative prime minister? Well, in answer to your question Al, the sort of genius who came up with these ideas is this sort of genius: yours truly. Lobbing for a perve up north was a pearler of an idea. I was saying to all the suburban dumb fucks: Hey, look! I'm one of you! (Not that I am, but that's what I was saying.) And that poo joke? It was a pisser, mate. Just you watch, Al. Those two stunts will give me another bounce in the polls sure as shit. Quite frankly Al, I'm a tad shat off that you don't trust my judgement. And why the change of tack, Al? I thought you were a mate of mine. |
| D'uh! |
| 07.25.04 (7:57 pm) [edit] |
|
In comments below some turd called "Wavy Gravy" (what's your real name mate, Lexie?) says that my recent doobie declaration shows I'm "getting pretty desperate for the yoof vote". Then he adds that dope is no longer hip for whippersnappers. Well, d'uh Wavy (or is it Tony?)! The reason I 'fessed up about toking on those wicked reefers was to nab the bong-boomer demographic; maybe even snare a few of the cone-codgers who might have been fans of Dad - or more likely Jim Cairns - but have drifted even further left in their dotage towards old Bob Brown-nose. I wasn't trying to get the bloody young 'uns on side. Got that Herr Gravy? (Or should I call you Costello?) |
| Full disclosure |
| 07.24.04 (5:40 pm) [edit] |
|
I'm sure you all now know of my dabbling in illicit substances. I'll bet the conga line will try and get as much mileage out of as possible. Although you never know, they might lay off. The Mad Monk also admitted to it, but said he didn't inhale. (What's the cunt up to with that? Is he trying to nick my Buddhist angle by taking the Middle Way? Or is he trying a bit of the old Dick Morris-inspired Clintonian triangulation? Fuck knows... Hey, maybe he's telling the truth! I mean, he wouldn't bloody need to inhale would he? He's already about as dopey as you can get.) But I digress... The thing I didn't get to mention was that I didn't smoke weed out of any self-indulgent need to get high. It was for altruistic purposes only. See, I knew that coneheads comprised a fair whack of the electorate. How was I going to connect with them if I didn't know "what their vibe was, man"? You know, in keeping your hand on the pulse of a nation you don't just have to feel people's pain. Sometimes you've got to feel their pleasure, too. Also, at the time I was doing a lot of hands-on, teeth-in research on the deleterious effects of junk food for my book on the subject. (See "just jealous" here.) The odd toke on a mean spliff would give me enough muncholian fortitude to keep chowing down on Macca's even when my guts were chockas with chip-sangers. |
| Bloody fascinating... |
| 07.22.04 (2:00 am) [edit] |
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Lobbing at the BB house was fascinating, just as I thought it would be. As both Gabbie and that Paki restaurateur know damn well, I really like to watch. Didn't get to try out my proposed social experiment - mentioned below - unfortunately. But I did learn a shit-load about the goings on there, all of which was most illuminating. Caught up on all the goss about that Miriam bloke/sheila, too. To be honest I was hoping she/he would still be there, so I could have a yack to him/her. Actually, I feel quite a sense of affinity with old Miriam - and not just because of the man-boobs. We're both real outsiders who dance to the beat of a different drum and we've just sort of lobbed into these very confined, tightarsed environments. No one really has a bloody clue about how to react to us! |
| If only... |
| 07.21.04 (2:42 am) [edit] |
|
Didn't see it myself, but heard about Champagne Charlie's little tango with his scaly mate this morn. Heard also that there was a bit of gourmet-galloping around the old studio barbie. Made my mind wander, and dream of what might have been... If only the bloody thing had blown up and singed the bastard's face, to make it a darker shade of pitch black. And if only that dopey serpent had carped that bloody diem and throttled the prick! I tell you, if only those things had happened, I think I could die a happy man. (And, just as a side issue, the phrase to "strangle a darkie" might actually become politically correct!) |
| Another fishbowl |
| 07.18.04 (11:47 pm) [edit] |
|
Should be fun up in Queensland at the Big Brother house. Be a chance to get out of the fishbowl by having a squizz at another one, if you get my drift. This whole "lab-rat TV" idea is a hoot, I reckon. If I wasn't a pollie I'd be out there making a mint and having a ball dreaming up shit-hot ideas for shows of this genre. Like, when I got that Paki restaurateur to whop the Freaks of Nature vid on with Gabbie and her olds stuck in the joint, completely unable to escape. Mate, what a cack! If only there'd been cameras recording and broadcasting that little episode. Would have rated its tits off, I reckon. Actually, I've still got the tape somewhere around the house... Might just take it with me and see if they can work it into the show. You know, lock all the inmates in a room then make them sit through it and record their reactions. Although on second thoughts that's maybe not such a top idea. Freaks would seem pretty tame nowadays. They'd probably all fall asleep! Isn't it terrible, all this degradation; this lowering of standards; this erosion of human dignity? It's not just depressing. Actually, I think the phrase completely and utterly fucked might be more appropriate. What do you lot reckon? |
| Where to put the waste? |
| 07.16.04 (5:49 am) [edit] |
|
There's been a shitload of punditry about this South Australian N-dump that the Libs are promising to nix. I've already offered my take on this in the press. But I just came up with another nuclear waste disposal solution that's even bloody bonzerer. We'd just stuff it all right up the Arselicker's arse! See, when it slams shut again it would have to be the most hermetically sealed aperture known to humanity. Even on holidays Bonsai's blurter is clenched so bloody tight it could smash the fucking atom. Sure, there wouldn't be much space left in there - what with the Ladder of Opportunity already crowding the joint and all. But if more room is needed, there's always the rest of the conga line, who are all major tightarses in their own right. And if there's a bit of radioactive fallout, who gives a shit? They're already a bunch of fucking mutants. Slice off a cut loaf isn't missed, after all. And an extra nose on the loaf of a flap-eared throwback like this one wouldn't be noticed either. Top plan, eh people? Am I a clever cunt or what? |
| "National significance" |
| 07.15.04 (2:03 am) [edit] |
|
By the way, bonzer readers, this blog is now officially being archived by the National Library of Australia. It is deemed to be a resource of "national significance" and high "cultural value". So now my private and passionate thoughts will be kept "in perpetuity" for the enlightenment of not just you lot, but also for your sprogs, and their sprogs' sprogs. So I say to all the high profile comment-posters (Mad Monk, I know you're one of them): If you don't want your snippy comments kept on an official database (I mean, hell, they might come back to bite you on the arse) I say cease and desist, pronto. If not, keep hurling insults (and I'll return the favour) and enjoy the immortality that results. |
| Rupert runs crap in Deep North dunny-roll |
| 07.15.04 (1:28 am) [edit] |
|
If you have even the slightest doubt that Rupert's roosters are the most ridiculous bunch of squawkers in the entire media chook-yard, then cop an optic of this little streak of chicken shit. It's what I call a bloody Seinfeld story - a column about nothing - covering my appearance on Moonface's TV show, in which I mentioned my sprog's rather amusing take on my duties as LOP. (See the last few paragraphs for the reference.) What does the hack write? "Latham talks clap on daytime TV." Oh, bloody hilarious! (Still, it could have been worse. At least the dozy scribe didn't replace "talks" with "gets" in the headline. If that had happened, that credulous critter Steve Price would no doubt start relaying the claim as fact. Little ferret would have his butt-fugly bonce on the box in a jiffy, and be banging on about some videotape of me boonting the make-up girl between takes or something...) |
| Shifty Seppos |
| 07.13.04 (6:26 pm) [edit] |
|
Goodness gracious me. Now the Arse's minions are saying I'm a top bloke! Personally, I reckon they're just trying to fuck with my head. What do you reckon? |
| Buddhist bastard |
| 07.13.04 (12:24 am) [edit] |
|
These bloody toffs and their grovelling lickspittles out there in Hackland! They just don't get it, do they? Like, I just said that Labor is keen to rebuild Iraq, and so would keep a few Aussies over there. So what do they do? Accuse me of "having it both ways". See, their tiny absolutist minds just can't comprehend a bloody sophisticated and nuanced possie such as mine. I'm not having it both ways. If anything I'm taking the Buddhist Middle Way. And re that jolly fellow: I've always fancied myself as a bit of an antipodean Siddhartha. And what do you know, I'm actually starting to resemble the prick! I don't have his belly, that's for sure. But there's a certain similarity, don't you reckon? He's even got the man-boobs happening. (Mine are bigger, but. Which shows I'm even more in touch with my feminine side than he was.) |
| Politico-chromatology |
| 07.11.04 (6:46 pm) [edit] |
|
While I'm on the subject of comment posters: The most assiduous of the lot is some sheila who calls herself "True Believer". She's obviously got it in for me big time, and purports to be from the Left of my bonzer party. One of her recent comments - referring to my decision to avoid Cheryl-esque excess and eschew the red dress - is typical: Good decision, Mark. Red is so not your colour. Well, that makes two of us, True. My gut tells me that you aren't really a leftie, and therefore not politico-chromatologicall y red at all. In fact I don't even reckon you're pink. I'm starting to think you're blue, True (and not blue as in "true blue" too!). No, you're a blue-blood with a big fat blue nose and you possess a shitload of blue chips. Which is why I will no longer refer to you as the "True Believer". Henceforth you shall be known to all who read this blog as the "Blue Deceiver". Like that do you, Blue? Eh? |
| Cobber nails it |
| 07.11.04 (6:17 pm) [edit] |
|
Those of you who read this blog regularly will know that many of the serial comment-posters are total fucksticks - Liberal voters (and probably party members) who wouldn't know shit from blackberry jam. But every now and then one comes along and posts something so fucking apposite it could blow your norks off. Cop an optic of the most recent one, by occasional commenter GB_Cobber. It contains this shit-hot analysis of the whole sexual identity paradigm: There's nothing wrong with guys exploring their feminine aspect. We all(M/F) have both masculine and feminine aspects, guys have more masculine, girls more fem, and if one wants to know the world one must first know one's self. That does'nt mean you have to give up women and become a poojabber. Spot on, Cobber. I couldn't have put it better myself. |
| Re: New jokes from New Blokes |
| 07.08.04 (7:33 pm) [edit] |
|
A few days ago I pointed out that there's been a fucking ginormous shift in the way that blokes behave and express themselves. As Hugh Mackay described so accurately, "New Blokes" like me are the new flag bearers for men all over the joint. We're a vulnerable and nurturing bunch of fellas, sure as shit! But we don't have to advertise our sensitivity by sporting perfumed pony-tails, cheesecloth under-grundies and wussy lentil and incense smoothies and the like. But when the pressure's on, we're not afraid to give the old tear ducts a burl, like I did recently. And sheilas just love us for this! And here's another article on the same subject. It's from a perspicacious playwrighting prick called Louis Nowra. This is the best bit: But Latham's extraordinary press conference is more than just a bully crying when he is bullied. It's a sign of the shift in the way we view politicians. Sure, there are some people who think that his emotional outpouring was a cynical ploy, but there is much sympathy out in the electorate for him. One woman was reported as saying: "Good on him for getting emotional - I like him for it." Louis, mate, am I ever glad you wrote this. Last few days I was regretting tearing up at the press conference. I was actually starting to think it might backfire, and end up costing me some votes! But now, all that angst has just fucked right off. I tell you, Lou, when I become PM, I'll commission a play from you on this very subject. (You know, like Paul did with all that "engagement with Asia" stuff.) And I'll definitely keep pushing the touchy-feely angle in the media. Still, I draw the line at doing a Cheryl, and whopping on a red dress for Women's Weekly. Hell, that's something "Fishnets" Downer would try. Shameless wimp. |
| "Coarse" my arse! |
| 07.08.04 (6:59 pm) [edit] |
|
Bonsai's a loathsome little turd, that's for sure, but sometimes you've got to hand it to him for his sheer tactical ruthlessness (not that I'd ever endorse - or practise - such an approach, of course). Here, you'll see that he has - yet again - nicked one of my bonzerly coruscating observations about the Ozeitgeist, and claimed it as his own. You'll remember that I addressed this issue months back. I said that were were losing our social capital - our sense of community - and that boofy blokes were really hurting - and subsequently lashing out - in the new hi-tech, post-feminist, global info-economy. But the Arselicker wraps it all up in one phrase. It's the "coarsening of the culture". Perfect for a sound-bite. So now all the dumb fucks out there who know buggerall about politics, and get all their policy info from talk-back and Rupert's dunny rolls are going to think that it was all his idea. What a cunt. Still, his choice of words might ruin it. "Coarse" - it's such a fucking snobby term isn't it? You never know, it might just turn all those dumb fucks against him in the end. |
| A dare for True |
| 07.07.04 (2:23 am) [edit] |
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Just a little note to the serial commenter True Believer - whoever the fuck you are: As any member of my bonzer party knows, we're not afraid of a bit of disagreement. But your tendency to repeatedly snipe and snark at me on this blog makes me doubt your allegiance, big time. In other words, I'm starting to think that you're not so much the kind of TB that this article refers to. I reckon you might just be closer in kind to one of these! So go on, I dare you! Nail your bloody flag to the mast, like I have. Or are you just too bloody gutless? |
| Quid pro quo, ho! |
| 07.07.04 (1:43 am) [edit] |
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Goodness gracious me. Can you believe the gall of it? Still smarting over two words I muttered bloody ages ago, that Albrechtsen sheila demands an apology, while simultaneously sinking the slipper. I mean, fair dinkum, only a bloody Tory would feel so threatened by a bloke who's not afraid to let the tears flow. This cruel, insensitive response was the polar opposite of the feminist sheilas in my party. Not only did my borderline blubber make them think even more highly of me; some of them even came up to me afterwards and gave me a nice comforting cuddle. Well, Ms - correction: Miss - Ho, I'll be happy to supply said sorry, if you apologise to me for mocking me when I was vulnerable and upset, and calling me a "Princess" - which is a highly emasculating term for a westie such as myself (in fact, it even made me sook up all over again). But do you think she will? Of course not. And why? Because she's the one who thinks she's bloody royalty! Anyway, that comment was way back in the past. Quite frankly I think the entire country is way beyond worrying about the odd careless phrase dropped in the hurly-burly of Question Time. Like yours truly, they're more concerned about the future. So, re that: I'm giving no more thought to the skanky ho. What I'm really worried about is that sly dirt digger the Hanke-hoe. Now there's a tool of the Government I'd like to see thrown back in the garden shed, pronto. Which is why I've promised to get rid of such implements when I become PM. (Hell, that shirt-fronting technique worked a bloody charm with super. I reckon it might just do the trick here. Fingers crossed, eh!) |
| Still brimming |
| 07.05.04 (10:17 pm) [edit] |
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Again, I apologise to the bonzer people of this pearler of a nation for not posting - especially since you all must be hanging out for a true insider's perspective on all the shit that's been happening lately. But to be honest I'm so ropeable at the moment I barely want to think about it - let alone write about it. Sure, I had a bit of a weep yesterday. And the Tories are all having a field day. But I make no apologies for that. It was a good thing. It was either sook up or crack hacks! I tell you, I was this close to decking every craven, Arselicker-licking journo there. Thankfully, that didn't happen. And the mini-sookfest relieved a fair bit of the pressure that's been building up in my head lately. In time I will be calm enough to tell my side of the story in its entirety. But not now. Still, I would like to address one aspect of that Sunday program which - though still bloody annoying - at least doesn't make me want to start kicking the shit out of the nearest passer by. It's that stuff about the financial state I left Liverpool Council in after my time as Mayor. One online hack (Splatts, way down there in Hicktoria) has made a comparison between my approach to fiscal matters and that of Dad during his reign as PM. Ironically he was onto something. See, I didn't just model my approach on the bonzerly audacious tactics of the Great Man. I secretly gave him the gig! I knew he was getting pretty sick of the speech circuit, and wanted to have his hands on the levers of power once more. So, I said, "Dad, just tell me what you want done, and I'll sign all the orders - no questions asked!" He pretty well ran that whole department part-time during my stint as Mayor. Just as he did 30 years back, he gave scant regard to the bottom line. But he managed to do stuff for the bonzer folk of Sydney's west that no Tory cunt has ever done for them - or will ever do, for that matter. And it was worth it for that. |
| Sunday |
| 07.04.04 (5:48 am) [edit] |
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Needless to say a lot of you watched that disgraceful hatchet job on me this morning. Well, in spite of advice from my advisors I had a squizz myself. Wish I hadn't. But I did. I'll post my thoughts on the matter when I'm just a tad less shat off. Thank you. |