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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!
| Our big Olympians |
| 08.31.04 (10:38 pm) [edit] |
|
Had a top time today welcoming back our bonzer athletes. Still, it was bloody emotional. I nearly sooked up, fair dinkum! But the tears I was swallowing were bittersweet ones. As is always the case with yours truly, some mighty complex shit was going down inside. See, my heart was nearly bursting with pride, and my pancreas was nearly bursting with empathy (see post below). Also, the fact that I really knocked back the plonk while watching the closing ceremony the other night (it was Retsina, by the way - in keeping with the Greek spirit) made my pocket Hercules (or rather, Heracles) almost as delicate as he was pre-St Vincent's. So, it took a mighty effort to lob at the ceremony, give my speech and still look cool as. To be quite honest I was just about to burst into tears, shit myself and keel over - in that order. So it was yet another Olympic performance from yours truly. Reckon I should have won gold, fair dinkum! |
| My little Olympian |
| 08.24.04 (7:12 pm) [edit] |
|
The Blue Deceiver has posted yet another one of her snippy, white-anting comments. This time she facetiously enquires about what my pancreas has to say about his ordeal, especially since Gut and Head were quoted recently. Well, thanks for asking Bluey. I was going to post about this subject anyway... Needless to say Pancreas is more than a tad upset. He is highly strung at the best of times, but imagine how he feels after copping such a bastard inflammation, followed by all that invasive media punditry about what caused it, and whether he'll be a liabilty in the future? Bascially, he's your typical little Aussie battler; a real quiet acheiver who just wants to get on with the gig with a minimum of fuss. And what of his place in the grander scheme of things? Well, it could be said that the plucky little bloke is not unlike our own Sally Robbins. He's suffered a very public breakdown and his team-mates (in this case, Gut and Head) were most unkind in their criticism - so much so that I had to chuck a Coatesy and pass a censure motion (a bloody tricky thing to pull off because I had to swallow it first!). So now, there is an uneasy truce. Sure, there's the odd bit of burbling, but no serious gut-grumbles going on. Basically my innards resemble the photo in this story - 'though not quite as aesthetically pleasing, of course! In that bonzer Aussie spirit of pulling together in a crisis they're putting on a brave face for now. |
| Expletives |
| 08.24.04 (6:41 pm) [edit] |
|
Good to hear that that Adrienne Ryan sheila saw the light and apologised for her disgraceful display of profanity the other day. Fair dinkum, it's just shocking when a public figure uses rude words. (This is especially true when the speaker is a sheila - and a very attractive one at that. I mean, cop an optic of the photo. Mate, what a spunk! I tell you, I wouldn't mind "expletive-ing" her if I had half a chance...) |
| My discharge |
| 08.21.04 (7:36 pm) [edit] |
|
It's truly shit-hot and bonzer to be out of hospital and back home. Still, I am a bit worried about some of my peers and their attitude to me post-pancreatitis. Like, have a look here. This story mentions a bunch of Labor heavyweights who are extremely concerned about my condition. And I mean extremely! Cop an optic of this bit: Privately, Labor frontbenchers remain confused and concerned about the seriousness of Mr Latham's condition... The question following Mr Latham's discharge from hospital is whether his pancreatitis will dog him, becoming a chronic condition requiring ongoing treatment, or whether it was a one-off occurrence.That's a bit bloody thorough isn't it? And how the fuck did they get hold of it? |
| The cause |
| 08.19.04 (6:41 pm) [edit] |
|
While enjoying my Olympic perve sessions recently I noticed that there was heaps of conjecture in news bulletins about what actually caused this illness of mine. Well, as reported the quacks know diddly. But rather surprisingly Google does. (Hell, they say the bonzer search engine knows all. Turns out to be true, doesn't it?) Go here, focus on the results from the 17th and then 11th of August and you'll see what I mean. You with me on this people? So, it's all Fatfuck's fault. (Although I hasten to add: not directly. As I wrote here only a few days ago, Fatfuck's golden handshake made me hurl, requiring a larger than usual input of stomach-calming starch. But I misjudged, lobbed too much in, and my overworked pancreas chucked a tanty, didn't it?) So, here I am. And for the first time in my life my circumstances resemble an upper class whodunnit (or rather, a "spewdunnit"). Why? Because the Butler did it. (But remember, if it was Bonsai in here, he'd find a way to blame the good working folk of Oz, just as he always does. He'd be saying the battler did it, wouldn't he?) |
| Damned if you do... etc |
| 08.19.04 (6:04 pm) [edit] |
|
You know, when I was first laid low by this bastard pancreatitis, I knew my choice of hospital was going to be seen as significant. So I had a bit of an internal monologue about the possible political ramifications of public versus private, didn't I? (Actually, it was more of a dialogue - between my two trusty confidantes: Gut and Head.) Head said, "Mark, mate. This is fucking serious. Don't take any chances. Get the very best care possible. Go to a private hospital." Gut said, "No mate. It's not that serious. You'll tough it out." Head said, "Shut the fuck up, Gut. I've just been scouring the memory banks and I recall that pancreatitis is a potentially fatal condition. Also..." But before Head could finish Gut thundered, "Stick it up your arse, Head. I'm Gut remember, and I'm right near where the action is. If Mark had a brain tumour then I might defer to you. But not in this case. Now, your input is about as useful as tits on a bull. "So, Mark, don't listen to Head. Listen to me: You'll tough this out, even in a shithouse public hospital. And remember, you want to keep the battlers on side. If you lob at one of those hoity toity joints the toffs will be have a field day and acuse you of elitism. So, public it is." I was nearly convinced, but I consulted Head one more time. But he was upset by Gut's earlier outburst and he said he'd rather not answer the question for fear of another bollocking. It would have been worthwhile to get a tad more input from Head. Still, Gut's reasoning did seem pretty solid. And I went with it. Lobbed at the public, didn't I? But what do you know, it's backfired! Now battlers are saying that I should have paid for treatment, 'cause I'm nicking their beds and stuff. Here's a good example of the attitude, and there's a shitload more like it flooding back to my office via e-mail and snail mail! Fuck. Should have listened to Head shouldn't I? I tried to apologise to Head. But not only was he not talking to Gut, he refused to talk to me, too. Head, he's so fucking sensitive! He'd find life a shitload less upsetting if he was a tad more thick skinned - like Heart. |
| Mixed blessing |
| 08.18.04 (7:16 pm) [edit] |
|
Of course you all know by now that I've been incapacitated by this pancreas problem. Although I'll be glad to be back at it kicking major Arse(licker) soon, I've actually had a top time these last couple of days. Got to sit back and indulge in some serious perving at all those spunky athletic sheilas on the teev, didn't I? And the nurses here at St Vincents! Maaaate! I tell you, it's a bastard trying to keep the old fella under control when a new and different hornbag lobs in your ward every half an hour. Nurses, being the socialist sheilas they usually are, would be even easier to talk into the sack than most. (Particularly when I'm bloody-well in one at the time!) But I've managed not to succumb. Wouldn't want to become the next Ross Cameron now would I? But staff-spunkiness aside, the service here at St Vinnies has been shit-hot and bonzer, fair dinkum. They even kindly whopped a laptop on my lap (very gently of course!) so I could do a bit of blog-hopping and post the very words you're reading! And re that: I knew my Blogosphere enemies would be gloating over my illness. Cop an optic of this mean-spirited spray. "Knacker Lacker falling to bits" he says. You wish, mate! Cunt. This prick holds the record for creating new nicknames for yours truly, usually referring to my cod deficit. Here he's coined another one: "The Bankstown Boofhead." What a fuckstick. I'm not even from Bankstown. With enemies like this, who needs... er, enemies... or something. Anyway, to all my fans and followers out there: Don't fret, I'll be back at it full throttle pronto, giving those Tory poofterheads hell! |
| The answer |
| 08.17.04 (2:49 am) [edit] |
|
In comments below "Geoff Clarke" and The Blue Deceiver (thought I'd forgotten didn't you "True", eh?) are having a stoush over who should fill fat fuck Butler's stinky slippers now that he's fucked off with all that Royal Doulton china. Clarkie says he should; BD says that Reggie sheila from Big Brother. But each of those choices is so bloody controversial it would divide this bonzer nation even more than it is already! So I suggest a compromise: How about Miriam from There's Something About Miriam? The fems would be happy, as would the blokes. And there'd be no arguments about indigenousness - or lack thereof - 'cause she's from bloody Mexico! How bloody Solomonaic is that? Fuck, but I'm a wise cunt. |
| Movie blue |
| 08.17.04 (1:06 am) [edit] |
|
Of course the conga line is going to accuse me of hypocrisy if Labor decides to restrict the downloading of X-rated images via the internet because I have been known to watch the odd stick flick. (Thanks a shitload, Gabbie!) But I say this pre-emptively in my defense: possessing Freaks of Nature in no way makes me a hypocrite. Why? Because it's not digitised. It's on VHS. |
| Gags |
| 08.17.04 (12:44 am) [edit] |
|
Repeatedly nailing Bonsai for gagging his lickspittles was a top ploy I reckon. Had more than a bit to do with my resurgance in the polls. (That, and the fact that every spunkrat in the country wants to play conceal the cabana with me, of course!) That said, when I become PM I'll be issuing a veritable shitload of gags myself. But don't worry. They won't be the Arselickian variety. No, they'll be ball-tearing, side-splitting, gutbusting gags! Like, remember when that horse had a ginormous crap when I was yacking with Kerri-Anne, and I made that crack about it being some new Liberal policy? I made that up on the spot. How fucking clever was that! And remember when I was on Tony Squires 110%, and I got more yucks than the bloody regulars? Yeah, well, you can expect more of that when I take office. And not just from yours truly. I'm going to make sure that all my ministers become jolly japesters, just like me. Fair dinkum, my government is going to be the fucking funniest government the country has ever known! |
| Apple Isle fermenting? |
| 08.11.04 (8:54 pm) [edit] |
|
Here we go. Now Premier Lennon is arcing up about my comments re that fat fuck Butler scampering off with all that battlers' moolah. He says I should "put my money where my mouth is". Hey Paul, if you're not careful I'll put my fucking fist where your mouth is, mate! What's wrong with pointing out the obvious: that the payout was bloody nauseating? (Actually, I wasn't just "sick in the stomach". I hurled all over the carpet. Had to call out for three ginormous chip-sangers to settle my guts and prevent another technicolour yawn didn't I?) Fuck, what is it with these Tasmanians? They're all going spacko. Maybe the gags are true after all, and they're all inbred... |
| Lower than a serpent's scrotum |
| 08.10.04 (8:01 pm) [edit] |
|
It looks like the Arselicker may call the election during the Olympics. What a sly little turd. It'd be worse than stabbing the Aussie people in the collective back. He'd be doing it to them Greek style, wouldn't he? Not only will the bonzer people of this pearler of a nation be more than a tad shat off, I will be too. I was really looking forward to sitting in front of the teev and having a good old perve at all those gorgeous Aussie chicks in their shit-hot new togs. (I wonder, is that Tatiana Grogarovanova - or whateverthefuckhernameis! - in the team? Mate, she can vault my pole any time she likes, fair dinkum. Fuck, but she's a spunky little number! Even spunkier than that Anna Pornakovapova sheila.) My mate Con nailed it big time when he said that Bonsai was a creep and killjoy for planning such a cuntish act. But of course the delicate handkerchief-waving sensibilities of Little Lord Lexie-boy have been egregiously offended by such gutter language, haven't they?: "I don't think we call people creeps and killjoys," Mr Downer told reporters. Well you might not, Lexie. Because you're a cockhead and a fuckstick. But we in the Labor Party do. Why? Because we're top blokes and chicks who have the balls to call 'em as we see 'em! Fair dinkum, I'm still fucking brimming. |
| It's time... to resume blogging |
| 08.08.04 (8:22 pm) [edit] |
|
G'day fellow Aussies. Sorry for not posting for a while. I know you all need your fix. I've been working my ring off as usual, but I was also nursing a bit of a hangover on the weekend. An unfortunate consequence of that shit-hot "It's Time" fundraiser. TOP NIGHT! Dad was there of course, as was the luminous Ms Rachel Ward, one of my most devoted sheila fans. (Did I mention she has a vibrator named after me?) She was giving me the eye all night, fair dinkum. She even had this to say about me to some hack: "When he took culture off the table he started to look a lot sexier." And when she leaned over right in front of me to wipe up the plonk she'd spilled on her table, so did she! Mate, it took all my self control to stop myself from whopping the paws in there and copping a quick feel. I know she would have loved that. I was hoping for another similar opportunity to present itself later in the night. But her hubby Bryan Brown stuck to her like shit to a blanket the whole night - so, no luck. Drowned my sorrows, didn't I? Hence the sore head for the next few days. |
| Still a chick-magnet |
| 08.02.04 (7:59 pm) [edit] |
|
Toffs, wusses and stilly Tory poofterheads are jealous as all get-out of my female fan base in the Oz film world. (By the way, did you hear about the other Rachellian and Collettesque pleas from Cate Banchett and Claudia Karvan on the weekend? Two more trembly-kneed groupies trying to convince themselves that their obsession with me is political, not personal.) As of today tight-arsed tossers will be saying that the arty, actory uber-spunks mentioned above will no longer want to play hide the sausage with me because I've backed the FTA. But I'm not worried. These sheilas all still want me baaaad. Just you wait and see. Before long they'll get all gushy and gooey about me again, sure as shit. "Treat 'em mean; keep 'em keen!" as they say. |