Ugh

Feminism, right? Sometimes, I think, we can get sick of talking about feminism, and hearing about feminism. Sometimes it's just exhausting, isn't it? Boring. We wish sexism and misogyny and patriarchy didn't keep getting raised. We'd like a break.

I feel this, I really do. I bet a lot of the people who spend a lot of time talking about feminism get sick of it sometimes too. Unfortunately, as much as we'd all like a break, it is difficult for feminists to take a break when every day some idiot goes and illustrates perfectly why they have to keep hammering away, because there is just so many more concrete-thick skulls to penetrate.

I was watching Q&A last night, and this really hit me with monstrous force, as I watched Kate Ellis MP attempt to answer questions and address issues in the face of some truly mind-boggling rudeness and disrespect from a sniggering bipartisan triumvirate of Lindsay Tanner, Christopher Pyne and Piers Akerman.

Now, in my opinion, in the area of feminism and gender relations, there are very many areas on which room for disagreement exists. I think reasonable people can differ on many issues without anyone being assumed to be stupid or bigoted. And you can disagree on all sorts of things. You can disagree with me, or anyone else, on women's portrayal in the media, or on women's dress, on affirmative action, on pornography or sexual freedom or sexism in the workplace. I would not necessarily think you a fool for taking a different position to mine on any of these issues.

But if you try to tell me that feminism's job is done here, that we are not still living in a society that is positively drenched in sexism, then I will laugh you right out of that cosy little cocoon you're snuggling up inside. Because if you're living in this world, and you think everything is cool, men-and-women-wise, you're pushing a line so obviously and directly at odds with the evidence in front of your face that you might as well be telling me that you just rode into town on a flying sheep.

Q&A seems such a minor, petty thing to focus on - and it is. It's a tiny drop in the sexism ocean, and there are sure bigger problems out there. But last night's episode crystallised so exquisitely for anyone watching the heart of the matter - the disrespect, the sneering condescension, and the hostility towards women from which so much inequality and injustice springs.

This wasn't a rowdy debate where everyone was talking over one another. This wasn't someone feeling so passionately about a subject he just had to break in to be heard. And this was not a case of one or two interruptions. This was interrupting, cutting off, and shouting down Kate Ellis pretty much every time she dared open her mouth, in a manner that couldn't have been more efficient and systematic if Tanner, Pyne and Akerman had got together beforehand and plotted the course of the evening out on a spreadsheet. This was Akerman preventing Ellis getting her point out simply by repeating the word "shadecloths" four or five times, as if that was a counter-argument that would shoot her down; or later on, breaking in to an answer she was giving on education in order to kindly tell her to go and talk to Margie Abbott. This was Ellis attempting to answer an audience member's question but being drowned out by Pyne and Tanner starting up a conversation about Downton Abbey as if she wasn't even there. And this was Pyne in particular (and this is pretty much his lifelong form line) talking over the top of the minister every single time she looked like getting near speaking her piece. It was a horrible display by three men who, according to all reports, claim to be grown adults of fully-functioning intellectual faculties. But in the presence of a federal minister whose views on a range of issues are actually quite important to the country, but who happened to be a woman, they could not find it within themselves to grow the hell up and act like decent human beings. And, what's more, host Tony Jones seemed quite happy to let them stomp all over the discussion like a pack of St Bernards tracking mud over a carpet.

Of course the other guest, US playwright Nilaja Sun, barely got to talk at all, although some of that could be put down to  most of the discussion being very Aus-centric: but when you have five guests, two of whom are women, of which one is barely allowed to talk, and the other has every statement swamped by the bellows of the swaggering Ox Chorus surrounding her, it paints a stark picture of how women are treated 'round these parts.

Bear in mind, again, this is a minister. Not just a woman who wandered in off the streets, but an accomplished, elected representative, in a position of considerable responsibility with significant influence on our government. Patronised and shut down like a schoolgirl answering back to the principal. It was, to put quite mildly, revolting.

And why did they do this? Because they knew they could. They knew that if you shout down a woman, you get away with it. Let's not pretend they would have acted that way if Bill Shorten had been in that seat - nobody's default setting is "disrupt" when a man is talking. What's more, they knew that Shorten would have fired back, and they knew that Kate Ellis couldn't without being painted as shrill and hysterical. Ellis knew that too - she knew the minute she rose to the bait, told someone to shut up, demanded to be given due respect, she'd be tagged a harridan, which is why she put in a performance of superhuman restraint and class, and emerged looking a more worthy person than those three men put together.

And this is not a Labor vs Liberal thing - Akerman and Pyne were repellent, but Tanner joined in the shut-up-girlie game with gusto. The Liberal Party seems to be captive at the moment to a particularly nauseating cabal of misogynists, but this cuts across the left-right divide. It's not even man vs woman - rest assured there are women who would have watched that show urging the men on to shut the mouthy bitch up.

I've said it before: the battle is between pricks and non-pricks. You're sick of hearing about feminism? Fine: let's not mention feminism. Let's drop the battle of the sexes schtick. How about we just talk about human decency? How about we talk about the ability to treat another person like a person, that ability that is sorely lacking in men like Akerman, Tanner, Pyne, Alan Jones, Tony Abbott...and on, and on, and on. How about we talk about looking at someone and not deciding, based on what they've got in their pants, that you're perfectly justified in treating them like a cross between an irritating insect and a disobedient toddler? How about we talk about, if this isn't too much of a stretch, a public discussion where how seriously you get taken doesn't depend on whether you're packing a penis?

Last night, we saw that the men who believe they have a right to power over all of us have zero tolerance for any woman trying to muscle in on their turf. We saw the clear, shining face of sexism. And those of us with a scrap of decency should be under no illusions: we're in a war here.

Time to put on our big-boy pants

This is just a short explanatory note for the benefit of any radio station executives or deputy opposition leaders out there who might be struggling in their understanding of the world.

Let us imagine you run a business, say, a cake shop. A lot of people buy cakes from your cake shop, but at some point they start to go off your cake shop a bit. You might wonder why, but then the customers who don't want to buy cakes from your cake shop tell you why - it is because the plumbing in your cake shop has gone wrong and as a consequence your cake shop is constantly permeated by the foul smell of sewage.

Now you of course employ a plumber to look after your plumbing, but the service which your plumber has been providing is now of a very poor standard - in fact, the service he is providing is causing you to - take careful note here - lose customers. And your customers are telling you that this is the case, which is actually quite nice of them, because otherwise you might be losing them without knowing why, which would be unfortunate.

And so you call your plumber and you say, "Sorry, your plumbing service is not achieving what we want it to achieve, and it's damaging our business - we will not be requiring your plumbing service anymore, we're getting a different plumber."

OR perhaps you think, to hell with customers who can't stand a little stench - they're not our customer base anyway, we're going to stick with our plumber because we like him, and the really loyal, valuable customers will stick with us and keep buying our cakes.

Either way, that's your decision to make - you are in full possession of all the facts. Your plumber is causing people to avoid your cake shop, and you have to decide whether keeping your plumber or dismissing your plumber is best for your business. So this is what you do.

NOW...



Imagine that your plumber is actually a radio station, and instead of providing plumbing services, it is providing advertising, and instead of the smell in your shop, what your customers are complaining about is the content broadcast on that radio station, which is causing them to avoid your shop. Meaning - again, follow this very very closely - the service which is being provided to your business is losing you customers.

You have a decision to make, again - but again, isn't it nice that your customers kept you informed so you could make business decisions in possession of all the facts? Now YOU, as a business owner, are able to make an educated choice about whether the business lost due to the service being provided to you is worth the benefits of that service. All is in order.

Now, please...imagine that VERY hard, and then take a bit of a look in the mirror.

Generosity Please

I am not telling you anything you don't know, but the media is a strange and shifting place. Being a freelancer in the middle of it is an uncertain and slightly terrifying existence. I keep on writing because I happen to think I'm pretty good at it, and that it's a worthwhile career to pursue, but I can't say whether I'll still be doing this in a year, two years, five years. As much as you might do it for the love, money is, sadly, a necessity round these parts, and if there's no money to be made writing, a lot less writing is going to happen.

As a writer, my past, present and future are all bound up heavily in brave, supercool independent media, that have given me a break, given me an outlet, given me an audience and given me a little bit of cash to reward my efforts too. They've been bold to do this, and I'm eternally grateful to anyone who's published me.

But these outlets are just like the mainstream behemoths: they need people to be willing to pay for good content. There's free stuff all over the internet of course, but if we want a world where there are talented people with the time and inclination to really throw themselves into their work, we need to stump up some dollars to give them that chance, and make sure a thousand flowers can bloom in the media desert.

So. With that in mind, here are a few places you could sling a few bucks to - if you're not already - to help them stay afloat and make a go of things. All of these are great organisations that I've written for, will write for in future, and recommend highly.

First New Matilda. This was the first place to publish me at all, when I was, in the most literal and extreme sense, an unknown. They took a chance and I owe them forever for that. They brought my political writing into the world. But beyond me, they have loads of brilliant content, like Ben Eltham's work, stuff about Israel, asylum seekers, the environment and much much more, from an array of talented writers who provide genuinely alternative viewpoints to the mainstream. They run on a shoestring and do it with style and substance, and without paywalling. They rely on the generosity of their readers - why not be generous?

The King's Tribune. Subscribing to the KT not only gets you access to the full extent of their spectacular line-up - and it is spectacular, featuring not just me, but geniuses like Helen Razer, Jo Thornely, Greg Jericho, Tim Dunlop, John Birmingham and many more, plus awesome interviews and features - but also it gets you an actual paper magazine. Can you believe that? In these days of digital chicanery, MySpace etc, the Tribune has shown faith in the beauty of the printed word, while also spawning a snazzy-as website. It takes some balls to push that boat out, and it's resulted in a real high class mag that entertains and enlightens AT THE SAME TIME. Subscribing to the Tribune will be money well-spent, but what will also be money well-spent will be donations to the magazine's indiegogo. After an incredible amount of hard work, the KT is on the verge of making it as a real going concern - it can keep operating. But the proprietor has accumulated debts that need to be repaid if that's to happen, so the fundraising is on, and anything you can spare will be greatly appreciated to help keep alive the brilliant magazine that you'll be subscribing to! The indiegogo site goes into more depth about just what the funds are being raised for, and includes a video which features Helen Razer, played by me.

Lastly, Bide magazine, a brand-new quarterly digital magazine of society, culture, politics, and basically the entire scope of human existence. It is a sophisticated little corner of the web for lovers of reading to lose themselves in, and it's run by my friend and well-known genius Anna Spargo-Ryan. For an annual subscription you pay $10 which is OBSCENELY cheap, and if you help it thrive, I shall be privileged to keep contributing certain whimsies to it.

Of course there are heaps more than these, worthy of support, but these are three that I'm involved in that, if you like what I do, I think you'll find are worth keeping afloat. Sometimes it can seem that the media is asking a lot, when you can get so much content without paying, but really, subscribing to any of these outlets is actually pretty damn cheap - it's just a different payment model than slapping a few bucks down at the newsagent. And all of them will provide entertainment, information, discussion, debate and perspectives you might not have seen before. If you want smart people to keep giving you the benefit of their smartness, you have to play your part. I, and my colleagues, depend on you. Do give it some thought.

(oh and buy tickets to my show too)

Alan Jones - A Male Life

Alan Jones was born a male man in Queensland sometime in the early twentieth century, and enjoyed an idyllic childhood in the sunny Australian outback, where he learnt all about life from observing animals on the Jones family farm. In particular, he noticed that there were some differences between male chickens, horses and pigs and female ones, in that the female ones tended to be incompetent, lazy, and funny-smelling. It was these early, formative agricultural experiences - along with the time a shelf full of feminine hygiene products collapsed onto his head at the chemist - that forged within him a steely desire to change the world for the better by standing up against injustice/womanhood wherever he might find it.

Alan rescuing a friend from feminist dog-eaters

It was this zeal that led him first to a career teaching things to young men. A student of his from this period remembers:

Alan was always teaching us things, as young men. He instilled in us the values of youth, and of manliness, and of being youthful and manly. "Never be an old woman," he used to say every day, and it frankly got a bit repetitive. But there's no doubt he taught us things, and without him those things may have gone un-taught. I never observed an inappropriate behaviour on his part, unless you consider wandering the school grounds at night in his pyjamas, firing a shotgun into the air and daring the feminists to "stop hiding like rats and come out and fight him face to face" to be inappropriate.

However, school life became stale and uninspiring for Alan, and a traumatic experience at an Easter Parade, when he was run over by a clitoris-shaped float, sealed his decision to enter the world of sport and become a rugby coach, where he could thrive in an especially manly environment.

Alan being attacked by a vagina

It was in rugby where he really thrived, leading the Wallabies to a Grand Slam on the 1984 tour of Britain, a success which more than one player attributed to Jones's revolutionary "don't talk to girls" strategy. A 1986 Bledisloe Cup victory, built on the back of manly bonding and hissing loudly at women in the street, was further vindication, but Jones cruelly lost the job after the 1987 World Cup, which was lost following a disastrous dip in morale which was later traced to several members of the tight five having disobeyed team rules and kissed ladies while in camp. Although Jones knew the debilitating effect that girl germs have on sportsmen, he nobly took the fall, refusing to let his handsome players get blamed even though they actually were to blame, and instead hurled himself into his media career.

Alan fighting misandry

On radio, television and print media, Alan has for the best part of three decades been fighting the good fight against the growing womanisation of our society. His scholarly background has provided him with the research muscle to back up his arguments with cold hard facts:

Every society that has ever collapsed has contained women. That's not polemic, that's simple historical reality. I don't make history, I report it, and I'm telling you that where you find civilisations in ruins, there are breasts just around the corner. Make of that what you will, I'm just the messenger.

                                                                         -Alan Jones, 1997

Many of course have tried to destroy him with feminine tricks, but Jones has always stood fast for his principles. Firmly believing that we do not own this world, we merely borrow it from our penises, he is determined to leave Australia a better place than he found it, by breaking down the walls of matriarchy that keep us enslaved to feminist ideology. "Australia has been swallowed by a cervix of shame," he famously declared at 2003's Convoy Of No Oestrogen, at which thousands of Cosmopolitan magazines and lipsticks were burnt to symbolise the casting off of the distaff shackles that bind Australians.

Whence comes his enormous inner strength, the stamina and drive to keep going in the face of insults and smears and those gross curves that women have? Partly it is simple patriotism: he knows that Australia was a great country before women arrived in it, and can be again as long as they are kept quiet or given regular electric shocks. Part of it is personal integrity: Alan's father always told him never to give in to bullies, and ever since a ringleted young girl savagely beat Alan to a pulp in the early 90s, he has been steadfast in his defiance of the elites and vested interests who wish to impose perfumed servitude on decent hard-working testicular Aussies. He stands up for "Struggle St" and makes no apologies, or at least not very convincing ones.

But part of it is just good ol' Queensland country scrappiness. Like all good men, Alan relishes a fight, and if it's a fight for right, all the better. That's why the so-called "women" of Australia will never beat him down, because he's got enough fight in him to last a lifetime, and it doesn't matter how many bears your periods attract, ladies, this is one testosterone milkshake you'll have a hard time drinking.

Alan casting a paralysis spell on Emily's List

If you would care to peruse my CV...

So, in the wake of Kyle Sandilands's latest courageous stand against tall poppy syndrome and fat chicks, many people have been asking, why?

Why does Kyle Sandilands have a job, these people (not me of course) have been asking. Why does he continue to be granted opportunities to enrich himself and raise his public profile on radio and television, even though he is, according to scientific testing, the worst person in the world? Why does he occupy a position of power and influence in the entertainment industry even though his only marketable skill is putting gel in his hair and he possesses all the charm and personal magnetism of a Gestapo officer masturbating on a dead rabbit? How has he managed to keep his job in the face of the fairly well-known fact that he is a puffy-faced dead-eyed misogynistic little blobfish of a man whose appearances on radio and television are the audio-visual equivalent of being urinated on by a camel? And how is it fair that due to his inexplicable success, he has also created a long-lasting media career for Jackie O, a woman who, if she one day lost the ability to giggle inanely, would be immediately reclassified as a species of moss by the botanical community?

These are the questions that apparently, so I hear, people are asking.

But of course these are harsh questions. I do understand why Austereo and Channel Seven continue to employ and promote and pay Kyle Sandilands - it is because they have literally been unable to find anyone more talented than him. They've scoured the world, hoping to find someone with more talent than Kyle - which is to say, someone with some talent - but have come up short.

But don't worry, showbiz bigwigs - I am here.

I am here to solve all your problems, I am here to soothe all your doubts, I am here to rescue you from the chubby bearded quagmire you find yourself in.

I am here to replace Kyle Sandilands. Yes, I hereby launch the Replace Kyle With Ben campaign, or if you're on Twitter, #replaceKylewithBen (pronounced "hashtag replace Kyle with Ben" if you need to say it out loud)

What will you get from replacing Kyle with Ben?

1. I am much taller than Kyle. This means that fellow employees will no longer be called away from important tasks to assist Kyle in getting the Milo down from the top shelf.

2. I have a wide and varied assortment of female friends and acquaintances to choose from for the the purposes of sidekickery. Not only are they smoking hot (because duh, as if I have ugly friends), but they can all speak in words of more than one syllable, thereby out-qualifying Jackie O by some margin.

3. I can beat Kyle at arm-wrestling.

4. My Sean Connery impression is near-flawless, creating endless opportunities for breakfast radio shenanigans of a hilarious nature.

5. I appeal to a broad demographic, being equally popular with both pre-schoolers and the elderly.

6. I have never been involved with the singing career or Tamara Jaber.

7. I know how to conceive, write, and perform "jokes", as well as possessing the capacity to "discuss" "issues" with "people", thereby obviating the necessity to conceal an inability to do any of these things by abusing women or strapping children to lie detectors.

8. I have bigger tits than Kyle.

9. I would quite like to be rich and famous, so you know I'm committed.

10. I have little to no desire to threaten violence upon people who give me bad reviews - in fact I tend to make friends with them.

And finally,

11. I am able to deal with my own deep-seated sense of personal inadequacy in ways other than hurling obscenities at others, belittling those with more talent than myself, or whining like a sissy little bitch every time someone criticises me for anything.

As you can see, I am the complete package - at least compared to what you've got now - and am available to start RIGHT AWAY. There is no need to thank me - I ask only for a generous salary and an enormous amount of fame. So, Seven, Austereo, and any other major media organisations who'd like to get in on the action, just have your people call my people, and we can have this deal stitched up quicker than you can say "ambushing a child-rape victim is ratings gold!"

No hard feelings Kyle - it's just that I'm a lot better than you.

How Not To Rape People Part 2: How Not To Be Raped

Hello there. Many of you in the me-reading community may remember this post, in which I enumerated a few simple, easy-to-follow tips on how to avoid raping people, for the benefit of those many millions of young men who were finding it difficult to not rape anyone for any significant length of time. It was a great success: many readers wrote to me to let me know that they had greatly reduced their raping-people rate, and in some cases, incredibly, stopped raping altogether.

This was very gratifying, of course, but I have recently come to the realisation that my job was only half-finished. I had addressed one side of the equation - men - but what of the other side? What of women? I guess it was the commonsense, firm-yet-fair, down-to-earth, nitty-gritty, wise advice provided to young women by NSW Police Commissioner Andrew Scipione that brought this home to me. His sage council to young women to tell their friends if they plan to have sex, so their friends can stop them having sex if they don't want to, or help them have sex if they do want to, or join in if a passing video producer pays them to, really drove home to me how neglectful I've been.

Sure, I thought to myself, I've provided useful advice to men on how to stop being rapists, but what about women? Don't they need useful advice too? After all, as Paul Mercurio tells us, it takes two to tango, and likewise doesn't it also take two to rape? I'm pretty sure it does - you never see the headline "Man rapes nobody" in the papers - and so I feel I should apologise for my oversight. But nobody can ever accuse me of being a man who doesn't correct his oversights, and so I hereby present:

HOW NOT TO BE RAPED: A HANDY GUIDE FOR MODERN WOMEN AND ALSO THEIR FRIENDS

1. When you meet a rapist, try to stay away from him.

2. Learn to idenfity rapists. You can do this through some canny questioning. Like for example you could ask, "Are you a rapist?" If the rapist is clever he'll see through that though, so you might have to ask more subtle questions, like, "Would you like me to have some Milo?" or "Are you a professional football team?"

3. Avoid men in general. Most women are raped by men, so it's important that a woman who doesn't want to be raped stays well away from men. It's a bit like cats and meat: if a piece of meat walked into a cat's mouth, would you blame the cat for eating it? Like in The Empire Strikes Back, when they fly into that alien thing's mouth. Do you blame the alien for swallowing the Millennium Falcon? No, it is Princess Leia's fault for wearing that bikini. That's an important lesson to remember. If you, as a woman, choose to conduct your activites in the same location as men, you must accept the consequences. If you're going to hang around penises, don't be surprised when penises do what penises do. Men in general have poor impulse control and will under most circumstances have sex three or four times a day whether they want to or not. If you HAVE to associate with a man, for business reasons or because he is your father, wear a wetsuit.

4. Don't be unconscious.

5. Keep an eye on your drink. Research shows a lot of women are raped after leaving their drink unguarded, or as this is known in legal terms, "consenting to sexual intercourse". If YOU don't want to be raped, make sure you have an eye on your drink at ALL times, and avoid flirtatiously allowing strangers to drop pills in it. Even better, drink from a bottle. Or don't drink at all - koalas gain all their hydration from eucalyptus leaves, and koalas are rarely considered slutty. Except that one who died of chlamydia. Point is, if you avoid drinking fluids of any kind, you can avoid that awkward situation where a reasonable person might interpret your unknowingly ingesting a foreign substance which renders you incapable of resistance to violent sexual acts as something of a "come-on".

6. Dress appropriately. Studies show that over 90% of rape victims were raped when wearing some kind of "clothing", which strongly suggests that clothing plays a massive part in rapists' selection of their victims, or "partners", as they are called when wearing midriff tops. It is important that any woman who doesn't want to be raped avoids wearing any type of clothing that sends the message that she is "up for it". This is difficult, obviously, because as noted above, if a woman wasn't up for it why would she be hanging around near men anyway, knowing full well that men like to have sex? But as long as a woman avoids wearing low-cut tops, short skirts, short shorts, tight jeans, figure-hugging sweaters, loose sweaters, long skirts, skivvies, baggy pants, neck-to-knee swimming costumes, policewoman uniforms, or any item of clothing that provides any clue as to the woman's general shape, she can be fairly certain that her behaviour will be considered only conditional consent by the legal system. Which ties nicely into the next point.

7. Do not draw attention to your femininity. Most people who raped women admit that before raping the woman, they wanted to rape a woman. It is therefore vital when out in public that women don't make a big deal about being a woman. Try not to act too much like a woman - don't go around washing dishes or shopping. It can be a good idea to strap your breasts down and cut your hair short in an attempt to pass as a petite teenage boy. But some people consider that extreme - it's more important just to direct conversation away from the fact you are a woman. If you see a man lurking nearby, try to ward him off by casually remarking, "Goodness, I'm having a nice time out today - it's probably my lack of oestrogen making me feel so good"; or, "I wonder what having a vagina is like, because I certainly don't know!" In fact it is always VITAL to prevent people's focus being directed toward your vagina - reputable opinion polls indicate over 60% of people consider a rape victim was "asking for it" if she was found to be in deliberate possession of a vagina.

8. Don't go out alone. I mean this is pretty self-evident unless you're a prostitute, but I thought I'd throw it in.

9. Don't be a prostitute.

10. Make your intentions clear. If you don't want a man to have sex with you, say, "I would not like to have sex with you, thank you." If he still wants to have sex with you, say, "No, really, I do not want to." If he persists, shout "NO!" and knee him in the testicles. If he doesn't get the message, scream for help and try to run away. If, after all, this, he still ends up having sex with you - well you obviously weren't clear enough, try harder next time.



If young women take these tips on board and follow them closely, then I feel confident that with a little bit of commonsense and community spirit, we can move towards a future where young women don't feel unsafe when they leave the house, young men don't feel guilty for their perfectly normal biological urges/crimes, and the heinous act of rape is eliminated from our society except for those times when really what else would you expect?

Happy not being raped!

An Opinion So To Speak

So I am writing about Andy Blume now for some reason. Well, for a particular reason, obviously. But anyway I am.

I don't like Andy Blume. I don't think he's funny. I think he's nasty. And I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me. But I decided to write about him because I have an opinion and I thought it was right for me to voice it, because I can't make a claim to integrity if I restrict my protests about unfairness to people I like.

Like I said, I don't like him. I hardly think the fruits of his creative desires have been a net improvement for the internet. But...

But the guy's lost his job. That story I linked to says "sacked for offensive web postings", but that's actually, I think it's pretty obvious, untrue. He wasn't sacked for offensive web postings. He was sacked because the Herald Sun ran a campaign against him. With prominent stories, and photos, and editorials calling for his dismissal.

And no matter what I think of Andy Blume and his postings, I just can't see that this is right. I can't see that the comedic web activities of a tram driver, however tasteless, are deserving of the sack, and more particularly I can't see they're deserving of tabloid persecution. It's not right.

And I'm not going on an anti-Herald Sun rant. Everyone knows I'm not a big fan of certain of their columnists, but there are also people working at the paper, and elsewhere in News Ltd, who I know, and like, and respect. I'm not looking to tear the Herald Sun to shreds.

But this is bad behaviour. This is not news. This is not reportage. This is a vendetta. This is someone at a powerful media organisation deciding a powerless individual has got on their bad side and needs to be punished. Not by alerting his employer to inappropriate behaviour. And certainly not by baldly reporting the facts - the facts, as they stand, aren't even close to being worthy of being placed in the pages of a capital city daily newspaper.

The punishment, instead, is that this man must lose his job. Not just lose his job, but be humiliated, become a figure of public hatred, and have the circumstances that led to his sacking placed in the mass media to sit there forever as a warning to future employers that this man is a Public Enemy Of Dubious Character. The punishment, in essence, is to ruin the guy's life. And it's not right.

Think about what Andy Blume did. Some think he's hilarious. Some think he's appalling. But on either extreme, does anyone really think he deserved this? This campaign of revenge and personal destruction? Is this what the media's for?

It shouldn't be. This is not the way the media should be working, this deformed journalism that sees the press's role not to serve public interest, not to seek the truth, not even to inform, educate or entertain, but to pursue and crush anyone who finds themselves on your wrong side with all the power at your disposal, without mercy, and with the most devastating and vicious consequences possible for those unfortunates who find themselves in that position. It is news as weapon. It is the reporter as assassin. It is the media as Inquisition. And it is a debasement of what could be, should be, and can be, I believe, a genuinely noble profession.

I don't like Andy Blume. But I've never disliked anyone enough to want to take away his job. I've never disliked anyone enough to want to destroy his life. It's not right. The Herald Sun is capable of being better than that, and it should be. It must be.

How Carbon Tax Made Me An Idiot

(NB: this piece is dedicated to Erin Riley)

For a while now, I’ve been increasingly convinced of the need to have an opinion about various subjects such as politics, in order to be a normal thinking human being. But I was torn: my belief in thoughtful, sober reflection and reasoned argument as a path to enlightenment made me lean towards having intelligent opinions, while my love of reading tabloid newspapers and listening to talkback inclined me more towards the gibbering imbecile end of the spectrum.

It was a difficult decision, made more so by the enormity of the consequences. I knew that whether I decided to be smart or stupid could determine my future career prospects, the course of my intimate relationships, and how loudly I could talk on trains.

But with the announcement of the carbon tax, the decision was made easy – the only possible response was to become unbelievably stupid.

To be honest, to call it a “decision” is almost a misnomer: the announcement of the carbon tax really leaves those of us who desire to avoid the unexamined life with no option: it is a compulsion, a calling, and yes, a duty, that we transform ourselves into morons, for the good of our country.

It happened almost without my noticing it: I was just toddling along the day after the carbon tax announcement, and suddenly I realised that for the last three hours I’d been telling people that the tax wouldn’t decrease temperatures by a single degree. Not just like that, of course: what I’d actually been saying was, “Did you know the so-called carbon tax won’t lower temperatures AT ALL? Do you? Do you know? So much for ENVIRONMENTALISM!” Sometimes I’d poke them in the chest.

And it felt liberating. I knew I’d followed the correct path. If I’d decided to be intelligent about the carbon tax, how could I ever have derived the deep emotional fulfilment that can only come from inserting “(dioxide)” into sentences? You have no idea how satisfying it is to do this – you should try it. If you thought it was fun complaining about the carbon tax, you will be practically orgasmic once you start complaining about the carbon (dioxide) tax. That’s why Terry McCrann always seems so happy.

Quickly I began to expand the scope of my idiocy, exploring the creative possibilities of using the word “socialism” in as many disconnected contexts as I could possibly think of. I found that once you get into the swing of things, “socialism” can mean anything, really. Pricing carbon, taxing the rich, giving money to the poor, taxing the poor, giving money to the rich, preferring market mechanisms to a command economy, being a woman – all these and more are socialism, once you make a true commitment to stupidity. I’m hoping that in time, I’ll be able to call every policy of every political party socialist without even breaking a sweat.

Of course it’s not that simple, being an idiot. You can’t just scream “socialist” and expect to be taken seriously in the stupid community. You also need to say things like, “the carbon tax will completely destroy our way of life” and “we need an election NOW to get rid of the worst government since Federation” and “I am the shadow Treasurer”. If the carbon tax really riles you up, you can go the extra mile and start delving into advanced mental degradation, for example: “Carbon dioxide isn’t a pollutant it is a necessary element for life on earth”. Not that you want to over-reach. It’s wise to warm yourself up, stretch your stupid-muscles with some thank-god-for-Tony-Abbotts and we-shouldn’t-move-before-the-world-doeses before you go the full Thank-God-we-have-Andrew-Bolt-to-stand-up-to-the-Green-groupthink.

Not that you have to stick to an anti-Green line. That’s the beauty of the carbon tax – it gives us scope to be idiots in any direction we choose. You can call up 2GB claiming that Bob Brown wants to put 90 percent of Australians out of work, or you can call up 3AW claiming that the carbon tax will create six million new jobs in geothermal energy and Great Barrier Reef curating. It’s up to you! As a matter of fact you can do both of those things – it’s the advantage of choosing stupidity over intelligence, you don’t need to be consistent at all (refer to discussion of socialism, above).

And so I’ve found that the carbon tax has really allowed me to be me, to free the spirit within, to release the latent intellectual atrophy that had been inside me all along. Much like a baby bird who, taking its first tentative steps out of the nest, suddenly finds itself able to swoop and soar and slam headfirst into windows, I am finally able to express myself as nature intended. To leap like the salmon, to run like the gazelle, to ride a tractor like Bob Katter. I am free to stand on the rooftop and cry to the world, “Yes! I am stupid, and I am proud! Furthermore the earth has not warmed for 12 years!” I am free to write letters to newspapers. I am free to refer to wealth distribution without even the slightest sense of irony or shame or basic understanding of reality. God, life is sweet when you’re a dullard.

It’s only been a few days, of course – barely time to form an opinion on the carbon tax at all if I weren’t so stupid – and I foresee a lot of strong, enriching dumbness permeating my life moving forward. I see myself poring over graphs and declaring “see? It’s a myth!” I foresee writing pompous and lengthy political analysis pieces about the government’s inability to sell its policy. I foresee tuning into Channel Ten on Sunday mornings a lot. I foresee quoting Ian Plimer. I foresee feeling powerful pangs of sympathy for people earning over $100,000 a year. I foresee saying “Ju-LIAR” and spending the next 20 minutes touching myself with pride at how witty I am.

It is indeed a golden age for the idiot, and I’m grateful to Julia – oops, I mean Juliar, ha ha! – for allowing me this opportunity to realise who I really am. Stop this great big new tax, remove this illegitimate government, STOP LYING, and up with morons. Join me, stupid brethren, and together we will make this country a true paradise for all of those of below-average intelligence and below. It’s time to stand up against this unjust tax and the people of normal intelligence who want to discuss it. Jump on board, idiots!

We can start in the comments of this post.

Dear Oprah: A Plea For Assistance

Dear Oprah,

How are you? I am fine. Welcome to Australia, I hope you will enjoy your stay here. I'm sure you will, especially with all the McDonald's we have.

I am writing to you with a simple, humble, simple request. I realise we have had little to do with each other in the past, and I admit I have not been a steadfast viewer of your television programmes, but I am sure you will overlook that just as I am willing to overlook the fact that you do not know who I am. We are both gracious people in that way.

I am writing to you on behalf of New Matilda, a website that is in urgent need of your help. Essentially, NM needs about $70,000 more in the next week or it will have to fold, and I know you don't want that to happen.

Because New Matilda is, essentially, just like you, Oprah. A poor kid with a dream. A dream of serving the world. You've achieved your dream; won't you help New Matilda achieve theirs? I know that a crusader for the underdog like yourself will want to help this little site keep on standing up for the little guy, exposing dishonesty and corruption, and campaigning for the side of the angels, just as you always have. In the absence of our own Oprah, New Matilda may be all Australia has to perform these vital functions!

Also, I don't want to delve too deeply into your personal affairs, Oprah, but what I've read seems to indicate that $70,000 would be, well, not exactly the biggest dent in your personal budget. What I'm saying is, I am fairly sure you can afford it.

So won't you help us, Oprah? While you're visiting our fair country, enjoying our venomous snakes and our delicious coffee, why not also help ensure our democracy remains strong even after you've left, by contributing to the continuing robustness of media diversity.

As a long-time New Matilda contributor, and one who owes his very career to this plucky little site, I promise that if you keep us alive, I will personally:

1. Teach you the rules of cricket, rugby and two-up

2. Write a week-long series of humorous-yet-reverential articles about how great you are, and

3. Give you a nice big hug, with your explicit consent.

Please, Oprah. Keep New Matilda alive. Help Australian online media thrive. Give we itinerant opinionists a place to go. It won't take much. You have the power. It's like the Secret. We wished for a white knight for New Matilda, and you, like magic, appeared in Australia. It is meant to be! Help us out, Oprah! Make this world a better place!

I believe in you.

PS the official Twitter hashtag is #OprahsavesNM - pass it on!

Baffling Joke of the Day

A new segment on BPWWOO: The Baffling Joke Of The Day.

Today's Baffling Joke comes from the "Blowflies and Bulldust" section of the Stock and Land, and runs thus:

AHMED goes to Jakob to buy black bras, size 38.

Jakob, known for his skills as businessman, says black bras are rare and that he is finding it very difficult to buy them from his suppliers. Therefore he has to charge $50 for them.

Ahmed buys 25 pairs.

He returns a few days later and this time orders 50. Jacob tells him they have become even harder to get and charges him $60 each.

Ahmed returns a month later and buys Jakob's remaining stock of 50, this time for $75 each.

Jakob is somewhat puzzled by the large demand for black bras and asks Ahmed, what he does with all these black bras.

The Arab answers: "I cut them in half and sell them as skull caps to the Jewish community for $100 each."

I can't help feeling that the composer of this joke got lost somewhere along the way. At some point he almost certainly felt he had the makings of a pretty good joke, but then realised he didn't know where he was going, and panicked.

What is it? Is it a joke about Jakob's skills as a businessman? Is it a joke about Ahmed's skills as a businessman? Is it an anti-semitic joke? Is it an anti-Muslim joke? Is it a joke about how funny bras are?

I think we can definitely say, to all these questions, yes. It is, essentially, a shy, unassuming sort of a joke, that is happy to drop subtle hints as to what it's about, without ever quite finding the courage to make this explicit.

Well done, "Blowflies and Bulldust". Your contribution to national humour is noted.

Please Note

This was on PAGE 1 - that is, the FRONT PAGE - of the Toowoomba Chronicle of the 18th November.

THE FRONT PAGE

Our Kate finds her prince charming
TOOWOOMBA'S own Kate Middleton is set to play the part of princess and thinks she just may have missed her calling in life.

And she may have found her own Prince Charming.

Being secretary of Toowoomba Turf Club comes with the occasional glamour moment, but it just doesn't seem to come with an 18 carat engagement ring crafted from sapphire and diamonds.

Ms Middleton said there had been quite a buzz surrounding her name, with some of Toowoomba's finest young ladies marvelling over her name tag at the Weetwood Handicap race day

(Full story here)
What?

What?

She has the same name?

That's the story? THe biggest one they could find? A woman in Toowoomba has the same name as another woman in England?

What??????

"There has been quite a buzz about my name"? Are you serious, Kate Middleton? You can actually say something like that without shame burning the inside of your skull?

Who the hell is emailing and calling this woman? What do they say when they call her? "Congratulations"? "Nice work"? "Oh I saw in the paper how a woman called Kate Middleton is about to marry Prince William - is that you?"

I mean, seriously, do people think it might be? Do they think the Kate Middleton they've been reading about in New Idea might be their pal Kate from Toowoomba, who just forgot to mention she's been dating Prince William since 2001? "Kept that very quiet, didn't she? Mmm makes you think."

Or alternatively, do they actually think having the same name as someone else is an achievement? Are they "emailing and calling" to tell Kate they're so happy for her that, after all her years of hard work, she's finally made it? "Sharing a name with a celebrity - it all paid off in the end, huh Kate?"

Let us not dwell on the fact that Ms Middleton is pictured on the front page (!!!) wearing a CROWN and adopting the sort of facial expression you would pretty much expect from someone who thinks she's special because her name is the same as somebody else's.

Let us instead dwell on the fact that apparently other women were "marvelling" over her nametag at the Weetwood Handicap Race Day, which, it has to be said, seems to be very aptly named.

MARVELLING.

"OMG look at that nametag! It features a combination of letters I find familiar! Can I have a photo with you famous lady?"

What a bunch of race-going dickheads.

And as for:

Being secretary of Toowoomba Turf Club comes with the occasional glamour moment

Well that is just a blatant and shameless lie.

And COULD there be another Kate Middleton wedding on the cards? Well, let's examine two relevant points:

1. Probably not, because she has a partner who gives her friendship rings. So don't hold your breath, "Princess".

2. If you care about the REAL Royal Wedding, you're a bit of a twit. If you care about the potential wedding of Kate Middleton, secretary of the Toowoomba Turf Club...well you are just the worst kind of person.

I can think of a hundred ways in which the royal family has made life on earth less pleasant. But the existence of a front page story in a daily newspaper about a random woman who happens to share the not-particularly-unusual name of a foreign celebrity who isn't very interesting or significant herself...is at the VERY TOP OF THE LIST.

I mean...Jesus.



Kate Middleton - History's Greatest Monster?

How To Not Rape People: SPECIAL NRL EDITION

Some of you might remember a handy guide to avoiding being a rapist that I posted a little while ago.

Many people found this extremely helpful in their own lives as they struggled to find a way to not rape people. However, unfortunately it has come to my notice that the original guide was far too narrow in its scope. Recent events have shown that certain segments of the wider community need the Guide to be adapted to their special needs. With that in mind,

I therefore here present:

THE HANDY GUIDE TO NOT RAPING PEOPLE IN SEVEN EASY STEPS (special NRL edition)

1. When you meet a dog who doesn't want to have sex with you, don't have sex with it.

2. When you meet a dog who wants to have sex with one of your friends, remember the golden rule: You Are A Different Person To Your Friends. Maybe this handy mnemonic can help: Yentl Acted As Ducks Probed Three Yucky Frenchmen. This will help you remember that a dog who wants to have sex with one person does not necessarily want to have sex with every person it meets. Confusing, I know; what can I say - political correctness, etc. Also, you should probably tell your friend not have sex with the dog, because it is a dog.

3. If you meet a dog who DOES want to have sex with you, but then a bit later it says it'd rather not, don't have sex with it. Again, pretty confusing, I know, but it's due to a special Scientific Fact: sometimes dogs change their minds. Like, remember the time you wanted a kebab, but then you thought no, I'll have a hamburger instead? It's a bit like that, only with sex. Also, there is another Scientific Fact: dogs can't talk, so if a dog tells you it wants to have sex with you, you're probably hallucinating. It's best not to have sex with anything while hallucinating.

4. When you meet a dog who is unconscious, don't have sex with it. This is true even if it was drinking before. I may be delving into some fairly arcane theory here, but scientists have discovered there is actually technically a difference between "drinking a lot of alcohol" and "saying yes I want to have sex with you". This difference is especially pronounced when dealing with dogs. In fact, even when dogs are conscious, don't have sex with them.

5. When you go home with a dog, try not to have sex with it until after it says it'd like to. Which it won't, because it's a dog. Even if the dog followed you home of its own volition, follow this role.

6. Practise not having sex with dogs. I know it's hard - sometimes you just look down and it's like, whoops, I'm having sex with this dog, how did that happen? But I bet with a bit of concentration and discipline, you can actually manage to avoid having sex with someone, even when they're in the same room as you and they have four legs and a tail and fur. It's true! Anyone can do it! Why, last week I met at least five dogs who I actually didn't have sex with, without causing myself any particularly severe internal injuries.

7. When you meet a dog who doesn't want to have sex with you, don't have sex with it. I realise I already said this one, but that was five steps ago, and I have a feeling some of you guys might have slightly short attention spans.

Phew! All bases covered! I feel we probably avoided a pretty bad crisis here.

Read This. Now

You know the government's insulation scheme? How it was an absolute disaster and caused all those terrible fires and killed literally millions of people and there was blood on Peter Garrett's hands?

Yeah, remember that?

There is, unbelievably, somebody alive in this world still willing to look at facts. This somebody is Possum from Crikey. Read what he writes here. NOW.

Pay particular attention to this bit:

That makes the insulation program around 8 times safer in terms of fire incidents compared to the state of the industry before the program. Even if we take the best absolute possible estimates of what went on before the program – say, 80 fires per year off 75 thousand installs – the program is still 7 times safer in terms of fire incidents than what occurred before the program.

Got that? Good.

Phoenix

Big news, friends and lovers!

Newmatilda is coming back!

Excited?

For those of you who came in late, having been attracted to this blog by my work at The Age, the Drum, or that post below on a delicate subject which seems to have attracted a certain amount of attention, Newmatilda was the birthplace of my career in professional sarcasm, as illustrated here or here or even here.

What's more, it featured lots of brilliant stuff written by people who aren't even me! And then it passed away. But thanks to the tireless efforts of those magnificent newmatilda-ites, it's back! And as you'll see in the first link, it needs support. So if the site tickles your fancy, do sign up to the email list and, should it be within your power, subscribe. Your life will be richer and better-informed for it.

Of course I am newmatilda for life, and I'll be contributing in some capacity to the new Newmatilda. So there's that to look forward to - as "ravenm" says:

"We want Ben!"

On the other hand, as "Self-righteous git" says:

"Pobje and Eltham were boring, don’t bring them back."

So, opinions on both sides there.

Welcome back NM!

How Not To Rape People: A Handy Guide For Modern Men And Footballers

In my perusings of the modern media landscape, a worrying trend has come to my attention: young men who apparently just can't stop having non-consensual sex with others. It's a tricky problem, and one to which there are, clearly, no easy solutions. I mean, it's all very well to say "No means no", but as popular ex-footballer/arachnid Peter "Spida" Everitt says, when a girl goes home with a guy at 3am, it's not for a cup of Milo. So we can see there are two sides to every story: on the one hand, a young lady might feel violated, but on the other hand, why do these women keep going round to strangers' houses in the hopes of having some Milo? Why don't they buy their OWN Milo? Young people today, I ask you.

The point is, as a man myself, I know how hard it can sometimes be to not be a rapist. Masculine identity is so ill-defined these days, what with the sexual revolution, feminism, meggings and so on: it's so difficult to know what women want: do they want us to hold the door open and pay for dinner, or do they want us to wait until they're blind drunk and have sex with them against their will? How can we tell? After all, as ABC The Drum commenter "James" says in response to an article by Lauren Rosewarne, "Why are young women so strange?"

Indeed, why? When young women are free to go around being strange all over the place, how can men be expected to know how to behave? This is why we see so many comments around the internet along the lines of "Why do these women put themselves in this situation what do they expect they are just after bragging rights they can't change their minds after the fact I agree with Kerri-Anne Kennerly"?

When people start agreeing with Kerri-Anne Kennerly, society has gone too far, and this is why I have prepared, for the benefit of my fellow man and also people who play football, a Handy Guide To Not Raping People. Feel free to print it out and keep it in your shirt pocket, men, so next time you find yourself in an awkward situation where it seems you have no choice but to rape someone, you can check the guide and gracefully extricate yourself from the sticky predicament.

THE HANDY GUIDE TO NOT RAPING PEOPLE IN SEVEN EASY STEPS

1. When you meet a girl who doesn't want to have sex with you, don't have sex with her.

2. When you meet a girl who wants to have sex with one of your friends, remember the golden rule: You Are A Different Person To Your Friends. Maybe this handy mnemonic can help: Yentl Acted As Ducks Probed Three Yucky Frenchmen. This will help you remember that a girl who wants to have sex with one person does not necessarily want to have sex with every person she meets. Confusing, I know; what can I say - political correctness, etc.

3. If you meet a girl who DOES want to have sex with you, but then a bit later she says she'd rather not, don't have sex with her. Again, pretty confusing, I know, but it's due to a special Scientific Fact: sometimes girls change their minds. Like, remember the time you wanted a kebab, but then you thought no, I'll have a hamburger instead? It's a bit like that, only with sex.

4. When you meet a girl who is unconscious, don't have sex with her. This is true even if she was drinking before. I may be delving into some fairly arcane theory here, but scientists have discovered there is actually technically a difference between "drinking a lot of alcohol" and "saying yes I want to have sex with you". I realise this difference is probably hard to spot for a lot of you guys; you might have to squint a bit.

5. When you go home with a girl, try not to have sex with her until after she says she'd like to.

6. Practise not having sex with people. I know it's hard - sometimes you just look down and it's like, whoops, I'm having sex with this girl, how did that happen? But I bet with a bit of concentration and discipline, you can actually manage to avoid having sex with someone, even when they're in the same room as you. It's true! Anyone can do it! Why, last week I met at least five women who I actually didn't have sex with, without causing myself any particularly severe internal injuries.

7. When you meet a girl who doesn't want to have sex with you, don't have sex with her. I realise I already said this one, but that was five steps ago, and I have a feeling some of you guys might have slightly short attention spans.

So there you go: seven easy steps to becoming a non-rapist. I bet you didn't think it was that simple, did you? You probably thought you'd need electrodes attached to something. But no, you can do it in your own living room! It's just a matter of staying "on the ball" and learning the difference between a girl who wants to have sex with you, and a girl who doesn't. One way is by listening to what she says: a girl who says "Let's have sex" probably wants to have sex; a girl who says "let's not have sex" probably doesn't. I realise listening to what women say will be a new experience for a lot of you, but I'm confident you can manage it. Practise at home first if you like, with a mirror and a wig.

Anyway, good luck with it all, guys! I know you probably think you could never not rape people, but I believe in you, guys! With a little bit of hard work and determination, anyone can not have sex, any time they want! Amazing but true!

Happy Not-raping!

Musings on a Sort-of Election

So, election day having passed, as we wait out the six or seven months it will apparently take to decide who is the not-very-legitimate prime minister of our country, allow me to let you in on a few thoughts and observations.

Firstly, anyone who says things like "the Australian people have spoken, and said they don't want either party" or "the people have said a pox on all their houses" and variations thereof, should really, really, really STOP.

No, the Australian people did not "decide" to have a hung parliament. Apart from the informals, every single person actually voted for someone. WE all decided we DID want someone to be in government. I guarantee you there were no votes counted for "I want both parties to almost get a majority but not quite so they have to negotiate with independents". Trust me on this: people who voted Labor wanted Labor. People who voted Liberal wanted Liberal. People who voted Green wanted Green. People who voted Family First wanted a lobotomy.

The media commentary on this election seems to be suggesting some weird conspiracy where all the voters got together and divided up their votes - "You all vote Labor, you all vote Liberal, you guys in the middle vote Green, let's screw 'em right up!" This did not, in fact, happen. Those who voted for a particular party did not do it in the hope that enough people would vote for ANOTHER party so as to ensure the party they chose did not achieve a majority. Everyone just voted for who they wanted, and not enough people wanted either side. It's just MATHS, people.

Do you think we WANTED this, mainstream media? Bitch, please.

Secondly, an informal vote is NOT a donkey vote. An informal vote is one where the ballot paper is filled out incorrectly, or not filled out at all, or where the voter drew little caricatures of 18th-century English playwrights in each box. Informal votes are not counted.

A donkey vote is one where the voter, rather than numbering the boxes in order of their own preference, simply writes "1" in the top box and numbers them in the order they appear on the paper. Donkey votes ARE counted, because they are legitimate votes i.e. NOT INFORMAL.

Therefore, anyone claiming this election had "an unprecedented number of donkey votes" or "Mark Latham urged everyone to cast donkey votes" needs to be informed of their own ignorance, and possibly lightly slapped, particularly if they're a political journalist and should fricking well know better.

Thirdly, it has been brought to my attention that Bob Katter is a significant figure in the determination of the next government of Australia. Bob Katter:

"I mean, if you could imagine 20 or 30 crocodiles up there on the roof, and if all that roof was illumination, and saying that we wouldn't see anything in this room because of a few croco-roaches up there," he said.

"Are you telling me seriously that the world is going to warm because there's 400 parts per million of CO2 up there?"

OK.

No, seriously, what?

Damn

So you have probably heard by now that New Matilda has been terminated. As of June 25, it will be no more.

This, quite naturally, makes me very sad. Of coruse it's not nearly as great a blow to me personally as it is to the newmatilda.com team, who've worked like trojans on the site and now find themselves out of work. But it's still terribly disappointing for me, because it's a site I've been writing for since 2007, the first place to publish my work, and I think the home of the best humour writing I've done.

As I am quoted saying in Crikey (and also, for some reason, at Tim Blair's blog, where I was shocked and wounded to discover that Blair fans don't know who I am), nobody would know my name if it weren't for New Matilda. If you're reading this blog, it's probably because of New Matilda. Were it not for their willingness to give a slab of space to a nonsense-spouting non-entity, there's a good chance my writing would still be exactly nowhere. Of course I'm still pretty obscure, but without NM I wouldn't be that.

And so it's a depressing time for me. There's loads of stuff being written now about the implications for independent and online media, and it may well say something about the future of the media. New Matilda just couldn't make any money out of its model, because online advertising is simply not a big moneyspinner, even if a lot of people are reading. Maybe the Crikey subscription model is the only one with a chance of working; but if that's the case, will any new outlet have to ape Crikey to get anywhere?

In any event, there's no doubt that this is the passing of a little piece of alternative, thoughtful, analytical Australian media, and I do think it's a great shame. NM was something different; it gave voice to little-heard views and unknown writers (like me) and it was a noble counterpoint to mainstream media commentary.

(Some are holding out hope New Matilda can be saved; I doubt it can in its present form, but I do hope that maybe the name and the ethos can be continued somehow.)

But it's soon to be gone, and I suppose we will all move on. Thank you to all those who read my and others' work on newmatilda.com; I hope you'll keep supporting independent media, and see the NM battalions fighting on new battlefields in future. No doubt there'll be more to say before June 25; and I do hope you'll keep reading up until then.

As for me, watch this space.

For What It's Worth

I feel compelled to comment on the sacking of Catherine Deveny from The Age. Bear with me, or ignore it if you've no interest in my being serious - God knows I would understand that. There's plenty of good commentary about anyway, probably better than mine - from Daniel Burt, for example, or even over at Pure Poison - and anyone who reads PP regularly knows they are no fans of Deveny.

I am going to make no pretence to impartiality here. Catherine Deveny is a friend of mine, so I am by no means unbiased. She's not my friend because I agree with everything she says, but she is my friend and obviously I'm likely to take her side when she gets knocked about like this. So this isn't coming from an objective place and I know it.

BUT...

For what it's worth, I'm troubled by this. Getting sacked for a couple of posts on Twitter? Really? A couple of one-line jokes?

Now, there is no point arguing about whether the jokes were funny. That's purely subjective, and an argument without a point. It's also irrelevant. Were they offensive? Undoubtedly - they clearly offended a lot of people. But then, what comedian hasn't offended someone? What opinion writer hasn't offended someone? I'm regularly offended by right-wing columnists from all parts, and I've never believed my offence was grounds for their dismissal.

And here we are talking about being offended by actual, serious arguments being put forward in articles published in newspapers - not a couple of throwaway gags of 140 characters or less. So is offending people a sin worthy of dismissal? Clearly it's not. Not even at The Age itself - Catherine's been offending people in droves for years, and they haven't kicked her to the kerb.

Tasteless jokes are common among comedians, and even commoner on Twitter. It would seem a huge overreaction for The Age to take this action based on such minor, disposable comments.

But the thing is, they didn't. The Age didn't act on the tweets. The Age acted on the "controversy". The Herald Sun whipped it up, its readers fell into lockstep behind it, and The Age went along with it.

One can't imagine this working the other way. Were The Age to report on a "storm of criticism" being sparked off by Andrew Bolt's latest vicious slurs on refugees, or to denounce, say, his characterising of Kevin Rudd as a murderer who "fries" people in roofs, one doubts the Herald Sun would feel compelled to sack Bolt in response. Au contraire, they'd probably rub their hands with glee at the controversy.

I'm not denying The Age has a right to choose its own columnists. I was kicked off the radio for making bad-taste jokes, and I never claimed the station was engaging in "censorship" for making that kind of editorial decision. But that doesn't mean the decision is right either. The Age has been dictated to by the hysteria concocted by its rivals, and I think that's a shame. They've lost a distinctive voice that, no matter what sort of reaction she provoked, always provided something different in the paper, which could only have been a good thing. And I think that's a shame too.

And this isn't an issue of whether you like Deveny, or think she's funny or not, or approved of the jokes that got her in trouble. It's an issue of whether you think Twitter jokes should be elevated to a level of importance that will lose someone their job. And it's an issue of whether you think simply causing "offence" is a sin serious enough to warrant getting the boot. I think if being offensive is not allowed, it's a rather sad turn of events for the media.

I'm not going to boycott The Age. It will remain the best paper we've got here in Melbourne. I'm just disappointed, and I respectfully disagree. I hope at some point they might reconsider and welcome Deveny back. I would urge them to.

An Awful Realisation

I've been reading newspapers, listening to radio, watching TV, scanning the internet etc., particularly following the climate change "debate", and something has slowly been starting to dawn on me.

You know those people, those climate change denialists? The ones who say it's not really happening, and if it is we didn't cause it, and if we did we can't stop it anyway, and if we can, it's a good thing because it's nice to be warm?

I've just realised...they're really stupid.

I don't mean they're wrong. Anyone can be wrong, even about climate change. Hell, maybe I'm wrong about climate change.

I don't mean they're misinformed.

I don't mean they're misguided.

I don't mean they're ignorant and naive.

I mean they're really dumb.

Because they say things like, "look, it's really cold outside", and "the earth's been cooling since 1998", and "carbon dioxide isn't a pollutant", and "I just read Ian Plimer's book".

It's like climate change is a sort of stupidity litmus test. You dip it into the population, and it comes out idiot-coloured.

I'm Mad As Hell And Will Only Take It For A Little While Longer

OK, so The Chaser. Everyone knows about it. They'll be back next week, and hopefully the experience will not turn them tame and insipid in any way, but drive them on to more inspired feats of comedy.

Below is something I wrote in the aftermath of the infamous sketch, because every bit of commentary I saw seemed to miss the point by some distance. Some pieces made some good points - I agree with those sticking up for the Chaser's right to make bad-taste jokes, I agree with those who said it's the show's job to push boundaries and test the limits and so forth - but even those mostly missed the point of what the sketch was actually about. And as for those blasting the show for crossing lines, destroying lives, spitting in faces etc, I found it unbearable. Those who claimed the problem is that the show was no longer funny may or may not be right, but it was irrelevant to the issue at hand - which was the only good point contained in what I thought was one of the most ridiculously wrongheaded articles, by Shaun Carney and I'm not in the slightest bit interested in debating whether something's funny or not). And even now, two weeks later, all commentary continues to miss the point, to my mind.

Everyone must make up their own minds, but I honestly think the media hysteria has blinded people to what the sketch actually was, and I also think I'm at least as well-qualified to comment on it as the political analysts and shock jocks that have dominated the debate. And since the piece below was not wanted by a variety of media outlets, I'm having my say here. If you hate The Chaser and all it stands for and always will, you probably won't get much out of it. If not, do read on:



ON THE CHASER

Making fun of sick children? Disgusting. Outrageous. Disgraceful. Unacceptable. For doing such a revolting thing, those terrible Chaser boys should be condemned in the strongest possible terms. For mocking those poor kids, they should be sacked. Blackballed. The ABC should lose its funding. How could they do such a thing?

The only trouble, of course, is that they did no such thing. They never made fun of sick kids. Not in the slightest. And no reasonable person making up their mind based on the actual sketch – as opposed to having their mind made up for them by squawking tabloid headlines – would come to the conclusion that they had.

Now, I admit I do not know any Chaser members personally – as the 800 pound gorillas of Australian comedy to my pygmy shrew, we move in different circles – and so it is, I concede, possible that they sat down and thought, “Bloody sick kids, let’s take them down a peg or two”. However, I consider it susbtantially more likely they sat down and thought, “You know the Make A Wish Foundation? Wouldn’t it be funny if there was an organisation like that, but one that was really, really bad at its job?” I think this is more likey for the simple reason that that is precisely what they did in the sketch.

Contrary to those who saw it as a vicious attack on sick kids, or on the real Make A Wish Foundation, it wasn’t an attack on anyone. It was actually a conventional piece of sketch comedy based on the classic premise of taking a well-known character, situation or institution, and coming up with an absurd, grotesque or incompetent version. The Make A Realistic Wish Foundation is, in fact, nothing more than The Chaser’s version of Monty Python’s Silly Olympics, Saturday Night Live’s male, talentless synchronised swimmers, or even bumbling Maxwell Smart. The humour lies not in laughing at sick kids, but in the very fact that we know how appalling the “Make A Realistic Wish Foundation” is. The fictitious foundation itself is the butt of the joke – in essence, the point is not to mock the sick kids, but to side with them against the dreadful fools at their bedsides. To suggest that the fact that terrible fictional characters do terrible things to others means the creators are mocking the victims is just silly. The Chaser was no more mocking sick kids than John Cleese mocked Germans by making Basil fawlty a racist, or that Ricky Gervais mocked the disabled when his David Brent showed his utter insensivity to a wheelchair-bound colleague. Comedic characters are often terrible people – this is what makes them comedic. We’re laughing at them, not the innocent folk who have to suffer their obnoxiousness.

Please note, this is not in any way attempt to convince those who didn’t find the sketch funny that it was; comedy is utterly subjective, and to try to claim that one’s own opinion on what’s funny is in any way objective or definitive is ridiculous. That, of course, does not stop people trying, and a hundred comedic experts have sprung up since The Chaser aired to claimed that the “real problem” is that the sketch just wasn’t funny. Patently untrue – people don’t call for sackings and funding cuts just because things aren’t funny. Thousands of hours of unfunny material is broadcast every year without a furore. Commentators like to claim that unfunniness is the problem in order to dodge the quite accurate accusation that they are joining a herd of confected moral outrage and self-righteousness. The fact is, whether it was funny or not is completely irrelevant to the question of whether The Chaser was mocking sick kids. If they were, making every last person on earth bust a gut wouldn’t change the fact, and if they’re not, stony silence from every viewer does not give reason for moral condemnation.

I don’t doubt that some were upset by the sketch. That’s unfortunate, but as any comedian or comedy writer knows, if you want any hope of amusing people, you have to risk giving offence. I’ve seen comedy deal with subjects including racism, Nazism, incest, bestiality, sexual assault, domestic violence, murder, war, disease and famine. Any of these and a hundred other apparently tamer topics could cause distress – there’s practically no subject that has no chance of offending anyone. That’s the nature of comedy, and any comedian worth their salt takes that chance all the time. But the fact that a piece of work can strike a nerve with you doesn’t mean it was targeted at you, and the fact a TV show upset someone – however worthy and genuinely long-suffering that someone is – doesn’t mean that they are right and the makers of the show deserve to be cast into the outer darkness. Especially when, one suspects, much of the outrage and offence being expressed comes less from genuine spontaneous reaction and more from the efforts of media hypocrites desperate to whip up a new moral panic to reinforce their self-assumed position as guardians of the public good. After all, sketch show The Mansion did a similar gag last year. America’s The Onion and Australia’s Shaun Micallef have both in the past given their own spin to “make-a-wish comedy”. No howls of outrage there, because they weren’t The Chaser, the enemy that Murdoch papers and “current affairs” programmes alike are just itching to snipe at. The Chaser could act out verbatim re-enactments of Mother and Son, and the Herald Sun would scream about their tasteless assault on Alzheimer’s sufferers.

So it’s a shame if you were offended, especially if you have suffered the trauma of ill children. But be assured, The Chaser wasn’t having a go at you, or your kids, or anyone. And if you are the sensitive type, perhaps you shouldn’t be watching the show (and nor should children, sick or otherwise). Personally, I’m going to go on watching. Because even if it’s not perfect, I know that it’s comedy. If you don’t understand that, maybe you should go look for the remote.