* jazzyhands *

|| ||

 

::16.2.05:: Rant

Now I might be going off half cocked here, but I want to rant about something that has been really bugging me. Trouble is I don't want to like research shit or anything like that so if I have my facts wrong, be gentle.

My rant is this... if you live in Melbourne, and probably the rest of Australia, you would have heard about the woman that got locked in the car boot and the subsquent discover of her swinging lifestyle. What I want to know is firstly how did the media find her online profile and secondly, what right do they have to splash it all over the news?

Excuse me but I thought we had such things as privacy laws in this country? Just because someone puts up a profile on an online contact site doesn't mean they want it published in the media.

I have personal information, very personal indeed, scattered around various online sites. Doens't mean I want the world to know I'm into that shit. That information is given with the purpose of finding a man who can pleasure me, not to amuse the world.

Who gave out the information anyway? What's going on here folks?

Comments:

 

Have read your blog for some time now, love it - and I also read your diet one (keep at it) if you need a weight loss or exercise buddy let me know - poor woman, the photo she used on the site was identical to the one given to journos for article on finding her - didn't take long for someone to put 2 & 2 together, it was exceptional circumstances though with saturation media coverage, if you take the risk of putting a photo up on a site with your face on it, it could bite you sometime - I am on the same site as she was as "the bodybuilder" but I would never put my face on the public access section, have you?

 

 

I think you’re being a little naïve. Once something’s on the internet, it’s up for grabs.

 

 

I'd tend to agree with the commenter-with-no-name. Only post to the Internet stuff that you don't mind everyone knowing.

 

 

We are living in a world of free trade and that includes, information. Its up for grabs to anyone. The one thing I do like about the internet and the information you can obtain is, if you do want it circulated you always have the freedom of being anonomyous. But you have a valid point. I feel so sorry for the children. Surely the media should of thought of her as someone's mum first and foremost. Alas I do hope she recovers to put her husband and lover behind bars and head to QLD with the lotto win that they had and start a new life.

 

 

The media do indeed think of her as someone's mum. Look at today's headline: THE MUM IN THE BOOT CASE (Herald Sun). Aside from that, she has constantly been referred to as "Mother of two". Why? To add to the drama, of course. Would you consider that maybe SHE should have thought of herself as someone's mum before flaunting her silly self on an internet sleaze site - knocking nine years off her age while she was at it? And as for putting her husband and his lover behind bars, they haven't even been to trial yet, you goose! But you've convicted them already. So what are you, judge and jury? If the trial was on right now you'd be up for contempt, you ridiculous person. Furthermore, the supposed lotto win is a rumour, get it? A rumour emphatically denied by the daughter.
You need to wake up. Dills like you give the internet its bad reputation. This case will make it worse; show it right up. It'll show what a lot of the internet is: a tatty sideshow where any mug can say anything about anyone. You barely even need to be literate.
And we do not live in a world of free trade, you nitwit. Everything costs. Read the papers.

 

 

For fuck's sake! Of course she deserved privacy - just coz you're horny and want to put yourself out there to find what's right for you, doesn't give the fucking papers the right to splash your info everywhere so they can get a saucy angle. Having said that, if i were to give personal info out on the net, i might have made it slightly more difficult for me to be tracked through it? Hmm.

 

 

Who gives papers the right? People like you. Do you support censorship? Of course not. You demand the right to know. The right to know everything. And to tell everything. You're saucy alright, a horny scribbler (yawn). That's your angle, all there is.

 

 

R.H! If you're gonna post your usual nonsensical drivel, at least have the balls to do it using your real name.

You sad loser.

 

 

He'll probably claim his drivel is intelligent drivel.

Anonymous Gutsy

 

 

SHUTUP!

 

 

You shutup!

 

 

You shut up!

 

 

You!

 

 

You!

 

 

You!

 

 

You go first.

 

 

R.H. is a happy loser.

 

 

SHUTUP!!!

 

 

I can't stand this anymore!

 

 

Take a seat.

 

 

The Pornographers Pimps and Pedophiles Association is now inviting membership applications.

Be quick.

 

 

And furtive.

 

 

R.H. I'm sorry for every rude remark I've made to you. Please forgive me.

 

 

And I promise never to say a bad word about you again. Never!

 

 

Okay, I'll think about it.

Trouble is, you poofs never keep your word.

 

 

*crickets chirping*

 

 

Let me explain. Last night my lover had a shit in my bed - two big black turds. That was his goodbye to me.
Well! No wonder I have insects in my head! Wouldn't you?

 

 

Bloody oath I would!

(Poor bugger.)

 

 

You know what, R.H? You're absolutely right.

I am gay. I am a flaming homosexual. My every waking thought is dominated by my need for cock. It's become an obsession. And do you know who I crave above all others?

You.

I want you, R.H.

I want to push your face softly into my pillow, and gently pry your anus open, before sliding my massive, homosexual penis into you. I want to hear you cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain as I ride you, slapping your buttock and smiling as you wince, before your grimace melts into a smile of ecstasy.

I want to lie naked with you beneath the moonlight, as we share a cigarette and lovingly fondle each other. Perhaps we'll become more aroused, and we can try it again. Perhaps you can fellate me while I call you dirty names and tug playfully on your hair.

And I want to see you smiling through half-lidded eyes, the seed of my love dripping from your mouth and cheeks as you sensuously lick your fingers clean, and I tuck myself away, bending down to kiss you on the forehead before handing you a box of tissues with a wry smile.

Yes, R.H. After all this time, I've finally admitted it. All those times I accused you of being a homophobic, babbling, incoherent joke of a man - I was simply masking my needs. I want to empty myself into you, R.H - I want us to feel our souls ignite.

Yours lovingly,

A friend.

 

 

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

 

 

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

 

 

RH.. that really is stooping too low. Play nicely or you can go home.

In fact, enough of this petty squabbling on my blog... take it outside before you break something.

mnkymelbourne... shoot me an email if you read thais about the exercise buddy stuff.

 

 

Right! Well just for that, you won't be renting my shed! Find your own cobwebs, your own spiders.

 

 

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

 

 

Yes, removed by me: R.H. But the shed's still available - women only. Send your measurements. Photo too,

Cheap rent for the right tenant!

(None at all
If the bust ain't small)

 

 

Yes, removed by me: R.H. But the shed's still available - women only. Send your measurements. Photo too.

Cheap rent for the right tenant!

(None at all
If the bust ain't small)

 

 

It pays to advertise.

 

 

Dear Mithter R.H. I have a big butht and would like to rent your thed.

 

 

Sorry, no drag queens. They frighten the spiders.

 

 

Dear Robert,

I've been reading what you've written with a lot of interest. To be honest, I was hoping that I'd have a little less hostile a reply than the one I recieved. You want me to get AIDS? What are you trying to say - that AIDS is a homosexual disease? For shame!

But, then again - I know the real you, Bobby. I know that you wouldn't be a homophobe, and I know that you couldn't possibly such an openly backward, ignorant dimwit as that. And, believe me, I'll defend you to the end.

Because, Bobby - we're the same. Really. Except that I'm out, and free, and released from the prison of my homosexual closet - while you vent spleen on websites, in a futile attempt to assert your masculinity. I must say, I was amused at your need to remind us that you're not a faggot. 'Women only!', you say.

But, Bob - we know that's not true. And it's not a shed - it's a 'closet' that you are trapped in. And there's only one 'spider' - your brown spider, and I'm looking forward to introducing it to my massive, veiny penis.

You can be 'Bob'. And I'll be 'Kneel'. And together, we'll show the world just what man-on-man action is all about. I can't wait, Bobby. I can't wait to grab a fistful of your hair, and jerk your head back as I pound your dried up old colon. I can't wait to deliver long, deep strokes - listening to you gasp and groan in pain as I kiss the back of your neck, and wipe the beads of sweat from your thick, greasy back hairs.

Do you know what I'm doing right now, Bobby?

I'm touching myself while thinking of you.

That's right.

I'm thinking about all the things I'm going to do to you. Oh, Bobby - we're going to make love.

I love you, Robert.

A friend.

 

 

And if you've got a young son I'll fuck him too. I like little boys.

 

 

It pays to advertise.

I do hope I get some results. Very young ones.

A friend.

 

 

Anyone who thinks they're unfortunate should have a listen to you. You're a disgrace. A disaster. A disgusting little germ. Who could feel sorry for any illness that struck you; for any kind of death at all. It'd be a riddance, that's all. You are a throwback, a pestilence, a scab on civilisation.
Die. Don't wait around. Don't wait for homosexuality to become respectable. It never will.

 

 

The Commercial Road combo presents:

OUT OF THE CLOSET - INTO THE FIRE!
(It's only words.)
Oh what joy!
There's my boy!
A croaking toad
On Commercial Road.
Whoo-oh! we say
I am gay
Are you gay too?
Let's push poo!

(Pardon the following):

"But why mince words
We're not 'straight'
Our only mince
Is a mincing gait.
So if you're gay
Get over it.
It's simpler to say
Let's push shit!

Dear Tiddles, I've never considered my time wasted, even in the boob I learned a thing or two. I learned that good people break the law, for good reasons. So here's what I'm going to do. I'll plant you in a forest, under a conifer. The roots will push you down. They'll push your carcass down. All the way to hell. When you get there, in a thousand years, you'll see your old crowd. They'll be doing a funny little dance. A jiggling little dance; mouths wide, eyes bulging, brains still alive. That'll be you, for billions of years. I promise. That'll be you. You will dance, I promise. Dance popsie. Dance.

 

 

Bobby,

You say the sweetest things. Honestly, I felt a little bit surprised this morning, when I tumbled out of bed and read your post.

I don't want you to take this the wrong way, baby. Honestly - I don't. I've seen you talk about the 'Commercial Road Combo' in previous posts, and I have to tell you... it's not funny. It's not that you're offensive, or threatening, or anything like that - you're just flat-out unfunny. Look, I don't mean to upset or embarass you - but please, stop embarassing yourself. You're a beautiful guy, Bobby - one of the finest of men - but witty? No, sweetheart - that simply isn't one of your qualities.

Oh, and I thought it was really sweet when you impersonated me through those two 'anonymous' posts that referenced paedophilia - but you made a mistake. If you'd been paying attention, you'd know that I have absolutely flawless punctuation and grammar - and, well, you do not.

I must say, it was a good attempt - but...

"And if you've got a young son I'll fuck him too. I like little boys. "

If I'd actually written that, there'd be a comma between 'son' and 'I'll'.

Like I said, a good try - but seriously, baby: you have to stop. You're not very funny, or clever, or anything. Honestly, I'm amazed that you'd make jokes about paedophilia publicly like this - most people find the entire idea so abhorrent that they'd never even TRY to make a joke about it. But that's one of the things I love about you, Bobby - you're such a silly old man that you think saying those kinds of things is the acme of humour. You duffer!

I must say, I didn't know what to make of your final paragraph. After all, you sound like a babbling psychopath, who is probably best suited to a bullet in the base of the skull. But, you know what? I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt. Look, I can tell you're struggling with this - I kind of sprung the whole thing on you, and it's made you stone cold crazy. But, listen.

Listen to me.

It's not going to hurt for long, R.H. Really, it won't. I'll kiss away your tears as I ream out your wrinkly, crusty anus with my monster cock. I'm going to treat you like the lady you are - I'll rub my nipples across your liver spots, and I'll stroke your staggering inch-and-a-half of tumescent man-meat as I pleasure myself using your bowels. You'll love it, Robert. You'll cry from the beauty of the experience - from the intensity of the orgasm that you'll feel as I cry out and fall foward, filling your lower colon and digging my nails into your grey, wiry back hair.

We'll 'dance', poopsie. We'll 'dance', alright. Don't worry about me going to 'hell', you silly old man - I'm not going anywhere.

But, I promise you this, baby - if gay sex is hell, you're going to recieve the guided tour.

See you beneath the conifer, lover.

A friend.

 

 

Hello bumboy nancy boy poofter faggot arse bandit. I don't impersonate anyone. I use my real name always.
You wrote it.
Read what you've said. All of it. Even the most poofter friendly would despise you. You're a fine example. A star wittness for my case.

 

 

I could pull the trigger on you like flicking a light switch. That's how it'll be

 

 

Uh oh. Bobby's blown a gasket.

Bobster, it really isn't smart to be making death threats over the internet. Especially when we both know who you are, and we know that there are bloggers out there who have your details.

This WAS amusing, but now it's just creepy. You're a loon, son - seek professional help.

And no more making death threats. That's naughty.

 

 

RH.. death threats aren't cool, ok.

 

 

Tell him. He made them first. Anyone threatening me with a bullet is very likely to cop one themselves. I'd do it. Easy.

Read his dirty low disgusting comments. The cowardly bastard. Then have a think about yourself, about the stinking swamp rat culture you're part of.

 

 

I'm not homophobic. Poofs are as good as any one. I knew a few who socialised among the crims and prostitutes in old St kilda. They were good blokes who just couldn't find better company. Any company at all can be better than loneliness.

 

 

Miss Kathryn, you can do better. Write better.

 

 

But anyway, I've got two new girlfriends -the cutest little pair of bloggers that ever told all! Their typos are captivating, their misspellings have enormous charm. Really, I can't choose between them. But after some thought, sentiment leads me to follow the famous preferences of my seriously ill pal up on the Gold Coast; who recently said, as we sat at a cafe table there watching two tarts wobble past, "I'll take the blonde."

 

 

Well, romance never ends. He's lost his kidneys, but his balls are still going.

 

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