Archive for the '4 Legs Good 2 Legs Bad' Category


Fremantle Dockers Rookie Surprise Inspection

Rookie: Hamish

Rookie: Hamish

According to Hamish Shepheard is a “versatile tall forward who has the ability to go back if needed and this was highlighted throughout the NAB AFL U18 Championships. Mobile for his size, reads the game well and has clean hands.”

He is tall. He can run (apparently to order). He has clean hands. Excellent. Good selection criteria there Freo. We’re sure to win a premiership now. Whilst the ‘scouts’ were admiring Hamish’s manicure, no one noticed he is clearly descendent of rat, if not actually some kind of were-rat. But maybe I’m being overly critical (again) comrade. Perhaps choosing young weedy rookies with rat powers might come in handy if the AFL keeps changing the rules. I can see NAB pre-season of the future (say 2020), where the home side can choose non conventional surfaces for the game. Freo of course will choose the rat infested docks of the Fremantle harbour. Having a giant rat-man on the team will seem like an uncanny advantage. But back in 2008 the selectors knew what they were doing… geniuses!


Lucky Boris Yeltsin is Dead!


The Village Petstore and Charcoal Grill

Via Wooster

When genius street artist Banksy gets his hands on animatronics and a shop in NY, NY. This is what happens. I like Banksy. He said this apparently:

Think outside the box, collapse the box, and take a fucking sharp knife to it.



Fish Fingers

Sausages (careful ladies, this one is quasi erotic)

Rabbit (now I’m aroused!)

Is this the bit where I give it stars or something?

Ok it’s quite good, how about: 42 stars? Happy? Reviewers make your life that much easier. Anyway I hope Banksy doesn’t stop the random, street based, “box-breaking”, sabotage art, winding up the slave capitalist paradigm. That shit rocks. Look here for more:

~ Lucky Boris Yeltsin Is Dead! (and lucky that bunny’s cage is too small for a Russian)


Unspeakable, Uneatable

The English country gentleman galloping after a fox.
The unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable.
-Oscar Wilde




User Generated Content

User Generated Content

The geeks love user generated content because they feel like they really “own” the website they’re posting their content to… sharing the wealth of their massive heads I suppose. The web-man, he loves it because the nerds bring their friends to bask in their published triumphs etc. Today I discovered that my local park in the Maribyrnong Council also loves “user generated content”. The user is, in this case, my dog and the content is her doggy doo-doos (so Zappa – are you feelin’ it?). I didn’t realise this until getting a dog but for those playing at home without a K9, local councils provide little bags for you to pick up after your dog. Although it’s pretty gross at first, you get used to it and there’s an unspoken “pick it up!” ethic policed by disapproving frowns, stares and in rare instances a “pardon me, um, your dog…(awkward pause)”. It’s a pretty good system all-in-all that stops the park becoming a mine field for the 3 other types of park users I’ve noticed without dogs who don’t come packaged with our nifty dog poo “search and avoid” radar. That is: the sluggish early morning solo jogger, the gang of path hogging old Greek ladies and the odd mum – pram pusher.

So the bags help make everything go smoothly and there is a United Nations-type peace prevailing between the groups. That is of course until we run out of bags and go for a few days before the Maribyrnong Council refills them. This is when a shitty kind of anarchy descends.

For example today, the park and I were totally bagless. My dog looked at me after finishing her job as if to say “aren’t you going to pick that up?” and all I could do is shrug and say (to myself) “not without a bag mate!”. Maybe the council is just like the Web Guy, wanting the dogs to feel like they own the park with their user generated content? Ah… Maribyrnong Council – you’re so cheap and nasty. Maybe you better do a stocktake of all that user generated content being created out there in your parks while you sit back eating your 12 sandwiches. Oh and emptying the bins of said content would be greatly appreciated too! You’re just so fortunate; you’re just so…

Lucky Boris Yeltsin Is Dead!





Now, I’ve long been a follower of the works of St Jude -the patron saint of drunks and lost causes (above left, hanging with the big J man), but I’ve recently (for one reason or another) stumbled upon the teachings of St Kevin – the patron saint for resisting temptation (above right).

St Kevin was an Irish monk who shunned the company of women, preferring the company of a cow, a blackbird and a very helpful otter . His disdain for the company of ladies was so strong that he is famed for having pushed an amorous woman into a patch of nettles (or in some references, off a cliff ). Other texts have Kevin fleeing the offending nubile by stripping off and leaping into the nettle patch himself (and throwing some nettles at the maiden for good measure). There are also some reports that when St K visited a New York strip club, he suffered from a hideous bought of amnesia.

St Kevin lived until he was 120.

I’m going to guess that they were 120 very long years.


Horses really just chucking a sickie!


Victoria remains free of horse flu after tests revealed yesterday that sick show horse, Harry’s Boy, in the state’s south-west was actually trying to pass off his cold as a flu.

There have been leaked reports from the Randwick stables in NSW to Lucky Boris Yeltsin is Dead!, that some horses allegedly diagnosed with the Equestrian Flu are in fact faking it as part of a unionist conspiracy, organised by the Equestrian Workers Union (EWU) to bring the Racing Industry and the Howard Government to its knees. The still slightly-nasal Harry’s Boy launched a scathing attack at a Hamilton Race Track press conference this morning.

“Fair crack of the bloody whip! This industrial action is well over due! The horse/human relationship has become untenable since the Work Choices legislation was introduced by the Howard Government.” Mr Boy said. “Look, whether it’s shaving a second off your best track time or trampling over your quota of uni students, the pressure to perform for a horse is immense. We don’t think it’s right that on top of that stress, we now can be sent to a pet food factory without any fair warning or reason the moment our human employer wants. What’s worse, we’re expected to work on the Melbourne Cup public holiday – and the pay is peanuts. It’s just screwy and it makes me want to kick the living bejezzus out Howard and his side-kick Captain Smirk.” Brayed Boy.

Pixie’s Prince, the NSW EWU boss and thoroughbred, rejects Harry Boy’s claims and has repeatedly denied accusations that Sydney horses are chucking a sickie or are part of some plot by the EWU or Federal Labor leader Kevin Rudd.

Neigh – Neigh!

Which means you’re so

Lucky Boris Yeltsin Is Dead!