We Can Do Better Than Paywall Mainstream Media

Nine Entertainment, News Ltd and Seven West Media are using your subscriptions to turn Australia into a corrupt, debt-crippled failed state. Their sock puppet reporters are even covering-up sex crimes inside Australia's Parliament House. Paywall media charge you to see ads while Google charge you not to see ads. Paywall media also give you sanitized news. Why is TV free when the costs are higher than online media? This is scammer media upholding scammer government.

11 Aug 2013

Penis in Pinot, The Fatberg And Test Tube Meat

By Annabel Crabbe.
There are some sentences a human being should never be obliged to read. Some concepts that are too ghastly to ever be made flesh. Some images that cannot be erased, no matter how frantically you scrabble, with horror-palsied fingers, at your own bulging eyes.
So why - dear God, why? - did pretty much all these concepts choose the past week to materialise? And what have we done, as a global people, to deserve it?
Give me a minute. I'm going to recap them, right after snapping on the mental marigolds and gulping back a nauseous heave or two … OK.
Queensland MP photographs own penis in glass of wine. An obvious place to start. Borrowing generously from the tradition of US former congressman and New York mayoral candidate Anthony ''Show Us Your'' Weiner, Queensland state MP and hobby ethicist Peter Dowling added a fun oenological touch this week, when photographs of him tenderly immersing an intimate portion of his anatomy in a glass of red were leaked to The Courier-Mail. Dowling is from Queensland, which automatically gives him the option of explaining his behaviour as a simple misreading of the concept of pinot noir. Or an understandable misstep while trying to approximate the classic French dish coq au vin.
But no, the Liberal MP copped to the lot, resigning from his chairmanship (presumably honorary) of the parliamentary ethics committee and offering a simultaneously humble and hopeful apology to the chamber for ''any embarrassment or poor reflection on the party'' the willy-dangling might have caused. Don't mention it, Mr Dowling. Really. Please don't.
Double-decker-bus-size lump of fat. Breakfast radio listeners were ruthlessly mown down on Thursday by the news, breaking overnight from London, that a 15-tonne ''fatberg'' consisting largely of food fat and nappy wipes had been successfully removed from a sewer beneath south-west London. An unnecessarily cheerful Thames Water spokesman confirmed that congealed fat was a regular problem in the complex network of subterranean waste passages, but that the recently excavated lardbomb was the biggest ever. A colleague from CountyClean Environmental Services heartlessly added that the blubbermound would be recycled, probably as household soap. GAH.

Five-ounce patty of cultured meat. Anyone with breakfast left to lose might like to not think of Tuesday's news that the world of science has succeeded in growing meat in a test tube. ''A cultured beef burger, made from a cow's stem cells, was cooked in front of an invited audience and served to nutritional scientist Hanni Rutzler and author Josh Schonwald,'' the Daily Mail reported. Rutzler cautiously described the general effect as ''close to meat'', which is presumably British Nutritional Scientese for ''I am nauseated beyond belief and could you please turn those cameras off so I can ralph into a bucket at considerable length.'' Schonwald then made things quite a lot worse by using the term ''mouthfeel'', a throat-scrapingly awful word that is bad enough in normal circumstances, but practically homicide-warranting here. The weirdyu burger was part-funded by Google founder Sergey Brin, the bastard.

Rupert Murdoch bizarre love polygon. Another concept with which you probably never imagined life would oblige you to tussle. Fissures in Rupertland opened up by his pending divorce and the cleaving of his corporate empire in twain now hint at a lurid subterranean fatberg of intrigue. Murdoch biographer Michael Wolff ran a quick audit this week in USA Today of all the sexual indiscretions said to run from No. 10 Downing Street through the News of the World and up and down the Murdoch family tree, involving several branches and rather too many roots. Wolff warns breezily that the octogenarian is in danger of looking like one of those ''louche, out-of-control, sex-crazed older men''. Now, if you could just pass me a wire brush for MY EYES!
Rudd/Beattie press conference. Like the birth of a two-headed kitten, this event was at once statistically unlikely and powerfully compelling. That two such colossal spheres of self-regard and deep, mutual hatred could be manoeuvred together for an outwardly friendly encounter tells you just how far we are from Kansas in this election, Dorothy. Beattie is running for the federal seat of Forde, in which he will soon establish a campaign HQ (to be known as the Beattie Forde Clinic, one hopes) and where he now lives, having forcibly seized his brother's house in the Logan City suburb of Cornubia. Whether this period of Cornubial bliss yields either a Canberra plane ticket for Beattie or a three-year VIP jet lease for his new best buddy remains to be seen, but the image will never fade.
I'm sorry about all this.

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