Sunday, October 24, 2004

xXx~EmO-cOrE~xXx




There's so much I could say right now, but I think for once I'm going to bite down hard and say nothing.




This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Terminal Wanderlust...sort of.

This time last month I was feeling really unhappy, so I got on a plane without telling anyone, and went to Japan for the night.
I have no idea what I was thinking, all I knew was I was hurting like crazy in Melbourne, so I ran off to Osaka instead.


This is Japan !!!

I used to live in Japan in the late '90's, so I knew my way around OK.

So after waking up at Kansai and taking the train to Namba, I made my way to the old neighbourhood, and sat in the laundromat opposite my old apartment at #201 Seifu Mansion Building, 3-11-9 Moto Machi, Naniwa-ku T556.


This is like a train version of the iPod...I totally want one.

It was like I was some crazy stalker, but instead of creeping someone else out, I was stalking myself in a happier time.

It was 3 in the afternoon, and all I had with me was:

  • 1 iPod,

  • A daypack, containing soap, a towel, a razor, clean socks and underwear,

  • My laptop computer,

  • 'Oyster' magazine (because I'm a closet fashionista),

  • 'While you were Sleeping' magazine, and a

  • Packet of blue anthistamines that I use to make me sleep on planes.

I looked at my old place for a while, through the steamy window of the laundromat, and had a good cry, right there where everybody could see.

It felt amazing.

After this rather out of character episode, I headed over to Den-Den town, and had a look around, eventually buying myself a new pair of headphones.
I bought a can of Pocari Sweat also, then spat it out and reminded myself to remember it actually tastes like sweat in future.


I don't know who Pocari is, and I don't want to.

By the time I got back to Namba, it was dark.
Because I hadn't organised a hotel, I figured my best plan of attack was to just go sit in one of the sixty-billion shoebox bars that line the side alleys near the Shinsaibashi.


This Mall is more than 3 kilometres long, and can contain a million people at any given time. Just not now.

It was Gomi night (or 'hard trash collection' to you Aussies).

I found a Sony 29 inch Trinitron TV with remote, 3 Playstations, and a P.A. System (minus speakers). If you're reading this in Japan, you're probably going "big deal, so what guy?", but back in Ostraya, it's a bit of a culture shock.

As providence would have it, the Bar I went to (Bar Get) had their P.A. system die on them 3 songs into my arrival, so i told them I had one to sell, and they said "hell yes".

So I went back 3 blocks to where I found it, and wheeled it (it was in a rack case) up to the bar.

From this transaction I made a healthy
63,466 Japanese Yen in 30 minutes.
That's about $800 Australian.

I figured I was good to go for a hotel room at this point, but then i met Rebi.

She was a ski instructor who split her time between Osaka and Nagano.
And she convinced me to forget about getting a hotel, and to just come back to her place instead.

Trust me, it wasn't a hard idea to sell.

We called in to the Family Mart (Japanese 7-11) for supplies, and bought some unusually thick Japanese bread, processed cheese slices, Chicken 5 minute noodles, Meiji butter (in a tube), and a shitload of orange juice.


Family Mart 4 eva.

Then we went to her apartment and forgot all about making food completely.
(We made something else...)

I know it's considered bad form to get over a broken heart by having quite possibly the best sex of your life with a total stranger, who looked better than anyone who you have ever seen before, or since.

But I'm sure I'll find a way to deal with the disappointment.

I don't want to get all Penthouse Forum on your asses, but I have to say this:
It was a muggy night, and after a few hours of doing 'that which shall not be named', we were both covered in sweat, to the point we were literally slipping and sliding all over each other.

Add to this the fact that Rebi's natural lubrication valve must have been salvaged from an overly libidinous rhino or some other enormous animal, and you've got all the ingredients for the sexiest night of you-know-whatting I have ever known (and I've known more than 3).

We didn't sleep at all that night, electing to stay up, eat noodly cheez sandwiches, and laugh instead.
And I have to say the conversation was every bit as good as all that came before it.

Rebi drove me out to Kansai again at lunchtime that day, and I came home.

All up, the entire jaunt cost me $600 (not including headphones). My Mum had bought me a scratchie the week before, and when i got back, guess how much I had won?

That's right math fans- $600.

Some things are just meant to happen, wouldn't you agree?

Anyway, the moral of this story is- if you called me last month, and i didn't pick up my phone for once, now you know why.


Shrine on baby...shrine on.





This is knifey, from 'the internet'.






Saturday, October 23, 2004

Revisionist History Lesson - The Crusades.

Book Book Cheep Cheep said...

That is very, very good.

What else have you got in the way of history? I'm after a crash course in the crusades.

Props.

______________________________________________


Never let it be said I'm not a gimp who performs on demand.

Book Book Cheep Cheep requested this blog, so by golly here it is.



History is full of ins and outs, and all kinds of subtle little goings-on-behind-the-scenes. It's not true that it is written solely by the winners, because if the recent election here in Australia was anything to go by, it was the losers who recorded it in great detail, while the winners just gloated like cane toads in a rainstorm.



But complex as it all certainly was, I'm going to do my best to break down a pivotal point of history for you...

This one's all about the motherfucking Crusades, y'all!!!



The Crusades were important because previous to that point, Europe was eating itself in a culture of hostile land grabs and infighting, whereas after it found itself with a much larger worldview, some valuable trading deals, and The Renaissance.

Without The Renaissance, it would never have become acceptable to paint nude women (photographs having not yet been invented), and as we all know, pictures of naked women is what makes this planet that much better than Saturn.

So, what was the deal?

Let's break it down into a play-by-play, and get a view from the field.

England- having been united by William The Conquerer 30 years before, Old Blighty was full of knights with nothing to do but drink mead and kill each other.

Team Captain: Robert, Duke of Normandy, son of William the Conqueror

France- with a culture of dividing properties between sons for countless generations, brother was fighting brother over piddly scraps of land. They also drank wine, made cheese, and practiced their soixante-neuf technique. So it wasn't all bad.

Team Captain: Hugh the Great, Count of Vermandois, brother of the French King of Northern and Central France.

Italy- was all about God, and was stuck in the mother of all bitchfights with the Kings of Germany, over something called 'Investitures'. Investitures was basically a power struggle as to who was gonna run things downtown, the King, or the Pope. It's that simple.

Team Captain: Marcus Bohemond, Prince of Toranto, son of Robert Guiscard.
Who is Robert Guiscard? Who cares?!

Finally, we have the entire Byzantine empire, ruling from Constantinople.

Team Captain: Emperor Alexius Comnenus. He was a dickhead of epic proportions, and I'll eventually get around to telling you why.

So there's your 'Coalition of the Willing', right there.
The Manager for 'Team Crusades' was Pope Urban II.


On the other side of the field, we have The Turks. Now I could go on and on about Kilij Arslan I, or whoever, but at the end of the day, all you really need to know is "it was the Turks".

How it all went down...

The reason they are known as 'The Crusades', is because there were more than one.
In actuality, there were between 6 and 10, depending on who you ask about it.
My favourite Crusade is the first one, but I'll leave it til last, because it's the best.

All of the others I'll brush over in varying degrees of detail, because at the end of the day, you don't really care about peoples names, or specific places. What you care about, is that Team Crusades went on tour to The Holy Land/Levant/The Land Over the Ocean/the Latin Orient/the Land of Milk and Honey, or, to you and me- Israel (and parts of Lebanon/a small stretch of Syria/Southeastern Turkey)... and played a pretty rough game.

If you recall Alexius Comnenus (I called him "a dickhead" a minute ago, if that helps), was getting worried, as the Byzantine empire was being threatened in a big way, by the ever Westward-encroaching Turks.

The Turks were not Christians, and they didn't much like Christians.
They had a habit of ambushing them on their way to, and even in Jerusalem.
And Emperor Comnenus (or, "numb-nuts", as I call him), got himself into quite a lather about what to do.

In 1093, he wrote a letter to his friend Robert, the Count of Flanders, telling him about the atrocities committed by the Turks on the Christian pilgrims, and Robert passed this letter on to Pope Urban II.

I know this, I was there.

Urban was an opportunist (aren't they all?), and set upon the idea that if he could roust out the Barbarian Hordes from The Holy Land, he might just clear up a few of the problems he was experiencing closer to home (like invading Normans, for example).
He opened a meaningful dialogue with all concerned parties, basically saying something along the lines of "You will be filthy rich beyond your wildest dreams, if you go here *points to map*, and do this *throat slitting motion*. Help me Obi Wan, you're my only hope".


So, in 1096 CE (that's 'Common Era', for those of you who live in Australia and can't afford an education), he finalised the Merchandising Rights, and got Team Crusades on the road.

As I said, I'll get back to you on the first Crusade later, but rest assured it was hilarious.

Round 2, The Empire Strikes Back.

The army of the Crusades arrived in Constantinople in February/March 1097. This was numb-nuts' home ground, and he was more than a little worried that the army that had come to his aid, might get a little rowdy and just take over the place.

This wasn't entirely out of the question.

So as each contingent arrived, he tried to make them pledge an oath of liege.
Some did, some didn't...I mean, he was a dickhead of epic proportions, so who'd want to?

In response to those who didn't, numb-nuts tried to starve them out, keeping them outside the city walls. The army did what any army would do, and enjoyed selectively pillaging until numb-nuts gave up and let them in. What a punisher.

Even more on him later...

So, we have a full army, all present and accounted for, in Constantinople (now Istanbul), and ready to whop some ass.

Game 1- Nicaea.
Result: Victory.
Score: Well, that's a tricky one.

Basically, the armies rolled into town, only to find that numb-nuts had struck again, and had negotiated a total surrender while they were on the march.
Needless to say, after hyping themselves up to kill-status, they felt a little cheated.

At this point they decided to split into 4 smaller armies.
These armies then went on to:

  • Antioch

  • Edessa

  • Jerusalem

  • Tripoli.

So let's break it down!!!

Antioch was rough. It was fortified by four hundred towers and sprawled over twenty-five miles.
In October 1097, the siege began, and lasted all through the winter.

It became obvious that taking Antioch by force was just not gonna happen, instead, they knew they needed inside help.

A suitable traitor was found, who let the Army in through a window of one of the towers. By the end of the evening of July 3, 1098, blood soaked the city streets, and every Turk was killed.
They got a bit carried away, and killed quite a few Christians as well, but that's war for ya.


Right here is where the problems start.

During the fighting, they had totally depleted Antiochs food supplies, and as if that wasn't bad enough, they realised they didn't have anywhere near enough men to guard the now taken city.

This was especially bad, as Kerbogha, the Atabeg of Mosul (whatever the hell that means) was camped outside the gates only 4 days after they had taken control.

Kerbogha took posession of Antioch.

Team Crusades were feeling pretty low about this downturn in their game, but luckily for them, a Pilgrim named Peter Bartholomew in France had a vision of St. Andrew appearing to him, telling him the location of a religious relic called 'the Holy Lance'.

Just like in the Lord of the Rings when Gandalph came back from Hell, everyone got well fired up again, and marched back to Antioch to take care of business once and for all.

Kerbogha's armies had been doing a bit of infighting on their own in the absence of Team Crusades, and in their weakened state they lost Antioch to the Crusaders.

This time they kept it, and defended it against the Selchukids, Tughtigi, Bursuk ibn Bursuk of Hamadan, Il-Ghazi ibn-Artuk of Mardi, and the hilariously named Lu-Lu.

That's Antioch.

Edessa, located in Armenia, in Celicia, was the most important of the Armenian cities on the Euphrates.

It's also incredibly boring, so watch me fly through this one...

Team Crusades won, but vicious infighting for control, peppered with the occasional attack from The Turks weakened the situation there, leaving the goalmouth wide open for Zengi the Arab to take it back for Team Muslim in December 1144. It was the first of the Crusader conquests to be permanently lost.

Bam!

The march from Antioch to Jerusalem passed without incident.
No-one wanted to mess with Team Crusades, they were on winning form.
On June 7, 1099, they set up camp outside the city gates of Jerusalem.

The Governor (Iftikhar ad Daulah) had ordered all Christians out of the city, and had poisoned all of the water outside of it.
The defenses were good, and it was looking like a tough match.

They spent their time building siege machines, and following a vision where Adhemar, theBishop of Le Puy, gave instructions to fast and walk in procession around the walls barefoot for nine days, at which time Jerusalem would fall.

This procession was led by...wait for it...the Holy Lance.

This boosted their spirits no end, and with that they started their siege.
By lunchtime they had taken the entire city, and by nightfall they had not only killed every Muslim in the city of Jerusalem, but every Jew as well.

Once they had finished their vicious, but Heavenly-sanctioned task, they proceeded to the Holy Sepulchre to give thanks. As if in response, God killed the Pope on July 29th.

Jerusalems history was thereafter typified by its rulers dying, dying at age 5, or dying from leprosy at not much older. I sense God was not impressed.

In October of 1187, Team Crusades were escorted off the field by Nur-ed-Din's successor, Saladin.

Richard the Lion-Hearted arranged a treaty with Saladin during the Third Crusade, that would allow Christians visiting rights to Jerusalem, but Frederick II (King of Sicily and Apulia) decided that wasn't enough during the Sixth Crusade, and negotiated a treaty with Sultan al-Kamil, who was nervous that his Arab neighbours might move in.

The upshot of this was posession of the ball was returned to Team Crusades for a period of 5 years, until an Arab uprising on July 4th, 1244, by the Khwarismiams, (mercenary horsemen from Hauran, led by Sultan as-Salih), took the city again for Team Muslim.

Except for a six month period in 1300, it would be almost 675 years before a Christian Army would enter the city again, under General Sir Edmund Allenby, in 1917.

End game- Tripoli.

Tripoli was the last city of conquest, taking almost six years of siege before it was finally brought under the Crusader banner.

Raymond of Toulouse was notoriously bad at making up his mind. he took one city (Hisn al-Akrad), then abandoned it for another (Homs), then went back and took the first again. He also conquered Tortosa.

But he realy wanted Tripoli, like baaaaaaad.

Unfortunately for him, he died, and there ends his story.

After a 4 year blockade, led by William Jordan, Tripoli surrendered in July 1109.
As was their custom, The Crusaders engaged in even more infighting, and Saladin (who as you recall handed Team Crusades their collective ass at Jerusalem) for some reason only known to him, let them keep Tripoli, under strict oath they would not bear arms against him.

Sounds like a nice guy to me.

Now if you think that was the end of the story, you're dead wrong.
But seeing as I'm blatantly disinterested in delving any deeper into the psychotic bloodbath that was The Crusades, you're going to have to make a special trip to the library.

That is, after this...

I promised you I'd tell you about the First Crusade, and here I go.

Episode One - A New Hope.

The First Crusade was also known as 'The People's Crusade'.
It was called this because it had no real relation to the Crusades I just told you about, and didn't boast any knights, or general fighting men.

This jaunt was run by a radical monk named Peter the Hermit, in 1095.
After hearing the preaching of Pope Urban II, Peter the Hermit decided to take the ball and run with it.
He preached the Crusades to the poor peasant fanatics, and collected a small army to pilgrimage to the Holy Lands...ahead of the main army.

Now let's be clear about one thing.
Peter and his merry men were total psychopaths, who basically plundered their way from Europe all the way to Anatolia.
Before they had even left Europe, they had cut a fair amount of weight out of the Jewish population, so you can only imagine what they were like once they hit the hot zone.

Once in Anatolia, Peter's followers felt it was time to start Crusading in earnest, torturing, pillaging and massacring indiscriminately. However, as it turned out, most of their victims were Byzantine Christians who lived in and around Nicaea.

How cool is that!?

They found themselves a nice castle, called Xerigordon, and set up shop there.
But Kilij Arslan I (of the Seljuk Turks), didn't share their passion for staying, and lay seige to their fortress for 8 days.

But here comes the good part...

After cutting off their water supply (this is The Middle East, remember), the pilgrims gave up without further fighting.
After a total surrender, they left the city.

But Arslan, being the coolest guy around, ambushed them at the gates and left not one of them living.


After that Han was encased by Jabba the Hutt in a solid block of carbonite, Luke lost his lightsabre arm to his father Darth Vader, and one of the Tuscan raiders, after commandeering a spice freighter from Tattoine, stole the Holy Lance and bought his way out of a life debt he had stumbled into with a gungan called 'CGI Friday', eventually buying a moisture farm and settling down to live out the rest of his days hunting Jawas and taking pot shots at the pod racers.

There ended, the People's Crusade.


I hope that has cleared up a bit of the mystery surrounding the Crusades.
There seems to be some kind of conception nowadays that, because knights were involved, it was some kind of noble and magical thing to be a part of (Holy Lance's notwithstanding).

The truth was it was equal to the Spanish Inquisition and the Holocaust for cruelty and general bloodthirtyness, and even more sweaty, dusty, and hot.

I think there are some amazing parallels to be drawn between the Crusades and the current Iraq situation (as nodded to by my 'Coalition of the Willing' quip).

I wish it wasn't 8 am and I hadn't stayed up all night to bring you the last two posts, then I might have had the energy to clearly map out the parallels.

But it is, and I don't, "...so it's is goodnight from me, and it's goodnight from him".

Goodnight.




This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

















Don't read it, it's dirty...no, seriously.

As usual, this blog is gonna be all over the place.

Originally, I wanted to talk about how, on my way to work, low cloud descended over the city of Melbourne, until it looked there was a roof on the city, suspended by Melbourne central, The Rialto Towers, and The Arts Centre Spire.


Melburn represent.

I wanted to talk about how beautiful it looked, and how I hate myself for not bringing my camera (this isn't the real reason I hate myself, but it will suffice for now).


So I stole this one off the internerd.

I wanted to talk about how suddenly the world seemed smaller, and all of its problems and difficulties felt that much more manageable, like conditioner for a dry/greasy planet.


I'm like, a total foto thief over here!

But then as I rode through the city, my beautiful rainbow revealed a crock of piss and vinegar at the end.

Every drunk idiot just had to walk in front of my bike.
Do people know how fucked they are when they're drunk?

Every idiot taxi driver just had to cut me off, in the most dangerous of places and ways.
An interesting aside is that I am a notorious tough guy, and whenever a taxi cuts me off or annoys me in any way whatsoever, I take their aerial.

Like, I take it off their car, and take it home with me.

I started doing this 3 weeks ago, and already i have forty-eight.
P.S, I'm not kidding.
So if anyone knows what I can make or do with them all, hit me up at knifeyard@gmail.com, and let's get this party started. Or should I say, reception.

God, that was lame.


This is why I call them "road maggots".

Anyway, to cut a long and meandering (some would even say diaphanous) story, tale, or whatever you would like to call it on its merry way, to cut to the chase so to speak, to get right to the meat and potatoes of the situation, to cut the bullshit and...what was I saying again?

Oh yeah, people are fucking idiots.

And while I love this world, and all of the amazing minds and creations and art and words and music and culture, and all that good stuff, i really fucking abhor people.

Chances are I even hate you.

So by the time I got home I was just fuming (I snagged four aerials tonight, one on Toorak road, two from the Arts Centre, and one from Swanston street).

But that's not even what I'm here to talk to you about.

I was marinating on the word 'piss', as in pissed off, and it got me thinking about porn.


Wassup old skool?

Those of you that have spent time with me won't be even slightly surprised at this, knowing as you do that I am a former porn actor.
Those of you that don't know this now know it anyway.

Please don't tell my Mother- at this time she still loves me.

Back in the day, porn was all about a hairy man and a blonde with green eye shadow having sex on 16 mm film.


The Hedgehog, hard at work, so to speak.

Then came video, and Larry Flint, and Clintons refocus of The Justice Department (under Janet Reno, U.S. Attorney General 1993-2001), deprioritising Federal Prosecutions under the banner of 'Community Standards', in favour of National Security. This put the Obscenity taskforce out of business, giving a virtual green-light for producers of porn to get they shit orn.

And get it on they did.

The Adult Industry made incredibly lucrative deals with Corporate America, pumping porn not only into homes through Cable, but also into Hotels, and most importantly, the internet.
Vivid video (The Adult Industry's biggest name player- Jenna Jameson was a Vivid contract girl), have a deal with direct TV, to channel porn into 4 million American homes every month. Direct TV is owned by General Motors.
'The Hot Network' is available through AT&T Broadband.
Porn is available in your Hilton, Weston, or Marriot Hotel room, through Lodgenet, or On Command Video
It costs virtually nothing for companies to carry this programming, yet they will pocket up to 80% of the porn dollar.
Make no mistake, porn is big business, and through their association with big business, it has now gained a protective layer of legitimacy.
At the end of the fiscal trading period for 2003, Vivid recorded sales of $150 million.

The shocking part of this equation is, that the corporations that carried Vivid programmes, pocketed eight times that amount.

"That's a whole lot of clams".

Now as you know, when you have something on tap, you get bored of it fast. If you want porn, and you have a net connection, you can have it for free.
Because of this, over the last 8 years or so, I have noticed a marked swing in taste, from the aforementioned Ron Jeremy and Ginger Lynn style porn of the 70's and 80's, through the bikini babes style MTV porn of the 90's, to what we have now.

The biggest growth Industry in porn today, is fetish.


It's art, you know.


Bondage, Sadism and masochism, Beastiality, Pregnant sex, Rape fantasies, and yes...paedophilia.
It's the saddest fact of porn, that the harder you can get it, the harder you want it.
The turning point came, so to speak, with the rise in popularity, of the facial/oral cumshot. Once this little trick became not only acceptable, but suddenly de-rigeur, there was no turning back. The people have voted, and they have voted to cum all over your face.


Are you ready for me baby?

About paedophila...
We're not talking sick, twisted, old men in raincoats here.
We're talking your Fathers, your brothers, and yes, your sisters too. You never know what a persons fetish is unless they tell you, and believe me, the statistics are staggering.

It's easy to write these people off as just sick, although technically they are. But it goes much deeper. 'Sickness' is diagnosed, at least in a mental health sense, in relation to the community in which it appears.
It is no longer considered sick to masturbate (generally speaking).
Even a little spanking, perhaps some food play is no longer too far out, as society loosens its belt buckle and realises there is more to this sex thing than missionary, and doggy for when you're feeling really nasty.

As highlighted by the recent slew of arrests in Australia's paedophilia driftnet, the people who love seeing naked children were rather surprising. Sure, there were members of the Clergy (no surprise there, some would even say it was to be expected), but there were schoolteachers, politicians, child psychologists, and every other occupation you could imagine.


Naked children and pissing go together like violin crescendos and chloroform.

My point here is that these people aren't the evil predators that 60 minutes would have you believe. they are just really maladjusted, and in need of help.

Help, not prison, people.

I was raped as a child, so don't go thinking I'm preaching out of ignorance. I've also spent a lot of time behind bars. i'd like to think I have a really good set of
experiences from which to base my thought process.
And my thought processes believe that we need to find these people, and hospitalise them.


A typical porn user...apparently.

We need to look after them (as well as keeping them out of schools/churches/the streets in general), and we need to stop thinking that we can just lock them up and the problem will go away.

Because it won't.

And I wouldn't go blaming porn, either.
Like all things, the only way to illumunate our collective way through this most murky and ammonia-smelling environment, is to communicate.

Blame, in general, sucks.


Does this turn you on?

For me personally, the trend that is most off-putting, while still being legal between consenting adults (or toddlers at the local pool) is pissing.

Now let's get one thing straight- I don't like urine.
I don't like my own, so why I'd like someone elses all over me or even in my mouth is just beyond comprehension.
But a lot of people on this cute little bluey/green planet of ours do.

They love it.


Now THAT's what I call biological warfare.

More and more on the internet, regular image galleries (designed to promote traffic to specific sites featuring related content, like XXX Hardcore ad campaigns), are increasingly making room for piss fetishism.

If you don't believe me, do a Google image search for 'piss', and make sure your adult content filter is off. Although, I wouldn't recommend it. Or you could look for 'golden showers', 'H2o water sports', or 'public accidents'.

What is it that makes this desirable?
Is this a publicly acceptable way to express yourself sexually?
Can you believe me, of all people, just asked that question?!

In order to find answers to my questions, I found the one site on the internet that isn't in German, and found a lot of this:

“I’m really sorry”, Debbie gasped turning to talk to Lisa with a look of panic on her face, “I just can’t take this much longer, my tummy feels like its on fire”
“Oh God”, continued Debbie sounding really short of breath, I honestly feel as if I’m going to wet myself any minute”.
No more than fve minutes had passed since her making that statement, and in the quietness of the lift I suddenly heard what sounded like raindrops splashing onto the floor of the lift.
I quickly glanced down at the floor underneath where Debbie was standing and noticed a few droplets of pee had begun to appear on the metal floor of the lift.
My eyes were out on stalks. Debbie had one hand jammed hard against the front of her skirt, and was sucking in deep breaths of air though her teeth.
I knew that her actions were the last steps in a frantic attempt to stop any more pee from escaping.
It was obvious that she was fast losing the battle, and for the next few minutes, Debbie stood there frozen to the spot while the pee continued to run down the inside of her legs.
My penis was rock hard, and my pulse was racing from watching this girl standing in front of me slowly wetting her knickers. I honestly felt as though I was going to start to cum in my pants any second.

This is an example of one kind of piss fetishism, known as 'female desperation'.

For some people, watching girls squirm with discomfort as they try to hold in their urine is only bettered by the eventual release of said yellow liquid.

Now please understand, if you enjoy this sort of thing, I'm not judging you.
But I am admitting my total ignorance of exactly what it is that works for you.
I mean, if a girl pissed on my shoes while we were trapped in an elevator, I wouldn't hate her, but I wouldn't get off on it either.


I censored this pic for Mookies. She doesn't like porn.

But the thing that I really don't get is the sudden proliferation of mainstream pornstars (Ava Devine comes to mind), who are not only fine with making money this way, but who actually like it also.

It all makes me wonder how far it's all going to go?
Where will porn be in 100 years?
Because we're already pushing the envelope of fetish in the mainstream.
Will the Christian Family Values Stormtroopers bring it all down?
Or will a new generation arise, raised on serious hardcore on command, that will repeal obscenity laws and create a utopia for piss drinkers and bukkake enthusiasts everywhere?

We're all guaranteed to have some seriously weird dreams tonight- eat some cheese before you go to bed. Let's just trip out on this shit.

I'll meet you all in the great subconscious...naked, preferably.



This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Friday, October 22, 2004

This one's about VAGINAS.

In 'Y Tu Mama Tambien', Luisa the hot 28 year old protagonist, said "Make the clitoris your best friend."
She said this to her utterly lust-struck road trip companion Tenoch.

His reply is classic, all-time, perfection.
"What kind of friend is always hiding?"


"Mmmmm...boobs."

In the Battle of The Sexes, oral sex is the front line.

Sure, penetration (or should I say 'orgasm') has received a lot of press, as the focus for sexual combat. It's 'Sex and the City', not 'Head', after all.

But the thing about goin' down is, it's the ultimate power trip.

Go on, deny it.

When someone is going down on you, you own them.
Sure, there is a lot of trust involved, letting someones teeth linger dangerously close to your pink bits and all...
But getting head is all about you.

You can just sit back, be pleasured, and all you have to do is cum.
This generally isn't too hard. Even a moron can handle it.


Whoever drew this has never seen a real woman.

It is reinforced by the fact when someone pisses you off, you don't say "let's have sex together".

You say "blow me, asshole".

To the point: If you read Cosmopolitan or Cleo (I'm a subscriber to both), you will generally come across a lot of talk about how men are clueless in bed.

Stories abound, of poor Sharon (24, Sales Consultant)'s attempts to educate her hapless boyfriend Eric (28, Advertising) in the ways of the punani.

No matter how long he explored her velvety womanliness, he simply could not get a lock on her clitoris. Ever.


"Maverick, this is Iceman...I have missile lock on your clitoris."

Which brings us back to the top of the page, and the plight of poor Tenoch.

I am very anti this 'blame the guy' approach to sex.
If you know anything about sex (and believe me, I do), you will know that the number one key to making it good is- *drum roll please* communication.


Oh my God, Latin women are SO FREAKIN HOT right now !!!

People are different, what works for your last partner probably won't work for this one.
Chloe liked it hard and direct, but Olivia likes it soft, with a whole lot of teasing.
Chloe liked you pinching the living crap out of her nipples and ramming a greased rolling pin up her asshole, Olivia likes the vibration from when you say "mmmm", and a gentle upward movement with alternating angles of 45 degrees.

If Olivia doesn't tell you you're doing it too hard, and to put the rolling pin back in the cupboard, neither of you are in for a good time.
I'm not saying she should have to verbally tell her lover, there are other ways of communicating, like showing, or directing.
But if nothing is said to him (and this is often the case), then Olivia only has herself to blame.

From personal experience, I find girls generally like to wiggle their hips around and execute cute little girlie thrusts, and for the inexperienced head-giver, this equates to a total nightmare.
Men don't have eyes in their tongue, sometimes it's a bit like trying to pin the tail on a real donkey, blindfolded, in a snowstorm, while the donkey does everything in its power to run away from you, then right into you, then away again.


Try this - it's easier.

Poor, poor Tenoch and Eric.

At the end of the day it all comes down to the age old argument 'Seat up Vs. Seat down'.


Read it and weep, mofos.

Men can't read minds.
They really can't.
They would love to be able to, believe me, but they can't.
Women think men should read minds, but they can't.
And because they can't live up to this impossible expectation, women get angry at men.


I have totally run out of witty comments.

This is the crux of all inter-genderational* communication breakdowns.

Perhaps there is a perception that directing your mans technique constitutes dirty talk, and is un-ladylike?
Maybe it really is just assumed that men should 'just know'?
Either way, it is problematic, and doesn't actually help anyone.

Incidentally, this isn't directed at anyone in particular, except for those women in Cleo who bitch and moan because their partner couldn't read their mind, and had a hard time hitting the spot, when they were doing their best, and just needed a little help.

I've known a hell of a lot of girls who didn't have a clue when it came to reciprocating too, believe me. As The Osmonds once sang "We all need a little help sometimes."


How hard do I rule, digging up a totally rare 'Osmonds Live at the Tivoli in Stockholm' poster!?

I would like to introduce a new saying into common usage.
"Don't be shy- tell your guy".

I think world peace could be achieved this way, I truly do.




This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

*not a real word.

Thursday, October 21, 2004

Home Style with Knifey- Part One.

Hello!


Visitors to my beautiful home often comment on my stylish plants, with their fantastic designer PVC pots, filled with religious icons gathered on my many trips to Asia and the Middle East.

Like this one:



Well, the pots cost about $1 from Ikea, and the plant, is an onion.

That's right, I planted a freakin onion in a $1 pot from the same place everyone else with no taste or individuality shops, and chucked in some cheap polyester Anubis sculpture from Egypt, and a steel Buddha head from a jumble sale in Bayswater.

Oh, and some random keys from a 1930's typewriter, just jammed in the dirt.

And you love it!

Next time on 'Home Style with Knifey', innovative storage solutions for your inner city apartment...



This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Rambling monologue that is sure to piss you off if you are a Christian, a Telstra dealer, fought in World War One, or heavily into Anne Rice.

I've decided I like the Bible.

Not the bible George Bush discovered while meeting with Arthur Blessit the travelling evangelist, at the Midlands, Texas, Holiday Inn, back in '78.

Not the 'inspired word of God' bible either, you know, the one with as many different translations to the message as there are witnesses to it.
Who really wrote 'The Gospel of Luke' anyway? Sure as Hell wasn't Luke. Might have been Mark, no-one really knows. But I digress...

No, I mean the Lord of the Rings epic collection of bad reporting and bare faced lies that is not supported by history or...well, anything really. Unless you count 'faith' (and I don't).

I like it because it speaks of a simpler time, like that TV show you used to get called The Waltons (that started the trend at every sleepover, where some wise-ass would have to say "G'nite Jonboy"). The Bible really shows us how complex this modern world really is.

For example, when Jesus went to see John the Baptist, he knew exactly what he was in for.
What he was in for, was a good old fashioned baptism, plain and simple.


"Check yerself b4 I wet yerself..."

John the baptist was the nigga you went to see when you wanted to get your ass baptised. He wasn't about to try to upsize your order, skip town with your money, or lock you into a 6 year contract.

No way.

He was gonna dunk you under the water, and tell you with great conviction that someone you have never met, who invented everything in the Universe, and who lived simultaneously inside you, and out in space in a place called Heaven, has washed away every bad thing you've ever done in a miracle of hydrous symbolism.

How cool is that???

And it was free !!!

Nowadays everything is so complex, there is no John the Baptist.

We have Bob the Builder, but he's less of a builder, and more of a babysitter.


Bigg upps to Suzanne Ozolins for this awesome portrait.

Thomas the Tank Engine is a former drummer for arguably the best pop group to have ever lived, and a notorious drug hoover.


"Thomas was tired, after a hard day's shunting at 'yard..."

But Vlad the Impaler was pretty straight up, and I respect that.


"Hi, I'm Vlad, and I'm rad."

History lesson-

Vladislav Basarab was way too hard to pronounce, so to distuingish himself, the young Prince changed his name to Vlad Tepes, and set about terrorising the good people of Wallachia (now Romania) by...well...impaling them (and not in the good way).

For anything.

Hard core.


"Yo Vlad, what's for dinner?"

He used long stakes with rounded ends rubbed in oil, which would be inserted into the anus, and emerge from the mouth. This would hurt a lot. It was also quite an effective defense strategy.

In 1462 the Turks invaded Wallachia to kick some Dracula family ass. The land was scorched bare from the coast to the capital.
When they arrived at Tîrgoviste they were confronted with a forest, one kilometre by three kilometres, of impaled corpses. (the Turkish and Bulgarian prisoners Vlad had taken).

The Turks gave up and went home again.

God, who wouldn't?
And can you imagine the chronology of their conversation?

  • "Um, General...it appears the countryside has been laid barren".
  • "General sir, no sign of life, and we've been marching three days".
  • "The scouts have returned General. They report seeing people near Tîrgoviste".
  • "It appears the people near Tîrgoviste are our people, and they're all dead".
  • "Whoa! How much would that hurt?!"

How kickass is history? You don't get anything big like that any more.
3 more years under the Howard Government though, and you never know.

I have secret (well, they were) fantasies of re-enacting this kind of action with Telstra dealers. Like, a big-ass forest of them, all around my house. Dead.
Unfortunately, the reality of my house is that I live with hippies, and the scariest thing we have is this kind of thing:




...drawn with chalk onto the concrete.

Granted, it's utterly terrifying, in the same way an earnest believer in the Celestine Prophecy is terrifying. But not in an "I'm going to tear you a new asshole with this enormous stake" way. And that's the way I like.

I think the greatest thing about me is I can take you from Thomas the Tank Engine and The Beatles, straight into the politics of Romania in the 1460's, without even breaking a sweat.

But there are more facts you should know:

  • Vlad had a brother called 'Radu the Handsome'. Clearly this is the raddest name in the entire history of Eastern Europe. Better than John the Baptist, even.

  • Vlad learned his technique of impalement from the very Turks he used it on. Think about that next time you're enjoying a kebab.

  • The real Castle Dracula had 1400 steps, as if it needed anything apart from its reputation to keep errant Telstra dealers from stopping by...

  • Before Vlad became the outright ruler of Wallachia, he was the Prince (Voivode), to his father Vlad the Dragon (Vlad Dracul). Voivod were one of the heaviest bands ever to come out of the USA in the late 80's, now starring Jason Newsted (Metallica, Ozzy Osbourne) on bass.

  • Vlad's dad Dracul was required by treaty to pay an annual tribute to the Ottoman Empire of 10,000 ducats. The Turks were suspicious that he might have been 'shafting them', so to speak, and summoned him to Gallipoli, where he was seized with both Vlad and Radu, and imprisoned for a whole year. If they could do that to Count Dracula, Vlad the Impaler, and Radu the Handsome, what hope did the ANZACS ever have?


"I've heard bad things about this place from my Romanian cousin Vlad..."

  • When Dracul returned home, he not only had to leave his sons with the Sultan for 6 years, but had to promise to pay a new tribute, of 500 young boys per year. Think about that next time you're having a kebab also.

  • Radu the Handsome ended up shagging the Sultan, and I mean that without the slightest hint of a lie. You heard it here first.

  • Vlad used to dine in a courtyard full of rotting enemies. One nobleman was put off by this, so Vlad impaled him on a stake higher than the rest, so he could be above the stench. Irrefutable proof he wasn't just a monster, and had a well healthy sense of humour.

  • The movie 'Queen of the Damned', filmed in Melbourne, sucked major donkey balls. It was so unbelievably and embarassingly craptastic, I don't know how anyone can watch it and not impale themselves. Maybe it was a secret plot to make people do just this, like 'Interview with the Vampire' was before it.

  • Lastly, neither Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise are vampires. Granted, they both suck incredibly, but vampires they are not.

So there you go!
Now you know waaaaaaaay more than you did 10 minutes ago, about all sorts of odd facts you will never be questioned about on 'Who wants to be a millionaire'.

Before I sign off, i wanna send madd shouts out to Clembot for the fun last night. It was different.




This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Wednesday, October 20, 2004

Last night I went to another planet.



You know those Rocky Horror movies where everybody goes in costume, and they sing along and have a great time, and the rest of us think it's really kinda creepy?
Welcome to the world of the blue-rinse showtunes set. I'm talkin' bout Clem Bastow Live At The Arts Centre (cafe) !!!



It's all part of the Melbourne International Arts Festival, where you go to Cafe Vic (which is a bigger venue than most bands I know have ever played in their lives!), grab your songbook, and sing...well...showtunes.

Now I hate showtunes at the best of times, but even I had to admit this was a good time. And Clem loves them too, so much so I have serious doubts as to whether she even needed a songbook. Nerd.


Clem getting warmed up, with vibrating ben-wa balls.

It was a pretty nice setup, and I looked more than a little out of place wearing ripped jeans and a faded Dangerfield tee with a big skull on it, but I only got about 50 dirty looks, so I got off lightly.
Clem took great pleasure in pointing out the Liza Minelli/Mariah wannabe with one finger in her ear, just like rival cheerleaders backstage at the Miss Alabama pageant.
Clem's outfit was black (slimming), with just enough cleavage to keep her boyfriend nervous. Oh, and bright yellow shoes, with a shiny pink handbag (It looked like a giant labia minora, and it made me very thirsty).

Only Clem could get away with this kind of melange. If you or I tried it, it would be a major faux-pas, setting off all the alarms at Fashionista World Headquarters in Milan.


The setup.

There was a guy and a girl to help you along vocally, and a pianist. I asked Clem all of their names, and then immediately forgot them. This is why me having a Blog is just plain wrong. I think the pianists name was Michael, but don't quote me on that. Musical theatre people are scary. All those little sideways glances and smirks...

Anyway, after a few warmup numbers with crowd participation (I dropped a kickin' glissando), it was time for Clem's solo. This is where everything fell apart.
Out of nowhere, some nerdy girl who's every waking moment had been a precursor to this very second, ran up to the podium and bum rushed the show!
Clem, being a laydee, didn't flinch, but I'm sure I heard murmurs of discontent from the cheap seats (mainly from me, actually). let's refer to this girl henceforth as 'she who cannot be named for legal purposes'.


Clem and 'she who cannot be named for legal purposes'.

Apparently, Clem sang a Sondheim tune, but I wouldn't know one if it jumped up and bit me in the ass.


Clizem drizops tha rizeal dizeal...note booby shadow hotness.

Thing was, she was really good!
She was like the Avril Lavigne of the blue-rinse showtunes set!
She breezed in with her spunky band member boyfriend (The Hovercrafts), like she'd been waving her hands in the air and generally not caring all evening, and was now here to tear the roof off this muthafucka and represent for hot blonde V8 Grid- Girls and Ralph models everywhere. Strong, clear enunciation, solid notes, with just the right touch of vibrato at the end. She'd kick ass in Church yo.
The Church of Satan, that is.


...and the crowd goes wild!!!


I was heavily distracted by this cake.

Anyway, the moral of this story is "don't be a music wanker".
I had to leave early to go to work, but I'm sorely tempted to go again next week or tomorrow or whenever they have another one (if they have one), and join in properly.

Fun!

It also inspired me to rip off the concept- I am heavily pregnant with other peoples ideas!!!
How mega-yay would it be to do the same thing, but singing Acca Dacca songs???!

Oh wait, that's karaoke, right?

Damn.


This is knifey, from 'the internet'.

Tuesday, October 19, 2004

The People Have Spoken.

Hey everybody!!!

Well, I have talked to a lot of people about this post, and received a few emails too, where you, my readership, put in your 2 cents worth concerning what you'd like to see in a phone.

The people have spoken, and knifey is listening!!!

I hope you have broadband, coz this post is gonna be grafix heavy yo...




S'right! knifey International is pleased to announce the birth of a truly unique leap in technology...a phone so advanced it makes the Siemens E800 and the Motorola V70 make pee-pee in their pants!

Check out the future- the all new Xda-3.



Looks pretty standard, right?
But peep these features yo!!!

The Xda-3 come fitted out with some madd-futuristic shizzle, all in one sleek and sexy design...


Flips open to reveal a wireless broadband enabled 60-kazillion gigabyte mega PC...


...an electric shaver...


...a taser...


...movie camera...


...iPod...


...Boss drum machine...


...Swiss Army knizzle...


...circular saw...


...robot arm...


...Gibson guitar...


...600 DPI Laser Printer...


...Pepsi can dispenser...


...and a freakin LASER BEAM, all as standard !!!

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD !!!

But That's not All !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hell No. Would I leave you hanging?

The Xda-3 can burn Cd's and DVD's, print 16 mm movies/broadcast quality video/photo quality prints, is bluetooth compatible, and even has a motherfuckin' fire extinguisher to cool off all your jealous friends and workmates !

Imagine their faces when you're kicking back in your office, shooting the shit via direct videolink with Sergei on the International Space Station!!!

You can talk, shave, tase, film, dance, cut, grab, jam, print, drink and fight all day, while laying down phat beats with your homies, on the built in Boss drum machine!!! The earpiece in this unit is so loud you can hear it in your living room, when you're on holiday in Kreplakistan!!!

And best of all, it's not only as easy as pushing a button to sever your Optus or Telstra contract, it even pays off the outstanding amount of your account!

This phone is for the people, and it's free.
Here's what you have to do to receive your free phone by teleporter:


  • You must be a Liberal voter.
  • You must be able to go back in time.
  • You must revisit the recent election.
  • You must vote Labour.


Simple, isn't it!?

What's that you say? It's not simple?
What's that you say? You can't do it?

Well I guess you're just gonna have to suck shit then!!!


This has been a knifey production, in association with the letters S, E, and X, and the number 69, with an extra special homoerotic shout-out to my main homepiece Krankiboy (who I have never met, and probably never will).

'SPECT !



This is knifey, from 'the internet'.