buggery.org

Support from unlikely quarters. Alan Ramsey is in form in today’s SMH column:

Colin Hollis was a Labor MP who went to New York to represent the Australian parliament at the United Nations the same year the Liberals’ latest political basket case, Trish Draper, took her newest lover to Paris as a taxpayer-funded perk. Except the besieged Howard Government now argues, in panic, that what Draper did four years ago was entirely proper and “within the rules”, while it insisted in July 2000 that Hollis must pay the air fare of his live-in partner of 36 years to go with him, even though his partner, a bloke, so scrupulously met all the rules of an MP’s “nominee” that Janette Howard hosted him one year at her annual afternoon tea at The Lodge for MPs’ “spouses and partners”.

How’s that for hypocrisy fit to choke.

Trish Draper takes her toyboy off for a fling in Paris at taxpayer’s expense. Bob Woods, Malcolm Coulston and allegedly a lot of other as-yet-unnamed MPs are guilty of the same. But Hollis, who rang Ramsey and gave permission to be outed in today’s paper, had to take out a $10,000 bank loan so he could take his partner with him when he went to represent Australia at the UN.

And Howard wants us to believe he’s defending marriage.

Online polls relating to the Gay marriage issue:

• Banning gay couples from marrying or adopting overseas: Rate the PM’s move (SMH)
• Ruddock says move to ban same-sex marriages is due to community concern about erosion of institution of marriage: How concerned are you about erosion of marriage institution? (SMH)

So the ALP has (wish I could be surprised) decided to support Howard’s homo hate bill. What a fucking disgrace.

The legislation was rushed into parliament this afternoon, and the sad fucks in the Labor Party couldn’t wait to announce they’d back the bill. No conscience vote, no debate, nothing. Instead we get Nicola Roxon champing at the bit to announce that the ALP is just as pro-hate as the conservatives.

Mark Latham, you lost me today. You’re weak and you’re desperate. Screw you.

To say that I’m appalled is an understatement. I’m saddened, sickened and disgusted to see this happening in my country.

Where is the need for this “urgent” legislation? Australia does not have gay marriage, nor can it unless the parliament decides to change the Marriage Act. So we’re outlawing something which is already outlawed. The common law is unambiguous about the definition of marriage — and has been since 1866. One man, one woman.

So what’s this about? In this afternoon’s Prime Ministerial presser, Howard was asked about the political intent of the bill. He had the gall to say to the journalist asking the question: “You are so cynical.”

Pot. Kettle. Black.

What a pack of swine we have running this country.

but conjunction 1 used to introduce a phrase or clause contrasting with what has already been mentioned.

It’s just one tiny little word; three innocuous-looking letters. But what power rests in that word.

Gay couples will be given the right to nominate their partners as beneficiaries for superannuation, the federal government has declared. This is the same federal government that has already voted down countless bills designed to enable people in same-sex relationships to access their partner’s retirement savings in the event of death. So why the change of heart?

It’s all in the magic word: but.

Gay couples will get superannuation rights, but the same bill will change the Marriage Act to define marriage as ‘one man, one woman, and no poofters’. Gay couples will get superannuation rights, but the same bill will contain provisions to outlaw overseas adoptions by same-sex couples. “Here’s your money, you pervert, now hands off the kids.”

By my reckoning that’s one tiny step forward and two almighty steps back. You can have your dead boyfriend’s hard-earned money, but you can’t have legal recognition of your relationships, and you can’t have kids.

Are we supposed to be dancing in the streets? Exactly how freakin’ dumb do they think we are?

One government source said last night that critics would find it harder to attack the changes as homophobic because the bans on adoption and marriage were counter-balanced by the superannuation reforms.

“It’s not a gay-bashing exercise,” the source said.

Hello? The bans are “counter-balanced” by the super reforms?

This is one “critic” who won’t find it at all difficult to attack these changes. They are mean-spirited, cynical, insipid, hateful and homo-fucking-phobic as all get out. It’s a gay-bashing exercise of the worst and most cynical kind.

What we’re witnessing here is a government staring down the barrel of defeat and prepared to do anything to avoid it. What crikey.com.au yesterday called “the Howard government death rattle”.

The government stinks. We know it, they know it, and they know we know it. Iraq, Guantanamo Bay, Medicare, university funding, refugees, political rorts, Kyoto — they’re covered in excrement and they stink.

John Howard is hurtling towards political oblivion, and when the chips are down, Howard reaches for the wedge. He’s got plenty of form on that and no-one plays the wedge like the short man. Three years ago, the Tampa sailed onto our horizon. Howard turned the misery of the 400-odd miserable wretches the Tampa plucked from the sea into a political shell game for his own benefit. This year, he’s unlikely to be so lucky, so he has to find someone to bash at home.

Face it, kids: we are this year’s Tampa.

Here’s a phone message from my 78-year-old devout Catholic mum, when she heard Brent’s residency appeal had gone through…

(Doesn’t work? Try this link)

Now you know why I love her so much.

So, we fronted up at the MRT at the appointed time, along with a couple of dozen other hopeful and nervous would-be-Australians.

The closer we got to the moment of truth, the tighter the knot in my stomach became. I know it was the same for Brent and I’m sure for all the others in the waiting room too. If you can imagine a room full of people quietly wringing their hands and shitting themselves with fear, that’s where we’ve been.

The whole of our future, and of all these strangers, turns on one word. The word is either “affirm”, or “remit”, depending on whether you’re successful or not.

So well filed into the tiny hearing room. Not enough chairs for everyone there, so we stood against the wall. At this point I was dreading one thing more than most: the prospect of watching the other applicants get their news — “affirm”, “remit”, “remit”, “affirm” — and bearing witness to their particular denouement. Luckily, we were the first cab off the rank and were spared that.

Brent’s name was called. He signed for his documents. The officer said, “The Tribunal has decided to remit your application.”

Smiling, then she added, quietly, “That means you won.”

Here we go. Five hours and 28 minutes to decision time.

I’m writing this in the departure lounge at Melbourne Airport as we wait to fly back to Sydney for D-Day at the MRT. We’ve had a very pleasant weekend in Melbourne, looking for a place to live and playing silly buggers with Will and Sean.

We saw a couple of places that we liked, but nothing we really want to fall over ourselves for, so our accommodation situation is up in the air a bit. We’ve applied for the two places we liked, but if they don’t come through then we’ll have to rent something over the phone I suppose. What was encouraging was experiencing the neighbourhoods we were considering, trying them on like new clothes and seeing if they fit. Carlton North, Fitzroy North, and Brunswick East are our favourites.

In between house inspections we found time for a stroll along funky Brunswick Street, a trip to St Kilda (where Brent confessed that he wasn’t previously aware that Melbourne was on the coast), a visit to the Laird, which proved satisfyingly convivial, and a movie (The Triplets of Belleville, an animated French/Canadian production which is just wonderful).

The house hunting and sightseeing have provided welcome distractions from our impending moment of truth. We feel pretty confident that, by the end of today, we’ll have what we’ve spent the last three years trying to secure, but of course it’s not over until it’s over, and there are no guarantees.

Sitting here at Tullamarine and watching the airplanes coming and going, it’s hard not to reflect on how much has gone before today. So many miles and hours have been crossed to bring us to this point. It’s been three years and five days since we walked into the immigration department building in Sydney with our lives, carefully catalogued in documents, photographs and declarations, to begin this process. The process hasn’t been easy, and at times I think we’ve both wondered if we’d ever get to this day. But here we are. Bring it on.

The built-in speech synthesizer in Mac OS pronounces “pics” as “piss”. Given that, please consider the following IM exchange:

20:21:19 Kabi: just sent you some pics from the outback
20:21:26 Paul: LOL
20:21:32 Kabi: better than fireman’s pics
20:21:40 Paul: ROFL

Maybe you had to be there…

Thirty years ago today, a short, awkward, deaf, monarchist, 34-year-old [cricket] tragic mummy’s boy became Federal Member for Bennelong. By all accounts it was the most exciting thing that John Winston Howard had done since moving out of his mother’s house. Two years earlier.

Today, that same short, awkward, deaf, monarchist, 64-year-old [just plain] tragic warmonger, our own Dear Leader, celebrates thirty dirty years of pubic lice public life.

In recognition of this momentous occasion, and in the hope that the 31st anniversary will never happen, buggery.org is pleased to reprint the seminal front cover of the [now defunct] Nation Review for 28 April 1977. The short man had only been an MP for three years at the time, but clearly he was already making an impression.

Prime Minister, on this special day, let me be the one to give voice, if I may be so bold, to the special wishes of an entire nation. As you move forward to ignominious defeat, irrelevant dotage, and the harsh judgment of history, please accept this simple expression of our esteem. It’s just one word, but we hope you’ll take it on board, and hold it close, always. (more…)

A few days ago I mentioned, cryptically, a “big change” coming soon. Time to spill.

We’re moving cities again.

Newcastle is lovely, in its way, but after almost a year here, it doesn’t quite feel like home. Notwithstanding that, we’d probably have hung on here for another year or so, except our landlord has split up with his boyfriend and he wants his house back. So, as we have to move house in July anyway, we figure we might as well move city as well.

The lucky town to which we will be bringing our smiling faces is … (more…)

Junk for Code has posted a thoughtful and stimulating discussion on recent events in the Middle East (torture, humiliation, beheading, and other troubling subjects).

For me, I find it hard to think of anything to say. The events of the last couple of weeks have plainly marked the beginning of a new quantum state in this ill-advised, wicked and hopeless chapter of human history. The claims that Iraq would be Bush’s Vietnam now seem wrong in only one respect: this is much, much worse. And we’ve not reached bottom yet.

My heart weeps every time I turn on the TV news. I wonder what sort of a world we have created and are creating. I think back at the claims, before his “election”, that George W. Bush would potentially bring our planet to the brink of chaos and war, and I wonder at the prescience of those claims. And my heart sinks so low when I wonder, “what’s next?”

“This is the budget that brings home the bacon.” That’s not Peter Costello last night, that’s Paul Keating in 1988, in another memorable pre-election federal budget.

This year’s budget isn’t so much bringing home the bacon as handing out the Pork. A bazillion dollars worth of tax cuts (but only if you’re earning more than a grand a week) and another bazillion dollars worth of “family packages” (but only if you belong to an officially sanctioned, government-approved, heterosexual, two-parent, 1950s-era ‘family’).

And for the rest of us? Well, the headline on Christine Jackman’s column in today’s Australian says it all: Single and childless? You’re screwed.
(more…)

If any of my readers are shareholders in the New York Times, or if you know someone who’s a shareholder, consider this worthwhile request from AEGiS.org.

AEGiS is a volunteer-run website which makes news articles, conference papers and other items of interest available for people with HIV/AIDS. The person behind this enormously valuable resource is Sr Mary Elizabeth, a transsexual catholic nun and former US serviceman. It’s been running on limited funding for many years — originally as a BBS and later as a web archive.

As well as being very useful for people living with HIV/AIDS, the site is becoming one of the most comprehensive and extensive archives of the HIV epidemic.

Many news organisations have licensed AEGiS to reproduce their content online. One which hasn’t is the New York Times.
(more…)

Only a few days to the campest night of the year, Eurovision, and we’re tingling with anticipation — we feel like the Cypriot entry as the Greek vote is read.

Popbitch reckons the event promises to drip with homo content, something which will no doubt delight the typical ESC viewer, but could draw lots of nul points from the Southern Mediterranean judges. A day after the Royal wedding, the Danes will be cheering on a gay man who has been married to his same-sex partner for five years, and the Swedish Entry, Lena Phillipson’s “It Hurts”, is widely thought to be about anal sex.

Sample lyrics:

I’m trying to forget love
The pain I feel inside
I’m clinging to my pillow
And the tears I cannot hide
I wish it could be over
So I can start anew, oh

Hurts, oh it hurts, really hurts
In the middle of the night
In the light of the day
You know that it hurts
Oh it hurts, really hurts
And I wish I could be stronger
No longer afraid
Nobody but me, could know the way I feel
Oh it hurts, oh

Nah, I can’t see the buggery connection. It only hurts the first few times, if you do it right.

Tipping to date: 36/48.

This weekend the unbeaten St Kilda Saints will get their comeuppance, and it will come at the hands of the team all foreskin fetishists should support, the Fremantle Dockers. The Saints and the Magpies both have injury problems, but Sydney’s forward line has returned to full strength. Geelong will have another win — the cats are having a great season.

Essendon, Collingwood, Fremantle, Port, Brisbane, Sydney, Melbourne, Geelong.

Dagnabit, there’s a heck of a lot going on:

Five: Brent and I have been together for five years today. Happy anniversary to us.

Four: If it’s our anniversary, that means it’s also Jasper’s birthday, and he’s four. Happy birthday to him.

Three-five-three: My latest test results are back. I have 353 T-cells, undetectable viral load, and my ALT has fallen a bit. This is, as another Paul K would say, a beautiful set of numbers. Almost makes up for the fact that I’m in bed with a wog and spent much of last night talking to Jesus on the big white telephone.

Two weeks: We’ve been notified by the MRT that they will hand down their decision in Brent’s immigration appeal in two weeks’ time. We’re keeping everything crossed and hope you’ll keep us in your prayers as we approach the end of this process, almost exactly three years after it began.

One more big change is coming soon. But it’s not locked in yet, so it remains a secret for now. Watch this space.

Spam-fighters will be dismayed to hear that there are at least 600,426,974,379,824,381,952 different ways to spell Viagra.

Bush to appear on Arab TV mouthing empty platitudes. Apparently his gang of armed thugs aren’t supposed to shoot innocent Iraqis for sport. No word yet on how this will go down in Fallujah.

Speaking of Fallujah:

FALLUJAH PEACE DEAL
By NILES LATHEM

May 1, 2004 — WASHINGTON – Commanders yesterday announced a breakthrough peace pact in Fallujah that will allow a new Iraqi force commanded by a former general in Saddam Hussein’s Republican Guard to take over security in the hotbed city.

The Marine force participating in the month-long siege of Fallujah began withdrawing from some offensive positions in southeastern parts of the city. It was being replaced by members of the newly created Fallujah Protective Army, which took over some checkpoints and raised the new Iraqi flag.

That’s from the New York Post but you can find more or less the same story reproduced faithfully all across the world, or at least the Coalition-of-the-Willing-sympathizing world.

The US Marine Corps is in retreat after failing to take Fallujah despite a week of intense fighting and the deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands of Iraqis, almost all of whom were innocent bystanders. The US has been defeated at the gates of Fallujah, but you won’t read that in your local paper, either in the US or in Australia.

Funny, that.

It would appear that we are the uncontested number one "buggery" site on the web. Who knew? It’s gratifying to have such a distinctive brand in this overcrowded marketplace.

(If, like so many, you typed "buggery" into a search engine looking for naughty pictures, I regret to inform that, apart from the grainy, fairly inoffensive snapshot at the top of this page, there are none.)

Notes:

1. The first four keywords in the metadata for each page on buggery.org.
2. Higher-ranked pages are all listings for buggery.org (blogwise, blizg)
3. Not in first 50 ranked pages.

[Props to Brad Choate]

It’s official! Victorian men have the biggest cocks, according to a highly unscientific study conducted by an Australian condom manufacturer. Western Australians have short fat ones, apparently.

Disappointingly, the biggest whanger reported in the study was 20cm (7.87in) erect, which suggests a sampling error.