Lazy
I've been meaning to post all day but salmon, rice and Jo Sharp have been conspiring against me. Last night's TT was legendary and included the following topics: sugary drinks, a faith healer, a welfare mother, gambling addicts and "super dads". Seriously, I wet myself before, during and after the show and will be sending GN the drycleaning bill for my couch.
The faith healer was full of shit, possibly abusing drugs, hideous, spoke strangely and attracted a crowd of rednecks, religious nuts and fellow substance abusers; TT struck gold with that bloke. A large man with a disease that prevented him from walking (and, presumably, shaving his hideous moustache) was able to get up and boogie in the name of Jesus. Following up his story, TT found that he was still walking and that fucking moustache was still there, praise the Lord! Another family had a son who would either go on to lead the Labor party or live his life in a constant care facility. The son didn't change but his bogan father was able to run. Yes, run!!!! So it's like having Jesus as your personal trainer, but instead of everyone in the gym laughing at you, you get everyone in Australia having a giggle at your expense.
Welfare mums are TT's favourite dead horse and last night's specimen was everything I expected and more. She and her partner were receiving the equivalent of $50,000 taxable salary per year to feed, house, clothe and medicate 7 people. You do the math. A part of me wanted to storm parliament and demand this woman be publicly flogged, but I'm simply too lazy. There was so little to hate about this woman, but perhaps I'm looking down from my lofty position amongst the "elite" and not approaching the story from the angle of an overtaxed, middle income battler trying to pay off a huge mortgage in Sydney. If I were this hypothetical battler with my two ewe'neekly named children and a wife at home spending my spare cash on scrapbooking supplies, you'd be damned sure I'd be angry. I'd get off my arse, get on the phone and ring the welfare office for a bigger share of the FTB, yeah, that's what I'd do.
Which brings me to sugary drinks. Honestly, if you're too stupid to realise that Ribena is loaded with sugar then both you and your children deserve to get Type 2 Diabetes and die blind and limbless in a poorly staffed public hospital.
Problem gambler? Life must suck for you, but your gambling pays for my cheap meals at the Blacktown Workers Club*, if it weren't for you I'd be eating two minute noodles and baked beans five times a week.
The segment on super dads shitted me five ways from Sunday. Women have to take on difficult child rearing tasks every day so why should a father who contributes more to child rearing than is expected be feted as some sort of superhuman? Hey, good for you, el yobbo, you've stepped up to the mark and you're doing an adequate job (albeit with community and charity support), bravo, have an extra pickle on your burger and please shut the fuck up.
*I fucking wish; that's fine dining where I come from.
The faith healer was full of shit, possibly abusing drugs, hideous, spoke strangely and attracted a crowd of rednecks, religious nuts and fellow substance abusers; TT struck gold with that bloke. A large man with a disease that prevented him from walking (and, presumably, shaving his hideous moustache) was able to get up and boogie in the name of Jesus. Following up his story, TT found that he was still walking and that fucking moustache was still there, praise the Lord! Another family had a son who would either go on to lead the Labor party or live his life in a constant care facility. The son didn't change but his bogan father was able to run. Yes, run!!!! So it's like having Jesus as your personal trainer, but instead of everyone in the gym laughing at you, you get everyone in Australia having a giggle at your expense.
Welfare mums are TT's favourite dead horse and last night's specimen was everything I expected and more. She and her partner were receiving the equivalent of $50,000 taxable salary per year to feed, house, clothe and medicate 7 people. You do the math. A part of me wanted to storm parliament and demand this woman be publicly flogged, but I'm simply too lazy. There was so little to hate about this woman, but perhaps I'm looking down from my lofty position amongst the "elite" and not approaching the story from the angle of an overtaxed, middle income battler trying to pay off a huge mortgage in Sydney. If I were this hypothetical battler with my two ewe'neekly named children and a wife at home spending my spare cash on scrapbooking supplies, you'd be damned sure I'd be angry. I'd get off my arse, get on the phone and ring the welfare office for a bigger share of the FTB, yeah, that's what I'd do.
Which brings me to sugary drinks. Honestly, if you're too stupid to realise that Ribena is loaded with sugar then both you and your children deserve to get Type 2 Diabetes and die blind and limbless in a poorly staffed public hospital.
Problem gambler? Life must suck for you, but your gambling pays for my cheap meals at the Blacktown Workers Club*, if it weren't for you I'd be eating two minute noodles and baked beans five times a week.
The segment on super dads shitted me five ways from Sunday. Women have to take on difficult child rearing tasks every day so why should a father who contributes more to child rearing than is expected be feted as some sort of superhuman? Hey, good for you, el yobbo, you've stepped up to the mark and you're doing an adequate job (albeit with community and charity support), bravo, have an extra pickle on your burger and please shut the fuck up.
*I fucking wish; that's fine dining where I come from.
posted by Today Tonight at 1:22 AM
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