The most hated people in the world

On the plane on the way to Australia I watched the documentary "The Most Hated Family in America", which was enlightening if utterly frustrating, and inspired me to start a cult if I ever get that old.

However there are more hated people in the world than the assorted Phelpses. The most despised people on the planet are the crowd security that the Melbourne Cricket Ground on Boxing Day.

It's a December 26th tradition, this year 70,000 people went to the closest thing Australia has to Mecca to watch the Australian cricket team play the Indian team (by the time I got to posting this, the game was over, Australia victorious). Each year there are new rules imposed on spectators, last year the Mexican Wave was banned, this year you could be ejected for any suggestion of racial impropriety. And in charge of enforcing the doctrine of no fun are the lime-green vested MCG Security. Apparently there were 150 ejections, not sure if that was a record.

The first ejection I saw was at 11:25am. Pretty impressive, the game started at 10:30, so this guy managed to make it somehow through one entire seventh of the game before getting tossed. I think it was for inflating a beach ball. If you were brave enough to inflate a beach ball, the lime vests were armed with ball-point pens, the natural enemy of the beach ball. Some of the better showmen took a bow after deflating the archnemesis of enjoying a sporting event.

Ejections were also made for making towers of beer cups, standing up and waving your hands, and running out on to the field wearing an Indian flag. But my favorite was the punishment reserved for starting the apparently-not-a-racially-improper-title Mexican wave.

Ejections for starting, ejections for encouraging (stand up at your peril), and as soon as it started, a sign went up on the big screen (I tried to photo it, but couldn't get focused on the sign for some reason).

"For the safety and comfort of spectators, the Mexican Wave has been banned. Patrons found encouraging the wave will be subject to ejection".

Somehow, I was one of the few who made it to the end of the day without feeling the wrath of the lime jackets. But I salute you, men, and maybe if I have a mid-life crisis and decide on a few more changes of career, maybe I can join!

Roadside Assistance, Australian style.

There are some great advantages to living in the US. One is roadside assistance. The Bastardmobile is pretty reliable, but my previous car, the seatless wonder, was a Saturn well past the use-by date and required regular jump-starting, pulling out of ditches and if you're too drunk to drive, the 100 miles of towing that comes with AAA Plus is cheaper than taxis. However the Melbourne equivlalent, RACV, I believe operates two roadside assistance vans for the entire state of Victoria.

Last night, Richard the Bastard and I were on our way back from Melbourne, and the car would not start. Tried getting a jump start off of a passing random person, but no luck. Roadside assistance time, 9:45pm, Friday night.

It could be up to two hours.

There was some kind of rave going on in an abandoned flour mill (where I used to work) nearby. They had attack dogs guarding the place, I guess they let you in if you had the right color of glowstick.

At 10:30 there was a power outage. So much for the rave.

Called again, 11:55pm. Yes, we're still on the waiting list. Probably another 45 minutes. "It's taking a while, it's kind of icky out".

Power came back on again at 12:30 am. Nice hazy glow.

1:15 am. Here's roadside assistance. Tests the battery, battery is messed up. Uses the superjumper (turned up to 20V) - we're in action. You're going to need a new battery when you get back, but provided you don't stall or anything on the way home, you should be OK.

Guess who you need to call to get a new battery... the waiting continus.

Bye bye Bastard

Things have been quiet on the George the Bastard front lately, though last night we started discussing some plans for next year's Feral Chihuahuas season, could be a few new Chihuahuas but familiar faces if all goes well. I'm working on a new act for a vaudeville show that Elizabeth is putting together that should be a riot, and writing for a new character.

However right now I'm in Asheville regional airport, grooving on the freeternet available here and getting ready to head to my comedy roots - my first performances were at Melbourne University in 1988 as part of a show called Shag Pile, which eventually became the name of our two-man sketch comedy act (forever known for brushing each other's teeth on TV to the tune of "Duelling Banjos"). The other half of Shag Pile is now a webmeister and comedy writer, as well as one of the personas in the way way underground band New Horizons in Violence.

It's going to be good to be back. I've never performed in Australia as George the Bastard, so I'm hopefully going to hit up an open mic night or find anyone who remembers me for a spot somewhere.

What the pedophiles are watching, extreme edition

3am television continues to be brilliant, and lately MSNBC has been stepping up to serve the prime pedophile demographic by airing repeats and re-edits of "To Catch a Predator", and mixing it in with "Serial Killers - Jeffrey Dahmer", featuring an interview with Dahmer and his father taken a few weeks before he was killed in prison. Excellent 3am fodder.

Ashevegas made his Golden Compass Daemon, so I figured I'd give it a shot too... hey look, I'm a ferret, who would have thunk!

What insomniac pedophiles are watching

There was competition for the pedophile insomniac viewer at 4am today.

ESPN2 was showing the finals of the World Cheerleading Tournament. Yet another "world" tournament where a U.S. team is guaranteed a win. Spandex-clad teenagers became a blur, however I would like to point out that an often overlooked profession has to be the helpful gents at the corners who would step on to the big blue mat when the all-girls teams would attempt flips and throws, then make discreet exits when they went back to spinning and posturing. I salute you, cheerleader lumberjacks.

At the same time, WGN was showing an episode of The Steve Wilkos Show, entitled "I live under a bridge" (cool - a show about trolls!). Not classy enough for Springer? How about appearing on a show hosted by his bodyguard, the largest man with the least hair in recorded history. He came to the rescue of a mother with three small children who was living under a bridge in some unnamed city since their father was in jail for transporting illegals. She showed Steve the blanket they used to sleep on until it rained, and the trash can they get their meals from. If it was empty, it was a three-mile walk to the nearest trashcan. Steve loved getting cuddles from these three boys (seriously, Steve, they've been living under a bridge for a month, I'd get tetanus shots before touching these angelic-looking tow-headed kids). He also got a kick out of confronting the father in jail, offering him helpful advice like "Don't do things that cause you to get arrested and go to jail", and "I'm going to take your wife with me and find somewhere safe for her". Way to grab the sloppy seconds, Steve.

I've got to start watching the Steve Wilkos Show more often. If "The George The Bastard" show gets off the ground, I would have asked the mother which child she liked the least. Those boys would probably have fetched a few grand each, and that would get her enough crack until she could buy a new blanket.

My favorite part of the Steve Wilkos website... Do you know someone who is an unfit parent and want Steve to set them strait? Call Mary at 877-836-3419 orEmail Us ! (Here's the link)

The Bastard on the Bus

Richard the Bastard took some pictures of the Thanksgiving show with LaZoom.

Here is the set of photos on flickr.

The day the trivia died

Unhappy bastard.

Asheville Pizza and Brewing have pulled the plug on Buzztime (formerly NTN) trivia.

This annoys a bastard - after a long day of being a miserable sod, I want to spend my evening at a bar, not talking to anyone, pressing buttons on a little space-age device to show that I know more random rubbish than my fellow sociopaths on barstools near and far. I spend enough time there that my paycheck from work is direct-deposited to my bar tab.

Please bring back the trivia. I beg you. Don't make me pick up my pewtery mug and go home. Or to MacKells.