Chris Johnson, the sort of smart arse who would point out your obvious flaws for the benefit of his own amazement, has the style of a sinister high school teacher. More besides, he's got the sort of armpits that'll have you reaching for your lunch.

The Hair: you can't quite see it in this photo, but it smells worse than a pocketful of arseholes. It invades your nostrils with all the insensitivity of a rapist's foreplay. If you catch a whiff, run like an oppurtunist with a bottle of rohypnol.

The Teeth: it's not immediately obvious but, between each and every one live the kind of smelly arseholes that turn handsome chaps in to desperate rapists. Open his mouth and you'll see why experts want to shut it permanently.

The Skin: soft like a newborn's arsehole, you'll simply love to run his meaty flaps between your teeth. Unfortunately, you'll be restrained with a roll of tape and subjected to the kind of merciless singing unheard of in these parts.

Henri Matisse says: "What I can't work out is why the beard has outgrown the male populace. It seems to me that we need something other than my mother's apron to hide behind. I wish I had a fully functioning uterus to hide in. This Holden Ute will just have to do."

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February 26th 2009 @ 01:48

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Simon Wiggins

Simon Wiggins, his face flattened in a delightful incident with a pair of steel caps, has the flattened face of one foraging for food in a vat of frying fat. You'd go as far as to say you wouldn't pass to him if he was on fire.

The Hair: I'm not sure that there's any easy way to say that. Sticks out like a sore bum. Might look good doused in petrol and set alight. Try this at home. Gropes. Insert funny bit. Find out what makes something so. Forget it. Fed up.

The Teeth: always someone over my shoulder. Stare down at lifeless keys. Look up. Gum disease. Falling out means impotence. Growing extra ones. Good enough to have a vagina of his own. I'd do him. In that case.

The Skin: it's dry and thick. Makes a good glove. Stick a greasy hand up. Pull out the insides. Make light of something. Forget the content. For the sake of the form. Bite the bucket. Plenty of uselessness. Added redundancies.

Marcel Proust says: "I can write word after word after word after word, in no particular order, and still believe in the basic order of society. By that I mean, we need people to be on the bottom to have people on the top. I always preferred sidesaddle, myself. Never really cared for horses. I would just let them starve. Silly buggers."

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December 18th 2008 @ 22:53

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Jarrad Waite

Jarrad Waite - a conformed bachelor - an accident waiting to happen, has a head on his shoulders that will have you saying, 'He's instantly recognisable from the strange object that is made of other strange objects that is attached to the larger and even stranger'.

The Hair: I strongy object to the overall lack of any sort of sense in the arrangement of deceased cells, which originate in the scalp and to my consternation I find coming out by the handful, and suggest a lack of reason or obeyance to conventional thought, just quietly.

The Teeth: I think you'd be well advised to knock out a couple in the front just to make sure that, when matters get a bit personal, there is no doubt as to what will be taking place; and by that I mean that without front teeth there can be no doubt as to what will happen.

The Skin: I would say that while premature baldness and premature guminess are aesthetically troubling by far the worst is premature wrinkling of the parts of the anatomy not designed to see past the age where that condition is of even the remotest necessity.

George Orwell says: "When I was just a socialist writing about the prevailing ills of communism, I had no idea that the pervasive irony of capitalism would see Mark Burnett take my idea of sibling voyueristic fantasies and make a television experience of them. Well, I did have an idea. My brother is friends with Burnett. We're no longer talking. It's a degenerative genetic condition of the larynx."

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December 17th 2008 @ 23:03

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Bret Thornton

Bret Thornton, proof that you can polish a proverbial, looks like the complete package of polished proverbials. The player's preference for pissing the pill politely around the paddock pisses people who would profess to propose his proficiency right up the proverbial.

The Hair: circa 1985. An excellent year for bad haircuts. It was all that anyone could do. Brings out the shape of the head. Heady days. 1985. Short on the top. Long bits at the back. Shades of 1945. Let's keep the best of the '50s. Put the others behind us.

The Teeth: fluoride in the water. Keeps the people placid. Keeps the drill away. Is it safe? Very. Very, safe. Bleached and rotten. The stench of decay. Each one to a different task. Ruminate and digest. Philosophy in the form. Signals a lack of intent. Scared shortless.

The Skin: an excellent hue. Comes in handy. Don't mind if I do! Got a tissue? Walks into the butcher's. Treated with respect. Dismembered fondly. The good old days. The good old boys. Preferential treatment. What would you like madam? This is a nice rack. Honey.

Jeffrey Archer says: "I've read what Bryce Courtenay has to say about me and I can't say I'm pleased. I'm more than pleased. We were romantically linked by the notion of the author as the owner of a voice of particular merit. I'm here to tell my loyal readers that it's all true. I do frequent brothels. "

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December 11th 2008 @ 23:14

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Nick Stevens

Nick Stevens, decidely plump, long ago decided that he would try and be someone he could never be. That person was someone with a taste for the finer things; such as masturbating on the bus and copping a feel at the bus stop.

The Hair: makes a lot of a little. Very fair. Far from the best. Dirty. Not much to work with. Abysmal effort. A real lowlight. Lowlife. Howl with laughter. Eyebrows keep the hair out. Sees the world. It burns! Can't see past his own noose.

The Teeth: charming! Overdoes it. Just a touch. Sensational. Dull. Thudding. Persistent. Pain in the eyes. Falling. Apart. The jaw is there to house them. They're there to turn life into mush. Week at the knees. Romantic. Melts. Turned to glue. Soapy.

The Skin: complex. Uneven tone! A little gag. She needs some air. She has a nose. Can't see the fuss. Spotty. Perpetual pubescence. Latent repose. Likes a drink. Dehydrated. Dry on a fence. Stretch. Tan. Puts his foot in it. Stinks like shit. Is.

William Butler Yeats says: "My doppelganger and I are of one mind on this subject. We believe, rightly, that poetry, in it's versified form, is alive and well. It's just that the sieve of the subjects with which you choose to puree the fruits of your labour is one big whole. Does that make any sentence to you?"

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December 7th 2008 @ 23:18

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Kade Simpson

Kade Simpson, the impression of intelligence, has the look of a woman on the move, which is lucky for him because that's what everyone is looking for. The look hides intelligence in every flap and fold of a killer's disregard for inhuman life. Yes, siree, Bob.

The Hair: short and frizzy. Mental. Lacks bounce. Carries the pill. Gets caught. Pleads for clemency. Are you kidding me? Thought not. Racks up cheap posessions. Carries ovaries in a bulbous sack. Drops the contents. Now and then. Cramps up. Not to worry.

The Teeth: this is where it gets interesting. Bores your pants off. Eats through nylon rope. Carries disease. Makes you uncomfortable. Slaughter the lot. Cut the legs off with an electric saw. Gut first. Kill first. If that fails, shut your arse. Hope for the beast. As you were.

The Skin: hairy. More of a donkey. Fancies himself. Opens his mouth. Remove doubt. Flaps keep the tender bits tender. Off with the flap. Tightens up around the anus. Jimmy the lock. That's the ticket. Have you got a concession card? That'll be $100, thanks. Beauty.

Charles Baudelaire says: "It's generally frowned upon to have your face fall off your head. I've never understood why it is that men of my understanding are sat in front of a camera and told, told mind you, to say 'Fromage'. It's no wonder I always look so miserable. I hate bloody dairy."

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December 5th 2008 @ 23:20

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Heath Scotland

Heath Scotland, a two-sided head that, while symmetrical, proves that symmetry is only appealing if the parts themselves relate to one another harmoniously. Unfortunately, this head, as ugly as a bucket full of buckets, is a case in point.

The Hair: clings to the scalp. Hanging on to every lost strand. Desperately. Makes my ears look funny. Inconsistent. Lacks flair. Workmanlike. Womanly. Let's not make a fuss. Oblong. Scratch when disconcerted. Lather and rinse thoroughly.

The Teeth: all in all. Made to feel flesh beween the upper and lower cases. Discoloured. Distended. Lots of chin for not a lot. Tight-lipped. Glow in the dark. Subtle social signals. Submissive. Beat well and allow to stand. Refrigerate.

The Skin: keep in a warm dry place. Freckles easily. Fickle. Gets thicker with age. A bit rough. The hands of a woman. The penis of a woman. The breasts of a man. Runs like a child-bearer. Catches something unspeakable. Claims it. Not paid.

James Joyce says: "There's nothing wrong with my eyes, Stanislaus. What? Are you trying to tell me that placing episodes within a narrative hole is the only answer to the waste I'm witnessing? I beg your pardon. Got any spare change? Sorry, I thought you were someone else."

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December 3rd 2008 @ 22:34

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Jordan Russell

Jordan Russell, don't be deceived, would as soon stick his nose in where it's not wanted as sniff your aromatic anus. His penchant for passing his probiscus over your private parts is largely responsible for his popularity in these parts.

The Hair: looks pretty tough. Pragmatic. Easy on the arse. Let's face it. Not too bright. Dropped on his head. The jaw went this way. The forehead went that way. Good below the knees. Added space to his head. Incurable headaches. Light relief.

The Teeth: a lovely set. Chomps away. A mouthful of photosynthesis. Rounded up. Off for a holiday. Pack another pair of pants. Perfume the country air with a urine cologne. Not scared. This is a bit different. I don't think much of this. Oweee.

The Skin: looks good on your back. Looks better on mine. Do you have it in brown? I'm not sure I like black. Let's see how it fits. It's definitely you. Bad psoriasis of the liver. Imbibes a bit too readily. A skinful or two. Fell in front of a parked car. Drove off.

Samuel Coleridge says: "It took me years to find my voice. It had fallen between my lover's delightfully buoyant feminine buttocks. You should have heard me screaming. That's not fair, is it? I had surgically removed your ears with a potato peeler."

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November 30th 2008 @ 22:18

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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Carlton, Rookie Listed Player, 2009, Darren Pfeiffer

Darren Pfeiffer, a face that folds in on itself, finds it hard to breath with a pillow over his face and a broomhandle in his bottom. It's hardly a shock to those who know him that he hides his sinful proclivities behind a charade of normalcy.

The Hair: ever seen a neglected mongrel? One of those bound for the can. Slow in the head. Makes good decisions at bad times. Thinks it doesn't matter. More Black blood than not. African-German. Fell off the back of a truck.

The Teeth: a lot of chin for not many. Can't see the point. Never was good with thinking. Eats a lot. Goes right to his lips. Works it off. Fattened up for the meat-market. What becomes of theirs? Ground up and put in a bag. Put in your sock-drawer. Forget all about it. Nevermind the hankies. Just use your hands.

The Skin: a cancer in society. Hangs off your every hook. Has no soul. No need for alarm. Kevin Sheedy gave dominion over all. See my Daisy in Heaven. Too many to fit. Good on feet. Keeps the water out. No good that. Is that rain?

William Shakespeare says: "Don't tell anyone, but I never wrote those things. Can you imagine me really having the time, inclination, intelligence, education, knowledge, or pederastic proclivities to do so? It's enough to make you put on a skirt and go by the name Rosalind. If that's how you like it, poofters."

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November 29th 2008 @ 23:06

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Setanta O'hAilpin

Setanta O'hAilpin, a big fat ugly head on his big fat hairy shoulders, would have you believe that he wouldn't go through your belongings when you looked away. That's why he's the one to watch when you're half-asleep, or drugged.

The Hair: you can't tell me you don't spend hours in front of the mirror. I don't. And behind. Double-sided. A few out of place. Africans in Ireland. Black to absorb the light. Sneak around under the cover of night. All of a sudden.

The Teeth: just a hint of acknowledgement. Greets with a smell. Breath like a slut's underwear. Wouldn't harm a fly. Tortures fleas. Get stuck in the teeth. Ruminates. Strung up by the leg. Blunt. At least a couple of guts. Benign.

The Skin: half from mum and half from dad and half from Uncle Francis. Heals itself. Protein. Breaks the seal. Hit on the head. Take the knife. Run it along the throat. Pull the head back. Make a mistake. The body's still breathing. Pass.

Ludwig Wittgenstein says: "I knew Hitler at school when we were both just a couple of homosexual Jewish intellectuals. People can say what they like about him, but at least he was honest. Nobody likes someone who doesn't believe in anything. Fags."

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November 27th 2008 @ 23:59

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Marc Murphy

Marc Murphy, brought into this world through a gaping wound, has, since before anyone can remember, been deceiving people into believing he is not at all interested in breaking in and raping the elderly woman who reminds him of his mother.

The Hair: the strangest thing. Fine strands. Thousands of them. It's unnatural to cut them. Cut them anyway. A life of guilt. Uniform length. Carry the character. Bald people are boring. Hairy enough to be interesting. Stuck in a slut. Slapped it around.

The Teeth: happy with his lot. Never put a foot wrong. Eats through your leg just to eat your leg. Shits the lot out. Cries bloody murder. Wanks with a limp. Piles on the pressure. Broke one off. Favours the other side. Turns the nose up at the indignant.

The Skin: ruddy cheeks. Lousey complexion. Brand with hot pants. Ship overseas. Treat to a slashed tendon. Skate around on a bloody floor. Lose the footing. Give up. Resign to a slow demise. The blood just seeps out. Remember the time. Guilty as skin.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky says: "Often as not I'll be on the street and I'll see some trousers and I'll think to myself. Thinking to yourself is so very under-rated. I think I wish I had been born with a vagina. The ultimate in bottomless pockets. Nevermind, I always have these nipples. God, give me a vagina! He gave us nipples."

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November 26th 2008 @ 00:01

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Matthew Kreuzer

Matthew Kreuzer, after entering the breathing world feet first, has always put his best one forward, even if that means his head always comes last. It's his head, a vessel for his brain, that says it all through the cavity below the nose.

The Hair: let's not go there. Let's not. Let's talk about something else. No idea how to get a decent cut. Makes you look funny and not in a good way. Not good. Circa 1987. Belongs down a pipe. Smokes the good stuff. Gets high.

The Teeth: do we have to? This is getting old. Uncontrollable obsession. All over the shop. A mad woman's mustard. Better if you don't smile. I'll pay you. Later. Ask your father. More than his mouth can handle. Ate his way out of the womb.

The Skin: I'd really rather not. Can't stop now. Waste of cyberspace. Like the rest. A sign of trouble. A head. Michael Jackson had the same. Father can't handle his own tender anus. Beats the laugh out of him. Nice to see. Good for the kid.

August Strindberg says: "I'm not going to just sit here and let my wife have all the fun. I'm going to put words on a piece of paper that will make her think thrice about trying to usurp my role as a man. Except for the lawns. She can do those."

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November 25th 2008 @ 00:37

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Chris Judd

Chris Judd, when not pulling up my left-upper lip to create a diversion, pulls down women's pants waiting in line for medication at the pharmacy. It's part and parcel of the package that arrived on the city streets to shuffle around fetching ladies.

The Hair: bereft of much on top. Got strange pain behind my arse. Freezes before the camera. Likes reverse cowgirls. Reverses the paternal baudiness. Rivetting racontuer. Passes the buck. Skeletons have more. Styles it like a millionaire. Poor.

The Teeth: be careful, that's sharp. More than I can count. At least a couple. Stuffs his face. Muscles. Pulls my face up over his head. Scared the shit out of me. Rushed to the door to close the fridge. A head fell out. You should have seen my face.

The Skin: peeled it off. Ate. Scrubs the blood off with metal wool. Some stuck in the teeth. Went right through. Made a meal of it. Kicked a beauty on the run. Acknowledged the crowd. Caressed that pre-teen on the leg. Felt a tingle. Went for it.

Goethe says: "When I'm asked if I think Shakespeare was really the author of his works, I usually just give the answer. There was a time when my anus felt strangely hollow. Then I saw her. She was inserting and removing a stubby. It felt like I had finally arrived."

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November 23rd 2008 @ 00:00

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Michael Jamison

Michael Jamison, all arms and legs, is living proof that his parents loved each other very much. They couldn't extend the same courtesy to their only child, who was crying out to be fed in the middle of the night, with a little bit of harmless sodomy.

The Hair: short on the sides. Long on top. Lifeless. Dull. Headed for irreversible baldness. Creeps in through the back. Finds fleas in yours. Hunts them down. Likes a little snack. Opposable digits. Handles tools. Jumps up and down. Makes the list.

The Teeth: safely tucked away in the deep recession of the mouth, clamps down onto his pillow when under duress. Found them to inflict serious injuries on the inside of his anus. Lips like the rectum of a rector. Eats the rubber off a rubber hose.

The Skin: seems to get the job done. Shows signs of flaking off. Brushes it up against girls on the train. Ejaculates without warning. Should be shot on sight. Scurries around the house at night. Cut off the fat before baking. Not the kindest cut of meat.

Abu Bakar Bashir says: "I remember my first memories of sodomy. I was playing 'Doctors and Nurses' with my gay father and he asked me if I wouldn't mind. Naturally, I said yes. It's against God's will for a son to deny his father. Afterwards, he said he'd kill me if I told anyone. Now, I'm telling you, don't tell anyone."

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November 20th 2008 @ 22:20

Posted By: Norm - Category: The Blues, The Cattle, 2009

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