There is often a push for a change of term used to describe a sector of society. Somethings the idea has merit, and sometimes the idea totally fellates a camel's balls (complete with burrs tangled in the fur thereon). An example of the former is referring to those of a darker skinned ethnicity as 'people of colour', instead of 'coloured'. I currently work in the care industry, and we have been instructed to refer to the relevant persons as 'person with a disability' instead of 'disabled.' The reasoning behind this is to put the person first, and I completely understand this. This is the meritorious of the notions.
As for the notion that runs its stupid tongue around the camel's burry-furry balls (and stops for a rimjob in its stupidity); there has been a push to ban the word 'cyclist'. Now, we're all just getting silly. There is nothing isolating or disenfranchising about the bloody word 'cyclist', for Christ's sake! The people who want this term banned say it is because the term is often associated with road-rage. You know what? Sometimes it is. But, sometimes it refers to people competing in a velodrome, or in a charity ride, or even the Tour de France. Sometimes it refers to someone riding along in the allocated lane. Does the term 'cyclist' really offend you morons that much? Do entities actually throw money at these think-tanks to come up with such totally asinine and nincompoopish ideas? I will call a spade a spade, regardless of the circumstances, to wit, if I see someone on a bicycle, I am going to call him or her a cyclist. So shove that up your jumpers, all those who want us to spiral into some totally unrecognisable Orwellian Newspeak language! Besides, if I'm feeling annoyed at a pushbike-rider on the road, I don't say 'cyclist'. I say, 'That stupid cunt who's in the middle of the road and hasn't got the sense to move over to the side.'
But to summarise, I'm not going to change my terminology for some half-arsed reason devised by some researchers who have to really justify their existence.
Dear-oh-dear, Pauline Hanson, James Ashby, and Steve Dickson. I cannot believe the depths of stupidity and corruption to which you have plummeted. You approached the NRA, and what happened? You've each shot yourselves in the foot! Oh, the irony is just magnificent and delicious! After viewing Part 2 of How to Sell a Massacre last night, I was ready to reach for the sick bucket. How repulsive a slime-ball is Dickson? How repugnant was that spokeswoman for the NRA? She mentioned the spin they use is: 'God-given right'. Oh. My. Freaking. Gawd. Honestly, when watching that show last night I could not recall having ever seen such a massive conglomeration of vile numpties. You are all a shit-stain in the underpants of humanity. Get in the bin, the lot of you.
On the brighter side, the release of my upcoming novel Howling on a Concrete Moon is getting closer. I have been emailed a final proof to approve before print. I will then have to approve cover design. This book is written in a different style to my previous novels, and it's in a different style and voice to my blog. The narrator is a seventeen-year-old girl in 1982. Anything set in 1982 that makes reference to Dr Jurd's Jungle Juice is Miles Franklin Award material, in my submission. When it's released, check it out.
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