Influence = Affluence

 Many people commence diatribes with the hackneyed phrase "it doesn't take a lot to get me angry". I thought about commencing this post in that style, but it would be a lie. It would appear that these days my patience is eroding and deteriorating like a latex band left on the road. I am cultivating some serious Old Man Yells At Cloud energy lately. Or in my case, Old Woman might be a more apt sobriquet. 

If you're rolling your eyes and wondering what is currently making your humble blogger's blood boil, well, I'm sure it's something that has infuriated just about everybody who has a modicum of empathy and common sense. It's the female muttonhead from the US who describes herself as a biologist and who was filmed picking up a terrified wombat joey, separating it from its mother. The footage is sickening: she scoops up the poor thing and runs (yeah, you read that right) with it, holding it in such a manner that it's unsupported body is swinging about (yeah, you also read that right). She's filmed by an Aussie bloke who's laughing like a lobotomised troll, so much so, that I suspect that's what he is. 

This culture of the influencer is cringeworthy beyond words, but this cretin, who goes by the name Sam Jones (as in the bloke who played Flash Gordon in the schlocky Eighties movie with song by Queen) is beyond the pale. If you're reading this, Sam (aka samstrays_somewhere), what the actual fuck is wrong with you? So, you've always wanted to hold a baby wombat? Well, so fucking what? There are women who want to hold Hugh Jackman, but they don't, because they don't have the right to do this! Would you like some big weirdo to snatch up your infant and run around with it for shits and giggles? That being said, the thought of you breeding makes me shudder. 

Honestly, woman, how old are you? I ask because I suspect you've defined medical science by living so long minus a functioning cortex. Your Instagram, now set to private, apparently has photographs of you with animals you've slaughtered for fun. I guess you're IG is now private because your stunt has bitten you on the arse and what a shame the mother wombat didn't do the same. Speaking of the mother wombat, I really hope she did not reject her baby because she no longer recognised its scent after it was permeated with the stink of Stupid Entitled Seppo Twat. 

To the parents of this arsehat: Why didn't you get yourselves sterilised the day you met each other? 

To the dickwad filming: Shame on you; as an Australian, you should know better than to allow for our wildlife to be treated this way. Get in the bin, and take your stupid sniggering with you. 

I hope so much this stupid person is penalised by the appropriate authority for this revolting act. I'm sure even other influencers are ashamed of her. 

Effluent Pools and Affluent So-Called Celebs

 I'm trying to get healthier. I'm in reasonable shape, but I'm trying to improve. Today, in resolute virtue, I attended the local swimming pool with a view to getting in thirty minutes worth of laps. I swim in the indoor heated pool because I am first and foremost a massive sook and can't bear the thought of getting cold in the outdoor pool. Secondly, I have the complexion of my Irish forebears and the thought of the sun (despite my slavish and heavy-handed application of sunscreen) causes me to combust and disintegrate like a vampire who has also had the misfortune to cop some ultra violet rays. Anyway, I was enjoying my swim but my planned session was truncated by an attendant who ordered everybody out because someone had blown chunks in the pool. Fair enough. It's gross enough swimming by a floating used band-aid, but the thought of swimming into a pod of regurgitated carrot cubes, all afloat on the watery surface, is too ghastly to contemplate. 

Also ghastly is the stunt pulled by Kanye West and his wife - well, I think she's he's wife, but she might also be a remote-controlled anthromorphic plaything of the kind not readily available at K-Mart (it's the withdrawn catatonic expression that makes me wonder). The story has clogged up my newsfeed like a turd that won't flush. All I see is pictures of Bianca Censori wearing a vacant expression, but the expression she wears is still more substantial than the practically invisible garment she has on. You can't call it diaphanous - seriously, it makes diaphanous looks like a suit of armor. 

Honestly, what the actual fuck is wrong with these people? Is it a desperate need for attention to compensate for an abysmal lack of talent (come on, you heard West slaughtering Bohemian Rhapsody at Glastonbury 2015, didn't you?)? I will say I am a tad concerned for Bianca's mental health and wonder about the dynamic in the West/Censori household. 

But to show up, by all accounts uninvited, and pull a stunt like this, stinks to high Heaven of eau-de-desperation. Maybe it's a kink. But nobody consented to the display and I would happily never hear from these shit-gibbons again. 

With reference to my day, I really think risking a swim in chlorinated effluence is preferable to being bombarded with news about these vacuous nobodies.