Sunday, March 8, 2009

Christopher Pearson, the column we're dying to read, the Holy Roman Church, the raping of nine year olds, abortions and special humbuggery


Anxiously scouring the papers, but still no word from Christopher "ultra vires" Pearson explaining just why the actions of the Brazilian arm of the Holy Roman Church in relation to a nine year old's abortion of twins is a jolly good thing.

He explained at length why inviting the anti-semitic, ultra conservative SSPX (not to mention one holocaust denying bishop) was a jolly good thing, in the interests of diversity and plurality.

In his absence on the nine year's old rape, the Vatican has leapt into the fray, with a senior Vatican cleric defending the excommunication of the mother and doctors who conducted the abortion after the girl had been allegedly raped by her stepfather. (Vatican defends excommunication for 'raped' nine-year-old girl's abortion).

"It is a sad case but the real problem is that the twins conceived were two innocent persons, who had the right to live and could not be eliminated ... Life must always be protected, the attack on the Brazilian church is unjustified," said Cardinal Giovanni Battista Re to La Stampa.

Never no mind that the girl (apparently slim) would not survive carrying the fetuses to term.

But it gets even better (or worse, depending on your point of view). While the doctors and the mother get kicked out of the church, and into a post-this-world forever and forever of soul time in hell (from their point of view), the stepfather won't be expelled from the church. 

Explanation? Abortion is much more serious than repeatedly raping a nine year old. (It seems that the 23 year old stepfather had been abusing the girl since the age of six, and also allegedly abused the girl's physically handicapped 14 year old sister).

Amazingly, one of the doctors intends to keep going to church, convinced people want a church full of forgiveness, love and mercy.

Sorry dude, you get the conservative cant of Archbishop Pell and arch apologist Christopher Pearson.

And people wonder why the church is rife with the sexually tormented, the paedophilic and the perverted. When offered up for review the serial rape of a nine year old who might die in the process of birthing as the result of this perverted paedophilia, the Church decides to punish those who seek to help, while the perpetrator is still held to the bosom of the church. And then Rome steps in to uphold the verdict.

Talk about sanctimonious humbug of the most offensive kind. Come on down Christopher Pearson, and make sure your explanatory humbug is of the special English, black and white striped peppermint kind, so we can get a little sugar hit before we choke on the nonsense.

Piers Akerman, Malcolm Turnbull, Kevin Rudd, Cheerleading, Toni Basil Mardi Gras gear and Belling the Cat


(Above: the fat owl in special Toni Basil style gear he had made up for Mardi Gras)

Sunday's always a special day, because that's when the fat owl of the remove aka Piers Akerman struts the Sunday Terror like a behemoth, smoting the wicked.

Or acting like a cheerleader. Now it might be hard to imagine the fat owl in short skirt, skipping up and down, prancing about, shouting "Go mules", but that's what he does. Oh dear that gentleman in the second row seems to have fainted, but whether from erotic arousal, or the sheer Conradian horror of the imagery, it's hard to say. Please fetch him a pail of water, we will say no more about the fat owl in a very short skirt trying to imitate Toni Basil. 

But you can't walk around it. Amazingly, this is how the fat owl makes a living. 

Sure he pretends he's a columnist, but that's just big words for rampant one eyed cheerleading of a kind rarely seen outside Manly and its support for its team of thugs, who deployed wrestling techniques to win without a word being said against them.

Anyhoo, Akerman is on familiar ground with Turnbull brevity beats rambling Rudd.

Team Turnbull has been doing badly lately, failing to dent the poll numbers, so the fat owl steps in with a wonderful piece of cheer-leading:

In a 2569-word essay in The Australian, Turnbull shredded Rudd's economic strategy, his philosophical core and, finally, in little more than a paragraph, his character.

It's fair to say that Rudd led with his chin, writing a clunky, disjointed piece for the January issue of the narrow Left-wing Melbourne magazine The Monthly, published by one of Melbourne's Left-leaning millionaire Morrie Schwartz.

What a fine example of dog whistling to Sydney-siders. Note that the fat owl doesn't write that multi-millionaire Turnbull shredded multi-millionaire Rudd. Or that multi-millionaire Turnbull comes from Sydney. No, the only millionaire mentioned is a Left-leaning millionaire (who maybe made his money from oil in Soviet Russia, typical left?) and he comes from the vile, horrid town of Melbourne. And notice the extraordinarily exact word count. What meaningless detail. And the use of the word 'narrow' as opposed to the broad and expansive mind of the fat owl. Enough said already.

Rudd's piece, according to the fat owl, is rambling and barely coherent, but approaching it is a dangerous business:

It is two months since Rudd's piece appeared and few Australians would have actually read it. Nevertheless, it is still risky to publish a demolition job as hatchet-wielders are always likely to be branded as negativists.

Thank the lord for the heroically brave fat owl, who's prepared to take any risk, jump on any high wire, scale tall buildings to tell us the unvarnished truth. Sure you might brand him a nattering nabob of negativism, but few people would now remember the wonderful Spiro T. Agnew, even if he once was the vice president of the United States of America.

Then it's on to a fair minded review of Team Ruddster vs Team Turnbullista. Rudd provides dross, failed meaningless Christmas cash hand-out, failed stimulus package, failed jobs policy, failed schools policy, failed tanks in the home policy, failed solar panel policy, failed payroll policy, failed Murray-Darling policy. Malcolm provides 2569 words. Game, set and match.

But the worst crime of all? Rudd isn't John Howard.

And then a QED. Placing an argument can be a high-risk proposition, but Turnbull has boldly belled the cat in the Lodge.

That's right, the Ruddster is really a pussy. Be brave o you liberals, you can bell the cat. Funnily enough the phrase evokes the reality of the Liberals right now, which is hapless gits (sad but a little more true than the fat owl's cheerleading implies, and this comes from someone - me -who has no time for Rudd and even less for Stephen Conroy and his evil censorship empire). 

The phrase comes of course from a fable involving a colony of mouse suffering from a cat terrorising them. A young mouse suggests hanging a bell around the cat's neck so they'll be able to keep track of the beast. Everybody gets excited until an older and wiser mouse asks the obvious question: "Who will bell the cat?"

Did the fat owl realize the weird relevance of this expression? Are the Liberals just a bunch of silly mice, do they think hanging a bell on the dangerous cat will somehow stop him terrorising them?

But then the fat owl can always be relied on for inanity. Placing an argument can be a high-risk proposition? Does the fat owl chortle when he writes such ponderous stupidities? 

Does a deep belly laugh gurgle up into his throat when he delivers such profundities into the computer via the keyboard? Got to wow them with a punch line, he muses. I know, how about the idea that presenting an argument in politics is like, you know,  a real high risk proposition. Like that dude who walked the wire between the twin towers. Wow. Yeah. Like, Malcolm dude, you're such a high wire risk taker.

Whatever, curiously, the fat owl fails to mention the one thing in Turnbull's wretched, dull piece of prose that caught the eye of hacks and hackettes everywhere, and that's when he played the man (and the wife) for making squillions out of the privatization schemes devised by the Liberal government (unless you count that very small, low key dog whistle reference to Turnbull destroying Rudd's character). 

I guess what makes it hard is that a squillionaire abusing a mere multi-millionaire - as a fine and detailed high risk policy argument - strikes many people as a lot of hot air and humbuggery.

At the least it's a peculiar argument. The Liberals devise a scheme to allow people to make money by being more efficient and adept than government, then if they're the wrong stripe (left leaning socialists), that means you can abuse the heck out of them. Why not abuse the Liberals for devising schemes so easily abused by leftists?

Anyhoo, on a quiet Sunday, if you want a quiet cackle while crunching on corn flakes, the fat owl always delivers the goods. Long may he fulminate and postulate and predicate and confabulate. After all, cats is terribly dangerous, and we all must do what we can to bell them (especially the vile Stephen Conroy).

But sadly I wouldn't actually cross the road to pick up a Daily Terror to read the fat owl's musings. That said, it's free on the intertubes, until Conroy bans it, and  if ever you want a lesson on how to deliver a mindless eye gouge, a coathanger, a ball grope, a finger up the bum, or a kick in the shins, read the fat owl. He just has to be a Manly supporter ...

Now close your eyes for here is the fat owl in short skirt singing his own special song:

Oh Malcolm, you're so fine
You're so fine, you blow my mind, hey Malcolm, hey Malcolm
Oh Malcolm, you're so fine
You're so fine, you blow my mind, hey Malcolm, hey Malcolm
Oh Malcolm, you're so fine
You're so fine, you blow my mind, hey Malcolm

Repeat in an insistent high toned voice until the throat wears out or insanity sets in. What, you want more?

So come on and give it to me anyway you can
Anyway you want to do it, I'll take it like a man
Oh please baby, please don't leave me in this jam Malcolm.

Oh Malcolm, what a pity, you don't understand
You take me by the heart when you take me by the hand
Oh Malcolm, you're so pretty, can't you understand
It's guys like you, Malcolm
Ooh what you do Malcolm, do Malcolm
Don't break my heart, Malcolm.

(Below: the fat owl in special Mardi Gras gear inviting Malcolm to take him any way he can so he can take it like a man)


And a special cheerio to all you gay boys detoxing after Mardi Gras. Our house guests stumbled in at seven this morning, suggesting things went off with a bang.

Saturday, March 7, 2009

Tim Blair, Serenity, Joss Whedon, Obama, the Operative and let's be bad, let's blow the mf's away


(Above: eek, an Obama-like operative in Serenity. Quick, call Tim Blair and his mad as cut snakes buddies to find out what to do).

What sort of fucked up fantasy life does Tim Blair live?

First he references a loon blogger, who quotes approvingly a tepid movie by Joss Whedon, incorrectly, about hired muscle cocking a shotgun menacingly and suggesting "Let's be bad guys". (The sort of line you usually see on logo-enhanced T shirts worn by insecure teenagers with big pimples and small dicks).

"Yes. Exactly. Let's.", says Macho Tim approvingly, probably never having cocked or fired a gun in anger ever since his hero John Howard fucked over the gun laws in this country. (You know Tim it's been a real hassle to hang on to guns ever since Howard. If you're such a libertarian, why don't you do something about it. Run a campaign).

But what the fuck does he mean? What does exactly mean? Get out a shotgun or a machine pistol and starting shooting down lefties or greenies? Or is it all a metaphor?

The meaning's not obscure to some. Not to his deluded cronies in the comments section. One wants them all to become Nazis. Another fuckwit thinks "Josh" Whedon toes the conservative line. News flash. Whedon identifies as feminist and atheist and existentialist, and likes to cite Jean-Paul Sartre as an inspiration. Whedon also calls himself a humanist and has even accepted a lifetime achievement award in cultural humanism (ceremony April 10, 2009). You only have to look on the intertubes, you hopeless dumb dipstick.

And of course one turd blossom inevitably brings in Obama, as the well dressed, well spoken dude with the sword. So we be bad guys and blow Obama away?

What the fuck? What a sick bunch of fuckers. A bit like the kids bullied in the schoolyard fantasizing about payback and blowing the mother fucker bullies away. You know in black trench coats with pistols.

Blair's always been a smarmy, snide, evasive, furtive gadfly, relying on others to do his dirty work. Sometimes he lets down his guard with a stupid comment, and the fully horsehit, fly blown nature of his thinking creeps out into the sunshine.

He sure knows how to dog whistle to his loon mates. It's just a pity he doesn't know how to pick up the dog shit when it gets smeared all over his blog.

Serenity's just a movie guys. In this country guns are for blowing away bunnies and 'roos. Nazis were murdering swine.

The joke is Whedon devised the show so that pick and chose liberals and conservatives could take what they wanted from the show and he'd make more money. Don't believe me? Read him, you dumb loons.

And by the way, steroid rage is bad for you, along with ignorance of movies. Take a valium, drop an e, and go into a dark space, to chill out, like mushrooms. Second thoughts, why not eat the mushrooms? Like Alice, you might enter a new time space continuum in your peculiar minds.

Go here for a detailed interview with Whedon. Go here for a Wikipedia profile of Whedon. Why are all the loons on Tim Blair's blog like Clive Hamilton, pathologically inept and fearful of the riches the intertubes have to offer?

Miranda Devine, the Salvation Army, the Red Cross, Christian Charity and Labor mates

Oh the poor Salvation Army. Frozen out of its charity work by the new Labor apparatchiks, it seems.

Does it have anything to do with the way they shamelessly sucked up to the Howard government and got into bed with them to extract cash? Surely not. We know Christians are never political, especially the Sallies. Shameless sucks, but in a non-partisan way.

Why is the Red Cross, a more secular organization, being given all the hard yards stuff to do in the Victorian bushfires? It's been nominated as the official 'partner' of the federal and state Labor governments. The Sallies have been left off a bushfire advisory panel. Shock. Horror. Could it be that it's all just Labor mates?

Who will plead the Sally cause? Cue Miranda the Devine of course, entering stage right in a towering rage of indignation with Blood ties stronger on fire panel.

"The Red Cross has basically become a de-facto arm of the Labor Federal Government. They're using it as a PR vehicle," according to the Devine, quoting a Sally source.

"Behind the scene everyone's very upset but being careful and polite in case we end up on the outer even more", the Sydney source said to the Devine.

So abusing the Red Cross to Devine as a lick spittle lackey of government is being careful and polite?

And how's this for logic? 

"It is not a healthy development to have one of Australia's biggest charities so entwined with government, and it does not bode well for the rest of the welfare sector - or the people it helps."

Except when it was the Salvation Army and all the other Christian charities making out like bandits under the Howard government, as it got rid of as many of its own charitable activities as it could and outsourced them to Christians who could barely resist slobbering at the mouth at this manna from heaven.

So it goes guys. When you sit down to dine with politicians, one day you're kingmakers, the next day you're feather dusters. And leaking to the Devine isn't going to help your cause. It's just going to get up the noses of the guys who control the purse strings.

The Devine wonders if its the 'unfashionability' of the Salvation Army's Christian ethic that's the problem, or its dalliance with the Howard government Tough on Drugs strategy, or having Lucy Turnbull, wife of Malcolm, as the head of the Red Shield Appeal, or having a go at the Ruddster's abstruse and likely unworkable plan to cut homelessness in half by 2020.

Actually guys, if you think whingeing to the Devine anonymously by senior members of the organization is the way ahead, it might actually be your political nouse, your strategic planning, and your sense that the public gives two tosses about charity politics. You know what Clive Hamilton, professor of ethics, thinks about this kind of unethical behaviour? It's un-Socratic and has poisoned the intertubes!

Charity's charity, and who does the job, providing there are no rorts and it reaches the target in a sensible, strategic way is all that matters. Christian charity ain't got no special privileges, it don't make it any better, and in some cases - since this country is largely peopled by secularists - it can make it offensive or unsettling. And charities competing for public money, whingeing and backstabbing and moaning to right wing loons is even more unsightly. 

Me, I should have an anxiety attack about the Salvation Army? Meh, go bother god.

Take it from the sharks, about to suffer a shock and awe bombing of the beaches if the Devine has her way, when you get into bed with loons, then skilled lobbying goes out the window, and all that's heard is the shriek and howl of the loon.


Friday, March 6, 2009

Clive Hamilton, fellow Brutonians, a strangely unloonish Duffster, Socrates and voluntary euthanasia



(Above: images of evil grasping Brutonians, who according to Clive Hamilton's scientific research make up ninety five point one per cent of the denizens of chat rooms, blogs, communities and anonymous commentators on the intertubes. Thanks to the immortal Carl Barks for this insight into pure evil).

Greetings fellow citizens of Brutopia,  we are extremely concerned. It seems that internationally famous troll and flamer Clive Hamilton (or some anonymous soul who's taken his identity) has been spammed, flamed, trolled, egged, potatoed and baconed by anonymous shreks with wax in their ears in the very "Your Comments" section below his own trolling assault on the intertubes.

Is this poetic justice or what? Some of these anonymous catcallers cry out that his column is a parody. One even wants free speech tamed like a branded sex slave and signs himself as fake Stephen Conroy. Another calls Clive long winded, while one hapless wretch wants us all to think of the children, when Helen Lovejoy's already doing just that (along with Clive of course).

The cheeky chappie who used the term long winded seems to think all Clive is saying is that some people are rude, and accuses him of logical fallacies and unsubstantiated generalities and corrupt techniques.

Brutonians, if we are to aspire to being houyhnhms like Clive, rather than yahoos or morlocks, we must pull up our socks. We must shrug off our obsession with Scrooge McDuck's money, come out of the closet, and be very, very polite.

There seems to be very little Socratic thinking going on, in the manner demanded by Clive. As a result, we've decided the time might be right for Clive to offer free assisted suicides in the Socratic manner, by distributing cups of hemlock to the needy, though perhaps we should allow the needful sacrifice of a cock or two before shuffling off this mortal coil. (Clive was a big fan of Socrates, who no doubt you will remember had the choice of exile or death, instead asked for a modest fine, and copped the death sentence from the jury. Good one Socrates).

I did think of ending my own anonymity - you know admitting I was actually Yffud Leachim in a parallel universe - but my partner said this was childish humor, when actually all I wanted was to be able to leave Clive and his silly childish trolling for comments, and throw to Michael Duffy, esteemed columnist for The Sydney Morning Herald, after whom this column is named, and who has contributed yet more musings for us to think about.

Groan. What is it this week Duffster? You'll have to try really hard to defeat Hamilton's Brutopians, he's surely our loon of the week. 

Euthanasia doesn't open floodgates? A well reasoned, non-hysterical approach to euthanasia? Oh no, it's too much to bear. There's nothing to say, no flank to encircle, no ankle to nip. Nada. The Duffster takes a detailed look at the way voluntary euthanasia in Oregon has been working and finds that there hasn't been any evidence of abuses, no horror stories, no nightmarish scenarios coming to pass. "The system seems to be working pretty well", says Courtney Campbell, who provides a lot of the background to the Duffster.

Well there goes the Duffster's fundie Christian readership. There goes the hits writing about a loon like Hamilton can produce.

There's just one catch in the Duffster's scribbling. Given the system's working so well in Oregan, why not in Australia? Thank the lord for the Duffster that Campbell says there's still a lot of work to be done, a lot more research until the practice is extended in the United States or around the world.

Oh dear, the fudge meter just hit eleven. All that insightful, Socratic stuff, and then a failure of nerve at the last hurdle. Well never mind maybe next year ...

In the meantime, it makes scoring the Duffster really tough ...

Failing to meet Clive Hamilton's exacting standards of loonacy: 11
Proposing an unhysterical, unloonlike, ethical debate on voluntary euthanasia: 1
Falling at the last hurdle when actual sensible new policies for Australia were within reach: 1
Providing an interesting insightful report on voluntary euthanasia in Oregon worth reading: 1
Failure to mention Socrates when discussing voluntary euthanasia: 1

That's the lowest score I think the Duffster has ever managed. Even the loon meter (a rigorous scientific instrument unable to be displayed on the web) stayed deep in the green, only once hitting amber and never ever reaching red.

If the Duffster keeps going like this, we'll have to take him off loon watch. But wait. These files are named in honor of the noble Duffy! What'll we do? The sky is falling in. Yes, that's it, good thinking. Can it be long before somebody brings into the world The Clive Hamilton Files, complete with details of the long, sometimes mythical history of trolls interacting with humanity. Yep, and the man calls himself an academic concerned with ethical behaviour. Does that include flailing around, jumping up and down, running and standing still like you're in your very own Richard Lester film Clive?

(Below: another image of grasping Brutonians. But calling netizen denizens Brutonians is a badge we can all wear with pride. Filthy commie perverts. Now if only we could work out how to get hold of Scrooge McDuck's money and find funnier ways to ridicule the ridiculous scribblings of Clive).


Clive Hamilton, a new prattling Polonius, Flamers, Trolls, Cyber Rage and Cyber Thuggery

Just who appointed Clive Hamilton moral guardian of the universe, which just so happens to include the intertubes? Sure we know he's a professor of public ethics Centre for Applied Philosophy and Public Ethics at Charles Sturt University. Sounds impressive.

But does that give him the right to ponce on about the dangers of the internet like a barn door banging in the wind? He's at it again in Crikey, under the header Hamilton: The Internet's belligerent Brutopia (no link because of Crikey's Chinese fire wall pay for the pleasure policy. Pay for Clive Hamilton to maintain access to his dulcet tones?)

... if free speech means encouraging a free-flowing dialogue that draws the public into an exploration of alternative ideas and enriches civic culture, then the Internet is its enemy.

What a pompus git (and I say that of course as someone prone to ratbag loonery in the absence of restrictions in this kind of forum on saying anything I want, however I want, as some kind of promised boon to free speech).

I dare say there are some of us who would like to sit around over a cup of Lady Gray tea, and a nice cheese and cucumber sandwich (only a dash of French mustard thanks), but there are some of us who don't mind a free flowing exchange of ideas, pleasantries and abuse (and if you don't like it you can always set up your own blog, or engage in active moderation or outright banning. Even pirate sites have strict rules about flaming).

Poor Clive finds it all just so ungenteel, so unruly, so thuggish.

Many have entered into a public debate on a website only to find themselves the target of a torrent of abuse from the regular army of anonymous users who have no respect for any higher principle of free speech. Their attitude is: "If you don't like the heat then get out of the kitchen."

The truth is that large numbers of people who would like to participate in internet forums are driven out because they find the experience unpleasant and upsetting.

The poor, deprived possums. Somebody waft some smelling salts under their noses, they seem to have fainted under the fierce assault of all those weasels, stouts and ferrets out there.

But you know Clive is right. When I went to Stormfront - the white nationalist community board, you must know it well - to post some comments in favor of greenies, lefties, feminists and blacks, I was roundly abused, banned and threatened with the hanging tree. But who was the dumb one? All the true believers or me for deliberately stirring up a hornet's nest?

Given its chaotic birth and strangely haphazard upbringing, and its current unknowability, the intertubes are suprisingly well ordered and in most places I visit remarkably civilised. Sure I don't visit Tim Blair's comments much, and I never go near Andrew Bolt for fear of attracting the attention of the anti-Christ, but then there are rules of engagement and you play by the rules. If you don't like it, you leave. There are a hundred and thirty million blogs out there, find someone's opinions, ideas or thoughts you like and join in.

What's torturing Clive of course is the anonymity:

The brutality of public debate on the Internet is due to one fact above all - the option of anonymity. The belligerence would not be tolerated if the perpetrators' identities were known because they would be rebuffed and criticised by those who know them. Free speech without accountability breeds dogmatism and confrontation.

Which is like to say Andrew Bolt must be a pseudonym, as must Tim Blair, because surely these personas must be anonymous right? How else to explain their taste for dogmatism and confrontation and brutal public debate? There's no way their belligerence would not be tolerated if we knew their identities right? People wouldn't flock to their sites for a free for all of cathartic abuse would they? 

Oh right, got it, it's not Bolt and Blair that are the problems. It's the fan-oids down in the comments section. If we knew who they were, and could rebuff and criticise them, that kind of accountability would abort dogmatism and confrontation.

When you return from Planet Idealism (somewhere north of Mars) Clive, maybe we can have a sensible chat about all this stuff. But let's carry on:

Moderate opinion tends to be based on a more nuanced and thoughtful view of the world and is more inclined to consider alternative views. Yet these are precisely the contributions excluded from discussions by the bullying culture of online forums. There is little scope for the back-and -forward debate when the normal social rules of respect and reciprocity do not apply.

"Mummie, mummie Clive Hamilton called me a belligerent Brutopian. What does that mean?"
"Well dear that's a portmanteau word invented by the wondrous Carl Barks joining together brute and utopia to describe a nasty, hostile country full of people who hate Scrooge McDuck and want to get hold of his money. Like filthy communists."
"But mummie, mummie, that's horrid and and vile and nasty, I love Scrooge McDuck and Carl Barks. What does it mean when he says I don't show any normal social rules of respect and reciprocity? And what does he mean when he says I'm an opinionated cyber thug, roaming the net, a bullying part of an ugly culture of dogmatic and belligerent interventions, blighting the internet with a kind of cyber-rage and table-thumping assertion that owes more to fucking Gordon Ramsay than Socrates?"
"Oh that's just Clive dear, you know how he likes to get angry and grumpy and table thumpy and throw around abusive words like confetti in a wind storm. Leave him alone, you know how he gets when he's in a rage. Leave him alone for a little while, and let him sulk."

To be sure, there are corners of the World Wide Web where communities with common interests engage in civilised discussion, where opinions are formed and changed. Yet there is always a danger that these polite exchanges will be gate-crashed by an opinionated cyber thug roaming the net.

Oh no, not my favourite stamp collecting site. Don't tell me a cyber thug is just waiting to destroy it. Wait, I've checked, it's still there Clive, do you want a link?

Meantime, who let you into Crikey Clive? I've rarely come across such a vitriolic piece of cyber-thuggery outside my favorite set of columnists loons, who are of course paid to rant and rail and rage about the world by their Murdoch and Fairfax masters. What flicks your switch so hard? Someone call you a loon for your loonish, Conroyish plans to plunge the internet into censorship hell to save the children (except you won't)?

Note to Clive. Stormfront don't want to share a cucumber sandwich with you, and it's quite likely you don't want to chow down with them either. Especially someone like you showing such rage about the internet. Don't even try. But don't start acting like a troll and a flamer in Crikey. Lord knows we don't expect that kind of behaviour from a public ethicist.

I know the next solution you'll care to offer. Ban all the trolls and the flamers and the anonymisers from the internet. Ban pornography. Ban things polite genteel people don't like to see, like pro-life ratbags. Ban, ban, ban. Ban grumpy people, ban acerbic people, ban people using pen names (yes that includes you George Eliot you phony feminist), ban all the loons.

Here's an alternative. Cut back on the rage pills, avoid steroids, take a few deep breaths, then step out into the light, away from the musty halls celebrated by Malcolm Bradbury in Eating People is Wrong (yes folks, it's a little known fact that academics actually eat students).

Get some balls man. Go out and tackle the world. If you don't like the tone of someone, flag the comment and let a moderator sort it out. If you discover someone's flaming you, take steps. If a troll lands, know how to deal with them (sensible procedures have now been in place in most 'civilised' sites for what's relatively a long time considering the short time the internet's been around). 

Chances are if people don't want you in their community, you probably won't want to be there either. That's how communities work. Sure it means you get closed minded bigoted sites like Andrew Bolt's blog. But that's life, no one's forcing you to go there, and no one expects you to deliver well honed insights into the meaning of life there. It's entertainment.

And yes in the end, if you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen and off the internet, and leave this wondrous new invention unharmed and uncensored to those who appreciate its profound benefits along with its limitations.

My own thought? If the world wants to retreat into the drawing room of academia, and do a little macrame when things get a bit agitated, then we will have a rich, profoundly dull, profoundly torpid civic culture, Clive Hamilton approved, full of alternative ideas that have the tepid excitement of a warm soggy tea bag. (The one benefit being that Clive will be banned because of his trolling).

And then truly we can say move over Gerard Henderson, we have found an even bigger prattling Polonius, and sadly the internet is our enemy because he has been delivered to us at blinding light courtesy of a mouse click. Oh internet, you gave me a Clive Hamilton raging rant, and I thought you were my friend ...

Christopher Pearson, the Holy Roman Church, Theology, Excommunication and Aborting Nine Year Olds

It's easy to overlook Christopher Pearson's scribbles for The Australian. Why the paper bothers to employ a columnist whose patch of church is the ineffable ways of the Holy Roman Church must remain a mystery roughly equivalent to the notion of transubstantiation.

A week or so ago, Pearson joined in the howls about turbulent priest Father Kennedy, in A church collapsing without foundations.

It was the usual rant - two legged papal conservatism and traditional theological good, four legged naughty cafeteria Catholic pick what you like from the menu bad. Kennedy is of course a pervasive threat to the survival of Australian Catholicism, as if it wasn't managing the job of killing itself well enough without him - but there's no doubt one renegade priest can come on like Satan doing down a brave Arnold Schwarzenegger. Is this End of Days for the church in the antipodes?

As well as thrashing Kennedy for his heretical, defective theological ways, Pearson gives Archbishop Bathersby a good thrashing, and confides that it was the intervention of Rome that forced his hand against Kennedy - a sign to Australian Catholics that the cafeteria is finally closed. Which is just as well, because I hate eating bain-marie food from a smorgasbord of foolishness.

So it was of some interest today to see that the hierarchy in Brazil's Catholic church is raging against an abortion carried out on a nine year old girl who became pregnant with twins after allegedly being raped by her stepfather. It seems the archbishop in the area where the termination was carried out is determined excommunicate the adults who approved the operation and the doctors who carried it out. (Church hits out after nine-year-old's abortion)

Pearson is always full of blather - take this from his diatribe against Kennedy as an example:

The sacraments are rites that relate to different stages in people's lives, held to confer particular graces through the mediation of the church, and believed to have cumulative effect. If someone's baptism is deemed invalid it is a grave matter, foundational rather than a mere technicality.

I guess that means excommunication for helping a nine year old survive likely death by aborting twins produced by persistent rape is a foundational matter rather than a mere technicality. A lifetime in hell for helping a nine year old?

What a sanctimonious prat Pearson is, and what a wretched universal church it is that he regularly celebrates in the pages of The Australian. Yet another reason to keep hold of my tithe and send it off to a charity not ruled by inflexible dogmatists. And yet another reason not to buy The Australian.

I'd love to read a convoluted, arcane exegesis from Pearson on the theological rightness, nay the holy roman righteousness, of the Brazilian church's stance. Where some might see a suffering nine year old, would he simply see something held to be ultra vires, something beyond the scope of mere earthly authority when inspecting the sin of abortion? Would he bumble on about liturgical norms, unorthodox views, and particular graces? Who knows, and maybe in the end who cares?