- May 18, 2001
- 7,873
- 364
- 126
Happy Australia Day!!!
- Thread starter NuclearNed
- Start date
MidasKnight
Diamond Member
- Apr 24, 2004
- 3,288
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- May 18, 2001
- 7,873
- 364
- 126
Yay, I'm going to Australia!
Seriously, though, it's not their independence day or a prime minister's birthday or anything? Just a randomly chosen date?
Seriously, though, it's not their independence day or a prime minister's birthday or anything? Just a randomly chosen date?
- May 18, 2001
- 7,873
- 364
- 126
I don't know anything about Australia Day, except for the fact that my desktop calendar commands me to celebrate it. I think I'm going to go sing some Australia Day carols to my coworkers.
It was a great day.
:beer: & Swimming Pool combo on a 35C (95F) day, Australian Open on the telly (went to the Agassi-Federer match the night before).
<--- happy chappy.
:beer: & Swimming Pool combo on a 35C (95F) day, Australian Open on the telly (went to the Agassi-Federer match the night before).
<--- happy chappy.
As a joke, I regularly send the company president's nephew titty pics with "Happy (Whatever Holiday Wikipedia Says Is Today)" as the email title. Today he had a verrry juicy Australia Day...lol.
It happens to be the day the first load of inmates arrived in Australia from prisons in England. Happened on this date back in the late 1700's. Don't forget that at one time Australia was nothing more than a giant prison colony in the eyes of the British.
Jan 26 1788 was the day that the First Fleet arrived in Port Jackson (Sydney) and established the first European Settlement.
It is a very solemn day.... we must recite the preamble to the Constitution....
..with hand on heart
Whereas we, the People of the broad, brown land of Oz, wish to be recognised as a free nation of blokes, sheilas and the occasional trannie. We come from many lands (although a few too many of us come from New Zealand) and, although we live in the best little country in the world, we reserve the right to bitch and moan about it whenever we bloody like.
We are One Nation but we're divided into many states. First, there's Victoria, named after a queen who didn't believe in lesbians. Victoria is the realm of Mossimo turtle-necks, cafe latte and no missionary position on Grand Final day. Its capital is Melbourne, whose chief marketing pitch is that it's "liveable".
Next, there's New South Wales, which is like naming Werribee "New South Yarra". It is the realm of pastel shorts, macchiato with sugar, thin books read quickly and millions of dancing gayboys. Its mascots are Bondi lifesavers who pull their Speedos up their cracks to keep the left and right sides of their brain separate.
Down south we have Tasmania, a state based on the notion that the family that bonks together stays together. In Tassie, everyone gets an extra chromosome at conception. Maps of the state bring smiles to the sternest faces.
South Australia is the province of half-decent reds, a festival of foreigners and bizarre axe murders. They had the Grand Prix but lost it when the views of Adelaide sent the Formula One drivers to sleep at the wheel.
Western Australia is too far from anywhere to be relevent in this document.
The Northern Territory is the red heart of our land. Outback plains, sheep stations, kangaroos, jackaroos, emus, Ulurus and dusty kids with big smiles. Although the Territory is the centrepiece of our national culture, few of us live there and the rest prefer to fly over it on their way to Bali.
Finally, there's Queensland. While any mention of God seems silly in a document defining a nation of half-arsed agnostics, it is worth noting that God probably made Queensland. Why he filled it with dickheads remains a mystery.
We, the Lullaby League of Oz, are united, primarily by the Pacific Highway, whose treacherous twists and turns kill more of us each year than die by murder. We are united in our lust for international recognition, so desperate for praise we leap for joy when a ragtag gaggle of corrupt IOC officials tells us Sydney is better than Beijing. We are united by a democracy so flawed that a political party, albeit a redneck gun-toting one, can get a million votes and still not win one seat in Federal Parliament. Desirable, sure. But fair? No when you consider Brian Harradine can get 24,000 votes and run the bloody country. Not that we're whingeing.
We've chucked out the concept of "fair go" in the dounsized '90s. Instead, we want to make "no worries" our national phrase.
We love sport so much our newsreaders can read the death toll from a sailing race and still tell us who's winning, in the same breath.
We treasure our politicians, who talk about listening with such persistence it's hard to get a word in. We tolerate our prime Minister who is not only short but a Methodist, hanging offenses in decent countries. And we like watching Parliament on TV because Natasha Stott Despoja is a total spunkrat.
We, the wicked witches of the land of Oz, want to make it clear this continent is OURS and always has been. Mind you, Liberal Party polling shows that there were some people here before Captain Cook so we should address this issue once and for all. While posession is 9/10ths of the law, our ancestors were fortunate enough to discover that genocide, cultural extinguishment, baby theft and flour poisoning make up the other 10th. So Oz is OURS and that's that. Our midget Methodist master says we have no reason to feel sorry for killing more Aborigines per capita than the nazis did Jews and Liberal Party polling says we're OK with that. Why don't we say sorry? In the words of our PM - because, because, because, because, because. Now, can we just drop the whole thing before the Olympics start.
Phew, with that nasty bit out of the way, we the Brain, the Heart and the Nerve of OZ, want the world to know we have the biggest rock, the tastiest pies and the worst-dressed Olympians in the known universe. We don't know much about art but we know we hate the people who make it. We shoot, we vote. We are girt by sea and pissed by lunchtime. And even though we might seem racist, close-minded, sports-obsessed little People, at least we're better than Kiwis.
Now buggger off, we're sleeping.
..with hand on heart
Whereas we, the People of the broad, brown land of Oz, wish to be recognised as a free nation of blokes, sheilas and the occasional trannie. We come from many lands (although a few too many of us come from New Zealand) and, although we live in the best little country in the world, we reserve the right to bitch and moan about it whenever we bloody like.
We are One Nation but we're divided into many states. First, there's Victoria, named after a queen who didn't believe in lesbians. Victoria is the realm of Mossimo turtle-necks, cafe latte and no missionary position on Grand Final day. Its capital is Melbourne, whose chief marketing pitch is that it's "liveable".
Next, there's New South Wales, which is like naming Werribee "New South Yarra". It is the realm of pastel shorts, macchiato with sugar, thin books read quickly and millions of dancing gayboys. Its mascots are Bondi lifesavers who pull their Speedos up their cracks to keep the left and right sides of their brain separate.
Down south we have Tasmania, a state based on the notion that the family that bonks together stays together. In Tassie, everyone gets an extra chromosome at conception. Maps of the state bring smiles to the sternest faces.
South Australia is the province of half-decent reds, a festival of foreigners and bizarre axe murders. They had the Grand Prix but lost it when the views of Adelaide sent the Formula One drivers to sleep at the wheel.
Western Australia is too far from anywhere to be relevent in this document.
The Northern Territory is the red heart of our land. Outback plains, sheep stations, kangaroos, jackaroos, emus, Ulurus and dusty kids with big smiles. Although the Territory is the centrepiece of our national culture, few of us live there and the rest prefer to fly over it on their way to Bali.
Finally, there's Queensland. While any mention of God seems silly in a document defining a nation of half-arsed agnostics, it is worth noting that God probably made Queensland. Why he filled it with dickheads remains a mystery.
We, the Lullaby League of Oz, are united, primarily by the Pacific Highway, whose treacherous twists and turns kill more of us each year than die by murder. We are united in our lust for international recognition, so desperate for praise we leap for joy when a ragtag gaggle of corrupt IOC officials tells us Sydney is better than Beijing. We are united by a democracy so flawed that a political party, albeit a redneck gun-toting one, can get a million votes and still not win one seat in Federal Parliament. Desirable, sure. But fair? No when you consider Brian Harradine can get 24,000 votes and run the bloody country. Not that we're whingeing.
We've chucked out the concept of "fair go" in the dounsized '90s. Instead, we want to make "no worries" our national phrase.
We love sport so much our newsreaders can read the death toll from a sailing race and still tell us who's winning, in the same breath.
We treasure our politicians, who talk about listening with such persistence it's hard to get a word in. We tolerate our prime Minister who is not only short but a Methodist, hanging offenses in decent countries. And we like watching Parliament on TV because Natasha Stott Despoja is a total spunkrat.
We, the wicked witches of the land of Oz, want to make it clear this continent is OURS and always has been. Mind you, Liberal Party polling shows that there were some people here before Captain Cook so we should address this issue once and for all. While posession is 9/10ths of the law, our ancestors were fortunate enough to discover that genocide, cultural extinguishment, baby theft and flour poisoning make up the other 10th. So Oz is OURS and that's that. Our midget Methodist master says we have no reason to feel sorry for killing more Aborigines per capita than the nazis did Jews and Liberal Party polling says we're OK with that. Why don't we say sorry? In the words of our PM - because, because, because, because, because. Now, can we just drop the whole thing before the Olympics start.
Phew, with that nasty bit out of the way, we the Brain, the Heart and the Nerve of OZ, want the world to know we have the biggest rock, the tastiest pies and the worst-dressed Olympians in the known universe. We don't know much about art but we know we hate the people who make it. We shoot, we vote. We are girt by sea and pissed by lunchtime. And even though we might seem racist, close-minded, sports-obsessed little People, at least we're better than Kiwis.
Now buggger off, we're sleeping.
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