New Zealand’s 2016 crime rate is up almost 15 percent on the previous year and it’s that bloody National Government who is to blame.

Obviously, it’s the Government’s fault such a large percentage of Kiwi’s are delinquent reprobates; it’s the Government’s fault kids are growing up in broken families with parents who regularly beat them thus perpetuate the notion that violence is the answer and that respect for your fellow man is overrated…

Realistically, I mean other than increasing the New Zealand Police Force with the intention of coddling the population in every way imaginable yet stopping short of making sure they go to bed on time, there is not a great deal the Government can do about the questionable actions of a few idiots because ultimately, people will act as they please.

…But it’s the Government’s fault that Kiwi kids are leaving school before the age of 16 without any direction, qualifications, parental guidance or support of any kind, then turning to gang life for that feeling of acceptance; reinforcing the belief, the stereotype, that familial hardship is synonymous with a life of crime and that lawlessness is an acceptable way to live….

Much as New Zealand’s Opposition like to ridicule John Key and the National party, they must surely understand that petty crimes such as home invasion are committed generally by the kinds of people who don’t respond to Government direction, and in fact who do what they can to distance themselves from authority figures, meaning the better way to get through to this variety of New Zealander is much more likely to be with the parental, rather than political, touch.

…Still, it must be the Government’s fault that Police aren’t preventing, or hopefully stopping, this kind of illicit behaviour..?

The New Zealand Police – between sorting out incidents of alcohol and drug-fuelled violence and cleaning up the damage that this causes, along with patrolling New Zealand’s roads for those alcohol and drug-addled idiots who have yet to cause he incidents – given that they are obliged to treat criminals in the same fashion they treat the rest of us law-abiding folk, do an outstanding job of maintaining order.

How is it the New Zealand Government’s fault that the majority of modern families are made up of divorced parents?

How is it the New Zealand Government’s fault that some of these parents introduce their children to drugs and alcohol from an early age?

How is it the New Zealand Government’s fault that domestic violence is a common occurrence among families today?

How is it the Government’s fault that many of the parents raising our next generation of children are unfit to own pets, let alone to raise those youth into the fine young men and women who will be charged with taking New Zealand into the future?

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Rip Scallian

Photography by Riga Muffin

 

 

I am technical yet recognised.

I am a square yet not prudish.

I am symbolic yet only for one.

I am impressive yet unspoken.

I am earned yet only by some.

I am timeless yet I am cherished.

I am certified yet only on paper.

I am nondescript yet displayed.

I am qualified yet only in a field.

I am forthright yet unpretentious.

I am descriptive yet often esoteric.

I am dead cert if I end with Cate.

 

WHAT AM I?

 

 

 

 

 

Last edition’s Fustigator: Heart

Increasingly the New Zealand public are being exposed to footage of idiot males punching other males in the head.

The aspect of ‘punching another person in the head’ that most people – particularly drunken males – seem to overlook, is that the damage inflicted by the initial fist/face contact is generally only a portion of the resulting destruction.

The most common forum for the aforementioned barbarism is Auckland streets; the most common time, after dark.

Perhaps ironically the very people put in place to protect nighttime streets and the nightclubs to which they lead – the bouncers themselves – are by all accounts the worst offenders; a point to which, having experienced these goings-on first hand, I can attest wholeheartedly.

Recent incidents include CCTV footage from across the past few weeks showing a number of seemingly bored doormen, having become engaged in conversation with a drunken reveller or two, who then, with no notable provocation, throw a close-quarters sucker-punch, knocking the partygoer over backwards.

To a casual observer, unjustified brutality as this may have been, the above incident is just what happens on Auckland streets late at night…

What that uninterested observer wouldn’t have seen as – aided by alcohol the victim of the attack topples over backwards where his inhibited reflexes mean no limbs magically appear to cushion his fall and thus – the fallen man’s skull cracks into the cold pavement below where if he wasn’t unconscious before the hit he sure is now, is the way the fallen man’s brain collides with the inside of his jagged skull causing at best, mild concussion; at worst, an unnoticed brain bleed which, if untreated, will inevitably result in that man’s death.

…But why is it ‘just what happens’?

Are we such a primitive breed of people, are our frontal lobes so impossibly underdeveloped, that we lack the ability as rational human beings to reason with one another – to settle disputes without succumbing to the deluge of testosterone raging through our big burly man-bodies?

What is interesting is that this question has been asked in the form of an impassioned plea, by the mothers, the fathers, the siblings and cherished friends, of the multitude of young Kiwis who have been knocked over backwards at the hand of a thoughtless sucker-punch.

The media used to refer to them as ‘king-hits’ but they’re not; there is nothing regal about a sucker-punch.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Rash Nilty

Photography by Loch Thair-Rove

 

The New Zealand media conduct numerous polls with the intention of gaining understanding on, or learning the consensus of, a particular topic.

Informative as they are, the apparent contradictions frequently raised by these findings leads me to question whether these ‘general polls’ are even accurate…

A few years ago, at around the same time inflatable boatloads of refugees were being rescued (or sunk) by Coastguards around the world (but mainly in the Mediterranean), Prime Minister John Key was being vilified for not extending the quota of refugees to which New Zealand was providing asylum; now, that same Right Honourable John Key is being chastised for accepting so many migrants, based on the claim it is immigrants who are largely responsible for aggravating and perpetuating Auckland’s beloved ‘housing crisis’.

… Looking at it though, that might actually have less to do with inaccurate general polls and more to do with idiot New Zealanders who love to revel in the belief that they are the height of nobility yet when their plush lifestyles and/or modern conveniences are compromised, that benevolence mysteriously vanishes to be replaced with their more realistic, wholly self-serving, selves.

According to polls conducted over a year ago, New Zealand is willing to do what it takes to mitigate climate change; according to polls taken just recently Kiwi consumers are not willing to pay extra for ‘environmentally friendly’ products.

According to recent polls teenage pregnancy is becoming an increasing issue yet according to the News just last night, the creepy little cabbage-patch baby dolls distributed to female students by Family Planning in an attempt to stymie this problem – which are supposed to simulate real live babies by crying their fake little eyes out; also eating, pooping, and in general portraying little living nightmares – have actually had the opposite effect with a greater percentage of young women having cared for the pseudo-children in fact falling pregnant than those who didn’t.

According to polls taken throughout the year, New Zealand wants its Government to do more for the nation’s impoverished; according to polls taken twice yearly for the past hundred years, taxes are too high.

According to polls the minimum wage needs to be raised by around $2 every 6 months; according to polls employers should be more open to taking on unskilled workers – to whom they will then be forced to pay the current minimum wage and courtesy of recent Union movements they will likely be stuck with that employee for the next three months.

According to polls during the infamous Flag Debate of yesteryear, Red Peak was a clear favourite for the vote yet in the actual poll, the one in which we voted, Red Peak took a resounding last place.

Is it that our poll conductors are improperly compiling results or as the general population of New Zealand, are we just stupid?

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Bess Anne Tin-Shinn

Photography by Noah Ray Lism

“Yeah, what’s up with that?”

“I think you established on the first lap that I’d ‘given up’, then the second lap I tried to say that it wasn’t a focus, then this time … I dunno, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you’ll have to use it soon or the bloody thing’ll probably fall off!”

“Really, is that how it happens?”

“Think so – how do you even know if it still works?”

“Well, we do have daily exams so, you know…”

“No, I mean for the real thing – shit, every guy can jack off in the privacy of their own computer…”

“Why ‘computer’?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you still use magazines?”

“No, I’m asking, why pornography at all – do people not have imaginations these days?”

“Oh, come on – that sounds about as bullshitty as ‘reading the articles’ in your Penthouse magazines…”

“Honestly – and for the record, thank you very much, the writers for Premium smut magazine are some of the cleverest wordsmiths you are ever likely to see – but why be bound by the pictures placed before you in a magazine or, as is the fashion, on a computer watching corny, predictable movies? I’ve always found the best director is the one in your own head – he can show whatever you want to see.”

“’Whatever you want to see’? Really? Shit, it sounds like hard work to me.”

“Of course, because what with the advent of the World Wide Web’s information-in-your-face highway, whenever, wherever and as Goddamned repetitiously as you wish those pictures to be thrown in your face, nobody any longer needs to utilise their brain’s own visual centre and its ability to conjure its own images.”

“Right … So what was I saying?”

“You were warning me how if I abstain from sex-before-marriage for too much longer, my undercooked sausage might just detach … I then rebutted saying how it shouldn’t have been an issue as I was undergoing daily performance reviews and achieving rock-hard results in the meantime … You claimed that any guy can ‘jerk off’ with pornography, where I rebutted again, advising that my picture show, generally, is entirely in my own head…”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t remember so much all the time, it can’t be good for you … But alright, yeah, that’s cool, like, you say your thing still works in your own head, but how do you know it still works in the bedroom?”

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s particularly fussed in which room the ‘examination’ takes place…”

“Oh be serious..?”

“Yeah, seriously, regarding function in that capacity, matter of fact, I, don’t know.”

“Shit … I mean that’s a bit of a worry, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘worry’ per se, but yeah, I guess, it might be construed by some as an ‘issue’.”

“You should get it sorted out then.”

“Hey, hang on, I didn’t say it had stopped working, I just said that what with the dearth of genuine sexual activity, I have no true way of knowing – can’t imagine there’ll be too much of an issue though … Despite my reality-based shortcomings, you know, I am a total player in my head…”

“Aha, fuck that’s hilarious … So when are you actually going to settle down?”

“Excuse me..? ‘Settle down’..? Shit man, I mean, far as I can see I’ve always been the ‘settled down’ one – always been the sensible one, the mature one, the serious one, the responsible one, the oh so fucking reliable one – for Christ’s sake man, I had a house at the age of twenty – shit if anything I’ve even been the dull, the boring, the inherently settled one … Settle down, really..?”

“You know what I mean…”

“In fact I don’t know if I do..?”

“You know, ‘settle down’, like, with kids and that..?”

“Oh, I see, you mean, ‘settle down’ as in suddenly becoming maternal, locating a sexually viable mate then starting a family and all that jazz … Become one of those typical folk you see getting about, living their horrendously typical lives with their frightfully conventional life-styles…? Dude, that whole scene strikes me as so fucking dull – it’s just boring, even contrived – good little grownups, adhering to the plan, playing house like the terribly wholesome young adults they have become in the last six months – it just smacks of expectation, you know, forced conformity.”

“Oh, piss off – you’re saying that starting a family’s an expectation, that it’s ‘boring’..?”

“The way young people seem do it nowadays, truthfully, yes, I do think it’s largely the desire to conform with your peers – find a girlfriend, turn her into a wife, buy a house, make the unspoken pledge that your days of careless humour, childlike frivolity and reckless abandon are behind you…”

“Oh you are so full of shit – that’s so wrong…”

“Yeah, like you, each time you enter into a serious relationship, you’re saying you don’t lose all your passion for good times – you’re honestly telling me I’m wrong?”

“Yes you’re fucking wrong!”

“Just reporting it as I’ve seen it … I believe your desire to be ‘one of the baby-bearers’ has become so overpowering that whenever you find a man who you think can do the job, you strap on your blinkers, shut out insidious distractions – which in your case is life in general – and devote yourself blindly to that man.”

“Oh, piss off.”

“You’re on the right track though, that’s how they do it, particularly those young women who have spent a lifetime in the holds of promiscuity – you’d be able to relate to this – once they’ve selected a suitable candidate to knock them up, of course in order to quell that compelling yearning to continue spreading themselves about, they need to shut out all other temptations in order to prove to that particular baby-daddy, that they’ll make good baby-mummies…”

“Oh, you are so full of shit.”

“…So they buy their nest then spend the next few years knocking out one, two, or perhaps even three tiresome sprogs, before becoming ultimately housebound, but of course for the time they spend with their other, similarly housebound, newly ‘blessed’ baby-mummy-and-daddy counterparts, eking out a life of drudgery and ultimately, growing stagnant amid a fucking dull existence.”

“Is that how you see it?”

“That is how I have perceived it, yes.”

“You think that having a family is a boring waste of time..?”

“Were you listening just now? I never said ‘waste of time’ … For the right to bear children is the peoples’ prerogative … As for ‘boring’, well that’s just how they seem to expect they’re expected to be – you know, grow up, have kids, relinquish enjoyment, grow old and dull together.”

“Fine … So you never plan to settle down..?”

“What? Are you fucking serious right now? Have you been asleep during the last half hour of impassioned conversation? How can I expect to make any sort of progress in that regard, when I can’t even find a woman who will give me a chance – an opportunity to show who I genuinely am, what I genuinely have to offer?”

“Your problem, you’re too honest … You gotta learn to lie, man – girls expect guys to lie, in the beginning at least.”

“What? Are you fucking serious? You want me to start basing relationships on foundations of lies now..? Is that how you’ve done so well for yourself?”

“Fuck up.”

“Fair enough, but you seriously think I should be less truthful in my conquests?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, no girl expects a guy to be completely honest about everything – especially about themselves … But you always are, for some reason..?”

“It’s because when I look around at this world of failing and, well, ultimately failed relationships, I can see two major aspects that need work – communication and veracity…”

“…Well, you got communication down…”

“That’s the dream, anyway.”

“…Still, you gotta lie a little, in the beginning at least…”

“Nah fuck that … There is no way I am changing who I inherently am, just to comply with your pathetic fucking ideal that sex is the most important thing in the entire fucking world.”

“Your loss.”

“Hah, I don’t think so – I think it’s the loss of all the silly little girls out there who allow themselves to become besotted with their fucking ‘hard men’ and their so called ‘bad boys’, who in fact turn out to be nothing more than lame-arse mummy’s boys who have fears of heights, or spiders, or needles, or worms, or bugs, or something else equally as gutless, that’s including responsibility and a hard day’s work and who, despite their macho façades, don’t even have the fucking maturity to hold down a relationship, let alone handle life, but because they portray themselves as irreverent shitheads who treat everybody like dirt, women fucking love them, because women seem to have this latent desire to be treated like dirt, that’s until they wake up one day and realise in fact they don’t want to be treated like dirt, and find themselves asking, ‘Why couldn’t I just have found a nice guy to ‘settle down’ with?’”

“Are you done?”

“Quite, thank you.”

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Pono Gaffick

Photography by Che Teads

 

 

 

I am soft yet not weak.

I am vital yet unnoticed.

I am strong yet not rough.

I am muscular yet unisex.

I am firm yet not callous.

I am central yet eccentric.

I am an organ yet not in a church.

I am regenerative yet to a point.

I am the core yet not from an apple.

I am synonymous with love yet I do.

I am a pump yet I am not electric.

I am powerful yet I must never stop.

 

WHAT AM I?

 

 

 

 

 

Last edition’s Fustigator: Greed

 

I am negative yet without poles.

I am devious yet unconcerned.

I am capitalist yet without politics.

I am a taker yet not at all a giver.

I am grasping yet am without grip.

I am sleazy yet not within motels.

I am crude yet without going nude.

I am gainful yet I am not winsome.

I am desire yet without goodness.

I am a trait yet am not to be envied.

I am needy yet without satisfaction.

I am in rhyme with creed yet do not.

 

WHAT AM I?

 

 

 

 

 

Last edition’s Fustigator: Glory

The 2016 Rio Olympic Games wrapped up having displayed far fewer of the failings that many predicted, and with New Zealand coming away with a record medal haul.

As happens to most Olympic host cities most every four years – with Beijing’s pollution-dominated build-up to the 2008 Games still fresh in mind – Rio de Janeiro’s onset to these 2016 Olympic Games was fraught with negativity regarding the city’s ability to organise such a gargantuan event while still providing adequate safety and overall standards for the athletes…

This potential issue was not helped when four US swimmers of the Olympic Village claimed to have been robbed at gunpoint which – reminiscent of a similar event involving French rugby players at the New Zealand 2011 Rugby World Cup – turned out to have been nothing more sinister than self-inflicted injuries as the result of drunken escapades.

…Of course maintaining a high standard becomes difficult when one’s country is suddenly overrun with arrogant douche-bags who think they are above the rules that have been put in place to protect them.

As also seems to occur at most four-year intervals, we as Kiwis allow ourselves to build expectations to the point where, even at a few weeks out from the Games, we’ve already amassed our projected total medal count, and of course we are so very confident that everything will play out exactly as we have planned…

Most years we find that, due to some unforeseen circumstance or other, a number of our ‘medal hopefuls’ (men’s and women’s black sticks, rugby sevens), or even our ‘medal certainties’ (equestrian in two Olympics’ running) do not perform nearly as well as we had hoped or sometimes, do not come away with an Olympic medal at all while other athletes, athletes of whom greater New Zealand has not even heard, decide to raise their heads and from out of nowhere, cement themselves a place as part of Kiwi Olympic folklore.

…Today though we can be proud, as the overly-expectant, defeatism-prone, quick-to-judge, quicker-to-condemn, poppy-chopping nation that we are, that this particular four-year interval yielded a greater Olympic medal tally than ever before.

It was a surprise to some to learn that chicks in Waimate are proficient with firearms; kudos to Natalie Rooney for securing New Zealand’s first medal – a silver in trap (claybird) shooting – on our way to an expectation-exceeding total of 18 – second only in the ‘per capita’ rankings to Grenada.

Eliza McCartney became the youngest ever New Zealand woman to win an Olympic medal – her bronze in pole vaulting allowing her to embrace that record for just a day before the feat was outdone by Lydia Ko’s silver in golf.

Typical of our lofty Kiwi expectations though, unless we can secure more than 18 medals at the next Olympics, as a nation we will likely feel as though we have failed; although realistically, if nothing else, these Rio Olympic Games have shown us that sport in New Zealand has a very bright future.

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Kay Wei Women

Photography by X Sae Ling

 

 

 

“You’re right, that is something, you should be very proud … So tell us about this ‘rejection’ bullshit you claim is so prominent in your love-life..?”

“What’s to tell – I go in strong, invariably I get shot down, indubitably I get back up.”

“Nah but that’s what I don’t get – you’re a good looking guy, I mean you must have pretty good game – there’s no way you invariably get shot down.”

“What do you mean – shit man, you’ve seen the down-shooting in action..?”

“What, when?”

“Oh, shit, Queenstown, April, last year … Couple of pretty French chicks … One pretty French chick in particular … Dancing, having a great time … Shot down.”

“Um, yeah I don’t know if I saw that actual moment, but it sounds like you’re setting your sights way too high.”

“What do you mean – you just said I was a good looking guy and there was no way I should ‘invariably get shot down’..?”

“Yeah but you have to be reasonable…”

“Hang on … So, if everyone’s out there being ‘reasonable’, setting their sights at, or near the bottom of the barrel, you’re saying that no one should get the prettiest girls..?”

“No, I mean, you know, maybe while you get back on the horse…”

“I wasn’t aware I’d fallen from the horse..?”

“Nah, you know, just while you’re getting, you know…”

“Shit, you say it as though I’m broken..?”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t have said so.”

“But you haven’t had sex in about fifty years..?”

“Ah yes, I can totally see how half a century of sexual abstinence would break most thirty–two-year-old men…”

“But you know what I mean..?”

“Honestly? No … As I said earlier, I don’t seem to regard sex with quite the same level of, I dunno, mortal importance, as you do.”

“’Mortal importance’..? You make it sound like I’m a sex-crazed maniac!”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“No … Oh, well …Sometimes, maybe…”

“Right, and I just don’t see it as that crucial to my ongoing existence … You know, I have other shit to keep me entertained – productive, worthwhile shit.”

“You’re saying that sex isn’t worthwhile..?”

“I am not.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“Thought I was pretty clear but, alright … I was saying that there are other things that may be equally if not more beneficial to mankind’s prosperity, than casual fucking.”

“But I’m not talking about casual fucking, I’m talking about sex between two people who love one another.”

“Really, wow, because for as long as I’ve known you you’ve been all about casual fucking – quick sex wherever you can get it … Now you’re all hung up on ‘lovemaking’..?”

“Fuck you man, I’m not a slut…”

“Not anymore, no.”

“So what are you talking about then?”

“In fact it was you who was talking about ‘sex between two people who love each other’…”

“Yeah, and I stand by that.”

“Stand by what?”

“Well casual sex is good for a while, like when you’re young an’ that, but everyone needs to find their soul-mate.”

“Nice, where’d you find that?”

“What? Oh shut up – not everything I say’s out of a magazine.”

“With you, if it’s profound, chances are it is.”

“Yeah well this isn’t.”

“What isn’t?”

“Oh … Ah, that thing I said.”

“Which referred to what?”

“Oh … Ah … Oh, it was fucking – hah, I was talking about fucking.”

“Thanks for that.”

“Yeah, and a healthy relationship is vital to a healthy lifestyle.”

“Oh come on … From what magazine did you pull that piece of bullshit sapience?”

“Shut up, didn’t I just say not everything I say’s from magazines? But if you must know, I got that from Cosmo.”

“Hah, yeah, sounds like another of your wonderful, Kim Kardashian quotes, yeah?”

“…No … Actually this was Kourtney.”

“So that’s the kind of advice she imparts to her sister, do you think – the kind of wisdom that’s keeping Kim and Kanye so tight, do you reckon?”

“I dunno, probably – so what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Who’s important in your life?”

“Ah … No one – human.”

“Well why not?”

“What lap’s this?”

“What?”

“Just wondering how many times we’ve been here before..?”

“Well you haven’t given me a straight answer..?”

“Ask me a straight question…”

“Fine … Is there anyone currently in your life who you find attractive – who you would like to be with physically?”

“Gosh … There are plenty of young women around who yes, I do find attractive -”

“Hallelujah!”

“- But no one with whom I’d particularly like to be…”

“Be, what?”

“Be, with … No one who I find sufficiently alluring to warrant sacrificing the life of simplicity and beautifully tranquil peace that I have spent so long building.”

“What are you on about?”

“Women complicate.”

“Yeah, well so do men.”

“I assure you, I am intimate with no men either.”

“Well why are you avoiding women? I think you’d make a great husband, and father…”

“Alright then, here’s your challenge – find a woman who would be content to live the rest of her life with someone like me.”

“Oh my God, I’m sure that’s most women…”

“So, pick one.”

“What, and I suppose she’s gotta be blonde with big tits and a tiny waist as well..?”

“Certainly not … Dude, how conceited are you anyway – you just described yourself.”

“Yeah, well, from what I’ve seen that’s what most single guys want…”

“You will have noticed though, in the over-a-decade-or-so we’ve been buds, I am not ‘most single guys’..?”

“Guess not – but you do have pretty high standards…”

“I don’t think I’d agree with that either – I have my preferences, sure, but so does anyone … I’m not so deluded as to be blind to the fact that my idea of a perfect woman, is likely to be different to the one who might realistically end up sharing my life.”

“Good … I think.”

“Well, you claim that most women would be happy to live out their lives with what I have to offer … So who’s the first one?”

“What?”

“Well, I naturally assumed you had some personalities in mind..?”

“’Personalities’, like famous people..?”

“Personalities like people.”

“So what, you thought I knew someone..?”

“I assumed, based on your ‘I’m sure that would be most women’ comment, that you had in mind at least one..?”

“Oh, no it was hypothetical.”

“You mean it was sycophantism..?”

“What?”

“You heard me say something that you perceived as self-effacing therefore to stabilise my confidence you threw back the first reassuring comment that came to mind even though you genuinely believed it to be untrue or at best a very long shot … Sycophantism – I fucking loathe it.”

“Hey, ease up, Mr Negativity … Be happy, life’s a breeze.”

“Thought you essentially said life couldn’t be enjoyed devoid of a loving relationship … You know, that inspired Kardashian dribble you seem to so readily absorb..?”

“I didn’t say life couldn’t be enjoyed, I just said it’s better if you’re getting regular sex…”

“Regular exercise.”

“What?”

“Sex … Exercise … They’re effectively the same thing.”

“What? No they’re not!”

“Really? Massive endorphin release, coupled with rush of dopamine, adrenaline and every other feel-good drug the body can manufacture and flood into the brain at euphoric levels … Physical exhaustion, contentment, feeling of achievement, self worth … You know, if I go out and spend three hours cycling 80 K then come back home, go out to my back lawn and spend an additional hour blissfully knocking one out, with spectacular results, what’s the difference?”

“It’s not fucking, that’s what.”

“To my brain it is.”

“Your brain doesn’t know shit – it’s not fucking.”

“Right, I think what you are saying is that perhaps, my way lacks the intimacy of your, more conventional method..?”

“Yeah, that and, it’s not fucking.”

“Yet it carries practically every constituent of sex.”

“Still not fucking.”

“But why does that matter?”

“Because, your way’s weird and not normal.”

“…Says the girl who’s always first with the, ‘Yeah but what’s normal?’ quote.”

“Well it’s not real, it’s delusion.”

“Oh, come on – half the sex industry is based on delusion.”

“Yeah, and it’s wrong.”

“Says you.”

“Yeah, and I’m right – it’s wrong.”

“I disagree.”

“Then you’re wrong, too.”

“The issue as I see it is that not everyone is a gorgeous blonde who loves her booze, and loves a good time.”

“Fuck you … The delusion of sex is not sex, and that’s that.”

“I dunno man, you ask my brain, after one of my mid-afternoon, backyard sex sessions, what just happened and I guarantee, it won’t know the difference … Ultimately exercise is a helluva substitute for sex and what it lacks, delusion makes up – besides, traditionally, for men at least, sex is exercise.”

“And it’s not for girls..?”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be…”

“Huh, if that’s what you think, you haven’t been fucking the right girls.”

“Are you serious? Dude, fuck, third lap, that’s the fucking point … I haven’t been fucking any girls!”

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Sash U Awl

Photography by Aston Ence

 

 

 

 

 

A recent attack on Australian schoolgirls’ privacy has seen personal photos stolen and uploaded to a pornographic website.

This is the most recent incident but realistically, this kind of Internet-based schoolgirl violation has been going on for years – it was Irish schoolgirls in 2013, British schoolgirls in 2015 and now, it’s Aussie schoolgirls who are being put under the red light.

Despite the international proximity though, there are a few common themes.

Firstly, obviously, the targets of this site are scantily attired if not nude; then lastly, in one (horrendous fusion) word: Facebook.

One such victim of this ‘hacked Facebook account’ debacle was a 21-year-old Adelaide woman; she was near tears when she maintained, “There were photos of me and my friends out at a bar one night, like, dancing, and having a good time and that … So like, that creep must’ve either been in the club that night taking photos of us or like, he got them from my Facebook page…”

Trolling online for photos of attractive girls to then post on a separate website is a deplorable act, of that there is no question; yet it’s as if these young women are of the belief that their Facebook accounts provide any kind of privacy or security…

Similar to teenagers on a school camp, who seem to believe that their tent walls will shield their hushed whispers inside from any ears outside, these youngsters need to wake up and smell reality.

…Surely every Facebook user is aware that by simply clicking on friends of friends, of friends of friends of friends of friends, it is not impossible to have travelled halfway across the world and be looking at the face of somebody who, in reality at least, that user is unlikely to ever meet.

The other basic rule of computing that these young women appear to be flouting, is that one should never post anything potentially hurtful, or indeed incriminating, online.

Courtesy of ‘file-sharing’, once a piece of information has become entangled in the folds of the World Wide Web, the chances of ever totally extricating it are close to nil.

I sympathise with these girls and their families but Internet users need to be aware, nothing online is truly private anymore.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Nia Eve Grills

Photography by Slee S Bagg