Grok Issue #3 2012

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ISSUE #3 - 2012

PUBLISHED BY THE CURTIN STUDENT GUILD

G N I N R WA

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IN THIS ISSUE: TABOO Including: New Column

Respectable Receptacles MidIntercourse Activities Fembots See You Next Thursday How To Host A Politically Incorrect Party

ISSUE #3 2012 CONTACTS

Editorial - 9266 2806 Advertising - 9266 3087 Email - grok@guild.curtin.edu.au EDITOR - Hayley Davis LAYOUT - Rozanna Johnson COVER - Chloe Sellars Grok exists for entertainment purposes only. The views expressed therein are not necessarily that of the Curtin Student Guild.

CONTRIBUTORS Grok would not exist were it not for the generous donation of time and effort from it’s contributors, to whom we are eternally grateful. (in no particular order) Hayley Davis Joseph Oliver Cassie Rees Jarod Rhine-Davis Belinda Teh Barnaby Nichols Ian Seaborn Brooke Hunter Maya Rose Chauhan Anthony Pyle Katie Roseanne Snowdon Abby Hutchinson Scott Donaldson Choong Boon Siew Chloe Papas Carolyn O’Connor Maya Halilovic Alison McCarney Georgia Tree Chelsea Banner Michael McKenzie Radhika Kayarat Carmen Reilly Connor White Emil Cholich We at Grok would also like to extend our sincere apologies to the following people who weren’t credited properly for their hard work in the last issue: Chloe Sellars Artwork Class Act Criminal, p20 Melissa McGrath Photography The Art of Tease, p 28 Radhika Kayarat Author Back to (the) Future!, p45

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QUEER DEPARTMENT Organisation for Equal Love’s National Day of Action for Equal Marriage Rights is well under way. The rally that will be held on May 12that Stirling Gardens in Perth looks like it is shaping up to be an impressive push for equal marriage rights. With a special guest performer from the Perth International Comedy Festival the day will be entertaining as well as an important demonstration for LGBTIQ rights. Pop in to the Queer Department if you want to lend a helping hand to the organisation of the rally or if you want to find out more about what the Department has to offer.

Cheers, Sam

Taboo Taboo.

Tuh. Tuh. Tee to the aye to the big, bold, blatant, be Be yourself, she says. Or else.

Be the Oh, as I slip in, Like the slick black knife you always keep in your pocket Because you know, Oh, someday they’ll get you.

Ahhh, long and loud, that’s right.

Good girl.

Let me know exactly how it feels.

Tuh. Tuh. Tee to the aye to the be

(yourself) and the Oh Oh(!), the shape your mouth makes as you take it, this thing between us.

And it’s kinda odd, don’t you think?

How suddenly I’ve got three legs, How your father’s in the next room And he doesn’t know what his princess is up to Or what’s up in his little princess.

I, on the other hand, know perfectly well That this is who I am.

Kat

EQUITY DEPARTMENT CONTACTS (All Guild email suffixes are @guild.curtin.edu.au)

CUPSA Chamonix Terblanche p: (08) 9266 4465 e: cupsacouncil@

Indigenous Department p: (08) 9266 3150 e: indigenous@

International Students Committee Amir Nouranioskoui p: (08) 9266 2910 e: isc@

Queer Department p: (08) 9266 3385 e: sexuality@

Women’s Department p: (08) 9266 3386 e: women@

Curtin Student Guild Equity Space (bld 106F) provides a safe and friendly place to hang out, get involved, get support, and socialise with people who ‘get’ you. Pop in to check it out, or contact the departments as listed below.

2

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EQUITY DEPARTMENTS

3 Editorial 5 your guild:

PRESIDENT 6 your guild:

VPs 7

your guild

FACULTY REPS

15

your guild:

IN AND AROUND THE GUILD

Respectable Receptacles

Muslim Women, Let’s Get Naked

My First Vibrator

10 review: 12 issues:

14 feature: 15 advice:

this dream until it only recently occurred to us that we might get arrested in our attempts to execute this plan. Sure, taking the mickey out of official royal guards would probably get you into trouble. But actually, we could be arrested merely for exposing our treasures to the world. It then dawned upon me that my desire to walk around nude whenever and wherever I wanted was subject to rules and regulations. It was possibly the saddest day of my life.

Rules. Laws. Ethics. Morals. Etiquette. Religion. All codes that govern what is acceptable and what is not in what we do or say. Often these even permeate the private recesses of our minds, making us feel wrong or immoral even for our thoughts. Where does this come from? Is it natural?

Learned? A tool? There are some things we don’t even talk about. Some things you would call taboo.

And that is what Issue #3 of Grok 2012 is all about. The Taboo, the unaccepted, the deemed by society to be too offensive, unnatural - that is what we delve into both in the images, illustrations and words which pepper the pages to follow. There are fannys, dandys, bits and pieces, top tips, philosophical questions and a fair bit of swearing...and some penis (yipeeee). We must warn that some content may offend (even more so than usual). Lets face it, it’s pretty hard to avoid offending others in such a diverse culture. In fact the very purpose of this issue is to make you squirm a little. To ruffle a few feathers so as to question why we feel this way?

This isn’t to say that you’re not allowed to take offense. Nor is it to portray the things we talk about here as wrong or right. ‘Taboo’ is not equivalent to wrong. For example, many people like to deny the fact that their significant other (or others, if we are not to discount polygamy) poo - in the same way that people often try to maneuver their seated position on a toilet so as to avoid the awkward plops and...I don’t even know how to write the other noises. It is not to say that defecation is wrong, but it is definitely among the taboo of conversation topics. No body wants to imagine their loved ones doing their business, until the time comes where you’re forced to witness it.

Some call this the point of no return...or the point where you bolt as quickly as you can before they get a chance to flush (what the reasonable among us would do).

While in London I picked up a book by Lucy Gray titled Her Ladyship’s Guide to Modern Manners. It details the struggles involved in maintaining a suitable standard of etiquette in today’s world of emailing and text messaging and glorious, laborious or downright shameworthy one night stands (depending on your luck). In such a seemingly crass, in your face society, what even is taboo anymore? You’re almost more likely to be vilified for speaking articulately, choosing a spiritual path, wearing a hijab or a habit and choosing not to have sex before marriage than you are for sporting your midriff and heels (or even the boys nips in their new, still delightfully named wife beaters).

Though we like to think we’re entirely modern and sophisticated societally, I’d like to argue that we are far more conservative than one might think. Even as a university. We at Grok hope the Taboo issue pushes those buttons a little bit. Nothing like a bit of shit stirring for your reading pleasure...

E.d.

Mid-Intercourse Activities

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STUDENT ASSIST

18 food:

I’m so Hungry I could Eat a Horse 19 food:

Thought for Food

20

campus life:

Behind the Firewall

Young Boys Dying to be Thin

Private Laws, Public Lives

Sit Quietly and Eat Your Food

Stoned Rant

21 issues:

22 feature: 24 feature: 26 feature: 27 feature:

Fembots 28 CALENDAR 30 creative:

Words & Images 32 feature:

Masculinity 34 feature:

Feminism Feminism Feminism, Jehovah Jehovah Jehovah

36 issues:

Female Genital Mutilation 38 feature:

See You Next Thursday 39 feature:

Vulva is Not a Dirty Word 40 feature:

My Story 41 creative:

Canon 42 feature:

For Lack of Good Porn 43 advice:

The Perfect Blowjob 46 feature:

The Ten Most Awkward Sex Scenes 49 feature:

Male Sexual Performance and Why it is More

Important Than Anything Else, Ever.

51

How to Host a Politically Incorrect Party

50 advice:

restaurant review:

Andaluz Bar & Tapas

52 reviews:

Film & Theatre 53 reviews:

Music

55 reviews:

Games 56 advice:

Ask Someone Better

3 - editorial

When I was in England I visited Buckingham Palace to watch the infamous “Changing of the Guards”. It was a great deal of pomp and ceremony for something these kids did every single day. It brought back memories of how my best friend and I used to dream of travelling together. We decided that one of our life goals was to ride naked past the Buckingham Palace guards, stealthily stealing one of their tall, black, furry hats and riding victoriously into the distance. We continued to hold

Some of us when we come to University really have no idea about what we want to do, or where it is we are heading with our degrees.

More often than not, we are pushed there by our parents, influenced by our mates or enrol in a certain course because that is what we are ‘good at’. Meanwhile, others know exactly what it is they want to do, have a clear direction with an end point, and know that the way to get them there is through completing a university degree.

Many new students at Curtin are participating in a ‘common first year’ (CFY). Champions of the CFY proclaim that the year is designed to give students an overview of everything relating to their discipline so they can then move forward making an informed choice about where they want their careers to go.

Opponents to the CFY are staunch in their belief that this is another way for the University administration to make more money whilst delivering course content at a sub-standard level.

The development of CFYs should be taken seriously and with a lot of consideration.

They shouldn’t be rushed through the course approval process, or be given the green light without regard to all the possible areas of concern that might show up. I met with a University lecturer recently who had these concerns about the course he was teaching.

It didn’t amaze me so much that this was happening at Curtin, or that these views

were being expressed; but, that he felt like he wasn’t being heard by his own school and then thought the Student Guild could do something about it. Now, I like to think we are a pretty powerful bunch (ha ha) and that we can influence to some degree what happens around here – but when a University staff member comes to a student organisation alerting them to the fact that the University is not listening – THAT is scary.

CFYs shouldn’t be so common as to render them useless. Students need to be pushed academically and be given something to reach for, otherwise motivation soon slips and course satisfaction drops dramatically. Even though courses are grouped into faculties, it does not mean that all courses have something in common – the link is sometimes tenuous at best. As such, the development of CFYs needs to be inclusive of all disciplines, have a strong cohesive message that links courses together and be individual enough so students don’t lose sight of why it is they came to University.

Surely the last thing this university needs is more dis-enchanted students…

Ali K x P.S – If you participated in a common first year last year, and had either a negative or positive experience, please send me an email on president@guild.curtin.edu.au

Humanities Faculty Rep

Guild Executive Guild President

Ali Kirke p: (08) 9266 2934 e: president@

Education Vice President Jess McLeod p: (08) 9266 2920 e: educationvp@

Activities Vice President Dave Farr p: (08) 9266 4578 e: activitiesvp@

General Secretary Joe Quick p: (08) 9266 2918 e: generalsecretary@

Faculty Reps Business Faculty Rep Noelle de Marigny p: (08) 9266 2764 e: business@

Health Sciences Faculty Rep Keturah Mudhan p: (08) 9266 3392 e: health@

Michael Ball p: (08) 9266 2764 e: humanities@

Science & Engineering Faculty Rep Maz Rahman p: (08) 9266 3392 e: science@

Guild Departments CUPSA Chamonix Terblanche p: (08) 9266 4465 e: cupsacouncil@

Indigenous Department p: (08) 9266 3150 e: indigenous@

International Students Committee Amir Nouranioskoui p: (08) 9266 2910 e: isc@

Queer Department p: (08) 9266 3385 e: sexuality@

Women’s Department p: (08) 9266 3386 e: women@

Ali Kirke Curtin Student Guild President 2012

Other Contacts

University Contacts

Student Assist Officers

Graduations

p: (08) 9266 2900 e: reception@

p:

Grok Magazine

p:

p: (08) 9266 2900 e: grok@

Housing

Guild Clubs p: (08) 9266 2908 e: clubs@

(08) 9266 7115

Health Centre (08) 9266 7345

p: (08) 9266 4430 International Office p: (08) 9266 7331

Parking

Guild Recreation

p:

p: (08) 9266 2900 e: rec@

Physiotherapy Clinic

Guild Tavern

Security

p: (08) 9266 2904 e: tavmanager@ All Guild email suffixes are: @guild.curtin.edu.au

Guild Reception Building 106F Open: Mon-Fri 8:30am-5pm p: (08) 9266 2900

1800 063 865 (free call) e: reception@guild.curtin.edu.au w: www.guild.curtin.edu.au

p: p:

(08) 9266 7116 (08) 9266 1210 (08) 9266 4444

Dial 5 from any campus phone (24h)

Student Central – Bld 101 p:

(08) 9266 3399

Student Fees p:

(08) 9266 3500

Switchboard p:

(08) 9266 9266

T.L Robertson Library p:

(08) 9266 7166

Uni Counselling p:

(08) 9266 7850

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“Commonly Common…”

Activities Vice President DAVE FARR Wassup students of Curtin! I know life has been crazy for you guys and girls with the doom and gloom of pending assignments and mid sems. Never fear though as the Guild is here! I have an array of awesome events coming up that are sure to inject some juice back into your lives. It has already been a massive year here at the Guild and I must give a big thanks to Rob Pix from Ministry of Sound for putting on an amazing show for Ministry of Sound at Easter Bash 2012. It was a crazy night and easily the biggest DJ event seen at the Tav in a long time. So what’s coming up I hear you asking.

Club Olympics It is that time again folks for some good old fashion club competition and mayhem. Make sure you get out in force to support your Guild clubs as they compete for some awesome prizes in the 2012 Guild Club Olympics. I have some amazing events part in place that is sure to make this event a ‘survival of the fittest’. Mark down May 2nd in your Guild diaries and be there!

Education Vice President JESS MCLEOD

Hi everyone, Margaret Court, tennis champion and proponent of some of the most homophobic arguments against marriage equality, is rallying her forces in WA to “preserve marriage”. She states that lesbians and gays can “overcome” their “unnatural” ways, and that same-sex relationships are part of the moral decline of our society.

I agree with Martina Navratilova who publicly opposed Court saying, “Her myopic view is truly frightening as well as damaging to the thousands of children already living in same-gender families.”

The success of the campaign for marriage equality means that the bigots feel inclined to step up their campaign. Every time they open their mouths they put their bigotry on full display. The claims made

by Margaret Court and the like about LGBTI (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, intersex) people do not deserve to be reprinted, but the implications are truly offensive. Standing up for marriage rights is not only about equality before the law, but it also sends a message that homophobia is unacceptable and that we will not put up with it.

Court may be totally out of touch with mainstream opinion, with poll after poll showing majority support for marriage equality, but her windbaggery is certainly legitimised by the ban. What do Court and our atheist Prime Minister have in common? They both think that marriage is only between a man and a woman. The message sent to LGBTI people is: you are second-class citizens and your relationships are not worthy of the same recognition afforded to others. If we clung to “traditional” notions women could not enter the workforce after marriage and there would be laws against miscegenation.

Try as they might, the government and the opposition have not been able to dodge this issue.

You too can be part of the collective thorn in the side of the government. Ongoing demonstrations have played a key role in changing public opinion, and making this an issue. However, it is not inevitable and we need to keep the pressure up.

6 - your guild

Join others who support civil rights by attending the next Rally for Marriage Equality, 1pm Stirling Gardens on May 12.

See you there!

Silent Disco Sponsored by Red Bull and the Therapy Student Association, this fresher friendly event is sure to be amazing. We have live DJ’s playing from 11-2pm in the Guild Courtyard outside Centrelink on May 9th. There will be an awesome atmosphere up in here so make sure you come down, grab a free Red Bull from the lovely ladies and enjoy some sweet beats! I have a special surprise in store for everyone during the event, so be there!

DJ Competition Consider yourself a pretty good DJ or have a friend that can make those musical juices flow everywhere? Then it’s time to enter the Curtin University heats of the ACAA National Campus DJ Competition. On the evening of May 9th, the Curtin Tavern will host the best up and coming DJ talents from the students of Curtin so get amongst it! Jim Beam on campus is sponsoring the event with JB girls and plenty of prize giveaways on the night. We are also super excited to announce that Danny T from Ministry of Sound will be playing and judging on the night. Like Easter Bash, this event is shaping up to be a massive DJ event, so definitely one not to miss.

End of Semester Bash What better way to celebrate the end of classes and the study week ahead then End of Semester Bash. I use the term ‘study week’ very lightly as most of us know it is a time to break the shackles and get loosey goosey! EOSB this year is going to be bigger than ever with a separate band and DJ stages on the night and a bigger capacity all in the works. The event will be in line with the WAMI festival so you will be sure to see some of the best acts that WA has to offer.

So drop by in the afternoon on May 25th for a few beers and for a night that you will never forget!

Science and Engineering

Business

Humanities

Health Sciences

NOELLE DE MAGRIGNY

MICHAEL BALL

KETURAH MUDHAN

MAZ RAHMAN

Hey business students,

Well the ‘study’ break is over, and if you’re like me, you’ve surely caught up on all your assignments and study. Oh who am I kidding, if you’re anything like me you spent most of the break sleeping in and catching up on Game of Thrones.

Hope you all had a good Easter break and a productive tuition free week (even though my tute free week was spent working, going out and watching movies, super productive!). So following up from my last article the Guild is now in the process of forming a campaign to get back our student common free time, our position is that common free time is good for students because it allows us time to attend group meetings, events, talk to lecturers or tutors, attend club events, career days… and the list goes on.

Hey Chaps, hope the studies going well as we get towards the half way point of the uni year. If you’re around campus on Wednesdays between 12 and 2 there’s still some pretty swell happenings, with Deputy Dave running the events and BBQ’s.

Common free time is a pretty important part of university life and we hope to keep it cracking for years to come, so feel free to email the Guild if you have any positive feedback towards the idea.

Hi guys! Here’s a teaspoon of taboo for you…If my writing feels jerky, it’s because I’m a little irritated and it’s making my fingers twitch. I was at the bank earlier and the lovely, intelligent, considerate lady behind the counter TALKED.TO.ME.LIKE. THIS.THE.WHOLE.TIME because I’m brown which means I don’t speak English. *le sigh*. I was much too tired to educate her and so I left her ignorant and confused when I turned and left with an appropriate amount of hair swish and eye rolling, behaviours I picked up from the West. Anyways…

For those of you at the Kalgoorlie campus, I know half of you don’t believe the uni cares about you, as one student put ever so delicately in an email, but I can assure you that the Guild definitely does. I’ll be heading out there sometime in May to catch up with everyone and find out what else seems to be falling apart. Though the first thing I plan to do once I get there is to test out if the uni really has fixed the wifi blackspot as they promised us. The second thing I plan to do is visit the Soc. Trips to the Kal campus are always interesting…

I’ll be running a competition in the next issue of Grok especially for those busy souls in Science & Engineering. I’ll try and find a decent prize, if all else fails, I’ll buy you lunch.

Maz

This will be my last grok article for the semester so here are a few things I would like to remind you of. Firstly, remember that Anzac Day is on the 25th of April and this is a university recognised holiday, so if you have Wednesday lectures remember not to attend them because no one else will be.

Also for those who are involved in a club, club Olympics is on the 2nd of May, make sure that your club has registered to attend and has a team together to compete, this is probably one of the most entertaining events on campus and there are prizes to be won!

Make sure you check out the guild diary for upcoming Tav events including (for those who want to rival Homer Simpson) beer appreciation night, DJ comp and Mexican night because everyone likes to wear Sombreros.

Hope you all make the most of the semester break and remember you can always email me at business@guild.curtin.edu.au for just about anything.

See you on the other side Regards, Noelle

It’s been a pretty good semester in terms of incidents with students, seems that the new unit outline builder has resolved a lot of previous issues. If you do have any issues with assessments, or if during the break there are problems with feedback or other study issues, please contact the Guild; because as our marketing director stated, ‘The Guild is a big package that is here to serve the students’. Couldn’t have put it better myself really.

Last but not least, I’m looking to make a few events target humanities students a bit better, so if anyone has any tips or suggestions for what they want let me know. Also, does anyone have any good hobby suggestions? Someone’s off to Canada so I’m gonna have a fair bit of spare time to kill :p

Whilst I love all feedback from you guys, I would especially like to encourage the sharing of thoughts or feelings you may have regarding common free time. It has been brought to our attention that there are an alarmingly large number of classes occurring during the sacred 12-2pm block on a Wednesday, exactly when all the especially awesome stuff happens on Campus; such as: Uni and Guild activities or events, workshops, free food, seminars run by employers etc. This atrocity is keeping so many of our precious (you guys) from having the best University experience possible. And a “quick fix” isn’t a good enough excuse Curtin.

No space? Build some more! Our numbers are only getting bigger.

You can buzz me on 9266 3392 or poke me on health@guild.curtin. edu.au. Alternatively, come into the office and we can chat over a coffee. We can also converse over a deliciously juicy Guild sausage at the Tav where you’ll find me every Wednesday night from 8 pm cooking up a free dinner for Curtin’s finest. I’ll give you extra onions.

7 - your guild

Since the last issue of Grok, I’m pleased to say that those poor souls in Scientific Computing 101 have had their crummy timetable changed so they no longer have to endure class til 10pm. Win for them.

9 - your guild

Respectable Receptacles Joseph Oliver

Congratulations. You have just turned the page to the newest, arguably most enlightening column Grok magazine will offer in 2012.

My role is centred around that sweet mysterious hole in the ground that presumably goes to the other side of the earth. Sometimes if you stare into it, you will see a ridiculously good looking person looking back at you.

Allow me to introduce myself as: The Toilet Reviewer. Your trusty connoisseur of all things waste disposal related.

Why? Why?!?

Many people would see wine, beer and spirits as mere tools to get from the vertical to the horizontal in an enjoyable and rapid manner. But the critics, with all their appreciation courses, have taught us that beer and wine are not just drinks, they’re essential complements to an evening meal, a key section of the gastronomic orchestra and not just a virtuoso solo performer to binge on when we have a specific hankering.

These critics taught us to appreciate the experience of consumption. But not only that.

Their efforts made alcohol better.

I want to do this with public toilets. They are practically the last unreviewed, unexamined bastion of our daily lives. We dissect, judge, replay and share our experiences of just about everything else – breakfast cereals, movies, cars, television shows, clothes, running shoes – you name it, it’s probably been reviewed – but not the toilet. When was the last time you told your friends about the best cistern experience you recently had? For most people, it’s just a tool to facilitate certain activities we’d rather not talk about, like after grog bogs or tactical wanks (this is the taboo issue, right?).

But when was the last time you truly appreciated a public toilet? They can be so much more than an intermediary to facilitate defecating and power yakking. They can, if properly done, be works of art, of beauty; they can transcend the mere mechanical plumbing. Good public toilets can touch your soul. A pleasant bouquet; melodious flushing of the cistern; water fountains that catch you unexpectedly in the crack. Apple created technology that you were so proud to have as part of your daily routine that you would show it off to your friends.

I would like to do the same for toilets.

Where?

Dual Gender Disabled Accommodating Toilet Facility, Level 2, Building 303, opposite 303.272.

This is one Human Waste Disposal Receptacle that I have frequented over the last year and a bit. It’s probably not well known, being down the hallway from the Curtin Volunteers office and opposite some newly built classrooms that students don’t seem all that eager to occupy.

But it’ll do for a start.

10 - review

An introduction The three act play is a perfect framework for conveying the total toileting experience. Act one introduces the characters (in this case, the

Most of the finale in the total toilet experience is provided in act two. Act three is more of a drawn out epilogue, our farewell to the toilet.

It will usually consist of hand washing. If you are unfortunate, there may be one last twist, one final return of evil, as you struggle to avoid touching an inexplicably wet or crusty handle on your way out. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the essence of the total toilet experience. It’s what I want you to be cognisant of, because only then can you truly appreciate a quality toilet adventure.

Act One: Revelation Successful works of art – be they music, literature, film, or any other medium – have a memorable hook to seize your attention and form a favourable first impression. Take for instance Beethoven’s fifth, which opens with those four notes (G G G E flat, if you’re wondering). Human Waste Disposal Receptacle Rooms have two such hooks.

One is the design; the other is nasal presence.

Good design is crucial. Either by chance or design, this particular toilet is visually satisfying.

The walls are mostly white. But it is neither straitjacket white nor cheap whitewash white, but a calming, tranquil, tasteful yet vibrant white that lies between retina scorching psychological mania and soul scourging, impoverished whitewash. This contrasts well with the grey-black tiles on the floor; combined with restrained flourishes of green tiling near the mirror. One cannot help but feel a sensation of calm wash over oneself.

It is an interior illuminated by the lighting of the room. The lighting, it is utterly fantastic!

Beethoven has those four notes; this ablution facility has natural light. Yes, natural light. No fluorescents unless you choose it (light switch is by the door), nor are there pulsing, syringe discouraging, eyeball frying blue lights. This avoids the usual evocation of communism or penitentiaries that one expects from public restrooms. The lighting is wonderful during the day, but reaches a crescendo in the afternoon.

The natural light comes from a westward facing window; during the latter hours of the day the white tiles light up most vividly and perfect shadows are cast over the toilet. It is light worthy to illuminate nostalgic scenes of children playing on immaculate lawns; you are truly blessed indeed to have such light cast on your bathroom experience.

It is a shame, though, that the window does not actually open.

Odour-wise, on opening the door, one samples the aromatic bouquet (albeit with a very shallow sniff; deep inhalations are only advisable if you wish your mouth to be the exit orifice for your

lunch) and the conclusion is unmistakable. It is the Switzerland of smells, albeit sans chocolate – neutral with no aggression, no assault on the olfactory senses. Of course, just as Switzerland can’t claim to have helped fight the tyranny of Fascism in WW2, this bathroom can’t claim to have helped to free your nostrils from the everyday sensory monotony that is Public Toilet Communism.

This first impression is generally good, but there is one regard in which the toilet does suffer from time to time. It is a slow drainer. The tiled floor is flat. While good, this does mean that any water that spills onto the floor tends to take a bit of time to drain away. For some unknown reason, people who use this toilet have a tendency to spill water on the floor quite frequently.

Whilst not ruinous to the total toilet experience (gondolas will not be necessary to navigate to the toilet proper), the momentary fear as your mind attempts to process the implications of the unidentified fluid pooling on the floor does tend to detract from your enjoyment of an otherwise picturesque scene.

Act Two: Expulsion And so on to the second act of the digestive melodrama. One now actually needs to use the toilet. The room itself, once one has taken stock of one’s surroundings, is quite nice and cosy. Presumably designed to accommodate wheelchairs, it is thus a one toilet room, affording a comforting sense of privacy – no sudden feelings of inadequacy brought on by fellow users; no judgemental stares or shame caused by having to use a urinal adjacent to a urinal already in use. Other disabled capable toilets have cavernous space which can sometimes make one feel quite small and insignificant in the way the vast, bleak emptiness of the cosmos usually does. This toilet offers enough space so as not to cramp, but not too much as to dwarf you.

Other public toilets can give the impression that you will need to exfoliate all your skin if you are so brash as to sit down. Despite the occasional foreign-looking dollops of yellowing liquid, if you get to this toilet seat just after it has been cleaned, it is a beauty to behold. This is an improvement of sorts.

A note should also be made about acoustics.

They are wonderful! Those of you inclined to hum or provide other musical accompaniment whilst you go about your business will appreciate the snug confines (and tiling!) of this facility. They provide a satisfying reverb and echo; one would only need to play Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries (or similarly rousing music) and one’s ablutions would attain an epic quality.

When you’re done, the flush has a nice, throaty roar. It is manly and reassuring; the good acoustics of the room amplify this. Frustratingly though, the half flush only keeps flushing whilst it is pressed down. Why designers do this, instead of letting only a smaller, preset quantity of water drain, is a mystery. It is time which could be more profitably spent washing hands and leaving, bringing the climactic battle against the toilet and the forces of nature to a close. Instead, one is forced to watch the flush in progress, which is much less than ideal.

Alternatively, one could just walk away too early, which most likely would end up leaving the next user with a less than usually desirable waste disposable experience welcoming gift.

Act Three: Resolution The war has been fought and you have hopefully won. Nature’s called but you’ve smacked her one and shut her up for now. The sink here provides a satisfying end to your conquering of digestion. A common problem is the short tap, resulting in you bashing your hands against the back of the basin while washing. This can lead to searching frantically for the alcohol hand wash, or some steel wool in a Macbeth-esque “out, damned spot!” attempt to truly purify yourself of contamination and bacterial induced guilt. Not here, though – the tapis long enough for you to enjoy the water streaming over your skin without having your knuckles scoured.

The mirror is pleasant. The design of the basin set into the wall, not a shelf, enables you to place your face right up against the mirror overhanging the sink. You can get close enough to unleash the Narcissus within: you can admire every contour, every stubbly hair and every god-given feature of your Adonis like face, a fantastic conclusion to your ablution experience.

Such self adulation and image worship is highly recommended.

To dry your hands, you only have the choice of handtowels. I cannot speak any more about this for the topic enrages me beyond what English adjectives can describe.

Rating: 3/5 Prologue While I have used this facility over the last year and a bit and found it to be relatively consistent over time, there is one aberration worth mentioning - the Splatter Incident of 2011.

Somebody once said that hell is other people.

For nobody is this truer than for the toilet user. The biggest problem with any public toilet is that other people use them. One day in late 2011, upon opening the door, all the hooks I mentioned earlier were wrong. They were pointing to a crime against hygiene and common decency. They were pointing to a sanitation holocaust. Suffice to say, it was as if someone had decided they were Jackson Pollock and that the toilet and the surrounding floor were their canvas. Jackson gave us Blue Poles. The anonymous miscreant gave us Brown Poles.

Cleaning took a while. A delay of more than one day was suffered.

So yes, it’s mostly a relatively nice and pleasant toilet. But be aware that occasionally someone comes along who has forgotten all those lessons that mother patiently taught them many years ago. This, alas, is the fate of many public toilets: no matter how good the design, how brilliant the facilities, they are still at the mercy of the last user. So please, always flush and for the love of God, please never miss the inside of the bowl.

11 - review

toilet) and provides exposition (well, you alone will know why you’re using it). Act two builds the conflict and tension as the hero strives to reach his or her goal. Most people will encounter some sort of struggle as they use the toilet – struggles against the pungent odour of an oft used toilet, or the struggle to avoid touching anything, or the struggle to avoid eye contact with others and just get the hell out of there. Act three resolves the conflict in a thrilling and dramatic finale about the surviving characters.

“You should come to one of our adult parties!”

12 - issues

Now there’s a statement many would not expect coming from behind a niqab. “My party in January broke the records in Perth for having the highest number of sales!”

Aisha Nancy Navakovich is 27-years-old. Originally from Indonesia, Aisha chose to start wearing the niqab (a small piece of black cloth usually worn over the face leaving only the eyes visible) at 14, when she decided to become more of a practicing Muslim. Now a research assistant at the University of Western Australia, Aisha is working on a project that looks at the treatment of women who wear hijab in the workplace.

“My mum was actually really against it because she was liberal and a lot of Indonesians are actually very secular and liberal. They don’t all wear hijab and a lot of them certainly don’t wear the niqab - a lot of them would say you were being an extremist.

“I was very strong in my beliefs and very stubborn also and I said: this is what the wives of Muhammad wore and they were considered to be the best examples of women in Islam and I wanted to emulate that example and I wanted to grow in my spirituality and be more pious,” Aisha explained.

If there is one piece of clothing that can produce an uproar, generate impassioned reactions or rouse the dormant conscious or subconscious Islamophobia, its the burqa. Unfortunately, it appears that many would not know the difference between the hijab, niqab, and the burqa.

In 2010 France banned the wearing of Islamic face covering veils including the burqa and the niqab in public. Nikolas Sarkozy has described the burqa as a “sign of enslavement and debasement”.

Earlier that same year in Australia Senator Conroy Bernardi said that the burqa “has no place in Australian society.”

It sure is a powerful thing isn’t it? The power to determine what is or is not or will not be a part of a particular society.

Mr Bernardi went on to explain that “Equality of women is one of the key values in our secular society and any culture that believes only women should be covered in such a repressive manner is not consistent with the Australian culture and values.

To delve quickly into the more scholarly side of the debate, and arguably into some middle ground between extremes Salman Sayyid argues: “It is not only in Muslim societies that control of women’s bodies has been considered a matter of political significance, nor is it solely a function of particular types of political movements - it can be found in regimes as diverse as those of the Nazis, communists, fascists and the most liberal of the North Atlantic plutocracies.”

On March 31, 2012 - two years after the decision was made in France to ban the burqa - Ukrainian feminist organisation Femen protested topless against Islam’s suppression of women and Sharia law.

Now, Femen are notorious for their topless revolution and protesting against other such things as prostitution and sex tourism. Their placards held high above their heads in front of the Eiffel tower on the Trocadero in Paris were not demanding choice and respect but were instead accusing Islam of being repressive and implying that to be naked is to be free. They encouraged Muslim women to join them in their nudity.

It seemed ironic to me that the only way this group (of largely supermodel figured, blonde Ukrainian women) felt they could get their voices heard was to bare their breasts while holding placards that read “I am a woman, not an object.” Not to stray too far into my personal concern about these tactics, what I mean to draw attention to here is the sentiments of Sayyid when he argues that: “Unless one assumes that there is an ‘essential’ woman, one has to accept that control over women is being exercised regardless of whether they are being compelled to veil or unveil.”

Similarly, Leila Ahmad draws interesting comparisons between conceptions of the hijab, niqab and burqa and Victorian corsets.

While white women of the nineteenth century saw veiled women as a sign of cultural backwardness and subordination, they failed to make the same assumptions about their own figure-contorting corsets that constrained their ability to breath. What then of figure-hugging dresses, revealing necklines, see through shirts showcasing lacy lingerie? Elizabeth Wilson eloquently said: “A part of this strangeness of dress is that it links the biological body to the social being, and public to the private.” Cultural backwardness is

http://www.cryptome.org/2012-info/femen-paris/femen-paris.htm

often seen as manifested in female subordination. Surely western clothing be it corsetry or hot pants could not possibly signify female subordination, because this culture is not backward. Might there also be concern for the fact that a burqa, a niqab or hijab, being such visible symbols of particular belief systems, can be the target of discussions of oppression, where certain other items of clothing escape such constant scrutiny.

Particularly in Senator Bernadi’s secular Australian society where the equality of women (among men, or among other women?) is so highly prized, one might be inclined to ask, as Sayyid does, whether “The discrediting of communist discourse and the hegemony of neo-liberal values...that emphasize the individual’s sovereignty and autonomy have, however, made it more difficult to represent the influence of structures...The violence of their oppressors remains complex, structural and veiled in legalese.” Antonia Cruz from the Australian Institute of International Affairs cautions that “Western societies have been equally unsuccessful in promoting women to positions of political and economic power.”

Sheesha, bellydancing, hip hop and adult toys. A far cry from many images one might expect from the private activities of a group of muslim women. Aisha, a single mother of two, continues to wear the hijab in public. “For women to dress modestly, that is actually command from god in the Quran. It is not actually about a dad forcing his control over his daughter or a husband trying to control and oppress his wife,” she explained. “That was one way, not the only way, but one way that I thought would bring me closer to God.” “Oh you must come meet my ‘maussie’ friends. They might be all covered up but believe me, behind closed doors, it’s a whole other world,” remarked Aisha’s best friend when she invited her friend along to one of Aisha’s now infamous parties. “Can you see that men in society don’t get to see this other side, they see the conservative side. That’s just the boundary we want to set really,” Aisha explained.

Aisha is keenly aware of the many conceptions that circulate both about the hijab and about women’s place in society according to Islam. “You need to welcome these opportunities. There is so much misinformation circulating out there you cannot afford to let another misconception persist,” she said.

Perhaps it is a psychological preference to be able to box issues into neat categories and definitions. Perhaps this makes it easier to identify what is right, wrong, oppressive or liberating. In any case, it might serve well to be careful when making assumptions about the hijab or burqa, as well as arguing for bans on face coverings or other measures that could potentially oversimplify an issue. As Elizabeth Spelman notes, certain attempts to promote women’s rights “That fail to address the heterogeneity of women end up underwriting cultural and racial hierarchies.”

13 - issues

The burqa is a long piece of black or dark blue cloth worn from head to toe, with a small opening for the eyes sometimes covered in mesh. It is mainly worn in Afghanistan. The niqab usually overs the totality of the face and hair down to the shoulders with a slitted opening for the eyes, and the hijab covers the head but not the face.

14 - feature

My First Vibrator

a.k.a. La Petite Mort Cassie Rees Masturbation. I do it, You do it. We all do it.

If you say that you don’t then you’re probably lying. If you genuinely don’t then I seriously wonder how you function in normal society, because that’s all it really is; it’s a normal thing that women dare not speak about. It’s accepted that men wank prolifically, sometimes even twice (or more) a day, but the sheer thought of women indulging in such a decadent practise is simply unheard of. We don’t even have a decent list of common slang used to describe the pleasure: women certainly don’t do the five-knuckle shuffle, we don’t crown the king, flog the log, slap the salami nor do we beat the stick. An inventory of terminology from craigslist.org shows that women sometimes partake in fanning the fur or nulling the void, or we can get a stinky pinky by buffing the weasel, polishing the pearl, or my personal favourite: Genital Stimulation via Phalangetic Motion – how erotic.

Let me set the record straight: women masturbate. Your tutors, your sisters and even your mum - they all do it. So why do we seem to find it so wrong and uncomfortable to talk about?

My group of friends and I only ever really talk about it after a bottle or two of vino, and even then they seem aghast that I – a 21-year-old female – do not own a vibrator. There are two reasons for this: the first is that I’m poor (note: student) and the second is my irrational fear that my parents are going to find it while looking for something in my room. Even worse though, what if they hear it? What if – somehow – they hear

the vibrations through the walls of my vagina then through the cemented barriers of the ceiling above my bedroom? The sheer thought is wholly terrifying. My irrationality does not, of course, stop me from doing it all together; I, like most other women in their twenties masturbate, but not as frequently or vigorously as men seem to do.

A survey from the National Survey of Sexual Health and Behaviour, published in 2010 by Indiana University, found that only 43.7 per cent of women aged between 20 and 24 masturbated alone in the past month, as opposed to a surprising 62.8 per cent of males of the same age bracket and time period. And while you’re swallowing your last bite of creamy, sticky pasta from the main café, just know that 11.5 per cent of women aged over 70 have been flickin’ the bean in the past month, in contrast to 27.9 per cent of granddads of the same age bracket and time period. See? Even your Nan engages in cunt cuddling when the mood strikes.

Human masturbation has evolved from something that was considered to cause such sufferings as blindness, insanity, mental retardation and epilepsy, as promoted in the 18th and 19th centuries by prominent physicians and (surprise, surprise) religious leaders – gee, thanks for ruining everything you fucking kill-joys. Extreme measures were undertaken from 1856 to 1932 in the U.S. to stop people from touching themselves: inventors came up with Medieval devices such as Sexual Armour: a stylish jacket with leather pants supporting a garish piece of steel armour, dotted with perforations to allow piss and the occasional shit. Or the Bowen Device: a small cup

was placed over the head of the penis and crudely attached to the pubic hair by chains and clips, so if the wearer dared to get an erection, the public hair would be painfully yanked. Yikes. Of course such devices weren’t even considered for women back then, although I don’t see that as any inequality considering women who even thought about pleasuring themselves in the 18th and 19th centuries, probably would have hung themselves in shame.

There’s the idea that if you achieve orgasm through masturbation, then you won’t be able to come with your partner. Oh ye of little faith! Why don’t you try polishing the nugget with your partner?

It’s an extremely intimate and sexy way to show your partner what gets you off, after all, he/she can only poke around there with guesswork until things gets awkwardly dry. On that note, there are some who believe they have a duty to save their libido for their partner, and to that I simply say: don’t be so fucking stupid. Female orgasm genuinely takes time and patience and the only way you’re going to be able to come is if you practise… so here are some quick tips:

Mid-Intercourse Activities (for use in that awkward void between foreplay and orgasm where one must acquire protection...i.e. condom, rain jacket, dental dam, life altering decision between abstinence and promiscuity...We’ve incorporated many with the handy use of easily accessible technology. Ideas courtesy of Jarod Rhine-Davis and some excellent Yahoo Answerers) 1.

Flick on the telly Ellen, The View, the welcome return of Drew Carrey to our home screens. Any of these options will surely give you more companionship than your partner. When you’re with Oprah, at least you know she’s listening to your every word. Sex in the City is also a good option – the most scientifically accurate portrayal of sex life there will ever be.

2.

Be diligent.

Take the opportunity to check on the health of your Tamagotchi.

Practice your times tables.

Practice your Vulcan Salute Try to develop psychic powers. Then use them.

Stock-standard for beginners: lie on your back or get in a comfortable position and simply explore yourself. Run your fingers over your breasts and nipples and stimulate your body by rubbing your vulva and clitoris in small circles. Relax.

3.

Plan your exit strategy.

No one wants to have to talk post sex/the morning after. Our recommendation is to commando roll the fuck outta there.

Some women prefer to use toys, pillows, or to rhythmically press their thighs together to achieve orgasm. Whatever works.

4.

Make loud animal noises and then deny doing it.

5.

Play rock paper scissors by yourself.

Then accuse your left hand of cheating.

For the alluring G-Spot orgasm this will take practice – especially if you’ve never had one before. There are various techniques you can use, but it’s more of a matter of getting to know your body.

A lot of women prefer the use of plastic gadgets to get them off in this way, but if you don’t have one handy then allow yourself to relax, and with two or more fingers inside you gently feel the walls of your vagina, before subtly moving upwards towards your belly for direct G-Spot stimulation. This is 100 times easier with a toy (or even better – a penis!) but remember: practice makes perfect!

Keep in mind: the Internet is your friend! If you have no idea what you’re doing down there (ahem - this also applies to guys) then just look it up. Masturbation is safe, normal, and vital. It just… makes life better. Oops! I’ve managed to turn myself on. Be right back!

Sources: http://www.the-clitoris.com/n_html/m_stats.htm http://www.dribbleglass.com/subpages/euphemisms.htm http://www.craigslist.org/about/best/sfo/9318178.html http://www.afraidtoask.com/masturbate/History.htm http://www.webmd.com/sex-relationships/guide/masturbation-guide http://www.askdanandjennifer.com/sex-intimacy/masturbation-how-tomasturbate/6-female-masturbation-secrets/ http://www.sexinfo101.com/kb_mastlad.shtml

If you are a senior: 6.

Use your a-frame creatively.

7.

Remove your dentures in preparation...

8.

Sing “Do your boobs hang low, do they wobble to and fro, can you tie em in a knot”...and so on and so forth

9.

But UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES do an Irish jig if you are an elderly woman. You will knock yourself out with those boobies.

Most Popular 10. Practice planking.

11. iPhone activities: Words with Friends Update your Facebook status with your current position.

Be sure to follow up with a report of how it went Angry Birds Proceed to...

12. Do it doggy style...So you’re in prime Tweeting position.

Why not bring your followers along for the ride.

15 - feature

Nowadays masturbation is considered to be a safe and healthy way to relieve sexual tension and to stop the average person from blacking out in rage and murdering…well…everyone. Despite our social acceptance of masturbation, women still have a hard time doing it let alone talking about it for reasons I can only speculate on. Let’s begin with the irrational fear that you will become addicted to it. After savouring the lingering feeling of your first, self-inflicted orgasm, you won’t be able to stop yourself from finger blasting at any given moment. This might make sense if you genuinely have an addictive personality and an abnormally strong sex drive, but you should know by now if you fall into that slot or not, and I would bet that most of you don’t. There is also the notion that what you are doing is dirty or slutty and I would lay the blame for that illogicality on your boring parents or a media that promotes female pleasure as promiscuous. I physically cringe every time I see an actress fake a whimpering or sometimes terrifying orgasm a la Black Swan – oh Natalie…how embarrassing for you.

If you are unhappy with a university decision, the University’s Student Charter provides you with the right to have your grievance heard fairly, and within a reasonable time. The Assessment Appeals policy located in the Assessment policies & Procedures manual http://www.policies. curtin.edu.au/documents/assessment_ manual.pdf outlines the process you must follow if you want to appeal against any formal assessment.

Informal Appeals As a standard rule of thumb, it’s always best to try to resolve the matter informally. This will save a lot of time, stress and worry. You can do this by informally speaking to the person who gave you the original grade, usually a tutor or lecturer, and asking them for the rationale behind the grade awarded and any options you may now have. It also gives you a chance to explain / defend your work and ask for an informal reconsideration of your grade. If this is unsuccessful you can progress to a formal appeal.

Formal Appeals

If you are unsuccessful with the informal approach, and you wish to continue to appeal the decision, your next step is to put your appeal in writing. This is a more formal method of appealing and your letter should explain the assignment grade you are unhappy with and why you are unhappy with it. You will need to include clear, strong grounds for your appeal to be considered. The letter should be set out formally with your name, student number and contact details as well other information which may be relevant to your appeal (e.g. course / unit details). A sample appeal letter is provided on the back of this sheet to assist you with writing a formal appeal letter.

Please be aware, formal written appeals must be lodged within 14 calendar days of notification of the result.

Where to send your appeal You should address your formal appeal letter to your Head of School.

If the Head of School is the Unit Controller responsible for the original assessment, then you should direct your formal appeal letter to the Executive Dean of your Division. If, after formally appealing to the Head of School they do not provide reasonable grounds for the rejection of the appeal, you have the right to appeal to the Executive Dean.

Grounds for Appeal

In order to appeal an assessment you must be able to demonstrate that the work has not been assessed in a fair and equitable manner.

Perhaps you think you have been marked unfairly, based on the marking criteria and the quality of the work submitted, or perhaps you feel you have not been graded against the previously agreed marking criteria. If you feel that personal circumstances have adversely affected your ability to perform well in the assessment task (e.g. an illness or medical condition), this must not be dealt with as an assessment appeal. In these circumstances, the appropriate approach is to apply to your Head of School with any supporting documentation to re-submit work or sit some form of additional or supplementary assessment.

Where to get further assistance

Students can visit Student Assist in Building 106 for further assistance and sample appeal letters, or can phone (08) 9266 2900 for an appointment. The Curtin Counselling Service, located in Building 109, phone (08) 9266 7850 can also assist students with appeals and university grievances.

Better than Bacon, Tougher than Chuck Norris, And More Awesome than Giant Mutant Cyborg Dinosaurs with laser cannons!

Student Assist is the welfare department of the Curtin Student Guild. Mandy, Simon and Juliana are there to support all students, postgrad and undergrad, with any personal, welfare or academic issues.

Their services are free for all Curtin students and cover things like • Leave of Absence • Deferral from Study • Assessment Appeals • General Appeals • Appealing terminations • Plagiarism and Academic Misconduct • Withdrawing or Changing Courses • Career and resume help • Centrelink difficulties • Discrimination and harassment • Finances • Health and wellbeing issues • Time management help • Study skills advice • Tenancy advice • And more….

Student Assist is completely confidential and will help make your life at University that little bit easier. You can drop by Guild Reception (Building 106F) or you can make an appointment at a time that is convenient to you. Call Reception on 9266 2900 or email reception@guild.curtin.edu.au 17 -your guild

Assessment Appeals

I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse Belinda Teh

Well… technically speaking, you can.

Mondi di Carne, a butchery owned by Vince Garreffa, is the only one in Australia that’s licensed to sell horse meat for human consumption – and it’s just down Beaufort Street in Inglewood.

Unsurprisingly, locals didn’t exactly embrace the idea of eating horse when Vince started selling it in 2010. In the first month, he received four thousand angry, raving emails, a couple of death threats, and even had a crazy protestor turn up in front of his store in a horse costume. People who had been regular customers for years spat in his face and told him they’d never buy from him again.

His new product made it to local & national news, which attracted scathing comments from pissed-off animal rights activists, vegetarians and horse lovers from around the country.

But Australia isn’t the only nation that considers horse meat taboo.

A few years ago, PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) dumped an entire tonne of horse shit on the doorstep of Gordon Ramsay’s restaurant in central London, after an episode of his TV show was aired which endorsed cooking horse meat. In the US, eating horse meat met with a similar abhorrence and is actually illegal in California.

It’s understandable that some western countries take this standpoint. After all, horses are incredibly intelligent, gorgeous animals that have faithfully served us as working beasts, prized sporting animals, beloved family pets and have even fought alongside us in war throughout the centuries. In our culture, they’re in the ‘Friends, Not Food’ category along with dogs, cats and sea monkies. You just wouldn’t eat them.

However, a large portion of the rest of the planet would beg to differ – 4.7 million horsies are slaughtered per year for human consumption. Throughout Asia and Europe, horse is just another type of meat. In fact, in many countries it’s considered as a delicacy due to its richer, sweeter taste compared to other red meats such as beef and lamb. It’s also generally leaner, tenderer, and has a higher protein and iron content too.

18 - food

In Japan, raw horse sashimi called ‘basashi’ is popular in the prefectures of Kumamoto, Nagano and Ōita, often served at an izakaya. It’s eaten chilled, sliced thinly, dipped in soy sauce and usually garnished with ginger and onions. If you’re a bit of a sweet tooth like me, you can even find horse ice cream if you look hard enough. Alternatively, you can run along down to the grocery store and grab yourself a tin of horse spam. I probably wouldn’t eat that one raw though.

In Mongolia, where temperatures can reach minus 35 degrees celcius, some of the locals prefer horse meat as it’s lower in cholesterol and traditionally believed to help warm the body.

Mongolian horse specialties include horse milk wine called ‘airag’ and salted horse sausage called ‘kazy’. Oh, and if you ever visit neighbouring Kazakhstan, stay away from their ‘karta’ sausage – some types have horse ass in them. And I ain’t talkin’ about the rump.

Europeans in particular have developed a liking for horse meat, with fine dining restaurants often offering it on the menu. In Belgium, smoked horse meat is popular for breakfast and a common sandwich meat (imagine having a horse-and-cheese toastie)! In Italy, you can find regional dishes such as salsiccia di equino (horse salami), pesto di cavallo (horse tartare) and pastissada (horse stew).

Oh, and if you’re a horse lover and ever go to France, try to stay away from supermarkets – they sell it in the fresh meat section.

This is why Vince made the decision to start selling horse meat.

Before he made it available, those who had migrated to Australia who were brought up eating horse were forced to buy it ‘under the counter’, from pet stores or similarly dodgy circumstances. The meat wasn’t subject to health regulations, the slaughtering wasn’t controlled and was inhumane. Vince has been accused many a time of being a heartless butcher who doesn’t give a damn about the suffering of horses, but in fact, he has taken the time and effort to ensure that his meat is sourced from a clean, safe and ethical supplier who can guarantee that the horses are looked after before and during the slaughter process. As long as the meat is procured in a responsible way, why should it be such a big deal?

Dogs, beavers, rats, cows, pigs, donkeys - almost every animal in the world are eaten or have been eaten at some point, except humans. And even then, sometimes humans aren’t so lucky on the occasional life-threatening mountain trek.

As a person who used to want a pony as a little girl, I will admit the thought of eating a horse grosses me out a little. But as a food lover, I appreciate that everybody has their own personal taste. I love straight espresso coffee with no sugar, which my boyfriend hates, but then again, the boy puts freshly sliced banana on curry.

My dad has a serious thing for pumpernickel. I have a friend who eats kiwi fruit skins, and another that eats garlic & chilli sandwiches.

My grandma eats pigs intestines, for Christ’s sake. So what?

If Voltaire were a foodie, he’d say:

“I may not agree with what you eat, but I’ll defend to the death your right to eat it.”

Thought for Food Barnaby Nichols

A large segment of the lecture was dedicated to cultural differences and cultural values, understanding this would definitely help in a professional environment. One of the cultural values attributed to Western society (or the AngloAmerican culture upon which Australian identity is built) was the high value vested in animal welfare and opposition to animal cruelty. On the surface, this may seem true: the RSPCA is a strong and well-connected organisation; people proudly support the Zoo’s attempts to breed endangered species; people feel outraged when they see a pet neglected. I’m sure many readers can sympathise with this, most would feel anger when seeing someone viciously hit their dog for barking, or disgust and compassion on hearing about a box of kittens found abandoned on a roadside. But the real question must be asked: do your actions speak louder than words?

I’m not talking about whacking an RSPCA bumper sticker on your car, or religiously watching Pet Rescue, or even taking in an abandoned stray, I’m talking about something you do day-in day-out, something you need to survive. I’m talking about food.

I have a friend who loves his dog. He loves all dogs, to the point of abusing fellow dog-owners for being cruel when he sees them pulling sharply on their leashes. And yet, minutes after abusing a woman trying to violently control her wildly yapping animal companion, he sat happily in the drive-thru of KFC and ordered the animal protein which that fast-food chain is most famous for, consuming it without an iota of the thought he had just invested in that yapping poodle. For above all, the chicken is the most abused and exploited animal known to man, although this reality is the least confronted.

I can hear some vegetarians saying “I don’t eat chicken”, or even some carnivores saying “I only eat Mt Barker”. But do you eat any egg products?

Mayonnaise, ice-cream and pastry all contain eggs. And have you been to Mt Barker and seen their chickens running free through fields of grass?

Cage produced eggs, the most common form (over 90% of eggs sold in Australia), especially in pre-made products such as mayonnaise, are created in a process that has attempted to turn a living, feeling animal into a machine; a series of costs and profits for an industrial farm. Lights are kept on throughout most of the day to confuse the hens into thinking it is daytime enabling them to lay more eggs than is natural. The cages themselves hold between 3-7 hens, although the cages are only as wide as one hen’s outstretched

wings, and are not deep enough to allow the hens to turn around. This means that each hen in a cage spends its entire life with less floor space than an A4 sheet of paper. The cages are typically stacked in tiers, with animals defecating on the animals below them. The sharp wires tear out feathers, break bones and mutilate feet. When some of the eggs are incubated to replace the dead hens, unwanted male chicks are either gassed or ground up alive into protein pellets.

Humanity aside, the taste, texture and nutrition of an organic, truly free-range egg compared to anything less is incomparable.

Chickens bred for eating don’t have it much better. Crammed into a huge barn, they spend their entire lives packed wing to wing as (due to selective breeding and growth hormones) they prematurely grow to eating size in just six weeks, where it would normally take between 5 and 6 months. And to think that people feel outraged about the slaughtering of 6 month old beef steers for veal. As with cage systems, light levels are manipulated to encourage the birds to eat more, thus getting them to put on weight faster.

The great thing about the term ‘free-range’, or should I say the great thing about ‘free-range’ for corporations interested in the production and selling of chicken meat, is that it is not regulated or standardised. Often, chicks are placed in the barns mentioned above. These barns have access to the outdoors (a small patch of dirt, but at least it’s open to the sun and wind). However this access is closed off for the first few weeks of the chicks’ development. Then when the doors are finally opened, the chickens have spent their entire lives in the barn environment and become reliant upon it – why would they choose to use this unfamiliar and seemingly unnecessary doorway? You can’t know it’s truly free-range unless you’ve seen the system for yourself.

When it comes to slaughter, the birds are rounded up and thrown into cages, many of them more crammed in than even the egg-laying cages.

There are records from industry employees of incredible animal cruelty during the stages of rounding up and slaughter. Birds are stomped on, kicked, mutilated, spat on and crushed. All in the pursuit of cheaper burgers or breasts. In fact, as of February, all abattoirs in New South Whales will be put under review following video leaks showing shocking animal cruelty. It comes as no surprise that most abattoirs won’t allow cameras onto the killing or processing floors. At the abattoir, birds are concussed (however, in a system that large, some remain conscious), their throats are slit (again, not all of them), before being plunged into a tank of scalding water before being plucked. Not all these birds are

either concussed or dead before entering the water, or even when being plucked. Death and stress can sometimes cause an evacuation of the bird’s intestines, meaning faeces, blood and pus gets into the scalding tank, which is covering your dinner. To reduce the possibilities of food poisoning, the plucked birds are dunked in an ammonia solution. E-coli or chemical residues, what would you prefer? Those are the only options you’re getting.

While a stance against animal cruelty might be a ‘Western value’, if the old adage “you are what you eat” is followed, then we, as a society, are one cruel, sad bunch. While it might not be taboo to stand up for humane treatment of pets, it certainly seems to be when it concerns the convenience and cost of food, when your actions and choices directly and indirectly commit thousands of animals to a lifetime of suffering, pain and exploitation. Another aspect of our society’s relationship with animals is how disconnected we have become with our meat: it comes cooked, or neatly trimmed and plasticwrapped. Would you be willing to kill an animal for your food? Because regardless of whether you have the courage and conscience to do it, an animal has to die for your meal. There is a lack of consistency in our views of what is acceptable and what is not. It is unthinkable for a single pet to be mistreated – often it is even newsworthy, and yet the origins of that chicken breast, a lump of pinkish flesh underneath a taut plastic shield, are barely considered. It is possible to act upon your words, by finding good quality, truly free-range or organic animal products. A little searching and discussion can find you these very easily, but the more challenging task of truly sticking to your values and breaking this taboo is what will really count.

19 - food

I once sat in on a lecture about professionalism in the workforce.

Behind the firewall: Oasis Security Ian Seaborn

Qwertyuiop1, Asdfghjkl2 and Zxcvbnm1.

It sounds like I’m trying to make a dub step remix of one of Pitbull’s latest hits.

But no, rather I’m rattling off a list of the combination of letters, numbers and archaic symbols that ‘Oasis’ users at Curtin University are forced to dream up seemingly every other day.

Ok, so admittedly every other day is sensationalising the situation a little bit.

Rather students at Curtin are told that their passwords will be valid for 75 days when, for “security reasons”, they are required to change them.

But when you take a look at this more closely the problem becomes clear.

The average degree at Curtin is studied for about 4 years.

Now in a four year degree there are 1460 days! This means that over the span of their degree, students are required to change their password about 20 times.

Unless you’re the cat lady off of ‘The Simpson’s’, you’re going to run out of bloody pet names.

As if changing your password this regularly isn’t enough of a dilemma, the pitchers that are ‘Oasis’s’ IT management like to throw another blazing curve ball at you.

Your question was: something that only you will know; was not available in your wallet or on the web; was not related to your ‘Oasis’ user password in any way; was unlikely to change over time; was extremely difficult for others to guess, even if they see the question; and had a mismatched question and answer.

So when ‘Oasis’ asks you ‘what time did you wake up yesterday?’ You can swiftly and confidently answer, ‘Purple Panda 23’.

So why is it that password management on ‘Oasis’ has to be harder than sitting through a twilight movie?

This is the part of the article where I would, in a normal case, put a quote from a relevant and reliable source. But as with the Jigsaw puzzle that is ‘Oasis’ it seems that the department was missing a piece, only this piece happened to be a phone and the common courtesy to call a witty young journalist back (not to mention names.)

So I guess this only leaves room to speculate. Perhaps password security is so strict on ‘Oasis’ because IT services expect university students to be smart enough to figure it all out, perhaps it is to stop criminal masterminds from hacking your accounts and deviously educating themselves or perhaps it is simply to piss us off. One thing is for sure though; I’m going to need to get some more pets.

That is password requirements.

When creating a password on Oasis Users are asked to make a password that: is different to one you have used in the last 12 months; contains at least 8 and no more than 16 characters; has one lower case letter; has one upper case letter and contains at least two digits.

Oh, and if you were thinking of using a part of your first or last name, you can forget that too.

So now that your password resembles something even Shakespeare would have looked at and gone ‘WTF’, you’ve forgotten it and need to use password recovery.

To get your password sent to your e-mail address -of which you can remember the password- you need to answer the secret question that you set when you created your account.

20 - campus life

Easy as, see, fortunately when you set your secret question you followed the advice that oasis gave you.

http://www.memecenter.com/fun/122504/ultra-high-security-password

Julie Potts manages PMH’s eating disorder program.

Psychologist, Kim Maserow coordinates the eating disorders program at Perth’s Hollywood Hospital and says eating disorders in boys are on the rise because of a higher emphasis on the male image.

“Males attempt to change their weight and shape, but with a different ideal than females.

They want to be lean with muscle supported by the fitness industry, media and society.

“This leads to over-exercising and cutting out important food groups. These obsessions together with weight loss can give rise to an eating disorder,” Maserow says.

Aaron (not his real name) was 16 when he was diagnosed with an eating disorder. He says his problems started and peaked when he was an adolescent. At age 21, he still suffers from the illness and keeps a regimented fitness schedule, braving Jacob’s Ladder every day to keep in shape.

“Even though I’m a small person, I still perceive myself as being overweight and I am unhappy with the way I look,” he says.

The eating disorders program at Princess Margaret Hospital assesses boys aged 8-16.

Program manager Julie Potts says the most common reason boys are seen at the clinic is for anorexia nervosa.

Young Boys Dying to be Thin Brooke Hunter

“Many boys we see want to lose weight and decrease their body fat, but maintain muscularity and fitness at the same time,” Potts says.

Over the past 10 years, the number of boys seeking help for eating disorders at the clinic has doubled.

But according to the Australian Psychological Society, statistics such as these are an underrepresentation of real figures because many boys find it difficult to seek help.

“Pressure to be tough and strong may make it hard for boys to admit they are struggling.

We need to have male role models expressing vulnerabilities, leading the way for young males to ask for help,” Potts says.

She says health services do not generally cater for men and boys particularly well.

“The health field is still relatively immature and the tools for assessing and treating are still very female oriented.”

Potts says there should be greater awareness of male eating disorders in society, increased health services and a breakdown of the myth that it is weak for boys to seek help.

“We need to let boys know that they are not alone, that there is help available and that they can be confident that when seeking help it is confidential. Encouraging all children to seek help and support should play an important part of early childhood and primary school education,” she says.

This article was first published on InkWire.

21 - issues

“You’ve got to eat. If you don’t eat, you die. So it’s knowing that no-one can make you do it, noone can force feed you. You ultimately have full control over what you’re doing with your body.

And it starts as a game and then just becomes an out-of-control thing where you’re addicted to it and you start living on less and less and less,” Daniel Johns once said about his eating disorder.

At age 17, Silverchair front man Daniel Johns weighed less than 50 kilograms. His hair started to fall out and his blue eyes appeared sunken and tired against his pasty skin. He stopped eating to gain control over his life. In 1999, having been told by three doctors that he would die if he didn’t gain weight, Johns was close to suicide.

He was battling with an eating disorder – a problem affecting an increasing number of Australian boys.

Despite the condition being typically associated with females, more males are experiencing body image problems. Mission Australia’s 2008 National Survey of Young Australians reported that body image was a concern for almost 23 per cent of men aged 11 to 24.

In 2009 the Butterfly Foundation, a support service for people with eating disorders, revealed that Australia has one of the highest rates of male anorexia in the world.

It found that one in four adolescents battling the illness are male and almost a third use drastic measures to lose weight including skipping meals, vomiting and using laxatives.

Private Laws Public lives

22 - feature

Maya Rose Chauhan

Sometimes this can be fun. More often, people avoid it like the plague. Religion in particular leaves a bad taste in people’s mouths. If you do talk about it you risk being shunned by your friends and colleagues. So people avoid it, leave it alone, let it go on behind closed doors and, in other people’s lives, in other people’s countries. In fact, in the West, religion is so much a part of the ‘other’ that if you associate with it or become involved in it, you become a freak, and a pariah, some one who doesn’t quite get what it means to be living in the 21st century.

We are surrounded by it, inadvertently hearing about it every day.

Whether its about the religious conflicts of recent and current history (Northern Ireland, Palestine/Isreal, Iran/ Iraq), the ideological warfare of religion (America’s “War on Terrorism”) or Richard Dawkins’ plight to convert the masses to atheism (ironic, no?), talk of religion pervades most aspects of our lives whether we like or recognise it or not.

Often our reticence about faith and religion comes from the anxiety that it could dredge up someone’s deep-seated feelings and empassioned opinions and that this could lead to friction and hostility between people of different faiths or of no faith. Conflict?

No, argh!! Awkwardness - must...avoid...at...all costs arghhhhh!

Worse, holds the potential to make people act like children and have thoroughly illogical arguments. No one wants to hear about what people believe. Its personal, distasteful, detrimental. Life’s just easier without it.

And so the litany of secular conversations go on. We talk about what we did on the weekend, how much alcohol we drank, who we slept with. We talk about our phones, our assignments, our parents, our jobs, the holidays we are planning, who we like and don’t like, all the while shirking the deeper facet of the human condition, the elephant in the room: what we believe, what we stand for. We wouldn’t want to lift the veil of someone’s everyday facade, discover what they understand to be the meaning and purpose of life, unearth the connection they may or may not have with the divine, the spiritual.

Lets take a look at the world’s most famous atheist, the afore mentioned Richard Dawkins. Is he controversial? Yep. Is he inflammatory? Yes sir. Does he create discussion about what it means to be both religious and secular in today’s world? You’d better believe it. The suggestion here is not to be the cause of agitation and dissension. Lets face it, Dawkie disbelieves in God so ardently that it almost manifests as a tic on his face and for the most part his provocative manner is puerile, no matter how logical his argument might be. But the point is that he isn’t afraid to say what he believes and it is this that is creating a dynamic discussion and a public forum on the role of religion and belief systems in contemporary society. His penchant to wear his non-belief on his sleeve is, in a way, useful, although the often incendiary way he goes about it is perhaps not so. Whether you like him or not, you can’t deny that he’s causing a major rupture in dining-table etiquette.

And etiquette is very well outlined when it comes to all things religious. The big clanger not to be dropped in ANY sort of serious way is the ‘G’ word. Or the ‘A’ word or the ‘B’ word. Any solemn or consequential reference that ‘Dude up stairs’ is too heavy for people’s delicate ears. God is for those other people, the less popular, or the culturally different. Questions about our very nature and existence - they best be nipped in the bud before they transform into a desire to understand life, the universe and everything. This is not to say that people don’t think about the existence of God. In private musings and late night reveries there is no doubt that the mind can slip into a kind of introspective reflection on what it means to be alive and our context within the universe, but this, in my experience, rarely translates into active, outward conversations on philosophy and religion. To externalise our beliefs and thoughts is not necessarily to be burdensome but could, in fact, be an act of creativity and playfulness. If you can get past the knobbly, perceived no-go zone of daily conversation, you might find that talking about personal belief is a way of experimenting with truth, to use Gandhi’s phrase.

Religion is also taboo because it carries with it values and prescriptions about how to live our lives and no one wants to be told how to live. “I do what I want” as a mantra holds a lot of currency. We do what we want, we think what we want and we be whoever we want to be. We are freethinkers, individuals, masters of our own destiny.

Religion is that set of rules and regulations that enslave and inhibit us from fulfilling what we want to do with our will. It is anathema to our individualism, the opiate of the masses. But how free are we? Has religion not just been substituted with consumerism and materialism? This is the new pseudo-religion where money is worshipped and consumption is practiced on a daily basis. Any talk of self-sacrifice for the greater good (like changing our consumption patterns to create a more sustainable future) is skilfully dodged.

Many religions teach that self-renunciation is the way to selfbetterment and this concept in itself has some taboo-factor of its own. Libertarianism and moral rectitude are polar opposites in a social war where both sides are vying for a place in the hearts and consciences of people.

And it is not hard to see which is winning. In the West, with each generation the church seems to hold less sway and the magnetic pull of secularism and atheism attract the imagination and curiosity of a world disillusioned with the foibles of organised religion. Yet not having a belief of some sort is no recipe for success either. We cannot be walking wallets with meaningless stories. As German writer Goethe said, “ Man is made by his belief. As he believes, so he is” and that the idea that we have the power to investigate truth and decide with our own minds what we hold to be real and true is important if we are to forge a meaningful future. So put aside your inhibitions and crack open to taboo of religion and personal belief by talking about it. Questions of God, spirituality and morality are not things that need to be controversial and sticky, but can be an avenue for exploring perspectives and reaching a richer understanding of the world.

23 - feature

Politics, money and religion. The three things you don’t talk about at the dinner table unless you want to make your grandma choke or break up a marriage.

Sit quietly and eat your food.

Anthony Pyle We all know there are some things you just don’t talk about over dinner.

These topics generally boil down to politics, philosophy, ethics and religion. Mostly these things can be discussed in a light hearted conversation, under one condition. That everyone at the table all has the same ideas going into the conversation and plan to leave with the same ideas. The second you have someone with a difference of opinion, all hell might as well have broken loose.

So we learn from a very young age, that there is a basic rule to eating food with people you hardly know. Or maybe you do know them, but if you don’t know their general ethos of life the universe and everything, you should always stick to this. Don’t talk about anything that matters, anything that could change any of your lives. No discussions on philosophy, or debates on politics; not even an opinion on religion.

24 - feature calendar

There are just too many ways these discussions can quickly turn into life destroying arguments.

If you’re a vegetarian for instance, chances are a distant uncle or aunt will criticise you for not eating meat. “They’ll kill the cow even if you don’t eat it. Now it’s just going to waste.” These arguments are generally used by people who couldn’t live a day without meat in their diet.

The idea of a meal without a nice slab of dead animal would actually send cold sweats across their brow. Let’s just hope you aren’t a vegan, I can only imagine what sort of abuse you must put yourself through at dinner.

You could even have a debate on religion over dinner. Sometimes you really do get a shock though when you find out some members of your dining circle have massively different beliefs to you. Not that it matters, except I really struggle to not judge. I just want someone to justify the afterlife or reincarnation to me, but I don’t even give them that chance, I become

the devil’s advocate and put down every idea with my own brand of logic. I quickly become one of those types who are happy to debate, as long as you agree that I’m right, and that while I allow you to speak, it’s mostly just because I’m humouring you. That’s generally how discussions about religion go though, because no one wants to have their beliefs shaken over dinner.

Anyway, I was getting to an anecdote. Now I love to talk at dinner. Maybe because it’s a good time to catch everyone before they rush off to do stuff with their busy lives. The problem is I’ve been conditioned for a long time to be stuck in the monotony that is, talking about the weather or how my day was. I swear the amount of times we talk about work at my dinner table is painful, but what’s the alternative; earth shattering opinionated horror apparently.

Now I’m getting to the story. I remember a dinner; there were extended family and also a considerable bit of wine. Here’s a fun fact, alcohol will allow conversation to flow, but that doesn’t mean the conversation will be any good. Now I don’t remember when exactly it was, nor can I remember what we ate, these tiny details are nothing compared to what the topic was this fine night.

Someone had decided to have a throw away statement about how apparently LGBT councillors have an agenda in schools, and that agenda is to turn kids gay. Yes, you heard it right, turn kids gay. My jaw hit the flaw, and I was just completely speechless. Now once I had regained the thinking part of my brain, slightly drunk but still working well enough to respond. “Well that’s just not true.” I had hoped this would be enough to quell the torrent of homophobia that had joined us for dinner.

Unfortunately I underestimated what I was going to be up against that night. Somehow I was told that I didn’t understand the issue, and that it was true. I just couldn’t believe the audacity this person had. Especially as they

had no idea who was straight or gay at the table, not that it should matter, but still. Here’s the real kicker though, I had to drop it, because they were family, and while I wanted to retort, I could see my dad’s pleading look that was just asking me to leave it alone. So I regrettably did, and decided that grinding my teeth for the rest of dinner was the next best option.

What I’ve learnt from this experience, is that maybe there’s a reason we don’t talk over dinner about the big issues. We can’t really afford to fight, not if we all want to finish our food. Also there’s definitely something about us all be armed with steak knives that should be included into this consideration. Not saying I was going to stab anyone at that meal, but it might have been more tempting than I had first realised. When it comes down to it, I would much prefer the awkward silences that I’ve become quite comfortable with. I’m sure I perfected how to deal with the awkward pauses and silences at dinner, somewhere in-between being asked if I had a girlfriend for the one millionth time, and then that progressing onto the question of if I’m gay. I generally answer both with, “Not yet.”

With all these problems that revolve around food and talking at the same time, I figure we need to set down some ground rules for a safe and enjoyable meal.

Number one, while at dinner only talk about the food you are eating, the weather that is happening outside and the life you are living, as long as it’s boring and mundane. If you work in some industry that kills animals, babies or jobs, best to not say anything.

Number two; don’t start a discussion about one of the four hot topics. (Philosophy, Politics, Religion, Ethics) if you aren’t willing to concede either your own values, or the relationships of those you dine with.

Number three, actually never mind, why not just sit quietly and eat your food.

Stoned Rant Anonymous

Bubbles n late afternoon sun.

What does it mean to be a pampered camper?

It is these philosophical thoughts and ideas that make me think I stand for something in this world. Or do I just like to feel important, like there’s some sort of meaning for me doing things. We wont panda to agendas. Ahhhh stay relaxed you’re getting high.

A thought: cool people only act cool until they realise that its those that go against the norm that actually make a statement, so those originally trying to be cool begin imitating those that were ridiculed and the outcasts become the followed and the arbiters of fashion - the new cool, when what they stood for was no longer radical but the soon to be conservative norm...

I like to think I am a good person, but how do I know? How can I be sure that I don’t just use particular philosophies to satisfactorily justify my actions, to procure my desires? You could justify anything if you really wanted to by moving the posts, adjusting your belief system, how do you come to form new beliefs and ethics based on your desires and your actions? What comes first?

Festival. The day becomes about shade and finding water, a battle for survival. Being knocked between one person and that guy next to me with the dreads and me trying to be cool with their sweat that just rubbed all over my bare arms. I think I forgot to shower today too.

26 -- creative feature

Greatness can be worked at, but genius is only born, but all is relative. All that is in between doesn’t matter. See I think I’m high now and I can feel it but I’ve gotten so far in that now I can’t remember what it feels like to not be. And it makes me think how can we tell the difference between what is real and what is not? This has to be why normal can get so skewed because you can’t even tell anymore. Is it futile, then?

All this, all that is in between it doesn’t matter.

Waiting for Godot. Once you close your eyes for that last time, that reality is gone forever and can no longer be experienced, expressed, so does it even exist at all. All we really know is the limits of our own minds. We can never be sure if anything beyond our mind actually exists.

I know those steps. Is it? Yes it is, I’ve seen them before. Dance dance revolution!! An aha!

I’ve made the link.

All back to ego?? I wonder how big a part this plays. It’s everything really. How much time we spend thinking about ourselves, and what others think about us, and we worry so much what they are thinking about us when really everybody’s standing just thinking about themselves and not you. And thats the ego right there.

What was that was that Lauryn Hill she said that music is a microcosm of the world and we all think that we are different but really we are all the same...or maybe that’s just what we tell ourselves to make us feel more comfortable.

We rationalise everything to validate ourselves.

We like to put things in boxes, categorise, look at patterns, compulsive tendencies to sort and organize ourselves into neat compartments.

Those three guys in front of me this is awesome there ‘s a guy in a wheelchair and two friends they don’t care what anybody thinks they weren’t going to leave him alone and one is helping him smoke his cigarette and the two others look blazed. That’s like Bob Dylan said “you gotta serve somebody” and thats real happiness yeah that’s the only way you’ll be fulfilled.

Ok it’s subsiding now you can feel it, you can relax you didn’t freak out. Remember to write this down when you leave.

Fembots Katie Roseanne Snowdon

It is no secret that technology is improving our lives, making things better, more convenient, and making us as individuals more connected than ever before. So what is it doing for (arguably) the most important area of human nature?

It seems the impact on our sex lives is up for debate. Exciting new technologies always have the potential to divide opinion, and this it seems is no different.

Ever heard of the iPhone app called iPeriod? Yes there is such a thing. Used for plotting women’s menstrual cycles and giving alerts as to when is the safest time of the month to enjoy intercourse without protection. Basically, when in a woman’s cycle is she most likely to fall pregnant.

What a handy app I hear you cry! Or perhaps there are a few women out there worrying about losing their excuse of “I can’t tonight, I’m on”. Which brings me to the moral dilemma of bringing technology into relationships: technology doesn’t have to be shared.

Women, I ask you this, would you be happy for your man to have this app on his phone without you knowing about it? If the answer is yes, skip to paragraph eight. If no, continue reading here...

No. You’re not happy for this app to be kept a secret from you, and the fact is, it’s probably not a reliable form of birth control if not discussed with the woman in question, and probably a medical professional, first. As much as I like iPhones, I won’t be willing to substitute condoms for them. There is all sorts of room for error here: what if the iPeriod user is to plot the dates of their girlfriend’s last period wrong? (Maybe you actually did get one over on him and he believed your last “I can’t tonight I’m on” lie!) and does it account for the fact that many women’s cycles are not a perfect 28 days? I can see a whole generation of iBaby on the horizon.

So, aside from the birth control app, what other ways is technology enhancing our sex lives? Well, aside from the couples’s domain, there is also ‘self-play’. Sex toys are of course nothing new, but what about the sex robot?

Over the last seven years two American inventors Douglas Hines and Scott Mclean had been racing head-to-head, robot-to-groin to complete the first fully functioning ‘Fembot’ (female robot for sexual purposes) and as of 2010 the race was won, and Mr. Hines introduced “Roxxxy” to the world for a mere US$8000+.

Now, given that masturbating is defined as “erotic stimulation especially of one’s own genital organs commonly resulting in orgasm and achieved by manual or other bodily contact exclusive of sexual intercourse” or “What your 12 year old Son or Daughter starts doing once their showers go from 5 minutes to 45 minutes in length” if you believe in the wisdom of Urban Dictionary.

However, it does lead me to question, is the use of a Fembot classed as masturbation? or (creepily) a relationship?

Well, inventor Douglas Hines says via their website (www.truecompanion.com) “Designing a robot sex doll involves multiple disciplines.

We have many electrical engineers, computer science experts, artists, beauty and makeup professionals as well as robotic engineers all working together to provide you with your most life like sex robot which can interact as well as ‘play’ with you”. We look forward to making your dreams of your TrueCompanion come true.”

Their website also boasts that “TrueCompanion. com is comprised of a collection of very skilled artists and engineers that have designed the world’s first sex robot. Our caring staff deliver to you the specific sex robot which best meets your specific requirements. Your TrueCompanion.com robot will deliver the ultimate in robot sex. Your sex robot will also be able to talk, listen, carry on a conversation, feel your touch and be your true friend. They can also have an orgasm when you touch them!”

Whilst I find the attractiveness of Roxxxy questionable, I’m interested to see how well such a product will a product will take off in the adult market. Is technology enhancing our sex lives?

You decide…

For more info on the mad world of Fembots, take a look at:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ldcd4SfUT1E

27 - feature

The word sex can conjure up many thoughts and images, but for the diehard science fan technology is providing an exciting new era in the previously un-revolutionary realms of between the sheets.

MAY/JUNE/JULY

Monday

30 7

Tuesday

1 The Mountain Goats @The Bakery 8

Wednesday

2 Opening of the Perth International Comedy Festival

9 Silent Disco Ovent @ The Guild Courtyard

Thursday

3

10

28 - Calendar

National Campus DJ Comp @The Tav

14

15

16 Beer Appreciation Night @The Tav 17 Florence & The @Burswood Do

21

22

23 Mexican Night @The Tav

28

29 Backstreet New Kids on The Block & The 30 Boys @Burswood Dome

31

4 Exams Start

5 The Jezabels @Metro City

6

7

11 Def FX @The Bakery

12

13

14

18

19

20

21 Clubba‌.?

25

26

27

28 Sesame Street p Tour @The Reg

2

3

4

5 Revelation Film Fe

9 O-week

10

11

12

16 First Day Back!

17

18

19 Guild Day

24

presents Elmo’s World gal

Festival Opens

Saturday

Sunday

11 Tav Friday @ The Tav

12 Boy & Bear @Freo Arts Centre

13 Mother’s Day Lannie Lane @ Amps

18 Tav Friday @ The Tav

19 @Groovin The Moo Hay Park, Bunno

20

4 TavWASO-FridayStar@WarsThe&TavBeyond

5 Creamfields @Supreme Court Gardens 6 V8 Supercars @Barbagello

25 End of Semester Bash! @The Tav 26 WAMI Festival 2012 Opens!

27

1 Reef @ Metros Freo

2

3 The Butterfly Effect @Metro City

8

9 Nitro Circus Live @Burswood Dome 10

15 End of Exams! Woooo Tijuana Cartel @The Bakery

16 Frenzel Rhomb @The Rosemount 17

22 360 @Villa

23

24 Perth upmarket @UWA

29

30 @nib Force vs The Brumbies Stadium

1 Every woman Expo @The Convention Centre

6

7 Lady Gaga @Burswood Dome

8 Buby Marou @The Newport

13

14

15

20

21

22

29 - calendar music

e Machine ome

Friday

30 - creative

A Feeling Unfelt

Words & Images Artwork by Chloe Sellars

This coated tension, And heated desire, Will be finally set free As we’ll surrender fear and nerves, That have tainted actions and words unspoken, Desperate to crawl out.

You’ll throw me down And I’ll stretch out On this ground of challenged motives Undress me, And confidently I’ll slip between the sheets Of passion easily, Knowing that it’s me you see.

Let me wind around your body Trace my lips across your skin, I’ll let you in; Pressed against my hips and placing fingertips On every inch we’ve wanted to explore.

Chemotherapy Oxygenated gasoline pumps link to sleepless husks porcelain faces with little hair poisoned to extend life, not save.

To postpone a parents suffering at the cost of a Childs.

Anthony Pyle

Let me be endlessly sexy to you; Oozing words of sensuality, Draped in honesty I’m sure is too naive, But I’m growing as I’m learning, Leaving innocence behind, Temptation unraveling clearly in my mind.

It’ll be damaging But I’ll want you all the more, Thankful for this outburst of desire, Fuelled by expression, Of the art we hold within.

These crafted words will only Scrape the basis Of this tangled, challenged Depth of beauty this beholds; The comfort of being known to you, The ideal of knowing you.

And endlessly I crave you, And arrogantly perhaps, I crave you craving me, As I lay in bed and imagine you Laying in my company, Entwined in a moment, Suspended in a feeling unfelt.

Abby Hutchinson

You’ve broken in; And seen more of me I’m sure, Regardless of the sight limited We’ve shared.

This Is Your Head On Drugs.

And all through the creases And velvet And dusk You still love me endlessly You do

Cassie Rees

take a number and take a seat death will be here shortly identified by blood type lined up between brutalist noticeboards and celebrity guests on daytime cooking shows gossiped about by the dead-eyed mothers rat-tat-tatting on keys with fake plastic nails all pinked up the hoops on their ears swinging by the phones ringing because the single father with melanoma needs to book an appointment so he can stop having cancer and the creamy grey walls that haven’t told a joke in years all cracked and peeling and the trolleys with sharpened utensils wheeling are the people waiting for the bad news that might only be seconds away

The Man Who Raped Me My rapist Is not mine – Never will be, Never had me, Rather took me, Fucked me, Ignored my plea To stop.

He is not my rapist – As I was never his, Rather, the man who raped me, Took me, fucked me, Ignored my plea To stop.

Anonymous

Scott Donaldson 31 - creative

Everything is nice.

My tongue, forehead, knees, and eyes tingle.

Everything is perfect.

I’m happy and now my lips. Peace but then my thighs.

And slowly move each way toward my cunt.

You smell like smoke.

And our chills. Get only Closer.

Delicious bliss.

And yet my teeth. Believe This.

Masculinity

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Choong Boon Siew

Well, except for the road as wanderlust is strong within me. I can’t drink to save my life, and the opposite sex often puzzles me with no end in sight. I never cared much about automobiles, although I’m sure we can all agree that a beautiful car is pleasant to the eyes. As a result, I can be described as not wholly fitting the male image, save for what’s betwixt my legs. Yet, where I lack in masculinity, I make up for with observation, correctible assumptions, deductions, all within the pure realm of logic. In short a nerdy geek.

But in the times I happen to survey (or shall we say, witness) my gender, more often than not my mind wanders to what truly defines us as males.

Is it our physical exterior, or our abstract interior?

What of those who fail or outright refuse to toe the line in regards to what society defines as the ideal gent? I suppose the pressures upon us are compelling enough to make us do so, even when most times this could not be further from the truth within our minds. Men shouldn’t cry, men mustn’t show much emotion, and above all else (the cardinal rule of the so-called bro code) men can & should NEVER display or behave in an effeminate manner. Ever.

All these points have one reason; breaking the veneer of masculinity to show all and sundry that key human flaw, weakness. Traditionally speaking, a man who’s weak is perceived as being incapable of performing their role in society. Unable to positively contribute, lacking in strong standing, incapable of raising a family, among others. Such a person is better off being considered non-existent. We can’t really say for sure when such an inclination began. Maybe it’s a vestigial leftover from a more primitive age? Or perhaps the shift from a matriarchal/egalitarian society to a highly dominant patriarchy created the excess baggage within contemporary human society that has yet to be resolved, and indeed is oft-praised? (case in point, ancient Mesopotamia) We’ll never know for sure, but what can be said is that it’s come to define a vital aspect of society. A place for every man & every man in his place, to quote from Frank Herbert.

Looking back, growing up as a child of the 1990’s was both exhilarating & confusing for me. I did not partake in traditionally boyish activities; I couldn’t give a flying fuck about soccer or basketball (though the recent match between EPL favs Chelsea & Sunderland left me laughing,

though I attribute this more to the fine blend of ganja I had shortly before), nor about who was going to kick whose ass during the WWF/ WWE period (but I did find The Rock to be full of campy humour) My main activities were reading, which I did akin to starved piranhas devouring fresh meat. And gaming my ass away. Thems was good times. A geek through & through. Hell, only recently have I started gymming, with the main objective of improving my health & cleaning up my act (that coupled with quitting smoking has proven to be the proverbial gadfly) I largely ignored these expectations, but could not help notice how others around me were different. At times I became self-conscious & ashamed that I was unlike them, though largely resolved today.

Coming to Australia has been an eye-opener for me; the simple Malaysian lad as a stranger in a strange land. To deviate momentarily, for all the pride Australia takes in being a part of the West, she is in truth more Asian. And no, not the ethnic sense (probably the first thing that popped in your mind, eh?) but rather slow to accommodate change & surprisingly more conservative than their peers in Europe & the North Americas. That having been said, the Western ideal of masculinity is largely more rigid than its Asian (and by Asian I’m referring to the whole bloody fucking continent, not just East, Southeast or South Asia) counterpart. On one hand in the West an individual is free to be what they wish to be, so long as it’s either private or does not infringe upon the rights of others. But in regards to masculinity, the slightest display of deviation (i.e effeminacy) is frowned upon & ultimately the individual undergoes a sort of cultural emasculation in the eyes of his peers, if said deviation(s) are prolonged. Effectually, you’re free to do whatever the hell you please, but you’re not a proper man. Not in our eyes.

On the other hand, Asian culture, though stereotypically believed to be chock-full of staunch traditionalists who refuse to bend to the blowing gusts of change that time brings, is in reality much more ambiguous about a great many things. Like all other human cultures, it is multi-layered & many faceted.

Masculinity therefore is defined as not being displays of crudeness or brute strength, but rather one’s bearing in life, maintaining at all times the proper etiquette & conduct. Control or the loss thereof is to be feared as much as the medieval Europeans feared the Black Death. Simply put, the West emphasizes the individual over the community, and wholly viceversa in the Continent. Ironically, we are not dissimilar to the ancient Romans in that respect.

As a result, certain behavioural patterns (such as homosexuality) did not receive the same sociocultural stigma as it did in the West in the centuries after its Christianization, changing only with colonization & the introduction of Victorian Age values. Again I see cosmic irony in this, since in contemporary times, the West is more liberal (in the pure sense of the word, not political) than the Continent. It certainly would have aroused considerable gossip if one were affluent enough, but no it was not opposed so long as the fabric of society was left undisturbed.

In a sense, this is understandable.

We menfolk see it as our duty to remain firm in the face of adversity, to withstand whatever life throws at us from the moment we pop out of the womb bawling to eventually sleeping with a stone pillow, grass blanket & earthen bed.

I hazard that this can be traced to our primordial origins. Whoever loses the race of survival & in turn never makes it to the holy grail of nonsentient creatures that is reproduction has essentially failed as an organism. I reckon that it never really left us in the first bloody place.

And what choice do we have in that respect? I never really gave it much thought to begin with.

Undoubtedly I am a product of my surroundings; be it culture, social mores, decorum, etc.

Yet I had (and still retain) a strong streak of independence, one that has been beaten down by years of comprehension and understanding of what defined myself, but one that has simply come out stronger. I did not see why I had to wholly submit to what society expected of me, and that includes the expectations based on my gender. Nonetheless, I cannot deny that in part it has shaped my perceptions on existence, given me firm ground which I can stand upon as I progress through the greatest experience of all, life.

In retrospect, this much can be said: we are who we choose to be, and if one should happen to choose becoming something that does not fit neatly along the parameters of society, they should not have to suffer unjust discrimination for it. So long as it’s consensual, legal and more importantly private, then by right they should be welcomed with open arms, for it is in diversity that humanity derives its greatest strength.

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Whiskey, women, wheels & the road.

These four words alone conjure up the image of a stereotypical male. And as a man, these remain…some of the biggest mysteries in life to date for me.

The word ‘feminism’ has somehow gained the ability to make women cringe in fear and plead the fifth. Tell

someone that you identify as a feminist, and they assume you spend your days listening to Alanis Morissette and plotting the demise of men, while sitting around bra-less with hairy armpits and combat boots, spouting lines from the Female Eunuch. Feminism has become a stereotype: man-haters, propagandists, bra-burning outspoken women with way too many opinions.

Ugh, not women with opinions!

Current mainstream media and popular culture consistently perpetuates the extremist feminism stereotype. Feminism started out as an amazingly positive, fighting movement to take back women’s rights. Now it seems to have become a taboo word, a ‘joke’ word. So ladies and jellybeans, let’s have a chat about feminism.

Here’s the dealio. Feminism is this: Believing in equality between men and women. That is all. No kitchen sink, no set rules, no manifesto – this isn’t communism for Marx’s sake.

So, here is a list of things you don’t have to be or value to be a feminist:

1. You do not have to hate men.

Love men! Love all of the men, if you like – though maybe not at the same time. Try not to separate the genders in the fight for equality; men are not the enemy. And yes, some men are douchebags, some men are sexist, some men should be locked in their man-caves forever. But dudeblaming just strengthens the divide and weakens the cause.

2. You do not have to love women.

Feminism isn’t some all-loving, patchouli-sniffing sisterhood of rainbows and unicorns. If it were, I’d be purchasing a one-way ticket to misogyny.

Again, try not to discriminate between the genders – simply know that you are trying to attain equality for both, and that both men and women can be major dicks.

3. You do not have to ‘take to the streets’ or chain yourself to anything.

You do not have to be outspoken, or overconfident, or arrogant. You don’t have to announce that you are a feminist, or preach your values to anyone that will listen. But, do speak up when a discussion or argument calls for it. Women have an unfortunate subconscious need to not appear over-confident in front of men; an ideal carried over from a time when men preferred their women to be quiet and subservient. Don’t dumb yourself down.

4. You do not have to listen to Angry Girl Music of the Indie Rock Persuasion.

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Ten points to anyone who gets that reference.

But fo’ reals, you don’t. Though it may indeed be

a fabulous genre, there’s no need to switch your lifestyle in order to be a feminist. Never fear, you can continue to listen to Snoopy Dogg or One Erection or whoever it is the young kids listen to these days.

5. You do not have to be politically correct or stop judging people.

Political correctness is boring, and people who say that they ‘don’t judge’ or that they ‘love everyone’ are pretty much Douchebag Royalty.

This debate has been particularly prominent since that fateful Q & A a few weeks ago, when feminist-god-lady Germaine Greer said something about PM Gillard’s arse. Now there’s no doubt that as a feminist social commentator she shouldn’t be talking smack about other women, no less the PM, on national television.

But think back to the last time you judged someone on their appearance – how long ago was it? A few minutes, hours, a day or so?

Judging people is unfortunately a part of human nature.

6. You do not have to love Germaine Greer.

Though she has made an outstanding contribution to feminism, there have been a few instances where she has completely joined the crazy bandwagon – a lot of man-blaming in her early years, a weird bout of anti-transsexualism, those four days on Big Brother? Though she may have taken a turn down Batty Street, she has also been integral in the fight for feminism, particularly in reclaiming sexuality as part of a woman’s right and wellbeing. Either way, it isn’t hard to see why she is hated by some and revered by others.

7. You do not have to be a woman.

I’ve had arguments with friends, family and people in the various online social spheres about this. The common conclusion for people of the Y Gen is yes, men can be feminists. If your definition of feminism is simply believing in equal rights for women and men, a whole lot of men already are feminists. But, there’s even more stigma attached to being a male feminist than a female; shit, you might be called gay! But, in all seriousness, saying that men can’t fight for women’s rights is like saying that straight people can’t fight for the rights of gay people. Stupid.

So, what am I getting at with all this babble?

Basically, stop fighting the moonlight. Or something. Feminism isn’t evil or hardcore or ridiculous; it is, for lack of a better cliché, whatever you make of it. For those of you who have made it this far and still believe you aren’t, and will never be a feminist, that’s cool. But as you go about your business, working, getting an education, having a considerable level of freedom – remember that early feminists played a huge part in getting you those rights.

For all you haters out there, here’s a test from Caitlin Moran’s recent book How to be a Woman: Here is the quick way of working out if you’re a feminist. Put your hand in your pants. a) Do you have a vagina? and b) Do you want to be in charge of it?

If you said ‘yes’ to both, then congratulations!

You’re a feminist.

Chloe Papas

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Female Genital Mutilation Thinking Differently about Human Rights Violations (aka Cultural Rituals) Carolyn O’Connor

Abhorrence is nothing new in response to female circumcision, more commonly known as female genital mutilation. In fact, it's how Euro-

Americans have typically responded for one hundred years. Colonial powers went so far as to criminalize it. Current powers have gone further by declaring it a human rights violation.

Both labels have created responses focused on stamping this practice out. For the past several decades – post-independence for many of the countries that practice female circumcision – organizations like the World Health Organization have championed the end of female genital mutilation. Could there be anything more fundamental to women's rights than ensuring the sanctity of female genitalia from a maledominated culture that insists on depriving women of sexual freedom and pleasure? Yes. Each woman's choice about her body.

Female circumcision is cloaked in both myths and shock-value laden misinformation. Before jumping into the activism that female genital mutilation demands or the abyss of cultural relativism that female circumcision invites, there are seven things to consider:

1. Before discussing it in public, you’re going to have to handle the different terms.

And people will get angry about which you use.

This really is a fight where the terminology is important. Mutilation or Circumcision? Human rights violations or cultural rite? For this article, I will use both terms: female genital mutilation (FGM) and female circumcision (FC). The World Health Organization defines this practice as a human rights violation. However, the anthropological research suggests an ancient ritual that has happened beyond recordable memory. The term instantly defines your views on the subject – and who is going to argue with you on it. So, which is it?

2. All female circumcision is the same.

Most researchers and organizations use three or four different categories. The WHO uses three: FGM I – excision of the prepuce (the fold of skin capping the clitoris), with or without excision of part or all of the clitoris.

FGM II – excision of the prepuce with partial or total removal of the labia minora.

FGM III – excision of part or all of the external genitalia and stitching or narrowing of the vaginal opening (infibulation).

36 - issues

Other researchers include a fourth type, which include procedures such as pricking, piercing, stretching, or incising of the clitoris and/or labia. There are obviously different medical complications that go along with these. FGM/ FC happens in approximately twenty eight countries, mostly African and Middle Eastern.

Culture often dictates the severity. There are also different ways of performing FGM/FC, but the most common seems to be that it is performed by a midwife.

There is no denying that the process is extremely painful. The majority of interviewed women in ethnographic studies remember the pain and the trouble walking, urinating, and menstruating afterwards (again, varying by type). The surgery is frequently performed without anesthesia as the girl is held down.

Afterwards, the girl’s legs are bound and she is put to bed. If she is infibulated, that woman will most likely need to be cut open both for

3. The fight against female circumcision is a sign of progress – both in terms of international law and feminism.

The first formal international seminar on FGM/ FC was conducted in 1979. While this was the first time international organizations were responding to the practice (partially due to the rise of women in development at this time), it was not the first attempt to stop FGM/FC. Laws against FGM/FC started in the late nineteenth/ early twentieth century, during colonial rule.

Historical documents demonstrate that colonial powers actively banned and punished FGM/ FC due to the deep revulsion most Europeans felt towards the practice. In many instances, Europeans believed that these practices demonstrated the deeply primitive nature of Africans. However, the first historical mention of FGM/FC is by Herodotus in 450 B.C.

4. The only women who have been circumcised are brutalized victims of maledominated cultures. All 120 million of them.

Roughly 100-140 million women have been circumcised, with 3 million circumcised annually.

Both the large numbers and inherent cultural misunderstanding has led many anthropologists and development specialists to tackle FGM/ FC. Is it any wonder why confusion arose? Each researcher is out to prove a point and has a specific bias. Not just because both grants and organizations have specific requirements, but also because Western institutions and Western researchers were generally who studied the practice. This has only begun to change in the past several decades.

The main argument against FGM/FC is that only male-dominated, subjugated women will allow men to take their genitalia for the sake of perpetuating tradition. This disempowers roughly 120 million women. Women usually choose FGM/FC for the daughters, including the severity. While social pressures certainly can compel women to make this choice, ethnographic studies argue that men frequently can not tell if a woman was circumcised or not, let alone to what degree. Men have very little understanding or control over FGM/FC. Traditions are deep and personal. They are not strict, but rather interpreted by each person.

Certain aspects are accepted and rejected on an individual basis. If a tradition is widely unaccepted, it is gradually changed, especially when there is outside help to do so. International activism is based on this idea.

Despite this century-long help, women who have had FGM/FC still choose to have this procedure done to their children. The most popular descriptions of FGM/FC are frequently the horror stories. A girl tied up in a dark hut whose genitalia is almost completely removed, leading to a lifetime of health issues. That version is true for many women. And yet, numerous ethnographic descriptions exist of infibulated women who derive great pleasure from sex and believe the practice should continue The cliché is still apropos: activism should be about

providing a platform for each community’s voice and supporting it, not speaking for it.

5. Criminalizing this practice will change it – because it has really changed the present situation.

Numerous powers have attempted to make FGM/FC illegal. Euro-American powers have been working against it for a century and a half.

Criminalizing has led to hospitals refusing to perform it, where anesthesia, sterilized tools, and complete monitoring might be possible.

It has led to the prosecution of midwives who meet a variety of needs in their local communities. It stigmatizes circumcised women from going to Western hospitals. And yet, it has not stopped this practice. Roughly 120 million women undergo circumcision despite a century of trying to eradicate it. After a century, it is hard to argue that criminalization works.

The attempt to make FGM/FC illegal has regularly alienated communities in which this practice takes place. In fact, in Kenya, women used to chant that they would circumcise themselves as a way of rebelling against overlords. Women have died attempting to circumcise themselves because it is an act of demonstrating their freedom. The view that internationally condemning FGM/FC is the next wave of cultural imperialism might explain why numerous communities have resisted. Many women feel that to follow their traditions in the manner that they choose is their right – and that cannot be taken way by a different version of what it means to be a woman.

6. It only happens in Africa and, sometimes, the Middle East.

FGM/FC is currently illegal in the US, Australia, Canada, France, and Britain. It’s illegal because it happens in those places. These days, the majority of FGM/FC cases are due to immigration. However, the longest Western historical precedence of prepuce removal is in the United States. It is possible that, at least in part, our own responses to FGM/FC are conditioned by its meaning to Western cultures: the control of women’s sexual desires, which were attributed psychosis.

For many African and Middle Eastern countries, FGM/FC goes beyond control of men. First of all, it is generally performed by midwives with the mother’s support. Secondly, the reasons for FGM/FC are not based around curing the woman, they are based around making her more womanly. There is certainly the belief that circumcising women leads to sexual monogamy and good marriages. There is absolutely misinformation – such as that it will promote fertility and cause greater pleasure for the man. It lessens the ability to easily bear children and many men have expressed greater enjoyment when they take a second wife who is uninfibulated. And yet, in addition to controlling female purity, the removal of labia can be seen as making a woman smooth, clean, and less like a man. It is her ritual passage into womanhood. It allows a woman to be accepted into society, makes her clean and beautiful, and utterly removes any male aspect to her body.

For certain religious groups, this practice is believed to allow women to communicate with their spirits.

Additionally, many women claim to still enjoy orgasm even with the most extreme level of circumcision as those who claim they do not. One woman even cites bad marriages as the greater cause for lack of orgasm than

circumcision. While it is difficult to say what is true in this instance, there is a great deal of differing opinion on how FGM/FC affects sexual satisfaction. One of the great assumptions of people who advocate against FGM/FC is that women with full genitalia achieve much greater sexual enjoyment, leading to greater sexual empowerment. But, can we really assume that most or all non-circumcised women have great sexual enjoyment with their partners?

7. You can, and should, do something to stop this practice.

This is where the greatest freedom comes in again: personal choice. There are a variety of possible responses to FGM/FC, including: Complete activism: pushing to criminalize female genital mutilation. A danger here is alienating the very people you want to help – those who believe this practice is sacred- and driving these practices further away from hospitals. Another is being one-side. Male genital mutilation (male circumcision) also causes health concerns, even possible death, but is not defined as a human rights violation.

Relativistic activism :advocating for community education, alternative rituals, and theater. There is a huge debate about how well these work and if it is only a subtler way to impose cultural imperialism, however there have also been great achievements against FGM/FC. Local action: ensuring that there are proper facilities for local women to have access to appropriate and sensitive health care. This will not address the larger international community, but might ensure that those women who need appropriate health care get it.

Complete cultural relativism: do nothing. The pro to cultural relativism is always that it is impossible to do damage. The con is that it is also impossible to help. Many groups still experience discrimination. With female circumcision, this includes stigmatization at hospitals, especially during maternal health visits.

Women’s rights should mean the freedom for individual choice, whether that be for or against the construct of what it means to be an empowered woman. This is made difficult by the young age at which FGM/FC happens.

If criminalization has to happen, it should be focused on FGM/FC only being performed with informed consent in a safe, clean environment.

There should be medical staff throughout the world who are able to respond to FGM/FC in a sensitive manner that meets health needs.

There is certainly no easy answer about how to handle FGM/FC at the moment. The question is do we try to stop it or do we attempt allow it in a safe, empowering way? Because of the question of intent, FGM/FC raises fundamental questions not only about the importance of female genitalia, but also how and when human rights abrogate cultural heterogeneity, turning activism into cultural imperialism. Often uncomfortably, the response to FGM/FC calls for the examination of the difference between activism and continuing to control certain nations (and women’s bodies). In declaring there is only one way for a woman to be free, the Euro-American woman becomes the only way to be an empowered woman. While advocating for women’s rights, it is important to remember that there are multiple ways of interpreting what that means.

37 - issues

her marriage night and child birth. After child birth, many women choose to be reinfibulated.

The surgery is extreme, although not entirely irreversible. Plastic surgery has been able to rebuild partial genitalia, depending on the level of removed flesh. This practice is often part of rituals that turn a girl into a woman and can dictate whether or not she is allowed to marry, go near the drinking water, and be included in society.

Dicks. Everywhere.

In classes, on busses, at clubs, on the sidewalk (take your pick) Why do men feel the need to colour my life with the chaos of dick? I mean really, they aren’t that glamorous. Have you ever seen a dick outside of porn? It looks like it’s sad and dying.

But more importantly, VAGINA. Did you hear that? That was the sound of a million people cringing and rapidly stampeding away. Why is it that a body part shared by half the population is seen as something almost shameful? Is it because unlike men, our shit is packed away neatly and not left dangling in the wind? Does the idea of what might lurk behind those flaps scare you? Rhetorical questions aside, maybe it’s time to shed some light on the situation, seeing as how half the world was unlucky enough to be born this way.

From the moment we’re born we’re taught two things: 1. Glue actually tastes amazeballs.

2. Boys can pee in the bushes if they want to, but girls must use toilets.

Now I love a bit of UHU on my toast in the morning, but inequality isn’t something we can keep letting slide like this. Most girls aren’t taught much about their femininty, we don’t exactly just whip it out in changerooms or (godforbid) parties. We don’t laugh and jest about our most recent wank before hi-fiving each other and embracing in a group hug. We don’t have a female alternative for ‘bro’, let alone belong to a brotherhood (which is why I assume guys call other guys bros?… because they’re all members of a brotherhood…yeah?)

With girls: everything is a guessing game.

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However, don’t misunderstand me, this isnt a battle of the sexes. Tuna town isn’t a fishy place

because of men. You can’t blame someone for growing up in a society built on the backbone of social injustice. Put simply, as a friend of mine summed it up “the problem isn’t men, the problem is the problem” It’s time we stopped telling ourselves that the world is fair and just.

Men are taught to be proud of themselves, they can feel comfortable discussing erections in a public space without repercussions.

Where as so-called ‘lady boners’ are seen as innapropriate and dirty, and no one wants to hear about what kind of tampons you’re using.

Five Vagina Myths Debunked!

If you believe D-grade Asian comedies all vaginas are a nursing ground of havoc. Jaws with razor sharp teeth, killer bubbles, or home to some kind of deadly squid-like sea creature.

However (most of) this isn’t true. Shocking, I know, but bare with me.

1. So tight, so tight?

It’s actually impossible to have a tight vagina.

Girls might have a thick hymen, or their muscles might clamp down a lot which makes it feel tight. But in reality the vagina is elastic and pleated.

2. Timewarping portal from hell?

No. It’s just a vagina. I checked.

3. Distance running can make your uterus fall out?

Doctors back in the day were concerned that if women ran after child-birth they would risk their organs falling out. Although (as a humanities student with all that regular long distance running I do) I was admittedly concerned at first. But this is as likely as coughing up a lung.

4. Clits don’t serve a purpose? …Only if you’re doing it wrong

5. Vaginas have teeth?

Okay, okay so this myth has actually been

proven true. It’s known as Vagina Dentata, which was originally a latin folk tale in which a man was castrated during intercourse (childrens nursery rhymes can be suprisingly dark sometimes, I know). However there has only ever been one unfortunate case recorded in 1989 which reported a bengin embroid tumor containing teeth growing in the wall of a womans vagina (mad props to anyone who can turn that into a pick-up line)

Noteable Women and their vaginas: Oprah refers to her vagina as her ‘va-jay-jay’ have you ever wondered what other celebrites call theirs? Do you lay in bed at night, kept up by these thoughts? Do you find yourself without answers? Well the paparazzi aren’t intrusive enough! So here’s my list of what celebrites might call theirs:

Angelina Jolie - The Jolie Holie Beyonce Knowels - Miss Beyonce Knowels Lady Gaga - Va-Gaga Julia Gillard - Frowntown (or alternatively: The fifth circle of hell)

While we all had a little laugh and shared the many and varied names for male and female genitals that my friends and I use with our children (such as penis, willy, doodle, vagina, vjj, vag, fanny, fluff, hoo haa), I got the impression that, in general, finding an “appropriate” name for and referring to female genitals is a much more serious business than the naming of male genitals. In fact, this particular conversation came about simply because one mother wanted to know what other mothers of girls called their daughters’ genitals. I wondered why exactly this is the case. In my home, we teach our young daughter to call her genitals vagina or vulva.

Neither are entirely accurate, as one refers to the inner canal while the other refers to the outer genitalia; nevertheless, they are both official words, rather than nicknames or slang.

A quick poll of my Facebook friends revealed that a lot of parents use nicknames for both the male and female genitalia, and while I don’t see anything inherently wrong with that, I do feel it is important to really consider the words we use for genitals. While slang terms are commonly used for the genitals of both sexes, the terms used for females tend to be either derogatory or coy (words like gash and cunt are typically used as insults; the terms privates or “down there” suggest an embarrassment at even having to reference the genitals). It’s essential to recognise that a person’s choice of words will always reveal at least a part of their attitudes towards that to which they are referring. If the words we use to name female genitalia tend toward either the derogatory or the coy, what does that reveal about our attitudes toward what is, in essence, just another part of human female anatomy?

But it is not only the words themselves we need to consider, as language is so much more that just words. Context and how we use those words are just as, if not more, important. I recently had the unfortunate experience of catching the first few minutes of a new “sitcom” called ‘2 Broke Girls’. In this particular scene, one of the title characters is shown reprimanding two male customers in the diner at which she works. The last part of her scolding (which came about as a result of one of the men snapping their fingers in order to get her attention) went like this: And finally, you think [Snaps her fingers in his face] this is the sound that gets you service.

I think [Snaps again] this is the sound that dries up my vagina.

No doubt the scriptwriters for this show think they are empowering women by not only having two female leads, but also having one of those leads talk about her vagina. They would, in my opinion, be wrong. This line is a great example of just how powerful language can be. In one fell swoop, this female character has handed all of her sexual power to the male character. Apparently, he has the ability to “dry up her vagina” with just a snap of his fingers. On top of that, she has reduced all of her social interactions with men to simple sexual transactions; that is, there is no point to their interaction in this scene other than the male character’s getting (or not) of sex. She does not seem to own her genitals, nor does she really understand what they are for; they are owned by men – who only interact with her in order to gain access to them – and exist for the sole purpose of heterosexual sex. Perhaps the simple fact that the word vagina was used in a show that aired in a early evening timeslot could be considered a positive step forward in any attempts to break the female-genital taboo.

I tend to think not. Instead, lines such as this only serve to demonstrate to vulnerable young girls that their bodies – and, by extension, their vulvas and vaginas – are only as valuable as

men determine them to be. It puts all ownership of genitals and sexuality on others, rather than the self. It is not a stretch to say that girls could view this scene and see it as a reinforcement of the notion that sex and sexuality are about how others perceive you. This is a dangerous path for young girls (and grown women, for that matter) to tread.

So how do we go about removing the stigma from female genitalia? Restricting discussion and controlling the language of female genitalia impairs a woman’s ability to claim ownership over her own body. When certain words have negative connotations, or are considered socially “taboo”, we run into the problem of limiting our choices regarding the language we use to describe parts of our own anatomy.

This then has the flow-on problem of making women more vulnerable to body image issues.

“If vulva is a dirty or “taboo” word, then does that mean my vulva is dirty?” In order to ensure that girls grow up knowing, with absolute certainty, that their body is their own, then we need to carefully consider the language we use to describe it. Physical and verbal abuse of the female genitalia has always been a popular choice by men seeking to control and own women. It is my view that we should attempt to remove any stigma still attached to discussion of female genitalia in order to regain bodily autonomy and control over our own bodies.

Allowing open and free discussion in both the private and public spheres, leaving no room for shame or embarrassment about our genitals, is an essential part of this process. Continuing to allow language that belittles and insults female genitals, and encourages or perpetuates misogyny, only further ensures that girl’s and women’s bodies do not belong to them.

Equipping our young girls with the right words – that is, words that are simply factual and do not come loaded with an underlying meaning – will help to ensure they grow up with a strong sense of ownership over their bodies.

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My personal thoughts on this seemingly “taboo” topic stem from a discussion with my fellow friends-who-are-also-mothers about the words we give our children to use in reference to theirs or others’ genitals.

My Story Abby Hutchinson

I am telling this story not for glory, or for pity, but for truth. I am telling this story because there are many unheard stories much like mine that deserve to be heard, which perhaps will find your ears one day. I am telling this story because there are too many people who commit crimes and walk away unscathed, unpunished, and unfit to feel any form of remorse or shame, by a society that permits this cloaking of issues, and treats its victims as taboo.

I am telling this story because regardless of what we’ve been raised to believe, I am not ashamed. I cannot be ashamed of something that was not in my control, not in my desires and not displayed in my actions. I am sharing this because this is how we heal – and because I believe it is time we change the way we view rape and sexual assault.

Whenever I’d thought about rape in the past, it had coincided with imagery of violent attacks, decrepit alleyways and bloodstained bed sheets. It was something that happened to women walking down an isolated and dangerous part of town, or reserved for those in a relationship with an abusive and violent man.

Over the past year I’ve learnt that so many people are raped, many more than I’d ever imagined. Even more surprisingly is the amount of people who do not come forward to the police, fearing they will not be believed, or are too scared to simply go through the pain of the event again.

We are quick to judge the murky circumstances that so frequently surround a rape case. We imagine a lonesome, sadistic character that pounces on his prey as they leave a nightclub or are walking along a dimly lit street.

A rape victim could be you or I; a nurse, the cashier at the supermarket, the prettiest girl at school, one of your closest friends.

What’s more frightening is that rapists blend in just as easily into the world as the rest of us; friends, partners, that boy who sat beside you in class, the man who catches the same train as you every morning.

My rapist was my manager.

I’d just finished my degree and was planning to move to London in the upcoming months. After returning to my native UK and falling in love with the rudeness of London, I was working full time in a bar to save some money for the move. I’d booked a leaving party, been selling my things and was due to purchase flights in the upcoming days.

It was the typical kind of story. I woke up in a strange bed with distressing flashbacks and a memory that had blanked around 1am. I’d gone to my manager’s house with a small group of other colleagues and had been convinced to stay, and have a few drinks because I was in a safe place, and knew everyone there. We all worked in the bar so nights out were rare, and it was a treat to relax on a Friday night, rather than working late behind a bar.

After a few hours of drinking and going to the local pub, later that night, while I was passed out and vomiting from the shots he had given me, my manager raped me while his fiancée and their friends were in the same house.

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I woke up the next morning to find myself reliving sickening flashbacks and found my clothes mismatched and bedraggled, as though someone had put them on me in a rush. When I asked a friend from the party what had happened, she told me I’d been sick in the bathroom and our manager had come to find me, immediately confirming the worst of my suspicions. I left in a panic, trying to muster subtlety as I bid my farewells. My best friend told me immediately I was going to the hospital.

“This is so fucked,” is all I can remember her saying on the phone as I drove home. Another friend advised me not to shower, to take

my underwear and other items I’d worn the night before and head to the hospital. I tried to maintain composure in front of my parents but collapsed and confessed my fears.

It was 4pm before I was permitted to shower. I had to spend the day with him latched onto my skin while I endured police interviews, Doctor examinations and a counseling session.

Rape leaves you doubting yourself. Did I let this happen? Did I want it to? Was it as serious as it seems, or am I overreacting? You find yourself in a battle of self-conscience – between the person you think you are, and the person you fear you may have become.

Though I’d spent the day questioning with myself if this was a crazy dream (I’d actually confessed these worries to the Doctors and police), as the day unfurled the evidence suggested it wasn’t a dream.

“Let’s get the bastard.” The police officer had commented to my dad.

They never did. DNA was found to be on my body, after months of waiting for the results (and a terrifying recorded phone call I had to make to him), but only enough to confirm it was male, and not specific to him. The evidence suggested it was him but it wasn’t enough for court. I was advised to leave my job (though I didn’t want to go back), and decided to put my moving plans on hold, to be with my family.

Being raped violates you in every way imaginable – your body, your soul, your thoughts, your spirit – everything seems tainted by something you had no control over. Thoughts infest your mind and leave you in a solemn worry. Am I damaged goods? Will I want sex again? Is it okay to be, or feel sexy? Will I be seen as unaffected by my rape?

A strange fascination of rape clung to my thoughts after my own attack, and I could never understand why such taboo circled the victim. The victim is made to feel ashamed to speak about the act, though speaking about it often is the key to healing. I was fortunate to have friends and family who were supportive and understanding, and I was never made to feel ashamed of something that was not my fault.

Our society blankets unpleasant crimes like rape to avoid awkward and horrid circumstances. By doing so we are suggesting to victims of rape and sexual assault that there is no forum for their thoughts, and that we are clustering them in a darkened hush-hush place amongst rapists and sexual predators themselves.

“Forgive me for making you feel uncomfortable with my confronting topic, but I’m the one who got raped here,” is what I think needs to be said to those who condemn me from speaking out.

I sit here, a year to the day since my attack, contemplating the changes in my life.

Rape does change you, no matter how defiant you are that it will not crush your spirit. I believe I have shown strength since my attack, and not allowed it to define who I am, though at times I have felt shattered by the complexity of the implications it has made on my life.

I have learned to accept that it has affected me, and I will carry it always, and it is acceptable for it to still leave me in a hopeless mess at times.

I hate that this happened to me, but it has made me who I am. I hate that I know people will read this and relive a tragic time in their lives.

But I hope through my story, that your story is heard, whether for the first time, or revisited, and is heard with admiration, support and love, because we all deserve that.

Canon Georgia Tree Sweat I was sweating. I mean I was fucking sweating. My guts were ripped to shreds. A stab of pain accompanied every move. I was fucked.

We were at the back of some Mexican joint downtown. No fans.

Forget about A/C. Humid as anything. Sweating our balls off. I mean I can’t speak for Conor but he had that suit on, goddamn.

We were fucked.

“I don’t know Steve, I think it’s those guys.

They keep looking at me, man.”

Some suits were at the bar, and Conor on his coke come-down was getting pretty edgy.

“Dude, you’re wearing a panda suit in this heat. Everyone is looking at you.”

“It’s those guys man. Those guys.”

The waitress was leaning over our table, pen to paper.

Her dress was tight around her waist. Sweat painted the neat gap between her tits and she clenched her thighs together as I cupped my hand against her hip.

“Just a second darlin’.”

She smiled and leant into my hand as she tucked the pad into her arse pocket. She couldn’t have been older than sixteen.

“Come back in five.”

Conor was holding a beer against his cheek, head back, eyes shut.

“We’re so fucked man, have you actually thought about it? I was having a bath last night and I really thought about it. We’re fucked.”

He opened his eyes and leaned over the table toward me, beating his beer down as he spoke. His face was so shiny with sweat that I could taste it, salty in my mouth.

“Coke is expensive man. We need a new gig. How much did you get last night? Fifty bucks maybe?

You’re killing yourself man. For fifty bucks!”

He was playing with a hole in his suit, right near his dick. Rubbing his fingers against the fraying edges. He stared into his beer and finished it off, looking around for the waitress again.

“I don’t think we have any other options at this point. You could cut down on the drugs.”

“Yeah and your ex-wife could cut down on the demands.”

Something hot poked me in the belly. I couldn’t help but wince.

It felt like that time, as a kid, that my mum and I both got gastro.

We only had one bathroom so she took the toilet and I had to shit and vomit in the bath. That only lasted a few hours though.

Conor smirked at whatever my face was doing as the waitress again leaned her body against our table. Her arse was pointed at Conor, tits at me. She didn’t ask anything or speak at all. She just looked at me, smiling.

“We’ll just have a big bowl of nachos thanks, doll. And some fresh beers too.”

She wrote something onto the pad and skipped away. Conor was frowning over at the bar.

He shook his head but I don’t think it was in response to anything I said.

The waitress reappeared in what seemed like a dangerously short amount of time with our beers in one hand, and a huge bowl of cheese in the other.

And the nachos were fucking hot. The cheese powder from the corn chips stuck to our sweaty hands and the melted cheese burnt the roof of my mouth. The first bite and swallow stabbed my stomach so hard that I jerked forward and slightly pissed myself.

I was fucking starving so I ate it. But my bowels were on fire.

“I need to fucking shit.”

“Ah table manners.”

Conor was smirking, licking the cheese off his fingers and pouring beer down his throat. I kicked my chair out and left him there.

The toilet seat was hot and sweaty when I sat down, and I hadn’t been shitting long before the waitress crawled under the toilet door and kneeled before me. She looked up at me, smiling, grabbed my dick and shoved it into her mouth. I don’t know how she handled the smell. I couldn’t stop retching. But I also couldn’t stop.

A few minutes in, my fucking phone started to ring. The Ex-Wife.

“Steve? Listen this is getting ridiculous. I’m getting calls from the bank about some car re-payments or something? And we just decided to get the kid a new doctor. She’s great, but costs a fortune and I can’t fucking pay for it all myself.

Even though I fucking work. Are you working yet, Steve?”

I tried holding the phone away from my ear so all I could hear was the moaning waitress. She sounded so beautiful. I could imagine her standing in a choir. Third row. Singing a John Lennon song. Smiling down at her grandfather. I put my phone back against my ear.

“Are you? I don’t know what is wrong with you right now. Do you understand that you’re a father? Do you fucking get it, Steve? And do you know what that requires, Steve? Money. And responsibility.

But mostly money. So just fucking stop and look at yourself.”

And even as the waitress was done wiping her mouth on my jeans and I was done wiping my arse, the bitch hadn’t given up.

“This debt has got to go, you hear me? I’m sick of your shit coming down on my family. We don’t need this.”

“Yes, okay.”

“Steve?”

“Fucking money, okay.”

I got out of the toilets and shoved my phone into my pocket. It was cooler inside. The front doors were open. There was no music playing.

The suits at the bar were gone. So was Conor. All that was left at the table was the half-empty nacho bowl and Conor’s fucking knitted panda head, resting in the guacamole dish.

“I guess I’m paying the fucking bill then.”

“Seriously. They keep looking at me, I can feel it.”

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“Maybe it’s because you keep looking at them.”

For Lack of Good Porn...

Chloe Papas

According to statistics from 2006, almost 30,000 people are accessing pornography online worldwide every single second – and no doubt that number has increased over the past six years. It can be watched, viewed, read and re-enacted, and is easily accessed by anyone with an Internet connection. It is used by men, women, singles, couples and groups, and there are many different types - from the mainstream to the niche. But for something that is so regularly used by such a huge percentage of the population, we don’t really like talking about it – particularly when faced with the concept of women consuming porn.

Krissy Kneen is the author of Swallow the Sound and Triptych, novels that both fall firmly into the erotica category. She believes that porn and sexuality are important talking points.

“I think it is important to talk about pornography because it is something that most, or maybe even all cultures have. It is like religion in a way, this form of expression that every culture has, and yet it is something that is so emotionally divisive within that culture.”

Despite statistics showing that one in three women regularly access Internet porn, there is a much greater taboo on women talking about and consuming pornography. Kneen believes that the social inequality between men and women is key to this issue, citing religion as one of the institutions that encourages the disparity.

“I haven't done a huge amount of study into this phenomenon, but those that have say that Christianity is the cause of our imbalance between women and men in terms of consumption of pornography and sexuality.

Women are treated as children and therefore are protected from sexuality. We still treat the hymen as something sacred in some circles and therefore a woman that has not or does not

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participate in sexual activity is often more highly prized.”

Traditionally, men are viewed to enjoy sex more than women. Women were often originally only seen as part of the process to conceive a child – we’ve definitely advanced past that, but the view is still inherent for many. Certain types of ‘straight’ visual pornography reinforce male superiority with a focus on achieving orgasm for the man. Kneen again mentions societal gender discrimination as one of the key problems in creating male-centric porn.

“I think we need to reassess how we treat women in general and if we change this then our pornography will change. Our pornography is completely culturally driven. When we have a better attitude towards women as a culture our porn will treat women better,” she explains.

Professor Rosemary Coates is the current President of the World Association for Sexual Health, and also established Curtin’s Sexology program in the late 70s. Coates believes that though women do enjoy pornography, they generally prefer different types to men, and states that if there is a demand for it, more female friendly material should be available.

“Research shows that women are more responsive to smells, and to the feelings of a social environment. There’s some fairly recent research on that, looking at male and female brains. There’s a different part of the brain in women that lights up when they see an object of their love – so if they see a photograph of their child or parent. And a different part of their brain lights up from the part that does when they see a photograph of their lover. Whereas the male brain is indiscriminate, it just lights up.

There’s a greater refinement - in evolutionary terms, women are smarter,” claims Coates.

Kneen disagrees somewhat, with the view that though different women do enjoy different types of pornography, sometimes they are just looking for plain sexual satisfaction without the storyline.

“I don't think that female friendly pornography with a concentration on story or character is going to get us off any quicker. I think we still want to see or read about sex without the trappings, but I think we need to do it in a more respectful way - without necessarily seeing women as the victims of sex. Instead we want to see women participating in sex in an active and arousing way.”

Mainstream pornography usually offers up actors who fit a certain physical ideal, putting an unrealistic spin on body image.

Men are muscly, tanned and waxed, and women are tanned, waxed, thin, and above all, young. Kneen believes that advertising and media plays a huge part in what we see in pornography.

“We have a very strange relationship to sex in our culture at the moment. Advertising has wholeheartedly embraced the sexualisation of women and young girls for marketing purposes, but the images of sex are, as a result, incredibly fake and unrealistic. There is a slickness to the sexualised images we see; it’s all about youth and about bodily

Sexual education has been a prevalent topic in the media recently, with commentators like Benjamin Law stating that sexuality and pornography need to be discussed at school.

The current curriculum only covers the physical basics of sex; labeling body parts, potential diseases, and explaining contraception, with very little mention of sex for pleasure, pornography, or gender. Professor Coates believes that we need to discuss sexuality at an earlier age to be able to grasp the concept of pornography in a healthy way.

“Sexual pleasure is one of the most fundamental aspects of human pleasurable feelings. But we’ve supressed it in the Western world for so long that there’s still this feeling of guilt – you know, ‘maybe I shouldn’t be enjoying myself as much as I am’…I was brought up in England, and there was still quite a Victorian attitude. I was always taught that sex is such a dirty, nasty, horrible thing and you must save it for the one you love. How contradictory is that!

What most people learn about sex is all the possible negative consequences, rather than the positive benefits.”

Research shows that 92 per cent of boys and 61 per cent of girls aged between 13 and 16 have been exposed to pornography online, some from accidental Internet pop-ups or searches, others deliberate. Kneen agrees that sexual education needs to be broadened, and that in such a technological age, kids need to be educated about pornography before pornography educates them.

“I do think we need to discuss pornography in schools, mainly because there is such a hysteria around the subject from parents. I think kids have access to more pornographic images today and it is useful therefore to discuss them and to learn to deconstruct them from an early age. I still think that much of the pornography that is passed around is just gross-out stuff meant to cause a negative reaction, but teens are also filming the sex they have and putting that up on the net, and this is where discussions need to take place.”

perfection,” Kneen explains. “Because of our sexualisation of youth we have lost the erotic drive of body hair, we have lost the womanly roundness of a sexy body, we have lost the juices and the fluids.

There are a number of issues that need to be addressed regarding pornography in Australia: the representation of men and women, lack of sexuality-based education, the disturbing level of child porn viewed worldwide, and the constant threats of censorship and bans by governments. However, generally speaking, the over-all consensus is that consuming porn is both common and natural – for lack of a better term, it’s all about urge and release. Krissy Kneen sums it up perfectly.

People are rightfully upset that sexuality has been gifted only to young perfect bodies. We are taught to find fault in our human flesh and with fault comes shame.”

“Porn is not inherently bad. Porn is an expression of how we view sex and sexy as a culture. Change the culture, and you change the porn. Porn reflects us.”

balmy April night and the shenanigans were just beginning. Alcohol was being consumed in toxic amounts by everyone and whilst prior to the event everyone was aware hilarity would ensue, we did not know it would come in such magnificent proportions.

At approximately 3am, the hormones were building up, the genitals of females and males were tingling with desperation and people were coupling off. One of these couplings was to become famous- still being mocked now, over two years later. A young lady approached a boy who had drunk approximately his own weight in beer. After the preliminary stage of sloppy and loud tongue infused kissing had passed, they snuck around the back of the house. Little did they know this area was designated as an open urinal for the boys. The girl knelt down, much to the boys delight. Unfortunately, the delight ended there as a poor unsuspecting lad just innocently needing to wee, and BAM! Sprung in the heat of the moment, disaster ensued.

In my own drunken state and finding the situation hilarious, I went after the boy and conducted a short but thorough interview. It appeared that, drunk as a skunk, the girl was not as able as I’m sure she usually is. The primary complaint was “teeth everywhere” and there was accusation of a slight tear upon his foreskin. Whether or not this poor guy’s penis bleed was a high point of discussion during the following week at school is a story for another time.

While some of you may find this funny, as I did, it should also be noted that though even those involved may now laugh at the situation, at the time the pair were nothing more than destroyed.

We’ve all been there. One mortifying, beyond cringeworthy moment of embarrassment during high school. At the time, it is no laughing matter.

HENCE! The righteous purpose for sharing this anecdote. Out of it has come this: The ULTIMATE GUIDE to the perfect blow job.

We hope that this handy dandy guide (soon to be made into a pocket book for your convenience) will hopefully help you in those

The Perfect Blowjob Chelsea Banner

terrifying times, coming face to face with the one-eyed snake.

First things first, get over the idea of sticking it into your mouth. Yes, it may seem disgusting to shove a man’s pee sword into your mouth but you may just tolerate it, if not like it! If not, just think of the things you might get in return.

Sources and common sense say don’t use your teeth. If they aren’t safely tucked behind your gums, you are in trouble. Whilst you may indeed be hungry, hold it together until you can get your hands on some cheetos a half hour later. Try to not follow the above example and scrape part of the foreskin off, if your teeth are out of control take a moment to concentrate and cover them with your lips. If he wanted a circumcision I’m sure he would have gone about acquiring it from someone with a medical degree.

To avoid any other uncomfortable feelings with friction, USE YOUR SALIVA. You were blessed with salivary glands and now is the time to use them. Think of your favourite food, close your eyes (avoid poking it into your eye) and go to town. Pro-tip: don’t just build it up and take a spit on him. It’s not generally an attractive thing.

Just let it build up as you go down!

Lick him as well as sucking. Around the shaft as foreplay and around the base of the head during. The sensation is (reportedly) delightful.

Try to engage your tongue in the activity as much as possible, otherwise the blowjob is redundant and you may as well have just bought him a moist vacuum cleaner. This also helps with the wetness.

Don’t deep throat if you can’t. It may feel amazing but the entire charade of you going down, gagging and choking isn’t particularly enjoyable. If you can’t get him down your oesophagus, just focus on the top of his penis, as it has a lot more sensation than the shaft and will get him off quicker. Go as far back as you can without too much gagging and go up and down.

Part of the highlight of a blowjob is when you take a break with your mouth and use your hand to jerk him off. Boys I have talked to have said that all the wetness with your hand and the already awesome sensation from your mouth can lead to some of the most amazing feelings. The break is not only a benefit for him but also for you, as no one can be expected to go down and stay down until they’re done when it takes almost half an hour for some fellas!

The most important thing you can gain from this is about the testicles. NEVER LEAVE OUT THE BALLS. It may seem weird or even slightly funny but men love having their balls touched. Sucked, rubbed, massaged, almost any (GENTLE) method will work. A bit of action on his family jewels as you suck his dick with always go down a treat!

Whether you swallow or not doesn’t really matter. Just let it be known that a little semen never hurt anyone and has fewer calories than yoghurt. Go forth and blow, my children.

Pleasure your man the way you want to be pleasured. The perfect blowjob is within your grasp. Go seek that glory.

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There is not much I remember from my last year of high school, thankfully, but one thing I do remember with much clarity is what we shall refer to as “The Ball Afters Incident”. It was a

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Abby Hutchinson

We’ve all had the pleasure, or at times the pain of enduring hundreds of sex scenes across various films and TV shows, and while most are embellished, sensual and unrealistic moments of passion personified onto the silver screen, occasionally a movie or TV show dares to differ and guide the audience down a familiar lane of fumbling, frivolous and funny sex. While we all aspire to be silver screen sex Goddesses (Kate Winselt anyone – now coming to you in 3D), or television studs, it’s more likely that your list of amorous encounters were more closely related to….

Superbad

There’s two scenes that particularly stick out here for me. Fogel (McLovin’s) exclamation of “Omg it’s in!” along with Evan and girlfriend Becca’s drunk, stumbling and awkward attempts at dirty talk.

“I’m so wet.”

“Yeah, they said that would happen… in Health.”

Just goes to show that high school sex, in its virgin pristine prime is as juvenile and awkward as it can get. These scenes perhaps re-enact thoughts many have had, but most have been smart enough not to say out loud.

American Pie

“We’ll just tell your mom we ate the pie.”

I doubt any film could ever top the sheer hilarity of a teenage boy shaking his junk into his mother’s home baked goods, in an attempt to simulate the sensation of a blow-job. Jim’s delightfully “trying to be cool” dad walks in on the scene and comes up with the above excuse.

Capturing sexual curiosity at its best, here’s some advice boys – wait for the real thing, and avoid your kitchen.

The Inbetweeners

“I wanna fuck your fucking fanny off you twat!”

Simon’s attempt at dirty talk with girlfriend Tara, followed by him asking her to put on the condom with her mouth, at Jay’s advice (to which she almost chokes), is the perfect scene to show you shouldn’t listen to your mate’s bullshit. Jay’s daily anecdotes of his sensational shags are completely transparent, yet the boys breathe it in like gospel. “Girls love it when you put the balls in,” is another piece of advice never to be taken seriously.

The best of The Inbetweeners however, is Will’s planking upon the gorgeous Charlotte. She doesn’t count it as sex (yes, he asked), and the audience watch, (with a few more years of sexual experience under their belts) cringe at the virginal antics of a ravenous schoolboy.

Stepbrothers

I doubt anyone on earth would find “I wanna roll you up into a little ball and shove you up my vagina.” sexy, yet for a short amount of time, Alice in Stepbrother’s holds Brennan captive with her rebellion from her condescending and obnoxious husband. Their sex scene in the toilet as she screams uncontrollably while he awkwardly looks upon is even more awkward for the viewer.

Bridesmaids

Joe Hamm, actor of Mad Men’s Don Draper rolling around like a monkey with Kristen Wiig in a booty call more closely resembled to what one may find in a zoo is a scene that depicts the kind of sex I hope never to have. “Make monkey noises” is a particularly funny part, as Kristen Wiig coos and jiggles on top of Joe Hamm.

The OC – “Fish Sex”

“I was like Nemo, I just wanted to go home.”

Seth and Summer’s “first time/fish sex” scene is a favourite with OC fans. Comic book geek Seth bags popular girl Summer, as she holds him captive by ripping off her top (“Whatever you say, Summer.”). The best part of this scene is the awkward after scene, along with Seth having to ask his dad for “The talk.”

Watching Seth writhe in embarrassment and agony as his dad assures him Cohen’s are sexual beings is the best part of the scene, capturing s teenager reluctantly acknowledge that in fact, they know nothing about sex or growing up.

Team America

Watching a sex scene with action figure puppets seems like I’ve intruded on a perverted toy box role play; yet Team America propels a menagerie of positions onto the silver screen to an audience who are bewildered, yet intrigued to keep watching. The seedy soundtrack only adds to the scene.

Sex and the City

It had to be mentioned. The bed tales of the four ultimate single ladies reads like a collection of the worst imagined sexual scenarios for a regular Jane – from having a man dump you while still inside of you, to a Catholic scrubbing his sex stained body from his “sins” the second after he blows, to tiny doodles, being called a whore midorgasm, masturbating to priests, lightning bolt pubic hair and everything in between – no show has ever and possibly will ever highlight the vast extent of what sex is, and what it can be.

Bridget Jones’s Diary

“Bridget Jones, wanton sex goddess, with a very bad man between her thighs... Mum... Hi.” Everything about Bridge reeks awkward in a delightfully darling way. Her frazzled hair, fuckety fuck blue soup, skirt off sick and those “hello mummy” knickers have become icons of the ‘real’ single girl. While we’ve all hoped we’ve been lusted after as we sip our chic cosmos, it’s more likely we’ve longed for a sleazy slime-ball who casts a little attention when he’s feeling frisky.

Here’s to hoping you all find your Mr Darcy, or be a Mr Darcy, to the Bridget within us all.

Zoolander

Ben Stiller’s satirical encapsulation of everything Haut Couture mashed with Hollywood hosts a hippie orgie with Stiller’s Zoolander, Wilson’s Hansel and Stiller’s real life wife. Dwarfs, Swedish folk artists and male models make a Matilda sandwich while Derek pictures a real future with this woman. Commenting on the faux and frivolous acts of the famous, this scene oozes comedy simply in the craziness of it all.

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The Ten Most Awkward Sex Scenes

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Male Sexual Performance and Why It Is More Important Than Anything Else, Ever Michael McKenzie

you have erectile dysfunction?! Call this number for help!” We react one of two ways: chuckle to ourselves and scoff about our own vastly superior fully-functioning members, or remain absolutely silent, while committing that 8 digit number to memory, so we can call some time in between masturbating to Kate from LOST and eating far too much vegan pasta.

It’s these advertisements that have men in constant fear and shame, like some Philadelphia based altar boy. Because let’s face it, the main concern of every male between the ages of eleven and dead, is their sexual candidacy. Even the scoffers know their satisfaction (and the satisfaction of their potential sexual partners) isn’t forever. At some point in every man’s life, their dick turns into the doddering old man who sits on the train reading three day old newspapers, idly glancing at teenage girls, in a futile effort to feel

alive. This is the reality for men; our penises, will one day become penisn’ts. This issue may not be as difficult to deal with for men if the average woman had the slightest sense of decency about it. Imagine your dong doesn’t work (if your dong already doesn’t work, pretend Viagra hasn’t been invented). Now, this is pretty fucking tough on one’s self-esteem. Now, imagine you have a girlfriend and you need to tell her this. If she was a decent person she’d probably say, “that’s okay, honey. I can imagine how hard this must be for you, and I respect your bravery a lot.

We’ll work through this, I promise.” Chances are though, she’s going to say, “well, see ya later, you worthless man-child. I’m going to go fuck some guy named Fabio.” She might not say it like that, but trust me, she’s thinking it. And if you’re married, she’ll probably say, “alright, let’s go see a marriage counsellor,” but you can just assume she’s intending to find somebody to fuck while in the waiting room, depending on the make of the suit they’re wearing or the colour of their Lamborghini Murcielago.

This is essentially the same as a woman saying, “I’m sorry, my vagina isn’t working, but I can take some pills, or I can just focus on my oral technique,” and you saying, “sorry honey, your vagina is really all that matters to me.” The difference is, that vaginas (vaginae) are sacred, and dicks are a weird hybrid of undercooked sausage and fire hydrant. The legitimacy of any assumption about vaginas being sacred is pretty much tantamount to women being called sluts if they show their ankles. NOBODY GIVES TWO SHITS ABOUT VIRGINITY ANYMORE, IT’S NOT YOUR FLOWER YOU’RE PROTECTING, IT’S YOUR OWN SELF-IMPORTANCE. No, penises are just those gross things that are described in bad comedy sketches and rape hearings. I mean, there is an entire genre of humour called “penishumour”. Can I take this as a cue to popularise vagina humour?

But enough of that, let’s get onto a really important subject; SIIIIIIZE. I just wanted to make that word extra long, to compensate for my own tiny penis. Because that’s what men

do, right? They compensate? Like, if I want to spend $200,000 on a sports car, it must be because my penis is small, and not that I’m just an ostentatious prick, despite the fact that for $200,000, I could probably transplant the eiffel tower onto my ball sack. No, men do not spend all their time and money wondering how they can make up for their less than adequate girth/ length combination. I once watched an episode of Sex and The City (because I enjoy sexist trash television that makes me feel cosmopolitan) where the popular cast, who I only know by their facial features and not their names, privately ridiculed men, berrating them on their less than eight inch schlongs. While I don’t really have to worry about this happening, because I make it a policy not to sleep with terrible, terrible human beings, I felt a little shocked. Is this what we’ve become? A society who will shun rich, attractive businessmen who live in New York and are scripted to be devoid of character depth, just because of their penile dimensions? ”Size does matter,” is something I hear a lot from women, and from men who are either large, or want people to believe they are large. And let me tell you, it’s a huge mood-killer while you’re plugging away at them. The fact is (and trust me, I’ve read extensively), the average penis is an inch longer, when erect, than that trench in Star Wars that the Millennium Falcon cruises down on the asteroid. Some people will “reassuringly” testify that size doesn’t matter, but the fact that this reassurance needs to be made just shows that these women still pity men with small skinchimneys.

The world today says that if you have a big dick, you’re sexually viable, and if you have a small dick, you’d spend all your money on a fancy sports car just to make yourself feel better.

Men, your only goal in life is to give women orgasms. While biologically, female orgasm is completely unnecessary, it does occur, and if you’re not the one providing it, somebody else will be soon. Your orgasm is irrelevant, and is in fact, undesired. Sex is a mutually pleasurable experience, the joining of two people’s love, but

by Christ, her vagina better feel love before your ballsack does. If you can’t hold off ejaculation until after the girl is screaming like a banshee, you’ve failed as a man. Your father won’t respect you, your friends will laugh at you, and women, well you don’t even need that word in your vocabulary anymore.

Women do not care if you can’t help it, that’s just a sign that you don’t care about them enough.

If you can’t hold back the dam overflow while thinking about your grandma playing baseball against a naked pitcher who just so happens to Gandhi, launching projectiles of his own liquid shit, you are simply a selfish lover, and a bad person. There’s nothing you can do. You are now biologically defunct (which is ironic, considering the likelihood of you ejaculating during intercourse).

Goodbye, blue sky.

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We’ve all heard those radio advertisements while cruising down the highway with our many women; “Do

How to Host a Politically Incorrect Party Chelsea Banner

Step One: Plan your costume.

This is a stage confronted with questions- what is offensive and easily turned into a costume? How pretty will I look dressed as a Nazi? Is coming as a paedophile cool enough or should I opt for being a junkie? As the host of this party, you have to look the best. This means not only having an amazing costume with tremendously hilarious levels of political incorrectness, but also looking attractive enough that you won’t be arrested or reported when the photos of you all jazzed up arrive on the Facebook social scene. Who can focus on being offended or getting you incarcerated when you look like the sexiest aborted foetus in the world?

Step Two: Invites.

Gather your guest list. Wean out the weak ones by designing your invite to fit the party theme. If they are offput by that priest getting a blowjob on the invite perhaps it is not the party for them. This way you don’t have to deal with people getting upset for not receiving an invitationjust the people that don’t approve of your blatant disregard for common morals.

Step Three: Decorating.

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Whilst the obvious desired look is probably a cave setting

with a 3D Saddam Hussein hanging around in the corner, this isn’t really within reach of most people. This is the one part of the party on which you are allowed to settle. But slack off by no means! Grab a communist flag and hang it high! Penis straws are a must, may they be plentiful for all. If you really want to take it to the next level, you can of course screen cap some shots of pornography, print them and stick them on the walls of your house.

Step Four: Food.

Make your food as deliciously devilish as possible. If you do not have a penis shaped cake or breast shaped cookies, you have bitterly disappointed everyone around you. Cocktail wieners are a must have, once the alcohol consumption is at a high, the wieners will become essential to all drunken jokes. If you are a guy known for being feminine, I would avoid consuming said wieners. Kids can be so cruel.

Step Five: Have fun!

Shake your slave driving/heroin injecting/cradle snatching/ gas chambering ass and make sure to untag yourself the next day in any photos a potential employer may see. Don’t worry about your grandma. The sooner she has a heart attack the sooner you get your inheritance.

Andaluz Bar & Tapas

Basement Level, 21 Howard Street Perth 6000 08) 9481 0092 www.andaluzbar.com.au REVIEWED BY BELINDA TEH

The restaurant is hidden out of sight from St George’s Terrace, in the basement of the heritage listed Parker & Parker building. We got there at 6:30pm, and waited about 20 minutes in the line, which was pretty good considering just how popular the place is for Friday night drinks.

To get inside, you walk down this sloping, narrowing, brick alleyway lined with these quaint little lanterns, and push open the heavy glass door on your right, emblazoned with the red Andaluz banner.

The atmosphere inside is incredible. The decor is burgundy, chocolate, black, leather and velvet, rich red. There is barely any lighting, which mostly comes from the back-lit bar and the candles scattered all over the restaurant.

Oh, and everyone wearing a suit. The sound of loud conversations, clink-ing glasses and cutlery, and tipsy laughter fills the whole restaurant. Andaluz has used its space very well: the section on the right decorated with antique couches, curtains, little tables and side lamps, perfect for conversation and cocktails; the centre is a standing bar with people crowding for a drink; and on the left is a tiny area for seated dining.

Andaluz is table service, but you have to be quick about it (I discovered this only after attempting to order at the bar and looking like an ass). The waiters that night were swiftly walking around the place, making beelines for tables, clearing martini glasses, heading to the kitchen. But once you got their attention, the service was welcoming and engaging. They also

gave us a tab card to keep track of any extra drinks we ordered at the bar.

A rule of thumb is, if the menu for alcohol is longer than the menu for food, then chances are you are in for a decent meal. Andaluz presents a contemporary Spanish Tapas menu, just two pages long. And it was all. Ridiculously. Delicious.

First thing first, we ordered our liquor. After flicking… and flicking… and flicking through the cocktail encyclopedia for a good 10 minutes, I chose the Pandemonium ($20). It was sharp, citrussy and clean to begin with, followed by a gentle alcoholic hit shortly after taking a sip.

The singed leaf on top added this pleasant earthiness to it. I really liked this one, and made it last all the way til the end of the meal (drinking cocktails as slowly as possible – something I’m extremely good at, being a professional cadbury). Angela’s was a cloudy pineapple concoction made with Malibu, garnished with a cute little pineapple skirt around the edge, also around the $20 mark. Really refreshing.

Our first order arrived: Slow-cooked octopus with shallots, preserved lemon and chilli ($10). I could have eaten another jar, and then another.

The lemon taste was not that usual sharp, sour tang, but a milder, sweeter taste. Depth of flavour was added by the good quality, wellseasoned oil. The texture was curious to me, having eaten only rubbery and bouncy octopus on other occasions. Andaluz’s octopus was tender to bite, almost like al dente spaghetti.

Delightful.

Next up was our Chicken & Duck Liver Parfait with Chargrilled Baguette ($12). I have to thank Angela for coaxing me into trying this one.

Usually, any matter inside the ribs of an animal is strictly out of bounds. But amazingly, this dish was my favourite of the night. Wrapped in whipped butter, it was this incredibly rich, smooth consistency and it melted in your mouth like some luxurious kind of ice cream. It came served with this honey-sweet sauce, which really complemented it well. I was hooked. We even ordered extra baguette. Definitely give this one a try!

Angela & I didn’t even have to discuss our choice of main. We quickly agreed from the outset that we would settle for nothing less than the pork belly. When it came, it was one of those dishes that you’re scared to start eating because it’s so beautifully presented. And so well balanced – the creamy puree, the sweet dates and the succulent slices of meat.

I would still maintain that the best pork belly I ever had was at the Mad Monk in Fremantle a few years back, which came served with the beautifully fresh scallops and apple sauce.

I felt that perhaps Andaluz’s cut of the belly was a little on the fatty side, and a tad pricey considering there were only two pieces, but it was still delicious nonetheless.

For dessert, me and Angela passed on the chocolate-flavoured dessert for something a little lighter. Instead we ordered an apple and blueberry crumble with vanilla bean ice cream for around $15, which came served in a hot iron dish, straight from the oven. The crumble filling had some cinnamon through it, which was lovely and warming to eat with the rain beating on the window outside. The topping wasn’t packed in, but rather loosely scattered on top, which added to its lightness. A gorgeous way to finish our Andaluz meal.

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On a cold and rainy evening, Angela and I finally made it to our longawaited food adventure to Andaluz.

Alliance Française French Film Festival

She Stoops to Conquer

REVIEWED BY: BROOKE HUNTER

REVIEWED BY: RADHIKA KAYARAT

Opening night review, Wednesday 21st March 2012

After a colourful deluge of film screenings at Cinema Paradiso last week, the 23rd annual Alliance Francaise French Film Festival came to a close. Each year, the festival’s main aim is to encapsulate growing international interest in French cinema and art.

Forty-five films were shown over two weeks, with the 2011 film Declaration of War chosen as the festival’s opening film. On the opening night, guests were ushered into Cinema Paradiso’s lobby and were greeted with white flowers and champagne. Perched on the cinema seats were bags full of gifts from sponsors. After talks from Alliance Francaise spokespeople, the first French Film Festival screening began.

From the beginning, this dramatic, sincere film had me sitting on the edge of my seat. The story put forward is honest - following the journey of new parents who learn their little boy has a malignant tumour. Based on a true story, the writers double as the actors, with both Jérémie Elkaïm and Valérie Donzelli acting out a major, depressing event in their lives. The film begins with the couple meeting and then quickly spirals out of control after the birth of their baby and learning of his disease.

Despite the sombre theme, the film manages to weave excitement within the story – focusing on the alcohol and cigarette fuelled parties the couple attend in order to get away from the days spent in a cold, white hospital with their one-year old boy. Although the subtitles are in French, Valérie Donzelli manages to incorporate the waves of emotions involved in such a life-changing event. Audiences will be surprised by the ending – some will be left wondering, and others will be left with tears in their eyes.

Written: Oliver Goldsmith Directed: Jamie Lloyd I was a devout drama kid all through high school and having not been to the theatre in yonks I was shaking with excitement when our lovely editor offered up tickets to Oliver Goldsmith’s She Stoops to Conquer on the weekend, hungrily snapping them up without even knowing what it was.

Googling it, I was even more excited to find that the play was an 18th century Irish comedy;I could not wait. As I made my way to the Luna on SX in Freo I thought how strange it was to hold a play at a movie theatre. Were they going to make the audience sit in the outer seats and perform on the inside? Or perhaps Luna actually had a theatre space for performances?

Lining up at Cinema 2 with my best friend we couldn’t help but notice the age difference between us and all the other cultured theatre-goers there, some of them may well have been alive when the play was written. As we settled in our seats in the middle of the cinema and watched the cute old people hobble around with their ice-cream cones we were growing more sceptical about the nature of this performance. The space at the front in between the screen and the seats surely wasn’t wide enough for a fullyfledged play? As the lights went down and the screen lit up with previews our worst fears had been confirmed; we were not here to watch a play but indeed, just a recording of a play.

Once I got over my utter disappointment, and actually took in that we were going to be watching an almost live performance of She Stoops to Conquer broadcast directly from the Olivier Theatre in London my spirits lifted. This was the next best thing to actually being there! And boy wasn’t I glad to have stayed; She Stoops to Conquer turned out to be an amazing way to spend a Sunday.

Goldsmith obviously did something right for this 1773 play to still be leaving the audience in stitches in 2012. The story follows two aristocratic gentleman, Marlow and Hastings as they mistake the countryside household of Mr Marlow’s potential suitor Kate Hardcastle for an inn.

The chaos, confusion and shenanigans that ensue are hilarious on the playwright’s part but nothing short of pure genius by the (devilishly handsome) young director Jamie Lloyd.

The characters were larger than life, enormously over-the-top but loveable for that very reason. Marlow cannot even look a noble woman in the face let alone speak to her without going weak in the knees with fear but is a sexual predator when it comes to the likes of common girls. Tony Lumpkin, Kate’s half brother is a dirty, boozy, merrymaking young man that is just out to have a good time down at the pub while his mother Mrs Hardcastle, the lady of the house is a country woman trying to pass herself off as an upper-class lady as she is married to the wealthy Mr Hardcastle. The entire cast dynamic and interactions were wonderful; the perfect ensemble.

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Short, sharp and nutty musical numbers between scenes distracted from the revolving set, spinning from the house to the pub to the woods in the background. The costumes were also spectacular; extravagant but not overly so, the actors bringing the character to life rather than the costume.

She Stoops to Conquer was indeed a spectacle both visually and in terms of plot; my face hurt from grinning through the whole thing, the only thing that would have made it better was seeing it for real. This light-hearted and warm comedy is most definitely a must-see if you ever get the chance.

This play was brought to us by National Theatre Live, a series of plays from Britain broadcast live or almost live to countless cinemas around the world.

Though She Stoops to Conquer will not be showing again there is an encore screening of Frankenstein playing in June, returning by extremely popular demand, and for good reason too because the trailer was enough to give me goosebumps. Having had such a surprisingly spiffing time at my first play screening I know I’m definitely going back to see this one.

Snakadaktal and Alison Wonderland

BEARD, WIVES, DENIM FEATHERGUN

REVIEWED BY: CASSIE REES

REVIEWED BY: CARMEN REILLY

Pond

Rishloo

I hate clubs. Without a doubt every dirty club I’ve managed to stumble in has been overflowing with the following elements: that drunk girl sobbing her heart out on the pavement outside because he-didn’t-call-me-and-whydoesn’t-he-love-me-and-am-I-pretty? Before then throwing up onto her “friend’s” shoes who’s desperately trying to calm her down while secretly hoping he’s going to get a gobby that night. I then proceed to walk in and am bumped into by sweaty sixteen-year-old boys in basketball v-neck t-shirts, who apologise for spilling their slush-bucket-mohito drink down my dress. As I squeeze my way through the smoky dance-floor (smoky due to the tacky fog-machine and the collective stale breath of screaming eighteen-year-olds) I’m stabbed repeatedly in the feet by the torturous stilettos of a thousand booty-shaking girls. Until, finally I’ve arrived at the side stage where I’m able to stand relatively peacefully until a line of pissed blokes try to determine whether I’m a guy or not before shamelessly hitting on me.

Beard. Wives. Denim. Manly, manly rock. I don’t really get the macho, but I like this band even more than, dare I say, Tame Impala (several members of whom comprise Pond).

It’s psychedelic and grungy – you can hear fingers on strings, feet thumping distortion pedals. This is sepia-drenched music; the album art itself looks like the world on the other side of a full glass of beer – like looking through beard goggles.

Suitably retrograde. 70’s inspired à la Marc Bolan slash Led Zeppelin.

God, these guys are old-school cardi-wearing jammers.

Hailing from Seattle, Rishloo are an eccentric modern prog band who use a pretty basic lineup but utilise a lot of effects and esoteric influences to try and stand out from the crowd. Feathergun is one more of their attempts at trying to cement their place in underground stardom, with varying degrees of success.

And that’s just at Villa. After waiting a solid twenty minutes to order my vodka and tonic, I finally get to relax a little and watch a handful of genuinely trendy teenagers make some seriously beautiful music. Snakadaktal are a five-piece indie-pop band from Melbourne who were made famous by that one song played on Triple J incessantly. Last year, they won the Unearthed High competition and have since recorded an EP, made some groovy YouTube videos and have this year been touring around Australia pleasing peoples eardrums with their delightful tunes. Like 99 per cent of the crowd, I had rocked up to the gig knowing only that one song , and was pleasantly surprised when they began the set with dancey-pop tunes and very mature harmonies. I noticed that amongst the skinny, flannel-clad hipsters stealthily stealing drinks (standard club move; we’ve all been there) that everyone was happily bobbing their heads along with the droning beat of synthesised pop which sounded very familiar with Foals last album.

The album’s been fondling the critics’ ears, too, resulting in glowing reviews. Got people wondering what’s in the water down in ol’ Perth. Whenever a band like this gets rave reviews, though, I can’t help thinking it’s because all the critics are middle-aged men missing the good old days. So when a band reminds them of their acid-tripping teenage zeniths, they start salivating and mid-life crisis-ing in overdrive.

(Q: Why do half the winners of Triple J’s Album of the Year sound like they come from the 70s?)

The band themselves were having a great time dancing bare-footed and glittered on stage producing song after song of tight, well-written material.

As always the drummer was having the most fun bashing awkwardly away at the drums which seemed too small for him, reminding me of the gawky boys in high school who’d shot up in year eleven and hadn’t quite gotten used to their long arms and tall frames. The crowd woo-hoo’d and yippee’d when the band finally played Air – their song made famous on Triple J, and the band clearly loved the feel of a roomful of people singing along in jumbled unison to their lyrics. At every pause and new song I was honestly surprised at how grown-up and professional these kids were, every song being perfect to the tee and producing sounds that I can confidently say I did not hate. Despite my sarcasm and genuine contempt for everything, I can’t stress enough how good this band was. You can find their delicious tunes on the Unearthed website or good ol’ fashioned Myspace.

But you can’t get around how good Pond sounds: like rich, well-crafted rock-fondue. Melodious Beach Boys jams (‘Elegant Design’ and ‘Allergies’); white boy funk (‘Moth Wings’); whimsical voyage (‘Sorry I Was Under The Sky’) and the sneaking suspicion that you’re ears have stumbled in half way through a trip. Add the fetching, tongue in cheek business on the inside jacket – comments like “The prog cow on the farm taught us the invaluable lesson of the mid song waffle jam” referring to the song ‘When It Explodes” – and you get great music from a band that doesn’t take itself too seriously. Noice.

At 1am Sydney DJ Alison Wonderland boogied her way onto the stage in her six-inch, killer heals, and immediately started producing some funky beats interspersed with the odd Daft Punk chorus and Beastie Boys tune. Despite her freakish energy, I was in no way feeling up to sticking around for another 2 hours to watch the set, but I’m guessing it was much of a muchness. My friend and I walked home after stopping off in a dirty Maccas with our ears ringing, our dresses sticky with alco-pops and the satisfaction of a good night.

8/10

REVIEWED BY: CONNOR WHITE

Feathergun is an altogether long

album, clocking in at 11 songs and 57 minutes with a few songs going as long as nine minutes.

How successful they are varies from song to song. ‘Downhill’, the classical piano driven, somber song creates thick atmosphere throughout the second half of the song but takes longer to get going than it should. Much the same can be said of ‘Turning Sheep Into Goats/Systematomatic’ which dips in quality throughout.

When Rishloo manages what goes on in their songs (aside from their lyrics, which seem to have taken a leaf from Tool and been so random as to be “complex”), their work can sound very impactful and focused, and yet innovative at the same time.

‘Feathergun In The Garden Of The Sun’ has a great leading riff on the guitar, and ‘Keyhole In The Sky’ also manages some basic atmosphere with soothing fretwork.

As a whole, the guitarwork is quite impressive despite the lack of super complex solos. The vocals themselves, however, can get very loose. The singer likes to use a very high-pitched, almost falsetto voice at a lot of points, but he has clear limitations, which hurt a lot of the songs, chief among them the meandering ‘Diamond Eyes’.

Feathergun needed some more dev

time, but is altogether a solid effort.

It could have been great, but it’s still enjoyable and a good gateway drug into modern prog.

7/10

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@ Villa, Friday 30th March 2012

LOVE AT THE BOTTOM NOCTOURNIQUET OF THE SEA The Mars Volta The Magnetic Fields

REVIEWED BY: SCOTT DONALDSON

Speaking of taboos, who’d consider hiring a hit-man to shoot off an exlover’s girlfriend’s face, sloshing the former in blood before the hit-man shoots them, too, taboo? Ooh, I don’t know, The Magnetic Fields?

Love at the Bottom of the Sea is full of taboos: violent revenge (‘Your Girlfriend’s Face’), chastity (‘God Doesn’t Want Us To’), falling in love with your mate dressed in drag (‘Andrew Dressed in Drag’) – we’ve all been there.

With their last album, Octahedron, The Mars Volta took a decidedly accessible approach to their songwriting: they gave us short, traditionally structured tracks, with hooky chorus lines to boot. With Noctourniquet, they’ve done the same, but this time re-introduced some of the insanity found in previous efforts Amputechture and The Bedlam in Goliath. The result feels like a natural progression for the progressive rock group, but, as with the preceding five albums, this is just another hour of The Mars Volta being The Mars Volta.

REVIEWED BY: CARMEN REILLY

It’s lyrically dark but deceptively boppy. The songs are all under 2:40 minutes and sound like old fifties and sixties rock ‘n’ roll, with a bunch of computer fizz-whiz added (faintly annoying beeps ‘n’ tweaks and the like). Then there’s this melancholic production likely found in those old songs David Lynch likes to put in his movies; slightly unsettling songs about drowned love, sung in a mournful monotone.

Everything’s stitched together, classic pop structures smattered with a parley of musical instruments from autoharps to flugelhorns.

It’s even a tad carnivalesque with tubas and accordions and a “fun machine”, which is basically a massive electric organ. Love Beneath the Ocean is an amusing album but all the haphazard sounds can start to get on your nerves.

Have a listen if you’re feeling nostalgic, heartbroken, or just plain alienated in an ever-increasing technology-dependent age.

Album opener ‘The Whip Hand’ predictably explodes out of the gate with a jarring, dirty, synth-powered chorus and lead singer Cedric BixlerZavala screaming “I’m a land mine!

I’m a land mine!” The track hardly destroys the boundaries of modern music, but gets Noctourniquet off to an energetic start.

From there, the rest of the album doesn’t really have a binding theme, and instead plays out like a series of random experimentations, from the plodding creepiness of ‘The Malkin Jewel’ to the big, epic chorus of album closer ‘Zed and Two Naughts’.

The top track is ‘Vedamalady’, a slowburner with a get-out-of-my-head chorus, which is proof that The Volta are just as good at short pieces as they are at long ones.

But, as mentioned earlier, this is just another Mars Volta album. Sure, it may be aesthetically different from previous efforts, but Bixler-Zavala is still here, screaming randomly concocted lyrics straight into our face-holes, and Omar RodríguezLópez is still widdling away like a crack-addicted five-year-old who just got his hands on his first guitar.

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Those who’ve never found any appeal in The Mars Volta’s sound won’t find anything new here – nor will haters hanging on for another At the Drive-In album – but fans will love it.

6.5/10

8/10

BORN TO DIE

HAPPY TO YOU

REVIEWED BY: CHELSEA BANNER

REVIEWED BY: RADHIKA KAYARAT

Lana del Ray

When I have a shower, I often find myself contemplating the world.

What is a leaf? How many leaves are there in the entire world? Today, I did not need a shower to begin contemplating things. As I endured the album Born to Die by Lana Del Ray, I began to ponder: what is music and how the hell has it come to this?

Highly appraised, I had high expectations for this album, but alas I was wrong. I found ‘Radio’ to be the highlight of the album, as the beginning was slightly different to the rest of the songs in that it I almost found myself partially enjoying it. Then, in what I assume to be the chorus, it is overwhelmed with noises I imagine aliens to make.

My fondness for aliens coupled with my penchant for the word ‘cinnamon’ clearly outlined this song as a winner.

Unfortunately, the same fate did not belie the rest of the songs on this album. The song immediately following Radio, named ‘Carmen’ seemed reminiscent of a nightmare, ironically capturing my feelings exactly in one repeated statement of “it’s killing me”. From then on, the lyrics became even more amateur and what happiness I had was slowly drained from me.

Instead of evoking an emotional reaction in me, I simply found my brain wandering away out of boredom and avoidance of pending depression, leading to a state in which I nearly fell asleep several times. I found myself greatly confused when trying to distinguish one song from another, and even more confused when I researched into the album and found out it had sold 117 000 copies within the first week. I have great concern for today’s society if they consider this to be appealing.

3/10

Miike Snow

I was indifferent to their 2009 selftitled debut while most people raved about it, but I am absolutely smitten

by Miike Snow’s second offering Happy to You even though many legit critics have been, well, critical.

Happy to You is a super groovy

record that is definitely being added to my ‘Driving Jams’ playlist (whose main purpose is to soothe my extreme road rage). It’s a 10-track indie-electro-dance-pop record lined with crisp drum beats and oh so much synth. It’s like a delicious stew of MGMT, Gorillaz and Peter, Bjorn and John with a pinch of Fatboy Slim.

If you decide to invest in the album (i.e. illegally download it) and are a bit taken aback by the first track, don’t stop listening! It is probably the weirdest song on the album and I have to admit did take a couple of plays to grow on me.

Next up we have “The Wave”; Miike Snow wield their killer snare in all its glory. The epic, resonating piano coupled with the marching snare and vocalist Andrew Wyatt’s melancholic voice just work so well together making this a pretty powerful song.

It was amazing how happy Miike Snow’s rather dark lyrics, ironically soothing sound and strong piano ballads were making me as I made my way through the album several times, picking up little things here and there that I hadn’t noticed before.

It has definitely been a while since I have listened to a record on which I have adored every single song; Happy to You has broken the dry spell. This album works in so many ways and on a multitude of levels; Miike Snow’s sounds can serve both as a bed-time lullabye or as a bustout soundtrack to a dance battle at your 21st. I will probably be slightly offended if you tell me you don’t like it because I for one am head-overheels in love.

9/10

Devil May Cry HD Collection

Resident Evil: Operation Raccoon City

The Devil May Cry series has been renowned over the years for being a incredibly stylish, and hard, beat-’em-up staple and is a beloved franchise. Now the first three entries, including the oft maligned Devil May Cry 2, are being re-released for current gen consoles, how well do the graphics, and gameplay hold up?

Another Capcom game, eh? Operation Raccoon City is a spin-off set during the events of a game way back in the PS1 days, Resi 2, and has you playing cover-up for evil pharmaceutical and research company Umbrella, mopping up survivors and evidence in the doomed and zombified Raccoon City that could damage Umbrella’s name. Obviously, given that by this point in the canon, Umbrella are long since dead, this is a pure side story, a “what if?” scenario. But not a particularly good one.

The first demon slaying simulator was a pioneer and a gem of its time, but time has not been kind to it. Controls are sometimes finicky and sloppy, especially when jumping, the moveset is limited compared to some of its sequels, and the graphic effects, particularly arterial spray, are poorly upscaled and look very pixellated. It is, however, still a damn good game and one every button pusher should play at least once. It’s still a very stylish and impressive adventure even with the cracks showing through.

The collection was my first time playing through the second game in ten years, and immediately upon booting it up it wasn’t hard to see why. It’s by far the easiest game in the series because the enemies are simply very docile. Too many times I was able to stand in one spot and just hold down the fire button until the enemy died, which defeats the purpose of the stylish combat. The camera is also very restrictive and painful to use.

In trying to be more dynamic, it backfires and fails to show the action half of the time. The jumping has improved somewhat, and playing as the secondary character, Lucia, is cool, but overall this was considered a weaker title for very good reasons. It gets too much heat, I suppose, and in the end I’d still consider it a good game, but by no means does it sell the pack.

Devil May Cry 3: Dante’s Awakening is a game I would consider one of the best of all time. It’s not just that the one-liners are better than ever, or that the combat is by far the most varied in the series, DMC4 included, or that the art design is the most macabre. The progression also creates a great tension in the air, leading up to bigger and bigger fights and greater stakes...up until the last third of the game where every room and boss repeats. It’s a major drag at that point, and replaying the game as Dante’s brother Vergil only pours salt into the wound. However, it’s still long and enjoyable up to that point and is one of the crowning achievements in gaming. Every small element just comes together to create a truly amazing experience.

So with one awesome game, one great game and one good game, that puts it on the same level as the similar Metal Gear Solid HD Collection, but the box also advertises a bit of bonus content. Yeah, that’s just some fanart and a jukebox with the music from the games. Ignore those, focus on the games, and you’ll have fun. This is also relatively cheap, so if you haven’t played this series at all, I’d say now’s the time.

8/10

MS Windows, PS3, XBox 360 REVIEWED BY: CONNOR WHITE

The story isn’t that important, but the Wolfpack you play as is terribly bland. Only two of the six available characters have a face, and none of them have a personality beyond such characteristics as “macho”, “sadistic” or “silent”. While it might be a little much to ask Capcom to fully write a story for a multiplayer driven game, the “characters” won’t keep quiet, and you have to contend with your medic making smarmy jokes about pain.

The gameplay itself is altogether serviceable, but comes off as older than 2012. Aiming is inaccurate with a lot of the guns, which is annoying when fighting other soldiers in cover, but the guns themselves feel meaty and satisfying to play with. The game also balances difficulty pretty well, too, although more indicators regarding low health would have been good, as a lot of the time you are likely to not notice how low your health is.

There are six archetypes, such as medic, demolitions and recon, each with their own upgradeabale abilities and powers, as well as a huge weapons selection. If you’re the collecting type, this game will keep you going, and it’s engaging to see the toys you unlock along the way. That is, however, your main driving force, as the conflicts themselves settle into a long, boring pattern.

For a drop-in/drop-out multiplayer game, the levels are much longer than they should be, taking up to half an hour a piece. There were plenty of points throughout each level to end it, or punctuate setpieces with a segue, but they never end, which makes gameplay uncomfortable, especially in harder areas where zombies and lickers are likely to swamp you.

There are also undeveloped areas. The melee has sloppy hit detection, and the virus element is hollow. When you are attacked by a zombie or other monster with an open wound, you have a chance to become infected. At that point, you have to find an antiviral spray before your health drains and you become one of the undead. However, after zombification and a follow-up lead sandwich, teammates can be revived as if nothing happened. A “permadeath until checkpoint” system would have made the system more impactful.

As it stands, Operation Raccoon City is an okay time waster, but is not essential by any means. It’s fun, but it’s also undeveloped and aged upon release. There wasn’t much that could have been done with this concept regardless, meaning this is as good as I could have hoped, but I’m not sure I’d pay full price for it again.

6/10

55 - review

PS3, XBox 360 REVIEWED BY: CONNOR WHITE

Ask Someone Better

Emil Cholich

How’s your life going? Probably pretty poorly - I mean you’re reading a student magazine, your day has probably sucked, and you’re ugly. Look at you, it’s horrible you even exist. Don’t you wish you’d made better life choices? No, because the only life choices you’ve made yourself have been screw ups, so why not ask someone who’s better at life than you. Email me your life dilemmas, and I guarantee you a response of some nature, whether it’s a heart warming paragraph or three, or just a picture of a donkey doing some stuff to a goat. emilcholich@me.com Dear Emil Would you like that dine-in or take away?

Pastacup Employee Dear PE Would I like to sit at the only awkwardly placed table in what is essentially a kitchen with a counter and choose to be entertained by your selection of Ikea bed and furniture junk mail and continue listening to an asshole in an “everyone is entitled to my opinion” shirt talking about how he could get an all-stars box at KFC instead of this “cup of fancy shit”? No I would not, because I’m pretty sure eating at Pastacup is actually equivalent to brushing your teeth while you shit, sure you save time but at the cost of self respect.

Emil

Dear Emil I would like to know what to do with my pubic hair, what is normal and what is taboo? also how about you spend less time being handsome and actually hand in an article by the deadline?

Hayley Davis, Editor of Grok Dear Hayley Hayley there are many things one can do with ones pubic hair, some things are more acceptable than others, for example some people elect to remove all pubis from their body while engineering first years choose to relocate it using aeroplane glue to just underneath their chin to act as imitation facial hair.

56 - advice

I think it comes more down to personal preference, I find that pubic hairs are actually an extremely useful resource that is frankly squandered on penises and vaginas. The course, yet compact, and powerful hairs can be recycled to create ropes, and pulleys. When I first started growing pubic hair I saved it all up and after six months and made a wreath, that I hang on my door in christmas time, where theres smoke there’s fire and 54% of the time where there’s pubic hair there is a dick, so that carolers wont be surprised by my slinging improvised snowballs that are actually just blocks of ice at them.

One month I fashioned it into a suitable replacement for store-bought, expensive, steel wool, and now use it to scrape dried McCain pizza remnants from the bottom of my oven trays, it’s economical and I find that I now feel a more

emotional connection with my pizza, and nothing brings friends together better than knowing that part of you is now a part of them, but that’s just me being sentimental.

Another trendy option you could choose to pursue is the styling of pubic hair into fun shapes.

Once to surprise my girlfriend I used her favorite smiley face cookie cutter to shave a pattern into my hair, only to have her walk in and startled me.

At the emergency room the doctor said “I think this guys cock is smiling at me”, I think that that made it worth it, even though now I pee at an angle 25 degrees more to the left than a regular man, making it really awkward for anyone I’m standing to the right of in a urinal.

In response to your second question I try to avoid deadlines because they have the word “dead” in them and by not handing in my articles on time I feel like I’m cheating death, it is the price of being a thrillseeker. Also I’m working on trying to write something more offensive at the moment, since Aiden Stingemore has taken my mantle as bad boy writer for the Grok, I’ve not received a single complaint this year yet but I think my article “Hitler was right, Arrested Development should be re-cancelled and PAYG parking is great for when you need to shit in the eyes of disabled kids because they’re already deaf and mute for $5 an hour” is coming along great.

Emil

Dear Emil I have a clipboard and want to push my political agenda down your throat. This isn’t stated as a question because I don’t care what you I think and I’m going to do it anyway.

Pasty Ginger boy Near Vege Patch Dear PGBNVP Thank you for your interest in the changing of my opinion, sadly like my long distance service, I am happy with it and find your tiresome attempts at changing it to Telstra so frustrating that I’d rather line the roof the the architecture building with knives then lie under it naked entirely like the house at the end of Amityville Horror.

My first problem is that you and your ilk stand, flanking the stairs leading down from Elizabeth Jolly towards the engineering building preying on people who don’t care. You have taken a place I cherish, and made me have to do the same awkward “oh god, please don’t make eye contact with me” feeling I get outside of McDonalds on

Williams St on a Friday night. You know that people don’t not notice you, how could they, your complexion is actually reflecting so much light that just to look at you a person would need one of those eclipse friendly pinhole light boxes. The reason people’s pace increases exponentially around you is because they don’t want to deal with you.

My hatred of you was kept dormant for months, until after my 18th birthday, when I was having a casual beer at the tav, I was headed for the bus stop, hoping to find my way home and pass out while listening to The Ketchup Song on repeat, sadly I was ambushed. The creature standing before me, a clipboard, wrapped in a person, wrapped in facial hair that resembled my balls.

After showing me photos of several furry animals, and telling me they would die unless I gave him money, like some kind of sick woodland version of Taken, sadly taken was still in post-production at this point so instead of doing my best Liam Neeson and kicking him in the throat I simply stated that I don’t have cash, and I don’t know my bank details, calling my bluff the creature called up Westpac and retrieved my bank details on my behalf. Ever since then the Somethingor-other Wildlife Rehabilitation Centre has been taking money from my account every couple of weeks. Because of this experience I now lack empathy for anybody carrying a clipboard with any intentions that aren’t eating it in front of me for my own pleasure.

I’m starting to think that you just take petition forms home, then wring the ink people have written on them with out of the paper and swim in the essence of all the difference you’re making to the world rowing your way around with selfsatisfaction fuelled erections.

Recently I have seen a lot of posters attacking the Kony 2012 awareness campaign. But hang on. I’m confused, what’s the difference between a group of self righteous white kids driven by how great they feel for caring enough to put up hundreds of thousands of red posters that nobody cares about to Kony 2012. What’s that saying. Lest the pot call the kettle black. And frankly I respect the marketing chops that it takes to keep my face glued to a computer for more than 27 minutes without me defaulting to Jizzhut.

The reason I bring this up is that I’m pretty sure my very accurate labelling of your group as wankers is much less of an inflammatory statement than you calling a hugely supported group racist.

Emil