What’s the bet that this one gets reported around the world as a “them crazy Aussies” story instead of an “another argument for compulsory sterilisation” story? And what’s the bet it raises chuckles and toasts of “nice one, mate” from drunken bogan males around this country?

Police in Alice Springs say they were appalled to find a driver put a seatbelt around a carton of beer - but left a five-year-old child unrestrained.

Officers stopped the unregistered sedan on the Ross Highway south of Alice Springs on the weekend.

They found the child sitting in the back seat without a seatbelt, but the driver had put a belt around a slab of beer.

UPDATE: Of course, only Andrew Bolt can take a story like this and imply that it was one of them degenerate Abodiginals without a scrap of information to support his theory.

The Editor, John Surname, Ant Rogenous, Jeremy Sear, The Happy Revolutionary and Craig discuss:

* Sin tax
* Whingeing musicians
* Chair sniffing
* Wilson Tuckey vs. Bill Heffernan in the GrodsThink naked cagefight

** Because of the pernicious lack of Brendan Nelson bashing in this episode use only the “Play in popup” link or the “Download” link. **

 

 GrodsThink 14 (29 April 2008) [32:38m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

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From the Wild West comes this:

West Australian Opposition Leader Troy Buswell has broken down at a press conference and admitted he sniffed the chair of a female Liberal Party staffer.

Speaking to journalists at a press conference at Mandurah, south of Perth, Mr Buswell confirmed details of the woman’s account of a 2005 incident, reported in The West Australian newspaper today.

Oh dear. The only question that remains is: WHY?

The woman, who does not want to be named, said Mr Buswell started sniffing the chair she had been sitting on at his Parliament House office in December 2005.

The incident took place in front of other staff members.

She said he had done it to get a laugh.

That’s why he did it? To get a laugh?

Piss weak.

Mr Buswell has previously admitted to snapping a Labor staffer’s bra as a drunken party trick and has been accused by retiring Liberal MP Katie Hodson-Thomas of making sexist remarks to her.

Was that for a giggle as well?

He said it had been a difficult time for him “on a personal level”.

“These are difficult issues for me to deal with and they are very difficult issues for my family to deal with,” he said.

“It’s hard dealing with these matters and having to face up to your responsibilities behaviourally, publicly, and it’s harder to do it privately.”

Of course it’s been difficult for the family. No one else found it funny; why should the family?

Deputy Liberal leader Kim Hames was today standing by Mr Buswell, describing him as a “rough diamond with a robust sense of humour”.

“Robust”? How about just “iffy”?

And “rough diamond”? How about “undeveloped mineral deposit”?

Dr Hames said his leader needed to change his behaviour, but also acknowledged there was no one to replace him.

Right. Just like the Libs can’t replace Doctor Brendan Nelson. Hey, did you know he’s a doctor?

So after recording GrodsThink last night (to be broadcast later this arvo — beer and work have got in the way, although sadly not at the same time) we headed to a nearby pub that was advertising trivia and $11 pot-and-parmas. During our meal the other trivia punters started to trickle in and it became increasingly clear that we were the odd demographic out. Us GrodsThinkers were all men in our early thirties wearing jean/t-shirt combos surrounded by couples in their fifties and sixties wearing ties and frocks.

The old dude running the trivia looked like he crawled out from under a shelf at the nearby university library and he announced three rounds of fifteen questions. By question five of the first round we knew that we were going to be totally pwned. This wasn’t your “name the title of Britney’s latest single” kind of pop trivia. This was all about European battles of the seventeenth century and obscure references to obscure literature. As Jeremy said at one point: “At least when I’m hopeless at pop trivia I can dismiss the questions as being irrelevant. When I’m hopeless at this trivia I feel dumb because I should know the answers.”

At the end of the first round MC Gerald announced that The; Fleshlight’s (sic) were actually coming second on six points! Problem was, the team coming first were nine points ahead on fifteen. While we weren’t being humiliated we were clearly not going to win. It was this moment that the pub chose to send a representative around the tables to collect the $5 participation fee from each punter.

What. The. Fuck? Who charges for trivia? And if you’re going to charge for trivia at least advertise the charge. And if you’re not going to advertise the charge collect the money before the trivia starts so we can choose not to take part.

“Is this money going towards the prizes?” Jeremy asked.
“Yes,” answered the money chick.
“Is there a second and third prize?” Jeremy asked.
“No,” answered the money chick.
“So what you’re saying,” we all noted in unison, “is that we’re essentially giving this money directly to that table that’s slaughtering us.”
“Um, yeah,” money chick conceded.

I won’t repeat the avalanche of swearing that followed, although I’m sure you can imagine it. I’ll simply note that Jeremy started preparing a law suit, Ant smashed a beer bottle on the table and looked menacingly around the room, Craig played Tetris on his iPhone with renewed frustration, The Happy Revolutionary started singing The Internationale, and I began preparing this angry blog post in my mind.

But we played on, taking satisfaction from the way that MC Gerald looked uncomfortable every time he had to say The; Fleshlight’s out loud when he called the scores, and alternating between writing “John Surname” (who’d pissed off early) and “;;;; ;;;;” every time we didn’t know the answer.

ps/- Here’s Jeremy’s take on the incident. What? Us groupthink?

Sitting on the train on my way home last Friday night, I was almost lulled into slumber by the screeching metal tracks, when I realised I had been staring at a message on the cold, plastic blue seat opposite, beautifully written in italics - or ‘running writing’ as they used to call it (do they still call it that in primary schools today?).

It was a message that gave me hope that despite the bleakness, the greyness, the murders, the drugs, the rising interest rates, the racism, the bigotry, the falling apart of society, the Blairites, that there is still a beacon of hope and lightness on this forsaken planet. The message said:

Peace, love, acceptance

That’s all that matters.

How true, I thought, suddenly startled out of my alcohol-soaked misery. How damn true - and we all should be aiming for those goals: love, peace, acceptance. I sat up straight and promised no one in particular that these are the goals I am going to apply to my life immediately.

Then my eyes glanced to another familiar bit of running writing, and I was eager to read what other inspiration I could learn from a train seat with the slash in it. What I read changed my life forever:

Fuck the South Side. 

This is not the “First Ever Thread” I was going to make for GrodsCorp. That will have to take the backseat for a moment, for I have found something far, far more gobsmackingly ridiculous. This article I just read on the Sydney Morning Herald website:

A New Zealand man who claimed to have been left speaking Australian after being raped by a wombat has been sentenced to 75 hours community service.

Arthur Ross Cradock, a 48-year-old orchard worker, admitted in the Nelson District Court yesterday to the charge of using a phone for a fictitious purpose, after calling police with the message, “I’ve been raped by a wombat”.

Police prosecutor Sergeant Chris Stringer told the court that on the afternoon of February 11 Cradock called the police communications centre, threatening to “smash the filth” if they arrived at his home that night.

When asked if he had an emergency, he replied “yes”, Mr Stringer said.

Hold on, there are wombats in New Zealand? That’s almost as strange as being raped by one.

On a second subsequent call to the communications centre, Cradock told police he was being raped by a wombat at his Motueka address, and sought their immediate help.

He called police again soon after, and gave his full name, saying he wanted to withdraw the complaint.

“I’ll retract the rape complaint from the wombat, because he’s pulled out,” Cradock told the operator at the communications centre, who had no idea what he was talking about, Mr Stringer said.

“Apart from speaking Australian now, I’m pretty all right you know, I didn’t hurt my bum at all,” Cradock then told the operator.

The wombat’s pulled out, “I didn’t hurt my bum at all”. Who really fucked who here? And what does “speaking Australian” mean?

Mr Stringer said alcohol had played a big part in Cradock’s life. However, defence lawyer Michael Vesty said alcohol was not a problem that day.

Judge Richard Russell said he was not quite sure what motivated Cradock to make those statements to the police.

In sentencing, he warned Cradock not to do it again.

Yeah, don’t do it again, ya bloody drongo. Stick to sheep.

Or ask one of the men from GrodsCorp to send over a Fleshlight.

I bottled a batch of my ricoculously delicious home-made ginger beer today and thought I’d post the recipe for any GrodsReaders who might be, you know, that way inclined (i.e. poofy hippie eco-sheilas like me who get a kick out of making stuff from scratch).

It’s dirt cheap and fairly easy to do: just follow these instructions, and if you make sure all your equipment is sterilised you should have very little trouble.

Oh, and for those who don’t know, home-made ginger beer is alcoholic. Hooray.

A few beer-related questions have been asked in various comment threads about the place so I thought I’d open up a comment thread specifically devoted to beer-cahol.

It all started here:

Marketing info says that Coopers Pale Ale is very popular with progressive lesbians, but Coopers gives all its political donations to the Liberal party.

So if I like Coopers Pale Ale, am I a progressive-conservative lesbian?
– Bruce

I like Coopers and I knew I was progressive but am a little surprised to learn that I’m a lesbian.
– The Editor

I’m likely to order any of a dozen different drinks depending on my mood, so I must be a schizophrenic swinging voter.
– Bridgit Gread

And continued here:

Now, I’m very disappointed to learn that Cooper’s gives political donations to the Liberal party, I may have to seriously reconsider my tastes. But did you know that Cooper’s is the only commercially-available beer in Australia that’s vegetarian-friendly? The rest use gelatine derived from beef skin for filtering.

Does anyone know the political donations of breweries such as Little Creatures, or Matilda Bay? I can’t go back to the bland, empty-tasting crap that CUB or Lion Nathan urinates into the market (apart from Squire, which I understand is Lion Nathan).
– Jangari

So now that the conversation’s all in one place go for it!