PEOPLE CALL ME NAMES.
A crack head, a conman, a homo, a pedo, a sex tourist, a retard, a junkie, a druggie, homeless, a vagabond, a thief, a bad man, a psycho, a serial killer, a miscreant, a fag, a homo, a ladyboy lover, a racist, a misogynist, a rapist, a spy, a mercenary, a white supremist, a wog, a daigo, white trash, trailer trash, car dweller, a degenerate…
The list is endless. But just don’t call me late for dinner.
I deny all except the degenerate claim.
Their projections of me are pointed at themselves, three fingers.
While I’m breathing and with faculties and with two hands for typing, I’ll tell you otherwise.
People are assholes.
Nothing worse than calling them out on it.
They’ll go to extreme ends to defend their honour.
What honour?
Any excuse to be who they are, nasty pieces of work.
Most of the assholes who have attacked me have been foreigners who bribed and lied their way into Australia.
I’m a big fan of Pauline Hanson.
They call her names too.
Welcome to my world.
I’m going to tell you how it is in Australia.
I’m going to expose the assholes who usually hide behind their businesses, or their race, or their pride.
But I’m not going to moralise.
I’m going to keep this one light.
In taking the piss out of myself, I’ll be taking the piss out of them.
