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March 30, 2009 | by  | in Features |
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Head to Head – The media does have a liberal bias

The media does have a liberal bais

There is a bias in my libidinous meat: Yngwie Malmsteen totally wears a bra and Rob Halford’s legacy rocks ass, The D&D references I recently deleted from this article to get under the word limit is just one example of graffiti in the level 2 Kirk building toilets. But this article is about the media. So after drinking a lot of mead, and preparing my ear, I immediately thrust my gorgeously supple body head-first into the bed of Salient’s own news maker-upper, the one and only Mr. Michael Jackson Oliver. I kicked all the children out of Mikey’s bed, slothed ecstatically over his Morrocan hand-quilted satin sheets, and was quickly evicted when he saw the ciggie burns along my throbbing, veinous phallus, and the way I’d tattooed my entire scrotum to look like a hairy, bilious-green brain with corpuscular striations imprisoning two vacuum-sealed cherries on a microscope slide. Michael picked me up with his famous return-button-pinky, ripping my lethargica from his plush mink-skin pillowcases, and swinging me around by my cabinet member. I think he was also rather unimpressed by the puncture wound massacre round my gangrenous and misshapen willy, that I had made by years of shooting synthetic amphetamines and heroin-derived opiates directly into my urethra.

I left shaken, yet with my chaste Christian virginity intact, which I quickly sold to a businessman upon a dark Marion Street parking lot. I was revolted when he stupidly stated Yngwie Malmsteen’s Rising Force album contained greater guitar work than ANYTHING Judas Priest’s own dynamic duo, the legendary K.K. Downing and Glenn Tipton, had ever done. I slapped him, proudly and defiantly flicked off the pearl necklace he had given me, took the agreed-upon five dollars, buttoned my shirt, unthatched the reigns and bridle and unmounted. I left with my head held high.

Has it truly come to this? Where number of notes outshines true songwriting talent? Hold me Halford, sing me your tender but brutal lullaby, let me turn down Malmsteen in favour of the haunting epic ‘Victim of Changes’, which contains the best vocal and guitar melodies in music. Spank me, Rob, take me to your ‘Island of Domination’ and show me ‘The Ripper’. Get to ‘Breaking The Law’ with me. I lick your bullet-belted leathers, gripping and squeezing them hard, and not letting go, never never let sweetly go, burning fiery passion into your seacrest tuna blue eyes, so bright, so bright, no Rob NO! Forgive me! Aaaaarrrgggh!

Oh man, better get the stunt cock …

True love knows not!

Oh yeah, I’m not gay or anything. But what about Mark Lundy? Here is the media saying that he killed Peg, Kelly and Bud, and went boy racing with Jefferson! Nuh-uh! I never saw that episode! Bud was recently seen on the set of Lampoon movies—which, career-wise is being murdered—and Kelly is on a poster on my wall! Peg is doing vocals for a techno band called Futurama.

I’m sick of bias! I want the truth! Well I can’t handle the truth! That’s what Michael Oliver told me in his best Jack Nicholson voice when I asked him what the hell was up with life, and stuff, you know, and just what ‘mature’ student Janet Sampson would do on the first date.

Now the fact that there is a competitive edge to this whole monopoly of truth thing is another example of how getting two people together immediately turns them both into politicians, and you can’t trust either of them. My friends, you can trust me on that. I am pretty confident that I will win the chocolate back rub and parsley cake this week, because I have been doing a lot of work for JJ Wood lately. Work… under his desk, if you know what I mean. Doing a lot of rubbing up and down… gyrating his little man, get it…? Releasing a lot of Jackson’s white liquid everywhere… Taking care of all the little baby Jacksons… yeah… yeah, you’re a dirty bitch, you know what I mean. I mean I’ve been sanding and undercoating Jackson’s Warhammer Fantasy Battle dwarf army with white paint.

Why, what did you think I meant? Oooo, yuk man, you are sick… you’re so biased… you need to get a bra….

Look, you need to relax! Go for a sweet moonlit swim with Rob Halford, forgive him for the 1988 cover of ‘Johnny B. Goode’ and just let him let you let him. But basted medications are so bullshit! It really gets my margaritiferon in an eye spliced half anglered reef knot! I think I will just get Janet Sampson to play with my bally ball balls.

Rebuttery Goodness
Judas Priest shot onto the scene with their eponymous 1976 debut, Sad Wings of Destiny, an album with solos as epic as Necrophagist’s hit disco single ‘Fermented Offal Discharge.’ Priest fully carb-loaded the world with ripping guitar riffs and a psychological bikerish croon with a depth and grace as yet unexplored by heavy metal pioneers like Black Sabbath and Deep Purple. Somewhat like a more edgier Uriah Heep, they rocketed to the top of British Metal early on in their professional life as a band.

So you see, Nic, it’s like this. Okay? You ready? Want me to lay it on the linebacker? Okay, here goes: Basically, if we take modern globalisation into account, corporately, the mass marketing of internet and communic—BABA BOOEY BABA BOOEY BABA BOOEY HOWARD STERN’S PE—

By Guy Armstrong

The media does not have a liberal bias

My dearest feck-stained and oat-mouthed Guy,

I write with the greatest of hopes that this letter finds you in good health. Mayhap the life on the orchard is doing you if not a world, then at least a continent of good? Keep harvesting those plums my good man.
Now as to your query of bias within the media, I must sadly and solemnly state that there is, and it’s purely infavour of the liberal agenda. I know, it sounds like none more than the poppiest of cocks. My good friend Rupert in fact controls a fair whack of the media. However, my gentle, mild and dim Guy, what you must understand is that Rupert Bear—as we call him at the club—is what you call a “closeted liberal,” as his ideals, which he spreads with the virulence of super AIDs throughout the unprotected anal cavities of his media concerns, just aren’t conservative enough.

Murdoch and many of his ilk want women at home not working: a return to the nuclear family. He, much like the Doctor Phil, believes that a little womb goblin should grow up with its womb tender tending to it. The way he does this is by publishing large quantities of propaganda about how neato-terrific and blessed motherhood is. This plants the seed of letting seeds be planted in your orifices into women’s seedy little minds. So this media churns trash out and mind controls party girls like Christina Aguilera, M.I.A. and Rhys Witherspoon into turning their bodies into baby manufacturing plants, which creates more fun information to be used in his publishing houses, making more women want to propagate like ferns. Like disgusting gametophyte producing ferns, encouraging a woman to have a child and then leaving her, the mother at home with the child is a terrible and new idea.

The more (wo)man hours spent with a child, the greater intellectual capacity it will have. We don’t want this. We should be trying to conserve and return to how life was before that minor upset the “great war”, whereupon every one man, woman and child worked hard and for a solid 12 hour period—the twelve to fourteen hour day being the most useful length of time everyone shared what little they had with each other, from housing right down to cholera. Nothing puts the unity back into community like an infectious disease. With a community kept lean by scarce resources, disease and more of that oh so throbbingly hard work that are too busy to demand changes, the people in charge, i.e. myself and Sir Roger (or Duggles, as we call at the club), will be able to keep staying the course through the slight market upsets and minor wars that keep every day interesting. We conservatives see that the most efficient jobs are factory ones, like steel manufacturing plants and Burger King. Everyone knows that the best Burger King worker is that inbred kid. We conservatives aren’t saying that we should cultivate inbreeding among the lower classes, so much as saying we should encourage inbred-like effects in the lower classes. I’m sorry Guy but that hot Whale Rider chick you get so sexually excited about should be back making movies while her child sorts screws in Kaitoke.

The Liberals who want change and fiscal clarity are missing the point—the masses are better off when they aren’t aware of what’s what. Even by mentioning that something could be considered “what”, they are forcing me to further their horrid and uplifting agenda. Through their massive release of words they can’t help but liberate all people, as the literate often refuse to shut their yaps, giving peasants and bee farmers access to all sorts of eldritch information. An apiarist can still make honey without knowing that my governmental pogroms are eliminating the weak and fungal strain of Welshness from our virile Pakeha gene pool—well, that is assuming he isn’t Welsh himself! I take it you’re not Welsh Guy. You just look so Flemish.

The point here, Guy, is that democracy is a liberal invention, and even by Murdoch buying into the John Key and John McCain electoral bid, he was voicing the dangerous liberal thought pattern of “people have choice.” No, they shouldn’t have a choice, Guy. Tyranny is so much more simple and easier to enforce. Democracy and liberalism are dangerous, as they inspire governmental weakness, and as I wrote earlier, I want things throbbingly rock hard. By publishing on these so-called “elections” Murdoch is playing a game with people’s safety. Much like suicide, information about elections should never be published, let alone published in such a positive light.

Guy, in short, we conservatives always err on the side of caution. Of course you should trust us with knowing what’s best without out even knowing what it is that needs to be thought of as best. Simply, Jeanette Fitzsimmons wouldn’t save a Chinese child from a burning building, but she’d make sure that you knew she could have. While I and my shadow government would have secretly made sure that it had fire extinguishers and access to a wasteful twelve-month course of herceptin, just to be safe. Publishing—it’s evil and wasteful Guy.

Blind Rebuttal

Sweet muddled Guy,

Your point that Lillian Gish is the “it” girl of the naughties has much merit. I believe that her mouth shows a yearning to be covered in an infinity of kisses and her eyes break both my heart and my waters. I know that you would marry her, and I’d gladly grant my blessings, but I must let you know this—Lillian was the “it” girl of the naughties. The Nineteennaughties, not the Twentynaughties. Oh Guy, she’s long dead and mouldering by now. Oh Guy, I never wanted to hurt you, just educate you on media bias.

By Nic Sando

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