Oh, blurry hell! It's not often Belgo Geordie gets hot under yon collar (ohhh, yarr says Mrs Belgo Geordie) boot there's some skull buggery a goin' on amidst the litter encrusted, rubbish bin postered streets of Newtown/ Enmore! Summats not right with the sauce ganderin' the inner west. Not only is tickets for Eric Burdon selling for three times the price hours after going on sale and "Chris on King Street" closing their doors on the cowboy hat wearing maestro of the junk emporium* boot Black Rose has gone-like it were niver thar! All the hand painted signs, posters and broken shop front gone and in its place, grey paint, papered out windas an an application for a place to sell booze**. Joost what Newtown needs more sales of sauce to bladder the descending hordes. And those lovely folk in their musty, dark clothing' with short fuses and lots of energy for keeping' us old socialists on our toes? Vanished. If I was of a more paranoid disposition I wood be thinking sum unscrupulous landlord has used recent goings on to turf the lads and lasses of the Blackened Rose cooperative out. Bloody capitalism has seen rents for shops in this area go up 100% for bugga all. Too many small businesses going' bum up as the relentless gentrification brings a sameness to what sells...and too many empty shops selling nowt...go figure how it makes business sense to gut what is a vibrant, diverse area and put nowt in its place.Boot not bein' of a sound medical disposition of the moment, an under the quacks orders I'm not to over excite meself more than an occasional game of drafts. So I called in a favour from an old Belgian mate to see if he could sniff out what the fook was going on. For me anarchist friends who knows their history like, he (me marra from Bruxelles) has seen the error of his ways since his days as a coloniser and recognise the style of barnet? Enough said, its common as muck on the pavements of Newtown and so this is what he filed concerning "The Mystery of The Vanishing Black Rose Cooperative".
8pm on a Thursday night the Polis
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| Our reporter with the bent pole |
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| The SCENE |
They whined on saying; all they was doing outside Black Rose was looking, trying to join up the letters of the titles of books in the window. But then for a reason lost on them and their innocent fantasy, all hell broke loose. It started when accidentally, Mr Stralian who was learning to tie his shoe lace, hit the record button on his 16mm hand held camera and while facing the recently broken windows of Black Rose (see picture)....Then, to the soundtrack Throbbing Gristle...
A further eye witness account by Mr Whiter Shade of Pale stated: "there was a sound like a crack of Mordor, a smell of rancid egg farts and three darkly dressed and glowering anarchists appeared out of the cracked windows, trailing webs of left wing slime and smoking rollies of substances nefarious to tobacco. Whereas they proceeded to alight on the pavement and surround him and Mr Stalin sorry Stralian. Identity kit pictures showed three bhuddists levitating threateningly, but then when they turned the artist around, Sarah Cox, aged six from the "Our Lady of Crusted Sabots Primary School" in nearby Seedynam, captured three shadowy presences with sharpened teeth dripping green saliva and dressed from head to foot in black. She said she was particularly fond of Halloween. She sobbed when told by a cruel passing socialist with a rough, north of England accent that halloween was an invention by American capitalism to turn her brain to jelly and make her fart out of her ears in multi coloured gobs of goo. But a real dinkum live witness was established when a girl over the road, who said she bore no resemblance to one of the FARTers girlfriend but was an independent witness who clutching a rope of garlic said she saw the great big, provocative, asking for it, lefty, toe jam smelling anarchist mob adopt a threatening position, demanding cigarettes and loose change.
But instead of apologising, turning and running the two long standing and possibly only members of FART and as you do outside an Anarchist Day Care Centre, confronted by people who were obviously bats; the alleged assailed proceeded to engage in political discourse and debate. In particular on the legitimacy of Leon Trotsky and the dialemic of shoe tying and the sell out of Lenin moving to velcro. This led to, anarchists generally hating Trots, to identify they were intercoursing with a pair of bone fide class enemies and paid up FARTers to boot. Rather than the baby anarchists shrinking back in awe, and asking for autographs they chose instead to launch a counter offensive unseen in Newtown since the Jets last played anyone from the Eastern Suburbs...they (the anarchists and not the Jets who keep their biffo to the paddock) like black Exocets in reverse swooped back into their shop, scattering old socialists playing crib and dominoes to emerge seconds later, heavily armed. I would like to point out although all three alleged assailants of anarchist persuasion had two arms each, it would not matter if any one of them had one arm, or part an arm or an arm that bent at a funny angle-they were in this instance fully armed.
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| The same SCENE sideways on... |
Chasing the two, by now wet FARTs (as an entirely innocent bottle of water was broken in the pursuit) 50 metres down the road to the petrol station. They were then driven by a wedge manoeuvre (witnesses said it was a red one) into a bollard and bowser with nowhere to walk away. Having cornered their foe and smelt petrol the anarchist posse then proceeded to shatter, drive and pole dance their helpless and hapless victims with unfair odds of three infants to two beefy red blooded blokes. Blokes although covered in blood, clods of grass, snot and g-strings were still able to get a signal and dial up a takeaway police service from the local Newtown nick (Nicked Towers) 50 metres in the other direction as the siren wails. (What ever happened to those lovely ringing, clanging bells of the Z-cars era?)
The police bicycle patrol were quickly on the scene and arrested everyone including the girl over the road who had fainted because her Portuguese Chicken had crossed the road and been run over by a rainbow coalition supporting prairie fox on a hover board with metal implements and rings in its tail. At the Lord Peter Fitzsimons Republican Hospital where the wounded and egregious were taken a spokes-thing said Mr Whiter 'n Whiter required six stitches to a cut on his hand, a meter reading for the fluorescent light still attached to the plug in his arse (I am sure this is a put in by a subeditor as the reporter wouldn't know this from an elbow) and a hundred and thirty butterfly stitches and Barbie plaster to his wounded ego. The hospital ejected a person saying they were representing of the Putty for White Supremacy, Knickers Fucks (or something that sounded approximately similar) and who desperately wanted to see Mr Pale Face's stitches. A Union representative said the bloody security was appalling and Mike Baird needed cross stitching with an industrial overlocker.
Police are still looking for an anonymous golfer with a particularly poor handicap as they took witness statements that he attempted five drives at Mr Blancs head. The fifth connected but ended up in the rough by his ear and did not reach the green. The police confirmed Mr Snow's head is the size and shape of a golf ball and distinctly white with dimpled skin. They issued an ink blot representation of the scroat they were seeking to aid and comfort them in their enquiries.
The other four were charged with assault and or affray and annoying the busy magistrate who said there are enough people drunk hitting each other without those who are not drunk causing a disturbance and hitting one another. Three were sent home (one with their mother, two with their carers and one is currently occupying a corner of the Newtown's Supreme Court facing the wall). Our bold and brave reporter approached the Anarchist's cooperative for comment who told him "To Fuck off as he was a coloniser and it was about time he came out." On Friday 5 February 2015 our reporter found an elderly gentleman having a tantie and blubberin like a bairn saying "Away man, I canna believe it! 3-0 at Toffees and naw this!" The reporter said he was off for a Kreig, moules and frites and some straight forward sex with his boyfriend. It had been one of those assignments and in future he would rather work for potty mouthed Chris Graham at New Matilda.
* I have been hassured Chris on King Street will continue to trade in fine china and baubles even if it be from a wheel barra on ta street. He has a wife and two bairns ta support, well his wife supports him boot its important for him to put sum bacon on table and have enuf coin in his pocket to sink the occasional pint down in the Dog an Tin Balls.
**It became a hairdresser fer gentlemen. joost wot Newtown needed - another fancy barber shop!
Belgo Geordie would like to point out, for those who are gullible, believe in the tooth fairy or who don't shave under their armpits: TinTin is not a real person and none of the events, pictures aside, described bear no bearing or baring on the events described in the articles below, or if they do it is purely incidental. He/she/they also have to declare he once donated a book to Black Rose called "Lenin and the Dialectic of Johnny Thunderpants".
http://www.smh.com.au/nsw/rivals-armed-with-fluro-tube-pole-golf-club-brawl-outside-anarchist-bookstore-20160129-gmh1gb
And if you like the cut of Mr Folkes jib see: http://www.abc.net.au/triplej/programs/hack/meet-the-nick-folkes-who-wants-to-celebrate-the-cronulla-riots/7014848
And for those who really still don't get it:
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| That is multicultural and proud of it Newtown..in case you missed the point |
YOU ARE NOT WELCOME IN NEWTOWN
SO FOOK OFF, AN DON'T RETURN
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