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Friday, November 26, 2010

Inside the mind of an Australian/Jewish Anti Racist.

Mathew joined Turner Freeman in 2009 as a clerk and was admitted as a Solicitor in 2010. His practice comprises a range of general civil matters. Mathew is focused on ensuring his clients receive the best possible outcome from their claim and will pursue the most appropriate avenues in achieving this.

He has a long association with trade unions and an in-depth knowledge of worker's rights. Mathew also a personal interest in social justice generally, in particular the promotion of multicultural tolerance and understanding.

Contact Mathew at Level 8, 100 George Street, Parramatta, NSW, 225 Phone: 02 8833 2500 Fax: 02 8833 2549

Talk about making a silk purse out of a pigs ear. Here is some real insight into Mathew Henderson Hau. Below, Mathew Henderson answers a critic concerning his post bragging about abusing children at a public beach.

Source.

Hi Mat,

A friend in Germany forwarded your link to me and after reading some of the things you have written, I feel pressed to write to you to enquire about your state of mental health. Are you sick? Are you depraved? Do you think it's funny to laugh at overweight children and to beat them up when you go to the beach? I was an overweight child and had to endure years of pain and torment at the hands of my peers. It is horrible now that I must sit back and watch my son endure the same hurt and pain at the hands of unfeeling people like you.

I was happy to read that you nearly broke your neck at the beach. You say this was karma and I tell you it was not. It was the power of our Lord working to punish you for your sick, twisted and evil ways.

Phyllis
-Savannah.

I've only included her introductory notes here. What followed for the next two pages of her email was a massive biblical wank concerning all the things that Lucifer and his army of little devils were going to do to me if I didn't change my wicked ways. I've spared you all from having to peruse it, I don't want to give anyone nightmares.

THIS is one I couldn't let go. I had to reply.

Dear Phyllis (I've given assumed names to both of my player haters here).

You use the term 'beat up' FFFFAAAAAAAAATTTT kids at the beach. I don't think I ever beat any of them up, I rocketed into them at a million miles per hour and scattered them like the little lard-bucket ten-pins they are but I never actually beat them up. THEY CRIED BECAUSE THEY LOST THE GAME, not because they were hurt!

If any of them got hurt during our little game maybe they should take a look at their own lack of speed and dexterity - see, if they weren't roly poly fat little fuckers, they would have had agility to avoid my cannon ball runs and thus NOT be hurt.

That is that issue settled.

YES, I think it is funny to laugh at fat children. HA HA HA HA BLOODY HA HA HA HA. If you've got a problem with it, don't read my blog; you seem well acquainted with the bible so read that instead.

However, if you look closely in the early chapters of Leviticus, you'll find references to John the Baptist drowning fat kids in the Jordan River. At least I didn't deprive them of oxygen or force them away from the fruitful activities of worshipping fire and tree-stumps. The latter activities probably achieved as much good as anything monotheism came up with anyway so you can't use bullshit theological wankery to deprive me of my new aquatic sport.

Speaking of deprivation. Maybe if you deprived your porky chopper of a son of thrice daily doses of Burger King, Fat Burger and whatever other horrendous fast food slop you Yanks seem to guzzle down by the bucket-load, he wouldn't be inclined to turn into a fat shit like you! Maybe you should lay off the Dairy Queen too mumma?

You're from the south so I'm assuming that your son IS your son and not also your fifth cousin twice removed, either way, nothing stopping him from becoming your fifth husband. Now fuck off and leave me alone.

DON'T pray for me. Pray for me and I'll sue! You're American so I'm more than sure you understand the last bit.

Yours Sincerely,

Mat.

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Mathew Henderson Hau on Child Abuse.

"I have discovered a new sport.

It is a cross between tenpin bowling, ironman and Turkish mud wrestling. I don't yet have a name for it; maybe one of my erstwhile readers will concoct something based on the following description.

The game is played in the surf, in rough surf with decent booming waves. Instead of simply bodysurfing and catching waves into shore for the pure physio-aesthetic appeal of it, you catch waves and bodysurf whilst aiming your trajectory at very fat children, the aim being to scatter them like tenpins.

Now, I've always had time for fat kids, I think they're a fantastic source of visual entertainment. Ok, it's not their fault that they're little porkers, it's the fault of lazy arsed parents who load em up with Maccas, KFC and Oporto's - it's more so the fault of these fast food magnates who literally 'push' the stuff onto the kids in the first place.

I suppose the boom in indoor recreational activities like Playstation and the like is also contributing to a nation of fat fucks. I blame parents again, kick the little fuckers outside to kick the footy around for a few hours - we can't expect to maintain our status as best sporting nation on earth if our childhood obesity rate is second only to the US.

However, if this obesity rate remains constant, we WILL be world champions in this new sport I am describing.

Saturday was a bumper crop; I waded out into the surf and cast my eyes around for prospective targets. I spy a cluster of five or six little fat cunts, all of them resplendent with the best man bosoms you've ever seen, one of them is wearing a mini wetsuit and you can make out each goddam individual roll of chubber - he was squeaking as he walked.

I swam out past the sandbank and waited for the next set to come in. I lined myself up with the target, moved a few metres to the south to allow for the current, looked back and saw my wave approaching. I sprang up from the ocean floor and hooked myself on it perfectly, keeping my torso ahead of the break; I steamed towards my Burger King sponsored tenpins like a fucking rocket.

BOOM, CRASH, SMASH, CRACK, "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?” GROAN, MOAN, SOOK!

They were all waist deep in the water midway through the sandbank when my head collided with their blubber. I must say, it was probably the softest and most bouncy collision (intentional or otherwise) I've ever been involved with.

They scattered. One flew back on his arse and then rolled over on his back; another two clashed heads and stumbled over sideways. Their leader, who I christened "Double beef, bacon and cheese" - or "D-BAC" for short, managed to hold his footing by virtue of his superior weight; the waves could have broken against him all day and he would have remained as immovable as a fucking lighthouse.

I didn't see where the rest of my targets lay but I took a great deal of pleasure in watching them dedicate a weeks worth of physical exertion to the basic primal activity of getting back off their arses. They heaved, grunted, sweated and mumbled obscenities as they re-grouped. I duck dived and swam back out, waiting for another ideal wave.

About ten minutes later it came and it came with a vengeance. It was one of those monsters that sensible beach-goers swim under or back out of at the last minute. It was massive and I knew I was going to spend a considerable amount of time flailing about like a spastic as it barrelled me along under water. I didn't have any time to aim for the fat kids, as I had to do a Mark Spitz to get out and reach the cunt before it broke. I hitched a ride and was flying along nicely, until it imploded about my ears.

I felt my legs lifted up from behind me and thrust somewhere in the general direction of the Blue Mountains as my body completed the double forward somersault with one and half pike. I looked up into the curl, took one last gulp of air and let it drag me under.

I rolled and bounced and tumbled along like a runaway tire and Catherine wheel combined, eventually I hit something squishy that made a sharp whining noise, "Oh fuck," I thought, a loose pod of Minkie whales has found its way to shore and I've just brained one of them!

Come on, how can I write a story about tormenting fat children at the beach and NOT include a whale metaphor.

As I rose for my first gulp of air in what seemed like hours, I bore witness to a repeat of the spectacle I'd just witnessed. Fat little cunts all struggling to get back on their feet, some of them hobbling now and a very pissed off looking D-BAC clutched his jaw and shot me daggers. I felt it pertinent to say something so I chirped out the usual up-beat apology that one offers in mid-surf collisions and made my way back out to the catching zone.

There was a slight lull, the tides were changing and the current was starting to shift. D-BAC's crew obviously knew it was game-on as they were pointing at me and wincing. They were much more closely packed now, it almost seemed as if they were trying to make themselves a smaller target. I decided to fox them out for while and caught a few waves in, sometimes not going anywhere near them, other times coming within a few feet.

This Mexican standoff continued for a good half hour. D-BAC would lead his herd to and fro across the sandbank. Sometimes he'd split them into pods of two so as to confuse me. It worked for a while as I'd look back and try and gauge their position but all I'd see would be one or two of them. His second in command, Q-PAC (Quarter pounder with cheese), had retreated from the surf only to return with his older, fatter sister. Or was it his mother? It was hard to tell. I didn't see any caesarean scars and I'm presuming that a porky little piano thrower like him could not have been brought into this world via a natural birth, so sister it is.

She stood impassively on the shoreline in a very unflattering puce bikini that was five sizes too small for her. Q-PAC tapped her waist and pointed out in my general direction, if it looked like reinforcements were going to be called in to upset the balance, I wanted to get this game sorted.

D-BAC marshalled his forces together for what looked like a pep talk of some description. They didn't have anyone keeping lookout for me so I made my move.

It wasn't the most ideal wave but it held up for long enough to give me some serious steam, this time I wasn't going to make it look like an accident. I torpedoed on towards them with arms outstretched and fists clenched, legs kicking like a madman to build up even more speed.

Q-PAC was the first to notice and he yelled a warning to the others but it was too late. D-BAC took my impact head on, well 'belly-on' anyway. He was finally dislodged arse over tit, signalling an end to the game and a victory to yours truly. The rest of them lay in a similar manner of physical disarray, moaning, groaning and (here is where I felt a bit too slack), one of them was actually bawling.

D-BAC spluttered and coughed as he raised himself back onto his oak tree legs. He looked battered, bruised and utterly defeated. In one of the most memorable concession speeches I've ever had the good fortune to witness, he put his hands on his hips, affected a very grown-up expression and said; "You KNOW we don't appreciate this shit!"

M.

posted by Darp @ 12:06 PM

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

You really need to start peddling some new material fatty. We're coming up 6 years of this same old tune and what have you got to show for it?

Have fun at KN. The boys love it but are faarrking sketchy about you!

doc marten general manager said...

fucking hell that was funny. fat kids and teens have no human rights. they are not human. they are simply land whales that deserve to be publicly denounced as the fatties that they are. they are decadent slobs of the west. they are the personification of decadence and degeneracy. they are subhuman. OINK OINK