Author: Stuart McCullough

So it has come to this – mankind’s endless quest to discover what lies beyond the bottom of the barrel has given us ‘twerking’. Never again will we be forced to ‘flash mob’, go ‘planking’ or perform the Harlem Shake because now we have something even stupider to do. Yes, it seems the fickle finger of fate is both pointed skywards and surrounded by two other fingers on either side as the letters ‘I’ and ‘Q’ are officially removed from the alphabet, pending a review.
Continue reading “Everybody Wants to Twerk (No, No. Not Me)”

Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all the others. Or so claimed Winston Churchill. Old ‘Chuggalugs’ Churchill might have thought he was qualified to speak from experience but I’ll politely disagree. I love the way that we, as a nation, go about the whole business; from the sausage sizzle right down to the ‘People’s forums’ in which impartial and undecided voters are shoved into a room to ask thoughtful, insightful questions whilst a twitter feed from blatantly partisan observers with tag names such as ‘Gransterman’, ‘The Nooger Man’ and the terrifyingly named ‘Thundernuts’, are broadcast below.
Continue reading “Idle Thoughts on Democracy”

It arrived without warning. Flushed with excitement, I immediately opened the email, eager to read its contents. Little did I realize that I was opening not so much an email as an absolute Pandora’s worm. It began with a simple if not traditional greeting of ‘hello Stuart’ before taking me to task for a sizeable violation of the English language. Had I accidently reverted to my native Esperanto without realizing? Relied too heavily on facial expressions? Apparently not. My crime was far greater than any of these. I had, it seems, used the word ‘gotten’ in an article.
Continue reading “An Ill Gotten Gain”

When you’ve performed sport at the elite level, certain instincts never leave you. I pulled on the maroon jumper of the Tyabb ‘Yabbies’ Football Club from Under 9s all the way through to Under 15s when I retired. I thought then as now that it’s better to leave when you’re still on top. But as comfortable as I was with my decision to retire from the game to which I gave so much, occasionally I am beset with second, third and even fourth thoughts. Truth is, though, it’s too late for me to change my mind, especially given my position of ‘half back flank’ has long since been filled.
Continue reading “The Awesome Rise of the Half Back Flanker”

Music is the food of love. But, truth be told, my own musical endeavours have been responsible for some pretty severe cases of food poisoning over the years. I’m sure some people play a few notes or hum a few bars and cause the world at large to swoon. That’s never been my experience. Most people play music for an audience. Not me. I’m lucky if even one person turns up. That’s not so much an audience as an audient. Nevertheless, I would play my heart out to the audient until that person would inevitably duck out to the toilets and never return.
Continue reading “Jazz from Hell: How I Ruined Music”

I suppose I’d gotten used to it. After several decades with the same name, a simple keystroke error means that I am Stuart no more. It was a mistake that, once made, could never be undone. I was reading something on the Internet when a message popped up and informed me that if wanted to continue, I would have to log on. Perplexed, I pushed a button and was informed in no uncertain terms that I was not a registered user. Fearing either deportation or having my kneecaps broken, I entered my contact details in the hope that this would cure my illegal status. There was nary a moment to lose. Nervous seconds passed as the computer contemplated whether to accept my plea for clemency before a message appeared: Welcome Stuatr.
Continue reading “The (Mostly) True Story of How I Challenged A Bride to a Dual”

Gazing on my own reflection
With loving, naked, pure affection
I must have been a touch distracted
As the steel on skin impacted
Cos in an instant, before I knew it
I was well and truly skewered
Trickling blood, a crimson creek
It struck me dumb, I could not speak!

Continue reading “Ode to a Selfie by K Rudd (as tweeted to Stuart McCullough)”

The trappings of success are plentiful when you’re a musician. Limousines, fabulous wealth and an adoring public – these are just some of the benefits writing a song that can be hummed by others will bring you. It’s not just wheelbarrows of filthy lucre, either. Indeed, it’s pretty much a law of physics that the greater the success, the more unusual the riches. Fur-lined bathtub, a diamond encrusted toothbrush and your own personalized range of sneakers – that’s how the truly rich and famous celebrate the unending glory that it is to be them. But speedboats made of chocolate and motorized socks will only get you so far. True superstardom means one thing and one thing only – your own monkey.
Continue reading “Monkey Shine On You Crazy Diamond”

It’s obvious. For decades, I have been left to wonder what my life’s mission should be. Will I invent a lifesaving medicine? Develop a new, supremely aromatic soft cheese? Maybe unlock the mysteries of the human heart? It’s probably foolish to aim too high. There’s no need to try and explain the universe and the meaning for life when explaining the meaning Celebrity Splash would surely be achievement enough. For years, I have been waiting for the moment when all is revealed and I finally know what it is I am meant to do. I need wonder no more. For, at last, I have a purpose. It’s not to invent a medicine, develop a cheese or explain a horribly misguided television program that sank deeper and faster than any of its contestants. No sir. Instead, my job is to prevent people using the term ‘amazeballs’.
Continue reading “Understanding the Universe: Where Do Hipsters Come From?”

Life is all about regret. Years race by and, before you know it, it’s too late. I am now forced to concede that some of my dreams will remain unrealized. Sadly, I will never know what it’s like to be nestled under the gilded wing of Johnny Young or how it feels to be a permanent cast member of the Young Talent Team. It’s a pity too – I had plans to really shake things up. In fact, I dreamt of turning the Team squarely on its head by making hitherto unimaginable song choices. I’d worked it out down to the last detail. After Johnny introduced me for the first time, I was going to slug mainstream Australia right between the eyes, not by squeezing out some schmaltzy power ballad whilst staring longingly down the barrel of camera two, but by performing all fourteen and half minutes of The Sugarhill Gang’s hip-hop masterpiece, ‘Rapper’s Delight.’
Continue reading “Leisureland – You Broke My Heart”