Now he breeds fighting cocks somewhere in Thailand and works on oil rigs as a movie projectionist.
Here's the first ever column he wrote, reviewing a dance compilation by Melbourne's Opus Collective.
Fuck my old boots, you have got to be joking. This would have been shit 15 years ago. It should be re-named Hopeless Collective.
It amazes me that people have got the nerve to release this nauseating bollox. These people must be really up themselves. Can't be from Melbourne. Oh, they meet in Fitzroy, it says on the cover...That explains it.
Sad sacks who learnt to store plastic buckets full to the brim of shit under the stairs from their mother. Absolute c*nts. Track number nine Dance On The Tables is the worst - some inane whining child molester touching himself backed by a vegan dwarf shitting dahl like a duck. Blow it out your arse, which is quite a lot like what this mob did when they released this. I still refuse to take these hair matted with spunk art freaks seriously. Ooh queue up for hours at film festivals, bring our own fruit and nuts talking banal shit all through a Polish remake of American Quilt. The only way to enjoy this would be whilst shoving a carrot up your arse and the carrot bit is the only bit that's enjoyable.