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DEAR READERS For those of us born in the 90s, we grew up with the internet, and the internet grew up with us. From your first family computer to the first time you connected to the web (via low speed dial up, no doubt), each and every milestone was a momentus occasion. As we evolved, so did our use of the internet. Funny Junk, MSN, Neopets, MSN Groups, Bebo, Myspace, Youtube, and finally Facebook have all dominated a significant part of our lives, at one point or another. “But my life was never dominated by Funny Junk...” Fuck you, it’s got some hilarious shit and if you can’t even admit that then you’re less than human. The cyber world is a big place, to which we owe much of the success of this very magazine. I personally use it every day, and I know the kids on Degrassi: The Next Generation get a lot of use out of it, and most of you probably use it too. But do you really know the internet as well as you think you do? Much like Fortitude Valley, despite the fact that I go there every day, I am always surprised by the freaks and perverts that lurk around every corner of the internet. Pleasantly surprised, might I add. And so, with the release of the 6th issue of BATS, we honor cyberspace. With its charms and its surprises (both welcome and unwelcome) it has, both metaphorically and physically, found a place in our family homes. In doing so, it has also weaved its way into our hearts and minds (metaphorically, not physically)(unless you have a really high tech pacemaker, I guess that could work) (or if you’re a robot, that could also work)... Mass communication will save us all. xxx

B AT S was w as hhere ere

FEB FE B 2 01 0 2010


WHO? Aloha. I’m Alex Wall aka Edward Cullen. WHAT? By day I surf the waves and frolic by the sea. By night I creep around night clubs and music gigs, taking advantage of drunk girls, using my camera as a social lubricant. I also take photos of people and bands at gigs and parties, and then post these photos on my website, Then people can view them the next morning and see how, drunk, hot, fat, gross, or pregnant they looked and maybe put it as their FB dp and be totes pop. WHY? WWJD. I guess I sorta used to take my camera out to parties and then was stuck with all these photos of randoms and kept getting lame emails from gross people asking me where they can get their photo. So I started the website and started going to more stuff and eventually people would ask me to come to their parties or gigs to take photos. Which is cool cause I’m poor and now I don’t have to pay to go to clubs or festivals. And I also do it cause it’s fun and easy, and I love the fact that I have really gross photos of half the Gold Coast’s 18-25 year old population on my home computer, which I can use as black mail and take over the world. WHERE? My humble abode is on the Gold Coast, so I tend to go to most of the stuff that goes on down here, or sometimes Brisbane if I get really motivated. But I have really bad luck with Brisbane, so I have to be really motivated. I like going to stuff that I think will be fun and where I wont be surrounded by southern cross tattooed, VB drinking dudes who ask me to take photos of them flexing their steroid induced biceps.

Rachael Melmeth

Charlotte Lynch

Bette Ward

Kelsey Heinrichs

Emily Donohoe

Other contributors include: Neese Gill, Bob Matt, Ryan Phillips, Alice Rezende, Dom O’Donnell, Jordan Overbye and Ebony Ray.

BATS is a free Brisbane-based street press created by five teenage girls who meet every now and then in a cult-like manner. We aim to showcase Australian art, music, photography and design, while bringing you knick knack journalism that will most likely leave you disgusted. We also throw parties.

email Facebook: search BATS magazine cover shot by Kelsey Heinrichs - model: Laura Busch

For one week in November, every year without fail, the whole nation comes to a startling realisation: “Holy shit. Those assholes are our nation’s future. We’re fucked.” Yes, I am speaking about Schoolies and yes, indeed, we are fucked. Today’s Schoolies are tomorrow’s doctors, lawyers, journalists, police, priests, florists and teachers. This year, like every year, there has been even more calls to ban the beloved end of year celebrations. I think this is bullshit. Aside from the fact that freedom of movement is a basic human right, banning Schoolies would strip Australian teens of the unique and liberating experiences that a week of freedom provides. “What are these lessons, oh wise Charlotte?” I hear you ask. And so I present to you:

7 things you can only experience at Schoolies.

1. Shirtless Boys

There are vastly more shirtless boys at Schoolies than anywhere else in the world. There are even more than in the new Twilight film New Moon, except replace the overwhelmingly gay cut off jean-shorts in New Moon with a classic pair of RipCurl below-the-knee board shorts. Throw in a pair of Australian flag thongs and you’re set for a big night out.

2. Drunk Sluts “But I can find drunk sluts at any private school party!” I hear you say. Yes, stumble on down to your local Ascot mansion on any given Saturday night and you will find an array of sluts and hoes whose outfits are, in their entirety, a bra and a matching pair of socks... but they totally paid $500 for it at Bam and Juju so it’s okay. Schoolies is different though. Gosh, Schoolies takes it to a whole new level. Girls who were once really quite nice and wholesome suddenly become beer-chugging, breast-flashing, downright hoes.

3. Incoherent Chanting There’s nothing like a classic alcohol fueled “titz ouT f0r tHa boiz, tit$ oUt 4 Tha b0iZ!!!” at 3am in the morning. Or just incase you forget where you are and why you’re there, there’s always someone around to chant the classic “Schoolies, Schoolies, Schoolies” etc. The best thing about these chants is that you can never be entirely sure what exactly is being chanted, but guessing is part of the fun.

4. Christians Ah, the dreaded red frogs. For those of you who don’t know them, they are a group of die hard Christians who give out lollies and make pancakes for vulnerable and impressionable young Schoolies. They flock to the Gold Coast during Schoolies Week, not just from Australia, but from all around the world. So help you if you are caught alone with a group of them, they will preach to you until your ears bleed (in a somewhat holy manner, of course). Within 15 minutes, four red frogs had the ability to brainwash me to the extent in which I was actually questioning my hedonistic atheist views. Thank fuck for my strength of character, my general ability, and my ease of lying, for when that manipulative religious freak asked me if i would start going to church, I smiled and said “Yes! Yes I will!” and then went and did shots.

5. Angry Angry Hippos Mmmm. Fat angry bogans. They light up my life. I watch them on TV and see them in the news, I even see them in the street sometimes. But at schoolies, I was actually lucky enough to be heckled by some of them. “Wat the fuk is up wif ya FUKEN hair you ugger bitch!” one said to me as I walked through Cavill at two in the morning. A feeling of pure happiness took over my body; I was actually being spoken to by an angry hippo. Life’s a dream when you’re not as fat as the person who’s insulting you.

6. Pill Muncherz There’s nothing like being in the lift of the Islander and listening to two identical looking girls dressed in head to toe Supre recount talking about how they have quadruple dropped every hour on the hour for the entire week. Of course, they didn’t have to actually say it for me to know, but they said it anyway, even though it was obvious from the fact that they smelt like an asshole and had hair extensions that looked like they had been made out of Barbie hairs all tied together. Their “Schoolies ‘09” singlets had makeup and fake tan all over them, “bUt dAts bEcOz dey toTez wore dEm Errday!”. They also looked like they’re about to die of malnutrition. Granted, they haven’t had time to bathe, change clothes or eat yet, they’ve been too busy raving, re-applying make up and hooking up with randoes.

7. General acceptance of things that are commonly shunned by the rest of society. Drunkenness, Hard Drugs, Public Nudity Promiscuous Sex. If you think it’s wrong, you’ll see it at Schoolies. And when you do see it, you won’t even be shocked. You’ll be like “Oh ok, there’s a drunken 17 yr old girl performing an abortion on her equally if not more drunk friend. Loose.”

Since the untimely death of Myspace, Facebook has become the new social networking site of choice (sorry bebo, you’ll have your time). Perhaps the greatest thing offered by Facebook that Tom could just never think of is shitty groups that annoy your friends and plague your news feed. Most of these groups are shit, but there are a few that are hard hitting and important and will go far in the future to explore the average cunt from the 21st century. By Bette “to old to be your girlfriend, to young to be your mother” Ward

Mr. Rudd, Where are our laptops??? Seriously Kev, where the fuck is my laptop? Actually, if students from grades 9 – 12 buy a laptop and claim it on tax they receive half of it on their return the following year. Look, mate, I really don’t care. I expect Kev to come with me to Chermside to the Mac shop and buy me a laptop.

Michael Caine for Pope This guy is the originally Alfie, he starred in the third and no doubt best Austin Power’s movie and was Batman’s faithful house boy, in not one, but two Batman films. Plus he can’t be any worse than the Nazi who’s running the show now.

Rugs-A-Million Has Been Closing For The Past 10 Years I remember when I was really young and saw this ad on TV and told mum we should buy one immediately. She looked at me with a twinkle in her eyes and now I know why. Rugs-AMillion will never close, as sure as Bart and Lisa will never grow up.

I bet I can find 169,000 People who Hate Nickelback Nickelback are a shit band. I hate them and I’m sure there are 169,000 people who do too. I even think the members of Nickelback hate Nickelback.

Fuck this… I’m going to Hogwarts I am still waiting for my letter. And no mum, no matter how many times you write one to me, I still know you are not Albus Dumbledore, you are not a 150 year old wizard with gray hair. The jig is up.

When Edward Cullen took his shirt off in New Moon, I didn’t like it. Standing next to Jacob Black’s actual God like figure really puts Robert Patterson’s weird right nipple to shame.

Giving bald people shampoo You really just don’t realise how funny it is until someone brings it to your attention.

I wish the stingray had impaled Bindi instead. Bindi Irwin haunts my dreams and my life. She’s the reason I leave my hallway light on after I go to bed.

I’m sexually inappropriate with my friends, but I’m actually not gay I have some hot friends, what can I say?

Girl Crushes have been around since the days of the Bible when Ruth had a definite admiration for Mary Magdalene for her sharp wit and winning dress sense. The only way I could really describe what goes into the girl crush is to share the chicks I dig:


Susie from I Heart Hiroshima

Likes a rolled cigarette and a beer. Enjoys party mix and audience participation, I want to be on this chicks arm.

Ginger Lindsay Lohan Mean Girls star and star of my heart, Lindsay Lohan was hot back in the day, with flaming hair to match her flaming bod. She could even stand by herself without fear of being blown away by the wind. Red Lindsay I wish you were back, but no, now we’re plagued by orange Lindsay who weighs the same as her hair extensions.

Blair Waldorf It readily comes down to the fact that I want her life. I want to be able to live in New York, date both Chuck and Nate and wear high heels to school. Her only flaw is that she actually does have kankles. There I said it. No one wants to believe it, but that’s why she spends most of the series in black socks. She has fucking fat ankles.

Miley Cyrus Bitch looks like she puts out and I like that .

BY EEMI MI LY D DONOHOE ONOHOE The Final Destination; the promise of disturbing deaths scenes on the big screen lured me in along with the prospect of free “take home” 3D glasses and candy in the back seat of the car on the way home. I sat down with a half eaten choc top in my hand and was pissed off at myself for drinking half my frozen coke before the movie “Why do I always do this to myself?”. Not sure whether or not I should put my 3D glasses on to watch the 2D advertisements, as some eager tourists did, I waited until the feature. The opening scene looked promising; four friends enjoying a day out at a racecar rally, when something goes horribly wrong. A car crashes and consequently causes the impossible deaths of a few hundred people. At this point the 3D effects took place, when flying debri flew out towards the onlookers and the cinema audience collectively gave out a quiet but sincere “ah” as they proceeded to reach their arms out as if it were real – embarrassing themselves in the moment. However, like most movies that have unfeasible story lines, this death scene was actually a premonition that one of the main characters had. He then sets to save his friends and a few other onlookers from their decided death – gambling his sanity and chance to have sex with his girlfriend that night. As the storyline reached the ten minute point, it was clear the script writer had run wild with stereotypes. A jock with an insufficient penis, a slut, a more retarded yet slightly more modest but still prominent slut and “the nice guy” but as rumour has it, the biggest slut of all. When the jock finally finishes talking about his pen15, the foursome begin to talk about the “ToTallYy freaky” way that all the people they have saved could have died and quickly come to the very common knowledge that the premonition was a glitch in fates plan and that they weren’t supposed to see it and that they are supposed to die in the exact same order that they saw. Duh. Fate has always tripped me out to be frank. Like, if you were supposed to have a premonition, is that not fate in itself to live? It’s kind of like looking inside a picture of a picture or thinking about space, I don’t want to go there. Twenty minutes in and the film has really gone to funky town (by “fun” I mean “S” and by “ky” I mean “HIT”). The “fate” scenes are very poorly done. If you look closely enough, you can even see the producers foot kicking a generator, which makes a can of paint knock over a car, to subsequently crush a man to death like play dough spaghetti “I told you to wear your hard hat GOD DAMN IT”. In fact I just don’t think they are really trying anymore. The death of one mother, who had a rock pelted at her eye, is really just a case of a negligent public servant mowing the grass. All and all I entertained myself flipping the glasses up and down to see the difference between 3D and 2D (“what about now” “oh ok”). And it’s no surprise in the end they all die, I’m just putting it out there. Please, if your thinking about going 3D, might I suggest a Christmas Carol? I hear it’s not too bad. The Final Destination; rent the other three.


The shovel and spade: these simple, albeit exciting pieces of technology have been used for hundreds and thousands of sprinkly years by inexperienced labourers of a Sunday morn, who try to migrate a palm tree from “around the front” to a more suitable place as a feature near the pool in the back garden, only to find out that the hole they had dug was not even nearly as deep as it should have been and really ought to have hired a bobcat excavator for the day. Despite the fact they couldn’t afford one due to the stress of the global economic crisis on small business owners. Tough times; tough times. And during these tough times one must reflect upon the role technology is playing and whether it is hindering or accelerating “THE EVOLUTION OF MANKIND”.

First of all, let’s figure out what can be classified as technology. Let us pigeon-hole the most mundane objects of everyday life by creating a flow chart and a humble pie graph. Now after you’ve done that, grease up the hypothetical baking tray, line it with hypothetical rosemary sprigs and pop it in the hypothetical gasleaking stove for a couple of minutes until you hypothetically “pass-out” from boredom. The usage of technology can pose some difficulties for the disabled (i.e. computer keyboards for quadruple amputees with a frostbitten nose) and even for fully-abled people can be as convoluted as pretending to cherish a withering Grandparent who can’t control their own bladder, let alone look after the pet goldfish you gave them for Christmas last year (which now lies motionless on the surface of the water). However, technology doesn’t always need to be like this. It can be as easy as taking advantage of an intoxicated schoolies girl with low self-esteem. Of course I’m not saying that anyone should stoop this low to try and impregnate a teenager; all I’m saying is that if they didn’t want to get raped in the first place, then maybe they shouldn’t dress so much like provocative “ladies of the night” (i.e. sluts, slags, whores, hookers, slappers, etc.). Again, I must mention that I wouldn’t recommend raping people purely based on their dress sense; all I’m saying is that maybe it would knock a bit of sense into those skanks, and make them think twice before blurting out abbreviated MSN language as if they were actual words (i.e. ROFL pronounced as ‘roffle’) on public transport. On the other side of this dichotomous muddle of MSN-savvy skanks is the world of fully-grown and nearly dead human-beings who can’t work a calculator under the confines of the length of a ‘World Vision’ advertisement to figure out how much it would cost them per year to “give hope” to a starving African child with AIDS for a dollar a day. I remember the days when my parents used to make me check if there were any emails for them, for they weren’t able enough to do it themselves, poor souls. They would say, “Oi you, come here and see if there are any emails for us” (I assume that many people would be wondering why my parents would assault me with such a vile beckoning, but don’t be fooled by the rocks that I got, coz I’m still Jenny from a southern suburb of Brisbane with the majority of its inhabitants working in clerical positions according to Wikipedia), then I would have to endure the guffawing and knee-slapping which ensued whilst they read through endless emails sent by their friends and colleagues. These emails turned out to be more racist than a ‘southern-cross’ tattooed bogan wearing boardshorts and an Australian flag as a cape, whilst on its hind legs and spraying nasally opinions about boat-people out an orifice in its head followed by condescendingly screaming the contour of the national anthem to a recently naturalised Vietnamese family.

Finally, I come to the disappointment of rising expectations of what technology should be able to do and will illustrate this point via an anecdote. Once upon a time whilst I was busily working away at my place of casual employment, when the local “crazy lady”, who walks with her head tilted to one side (parallel to her shoulder), came in and purchased a notepad and an assortment of colouring pencils. This was so she could “document her thoughts and draw pictures of her visions of heaven and hell” which, as she regularly says, she’s continually being thrown between, like some unwanted and tattered Furby which has now been abandoned in the attic and is waiting for the right moment to utter its final “I love you” before its batteries start leaking and corrode its internal metal organs to a murky desolate mess. “What suburb would have a “crazy lady” that can roam the streets so freely?”, I hear you ask. Well, most suburbs I suppose, but a clue to the one I work in is that it ends with “idge” and starts with “woodr”. From the brief exchange of words which occurred during the transaction, the question arose as to where she would be able to get a camera: “What kind?” I asked. “Digital” she said. “Probably from WOW sight and sound” “How much would that be?” “Probably a couple of hundred of dollars for a decent one” “No, I meant the ones you can chuck away after usuing them.” (At this point I looked blankly at a child passing by behind her in a pram) “You could probably get one from the chemist next door.” I said “How much would it be?” “Probably ten or so dollars at the most” (I said with no authority on the subject) “I’m going to save up for one so I can take pictures of my hallucinations and prove to my doctor that they’re real”. I then stared into her sedated eyes and remembered the time she came down to the shopping centre wearing nothing but a one-piece swimming suit. Then the marble dropped with such force, that it shattered a newly laid tile on the floor resulting in my strangulation from a troubled tradesman: I was having a conversation with “crazy lady”. I then proceeded to ask another member of staff to confirm I wasn’t speaking in tongues. Now let’s imagine “crazy lady” did end up getting a disposable camera, waiting for her hallucinations to come and to then take pictures of them. Now let’s imagine the pain, frustration and possible further mental breakdown when she picks up her film from being developed and sees blurred pictures of blank walls. Will she be discouraged as to try again? Oh no, I highly doubt it. With one of the most forward thinking minds of the early 21st century, she’s probably busy making a machine to read hallucinations right now…… or possibly just using crayons to decorate dried up dog faeces.


Over the past few months it has become increasingly apparent that I have an unhealthy relationship with Facebook. Much like my prior relationships with alcohol, slutty man whores from the Normanby and Coles choc chunk cookies, I am beginning to find myself dangerously dependent on my Facebook fix. So with this in mind I have decided to end my long term affair with Facebook and find myself a new love outside the cyber stratosphere. But as we all know breakin’ up is hard to do, so I wrote myself a little list, of the good times and the bad: all a memory of the love I once shared with little old FB. 1. Glamor shots

killing spree than receiving a Farmville request. I don’t want to feed your fucking Being the full time Facebook stalker that I retard cow or buy corn from your fucking am, I love that people post thousands of farm so stop sending me fucking Farmville lol-tastic photos of themselves on Facebook requests before I club you to death with my which are obviously shit and half porno. keyboard. I also share similar sentiments I’m not going to lie, I enjoy a nice set of tits when it comes to Vampire Wars, Mafia Wars, as much as the next girl, but it’s kind of like Cafe World, Virtual Aquarium and “what is “Hey babe if I wanted to see your hoochie your stripper name?”. hanging out then I would’ve bought a playboy”. These photos have brought me 4. Bitch fights. endless joy. Bitch fights via Facebook are [like totally] one of the best forms of virtual 2. Facebook Chat entertainment you can get for free. “Omg Because I was a sexually deprived private leah u bitch i can’t believe u fucked robbie school girl, MSN messenger played a vital role you stupid slut. U deserved to get pregnant in the formative years of my pre pubescent you dirty centrelink slut” hook ups. Facebook chat of course was the No explanation needed. obvious progression from msn and so I said goodbye to my extensive collection of 50 cent 5. Drunk Photos. themed emoticons. Recently I hit the town for a night out, got Rookie Error One: I discovered I actually plastered and thought I was a pussycat really hate Facebook chat. It’s kinda like doll. At the time I obviously believed I was the ugly twin of MSN or the inbred cousin of the hottest slash skankiest fly dancer in Bebo. I don’t roll with the whole tiny chat the universe, but the camera never lies, boxes which make you feel visually impaired and I was in fact just hideously wasted, or the really fucking aggravating popping bordering on morbid obesity and looking noise it makes when someone is talking like I was having an epileptic fit. Drunk to you. It’s like “hey dawg” pop pop pop, photos inevitably end up on Facebook cornea explosion. Not cool Facebook, not and shameful moments on the dancefloor cool. turn into public forums about your raging alcoholism.

3. Farmville

At first I though Farmville was cute. Like as in “hey look at that baby panda eat some grass and shit on itself” kind of cute. But it’s not, and nothing more on the face of this planet makes me want go on a psychotic

L O C AL LOC A L MUSIC MU S IC Here at BATS, we a bit biased towards The Swamplords. They are currently one of our favourite Brisbane bands, and it’s easy to see why: they’re awesome live, they make us dance, hop, clap, shake and spasm. They’re loud, they yell and they’ve got a beat that could keep you going for hours (unlike AMI’s Nasal Delivery Technology). Those who attended our last launch party and were fortunate enough to see them play would more than certainly agree with us whole heartedly. Who are you? Mitch “rocksteady” Perkins, Nicholas “Asparagas” Rowan, Jeremy “Swamplord” Hindmarsh and Lewis “Pertunia” O’Leary.

Give us three reasons why your music is better than the entire Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana discography? For all three reasons: No one should listen to what a 13 year old girl has to say.

What do you play? Hillbilly Jazz What don’t you play? Surf Rock Largest influences? Our bank accounts Smallest influences? Our bank Accounts Describe your sound using colours: Period, blue and orange.

Where will The Swamplords be in five years? Tired...Insane...and not much in the brain, or the bank account.

Yo La Tengo or Tango? Tango. Angel or Buffy? They’re not good. Bill Clinton or Hillary Clinton? Hillary Clinton is a reptilian humanoid. The Jam or strawberry jam? Strawberry jam, because Mods suck. i-phone or i-snack 2.0? No one cares except the Australian public. Beethoven: the musician or the dog? The musician, because Beethoven licks it’s own balls. If you had the chance to work with any musician (dead or alive), who would it be and why? Michael Jackson, because it would make us lots of money.... and we’re not ashamed of selling ourselves. Would you ever go on Today Tonight to further promote your music? Definitely... many times.

Got any tours, records or career changing plans in the near future? We’re maybe touring the Sunshine Coast in February. We are working on a release. Where can our readers get your music? Head over to our myspace at: Occasionally we put new stuff up on our blog at, and hopefully a new release very soon. Mermaids of Tahiti (the solo album by Jeremey Hindmarsh of The Swamplords) was released on the 27th of November. You can grab one of the limited edition copies with artwork done personally by Jeremy through Bedroom Suck Records:

MU S IC MUSIC Neon Navajo are three dudes from the US of A. And unlike most bands we feature, they found us and it was love at the first beat of their song. The best way to describe their sound is, as a fan on their myspace said, “if Zelda fucked Test Icicles without a condom”. Seriously though, their shit is sick and best of all - it’s free. None of that Radiohead shit where the price is up to you - you can download all their music at Who are you? MR AKA MILLER from NN AKA NEON NAVAJO and we are a three man wolf pack. I play keyboards and sometimes wear a neon green mask to hide from creepy people because I have social anxiety. What do you sound like? Fucking spiritual. Reminders of bad mushroom trips in the woods. Flashbacks and Deja vu. Space? [UMMMM…. MYSTIC Dance punk] What don’t you sound like? THE JACKSON 5. Although I wish we fucking did. [RIP MJ XOXO] What are your biggest non-musical influences? Film Maker Werner Herzog and storyteller Dr. Seuss Do you illegally download music? I hate to say I do, but I think free music is such an amazing thing. I feel bad at times but I have to educate myself on what’s out there…. and with the economy going to shit now a days people can’t really buy that 15 dollar CD which is why NN give all their music for free because we are all about the kids and letting them know what’s up.

If Bette Midler wanted to join your band, would you let her? YES!!!!!!!!!!! SOOoOO good. She’s wild. What are your New Year’s resolutions for Neon Navajo? Hang out with THE BATS girls,World domination. On tour with groupies and cash. (HA yeah yeah) Clubs or House Parties? HOUSE PARTIES only because if you want to get naked you can and wouldn’t be kicked out. 3 day festival or 3 day bender? BOTH? Crystal Castles or Crystal Meth? Meth. Punk rock or frat rock? PUNX My mum or your mum? BOTH? Where will Neon Navajo be in 5 years? In Japan being loved by crazy Asians on crystal meth listening to Crystal Castles and living with a kite flying society. Where will Neon Navajo be tomorrow night? I wish I knew. Any plans for future records? MAYBE but I know there will be lots of free music. [MP3’s] Where can our readers get your music? Download all our shit.

ph o to s by

d a r k n e s s aw a i t s n ow. bl o g s p o t . c o m

F E ATURE AT U R E D ARTIST ART IS T Brisbane artist/genuine teenager Angelica Roache Wilson, has recently completed her first year of Uni at Queensland College of Art, and has had her work in many exhibitions (including two BATS group exhibitions). We thought it was about time her work graced our pages so everyone could appreciate her creations as much as we do.

Who are you? Angelica; proud recipient of your parents tax dollars. I put them to good use, fueling my hedonistic lifestyle which sometimes results in nice things for you to look at. Money well spent?

though. I think that reverse engineering, meaning from works created unconsciously, is a totally legitimate process (in spite of all of my high school teachers objections) that creates much less contrived work.

What do you do? Pick my nose till it bleeds.

I’m also influenced by the work of Mel Stringer, Helani Liask, Maddy Young, Edward Gorey, Manlitu, Lauren Albert and Charmaine Verhagen.

Describe your style in a haiku: I couldn’t decide on one: What if Tank girl got An Inferiority Complex and gained weight? Sullen teenage girls Smoking themselves to death With unborn children Leukemia kids Don’t frolic in meadows They shoot themselves (you’ve been mislead by leukemia foundation propaganda) What are your major influences? Most of my stuff pretty cathartic, so the main influence is whatever is going on around me really. I don’t do it out of vanity or anything, it’s just more honest that way; write what you know and all of that kind of crap. Although lately I’ve been creating pretty mindlessly. Feels good, man. Maybe unconsciously is a better word than mindlessly

What are your minor influences? Boredom, inebriation, being pissed at boys (who sulk too much), punk kids and whatever I happen to be reading at the time. If a picture paints a thousand words, then what writes a thousand pictures? A teenage girl armed with angst and a succession of shitty mixed metaphors. (Twilight fans?) How does studying full time affect your creativity? I think it is more a case of my creativity affecting my study. I just have to keep reminding myself that good grades are for sycophants and that I could take half of my lecturers in a fight. It’s brilliant compensation for subpar grades. Where do you see yourself in the next decade? Couch-surfing in some foreign country.

Where do you see yourself tomorrow night? Assembling instant miso soup in the kitchen and watchin’ the 7:30 report. Give us three reasons why your work is better than Mi Goreng? 1. My work is anno friendly 2. Over consumption of my work doesn’t result in diarrhea. Mostly. 3. You wouldn’t slide slowly into depression if my work stopped existing. Acrylic or Oil? Acrylic. Realism or Reality Tv Shows? Reality TV. Craft work or Kraftwerk? Kraft cheese. Elmo or Grover? Grover. Gold Coast or Sunshine Coast? Fuck, neither. Needle in a haystack or Fiddler on the roof? Fiddler on the Roof for sure. Where can our readers get their assorted limbs on your work? My lil’ art zines “Quietly” are sometimes available at Comics etc. And are usually free. Otherwise you can hit up:

FAS H IO N FASHION What do you do? I sew funny clothes and draw a lot of fridge art. Fridge drawings are fun to do. I recommend it. What do you WISH you could do? I wish I could grab Brisbane by the balls, mobilize young children into a dark sweat shop in Wooloongabba and start a hazy fashion factory. Nah, but seriously. I wish I had a local banging fashion brand and that all the cool kids wore me. Where do you take inspiration from? Music, a lot of that; half-baked mornings; my childhood in which I spent drawing waterfalls. Ah! I should also say, I love Style. com. Great show reviews. Have you ever heard of Tim Blanks? That gentleman is so charming, look him up when you get home. Where don’t you take inspiration from? Oh, that’s a bit mean. I don’t know. I like everything. I’m a liker, not a hater. I guess I try to stray away from that common “indie look”. You know, the frames, the sweet polished Docs, the distressed cut offs and bubbly sunflowery goodness. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s fucking cute!... But we don’t all have to look like Prada models in between shows. Spaghetti straps or Spaghetti Bolognese? Spaghetti Bolognese is like the bastard child of Italian food. A meal best untouched. Spaghetti straps are cute, if you are 15, or have no boobs. Or both. Little black dress or little black book? Oversized pullovers. Anna Bligh or Anna Corren? Anna Bligh apparently shops for smart suits where I work. She is a fine lady and I like her honest face. Anna Corren is a fucking bitch.

So many designers name their labels after themselves, do you think it’s cocky, unoriginal or just lazy? I think it’s fine really. I mean all the big designers do it. Although labels with cool names are LIEK SO MUCH COOLAH. RITE? I don’t know. I guess if you have a good name it’s worth a shot. Some people have naturally occurring popstar names. Like Tyler Jones. Fuck you, Tyler. If you could be anyone’s (dead or alive) personal stylist, who would it be? Oooh you tempt me so... Could I just be a groupie? Kim Gordon circa Dirty. She would probably blow off any advice I gave her anyway. A friend of mine once asked me very nervously, “You know those guys from Sonic Youth are massive stoners?” How would you describe your own personal style? I have no idea. I feel nauseaous just thinking about it. Many men have faltered after realising I am a complete fashion disaster. HA. No. Really. I CAN’T ANSWER THIS QUESTION. What is an accessory that goes with anything? A mouth full of fun stories. A baffling personality. In the absence of this, a black Chanel bag always overcompensates. What does the future hold for Alice Rezende? An online store, made-to-measure graphic prints, hours on end in front of Illustrator, porn parties, Melbourne RMIT, and Cobrasnake waiting for me at the altar. Or maybe that hunk Ed from the last season of The Bachelorette... mm-hmm.

p h otogr ph o to gr aph ap h er ss:: Kelsey H ein r ich s & Jord Jordan an O verbye ve rbye m od odeel:l: LLau au r a Bu sch s ch clo th es & stylin g by Alice R cloth Rezende e zen de


NINA, 19



ELLA, 18,




and other difficult situations. BY R RACH ACH AE L MELMETH ME L ME T H

“Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get”. Forrest Gump may have freaked me out when I was a little kid, but boy was that gimp-legged classroom freak right. Sometimes in life, you pick the shit chocolate. The horrible mint flavour, or that extremely chewy coffee flavour that you so desperately want out of you mouth, but alas, it has stuck in the crevices of your teeth. Here are some tried and tested excuses of getting out of almost anything* *not murder Getting out of tests There’s nothing like the old “I’ve got my periodddd” to make a middle aged science teacher flush pink and mumble “you’re excused”. Note: this may not be as effective if you’re a male. In fact, it may lead to a furrowing of a concerned teachers brow and several counselling sessions.

Calling in sick for work So, grandma’s been dead four times and you’re currently desperately thinking of an excuse to call in sick when your shift is in an hour and you’re on the way to the beach? Nothing will get you out of work faster than telling your boss you’ve come down with the current worldwide epidemic. Any mention of Swine Flu nowadays and the only thing your Manager will be concerned about is whether they have any chance of contracting it.

Mother finds porn on your computer This is a perfect example of when to use the “scapegoat” friend. That made-up friend your parents will never meet who causes all your troubles and misfortunes in life. “Oh this is Dwayne’s” is all you need to casually say and mothers eyes will glaze over as she pats your head and mutters, “yes, yes you’re a good boy…”. Just nod and nervously smile, look you’ll never understand your mother’s hysterics so don’t even try to start now.

Didn’t do chores So mother dear has left you a list of chores to do, comes home to find them not done and storms into your room ready to unleash her menopausal fury upon you, and you pretend to be asleep. WRONG. Sleeping never works. Do you honestly think raging, irrational hormones can be halted by the sight of a child in a peaceful slumber? NO. You have two options; throw said “list” in the bin and pretend it never existed, or (if you’re really committed) walk around the house in your underwear with corn beef dripping down your front and whimper “I don’t feel so well”.

Caught having a party Let’s face it, no one gets away with house parties anymore. And if they do they’re Corey Worthington, a boy who forgot to take his ritalin, and was in desperate need of attention. So calmly tell the parents “some of the gurrlss/ boiis are sleeping over for the night” and let the good times roll. If, in the unfortunate (and likely) case a neighbour dobs/your parents find the remains of a bottle cap/there is significant other evidence (aka the remnants of a bedroom romp), you can pull out the “people thought it was a party and all of a sudden, all these people showed up!”. Your parents will be grateful you acted “responsibly” they’ll swallow it up whole. “You’ll be going to hell for that one!” Screams a disapproving elderly neighbour. Well, the jokes on you because your husband just reversed over your cat.

Handing in a assignment late At this, I am an expert. Once when I was in high school I didn’t hand in a maths assignment and three weeks later the Head of Department came and asked me about it. “What do you mean?” I feigned dumb, and continued to blame my 70-something year old math teachers senile behaviour. She frowned and said “yes…well I’ll ask him about it”. Lucky for me, I had recently completed the assignment and it was in my bag. At the appropriate moment whilst my dear maths teacher was attempting to “help” some students, I ran to his bag and shoved the assignment in. Of course, this action is impossible for uni students so what I suggest is pretending you’ve just been in a (minor) car accident. The office ladies will sympathise and hey you’ve bought yourself another coffee-fuelled sleepless night to franticly finish it.

The internet is a place for some lol-worthy shit. I braved the paedophiles and decided to find some of the net’s best chat rooms. BY BE BETTE T T E WARD WA R D

Goth chat room “You walk down a dark avenue. An unnatural and evil chill creeps down your spine. In every dark corner you catch a glimpse of red beady eyes or the glistening of white fangs. Evil and mysterious figures stalk your every move with hatred for life and a thirst for drinking blood... Human blood.” Well that’s chilling at I quickly find out that xxMrxxCullen “likes chicks with big buts”, and that *5stAr*BiTcH*BeLiZeAnCIcK flushed all her boyfriends weed down the toilet, stupid bitch. The fact that her avator is actually a cartoon girl with a von Dutch cap and a pink boob tube makes me want to murder her, but she kindly explains, “my bruthas will murder anyone that hurts der little sis”. Thanks for the words of advice *5stAr*BiTcH*BeLiZeAnCIcK. But just as I am about to lose all hope, lonely-and-hurt-immortal-god signs it, great. Overall this chat room is disappointing. These people who claim to be real vampires are pretty shit, and something tells me that none of them are actually real vampires. But things started to look up after “Charles” private messaged me. Who was he? Could he be my slightly perverted next door neighbor? I don’t know and it’s safe to assume after he typed the phrase “wanna cyber?” that I will never know. Because no Charles, I do not want to cyber.

Christian chat room After that shit I needed something clean. Something where a (hopefully) pimply teen wasn’t going to ask me to partake in awkward internet sex. So where else to head but a Christian chat room. This was just fucking weird. For some reason there was unexplained audio that was just Southern’s fighting. This chatroom had little to do with God and more to do with the latest craze of ringtones. I learned that Ashlei just downloaded “like a thousand”. Thanks Ashlei. Alas I give this Christian chatroom a 7 out of 10. It really didn’t do anything to dispute my already formed knowledge of Christianity and those who partake in chatrooms and more specifically those who partake in Christian chatrooms. Look they’re freaks and I just found it weird that it had everyone’s name, marriage status and age listed with their usenames. Shouldn’t 47 year old Bill be with his wife instead of talking to 19 year old, single, Ashlei?

Harry Potter chat room Where witches and wizards wonder. There is never anything bad I could ever say about this chatroom, from Dumbledore’s office to The Owlery. Yes, these people are freaks, and really shouldn’t be spending their evenings partaking in fake Harry Potter chat, “HeRmIoNiE-lOvA94” should really just stop linking everyone to Hermione fan fiction and, “i-am-ron05739204” should really stop reading them. But the fact that it is based around Harry Potter means that in my books it’s okay. I give this chatroom a 10 out of 10, and I think you know why. I had thus far concluded that chatrooms were completely centred around cyber sex and ringtones and my final stop at http://www. really did nothing to dispel this idea. What else is there to do in Wales other than partake in chatroom chats? It’s not like you can go outside as it has actually been raining there since the mid 1970s.

Like the clear and utter disrespect Dharma and her family have for Greg, the relationship between customer and staff often reflect this liaison. Long gone are the times of Home & Away’s Alf Stuart’s family friendly dinner (before his days of cursing Australian metaphors got the better of him: “As crazy as a flaming Sheila in a Tinbilly” “Alf, I think you need to sit down”). At times it’s almost entertaining to see customers who believe that they are truly the smartest cats around town. Due to the fact that I’ve spent the majority of my teenage years working in hospitality, I’ve pretty much seen it all. For instance, one young lad ordered a double cheeseburger, proceeded to walk around the corner (where I could still visibly see him), take a piece of meat out, only to then come back and say “Oh, you only gave me a cheeseburger’”. Well you only gave grade nine three weeks before giving in to sniffing paint. From drugged up pubescents to hemroid prone mothers, the abuse continues. “Can I please have a child to that?” a woman asked as she pointed to the poised poster of Mao’s Last Dancer. As I looked at her well aged skin and a saggy southern cross tattoo on her well developed body I asked “What’s your date of birth?”. She stuttered, unable to reply. Got yah bitch. Needless to say the mid 20 year old woman came back a few hours later “I did

see a movie so I WILL have my free parking” “I’m sorry but this ticket is from yesterday and is not valid”. The woman stared at me as if I used a magic spell to turn her ticket from today’s 1:30 session of Mao’s Last Dancer (which she pronounced Ma-yows last darncerr) to a tattered version of yesterday’s Couples Retreat. I stood there wondering why she had felt the need to show me her pension card for a parking fine, only to then have money thrown at me as she waited for her change (well if you throw it at me, I’m just going to have to take my time picking it up). But let us not forget the children as they are ALWAYS the first people to ask for a “free McWater”. It really never gets old seeing fourteen year olds giggle as they ride their bikes through the Drive-thru. Sneaking others into movies, by throwing their tickets down the flight of stairs, to the attention of all staff present. Throwing pickles on the side of the window, setting quarter pounder boxes on fire, stealing bulk lollies and the such. But seeing their small faces light up with fear as they are approached by management, truly makes my day. But hey, I’m not saying there aren’t any nice customers out there, and I have had my fair share of rude staff members, but it’s these memories of people unable to understand the rules of life are the memories I truly cherish.

Cyber Sex. We’ve all considered doing it before... haven’t we? Shit. This is awkward. But not many of us have taken the technological “plunge”. For the purpose of this article, I took the liberty to investigate the online sex world, and in doing so, I discovered a world with a totally different set of social standards and etiquette. And without any taboos. Sounds like fun right? Well it most certainly is not. But before we go into just why cyber sex is actually disgusting, it is important to understand the basics:



Habbo Hotel an old classic Java Chatrooms 100% anonymous World of Warcraft freaks and geeks only Second Life fucking pricey MSN Messenger fucking risky

“ASL” translation: “Age? Sex? Location?” “Let’s have sex” translation: “Let’s lie in the bed together and talk dirty” (Only applicable for Habbo Hotel) “I’m a fUn LuVin 18 yr oLd gAl!” translation: “I’m a 52 yr old man with a fetish for posing as a fun loving 18 yr old girl.” “Wanna RP?” translation: “Would you like to participate in a role play, as in, you be the cheeki schoolgal and I’ll be the principal?”

But why is Cyber Sex so wrong? Actually, not every single person who wants to engage in a bit of an online romp is a genuine freak. But about 99% of them are actual fucking perverted freaks. Remember when the internet was just starting out and we got all those “safe surfing” brochures and lectures and whatnot? And they always said “not everyone on the internet is who they say they are.” When it comes to Cyber Sex, that sentence can be rephrased. Absolutely no one is who they say they are. Not that you will ever find out, but sometimes you just know. Like when a supposed 15 yr old girl says “G2G. Wife’s home.” The online sex industry may be booming, but cyber sex needs to stay exactly where it is. Hidden away behind the white picket fences of today’s sexually perverted housewives.

BY EEMILY MI LY D O N NO OHOE At the Lifeline Bookfest you can really find anything from “How To Date A Vampire; Are You His Blood Type?” to general shit you really don’t need and have no apparent idea as to why any publisher would produce it.

shelves. Getting my hopes up every time I read the word “dreams” only to then be disappointed when I read the subtitle “how to reach your goals” followed by a picture of a man who had too much confidence for my liking.

Flipping through the yellowed pages of a soft cover novel titled ‘Fabio’ I wondered what sexual powers, mysteries and tears lie behind his long flowing locks. My one goal was to find a simple dream dictionary; a book that could tell me what my truly fucked up dreams meant and why I had a sexual relationship with a Pegasus. Finding it wasn’t going to be easy.

I soon realised no such book was there (either that or my corneas had detached making my comprehension of characters redundant).

Although it was only 9am, the hardcore book hunters (some like to call them “bunters”) were out in full force and for what they lacked in social skills they compensated in the form of large trolley bags. Some had the added tactic of accompanied children, whom, like clock work, would repeat out loud just how bored they were, run a muck with what I hope was chocolate covered hands, rehearse overused Bart Simpson lines and take books out to lay on top of all important titles. One such child actually touched my hand as I was reading the spine of a particular book. How dare it, really. I was desperate in finding my dream time prize, looking vigorously through each side of the many “reference” book

I decided to have a general peruse on what else Lifeline had to offer me. “Tame The Man Within You”, “You’re Ok, Your Cats Ok”, “How To Shit In The Bush” and the biggest joke of them all; a Backyard Blitz picture book (sorry Scott, but if I wanted your shit cooche I would actually steal a patch from the Toowong Botanical Gardens, not the City one, it’s just not as good). So many gems in Technicolor, it truly was a treat. However, I will just say, although there was a fair amount of DVDs never have I seen such a strong group of solid C or D grade movies. The only title I recognised was Dinotopia, and no I will not pay $7 for it. At the end of the day, I did not find my book (however a friend later gave me one from Crazy Clarks) but I did come back with $5 worth of genuine good times. Thank you Campbell Newman for such a great day. No, no not you Anna Bligh, for I will find your house made out of Go Cards and I will not sign off the bus.


It’s my school dance soon and my ex boyfriend will be there, so I don’t know if I should go. Should I give the dance a miss? Give the dance a miss? Is that even an option? Shit man, do you think that when Bill Clinton cheated on Hilary she was all like “nah fuck it I’m just going to give the next election a miss, Bill will be there… omg awkward much?!” Granted, they were still together, but there was some definite awkwardness, especially due to the fact that Bill just wasn’t performing in bed and Hilary had to accept the fact that Monica Lewinski was a younger hotter version of herself. No fucking way would Hilary give that shit a miss. Instead she was all like “I’m gonna take this fucken town by storm” and ran for presidential candidate. So fuck the ex (not literally though) and go to the dance. My friend asked out my crush for me, but he said he wanted to get to know me first. Any ideas on what I should talk about? Well this is a difficult one, because, you see, if you don’t say the right thing chances are he will hate you forever. The most important thing to remember is that you may not, under any circumstances, “be yourself”. Actually, your best bet is to write a script. Explain to him beforehand that you have scripted an array of pleasant small talk and you would appreciate it if he stuck to the script. Give him a copy, and away you go! Fast, witty banter ensues! A boy from school always asks me to flash him via webcam. He’s sweet on MSN, but he never talks to me at school. I haven’t flashed him yet and now he’s saying if I don’t he’ll tell his friends I did. Help! Jesus Christ! Stop being such a frigid bitch and just flash the poor guy! You know how the old saying goes: “tits out for the boys, tits out for the boys.” Go on, fulfil his sexual fantasies. Nothing makes a girl more memorable than a killer pair of jugs.

I recently got my first love bite, and I’ve heard from some people that they can cause cancer! Is this true, or just another cancer myth? Yes, a love bite can cause cancer. The cancerous deposits inside the human teeth are released in moments of sexual stimulation, and this combined with the biting motion means that the cancer is transmitted from the biter to the bite receiver, much like the epidemic seen in Tasmanian devils. In short, if you have a lovebite you are definitely going to die. (NB: the above may or may not be entirely false.) I get embarrassed very easily; I go all red in the face and since I have red hair, it’s really obvious! It happens when I do public speaking, meet someone for the first time, see a cute guy, or talk to someone popular at school. Now it’s starting to happen even when I’m not embarrassed. What can I do? You poor soul. Luckily, the red nut gene will eventually become extinct so no others will continue to walk through life being the brunt of society’s degrading and cruel humour. Unluckily for you, you shall continue living life with people screaming unkindly and sticking “kick me” signs on your back. On the bright side, I see a very promising future for you as Annie’s stunt double in “Annie; twenty years on and letting it all hang out and down!”. How can you tell if you’ve got inverted nipples, and how do you fix them? Look at yourself in the mirror carefully. Instead of a normal chest, do you see a smooth curve? Look at your hands, are your fingers unnaturally elongated? Your skin, so pale even passing albinos give you a pitying look? Is your only real relationship in life (emotionally and sexually) with a snake? Do you spend your life pretending to want to kill a hormonal adolescent but are secretly delighted when he pays you attention? I knew it. FUCK YOU VOLDEMORT! STOP SPAMMING OUR INBOX.

BATS no.6  

BATS - The Cyberspace Issue