Dear Shane Warne...

I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!















Sincerely,
Moi

"Shane on you"

What...the....fuck!? Eddie MaGuire has once more shown Australia just why he is such an unbelieveably annoying tool.

Shane Warne is set to become the new face of Channel Nine. Am I the only one in pure disbelief? Hearing of his retirement was some of the best damn news I've heard in quite a while, thinking about how no one will have to see that fat ass out on the pitch anymore.

This is a tragedy, a crime against television, and just plain fucking wrong! After all the lies, sleazy photos, text messages and sexual activities involving underagers this asshole will be in our loungerooms on a near daily basis.

So I think it may be time to start a new petition, I want Eddie burnt at the fucking stake! And he can take his new puppet with him! And I was loving the thought of him reduced to only those crappy hair regrowth adverts for the remainder of his pathetic existence.

Ahhh well, in the meantime I guess I'll just have to amuse myself with photos from his sexual encounters and working out how to make an animation of him being held up by strings while Eddie makes him dance. To the pair of them - you have just made a very, very powerless enemy, fuckers!

Also;
Should the Wiggles retire the yellow skivvy?
Yes - 54%
No - 46%
Total Votes: 547

Eddie MaGuire

I have too much time on my hands :P

Welcome To The End

I look down at my arms, all battered and bruised.
I search for excuses, yet they've all been used.

With my head in my hands the flashbacks unfold.
The doctors and pills will save me, at least this is what I'm told.

The end feels so close, and yet still so far away.
As the time draws closer I feel myself turning astray.

I feel completely alone, as I always appear to be.
Even if I let someone in I doubt they could ever understand me.

The people I love I distance myself from the most.
And it wont be until it's over that this note will hit the post.

Only when the blood surfaces and begins to flow,
Will I look back on the people, the friends I used to know.

When I'm gone there will be smiles, and good times to be had.
For the problem will be no more, there'll be no reason left to be sad.

And when this day comes, I can breathe a sigh of relief.
Because everything will be okay, and I feel safe within this belief.

I only wish I were stronger, I may have pulled through this.
But now it's just too late, I've already shut out the people I'll miss.

For the rest of my days in solitude shall I spend.
All my hope has vanished, welcome to the end.

Snowtown Murders

I have recently been reading court transcripts in relation to the Bodies in the barrels murders which occured between Snowtown and Adelaide between 1992 and 1999.
Most people outside of Australia would probably not of heard about one of Adelaides most gruesome murder cases, so, being the sick individual I am I have decided to conduct my own write up to remember the tragedy and to remind everyone of who died and what they went through within their last hours.

The accused being John Bunting, Robert Wagner, Mark Haydon and James Vlassakis.

From Left; Robert Wagner and John Bunting.
It is said whilst the guilty verdict was being read out in court Bunting merely sat with the defence lawyers and read a book, unphased.






Left to right; Robert Wagner, Mark Haydon and John Bunting.

Their first victim was Clinton Trezise, aged 22, who was found partly buried in a shallw grave at Lower Light back in August 1994, it was believed he was killed sometime in 1992, according to coroner findings Trezise was bashed over the head with a hammer, Bunting claiming he was a Pedophile.

The second victim was Ray Davis, 26, a pensioner living in Suzanne Allens backyard in a caravan. He was found dead in December 1994 after having been strangeled to death by Wagner and Elizabeth Harvey who was Vlassakis' mother, she died of cancer around the begining of 2001. Suzanne Allen was found to have died of natural causes, however her body was found contained within 11 plastic bags at the back of her garden in Salisbury North. She was 47.

The Snowtown Bank where the bodies were stored.




Painting by Llael Shannon
I would also like to apologise for not giving credit where it is due sooner, up until a few days ago
I had no idea as to who had painted this piece, and have been unable to sign in properly to
correct it. So, as Kevin Rudd would put it; "I am sorry".







Michael Gardiner, 19, was killed in August of 1997. Gadiner was a cross dresser and a homosexual. he was also strangeled and forced to stay standing until he died.

Barry Lane, 42, died October 1997. Lane was once Robert Wagners partner, Wagner went on to strangle Lane in his own house. Before he was brought to his end he had his toes squeezed with pliers. Afterwards they wrapped him up in carpet and placed him into a barrel.



The bank vault where the barrels containing the bodies were stored.






The Pit at Blackham Cresent where it is known bodies were to have been kept for short periods of time until more barrels were purchased.


Thomas Trevilyan, 18, died sometime in 1997 when he was found hanging from a tree in the Adelaide Hills. It was orginally assumed he had commited suicide, however it was found later he had helped in the murder of Barry Lane. Before his death he was supposedly sufering from hallucinations, worrying that the Grim Reaper was after him.


Gavin Porter, 29, April 1998. Was living with Vlassakis in 1998 at 26 Burdekin cresent, both were on the Methadone program. Vlassakis went to a drive in, upon his return Bunting ushered him out to the back shed where he showed Vlassakis Porters body on the shed floor. He had fallen asleep in his car whilst under the influence of drugs. Bunting and Wagner had then strangeled him and taken his bank card. Vlassakis accesed this account up until the begining of 1999, claiming Porters Centrelink benefits.

Troy Youde, 21, died September 1998 after Vlassakis confided in Bunting that Youde had sexually abused him years ago. While Youde was sleeping Bunting, Wagner and Vlassakis began hitting him with planks of wood and jack handles. They then dragged him into the bathroom where he was gagged, his toes crushed with pliers and then forced to record a message to his family telling them he was going away for a long time and for them not to worry.
He was then made to apologise to Vlassakis for the original assualt before he was strangled using a jack handle and rope. To be sure he was dead Robert Wagner then stood on his chest. They then also used his keycard to access his government benefits.

Also in September 1998 Fred Brooks was also murdered at the age of 18. Fred Brooks was the son of Jodie Elliot, who was supposedly engaged to John Bunting.
Brooks was handcuffed, beaten, his toes also squeezed with pliers, given electric shocks to his genitals, burnt with cigarettes before being strangeled.

Gary O'Dwyer, 29, November 1998. O'Dwyer was a mentally impared pensioner after a car crash. He was killed in somewhat the same fashion as Youde, gagged, beaten, shocked and whipped with his belt before being strangeled. The four of them were there having a few drinks with him at the time.

In November 1998 Mark Haydons wife, Elizabeth Haydon, 29, was also brutally murdered by Bunting and Wagner while Mr Haydon was out in Reynella with her sister Jodie Elliot. The two told Jodie Elliot her sister had run off to be with a "boyfriend".





Police removing the contents of the Bank

David Johnson, the final knowm victim, was killed in May 1999 at the age of 24.
Johnson was Vlassakis' stepbrother, whom he also claimed had sexually abused him at a young age. Johnson was lured to the Snowtown bank under the impression he was there to look at some stolen goods. He was the only victim to be murdered in the bank.

After each victim had been murdered they were cut into parts for easier storage within the 5 barrels.
When police entered the bank they found the following items scattered throughout the foyer, office and vault.

• coils of rope
• rolls of tape
• knives
• a bloodstained saw
• rubber gloves
• a machine for administering electric jolts

The vault door itself had been covered with a black tarp to try and trap the smell of decaying flesh. Hydrochloric acid was also used to help decompose the bodies faster. At one point at least two of the bodies were kept in a pit at the back of Haydons property at Blackham cresent, Smithfield.

That's my quick run down on the Snowtown murders.
Will go into more detail once my fingers stop hurting =P
Also, once I get down to Snowtown again I'll be taking some of my own photos of the bank - I want to get a good picture of the front doors.

The Victims of John Bunting, Robert Wagner, James Vlassakis and Mark Haydon.

Final Fall

Looking back on her marriage, the remains of her life.
Glancing at the kitchen counter, she picks up the knife.

She runs the blade across her wrists, her hand starts to shake.
Soon the pain will stop, and this will all seem fake.

Her house now in shambles, a hole in the roof.
Happy memories flow, her daughters first tooth.

The first marriage, she was merely a child.
Given five years, the divorce had been filed.

She winces as the blade, cuts through her skin.
Feeling drops of blood, the pain buried within.

Rinsing with warm water, blood flows down the drain.
Along with her life, like an early express train.

Feeling unstable, the room is turning hazy.
She feels her way to a chair, he always said she was lazy.

Its almost all over, life is coming to an end.
Seems she never receives, the love her daughter does send.

A change of mind, a swerve of plan.
She doesn’t want to die, because of one man.

She clutches her wrist, and then the wall.
Everything folds in, as she takes her final fall.


.......... On a much happier note, has everyone seen my cool ass Carebear undies? =P

It Ends Now!

If you are reading this I have a mission for you, you have no choice as to whether or not you accept it, besides, it will only take a second.
I need you, yep - You - to click this stupid link and spend a couple of minutes of your dreary existance signing my pathetic petition to stop the evil twat "Larry" from completeting destroying Channel 7 completely.... not that I'm a fan of the 7 network, but I Do hate Mr Emdur with a fucking passion.

Please click here to have this creature hopfully removed from television and, if we're so lucky, burnt at the stake... you know, to remove all the demonic crap he tends to spurt.

Also, if you have time sign this one too.... I really have no clue as to who the hell "Larry the Cucumber" is....but cucumbers can be quite hawt.... So Dooo eeeet!

And thankyou for your time.

Gumby Gets Revenge

My favourite piece of literature of all time....

The Raven
by Edgar Allan Poe
First Published in 1845

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."
'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door;
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the lost Lenore,.
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore,
Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me---filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,"
'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door,
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.
This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you."
Here I opened wide the door;---
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into the darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,Lenore?,
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,"Lenore!"
Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before,
"Surely," said I, "surely, that is something at my window lattice.
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.
Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore."
'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven, of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door,
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore.
Tell me what the lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore."
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning, little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered;
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before;
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore,---
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never---nevermore."

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore --
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee -- by these angels he hath
Sent thee respite---respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!
"Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!"

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--
On this home by horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore:
Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! -- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming.
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted---nevermore!

Oh and Gabe....

I never said the world revolves around me, what a terribly untrue thing to say =P





Smart ass ;)
Love ya!

I'm so happy....

Isn't my smile infectious??

Dear World, Phuk You

Nothings ever been easy, life can be such a tattle.

From one downer to the next, its an ongoing battle.

Somedays it feels impossible, its a struggle to even get out of bed.

Everything feels too much, as a constant reminder of the life I have led.

I feel totally lost, staying sane has left me numb.

And as time moves forward I realise how I must succumb.

No one really believes in me, and to those who pretended, phuk you.

At the end of the day you don't understand anything I've been through.

As the breakdwns occur less frequently, I'm still forever lost in fear.

But after all the years of deceit, its hard not to shed an occasional tear.

It burns from inside, and one day the world will finally see.

The unneccessary pain I took on, and the wounded child that became me.

From the outside it may look fine, as simplistic as a four-leaf clover.

But underneath its bubbling, as the pain soon brims over.

I have always felt alone, so phuk everyone who doubted me.

I don't care what it is you assholes fail to see.

But I'm still standing, now and at the end of each day.

Words used to crush me, now I don't give a phuk what you say.

Every day would feel the same, too empty, too long.

But with every passing downfall, it makes me realise I am strong.

Too all of you who never stuck by me, stab me in the back you may.

Because in the end I'm still standing, and I probably never liked you anyway.

Any questions?

www.eddiemustdie

Above we have an untouched, very realistic Eddie McGuire with one of his many cocksucking boyfriends at some lame ass party and totally off his face. The reason for this post is not so much to bag Eddie, which is quite unnecessary when he just makes it so damn easy, but more to simply make it clear why my blog is known as "eddiemustdie".
Genius 3.3%
Imbecile 94.1%
Unsure 2.6% Edward Joseph McGuire IS and probably always will be Australias gross national product and the most overused television personality to date. Thankyou.

Map the Miner

A short while ago some little bastards, probably from Adelaide no doubt, vandalised Map the Miner by setting the poor fellow ablaze. At around 5:30 am a passing motorist on his way into the little town saw the giant fibreglass statue alight and alerted the CFS.






The small town was left shocked and distraught, with no indication as to what possessed the "hoodlums" to attack Mr Map. Upon seeing the burnt miner in person it almost makes you cry....and then you remember people relate the huge miner to the big Pineapple and don't feel quite so bad.
Thankfully they've found a way to fix the $100,000.00 miner.
Just a reminder of what a fucked and hellish world this truly has become. Enjoy!

Unavailable

Well, it appears I have already managed to drift away from my blog within the last three weeks.
I'll be online and more focused during the next few days.... I hope.

In the meantime however I must say just how fucking happy I am Wheel of Fortune has finally been axed, hopefully this time for good.
You know what this means? Larry Emdur is currently somewhat unemployed, aside from his pathetic contract to channel 7 - which, by the way, I'm almost Positive they sent to his letterbox by mistake. They were really after that little twerp on Ten who does "Whats in the box" in the mornings.... Bip, I think his name is...?
Anywho, for my entertainment I have touched up Larry a tad, I think he looks more natural.

Can Anyone Help Me??

For my current project I am attempting to track down as much information reguarding a few old supposedly haunted sites.

• Kapunda Cemetery and Reformatory
• Dead Mans Reserve, Gawler
• Port Adelaide
• Cheltenham cemetery
• Old Spot Hotel, Gawler
• Tanunda Cemetery
• The old Norwood Primary school
• Shenaidas Alley (An alley off Greenhill road also known as "Michaels Reserve")
• 21 Brigalow Avenue, Seacomb Gardens "Mr. Price"
• Coffee Pot Cafe in Gawler Place, City
• Hillcrest Hospital
• 2 properties on Regency road, both locations unknown
• 1 house in Enfield where a man was murdered in the 90's
• A 1 house in prospect adjacent the defunct service station.

If anyone has any information reguarding any of these locations and/or the history behind them , even the smallest detail would be greatly appreciated, as well as any other haunted local locations that I might not yet know about.

Thankyou =)

Another crappy poem by moi...

Already Buried


It's been too long, time has passed away.Everything is caving in, in my final hours here I lay.I've been ripped apart from the inside, and left here to bleed.Constantly searching for someone, to give me the love that I need.I needed someone there, to tell me right from wrong.Now it seems my life is best described, as tragic lyrics in a suicide song.I should have called it over, I should have handed back my keys.I just couldn't let go, its love, which is what others fail to see.Although our time together was short, in years I counted three.And everytime I fell apart, you were always someone who stuck by me.I love you more as time ticks on, every second seems such a waste.Life without you just has no meaning, as if life simply lost its taste.I never blamed you for leaving me, I blamed myself for not holding on.Over the years I carried my feeling well, but now my sorrow seems to weigh a ton.The tears become a storm, showing everything but thunder.As this broken child begins her journey, which can only end when she is six feet under.

Bullshit Conspiracy!

After doing a bit of personal research, which included reading the book "Suddenly one Sunday" by the author Mike Bingham about the Port Arthur massacre in 1996, I feel the urge to write this rant in hopes of setting facts straight starting.... now!

A disturbingly large number of people seem to be under the impression Martin Bryant is the supposed victim of a horrible conspiracy reguarding the lax gun laws in Tasmania in 1996 as shown

here

The evidence used to support this deluded theory is found mainly crapped all over the video footage and Martin bryants IQ of 66. In order for this theory to work however, one would need to first explain Martin Bryants presence at the Seascape guest house and how he managed to come in contact with Glenn Roy Pears and the solen BMW.

They also try to claim that due to the people supposedly smoking in a screenshot therefore they were in "now danger". But then hey - he only killed 15 people within 12 seconds, no worries. No siree, no danger whatsoever...

And finally the IQ excuse....

Who said you needed to be smart to own a phuking gun license anyway? You don't even need to be mentally stable !

ie. My step-father had his firearms license for years, and he was a phuking lunatic!

As for not being able to put it altogether or hold the firearm and repeatedly fire due to body stature - Glassed! That's a load of phuking shit. Adrenaline is an amazing thing and he was pumped with it.

It sure as hell does Not take an intelligent nor well educated phukass to decide to go on a massive blood hungry rampage. Besides, the whole "madman" bullshit is a bit sloppy for my tastes.

Anywho rant over, I feel slightly better :)

In memory of Gwenda Joan Neander, aged 67 who also lost her life on this fateful day.

It's A Girl!

Ever Realise just how girly Mr. Bryant truly was?
I never had... until I was using his face as my avatar in Msn and realised some picures I've taken of me in the past via webcam could be morphed to look like Martin Bryant himself. I'm quite disgusted =P

My Obsession.

Since my most recent obsession with The City Of Singapore disaster which occured on Saturday, April 26th, 1924. The large cargoship caught fire while docked at Port Adelaide, wharf two.
The fire blazed long into the night, random explosions ringing long into the early morning hours, the ship itself eventually breaking into two halves and begining it's decent to the bottom of the Port.
The victims of this horrific tragedy were B. Greenman who died instantly after having the top of his blown off when one of the first explosions went off.
J. Anderson managed to somehow make it on board the cargo ship only to get caught within the flames.
And lastly, J. Hickey, who's body went missing at the scene, but was later recovered in a watery grave.
A ghostly presence still lurks along dock 2, no one is sure of who it is, but I'm pretty sure it's Mr. Hickey. Meanwhile in Cheltenham Cemetery at the firemans memorial there has been spotted a transparent spectre on the anniversary of the Singapore Disaster.








I have spent a couple of nights at this grave site and so far have seen nothing out of the usual. However there is a strong feeling surrounding the memorial itself. Next time I return I will take some pictures of the eerie fireman.

Downtime in Happyland...

The Core

She sits there alone and stares at the screen,
Her entire existence, what does it all mean?

She feels so cut off and starts to cry.
There are slits up her arms, but no one knows why.

Her soul full of self pity, scars of pain.
It feels as if within life she has nothing to gain.

She cries alone, night after night.
Her sub conscious flares up for yet another fight.

A battle inside herself is all she must feel.
But even to this day it just never seems real.

The time of the past has already flown by.
She reflects back on this time and lets out another cry.

The pain and loss over the years,
Has managed to bring forth so many salty tears.

She thinks of everything that lies beneath the core.
But where she's gone, she wont feel anything anymore.