Today, bankingcommish ticked over its 5000th page view. That’s almost as many times as Kim Kardashian has stuffed an erect cock in her pudding hole… this week. I’d like to congratulate you all for this utterly underwhelming non-achievement, well done. Clearly you enjoy the sobering influence of a dose of vitriolic cynicism as much as I enjoy the catharsis of unloading my emotional baggage to a paying audience on a daily basis…

I was dejectedly lumbering through my local shopping centre on the way to their utterly depressing food court during my lunch break this afternoon, dodging old ladies that seem to subconsciously tack to-and-fro in front of me whenever I’m near like maxi-yachts jostling for position in a stiff breeze during the Sydney to Hobart, when my attention was caught by one of the stores I’d just walked past.

In fact, it wasn’t just this shop; a number of retail outlets in close proximity to each other all appeared to be selling the same thing – tacky, cut-price knick-knacks, ornaments and other assorted shit that serves no purpose whatsoever other than cementing the purchaser as a purveyor of horrifically poor taste. I’m talking about stuff like pitifully painted concrete Buddhas, crude pieces of costume jewellery that a hooker wouldn’t be caught dead in (not by choice anyway, zing!), fucked up looking, clumsily decorated porcelain figurines clearly handled by the underdeveloped hands of a Chinese child labourer and gaudy, over-the-top bedside lamps that are sure to inadvertently give small children night terrors.

The contents of these shipping containers – brought to you by the small, battered hands of a (very) young labour force!

Firstly, who buys this shit? I’ve checked my house (I actually walked around it to be sure) and there aren’t any painted plaster dolphins holding up 60w lamps on any bedside tables or odd-shaped wicker baskets lying about the place. I couldn’t even find any picture frames with spray-painted, strangely uniform shells stuck to them. Disappointing… This shit must get sold though, because there are so many of these types of shops out there, selling high volumes of low-cost stock to the public, filling up their homes with an unintentional ode to the power of Yuan (Bryce Courtenay pun!)

Secondly, stop and think for a moment about the sheer amount of resources that it takes to ship these items from the Chinese factory that they were (the opposite of lovingly) created in to their final destination on the shelf of the retail outlet in suburban Melbourne that they get sold out of. The sheer volumes of unnecessary fuel, labour and time associated with dragging countless 40 foot containers of this shit across numerous oceans on gigantic shipping vessels simply to sate the West’s ever-burgeoning need for cheap, awful, disposable shit is truly fucking astonishing and plainly horrendous. Why do we need this shit? What is it with people’s insatiable desire to fill their homes with fucking disgusting knick-knacks that serve no purpose other than to collect dust and make me want to fucking vomit?

For anyone out there on a personal crusade to save the environment, don’t worry about selling your V8 for a smug-mobile (Toyota Prius), just do this and ‘peak oil’ will stay a myth forever.


/end communication