Saturday, September 30, 2006

Darp in his own words...again...

In the interests of refreshing in everyone's minds just what sort of sick creature we are dealing with in Mathew Henderson-Hau aka 'Darp' of Eastwood NSW, old Victor has decided it is time again to let "Darp" show us IN HIS OWN WORDS what kind of guy he really is.
It is all the more relevant at this time with the news, from 'Darp' himself, that he is "back in the old suit and tie" and working for a Legal firm while he completes his studies to become a practising Lawyer. This revelation should, in light of his extremely poor character, fill all decent people with dread and disgust.
Victor feels compelled, in the interests of public decency and safety, to warn everyone he possibly can about "Darp' and encourages all who are reading the material contained within this post to disseminate it far and wide.
The Victor Whitelaw project also firmly believes it is imperative 'Darp's' current (and future) employers are fully informed about him and we are making every effort to ensure this happens. Mathew Henderson-Hau must NEVER have his disgusting behaviour legitimised by being appointed a Solicitor in this State of NSW or anywhere else in Australia for that matter. He is fit only to shovel shit and even that is too good for him.
So, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I give you Mathew Henderson-Hau...
From 'Darpism.com’
Monday 1st December 2003:
‘THE DARP GUIDE TO TRASHING HOTEL ROOMS’

What with all the fart-arsing around I did in Melbs, (sic) I haven't had time to shave my nut-sack. As I hopped into the shower this morning I gave my pubic region a quick glance.

It looked like Chewbacca after a fight. Soon fixed that up.

Most of you know I had a few issues with my hotel in Melbourne and that I took a few steps to leave my mark upon the place. It seems I can't stay in any overnight accommodation without doing something evil to the carpet, the bathroom or the bedroom curtains. So here, dear readers is my guide to trashing hotel rooms.

Firstly, you gotta (sic) get the whole "Keith Richards TV out the window", Rock Star type trashing. The sort of shit I do is much more subtle and undetectable at least for a few days. It's also much more expensive to clean up and much more damaging to the proprietor seen (sic) as they usually cannot use a room I've just vacated - not until the fumigators have finished anyway.

1) Take a dump in a brown paper bag and squash it flat. Hide a few of these under the bed, behind paintings and under the fridge. In a few days time they'll know about it

2) Empty out the ice-cube tray and refill it with piss. Re-freeze it.

3) Piss on the carpet.

4) Empty all teabags and coffee sachets into the bed.

5) Put a condom on the door handle.

6) Piss in the flower vase.

7) Piss in the kettle.

8) Basically piss everywhere except IN the dunny bowl.

9) Fill the bathtub to the brim then drop the bedside clock radio into the tub, remembering to unplug it first.

10) Make your own bath stew; load it up with towels, Maccas (sic) leftovers, milk, the Gideon’s if you're REALLY feeling evil and leave it to brew for a day or so prior to your leaving. Remember to put the "Don't clean my room" sign on your door.

11) Hide food scraps and unwashed cereal bowls in not so obvious places like the dryer, under the bed covers, the washing machine, the drying closet and the mini bar.

12) Empty out the Scotch, Bourbon and Brandy mini bottles and replace them with piss. Drink a Berocca before hand to ensure colour consistency.

13) NEVER wipe your feet.

14) Upon leaving, put a turd in the microwave and/or the dryer and cook em up. The stench is kinda instantaneous so you gotta (sic) check the fuck outa (sic) there pretty quick.

15) Deny everything.

M.
Monday, 1st December 2003:
“I spent my days bumming around at uni, drinking three dollar jugs of beer and smoking spliffs. But being a poor student, I was then decked out in the post-rave sporty/fashion trackie top look with Adidas gazelles, a Supergrass style Lego cut and an increasing fascination with Cocaine as opposed to Ecstasy. Something that got kinda hairy as the 90’s wore on.”

Monday, 1st December 2003:
“I shave my balls and I vote! I shave my nutsack and I am proud!”

Monday, 1st December 2003:
“Joop reminds me of New Years Eve 1994-95. I spent it at a local underage drinking hangout (despite the fact I was 18) known as Roly Poly hill. Anyone who grew up around West Ryde/Eastwood will know of it.”

Monday, 1st December 2003:
“I tried using a hand-cream moisturiser but wound up "relaxing in a gentleman's way" (tossing) more often than not when I applied it. Apparently my cock tasted like Lavender and Chamomile for a good while afterwards.”

Wednesday, 10th December 2003:
Christianity fucks me off. Christ IS the only way! All that shit erks (sic) me. It’s like Patti Smith said, “Jesus died for somebody’s sins, but not mine.”

Monday, 16th February 2004:
“I waded out into the surf and cast my eyes around for prospective targets. I spy a cluster of five or six little fat cunts,...”

2nd April 2004:
“See, when I was a knockabout undergrad Uni student in search of a quick dollar to support my alcohol and drug habits, I worked in this very store as a "Spray Himbo" on the Calvin Klein counter - a veritable five metres or so away from Michael Hope and his grand piano.”

Wednesday, 28th April 2004:
"Amanda Vandstone (Sic) our immigration minister is a big fat mamma."

Thursday, 10th June 2004:
“I’m not a violent man but I wanna kick the fuck out of Tim Bailey

Sunday, 6th June 2004:
“So what about fat cunts who are happy with their body image? As long as they’re not plonking their fat sweaty arse next to me on a packed train, I don’t care.”

Wednesday, 9th June 2004:
“I like Mark Latham. I like the fact that he comes from a housing commission shit-heap in the western suburbs and I like the fact that he’s got enough balls to stand up to George W. Fucknuckle Bush.”

“Maybe I like Latham so much because my hatred for honest Johnny has gradually been getting unbearable. I’ve never liked the slimy little fuck but ever since the last election and the Tampa debacle, I’d dearly love to whack off in his salad and watch him eat it, at gunpoint.”

Thursday, 10th June 2004:
“Alexander Downer Must Die!”

Friday, 11th June 2004:
“As you all know, I love fags and think that there should be more of them in the world, but I do not like private education and everything it stands for.”

Wednesday, 25th August, 2004:
“My head is now swimming with memories of driving through bushy North Shore back roads, Born Slippy by Underworld blaring from the dodgy speakers on her late model Holden Astra. Doing lines off the dashboard and getting up to all sorts of wickeness. (Sic) Her looking like just like Justine Frischmann from Elastica and me with bleach-blonde hair trying to look like Sick Boy from Trainspotting.”

Saturday, 18th September, 2004:
“This is what a pissed off Darp looks like. I am ready to fucking kill. I have spent the better part of this week erecting Andrew Wilkie posters in people's front yards only to have EVERY FUCKING SINGLE ONE OF THEM ripped down sometime this evening. To the Lib apparatchiks who ripped all my posters down, you have just started something that could very well fuck you over. You've taken the campaign into Darp's area of expertise - suburban terrorism.”

Sunday, 19th September, 2004:
“At present, my anger rating is probably quadruple that of last night. I’ve just spent half an hour ripping a Kevlar-lined punching bag to shreds. I only just bought the cunt and now it’s fucked, something for Marvin and Oscar (the dogs) to chew on.”

“Just as she was finishing up her account of the evening I hear “FUCK THE REFUGEES” and a 22-25 year-old bloke on a mountain bike rides by and rips down the Wilkie poster I was about to bolt in. I leapt off the front steps and gave chase.”

“By now my brain was exploding with a Maori psycho berserker rage of Jake the muss proportions. Everything under the sun from “come back here you fucking coward motherfucker piece of shit cunt I’ll have ya, I’ll fucken have ya, fucking racist cunt when I find you etc etc…” spewed from my mouth as I sprinted my arse off only to see this chicken shit prick ride off into the distance.”

“With blood surging in my ears and white speckles appearing at the corner of my vision, I turned and headed back to the house only to see another dweeby guy on mountain bike. He takes one look at me and shits himself. The berserker rage kicks in again with a deafening rush, convincing me that I’m bleeding out the ears and shooting laser beams from my eyes. I have no clear memory of what was said here, which means I would have been screaming incoherently with a protruding tongue. I had no hope in hell of catching him in the flesh but I hope to be a nightly fixture in his nightmares for years to come.”

“I would have broken eye-sockets, rib cages, kneecaps and then some, such was my rabid bloodlust. When these genetic “Incredible Hulk” rages subside I usually find myself curled up in a ball crying my eyes out, such is in the intensity of emotion and the somewhat legitimate fear that one day, I may not be able to control it. And bawl my eyes out I did.”

Wednesday, 22nd September, 2004:
“John Howard has the grey vote sown (Sic) up. Such is the common understanding of many people. Senior Citizens adore him and come out in droves to vote for their low rent Bob Menzies. I had cause once again to ponder the benefits of compulsory euthanasia for the most bothersome sections of our seniors community.”

Thursday, 24th February 2005:
“Will Saunders is a personal friend of mine and an almighty inspiration.”

(Will Saunders is a convicted criminal who, along with his ‘partner’ David Burgess, were responsible for vandalising the Sydney Opera House with the “No War” slogan.)

“Kia Kaha champ. It’ll take more than what the courts have dished out to kill that fire of yours old son.”

(Darp refers to the exceedingly lenient sentence of periodic detention handed down for malicious damage as if it somehow makes a martyr of his close friend.)

Friday, 25th February 2005:
“With the extent of my reach and my BALLS OF FUCKING STEEL it doesn’t matter which side of the Tasman you’re on, I’ll fucken have ya! Simple as that.”

Friday, 4th March 2005:
I’m actually nostalgic for that Gay dominated Oxford St of yesteryear. I would much rather run the gauntlet of the grope-fest when I duck into The Stonewall to use the dunnies than see Oxford St get all safe, straight, plain and well…and well…BORING,”

Saturday, 23rd July 2005:
“The more that Islam is unjustifiably pushed, the more appealing the extremist route will seem.”

The ORIGINAL slogan from Darp’s photo on the front page of his Blog Darpism.com before he changed it:

“This machine kills Nazis and shaves its balls”

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