#king hit

[thosefunnyones]

[rezlips-blog]

Alfred Street Rumble - 11pm

It all started yesterday, my first day off this week. No work or university to slow me down. I awake in my Coorparoo fortress, absolutely fiending my morning ritual, a coffee and a cigarette as usual. This being said I do nothing, as if I'm waiting for someone beautiful to bring me both on an old antique platter. I know it's not happening but I lay and wait anyway, staring at the wooden slats on the walls of my workers cottage. Half of this idleness is due to the fact that I worked a shift the previous night and had only received about four hours sleep. It was now 8:30am.

An hour and a half later at 10 am, I'm in full swing, pouring the scolding hot coffee from the stovetop espresso maker into my favourite coffee mug (no milk). My mother used it throughout my childhood and had eventually passed it down to me. Today was the first day that I'd used this particular mug since I'd left my house in Mt. Gravatt. I lived there with my ex-girlfriend in 2013. This may not be what you think, this wasn't due to being 'hung up', it was simply due to the fact that my roommates at the time were leaving and I'd finally had the chance to unpack my own household possessions. Nonetheless it felt fucking fantastic chugging the prison-style cigarette along with a strong espresso (In the greatest-fuckin-mug). Situated on my front balcony, I was observing patrons of the timber mill across the road and drivers entering my street to find its actually a dead end, which is amusing every time. By now I start to think about my routine and how I'd structure my day so I could try and fit everything in. I decided I'd soak up the morning sun and skate the mini-ramp at Coorparoo skatepark. Next, Jack and I would interview some potential house mates from Gumtree. I was tossing up between my daily run or focussing my afternoon on IBIS. I ended up choosing IBIS due to the fact that the release date is in a matter of days. Mug empty, ash tray full and hands shaking, I entertain my roommate with the idea of going to Coops.

Fifteen to twenty minutes later I'm skating, no, cooking on the mini-ramp. I can't get enough though, cycling between frontside and backside tricks, moving from the small side to the extension. Wind blowing through my hair, moving my body to perform very specific manoeuvres, loving every sweaty second of it. I'm in love with this ramp and skateboarding for that matter, pure ecstasy in the form of wood, poly-urethane and metal. Pure expression and progression. 

I give in by 11:45am and hurry home as I realise the bloke from gumtree is coming over to checkout my house in a matter of minutes. By 11:47 I'm home and Jack is already waiting for me, whom I instantly share a cigarette with. Whilst smoking the ciggy I receive word from the the potential housemate that he wouldn't arrive until 2pm, so Jack and I proceed to talk shit a bit longer than expected. One billy and one beer down, our guy arrives. After a solid twenty minute chat with this guy we decipher that he goes in the yes pile. From here Jack hurries off to work and I get ready to meet my fellow members of IBIS.

I journey to the Valley on the 2:54pm Shorncliffe train which means I'm granted with a solid fifteen minutes of people watching. About halfway between Park Road and Southbank I realise I've forgotten my SLR which bums me out yet I continue to swap brief exchanges of eye contact with multiple people on the train until I hop off. On my way from Fortitude Valley station I exit turning right onto Brunswick street allured by the sweet smell of Kofta. I order eight, making sure the uninterested, Hare Krishna clerk supplies me with a sufficient volume of tomato chutney. I place a ten dollar note in his wiry hands, reaching into the cash register he produces six dollars changes. Four fuckin' dollars for eight kofta balls, what the fuck? Satisfied with my latest purchase I continue walking along Brunswick until I reach Alfred street where I take another right turn. I walk down the populated, yet quiet street refraining from eating while I walk, I'm so close to my destination.

 I walk through the doors of visible ink, (Opposite that god awful club A&C) sign in and off I go, straight to the print room where I greet, Jamie, David, Rhianna and eventually Brigid when she finishes work. Needless to say there was a bit of steam in our meeting as always but the first issue is done, we only need to print more by Sunday. It's now 5 pm and we leave with a feeling of celebration, first with a donut from that place on Alfred street then beers at the Brunno. So we walk back up Alfred, Left onto Brunswick, walking until we were at our destination. We're all so happy about the end product of the zine.

We've arrived, the beer is flowing and we've met up with Phoebe. I chat to Dave while we sit, isolated, in the smokers section. After a few slow beers and many cigarettes Dave splits and I join back up with the rest of my friends. By about 8pm we decide to leave, heading into China Town to get some cheap yet delicious food. As we walk back along Brunswick street we discuss quality memes and ISIS (not IBIS) knocking down statues.

Once in China Town we spend a good 10 to 15 minutes perusing, realising nothing here is actually that cheap and my phone is now dead. First we visit a quaint Vietnamese restaurant, realising the line is too long we head into a crowded, quite loud, King of Kings where there is no line. I ask to charge my phone, the waiter takes it, placing it behind the counter, putting it on charge. He seats us, brings us menus and several bottles of water. Brigid and Phoebe seem very keen to eat, heading to the toilet before we order. As soon as these two step up and leave, Jamie, Rhi and I discuss the prices and begin to get cold feet, talking about doing a runner.  I proclaim that it would be too awkward as my phone was in the care of the wait staff... After a good five or so minutes we realise how much of a Seinfeld style skit we are living in this moment. The others return and we drop the bomb that we want to leave. There is a definite 5-10 minutes conversation about how awkward it would be to leave. By now we've have been sitting in this restaurant, planning an escape for about 15-20 minutes. The waiters are on their way over to the table. Jamie stands quickly, retrieves my phone, hands it to me and we all stand, making a quick exit back onto Brunswick street. 

A wave of relief washes over me I realise I'm no longer stuck in Seinfeld style nightmare. We head directly across the road to the quaint Vietnamese store. After some unnecessary bickering between us, we decide we'd wait in line for the cheaper food. I stand outside and smoke a cigarette while I touch bases with Jack who has now finished work (It's about 9:15pm), by the time I enter my friends have been seated and are perusing the menu. I spark a conversation about the price of rice per person and the steep corkage cost. I'm obviously being a little baby because I've only had four hours sleep. I go straight for the ten dollar vermicelli noodle salad. Cheap as chips. I excuse myself from the table, walking out the front door, turning left, heading a few hundred meters ending up at the bottle-o. I select old faithful, a Victoria Bitter six pack. The clerk checks my ID, thanks me, I pay and off I go back to the restaurant.

When I enter the restaurant for the third time in one night I stumble upon my already prepared meal. Brigid and I are served first so I decide to try and hold off until my friends are too. I can't. I devour my meal along with a Vicky B. From outside I notice a man walking towards the doors, he's wearing a bright blue polo, his beard is thick and his hair runs to his shoulders. It's Jack. He arrives without anyone expecting it, bar me. Everyone is pleasantly surprised, I hand him a beer and I crack one too. This is now my third of the night, I'm starting to feel tipsy, very happy but not sloppy drunk. Not long after Phoebe leaves, as she's ready to crash, we all say our goodbyes. Conversations continue for about another half hour, discussing fetishes, IBIS related content and by now I'm finishing VB number five. We sort out the bill and we leave, turning left heading back down past the bottle-o, turning left again onto Brunswick street, walking towards the station. Here we say our goodbyes to Brigid to the sound of classical piano played by a very skinny busker on a keyboard and a small ashton amp. We find this hilarious as it sets such a sombre tone for a very cheerful event. I film it for ironic purposes. On our walk to the train station Jack and I decide we will stay, finish my remaining two VBs and then maybe check out a cheap strip club just to experience what it was like. We never make it to the strip club...

We follow Jamie and Rhi back to their car which is parked on Alfred street. We'd all been on this street earlier today, yet the sun was still up. By now the street was poorly lit and almost no-one inhabited the sidewalk. We all walk in a horizontal line across the bitumen. Whilst walking past a lovely old brick building two young men in, may I say, "Logan-core" attire jump the fence from inside the property, landing right next to me, followed by saying "How's it going, faggots?" I turned my head to him, and said "Thanks." and continue to walk down Alfred street. I sense something is wrong and check my peripherals to see this logan-core, break-and-entering, crack-smoking, aggravated arsehole literally running at me from behind with his arm raising as if he were about to punch the back of my skull. My adrenaline and reaction speeds instantly kick in. I duck as fast as I can yet I still hit the pavement HARD.

My head is not sore, I flip from my stomach, onto my back as I think I'm about to get stomped, I see a man who I think is his friend restraining him. As my eyes come into focus I realise that it's the same thick bearded, blue polo wearing hero that is Jack, keeping the ape away from me. The Logan-core idiots split after telling me to pick on people my own height and proclaiming they were only trying to say hello. They walk around the corner towards the train station as Jamie speaks to a constable from the Valley Police station at the same very second. I have no idea what the ape looks like as I was in a mix of shock and adrenaline. Jamie, Jack an Rhi do so they tell the police. I try to gather myself. My friends ask me if my head is okay. I say "Yes, he didn't make contact." 

My friends prior to this are under the impression he had hit me as it was so minutely close.  While still on the phone to the police I comb up the street to see if I can still see them around the corner. I can't, so I return to my friends standing next to the fence the bogans jumped over. I sit down, finally coming to grips with what just happened, I feel sick and begin to cry.

I begin to realise how close I was to being sent into a coma if not being killed for little to no reason at all. By now it's 11pm and I'm still crying, thinking about what life still has in store for me.

I sit here writing this on Saturday the 28th of February, 2015, the day after this incident. I am still crying on and off. It's such a strange feeling of depression yet also waves of euphoria due to the fact that I am alive and breathing still.

I believe if I didn't skateboard I would be lying in vegetable state, on a hospital bed or in a cold draw in a morgue, dead. Skateboarding taught me reaction speeds I'd never dream of acquiring in any other circumstance. I am forever grateful for what skateboarding has done for me and even more so that my friends and family looked out for me. 

[themorningbelljournal-blog]

This Age article sounds a lot like victim shaming

Yesterday at work I was trying to avoid any work, so I meandered over to The Age website to catch up on the hot gossip of the east-west link, and how the media and political parties were tarnishing a day we should remember and respect Gough Whitlam.

This article caught my attention immediately over the royal baby bump watch. The article is titled 'Five tips on how to avoid drunk thugs.'

The recent violent weekend in Melbourne was resonating with me. I half hoped this article may provide some insightful psychology into those who ‘coward punch’ others. The other half of me, however, the stronger half, knew that the title in itself sounded a lot like victim shaming.

Yep, I’m calling you out Aisha Dow and your handful of experts. 

Victim shaming has become a prominent topic in recent times, particularly with sex crimes. We are all familiar with sayings the likes of “she was asking for it in that dress”, “you shouldn’t have gotten drunk then”, and “don’t take nude photos of yourself”. 

Victim shaming is literally wrong. And yes, I’m using the word literally because it is literally morally wrong to blame a victim. 

It actually does not compute in my mind. But I won’t continue my line of thought on the idiocy of people. 

In the following paragraphs I’m going to deconstruct what I don’t like about Aisha Dow’s article for The Age.

 *    *    *

Five tips on how to avoid drunk thugs by Aisha Dow.

At every school anti-violence campaigner Hugh van Cuylenburg visits he gets the same question: what can young people do to avoid becoming the casualty of street violence? While it is clear the innocent victims of many assaults have done nothing wrong – or even everything right - Mr van Cuylenberg and other experts do have some tips for young people to help them keep safe.

She starts off well. This is what spurred on the weak half of me that thought ‘hey! Maybe this has some really cool Martial Art self-defence tips.' Hugh seems like a cool guy, he is the founder of The Resilience Project which you can read about at your own leisure. 

1. Don't talk to groups of strangers when out late drinking. "We suggest not engaging in any form of conversation with people that you don't know," Mr van Cuylenburg said. Deakin University Associate Professor Peter Miller said it is also a good idea to avoid eye contact and cross the road to avoid groups of young men.

'Not engaging in any form of conversation with people you don’t know'  – as a young woman who often goes out ‘on the town’ I can assure you this would make for a very boring night. Not every one is out to kill you, in fact, how do you even make friends if you don’t talk to people? 

But what gets me here? 'Avoid groups of young men.' This is absolute gender stereotyping. I doubt anyone reading this could justify this – if you are a young person, old person,  or non-person alien, that you should avoid all groups of young men. Most young men a very pleasant, some young men are violent. 

My personal advice is to go out with your friends, talk to new people in bars and engage with a group of young men if they’re out having a good time like you. Living your life in fear is like never swimming in the ocean because you’ll be eaten by a shark, or never driving because you’ll have an incident. 

2. Don't linger at "hotspots" where people who have been drinking congregate. These include taxi ranks and the outside of clubs, pubs and fast-food outlets, Mr van Cuylenburg said.

I’m not sure the last time Hugh went out, but if you want a taxi, you have to linger. If some drugged up asshole decides he wants to smash some face it is not your fault if you get hit because you were waiting for a taxi. You want to get home safely. You didn’t ask for this by waiting in a “hotspot”.

Use your best judgement and get out of the way if things get heated. But don’t ignore your need to get home safely and your carby-oily fast food craving so you don’t feel so empty and sick. I implore you to continue going on your nightly behaviours without living in fear. Judgement is key here. And making sure assholes know they’re going to get locked up for a long time. 

3. Stay with your friends, avoid being alone. "I think when you're by yourself you're slightly more vulnerable and can present an easier target," Mr van Cuylenburg said.

This is fine. Why are you alone anyway? Go back to your friends and drink and be merry! But if you are alone and you find yourself in a terrible situation – it's not your fault! 

4. Real men walk away from heated street disputes. University of Western Sydney criminology Professor Stephen Tomsen said young men need to learn that they do not need to respond aggressively to insults and annoying behaviour from the public. "It must be possible for them to believe that just disengaging and walking away from a street dispute that is becoming very heated is a respectable and rational social practice," he said.

I back the notion that you have to be able to identify douchebags and disengage from them as soon as you can. I DO NOT back the notion of ‘real men’ as that leads to a pressurised stereotype many guys struggle to adhere to. 

I’d also like to add that not only men are affected by street violence. I’ve often had violence postured towards me (always getting away unscathed), but it’s not gender biased.

5. Don't get drunk. People that consume more than eight alcoholic drinks are more than 3.5 times likely to become a victim of crime, said Professor Miller. He said sober people have a much better ability to read the mood of others. 

“Don’t get drunk”. Don’t have fun. Don’t enjoy yourself. Live in fear. What is a bar anyway? Yes, OBVIOUSLY, Professor Miller people are going to have better judgement when they are sober. 

But being sober isn’t everyone’s state-of-being of choice, and this, THIS sounds a lot like victim shaming. 

“She was asking for it in that dress”, “you shouldn’t have gotten drunk then”, and “don’t take nude photos of yourself”. 

* * *

 What distressed me about this article was it didn’t sound cautionary. It sounded forceful and overruling. Don’t get drunk. Avoid all young men. Don’t have fun. Live your life in fear.

I hope anyone person who read Ms Dow’s article did not start having anxious feelings in their stomachs, thinking they would become a victim of a horrible crime if they let loose.

And I hope you won’t become a victim of crime either.

So go out at night, catch taxi’s from taxi ranks, drink lots of vodka.

The issue here isn’t what you can do to avoid thugs.

The issue here is to get the message across to thugs that getting riled up and punching somebody is a real crime and a real problem that causes real deaths. 

[galaxies-ive-seen-blog]

I seriously cant think about how to sociologically analyse 'king hit' punches, i mean, people are just stupid in my opinion.. My 'sociological imagination' goggles need fixing.. (silly thing my lecturer came up with :3) If anything its probably something that's coming up with our society becoming more and more violent.. I don't think we can get rid of it unless people face their issues, rather than drunkenly take them out on some random stranger that they don't know and end up killing them.

I hate college already

[weareliterati]

King hits and coward punches

Sydneysiders are not happy at the moment. A run of violent assaults involving fatal single punches have put the "king hit" (or "coward punch") on the radar.

[teh-cl4p-tp]

The Newcastle Solution

Everyone is bitching about the possibility of a new law coming in Sydney restricting lock out times to 1:30 am and last drinks at 3:00am Personally I don’t see that much of an issue with it. If it stops the horrific culture of binge drinking we’ve got and stops young guys from being coward punched (king hit) then I say go for it, introduce this law/legislation

[panfandomal-blog]

This an Australian commercial by famous Australian boxer Danny Green, made and paid for using his own money, in an attempt to bring attention to the danger of the 'King Hit', or as Australia is petitioning to have it renamed, 'The Cowards Punch.' This is following the death of 18 year old Daniel Christie, who died recently in hospital after becoming the victim of a cowards punch. If you guys could spread this around that would be great, it's the full version of the commercial and it sends a very important message.

[hallowitches]

Rest in peace, Daniel Christie.

What's happening in Australia you ask? An 18 year old boy has just died in hospital, 11 days after being King Hit on New Years Eve. You want to know the most disgusting part? Even after public outcry, they are still only "considering" murder charges for the guy that punched him at this stage, and have charged him only with assault, which would allow him to get out of jail. Americans, you think your justice system is fucked up? Come and visit Australia; we have no justice.