#derryn the dog

[poltaweist]

Aussie 90's nostalgia be upon ye✨

[suzygen70]

The Ferals

What’s your favorite cartoon? Not strictly a cartoon but it was definitely a family favourite in the mid 1990s. The “Ferals” in this case, are Rattus. P. Rattus, Mogdiliana Whydebottom (Cat- we call mixed cats Moggies in Australia), Mixy the rabbit (myxomatosis is an introduced disease to eliminate the feral rabbit population) and Derryn the dopey dog. It was hilarious and chaotic. It aired via…

[merinnan]

That is Modigliana the cat!

She is one of the four puppet characters from a popular mid-90s Aussie kids' TV show called The Ferals (the other puppets being Rattus the rat, Mixy the bunny, and Derryn the dog). This particular image is from the Ferals TV season, where the four of them worked at an indie TV station.

The Ferals had an incredibly warped sense of humour which is very quintessentially Aussie (one example being that Mixy's name is actually short for myxomatosis).

This is absolutely true. This explains everything about me.

[derrynanne]

25 Things I've Learn't At 25

As I approach my 25th birthday I thought that it would be best to reflect on all the good and the bad that I have learned along the way. Being 25 doesn't feel any different but a lot changes around you for sure. At times it can be rewarding but also very scary at the same time. I constantly find myself questioning the future or what it holds, whether I can make something of myself and why do things take so damn long to get started or to achieve, yet we do not realise how much you have grown also learning to accept that what mattered 3 years ago no longer applies to your life now. For example, three years ago I thought I would be "on my feet" and conquering my day job with a cute french bull dog in the background I might add. Sadly that reality has not been met just yet. Like I always say, I can barely afford bread and milk right now, so a french bulldog is completely out of the question, even though I would defs blow every penny on a cute little pup. Like Matthew McConaughey says, "your idol or who you look up to, should be you in five years time"... So here's everything I've learned so far and still currently learning;

1.

Not everything goes to plan.

2.

My body will change, it never looks the same. The sooner I accept it the happier I will be.

3.

The more you spend time with people who get it, the more you grow and feel inspired to grow.

4.

Life is not only about you, your selfish ways will get you nowhere.

5.

I've learnt to appreciate the small things in life.

6.

My palette changed for the better, who would have thought whisky would be my go-to drink at 25.

7.

Now is always the time to SAVE!!! If you started early then good on you!

8.

Good things take time.

9.

The hair on my legs and under my armpits grow thicker by the day... frustrating.

10.

My mom's food has never tasted so good! Luke: "Do you want to go out for Sunday lunch or something?" Derryn: "Naaaaaah my mom made roast and curry" Luke: "Ahhhhh curry!"

11.

I realised how expensive life actually is, but theres no rule book as to how your life needs to be lived.

12.

You can't wear your favourite pair of pants from when you were 18 anymore, the doughnuts were too good!

13.

Something I have to admit, I become more like my mother each day.

14.

Money does not make the world go round, it's the sun's gravitational pull... duuh!

15.

Partying longer than an hour becomes lame.

16.

Going to bed at 22:00pm is the bomb.com.

17.

Real friends stick around and support your dreams, the rest phase out.

18.

Animals dying is a real tear jerker.

19.

Even though #18 exists, I'm still struggling with the vegan thing.

20.

Happiness can't be bought and passion can't be taught.

21.

I will always be my dad's little girl, even at 25.

22.

I set more of an example for others than I ever thought I would.

23.

Doing the right thing is always the best thing and a white lie is not the right thing.

24.

Don't take everything anyone says so seriously, laugh a little, even at yourself.

25.

There will ALWAYS be someone there for you even when you feel like you're the only one who understands, never be afraid to reach out.

[brodie-483]

I feel like these days, I'm filled with so much fucking anger, frustration, stress and rage. I see so much fucking ignorance in the world. So much ignorance and racism, lack of understanding and lack of education. I'm so tired, so fucking tired of being made the blame. My people being blamed. And for what? FOR WHAT? We can't just sit down anymore and let racism, depression, mental illness, death, injustice, abuse, harassment and oppression continue on in our lives while the Government sweep us underneath the carpet anymore either. So many people, so so many just don't understand what torture we have gone through because of our skin colour and where we're from.

I went through most of my childhood witnessing firsthand how the corruption in the police and government would go on and on and on and on. That all came from seeing my own brother and father go through that level of abuse on a regular basis, especially my own father. He copped a lot of abuse, racism, torture, attacks, harassment, humilation, embarrassment and violation from those who swore a sacred oath to protect and serve the community. I do admit, yes, he suffered his own demons. He was an alcoholic, a serial drug addict, homeless quite a lot, living in the streets.... but he also suffered mental illness. He was officially diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia and estranged delusions disorder. He did time in one of the toughest prisons in Australia, where they practically made him a slave. They would make him work to the bone, til sweat and blood would pour out for very little wage. And meanwhile, the guards would give beating sessions and take him into private rooms to take turns in beating him. He became used to an institutionalised lifestyle, even at home, on the streets, anywhere.

He copped just as much on the outside, even worse than he did inside:

Now imagine you're 7 years old, your dad picks you up from school and you're both walking home, talking, asking how the day was, how studying is going, what you've been learning. And while all this is happening, we see police drive pass us slowly, real slow down the street. Then they come back around and do it again, they drive slowly as they death stare at my father and I. They do this a few more times until eventually, they stop in front of us. They hop out, ordering my dad to put his hands on the hood of the car. He asks "what did i do? I'm just taking my son home officer." Then they yell "shut the fuck up, coon dog and put your disgusting hands on the car NOW." Meanwhile, they have their hands on their holsters either on a taser or their gun preparing for the worst. So my dad cooperates, he does what they say. They then slam his head down hitting the car when they cuff him up. He's trying to say "what the fuck is this? I'm just taking my son home." They just tell him to shut the fuck up and they look at me, telling me to stand on the fence where they would rub and rough up my hair. Then they start to search him, checking and feeling every inch of his body. Trying to find anything, any excuse or reason to lock him up or worse, give him a beating.

He too had copped quite a lot of beatings from the police. They would randomly pick him up, throw him in the back and they would take him out to the bush. There, they would use him as "practice" or "punching bag", a disgraceful way of letting out their frustrations onto a man who did not matter to them one bit because he and his family were victims of the Stolen Generations. Him and his brothers were taken away by police and placed into disgusting foster homes for the Half-Caste Indigenous Youth.

I grew at such a very young age knowing just how cruel and disgusting the world really is. Because of his mental illness and drug habits, sometimes he would have psychotic breakdowns. Therefore my family would have no choice but to call an ambulance to take him to get support and help. That was the main plan, but what we got was not right nor expected. Police coming to our door, telling the ambulance that they have the situation under control. Then from there, they would order us all outside to the back yard. Where they tackled my dad, threw him down onto the ground. They would then pound, beat, stomp, strangle, choke and even spit onto my father. Calling him "filthy black dog, ape, coon, abo, creamy, animal." Even using Yellow Pages phone books, cuffing him and making him sit on his hands and knees while they would whack into his arms and back. They did this so there wouldn't show any signs of bruising or blood drawn but brutal enough for bones to be broken and sprained. So that way if we ever tried to take it to the courts, there would appear to be no physical evidence of brutality. While they would do this, they would point a gun at my older brother and mother and even a taser at me, an 8 year old boy.

Now, I got so used to seeing my father get abused and attacked but every time I saw it, it was a nightmare come to life. Watching my own dad get beaten and broken down at the hands of Authority. I remember one time they tried to do it, and I ran in front of them telling them to leave my daddy alone. I cuddled into him, hoping that they would stop. But you know what they did? They ordered my mum to grab me and pull me off or they would "give a proper fatherly discipline to the little creamy half breed mutt." So, she and my brother would have to pull me away. Even they would turn to my mother, calling her "ape fucker, boong lover, coon sucker." Such disgusting terms to insult to a woman trying to protect her family. They would order us to watch as they would bash into him, but my mum tried to cover my eyes as much as possible so I wouldn't have to see that. But I did see it, I heard it and I felt it. And that level of trauma was not imprinted into my mind, it was Burned.

My dad was meant to appear on TV, where he would have an interview with Derryn Hinch in discussion of police brutality, corruption and racism. But my dad refused to go on because he feared for the lives of his family, of his 2 sons. We received a few threats, some were more subtle than others. Even to the point where they would slowly drive past our home, real slow and look at us like we're animals to them. Hoping they would get that chance to put us down. As much as he wanted to fight back against the police, he did what he thought was right.... to protect his family. But however, he was NEVER ever afraid of them!! One thing he always taught us was that they are nothing more than thugs with a gun and a badge to say that they're allowed to do what they want and get away with it.

Next part would concern my very own brother. So back when he was a teen, he and other Koorie boys got a chance to go to Alice Springs on a cultural young mens trip. It would turn out to be an amazing extravaganza for them, but for my brother.... he copped what he didn't deserve. They were all eating up, but some of the boys left some mess behind instead of putting it into the bin. A local redneck officer saw and ordered my brother to pick it all up. He refused because he didn't need to feel responsible for other people's mess. But the cop didn't care. He ordered "YOU BETTER PICK UP THAT RUBBISH NOW, YOU BLACK DOG. YOU BETTER DO WHAT THE FUCK I SAY." Then he pushed my brother onto the wall where from there, he grabbed him by the collar and began lifting him up. My brother was dangling in the air while being choked by the officer. The other boys tried to tell him to stop and pull away. For a while, it went on but eventually it came to a stop.

Now this part would concern me, growing up I was always filled with pride for my culture. Having the Aboriginal flag pin on my shirt or having face paint on. But many people would see that intimidating, they would see the pin and immediately walk the other way or try to get as much distance away from me as possible. And whenever I was in the shops, security or the owner would follow me around. Always assuming that I was going to steal something. Now.... to start with High School. Ahh, for fucks sakes!! I hated High school, I hated going and I hated everyone in there. Mainly because a majority of people never even gave two shits about me. From my first day at Year 7 up til Year 10, I copped racism and bullying almost on a daily basis. Mainly by this small group who thought they were all tough cunts, trying to cause trouble and pick on the less fortunate and those who couldn't stand up for themselves. I used to get laughed at so bad for being fat, being overweight. And then the racism would start. Getting called "creamy, abo, coon, boong, what percent am i?, ape, gorilla, half breed, dole bludger, black bastard, village idiot, savage, creep, half caste, freak and etc." Imagine being called all that in your life. Imagine being ridiculed, attacked and humiliated like that. And in front of the class as well, the teacher didn't even care enough to stop it. And I was scared to even talk back or stand up for myself because everyone was on their side, laughing with them, laughing at me, pointing at me and talking about me like i was nothing but a fucking juggling circus monkey to them. And the teachers were just as helpless. My mum nearly went up to the school every day to tell them how I was getting attacked, laughed at and abused. All they would do is give detentions or tell them off for a bit, but that did absolutely Nothing. I copped all that and so much more within a 3-4 year period. After copping so much of that, I started to hate myself, I hated my family, my culture, my origins, my everything. I would argue with mum trying to stay home from school, because I knew that I was going to get bullied. I had so much anxiety, fast heartbeats and butterflies in my stomach whenever I head into class. Sometimes the bullies wouldn't be there, and that would be the best feeling ever. A feeling of peace and quiet. But when they were there, it became fucking Hell for me. Tearing me down, tripping me over, sticking signs on my back, throwing stuff at me.

So I copped that and more up until Year 10, when one day I was getting ready for school. Then just having such a massive breakdown, collapsing on my bedroom floor. My mum sees and asks whats wrong. I turn and say if I go to school today, I'm going to the Eastlink bridge up the road and I'm gonna kill myself. Then I ended up in the psychiatric hospital, the same one they would put my father in. So imagine being the only Aboriginal kid in your year level, the only one. I felt so alone, no one would understand. No one to turn to, no one to help me. I would sometimes cry walking home from school and self harm when i got home. Thats how much I hated myself.

I spend many months in and out of the psych wards, many treatments and therapies. Doctor after doctor, worker after worker. But nothing was working for me. But that was til I was able to learn about my own tribe, about my own language and where I'm from. To find my own sense of belonging and rediscover my life and passion for my culture. It wasn't all these medical treatments, sessions and 1 hour a month bullshit. It was reconnecting back to my origins, to my dreaming and to nature.

But still to this day, I have never even received an apology from anyone who did me wrong, who bullied and attacked me. Just like when i was a kid, not one cop ever took responsibility for excessive force, racial profiling and brutality on multiple occasions against my family. My story and my family's story is but one of thousands in Australia and millions around the world.

For over 300+ years, we have copped so much. Lives killed and taken away, men enslaved and forced to work til they would have no strength and then shot DEAD. Women raped multiple times, forced to live as home nurses, maids and even pleasure escorts. And the children, especially half-caste children kidnapped by our own Australian government and placed into foster homes, their goal to exterminate us all by breeding us all out. The English would wipe out tribes, civilisations, traditions, homes, families, cultures and sacred sites. They are the reasons why our connection to nature, to the land was severed. Yet White Australia still like to complain, about the ANZACS. Yes, the ANZACs is very important and they fought for the country, died for the country.... a noble cause. But what did us black fellas die for? Why were we killed? In our own homes, our own lands, either protecting our families, our homes or ourselves. Where's the honour in that? You tell me that, white australia. At least the war soldiers had a chance to fight, live and die in defense of the country. But the country was built on the backs, blood, sweat, tears and corpses of my people.

This all comes to show that the entire system MUST improve and change for the better. Not just the police, but the government, traditional acknowledgements, mental health system, education in schools especially. Why do we still learn all these languages and information from different countries yet we still know NOTHING from our own. Why?

So until this all changes for the better, I along with my brothers and sisters who choose to stand up with me and raise their fist high swear to keep fighting for justice, for peace, for equality, for opportunities, for acceptance, for love and for closure for so many people who have been in so much inter-generational pain.

Also, if anyone appears to have an issue with what I just said.... you can unfriend me right now and FUCK OFF back to NAZI Hell because you are not welcome if you are filled with judgement, racism, prejudice and bullshit.

Yes, All Lives do matter but until we in our own homes accept that people of Colours Blacks, Asians, Indigenous, Africans, Muslim, Gay, Straight, Trans-gender, non-binary, poor, mentally ill are accepted and equally treated and helped in this society NOW, All Lives Do Not Matter.... not to the government, to the rich, to the white suits, to the White Superiority. WE MUST MAKE A CHANGE, not for profit, not for jokes, not for favouring, but for the Future.

[ijumpedthroughtimeandspace]

omfg what have i done

[puffitale]

So, update: since it’s prom season in the US and I’m a sucker for that shit, I’ve been watching GRWM-Prom videos on YouTube and feeling sentimental. Little did I know, I have a sucky collage I made on my phone of some of my secret formal stuff, kind of in the vein of the shit load of accessory pictures they take at weddings. So here it is:

Explanations:

The far left photo is, as you know from above my tunic & jeans.

The top middle photo is a snoopy key ring I just happened to receive in the mail that day.

Bottom middle is a bottle of Britney Spears’ Fantasy and a pewter dog on my tunic. Fantasy was my signature fragrance at that time, and the pewter dog is a figurine I picked up in 2004 from a chrystal shop in West Gosford. The dog is named Derryn cause he looks a lot like a dog we had when I was younger. He’s got a little bit of glitter paint on him.

Top right is my jewellery, a pre-claddagh version of my cross: a Celtic cross, a 3 leaf clover, and a horseshoe. The second necklace is a sapphire pendent my sister bought me for my 21st.

The bottom right picture is of a JC Chasez icon I obtained from a fansite in, I’m guessing 2008ish. That icon was my favourite from the set, and had been an addition to each of my phones since I discovered Bluetooth in 2008. So much so that it ended up being the wallpaper on the night of my secret formal. And since I’m a loser fangirl, dream date to prom! I feel like DeeDee.

Soooo, Let’s talk a little about my edumatcation. As some of you might know, I dropped out of school after year 7. (Something, something something, breakdown, something, something, something, bullying, something, something, something, collapse of family unit due to schizophrenia/just didn’t want to be there anymore/stuff). So, in late 2007, I started a three year process so I could get my high school certificate/year 12 equivalent.

One of the very few things I was actually looking forward to in high school was the whole formal/prom/graduation thing. Due to how I got my year 12, I wouldn’t actually get this, at least not the traditional thing of having to be in a room with 12 to 60+ plus people you had slowly started to wish a fiery death on. But, by absolute chance, my uncle asked my mother and I out to the local leagues club the day I got my results for dinner. Do you know where year 12 formals are sometimes held? leagues clubs. (My sister’s grad was actually at the RSL, but beggars can’t be choosers.)

So, through my intense disappointment that I didn’t get better marks though I had effectively passed high school, I decided to dig through my wardrobe and find something nice to wear so I could have a *secret prom.*

I’m not a dress person. I’m a lace, cheese cloth and pintucks person, but not a dress person, (tunics are legit my best friends) so my pick was a white tunic I had picked up earlier that year for $20 dollars with a black crocheted trim. So the pictures you’re looking at up top are basically my prom dress and the jeans I wore with it.

In summary: Just because you’re not going to have a year 12 formal/prom, go out to dinner with your family, dress up and have a *secret prom*

Pros: my whole outfit was free since I already owned everything, I was able to be myself and I had fun. No ‘I’m not girly enough’ panic attacks (these are legit a thing for me).

Cons: My hair was still wet and I fucked up my eyeliner, so I looked like a drowned raccoon. Also, I hadn’t discovered the magic of the front facing camera, so my ‘prom photo’ is rather shitty. (Secret pro: I took an ‘official portrait’ later on that looks significantly better).