Good evening universe, I am Mister Evil Breakfast and this is the news that's breaking across Australia, the world and beyond.
I promised you news, sport and weather a few weeks ago or something, so here you go. I am not wearing pants.
Tonight's top story is all the way from Cowabunga, Japan, where boffins have invented underpants that don't need to be washed. They are odour-free and moisture absorbent; they kill bacteria and still manage to keep your testicles from bouncing around too much. These Wonderpants are also flame resistant in case you can't resist lighting a fart and are also static free, so... they won't stick to the walls of your dryer, I guess. I never found that too much of a problem, myself. In fact, I quite like the static buzz of putting on a fresh pair of jocks straight out of the dryer, but maybe that's just me. Anyway, these techno tighty-whities are being trialled on the International Space Station, which for all of its scientific glory and telescopes and satellite radar things, doesn't have a washing machine. I guess that means my house is more awesome than being in space.
A great new invention has just been released - a bucket. Dunk your new-born into this "tummy tub" and recreate the womb for your little bundle of joy. What the fuck? For the past bazillion years, people have hung out in the uterus for a while and then decided that enough was enough & that it's probably time to get out see the world, you know, stretch the legs and such. I don't see what the big deal with the womb was anyway - it was relaxing sure, but it started getting very touristy and it lost its olde worlde charm as time went on. Sitting in a fake womb by hanging out in a bucket of warm water (and pee, probably) would be like trying to recreate your trip to Spain by putting ice cubes in your Big Red Tomato Soup. Pass the sangria, por favor!
A man was lucky to walk/run away from a fairly decent bingle involving a Merc and a beer truck at 4:30am. The owner of the car reported it stolen minutes after the accident... nice work, pelican. There's nothing dodgy about a 4:30am phone call to the cops explaining that you were just about to head over to your mate's place to watch the sun rise when lo-and-behold, some vagabond has thieved your motor vehicle, is there? Especially when it was written off about seven seconds beforehand. "Police are investigating whether alcohol was a factor in the crash." The only people driving at that time are piss-heads, car thieves, piss-head car thieves and bakers. This guy was at least three of the above, even if it was his own car that he nicked. Tool.
Apparently no beer was harmed. Thank Christ (thank you) (You’re welcome).
To finance now - everything's still fucked, but Aussie PM Kevin Rudd is going about gaining popularity by giving Aussie battlers (aka anyone who earns less than $100K a year) a bit of extra dosh for just being tops. That's why we love the leader. Apparently Australia doesn't have any money left in the piggy bank, yet Kev is writing us all IOUs which are redeemable everywhere. Despite doing economics for three years, I'm still no closer to grasping the very basics of it, which is evident by the fact that I failed two of those years and wrote "please don't fail me again" on my exam paper in the third. True story. I don't know exactly how, but this gift money is supposed to get the ol' Aussie dollar back on track, which would be a good thing. I could buy a guitar. That would be a good thing. I could buy some more corn chips. Good thing.
However... like all superheroes, Kev Rudd has his supervillain nemesis, who comes in the form of Bryan Pape. I didn't do a whole lot of research on this story, but from what I can understand, Pape is attempting to take a large stack of money to court and sue it, thus depriving everyone of their $900 "topsness payout" and would not allow me to buy a guitar. I daresay that these actions have led to Bryan officially losing all of his Facebook friends and latest reports indicate that he has changed his status to "the most hated man in the world."
For those looking to get out and about this weekend, here's your weather forecast, proudly brought to you by a giant piss-off eggplant: there's a 50% chance of rain everywhere. There's also a 50% chance of a stegosaurus walking through your street, so keep your eyes peeled.
Yesterday's weather update thing on the news.com.au site said: "Possible shower, cloudy at first." Well fuck. Clouds before rain? They go together now? I would have been way more impressed by: "Gods angry. Zeus' rage to fill the sky. Appeased tomorrow following sacrifice."
And finally, a feel-good story to warm your nether regions.
His neighbours' houses have weathercocks on their roofs - but Roy McInnes' house just has a cock. Roy the Pom (where else could he be from with a name like Roy?) has painted an 18 metre wang on his parent's roof so people can see it on Google Earth. There's nothing else to really say about this, except that it's amazing what someone can do with a ladder, a $2 million house and a tin of paint.
I hope this "ballsy" piece of art isn't "shafted" for a "schlong" time.
I'll be back with the late news if you log on again and re-read this entry at 11pm. Have a great weekend. I'm Mister Evil Breakfast... goodnight.