Thursday, May 28, 2009

show us your tips

The NRL have now rethought their idea for Todd Carney to design football jerseys

Welcome to State of Origin week. Hooray! As much as I'd like to tip the baby Blues for the win next Wednesday, I can't see them holding out the QLD backline, even if Karmichael Hunt gets a game. I freakin hate that guy. Erotic pleasure for all if NSW get up though. Hey, we can all dream, right?

Split round:

Dragons vs Panthers
The Panthors are travelling quite well this season... and as much as I hate St George, I still reckon they'll have the class to sneak away with a win. They might have to cheat to do it though, but that's not really stopping anyone in the NRL this year.

Eels vs Sharks
Remember that South Park episode where Timmy and Jimmy had a cripple fight? This is round two of that epic battle. I'll tip the Eels because they're slightly less retarded than the Sharks. Those poor Sharkies. Andrew Ettingshausen should leave his fishing show and help them out a bit. Actually, he should just leave the fishing show, it's an annoying interruption in my weekend television viewing.

Warriors vs Tigers
I've lost all faith in the Kiwi lads when it comes to rugby league, I'm afraid. I mean, I never had a huge amount, but this year they're really not doing much to impress anyone, even though I tried to convince everyone that they were good.

Knights vs Bulldogs
...Bulldogs. I feel dirty for tipping them, I really do. But they're sitting on top of the ladder, don't have a single player out for Origin duties, and as far as I know, don't have anyone in jail or awaiting trial either. But hey, it's only Thursday and a lot can happen to an NRL player in 2 days.

Rabbits vs Raiders
After last week's massive return to form, expect the Raiders to slump back into the losing groove. But fuck it, I'll still tip em. They're my boys. My little spazzies. God bless em.

If only there was something to jump for, eh boys?

Blues vs Eagles
REM have a song on their 2004 album "Around the Sun" called "Electron Blue." A lot of people didn't like that album, but I rate it sooo much higher than "Reveal." Either way, both albums were over produced and were too slow. Still, "Electron Blue" is a decent track, and is about a futuristic drug that is made of light. REM have not had a song about a Weagle (or even a regular eagle) so I will tip the Electron Blues.

Bulldogs vs Swans
I think there's too many bulldogs running around on sporting fields, to be honest. Seriously. Too many. There's at least two that I know of, anyway. Only one group of Swans though. Points to the Swans for being original, even if slightly effeminate.

Kangaroos vs Lions
Shit, I don't know. Ummmm. I hit a kangaroo with my car once; it fucked my car up (but fucked the roo up more). I am yet to have had my car trashed by a lion, so they get my tip this week.

Saints vs Demons
Haven't these guys played each other recently? I seem to remember dribbling something about the holiness of the Saints and the evilness of the Demons. I think I tipped the Saints then, and I'll do the same again this week.

Dockers vs Tigers
I don't care for the Dockers; there's something about their name that shits me. I'm going to tip the Tigers, even though they apparently suck. Maybe this week they'll come good. It honestly doesn't bother me if they don't.

Crows vs Hawks
The brown and yellows are favourites to win the premmy this year, aren't they? Maybe? I dunno, I might just be making up some stats (insert joke about how 87% of all statistics are made up on the spot). Sorry Radelaide boys, but I'm going against you this week.

Bombers vs Cats
People have often asked me about my tipping choices when it comes to natural selection - things like the Bulldogs vs the Lions (a lion would totally eat any kind of dog, not necessarily just bulldogs). So then they say, "So the Bombers would always win, then?" But it depends on how you look at it. If you have a cat on the ground and a plane comes down and drops a couple of bombs on it, well of course the Bombers would get up. But if you had a pilot who was about to drop his bombs, but someone had hidden a cat in the plane and it got loose just as he was about to hit the "bombs away" button, the cat would probably scratch that guy to within an inch of his life. The pilot would be completely caught unawares; the last thing he's expecting is to be confronted with a cat - he's in a plane for fuck's sake! Even worse is that the pilot is terribly allergic to cats and he dies. The cat pushes the pilot out of the way and takes over the stick and lands the plane safely. Therefore, Geelong to win.

Maggies vs Power
I have seen Magpies sitting on Power lines. I have not ever seen a Power line sitting on a Magpie. I think that means that magpies are the dominant species when it comes to birds and power lines. Case closed.

Good luck for the weekend - I'm here all week, don't forget to tip your waitress. (See what I did there?)

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Banks a lot, you bankers

Organisation has never really been a part of my life. I am, by all definitions of the word, disorganised. I have good intentions, really; one day I will file my bank statements together in chronological order; one day I will take my rubbish out; one day I will iron a shirt instead of giving it two shakes before I put it on. One day I even hope to be early for something. Just once. But I’ll try not to get too far ahead of myself, I think baby steps are the way to go for now.

Due to this lack of organisation, sometimes I run out of money. And by sometimes, I mean fortnightly. It’s not that I lead an extravagant lifestyle – a lot of people would put an extra coat of gold on their salt and pepper shakers, but not me. I’m happy to sleep on a bed that’s stuffed with $50 notes and shower in Moet like regular people. I eat wagu beef stuffed with caviar and abalone and throw it away because I don’t like either caviar or abalone, and I buy a new Cray Supercomputer every time I close an application in Windows. So yes, I am living well below the poverty line to the point that a homeless bloke gave me a few bucks “to catch the bus” the other day. More fool him, I spent it on drugs. Not very good ones though; for $2, the guy I bought heroin from sold me an empty baggie.

Anyway, after a weekend that possibly involved a pint or two too many, I knew I was a smidge short in the old commerce area of my life. Since I’ve already got drunk and bought a guitar online and completely forgot about it until eBay sent me an email congratulating me on my winning bid (true story), I figured I was good for a couple more days of eating Prada handbags and burning Ferraris to keep warm. That’s until I checked my bank thingy on the intergoogleweb and discovered that I’d had a few direct debits slide their way out of my account while I was looking at this ant on my balcony:

Those sneaky bastards at the bank took all my money; so much so that they took more money than I had. That’s quite rude. It’s like a ‘no smoking’ sign on your cigarette break. It’s like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife. It’s. Just. Fucking. Rude.

Captain Bank took my cash until it was gone, then they took more, and THEN they slapped a fine on me for the pain and heartache I obviously caused them by not having any money. I have no idea how this ever became an option; there’s no money in the account, yet they’ve penalised me the sum of $45.

That’s like being involved in an organ transplant where you need to donate three kidneys. You can try as hard as you like to produce a third; hell, you can even offer your liver and spleen as consolation prizes, but it’s just not going to work. Stupid banks, they should stop trying to do organ transplants and stick to what they’re best at: not serving customers and giving people a queue to stand in during their lunch break.

Friday, May 22, 2009

round round round like a record baby

Welcome to the next round of footy tips. I know you were all waiting for my tips last week, sorry I missed them; I was too busy fighting off Matty Johns’ sexual advances. Oh wait, we’re over NRL sex jokes now? Right. In that case, I was too busy thieving bar mats from a Thai nightclub.

On that note, I will now not steal bar mats from King O’Malleys ever again, and especially not blame it on my friend when I/we get busted for it. I had no idea these things were so valuable. Sorry about that, Skip.

For all intensive purposes, let’s just assume that last week I tipped a full round and was proclaimed to be the best thing since bread came sliced. This week, tips are proudly brought to you by April O’Neil, who is actually a girl who lives in Perth and has never seen a game of rugby league. I reckon she’ll do ok.

Rock on, April…

Eels vs Rabbitohs
April says: So I’m pretty sure Big Russ dragged the Rabbitohs back from the abyss, and being a bit of a fan of his (because despite the fact that he’s a born kiwi lad we’ll actually claim him as our own because us Aussies are good like that) I’ll go with them this week.
Mister Evil Breakfast says: My brother will kill me if I tip the Bunnies because they get beaten whenever I do. Go Eels. My love for Parra is everlasting.

Wests Tigers vs Broncos
April: If I was asked to name one of the 16 footy teams, and for the benefit of the readers by footy I mean NRL (in case you are an AFL convert like me), it would be the Broncos. I don’t know why I happen to know they play in maroon and are from Brisbane, but I do. And after watching Sports Tonight last night, why the hell is Wests plural? It’s as bad as my brother’s hockey team Wasps. You think you’ve finished yelling for your team, and all of a sudden you have a whole heap of snakes hissing. Broncos, just so I don’t get tongue tied when I mention their name.
MEB: I like your style, April. Alas, the Broncos uniform is more white and yellow than it is maroon, but your heart is in the right place, i.e. your chest. I knew a guy who had his heart in his left leg; that was weird. I’m lying, I don’t know anyone like that at all. I need to meet more people.

Sharks vs Dragons
April: Whilst arse can get you a long way in footy tipping, there are some golden rules. Like not picking the bottom side, unless their coach has been sacked in which case they are sure to be playing your team and will beat them. So Dragons for me.
MEB: I love that Cronulla is in the comp, it means that the Raiders won’t come last. Awesome.

Panthers vs Roosters
April: Panthers have that slick, sexy, mysterious look about them. Roosters are annoying when they wake you up at stupid o'clock. Panthers.
MEB: And I hate Willie Mason.

Bulldogs vs Storm
April: We had our first rains in about 23 years today, so if that's not an omen I don't know what is. Storm.
MEB: I am SO hungry right now.

Raiders vs Warriors
April: I'm sorry, I can't do it. I'm sure most readers are massivo Raiders fans, but tipping with your heart won't win the big bucks (and if there are big bucks involved why don't I know about them???). Plus Kiwi's are hot (and given their World Cup win last year, can apparently play a bit too). Warriors
MEB: The Raiders were obviously robbed in last week’s game (lost 46-6 to the Storm) so they’ll use that as motivation to overrun the hapless kiwis. And I have it on good authority that Joel Monaghan is getting his hair cut today, so he’ll be looking slick and will be more aerodynamic than ever.

Titans vs Sea Eagles
April: It's the CLASH OF THE TITANS… and the Sea Eagles (thought I'd keep some continuity on the blog). I tried to find some photos of the teams/boys to make a typical female call based on colours and arses. All I could come up with was that Manly’s Matt Ballin was voted the sexiest man in the NRL. So I typed his name into the search engine and came up with this photo:

I thought ‘if that’s the best NRL had to offer it’s no wonder I watch AFL! But then I googled him, and found a photo with his shirt off. All was forgiven – Manly, whichever of the two teams that is.
MEB: I appreciate the continuity. For the record, I don't rate Matt Ballin at all, Manly are the Sea Eagles and the Titans are a bunch of girls.

Cowboys vs Knights
April: Cowboys are so not fashionable at the moment, but every single gal wants a Knight in shining armour to sweep her off her feet. Knights
MEB: Knights are shinier, too.

April: I take no responsibility for my actions… or these tips.
MEB: With great power comes great responsibility. And women.

This seems to be a well-rehearsed play. Forget about looking at the ball, just wave your hands around

Do they still play AFL? I hadn’t noticed. In the rare event that they players all stop tickling each other and kick the ball betwixt those sticks, here’s who will win:

Cats vs Dogs
The epic struggle of history’s greatest rivals continues. Most would say dogs will win, but dogs are stupid, and if you piss a cat off, the dog will always get a fair scratching. Cats can be vicious, man.

Kangaroos vs Dockers
When I was typing this, I accidentally wrote “Doggers” and then it took me about an hour to realise that there’s (a) no such word as Doggers, and (b) I wouldn’t go for them even if there was such a word. Go Roos. I’m so tired.

Crows vs Blues
I saw a crow on the way into work today. I’ll take that as an omen. It might have been a magpie, actually. I think it was dead. Hmmm. Sometimes these omens are hard to decipher. Like, my car is blue, but that’s not a good enough omen for me. I see that thing every day.

Eagles vs Magpies
I can fly higher than an eagle because you are the wind beneath my wings. Thank you for providing inspiration to the Eagles, Bette Middler. I’ll never forget your guest appearance on Seinfeld. I have no idea how you ever became famous or successful.

Tigers vs Bombers
The Tiges are in Struggletown, if what I’m hearing on Sports Tonight is correct. The Bombers are in Essendon. I think that speaks volumes.

Swans vs Power
On REM’s fourth CD (Lifes Rich Pageant, 1986) there’s a song called “Swan Swan H.” It’s a really good song, actually. The H was finally revealed in 2007 to stand for “Hummingbird” which I already knew, because it’s the next word in the chorus. Sometimes Michael Stipe isn’t as cryptic as he thinks he is. Go Swans.

Saints vs Lions
I think these teams should merge and be St Lions. How awesome would that be? A big fuck-off lion cruising around spreading peace and doing God’s will by eating people. I can’t wait. I think the Saints are going well this year, yes? Let’s continue on that bandwagon then, friends.

Hawks vs Demons
Seriously, how many teams are in this comp? I feel like I’ve been writing this shit for hours. I’ve got things to do today. Honestly. I think I heard something the other day about how much the Demons suck; I admit, I may be making things up or hearing voices, but those voices haven’t let me down yet, so I’m going to stick with them. Go Hawkeye.

Good luck this week, and remember: Tipping isn't just for Christmas.

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Ashes Ashes we all fall down

So as I was lying on my deathbed last week, I began counting my blessings (as you do). Hilarious, witty, charming, handsome... It was a long list. Anyway, my blessings apparently don't include "being awesomely good at cricket" which is something that I will always regret. I am guessing that Ricky Ponting will have the same issues when his time comes (hopefully next Friday).

And then I got better and my deathbed reverted to being my normal bed again, which was nice. Less brooding. I should change the sheets though.

"Not being awesomely good at cricket" has meant that I've been left out of the Aussie squad that is attempting to quash the old enemy and retain that tiny little urn that is all things dinky-di-true-blue-she'll-be-right-cobber-blokey-Dazzler-Davo-hooroo-matey-tinnie-barbie-Oz - the Ashes. The Ashes are steeped in tradition, and the popular version is that the trophy holds the actual ashes of the bails that were burnt in the first game in which Australia defeated England, signifying the 'death of English cricket.' I would prefer if the captain of the losing side was burnt and his ashes were put into an egg cup, but that's just me.

The recent fight to be the Ashes' holder has been a bit dicey - it was Australia for about a million years, then England won them back (possibly by cheating) in 2005, then Australia desmolished the pack of under 12 girls that the Poms sent out here to defend them in 2007. Will the see-saw of cricketing power continue to do what see-saws do, or will Australia regain their once-solid grip on the Ashes urn like a piece of blu-tac that cannot be removed from a wall? Will England surprise the Aussies as if they were the unsuspecting recipients of a surprise-party, or fall like baby giraffes with bad hips?

Time will tell. So will the scoreboard.

Australian cricket has been in a bit of a slump lately; we convincingly lost to India, couldn't even beat the Kiwis and drew with the Saffas. Zimbabwe and the Bangladeshis were pissing in their pants with excitement to have a hit against the Aussies and finally beat someone other than themselves, but they couldn't afford to tour after the clever dicks at Cricket Australia withdrew their "Save the Children" donations.

So who has been picked to head over to Londontown to defend the Australian honour? These guys:

Ricky Ponting (captain)
To be more correct, 'captain' should be prefixed by 'should not be' and suffixed with 'let alone be in the team' and have the parenthesis taken off so his name would be "Ricky Ponting should not be captain let alone be in the team". I may have over-explained that. I don't like Punter at all, and if he fails in this campaign, should kiss his career, sponsorships, wife and acorn collection goodbye.

Michael Clarke (vice-captain)
On his day, Pup is the goods. When it's not his day, he's an embarrassment to anyone who has ever said, "That Michael Clarke's a good player." While being highly revered for his prowess against spin bowling, he consistently gets out to them fairly cheaply and some (me) would say, rather stupidly. With some fitness concerns, way too many tattoos and shit hair, Clarkey is the next generation of Australian cricketers. And he has a wife who I can never make up my mind as to whether she's hot or not.

Stuart Clark
Despite being a dirty-firsty, Stuart Clark is possibly my favourite guy called Stuart that I know. Possibly. He's a no-nonsense kind of bowler, hits a good length and keeps the batsmen honest. Will probably get tonked for a million in England though, as he's just had surgery on his entire skeleton and looks like he would probably rather be sinking piss and eating pies than having to spend another tour with Ponting gnawing away in his ear.

Brad Haddin
Haddo is the first-choice wicket-keeper which is a definite worry as he struggles at the very basics of cricket, such as catching the ball. Considering that the only bowlers that Australia have are pacemen, the ball shouldn't be that hard to grab when you're standing about 60 metres away from the guy who's chucking it to you, but he finds a way. Haddin has spent some time in Struggletown with the bat, but has also scored a few decent knocks as well. So he's a loose cannon. I probably should have said that to start with instead of going on about his "sometimes there" skills. Personally, I think he looks like the kind of guy you'd love to hit in the balls with a pool cue and not feel bad about it.

Nathan Hauritz
Dear me. Dearie dearie me. The only spinner picked to tour is this guy - which says a lot about the Australian spin bowlers at the moment. Hauritz possesses a devastating 'straight ball' that he will use at least six times an over. Remember when the phrase "Australian spin bowler" used to make the English batsmen cry? Yeah, cherish those memories.

Ben Hilfenhaus
For fuck's sake, I AM AVAILABLE TO PLAY, AUSTRALIAN SELECTORS! I can't bat or bowl, my throwing arm is custard and I have a tendency to drop really easy catches. Why Hilfy over me? No idea. The universe is a puzzling place. At least my name reads like it's actually a completed word; if you had a shirt with "Hilfenhaus" written on the back, you'd probably think that a few letters fell off in the washing machine, and you'd go mental trying to find them.

Phillip Hughes
Sounds very regal, doesn't it? "Hello, my name is Phillip Hughes. Fetch me some rose water." However, I think the guy's actually a bit of a bogan, and I doubt anyone has ever called him Phillip (even his mum). Phil can bat like a little fucking champion, and even though he's only 20, should have been in the Aussie team about 7 years ago. That'd shut that Tendulkar bloke up, wouldn't it? "Meh meh meh, I was in the national side when I was 15 (or something). Meh meh meh." Tendulkar and Hughesy then could have had a contest to see whose balls dropped first. My money's on Tendulkar, though.

Michael Hussey
Michael Hussey? Michael? It's Mike, you stupid newsite that I copied this list from. Mike. The Huss is scratching around like a blind, demented rooster in a pile of syphyllis at the moment, and a lot of people have lost faith in him. Not me though. No way. Well, maybe a little. But I still love him. Just, you know... not as much as I used to.

Mitchell Johnson
Australia's latest revelation. Mitch stands out for his consistent ability to bowl fast, take wickets, field well and score runs against different types of bowling. But then, it's not hard to stand out for doing that with this pack of idiots surrounding you. It'd be like Raphael sitting in a tank of regular turtles and proclaiming himself to be better than them because he has ninja skills. Whether Johnson will be able to shoulder most of the responsibility of actually playing cricket for Australia while the other guys lick windows and wave to strangers on the bus is another thing entirely. Look for an injury in game three, I reckon.

Simon Katich
The Kat has oft been overlooked for Test representation because he's not flashy, isn't arrogant, doesn't snort lines of coke off the backs of Asian prostitutes and generally does what cricketers should do, i.e. play cricket. And apparently he put Michael Clarke in a headlock and threatened to kill him for trying to pussy out of the team song after a rare Australian win, so he's definitely on my list of "awesome blokes." I'd invite the Kat around to play Playstation with me, but would always let him win because (a) I'm shit at Playstation, and (b) I reckon he'd get violently angry if he lost.

Brett Lee
Brett Fucking Lee, welcome back, you show pony princess. This is Binga's official last roll of the dice for his cricket career, so he'd better perform. Personally, I hope he does; he seems like a good bloke. If I ever meet him, I think I'd try and get his autograph on a beer coaster or something, and then hang around him for way too long, talking about cricket and music and his brother (Shane) and his divorce and his sexuality and stuff. You know, just to make him a little uncomfortable because I'm a prick like that. Then I'd buy him a light beer and see if he takes it or not. Anyway, after having had some surgery to his hair, Bing has been thrown a lifeline to play for his country again, without having had any match practice in about seven years. Nice gamble, Aussies. My money's on black. Always bet on black.

Graham Manou
A tourist - he's been picked as the back-up wicket keeper so he won't be used unless Haddin dies and his body is ripped apart by rabid wolves or something. Good fucking luck getting the gloves, Gram. I quite like his name, too. Manou. Manou. Nice.

Andrew McDonald
Well, every team needs someone to pick on, right? Might as well be the ranga who can't bat, bowl or field. Macca thinks that's what Hilfy is in the team for, just quietly, so don't tell him. I am not impressed with anything this guy does on the field, but he's actually pretty funny and intelligent off it. Welcome to being a fish out of water with this lot, tiges. Enjoy your trip to England, don't forget to call your mum when you arrive safely (shut up, my mum made me do it as well).

Marcus North
Northy. Northo. Northwah. I've don't really have much to say about him, other than adding a different sound onto the end of his surname. Northington. The best thing about Northqueensland is that he's keeping Andrew Fucking Symonds out of the team, which is just fucking dandy by me. There's a movie called "Goal" about some idiot guy called Santiago who plays soccer and somehow goes from having a social kick-around in the slums of Guatamala (or something) to play in the Premier League (or something) in about two weeks. Every time there was a test of his skill, fitness or moral fibre, Santiago would fail it and then say, "Give me another chance!" and the coach would say, "Yeah ok," and Santi would prove himself until his next hurdle, and he'd just ask for another chance, which was then granted again. It was quite an annoying film, come to think of it, and everyone who was in the room with me while I was watching it knows just how angry I was with the poor scripting and soccer-goal-sized plot holes (sorry Todd). Anyway, Andrew Symonds was like Santiago. I'm so glad he's finally run out of chances, and Marcus Northumberland has been given a shot. This is a really long write-up on a guy that I know next to nothing about that somehow mentions a movie that I didn't like about a sport I don't know much about and a cricket player who wasn't picked for the Ashes tour. Gooooal!

Peter Siddle
I am going to give this guy the nickname 'Piddle.' Piddle looks like he's from the same block of granite that Andy Fucking Bichel was carved out of - not too flash, but with a heart so big his chest can barely cope with the load. Through sheer determination, Piddle will knock over a few Pommies, but won't get anywhere near Glenn McGrath status. He might go so far as to reach the lofty standards of Scott Muller though. If I was a fast bowler, I'd use this guy as inspiration to realise that skill has nothing to do with getting a baggy green and playing for Australia.

Shane Watson (subject to fitness)
The phrase "subject to fitness" is the clincher. He is not fit. The guy just isn't built for moving, which is a bad trait for someone who plays sport for a living to have. Snapped hamstrings, torn groin muscles, pectoral weakness, hairline fractures of his entire spine, shaving cuts, cuticles, this guy has it all. Why he's being picked for an Ashes tour is completely beyond me; I mean the guy can't even help out by carrying someone's kitbag or his arm would drop off. Maybe he's a good photographer and he can be the guy that everyone hands their cameras to while they pose with the guards at Buckingham Palace. Remember Watto - half press to focus, then full press to take the photo. And make sure everyone's in the shot (except for McDonald, the loser).

So what are our chances of retaining the Ashes? Pray for rain, lads. Pray for rain.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

breaking up is hard to do. especially when it's food.

A little while ago, I bought a box of Le Snaks; you know the things that your mum used to pop into your lunch box when you were nine or something? Six packets of goodness, each one containing three crackers with a little pool of cheese spread in which to dip them. I saw the Le Snak pack on the supermarket shelf and thought, "Fuck yes. Those things were awesome! I haven't had one in about 20 years." I honestly thought they had been taken out of production or something. Maybe mum didn't buy them and I didn't ask for them. Touche, mother. Maybe the Uncle Toby's recipe was stolen and they couldn't produce the cheese anymore. Personally, I'd like to think that Uncle Toby's realised that the world wasn't quite ready for Le Snak in 1988 and have been waiting to unleash hell in 2009.

Or maybe, just maybe, they didn't actually ever sell, and the Le Snak that is sitting in my pantry is from the same batch that my mum bought when I was in grade three. When I peeled back the alfoil "freshness protector" thing on top of one of the packets, I immediately felt a harsh desert wind sweeping up from the biscuits. These fuckers were dry, man. Like, really dry. You know how sometimes you eat something that's dry and you turn to someone and say, "Man, this is really dry." And they'll say, "It doesn't look very dry." And you reply, "Well it is dry; try some." And then they eat it and say, "You're right, this is really dry." Well, whatever you ate has nothing on my Le Snak biscuits. Incidentally, Le Snak is the winner of the inaugral Mister Evil Breakfast Award For Being Really Dry (Food Category):

Le Snak have won the coveted MEB Award For Being Really Dry (Food Category)

Anyway, I picked up one of the biscuits and dipped it into the little pool of cheese - after all, that is what we all ate those things for, right? No one wants crackers, give us fake cheese that doesn't need to be refridgerated. It sunk about a millimetre into the cheese spread before it snapped. Being the bonza little Aussie that I am, I tried again. The biscuit broke once more. Snap. Snap snap fucking snap. Well... fuck. The years have been unkind to my "le french" snacky friend as the biscuits have become brittle and the cheese has become impenetrable. C'est la vie.

Le Snak - even though we have ended badly, I will always remember you for the good times.

Le Snak; it's French for "the snak" which is poor english for "the snack." I'd say it fits into the "edible" category, but wouldn't go too much further.

Thursday, May 07, 2009

Wolverine, Wolverine, does whatever a Wolverine does

This is the Wolverine that I wanted to see...

For some reason, it's BLOCKBUSTER time at ol' Hoyts. The first big-budget action flick of the year is the X-Men spin-off bonanza that is 'Wolverine.' Well, it's actually 'X-Men Origins: Wolverine" but for the sake of keeping things simple, let's just call it 'Wolverine,' even though my mate Todd couldn't remember what movie we were meant to be seeing when it came time to buy the tickets and we almost ended up seeing 'Ghosts of Ex-Girlfriends' or whatever the fucking thing is called. You know it, it's got that guy without a shirt in it. But in this one, he wears a shirt. I know, Matthew McConaghey certainly has a wide acting range.

But enough about Matthew McConaghey - I think I misspelt his name - today I'm talking about the other guy who refuses to wear a shirt, Hugh Jackman. Hugh has regrown his sideburns and furrowed his brow to step back into the role of Logan McWolverine, or just Wolverine to his mates. Joining Hugh (we're on a first name basis) is Liev Schreiber, who has a very odd name. Liev (is that seriously a name?) plays Wolvie's brother Victor Von Sabretooth. These two guys are mutants whose bodies heal themselves; Wolvie has claws (cool) while Sabretooth can grow his fingernails (gay). Seriously, my mutant power of having a toenail that falls off is more impressive, and about as useful.

Righto. So the plot sees Wolvo and Sabres getting drafted by Stryker into a league of mutants that also features The Blob, Deadpool, Agent Zero, Kestral, and one of the hobbits from Lord of the Rings. The superteam goes around kicking the shit out of people and generally being badass. This is the good part of the movie. All of a sudden, Wolvie comes down with a bad case of lost testicles and sooks off into the jungle; he's had enough of all these shenanigans and quits the team. He pisses off back to Canada and hooks up with some little hottie (Silver Fox) and everything's going quite well for everyone. Love is in the air.

Sabretooth isn't as happy as he could be, and is sort of becoming a bit less than nice. He has come down with a bad case of 'being psycho' and starts killing the superteam. What a bastard, hey? I mean, imagine if the guys that you went to primary school with turned around and started trying to kill you a few years later! Talk about annoying! Sabes moves on from killing his team and goes after Mrs Wolverine. Wolverine vows revenge and goes back to Stryker who gives him even more superpowers by coating his skeleton in adamantium, the strongest metal in the history of strong metals. It's inde-fucking-structible. So Wolves goes out and tries to fuck Sabre's shit up, and this is where the movie falls apart in a bad, bad, bad way. Like, really bad.

If you haven't seen the movie, don't read those last paragraphs, or you'll ruin the flick for yourself.

...but this is the Wolverine that we get

'Wolverine' goes in a steady downward spiral as it tries to introduce as many other X-Men characters as it can into the final quarter of the movie. We get Cyclops, Emma Frost and Gambit, and they are basically just there to fill screen time. They add fuck all to the storyline, and the character of Gambit is especially wasted. Nice fight scene though.

I'm going to echo every other person who's reviewed 'Wolverine' and compare it to movies like 'The Dark Knight' or 'Iron Man' which deal in origin stories as well, but do it sooooooo much better than has been done here. I didn't see 'Wolverine' to watch Cyclops cutting his school in half with laser eyes. I don't even like Cyclops. Nor did I see 'Wolverine' to see every fucking X-Men character in the entire Marvel universe run around and save the world. Surely that's Wolverine's job? And I especially didn't go to see it to have Deadpool completely fucking destroyed. MY GOD. One of the coolest background X-Men characters is brought to life on screen and then ripped apart in the worst possible way. I'm not asking much here, Hollywood, but all you had to do was read a comic and not completely fuck up a movie. That's all.

There's also the oddity of having characters whose main attacking weapons are to stab and scratch... yet not a drop of blood is spilt. Wolvie spends most of his day up to his elbow in people's chest as he digs around, but there's no gore to be seen. There's no chunks of flesh on the tip of his claws, there's no spatter when he slashes around. There's not even a fucking drop of it on his singlet. I dare say that the budget of this movie was blown out due to the dry-cleaning bill. Well it wasn't due to script-writing, was it?

'Wolverine' is not a complete waste of time - I wasn't expecting movie magic, but I was expecting at least the illusion of a decent flick. It has its moments; Hugh Jackman is good, Liev Schreiber does a decent job at being a bit crazy... the special effects are nice... the action is decent... the photography is pretty good... but there's probably more wrong with this puppy than there is right. The worst thing is that there is a very good movie hiding underneath this thing somewhere. Also, don't bother forcing your friends to wait until after the credits to see the 'extra scene.' It's a piece of shit and you'll just embarrass yourself.

I give 'Wolverine' $8.

Apparently this guy likes Wolverine a lot. Personally, I'd just stick to collecting comics and stuff.

Evil Tipping, Mister Breakfast Style... with cheese.

I think it would be difficult for Greg Inglis to be any more horizontal than he is right here.

Thank Christ for split rounds, huh (thank you). It means I can get away with an even more half-arsed blog entry than usual to keep the faithful readers happy (or angry, depending on whether you bother reading the footy tipping section; apparently most of you hate it. To you: Go fuck yourselves. But since you've probably already skipped this entry to update your Facebook profile to "I am drinking orange juice LOL!" you won't read that. But I hope you feel it).

So my tips last week sucked royal dog’s balls, apparently. I apologise to anyone who used my recommendations for their own footy tipping comp - at least you're not alone in being a complete numpty at tipping. Righto, onto week whatever-the-fuck-it-is...

Cowboys vs Dragons
Oh God, I don't know. Fuck. Why are these games all hard? Why can't just one team be consistent in either being good or being useless (other than the Raiders)? Honestly. The Cowboys can't decide whether they're shit-hot or just plain shit. I reckon they might be shit out-of-luck this week though, as I'm tipping the Dragons to have enough firepower to blow the Queenslander's defence away and win by about 8 points. Yeah. 8 points sounds good.

Knights vs Titans
It's the CLASH OF THE TITANS... and the Knights. The Titans are playing quite well by all reports (well, at least one report, and that came from Matt Rogers; can you trust that dirty rat?) and the Knights are trucking along nicely as well; they've won some close games so far this year, and have proven that they can knuck it out with the best of them. But I think this game will be decided by who cheats more, and in that case, the Titans will be easy victors.

Broncos vs Sea Eagles
I am so over Manly. So over them. I'm like Rachel when she got over Ross when he was about to buy a cat with Julie. That's how over them I am. They're missing the Beaver, who I watched play in Super League on Sunday night at a million o'clock. This will be Manly's best chance to get a win up, as the entire Brisbane side is playing in the Test on Friday night and may be drunk, hungover or in jail by the time this game gets under way. Still, my money is on Brissy to continue Manly's season of woe.

Roosters vs Storm
Welcome to Shitsville, population: Roosters and Storm. The Storm have no excuses; they have a team chock-full of superstars, yet can't win, thus confirming the old saying that "a star team will always beat a team of stars." It also backs up the phrase "Melbourne are shit." However, the Roosters also prove the saying "the Roosters a bunch of pretty boy tossers who couldn't play footy if their gayhomo haircuts depended on it" is true. Melbourne to win in a canter, not that anyone will care. Not even Melbourne.

This guy has a lovely beard.

AFL is still a fucking mystery to me, but I'm doing quite well in my tips, so I won't complain.

Bombers vs Hawks
In the last game I watched (which was in 1984), Essendon beat the Hawks by about 20 or something. I think Hawthorn are still hurting from that game, and seem hungrier than the Bombers to exact revenge. Hawks by a half dozen pies (is that an AFL expression? It is now).

Cats vs Swans
Um. I dunno. I think whenever I tip the Swans, they lose. So in the interest of making my friend happy (he goes for the Swans), I'll guarantee a win and back the Catties. Go you Cats. Sleep for 19 hours a day.

Tigers vs Lions
The battle of the big cats is on! Dare I say it, this could be a Thundercat kind of battle. But instead of a battle between the Thundercats and an evil alien mummy thing, it's just between two Thundercats. Apparently the Tigers are in a spot of bother this year, so I'll tip the Lions. Raaawrr.

Blues vs Dockers
I'm Blue da de da de da da da. I'm Blue something about Queen Amidala. I'm Blue if I was green I would die. These are the real lyrics to that song, people. At no stage does it mention the Dockers. Hence, the Blues will win. Pffft. Dockers. Who are they kidding?

Kangaroos vs Power
"I'm just waiting for some POWER!" These were the words of Billy Idol as he wandered aimlessly around a floating stage during the 2002 NRL Grand Final waiting for someone to plug in his guitar. That POWER never made it. And now we know why; it was too busy beating the shit out of some Kangaroos 7 years later in an AFL game. Thanks for coming, Billy.

Crows vs Bulldogs
Undeniably the game of the round. It's undeniable, don't try and deny it. You can't, by the very definition of the word. The Crows will obviously win, because that's what Crows do. They win. They're born winners. You'll see. Crows by seventy. Is that a lot? It seems like a lot. Maybe even eighty. Or eighty-four, I can't decide.

Eagles vs Demons
"If you're a complete fucking spastic, text your football team's name and their opposition to 1900-MY-HEAD'S-UP-MY-ARSE and receive the winner of that game direct to your mobile!" I did it, and it came back 'Eagles.' It's written in the stars, in txt.

Maggies vs Saints
Oh when the Saints... go marching in... oh when the Saints go marching in... I want them to beat the Magpies... oh when the Saints go marching in." Look, it's in a song that everybody knows that makes no sense, so they'll probably win. No one writes a song about Magpies, because they're vicious little fucks and I hate them. I hate them with a stick and a helmet with those plastic spikes in it.
I'm feeling confident about this week's tips. Oh yes. Oh yes. Yes. Sip em if you tip em!

Tuesday, May 05, 2009

everybody needs good ones

Yeah sorry - Kylie was never hot until she dipped herself in a vat of plastic and remodelled her entire body. And even then...

Ramsay Street has been in fucking liquorice lately, my friends. Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song, and I'll try not to sing out of key now. I haven't been watching it as regularly as I could have been, there's been some drinking and ninja assassinations getting in my way. You know how it is. But here's what I do know...

Rachel: Accepted a position at a flash uni in London and moved there the same day. I find it strange that she's already at uni despite the fact that all of her classmates are still getting through high school. But it was an emotional farewell, and everything she'll ever need was taken as on-board luggage in a backpack. Nicely done. I love a girl who travels light.

Ty: Moped around for a week or so because Rachel was gone, then booked tickets and flew to London... on the same day. I guess bartending at Charlie's pays more than I thought. All of the kids of Ramsay are disappointed and terrified that he's gone... who will teach them how to play the recorder now?

Zeke: Was found after his kayaking incident, had amnesia and was living with someone who pretended to be his dad. Karl and Susan rescued him (of course) and took him home. He became even more emo and had a fight with Ringo, with whom he was sharing a bedroom. I don't know what's going on with the two of them now; Zeke is too busy being the DJ on a pirate radio station and spilling the beans on everyone's lives in Erinsborough. I think the writers have been watching Pump Up The Volume a bit too closely. Zeke is definitely a poor man's Christian Slater. So very, very poor. I miss Christian Slater.

Karl: I haven't seen him for a while; I'm assuming he's still single-handedly curing cancer and fighting crime in his spare time. I think it's time Karl had a tragedy in his life. Shouldn't take long, I reckon.

Susan: she even still around? I haven't seen her lately. But then again, I haven't really been looking. No doubt she's being the 'rock' to everyone in the street as they go from tale-of-woe to tale-of-woe. Good ol' Susan. I'd probably have a coffee with Susan, actually. As long as she pays, of course.

Donna: Still hot, but looks won't help anyone when you're having trouble with your mum. Mrs Donna has apparently ruined Donna's acting career by teaching her the 'wrong way' to act in her audition for the school play. Then Mrs Donna electrocuted Declan by letting a cat go outside. Donna is now trying to divorce her mum, which is a smart move for a 16-year old girl to make when she has no other family or income.
Declan: Was electrocuted (see "Donna") whilst chasing a cat that went underneath a house. In keeping with the laws of the Erinsborough universe, if you do anything slightly outside the norm (which is limited to going to school, going to Charlie's for coffee, going to Harold's for a sandwich, going next door to annoy people), you will get hurt. I expect he'll make a full recovery though, as he lies in hospital for a week, surrounded by machines that go 'ping.' A little while ago he lost his AFL contract by being late to training because he was looking after his preggers girlfriend (see "Bridget," below). He doesn't seem too upset at having his lifelong dream quashed, but since an AFL career has only been his lifelong dream since the beginning of the year, I think he's over it. What will our Declan turn his hand to next? I can't wait to find out. I can, actually.

Bridget: Still pregnant and is now yelling at people for "letting Declan get electrocuted." Hormones, man. They're making her crazy. Didge used to be cool. Now she's fairly annoying. I'm not entirely sure what her life consists of now that she was kicked out of school for being pregnant - what does she do all day? Sit on the couch with a pack of Tim Tams in her PJ's? That would be sweet. I can't wait to get preggers.

Ringo: I've missed an awful lot of episodes lately, but I think he had something to do with the Erinsborough AFL superstar (to encourage stereotypes, being a professional athlete automatically turns you into a criminal) and got into some trouble. Ringers had to take the fall for the superstar crashing his car into a lightpole or something. He may have grassed on him and they both had their contracts ripped up. I think they both learnt a valuable lesson about honesty that day, and I think Ringo may have put on his 'whiny little girl' face for a few seconds. Personally, I would have been really dakked off and punched someone, or kicked a pole or headbutted my car or something.

Libby: No idea, I think she was going to quit being a teacher or something so she can look after her ugly child. I can't remember, I'm usually drunk by 6:30. Not drunk enough to make Libby hot though.

Dan: Dan's application to become headmaster of Erinsborough High was accepted... on the proviso that the school's play kicks arse. Worst storyline ever, bar none. Bar NONE. Forget academic prowess, it's all about putting on a good production of Armadeus or whatever they're doing. Of course, the entire school curriculum has been thrown out the window so everyone and their goat (my goat is called Libby) can concentrate on making a toga and "acting." I can see a successful show being made, but with some hiccups along the way.

Toadie: His dog died, and that took about four episodes to cover. I barely even knew he had a dog, but the whole street turned out to say their goodbyes. Fuck, I don't remember any human characters having this much grief poured over them when they died. I think he also single-handedly took down Erinsborough's Underbelly character who was released from prison after serving 20 minutes for attempted murder, kidnapping, extortion and sexual assuault. Apparently he's also writing the script for the school play. For the only lawyer in the most troubled place in the world, he sure does have a lot of free time.

Elle: Has shacked up with Lucas and kicked her dad out of her house. As you do. Elle's life now revolves around picking up "hot scoops" for the Erinsborough News by hanging around the coffee shop and listening to gossip. She's pissing me off a lot lately. Not that she was ever really that cool anyway.

Lucas: Lucas, you used to be cool. Used to be cool. That's all I'm saying.

Steve: Isn't doing much, I don't think. At least, nothing that's really interested me.

Miranda: See "Steve."

Steph: Steph may have died, I haven't seen her for a while. Not that anyone in Ramsay Street would care; I mean, she's not a family pet or anything. If she is still alive, she's probably organising some sort of charity gig, running a bar and looking really old. Like, really old. Older than Susan. Gross. She also has to find a new housemate and bartender, since Ty has fucked off to England at the drop of a hat. Still, it shouldn't be too hard finding someone who can pour an orange juice. Seriously, does anyone in Erinsborough drink anything that isn't derived from citrus? It's not even fucking freshly squeezed. I wouldn't pay for bottled juice in a bar, I'm sorry. But then, I wouldn't pay for juice in a bar anyway. What a wasted drinking opportunity.

Declan's mum: I can't remember Dec's mum's name. I think it's fairly common though. Anyway, Mrs Dec Is having "those" kinds of thoughts about Paul. But then, haven't we all had them at some stage? The amount of coffee that Mrs Dec goes through is quite astounding; she is only ever seen at Charlie's with a cuppa, or at Harold's with a mug, and then at home sipping at something. She might develop heart problems soon, or at the very least have some sort of intervention when she realises that her coffee addiction is costing her over $4,000 a day.

Paul: After resucitating Declan, seems to have lost his personality and is now what's normally known as "a nice guy." I preferred it when Paul went out whoring and picked up sluts even though he's only got one leg. It gave me hope. You know, in case I ever lost my leg. Paul is currently in danger of developing "Neighbours fever" which attacks characters with a personality and sucks them of life until they are faceless, meaningless blobs on a screen that look and act like every other bastard on the show. Don't do it, Paulie. We love you because you're different.

Token asian girl: I have no idea when she popped into the Ramsay St universe, but apparently she's a Korean exchange student. Of course she is. No-one at Erinsborough High has ever thought about studying anything to do with Korea, so it's a bit of a mystery as to why she'd be sent there to start with. Who is she exchanging with? I think she's living at Karl and Susan's place; she was sitting at their house using their internet to listen to the radio instead of, you know, listening to a radio, and no-one seemed to mind this Asian stranger. Does that mean that one of the Kennedy-Kinski-Kennedy kids has been/will be exchanged? I don't know, and it's hurting my head. Tokie was also given the lead role in the high school play, even though I'm assuming she's in Australia, you know, to learn English, and not to become the major player in a Greek drama that will jeopardise someone's career. But she pulled out of the play and gave the role to Donna who now gets to snog Zeke and Tokie is all upset about is because she like totally like loves him. Like totally.

I haven't really missed that much at all, have I? Fuck I'm awesome. But not as awesome as Neighbours.

Friday, May 01, 2009

Mister Evil Dinner

The other night, I was out at dinner with Dr Phil, and a guy at the table next to ours had a massive heart attack. His wife started screaming, "Is anyone here a doctor?" Everyone at the restaurant looked at Dr Phil, but he kept on eating his carbonara. Eventually, I stood up and said, "Yes, my friend here is a doctor." And Dr Phil whispered to me, "Come on, man, you know I'm not a real doctor, I'm a television therapist." So I said, "Just fucking do something, you useless fat fuck." So Dr Phil got up and went over to the old bloke (who was kind of turning blue) and asked him, "What is the real problem here?" And the guy was all like, "Uuuh... my heart... uuuh." Then Dr Phil said, "How does this make you feel?" The guy kind of stopped his convulsions and didn't talk or move. So Dr Phil asked his wife, "Do you think his silence says more than words ever could?" Then he took a bread roll off the dead guy's table, took a bite and went back to his pasta. Dr Phil's a bastard, man. And also, that guy's wife was cheating on him.