Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Pup Pup and Away!

I now know why Superman never actually killed Lex Luthor; why the Ninja Turtles didn’t stab Shredder through the neck at the earliest opportunity and why Osama Bin Laden will never be found – everybody needs a nemesis.

If Shredder was defeated in his conquest for world supremacy, the people of earth would celebrate – the gateway to Dimension X would be closed forever, Krang and his legion of Foot Soldier minions would be stuck in limbo and life would be pretty sweet for everybody on this great round planet we call home. But then what would the Turtles do? Sit around and wait for a new supervillain to turn up and make a mess of things? Hell no. That might never happen, and with the amount of pizza they consume, they would turn into massive fat loser turtles who lose their nunchuks in their own rolls of belly-fat before it did. They need the Shredder as much as he needs world domination.

I am officially without a nemesis.

Ponts lost the Ashes three times and then dropped the World Cup after having it in his spit-stained hands for twelve years. To put that into perspective, that means that when Australia first won the trophy, Steve Smith hadn’t even been born yet. Punter’s form has been scratchy (at best) for the last 18 months, going without anything even resembling a score and generally letting down his sponsors, potential sponsors, former sponsors, Cricket Australia and their sponsors, and quite possibly a few Aussie supporters as well. Ponting didn’t know which end to hold the bat, couldn’t tell the difference between a yorker and his left arse cheek, had no idea how to make runs and had a knack of ushering the ball straight to fieldsmen or directly onto his stumps.

Ricky Ponting loves jam doughnuts

People (like me) were calling for him to be sacked (or killed) (by me) as captain, as a player, as a functioning member of society. He lost his temper against a telly in the change room, he took offence to Steve Smith running into him when fielding, he tried to cheat when he was clearly out and he kicked a puppy whilst peeing on an orphanage that he’d just set on fire. And then he went and did the most Australian thing imaginable – he scored a century against a formidable bowling attack to ensure his place in the team for at least the next year. Even with his squinty chipmunk eyes, Ricky Fucking Ponting could see that Australian cricket was in steady decline and could only get worse, so he called the least-surprising press conference in the history of the world and appears to have handed the steering wheel of the broken, battered and half-sunk Titanic to Michael Clarke, including the use of the middle name “Fucking”.

Michael Fucking Clarke. Are you serious? Michael Clarke should not be the next captain of Australia. Michael Clarke is barely an Australian cricketer, let alone one fit enough to lead them. Sure, he has the occasional good day with the bat, and can be an attractive strokeplayer, but so was Mark Waugh. So was Damien Martyn. So was Jason Gillespie.

Michael Fucking Clarke is a marketing tool. He has an unsurprisingly bland Twitter account, he dates models, he drives nice cars, he has a non-offensive trendy haircut and enough tattoos to be deemed fashionable at the moment. He eats at trendy cafes and wears expensive suits. He is a walking, talking, Tweeting commercial for the game of cricket, and will wear the Australian captain’s title as if he deserves it for selling the most raffle tickets for a school fete.

He won’t lose his temper with Mitchell Johnson for bowling rubbish down the leg side.

He will allow opposition batsmen to farm singles from whichever spinner is chosen for that particular match.

He will whistle and wave his arms around a lot, but will not have set plans for any batsmen.

He will be polite and politically correctly honest during press interviews.

He will swear at an appropriate time during one of these press interviews to give him “edge”.

He will feast on bowling attacks when there is no pressure.

He will get out at the most inappropriate time when there is.

He will not change his batting style to suit the situation.

Michael Clarke doesn't even carry his own bat on or off the ground

I officially have a new nemesis.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

my dad picks the fruit

Sorry it has been so long since my last post, but I was deciding where to sit and it took me longer than I thought.

My crowbar has been gathering dust lately, and there are too many people wandering around without gaping wounds in their head, so it’s time to brush off the cobwebs (I got the old lady who lives in the apartment downstairs to do that actually, just in case there were still spiders hanging around) and get cracking on some deserving skulls. Today, I'm focusing on the fuckwit on the Cottees ad.

There has always been something about this guy that never quite sat well with me. I mean, I get the joke, don’t get me wrong. His name is Elizabeth. He’s a man. He likes ravioli. Funny stuff.

After a few times watching this ad, it dawned on me - he’s a fuckwit. He approaches this poor old duck working doing merchandising at Woolies spruiking cordial and starts laying into her. She’s just doing her job and minding her own business when Captain Fuckwit comes along and starts taunting her for giving away free samples of a refreshing beverage.

"You can make twice as much cordial by using half as much?" asks Fuckwit.

"Yep," replies the old duck.

"Bull-fucking-shit," says he, mocking her openly and loudly.

Why would the guy pick on her about his disbelief for cordial concentrate? It’s not like she invented the stuff - fuck it, she’s not even selling it; she’s giving it away. How much does this guy’s life suck that he needs to pick on people who work at the supermarket to make himself feel better? How does this guy react to mormons coming to his door, or people collecting money for the Salvos? I think it’s safe to assume that he beats them to death with their own bibles, cuts off their ears to make necklaces and hides their bodies in barrels of battery acid that he keeps in his garage. I also think he needs to reprioritise his life if he’s this passionate about cordial, and should stop spending his weekends hanging out at Cottees stands, slugging away at free cordial and giving shit to the old duck who really doesn’t deserve his fuckwit rants. She could be so affected by his verbal assault that suddenly she isn’t having such a good day - she feels old and unattractive, like her job is useless, like she has no worth. She doesn’t care for the fruity, sweet flavour of Cottees cordial, and instead prefers the sour bite of drinking straight meth and begging for cigarettes at the bus interchange.

This guy just needs to do what everyone else in the world has done and accept the fact that there’s been a change in the Cottees formula that allows for better concentration and you can make more Fruit Punch than you could before.

And there’s really no need to look so fucking happy about being called Elizabeth.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

NRL 2011 Round Three: He Who Scores More Wins the Game

Round Three is upon us, which traditionally happens the week after Round Two. It’s one of those natural parts of life, I guess, like waking up after you’ve been sleeping on your arm and not being able to feel it or roll over and you have to punch it with your other arm until it tingles and circulation returns.

Eels vs Rabbitohs (I have to get it right eventually)

Titans vs Broncos

Panthers vs Sharks

Warriors vs Dragons

Bulldogs vs Roosters

Sea Eagles vs Knights

Cowboys vs Storm

Tigers vs Raiders

Motherfucking Raiders. Last week’s game was kind of horrible to watch, but I did manage to get a pie and some beers at the game, so it wasn’t a complete waste of time for me. The players obviously had other things to do than turn up and play, which is fine. I think Deuce Bigalow was on telly, so that’s a decent excuse. I especially like the scene where Deuce attacks the army of midget prostitutes with a giant black dildo.

This week, the Mighty Green Machine is up against the Tigers, the team that knocked our boys out of certain premiership glory last year. The experts will look at the more fancied Canberra forwards to overcome the Tigers pack, but the Tigers backs have more experience to outclass the Raiders backline, but in the end it all comes down to the uniform. Canberra’s green jerseys will blend in more with the field and allow them to launch a few surprise attacks. Raiders by 3 in a tight one that they probably won’t deserve to win.

Brett Mullins. Isn't he beautiful? (yes) Photo used without permission and definitely for free.

MEB cumulative score: 5 (yes, really).

Friday, March 18, 2011

NRL 2011 Round Two: Go Fish

The first round of a sporting season is always tricky to tip – let’s be honest, most of the blokes running around on the field hadn’t met each other yet and needed to keep looking down at their shirt to remember which team they were on. Round Two, however, is a different kettle of fish entirely. Just quietly, a kettle of fish would probably make the world’s worst cup of coffee, and most likely wouldn’t be entirely pleasant for the fish either. It’s not like a squid on a waterslide (which is fun for everyone).

Eels v Panthers
Storm v Titans
Tigers v Warriors
Cowboys v Knights
Rabbitohs v Bulldogs
Roosters v Sea Eagles
Sharks v Dragons

It’s always good to tip a few upsets, except for when they don’t win (most of the time). But this time they will.

Big Mal brings the cup home to Canberra. I am near the back wearing a hat. Look for me.

Raiders v Broncos

It’s a little-known fact that Jesus was a massive Raiders fan, and his experiences at the Canberra Stadium get a bit of a Guernsey in the Bible:

“…and Jesus did take his disciples to the stadium and decreed, ‘Peter, your God has spoken and has decided that you must go unto the bar, and bring us back several cans of VB and a couple of pies.’ But when Peter did place his order, he was told that there were no more pies. Upon hearing this, Jesus did say unto Peter, ‘Give me $20 and I will turn it into food.’ Peter presented the money to Jesus who summoned the Word of the Lord. He went to a bar about fifteen metres from the one that Peter was denied, gave thanks and praise and twenty dollars, and was able to feed his friends with pastry filled with meat and gravy. Peter saw this miracle and he believed. ‘Did you bring sauce?’ he asked. ‘Yes,’ replied Jesus, and all who received sauce on their pie were truly grateful. ‘Did you get chips?’ asked Thomas. ‘I’m not lining up again,’ said Jesus. ‘Get your own fucking chips.’ And those around him did laugh, because no-one really liked Thomas, and would steal his chips when he came back anyway.”

MEB current footy tipping score: 3

Thursday, March 10, 2011

NRL 2011 Round 1: The Toothless Sharks

Welcome to season 2011, it’s nice to have you with us for another year of tips and picks for the wonderful game of rugby league. The NRL had a successful launch last week with one player being charged with assault and another for driving under the influence. There are still a few hours to go before kick-off, so I wouldn’t be surprised if someone didn’t add some sexual misconduct in there too – but I would be surprised if I was the one being misconducted. In the rare instance that I do get touched up by a pissed league player though, I always carry a camera and a copy of PhotoShop around with me.

This year’s tipping format will be slightly different from last year in that I’m not going to bore everyone shitless with a synopsis of each game. I have instead decided to concentrate all of my power into the mighty Canberra Raiders and will give my full attention to them (I think that was a sexual innuendo), unless there’s something else I’d rather talk about; in which case you should be prepared for some recent scientific theories about dinosaurs or how annoying that Natasha girl from Neighbours is.

And so, here we go for Rrrrrrrround One!

Broncos vs Cowboys

Roosters vs Souths

Titans vs Dragons

Warriors vs Eels

Storm vs Manly

Panthers vs Knights

Dogs vs Tigers

Raiders vs Sharks

2010 was a disappointing year for the Sharks, as the Grey Nurse took over the Great White as being “raddest fish in the sea” and Greg Norman lost to Happy Gilmore in a game of Pitch n Putt. Seriously, who the fuck are the Sharks? No one, that’s who. The Raiders will piss this one in, which is handy, because I’m buying them all beers before, during and after the game. I love you, Josh Dugan! WOOOO!

Close enough, Doogs.

PS. I love Alan Tongue too – one day he nodded ‘hello’ to me as we rode our bikes past each other. Either that or he was trying to crack onto me. Or he was trying to tell me that I had forgotten to put on pants.

PPS. I love Terry Campese as well, even though he has a broken leg. I will feed him grapes in his hospital bed if he wants (Terry, do you want me to come over this weekend? I am free on Saturday morning and after the game on Sunday. And on Monday, cause it’s a public holiday).

Monday, March 07, 2011

The Cricket World Cup can now begin

Sorry for the lack of posting lately - I've been smoking crack with Charlie Sheen and it took me longer than I thought.

Faithful followers of this blog (both of you) have probably asked yourself "Where's Mister Evil Breakfast's Cricket World Cup write-up?" Well, to be perfectly honest, there had not been a Cricket World Cup going on until yesterday, because Mike Hussey had been omitted from the Australian team due to injury.

During the billionth pointless ODI this year, Mike Hussey tore his hamstring off the bone in his leg. Reports say that he tore it on purpose just to give the Poms a chance to win the game. They didn't.

After ripping out his hamstring, Huss then did his own surgery to reattach it without anaesthetic, using only a ball-point pen and three paper clips to prove beyond any shadow of a doubt that he is the manliest man since Roger Ramjet to set foot on this earth. Then he leapt off the operating theatre, kicked the shit out of a buffalo and ran across the Nullabor back to Perth to play in a Sheffield Shield game. He made 19 runs in the first innings and 11 runs in the second, which is still pretty good considering that he didn't take a bat with him and was swigging on a bottle of Johhny Walker at the same time.

Huss swam across the ocean to India, stopping briefly to impregnate a chick five times and taunt Kevin Pieterson for being a massive bitch. But now Hussey is back in the Aussie team, and the World Cup can begin.

Mike Hussey is so attractive, it's dangerous to show his entire head in photos