Mr Evil Capper

Thank God for Mr Football.

I'll update again soon, but really, there's not much point, as this guy is pretty damn good.

Collingwood.

Collingwood are lead off the field by Eddie McGuire, also known as the Eddie the wanker.
They are lead on the field by Nathan Buckley also known as Bucks. He likes to call himself Fig Jam, and in fact his number plate his FIG JAM.
For those who are by some degree retarded, FIGJAM means Fuck I'm Good Just Ask Me.

Bucks could have been one of the greatest on-ballers and captains of all time, but unfortunately he will just be remembered as another hack who played 300 games but never won a flag. As 'the Messiah' Malcolm Blight says, "you can be good but you are never great until you win a premiership." When Brisbane began building their all-conquering 3 time premiership, 4 time Grand Final, 6 times in row preliminary final side 15 years ago, Bucks was the first one chosen. With Bucks in the side those three premierships could have been four or five and maybe six and he would have been the captain, not Vossy. However, since Bucks is tosser, he threw in the towel after one year with Brisbane and decided he wanted to go to the spiritual home of tossers. That is Collingwood FC. His reason: he wanted to play in finals. Nice one Bucks, you GOAT. Sure he captained the Pies to a couple of GF losses, but who cares? As 'The Messiah' says, "losing a GF is like dancing with your sister, you are a long way from you know where."

Bucks watched on year after year as Brisbane players won premierships and Brownlow medals; they could have all gone to Bucks. Alas, Vossy will be remembered as the great one, not Bucks.


Collingwood will struggle this year. They have a lack of talent, misplaced arrogance and a game plan that belongs in the 90's. They may sneak into the eight, this is only because the AFL is as corrupt as a Palestinian bank and allows Collingwood to play more games at home then any of the 15 other teams.

Have a look out for Joffa, he is the knob that sits behind the Collingwood goals and puts on a golden jacket when he thinks Collingwood have the game in the bag. He'll wear that jacket 13 times this year.

Prediction 7th

Evil tight shorts

Thanks again to Mr Football...


Fremantle Dockers

You can lead a horse to water........

For the last 20 years the AFL have done everything in their power to make the competition even. Fremantle have done everything in their power to be the worst team in the comp. In 2006 they won a final for the first time in their pathetic history.

This team has had some of the best players on their list. However they have given them away to other clubs. They have been the most inept and unsuccessful club over the last decade. They are joined by Geelong, Bulldogs, Richmond, Melbourne and St Kilda as teams that have never won an AFL premiership.

However, finally Fremantle may be just about to emerge as a serious contender. For more than a decade the Dockers have been derided by AFL fans. the Dockers joined the AFL back in 1995 and have only made the finals twice. . They'll play finals again this season and may reach the top four. But they've still got a long way to go before we talk about their premiership credentials.

The bandwagon that is the Fremantle fan base is called the purple haze, I refer to them as the purple faggots.

Prediction 4th

Mr Football presents...

Carlton Football Club

Once a great club, now a basket case. Carlton has 'won' the last two wooden spoons, and three in five years. This was after a hundred odd years of never having received one. It will require a hell of a lot of luck to not see them finish last again, because they certainly don't have the skill to get off the bottom.

Acting president Stephen "Sticks" Kernahan said, "we are on the bottom - we can't go too much lower". The sad truth is they can; they can be relocated to the Gold Coast or Western Sydney.

Carlton was not always like this, they were once powerful, successful and rich. Now even the South Sydney Rabbithos laugh at them.

A series of events took place that caused the most almighty fuck up in Australian sporting history.

They were:

- They tried to buy a premiership and in doing so broke salary cap restrictions.
- They lied to the AFL about breaking the restrictions and were punished
- Their attempt to buy a premiership was a dismal failure, they 'won' the wooden spoon instead
- They ended up with the most expensive squad in the AFL that was also the worst
- They AFL fined them and banned them from the draft
- Because they were on the bottom of the ladder they lost membership and sponsorship revenue
- Because they had no draft picks they can't rebuild their list, which was already the worst in the league
- Because they couldn't rebuild their list they couldn't win games and attract members and sponsors
- They hired the most expensive coach in the AFL who they could not afford
- The players and the board hate the coach but when they tried to sack him they realised they couldn't afford to pay out his contract
- The coach knows the board and players hate him so his heart is really not in the job


Carlton now has a 9 million dollar debt, the worst list, a ineffectual board and coach that couldn't give a rats arse about the club or the players.
The club is in a worse state then Fitzroy and South Melbourne were in when they were relocated.



Prediction 16th

i'm jimmy dean

You know that song ‘King of Broken Plastic Bottles’? No, neither do I. I doubt it even exists.

Cricket World Cup 2007

Ricky Ponting (captain), Adam Gilchrist (vice-captain), Nathan Bracken, Michael Clarke, Brad Haddin, Matthew Hayden, Brad Hodge, Brad Hogg, Michael Hussey, Mitchell Johnson, Brett Lee, Glenn McGrath, Andrew Symonds, Shaun Tait, Shane Watson.

There’s the list of champions who will take us to dizzying heights in the Caribbean whenever the World Cup starts. Right.

Here’s what I reckon:

Ricky “Chipmunk” Ponting: This guy spits on his hands way too often. Like, between every ball. In a one-day game, this is 300 times. In a test match, it could be thousands. That’s just gross. Chipmunk can bat ok, (walks into his shots early in his innings though) can field pretty well and has no idea what to do when his bowlers are being carted around the ground. I can’t wait for him to break down in tears at a press conference like Kim Hughes did.

Adam “Gilly” Gilchrist: Gilly is my hero, no question about it. Pity the man has lost all knowledge of the art of batting. Here’s a tip to all bowlers up against him in the World Cup: Pitch it full, and he’ll get out. If England worked that out, anyone can. His keeping has been ok, but isn’t setting the world on fire. With Brad “The Rat” Haddin sneaking up behind him, he really needs back in form, or he’ll lose my hero worship, which is a devastating blow. Just ask Scott Muller.

Nathan “Andrew G” Bracken: I like this guy. No nonsense, no personality, lots of hair. The hair-band is a bit off-putting, but is worth at least a wicket every match. Swings both bat and ball a bit, and is left-handed. I hate left-handed bowlers. They probably get me out more than right-handed ones, which is a feat in itself.

Michael “Pup” Clarke: Pup is gay. Seriously. He wears skivvies all the time. Or maybe he’s a Wiggle. Who knows? (or cares) Pup used to have my vote as “next captain of Australia” but has since become one of the worst players ever. Best thing he ever did was get his ugly mug onto an inflatable KFC fielder so he’ll be immortalised that way. Get some runs, homo.

Brad “The Rat” Haddin: This guy is pushing for Gilly’s spot, so I hate him. Is probably a better wicketkeeper and batsman than him, but that’s irrelevant. BOO RAT, BOO.

Matthew “Fucking” Hayden: AAARGH is this guy STILL around? For fuck’s sake, Hayden, just go away. Watch him spank around Bangladesh and Canada in the Cup, and then get sorted out by everyone else. He’ll be like your weird cousin on a road trip – he’s there, but no-one’s sure why.

Brad “Brad Hodge” Hodge: Eh. I have no opinion on this guy. Is probably quite good, but then, considering the rest of the squad, this doesn’t mean much. Good luck, Brad Hodge.

Brad “George” Hogg: Well, apparently we need a spinner, and apparently this guy is as good as they get. I guess we gave up looking for a good spinner once Warney came onto the scene. George has a decent googly, and his wrong’un is pretty good too (hahaha smutty cricket innuendoes). Everything else he bowls is rubbish though.

Michael “Mr Cricket” Hussey: The greatest human being ever. Except he went pretty crap in the matches against England and New Zealand. Needs to wear more zinc to really bring out his cricketing prowess. Rumour has it that he stole Pharlap’s heart from the Melbourne Museum (or wherever it is) and had it transplanted into himself. I don’t doubt this, nor that he performed the operation himself with no anaesthetic, surgical tools or while he was on the Scooby Doo Spooky Coaster at MovieWorld.

Mitchell “Who?” Johnson: Hmm. This guy has some pace behind him, yes yes yes yes yes but we’ve also got Brett Lee and Shaun Tait, both of whom are probably faster and just as useless as Mitchell. His name is kind of like the secret identity of a superhero too, but that doesn’t mean we should pick him. I would have left him behind and taken Stuart Clark, personally. At least that way you’d know someone was going to land the ball on the pitch.

Brett “Bollywood” Lee: The only thing more embarrassing than Lee’s Bollywood performance is his bowling. When his short ball is hit for four, Brett decides the best way to go about things is to make each ball thereafter about a metre shorter. By the end of the over, he’s pitching them on his big toe. Will play in most games and get spanked all over the place, but still get picked because he is ‘the face of cricket’. At least he’s not Matthew Hoggard.

Glenn “Pigeon” McGrath: Nothing in the world is better than watching McGrath when he’s in his rhythm. That’s a big fat lie, there are a lot of things better. But Pigeon is still the best fast bowler we’ve got, despite the fact that he’s 400 years old and bowls slightly slower than he can run. Can’t field too well, and his catching has always been pretty bad, surpassed only by his terrible batting. Glenn deserves to be recognised as one of Australia’s best. Also, his name lends itself to a catchy chant, so he has to be there.

Andy “Andrew” Symonds: My god. The worst thing about this guy is that he’s quite, quite good at cricket. In the same way that Beefy Botham was, I suppose. With his stupid dreadlocks and tub of zinc cream on his lips, he’s just asking to be hated. Grrr. I hate him. I don’t know why. In any case, the guy has one arm, but is still worth having in the team. Here’s hoping he gets to do some more commentary. Rock on, Andy, you dickhead.

Shaun “Mr Personality” Tait: Tait was my bolter for the Ashes last year, and by God I was right. Pity he was crap. But the selectors love him and so do I. Young and fast, so the kids love him, and with an already failing back, so the selectors love him. You can't possibly pick anyone who is 100% healthy. If he fucks up, this might be the last we see of him. When he gets the ball on the pitch, can be quite dangerous, but this occurs so rarely that most batsmen don’t really worry too much about him. My tip – he’ll maim at least one member of the Netherlands team.

Shane “What the fuck?” Watson: Why is this guy here? HE CANNOT PLAY CRICKET. Here’s a tip to bowlers over the world: Bowl it on the pitch. Watto will do the rest to get himself out. And his bowling? Well, if straight is your thing, he’s your man. Without any variety, bounce, pace, swing or seam, Watson is unlikely to trouble too many players on the tour, unless he attempts conversation with them, as he seems as boring off the pitch as he does on. I can’t wait to see this guy fail. He must be the secret love child of one of the selectors; that’s the only reason I can think of for his inclusion. He also reminds me of the fucking dickwit who won Big Brother last year. Fuck I hate that guy as well. If Watson was any kind of Australian, he’d give the spot to someone else. Like me, for instance. I wouldn’t mind a trip to the Caribbean to drink rum and work on my tan, mon.


Now I’m just angry. Thanks a lot, Watson. It’s bad enough that you’re in the squad at all, but to have you last in alphabetical order just gets my goat. GOD YOU’RE ANNOYING.

this one isn't for you either

I’m talking a lot about television lately. I don’t know why, probably because I’m watching it in the hope that something good might come on. Not likely.

Today’s topic is quiz shows. If there’s a ridiculous quiz format that hasn’t been adopted by our cycloptic friend, then I’ll eat my hat. And not the chocolate one, the other one made of… whatever hats are made out of. Possibly cotton, or some kind of poly-fabric. Sure.

I’ve watched at least one episode of each of the ‘hot’ ‘new’ ‘shows’ that have graced our screens over the last week. 1 vs 100, The Rich List and Con Test. Because I watched Con Test most recently, I’ll do that one first, and make up stuff about the other ones that people won’t remember.

The Con Test

Unfortunately, this is not a show involving Con the Fruiterer or Con from Heartbreak High, which is a shame. Imagine those two together at last. I'd like it to be called CONsequential. The format is still a mystery, but it has two guys who play a character called Con, and it's got Con in the title. It'll write itself. Anyway... Con Test. No Cons in sight, but it does have one of the muppets from Idol on it, that Nathan Bracken guy. And some old duck who thinks she’s hot. Maybe next to Gretel Killeen, sister. But next to Bracks, you’re looking a bit like Reba McIntyre. Now, I’m not entirely sure what she looks like, but her name doesn’t flatter, so picture someone who’s ugly and you’re with me. The show has a handful of idiots who spend all day together trying to convince each other that they’re rich or successful or insanely brilliant. I don’t really see the point of this. If I went on it, I’d wear one thong and a pair of overalls and claim to be an ancient Aztec demon. Graah. That way, people wouldn’t really care if I was smarter than them, they’d be too scared to do anything about it. Graah.

The game goes like this: Answer 8 questions. Each answer you get right, you get $500. No one knows how many anyone else got right; only their own score. If you think you’ve got the lowest score, you can buzz out and take home however much you got right. If you don’t buzz out and have the lowest score, you get shunted out to the ‘Fold Room’ and have to sit with Judith Lucy’s ugly sister and win nothing. After a bundle of rounds, possibly 5, possibly not, the last person standing wanders out the door with $50 000.

This could go alright, if the contestants aren’t as fucked in the head as the ones on the other night were. I’m not sure how saying “I’m the best!” between each round is a “con”. If someone with a hint of personality and a touch of nous is allowed into the game, it might even be enjoyable. But Channel 10 aren’t really into that, so expect another dose of this crap again next week. I give it a B for execution, a B+ for potential and a C for longterm watchability. Overall, it’s 5 and a half apples worth.


1 vs 100

Eddie’s back baby, and he’s still smug and greasy. I swear, that guy must bathe in every oil vat in every fish and chip shop in Australia, and then produce his own grease and sell it back to them. No wonder he’s so freakin rich. I hate that guy.

So he pulls out one contestant and puts them against 100 idiots sitting at the largest panel in the southern hemisphere. They ask him a few ridiculously easy questions – if he gets it right, he keeps going, and for every idiot that gets the question wrong, he wins a couple of bucks. The fewer people there are on the panel, the more money each answer is worth.

Again, this puppy has as much potential as a potential-laden piece of potential pie baked in Potentiala, which is the capital of Potential. Unfortunately, Eddie has employed himself to be the star of the show, so it has a few hindrances. All of them are his fault. It’s slightly quicker than Millionaire, and has a bit more personality. Especially if they keep getting cheerleaders to be on the panel.

My main qualm about 1 vs 100 is that the answers are piss easy. I’m not entirely sure how anyone has actually got one wrong yet. Maybe I’m just smarter than the rest of the world. Probably. My other qualm is that Eddie insists on talking about himself, his ‘other’ show, ‘his’ football team and ‘his’ tv network. Way to mix with the common man, Ed.

This one gets 2 boxes of popcorn for execution, 3 boxes for potential and 2 for longterm. Overall, I give it a used bus ticket and an empty Subway card.


The Rich List

Holy crap. How does this show go for an hour? Or does it? I can’t remember, but it feels like it does. Maybe even longer. I watched two episodes, and felt like I’d eaten a box of scissors – I don’t know why I would do it, or why I wouldn’t stop. That bloke from Deal or No Deal is again thrust into the spotlight, begging the question, “How does one get onto television these days, if they keep recycling the same spastics over and over?” Seriously. Bert Newton has a thousand shows, all stemming from some variety thing he put together late in the 1500s. Daryl Somers is somehow still around, Eddie McGuire keeps hiring himself (I guess it beats reading resumes and having to do interviews and screen tests) and even Larry Emdur is doing something else… maybe Wheel of Fortune, I don’t know. It’s all too much sometimes. I think I need a lie down.

Ok, so Andrew O’Keefe is back at his best, repeating three lines over and over for the whole show. “Is it on the list?” “It’s on the list!” and “If it’s not on the list, you walk away empty handed.” That pretty much sums up the whole concept. Two teams of two idiots each name things (animals beginning with P, for instance) until someone fucks up (“sorry, a paratrooper is not an animal”) and the winners go to the super list. 15 answers about… something (“name 15 out of the 6 billion people on the planet”) and every three correct answers wins you a couple of grand. Piece of piss. The shows that I saw had a bloke that would give Merv Hughes ugly shivers team up with some pansy boy who watched an entire season of Queer Eye in one sitting, who may or may not have won enough money from Channel 7 to buy a large island, and then crash that island into several small islands that they bought, just because they can. It only takes a smidge of intelligence to win this game, so it’ll probably be off air soon, as the station just won’t be able to afford it.

Qualm: The contestants are stupid. Instead of just blabbing their answers out, they discuss every friggin detail with each other. “A penguin starts with P, we could say that.” “No, I want to save penguin for later, how about platypus?” “Is a platypus an animal?” “Of course it is, it’s a marsupial.” “Are they still categorised as animals?” “I think so. Man, now I don’t know. What about piranha?” “They’re fish.” “Not animals?” “I don’t know.” OH MY GOD JUST SAY SOMETHING. Even worse is smug homo man who backs up each answer with some kind of witticism. “When I went to Barbados, they didn’t have penguins there. I love penguins, so I’ll say penguin. Final answer.” Or “I went to school with a bloke whose nick name was Digger. I can’t remember why we called him that, but I do know that his real name is Gary Anderson. So I’ll say Gary Anderson.”

No one wants your life story, chuckles. The Rich List gets a thumbs down in execution, a thumbs down in potential and thumbs way way way down for longterm. Overall, it receives a kick in the gonads for existing and a pat on the head for trying.


If this is what passes for entertainment these days, I will pray to the holy Sarah-Marie for Big Brother to start up again soon. And then I’ll set fire to my feet, and melt them into puddles of skin and feet goo and then drink it and die.

liggest boser

It’s back. The Biggest Loser, Australian style. They’ve taken another collection of fatties and thrown them into a (hopefully) heavily reinforced house in order to get them to lose weight. I watched my first episode last night. Brilliant television, really. Watching a bunch of tubby bitches waddle around, sweating while they talk, subconsciously moving their hands to their face with imaginary pieces of the Colonel’s finest is really my idea of a tops night in.
It kick-started with one group sleeping in tents outside. I’m assuming this was because they were deemed ‘too fat’ to make it through the door. I didn’t pay enough attention to find out the real reason, so I’m running with that.
One of the fatties, I can’t remember their name, they all look alike to me, had decided to leave the house, because it was just ‘too hard’. Well. I’m sorry. I’m sure living the rest of your life will be a lot easier now that you’ve decided to not lose weight. A lot easier, and possibly a lot shorter. Later in the episode, some gay guy and an ex-fatty go to her house to persuade her to come back. We are treated to some Home and Away style acting whereby ex-fatty starts crying when she talks about how “worth it” it all is. It was the most emotional scene of Australian telly since Agro touched up Anne-Marie. Fatty doesn’t buy it, eats them both and says, “No, I’m quite happy with being a fat slag, thank you.” We find out that she has since lost 8kgs and is doing her own exercise and diet program. Nicely done. I’m assuming this means you now weigh 140kgs, you’ve lost the remote to your tv and you can only eat when someone hands you your feeding bucket. Standing up can cause health implications. Serious ones.

Meanwhile, back at Fat Camp, the geniuses behind the show devise some kind of contest where each contestant is tempted by… a slice of watermelon. If you don’t eat it, you can’t win immunity. Eh. Fuck it, it’s 17 calories of fruity goodness. The fact that it’s not coated in chocolate and deep-fried turns a lot of the sweating masses off it, however, so they get given the arse. In some kind of stupid rule twist, the last bloke to even look at the next treat (a puddle of sour cream and a sliver of potato) wins… but as our big-boned, slow-talking host tells us, immunity is “a…poisoned…chalice… and… the… winner… must… do… The Walk.” She doesn’t tell us what that consists of entirely, but I’m using all the power of my brain to imagine that it involves moving one foot after another, in the familiar (to some) left foot/right foot combination. So to stop himself from being booted off the show, the winner has to walk somewhere. Great. Well, he’s on a weight-loss show, not here for a haircut. Might as well get waddling, tiger.

So they all go back to the gym for their regulation five minute work-out. The token Asian bloke gets lumped with Gillian as a trainer. This Gillian guy is wild, he makes Asian man kick this padded bag at least 5 times. The one-legged caper is not Asian man’s style, so he falls over, packs some ice on his ankle for a bit and parks his arse back on the couch. Some other dude comes back from hospital, after suffering severe pork withdrawals. He walks into the house, grabs some food and is happy to finally be around people bigger than him. Some other champion tries to show off by saying that he “spent 40 minutes on the exercise bike.” He did, however, neglect to mention “before I found out that I had to pedal, so I got off it and sat on the couch again.”

Is anyone else really annoyed by that McDonalds ad where the little girl thinks she’s flying her slippery-dip and the boy sees robot monsters instead of construction vehicles? Yeah, pisses me off no end, and those little pasta things look fucking disgusting. I’d rather eat a Fillet o Fish. Gross.

I can’t remember a lot of what happened after that, I was watching a spider on the wall. It was a big spider, man.

Next time on Fatties Go Wild, some other lard-arse wants to leave the show after seeing a treadmill, a fat woman is shown a photo of her toes and breaks down in tears of pure happiness; it’s been so long since she’s seen her feet, and the teams go to the Centrepoint Tower. I would have to hazard a guess and say that the Australian Tourism Industry wants something to rival the Leaning Tower of Pisa, so our hefty heroes all stand on one side of it. Will it work? Probably.

dream a little dream

As Constable Green took the chalk from his pocket and slowly traced the outline of the beaten, bloodied corpse lying in front of him, he knew that he had taken his first step to becoming a police sketch artist.

Up there Kazaly

Since my “article” (and yes, I use that term loosely) about the cricket, I’ve been inundated with feedback. I have literally received an email from a certain “Mr Football” who has kindly offered to give a rundown on the AFL comp for this year, which I’m sure will excite all you drooling nuffers out there.

Adelaide Crows:
The Crows will be in for a tough year in 07. After playing in the finals for 5 of the last 6 years, inlcuding making 3 prelims, the tide may be turning, and it is unlikely they will be one of the comp leaders again. They will probably make the finals, but winning the flag will be a slog. They should be able to beat their pathetic cross town rivals, the Port Shmower. The Shmower are a bunch a fucking useless cunts. they have a reputation for having sex with their sisters, and a fetish for their mum's mickey juice. Very few people that live in Port Adelaide have made it past year 4 at school. Mainly becuase their parents were too drug fucked to enroll them.

Brisbane Lions:
Several punters referred to the Brisbane Lions as the team of the century after winning premierships in 2001, 2002, 2003. I wish these jerkoff's would let me use their time machine cos they have obviously gone to the year 2099 to read up on the what happened during the past 95 odd years. What a bunch of tossers, Steve Quaterman being the main one. If I had time machine I would find out what the winning lotto numbers where every week, win lotto and then give all the money to Bill Gates, he is going to end up with it anyway.

The Lions had a poor year in 2006; there were may distractions in Brisbane. Firstly Jason Akermanis was busy being a dickhead. It's not the first time he has been a dickhead and it won't be the last. The other distraction was Lee "Lethal" Mathews and his Devine Home commercials. The chick in that commercial is super hot, no wonder Lethal was unable to focus on football. He was probably thinking about the chick the whole time. Mal Michael left the club at the end of 06, he retired for about 5 minutes and then came out of retirement and will play for Essendon. It was bit of a down and dirty thing to do. Eddie Maguire probably had something to do with it. He has been trying to stuff Brisbane up for years. Basically ever since the Lions knocked the Pies of in the GF (twice). Eddie fails to see that the Pies didn't deserve to be there in the first place and were just a bunch of hacks that fluked it. Poor Eddie, he can have all the success in the world but he barracks for the Pies so he will always be a loser.

I am predicting Brisbane to be outside of the finals again, not enough depth just yet. They are moving the right direction though and will cause a surprise or two along the way. Prediction 10th.


- Mr Football

what's on second

http://www.theage.com.au/news/Sport/Watson-key-to-World-Cup-attack-Ponting/2007/02/01/1169919475423.html
So… Shane Watson is our new saviour of the world, is he? Last year he was touted as the next “Freddy Fucking Flintoff”, after Freddy took the Aussies apart in England. We jumped on the bandwagon and decided that we needed a bloke who could bat a bit, bowl a bit and have some room for a couple of tatts. Well, Watto is a fair unit, so he’s got the inking side of things down pat. It’s the other things that worry me. The guy is useless at cricket. Can’t bowl, can’t throw. Looks like a hat full of arseholes to boot.

He also breaks down after bowling 3 overs (of rubbish). How hard is it, Shano, to piff down 18 (wide) deliveries without ripping open your hamstring? Are you that fragile? We already have a decent bowler who is always injured, and has a highest test score of 201 not out, and he can’t get a game either. You might have heard of him, a certain Jason Gillespie.

As a batsman, Watson reminds me of a guy I played cricket with in under 11s. In the first game of the season, this kid stood at the crease and swung his fat little heart out, regardless of where the ball was coming from. He ended up scoring about 30 runs in 2 overs, and was regarded by many as the greatest since The Don. Unfortunately, he tried to re-enact his heroics every week for the next 3 seasons. Couldn’t quite do it, and was the only guy on the team that got more ducks than I did (I may have made that last bit up). That’s you, Watto, you tubby piece of shit. Stop being such a homo and learn how to play cricket. Being from Tasmania is no longer an excuse.

Crickwah up the doosrah

Because the Paceman (www.thepaceman.blogspot.com) seems to have relinquished his post to keep the world up-to-date with sport tips, results and happenings, I’ll do my very best to carry on his work, but without his humour or witticisms, and I will only make mention of the sports that I like. AFL and rugby union need not apply. Well, maybe AFL if I get really bored, and union if I’m even more bored.

Which basically just leaves the cricket. Australia vs New Zealand vs England. Hardly a contest really. Australia to meet the Kiwis in the finals. The Kiwis will win one game, but the might of the pack-hunting egos will reign supreme in the end. England should make it through the summer without beating the Aussies at anything except being a mob of unwashed tools. Sorry Poms, but that’s just how it is. Deal with it, and next time you win an Ashes series (could be another 98 years though), don’t get so fucking cocky.
You have the world’s ugliest fast bowler in Matty Hoggard, the world’s worst fast bowler in Steve Harmison and the world’s most overrated fucktard in Kevin Pieterson. So the game in Sydney today should be another one-sided affair with England hoping to bat first and make about 20, then let Australia chase that. Then they’ll hit the beach for the next few hours and hopefully piss off home again before their pasty skin blinds anymore unfortunate Australians.
As I mentioned, the Black Caps will most likely beat Australia in one game, and then be soundly thrashed in the next. Look for Hussey to keep everything together, McGrath to take a swag of wickets and Bracken to beat the bat on twelve consecutive deliveries, then get carted for a thousand in his next two overs.

Daniel Vettori is, as always, the Kiwis only hope, and will use the fact that he looks like Harry Potter to his advantage and use the “expelliaramus” charm to get a couple of cheap wickets. Michael Clarke, I’m looking at you. Actually, he doesn’t really look a lot like Harry Potter, but he does have glasses.
That Oram fella will again go the tonk, and will get another few runs in the first final, but will fall quickly in the next two. You heard it here first. Hopefully he also makes a few more wanking gestures to Ricky Ponting. Just quietly, Jake, you’re doing what we’re all thinking.

this one made a whole lot more sense in my head

I think the sasquatch doesn’t make many appearances these days because he’s got a stupid name. He sounds like the name that the media give celebrity couples, like if Sasquelle Jones and Atch McEwan hooked up. If they exist, I hope they do it soon.

kitchenette

"T'is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all." I don't think the same thing can be said for pogo sticks though.

i am, you are, we are...

I really should have written something for Australia Day, but in the true spirit of being Australian, I just couldn't be arsed.

Have a good one.

sand in my machina

Paul picked up a shell from the sandy beach shore. It was a glistening pearl colour, with streaks of blue and red that swirled around the curved surface. It reminded him of the colour of dusk; not quite sunrise and not quite night. He held the shell to his ear, and sure enough, there was that familiar swirling sound that reminded him of the ocean. He thoughtfully took the shell away from his ear… and he could still hear the ocean. He was only standing a metre from the water line, after all. He dropped the shell and went out for tacos.

whale rider

John walked slowly along the beach, his feet making deep, clear tracks in the soft sand. He paused every now and again to pick up a small stone, testing its weight in his hand, and sent it skimming across the ocean. He counted four bounces along the surface of the water before it was lost in the waves. He longed to be out there, swimming through the crystal water, tasting the salt spray that hung in the air with the bright sunshine, or diving down as far as he could go, where the water temperature changed from a pleasant warmth to an eerie coldness, that felt almost alien.

Unfortunately, John was born without arms or legs, so that last paragraph didn’t really mean anything.

dog eat dogfood

As I sit here and toss scraps of food to the flocking pigeons that coo and warble me, I think, “How did these pigeons get into the office?” And then, “Why did I bring scraps of food with me?” And then, “Why is the photocopier jammed?” And so I train one of my pigeons to fix the photocopier, and he does, and gets a promotion and his own office and soon becomes head of the company, and doesn’t even want my scraps of food anymore. I should probably stop carrying them around.

run rabbit run

For some reason, names and faces often get confused in my head. For example, I can never remember what Alec Baldwin looks like. Apparently he looks nothing like The Queen though, which was an embarrassing day for both of us.

you are the star tonight

So… another year eh? Well done to everyone for making it through 2006. Buckle up though, cause 2007 is gonna be a doozy. And by doozy, I mean probably the same as 2006, but just a little more futuristic. But not much.

That said, here is my 2007 Astrology Guide Thing (AGT):

Aquarius:
With Mars dropping lower than your moon, 2007 will bring weather of varying degrees and climate. So if you’re one of those people who goes outside occasionally, wear something appropriate. I can see gumboots making a big comeback around August. Trust me on this one. You may also want to pick up some milk on the way home today, as there’s only a little bit left in the carton in your fridge.

Taurus:
Venus and Uranus (no, I couldn’t resist) will rise and fall, and as such, there may or may not be a life changing decision to be made. Whatever you do, don’t make that decision. You will also meet someone new, and fall in love. But they won’t like you very much and will put out a restraining order around July. Your lucky numbers are green and Portugal.

Gemini:
The answer to all of life’s little questions will be answered by a rising Neptune in conjunction with Mercury. Saturn will be out of focus in the background, and Mars is making a stupid face. Venus has its eyes closed and the flash makes Jupiter look really pale. 2007 will be another year of bad photos for you apparently.

Leo:
Neptune seems exceptionally bright for you in 2007, Leo. Or maybe it’s the new Blu Loo that you’ve just put in. Also, the hair that’s stuck in your soap isn’t yours, or anyone’s that you know. Scared much? Replace your toothbrush, Leo. Uranus demands it.

Sagittarius:
You will be presented with some money after a visit to the ATM that will help you to buy a Subway sandwich. Caution must be exercised though – the new taste things aren’t as good as you may think. Stick with what you know, Sagittarius. Stick with what you know (if reading aloud, that last sentence should be quieter and more dramatic than the previous one).

Cancer:
Health will be an issue, as your stars (the Saucepan) give warning of you being hit by a large truck. Don’t try and trick fate by hiding under your bed like a little girl. Accept your destiny and meet that truck head on. You will also get a promotion.

Pisces:
Friends will be a very important part of 2007 for you, as is shown by Neptune’s moon fraternising with Mars in the back of a cab. You should probably do your best to make some friends first, Pisces. And you’re not in a good position to be picky. Try that homeless woman outside the bank. A word of caution though, Pisces: she spits.

Aries:
Arians should take advantage of Saturn being in the northern arc of Earth’s transcendental glow this year, so they should paint their elbows blue and wander the streets to spread the word of ALF. “No problem!”, “I kill me!” and “Ha!” will become important phrases for 2007. Try to avoid being shot, Aries. The consequences could be disastrous.

Virgo:
2007 has a big change in lifestyle for you, as is shown by Mercury’s distant yawn. You will soon find yourself a bit more laid back, and will spend more time sitting around. This will be due to the loss of movement in your legs sometime in February or March. On the plus side, you won’t need as many shoes, so there’s no need to go shopping anytime soon.

Libra:
With a bright, twinkly star over there, and a less twinkly one there, you need to find out why the carpet outside the laundry is always wet. Clever things, those stars. But then, if I’d had bugger all to do but sit around in the sky for a trillion billion squillion magillion years, I’d probably have something clever to say as well.

Scorpio:
The solar flares in early 2007 will be affecting you immensely, Scorpio. You should try and find your sunglasses soon. According to the magical world of Narnia, which is in line with Pluto (even though it’s not a planet anymore), you have either left them at a mate’s place, or they’re underneath the passenger seat in your car. If you don’t own a car, you should buy one, and check under the seat… you may be pleasantly surprised. But don’t worry if there’s nothing there. It’s still worth a look though.

Capricorn:
There may or may not be a moon partially eclipsing a planet somewhere. Don’t forget to set a tape for Lost, cause Jack’s about to find out something that will change his life… forever. Also, check out Paris Hilton being a rich dumb slut in that show that she’s on. You will ring Quizmania, but will not get through, but it's irrelevant, as your answer was wrong anyway.

bowling, shane

Australian summers mean only one thing: Cricket. And lots of it.

Let me tell you a story about cricket. It was invented by the Polish on Wednesday as a means of raising money for new tennis courts for a reality tv show, possibly devised and hosted by Angry Anderson. The very name “cricket” means ‘to throw pegs into the sky', which basically sums up the sport.

The Polish played on a pitch that was half a kilometre long, with a ball that was made of both rubber and solid silver. The bowler’s end did not have a wicket, and the ball could be delivered in any way desired, such as throwing (called the ‘murali’), via slingshot (‘tommo’) or hand delivered (‘magill’). Runs came thick and fast in the early days of the game, as each side was made up of 3 people, the field was over 12 kilometres in diameter and each run was worth 600 points. It wasn’t until 74 years later that the rules were changed, the size of the playing arena made smaller, mostly due to the deaths and mysterious disappearances of several top Polish fielders. The most famous occurrence was in 1268, during a particularly savage approach on the bowling by local hero Jonas Stravinski. Young left arm fast bowler Throun Pise had the unfortunate figures of 4 overs, 0 maidens, 0 wickets, 862 runs, including 48 no balls and 60 wides. The bowler offered to field on the boundary at the completion of his over, collected his cap from umpire Chilinutz and headed off in the direction of the boundary rope, which was a mess of rusted barb wire in those early days. No one ever saw that bowler again, although no one really looked very hard.

Barbarian pirates who were obviously quite lost interrupted a game in 14:25 and quickly fell in love with it, so much so that they kidnapped the players and took them on board their ship. That pirate ship collided with a herd of flying giant squid whale sharks who were sleeping off the coast of Southern Egypt and the players escaped the sinking wreckage, swimming toward land, apparently the wrong way, as they were found in Central Queensland some time later. The sport was adopted by all Australians, who shared it with the world, purely so they could be better than them at it.

And also so we could have another socially acceptable excuse to get drunk.

My mistletoe has tinea

Christmas time is a stressful part of the year, where money is not as abundant as we would like, and time is a precious resource, like chickens to a chicken farmer during a particularly bad time, like during a fox plague, or if it rained chicken poison or something. So time is a precious resource. And money is scarce, like chickens during the same bad times, with that recurring fox plague and the flood of chicken poison. Right.

So to cut down on stress, and to save you time and money (and possibly chickens), here are Mister Evil Breakfast’s Christmas Tips:

- If you have young children, don’t waste money on buying presents that they won’t remember. Give them a shoebox instead. All kids love shoeboxes. This way, you get a new pair of shoes, and your offspring gets a great present.
- Invite all of your friends and relatives over for Christmas drinks. They will invariably bring food, wine and beer. After an hour, set fire to the couch so everyone has to leave, and you get to keep the food that they brought. You can do this several times as well as eat potato chips for dinner.
- Wrapping paper is both expensive and an environmental disaster. I think that’s why I like it.
- To save money on buying presents, don’t have any friends. Those lonely nights can be spent thinking of the money you’ve saved.
- If you want to get back with an old girlfriend, buy her a kitten or a puppy. That always works.
- Stuck at work and can’t get to the shops? Stationery is always a good idea, as are corporate branded t-shirts and folders.
- Dispel the myth of Santa Claus to the kids in the shopping malls – their tears are all the Christmas joy you will need.
- Don’t open your Christmas cards, but save them for a year and write “Return to sender” on the envelope. You can be thrifty when it comes to spreading good wishes.
- Christmas dinner is traditionally the biggest meal you’ll eat all year, and will probably be the most expensive too. Don’t be afraid to skimp on the trimmings. Instead of gravy, try some tomato sauce. Turkey can easily be replaced with leftover Chinese food, and you’d be surprised how a block of butter with mayonnaise can pass as Christmas pudding with custard. You can keep things traditional yet economical.
- Can’t find that ideal gift for that ‘special someone’? Buy them whatever you bought them last year, and explain that since they said they loved last year’s present so much, you figured they’d be doubly pleased with another one.
- Putting on weight over Christmas is a common occurrence. Not for me though.

Have a Mister Evil Christmas!

Deck the halls

Fa la la la la...

Does anyone think of what Santa might like for Christmas? I mean, sure, the big guy only works one day a year, the rest of it he just sits around, wallowing in his own filth, eating the slow reindeer and scratching his back on leftover Chrissy trees while the elves all bust their asses to make some toys for the good widdle boys and girls of the world. But on that one day, the red blob is a hive of activity, racing from hither to thither on his one-horse open sleigh (or something), punching himself down chimneys and carrying a giant bag o’ goodies around all night. And it’s not like he can start early or finish late, you know. The guy has a fair job ahead of him, and probably deserves some kind of reward.

So for the other 364 days of the year, does he sit around and think, “I’d really like a Playstation this year…” and then write a letter to himself and get one of the elves to put together a video game console for him, then open it on Christmas Day and say, “Wow! A Playstation! What a motherfucking surprise!” Of course not, the poor bastard delivered it to himself. And then he forgot to ask for any games, so for the next year he’s sitting around with his Playstation and wishing that he’d asked for Tony Hawk as well. Then the next year, he gets that from himself (“Wow! Tony Hawk! What a motherfucking surprise!”) and then he realises that he doesn’t have a tv, so he still can’t play it. So the next year he puts a tv on his list. Then he gets his tv (“Wow! A tv! What a motherfucking surprise!”) and then one of the elves tells him they’ve just released the Playstation 3, which is way better than the one he’s just got, and all the elves laugh at him cause he’s playing a crap game machine.

Poor Santa.

A very evil breakfast to you

On Christmas Eve, it’s tradition to leave milk and cookies out for Santa. Bugger that. That’s what the Yanks do. And seriously, do you think he really wants milk when it’s stinking hot outside? Hell no. To quote Ron Burgundy: “So hot. Milk was not a good choice.” Leave the man a beer. And not one of the crap ones left over from last month’s barbie when Uncle Trev brought round a six-pack of Tooheys Red, and then proceeded to hock into your James Boags. Give Santa a couple of nice, cold Crownies or even a Carlton Draught. At the very least, the Carlton has some trivia under the cap. And bugger the cookies. Hit the man with a kebab. Since he’s probably visited about a million houses before yours, and they should have all left him beer, he’ll probably need some kind of post-alcohol feed. Kebab. Garlic sauce. The meat is up to you.

Trust me. A few small changes in your Christmas Eve routine will be the difference between an ugly jumper (cause you need jumpers in Summer) and a Roboraptor.

Milk and cookies? Poor Santa.

T'is the season to be jolly...

Fa la la la la.

Well, it’s getting onto being Christmas again, where we can all go out and eat pig and drink mead and generally be Vikings about the whole world. It comes around the same time every year, but people are always complaining how it “snuck up on them” even though they’re the same people who complain that Myers have had Christmas decorations up since August. Yes, very sneaky. Santa is all about sneaking. A grossly obese man in a big red jumpsuit who flies around with reindeers, lands on your roof and hauls his fat ass down your chimney with a giant sack of presents is indeed the very definition of stealth.

Now, Santa may very well be happy to wear his red suit when visiting the northern hemisphere around Chrissytime, as I hear it gets quite chilly during the Winter. But what happens when he’s flapping around in Australia in 35 degree heat, travelling through the sky at 12 times the speed of sound or something? He’d be sweating like a badger in a wetsuit, and by the time he gets to your place with your pressies, he’d be one angry, hot, pissed off dude, who is more likely to pass out under your tree than leave you a Transformers toy. I’m surprised the smell of him doesn’t wake more people up – ever been next to a fat guy on a bus, train, plane, office, elevator, bench, tree, monkey, volcano or muffin? Yeah, the smell really hits you. Add about a thousand per cent to that and you’ve got Santa’s sweaty arse. I wonder if he gets chafing?

Poor Santa.

dort

I think if you lived on top of a traffic light, the "beep beep beep" noise would annoy you at first. But you'd probably get used to it, and eventually you'd be wondering, "Frankly, how did we live without it?"

crispy

One day I saw a small child open a packet of peanut M & M’s and spill most of them onto the pavement. There was an attempt to eat them from the ground, naturally, and a stern “No!” from the accompanying parent, naturally, and tears from the child, again, naturally. A few days later I passed that exact spot and saw the peanuts on the ground; the chocolate had been melted away by the warm Canberra springtime sun. And I thought, you know what? I am a lot like those peanuts. I was once wrapped in a hard chocolate shell and left to sit in the sun, forgotten. And then I thought, you know what? No I’m not. Stupid kids. And then I went and got drunk.

Crispy

One day I saw a small child open a packet of peanut M & M’s and spill most of them onto the pavement. There was an attempt to eat them from the ground, naturally, and a stern “No!” from the accompanying parent, naturally, and tears from the child, again, naturally. A few days later I passed that exact spot and saw the peanuts on the ground; the chocolate had been melted away by the warm Canberra springtime sun. And I thought, you know what? I am a lot like those peanuts. I was once wrapped in a hard chocolate shell and left to sit in the sun, forgotten. And then I thought, you know what? No I’m not. Stupid kids. And then I went and got drunk.

insert witty line here

A really good way to impress your friends is to re-enact the scene in The Wizard of Oz where the Wicked Witch of the West dies.

Simply dig a very deep hole. Whilst wearing a long, flowing robe, stand over your hole. Either wait for it to rain, or for someone to pour water over you. Slowly lower yourself into the hole and scream "I'm melting!" while making sure that the robe covers the hole. Stay in the hole until the applause dies down. If it's raining very heavily, don't stay there for too long or you might catch a cold.

this never happened before

Sex is a funny thing. But that doesn't make it ok to laugh while you're doing it. It may disturb the llama.

snow patrol

As it rolled down the mountain, the avalanche picked up speed like a marshmallow in the bottom of a mug of hot chocolate races towards your mouth. While the people of Little Snowtonville slept, their town was about to be destroyed by one of nature’s greatest disasters. And the survivors would realise that this ain’t cocoa, baby.

Mister Evil Breakfast’s TightAss Tips

Live music is great, but tickets to popular concerts are very expensive. For a cheaper way to experience a ‘gig’, just listen to buskers, and request your favourite songs. Avoid the crowd (and obligatory money donation) by leaving before the final encore.

If you work in an office building, you can save a lot of money on buying lunch by going from floor to floor looking for free morning tea, cake and conference sandwiches. If you get caught, calmly explain that you’re in the office as a consultant. If you can’t find any food, simply take a bag from one of the office fridges. When you see someone looking through the office asking, “Has anyone seen my lunch?” just say, “Man, same thing happened to me last week,” as you stuff the remaining crust into your mouth.

Electricity is very expensive, so if you’re not looking at anything interesting, turn off the lights in your house.

Modern art looks fantastic and attracts the chicks, but you don’t want to get caught paying too much for it. Put an out-of-focus photograph in a frame and hang it upside down and wait for the compliments to start rolling in.

Don’t buy expensive beach toys and rubber rings for your pool – use the tyres off your car and sit back for a relaxing afternoon in the sun. If you don’t have a pool, you can just sit in your lounge room with a bucket of water for that tropical effect.

Collagen implants are the new hot thing to have, but surgery is very expensive. For a cheaper way to get Angelina’s luscious lips, stuff cotton wool between your upper and lower lips and your gums. Soon, you too could be having Brad Pitt’s baby!

Losing weight can be expensive AND time consuming. Do it the easy way – make new friends and tell them that you used to be twice your size.

Save yourself a dollar each time you stop at the traffic lights and the man with the squeegee tries to wash your windscreen – simply get out and do it yourself.

Buying new CDs can be very expensive. If you hear a song that you like, just remember it as best you can and sing it to yourself as often as you like.

Keeping up with the trends is a very hard and pricey exercise. Wrap yourself in alfoil and tell everyone that this is what people in the future will wear anyway.

Everyone remembers the first house they bought – so find a house that you like, put a “Sold” sign on the front lawn and have your photo taken next to it. This memory will warm you for years to come.

Having a child is one of the most rewarding experiences of life. Unfortunately, it’s also very expensive, so don’t have them.

To impress a girl on a first date, take her to a very expensive restaurant. Order wine, fancy entrees and a big main course. As you’re about to finish your mains, pretend to choke and pass out. The restaurant will call for an ambulance, so you won’t have to pay for your meal, and you get a free ride to the hospital. To make the most of this, try and live near a hospital.

You can cheaply simulate a night out drinking by spinning around a lot and throwing up on yourself.

Save money on buying deodorants by only spraying one side of your body, and make sure that you only stand on that side of people.

Smoke detectors are very important, but the batteries constantly need replacing, which can be a very expensive exercise. Easy solution: Don't replace them, but check your house every 5 minutes for signs of a fire.

buzz

It was a dark night, as nights are want to do, and rain fell steadily from the sky, in keeping with the laws of physics. The lights were on in the old Flaherty house, because otherwise people would not have been able to see, as it was a typically dark night, as previously mentioned. The falling rain made the road slippery, as water traditionally creates less friction between objects, and the wind blew in, which is what wind does best, otherwise it would just be a puff of air not moving, and would not even be worth mentioning.
“This could be a long night,” muttered Freddy, who had just calculated that sunrise wouldn’t be until 7:02 the following morning, which is a good half hour past the sunrise time that had occurred that day. He opened the door to his car, as the window was shut and this was the easiest way both in and out of his vehicle, put his key into the ignition and turned it clockwise, to start the engine. The engine purred like a large mechanical device under the bonnet of an automobile. He put the car into gear, so that he was able to accelerate and not rely on the gradient of the road to change speeds, and would allow him to get to his destination at a far greater speed.
“Goodbye, Overexplanationville,” Freddy said as the tyres on his car revolved in direct correlation with the pressure he placed on the accelerator pedal which controlled the engine.

ice age

If I were a squirrel, I don’t think I’d survive long, as I would laugh every time some other squirrel said, “We need to collect nuts for the winter,” and I’d just grab my crotch and say, “Your place or mine?” I am also not good at climbing trees.

spanner

Sgt Johnson looked around the battlefield. Everywhere, his men lay slowly dying. The only movement was the occasional twitch of a limb as the last nerves gave one final kick.
"This is the worst case of bullet poisoning I've ever seen," said Sgt Johnson, as he took a bite of a parrot, whose properties he believed staved off the symptoms of bullet poisoning.

The Big Breakfast

Australia is a wide brown land which may or may not be girt by sea. We have the worst reality tv, the best beer and the most average footy teams in the world.

Way back when, colonial settlers decided that Australia needed some kind of drawcard (they obviously hadn't been to the Tuggeranong Hyperdome) to get tourists and abalone farmers to come to the great country. So they had an all night thinking session (aided by copious amounts of beer - see above paragraph) and came up with an idea to build useless tourist attractions that had no other qualities other than being big.

The Big Merino












The Big Banana








Canberra is lacking in the BIG things department. Wait, that sounds rude. Let me try again… Australia is well-renowned for its BIG things. That still sounds rude. Ah fuck it. Anyway, Australia has a lot of BIG erections. There, that’s not rude at all. They bring in billions of tourism dollars and are a general treat to look at and admire. The best thing about the BIG things is that they can be admired from a long way away. I’m admiring the Big Surfboard in Perth from here. (note: Perth is quite a long way away. See pic)

Sure, Canberra has the Big Flag at Parliament House, and the Big Manky Lake in the middle of the city, and (if you've had a few and are on top of Mt Ainslie) the big R2D2 (War Memorial) and the big chessboard (all of Canberra), but these aren't quite recognisable enough for my liking. And frankly, it's my liking that's important around here. Crestfallen, I was planning on moving to Melbourne to be nearer the Big Pile of Toilets when I stumbled across this sign:

To those with little to no attention to detail, this may seem like a normal "Watch out for kangaroos" sign, which are quite common in thriving metropoli such as Canberra and Goondiwindi. But look closer.

Skis.

Stocks.

A kangaroo.

This sign is quite obviously announcing the site where Canberra's greatest tourist attraction will be located - THE BIG SKIING KANGAROO. Imagine walking through the city and seeing a group of tryhard goths carrying Big Skiing Kangaroo toys, gangs of teenagers in Belco who have discarded their shiny Fubu tracksuits for Big Skiing Kangaroo t-shirts and grannies looking fondly at the Big Skiing Kangaroo snowglobe that sits all pretty-like on their mantle. I can see swarms of tourists flocking to Canberra not just for the largest tulip display in the southern hemisphere, not just to see the guy who won ‘My Restaurant Rules’ a few years back, and not even just to see Parliament in session, people will be fighting to get the best glimpse of… the Big Skiing Kangaroo.

The Big Skiing Kangaroo. I have seen the future, and the future looks sweet.

I can't wait. I'll be able to tell people that I'm from Canberra, and instead of them saying, "Is that near Sydney? I'm a fucking moron," they'd say, "Wow, have you ever been to the Big Skiing Kangaroo? I want to go there, but my sister has already seen it and wants to go to Disneyland." And then I'd say, "Disneyland? You ARE a fucking moron." And I could cause some violence between siblings, and I like that.

And thus ends August, thus ends Mister Evil Breakfast's Canberra Appreciation Month. And yep, this one is late, but I couldn't post on Friday, so here it is today. Stay tuned for more shit in September. If I could be arsed.

Bad and mean, MEB style

Traditional Canberra food

Nothing says Canberra like the bloody Raiders. You have to say it like that. Bloody Raiders.

“Hey Steve, did you catch the footy?”
“Yeah mate. Bloody Raiders.”

“Who’d you tip for Friday night’s game?”
“Bloody Raiders.”

“Have you seen my sock?”
“Bloody Raiders.”

Bloody Raiders. For years, Canberra has placed all of their sporting hopes in these bumbling fucking idiots. But there have been a few distractions along the way, a false hope, like when you go out on the piss one night with $120 in your wallet. The next thing you remember, you’re in your bed, you’re still fully clothed and you smell like four-day-old ass. All you want is some shit greasy food and a game of cricket to watch. You struggle down to the takeaway shop, positive that there is no way on God’s lime green earth that you spent $120 last night, but when you reach into your pocket for some cash and your hand comes out empty, all you can do is cry. That’s kind of what happened briefly when the Super 12 Ruby Union competition began. For a while, the Brumbies were the best thing since Laurie Daley’s groin, but then people began to realise that the game is decided by the referee, who gives penalties for breathing too loud. I guess that’s why people with asthma don’t play rugby much. Poor little asthma sufferers. But they do get those cool little blue puffers. I always wanted one of those. The rules of union are way too confusing and watching a giant “stacks on” game isn’t as much fun as it sounds. And for some reason, the crowd dress up like they’ve just come from having a Queer Eye makeover, drink champagne and discuss the big merger that’s coming up. The real people (the punters) would probably rather spend $120 on the turps and feel like shit the next day than have to sit through another Brumbies match, and the Brumbies ‘faithful’ began to dwindle.

Among it all were the little battlers called the bloody Raiders.

The high points for the bloody Raiders came in 89 and 90, and again in 94, as they hoisted the Winfied Cup aloft (and dropped it off the back of a ute), and they would have won it again in 95 except Ricky Stuart snapped his leg and the bloody Raiders did what they always do in a time of crisis: Nothing. Absolutely nothing. They tried some young bloke from St Mary’s under 12 side, and s/he was found to be in need of a good punch in the face, which I’m sure was given by at least 16 other blokes. So they tried an Eskimo from a formerly undiscovered tribe in the important number 7 jersey. Surprisingly, Tarka’s ball handling skills were less than remarkable (good kicking game though) and he didn’t last long either. The whole team fell apart in a syndrome that has been recently diagnosed as “Joey Johns Disease”. It was sad to watch these once-mighty titans fall into a large pile of shit. It was probably hilarious for the rest of Australia, who hated the talent, the speed, the rugged good looks and of course, the beautiful lime-green jerseys of the bloody Raiders.

We were treated to some “rebuilding years” as the majority of the bloody Raiders left Canberra due to retirement, injuries and rehab commitments. These rebuilding years tested the loyalty of the fickle Canberra fans, who briefly toyed with the idea of once again going to the Brumbies, but then thought that they could sit at home, eat cold pies and be bored for a lot less effort and a lot less money. The Canberra Cosmos soccer team enjoyed a crowd (once), the Cannons fell apart in exact proportion to the amount of scalp that was showing through Phil Smythe’s hair, the Bushrangers played baseball, the Capitals are a women’s basketball team (no slam dunks, hence BORING), the Comets were under prepared for first class cricket (Merv Hughes? Under prepared? Never), and the Knights play the world’s fastest team sport in slow motion. With no sporting heroes to worship, Canberrans did the only thing they know how to do - bitch and moan about the bloody Raiders. They were a team that had been there and done that, they could take the brunt of media abuse, bottles from the crowd, death threats from me and, in the case of at least two players, no bar service in Canberra.

And they’re still going today. They might not be winning like the team of yesteryear, but they have the same spirit and pride in the lime green jersey as those troopers of 1982. Except that most of them are leaving to earn more money somewhere else. I’m looking at YOU, Shifcofske. And by the way, you have something on your cheek.

To the mighty bloody Raiders: Good luck for the rest of the season. You’ve cracked the top eight, and have the ability to upset a few of the… well, better teams.

For those Canberrans unfamiliar with exactly who plays for the bloody Raiders, next time you’re out and about in the city, look for the big bloke lying in the gutter, unable to speak coherently. Chances are, it’s the next captain of the team – he’s not drunk, he’s just a fucking spastic. I love those guys.

MEBCAM has the touch. MEBCAM has the power.

Canberra's most popular easy listening station now in mug form.

A man's gotta eat. A man might live in Canberra. And so without further ado, here's Mister Evil Breakfast’s Top Five Eating Establishments In The Nation’s Capital (MEBTFEEITNC)

5. RJs. Located in Woden in the car park opposite Hoggies and behind another carpark, it’s where they have Trash n Treasure occasionally – if you’re ever there and this caravan of wonder has a price tag, for the love of Natalie Portman, buy the puppy. The greatest chips and gravy in the southern hemisphere, and the hot dogs are divine. The menu also boasts a “Taco Dog” which sounds appealing, but I dare someone to actually order it.
COST: For $5, you’ll be the happiest ball of cholesterol in the world.
SPECIALTIES: Chips n Gravy. Served in a paper cup, these thinly cut slices of Potato Heaven are smothered in gravy with the consistency of Vegemite and the taste of thick, black gold. (Chef recommends Coke as an accompanying beverage).

4. Ainslie Take Away. Nestled in the heart of Ainslie, this take away appears to be the same as every other fish n chippery anywhere in the world. Don’t let the plastic curtain strips fool you, this place is perfect for those looking for a meal with a bit of bite. And by bite, I mean a ferocious ‘Casey-Donovan-on-a-Big-Mac’ kind of attack. For those with a less spicy palate (i.e. pussies), you can chow down on dim sims and Chiko Rolls to your hearts content, but trust me, the ulcers are totally worth it.
COST: Bring along a $10 for an extra beverage. You’ll need it.
SPECIALTIES: Portuguese Chicken Burger. Take one piece of chicken breast, take out the chicken and stuff with spices. Deep fry. Add more spices, slap it on some bread, add a bit of spicy sauce and salad and go nuts. Don’t expect to be able to feel your tongue for the rest of the day.

3. Kingsley’s. It doesn’t matter which store of this delightful chain you go to, it is impossible to be disappointed. Their “Kid’s Meal” toys leave a lot to be desired (a balloon? Come on!) and their television ads are fucking terrible, but I think this is to leave room in the budget for the best damn chook this side of Saturn. Believe you me, you’ll be sucking on chicken bones for a week to make sure you’ve got all the meat off.
COST: You could quite easily spend a quarter mill, but $10 should do you nicely for a meal with chips and a drink.
SPECIALTIES: Obviously a personal choice, but the Breast Fillet Burger (with gravy AND coleslaw) is my favourite. The coleslaw juice runs down your arm, which would normally be a turn off, but in this case, it just adds to the experience. Use a spare chip and mop up that mess. Delightful.

2. Yowana Golf Club. Sounds ritzy, and maybe it is, but at the end of the day, it’s just a club with a bar, bistro and pokies. And the best damn schnitzel ever. Seriously. After my first meal there, I was inspired to try and hook up my intestines back to my mouth so I could continue to eat this divine piece of cuisine forever. When Mark Holden says, “Whizzo Fizzo Shnitzel,” you know he’s just come from Yowana, and his brain is struggling to cope with the flavour sensation that is the schnitty (or he might just be slightly retarded). There are wars going on in the Middle East that could be solved with the eating of a schnitzel and the supping of beer. The Queen once tried to burn down the Palace because her chef thought he could “do a better schnitzel than Yowana.” Go there for a work lunch and get your boss to buy the beers.
COST: It doesn’t matter. Just do it. I think the schnitzels are $14 though. Best $14 I’ve ever spent.
SPECIALTIES: They do a good Caesar Salad. Just kidding. Salad’s for girls, rabbits and old Roman emperors.

1. Chicken Gourmet. For those 4am munchies. Conveniently located next door to King O’Malleys, you can quite literally stumble from pint to plate without breaking stride. It’s also on the way to the taxi rank, so you can stand in line with your little bag of goodies and lord it over the hungry and cold who are standing with you.

Chips? You got it. Chicken? Of course. Burgers? Yep. Other things? Probably. With ‘help yourself’ chicken salt and the most patient staff in the world, Chicken Gourmet is a godsend to drunken idiots at a thousand o’clock in the morning. If some young tart doesn’t flirt her way into your alfoil bag (that is NOT a metaphor) while waiting for a cab, it makes for a terrific breakky snack the next day.
COST: If you’re at Chicken Gourmet, it really doesn’t matter how much it is, cause you’ll pay it regardless. Consider it an investment. WARNING: No matter how hungry you feel, you probably won’t eat as much as you think you can. Don’t throw it away, use it as barter in the cab line.
SPECIALTIES: I can't resist a bag of chicken salt and a few chips, personally. Throw in a chunk of one of those little birds that clucks and I'm the happiest bloke alive.

Sweet, sweet MEBCAM

Nothing says ‘Canberra’ like a bad driver. In the metaphorical sense, of course. In reality, a lot of things say Canberra. Well, maybe not a lot. A few. Like people. And parrots.

If I had a parrot, I’d definitely teach it to say “Canberra.” But then, if I had a parrot, it would sit on my shoulder and say “Pieces of eight” a lot as well. Aar.

Bad drivers and Canberra go together like a pirate and his plundering. But not in the same way. Like, if a guy cuts you off on the parkway, you don’t usually drop anchor, grab your musket and cutlass and swing into his car via a chandelier or any conveniently placed rigging, sail or curtain. I’m just saying that pirates plunder and Canberra drivers are absolutely shit. Not Sydney shit, with its manic drivers who will drive the wrong way up a one-way street just to get two car spaces in front of you. And it’s not Melbourne shit where they turn right from the left lane. And it’s not Queensland shit with its stupid Queenslanders. Canberra drivers are shit in their own ways.

For one, Canberrans are split in the whole indicator “leave it on, never use it” debate. I’ve been behind a person who had his left indicator on from Banks to Amaroo before actually turning, and that was just to change lanes. (For those unfamiliar with the Canberra layout, Banks is as far south as anyone needs to go [sorry Cooma] and Amaroo is somewhere out in the northern sticks). Obviously we took a strange route that involved no curved roads. On the other hand, most drivers in the Berra are so important that their daily driving plans have been given to everyone else in the world, and so have no need for indicators at all. The trouble with this though, is that everyone is so damn important that no one reads anyone else’s plans. The end result is obviously a big fat mess of unblinking proportions. Driving around the city is a lot like a Mr Magoo episode, but funnier. No wait. Mr Magoo is a comic genius. It’s more like an episode of Full House. Cut – It – Out. That shit never gets old. Never.

Did you see that movie “Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift”? No, neither did I, and if you answered ‘yes’ to that question, I’m coming over to your house to punch you in the goiter. But what I can gather from the previews, it’s about a bunch of dudes who drive really fast around Tokyo. Sideways.
Brilliant.
Anyway, “Fast and the Furious: Canberra Amoeba” is similar to that (and Tokyo Drift was pretty similar to 2Fast, 2Furious, which in turn was along the same lines as Fast and the Furious, which in my opinion, had the same plot as Smokey and the Bandit, but that’s my beef, not yours), except that ‘Canberra Amoeba’ is more about changing lanes very, very slowly. The plot goes like this:
Trevor (Jonathon Taylor Thomas) is a hotshot advertising executive who has just broken up with his girlfriend (Jenna van Oj). So he moves to Canberra to start a new life. He has no friends, no family, just heaps of cash and a ‘fully sick’ Excel. He’s lowered it, donked it, doofed it, boofed it and woofed it. And it has tinted windows and cup holders in the back. After a day at the National Dinosaur Museum, he returns to his car to find that someone has keyed it. Distraught, he does what he does best – he drives. Whilst passing by Scrivener Dam, he comes across a gang of hard nut rebels called the “ADFA Boyz”, distinctive in their white pants and boat shoes. Led by “Squad Leader” (Jerry O’Connell’s brother), the ADFA Boyz show Trevor the “Canberra Amoeba”; the art of driving alongside another vehicle and very, very, very slowly drifting into the other person’s lane without them realising. Do it right, and – SHLUPP! – they’ve been absorbed like an amoeba into your car. Trevor learns that Squad Leader and the Boyz are planning a dangerously slow attack on their arch rivals, the Weston Creek Coolies. In a unique twist to the plot, Squad Leader’s sister Sharyn (Paris Hilton) is part of the Coolies, and has fallen in love with Trevor after four Bacardi’s and two West Coast Coolers. In an exciting final confrontation, Trevor and Squad Leader face off against each other down Northbourne Avenue. Can a thousand sets of traffic lights, endless roadworks and nineteen squeegee windscreen men escape THE CANBERRA AMOEBA?
Sounds pretty good, huh? Hollywood, call me.

Canberra also has, admittedly, a lot of roundabouts. This is not such a bad thing. You can make a wrong turn anywhere and be able to get back on the right path in a maximum of two right hand turns. It’s fantastic. Compare this to Sydney, where you’ll make a wrong turn, have to pay $12,000 in tolls and be driving around aimlessly for the next six years of your life. By the time you get back to where you were before, you’ve forgotten what you’re doing, and may make the same stupid wrong turn you did before. By the time you remember where you wanted to go (just down to the fish n chip shop), your family has given up on you, your wife has moved on and remarried and your children have turned into satanic cult leaders. How quickly they grow up. In Canberra, you can actually get places quicker by making wrong turns. It’s tops.

Well, it would be if Canberrans knew how to use roundabouts. People are always confused by the “give way to your left… or is it right” phenomenon, and basically resort to just flooring the accelerator, closing their eyes and swerving randomly to get around. While it adds a bit of spice to a road trip and gets the adrenaline pumping, it can also be quite stressful on the old ladies that you knock down. And their seventy maltese-terrier puppies.

But the greatest part of Canberra driving is the appreciation that road users have for their cycling counterparts. Some champion decided several years ago that everyone in Canberra either has a bike, or has evolved wheels where their legs should be, so he put a cycle lane on every friggin piece of bitumen in the holy capital. I don’t have anything against bikes and bike riders (hey, if there’s an accident, I’m pretty sure my car is going to win that little stoush) but the fact that half of every major road in Canberra is taken up by a largely vacant stretch of space that could be quite easily filled with, well, another lane of traffic, really gets on some people’s goat. As well as occupying the majority of road, the footpaths and pedestrian walking path things that follow EACH AND EVERY ROAD are also split in two for the sake of bikers.

The majority of Canberrans are either fat, middle-aged public servants, deadbeat arts students or are just plain lazy. Yes, I’m putting all of you people into categories. Said public servants are not going to be riding bikes anywhere – no matter how sturdy that basket on the front is, you will not be trusting it with your fifty boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. And the students aren’t going to ride anywhere, because they’re too busy complaining about everything and are quite possibly drunk. And the lazy people… well, I think you understand what I’m saying. Riding a bike is always fun, but it does mean you have to get up a bit earlier, ride around in sub-zero temperatures and wind up wherever you’re going a sweaty, pink-faced mess of a person. And no matter how easy you think that chick in marketing is, you will not be getting anywhere with her in those bike pants.
In the immortal words of Shannon Noll (well, Bryan Adams said it, but didn’t have the balls to try and ruin his career with the song, so he gave it to our very own Aussie Idol): Come on, let’s drive. But don’t be a fuckwit about it. Yes, I’m talking to you, Mr. Pajero YTK 410. Prick.

MEBCAM is the new black

Canberra can be quite dark at night


Ah... Canberra in August. Is there a better place in the world to be? Probably.

The world is full of great places that are great because people tell us that they're great. New York, London (which actually is pretty good, probably because it's full of Aussies) and Glenrowan come to mind. Why are these places so damn good? Is it because there's a lot to do, interesting people, or is it the "je ne sais pas" of a place?

Je ne sais pas is actually just a fancy way of saying, "Let's go out and sink some piss."

So without any further ado, here is the Mister Evil Breakfast Random Places to Drink Beer and Fall Down Stairs List (MEBRPtDBaFDSL for short, and when pronounced correctly is a good pick up line).

King O'Malleys: The old faithful Irish pub, set up by a Scotsman who may or may not have had some political power back in 120BC or some such time in Australia. Made some good predictions for Canberra (the size of London, the beauty of Rome and the art of Paris), which may sound a bit far off now, but he never gave himself a time frame in which to achieve these goals. Nice one, Kingo.
Best bits: No schooners, just pints. Tidy bartenders. Located next to Canberra's best restaurant, Chicken Gourmet. Sports pages located on the toilet wall.
Worst bits: Toilets have never been cleaned (but sports pages constantly updated). Stairs can be tricky when either carrying 4 pints or when completely smashed. Full of knobs you went to school with who are all earning a million in the Public Service.

Mooseheads: The Moose is great until 2am when drink prices go up expedentially. But by that time, you're shitfaced and don't care that you're now paying $70 for a round of beers that previously cost you $12. You also don't care that you're dancing to a remix of Smells Like Teen Spirit with backing vocals from that chick that did Murder on the Dance Floor.
Best Bits: Cheap drinks till 2am. Low cover charge. Located next to a pizza stall. Has many good places to watch people get into a fight and not get involved.
Worst Bits: The girls in there are young enough to be your little sister's younger friend, who skipped a year at school. Ordering drinks after 2am and realising that your kidneys are no longer tangible bartering tools. Is full of knobs that you went to school with who are earning millions in the Public Service.

North Bar: A nice place to go if you're tuning a bird, don't mind drinking girl's drinks (or paying $6 for an Extra Dry) and fighting rich yuppies for an uncomfortable square cushion to sit on.
Best Bits: Interesting drink choices. Music quiet enough so you don't have to yell.
Worst Bits: Limited seating. Long lines at the bar. Drinks way too pricey, but you have to do it if you're trying to pick up, and let's face it, if you're at North, you're not there because you want to be. Full of tossers who don't remember you from school because they're fuckwits. You'll see them later on at the Moose though, so hit them up for drinks when they're really pissed.

Academy: I've only been to Academy twice and don't remember much of either of those visits. The few hazy moments that I can still recall are: the guy on the door who told me that I was only allowed to drink Milo if he let me in; the price that drinks cost (and it wasn't Milo, but don't tell the bouncer), and not being able to find the toilets for about 3 hours.
Best Bits: Absolutely nothing comes to mind.
Worst Bits: The most expensive night you'll ever have. $15 cover charge. For a nightclub. In Canberra. Fuck off. That said, it was once a cinema complex, so $15 to get into a dark room with a sticky floor is pretty standard. Is possibly filled with the knobs you went to school with, but who the fuck cares?

Shooters: $2 drinks. Nuff said.
Best Bits: $2 drinks.
Worst Bits: A sore head the next day. The fact that you might have to tell someone you actually went to Shooters. The stamp they put on you has superhuman strength, and scientific research has proven that the harder you try to wash it off, the longer it will stay. Could be filled with fucktards from your school, but you don't really know, as your head is down at all times.

PJ O'Reilleys: PJ's is great - there are shamrocks and Guinness signs all over the place, so you just know it's Irish. The only times I've been there are when I've been hell smashed, so I can't really remember much, except that the bouncer guy on the door was nice enough to let me in even though it was clear I'd had too many already and was talking like a pirate. And there's an Ali Baba on the way into the city, so that's a good thing.
Best Bits: Pints are reasonably priced. Bouncer was nice to me on at least one occasion.
Worst Bits: Avoid the Tuggeranong PJ's at any cost, you may go blind. You will see a few knobs you went to school with, but the place is that big that you can lose them again in an instant.

Wig and Pen: A nice, quiet place to have a pint or twelve. The Wig has some outstanding lagers, ales and stouts from far and beyond, but get there early-ish and don't ever leave your seat, or some bastard will steal it. If you do need to go to the toilet, take your chair with you.
Best Bits: You can drink beer and feel like you're in an Olde English Pub. Quiet and sophisticated, and you won't look out of place if you're a bloke wearing a cardigan and a scarf.
Worst Bits: For some reason, I can never find it when I need to, which is strange, cause it's right there. Some of the brews can make you a bit bloaty, when all you really want is a VB. You may run into some of the art/drama knobs that you went to school with, but you can impress them with the fact that you actually have a job.

The Church Bar: Honestly, this place changes its name more often than Rove says, "What the?" You may know it as the Aree Bar, I know it as the Church Bar, but rumour has it that it's changed its name again. In any case, it's the bar located underneath the backpacker's joint, which is, almost ironically, located across from one of Canberra's finest hotels, The Waldorf.
Best Bits: Cheap drinks after work on Fridays - $2 for a schooner. Show me cheaper and I'll love you always. They also have live music, which is getting quite rare for Canberra these days. And karaoke. And there's an NBA Jam arcade game in the corner.
Worst Bits: Is home to a lot of dodgy blokes and their missuses. You may see a few dickheads you went to school with, but since you probably invited them there, it's ok.

ICBM: Possibly the worst nightclub in existence. But it has some kind of magnetism to it that at 4am, it sounds like the best place in the world to go. Probably because they'll still let you in, and more importantly, still serve you drinks. I got hit in the head by a rubber chicken there one night, so it wasn't a complete waste of time.
Best Bits: You may score yourself a rubber chicken. They have a mechanical bull in there these days. Never a line up at the bar, toilet, to get in or anyone to talk to.
Worst Bits: Is just a general crap hole. I can't put my grubby little finger on it, as this place is like every other nightclub in Canberra; just a whole lot worse. It has a lot of stairs in it too, and they hurt my knees. You're unlikely to see anyone you went to school with in ICBM, but if you do, count yourself lucky that you're not there alone.

The Lighthouse: Formerly Sails (the waterfront pub), The Lighty is still on the waterfront. I don't think that will be changing anytime soon. So sit back, grab a jug and relax on the shores of Lake Ginninderra. A lot of joggers go past The Lighthouse, so you can watch them and at least pretend that you're doing exercise. They're watching you and pretending they're having fun, so it all works out in the end. Pool tables, beer, uni students and a soundtrack with at least 6 songs on it all add up to a good time. Even though I am rubbish at pool. If you ever see me at The Lighty, challenge me to a game (your shout). You'll know it's me cause I'll be the one already doing laps of the table with my pants down.
Best Bits: Is really close to my house. Sure, that may not be good for you, but that's not my issue. You should move house. Tidy bar tenders. Surrounded by fast food outlets and video stores. Always someone drunker than you there, and willing to dance to prove it.
Worst Bits: You need to wear gumboots to get in and out of the toilets. The outdoor DJ successfully ruined Sunday Sippers for everyone. Occasionally the surfacing of a body in the lake puts people off their wedges. I am yet to see anyone I went to school with at The Lighty. This probably speaks volumes about both of us.

The Irish Club: Hidden far away in the vicinity of Cooleman Court lies the Irish Club. The Iro. The Ire. The I-Club. Fiddle de dee potatoes. Finally, a club where you actually get some sort of reward for joining - cheap drinks. Cheap drinks make happiness so much more affordable. This place is unlike most of the other Irish pubs in Canberra though, it actually has a tradition of Ireland. Yes, they have shamrocks and Guinness, but they also have the 'diddly diddly diddly' Irish music played by a live band. You'd almost swear that you were in that scene from Titanic where Kate Winslet slams a pint and stands on her tip toes. Except on Fridays, which is karaoke night. Maybe that scene is in the director's cut. I don't know anyone who wants to see Leonardo di Caprio singing 'Mustang Sally' while leaning on the microphone stand for support as he gets that Italian bloke to buy him another rum and Coke cause the bar staff have cut him off. Actually, I think I know a lot of people who would like to see that.
Best Bits: Cheap membership that pays for itself over the bar. Karaoke Fridays. Diddly diddly diddly music every other night. You can pretend you're Irish and talk like Jimeoin.
Worst Bits: A weird membership scheme that saw me sign up for the grand total of a week before it ran out. Karaoke Fridays. Diddly diddly diddly music every other night. People attempting bad Irish accents and telling poor Jimeoin jokes. If you see someone you went to school with there, it won't matter because neither of you will remember it in the morning.

Kingston Pub: The Kingo is the best place in the world to go to on a nice Summer's day. Just sitting out in the beer garden, knocking back a few coldies and watching the world (aka Canberra) go by is without peer. Its location also means that you get to see all the hicks, sluts, yobbos and rollers go about their business, and you can cast aspersions on them.
Best Bits: Cheap steak (that you cook yourself, so you can feel more manly). Beer garden. Beer. Bottle shop next door. Free parking. Cheap Cruiser nights (if Cruisers are your thing, but for $3, they can be my thing until midnight too).
Worst Bits: It's a fair cab charge to get home (if you live in my house; if you live in Kingston, it's probably not that much. But if you live in Kingston, you should walk home, you fucking lazy bastard). Is home to another shitty nightclub, but if you can avoid this, a good night will be had by all. You'll probably see some guys you went to school with and wonder why you never kept in touch.

There's a thousand more bars, pubs and clubs in this wonderous patch of land called Canberra, but all this talk of beer and shenanigans is making me thirsty. Bottoms up, and it's your shout.

Stickers tell us where to pee

Mister Evil Breakfast's Canberra Appreciation Month (MEBCAM) continues, with a brief insight into some previously undiscovered treats of the 'Berra.

There is a club in Mawson (I'm not going to mention its name until it pays me royalties, but let's just say that it's expensive to drink at, but cheap to join) that holds what is without doubt the greatest monument in Canberra's rich artistic history. This CLUB that happens to be in MAWSON and whose name rhymes with MAWSON FLUB, has, amongst its awkwardly heighted bar stools and four-track repeat muzak disk, a puzzling piece of other-worldly goodness. I'm talking about this:



(I only just realised that I can put pictures on here, can you tell?)

This is a sticker. It's on a smoke detector. It's located directly above the urinals at this particular Mawson club. It is approximately 3cm x 1cm in size. It reads "URINAL", and has an arrow pointing to the nearest wall, which happens to be about 10cm in front of it. It is quite, quite useless. Yet entirely endearing. I love it and may marry it one day.
It's one of those things that you can't really appreciate properly until you have seen it for yourself, like a solar eclipse or an amusingly shaped zucchini. I can't help but wonder of its origins. The ceiling is quite high, so the person who put this sticker there would have to be around 7 foot tall. And the font is miniscule, so that giant would have to have good eyesight. And since it's pointing to the urinal already, the far-sighted giant is probably quite forgetful, so this sticker is to remind him where he is supposed to pee. My CSI-style re-enactment goes a little like this: Far-sighted Giant Man (Canberra's own superhero) has had a few too many over-priced drinks and stumbles into the toilets. He is about to just pee on the floor (something usually reserved for The Lighthouse or King O'Malleys) when he notices his reminder on the roof. "Ah yes," says Far-sighted Giant Man. "That is where I am supposed to pee." So he moves the few inches closer to the urinal and 'reveals his secret identity'.
Then he goes back to his seat and has a few more drinks, throws $20 in the pokies, nicks an ashtray and wanders home in time to watch a few rounds of "Quizmania".

Bienvenue a Canberra!

Canberra is a rockin place. I love it. It's tops. In fact, if Canberra were to be represented in an acrostic poem, it would look like this:

C hrist it's cold (cause it is).
A n extra jumper is what you'll need (cause it's cold).
N early a city (but more like a village).
B rrrr. It's cold.
E ast is just one direction you can go when in the centre of Canberra.
R eally quite cold.
R oger Moore has the same surname as my friend Scott (who lives here).
A nother jumper is a good idea (in case the other ones get dirty).

August shall hereby be known as "Mister Evil Breakfast's Canberra Appreciation Month". It will go for as long as August does, or until I get bored and stop doing it. Centrebet is paying 4/1 on me getting bored.

may contain traces of peanuts

I think that if you're ever in a war, the best way to avoid being shot is to pretend you're The Mummy, because everyone who has ever seen a Mummy film knows that they can't be killed by being shot. You should keep an ear out for strange incantations though, cause if they find out that you're not The Mummy, they will probably shoot you.

Corey, story, allegory

Turkeys make great pets. But remember, they're just for Christmas.

love that joker

You know how when you're involved in an accident, and the seconds just prior to it go in super slow motion? Apparently it's for self-preservation, so that we can prepare ourselves for the impact. But what's the point of seeing everything in slow motion if our bodies also move in slow motion? When we realise that our hand isn't going to stop that ball from heading towards your face in time, we cry a little bit. In slow motion.

open the window

A funny thing to do is pretend that you're your own identical twin, and keep running out of the room and putting on a hat and then pretending that you're you again. Just be careful that you don't get drunk and lose your hat, or the jig will be up.

Elephants and stairs

Worms are amazing creatures. When I was a kid, I used to collect them in plastic tubs and watch them wriggle around. Did you know that if you cut a worm in half, they won't die, they'd just grow back the half that had been cut off?
In some ways, my brother has many worm traits. Unfortunately for him, that isn't one of them.

old age takes away from us what we have inherited and gives us what we have earned

In the olden days, I bet it was really embarrassing to turn up to a tea party and insult the party teapot. Someone would probably get a bit upset and some fine china could quite easily be broken in the ensuing scuffle. And then you'd feel bad and invite the party back to your place, and believe you me, you'd better have a pretty fancy teapot on hand, or the whole situation could escalate. That's why I have giant squid parties. No one ever makes fun of a giant squid.

beyond the yellow brick road

She was the Printer Fairy. Luminous and radiant, she would fix office printers with the greatest of ease. Jammed paper, empty toner cartridges and broken feeders were simply remedied. She had a gift, and used her super powers to help people the world over. This talent, however, was found to be pretty fucking useless when it came to escaping burning buildings, as she realised that fateful day in July.

oh my god i can't believe it

A great way to lose weight is to send your food to yourself through the mail. Even with Express Post, it would still take a day to arrive. If you're really fat, you could just courier it to yourself so you wouldn't have to wait as long.

this is obviously not true. i don't have an office

The branch manager came into my office today and said, "We are having a branch meeting. It is about a new branch opening up." During the meeting, I stood on my chair and made monkey noises and climbed up the blinds. I think humour is a good way to make people more comfortable in meetings. I must have been quite high up the blinds though, because I couldn't hear any laughing.

watch me pull a rabbi out of this hat. Apologies to all the Jews out there.

My favourite sound in the world is a chorus of squirrels singing in conjunction with the noise you hear when you ring a fax machine by accident.

I can't believe I watched all of John Travolta's "Perfect" last night, when "Tango and Cash" was undeniably a better option

I think that if I was the first person to arrive on a crime scene, I'd put some spaghetti inside the victim, so that when forensics arrived, they would say, "This man is infested with maggots!" And then I would eat some and say, "God I'm so hungry. I skipped breakfast today." It might make some people sick, but I like spaghetti.

all the leaves are brown

Sleeping has been hard lately. So many questions go through my mind when I'm lying awake. Before I know it, it's morning, and I still don't have any answers. Like, what weighs more - a cubic foot of unsalted butter, or a cubic foot of adult blue whale?

today i got a papercut

I wonder if tall midgets get picked on by the other midgets. Do they get asked "how's the weather up there?" I also think it would be hard to buy clothes to fit a tall midget.

tell me a story...

People keep talking about how much of a genius Shakespeare is, and how his soliloquies are the greatest things ever written. Well, if he's so damn smart, how come he never mentions putty? It's squishy and malleable, and can be used to fix walls.