Round 12: Shakin my money maker

Nothing in this picture seems to have gone right for anyone

This week, I’m spicing up the tipping extravaganza with the incentive of winning money. Using the prices that have been quoted by Sportsbet or Centrebet or some kind of betting agency, I’m going to see how much moolah I can win from a week of tipping. I have given myself $10 to play with on each game. I figure by the end of the round, I’ll be rollicking rich with fake money and can go out and buy some awesome fake stuff.

Dragons vs Eels
The Dragons are favourites to win this sucker, and rightly so, but with a handful of players backing up from State of Origin, there should be a couple of tired boys in the ranks. However, the players in Wednesday’s game did little more than lie around on sun-loungers, ordering more drinks and getting blowjobs. I know it was raining, but no one’s going to pass up a blowjob, regardless of the weather.

Anyway, Saints to win at $1.54, which gives me $15.40 courtesy of the TAB. It’s not much, but a guaranteed win won’t pay too well any way you look at it.

Tigers vs Warriors
Let’s see: the Bunnies beat the Tigers by 50, and the Warriors beat the Bunnies. Logic would say that the Warriors should thusly beat the Tigers. But they won’t, and it’s another $10.44 for me. Man. I’m never going to be able to afford that pretend rocket-sled at this rate.

Sharks vs Broncos
I’m going out on a limb and picking the upset here – I reckon the Broncs will be dusty from the Origin shitfest and the Sharkies will surprise everyone (including themselves) and get across the line. That’s a good $22.50 for me, which will go towards a massive wheel of cheese.

Cowboys vs Manly
I wish I could tip the Cowboys, and pocket another $23. But putting any cash on these losers would be counter-productive; I’d rather spend that money on taking Carl Webb to get his hair cut. I’ll take Manly and earn an easy $16.20 and buy some beer.

Rabbitohs vs Panthers
The Pantherohs have somehow snuck up to second or third on the ladder (my attention to detail and impeccable research astounds even me sometimes), and even though it’s the Bunnies' turn to have their traditional “good” week, the Penrith lads have got my nod in what should be a fairly entertaining game of footy. $18.60 later and I’m going to blow it all on a shitload of KFC.

Storm vs Bulldogs
Storm. Easiest $15.30 I’ll ever make. I’ll use that money for parking, as paying the meter doesn’t really count as spending, and picking a team to beat the Bulldogs isn’t really gambling.

Titans vs Roosters
Call me mental (other people have), but I’m going to put my $10 on the Roosters for this game. To be perfectly Francis, I haven’t been paying much attention to either of these teams’ form of late – all I’ve been worried about is the safety of women around Todd Carney and the amount of grease coming from Matt Rogers. Seriously, does that guy bathe in the deep fryer at McDonalds? If the Chooks win, I’ve got myself $29.50, which is enough to buy either one good DVD or three shit ones.

Tip me baby, one more time.

Brrrring bring

This instalment of angry ranting is for one particular group who walk among us like regular people. They eat the same food, shop at the same Two-Dollar Shops and rent the same DVDs that we do. They’re in our workplaces, at our schools and universities and in our bars.

They are the people who yell “Yuppie!” whenever someone’s mobile phone rings.

To those dickheads, I welcome them to the year 2010; a place in history where you can buy mobile phones for $20 from Woolworths with your groceries.

This is not the 1980s anymore, Yuppie Yellers; everyone from 10-year old kids to 90-year old pensioners have mobile phones and they don't even have an income. The worst part about the Yuppie Yeller is that the only time they stop Googling their own balls on their iPhone is to shriek “Yuppie!” when someone else’s mobile goes off. I wonder if there’s a crowbar protection application they can download? If there is, they’d better do it soon.

Round 11: Feeling Good

Welcome to Origin week. Exciting, no? No. Let’s just crack on, as I am pushed for time and I’ve got the feeling I’m the only one who still reads this blog.

Knights vs Tigers
Ummmmmm... They both suck, and the Knights’ only good player is playing State of Origin... and he’s not even that good. If the Tigers stop taking so many drugs before the game (and not the good drugs), they should win. Note: I said ‘should.’ I also said ‘if the Tigers stop taking drugs.’ Neither of these things are set in stone.

Eels vs Sharks
These two water-dwelling animals finally come head-to-head or face-to-face or gill-to-gill or something-to-something for what is shaping up to be a fairly ordinary game. I’m just going to pick the Eels. Without Jarryd Hayne being a massive underachiever (and using too many Y’s in his name), they should be able to do whatever it is that eels do to defeat their prey.

Warriors vs Rabbitohs
Go you Bunnies. I’m so confident that they’ll win that I’m going to steal something valuable from work, pawn it and bet the money on them to win by about 20. I wonder how much I’ll get for a stapler? Probably a lot, it still has staples in it.

Dragons vs Raiders
For one, you’d be mad to tip against the Raiders. They’re in a rare streak of great form right now. They even scored a try last week, which was just tops. Yes, I don’t see this game going any other way that a massive Canberra victory. Yep. Totally.

Panthers vs Bulldogs
Oh fuck I don’t know. Oh wait, yes I do. Panthers; because I don’t like the Bulldogs that much. There’s probably other ways to go about this whole tipping thing, but I’m just going to base it on hatred.

QLD vs NSW
The definition of “mad” is when you repeat the same process and expect a different result. The NSW selectors must be fucking insane stark raving-mad lunatics who dribble on themselves and fling shit around their padded cells. They pick the same spastics who didn’t win the previous year to have another bash at it, and then ask them to play in positions that they aren’t even good enough to play for their club.

Brett Kimmorley is the most surprised person in the world every week when he gets picked to play for the Bulldogs; imagine his surprise when he was named in the NSW side. I doubt his eyebrows will ever come down. QLD will annihilate the Blues by a million points. Possibly two million.

Tip tip hooray!

Brett Kimmorley accepts the phone call from NSW selectors on his invisible phone

The Crowbar Club

It has been a while since I’ve added anyone to my “Crowbar List,” so I figure it’s about time I updated it. After all, there are plenty of people who are pissing me off who are without crowbar scars, and I’m sure as hell not getting any prettier, so it’s time to level the playing field.

Today I'm going to piss and moan and crowbar the television show The Mentalist. I have watched about six minutes of this crapfest show and in that time saw a woman hypnotise a cop and persuade him to throw Simon Baker off a rather tall building. Simon Baker then used his own powers of hypnosis to snap the cop out of his trance instead of physically struggling against him while he floundered around like a retarded child zombie. Meanwhile, the hypnotist chick who started this who shitfarm had a gun trained on Simon Baker throughout the whole ordeal. Call me old fashioned, but wouldn't it have been quicker and easier to shoot him rather than try to hypnotise someone to make them think that they were 8-years old and at “the lake”, skimming stones across the water and make them think that Simon Baker was a small, flat stone? (yes, that is how the episode went, I am not making this up. I'm not that clever).

The Mentalist is fucked and I hate everyone involved with it, and a special crowbarring goes to Simon Baker for being the leading 'actor' in it. Another bashing should also go to the guy who does the voice over for the promos for it: “Australia’s Simon Baker is… The Mentalist.” (a) As an Australian, I would prefer it if me, my land and my countrymen were never associated with this bucket of dick television show, and (b) just because there’s an Australian actor (putting on an American accent) in a strangely successful television series, it doesn’t really increase my desire to switch it on. Besides, with Dieter Brummer rocking the world in Underbelly, I have successfully fulfilled my "must watch shitty soap actors from the early 90s" urge.

As if you don't want to crack this fucker with a crowbar.

Round 10: Kettles of fish

This takes a bit of talent...

...this one needs work. Five-to-seven years in jail will help Brett Stewart perfect his routine.

Welcome Tipsters! Round 10 is upon us, which means there’s only about 3,592 more weeks to go in the season. Good times. Good times.
Last week may not have been my greatest moment, picking one out of four, but I’m as determined as a Mike Hussey century that I’ll make up for it this week. I’m kind of keen for cricket season again, could you tell?

Broncos vs Titans
It’s the CLASH OF THE TITANS… and the Broncos. These two packs of Queenslanders should put on a decent game, as the coaches shave down their gorilla armies and set them loose against each other. I’m going to ignore last week’s mishap of Brisbane winning a game and say that the Titans will be easy winners this week.

Bulldogs vs Dragons
Bulldogs are called bulldogs because they were bred for bull-baiting, which entails the dog to bite onto the nose of the bull and hang on for dear life. People would bet on whether the dog would survive or not. Thankfully, this sport ran out of favour around 1700 or so, which means it’s only played in certain areas of Queensland. Anyway, people realised that dogs with shorter muzzles were better for hanging onto the bull, so they specifically got shorter-nosed dogs to root until the beauty of the bulldog was born. Apparently they’re so fucked up now that they can’t even have sex without a bit of human help to get them in the right spot. What a weird animal, man. Dragons to win this one.

Warriors vs Cowboys
I recommend you flip a coin for this one. My coin says heads.

Raiders vs Storm
In the (sort of) words of Icehouse: “You’d have to be crazy, baby, to pick a team like Storm (woah-oh).” You can’t tip against Iva Davies. How come no-one’s called Iva these days? It makes me sad.

Roosters vs Knights
Last weekend, the Knights managed to score 36 points and still lose. Even though the Rooters also sucked, I can’t go against them this round. I don’t know why. I’ve got a funny feeling the human tattoo will score about 70 tries alone.

Tigers vs Rabbitohs
Remember ‘Watership Down?’ Those rabbits kicked arse, man. Vicious fuckers. And what have tigers done for us lately? Nothing, that’s what. Even worse for the Balmain boys is that the new Robin Hood flick is out, and no doubt Russell Crowe has given the lads from Souths some free tickets to it, and come game-time they will be hepped up on ice-cream and Coke. The Tiges won’t know what hit them. Souths by at least seventy-eight billion points.

Sharks vs Panthers
I saw the end of Shark Boy vs Lava Girl the other day, which has that guy from Twilight in it as Shark Boy, and the movie looked FUCKING TERRIBLE. I wouldn’t recommend watching it at all. It made sharks look seriously shit. It has pretty much taken all the awesomeness that Jaws gave them and turned it into a doily and put it on some horrible antique table that you aren’t allowed to put a drink onto. Panthers by a trillion.

Manly vs Eels
I can’t drive a wedge through either of these teams (not that I’ve tried), and I can’t separate them with an egg separator (again, I haven’t actually given it a go). It’s just too hard. Tip with your heart and soul. I’m going to tip with a pen and put a big ol’ circle around “Manly”.

The best tips in life are free.

Chips

If television has taught me anything, it’s that it’s important to be yourself. Call a spade a spade, wear your hat forwards when everyone else is wearing theirs backwards and read Harry Potter when everyone else is on Twilight.

Why then, are we being taught to do the opposite of that in the world of chips?

Chips, or as they are slowly becoming known, crisps, go well with a couple of beers. I am quite an advocate of a pint and a pack of chips on a lazy Sunday afternoon as the sun beats down with the last rays of warmth for another weekend and I heartily advise that you follow suit. The flavour of chip that you munch while you toast the oncoming week is a highly personal one – they all have their place in the world, even original (or “plain”) flavour. But what happened to me last weekend will shock and annoy you. Well, it annoyed me; you probably won’t give a shit.

I asked for a packet of Cheese n Onion chips; I could see the yellow packet winking at me from behind the bar. Mildly Attractive Bargirl says, “We don’t have Cheese n Onion.” I was shocked. “What do you have, please?” I ask. Mildly Attractive Bargirl lays out the selection of chips on the bar for me to peruse. The shiny foil packages were less bright than I remembered them being, and there was something odd about the labelling. Gone was Cheese n Onion, there wasn’t a Chicken option, Salt n Vinegar was no more and Barbecue flavour was strangely absent. Fuck, even Plain had been replaced. I looked at the chips, then at Mildly Attractive Bargirl and then back to the chips. She shrugged apologetically and continued (in my mind) to mentally undress me.

Vintage Cheddar and Red Onion.
Moroccan Spiced Chicken.
Sea Salt & Balsamic.
Grilled Spare Ribs.
Rock salt.

WHAT. THE. FUCK. I know everyone’s being a massive food-wanker lately and refusing to eat anything that hasn’t been blessed by Jamie Oliver and Matt the Cravat from MasterChef and isn't infused with Wagu goodness on a bed of aioli mash and roasted pig’s dick with pumpkin seeds (organic, please), but these are fucking CHIPS, people. You reach into the packet, grab a few slices of fried potato, shove them in your gob and wipe your hands on your pants. It’s a universal chip eating method; it’s the same way the Queen eats them, the same way the homeless bloke who spits at you at the bus stop eats them, the same way you eat them, the same way I do. It’s a fucking chip, for fuck’s sake. Rock salt? Vintage cheddar? In the real world, it's salt and cheese flavouring.

And for the record, Vintage Cheddar and Red Onion tastes suspiciously like Cheese and Onion. You can imagine the surprise on my face.

Round Nine: Half Assed Blogging

What a great photo. It's just like being there.

Good ol’ Rep Season. It’s a tipster/blogster’s dream. It pretty much means I have to work half as hard for the same pay… which is still exactly nothing.

I honestly don’t know or care about who’s playing in the Australia vs New Zealand game, nor the City/Country match, but I do know (through my extensive reading of headlines in the paper a few days ago) that the Aussie players are firing up because they’re “only” getting $6,000 as a bonus for the priviledge of being named as one of the best 13 players in the country. Personally I reckon $6,000 is pretty good for an extra 80 minutes at work, but that's just me.



Manly vs Dragons
Manly are at home and are traditionally difficult to beat at the Brookvale Fortress (a full stadium of Manly fans all baring their single tooth while they grunt and shriek is very intimidating) but for me, the Dragons are the team to beat. And Manly won’t beat them. Sorry, Manly.

Knights vs Titans
It’s the CLASH OF THE TITANS… and the Knights. This can really only go one way, and that way is for the Titans to win. Unless the Knights do. Or it’s a tie. Then there are three ways for this game to go.

Storms vs Broncos
I’m going to assume that the Storm will have a thOUsand players in the Australia match on Friday night who may not be man enough to play another game on the same weekend (diddums). But whoever turns up for them will be more than good enough to pound on the Broncos. Poor Brisbane - you used to be good (when you cheated the salary cap).

Roosters vs Cowboys
The Roosters will hit a speed bump called the Cowboys this week. As we all know, speed bumps are a great way to get some wicked air while driving your car through suburban streets or in shopping centre car parks. That’s pretty much what’s going to happen in this game, too. Look for the Chooks to rack up at least a half-century.

That was way too easy.

Tip tok, don’t stop - something something bloggy rock.

MasterDrinkers

As soon as the juggernaut of The Biggest Loser ends, the juggernaut that is MasterChef begins. Don’t try and pretend that there’s no irony about watching twenty fat fuckers try and halve their body weight in 12 weeks and then watching three other fat fuckers show some Peter Russell Clarke wannabes drown their food in oil and salt for another 12 weeks. However, these are two shows which have captured the imaginations of the Australian public, so what else is there to do but switch on, crack a stubbie and drink to it?

MasterChef Drinking Game

You will need:
- 1 television tuned to Channel 10 at 7:30pm
- Enough alcohol to (a) quench Lindsay Lohan’s thirst, and (b) make her attractive again
- The ability to withstand the wank that is MasterChef

The judges
There are three judges who vary in belly girth and ugliness. If they were women, they wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the screen. The fat bald one is George, the fat one with hair is Gary and the super fat one with the cravat is Matt.

- drink every time George raises his voice for emphasis at the wrong time.
- drink every time George raises himself onto his tiptoes while talking.
- drink every time George gets way too close to the food he’s preparing.
- drink every time George drops food from his mouth while eating or spits while talking with a mouthful of food.
- drink every time a joke is made about Gary being fat.
- drink every time Gary suggests something to the other judges (“Let’s eat!” or “Let’s score this dish!”) followed by “shall we?”
- drink every time Matt looks as if he’s about to vomit after eating.
- drink every time Matt’s fucking cravat is mentioned.
- drink for every time the three judges talk about how a piece of food “takes them away to another place.”
- drink whenever the judges interrupt someone cooking to ask them a stupid question and then tell them to “hurry up” as the time runs down.

The contestants
There are about a thousand contestants, ranging from some guy to a chick with glasses. None of them are chefs by trade, but all know how to cook the bejesus out of a pufferfish, so I’m thinking they might have some inside info that we don’t know about. Keep an eye out for Claire – she acts like she’s just come from the auditions of “So You Think You Can Dance” and was told that she’s rubbish and now has a point to prove.

- drink every time a contestant cries.
- an extra drink if they cry due to the food “affecting them” in a “personal way” or
- if they’re crying because “it’s just too hard.”
- drink when the contestant fucks something up while cooking.
- drink whenever the contestant vows not to let being kicked off the show stop them from achieving their dream.
- drink every time the contestant is obviously being told to say that they can “taste the acidic citric flavour cutting through the sweet velvet essence” (or equivalent) when all they’re really doing is eating lemon pie with vanilla ice cream.
- drink whenever the contestants get to meet a “celebrity chef” and they all act like 12 year old girls at a Justin Beiber concert instead of a bunch of grown-ups meeting someone who’s a slightly better cook than they are.
- drink whenever a contestant claims that they’re “not ready to go home yet.”

If you can make it through one episode without passing out, you’re a better man than I. Bon appetit!

Warning: Objects in this picture are as wanky as they appear