Round 13: Rockin the Casbah

After last week’s foray into the seedy underworld of gambling, I came out with $86.84 of pretend money from tipping five games correctly. If I continue like this, I should be a self-made millionaire by the end of Round 16.

Let’s roll onto this week’s tips:

Bulldogs vs Tigers
I really really really really really really don’t like the Bulldogs (except for that Morris guy, I think he’s alright). I have no feelings about the Tigers (except for Lote, I think he’s a douche). My tip goes the way of the striped cat this week.

Eels vs Storm
The Eels will be hungry for this one – they lost to the dirty cheating Mexican thieves in the Grand Final last year and think they (a) have a point to prove, and (b) can beat the Storm and win bragging rights. Even if Parra had an extra $700,000 to spend on players, they’d just give pay rises to Hayne and Hindmarsh and they’d lose all the same. Storm Storm Storm.

Panthers vs Knights
If you’re a betting man (like me), the Knights would be a juicy pick. But if you’re a smart man (like me), you’d stick with the Panthers. If you’re a good looking bloke (like me), it wouldn’t matter, because I’m probably more good lookinger than you.

Roosters vs Sharks
They might have to employ the mercy rule for this puppy – the Roosters should be able to rack up about fifteen cricket scores on the Sharks. I think Carney will be in for a quick-fire thirty odd and then chime in for a few cheap wickets with his gentle medium pacers on a flat pitch.

Warriors vs Dragons
There’s not much room left on the Dragons bandwagon, but if you get in now, I’ll save you a seat.

Raiders vs Titans
It’s the CLASH OF THE TITANS… and the Raiders. Sorry about missing that last week. I don’t see anyone beating the Raiders this weekend, to be perfectly Francis. They’re at home, I might even be at the game (which is enough to inspire anyone), and it’s probably going to be ball-numbingly cold, which may affect Matt Rogers’ greasy hair and Scott Prince will be missing his palm trees. Raiders by at least 40, and I’m not even kidding.

Manly vs Broncos
That fucking Folou fuckwit can go fuck himself in the fucking ear. Fucking dick fuck. Manly to win and Fuckbag McFuckfuck deserves every fucking piece of dirty play that Manly can muster (and they can muster a lot). There’s a lot riding on Israel Folau’s kicking game in this one.

Rabbits vs Cowboys
Sorry Cows, but your year of shit is going to continue. I do enjoy watching Souths play – they have an odd mix of the biggest blokes in the world playing alongside some people who I’d be fairly confident in fighting (without a crowbar). The lads in myrtle and crimson to win this by at least 20.

Let's talk about tips, baby.

A hug from Rusty is all anyone ever really needs

George Clooney

It was the damndest thing, really. It was late on a Wednesday night; Letterman had just interviewed George Clooney, and thrown to a commercial. I figured I had enough time to grab some food during the break. I leapt from the couch and went foraging through my freezer for some ice cream and I found a human head. There it was, right up the back, resting on a bag of frozen peas. It’s fairly shocking, I can tell you that; it’s not every day you’re looking for dessert and you find someone’s head. I didn’t recognise it as anyone’s head that I knew, but I wasn’t sure if that made me feel any better; I don’t know how I’d react if it was my neighbour or one of my friends’ heads that was in my freezer. I guess I’d be upset or something – if it was a good friend, I reckon I’d cry. If it was my neighbour, I think I’d have to feign some kind of emotion, maybe do some kind of quiet monologue in my kitchen about how “I never really got to know you” and “you were a good neighbour who didn’t complain about noise and was always cooking stuff that smelled really nice.”

The head itself was pretty non-descript; it was just a man’s head. The face had no distinguishing features and was pretty much instantly forgettable. So forgettable, in fact, that I was distracted by Letterman’s voice returning from commercial and announcing the Top Ten list (“Top Ten Things Overheard at the Sex and the City 2 premiere”), that I closed the freezer door and went back to the couch. I fell asleep just before Dave Matthews came on and woke up to Magic Bullet infomercials a few hours later.

So the head kind of stayed in my freezer and I didn’t even think of it until I was looking for some frozen yoghurt a few days later. I can’t remember actually ever buying frozen yoghurt, but was hoping that there was some in there anyway, possibly behind a take-away dish that contained spaghetti bolognaise that I put it in there in 2007. I opened the door and there was the head, still on its bed of peas. I took it out and gave it a quick examination. Clean cut, no blood, no signs of blunt trauma. I congratulated myself on some spontaneous CSI jargon. I should get a job in forensics.

I tossed the head around idly while thinking about what to do with it. I decided that I should probably call someone and get their opinion on it. I considered the police – surely this was their kind of thing. But I didn’t want to get caught up in an investigation or anything; I’d probably have to fill out a bunch of paperwork and be recorded in interviews and have those interviews shown on CrimeStoppers and A Current Affair. Besides, I don’t like the way my voice sounds on tape.

So I rang my friend Wilson. I’ve known Wilson for years; we went to school together and when I found a skateboard outside my house a few years ago, he was the one I went to. He said that he knew whose skateboard it was and returned it to them, so I figured he’s pretty good at finding people who had lost things like sports gear and heads. So I pulled out my phone and dialled his number (he was speed dial #3, by the way).

“Wilson?”
“Yes mate.”
“I found a head in my freezer.”
“Oh. Is it someone you know?”
“No. I don’t recognise it at all. It’s just some guy’s head.”
I tried to spin the head on the tip of my finger like a basketball, but it didn’t work.
“Have you called the police?”
“No, not yet.”
“Good, because they’ll record you and you sound like a dick on tape.”
“I thought that too.” Then I added, “The head shows no sign of blunt trauma.”
“You should get a job in forensics.”
“I know. Thanks for your help man.”

I hung up and decided to just chuck the head away - it was bin day tomorrow anyway. Maybe someone else would find it at the tip and take it home and care for it more than I could. I opened my rubbish bin and dropped it in. As I closed the lid, I took one last look at the head from my freezer and wondered where the fuck that thing had come from anyway, and whether the torso that was in my cupboard had anything to do with it. The head didn’t look like it would have worn the torso’s shirt, but I might have been wrong. I’ve been wrong about things like this before.

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

NRL Round Eight: Ignore my iambic pentameter please.

Jarrod Sammut isn't playing in the NRL this year after being poached by the New Zealand Ballet

In the interest of keeping tipping fresh and hilarious (and I’m bored and don’t want to do work today), this week I am going to write my tips in limerick form.

Broncos vs Knights
The Broncs and the Knights both suck,
Two teams who are down on their luck,
They can’t pass nor catch
Who will win this match?
Honestly I don’t give a fuck.
(but for the record, I’m tipping Brisbane)

Eels vs Bulldogs
There once was a man named Hayne,
Who last year was top of his game.
But his form is down
The Mayor of Struggletown
But I’m tipping the Eels all the same.

Warriors vs Raiders
They’re bad and mean
The Green Machine.
At least the first line is right
But on Saturday night
They’ll be back in the winning routine.

Titans vs Panthers
IT’S THE CLASH OF THE TITANS and the Panthers
Both teams are, to be perfectly Francis,
Playing out of their skin
I’m tipping Panthers to win.
Hold me closer, tiny dancer.

Cowboys vs Storm
The Storm are playing for pride
And the Cows are just along for the ride
Will Thurston’s facial hair
Inspire the Queensland flair?
My tip is Melbs to take this in their stride.

Dragons vs Sharks
Nothing much rhymes with Dragons
Which is a problem, because I used the word “Dragons”
As the first line
In this rhyme
Which means the second and last line also have to rhyme with Dragons.

Tigers vs Roosters
There once was a guy from Easts
Who pissed on another guy’s feet
He ran from the cops
And broke into a shop
And set fire to someone's arse on NYE.
(Go Tigers, but my tip is for the Roosters)

Rabbits vs Manly
Last week, South Sydney were down
Until half-time turned them around,
Manly lost fightin’
To a clash of the Titans
This one is game of the round.
(Go Souths).

I’m not going to do that again.

Boom shake shake shake the room – tip tip tip tip Boom.

my essay

wun day many weaks ago i played hockey and had beer and then i say to my freinds "i have to go home now" and i got in my car and on the way home i stoped to buy some bred and some milk for some milk sammiches and then i thort "i should buy more beer to have at home" so i bought a six pack of beer to have at home and the girl at the register piched up the bred and scanned it and then she picked up the milk and scaned it and then piked up the six pack and she scanned it but she did'nt scann the six-pack barcode she only scanned a single beer that was in the six-pack and then she said "that will be $9 please" and i says "oh that is cheap here is $10" and she gives me a dollar change and she coold tell that somethink was wrong but when she looked at the receet it said ‘bred and milk and beer’ and then she lookt inside the bag and it had bred and milk and beer in it so she gave it to me and i walked out of the shops and i was happy that i only spent a few dollars on six beers and i didn’t mind that she put them all in the same bag and even though the bred was a little squashed it was the BEST DAY OF MY LIFE.

Round 7: Magic Eight Ball Magic

Tipping made easy

Last week’s tips didn’t quite all work out as well as I would have liked them to. The Raiders were only 30 points away from causing an upset, the Storm were too busy thinking of ways to spend an extra $700,000 to realise they had a game to play, and the Rabbitohs decided to go back to being shit. This week though, it’s serious. There’s pride and guts and balls and other shit on the line here. I’m so serious about this week that I’m trusting my Magic Eight Ball to come up with the winners.

Bulldogs vs Broncos
“Will the Bulldogs beat the Broncos?” My Magic Eight Ball has declared this one as “Hazy, please ask again later.” I’m on a tight schedule here, so I asked it again immediately. “It is so.” Can’t argue with that. Doggies by a dozen. A good start by the Ball.

Cowboys vs Eels
"Will the Eels beat the Cowboys?" I ask the Ball. “Don’t count on it,” is the reply. I feel bad for going against the Ball, but I'm going to anyway. Fucking Cowboys.

Panthers vs Tigers
This should actually be a good game. I asked the Ball whether it would be, but it said that it was unlikely. That’s a shame; they’re both playing good footy right now. “Should I tip the Panthers?” I ask the Ball. “My sources say no,” is the reply. Fuck it; I have a feeling about them, so there’s my tip.

Sharks vs Knights
I’m going out on a limb and saying that the Knights will thump the Sharkies… but let’s see what the higher forces say: “Will the Knights win?” “Cannot predict now.” “How about now?” “I predict no.” I reckon this Ball is a bit fucked, actually. This was a bad idea. I’m tipping the Knights.

Raiders vs Rabbitohs
The Raiders and the Rabbits - two teams who put on a great display of sucking last week. Who will pull it back together in time for this clash? “Raiders?” I ask. “It is certain,” says the Ball. I’d better double check this result, so I ask it, “Rabbits?” “Outlook good,” says the Ball. Fuck you, Ball, you fucking fence-sitting fuck. Raiders for me.

Dragons vs Roosters
“Is Todd Carney a fuckbag?” I ask the Ball, more for shits and giggles than anything. “Ask again later,” is the response. I’m beginning to hate the Ball. “Will the Dragons win?” I ask it. “Better not tell you now.” Now would actually be a good time, francisly speaking. “Should I tip the Roosters?” “Yes, definitely.” I think the Ball is now playing with my emotions. I’m tipping St George. This experiment hasn’t really worked.

Storm vs Warriors
Ok Ball, let’s try again. “Storm to win?” “Reply hazy, try again.” Things are very hazy in there indeed, it seems. I give the Ball a quick polish and ask, “Are you still hazy?” “As I see it, yes.” I could be waiting a while for this thing to unhaze itself, so I’m just going to tip the Storm and be done with it. To hell with their salary cap shenanigans, I reckon they’re going to be fairly pissed off. I almost feel sorry for our Kiwi cousins.

Manly vs Titans
It’s the CLASH OF THE TITANS… and the Sea Eagles. This game could also be a decent contest, if Manly’s form last week can stick around. What do you think, Mr Ball? “Yes, definitely.” Well that’s just lovely. “Do you think the Titans will win?” “Outlook not so good.” Finally a good call from the Ball. However, I am going to tip the upset and go for the Titans. Sorry Ball.

Should I have put more faith in the Ball? “My sources say no.” Awesome.

Tip tip hooray!

Here fishy fishy fishy

Ah Australia. We are fairly blase about the dangers that our wildlife offer sometimes. So much so that when a certain species of fish who eats snakes, birds and rodents, loves the shit out of blood and can grow to a metre long, pings over here from Papua New Guinea, they are declared a “pest.” According to the Animals and Shit in Australia Scale which I just invented, this puts them on the same level as mosquitoes, cane toads and Daryl Somers. "Fishzilla" as it has been dubbed by some champion of the media, can live in poor environments, which makes them quite suitable to thrive in Queensland. They have also been known to walk on land, incidentally putting them above many people in Queensland.

Honestly, when a flesh-eating fish arrives in our waters and we dismiss it as a ‘pest’, perhaps it’s time to have a good, hard look at just how awesome we are.

Damn pesky fish

Round Six: When Foot Meets Ball

After five rounds of league, we’re starting to see which teams are actually any good, and which ones are filled with players who are waiting to finish their contract so they can be bought by a better club for more money and not get injured. And then there’s the Sharks, who are like the Little Red Engine Who Could’s retarded cousin the Little Red Engine Who Couldn’t. I’d feel sorry for the Sharks if they didn’t deserve being hated.

Tigers vs Bulldogs
I don’t think anyone in the world should need to consult the Magic Eight Ball for this puppy – the Tigers should quite comfortably desmolish the Doggies by around twelve billion points. If the Dogs get close at all, Benji Marshall will lock the brakes on Kimmorley’s wheelchair and put an end to any thought of a resurgence.

Titans vs Dragons
It’s the CLASH OF THE TITANS… and the Dragons, which is one of a few decent games this weekend. This is a tough game for me to pick, because I hate both of these teams quite a lot. But I hate the Titans more, and I also think that the Dragons are a better team. That wasn’t that hard at all, actually.

Knights vs Cowboys
Hurm. One of the most overrated players in history is coming back for the Knights this week (Gidley), while an equally overrated (but also slightly more talented) player in Thurston is out for the Cowboys. Gidley reckons he should be picked as captain for the NSW State of Origin team; personally, I’d like him to play a game before big-noting himself too much. I wouldn’t even pick him as the kid who runs the team out for the kick-off. Um… I’ll tip the Cowboys. I don’t know why.

Roosters vs Raiders
Raiders fans will be salivating at the thought of this game, as bad-boy Todd Carney faces up against his old team for the first time. Hopefully Josh Dugan will piss on his face in backplay at some stage. The Chooks have no chance (NO CHANCE) against a red-hot Canberra outfit (they do, but I’m not fucking picking them)

Warriors vs Panthers
“The Warriors show great potential, but need to concentrate more. They are easily distracted and lack direction, and their results often show this. When they apply themselves to task, they excel in their work, as seen in their previous game.”
“The Panthers have shown themselves to be a dutiful team this year, quietly achieving good results with a minimum of fuss. With further encouragement, the Panthers could become Chief Justices of the Supreme Court.”

Broncos vs Sharks
Oh god, who cares? No one, that’s who.

Eels vs Rabbits
The Eels are playing terribly badly at the moment. They reckon they’ve fixed this problem by making Nathan Hindmarsh co-captain with Nathan Cayless. I’m not entirely convinced that picking captains just because their name is Nathan is going to help anyone, but I’m willing to be proven wrong. I’m sticking with the Wabbits though.

Storm vs Manly
Neither of these teams are setting the world on fire this year, despite the Storm dropping their first game last week. To be perfectly francis, I’d like to set both of these teams on fire. But if that doesn't happen (I'm busy this weekend), Jamie Lyon coming in for the Sea Eagles will no doubt have a major influence on Manly's ability to lose the game. I’m picking the Storm, unless Billy Slater’s metamorphosis into becoming a rat finishes – in which case he will be busy teaching ninjitsu to some turtles in a sewer and will no doubt be unavailable for the game.

The transformation is almost complete

Time keeps on tipping, tipping, tipping into the future.

Round 5: Turning points

I'm pretty sure this kick isn't going where he intended it to

There comes a time in every celebrity tipster’s life (I use both the words ‘celebrity’ and ‘tipster’ fairly loosely) where he must wonder why on earth he even thinks about trying to pick a winner in rugby league. Let it be known that Round 4 of 2010 will go down in history as “a shit week” for everyone (I also use the term ‘everyone’ fairly loosely), and Round 5 will be “redemption.”

Dragons vs Broncos
The Brisbanes aren’t travelling too well this year, which is great to see. As long as someone’s keeping the Raiders off the bottom of the ladder, I’m happy. I don’t care who it is, really. St George should win this by at least 8,000,000 points, unless the football gods play another prank on us this week.

Titans vs Storm
It’s the CLASH OF THE TITANS… and the Storm. The Titans will be buoyed by the fact that a movie called “Clash of the Titans” opened for them this week, but perturbed that it’s not very good. The Storm will be buoyed by the fact that they are a much better football team than the Titans and this should prove to be a more considerable advantage in winning the match.

Rabbits vs Knights
According to Centrebet, the Knights are at $2.75 to win. It wouldn’t be the most ridiculous way to spend $10. But I’m still tipping the Bunnies; I think they’ve just started to hit their straps. They might also be buoyed by the fact that their owner/saviour/secret lover Russell Crowe is Robin Hood. I know that would buoy me. I’m using the word ‘buoyed’ a lot today.

Bulldogs vs Warriors
Seriously, both of these teams can go and get fucked. They play well, they play shit, they play mediocre. I can’t keep up. Fuck them both in the ear. Flip a coin. Warriors are paying $3.15. That’s not bad actually. Save your $10 from the Bunnies game (above) and spend it on the Kiwis instead.

Cowboys vs Tigers
It was nice of the Tigers to turn up in the second half last weekend and ruin my day. Despite that, I’m going for the Tigers to win again; I have a gut feeling. I’ve also had three coffees today and am feeling a bit squishy in the stomach which might have something to do with it, but I’ll trust it anyway. Also, I don’t like the Cowboys on general principle.

Manly vs Sharks
Hmmm. Sharks are paying $3.70. You could take your $10 from the NZ vs Dogs game and put it on them instead, as they might just spring another surprise this week after notching their first win against Parramatta. But Manly SHOULD win this one, if the law according to Des Hasler goes to plan. Coach Des is the absolute epitome of why everyone hates Manly. One-eyed arrogant prick.

Panthers vs Roosters
There’s been an awful lot of hype about the Chooks lately – and good hype, not the kind they’re used to – and not much about the Panthers. I don’t really know if that will have much of an impact on the game, but it sounds like a nice introduction into ‘underdog status’ and phrases like ‘playing to prove a point.’ I’ll leave that up to the paid journalists though. I’ll tip the Roosters this week.

Eels vs Raiders
The Eels are paying $1.35 and the mighty fucking Canberra motherfucking Raiders are $3.30. Take the $10 you were going to spend on the Manly game and put it on the Green Machine. I’d really enjoy it if the same Parramatta who got smoked by the Sharks last week turn up again. I’d also like it if the same Raiders outfit who smashed the Tigers in the first half last week turned up again. And if Rachel McAdams and Natalie Portman wanted to come around and play Nintendo with me, that would be nice too.

Tip me over, pour me a stout.

You can find the perfect blend

If anyone is still wondering how Paul Robinson keeps on getting laid regardless of how much of a prick he is, this picture explains all.

It has been way too long since a Neighbours update, and Ramsay Street is fucking BUZZING. If I knew more about computers, I’d get the word ‘buzzing’ to shake and shit, but I only just learnt what a bit-torrent was the other night, so I’m going to cut my losses and thank Jeebus that I’ve somehow managed to log onto my Googleblog.

Anyway. Neighbours. BUZZING. Let’s see what’s making news in Erinsborough.

Breaking news:
Corey Worthington eat your heart out: Police were called to the home of Steph Scully a few nights ago when a party thrown for the sometimes-Scottish-son of Paul Robinson got out of hand after sometimes-Scottish-son posted the party details on popular networking site Facebook. The reason for the party is unknown, as sometimes-Scottish-son is currently laying low after causing Robinson’s hotel millions of dollars in damage. There were also reports that someone vomited in the bathroom, possibly due to an overdose of potato chips and lemonade, as no persons at the party were witnessed to be drinking alcohol.

Tens of dollars worth of damage: A one-man rampage swept through Ramsay Street when the sometimes-Scottish-son of Paul Robinson smashed pot plants and knocked over wheelie bins. Unfortunately, it was bin night and everyone’s rubbish receptacles were full, causing milk cartons and at least one newspaper to spill onto the road. Sometimes-Scottish-son later apologised for the act, saying that he had been "tipped over the edge" after having called his mother in Sydney earlier to ask to come home, and being denied. Sources close to sometimes-Scottish-son's mother claim that she runs a successful pot plant store, and having him nearby may provide too much temptation for his violent tendancies.

Love nest: A mere seventeen seconds after losing his wife to a brain embolism following a horrific car crash, Declan Napier’s love life has definitely improved and he has officially ‘moved on,’ according to sources. Kate Ramsay (not a made-up name, apparently) has been seen sharing very awkward kisses with the handsome father-of-one, who apparently won his role on Neighbours after winning a competition run in Dolly Magazine. Not one to rush this new relationship, Declan has been quoted as saying, “We’re taking it slowly,” as he moved his furniture and month-old baby into Kate’s house. Kate’s housemates (younger brother Harry, 15, and younger and more annoying sister Sophie, 7ish) had little to say about the two newest members of the household. One must wonder how they can afford new clothes, video games, school fees, movies and shit-tins of coffee without having a parent in the house and their only income arriving in the form of Kate’s part-time job at the local shop.

Buns in ovens: Don’t tell Libby – Steph slept (although not much sleeping was done, if you know what I mean) with her best friend’s husband and is now pregnant with his baby. To keep Steph’s good name, former fiancé Toadie Rebecci is going to somehow take responsibility for the child. His dedication is extreme in that he even broke up with his fairly attractive girlfriend to maintain the deception to everyone else, despite not having actually told anyone about the pregnancy yet. This reporter (me) is confused. Although Steph is only about six minutes pregnant and not having the slightest hint of a baby bump, she has felt the child kicking. I don't know a whole lot about pregnancy, but I reckon I’ve got fossilised bricks with more life inside them than Steph. She's such a sympathy whore. And also general whore.

Weather:
As usual: The weather is always perfect, unless there’s going to be a flood (whereby it rains) or a savage fire (whereby it doesn’t).

Sport:
Soccer World Cup Cash-in: Questionable antics from the newly appointed coach of the under 9 soccer team, sometimes-Scottish-son of Paul Robinson, has led to his sacking. The kids of Ramsay Street are devastated and bookmakers have increased their odds to almost unbackable lengths to win a single game, let alone the coveted Ramsay Street under 9 soccer team Cup. Supermum Libby has put aside her failed marriage and ugly children to help make this team of spazzies a team of champions. Following some tremendously well-edited and choreographed soccer clips, it turns out that Sophie Ramsay is quite good at soccer, and Libby's ugly son is quite good at dancing, leading to his departure from the under 9s soccer team to pursue a career on stage. He has already been called a “flaming homosexual gay homo poof” by Lucas, and an "ugly flaming homosexual gay homo poof”by me.

Comeback kid? Declan Napier was seen talking to former AFL team the Erinsborough Dingoes this week, sparking rumours that this wunkerkind child prodigy was going to make a comeback to the game. These thoughts were quickly put to bed after he admitted to not being interested in the sport anymore and preferred spending time with his boy-pal at an amateur magician's night - was this the case of Neighbours' writers being retarded on purpose, by accident, working a private joke into the script or trying to get their amateur magician friends on tv? Whatever it was, it filled in a few minutes of airtime, a paragraph on this blog and showed that Declan seriously has no mates at all.

Predictions for upcoming weeks:

• Steph will lose her baby.
• Whatever Libby’s ugly child is named will win the respect of his peers through the art of dance, in what will be a blatant rip-off of Billy Elliot and that episode of the Simpsons where Bart does ballet.
• A new family will move in. They will be a couple in their mid-to-late 20s. He will be a policeman, she will become a bartender at Charlie’s. They have a secret past that they are afraid will bring them down.
• A tragedy will rock Erinsborough. I think sometimes-Scottish-son of Paul Robinson might get taken hostage or fall down a well or something.

Round Four: How Canterbury ruined Easter

Raaaaa

Welcome to Round Four, sportsfans. Woo. This week’s tips will be short and sweet (and early) because I’m going to be as hungover as a goat tomorrow.

Storm vs Dragons
This has the potential to be an absolute cracker-fucking-jack of a game, but it will most likely become the most one-sided match of the round. Which way will it go? Both teams are undefeated, but the Storm are playing some fairly lacklustre footy at the moment; the addition of Cooper Cronk might help spark them. WAIT WAIT WAIT. That sounds way too informative. Dragons are big and spiky and breathe fire and nothing nothing nothing can defeat a large, fictitious monster (except for a bigger fictitious monster who pisses lightning). My tip is the Saints.

Roosters vs Broncos
Both of these teams were retarded last week. And I mean that in a totally non-politically-correct way, they were both fully fledged flailing spastics who didn’t have the co-ordination to lick a window on the fucking special bus. Todd Carney proved himself to be back to his good self by playing as if he was coming off a thousand eccies (I wonder why), and the Broncos showed their appreciation to the crowd by flinging shit and pissing on them. The Roosters will probably win this dribble-a-thon, but it won’t be pretty. Fuck I hate this sport sometimes.

Sharks vs Eels
The Sharks are attempting to avoid the honour of having the game’s longest losing streak this weekend. Good luck to them, but I’m afraid that it’s a done deal. Eels by approximately a million or more.

Cowboys vs Titans
It’s the CLASH OF THE COWBOYS… and the Titans. Something doesn't quite sound right there... Um. Titans have lost their only good player, which puts them on level pegging with the Cowboys, who never had a good player. The Cowboys are used to not having anyone with skill on their team, so they should win this puppy.

Warriors vs Manly
Warriors.

Raiders vs Tigers
The lads from Canberra will be hosting the girls from Balmain this week, and the Green Machine will be in full force to fuck up the shit of the Tigers in no uncertain terms. Put your motherfucking house on it, bet your children and mortgage your grandparents. This is a certainty.*

*not a certainty

Knights vs Panthers
I reckon the Panthers will be silent assassins this year, sneaking around and knocking off the bigger and better teams. This week, they’re playing the Knights, who are in no way bigger or better than them (they’re probably better than the Sharks, but that’s about it). Panthers to continue their sneaky ways this week with a million-point victory.

Rabbits vs Bulldogs
It’s Easter, so I really should tip the Bunnies. But I won’t, because they will lose.

If you liked it then you shoulda put a tip on it.

NRL 2010 - Round Three: The Raiders Fall from Grace

I wish I played for the Cossacks... or dressed up as their mascot...

Hello and welcome to the Tip'O'Drome for NRL Round 3. I honestly can't think of anything of interest that's happened during the week - I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. According to reports, Sonny Bill Williams is looking to rejoin the NRL. I would love to see the big guy back here trying to resurrect his career, and after being rejected by every single club in Australia, packing my groceries at Woolworths. And if that fucker squashes my bread, I'm going to fucking crowbar the shit out of him.

Round Three awaits!

Wests Tigers v Parramatta Eels
I don’t rate the Tigers much this year, which is sad, because I certainly do like saying the word ‘tiger.’ I’m going to back the Eelies to win, based mainly on my hatred of Lote Tuqiri, who has come back from ‘the game they play in heaven’ about 80kgs overweight. I guess the ‘running game’ doesn’t necessarily require an awful lot of running.

St George Illawarra Dragons v North Queensland Cowboys
The Dragons will piss this in. The Cowboys just don’t seem interested in playing these days. It’s fine when I don’t feel like doing much work at my office, because I can just sit on the net or write awesome blog entries and no one really cares (or notices), but when the Cowboys decide they’re going to phone in a day at work, it doesn’t quite work out that well.

Penrith Panthers v Melbourne Storm
The last time I was attacked by a wild panther in the jungles of Borneo, I won quite easily and was a little disappointed with the lackluster efforts of the big cat. The last time I was in a storm, I got quite wet. Storm to triumph this weekend.

Manly Sea Eagles v Newcastle Knights
Ummmm… Manly. I don’t know why, I just have one of those feelings deep within my belly button. I know, it sickens me as well. Manly. Yuck.

Gold Coast Titans v Canberra Raiders
I know I should tip the Raiders, but after a good win last week, they’ll be thinking they’re giant killers and will turn up to the game a little bit pissed after spending way too long at Cocktails n Dreams drinking vodka slushies and abusing underage girls.

Brisbane Broncos v Warriors
Broncos. I think the Warriors have probably already won more than they expected to all year.

Canterbury-Bankstown Bulldogs v Sydney Roosters
The Dogs SUCK SOOO BAD. They are seriously shit. I wouldn’t tip them even if their table service was excellent and they gave me free garlic bread. Fucking Roosters to win.

Cronulla Sharks v South Sydney Rabbitohs
I’m tipping the Bunnies to finally fucking beat someone. If they can’t get their arse into gear to beat the Sharks, then there’s no help for them at all and they should be forced to watch that really shit Russell Crowe film where he drinks a lot of wine and spends way too much time reminiscing about his life when he was Freddie Highmore.

Good luck, tipsters!

Broom broom!

Every time I open a newspaper these days, there are a thousand stories about a Toyota that’s developed some kind of glitch whereby the ABS brakes aren’t bluetoothed to the CPU and therefore the cruise control onboard computer isn’t responding to the manual override commands. Invariably, this means that the car is sent into hyperdrive down a freeway and crashes into a large metal pole. If that was your car, I’d say that such an event would pretty much ruin your day and possibly your pants.

This would never have happened in my day. With my first car, if something in it broke down, it didn’t move. It didn’t grow artificial intelligence and attempt to kill me, it didn’t lock into a GPS signal to try and destroy a government facility, and it didn’t develop self-awareness and a sense of loathing and drive itself off a cliff to end the pain and torture of its own existence. It just didn’t move. The last time I drove it, the radiator blew up and the it shuddered to a steaming halt of not-moving-car-ness. The brakes still worked but the accelerator didn’t; kind of the way God intended it to be.

When you get your licence, you should also get a 1986 Ford Laser. A hatchback with a faded paint job, key marks down the sides, a de-mister that doesn’t work, a tape-deck and a fucked-up driver’s side door lock that requires you to get in through the passenger side. It has a top speed of around 130kph, but anything over 110 makes a horrible noise in the engine and the car begins to shake violently. There are no voice-activated CD changers, no moisture-sensitive windscreen-wipers to clear the rain, no space-aware braking mechanisms, no automatic height-adjusting mirrors, no computer-memorised seat positions, no auto-correct steering and no collision-detecting sensors – this is a car that you have to fucking learn how to drive before you hit the road. God forbid your tilt-sensitive coffee holder misfires and spills your soy mocha latte.

NRL 2010 Round 2 - Canberra's Revenge

These two legends showing us the Raiders' home and away jerseys pop up about 50 times when I type 'NRL 2010' into the Googlebox. I'm not sure why they need a different 'away' strip, as no other team would contemplate lime green as a colour.

Yes, I know it’s been a long time since my last non-footy-tips-related post. There’s some radness coming, trust me.

Chill, Winston.

Round one may not have quite gone to plan, but I blame that on the teams I tipped, rather than my tipping. They let me down, the bastards.

Dragons vs Bulldogs
Well the Doggies did what doggies do best last week – licked their own balls. I have hated them for a while and that’s not going to change anytime soon. St George to win by about six thousand.

Rabbits vs Titans
It’s the CLASH OF THE TITANS and the Rabbitohs. The Titans are kind of named after the Titanic, which was kind of named after the Titans, which were defeated by the Olympic gods, none of which played rugby league for the Bunnies. Ergo, henceforth, thus, the Titans will probably win.

Warriors vs Sharks
Jay La’gaia is on Home and Away and may be hooking up with someone who is way too young for him (I saw it on an ad). This should be enough to inspire the mighty Kiwis to dominate the hapless Cronullas.

Knights vs Storm
It was a dark and stormy knight… and the storm won.

Cowboys vs Panthers
I lay in bed awake last night and contemplated what would happen if a cowboy actually had to fight a panther. Would he lasso it and hog tie it and spit tobacco and eat pork and beans? Or would he be killed and dragged into a tree and eaten later on? It was a tough choice, and it gave me nightmares. In the end, I think the popular choice would be for Willie Mason to be eaten by a large jungle cat, so I’m running with that.

Eels vs Sea Eagles
Manly failed to impress anyone (even their wives, girlfriends and rape victims) last week, and with their only good player out for six months due to a broken leg, impending jail time and a nasty case of syphilis, the Parramattas should have no trouble in coming away with the points here.

Roosters vs Tigers
I hate it when the Roosters play well. It’s probably the worst thing in the world – worse than floods and famines and earthquakes and disease and Miley Cyrus (I watched my first Hannah Montana episode last week and was left utterly confused by its popularity, somewhat bewildered by how deep her voice is, overjoyed with the reappearance of Billy Ray Cyrus, and bemused by the ugly seven-year old Puerto-Rican kid who claimed to be a ladies’ man and proved this by line dancing), but I’m tipping them anyway.

Raiders vs Broncos
At lunch, Australia are 93/1 against New Zealand. Katich is looking in great touch and Ponting is scratching around like the venereal disease that he is, and should fall to Vettori very soon. Raiders to win by an embarrassingly large amount.

Flip em and tip em!

Round 1 - NRL 2010. WOOT!

This is definitely a ball.

The league season kind of snuck up on me this year, struth be told, but I’m here once again to guide you through the ins and outs of who to tip for 2010.

The first week of a season is a lottery – no one really knows what the teams will be like, and watching the Footy Show last night sure hasn’t helped, as everyone was given the same memo: “Yeah, [new player’s nickname] is really fitting in well here. [New player’s nickname] brings [youth/experience] to the team and he’s really excited to be a part of the club. [New player’s nickname] is really looking forward to having a great season, and our team will rely a lot on [new player’s nickname].”

My hot tips: Cronulla to win the spoon, Storm to win the premiership (again) and the Raiders will not do too much to bother anyone. The Roosters will have a fucking dismal season and everyone in the Titans will get arrested for separate incidents. Willie Mason will do nothing like he has for the last 20 years of his career, Braith Anasta will also continue his fine run of uselessness, Todd Carney will get into a lot more trouble, since he is in a much bigger place with way more people to rape and piss on and a whole new city in which to get drunk and bashed. Whoever’s coaching the Broncos will get fired, and Lockyer will take over as captain/coach and retire because he's not good at being either.

Eels vs Dragons
I’m tipping the Eels, because I hate them slightly less than I hate St George. That's all.

Broncos vs Cowboys
Remember how last year, the Raiders beat the Broncos by 60 points? That was awesome. But they’ll win this game.

Bulldogs vs Knights
Welcome to Struggletown, population: Knights. I remember when they were good. It actually wasn’t that long ago. I like their jumper, at least.

Panthers vs Raiders
I’m not tipping against my beloveds this year, so this should be the first step in a year of walks in the park for the Green Machine. Bet your house on it (but only if you have another house to live in first. It would be a shame if you ended up homeless because of my tips, and I'd feel slightly guilty about it).

Sharks vs Storm
I’m pretty sure even the Sharks players aren’t expecting too much from this season, and they should be soundly belted by the Mexicans.

Titans vs Warriors
It’s the CLASH OF THE TITANS… and the Warriors. It’s Friday arvo, and I haven’t heard about any kind of massive police movement at the Titans’ training session, so I’m assuming they’re all ready to play. And they will win. Because the Warriors are no good.

Rabbitohs vs Roosters
If there’s not about seventy fights in this game, it’d be a wasted opportunity. In between fisticuffs, the Rabbits should overpower the overpaid, overrated, underachieving Bondi boys.

Tigers vs Sea Eagles
This could actually be a good game. But because it involves Manly, they’ll ruin it somehow (by turning up, probably). My money is on the Tiges to win, but it’ll be a close one (72-68).

If you can’t grip it, don’t tip it! Until next week…

Winter Olympics Update #2 (I still haven't thought of an amusing title)

The commentary on the Lympics has been pretty good thus far, with only a handful of fuck-ups from that guy who normally does the AFL and Wipeout, and Grant Hackett has done an exemplary job of pretending to be someone with a personality.

But there are a handful of events that even past competitors can't really help out in. Captain Expert competed in the luge in nineteen-dickety-two, and he seemed to run out of ways to describe the event.

Regarding Frederich Scholl of Germany: “Look at his position here; he’s really quiet in the sled and is really pushing through the corners.”
And this, about Nigel Zoduku, the Nigerian competitor: “He’s really pushing through the corners and is so quiet in the sled.”

One of these people won gold, and one of these people competed in an old shopping trolley. I did not witness either of them screaming (as mentioned above, they were both “quiet in the sled”) which is probably a good start for someone taking up the luge; there’s nothing as disconcerting as an athlete who closes his eyes, yells for a while and asks someone to “tell them when it’s over.”

My “Go Aus” moment du jour came the other night when Eddie kept throwing back to the “controversial” ice-skating/dancing/whatever pairing from Russia, who opted to dance an Aboriginal-themed performance . Ed went on about how rude it was for the Russki’s to be ripping off ‘our’ culture, then blasted the Swiss team for dancing in a Bollywood style, followed by an attack on the US pair for doing the famous Spanish dance, the tango. I’m glad that Australia is so proud of their Aboriginal culture to try and protect it like this. I’m also glad that the land down under didn’t have anyone in the finals, or we’d be treading on some toes by performing the Nutbush.

The death of cricket

Australian cricket’s ‘night of nights’ was held on Monday, revealing Shane 'Fuckface' Watson to be the best player in the country, meaning that less people cared about the award than usual.

Watto got up on stage with his 'I’ve just been kicked out of Short Stack' hairdo, had a cry and said something about “that’s why they call me Mr Glass,” and made out with Michael Clarke in the men’s toilets afterwards*.

This award ceremony got in the way of Hayley Bracken’s wife’s tits making their first public appearance. Clearly when you pay that much for a set of cans you wish for people to see them.

*may not have really happened, but is fairly likely

Winter Olympic Update #1 (aka Make Up Your Own Hilarious Title)

Ah. The Winter Olympics are upon us once again. I am waiting for Canberra’s hosting duties of the Autumn Olympics, as it really is a pretty city when the leaves change colour and clog up the drains.

Australia has never been the strongest competitor at the Chilly Games, and for good reason – we aren’t exactly renowned for our chilly climate. But that doesn’t stop us from having a good old go at skiing and shit every four years. After all, it’s more about being involved that pushing for Olympic gold and glory, right? Right.

That said, I was watching the coverage on the marvellous Channel 9 the other night when the head of Eddie Maguire was giving the results of the million-billion-kilometre biathlon race (or something). The biathlon is one of my favourite events at the Winterlympics – it combines cross-country skiing with rifle shooting, whereby you have to hit a tiny little target after puffing your way around Canada for a while. It’s the kind of exertion that would make you vomit all over yourself and wonder what the hell you’re doing when you could quite easily just be in the pub vomiting on yourself and having way more fun.

Anyway, apparently some champion from Sweden or Norway or some frozen wonderland in the world broke a record by several hours (possibly minutes or seconds, the details escape me), before Eddie gives the best piece of “Go Aus!” I’ve heard since the Fortnight of Frosty Sports began:

“Jurgen Fnurgen of Sweden took gold in an upset from favourite Yorgen Vlaard of Norway who finished in the silver medal position, with Italian Mario Luigi collecting bronze, edging out Australian skier Wayne Digby who finished 77th out of 78 competitors with a time roughly equivalent to Halley’s Comet’s orbit.” Edging out indeed.

Well done, Wayne. I’m assuming you beat the guy from Tunisia who’s never seen snow, doesn’t own skis, threw rocks at the target instead of shooting and had to fight off six grizzly bears during his race.

I’m not saying that Wayne didn’t have a Pharlap’s-heart sized attempt at winning this race; I’m just wondering how big this edge is that Maguire will have us believe holds 76 better athletes than our home-grown trooper, Wayne. If it’s half as big as I think it is, the ice-dancing finals will truly be “edge of the seat” viewing.

Minutes from the latest Man Meeting

Guys, can I please have your attention? Thanks. I’d like to call this Man Meeting open; thank you all for coming.

We are here today to discuss a few revelations in man-ness that have been brought to my attention recently. These are very important, I’m sure you’ll agree, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say we have a mole in our midst. I remind you again, gentlemen – women must never know about these things.

The first problem is that a few of you have asked if you can bring your girlfriends to these meetings. The answer is no, and you have all been fined one slab of beer for even thinking such nonsense.

Next, and this pains me to say it, but there are a lot of women out there who are understanding the finer points of sport; they are appreciating cricket, for fuck’s sake. A five-day Test match that doesn’t necessarily provide a winner has always - ALWAYS - been a man’s game. And now there are chicks who not only know what a doosra is, but they have shown you how to bowl one.

It used to be ok for women to have a passing interest in cricket; that’s why we invented T20 and 50-over cricket; that’s why Shane Fucking Watson is in the team. They are NOT supposed to follow it like men. I have passed this onto the ICC and they have agreed to slow down Test cricket a bit more, and see if the women can still maintain interest.

This next point is a bit embarrassing for us all – women have caught onto the fact that we don’t know as much about cars as we say we do. There have been a lot of men being caught out by looking under the (pause while ChairMan looks through previous minutes) "bonnet" of a car… is that right? Yes? Ok. We can’t look under the "bonnet" and say that the flux capacitor is shot. We are going to need a new piece of jargon shortly to use in its place. A pamphlet detailing these words as well as some safe parts of the engine to touch so you can get grease on your hands so it looks like you've done some simple tests on the car will be sent out next week.

Someone, and I will not name names, has spilt the beans that guys don’t really like going to strip clubs as much as they do on TV. This particular person has admitted that strip clubs are filled with unattractive, drug-addled hookers and are not worth the price of admission nor the $10 beers they have on offer. Remember this, gentlemen: A buck’s night without boobs does not count as a buck’s night, regardless of how much fun we were having before we got dragged out to watch a bored stripper grind on an old man’s face. The informant has been fined two cases of beer and must endure a Reese Witherspoon movie marathon.

Finally, there are several guys that will also be receiving fines over their current man form; I’ve got reports of men crying during Grey’s Anatomy. THIS. WILL. NOT. BE. TOLERATED. For those who didn’t know, the only times you are allowed to cry during a film are as follows:

- Top Gun, when Goose dies.
- Lion King, when Mufasa dies.
- When John Coffey dies in The Green Mile.
- The original 1986 Transformers movie when Optimus Prime dies. Note: HE DOES NOT COME BACK.
- Whenever any dog dies in any movie.

This next one is a new addition to the list:

- in Castaway, when Wilson falls off Tom Hanks’ raft.

This is still being finalised, so don’t get too comfortable.

Gentlemen, we are a proud and ancient race, and our survival depends on our secrets. Anyone found spilling those secrets will be forced to watch motor racing, Monster Trucks and jelly wrestling, and do a convincing job that they actually like it.

That is all.

Meeting closed

another reason why I hate tennis...

Some whinging little bitch called Bernard has had a whinging bitch about having to play tennis at “way past bedtime.” Sorry, what? Back in my day, seventeen year olds would be able to make it to 2am and then play tennis and still have enough in them to steal a car and thieve newspapers. Maybe this kid just needs to hang out with Andre Agassi some more.

James Cameron's AVATARAHONTAS

AVATAR has some highly impressive special effects

No doubt everyone in the world has seen Avatar already; it is behind only Titanic in terms of box-office takings at time of writing, although this might have something to do with the fact that tickets to this puppy cost four times as much as a regular film.

So here’s the flick in a nutshell: Paraplegic bloke gets chance to walk again if he can infiltrate alien species in order for humans to mine the fuck out of their house.

In the mix, he falls in love, rides a big ol’ dragonny-pterodactyl thing and manages to piss off at least two intelligent species. He’s been pretty busy.

The story steals all of its themes from every other good movie, dumbs it down a bit and then beats it in the head until it is made retarded. Somewhere in the future, humans are exploring the planet Pandora, which is home to a race of eight-foot Smurfs, and is also rich in unobtanium, an element that the humans really really want for reasons known only to them. To properly communicate with the Smurfs, humans created the Avatar program, where alien/human hybrids are created and controlled by dudes in a lab. One of those dudes is Jake, who is given a special assignment – move the Smurfs from the mining area, and he’ll get his legs back. Nice idea. Unfortunately…

The way it all unfolds is fairly predictable. Lessons are learnt and a hero is born. If you’ve seen any big-budget movie before, you pretty much know how it’s all going to pan out. That’s not to say that it’s not worth sticking around for, as it is a visual feast that will leave your eyeballs a bit bloated and possibly sweaty. Pandora is indeed a beautiful world in which to live, although I doubt that anyone there would ever be able to sleep, because everything on the planet either glows fluorescent colours or is the size of a small house, angry and hungry. Still, it does look spiffy and is pretty cool in 3D.

As is my regular beef with movies, there’s just not enough to it. For a 3-hour movie that was green-lighted in 1997 and began production in 2004, you’d expect the characters to be nicely fleshed out, the dialogue snappy and plot holes to be filled in. While the alien scenes are without doubt the main focus, the human interaction needs to be sharper, as the humans are the ones who are actually moving the story along. But they’re as transparent, two-dimensional and paper-thin as a transparent and paper-thin two-dimensional character, and the scenes that could have been the emotional crux of this film – the idea that Jake could walk again as a human – were sadly underdone. At least he looks pretty.

I give Avatar two blue whales.

an overdue rant

Sorry for the recent lack of additions to the blog thing – I know how much you depend on me to fill you in on the highlights of the world and I apologise for not giving you frequent updates as to how awesome I am, but I’ve been working on a few outside projects that involve beer and do not relate in any way to being coordinated enough to use a computer.

Things that have annoyed me recently:

TV commercials:

The stupid Ford ad with the chick who’s driving around with her dog and using her voice activated car. I’m sorry, but this is just going too far. Are people that retarded that they can’t drive and adjust the temperature gauge or change CDs at the same time? The only time that talking cars are awesome is if they transform into 50-foot robots or fight crime with David Hasselhoff. And what the fuck kind of CDs does that chick have in her car? “The Best Dog Songs Ever: Volume #4”? I’m also pretty sure that it’s illegal to have a dog unrestrained in the front seat of your car, and even more so if it’s intelligent enough to work the voice controls of your vehicle. Fuck it, Ford should just make a car that is able to be driven by dogs. I’d probably be impressed by that.

Sport:

I still hate Shane Watson. I don’t care how well he’s playing at the moment, I still hate him like I hated Andrew Symonds, like I hate Karmichael Hunt like I hate soccer.

Pop music:

All of it. It’s all rubbish right now. It can all go and get fucked. Whenever I make the mistake of watching Saturday-morning music show (I don’t know which one I watch, it’s hosted by some bright young scamps with good hair and hope for the future), my ear-hairs are greeted by the most absolutely appalling songs I have ever been privy to since I tuned into Video Hits the week before. I try to make an effort to remember the names of the artists, but that information constantly gets replaced by more important things (about dinosaurs), and I doubt that I’ll ever hear the names of any of those people again anyway. Britney Spears brought the “slutty teenage girl” into vogue in 1997. Thirteen years on, nothing has changed; if anything, there are more Spears clones out there than I can poke a stick at. I’ve even got my special poking stick ready to go, sharpened to a point for such an occasion.

Help lines:

Stupid robot voice-activated fucking things. "Press 1 for a kick in the balls, press 2 for a scorpion being shoved into your eyeballs, press 3 for more information about our website, press 4 to have these options repeated." They only ever give you four choices that you can make, and none of them are what you actually rang up about. They also have the most annoyingly-voiced people in the history of the world to speak on them – if they have to have voice recordings to help me through life, it should be the voice of Optimus Prime, Robocop or Sean Connery giving me direction.

TV, maths and beer

Hello sun. Thanks for fucking FINALLY turning up. I was starting to get a bit worried that you’d forgotten about the world this year.

There’s an ancient mathematical formula that comes into use for the phenomenon commonly known as “Summer”:

P + H = B

where P is people, H is heat and B is beer. If it’s really hot, you can make it H2, and it can become P3 or P4 if you have more friends. The more P you have, the more B you’ll probably require though.

Maths is easy and fun. Stay in school, kids.

Following the success of Ladette to Lady, I am pitching my own reality TV show (because we’re running out of them); one that will hopefully revolutionise the way the universe works. Welcome to

Drinking Beer

You would imagine that drinking beer is an easy thing to do, but you’d be wrong. DEAD WRONG. That’s why I have this TV show to show you how to do it properly. Remember those six gay guys who told heterosexual men what they’re doing wrong in their lives? Like how they gave great advice to them on how to impress their lady friends, because it’s common knowledge that all gay men know what women want? Remember the massive success of that? Notice how those six guys are still relevant in all that they do, and how men everywhere are still wearing pink shirts with argyle vests and decorating their houses with shit art and taking tango lessons instead of playing football?

With “Drinking Beer”, I will be as life-changing as those six pioneers of social advancement and self-improvement.

Episode #1: The shout

Invariably, if you are drinking with a group of people, there will be a “shout”, whereby people buy drinks for everyone in expectation that they will be “shouted” back later on. If all goes to plan, everyone buys everyone else a beer and equilibrium in the drinking stakes ensues. By “shout three”, however, it may become obvious that several people within your party are slower drinkers than the others, and when “shout four” is announced, the slow-pokes of the table are still sipping on their third drink.

It is impolite to request another beverage if you have more than half of your current drink sitting in front of you, and just plain rude to skull up for the sake of being included in the next shout. You snooze, you lose (until the next round).

Lesson #2: The Jug

Many places offer a jug or (if you’re American) a ‘pitcher’ of beer. This jug will usually have the quantity of around three or four glasses, so please buy accordingly. If you have five people, you will require more than one jug. It is very impolite and unAustralian to give your shoutees a half-filled glass in order for everyone to have a drink. Unless you are Jesus and you’re trying to feed thousands of people with half a dinner roll and a trout, you are way out of luck; you’re just going to have to fork out for more drinks. Sorry. However, if you are Jesus, we should hang out, I like your water into wine trick (and your beard).

Lesson #3. Being drunk

After a few rounds of drinks, you may start to laugh a bit more at jokes that really aren’t funny, tell your friends that you love them and occasionally knock things over. With the consumption of tasty, tasty alcohol, you have become a bit pissed, my friend. When someone looks at you and you’re grinning like an idiot and trying to work out how to text message your mum about how you just ate a coaster so she’d be proud instead of disappointed, they may point out that “you’re drunk.” Your natural reaction to this statement is “noooo, I’m fine, really. Nah, I’m not pissed, really. Honestly, I’m not. Seriously.” Your friend may become somewhat bored by you repeating synonyms of “truthfully” and talk to someone else. If you really want to convince them that you’re not drunk, don’t try to capture their attention before saying, “No really, I’m not drunk. I’ve only had a few, I can’t be drunk. I’m seriously not drunk man, really.” Don’t prove your sobriety by dancing on the table or bar either.

Just accept the fact that B = D; there’s nothing wrong with that.


Nothing wrong with that at all.

home sweet home

I have been living in the same place for about 3 years now, and am yet to meet my neighbours properly. I see them in my apartment complex almost every day; we pass each other on the way to the mailbox or the rubbish bins and smile happily at each other (despite the fact that they keep dobbing me in for noise complaints at 3:00 in the afternoon for eating Corn Flakes too loudly). Other than "can you please turn your iPod down?” and “sorry, but your blinking is keeping me awake,” our entire conversational history can be summed up by "Hello."

It has officially passed the time whereby we can actually have a conversation now; all we’d be able to say is, “Fancy that, we lived next door for three years and didn’t realise we had a common interest in spaghetti!” And I’m not interested in discussing pasta strings with them. Now we’re just trying to out-wait each other and hope that someone way more awesome moves in.