Welcome Winter, welcome Big Brother. That's right, another year of "surprise twists", "sexy singles" and "unpredictable mayhem" will be the only thing on tv for the next 3 months. I'm not saying this is a terrible show, I'll let the rest of Australia say that, and I have in fact been known to kick back on the couch with my uggies, a doona, a cup of hot Milo and at least three Milk Arrowroots and watch this reality phenomenon.
But my problem is this: The outside world is now missing 16 window lickers. Who will provide now that they're locked up together to fondle each other and dribble about, like, how they, like, are discovering themselves, you know?
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
rip rip woodchip
So… the environment is decaying, right? All because we’re too busy having three hour showers, driving our cars around and leaving the fridge door open all day. Well sue me if I prefer to drink my butter in the evening. No matter what you do, you’re never going to be able to avoid all those hippies out there who expect you to shower in your toilet, knock down your house to plant a tree, only eat the fruit which the magical gay unicorn has deemed appropriate and who kick you in the arse for having another exhaust pipe tacked onto the back of your SUV. And now Winter is on its cold, miserable way, and we’re bound to get told by Sandra Sully sooner or later that having heating is just not good for the world. Well excuse me, Sandra, but we can’t all use our millions of dollars to keep us warm, can we? Heaters apparently create carbon shit and produce greenhouse emissions and contribute to global warming. Apparently this isn’t such a good thing, even though it is, in the end, the desired effect.
And so, in accordance with the Kyoto Protocol II, I present:
Mister Evil Breakfast’s Handy Enviro Hints.
- setting fire to someone in your living room provides a lot of warmth, heat and entertainment, so you can switch off the heater, lights and television for a night of good old fashioned fun.
- deodorants are a major contributor to the hole in the ozone layer due to their high levels of CFCs. Instead of wearing deodorant, try these alternatives: 1. wear Pine-Fresh air fresheners instead of necklaces and earrings; 2. be like a real hippie and avoid physical labour or activity, just sit around and complain about everything; 3. don’t ever go out in public again.
- cars pollute an awful lot. How about leaving the car at home and walking to work? Hippies don’t mind walking to work – it does help that they’re unemployed and can thus spend their day wandering between the bong and the hammock.
- Showers and baths use a lot of water, most of which is wasted. Here’s how you should now go about showering:
1. Stand in a bucket whilst under the flow of water. This will collect all water from the shower.
2. When lathering soap or shampoo, turn off all running water. Pneumonia is a small price to pay for a healthy planet.
3. Rinse soap (as long as it’s chemically approved by the Tree Huggers Union of Cosmos 9)
4. Take bucket/s out of shower. Use this water in which to wash your clothes.
5. DO NOT USE A DRYER TO DRY YOUR CLOTHES. A clothesline or airing rack will do just fine. If your clothes do not dry in time, wear them anyway. This will prevent you from sweating, and should give you another two or three wears out of each shirt.
6. Take the water from the washing and use it to clean up any plates, crockery or cutlery that you have used.
7. The water should by now be pretty cloudy, with chunks of food floating on top. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally. Serves 4.
- A lot of people leave lights on unnecessarily, which adds a lot of carbon to the atmosphere. If you were to collect all the carbon from one house’s light switch emissions and put it into a bag, you’d need a big bag, apparently. To cut back on your light use, try poking out your eyes.
- Microwaves are very harmful to everyone (except cockroaches, apparently). They melt and mutate things (and are NO good at reheating a cold McDonalds burger). Here’s a handy tip: Hunt your own food and cook it yourself. Hitting a cow with a couple of grenades will give you the juiciest, most tender steak you’ve ever had.
- Take along a bucket to your next sporting event. Collecting the spit from the Australian Cricket team or football team could help many drought stricken areas in rural Australia. The amount of spit from last week’s Brisbane vs Titans NRL match, for example, was enough to open a new waterslide theme park, and actually caused some flood damage in parts of New South Wales.
Come on, Australia. We can make this great brown land a little bit more green.
If we all pull together, it would be kind of gay.
And so, in accordance with the Kyoto Protocol II, I present:
Mister Evil Breakfast’s Handy Enviro Hints.
- setting fire to someone in your living room provides a lot of warmth, heat and entertainment, so you can switch off the heater, lights and television for a night of good old fashioned fun.
- deodorants are a major contributor to the hole in the ozone layer due to their high levels of CFCs. Instead of wearing deodorant, try these alternatives: 1. wear Pine-Fresh air fresheners instead of necklaces and earrings; 2. be like a real hippie and avoid physical labour or activity, just sit around and complain about everything; 3. don’t ever go out in public again.
- cars pollute an awful lot. How about leaving the car at home and walking to work? Hippies don’t mind walking to work – it does help that they’re unemployed and can thus spend their day wandering between the bong and the hammock.
- Showers and baths use a lot of water, most of which is wasted. Here’s how you should now go about showering:
1. Stand in a bucket whilst under the flow of water. This will collect all water from the shower.
2. When lathering soap or shampoo, turn off all running water. Pneumonia is a small price to pay for a healthy planet.
3. Rinse soap (as long as it’s chemically approved by the Tree Huggers Union of Cosmos 9)
4. Take bucket/s out of shower. Use this water in which to wash your clothes.
5. DO NOT USE A DRYER TO DRY YOUR CLOTHES. A clothesline or airing rack will do just fine. If your clothes do not dry in time, wear them anyway. This will prevent you from sweating, and should give you another two or three wears out of each shirt.
6. Take the water from the washing and use it to clean up any plates, crockery or cutlery that you have used.
7. The water should by now be pretty cloudy, with chunks of food floating on top. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally. Serves 4.
- A lot of people leave lights on unnecessarily, which adds a lot of carbon to the atmosphere. If you were to collect all the carbon from one house’s light switch emissions and put it into a bag, you’d need a big bag, apparently. To cut back on your light use, try poking out your eyes.
- Microwaves are very harmful to everyone (except cockroaches, apparently). They melt and mutate things (and are NO good at reheating a cold McDonalds burger). Here’s a handy tip: Hunt your own food and cook it yourself. Hitting a cow with a couple of grenades will give you the juiciest, most tender steak you’ve ever had.
- Take along a bucket to your next sporting event. Collecting the spit from the Australian Cricket team or football team could help many drought stricken areas in rural Australia. The amount of spit from last week’s Brisbane vs Titans NRL match, for example, was enough to open a new waterslide theme park, and actually caused some flood damage in parts of New South Wales.
Come on, Australia. We can make this great brown land a little bit more green.
If we all pull together, it would be kind of gay.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Mister Punching Breakfast
People I'd Love To Punch #2: Boyd from Neighbours
I’d love to punch Boyd from Neighbours. Really hard. Repeatedly.
Boyd is a young up-and-comer in the world that is Ramsay Street. He has been married and separated; is blasting his way through a degree in medicine so fast that I’m surprised he hasn’t opened his own surgery since Dr Karl closed office and single-handedly saved baby Kerry's life... and possibly Stingray's as well. Fuck, he could have brought Madge back to life if he really wanted (he just doesn't want to). At the very least, he’s cured cancer and several strains of bird flu in his spare time. He’s been ‘addicted’ to ‘drugs’; lost, found then lost his father; boinked a chick that he found in Tasmania senseless for two weeks, then left his wife for her, then left her for his wife; and still finds time to be a dishpig at the local bar. All this, and he’s only about 19 years old, as well as being possibly the ugliest man alive, with what can only be described as “big fat girly arms” that he continues to flaunt with gay abandon (and I mean gay) under countless singlets and pink tank-tops. His own mother is the only one who tells him he’s handsome (haven’t we all been there?) and I guess if you squint really hard at your tv, it just might be true. Especially if the tv is turned off.
But physical abnormalities aside (except for his little piggy eyes, those things freak me out. I mean, his head is WAY too big for eyes that small) it’s really his acting (I use that term loosely) that annoys me the most.
Here is a typical scene from Neighbours:
SUSAN
Hi Boyd, how are you?
BOYD
Just fine, Susan, what’s been going on? How was your holiday?
SUSAN
Just wonderful, thanks. It’s amazing what a bit of sun and relaxation can do.
BOYD
Yeah, I’d love a holiday soon, but the money’s too tight.
SUSAN
Well, if you’re after some extra cash, I hear Ned is buying used pink singlets. Maybe you could sell him some of yours?
BOYD
Thanks, that sounds great.
After Boyd (which isn’t even a real name, what the fuck is wrong with Neighbours? Boyd, Jenae, Pepper, Ringo… don’t even get me started on Fraser… it’s a fucking spell-checker’s worst nightmare, seriously) gets his hands on the script, he makes some “artistic” changes (noted in bold):
SUSAN
Hi Boyd, how are you?
BOYD (angry look #2)
Just fine Susan, how are you? (sneer) How was your holiday? (sneer)
SUSAN
Just wonderful, thanks. It’s amazing what a bit of sun and relaxation can do.
BOYD (angry look #2a)
(sneer) Yeah, I’d love a holiday soon, but money’s a bit tight. (shifty look #7)
SUSAN
Well, if you’re after some extra cash, I hear Ned is buying used pink singlets. Maybe you could sell him some of yours?
BOYD (loud)
Thanks, (sneer) that sounds great. (angry look #8 or shifty look #42)
But it’s good to see that Boyd’s finally going to sneer his way into a scene that he might be able to do well, as he bails up his ex-wife in his house and sneers at her this week. But since it’s Boyd, he’ll fuck it up and offer her tea instead.
PUNCH!
I’d love to punch Boyd from Neighbours. Really hard. Repeatedly.
Boyd is a young up-and-comer in the world that is Ramsay Street. He has been married and separated; is blasting his way through a degree in medicine so fast that I’m surprised he hasn’t opened his own surgery since Dr Karl closed office and single-handedly saved baby Kerry's life... and possibly Stingray's as well. Fuck, he could have brought Madge back to life if he really wanted (he just doesn't want to). At the very least, he’s cured cancer and several strains of bird flu in his spare time. He’s been ‘addicted’ to ‘drugs’; lost, found then lost his father; boinked a chick that he found in Tasmania senseless for two weeks, then left his wife for her, then left her for his wife; and still finds time to be a dishpig at the local bar. All this, and he’s only about 19 years old, as well as being possibly the ugliest man alive, with what can only be described as “big fat girly arms” that he continues to flaunt with gay abandon (and I mean gay) under countless singlets and pink tank-tops. His own mother is the only one who tells him he’s handsome (haven’t we all been there?) and I guess if you squint really hard at your tv, it just might be true. Especially if the tv is turned off.
But physical abnormalities aside (except for his little piggy eyes, those things freak me out. I mean, his head is WAY too big for eyes that small) it’s really his acting (I use that term loosely) that annoys me the most.
Here is a typical scene from Neighbours:
SUSAN
Hi Boyd, how are you?
BOYD
Just fine, Susan, what’s been going on? How was your holiday?
SUSAN
Just wonderful, thanks. It’s amazing what a bit of sun and relaxation can do.
BOYD
Yeah, I’d love a holiday soon, but the money’s too tight.
SUSAN
Well, if you’re after some extra cash, I hear Ned is buying used pink singlets. Maybe you could sell him some of yours?
BOYD
Thanks, that sounds great.
After Boyd (which isn’t even a real name, what the fuck is wrong with Neighbours? Boyd, Jenae, Pepper, Ringo… don’t even get me started on Fraser… it’s a fucking spell-checker’s worst nightmare, seriously) gets his hands on the script, he makes some “artistic” changes (noted in bold):
SUSAN
Hi Boyd, how are you?
BOYD (angry look #2)
Just fine Susan, how are you? (sneer) How was your holiday? (sneer)
SUSAN
Just wonderful, thanks. It’s amazing what a bit of sun and relaxation can do.
BOYD (angry look #2a)
(sneer) Yeah, I’d love a holiday soon, but money’s a bit tight. (shifty look #7)
SUSAN
Well, if you’re after some extra cash, I hear Ned is buying used pink singlets. Maybe you could sell him some of yours?
BOYD (loud)
Thanks, (sneer) that sounds great. (angry look #8 or shifty look #42)
But it’s good to see that Boyd’s finally going to sneer his way into a scene that he might be able to do well, as he bails up his ex-wife in his house and sneers at her this week. But since it’s Boyd, he’ll fuck it up and offer her tea instead.
PUNCH!
Friday, April 13, 2007
such a waste
According to this (http://www.news.com.au/entertainment/story/0,23663,21543395-7484,00.html), Justin Timberlake and Madonna are teaming up to work on her new album. Madonna’s, I mean. Welcome to the wonderful world of multiplying zeroes, people. This is the guy who apparently brought sexy “back” from wherever the hell it was (probably in the shed. Everything’s in the shed) and the chick who made ugly, dumb sluts feel good about being ugly, dumb sluts for three decades now. Well done, Mads. For someone not blessed with a lot of talent or good looks, you’ve done alright for yourself. I especially liked the way you re-recorded “American Pie” to make sure everyone knew you were a media whore, and then changed your accent to Eurotrash. Bring back the pointy boobs.
And JT? Well… fuck. If that guy isn’t following in the footsteps of Michael Jackson, I’ll eat one of his gay hats. They both came from a bubblegum pop band, cracked the big time, decided they were bigger than Jesus, left the other losers behind and embarked on a strangely successful solo career. Both are claiming titles to be the “King of Pop”, both look and act like giant homos, and both pretend they’re black.
Mark my words, children of the world – Timberlake will be playing Mickey Mouse Club with you very soon.
And JT? Well… fuck. If that guy isn’t following in the footsteps of Michael Jackson, I’ll eat one of his gay hats. They both came from a bubblegum pop band, cracked the big time, decided they were bigger than Jesus, left the other losers behind and embarked on a strangely successful solo career. Both are claiming titles to be the “King of Pop”, both look and act like giant homos, and both pretend they’re black.
Mark my words, children of the world – Timberlake will be playing Mickey Mouse Club with you very soon.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
so much anger
Mister Evil Breakfast’s list of people I want to punch in the head (Part 1: Groups)
In no particular order:
People who wear their sunglasses on the back of their head.
I’m not sure I really need to explain this; these people are fucking useless. My punch would be directed at the back of their sunglassed head, and then when they turn around, BANG, right in the hooter, as a reminder of where their sunglasses really should be.
People who use mobile phones in a nightclub.
BANG. Right in the mouth. And then in the ear. How’s that conversation going now, arsehead?
People who keep track of how many drinks they’ve had on a night out.
Seriously, no one cares, and if you can remember it a week later, you obviously weren’t drinking to your full potential. I’d keep punching you until I sobered up.
Conversation makers at the urinals.
Seriously. Just piss and shut up. I’m not interested. Talk to me while we're in the toilet and I’ll punch you in the back of the head so you fall into the trough and you can still taste urinal cakes four weeks later.
Bogan parents with shitty little ugly, smelly bogan kids who have snot dribbling down their chin who like to punch you in the nuts as you walk past them in the street.
I think I’ve explained that one pretty well already. They get a punch in their own little bogan nuts, in the hope that this may stop them procreating. It’s not that I don’t mind punching small children in the head, but I’d just rather not get snot on my hands.
If you find yourself thinking, "Hey that sounds like me!" as you read this list, you'd better be on the lookout for a pirate with a big right hook, cause that's me about to punch you into next week so I can track you down and punch you again.
In no particular order:
People who wear their sunglasses on the back of their head.
I’m not sure I really need to explain this; these people are fucking useless. My punch would be directed at the back of their sunglassed head, and then when they turn around, BANG, right in the hooter, as a reminder of where their sunglasses really should be.
People who use mobile phones in a nightclub.
BANG. Right in the mouth. And then in the ear. How’s that conversation going now, arsehead?
People who keep track of how many drinks they’ve had on a night out.
Seriously, no one cares, and if you can remember it a week later, you obviously weren’t drinking to your full potential. I’d keep punching you until I sobered up.
Conversation makers at the urinals.
Seriously. Just piss and shut up. I’m not interested. Talk to me while we're in the toilet and I’ll punch you in the back of the head so you fall into the trough and you can still taste urinal cakes four weeks later.
Bogan parents with shitty little ugly, smelly bogan kids who have snot dribbling down their chin who like to punch you in the nuts as you walk past them in the street.
I think I’ve explained that one pretty well already. They get a punch in their own little bogan nuts, in the hope that this may stop them procreating. It’s not that I don’t mind punching small children in the head, but I’d just rather not get snot on my hands.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Mr Football returns...
...and demands respect.
Melbourne, The Demons
Melbourne is a pathetic club. They have not looked like winning a premiership in about six decades.
This is the club that makes up the numbers more than any other team.
If they were to fold nobody would miss them.
They have no spirit, no heart and no soul.
I won't even bother predicting where this team will finish because they are irrelevant.
- Mr Football
Melbourne, The Demons
Melbourne is a pathetic club. They have not looked like winning a premiership in about six decades.
This is the club that makes up the numbers more than any other team.
If they were to fold nobody would miss them.
They have no spirit, no heart and no soul.
I won't even bother predicting where this team will finish because they are irrelevant.
- Mr Football
Thursday, March 15, 2007
fancy a tipple?
Mister Evil Breakfast’s Drinking Games
#1. The Biggest Loser
This is the most frustratingly frustrating television show since Chances. To spice it up a little, why not make a bit of a game of it?
For this, you will need:
* 1 television that picks up The Biggest Loser (without this, you’re pretty much just left drinking, which may not be such a bad thing)
* 1 couch or chair (recommended)
* a case of tequila (personal choice), a bucket of lemons & as much salt as is legal for one person to own
Let’s play!
- take a shot each time the tubbies are shown sitting around bitching about how hard life is, rather than exercising and not being so fucking fat (warning: excessive drinking is imminent).
- take a shot whenever Ajay has a vague look on her face (warning: can get dangerous).
- drink each time there’s any kind of recap (warning: each show contains about 2 minutes of new footage).
- shoot whenever someone mentions Damien being “an inspiration”.
- have a drink whenever Laura cries (warning: a funnel may be necessary).
- drink whenever Courtney talks about “playing the game.”
- have a shot when Shannan gets all excited about nothing. Seriously, is this guy the Crocodile Hunter for fat bastards or what?
- take a drink whenever someone “hurts” themselves and can’t participate, then complains that things are “just not fair.”
- shoot whenever Greg mentions that he’s the “strongest”, “fittest” or “fastest” in the game (make it a round 5 drinks if it’s all three).
- take three shots if you ever think “yeah, he/she is looking hot”. You sick puppy.
- take a shot when Munnalita acts like the world is against her.
- shoot whenever someone adds a useless voiceover (for example, when the screen shows the tubbies going into the gym, and there’s a shot of Mel saying, “And we went into the gym for a workout.” Fuck that shits me. I hate this show).
- chug when someone mentions their “journey”. You’re losing weight, you fat fucks, you’re not going anywhere.
- shoot if you see an ex-contestant (a) eating vegetables and looking happy; (b) running awkwardly and pretending they’re enjoying themselves; (c) playing with children and wishing they were in front of the couch with a bag of chips; or (d) showing you a pair of oversized trousers.
And that’s the way we play. Just remember: It doesn’t matter how much you vomit or for how long you’re passed out for after attempting this – you can take solace in the fact that you’re not an overweight media whore.
See you on next year’s Subway ads, Damo!
#1. The Biggest Loser
This is the most frustratingly frustrating television show since Chances. To spice it up a little, why not make a bit of a game of it?
For this, you will need:
* 1 television that picks up The Biggest Loser (without this, you’re pretty much just left drinking, which may not be such a bad thing)
* 1 couch or chair (recommended)
* a case of tequila (personal choice), a bucket of lemons & as much salt as is legal for one person to own
Let’s play!
- take a shot each time the tubbies are shown sitting around bitching about how hard life is, rather than exercising and not being so fucking fat (warning: excessive drinking is imminent).
- take a shot whenever Ajay has a vague look on her face (warning: can get dangerous).
- drink each time there’s any kind of recap (warning: each show contains about 2 minutes of new footage).
- shoot whenever someone mentions Damien being “an inspiration”.
- have a drink whenever Laura cries (warning: a funnel may be necessary).
- drink whenever Courtney talks about “playing the game.”
- have a shot when Shannan gets all excited about nothing. Seriously, is this guy the Crocodile Hunter for fat bastards or what?
- take a drink whenever someone “hurts” themselves and can’t participate, then complains that things are “just not fair.”
- shoot whenever Greg mentions that he’s the “strongest”, “fittest” or “fastest” in the game (make it a round 5 drinks if it’s all three).
- take three shots if you ever think “yeah, he/she is looking hot”. You sick puppy.
- take a shot when Munnalita acts like the world is against her.
- shoot whenever someone adds a useless voiceover (for example, when the screen shows the tubbies going into the gym, and there’s a shot of Mel saying, “And we went into the gym for a workout.” Fuck that shits me. I hate this show).
- chug when someone mentions their “journey”. You’re losing weight, you fat fucks, you’re not going anywhere.
- shoot if you see an ex-contestant (a) eating vegetables and looking happy; (b) running awkwardly and pretending they’re enjoying themselves; (c) playing with children and wishing they were in front of the couch with a bag of chips; or (d) showing you a pair of oversized trousers.
And that’s the way we play. Just remember: It doesn’t matter how much you vomit or for how long you’re passed out for after attempting this – you can take solace in the fact that you’re not an overweight media whore.
See you on next year’s Subway ads, Damo!
Thursday, March 08, 2007
possibly the best i've seen
Dear Channel 7,
I, like most dickheads, am a big fan of Lotto. The highlight of my sad, pathetic life is watching those little balls fly around the machine, and seeing them fall into the slots at the bottom. The people who host the show are very entertaining, and I love ‘meeting’ the panel of judges who are there to make sure there’s nothing untoward going on. I also quite enjoy seeing the “highlights package,” as I call it, during television shows. The bar across the screen with its rainbow of coloured balls fills my miserable heart with an emotion I can only assume is glee.
I was especially pleased last night to see that the “highlights package” appeared across the screen during a television show called ‘Heroes’. The scene in which it appeared was during an important exchange between two Japanese characters, who do not speak English, so sub-titles were a necessity. To have their dialogue completely hidden by the all-important Lotto results was almost too much for me to bear, and I had to change my underpants and do another Scotch-Guard of the couch. The Lotto results are the BEST! I don’t even buy tickets, I am just impressed by colour and movement.
It’s also great that I love Jamster commercials, who charge you hundreds of dollars to get the ‘latest’ pop song ringtone on your mobile phone. Sometimes you just can’t have enough Gwen Stefani and Justin Timberlake. I am glad that the Lotto results don’t interrupt these commercials, even if they are on three times in a single ad break.
Perhaps next week, you can run the Lotto results being drawn for an hour instead of showing ‘Heroes’. I am pretty sure no-one watches it anyway.
Sincerely,
Spanknuts McSpazwank, Tasmania
Dear Channel 7 fucktards,
I don’t speak Japanese. Sorry. But thanks for putting the fucking Lotto results over the subtitles in Heroes last night. It has urged me to learn the language, cause I know you fuckers are going to do it again.
Burn, you bitches.
Mick (via email)
I, like most dickheads, am a big fan of Lotto. The highlight of my sad, pathetic life is watching those little balls fly around the machine, and seeing them fall into the slots at the bottom. The people who host the show are very entertaining, and I love ‘meeting’ the panel of judges who are there to make sure there’s nothing untoward going on. I also quite enjoy seeing the “highlights package,” as I call it, during television shows. The bar across the screen with its rainbow of coloured balls fills my miserable heart with an emotion I can only assume is glee.
I was especially pleased last night to see that the “highlights package” appeared across the screen during a television show called ‘Heroes’. The scene in which it appeared was during an important exchange between two Japanese characters, who do not speak English, so sub-titles were a necessity. To have their dialogue completely hidden by the all-important Lotto results was almost too much for me to bear, and I had to change my underpants and do another Scotch-Guard of the couch. The Lotto results are the BEST! I don’t even buy tickets, I am just impressed by colour and movement.
It’s also great that I love Jamster commercials, who charge you hundreds of dollars to get the ‘latest’ pop song ringtone on your mobile phone. Sometimes you just can’t have enough Gwen Stefani and Justin Timberlake. I am glad that the Lotto results don’t interrupt these commercials, even if they are on three times in a single ad break.
Perhaps next week, you can run the Lotto results being drawn for an hour instead of showing ‘Heroes’. I am pretty sure no-one watches it anyway.
Sincerely,
Spanknuts McSpazwank, Tasmania
Dear Channel 7 fucktards,
I don’t speak Japanese. Sorry. But thanks for putting the fucking Lotto results over the subtitles in Heroes last night. It has urged me to learn the language, cause I know you fuckers are going to do it again.
Burn, you bitches.
Mick (via email)
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Mr Whiskas Breakfast
Geelong, the Cats
Geelong is the last one-team-one-town club. Now before there is an influx on the blog about Sydney and Brisbane being one-team-one-town clubs a few things need to be taken into account, i.e. the AFL in their wisdom are trying like buggery to exploit the western suburbs of Sydney and Brisbane. That is why every near bankrupt Victorian side are playing games in these cities, e.g. Kangaroos, Demons, Blues and Dogs. So really Brisbane and Sydney are not one-team cities any more. Catfish?*
Back to Geelong. In 06 they won NAB Cup. I happened to be sitting on a plane from Adelaide to Melbourne that was filled with a tribe of drunk players, AFL cronies and general hanger-oners the morning after Geelong won the cup. These tossers were ecstatic; they thought that Geelong FC had risen to its former glory circa 1930. With a thought process like this, it is no wonder they fucked up the rest of the season.
The NAB Cup is a sham. It is called the pre-season because the season has not started yet. There is no glory in winning a game outside of the season. However, when you are a pathetic rabble like Geelong, you don't understand this. As a point of interest, Carlton won it the year before Geelong - they celebrated their success by collecting two wooden spoons.
A football team's list is a paradox. Let me explain. Geelong have a good list, the reason being that they were shit for so long. The AFL, which has less honour than the Mufti of Sydney, rewards incompetence and punishes competence. It is a flawed concept and that is why the best clubs i.e. Adelaide, WCE and Essendon are never down for long and shit clubs like Geelong, Melbourne, St Kilda, Fremantle and the Bulldogs have not won a single premiership between them since Australia changed from pounds and shillings to dollars and cents even though the AFL keeps loading them up with draft picks and cash.
Geelong players are spoilt and selfish; this attitude is bred by a club that has no vision. When teams fail to be able to move on after losing a Grand Final, they fall in a heap real fast. Geelong played in the GF in 89, 92, 94 and 95. It is now 07 but they are still harping on about how they were so unlucky - the truth is that they were not good enough. For three of those GF's they had The Messiah at the helm (albeit he was yet to become the Messiah). They also had God and Buddha playing for them (these nick names are all real).
Geelong will improve marginally from last year, but they still don't have the respect of Mr Football. Prediction 8th.
*gratuitous Simpsons reference.
Geelong is the last one-team-one-town club. Now before there is an influx on the blog about Sydney and Brisbane being one-team-one-town clubs a few things need to be taken into account, i.e. the AFL in their wisdom are trying like buggery to exploit the western suburbs of Sydney and Brisbane. That is why every near bankrupt Victorian side are playing games in these cities, e.g. Kangaroos, Demons, Blues and Dogs. So really Brisbane and Sydney are not one-team cities any more. Catfish?*
Back to Geelong. In 06 they won NAB Cup. I happened to be sitting on a plane from Adelaide to Melbourne that was filled with a tribe of drunk players, AFL cronies and general hanger-oners the morning after Geelong won the cup. These tossers were ecstatic; they thought that Geelong FC had risen to its former glory circa 1930. With a thought process like this, it is no wonder they fucked up the rest of the season.
The NAB Cup is a sham. It is called the pre-season because the season has not started yet. There is no glory in winning a game outside of the season. However, when you are a pathetic rabble like Geelong, you don't understand this. As a point of interest, Carlton won it the year before Geelong - they celebrated their success by collecting two wooden spoons.
A football team's list is a paradox. Let me explain. Geelong have a good list, the reason being that they were shit for so long. The AFL, which has less honour than the Mufti of Sydney, rewards incompetence and punishes competence. It is a flawed concept and that is why the best clubs i.e. Adelaide, WCE and Essendon are never down for long and shit clubs like Geelong, Melbourne, St Kilda, Fremantle and the Bulldogs have not won a single premiership between them since Australia changed from pounds and shillings to dollars and cents even though the AFL keeps loading them up with draft picks and cash.
Geelong players are spoilt and selfish; this attitude is bred by a club that has no vision. When teams fail to be able to move on after losing a Grand Final, they fall in a heap real fast. Geelong played in the GF in 89, 92, 94 and 95. It is now 07 but they are still harping on about how they were so unlucky - the truth is that they were not good enough. For three of those GF's they had The Messiah at the helm (albeit he was yet to become the Messiah). They also had God and Buddha playing for them (these nick names are all real).
Geelong will improve marginally from last year, but they still don't have the respect of Mr Football. Prediction 8th.
*gratuitous Simpsons reference.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
best show ever
Hey, Dad…! was a brilliant piece of Australian television history… for the first two seasons, then “Nudge” (Christopher Truswell) left the show, and things went downhill pretty quickly. Sure, we had all the staple elements of a classic sitcom; the straight character (Martin Kelly, or “Dad”) and the loveable, goofy off-sider (Betty), the three kids, Simon, Deb and Jenny, all nice looking people without a hint of personality, so they really all could have been put into the one character, and the afore-mentioned Nudge, the “next-door-neighbour” character with the one-liners and vacant expression. As the show’s writers ran out of ideas shortly after the pilot, they picked up on the fact that everybody loved Nudge (which is the name of my new sitcom) and decided to base every show around his mad-capped antics.
Enough’s enough, thought Nudge, and he pissed off to do… something. Last I saw of him, he was playing the guitar with Lucky “Bargearse” Grills on The Late Show. So they brought in Matthew Krok, “Arthur Macarthur”, who would soon become known as “The Little Fat Kid from Hey, Dad…!” In a nod to the future, this tubby little shit became every kid; smart-arsed, fat and annoying. He had two expressions, one was the “I’m fat, so laugh at me” face, and the other was “I’m fat, give me sympathy”.
Somewhere along the line, Deb left the show, and was replaced by cousin Rachel; then Simon left and his best friend Ben moved in. I can’t for the life of me imagine why anyone would live with their best mate’s parents, when the best mate was no longer living there, spoken of or thought about by the other family members. Jenny’s character remained, although the actress changed. For the life of me, I have no idea why they didn’t just throw her into one of the giant plot holes that were rife at the time. Oh look, they did. In what is now apparently a common theme in an Australian series, the most useless character in a show is sent off to boarding school. See you later Jen, thanks for coming. See you in a few episodes when you come back as a goth, having had some trouble fitting in, learn a lesson about ‘being yourself’ and then piss off again. So with the original kids all gone, some randoms and some more randoms moving in, it was hardly the ideal setting for a show called “Hey, Dad…!” What else to do but fill up one of those plot holes with some clever writing? Mr Kelly is sick of being called “Uncle Martin” or “Mr Kelly” or “Fagchops” and would prefer if all these people in the house would call him “Dad”. Twisted much, Mr Kelly?
And so Hey, Dad…! began its decline into becoming a parody of itself. “Dad” left the show, and everyone thought, “Well, that’s it. We can’t have a show called Hey, Dad…! without the dad. That would be like having a show called Full House that was about a house that wasn’t full. Speaking of Full House, did anyone else find it weird that no-one really cared that Uncle Joey and Uncle Jesse still lived with the family, even though they were mid-30s? And then Jesse gets married, has kids, and still refuses to move out? Becky must have been pretty patient or super stoned to allow that to happen. How the hell did they find the time and privacy to have sex with 72 other people in the house?
Anyway, Mr Kelly moves out, but the producers decide not to let this dead horse go. There’s still a race to be won here. They bring out the bigger whips and start flogging like no one has ever flogged before (except for Uncle Joey on Full House; that guy never seemed to be getting laid), and replaced Dad with… Uncle Greg. The marketing geniuses realised that a show called “Hey, Uncle Greg…!” didn’t have the same ring to it, and so they went back to that oft-used well, which was by now a dirty, boggy puddle of algae-infested scum that people would normally pay $1 per day to stop some poor starving African from drinking, and Uncle Greg asked the leftover cast to call him ‘Dad’, even though (a) the only thing Uncy Greg and Mr Kelly had in common was that they were architects. Who worked from home. I guess those guys are hard to find, so maybe it was THAT kind of “brotherhood”, and (b) he had other kids that he left behind in his home city, who would probably have preferred to call him Dad, rather than this troupe of fucktards and bogans that now sat around the couch, calling anyone and everything “Dad.” I don’t really think I needed an (a) and (b) scenario there, but I wanted one anyway.
In honour of this magnificent tv show, I am going to ask my mousepad to call me ‘Dad’. And I will in turn call my left shoe ‘Dad’. And then when I change shoes, my other shoe will be ‘Dad’ and no-one will mind.
I salute you, Kelly family, as large and obscure and non-related as you all are, for filling the Wednesday night void from 1989 to whenever it was that someone put you all out of your misery. The best part about Hey, Dad…! was that the sets for the house were also used for Alf and Ailsa’s house on Home and Away. I wish I could say that they saved money on sets and spent it on scripts, but I can safely assume that that didn’t happen.
Enough’s enough, thought Nudge, and he pissed off to do… something. Last I saw of him, he was playing the guitar with Lucky “Bargearse” Grills on The Late Show. So they brought in Matthew Krok, “Arthur Macarthur”, who would soon become known as “The Little Fat Kid from Hey, Dad…!” In a nod to the future, this tubby little shit became every kid; smart-arsed, fat and annoying. He had two expressions, one was the “I’m fat, so laugh at me” face, and the other was “I’m fat, give me sympathy”.
Somewhere along the line, Deb left the show, and was replaced by cousin Rachel; then Simon left and his best friend Ben moved in. I can’t for the life of me imagine why anyone would live with their best mate’s parents, when the best mate was no longer living there, spoken of or thought about by the other family members. Jenny’s character remained, although the actress changed. For the life of me, I have no idea why they didn’t just throw her into one of the giant plot holes that were rife at the time. Oh look, they did. In what is now apparently a common theme in an Australian series, the most useless character in a show is sent off to boarding school. See you later Jen, thanks for coming. See you in a few episodes when you come back as a goth, having had some trouble fitting in, learn a lesson about ‘being yourself’ and then piss off again. So with the original kids all gone, some randoms and some more randoms moving in, it was hardly the ideal setting for a show called “Hey, Dad…!” What else to do but fill up one of those plot holes with some clever writing? Mr Kelly is sick of being called “Uncle Martin” or “Mr Kelly” or “Fagchops” and would prefer if all these people in the house would call him “Dad”. Twisted much, Mr Kelly?
And so Hey, Dad…! began its decline into becoming a parody of itself. “Dad” left the show, and everyone thought, “Well, that’s it. We can’t have a show called Hey, Dad…! without the dad. That would be like having a show called Full House that was about a house that wasn’t full. Speaking of Full House, did anyone else find it weird that no-one really cared that Uncle Joey and Uncle Jesse still lived with the family, even though they were mid-30s? And then Jesse gets married, has kids, and still refuses to move out? Becky must have been pretty patient or super stoned to allow that to happen. How the hell did they find the time and privacy to have sex with 72 other people in the house?
Anyway, Mr Kelly moves out, but the producers decide not to let this dead horse go. There’s still a race to be won here. They bring out the bigger whips and start flogging like no one has ever flogged before (except for Uncle Joey on Full House; that guy never seemed to be getting laid), and replaced Dad with… Uncle Greg. The marketing geniuses realised that a show called “Hey, Uncle Greg…!” didn’t have the same ring to it, and so they went back to that oft-used well, which was by now a dirty, boggy puddle of algae-infested scum that people would normally pay $1 per day to stop some poor starving African from drinking, and Uncle Greg asked the leftover cast to call him ‘Dad’, even though (a) the only thing Uncy Greg and Mr Kelly had in common was that they were architects. Who worked from home. I guess those guys are hard to find, so maybe it was THAT kind of “brotherhood”, and (b) he had other kids that he left behind in his home city, who would probably have preferred to call him Dad, rather than this troupe of fucktards and bogans that now sat around the couch, calling anyone and everything “Dad.” I don’t really think I needed an (a) and (b) scenario there, but I wanted one anyway.
In honour of this magnificent tv show, I am going to ask my mousepad to call me ‘Dad’. And I will in turn call my left shoe ‘Dad’. And then when I change shoes, my other shoe will be ‘Dad’ and no-one will mind.
I salute you, Kelly family, as large and obscure and non-related as you all are, for filling the Wednesday night void from 1989 to whenever it was that someone put you all out of your misery. The best part about Hey, Dad…! was that the sets for the house were also used for Alf and Ailsa’s house on Home and Away. I wish I could say that they saved money on sets and spent it on scripts, but I can safely assume that that didn’t happen.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
i do not like green eggs and ham
So I walked into someone today. That in itself is an awesome story, and should be made into a movie. I would be played by Tom from Home and Away (remember Tom, he was Pippa’s first husband who had a heart attack while driving and died), and as we are basically identical twins, and I figure he needs some acting work, it makes perfect sense. The guy I walked into would have been played by Jonathon Brandis, except I learnt recently that he died last year. So in respect to the dead, that guy will now be played by Michael Hutchence.
I was meandering along the footpath, thinking worldly things (for instance: Last night, I saw an ad for nappies that had some kind of slow-release wet patch mechanism on them, so the toddler knows when they’ve just pissed themselves. I didn’t have this when I was toilet training, and I rarely wet myself these days. What the fuck is wrong with kids today that they need special help to let them know that they’ve got a plastic bag full of urine and baby shit around their waist? And how will letting them know they’re wet help anyone? Surely they’d think, “Well… fuck. I’m wet,” take off their pants and run around the house naked, pissing and shitting on anything and everything they can. I know I would.) and then I bumped shoulders with this guy coming the other way. When I say ‘bumped’ I mean ‘brushed’, and by ‘brushed’ I mean my sleeve may have lightly touched his sleeve. It was quite a hit, it almost made the cotton of my shirt move. Almost.
“Sorry mate,” says I, all apologies and sincerity.
“Fucking watch where you’re going.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” And I turned to walk away, and muse on other things, such as what all the little black bits on the concrete are – some friends I have say it’s chewing gum, but really, do that many people eat chewing gum and spit it out right on the footpath? I mean, there are heaps of those little black blobs, and if it was chewing gum, wouldn’t it be more easily removed? Those blobs are pretty impossible to lift up, if you’ve ever tried (like me), and they sure as hell don’t taste like chewing gum… and then when my back is turned, I hear, “Fuck you, fucking faggot.”
Alliteration aside, it wasn’t the greatest use of English I’d ever heard. “Fuck you.” Is that the best we can do here? Some of the greatest literature known to man hath been borne of the English language. Shakespeare, Coleridge, Yeats and Suess would be rolling around quite discontentedly in their graves, I should think. And I’d know, I’ve been digging around all afternoon, swearing at corpses to see if it had any effect. (note: not yet, but keep trying)
Fuck you. Poor form, English. Take heed on your Spanish cousin:
Mecagum les cinc llagues de Crist, "I shit on the five wounds of Christ," in Catalan. Even better is Mecagum Deu, en la creu, en el fuster que la feu i en el fill de puta que va plantar el pi, "I shit on God, on the cross, on the carpenter who made it and on the son of a whore who planted the pine."
Are you a Swahili mother with a kid in need of Super Nanny’s obvious advice? I am. So I say, Matumbo yangu huzaa maradhi, "My womb has born a disease."
Slightly less harsh, but a shitload easier to say comes from our stoned friends, the Dutch. Krijg de mazelen, "May you get the measles.”
I have been known to dabble in Dinga, a language spoken in Zaire, Mabial agpi-agpi ke mabial nganswang, "[You have] very short breasts like the breasts of a porcupine.” I usually say this to my pet porcupine, just so no-one gets hurt by it. And my porcupine doesn’t speak Dinga.
And thankfully, we have a new “mama” joke. So all you little wiggas out there, read this (or: reed dis, mang!) Melewe silom we ie maragus, "Your mother has yaws," Ulithian (Ulithi is a coral atoll in the Pacific.) Or try Falfulul silom, "Your mother's pubic tattooing!" Gold, baby.
Bi damaghi babat rydam, "I shit on your father's nose," which you can say next time you're hanging around in Iran and looking for a fight. Or you could try Guz bi rishit, which means "May a fart be on your beard."
So Captain Cranky Pants, FUCK YOU. You arse clown.
I was meandering along the footpath, thinking worldly things (for instance: Last night, I saw an ad for nappies that had some kind of slow-release wet patch mechanism on them, so the toddler knows when they’ve just pissed themselves. I didn’t have this when I was toilet training, and I rarely wet myself these days. What the fuck is wrong with kids today that they need special help to let them know that they’ve got a plastic bag full of urine and baby shit around their waist? And how will letting them know they’re wet help anyone? Surely they’d think, “Well… fuck. I’m wet,” take off their pants and run around the house naked, pissing and shitting on anything and everything they can. I know I would.) and then I bumped shoulders with this guy coming the other way. When I say ‘bumped’ I mean ‘brushed’, and by ‘brushed’ I mean my sleeve may have lightly touched his sleeve. It was quite a hit, it almost made the cotton of my shirt move. Almost.
“Sorry mate,” says I, all apologies and sincerity.
“Fucking watch where you’re going.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” And I turned to walk away, and muse on other things, such as what all the little black bits on the concrete are – some friends I have say it’s chewing gum, but really, do that many people eat chewing gum and spit it out right on the footpath? I mean, there are heaps of those little black blobs, and if it was chewing gum, wouldn’t it be more easily removed? Those blobs are pretty impossible to lift up, if you’ve ever tried (like me), and they sure as hell don’t taste like chewing gum… and then when my back is turned, I hear, “Fuck you, fucking faggot.”
Alliteration aside, it wasn’t the greatest use of English I’d ever heard. “Fuck you.” Is that the best we can do here? Some of the greatest literature known to man hath been borne of the English language. Shakespeare, Coleridge, Yeats and Suess would be rolling around quite discontentedly in their graves, I should think. And I’d know, I’ve been digging around all afternoon, swearing at corpses to see if it had any effect. (note: not yet, but keep trying)
Fuck you. Poor form, English. Take heed on your Spanish cousin:
Mecagum les cinc llagues de Crist, "I shit on the five wounds of Christ," in Catalan. Even better is Mecagum Deu, en la creu, en el fuster que la feu i en el fill de puta que va plantar el pi, "I shit on God, on the cross, on the carpenter who made it and on the son of a whore who planted the pine."
Are you a Swahili mother with a kid in need of Super Nanny’s obvious advice? I am. So I say, Matumbo yangu huzaa maradhi, "My womb has born a disease."
Slightly less harsh, but a shitload easier to say comes from our stoned friends, the Dutch. Krijg de mazelen, "May you get the measles.”
I have been known to dabble in Dinga, a language spoken in Zaire, Mabial agpi-agpi ke mabial nganswang, "[You have] very short breasts like the breasts of a porcupine.” I usually say this to my pet porcupine, just so no-one gets hurt by it. And my porcupine doesn’t speak Dinga.
And thankfully, we have a new “mama” joke. So all you little wiggas out there, read this (or: reed dis, mang!) Melewe silom we ie maragus, "Your mother has yaws," Ulithian (Ulithi is a coral atoll in the Pacific.) Or try Falfulul silom, "Your mother's pubic tattooing!" Gold, baby.
Bi damaghi babat rydam, "I shit on your father's nose," which you can say next time you're hanging around in Iran and looking for a fight. Or you could try Guz bi rishit, which means "May a fart be on your beard."
So Captain Cranky Pants, FUCK YOU. You arse clown.
50 metre Breakfast
With utmost thanks again to Mr Football...
Essendon, the Bombers, the Dons.
Essendon is one of the great AFL clubs*. They are the only Victorian club that has been able to understand what a NATIONAL competition means. 12 other AFL clubs envy the Dons, only the Eagles, Crows and Magpies are in a stronger financial position** Accordingly, Essendon won AFL premierships throughout two different eras, 93 and 00 (An AFL era lasts 3-4 years) The West Coast Eagles are the only other club to have done this.
In 06 the Dons had a disgraceful year, just managing to avoid the wooden spoon. In most years they would have ended up with the spoon, but Carlton were particularly bad. The Dons had 30 goals kicked against them by the Crows, without exaggeration this happens about once every 1000 games, obviously the fans were pissed off.
There was logic behind their terrible form, mainly they suffered a horrendous injury count. Lloydy, their Full Forward and skipper ripped his hamstring off the bone half way through the first game of the season. He'd already kicked 8 goals for the game, he didn't play again for the year. The Dons struggled to kick 8 goals a game for the next 21 rounds. If Lloydy plays a full season he'll kick a ton this year and the Dons will win many more games.
Hirdy plays for the Dons, he is a champion. He looks like a pretty boy, but he is hard as nails. His best is past him, but when he is in the right mood he will rip a team apart. Watch out for him this year, he'll have a couple of blinders. Maybe even ANZAC day.
Kevin Sheedy is the coach, he has been coaching them for 27 years. Much like a heroin junkie, he is never down for very long. He'll be back again this year. The Bombers wont be premiership contenders and it is unlikely they will even make the eight but they'll ruffle a few feathers in 07 as they build for a big 08.
Prediction 9th
*Mr Football does not support Essendon Football Club.
**Any cunt that wants to make smart ass comment about the Eagles, Crows and Magpies all having the name of bird can get fucked. The AFL encouraged the two newest teams to come up with original names because a few jackass were complaining. Now we have the Dockers and the Power. These are the two most fucked up names in Australian sport with the exception being the A-League's 'we are to good to have a nick-name' Sydney FC.
Essendon, the Bombers, the Dons.
Essendon is one of the great AFL clubs*. They are the only Victorian club that has been able to understand what a NATIONAL competition means. 12 other AFL clubs envy the Dons, only the Eagles, Crows and Magpies are in a stronger financial position** Accordingly, Essendon won AFL premierships throughout two different eras, 93 and 00 (An AFL era lasts 3-4 years) The West Coast Eagles are the only other club to have done this.
In 06 the Dons had a disgraceful year, just managing to avoid the wooden spoon. In most years they would have ended up with the spoon, but Carlton were particularly bad. The Dons had 30 goals kicked against them by the Crows, without exaggeration this happens about once every 1000 games, obviously the fans were pissed off.
There was logic behind their terrible form, mainly they suffered a horrendous injury count. Lloydy, their Full Forward and skipper ripped his hamstring off the bone half way through the first game of the season. He'd already kicked 8 goals for the game, he didn't play again for the year. The Dons struggled to kick 8 goals a game for the next 21 rounds. If Lloydy plays a full season he'll kick a ton this year and the Dons will win many more games.
Hirdy plays for the Dons, he is a champion. He looks like a pretty boy, but he is hard as nails. His best is past him, but when he is in the right mood he will rip a team apart. Watch out for him this year, he'll have a couple of blinders. Maybe even ANZAC day.
Kevin Sheedy is the coach, he has been coaching them for 27 years. Much like a heroin junkie, he is never down for very long. He'll be back again this year. The Bombers wont be premiership contenders and it is unlikely they will even make the eight but they'll ruffle a few feathers in 07 as they build for a big 08.
Prediction 9th
*Mr Football does not support Essendon Football Club.
**Any cunt that wants to make smart ass comment about the Eagles, Crows and Magpies all having the name of bird can get fucked. The AFL encouraged the two newest teams to come up with original names because a few jackass were complaining. Now we have the Dockers and the Power. These are the two most fucked up names in Australian sport with the exception being the A-League's 'we are to good to have a nick-name' Sydney FC.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Mr Evil Capper
Thank God for Mr Football.
I'll update again soon, but really, there's not much point, as this guy is pretty damn good.
Collingwood.
Collingwood are lead off the field by Eddie McGuire, also known as the Eddie the wanker.
They are lead on the field by Nathan Buckley also known as Bucks. He likes to call himself Fig Jam, and in fact his number plate his FIG JAM.
For those who are by some degree retarded, FIGJAM means Fuck I'm Good Just Ask Me.
Bucks could have been one of the greatest on-ballers and captains of all time, but unfortunately he will just be remembered as another hack who played 300 games but never won a flag. As 'the Messiah' Malcolm Blight says, "you can be good but you are never great until you win a premiership." When Brisbane began building their all-conquering 3 time premiership, 4 time Grand Final, 6 times in row preliminary final side 15 years ago, Bucks was the first one chosen. With Bucks in the side those three premierships could have been four or five and maybe six and he would have been the captain, not Vossy. However, since Bucks is tosser, he threw in the towel after one year with Brisbane and decided he wanted to go to the spiritual home of tossers. That is Collingwood FC. His reason: he wanted to play in finals. Nice one Bucks, you GOAT. Sure he captained the Pies to a couple of GF losses, but who cares? As 'The Messiah' says, "losing a GF is like dancing with your sister, you are a long way from you know where."
Bucks watched on year after year as Brisbane players won premierships and Brownlow medals; they could have all gone to Bucks. Alas, Vossy will be remembered as the great one, not Bucks.
Collingwood will struggle this year. They have a lack of talent, misplaced arrogance and a game plan that belongs in the 90's. They may sneak into the eight, this is only because the AFL is as corrupt as a Palestinian bank and allows Collingwood to play more games at home then any of the 15 other teams.
Have a look out for Joffa, he is the knob that sits behind the Collingwood goals and puts on a golden jacket when he thinks Collingwood have the game in the bag. He'll wear that jacket 13 times this year.
Prediction 7th
I'll update again soon, but really, there's not much point, as this guy is pretty damn good.
Collingwood.
Collingwood are lead off the field by Eddie McGuire, also known as the Eddie the wanker.
They are lead on the field by Nathan Buckley also known as Bucks. He likes to call himself Fig Jam, and in fact his number plate his FIG JAM.
For those who are by some degree retarded, FIGJAM means Fuck I'm Good Just Ask Me.
Bucks could have been one of the greatest on-ballers and captains of all time, but unfortunately he will just be remembered as another hack who played 300 games but never won a flag. As 'the Messiah' Malcolm Blight says, "you can be good but you are never great until you win a premiership." When Brisbane began building their all-conquering 3 time premiership, 4 time Grand Final, 6 times in row preliminary final side 15 years ago, Bucks was the first one chosen. With Bucks in the side those three premierships could have been four or five and maybe six and he would have been the captain, not Vossy. However, since Bucks is tosser, he threw in the towel after one year with Brisbane and decided he wanted to go to the spiritual home of tossers. That is Collingwood FC. His reason: he wanted to play in finals. Nice one Bucks, you GOAT. Sure he captained the Pies to a couple of GF losses, but who cares? As 'The Messiah' says, "losing a GF is like dancing with your sister, you are a long way from you know where."
Bucks watched on year after year as Brisbane players won premierships and Brownlow medals; they could have all gone to Bucks. Alas, Vossy will be remembered as the great one, not Bucks.
Collingwood will struggle this year. They have a lack of talent, misplaced arrogance and a game plan that belongs in the 90's. They may sneak into the eight, this is only because the AFL is as corrupt as a Palestinian bank and allows Collingwood to play more games at home then any of the 15 other teams.
Have a look out for Joffa, he is the knob that sits behind the Collingwood goals and puts on a golden jacket when he thinks Collingwood have the game in the bag. He'll wear that jacket 13 times this year.
Prediction 7th
Friday, February 23, 2007
Evil tight shorts
Thanks again to Mr Football...
Fremantle Dockers
You can lead a horse to water........
For the last 20 years the AFL have done everything in their power to make the competition even. Fremantle have done everything in their power to be the worst team in the comp. In 2006 they won a final for the first time in their pathetic history.
This team has had some of the best players on their list. However they have given them away to other clubs. They have been the most inept and unsuccessful club over the last decade. They are joined by Geelong, Bulldogs, Richmond, Melbourne and St Kilda as teams that have never won an AFL premiership.
However, finally Fremantle may be just about to emerge as a serious contender. For more than a decade the Dockers have been derided by AFL fans. the Dockers joined the AFL back in 1995 and have only made the finals twice. . They'll play finals again this season and may reach the top four. But they've still got a long way to go before we talk about their premiership credentials.
The bandwagon that is the Fremantle fan base is called the purple haze, I refer to them as the purple faggots.
Prediction 4th
Fremantle Dockers
You can lead a horse to water........
For the last 20 years the AFL have done everything in their power to make the competition even. Fremantle have done everything in their power to be the worst team in the comp. In 2006 they won a final for the first time in their pathetic history.
This team has had some of the best players on their list. However they have given them away to other clubs. They have been the most inept and unsuccessful club over the last decade. They are joined by Geelong, Bulldogs, Richmond, Melbourne and St Kilda as teams that have never won an AFL premiership.
However, finally Fremantle may be just about to emerge as a serious contender. For more than a decade the Dockers have been derided by AFL fans. the Dockers joined the AFL back in 1995 and have only made the finals twice. . They'll play finals again this season and may reach the top four. But they've still got a long way to go before we talk about their premiership credentials.
The bandwagon that is the Fremantle fan base is called the purple haze, I refer to them as the purple faggots.
Prediction 4th
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Mr Football presents...
Carlton Football Club
Once a great club, now a basket case. Carlton has 'won' the last two wooden spoons, and three in five years. This was after a hundred odd years of never having received one. It will require a hell of a lot of luck to not see them finish last again, because they certainly don't have the skill to get off the bottom.
Acting president Stephen "Sticks" Kernahan said, "we are on the bottom - we can't go too much lower". The sad truth is they can; they can be relocated to the Gold Coast or Western Sydney.
Carlton was not always like this, they were once powerful, successful and rich. Now even the South Sydney Rabbithos laugh at them.
A series of events took place that caused the most almighty fuck up in Australian sporting history.
They were:
- They tried to buy a premiership and in doing so broke salary cap restrictions.
- They lied to the AFL about breaking the restrictions and were punished
- Their attempt to buy a premiership was a dismal failure, they 'won' the wooden spoon instead
- They ended up with the most expensive squad in the AFL that was also the worst
- They AFL fined them and banned them from the draft
- Because they were on the bottom of the ladder they lost membership and sponsorship revenue
- Because they had no draft picks they can't rebuild their list, which was already the worst in the league
- Because they couldn't rebuild their list they couldn't win games and attract members and sponsors
- They hired the most expensive coach in the AFL who they could not afford
- The players and the board hate the coach but when they tried to sack him they realised they couldn't afford to pay out his contract
- The coach knows the board and players hate him so his heart is really not in the job
Carlton now has a 9 million dollar debt, the worst list, a ineffectual board and coach that couldn't give a rats arse about the club or the players.
The club is in a worse state then Fitzroy and South Melbourne were in when they were relocated.
Prediction 16th
Once a great club, now a basket case. Carlton has 'won' the last two wooden spoons, and three in five years. This was after a hundred odd years of never having received one. It will require a hell of a lot of luck to not see them finish last again, because they certainly don't have the skill to get off the bottom.
Acting president Stephen "Sticks" Kernahan said, "we are on the bottom - we can't go too much lower". The sad truth is they can; they can be relocated to the Gold Coast or Western Sydney.
Carlton was not always like this, they were once powerful, successful and rich. Now even the South Sydney Rabbithos laugh at them.
A series of events took place that caused the most almighty fuck up in Australian sporting history.
They were:
- They tried to buy a premiership and in doing so broke salary cap restrictions.
- They lied to the AFL about breaking the restrictions and were punished
- Their attempt to buy a premiership was a dismal failure, they 'won' the wooden spoon instead
- They ended up with the most expensive squad in the AFL that was also the worst
- They AFL fined them and banned them from the draft
- Because they were on the bottom of the ladder they lost membership and sponsorship revenue
- Because they had no draft picks they can't rebuild their list, which was already the worst in the league
- Because they couldn't rebuild their list they couldn't win games and attract members and sponsors
- They hired the most expensive coach in the AFL who they could not afford
- The players and the board hate the coach but when they tried to sack him they realised they couldn't afford to pay out his contract
- The coach knows the board and players hate him so his heart is really not in the job
Carlton now has a 9 million dollar debt, the worst list, a ineffectual board and coach that couldn't give a rats arse about the club or the players.
The club is in a worse state then Fitzroy and South Melbourne were in when they were relocated.
Prediction 16th
i'm jimmy dean
You know that song ‘King of Broken Plastic Bottles’? No, neither do I. I doubt it even exists.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Cricket World Cup 2007
Ricky Ponting (captain), Adam Gilchrist (vice-captain), Nathan Bracken, Michael Clarke, Brad Haddin, Matthew Hayden, Brad Hodge, Brad Hogg, Michael Hussey, Mitchell Johnson, Brett Lee, Glenn McGrath, Andrew Symonds, Shaun Tait, Shane Watson.
There’s the list of champions who will take us to dizzying heights in the Caribbean whenever the World Cup starts. Right.
Here’s what I reckon:
Ricky “Chipmunk” Ponting: This guy spits on his hands way too often. Like, between every ball. In a one-day game, this is 300 times. In a test match, it could be thousands. That’s just gross. Chipmunk can bat ok, (walks into his shots early in his innings though) can field pretty well and has no idea what to do when his bowlers are being carted around the ground. I can’t wait for him to break down in tears at a press conference like Kim Hughes did.
Adam “Gilly” Gilchrist: Gilly is my hero, no question about it. Pity the man has lost all knowledge of the art of batting. Here’s a tip to all bowlers up against him in the World Cup: Pitch it full, and he’ll get out. If England worked that out, anyone can. His keeping has been ok, but isn’t setting the world on fire. With Brad “The Rat” Haddin sneaking up behind him, he really needs back in form, or he’ll lose my hero worship, which is a devastating blow. Just ask Scott Muller.
Nathan “Andrew G” Bracken: I like this guy. No nonsense, no personality, lots of hair. The hair-band is a bit off-putting, but is worth at least a wicket every match. Swings both bat and ball a bit, and is left-handed. I hate left-handed bowlers. They probably get me out more than right-handed ones, which is a feat in itself.
Michael “Pup” Clarke: Pup is gay. Seriously. He wears skivvies all the time. Or maybe he’s a Wiggle. Who knows? (or cares) Pup used to have my vote as “next captain of Australia” but has since become one of the worst players ever. Best thing he ever did was get his ugly mug onto an inflatable KFC fielder so he’ll be immortalised that way. Get some runs, homo.
Brad “The Rat” Haddin: This guy is pushing for Gilly’s spot, so I hate him. Is probably a better wicketkeeper and batsman than him, but that’s irrelevant. BOO RAT, BOO.
Matthew “Fucking” Hayden: AAARGH is this guy STILL around? For fuck’s sake, Hayden, just go away. Watch him spank around Bangladesh and Canada in the Cup, and then get sorted out by everyone else. He’ll be like your weird cousin on a road trip – he’s there, but no-one’s sure why.
Brad “Brad Hodge” Hodge: Eh. I have no opinion on this guy. Is probably quite good, but then, considering the rest of the squad, this doesn’t mean much. Good luck, Brad Hodge.
Brad “George” Hogg: Well, apparently we need a spinner, and apparently this guy is as good as they get. I guess we gave up looking for a good spinner once Warney came onto the scene. George has a decent googly, and his wrong’un is pretty good too (hahaha smutty cricket innuendoes). Everything else he bowls is rubbish though.
Michael “Mr Cricket” Hussey: The greatest human being ever. Except he went pretty crap in the matches against England and New Zealand. Needs to wear more zinc to really bring out his cricketing prowess. Rumour has it that he stole Pharlap’s heart from the Melbourne Museum (or wherever it is) and had it transplanted into himself. I don’t doubt this, nor that he performed the operation himself with no anaesthetic, surgical tools or while he was on the Scooby Doo Spooky Coaster at MovieWorld.
Mitchell “Who?” Johnson: Hmm. This guy has some pace behind him, yes yes yes yes yes but we’ve also got Brett Lee and Shaun Tait, both of whom are probably faster and just as useless as Mitchell. His name is kind of like the secret identity of a superhero too, but that doesn’t mean we should pick him. I would have left him behind and taken Stuart Clark, personally. At least that way you’d know someone was going to land the ball on the pitch.
Brett “Bollywood” Lee: The only thing more embarrassing than Lee’s Bollywood performance is his bowling. When his short ball is hit for four, Brett decides the best way to go about things is to make each ball thereafter about a metre shorter. By the end of the over, he’s pitching them on his big toe. Will play in most games and get spanked all over the place, but still get picked because he is ‘the face of cricket’. At least he’s not Matthew Hoggard.
Glenn “Pigeon” McGrath: Nothing in the world is better than watching McGrath when he’s in his rhythm. That’s a big fat lie, there are a lot of things better. But Pigeon is still the best fast bowler we’ve got, despite the fact that he’s 400 years old and bowls slightly slower than he can run. Can’t field too well, and his catching has always been pretty bad, surpassed only by his terrible batting. Glenn deserves to be recognised as one of Australia’s best. Also, his name lends itself to a catchy chant, so he has to be there.
Andy “Andrew” Symonds: My god. The worst thing about this guy is that he’s quite, quite good at cricket. In the same way that Beefy Botham was, I suppose. With his stupid dreadlocks and tub of zinc cream on his lips, he’s just asking to be hated. Grrr. I hate him. I don’t know why. In any case, the guy has one arm, but is still worth having in the team. Here’s hoping he gets to do some more commentary. Rock on, Andy, you dickhead.
Shaun “Mr Personality” Tait: Tait was my bolter for the Ashes last year, and by God I was right. Pity he was crap. But the selectors love him and so do I. Young and fast, so the kids love him, and with an already failing back, so the selectors love him. You can't possibly pick anyone who is 100% healthy. If he fucks up, this might be the last we see of him. When he gets the ball on the pitch, can be quite dangerous, but this occurs so rarely that most batsmen don’t really worry too much about him. My tip – he’ll maim at least one member of the Netherlands team.
Shane “What the fuck?” Watson: Why is this guy here? HE CANNOT PLAY CRICKET. Here’s a tip to bowlers over the world: Bowl it on the pitch. Watto will do the rest to get himself out. And his bowling? Well, if straight is your thing, he’s your man. Without any variety, bounce, pace, swing or seam, Watson is unlikely to trouble too many players on the tour, unless he attempts conversation with them, as he seems as boring off the pitch as he does on. I can’t wait to see this guy fail. He must be the secret love child of one of the selectors; that’s the only reason I can think of for his inclusion. He also reminds me of the fucking dickwit who won Big Brother last year. Fuck I hate that guy as well. If Watson was any kind of Australian, he’d give the spot to someone else. Like me, for instance. I wouldn’t mind a trip to the Caribbean to drink rum and work on my tan, mon.
Now I’m just angry. Thanks a lot, Watson. It’s bad enough that you’re in the squad at all, but to have you last in alphabetical order just gets my goat. GOD YOU’RE ANNOYING.
There’s the list of champions who will take us to dizzying heights in the Caribbean whenever the World Cup starts. Right.
Here’s what I reckon:
Ricky “Chipmunk” Ponting: This guy spits on his hands way too often. Like, between every ball. In a one-day game, this is 300 times. In a test match, it could be thousands. That’s just gross. Chipmunk can bat ok, (walks into his shots early in his innings though) can field pretty well and has no idea what to do when his bowlers are being carted around the ground. I can’t wait for him to break down in tears at a press conference like Kim Hughes did.
Adam “Gilly” Gilchrist: Gilly is my hero, no question about it. Pity the man has lost all knowledge of the art of batting. Here’s a tip to all bowlers up against him in the World Cup: Pitch it full, and he’ll get out. If England worked that out, anyone can. His keeping has been ok, but isn’t setting the world on fire. With Brad “The Rat” Haddin sneaking up behind him, he really needs back in form, or he’ll lose my hero worship, which is a devastating blow. Just ask Scott Muller.
Nathan “Andrew G” Bracken: I like this guy. No nonsense, no personality, lots of hair. The hair-band is a bit off-putting, but is worth at least a wicket every match. Swings both bat and ball a bit, and is left-handed. I hate left-handed bowlers. They probably get me out more than right-handed ones, which is a feat in itself.
Michael “Pup” Clarke: Pup is gay. Seriously. He wears skivvies all the time. Or maybe he’s a Wiggle. Who knows? (or cares) Pup used to have my vote as “next captain of Australia” but has since become one of the worst players ever. Best thing he ever did was get his ugly mug onto an inflatable KFC fielder so he’ll be immortalised that way. Get some runs, homo.
Brad “The Rat” Haddin: This guy is pushing for Gilly’s spot, so I hate him. Is probably a better wicketkeeper and batsman than him, but that’s irrelevant. BOO RAT, BOO.
Matthew “Fucking” Hayden: AAARGH is this guy STILL around? For fuck’s sake, Hayden, just go away. Watch him spank around Bangladesh and Canada in the Cup, and then get sorted out by everyone else. He’ll be like your weird cousin on a road trip – he’s there, but no-one’s sure why.
Brad “Brad Hodge” Hodge: Eh. I have no opinion on this guy. Is probably quite good, but then, considering the rest of the squad, this doesn’t mean much. Good luck, Brad Hodge.
Brad “George” Hogg: Well, apparently we need a spinner, and apparently this guy is as good as they get. I guess we gave up looking for a good spinner once Warney came onto the scene. George has a decent googly, and his wrong’un is pretty good too (hahaha smutty cricket innuendoes). Everything else he bowls is rubbish though.
Michael “Mr Cricket” Hussey: The greatest human being ever. Except he went pretty crap in the matches against England and New Zealand. Needs to wear more zinc to really bring out his cricketing prowess. Rumour has it that he stole Pharlap’s heart from the Melbourne Museum (or wherever it is) and had it transplanted into himself. I don’t doubt this, nor that he performed the operation himself with no anaesthetic, surgical tools or while he was on the Scooby Doo Spooky Coaster at MovieWorld.
Mitchell “Who?” Johnson: Hmm. This guy has some pace behind him, yes yes yes yes yes but we’ve also got Brett Lee and Shaun Tait, both of whom are probably faster and just as useless as Mitchell. His name is kind of like the secret identity of a superhero too, but that doesn’t mean we should pick him. I would have left him behind and taken Stuart Clark, personally. At least that way you’d know someone was going to land the ball on the pitch.
Brett “Bollywood” Lee: The only thing more embarrassing than Lee’s Bollywood performance is his bowling. When his short ball is hit for four, Brett decides the best way to go about things is to make each ball thereafter about a metre shorter. By the end of the over, he’s pitching them on his big toe. Will play in most games and get spanked all over the place, but still get picked because he is ‘the face of cricket’. At least he’s not Matthew Hoggard.
Glenn “Pigeon” McGrath: Nothing in the world is better than watching McGrath when he’s in his rhythm. That’s a big fat lie, there are a lot of things better. But Pigeon is still the best fast bowler we’ve got, despite the fact that he’s 400 years old and bowls slightly slower than he can run. Can’t field too well, and his catching has always been pretty bad, surpassed only by his terrible batting. Glenn deserves to be recognised as one of Australia’s best. Also, his name lends itself to a catchy chant, so he has to be there.
Andy “Andrew” Symonds: My god. The worst thing about this guy is that he’s quite, quite good at cricket. In the same way that Beefy Botham was, I suppose. With his stupid dreadlocks and tub of zinc cream on his lips, he’s just asking to be hated. Grrr. I hate him. I don’t know why. In any case, the guy has one arm, but is still worth having in the team. Here’s hoping he gets to do some more commentary. Rock on, Andy, you dickhead.
Shaun “Mr Personality” Tait: Tait was my bolter for the Ashes last year, and by God I was right. Pity he was crap. But the selectors love him and so do I. Young and fast, so the kids love him, and with an already failing back, so the selectors love him. You can't possibly pick anyone who is 100% healthy. If he fucks up, this might be the last we see of him. When he gets the ball on the pitch, can be quite dangerous, but this occurs so rarely that most batsmen don’t really worry too much about him. My tip – he’ll maim at least one member of the Netherlands team.
Shane “What the fuck?” Watson: Why is this guy here? HE CANNOT PLAY CRICKET. Here’s a tip to bowlers over the world: Bowl it on the pitch. Watto will do the rest to get himself out. And his bowling? Well, if straight is your thing, he’s your man. Without any variety, bounce, pace, swing or seam, Watson is unlikely to trouble too many players on the tour, unless he attempts conversation with them, as he seems as boring off the pitch as he does on. I can’t wait to see this guy fail. He must be the secret love child of one of the selectors; that’s the only reason I can think of for his inclusion. He also reminds me of the fucking dickwit who won Big Brother last year. Fuck I hate that guy as well. If Watson was any kind of Australian, he’d give the spot to someone else. Like me, for instance. I wouldn’t mind a trip to the Caribbean to drink rum and work on my tan, mon.
Now I’m just angry. Thanks a lot, Watson. It’s bad enough that you’re in the squad at all, but to have you last in alphabetical order just gets my goat. GOD YOU’RE ANNOYING.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
this one isn't for you either
I’m talking a lot about television lately. I don’t know why, probably because I’m watching it in the hope that something good might come on. Not likely.
Today’s topic is quiz shows. If there’s a ridiculous quiz format that hasn’t been adopted by our cycloptic friend, then I’ll eat my hat. And not the chocolate one, the other one made of… whatever hats are made out of. Possibly cotton, or some kind of poly-fabric. Sure.
I’ve watched at least one episode of each of the ‘hot’ ‘new’ ‘shows’ that have graced our screens over the last week. 1 vs 100, The Rich List and Con Test. Because I watched Con Test most recently, I’ll do that one first, and make up stuff about the other ones that people won’t remember.
The Con Test
Unfortunately, this is not a show involving Con the Fruiterer or Con from Heartbreak High, which is a shame. Imagine those two together at last. I'd like it to be called CONsequential. The format is still a mystery, but it has two guys who play a character called Con, and it's got Con in the title. It'll write itself. Anyway... Con Test. No Cons in sight, but it does have one of the muppets from Idol on it, that Nathan Bracken guy. And some old duck who thinks she’s hot. Maybe next to Gretel Killeen, sister. But next to Bracks, you’re looking a bit like Reba McIntyre. Now, I’m not entirely sure what she looks like, but her name doesn’t flatter, so picture someone who’s ugly and you’re with me. The show has a handful of idiots who spend all day together trying to convince each other that they’re rich or successful or insanely brilliant. I don’t really see the point of this. If I went on it, I’d wear one thong and a pair of overalls and claim to be an ancient Aztec demon. Graah. That way, people wouldn’t really care if I was smarter than them, they’d be too scared to do anything about it. Graah.
The game goes like this: Answer 8 questions. Each answer you get right, you get $500. No one knows how many anyone else got right; only their own score. If you think you’ve got the lowest score, you can buzz out and take home however much you got right. If you don’t buzz out and have the lowest score, you get shunted out to the ‘Fold Room’ and have to sit with Judith Lucy’s ugly sister and win nothing. After a bundle of rounds, possibly 5, possibly not, the last person standing wanders out the door with $50 000.
This could go alright, if the contestants aren’t as fucked in the head as the ones on the other night were. I’m not sure how saying “I’m the best!” between each round is a “con”. If someone with a hint of personality and a touch of nous is allowed into the game, it might even be enjoyable. But Channel 10 aren’t really into that, so expect another dose of this crap again next week. I give it a B for execution, a B+ for potential and a C for longterm watchability. Overall, it’s 5 and a half apples worth.
1 vs 100
Eddie’s back baby, and he’s still smug and greasy. I swear, that guy must bathe in every oil vat in every fish and chip shop in Australia, and then produce his own grease and sell it back to them. No wonder he’s so freakin rich. I hate that guy.
So he pulls out one contestant and puts them against 100 idiots sitting at the largest panel in the southern hemisphere. They ask him a few ridiculously easy questions – if he gets it right, he keeps going, and for every idiot that gets the question wrong, he wins a couple of bucks. The fewer people there are on the panel, the more money each answer is worth.
Again, this puppy has as much potential as a potential-laden piece of potential pie baked in Potentiala, which is the capital of Potential. Unfortunately, Eddie has employed himself to be the star of the show, so it has a few hindrances. All of them are his fault. It’s slightly quicker than Millionaire, and has a bit more personality. Especially if they keep getting cheerleaders to be on the panel.
My main qualm about 1 vs 100 is that the answers are piss easy. I’m not entirely sure how anyone has actually got one wrong yet. Maybe I’m just smarter than the rest of the world. Probably. My other qualm is that Eddie insists on talking about himself, his ‘other’ show, ‘his’ football team and ‘his’ tv network. Way to mix with the common man, Ed.
This one gets 2 boxes of popcorn for execution, 3 boxes for potential and 2 for longterm. Overall, I give it a used bus ticket and an empty Subway card.
The Rich List
Holy crap. How does this show go for an hour? Or does it? I can’t remember, but it feels like it does. Maybe even longer. I watched two episodes, and felt like I’d eaten a box of scissors – I don’t know why I would do it, or why I wouldn’t stop. That bloke from Deal or No Deal is again thrust into the spotlight, begging the question, “How does one get onto television these days, if they keep recycling the same spastics over and over?” Seriously. Bert Newton has a thousand shows, all stemming from some variety thing he put together late in the 1500s. Daryl Somers is somehow still around, Eddie McGuire keeps hiring himself (I guess it beats reading resumes and having to do interviews and screen tests) and even Larry Emdur is doing something else… maybe Wheel of Fortune, I don’t know. It’s all too much sometimes. I think I need a lie down.
Ok, so Andrew O’Keefe is back at his best, repeating three lines over and over for the whole show. “Is it on the list?” “It’s on the list!” and “If it’s not on the list, you walk away empty handed.” That pretty much sums up the whole concept. Two teams of two idiots each name things (animals beginning with P, for instance) until someone fucks up (“sorry, a paratrooper is not an animal”) and the winners go to the super list. 15 answers about… something (“name 15 out of the 6 billion people on the planet”) and every three correct answers wins you a couple of grand. Piece of piss. The shows that I saw had a bloke that would give Merv Hughes ugly shivers team up with some pansy boy who watched an entire season of Queer Eye in one sitting, who may or may not have won enough money from Channel 7 to buy a large island, and then crash that island into several small islands that they bought, just because they can. It only takes a smidge of intelligence to win this game, so it’ll probably be off air soon, as the station just won’t be able to afford it.
Qualm: The contestants are stupid. Instead of just blabbing their answers out, they discuss every friggin detail with each other. “A penguin starts with P, we could say that.” “No, I want to save penguin for later, how about platypus?” “Is a platypus an animal?” “Of course it is, it’s a marsupial.” “Are they still categorised as animals?” “I think so. Man, now I don’t know. What about piranha?” “They’re fish.” “Not animals?” “I don’t know.” OH MY GOD JUST SAY SOMETHING. Even worse is smug homo man who backs up each answer with some kind of witticism. “When I went to Barbados, they didn’t have penguins there. I love penguins, so I’ll say penguin. Final answer.” Or “I went to school with a bloke whose nick name was Digger. I can’t remember why we called him that, but I do know that his real name is Gary Anderson. So I’ll say Gary Anderson.”
No one wants your life story, chuckles. The Rich List gets a thumbs down in execution, a thumbs down in potential and thumbs way way way down for longterm. Overall, it receives a kick in the gonads for existing and a pat on the head for trying.
If this is what passes for entertainment these days, I will pray to the holy Sarah-Marie for Big Brother to start up again soon. And then I’ll set fire to my feet, and melt them into puddles of skin and feet goo and then drink it and die.
Today’s topic is quiz shows. If there’s a ridiculous quiz format that hasn’t been adopted by our cycloptic friend, then I’ll eat my hat. And not the chocolate one, the other one made of… whatever hats are made out of. Possibly cotton, or some kind of poly-fabric. Sure.
I’ve watched at least one episode of each of the ‘hot’ ‘new’ ‘shows’ that have graced our screens over the last week. 1 vs 100, The Rich List and Con Test. Because I watched Con Test most recently, I’ll do that one first, and make up stuff about the other ones that people won’t remember.
The Con Test
Unfortunately, this is not a show involving Con the Fruiterer or Con from Heartbreak High, which is a shame. Imagine those two together at last. I'd like it to be called CONsequential. The format is still a mystery, but it has two guys who play a character called Con, and it's got Con in the title. It'll write itself. Anyway... Con Test. No Cons in sight, but it does have one of the muppets from Idol on it, that Nathan Bracken guy. And some old duck who thinks she’s hot. Maybe next to Gretel Killeen, sister. But next to Bracks, you’re looking a bit like Reba McIntyre. Now, I’m not entirely sure what she looks like, but her name doesn’t flatter, so picture someone who’s ugly and you’re with me. The show has a handful of idiots who spend all day together trying to convince each other that they’re rich or successful or insanely brilliant. I don’t really see the point of this. If I went on it, I’d wear one thong and a pair of overalls and claim to be an ancient Aztec demon. Graah. That way, people wouldn’t really care if I was smarter than them, they’d be too scared to do anything about it. Graah.
The game goes like this: Answer 8 questions. Each answer you get right, you get $500. No one knows how many anyone else got right; only their own score. If you think you’ve got the lowest score, you can buzz out and take home however much you got right. If you don’t buzz out and have the lowest score, you get shunted out to the ‘Fold Room’ and have to sit with Judith Lucy’s ugly sister and win nothing. After a bundle of rounds, possibly 5, possibly not, the last person standing wanders out the door with $50 000.
This could go alright, if the contestants aren’t as fucked in the head as the ones on the other night were. I’m not sure how saying “I’m the best!” between each round is a “con”. If someone with a hint of personality and a touch of nous is allowed into the game, it might even be enjoyable. But Channel 10 aren’t really into that, so expect another dose of this crap again next week. I give it a B for execution, a B+ for potential and a C for longterm watchability. Overall, it’s 5 and a half apples worth.
1 vs 100
Eddie’s back baby, and he’s still smug and greasy. I swear, that guy must bathe in every oil vat in every fish and chip shop in Australia, and then produce his own grease and sell it back to them. No wonder he’s so freakin rich. I hate that guy.
So he pulls out one contestant and puts them against 100 idiots sitting at the largest panel in the southern hemisphere. They ask him a few ridiculously easy questions – if he gets it right, he keeps going, and for every idiot that gets the question wrong, he wins a couple of bucks. The fewer people there are on the panel, the more money each answer is worth.
Again, this puppy has as much potential as a potential-laden piece of potential pie baked in Potentiala, which is the capital of Potential. Unfortunately, Eddie has employed himself to be the star of the show, so it has a few hindrances. All of them are his fault. It’s slightly quicker than Millionaire, and has a bit more personality. Especially if they keep getting cheerleaders to be on the panel.
My main qualm about 1 vs 100 is that the answers are piss easy. I’m not entirely sure how anyone has actually got one wrong yet. Maybe I’m just smarter than the rest of the world. Probably. My other qualm is that Eddie insists on talking about himself, his ‘other’ show, ‘his’ football team and ‘his’ tv network. Way to mix with the common man, Ed.
This one gets 2 boxes of popcorn for execution, 3 boxes for potential and 2 for longterm. Overall, I give it a used bus ticket and an empty Subway card.
The Rich List
Holy crap. How does this show go for an hour? Or does it? I can’t remember, but it feels like it does. Maybe even longer. I watched two episodes, and felt like I’d eaten a box of scissors – I don’t know why I would do it, or why I wouldn’t stop. That bloke from Deal or No Deal is again thrust into the spotlight, begging the question, “How does one get onto television these days, if they keep recycling the same spastics over and over?” Seriously. Bert Newton has a thousand shows, all stemming from some variety thing he put together late in the 1500s. Daryl Somers is somehow still around, Eddie McGuire keeps hiring himself (I guess it beats reading resumes and having to do interviews and screen tests) and even Larry Emdur is doing something else… maybe Wheel of Fortune, I don’t know. It’s all too much sometimes. I think I need a lie down.
Ok, so Andrew O’Keefe is back at his best, repeating three lines over and over for the whole show. “Is it on the list?” “It’s on the list!” and “If it’s not on the list, you walk away empty handed.” That pretty much sums up the whole concept. Two teams of two idiots each name things (animals beginning with P, for instance) until someone fucks up (“sorry, a paratrooper is not an animal”) and the winners go to the super list. 15 answers about… something (“name 15 out of the 6 billion people on the planet”) and every three correct answers wins you a couple of grand. Piece of piss. The shows that I saw had a bloke that would give Merv Hughes ugly shivers team up with some pansy boy who watched an entire season of Queer Eye in one sitting, who may or may not have won enough money from Channel 7 to buy a large island, and then crash that island into several small islands that they bought, just because they can. It only takes a smidge of intelligence to win this game, so it’ll probably be off air soon, as the station just won’t be able to afford it.
Qualm: The contestants are stupid. Instead of just blabbing their answers out, they discuss every friggin detail with each other. “A penguin starts with P, we could say that.” “No, I want to save penguin for later, how about platypus?” “Is a platypus an animal?” “Of course it is, it’s a marsupial.” “Are they still categorised as animals?” “I think so. Man, now I don’t know. What about piranha?” “They’re fish.” “Not animals?” “I don’t know.” OH MY GOD JUST SAY SOMETHING. Even worse is smug homo man who backs up each answer with some kind of witticism. “When I went to Barbados, they didn’t have penguins there. I love penguins, so I’ll say penguin. Final answer.” Or “I went to school with a bloke whose nick name was Digger. I can’t remember why we called him that, but I do know that his real name is Gary Anderson. So I’ll say Gary Anderson.”
No one wants your life story, chuckles. The Rich List gets a thumbs down in execution, a thumbs down in potential and thumbs way way way down for longterm. Overall, it receives a kick in the gonads for existing and a pat on the head for trying.
If this is what passes for entertainment these days, I will pray to the holy Sarah-Marie for Big Brother to start up again soon. And then I’ll set fire to my feet, and melt them into puddles of skin and feet goo and then drink it and die.
liggest boser
It’s back. The Biggest Loser, Australian style. They’ve taken another collection of fatties and thrown them into a (hopefully) heavily reinforced house in order to get them to lose weight. I watched my first episode last night. Brilliant television, really. Watching a bunch of tubby bitches waddle around, sweating while they talk, subconsciously moving their hands to their face with imaginary pieces of the Colonel’s finest is really my idea of a tops night in.
It kick-started with one group sleeping in tents outside. I’m assuming this was because they were deemed ‘too fat’ to make it through the door. I didn’t pay enough attention to find out the real reason, so I’m running with that.
One of the fatties, I can’t remember their name, they all look alike to me, had decided to leave the house, because it was just ‘too hard’. Well. I’m sorry. I’m sure living the rest of your life will be a lot easier now that you’ve decided to not lose weight. A lot easier, and possibly a lot shorter. Later in the episode, some gay guy and an ex-fatty go to her house to persuade her to come back. We are treated to some Home and Away style acting whereby ex-fatty starts crying when she talks about how “worth it” it all is. It was the most emotional scene of Australian telly since Agro touched up Anne-Marie. Fatty doesn’t buy it, eats them both and says, “No, I’m quite happy with being a fat slag, thank you.” We find out that she has since lost 8kgs and is doing her own exercise and diet program. Nicely done. I’m assuming this means you now weigh 140kgs, you’ve lost the remote to your tv and you can only eat when someone hands you your feeding bucket. Standing up can cause health implications. Serious ones.
Meanwhile, back at Fat Camp, the geniuses behind the show devise some kind of contest where each contestant is tempted by… a slice of watermelon. If you don’t eat it, you can’t win immunity. Eh. Fuck it, it’s 17 calories of fruity goodness. The fact that it’s not coated in chocolate and deep-fried turns a lot of the sweating masses off it, however, so they get given the arse. In some kind of stupid rule twist, the last bloke to even look at the next treat (a puddle of sour cream and a sliver of potato) wins… but as our big-boned, slow-talking host tells us, immunity is “a…poisoned…chalice… and… the… winner… must… do… The Walk.” She doesn’t tell us what that consists of entirely, but I’m using all the power of my brain to imagine that it involves moving one foot after another, in the familiar (to some) left foot/right foot combination. So to stop himself from being booted off the show, the winner has to walk somewhere. Great. Well, he’s on a weight-loss show, not here for a haircut. Might as well get waddling, tiger.
So they all go back to the gym for their regulation five minute work-out. The token Asian bloke gets lumped with Gillian as a trainer. This Gillian guy is wild, he makes Asian man kick this padded bag at least 5 times. The one-legged caper is not Asian man’s style, so he falls over, packs some ice on his ankle for a bit and parks his arse back on the couch. Some other dude comes back from hospital, after suffering severe pork withdrawals. He walks into the house, grabs some food and is happy to finally be around people bigger than him. Some other champion tries to show off by saying that he “spent 40 minutes on the exercise bike.” He did, however, neglect to mention “before I found out that I had to pedal, so I got off it and sat on the couch again.”
Is anyone else really annoyed by that McDonalds ad where the little girl thinks she’s flying her slippery-dip and the boy sees robot monsters instead of construction vehicles? Yeah, pisses me off no end, and those little pasta things look fucking disgusting. I’d rather eat a Fillet o Fish. Gross.
I can’t remember a lot of what happened after that, I was watching a spider on the wall. It was a big spider, man.
Next time on Fatties Go Wild, some other lard-arse wants to leave the show after seeing a treadmill, a fat woman is shown a photo of her toes and breaks down in tears of pure happiness; it’s been so long since she’s seen her feet, and the teams go to the Centrepoint Tower. I would have to hazard a guess and say that the Australian Tourism Industry wants something to rival the Leaning Tower of Pisa, so our hefty heroes all stand on one side of it. Will it work? Probably.
It kick-started with one group sleeping in tents outside. I’m assuming this was because they were deemed ‘too fat’ to make it through the door. I didn’t pay enough attention to find out the real reason, so I’m running with that.
One of the fatties, I can’t remember their name, they all look alike to me, had decided to leave the house, because it was just ‘too hard’. Well. I’m sorry. I’m sure living the rest of your life will be a lot easier now that you’ve decided to not lose weight. A lot easier, and possibly a lot shorter. Later in the episode, some gay guy and an ex-fatty go to her house to persuade her to come back. We are treated to some Home and Away style acting whereby ex-fatty starts crying when she talks about how “worth it” it all is. It was the most emotional scene of Australian telly since Agro touched up Anne-Marie. Fatty doesn’t buy it, eats them both and says, “No, I’m quite happy with being a fat slag, thank you.” We find out that she has since lost 8kgs and is doing her own exercise and diet program. Nicely done. I’m assuming this means you now weigh 140kgs, you’ve lost the remote to your tv and you can only eat when someone hands you your feeding bucket. Standing up can cause health implications. Serious ones.
Meanwhile, back at Fat Camp, the geniuses behind the show devise some kind of contest where each contestant is tempted by… a slice of watermelon. If you don’t eat it, you can’t win immunity. Eh. Fuck it, it’s 17 calories of fruity goodness. The fact that it’s not coated in chocolate and deep-fried turns a lot of the sweating masses off it, however, so they get given the arse. In some kind of stupid rule twist, the last bloke to even look at the next treat (a puddle of sour cream and a sliver of potato) wins… but as our big-boned, slow-talking host tells us, immunity is “a…poisoned…chalice… and… the… winner… must… do… The Walk.” She doesn’t tell us what that consists of entirely, but I’m using all the power of my brain to imagine that it involves moving one foot after another, in the familiar (to some) left foot/right foot combination. So to stop himself from being booted off the show, the winner has to walk somewhere. Great. Well, he’s on a weight-loss show, not here for a haircut. Might as well get waddling, tiger.
So they all go back to the gym for their regulation five minute work-out. The token Asian bloke gets lumped with Gillian as a trainer. This Gillian guy is wild, he makes Asian man kick this padded bag at least 5 times. The one-legged caper is not Asian man’s style, so he falls over, packs some ice on his ankle for a bit and parks his arse back on the couch. Some other dude comes back from hospital, after suffering severe pork withdrawals. He walks into the house, grabs some food and is happy to finally be around people bigger than him. Some other champion tries to show off by saying that he “spent 40 minutes on the exercise bike.” He did, however, neglect to mention “before I found out that I had to pedal, so I got off it and sat on the couch again.”
Is anyone else really annoyed by that McDonalds ad where the little girl thinks she’s flying her slippery-dip and the boy sees robot monsters instead of construction vehicles? Yeah, pisses me off no end, and those little pasta things look fucking disgusting. I’d rather eat a Fillet o Fish. Gross.
I can’t remember a lot of what happened after that, I was watching a spider on the wall. It was a big spider, man.
Next time on Fatties Go Wild, some other lard-arse wants to leave the show after seeing a treadmill, a fat woman is shown a photo of her toes and breaks down in tears of pure happiness; it’s been so long since she’s seen her feet, and the teams go to the Centrepoint Tower. I would have to hazard a guess and say that the Australian Tourism Industry wants something to rival the Leaning Tower of Pisa, so our hefty heroes all stand on one side of it. Will it work? Probably.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
dream a little dream
As Constable Green took the chalk from his pocket and slowly traced the outline of the beaten, bloodied corpse lying in front of him, he knew that he had taken his first step to becoming a police sketch artist.
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