The art of man

Being a guy is already the coolest thing ever - you can be a pirate, for one. Girls can only be pirates' wenches. You can be a Viking; women aren't allowed into Valhalla. You can be a cowboy, whereas chicks have to put up with being Injun princesses. There are probably other good things too, but those are the main points.
But the best thing about being a guy is peeing. The male form is so advanced that we can do it whilst standing up. Some genius who may or may not be Thomas Crapper, invented a toilet a few years back, and people have been tinkering with it ever since, just to get it right. As such, we have about twelve thousand varieties of buckets in which to pee.

I present

Mister Evil Breakfast's Guide to Public Toilets (male)

The first thing you will notice upon entering male public toilets is the smell. We can't help it, male toilets are the natural breeding grounds for with urinal cakes. Urinal cakes, as their name suggests, consist mainly of stale urine, and should not be eaten, regardless of how hungry you are. I believe they were at one point used as torture devices during World War II. They are also the only reason that we haven't been attacked and enslaved by an alien species.

The second thing you will notice is the choice between urinal and stall. The stalls are only there for decoration and overflow. You should never use a stall in a public toilet unless it is quite literally life or death. Even so, you should consider death. Most places will just have a big sheet of metal upon which to pee. Easy as. With some practice, you can avoid splashback onto your shoes, and more importantly, your neighbour's shoes. Sometimes you will find a grate that protects you from falling into the urinal. Use this grate wisely, and don't stand on it. Chances are, a billion people have already peed on it. Gross.

If there is a crowd in the toilet, don't feel like you should start a sing-a-long. Unless you're drunk, really drunk, and you have song in your heart. No one will deny you this. On second thoughts, it's probably better to sing to everyone in there than to make general chit-chat with one bloke you don't know, as he may think you're trying to pick him up. Unless you are. If that is the case, good luck. When you get to the front of the queue, look at the urinal and if you have to judge whether or not you could squeeze in, then No, You Shouldn't. If a stall becomes available, feel free to use it. Otherwise, wait patiently for a larger space to become available at the urinal.

Note: If you are using a stall to pee, don't close the door, otherwise people will think you're doing some private business in there. And you just don't need that kind of aggravation.

When it comes time to hand washing, it is recommended that you do, lest your hands and anything else you touch fall off. If the bathroom supplies handtowel, then you're one lucky punter. If not, use your jeans. The hand dryer things don't really work, and do you really want that urinal cake smell blasted onto your digits? Even worse are the ones with the towel in them that you just wipe and rotate. Gross. I hope the inventor of that monstrosity is stuck in the Blackboard Scratching Department of the Blackboard Factory. It exists, I went there on a school excursion once.

A few quick pointers:

- eyes front when you are at the urinal. This is obvious.
- don't drink your beer while you're peeing. It puts people off.
- if you drop something into the urinal - food, cigarettes, mobile phone... it's gone. Let it go.
- having a spew doesn't give you the right to occupy a space at the urinal/in the stall all night. Get it over with and get out.
- pushing a mate into the urinal might sound like a really funny thing to do, but it has consequences. Consider these consequences. Then push.
- you are permitted to adjust your hair while you're in the bathroom. You are not permitted to bring a razor or toothbrush.

Happy peeing, gents! And remember: No matter how much you shake and dance, the final drop goes in your pants.

eirolac a flah

An orange world; Henry lived in an orange world. It was like he saw everything through a haze of sweltering Martian heat. The houses were orange, the walls were orange, every car on the orange road was orange. The orange sun burnt in the orange sky, while the occasional orange cloud dropped an orange shadow over the orange grass. Orange dogs chased orange cats through orange streets while orange people walked the orange footpath to their orange buildings.

Henry's orange life was tragically cut short when he tripped on a seemingly invisible basketball and fell down a flight of orange stairs. If only someone had told Henry that he'd had Tic-Tac boxes taped over his eyes, he'd probably still be here today.

Mister Late Night Tele

Dear TV programming people,

I am writing to thank you for providing me with some brilliant late-night television. Lonely? You bet I am! So thank you for the endless advertisements of "hot, sexy babes" that are either waiting to take my call, waiting to be downloaded onto my phone, or waiting to meet me for some romance. The only problem is that I wasn't sure if the person that I was talking to, downloading or texting was my ideal partner. But there you were again to lend your sweaty, hairy hand. No sooner had I wondered if "Mister Evil Breakfast" and "Jane" were soulmates that you offered me a service to that would make sure I was doing the right thing, simply by using signs of the Zodiac. And then another service that offered the same results, but by using ancient Chinese text messaging traditions. And then another one using a foolproof mathematical formula. And then one that doesn't use anything but a random number generator. After using all of these "Love Rating" sms lines, I have discovered that Jane just isn't for me. I'm glad I found that out before I spent any money on an actual relationship with her. I did, however, spend over $5,500 on sms fees, but I think assurance is worth that.

Another great thing about being a late-night tv viewer is that you get all sorts of great information about erectile dysfunction. A lot. As in, twice per ad break. And the commercials are always hilarious and well acted, and handle this delicate situation with great discretion. One day, I too hope to play the piano with my wang. Oh how I dream.

And please, don't worry about putting on dull programmes late at night, just make sure whatever you put on is repeated a week later, or even better, the next day. I love Dave Letterman, really, and am incredibly happy that his show is on every night. The same show. Every night. "Wow, George Clooney is on tonight!" "Hey look, George Clooney's back on." "Boy, Clooney and Letterman must be best friends." "Fucking Clooney." "This Top Ten sounds pretty familiar. I hope George Clooney is on tonight."

And the Infomercials... I love them. I really really really really do. I swear. They are ingeniously crafted so that if you stay awake and watch them, you'll suddenly find yourself on the phone whilst reaching for your credit card. If you fall asleep on the couch in front of them, you'll wake up with the phone in one hand, your credit card in the other and a sick feeling in your stomach. The longer you watch Infomercials, the more sense they make, and nothing, NOTHING should stop you from having perfectly sliced carrots, perfectly clear skin, perfectly smooth legs, perfectly sculpted abs and perfectly empty bank account.

Long live Vermin.

But seriously, if you show that fucking ad with Tara Reid on it again, I will stab you with my Rock'n'Chop before you can even marvel at the German engineered handle (made in Taiwan).

Thank you, and goodnight.

Mister Evil Breakfast

People I'd Like To Punch In The Head

Sorry girls, he's Catholic.










Kyle Sandilands. That guy shits me.

Closer each day, with a little understanding

Living in Australia isn't an easy thing. You could get eaten by a shark as soon as you step outside, your shoes could be literally made out of Black Widow spiders, or you could have your eyes melted by the sun shining off Bert Newton's face. Or, of course, you could get beaten up by Bert Newton's son. Or you could be Bert Newton's wife. It's a fucking minefield out there.

But spare a thought for the millions of poor Australians who are part of a soap opera. Be it Summer Bay, Erinsborough or Wondan Valley (how the hell do you spell that, anyway?), every day is a new adventure in tragedy. If you happen to wake up tomorrow and you look like Kate Ritchie (I apologise for that), here are some tips on how to live another happy day in paradise...

Mister Evil Breakfast's Guide to Life as a Soap Opera Character


1. If you fall in love, which is an occurance which will happen at least 70 times in the average soap character's life, be careful. As soon as you utter those three magic words, "I love you," prepare to either spend the next week in the hospital as a patient or a 'helpless victim of circumstance.' Whichever the case, you'll most likely find yourself in a coma. But all is not lost, cause if you're in a coma, the chances of you actually dying are slim to none. Death in a soap is either instantaneous or non-existant. Waking from a coma is also a fairly easy process, all it takes is someone to discuss their deepest feelings with you. Just like a slap in the arse with a wet sheep, you'll wake and will suffer no ill-effects at all. Not only that, you and the entire cast won't ever recall anyone ever even being in a coma after a week.

Any visit to the hospital will be a fairly eventful one. Whether you've just had heart surgery, had your face reattached after it was cut off following an accident with a 'tampered' lawnmower, or you're just there for a check-up, you'll have your own room, be ordered to "stay another night" and will probably find out you're adopted after a few blood tests.

2. Getting married is a practice fraught with danger. On your wedding day, it's law for any soap star to either be involved in a car accident, a skydiving accident or the sudden appearance of a long lost relative (most likely a mother or father), their wife/husband (either current or ex) or a child from a previous relationship that no-one ever knew about. Be prepared for a fairly harsh few days, but don't stress too much - a disturbance like that will only ever last for three days, and twenty minutes after you're married, you will be discussing children.

3. Having children isn't an easy process for a soap character. If you're married, you will have some serious struggles in getting pregnant, especially if everything else in your relationship is going well. After a visit to the doctor for a check-up (see #1), you may even find yourself with ovarian cancer or that your uterus is actually a pair of bagpipes.

But chill. If you really want a kid, just apply for an adoption. You can do it over the net, and will be accepted either the first or second time you check your email. Are you worried that your violently abusive past, drug history and lack of employment will hurt your application? Stress less, amigo. You're a good person, and that will work wonders for you. Expect a kid in a week.

Not married? Having sex? Well, you're in some serious trouble. The first time you have sex, you WILL get pregnant. Did you cheat on your partner? Pregnancy. Did you make a mistake and sleep with the bad boy of the show? Have fun explaining your baby to your over-protective father.

Pregnancies last about a month, and your child will be a baby for about 5 years (if your contract lasts that long) and then suddenly appear in high school.

4. School is a strange place. All of the kids are all in the same classes together, always in the one classroom, which is always taught by the same teacher (probably someone's parent), regardless of age or academic prowess. You'll probably encounter a bully - stay strong and learn that walking away is the best defence, and they'll disappear forever. If the bully is of the opposite sex, you will definitely begin dating (refer #3).

5. Employment is an option for everyone. If you're a high school kid looking for some extra pocket money, don't bother with McDonalds or Woolworths, working at the corner store (which only ever has packets of chips and slices of home-made quiche for sale anyway), will keep you busy for the next three years. If you ever finish Year 12 and are thinking of going to uni, expect the owner of the store to die, or run off to Botswana to his great aunt's house because she needs a kidney and he's the only matching donor. Bingo. You own the store. You'll immediately turn it into a cool hang-out place, with a lot of neon lights and some funky art on the walls. Strangely, it didn't seem to cost you anything. Unfortunately, it will burn down the next day. Insurance? Hell no. Just wait for the neighbourhood to rebuild it from scratch. As you re-open the joint, use these words: "Thanks to everyone for this, this is fantastic. And I've learnt my lesson from dealing with dodgy fire sprinkler installers from anyone who aren't in the opening credits, I've got four different kinds of fire insurance, and the back storeroom is definitely off limits for clumsy four year olds with a box of matches!" Wait for the laughter to die down, cut the ribbon and begin your life again. You may be ripped off by the kid you hired to look after the till though.

If you're an adult, you're probably the only person in the city with your chosen profession. Doctor? Lawyer? Refrigerator repairman? Welcome to high living, and of course a little bit of improvisation. If you're an ear, nose and throat specialist, you'll definitely have to come in for some amputation work on someone whose leg was caught in the doors of an elevator as it fell fifteen stories. If you're a cop, you'll be directing traffic while leading a homicide case and tracing calls from a kidnapper. Just watch out - one wrong move will put your career in jeopardy. Forever. If you're a lawyer, you may have to sue yourself at least once in your lifetime.


Good luck, future UK panto stars!

Mister Evil Breakfast's Guide to Drinking: Part 1

In at least one time in your life, you may find yourself involved in a situation where you are expected to buy drinks, or "shout a round", for a number of people. It sounds quite simple really, but it can also be an excellent way to judge the character of your fellow drinkers.

1. The First Round shouter.

The First Round Shouter is a sneaky little prick - he appears to be the good bloke by getting in early and buying a round, but this is just his cunning ploy to either get his round in before more people turn up, or to get everyone beers before the beers become spirits.

2. The Pee-Breaker

The Pee-Breaker will wait until at least you've left the group to go to the toilet, and then he rushes to the bar, grabs a round and is back before your zip has even come down. If someone disappears to the toilet in the middle of a shout, they have at least 5 minutes to return before you can officially rule them out of the shout.
(if Mr Football catches you being a Pee-Breaker, you'd better start running)

3. The Miscounter

Someone who constantly misses at least one person in organising a shout. If he misses more than one person, they are then able to legally form a Super League (see below) in protest.

4. Super League

A few people who will be part of the larger group's conversations and plans, but will only buy drinks for their fellow rebels.

5. The "I'll Pay if You Go" Guy

Sounds like a good deal, doesn't it? Someone slips you a $20 and all you have to do is order for him and receive half of the credit for the shout. Unfortunately, the shout cost is at least $40, and it's still your round next.

6. Frothy Mo shouter

Everyone takes a sip of their freshly-bought schooner, and as you wipe the beer foam from your top lip, you hear, "Alright boys, who wants a drink?" He'll only ever buy for himself, but will accept a drink from just about anyone.

7. Phone Call Shouter

The glasses are down on the bar, and everyone's already looking for their next drink. I've done mine, you've done yours, he's done his, that leaves... the Phone Call Shouter strikes again. All eyes are on him, and he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone and then runs outside to "take his call". Strangely, the call ends as soon as someone else takes the bullet and buys his round.

8. The Bad Luck Shouter

One round is worth four beers. The next round is worth four beers. Enter two more guys and their girlfriends. The next round is worth six beers and two Breezers. Then the new guys and their girls leave. The next round is worth four beers. Bad luck.

9. The Soft Drink shouter

Occasionally, there'll be a guy who isn't drinking alcohol who's out with you. It's up to the group dynamic to work out whether or not they are included in the shout, or if they need to buy at least one round anyway. Don't be surprised if this debate causes fights or loses you friends.

10. Last Round Guy

The bar staff are yawning, the mops are out, the sun is rising and there's a kebab out there with your name on it. You somehow manage to swallow the last mouthful of beer, somehow manage to put the empty glass back on the table, and somehow manage to coerce one more round out of your friends.


Drink responsibly!

where did i come from, where did i go?

To me, the solution to childhood obesity can be solved quite simply: Musical Theatre.
Unless Childhood Obesity means something other than what I think it does.

the MEBCAM feast

As is tradition at the end of MEBCAM, a feast of KFC is served on the 31st of each August – it is entirely up to the host as to which burger, value meal, combo bucket or feed box to serve. But the tradition of the MEBCAM feast is steeped in… uh… tradition. MEBCAM was a pagan ritual set up to pay homage to the Canberra gods for the greatest place on earth. There was Paak-Wey, who was the god of travel, and one of the most popular of the ancient deities. He was often depicted with a steering wheel in one hand, a mobile phone in the other and a large Coke between his knees. Paak-Wey’s followers can be easily identified even today, as they wear his motto proudly: I voted for a dragway.
Other popular gods included Staij For (the goddess of weather), Mousse-Hed (god of alcohol and love) and HottDoggs (god of late night tv game shows). In ancient MEBCAM ceremonies, offerings were made to the gods for their benevolence in the past, continued generosity for the future, and more comfortable seating at Hoyts cinemas today. Offerings included gold and precious stones, virgin sacrifices, and in at least one case, $100 000 worth of fireworks set to go off to the tune of “Purple Haze”. As the story goes, the gods became tired of these gifts (especially the fireworks), as the gold and stones had no value in Publik Serviss (where the gods lived, also where all Canberrans go after death), the virgin sacrifices were increasingly hard to find, and the music and lights show didn’t have ample parking. They wanted food – fried chicken, to be precise, but could not order due to the incompetent fourteen year old working on drive-thru. This angered them so much that they released the banished god of mayhem and irritation, Viziting Tewrist, from his prison (Queanbeyan) and he tore through the city like a chilled wind, complaining about the weather, the people, the jobs, the buildings, the trees, that dog, your brother, an emu, The Cheesecake Shop, an escalator… anything that could be criticised, was. His criticism wore down many, and they sided with him in his harsh interpretation of Canberra, but there was still an army of strong-willed Canberrans who fought back, with powerful protective chants like “fuck off back to Melbourne, you skivvy-wearing wanker,” “Sydney? Where’s that?” and “Yeah, Queensland’s ok. But have you been to Tasmania?” While not destroying Viziting Tewrist completely, it diminished his power enough to trap him inside the ‘Chasm of Wind’, which exists between the Woden Library and the Plaza entrance (where the big fountain was, before it dried up in the drought of 1792). Even on still days, where there is not a breath of wind, this corridor inexplicably generates gusts with enough power to knock off a hat, blow away loose papers or cause you to say, “Shit, where did this wind come from?”
So this Friday the 31st of August, grab a bit of KFC and do your best to appease the gods, raise your cholesterol and think, “Fuck, you know what? Canberra is bloody good. Isn’t it?”

Isn’t it indeed.

A Brief History of Canberra

I've had the Prime Possum theme stuck in my head for the past week. It's been the greatest seven days of my life.


Many people reading this blog (and yes, I can see the irony of saying "many people" and "this blog" in the same sentence) will probably be wanting more information on the wonderful land of Canberra, since they've probably already packed their eskimo jackets in anticipation to move here. Note to those people: Bring pants as well.

Canberra is one of the most ancient cities in the world. It was founded around 1 billion BC by Kevin H. Canberra, a traveller from Antarctica who was sick of the heat and humidity of his own country. Impressed with the layout of the land, Kevin began 'the new world' by building a mall at one end of the city limits, and houses at the other end. This meant that you could sit back and admire the landscape for the duration of your travelling time, which was around 6 weeks, as the early inhabitants of Canberra were fish, and they hadn't evolved legs yet. It didn't take long for that to happen though, as Canberra's first drought struck the year after Kevin laid the first stone. Funnily enough, that drought is still going, so it shouldn't take long before we grow wings. Awesome.

Kevin's legacy as Captain of Canberra was abrupty ended when he was attacked by a rogue shopping trolley that had escaped the blue-green algae from Lake Gininderra. Fingers were pointed at UC students, other fingers at patrons of Sails (now The Lighthouse). In the end, it was realised that they were the same people. Their punishment was to be subjected to poor university residential dwellings and the worst McDonalds drive-thru ever made. It is still a sentence that is being served today.

The next leader of the Berra was Reginald War-Memorial, whose dream was to create a building so beautiful, so unique and with such emotional power that it would be talked about for generations to come, and stand as a momument to the struggles and hardships of Australian history. And so he began work on Telstra tower.

The Telstra Tower was completed in 1682, and still stands to this day as one of Canberra's most recognisable landmarks. However, this was not always the way. The Tower created a rift between the citizens of Canberra who saw this as a massive waste of money, seeing as telecommunications were still a few hundred years away.
The next Lord of Canberra was Elmer G. Kingsley, an explorer from Cooma. He saw the Tower and kept walking north, and lo! Welcome to Canberra. Kingsley is known in the tomes of history as the laziest of all explorers, as that was about as far as he ever went. Next time you're driving around Canberra, wondering which way is north, just look for the Tower, and think of Kingsley. It may not happen for a while, but then again, it might. I'm not a fucking mind-reader here people, I'm just a die-hard historian. Kingsley later set up a franchise to sell fast food to the people of Canberra, the likes of which can still be found at RJs food wagon in Woden.

This is taking way too long and I'm losing interest (so I can't imagine how you're feeling right now), so we'll skip forward a millenium or so and look at Canberra today.

2007's Canberra is the busiest city in the world, with a population of around 70 billion people. Its major exports are Persian rugs, refresher towels and ceramic figurines of old people having sex. Great works of art are found on the outside walls of prominent buildings, park benches are adorned with poetry (Pete craves cock, according to the work of one unknown writer in Glebe Park) and the residential architecture issues constant reminders of the 1970s and 80s. If Mission Brown is your favourite colour, then you're in luck - 96% of houses are 83% brown, and there is a 100% chance that this is not going to change anytime soon.
Tourism is also a huge part of the Canberran economy, with around a squillion people per year entering Ngunnawal country to catch a glimpse of the big fountain in the middle of Lake Burley Griffin, or to have their photos taken outside the Woden cinemas. With pubs, clubs and trendy restaurants as far as the eye can see (the shorter-sighted you are, the better), young and old will mingle seamlessly under the watchful eye of the sometimes-working-sometimes-not streetlights.
Traveller's tip: If you find yourself lost in the labyrinth of the city centre, feel free to approach any local Canberran and ask for directions. The most it will cost you is $3 in change (for a sandwich or a bus ride home, apparently) or two cigarettes.
Pollution has been called a problem, with smoke often thick in the air on busier streets. This is quite easily countered by winding up your window while the windscreen washing lepers drool and flick ash on the side of your car. For those without cars, the public transport system is second to none, and many Canberrans have 'discovered the pluses of buses', including many escaped mental patients, unemployed drug addicts and fourteen year-old mothers of three, who will always give you the option of either taking one of her children away, or the opportunity to give her another one. Now THAT is Canberran hospitality!

The only downside of coming to Canberra is leaving. As we Canberrans say, "Come back soon!" (but not if you're from Sydney. You guys can go get fucked.)

Canberra's A-List of Evil Breakfastness

Canberra, being the thriving metropolis that it is, certainly does have its fair share of top-end celebrities. Move over Brad Pitt, whoever you are. Step aside, Bono, or whatever your name is. This is Canberra. And this is the Top 5 Canberra Celebs (in the order that I thought of them in).

5. The guy from the Magnet Mart ads.

“The challenge keeps us cheaper.” Beautiful.

The Magnet Mart guy lives and works somewhere in Canberra, betwixt Banks and Gungahlin. Being one of Canberra’s most well-known and well-loved celebrities certainly has its drawbacks, and he has become somewhat of a recluse, for fears of being mobbed by legions of screaming fans. When he does venture out of his solid gold mansion, Magnet Mart guy can be found in the Woden Plaza food court, trying as hard as he can to blend in with the rest of Canberra, with his suit and tie, freshly waxed bald head, and fluro sunnies resting on top. In a world first medical event, he had his sunglasses surgically attached to his head in early 2001.

Magnet Mart guy, apparently you’re a tool, but I still love you. In that way.


4. Anyone from WIN News.

Whenever there’s a groundbreaking story to cover in the ACT, these guys are onto it. Whether it’s a new statue being dedicated, or plans for a new statue, or a statue being vandalised, the WIN News team are there to make sure Canberra knows. Journalism at its highest, especially with the classic sign off, “If you have a story, email it to us at the address below.” Nice work.
I haven’t actually seen WIN News for about 400 years though. It’s not my fault The Simpsons is on at the same time.


3. The Canberra Cabs voice guy

This champion must be fighting off the ladies with a stick. And the blokes, too. Actually, anyone who’s ever met the guy will probably want a piece, just to make sure he’s dead. The Canberra Cabs voice guy is the most well-known and most-hated guy who’s ever graced Canhattan. Canvegas? Eh. For anyone who’s ever wanted to order a taxi at any time of the day or night, and has been greeted with this voice from Hades, knows that their phone has about 4 seconds to live before it’s crushed by involuntary hand spasms.
The quick syllables yet incredibly slow speech of the Canberra Cabs voice guy is just… uuugh I just spewed all over the keyboard just by thinking about it.. uuh.
Hllo. Wlcme. To. Can-berra. Cabs. If. Yew. Are. Wishing. To. Go. To. The. Airport. Say. Airport.

Seriously, the airport isn’t that great.

If. You. Are. Ready. Now…… Say. Ready.
“Ready.”
If. You. Would. Like. To. Make. A. Booking. For. The. Future. Say. Future.
“Ready.”
Pls. Say. Th. Name. Of. Yr. Pick. Up. Point.
“Your mum’s house.”
You. Sed. 14 Westham Crescent. Is. This. Corrct?
“No.”
Pls. Say. Yes. Or. No.
“No.”
Pls. Say. Th. Name. Of. Yr. Pick. Up. Point.
“Jolimont Centre.”
You. Sed. 14 Westham Crescent. Is. This. Corrct?
“Yes.”
Pls. Say. Yes. Or. No.
“Yes.”
I. Cannot. Under. Stand. You.
*click*

If I ever meet you, Canberra Cabs voice guy, I’m going to shake your hand and then rip it off and beat you with it. I don’t even think Westham Crescent exists.



2. Jackie Chan’s parents.

Now, these guys may or may not live in Canberra, I think it’s Queanbeyan actually, but in the true Aussie tradition of claiming people for our own when they’re clearly not from here at all, we’ll let our guard down and take in a couple of Quanger battlers. Rumour has it that they once owned a pub, or a club, or a restaurant or something (details are my life), but since I’m not sure where or what it actually is, I’ll just say it’s probably my most favourite place in the whole wide world. I’ll even go so far as to say it will either be the venue of my wedding, or my actual bride.
Jackie Chan is awesome, I don’t care what you say. Shanghai Noon will be remembered like Citizen Kane.


1. Prime Possum

Prime Possum (for those not in the know) is a 10 second filler for Channel 7, who appears at 7:30 each night to tell the little ones to go to bed. If you’re not from Canberra (you unlucky souls), you’ve probably got your own version. But ours is better.

Prime Possum lives high up in a tree.
Prime Possum, soft and cuddly.
Prime Possum loves every boy and girl.
So let’s help Prime Possum to make a better world.

He’s also usually accompanied by a young hottie who’s tired of being a stripper at Sinnies or a Canberra Raiders cheerleader (Canberra + Winter + short skirts and a mid-riff top = unhappy ‘dancers’), although for a while, Remy Broadway was his right-hand man. You may remember Remy from his work on ABC’s “The Late Show” as Piffy the Bellringer during possibly the greatest toilet break ever. He still has puffy sleeves.

So who is inside Prime Possum? Rumours are wild – the old Prime newsreaders; Tiny from Rods N’ Tackle; Robbo from Fyshwick.com.

I prefer to believe that Prime Possum really is a 6 foot possum, who does live high up in a tree, wears corporate t-shirts and pats children’s heads as they lay in bed. Awesome.

Wonders of the Breakfast World

While the Big Skiing Kangaroo is still under construction (but to be honest, not much else has been done, other than have the sign put up) Canberra does appear to be lacking in the architecture that stands out, that defines a city. New York has the Empire State Building, Paris with its Eiffel Tower, Barcelona with Gaudi. Canberra, the greatest city in the world, has a selection to appeal to each and every one of its inhabitants.

The ABC Obelisk. Located in the heart of the city, driving along Northbourne Avenue is now even more of a treat. It’s always fun to be stuck at the same set of traffic lights for three or four changes, but if you’re lucky and find yourself within sight of the ABC Building, you have the added bonuses of (a) knowing exactly how long you’ve been sitting there; and (b) knowing just how cold it is outside. So when you get to wherever it is that you’re going (and if you’re me, you’ll be late), someone will say, “Phroar. How cold is it?” And even though you know they’re making more of a statement than asking a question, you can reply with “well, at 8:27 it was 2 degrees.” Conversation starter or stopper? You be the judge.

Civic Sheep. Just outside Subway, near the Carousel of Justice (and cans of Coke for $1, bargain) there's a statue of two sheep. One is sitting on a throne, legs splayed like Paris Hilton (but less crying). The other is looking at the Paris sheep, slightly bemused, like Lindsay Lohan. I’m pretty sure there’s a plaque describing what is actually going on with them, but it’s quite small and at the bottom of the Lindsay Lohan sheep, and I have a restraining order, so I can’t get close enough to read it. These sheep provide endless hours of amusement for drunken idiots wandering Civic at night, and unless you’ve had your photo taken with your crotch pressed up against Paris sheep, you can’t really say you’ve experienced Canberra. The Blarney Stone can kiss my Canberran arse, the sheep is where it’s at.

The Homeworld Lantern. Shining out from the depths of Tuggeranong like the Lighthouse of Alexandria, this beacon reminds everyone of where they are – especially handy if you’ve just come out of Wanniassa or Chisholm or another confusing, crazy suburb that lives down there, and your choices are to turn left or right – one will take you down to Tharwa or Mittagong or some bumfuck nowhere place, and the other will put you back onto the Parkway. Just stop, and look around. High above the treeline, glowing like the star that led the Wise Men to baby Jesus, is the Homeworld Lantern. Get your bearings and carry on, soldier. Is also handy if you’re in Tuggers and looking for KFC.

In ancient Canberran mythology, the Homeworld Lantern was created from the eye of Sharon, the fifteen year old Tuggeranong goddess of fertility and Centrelink. According to the classic poem “4 eva”, which was written on the underpass wall on Boddington Crescent in Kambah, Sharon and Tracee (the goddess of hydroponic plant growth) were locked in an epic battle over who pashed Wayne (the semi-deity of black jeans) first. Tracee ripped out Sharon’s eye and threw it into Lake Tuggeranong, which then spewed it back out and into the sky. Sharon, one-eyed and bloody, still managed to defeat Tracee by luring her onto Wheeler Crescent, where she became stuck in the Wheeler/Sternberg loop, and no-one ever heard from her again. For years afterwards, people entering Wanniassa said they entered it with a full pack of cigarettes, and when they left, they were all gone.

The Parkway Datto. The sight of a broken down car on the Tuggeranong Parkway is not a rare one. But there is one car that has become a part of Canberra’s folklore over several years – the Parkway Datto. The Parkway Datto (or PD, for those in the know) has the mystical ability to appear in a slightly different position along the stretch of road that joins Tuggeranong to Belconnen to each person who views it. So too, does the car lose another piece of itself. First the hubcaps are gone, then the wheels get stolen, then the back window is smashed, the front windscreen disappears, then the mirrors, bonnet, the steering wheel. All gone. But yet, the PD never completely disappears. A mystery made by man, but beyond our comprehension.

MEBCAM returns!

It's August, so you know what that means...


C is for the Capital of Australia (and my heart)
A is for the month of August (Canberra Appreciation Month)
N is for the Nowhere else I’d rather be
B is for the Burley of Walter Burley Griffin fame, who designed our fair city.
E is for the Easy-going cab drivers
R is for the Rest of the world (and how they can get stuffed cause they don’t live here. Losers)
R is for the extra R in Canberra
A is for the way you say “Hey” or try to start speaking Scottish after a few pints.


Welcome to Mister Evil Breakfast's Canberra Appreciation Month for 2007!

Mister Round 19 Breakfast

Welcome sportsfans to Round 19. I am slowly climbing the footy tipping ladder. Another 14 427 places to climb, and I will be in top position. And then you can all worship me like the god that I am. If I decide to let you. On the other hand, I could smite you down.


Sharks vs Manly

Well, since I hate Manly, I can’t tip them. The Sharks by 14. (But Manly will probably win)



Titans vs Bulldogs

The Titans were horribly thrashed by the mighty mighty Raiders last week. I don’t see much changing for them this time around. They may even get beaten by more. Dogs by at least 30. Ouch.



Panthers vs Dragons

Wow… here’s two underachieving teams wasting everyone’s time by playing each other. The Dragons have Gasnier back, which will no doubt give Penrith a boost, because he is quite possibly the most overrated player in the history of time. Can’t pass, can’t kick, can’t tackle. Better put him in the thick of things then. Hopefully he’ll play for 3 minutes, injure his left tit and that’ll be the last we ever hear of him again. Should be sweet. Panthers by 10.



Knights vs Roosters

Does anyone care? Knights by a bee’s dick.



Storm vs Raiders

The magnificent green machine kicked arse last week, led by the little terrier Alan Tongue. That guy is worth 40 points, as he proved last week in defence. With Will Zillman floating around the back, look for the Raiders to put on at least 30 points. Unfortunately, the Storm will put on at least 60. Poor Raiders.



Warriors vs Tigers

How good are the Warriors playing at the moment? To be honest, I have no idea, but I saw them a few weeks ago, and they looked shit-hot. Compare this to the Tigers, who were looking pretty ordinary (I last saw them in 1994) and it’s a clear cut decision. Warriors by 8.



Cowboys vs Souths

Every time I tip the Cowboys, they lose. So… Cowboys, by 16. (Go you Bunnies!)



Broncos vs Eels

Well well well. Dazza Lockyer is out, and Tonie Fucking Carroll is stepping up into the number 6 jersey. That’s kind of scary, really. It could either be the best or worst decision of all time. Ever. This could be a fairly poignant moment in the history of time, as Carroll decides to beat seven shades of shit out of whoever Parra have stuck opposite him. Still… Parra by 14.

Mister Advertising Breakfast

Is it just me, or is there an absolute goat load of shit ads on tv at the moment? Sometimes the remote control is juuuuuust out of arm's reach, so I'm forced to watch these 30 second drivel pieces.

I proudly present:

SHIT ADS

Fresh Wick Air Spray (or whatever the fuck it’s called). An elephant and a centipede hook up, a 5 foot butterfly lends some milk to the cow next door. What does this have to do with air freshener? Fuck all and nothing, that’s what. Stupid, crap ad. Go to hell. I'd rather see a book of carpet samples talking to a left-footed gumboot about the demise of the Adelaide Rams than watch this retarded campaign carry on. Actually, I'd rather see the carpet samples talking to a gumboot more than anything. Anything.



The “Children See, Children Do” ad – not that I exactly hate it, but I’m a little confused. There’s a chick smoking, a bloke chucking his tinnie on the ground, a bird having a spew, a dude yelling at his Dry Cleaner, a little ferret yelling at a baby, which are all bad things yes yes no one’s disputing that… but then there’s some dude chucking rocks at a fence. What’s the deal with rock fence man? Maybe I’m an idiot, but I don’t see the fence complaining.



Coco Pops ads. They’re shit.



Rivers ads. Shit. And annoying. And they make me dizzy. And the one with the chicks running just looks plain uncomfortable.



The Tooheys Extra Dry ad with the numbnut with the stupid hair doing whatever the fuck he’s doing. You know the one, it doesn’t make any sense at all. He grows some pod things, and then rides his lawnmower. Yeah. It’s a shame, cause I was just starting to like Extra Dry again. Thanks for ruining that. Actually, TEDs have had a shit run of ads, starting with that one where the guy’s tongue goes for a wander. You suck, Tooheys.



The Snap Break Microwaveable Vegies ad. They don’t explain anything about why that guy has suddenly turned to eating his greens. It’s just crap, and the chick in it used to be in Breakers.



The KFC Toasted Twister ad, only because it has Fraser from Neighbours in it. Walking. But not acting.



The Telstra ad with Bob Geldof in it. I hate Bob Geldof for no apparent reason, so this one is there by proxy. The Dustin Hoffman one isn’t much chop either. I guess those guys need some money. A dumptruck of it would do nicely. Thanks Telstra.



Coke ads are annoying me. Pity. Coke is good shit.



Any of the Brand Power ads with a former Australian ‘celebrity’. Like I give a toss if Georgie Parker washes her dog’s nuts with Johnson and Johnson’s Dog Nut Formula, or if that chick from that other crap show has a migraine. Here’s a cure – take one glass of Toughen the Fuck Up and punch yourself in the throat.



Whatever the ad for “Team Australia” is all about – that’s just ridiculous. I never realised we missed Steve Irwin that much that we had to have auditions for Australia ’s biggest knob-end.



Any Dodo Internet ad with that stupid Tara Reid person in it. Actually, any Dodo Internet ad at all. Tara Reid just makes them worse. She’s not hot, she’s not talented, and I doubt that Dodo would have had the proverbial dumptruck to coerce her into doing it, which means she probably did it for the cost of three West Coast Coolers and a round of mini golf with the winner of Big Brother.



The AAMI ad with the little annoying girl in the backseat telling her dad how much petrol needs to be. I have almost mastered my mind powers to reach into the tv and punch her. And when I do it, you'd better be watching. Anyway, if she can find petrol for $1.10, I'll eat my own feet. Unless that car she's in is a Delorean and they're driving around at 88 miles per hour, that price of petrol is just not going to happen. She shits me because of the false hope that she represents. The only good thing about this ad is the hottie that they show at the end of the ad. That chick must be about a trillion years old by now.



These ads all suck. Give me 20 minutes, a budget of $40 (so I can buy a case of beer) and watch me write a thousand better ads.

Seriously. I need $40.

Mister Footy Tips NRL Breakfast

G'day tigers,

It's Friday (maybe) and that means everyone in the known world will get to about 4:30, crack a beer and think about the weekend, then someone will say, "Did you do your footy tips?" and then there'll be a massive rush to get to the computer to punch in your teams for the weekend. No wonder the internet is so slow around 5pm, the entire universe is logging on to do their tips.

Here are mine:

Warriors/Panthers - well... the Panthers are a better team, but rarely turn up to play these days. And I'm never sure if Rhys Wesser is actually ever running fast. Or if Wesser has an H in it. I don't think so. But the Warriors have a thousand players in their team without vowels in their names, so they win on the hardest to spell comp. So the Warriors to win this one by 12. Choice.

Manly/Bulldogs - basically a decision for who I hate more. Which is Manly. But since I'm not doing so well in the tips this year, I'll have to go against my guts and pick a winner. So Manly by a thousand, cause the Dogs are SHIT.

Raiders/Cowboys - The Cowboys are out and out the best team in the North Queensland area. Unfortunately, they don't like to show off too often, so have decided to lose their last few games by the small matter of a million points. And they're the Raiders, so I have to tip them. And it's in Canberra, and it's cold, so the Raiders should quite easily post a century. Will Zillman could be in for man of the match.

Roosters/Eels - I hate the Roosters. Probably cause Braith Anasta plays for them. But moreso because they're crap little girls who plait each other's hair in the change room. They don't tackle because they're afraid of breaking nails or ruining their hair. Except Craig Wing, who is worried his mascara might run. But he'll always wipe some dirt on his face by the end of the game. It drives the girlies wild cause he's "rough". But he's just signed on for the Bunnies, so he's null and void anyway, moreso than usual. Parra by 18.

Titans/Knights - any team with Matt Rogers in it should be hated. Like the way any team that had Anthony Mundine in it should be hated. So I'd say GO KNIGHTS, but they will most likely lose, so tip the Titans, but secretly go for Newcastle. Andrew Johns is rolling over in his wheelchair.

Souths/Sharkies - Hmmmm... if this were a contest in the wild, I'd probably tip the Sharks. Rabbits can get quite vicious if you piss them off and corner them, but I still don't think they'd beat a shark. Especially if they were in water. If it's a land battle... yeah, I'd probably still tip the Sharks. By 14.

Storm/Dragons - Mundine ruined the Dragons. Actually, Jamie Ainscough ruined the Dragons. Ricky Walford almost made up for that, but not quite. And Rod Wishart will live on as the only Steeler anyone can remember. The Storm are going pretty bloody well, so we'll have to assume they'll touch up the Dragons by about 24 points.

Broncos/Tigers - The Broncos have always been a great team. Even when they weren't around, I would back them. But now they're not so good, but I always think they still are. FUCK. Does that make sense? No? Too bad. They'll lose, but I'm tipping them, because I have a funny feeling Alan Langer will come back. And Michael Hancock. And I don't like the Tigers much without Benji. Broncs by 2. Yep, it's a close one.


Good luck, and I will not be held accountable for loss of body organs to pay for your gambling losses.

Mister State of Evil

QLD 10 def NSW 6.

And really, it should have been a lot more.

After possibly the most boring game of State of Origin football ever, I have decided to chronicle the spectacle for years to come via this great medium known as the interweb. Generations to come will be able to read about the mediocrity of Australia’s best players, and this game will live on long after it has been forgotten. Although most of it has been forgotten by me already, but the general theme of the game has been captured beautifully.

It all started badly when Guy Sebastian came on to sing the national anthem. Credit where credit is due, this dude can sing, but there’s no need for that R’n’B trill voice shit going on in Advance Australia Fair. If I wanted to hear Christina Aguilera’s latest single, I would have stabbed myself in the face. Just bang out the anthem with modesty and passion, thanks Guy. Leave the showing off to your Westfield appearances.

Run through the sides, blah blah blah Karmichael Hunt blah blah blah Berrigan blah Thurston blah Petero. Blah blah NSW some guy some other guy blah blah. Basically the same team that looked ordinary in Game 1. Of interest to me was Anthony Minichello had been replaced by Brett Stewart from Manly, and although I hate Manly like I hate all inbred spastics, this guy is pretty good. So maybe they will win, I think. And then they confirm that Braith Anasta is still there, so no, they probably won’t. Although Braith already has some tape holding his head together, so I dare say someone (most likely Danny Buderus) has king-hit him in warm up. Or maybe he was waxing his monobrow and got carried away.

So it’s kick-off time, and some guy kicks it to some other guy, who passes it to someone else and they run forward. It’s a beautiful, intricate game, like if chess pieces could do ballet, and then do kickboxing all the time instead of either playing chess or dancing ballet steps. I'm enjoying the fact that Willie Mason is getting his arse handed to him every time he thinks about getting involved in the game. Look for him to be dropped for Game 3, but selected for the Kangaroos. So not much is happening for a while, and then someone scores. I can’t remember exactly what happened, but I’m pretty sure I was unimpressed.

Speaking of being unimpressive, I don’t get why so many people rate Karmichael Hunt. The dude has never broken the line with his “massive” side-step, which is just him running slowly across field and jumping whenever someone gets close enough to tackle him.
Oh look, Willie Mason just knocked Jonathon Thurston out of the way. Well done, Willie, you’ve just run over the smallest man alive. Welcome to you being 6’3 and 110kgs. Idiot.

Justin Hodges doesn’t pass ever, which is pretty handy for NSW, cause he likes to get into dummy half and amble forward. Here’s another guy who has no pace or agility. Well done. Although after his ‘passing’ efforts a few years back, maybe it’s for the best.
Matt Cooper also seems to be having trouble letting go of the ball, or for that matter, doing anything useful when he does have it. Tits on a bull. And this NSW Bull already has enough tits, so goodbye Coop. Nice seeing you again. I’m sure you’ll do well at whatever side you’re playing for these days.

More running, a try to the Blues (nice one Stewie!) and we might have a game FINALLY. Nope, more rubbish in the 2nd half. I can’t recall anything, as there was a slow moving ant on the wall that captured my attention for most of the 40 mins. I think even Ray Warren lost interest, and started reading from The Great Gatsby on air. No one noticed.

It did get a bit exciting in the last 5 minutes when NSW could have stolen it from QLD, as they all finally started throwing the pill around (except for Cooper). But then they dropped the ball (Cooper again) and didn’t really do anything to deserve winning. Although the stats will show that QLD won, we can safely say that Rugby League was the real loser.

Wrap: Kimmorley was just a bit more useful than Mullen, but that’s not terribly difficult. I guess it’s hard to form a half-line partnership when your partner is Braith Anasta. Surely there’s someone else that we can find who can actually play this sport? Bring friggin Laurie Daley out of retirement. But not Fittler, I hate that prick.

Hot Tip for Game 3: Drop Mason, Anasta and Cooper. Bring in me, my left nut and Will Zillman. Game 3 would be saved, and the Origin spirit would live on.

Mr Evil Blogfast

Mister Evil Breakfast’s People I’d Like To Punch #3:
Websnob

You probably know someone like this – you might even be that person, and secretly proud of it.

You’re a wanker.

You are the person who has just downloaded every tv show, movie and documentary ever. I ask you about an episode of Party of Five, where tragedy strikes the Salinger family. You know the one, it was not-to-be-missed television. Yep, I’ve got it, you say, proud as Avril Lavigne at rhyming ‘better’ with ‘like, so whatever’.
Where did you get it? inquiring minds want to know.
The smile drops from your face like David Hasselhoff on a hamburger. Your reply is short and useless, like Fred Savage. The internet.

The internet? You wanknut.

What on earth is this wondrous interthing of which you speak? I have been in a coma for the last 27 years of my life and have no idea what you are talking about. It just seems too complicated to bother thinking about. The internet? I’ll just sit here with my stone tools and make grunting noises like Paris Hilton.

You wanktard. The internet is a pretty large place. I’d say it would probably rival Casey Donovan in terms of size, and may even be slightly more entertaining. Last time I checked, there’s more than just one site on there now. Why not save me a bit of time and tell me the site name? I’d rather not go through a thousand freakin crappy fansites about the episode where Bailey smiled so wide his dimples caused a ripple in the space/time continuum and Neve Campbell saw into the future (and it looked bleak; not even her making out with Denise Richards could save her. [But thanks for the memories]) just to find this one episode. Where did you download it?
There’s heaps of sites, comes your swift reply. Almost as swift as my pet shark eating your elbows, I think to myself. Ever tried to use a mouse without elbows? Your arms would get really tired, and you wouldn’t be able to download anything. Seriously, it would suck arse.
Yes, there are heaps of sites, wankface, that’s why I asked. Don’t tell me it’s too complicated for me to understand; I invented the interwebs, wankarse.

You’re the person who has a new pair of shoes, a shirt, a CD or DVD that you bought off the internet, and you’re just that little bit too proud of it. Look at me, you say. I purchased this from a computer. I have split the atom.

How dare anyone else be interested in the things that I am, you say to yourself. I am unique and special and if anyone else has a t-shirt with Pac Man on it, I will lose my edge over the rest of society.
Where did you purchase it?
The internet. Next time, just tell me you bought while you were trekking through the Philippines, and the shop that you bought it from has since been washed away by mudslides and tsunamis. To be honest, I was just making conversation anyway, and you look like a tool.

You're a wanker. Google that.

drinking makes you sexy

Drinking Game #2 - Big Brother

For those of us who are just too lazy to change the channel at 7pm after Neighbours, make sure there's a bottle of your favourite liquor under the couch, and make BB even more fun than watching random strangers talk about their toenail clippings.

- 1 shot every time someone says “at the end of the day”.
- 2 shots whenever someone says “I love you” to one of the perfect strangers they’ve been whored up with. Have two more shots if that perfect stranger is either Cousin Larry or Balky Bartogamoose.
- 1 shot whenever there’s a shot of a famewhore in a bikini sitting next to a bloke in three jackets and beanie, just so she can get her tits on tv one more time. And hey, cold weather brings out the nips, which brings in the viewers, which sells famewhore magazines.
- when a previous housemate (from any season):
- is actually heard of again (1 shot).
- heard of again in a positive light (2 shots).
- seen with their boobs hanging out in ‘Zoo’, ‘Ralph’ or ‘FHM’ (1 shot).
- 1 shot each time you see a guy wearing a beanie but not a shirt.
- 1 shot if someone on the show calls being in the house “an experience” or “a journey” rather than a “three month holiday”.
- 2 shots whenever one of the female housemates starts talking about how fat or unattractive she is, just so the fatter and more unattractive housemates can tell her that she’s beautiful.
- 1 shot whenever someone fixes their hair in one of the million mirrors in the house. Hey, better make sure you look good, just in case one of the cameras captures you with a bad hair moment.
- 2 shots if someone claims not to care about the prize money – win it and we’ll see how much you don’t care. Give it to me if it’s really all about “the experience”.
- 1 shot if the phrase “under the radar” comes out.
- 2 shots when you’re not sure if the show is hosted by a haggis or if Gretel Kileen really is still alive.
- 2 shots when someone describes themselves as “wild, crazy and outrageous” but are really just dumb sluts.
- 1 shot if someone says “stirring the pot”.
- 2 shots whenever someone asks the token gay bloke about being homosexual, as if they were from a different planet. “So, can you still eat chicken?”
- 1 shot whenever you think Mike Goldman has just had a fresh line of Wizz Fizz.
- 2 shots when the ‘intellectual’ housemate invents a word to try and talk down to a ‘retarded’ housemate (e.g. “I love the diversality of this place. It’s got such a culturalisation.”)
- 2 shots whenever one of the housemates reveals a very ‘special’, ‘spiritual’ and ‘emotional’ secret or moment with the other window lickers, breaks down in tears and receives lots of hugs and “we love ya, mate”’s. 3 shots if this is during a week when that particular spastic is up for eviction.
- 5 shots if you vote for the numpties in the house.

With three BB shows on daily, attempting this game may seriously damage (or end) your life.

Bottoms up!

someone dropped a bomb somewhere

Righto. So some fat loser has decided to sue to NSW Government because he was bullied… and he won, so now he never has to work a minute in his sad, useless life. I hope now he understands why he was bullied.

Boo fucking hoo, you got beat up and called names when you were young. Welcome to school, pally boy. I’d say most of the people who went to school would have been bullied at one stage. It builds character. You enter school as a bucket of porridge, and leave sculpted out of Lego. If I hadn’t been bullied at school, I probably wouldn’t be able to juggle beer kegs with my pecs like I can now. Actually, I probably would, but I’d only be able to keep three in the air. Maybe four.

So thanks, Mr Useless Bastard for setting a stupid precedent which will no doubt “inspire” a whole new generation of pussies to claim mental anguish and be forced to sit at home with a bag of Cheese and Bacon Balls watching Oprah and then go on The Biggest Loser to “inspire” some other useless bastards.

You know what would be more inspiring? If you dried those pretty little pig eyes, cowboyed up and didn't receive the Mister Evil Breakfast Award for being this week's biggest oxygen-pirate. Take the knocks and come back (like Rocky) bigger and better than last time (until Rocky 4). Sure, it would mean you'd have to get a job and actually participate in life, but at least people wouldn't hate you. I polled a thousand people (ok, one, and it was me) and 100% of my survey think you suck.

You'd better spend that money on training to become a time-travelling ninja so you can go back and tear your bullies a new hole, or I'm gonna fire up my size 11s and kick you in the teeth so bad that even the bloke from The Pogues will think, "Fuck man, that guy's ugly."

quiche

If you drive your car around with a smashed windscreen and ripped seats, you can fool parking inspectors into feeling sorry for you, and you can park pretty much anywhere.