Ah Jo Bailey, you tell me what to buy

There are some ads doing the rounds featuring the gorgeous Jo Bailey. You may remember her from such shows like Sale of the Century and Sale of the Century: 15th Anniversary special. You can read her IMDB entry here;

The ads consist of Jo, her sound guy, and a camera person, interviewing celebrities about products they trust. During the talk about trust, the image usually cuts to some footage of the product or service being used or implemented. I think the camera person is drunk or suffers from a severe inner ear imbalance as it keeps shaking side to side, doco style. Maybe they’re using hidden cameras so they can get a genuine response? At one stage I started getting motion sickness. The footage alternates between colour and black and white, so is automatically far kewler than sticking to the one type.

Only someone with the intellectual stimulation of a magazine only reading diet could possibly confuse Nicky as representing some sort of unbiased consumer advice service. So I got no problem with that. In fact, here’s the blurb on Zoot Review from their parent company the Buchanan Group.

Zoot Review is a unique vehicle for television. A celebrity is chosen, and their experiences trialling your product form the basis of a Zoot Review Execution. Well-known presenter Jo Bailey asks the celebrity conversational questions about the product. Stylish, upbeat and spontaneous in execution, Zoot Review combines third party credibility with honest, entertaining action and dialogue. These stand out qualities have delivered impressive sales results for a wide range of products.

http://www.buchanangroup.com.au/

Apparently drunken camera persons are unique to Zoot. That’s good to see. And I’m glad they’re choosing celebrities right for the product then getting them to test them in operating conditions. Sorry, that should be trialling them (that might be where it may be unique – since Trialling is not actually a word). How exactly would the choosing of the celebrity go? Two men enter, one man leave? Top 12 whittled down by judges with a withering commentary combined with some sort of skills test like spontaneous laughter? Someone that has faded out of the spotlight and desperate for the work?

Do they ever actually get approached by celebrities and have to turn them down?

‘I’m sorry Mr Roger Rogerson, while you tested very well for the niche corrupt cop market, we’re going to go with a celebrity that has never actually taken a human life – even if it was in the course of your legal duties and not your extra-curricular shady ones.’

Left: Jo Bailey preparing to Zoot it to the Max for the good people at Sanitarium.

Moving on. Not only is it an ad. It’s an 'Zoot Review execution'. How professional. Makes them sound like high tech assassins. Perhaps Jo Bailey descends into the room on a wire, Mission Impossible style, then conducts her ‘conversational interview’ whilst slowing twisting in place? Jo Bailey is of course ‘well known’ as Zoot have noted – after-all who can forget her on Sale, and, er, other … Zoot ads? No one, that’s who.

Now we come to my favourite bit of the Zoot pitch.

“… Jo Bailey asks the celebrity conversational questions about the product …”

Conversational questions about the product…

‘So, you used it? Oh yeah, did ya like it? Oh cool. So were there any side effects ? No, actually, don’t answer that one. So tell me about the first time you used it. Did it rock your world. It did? Excellent. Here’s your cheque.’

But wait, it gets better. Zoot promises you, the product or service owner, that the ad is ‘stylish, upbeat and spontaneous in execution’ and ‘combines third party credibility with honest, entertaining action and dialogue.’

The third party I guess is the celebrity (sports figure / C list entertainer). Who have extreme credibility with the product. Yep, that’s why Jo went to talk with Alyssa Jane Cook – known for her knowledge of auto-mechanics, for a recent commercial spruiking a brand of auto-mechanics. Apparently she had a good experience with them and recommends them. Quality, thoughtful analysis by a world class celebrity fully conversant in all aspects of the automotive trade.

The spontaneous part I assume is the seventeen takes they shoot in order to get enough 'genuinely interested in discussing this issue' footage to splice together, all the while why Drinky McDrunk the camera person is sculling down shots like there’s no tomorrow. Which probably explains why the stability of the footage ranges from shot during a mild squall to a full blown hurricane.

Honest, entertaining action and dialogue. Like when Jo Bailey throat punches Andrew Daddo, staddles him, thumbs off the safety cap of the Nurofen for Children, then yells at him to ‘swallow you clown, you think you’re better than Cam?? Do ya??’ Then she forces them down his throat. He tries to spit them up, but she strokes his Adam’s apple and he swallows reflexively, all the while she's crooning soothingly and whispering about the time the Home Viewer was accidentally mixed up with Hendo, and they had to fix it in post.

That was awesome man. She fully got him good.

I’m not exactly sure what the good people at Zoot consider as entertaining action, but feeling sea sick as Andrew Daddo looks at wife Jacqui with a look of concern as they remember an incident where their child was poorly and Nurofen might have had an effect, does not qualify in my book.

I have no doubt at all these are great ads for the budget conscious and stable of stomach. And I also have no doubt that they have improved sales.

But they still shit me up the wall and make me yell at the TV.

For a complete list of knowledgeable Australian celebrities (and other markets Zoot dip their toe in), please see their website. http://www.zootreview.com.au/

Here’s a sample of other products and the celebs who endorsed them.

· Rebecca Gilling promotes Wattly 10 paint and discusses how she painted her back yard fence with her body, having rolled in the paint to apply it, then rolled along the fence. She also notes it is the best tasting paint, bar none, she has ever consumed.

· Hayley Lewis explains how Nutella saved a drowning man from swimming when she threw it to him to use as a life buoy, despite it clearly saying that it was not intended as a life saving device on the side of the jar. She also pulled a muscle throwing the Nutella, so backs her talk up with some love sonnets she spontaneously crafted for Nurofen Gel. ‘Nurofen, sweet relief for my sore nethers, you provide relief from the ache of my breaking heart.’

· Tracey Curro gives the lowdown on Garden Harvest – apparently it’s ‘It’s got a fresh taste – it’s really delicious’, ‘you just know that it’s packed with goodness (how can it not with a name like Garden Harvest?), and ‘for a great taste and goodness it’s hard to go past.’ Allegedly it’s in the fridge near the juices.

· And how can you go past Jane Hall, from All Together Now, promoting Jarrah Sunset Selections – the most indulgent way to end a Dinner Party – and Jarrah Flavoured Coffee – with 10 flavours, and they all taste great, even the arsenic and 10 day old body in the warm sun flavour. Of course this is a slight departure from Jane, who recently served as the voice for panicked pedestrians being run over, shot, stabbed, bitch slapped, and thrown in the boot of a car in Grant Theft Auto: San Andreas. Presumably she was well stocked with Jarrah Sunset Selections – the perfect end to a perfect abduction.

Ah Zoot Review. You complete me.

Gratuitous Self Promotion by Harrangueman

As you know punters, I am a shameless tease. And I am also a shameless attention whore. Yesterday the good people at Crikey put out a call to be advised of those bloggers out there beavering away in cyberspace to bring their own unique point of view to the world .

So naturally I nommed myself.

Here’s the snippet from today’s 31 August Sole Subscriber mail out. I’m number two.

Rock on Australia. Rock on and rock hard.

From Crikey

29. Blogwatch

· The rise of tipping might be one of the consequences of Mr Howard's proposed IR reforms, if and when wages start to drop. – The Road to Surfdom

· Wow, NW have so got their finger on the pulse. It's amazing how they find these people willing to divulge incredibly intimate details about their friends. They must be freaking geniuses or something. Watergate move over, NW have the real need to know info. – Harrangueman

· Today's release of Bob Dylan: Live at the Gaslight 1962 has been dreaded by politically conscious Dylan fans since earlier this year ... Dylan has chosen to distribute his latest release exclusively through that symbol of global capitalism, Starbucks. – Guardian blog

· Memo to Democrats: saying you supported the war, but Bush conducted it wrong, isn't good enough for the public. Similarly, saying that you opposed the war but think we should stay as long as it takes isn't good enough. – US political website MyDD

· Reading the latest New York Times Judy Miller editorial is the journalistic equivalent of watching a bombing comic pull out all the stops in a frantic attempt to wring a reaction out of his audience. – Arianna Huffington

I have a number one fan

Alas he didn't write it here, which would have been sweet, but over at Boltwatch.

Are you for real? Your blog is THE WORST blog I have ever seen. Go and fix it or kill it off. It is cyber-crap.

Thanks Non Anon. Your words have touched me deeply. If I was into dudes, I would totally go you. I'm not, and I'm not sure if you are, but if you are, then dude, I am down with that. Just .. not with you. Don't be embarrassed.I don't go in for these backdoor shenanigans. Sure I'm flattered, maybe even a little curious. But the answer is no!

He's a little shy, but apparently he's a lawyer. And ladies (or dudes), he has millions and millions of dollars.

What a great big bucket of sunshine.

NW Exclusive: Osama to sell cave and move to Malibu Beach

Osama Bin Laden, nortorious Saudi playboy, is selling up his cave located near the Tora Bora complex at 70°02'N and 34°04'E, and moving to Malibu Beach, California, according to sources close to the tall, gaunt freedom fighter.

'Osama is tired of the cave life-style,' said a close pal. 'There's hardly anything to do except have his blood filtered through a dialysis machine and plot the downfall of the great Satan. There's no satellite TV, no night clubs, and no night life. In short he's downright bored.'

Left: Osama Bin Laden; Bored with Cave Life

Osama will be putting his cave up for sale, and hopes to fetch at least $US20,000 for the underground bunker complex of four carved out rooms, intersecting corridors, and an escape tunnel. Close friends say he'd also accept a herd of Nanny goats of a a sweet disposition and with silky wool. Friends say the one time guerilla fighter intends to spend up to $US2,000,000, and hopes to get a place near Alec Baldwin and Sylvester Stallone.

'Osama just loves Alec in everything he does,' gushed a pal. 'He too has many brothers he had to compete with, so he knows how hard it must be for Alec to shine in a family of so many accomplished entertainers. And Rocky and Rambo films were a big hit for the Afghan freedom fighters during the 80's, especially with their underdog makes good theme, not to mention Rambo III where Rambo shot down a Hind helicopter gunship with a rocket equipped bow and arrow - though Osama always complains that at the time he could have easily furnished Rambo with a US Stinger missile given to him by the CIA, which are easy to shoot, especially against unarmed civilian aircraft.'

Osama is also wishing to party hearty with Paris Hilton and nortorious drunk Tara Reid.

Left: Hilton and Reid, blonde slatterns with which Osama will fill with his divine seed to make babies with which to grow to fine young men and inflict upon the American social scene.

'Osama very much wishes to have sexual relations with those two, and hopes his relocation will bring them to him. Especially Tara Reid. She looks like she goes off. And, given his faith, he can take both of them as his sexy Burqa clad wives with which to romp with in his fantastic new pad with ocean views,' says a close pal.

'As Osama says, you haven't bin f*cked until you've been Bin Ladened.'

Amy and the NW-ettes should be up against the wall if the revolution comes

I just flicked through my wife’s copy of New Weekly, a turgid bucket of crap bought to you by the Packer empire.

Let’s have a look at the hard-hitting stories NW present from their August 29 issue.

Jude and Sienna’s Bitter Bust up – essentially a page and a half of photos courtesy of a photographer invading their privacy during a private argument. They quote some friends, who naturally go unnamed. Then a juicy sidebar of Rude Jude Goes Nude where he’s getting changed outside at his parent’s place to have a dip in the pool (which presumably is at the back of the house since most people don’t have it at the front). And a photographer managed to invade his privacy there and get some shots of his nob. Fortunately NW put some tasteful stars over his swinging appendage. The article then notes a table he once had sex on with someone is now on Ebay.

Next is an article titled ‘Angelina: we’re getting married !’ They quote some unnamed bystanders at a premiere she apparently chatted too about her upcoming nuptials. Oh, and not to mention a ‘source close to the couple.’ Who remains unnamed. Here’s a name – ‘wemadeitupman’. Oh, and apparently an unhappy Jen is coming between Courtney (Cox) and David (Arquette). The trio must have released a joint press statement or something.

JEN COMING BETWEEN US; ANISTON, COX, AND ARQUETTE

Jennifer Aniston, Courtney Cox, and David Arquette have announced today that Jen (Aniston) is coming between the couple.

‘I have been placing strain on their marriage from my constant weeping presence,’ said the former friends star. ‘David feels like he has two wives sometimes and that he hardly gets any time alone. I’d like to apologise for any pain and distress caused.’

‘Yes, Jen has been leaning on me a lot, but I’m here for her,’ said Ms Cox.

‘Me too,’ said Mr Arquette. ‘Though there is some strain on our marriage from her presence.’

Let’s see, did they cite this press release? Oh wait, it didn’t happen. It was a pal of theirs, and some insiders. Wow, NW have so got their finger on the pulse. It’s amazing how they find these people willing to divulge incredibly intimate details about their friends. They must be freaking geniuses or something. Watergate move over, NW have the real need to know info.

Maybe they meet them in a darkened car park, Deep Throat style? Tell me Deep Throat, what of Courtney Cox. Deep throat takes a drag on his cigarette. ‘Keep following the tears,’ he says, exhaling. ‘And the sodden tissues. They tell of her despair.’

The Courtney Love article is unique in the fact that NW actually quotes, apparently, real people that they didn’t spin out of thin air … and then manage to get them an unnamed source to confirm she was whacked out of her gourd the whole time.

Lindsay Lohan has a now not so secret Romance with Jack Osborne. That’s nice, lovely pair. Hope they make it. Thanks source close to Jack for that info. Apparently they have f*cked up dads in common, which NW gushes can only make their love stronger. Tinseltown is just buzzing with this news.

Thanks to a stalker media type following Kirsten Dunst to a health food shop, who bought vitamins, we now know she is experiencing ‘A BABY MYSTERY’. According to sources, Jake Gyllenhaal came home to find Dunst’s womb eerily abandoned, with food left on the dining room table, the full rigging up, sheets to the wind, and lanterns burning on all three decks. He installed a crew to steer the womb to the nearest port and claim it as a prize but they too vanished by the time the gyno had her in stirrups and had a look.

‘They’ve had their problems, but now they’re determined to make a real go of it,’ says a Pal.

Ricky Martin has apparently read Jolie’s book ‘how to steal babies from the third world’, and smuggled one out in his bottom.

‘The Livin’ La Vida Loca singer inserted baby Matawii up his bottom and lodged her deep within his colon. Apparently ‘she banged’ to let to the 33 year old Puerto Rican rocker know she was safely in, then Ricky waddled to a rickshaw and had the driver take him straight onto the plane,’ said a friend.

Kate Hudson is allegedly now a skinny mol, as opposed to a fat mol. Which is a shame. NW sells more issues when its celebrity fat mols instead of celebrity stick mols.

Winona Ryder is back in the news again with some alleged Jack Sparrow work at a boutique (quoted from a News of the World article). The magazine quotes a friend saying the Girl Interrupted Star wants a shop of her own, then snittily hopes her customers don’t forget to pay. Rwoorr, saucer of milk, table one.

My brain’s hurting, no more NW analysis.

To sum up.

NW have quoted numerous unarmed sources, pals, friends close to the star, bystanders at a movie, channelled a dead celebrity, quoted from other trashy magazines, and likely made about 95% of their copy up as the deadline approached.

I know no one is ever going to treat NW as serious journalism, but what offends me is this. The huge amount of resources gone into this magazine, the trees lost forever to print it, and the thousands of man hours, or ‘pal’ hours, gone into its production. All to produce something you can’t even wipe your arse on cause the shiny paper would streak it over your arse, and if you flushed it, it would clog up your toilet.

I’m not exactly Mr Productive. Hell, I sometimes fall asleep at my desk. And I am sure that now and then people wonder whether it was worth employing me. But at least I can put my hand on my heart and say ‘I never worked for New Weekly, the worst commercial magazine in Australia today, that pedals lies, false hope fast diets (check out the ad on page 51 for the ’intra-oral appetite suppressant spray’ as seen on Oprah’), and prints photos of celebrities doing normal, everyday going about their lives business, including not wearing make up (“ugly dried up hag”), eating (‘better watch out that doesn’t go straight to your thighs fatty”), drinking (“drunken whore, being drunk, the whore”), walking the dog (“dog sex shocker”), or heaven forbid have their shirt billow leading to speculation she’s either pregnant, or is a mega fatty waiting to leap on a passing baked ham and swallow it detached-jaw-snake style.’

Apparently Amy just went on leave. The new hard hitting, factually accurate, would never knowingly print lies and hateful rumour editor-in-charge is the Deputy, Zöe Barnes. Nice umlaut Barnsie.

I’m guessing Zöe won’t put up with the crap Amy let happen on her watch. In fact, here's Zöe's column laying out what changes she will be making to ensure NW meets the standards of basic journalism (see link here), or even the simple truth.

Inside the Mag (September 4, 2005 edition)

For those who missed Amy's last column and are wondering where her smiley face is, our fearless leader has left us for a few months to become a mum for the second time, evidently deciding that the excruciating pain of childbirth is preferable to another fun-filled week of office shenanigans.

To send her off in style, the NW-ettes headed to the nearest drinking establishment and proceeded to thoughtfully guzzle champagne and cocktails in front of her while she sipped patiently on, um, water.

After several hours dedicated to this task, we began a discussion of our favourite party tricks (aka Weird Things I Can Do With My Body While Drunk). Writer Katya got things off to a cracking start by displaying her ability to turn her feet back-to-front so her heels are where her toes should be. Mind you, she could only do it once as it “really hurts my knees”. Hmm, funny that.

Meanwhile, we discovered that another writer, Brooke, can dislocate her own shoulders, which somehow makes her look like an anorexic model, and our super-talented entertainment editor Tiffany can delicately place her entire hand in her mouth. (Yes boys, she’s single!)

Realising that my paltry offering wouldn’t be up to snuff (I have this weird nobbly thing on my wrist, which disappears with a squelching noise when you press on it – strangely enough, no-one wanted to), I apparently decided – in the spirit of team bonding, you understand – to do the splits on a bench in the middle of the bar.

And we wonder why Amy didn't want to hang around ...

Go you good thing.

And yea, for verily I didst catch a fish this big

And on the third day I did eat the fish, with a little bit of lemon and marjoram, after it was baked at 320 degrees centigrade for 25 minutes.

And it was good.

Howard's half arsed comment on the Headscarves thing

Howard does not believe we should ban headscarves as outlined below. Because it would be difficult, and impractical. And we might have to then start banning stuff we don't mind, like turbans.

"I don't think it's practical to bring in such a prohibition," Mr Howard told reporters.

"If you ban a headscarf you might, for consistency's sake, have to ban a ... turban.

"It does become rather difficult and rather impractical." (from the SMH)

How about SCOTTY DON'T you twat !

Not it's not practical. Because that implies that if someone came up with a practical way of banning it, presumably some sort of Muslim headscarf seeking robot vacuum that could prowl the streets ready to apply it's hose to the nearest Muslim woman and suck all her religious garb off, then he'd consider it.

Why can't Howard simply come out and say something like this?

'My fellow Australians. If your beliefs do not hurt anyone, I got no beef with you. Wear whatever you like. If it's part of your belief structure, and it does not impede the rights of others, I will die in a ditch before I let anyone pull it off your clothes in the street, gob on you, throw rocks at you, yell abuse from passing cars, and generally act like a f__kwit towards you. Because I would think on balance being the victim of such a thing, or your family and friends, may encourage you to potentially support radicalised elements of your faith where if you hadn't been vilified, and had been protected by the government from the word go, and Australians told to give you a fair go, then perhaps we wouldn't have as great a problem as other countries.'

Oh, that's right, he can't. Because his constituency are small minded bigots who think that a Muslim’s favourite brand of clothing is from the good people at Semtex.

Poor John Howard. It must be hard being forced to be a racist. I'm sure he's not in real life. He'd never say anything like we need to look at curbing Asian migration because we have too many of those people, or fail to stop Hansonism in its tracks with some well chosen words like 'Hanson is wrong, and divisive.' He would never send the SAS in to seize control of a freighter full of sick and starved refugees plucked from a sinking boat on the off chance it landed them on the mainland. He would never preside over an immigration system that forces children to grow up behind razor wire and see their fellow refugees sew their lips together as a form of protest, or slash their wrists, or be dragged kicking and screaming into an isolation room then medicated to make them docile. He would never bald face lie about brown skinned parents throwing their children overboard in an effort to demonise them and win votes.

No, he would never do that. It would be unaustralian

Can a dog whistle?

It seems here in Federal politics they can. Sophie Panopoulos, Bronwyn Bishop please step forward. Congratulations for attempting to signal racist Australians that you're really one of them (wink, wink).

Dog Whistling, a term coined for the Australian political tactic of appealing to the lowest common denominator of our citizendry in a round about way. To let them know that their blinkered, racist, phobic, hateful and moronic opinions about other cultures or races is a-ok by them. Remember that 'Are you thinking what we're thinking?' slogan used by the tories in the UK election about putting the boot into gypsies of all people (very 1930's of them)?

I believe that was courtesy of Lyndon Crosby, former liberal advisor here in Oz.

Bishop has backed calls from her Victorian colleague Panopoulos to ban girls from wearing the headscarves to school. Read more here.

Why not simply come out and say 'attention ill informed Australians - please roundly abuse anyone wearing something different to you, of brown skin. Perhaps throw rocks at them, or try and snatch their scarves from their silly heathen heads.'?

Cause that's what you're doing when you pull shit like that. They're likely referencing the French decision to ban religious display of clothing and artefacts in their schools. They have a far more complex situation than in Oz. A much bigger moslem population, and one who has ended up as a partial underclass in French society, and ghettoised through economic and cultural circumstances. Not to mention the fact that until the mid 60's France had occupied a moslem country (Algeria) which comes with its own baggage.

Bishop, Panopoulos. You two represent the basest elements in our society. You're educated and you should know f__king better. You have no excuse, no excuse at all for this behaviour. As for Bishop calling wearing a moslem covering an iconic act of defiance, your bee-hive is far more iconic of your blinkered, 1960's era of thinking dark things about dark skinned people.

Once again, soul sisters of the right indicating what they really think. And guess what Australia, your greed put them there. How about putting a parties' moral creed ahead of your pocket book next time.

Man I loved the 80's version of the Twilight Zone [slightly nerdy off tangent dribble]

It was usually on late on Friday nights and I'd get home from Christian Youth Group (which I hated) just in time to see it (which I loved).

I remembered about this one this morning and had me some google action just now.

The Star (The Twilight Zone) (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia).

The Star is an episode of The Twilight Zone, from its first revival season in 1985-6.

Fritz Weaver stars as a priest on an interstellar journey. Far in the future an astrophysicist and a priest learn they have discovered a long dead world that has been emitting a signal for eons. They discover that the planet holds the last remains of a civilization, which died when their star went supernova. This star was the same star that shone down on Earth the day Jesus Christ was born, "The Star of Bethlehem".

The episode is based on a short story "The Star" by Arthur C. Clarke, which was first published in Infinity Science Fiction (November, 1955).

It was a friggin' awesome episode. I can clearly remember the priest coming to the horrifying realisation that the star of hope had been the death knell for this world - a world of art, and science, and dreams who had locked away elements to represent their civilisation in the hope it would survive for a future race to find and treasure.

It reminded me just why I liked Sci Fi so much. Man, I really am an uber geek.

This was another kewl episode. I can remember clearly ripping off the plot for a short story in my year 10 English exam. I got bad marks for it (I named the character Citizen Kane of all things). I'm pretty sure I never, ever again consciously ripped off another person's story after that.

To See the Invisible Man is a short story by Robert Silverberg, later adapted as an episode of The Twilight Zone, from its first revival season in 1985-6. Also from wiki

Story - Spoiler warning: Plot and/or ending details follow.

Cotter Smith is a man living in a parallel world to ours who has committed the crime of being anti-social. According to the state he is to be rendered "invisible" for one year, signified by a scarring implant placed in his forehead. What seems like a welcome chance to be left alone becomes a lesson in humility as we watch misfortune after misfortune befall him. Though branded "invisible" by the law he is anything but, the implant on his forehead reveals this, even when he tries to cover it. A mark of warning to others to ignore this individual, lest the hovering spy drones that survey this society find out. Once his year is done he returns to the world that shunned him, now free from invisible status, only to be accosted in public by a young woman with the mark. Knowing the law he starts to ignore her, but her cries soften him and he refuses to ignore her to the behest of the surveillance drones that have discovered them.

There was this scene where he marched through a crowded cafeteria, marvelling at everyone failing to look at him - and he's shouting, raving with pure joy at being able to do it. Then the loneliness sets in and he talks to a blind man ... until a passer by tells the blind man who he is - who naturally is disgusted at being preyed upon by one with the mark and spurns him.

The episode ends as above, but I can still remember him cradling her protectively as the drones began to whir dangerously, this look of defiance on his face as he is willing to sacrifice himself for a moral principle.

I know it's fiction. But man, what awesome fiction. It's the sort of stuff that makes you punch the air and say 'yes for quality late night TV'.

Then some pr_ck discovered more money could be made by screening infomercials about ugly celebrities and their battles against skin degradation. There really is some awesome TV out there in TV land, and we don’t get to see it in Oz unless you got cable – which is pretty freaking expensive.

Whoever came up with infomercials … you so made the list buddy. There should be a Twilight Zone episode about that.

Hmm, let’s see.

Total Payback to a Jerk

Story – Spoiler warning: Plot and/or ending details follow.

Some jerkwad advertising guy comes up with the concept of Infomercials. And he is lauded with wealth and privilege. As he gets older he notices that more and more screen time is taken up by his creations. Then they start creeping into prime time. Disgusted at himself, he becomes a hermit, locking himself away from the world. Then a mob of infomerical haters discover where he lives and comes calling. They bring a truck load of video tapes with them. They charge into his house, strap him down, then make him eat the film from every single cassette.

Alternatively they shove them up his arse. Either way is good. Sure, it lacks the trademark Twilight Zone twist, but it satisfies a very basic need I have for revenge.

By the way Christian Youth Group people. I learned more about humanity, treating those around me as I would be treated, and what to do when big f_ck off spiders invaded my house watching Twilight Zone Revival than I ever did wasting my hours away feeling bad about myself ‘cause of youth group moral lessons and the massive crush I had on my fellow youth grouper - a blonde girl one year younger than me who thought I was a d_ck.

She was right – but it still didn’t sit right with me.

What about you punters? You ever involve yourself in similar associations when a teen because of A) a chick(s), and/or B) because you were expected to?

PS - Oh - I just remembered this series too. Otherworld. This rawked so hard I feel embarrassed saying how much it rawked. Great, great, great stuff. Trippy as all hell.

A lighter moment at Camp Casey

Camp Casey is the name given to the gathering of anti-war protesters near Bush's Crawford ranch where he is on a five week holiday (alright for some).

A number of anti Anti-War protesters have since turned up to heckle the poor old lefties as they sit near Bush's front gate.

This is from today's SMH.

At the pro-Bush rally, there were some heated moments when two members of Protest Warrior, a group that frequently holds counter protests to anti-war rallies, walked in with a sign that read "Say No to War - Unless a Democrat is President."

Many Bush supporters only saw the top of the sign and believed the men were war protesters, so they began shouting and chasing the pair out.

One man tore up their signs. When Will Marean of Minneapolis kept repeating that he was on the Bush side and tried to explain Protest Warrior's mission, one Bush supporter shook his hand and apologised.

Ah Bush supporters. Wading in the shallow end of the cousin' kissing gene pool.

The P-Team

Hi, I'm TV's Pat Robertson. You may remember me for such things as suggesting nuking the State Department might not be a bad idea, that feminism is a "socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians", and of course using the power of prayer to drive away hurricanes Gloria in '85, and Felix in '95. Not to mention of course my recent call to have the bejesus scared into the Dictator Chavez with a little visit to a grave we make him dig himself to remind him whose boss.

As you may know, thanks to shrewd business deals, and praying to the Baby Jesus on my 700 club program for fellow Christians to send me money, I have considerable wealth. In fact I have spent over 1.2 million dollars of my estimated 200 million to 1 billion dollar fortune assisting poor Africans work in my diamond mines in that poor, afflicted continent.

Anyway, I decided to also spend some of my money to recruit, train, and hone a special team of warriors, my Pat's team if you will, that I can send anywhere in the globe to do my bidding, such as ensuring certain South American dictators take that visit to the jungle I discussed earlier.

And here they are. Allow me to introduce...

Shelia. My sword of justice. Her powers: a deadly aim, the ability to crush a man's larrynx with her thighs, and a fine god given body to distract ethnic policemen before she strikes with her deadly thighs. Yep, them creamy white thighs. Far better than the yellow thighs I done seen in Korea on those girly girls as I bought all the liquor for the officer's club. Them naughty thighs are seared on my brain. If only I could save you. I tried so hard. So many times did I pay your fee just so I could sit with you and try and save you. But time, and time again you seduced me with your lithe wretchedness. You harlots are going to get it good.




Okscar Uktar. As you can see with his brown skin, and long flowing facial locks, Okscar can fool even the sneakiest jihadist into thinking he's a towel kneeler like them. He's not, he's a good old boy. My boy. Trained personally by me to use his beard to strangle the cloth heads - just like Jesus did to the Lamenites, or something. You ride 'em Okscar, you ride 'em real good. You my boy, yes you are, yes you are.


Sir Pent. As deadly as the snake what tempted that foul socialist lesbian Eve into casting Adam from the garden of purity. His sword of righteousness will cast the heathen's head from their necks, and he will revel in their foul black blood soaking the earth, perhaps holding his goblet, which may or may not be the Holy Grail that feed Jesus at the last supper, under the stump so their blood might flow into the goblet, and then he can drink the blood and gain strength from his victory.





And finally, my good old boys, Mathew, Mark, and John. Their skills with the shotgun are unparralled, and they can make anyone squeal real good. You squeal boy, they'd say to some world leader that done gone and earned my wrath. You squeal into that there microphone so that Pat back home can listen to yer squealin'. Yee-haw, that's right. You don't squeal so good with a barrel in your mouth, do you boy? Mathew, you take that rope and sling it over that there tree. We is going to show this little commie how we's teach 'em that Capitalism is the way forward.

So there you have it, the P-team, ready to hose down my enemies at a moment's notice. Likely energized by my famous age-defying shakes to give them the Jesus power to smite those that thwart me.

Lesbians, democractically elected Dictators of a socialist bent, and the US State Department, you better had watch out.

'Cause the P team is a comin' to spray you down with Pat's own unique brand of protein powered justice.

2006 - Andrew Bolt goes to Parent Teacher Night

Hi Mr Bolt. Thanks so much for making Parent teacher night. We got a lot of -











What the hell is this leftist crap you've been teaching my son?!?!?!











I'm ... I'm sorry, leftist what ??










Leftist crap. You heard me Trotsky











Whatever do you mean Mr Bolt?











My son came home the other day and said that when he grew up he wanted to join a trade union. A TRADE UNION !?!?!?! A greater cess pool of fetid filth I have never, ever heard of !









I'm sorry, a trade what ???











Union, you red flag waving hippy. Don't make me use my 'Well you're writing in something that's stuffed joke' derivied from my famous hard hitting journalistic expose on riding around in a large kangaroo during the opening of the Commonwealth games in Brisbane, which celebrated the athletic exploits of peoples who were once conquored subjects of the greatest empire on earth and when a quarter of the world was represented in Imperial pink on the globe.




The Union thing?










Don't try any gotcha stuff on me missy. I'll be scanning the parking lot for your No HoWARd bumper sticker on my way out. Then it's off to the scaffold for you next PA meeting when I'll have you disbanded.








Why would you think your son wanted to join a Trade Union?










Because the other day he came home lauding the achievements of some boat person that conned his way into the Australian army in an effort to presumably avoid his detention fees, got posted overseas, and apparently wrote long filthy letters to his communist family about workers unionising against decent employers that already pay too much in benefits like overtime and uniform allowances. How dare you teach such filth ! Do I pay my taxes to fund this sort of ilk? And yes I am aware my child goes to a private school, but thanks to the Howard government some of that money comes back to ensure the Polo grounds still stay watered even during the hottest summers. I demand this instant who authorised teaching of this ... man !

Um, Dr Nelson did Mr Bolt. It's part of the syllabus now...











Are you insane? Why on earth would Dr Nelson, a man I hold in great esteem for his battle against red book waving student filth, authorise such loathsome teaching about a card carrying member of the red menace ?!?!?!?!?!?!








Well the man in question was John Simpson Kirkpatrick. He was famous for having a Donkey at -









I knew it ! Some sort of animal libber as well. You're sacked bitch. You may as well pack up your desk and go now, because I'm going to back my Range Rover right through that wall if you don't.

(Gets up, stamps towards the door, opens it, and tramps through, slamming it behind him).






- Gallipoli.

(Sighs heavily and starts packing her things into a Pickford's moving box. In the car park the sounds of an high performance engine can be heard to start).






God bless you John Simpson Kirkpatrick

Kewl joke by my wife

"I can't believe it's not Buddha !"

The case of the mysterious exploding egg

Some weeks back we had a change of bosses. We had decided to host a morning tea in his honour (note that we don't have mornos/arvos every day - it's just the recent blog about the morning tea prompted this memory).

At any rate I had skipped breakfast at home and, even though the morning day was for 10.30, decided to go get me a delicious bacon and egg muffin from downstairs. Despite accidentally calling it a McMuffin and earning me a smirk from the would be soap actor who served me, I was looking forward to scoffing it down at my desk.

Foolishly I did not check the consistency of the yolk. And normally these things are nicely hardened - well whatever the term it is to describe when the yolk is not runny.

I bit into it with obvious relish and the f__king egg eggs-ploded all over my face, my shirt, and my pants. The egg seemingly violated physics given the amount of yolk that spluttered forth. I looked like the victim of some sort of futuristic chicken-man mutant porn star who just loosed forth the money shot.

It was beyond fowl.

So I took myself into the bathroom, ok the toilets since the only thing you could bathe in there would be a foot or hand in said toilet, and I cleaned myself up as best I could. Knowing there was a meet the new boss occasion on I had worn a really nice shirt. The sort of shirt you'd wear to nice parties where you sat and dined at a table instead of trying to get into the bathroom where the dopers were hanging out.

Needless to say the cleaning was not the best. And the paper towels being the lowest priced towels available in our wide brown land, they shredded when used in a dabbing motion. So now I had drying on my still stained shirt little brown shreds of paper towel.

Five minutes later I met the new boss - who is a lovely guy. Warm, friendly, engaging. Shakes you by the hand, genuinely interested in what you do. In short pretty much the perfect boss.

I apologised for my unorthodox appearance, explained about the exploding egg, and was of course red faced with embarrassment.

Afterwards, with the burning glow of shame now starting to recede, I was talking to a co-worker about it all and laughing about what had happened. And that's when she said this.

'Aw, sh_t mate, I think you didn't get it all. There's something in your hair.'

I went back to the toilet nee bathroom and looked.

Yep, right across my buzz cut, was a streak of dried egg.

Cue movie cutting to a shot of the toilets door and the sounds of muffled swearing. And to top it off, about 3 pm I found more egg crusted into the rim of my ear.

There's no moral to this tale at all that I can see. I still buy the bacon and egg muffins from downstairs, but I make sure to test the yolk consistency before chomping down.

Pope Ratty's Car

Read about it here

The Aftermath of World Wear a Communist Flag as a Cape Day

Despite your concern punters I elected to go ahead with World Wear a Communist Flag as a Cape Day. However, I am not stupid. I was fortunate not to have to attempt my improvised day of celebration in front of the two SES band two officials who are normally present - one of whom looks like Lawrence Tierney and is a potential veteran of the Vietnam war.

Anyway, so with that hurdle leapt, I decided to go all guns. I got the poster up on the pillar to reinforce my claim to this celebration and quickly got the food laid out. I briefed two co-workers into the plan, in an effort to convince one of them to wear the 'loaner' flag so I would not look out of place. But they didn't. They are both slack wads and know exactly who they are.

So 10.30 came. I was nervous. My new boss isn't exactly Miss Sense of Humour 2005. Hell, it seems more like 1935 (she's nice though - she just doesn't laugh at the same things I do - like rolled Monster Trucks with a caved in cabin).

But punters, I pulled it off. And yea for my outrage that no one else 'bothered to wear a cape' was seemingly genuine. And yea, didst no one step forth and don the 'loaner'. So I was forced to wear it alone. People embraced it in which the spirit was offered. And I did a couple of runs up and down to get some billowing action. And I told wild tales about nude streaks + cape for the wife at home. Which were all enjoyed immensely.

In fact, I told the larger afternoon tea audience about it (yes, we have a lot of teas in my org), went and got my cape, then wore it for their edification. And I left with a masterful phantom of the opera sweep across my face and strode out of shot.

Then I got a co-worker to take a photo to prove that indeed World Wear a Communist Flag as a Cape Day didst take place (though of course it could have been staged and proves nothing - but it wasn't - scouts honour*).

And here it is. Notice the incredibly large bald patch I have going. And ignore the fact the flag is the wrong way around. If you click on the pic, you can see the sign I made in the corner.

Oh, and in the resulting World Wear a Communist Flag as a Cape Day discussions, it was deemed I should have a Super Hero name to go with my cape. Alas Kaptain Smash the Kapitalist Tyranny was rejected. So instead, henceforth, I shall be known simply as ...

WARNING ADULT CONTENT MAN

(* I was a scout for like six months. Then I got asked to leave cause I was hyper. I just thought it was cause I wasn't prepared enough - despite my taking a wedge of blue-tak to every session in case it was needed - and it was needed once to fix the lose co-ax cable in place to enable the playing of a video ... about being prepared.)

TV's in the paper towel dispenser at Woden Cinema

I went and saw Wedding Crashers tonight. Which was truly awesome. Go see it.

Anyway, I went to the toilet about three times during the film (as you know punters I have a small bladder). During which I happened to notice the tiny LCD displays in the top of the towel dispensers. Well not really happened to notice them. It was hard not to because they WERE SO FREAKING LOUD.

Seriously loud. Like distorted loud. I couldn’t actually make out what the ad was saying cause it sounded like Linda Blair got up to do a bit of open mike night work whilst in full spinning head and vomit mode.

SQUEEE-HAWK-GAARRRKK-HONK-ERRRRRRY

So attention advertisers, who are seeking untapped frontiers in which to place ads. Condom ads above the trough? No worries. An ad on the back of the toilet door to look at whilst I strain to produce a tiny poo pellet thanks to the majesty that is IBS – thanks for your consideration. But seriously, incredibly loud, annoying, distorted devil voices coming from the top of a paper towel dispenser is going to either A) prompt me to consider whether the voices have come back (“no mummy no, I don’t want to use the hammer again”), or B) make me wish to avoid whatever product is you were pitching solely on principle. Presuming of course I could understand what the f__k the the Satan voice spewing tinnily forth was actually trying to sell.

(To my friend in Sydney who gushed mightily about my blogging and desperately wanted to read more about my Jacques Cousteau esq voyages to the sewery deep).

Idea for work - World Wear a Communist Flag as a Cape Day

As you know punters I work for a conservative arm of the Australian government. Sober men and women doing sober things. This, obviously, does not sit well with me. I chafe under the restrictions it imposes.

Tomorrow our section is running the morning tea. We each take it in turns see. And our number came up.

Anyway, a friend of mine (happy birthday dude by the way) recently returned from aid work in a still communist country. There's not that many of them left. But anyway, he managed to get a flag for me (of said country), as well as a proudly centered hammer and sickle, Soviet old school.

They have these tassels on the ends, which can be tied together. This forms a rudimentary cape. When worn I look like the cheap Russian knockoff of Dom DeLuise as Captain Chaos, likely retitled Kaptain Smash the Kapitalist Tyranny or something like that.


Above: Dom DeLuise as Captain Chaos from Cannonball Run 2

So, in honour of my friend what bought me the flags, I'm going to declare tomorrow's morning tea is in honour of World Wear a Communist Flag as a Cape Day, and don the Hammer and Sickle. I will then hold up the communist nation's flag and offer it as a loaner to 'anyone that forgot theirs'. I will also fake outrage when I 'discover' everyone forgot that it was World Wear a Communist Flag as a Cape Day.

I will also attempt to assume the vocal mannerisms of Captain Chaos throughout the festivity. For those of you who have never seen the awesomeness that is Cannonball Run I and Cannonball Run II, Captain Chaos sounds a lot like Sideshow Mel from the Simpsons.

Stay tuned for what happens punters.

???

The Ratties













Pope Ratty

Hi, I'm TV's Pat Robertson

Left; Pat Robertson, drinker of age-defying shakes and smiter of America's enemies.

You may recognise me from the 700 club on The Christian Broadcasting Network. In between calling for the extrajudicial slaying of America's enemies, such as the dictator Hugo 'the baby stomperer oner' Chavez of Venezuela, I like to knock down a tall frosty age-defying shake.

Thanks to these bad boys, unlike theocrats and other non elected types, I can bench press a staggering Jesus-powered 2000 pounds. No foolin'. You can read about it on my website.

It's thanks to this remarkable God inspired concoction of Mary's milk that I find the time and energy to host a daily, national TV show, head a world-wide ministry, develop visionary scholars, all while travelling the globe as a statesman calling for the assassination of anyone that does not like God inspired political ministry.

Thanks to my super shake I manage to keep my energy high and my vitality soaring. In fact, as I take a sip of my delicious, refreshing shake while I consider who I should add to my extra special 'meet - Satan - sooner' list of foreign dignitaries like Fidel Castro, that frog whose name I can't remember, and Helen Clark of New Zealand who is clearly a she-male and therefore an abomination in the eyes of the Lord (despite his creating her.. I mean him.. er.. it), I know that my it is filled with energy-producing nutrients which are doing me the world of good.

So if like me your arm gets tired from stoning whores, homosexuals, deviants, Democrats, and other such filth that is scumming up God's clean earth, just take a belt of my wonder shake, my, if you will, 13th apostle.

Cause when I take a big old suck on the 13th apostle, leaving a frosty moustache of milky goodness, I know I have the power to do the Lord's work and list exactly which state leader lives and which one dies.

So remember, visit my shake site and register to get the recipe. Then, like me, you can suck as many apostles you want.

And you too will be re-invigorated by their creamy power.

Disclaimer:Consult with your physician before starting this or any new health regimen or supplement program, especially if you have allergies to any of the listed or related products, or are under the care of a physician or other medical professional, or have any other health problems. No specific health benefit is implied or promised from this recipe (Mikey aside - this is the actual disclaimer).

Evangelist claims call to 'put two bullets in the back of the skull of the Dictator Chavez' was misinterpreted

Virginia Beach, Virginia; Pat Robertson, noted Christian cleric and former one time US Presidential nominee, said his call to have President Hugo Chavez of Venezuela kidnapped by special forces, frog marched like the dirty Latino he is into the jungle, made to dig his own grave, then have two bullets fired into the back of his skull have been misinterpreted.

‘Bam,’ had added Robertson on the televised episode of the 700 club where he prays for Christians to send him money, whilst making a gun out of his fingers, then repeating ‘Bam.’

Robertson later said at no time did he say the legally elected Venezuelan president, noted for his widespread economic reforms designed to alleviate poverty, should actually be killed.

‘A skilled marksman could easily just graze his neck or above his ears or something. All he’d need is some antiseptic for the wounds, and perhaps some new undergarments in case he soiled himself in what he could have perceived was a mock execution,’ said Robertson. ‘But it wasn’t, was it? We would have been just reminding him that his anti US policies may cause local Venezuelans to take matters into their own hand, and such a thing could happen to him. He should be thanking us that were taking the time to make him aware that coups in countries in South America happen now and then, and with no US involvement whatsoever. Like in Chile.’

When asked how exactly Chavez would make Venezuela a launching pad for Muslim extremism when the country is 96% Roman Catholic, with the remainder of the population of Protestant or Jewish extraction, Robertson said that too was taken out of context.

‘Obviously I meant he would construct a giant sling, a catapult if you will, then invite extremists over to be physically ‘launched’, along with communists, into the air then trigger parachutes to gently waft to earth to spread their violence and attempt domination of the region.’

‘The Moslems want to ensure their religion spreads, like the tentacles of a Chinese triad, throughout all governments and bureaucracy, so to all intents and purposes they end up a theological state with politicians beholden to an unelected clergy.’

‘The last thing we want, for example, is a President in a country who has a narrow minded religious ideology, and takes orders from elderly men who have led a blinkered life, without understanding of basic geo-politics, social realities, or even have a simple humanism of loving your fellow man without fear or favour, and without bigotry.’

Pat then recommended everyone chill by cooking up and eating one of his age defying ‘Pat’s pancakes’, the recipe for which is available on his website.

Left: a screen shot of the 700 club website with Pat Robertson's Chavez clarification.

(Mikey aside: I kid you not. Right next to this clarification is a link to his famous freaking anti-aging pancakes. Does this man know how to party or what?)

For the SMH report on the retraction then go here. For the link to the above site and to the recipe for Pat's famous anti-aging pancakes, go here.

What a Knuckle

Eric Rudolph's FBI Mugshot
(courtsey of Wiki)

The Atlanta bomber, Eric Rudolph, was sentenced this week to life terms for various crimes committed in the cause of Christian fundamentalism. You see in addition to setting off the Atlanta bomb, he also blew up some health workers who worked in abortion clinics, and a gay night club. As an interesting aside the FBI initially blamed the only person who spotted the abandoned backpack in the Atlanta bombing, Richard Jewell, the security guard. Probably because it was like ‘how did he KNOW it was a bomb? So it must have been him. The fattie probably wanted his picture in the paper or something.’

Anyway so Rudolph spent the last few years in the high country, living off caches of this and that, and apparently had a quantity of explosives buried somewhere he was planning to use to further the ultra right wing Christian cause.

Ever curious, for I am you see, I plunked on to Wiki and read about him.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eric_Rudolph

Pretty interesting stuff. Son of a 80’s Survivalist mother (remember Survivalists? What loons). Army, drifter, then right wing terrorist.

So then I get to this bit.

On March 7, 1998, Daniel Rudolph, Eric's older brother, videotaped himself cutting off one of his own hands with an electric saw in order to "send a message to the FBI and the media." [2] The hand was successfully reattached.

If I had been drinking something I would have sprayed it across my screen.

Now I have to ask myself, what exactly is the message he was trying to send?

‘Stand back I have a severed hand !’

‘Don’t come any closer, or the right hand gets it next !’

‘You want a piece of ME? YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME??? (throws severed hand on ground. It flops reflexively). There you go.’

I love the fact that a team of surgeons had to re-attach it, despite it being a deliberate act (cue heavy sighs). And successfully sticking limbs back on isn’t a routine task even now.

Surgeon - ‘So, how did he lose that hand?’

Cop – ‘He cut it off with an electric saw.’

Surgeon – ‘Ouch, nasty accident.’

Cop – ‘No, it was no accident. He was sending a message. To the FBI.’

Surgeon – ‘What, don’t hurt me. I’m armless?’

Surgeon and Cop laugh. Surgeon high fives cop with the severed hand.

I just can’t get over this. I know that I have been seized with rage. If my computer monitor was a baby I’d be sharing a cell with Bazza, and be involved in group prison therapy for unfit fathers (‘And what have you learned Jason?’ ‘Well, I reckon I can’t burn my baby’s eyes out with cigarettes no more’).

But I don't think I would ever go as far as self mutilation to make my point, Van Gogh style. And how exactly would this have gone down? He strides into the basement, wild eyed at the persecution of the government against his family just cause his bro blew up some poofs and baby killers. ‘Must…get…F…B…I’. Then he sees the bandsaw and a casually left video camera.

Whiiiiiiiiiine-FZZZZZZ-splat-whiiiiine.

‘I got ‘em for ya bro,’ he says, presumably wrapping the stump on his wrist, face wan with loss of blood. ‘The FBI won’t come here no more.’

I’m going to have to chalk this up to one of those ‘truth stranger than fiction’ things.

But Yanks have a habit of tele-moving any major/minor/minimal real life event. Hell, they started making the Waco Siege tele-movie while cultists were still in the compound. So I’m sure we’ll still get to relive this story at some point on the TV screen.

But I’m betting this particular segment of Rudolph family history, if shot, will get a tut, tut from the Director, and be left on the cutting room floor...

Daniel Rudolph. I salute you. And, unlike yourself, I can easily use either hand.

News.com.au now getting just ridiculous

So typical of News.com.au. See this above image? It's an Alt PrintScreen of the News.Com.au website taken around 12.30 pm today.

On the portal page can be seen a number of stories. Three are anti Labor. Three are pro Liberal.

The Pro Liberal ones are:

1) No Mercy on Drugs; PM; Howard telling people they're idiots for taking drugs into SEA. What a brave common sense PM we have.

2) Anti-Aussie Muslims should Clear Off; which is linked to Howard's recent conference with moderate Islamic leaders (with the more prone terror ones presumably face pressed up against the window pane whimpering cause they couldn't come in)

3) Scrutiny on Mosques, Schools; again linked to this conference where he tells them what for. Scrutiny - a nicely positive word for the govt. It’s official sounding, and rich with the promise of being correctly applied.

The Anti Labor ones are:

1) Beazley does U turn on Student Unions; The Bomber floating the idea of 'hey they need not be political' - make them for amenities only. Of course this is a massive U turn isn't it? Not logical at all. Bad Beazley for his U Turn. Bad (smacks Kimbo with rolled up paper)

2) Succession Obsession; a story on ex labor PM Keating and his desperate need to be loved. He's not even in parliament anymore. He hasn't been ... SINCE THE LAST MILLENIUM.

3) Man Boobs has entered the dictionary; For those guys unfortunate enough to have a bid of padding in the old pecs, we have a new means to tease you now. Start running Jiggles (snaps towel at retreating man boobery). And who could News have possibly come up with to front the graphic for such a hilarious story? Why Mark Latham (former Labor leader) of course - silly stupid ex fatty McFat Fat and his whacky Goldcard policies.

Hey News.com.au, why not make it easier and more obvious just in case us idiot’s don’t get it? Here are some possible headers for you.

Howard – Bow down to your lord and master
Howard – The holy one, yea for you have saved us
PM smells great; no deodorant
Howard Power – clean, efficient, and long lasting
Sorry Girls – he’s taken – Howard happily celebrates whatever hideously long wedding anniversary he’s just had

Hmm, need to make sure we demonise the ALP while you're at it. How about:

Rudd Evil says clairvoyant
Beattie ate aborted babies when a student; Doctor
Beazley gets 40 DD Bra for his shocking man boobs
Labor Party riddled with unions fighting only to enrich themselves
Satan joins Labor party; to be given safe seat

There you go News.com.au. Perhaps maybe you can also link the Labor party to Alien Cults, Bat Boy, and Sharks that Walk amongst us, Weekly World News style.

F___kwits.

Chaser attempt - possibly offensive - not sure - you decide

Gay Bashing Goes Awry; Booners Hurt

Macquarie Fields, NSW; A Gay Bashing went awry today according to local unemployed youths at Picksvillie Park at around 11 pm last night.

‘Gazzer, he writes ‘luvs cok, want suck yours at 11’ with today’s date right,’ said participant Timothy ‘Timmo’ Hurten, referring to recent graffiti left in the Picksvillie toilet block. ‘So then we’s come here right, with f___king bats and sh_t and wes wait for whatever p__f right shows up and bash the living f___king shit out of him, and rob him eh?’

Unfortunately for ‘Gazzer’, ‘Timmo’, and three of their acquaintances, another group of homophobic teens found the almost illiterate scrawl and decided to visit the toilet block around the same time to give a beating to the would be penile masticator.

At a little past 11 pm, the later group entered the darkened toilet block and encountered the former group lying in wait. The resultant altercation put ‘Gazzer’ in hospital with a broken jaw, ‘Timmo’ left with a fractured wrist, and numerous other injuries spread amongst the mutual assailants.

‘So the f___kers come in right, and we’s can’t see ‘em or nuthin and we’re waiten and sh_t and one of ‘em sings out ‘Oi poofos, I want me cok sucked’ so we’s have ‘em. Turned out to be some d___kheads from two streets over.’

The irony is that according to local homosexual Trent Wenderlay, no self respecting homosexual would be found in any park as dismal as Picksville.

‘God, did they really?’ exclaimed Mr Wenderlay when informed of the incident. ‘I mean, oh my God. This isn’t the 70’s. We used to be the love that dare not speak its name. Now we’re the love that won’t shut up. We got nightclubs, we got dating services, we got our own cafes, our own TV show, even our own fashion label. Why on earth would we slum it with some snaggle or missing toothed flannelette coated likely unbathed, unshaven, completely ungroomed, paunch bellied sloths, when we can hang out with the like macho e macho minded and get us quality male loving? It just makes no sense at all? Are they that stupid?’

Reports indicate that homophobia, along with other forms of bigotry, and a lack of education goes hand in hand. Or, if the homophobe is educated then chances are their empirical skills obtained through studies have been somehow impaired by non-logicial philosophical exposure.

‘Maybe we should have a concerted campaign to ‘Cowboy X’ up such dens of dis-mility with indications of gay love to occur with specific times and dates? Then they can bash each other senseless.’

‘Although, I have to point out in all honesty, hanging out in a dark room with other men, eagerly awaiting for another man to walk in with which to have a short, sharp, but incredibly intimate encounter with ... well ... it sounds a little gay,’ noted Mr Wenderlay.