'Tis the season!

Ah eczema Xmas.

You know, I don’t think there is a time of year more suited to me offending people.

For instance, I really don’t like fruit cake. Can’t stand it actually. Think I’d prefer to drink a salmon milkshake. This is really handy for when workmates, family members or your partner lovingly prepare a Christmas pudding or fruit cake, only for you to turn them down. So many crestfallen faces.

I also don’t like fruit mince pies. These can take a lot of more effort and care to make than some Christmas puddings, so I get to cause extra offence when turning these down. Same goes for rum balls, rocky road and white Christmas – blergh!

Pointless gift buying – another favourite hate of mine. I’m always guaranteed to bang on about the pointlessness of so many of the gifts we buy when in the company of someone who has gone out of their way to get me something pointless and disposable.

Another traditional Christmas activity - spending too much time in the company of family members - really doesn’t do much for me either. Countless opportunities there to put peoples’ noses out of joint by steadfastly refusing to attend every single family gathering organised between Christmas and new year: “what do you mean you’d prefer to go to the beach rather than driving for 45 minutes to your 2nd cousin’s place to watch them open their presents?! Are you mad?”

And let’s not forget the huge potential to step on any religious toes left lying about the place when I pipe up with my predictable atheist grumblings.

And it doesn't even end there - I am not a big fan of New Year's Eve celebrations either. So, on the off chance that by the time 31 December rolls around I am yet to offend everyone I know, I then have the chance to be an utter killjoy and spout off something offensive about New Year's Eve being a meaningless, pack-driven activity. I've found that people who have been looking forward to this party event for the whole year really appreciate my negativity. Who'd have thought.

So yes, this time of year really is a gold mine.

I reckon just as most businesses do 40% of their trading during the Christmas period, I am likely to fulfill at least that proportion of my annual offence-causing quota during this time.

Itchy Merry eczema Xmas everybody!

My work choices

Warning! Warning! Dangerously long and auto-biographical blog post! Contains very little popular culture commentary!

So for various reasons (mostly the ‘wanting to keep my job’ reason) I’ve not always written about what I do for a living.

The odd snippet here and there has probably let the cardigan-wearing, morning-tea-trolley-pushing cat out of the bag and anyone who is interested has probably picked up that I am a public servant ................. (I’ve left that space there for your gasps of awe).

So anyway, about 6 months ago, convinced that it would be “good for my career” I moved to a particularly dark, manky and ‘orrible corner of the public service world where the hours were frightful, the atmosphere soul-destroying and the issues eye-gouging-out-with-a-teaspoon-ly boring.

In this dark pit, anyone who maintained a cheery outlook, interacted socially with their work-mates or displayed a eagerness to ‘balance’ work with home-life (and by ‘balance’ I mean going home occasionally during the week) were taken to an unmarked room in the basement fitted out with flickery fluro lights and unusual stains on the walls, never to be seen again.

The doors to the outside world were guarded by deeply psychopathic orcs and when/if you left at the end of the day they would pass you a rusty blade with which to peel off just a tiny bit of your soul to throw into the flaming 40-gallon drums which marked the ceremonial entrance to the building. Not that I want to be melodramatic, at all. Oh no, not me. This is EXACTLY how it was.

I haven’t relayed any of this before partly because the place had the world’s most oppressive security and I was (probably quite rightly) immensely paranoid about publishing anything to do with the place. Also, not long after starting there I think my body/mind went into survival mode, dedicating all mental/emotional energy to staying sane, leaving little left over for creative whinging blogging.

But anyway, those around me probably noticed me nose-diving quite quickly into a state of mind that could probably be most hysterically, nicely described as “hopelessly oppressed and listless”.

Having a strong conviction these days to put the skids real early on anything resembling a destructive state of mind, I’ve exited the joint (after a long period of “oh, you’re leaving us” purgatory, in which each and every crappy task was dumped on my desk – thanks very much, bastards).

I am now basking in the sunny, rainbow and kitten-filled delights of a cruisey, happy-go-lucky no-responsibility role in what I consider to be the most interesting portfolio in the federal public service (I don’t think I want to be more specific than that, right now but I will say that I am enjoying being forced to read Variety magazine for work – nyah nyah).

Pictorial representation of my current state of mind

This new outlook on life means I feel slightly more comfortable about sharing some of the highlights of “the other place”, as I refer to it in conversation (even saying its name out loud still sends me into a cold shiver, my body jerking with nervous tics and a Tourette’s like proliferation of swears - quite humourous, if you enjoy visual comedy).

So, for the purposes of creating a “bumper holiday edition” of comicstriphero, here are some highlights, just for the galling entertainment value. I hope you all enjoy my pain. No doubt there’ll be more as I become more comfortable confronting my ‘issews’ and feeling the power within blah blah courage blah blah, wind beneath my wings, etc.

An Australian icon

All staff at ‘the other place’ were, of course (being good little non-unAustralians) all completely bereft upon hearing of the death of the late Mr Steve Irwin. Tears flowed! Chests were beaten in rage against the cruelty of the universe! Emotional email tributes abounded! And, in a massive, massive break-out of gay-abandon, people were actually turning away from their computers and talking to each other about non-work-related matters!

It was about this time that I came to realise that I felt very different to my workmates - lesbian hair-cut and facial piercings aside. In fact, I started to suspect that I had somehow missed out on the special get your personality removed with a special syringe new-starters’ induction session that everybody else appeared to have attended.

Forthwith, the following exchange regarding the heroic Mr Irwin:

Me: Gee, that stingray must have been pretty clever, aiming for his heart and everything. Eh?! Eh?! *wink wink*

(I know, not the funniest line in the world but at least I was trying)

Some guy: No. It doesn’t work like that. The stingray’s barb is only ever employed as an involuntary reflex in response to danger and it was pure chance that it hit Steve Irwin in the heart.

Me: (absolutely crushed) Um, yeah. Ok. That was actually supposed to be a facetious remark.

Some guy: (after staring at me blankly for at least 5 seconds) I don’t think you understand – the sting-ray doesn’t aim its barb…

Me: ‘Facetious’ meaning satirical or deliberately light-hearted.

Some guy: …in fact it has been scientifically proven that the barb is deployed in a matter of milliseconds so the key factors in this scenario would have been Steve’s location, the angle the ray was swimming along…

Guh.

Shot through the heart – and you’re to blame

After this, I decided not to raise the topic ever, ever again. It was about this point in time I received an iPod for my birthday (thanks LovelyWife!) and I proceeded to glue the earbuds into my skull to try and avoid the temptation of attempting to interact on such issues in the future.

As you will see, it didn’t work for long…

Oh the humanity!

On the rare occasions that my colleagues could break themselves away from their engaging and long running series of discussions (yes, it was a series) on the complex issues arising from the application of market-based principles to regulatory impact assessments (this was their social interaction mind you, and not directly related to their work), they would choose to lighten the load by discussing such frivolous and hearty topics as…wait for it…the most efficient form of mass transit for moving large numbers of people AND freight at the same time.

I know! What a party! Woo.

Pointy-head #1: No matter how much you try you’ll never convince me that heavy rail is flexible enough to accommodate the rapidly changing demographics of post-industrial civilisations.

Pointy-head #2: But you continue to ignore the important role of existing infrastructure.

Pointy-head #1: That’s not an acceptable argument. We’re working in hypothetical mode here.

Pointy-head #2: Well anyway, in terms of energy-expended per kilometre travelled, the Zeppelin is actually the most efficient means of transporting people and freight at the same time.

Pointy-head #1: Yeah, ok, that might be the case, but the ratio of fuel-storage requirements to actual storage capacity is sub-optimal. For it to be able to travel long distances, a Zeppelin needs to carry much more fuel per unit of weight transported than any other example you’ve come up with.

Pointy-head #2: Ah-hah! You see, it burns its fuel so slowly, that this is not really an issue. It can actually get away with carrying a lot less fuel in total than any comparable transportation vehicle over the same distance.

Me: (making a desperate attempt to interact socially with someone, anyone) Well, it would have to carry a light load, wouldn’t it? I mean, it has to float, right? Plus, wouldn’t a Zeppelin be light on fuel because it is so bloody slow? Thereby negating any advantages derived from its supposed efficiency?

At its top-speed I reckon I could walk along behind one poking it with a long, energy-efficient stick to help double its normal speed. Meanwhile, my mates on a train have alighted at their destination and delivered their packages.

(Long silence)

Pointy-head #2: (turning away in disgust) Look, there’s no need to be rude.

(Insert sound of me slowly dying inside)

comicstriphero was surprised by the ferocity with which her will to live burned

Try not to breathe

I knew for sure I was living and working amongst aliens (and not amusing aliens such as ALF or Dr Zoidberg) when it became apparent that no one in the office shared my puerile and juvenile sense of humour (I know! Very hard to believe).

I tried (honest I did) to sit through a meeting about bottom trawling without giggling like an idiot. But then my mind, being ever so cruel, had me imagining Rick from the Young Ones saying ‘bottom trawling’ and I just about lost it.

Until I realised that everyone else in the room was absolutely stoney-faced and unmoved.

I’d fancy some bottom trawling with Felicity Kendall … oo-er!

I mean, come on people! Bottom-trawling! That’s a-grade humour right there!

Sigh.

This scene was repeated not long after during a meeting in which frequent reference was made to a map showing an “East Intercourse Island”.

I sh*t you not:


At that point I was going to interject and suggest that what we really needed to talk about was why anyone, anywhere, at any time would think that this was a good name for an island and perhaps there were some doings-a-transpirin’ ashore this strange isle. I was also going to suggest a site visit was in order.

But again, not even the tiniest twitch of a smile on the faces of my ‘colleagues’.

So, clearly, this place was a humanitarian disaster (I’m really failing at this whole ‘try not to be melodramatic’ thing). If this were the ‘80s, I’m sure it would qualify as telethon material – Daryl Somers and Ray Martin could team up to raise the $249,682 needed to fund urgently needed personality transplants for these poor, suffering public servants.

I'm going to open up a can of telethon on yo' ass

Good news for those of you who have made it all the way through this post – I’m currently undergoing some repressed memory therapy and hope to be in a position to bleat hysterically relay more of my exciting adventures shortly!

And you thought Christmas was exciting! What a thrilling Australian Idol journey you are joining me on!

He's gone for it

Can you believe it. The third test isn’t even over yet and they’re flogging a DVD of the second test (‘Amazing Adelaide’).



Keep an eye out for the framed promotional poster commemorating the new record for fastest and most shameless cricket merchandising effort! Limited to a million copies - give in to hysteria.

Also, just while we're cricketing - Shane Warne's hair.



Nine's super shlow-mo camera shot looking down the pitch clearly shows Warnie is still stone-cold bald on top. Advanced Hair hasn't given him more hair, they've just got him to grow in longer.


I think they should get the "hot spot" camera onto it - show where the heat is escaping most quickly to demonstrate exactly where there aint no hair no more.

Australian values test Princess! Life is worth living after all

Life can be very cruel. I missed quite a lot of tonight’s cracking dialogue due to the noise from the Christmas concert at the school across the road. Lousy active kids! Get back inside and watch TV!

PhD students Cleverer types than I could probably come up with a snappy analysis of the ways in which this programme illustrates the cultural hangover present in Austral-English relations (yes, I'm sure there's a funding grant in there somewhere).

Me, I’m much more interested in Kate’s crunchy country goodness. Upon hearing that they’ll be taught to speak like a princess: “Oh crap! We got another test comin’ up or somethin’”

She’s got this thing in the bag.

I’m starting to like Jean more and more. Tonight she was ticking all my boxes, listing pet hates as white shoes and anklets. Testify woman! All she has to do is confirm how foul toe-rings are and my proposal will be in the Royal Mail.

Quote of the episode of course pertains to Kylie Booby. From the make-up stylist: “You’re as orange as Ayres Rock.” Haw haw. And she probably hasn't had a fake tan touch-up for at least 2 days.

Crikey I hope they keep her in this competition for at least another 3 weeks.

More scandalously mildly interestingly, Carla from Palmerston, ACT, (go parochialism, woo!) has admitted her repressed lesbianism bisexuality! Plus she hates Kylie Booby, correctly identifying her as a “screaming harpy”. If she wasn’t goth as all get out I might think about liking her for the title. Maybe.

Following this revelation and her later wardrobe transformation (out with the blacks, in with the orange twin-set!), those sneaky producers subtitled her monologues with “Carla: Confused ex-goth”. Insert catty noise here!

Anyway, tonight’s ‘important lesson’ was how to speak proper-like.

And what better crowd to judge how condescending and snooty princessy the ladies had become than the barely-repressed young fags from one of Sydney’s most exclusive private schools! This was pure genius on the part of the producers, I must say.

One little queen could barely contain his faggy, lispy, excitement at presenting his snarky little remarks on what is no doubt his favourite show (well, at least when “The Bachelorette” isn’t showing). Get a blog, and maybe then I’ll be interested.

At least they all sniggered at Kylie Booby’s name as much as I did. SNIGGER!

Ah dear, forget what I said about life being cruel, for a bounty of humour has been delivered to us in the form of this orange harpy.

Give thanks everyone. 'Tis the season!

Random Rant

"So, what are you guys up to this weekend?"

I am becoming progressively ruder to shop assistants who ask me this question.

I just don't understand why this is any of their business.

I know it is just supposed to be an ice-breaker. I was once a faceless retail wench myself so I understand.

However, I settled for the "how are you today?" or, even more outrageously "can I help you with anything?"

I am aware that I am probably coming across as needlessly grizzled and misanthropic, but next time a retail flunkey asks me whether I'm "up to much" this weekend I'm thinking of replying with one or more of the following:

• "Why? Will that determine whether or not you help me out today?"
• "Well, since you asked, I'm going in for a colonoscopy. Seeing you're so interested, would you like to come?"
• "Here, I printed off my itinerary for you as I knew you'd ask."
• "What do you mean, 'what am I doing this weekend'?! Have you forgotten our date?" (I expect this to work doubly well with the lay-deeez).

Teh kids today - sheesh.

Because plastic tiaras are always classy

So pretty much as I expected, I am loving the new series of Australian Princess.

My favourite contestant so far has to be Kylie Booby *snigger*. AS IF you wouldn’t have changed your name.

Upon hearing that “Fergie’s sister” would be making a guest appearance, Kylie Booby thought that Jane Ferguson was related to this woman:


rather than this one:


whom she’d never heard of.

In terms of actually liking any of the contestants, I am already a bit fond of Kate the pig farmer although I wager I’ll be crushed by the weight of ‘salt of the earth’ references by about week 3. Kate the pig farmer likes huntin’, shootin’, campin’ and fishin’. So pretty much any activity where you can drop the ‘g’. When described as naïve by Jackie O, Kate had to ask what “naïve” meant.



What qualifies Kate to be the next Australian Princess? “I have the right plumbing”.

Onyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

One of the highlights of this show for me is the rather base thrill of feeling smarter than them all (lame, I know, but they are probably all thinner than me, so there you go).

So for example, I felt all book-smarts and worldly when, during the ‘learning about other cultures’ section, Carolyn said she had never heard of Tonga before (hasn’t she ever seen the Late Show’s 'It’s Academic' rip-off where every answer is ‘Tonga’?). And when Kylie Booby spoke Arabic to the Tongans. Leanne thought the Tongan guy was ho-o-o-ottttt, which meant she at least remembered who was who.

Did I mention there is a contestant called Kylie Booby? Wow, she is a right cow. What a piece of work.

Unfortunately I think she might get booted early. I recommend tuning in for as much Kylie Booby you can get while she’s still there.

Amanda, the incongruently intelligent doctor is my early pick. Although her ability to string two sentences together may alienate her from the other girls. Her greatest fear is “driving up a really steep hill”. Deep, man.


I’d also like to note Stephanie. After a hard day flogging used corollas at the car yard, Stephanie goes home to run her own spray-tan business. What an entrepreneuse!



When asked what Stephanie wanted to get out of the series, her answer was “my eyebrows back”.

Don’t forget to check out the Australian Princess website, where Jean will teach you how to sit and walk. Finally! I’m so sick of just standing, stuck in the same spot. I wish my parents had taught me how to sit and walk all those years ago.

I've so far resisted the temptation to click through to the forums. My self control can't last long though.

Long time no think

So the radio silence on the blog pretty much reflects what's been going on in my brain of late.

Unless you count the 'background noise' of my mind. For example, I am convinced that one day I'll end up homeless or in gaol and I spend far too much time pondering how I would cope and whether I'd survive longer than 6 months (particularly in gaol - I've seen Bad Girls).

Unusually, I find myself with no interest whatsoever in teh interwebs.

Just counting down the days until I can chuck in this freaking horrible job. Two to go. What a soul destroying experience it has been. I hope I get to say as much at my farewell lunch.

No doubt the return of Australian Princess and the new season of American Idol will rejuvinate my front bench.

Fingers and toes crossed.

Champagne tastes

I think Tobias is a snob.

Only interested in playing with monogrammed champagne corks, these days.

I love my wife

Lame breakfast TV hosts: Today we're talking about hygeine and in particular, we're asking 'how clean is your fridge'?

Lame breakfast TV guest: Now not many people know this, but on average people clean their toilets 5 times more often than they clean their fridges.

Lame breakfast TV hosts: Ewww, that's gross.

The LovelyWife: That's because not many people take a crap in their fridge, morons!

Some crap I found on my phone

I could also have called this post "I don't think I'll have anything good to write until Australian Princess 2 starts"...but I guess I don't want to get your hopes up.

Hold the phone!

Beyonce and some other bird Eva Longoria to play Kitty Butler and Nan Astley in saucy lesbian movie, Tipping the Velvet?!!?

Did someone say ‘completely unlikely casting’ and 'completely unlikely Hollywood movie project'?

At first I wasn’t quite sure whether Beyonce was going to fit plausibly into a) a Victorian-era English oyster town or b) a Victorian era English theatre group.

But, being all open minded and such, I thought it would be best that I let her at least try the role, before going all judgemental on Sofia Coppola’s ass and firing up with the “not as good as the novel” or “not as good as the BBC adaptation” vitriol.

Yes, I’ll begrudgingly drag myself along to the absolute first showing of the movie just to determine once and for all, who is sexier in a corset, Beyonce or Keeley Hawes examine whether the adaptation is accurate or not.

'Your Victorian-era sex toys got me acting so crazy right now'

'Well at least I have an English accent...and can act'

Doing my bit for society, see.

Edit: Yes, I totally and completely knew this story was bollocks all along. I definitely was not suckered in. Not even just a teensy weensy bit. Not for a minute. Nuh-uh. Not me.

Sigh.

Parking I have not enjoyed reprise

And you thought I was joking when I said there would be a series on unenjoyable parking...

This was sent to me by one of my loyal army of bad-parkage-spotters a friend. So I can't take all the credit.

But I would just like to point out that the greatest proportion of these gems are from Dickson.

Ah, Dickson - just about everything I hate about Canberra in one crazy suburb.

No-horse race, thanks.

So did I mention I hate the Melbourne Cup?

I used to just hate the event itself, but each year I am becoming more and more sincerely grizzled over the senseless enthusiasm people express towards it. Senseless I tell you! Anything with a pack-mentality really sh*ts me these days and the Melbourne Cup stinks of it.

It's right up there with St Patrick's Day, Oktoberfest and New Year's Eve on the list of meaningless events that bring out my inner killjoy.

And what's with pretending like it is glamorous? Let me tell you, b*tches, the truly glamorous don't tend to hang out in an ill-fitting dress in a car park sipping pre-mixed drinks and eating party pies.

"Drunk at 11.30am - another great life achievement"

Sure, Breezers are affordable and party pies can be quite tasty, but they's aint classy.

"Eating is cheating girls!"

I tell you what is much more exciting - the US mid-term elections! (Wow! Blogger's new 'seamless segue' button really works!)

"New US $50 note design"

Just try stealing this one now, f*ck-face.


My main source of interest is probably the local consequences of a Democrat resurgence. Sure would suck to be you, asshat:

"I can't believe I forgot my tie-pin - I look ridiculous"

A US congress with the potential to impeach Bush? Now that's worth breaking out the party pies for.

More in the series "Parking I have not enjoyed"

I mean, come on!

They paint big white lines on the ground for you to aim between! How hard can it be?!?!?

And these people are allowed to vote.

Random hip-hop ecological thought

Put your carbon in the air, and let it accumulate like you just don't care!

Let's all have a hub

Yes, I know we've all seen stuff on my cat.

But here is some truly stylish stuff on cats, with the added bonus of Japlish!

1. Dress her up. Cheer or yell, do whatever you like to enjoy the moment with your family.

2. After you are enough with your joy, take a photo! Take some poses and leave her some cute photos!

3. Remove her clothes and give her a hub, say "Thank you!"

And don't forget:

You don't have to dress her everyday, in fact she might not feel comfortable with a dress on for days. Just dress her up only on special occasions like her birthday, takes a photo and that should leave you lots of memories and fantasies.

Fantasies? If you say so.

There's no cake, if that's what you're after

Dear blog – did you know we’ve been together for a year now?

Well, I’ve, had, the time of my life and I owe it all to you.

What an Idol journey we’ve had. Let’s check out the videohighlightsreel:

Remember that time we outed Alan Jones? And broke the Cheryl Kernot – Gareth Evans scandal? My what larks!

And then there was the time we got booked for speeding and unsuccessfully blamed it on another (dead) blog! I really thought we were going to get away with that. But the Daily Telegraph’s always had it in for me.

I think we made up for it by totally being the first to really predict the popularity of the whole emo thing. Our fashion posts are really top notch. We is always way ahead of the trends.

That’s why last week we celebrated our 5 billionth comment! I guess having been on the interwebs since like, 1993 the day after they invented it has really paid off for me.

Ah, Mr Bloggy. If had any mathematical sense at all I would probably try and work out exactly how much you’ve cost the tax payers in lost productivity. It probably hasn’t cost as much as to buy faulty military hardware, so it probably isn’t worth losing too much sleep over.

But I was thinking, whilst you’ve been ever so good to me there are few things I have promised you that I haven’t really come good on. Like that totally bitchin’ re-design I’ve done for your template but just haven’t uploaded yet. I know you are an old skool blog at heart, but I promise one day you’ll have some crazy animated gifs, heaps of bouncing smileys, that ‘fart button’ banner and profitable google ads to call your own.

And I almost forgot to mention our readers! I’ve been checking out our stats and I think we’re up to like, 3 now (I’ve counted hits from my work computer’s IP address as well as the home IP address, so it may be a little less than that in actual fact).

W00tski to us!

Recapping reneging

The only smile I got out of tonight’s episode of Idol was when the LovelyWife told me her shortlist of song choices for tonight’s “rock swing” theme (ie, take an ordinary song and turn it into shopping centre music):

Nine Inch Nails – Closer
Machinegun fellatio – Pussytown
Pussycat dolls - Dontcha

Imagine those songs performed 'big-band' style, it will all make perfect sense to you.

Let’s face it people, the recapping thing is ovah. A big fat fad like pole dancing, slap bands, and hyper-colour t-shirts.

Instead, please enjoy this picture of Tobias.


See? That was much more interesting than 3 pages of me saying "oh my god I hate Chris Murphy", "Lisa Mitchell only has a one-octave range" or "Damien Leith has 18th century teeth".

Up for anything

“I like a bloke who is man enough to wear pink.”

Um, it’s not a bloke, it’s a goddamn freaking bear!

What are we expected to believe here? Is it:
a) Women are so ditzy they’re not going to notice they are hitting on a bear? or
b) Women are attracted to (big, stupid, boozey, blokey, dim witted) polar bears

So it’s looking good for Australian women.

Sheer stupidity or beastiality.

Note to Idol producers: 'Acoustic' is not a genre

The recapping service is temporarily on hiatus for re-tooling.

Instead, please enjoy these complimentary Haikus.

Damien


Kannis has new teeth
A sordid film clip goes with
There’s hope yet for Leith



Chris

Known as fat Jesus
There’ll be no second coming
Let’s crucify him

Lisa

I know Haiku’s rules
But there is a dilemma
How to count snoring?

Jessica

Likened to Whitney
Her voice certainly matches
Other habits too?


Bobby

Someone once asked me
Why I am a lesbian
I showed this picture


Ricky

This man’s greatest hour
Was before he sang a note
Where are you now Jorge?



Dean

Crap crap crap crap crap
Crap crap crap crap crap sucks crap
Crap crap crap crap crap

You know you're thinking about Idol too much when...

You see a car with a sticker saying "Save Flynn School", and rather than correctly identifying this as related to the ACT Government's proposal to close nearly 40 schools, you initially think it is an advertisement for a school where you can learn how to save Bobby Flynn.

3-unit texting, anyone?

In case you like laughing...

...and reading about Idol - at the same time!

That is to say:

It's only fitting after Lavina's Jordan tribute jugs graced the stage that Ricky would follow with a song famously covered by Peter Andre.

Disco Bull

Here we are in a post-mutto world. I must say, it’s pretty darn outstanding.

Although I’m starting to think that Courtney Murphy’s brother is potentially an even larger tool, what with all the prancing around and persistent air guitar. I wish the freakishly muscley guitarist in the Idol band would show Murphy what real guitar feels like, all over his smug face.

My threshold test for a successful ‘disco’ theme night is if we can get out of this without anyone singing “I will survive”. Happy to see 8 Donna Summer performance though. We shall see.

Looks like we’re in for another massive Marcia Hines promotion. Unfortunately for Marcia, the historical footage package of her origins in the ‘70s only goes to make obvious the copious amounts of plastic surgery she’s had. Disappearing nose anyone?

Half of Courtney Murphy’s brother’s intro package was about how sick the poor tiddums has been this week, which all just seems like major spade work on the part of the producers to keep this twit in the show – “please vote for me even though I’m going to suck.”

And he doth bring the suckiness people, squeaking out a flaccid performance of Play that funky music. Even the cat’s looking a little nauseous after this tripe.

He just IS David Brent, this man. He even has the mega-shiney forehead thing going on.

I just don’t want to talk about him anymore.

On to Lavina, who is clearly the most talented singer in the competition, with Best of my love. Unfortunately, I don’t think Lavina’s picked the best of the Network Ten wardrobe, with a dress that’s dangerously close to her skin tone (not good on the wide shots).

The performance is just one long shouty glory note though. A shame really, I am still desperately trying to find someone to like this year and Lavina was almost that person.

And then Ricky Muscat ‘sang’ Get down on it, all there was great meh-ing across the land. For a moment I thought he was doing ok, and then I realised he’d stopped singing and all I could hear was the background singers. Way to suck the fun out of disco, Ricky. This isn’t just Young-Talent-Time-bad, this is high-school-talent-quest bad.

If you missed the show and you want to know what it was like, stand in front of a mirror and in a monotone voice say “get down on it” for two minutes, whilst shuffling from one foot to another and occasionally waggling your hands up and down. Perfect.
Damien Leith’s pre-performance package is another “aw, I’m so sick and can’t sing proper” whinge. But anyway, onto to the talking point for the evening - I wish I were a talented writer, because it is very hard for an amateur such as myself to describe just how ridiculous and fearfully shocking this odd circus of a performance was.

Singing Celebrate, Damien has erred terribly here and the question for the judges now is whether to acknowledge that there was never any chance of Damien singing disco well, or whether to just carpet him for what was, honestly, Daniel Belle-esque. With that falsetto voice of his, couldn’t Damien have chosen some Bee Gees?

Carpetting it is. Kyle’s “worst thing I’ve ever seen on television” was pretty harsh. Did he never see ‘Yasmin’s getting married”? Boom tish!

Half way through the show, who brought the oranges?

Now, who is policing whether the Idols’ song choices are within the theme, because I have my doubts about whether Blondie’s Heart of glass counts as ‘disco’. In any case, I think Deborah Harry is right now somewhere slashing her wrists so she can die and be buried and then roll over in her grave in response to Lisa’s teenification of the song.

Yes, this was a pretty pants performance. But seriously, does Mark Holden really expect her to go from 16 year-old Missy-Higgins-wannabe to disco diva in one week?


I expect Dean couldn’t-be-Gayer has had a tough week what with having to look outside Triple M’s play list for song choice.

So anyway, Turn the beat around people! Dean commands you!

So, a white, Christian, South African singing disco. Yes, television has reached perfection. There is nothing left to say or do. Except – a back flip.

Yes, Dean completes his performance with a back flip. Next week, Dean will swallow knives, um, balance balls on his nose, er, um, do something with no connotations at all I’m sure.

Bobby Flynn sings ‘Superfreak’ and I’m sure all sorts of jokes could be made there, and no doubt will be. But not by me. I’m just too bored. BORED. Some points to Bobby though for at least thinking about his song and doing something to it so it would suit his voice. Which would seem like the obvious thing to do, Damien Leith.

Oh dear, whilst I was typing this I got distracted by the cat eating on the power cord and didn’t notice Bobby getting a touch down. Standards are that low this year?

You know what would have been a good song choice? Abba’s Man after Midnight – what with it recently being on the radio (woah-oh-oh-oh) sampled on Madonna’s ‘Hung Up’. Too easy.

Jessica Mauboy – thank you! You have made my pre-show wish come true with some sweet sweet Donna Summer. In the words of Summer Wheatley – “Vote for Summer!”

You know, I was thinking the other day, I honestly can’t say who I think will win this year. I don’t even know who I want to win. Such a disappointment.

Things wot one shouldn't have to hear in the office #43

"That thing on my butt has turned into an abcess."

"Is that why you're walking funny?"

"Yeah."

Public holiday surcharge

No Idol recap tonight, I'm taking the long weekend off.

Although I might make one observation - a million points to the kids in the crowd with the sign featuring black texta on yellow cardboard saying "Yeah! Yellow Poster!"

The Idol theme tonight requires song choices from the year one was born - if the finalists were of my vintage, you'd expect a boatload of Queen, or Billy Joel (bottle of red....).

For shits and giggles, let's all browse a list of songs from the year of our birth and pick which one we would have sung in front of da nayshun.

Here's an el crappo website from which to make a selection (see list on right hand side).

Or alternatively, have you heard of Google? It's totally a search engine you can enter bitchin' keywords into and get 'search results'. You can't get it on floppy disk though, which is a bit of a bugger. But try it anyway.

From 1980, the LovelyWife picks "Call me" by Blondie. Not bad. Not bad at all.

My selection comes from 1978: "Hot Blooded" by Foreigner. Yes! Top that!

Dean couldn't-be-any-Gay-er may have topped it with "You give love a bad name" though.

Do you worst, best blerst people!

Second comes right after first

I hope they don't feel too bad.

They were excellent.

Well, except for all those shots on goal they missed.

But I guess one goal extra wouldn't have made a difference.

I'm sure they will take heart from being part of such an amazing Grand Final.

Football was the winner on the day.

I'm ok with West Coast winning, really!

At least it wasn't bloody Brisbane again.

Stuff wot one shouldn't have to overhear in the office

"I think I should go to the doctor before it gets infected again."

"It only hurts because I got it pierced again last night."

"She doesn't want the fuckin' gear box she only wants the tyres."

"Can you squeeze it for me?"

These are as described to me by the LovelyWife.

This is the mental picture I have when she relays these antidotes anecdotes:

Even Rod Stewart's had number one hits...

Yes! Here we go again! Read on only if you’d really quite like a lot of disjointed observations about an entirely forgettable television show.

Let's all just get our sniggering out of the way right now, for tonight's show's theme is number 1s.

GUFFAW!

First thing tonight, most of the male idols pull out a gameshow host jog up onto the stage when introduced. Takes me back to the good old days when entertainment = Tony Barber.

Panning across the ‘crowd’ tonight, I think there may have been some ‘creative sign making’ taught at Sunday School today with some kiddies in the crowd holding up a cardboard and glitter glue creation saying:

“Deano – chosen by God, chosen by me!”

If, as believed by Whitney Yooston, children are our future, I’m ending it all now.

This week we see the obligatory montage of the idols taking “how to dance like a boy-band member” lessons, led by a couple of suitably faggy dance coaches.

Does that mean an end to the idols acting out their lyrics? An end to Courtney Murphy’s brother’s constipation stance (you know, bending slightly at the knees, squinting and holding out one hand for help)? Dear God!

Klancie with a K is the first to learn how to move like a Young Talent Time reject. With moves like that she’ll be ready for the stage at Westfields across the country in no time.

A friend and I had a discussion recently – which is worse, a national tour of Workers’ Clubs, or a national tour of Westfields during school holidays?

We couldn’t decide, but the idols had better start thinking about this soon as that’s where their career ‘journey’ will end up.

About now I’m considering a divorce as the LovelyWife sings along word for word to Klancie with a K’s ‘number one’ (snigger) choice – If You’re Not in it For Love (or, as sung by Klancie “lah-ah-arve”) by Shania Twain. And then I got in trouble for not knowing the song… (insert raised eyebrows here).

Next time you see Klancie with K, check out her freakishly protruding collar bone. Yeech.

Damien Leith has chosen some Garth Brooks pap, just to prove to the producers that the number 1s theme IS NOT a guarantee of tasteful song choices. Just lots of sniggering in this house…

Just want to break in here and say how horribly unfair it is that this cretin will get to sing at and therefore attend this coming weekend’s AFL grand final (to see the mighty swannies go back to back) and I won’t. As Rick would say “Bastards!”


Just another thing to add to the list of justifications for that killing spree I’m planning – lousyworldfullofinjustice.

Finally, Damien’s boring boring song is over. He’s more and more like an Irish Shannon Noll each week, even if he has lost the filthy little flavour saver beard.

Next up on the ‘dance floor’ is Lavina ‘I’ve got Polynesian soul’ Williams. Not nearly as good-looking in trakkie daks as her sister, but I fear I might be going over old ground there with how teh hawtness Emily was.

But snaps for Lavina! She’s singing my favourite 1986 song ever!

Don’t leave me this way. Let me put it this way, in 1987, the year of my first walkman, I had one cassette tape – the 1986 Top 40 taped from the radio, and the Communard’s cover of this song was on it. So therefore, it was my favourite. That, along with Lady in Red.

Not sure about the entirely untasteful top she’s wearing, what with the abundance of corsetry-style laces all over. More laces than a converse hi-top. I’m tellin’ ya!

Now, we all know that Marcia never really says anything of meaning in her comments (viz “I know you tried hard up there tonight and that’s all I’m going to say” = say what?), but I think she throws in a “you go girlfriend” when she’s really stumped.

For this reason, I’m thinking of tossing this into everyday use in my professional life – for those meetings where I know I’m supposed to be all assertive and confident, but I have nothing to back up my position with:

Some jerk: “So we’re aiming to take this proposal forward for consideration at the 11 July meeting, does anyone have any objections?”

Me: “I think you still haven’t addressed our earlier concerns, and so we’re likely to oppose its consideration, but you go girlfriend!”

Hmm, I smell a promotion!

Up next, Courtney Murphy’s brother. I’m hoping the faggy dance coaches beat the air guitar out of him with a real guitar. Alas, this show brings more disappointment and it is glossed over. But they do pick up on his constipation singing stance.

Wha?! I was joking earlier about Phil Collins being a likely song choice for tonight! But Courtney Murphy’s brother has made a sage of me, singing “Take a Look at Me Now” – stand by for some obvious jokes about how I’d really not prefer to.

It seems the faggy dance coaches have cured the constipation stance problem by gluing his hands to the microphone and stand. Good on ‘em.

The performance was, however, a pile of vomit.

The faggy dance coaches can barely conceal their hot, throbbing man-lust for Dean Geyer – I’m sure there was more than just a bit of:

“No, Dean, you’re moving your hips wrong, let me just move in here behind you real close so you can follow my movements….uh, yeah, that’s iiiitttt."

What is it with Dean Geyer and songs from Triple M’s playlist from 1998-2001? The effect is that every week is just the same basic performance.

Except this week he is exceptionally out of tune. Not that this will matter, thanks to the power of 14 year-old girls with unlimited SMS plans.

Something from the Goo Goo Dolls this time. Next week, something by Nickleback or Three Doors Down, even if the theme is the Beatles or Motown. You’ll see.

Now look, I’d really prefer not to write anything about Guy Mutton, but for the sake of completeness, here goes.

What an utter utter tool, this man is.

And to back that up, he’s singing Hoobastank. Hoobastank Guy Mutton? Yoobastank. Real bad.

Jessica Mauboy. She really is Whitney Yooston. I don’t care what you say. Jess sings a “Christina Aguilera classic” (classic - wtf?!?!?) Beautiful.

She’s wheeled out her year 10 formal dress for that touch of elegance tonight and I think we should all be quite happy with this song choice.

After Kyle’s taunts last week I think this would only have been topped if she’d sung that new song “Shut up Kyle you fat, thick fuck” – but I don’t think that’s hit number 1 (snigger!) yet, so it probably wasn’t eligible. Shame.

But yes, a ‘touchdown’, which is just as lame a gimmick as it was in the previous gajillion series. Surprise!

The faggy dance coaches are quite tactful about Bobby Flynn in the ‘learning to dance’ montage. At least in front of the cameras anyway…

Bobby’s singing Arthur’s Theme and is dressed even more like a first-year Arts student than ever before.

Bobby’s performance is as close to muzak in prime time as you’re gonna get and it would be my pick for worst performance of the night except for Guy Mutton… I can’t honestly pick what audience segment would have enjoyed that.

Thence to Ricky Muscat, who I reckon probably kicked on with the faggy dance coaches for a ‘special’ coaching session afterwards, if you know what I mean – and if you get grotesquely obvious double entendres, then I’m sure that you will.

Ricky’s singing something by Chicago which being a ‘hit’ from 1982, would have to have been released before he was born into his life of chemical-wharehouse-servitude. Who picked this? His music teacher? Lame!

Tonight Ricky’s performance is full of boy-band-esque fist-pumping histrionics.

So yes, I think it’s fair to say there’s definitely been some one-on-one ‘body movement’ coaching going on (or ‘getting it awn’ – you choose).

Lisa Mitchell is the last contestant so the end is in sight – for this recap and for Lisa Mitchell. Well, I can only hope – on both counts.

She’s singing Vanessa Carlton’s A Thousand Miles.

Tomorrow’s headline – “Vanessa Carlton travels many thousand miles to take revenge on Lisa Mitchell for singing her only hit like a strangled cat having its temperature taken”.

Mark Holden is still desperately trying to justify his previous “best thing musically to come out of this country” comment, so he wiggles his way up her arse just that little bit more with some fakey fake praise.

So yes, the end of another instalment of my bloggy-come-lately Australian Idol recapping.

Do I have a tip for tomorrow night’s boot-ee?

I’m going to have to go with Ricky Muscat to at least be in the bottom three, and maybe also Courtney Murphy’s brother – but that’s just me hopin’.

Does Bobby Flynn have any fans? He’s going to need them.

But I shouldn’t make such predictions – I constantly predicted Shannon Noll would drop off the face of the competition, but even now he’s still around, wailing about in his computer-enhanced voice (it’s like vocal air-brushing, and it makes him sound like a Bee Gee).

Note that the verdict show will be on at an odd time due to the live telecast of Adam Goodes winning his second Brownlow.



Yeah baby!