8 

monday funday: ladies and gays, pick your bachelors.

March 15th, 2010

So this is a special treat for y’all. And if you are a fan of any of the 85 teams in the NRL who had a player horribly injured on the weekend, then you will need it.

I know there was no Friday Partytimes post last week. this was because I was super incredibly busy on Friday filing my nails, buying leopard print underwear and trying to figure out whether my strawberry plant was alive or dead (conclusion: not dead, but dying). This is your consolation: Cleo’s just put up their online gallery of Bachelor of the Year contestants for 2010. IT’S A MAN SMORGASBORD.

Why would you leave the house to meet people when you can just pick them from a Cleo man-menu? Also known as a … Man-u. SEE WHAT I DID THERE?

If you’re wondering, no there are no league players involved. My cousin emailed me about it this morning and demanded ‘WHAT DOES ERROL THINK ABOUT THIS?’ Apparently it’s the first time ever in the history of the world that there are no league players in the list of finalists. it’s okay though darlings, there’s a perfectly simple explanation, and it’s not that Sarah Oakes from Cleo is waging an evil war against league players:

It’s cause Craig Wing moved to Japan.

He was all rugby league had! Cleo was always all up in his business. By which I mean every other player in the sport is either married at 18 … or Todd Carney. And I expect that, even though Todd’s an excellent five-eighth, and probably a charming date, he can’t be included for legal reasons.

Anyway, here are my picks of the colts:

Curtis Stone: Can SOMEONE please marry this man already? He’s on my Foxtel seriously like every day doing that Take Home Chef show and flirting obscenely with mid-30s American housewives in bootcut jeans. One time I swear he was holding two melons while he did it. That shit is getting SAD. The man is clearly lonely for a good woman … and clearly none of us can be that good woman, as we are convinced he’s the type of man who likes rugby union and talking about wine varieties which means we would hate each other on sight. Errol army, please mobilise, spread the word and get him hitched, for the love of God.

Come on down Francis Coady. Do you know what’s boring? People who tell long involved stories, watch movies longer than 90 minutes, or read the whole newspaper (as opposed to just the sports section and any columns in the Telegraph written by hilarious and talented Jo Thornely). This dude runs the Bondi Short Film Festival, meaning that you can be supportive of his work and still have the attention span of Bart Simpson before he was prescribed Focussin. That’s a good thing.

Ross Wallman – never understimate television as a love predictor. A man who likes the Discovery Channel is a man with impeccable taste. If he doesn’t turn around when he hears someone say the words ‘Shark Week’ then he’s probably dead inside. Trust me, I know. When any of us settle down it’s gonna be with a man whose motto is ‘live every week like it’s Shark week’.

Owen Wright: BECAUSE WE HAVE EYES.

Dave Dawes – hands off bitches, have already baggsed him. He can fit a condom on his head. Sassy impressed. Enough said. (I actually never knew that this was a freaking amazing quality in a man until I read this. I guess they’re right when they say you can’t itemise true love. YOU JUST KNOW IT WHEN YOU SEE/READ IT).

See the rest here and look out for video of the NSW Cup tomorrow xx

4 

friday partytimes: what you get is what you see

March 5th, 2010

So the NRL launch this week didn’t just involve your team captains standing awkwardly in front of Sydney landmarks. It also involved a Brand New NRL ad. It has everything you could want, if what you want is lady-farmers, a sculptor, an old man at a busstop and stuff about FEELING ALIVE. Comment and tell us what you think, why don’t ya?

Alternatively, if you don’t care, watch this awesome NRL promo from 1989, also known as SASSY’S FAVOURITE YOUTUBE VIDEO EVER. (It really is, I have it bookmarked and everything):

Happy Friday darlings!

52 

… harold holt? … where are you harry? sharks vs storm

September 29th, 2008

So you already know (if you’ve ever read this site) that we Errol girls aren’t really big fans of the Being Serious.  It’s annoying and kills our buzz. But since people just won’t stop discussing the Storm and Cameron Smith’s suspension I guess I should probably say something about it other than A DINGO GRAPPLED SAM THAIDAY.

If you hate serious stuff too, just skip to the picture of the fuzzy lamb and keep going from there.

If not, well, let’s call this my Cameron Smith and Grapple Manifesto.  Sadly it’s not the good Yves Saint Laurent kind of Manifesto.  It doesn’t involve Gisele or Kate Moss or fierce outfits.

It goes a little something like this.

1) The suspension and the media attention isn’t an anti-Storm persecution conspiracy. Don’t flatter/torture yourselves that it is.  
 
2) The real issue is simply that people don’t like grapples. They slow the game down and bore us all.  

3) For years the referee bosses did nothing and teams (yes, including you Melbourne) denied they did it.  Something had to give, and it happened to be Cameron Smith who was involved when everything finally came together: a grapple at the perfect angle to be caught on camera, by a high-profile player on a high-profile player, during finals series when everyone was watching, so that the grapple was indisputable. And I think everyone was just glad – finally – for a chance to do something about it.

4) If the media latched onto it, it’s party a reflection of public opinion, but also because they couldn’t ignore it. Smith did it in the most obvious way, he’s from a team that grapples really successfully and was destined for the grand final, and he’s Australian captain. Duh. If that’s not a big story in league I don’t know what is. If it was some nobody grappling some nobody then maybe little Andy Nobody might never have been cited or noticed at all, but that was never gonna happen in this case.

5) And yes it’s unfair when hundreds of other grapples have gone unpunished, but … you just have to get over it. I’m sorry. He did it. If 300 other players have gotten away with grapples in the past, then you can bet that some of them were from the Storm too.  Everybody benefited from the refs’ blind eye, including Melbourne and including Cameron Smith.  

He also did it really obviously on camera so the judiciary could see exactly what happened. There was no way you could argue that wasn’t neck contact or that it wasn’t intentional. So this time he was suspended. Just accept it and move on. He’s the sacrificial lamb and it sucks but it doesn’t change that he grabbed someone’s head unnecessarily. If it was someone else who was in his position I’d say the same thing.  

The end. Let’s all move on. Hopefully to a game with less boring wrestling.


Sadtimes for Lamberon Smith

See?  SEE HOW BORING THAT WAS?  God I feel all weird now.  Let’s talk about the game instead.  Just the important bits because a full recap would be too depressing.

ROLL CALL!

Can’t have a drama without characters, can you?  In the Globo purple, we had all the usual Melbourne boys, except Cameron (aka Lindy, aka Wolfman) Smith and Jeremy (aka ‘the Other’) Smith who were sitting on the sideline due to suspension, and Ryan Hoffman ruled out with a jimmy ankle.  Poor Ry-Ry – I feel your pain.  I have a dodgy ankle too!  And I suspect, like mine, yours is a result of high school netball.  I can just see him in a little GD bib.  Three feet!  Three feet! 

I would like to point out that Cameron has clearly been reading Errol because bitch actually shaved for once.  For serious. AMAZING.  He almost doesn’t have a Homer Simpson beardshadow.  Clearly he has a sense of occasion. 

And in the blue and black for Cronulla we had … wait, I know some of them turned up. Anyone?  I don’t see any Cronulla names on this attendance list.  UNACCEPTABLE.

Oh wait, no, I found two.  Misi J Talaupapa rocked up to the SFS, and so did Luke Douglas.  That is all. 

REPORT CARDS

You know how Luke Douglas actually bothered to show up to the game?  Unlike some other players who shall remain nameless?  *cough*Covell*cough*

Maybe it woulda been better if he didn’t.  Poor bastard.  Luke Douglas had a complete shocker, and god didn’t he know it.  If you look really really closely in the picture below, you can actually pinpoint the moment where he gives up on life and starts contemplating whether running into the goalpost really really fast might knock him unconscious hard enough to erase the horrible memories of this game.

 

The answer was no.

The only kid in the 2008 graduating class at Sharks High who even rates a pass is little Misi J Talaupapa.  And that’s not for his footy.  It’s for his fucking excellent extra-credit report, titled ‘PUNCHING ANTHONY QUINN IN THE FACE’.  Oh yeah.  The crowd mimed uppercuts and so did I. 

And blah blah blah you can argue all you want about whether Quinny, recently voted the Pinkest Man in League, went for the tackle on Misi in the in-goal with or without knowing that he had already grounded the ball.  Misi didn’t give a shit and neither did I.  He just knew HE’S MAD AS HELL AND HE’S NOT GONNA TAKE IT ANYMORE.

And that punch was the one good thing you Sharkies did for me that whole game.  I wash my hands of you. 

If I was feeling nice, I would say that maybe the Sharks were a little overwhelmed by the whole thing, especially after having two weeks with nothing to do but get nervous about being in the semi-finals.  I might even admit that when the game ended and Danny Nutley cried I maybe cried too justalittlebit.  (DON’T JUDGE ME!  HE SEEMS LIKE A REALLY NICE MAN!)

But really all you need to know is that, as always, supercoach Jack Gibson is right.

Waiting for Cronulla to win a Premiership is like leaving the porch light on for Harold Holt.

For all our non-Aussie readers, this is Harold Holt.  And in true Aussie fashion he lives on in our memories, and in the HAROLD HOLT MEMORIAL SWIMMING CENTER.  Oh, the irony. 

BIGGEST BITCH IN CLASS


BILLY: Oh no you did-int, Lima. Did you just say purple washes me out?
COOPER: Just let it go. It’s totes not worth it. Plus he’s right, you know.  I always tell you you’re more of a summer.

So with Lamberon Smith out of the picture, who’s the shoo-in to be the new Queen Bee?  Oh yeah, Cooper Cronk. Little Cooper got promoted to Captain and doesn’t he absolutely fucking love it?


Archer are you putting me on fashion report?  But it’s a MANDIGAN.  They are totally in fashion.  I SAW THEM IN INDUSTRIE.


See? Fierce.

The only thing he loves more than finally being in charge is getting to tell off Anthony Quinn like an overwrought mother with a misbehaving child. ZIP IT ANTHONY! ZIP IT!  ZIP IT! YOU’RE A VIRGIN WHO CAN’T DRIVE.

edit: some fabulous person has now uploaded this special moment to youtube – AMAZING.

(Snaps also to the commentator who observed: Nothing good ever comes of Anthony Quinn getting involved. He’s totally on my Christmas card list).


Ross – you get nothing.
 

ALL THAT YOU HAVE IS YOUR SOUL

There’s a moral to this game, and I’m gonna tell you what it is.  Kiki and I were firmly on Team Sharks for this game, because we figured that our hate for the Storm was so much worse, and we would ally with the Sharks to defeat the evil Storm like Roosevelt and Churchill teaming up with Stalin.

We were wrong.  Oh, so wrong.  The plan failed.  Like the Soviet Union, the communists fell under pressure.  WAY TO SCREW US OVER STALIN.  And now I just feel really, really generally … icky about the whole thing.   Let that be a lesson to you kiddies.  You can’t compromise your principles.


Jeffrey likes to buy tiny coffees so he can pretend to the boys they are normal lattes and his muscles are huge.

The worst part is how joyful the Storm are about their whole win.  Yes there were some dramas about Brett White being suspended, but just look at them, frolicking with their tiny tiny coffees at recovery.  As though they don’t have a care in the world.


Not my Macchiato! I mean … not MY REGULAR SIZED COFFEE.

LOOK, I JUST REALLY HATE SEEING THEM HAPPY, OK?  It galls me. If you’re wondering, I also hate them when they’re sad, but mainly, when they’re happy. I don’t like to see the pods beat the humans. It Doesn’t Seem Right. And now they can prance on into the grand final for a repeat of the match they won last year. WILL THE MADNESS NEVER END?

Sigh. Why don’t I just leave you with the boys looking vaguely ridiculous and slightly couplish wearing matching velour towels (I assume they’re embroidered with their initials, too).  See ya at Homebush, bitches.


bye Bob … bye Jean! thanks for everything! … best bed and breakfast we’ve ever been to!

All pics: Getty Images

43 

youtubing for a cause: send lozzy to sydney

September 24th, 2008

Update: I WON I WON! Yes the lovely Nova gang called me this morn and I’m off to the Grand Final. Kisses and gropes to everyone who watched and told their friends (because I have none).

Regular Oh Errol readers may be aware that we love a fanvid. Lozzy loves them so much that she wrote an essay on them in her last year of uni (for reals. Communications degrees for the win!).

So when we heard that Nova 106.9 (that’s the QLD strand) were giving tickets away to the NRL Grand Final, and all you had to do was make a video with the words Nova and Footy in it, well we pretty much self combusted. John John was so excited he stole right from Mic Robertson and did the wang dance for the rest of the afternoon. His stamina continues to astound us.

Have the QLD Nova gang been reading Errol? Coz this shit is so up our alley it’s not even funny. We already do this stuff WITHOUT the lure of a prize at the end. And they only had two conditions! NO RULES! WE LOVE NO RULES!

So Lozzy, being a Dirty Queenslander (who refuses to think of herself as a Queenslander, but we’ll play along just this once) with a love for both footy AND Sydney, spent way too long a perfectly reasonable amount of time working on what is pretty much a work of art – a montage of the NRL Bromance, the Footy ManLove that we adore so much, the positions a tackle can put the boys in that look like heartwarming post-coital embraces.

pic: fmforums.co.uk

All you guys have to do to send Lozzy to Sydney for some Grand Final action is watch the video, because the one with the most hits win. It’s the one with Billy Slater and Cooper Cronk snuggling in the preview pic. Obviously.

Watch the ManLove and Send Lozzy to the Grand Final

Seeing as there’s only one other video up, we’re pretty confident about Lozzy’s chances of winning. And honestly, even if there weren’t a prize being waved in front of us, the experience was worth it. WE’RE JUST REALLY HAPPY TO BE NOMINATED! WE’D LIKE TO THANK THE ACADEMY!

So toddle off, settle in, and bask in the warm glow of NRL Bromance. Also our comedic skillz, but that goes without saying. Feel free to watch it over and over and over again – it’s totally allowed and even encouraged since they said on the show “we don’t care if you just keep clicking it yourself”. Thanks Nova!

And yes, that IS Nick Youngquest and Daniel Holdsworth modelling for Lowes.

PS: Don’t forget on Friday October 3 Sassy + Kiki will be returning to Fire Up on FBI 94.5. Download the podcast and read about their last guesting spot here.

24 

Men we love: Taylor Hanson*

June 23rd, 2008

*and by ‘we’ I mean me, Kiki and Sassy. Jessica will have no part in this, and I think Emma might hold the same opinion. Also I feel odd referring to him as a man coz lord knows he barely is one but whatevs.


I love Hanson. Yep, I do. I was obsessed with them back in ’97 like every other 13 year old girl back then, but lost my way in about 1999 when I switched my Taylor love for Mark Hoppus (wtf?) and Pacey of Dawson’s Creek fame (I may have expressed this by shouting “I Love Paceeeeeeey” from the top of the Tower of Terror at Dreamworld, but I digress). Kiki on the other hand is fiercely loyal and has unashamedly held onto her HanLove for the whole 11 years. And once again under her influence – I am easily lead in case you haven’t noticed – I got back on the HanTrain (how many times do you think I can refer to Han’something’ in this post? Place your bets ppl).

It’s pretty clear why TayTay is a Man We Love, but I’ll put it in bullet points anyway:

  • He completely overtakes the label of ‘hot bitch’ and moves straight on into ‘completely fucking angelically beautiful’. There’s actually not even words for that level of beauty.
  • He always writes/sings the best songs on the album. This is a fact. The non-Tay songs are always crap.
  • His singing voice is perfect and he loves a moan or twenty in between lyrics. Ohhhh oooooh *thrust*
  • He loves an accessory, especially scarves and necklaces. He clearly loves his necklaces more than literally anything in the world.
  • He has no idea how deeply uncool he is and it’s totally endearing. In this interview they told this bullshit roundabout ~RockStar~ story about how they snuck Zac in some club (but in the end I don’t think they actually snuck him in. This is how far they have to stretch for a badass musician story) where they were hanging out with COLIN from RADIOHEAD. Did you hear that guys? They know COLIN from RADIOHEAD. Oh Taylor. There’s this other quote too which the Internets have failed me in delivering again but I swear it’s true, where he’s all “we want all kinds of people to love our music – soccer moms, Metallica fans…DON’T YOU KNOW WE KICK ASS?”
  • Because he can’t do anything normal. Over at The New Way they have an ongoing list of Things Taylor Hanson Can’t Do, which I guarantee is full of lolz even for people who don’t know why it’s funny.
  • Because of this part in the HanDoco Strong Enough To Break where he, in all seriousness, tells Isaac to “take the pickle out of his doody”. Or possibly booty. Either way it’s hilar. This probably could’ve gone in the ‘because he has no idea of how uncool he is’ point but I think it needs it’s own. Also, please note that this is Jessica’s one and only favourite HanMoment.
  • He dances like a fool/white guy.

  • He gets drunk, poses with random girls/bottles of vodka WHO AREN’T HIS WIFE and allows people to take photos of it for our benefit. THANKS TAYLOR!

11 

High School Musical: The ultimate coming out fable

June 2nd, 2008

Word on the street is that coming out of the closet is kind of tricky. And if we lived in more homo-friendly times, maybe you could pop into Angus & Robertson and buy your flamboyant youngest son an illustrated edition of ‘Little Troy Likes to Sleep with Boys’ to explain some things. In the meantime, we have High School Musical.

I could write a (probably extensive) blog about why High School Musical is one of the greatest films ever made and why I love it like my own child, but in the interests of brevity, suffice to say Zac Efron is magical.

His bad acting and joyful dancing make me feel sunshiney in my heart. On the day he was born, two silver winged unicorns cut a sliver from a shimmering rainbow and gave it substance in the form of a little boy. A little boy who grew up to love Liza Minelli and mascara.

And before you get all het about him being underage in the movie, it’s no pervy love. (Just quietly, if it was, him being underage also wouldn’t discourage me. Because I’m inappropriate like that). More that I want to adopt him, and shield him from the corrupting influences of the bad bad world.

I don’t even like to think of him being a real boy, to be honest. I feel like if you ever saw him pantsless, there would be only a skin coloured pair of plastic undies, like on a ken doll.

But far more than just being a Disney musical cheesefest that you either love or hate, respectively, depending on whether or not you are a totally awesome human being, HSM is an allegorical, inclusive, pro-diversity, homo-nurturing, singing, dancing masterpiece. Oh, it has LEVELS.

And it’s all thanks to this man.

Oh snap Kenny Ortega! Who doesn’t love a dancer with a gut?

Fun fact about Kenny: not just the director and choreographer of HSM. Boy also choreographed Xanadu. Xanadu! Amazing.

I suspect he’s also the one who made sure Zeffie’s Troy wardrobe is almost entirely in shades of blue so we can see his pretty blue eyes. Awwwww.

So you know the female spies who were sent into occupied France in WWII and posed as refugees to evade capture? (Because who would willingly go pose as a refugee, of all things? It would totes suck.) Kenny Ortega’s like that. Like a gay spy sent into the film industry posing as a Disney director. Because who would try and be socially progressive in Disney, of all places, right?

That’s the genius. HSM is a ‘love story’, allegedly. *cough cough* But for all the passion between Zeffie’s character Troy, and Gabriella, played by the loathsome and corpse-coloured Vanessa Hudgens, they might as well have named her character ‘ghost of homos future’. In fact, I will call her that, from now on. Because I wish she would die and stop tormenting me with her pallor and her baby voice.

The real love story is between Troy and musical theatre, specifically the delightfully named upcoming East High winter production ‘Twinkletown’. Teenage basketball superstar Troy discovers – one crazy new year’s eve – that he … GASP … likes to sing. He is ashamed, as all men apparently should be, to discover that singing makes him happy in his little golden soul.

He pretends it didn’t happen. He represses. He hides it from his friends. He tells himself it was just one time! I was drunk! Everyone has a blow job from a guy once in their life … right?

But baby can’t fight it for long. Like a bloodhound on the trail of homo criminals, he sneaks into the auditorium behind a janitor’s trolley. And soon golden boy Troy is in the running for a lead part in Twinkletown.

And there’s no question what being in a musical represents. (Sorry, Musicale. Because theatre folk are fancy like that).

Musicales are run by the single, bejewelled, unhinged drama teacher Miss Darbus. Also known as a faghag spinster.

Troy and Ghostie’s competition for the lead parts are the spangly, manipulative, narcissistic, bedazzled Sharpay and her fierce gay brother Ryan. (We know he’s gay cause he wears hats. Hats, people! Always with the hats!)

But that wily Kenny lets us think this is a bad bad thing. Musical practice makes Troy miss basketball practice with his 100% heterosexual, manly team mates. Sharpay is a heinous scheming bitch in a sequinned shrug.

Miss Darbus mercilessly forces the basketball boys to paint in detention. Ryan is a halfwit who loves Ashton Kutcher and jazz squares. Troy’s bff Chad points out that musicals produce hateful tools like Michael Crawford, which is surprisingly insightful. And true.

And the gay starts to spread, like ebola. Or jam. Other kids start confessing things: like playing the cello. Or loving to dance. Or – crime of all crimes – liking to bake.

Chad: Zeke … is BAKING.

If this was a live show, this would be the part where a gopher walks across the front of the stage with a cardboard sign readng ‘HOMOS RUIN LIVES’.

Instead we have something much much better:

The gays are ruining everything! I bet they also killed the dinosaurs! And Jesus!

The nerds and the basketball team form an alliance to create a straight army, rip Ghostie and Troy apart and stop all the musical madness before something gets burned down or God sends another flood.

Confused little angel Troy turns to his daddy (incidentally, Troy’s mum seems to have disappeared. There are seriously no breeders in this movie at all) and asks:

Troy: Dad, did you ever wanna try something new, but were afraid of what your friends might think?

It’s actually tres poignant. Daddy Bolton is having none of it though, and tells little Troy to get back to basketball like a real man and stop sucking dick. IT’S REALLY SAD.

But success, for the basketball team in their republican red uniforms, and the nerds in their KKK white labcoats, is bittersweet. Troy can no longer sink baskets (no, that’s not a euphemism) and chemical equations hold no joy for forlorn Ghostie. Suddenly, the world is bland and colourless, and the valuable lesson is finally learned.

The straight army mobilises once more to weasel our star-crossed lovers back into the Twinkletown call-back audition and let Troy’s soul sing itself to freedom.

The Wildcats even share the love with the drama club:

EXCLAMATION POINT!

And as the movie swells to its low-budget spangly climax, Troy and Ghostie take to the stage to sing the anthem for closeted gay teens all over the world falling in love for the first time – Breaking Free:

We’re soaring, flying
There’s not a star in heaven
That we can’t reach
If we’re trying,
So we’re breaking free

You know the world can see us
In a way that’s different than who we are
Creating space between us
’Til we’re separate hearts

But your faith, it gives me strength
Strength to believe…

Can you feel it building
Like a wave the ocean just can’t control
Connected by a feeling
In our very souls
Rising ’til it lifts us up
So everyone can see…

We’re breaking free
We’re soaring, flying
There’s not a star in heaven
That we can’t reach
If we’re trying, yeah we’re breaking free
Running, climbing
To get to that place
To be all that we can be
Now’s the time so we’re breaking free
More than hope
More than faith
This is truth
This is fate
And together, we see it coming
More than you
More than me
Not a want, but a need
Both of us breaking free

It makes angels dance and the Wildcats win the Big Basketball Game.

And at last – oh, at last! – the entire multicoloured United Colours of Benetton cast join in the gym for singing, dancing, and a big group hug. Best of all, Ryan gets to dive into a big pile of basketballers. It’s no Ashton Kutcher, but I’m so happy for you, Ryan!

Aaah, sweet resolution. The good ship SS Diversity sets sail into the sunset with the entire HSM cast on board. I only regret that there isn’t time in one post to talk about the brilliant Batman and Robin, possessive-girlfriend relationship between Troy and his bitchy queen Chad. All in good time, my babies. For now, let’s just watch them skip.

1 

YEEEHAAAA!

May 30th, 2008

I am a person of wide ranging interests. And this weekend my hetero life mate Sassy and I will be travelling north to further explore one of these interests. You see, dear readers…recently I’ve found myself bizzarely into the sport of bullriding. Yes, bullriding. Thanks to the genius of cable television I discovered the oddly compelling Beyond The Bull. The show follows three professional bullriders (clad in the tightest jeans known to man) competing in the PBR over a year.

This isn’t some backwater rural rodeo. Oh no. This is big time, big bucks and big thrills. There’s fireworks, big screens and mexican waves. As the overly caffeinated announcer screams before every competition – THIS AINT NO RODEO! THIS IS THE P.B.RRRRRRR! And in a stunt only Americans could pull off, the letters ‘PBR’ light up in flames in the middle of the stadium. Brilliant.

The three cowboys consist of the deeply religious (and suitably flamboyant) Brazilian Adriano Moraes, an old school Oklahoman cowboy named JW Hart and my favourite, a cynical short tempered boy from country NSW called Brendon Clark. I honestly had no idea there were Australian bullriders, let alone ones competing at the top level. I instantly fell in love with Brendon because of his hilarious Aussieness.

The production crew asks the riders to muse on an upcoming competition. Adriano says something spritual, JW says something about conquering fear and Brendon simply says – “I’m nervous as shit!!!”.

The characters made the show compelling. But even more so was the constant barrage of men in tight jeans, plaid shirts and cowboy hats. Men who ride huge hulking bulls for a living. Men that get horrifically injured but get back on the bull in the next round. It makes my lady parts tingle. I don’t know why this is hot but it just is okay?

Image and video hosting by TinyPic

Anyway, thanks to my perusing of PBR Australia I discovered that the excellence and hotness of professional bullriding would soon be available for me to see in person. With my own eyes! And nostrils. I’m sure it’s gonna stink like Britneys unwashed weave, but that’s okay. After years of sitting in the cheap seats at the footy I can handle almost anything. Last year a man pissed in an empty beer cup and then proudly showed me the result. True story.

So my friends, tomorrow night Sassy, our friend Yasmin and myself will be attending the Brendon Clark Invitational in beautiful Newcastle. And you know we are going to blog about it.

PS – Since we will be away for the weekend the footy recaps may be a bit delayed. But fear not, they will appear. There… now you can sleep at night.