Now, I would like to write a post for you all about the grand final.  Unfortunately, I was so atrociously hungover and rubbish that I don’t remember very much. Also, I can’t be bothered.  

There is also a much more pressing issue to deal with: if 2008 was a golden year for the beard in rugby league, then every golden age eventually has to end, right?  So I think we need a little post to act as a fond farewell to the beards that made 2008 so entertaining.  Let’s light a few tealights, shot some Scotch, and mourn for the facial hair that is no more.  (If you need to change into something black, I can totally wait too.  I’m already wearing a black netting veil and channelling Blair Waldorf).

Forgive me father for I have been to the Brighton Bar … again.

First to leave us were the boys in black. After their loss to the Sea Eagles our favourite bearded boys, the New Zealand Warriors, decided to sacrifice their hilarious and delightful facial hair to charity.  Sigh. Is there anything worse than when people do something for charity?  I say no. Because apparently ‘things for charity’ translates as ‘things that make Sassy sadtimes’.  Like when mum decided I was too old for dolls and gave my Strawberry Shortcake dollhouse to the childrens’ hospital.  AS THOUGH CHILDREN IN A HOSPITAL HAVE TIME TO PLAY WITH DOLLS.  GOD. THEY’RE SICK, REMEMBER?  What was my point?

IT’S JUST ALL SO SAD. I’m gonna miss you crazy bushrangers. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go and start making my Movember advent calendar. Only four weeks to go till my most favouritest month of the year!

Goddamn if they aren’t going to be a long four weeks too. I am tres pissed off. I awoke from my drunken slumber to find out that Errol Patron Saint David Williams had stolen my lady Venus in the aftermath of Mad Monday and shaved the beard. The only explanation I can possibly come up with for why he defied our explicit wishes and went the razor is that he overheard us discussing our Top Five Favourite Movie Gettin’ Square and our Top Three Favourite Ginger David Wenham and came to the conclusion that it was a brilliant idea to make himself over in the image of John Francis Spiteri.  Davey, nooooooo!

Is that … a mullet? I do believe it is. What are you gonna do, mate, put up some shelving?

I’m sorry your Hhonour I didn’t mean to say ‘shit’, it’s just that this fucking guy’s gettin to me.

And as well as leaving you with the evidence that Dave hasn’t practised shaving in at least six months: (make sure you shave AFTER you shower, kids, when the hair is soft)

Who’sh gonna pay for my bush fare?

I’ve also tracked you down some exclusive Errol footage of Dave rocking out on Mad Monday. Goodbye, beardbye, and enjoy babies.

And they say the news is depressing.

I have to confess right now that I am a closet Todd McKenney fan. Love him. Know it’s wrong, love him all the same.

Not just because he played Nathan Starkey in Baz Luhrmann’s masterpiece Strictly Ballroom (Pam Short’s broken both her legs … and I wanna dance with you), although obvs that helps a lot. Love him because he’s a total bitch. Love his crazy jug ears. Plus he has a place in my street I think because once I walked the dog past him in my trackies while he was waiting in the street with suitcases, and he totally said ‘what a handsome dog’. HANDSOME. True story. Want me to tell it again?

Sometimes I even watch Dancing with the Stars in the vain hope that he and Sonia Kruger will do a spectacular reunion samba. (Was that going too far with the honesty?)

And now after his infamous discovery in Rushcutters Bay park, passed out on Anzac Day afternoon with ghb in his pocket – and bloodstream – Todd McKenney has said possibly the sweetest words any celebrity can say.

“They weren’t my drugs! Someone put them in my pocket when I took my pants off.”

In his statement to police he explained the whole crazy mix-up. And quite the farcical mix-up it was. See Todd – and who HASN’T done this? – got a little heated on the dance floor and took off his pants. And while his pants were circling his ankles, some misbegot stuffed ghb in his pocket. Also, in his drink.

You know it makes sense.

I can say from personal experience that at about 3am that dancefloor at Gilligan’s is a furnace. The only thing worse is the dancefloor at the Palms. If I ever wore pants I’d be ripping those bitches off too, bb. Sometimes the crotch just really needs air.

There is nothing I love more than the old pants-off explanation from a celebrity. It’s like a lunar eclipse: it only happens rarely, but when it does, god is it beautiful. Possibly the only other pants-off incident to top this is our girl Lindsay Lohan’s valiant effort last year.

Sure Lilo was off her face, climbed in an SUV, stalked her assistant in a high-speed car chase and had cocaine in her pocket. But, guys:

“THEY WEREN’T MY PANTS.”

Sure you whip off your pants, Todd, but do you pants swap? Hmm. I thought not. And that’s why I do adore you McKenney, but Lilo owns my heart.

Before you say anything, I know. He’s completely crazy. Also, a thrice-convicted criminal, and quite clearly a crackhead. In that picture I think he’s buying baby-wipes. I hate to think why. I’m pretty sure he’d really stink as well. That’s kind of the point.

What other notorious crackhead do you know with a youtube account? Not to mention a youtube account almost completely filled with videos of his cats, little potatos and boadicea. (Except when he uploads videos of Winehouse playing with baby mice or of fake murder mysteries set in the woods). Bitch crazy! Bitch can work the internet!

So well, actually that he also posts on Babyshambles forums. My personal favourite is when he posts from rehab on his laptop. Bitch is a nerd like me!

It’s almost as great as when he got up on stage at the British music awards to recite Siegfried Sassoon’s war poetry. Bitch is a pretentious twat, like me!

He paints in his own blood and lives in his own filth. He sold ‘Dreaming of You’ to the Coral for the price of a pint. And I’ll forgive him for dating Kate Moss for writing the utterly romantic ‘There She Goes’ about her. What says love song more than the lines ‘then from your bag, pulled out more scag than I’d ever seen’? It’s lovvvvvve.

At the end of the day, he’s cool enough for Hedi Slimane. That makes him cool enough for you.