JOYFUL NEWS, KITTENS! And not just the normal joyous they-wrote-a-post news. We have some sweet sweet loot to show off.

As you may or may not have realised, the Titans have discovered the wonder that is twitter, and hooked up the awesome tattooed Mat Rogers with his own twitter account. And can we just say … GOOD CHOICE TITANS. Because Mat the rat’s introduced a semi-regular shirtless guessing contest, where he posts headless torso shots of his teammates and internet creeps like us win sweet prizes.

Well … IT ARRIVED. In a special little tube with M. Rogers on the back. The thought of the Titans five eighth and his giant tattooed arms rocking up at a post office in the Goldy and demanding a protective tube for a signed Titans poster is straight up amazing. THANKS MAT!

We especially love that it’s been photoshopped so that the Titans are both on Gold Coast beach …. AND several kilometres away from the Gold Coast skyline with a stretch of sea in between. We just wish iPhones took detailed enough pics so that you could see Kevin Gordon’s amazing mullet in the bottom left corner. Maybe we’ll bring it to the errol Chrissie party so you can all luxuriate in it’s brilliance in person … yes? Deal.

In other news Friends star Matthew Perry Jason Taylor has officially been booted from the bunnies for the recent, um, I’m rapidly running out of euphemisms for off-field indiscretions. Let’s just call it … unpleasantness, the way Southerners do when they talk about the Civil War.

Apparently the decision to cut him loose was kinda tricky though, so they made it at a super-top-secret bigshot lockdown powwow at Russell Crowe’s central coast compound. Cause you can’t make these kinda decisions over a coffee at Bill & Toni’s … sometimes you just need a charter flight and an over night stay at Nana Glen.

Look at the boys arriving at the air strip! It’s so … Untouchables. Or President Clinton sitting down by the ping pong table at Camp David with Yasser Arafat and Ehud Barak trying to broker a Middle East peace deal over a game of singles.

Except instead of dealing with decades of ethnic and religious conflict, it’s about Jason Taylor doing (allegedly) drunk Kung Fu.

We also like to think that Rusty adds a bit more flair to the Crowe compound than they have at Camp David. Bet when you arrive at the Nana Glen gates you get a little gift bag, complete with a leather jacket with your name and team logo on the back and an awesome Rabbitohs baseball cap. There’s probably a rabbit-shaped helipad behind the stables, too. And when you get home you get a little note on customised red and green stationery that’s just signed ” …. RUSSELL.”

Just Russell! Like Cher.

While we’re on the topic of fierce bitches … SUP GEORGE ROSE!

We spotted our favourite dynamo with the Kangaroos training squad chilling at the pool the other day. To be completely honest, we thought that with the demise of Shane Warne, the days had long passed when a man carrying a little extra bulk could represent his nation at an elite level in his chosen sport. And we were DEVASTATED. As ladies who love nothing more than a sausage roll and/or a fatlete, we were pretty damn sad. We like to think if you don’t have to be buff to be a blogger, why do you have to be all Matt Cooper-ripped to play sport? Hmmmmm? BODY FASCISTS.

My friends, we were wrong. Gorgeous George (who, by the way, is totally a hit on Twitter. Almost everyone on our followers list is completely enamoured of him) proved us wrong. He’s a wrecking ball of a forward and he cares not for diets.

Look how relaxed he looks! Our man George is so ready for this tour bitches.

Dave Williams, on the other hand, looks like he’s at what Tim Sheens calls “wrist-cutting situation”. WHY SO SAD DAVEY?

All the other Kangaroos are busy leaping in the pool and bonding like fishes, but not Dave.

IS IT THE BEARD? That may just be the face of a man who is realising that without a giant beard, he’s not a wolfman (yeuch) anymore. He’s just. a. man. It may also be the face of a man who has frequent and intense State of Origin flashback nightmares. Who can say? Either way, Davey’s still our Errol patron saint and we don’t like seeing our mans sad.

STOP TRYING TO FIGURE OUT WHAT THE HELL YOUR GOGGLES ARE AND COMFORT THE MAN, GIDLEY!

Apparently they don’t have swimming pools in Newcastle, cause Chris Houston looks fucking baffled, too. I can’t believe that there can be a city that has multiple Henny Penny outlets but whose residents can’t use swimming goggles … or remember to take their t shirts off before swimming. Oh, Newie.

Ricky Stuart’s coaching loss is also our eyes’ pervy gain cause the new Kangaroos coach is that dapper old man Tim Sheens. I’m not kidding. We love his swagger. One afternoon at Leichhardt he sauntered past in his rockin leather jacket and Kiki almost fell off her chair.

In conclusion: yes we have awesome taste.

In case you’re wondering: yes we WILL be at the double-header at Leichhardt this weekend … come say hi Mr. Sheens.

Kangaroo image credits: Getty Images

What’s that word people kept saying earlier this week? … MAROONWASH, was it?

Oh, the sweet satisfaction of Queensland being denied their fairytale. Yes, we know they won the series, but we also know that instead of prancing off into the sunset to a sunny Queensland island to relive their victories, they’re gonna be sitting at home, lights off, watching slo-mo replays of this game and wondering just how it all went wrong. Johnathan Thurston will probably cry. He does that.

But the bottom line is the same: NO TROPICAL HOLIDAY FOR YOU NOW, BITCHES.

This game was a victory for brotherhood, tenacity, pettiness, spite, and sheer stubbornness, with just a hint of FUCK ALL Y’ALL added for spice.

If you’re wondering, you eat this delicious dish with … wait for it … THE FORKS.

For those who were not blessed enough to watch the game in all its glorious suspense, drama, violence, and hilarity, the Blues won. THAT’S RIGHT. Our baby blues brought it home 28-16.

The addition of the two Old Men in Blue, Trent Barrett and Brett Kimmorley, turned out to be a stroke of brilliance. Kimmorley was all over the field like a man half his age. The addition of Michael Ennis, captain of the good ship giving-away-stupid-penalties, maybe slightly less so.

But let’s talk about what you’re actually interested in: yes, there was a KO. A real one. No (non-literal) shit. After a bit of scuffling in a tackle, Brett White leapt out of his play-the-ball and picked an old school stand-up fight with Hot Old Man Steve Price.

Tragically, this didn’t involve anyone getting shirtless to punch on, which is one of the greatest football traditions ever. What it did involve was about three air swings, then Brett White making perfect contact with Steve Price’s jaw. We swear on our most precious vintage t shirts he was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

And we’re gonna stand up and say … yes, we was kinda shocked. We had always had a vague suspicion that Brett White was more … how do you put it? More a lover, than a fighter.

Pic. Getty Images

Can’t imagine why. Turns out Brett White has a fucking mean right cross, and it’s Steve Price who isn’t much for fisticuffs. Even his Warriors coach Ivan Cleary was terrified about what might happen.

I saw Pricey look to shape up and I thought, ‘What’s he doing?’ I thought, ‘Oh no.’

With all due respect to Pricey I couldn’t imagine him going great in a fight.

Love how he says “all due respect” like it matters. Now that we know Pricey is like a kitten without claws you can say whatever you like Ivan. Go on! Let it out!

And we won’t lie, Brett White kinda won my heart when after the whole scuffle, as Justin Hodges was making snake eyes – we aren’t kidding, he really did it with his hands like Barney from How I met Your Mother - he just licked his lips, mouth all covered in blood, and laughed … it was kind of hot. OOOF. Excuse us now while we hide our faces in shame for enabling violence with our perviness.

But somehow Trent Waterhouse (not to be confused with Trent from Punchy) was the one sent off and fronting the judiciary for running in as third man and tackling the falling unconscious Pricey to try and end the fight. Our boy Trent is now first man to be sent off since Gordie in 2000, and first blues player EVER to be sent off. His mama must be so proud!

Perhaps she can have the title painted onto a plate for the mantle.

(Gordie, on the other hand, is probably at home busily hand-sewing up a storm, whipping up a Trent Waterhouse voodoo doll and sticking pins in its knees, chanting BITCH TOOK MY TITLE).

But we’re putting it out there that Trent had the best of intentions and is getting an unfair rap. Soon as we finish writing this blog and painting our nails, possibly eating a sandwich, we fully intend to start a FREE TRENT campaign.

Don’t worry Waterhouse! WE’RE ON IT!

And if it turns out we’re wrong and Waterhouse was doing something dodgy, Sassy volunteers to spank him for being a Bad Boy. Yes, she really did say that. Her wrongness knows no bounds.

Tell you who’s not getting any help from us though? Oh yes, we’re looking at you Thurston. Don’t-you-walk-away-from-me JT.

As if we weren’t unimpressed enough when Thurston said “go away, you spastic” to Kurt Gidley. Um … spastic? Really, JT? We’re hardly in the position to be holier-than-thou about offensive comments, but we will say this: is it year four now? Have you time-travelled? What a piss-weak childish insult.

But then we saw your boot making contact with Dave Williams face as he lay on the ground, and we is pissed. YOU KICKED OUR DAVE IN THE FACE!! UNACCEPTABLE!

We are thisclose to issuing a JT death fatwa, like Iran did with Salman Rushdie. Surprisingly, yes, we do know a lot of high profile Mullahs and we aren’t afraid to ask for favours.

Dunno if everyone’s aware of this, but Dave Williams (and no we won’t call him ‘Wolfman’; it’s a shit nickname and we refuse) happens to be the Patron Saint of Errol. As a sidnote, we cannonised him literally 6 months before anyone else knew his name so don’t you dare accuse us of being ‘Wolfman’ bandwagoners.

Anyway, we love Davey. Even though his defence of Greg Inglis was lacking in sections. Sassy maintains it’s because he failed to watch Wiz and Gordie on Monday Night Football presenting the new segment CONTACT CORNER. They specifically taught everyone how to defend Inglis … with role plays and everything! Seriously, if Bellamy didn’t let the boys have MNF tv privileges then he totally dropped the ball.

Anyway. Back to JT. In some ways we’re kinda like the mafia round here: we love chunky gold watches, cannoli, and fur … and we don’t take no one messin’ with our boyz.

So for convenience’s sake, we have drawn up a list of all our adored NRL babies.

So if anyone even THINKS of harming a hair on one of those boys heads, there will be hell to pay fo realz.

Let’s talk about Anthony Watmough. The man was a MACHINE! Played the whole 80 minutes and never looked like tiring. Bitch has endurance. Kinda like the way pre health kick us used to stay out dancing and drinking schooners until 6am. Yes, exactly like that. We were doing it for NSW too.

We know he gets a bit of a bad rap in the league world, but in our personal experience Watmough is a bit of a champ. And by that we mean whenever we have spoken to him he has been awesome and really encouraging of what we do. Which is enough for us to be on Team Watmough.

At this point Kiki would like to point out that this amazing form from Watmough is a direct result of her accidentally offending him at the Beaver tribute dinner last year. She somehow found herself alone with him and somewhat lost for words, and in true Kiki form she blurted out something inappropriate.

K – Hey Watmough…remember when you used to play Origin? And you were heaps good?

A - ……….yes.

K – Those were ummm…good times! *encouraging slap on the arm*

Obviously this was his ‘rock bottom’. He made a commitment to himself he would play like a man possessed and make the Origin team in 09. And he did! THANKS KIKI!

Just imagine how different things could have been if Kiki had made conversation about the weather. That is some Sliding Doors shit right there.

And Watmough teamed up with Ben Creagh to send in Benny for a try, too. ALL THE WAY WITH BENNY CREAGH. And that’s on top of Creagh getting the honour of being sinbinned. Amazing. Shout out to Mama Creagh! We especially enjoy that it was for … well for avoiding getting into a fight.

(All the way with) Benny Creagh was obviously upset  when Queenslanders piled into a tackle on Kurt Gidley, so he pushed Justin Hodges off, then … well then he ran away. HEART. Kiki thinks he put in the shove then suddenly had a vision of how fucking terrifying Wayne Bennett would be if he got suspended and had to backpedal like crazy. Either way Benny Creagh gets a membership card to the Steve Price Boxing Club. Look out for it in the post, Ben.

And last of all, Sassy’s dad’s favourite moment of the game: a Queenslander getting so excited at Dallas Johnson’s try that he spilled his beer. We like to think he made exactly the same face when the full-time buzzer sounded. Enjoy:

Thanks to the delicious Cronkster for his caps.

Hey Greg Inglis! We got you a little gift. Lotsa love, New South Wales.

Yes THAT IS TOTALLY A TRANSFORMERS REFERENCE. You know that shit is apt. Because the Queensland team are evil Deceptecons (apart from you Steve Price) and we are noble Autobots.  Yep yep.

Yeh so we shoulda written this yesterday but we were a) viciously hungover and b) annoyed at the world. And by world we mean QUEENSLAND. Booooo! As if things couldn’t get any worse, our eyes were subjected to herds of detestable Queensland supporters waddling about Sydney Airport the next day. All clad entirely in maroon. God, why are they so punishing?

This series loss is crap, but we knew it was coming.. By that we mean DAMMIT THOSE QUEENSLANDERS ARE JUST TOO GOOD. Did we really think that our baby blues could beat … pretty much the Australian team? Maybe. In the same way we think there’s a chance we could compete in Miss Universe. We live in a world of immense possibility, after all.

But the dream wasn’t to be.  So lets just do a run down shall we?

THE FANS

WE LOVE AUSSIE LEAGUE FANS. There is nothing that brings out the best in people like State of Origin. It’s like … the Olympics for fans. BEST. SIGN. EVER. There’s so much to love about it. I love that it’s actually addressed to Greg Inglis.

We love when fans direct their rage AT the actual players. Like when we went to watch the Roosters lose in dismal fashion against the Tigers at the SFS this season, Mitchell Pearce was standing in the corner in from of us, one irate fan stood up on his chair about three rows back from the field to yell ‘MITCHELL’.

The angryfan was so surprised when Mitchell actually turned around that he couldn’t even remember why he was so pissed and just pointed and shook his finger while making an angry ‘ngggggnnnnnnnnnggghhhhhhh’. It was awesome.

Also, don’t you love the simple fact that someone bothered to make a sign large and intricate enough to include the word BOWRAVILLE? He is so committed.

Possibly the only thing better is that – according to one of our Errol spiez, the lovely Jess – when the Maroons ran out a New South Welshman in a suit mooned them. Pulled on down his pin-striped suit pants and MOONED THEM. I am so proud to be from NSW right now.

THE BIFF

JUSTIN POORE. What a dark horse! First he’s building orphanages in Rwanda, next thing you know he’s whipping up a tasselled bra and smashing Mick Crocker with a right hook in Origin. He is a man of layers. And luckily for us, one of those layers is PUNCHING. Hallelujah!

Exhibit A – J.Punch Poore gets his sexy on

And we have to admit something. With this single act of biff Justin well….he became SEXY. Um hello ripped jersey! We have always adorrrred him, but more in a OMG HE IS SO AMAZING AND PERFECT AND HAVE U SEEN THOSE EYELASHES sort of way. Now his appeal has taken on a whole new dimension. Welcome to the Hot Man Stable Justin baby!

And yes, we know violence is wrong but FOOTY VIOLENCE IS DIFFERENT. We really enjoy watching Anthony Watmough almost magically appear in the vicinity whenever a fight erupts, all full of eagerness and busting to just punch someone. Anyone! He sniffs it out like an enthusiastic labrador diving into the bushes and popping out with an apple core. Heart.

DAVEY HAS NO NO TIMES

Ooooooooh dear. What can we even say? We aren’t gonna describe all of Dave’s fuck ups because well…you guys have eyes right? What we will say is:

a) Watching his distraught face on the TV literally broke our hearts. That shit was BLEAK.

b) Okay yes his mistakes were shockers, but most of the team under performed. If anyone is blaming him for our loss they are delusional.

c) Players have had bad debuts and gone on to be Origin superstars…hello Jarryd Hayne and Justin Hodges! Don’t write him off yet.

d) Guess the bubble had to burst for him at some point. His last 18 months have been somewhat charmed. But wow…what a way to come back to earth. THUD.

e) Even if everyone else in the world is ripping into you…WE STILL LOVE YOU DAVEY! So so much! If you ever need a place to hide out, we can blow up a bed and you can sleep on the floor of Errol HQ.

THE RUNS

K.Hunt is overjoyed at the win; regrets sharing a fork with Nate Myles.

Seriously, Nate Myles = almost as unfortunate as Ben Hannant. Is there anything worse than having it announced to the world that you have diarrhoea? THAT’S RIGHT, PEOPLE. NATE MYLES IN DOUBT FOR ORIGIN CAUSE HE CAN’T LEAVE THE CAN. We love it when embarassing shit happens to Queenslanders, we really do.

BABY HAYNE WE ARE SO PROUD OF YOU

Yaaaaay! Go Jarryd-with-a-y! Hayne has often been thought of in the league world as being lazy/arrogant/generally unlikeable. Well forget all that shit coz bitch KILLED IT on Wednesday night. Not only did he score that sweet sweet try (revenge for the video ref debacle of Origin 1) he was also enthusiastic in defence and was probably the Blues best player. WELL DONE MISTER! You get an Errol gold star. Lucky boy.

At this point we would like to make a request.

Queenslanders, we are okay with you winning a record series. It’s hardly a suprise. But please, for the love of all that is good and holy, stop pretending it’s about heart, pride or the ‘Queensland spirit’. IT’S COZ YOU HAVE THE ENTIRE AUSTRALIAN BACKLINE FOR CHRISSAKE. Stop being self mythologising fantasists and accept you are just the better team.

See you in Game 3. We look forward to our Trent ‘our new favourite person’ Barrett smashing some more maroon jaws. What whaaaat!

(Pics from the lovely cronkster and GettyImages)

After the success of the Harvey Norman Women in League round, and before the next Origin match, the lovely folks at the NRL and One Community threw the last Women in League dinner for 2009. And, somehow, the Country Rugby League were kind enough to ask us along as their guests. I know, right? How nice are they? It makes no sense. Maybe they saw us in some of our Mary Kate Olsen-ish hobo outfits and thought we were probably in need of some free food and drink, and maybe a roof over our heads. 

The event was up at Magenta Shores, where the Blues boys are staying for their Origin camp. If nothing else this should end those annoying ‘NSW are pampered princesses’ comments cause … well I’m pretty sure pampered princesses don’t stay in resorts that smell like swamp. THERE. WE SAID IT. The resort is lovely, but still, it’s unnerving.

We want to say a big HI BOYS to the high priests of rugby league, David Gallop and Geoff Carr. Thankyou so much for the chats and the encouragement, let’s be best friends, call us every day.

First of all we have a huge complaint: why did no one mention on the invite that there might be tears? There should be a little WATERPROOF MASCARA warning right under where it says ‘Dress code: smart casual”. Between mains and dessert Mario Fenech interviewed the irrepressible Daisy, a league volunteer of 57 years. FIFTY-SEVEN YEARS. When he asked her what inspired her to support kids’ footy, her answer was ‘just seeing their effort to get those little legs all the way down the field”. We knowww, Daisy. Nothing cuter than little kids playing footy … remember how much we fell in love with Jacko in Orange? Her passion was enough to get us teared up, and we think Mario was choking back a few too.

We also really enjoyed that she turned Mario’s thank you kiss into a mouth-on-mouth moment. To be honest he’s not really our type (we know you won’t be offended, Fenech) but what a minx. Call us, Daisy. We’ll go out on the town.

To turn the night into a WiL-Origin extravaganza, the organisers sent one lucky Origin player to each table … except ours. Discrimination! Either discrimination, or somehow the players got wind of this and bribed someone to make sure they didn’t have to eat with the Errol girls. Instead we sat with ErrolSuperStaaah Bert. Sure he’s great company but if he’s given us Swine Flu we will be pissed.

If you’re wondering who gets the most love in the Blues team, it’s a tie between Robbie Farah and Craig Wing. When those two were sent to their tables, the crowd damn near lost their minds. Bitches are hits! One table even called over Dave Williams and his rapidly fading fairy floss beard to take their pics with Wingy. Um, this is a Kangaroo winger. Not a photo monkey! Can’t they rope in the Daily Telegraph photog for this shit? Poor Dave.

In other news now that the pink dye is fading, Dave isn’t so much fairy floss as coconut ice. Under the pink is a big ol layer of white beard. We couldn’t figure out if the beard is a fashion crime or a tasty delicious snack. Sadly we have no updates from Dave’s life for you because to be quite honest we couldn’t look at him without laughing, let alone carry on a conversation.

So let’s talk about the rest of the Blues.

Obviously Kiki is overwhelmed with joy at her Dragons boys representing NSW, and was even more joyous when Justin Poore strolled in, smiled and said hi … all of his own volition! We didn’t even force him to be nice! It’s always comforting to know someone has read Errol but still isn’t terrified of us.

Put down your flippers Monas! You’re playing Origin!

We were also delighted to see Joel Monaghan in the squad as a shadow player. As he walked in we spontaneously yelled MONAS WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? and rushed in for the sort of big emotional hug that you usually see at the Arrivals terminal in Sydney aiport. Not only is he the funniest man in the NRL, he also looks ever so dapper in a suit. It’s not his fault he forgot to bring shoes to match. Maybe he just doesn’t like wearing them, like me? I DON’T LIKE TO BE CONFINED! I’M A FREE SPIRIT! LOZZY SAYS SO!

Incidentally I somehow overlooked the fact that he would be there. Why? I don’t know. I am an idiot. But my subconscious somehow knew, because on Wednesday morning I went to stay ‘Origin’ and accidentally said ‘Monagin’ instead. IT’S LIKE I’M PSYCHIC. I HAVE A FIFTH SENSE.

Trent Barrett’s selection was quite the suprise, and truthfully we have been fairly ambivalent about it. There were tears and arguments in the Errol office, till eventually work experience boy Lachie used his one good arm and shoulder to get out the butcher’s paper and got us to brainstorm our way back to love and understanding.

Flirty, thirty and thriving!

Sure we were disappointed that the NSW selectors didn’t stick with their ‘new blood’ selection policy, and heartbroken that Errol retro fave T.Camps isn’t in Origin II, but there are pluses.

Universal truth: it’s not easy to pull off anger while holding flippers.

Pluses like since Barrett is in the team, we now have an Origin rep who is OLDER THAN US. But four years. Hurrah! Finally! We’re sick of those baby blue bastards rubbing their youth in our faces.

The intimacy helps me cope with the disappointment.

And the bright side of Hot Bitch Cooper missing out on selection is that we didn’t pass out from lust over the entree at the Women in League dinner. God I am so glass-half-full today. I almost make myself sick.

Instead we decided to chat up Craig Bellamy and see if he really is White Goodman. Remember that post? … good times). To our incredible disappointment he’s … likeable. GOD. How inconvenient. Likeable and charming in a well-fitting suit. I would even say he’s rather … dapper. DAMN YOU BELLAMY. Doesn’t he realise we’re trying to hate the Storm? Selfish bastard.

We also discovered Glenn Stewart looks pretty sharp with his new blonde hair (keep it Glenn! We like it) and that Anthony Watmough is an awesome and supportive cheerleader for women in league and in the media (and especially us, bless his heart).

And in true Errol fashion we managed to embarass ourselves. As the boys left for their villas, Kiki gripped Justin Poore by the shoulder and fervently announced in a stage whisper: “I’m so proud of you, Justin“. She really is invested in her Dragons boys. And the only think she could manage to say to Robbie Farah was to yell HI ROBBIIIEEEE in his face.

Worst of all: we got burned by Mario Fenech. No shit, kids. As we were chatting to him he told us “well you two are .. characters”. And when we protested that was ambiguous and kinda mean he followed it up with “…. well I was trying to be nice”.

THAT WAS NICE? MARIO FENECH TOTALLY DISSED US. SEE IF WE PLUG YOUR SOON-TO-BE-LAUNCHED WEBSITE THEFALCON.COM NOW.

Pics thanks to the gorgeous BS and his blog, Kiki’s iPhone and the Sydney Morning Herald (David Williams).

OH HAAAAAY!

Miss me? Thought youse did! God knows I haven’t blogged in awhile. To be honest, I’ve had an existential crisis of sorts. Okay ‘existential crisis’ makes it sound all intellectual and life changing. Basically I’ve been wearing my velour dressing gown more than usual and shuffling around the house thinking SHIT SHIT SHIT I CAN’T WRITE ANYMORE.

Anyway, what better week to make my return than the deliciously pink Women in League Round? YAY! I suprisingly enough, love love love pink! As has been well established on Errol, I am not all that girlie. In fact the other day my hair dresser described me as a ‘sporty tomboy’. Which is completely lolz because the last time I did something even remotely sporty was get hit in the head with a footy in Year 9. Fuck me sideways ,that HURT. To this day whenever I’m at a game and someone kicks for touch I dive for cover under Sassy’s fro. Fro of steel!

Anyway, I can’t walk in heels, I sit with my legs open like a dude and I reguarly find unintentional dreadlocks in my hair but godamn I love the colour pink. In fact I’m writing this blog from my delightfully pink laptop right now. So needless to say I am all over the idea of a whole WEEK of pink! Especially when it benefits breast cancer research. Some heinous cynics have dismissed it as a ‘marketing exercise’. Well to put it as eloquently as I can…STUFF THEM.

How can anyone hate on this? I mean really. It’s giant boofy football players with PINK FACIAL HAIR. This shit is amazing. We can’t decide which one is our fave! Love Hall for his finite work on the goatee, Stewart for the fact he came up with the idea and Robbo because it’s just so damn ironic. Robbo is the sad clown of the NRL (have you noticed how completely maudlin he looks on the field this year?) and seeing him sporting something so ridiculous has made our year.

And of course, rugby league’s most famous beard had to get involved.

In fact there’s not much ‘The Wolfman’ ISN’T involved in at the moment. Bitch is everywhere. We are considering requesting some sort of finders fee from his manager, for realz. We discovered his awesome in 08 literally months before the mainstream media. Godamnit, it’s rough being ahead of the curve.

As you can see, in his quest to become the cheesiest player in the NRL, he not only pinked up his beard also inexplicably dyed his moustache jet black. WHY DAVID, WHHYYYY?? The bright pink beard wasn’t crazy enough for you? Oh, honey….no. Lucky we love you.

All that aside, huge Errol props the Manly boys for sacrificing vanity for a good cause.

Now onto the Panthers. I knew they were going to wear pink uniforms this week but godammmmmn they were PINK. Jerseys, shorts, socks, shoes…even headgear.Everything was pink. It was a team of straight up MUSK STICKS.

Matt Muskington sucessfully makes his debut for the Penrith Panthers

Not only did the Panties rock out in glaring pink, they also grew beards to raise awareness for breast cancer research. Whoever came up with this idea – you are Awesome. And yes it deserves capitalisation. Because if there’s anything we love more than a footy player with a beard, it’s a footy player with an altruistic beard.

Without such charitable exercises how would we know that youngins like Wade Graham can suprisingly cultivate such luxurious beards? And how would we know who Shane Elford was? Never noticed him when he was clean shaven, but as soon as his beard started to come through HELLLOOOO LOVER.

(Yes I could have picked a photo of WG with his tongue actually in his mouth….. but it’s funnier this way. Sorry, Wade.)

Sadly for my tips, the Panthers lost. But it did mean I got to giggle at Daniel Mifsud’s cheap jokes about the ‘pink panties going down’. Hehe…panties. (yes THAT Mifsud)

Now, onto the Most Lovably Awesome Team In The Universe, the mighty mighty Dragons! WHEEEEE! My babies busted out the Pink V once again to honour both women in league, and the Joanne McKay Foundation. Last time they wore the pink I made some predictably distasteful jokes about lady vees. This year I have decided to class it up a bit. Okay, that’s a lie….I just don’t like to recycle jokes. UNLIKE YOU WIL ANDERSON.

Sometimes I think the Dragons sit around and think up ways to make me love them even MORE. Shit is getting ridiculous. As if my boys playng brilliantly in baby pink wasn’t enough, the adorable bitches decided to kick it up a notch with a giant on field love in. Look at that photo! It’s like pure distilled joy! HOT BITCH COOPER IS SMILING. He never smiles! (Notice the ass grab on B.Moz. Respect Coops, respeecccct.)

In fact, my teams display of public affection has inspired me. I am going to launch a range of romantic greeting cards with their images on the front. Oh Kiki, you’re crazy you say? Oh no….no I ain’t. Check this shit out.

Oh yeh, I am gonna be so rich.

Massive love to the NRL, One Community and everyone involved in the Women in League initative. It actually lasts until the end of June, and we have been invited as guests of the CRL to a dinner on Wednesday night to further celebrate the contribution of women to the game.

We have it on good authority that the NSW Blues may be there. I can’t promise I won’t get drunk, latch onto Justin Poore’s ankle and scream PLS DON’T LEAVE THE DRAAGGGOOOONS. Personally, I think dragging me along behind him as he tries to escape would make for excellent strength training. Yep.

(Pics from Getty Images, League HQ and the wonderful BS)

Is it just us, or have you felt there was something missing from this footy season? A funny sort of feeling that all wasn’t quite as it should be (and not just because the Bulldogs are winning things). It’s a bit like that weird confusion when you walk in the bathroom and can’t remember what you went in there for; or the feeling when you wake up and suspect you may have publicly pashed someone but can’t remember who it was or where you were. I mean … what? Who said what?

Anyway, I can solve the mystery for you without even having to look at your wrists to see if there are any tell-tale nightclub stamps on your wrists. IT’S DAVE. Errol Patron Saint Dave Williams has been conspiciously absent from the 2009 season.

We were heartbroken when he injured his shoulder in the World Club Challenge match in England. What would we do without Dave? After we organised trauma counselling for Intern John John and Lachie, we decided to keep tabs on him so you can still get your Davey fix. Plus it meant I got to wear a trenchcoat and heels.

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST OFF-SEASON

Things were looking dire in round one.  The Manly boys were making a real fucking schemozzle of the game and there on the sideline was Dave. Looking depressed, enduring the rain and … eating a lollipop?

Really? He so broke into Brett Stewart’s sugar stash to try and eat his emotions away. Personally, I think he looks like he’s watching Bani and cursing him for trying to steal back his spot on the wing. Which makes sense cause it was an injury that got Dave the number 5 jersey last year anyway. Maybe also muttering ‘ohhhh I’ll show you Bani’ and occasionally shaking his fist skywards at his maroon-clad nemesis. BAANNNNIIII! He is thisclose to snapping and going on a murderous locker room rampage.

Dave Williams, is that you?

Which makes total sense cause he also looks EXACTLY like the murderous fisherman with the hook from I Know What You Did Last Summer. Cept instead of having a piercing, stabby hook he has … the lollipop. Maybe he just pokes people with the teeny tiny stick till he gets his way? Those fuckers are sharp.

Either way, signs were not good for Davey’s mental health. VIOLENCE IS NEVER THE ANSWER, DAVE.

WHAT ABOUT MEEEEE?

Dessie? Dessie? Can you see me back here? Note to self: wear a wolfman costume next week.

By week two shit was getting dire. Even though he had his swishy new spot on the Today show:

Wolfman joins TODAY

… you can see the strain. One of the first signs of depression is losing interest in your appearance and wearing the same old clothes. Either that or he’s wearing it all the time cause it shows off his rack and he just really wants someone to pay attention. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SOMEONE GET DAVE ANOTHER SHIRT. AND A HUG. HE IS CLEARLY IN A NEEDY PLACE. (No, not one of those ones that say ‘Free Hugs’. We talked about this Dave. You have to play at least a little hard to get).

No wonder he came back too early from injury and broke our hearts all over again. He musta missed us too.

DAVE WILLIAMS: BORN TO HANDJIVE

So there are two possibilities: either his second injury pushed Dave over the edge and he’s lost his damn mind, or … he just really likes musicals. Don’t laugh! There are more of us than you think! We just have to hide it … like never-nudes.

Dave is … wait for it …. STARRING IN A PRODUCTION OF GREASE. ON THE BEACH AT CLONTARF. GREASE ON THE BEACH!

I wonder if he also forced his siblings and cousins to perform choreographed musicals in costume in the living room at family Christmas like I did up until I was about fourteen some people do. I think the best was probably when I put them all in shorty shorts and do-it-yourself tie-up midriff tops to dance and sing to the Pet Shop Boys Go West. True Story. I think we have it on video somewhere.

My job is … well my job is pretty much to make up ridiculous stuff about football (and cricket). I mean, in my mind Terry Campese does his laps of the pool singing tunes from South Pacific, but even I couldn’t think this shit up. For reals. It’s amazing. Note to self: buy tickets immediately.

Better shape up, cause I need … a (wolf)man*

Apparently our Patron Saint is playing Johnny Casino … like Johnny Casino and the Gamblers. Are you still breathing? And does this mean he sings the spotlight dance number for Danny and Cha Cha? And Born to Handjive? God I hope so.

Blueee mooooooon

I wonder if they can make his beard into a chin-pompadour?

If this is what happens when Dave Williams is on the sideline … don’t put him back Des. For the love of God, don’t put him back.

* Joke shamelessy stolen from Lozzy.

[EDIT -  This is Dave's profile on the Grease On The Beach website....

Yes, really. I AM SPEECHLESS.

Also, Sassy and I have decided when (yes when, not if) we are Famous People, we too would like to be in ridiculous musical stage shows. Unsuprisingly, both of us rather enjoy the stage and were enthusiastic cast members high school musical productions during the 90s. My highlight was starring as a 'Hot Box Dancer' in Guys and Dolls in 1997. I got to rock out in black tights and a giant box painted as a dice while singing Luck Be a Lady. I'm not joking. - Kiki ]

You’ve been on the edge of your seats waiting for the Oh Errol Awards winners post, right? I imagine it’s the same sort of anticipation we’re experiencing waiting for 17 Again. And just like how we’re dyyying to see Zeffie in the full glory of his Ed Hardy getup, our fanz are dyyying for these results. Who is the Fattest Man in League? Who will take out Best Hair? The time has come, babies.

But wait, you haven’t announced the Matt Cooper Award for Hottest Bitch in League nominees!?

DAMMIT. You kids and your eye for awards categories – we were hoping you wouldn’t notice. Look, we totally tried to write it. For reals. And then this happened:

After taking one look at Hot Bitch Cooper naked with a footy strategically placed under his perfectly sculpted man-v, we realised no one can ever beat  (unless he asked nicely) that and the category was therefore null and void. NULL AND VOID PEOPLE.

So after many long, hard (tee hee) nights of  drinking straight from the bottle decision making, we finally present to you:

THE OH ERROL AWARDS 2008 WINNERS

The Marlon Brando (the later years) Award for the Fattest Man in League

The Nominees:

Pic: Steve Christo

The Rugby League World Cup is officially over. The final’s been decided.  The boys are all back home either being lauded by the public or eating Easy Mac n Cheese to ease their disappointment.  You can decide for yourselves who is doing what.

They’ve given out the trophy and all the participation certificates for the players’ mums to put on the fridge.  Almost time to put on your Peter Wynn’s Rugby League pyjamas and go into footy hibernation for the summer.  But first, one more r-l-w-c wrap-up.  I warn you in advance that this one is going to be weird.  I feel weird already.  It’s not even the usual feeling funny in my pants, which is pretty much my default state and I’ve kinda gotten used to it.

For one thing: Australia Didn’t Win.  The almost-unbackable favourites, the World Cup juggernauts, the team you love to hate … lost.

zomg I know! I can’t believe it either, eh!

Believe me kittens, I was as shocked as you were.  Shocked and overjoyed. Just like Benji Marshall. I said last week I didn’t know who to cheer for, but after seeing the victorious Kiwis leap around like overjoyed schoolchildren I realise I was totally TEAM KIWI the whole time.

Pic: Steve Christo

My head said it didn’t know, but my heart was painted black and white for this game.  What can I say?  I think some part of me just loves seeing an underdog succeed.

I also love that the Kiwis celebrate by drinking beer shirtless. THAT’S HOW I CELEBRATE TOO! It’s why they won’t let me have my birthday in public venues anymore.

Is it possible that I also just enjoy seeing Queenslanders look disappointed?  WELL MAYBE.  AND IS THAT SO WRONG? It probably is, but whatever.

Clearly it’s not completely abnormal to take pleasure from other people’s misery.  If it was, the Germans wouldn’t have bothered to make up a word for it, would they?  Hmmmmm?

And in case the whole 34-20 New Zealand win wasn’t surprising enough for you, I actually have stuff to say about FOOTBALL today.  For serious.  Not just about their hair (well maybe a little bit), or their uniforms, but stuff about what the boys do with the ball (heh, ball).   Let’s get started before I sober up and change my mind.

FREE BILLY!

So I think we all know I’m not Billy Slater’s biggest cheerleader.  I have said less than flattering things about him in the past for a variety of reasons, including but not limited to:

a) Accusing Flossy Nightingale of headbutting him;

b) Playing for the Storm (booo, hisssss);

and,

c) Being a dirty Queenslander.

Also, sometimes I just irrationally dislike public sporting figures.  Obviously Billy, like Roger Federer and Karmichael Hunt, has never done anything to me personally. Everyone tells me he is the Loveliest Man Ever and they are probably right. Nonetheless, I Decided to dislike him for no particular reason. It’s my way.

But Billy is getting a bitch of a rap in the media at the moment, and I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT.  Clearly my love of truth outweighs any silly Slater vendetta.  I’m pretty much Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men.

Except, you know, without the stuff that came afterwards, like the booster shoes and the Scientology and the child-bride.

You see, according to the Herald, a “Billy Slater moment of madness” cost Australia the World Cup.

They mean, of course, that Slater threw a blind pass in from the sideline trying to run the ball back upfield, and it fell into the loving arms of Benji Marshall for a try.  Benji’d been loitering around to Billy’s left instead of jumping back to defend against the oncoming Aussies … and I don’t know whether that makes Benji Marshall an excellent reader of the play, or just a bit out of shape and too tired to get back in defence, but either way it all ended badly.

And yes, it was a really stupid pass.  If I had more energy I would have been frustrated to the point of heartbreak watching it, like I was when Jarryd ‘Baby’ Hayne did the same thing in Origin.  NOOO BABY HAYNE, NOOOOO!

I totally just had a flashback then and bumped my head on the desk. That game was horrifying.

But you know what?  That’s just Billy Slater doin what Billy Slater does, isn’t it?

…oh, he’s just bein’ Billy.*
Pic: Steve Christo

My theory is that if you want a safety-times conservatively-programmed early-days Darren Lockyer kinda fullback, you don’t pick Billy Slater.

Bitch is … a risk-taker.  Some people might say ‘a showpony’, but that’s not really it. More like some fullbacks do predictable things … and Billy Slater doesn’t. He sets up ridiculous and amazing plays out of pretty much nothing. He likes it. And it seems like he likes dramatical individual plays more than anything.

Yes, he does things that might turn into massive fuck-ups, but most of the time they work.  (This, of course, is also part of the reason I can’t stand him. Damn you Queenslanders for being so good!)

So basically most of the time the people (cept the Oh Errol kids) love him. For every other game in the tournament, it has been a full-on Billy Slater soggy sao love-in.  BILLY THE KID! FASTEST GUN IN THE WEST! BEST FULLBACK IN THE WORLD!

Bitches couldn’t get enough of him.  Maybe that imagery was a little bit crude.  But whatever.  You know what I mean.  Everyone was all over Billy Slater and It was really fucking annoying.

But now as soon as he gives away a try he’s reckless Billy the Kid who can’t defend and doesn’t deserve to be in the team.  I might believe y’all about that if he hadn’t just received the player of the tournament award.  Clearly no one thought he was doing so badly in all the other games the Aussies played.

He also got unfairly labelled Billy the Choker who can’t step up in big games (cf the Storm losing the Grand Final). And I would believe y’all about this if he didn’t set up two tries in the first half. It takes a whole team to win/lose a gf, right?

Basically – I CALL BULLSHIT.  Yeah he made one mistake, but bitch didn’t single-handedly lose the game. You can’t be all over him then change your mind all of a sudden. It’s only cute when I am irrational and change my mind and go from loving to hating a footy player in a matter of hours.  Like the way I’m now defending Billy Slater. DON’T YOU MESS WITH HIM, OK? I GOTS HIS BACK.

And that’s all I have to say about that.  I feel all queasy.  I CAN’T BELIEVE I STUCK UP FOR BILLY SLATER.  Someone get the Dettol bath ready cause I need one … stat.

THERE’S NO ‘BLAME THE RANGA’ IN ‘TEAM’

Since I’m already busting Billy Slater out of media jail today, I’ve decided I’m takin’ Joel Mongahan with me.  WHY DO PEOPLE ALWAYS BLAME THE RANGA?

Pic: Steve Christo

Ok, um, what exactly did Monas do wrong?  He got a bad bounce, decided to go the professional foul, and the Kiwis got a penalty try.  As opposed to … Hohaia just scoring the try? Which, incidentally, it totally looks like he would have, at least if you ask me and the video ref.

Call me crazy but I don’t see the difference. Maybe he moved the conversion to the center for an easier shot at the extra 2 points but two points weren’t gonna save the Kangaroos.  In the end I think it comes down to lackluster defence. Lackluster defence from the Australian team, who seemed that way from the start of the game.  Just kind of … surprised by how the NZ team played and on the whole pretty unfocussed.  And every try the Kiwis scored chipped away at that a bit more, not just the ones that Monaghan or Slater were ‘responsible’ for.

It also seems vaguely arrogant when people try and pin the loss on one individual Aussie, as though the Kiwi’s couldn’t have won it, the Aussies had to lose.  The Kiwis  had so much passion, those kids deserved it.

And didn’t those bitches have hustle?  Right up the middle of the field where the Aussies weren’t expecting it.  I like to think they foxed the first snorefest of a game against Australia just so they could build up to this.  I believe Wayne Bennett would be that crafty.

But whatevs. I think I’ve ranted enough.  Let’s just say for both sides there’s a reason they call it a team sport.  Also, the New Zealanders gave 110%, and took it one play at a time, and the best side won on the day.  Or something.

Let’s also say to Ricky Stuart and his conspiracy theories just no.  Really, honey, no.  Let it go.  There is a chapter in my etiquette book about losing World Cup finals and it specifically recommends against suggesting that there was a conspiracy against you.  For reals.

And to Billy and Joel: if you’re feelin down, call me.  Let’s go to the pub and you two can drown your sorrows and get blind and wave your fruity cocktails in the air for emphasis as you slur ‘THEY DON’T EVEN KNOW ME. THOSHE BITCHES DON’T KNOWWW ME.’

… AND NOW LET’S TALK ABOUT HAIR

It’ll be quick. I promise. All I really have to say is that Dave Williams is taking this ‘Wolfman’ image really, really seriously. Like woah. As in, I suspect someone has been watching X-Men and grooming their mutton chops to look like Hugh Jackman’s.  And all that volume in the back of the hair … so Wolvy.  Get it?  WOLVERINE?  You know it’s true.

Camera one … are you getting this?

Don’t worry Dave. Secretly, sometimes, we all pretend we’re movie stars.

What, so I’m not on mark? A little to the right you say?

Like sometimes I prance around the house when no one’s home imagining I’m Dolly Parton in the Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.  True story.

And with that completely random confession, it’s goodbye World Cup.  See ya in four years, bitches.

* Just by the way, if you were a Miley Cyrus fan you would find that HILARIOUS.

Let me tell you a story, kittens.  A long time ago, in a mythical land known as ‘the locker room’ the nation of Manly were in mourning.  They’d been at war with the fearsome Melbourne, and lost, and all were deep in the sads.  But amongst them dwelled a man with joy in his heart and a desire to make all well again, so in the midst of his despair he leapt forth and performed the wang dance.

It made the world smile, and the proud nation fought on into the next year to finally claim victory over their nemeses.

That man was Mick Robertson.  Oh, Robbo.  Not only did he unwittingly do the wang dance in front of a pay TV cameraman who accidentally broadcast it on national television (I’m not linking it, you’ll have to look for it on youtube yourselves you lazy bitches).  He also prompted one of my favourite ever lines of news reporting:

While [Steve] Menzies is interviewed by a journalist after the NRL decider on September 30, Robertson can clearly be seen in the background swirling his genitalia.

“SWIRLING HIS GENITALIA”.  If that didn’t win a Walkley then Australian journalism is in trouble like woah.  And yes, I know he said it was embarassing, but clearly we don’t think so.  The Oh Errol office is proudly pro-pantslessness.  We employ Intern John-John, and that should say it all.

But forget about the swirling talk (hehe swirling, it’s still funny).  Know what he did this year?

Pic: Sam Mooy

Oh, just scored three tries in a premiership-winning side, that’s all.

Just wrote himself into the history books as one of three people in a hundred years to get the grand final hat-trick.  Meh.

Skilfully avoided Billy Slater’s flying kung-fu kicks to ground the ball.

You know, just equalled the record for the most tries scored in a Grand Final, in the game with the biggest margin in League history.  Whatevs.

And when he had the chance to score a fourth try and be the only man in history to score four in a Grand Final … he off-loaded to the Beav instead.

“That was the most exciting part for me … giving the pass to Beaver to score,” Robertson said.

“I knew he was there. It will be a highlight for me for a long time.”

That bitch is a giver.

But I’m starting to think maybe even Robbo is about to hit the wall on charity.

Consider: Davey Williams’ performance in his first ever final earned him a Kangaroos jersey and 22,000 news articles.

Robbo’s hat-trick earned him 2,000 mentions and a spot in the Scottish team.  (Um, no offence, Scotland. I love the bagpipes in ‘You’re the Voice’! My family name is originally MacNeill! I’m one of youuuu! Please don’t smother me in tartan).

Seriously. Are they trying to make him feel unloved?  Is he invisible?  WHAT DOES A BOY HAVE TO DO TO GET ASKED OUT AROUND HERE?  Robbo’s too pretty to be a wallflower! 

Oh, but what about the beard, you say!  It’s the wolfman beard.  It’s so unique and noticeable.  That’s what draws attention and makes all the difference.  That’s why Robbo has been unceremoniously booted from all the Manly grand final limelight.  He’s just not as distinctive.

Pic: Mark Evans

Maybe Robbo’s too nice to disagree, but if he wasn’t, he would totally say I HAD IT FIRST, BITCHES.

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!

I am outraged.  And I have decided to take on Robbo’s cause, because I love an underdog.  I resent that he’s become the Jan Brady of Manly (TM Kiki).  I’m worried that everyone falling all over Dave ‘Marcia’ Williams might send him over the edge.

Look at him!  Even at semi-finals time he was getting close to snapping.   I worry for his mental health.

Dave: MATE, can you believe we’re in the finals? Birds have been all over me.
Robbo: … yeah, it’s pretty sweet.

Dave: I’m not even kidding. They’re wolfman crazy! Can’t keep their hands off me.
Robbo: ….

Dave: I’ve had to break up fights down at the Steyne, for reals.
Robbo: …

Dave: I just say look, ladies. Ladies, ladies, calm down. There’s enough of the Wolfman to go round.
Robbo: … kill me.

Coincidence it was him that shaved off Dave’s beard?  Hmmm?

Oh, Robbo, honey. Don’t worry. We see you! And with Steve Bell and the Beav moving on next year, you are totally the front-runner for Lozzy’s new Manly hubby. Come on over for gins and snuggles whenever you feel down.

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.