This may just be both the most brilliant and heartbreaking thing I’ve ever read.

Kylie Minogue was shocked and surprised when she discovered a fan backstage crying into one of her wigs.

The mystery man found his way into her dressing room while the singer was performing at London’s O2 Arena on Saturday.

He is believed to have gained entry after convincing security guards he was her stylist, reports the Daily Star.

But kind-hearted Kylie, 40, refused to let minders call the police.

She’s said to have posed for a picture with the fan before he left peacefully.

Most brilliant because that first sentence is freaking HILAR and made my working day significantly brighter. He was CRYING into one of her WIGS. Most heartbreaking because, well…he was CRYING into one of her WIGS. Aww bb. Come ‘ere, put your Hand on Your Heart and Confide In Me.

Celeb obsessions are kind of my specialty and I wholeheartedly support having one, or many (just as long as it’s not someone boring like Alba). In fact I’m baffled by those who go through life without them. What do people do for fun if they’re not trawling through caps of footy player’s bums or flittering about at zefron.com? If you know, email us. Intern Brownie has had a bit of excitement lately and he could do with some nice quiet email monitoring at Errol HQ.

As much as I support being a crazy fan, obviously there’s a fine line between what’s healthy and what’s not (because what is this blog about if not accurate psychological advice? We are pretty much professionals. Professionals at BEING AWESOME. And judging from that I am also a comedy genius, y/y?).

I think the key to not crossing the line is to remain distant from your chosen celeb. No trying to get up close and personal, no fanmail saying how their lyrics/movies/writing ~saved you~, no sending gifts. I am SERIOUS about that last one guys. Amy Sedaris is too:

But sometimes fans will send me weird shit, and I just get a bad vibe from the box immediately. Very seldom do I keep anything a fan sends me. I mean like, people who read an article saying that I like taxidermy, so they’d send me something. That kind of weird shit. But they don’t know me at all. And so then I’ll respond. I’ll write them back, and if they write me back, I never write them back because it’s like, I did it once, whatever. Or, if they send me pictures and I don’t know them.

Be as creepy as you want, lord knows I’m not opposed to that, but keep it to yourself yo. Or you know, only share it with close friends who get it or strangers on the Internet.*

Also, I love that the story says he ‘left peacefully’, like he’s a wild bear. I’ve heard if you curl up in a ball and remain motionless when confronted by a Kylie fan, they’ll leave peacefully.

*None of this applies to people I like. Kiki’s friend Kate has a Barnsey tattoo and showed it to him in person. This I totally approve of.

I guess we have to say it – Sonny Bill. Sonny Bill has left on a jetplane for France to play rugby. I’ll warn you now, the only good part of this story is that a customs official spotted him leaving and phoned up Ray Hadley on 2GB to pass on the news. I love Australia!

Oh, Sonny Bill. Now his svengali manager Khoder Nassar and professional troublemaker Anthony Mundine want us to think about your feelings.

STOP BEING SO SELFISH GUYS! WHAT ABOUT SONNY?

Well I’ll say it. I’m done with Sonny Bill’s Feelings. And I pity the stewardesses who had to sweep up his mountains of damp tissues on his flight to Paris. He’s the weepy kid in class who cries if he drops his sandwich. He’s the spoiled cousin who steals your Mariah Carey Christmas CD because he didn’t get one and really really wants it. Muuuuum! I bet he even had a tanty when he got off the plane in Singapore and realised he left his Ectivity Peck in the seat pocket.

He will never be happy. At least never while he’s not taking his lithium. Bitch is dead to me.

Also, I lied when I said there was only one good thing about this story. The other one is that Sonny Bill Feelings thought he could creep out of the country unnoticed. Of course! Six foot tall Samoans visit Paris are SO HARD TO SPOT in a city like Paris on a continent with little to no Polynesian migration. Maybe he even wore sunglasses to throw them off his trail. GENIUS! Way to blend in Sonny baby.

[Note - I like to think Sonny went all Get Smart on our asses and wore a fake moustache, fedora and beige trenchcoat to the airport in a desperate attempt to escape unnoticed. I bet Choc Mundine packed all the spy essentials in SBW's Dora the Explorer backpack. - Kiki]

Khoder … is that you? Herro? This shoe phone is hard to use.

You know SBW landed in Singapore and thought he was already in France. He’s probably wondering why all the French are so short and Asian looking. And why are they eating noodles, where are the croissants? AND THE BERETS? I WAS PROMISED BERETS.

Bon-jour? Guys, bon-jour?

All this drama tires me, but at least I had Roosters vs Manly on Sunday afternoon to soothe the soul. Is there anything cuter than family day? I say no. All those little kiddies snuggled in their ponchos staring eagerly at the football, and rushing onto the field to mob Willie Mason. They all love Willie Mason. Who can explain why? I swear my ovaries twinged … just a little bit. Mainly thanks to the six year old boy behind me who announced in the first half:

Manly suck. They are wasting my time.

People don’t say it enough, but this is how football is meant to be. It’s not meant to be a sad mob of the faithful struggling to get to ANZ Stadium to buy $7 beers in the middle of a concrete wind tunnel. It’s meant to be the bottom levels of the footy stadium packed with people, kids in their own Roosters jerseys with their name sewn on the back, dads cuddling their daughters in matching maroon, and little ones getting to meet their idols.

It even warmed my cold black heart. I was so impressed I even managed not to yell out anything pornographic about the Hot Pioneer David Williams or the fact that men playing football in the rain may well be one of the hottest things god ever created. You know, because I didn’t want to corrupt the children. It took a lot of willpower let me tell you. I hope all those parents appreciated it, dammit.

SEE WHAT I WAS DEALING WITH? I’m pretty much Ghandi right now in terms of self-restraint. Also, who would have guessed Matt Ballin and Riley Brown were such snugglers?

While we’re talking about David Williams, can someone from Manly tell me what is this?

Are you doing in-house catalogues for Manly merchandise? Or do you just pay the hot pioneer a really povo salary so he has to resort to posing in Rivers catalogues so he can afford his rent? Will he be selling men’s sweaters and lightweight moccasins (perfect for sailing!) next? I don’t understand. Don’t get me wrong, I kinda love it. But no, I don’t understand. You can totally tell they were using a wind machine.

We’re also prouder than ever of fiesty little intern Brownie. Brian Waldron from the Storm has threatened legal action but Oh Errol is having none of that. Yesterday after the game we took Brownie to Ruby’s for a latte and told him stand strong, baby. The Storm might threaten a defamation suit, but truth is a defence to defamation (thanks, law degree!). More importantly if anyone tries to take you to court we’ll cut them good. I also have a mean right hook (thanks boxing trainer Sandra!).

And Brownie stood strong. OH YEAH, FIGHT THE MAN!

I’m being serious though that I can’t take much more of this. With Gaz leaving, Brownie going postal, and Sonny Bull stealthily leaving the country we’re at our limit for dramz. Calm it down for a little while, will you kids? We’re getting old. Also, we’re rapidly running out of gin.

We should have known that the dramaz from Monday night’s Storm vs Dragons game weren’t going anywhere. But usually we’re the ones responsible for the rage and the profanity in our office. We were not expecting Intern Brownie to get on the Dragons video site and lose his shit. We never let him out! he must have snuck out his window while we were having our afternoon naps. And by ‘having our afternoon naps’ I mean ‘lying passed out on the lounge from our lunchtime woines’. He’s tricksy that Brownie.

But lose his shit he did. Bitch was PISSED.

Usually he’s so benevolent and snuggly. The kind of man who’s problem as a coach is that the players aren’t scared of him.  I can’t help but think that being around us every day has made him a cranky bitch. And I for one like it. Go Brownie go! An intern in my own image! We could not be prouder if he was our own kid.

And do you know what? Brownie was right on the money. Maybe our smarts are catching too?

It’s not Melbourne’s fault … the storm have got all the tricks, they grab pressure points. They tell you they don’t practice, they do. They’ve even got a new one where they rub their shin on your achilles, which is very painful.

We went down there to give a little bit back and basically Jamie Soward got grappled, and he got put in the sin bin. I don’t have a problem with the storm play, what I have a problem with is the officials saying they’re gonna cut it out of the game and they don’t.

Tell you what I do not approve of though: I hate when anyone tries to play the sympathy game with me. Oh, but wait. Brownie, do you want to clarify what I mean?

They accused Jason Nightingale of headbutting … he headbutted Billy Slater’s fists. The only thing Jason Nightingale did wrong is he didn’t headbutt him hard enough as far as I’m concerned.

If you’re gonna beat them that’s what you’ve got to do, because they play within the rules that the officials allow them to play in.

 

Brownie’s being serious. Billy Slater pleaded innocence because Nightingale head-butted him. But I saw no heabutts, and Foxtel IQ does not lie. Oh, Billy. Maybe it was someone else? But I definitely say it wasn’t little Flossy. I don’t like this at all! And we were getting along so well.

The truth is when you ran in and defended Cooper Cronk on the field with your arms a-swinging I was all over it. I love league violence! And when the ref sin-binned you and you smiled as you ran-off field, I almost giggled a little. Truly, I did.But then you go and ruin it by being sooky in front of the judiciary. Unacceptable!

I also have decided I do not approve of the heinous Melbourne Storm fans (except Hazy of course, love). I am all for new rugby league fans, but sometimes when you go and watch rugby league, it helps if … you know, you know the rules? Not all of them, mind you (I certainly don’t), but just the easy ones.

Like that tackling is allowed, and you don’t boo Every Single Time someone tackles a Storm player. Or that cowbells are never, ever acceptable. Or even that it is not ordained by God that your team should always win. Eventually, like every other team has at some point, your team will suck. So be nice to other fans. Hopefully then they will be nice to you if Israel Folau gets sent on his Mormon mission, or Greg Inglis is poached to union, or Storm Man falls off his quad bike.

I am, however, all for Brownie’s plan to solve this problem with more violence.  Violence solves everything!  My mama taught me that.

Sadly my dreams of extreme rugby league bloodsports were crushed when my other most-loved league coach Brad Fittler announced he is not down with the wrestlemania play At All.

“I think this style of game is pretty crap”.

But … but, Brownie said I could! He did! I swear! Braaaaaaaad, can’t I watch people have their arms ripped off?

Freddy never lets me do ANYTHING.

Things are a little hectic at Oh Errol, and we’ve realised that not only have we been tragically neglecting everyone who’s emailed us, but possibly even missing out on covering some lolz zac efron or footy happenings. God forbid.

We’re also kind of soft at heart, so we’ve decided to help out a strapping young man who’s having some employment problems at the moment by offering him an Errol internship.

In return for answering our mail, mixing our vodka ginger ales and snuggling us on cold nights while we watch the footy, he will be sleeping in the guest room and welcome to as much peanut butter toast and time in the hot tub as he likes.

Some might call this shamelessly ripping off the gofugyourself girls. We call it Giving Back.

And we’ve already picked the lucky boy too – the prettiest blond in rugby league and one of my teenage crushes, Nathan Brown. We’ve been so impressed by Intern Brownie’s recent work coaching the Dragons (seven wins in a row!) than we had to have him on the team.

… also maybe a little bit impressed by those pics he included in his resume. So if you have any questions that need answering about footy, love, or that require Brownie’s special brand of careful consideration:

Email us bbs. Intern Brownie likes keeping busy. Also long walks on the beach, Samoyed puppies and the ‘Greg Bird’ ads on Foxtel. He told me so in the interview.