ATTENTION EVERYONE! Did you know it’s Errol Flynn’s 100th birthday?

Yes, that’s right, our legendary hero Mister Flynn would have turned 100 years old today if he hadn’t you know….passed away 40 years ago. Something tells us if he did make it a whole century he still woulda been drinking, womanising and being generally amazing. He woulda made Hugh Hefner look like a deadset amatuer.

Tasmania is currently in the midst of celebrations and needless to say, so are we! Work Experience boy Lachlan Coote is FINALLY over 18 so he is currently sipping on a guava Vodka Cruiser (we offered him light beer but he thinks it tastes ’yucky poo’). Intern Danny Wicks is celebrating by back flipping across the office with party pie in hand.

And as you can see from above, our beloved Intern John-John is paying tribute to Errol’s most famous character, Robin Hood, by wearing nothing but a hat, a mo and a smile. Doesn’t he look dashing? We think Mr Flynn would be proud.

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:

Yeah, this post is so late it’s almost redundant. Soz, but I’ve been busy being a Triple M superstar. We are also having some serious discipline problems with our staff here at Errol HQ, which is severely affecting our productivity. Intern John John has been sent to a special Intern Bootcamp for his recent insolence. Intern Danny Wicks is being punished for his insurrections by having his daily food budget cut to only $200 and Work Experience Boy Lachie is currently sitting on the naughty step. IT’S A NIGHTMARE PEOPLE.

Anyway, onto the Irish. Our beloved Wolfhounds have well and truly left our shores and my heart is broke. Broke broke broke. Well at least it was. I think I’m okay now. I’m only bursting into tears twice a day. PROGRESS! As I’ve said repeatedly on Errol, I am not a particularly emotional person. However I am well … I’m kind of sentimental. I just get attached to things. People and objects.

When I travel I honestly can’t bear to pack my precious vintage tees into my check-in suitcase. They must be on my person at all times. Suitcases get lost. It happens all the time. It’s DANGEROUS. My cabin bag never contains toiletries … who cares if you lose your moisturiser?  You can always buy more. You know what you can’t buy more of? Priceless Fleetwood Mac vintage tees, thats what. This sentimentality of mine can cause problems. Last time I returned from the US my cabin bag was chockas and I refused to risk trusting my precious vintage to baggage handlers so, well … I just wore it.

Much to Sassy’s delight, I flew from LA to Sydney dressed in approx 4 layers, including a bright yellow vintage adidas tracksuit and carrying multiple shopping bags filled with hats. As we were checking in, Andrew G rolled up in a silver convertible and sauntered through with one bag. ONE BAG. He totally judged me with his eyes. Bitch.

ANYWAY, I get attached to shit. And the Irish boys were like the finest vintage tee money can buy. You wanna pack em in your bag and take them everywhere you go. Okay that sounded creepy, but you know what I mean. THEY ARE LOVABLE OKAY?

Marlo, Lozzy and myself were so invested in the boys’ success that we travelled to the Goldy to watch the boys play their semi-final against Fiji. What a heartbreaking motherfucker of a game.

First of all the administrators of Skilled Park, in their infinite wisdom, decided to split up the Blarney Army into a million pieces. The boys kept looking into the stands for their wall of green love and NOTHING. And this time we weren’t even close enough for them to hear our creepy/encouraging yelling. Obviously if we were, they totally woulda won.

The boys tried hard. Things were made difficult by the fact it was a godamn injury fest. Mick McIlorum (aka Irish Channing Tatum) made an awesome tackle but possibly crushed his chest cavity whilst doing so. Finn split his head open at some point. Tandy’s nose leaked blood almost the entire match, and Scott Grix had his face ripped off his skull and literally BROKE BONES. It was like the Civil War out there people!

I half expected their trainer to emerge with a rusty saw, a flagon of whiskey and a hunk of wood for biting down and amputate legs right there on the sideline. Come to think of it, that would be kind of awesome. Maybe next time.

In summary, they lost. And our collective hearts broke. Unsurprisingly, we all reacted to this trauma by getting completely and utterly shitfaced together.  But in our defense it was their last night! AND THERE WAS FREE BEER! Well, the beer was free for the team and their entourage. In my mind that meant me. The other girls don’t have the same charming sense of entitlement as me and actually PAID for drinks. Suckkkeeeers.

I also promised a few of you I would take photos, and I did! Except at some point I drunkenly accidentally changed the camera to black and white mode and couldn’t see figure out how to change it back. So you get black and white photos.

Lets break this down shall we?

MICK-CASS IS JESUS

Otherwise known as Mick Cassidy, Mick-Cass was by far our favourite of the squad. Sure, he didn’t get much game time but he did get lots of Errol girls time and THAT’S WHAT MATTERS. That’s what he will be telling his grandkids about and you know it.

At 35, Mick-Cass is the oldest man in the World Cup … and possibly the world. He insists he isn’t in fact the oldest, but whatevs.  Until we see a birth certificate for Stanley Gene we refuse to change our story. All I know is … he played in the 1995 World Cup. 1995! I don’t think I even had pubes back then.

Reasons we love Mick-Cass -

1) He has a gut but he wears Speedos when training
2) He gives good hug
3) He wears beige Crocs because ‘they go with everything’
4) He is the blondest man in the universe
5) He loves us

We adore him so much, Marlo decided to buy him a gift in the form of some accessories for his beloved Crocs. She trotted out in her lunchbreak and purchased two little pieces of Croc jewellery for him … one an Aussie flag and the other a four leaf clover. Here she is presenting said gifts:

CUTEST.THING.EVER. 

Okay no, this is the cutest thing ever. Ladies and gentleman, I present to you – Mick-Cass and Hot Ginge Gleeson.

If you can find something cuter than that I will switch my allegience from Dragons to Sharks.

WE LOVE WAYNE KERR

That’s him on the left. And yes … that is his real name. Like Mick-Cass he didn’t get much game time but we like to think us showering him with love made up for it. Since the boys went home we have met some people that have sworn he was a tool but to us he was AMAZING. We feel like … Wayne Whisperers.

To say Wayne is charming is a gross understatement. This bitch literally drips charm. I mean that in the least icky way possible. He is also kinda unhinged. The entire evening in the Goldy he would walk up to me, grab me by the shoulders and lick my cheek. From jaw to forehead. Then walk away WITHOUT SAYING A WORD. He did at least 4 times. And it was probably the highlight of my year.

He also immortalised himself on Marlo’s t-shirt with the message: ’you make my rats tail curl’. WE LOVE YOU WAYNE!

WE MADE CHANNING TATUM SMILE

Otherwise known as Michael McIlorum, Ireland’s answer to Channing Tatum was another favourite of ours. Despite the fact he is the surliest man in surly town, his mojo could be seen (sensed? can you see mojo?) from space. One sneer and a ‘hello darlin’ and we were goners. We also enjoyed his retro mid game stretching.

We like to think we won him over. Proof?

Profile photo on the official team website -

Photo taken when with us -

You can’t argue with science.

And now for some more happy snaps from our Errol album!

You’re packed and you’re stacked ‘specially in the back
Brother, wanna thank your mother for a butt like that

Liam Finn shows off his head wound.

Blanchy and Pat Richards representing the Aussie born Irish contingent. We heart you boys!

FM Forum favourites Bob Beswick and Karl Fitzpatrick looking supremely uncomfortable after I told them to pose for their gay fans. After a few beers Bob was decidedly less uncomfortable and began showing me his luxurious chest hair. He reminds us of a brunette Hot Bitch Cooper. Wait … can men be brunettes? They can now.

Gareth Haggerty shirtless bartending. Don’t ask.

And that’s about it. Well, I have more pics but they are definitely not for public consumption.

We had such an awesome experience with the Wolfhounds and the Blarney Army. They even gave us gift packs! Gift packs and free beer! LOVE! We feel so lucky to be invited along for the ride and we want to thank the boys for letting us hang around and annoy/molest them.

Everyone in the team was really committed and we believe they can do even better at the next World Cup. I just wish I didn’t have to wait four years to get my face licked by Wayne Kerr.

[I'd like to add that while it was awesome hanging with the Irish boys, my own personal highlight was seeing Manly winger and Man We Love Michael Robertson. Just like, strolling by at the Goldy, apparently uniting with any old North Western European team since Scotland was kicked out. If you're wondering, he was SO lovely and even posed for photos with us, which I may or may not tape to my ceiling like I used to do with Hanson posters. - lozzy]

So I have an apology to make. There has been no World Cup news from me for aaaages, and I’m sorry kittens. I know, I know, you’re all jonesing. But you see I have been extremely busy doing Important and Urgent things, like giving myself pedicures, buying spangly cardigans from St Vincent de Paul, and getting drunk and going to see Richard E. Grant in My Fair Lady. By the way yes, I LIKE MUSICALS. MUSICALS AND RUGBY LEAGUE. I’m pretty much a renaissance woman.

And now cause I’m sleepy from sunbaking, let’s just go over the important bits, shall we?

AUSTRALIA … NOT LIKABLE ENOUGH FOR A DECENT TITLE

New Zealand played England. Australia played England. England lost. Twice. And the truth is … we didn’t really care.  About any of them.

But I’m kinda starting to think maybe someone has tipped off the Aussie team in particular that the kids here at Errol HQ care not for the Kangaroos, because it seems like those bitches have been working overtime to win us back.

After trying to lure us back by pimping out the adorableness of Prince Scotty the Caramel on the field (… almost worked, but not quite. HI SCOTTY!), they upped the lovable factor by naming Terry Campese in the squad to play Papua New Guinea tonight. Or, as we like to call him, Corporal Campese of the Light Horse.

When we suggested Terry can rock a hat, this isn’t what we had in mind.

And in what is kind of like the footy equivalent of sewing knives in your suit sleeves or hitting below the belt in boxing, then those crafty bitches went and did this:

DO THE JITTERBUG!

Damn you Kangaroos! LOOK HOW CUTE THAT IS. Four Kangaroos cruisin’ around in their tiny pink jeep, like Derek Zoolander and his freewheeling model pals. Drinking orange mocha frappaccinos. Singing to Wham, frolicking in petrol stations.

The only difference is that I’m pretty sure that little pink Jeepy, or mini-moke, or whatever those crazy Queensland folk call it, is working a wholllle lot harder than Derek Zoolander’s Jeep.  That poor little engine is pushing around four International league forwards.  WON’T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE CARBON EMISSIONS?  In other news, is Brent Kite throwing gang signs? For serious?

Either way, I’m almost starting to … care. This is horrifying. But fear not children, everything will be ok. Just trust Aunty Sassy and look at the Queenslanders. FOCUS ON THE QUEENSLANDERS.

… gasoline fight!

ABORT ABORT! Ok, I’m back to mild distaste and indifference now. That’s more like it. Let’s have a quick gin and get back to things we actually care about.

THE WOLFHOUNDS GET THEIR ROAR ON

We’ve been on Team Wolfhound since the World Cup started, and now that the Irish boys have decimated Samoa and topped their pool, everyone else is too. ABOUT TIME, BITCHES. You know it’s lonely out here sometimes, being totally cutting edge like we are. *flicks hair*

And WE ARE SO PROUD OF OUR MANS. Not just because that was some fucking entertaining footy, but because they had a blinder.  WE KNEW YOU COULD DO IT, BABIES.  Pat Richards grounded three tries, and kicked enough goals that I’m actually rethinking whether the Irish will have to bring in some kind of Priest to exorcise the bad spirits from his goal-kicking Leg of Doom.

As we suspected, Wayne Kerr is a foolproof good luck charm whenever he’s named in the team.  At the very least he has a 100% success rate so far.

And everyone’s favourite hot ginge (sorry, Prince Harry) Sean Gleeson almost made Kiki spill her drink in excitement when he ran in his try.  We’re only a lil bit sad that we couldn’t make the trek out to sit with the Blarney Army again.  We love those crazy kids.

Disclaimer: may not in fact be Sean Gleeson

I would love to analyse the game for you, but I was a little nervous on the boys’ behalf, and I may have been drunk SO THIS IS WHAT YOU GET. And the end result is that Lozzy and Kiki are jetting up to the Gold Coast on Monday night to watch the Errol-approved Wolfhounds take on Fiji for a spot in the semi-finals.

I have a weird feeling that watching the game back at Errol HQ with Intern Danny Wicks and work experience boy Lachie while we hold the fort is gonna be stressful. As if it’s not tricky enough on a normal night trying to make sure Danny Wicks doesn’t eat all the chalk from the stationery cupboard again and deflecting Lachie’s questions about why people call Intern John John ‘hotdog’ and where babies come from. Now I have to choose between our Irish and the Fijians.

HOW CAN YOU CHEER AGAINST BABY HAYNE? It just Doesn’t Seem Right. I also have to make a really tough decision between whether we go for Irish Whiskey or vodka pineapple (my Fiji happy hour drink) for after-work bevvies. My life is so hard.  Perhaps I shall have both.

Game pics: Getty Images

Jeepy pics: news.com.au

Once a week at Oh Errol we gather together around the pool, John-John relaxed on his favourite lilo and Lachie in his poolside cubby house (Intern Danny Wicks hasn’t been here long enough to develop a routine, but I suspect it will involve an Esky), and get stuck into the technical side of Errol.

Speaking of our poolside activities, we’re thinking of hiring a pool boy/lifeguard for summer. We’d ask John-John but lord knows he wouldn’t want to interrupt good tanning time, Lachie is still only in Nippers and Danny Wicks is…Danny Wicks. Ideas? I wish I knew who this guy was – he looks like he’d be right into it:

pic: flickr

Anyway, this technical meeting consists entirely of us lol’ing at a list of search engine terms that lead people here. And because we’re givers, we’re going to steal from James at This Is Modern (who unsurprisingly stole from somewhere else in the first place) and share some of our search terms. Ours are way funnier, just by the way.

We’ve already mentioned the alarming amount of searches we get for Kayne Lawton, and they continue to increase by the day, but we attract all kinds.

Just this week we’ve had the following:

• depardieu at his fattest
• rrrrawr - I don’t know what kind of person types this in, but I’m pleased that we came up for it.
• shirtless+ginger+boy
• hot man - bitch isn’t fussy. NEED HOT MAN. ANY HOT MAN.
• john’s revenge real? and the even more hilar john’s revenge haha – a fan of Kiki’s interview with John-John? Were they expecting to find a Media Watch expose, Intern John-John: Fact or Fiction?
• beaver menzies nose – IT’S NOT BIG IT’S JUST PROMINENT
• billy slater went to pony club
• fattest ever sportsmen
• shorty is homo
• queenslander chant – you’d think it was pretty straightforward, no?
• “pure blonde” for women? – nope, just for douchebags
• briefs pubes
• vagina rabs
• drunken girl at horse races – I suppose they meant EVERY girl at horse races?
• fattest man 2008 – were they looking for us or do we have a rival fattest man comp? I NEED TO KNOW.
• epic love story troy and gabriella - well Kenny Ortega is pretty much a modern Shakespeare, it’s true.
• fattest eyeballs
• mark gasnier buttocks – so polite! Were they on a library computer?
• images to lighten the mood – I haven’t checked, but I’m sure this lead to John-John’s Get Well pic.

However it’s come to our attention that not everyone is arriving here with pure intentions. Some people out there are visiting Errol via their dirty, dirty perversions. Aside from this week’s ‘lady who whipping’ and ‘shit eating during sex’, for the past couple of months we’ve been getting a disturbing amount of searches for ‘eels in woman’s ass’. GAH.

Last week they stepped it up a notch, clearly becoming desensitised and chasing the dragon, and tried ‘eels SHOOTING out of woman’s ass’. And thanks to Kiki’s dragons + eels + ass = awesome post, we’re FIRST IN LINE. What an achievement.

Stay tuned for an update on the Irish!

I haven’t written anything for awhile. You kids must be missing me terribly…right? Well I’m here to give you your much needed Kiki fix AND update you on the goings on at Errol HQ. HOORAY!

First of all, I would like to announce the arrival of our newest intern….DANNY WICKS!

As much as we love our boy John John, we are heartily sick of him making us feel bad about ourselves with his constant physical perfection. He is always just returning from a beach jog, or off to Bikram yoga or making some insanely healthy protein based lunch….and we are totes over it. We need a mans around the office that can indulge in our favourite group activities – eating and and drinking to excess. And if one man in the NRL can do this better than Fattest Man In League nominee Danny Wicks I am yet to find him.

The man is a hearty individual. We need this sort of bulk around the office. One of our favourite stories of the year involved Intern Danny Wicks crashing his scooter into a car…..and coming away pretty much unscathed. In fact, the car was more damaged than him. AMAZING.

“The bike went into the radiator then I dented the bonnet, hit the windscreen, dented the roof, dented the boot, then landed on my feet on the tar.”

HE LANDED ON HIS FEET! He is so….agile. Like fat Superman!

His bemused coach Brian Smith tells us that “The car’s been damaged from top to toe and he’s walked away with a scratch on his left elbow.”

This is the sort of amazing physical resilience we need at Errol HQ.  Plus when we fired Intern Greg Bird he left a shitload of mini meat pies in the freezer and John John flat out refuses to eat carbs. Thankfully, Intern Danny Wicks is currently polishing them off. The messy bitch got sauce all over Work Experience Boy Lachie’s Seasame Street colouring book.

In other vitally important Errol news, we are busy little bees preparing for our Movember campaign. We have some seriously exciting announcements coming up soon. We are so antsy to tell you…but we can’t just yet. OOOOH THE SUSPENSE.

We went on an Errol excursion last night to witness the crapness splendour of the World Cup Opening Ceremony and Sassy will be delivering her thoughts on that this week. We have also been frolicking about with our beloved Wolfhounds and are off to watch them take on Tonga tonight. We are a tiiiiiny bit worried about their physical health as most of them have never met a Tongan before, let alone lined up against one.

On the upside, the big Tongan boys are gonna tire easily in this heat. Hopefully our boys can use their smaller stature to their advantage and be speedy out of dummy half.  I mean this is the least patronising way possible, but I like to imagine them as the teeny roman gladiator facing off against his larger, slower opponent. If only they were wearing fierce manskirts. Mmmmm….manskirts.

We will be reporting on all the Irish goings on through the week so keep checking back. You bitches better be cheering for Team Ireland. We are seriously struggling to cheer on the Kangaroos. We realised last night we pretty much loathe the entire team. It’s chock full of Dirty Queenslanders for chrissakes! How can I cheer when BRENT TATE scores a bloody try? It’s physically impossible. I tried to clap and my hands repelled from each other in protest. It just Cannot Be Done.

GO IRELAND!