Well Intern Brownie and I are officially on non-speaks. Again. I hate when we have our little tiffs.

After the undignified thrashing that Intern Greg Bird and his sharks gave my Roosters on friday night (20-0! Kill me now!), compared with the Dragons 34-6 win over the Warriors, Intern Brownie has been unbearable. Dancing around the office celebrating his team’s finals chances, singing ‘Saved by the Dell’ and occasionally making sad little chicken noises.

NOBODY LIKES A GLOATER, BROWNIE.

And because I can’t blame my boys, or Saint Freddy (even though he seems to want to blame himself) I’ve become very upset with Intern Brownie.

It’s blindingly obvious by now that the Roosters have some serious psychological issues going on. I know they can win games, they just can’t manage to want to win games. It’s ripping my heart out to watch. Which is why I can’t blame them, you know? Those kids have enough to deal with. My message to the boys is just forget about the loss and concentrate on reciting the affirmations your therapist gave you:

I AM WORTHY OF LOVE AND ADMIRATION.

I HAVE UNTAPPED AND INFINITE POTENTIAL.

I DESERVE SUCCESS.

Good boys. They’ll start working soon.

It’s a shame too, because Brownie and I had been having such a lovely week. Knocking off work at lunch to lie top-n-tail on the couch and watch the Olympic diving together, eating jelly snakes and giving insightful commentary on the springboard events, re-enacting rhythmic gymnastic routines using the left over crepe paper from Hot Man Christmas. See if I play ‘Italian ribbons routine’ with you this week, mister. Hmph.

I should probably also point out at this point that the Errol office is in disarray this morning anyway, and I’m sure you can guess why. We awoke to the news that Intern Greg Bird won’t be fronting up for work today … because he’s kind of in jail.

Needless to say this is Not Good News to face first thing on a Monday. We Errol girls aren’t very good at mornings in general life, let alone when one of our employees has been charged with assault. I’ve already had two high-kick Mimosas ** and it’s not even ten thirty yet.

And I think for now, that’s all we’ll say about that.

Back to my sad chooks for a moment. The only bright spot in that whole game was that Paul Gallen’s grapple tackle on our Errol favourite, David Shillington, caused a little bit of push-n-shove. Shirt-lifting push-n-shove. Our favourite kind!

pic: Getty Images / smh.com.au

Have you been working out more, Shillo? On the Parramatta low-carb diet? Either way we’re all very impressed. Even John John!

And it seems like the Roosters are also determined to outdo Manly as the most retro team in the league. They’ve introduced some snazzy new workout suits and debuted them at the Roosters fan BBQ. It almost goes without saying that I approve. So seventies! So New York Jew!

(Thanks to Browder for the fab Braith pic)

CHAS TENENBAUM I LOVE YOUR WORK!

Now onto the Warriors (STOP LAUGHING, INTERN BROWNIE. JESUS). I’m going to be honest, for most of this season I was completely indifferent to the Warriors. Didn’t like em, didn’t hate em. Plus they were kind of far away so it was easy to just pretend they didn’t exist. That was all before they started their mass beardathon. It is hilarious and I love it.

The Channel Nine commentary team announced on Sunday they have solved The Mystery of The Beards (that they’re tributes to Ruben Wiki) but … didn’t we all know that already? Way to fall off the pace Channel Nine! We here at Errol have been discussing this vitally important news story at our afternoon cocktail hour for weeks. WEEKS I TELL YOU! We are all over the facial hair news.

And we are especially all over it insofar as it involves Michael Witt and his amazing ginger moustache. We just love a man who grows a surprise ginger mo and doesn’t shave it off in a moment of despair and vanity. Perhaps I misjudged you, Mr Witt. FLY THE FLAG WITTY! We love it.

Meanwhile the Tigers have brought back the old Wests jerseys to wear while being beaten by Manly. FINALLY, A V NECK. I’m ever so happy. Because do you know who looks good in a round neck? That’s right, the answer is “not football players”.

Sure they may not have won, but they looked fabulous. Look how flattering that is. Especially on Daine Laurie as he scored two one-man tries, side-stepping defence with his old gold legs, dreadlocks in full flight. The man must be eight feet tall.

And in the process of winning over the Tigers, how much better was Anthony Watmough’s game? I like to think he has been paying attention to his horoscopes and spent a morning at home focussing and preparing mentally for his game:

Spend a little extra time and energy at home today, as there are issues just starting to arise that you can handle with ease at this point.

The other possibility is that Des Hasler giving the boys the silent treatment after their loss last week to the Rabbitohs scared them into a win. Oh, Des! The silent treatment? Can’t you just imagine it?

I hope that while he was refusing to speak to the boys he also made extra noise while he did the washing-up in the kitchen and bashed pots and pans together and when anyone asked what was wrong just shouted “NOTHING. I’M FINE. CAN’T A MAN WASH UP WITHOUT BEING QUESTIONED ALL THE TIME?”

Poor boys though. Apparently the Manly kids just can’t make anyone happy lately. As if it’s not bad enough that they pissed off the wardrobe mistress and art director of the Gods of Football and were forced to play poker in their white hospital boxers for a segment on The Footy Show. That was super awkward.

And, kittens, I hate to leave you on a sad note, but in the Raiders vs South Sydney game yesterday Troy Thompson was taken off field with a ruptured achilles, and Marc-with-a-C Herbert with a medial ligament injury.

NOT THE HERB! We are utterly heartbroken. Herb is one of our Errol favourites and we can’t bear to think of the rest of the season without him. Rest up for 2009 Herbie baby.

* Next time I promise to actually write something about, you know, football. This week you just have to settle for the Important Business of uniform fashions, facial hair, and therapy updates.

** If you were wondering, it’s just like a regular Mimosa, but with an extra shot of Tanqueray, for that little high kick to the brain. WHEE!

Right. So as much as I love ignoring people and doing whatever the hell I want, there comes a time when every blogger/visionary must appease her readers/lowly subjects. It appears some of our male readers feel a tad uncomfortable with the amount of hot man-flesh on display here at Errol. The occasional complaints have now risen to a deafening roar of OMG MY BOSS THINKS I’M A HOMO NOW and KIKI! TOO MUCH MATT COOPER IN HIS UNDIES!

First of all there is no such thing as too much Hot Bitch Cooper in his undies. That’s like saying ‘please! no more orgasms!’. Secondly, what the hell are you all doing reading us at work? You should be ashamed of yourselves! We here at Errol do not stand for blatant time wasting in our office. We are nothing if not industrious.

Being a decidedly laissez-faire workplace, we briefly trialled unlimited internet usage for our employees. Needless to say it didn’t end well. Intern Greg Bird ignored his pile of work and spent hours buying ladies Chanel sunglasses on Ebay and Intern Brownie wasted an entire week investigating black market scalp transplants. Worst of all, thanks to Google, work experience boy John-John Williams discovered that nudist resorts exist in Australia. Then spent our entire Christmas party fund booking us all in for a holiday. WITHOUT OUR CONSENT. Unmitigated disaster!

Obviously, we now monitor our boys very closely.

I would like to point out that a) there has never been complete man-nudity and b) I think most of you are using the ‘someone will think I’m gay’ excuse when really it’s just because Hot Bitch’s perfectly sculpted abs make you feel bad about yourselves. BUT because I love you all, I am prepared to compromise. Never will I stop e-objectifying footy players (NEEEVVVVEEER!) but from now on whenever I post a bit of skin, this graphic will appear.

Now onto the footy.

Confirming the worst kept secret of the year, Darius Boyd has finally  announced his move to my beloved Dragons. I can’t believe the Dragons even bothered with a press release when everyone already knew of the signing. Waste of paper! Enviromental vandalism! I don’t quite know how I feel about Boyd yet. I feel like a stranger is moving into my house. I mean really, who IS this man? Will we be compatible? How does he feel about low fat milk and chore rosters? What incarnation of Law and Order does he prefer? I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HIM!

Actually, scratch that. I now know he’s a briefs man.

Good to know.

In other Dragons news, Big Dell made yet another return to first grade on Friday night. What is that now…three returns? Are they still classified as returns? It’s so confusing. Clearly he should just be there every single week. Why? Partly because of his newly grown fu-manchu moustache. But mostly because have you ever seen anyone this pumped to score a try?

Amazing.

I wish I had time for more blogging, but alas I have to depart. We are off to the Steve Menzies Tribute Dinner tomorrow night and preparations are in full swing. Intern Brownie is hemming my dress and I need to be in it. As usual John-John is of absolutely no help. He keeps running around yelling YEEEHA! SAVE A HORSE…RIDE A COWBOY! He just loves Rodeo Wednesday.

(Naked John thanks to artie at FM Forums and Naked for a Cause. Big Dell from the amazing Getty Images)

I am shocked, boys. Shocked and appalled! I turn my back for a week to watch a little bit of Olympics and you all start turning all Lord of the Flies on me.

This week has been yet more dramaz and violence ahoy in the NRL.  As if we didn’t have enough.

Anyway, as we go back through the violent tendencies from this week, I’m going to give you my observations in point form. We can pretend each one is a ninja star.

* My Roosters. I am so, so unbelievably glad I was out downing voddies and dancing to the Misshapes instead of watching this. We were crushed 30-6.  Let’s just say if this really were Lord of the Flies, the Storm were the choir boys. That’s all I have to say about that.

* Ben Roberts has escaped his assault charge with a $2,500 fine. By my caluclations this means there must now be TWO Bulldogs still in possession of their liberty, not on the run from the law, and fit enough to be able to play for team this week. HALLELUJAH!  That’s the most they’ve had in weeks!  Jessica and that guy who wears the wooden spoon hat to doggies games will be overjoyed.

* There was enough passive-aggression on the field between the Tigers and Parramatta Eels on Monday to outdo even Benny Roberts and his assaults. I don’t know if it was because Brett Hodgson finally found Oh Errol and was offended by my Starlight Hodgson comments, but bitch was pissed. I know this because he complained even more than Brett Finch.

And I don’t know if it’s due to a new end of season Atkins diet but the Fattamatta Eels are back in some kind of form. Running! Scoring tries! Not puffing so much!

I’m thisclose to joining Big Blog just so I can comment on Nathan Hindmarsh’s blog and ask for their secret. It’s low carb, isn’t it?

I think the wild weather sent the boys from the west a little Lord of the Flies too, because Bryce Gibbs took out Krisnan Inu with a high arm in a tackle and Corey Payne went for Jarryd ‘Baby’ Hayne’s face in a retro facial massage.

Or is it jealousy? Are Corey and Bryce just pissed that they didn’t get nominated in the Errol awards this year? ENVY IS SO UNBECOMING, BOYS. If you have broken Krisnan’s adorable sunshiney smile or Baby Hayne’s snuggly little face I will get all Ben Roberts on your ass. Trust.

Feleti Mateo didn’t need any help though. They say he injured a knee, we know better. In his few weeks off he got a taste for Ranch Dressing and daytime tv and bitch doesn’t wanna give it up.

Now that’s a ranch-dressing belly if ever I saw one.

Do you think it’s a coincidence it happened just as he was seeing what it’s like to play a full game back in the first grade side? More like he started to feel tingles down his left arm and realised what we all firmly believe: that intense exercise is tres unpleasant. He’s totally faking this. WE SEE THROUGH YOU FELETI.

(Pssst – come over next week if you want to watch Oprah together, bb)

* Souths fans are clearly going crazy on the island too, because as South Sydney were unexpectedly demolishing Manly on the weekend, one crazy Rabbitohs fan decided the best way to express his joy was by throwing a metal socket at Steve Matai. A metal socket? Does anyone even know what that is? Like … a light socket? God I am so confused.

Confused in so many ways. You’re winning. How does that translate to a socket to Steve Matai’s head? I already explained last time that Matai’s cornrows do not amount to head protection. Yes, he may have a cornrow fringe now – which, by the way Steve, I really enjoy.  V flattering - but bitch is still human and this primal socket-throwing stuff is really quite dangerous.  (Well, it’s dangerous assuming a metal socket is what I think it is.  It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye!)

What’s next, the pig on a stick?

I also wanna give a shout out to Anthony Watmough who had a shocker of a game against the Rabbitohs. It wasn’t your fault, Tony. You may not know it, but the universe was Not Happy with you on Sunday. So it wasn’t that you lost the plot, so much as the planets gave you a massive kick in the face. Here’s a little excerpt from your Sunday horoscope:

You are so distracted at the moment and need to understand which activities and people are of value or of prime importance.

UNCANNY, right?  No wonder you kept knocking on and missing tackles.  You were astrologically distracted.

If you want to start consulting the stars before next week’s match to see if your performance will improve, I highly recommend Astro Barry.

* Tim Sheens doesn’t want to be left out either, so he’s decided to call back some Tigers greats to relive the seventies, maybe slap each other around a little bit, and promote their next game during the week. Really Tim Sheens.  Selling football with violence?  I expected more of you.

Sigh.  I just hope things are a little more sunshine and rainbows this weekend in the league.  All this injury and drama is so exhausting.  I had to have two tumblers of voddie and dry just watching the football on Monday night.

So in the interest of my mental health, and not getting cirrhosis of the liver, all Reni and I are asking you, babies, is:

Give peace a chance.

It shouldn’t be. I’m actually meant to be at the footy stadium watching my Roosters play the Fattamatta Eels but I woke up this afternoon with a hangover so punishing it’s like an angry bear bashing itself on the inside of my skull. I barely managed to muster up enough energy to get out of bed and have Intern Greg Bird pull all the mysterious dried leaves out of my hair. I might just post Kiki’s helpful SMS message here instead of trying to explain because I think it sums the whole situation up quite well:  

u have leaves in ur hair because u lied down in the street.
then a cop came to see if u were okay and u accidentally kicked her in the face. it was amazing.

I love my boys, but I just couldn’t do it.  Leave me behind guys, I’m done for.  GO AHEAD!  SAVE YOURSELVES!  Needless to say I am completely rubbish and not promising any kind of accuracy. I don’t even really know who I want to win. I do love little Wade Graham and his luxurious eyelashes, Matthew Bell and his great head of hair and baby Lachlan Coote. Plus there’s the fact that the other night in the pub Kiki and our mate Alex named my boobs after Tony and Frank Puletua, so we kind of have a vibe, the Puletuas and I.

But I’m also oddly fond of the Raiders. I love reading out their hilarious retro librarian names (shoutout to Neville Costigan – your name’s my favourite darlin), I love how untanned they all are – no beaches in Canberra, kids – and I love the Herb. I’M SO TORN.

I take two Nurofen plus and before I’ve even swallowed them Rhys Wesser darts through the defence and sets up Michael Gordon for a try. Gordon converts and winks adorably as he walks off. I don’t know who you are Mr. Gordon but I like you already you cheeky bitch.

Before I can even make a joke about nifty little Danny Glover and his skillz Herbie has sent in a kick and Terry Campese leaps over Danny like a dolphin and grounds it for a try. He converts for 6-6. My poor little brain can’t handle the excitement as Dane Tilse leaps on a ball in goal for another Raiders try.

Aaaah I love it when front rowers score tries. They get so left out of the glory, and I honestly don’t know if I’ve even seen another front-rower score from a kick and chase this year. But Dane Tilse was all over that Terry Campese kick with all of his considerable bulk just centimetres before the dead ball line. He looks so shocked and excited it makes my heart smile. GO DANE! You win at life.

In the meantime Luke Priddis has broken something in his head and is staggering around on the field doing a fairly good Mick Crocker impression. He also has a swipe of white from the field markings on the front of his hair and he looks like nothing so much as a drunk Maxwell Sheffield in a footy uniform.

Imagine how happy I am when they have to whip him off the field and sub in Masada Iosefa. I adore him. I’m so upset that he obviously rang the commentary team a few weeks ago and explained that his name is pronounced Yosefa instead of Ocifer.

Oh how I used to love reenacting my own drunken police officer moments every time they mentioned his name.

Scuse me Ocifer … I like your new uniforms with the tuck-in pantsh. They’re very … mill … mulla … military. *slaps cop on the arse*

Danny Glover skips around David Milne for another brilliant try and I’ve realised he’s very Amos Roberts when he scores tries. An arm in the air after an amazing 50 metre try and they don’t even crack a smile. I like to think they just let their feets do the talking. Their fancy fancy feet.

12-12.

Now this is where it gets kind of sad. Amazing and impressive and all, but at the same time oh so very sad. That giant redwood Joel Monaghan charges through Penrith’s line and across the line on the right hand side for a try. Terry Campese sets up Trevor Thurling for another. Colin Best offloads to the nugget of a man that is Justin Carney for another on the left. Justin Carney has surprisingly shiny and gleaming hair. He’s like an echidna.

I would also like to remind everyone that today is officially Sorry Ranga Day. And in the spirit of the day I wanna give a giant hug to Joel Monaghan and Alan Tongue for all the struggles I know they must have endured so far in life (our country is Not Kind to Rangas) and remind you all that we here at Errol will be honouring the greatest rangas in our fine game in the Oh Errol awards.

I would also like to apologise to the LadyCop for accidentally hitting her in the face with my boot. I’m sorry LadyCop. Thank you for not arresting me.

[UM. WHERE IS MY THANKYOU??? If not for my quick thinking and physical strength you would be fighting assault charges right now missy! As soon as you kicked her I peeled you off the ground and dragged you into the darkness. On the run from the po-po through the backstreets of Newtown. Good times. - Kiki]

Canberra fans huddle for warmth and Scott Sattler on the sideline complains about getting frostbite in his fingers. I’ll keep you warm, Scotty. *seedy wink* I also swear to god the Penrith interchange bench are all wearing emergency SES blankets. They look like depressed schoolboys rescued from a Duke of Edinburgh trek gone bad in the Blue Mountains.

Campese commando rolls for another try and converts it too, but I’m distracted by Alan Tongue running around in the background. I love him in his headgear. Obviously pretty much everyone looks ridiculous with a headgear on (except Jonathon Thurston, who, inexpicably looks BETTER in headgear) but combined with the Raiders green Alan looks like nothing so much as a grumpy turtle general marshalling his turtle troops about the field. Good work Turtle!

Army Tank Trevor Thurling finishes off the half with one more try just to make sure that the Panthers are sufficiently depressed.

38-12.

I can pretty much sum up the second half by saying three things:

Rhys Wesser inexplicably misses a kick from Canberra that is aimed right at him, then the ball by some miracle stops on it’s end vertical exactly before the dead ball line so the Raiders get another set. Penrith just Do Not Win At Life today and Danny Glover’s emotionless face is starting to look like a mask of despair.

Wade Graham limps off field with a torn medial ligament and I want to cry. I’m already heartbroken that the completely adorable Lachlan Coote is out injured. It’s not the same watching footy without feeling like there’s a chance that little Lachlan Cute will win man of the match and thank all his fans again.

To be honest then I fall asleep for a while (don’t judge me) and when I wake up Canberra have scored a thousand more tries and Trent Waterhouse looks like he will be the next person to start weeping uncontrollably.

I also realise finally that the reason Michael Gordon is kicking goals is because Luke Lewis broke his head last week. I KNEW I HADN’T SEEN YOU BEFORE MICHAEL. How did it take me sixty minutes to realise this? Maybe alcohol really does damage brain cells.

More tries, including one to the Turtle, who kisses the Raider emblem on his jersey. That is really sweet, but really creepy also. I am also completely in love with the fact that Tom Learoyd-Lahrs scored one. Soz Neville Costigan. You no longer have the greatest name in the Green Machine. You also just can’t compete with Learoyd-Lahrs and his fierce retro headwear.

The referee reprimands Luke Priddis for running early – “I HAVEN’T BLOWN THE WHISTLE YET, LUKE” – and he will so be the next to have a tear on the sideline. I can see the tears starting to prick in the corners of his eyes already.

The green machine hits 72-12 and send in Marc Herbert to convert – “the boys just wanted to give Herbie a kick,” according to Terry. I love how they talk about him like he’s their kid. WE FEEL THE SAME WAY, HERBIE! He seems like a lovely boy. I would totally adopt him. We could have breakfast out on the terrace while I brush his hair and part it to the side and get him ready for a big day of training.

The final damage is 74-12, 10 goals and four tries of that thanks to Tezza Campese, and in a final moment of heart-wrenching hilarity, Trevor Thurling tells the interviewers that he wants to shout out to all the boys in Queanbeyan.

HE REALLY IS FROM QUEANBEYAN. I knew it! I bet anything he has at some point in his life worked part-time in the library. I just know it. Bless you Trevor. You deserve the win honey.

Christmas in July? Pfffft. Who wants to spend a boring weekend in a Blue Mountains B&B rolling about in fake snow? No one, thats who. You know what they don’t have for Christmas in July? Hot shirtless football players.

Here at Errol we are all about Christmas in August. We celebrate Hot Man Christmas. With much fervour. Intern Brownie has helped us decorate the office with fairy lights and tinsel. He is suprisingly adept at interior design.

As usual, Intern GregBird contributed little to nothing and spent the whole time sprawled on the lounge yelling LOWER…NOW TO THE LEFT while stuffing his face with mince pies. Then I ‘accidentally’ spilt egg nogg on his leg and told the rest of the office it was jizz. Oh, how he cried.

And our new work experience boy John-John Williams has really got into the spirt by wandering about wearing nothing but a Santa hat. What can we say, he just Likes Being Naked. Who are we to object?

Anyway, last night on The Footy Show Santa delivered our presents. In the form of our favourite boys wearing not much more than a bow. Apparently we have been very very good girls this year because the hotness was staggering.

Okay, full disclosure time. We all wanted to blog about Hot Man Christmas but I was the only one who had the self control to stop humping the lounge and actually type. Because I am a nothing if not a Dedicated and Professional journalist.

Last nights segment on the new Gods of Football calendar brought two of our favourite things – hotness and lolz.

THE HOT

1) The words ‘god’ and ‘football’ cannot be spoken without mentioning Hot Bitch Cooper, and thankfully the wise calendar makers agree. I literally have no words for how these photos make me feel. So lets use maths instead.

Hot Bitch + little clothing = happy Pink V

2) I love it when Santa brings suprises. Imagine our excitement when we unwrapped Davey Williams! SQUEEEE! We really weren’t expecting that. We thought we were the only ones who appreciated his awesome Daveyness. Actually, we would like to take credit for starting the entire ‘David Williams is attractive’ movement. His appearance in the calendar is clearly directly related to us and no one will tell me any different.

As we always suspected, The Hot Pioneer is well….hot. Sassy was overwhelmed with a sudden urge to convert to Christianity after witnessing Dave bear a striking resemblance to Jesus. A sexy sexy Jesus. He even rocked a crucifixion pose. HALLELUJAH!

Oh and that smile?? Wow….just wow.

3) Another delightful suprise was the appearance of David Shillington. Rabs calls him a ‘big impressive thing’ and after seeing this footage we have to agree. We are all over that chest hair. It’s fucking great.

I’ve seen Shillo clad in only undies with my own eyes and I have to say…it is quite the sight. TEAM SHILLO!

4) The hot hooker! Matt Ballin, our very own Errol personal trainer, is flashing his perfectly toned body for the calendar. All those extra push ups have really paid off Bal. I’ll see you for our boxing session on Tuesday.

Wait is that…is he…wearing lipgloss?

5) Nathanael Barnes I have absolutely no idea who you are, but godamn you are a welcome addition under my Hot Man Christmas tree.

THE LOLZ

1) The Manly boys certainly drew the short straw in the underwear department. The cruel wardrobe mistresses decided to dress them in horrifying white boxer shorts. Baggy, voluminous WHITE boxer shorts. They look like something a grumpy nurse would dress you before you’re wheeled in for surgery.

Look at them. They KNOW they look ridiculous. Bless.

2) The Tigers are apparently Leather Gays now. Awesome.

3) And the Roosters are a 90s boy band on the set of their new video ‘Shirt Off For Love’. By the way, their second single ‘Trimmed Pubes Are For Winners’ is an absolute cracker.

4) This one needs no explanation.

Something tells me underweared horseplay in an alley isn’t entirely unusual for these two.

5) Shaun Kenny Dowall arrived on set late and was stuck with the shit undies. THOSE ARE FOR LADIES SHAUN. THEY ARE BIKINI BRIEFS.

Pink? Is that you?? I loved that President song!

But by far our favourite moment of last nite was our adorable ginger kitten Ranga Josh competing in the quiz. He promised he would flash us the peace sign as a visual shout out and HE DID! Amazing. He is now the official Oh Errol mascot. WE LOVE YOU RANGA JOSH!

Go register for your preview of the calendar here. And make sure you buy one. It’s for charity so we demand it. Happy Hot Man Christmas babies!

(Massive thanks to our all time favourite blog for all the amazing caps. We love you matey!)

All the Oh Errol girls are tres ambivalent about the news that Intern Brownie has been offered a new fulltime gig and will be leaving us at the end of the year. Proud as punch and happy because we love him dearly, but kind of devo, because … well we’ll just miss seeing his confused little face around the office. Spilling Eccoccino on his Dragons jersey, accidentally wiping photocopy toner all over his face, purring when I tickle him under the chin.

Worst of all, it means the search is on for a new intern to take his place. Errol is a full-time enterprise you know. We can’t manage this shit on our own.

So while Jessica is already busy planning Brownie’s farewell party, I’ve been distracting myself poring through the pile o’resumes we’ve received in the past few weeks. Seems like the kids have heard about Brownie’s sweet hot tub deal and want a piece of the action.

One application letter had the name T.Carney on the back and weird spots of discolouration on the envelope so I just kinda left it sealed and threw it away. Joel Moon’s application was just a set of shirtless photos of him. HOW SHALLOW DO YOU THINK WE ARE, JOEL? Well I kept the photos, so probably quite shallow. But this is a business Joel, so don’t expect an interview.

Just kidding. You’re on the shortlist darlin.

I also binned a few that were unsigned and filled with mysterious white powder. I think we can all guess who they were from.

One in the pile really caught my attention though. After I finished licking the meat pie residue off Greg Bird’s letter, I realised it was one damn impressive set of references.

Now I already have a soft spot for the amazing Birdman. I know I usually say bitchy things about the Sharks, but what can I say? He’s a fiesty little pugdog. I like that.

I love his hilarious expression in his NRL ad with Ben Mendelsohn. I love his crazy Mexican bandido moustache:

… almost as much as his ridiculous lady-glasses. Bitch has no shame. I also like that.

I especially love his Ancient Rome-style tendency to gluttony. I would bet anything he also has a fetish for eating during sex. You know it’s true. True and hot.

But it was his reference from his (admittedly not always the most sportsmanlike) teammate Paul Gallen that really set him apart.

Looking for sophisticated humour? Look no further than Queensland, my friends. After the long, dark, soul-crushing night that was Origin II, we have woken to a morning of OMG HILARITY.

Thankfully, Kiki has already stepped in and posted something about Origin II so I’m spared from having to recap the bloodshed in its entirety, but to give you an idea of what you missed, it probably would have been a series of rants about:

* Why Allan Langer cannot deign to wear a suit even when he is named in the Queensland Origin Team of the Century. ARE YOU KIDDING ME ALFIE? A crappy screen-printed Industrie shirt is not acceptable outerwear for receiving a state-based honour in your chosen field (don’t even get me started on Artie Beetson and his T SHIRT);

* How my Blues crushed me in the heart with their lack of spirit, constant returns to ineffective dummy-half running and lack of any kind of creative spark;

* Why the kind of knee-jerk, media-influenced refereeing like Archer showed around the ruck on Wednesday night is the kind of bullshit that makes me infuriated with Rugby League. That and the complete inattention paid to the ten metre rule and the inconsistency on late entry to tackles. If you want to keep fans, how about you actually make a decision on what the rules are and stick with it? Hmmmm? Anyone?

(I know, right Willie? Look at his face, he totally agrees).

* How proud I was when Brent Tate made a break with the ball and my mum screamed out ‘ANYONE BUT TATTTTTTE!’ Seriously I had never realised before that moment that she can’t stand Brent Tate either. Aaaah, the wonders of genetics.

… then it would have been me trying to resist pointing out the Ref’s blidnness to Queensland forward passes, and failing, then a lot of profanity.

But after all the trauma, I wake up to the news that Greg Bird was arrested by Queensland police …. as a practical joke.

Oh, Queensland. You kill me. Just as you take a win on the field and assert your dominance, and we start to think maybe you’re not just foolish nutbags and rednecks from the North, you handcuff Gred Bird in a paddywagon the street for five minutes. I AM DEAD. You waggish constables! How droll you are!

The truth is I’m laughing, so in that sense, bravo kids. The image of moustachioed Greg Bird in a paddywagon is kind of funny. But if we’re being honest, I’m not really laughing with you, darlings. This is to practical jokes what the ‘Queenslander’ chant is to great literature.

But, oh, how good it feels to laugh again. Thanks, you crazy kids in maroon.

My joy is only dulled by the fact that I also woke up to see that Bird, aside from being the object of THE GREATEST JOKE IN HISTORY has also shaved off that fabulous moustache, which devastates me.

Sigh. I liked ‘Maudlin Mexican Bandido’ Bird so much more than regular Bird.

I think I need another Queensland joker to cheer me up.