errol’s 12 days of christmas : day one

December 13th, 2010


It’s that time of year again! No Sam Burgess, not Cold Rock time….but CHRISTMAS! We totally planned to do an advent calendar of sorts but then all of a sudden it’s 12 days till Jesus’s birthday and we missed half the month. On the ball here at Errol HQ, as always.

I’ve posted the above photo because a) it’s naked John John in a Santa hat and b) a man named Pat Stack reminded me of how awesome naked John John in a Santa hat really was.

There we were at the One Community Chrissie party, just minding our own business, and suddenly a man clad in a Fox Sports shirt sheepishly says “ummm…hey…are u guys from Oh Errol? I love your blog hey.” WE GOT RECOGNISED! Like real famous people! Except with unbrushed hair and tiny tiny salaries.

Pat Stack then chastised us for not posting enough (geez Pat, demanding much?) and then mentioned John John’s infamous photo. I’ve forgotten what the context was Pat Stack is either a devoted Errol fan or has a man crush on our intern. Excellent work on both counts.

ANYWAY for the next 12 days you lucky bitches will be getting a mini Errol post every single day. It may be a lolz photo, a quote, a little story or some random awesomeness.

Now we know for a fact most of you have not been good boys and girls (which is why we love you) so these may be the only presents you’re getting. Please act suitably grateful.

On the first day of Christmas,

Oh Errol gave to me…..

Shirtless Sam Thaiday squatting against a tree.

older posts


footy observations: barbecues and theatre sports

August 12th, 2010

Well it happened, friends. Kiki’s Dragons and my Roosters clashed at the SCG. YES WE SURVIVED. It was surprisingly … civilised. Maybe the SCG just gives out those kind of vibes, because the whole thing was generally sunshiney and positive and lovely and genial. No, I’m not joking. Neither of us even got up and sang a song about scoring tries while doing an obnoxious little dance (which we usually really, really enjoy).

It also helped that there was a fucking fierce Roosters fan sitting behind us in a NSWRL-era jersey, who could perfectly imitate a rooster.

It’s hard to be depressed with a woman in a footy jersey cock-a-doodle-doing behind you. I think my mum actually has that embroidered on a teatowel.

It also helped that there was a lot to like. I cried a little tear when Kane Linnett limped from the field, but Todd Carney run the ball eased the pain. MAubs at centre for next week? Don’t mind if we do. Sure it might all go down in flames, but you can’t deny he runs beautiful lines and the bitch does have some footwork. I believe.

And lastly, it helped that some people had equally traumatic weekends:

Exhibit A: Intern John-John had to have his weekly leg-wax in public (well it was for charity)

Exhibit B: all of womanhood suffered as one when Matt Ballin’s face got injured. NOT THE FACE! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

Exhibit C: J.Aubs discovered that when you’re out injured for the season … you’re suddenly at the bottom of the pyramid and the boys totally make you do all the shit jobs.  eg. take over when there’s smoke burning your vulnerable little eyes. As if he doesn’t have enough problems! Stop laughing Todd Carney!

Exhibit D: Oh, Beau. That’s him trying to hail a cab after his weekend performance.

Exhibit E: The Storm lost Greg Inglis …. and their will to live.

That reminds me: in completely expected and in no way surprising signing news, Greg Inglis is a Bronco. We all know he’s a fucking bandit for a maroon jersey. Also, we totally predicted it in the latest issue of Rugby League Player (buy it. It’s ace). We also predicted GI will take his boat with him to Brissie and start a Whitsunday charter sail operation that ends in tragedy. We’re pretty much Nostradamus, or something.

Errol fave Flash Gordon is staying at Penrith,while Jeremy Smith has joined the dark side and signed to the Sharks. If nothing else, we hope he somehow manages to cheer up Anthony Tupou with his love and friendship. WHY SO SAD, TOOPS?

Apparently Steve Matai turned down the Warriors before he confirmed a deal with Manly, meaning his deal with Manly will be a whole lot less. He is a master negotiator, no? We’re 99% sure that when Manly do give him a deal it will be for a glass of water and one of Des’ used hairbrushes and he’ll fall to the ground running in circles like Homer negotiating with Burns.

And up in Brissie, the elder statesmen Darren Lockyer STILL refuses to announce his retirement, and Corey Norman is rapidly turning into Peter Costello, waiting and waiting for John Howard to retire until all of a sudden Malcolm Turnbull’s party leader and Costello is losing his hair. Sucks to be Corey.

Related question – if Darren Lockyer was a vampire, he would be the Master from Buffy, yes?

But screw signings, more importantly JAMAL IS ON TV. He’s signed is a brand new deal to get him on the Footy Show and on that cop show. You know, the one with Gary Sweet.

Well played, Channel 9. Well played. To quote Jamal “I’m not the next big thing, but I’m pretty close to it”. AMEN.

But best of all, DES HASLER MADE A FUNNY. Last night at the Harbord Diggers, George Rose and a team of players took on Dessie’s team in the “Stage of Origin” theatre sports. Just take a moment to think about that, won’t you? Dessie sticking his arms through someone’s armpits and pretending to interview a celebrity. Dessie playing ‘subtitles’. Dessie pretending to do accents.


And on that note, I’m gonna leave you with a picture of the Roosters being adorable at a Mission Australia pre-City to Surf barbecue (shoutout to Dan!), and a link to see a shirtless George Rose rocking out at Stage of Origin. You’re welcome.

Hey, Shaun Kenny-Dowall, why so concerned about sausages?

(All game pics: Getty Images)

older posts


footy observations : jamal, daine and the federal government

February 3rd, 2010


My god it’s been awhile since we’ve e-connected, right kittens? I bet you miss me like Danny Wicks misses his freedom. Unless of course you follow us on Twitter. I am all over the Twitter. I even have my own account now. Try to control your excitement.

[Ooh, yes! Me too! follow me, love me, and enjoy the minutiae of my daily life, twitter-style. – S ]

Tweeting is fun. Tweeting after a few vodkas is even better. Sassy and I are still trying to figure out what hilarious political commentary I was trying to tweet at 4am from QBar late last year. We found it the next morning, just sitting there in Twitteriffic, half finished.

“Imma let you finish, but the federal government is …”

IS WHAT KIKI? IS WHAAAAT? And is that, was I trying to, wait … was I making a Kanye West joke? About the Australian Federal Government? Worst of all, I totally remember us both absolutely cracking up at the time and saying “we have to tweet this!” And now it’s lost forever. RIP awesome joke, we hardly knew thee.

Anyway, back to things that are relevant. This off-season has been particularly punishing for me.  The only things that have kept me from complete emotional oblivion are:

a) The Contender (turns out boxing is almost as good as footy, also I LOVE YOU GARTH.)

b) the fact I live at the beach now and am treated to a daily show of hot tattooed shirtlessness frolicking in my driveway

c) the way in which rugby league keeps churning out the top shelf entertainment despite the fact there are no actual games being played.

Let’s start with Jamal Idris, shall we? Our favourite (and possibly only) Afro-diginal footy player. And after this recent story, he is fast becoming one of our favourite all around humans. Watch out Anthony Bourdain/Wendell Sailor/Zac Efron, this kid is gaining on ya!

I first read this article on my phone whilst in bed, attempting to get to sleep. It didn’t help my slumber because I spent the next 20 minutes literally loling at the hilarity of it all. I think I even said “oh Jamal, I love you” out loud. Yeh, that’s not weird at all.

There’s so much goodness in this article, I barely know where to start.

“Acting is something that I’ve really thought about getting into for a couple of years, but I don’t really know how to go about it,” Idris told The Daily Telegraph after the Bulldogs’ annual Twenty20 cricket match at ANZ Stadium yesterday.

I love the ‘really thought about it’. It’s not just a passing fancy people! Jamal is Serious about this. When it comes to his future career as a thespian, bitch is thinking Rodin style.


I’ve always thought Jamal was like an overgrown puppy. Adorable and enthusiastic and delightfully innocent. Remember when he signed his Bulldogs contract last year and didn’t realise he had to pay tax? LOVE. He displays his gorgeous naivete again with this gem:

“I didn’t do drama at school or anything like that, but love watching movies and DVDs. It’s hard to describe … but when I watch a movie I sort of get carried away and can imagine myself being there in the scene.”

Oh, honey. You are amazing. Well Jamz, imagine no more. With the power of a) my brain and b) photoshop you can see your acting career in solid visuals. I’ve decided if you’re gonna act, go all OUT baby. Forget predictable special effects blockbusters. Be brave and REMAKE THE CLASSICS. Oh yes.

Jamal Idris is….Citzen Kane.


Not into Orson Welles and multiple Academy Awards? Okay then. Everyone loves a southern gothic tale sooooo…what about, some Tennesee Williams?

Stelllaaaaa! The goggles, they do nothing!

Every aspiring actor wants to be Marlon Brando. This role would be perfect for our boy Jamal. I know it’s intmidating, but if he wants, he can pop over to Errol HQ to run lines and practice the infamous soaking wet white t-shirt scene. Intern John John, fetch the hose!

But if he wants to start small, I’ve come up with the perfect compromise. Stick to what he knows. ie: being pigtailed and adorable.

That pirate hat is absolute killer.

In other God-footy-is-hilarious-like-no-other-sport news, the Sunday Herald tells me Daine Laurie and Willie Mason are in the midst of a feud. WE LOVE FOOTY FEUDS. They are so … biblical. And by the sounds of it, this one is an absolute doozy.

Recently described by the ABC as a “rugby league vagrant” (HAHAHA), Willie has been having a bad time of it lately. It’s made him bitchy like woah and apparently he’s been blabbing all over town that D.Laurs is a ‘poor excuse for a footballer’ and ‘a drunk’. Unsuprisingly, Daine took to this news rather negatively.

He told the Herald : “Tell Willie Mason when I see him, I’m going to slap him in the face”.

OH MY GOD. I AM DEAD FROM AWESOME. I know it’s only Febuary, but hot damn this is easily the best league quote of the year.

Now I don’t like to boast (that’s a lie), but as always, Errol is ahead of the curve. Cultural zeitgeists you say? Oh, I agree. Way back in 2008, we spotted Daine Laurie as a slapping extraordinaire. Not just any old slap, but a BITCH slap. You heard it here first.

older posts


bandwagons, billy love and kangaramoos

October 20th, 2009


Intern John John anxiously awaited our return


I know, I know…we have been absent of late. We are shit and we know it. People keep harassing us asking for more blogs and are all WHY HAVEN’T YOU WRITTEN ABOUT THE GRAND FINAL YOU LAZY SHITS etc etc. We have no excuses except this one : being writers for a living now is both a blessing and a curse. Amazing because we get to do what we love and get paid for it, but shit because it kinda sucks out our creative juice and leaves us a bit well…dry.

And yes I am aware of how (untintentionally) gross that sentence was. 

Now let’s sum up what’s been happening in mah head lately

a) The Grand Final was bloody awful. And no, not because the Storm won. It was awful because I spent the whole day in deep emotional pain thinking THE BLOODY DRAGONS SHOULD BE HERE GODAMNIT THIS SUCKS. And by ‘thinking’, I mean ‘loudly announcing it to no one in particular then kicking the ground like a small child’.

I was in the middle of a booze ban but I had to down a couple of vodkas to cope. Once again, the Dragons are directly to blame for my alcohol intake. I hope Peter Doust has a special fund set up for my future liver transplant.

Also, I spent most of the day being enraged at the massive amounts of Parra bandwagoners that were milling about just begging to be punched in the face. Look I am all for new people coming to the game, and I truly want league to be really popular, but is there anything worse than tools sporting freshly bought merchandise and being Smuggy Mc Smuggersons? I’ll answer it for you: no, no there is not.

In an ironic twist, Billy Slater decides he hates overexposed fullbacks

On the bus there, we were sitting next to a girl who was wearing…wait for it…a backless bodysuit and a Parramatta scarf. Because her back is so hot but her neck is FREEZING! GO PARRA! She teamed this with skin tight jeans and strappy high heels. ARGH. We were forced to listen to her inane questions which consisted of ‘so, like, is there like, a toilet near the seats?’ and ‘do you think the Eels would be like, nervous today?’. I bet her favourite player of all timez is Jarryd Hayne. He’s sooooo hot.

And yes, if you’re wondering, I am completely aware that I am bitter and resent the fact the Eels found form when my boys lost theirs. But in my defence, Kate, my other-bestie-that-isn’t-Sassy, the biggest Parra fan in the entire universe, also hates the bandwagoners with a passion. When I sent her an sms to describe the Bodysuit Girl she said ‘murder her immediately, I will visit you in jail I promise’.

b) In a twist that is worthy of a Mexican telenovela, I have decided I that I now like Billy Slater. Yes, really. I know, I know…I’m freaked out too.  Next thing you know my evil twin is gonna appear wearing a maroon jersey and stilettos, drinking Bundy rum and yelling QUEENSLANDER in peoples faces.

I can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but I think it started with Rexona’s Greatest Athlete. Then it snowballed when our friend Edwina started to like footy. And by that I mean she started to obsess over Hot Bitch Cooper and Billy and started forcing me to realise Billy has beautiful skin and pretty eyes and oh god…he’s kinda cute. And worst of all, likeable.  I kept telling myself the only reason I was on GettyImages searching for Billy pix was for Eddie but then at the Grand Final I involuntarily yelled GO BILLY. I hate myself so much.

Kiki retreats to 1997 fashionz to ease the off season pain

c) I have literally experienced post season depression. I’ve been massively emo. For ages I couldn’t figure out why I felt like something had stolen my heart and filled my chest with sad sad cement then I realised oh my god, it’s because there’s no footy on. I am simultaneously proud and ashamed of this.

Okay now onto things that aren’t me.

So last week we got to play with the VB Kangaroos. Seriously. Somehow we managed to annoy charm the NRL’s media manager, David Taylor, into letting us come along to their media call and conduct some video interviews. Being the legend that he is, DT asked us who we wanted to speak to and he just made it all happen. Seriously kids, we just sat on our little lounge and superstahs like Billy Slater, Robbie Farah and the Mozzie twins were just brought over to us. Footy player delivery!

Anyway, since JJ and the boys had to hold down the fort at Errol HQ, we brought along our interns for the day, Loz and Butch. They found Errol by googling naked photos of David Williams, which is really quite fitting. They are basically 17 yr old versions of Sassy and myself, which I find both terrifying and delightful. Here is their take on the day (yes these interns actually exist and they wrote this for reals!).


Last Tuesday was National Nipples Day Out (thankyou Robbie ‘headlights’ Farah, ambassador of this campaign), otherwise known as the Kangaroo’s media call. We are best friends, we love football, the Sea Eagles, Georgie Rose, High School Musical, doing the hoedown throwdown whilst cooking and Big Del (Little Del goes down alright to). We DON’T love dirty dirty Queenslanders, with the exception of Billy Slater.

After 2nd helpings of Maccas breakfast, due to the fact we were an hour early, we met Kiki and Sassy and made our way into the Pullman htel, got settled and dolled ourselves up, ready for Robbie.

From the moment he walked around the corner, Robbie’s  infamous visible nipples were on full display for us (and didn’t we LOVE it). Bitch is also full of lolz, who knew?? When asked about his recent shirtless kebab photo, Robbie seemed….errrrr, slighty….confused, like he’s done it on many occasions……which is AWSOME, coz it means there are more out there. Here’s a preview –

Anyway, turns out Robbie is extremely proud of when he punched Anthony Watts waaaaaaay back in round 19. He was all ‘nobody thought I’d do it……..but I DID!’. Kinda like how kids are when they go to the toilet by themselves for the first time.

Next was Billy Slater. As we all circled around him (after Sassy elegantly kicked over a glass coke bottle that smashed everywhere), Kiki told him that this wasn’t gunna be a normal interview, he replied with (whilst looking slighty nervous) “I can see that”. Pretty AND observant, what’s not to love? Billy didn’t even seem bothered by Butch’s question of how he keeps his skin so radiant. His answer? GENETICS!! However, we did get the goss on who in the Melby (gag) team moisturizes. Cooper Cronk? OF COURSE he does. When one is a fierce bitch like Cooper Cronk, one must look after one’s skin, non?

Also, we are 99% sure that Watmough recognised us from the Manly fan days and shit like that were we have met him…. It may have also been that time when Butch walked past his car and he had ‘DAMN WHO’S A SEXY BITCH’ blaring (don’t even pretend that wasn’t aimed at me Watmough, you sly dog -B). Or, it could have just been in our heads. We have active imaginations, WHAT OF IT?

So while we waited for the Mozzies, we relaxed on the lounges. Apparently we’re relaxed interns (meaning we do nothing). Butch demonstrated how relaxed we were by reclining on the lounge in a slightly provocative manner. That magic moment was caught on tape by some lucky sport channel. Youtube it bitches!

Meanwhile, B.Moz cares not for being top point scorer of the Errol Wildcats, or the top try scoreer for the NRL, bitch just wanted to be captain of the Wildcats!

LOOK HOW UPSET HE IS! It seemed to us that J.Moz was kinda put off that B.Moz knew all about Errol but he didn’t. They also seemed quite please by the fact that they were nominated for the best legs in league, but slightly affronted that Uncy Wayne wasn’t nominated for Sexiest Coach.
In conclusion, footy we love you! We also kinda, maybe, probably, defssss love the people that play footy. Oh and Kiki and Sassy, we’ll intern for you anytime and we promise actual communication to the players next time, not just nervous giggles.


The girls were hilarious and adorable and we will have them intern with us again any time. We love you kittens!  Sassy and I will be writing our own post on the day, including VIDEO INTERVIEWS. Real ones! I know, I can’t believe they let us that close to the players either.

Is this the longest Errol post ever? Possibly. It should shut up you whingers that have been blog-begging for the past month anyway.

PS – MASSIVE thanks to the amazing David Taylor for hooking us up on Kangamaroooooos Day. DT, you are our new favourite person!

PPS -The Errol Awards are coming I swear to God.  We decided this year to leave them until after the season ended so we could stretch out the footy goodness as long as possible.

(photos from GettyImages)

older posts


footy observations: crazy cat ladies and biff

July 23rd, 2009

So … I guess I should talk Roosters. Cruelly defeated by the Warriors on the weekend just the day after they found out their coach Freddy was getting the boot. Can’t that result be reversed somehow? Emotional distress? That always worked for me on exams in high school. That and period pain.

Sassy on her way to the SFS

Cause my chookies straight up deserved to win that game. Not just because I really REALLY needed a win for the sake of my sanity. Somehow, even though my boys are at the bottom of the ladder, I’m still managing to get up every day and have a shower and do my hair. For now, anyway. I’m not quite at crazy-trolley-pushing-cat-lady yet.

BUT THAT DAY MAY COME SOON. Just so you know. A few more weeks of the kind of shit season the Roosters are having this year and I just may lose my damn mind. If you see me shuffling around Bondi Junction with a crappy old fm radio sticky-taped together and blasting Phil Collins, try not to be alarmed.

More like my babies played with heart. People love calling the Roosters sell-outs almost as much as the Errol girls love a bevvie … but my boys proved em wrong. Sadly, that still ended in a loss. Excuse me while I weep softly for a few moments.

And I can call them my babies, because they are all So Tiny. Tiny like macaronis! Apparently their average age is only 21. I say ‘apparently’ cause clearly there is no way I’m getting out my calculator and figuring that out. Just believe it or I will kick you in the shins.

^ Sad Roosters.

So it’s no wonder I feel kinda big sisterly about my chicklets. And seeing their disappointed faces after the last-minute loss …. my heart broke. For reals. I was gutted like they’d just lost a grand final. Fitzy looked like he had lived through five liftetimes of pain, and when Mitchell Pearce was interviewed I think he almost shed a tear. Usually only Jonathan Thurston does that.

I shouldn’t admit this, but I may also have fought back a tear, In my defence, that was probably cause I’m on a the Errol health kick and my body’s freaking the fuck out now that I don’t have any fatty carbs in my system. I’m like an addict in withdrawals. I almost cry everytime I see people eating pasta on tv. PASTA, HOW I MISS YOUUUUU.

It’s just lucky there were some rays of footy light to ease me through the Sunday afternoon blues.

In amongst all the drama about Freddy leaving (and taking his footies with him thanksverymuch) and Brian Smith being hired as the 2010 coach … everyone was asking ex-Newcastle players what they thought of Smith. Kirk Reynoldson chatted to a reporter and gave us this gold:

“I’d trust Shane Warne with my wife more than I would trust Brian Smith.”

… Well that’s just unnecessary, don’t you think, Kirk?

So … obviously not a big fan of Brian Smith. But more importantly, do you know HOW unimpressed he is with him? UNIMPRESSED ENOUGH TO MAKE JOKES ABOUT SHANE WARNE AND HIS TEXT MESSAGING INFIDELITY. I like to think that in no other sport would this be a totally normal way to explain how you feel about your ex-coach. We love you, rugby league.

And then Robbie Farah turned up on the tv to turn my frown upside down. When the Cowboys scored a try in … what? 10 seconds after coming onto the field? It looked like the Tiges were going down. But after Anthony Watts unexpectedly punched Robbie Farah in the face in a scrum … it was on, bitches. The next time there was a scrum, the rest of the Tigers split it in two so that Robbie could square up for some revenge.

Who knew Robbie Farah had it in him? He always seems like such a Serious Thoughtful Young Man. Now we know that he’s a Serious Thoughtful Young Man, who, given the chance, can lay five awesome left uppercuts on someone. Robbie’s got fists of fury! That bitch was going down. Sure they were both sent off, but it was glorious while it lasted.

Watts told the media he wasn’t sure how many Tigers were punching him in the scrum cause there were lots … oh, honey, no. There was just the one. Well, I guess it could be three if you count Robbie and his two fists. How did you know that was exactly what would cheer me up Robbie Farah? I love a sin-binning!

Sassy likes mah headband? SCORE.
Pic. Mark Nolan

And when the boys came back from the bin, Robbie was talking smack and wearing a rocking retro headband, and Anthony Watts looked suspiciously like he had been stung in the face by a thousand bees. Daaaaamn. Bitch looked beat down.

I also shouldn’t admit this, but when Robbie unleashed on the field, I actually said “… I have a ladyboner AND a footy boner”. I know this cause Kiki told me. That bitch has the memory of an elephant sometimes. *cough* Anyway. What can I say? I have a dirty dirty weakness for footy violent times. It’s one of my (many) shames.

And from there the Tigers were full of excitement and Benji Marshall magic and all that is good and right in Leichhardt. That’s right, their win was pretty much all thanks to the fight. You can’t argue with facts. I was wearing my labcoat when I typed that and everything.

But the best news of all? INTERN JOHN JOHN’S FAMOUS. Well, of course he is. He’s Errol’s favourite intern. But he’s also in Big League this week. *waves to John-John*

Obviously we kinda hate that in the headline they call him “the Wolfbrother”. His proper name is INTERN JOHN JOHN, and his brother is called the HOT PIONEER, kthanks. But we love when people give him raps.

“I’m not aiming for the limelight or anything. I’m just happy to go out there and do my job and play good footy,” he says.

“As long as the boys around me are recognising that and knowing I’m busting my arse for them, then that’s the most reward you can get. You want your team-mates and your coaches to be happy with your performances.”

WHY SO HUMBLE BB? After all he’s an Errol superstar. We’re just sad they didn’t use any of our quotes in the Big League article. I can’t believe that the magazine’s readers don’t wanna know that JJ is an expert limbo contestant, always puts love hearts in our lattes, rocks a pair of purple spangly hotpants at office parties … or THAT HE GREW US A MOUSTACHE FOR MOVEMBER.

Poor journalism!

older posts


happy birthday errol!

June 19th, 2009


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.

older posts


footy observations- tap arse, biff and white shorts

April 16th, 2009

Last weekend’s footy was a veritable festival of lolz. The Lolz Festival! I would totally go to that. Who am I kidding, I would be straight out performing. No…HEADLINING. Youse are all invited backstage of course. Together we will make that rider our bitch.

Err anyway, because Sassy and I are literally married we have a system where we support each others teams. She has been to the last few Dragons games with me, so this last Friday it was my turn to accompany her to watch the Chooks.  We proceeded to get quite drunk at our friend’s BBQ (hi Denee!) then tottled off to the footy.


To put it mildly, what a crap game. The atmosphere was non existent (sup cricket crowd!) and the first half was like watching a reggies match. The Chooks served up some of their trademark ridiculousness, including a player getting up to play the ball to no one, looking around to find a guy behind him….who was also looking around searching for someone. I squealed in horror and spilt my drink. THANKS CHOOKS. Those drinks deadset cost 15 dollars.

Meanwhile I spent most of the game trying to figure out how to get live scores from the Dragons game on my fone. I gave up and went back to the BBQ, hopped on Denee’s laptop and was delighted to see my babies came up with a win. Not a huge suprise, but god knows I love seeing the boys on the top of the table. I even did my Top Of The Table Dance which is basically star jumps until I get buggered and fall on the floor clutching my side in pain.


In natural light, Kiki’s bronzer looked decidedly greenish

Afterwards we walked stumbled down to the Leagues Club to meet some of the Bondi Rescue boys for a drink (I know, I know, we are such total celebs. Autograph line to left…). After way too many Smirnoff Blacks we decided it would be an awesome idea to accost poor Shaun Kenny-Dowall and ask him vitally important questions like ‘SKD! WHY DID U WEAR THONGS IN YOUR GODS OF FOOTBALL SHOOT? IS IT COZ YOU’RE SCARED OF GETTING TINEA?’

To his credit, he was very gracious and tolerant of our crazy. Also, we would like to apologise for terrorising some of the baby Chooks. Specifically to Sandor Earl for bringing up trimmed man pubes in our first ever conversation.

Back to the Dragons. Sadly Hot Bitch Cooper is STILL out, but obviously Channel 9 read Errol (well duh, who doesn’t) and decided to give me some sideline action to soothe my pain.


Joey – So Coops, how does it feel when Kiki violates you on the internet?
Hot Bitch – Yeh mate…not bad. Wish she would stop doing that heavy breathing thing on my voicemail though.

Tiny Dancer Soward continues to be an amazing human. Going great guns for the Drags, and more importantly for our beloved fantasy teams. His pre goal kicking dance routine is one of the top 5 greatest things about league. Like, ever. Obviously the Parra crowd doesn’t think so, those bitches were all up his business with their boos. Poor ignorant people. Everyone knows you do NOT interrupt Sowie Kapowie.



Sassy and I also watched the Cowboys v Titans. We don’t really care about either team, we just didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to watch not one but TWO teams in white shorts. Specially when said teams include Willy Zilly, John John and Luke O’Donnell. Granted, it did take us approximately 20 mins to figure out why the Cowboys looked to be playing in the Newtown Jets strip (hehe…strip), but it was totally worth it.

Onto Monday night footy. I tipped the Bunnies because well… it was Easter. Flawless logic right? WRONG. DAMN YOU RABBITOHS. Thankfully though, this game delivered two things I love: biff and lolz.

The biff was….okay, I wasn’t watching that closely. I’m still not quite sure what started it. But it sure escalated into something kind of amazing pretty quickly. Nothing says celebrating the resurrection of Christ like fisticuffs on the footy field right? We were delighted to see the muchly adorable Benny Lowe right in the middle of it. The man has curls, a sweet tan, great pins and most importantly…dimples. Clearly a new Errol fave.


This brawl’s for you, Jesus!

And then there were the lolz. These lolz stemmed from severe embarassment. Which everyone knows is the best kind of lolz. As the boys ran on for half time, a rain soaked Andy Raymond informed us that Ben Hannant wouldn’t be returning for awhile because he had a, and I quote, “case of the runs”. Oh….my god. As if tap arse isn’t embarassing enough on it’s own, now the poor bloke has to have it reported as news on national television.


Because my brother and I are basically 12 yr olds, we dissolved into a fit of giggles and started imagining if Hannant shat his pants whilst on the field. Would he have to go to the….Shit Bin? Would the ref stop the game? YOU…HANNANT..SHIT BIN! GET YOURSELF CLEANED UP! Would the trainers whack him in an adult diaper, give him a change of shorts and send him back on out there? Or maybe even…stitch his ass up?

And on that charming note, I’ll see you next week.

Screencaps from the awesome BS. Shooshing the crowd joke unashamedly stolen from Lozzy.

older posts


intern john john's sick note

April 15th, 2009


Oooooh dear.

The Errol office has been rocked by some rather distressing news. Our beloved Intern John John has got himself into a bit of trouble at his other job. When he isn’t doing nude filing for us, he plays on the wing for the North Queensland Cowboys.

Why is he being forced to sit on the naughty step? The poor lil bunny forgot to turn up to a recovery session on Sunday. Not a bit late, or alot late….he just didn’t go.

At this juncture we would like to step in and defend our boy. We are v.loyal bosses.

Dear Cowboys,

Please excuse Intern John John from Sunday’s recovery. He was unable to attend the session due to an emergency in our office. We were playing a particularly intense game of Dance Dance Revolution. To put it mildly, it ended in in tears. Consequently, we needed  John John’s trademark nakey cuddles to smooth the situation over.

Please be gentle on him.  He was merely being a responsible and devoted intern.

Also, maybe if you let him train pantsless once in awhile you would have more luck getting him to turn up. Just a suggestion.

Kind regards,

The Errol girls


older posts


a farewell to movember

December 2nd, 2008

The dreaded day has finally come, kittens. Try not to cry: but Movember is officially over.

We already miss seeing philanthropic Aussie men trotting off to Important Business Meetings in their best business suits and gigantic handlebars, jogging along in blue chesties and Errol Flynn rapier mos, or channelling Magnum PI in their boardies.


We’re not much for mourning though, so after we lit a quick candle, we fired up the fairy lights, mixed up a dacquiri and focused on the positive. More than TWO THOUSAND positives, to be exact.  

John John’s final handlebar

Our brave team of mo-growing lads, led by Intern John John (also known as John Williams), raised a massive $2,450.00.  For a few top lips and a non-profit website that is … well it’s incredible.  

Thank you so much all of you who donated, to the North Queensland Cowboys for being legends and getting involved, and of course to the boys who provided the facial hair.

Not only did they raise thousands of dollars for charity, they also made us feel happy in our pants.  Goodness knows you can’t put a price on that.

And in tribute to their INCREDIBLE efforts, the Errol girls took themselves along to the Movember Gala to drink champagne, molest boys with moustaches, and generally make a spectacle of ourselves.  (Thank you to that hot bitch Rob from Movember for hooking us up with the Gala tickets).

And for any of youse who couldn’t get to a gala, we brought you happy snaps of our favourite costumes:

Disco Adge

Rub a lamp, eat a taco … SO MANY EUPHEMISMS

Mo, mo, mo your boat

Try a little Freddy



Nothing says PHILANTHROPY like white tights!  

Click here to find out about all the good stuff that your cash will be used for. And we’ll see you for next year’s Movember, babies!

older posts


irish eyes are crying

November 23rd, 2008


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?



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:



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.



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!


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]

older posts

next page of posts