Hello viewers. Kiki here. I haven’t been around in awhile. Terrible form I know. Posts on my Dragons and their premiership and my ridiculous/amazing/life changing trip to Papua New Guinea coming soon.

Onto the business of the day.

THE PAUL NEWMAN AWARD FOR THE HOTTEST OLD MAN IN LEAGUE

Just so you know, I googled ‘hot old man’ to find an inspiring image for this post. All I have to say is GOD PEOPLE ARE GROSS. Thanks for the photos of naked ‘silver daddies’ with boners, you bastards. I can’t unsee that shit.  FML x 1000.

Now I will cleanse my eyes with the gloriously handsome Paul Newman (also known as Hot Old Man patron saint).

Ah yes, much better.

In the least surprising development of the year, I am in charge of the creepiest award category. In the interests of accuracy, let’s go through the nuts and bolts of it all.

a) Hot Old Man does not necessarily mean ‘hot’ . Traditional uses of hot (aka Hot Bitch Cooper) do not always apply here. It’s more…the vibe. It’s Mabo.

b) Hot Old Man does not necessarily mean ‘old man’.  We aren’t talking decrepit walking frame kinda shit here. That’s just creepy, and not in a good way, like everything else I say. I don’t really want to put a defined age on this but let’s say … 45-ish and over.

c) No, we don’t have Daddy issues (… ew). We also don’t have a thing for older men. We just have eyes. Eyes that know a handsome man when they see one.

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GARY BELCHER

Oh Badge, you hot bitch.  We are old enough to remember the moustached wonder in his prime (see above). No offence to the rest of the nominees but if Badge doesn’t win this, there is no justice in the world.

Sadly, he’s shaved off that amazing mo but his hotness has thankfully been retained. I am going to share with you a little something that happened during the footy season.

FOX SPORTS COMMENTATOR TO BADGE : Not that you would know mate, you never put your pretty face in a scrum.

ANONYMOUS ERROL BLOGGER : I’ll put his pretty face somewhere!

Yeh, I know … we are gross.

So, because we are delightfully inappropriate we enjoy tweeting at Andy Raymond when he’s commentating with Badge saying things like “TELL BADGE HE’S A HOT OLD MAN!”

One day Andy tweeted back with this.

Notice he’s not questioning if he’s hot. IT’S A UNIVERSAL TRUTH.

JOHN CARTWRIGHT

I saved that photo as “HELLOOOO CARTY.jpg” and I think that says it all. Carty is the reigning Oh Errol Sexiest Coach in Rugby League. You can see his reaction to receiving this award here.

What’s that you say? He is hilariously sarcastic AND has enormous guns? Yes, we noticed that too. We always thought Carty was a dirty spunk and then we met him and he is pretty much the most awesome human ever. His interests include : wearing tight t-shirts, mocking us and doing the Angry Cat on the sideline.

One time I made Carty blush. I told him about his gay fans (hi Cronkster!) thinking he’s a ‘hot daddy’ and he went silent, looked at his feet and flushed bright red. The fact this happened in a Canberran food court makes it all the more awesome.

TIM SHEENS

Yes he’s approx 60 years old but WHATEVER. HE IS VERY DAPPER OKAY? I don’t get too flustered around footy people now, but Tim Sheens sends me into a tail spin. Every time I see him around I do something epically embarassing and/or physically hide so he can’t see me … so we have yet to have a proper conversation.

In Port Macquarie for City Country I found myself alone in conversation with Nips Farah and Chris Lawrence. Because I’m me, instead of talking about, I dunno, current events or something, I blurted out “CAN YOU TELL TIM SHEENS I THINK HE’S A BABE?”

Nips raised an eyebrow suspiciously. Chris Lawrence contorted his face into something like the above said “yuck, that’s DISGUSTING” and stormed off in a huff.

Now: vote for your favourite Hot Old Man below, or nominate your own.

So this is a special treat for y’all. And if you are a fan of any of the 85 teams in the NRL who had a player horribly injured on the weekend, then you will need it.

I know there was no Friday Partytimes post last week. this was because I was super incredibly busy on Friday filing my nails, buying leopard print underwear and trying to figure out whether my strawberry plant was alive or dead (conclusion: not dead, but dying). This is your consolation: Cleo’s just put up their online gallery of Bachelor of the Year contestants for 2010. IT’S A MAN SMORGASBORD.

Why would you leave the house to meet people when you can just pick them from a Cleo man-menu? Also known as a … Man-u. SEE WHAT I DID THERE?

If you’re wondering, no there are no league players involved. My cousin emailed me about it this morning and demanded ‘WHAT DOES ERROL THINK ABOUT THIS?’ Apparently it’s the first time ever in the history of the world that there are no league players in the list of finalists. it’s okay though darlings, there’s a perfectly simple explanation, and it’s not that Sarah Oakes from Cleo is waging an evil war against league players:

It’s cause Craig Wing moved to Japan.

He was all rugby league had! Cleo was always all up in his business. By which I mean every other player in the sport is either married at 18 … or Todd Carney. And I expect that, even though Todd’s an excellent five-eighth, and probably a charming date, he can’t be included for legal reasons.

Anyway, here are my picks of the colts:

Curtis Stone: Can SOMEONE please marry this man already? He’s on my Foxtel seriously like every day doing that Take Home Chef show and flirting obscenely with mid-30s American housewives in bootcut jeans. One time I swear he was holding two melons while he did it. That shit is getting SAD. The man is clearly lonely for a good woman … and clearly none of us can be that good woman, as we are convinced he’s the type of man who likes rugby union and talking about wine varieties which means we would hate each other on sight. Errol army, please mobilise, spread the word and get him hitched, for the love of God.

Come on down Francis Coady. Do you know what’s boring? People who tell long involved stories, watch movies longer than 90 minutes, or read the whole newspaper (as opposed to just the sports section and any columns in the Telegraph written by hilarious and talented Jo Thornely). This dude runs the Bondi Short Film Festival, meaning that you can be supportive of his work and still have the attention span of Bart Simpson before he was prescribed Focussin. That’s a good thing.

Ross Wallman – never understimate television as a love predictor. A man who likes the Discovery Channel is a man with impeccable taste. If he doesn’t turn around when he hears someone say the words ‘Shark Week’ then he’s probably dead inside. Trust me, I know. When any of us settle down it’s gonna be with a man whose motto is ‘live every week like it’s Shark week’.

Owen Wright: BECAUSE WE HAVE EYES.

Dave Dawes – hands off bitches, have already baggsed him. He can fit a condom on his head. Sassy impressed. Enough said. (I actually never knew that this was a freaking amazing quality in a man until I read this. I guess they’re right when they say you can’t itemise true love. YOU JUST KNOW IT WHEN YOU SEE/READ IT).

See the rest here and look out for video of the NSW Cup tomorrow xx

Anyone a teeny bit bored? As in, bored and counting down the hours till the Friday arvo bottles of cheap white wine appear from the storeroom at 5pm?

Well a little video is up of the afternoon Kiki and Sassy spent at White Water World with the NRL and Indigenous All-Stars and some awesome kids last week on the Gold Coast. Check out George Rose’s sweet chest hair and do rag, Sam Thaiday looking like all his Christmases have come at once, and Gorden Tallis explaining why he calls Wendell Sailor ‘Oprah’.

CLICK HERE TO WATCH IT

Before you ask – no, we didn’t plan this whole water world excursion just so we would have an excuse to interview the players shirtless. We’re shameless, so if we wanted to do that, we’d totally just ask at a normal function. (If David Gallop’s reading from hospi THAT WAS A JOKE. Cough).

It was a One Community day where indigenous and disabled kids could hang out with their fave players … and yes, they all had more fun than we thought was humanly possible. We are v annoyed we forgot our swimmers.

And as for the venue? More like everyone went to White Water World because it’s Preston Campbell’s favourite place, and we all know he’s a very persuasive man.

And for those of you going on dates tonight, I’m throwing in my new favourite internet discovery: A DATING GUIDE FROM 1938. SERIOUSLY. Amazing! Read it and snare yo man, ladies and gay men. Or, if you’re like me, read it and realise all the things you’ve done wrong on dates.

Write this down darlings – no putting on tights in the living room. Haven’t we all made that mistake? Or at least adjusted our tights with one hand (cause the other one has a glass of vodka soda in it) in the middle of the Brighton Bar while loudly exclaiming ‘DAMMIT WHY DO I ALWAYS HAVE LADDERS IN MY TIGHTS?’ and showing them to passing strangers in leather jackets and bandanas. Which is of course in no way an actual story from my general life.

Because it’s 2010 and I live in Australia, the only man I’ve ever met who carries a hanky is my Grandpa Norman, who used to tuck it in the sleeve of his maroon v-neck sweater before he left the house, while wearing beige shorts and long socks. So … unlikely to be a problem.

TOTALLY have this one in the bag already. I never look bored! Usually I just make a kinda snarky face and say ‘COOL STORY HANSEL’ and change the topic. Then they find my complete lack of tact horrifying and/or refreshing and we go from there.

FOR WHEN A MAN DANCES, HE WANTS TO DANCE! I am totally printing this out and putting it on my wall.

Honestly? If a man ever picked me up for a date like a 50s gentleman I would die of shock. This rule is therefore moot as dead ladies don’t put on their own makeup, embalmers do it for them. True story.

Still relevant. Still. Relevant.

So public pashing is out?

And drunken crying?

I CAN’T EVEN FLIRT WITH THE WAITER? WHAT KIND OF FASCIST DATING GUIDE IS THIS?

… and this is why I prefer my gay boyfriends. If a man doesn’t want to talk about Alexander Wang, what are we gonna talk about?

What is this …. dig-ni-ty they speak of?

FASCISSSTS!

We have realised recently that there was something missing from our 2008 league experience.  Something … nerdy.  That something, my friends, was fantasy rugby league.

You know, fantasy league!  Like Paul Rudd sneaks off in the dead of night to play in Knocked Up (and plays in real life). I’m surprised we didn’t get onto it earlier, because if Paul Rudd has anything to do with it, it has to be good.

But somehow the idea of just trading players like cattle and putting together our imaginary squad wasn’t quite enough, you know? Although I did really enjoy announcing things like ‘did I tell you I own Craig Fitzgibbon now? BECAUSE I DO.’  We wanted more. So we rocked on over and joined the Daily Telegraph fantasy league, and set up possibly the greatest experiment in the history of e-Rugby League.

We could just pick players based on how good they are, but if you follow that kinda logic we could also just go out “for a few hours” and come home at midnight. Pffft, we’re no slackers. Instead we’re going to use the joy of the internet to discern how success relates to two Important Factors: likeability, and attractiveness.

THIS IS HOW WE DO IT:

We decided to create two amazing-partytimes Fantasy League teams. One chosen based solely on looks, and one based purely on who we think is awesomest in the NRL, would most like to hang out by the barbie and/or watch cricket with, or are just fond of for reasons we can’t really explain.

We spent an entire afternoon fussing over our two fantasy teams – trading them about, picking their jersey colours (white shorts for when it rains, obvs), and listening to Lozzy pushing for Tez Campese’s inclusion in the attractive team. HE IS HANDSOME. GOD.

It was the best time we’ve had in a while. And as you know, we get out quite a bit. Fantasy League is just really, really fun. Thanks, Paul Rudd!

THIS IS WHAT WE ENDED UP WITH:

The Oh Errol Wildcats are the cream of our Rugby League imaginary BFFs. This weekend we sent out the following squad of 25 fuck-off awesome boys to do battle on the field:

The Hottie McHothots are … well if you don’t get that then you’re not even gonna find this funny. Maybe go have a quick shandy and meet me back here in five.

Picking this team for the weekend took our blood, sweat and tears. For reals. Being a supercoach is tough, bitches. I dunno how Des Hasler does it. Eventually we got to the point where I screamed at Lozzy:

IT’S SO HARD FITTING ALL THE HOT IN AND STAYING UNDER THE SALARY CAP.

Between that and the infuriated emergency telegram-style email I sent to the online support staff about the Wildcats, I was one martini away from being Shirley MacLaine and/or Meryl Streep in Postcards from the Edge.

It went something like this:

There is no Ben Hornby in the players list for fantasy NRL! It’s a travesty! Pls reply soonest with Ben Hornby information. Kind regards.

In the words of Kiki, WHY IS HORNBAG ALWAYS FORGOTTEN? However, the reply went something like:

Thank you for your email.

That player is definitely available for selection in both the Halfback and Fullback positions.

Kind Regards,

SO HE WAS RIGHT THERE THE WHOLE TIME?  THEN WHY COULDN’T I FIND HIM? I had to have a xanax before I even tried again.

In the end we fielded a full squad of hot bitch:

As you may have noticed, we are idiots and forgot to log back in and remove Michael Witt. WE JUST GOT OVERWHELMED, ok?

[And it tells us that 8 of our players got no points at all. EIGHT OF THEM. - Kizzy]

Shhh Kizzy this is a carefully constructed team.  We are investing in players on their way to the top. We just have to believe.  As in: I believe the chiiildren are our future. Alternatively, maybe we have no idea what we’re doing.

We did also have our Patron Saint Dave Williams in the squad, but injury meant he couldn’t play this week. We’re super-grateful to Robbo for stepping in and taking over his position on the wing. Nonetheless, here’s an artist’s impression to help you imagine what might have beeeen:

[I spent a Friday evening at home trying to photoshop the boys' heads on top of our fantasy jerseys. It ... didn't work that well, so I had to settle for just Dave cause there was a pic of his head in the right position. Photoshopping fantasy rugby league jerseys ... I am so cool. - lozzy]

You may also enjoy that you have to enter a Coach Name for your team, and the Hotties are coached by Our Pants. WHICH IS TRUE. Seeing ‘Welcome, Our Pants’ whenever we log in never gets old.

THIS IS HOW THE FIRST ROUND WENT:

Well. If the Round 1 results are anything to go by, a sexy team is also a kind of shit team.

The Hottie McHotHots Round 1 Score – 576. Position on ladder – 13

The Oh Errol Wildcats Round 1 Score – 815. Position on ladder – 5

As you can see, Likability is clearly kicking Attractiveness’ ass. IT’S SO HARD BEING PRETTY. Maybe we should rethink the Hotties training style? It looks like the naked stretching we’ve been putting them through isn’t doing any favours.

Next Monday we’ll update you on how the boys are going and where they are on the league’s ladder. We’ll also update you on how the new and exciting rookies (read: really cheap buys) in our squads are shaping up.

Meanwhile the actual scoring rules are kind of complicated and we can’t be bothered explaining, but you can read all the rules/email them about ben hornby/ask about what algorithms they are using over at the tele website if you are so inclined.  VIVA WILDCATS!

Right on, ladies.

Oscars time!  Oscars time!  I know lots of you probably hate the Oscars, and think they’re loathsome and boring and last for a good five hours too long, but I care not.  I love them.  I love seeing glorified tv starlets in poor dress choices.  I love seeing all of Rachel Zoe’s clients wear amazing hotstuff outfits and gigantic obnoxious cocktail rings that People magazine totally doesn’t get.  I love that the Oscars will invite Disney’s Zac Efron to present an award and perform on stage, but still refuse to invite Paris Hilton.  She must fucking hate that.

(Needless to say, it makes perfect sense to us that Zef would be invited to the Oscars, because the High School Musical series is some of the greatest cinema in human history.  But most of the world over the age of 15 don’t really seem to get that.  It saddens us. We can only hope that the release of Seventeen Again will open their eyes.)

But most of all, I love it this year because Hugh Jackman is hosting.  Not just because he is – quite clearly – a hot bitch, but have you ever heard a bad word about Senor Jackman?  Of course you haven’t.  He gives me faith that perfect men Do Exist. All I need now is some sort of cosmic indication that perfect men Do Exist and Also Fancy Girls Who Write About Footy And Often Don’t Wear Pants.  ONE DAY!  I BELIEVE!

Know who else rocked a turtleneck? Errol Flynn on the Sirocco. True story.

Even Hugh’s (heterosexual) writers for the Oscars are in mad gay love with him.

The only proof that we really were writing for the Oscars is that Jackman would visit our room for a couple of hours each day. To my surprise, the best kind of boss is a sexy boss. Jackman greeted each of us with a giant hug, which would have been a perfect test of how gay I am, except I was totally focused on making sure I wasn’t crushed to death by his giant lats. So … pretty gay.

Jackman would laugh uproariously at everything we suggested, which is one of the huge advantages of writing for a noncomedian. He acted out all our stuff, belted out our songs while standing on furniture and even watched most of Be Kind Rewind with us for no good reason. He was so omniscient in his niceness that not only did he look sad when we played him the Christian Bale freak-out tape, but he also, after agreeing to record a parody of it, called Bale to make sure it was cool if we put it online.

He even let me try on the real, $18,000 plastic Wolverine claws, which made me want to do a bit about the moon and body hair; the reaction made me realize I probably should have seen an X-Men movie before writing for Jackman.

To summarise … he’s pretty much Jesus.  Jesus with really really amazing lats. And fuck it, let’s just be honest: I’m in mad gay love with him too.

Jesus was a carpenter, so he probably wore chesty bonds.

Sometimes I wonder whether the Errol girls are, in fact, just really spangly gay men trapped in women’s bodies. It would certainly explain why we so often end up kissing shirtless gay boys outside the Stonewall [That's just you two. The gays don't seem to adore me that much. One day I'll win them over. One day - lozzy]. It would also explain why, when I saw Hugh singing the finale of the Boy from Oz while glitter rained down on me from the theatre roof, my first thought was ‘I think this is what heaven looks like’.

Although hopefully in heaven they have found some way to avoid getting glitter rain caught in your cleavage because that was a bitch to get out.

If you’re wondering, by some crazy coincidence, ‘the best kind of boss is a sexy boss‘ is also the motto of Errol HQ.  Before he went home for the holidays, Intern Danny Wicks even cross-stitched it for us on a mint green background surrounded by flowers and gave it to us as a Christmas pressie.  He’s so sweet sometimes.

As for things that aren’t Hugh Jackman, Kiki and I have already talked about the other stuff in store at the Oscars over at http://fox.com.au. Go! Read! Comment!

And then watch Hugh getting ready for the Oscars:

SUP ARMS.

Postscript:  Kiki is under the impression that I made this whole post purely as an excuse to google pictures of Hugh Jackman.  This is patently untrue.  Not least because I google pics of Hugh Jackman anyway.  In fact, I made this post as an excuse to tell you all that when Hugh Jackman was renting a house in Paddington with the fam, he totally pimped out his kids as an excuse to knock on his lesbian neighbours’ door and ask to use their pool.  Like he was all … oh hay, sorry to annoy you, but can my kids possibly use the pool?  Then once the kids had gone back to the States he rocked up anyway all sheepish and … so the kids were kind of a ruse.  Can I use your pool anyway? HE JUST REALLY LIKES SWIMMING POOLS. Plus, that’s what kids are for, right?

Okay bitches, Aunty Kiki is officially dissapointed in you all. I KNOW we have a shitload of readers….so where are your Movember donations?? Have you just been looking and thinking ‘I’ll do it later?’. NOT LATER. NOW NOW NOW.

To encourage you along your philanthropic path, my brother has written a little something for ya. Look what a threatening Movember pirate he is! You better donate or he will strangle you with his fierce customised wig (that I made for him for 2007 Gala. I am the best sister ever.)

Dear readers-

If you are reading this now you are more than likely somewhat of an Errol devotee.

I am Adge, the brother of Kiki, and I feel the need to personally address the Errol readers…

I would imagine many of you read this page and get your ‘lolz’ with gay abandon: reading, laughing, crying, loving – with all this passionately provided by the team at Oh Errol; because they care. Now is the time to show YOU care.

Apart from being hilariously entertaining, Movember is quite possibly the largest fundraiser for men’s health in the country. All money raised goes directly to Prostate Cancer Australia and Beyond Blue – The National Depression Initiative. Considering one of our game’s greatest ever, Andrew Johns, suffered heavily from depression, I think it’s a bloody appropriate cause for footy fans to get behind.

Breast Cancer research has been effectively marketed by using the colour Pink and millions of dollars have been raised to help the cause. The NRL itself have supported this in a large degree. Unfortunately, men’s health issues rarely receive the same exposure. This is why Movember is important. THIS is why clicking the link and donating some money to support the Moh Errol Team will make you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Don’t believe me? Try it and see! It’s OK, i’ll wait……

Done? See, how good does that feel? Warm fuzzies. Just like snuggling with Scott Prince and Baby Hayne right? (Or so i’m told).

So don’t just read, get on board with us in supporting this great cause. Every donation of $2 is tax deductible so you have nothing to lose.

All you have to do is click this link to donate to the Moh Errol’s, or if you want to sponsor one directly, click their face on the Moh Gallery page.

You can pay by Paypal, Credit Card or even cheque!

Thank you ever so much,

Men around the world thank you dearly for your support.

-  Adge

WHEEEE! Tonight is Slumber Party Night at the Errol HQ.  Tomorrow at 9am Sassy + Kiki make their debut (as a duo) on the wireless. Yes kids, we totally have a one way ticket to ~*RADIO SUPERSTARDOM*~. And despite our arrogance confidence, we are a biiiiit nervy.

We need all the moral support we can get, so we have gathered the troops around the fire for a snugglefest. Errol snuggles are the best. We have just buttoned Work Experience Boy Lachie into his Superman onesie, Intern Brownie is melting cooking chocolate on the stove in preparation for our Brownie’s Special Hot Chocolates (extra marshmallows) and we finally convinced John-John to actually do up his terry towelling shorty robe. It’s a fetching shade of lavender with JJ embrodiered on the chest in gold thread. Really brings out his eyes.

But before we settle down for our High School Musical marathon we have to present the nominees for the Errol for Snuggliest Man in League. John-John brought his own selection of movies but well … let’s just say we have to save them for after Lachie’s bedtime. And he’s getting pretty sleepy, so lets get started.

Firstly, for the newbies who might be confused as to what a Snuggly Man is… let us revist our Polarfleece Award announcement -

There are all different types of attractiveness in this world. Men may not realise it, but ‘cute’ can mean a whole range of things. It’s possible to be intensely attracted to a man without immediately wanting him to put his penis in you. Yes really. When your first impulse is to take them to browse the soft furnishings section of Freedom, you have yourself a snuggly man.

JARRYD ‘BABY’ HAYNE

Do we really have to say anything?  Have you seen his face?  LOOK AT THAT FACE.  LOOK AT IT!

Who’s a pretty boy?  Are you a gorgeous boy?

If we really had to say anything, we’d say it’s a little bit the eyelashes, a little bit the dimples, and a little bit that he still has the teensiest bit of babyfat. Baby Hayne has footy player confidence mixed with an adorable vulnerability that makes us go SQUEEEE (as we did at Origin).  Nobody puts Baby in a corner.

ISSAC LUKE

pic: stuff.co.nz

Well first of all, we just love a man with Two First Names. And hair that resembles carefully designed topiary. We think it’s nice that he puts in that kind of effort. His cuteness defies mere words. Take one look at Issac’s precious little face. If you don’t immediately see why he deserves to be in this category then well … you should just give up on life. For realz.

SCOTT PRINCE (aka Prince Scotty The Caramel)

goldcoast.com.au

Ohhhh Scotty. How we love thee! His extreme preciousness is even more remarkable considering he’s a DIRTY QUEENSLANDER. BOOO! HISSSSS! Usually we love it when Queenslanders suffer horrific injuries during Origin, but when Scotty snapped his teeny caramel arm in half at Origin 3 our hearts broke into little pieces. Kiki had a broken arm at the same time and likes to think this synchronicity means her and Scotty are somehow cosmically connected. Sadly she broke her arm running across the street to a gay bar at 5am and not representing her state in front of 80,000 people. But some would say they are both heroes … and we have to agree.

Scotty inspires big snuggle times. He combines intense cuteness with a cheekiness that makes our hearts go boom boom. We especially adore his ManLove affair with Benji Marshall. So much so that Sassy made a beautiful/touching/really creepy tribute video. Pls watch it immediately k thanks.

smh.com.au

JASON ‘FLOSSY’ NIGHTINGALE

FLOOSSSSSY! We love love LOVE our Flossy. He gives us no feeling at all in our vajayjays, just in our hearts. Feelings of snuggles, flannelette PJs and non-sexual hair stroking.

We have christened him the labrador of rugby league. He embodies everything one loves about labs- enthusiasm, cuddliness and boundless energy. Not to mention the big dopey eyes and the shiny blonde hair. And you know if given the chance he would totally lick you on the face. AND YOU WOULD TOTALLY LET HIM.

BEN ‘HORNBAG’ HORNBY

Getty Images

I’m sure our regular readers are well aware of our Ben Hornby obsession. For the uninitiated, we here at Errol think our beloved Hornbag is vastly underrated…as a player and as a Cute Man.  Just because he’s pale like milk and his eyelashes/eyebrows/facial hair are invisible from a distance. I mean really. That is NO REASON to leave him out. Bastards!

Cuteness doesn’t only come in Daniel Conn shaped packages people. The Errol kiddies are all inclusive…we love everyone (except the Storm). The rangas, the fatties, the drunks and the under appreciated – WE LOVE YOU ALL!

There are two different types of Hornbag. Snuggly Hornbag and Despot Hornbag. Read about the intricate differences here. Obviously Snuggly Hornbag is the one in the running here.

Okay truthfully … we can’t really explain this one. WE JUST LOVE HIM OKAY? Don’t question us.

Needless to say there may be some tears in the judging room on the night before the Errols – this is a tough bitch of a category.  We invite all nominees to drop by the the Errol offices for a snuggle in the office beanbag to help us reach our decision. We promise to keep our hands to ourselves …. maybe.

Oh children. Intern John-John Williams is officially Not Happy. You see, part of his job is monitoring our site traffic. Usually he does this quite happily but the past week has been awfully hard for him. It’s safe to say last weeks Hot Man News has been a raging success. Much to John-John’s chagrin, the people have gone Kayne Lawton craaaaazy. So much so that whenever you google ‘Kayne Lawton’ now, Errol appears on the first page. And OH how the people have been googling, clicking…and then possibly wanking.

Our boy John-John doesn’t deal well with competition. He’s been throwing diva sized tantrums all week. We can handle tantrums, but we began to get really worried when the sulking started. Usually he bops round the office in shorty shorts singing Donna Summer, but yesterday I found him curled up in front of the stereo wailing to ’What About Me?’ (the Nollsy version) and demolishing a tub of ice cream. With Intern Brownies crochet blanket concealing his perfect body! Things are DIRE.

We desperately needed to cheer him up, so we deemed today would be Tropical Tuesday! Theme days are John-Johns favourite. Work Experience Boy Lachlan Coote has lit the tiki torches (we were cautious about letting a minor play with fire, but he insisted), Intern Brownie has whipped up some potent fruit punch and us girls are rocking some fierce coconut bikinis and hibiscus leis. John-John just made a decidedly grand entrance clad only in a floral sarong.

Usually I would tell him floral sarongs are for ladies, but in his fragile emotional state I can’t risk it. Instead I’ve decided to make him feel super special and sit him down for a one on one interview. At his request we are both squished into one bean bag. We care not for proper chairs at Errol.

K - John John! My darling. How are you?

J- Better now. I love Tropical Tuesday. Do you want to get leid? GET IT? LEID! It’s funny because you’re wearing one.

K- Yes I get it.

J- Well do you?

K- Not right now. Let’s talk about you. Your Gods Of Football segment was on the Footy Show last week…how did it go?

J- Hmmm. It was okay.

K- Just okay? But you love modelling John-John!

J- I know I know. But Kiki they made me … oh God I can’t even say it. It’s too awful.

*buries face in hands*

K- Made you what baby?? Did they hurt you?

J- No no … they … well they made me wear clothes. CLOTHES KIKI!! THEY BURN! THEY BURRRRRN!

K- Oh dear. You poor kitten. I bet you weren’t happy with that.

J- I sure wasn’t. Look how sad I was!

K- Oh my god they made you wear a shirt AND pants?? That is just cruel. We should call Amnesty International.

J- I don’t know what that is. But okay.

K- I see they put you in some jaunty fisherman pants. At least you got to be shirtless in some photos.

J- Yeh I guess. Why are they called ‘fisherman pants’? I never wear pants when I go fishing.

K- Well no. But you never wear pants full stop.

J - I don’t get why I couldn’t just be in the nuddy. Last year I was. The only thing I was wearing was grease! Get it Kiki … I WAS ONLY WEARING GREASE PAINT! COZ I WAS NAKED!

K- Yes … I get it. But last year was Naked For A Cause. This is a different calendar entirely.

J - Can we make our 2009 Errol calendar a nakey one?

K- I think that is implied. I dunno if we can include Lachie though. We don’t wanna get in trouble like Bill Henson.

J - Henson…?? Like where the Jets play?

K- NO! Damnit! John-John if you actually read the newspaper you would get my jokes more regularly. Ummm…honey….your sarong. Stuff is err…hanging out. Fix yourself up please!

J- FINE! I’LL FIX IT! Why is everyone so mean to me lately?

K - Aaww. It’s okay. Tell me more about the photoshoot. Did you smile at all ?

J- Yes. When they weren’t looking I stripped off and felt heaaaaaps better.

K- Aaaw see that’s the John-John we know and love! Did you miss us when you were away?

J- YES! So much. I tried to call you using a shell … you know how Ron does in Anchorman?? But you never turned up.

K- Uhhh…..

J- What? Hey….Kiki… can I twist your coconuts?

K- No John. I think it’s time you got back to work.

(Images from The Footy Show , Naked for A Cause, Artie and the incredible Gods of Football website . Intern John-John and I demand you go and check it out. The Jane McGrath foundation is a a great cause and we should all support it.)

I don’t know how it happened, but somehow I have ended up Errol’s senior Hot Man Correspondent. Okay, that’s a lie…I know exactly why it’s happened. Because I am a perve of the highest order and deeply enjoy sexually objectifying football players on the internet. They say everyone has a calling, and I think I’ve found mine.

Because some of you are anti-nudity kill joys, I will do as I promised and use my warning sign. IT GALLS ME TO DO THIS PEOPLE. JUST SO YOU KNOW.

I didn’t think my pants could get more excited than they did at Hot Man Christmas, but last week’s Footy Show proved me wrong. AND HOW! Not only have the geniuses behind the Gods Of Football calendar recognised Our Davey William’s hotness, now they have out done themselves and delivered us Kayne Lawton in all his glory. KAYNE FREAKING LAWTON! I thought we were the only ones who knew he even existed. Us and Scott Prince. Together we discovered KayLaw’s sexy and brought it to the world via this blog. Most of you are probably too lazy to click, so I’ll give you a taste of Prince Scott The Caramel’s take on Kayne.

“He is a freak,” said premiership-winning captain Prince. “I just shake my head.

“I have been doing weights for seven or eight years now and I haven’t got half the body that kid has.”

“I haven’t seen him play yet, but seeing him train in the gym with us, he has definitely got an athlete’s body,” said Prince.

For those who don’t know, KayLaw is the halfback in the Titans Under 20′s side. Apparently he’s quite good with the ball. Whatever. I care not for his footballing abilities, and apparently neither does Scotty. Let us check out the aforementioned ‘athletes body’.

Ohhhhh yeah. Thats some good….’athletic ability’ right there. Maybe Kayne could fly his athletic ass down to Sydney and we could work out. WORK OUT WITH NO PANTS ON.

The tan! The eyes! THE ARMS! Did I mention the tan? Guuuuuuuh its all too much.

At this juncture I would like to assert Errol ownership over Kayne and anything vaguely Kayne related. We found him first and if you want to touch him in his special area you have to come through us first. Send Intern John-John an email and he will place you in the waiting list. Tell him he’s a spunk while you’re there, coz he gets super jealous when we talk about men-that-aren’t-him being sexytimes.

One time we found him burning an effigy of Matt ‘Hot Bitch’ Cooper in the stationery cupboard. Luckily intensive psychotherapy is covered under the comprehensive Errol health plan. We are a very progressive workplace, what can I say.

I guess I should mention that Kayne is eighteen years old. Yes, eighteen. I felt a bit weird about mind molesting him…for about 2 seconds. And you know why? BECAUSE I DESERVE THIS GODAMNIT. Boys never looked like this when I was eighteen. Oh no. It was all acne, Lynx body spray and burping Jim Beam in my face at the Castle Hill Tavern. HOT!

Teenage boys are way hotter these days, and I for one feel ripped off and I refuse to feel bad for eyeing off year 12 students in the food court. It’s not my fault officer! It’s their slutty uniforms and scruffy hair! DON’T PERSECUTE ME FOR A NATURAL RESPONSE.

I spose I can’t ignore Daniel Conn’s appearance in the calendar. The Gays loooove him but me, not so much. Obviously he is a perfectly formed human, but he just doesn’t give me a lady boner. And I’m sure he will cry himself to sleep when he reads this.

For ages I couldn’t work out why he doesn’t do it for me, but I think I’ve put my finger on it. He is so….groomed. He literally doesn’t have one visible body hair hair. He’s all gleaming and perfect…like a human Ken Doll.

My lack of admiration for him is probably just self protection. I know he would take one look at my hideously messy hair and filthy Converse and vomit a bit in his mouth.

Now onto a man that is everything Ken Doll Conn isn’t. Biiiig Davviiiddd Shillllington! OUR SHILLO! Shillo is the polar opposite to Daniel. I bet he would love my aversion to hair brushing and 5am schooner drinking. The best thing about Shillo is his obvious pride for his lustrous chest hair. OUT AND PROUD BABY!

 We Errolers are avid chest hair enthusiasts and know a good rug when we see one. And we nominate Shillo as having The Best Rug In League. We would add it as a category to our Errol Awards but it would upset the delicate balance we have constructed. Okay that’s a lie, we are just lazy bitches. Next year Shillo, next year. For now, let us revel in your hair based awesomeness -

Shillo totally drew the short straw for this photoshoot. For some reason they enlisted him to help reorganise the warehouse and forced him to lug around giant chains all day.

HE ISN’T A CLYDESDALE PEOPLE. Just coz he’s big doesn’t mean you can use him for all your heavy lifting. How can you do this to him? I mean look at this face! It would make angels weep!

I will NOT stand for this sort of discrimination. Next time Shillo does a shoot, I’m going with him. I can comb his chest hair and make sure no one takes advantage of him. Except me of course, because that’s a given.

All screen captures from our favourite blog, Schillo photos from Gods of Football. Go check it out, it’s for a great cause.

That title would’ve been much cuter if I’d posted this yesterday and called it Chest Hair Tuesday, but it was just impossible to find a moment between getting Work Experience Boy Lachlan settled and snuggled, and Intern John-John constantly dragging us outside to watch him do ‘The Dolphin’ in the pool. YES WE’RE LOOKING JOHN JOHN. YES WE DO WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN.

pic: boyculture.typepad.com

You might have gathered that we’re avid cheerleaders of the beard. Some might call us Beard Enthusiasts. Well, our hair appreciation also travels south (no, not that far south. I only talk about that on weekends. Well that’s a lie, but not today kids) – we love a good rug. Whoever decided mans should wax their chests (or you know, anything at all) needs to be throttled. Speaking of hair removal, this reminds me I need to have a talk with John-John about the tube of Nair I bought last week and then found empty in his bum-bag. I suspect he wasn’t using it on his chest though, so that’s a plus I guess.

I suppose I kind of get it though, even if I do disapprove with a fiery hot intensity. There’s some amazing chest forestry out there and if you’re a guy who can only manage randomly scattered puffs of hair no matter how many Skin, Hair & Nails vitamins you take, it’s easier just to shave it off and pretend you COULD have a silky covering of man-fur but just CHOOSE NOT TO OK. Like guys who pretend they haven’t heard of/are too cool for Movember when they don’t want to show the world their pissweak mo effort.*

In an effort to groom our entire male readership to exactly our liking (after which we shall take over the woooorld), and more importantly to please ourselves, we’d like to provide some Hairy Role Models.

Let’s start with some vintage fur – Burt Reynolds**

That right there is one of the most famous chest rugs, no? Not ‘famous’ in the sense that it’s attached to a well-known actor, but famous of it’s own accord. I honestly can’t (though it’s possible that by ‘can’t’ I actually mean ‘won’t') recall a Burt movie where his chest hair hasn’t acted alongside him, emoting on cue like a true pro.

I think it’s best performance though is during Burt and Dolly’s Sneakin Around number in The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas (can’t wait for those google searches). We like beer and rodeos, detective books and dominoes, football games and Cheerios too Burt! YouTube also blessed me with what is titled “burt reynolds in a group shower scene”. HOW DID IT KNOW I’D ENJOY THAT? I have no idea where it’s from – the only description is the mysterious and non-helpful ‘from a silent movie’ – but let’s not ask questions and just enjoy Burt soapin’ his rug.

A more current chest hair representative is Mark Ruffalo, who we think of as the thinking woman’s hot bitch. Oh Maaaark.

pic: markruffalo.net

Sometimes our favourite mans really disappoint us in the chest hair department though. Yes Kyle Chandler, I am looking at you. Bitch is known for his amazing head of hair which, like Burt’s rug, emotes accordingly and always professionally.

“I cannot believe you’re getting me involved in this Lozzy”, says Kyle Chandler’s Hair

But apparently Kyle’s body spends so much time attending to his scalp, meticulously giving each strand of hair the strength of a small army and talent of the Actor’s Studio, that it forgets everywhere else. Kyle Chandler is quite hairless. We know this because the interns trawled through screencaps, pics of him wearing lowcut shirts and videos of 90′s TV appearances until the wee hours of the morning for us. Without us even asking! They are so creepy.

Speaking of unexpected hairlessness, this has all got me rather concerned about one of our Oh Errol faves Shillo. We’ve expressed our appreciation for his rockin the chest hair in Gods of Football, but on close inspection (it would’ve been closer but Lachie lost our magnifying glass outside while looking for ladybugs) of last week’s shirt lift, Shillo is looking frighteningly hairless in comparison.

pic: hotaussiefootyplayersshirtless.blogspot.com

Darlin, have the rest of the boys been whispering poor advice on body hair in your ear, or are our eyes playing tricks on us? Please let it be the latter.

*Of course none of this applies to men who are either blondies with pale baby-duck downs or are just naturally rather hairless. Or, you know, underage. It’s wanting to be a hairless cat on purpose that bothers us. As for Movember, IT’S FOR A GOOD CAUSE GUYS. Whether you can grow a good one or not is not the point. Though we will most certainly mock those with pissweak mo’s, it’s from a place of deep love and appreciation. And thirst for lolz.

**I had another pic here but it was scaring the interns every time they scrolled down, so it had to be changed. Clicky if the mystery is killing you.