Thursday was annual White Ribbon Day, asking men to swear never to commit, excuse, or remain silent about violence against women.

The Kangaroos did it back during Four Nations:

… but there’s one more thing. Everyone’s favourite immortal oak tree of a forward, Petero Civoneciva, and his Panthers bro Luke Lewis are also official White Ribbon ambassadors this year.

And they didn’t just turn up to the White Ribbon breakfast at Parliament House for a free OJ: Luke Lewis spoke first hand about watching his mother suffer domestic violence.

… you could hear a pin drop amongst Sydney’s power set yesterday when Kangaroo forward Luke Lewis spoke out condemning violence against women.

In front of a room full of 200 people, he then outlined how his mother Sharon had also been on the receiving end of domestic abuse at the hands of an ex-boyfriend – and why taking a stand against it was so important.

So we just wanted to say thank you. Thanks to Luke Lewis for being honest showing us what a real man looks like.

White Ribbon Day was a sell-out but there’s always a way to support them – just go here, kittens. Regular occasionally-comical Errol progamming will resume tomorrow x

We are kind of celebrity gossip bandits around here. Not in that vomworthy ‘I must know what Brad and Angelina are doing’ way, but we have our fave crazy celebs and like to get our lolz on reading about their antics. And one of them happens to be Prince Haz. We LOVE this bitch.

We love that he’s a trashbag

We love that he’s occasionally offensive

We love these pics of him in Afghanistan

We also love these pics of him holding an echidna. I WANNA GO TO THE ZOO WITH PRINCE HAZ. TAKE MEEEEE.

pics: Reuters/AP

And we love that he’s one of those very rare breeds of ginge – a hot one.

Needless to say, we pretty much died reading this:

Prince Harry is famous for being hot, royal, a brave soldier, a party boy and… a redhead.

But the 24-year-old is a bit sensitive when it comes to the topic of his hair colour, reports the Daily Mail.

At a comedy night held for dad Prince Charles’ 60th birthday, the young prince told John Cleese: “I’m not ginger. I’m auburn, that’s what I’ve been told.”

BEST. QUOTE. EVER. Better than the time Lilo said to ‘be adequite’, or when Corbin Bleu said his best kiss was under the stars by an ocean on the rooftop at midnight, or Zeffie said Liza is one of his greatest inspirations. Ok, you’re right, nothing is better than that last one.

pic: zefron.com

Honey, you’re ginger. Accept it. Own it. Love it.

It should also be noted that whoever wrote this article has clearly been reading Errol:

We reckon Harry should be waving the flag for hot ginges everywhere!

WE COINED THAT TERM. KIKI EVEN PUT IT IN A PHOTOSHOP. John John, get your headset and call James Spader to sort this shit out please.

ROSA sat
so that
MARTIN could walk
so that
OBAMA could run
so that
OUR CHILDREN can fly.

Talking about Serious things such as politics isn’t really our style, but I simply can’t let such a momentous day go by without saying anything. Unsuprisingly, us Errolers are decidedly left wing. This is a truly Happy Day for us. Strap yourselves in kids, because I’m gonna actually be sincere. I know I know, I’m freaked out too.

To say I am overjoyed about America’s election result is an understatement. It’s not exactly a suprise, but deep down I don’t think I believed that it could actually happen. I have a special connection to the USA. I have spent alot of time there, and have friends that are basically my second family. The last 8 years have killed me in the soul because I KNOW that country is better than Bush and his hateful ideals.

I remember 4 years ago how utterly devastated I was when they elected Bush back in. After all that had happened, HOW could they do that? It defied description. I remember sitting on the edge of my bed, half wanting to cry, half wanting to hit someone. I started to think things would never change. But then last year, we elected Kevin Rudd into office. The pendulum was starting to swing back.

I knew America needed a Huge Change. I didn’t really believe it was possible until my surrogate sisters Jessi and Addie informed me they were gonna vote for Barack. They are basically my family and I adore them, but our political ideals were on the opposite end of the scale to say the least. Especially Jessi, who up until recently was a card carrying Republican. Who voted for Bush in 2004. They were born in Tennesssee, a conservative red state if ever there was one. And despite that, it’s my second home and I love it dearly.

Jessi messaged me after watching Obama’s nomination acceptance speech and I could feel her emotion through my computer screen. She explained that she had always been jealous of the pride, commitment and love I feel for Australia. She had never felt that for America. She wondered if she ever would. But Barack made her feel that way. She finally understood what it was like to have pride in your nation, and believe that it can do good things. Barack gave her hope.

I just watched Obama’s speech. Yeh, I cried. Like a little bitch. I am not a particularly emotional person. I never cry when I’m sposed to. A friend is leaving for overseas? Nothin. Weddings? Nothin. Sad movies…NOTHIN. In fact the last time I really cried was when the Dragons lost their semi against the Tigers in 2005. THAT WAS THEIR YEAR DAMNIT. The tears may have had something to do with the copious amounts of vodka I had consumed, but whatever.

Obama was always a long shot. A black man with a Muslim sounding name…president of the United States? Unlikely. I had resigned myself to Hilary getting the nomination. And I was kind of okay with that. Anything is better than Bush right? But obviously some Americans didn’t agree. They could see the bigger picture, and they worked their arses off to achieve their goals. Obama thanked them.

It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give five dollars and ten dollars and twenty dollars to this cause. It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generation’s apathy; who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep; from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on the doors of perfect strangers; from the millions of Americans who volunteered, and organized, and proved that more than two centuries later, a government of the people, by the people and for the people has not perished from this Earth. This is your victory.

OKAY I’M CRYING AGAIN. DAMN YOU BARACK.

Some of my tears can be attributed to the fact that they used the Remember The Titans theme music. BASTARDS. That’s only my favourite movie ever. Sitting in front of the TV watching all this take place is kind of surreal. It’s like a movie. As Sassy says, ‘Barack is so cool…he’s like a movie president BUT HE’S REAL’. I say this as a white Australian, but can you imagine what African Americans are feeling? What people who campaigned for civil rights in the 60′s are going through? I bet it won’t sink in for weeks.

More than anything, I feel lucky. It is such a privilege to be able to witness history in the making. I remember listening to the radio reports of America’s first push into Iraq on my way to uni. I sat in the carpark for about 40 minutes trying to comprehend what was happening. That was shitty history. I resented being alive to witness that. This? This is happy days my friends. We are so fortunate. For the first time in a long time, I am proud of our alliance with the United States. We both have new leaders now. Leaders we deserve.

The President elect told us not to give into cynicism. So I won’t. I’m gonna embrace my cheesiness. Obama’s victory makes me believe in the impossible. That change can happen. Democracy is real…and worthwhile. Dreams can be achieved. Just when you think darkness will prevail, a new light emerges.

Because I am a nerd of epic proportions, I watched Lord of the Rings : The Two Towers last night. This quote struck a chord with me, I hope it does the same for you.

Sam: It’s like in the great stories Mr. Frodo, the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened? But in the end it’s only a passing thing this shadow, even darkness must pass.

A new day will come, and when the sun shines it’ll shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you, that meant something even if you were too small to understand why. But I think Mr. Frodo, I do understand, I know now folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn’t. They kept going because they were holding on to something.

Frodo: What are we holding onto, Sam?

Sam: That there’s some good in the world, Mr. Frodo, and it’s worth fighting for.

(the woman on the left is Martin Luther King’s sister)

IT’S A NEW DAY BABIES! YAY!

Let me tell you a story, kittens.  A long time ago, in a mythical land known as ‘the locker room’ the nation of Manly were in mourning.  They’d been at war with the fearsome Melbourne, and lost, and all were deep in the sads.  But amongst them dwelled a man with joy in his heart and a desire to make all well again, so in the midst of his despair he leapt forth and performed the wang dance.

It made the world smile, and the proud nation fought on into the next year to finally claim victory over their nemeses.

That man was Mick Robertson.  Oh, Robbo.  Not only did he unwittingly do the wang dance in front of a pay TV cameraman who accidentally broadcast it on national television (I’m not linking it, you’ll have to look for it on youtube yourselves you lazy bitches).  He also prompted one of my favourite ever lines of news reporting:

While [Steve] Menzies is interviewed by a journalist after the NRL decider on September 30, Robertson can clearly be seen in the background swirling his genitalia.

“SWIRLING HIS GENITALIA”.  If that didn’t win a Walkley then Australian journalism is in trouble like woah.  And yes, I know he said it was embarassing, but clearly we don’t think so.  The Oh Errol office is proudly pro-pantslessness.  We employ Intern John-John, and that should say it all.

But forget about the swirling talk (hehe swirling, it’s still funny).  Know what he did this year?

Pic: Sam Mooy

Oh, just scored three tries in a premiership-winning side, that’s all.

Just wrote himself into the history books as one of three people in a hundred years to get the grand final hat-trick.  Meh.

Skilfully avoided Billy Slater’s flying kung-fu kicks to ground the ball.

You know, just equalled the record for the most tries scored in a Grand Final, in the game with the biggest margin in League history.  Whatevs.

And when he had the chance to score a fourth try and be the only man in history to score four in a Grand Final … he off-loaded to the Beav instead.

“That was the most exciting part for me … giving the pass to Beaver to score,” Robertson said.

“I knew he was there. It will be a highlight for me for a long time.”

That bitch is a giver.

But I’m starting to think maybe even Robbo is about to hit the wall on charity.

Consider: Davey Williams’ performance in his first ever final earned him a Kangaroos jersey and 22,000 news articles.

Robbo’s hat-trick earned him 2,000 mentions and a spot in the Scottish team.  (Um, no offence, Scotland. I love the bagpipes in ‘You’re the Voice’! My family name is originally MacNeill! I’m one of youuuu! Please don’t smother me in tartan).

Seriously. Are they trying to make him feel unloved?  Is he invisible?  WHAT DOES A BOY HAVE TO DO TO GET ASKED OUT AROUND HERE?  Robbo’s too pretty to be a wallflower! 

Oh, but what about the beard, you say!  It’s the wolfman beard.  It’s so unique and noticeable.  That’s what draws attention and makes all the difference.  That’s why Robbo has been unceremoniously booted from all the Manly grand final limelight.  He’s just not as distinctive.

Pic: Mark Evans

Maybe Robbo’s too nice to disagree, but if he wasn’t, he would totally say I HAD IT FIRST, BITCHES.

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!

I am outraged.  And I have decided to take on Robbo’s cause, because I love an underdog.  I resent that he’s become the Jan Brady of Manly (TM Kiki).  I’m worried that everyone falling all over Dave ‘Marcia’ Williams might send him over the edge.

Look at him!  Even at semi-finals time he was getting close to snapping.   I worry for his mental health.

Dave: MATE, can you believe we’re in the finals? Birds have been all over me.
Robbo: … yeah, it’s pretty sweet.

Dave: I’m not even kidding. They’re wolfman crazy! Can’t keep their hands off me.
Robbo: ….

Dave: I’ve had to break up fights down at the Steyne, for reals.
Robbo: …

Dave: I just say look, ladies. Ladies, ladies, calm down. There’s enough of the Wolfman to go round.
Robbo: … kill me.

Coincidence it was him that shaved off Dave’s beard?  Hmmm?

Oh, Robbo, honey. Don’t worry. We see you! And with Steve Bell and the Beav moving on next year, you are totally the front-runner for Lozzy’s new Manly hubby. Come on over for gins and snuggles whenever you feel down.

Kids, it’s time to put a bit of a spin on our Men We Love posts. A TWIST! I NEVER SAW IT COMING! BRUCE WILLIS IS A GHOST! We realised there’s a very particular type of male celebrity that needs to be Seriously discussed – a man that regularly confuses our ladytarts by being super lovable/sexable when in a controlled environment (ie. with lots of people telling him what to wear/what to say/how to fake normality) but looking deadset Crazytimes whenever they’re allowed to fend for themselves in the wild.

These men are EVERYWHERE. We thought of at least 6 examples off the top of our heads, which is the equivalent of one regular person without a penchant for vodka thinking of like, 20 examples. In fact there were so many of them that in deciding which one to post about first, we had to get Lachie to wheel in our trusty whiteboard and draw up a flowchart. And by ‘flowchart’ I mean ‘game of Hangman’ (No John John, the answer is NOT ‘stiffy’). We are pretty much anthropologists.

I know what some of you are thinking right now. “This has NOTHING to do with NRL. I CAME HERE FOR THE FOOTY/ASS (DEPENDING ON SEXUAL ORIENTATION)”. Anyone who’s thoroughly confused and Just Wants Footy, there’s a link on the sidebar to the left (to the left, everything you own in a…ah fuck it) that will take you right to sweet, sweet football with nothing in between.

Our first case study is Emile Hirsch. Let’s start with the good. Here he is as Jay Adams in Lords of Dogtown ie. here he is being a hot bitch:

Blonde! Cute! Skater! Our vag’s are dancing in unison.

Scruffy Into The Wild Emile WITH VINTAGE HOT BITCH SEAN PENN. In a cowboy hat! Our vag’s are now shimmying with all their might. And just for fun, here he is doing his best David Williams:

No you can’t stroke my face and call me Davey.

As you can see from the first half of our study, Mr Hirsch displays an extensive array of hot. Bitch is versatile. You’d think that would translate into Real Life right? Wrong. In his spare time, Emile likes to break our hearts by dressing/wearing his hair like this:

I don’t actually know what to say, so I’ll steal straight from GFY‘s genius wit:

Emile Hirsh IS Colonel Sanders in A Tale of Two Breasts, Wings and Thighs: The KFC Story premiering Tuesday on Bravo. Costumes by Valentino. Hair by Kevin Federline.

Why does he look so jovial? It’s like he enjoys torturing us. Fuck you, Emile (not in that outfit though).

BUT THAT WAS ONE TIME, I hear you say. WRONG. Emile gets it wrong on more than one occasion.

DOUBLE DENIM. A CANADIAN TUXEDO. Lord knows I’m blind to most fashion rules, but double denim is a heinous, heinous crime. Not only that, but his jacket is BUTTONED. Oh honey, no.

Our vag’s are now crying in a dark corner. These things always end in tears.

all pics via emile-h.com

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.

I feel Phil ‘Gus’ Gould and I are kindred spirits. We have alot in common. Like Gus, people tend to either adore or despise me. Like Gus, footy causes me to be either deliriously happy or unspeakably rageful. Like Gus, we are both experts in our fields. Gus being an infinitely knowledgable football deity, me being well….okay so we differ a tiny bit here. Having said that, no one quite deconstructs the different levels of NRL hotness like me. I mean before Errol did any of you even know there is a distinct difference between Snuggly Attractive and Hot Bitch Attractive? I THINK NOT!

To be frank, Gus cracks my shit up. I love that he has no filter between brain and mouth and regularly says stuff that everyone else is thinking but lacks the courage/balls to say. I love that he never even attempts to keep his commentary sensible or restrained. In our white bread politically correct media, Gus Gould is bloody refreshing. His passion is inspiring and entertaining. Enough of the please-don’t-offend-anyone-bullshit. It’s BORING. Gus keeps things interesting. For realz.

I love the chemistry he has with Ray ‘Rabs’ Warren. Their casual bickering and regular tangent going brings weekly lolz. Sassy and I have realised they are pretty much our future. Hetero life mates for the win! Their little marriage arguments cut rather close to home for us. Like the time we had a full blown fight in the fruit and veg section of Bondi Junction Coles, debating which berries are currently in season (IT’S STRAWBERRIES NOT CHERRIES SASSY) while Underbelly’s Damien Walshe Howling looked on in horror.

In case you’re wondering…he was buying organic yoghurt and a single stalk of broccoli. And Sassy made eyes at him while she sexily ate a cherry. Whore.

Errr…back to Gus. My favourite thing about him is his palpable hatred for all things video ref. Me too Gus! I hates it toooooo! Whenever the VR makes a stupid decision (ie every single week) Gus becomes so enraged he can’t even speak. It’s just silence and then….NOOOOO! NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOO! And then a 5 minute soliloquy about how it’s ruining the game. I love when he does this. I join in by yelling expletives and angrily throwing projectiles at the TV. Ahhh its so great. Gus and I have such fun together!

He is also partly responsible for converting people to our beautiful game. Newest Manly Fan Lozzy recently accosted me, asking why the hell I had never told her how hilarious the commentators are and if she had known this she would’ve been a footy fan since birth. I think it was Gus and Rabs’ debate on at exactly what age teams stop receiving oranges at half time that won her over. Also Davey Williams’ luxurious beard. And Matt Ballin’s arse.

I love Gus so much that I actually miss his commentary when I go to a game. Seriously. I feel a bit lost without his hilarious histronics. Do you think he would be up for coming along, sitting next to me and providing one on one commentary? I might write him a letter.

Unfortunately not everyone enjoys the awesomeness of Gould. Gus has alot of haters. Fools! The lot of them! If any of you want to hate on Gus, you have to come through me first. I took a boxing class once. Do NOT underestimate my aptitude for physical violence. You have been warned.

In posting about my Olympics Boyfriend Ryan Lochte (who I’ll admit has since been kind of forgotten amongst all the Aussie Olympics highs. Worst imaginary girlfriend evs), the lovely Hazy diverted our attentions to a cuter, homegrown and just all-round fucking adorable curly-haired swimmer Andrew Lauterstein. HOW’S THAT FOR A NAME?

pic: ninemsn.com.au

pic: goldcoast.com.au

Forget our ongoing Phelps: Demi God or Douchebag? debate. I think it’s a good day for a little vintage Olympic goodness.

And yes, I am going to write all of this from the top of my head without doing any research of any kind. Not even googling. I’ve had a weird sportscrush on Popov since I was ten and I just think he’s lovely. Judge me if you like.

Remember when swimmers wore speedos, and had body hair? Amazing.

This is a boy who first learned to swim when he was terrified of water.

Who held the 50m freestyle world record for almost a decade.

Who – when he won the 50 / 100 sprint freestyle double for the second time at the 1996 Olympics (the Johnny ‘Tarzan’ Weissmuller double) – gave his 100m gold medal to his coach, Gennadi Touretski, to say thank you.

Who – when he was stabbed in the streets of Moscow a month after the Atlanta Olympics – endured emergency surgery and three months of rehab to come back and win his two pet events the next year at the European Championships.

And who – now that Aussie waterbaby Eamonn Sullivan holds both of the world records that used to be his – is nothing but excited to watch Sullivan and Alain Bernard go faster.

And if you’re wondering what all these things mean: they mean he’s a classy bitch. Happy friday, kids.

(this post is alex popov-approved)