The Epic Luv Story of Bob Hawke & Blanche d'Alpuget

Bob & Blanche wait for their podiatrist

Bob & Blanche during
the national anthem at the 2000 Olympics

Bob & Blanche buying African tribal art

Bob & Blanche watching a telemovie

Bob & Blanche checking in their luggage

Natalie, Sir Elton and The Altyian Child

As we predicted, proximity to Altyian was a piece of cake. Last weekend we were helping our copper mates with a Blue Light Disco. As we were cutting up the oranges, Altyian arrived with Nikki. This was our opportunity to become firm friends with the winner of The X Factor. Nikki, in her somnambulistic way, posed no barrier to a quick friendship with her intended. We went straight up to Altyian and asked him whether people had ever told him he looks just like the late Michael Hutchence. Fifteen minutes later we are helping a weeping Altyian into the car and taking him to the beach where he sits in a lotus position on the sand. He stares silently and intensely out to sea - like Bono thinking about the third world - for a good minute and a half. He turned to us, and with the last vestiges of the day's sun glistening in his glassy eyes said 'You guys...are the best....best friends...I've ever...ever...had.' Nikki remained in the vehicle.

We spent the next few days ferrying Altyian and Nikki from one facebook hook-up to another and engaging in what is perhaps technically considered in the eyes of the law, stalking of his former Altourage. During a boring stake-out of disgraced manager, Steve Gold's new townhouse, we felt Altyian was ready to be briefed on Sir Elton's proposition. Leaving out the bit about the cave, which is really a stupid idea, we tell Altyian Sir Elton wants to meet him. Nikki rested in the passenger seat (we'd let her ride up front).

As you guys know, we have our moments with Sir Elton and we're a little bit mischeivious re his husband, but he is our friend, so we were really disappointed by Altyian's dispassionate response. He said he had trusted the wrong people from The Win onwards. A lot of people were trying to impress him and quite frankly, he said, he was taken for ride. This had caused him to 'shut down'. We go 'Altyian, Sir Elton has seen it all before. He's had his fair share of freeloaders. It might be really good for you to talk to him.' Altyian, who is looking more and more like Rasputin on a dark night, starts pointing his finger at us and says 'The stage is calling out for me, and I really need it. It is my second home and it does things to me that I could never express in words.' We go 'Altyian, Sir Elton is a performer too. He's had a lot of experience.' At this point, Nikki wakes up; she wants to go home.

The next morning, we weren't surprised when Natalie Biddles rolled up uninvited to breakfast with Altyian. She is exactly as she appears on Channel 7's Today Tonight, a smitten single mother using her daughter, Elle, as a proxy server. As she parked her bottom on the seat next to us we smelt trouble. Omitting introductions, she just started asking private questions about Sir Elton. We indulged her a little bit - yes, he loves flowers. Yes, he is neat - but when she asked us schoolyard questions about the gender dynamics between the couple, her time was up. We dropped a couple of Xanax in her scrambled eggs and waited for her to bid her farewells and go home to bed.

We were now alone with Altyian (Nikki was there but was busy drawing Altyian's tattoos on the tablecloth with the crayons the waiter provided). This time it was Altyian who raised Sir Elton's offer, inquiring as to whether Sir Elton will be providing him with a contract, songs written by him and Bernie, video clip deals, merchandise, a publicist and options on feature films. We were aghast. Altyian is a lazy reality TV star with a shocking sense of entitlement. Thank God for the digital mandala Claire sent us when she heard we'd befriended Caveboy. We held our phones in Altyian's direction and left the building. Nikki focussed on keeping the colour within the lines.


Thank you to the Herald Sun and Today Tonight.

Caveboy

We didn't get an invite to Friday's wedding because William and Harry hold us responsible for coining the term 'The Booze Brothers', not that we care anyway. Looked more like a funeral to us.

Sir Elton's husband, David Furnish, took our flippant request to send us a couple of pictures a little too seriously. Self-shot images of David with his arms around Ian Thorpe, David with his arms around the King of Tonga, David in peels of laughter with Tara Palmer-Tomkinson, close-ups of the china and David with his arms around Ian Thorpe again...and again clogged up our phones and made us miss seeing one of our AFL friends score two goals. We were getting a bit over David's, 'I'm middle aged but I'm up with technology' catharsis when things changed dramatically. An image came through of David nursing a weeping Sir Elton John. A concerned Ronan Keating can be seen hovering behind them. This was followed by a text from David going:

OMG! He's just finished rescuing Leon Russell.
Now he's heard about that Altiyan Childs.
Better clean out one of the spare rooms ;)


Leon Russell, dressed by Sir Elton John

The next thing the phone rings and it's David saying 'Sharon wants to speak to you,' and a sobbing Sir Elton gets on the line. 'That poor boy! The poor gypsy boy!' he cries into the receiver. 'He lives in a cave! Those animals. They let him fly. They let him fall! Have you got his number? David could call him for me....get him over here for some proper re-hab.' We tried to interject as we are don't think Altiyan's on drugs - if only it were that simple - he seems to have a host of psychological problems. We weren't sure that spending time in Sir Elton's compound would be in Altiyan's best interests, but Sir Elton was already on to renovating one of the spare rooms into a cave and was shouting out the numbers of slate companies to David and telling him to write them down. 'It's all about the cave,' said Sir Elton, 'He needs to get in touch with it again.' We finally just started talking over the top of him, informing him that Altiyan's was no romantic cave, but a miserable shelter on a suburban beach littered with empty V cans and McDonalds packaging. Sir Elton didn't seem to get it. He just paused then said 'I can get those things.'



Sir Elton wanted to leave the wedding (and the filthy power ballads playing there). He now had one purpose: Save Altiyan Childs. Frankly, we don't think it's worth it so to prevent them from jumping on their jet we said we knew Altiyan really well (which was a lie, but we felt confident that if pressed we could establish an intimate relationship with Altiyan in a very short space of time) and we'd have a chat to him. Using flattery, we convinced Sir Elton that Altiyan would need to be prepped before meeting The Most Famous Homosexual in the World.

Such Is Life

Madonna and Baby Jesus

Panda B. (Bandit)'s brush with modeling!

It was not for him.

Express Yourself

A Night on the Town

The HIStory of punk & blanket: A Gift Circle

In case you haven't heard, Michael Jackson has died. Cause of death is unknown but he basically expired. We have always loved Mike. It's time to tell how much.

Back in 2003, unsated after throwing Lady Di down the stairs, a villain named Martin Bashir, set upon Michael and a lot of people believed the filth he cast. We were killing time in a fashion forum, reading skin care product reviews and hunting for bargains in the swap shop when the witch hunt for Michael and then Debbie Rowe kicked in. We leapt to their defence and were surprised at how many young ladies were so prudish and old fashioned. The ferocity of their disdain seemed maladaptive. Our battle raged after Deb talked about her Gift to Michael in his response doco. They just didn't get it, didn't get Deb.

It was around this time that blanket's name changed from NatalieJohns to blanket, not realising what this simple act had set in motion. Shortly after, we built a virtual altar to Debbie Rowe in an effort to give back something to this woman who had given so much. A few people heard the call, others maintained their narrow views and eventually we were expelled, blocked, banned. We had run out of aliases and left as punk and blanket to go it alone.

We have always believed in Debbie and now that she's back in focus we'd like to remind everyone: she's just another surrogate. A surrogate with a Gift. She gave Michael the gift of Paris and Prince 1 and she gave us the gift of our identity. Today, we give her our support once again.

It's a circle of gifts.

Poem For David Carradine

walk on rice paper
leave no trace

climb in closet
to a higher place

Making Sure No-one Gets Hurt

A lot has happened since our last entry. We ended up taking the spooky poppets with us, wrapping them in aluminium foil so that they wouldn’t reflect any bad energy in the direction of the targets. We stared at them night after night, though we didn’t dare unwrap them, so really we were just staring at our own reflections. The answer was written all over our faces; we needed the relief only an intervention could bring.

Last Thursday, when we knew Claire would be out all day doing readings in the regions, we let ourselves into her house to prepare a comfortable and non-judgemental environment. We started burning some calming oils, strategically scattered some boxes of tissues, pre-chilled her Baileys and set up her foot spa. We didn’t bother getting a support person in for Claire because she’s got her guides.

Claire got home around six and asked us why the TV wasn’t on. We just came right out and told her she was party to an intervention, by us. She sat down, we put the poppets on the table and asked her if there was anything else she’d like us to see. Claire sat there silently for quite some time looking from one poppet to the other, it was hard to guess what she might be thinking. Then she got up and we followed her out the back to the bins. She stuck her hand in the bin (not the one for paper) and untaped a miniature version of Charmaine, Australia’s Most Gifted Psychic. She handed it to us and led us to the bathroom where John Butler’s little plastic legs were jutting out of the toilet covered in dirty rusting pins. She was about to hand it to us but we told her not to worry about that one. We walked back to the loungeroom and Claire seemed hesitant for a moment before she reached into her handbag and pulled out what appeared to be a ball of pins. She whispered, “It’s Nicholas Sarkosy”. We asked her if she thought there were any more. Claire shook her head.

After some extensive workshopping we were all in agreeance that the main problem is Grayam, and in a broader sense, all male models and the male modelling industry. Grayam is the only factor we can control in this dreadful scene so we have arranged through some Masonic contacts for Grayam to be fastracked into the Buttery to get off modelling. We hear he’s been attending songwriting workshops with Rick Grossman and that guy who used to be in Goanna.

Suspect Dolls in the Deep Freeze

Yesterday was 47 degrees. The hottest day ever and Melbourne was like hell. What went down could have been a result of the extreme conditions so at this stage we're prepared to have an open mind, but the evidence is pretty compelling that Claire's disdain for male models is becoming unhealthy.

Anyway, we are cooling off, dangling our feet in Claire's backyard deep freeze and we thought we might dig up some of Claire's homemade Baileys Gelato. Underneath the Patties Party Packs we uncovered three frozen poppets in the likeness of The Saddest Male Models In The World, some of them with pins stuck in them. We do not condone males becoming models but Claire's suburban voodoo practice is out of control and puts her at risk of karmic retribution.

As yet we haven't said anything to Claire because this could just be the tip of the iceberg, she may have poppets of us mocked up and ready to go. We're gonna be quiet on this one for a bit.

Claire, Grayam and the Dark Prince of the Rockocracy

Claire came over the other day in a flap about Grayam. His house burnt down last week when he was watching Make Me A Supermodel. The TV went up in flames just as Jennifer Hawkins opened her mouth. He asked his Granny if he could stay at her place and Claire said he could on the strict proviso he give up modelling. Desperately he swore he would never do it again. Things are already wearing thin. Claire says Grayam lies on the couch all day long with the blinds drawn and reeks of vomit and sunscreen. He's obsessed with making ice cubes and she has found sunflower seeds stuffed under his pillow along with a well worn copy of Karl Lagerfeld's Diet Book. At meal times Clarie watches Grayam eat his food and wonders if she'll see it again later. And the worst thing happened this morning when she was tidying his scrapbooking mess and found this photo, clearly taken by Grayam, of new friend Jethro Lazenby playing dress ups with his Dad's old clothes.

Winner - Turkey Of The Year 2008

Last year's winning turkey comes from a very very tight field but never has the vote been so definite, our winner is the treacherous turkey, Baz Luhrmann. The gobbler tells New Zealand's Richard Wilkins that his movie is not about our land but about a state of mind. We are Australians but 'australia' plays no role in our cognitive awareness. And it seems many other Australians agree as we have been inundated with votes for Baz.

Turkey Of The Year 2008

And the nominees are........

Carved Turkey - Sam Newman - for his operating theatre performance featuring Turkey Spotter Eddie Maguire in a shower cap.

Turkey Spotter - Eddie Maguire - so proud of his (un)dressed turkey's 60 minutes.

Crack Turkey - Wayne Carey

Turkey Disney - Terri 'themepark' Irwin

Bad Turkey - Brendan Nelson on Sorry Day

Flaming Turkeys - Text Publishing, David Marr & Bill Henson

Treacherous Turkey - Baz Luhrmann

Turkey In The Headlights - Jodhi Meares

Dressed Turkey - Sarah Palin

Crumbed Turkey - Gordon Ramsay

Baz Luhrmann auditioning the part of Leading Lady in His movie He called Australia.

What About David?

Well there's a little boy waiting in the shadows of the Kabbalah

He's been waiting down there, waiting like a prayer

He never ever goes to the milk bar

He gets flown around, bought by the pound

He's not allowed to eat meat and he thinks

What about me, it isn't fair

I can't stand my nannies' stare

Can't you see I wanna live

But you just take more than you give

Well there's a strange lady dancing wildly in the stadium

He's been waiting back there, waiting for his beans

Nannies walk in and out, they're not his mum

Well we're not too proud to cry out loud

We watch the tv and we ask

What about Dave? It isn't fair

We can't stand the Granny's stare

Can't you see he wants to live

But she just takes more than she gives

Stolen

We are the victims of identity theft. Recently it has come to light that two people are posing as punk & blanket in order to judge a local poetry competition. Apparently, this had been going on for two years. They have even hacked into our site and planted the competition under our 'Gigs' section. They have done something to it that stops us from deleting it. These rumours sent us into a spin so we decided to stalk the imposters. We researched them on myspace and facebook and even went to the poetry competition's grand final to see them in real life. We were unimpressed; they're not our kind of people. Our sartorial integrity was at stake. We didn't know what to do. How could we stop this ongoing theft when no-one knows who we are? In order to stop them we would be forced to reveal our true identities. Then what kind of superheroes would we be?

As always in times of trouble, we sought an audience with Claire. She's been a bit withdrawn lately. Ever since her arch nemesis Charmaine won The One: The Search for Australia's Most Gifted Psychic, Claire has been pale, withdrawn and insecure about her Gift. Luckily, practical advice was all we were after. Claire's had some experience dealing with identity theft when an impersonator was draining Dodi al Fayad's credit card. We explained our predicament and initially Claire looked aprehensive and took a deep look into the fridge door. Then she said "Well, what is identity?" She entered into a full examination of what identity means. A lot of it we didn't understand as it was pretty technical stuff. We drifted off and settled into our listening faces. Our ears pricked up when Bill Henson's name was mentioned in connection with Grayam. According to Claire, Grayam got really messed up with identity issues after posing topless for Bill in the eighties. When the picture's became really expensive, Grayam told everyone that Bill had stolen his identity. Claire said that even to this day, the Henson affair has damaged Grayam as he is supremely narcissistic and unable to differentiate image from reality.

This was all very well for Grayam, but we're under threat here. Our's is a different polemic. It is not imagined identity theft, it's real. Saying all this to Claire, she peered over her magnifiers and wide-eyed sans blinking, and goes "Yeah but, who are punk and blanket anyway?"

SORRY

The Evolution of Karl Lagerfeld

Disturbing Moments In Popular Culture

1. Troubled West Australian Liberal Leader sniffing a female colleague's recently vacated chair.

2. The aforementioned Liberal under suspicion of doing 'something inappropriate' to a quokka.



3. The front cover of Madonna's Hard Candy.

4. The sad eyes of the unsmiling Suri Cruise.

5. Heather Mills.

6. The 60 Minutes vision of Sam Newman's diseased prostate on the end of a surgical implement.

7. Gender is no barrier for Thomas Beatie and Nicole Kidman who against all odds and nature fall pregnant.

8. Mick Gatto in the boxing ring with the guy who played him in Underbelly.

9. Yoko Ono's breast pride.

10. Nicole Kidman winning an Oscar for best 'actress'.

Seven Children's Wear Boutiques In One Strip

Yesterday in the Hawksburn Village, Toorak, we were victims of parent rage. Talking on our phones we didn't notice that our Staffordshire Terrier familiar was sniffing the heels of a small child dressed in a tutu and carrying a wand. Our conversations were interrupted by the penetrating shrillness of a South Eastern Suburb's Mother shielding her young. "That dog needs training" "That dog needs training". We told her to chill. He doesn't bite. Then she screeched, "If my child squeals he'll kill her". We said no he won't. She said,

"He will, I can see it in his eyes".



Panda B. (bandit) is a darling and a gangsta rapper but he is so not a killer. Then she starts on about reporting us to the council. We try to avert her procedural gaze but everywhere we turn we see children in designer fancy dress. Spooky girls holding red devil umbrellas and little boys dressed as Fiona Scanlan's 'big' sailors. We didn't mean to hurt her but we snapped and slapped her clean across the snout.

Panda B. (Bandit) in an Onion Trance

The Wayne Carey Crimp

for Noel & Julian

grabbing tits
was my life
then I sauced
me best mate's
wife

GLASS THE BITCH
GLASS THE BITCH
GLASS THAT BITCH

they sprayed mace
in me face
tied me up
like a mental
case

GLASS THE BITCH
GLASS THE BITCH
GLASS THAT BITCH

went to Koh Samui
just to be me
took the bitch
in case I
itch

GLASS THAT BITCH

Mr Mom?

We were in Hanoi on an extended break, fresh from our viewing of Uncle Ho (aka The Green Man), when a text came through from our tribal lands: 'We have so much to discuss. Heath is dead. Nic is pregnant.'

We hastened to the nearest temple* to catch BBC World. It was true. Nicole Kidman was claiming to be pregnant. We were so blown away because we have told all of our friends - and even people who are not our friends - that Nicole Kidman does not have a womb and she has never had a period in her life! What were we going to do? It meant we looked like we didn't know what we were talking about! Stunning.

We used up all of our dong calling medical authorities in Sydney and Melbourne, only to learn that they were as perplexed as we were.

Then we heard that Mr Kidman (Daddy, not Keith), an engineer and psychologist by trade, will deliver the baby 'at home' and we thought, shouldn't a 41 year old 'woman' with her obstetric history and money be having her first born in the finest birthing suite, attended by actual doctors? And what's with having your Dad deliver your baby? Sick.

Our long standing claim found corroboration in the Korean Job Discussion Forum. All we can say is there must be a prosthesis and a spooky baby machine sister involved. Scary family.



*newsagent/source

And The Winner Is.................................

....................................................Peter Garrett

Turkey of the Year 2007..... & the Nominees are:

Turkey Fool - Simone Warne
Pretentious Sci-Fi Turkey - Jamie Packer and that fuckin' wedding.
Real-Life Turkey - Mark Philippoussis
Small Turkey Syndrome - John Howard
Turkey Chick - Bindi Irwin
"Clean" Turkey - Phil Jamieson on Enough Rope
Turkey For Sale - Peter Garrett

Punted By The Mask

We're still recovering from election night over at our friend Footballer (no name)'s house in Brighton. It was the dawning of a new era and a night of revelations that left us questioning our ability to read people. Kaet (not her real name), Footballer (no name)'s wife, has always been like a sister to us, but that night she was a stranger.

Always the great hostess Kaet had driven all the way to Prahran Market to get some mini Kosher hot dogs. She served them with buttered, crustless white bread and off the shelf tomato sauce jazzed up with some of Maggie Beer's Verjuice. But something was amiss that night. Whenever we made witty and insightful remarks about the tally room coverage, Footballer (no name) would piss himself laughing and she would look at us blankly and say, "That's the funniest thing I've ever heard". After this happened a few times we began to feel insecure, like she thought we were idiots or something. Whenever Footballer (no name) wasn't in the room it was really awkward because she'd bring up 'her feelings' about 'her marriage'. This was very confusing because she said she'd been really depressed and anxious but to us she was looking better than ever! When we're depressed we don't look good at all so we quickly became suspicious. Maybe she wasn't down, maybe she was setting a trap, maybe she was testing to see if we have designs on her husband. It's true, one of us was in a spa with Footballer (no name) early on in our friendship, but we've moved on from that, and so has he.

By the time Troubled Footballer (no name) came over, just before Mr Howard surrendered, we were so removed from our instincts we had to remind each other to blink. Out of control, we assumed Troubled Footballer (no name)'s arrogance was drug induced and not a symptom of self doubt. We heard him on his mobile saying he wanted a kitchen he could cook in and thought he was talking to The Coffin Cheaters but it turned out that he was discussing his renovation. After Kevin claimed victory Footballer (no name) muted the sound and stood in front of the TV. He asked us to charge our glasses for a nation that could now play by Australian Rules. Kaet sits there looking completely chilled and then we see a solitary tear slide down her wax like face. Troubled Footballer (no name) starts to weep silently. His frequent hard swallows and the famous snap of the Kosher hot dogs we were nervously eating the only sounds in a tense room. Footballer (no-name), who has a problem with public displays of emotion, leaves the room and we back out after him. We find him on the deck, hand balling a footy against the wall and ask him why his wife is so distant and why the hell does he have a drug addict coming down in his lounge room. Footballer (no name) goes, 'She's had botox and he's grieving for Deceased Footballer (no name)'.

So Long Hedi

After a couple of wonderful months we've had to let our tapeworm go. It's been such a gas having him on the inside, but Hedi exists in his own right. In a way it's been too good with us, we've been catering to his every whim. He's got to realise his full potential as a parasite and move on to more character building hosts. Let's take several minutes to relive our journey with Hedi to the tunes of Sir Elton John...

Panda B. (Bandit) Listening to His Masters Voice

Panda B. (bandit) is in a very strange mood

Inpatients

Because of Claire and some of our other friends, we've checked ourselves into the Eating Disorder Unit at the Melbourne Clinic. They all suspect our tapeworm is a symptom of some kind of eating disorder, but we've just got a tapeworm so that we can keep eating. Life's too sort to stop eating. We know we got caught up in thinspiration with Karl Lagerfeld, but if anything his food has propelled us in the opposite direction. Food is great. We love food. And so does our 'friend on the inside', Hedi.

We've had our worm for a few months now and we're spending a fortune at the supermarket. It's great! You can eat whatever you want, at anytime and not put on one gram. This is really confusing for the other inmates. The anas and the mias stand there (always standing - it burns more calories) whilst we relax on the couch feasting on sausage rolls and sponge cakes. They follow us to restrooms to see if we throw up, but Hedi never lets that happen. He's an insatiable parasite.

To tell the truth we don't connect with the ED Crowd, they're always telling each other how beautiful and slim they are whilst swapping lollypops. The lollypop thing is really weird, they lick the lolly (strictly one lick, no swallow) and then stick on a cut out picture of their favourite thinspiration girls - pink for Mary-Kate, lemonade for Allegra Beck and orange for Nicole Richie. These skinny girls spook everyone out, every day there are different registered nurses. We've started to hang with the patients from the other wards. One of our bi-polar friends is of Italian heritage (second generation) and his family bring in huge hampers of the best smallgoods.

Letter To All Friends of Punk and Blanket re Their Condition From Claire Voyant

Hello all,

The last time I saw punk and blanket I was in a hypertensive state because I was being forced to eat my lunch with Karl Lagerfeld's compact disc album playing. They were taking this Karl Lagerfeld diet thing a bit far at that stage, I would even say it was borderline hero worship. They showed me what they called an 'installation', but it was clearly an altar (pictured below).






Since that day I've only been communicating via text message with punk und blanket, as they are calling themselves these days. Their messages are random accounts of calorie burning, spinning classes and German style boot camps or invitations to go over for 'bowls' (always plural) of Karl's Lemon Soup. Last night after my evening Baileys and last ciggie, I saw it all as I stared into the fridge door. There they were, out the back of Melbourne's Watergrill restaurant, scavenging through the scraps of Sir Bert Newton's seafood, and I knew then what they were up to. They were angling for a tapeworm. Not only are they deifying a rubber man but they have succumb to the lazy persons idea of weight loss. I have seen their future and it's not nice. They hold a Naming Ceremony for their tapeworm in the park over the road from their house (because of the malnutrition, this is the greatest distance they can travel) and they call it Hedi. Hedi Slim-man.


For further information on tapeworms, go to: http://www.parasitecleanse.com/fishtapeworms.htm

Our Karl Lagerfeld Diet Luncheon

Our luncheon was a huge success. It was a glorious autumnal day in Melbourne and our guests were delighted with the recipes, particularly the lemon soup, the pizza and the creamed cucumber. The eggplant and pink grapefruit dish was left untouched as it was inedible. Only one hiccup arose during the course of the day and it happened when we put on Karl's new CD release, Karl Lagerfeld Les Musiques Que J’aime. This had an extremely adverse effect on the atmosphere. The industrially inspired tunes, a sound favored by many people of German extraction, resulted in our guests showing signs of acute acoustic trauma and some of our older guests like Claire began to experience rising blood pressure. When some of them threatened to leave the premises we knew we had to push the stop button. Later that evening we decided to sell the CD on ebay as we too have difficulty with Karl's musical choices, especially as it was daring us to defy Karl's strict two glasses of red wine policy. We're very surprised as we had been lead to believe that Karl has a vast music collection and that he owns 10 ipods with 80 gigabytes each. Our hearts go out to Karl as he is obviously trying very hard to appreciate music but unfortunately we feel he will never get it because from the evidence available it seems Karl has no sense of rhythm or beauty when it comes to music. One of our guests remarked that maybe Karl should smoke marijuana as it could assist him to tune in.

Invitation zum mittagesessen

Karl Lagerfeld's Weltanschauung

Lately we've been getting into fashion. We really like the look
that's around these days, slim fitting jeans and mini skirts, but when
we try to wear the clothes, our friends look at us disapprovingly and
suggest we opt for the more relaxed, roomy look that's also fashionable, oversized t-shirts and floor length kaftans. Recently, we received a brown paper package in the mail from an unidentified source. The notesaid simply, 'Try zis. You vont be disappointed.' It was the Karl Lagerfeld Diet Book. At first we were incensed. Given our dealing with the Kaiser in the past, who would ever think we would want to read his obsessive rantings? Of course, curiosity, and yes, a touch of schandenfreude, got the better of us and we had to read it. Half-way through it became very apparent: we had to hold an invitation only luncheon for our friends.

A Common Excuse

Carole Middle England, mother of the ex-future Queen of England (now just a fashion buyer), is copping it from the British for being common; she got sprung chewing gum at one of Prince Billy's military parades, when she met the Queen, she said "Pleased to meet you," without adding "M'aam" and like Delta Goodrem's mum, Lea Goodrem, she's one of those monster stage door mothers, forcing her daughter to ride horses and dress like a modest monarch. That may be so, but we at punkandblanket.blogspot.com think that if anyone is common, it's the Booze Brothers, Billy and Hank, bumping and grinding low-born girls and drugs into the early hours in public nightclubs. Don't these boys have palaces to go to? Surely Tom Parker-Bowles has a mirror at his house!

Billy dropped Kate Middle England not because of any pressure from anyone (quit blaming us and your Granny, you out-of-it sooks), but because he just wants to sew his wild seeds into as many babes as possible before he goes bald, and, because he can. We believe the Booze Brothers will be the ultimate downfall of the House of Windsor because they are dumb and like their Mummy, loose cannons.


A drug crazed and pash-rashed Prince Billy mauls a subject with his congenital sausage fingers


We feel that these boys should really take a leaf out of our own post-colonial Royalty from the Principality of Hutt River, HRH Prince Leonard and Princess Shirley, who on the 19th of this month celebrate their diamond wedding anniversary.

Famous People Bore Us To Tracksuits

As you all (the thousand upon thousands of you) may have noticed, we have been on sabbatical for quite some time now and we feel it's only fair to explain why. In recent months we have been lost in the foggy haze of disillusion. We have been wandering around, wearing nothing but tracksuits, staring blankly at the tabloids, at the television and at each other. We go online, we read Popbitch where they tell us Bono turns poverty into a brand and a lot of money along the way; we are not surprised, we said that months ago. When we go shopping in our trackies we study chewing gum and chocolate wrappers, when once we would have grabbed every publication with Britney's bald head on it, but she's just yet another sellebrity cruising for a comeback (Keith Urban-Kidman is another one. And as for Anna-Nicole Smith, she was trying for it, then realised death was her only comeback). We force ourselves to watch E! News in an effort to shake ourselves from our fame fatigue. Then it happened: our epiphany. We saw that the United Nations poster couple intend to adopt yet another child, this time from Chad, to provide racial balance in their rainbow tribe. That was it. No wonder we are tired! We just can't take it anymore! There are too many turkeys around the globe and we are sick of their gobbling! We don't need to write about them. There are plenty of other online institutions for this purpose.

Driving Panda B. (bandit)

Winner - Turkey Of The Year 2006

Keith Urban wins Turkey Of The Year 2006 wings down!

All over the world, and in aircraft, people are asking for 'The Keith' - a Wild Turkey on Ice, in a tall, thin, frosted glass with a dash of ginger.



Keith Urban entering the rehab facility - note his womanly curves, in stark contrast to his 'wife's'.

Extra Turkey

Another nominee for Turkey of the Year has been brought to our attention:

TURKEY MALIBU WHOPPER WITH BACON: Mel Gibson - a racist, a drunk and NOT an Australian.

Turkey of The Year 2006

We have decided to post the nominations for Best Turkey in Show earlier this year as last time we were inundated with thousands of votes.

And the nominees are:

TURKEY DRUMSTICK: Heather Mills, for thinking she could come between a Beatle and his spliff.

TURKEY NECK: Madonna, for hanging herself on a crucifix.

FAKE TURKEY: Jamie Brooksby, for obtaining his Big Brother win by deception and for posing as a poet.

PICKLED TURKEY: Keith Urban, for marrying a man.

TURKEY BONES: Nicole Richie, for pretending she doesn't have an eating disorder, then admitting she has, then pretending she's overcome it.

TURKEY JERKY: russell crowe for using Steve Irwin's memorial to act.

BAD TURKEY: O.J Simpson, for thinking he could move a book about 'the killings'.

CHRISTMAS LUNCH: The guests at Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes' wedding at Orsini Odescalchi Castle.

LOST TURKEY: Nicole Kidman, clearly a mixed up person.

TALKING TURKEY: Bono, for turning poverty into a brand.

PRIZE TURKEY: Tom Cruise, no explanation neccessary.

GLAZED TURKEYS: Kate Moss, Pete Doherty and Marcia Hines.

TURKEY SLAPPER: Axel Whitehead - ARIA flasher.

Cast your votes!!

Keith Urban Wakes Up After A Year On The Sauce:

Oh My God! I married a Man!

.....and David

In the late 1830's Tasmania's Governor and Lady Franklin adopted an indigenous baby girl called Mathinna. They thought it was a good look having a coloured child around. When they returned to Mother England they left Mathinna behind.

For most of the last century Australian Government authorities removed indigenous children from their homes in the name of welfare.

Wealthy Europeans in colonial India adopted exotic Indian children to accessorize their palaces.

Recently there has been a Renaissance; certain unnamed media whores are reviving these practices. In the name of welfare these individuals and their people are cruising the globe handpicking third world children to add to their families. The chosen ones are offered a 'better life' in Hollywood, spending all day with the nanny while Mom and Dad make money.

One day they will have to say Sorry.

CLAIRE VOYANT FOUND!!!

Our apologies to the the late Peter Brock for implicating him in the kidnapping (and bondage) of Claire Voyant. Our suspicions were not entirely unfounded; what would you think if your spiritual guide was communicating online with notorious womaniser and King Of The Mountain, Peter Brock? Looking at their exchanges it was evident Peter was after Claire's famous crystals to charge his Energy Polarizer, they'd even moved to instant messenger and were arranging to meet. Further investigations revealed Peter had passed away before his meeting with Claire. Sorry Peter. Sorry Bev. Sorry Holden.

The truth of Claire's disappearance is closer to home, and way more sinister. Her grandson Grayam has been cosying up to Big Brother winner, Jamie Brooksby, in an effort to further his male modelling career. Grayam, being the suck that he is, was trying to impress Jamie with his knowledge of eastern mysticism, gloating that his Gran had special powers, especially where any kind of fame was involved or probable. Jamie, as we all know from Big Brother, fancies himself as a New Age kinda guy, started fishing for an audience. Grayam couldn't resist that voice and took him over to Claire's straight away.

We know we dont really need to mention this again but Claire really, really hates male models. She recognised Jamie immediately and blocked the threshold with her strong arms. Jamie, trying to appease Claire, offers her a signed headband he wore in 'the house'. It doesn't work. Claire unleashes a crippling tirade, from which she cannot stop; Jamie has deceived a whole nation of teenage girls, 1,576,321 of them to be exact. They all believed him when he mouthed 'I love you' to Katie, but she was just a porn (sic) in his cruel game. Australian television hit an all time low when he paraded his arousal. His poetry stinks real bad and he clearly has an unnatural relationship with his mother who gushed that she'd watched all of 'his' shows. Claire then calls him Lamie and tells him he will one day fall into the festering pond of his own image and die.

We don't know what happened in between, but our Claire was found gagged and bound with several familiar headbands in the boot of the car Jamie Brooksby won on Big Brother.



Jamie and Katie recognise punk and blanket in the crowd.

Person Of Interest In The Claire Voyant Matter

CLAIRE VOYANT MISSING!!!

We are very very worried; our sage, our seer, our guru, our lifestyle coach and dear friend Claire Voyant is not returning our text messages. That may not seem strange to some but Claire is a chronic texter. Normally her reponses are virtually instantaneous, so much so that we actually suspect she communicates with her phone telepathically, controlling the keys with her mind, never even resorting to the use of numbers or symbols. We didnt really expect her to say anything about the pictures of our new shoes we'd mms'd through, but the fact that she didn't comment on Steve Irwin's passing has raised the alarm. Claire loved Steve but more importantly she's the president of Rays of Light: Australian Stingray Enlightenment Society so we are incredulous. We've tried her landline and knocked on her door where we sensed an eerie stillness. Yesterday we kept an all night vigil outside her place, huddled in our car with blankets around us and a thermos of tea. There were no signs of life or anything out of the ordinary. Today we contacted all of those people who regularly see Claire, Marc from The Crystal Shop, Trevor and Gary from Health Food for "U" and Bruce from Prahran Meats. No one had seen her. We tried to contact her gentleman friend, Murray but he had already left for Queensland to recite his bush poetry in memorandum of Steve Irwin. In absolute desperation we decided to use our key and enter Claire's house so that we could hack into her computer, which was pretty easy as the password was Claire. A cursory glance at her History revealed Claire had been participating in V8 Supercar Forums. Strange. Weird. Slightly disturbing. Claire doesnt even own a car and she's against motorsport of any kind because of the damage it does to our environment and she really hates Michael Schumacher. Yes, Claire is still a water skier, but she became addicted to barefoot skiing way before we knew the environmental consequences of churning through petrol, and at least it keeps her active, weight always having been an issue for Claire. We'll be keeping you all posted on our quest to find her as we doubt we'll be getting much sleep.

At Last, Fashion For The Blackshirt!

As numerous middle aged male friends of ours have become raging Blackshirts, lashing out at friends and family, punching walls and generally bringing everyone down with their bad vibes and ear bashing, we have decided to do something for the enraged man. The punk & blanket D.A.D Tee is designed to empower the Blackshirt, especially as the iconography is emblazoned across the solar plexus (home of the soul). We want these downtrodden single fathers to know that they are being heard, cos they are. A lot. By everyone around them. The punk & blanket D.A.D Tee also provides a valuable community service by identifying these pained individuals to people who may already have enough of them in their lives. The Blackshirts we know have tested our patience; they ask questions without listening, tell endless stories where the world is to blame and they all seem to have a peculiar interest in the plight of Steve Bing and Mick Jagger. What particularly offends us is the fact that these angsty blokes know we understand their woes and therefore indulge themselves in our company. Sure, some Blackshirts may have genuine grievances, but some are just addicted to Ice.

Our first moving picture!

punk & blanket present Panda B. (bandit) & His Master, The Movies.



Off Leash



Walking Home

Jack Elliot, Eddie Maguire and Us

Yes, it has been a while since we've been home. Thanks to the thousands of concerned fans for their emails and flowers and general enquiries as to our whereabouts. We want you all to know we're both fine, in fact we've been having a great time working on a new and varied punk & blanket project. We refuse to be locked into one form of release so we are diversifying. Behold: p&b Records!

Our first recording is of our friend Jack Elliot whom we 'discovered' singing in Florentino Bistro the night after the Melbourne Cup last Spring Racing Carnival. After lunching at Jack's penthouse in Carlton, we knew that he'd be wonderful to work with as he is a very keen singer who charmed us through all 3 courses. It would not be an understatement to say that Jack is an extremely confident man - even his lewd comments seemed 'right', so as soon as we decided to launch the record label we called Jack straight away.


Jack Elliot

We're happy with how it's sounding. We'll have our sample podcast online soon. We're realising how great diversification actually is, and once again, we thank Claire Voyant, our guide, our confidante, our light, for steering us toward our natural destiny. Claire spoke of the importance of being polymathic, to not limit our gift and to take something from the success of Eddie Maguire, whose omnipresence is a result of him maximising his gift. Her words inspired us beyond belief, but we were puzzled by her example. Eddie Maguire is a worry. We see him regularly in our off-leash dog park. He has a dark aura and an intolerance of Staffordshire Terriers. Once, when our terriers were 16 weeks old, Eddie saw us coming and bundled his children (who were not that small) and their footy and ran to the other side of the park, nervously glancing backwards every ten metres or so. We have also heard a rumour that he's developing an interest in Scientology, which wouldn't surprise us given his new job working for Jamie Packer, fresh King of Australia and devout Scientologist. When Tom and Katie were out here for The Goanna's funeral, Eddie and Jamie were spotted stealing off for late night audits in the stars' hotel room. If Eddie is indeed a Sci-Fi, we fear for the future of Channel 9 and the Collingwood Football Club.


Jamie Packer's preferred e-meter: The Hubbard Professional Mark Super VII