For the first time in history we are opening up our blog for comments to collect votes for the inaugural Turkey Of The Year Award.
And the nominees are:
FRIED TURKEY(S): The Bali 9 for thinking that, in the climate of Schapelle Corby, they could get away with strapping heroin to their bodies and going through Indonesian Customs.
ROAST TURKEY: Donatella Versace
SLICED TURKEY: Mickey Rourke
NOT TURKEY (VEGETARIAN ALTERNATIVE): Gwyneth Paltow
TURKEY BASTER: Michael Jackson/Debbie Rowe (take your pick)
WILD TURKEY: James Hewitt for consenting to hypnosis for the purposes of reality TV.
BUSH TURKEY: George Bush
CHRISTMAS LUNCH: russell crowe
EIN TRUTHAHN: Prince Harry for bearing the swastika.
TURKEY BREAST: Vicky Beckham
TURKEY LOAF: Steve Vizard
COLD TURKEY: Joe Korp
FROZEN TURKEY: Nicole Kidman.......sooooooo creepy
TURKEY NUGGET: Charles Spencer Crowe
STUFFED TURKEY: Katie Holmes
TURKEY BY POPULAR DEMAND: Michelle Leslie
Vote now via comment or email.
Turkey Of The Year will be announced sometime in the New Year when we get back from Sir Elton's Wedding.
punkandblanket@yahoo.com.au
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
First Visible Manifestation Online?
Oh My God! We've just logged on after a few days training for our volunteer jobs for the Commonwealth Games, and we can't believe what's happened! The picture we posted last Saturday has developed stigmata! We're contacting the Vatican re the manifestation, but at this stage we're pretty sure this is the first of it's kind online.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Father crowe
As we think it's clear that sooner or later New Zealand's russell crowe will move into politics, we have been entertaining ourselves lately with a game we call 'Pre-emptive crowe Job'. Basically the rules are you have to predict russell's political career path to the tune of one of the songs from My Hand My Heart (anyone using 30 Odd Foot of Grunts' songs is disqualified). So far some of our winning ideas have seen russell as a member of the Liberal Party (flexi L liberal), where he will assume the role of either Minister for Family and Community Services, Minister for Health, where he will work tirelessly to increase the size of the humidicrib in all Australian hospitals and birthing centres, Minister for Veteran Affairs (cos russell always wanted to be a Vietnam Vet), Prime Minister, for obvious reasons, or Governor General, because he, as a man of the people, could get away with sacking the Prime Minister if he didn't like him/her. But the other night, we were having a few Mini Baileys with our lifestyle coach, Claire Voyant and when we asked her if she wanted to play she said the game is completely on the wrong track as russell has bigger ideas, way bigger than Australia and New Zealand. He will found his own religion, The Church of the Rusty Nail. Claire reckons the signs are everywhere and that we've tapped into some of them already - crowe Impersonates Christ, the obvious allusions to stigmata in the titile My Hand My Heart and his new single Testify - so she was flabbergasted we'd wasted our time with politics. Even the band he plays with now are called Ordinary Fear of God (apparently 30 Odd Foot of Grunts referred to the size of Christ's cross, but it was too subtle, with most people believing it was some reference to the combined height of the band members). His constant vocalisation of his persecution (crucifixion) via 'the media', his strange obsession with 'His Son' AND his claims of friendship with the overt religophile, Nick Cave also illustrate his burgeoning messiah complex. When Claire laid all this out on the table we felt really, really stupid. Of course!
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
The Little Dano-Australian Prince
We are sick to death of the blubbering Prince Frederick of Denmark, his wife Mary (a former Australian) and their spawn. Mary has always really annoyed us, especially now that she speaks with that accent. She's been at us for months about having dinner with Bernard Fanning but we don't know Bernard Fanning so we can't help her. We thought they were friends seeing as he played at her wedding festivities in Copenhagen. And besides, even if we were friends with Bernard Fanning, we would not be introducing them because she is actually a creepy girl and he is so innocent (apparently).
We don't understand why Fred and Mary are going on about raising the child themselves, beginning with him sleeping one metre from their bed, when most parents we know would be going: "you live live in a bloody palace, you've got heaps o' cash and servants, get a nanny and give the kid his own room". Likewise we fail to comprehend the hysteria that has lead to widespread pyromania as Australians light bonfires all along our shores, apeing an ancient Danish ritual. Our drought stricken land could easily erupt in flames and burn. We find this careless and anachronistic, if millions were to lose their homes and lives in bushfires we think the couple should accept some responsibility.
At this point we think it relevant to mention that Fred used to go out with Morgan Fairchild.
We don't understand why Fred and Mary are going on about raising the child themselves, beginning with him sleeping one metre from their bed, when most parents we know would be going: "you live live in a bloody palace, you've got heaps o' cash and servants, get a nanny and give the kid his own room". Likewise we fail to comprehend the hysteria that has lead to widespread pyromania as Australians light bonfires all along our shores, apeing an ancient Danish ritual. Our drought stricken land could easily erupt in flames and burn. We find this careless and anachronistic, if millions were to lose their homes and lives in bushfires we think the couple should accept some responsibility.
At this point we think it relevant to mention that Fred used to go out with Morgan Fairchild.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Smoking Is Good
Because of smoking we get more breaks at work.
Because of smoking we have reason to leave rooms with children in them.
Because of smoking people know we are cool, so we don't have to try.
Because of smoking we get to sit outside at restaurants.
Because of smoking we laughed so hard with Mick Jagger we forgot (for a nanosecond) that he was famous.
Because of smoking we had sex with a waste management entrepreneur.
Because of smoking we met Jack Elliott and he invited us to lunch at his penthouse and asked us not to wear underwear.
Smoking is good.
Because of smoking we have reason to leave rooms with children in them.
Because of smoking people know we are cool, so we don't have to try.
Because of smoking we get to sit outside at restaurants.
Because of smoking we laughed so hard with Mick Jagger we forgot (for a nanosecond) that he was famous.
Because of smoking we had sex with a waste management entrepreneur.
Because of smoking we met Jack Elliott and he invited us to lunch at his penthouse and asked us not to wear underwear.
Smoking is good.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
The Daily Activities of Panda B. (Bandit) & His Master
Panda B. (Bandit) and His Master
Fetching the paper
Keeping up with global events
Out for a walk
His Master's frequent toilet stops frustrate Panda B. (Bandit)
Exercising off leash
Thursday, July 28, 2005
A Footballer's Anguish
Footballer (no name) came round to see us this afternoon. He wanted to talk about Pip, and Claire had referred him to us. He was unshaven and looked emotionally dehydrated so we offered him a refreshing cup of Rooibos tea with lemon and ginger. He said it wasn't his kind of thing and asked us if there was anything he could put his single serve sachet of protein powder in, so we whipped up a double egg banana soy smoothie. He poured the drink down his throat and looked expectantly towards us with his empty glass, so we made him a second one, throwing in an extra egg because he didn't have another sachet. Whilst he was digesting he sat quietly on the couch patting our Staffordshire Terrier with calm, long strokes. When he finally spoke he did so without stopping.
His affair with Phillipa began with a chance meeting at an opening at Collins 234 (The Place Where It's At!). He didn't really want to go because he's not interested in shopping but he was contractually obliged to attend. He didn't like the way the creative team who wrote the slogan "The Place Where It's At' were so full of themselves, cos anyone could have written that. He also thought the tram ads with the raven on the model's arm were both uninspired and misleading. We strongly agreed with Footballer (no name) as we too had been fooled by the false promises of that advertising campaign. He got talking to Phillipa and she invited him back to her gallery. She asked him to drive her Jeep as she was over the limit. Phillippa wasted no time seducing Footballer (no name) by disrobing in front of the Brett Whiteley's and pouring her glass of Chardonnay down her bosom, begging him to 'take' her. Intrigued by her mature sexuality Footballer (no name) gave in to his urges.
It's been going on now for a month, at first he thought she was really classy and he enjoyed her dirty sms's, even joining in her fairytale role playing, but now he's a bit grossed out. Sometimes he used to catch her staring at him and think it was lovely but then he started waking in the night to find her sitting on the bed looking down upon him, like he was in a manger, and that made things uncomfortable. Lately he's been feeling that Pip is more into Footballer (no name), the sport star, than Footballer (no name), the person. She always introduces him as a footballer and he's starting to think he could be any footballer or soccer player, or at least a tennis player. His Mum had warned him about women like this when he first got famous. The coach has had a word with him about that woman in robes who keeps hanging round the training sessions, and his manager has pressured him to keep his affairs quiet as he is a more bankable star when the ladies think he's single.
Footballer (no name) asked our advice on gently letting Pip go. For a moment we wondered if we should be circumspect but we couldn't be bothered, we hate Pip. We told him not to worry about being gentle, she was two-timing him with the raven wielding boy from the tram. Footballer (no name) was shocked as he'd met Grayam at the Collins 234 opening and had assumed he was Pip's son. No, we told him, handing him another vanilla slice, he's her lover, her toy boy, her Ashton.
His affair with Phillipa began with a chance meeting at an opening at Collins 234 (The Place Where It's At!). He didn't really want to go because he's not interested in shopping but he was contractually obliged to attend. He didn't like the way the creative team who wrote the slogan "The Place Where It's At' were so full of themselves, cos anyone could have written that. He also thought the tram ads with the raven on the model's arm were both uninspired and misleading. We strongly agreed with Footballer (no name) as we too had been fooled by the false promises of that advertising campaign. He got talking to Phillipa and she invited him back to her gallery. She asked him to drive her Jeep as she was over the limit. Phillippa wasted no time seducing Footballer (no name) by disrobing in front of the Brett Whiteley's and pouring her glass of Chardonnay down her bosom, begging him to 'take' her. Intrigued by her mature sexuality Footballer (no name) gave in to his urges.
It's been going on now for a month, at first he thought she was really classy and he enjoyed her dirty sms's, even joining in her fairytale role playing, but now he's a bit grossed out. Sometimes he used to catch her staring at him and think it was lovely but then he started waking in the night to find her sitting on the bed looking down upon him, like he was in a manger, and that made things uncomfortable. Lately he's been feeling that Pip is more into Footballer (no name), the sport star, than Footballer (no name), the person. She always introduces him as a footballer and he's starting to think he could be any footballer or soccer player, or at least a tennis player. His Mum had warned him about women like this when he first got famous. The coach has had a word with him about that woman in robes who keeps hanging round the training sessions, and his manager has pressured him to keep his affairs quiet as he is a more bankable star when the ladies think he's single.
Footballer (no name) asked our advice on gently letting Pip go. For a moment we wondered if we should be circumspect but we couldn't be bothered, we hate Pip. We told him not to worry about being gentle, she was two-timing him with the raven wielding boy from the tram. Footballer (no name) was shocked as he'd met Grayam at the Collins 234 opening and had assumed he was Pip's son. No, we told him, handing him another vanilla slice, he's her lover, her toy boy, her Ashton.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
crowe Impersonates Christ
russell crowe handed out lyric books to the audience at his 'sell out' (all 160 tickets went!) performance to promote his solo album. The New Zealander told his congregation to consider them 'hymn books', possibly spelt 'Him'.
If russell is at all sensitive to 'signs' then the vision of his laughing son would surely indicate that his religious path is Buddhism.
The Laughing Charlie
If russell is at all sensitive to 'signs' then the vision of his laughing son would surely indicate that his religious path is Buddhism.
The Laughing Charlie
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Sorry Steve
One Big Pig
Stole A Show
And Did TV
Trying To Pretend
He Wasn’t Greedy
One Big Pig
Tried To Eat
The State Crockery
Calling The Breaks
His Heartfelt Charity
One Big Pig
More And More
Still Not Enough
Got Caught Stealing
Going Got Tough
One Big Pig
Says He’s Sorry
Deeply Deeply Sorry
Disgraced Melbourne businessman steve vizard straining to smile at Melbourne Airport.
Stole A Show
And Did TV
Trying To Pretend
He Wasn’t Greedy
One Big Pig
Tried To Eat
The State Crockery
Calling The Breaks
His Heartfelt Charity
One Big Pig
More And More
Still Not Enough
Got Caught Stealing
Going Got Tough
One Big Pig
Says He’s Sorry
Deeply Deeply Sorry
Disgraced Melbourne businessman steve vizard straining to smile at Melbourne Airport.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Sandwich
The lunch at The Botanical™ really shook us up. Our thoughts were in a whirl. Ever since Pip came along there's been this tension between her and us and now she is coming between us and Claire, helped along by that little poser Grayam. We can handle being around dicks like Pip but when it threatens our relationship with our medium we lose our cool, hence the inbox incident. Claire is everything to us, she's the reason we are so successful, she's our Paul Burrell, our rock! We love her and feel confident that when we die she won't write books about us. What made us really mad was the fact that somehow we were being made to feel that we should have informed Claire about something that was Pip and Grayam's business. We were the meat in the sandwich.
We didn't have any Xanax left as we have been handing them out to our friends in stock broking who are afraid of psychiatrists. In situations like these we find active meditation is the only way to relax, dolphin sounds and breathing do nothing for this type of pathology, so we started to arrange our CD's into the Dewey Decimal Classification System. We kept getting distracted by playing various sad tracks from Claire's favourite and least favourite acts, like Sinead O'Connor and The Smiths respectively. Tears streamed down our cheeks two lines into Nothing Compares 2 U, by the second verse we were down on bended knees before Claire's photograph on our altar. Shaking from the uncontrollable sobs we embraced in an attempt to earth ourselves. Delirious with sorrow we found ourselves in the bathroom, razors in hand, about to shave our heads when something (probably an unseen force) brought us out of it and suddenly that unopened letter from Sir Elton possessed us. We dropped our razors and with shaving cream in our hair we raced to the studio to open it.
We had assumed it was the wedding invitation but seeing the secret address still shocked us. We shared a herbal cigarette and discussed our issues with Sir Elton. It was only this week we'd seen the pictures of Sir Elton's White Tie and Tiara Ball, which showed his impropriety. In the climate of Live 8, David and Elton curiously chose an African theme, which involved the use of wildlife (zebra, gorilla's, giraffes etc) and desserts of chocolate huts with coconut roofs. Apart from the immorality of the celebrities eating the homes of African villagers, it is outrageously wasteful as most of the party goers were thinner than the folk living in the huts - Liz Hurley wouldn't have touched it and Eva Herzigova gave hers to the giraffes - although Linda Evangelista and Diana Ross did share a coconut roof. As Australians we're wondering what it is with these affluent Britons and their African themes? This sort or thing really stirs our inner-communist and we'll need to decide if we will forgive Sir Elton his trespasses.
Sustaining and juggling friendships in this day and age is difficult and sometimes it can become overwhelming. We just want harmony with others but we felt broken, the shattered pieces of our confidence floating weightless around the room. Fatigue began to set in and we slept fitfully, waking each other up with our screams, finding ourselves still on the couch bathed in our own sweat. If Claire hadn't texted us then and there we don't know what would have become of us. Her message was simple - my anger this afternoon was misdirected sorry love you claire x. The relief was amazing, we were new people, and we were free.
CHOCO SHOCKO
DAVID AND SIR ELTON'S PARTY SAFARI
COCONUT ISN'T FATTENING
VICKY BECKHAM WITH APE
We didn't have any Xanax left as we have been handing them out to our friends in stock broking who are afraid of psychiatrists. In situations like these we find active meditation is the only way to relax, dolphin sounds and breathing do nothing for this type of pathology, so we started to arrange our CD's into the Dewey Decimal Classification System. We kept getting distracted by playing various sad tracks from Claire's favourite and least favourite acts, like Sinead O'Connor and The Smiths respectively. Tears streamed down our cheeks two lines into Nothing Compares 2 U, by the second verse we were down on bended knees before Claire's photograph on our altar. Shaking from the uncontrollable sobs we embraced in an attempt to earth ourselves. Delirious with sorrow we found ourselves in the bathroom, razors in hand, about to shave our heads when something (probably an unseen force) brought us out of it and suddenly that unopened letter from Sir Elton possessed us. We dropped our razors and with shaving cream in our hair we raced to the studio to open it.
We had assumed it was the wedding invitation but seeing the secret address still shocked us. We shared a herbal cigarette and discussed our issues with Sir Elton. It was only this week we'd seen the pictures of Sir Elton's White Tie and Tiara Ball, which showed his impropriety. In the climate of Live 8, David and Elton curiously chose an African theme, which involved the use of wildlife (zebra, gorilla's, giraffes etc) and desserts of chocolate huts with coconut roofs. Apart from the immorality of the celebrities eating the homes of African villagers, it is outrageously wasteful as most of the party goers were thinner than the folk living in the huts - Liz Hurley wouldn't have touched it and Eva Herzigova gave hers to the giraffes - although Linda Evangelista and Diana Ross did share a coconut roof. As Australians we're wondering what it is with these affluent Britons and their African themes? This sort or thing really stirs our inner-communist and we'll need to decide if we will forgive Sir Elton his trespasses.
Sustaining and juggling friendships in this day and age is difficult and sometimes it can become overwhelming. We just want harmony with others but we felt broken, the shattered pieces of our confidence floating weightless around the room. Fatigue began to set in and we slept fitfully, waking each other up with our screams, finding ourselves still on the couch bathed in our own sweat. If Claire hadn't texted us then and there we don't know what would have become of us. Her message was simple - my anger this afternoon was misdirected sorry love you claire x. The relief was amazing, we were new people, and we were free.
CHOCO SHOCKO
DAVID AND SIR ELTON'S PARTY SAFARI
COCONUT ISN'T FATTENING
VICKY BECKHAM WITH APE
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
No Future For Grayam
As Pip has been on our backs about wanting to say sorry to Claire we arranged a reconciliation lunch at The Botanical Hotel™ in South Yarra. We've been quite apprehensive as Claire still doesn't know that Grayam and Pip are an item, nor is she aware of Grayam's burgeoning modeling career and she's going through one of her really intense anti-male-model cycles. Going out with Claire in winter is usually a pain because she smokes and we have to sit outside, but global warming has it's benefits as today was another summer's day in July.
Pip was only five minutes late but very apologetic and tried to reassure us that her and Steve Vizard were only acquaintances and that her shares in those businesses were a gift from her grandparents. We didn't know Pip knew the disgraced Steve Vizard, and we don't know him either so it was all a bit weird. We have little to no interest in finance. Whatever Pip!
The lunch went well with Pip impressing Claire with her direct apology, looking Claire straight in the eye. They were friends again by entree (Six freshly shucked Tasmanian oysters, properly garnished) and we all had a cheery conversation about the controversial contestants on Big Brother. It was the first time we were able to partake in the subject without having flashbacks so we were pretty jolly too. We overlooked the constant message alert beep of Pip's mobile phone and her frequent trips to the Botanical Wine Wall™ because she kept bringing back killer bottles of New Zealand white, and she was paying the bill. It started to get nerve-racking when the name Grayam fell from Pip's lips, like every few sentences. By the time we'd had our main course (Miso caramelised Patagonian toothfish with fried oysters, crab & seaweed salad) it became apparent that Pip had been seeing Grayam for sometime and we hadn't told Claire. Our paranoia was unfounded as Claire seemed okay with it, she's progressive in that old school way. Just as we started to relax Pip screeched "The Tram!, The Tram!" as Grayam's stupid pouting face one and a half metres high on the side of the Number 8 passed by. Claire stiffened in her chair whilst Pip who seemed oblivious skipped off to the Wine Wall™ again. Her face redden and as tight lipped as Arki Busson with tears welling in her eyes Claire looked at us and said, "My grandson is a model and you didn't think it important enough to tell me. Grayam has no future". Sobbing, she got up and left taking one of the Botanical™'s linen napkins with her. We were shaken but clear headed enough to tell the waiter to charge the napkin to Pip's account because stealing is wrong. While we were waiting for our dessert (24crt gold leaf Valhrona chocolate nemesis with wood roasted, caramelised figs) Pip's phone beeped yet again. We know it is unethical to invade someone's privacy but curiousity and resentment got the better of us. The message read, "dear little red riding hood I want to eat your basket of goodies love the big bad wolf", and it was from 'footballer'.
When Pip came back to the table she asked us where Claire was and we told her she had left because of the male model business. Breathing Malborough Sauvignon Blanc Pip starts yelling at us for not informing Claire of Grayam's rising star. We retaliated by asking her who 'footballer' aka Big Bad Wolf was. Silence engulfed the table as Pip gathered her luggage style handbag and cheese cutter hat. With nostrils flared and bulging eyes she spat, "Going through someone's inbox is the lowest of low. You two are nothing but self-righteous know-it-alls who live vicariously through your friends". She then left, leaving us the bill.
Grayam (centre, with raven) on the trouble causing tram
Click here to see the exciting Botanical™ Movie!
Pip was only five minutes late but very apologetic and tried to reassure us that her and Steve Vizard were only acquaintances and that her shares in those businesses were a gift from her grandparents. We didn't know Pip knew the disgraced Steve Vizard, and we don't know him either so it was all a bit weird. We have little to no interest in finance. Whatever Pip!
The lunch went well with Pip impressing Claire with her direct apology, looking Claire straight in the eye. They were friends again by entree (Six freshly shucked Tasmanian oysters, properly garnished) and we all had a cheery conversation about the controversial contestants on Big Brother. It was the first time we were able to partake in the subject without having flashbacks so we were pretty jolly too. We overlooked the constant message alert beep of Pip's mobile phone and her frequent trips to the Botanical Wine Wall™ because she kept bringing back killer bottles of New Zealand white, and she was paying the bill. It started to get nerve-racking when the name Grayam fell from Pip's lips, like every few sentences. By the time we'd had our main course (Miso caramelised Patagonian toothfish with fried oysters, crab & seaweed salad) it became apparent that Pip had been seeing Grayam for sometime and we hadn't told Claire. Our paranoia was unfounded as Claire seemed okay with it, she's progressive in that old school way. Just as we started to relax Pip screeched "The Tram!, The Tram!" as Grayam's stupid pouting face one and a half metres high on the side of the Number 8 passed by. Claire stiffened in her chair whilst Pip who seemed oblivious skipped off to the Wine Wall™ again. Her face redden and as tight lipped as Arki Busson with tears welling in her eyes Claire looked at us and said, "My grandson is a model and you didn't think it important enough to tell me. Grayam has no future". Sobbing, she got up and left taking one of the Botanical™'s linen napkins with her. We were shaken but clear headed enough to tell the waiter to charge the napkin to Pip's account because stealing is wrong. While we were waiting for our dessert (24crt gold leaf Valhrona chocolate nemesis with wood roasted, caramelised figs) Pip's phone beeped yet again. We know it is unethical to invade someone's privacy but curiousity and resentment got the better of us. The message read, "dear little red riding hood I want to eat your basket of goodies love the big bad wolf", and it was from 'footballer'.
When Pip came back to the table she asked us where Claire was and we told her she had left because of the male model business. Breathing Malborough Sauvignon Blanc Pip starts yelling at us for not informing Claire of Grayam's rising star. We retaliated by asking her who 'footballer' aka Big Bad Wolf was. Silence engulfed the table as Pip gathered her luggage style handbag and cheese cutter hat. With nostrils flared and bulging eyes she spat, "Going through someone's inbox is the lowest of low. You two are nothing but self-righteous know-it-alls who live vicariously through your friends". She then left, leaving us the bill.
Grayam (centre, with raven) on the trouble causing tram
Click here to see the exciting Botanical™ Movie!
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Surprise Invite
About a week ago an unmistakable envelope arrived in the post. We've seen that paper many times before. To appease guilt brought on by his endless consumption, Sir Elton John recycles his flowers into paper and, like his favourite late Princess, he loves a thank you note - not that we've gotten any since the scene on the Gold Coast earlier this year. The envelope has been sitting on our desk reeking of Sir Elton's custom made fragrance (a gift from David), all this time as we've been wrestling with our pride. We know it's The Wedding Invitation. We'd been expecting Sir Elton to extend an olive branch but we never thought David would let him invite us to the wedding. It's thrown us into emotional turmoil because to tell the truth, we buried that friendship long ago (something that was surprisingly easy to do with no counseling required) and now our ability to forgive is being challenged. On another level, we have been perplexed by Sir Elton publicly nuzzling around Sir Moses Geldof, promising to bring him the lamb of Pete Doherty.
Wanted: Carpenter After a Big Job
New Zealand's russell crowe recently asked one of our mates in carpentry to build the not-so-little Charlie Spencer Crowe's bedroom. He declined because the job was too big and he has no experience in barn construction. If anyone in the Coffs Harbour locale is after some long-term labour, we suggest you contact Nana Glen ASAP.
russell's vision for Charlie's space
russell's vision for Charlie's space
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Let's Play 6 Degrees of Desperation!
1. TOM CRUISE
disturbingly engaged to
2. KATIE HOLMES
who is 'saving herself' sexually 'till she's married, like
3. GUY SEBASTIAN
who won Australian Idol, judged by former one-hit wonder
4. MARK HOLDEN
who got bashed up by
5. TIM ROGERS
who said he'd rather slit his throat than be as hopeless and desperate as
6. INXS
disturbingly engaged to
2. KATIE HOLMES
who is 'saving herself' sexually 'till she's married, like
3. GUY SEBASTIAN
who won Australian Idol, judged by former one-hit wonder
4. MARK HOLDEN
who got bashed up by
5. TIM ROGERS
who said he'd rather slit his throat than be as hopeless and desperate as
6. INXS
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Friday, June 10, 2005
Prayer For Michael (reprise)
michael,
say you didn't
touch the children.
oh mike,
say you didn't
touch them there
in Never Neverland
with your
never never hands
cos you know
its really,
really
bad.
Amen.
Originally posted July 2004
say you didn't
touch the children.
oh mike,
say you didn't
touch them there
in Never Neverland
with your
never never hands
cos you know
its really,
really
bad.
Amen.
Originally posted July 2004
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
What Next For New Zealand's Mental Case?
The sun was going down and we had just thrown our russ-filled rocks into the sea (as per Claire's instructions - see previous post) when we heard the good news: russell crowe has finally been arrested in Manhattan. He chucked a phone at a hotel employee and lacerated the poor boy's face. Not convinced by russell yet again spinning his usual good husband/dad line - that his telephone call with 'his family' got interrupted - we called our friends at the NYPD. They surprisingly informed us the family angle was true and directed us to the Coffs Harbour Police, Local Area Command (also our mates) with whom they are conducting a joint investigation. The guys reckon that a long-winded conversation between Danielle and her husband drove the hungry and heavy-set Charles Spencer Crowe to gnaw through the telephone cord.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Cleansing Rituals For Anyone Who Has Been Exposed To My Hand My Heart By russell crowe
My Grandson Grayam recently returned from a weekend in Coffs Harbour. russell crowe invited him to his farm called Nana Glen; it seems russell wants him to play the 'young russell' in a film clip for his next single. Grayam just can't stop talking about russell, who gave him a swag (literally) of his latest album, My Hand My Heart. I got a special signed copy, Grayam said russell was quite insistent that I listen to it. To be honest I wasn't really interested but I played it as all things should be received with grace. Unfortunately, I had a negative and violent reaction, and I have only just come to. I was half way through the song called Worst In The World when I had to run to the bathroom where I vomited black wool for approximately 23 hours. In between bouts I lay on the cool tiles, sucking the moisture from a soggy towel. If you have any adverse side effects from this music I suggest you perform the following cleansing rituals to rid yourself of russell's woolly demons.
Smudging
Smudging can be used to eliminate negative energy fields from any technology involved, this includes computers, car stereos, ipods etc. (when cleansing your ipod it is imperative to run the battery down completely first). I like to use sage as it is good for banishing dark forces. I usually use Ceremonial White Sage, but garden sage works equally well. Work in one direction, spiraling to the centre using the classic Counter Clockwise Banishing Manoeuvre.
You can use a smudge stick. I prefer a small wad of the leaves. Carry a heatproof container (ashtray) in your left hand; the smudge in your right. If you use leaves or a smudge stick, knock the ashes off often, so you won't catch anything on fire (avoid nylon garments). It's a good idea to keep a container of water close by, just in case.
For severe contamination bury your technology under a pile of your favourite CD's (original, not pirates) on the eve of a full moon night. Retrieve on the following half moon.
Self Purification Ritual
Using a bowl you have an everyday relationship with, fill with spring water (not evian) and three pinches of salt. When you are ready breathe russell's woolly demons into the salt water where they will dissolve away. Repeat until all images (aural or visual) of russell crowe have passed out of your body. Carry the bowl to the sink and flush water down with cold running water. Smudge yourself with jasmine or lavender.
Smudging outdoors (photo courtesy of Coffs Harbour Smudging Society).
Getting Rid Of Nasty Astral Slime
Sit in nature at sunset holding a stone (any stone will do). Project all the nasty slimy and inky feeling you picked up from this ordeal into the stone and then say:
I release this astral slime
And all darkness which is not mine
I let go of all that may have harmed
My aura is bright, all russ released
And I am charmed
Now throw the rock into a body of water preferably as the sun drops below the horizon and be conscious of its fading light taking away any astral slime in your energy field.
I hope these will help those whose lives have been polluted. To those remaining untouched, remember - prevention is better than cure.
CV x
Friday, May 27, 2005
Poem 4 The Pit Dog
Miners taught
‘em how to fight
Yet they held ‘em
Close to keep warm
At night
It made ‘em tough
But loving too
So pleasing is the
Only thing they
Wanna do
They can’t help
The disaster
When a master
Lives through
His dog
Saturday, May 14, 2005
russell crowe Lower Case Appeal
Our mission is to bring russell crowe back down to Earth. From now on we will only write his name in lower case, thereby stripping him of his Proper Noun status. We urge all members of the media, and the planet as a whole, to do likewise. It may seem trivial to some however there are many issues at hand, the biggest one being russell's head. Join us in this grassroots crusade. The russell crowe Lower Case Appeal needs your help!
Friday, May 13, 2005
New Zealand's Megalomaniac Knows NO Boundaries
Will New Zealand's Russell Crowe ever stop?
His delusions of grandeur are triggering anxiety within us. If he is not medicated soon, we may have to resort to pharmaceuticals or voluntary admission to a psychiatric facility ourselves. Within the last two weeks we have had to brace ourselves before reading the morning's broadsheets, something we used to find relaxing. It appears nothing is sacred to this seemingly ubiquitous self-styled sage. We don't know if it's the birth of the plump Charlie Spencer Crowe or if Russell, following in the footsteps of Kung Fu's David Carradine, has become the Master and Commander, but NZ's Russ cannot stop giving advice. Whether it be the Prime Minister of Australia, the 3rd in line to the British Throne or parents around the globe, the Crowings are coming through thick and fast. Recent transgressions include:
DEMANDING the Australian government disregard the sovereignty of the nation of Indonesia and intervene in the Schapelle Corby matter.
BLABBING about his friendship with Prince Henry (Harry) to promote his solo album.
BANGING on and on about fatherhood and how great it is to be the Dad of the large-ish Charlie.
We used to admire the Kiwi's acting skills - he made a great Neo-Nazi - but now we are unable to separate the actor and the celebrity. Like anyone else we can suspend our disbelief, but the last Russell Crowe movie we saw found us contemplating which scenes Russell had rewritten.
Charles Spencer Crowe at 3 months
His delusions of grandeur are triggering anxiety within us. If he is not medicated soon, we may have to resort to pharmaceuticals or voluntary admission to a psychiatric facility ourselves. Within the last two weeks we have had to brace ourselves before reading the morning's broadsheets, something we used to find relaxing. It appears nothing is sacred to this seemingly ubiquitous self-styled sage. We don't know if it's the birth of the plump Charlie Spencer Crowe or if Russell, following in the footsteps of Kung Fu's David Carradine, has become the Master and Commander, but NZ's Russ cannot stop giving advice. Whether it be the Prime Minister of Australia, the 3rd in line to the British Throne or parents around the globe, the Crowings are coming through thick and fast. Recent transgressions include:
DEMANDING the Australian government disregard the sovereignty of the nation of Indonesia and intervene in the Schapelle Corby matter.
BLABBING about his friendship with Prince Henry (Harry) to promote his solo album.
BANGING on and on about fatherhood and how great it is to be the Dad of the large-ish Charlie.
We used to admire the Kiwi's acting skills - he made a great Neo-Nazi - but now we are unable to separate the actor and the celebrity. Like anyone else we can suspend our disbelief, but the last Russell Crowe movie we saw found us contemplating which scenes Russell had rewritten.
Charles Spencer Crowe at 3 months
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Caution Bernard
As Bernard Fanning records his solo album, we feel the time has come to offer a gentle warning: Bernard, the path you are choosing is fraught with danger. Others before you have broken free from their groups to release material on their own and the results speak for themselves:
Brian McFadden - dumps his band, dumps his wife and dumps his album on us.
Katie Underwood - had moderate success after leaving Popstars' Bardot but was last seen working on reception at the Banish Laser Hair Removal Clinic on Commercial Rd, South Yarra.
Michael Hutchence - was recording his solo album when the stress of it all drove him to seek the ultimate relief.
Paul McCartney - John Lennon would NEVER have let him release Mull of Kintyre.
Mick Jagger - solo album was almost as chilling as his portrayal of our Ned Kelly.
Bernard, if you require any further examples, need counseling or if you just need someone to pick you up, don't hesitate to contact us as this isn't the first time we have worried for you. We didn't understand why you took your group to the Danish Royal Wedding Celebrations. We have truck with Princess Marketing of Denmark, she is a square. We didn't RSVP to the weddding invitation, we are using it to make filters for our special cigarettes.
Brian McFadden - dumps his band, dumps his wife and dumps his album on us.
Katie Underwood - had moderate success after leaving Popstars' Bardot but was last seen working on reception at the Banish Laser Hair Removal Clinic on Commercial Rd, South Yarra.
Michael Hutchence - was recording his solo album when the stress of it all drove him to seek the ultimate relief.
Paul McCartney - John Lennon would NEVER have let him release Mull of Kintyre.
Mick Jagger - solo album was almost as chilling as his portrayal of our Ned Kelly.
Bernard, if you require any further examples, need counseling or if you just need someone to pick you up, don't hesitate to contact us as this isn't the first time we have worried for you. We didn't understand why you took your group to the Danish Royal Wedding Celebrations. We have truck with Princess Marketing of Denmark, she is a square. We didn't RSVP to the weddding invitation, we are using it to make filters for our special cigarettes.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Baffling Moments in the History of Popular Culture #1
* Chrissie Hynde recording a duet with New Zealand's Russell Crowe.
* Yoko Ono records Walking on Thin Ice.
* Walking on Thin Ice becomes a Dance hit.
* INXS' search for Michael Hutchence that began with Terrence Trent D'arby and is culminating in a reality TV show where people compete for Michael's old job.
* Gretel Killeen and Saxon Small doing it.
* The success of Rove McManus, the bastard child of Tony Barber and Jimmy Hannan.
* Yoko Ono records Walking on Thin Ice.
* Walking on Thin Ice becomes a Dance hit.
* INXS' search for Michael Hutchence that began with Terrence Trent D'arby and is culminating in a reality TV show where people compete for Michael's old job.
* Gretel Killeen and Saxon Small doing it.
* The success of Rove McManus, the bastard child of Tony Barber and Jimmy Hannan.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Bali 9 Commemorative T-Shirt Offer
Available in Bonds sizes small, medium, large, and extra large.
40 bucks.
White only.
Send your order to punkandblanket@yahoo.com.au. First in, best dressed.
T-Shirt #1
T-Shirt #2
T-Shirt #3
40 bucks.
White only.
Send your order to punkandblanket@yahoo.com.au. First in, best dressed.
T-Shirt #1
T-Shirt #2
T-Shirt #3
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Monday, April 18, 2005
Crystal Dig Goes Horribly Wrong
We've had enough of Claire's new bestie Pippa from New Zealand. We are not covetous and we are not paranoid, our disquiet is shod by a long history of witnessing the sideshow of unsteady people who misconstrue Claire's purity as weakness and attempt to manipulate her, only to be shocked into suspended animation when she exposes them by letting them know she really can see their souls. We've seen them come and go, so the other day when we went round to Claire's for her half yearly crystal dig on a waning moon we were in for another spectacle. Pip was there, sitting on Murray's Jason Recliner, next to Claire in her's, watching The Bold And The Beautiful on the huge TV (Claire has the biggest and best tele of anyone we know, including our former friend Sir Elton). The arm rests of Claire's recliners are so greasy from wear that your arms can slide off, so it was hilarious to see Pip top to toe in Trelise Cooper looking like a kooky fairy caught in a grease trap. We had to be nice to her because the crystal digs are sacred events. Things got a touch hairy when we mentioned that the tattoos the Maoris had in Once Were Warriors were really cool because Pip tried to belittle us by starting on about the 'bourgeois gaze'. We didn't snap, we didn't send bad vibes; we took it on the chin because we knew Pip was feeling empowered by this intellectual nonsense and we generally find it's best to let these kinds of people think they have the final say.
Pip was constantly referring to her much younger boyfriend back in Auckland, and the more Baileys she downed the more explicit her talk became. Claire was too gripped on the Greyhound Races on Foxtel so Pip zoned in on us. It turns out the young man has spent time in ashrams in Bali where he learnt the fine art of Tantrism, and he has taken her to raves where she has had ecstasy. Another Baileys and she's telling us (with graphic detail) of the pleasures she derives from his tongue piercing. It's been some months now since our hospitalisation for post traumatic stress disorder induced by the Gretel Killeen/Saxon Small coupling but we are still vulnerable and need to avoid certain situations that can trigger re-experiencing phenomena such as dreams and flashbacks so Pip was really playing with our nerves. Claire sensed the emergency and took her eyes off the dogs to ask Pip to go smudge the backyard with sage in preparation for the crystal dig.
When the doorbell rang Pip ran to answer it as we were still vaporising on the carpet. It was Grayam, Claire's grandson who'd come down for his Gran's dig from Byron Bay because his moon is in Virgo and it was a Virgo moon on the wane. We've heard a lot about Grayam from Claire as she has been concerned by his lack of spiritual depth, suspicious that his interest in mysticism is merely to find out when he will be famous. He hangs around with a superficial boy called Oscar Humphries, a child of an Australian icon who, in an autobiographical piece for a major broadsheet wrote:“Celebrities have groupies and fans and adoration and love on tap and gushing praise and requests for autographs…I want that. If I were famous girls would want a piece of me and I’d give it to them.” Last year Claire spent a lot of time absent healing Grayam when he became lost in cyberspace. He was constantly posting on the forum at vogue.com.au Apart from chatting up the Voguettes he found a place where he could freely discuss his right wing views. As he walked into the room he seemed like any other brand of awkward youth in floppy jeans with holes and paint spots. Pip rolled a joint and passed it to Grayam who sucked on it so hard we thought the dust buster had turned itself on. We didn't partake as we know Claire feels it interferes with the energy of the crystals so Pip kept rolling and Grayam kept sucking. They engaged in a flirtateous discourse about joint rolling techniques with Pip quick to point out that she preferred the Hawaiian Method. Grayam asked Pip if she had been to Hawaii and Pip said "no", she learnt it in Berlin. Then Pip told Grayam that he had a unique look and asked him if he'd ever modelled.
Just at the point where we'd had enough of Pip's red-eyed pawing at Grayam the alarm on Claire's stove went off; it had been exactly six months since the crystals were buried and it was time to dig them up. Claire was particularly excited because these were the crystals she had used for extensive healing sessions with a footballer (no name). The crystals' energy had become dangerously depleted. They were cloudy, and had begun to repel Claire's attentions, hence the six month cleansing period. We instinctively marched behind Claire into the backyard, assuming Pip and Grayam would be following. We shovelled for about an hour without stopping. We did not notice the absence of Grayam and Pip, such was our focus, even though their presence would have lightened our load considerably.
After our excavation was complete with the re-energized crystals home in Claire's Healing Box we went back inside. The scene we observed there was, in short, vulgar. Grayam was pouting into Pip's camera phone, with Pip slurring about 'the new Travis' and mms'ing his image to her friends at Chadwicks and Mercedes Fashion Week. Now, Claire is a tolerant person but there is one thing that boils her blood and that is male models. It really is the worst thing that could happen to Claire. When we saw that look in Claire's eyes and heard that throaty hum we knew to stand back. With hands splayed by her sides she began to sing as she approached the couch whilst singing;
There is freedom within
There is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a papercup
Pip starts to sway her shoulders in time with the beat. Deadpan, Claire inches towards her continuing her song.
There's a battle ahead
Many battles are lost
But you'll never see the end of the road
While you're travelling with me
Pip openly grieves for the late Paul Hester.
Hey now, hey now
Don't Dream It's Over
Hey now, hey now
Pip trys to start a debate as to whether Crowded House were an Australian or a New Zealand band. She clearly wasn't getting it, it was time to put her out of her misery. We said, "Philippa, this ain't no party, this ain't no disco, it's a crystal dig, you are being sung*, we suggest you go". We called Murray to come and sit with Claire as she was extremely shaken. We bundled Grayam and Pip into the car and drove them home. We're choosing not to tell Claire that Grayam got out at Pip's house.
* Ancient Australian Aboriginal justice ritual in which the victim is literally "sung" to death.
Pip was constantly referring to her much younger boyfriend back in Auckland, and the more Baileys she downed the more explicit her talk became. Claire was too gripped on the Greyhound Races on Foxtel so Pip zoned in on us. It turns out the young man has spent time in ashrams in Bali where he learnt the fine art of Tantrism, and he has taken her to raves where she has had ecstasy. Another Baileys and she's telling us (with graphic detail) of the pleasures she derives from his tongue piercing. It's been some months now since our hospitalisation for post traumatic stress disorder induced by the Gretel Killeen/Saxon Small coupling but we are still vulnerable and need to avoid certain situations that can trigger re-experiencing phenomena such as dreams and flashbacks so Pip was really playing with our nerves. Claire sensed the emergency and took her eyes off the dogs to ask Pip to go smudge the backyard with sage in preparation for the crystal dig.
When the doorbell rang Pip ran to answer it as we were still vaporising on the carpet. It was Grayam, Claire's grandson who'd come down for his Gran's dig from Byron Bay because his moon is in Virgo and it was a Virgo moon on the wane. We've heard a lot about Grayam from Claire as she has been concerned by his lack of spiritual depth, suspicious that his interest in mysticism is merely to find out when he will be famous. He hangs around with a superficial boy called Oscar Humphries, a child of an Australian icon who, in an autobiographical piece for a major broadsheet wrote:“Celebrities have groupies and fans and adoration and love on tap and gushing praise and requests for autographs…I want that. If I were famous girls would want a piece of me and I’d give it to them.” Last year Claire spent a lot of time absent healing Grayam when he became lost in cyberspace. He was constantly posting on the forum at vogue.com.au Apart from chatting up the Voguettes he found a place where he could freely discuss his right wing views. As he walked into the room he seemed like any other brand of awkward youth in floppy jeans with holes and paint spots. Pip rolled a joint and passed it to Grayam who sucked on it so hard we thought the dust buster had turned itself on. We didn't partake as we know Claire feels it interferes with the energy of the crystals so Pip kept rolling and Grayam kept sucking. They engaged in a flirtateous discourse about joint rolling techniques with Pip quick to point out that she preferred the Hawaiian Method. Grayam asked Pip if she had been to Hawaii and Pip said "no", she learnt it in Berlin. Then Pip told Grayam that he had a unique look and asked him if he'd ever modelled.
Just at the point where we'd had enough of Pip's red-eyed pawing at Grayam the alarm on Claire's stove went off; it had been exactly six months since the crystals were buried and it was time to dig them up. Claire was particularly excited because these were the crystals she had used for extensive healing sessions with a footballer (no name). The crystals' energy had become dangerously depleted. They were cloudy, and had begun to repel Claire's attentions, hence the six month cleansing period. We instinctively marched behind Claire into the backyard, assuming Pip and Grayam would be following. We shovelled for about an hour without stopping. We did not notice the absence of Grayam and Pip, such was our focus, even though their presence would have lightened our load considerably.
After our excavation was complete with the re-energized crystals home in Claire's Healing Box we went back inside. The scene we observed there was, in short, vulgar. Grayam was pouting into Pip's camera phone, with Pip slurring about 'the new Travis' and mms'ing his image to her friends at Chadwicks and Mercedes Fashion Week. Now, Claire is a tolerant person but there is one thing that boils her blood and that is male models. It really is the worst thing that could happen to Claire. When we saw that look in Claire's eyes and heard that throaty hum we knew to stand back. With hands splayed by her sides she began to sing as she approached the couch whilst singing;
There is freedom within
There is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a papercup
Pip starts to sway her shoulders in time with the beat. Deadpan, Claire inches towards her continuing her song.
There's a battle ahead
Many battles are lost
But you'll never see the end of the road
While you're travelling with me
Pip openly grieves for the late Paul Hester.
Hey now, hey now
Don't Dream It's Over
Hey now, hey now
Pip trys to start a debate as to whether Crowded House were an Australian or a New Zealand band. She clearly wasn't getting it, it was time to put her out of her misery. We said, "Philippa, this ain't no party, this ain't no disco, it's a crystal dig, you are being sung*, we suggest you go". We called Murray to come and sit with Claire as she was extremely shaken. We bundled Grayam and Pip into the car and drove them home. We're choosing not to tell Claire that Grayam got out at Pip's house.
* Ancient Australian Aboriginal justice ritual in which the victim is literally "sung" to death.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Thorpie's Dry Year
As everyone in the world is aware, Our Thorpie is having a year off swimming. He is making full use of his new found dry time to explore his darker side. There is the obivious manifestation through dying his hair black, but it's the inner stuff he's really getting into. Here are some of Ian's current lifestyle habits:
In his iPod - Evanescence, Sisters of Mercy, The Cure, Nick Cave (Bad Seeds, Birthday Party, Boys Next Door), Patti Smith, The Smiths, Joy Division and The Stranglers.
On his bedside table - Crash by J.G. Ballard (this is of some concern given Ian's recent appearance at Motorsport events).
His screensaver - Black
This seasons wardrobe - Mad Max Chic.
Dinner party conversation for 2005 - Russian literature of the early 20th century, German expressionism and The Old Testament.
In his iPod - Evanescence, Sisters of Mercy, The Cure, Nick Cave (Bad Seeds, Birthday Party, Boys Next Door), Patti Smith, The Smiths, Joy Division and The Stranglers.
On his bedside table - Crash by J.G. Ballard (this is of some concern given Ian's recent appearance at Motorsport events).
His screensaver - Black
This seasons wardrobe - Mad Max Chic.
Dinner party conversation for 2005 - Russian literature of the early 20th century, German expressionism and The Old Testament.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Return To Timbertop: Part 2
By the time the sun rose Charles had already gathered bush tucker, started a fire and had a pot of billy tea going. Ever since Timbertop Charles has been an early riser which is not really our style. We knew we could luxuriate in the tent cos Charles is one of those aristocrats who love to 'play servant'. After breakfast we set off for our bushwalk. It was a beautiful day, the dappled light through the eucalypti made us proud to be Australian.
We didn't waste anytime getting to the crux of things because a chopper was coming to collect HRH in three hours. He had to do a meet and greet in Sydney at lunchtime (the doppelganger can't do official duties because he has a high voice like David Beckham). After assisting Charles with the fastening of His parasol harness - His large sausage-like fingers fumbling with the buckles - we asked Him about the appointment of The Knights of the British Commonwealth. Charles chuckled and rolled His eyes, "Tony just tells Mother who's worthy in his opinion. If you ask me it's like Top of the Pops these days," He said. We agreed with Him and expressed our distrust of one Sir Mick Jagger and one Sir Paul McCartney. Sure, they were both part of some important movements in music history, but we have issues with both of them. Like once, we nearly came to blows with Sir Mick after climbing a volcano in Bali. It was at the time of the French nuclear tests in the Pacific. Mick and some of his sychophants were banging on about Evian mineral water. We could not take the boredom any longer as we had been led to believe that Sir Mick was an intellectual, so in our best Australian accents we damned the French, their bombs and their stupid chalky tasting mineral water. Sir Mick's reaction was very extreme; his face went all red and the veins in his neck were protruding as he shouted at us "You Australians have no right to complain! You knew this was part of Chirac's platform and you did NOTHING about it until now!" The sychophants were aghast and clearly unsure as to what to do next. We were also under pressure to come up with something smart as a retort. We shut Mick up by informing him of the simple truth that what the French were doing in the Pacific was out of synch with modern thought. Charles nodded sympathetically. "He just missed the point, didn't he?" He said as He handed us a banksia, which was lovely but we couldn't stop staring at those sausage fingers consuming the flower.
Sometimes He walked on ahead of us because He is rarely alone with nature. We felt privileged to be party to His meditation. We sat quietly whilst Charles had a snuggle with some Messmate Stringybarks (eucalyptus obliqua). With bits of bark and tree falling all over the place, due to the parasol bashing into the trunk everytime He nuzzled in, Charles recited them a haiku about the origins of their name (our black brothers say they 'make a bloody mess mate'). He also took lots of photographs so that He could paint the landscape during the English winter in the Balmoral studio He shares with Harry. It may have been the heat or some kind of allergic reaction to the Messmates but we could not help noticing that the royal sausages were getting quite taut. He Himself seemed uncomfortable with their size, and tried to keep His hands in His pockets. We tried hard not to stare and resisted the urge to prick them, like any self respecting Australian would. His vulnerablilty apparent, we felt it was a good time to ask THE question as to why His Mum wasn't going to the townhall part of the wedding. He went all quiet and for a minute we thought we'd bitten off more than we could chew but He turned to us, and with a look of relief said "punk, blanket, Mother is surrounded by ancient twits who give her bad advice". After that we observed a distinct deflation of his ballooned digits.
We didn't waste anytime getting to the crux of things because a chopper was coming to collect HRH in three hours. He had to do a meet and greet in Sydney at lunchtime (the doppelganger can't do official duties because he has a high voice like David Beckham). After assisting Charles with the fastening of His parasol harness - His large sausage-like fingers fumbling with the buckles - we asked Him about the appointment of The Knights of the British Commonwealth. Charles chuckled and rolled His eyes, "Tony just tells Mother who's worthy in his opinion. If you ask me it's like Top of the Pops these days," He said. We agreed with Him and expressed our distrust of one Sir Mick Jagger and one Sir Paul McCartney. Sure, they were both part of some important movements in music history, but we have issues with both of them. Like once, we nearly came to blows with Sir Mick after climbing a volcano in Bali. It was at the time of the French nuclear tests in the Pacific. Mick and some of his sychophants were banging on about Evian mineral water. We could not take the boredom any longer as we had been led to believe that Sir Mick was an intellectual, so in our best Australian accents we damned the French, their bombs and their stupid chalky tasting mineral water. Sir Mick's reaction was very extreme; his face went all red and the veins in his neck were protruding as he shouted at us "You Australians have no right to complain! You knew this was part of Chirac's platform and you did NOTHING about it until now!" The sychophants were aghast and clearly unsure as to what to do next. We were also under pressure to come up with something smart as a retort. We shut Mick up by informing him of the simple truth that what the French were doing in the Pacific was out of synch with modern thought. Charles nodded sympathetically. "He just missed the point, didn't he?" He said as He handed us a banksia, which was lovely but we couldn't stop staring at those sausage fingers consuming the flower.
Sometimes He walked on ahead of us because He is rarely alone with nature. We felt privileged to be party to His meditation. We sat quietly whilst Charles had a snuggle with some Messmate Stringybarks (eucalyptus obliqua). With bits of bark and tree falling all over the place, due to the parasol bashing into the trunk everytime He nuzzled in, Charles recited them a haiku about the origins of their name (our black brothers say they 'make a bloody mess mate'). He also took lots of photographs so that He could paint the landscape during the English winter in the Balmoral studio He shares with Harry. It may have been the heat or some kind of allergic reaction to the Messmates but we could not help noticing that the royal sausages were getting quite taut. He Himself seemed uncomfortable with their size, and tried to keep His hands in His pockets. We tried hard not to stare and resisted the urge to prick them, like any self respecting Australian would. His vulnerablilty apparent, we felt it was a good time to ask THE question as to why His Mum wasn't going to the townhall part of the wedding. He went all quiet and for a minute we thought we'd bitten off more than we could chew but He turned to us, and with a look of relief said "punk, blanket, Mother is surrounded by ancient twits who give her bad advice". After that we observed a distinct deflation of his ballooned digits.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Return To Timbertop: Part 1
Accompanying HRH The Prince of Wales on His return to Timbertop has been one of the highlights of the year so far. Our furious preparations certainly paid off and HRH was really impressed with His parasol harness, He's thinking of using it on His farm when He inspects His organic potatoes. Charles is looking fabulous at the moment; we reckon His engagement agrees with Him. Having a few hours alone with Charles was important to us as we were able to discuss matters of historical significance. Until now our friendship with Him was mainly based on chit-chatting about sustainable living, organic farming and Penhaligons fragrances, but this time we seized the oppurtunity to take things to another level as we fear for the fall of The House Of Windsor.
We cannot reveal the exact location of our bushwalk as Timbertop is shrouded in secrecy; the heirs of Very Important People are educated there, so we have had gag orders placed upon us. We can say however that we were somewhere near Mansfield in the Victorian Alps. To avoid unwanted media attention we devised a plan to whisk Charles away from His dinner at Geelong Grammar School. We waited out the back in our car with a doppelganger and sent Him a text to say we were ready. As Charles jumped into our boot the doppelganger was shepherded into a waiting limousine which sped off with a police escort. The decoy's mission was to board a jet to Sydney as per Charles' schedule. Everything went according to plan and when we had cleared the metropolitan area we stopped the car on the Maroondah Highway so that Charles could get out of the boot and sit in the car with us. He seemed quiet relieved to get away from His former school and said it had been "full of bores". He had some questions regarding some of the gathered alumni and we provided as much information as we could. The large man resembling a goanna? Kerry Packer, King of Australia. The old guy who looks like a bloodhound with the young wife? Rupert Murdoch, King of The World. The ex-footballer with the eye-job who was admiring Charles' manicure? Sam Newman who has a thing about nail technicians. There was also some bloke calling himself Outback Jack, but we couldn't help Charles with him.
We'd booked a tasteful and discreet B&B but Charles insisted we camp so that He could revise the skills He learnt at Timbertop all those years ago.
We cannot reveal the exact location of our bushwalk as Timbertop is shrouded in secrecy; the heirs of Very Important People are educated there, so we have had gag orders placed upon us. We can say however that we were somewhere near Mansfield in the Victorian Alps. To avoid unwanted media attention we devised a plan to whisk Charles away from His dinner at Geelong Grammar School. We waited out the back in our car with a doppelganger and sent Him a text to say we were ready. As Charles jumped into our boot the doppelganger was shepherded into a waiting limousine which sped off with a police escort. The decoy's mission was to board a jet to Sydney as per Charles' schedule. Everything went according to plan and when we had cleared the metropolitan area we stopped the car on the Maroondah Highway so that Charles could get out of the boot and sit in the car with us. He seemed quiet relieved to get away from His former school and said it had been "full of bores". He had some questions regarding some of the gathered alumni and we provided as much information as we could. The large man resembling a goanna? Kerry Packer, King of Australia. The old guy who looks like a bloodhound with the young wife? Rupert Murdoch, King of The World. The ex-footballer with the eye-job who was admiring Charles' manicure? Sam Newman who has a thing about nail technicians. There was also some bloke calling himself Outback Jack, but we couldn't help Charles with him.
We'd booked a tasteful and discreet B&B but Charles insisted we camp so that He could revise the skills He learnt at Timbertop all those years ago.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Here Comes The Prince!
With only four days to go till HRH Prince Charles arrives in Australia we are beside ourselves with preparations, so this will be a short post. There's just so much to do! We need to get bushwalking footwear for HRH, flynets, an Akubra (for Charles, not us), zinc, canteens and Aerogard (Charles LOVES the smell). The Prince's request for a native to carry His parasol is causing us the most grief as we feel it has colonial overtones. To satisty the Prince's shade-needs we're having a parasol harness custom made for Him; political correctness aside, we'd like some private time with our friend. To make matters worse, our clairvoyant, Claire Voyant, has blabbed to her new Kiwi friend, Pip, that we know Prince Charles and she keeps coming over to our place with offerings for HRH. So far she has brought 23 crates of New Zealand wine from her friends winery in the Marlborough region, boiled wool garments from Dunedin and ghastly, uninspired paua shell jewellery "for Camilla". We're getting vibes that Pip wants to come with us on our bushwalk to Timbertop, but there's no way she is coming. Go back to New Zealand, Phillippa, and TAKE RUSSELL CROWE WITH YOU!
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Back off, Crowe!
It seems our efforts yesterday were in vain, our pleas have fallen on deaf ears. Crowe, if you don't stop it with the phone calls, the emails, the text messages, the skywriting and your hired goons we will have no choice but to notify the authorities and institute a restraining order.
Russell, if you think we are going to listen to you, you are delusional. There are many reasons why you have ZERO credibility and since you insist on us telling you why, here is a list of your transgressions:
1. You bag Bob De Niro, Harrison Ford and George Clooney for using their celebrity to make an extra buck but you cut a deal with Hello! magazine to document your wedding preparations where you are sitting around with Giorgio Armani like some kind of suck. And what about your Eucalyptus (R.I.P) buddy Nic? She's whored herself to Chanel!
2. You went out with Meg Ryan.
3. Punching and hitting (or getting your bodyguards to do it for you) is not old Hollywood machismo, it's low impulse control. It is also assault.
4. On Enough Rope with Andrew Denton you went on about how Ridley Scott worked your script suggestions into Gladiatior. This is nothing to be proud of Russell; when there's gas tanks under chariots and blokes running around battle scenes in denim jeans, one could be forgiven for thinking Gladiator is not a cinematic masterpiece.
5. Your band, 30 Odd Foot of Grunts, is a disgrace...and as for that film clip for your insipid duet with Chrissie Hynde! We'd like you to know Russell that parading around in R.M. Williams does not an Australian bushman make.
6. There was a time when we had a soft spot for you, Russ. When you were breaking up with Meg you said you could not bear to be away from your dog longer than six months. But our friends have been to Nana Glen and there is NO DOG living there. We are against people using animals to further their careers.
Russell, if you think we are going to listen to you, you are delusional. There are many reasons why you have ZERO credibility and since you insist on us telling you why, here is a list of your transgressions:
1. You bag Bob De Niro, Harrison Ford and George Clooney for using their celebrity to make an extra buck but you cut a deal with Hello! magazine to document your wedding preparations where you are sitting around with Giorgio Armani like some kind of suck. And what about your Eucalyptus (R.I.P) buddy Nic? She's whored herself to Chanel!
2. You went out with Meg Ryan.
3. Punching and hitting (or getting your bodyguards to do it for you) is not old Hollywood machismo, it's low impulse control. It is also assault.
4. On Enough Rope with Andrew Denton you went on about how Ridley Scott worked your script suggestions into Gladiatior. This is nothing to be proud of Russell; when there's gas tanks under chariots and blokes running around battle scenes in denim jeans, one could be forgiven for thinking Gladiator is not a cinematic masterpiece.
5. Your band, 30 Odd Foot of Grunts, is a disgrace...and as for that film clip for your insipid duet with Chrissie Hynde! We'd like you to know Russell that parading around in R.M. Williams does not an Australian bushman make.
6. There was a time when we had a soft spot for you, Russ. When you were breaking up with Meg you said you could not bear to be away from your dog longer than six months. But our friends have been to Nana Glen and there is NO DOG living there. We are against people using animals to further their careers.
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
No Rusty, No!
This is a public appeal to New Zealand's Russell Crowe.
Russell, please stop emailing us. Your suggestions for changes to the content of our blog are not welcome and out of line. And promising to fund our local rugby team will not help your cause.
Leave us alone, Russ.
Russell, please stop emailing us. Your suggestions for changes to the content of our blog are not welcome and out of line. And promising to fund our local rugby team will not help your cause.
Leave us alone, Russ.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Royal Qiz Competition
Win the perfume created especially for Princess Grace by emailing us (punkandblanket@yahoo.com.au) your Royal Qiz answers!
Entries close midnight, March 1st 2005, Australian Eastern Summer Time.
Answers will be posted shortly after closing date.
1. When Prince Charles came to Australia as a young man he went to a very special school camp, what is it's name?
2. Lady Di once strapped fossils to her legs as a form of natural therapy, true or false?
3. What killed the Queen's favorite corgi?
4. What was the theme of the party where Prince Harry wore a Nazi costume?
5. What is the purple corridor?
6. Which Royal has designed and constructed his own egalitarian and energy efficient village?
7. What is the name of the Zimbabwean lass currently dating Prince Harry?
8. Before her untimely death Lady Di was in talks with Kevin Costner regarding her starring in The Bodyguard 2, true or false?
9. What is the name of the guy photographed sucking Fergie's toes? Bonus point for his job.
10. Which Royal couple's pet names for each other are Gladys and Fred?
Answers
1. Geelong Grammar School's country outpost, Timbertop, where the children of the rich take initiation rites and "rough it".
2. True
3. Princess Anne's bull terrier
4. Native and Colonial
5. The Queen of England's private air space.
6. HRH Prince Charles
7. Chelsea Davey, now former girlfriend, due to alleged intervention by future Princess Consort, Camilla Parker-Bowles, who is said to have likened Chelsea to the unpredictable late Princess Diana.
8. True
9. John Bryant, Texan financial advisor.
10. Prince Charles and Camilla.
Entries close midnight, March 1st 2005, Australian Eastern Summer Time.
Answers will be posted shortly after closing date.
1. When Prince Charles came to Australia as a young man he went to a very special school camp, what is it's name?
2. Lady Di once strapped fossils to her legs as a form of natural therapy, true or false?
3. What killed the Queen's favorite corgi?
4. What was the theme of the party where Prince Harry wore a Nazi costume?
5. What is the purple corridor?
6. Which Royal has designed and constructed his own egalitarian and energy efficient village?
7. What is the name of the Zimbabwean lass currently dating Prince Harry?
8. Before her untimely death Lady Di was in talks with Kevin Costner regarding her starring in The Bodyguard 2, true or false?
9. What is the name of the guy photographed sucking Fergie's toes? Bonus point for his job.
10. Which Royal couple's pet names for each other are Gladys and Fred?
Answers
1. Geelong Grammar School's country outpost, Timbertop, where the children of the rich take initiation rites and "rough it".
2. True
3. Princess Anne's bull terrier
4. Native and Colonial
5. The Queen of England's private air space.
6. HRH Prince Charles
7. Chelsea Davey, now former girlfriend, due to alleged intervention by future Princess Consort, Camilla Parker-Bowles, who is said to have likened Chelsea to the unpredictable late Princess Diana.
8. True
9. John Bryant, Texan financial advisor.
10. Prince Charles and Camilla.
Friday, February 11, 2005
A Wedding at Last!
This morning's news that our Prince of Wales has popped the question to his lady has filled us with untold joy. With infidelity testing Brand Beckham and Mr and Mrs Pitt calling it a day, a love spanning four decades will finally be recognised by the church, the monarchy and the subjects of the British Commonwealth. We have heard rumblings of discontent amongst Britons still struggling to accept that Diana will never be Queen, however we have always been of the opinion that the Prince was just as much a victim of their arranged marriage. We blame the late Lord Mountbatten for getting in Charles' ear and imposing his antiquated values upon him. He told the young Charles, who was then infatuated with Camilla, that a "bedded-can't-be-wedded". We are still witnessing the carnage from that misguided advice today: look at Prince Harry, clearly a troubled young man.
In these crazy times of instability - domestically and globally - it is so inspiring to know that love can still conquer all. Congratulations to our future King, HRH The Prince of Wales. We look forward to seeing His Royal Highness on his upcoming Australasian tour.
In these crazy times of instability - domestically and globally - it is so inspiring to know that love can still conquer all. Congratulations to our future King, HRH The Prince of Wales. We look forward to seeing His Royal Highness on his upcoming Australasian tour.
Monday, February 07, 2005
Air Psychic
After a series of positive affirmations and Fearless Flying Classes with Anita Keating, Claire announced last week that she was ready to take off for Geneva. During the long taxi down the runway Claire kept whispering Anita's 'insider alternatives' to the safety demonstration, it was really annoying as we take emergency procedures seriously. Mid-sentence of another Anita tip Claire went silent and her face was ashen when the video started talking Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT). She began copying the preventative exercises shown on the screen, her attention was somewhat eerie, and it made us feel a bit guilty about being young and fit. Claire expressed concern that Anita had not warned her about this potentially fatal peril but it's been a long time since Anita flew with Alitalia. With the forced silence of take off we watched Claire's face as she pulled her first G's, she had her eyes closed and was mouthing a mantra. Before the climb had even finished Claire resumed her Anita babble, veering dangerously towards sycophantry. We know enough about psychology to understand that her rantings were symptomatic of anxiety, and we are compassionate enough not to get angry at her but we too in these post September 11 years sometimes experience unease whilst flying. We tried to block Claire out gently by feigning interest in watching Cold Mountain. It didn't work because she kept interrupting us with more Anita prose and every ten to twelve minutes she'd perform her Anti-DVT stretches, her bottom and reaching arms partially obscuring our screens. With 14 hours flight time remaining something had to be done. We crushed up two 5mg Xanax in the cellophane wrapping of a cigarette packet using a mini Scotch bottle. We put the fine pink powder back into the nearly empty bottle that we shook to make a liquid paste and waited for Claire's specially ordered vegetarian meal to arrive. As Claire was asking the flight attendant if they were acquainted with The Keating Method of Emergency Evacuation, we slipped the potion underneath the foil of Claire's vegetarian minestrone. Fifteen minutes after her meal, Claire was fast asleep and we could relax and watch Wayne's World 2.
Claire was out till landing and was embarrassed and surprised at having slept the whole trip. We got a bit paranoid - Claire would not approve of being spiked with pharmaceuticals - so we told her that they turn the cabin pressure down to mildly sedate passengers so they don't go mental on long haul flights. Claire, who sees herself as a modern mystic, has 'an open mind for science', so she bought it unquestioningly.
Shortly after touch down, Claire was whisked away in a black limousine with darkened windows that was waiting on the tarmac and we were left to our own devices in Geneva, which appears to be a type of world office. People seemed to be having meetings and conventions everywhere; it was like being in the United Colours of Benetton. We went to the lake and the fountain was not on that day, so we visited historical buildings, monuments and religious landmarks but it was all very clean and serious so we went back to the hotel to watch cable and write postcards. Claire came back really late and she seemed kind of tipsy. We were so interested in what had gone on but we know better than to ask Claire the details of her readings, however she did tell us that he was 'very hospitable' and that upon hearing of her fear of flying he had us upgraded to first class.
It's only two per row in first class so we had to split up. Claire took the seat behind us next to a groovy New Zealander named Phillippa. At first we were concerned for the Kiwi as she might not have known who Anita Keating was and we only had 5mg of Xanax left, but they really connected over shared DVT fears. Phillippa gave Claire a pair of designer compression tights made out of possum wool and on her recommendation they started drinking 42 Below (cool Kiwi brand of vodka) bloody marys. They talked so loudly we heard every word, which was Phillippa educating Claire on Kiwi fashion, Kiwi music, Kiwi wine and how Kiwis maintain a better relationship with their indigenous people than Australians do. Claire seemed really into it and started calling her 'Pippa' and 'Pip'. It turns out Pippa is an Auckland gallery owner, recently divorced and living with a toy boy.
At Melbourne Airport, Claire declined our offer of a lift as she was off to the Zambesi sale with Pip. We don't want to be mean but that deconstructed look is not going to suit Claire.
Claire was out till landing and was embarrassed and surprised at having slept the whole trip. We got a bit paranoid - Claire would not approve of being spiked with pharmaceuticals - so we told her that they turn the cabin pressure down to mildly sedate passengers so they don't go mental on long haul flights. Claire, who sees herself as a modern mystic, has 'an open mind for science', so she bought it unquestioningly.
Shortly after touch down, Claire was whisked away in a black limousine with darkened windows that was waiting on the tarmac and we were left to our own devices in Geneva, which appears to be a type of world office. People seemed to be having meetings and conventions everywhere; it was like being in the United Colours of Benetton. We went to the lake and the fountain was not on that day, so we visited historical buildings, monuments and religious landmarks but it was all very clean and serious so we went back to the hotel to watch cable and write postcards. Claire came back really late and she seemed kind of tipsy. We were so interested in what had gone on but we know better than to ask Claire the details of her readings, however she did tell us that he was 'very hospitable' and that upon hearing of her fear of flying he had us upgraded to first class.
It's only two per row in first class so we had to split up. Claire took the seat behind us next to a groovy New Zealander named Phillippa. At first we were concerned for the Kiwi as she might not have known who Anita Keating was and we only had 5mg of Xanax left, but they really connected over shared DVT fears. Phillippa gave Claire a pair of designer compression tights made out of possum wool and on her recommendation they started drinking 42 Below (cool Kiwi brand of vodka) bloody marys. They talked so loudly we heard every word, which was Phillippa educating Claire on Kiwi fashion, Kiwi music, Kiwi wine and how Kiwis maintain a better relationship with their indigenous people than Australians do. Claire seemed really into it and started calling her 'Pippa' and 'Pip'. It turns out Pippa is an Auckland gallery owner, recently divorced and living with a toy boy.
At Melbourne Airport, Claire declined our offer of a lift as she was off to the Zambesi sale with Pip. We don't want to be mean but that deconstructed look is not going to suit Claire.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Offence by Group Email
Group emails are the bain of our existence. We NEVER send them ourselves and we normally delete any that are sent to us. We find them insincere, lazy and loaded with self-importance. Group emails that contain boring details of their 'fabulous' holiday are particularly repugnant. As if we care! As if we are interested! So you can imagine our disgust when we open an incoming email from a friend we haven't seen in ages and it turns out to be a group email, addressed to about 230 of her 'closest' friends. And to further the insult our friend, who once produced important feminist texts, has reduced herself to chronicling the details of her life as a porn tourist. Check this out!
To all my friends and family,
Happy New Year to you all. As I write this I am on my fifth trip to Venice in the last twelve months. It’s such a beautiful city, I just cannot keep away. And after the debacle of that show I’m in dire need of my own reality.
There’s a Polish boy here this time that has piqued my attention. We have not yet spoken but I have heard him ordering a frappe and the melody of his partially broken voice certainly fires the loins of even this post-menopausal woman. This morning I passed him on the pier, our eyes met for a second until he bashfully turned away. I watched him walk on, his firm buttocks like two eggs in a hankie. I have a feeling he is a Naval Cadet as he is often dressed in a sailor suit, which only adds to my longing.
I’m staying at Hotel Concordia (you know, the only one overlooking San Marco square), and it seems my little friend is too, albeit with his parents. Last night at dinner they were seated at a table not far from mine and I was convinced my Polish boy was fixated on me. I stared back at him but our moment was interrupted when a middle aged man asked me to sign his copy of my latest book. I had to chuckle at the irony of it all!...
We won't bore you with the entirity of the letter. Needless to say we have not clicked on reply.
Friday, January 21, 2005
Fresh Prince with Red Hair
Now this is the story all about how
My life got flipped, turned upside down.
And I’d like to take a minute just sit right there
I’ll tell you how I became the Prince with Red Hair.
In a palace born and raised
In bubble-wrap is where I spent most of my daze.
Chillin’ out, maxin’, relaxin’ all cool
Shooting wild animals cos we’re born to rule.
Then my parents, who were up to no good
Started making trouble in the neighbourhood.
They used to fight and my Mum got scared
Told everyone she used to love a man with Red Hair.
I begged and pleaded with them every day
But they got a divorce and Mummy went away,
On a yacht with an Arab and dragged us along
Threw us a disco while he and Mum got it on.
One month later, yo she’s dead!
Wrote my card to Mummy then went out of my head.
Went to talk to Daddy but Daddy wasn’t there
Too busy being a tampon, no time for the Spare.
I turned to the bottle, I turned to the bong
Cheated my exams (which apparently is wrong).
Started painting dots like the natives Down Under
Only cos it looked so easy - didn’t wanna steal their thunder.
Wore a swastika, made front page
Daddy was incandescent with rage.
Third in line, I’m only a Spare
Got no purpose, just the Prince with Red Hair.
My life got flipped, turned upside down.
And I’d like to take a minute just sit right there
I’ll tell you how I became the Prince with Red Hair.
In a palace born and raised
In bubble-wrap is where I spent most of my daze.
Chillin’ out, maxin’, relaxin’ all cool
Shooting wild animals cos we’re born to rule.
Then my parents, who were up to no good
Started making trouble in the neighbourhood.
They used to fight and my Mum got scared
Told everyone she used to love a man with Red Hair.
I begged and pleaded with them every day
But they got a divorce and Mummy went away,
On a yacht with an Arab and dragged us along
Threw us a disco while he and Mum got it on.
One month later, yo she’s dead!
Wrote my card to Mummy then went out of my head.
Went to talk to Daddy but Daddy wasn’t there
Too busy being a tampon, no time for the Spare.
I turned to the bottle, I turned to the bong
Cheated my exams (which apparently is wrong).
Started painting dots like the natives Down Under
Only cos it looked so easy - didn’t wanna steal their thunder.
Wore a swastika, made front page
Daddy was incandescent with rage.
Third in line, I’m only a Spare
Got no purpose, just the Prince with Red Hair.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Monday, January 10, 2005
Falling Out With Sir Elton
We'd like to take this opportunity to thank our readers for the thousands of emails within the last month wishing us all the best for 2005 and asking as to our whereabouts. So far our new year has been exhausting to say the least. We have fallen out with one of our dearest friends, Sir Elton John.
At the end of last year Sir Elton was embroiled in a battle of words with other senior recording artists and the Taiwanese press. As we've discussed before some of his comments had merit, but by years end our Sir Elton was a veritable volcano, his eruptions becoming increasingly indiscriminate. When George Michael found himself covered in Sir Elton's bitter lava flow things were clearly out of hand, so we arranged a conference call with David and Sir Elton; we wanted to bring Sir Elton to The Gold Coast to cool him down. We were focused on talking Sir Elton through some of his issues but David seemed fixated on the accommodation. We had thought that a private residence on the Isle of Capri would be ideal for our friend as it is quiet and close to Jupiter’s Casino, but David kept talking about Palazzo Versace. We found ourselves sitting by the phone listening to them squabble. David was citing inducements such as fresh flowers in the room every day, glamorous crockery, and he even went so far as to suggest that staying anywhere else would offend the late Gianni. Suddenly David went quiet and we heard sounds of a struggle. Sir Elton's voice seemed muffled with tears as we heard him say in a stern, low registered tone that he could not be seen publicly in his swimming trunks.
For the first few days we tried to make things as comfortable as possible so that Sir Elton could de-steam: a quick trip to Byron Bay for some colonic irrigation, jet skiing in the pristine waters surrounding Isle Of Capri, marlin fishing with Jamie Packer (David kept leering at Jamie's Speedos, we lost a lot of rods because of that) and plenty of rest in between. In the evening we'd sit on the deck looking at the skyscrapers workshopping some of Sir Elton's issues. The atmosphere changed dramatically when we brought up the George Michael matter. Sir Elton kept insisting that George was in a dark place at the moment and that it is evident in his work. We pointed out that George has had a lot on his plate with the death of his mother and stalkers camping under his floorboards. Putting on his 'not listening face' (a trick he learnt from David) he went on about how George should get out more and criticized him for not touring. We tried to explain that George has more than compensated for his lack of touring with his pledge to allow the public to download any future recordings free of charge. We knew that this would hurt him because we know for a fact that he cannot even turn a computer on. By this stage Sir Elton's face was an unrecognisable contortion with golf balls of sweat streaming down it, reducing his spray-on tan to stains on the carpet. He stamped his foot and in that same stern voice we had heard on the phone said, "George Michael is not as good as me". Aghast by this display of narcissism we calmly took a sip of our mango smoothies before we gave our former friend a dressing down; unlike George he has never written his own lyrics, he didn't even write an original song for Lady Di's funeral, he hangs around with turkeys like Liz Hurley and everyone is laughing at him. Elton turned on his heel and began to leave the room so we delivered the final crushing blow by saying that George was a fully fledged pop star whilst Elton was nothing but a World Class Cruise Ship Entertainer. Elton fell to the floor and started beating his fists on the ground, squealing, "I am a pop star". We picked up the phone and called David who was shopping at Pacific Fair and told him to come and collect his boyfriend as they were no longer welcome.
If anyone is looking for the said couple we suspect they will be at Palazzo Versace.
At the end of last year Sir Elton was embroiled in a battle of words with other senior recording artists and the Taiwanese press. As we've discussed before some of his comments had merit, but by years end our Sir Elton was a veritable volcano, his eruptions becoming increasingly indiscriminate. When George Michael found himself covered in Sir Elton's bitter lava flow things were clearly out of hand, so we arranged a conference call with David and Sir Elton; we wanted to bring Sir Elton to The Gold Coast to cool him down. We were focused on talking Sir Elton through some of his issues but David seemed fixated on the accommodation. We had thought that a private residence on the Isle of Capri would be ideal for our friend as it is quiet and close to Jupiter’s Casino, but David kept talking about Palazzo Versace. We found ourselves sitting by the phone listening to them squabble. David was citing inducements such as fresh flowers in the room every day, glamorous crockery, and he even went so far as to suggest that staying anywhere else would offend the late Gianni. Suddenly David went quiet and we heard sounds of a struggle. Sir Elton's voice seemed muffled with tears as we heard him say in a stern, low registered tone that he could not be seen publicly in his swimming trunks.
For the first few days we tried to make things as comfortable as possible so that Sir Elton could de-steam: a quick trip to Byron Bay for some colonic irrigation, jet skiing in the pristine waters surrounding Isle Of Capri, marlin fishing with Jamie Packer (David kept leering at Jamie's Speedos, we lost a lot of rods because of that) and plenty of rest in between. In the evening we'd sit on the deck looking at the skyscrapers workshopping some of Sir Elton's issues. The atmosphere changed dramatically when we brought up the George Michael matter. Sir Elton kept insisting that George was in a dark place at the moment and that it is evident in his work. We pointed out that George has had a lot on his plate with the death of his mother and stalkers camping under his floorboards. Putting on his 'not listening face' (a trick he learnt from David) he went on about how George should get out more and criticized him for not touring. We tried to explain that George has more than compensated for his lack of touring with his pledge to allow the public to download any future recordings free of charge. We knew that this would hurt him because we know for a fact that he cannot even turn a computer on. By this stage Sir Elton's face was an unrecognisable contortion with golf balls of sweat streaming down it, reducing his spray-on tan to stains on the carpet. He stamped his foot and in that same stern voice we had heard on the phone said, "George Michael is not as good as me". Aghast by this display of narcissism we calmly took a sip of our mango smoothies before we gave our former friend a dressing down; unlike George he has never written his own lyrics, he didn't even write an original song for Lady Di's funeral, he hangs around with turkeys like Liz Hurley and everyone is laughing at him. Elton turned on his heel and began to leave the room so we delivered the final crushing blow by saying that George was a fully fledged pop star whilst Elton was nothing but a World Class Cruise Ship Entertainer. Elton fell to the floor and started beating his fists on the ground, squealing, "I am a pop star". We picked up the phone and called David who was shopping at Pacific Fair and told him to come and collect his boyfriend as they were no longer welcome.
If anyone is looking for the said couple we suspect they will be at Palazzo Versace.
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