Extra Turkey

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

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

Turkey of The Year 2006

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

And the nominees are:

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

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

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

PICKLED TURKEY: Keith Urban, for marrying a man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

PRIZE TURKEY: Tom Cruise, no explanation neccessary.

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

TURKEY SLAPPER: Axel Whitehead - ARIA flasher.

Cast your votes!!

Keith Urban Wakes Up After A Year On The Sauce:

Oh My God! I married a Man!

.....and David

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

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

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

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

One day they will have to say Sorry.

CLAIRE VOYANT FOUND!!!

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

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

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

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



Jamie and Katie recognise punk and blanket in the crowd.

Person Of Interest In The Claire Voyant Matter

CLAIRE VOYANT MISSING!!!

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

At Last, Fashion For The Blackshirt!

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

Our first moving picture!

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



Off Leash



Walking Home

Jack Elliot, Eddie Maguire and Us

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

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


Jack Elliot

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


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

Excerpt From Our Travel Journal

December 22, 2005
0530 hours

We have just returned to our hotel room from Sir Elton and David's wedding reception. It got ugly, real ugly. You could say it was a blizzard, cocaine everywhere. Take it from us, Sir Elton is NOT clean, and neither is David. It was pretty clear it was exceptionally good gear (apparently). Things started to go downhill from the moment Sir Elton sang his song to his new husband titled 'My Husband David' (yet ANOTHER rehash of 'Candle in the Wind'). Cringing, we slunk out of a flap of the marquee and sat by the pond for a smoke. To our dismay, we were attacked by a very vicious and angry Karl Lagerfeld. He'd read Liquid Karl and he was very cross. His breath stinking of sunflower seeds, he poured out his fury in colourful Deutsch expletives, ubernouns that made no sense. We were distracted from our berating by a wide-eyed Liz Hurley and Arun Nayar (who bears such a striking resemblence to Bobby Ewing from Dallas, we secretly refer to him as Bombay Bobby). With rolled 50 euro notes, they divined cocaine on the shoulders of Karl Lagerfeld. We were amazed and amused as they were so out of it, they didn't realise they were hoovering the talcum powder that Karl uses to whiten his hair.

Rich Turkey Stews

Eclipsing all other nominees, Mohammed al Fayed wins Turkey Of The Year.

Turkey Of The Year - Nominations - Cast Your Vote

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

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.

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!

Conceited crowe - Talk About Lovin' Himself!

Click here to see the turkey!

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.

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.

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

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.