'Battle of the Choirs'

Kochie + overenthusiastic glee clubs = more shite television. Did I miss something here? When did choirs start doing choreography? And what the fuck is Iva Davies doing on the judging panel? He must have better things to do - isn't the 80s nostalgia bandwagon still rolling at your local RSL? Get on board that one Iva, wardrobe can find you a mullet wig no worries.

FFS.

Tankard Rating: Six slightly off-key steel tankards.

La-la-la-TISH! Gaarn.

Robert Mugabe

You've had 30 years, now fuck off ya useless cunt.








Tankard rating: Four 'Voodoo Curse' Tankards

The Entire Corby Family

Fucken dodgey as. In a perfect world they would have got 20 years each. Mainly because Mercedes shits me in the same way that a rabid chihuahua humping my leg does.



Glass Rating: Ten Glass Bongs and a shaboo chaser.

Hope it was all worth it.

Al Gore

Despite promises to make his mansion more energy efficient, somehow Al's power consumption figure is now up 10% on last years'. Good thing he's travelling the world in his private jet selling his company's carbon offset credits to anyone fucking stupid enough to buy them. What a sneaky alarmist hypocrite.

Also, I haven't forgotten that his wife Tipper (named after a dump truck) was responsible for those annoying 'Parental Guidance' stickers on my CDs during the 90's. What a marvellous contribution, well done beyotch. I'll check with mummy before I put on some G 'n R.

Tankard Rating: One Atomic Tankard

The most carbon-neutral way to do it. Gaaarn!

Clover Moore

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh! Or should that be Hoooooooooowll?

Glass Rating: Three empty wino's bottles from Sydney's homeless

Tish to that dog collar! Tish!! Garn.

Triskadecaphobics

- 13 thirteen 13 thirteen 13 thirteen 13 thirteen -

Right, now that only us rational people are still reading, let's take a look at the whole triskdeca thing. The internet tells me that the real reason the number thirteen is feared by many people is down to the bad ju-ju our forefathers put upon it way back. The fact that the moon has thirteen cycles every earth year, which means our womenfolk somehow become even more irrational 13 times each year probably has something to do with it. If I'm ducking a rolling pin thirteen times a year and also keeping score/doing the math, then I'd be a bit superstitious about the number too.

The poor bastards aboard Apollo 13 attempting to investigate this phenomenon up close (and to procure some stinky lunar cheese) didn't have all that heavy shit go down just because it was launched at 13:13 on April the 13th, oh no. The cryotank aboard that exploded was built by goverment contractors that went on to work for the NSW State Government in later years. Doomed for failure, natch.

Anyway, a big shout out today to our friends living on the '14th floor' of their thirteen story apartment blocks. You all shit me you denial queens. Meh!

Glass rating: Thirteen wine glasses

Woo spooky! Gaarn.

Braith Anasta

As if shortening your Greek surname wasn't bad enough, you got whitewashed by Manly for fuck's sake. Lift ya game monkeyboy! Gnaaar!!



Tankard Rating: Three AFL Cups

The Sex and the City Movie

My dad always says that the secret to a harmonious marriage is compromise. So against my better judgement, and despite the fact that Mrs Poopey gave me at least one chance to get out of going along and seeing this fucking film with her, I took her along to see it. I thought I'd take one for the team and score some brownie points... whoo boy.

Spoiler alert: Capt Poopey's Run Down of the Overall Message of SATC

1) All men are cunts.
2) Women are the more enlightened gender but enjoy girly dress-ups and overpriced gay shit in expensive bags.
3) All men are cunts.
4) All men are cunts.

I'm still a bit traumatised after seeing the ginger lezzo in a totally unnecessary full frontal sex scene. Not to mention two hundred close-ups of horse-face's face and withered witchipoo arms/legs. Scaaary. The only good bit was when the still rootable/cute one drank a mouthful of Mexican water and subsequently shit herself (yes literally). I love a good poo joke, just ask me.

Suffice to say gentlemen, even if you think that going along with your better half is even an inkling of a good idea, do not fucking do it. Two hours of pure torture. I'm an idiot to have even considered it.

Glass rating: Ten items of mixed glassware.

In a Gucci bag. Garn.

Festy Glasses 2 a.m. Melbourne Pub Curfews

I'm with Festy on this one. What real fucking difference will it make if you stop people entering a bar after 2 in the morning? There's still plenty of opportunity for a bit of the ultra-violence / random projectile vomiting. Just leave it to the professionals - any lightweights out there who can't handle themselves shouldn't be out wandering the mean streets of Melbourne after 2am. Call mummy on that mobile phone she gave you and she'll be there in the Camry before you can say 'alcopop'. I fucking hate it when the government has to play state nanny for all the gormless fuckwits out there. Just another one of our little rights taken away, let's drink to whichever ones that we have left - they're a dying breed.

Glass Rating: Four Tasty Looking German Beers.

Actung! Tish tish tish tish!!