Christmas: A how to guide

The Lead up

When you were a child this was the best part of Christmas, summer was here and you drafted your Christmas wishlist... fast forward 20 years and it's nothing short of a nightmare.

Anthony Callea... I thought you were dead!?

Walk into the local shopping centre to pick up a litre of milk and a loaf of tip-top only to be smacked in the face with Chrissy decorations and the gentle sounds of Anthony Callea desperately trying to revive his career with a carols album.
 
‘It’s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas, toys in every’… 

No! No it’s not… it’s fucking October!

Around this time of year expect your work colleagues to steadily increase their work place decorations and chit chat about the holiday period; smile, nod and try not to remind them it’s November. 

You may be struggling to make your mortgage repayments but it is imperative you buy a $10 secret Santa that won’t see out the year.

Meanwhile you should be preoccupied with not making a complete arse of yourself at the office Christmas party; a few pointers:

1. People only remember the first person to disgrace themselves
2. You can’t make your career at the Christmas party but you can definitely break it 
3. This is not the opportunity to hit on the cute girl from marketing you’ve been eyeing off all year, you might score yourself a date but it’s more likely to be with the HR manager on Monday morning. 


There is one positive, however, in the lead up to Christmas. If you have a child with moderate to mild behavioural issues, now is the time to bribe them into improved behaviour by telling them naughty children don’t get presents from Santa. If they don’t shape up - tell them he doesn’t exist!

You’ll be lucky to walk out of December scratching two coins together.

Shopping centres and car parks

The place happiness goes to die!

You can tell a lot about people by the way they behave waiting in parking lots and shopping queues, if they cut in front of you, they are the bottom feeders. At the risk of sounding like Peter Dutton, you are well within your rights to grab that queue jumper by the hand and take them right back to where they came from. Failing that, scone them in the back of the head with a Nerf gun; no judge worth his salt will find you guilty.
 
Save yourself the hassle, join the 21st century and do it online, your Zen coach will thank you.

Santa

Probably the greatest heist pulled on the Western World, at one point in our lives we have all been conned that this imaginary fat man sits in North Pole making and delivering presents. No wonder our youth are troubled; they have been systematically lied to for years by the people who love them most.

Not only that, they have been conditioned to adore a man whose record is suspect at best, look at this from a purely forensic point of view:

Jolly fatman or serial pest!?

 
• You were caught sneaking down the chimney of an unknown residence
• later seen helping yourself to milk, carrots and a variety of cookies
• escaping at breakneck speed on reindeer back only to commit the same crime at the very next residence.

He's a burglar at best or creep at worst!

Family lunch

‘Aaahhh’… finally some time to relax with loved ones, right? 


Wrong!


After a brief period exchanging pleasantries with family and friends, things will quickly revert back to your childhood and rules of the school yard apply. It’s a well-known fact, breaking family dynamics is harder than Newton's theory.

The eldest child will always know best, the youngest child will always shirk responsibility and the middle child will remain so conflicted that years of therapy will barely scratch the surface.

Regardless of what you have achieved over the past 12 months, no one can bring you back to earth quicker than your siblings. They spent their entire childhoods learning how to press your buttons and they are not going to give up that advantage now. Your weight, career path and choice of attire will all come under intense scrutiny.

The best you can hope for is to escape for some board games with the niece or nephew, read the autobiography you scored for Chrissy or take the dog for a walk!

Boxing day

'Dont'cha wish your girlfriend was a ho like me!?'

The real meaning of the holidays.

The family have shipped off back home, the fridge is full of left over BBQ meats and more booze than you can throw a stubby at.

Sit back and relax, flick on the cricket, turn the Mrs onto mute and enjoy!

As a casual observer once noted of the Pussy Cat Dolls, 'Ho Ho Ho!'

How to Form a Boy Band

Know how to choreograph boys dancing aimlessly in the dessert? You're half way there...

Raking it in...

The Manager - the only real winner out of all this. Paying off his third beach home by exploiting the hormones and vulnerabilities of teenage girls world wide.

The Ladies Man - Think Harry Styles.
Can barely string a note together but has mastered the signature dance move *catch butterfly, draw towards heart and release*. No one cares anyway, not since he plowed his way through most of Hollywood's leading ladies... and John Travolta

Crazy Cat Robbie Williams

The Crazy One - Robbie Williams anyone? These cats usually answer to a one syllable nickname like Oz or Ace. Characteristed by a zany dress sense and off beat dancing. Band mates love to recall crazy anecdotes from their drug fueled escapades:
Band mate: 'Hey Ace remember snorting that line off Amber's tits last night?'
Ace: 'Whose Amber? '
Band mate: 'Ah Ace...  you crazy cat!'

Has a one-way ticket to the Betty Ford clinic.


The Over Expressor - Think Nick Carter. Lays the agonised facial expressions on a little too thick. Would dearly love to be the ladies man but lacks the natural charisma. Popular with the chubbies who they think they're a chance because he's the 'sweet one'.

WTF is this guy?

Creepy Old Dude - Only die-hard fans know him by name and he's heavily dependent on the auto tune when it comes to belting out a few notes.  No-one knows how he got there but he's probably the cousin of the manager. Hanging onto his youth by a thread, he is in this gig to flog this cash cow until Aces drug habit eventually splinters the group.

The White Rapper - Cos that's what you wanna hear - some wigger rapping about love! Mate your no Eminem,  you're not even Vanilla Ice... give it up.

So there you have it - the core members of your band, add in some shit music and gay lyrics about 'eternal love' - rinse and repeat!

Cue the horny teenagers...

RIP Richie

A sad day for the cricketing world...

Less than six months after our hearts broke with the death of Phillip Hughes, the world mourns the loss of the great man Richie Benaud.

A gentleman to the last.

Richie's appeal was universal. He was many things to many people, a cricketer, a captain, a commentator, a colleague and a family man.

He proved gentlemen can survive and thrive! He spoke with a calm, gentle nature and it was his pause as much as his insight which pricked the ears of many an eager viewer.

Some voices blend into the white noise and others, so understated they draw you to the edge of your seat, so you don't miss a beat. Richie was the latter, his sharp eye and dry wit were the cornerstones of his career in the box. He subscribed to the theory less is sometimes more, in a game where opinions are a dime a dozen.

He inspired a generation a cricket players with his exploits on the pitch and nurtured a generation more from his post behind the mic. We grew up with him, we learnt the game from him and we will miss him!

Summer wont be the same...

RIP Rich!

A Day at the Track - "Now they're off and racing"

Melbourne Cup is around the corner and it’s time for all those once a year betting wankers to talk til your ears bleed with their tips for the race that stops a Nation...

Once in a while, you may dust the cobwebs off the 'bag of fruit' and head to the course to take a in some live action.

A day at the races:

8am - Collect suit from the local dry cleaner's, forgetting last time you wore it at Macca's wedding where you spilled half a VAT of scotch over it singing 'bohemian rhapsody' until 3am.

9am - Pop in to the local news agent and grab a paper, chew off any poor bastards ear that’ll listen to your tips despite you not knowing the nose from the arse end of a horse. Carry on this facade until the completion of the race only then remembering you don’t know shit about racing after you’ve blown the monthly mortgage on what old mate down the pub guaranteed you was a 'sure thing'. 

'Put a gorilla on the 4th in the 5th'

10am - If you have a Mrs. etiquette would suggest a 'Champagne Breakfast' but if you're single you can drop the bullshit, crack a frothy and get stuck in. The term 'Breakfast' is used but food is totally optional.

11am - Whack the suit on in front of the mirror and take a collection of selfies... this will be the last time it looks any good all day. Call a cab and finish off the remainder of your beverage while the cabbie struggles to find your apartment block.

Midday - Arrive at the track with a bunch of mates, complement each other on how you well you scrub up for a bloke with a head like a half sucked mango. Stand in a circle spruiking your expertise on the nags and rattle off a couple of stats to back up your theory. Ogle any half decent sort that walks within your vicinity, this would be socially unacceptable in any other scenario but today there is safety in numbers.

12:30 - Join the line of 150 other patrons gagging for a drink.

1pm- Take full advantage on the 6 drink maximum carrying your plastic cups back to the Grandstand, spilling  30% of them down your freshly cleaned suit after bumping into every man and his dog on the way back to your seat. Take seat in stand with the equivalent of 3 beers remaining in your shitty plastic cups. Notice there is at least half a beer in the carry tray – drink when nobody is watching.

2pm - Drink beers at rapid pace to avoid them getting warm in the 35 degree heat, agree to get in a shout to avoid spending half your day in line. What could possibly go wrong!

2:30pm - Make your way to the closest port-a-loo… this is the equivalent of a drunken  steeplechase. I challenge you to find a more difficult task than entering an unstable, hastily cobbled together enclosed space containing urine, vomit and faecal matter wearing your finest clothing after downing seven schooners and come out the other side. If you’re female add in high heels and a dress that needs to pulled up to your ears!

Maybe it's time for a water.

3pm - After some late mail hurdle towards the nearest bookie and throw what remaining cash you have on the Mexican Japanese horse Zalos Karate.

3:30 - Take longer than expected at the bookies and miss the entire race - call Mum to find out the result.

4pm – Follow the brightly coloured dresses and the sound of clunking high heels to the nearest pretentious bar in a last ditch bid to turn around your fortunes for the day.

5pm - Fold in to taxi a broken man, cut a deal with the driver that you will give him your last 20 if he can get you home in one piece!

The next day:

7am - Wake up with the world’s worst hangover, a lecturing girlfriend and not enough money to buy lunch!

Forgot the SPF!

7:15 - Look in mirror, ‘Should have worn sun screen'.

7:30 - Remember you have a job to go to – ‘Fuck!’

Heading to the Gym - Part II

After a few more years experience at the gym, here is another collection of stereotypes you will have to encounter if you aim to get in to shape:

Grunters - Do these blokes really think screaming the paint off the walls will result in MASSIVE gains!? Carrying on blissfully unaware everybody hopes they drop the bar bell on their throats so we never have to hear their blood curdling screams again. Stop grunting, stop groaning and if, possible stop breathing. No one wants to hear it, so here it is in a tone and pace you can understand... SHUT... THE... FUCK... UP!!




The Zimmer Press

Pensioners - Their most recent trip to the doctor revealed a ticking time bomb, through necessity he-re they are trying to dial back the clock. Wearing gear one can only assume was 'in' back in the day's Olivia Newton John 'Lets get physical' was pumping out the stereo. Easily recognisable in their matching head and wristbands. Here through obligation, shifting minimal weight at minimal reps and could be knocked over by a stiff breeze, you can sense their hearts not really in it... which ironically is the reason they're here in the first place.

Early birds - Typically over achievers, setting up there day at the office with an endorphin rush at the local Fitness First. Up a sparrow's fart with ill fitting, arse creeping spandex, sleep in eyes and protein shake in hand. Ready to be lead by Lance Armstrong in the spin class before getting back into their expensive cars and heading for a productive day at work. Yes, I hate them too!




'Cmon big boy- you can get it up!'

Over encourager's - This species comes in pairs, can be seen comparing biceps, overheard playing one upmanship and discussing their lack of sexual prowess before they hit the gym and got huge. If they are to be believed they are now bonafide studs - despite having heads like smashed crabs. You can hear them throwing out such inspirational clichés as 'Pump it', 'Get it up', 'Smash it out' all at a volume above socially accepted norms - I cant help but wonder if they require this type of encouragement in the bedroom.

Classroom whingers - They make it every class and proceed to make it miserable for everyone involved. Feel it necessary to talk the teacher, fellow students and any poor bastard in earshot through every creak and crack in their aching bodies . No body cares, if its so difficult stay at home and tell it to the bloke who signed up for that shit, no one pays $20 an hour to listen to you whinge!!





Bikram Yoga: The first choice for serial sex pests.

Classroom creepers - Can be seen loitering in  classes targeted for women taking in some of the eye candy. Over dosed on testosterone and believe one look at them sans shirt will be enough to drive any self loathing woman in his direction. Can be seen offering attractive women 'form' tips in the weights room and don't mind encroaching a bit on personal space. Can be spotted sniffing around the back of a bikram yoga class while a bunch of twenty somethings practice their extended locus dressed with a piece of string.

- Part I -

Valentine's Day... a cautionary tale!

Lovers, with Valentines day impending I thought I should remind you that Cupid's arrow doesn't always hit it's target, If you plan on suprising that someone special, just take into account some of these points outlined below...

Attraction;

 You've spotted her at work, at the gym or in the coffee shop... she's the loveliest thing God breathed life into and you'd walk over your own mother just to get to know her. Somehow you manage to pluck up the courage to ask her out or swindle your way into a first date through a mutual friend, or worse yet, Facebook.

The date sequence;

Seinfeld described the first date as the equivalent of a 'job interview, only with sex a possibility at its conclusion. This is a 'for one night only' show and it will be impossible to live up to. Polished shoes, finest cologne and some rehearsed jokes. Reality is you will never try this hard nor present this well again... this is as good as 'you', 'her' and probably 'it' will get. The evening will comprise of promoting your strengths, dancing around your shortcomings and hoping not to put your foot in it. (Note to self: Racist/sexist or generally discriminatory jokes, however funny to you, should be avoided). At this point you're willing to do just about whatever it takes to guarantee sex and to hell with the consequences. You will be eager to find common ground on just about anything, 'Oh Yeah, I agree... Channing Tatum's a brilliant actor!'

After a few dates there's a chance you have shared stories, anecdotes, made each other laugh and you like the quirky way she tweaks her nose when she doesn't like something. If the dates have gone particularly well the 'ex' discussions may take place about now... you know the delightful conversation where you discuss previous relationships, how many people you've slept with, how many girlfriends you've had etc. These never go well...

Her: I'm not a tart, I only sleep with my boyfriends.
You: Oh that's reassuring... how many boyfriends have you had?
Her: Not sure, lost count after 80...
You: Awesome!!

You cannot win, lets leave it at this... 'we're both adults, Ive had mine you've had yours, let's just change the subject before I hear about the 'Miley Cyrus' years!'

If you successfully navigate this tricky terrain and manage to get a couple more dates you may be ready to transition in to...

The honeymoon period;

So you've negotiated a few dates, been seen out and about by a few mates with your new interest and managed to maintain regular copulation... things are on the up. You may even dare to call her as your 'new girlfriend', which doesn't tell the whole story... she's used, she's just 'new' to you!

She wakes up in your bed in the morning and you wonder where she has been your whole life, you want to spend every waking moment with and can't imagine your life without her. You're convinced her poo is pure white and her farts smell like sweet cinnamon.

Now all you have to do is maintain your 'standards' set in the initial dating period. If you're worried... you should be. She's already been scheduling the 'changes' she'd like to see in you at your best, wait until she see's your standards plummet like the Greek Euro.

This stage generally lasts for 3-6 months depending on your self-discipline before standards start to slide, mum cracks a poorly timed remark about your ex g/f, your grooming standards head south and you've let one slip and blamed the dog at least once. She's dropped a few balls of her own, like pointing out the bloke in the supermarket who she shagged and never returned her calls and you've tailed her into the bathroom only to be confronted with a smell that would wipe out a small nation. She's not necessarily the princess you thought she was, but your no angel either and you're happy to see where things lead. Its definitely better than trying your luck at Moosehead's on a Friday night, which is like trying to hit the piñata at a kids birthday, only with ten schooners down your neck.

By now you've briefly discussed the five year plan, answers along the lines of;

• Move out of my parents
• Get a better job
• Update the 1986 Corolla

Should see you through this one, you're now ready to move on...

Going steady;

Things are starting to get serious... Friday nights out with the boys have been replaced with dinner parties and movie nights, you may feel like a refined version of yourself. Relationship wise you now know each others idiosyncrasies, if not the extent but you're willing to give it a go...

Do you ever just wonder 'HOW, How the fuck do some people end up together!?

You've heard all her stories three times over, gotten used to waking up without the doona and the nose twitching thing has lost some of its charm but she's a 'keeper'. For some who haven't had the best of luck with the ladies, they have been craving this stage. Their philosophy is 'Hey, I mightn't have much to offer but I'm reliable!' The memories of being shot down on just about every night out still burns raw and they are not particularly keen to go back to being put behind just about every man in town, including the homeless bloke outside Macca's in town.

For the rest, power struggles can begin to take place herein. They can range anything from, when's bedtime to what's for dinner...

Moving in;

It's make or break... This is essentially a trial to see how compatible you really are. Whether you can stand each others company EVERY... SINGLE... DAY. You wake up... she's there, you come home from work... she's there, you walk out of the bathroom after snapping off one of your finest... 'Oh, you probably don't want to go in there for a while'.

This is where you start developing hobbies you never had before, 'fishing...since when did you like fishing!?'. Oh yeah 'love fishing, big fisher, my grand dad was a fisher, he won a trophy once, Dad's a fisher from way back... its in the family.'

 There's two ways this can go... buy a 'test baby' and call it Rover... or make a hasty exit, preferably overseas.

 Making up and Breaking up;

'I need a break', 'things are just happening to quickly', 'I just need some space'. When you say it, chances are its been on your mind for a while but when you hear it, it can be a shock to the system and a dent to the ego. Its the equivalent of relationship purgatory...making and breaking up might breath excitement back into the relationship. The uncertainty of it all can make you feel like your starting afresh but caution, its built on a rocky foundation.

The final break;

You've tried again and again and the same troubles keep cropping up and the only time she twitches her nose these days is after you've made a poorly timed joke, its time to call it quits this time for good. Lock yourself in the brace position for the five stages of grief:

Denial - Out to town you go, best threads on... the only thing wreaking more than your cheap cologne is your desperation, women can smell it like a German Shepard senses fear... and they wont have a bar of it. All your go to moves are outdated... like your wardrobe. Finally you submit and roll into a cab at 3am only then remembering most of your single nights out finished in a Kleenex not a durex!'

Anger - 'This is Bullshit', all those girls that showed interest in you when you where taken have evaporated like a mirage in the desert sky and you have turned into a shadow of your former self. You were a bona fide stud when you had a Mrs... or at least that's just how she made you feel!!

Bargaining - You've come to the realisation that you took your lady friend for granted and wish you could have her back, you may find yourself making deals with the Almighty despite not being to church since the 5th grade...

Depression - By now its a good idea to turn off the radio, or at least refrain from listening to Richard Mercer Love song dedications. This could see you a) sucking your thumb in the foetal position b) knocking back three of Penfold's finest before getting on the drunk dial or c) throwing the toaster in with the bathwater.

Acceptance - The girls moved on and she's not coming back... she's found a guy whose better looking, earns more money and in all probability better in the cot than you. Time to move on... hit the gym, update the wardrobe and attend to your declining hygiene.

Starting over;

After 6 months of a lifestyle comprising of beer, pizza and the odd one night stand, you decide there must be more to life then waking up every Sunday with a hangover. You may be ready for new love my friend and what better time than Valentine's day to either bask in blissful glory or get shot down in smoking flames!!

So remember, if youre thinking about dusting the cobwebs out of the wallet to buy roses for some pretty girl on the bus tomorrow, be careful what you wish for...

Happy Valentines day!!

Dear NRL...

Dear NRL,

Please sort your shit out...

Here is a six point plan:

1. Dump these incompetent batch of referees, in a professional age they are a fucken disgrace, they can't even count to six, I wasn't allowed past the first grade until this task was mastered. Let me see if I have this algorithm correct. Two on field refs, two touchies and one man in the box, all with two eyes each, therefore;
(2 + 2) + 1 x 2 = useless Twats!!

2. Sort out the ruck; if I wanted to watch a bunch of grown men wrestling on the ground grabbing each other by the balls on the weekends I'd line up at cube... If they wanna try it on send them to the pine for 10, they'll soon stop.

3. Sort out the salary cap debacle, teams shouldn't be punished because they develop talent. How the roosters can go from premiere ship contenders in 2010 to contenders again after a 'rebuild' in 2013 is farcical... Where is the incentive to develop players when you can just throw wads of cash around.

4. Please provide incentive for attacking league: hit up, hit up, hit up, hit up, dummy half and kick on the fifth is not my idea of a good time.

5. Give the Raiders a chance, they develop all this talent only for them to piss off once they out grow moose heads...make hem accountable FFS!!

6. Please reinvent the footy show, I have to see that old red headed prick on my tele on a Thursday evening I'm going to be sick. 'Crack a fatty' may have been funny in 1996 but not now. The two best presenters you had buggered off to Fox Sports (Sterlo and johns) and instead we have this geriatric old fart pedalling out jokes two decades past their prime.