League and union: leveraging convergent synergies going forward

THIS HAS NOWT TO DO WITH SPORT BUT WE'LL RUN WITH IT ANYWAY
Regardless of your age, status or station in life, it can be said without fear of correction that life presents one with certain truisms; certain universal truths, certain undeniable, incontrovertial facts, nay laws of nature, which remain valid, true and reliable throughout the arc of one's, and indeed everyone's experience. These universal truths include:
- Success is one percent inspiration, ninety-nine percent perspiration
- Force equals mass times acceleration*
- Americans are odd
- South Sydney aren't very good at football
- Michael Schumacher is an arse
- The CIA got rid of Gough Whitlam
- The most cretinous song ever written is 'My Lumps'
- There were far too many commas in that opening sentence
And, last but not least:
- Tom Cruise is a fuckin' fruit loop. A couch-bouncing, placenta-eating, Scientology-dribbling nutbar who should be put in a sack and beaten with a big stick. Birth trauma my arse. (Though obviously the aliens told me to say that and I need to be audited post-haste.)



















They're gonna get-get-get you drunk.
Get you love-drunk on their humps.
Twats.

Cruise has been arsewhoring himself around the women's mags and the gossip shows with Big Idiot Grin #5B on full beam, spouting endless trite bollocks about his sacrifical virgin childbride (sorry, his willing and loving life-partner) Katie Holmes, no relation of John, popping one out in glorious THX surround silence. "It was beautiful," said the midget basket-case of his missus' birth. "It was powerful. It was emotional. It was also the closest I've been to Katie's nasty since the doctors let me watch her being impregnated with L.Ron's cryopreserved love custard."

*Note that Force equals mass times acceleration everywhere except in Perth where Force equals all the guys who couldn't get a run at any of the other provinces times the likelihood of John Mitchell talking entirely in ludicrous management wankwords. I'm serious, if 'going forward' he talks about the 'convergence' of his and the Force's 'journeys' one more fuckin' time, I'm going to synergistically leverage HIS low-hanging fruit.


All of which brings us neatly to our EGGCHASERS SPECIAL - that's right, lovers of league and underlings of union, this Weak is all about the the greatest game of all, as well as the one they play in heaven. Fifteen or thirteen, you's gonna be hurteen.

Urrgh. Jesus Christ that's bad.


PASSING GAZ
Mark Gasnier, it seems, is a rugby league player, and a reasonably good one at that. He is moderately famous for being one of St George-Dapto's "centres of excellence", though to be fair, is probably more famous for (a) besporting a chin that would give Schumi small-man syndrome, (b) being the sprog of St George legend Reg 'Puff the Magic Dragon' Gasnier's brother, and (c) while seated in a taxi with 'four toey humans ready to shoot spunk', politely suggested that the young lady on the end of his friend's telephone line should 'fire up you sad cunt' and make herself available for their common entertainment.

With stellar character endorsements such as those on his CV, it seems no wonder the ARU have offered to pay him several hundred thousand dollars per year to cross the floor and warm the bench for the Wallabies... well, someone's gotta keep Dell company.

OK, I can hear the protests from here. I accept that was unfair, and I rescind that last comment. You're right. There's no way Gasnier would make the Wallaby bench.


MOTLEY CRU
The Western Force, as discussed elsewhere, are not a very good rugby union side. When one takes into account the huge amounts of capital invested in their formation, the stellar alignment of talent throughout the squad, and the reputation of their coaching staff, they have turned into comfortably the worst side in the inaugural Super 14 competition. Indeed, after twelve weeks of the competition, only two teams have failed to beat the Hollow Farce so far. One of those teams is the Cats from Johannesburg, an appalling excuse for a rugby side who have stunk the place up for years, would struggle to beat Tamworth Magpies B-grade (apparently touched up 34-0 last weekend), and should deservedly be relegated from the Super 14 when the Sarth Efricans bring in their new Southern Spears franchise next season.
The other team who have failed to beat the Hollow Farce is...
(at this point Dr Yobbo dissolves in giggles and falls off his chair)
...seven time Super 12 champions, the Crusaders from Christchurch town, that flat and featureless shithole of distinction. The Motley Cru followed up this glorious draw with a heroic loss to the Stormers, in the Cape Town side's first home win of the season.
Could this be a sign of the wheels falling off the Crusader juggernaut?
Is the banjo the favoured musical instrument of Cantabrians?
Did Dr Yobbo's old man think the Super 14 was called that because there was 14 players on a team?

(Um, yes to all three. But in his defence he was probably watching a game being refereed by Tappe Henning, who'd binned a player from each side for correctly surmising that he was a lanky streak of shite.)


WHO'S THAT ARSEY GIT
Meanwhile skunk-haired Brumbies second-five Matt Giteau has bewilderingly been offered millions of dollars (in real, actual, non-Monopoly money) to go and play rugby union, for apparently that's what he calls it, for the Western Bacon Cheeseburger. Following these developments, Kiwi rugby journos have started tagging Giteau 'Steve Austin', for obvious reasons. They're total fuckwits.

















Matt Giteau, the Pepe le Peu of Australian rugby


STAND UP AND BE KHUNTED
New Zealand-born New Zealander, Karmichael Hunt, has provoked a stir in the trans-Tasman media prior to the Anzac test by pledging his allegiance to the Australian Rugby League. Broncos fullback Hunt, newly nicknamed 'Yorak' by his former countrymen, spent his formative years in the Shakies (14 of same) before moving to Straya a couple of years ago. Despite the furore over his selection to play against the nation of his birth, Hunt was taken aback by the controwversy (thanks very much Rabs) surrounding his apparent betrayal of his Kiwi roots. It wasn't for glory, or a Maroons jersey, or a better chance at winning that he'd taken Australian citizenship. It was for the same reason, he explained, that any and every other New Zealander who comes to Australia does the same thing. It's the only way to get the dole.

Meanwhile Queensland league types are also up in arms over the selection of Hunt, but for another reason: by picking Hunt at fullback, the Australian selectors overlooked Cowboys and Maroons custodian Matt Bowen. Given that Bowen is shorter than the working week at federal parliament, he's not hard to overlook.

Matt Bowen (actual size)

Speaking of North Queensland's favourite garden gnome it's time to bow out on a high note with another installment of our ever-classy pictorial supplement...


MAN-LOVE MOMENT OF THE WEAK















Our suggested captions:
(a) Queenslandaaahhh!... ahh... aaahhhhh.....
(b) Reckon them city folk would notice if we lynch him rahht here, Cleetus?
(c) Call that a grapple tackle?
(d) _____________________ (the reader is invited to insert their own reference ref. Queenslanders being stupid, racist, inbred or all of the above)

To vote, press the red button on your Foxtel or Sky Digital remote. This will turn off your TV so you can get off your fat arse, go outside and get some exercise, you corpulent fuck.


The Doctor is OUT.