Big Red Car, we like to ride. And by 'ride' I mean 'hit with a hammer'.

Firstly, let's get this out of the way nice and early. Yes, I'm now on Arsebook. Yes, I realise how much of a total fucking hypocrite that makes me. No, I don't give a rancid set of bollocks. We move on.

Hell, it has become clear to me, is being trapped in a room with a singing Wiggles 'Big Red Car' which alternately, tinnily and endlessly blares the first twelve bars of either 'Toot Toot Chugga Chugga, Big Red Car' or 'Big Red Car, We Like To Ride' at serenity-obliterating dB. (Learn your future and weep, up-the-duff types.) Civil aviation law probably prohibits me from inflicting such a fate on the other passengers on Monday's trans-tasman Pac Blue flight into Sin City, on the basis that it's an act of terrorism. Which just leaves several hours of A320-bound dullness to try and entertain an energetic 20 month old kid whose favourite things in the world - climbing on stuff, falling off stuff and complaining about it, squealing loud enough to pierce eardrums - will be effectively off limits for the duration, which will frustrate both him and the mild ADD he inherited from his old man. Fortunately, one of his other favourite things in the world, flirting with waitresses, air hosties and other attractive girls in service industry professions (something else inherited from his old man) will be no problem at all - it is a Pac Blue flight after all. The Air NZ flight home in a fortnight might be more problematic as the national carrier appears to be a retirement home for old hosties.

One of the best things about having a kid, apart from the kid, and being able to flirt vicariously with air hostesses, is the excuse it gives you to ramble through toy stores pretending you're looking for something for them, rather than yourself. And building massive go-away downhill racetracks from sticking all the ramps, petrol stations and parking lots together with cheap-arse gaffa tape bought in bulk from Mitre 10 Mega and seeing how fast the thing can get by the sweeping downhill left-hander (a.k.a. the carwash offramp) before the big jump over Teddy and Wags the Dog. Occasionally I even let Lucas have a go, which is probably good for his personal development. So far, our extensive vehicle testing programme, carried out under the most rigorous of scientific parameters, has demonstrated the following:

- Mega Bloks' Tiny 'N' Tuff cars look cool as shit, but have bugger all ground clearance and bottom out on serious surface transitions






- Playskool stuff is more top heavy than Pamela Anderson on a penny farthing; corners best avoided






- Unless on their poxy dedicated track, Thomas the Tank Engine trains understeer like pigs on greased lino










- Mummy needs to buy us more cars

- And more track

























But, of course, experiments are continuing. We'll keep you posted on our findings.

The Doctor is OUT.

Football, meat pies, Kangaroos and Holden cars

The footy jumpers have been packed away, the maroon-and-white balloons and streamers have been taken down, half the Manly side is in the Kangaroos squad (and the other half's in the Kiwis), and the Melbourne Rain Depression are busy having their medical staff inspect the new hole in their arse they got torn on Sunday evening. Thanks to the birds of prey, the footy (as distinct from football) season is over, which can only mean one thing. Yes, it's Bathurst Beer Bingo time again.

Naysayers and gimlet-eyed fun-police types have long railed against the glorious exposition of stupidity and exploration of constitution that the '3B' entails. They say it's pointless, that it's utterly without merit, that it glorifies the abuse of alcohol. I say... yup. It is. It's hammering the piss for seven hours watching taxis circulating around a drought-affected hillside in central-western NSW. Your point being?

Bathurst - the race, not the excuse for pissing it up like bastards that it provides - has itself been accused of similar dubiousity. In the race's past, through its various naming rights sponsors, it's been accused of glorifying immoral and unsavoury activities like abusing alcohol (Tooheys), smoking cigarettes, particularly obscure Irish ones (Gallagher), smoking brake pads (Hardie-Ferodo), sending insurance agencies broke because you're a clueless fucktard, Rodney (FAI), and giving your employees mesothelioma (James Hardie). Currently, the race is sponsored by purveyor of nasty plastic goods parallel-imported from China and still whiffing of melamine, SuperCheapAuto, whose major crime against society is their continuing employment of aging irrelevance Rusty Ringpull as 'The Enforcer' in their once-funny TV ads. (Though that one time he gives the guy in the old Lancer a Dirty Sanchez is still gold. Fact.)

With that said, we can now unveil this year's edition of the 3B Rules Of Engagement.

The Drink
The Drink is defined as both the liquid content of the Vessel (q.v.) and the act of imbibing said vessel in a unit volume generally corresponding to a minor event of interest or intrigue in the Race. The World of Bollocks recommends Speights, Pride of the South for over 130 years.

The Vessel
The Vessel is defined as both the drinking container, and a unit volume of Drink to be consumed in the event of a more significant incident or instance unfolding in the Race, or just in the Local Vicinity of the Pissheads. The World of Bollocks recommends the standard NZ seven-ounce (200mL) beer glass as provided by most public houses in conjunction with the purchase of bulk volumes of beer. If using a ten-ounce (285mL, aka pot or middy), you should be a'ight but take small sips after half-race. If using a schooner or pint, you may find you are utterly fucked by the first pitstops.

The Race
The Race is defined as the 2008 SuperCheapAuto Bathurst 1000, for those terminally fucking slow on the uptake. Get with it, Palinistas.

The Object of the Mo'fo'ing Exercise, Dawg
The Race is a Race of Endurance. Hence, the Object of the Mo'fo'ing Exercise is to survive for the entire duration of the event, from green light to chequered flag, and still make work on Monday.

The Rules
Drink-Worthy Incidents
The following incidents have a priori been determined worthy of a Drink in the 2008 running of Bathurst Beer Bingo:
* Gratuitous pre-race shots of grid girls (unless minging)
* Channel Seven cutting to an ad break as soon as something interesting happens
* Replays of minor spins, overshoots, lawnmowing adventures, sandpit action or inter-car nerfage (not resulting in a Safety Car)
* Any crowd shots showing total and utter snaggle-toothed bogan fucktards looking like extras from Deliverance
* Neil Crompton busting out the 3D walk-thru CAD stuff for no apparent reason whatsoever
* Rusty giving that bloke the Dirty Sanchez (gold, I'm telling you)
* Channel Seven tossing on about how they invented Racecam (like Al Gore invented the internet)
* New in-car camera footage from any angle so obscure you can't figure out where or how the fuck they managed to get the thing to stay on, and why they bothered
* Random, gratuitous, unnecessary sponsorship of stuff eg KFC Zinger replay, Armor All race update, Medibank Private accident report, Acme Urinal Cake slashers break

Vessel-Worthy Incidents
You will be required to drain the contents of your vessel into your fat piehole on occasion of the following taking place before thee:
* The start of the race, scheduled for 1030 hours AEST. If your religion forbids you from knocking one back before the sun is over the yardarm (or even before midday), change your religion. Enough with the fairy stories and superstition people, we're civilised human beings
* Channel Seven busting out some utterly ridiculous new camera angle (eg BrascoCam, which follows Greg Murphy into the portaloo when he's having a sulk)
* The declaration of a Safety Car period
* The continuation of any Safety Car period beyond ten laps
* Neil Crompton breathlessly declaring that all anyone is doing in the first part of the race is 'buying a ticket to the last 30 laps' (note this will probably be downgraded to 'Drink' status after the first dozen occurrences)
* Confirmed sightings of any of the following being employed upon race entries in pitlane:
- duct tape
- slide hammer
- sledge hammer
- disproportionate amounts of violence
* When it absolutely fuckin' pisses down mid-race
* When it stops
* Any of the commentary team leaving their cellphone on
* Any of the commentary team not calling it the SuperCheapAuto Bathurst 1000, or similar sponsor-abandoning faux pas
* Any of the preening overpaid taxi drivers whinging about traffic (fuck's sake lads, there's only thirty-odd taxis out there, back in the day there was sixty cars across several classes of glacialness)
* Dick Johnson or someone from Brad Jones' team having a whinge in a pit lane interview
* Any time an in-car or on-car camera gets Fucked Up by driving into stuff
* On occasion that someone from The Other Side fucks up royally and makes a race-terminating cock of themselves, eg Lowndes spinning off for Holden fans, or HRT #1 dropping its guts up Mountain Straight on lap 1 for the Fraudulators. Note that unaligned parties are strongly encouraged to pick a side and man the fuck up, or they're drinking whenever it goes pear-shaped for ANY BASTARD.

Penalty Vessels
The following are individual punishments of a Vessel, to be self-administered to any member of your party who commits the following acts of naivety or ignorance:
* Giggling whenever anyone mentions 'Winterbottom'
* Disrespecting the new Brocky statue by pointing out it looks like the one of King Wally Lewis with a bad hairpiece (well, worse than the one he actually has)
* Liking Craig Lowndes
* Not getting their fucking round in
* Bringing food (unless they brought enough for everyone)
* Bringing girls (unless they brought enough for everyone)

Good luck, good hunting, and may the best Holden win.

The Doctor is OUT (to get the Powerades in for Sunday night)