Have a drink on me

The World of Bollocks doesn't often get moralistic, but it's time to talk about a poison in society today that eats away at the very fabric of, erm, society. Ruins people who can't control themselves with it. Destroys families. Leads kids to make stupid mistakes, and is rightly illegal for them to partake in. Giving it up for a month? Ye gods, it should be given up for ever. I can only support calls for it to be banned, and soon.

That's right, I'm talking about rooting.

Dry July. Fucking meh. How about No Sextember? Why is giving up the turps for a month in any way worth celebrating? Why is denying yourself pleasure or happiness a worthy exercise, given we're only here for a good time not a long time and no fucker can prove conclusively otherwise? Why are we in a headlong rush to out-smug each other in a race to the bottom to appease the punishing twats who want to run their lives and yours by actuarial tables or religious rote? How is Dry July any more worthy than the fucking Jonas Brothers peddling Disney-approved chastity and abstinence to hormonal teenagers? Or the Taliban cutting people's fucking heads off for not agreeing with their world view? It's all just different means of trying to compel behaviour change, after all.

Let's face it, people - everything fun in life is under permanent attack from moralistic nimrods. Drinking will kill you. Smoking gives you cancer. Sex gives you syphilis, AIDS and teenage pregnancy. Red meat makes the Earth cry. Driving cars more than 100km/h will make you explode spontaneously and catch fire, unless for some reason that the RTA haven't entirely explained, you're in Europe. The inter-google is full of sex-offending lolcats who want to steal your identity and sell it to Nigerian scammers. Everything you love will kill you.

You can give in to those people, and life your life the way they want you to. Or you can tell each and every peddler of this Dry July bullshit to go and fuck themselves with the blunt end of a Grolsch swingtop.

Some people, of course, need to get off the grog. But if you need to give up the drink for a month to prove a point, you probably need to give up the drink, full stop. You're not cut out for it, clearly. You need to retire from international drinking. You, Olly Reed and Freddie Fittler. But if you need peer pressure and celebrity bullying to stop you doing something that's not doing you any good, you're probably incredibly stupid. You don't need or deserve applause for giving up something that was fucking stupid to carry on with in the first place. 'Erm I've stopped putting me dick in the blender...' *golf clap* I think it's a sign of people who were praised too much for their toddler-age potty movements. Suddenly they think that every little turd they extrude is deserving of canonization.

But, of course, it's for charity! And that makes it alright, of course. How can I say any of this when it's for charity? You can do whatever the fuck you like for charity and no bastard can complain. To steal (another) line from Alexei Sayle, if Hitler had invaded Poland for spina bifida, it would have been no fucking problem would it?

It's July on Thursday. Drink, or don't drink. Your call. Just don't expect smug backpats, handshakes or reacharounds from the rest of society. Nobody cares about your self-denial, your self-delusion or your self-abuse. You might say it's a bit of harmless fun. I say it's the thin end of the fucking wedge. The line in the sand lies before us, scratched into the earth with the point of a well-worn corkscrew. Make your choice. Make your stand.

Me, I'll be at the bar, making up for the rest of you dead weight.
Chin chin.

The Doctor is OUT.

57 channels and nothing on

It's 10.45am on an icy, if sunny Saturday morning, and I'm on the couch, watching Fashion TV. And I have no idea why.

Well, let's go back. I know why. It's because I crashed out sick as a dog early last night and I'm trying to avoid the World Cup replays this morning, until the highlights show at half twelve. And there's NOTHING ELSE ON. Seriously. Not even an ancient repeat of Mythbusters on Discovery with Kari saying a lot of hellishly annoying shite yet still looking disconcertingly spankable. So that's how Your Correspondent has ended up watching Fahhhhshun TV. Apparently it's 'Fashion Friday' this (Saturday) morning. What do they have every other fucking day? Racing tips? Badminton? Repeats of Magnum PI? (That's on TV3, for the record.) Which brings me to the point of this wee ramble through the discombombombobulated pre-caffeinated conscious: what's the fucking point of FTV?


Now if you've never encountered FTV and want to find out about it, and if you Google it... how do I put this... FTVGirls.com doesn't appear to be actually anything to do with Fashion TV. Quite separate business models, I would venture. The former is watchable in its own right, though, but not in polite company. Fashion TV is basically endlessly looped footage from runway shows, backstage interviews and location shoots - meaning 24/7 of sulking, clonal, freakishly elongated Eastern European tweenage models who look like they'd break in half at the first attempt at acrobatic rumpy, should it not be highly illegal in every sovereign nation bar Vatican City (??!!) to be making such plans. The question remains though, who's actually watching FTV? The only place I've ever seen FTV screened in public is at those ostentatious wanker cafes on Park Road in Milton, Ferraris with badly kerbed alloys parked out the front, and utter, utter twats parked in most of the prime seating positions. Yet FTV certainly aren't struggling for a quid; the network's syndicated all over the globe, were recently listed on the Frankfurt stock exchange, and even have their own vodka FFS. Presumably tastes just as good coming back up as it did going down.

So is the point of FTV just to fill another slot on the dial for pay TV operators desperate for content? Sure, there are many, many channels on even your basic pay TV platform. Most of them make some sort of logical sense, have some sort of identifiable target demographic. Sports and movies, lifestyle and news, the audiences are pretty self-evident. Comedy Central are there for the people who want a laugh, until midnight when they roll out the shows with tits in them in a cheap and tawdry attempt to target the late night wanking market. E! channel fill their lineup with celeb goss and Not Particularly True Hollywood Stories and endless fucking reality TV shows following the every bowel movement of talentless attention whores like the Kardashians and Hefner's battalion of grubby exes, until midnight when they they roll out the shows with tits in them in a cheap and tawdry attempt to target the late night wanking market. Fashion TV can't be aimed at serious fahhshunistas because most of their material seems to be up to a couple of years out of date - runway shows from Milan 2008 and so on - so it's hardly at the cutting edge of fashion design. Not does it seem targeted at the late night self-abuse enthusiast audience either, given the underfed tweenie twiglets on show are kept resolutely under wraps, however scanty and expensive those wraps may be. Given the soundtrack selections of the producers, it's possible FTV is actually aimed at the last remaining Macy Gray fans out there. Both of them.


Now all of this probably just sounds like the bitter rantings about a bunch of starkly beautiful clotheshorses who wouldn't root Your Correspondent for practice, stats or danger money. And it is. But there's a lot to be said about the destructive qualities of the fashion industry, the affect it has on teenage girls' body image, and the hubris and vanity of a society which values skin-deep superficialities over the qualities and values inherent to the person within.

Yes, all that needs to be said, but not by me.
Gotta go. Seafolly bikini shoot in the Whitsundays.

The Doctor is OUT.

#worstWCever

Wikipedia is unequivocal when it comes to the 1990 FIFA World Cup: 'The 1990 World Cup is widely regarded as one of the poorest World Cups ever. It generated a record low goals-per-game average and a then-record 16 red cards were handed out, including the first ever dismissal in a final.' That goals-per-game average: 2.21. The current goals-per-game average of the 2010 FIFA World Cop in Safferstan: 1.625. And at the current rate of red ticketing, 2010 is looking like the send-off-special to rule them all. What we have here, ladies and gents, are all the indicators of what Twunter types would hashtag-up as #worstWCever. Throw in the vulva... volvozumba... those fucking irritating plastic hooter things the crowd are blaring away on like a demonically possessed year 2 recorder class, and you've got a tournament verging on being both unwatchable and unlistenable.

Correct use of the Vuvuzela

And all this WC hatin' has nothing to do with the Socceroos getting the absolute Mannschaft from the Germans this morning in Durban. Nothing. I know nussink...

It was never likely to go well. Not in away shirts that resembled something the Carlton footy club might have put out for their more preference-liberal fanbase. (Cos looking like Carlton is always a good omen for success, yeah?) And not with Pim Verbeek in charge. Not content with picking fewer strikers for his squad than can be counted on the fingers of Homer Simpson, he then deigned to select precisely none of them for his starting squad, setting his stall out in possibly the first ever 4-6-0 formation seen at a World Cup. Pim's a Clayton's coach at the best of times, but this was laughable. Even ze Chermans, with their world renown sense of humour, got the joke. The punchline being a centreback whose last gig saw him being found surplus to requirements by the Brisbane Raw.

It could have been worse. In terms of fahhhshun at least. Sure the Socceroos looked like they played, confused as to who the fuck they were and what the fuck they were there to do, but at least Pim and Arnie declined to turn up in sports jackets over skivvies, like Jurgi Lurrrve and the German brainstrust. Jesus on a stick. And at least we're AT the fucking tournament, unlike certain high-profile Nike marketing representatives. And at least we don't have this guy as our goalie.



Despite living in a glasshouse surrounded by a rockery, the Poms have been tripping over themselves to point and laugh at the Socceroos' shiteness. Intermittently competent England fast bowler Jimmy Anderson on the Magical Twunterbox: "It's becoming clearer why Australia invented Aussie rules football." Yeah, OK, fair call. Difference is though, unlike England, when we invent a sport we usually win at it.

So where to from here? With no clue, no Cahill and only bits of Kewell available for the next match against Ghana, there's only one fix that will save Australia's crispy KR Darling Downs bacon at this tournament: sack the entire squad and replace them with one who can actually win something.


So, this lot then. The 2010 Asian Cup winning Australian Matildas. They're in form, they can play, they probably even have strikers, and they look very comfortable in a gold shirt. Or, erm, out of one, even.

Which leaves only the question of whether the Australian public would be comfortable with admitting their womens national football side could easily run rings around their mens counterparts. Well, it'd be a step forward for equality, at least. And it's not as though the Seppos haven't been in the same position for the past 20 years.

The Doctor is OUT.

World Cup of Bollocks Preview Special

Yes kids, as it's time for the WC once more - and as it's never good to be too far from a WC, in my opinion - it's also time for our biennial Big Football Tournament Thing Preview Special. Almost entirely recycled from previous years. In fact, fuck it, let's call it The Weak In World Cup as per the last lot of edited highlights packages. For previous tournaments we've previewed each group, each team and each match in turn, given our predictions for winners, and analysed strengths and weaknesses for every participant, from the Argentine wingers to the Zambian team bus driver. This year, not so much. Our preview of the 2010 World Cup, in full:

- Brazil will win it, because they're Brazil

- England won't, because they're England

- Australia have as much chance of getting out of their group as New Zealand, but at least they can split a plane flight home

- Something will get blown up - possibly at an airport, possibly for resembling a defective package, possibly the Socceroos back four


And now, reruns.

Germany
Aka Der Fussballmannschaft, which sounds like gay schiesse porn.
Playing style: Absent. You know what to expect with the Germans, regardless of the cattle they put out onto the paddock. They will be technically proficient, tacically efficient, and incredibly tedious. They have won three world cups by imposing discipline, structure and rigidity on their more fluent opponents' games and grinding out results. You know where you are with the Germans. Bored shitless.

Random shit
Interesting facts: The currency of Costa Rica is the colon; unsurprisingly Eftpos is highly popular. Tourists are advised to beware of unstable currency fluctuations which could see them paying through the arse.

A shaman from Ecuador visited all 12 World Cup venues in Germany to banish evil spirits before the tournament. Tzamarenda Naychapi - a priest who practises magic for healing, divination and controlling events, and definitely NOT a Scrabble clue - let out a loud scream to chase away evil spirits in the centre of the pitch at Leipzig's Zentralstadion the Monday prior to kickoff. "I've come to Leipzig to purify this important place for the World Cup and to bring positive energy," said the 36-year-old. "I hope not to be locked up for being an absolute fruit loop," he added. "If I go down, Tom fucking Cruise should go down as well." This marks the first time any of the Shamen had been heard from since their 1992 single 'Ebeneezer Goode'.

The 1954 World Cup final was held in the dubiously named Wankdorf stadium, still in use today as the home ground of Swiss first division side Young Boys Berne. Indeed a recent UEFA Cup debacle where Young Boys shipped a bunch of goals at home was met with a now apocryphal headline on ESPN's Soccertwat.com: YOUNG BOYS WANKDORF SHAME.

France
A decent side when they want to be, but they travel like week-old prawns. Playing style: Haughty.

In a rare moment of Anglo-French accord, French international Thierry Henry publically declared his support for the English tilt prior to Germany 2006. The haughty striker, spearhead of his country's assault on the World Cup finals while Arselona and Barcenal quibbled over his services for season 2006/07, ferevently hopes that England will one day add to their lone world title triumph of 1966. "Then you might stop your endless fucking whinging," he added, "you stinking rosbifs."

My eyes... the goggles do nothing!
Yes that's right folks, they're back. Don't worry about that strange burning sensation on the back of your retinas. It's only the Dutch national team, resplendent in their fluorescent orange safety jackets, looking like council road workers. Then again, that's hardly a fair comparison; compared to Arjen Robben, council road crews actually turn up and put in an honest day's work occasionally, instead of falling over randomly every time a stray gust of wind crosses the pitch. As observed above, Robben Kezman to pay Arjen was one of the changes wrought to the winning Chelsea squad, and in the brief moments when he's not on smoko, the Dutch winger has made a decent impact at Stamford Bridge. Usually on the grass inside the 18-yard box, but an impact nonetheless.

Interesting facts: In the mid 1970s, Holland invented something called Total Football, which they used to get them to the final of consecutive world cups. Up to that point Partial Football had only been played and that wasn’t very good now was it.

Dutch striker Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink is the only footballer who has both his name and his address printed on his playing shirt. Presumably if he ended up passed out face-down on a park bench after a night on the turps, he could be sent home by return post.

Ronaldo is fat, ignorant, and would struggle to hit a cow's arse with a banjo. Brazil's Viduka, then
The World Cup winner from 2002 had been copping it through season '05/'06 from fans and media alike, as his waistline increases in inverse proportion to his form. "It doesn't bother me in the slightest," said Ronaldo. "I think it's all down to a lack of knowledge. After all, what is fat?" he mused philosophically. Either that or he thought he was playing Jeopardy, and the category was "Past-their-best Brazilian strikers who can't get a game for Real Madrid". Ronaldo, 29, has not played a competitive game since early April, when he limped out of Real Madrid's 1-1 draw with Real Sociedad with a thigh strain, sustained while sprinting during one of his 'training drills'. Those Mr Whippy vans move bloody quick these days.


As well has being positively identified by many opposition fans as the one who ate all the pies, Ronaldo has also unwisely attempted to take on the Australians at their national sport: sledging. The chubby genius has attempted to intimidate the Socceroos before their World Cup match by claiming that he had never heard of Kewell or Viduka, despite having twice played against them. Given that Ronaldo has played one decent game of football since his panic attack on the morning of the 1998 World Cup final (that one game, you may have guessed, was the 2002 World Cup final), this may explain Big Ron's pog-ordinary form over the past few years; it's hard to hit the target with your head up your arse.

Australia: you fucken beauty
No history at international level. Best players injured. Appalling draw. And on top of all that, are from a nation of Cletuses who voted for John Howard, FOUR TIMES, and think soccer is for poofs because noone sticks their head up anyone's arse and grunts a lot. Should cancel their hotel bookings before the second round. But like most Aussies in Europe, they'll be staying at backpackers or crashing on someone's floor anyway.

From our ‘Oh for fuck’s sake surely not’ file
If the predictions of the chief voodoo priest of Togo are true, the Sparrowhawks (now THAT’s a fuck-off manly nickname for your national team) stand on the verge of a historic 2006 FIFA World Cup Germany 2006 Etc™ campaign. The spirits have apparently let it be known that Togo, in their first-ever appearance at the tournament, will overcome Korea Republic and France to qualify for the round of 16. You heard it here first. (Actually you would have heard it on FIFAWorldCup.com first and here second because we blatantly ripped the motherfucker off). "We'll be performing miracles all over the pitch. The ancestral spirits say that Togo will go far in this World Cup," insists Togbui Assiogbo Gnagblondjro III, chief voodoo priest of Togo and freelance Scrabble clue. In his village of Vogan, 45 kilometres from Lome (the capital, not that tattooed Samoan dude Fa’atau who plays wing for the Hurricanes), the priest has already foreseen that the West Africans will defeat Korea Republic and France in the group stage of Germany 2006. He will only be able to predict the scores two days before each match, which will totally bugger up his chances in the village tipping comp which closes on Friday. By then, Togbui Assiogbo Gnagblondjro III will have arrived in Germany with all of his spiritual paraphernalia because, as he explains: "I cannot simply stay in Togo and say that we’ll win. But Togo are going to win! By the way, please don’t lock me up with Tom Cruise and that loonie shaman dude from Ecuador, those guys are fuckin’ fruit loops.” The priest is not alone in looking to the spirits for support. One German company has just launched a voodoo doll to which fans can pin the flag of the country they want to curse. A number of mail-order websites have already sold out of the dolls due to unforeseen demand. We've already put our order in for the Seppos, as you'd expect.

History lessened
Tunis, the capital of Tunisia (I’m waiting for the day Canberra gets renamed Austral) was the seat of the Carthaginian empire, a nation of ace shitstirrers and kickarse sailors who gave the Romans and the Greeks some serious stick in the hundreds BC. Mad props to Hannibal and his elephants, the navy, the whole deal. When the Romans finally defeated them and sacked the capital, they razed the city and ploughed salt into the fields. They’ve been fairly weak in international football ever since.

Images of the World Cup

Swedes go down in tight group

Bob didn't think much of Ronnie's Benny Hill impressions

Crap day for Zidane - sent off in the final, then his car wouldn't start

BRAAAAIIINNNNNZZZZZ

The Golden Typo for Best Quote of World Cup 2006
AC Milan's Gennaro (Rino) Gattuso, legendary axe-merchant of Italian football - he learned his trade not in Serie A but with Rangers in the Scottish Premiership, so he's definitely bilingual with phrases such as 'studs-up challenge' and 'second bookable offence'. Gattuso was in a bit of injury trouble prior to the tournament and there were concerns he wouldn't make the tournament, but as he told reporters, he was going to the World Cup regardless of his coach's decision: "Even if Lippi decided to send me home then I would have chained myself to the team bus. You would have had to call the police to take me away."
Italy went to Germany by plane.

The Stefan Kuntz Golden Nametag for the Player with the Most Unfortunate Name
Quim (goalkeeper, Portugal). Has to be Quim. Everyone loves Quim. We didn't see enough Quim in this World Cup but hopefully we'll see a lot more Quim at club level in the coming season.

The 'Duhhhh' Award for Most Inevitable Moments of Germany 2006
Take your pick from:

• Germany winning a penalty shootout
• England losing one
• Sepp Blatter talking a lot of bollocks before, during and after the tournament
  
• Spain falling over pathetically in the knockout stage
• The Argies starting a fight after losing
• A defender being Italy's best player of the tournament

And finally, ahead of Australasia's inevitable exit at the group stage in Sarth Efricor:

FIFA WORLD CUP GERMANY 2006 EXIT SURVEY

Dear World Cup Participant,

Thank you for taking part (up until recently at least) in FIFA World Cup Germany 2006. To aid us in providing the best possible World Cup experience for all our clients, we would be grateful if you could spare a few moments on our Official FIFA World Cup Germany 2006 Exit Survey.

First we would like to collect some general information about the demographics of our World Cup audience. This information will not be used for any commercial purpose whatsoever and will be destroyed immediately after statistical analysis. (In the shredder at that nice Mr Coca-Cola's place.)

1. Name ________________
(optional, but having one tends to help)

2. Nation (select from the list below)
__ Brazil
__ Argentina
__ Italia
__ Eng-er-land
__ Straya
__ Liquorland
__ Germany (place one precise cross wholly above the line but not intersecting the line above using a sharpened HB or B pencil but not a 2B or 2H pencil and you will comply with our exacting demands OR VE VILL HAFF YOU SCHOTT!!!)
__ Wherever that arseclown ref from the Italy game came from
__ France (of course not, you would have refused to fill the form in unless it was in French, you pack of wankers)
________ USA (figured we needed to make the target nice and wide for you guys)
__ One of those busted-arse Africans who goes out in the first round
__ Random Eastern European shithole
__ Somewhere ending in 'Stan'
__ Somewhere else

3. Sex
__ Male
__ Female
__ Boy-band member
__ You thought we were going to put 'Yes please' didn't you, you tosser

4. Age - Are you...
__ Underage
__ 18-30
__ 31-32
__ 33-96
__ 97-183

Supplementary question (if you answered 'Female' to question 3 and '18-30' to Question 4):
4a. Do you have any Aussie in you?
4b. Would you like some?

The next section of the survey deals with your perceptions of the World Cup and your general knowledge about football.

5. In your opinion, what caused your country's exit from the World Cup?
__ Rorted by dodgy refereeing decision
__ Goalkeeper blinded by Dutch playing strip
__ Bloody Ronaldo finally figuring out the net in front of him isn't there to catch wild boar for roasting whole and eating
__ Being American
__ Jeff Kennett*
__ Coach drew the opposition team in office sweepstakes competition
__ Scoring less goals than the other team, and/or not being very good at football

*Jeff Kennett's responsible for everything that goes wrong. You might think we're making it up but the list goes on and on.

6. Do you think that your general knowledge and awareness of football has increased through watching FIFA World Cup Germany 2006?
__ Yeah
__ Nah
__ Yeah nah yeah mate [Queensland all-rounders only]
__ Doesn't fuckin' look like it does, Dr Mrs Dr Yobbo is beating me in the fuckin' office tipping comp so shut up about it already

If you answered 'Yeah' to Question 6 (or even if you didn't) please answer the following questions in order to determine whether your general football knowledge has improved:

7. What is 'off-side'?
__ The position Harry Kewell is in when he scores equalising goals [Surnames ending in 'avic' only]
__ A player is in an offside position if "he is nearer to his opponents' goal line than both the ball and the second to last opponent," unless he is in his own half of the field of play. A player level with the second last opponent is considered to be in an onside position. Note that the last two opposing players can be either the goalkeeper and an outfield player, or two outfield players. And no, of course I didn't look that up on Wikipedia, what are you trying to suggest?
__ The side of the field where all the gayest cricket shots are played - have a fuckin' slog across the line, what are ya a poofta or sumfink
__ The opposite to 'near-side', which is the side of the car your girlfriend always dings when parking
__ Being inside the ten at the play-the-ball
__ Silverside that's been left out in the sun too long
__ Your best mate's missus, unless you're Wayne Carey



















8. This man is...
__ Dago Madonna, or something
__ Some little diving cunt
__ Wearing my fuckin' T-shirt, the thieving bastard












9. This man is...
__ Fabio Grosso, the most beautiful cheat in the cosmos
__ Another little diving cunt
__ Not likely to get a root in Australia anytime soon



















10. This man (at left) is...
__ Blind
__ Stupid
__ Corrupt
__ Insane
__ For the fuckin' long jump if he ever comes near me
__ The same clown who reffed the UR Gay game, if you can believe it

11. Based on their respective form in the competition, who do you think would win a match between the US and Iran?
__ Iran
__ The US
__ The International Atomic Energy Agency
__ Anyone in the crowd selling 'No-Doze'
__ Luciano Moggi
__ Who gives a shit

12. What do you think was the most unsavoury incident or element of the 2006 World Cup?
__ That Seppo dude with blood pissing out of his scone midway through the Italy game
__ The four red cards in the Portugal-Holland game
__ Street brawls between German and Polish hooligans
__ Franz Beckenbauer getting on the TV coverage of every fuckin' game with those hideous gold aviator sunnies on, even when it's ten o'clock at night for fuck's sake
__ Peter Crouch dancing the robot
__ Peter Crouch
__ Crowd shots of anyone from the Ukraine (what's Ukrainian for 'fell out of ugly tree and hit every branch?)

13. At this stage, who do you think will win the World Cup?
__ Brazil
__ Argentina
__ Someone else
__ You mean they still keep playing after Australia loses? Whatever for?
__ Luciano Moggi
__ The fuckin' All Blacks, unless they fall over in the semi again

14. Will you watch the World Cup in 2010?
__ Of course. I'm a dyed in the wool Socceroos fan now, honest. I really like that Tim Kewell, he's a really good goalkeeper
__ No I've gone off sequels after those fuckin' piss-poor new Star Wars movies
__ Nah soccer's for poofs - I'm off to NZ in 2011 instead to watch a bunch of fat blokes shove their heads up each others' arses
__ I think the bandwagon's in for its 10,000 km service that month
__ Sure, as long as it's in a decent time zone. Where is it, out of interest? South Africa?!? Oh for fuck's sake...


Day and a half to go. Get some sleep.

The Doctor is OUT.

Ernie Dingo stole my baby

Ah, bless. It's always amusing when life imitates art, if In The Worst Possible Taste can be considered as such. Gasket freaks may recognise the above post title as one of the lads' poorer attempts at lyrical humour. It's funnier when it's true, though. For it seems actor, presenter and hat enthusiast Ernie Dingo had been caught on the job with people who aren't his missus of 21 years - first by one enterprising lass who misguidedly thought what the world needed now was some Bingle-style nude shower snaps of the Croc Dundee alumnus, and was willing to pay $100K for the privilege thereof; then by a single mother from western Victoria who has come forward in order to report Dingo's behaviour to the relevant authorities, i.e. New Idea. Normally, you'd expect that'd be thank you linesmen, thank you ballboys for the marital union in question.

Nup. Cos as it turns out, Ernie Dingo has an open marriage, according to someone who would probably know, his missus. God-awful puns along the lines of 'that's not a wife, THIS is a wife' aside, some may say that it's a brave and noble call on the part of the couple to recognise their personal needs were on separate paths and yet found a way to keep the family unit together while still remaining happy and fulfilled in their romantic lives. Others would argue that no matter what, Ernie Dingo needs to realise that cheating on your missus is a dog act.

Me? I got nothing, as you can tell by the dismal content of this fucking post. Back to writing more ITWPT. Public holidays FTW.

The Doctor is OUT.