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Monday, December 14, 2009

The Punchy Punchy Chronicles: Volume 7

When faced with a difficult choice in the past, like which self-tanner to use, what time to eat my next meal containing chorizo, or which photograph of Clive Owen does the best things for my pants, I’ve always chosen the highly scientific, time-honoured ‘eeny meeny miny mo’ method.

Oh, but not any more. Not. Any. More. You know what I’m talking about.

A quick reminder, too – don’t forget the Jungle Juice Drinking Game. Every time anybody utters the word ‘jungle’, take a shot. If you hear a bonus “booyaka” or “my man”, pop a cocktail umbrella in your glass. I’ll save you a spot next to me in rehab. It’ll be ace.

The Philosophy Of Hitting Blokes And That.

Speaking of which, it’s pretty much the Sonni show as far as quotes go this week. He’s like a philosophy machine fuelled by leopard skin and bananas.

• Before attempting the rock-climbing challenge, Sonni explores all available options for avoiding it. First, he doubts the prize offer with “Monkey climb only when there is banana at top of tree, you know. Without banana, monkey never climb”. When Charlotte assures him that there is in fact,a banana, he tries “I don’t want to be a burglar. I don’t climb walls, I climb tree”. It’s only when Ms Dawson claims that she herself could climb the wall that he gets off his arse and straps it into a harness. Dude. It’s a wall with lumps on it. Get on with it.

• When discussing his family, Sonni mentions that “I miss my mum cuddle”. I swear I totally walked up to my television screen and pinched his cheeks at this point. SONNI NEEDS JUNGLE CUDDLES, YO.


For the challenge this week, the boys have to climb the wall of an indoor rock-climbing gym as quickly as possible. Now, I’ve been to a rock-climbing gym before, and I’m told that apparently, there’s more to do there than just stand on the ground staring up at men’s buttocks getting smaller and smaller in the heightened distance. And there is! You can also watch them coming back down again. It’s really quite a well-rounded sport. So to speak. Cough.

After some initial bitching, moaning, declarations of being scared of heights and other robustly masculine activity, Kariz proves himself as the fastest climber and gets to choose one of three boxes that contain a prize.

Does he flip a coin? No sir, he does not.

Does he engage in some brisk paper, scissors rock action? No sir, he does not.

Does he draw straws, put it to a vote or calculate the statistically most rewarding box? No sir, no sir, no sir,he does not.

Kariz gets out his index finger, points to each box in turn and chants “Picky, Picky, Ponky”.
Do not doubt that this is the best thing you’ve ever heard.


It never really occurred to me before that boxers might be vain. I always just assumed that with the facial scarring and mashed noses and such that perhaps these gentlemen might dispense with the vagaries of stylish outfitting and cosmetic enhancement. Then I started watching this show.

It’s really hard to tell, but if you look closely, you can see that Garth has the faint, tell-tale signs of an eyelift. Honestly, it takes years off him.

Victor is better at hiding his own eye work, but then gives the game away by pointing right at it.

Sonni looks pretty happy with his facelift, but the stitches are a bit extreme.

The Ladies And Offspring Of The Ring.

So blah, blah, Victor’s kids and wife are adorable, yadda, yadda. I’m way too distracted by Sonni’s mate, Luigi The Walking Stereotype. Check him out:

He-a make-a the pizza.

If his mobile phone rings and I don’t hear this, I’m suing for false advertising.

KOs and OKs

• When Sonni comes last in the climbing challenge, he says it’s his job to come ‘Everlast’. SO close to looking clever, Sonni. If only you hadn’t spelt it backwards on your chest.

• You know what makes my heart flutter? Unbridled man-love is what. And if that man-love occurs between Nader the swarthy hirsute gent and Josh the world’s biggest food-spilling boofhead, ALL THE BETTER.

Imagine the noble bogan babies.

• Leopard-skin boxing boots, you complete me. Especially when you’re accompanied by Sonni dancing in front of the mirror in both you and his underwear. Thanks once again.

Punchy Punchy.

Sonni and Victor get in their shiny pyjamas and dance, cuddle, dodge, drink, hop, spit, punc... oh, look. Victor wins, okay? We all knew it was gonna happen. Anyway, by this point in the proceedings the word ‘jungle’ has been used so often that we’re too rat-arsed on hooch to care, right?
Except we do. We DO care. Because we know that the real loser here is fashion.

Fashion, and batshit crazy.

Bye, Jungle Boy. We’ll miss you, you mental, mental, bastard.
No banana for you, my friend.


Dale said...

New drinking game if you make it through the jungles.

When you spot a contestant from another reality show like, a model who won stuff and a model who liked cake, have a shot.

Again this is simply to finish yourself off should you feel the need.

Anonymous said...


My love for you is everlasting

Anonymous said...

my name is Friday and I've come early.

Anonymous said...

Too funny!

little dog said...

I see "Jungle Boy" is up on some sexual assault charge and not likely to be invited back for reunion show and final episodes.


He was such a complete NOB!