Tuesday, February 24, 2009
OMG, if it wasn’t for Sally Fletcher and Lady Gaga, this episode would have made me vomit up my cold soba noodles and dipping sauce. There’s even a guy whose surname is Chuck. There is no way people in the seventies really looked that mank and had pictures of forests wall-papered onto their kitchen. Okay, I can accept that they didn’t have mobile phones or spin classes or shows about vampires back then, but bull everybody wore tracksuits. LIES.
Pubs were really dangerous in the seventies. You could hardly walk into one without being hit with an ashtray, or bashed with the butt end of a gun, or seeing someone wearing flannelette. Now pubs are a lot safer because there’s no ashtrays or flannelette, and anyway I go to The Ivy.
Alison’s totally not even bothering with clothes anymore. She’s just sitting around in the nude in a hotel room with Matthew Newton, saying “Mirry Chrustmus, sixy” and drinking champagne. She has a pretty good idea about cutting the bottom out of suitcases to hide heroin, and she’s really good at maths, which turns Matthew Newton on. If only someone cut the bottom out of Matthew Newton, then we wouldn’t have to look at his anymore hahahaha! He gives Alison heaps of icing sugar to thank her.
There was a confusing bit this week. Okay, so Robert Trimboli sends people to sell drugs in Melbourne. Some uggers (led by Ray Chuck, so I’ll call them the ‘Chucky Uggers’) steal some money from one of Trimboli’s dealers. Trimboli sends the Kane brothers to threaten the Chucky Uggers, which makes the Chucky Uggers want to kill the Kane brothers. Trimboli helps sell the Chucky Uggers some guns to kill one of the Kane brothers, meaning that Trimboli got some of his money back from the guy who stole it in the first place.
So basically I worked that out all by myself instead of doing my Biology homework, but I should be able to get extra credit, because that’s the smartest thing I’ve ever done if you don’t count predicting that vinyl leggings would be huge.
Lady Gaga makes everybody some tea.
Sally Fletcher is in this show, but she’s stopped going on about Milko. She’s married to one of the Kane brothers, and she’s cross because she lives in an ugly house with ugly furniture and has to answer the ugly phone, and because the Chucky Uggers machine-gun her husband to death and leave a mess. She eventually tells the police about it, and Lady Gaga tries not to cry. She keeps her poker face.
Next week the hair gets even worse, and there’s more suitcases, guns and boobs, and there might be more Dieter Brummer. I mean, watching this show is like watching Home And Away through a brown filter.
I have to go get stuff waxed. I’ll see you next week.
Friday, February 20, 2009
(If it’s your first visit here and this doesn’t make sense, you might need to go back and read parts one through six. If it’s your first visit here and this does make sense, then… y’know… congratulations).
Keith Urban became a father recently, and he’s commendably committed to the job. Keith believes that, like playing guitar and drinking, the more you practice, the better you get. So when my mate David had a barbecue a couple of weeks ago and invited about fourteen thousand children, Keith was only too happy to help out.
Uncle Keith is here!
First person to shoot him off the top of the bin gets a new bike!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Okay, so it looks like in every episode of this show there’ll be one chopped up body in a bag and eighty thousand nipples. I haven’t seen so many boobs since I last tried on a Sass & Bide frock in a David Jones changeroom, and stood right in that corner where the two mirrors meet, and looked at it at the right angle so your reflection kind of goes on forever. Anyway there’s heaps.
So most of the nipples belong to this new girl Alison, who looks like Jessica Simpson before she got heinous fat, but with the same number of pairs of high-waisted shorts. She does the dirty on her boyfriend with Matthew Newton, because her boyfriend didn’t shave after Movember. When she has sex with Matthew Newton it’s really romantic, like in Gossip Girl. OMG I love Chuck Bass.
There are lots of parties at Bondi in this episode, but everyone’s drinking weird cocktails like Pina Coladas and Daiquiris, not real cockails like Jager bombs.
Matthew Newton gets Alison to take some money to Singapore in her make-up bag, and the guards at the airport don’t suspect anything, which is so gay. Anyone who carries that much make-up would do a better job of covering up her freckles – it’s so obvious she’s a smuggler. She also takes some heroin back into Sydney under her gross shirt, but has to run to the toilets to check if she has her period or something, which really freaks her out.
The guy with the worst hair and the worst moustache in the whole show is punished by being internally searched by an airport guard, and then shot and chopped up by Matthew Newton. Alison waits for Matthew Newton in a hotel room, and there’s blood everywhere, so I guess she did get her period after all.
There’s a party to celebrate everyone being mildly more fashionable than last week, and Alison pashes Matthew Newton right in front of his girlfriend, which she kind of deserves, because she’s serving gherkins.
Gambling was illegal in the seventies, which is I guess why heroin was so big then, because without pokies bogans had nothing to do. A lot of the crooked policement gamble, and you can tell they’re crooked because they’re fugly. All the good cops in this show are borderline cute and have hot wives, but dud cars that drive them to Wagga.
I think the casting is dumb on this show. Matthew Newton doesn’t even look Asian.
Next week, it looks like Sally Fletcher and Lady Gaga are on the show, but I don’t know if they get their tits out.
PS: I love Chuck Bass.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Okay, so my mates Sierra Fin have released an EP called Shake Stare Sleep.
There’s squillions of reasons why you should buy a copy, the most important of which are listed below:
Reason One: It’s Really Bloody Good.
If you like talent, music, and rocking with the intensity of a thousand suns, that is.
Reason Two: They’re Hot Bitches.
And they’ve all promised me that if you buy their EP, they’ll send you nude photographs of themselves.
Reason Three: There’s A Gigantic Stylised Penis On The Cover.
I’ve now dubbed it “The E-Penis”. Because I’m hilarious.
It’s even better when you’re flicking through the racks at your local, and they’ve stored it spine-upwards. Good Morning!
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
So, right, there’s this bunch of characters that are supposed to be based on real life people, but with totally fake sideburns.
Matthew Newton is this guy with really blue eyes and a New Zealand accent – he’s all like “guv me the smeck, or I’ll shut on your nick”, or something, and he also paints in the nude. Maybe he paints with his dick, hahaha! His girlfriend stops taking the pill, but it shouldn’t make any difference, because in the sex scene Matthew Newton is like, behind her, and everyone knows you can’t get pregnant like that.
They should call this show Underbelly – The Tale of Two Titties! Hahaha!
Oh, my god, I’ve never seen so much polyester. It’s like Ed Hardy didn’t even exist in the seventies, like Wii or Mickey Rourke.
A guy called Robert Trimboli lives in Griffith, and he grows oranges and makes sandwiches. He organises for this guy, someone Mackay, to get killed, but I don’t know if it’s because Mackay is anti-drugs, anti-oranges, or just sells the ugliest effing furniture I have ever seen in my life.
Anyway, he gets killed and minced, and then his dogs get poisoned, and his wife is upset partly because of that and partly because the wardrobe people keep making her wear orange.
All the policemen smoke a lot, and two of them would be cute if it wasn’t for the totally random sideburns. Everyone’s hair is foul except for the lady policeman, and that’s just because she totally copied her hair from Lady Gaga (OMG I love that song). Some of the policemen are corrupt, and they like sandwiches, which I guess is where Trimboli comes in. I don’t know if any of the policemen like oranges.
The gym in this show is mank. It’s just a whole lot of guys boxing, and there’s no treadmills or Powerade or Body Jam. I didn’t really get this bit, but the guys (whose hair is better than the policemen) do some pushups and then rob the racetrack. They don’t even steal enough money to buy a house.
In the preview for the next episode it looks like the hair is a bit better, so I’ll probably watch it. I don’t know which episode Brooke Satchwell is in, but I hope she doesn’t get minced too.
I’ll see you later. I have to go and buy a handbag.
Monday, February 02, 2009
Keith. Cake. Japan. Pool. Pizza. Guacamole. Beer.
If the above words make perfect sense to you all together like that, then you either:
a) don’t need to go back and read Urban Decay parts one through five; or
b) you’re totally my kind of person and we can party anytime.
Either way, this isn’t really about you.
It’s about Keith.
See, even though Keith was born in New Zealand, spends most of his time in the US and didn’t call his daughter Sharon, he’s about as Australian as you can get. For this reason, he insisted on being included in my mate Russ’s Australia Day celebrations in Queensland.
Because of his nagging and his threat to sing us a song about jeans, we eventually agreed to bring him along, but first we made sure that he was fully aware of the rules and regulations that go along with the responsibility of attending a two day booze fes... er, typical Australia Day barbecue:
1. Ensure you apply plenty of sunscreen.
2. Do not overload the barbecue.
3. When playing bocce, ensure you throw your balls at the jack with as much force as you can (Gympie) muster.
4. When playing cricket, ensure the bails are securely balanced on top of the stumps.
5. Do not feed the kookaburras anything inedible, even if you’ve wiped it with meat.
6. If the kookaburras don’t eat it, the cane toads might.
Will eat dog food.
Will not lick meat from a Keith Urban CD.