Straight From The Horse's Arse

Five steps to a less embarrassing bottom.

· Don't eat lunch from a health food shop on the same day you do a yoga class.

· If you're trying to do a silent fart, don't stand with your back to a wall.

· If he's expecting sex in exchange for dinner and he takes you out for Indian food, he's a masochist or an idiot.

· The drunker you are, the more thoroughly you should check you haven't tucked your skirt into your undies.

· If it's itchy, just scratch it. Don't do that dance.

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So, What's Noiiiir?

EXCLUSIVE!!

Because of my dozens of well-connected, expertly-groomed contacts, I've managed to get my grubby little hands on an extremely juicy and top-secret document:

I won't name my source, but I can let you know it wasn't Kane Bonke.

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Urban Decay

Part 1: The Urban Office.

Back in March this year, my mate Russ and I took part in a charity music trivia night, because we're benevolent, knowledgeable, and much, much cooler than you.
As part of the festivities, the MC told us that taped under one chair at each table was a prize in the form of a 'new-release CD'. Naturally, we all scrabbled drunkenly beneath our arses to see if we'd won anything, and Russ let out a small yelp of delight as his probing hand hit pay-dirt.* Delight quickly became drop-shouldered disappointment as he raised his prize into view and discovered that it was, in fact, a Keith Urban Greatest Hits CD.**

Our first instinct was to just use the CD as a coaster, but Russ and I consider ourselves to be constructed of more creative stuff, and figured that would be just a mild insult. Having consumed a lot of music in our lives, and around sixteen jugs of beer in the last hour, we came up with a plan. A great plan. A plan that would take us across the country, across the world, and across the line that signifies that point at which other people get bored and stop.

We decided, since Keith Urban had inflicted so much pain on us throughout his career, that the least we could do was inflict some back. Our plan was to destroy the CD. Little by little. Over the space of a year.

Also, later that night, Russ encouraged me to drink a shot by yelling "JUST TAKE IT, BITCH!!" at the top of his voice. It's not really relevant here, though.

First, we needed to document Keith in his pristine form:

See? Keith even sends Keith to sleep.

That is, before five different people drew all over him:

Now there's an over-achieving silhouette.

Then we thought we'd invite Keith along to our usual Friday after-work drinks on the balcony of our office building. See, if a lesser human than Keith were to jump off this balcony, they'd probably break a bone or two. Not Keith.

Russ does 'goblet of country/western'

He just got a little chipped.

Wanna chup, bro?

After his little fall, we gave Keith a drink (to go with his chips), and asked other workmates to make him feel welcome.

This could totally be in a magazine.

One offered him a cigarette.

Keith was the butt of all jokes.

Another gave him a makeover.

We found it really widened his eyes.

Amanda gave him a tattoo.

Everyone really warmed to him.

It's a disco inferno. Without the disco.

We even bought him dinner.

We got both kinds. Ham and pineapple.

Then we had a break and made a tower out of beer bottles. I think we deserved it.

You wish, Russ.

Stay tuned for further Urban adventures, in which Keith goes interstate, international, and in the water.
This is the start of something special.


* Wow. I should totally look into writing porn.

** Hi, Keith Urban's record company. Keith Urban is great, and people should buy lots and lots of his CDs.