not a turtle

in which he writes a letter

Dear Internet,

It's been an awfully long time since I wrote you last. 68 days, 14 hours, 51 minutes and 36 seconds, to be precise. I don't have much to say in my defense, but over the coming weeks and months I hope to make it up to you in some small way.

The world is a very different place to the one I left you with on the sixteenth of November. Many wonderful, not-so-wonderful and interesting things have happened since:

• Our antediluvian moth eaten mold magnet of a (former) Prime Minister and his retrogressive and downright offensive cronies were ousted in the very first Federal Election I have voted in.   

• I started my new job, but you already knew that. It's going swimmingly, and I no longer dread going to work.

• Björk attacked a photographer at Auckland International Airport. Mathematicians have now calculated that Björk can statistically be expected to attack a photographer once every 10.62 years.

• A half dressed, Lynx-scented blonde child by the name of Corey Worthington Delaney threw a party to which around five hundred other half dressed, Lynx-scented children came. Hilarity ensued and police were called. In an uncharacteristically efficient and overenthusiastic response, Victorian police sent a helicopter, several squad cars and upwards of twenty officers in riot gear. One of the children threw a bottle. Victorian Police Commissioner, Christine Nixon announced to assembled media the following day that, despite the lack of any legal or legislative provision allowing her to do so, she intended to bill Mr Delaney's parents for the $20,000 she believes the police operation cost. In the ensuing media furore, nobody pays any attention to Christine Nixon's astonishing claims that she can simply invoice people for the policing of the state. Within a week, everyone has forgotten Mr Delaney's name.

• Celebrities kept dying (Brad Renfro, Heath Ledger, Suzanne Pleshette). Not the ones I expected might (Amy Winehouse, Britney Spears, Nick Nolte). Although I'm not a fan of Heath Ledger, his death affected me more than I could have imagined it might. I was a little too young when River Phoenix and Kurt Cobain died to understand why people were as devastated as they were. Now, it makes sense. I suppose these things remind us of our own mortality, and he was only five years older than I am right now.

So as you can see, the world has been busy carrying on its business, and I've been busy with an array of mundane tasks and endeavours.

I promise to write again soon.

All my love,

Byron

over the shoulder boulder holder

Some of you may remember Mya, or Mýa as she now wishes to be known (which as far as I can tell from three minutes on Google would be correctly pronounced either m-YAAH or mEAR), from her 2003 hit single "My Love Is Like... Wo", her star turn in Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights, or her scenery chewing histrionics in 2002's "Chicago".

Even those of you who don't remember her will be pleased to know that the effervescent young model/actress/singer has decided to put her celebrity to good use. She has recorded the "Stop Breast Cancer for Life" campaign's first ever theme song, a catchy and socially relevant tune entitled "My Bra".

Although I'm all for supporting breast cancer research and/or awareness, I have to say that it is without a doubt the vilest and most saccharine pox ever thrust upon society. Allow me to share with you the chorus:

"My bra my bra my bra my bra
My light at the end of the tunnel
My bra my bra my bra
My legs when I start to stumble
My strength, my sun, my heart
When it's just too hard to take it
When it's just to hard to make it
Through another day
You're lifting me up
My bra my bra my bra"

Now, apart from the seemingly bewildering use of her bra as a metaphor (or substitute) for the love and support of friends and relatives, or her inference that should she be unable to walk, her bra will simply pick up the slack, don't you find it strange that she's singing not about breast cancer, or even breasts themselves, but about an item of clothing which holds the afflicted organs? How long do you think it is before we have Kanye West recording "My Jocks" in support of prostate cancer, or America Ferrera's hit charity single "My Glasses" to raise much needed funds for research into macular degeneration?

But wait kids, there's more. "My Bra" is the centrepiece of an advertising campaign and a much anticipated TV movie.

"...the song appears in the Lifetime original movie The Matters of Life and Dating, a humorous peek into post-mastectomy life starring Ricki Lake and Holly Robinson Peete, airing on Lifetime on Oct 22."

A humorous peek into post-mastectomy life? Okay. I'd buy that starring pretty much anyone else, but Ricki Lake? Have you seen Mrs Winterbourne? and Holly Robinson Peete, whose most impressive resumé entry to date is Hangin' with Mr Cooper? It's all too awful to contemplate.

I'll leave you now with Mýa's heartfelt perfomance of what is bound to be this year's biggest charity single smash, "My Bra".

what the tabloids taught me this week #3

We can just quote a "source" as saying it, right?

FAMOUS magazine tells us the following:

...and then fills a page and a half with absolutely nothing to substantiate such a claim. There's not even a picture of Jessica Simpson crying whilst on the phone. I would have at least expected that. The one valuable piece of information that we are provided with is that Jessica has "embarked on a frenzied weight-loss program since last month's split with John" and is looking "more like her trim, taut, Daisy Duke self". Meanwhile, John Mayer has lost 10-15kg in the last month, but not a single word is said about that. Apparently he has become strangely attractive by osmosis.

And over here we have the lovely "Xenu" range of beach accessories

Katie Holmes has finally lost the plot.
How can I tell, you might ask? Some of you might even think that she lost her marbles a long time ago, but I can assure you, this is not the case.

Sure, she married Tom Cruise, but she got paid plenty of money to do that. And yes, she had Chris Klein's baby a few months before she "had" Suri, and walked around with a prosthetic belly on so that gullible people might think Tom put something in her that wasn't a syringe... but she got paid for that too.

What I'm talking about is this:

The woman has a belt on. With a swimsuit.
She has accesorised her beachwear. Please note, dear readers, that I have scoured both the tabloids and the internets and I'm one hundred percent certain it's not built in or part of the swimsuit itself. She has actually made a conscious decision to put it on OVER THE SWIMSUIT. She's clearly insane.

Bewigged at the beach

Speaking of inappropriate beachwear, Beyoncé Knowles, much as I am wont not to speak or even think about her, has outdone herself this time.

The woman is on holiday. On holiday in a hot, beachy type place. There is no need to traipse about town in a wig, and there is certainly no reason to wear a wig while swimming. There is also very little need for such ridiculously inappropriate shoes or a belted romper suit. There is an intervention waiting to be staged here.

And the rest

• Britney Spears has a "KINKY SEX LIFE!" We know this because "Sleazy producer JR Rotem", who allegedly slept with Ms Spears, has spoken publicly about her "voracious sexual appetite", letting us know that he "fucked Britney wheelbarrow style" and that "she was good at everything - an animal in bed". Well I know I'm scandalised. Who would have believed she was into such kinky outlandish things?

• Who, NW, OK! and FAMOUS continue in their staunchly held belief that Jake Gyllenhaal and Reese Witherspoon are dating, and prove this to us by photographing them seperately and then placing said photographs on the same page.

• Adam Brody (who is apparently someone from the now defunct OC) has fallen on hard times. All of the work offers have dried up. We know this for sure because he was photographed taking out his own garbage, and as we all know, NOBODY WHO IS GAINFULLY EMPLOYED TAKES OUT THEIR OWN GARBAGE.

• Pamela Anderson is "still hot". This seems to be primarily because she still has enormous breasts and has very little to do with anything else.

• Rather than risk being indelicate with their personal pronouns, FAMOUS have chosen to refer to Alexis Arquette not as David Arquette's brother or sister, but as his "tranny sibling". You would think that since the man has legally become a woman, it's reasonably clear that she is a she, not an it.

I'll leave you now with one last gem. Possibly my favourite.

The staff at WHO Magazine have expressed their inexplicably violent hatred for Holly Valance in a photo shoot:

in which he rants about something he vowed never to speak of...

I don't like Paris Hilton.

You might not have known that, but that would be mostly because I choose not to talk about her. The rest of the world does more than enough of that. She's not newsworthy, interesting or even mildly amusing. Now though, after her twenty second walk from the front doors of a jail to her waiting limousine not only made the evening news on all three major free-to-air television networks in this country, but was also the LEAD STORY on two of them, I have had enough. Time to break the silence.

Paris Hilton was sentenced to forty five days in a county jail. You all know that. What most of you don't know is what she did that warranted jail time. "But she only drove on a suspended licence!", I hear the tween girls and ditzy reality television contestants cry.

Wrong.

Let me break it down for you, and then you let me know whether you think jail time was warranted. 

September 27, 2006 - Hilton is arrested and charged with driving under the influence of alcohol with a blood alcohol level of 0.08% (it's illegal to drive with a blood alcohol level of 0.08% or over in California).

November 29, 2006 - As a result of the DUI charge, Hilton's driver's license is suspended for four months. She is placed on 36 months probation and fined $1500. She is also ordered to enrol in an alcohol education program within 21 days.

January 15, 2007 -  Hilton is pulled over for driving with a suspended license and signed a document acknowledging that she was not permitted to drive. She was not permitted to drive home.

February 27, 2007 - Hilton is once again caught driving with a suspended license. Not content with violating only the terms of her probation, Hilton was caught doing 70mp/h (112km/h) in a 35mp/h (56km/h) zone late at night with her HEADLIGHTS TURNED OFF.

May 4, 2007 - Hilton is court. She has so far failed to enroll in the court ordered alcohol education program, the deadline for which fell 21 days after her first court appearance in November 2006. This, combined with her flagrant disregard for the terms of her probation, the fact that she continued to drive on a suspended license, even after being caught doing so and signing an acknowledgment indicating she understood exactly what "suspended license" meant, and her supremely intelligent decision to drive at DOUBLE the designated speed limit in the dark with her headlights turned off led Judge Michael T. Sauer to believe that as "...straight probation has thus far failed as a rehabiliative device...", 45 days jail time might just be what she needed to knock some sense into her.

If you don't believe me, her original DUI charge is here, and the prosecutors’ motion to revoke her probation is here.

She might be a scared, messed up little girl. She might be as stupid as she seems (although I doubt it). She might even have found Jesus, as she claims. These things I do not know, and I will leave to the tabloids to speculate upon.

All I know is, she was jailed because she displayed a complete disregard for the law.

Personally, I would have jailed her much earlier. Why, you may ask?

Well, there's this:

Because, quite frankly, nobody needs to know what lives up there.

And this:

...because I want the twenty or so minutes I spent watching this back.

And finally:

...because a music career is not something you can purchase with blowjobs and daddy's money.

To Paris' supporters - take your FREE PARIS t-shirts, your petitions and your hair extensions and shove them as far up your meat purses as you can get them (Sorry Audrey).

To Mika Brzezinski (the newsreader below) - Thankyou. THANKYOU. I can only hope others follow suit.

That's all there is, there isn't any more.

things that are fucking stupid...

Goatse

For those of you blissfully unaware of this idiocy, Wikipedia will explain it to you. Now, goatse itself is completely fucking stupid, but what irks me more are the geeks who think "unintentional goatse" (examples here and here) is interesting/blogworthy/hilarious.

It's not. It's the internet age equivalent of poo and wee jokes.

Peeps

Again, for the uninitiated, go here.

"Oh wow look at me, internet! I'm so clever, I made 'art' out of chicken shaped marshmallows."

"I'm clever too, only I put them in the microwave and smear them on bits of paper."

...or if you prefer:

"I'm so intelligent! I conduct 'scientific tests' on chicken shaped marshmallows."

...and for some, Peeps are the cornerstone of culturally significant spiritual celebrations:

"...you should know about a ritual that my friends and I perform every spring.  It's called Peepfest 97.   It is celebrate at college campus through out america...ok it's only celbrated at two place..."

Peeps are so not cool.

Amy Winehouse

Amy.
Amy, Amy, Amy...
Your music is reasonable. Your shtick is mildly interesting, though others have done it better (and without the substance abuse). My problem lies with what you have done to your face, hair and body.

You used to look nice. Pretty, even.
Also, you smiled.

And now...

...you look like what might happen if Juliette Lewis were left homeless after being viciously attacked by a group of eyeliner wielding bandits led by Amy Lee, Lindsay Lohan and Rupaul.

Recently, I've become aware of the existence of several things that have completely changed my life. Hopefully they can be of benefit to you.

Please look into the following:

Washing your hair
Soap
Food
A removal system for the seemingly unending series of woodland creatures taking up residence on your head.

so is this what they mean by dying with dignity?

Bury the poor woman already.

She is rapidly decomposing in a medical examiner's fridge.

Dignified, much?

The death of a relative/friend/wife/lover/child is not the time to squabble over who she liked best, who deposited their seed in her or who she confided in.

Bury the woman where her will states she wanted to be buried.
If she didn't specify what she wanted, bury her in the state she lived in. It doesn't matter. She's gone, and not coming back, and the more you squabble over her rapidly decomposing body, the less respect your fellow human beings have for you.

Personally, I don't care what happens to my body after I'm no longer on this earth. I used to say I'd want to be buried wherever the people surviving me want. After all, a grave or memorial is there for the survivors much more so than the person who has died. Now, I'm not so sure about leaving it up to others. Look at what happens, even when you've expressed your wishes.

The world is a sad and strange place.

Also, on a slight tangent, please appreciate how odd the following situation is:

"The estate of [recently deceased] Anna Nicole Smith is locked in a legal battle with the estate of [recently deceased] E Pierce Marshall over the fortune of [long deceased] J Howard Marshall."

Everyone's dead, yet the battle rages on with nobody to claim victory.

the one in which the future is foretold...

Several things will happen following the Australian Idol Grand Final next week.
One of the finalists will win. It doesn’t matter which one. My vote goes to Jess, but only because her version of the winner’s single was fantastic. It’s a truly boring paint-by-numbers ballad, but her version was lovely. Damien’s version of the song wasnljdfn.ahaerhg;learuhugv;aerbnadfbhgfdn.h,ny.n,/an,…….ngfn.gfrwetw…………………. Sorry. I momentarily lost the will to live.

Jessica Mauboy will become the fifth member of The Young Divas. They will tour incessantly until they shrivel and die. Some say the sound of a choir is like the voice of God. The sound of four women belting the same note in unison is closer to the voice of satan than anything else on this earth. Don't believe me? Watch this (especially the sections from 1:33-1:52 and 2:16-the end)

This is what happens when you let ex-reality tv stars loose with microphones.

Damien Leith will release an album which he believes is a true work of artistic genius. The press release will compare his songwriting talents to those of Thom Yorke and Chris Martin, and will predict sales in the millions. In reality, the album will sell 30,000 copies. Legitimate music journalists, the discerning record buying public and radio presenters (excluding those on the Austereo Network) will hail the album as the worst thing to happen to australian music since someone allowed Tiffani Wood out of her box and dressed her in ruffles. The album will draw comparisons not with Radiohead and Coldplay, but with Shannon Noll, Tammin Sursok and Kate Alexa. He will fix his teeth and embark on a ridiculously unsuccesful RSL tour (a la Amity "The Block" Dry).

Dean Geyer will be caught hev-ung six-you-wall rill-aye-shonns with teenage boys backstage at a Westfield Parramatta instore appearance. His church will disown him. As for his commercial success, one can only hope that he is horribly disfigured in a freak straightening iron mishap. If not, he will have a wildly succesful pop career lasting all of twelve weeks.

Chris Murphy will wash and cut his hair, shave, brush his teeth and put on a suit. The general public will realise he looks exacly like Courtney, only less enormous. Nobody will care. He will release a shitful album of pub-rock. Nobody will care.

Lavina Williams will record a stunning album, featuring a duet with Marcia Hines, and backing vocals by The Young Divas. Nobody will care. The tabloids will be filled with tales of Lavina's love for crack, vodka, tattoos and the deep moist caverns of Salmon Canyon.

A video of Ricky Muscat being fisted will be leaked onto YouTube. He will go into hiding... at Anthony Callea's house.

Lisa Williams will finish Year 10, leave school and get a job in a pie factory. She will wear an orange plastic apron. The citizens of Albury/Wodonga will build a monument in her honour, and she will forever be known as Our Lisa.

Klancie Keough will lose her life in a tragic sheep dipping accident.

Some of you may ask what will happen to Reigan, Mutto and Joseph. Who are they, again?

Some of you may also notice a distinct lack of Bobby Flynn in this blog post. Let me tell you, no amount of Bobby bashing, however gleeful it might make me, is worth being kicked out of bed for. Munkey, I love you ***obsequious face***

yeah, no.

The other day I was walking through Myer, and was suddenly stuck in the path of an extremely enthusiastic pink person. She was screaming something about Kylie Minogue. After a moment, I realised she was talking to me. "D'you wanna chance tah win tickittts to Kyyyliiiieee?!?!?! Alllsss you gottah doo is BUY ONE OV DEEEZE!!!" 

Do I look like the sort of person that wants to see a sequined munchkin parading around in feathers and wigs? I think not.

Later on, I went to lunch with Mark. There we were in the food court of Sydney Central Plaza, and who should lumber past but Pauline (I believe she likes to call herself Paulini now). Huge Nicole RIchie-esque dark glasses, and a pretty but very vacant looking man on her arm.

What amused me most, I think... was that she was behaving as though she might be swamped by paparazzi and/or rabid fans at any moment. People were walking past and sort of going "Isn't that Paulini? Oh it is. Meh. She's a bit boring"

I have two things to say about her. Ok, three actually:
1) Once upon a time, before she was ANOREXIC PAULINI FROM THE YOUNG DIVAS!, PAULINI FROM AUSTRALIAN IDOL! or even PAULINE FROM SCHOOL SPECTACULAR!, she was plain old Pauline Curuenavuli. Plain old Pauline Curuenavuli enrolled at Bradfield College (one of the many educational institutions I attended) and turned up to school for approximately three hours. She tiptoed into Music Industry class, sat timidly in a corner and at the end of the lesson was made to sing "When You Believe" by an over enthusiastic teacher who wanted everyone to hear how brilliant her voice was.
She never came back.

2) She is very thin, but has a ridiculously large ass. I think she was wearing some kind of booty enhancing undergarment.

3) She eats carbs, ergo, she is not a real celebrity.

That is all.

bindi sue irwin

I'm with Dawei and Sam, but I'm pretty sure she comes from Jim Henson's Creature Shop.

Also, she is eight years old. Maybe my memory is hazy, but I don't remember anyone (myself included) having fine motor skills like this at such an age:

That's right folks... Bindi Sue has her own special webpage.

Exciting! Thrilling!

Evil.

in which he empties the contents of his bitter, twisted, work-tired brain...

a prayer for hope

Aparrently dying is the new black, as far as vaguely idolised D-List australian celebrities go this week.
God.... if you're listening, could you not have taken Todd McKenney from us instead? Sonia Kruger? Catriona Rowntree? Surely we don't have a use for Shannon Noll anymore? I'd even have settled for Axle Whitehead (even though I'd prefer to kill him myself).

oh right, so "she" does "exist"...

"Suri Cruise" was "two months old" when the "photos" for Vanity Fair were "taken". Has anyone ever seen a two month old baby? They don't look like that. They don't have insanely expressive faces and piercing, close-focused eyes. Their heads are also very rarely as large as "Suri's" is. Also, let's not talk about "Suri's" amazingly thick, dark hair. Or how it's just like mommy and daddy's.

Munkey think's she's animatronic. I think she's borrowed and/or photoshopped.

ever so eloquent and always so well written...

Hats off to mX for their tackiest sidebar snippet ever. It sounds as though my eighty five year old grandmother wrote it:

"LITTLE Britain star Matt Lucas is planning to tie the knot with his gay lover, Britain's The Sun claims. The 32-year-old comic plans to wed TV researcher Kevin McGee, 30..."

Because the gays only take lovers. And not just lovers, but gay lovers. The filthy homosexuals (pronouned homm-owe-seks-yew-alls, of course) and their long held ambitions to defecate all over the sacred institution of marriage.

Is this the right time to tell the world that plagiarist extraordinaire Matt Sun, who seems to write mX by himself (a not-very-impressive-feat) is a filthy, dirty pillow biter himself? No? Ok. I didn't say anything then.