RuPaul's Drag Race season 9 recaps

The shadiest Drag Race recaps on the web. Get ready to death drop, queens!

The Bachelorette Australia recaps

One woman, 14 desperate men, mucho LOLs. Oh, and Osher Gunsberg.

The Bachelor Australia recaps

Sequins, spray tans and sex - it's season 3 of the world's stupidest dating show.

RuPaul's Drag Race Season 8 recaps

YASS, HUNTIES! Every episode of season eight recapped for your reading pleasure. Let's get sickening!

Sunday, December 26, 2004

Petstarr's Christmas adventure

misc_rantsMerry Chrimble to you all! Here's a short rundown of my Christmas day adventure, photo-diary style:

First my mango got the Stigmata...

Then I found this weird tinsel shit inside a prawn when I cleaned it out. It wasn't even inside the poo tube, it was just INSIDE the prawn. TINSEL! On Christmas! Brilliant.

Then I REALLY fucked up our Chinese BBQ duck. Check it out. I got every scrap of meat off that thing.

Then I went to a Christmas party and somehow the gods of photogenia were smiling on me as I managed to take this shot which makes me look a bit..well..dead sexy, let's just face it.

Unfortunately I don't have a photo to illustrate what I looked like after I'd gotten home, having consumed rather too much of...well, everything, and having cried all the way home in the taxi for reasons best left unexplained. But I'm sure you can imagine it.

Ok, so the blog was a bit crap today, sorry. But fuck you, it's Christmas.

Saturday, December 25, 2004

A very nutty Christmas to you

misc_rantsSo I got another email from my nutter admirer today (see post below), which I will share with you.

Hello mystery lady,

Fröhliches Weihnachten und ein tanzender Bär!

That is my native greeting for Christmas day, "merry
christmas and a dancing bear" which is only used
here in Geichslachen Hausen. It has just turned 7am
and we are about to be having our morning service.

I have not slept because I am still with jetlagging, but
that is ok. I just wanted to wish you a merry
christmas and hope you are having fun and good

On the way over here I watched "I love my land"
again on my pocket television (only the first half
because you cannot use those on an airplane and I
had to turn it off) and I wanted to share with you my
favourite song from the film. In English it goes:

When the soil turns to grass
And the grass turns to trees
I love my land

When we walk hand in hand
Through the graves of our fathers
I love my land

There is wheat and babies
Which feed our family
I love my land

I love my land
I love my land
I love my land

In the terror of nightime
We can wake and fight crime
I love my land

Can you see my heart smiling
As I paint on the window
I love my land

When people drive cars
I feel this is my future
I love my land

You have some dry leaves
Which I rake into piles
I love my land

I love my land

It is a lovely song to hear with music, and it is very
old. I hope to hear from you soon, as you seem very
nice and well.


But I hate to ruin your fun. I have since found out that a rather bizarre friend of mine set the whole thing up with a fake internet profile and everything, just to take the piss out of me. Hilarious.

I am actually laughing, but still. :)

Ben, you suck.

Friday, December 24, 2004

Why I'm a mental-magnet

misc_rantsGood question. Why AM I a mental-magnet?

By this, I mean supremely attractive and utterly irresistable to mental heads, freaks, weirdos and nutters.

A previous case in point can be found here.

And now - a new nutter rears his mental head through the medium of email.

Some might say that having a profile on an internet dating site is really just asking for nutter attention, and that in fact, it could indicate some degree of self-nutterness. This I accept. But I like to think I'm normal (despite the lack of dates in my social calendar, and my willingness to participate in online dating)(sigh)

But I would never go out of my way to track someone down outside the site, find out their email address and send them THIS:


This is MENTALNUTTER, from the internet dating smile. i hope
you are not bothered by my email, i am showing you
my computer hacking skills which have given me
good work here for several years.

I guess you are a very busy person? you must be
quite healthy which is good, my last girl friend died
and i am ready to be happy again.

What are some of your favourite things? i have been
very impressed by Australian Idol, it is much better
than German Idol which is gefickt. I also like films, I
saw the new Wesley Snipe film which was very good
but my favourite is Ich liebe mein Land.

Well I will leave you to reply when you have time, or
if you do not want to hear from me again I will stop
and contact the other girl.


As if it's not enough that he has to freak me out with the whole 'dead girlfriend' thing, but then he threatens to write to "the other girl". WHAT OTHER GIRL?

Tch. Even the nutters are passing me up these days.

Thursday, December 23, 2004

Sub-standard advertising

adver_tisingContinuing with my rant about annoying advertising (I told you I watch too much TV), there is a commercial on Australian TV at the moment for Subway restaurants that is really bothering me. Well, I say "restaurant" but really, I don't think they're going for their third Michelin star any time soon.

Anyway this ad has a bunch of smarmy Subway employees - oh, no wait, "sandwich artists". I'm sorry, but the only "art" that assembling a sandwich comes close to is painting by numbers. Or possibly model making. Which we all know is only enjoyed by high school geeks who can't get dates.

So anyway, there's these smarmy sandwich artists standing around a telephone (behind the counter, mind you, so I'd imagine there was a fair bit of "Oi punk, where's my farking sanger?" that they've had to edit out) talking to some poor, overworked, underpaid lad at the local McDonalds. Oooops!!! Almost gave that away!! Woo! Sorry, I meant "Fries and Burgers", as the store is called in this commercial. (Gosh, that was close).

Anyway the conversation goes something like this:

SMARMY ARTIST: Hello, Fries and Burgers? Do you bake your own bread, fresh every day?
SMARMY ARTIST: *giggle giggle* Oh, right. Well what about olives? Can I get olives at your store?
SMARMY ARTIST: *giggle giggle* What about jalapenos?
SMARMY ARTIST: *full blown hysterical laughter* Can I get a SUB at your store then?
OVERWORKED, UNDERPAID LAD: No, we're not a Subway restaurant.
SMARMY ARTIST: *struggling to breathe through debilitating laughter attack* No mate, you're not even close!

And thus ends the vignette.

My question is - what is the fucking point here? I'm pretty sure that most people recognise that they can't buy a sub sandwich at a McDonalds. I'm sure they realise they can't buy a 6 piece dining setting at KFC either, but you don't see The Furniture Works being all smarmy about it. "No mate, Pizza Hut's not even CLOSE to being Ikea."

Look, Subway. We know you think you're all special and cool because you sell snacks with green stuff in them (I think it's called salad) and you have shit on your menu that is actually healthy, but SPARE US, ok.

Why don't you try looking at your staff a bit harder: when looking up "subway restaurant employee" in Google image search, this is what I got. Enough said.

Sunday, December 12, 2004


adver_tisingmisc_rantsbitch_eryWhat is with people and their mobile phones? I know they're useful, I know they're expensive and cool, and I know yours is exceptionally pretty and you'd be lost without it. But if you are one of that strange sub-race of beings that pay to accesorise their phone with shit, BACK THE FUCK OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE.

In particular, if you are the person in my office who used to have an Eminem ringtone, and now has the Mission Impossible theme, TURN THE VOLUME DOWN OR SHOVE THAT GOD DAMN PHONE UP YOUR ARSE BEFORE I DO. Everyone knows the Mission Impossible theme is SO 3 years ago.

There seems to be a spate of advertisements now selling ringtones, 'wallpapers' and crazy shit for your mobile phone, usually at very reasonable prices like $6.95 per ringtone.

A sane person would say "My phone already has 50,000 annoying ringtones on it,
I don't need to pay for another one." Or perhaps they'd say "$6.95 is a bit steep for a noise." They'd probably also say "That sequence of beeps sounds nothing like U2. In fact, it sounds like utter shite."

But apparently there IS a market for this shit, as these ads show no sign of stopping.

There is one advert in particular which keeps cropping up on tv about, oh, EVERY 5 MINUTES, for some stupid company called Jamster. If I ever meet an employee of Jamster, or their CEO (probably some 15 year old pimply kid living in his parents' garage) I am liable to do something drastic involving chilli powder, piano wire and a sim card.

The most offensive ad is for a series of ringtones titled "The Crazy Frog". Woah man, this frog is KER-AY-ZEE! He wears a little helmet and goggles, and he's just, oh man, he's so crazy it's like...WOW is this frog ever crazy.

And THIS is the worst ringtone I have ever heard in my life.

What the FUCK is that? Can you POSSIBLY IMAGINE a worse mobile ringtone than that? Picture it: 3am on Saturday, you've decided to stay in and catch up on some sleep when your crazy coked-out friends decide to call you and find out where you are, and you're woken from your sleep by "BOM-BA-DA-BOM BOM BOM BRRRRAAAAAA-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"


I mean seriously, what the fuck?!

NB: during the course of writing this entry, the Crazy Frog ad came on 4 times.

EDIT (December 23, 2004): It seems that several comment posters here at Bland Canyon are correct! This horrid sample does seem to come from this website. I shall email them and report back with any interesting information. If I can stop the spread of this horrible sound around the world, then I've done something for humanity.

Thursday, November 25, 2004

Botox is the pits.

misc_rantsbitch_erySo Bridget Jones opened in Australia recently, and little Renee Zellweger came over to woo the crowds and show how un-Bridget she now looks (ie: v. v. thin). Of course, unlike Bridget, who is allowed to be as fat and daggy as possible and we'll still love her to bits, Renee is a star and isn't ever allowed to have a hair out of place, or, GOD FORBID, sweat patches under her arms.

We've ALL been there, people: a warmish day, a poly-cotton shirt, a casual wave and a "Hey Bob!" followed by gasps and fainting from passers by as you reveal those attractive dark circles, so conveniently hidden away most of the time (brewing...)

Anyway, had Renee had one of those "Hey Bob!" moments at the opening of B.J, who KNOWS what might have happened. She might have been clapped in irons and sent off to fashion jail. So, to prevent anarchy, she did the only logical and sane thing she could do.

She Botox-ed her pits.

"This Botox stops me sweating but now I can't put my arm down."

Botoxing your armpits is apparently all the rage these days, as it paralyses your sweat glands and they stop producing sweat. Potential fashion disasters averted. Pretty nifty idea. In fact, I think it's a corker of an idea. But it got me thinking.

If your armpits stop producing sweat, do you produce MORE sweat elsewhere? Did Renee have to bring some changes of underpants to the premiere? Or was she constantly dabbing her face with a Wet-One? Actually, considering the amount of Botox already in her face, the sweat was probably forced to re-route from there too.

In any case, I'm looking into it. I knew Botox had to have a practical use.

Who do you love? Animals or dinner?

I just drove home from work, and for much of the journey was sitting behind a car with a bumper sticker like this:

Well, do you?
And it got me thinking. Firstly it made me think: "Why are bumper stickers like that only ever seen on really crappy cars?" I mean, you never see a brand new BMW driving around with I'M A JUMPER FOR JESUS on it, do you?

Then I thought: "Screw you, you fucking hippie. I'll eat whatever I want."

Then I thought: "Hang on, I do love animals. Maybe I shouldn't eat them."

But after that momentary lapse of sanity (that pretty much ended when I drove past a Hungry Jacks and smelled grilling carcasses)(mmm, carcasses) I realised that even though I love animals, I don't actually EAT the ones I love. I love dogs, and kittens, and meerkats and lemurs, but fuck me if I'll put one on the barbie.  Well, maybe a lemur.

As for cows, sheep and chickens - who the hell loves them anyway? I love my dinner more.

And thus: "Screw you, you fucking hippie. I'll eat whatever I want."

Tuesday, November 09, 2004

Nail polish, banks, and Keira Knightley's mouth.

Phew, with a headline like that I bet I get lots of hits from horny nail/bank/skeleton fetishists...

Well, save your excitement people. I'm not going to put nail polish in Keira Knightley's mouth inside a bank. Nor am I going to put a polished bank in Keira Knightley's mouth (though lord knows it would probably fit). No, today I am simply going to rant about things that annoy me. Starting with Ms Knightley.


Alright, now I know this skeleton, sorry - girl, is very popular with the menfolk at present, not least because she played a lesbian in a soccer film and then painted herself with Jay's Bloo-Loo and wrapped a belt around her chest in King Arthur. (Of course, a belt DOES make a fetching top if you have no breasts to speak of)(or if you're Jordan).

But would someone PLEASE explain to me what is the DEAL with her mouth? A visual example of my issue can be seen at right.

"Is there something in my teeth?"

Now, I know in this photo she's being all tough and warriorette-esque (and just quietly, I think I can see a nip or two there)(gosh, now I really WILL get all the perverts from Google), but I can honestly say I have seen her pull this godawful face in every movie I've seen her in. That odd, lips pulled back, teeth-baring glare, of the type normal people do just after they've said "Have I got something between my teeth?". I think she's under the impression that it's sexy. Or maybe she really does think she has something between her teeth.

In any case, it annoys me intensely, which makes it number one on my list today.

Now here I realise all the men who stuck around for the Keira Knightley stuff will probably desert me, but I shall plough on regardless.

WHY oh WHY do nail polish manufacturers make nail polish brushes at LEAST 1cm shorter than the bottle they come in?

Once your bottle starts getting a bit empty it is an absolute NIGHTMARE to get any nail polish on your brush. It's even harder when you've painted 4 of your fingers and you're desperately trying not to touch anything. But then of course half an hour later you've completely forgotten your nails are wet and you fuck them all up when you go to put on a pair of socks. Utter crap.

Quite simply, banks are shit.

More specifically: I have a cheque in my wallet for a rather substantial amount of money that has been there for 2 whole months without being cashed. And why? Because banks are shit.

More specifically: because banks in this country think that because most of the population works until 5pm and not on weekends, that they should close at 4pm, thereby giving said population very little chance to actually ever GET to a bank, thereby probably reducing the amount of work actually DONE by bank employees, thereby allowing happy little bank tellers to trip home and enjoy their weekend at 5pm on Friday WHILE THE REST OF US POOR BASTARDS CARRY AROUND CHEQUES FOR MONTHS ON END.

WHAT is the big deal with maybe, just MAYBE opening for a half day on Saturday? Or POSSIBLY staying open until 6 on a weekday? I mean, is it THAT much to ask?

I really need to bank that cheque.

Monday, September 27, 2004

Love handles? No I bloody don't.

misc_rantschick_stuffHello, evolution? Yes I just have one question:

What the HELL are lovehandles about???

I mean seriously, what is the god damn point? Apart from ruining EVERY single outfit I have, I can't see that they actually DO anything. And as far as I can see, messing up my daily fashion choices has no evolutionary significance whatsoever. Unless perhaps Mother Nature has decreed that I have somehow defective genes, and is putting off potential suitors (read: breeding machines) by making sure an extra blob of fat pops over the waistband of my jeans at the crucial 'pick up' moment, thereby preventing me from ever reproducing.

Why has nature decided that we need a layer of fat to keep our hips warm? Did the ancient cavemen have a problem with cold hips? I usually have more of a problem with cold feet, to be honest - but I guess an extra layer of fat on my feet would make it even harder to buy shoes.

And WHY are they called 'love' handles when most of us hate the bastards? I'd suggest a better name for them would be 'This-top-would-look-so-nice-if-only-that-bump-wasn't-there Handles'.

Still, I guess I'm stuck with them (what - exercise? Are you serious?) so I'm going to try to really LOVE them. So I'm off to wallow in beer and curry, and further aid their development. Left side's looking a little flat.

Saturday, September 04, 2004


misc_rantsDriving through my neighbourhood today I noticed a newly-erected sign on a street near my house. I have seen these sorts of signs before, but I've always been puzzled as to their meaning.

It's not a usual "50km/hr" sign, or a "GIVE WAY" or even a simple "SLOW". No, it's one of these:

sign of confusion

What exactly does this mean? Are you only allowed to drive down the street if you live ON that street? Or somewhere in the general area? If so, who's checking?

Perhaps local means you have to be a resident of South Australia. In which case, all tourists and foreigners probably require a visa to be stamped at the corner shop before they can drive through.

And does it only apply to cars? I mean, are non-locals allowed to WALK down the street?

WHAT DOES THIS SIGN MEAN??? Comments are appreciated.

Monday, August 30, 2004

Superchemicals at the supermarket?


I was just at the supermarket, not 10 minutes ago (I know it seems like I go there an awful lot, but bear with me) and no, I wasn't buying turkey this time.

So anyway, I bought a bag of frozen chips, a bottle of juice and a box of dishwasher tablets. When I got to the checkout, the girl put the juice and dishwasher tablets together, and got another bag for the chips.

Being an environmentally conscious girl I said "Stick the chips in the same bag, please."

She looked at me like I had ordered her to stick the chips up her jacksy.

"But, but, there's dishwasher tablets in there," she said.

Erm, pardon?

"They're full of chemicals," she explained. (Unlike the chips, of course.) "You sure you don't want a separate bag?"

Cue my rant.

The dishwasher tablets are INDIVIDUALLY PLASTIC WRAPPED inside A SEALED PLASTIC BAG inside A SEALED CARDBOARD BOX. Not to mention the chips, which are also in ANOTHER SEALED PLASTIC BAG and probably full of weird-ass chip chemicals anyway.

What the HELL kind of superchemicals can bust through 2 plastic bags, a cardboard box, and another plastic bag to attack my chips? And even if they could, why would they WANT to? And for that matter, why wasn't the check out girl concerned about them infiltrating my juice?

Even if I licked the side of the dishwasher tablet box, and started chewing on the flap that says 'open other end', I doubt I would come to any grief from the chemicals within.

What is WRONG with people, and their obssession with putting things in individual bags, when they're already in individual bags in the first place? It pisses me off. Comments welcome.

Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Are you fat, jaundiced, have swollen feet and no hands? You too could be an Olympian.

misc_rantsFirstly, this:

Phevos and Athena, the official mascots of Athens 2004

What the HELL is up with these things? Aren't Olympic mascots supposed to be sporty? And Olympic? Aren't they supposed to inspire the kiddies to get active and go for gold?

These two need bedrest, and a good case or two of penicillin:

1. With swollen feet like that (suggesting a nasty case of gout, in my opinion), Phevos and Athena could barely make it to the shop for a litre of milk let alone run a marathon.

2. Their sallow complexions indicate they may have contracted hepatitis, probably from the backed up sewage system in the Olympic Village.

3. Who ate all the dolmades? Aren't we trying to put an END to childhood obesity? Hmm?

4. And how do you throw a javelin with no hands?

Not only this, but Athena seems to have been targetted by two marksmen, possibly terrorist snipers, who are trying to shoot off both her breasts. Welcome to Athens 2004 - the safest Olympics yet!

Then again, Phevos and Athena are obviously troopers, because despite their littany of ailments they smile on regardless. I guess that's true Olympic Spirit.

Monday, August 16, 2004

Softball is for softcocks

Calloo callay, the Olympics are here!! All shall rejoice in hours of sheer bliss, spreadeagled in front of the television, beer in hand, corn chips within reach, and warm, fuzzy slippers on feet....

Oh, what? It's not in Sydney this year?

Well, stuff that then.

Where's it on then? Athens? Pah. If it's not going on in my country, it's not going on my television. And fair enough, too, I say. What sort of criminal-minded psychotic wilfully stays up until 4am to watch the beach volleyball trials?

Ok, I've just seen their outfits. I know exactly who stays up to watch the beach volleyball. (And it can't be forlorn Baywatch fans, because those volleyball girls look like surfboards.) (Without the fins.) (Or the sex wax.)

But I digress from the main point of this article, which is the undeniable fact that softball is shite. You know it's true. But let's run through the evidence:

1. The fact that everything ever written about softball starts off "There is little soft about softball...", and contains various plays on the word 'soft' throughout. (And YES, I DO note the irony here, given the title of my own article)

2. A softball is 30.4 centimetres in circumference. BIG ENOUGH FOR YOU? Sure you can SEE that thing clear enough to hit? Maybe we should paint it ORANGE and put a BELL in it.

3. One of the positions is 'short stop'. Now that's just annoying.

4. It's basically exactly the same sport as baseball, which everyone outside of the United States knows to be utterly crap. Baseball is even MORE arse-numbingly dull than cricket (which everyone knows is the best sport in the world, because you can drink beer and consume an entire picnic with your mates, and still not miss a thing. And THAT'S if you're playing.)

5. In fact, it's actually described as "Another version of baseball, with a bigger ball, and a smaller bat." It's a women's only sport, and they BOWL UNDERARM! If that dosen't all scream SOFTCOCK I don't know what does.

Ah stuff it. I'm off to watch the beach volleyball.

Wednesday, July 28, 2004

When B.O.B spells TERROR

misc_rantsIf your name is Bob, or Robert, or hell - even Rob (can't be too careful), watch out next time you're on a plane. You might not know it yet, but your name is DANGEROUS and THREATENING and could be considered a FULL-ON TERRORIST ATTACK.

I know this, because all over the Australian news today is the sad and sorry tale of United Airlines flight 840 to L.A, which was forced to turn back to Sydney after a TERRIFYING BOMB THREAT was found in the plane's first-class toilet.

Imagine the terror that struck the heart of the stewardess when she found the note, scrawled on a sick bag (probably by some shifty al-Q'aida operative masquerading as a life jacket or tray table)...

Imagine the adrenalin that coursed through her veins as she rushed the note to the pilot, all the while keeping her eye out for sticks of red dynamite with wires sticking out of them, or a big red box with TNT written on it...

Imagine the fear that struck the heart of the pilot as he beheld the horrible scratchings that adorned the brown paper bag, once so content to hold nothing but vomit and now MARRED FOREVER by these words of hatred:


Yes, that's it folks. BOB.

Are we to assume these terrorists can't spell? (IT HAS AN 'M' IN IT, YOU IDIOTS.) Should we perhaps start placing How to Compose a Bomb Threat cards in the seat pockets to avoid confusion?

Well, no, actually. According to the staff of Flight 840, the meaning of BOB was clear - BOMB ON BOARD.

Of course, as we all know, terrorists are fond of the quiet approach - leaving notes to be found and such. In the toilet. In first class. In cryptic acronyms. I can imagine them now...

TERRORIST 1: So, when are we going to.. you know?
TERRORIST 2: Sssh! They haven't found the note yet.
TERRORIST 1: What did you write?
TERRORIST 2: I made it EXTRA threatening - W.O.Y.C.S.W.B.U.T.P
TERRORIST 1: Watch out you capitalist scum, we're blowing up this plane?
TERRORIST 2: Got it in one.

HONESTLY! What is the world coming to when one can hold up a plane by writing an acronym on a sick bag? You don't even NEED a bomb anymore! Hell, you don't even need to bring in your own note paper!

Being that the note was 'left' in the first class toilet, you'd have to think there was a limited number of suspects to choose from: was it the rich guy in the suit? Or the other rich guy in the suit?

Even funnier is the revelation by airline staff around the country who swear that BOB is steward speak for Best on Board, and is a secret accolade given out by staff to the best looking passenger of the flight.

Still, at least we now have a profile of this terrorist - he's wealthy, good looking, and doesn't get air sickness.

Saturday, July 17, 2004

People are strange, when you're on Ebay...

misc_rantsIt's official. I've had my first nutter-on-ebay experience. From what I've heard, nutters are rife on Ebay, and I'd been feeling a bit left out that I hadn't come across any during my recent spate of sales (I need MONEY, dammit! Sell everything! Sell it all!!!)
*Ahem*. Anyway, that all changed last week when I got an email from a strange person advising me that if the winning bidder on my red leather boots fell through, he would buy them.
'Why didn't he just bid in the first place?' I thought.
BECAUSE HE'S BEEN KICKED OFF EBAY! That's right, this is what he told me. He also told me he had a comic book heroine fetish.
HURRAH! I thought. A real, bonafide, grade-a nutter. I had caught one at last!
Then he told me he wanted a photo of me wearing the boots, dressed as Wonder Woman, and I started to rethink the transaction.
Below is a copy of the email that greeted me this morning, and has left me in a state of near catatonia until now. Enjoy.
PS: All formatting is author's own. NUTTER!!!!!!!!!!!
Hello I will go to bank Today and You will get a check for $59 to You -it's Better This Way-but I will Use Your e-mail name on the envelope. I wil try and get bank to make it in U.S.$'s but if I can't Your Bank should make No Fuss. Since Your Boots are Leather Insides I will buy. PetStarr when You mail the boots Please Let me Know Your Wishes should I Keep the Boots & Enjoy Them or Would Your have No Objection to Me Making Them a Present to a Tall Fashionable Female. I Say this PetStarr because I had e-mails & letters from Other Women Who Sold Me Their Boots Who Said I Hope You Enjoy the Boots-Please be Honest because I Know I Offended Many Women Who I said I make a Present of Them to Other Women. PetStarr We are both Adults I would also say to You before I get My Letter to You that Warner Brothers wants to make a Movie with a Wonder Woman Role & if You Fell You have the Looks Why not send a pictures of Yourself weaing the boots to Warner Brothers Pictures. PetStarr if Your Not Married or Engaged or Steadily Dating I would greatly Appreciate a Picture of You Wearing the Boots-Maybe dressed Up as a Comic Book Super Heroine-for Buying & Collecting Woman's Leather Boots is a Extension of My Collection of  Comic Books on Heroines/Super Heroines. PetStarr if You wish to wear the boots till You get My check I have No Objection-just without fake Man Made Stockings-They Don't Breather & Many Women have Trouble because They wear fake Man Made Shoes.Underwear & Clothing. PetStarr Don't be Mislead I'm Basically a Straight Guy-Former Asthmatic-Never did Illegal Drugs-Don't Smoke & Hardly Drink Booze. Maybe We will do Other Leather Boots Business. It's Unfortunate a British Seller after I Told Her I was Kicked off e-bay didn't want to sell Me Her White Leather Platform Boots. I have to go to Bank Now-I Hope Your Not Offended-Your Friend-RG (42 Year Old Big & Tall Single Man Who Buys a Pair of Leather Boots for a Female Friend-Fan)-

Monday, July 05, 2004

Vowel Play VII

Sunday, July 04, 2004

Vowel Play VI

And again....

By the way, suggestions for these are welcome. Just leave a comment and I'll see what I can do.

Disclaimer: bland canyon does not advocate the burning and/or smoking of religious figureheads, except for medicinal purposes.

Saturday, July 03, 2004

Vowel Play V

Vowel Play IV

They just keep on coming...

Vowel Play III

Friday, July 02, 2004

Vowel Play II

More vowel play, a la Graham Rawle, for b3ta...

Thursday, July 01, 2004

Graham Rawle rocks...

...which is why I'm starting my own series of 'added vowels', inspired by his Lost Consonants pictures.

Ok, so I'm completely ripping him off. Whatever.

Thursday, June 17, 2004

The other white meat

fun_picsGIRL 1: So, meet anyone cute at that fancy dress party the other night?

GIRL 2: Actually, there was one guy.. He came as SPAM.

GIRL 1: So did you sleep with him?

GIRL 2: Well I wanted to, but I didn't have a can opener.

Should you wish to buy this ridiculous getup, you can actually do so here

Wednesday, June 16, 2004

Genitalia with your tea, ma'am?

misc_rantschick_stuffFor the ultimate in biscuit fanciness, there is no going past Arnott's Iced Vovo. A beautifully ornate vanilla biscuit base, topped with (or rather, bottomed with, as you have to turn it over) two lines of pink coconut icing, one delicious line of strawberry jam, all lovingly sprinkled with coconut. They're the ultimate lady biscuit.

And I don't just mean FOR ladies either...

See, this is probably a sign of growing up (or sexual frustration, I'm not sure which), but only lately have I noticed the not-so-subtle similarity between the Vovo and, er...ladies' bits.

Iced Vulva, anyone?

If it weren't for the coconut you could use it as a teaching aid in schools! Not to mention keep the staff room well stocked.

This got me thinking (well actually, it got me thinking rather a lot before I put it into my mouth, I can tell you) - do Arnott's KNOW about this? I mean, the biscuit has been around since 1906 - was pre-war sexual repression rearing its ugly head in the design of this beloved bikkie?

I can imagine the Arnott's boardroom full of men in moustaches and bowler hats looking at a design on the company blackboard with shifty eyes, murmuring "Mmmm, yes Fotheringham, lovely work...Iced VoVo did you say? Yeesss....LOVELY, really SUPER, haw haw haw!" and rubbing their hands with glee as they imagined all the society ladies dunking them in their tea...

My only question now is - where are the Iced Weenies? Or Iced Wangers? or Iced Todgers? They wouldn't be as pretty to look at, but they'd certainly be more fun to bite into.

Sunday, June 13, 2004

Is big-hair-rock making a comeback? And should we be worried?

misc_rantsOk so perhaps I'm a bit out of the loop, but I've only just heard about The Darkness. Hmm, just did a Google and every single website says they're "England's most talked about band". Hey, I'm in Australia, it takes a while for news to travel, OK?

Anyway what is the deal with these guys?

Oh wait..that's not them, that's the band I'm booking for gran's birthday next month. (I just think they look so DYNAMIC! They can rock out even when they're having an epileptic fit. THAT is professionalism, folks.) Hang on...

Have I entered a time warp? What year is this? What's my name? Does electro even exist anymore? ("Yeah, we've got a moog..." "NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!")

The big hair! The tight pants! The stadium-sized rock-ballads! It's like Spinal Tap never went away!

These guys are certainly rockin' it 70s style, and I'm finding myself strangely both drawn to and repelled by their high-pitched warbling, hair flicking and pelvis-thrusting. There is something a bit sexy about a man with tight pants and big hair, but then again, it's hard to get too excited about a guy who looks better in satin and uses more hair product than you.

Is late 70s prog rock making a comeback? Will there be a sharp increase in purchases of polyester bodyshirts (outside of India)? Will men grow their hair long and curly, in attempts to look like Robert Plant (but end up more like Michael Bolton pre-chop)?


Tuesday, June 08, 2004

Big shoes to to fill...

Not me, but might as well be.
OK, how many times have you switched on Oprah or Dr Phil in the last month and then switched them off again because it was one of those shows about weight loss/carbohydrate addicts/obesity? Assuming you didn't turn her off for other reasons. Or even turn her on at all. Turning Oprah on? Let's keep going...

Extensive research by me shows at least one in three Oprah shows* are dedicated to weight - gaining weight, juggling weight, losing weight down the back of the couch and finding it again three months later. The world is seemingly obssessed with weight problems! But this is not another sob story about why fashion magazines should be banned and supermodels burned at the stake. Ok, correction: this IS a sob story. But it's not about weight. It's about feet. My BIG feet and how much I hate them.

I am a tall girl, 5'11", and lovingly referred to as "in proportion" by my mother. This means that I am a) not as slim as I could be and b) in possession of rather long limbs and appendages. By appendages I mean hands and feet. Let's not get all Miriam here... My feet are size 11 Australian (42 European), which roughly translates to REALLY FREAKING BIG everywhere else. And frankly, I'm sick of looking second-rate in the footwear department.

Oprah's so obssessed with fat cells - what about foot sizes?? Have you ever seen Oprah shedding a tear for all the poor unfortunates who can't find their size at Betts and Betts? How am I supposed to remember my spirit when my shoes are so ill-fitting I can't even remember my own name? You see, gentle reader, no one is prepared to dedicate themselves to the cause of the plus-sized foot.


Girls (and I know you're out there), you are not alone. I know what it's like to act my shoe size and come off more mature for it. I understand the heartache of owning a pair of boots that may very well be a snug fit but that could probably double as a spare room with en suite if the occasion arose. I can appreciate the embarrassment of being able to snorkel rather well sans flippers. And yes, I admit it - I can comfortably wear my boyfriend's shoes. That is, at those times when I actually have a boyfriend. (Foot fetishists need not apply)

Anyway all this is good and well (except maybe the bit about the en suite), but what really gets my goat is that chicks like me with size 10+ feet are COMPLETELY UNRECOGNISED BY SHOE RETAILERS!

If you are a female and happen to have feet larger than size 10 you better get used to men's sneakers because unless you're prepared to shop dawn till dusk and fight tooth and nail to find something else that's pretty much all you're going to get in my city. And forgive me for being cynical but black nubuck cross trainers are not my idea of evening wear.

For those of you lucky enough to have feet somewhere in the 6-10 size range, this is a typical conversation between me and a shoe salesgirl:

ME: Hello. I'm looking for a nice, stylish shoe in a size 11 please.
SALESGIRL: Oooh I don't think we have anything like that. We only go up to size 10, and we only get about 2 of those in anyway. It's amazing how many people ask for larger sizes!
ME: you just tell them all to sod off then?
SALESGIRL: Yes well we do try our hardest to cater for the freaks, that's why we have one size 11 in these big old fawn coloured sandals that not even your grandma would wear. They'll be in the back storeroom covered with cobwebs from two seasons ago. Would you like to try those?
ME impales SALESGIRL with a shoehorn and sticks a bottle of Waproo down her throat.

Get this - when I asked for a size 11 knee high boot at a shop in the city recently the only shoe the girl could offer me was a sandal. In winter. Now, call me a troublemaker but if you can only provide one whole section of the market with a summer shoe at the beginning of winter you're hardly on top of things in the world of footwear are you?

And you can forget about those 'specialist' shoe shops for 'hard to fit feet' unless you're only in the market for a nice pair of hush puppies or gold slippers.


Suggestions for ginormous-lady-foot-shodding are welcome.

*statistics may be made up

The first post.

misc_rantsI've been searching furiously for an article I wrote about shoe shopping 3 years ago and instead all the filing cabinet's come up with is a booklet of crappy stories I wrote when I was 6.

Well, I say 'crappy'. I really mean 'boring'.

Although The Mermaid was praised as "absolutely wonderful" by my prep teacher, but that probably just means it was legible.

In any case I have come up with a few disturbing themes running throughout my childhood tales of fantasy, and thought I'd share them here in the hopes that some psychology/creative writing students might pore over in their lunchbreaks and invite me in for testing and/or guest lectures.

1) The Golden River
This bit of Freudian imagery appears in several of my stories, including One Little Rabbit:

The next day rabbit went down to the golden river where all the animals drinked.

This image is continued, rather more disturbingly, in A Little Puppy:

One day Jumps [the puppy, obviously] went down to the golden river and saw a forest that was very dark.

What IS this golden river? And why is it directly adjacent a "dark forest"? Not only this, but as Jumps progresses through the forest he comes across a "tunnel that was very pretty". Venturing into the tunnel he finds a hall with "mummies for sale", runs into a glass case and gets "minor injuries".

Golden rivers? Dark forests? Pretty tunnels? Mummies for sale? MINOR injuries?

Clearly television is to blame.

2. The overusage of 'Once Upon A Time' to start a story.
Who teaches kids this crap? Aren't we over the Brothers Grimm yet? Kids shouldn't fart about with introducing characters and setting scenes, they should get straight to the action in their stories like I did in this one:

We went to Pulteney Grammar School and when I was on the bars boys looked at my bottom.

3. The absence of human characters.
All my stories appear to be about rabbits, turtles, bears and puppies. The only humans that appear are strangely twisted characters, like the man who grows a puppy from a flower in A Little Puppy, the voyeuristic passers by in The Frog In A Mushroom and the gardener called Tom whose sister is a lifeguard.

Santa does make an appearance in one story, but he ends up being invited by a bear into a cave for coffee and "having a lovely time", so I'm not sure that can be strictly counted as normal.

Apart from these 3 weirdities I have also noticed that my efficient and well meaning teacher (read: stifling literary repressor) has helpfully 'corrected' some passages of this tome, most notably in A Little Puppy. Of course, when I say 'helpfully corrected' I actually mean 'brutally rewritten'.

In a particularly gripping scene set in the casualty ward (Jumps, you may recall, has minor injuries), Jumps the puppy hears a strange noise under his bed. Cue ensuing commotion, and nursing staff attendance:

Just then Jumps heard the nurse running to his room. Jumps fled and pretended that he was asleep. The nurse ran into the room and said "Right, everybody asleep!" and ran out again.

Now here, my teacher 'corrected' the word fled to screamed and yelled. Excuse me, but what the hell dictionary was she consulting? Firstly - fleeing can be done in silence and does NOT require any sort of vocal outburst as she seems to imply; secondly - why would Jumps scream and yell if he was then going to pretend to be asleep? The woman clearly misunderstood the whole subtext of this piece. Luckily, my original words are still legible, so it is not an entire loss to the literary world. The London Muesum has already been in contact, so please - no more begging for me to put the book up on Ebay.