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!

Thursday, December 15, 2005

The very model of a major modern man

After consultation with several female friends, I have decided that the following attributes and skills are essential for all modern men to possess.

In no particular order:
1. Must know how to drive, even if he doesn’t have a car (although car ownership is preferable)

2. Must be able to reverse parallel park in one easy motion, while wearing sunglasses. At night, this is optional (see point 3).

3. Must never wear sunglasses at night (fancy dress parties excepted).

4. Must not own a hairdryer (styling products are ok).

5. Any hair below the shoulder is forbidden.

6. Must know how to replace a washer in a leaky tap.

7. Must know what a 'solenoid valve' is.

8. Must own more than five pairs of underwear.

9. Must know how to light a barbecue, both gas and Weber.

10. Must know how to make at least one really good salad.

11. Must know how to make minor repairs to a vehicle or, in the absence of tools, at least identify what the problem might be.

12. Must know how to cook a 'signature dish' that doesn't involve steak.

13. Must know how to rig up a fishing line, including adding a squid jig.

14. Must be able to gut and clean a fish.

15. Must be able to check scary noises at odd times of the night without being scared.

16. Must be able to dispose of house spiders without flinching.

17. Must give compliments without being prompted (preferably to me).

18. Must occasionally give flowers for no reason.

19. Must not have a problem with occasionally wearing pink or purple shirts.

20. Must own a suit (not a tux. If he owns a tux, he must have good reasons as to why he does, ie: having to attend regular formal functions etc.)

21. If he doesn't like sushi, he has to at least have tried it.

22. Has to look cool when smoking a cigarette, even if he doesn't smoke.

23. Must know how to play an instrument (note: he doesn’t have to be able to play it WELL, just to bang out a few notes that aren't accidental)

24. Should know his way around a hardware shop.
And finally, very importantly:

25. Must be able to back a trailer.

Additions to this list are, as always, welcome.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Strange attractions

For some time I have tried to determine what my 'type' is when it comes to men. I have so far been unsuccessful in this endeavour, except for determining that whatever boys my best friend L* finds attractive, I find supremely uninteresting. By that measure it's almost guaranteed that whatever boy she finds repugnant, I will probably be falling over myself to get into bed with.

Anyway, using L as a divining rod to find men hasn't proved all that workable, given that she seems to dislike being grabbed by the ankles and pointed around bars. So instead I offer to you, citizens of the interweb, a list of men (in no particular order) that I am strangely attracted to in the hope that maybe you guys can work it out for me.

1. Tim from The Office

When you leave Dawn, I'll be there to pick up the pieces...

Ah, Tim. 28, Lives still with his mum, no goals, no career amibition, no balls when it comes to picking up women. Be still, my beating heart. Why I have a crush on this character I don't know - I think I'm won over by his sarcastic office antics. And he gave Dawn a really thoughtful secret santa in the Christmas special. Sigh. Yep, I definitely would.

2. Steve-O from Jackass

Spazmo or not, Steve-o is hot.

Ok, so everyone (including me) has a bit of a girl crush on Johnny Knoxville; this is not news. Most guys even think he's hot stuff. But when I'm not lusting after Mr K, I'm all about his sidekick Steve-o. Ok, so he's basically a dickhead - he's wrestled in horse shit, frequently paraded naked in public and had his arse cheeks pinned together. But that ripped body and gravel-ash voice... I can't resist it.

3. Prince

I really don't know why.

Ok, I realise I might have lost a few of you here, but for those that are pressing on - I really don't know why Prince makes my list. I have had a thing for him since I was about seven. So he's incredibly short (I'm almost six foot so this IS potentially a problem), likes tight pants and big hair, and no one really knows what side of the fence he's on. I think this is why I'm drawn to him - he's a SEXUAL ENIGMA. Or maybe I just like purple more than I think.

4. David Bowie in Labyrinth

Again with the big hair...

No no, don't go yet! Really, please stay. I know I'm pushing it with the whole 80s big hair thing, but bear with me. Labyrinth is one of my favourite movies ever; when I was a child I would get mum to rent it for me almost every weekend. I never got sick of it. I'm still not sick of it, actually, I just bought the DVD last week. And again, David Bowie as Jareth was a source of childhood fascination and the confusion of a budding sexuality. I don't know WHAT my fascination with tight pants and big hair was back then, but it's still got a grip on my psyche.

5. The lead singer from Good Charlotte

I don't even know his name.

So anyway, whoever this guy is, I find him strangely attractive. Yes, I know Good Charlotte are a pussy band, but there's something about this guy's strange hair and tatts and puffy lips that fascinates me. It might also be a bit of my 80s makeup fetish rearing its head again. Also the way he dresses up like a corn in the 'I Just Wanna Live' video.

6. Blink 182

Why does the guy on the left have no tatts? What's wrong with him?

Again, I don't know their names, but the guys from Blink 182 appeal to me in a teenage skater-punk sort of way. They're all a bit skinny and they sing like they're whining, but they have tatts and they expose their arses a lot. These guys can slot into the same space on the shelf as Steve-o and Good Charlotte man.

7. Louis Theroux

"Who?" I hear you say.

For those of you unfamiliar with Mr Theroux, he had a TV show on the BBC (and Foxtel) for a while called Louis Theroux's Weird Weekends where he would interview eccentric characters about a particular subject. He is incredibly funny. And rather fucking gorgeous. I'm a sucker for a guy in glasses with a five o'clock shadow. I nursed a crazy infatuation with this man for quite a few seasons of LTWW until he made mention of "his girlfriend back home" in one episode. I was crushed. Still definitely, definitely would.

8. G.O.B from Arrested Development


For those of you who haven't yet discovered this show, I highly recommend you either get Foxtel's Comedy Channel, or tune in to Channel 7 on Sunday or Monday nights around 11pm (stroke of programming genius there - put the funniest new comedy series on as late as possible on a Sunday night) or just hire the DVDs from Series One and get into it from the start. It's that fucking good. Anyway, why I have a crush on G.O.B, the dim, womanising magician (sorry, ILLUSIONIST), isn't all that clear to me. Perhaps it's MAGIC! He goes in the same category as Tim from The Office.

And finally:

9. Bob Dylan circa 1965-66

It IS you, babe...

This crush started when I was 16, and I discovered how fucking much Subterranean Homesick Blues rocks. What followed was a completely obssessive Dylan phase that lasted several years, wherein I bought every Dylan album, book and poster and anything vaguely related to the man. I even wrote 'PetStarr's Bob Dylan walkman' in liquid paper on the side of my walkman and took it to school with my collection of Dylan tapes. I was, frankly, frightening. I even slept with a guy once because he looked vaguely like him. Ok, perhaps that's giving too much away. Anyway, while I have no attraction to the current version of the guy, Dylan circa 1965-66 still gets me hot. Pale, skinny, pissed off - YES! GIVE IT TO ME, BOB!

Right, so while by no means a definitive list, it's a start. If you can figure out my emotional/sexual problems, please leave a comment. Alternatively, if you are a guy who possesses one or more of the qualities displayed by examples 1-8, please also leave a comment, we can hook up, it'll be nice. (Although if the quality is tight pants and/or big hair, don't bother - I think that might be better in my head than it is in real life).

*name shortened to protect the innocent.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

A romantic thing happened on the way to my car...

chick_stuffA boy randomly gave me a red rose tonight on Rundle St.

I have no idea who he was, or what the rose was for, but as I walked past him on the way to my car he reached out and gave it to me.

See, I'm not lying, you bastards.

I just thought that was nice.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

It's time to go: Black Eyed Peas

I haven’t exiled anyone for a while (my last eviction was Wil Anderson, and he’s still refusing to actually go away) so this week I have decided to get rid of the Most Annoying Band on Earth.

“Who?” you ask (because you're too stupid to read the title of this post). Well, there were many contenders vying for this gong, not least of which were Gwen Stefani, The Pussycat Dolls, and Akon. But given two of those were solo artists, not bands, I had to settle for BEP instead. (To be honest, the jury’s still out as to whether The Pussycat Dolls are a band at all, as after many scientific experiments and lab tests, no one seems to be able to determine how many girls are actually in the group.) (Seriously, is that dark haired girl screwing the video director or what? None of the others even get a look in).

Of course it was also hard to overlook the Crazy Frog for this week’s eviction, especially as the bloody thing seems to be on tour at the moment and is lining up an album deal with The Hoff, but when an animation that goes “ba-ding-ding-ding” can feature no less than THREE TIMES on the ARIA singles chart, I feel I should be giving praise, not criticising. After all, some bastard is making lots of money for doing absolutely fuck all, and they get my applause, even if their money maker is making me want to stick a pencil in my eye. (And let’s face it, stupid animations singing “ba-ding-ding-ding” could very well apply to Gorillaz right now, and they’re apparently cool, so you know – perspective, people.)

As a side note: another contender for exile this week (which, if it continues to annoy me, may very well be cause for me to throw my TV into the neighbour's yard quite soon) is that Hungry Jacks ad for the Tandoori Chicken Baguette that goes "Aiee-aiee-aiee-aiee-ahhh OH YEAHHHHHHH!!!!!" about 17 times every adbreak. WHOEVER CREATED THAT AD SHOULD BURN IN HELL.

However, in the end, I have decided that the title of Most Annoying Band on Earth goes to:

Spot the Photoshopped-in band member.

Yes, The Black Eyed Peas. Admit it, they suck.

Now here’s where I make a confession – I used to like BEP. I REALLY liked them. I had Behind the Front and Bridging the Gap and I still think Weekends is one of the best tracks ever. But then SHE came along. That devil woman they call Fergie.

Admittedly when I first heard Fergie was singing with the Black Eyed Peas I thought it was a great idea – she could sing about weight loss, and getting her toes sucked, and being fat, and losing weight, and being ginger, and being fat, and losing weight. But alas, they weren’t getting the former Duchess of Pork to rock freestylee on the mic-ro-phone. We had to settle for this leathery piece of beef jerky with a boob job.

I had hope for the band – ‘Perhaps some chick vocals will be a good thing’, I thought.


Now they’ve released My Humps, a song that is only slightly more annoying than the Hungry Jacks ad for that Tandoori Chicken Baguette.

Sersiously, what the FUCK is this song? I DEFY ANYONE to actually sit through this utter garbage without at least THINKING about killing themselves.

I’m afraid the in-depth lyrics and music craft of BEP might be lost on most listeners, so here’s a simple breakdown of the best bits:

What you gon’ do with all that junk?
All that junk inside your trunk?
I’ma get, get, get, get, you drunk,
Get you love drunk off my hump.

Clearly she is a refuse-carrying camel that also provides alcoholic beverages to passers-by. A great franchise idea, by the way, for any entrepreneurs who might be reading this.

My hump, my hump, my hump, my hump, my hump,
My hump, my hump, my hump, my lovely little lumps.

She must be some sort of mutant dromedary, as she obviously has more than one hump – the chorus sees her pointing each of them out. Or perhaps BEP were commissioned to write an ad for routine breast checking and the deal didn't work out, so they've just worked the jingle into their new song. Either/or.

I met a girl down at the disco,
She said “Hey, hey, hey, yeah let’s go.”

Great rhyme! And I love how they’ve given this girl a stutter in order that the second line should keep meter with the first. I don’t know where the camel has gone at this point.

I could be your baby, you can be my honey
Lets spend time, not money.
I mix your milk wit my cocoa puff,
Milky, milky cocoa,
Mix your milk with my cocoa puff, milky, milky riiiiiiight.

Um, ”riiiight” is right... Actually I’m not even sure about this bit. I think he’s talking about sex. The camel is still absent.

What u gon’ do with all that ass?
All that ass inside them jeans?
I’m a make, make, make, make you scream
Make u scream, make you scream.

The camel makes a triumphant return! And she’s not going to be lending this guy no donkey, no siree! It’s HER or nothing.

U can look but you can’t touch it,
If you touch it I'ma start some drama,
You don’t want no drama,
No, no drama, no, no, no, no drama

The camel is now pointing out that she is a NIDA graduate, and could easily star in a soap opera if she weren’t currently occupied with refuse collecting and alcohol serving.

Anyway, for writing this stupid, ridiculous, thoroughly boring song, I say: It’s time to go, Black Eyed Peas.

And in closing, this and this.


Tuesday, November 29, 2005

A practical chick's guide to attending a cricket match.

1. It's not about the cricket.

The first thing to remember is that while you may think the purpose of going to the cricket is to actually watch cricket, it isn't. The purpose of the day is, in fact, to drink beer and leer at women. Let’s call it the "beer and leer" philosophy.

2. It isn't an oval.

The second thing to keep in mind is that while you may think you're at a sports oval, you're not. You are, in actual fact, in the middle of the world's largest outdoor strip club, and you are the main attraction (see point 1).

3. You are always on stage.

With these two points in mind, all women attending a cricket match must be expected to perform for the male spectators (after all, what else have they got to watch? A wicket? What the hell's that?)

This can be done in two easy ways:

a) Be blonde. If you're not blonde, dye your hair. Men can't be expected to focus on more than one hair colour, it confuses them.

b) Have breasts. If you're flat-chested, wear a push-up bra or get implants. It's only fair.

Now you've got the basics covered, simply follow these easy instructions to keep the spectators happy:

a) Check blonde hair and breasts are both still in place and easily visible.

b) Walk past male spectators to your chosen seat.

If you hear something that sounds like a Bundy-fuelled barroom brawl at the Cross Keys Tavern at 3am, you've done it right. If not, make blonde hair and breasts more prominent (say, by wearing a singlet or ill-fitting T shirt) and walk past again. If you still don't hear anything, the problem might be:

a) You are over 21.

b) You are wearing normal clothes.

c) You are walking next to a male friend. (NB: This is NOT a foolproof preventative measure)

PS: thanks to the boy who bought me and my friend beers because you liked my tits. Your quirky sense of humour and unabated enthusiasm for beer purchasing made you quite appealing, until you held a goon bag next to your crotch and asked me to "drink from your sack".

PPS: I tried to find a photo of a yobbo to accompany this post, but when I Googled 'lout', this is what I got. And, quite frankly, I prefer it anyway.

The cutest lout around?

Wednesday, November 02, 2005


misc_rantsThis is a completely pointless post, but if anyone has found a black Motorola V620 flip mobile phone somewhere between New Saigon restaurant and La Sing karaoke bar on Gouger St between the hours of 10pm Tuesday, Nov 1 and now - I will love you forever if you contact me at petstarr AT

Similarly, if anyone knows anyone who has mysteriously "acquired" a new-but-scratched black Motorola V620 flip mobile phone, kick them in the goolies and then contact me at petstarr AT

You never know - the way Adelaide works, this might just work.

Somehow I doubt it.


Thursday, October 20, 2005

Net-balls to this!

On occasion, I am inspired to do something active and healthy. Like tonight - I had steamed broccoli for dinner. The other week I took out a free week trial membership at a gym (and yes, I did go). Last night, however, might be the last time I ever indulge in that ridiculous sport they call netball.

Since last night I have revised my theory that softball is the most shite sport ever invented. Because now I know that truly, netball is.

To set the scene - I had donated my (admittedly crap) services as a ring-in for my friends' team (incidentally called 'Graham' - the best name for a sporting team ever) in order that they should avoid paying the hefty $90 forfeiting fee. I said I would only play if I could be goal keeper, a position I vaguely remembered from my junior high school days as being relatively slack and easy to do.

Everything was going fine until I got to the court. Everything up until that point had been great - getting dressed, having dinner, driving to the gym - it all went off without a hitch. Everything that DIDN'T involve netball was great.

But then the umpire asked me to take off my ring. My pathetic, plain little silver band had to go. Obviously she was onto my devious plan of using it to reflect light into my opponent's eyes and blind them. Damn her.

Then came the fingernail check. Excuse me, but do you have to be a COMPLETE frump to play this game? No jewellery, no nails, what's next? No sense of style?

Oops, spoke too soon - next up I came under fire for daring to wear shorts that were below the knee.

"Do that next week and you'll be penalised a goal, missy," said the other, old man umpire.

What IS this rule about? Why is it actually a rule of the game that you have to wear skirts or shorts above the knee? It can't be so the male spectators have something to look at - there aren't any male spectators.

Anyway after all of this fashion fun, it was time to start the game.

If there's one phrase I never want to hear again, it's "Obstruction, goalkeeper".

Apparently I wasn't all that au fait with the "three feet" rule, which requires you to be EXACTLY THREE FEET from an opponent before you can try to obstruct their shot. Every time I stuck my hand in some girl's face to stop her from shooting a goal I heard "Obstruction, goalkeeper...obstruction, goalkeeper." (Later on I heard "Contact, goalkeeper", but that was different. Apparently you're REALLY not allowed to punch an opponent.)

Ok, does anyone know what three feet is? HELLO, HEARD OF THE METRIC SYSTEM? WELCOME TO AUSTRALIA, WE USE IT HERE. Maybe they should start charging court fees in pounds and shillings too, just to keep it even. Anyway, unfortunately I had left my old-timey feet and inches measuring tape at home, so I kept breaking this ridiculous rule of measurement.

All this while girls ran around shrieking "IF YOU NEED!" and "UP AND IN!" Lord, spare me.

And how's this for another stupid netball rule: on a throw in, one must step UP to the court line, but not ON it. I don't mean OVER, I mean ON. To be precise - if your foot is touching the outer court line when you do a throw in, the ball is given to the other team.

I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW WHAT POINT THIS RULE SERVES. And more to the point, I would like to know how a girl with size 11 feet can be reasonably expected to step UP to a line and not ON it during a throw in. It's practically impossible - I'd have to stand about a metre back. Or perhaps three feet.

Speaking of which - how is one supposed to stop someone from shooting a goal by standing three feet away from them and waving their hands in the air? You also can't touch the ball until it leaves their hands, not that you'd get anywhere close to doing that in the first place without go-go-Gadget arms.

All in all, I've decided that netball is the most ridiculous sport in the world.

Not quite so ridiculous, however, as this sign I saw this evening at Coles.

Does YOUR supermarket have such an extensive thong aisle?

Clearly, thongs are a big seller at the Port Adelaide Coles. Hosiery too, by the looks of it. To be honest, I can't believe they even had ONE aisle sign that said 'Thongs', let alone three. Bizarre, but it did make my night.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

All that glitters

WARNING: this is a rare emotional post from a slightly inebriated Petstarr.


Seriously. Why are we SO FUCKED UP? Don't get me wrong - obviously, I'm a chick and I like being one and wouldn't want to change it (unless some SERIOUS deals were done...and I'm talking SERIOUS). But tonight, I finally caught a glimpse of what men complain about all the time, and ladies - I didn't like it one bit.

Here's the scene: I was invited to a fairly "swanky" event at the Art Gallery tonight, so off I went in my signature sequins (if you want sequins or glitter, come to Petstarr, baby) feeling pretty OK about myself. Sure, I probably shouldn't have had that schnitzel this week, and yeah, I could have done without that curry, and OK I agree, I look much skinnier in those photos from Thailand that were taken two years ago, but hey - I was looking OK and everything was basically alright.

Cue the speed dating. Yes, the event I was at this evening had planned a "speed dating" component, whereby lovely singles got to meet other lovely singles in an artistic arena, having opportunities to discuss the artwork in front of them for a short period of time. So if you didn't like the person you were stuck with, you could just wax lyrical about the lovely painting in front of you for 90 seconds before escaping.

All went well (apart from being stuck with two gay guys and a computer science student for the main part of the exercise) until I finally got to talk to the one decent looking bloke there. As soon as I turned up at his "station" I was unceremoniously cut off by Psycho Bad Roots Girl (hereto known as PBRG) - a crazy bottle blonde girl who badly needed a hair appointment (to address her underdone roots situation). She wrapped her arm around him and slurred "I'm his friend, I've known him for aaaaaages, so I'll just stay here and give him moral support".

Um, right. or you could just make everyone's life easier and FUCK OFF.

Having decided that a bitch fight with a fake blonde was way too much effort for this little black duck (considering there was free champagne afoot) I made a pathetic 90 seconds worth of speed-dating discussion and retreated downstairs to the bar, where I of course bitched at length about the psycho insecure bottle blonde who had cut my lunch.

But of course, it didn't end there.

After a few more champers I decided to give this bloke another go, PBRG or not. I located him across the courtyard standing with some other friends of mine, with PBRG drooling in the background.

I sauntered over with some mates, keen to make a friendly "Hi these are my mates, let's meet your mates" situation, but instead was greeted with TYPICAL PARANOID FEMALE AGGRESSION, which I have now decided is the most bullshit and unnecessary of all attack techniques.

Seeing me approach, PBRG says (under her breath, but not really) "Ohhhh HER. We met HER upstairs in the speed dating thing..... Desperate housewife."

Um... HELLO???? I'm twenty-fucking-five! (But frankly, if you think I look like Teri Hatcher I'm not going to complain.)

Firstly - when did you become so paranoid that you feel you need to put down someone who says "hello" to your "love interest" (I can only assume that's what it was about)? And why are you so goddamn insecure in the first place? Get over yourself for christ's sake.

With the benefit of hindsight (and a few extra drinks) I can say that I wish I had pulled up and said "Excuse me? Housewife? What did you say?" and really see how she dealt with a bit of confrontation. But of course, like the nice Libra that I am, I let it go.

Not only did I have to deal with this, but when I got to the Exeter afterwards some random in the toilet said: "Mmmm. Nice top. Very...sparkly." to which I replied "I had to go a function before this, it's not my usual get up."

"Was it a GLITTER theme then?" she said.


I've got my angry boots on and I'm wearing them to bed, goddammit. Women should just learn to get the fuck along.

End transmission.

Thursday, September 29, 2005

The 90s are back - AS IF!

misc_rantschick_stuffOh my god, I'm like, totally freaking out - I think 90s fashion is coming back in.

I know, I know, we ALL said it wouldn't happen. But look what happened with the 80s. Whoever thought they'd see a metrosexual with a mullet? Case closed.

If we ever go back to this, I request to be euthanased.

The fashion creep has definitely started. Already I've seen the following items appearing in shops:
  • Alice bands
  • Pastel coloured jeans
  • Tight black jeans
  • Babydoll dresses
  • Opaque black stockings
But so far the strongest indicator that the 90s are clawing their way back from fashion hell appeared yesterday in Sportsgirl, where I saw this:


Alright I admit, she looks kind of hot. However I CATEGORICALLY REFUSE to ever wear a vest again. I went through a big vest phase when I was about 13. Op shop vests over t shirts with pastel jeans, along with an extremely dodgy shorn-off haircut (yes, with an undercut), are directly responsible for me being confused for a pre-teen boy/lesbian/pre-teen lesbian for most of my early adolescence.

Apart from all 90s fashion being pretty much appalling and unsalvageable (I'd like to see them try to make Tencel cool again) the worst part of all of this is that the kids wearing this crap will be the ones born in 1992 who think grunge is what you clean out of the kitchen sink and Nirvana is a transcendental state of bliss and harmony with creation. Tch. Clueless.

So everyone, we can choose to stay inside, lock the doors and not come out until the next fad cycle begins (in which case we may end up emerging in the middle of 'millenium' fashions and have to go back to the 80s) or we can lead the revolution and overthrow this mindless fashion regime by burning down Sportsgirls and spitting on people in Hypercolour or flannelette shirts.

Actually, best not to spit on people wearing flannelette shirts. They might not appreciate your fashion critique.

But if they're wearing a vest, go for it.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Do you blog? Are you from the north of Adelaide?

This is a temporary request post that will be taken down once I get enough replies (if I get any replies!)

If you are a regular blogger (on any subject) from the following areas, I'd like to hear from you:

Modbury, Highbury, Hopevalley, Gilles Plains, Valley View, Para Vista, Ingle Farm, Pooraka, Mawson Lakes, Parafield, Salisbury, Elizabeth, Davoren Park, Craigmore, Greenwith, Golden Grove, Surrey Downs, Fairview Park, Banksia Park, Tea Tree Gully, St Agnes, Ridgehaven...and basically anywhere nearby in the north of Adelaide.

If you're interested in getting some possible media attention, please get in touch by leaving your blog details in a comment, or by emailing me at petstarr AT

I'll let you know what the deal is, and we can take it from there.

Please, no one from other areas - this is for northeners only! Rock on.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

And today, I'm sick of...

tv_mediaOk let's cut straight to the chase: here is a list of stories I never want to see on A Current Affair or Today Tonight ever again.

1. Stories about weight. People gaining weight, people losing weight, anorexic women, obese kids, grannies going to the gym...fuck off, all of you.

2. A new learning/breathing/speaking/eating technique that helps stutterers to speak normally. Clearly all of them are actually crap, because this story seems to air once every 6 months, and it's always a new technique.

3. A new learning/breathing/speaking/eating technique that helps slow kiddies to read. Listen parents: you can colour code vowels and "break words into two" all you bloody like, but if you call your kid Kyeliee or Jaiydenn, spelling is always going to elude them.

4. Stories about labels on food. Hey, you mean that big green tick on the front of the cereal box ISN'T from the Heart Foundation? And you say these marshmallows are 97% fat free, but contain lots of sugar? THANK YOU, BUT WE ARE NOT ALL RETARDED. Stop telling us this common sense information.

5. Stories about home brand products versus name brand products. You mean name brand rice is the same as home brand? We can save 60 cents? WHO GIVES A TOSS? And stop trying to convince us that home brand ice cream is anywhere near Streets Blue Ribbon. It's never going to win, ever. This category also includes stories comparing laundry powders, batteries and running shoes.

6. Stories about internet scams and hoaxes. Excuse me, but are we supposed to feel sorry for Mr and Mrs Plonker of Nowhere who are crying over their keyboards because they gave their bank account details to Mr Nahasa Puumo of Nigeria? "He emailed us directly and told us his father, the king, had been assasinated...We had no reason to suspect it was a hoax." I have no sympathy for these absolute nobheads who give all their details and money to people selling betting software or other such nonsense - "He said I'd be earning millions of dollars an hour - of course I believed him." Fuck off, you've learned the hard way. Some people were never supposed to be let loose on the web, and you're clearly one of them.

7. Stories about neighbours from hell. Giving more air time to more scrubbers who yell obscenities at each other over fences and throw dog crap at each other's houses. You always have one neighbour who the viewer is supposed to sympathise with, but if you ask me they're all fucking nutty. Especially the one I saw last week who had set up 5 video cameras to catch her mental neighbour on camera, and then sat down over dinner every night to watch the entire day's footage. Riiight, your NEIGHBOUR'S the crazy one...

8. Stories about tenants from hell. Actually, that's a lie, I quite like watching these stories. It's fascinating to see how drastic people will let a place get before even THEY decide it's too revolting to live in, and bugger off elsewhere.

Comments and list additions are, as always, more than welcome.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Maccers release inner child - viewers release lunch

adver_tisingtv_mediaContinuing with my series of rants about dodgy advertising (on sexy advertising, Jilas, Subway...) I would now like to turn your attention to the new Maccers campaign.

I'm talking about the one where people's stomachs open up and little children pop out.

Sounds appetising, doesn't it?

A Maccers advert or the new Aphex Twin video?

WHOSE DEMENTED IDEA WAS THIS?? Ok, we get the SUBTLE MESSAGE - come to Maccers, eat a cheeseburger and release your inner child. Great, fine, got it. WE DON'T NEED IT GRAPHICALLY ILLUSTRATED ON OUR TV SCREENS 100 MILLION TIMES DURING AUSTRALIAN IDOL!


This advert disturbs me beyond measure.

Not only do we have to watch creepy kids crawling out of trapdoors in unsuspecting people's stomachs, it's all accompanied by a bizarre sing-songy music background that is now, for me, only slightly less creepy than the theme song from Deliverance.

"Ohhh meee...ohhh myyyyy....spy my lit-tle oh me ohhhh myyy...."

ARGHH!!! You can imagine an axe murderer in some teen slasher movie singing it as he stalks his pretty blonde prey down to the basement...

"Hurry up and get out of there, I'm cranking for a Happy Meal and I have to be back inside my host body in 20 minutes."

Speaking of host bodies - could this perhaps be some sort of subversive Scientology propaganda? Are these "inner children" actually operating Thetans with a case of the munchies? Is Ronald McDonald really L Ronald Hubbard?

As disturbing as this ad is, at least it's got high production values - which is more than anyone can say for the other Maccers ads currently doing the rounds with that annoying blonde girl from that failed soapie no one remembers doing over-excited vox pops with sandwiches.

"WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY ONE OF THESE ROLLS? WHADDYA THINK? WHERE D'YA THINK IT'S FROM?!!???" she shrieks at anyone who will listen.

Various idiotic munchers reply with things like "Geee...Subwayyy? A it from a deliiii?" before she reveals the HUGE surprise that actually, that weird red and yellow clown standing over there in the phone box made it.

Just once, I would like someone to say "A clown made these rolls? Really? A clown? What deli is he from?" to make the point that Ronald isn't as well known as he bloody thinks he is. You hardly hear of Ronald anymore anyway - which is probably why he's now seemingly forced to peddle sandwiches in local malls.

Speaking of which, I wish Maccers and Jackers and all those other fat-filled havens would stop pretending they offer healthy food ("Wow, this salad has less than 10 grams of fat!" SO IT FUCKING SHOULD, IT'S A GOD DAMN SALAD! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH 10 GRAMS IS??) and just go back to doing what they do best - selling us the artery clogging goodness we all know and love.

And if they could manage to put out an advert that doesn't either annoy or revolt us, that'd be good too.

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

How sexy advertisers get their Jols

adver_tisingWhere is the First Year Marketing textbook that says 'sex sells'? Because I'd like to get every copy of it, put it on a great big bonfire, and dance around it. Naked. No, not naked, dammit! Fully clothed, in a wholesome way.

Is anyone else sick of lazy advertising wherein a product is marketed by thrusting (pardon the pun) a sexuality onto it that it didn't previously possess?

Take yoghurt, for example. If it's not low fat or organic, it seems advertisers run out of things to say. Clearly "It comes from cows and it tastes like fruit" didn't cut it in the board meeting, so some bright spark said "Let's just picture a woman eating it, and pretend she's having an orgasm."

They obviously just sampled the latest Fruche flavour.

What RIDICULOUS idea is this? Firstly - it's YOGHURT for god's sake. It's not even chocolate. Sorry, but yoghurt just ISN'T sexy. Especially when you pronounce it 'yoggurt'. Shudder.

Secondly - has anyone EVER eaten a yoghurt and made that face that all women make in yoghurt ads? You know the one - closed eyes, hunched shoulders and a dreamy, smiley face. I don't know what they're putting in THEIR goddamn yoghurt (ecstasy?) or who's doing WHAT to them out of shot, but that certainly doesn't happen to me when I eat yoghurt. Unless it's that stuff from that shop in the Central Market, in which case I like to eat it alone, in a darkened room, with Marvin Gaye on the stereo.


It's not just yoghurt that gets the treatment. It's any old crap that advertising agencies clearly can't be bothered thinking up new, RELEVANT campaigns for.
Jols sweets are another one. It's a fucking LOLLY. It's a hard little sugary pellet that tastes vaguely like fruit. You would think such a product would hardly be orgasm-inducing. But there's the advert again, from Chapter One of Obvious Marketing Ploys Vol. 1 - one woman begging another for a Jols because it's "making her look like she's with the most luscious guy on the planet". Excuse me, but WHERE HAS SHE STUCK THIS PELLET AND WHAT IS IT DOING TO HER? Perhaps some Jila-like experimentation is in order.

Another question worth raising is: why is it always women? Why don't we ever see any men moaning and groaning over their Four 'n Twenty or Pale Ale? (As a side note, it's interesting that men are always complaining that women require too much foreplay, take too long, are too much hard work blah blah blah. Clearly they should just give them a Yoplait - women in their adverts are orgasming all over the place on only a teaspoon of Forest Fruits.)

I've seen advertisers pull this kind of crap on almost everything: chewing gum, breath mints, dental floss, toilet paper... Ok, so I made the last two up, but I wouldn't put it past them.

Chocolate, ice cream, Baileys - sure, I can understand the need to involve a bit of slap and tickle in the marketing of those. They're pretty sexy products. Especially if you use them all at the same time in a darkened room with Marvin Gaye on the stereo.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Throw another doll on the Barbie

misc_rantsI have to admit, I have never been a doll fan. I have never owned a Barbie and as a child, the slightest interest shown in owning one was greeted with utter contempt by the rest of my family. I did later have a Cabbage Patch doll, but only because everyone did, and anyway mine had curly orange hair and I called it Leonie so you really couldn’t be more of an abusive parent than that.

I just don’t like dolls. I don’t like the way their plastic, beady, soulless eyes stare out into space from the shelf without the benefit of nice fluffy fur (a la a teddy bear) to make them cute or cuddly. But most importantly, I don’t like what dolls can do to people.

I’m not talking about Chucky style psychopathic supernatural serial killing. I mean the obsession that can grip people who are driven to collect them. For me, doll people are like cat people – both drippy sets of fuckers who won’t leave you alone about their obsession. “This is Socks/Leonie, isn’t she cute how she shits on your car/sits on the shelf and stares blankly into your soul?”

The worst types of doll people are the ones who buy special display cabinets for their collection and shop on the internet for the latest designs. Or, on the TV Shopping Network.

Before I moved out into the bachelorette pad, I lived with my mum who, bless her, had Foxtel. Many a hungover Sunday afternoon was spent watching TVSN, wondering who in the hell would buy an electrical appliance to fry an egg. Honestly, a fucking plug-in egg fryer. I wish people who bought this crap would just stick a fork in their toaster. If it didn’t kill them at least it would be one less electrical appliance for them to worry about.

At any rate, one of the best shows was the Dolls and Collectables Hour, where some drippy bloke would present the latest in the world of beady-eyed soulless plastic freaks at ludicrous prices. Like these:


Is anyone else thinking Donnie Darko here?

"Oliver has the weight and proportions of a real baby so when you pick him up he feels like the real thing - including wrinkles around his ankles, hands and face."

Aww, isn't he sweet? NO, HE'S NOT! It's a baby that will never open his goddamn eyes! Doesn't anyone else find that disturbing? I mean, at least it saves you the strain of having to deal with the beady, soulless thing, but I think maybe this is worse.

You can own Oliver for just $269 (hey, it WAS $469, so quit complaining, it's a fucking bargain).

Harry Handmade:

If your doll needs are more specific, say, a semi-retarded black kid with an invisible friend, then look no further than Harry Handmade.

"Duh, you're my bethst friend, Mr Invithible."

What the hell is this? It's $69.50 worth of confusion and weirdness, that's what it is. Presumably you're supposed to dress Harry in that soccer outfit every now and again, but frankly I don't want to go anywhere near any of it. Moving on.


Before you die, you see the ring...

OH SWEET MOTHER OF JESUS WHAT IS THIS? It's Gunhild, the Limited Edition Vinyl Doll. And it's only $99.50 now, on sale. Gee, I wonder why they haven't been able to sell this one? Could it be those SATANIC EYES LIKE INKY POOLS OF DEATH SUNK INTO HER HEAD?

"Gunhild carries with her a box of present that is wrapped in silver coloured paper." A box of present? That chick better come armed with more than a present if she's coming anywhere near me. Fuuuuck.

Queen Ann Estelle:

Perhaps you were the geeky girl at school. You know, the nerdy one with bad hair and coke-bottle glasses that never got any boy action? Well TVSN has thought about you guys (hell, you probably make up most of their audience, sitting at home alone, your big fat bottoms permanently indenting the couch as the hundreds of eyes from your creepy doll collections watch you stuff another tim tam into your faces...ahem).

Well in the cheapest, most lowbrow attempt to boost your shattered self esteem, comes Queen Ann Estelle, the geeky Queen.

There once was an ugly duckling...

But she's still got a crown, doesn't she? DOESN'T SHE?!

Not geeky enough, you say? Cop this then.

Parasol Party:

Me love you long time, Mister

She doesn’t even have a NAME. She’s just called “Parasol Party”. She’s a whole party, all in one. And doesn’t she just look it.

Reminds me of a cheap Thai strip club where the girls are all just a little bit sub-par with glasses and bad props. Little party girl here would do an act with a parasol while all the fat American tourists watch in confusion screaming "DO THE PING PONG BALL THING, THE PING PONG BALL!"

And finally, I know this is supposed to be strictly about dolls, but I had to step outside the rules to bring you this piece de resistance.

The Brain:

E=mc fuck that's overpriced

Cute isn't he? But there's more than just fluff and sawdust behind this little cutie:

"The Brain was designed by Hermann Green in Germany, to celebrate the 100th Anniversary of the publication of Einstein's Theory of Relativity."

Now, you'd think that the demographic of people actually wanting to celebrate this occasion would be fairly exclusive. I'm thinking physicists and nerds and that's about it. But apparently he's one of TVSN's most popular items, and at just $349 I'm not surprised. Actually that's a lie. I'm bewildered.

Nevertheless, I'm sure Albert would be thrilled to know that a lifetime's work was being commemorated by a stuffed bear.

And thank goodness - "Einstein has black safety eyes". That's to protect all the geniuses out there who try to eat his face.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Vee have vays of making you join ze video shop

Can I ask a simple question? When did video shops become high security establishments? When did it become necessary to possess a barcoded ID card AND a password AND give over all your personal details just to rent a 15 year old copy of The Three Amigos?

I recently decided to try out the video shop around the corner from me because, well, it's around the corner from me. Seemed like a convenient idea. Although, as it turns out, it wasn't really.

Went through all the videos, finally picked the one I wanted, took it to the counter, and thus the drama began:

ME: I'd like to become a member please.
VIDEO SHOP MAN: Sure no problem, just fill this form out.
ME: Great.
VIDEO SHOP MAN: And this one.
ME: Ok...
VIDEO SHOP MAN: And also this one. Sorry, they're all basically the same form but we need three.
ME: Sure.
VIDEO SHOP MAN: We also need two contact phone numbers on there, one for your home and one of your next of kin.
ME: My next of kin?
VIDEO SHOP MAN: And they can't be mobile numbers. Although we need one of those too.
ME: Right.
VIDEO SHOP MAN: And we also need some photographic ID.
ME: Ok.
VIDEO SHOP MAN: And also some ID with your current address on it.
ME: Ah. I don't have anything like that, I've just moved here.
VIDEO SHOP MAN: Oooh...well then we have a problem. Have you got a gas bill or something with your name and address on it?
ME: You want to see my gas bill?
VIDEO SHOP MAN: We need to verify your current address. A gas bill or a phone bill or something official looking, you know, that can't be easily forged or copied.

Let's stop right there: what MENTAL person would be SO OBSSESSED with the idea of renting videos at a particular store that they would FORGE a gas bill with a false address in the local area just to get a member's card?

What are they thinking? I know DVDs are expensive but my NEXT OF KIN? What are they going to do, hire some goons to go round and rough up my mum until I return that copy of Blade 3?


A few years ago I was desperate to see Jumpin' Jack Flash again (long story) and tracked it down to one video store in North Adelaide. Of course, this required me to become a member. Same story:

ME: I'd like to become a member please.
VIDEO SHOP MAN: Sure, can you fill out this form?
ME: No problems! (fills out form)
VIDEO SHOP MAN: Hmm, I notice here you've only listed one contact phone number.
ME: Is that a problem?
VIDEO SHOP MAN: Well, we're supposed to get two. Have you got another one?
ME: No.
VIDEO SHOP MAN: A mobile number?
ME: No. (reaches into pocket, turns off mobile phone to prevent potentially embarrassing, lie-exposing ringing)
VIDEO SHOP MAN: A work number?
ME: I work from home.
VIDEO SHOP MAN: Your mum's phone number?
ME: I live with my mum.
VIDEO SHOP MAN: (completely perturbed and traumatised at this point) I really need two numbers!! What about a friend?

A friend? Yeah, I can see how that would go down:

VIDEO SHOP MAN: Hello, are you PetStarr's friend?.
VIDEO SHOP MAN: She has an overdue video.
FRIEND: Right.
VIDEO SHOP MAN: So...can you tell her?
FRIEND: I guess.

Excuse me, but since WHEN did society become SO TOPSY TURVY that it became a requirement, nay, EXPECTED for people to have TWO phone numbers? Is this really normal? Isn't it POSSIBLE that someone might only have one number? They might not even have one at all! Should these poor luddites be punished for their lack of acceptance of modern communication technology by not being allowed to rent DVDs? (Although if they don't own a phone, the liklihood of them owning a DVD player is fairly slim.)

NEWSFLASH, VIDEO SHOPS: we don't want to give you more than one phone number, and ESPECIALLY not our mobile phone number, because we know you're more dial-happy than a drunk ex-girlfriend on a hens' night whenever we forget to return our videos.

I for one don't especially LIKE being called up 3 times a day when Kerry, Kylie and Jason each start their shift at 9am, 1pm and 5pm and consult the list of DIRTY NO GOOD OVERDUE RENTERS and decide to buzz me with a reminder. I also don't like answering the phone to a computery voice that says, disjointedly "Your copy of NAKED STUDS TWO is now overdue."

Not that I rented that one.

I swear.

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Thunder thighs and lycra, very very frightening...

I'll be the first to admit that if Vogue deemed flabby thighs the next big thing (pardon the pun) and men's magazines everywhere started featuring big arses and cellulite on the covers, I would be running down the street whooping with joy. Actually, no, that might add up to some sort of exercise and ruin my fashionable flab. I'd ease further back into the couch, grab a box of Cheezels and whoop with joy.

But let's face it, this isn't going to happen any time soon. And therefore, I think somebody needs to be a nasty tart and dib dob on all those ladies flaunting their thunder thighs who should really know better. (It's ok, I'm talking about celebrities, it's ok to bitch about THEM).

The first major offender has to be Miss B. Spears. Enamoured of PVC pants, mini skirts and lycra, Britters is a serial offender and must be stopped:

Left: G.I Jane would get a nasty case of thrush if she wore this in 'Nam...
Right: But at least her boobs are perkier than in this set of curtains.

Now look, I love Brits to death. I'e been a big girly fan ever since she dressed up like a school girl and made all the boys cry by asking them to hit her one more time. But she has thunder thighs and stumpy legs. Sorry, but it's true. From the waist up, she's a goddess - when she's had her hair and make up done and hasn't stumbled out of a strip club at 4 in the morning after a cocaine and red bull binge (hey, we've all been there). But hips down, it's scary town. She should either go to Russia for experimental invasive leg lengthening surgery, or give up and wear normal clothes. I mean, it's only going to get worse now she's up the duff. Awww, come on Britters, don't cry! You can still get your tits out if you want.

Moving on, to Beyonce:

Left: A poodle wrapped in alfoil, that's all this is.
Right: Beyonce tries out for the part of Kermit in an adults-only off-Broadway production of the Muppets.

Ok, Beyonce is hard to fault. She's hot, she's got a sexy as hell voice and she rocks completely and utterly hard. I love her. In fact, I think I'd even turn for Beyonce. But let's face it - that arse could have its own House of Parliament. She has some big black booty back there, and it needs some fashion advice. Beyonce, baby: we love looking at your curves, but we don't want to see ALL of them THAT intricately. I don't need to be able to count the spare change in your pockets through your pants. Please, put the lycra down, STOP allowing your mum to make your clothes for you, and just stick to the stuff you look good in. Which is practically anything except these two examples.

And finally, filling out the Australian component, Ms Toni Pearen.

Admittedly, Toni isn't quite on the same plane as Brits or Beyonce. In fact, if Britney and Beyonce were the sun, Toni would be a meteorite on the outer horizon of the universe. And a small one at that. I mean, she hosts Australia's Funniest Home Videos for god's sake. That being said, there's NO EXCUSE for the fashion thigh crimes she's been committing all over the place for, it seems, her whole life.

Left: Toni's crack addicted stylist strikes again with a thigh-hugging disco number straight from the arse end of the 70s.
Right: After the demise of E-Street, Toni had to seek work as a mime. Here she shows off her famous "stumpy legs in glass box" act.

WHAT is that godawful thing on the right? Are they her LEGS poking out of the bottom of that sack? Avert your eyes, children, it's too awful to watch! Honestly, who keeps on telling Toni she looks good in micro minis? THE GIRL HAS NO LEGS, LEAVE HER ALONE! I'm sure it's an inside stylists' joke, and they call each other up after the Logies cackling "I told her it made her look heaps taller! I knoooow I can't believe she fell for it either!"

Somebody needs to stop this rampant lack of style before its too late. I vote we start a petition to the Federal Government to allow for grants to stumpy-legged women to travel to Russia for those operations. Either that, or we just ban miniskirts to everyone with big thighs. But then Westfield would go out of business.

Go on, complain. I won't care.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Online dating tips for boys

I've been cruising the online matchmaking websites of late (ie: I'm bored, haven't been getting any, and am listlessly window shopping for a new conquest) and I've realised that there are probably a lot of single guys out there with empty inboxes (so to speak) wondering why the girls aren't going for their profile.

And I know why.

It's not because you listed yourself as Catholic (run girls, run! You'll have to marry him or get pregnant). And it's not because you listed your height as 5'4 and body type as "average". It's because you're one of the hundreds of men committing online profile photo crime.

There are several categories*:

The "I own a hot car, therefore I am hot" man

Guys, when are you going to learn? We don't CARE about your CAR. We honestly don't. We care if it doesn't work, or if it's a clapped-out piece of old arse, or if you DON'T have one at all, but apart from that we couldn't give a rat's. We ESPECIALLY don't care if you've done moderations to it. I expect men use photos like this in the hopes that they'll get some Benny Hill type responses, you know, like "I love driving stick shift, baby," or "How fast can you go? Take it easy on the curves," and such. Sigh. Moving on.

The "I think I'm hot so you should too" man

Men in this category are the most depressed of the singles bunch. They KNOW they're hot, I mean check out those biceps! So why are they still single? Shouldn't chicks be impressed with this shit? Why do they have to resort to a dating website to pick up? Well lads, if you stopped gazing at your perfectly sculpted navels you'd realise none of us gives a toss. I'd rather sleep with one of the guys in the first category. At least they could drive you home.

Following on from this category comes

The "I've cut this out of a magazine hoping you won't realise" man

So you own a pair of scissors, well done.

The "I'm not good looking but I'm fun" man

Here's another life lesson: girls are not attracted to "wacky". We like a laugh, we like fun, but leave the oversized sombrero and the tinny 6-pack crown for those "special" nights with the boys. You know, the ones where you set fire to things and write your name in wee on the back lawn.

The "Other girls have liked me before so you should too" man

Ok, I KNOW most people tend to look their best on their wedding day. You've got the suit, the hair's all done, flower in the lapel...FIND ANOTHER PHOTO, FOR GOD'S SAKE! Do you REALLY think that a photo of you and your EX WIFE on your WEDDING DAY are the right lure for snagging a new sexy single? This goes for ex girlfriends too - learn how to use Microsoft Photo Editor and CROP HER OUT, YOU IDIOT! We know you think it makes you look a bit cooler ("I'm not a COMPLETE nerd, see, I've had a girlfriend before"... yes, we get it.) Although you could just go all Ring on it like the guy in the middle and blur her face out. Creepy.

The "I look better up close" man

I was amazed at how many men obviously think this is an attractive photo angle - up the nostrils. It's not quite clear enough to see what they ACTUALLY look like, and yet, somehow, it's enough to know that you don't really want to go there. Here's a tip guys: self timer. Put the camera down, walk back a few steps. Try it out.

The "Hall of mirrors" man

"Don't like the look of me? How can you tell? I could be him - or him - or her!" Yes, this man lacks the self confidence to crop his mates out of the photo, hoping that by having three or more people in the shot his odds might just increase and you'll at least fancy ONE of them. And yet again, we have the ubiquitous wedding shot. But which one is he? The one getting married? The page boy? Surely, he is a mysterious fellow.

"The Shadow"

See the contrast setting in Photoshop? Want to try it out, maybe? Or are you just a dismembered head, condemned to float forever in a sea of misery?

The "I am a DJ" man

Yeah well great. Guess what? So's my grandma. Everyone's a god damn DJ these days. Find something else. (Have to admit it's still kind of hot though. Dammit.)

The "I am a computer nerd" man

You can tell these guys are veterans of the online dating scene. You just know they've taken these photos half way through some hot and heavy internet chat session with SEXY_BABE82 when she's finally asked "Wot do u look like?" Oh hang on, is that an MSN chat session going on in the background of that shot? Didn't work out then? Hmm.

The "I can use Photoshop" man

Love the use of filters man, dig it. And I'm really loving that collage effect. It's artsy and creative, in a psychopathic kidnapper-esque kind of way.

And finally, this:

The "I play oversized keyboards" man

Taken from two separate websites, I'd like to think this is the same guy and not a new trend sweeping the nation. I think he should give up on internet dating, get a nice romantic hideaway on the coast somewhere and just stroke his Yamaha for a while.

*These photos have all been taken from actual profiles on dating websites. They have all been altered to protect the innocent. Ok, I just stuck a black stripe across their eyes.