December 13th, 2012
Haaaaaa! Cop that for a thigh-slapper for starters! Quade gave me that little beaut. Reckoned he read it on someone’s laptop.
Fair dinkum, when I heard that the Ponce – that’s what we call him, Hask, the prancin’ pumped-up full-of-himself showpony, he’d have to be a ponce, wouldn’t he? Try to tackle the prick and you slip off on account of all the Johnson’s Baby Oil? And the plum in his mouth? And not always his own plum? See where I’m comin’ from? – so when I heard he had his own internet blog – you’ve heard of this internet thingamee? The outer-fuckin’-space thing full of sheilas with their tits out and stuff?
Anyways, I hadn’t heard of it in me travels, not once. I mean, fuck me, Honey Badgers aren’t into that wanky stuff. Like, Honey Badgers just go one-on-one against male lions and who’s up for a couple of kilos of lion mince anyone? Phawwwww. The old y-fronts are under a bit of pressure here, folks.
It was Dingo Deans that pointed me in the direction of this internet thingamee. He goes, like in that weird accent he’s got, just like Danny Carter and Ruchie? – like it sounds like ‘Strayian only you gotta screw your ears up to work out what they’re sayin’? So Dingo goes to me, “Hey, Badger, the Ponce has got an internet blog set up and he wants you to contribute to it”. And I went, “Aw, fair suck, Dingo, speak ‘Strayian!” It took Diggers Ioane to give me the drill. Diggers was born in En Zed so he gets their lingo. Plus he’s got a few Samoan corpuscles and a heap of them weird tatts which probably helps. Thank Christ he does all Dingo’s translating for the squad or – fuck me! – we’d be running in meats from all over the paddock every week!
So I whipped out me lead pencil, and AAC goes, “Put it away, Badger, you don’t flop it out in public”. And I go, “Aw, get one up yer, Two-Dads!”
Fuckin’ Two-Dads. Fer cryin’ out loud. Ace bloke – if he’d pop the pill out the back door to me once in a while when I’m screamin’ for it he’d be top-shelf – but you know what? The bastard’s descended from royalty? Lah-dee-dah manners – gets out of the team bath for a leak, goes outside to fart! I mean, what’s a rugby dressing room for? To splash ’round in yer mates’ wee and gas the shit out of each other with SBDs! Little Willy Genia? Christ, he can pass one quicker than he passes the pill. The last place you want yer locker’s next to Gasser Genia. If there was a World Championship for SBDs, Willy’d leave ’em all for deadus. That’s Latin. Kurtley told me it and he went to a Catholic school so he oughta know.
Anyways, Two-Dads gives me a biro. Licked the end of the thing like I always do me trusty old Staedtler HB and the fucker wouldn’t write no more. Plus I got a blue tongue. Which reminds me, ever seen a Honey Badger claw the canastas off a Blue Tongue Lizard? Phawwwwwwwwww. Getting the tent of all tents in the old y-fronts now, folks, I’m here to tell ya.
So there I am with nothing to write with and up pops Big Kev Horwill. Great bloke, Kev, for a Queenslander, ‘cept he’s stupider than your average one on account of he’s a gi-normous cunt so his head’s closer to the sun? Like it’s cooked his brain? Anyways, Kev gives me a crayon. He’d finished writing his name on his hand ’cause he’s always forgettin’ it. Plus Kev reckoned the Ponce writes with crayons and Kev reckoned he’d be tickled at the tribute like?
So anyways, here I am, crayon in me mitt. What can I tell yers?
Ah! Yeah. Little fat Benny Robinson – jeez, are props as thick as pigshit or what? Benny reckoned there was some sort of tournament goin’ on this weekend up north, the Heineken Cup, and did I reckon could Saints bounce back against Ulster? “What? In Queensland?”, I went. Benny went, “Nah, further north!”. Fuckin’ props! There’s nothin’ further north than Queensland!
And what else can I tell yers?
Jeez, I better knock off now. Me brain’s startin’ to hurt.
Cheers, see yers next time, and may all yer meats be fat ones!