Home is the blogger, etc etc -- did Melbourne, saw the sights, purchased my body weight in duty free Toblerone and got more sweaty in the car ride home from the airport than I did walking around Melbourne all day in 30 degree temperatures. Bloody Auckland humidity. Good to be home though, but that's not what I want to talk about.
We're one year old -- hooray. That's not what I want to talk about, either. As Jack says, blogging over Christmas is a bit sad, so one last Christmas-related post should keep the site ticking over until the new year.
Pop stars doing Christmas carols -- for the sake of fuck. Seriously ladies, if you want to show off your vocal range, try opera -- don't assault us at a time of great stress by releasing Christmas songs in which you invariably stick a minimum of three scales into every vowel sound you sing. I'm looking at you Delta Goodrem. You too, Ms. Carey.
Si-iIiI-ilent ni-i-i-i-i-iiight. Ho-o-ly-y-y niiiI-I-I-Iight -- it's like that bit from Handel's "Messiah" where the entire choir takes two and a half hours to say "amen". Only half a dozen times in every fucking line.
Listen, there's nothing wrong with masturbation -- it's perfectly normal and healthy and Jesus doesn't care if you do it. Just keep your wanking in the bedroom or shower; don't record it and pipe it out of every shopping mall for the entire month of December, OK? OK.