|Cheers for this Kev!! Cracked me up for about an hour x|
Please note: totally not rubbing it in Aussies (although just quietly I nearly fist pumped my arm off). I dam well know what it's like to lose & it sucks. Especially when your whole country goes in to mourning. And your big ass country shits all over ours size wise 100 times over. Sincere condolences. Ok I will shut it now.
Right from kick off, I knew that that second place in the final game Sunday coming was ours. With a 60,000+ strong crowd full of shitfaced drunk kiwis, how could we seriously lose? We played a mean 80 minutes of rugby. I don't know what cracker was fired up their asses but god dam it was an awesome game.
I jumped so high off the couch when Nonu scored that first try that I smashed myself in the chin with my own tits. It didn't hurt. Just surprised me a little. I underestimated their bounciness.
I screamed so loud that when my husband got home after the game, I had no voice.
I got tangled in the curtains while hanging out the window yelling my celebratory glee at the boats bobbing with excitement in the marina & smacked my head on the door. That hurt.
I'm a loose cannon. This is why I must watch rugby games by myself.
I nearly burst an aortic valve in my heart because I was so dam proud. SO PROUD. Like if you had of come to me after that game on Sunday night & said 'hey Bex can I tattoo a silver fern on your face?' I would've been all like hell yeah go hard. I was high on happy guys! Word.
So bring on 9pm Sunday night folks when we dance with the motherfucking French. Four years ago, they got rid of us in the quarter final match which no one ever thought would happen. I wailed like Keniki from Grease on that Celebrity Rehab show a few years back when he was coming off the smack. NZ has mourned that bullshit day for the last 4 years.
Taking in to account France's extremely below par performance throughout this entire world cup (how the bloody hell they have got through to the finals who knows. All I'm going to say is that those frogs have some hella luck), our chances at holding that glorious golden trophy are looking mighty fine.
YEEEWWW PIRI! TRUE THAT MY BROTHER!
I've decided to break tradition & actually watch the final with other people. (*cue danger music & gasps from the crowd).We have a fan zone set up down the end of the main street of our city. There is a big fuck off projector screen set up, with equally sized speakers & Ima gon be there. I'm feeling pretty positive (90%) that we have this in the bag. And I want to cheer, celebrate & hug the shit out of some strangers. This could get interesting.
Moving right along (I promise all this rugby talk will all be over after this weekend then I'll go back to talking about poo & prostitutes), yesterday I had a session with a personal trainer. Not an actual session. Because apparently they don't promote social drug taking. Anyway I've lost near on 16kg but over the last month it's been going up & down & not really going the way I want it to. So I thought screw it, one of those sexy CityFitness trainers can give me a reaming. And ream he did. I can't move today. Only my fingers to type & even that's hurting me.
After my gym reaming I went to the supermarket to buy some veg for dinner. Whilst standing in the cue I scratched an itch on my head. As you do. Because I was holding the grocery basket on one arm I had to use the other hand which was also holding my large lady wallet to relieve my noggin itch. Blake didn't want to do it for me because he said I was sweaty.
So I scratched. And upon doing so, got the zip thingy on my purse somehow caught in my hair. And this wasn't just a little bit stuck. It was a whole shit tonne of stuck like a big natty dread lock hanging from the back of my head.
Hubs & I pissed ourselves. Because it was ridiculous. No lie, I had to go through the checkout, pay for my groceries & walk back to our car, with my wallet hanging from the back of my head. We sat in the car for a good 10 minutes crying laughing trying as hard as we could to get this dam wallet unstuck from my hair.
It was funny ok. And just now I tried to take a photo of my purse while holding it up to my head where it got stuck last night & it got stuck again. It's trying to eat my head. I don't understand what it's problem is.
Lastly, have you ever heard anyone say, 'now I've seen it all'. Well bitches, I have seen it all. My friend Emma put a link on Shitbook today that caught my attention within seconds of being posted because it had the word 'scrotum' in the title. And we all know how I feel about the scrotum.
At first I hesitated before clicking on it, thinking that maybe it was one of those spam links where you get fooled into believing you might get to see some girl pushing a goat eating anaconda out her beave or something.
You know what I'm talking about don't you?
Because you know that I know when your facebook account spams me with links like that, you just clicked on that link & tried to watch it. You dirty dirty shithead.
Anyhow, check the link out for yourself if you want but I can totally summarise it for you.
It's a guy named Warren from America with a testicle that weighs 45kg. And his god dam giant nut sac is wearing a god dam hoodie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I can't stop exclamating!!! This is just too rad!!!!! And fucked up!
THIS IS WARREN. HE HAS A BITCHIN' BIG BALL BAG.
He suffers from a medical condition called Scrotal Elephantitis. And he needs to raise $1.25 million to have the surgery to fix it.
I don't understand how he could let it get to such a grand size without wondering shit guys, I think my testes are broke yo. Ya think Warren??!!!! It looks like a small child trying to stow away in his undercarriage.
Warren finds it hard to use the bathroom & suffers from frequent bouts of depression. And while I feel sorry for him, I don't want him to stop loving himself & his giant man bag because dam that's impressive nuttage. So impressive that it has it's own foot stool. Instead it's not a foot stool. It's a Scrot Stool.
Good luck Warren. I hope you get your balls sorted soon but in the meantime at least it looks gangsta in it's orange hoody. It's important to be trendy.
Enough about me. Anyone stumbled across something completely whack on the world wide web this week?
P.S Funk Soul Warrens Testicle.
P.P.S He ain't heavy, he's Warrens Testicle.
P.P.P.S Tonight I'm loving Warrens Testicle.
P.P.P.P.S Achey Breaky Warrens Testicle
P.P.P.P.P.S Cotton Eyed Warrens Testicle
P.P.P.P.P.P.S Move Like Warrens Testicle
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S Party Rock Warrens Testicle
P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S My Endless Warrens Testicle
See what I'm doing right there. I could go on forever. Go on, you know you want to.