We are the champions dead freddy.

Like a nymphette in a diddle factory, I could not be any more excited to write my post today.

On Sunday night, after 80 minutes of shitting my pants, my beloved All Blacks claimed the Rugby World Cup after 24 years of not quite getting there.

For your aural pleasure please play this video while you read the remainder of this post. I insist.

We won the game to France by 1 god dam point. In the last 10 minutes I started to go in to a fuckety fuck melt down mode realising that maybe it wouldn't happen for us this time. Again.

France bought it hard & I literally could not watch. So I went & got under the covers of my bed & listened to the commentary from within the safety of my blanket tent. After 2 minutes I couldn't even listen anymore so I went & turned the TV off, got back in to my bed & flicked my bean played Plants verses Zombies on my phone for approximately 7 minutes as a distraction. Then I went back out in to the lounge, flicked the TV back on, just in time to catch the final whistle & see my team man hugging the shit out of each other. We won. And I had a bit of a bawl, ugly crying face & all.

I'm not ashamed to admit that this rugby world cup has made me a bit of a fuck nut. I've always been into rugby but this time more so, seeing as the ultimate rugby competition was being held in my homeland.We did it. And I could not be prouder.

Here are some fun pictures I stole off the Internet. There will be no dicks & balls this time because the All Blacks didn't get their shit out at all over the entire 6 weeks. They are a classy bunch of dudes. Just quietly I'm disappointed but I guess can forgive them this one time since they are winners & all that.

This is my boyfriend Corey doing snow angels in the confetti. As you do.

This is how we dance motherfuckers.

MAN HUG FEST. WOOP!!

 This game stopped the Nation. I haven't spoken to one person who didn't watch it. Happy days, real happy days.

Now before everyone starts busting out Don't Stop Believing & dancing with their shirts over their heads down the main street, my win high turned to lava spewing rage yesterday morning when I rocked up to work.

Nothing says 'Welcome back to work' like a big chunky honk waiting for me down the alley beside my office & 2 used joeys. Some dirty cum guzzlers had a doof out the back, & left their jiz bags as a present for me. But not before spewing up an entire chicken. Well it's too kind really, & pray to Jesus Christ those whores never come within 100 yards from me for the rest of their lives because I will cut them up.

The condoms are still there because I ain't touching them sorry. However, I half heartedly disposed of the shredded chicken gut yak. I was so mad that I broke the broom. I bashed the shit out of the concrete pretending it was the head/face/balls of the actual human who made my Tuesday morning go from frickin awesome to downright poo. Fuck you man. FUCK YOU!

I have been quiet the last few days, & I promise you it has not been on purpose. I departed my place of work on Friday arvo for a 3 day weekend. It was Labour weekend in New Zealand. That meant no work for 3 whole days.

But while most people went away to their respective holiday homes to jet ski, slaughter marine life, get sunburnt & what have you, me bitches, well I was judgin me some Country Music Awards.

Snigger all you like, this shit is serious. There are 10 million things I would have rather been doing, but my mum, who was also one of the organisers, has ways of getting me to do things I don't want to do. It's a mother thing. I will never understand the magic powers she has over me but I can't say no to her. EVER. Plus I love her & when she asks a favour of me I feel obliged to oblige.

So I sat for the whole weekend listening to such country hits as, 'Jesus & Mama Always Loved Me', 'Where did the corn come from?', 'I like chickens. And Cows. And my cousin', & my all time favourite, 'that ain't straw in my pants, it's the skin Jesus'. I made all of them up except the first one. Can you tell?

No seriously, the guy who won the whole competition sung a Brad Paisley song called 'She's Everything To Me'. The lyrics made me weep on the inside. He was the bomb digz & completely deserved the win.

It won't go down as my greatest Labour Weekend in history (or will it?) but I was just quietly stoked that I am respected enough in the community for my musical knowledge & can decipher between what is shithouse & what is goodhouse. I started singing when I was 7, & I started out doing Country Music. My neighbours took me along to our local club & got me up on stage. I was the business, & nothing ignited my inner child diva more than being able to get up in front of people & show off sing for them. I was good yo.

I competed in country music awards until I was about 21, then realized my musical passion lay within other genres & that making a few hundy every weekend singing rock covers to drunk people, while also getting drunk, was so much more fun. So I retired from the country scene & became a rock goddess.

One thing I had to do (which I hated) was write comment for every single performance. These comments were given out to each person at the end of the weekend. Supposed constructive criticism. This was dam hard. Especially when what I really wanted to write, I wasn't allowed to. Because my mum would growl at me.

Here are a few examples of what I wrote, then translated into what I really wanted to write.

'Well done' = your performance was so shit that I have nothing to write here.

'Your were slightly out of tune for parts of the song' = your were out of tune for the whole song & are definitely tone deaf. You made me ears bleed.

'You looked lovely' = you can't sing so I can only comment on your attire.

'Pull the mic away from you mouth' = you fucking deafened me with your booming man voice & I did not understand a single word you sang because you were gobbling the microphone like it was your last meal.

'Faultless performance' = No really it was awesome. Not lying.

'Always enjoy listening/watching you perform' = This is true. But I couldn't sit through a whole concert without dying of boredom.

'Make sure your guitar is tuned properly before you go on stage' = I would rather chew on a box full of tacks while being maced in the face than listen to you play a whole song with an out of tune guitar.

In all seriousness, there were some amazingly talented performers & I have nothing but admiration for their large balls for getting up there & having a crack. And the kids (toddlers/pre school age kiddies) made me squee in my pants & my ovaries go apeshit. So dam cute!!!

And I would also like to thank the incredibly hot drummer in the backing band for letting me rape him with my eyes the entire weekend. You got me through man & I am extremely grateful for that.

What's your talent? Being able to piss your own name on the sidewalk totally counts.

Peace!

P.S Just so we're clear, there was no actual raping of the drummer because that is not allowed. I only real life rape my sexy husband.  But I am allowed to look. Amen.