Weetbix, Telethon and Titties.

Whoever said that fibre was good for you clearly hadn’t eaten four weetbix a day, every day, for breakfast when they made that statement.

I have - and my sphincter is not thanking me for it. I told my mate at work about it the other day and he told me that he felt sorry for my toilet. Feel no pity for the carzie my friends, it is porcelain after all and quite frankly is built for this shit, literally. Unfortunately the soft pink tissue that makes up the rim of my anus is not. Infact, the term ‘ropeburn’ springs to mind.

Pink toilet paper never really caught on did it? No one minded having it on the roll so much I think, it was more the case that used pink toilet paper shows up a lot more easily when washed out to see than white. That aspect of it never really caught on at all the popular swim beaches that’s for sure.

Now I’ve been chowing down on NZs favourite breakfast – and how the fuck do they know, have they asked everybody? – on account of it’s Stat Attack trading card time again and as readers of this blog know, or the owners of kids can attest, they’re like gold up and down the playgrounds of Aotearoa. Honestly, the things I do for that boy of mine. My old man would never have been so forthcoming. He would have told me to stop being a bloody poof over some poofy cards and given me ten lashings across the bare buttocks with his leather belt just for good measure.

Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I continued to wet my bed well into my teens. It only finally stopped the day I landed in ‘Nam. You don’t dare wet your bed whilst in ‘Nam. Charlie can smell Caucasian urine a mile away, even closer if you ate asparagus the night before. And don’t even think about taking a dump whilst on patrol. You either hold that turtle head in till you get back to the firebase or you eat it whilst it’s warm. For many years even after I returned to civilisation I continued to drink my own whizz, not because I had to but just because I liked the taste. War does that to a man.

WeetBix have always been associated with trading cards. Remember how every pack back in the day had a couple from some series that you never ever had the chance of completing. By the time you got through the box and bought another, the 30 card set of World War Two fighter planes that you were really gagging to complete had long gone and you were forced into starting on some gay set of trains, castles or seabirds. I don’t think there actually ever was a complete set of World War Two fighter planes; it was all a ruse created to disappoint heterosexual boys.

Another blast from the past is making its way back in 2009 - Telethon! How good was Telethon aye? 48 hours of crazy, wacky, hi-jinks perpetuated by New Zealand’s own B, C and D grade celebrities mixed in with a few nobodies from overseas from shows you never really watched anyway. Throw in hourly performances from the local line dancing troupe, crochet club and that mute juggler from Cuba Mall and you really had the precursor to the TV show that has become NZ Has Got Talent.

If you were really lucky you got to stay up late and watch the really risqué stuff that happened when all those celebrities stopped drinking coffee to stay awake and turned to the top shelf booze to keep them ‘spontaneous’. It was only then that they’d shave off each others moustaches and play that lame game where you pass the piece of fruit around the room using your neck cause it made it look like you were giving each other a hicky. Man that was some wacky backy stuff wasn’t it?! Whew, good times.

Let’s face it, everything between the first and last hour of every Telethon was shit and its not going to hold up to today’s standard of entertainment unless it starts, continues and finishes with one main ingredient; Titties. Lots of them, preferably naked but I think most of us will take what we can get on whomever they can get. Actually titties are so good that I’m genuinely surprised we’re having a Telethon because I think they could quite possibly cure the cancer they’re going to try and raise money for.

This thought occurred to me the other day when far from there being thousands out in Auckland protesting the Boobs on Bikes parade, there were actually thousands out supporting it, taking every vantage point possible and all of them getting more of an eyeful than I ever did when I snuck a peak at the Page 3 girl in the Sunday paper Dad always used to buy along with a loaf of unsliced fresh bread.

Now if only Weetbix did a Tittie Attack series of collector’s cards……