Eating your own vomit

It's well documented how I feel about Robbie Williams. He is my fantasy sex on legs.

But today's announcement that he is getting back together with the boy band that spawned his career is akin to eating your own vomit.

For a start he has built a career on shitting on the band, it's members and his entire time with them. Having read his biography Feel I don't recall a single positive word about his experience with Take That.

Furthermore Take That were a boy band and I am fairly certain that none of them can these days be referred to as boys. And there is nothing more pathetic than grown men doing what must be done when they are recreating a boy band: i,e, doing naff dance moves while singing even naffer songs aimed at 12 year old girls.

It's not like he needs the money and I'm sure he didn't just wake up one day and realise he actually loved Gary Barlow instead of despise him.

So what's up? The whole things smells very bad to me and I am going to try very hard to ignore it. Hopefully it will just go away. Because if I see Robbie doing some lame choreographed dance routine alongside his old mate Gary there will be vomit, mark my words.

Vajesus!!

So just when you think you've heard of everything your sister throws a "Vajazzling" at you over the yum cha table. "Va.... what?" I stammer.

"You know, Vajazzling... bedazzling for your vajayjay." She says it in a manner which implies that this is a fact everyone knows. Humans require oxygen to live, pigs can not fly, vajazzling is bedazzling for your vajayjay. Of course! Der! Tell me something I don't know!

Apparently this newly created attempt to befuddle money out of over-preened young women involves waxing your lady parts followed by an application of Swarovski crystals to the general area. If you don't believe me (and surely I wouldn't believe myself) take a look at THIS.

In my youth, when mammoths roamed the earth and Adam Ant was the height of masculine good looks and sophistication, we would preen ourselves by plaiting our freshly washed hair into 100 teeny weeny tiny plaits (thanks to my friend's teeny weeny tiny braces elastics) on a Friday night, resulting in a head of diabolical frizz on a Saturday morning. Imagine, going to a lot of trouble to achieve frizz!

This Medusa-like frizz would be complemented with an outfit of a short black tutu, shiny tights where one leg was black and one bright red, a t-shirt of red and white stripes and very pointy, black patent leather shoes.

So I know how to go about attracting a mate of the opposite gender and I also know that women have been doing this successfully for millions of years (unless you don't believe in evolution, in which case they've been doing so for just over 2000 years, a theological point I probably don't have completely correct). Any old how, what I'm getting at is that we seem to have been perpetuating the human race in a reasonably successful manner for a very long time without the help of Vajazzling. Obviously men have been totally repulsed by our non-Vajazzled vajayjays (I just love saying "vajayjay", try it, you'll like it) for all these years.

I know that Big Jay, upon returning from his golfing sojourn to Coffs Harbour on Wednesday night, will be pleasantly surprised when he ventures underneath the stretched out Target pyjama pants of questionable vintage and the giant, washed-to-within-an-inch-of-it's-life Antony and The Johnsons t-shirt which is my lingerie of choice in the boudoir. Know what I'm saying?

You got to have faith?

It's pretty well documented that I'm a cynical bitch. I don't suffer from an over abundance of faith.

Faith in politics and/or politicians.

Faith in the media.

Faith in my fellow humans (mostly).

Faith in any sort of god and/or organised religion.

So it hurt my brain to hear on the radio yesterday, during a discussion about religious education in schools, that (are you sitting down?) only 19% of Americans believe in evolution (NINETEEN FUCKING PERCENT!!!!) and a marginally less obscene 42% of Australians.

I accept that such surveys are often skewed in various ways and I accept that there would be a certain percentage out of the 81% (and 58%) who would argue that humans were dropped on planet earth by aliens but that still leaves a shocking number of people who believe that us humans were created by a guy in a robe and a long beard who lives up in the sky.

That sort of information causes an overload in my brain. I don't know how to process such data.

But I have come to accept (though not understand) that there are fans of Celine Dion and Andre Rieu in the world so I suppose I will eventually find a way of living with such mind boggling information.

Would you buy your dog sparkling mineral water for the measley cost of $42.50 for a 4-pack? You can here if you'd like.

What do you make of this sort of thing? Is it a sign of a healthy society which values animals or a totally fucked up bit of ridiculousness?

I like pets as much as the next person (possibly a bit less if the next person is my dear sister) but I wouldn't buy $10+ a bottle mineral water for my family, let alone my pets.

It just makes me feel sad and bemused at the mental health of the people both marketing and buying this stuff.

How about THIS for the man who has everything.

Mmmmmm, flame-grilled meat....

Are you havin' a larf? Is he havin' a larf?

Someone is certainly having a larf!

Vanessa Amorosi is the support act for KISS at the upcoming Sydney concert...

That's like Nana Mouskouri supporting Megadeath.