That old spirit of fornication was on that lingerie I do declare!

Ladies, your attention please.

What I am about to show you will help you to become a better 'lowercase' wife to your 'uppercase' HUSBAND. After all, you were designed only for the purpose of marrying a man.

I was going to copy and paste a slab of this shiz for your reading pleasure, but I just couldn't choose my favourite part.

Please feel free to circulate this amongst your friends. See feministing for more information.


Concerned and Committed to the Harvest,
Emma Lewis
Abstinence Advocate

P.S. Remember: "Your HUSBAND does not want to make love to you in some old get-up that you used a few years ago with God knows who."

At this point, I should let you know that before I go to sleep in my luxurious round bed every night, I cry out, "Why did you leave me, baby?

Girl, Smoove Will Not Be Able To Attend Your Wedding

Girl, while it has been almost two years since we broke apart, not a second goes by that you are not on my mind. As I have written many times in...

Right in this here topologically consistent area.

Sensors Indicate You're Settin' Up For A Kickass Party

Well, now, would you take a gander at what a routine 10-by-50-klick sweep of the U.S.-Mexico border has turned up on both visible-spectrum and...

Intelligence test.

In which photo does Trojan appear more intelligent?

Been spendin' most our lives...

...livin' in a gansta's paradise.

Just plug it into my veins.

Mum and I just went to JB HIFI on a combined Icehouse/Sherbert buying mission, and I can proudly say that the Icehouse albums that were stolen when we were robbed in 1990 (that my parents never replaced - cunts) are safely in my possession again. I was never really satisfied with the shares in the new chest freezer Dad offered me instead of replacing ‘Man of Colours’, the first album I ever purchased (at a whopping full price of $22.99 in 1987, mind you).

I’m already half way through ‘Flowers’, and I couldn’t be more satisfied. I’m going to spend a glorious afternoon adding each album to itunes, choreographing dance moves to ‘Electric blue’ and peeling the ‘IM CHEAP! BUY ME NOW!’ stickers from the cases.

Just plug it into my veins.

A night in front of the youtube.

After spending the day dogsitting/dog walking/watching dog eating own faeces, I'm quite content to kick back and spend Friday night in the warming glowing warming glow of youtube.

Here's a highlight.

"So....if I'm dreaming, don't wake me tonight."

If this is all wrong, I don't want it right.




There are so many glorious things I could point out about this CLASSIC ICEHOUSE VIDEO. This video contains (but is not limited to):

- Iva Davies' mid eighties mullet
- A topless sex scene involving Iva Davies
- Iva Davies acting
- Iva Davies wearing tight knee high boots over puffy pants


Pardon me whilst my blog degenerates into an Icehouse tribute site - I was positively moved by their induction into the ARIA hall of fame on Sunday night and have been reliving my childhood ever since.

Most six year old girls in 1986 were in love with Iva, right?

The many faces of the palaeobotanist.

bored and dirty faced, but with mascara perfectly applied.


slightly dissapointed that it's a little cold in this mine.


My hands are slightly dry! TAKE ME HOME!!!

Stop scratching those ice bugs for a second...

... and read this.

Hangin' with ma.

I had the best time at the Sherbert reunion concert with mum last night. Armed with the Melways and a tank of delicious petrol, we drove all the way out to Doncaster (kind of like what would happen if Melton and Coburg had sex) to the ‘Shoppingtown Hotel’ (kind of like what would happen if Melton was on the Gold Coast).

Being the groupie moles with crap feet that we are, we wanted to stake out the place early in order to get decent seats. Therefore, we chose to dine in the ‘Bistro’ at the venue. I must say that despite what you would expect from a restaurant with an indoor playground and a gaming room, we both had a decent enough meal (although there was the small matter of the solidified mountain of herb butter placed on top of my fillet mignon, and also the fat man on the next table that ate what appeared to be a stack of three chicken parmagianas stuffed with chips). I also had the privilege of paying $3 for the weakest, flattest flat white ever – and if that coffee is indicative of what it’s like living in the outer east of Melbourne, excuse me while I keep living next to the Cleenaway toxic waste dump in the good ol’ north west.

Apart from watching all of the MILF’s try and crack onto Daryl Braithwaite, the funniest part of the night was trading tips with the people lining up about how to get a seat once we got into the venue. I thought mum and I had a good plan involving wheelchairs and crutches, until the lady next to me said in all seriousness that she planned to fake a diabetic fit if she couldn’t get a seat. Classic.

We did end up getting good seats - that was until the band came on and Mum disappeared into the mosh pit leaving me holding the handbags and coats while she worked her way to the front of the stage like a love crazed teenager.

And despite not coercing Daryl into a drug-fuelled orgy in the back of a Sandman panel van, we really did have a great night. I highly recommend hanging with the over 50’s set – they really know how to boogie down, keep it real, and still be in bed with a nice cup of tea by 11pm.

The Wonder Years.

Like sand through an hourglass..



These are the days of our lives.

An important message for Stuart and Lesleigh.

The freestyle rapping is the funniest shit ever.

Fancy a hot Icehouse injection?

BAM.

I can't believe I actually considered working on my thesis this afternoon.

Is this the end of civilisation as we know it?

A Question.

If a tree falls in the woods when you are in the gym listening to ‘Valerie’ by Steve Winwood on your ipod, and you remove your headphones to find that the gym’s stereo is also playing ‘Valerie’ at almost exactly the same point, were you ever actually cool enough to have friends?

Spotted!

Amy Lewis at BB2006 wrap party.

I’m a rocket man.

“All this science I don't understand, it's just my job five days a week.”

Driving home today, I was struck by those lyrics from Rocket Man. Should Emma Lewis ever besmirch her fine ivory epidermis with a tattoo, I would choose to have those very words inscribed somewhere about my bum-bum.

Of course, if I were to go down that path, those words would have to compete with my Steve Winwood 'Chronicles' album cover tattoo for pride of place in my anogenital region... but I digress.

Hearing Rocket Man also reminded me of the Shatner version...



...which in turn reminded me of the Stewie version...



...which in turn had me reaching for the Tena ladies on the Tullamarine freeway.