Wanker, or just a bloke with high standards?

steve says:

11:46am | 17/05/10

True point, this is wrong.

Tony Abbott shoud be 1st on the list.
Followed very closely by Stephen Conroy in 2nd!
With Brian McFadden in 3rd! 

peter says:

11:50am | 17/05/10

The cravat says it all..

Kelly says:

12:36pm | 17/05/10

Funny thing is, I think Matt Preston would quite happily eat cheese on toast.

Kyle Sandilands should be number one.

BK says:

01:03pm | 17/05/10

Anyone who thinks that a good chef can be a celebrity is a wanker. What next- celebrity plumbers?

Eleanor says:

02:26pm | 17/05/10

I’m just disappointed Brian McFadden wasn’t number one. I was surprised that I found Sandilands more endearing than him on AGT.

Saskia says:

02:29pm | 17/05/10

Ralph are the wankers.  Preston is an individual with his cravats etc (NOT scarves!).

Wankers are: pointy hair cuts, product, sloganed T-shirts, trainers as fashion shoes and tattoos.

eg. half the blokes in Australia.  Oh and Kevin Rudd.  Both a wanker and uber-nerd.

Brad Coward says:

02:58pm | 17/05/10

Oh, he’d be certain to get a spot on the Australian Team if a Wankers Olympic Games was to be held.  Kevin Rudd and Kyle Sandilands would share flag-bearing duties with Julia Gillard and Anna Bligh.

Lara says:

03:07pm | 17/05/10

Matt Preston was always kind and polite about Kate’s more homestyle cooking efforts. He was the only judge who didn’t mock her for her potato-chicken-mayonaise microwave dish, and he described her cooked tuna and fried rice “Japanese” dish as good for a Thursday night meal at home. Hardly wanker behaviour.

He’s a food critic and judge of a cooking show, he obviously knows food and has to have high standards, but he isn’t arrogant about it and has demonstrated that he knows there’s a time and place for different kinds of meals. I’m sure he enjoys cheese on toast.

Zeta says:

03:54pm | 17/05/10

Wait, people still read Ralph?

2002 called, they want their magazine back.

“Hey Ralph, it’s 2002 here, while you’re there, can you bring back the entire magazine industry? It’s dead in 2010.”

“Oh hi 2002, it’s Ralph. Sorry, a Lion Nathan PR rep just dropped a carton round, we’re going to embarass ourselves in front of cash desperate ‘models’ who’ll never have sex with us. Try calling back later.”

“Sorry Ralph, looks like we’re playing phone tag. This is 1996, we were wondering if we could also have the word ‘PHWOAR’ back. Don’t worry about returning the call, just let 2002 know you’re going to send it back to The Sun. The UK tabloid. Or just blast it into the actual Sun we’ll never use it again once you’re done with it.”

“2002? 1996? Yeah it’s Ralph. We keep missing each other. Listen, apparently the word ‘Phwoar’ is used on all our mind maps for future editions, where it comprises the only readable word on the butcher’s paper, so we’re going to need it. Editorial said I can give Big Brother’s Krystal back to 2005 though. Is this cool?”

“Ralph, it’s us again. We know things are tight in publishing, but couldn’t you guys spring for a Blackberry? Listen, forget about returning the call, just take Krystal and your entire staff to 2001. World Trade Centre. Somewhere around September. Just wait, we’ll meet you there… *muffled laughter in the background* Cheers.”

The Hypocritic Oaf says:

09:46am | 19/05/10

The words of the immortal Ronald Hitler Barassi from TISM say it best, when clearly outlining some of the things/people that are ‘BFW’ (i.e. Big F’n Whoopee) in the same-named ditty:

“Chefs, especially celebrity chefs, but all chefs really. Good ones, I mean, the ones with the snooty attitude who think, what this world really needs is another braised quot quot in a rococo of cuscus. And people who like all that sh*t like John Hindle and Claude Forrell and all those food critics.

By Christ, when your life’s specialty is forcing another morsel of over-glazed lamb shank down your oily, globular, over-opinionated gullet, when, of all the things in the world men are called to do. Of all the vocations of love and adventure. Of all the trials of the emotions and amongst all the voyages of spirit mankind can embark upon, when, given this whole universe of possible callings, the one you choose is to sit on your crapulent crack and lazily whine about someone else’s cooking, that’s when you know you are at the very acme of the BFW sh*t heap”.