Can somebody please save Superman? He seems to be going through a bit of a crisis.
Eighteen months ago, he was a successful reporter for the Daily Planet, he was happily married to Lois Lane and he spent his spare time fighting for truth, justice and the American way.
Now, he’s pashing Wonder Woman, and this week we learnt he has quit his job and is starting up a blog. And by the way, you know we are in trouble when even the Man of Steel doesn’t think he can save print journalism.
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Yolo. Hashtag, yeah.
No, this column isn’t about Yogo, the delicious chocolate yoghurt substance of yore.
It’s (kinda) about a phrase that’s fast catching on with Gen Y, so much so that even a few of my older colleagues are aware of it.
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When you’re thirteen years old there’s a small but very definite list of things that you hate with ferocious intensity: homework and rules.
That means there are few worse things to be told when you’re 13 than, “Do your homework!” Especially by someone who is being paid to look after you.
But that’s exactly what happened in California this week, where according to Gawker a 13 year old boy threatened his babysitter with a kitchen knife when she asked, more than once, if he’d started his homework.
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It comes around so quickly, another financial year been and gone as words like “peloton,” “jersey” and “Phil Ligget” enter our vocabulary once again.
The Tour de France is back and as it creeps onto our midnight screens, induces insomnia and replaces the European erotica that we normally watch on SBS, we see a surge of popularity in the sport.
You have to admire cycling commentators as they provide fascinating insights and anecdotes that glue us to our beds.
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We come into this world naked and squalling. Red in the neck, uncouth. Unsophisticated. Obsessed with boobs, loud, annoying, a bit farty. Not much interest in literature.
We are all born bogans, and life is just a matter of accreting varying levels of sophistication.
Today, as we bathe in The Voice winner Karise Eden’s victory proclamation of “I love youse all”, we can also joyfully splash about in the fact that the word ‘bogan’ has finally made it into the Oxford English Dictionary.
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A private school girl’s family is sueing her elite, extremely expensive private school for not providing her with the necessary tuition and support to get into a law course at an elite university, and so they should.
The girl in question, a pouting, willowy petal by the name of Rose Ashton-Weir, boarded at Geelong Grammar in 2008 and 2009 and was clearly neglected to the point of indifference. The school is Prince Charles’s alma mater, and is Victoria’s most expensive secondary institution with annual fees topping $30k, yet evidence was tabled in court yesterday that Ms Ashton-Weir was never once given a silver spoon with which to imbibe her daily Bircher muesli.
Further, the school patently failed the young lady by refusing to provide an immaculate gravel pathway lined with lovingly-tended hedges stretching all the way from the doors of its Geelong campus to the nearest sandstone university law school. Quite rightly, the family is outraged.
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British comedian John Cleese calls them “beer fairies”. It’s a euphemism for Australian men who drink beer, and that’s apparently the worst thing around when it comes to the dating world.
Sounds ridiculous. But that’s the big take home message from a NewsPoll survey which found Australian women prefer men who are adventurous with their choice of beverage. In other words, men who don’t drink beer are considered better potential partners than those that do.
Ouch. Forget about bad breath, an annoying laugh or narcissistic behaviour, it’s men that order beer who are the real scourge on the dating world? Well I don’t buy that for a second.
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Ladies, please keep your distance today. For one day in the year, I beg you. Allow me to repose unpestered and alone in my magnificence. Today, I need my space.
Today, my perfect face with its high cheekbones and steely jaw is unusually furrowed, and all because of a wonderful column by UK writer Samantha Brick. Not until I read her raw, groundbreaking words did I realise I share her problem.
Samantha and I are siblings in exquisiteness. We are soul brother and sister in sheer physical splendour. Like Ms Brick, I am a victim of my own vivacity and it’s time my plight was highlighted.
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When Fabrice Muamba collapsed on the pitch during Saturday’s FA Cup quarter-final, many people audibly gasped.
Some spoke words of concern, while others simply held their breath.
Liam Stacey - a 21-year-old Welsh biology student - saw it as the perfect opportunity to alienate the entire world by openly mocking the unconscious player and posting a string of racist and sexist comments in response to criticism from other Twitter users. Obviously, the lad isn’t the first to haphazardly press a bunch of keyboard keys in a decidedly racist order. But being the most most recent to do so probably makes him more idiotic, in many ways.
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Well, puck me with a fitchfork. The F-word is apparently an acceptable part of Australian speech.
That’s the only conclusion you can draw after the trade mark examiner gave two thucking fumbs up to a soon-to-be-released product called “Nuckin Futs”.
After the initial trade mark application was rejected, a savvy lawyer argued that the f-bomb is an everyday part of Australian speech. And he won. The product is on its way, with the only caveat being it can’t be marketed to minors.
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