In the words of the great Colleen, yoo hoo, only me. Remember me? Yes, no, alright, let me tell you a little tale about where I have been and most importantly, why.
It all started some 18 months ago. A cheetoh was President of the United States, Joe Exotic wasn’t a global lifestyle brand and we were not yet afraid of cornova. But then 2020 happened and who do you think was called upon to save it? Little old me. Famed diplomat, fake doctor/lawyer/influencer and celebrity hanger on.
Tragically the UN quickly realised I was neither qualified nor remotely competent to hold down any and all paying jobs and I was sent back to Australia on a cruise ship. I then bounced around the ocean for a couple of months, terrified I would have to talk to strangers, before landing in Brisbane and promptly cryogenically freezing myself for 12 months in the hope the pandemic would end while I was down under.
But alas, it didn’t. But that does bring me to my next point.
I awoke to a tonne of missed calls, pleading messages and irate voicemails from Ru and Michelle, begging me to join them across the ditch and help welcome the Down Under queens into the family.
“Ben, it has long been known that you have the Perth-onality, but I can’t take this attitude anymore – answer your damn phone and assure me you’re coming!”
Coincidentally, I was.
“BEN, I am in a Christ-church, praying, begging on my Syd-knees that you will join us in Auckland. Do NOT be the Bris-BANE of my EXISTENCE”
Long story short – well shorter than it could have been – I called Ru back, hopped on the next plane and vowed to return to the internet once again and celebrate our queens, down under. Because their tucks are tight.
Who will be the first sheila to sashay away? Watch the damn show! Like Brittany Murphy, I’ll never tell … until next week.
Image source: Stan / TVNZ / WoW.
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