Neighbours is back motherfuckers (and for people who don’t fuck mothers)

I want to support people like me, people who when asked what their favourite TV show is, they say with pride and joy:

“I love Neighbours”

To which the response is always a furrowed brow and “Is that still on TV? Remember Harold?”

You know what? Yes I fucking remember Harold and you know what else I’ve just fucking remembered? That I don’t want to be in this conversation about a storyline from 20 years ago. Do you know? Can you even fathom how much has happened in Ramsay Street since then? Do you have a single fucking clue the number of explosions, deaths and bad boiler room maintenance mishaps there have been ? Do you? Do. You. Fucking. Know?

This is for you guys.

Previously on Neighbours

Last series ended with Tyler and Piper finally getting together, Brad and Lauren getting married, everyone getting pregnant and the return of Dee Bliss. That’s right, Dee Bliss the true and natural blonde, has been ripped from the deathly cold hands of death and returned to parks and benches on this our mortal coil.

But that’s enough about the past, let’s look to, wait, also the past. This is what happened in last week’s Neighbours.

Off the bat we’re going to have to deal with these new opening titles. They are pig shit awful. The worst. Like, if I had to grade them I’d say no, piss off and try harder. These aren’t the titles for a beloved and important soap. These are the titles of a pile of crap family video that would be in the background scene of a student film. The poor Neighbours cast have been thrown in front of terrible green screen and told to emote, just look at Susan’s face, look at it!

The poor Brennan boys have been forced to be topless again. One day about two months ago those lads would have been called to a dingy warehouse (again), crying (again) as damp filled their noses (again) as they slowly slide their tops off … again. Neighbours, treat these men like meat, it’s what we like. Poor Scott’s been trying to avoid the gym for months to stop this nightmare from happening, look at his protective folded arm. Runners have been tasked with slapping butter from his hand.

The terrible green screen doesn’t end with the opening credits, no sir. We’re treated not once, but twice this week to Dee Bliss showing us her full range; from cum face to staring into the middle distance all whilst in front of a beautiful green screen ocean. Such talent. Such beauty. Apparently this and not a spider-zombie-bride that eats teeth straight from the jawbone is Toadie’s reoccurring Dee nightmare. A nightmare we should remind you he is having because he saw a generic blonde woman on a bench. Never go to LA Toadie, don’t do it to yourself.

Here we also learn Toadie and Sonya sleep in the world’s tinniest bed. Maybe this is why they’re cranky all the time and make god awful decisions.

Quick question: If Dee has been bleaching and we’re talking 90’s BLEACHING, for this long, how lank and terrible is her hair? You would think that at least her roots would have died in that fateful crash.

Main points on this story are. Toadie continues to be the worst at hiding important plot developing documents. Everyone talks about but no one sees Dee. It takes until Wednesday for anyone to mention Harold. No one mentions that Mark was dead for a while.

Ned’s court case for burning down someone’s house ended up with him getting community service and a moody Elly knocking on his door. It’s nice that Elly has come out swinging this series for the title of “Most Self Absorbed.” Watch your back Terese.

Sonya tells everyone she’s pregnant. Let’s just say it doesn’t go down the best. Steph looks broken, so broken that she wears more clothes than anyone ever has or ever will when dangling her feet in a pool. Mark and Sonya have started doing what true couples do, lying down on blankets on steep inclines, in the shade on cold winter days. Then we have Toadie and his neat dead wife obsession. The surrogacy plan was a swell one. High-five guys.

Current predicted outcome: Steph and her best friend motorbike are going to say hello to Sonya’s belly.

A raging river with added canoes now flows through the streets of Erinsborough.

Tyler and Piper finally got together and it didn’t take long for their romance to be discovered and their plans to bonk at the Canning house to be predictably interrupted. This has of course given Brad and Terese brand new ways to show how terrible they are at being parents. They’re still adamant that their daughter who for unknown reasons they allowed to live in Canada by herself, who we’ve been told is a YouTube star and whose brother recently died is too young to go out with a man that they’ve all known for years, is about a week older than her and has the most beautiful soft lips. I love his lips. I want Tyler’s lips on me.

They go on about how terrible the relationship will be although Terese is dripping for murderer Paul and Brad has yet to find a woman his dick hasn’t crawled inside of. All this culminates with a meal at the Willis household where Piper works very hard to prepare some leaves. The adults proceed to show their maturity by shouting, Piper shows her maturity by running away and Tyler shows us his very mature arms. I love his arms. I want Tyler’s arms on me.

It’s a really awful story with every single person involved acting completely out of character. It needs to end. Hopefully not with a wedding or pregnancy. Maybe with gun crime. Possibly a death.

Great news, David and Leo are now part of the shitty opening titles. Leo’s involved in the equally terrible Men Shed story. The only redeeming feature of which is Tim rocking up and calling Sonya incompetent. Which she is. She’s Mayor  and decided to personally oversee a shed. If anyone’s interested in the Men Shed story, it’ll be soap writers across the globe who want to know why this useless lump of teleporting crap (seriously, where is this prime wedding location with tons of parking meant to be?) has been allowed to stick around for so long. Knock it down and build something useful like; Ned’s Sauna, Ned’s Brothel of One, maybe Ned’s Fuck Palace. Just a few thoughts for you there production crew. Just a few thoughts.

David and Amy continues to flirt. Amy continues to change from an independent babe to a woman who will do anything for The D and when she gets The D she feels she owns The D and if that D dares glance, talk or smell a boob, she cries.

Arron had two jobs this week. He showed up at a law meeting with Toadie. Arron also made a horse noise; Arron’s a horse now.

The Canning family return after the jewelry debacle of last series which gives us the most glorious thing of all: a Karl and Susan romp. Karl was swindled and paid an awful lot for a necklace that was worth an awful little. Susan finds the necklace and thinks that’s her anniversary gift, she even wears a waddle revealing top in preparation but what she gets is this magnificent gift:

What happened to the necklace? Is Karl having another affair? Thankfully Sheila sticks her nose in and tells Susan everything. Susan gets a new TV and Karl looks like a dick again. Wonderful stuff.

And that’s pretty much the it. If you want to know about Paige you can fuck off, she’s a trash person. There were some other bits, a cricket game on the street that of course went wrong, Steph sleeps with her makeup on and Toadie’s had some excellent mood lighting fitted in the bedroom. The big Dee reveal is yet to come and time is ticking before another house is on fire.

See you next week. Remember, it’s when Neighbour’s sleep with each other, have deep dark secrets and run too many businesses that they become good friends.

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Read those gems and more in another stunning article for FS.

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Mental health awareness and homosexuals

We do a lot, some ….. an amount, around gay men and sexual health awareness, sometimes I can’t help but think we’re dealing with a symptom rather than the cause. I want to see more done to make gay men be aware of their mental health and FS Magazine were kind enough to publish my words.

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What gays can teach straight people – written for Vice

Tracey Cox wrote a wonderfully condescending article for the Mail Online, so I responded with this article on Vice:

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Another play and Margaret Thather

I interviewed Margaret Thatcher, well a man that dresses as her which is pretty much the same right?

I also saw Bathhouse The Musical. It wasn’t 100% terrible (a massive amount of alcohol increased enjoyment ten fold.)

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I’m writing a kids book an actual book for children, with pictures.

My friend Jose is making it look pretty, follow its progress on his Instagram.

(I should really add an image to this shouldn’t I? But wouldn’t it be nicer to visit his pictures and click like a few times?)

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I saw some pretty excellent plays.

I got to see some excellent plays recently unfortunately two of the three have ended, so you cant see them, sucks to be you.*

Gods and Monster – willies and bleakness

It’s a bird … It’s a plane … It’s Superman – not terrible, very racist

Caravan and Pin – Excellent works in progress

*I’m so sorry, that was rude, I’m sure you’re an excellent person and it’s far better being you than me. Other plays will come along, better plays and you will see them and you can tell me all about them once the’ve been and gone. Give me a taste of my own medicine, it’s all I deserve.

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Things people who hate their job are fucking bored of hearing from you

Why don’t you apply for another job?

Why don’t you go fuck yourself?

My friend Keith swaps jobs every year and he’s doing well, you should talk to him.

Keith is a self-serving cunt. You’re using the word friend instead of the more accurate description of ‘he let me give him a blowjob once and although he’s an absolute wank stain I keep him around in the hopes that if I get him drunk enough he’ll let me do it again.’

Why don’t you do this? *insert link to wildly inappropriate job*

Although I appreciate that you’ve taken time, energy and effort to find a job you think I’d enjoy, the fact this job has nothing to do with my last 10 years work experience and has all to do with your dream job just confirms that you’re the whiny narcissist I always thought you were.

Rejection is just part of the process, you need to get a thicker skin.

No one will love you. Tell yourself that every day. Every time you take a step hear the chant ‘no one loves me.’ With each intake of air ‘no one will ever love me.’ When talking to a friend and they smile at you, they seem really happy to be in your company, they might ask you questions about your life, just remember how few fucks they actually give and how much they despise you.

You know, you’re lucky to be working.

You’re lucky that I’m not screaming into your face, cursing the very earth you walk on as I weep tears and blood at the thought of 8 hours at my prison desk.

Why don’t you take some time off to think about what you want to do?

Why don’t you pay me to do that then? Why don’t you, with your infinite funds from the bank of your fucking parents pay for me to sit down and have a fucking think.

Why don’t you quit this job and just temp for a bit then?

What an excellent idea, while I’m swapping one terrible soul crushing activity for another why don’t you, you with all your oh so clever ideas, why don’t you trade your shit smelling halitosis breath and trade it for a personality that’s bearable.

If you’re this upset with your job have you thought about interning somewhere more fun?

What a marvellous idea, how kind of you to give me this wisdom. I’ll just toodle off with my big bag of management, training and qualifications and trade that in for exactly zero pence and a shit eating grin. Please do carry on. Instead of living in a house paying rent should I sleep beneath bags from Tesco? Oh you think my time and money is being wasted on anything that brings me the remotest feeling of joy, should I just sit and play with the hand crafted organic wooden toys you’ve just bought for the precocious little shits you claim are children but the rest of existence would agree are the worst collection of cells and atoms to ever collect in one place?

You know, if you bought a house your mortgage would be less than rent and it would give you more job options.

You know, if I learned to live off of eating my own shit then that would be cheaper than buying food.

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A theatre review

I love theatre. I love that people can put time and effort into making something and occasionally what they make is terrible.

What I can’t abide is theatre that thinks it’s better than it’s audience and that’s what happened with A Series of Increasingly Impossible Acts.

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Sweet Dreams

You did it
You fucking did it again
That. Is. Hilarious.
It sounded so deep, so satisfying, almost luxurious.

I’m jealous.



That is really disgusting.
What did you eat? Are you dying?

You know the rules, outside of the sheets, outside of the bloody sheets

Bloody? Are you bleeding? You smell like you’re bleeding.
No I’m not an expert on the the smells of anal bleeding, but what every in Holy Hell you just created is a clear sign that things are just not right.

Yes I’m being serious.
Go check now.

Christ! Move quicker, you’re letting the heat out and the smell in.

When did you find time to eat all a farmyard?
No, I’m not calling you fat, it’s purely yet another reference to the obnoxious smell hovering in the air which is now waging all out war on my nostrils, taste buds and every pore of my body.

Is the smell in my hair? Do I need to shower?

Don’t slam the door.

Have you checked?
Is it ok?
Are you dying?

Just a little bit?

Can you wipe sitting down rather than standing, you leave flecks.
Yes, flecks.
Of course you don’t see them, I pick them up.

Are you ok?

Hurry back. I miss you.

I kept your side warm for you.
Can you rub my back?
Yes, that’s the spot.

Yes you’re winding me.

Shut up.
I got mine outside of the sheets.

I love you.


If you enjoyed this, why not read about a fight?

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