Don't p-p-p-p-pick up a penguin, or the snipers will get you.

Until the government decides that it is legal to run down cyclists and creates a position to do so, 2 people in Sydney have officially the coolest job title in the world. I have witnessed a friend who will remain unnamed try to convince a group of girls in Oceana that he played upfront for Mansfield Town, and being shot down in flames. However if he had said he was a Penguin Bodyguard Sniper, the women would have been flocking round him like a low budget gangsta rap video. The story can be found here, however disappointingly it features a lesbian speaking rather than footage of actual penguin protecting sniping. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/asia-pacific/8153168.stm
Job satisfaction must be huge for these guys. Penguins - good, firing sniper rifles - good, combining the two - going home as pleased with your days work as Michael Owen's agent.
On the opposite side show some pity for the poor person who had to create a speaking, windmilling penis as part of Sacha Baron Cohen's new film Bruno. Definitely not one for the Facebook status, there. There was to be an even bigger cock on screen later on when Bono showed up, but that's beside the point.



Bono's appearance on Jonathon Ross yesterday made the competition for bellend of the week intense, however Amir Khan posing with a crown was enough to tip the scales in his favour. I would absolutely love to see him lose tonight, however Frank Warren will never allow him to fight an opponent more challenging than Stephen Hawking, after seeing what happened the last time he was put up against an actual boxer. Sadly for people who would enjoy seeing Khan lose almost as much as a jogger getting chased by a buzzard http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/cornwall/8156734.stm, the fight is likely to be about as fair as an Iranian election. Before reading the news story linked just above I had always wondered why people go jogging. You never see a smiling jogger do you? However it is not clear that the point of jogging is to have your face eaten by a bird of prey, and look like a small, slow rabbit. Sounds about as enjoyable as watching Paul Parry play football.
This may be the last ever blog post I write, as tommorow is Aled Williams birthday. Last time we went to the pub for a binge drinking session, the night ending with stealing and throwing a fridge, jumping into some goal nets, a 3am barbecue that Aled subsequently put out with enough water to make Comic Relief unneccesary if donated to Africa and finally, walking into Aled's room to ask which was the best way to walk home, only to find him curled up in the fetal position in the middle of his room in his boxers rocking backwards and forwards. This was a tuesday night with nobody else out, so tommorow could end up making hit film The Hangover look like a swift half after work. Wish me luck.