I have entered a World Cup tipping competition at work. It is the first time I have ever entered something like this in my whole life. The guy who sits next to me asked if I wanted to go halves in the entry fee, and then we could split any prizes 50-50. The guy who sits next to me said he's been following the World Cup religiously since he was 12, and I was all like 'SIGN ME UP, bitch'. The guy who sits next to me is a foolish, foolish man. Muahaha.

Here's what I know about soccer:

(Are you impressed that I know it's a soccer competition?)

• It's Rey-al Madrid, not Reel Madrid.
• David Beckham's a big ponce with highlighted hair.
• It involves booting a round ball about, and if you use your hands IT'S VERY BAD. Unless you're a goalie, in which case slap that bastard all you like.
• Australia's pretty shit at soccer.
• I played a game of soccer at school when they decided it was 'Let's force the students into physical activity' Day, and with a swift kick I set up the GOAL OF THE DAY. It was the only time I touched the ball, but MAN, I was the shit.
  
• I have had soccer balls land on my head approximately eight times during my life, and not on purpose, in a 'look at me, I am headbutting the ball in a very professional soccer' way - in a 'how the hell does my head end up directly beneath a falling soccer ball. WHAT ARE THE ODDS??' way.
• When you kick a goal, it is a requirement that you pull your shirt over your head and run around blindly, perhaps tripping over things and people and injuring yourself seriously.
• I've got a zit on the side of the bridge of my nose. THE SIDE OF THE BRIDGE OF MY NOSE. When God was handing out puberty, he was all like, "We've given that ungrateful bitch shit hair and social inadequacy, what else can we do? I know! PUBERTY FOR TWENTY YEARS."
• Um, soccer. Um.
  

I said, "Can I tip Australia to lose everything?" and he said, "Um. There's a bit more to it than that." Oh. Complicated, eh.



Alas, no. My breath is only fresh, and occasionally minty fresh, and sometimes Early Morning Rotten, but never MAX FRESH. Who is this Max, and how fresh is he? Freshen me good, free toothpaste from my letterbox.

Since I am the queen of choppin' and changin', a "compliment" received by a blonde, middle-aged woman at the pub (from the other night - not another visit. I'm not that pub-hungry, you know).

Man: Look, it's Britney Spears!
Woman: Oh, haha.
Man: Not the young, pretty Britney - the one who's had kids. You know.
Woman: [deathly silence]

Ouch.