"Do we really need a Penny Ashton shoving Oral Sex down our throats."

Says Disgruntled of Dannevirke after today's Panel on Radio New Zealand National where I was a panellist along with the lovely Jon Bridges.

NOW that is the best quote of my life, apparently I can shove oral sex down a throat through a radio wave.

I am AMAZING.

I'm not going to tell you what it was ALL about, suffice to say it involved virgins, rings, parents, The United Kingdom, chastity pledges, ensuing STD's and how anal sex isn't real sex in the eyes of god.....apparently.

OH and me shoving oral sex down throats.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha.............

Good on me I say, the world needs more oral sex, so go on everyone, get out there and shove it.

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/uk/article1971097.ece

The weather this weekend in Auckland was, to be quite specific, shit.

When is wasn't raining cats and dogs and Shetland ponies it was blowing Gail through the pohutakawas and even tossing in the odd bit of thunder and lightening to really keep it real.

Those in Canada and Scandinavia (or Queenstown for that matter) might scoff at us quivering in a 12 degree Celsius day but to a Kiwi Girl with scarcely any fat on her bones (mpphhhwwaahahahaha) it was as cold as a look from Megan Alatini.

And I thought it was all absolutely bloody marvellous.

You see I and the "Hot Fireman" (he just loves that nickname by the way) were holed up in a bach nestled in the Waitakere Ranges in picturesque KareKare. We had enough food for a Kirsty Alley relapse, loads of DVD's to argue about (Family Guy was the Winner), sky TV with ALL the channels (though it mainly stayed on E!), a rather large bed for scrabble playing, some alternate board games (I SOOOO won), a guitar AND a fireplace with loads of wood.

See, bliss.

Now some Earth Mother viking mountaineer types might scoff at our lack of physical activity....um let me rephrase that, might scoff at our lack of actually getting our feet muddy out in the wilderness. They might call us poncy townies for never feeling the cool slap of a wet branch on our buttocks or for never appreciating the pungent phlump of a tui's crap on our shoulder. But to them I say "na na na na na", (I never claimed to be mature), because I loved every minute of my indoor hibernation.

I'm about to head off to North America to work my sizeable ass off so 48 hours of doing nothing but eating, drinking and watching Ryan Seacrest was totally choice.

I even went all Alison Holst on it.

Yes I whipped up two rather lovely meals ably assisted by Mr F.Man and we also chowed down on Sticky Date Pudding, chocolate ice-cream, cheese on toast, Corona, Bubbles, Merlot, Pinot Noir, porridge, enchiladas, chips, dip and the odd kiss or two. (I did say sizeable ass didn't I?)

Comfort Food all the way and I was well comforted indeed. I busied myself in the fabulously well equipped kitchen and took pride in going TA-DA as I placed plates in front of my willing assistant.

I mean good grief, you'd think I was destined for this house-wifing lark. But I'd just like to say it was only for a weekend AND if I ever do get married I'm still not changing my name for any MAN!

OK where was I?

Oh yes, back in The Real World and unfortunately no, I don't mean a re-run on MTV, I mean packing up my room, tidying my office and retouching my roots before I jet off. There's a lot to organise before I flash my Hot Pink Bits to North America, but even though it's pissing it down outside, thanks to my willing assistant, I have a rather infectious toasty warm smile on my face.

TA-DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

And some snaps of when we finally left................

















Someone put some Sunlight Liquid into Piha Beach!


















I Can Sing a Rainbow was in my head for hours!

NEVER EVER watch Alexander by Oliver Stone.

Apparently the Macedonians had Irish accents didn't ya know.

"OOOOHHHH Darius get away witcha ya grate potaaato heeeead. I'll see ya cavalry and raise ye a nail bomb ah will."

It's arse.

That's it.

Night night.

(Apologies for crap phonetic accent.)

Mastercard Gold Card are a pack of Jerk-Off Twat Burger Butt Munches.

I got one a number of years ago SPECIFICALLY to take advantage of their free travel insurance if you pay for your travel on your card.

I just thought I'd ring before I head off for four months to make sure my spazzy epilepsy and asthma are covered properly.

Imagine my disgusted suprise to find they had changed the policy to say you can only go away for 35 days to have ANY sort of cover. They won't even cover me for the first 35 of my 114 day trip, they just don't cover me at all.

They did a survey and found that most people only go away for under 35 days. AND! So freakin what, I don't give a toss what other people do coz it's all about me so they should do what I want.

I don't care they got a new card to me in London last year withing 20 hours of mine being filched, they're still gob-shite puke swillers.

And to add insult to injury I'll now be paying for my insurance at Columbus Direct with my .... gold card.

AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

That's all, nothing more to say, banks are assholes.

Yes yes yes, I've been dreadfully remiss in my updating of random cerebral leakages and I apologise.

I also apologise for the wank factor in that last sentence.

I also apologise to the person searching for "The Owl and the Pussycat Breasts" who came to this blog. I really can't for the life of me imagine what fetish you have but good luck to you I say.

SO what have I been doing you may ask.

Well as I jet off to Canada in eleven days (EEEK) you would think I would be head down bum up doing publicity, organising shots for Beaver Bites, and learning how to say "Put the hockey puck in yer five hole EH!" (That isn't rude if you're wondering.)

But instead I have been sucked into the vortex that is http://www.facebook.com/.

Facebook for the blissfully uninitiated, is the new Myspace. Myspace for those stuck in early 2006 is a website where old men pretend to be young girls to pick up other young girls. (Oh it's also a very useful marketing and networking website for performers and the like.)

Both sites involve finding friends, asking them to be your friend, then generally mocking them.

The difference is on Myspace the "friends" tend to be people trawling for you to buy their latest ITunes download or hilaaaaarious comedy routine, whereas on Facebook it's usually actual friends you know and aren't trying to sell you anything.

Well so far, I'm sure it's only a matter of time till I'm getting messages from someone wanting to sell me Owl Breasts DVD's but at the moment it's friends having fun swapping pics and telling each other things like:

"Penny is having a cup of coffee and a lie down as she's had enough of work today."

I know, GRIPPING stuff.

I did join some more socially responsible groups today like:

"Abolish Abstinence Only Sex Education" and "Against Gay Marriage? Then don't Get One and Shut the Fuck Up." BUT you can also join such ones as "I Love Spooning" and "I Could Eat a Knob a Day."

I know, MENSA Stuff.

BUT generally it's for wasting time and laughing. Two things I am good at and like rather a lot.

Then combine that with drunken nights out, chatting on MSN, emails and trying to find the perfect romantic hideyhole for a weekend of uninterrupted scrabble playing, and you have a girl looking more and more unprepared for a four month trip away.

Still at least I'm playing a lot of scrabble this weekend with a hot firefighter who I won't see for four months, possibly longer, and frankly I'd rather that than having all my undies ironed.

I'm sure you'll agree.






















My Profile Pic on Facebook. I'm sure my Dad wishes we still wore these so he can tell us apart.

















Half a Hot Fireman, A Whole Drunken Slapper and the Fabulous Noel.

OH and PS if you get onto Facebook don't forget to "poke" someone over and over again, it's too too hilarious.

My parent's house is a mine of wasted time and chocolate biscuits.

I have spent the last four and a half hours watching Wife Swap, E TV's Top 101 Most Outrageous Television Moments, Antiques Roadshow, Parkinson and a soppy Made for TV Movie from 1986.
Genius.

When you jump around onstage for two hours every night entertaining Christchurch Punters at the Harbourlight in Lyttelton, a little me time to watch crap TV is highly appreciated.

The worst thing is it is a beautiful day here and I am wasting by plugging a USB port into my Navel and a TV aerial into my ass. (Metaphorically of course. My parents might get annoyed as to the state of their electrical equipment otherwise.)

BUT OMG, you won't believe what happened in Wife Swap, this woman who we shall call Satan Bitch from Hell, aborted the mission after three days as she found out the other wife had broken up her now husband's first marriage. She accused her of being a marriage wrecking whore biscuit and demanded she leave her nuptial dwellings and EIGHT kids.

Thanks Christ for that the whore thought to herself.

Funny how she was a whore when it was the man who was married, but gosh darn it if some women aren't total sillybillies sometimes.

BUT let's remind ourselves, it's just a TV programme.

HHHHmmmm.

The worst thing about this house though is there is chocolate and jellybeans and chocolate ice-cream and spongy puds and cheese and butter stashed in every nook and cranny. My father merrily ignores his heart condition with wanton abandon and stuffs his face regularly with crap.....so like father like daughter. (Well excepting the heart condition part...hopefully.)

But luckily I'm only home for a week AND i am expending a lot of energy onstage every night so I reckon I'm fine. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it like Sticky Toffee Pudding.

The shows have been going well, thanks for asking. Well excepting the night when my parents brought along 65 family friends.

Whilst I am immensely grateful to them for being such fabulous parental supporters, and to the friends for giving me their $20, the night was a total nightmare. A whole heap of people of a certain age with a disapproving eye on my subject matter, not laughing at my obviously hilarious self, was, shall we say, fucked.

A friend described it perfectly.

We comedians are addicts. We are addicted to being laughed at and when we don't get out hit we suffer appalling withdrawl. AND I had to drive so I couldn't even substitute laughs with the Methadone that is Beer and Wine. Still I went to a friends house and played a PlayStation Trivial Pursuit Gameshow, so that helped slightly. I even managed to win even though I had the most wrong answers and slowest answer times, crafty wee bitch huh.

The next night though was fabulous and even featured two MP's in my crowd. (Labour of course so things didn't get out of hand.) SO I no longer have the shakes and my bowel movements are back to normal.

Phew.

See you back in Auckland on Monday, then only three weeks to go til Canada!