BOIL OVER

We rocked on 2nite to ACDC. It was
pure
rock
and
roll



We were in a box which is a nice place to be when you are the same age as the band.

The energy of Angus Young was un- F***king Believable.
The stage was awesome and the special effects amazing.

It was cool that son and heir was at the same concert - it made us feel young.
It was even cooler that his mates who dossed down for the nite brought blue cod and paua.
There was a great crew in the Box to have fun with, media, political and energy industry types.

And tonight was the last night we will be guest of this particular corporate, as our mate the BOIL has got a very good job offshore and we have been recipients of her fab hospitality on many a memorable occasion.

We will miss her but the girls have vowed that we will have regular BOIL UP's to collect the gossip to dispatch to her across the sea.

But who was the crazy cow who did a titty flash???!!!

Her name and her shame will forever remain secret.

However, she bore a striking resemblance to this chick


So if you want a good night out - get along to the Saturday concert - even if you aint fans of the music, the spectacle and the atmosphere are worth indulging in.

USED UNDIES FLY HIGH FOR CHICKS WITH MANKY TITS

This is one of the most inspired ways to raise funds we have ever seen. The used pink undies of the chief corporate pilot for Air NZ are up for grabs on Trade me

Apparently they will be drycleaned although we think they would fetch more if they were they were au naturalle. Sort of an interesting twist on the Tom Jones Phenomenon of tired old tarts chucking their undies at the aging crooner.

So we wonder does this mean Rob Fyfe is a committed tit man?


We know the marketing manager of the BCF pretty well but we reckon this is one of her better efforts yet. She will be forever known as the women who managed to get Fyfe to drop his daks. We bow at your feet oh Mistress of Magnificent Marketing.

THE TITTY FLASH

Oh lordy we remember this - its a favourite pastime of southern women. The titty flash. Its the girly equivalent of the moon.

Apparently a women was standing in the middle of the road doing the bare the breast thing when she literally got run over. silly bint. everyone knows you stand on the side of the road....

We remember a night when ours caused a car crash...... True.

SISTERS DOING IT FOR THEMSELVES

In a curious way we find ourselves deeply entertained by Cactus's nomination for the Madame Cliqout business woman of the year.

We spent most of yesterday with the previous winner Julie Christie, who was out flatmate and classmate of the 1979 Wellington Polytechnic Journalism Course. She was New
Zealands inaugural winner of the award and she surely deserved it.

However our bright flower of youth has surely wilted, as last night some of our class, who had not seen each other for 30 years, mistook the glamourous Julie for me. Ahh those wasted wanton nights of the past have taken their toll on Busted Blondes fair countenance. Where as hard work, and its rewards now shine from Julies. Dam it. And today Christie herself is in the news.

It is a prestigious award

Anyway, we are delighted that Cactus nominated Lisa Lewis for the award. We have always been fans of legalised prostitution. It provides a safety valve in society.

And Lewis has glamourised the profession and has willingly promoted herself and her work earning top dollar for her services as well. She knows the value in looking after her assets and is prepared to invest some capital in plant renewal. AKA a bit of gravity defying silicon in her rack. And knows the value of maintenance - keeping everything in top order with a exercise regime that requires considerable discipline.

More over, Lewis has taken the shame away for her job, she has helped give it a friendly face. She has turned prostitution into another suburban service like a dairy.

You go to the dairy to get milk. You go to Lisa to get milked.

Lewis also understands and uses marketing to great effect. She seizes every opportunity she can to promote her product.

Seriously though whats the difference in the way Lewis uses her assets as compared to someone like Nicky Watson or Charlotte Dawson?

We say that she is an admirable choice. So we salute Cactus for taking the initiative to nominate her and we salute Lisa for being a good nominee.

LETS TALK ABOUT SEX

We were very amused to see David Farrars tittering over someone fessing they had sex in the toilet at the Green Parrot many years ago...


Torys are very, turn off the lights slip your bra and undies off under the blankies buggers.. So we get why someone like Farrar would think that sex in a restaurant loo was pretty funny..

As a mildly amusing story it got us thinking about all the weird places Busted Blonde has got down and dirty. As 50 has its steely eye upon us, there are more than a few memories.


Best place for your complexion sex - A wool press. Lanolin was fantastic on the skin but we smelt like a mutton chop for the day.

Worst itchy arse sex.. the beach.. sounds good - looks good on the movies but sand in your crack is - well a pain.

Hot shag frozen nipples sex Top of Bluff Hill on the lookout with a 40knot gale blown in your face...

Take the skin off your arse sex - Nylon carpet... Always shag on the wool shagpile.

Call of Nature sex... one of our favourites - deep in the podocarp forest with a bed of beech leaves... But watch the wandering centipedes ( see itchy arse sex)

Watching the whales sex - spa pool top of a penthouse apartment overlooking Mooloolaba harbour. Oddly inspiring...

Keep you feet warm sex - Falcon GTS with sheepskin on the roof.... We were young and hey he said he put the sheepskin there because he cared....

Hotel Balcony overlooking the Avon in Christchurch - no idea why but it was good ...

Playing hand jive under the blanket on a plane on a long haul sort of sex.

On the freezer hatch sex... Just make sure there aren't any fish scales ( see itchy arse sex)

In a Morris Minor sex - just to see if you really can - and you can. Now we wouldn't cos we couldn't.

In a 6 foot dinghy sex - lots of waves.

In the sea sex ( make sure there aren't any sea lice ) Again see itchy arse sex.

On a horse sex - you work it out...

Tied to the mast sex ooohh arrgh and blow the man down .

At your parents house with them in the next bedroom - cos it feels really really naughty...

At parliament sex - Just cos you have to but watch the buttons in the news studio..

200 foot high club sex - Because we love helicopters...

So whoever the drippy wench was that Farrar was going on about - she obviously lacks imagination....

WIRED

We have been having a crap day. Age is a bitch that rides in on a menopausal wave and knocks you flat on your soft spreading saggy arse.



The day started badly. The weather was crap.
It did get better this afternoon though.

Now we always said that Bill English is an honourable man and we were delighted but not surprised to see he is paying all his allowance back. It was legally his but he was having difficulty climbing the moral high ground. So three cheers for the boy from Dipton. He might spend a fair bit of time in Wellington but his proud bones , like ours, are from the deep south and down there honour is everything.

When we heard that news - we cracked a smile.

However the day ended on a bad note. We have pleaded in the past for Consumer Magazine or Fair Go to examine the woeful state of the Bra industry. Simply the bra wires do not last like they used to. Today our lefty wire snapped as we were getting into a taxi ( we paid for it not the tax payer).

Went off like a .22 rifle. And it poked a hole in our booby. Ouch...

So we want Bra wires to meet certain standards. We want bra manufacturers to be forced to use wire for Bra's that are tested to meet certain bounce tests.
Pleeease ...
Menopause, which means being constantly at the mercy of the 7 menopause dwarfs is bad enough without having to put up with faulty engineering.

So today was mainly crap and then we got home to find we had oversold 20kgs of whitebait and have none left for us.... sob....

BIG GIRLS WIN WAR ON TIT TAX

Women all over Britain have been outraged after Marks and Spencer started charging an extra two quid for bras with DD cups and over.

We have huge sympathy with these women
<---- Not BB.
Silly buggers - pommie queen size women obviously weren't going to take that sort of sizeist nonsense lying down.

Based on my humble experience with pommie men - ( married one once ) they are a nation of tit men so this campaign garnered some nationwide support quicker than a 15 year old boy could ping a bra strap.

Marks and Sparks reckoned it cost extra to make DD cup over the shoulder boulder holders.Crap said the "big breasted don't mess with us" team. They weren't being charged for big sized clothing so the argument appeared as realistic as Pamela Andersons left one.

So more than 8000 signing up to support a Facebook campaign run by Busts 4 Justice, which branded the extra charge for bigger bras an "unfair tit-tax".

National newspapers joined their cause, attacking M&S over its pricing policy and recruiting all sorts of voluptuous celebrities to comment on how unfair they thought it was.

The mass market Daily Mail began offering discount M&S vouchers so its readers wouldn't have to fork out any extra for larger size bras.

The Sun tabloid, famous for its Page 3 topless models, also urged M&S: "Hands off our boobs".

Finally after days of controversy - and bucketloads of negative publicity for M&S - the retailer's dapper chief executive Sir Stuart Rose backed down and announced an end to the bigger bra cost with the simple admission: "We boobed."

Yip we agree they made right tits of themselves.

A DISCERNING FLEA

We have been bitten, by what we think is a flea. Now considering that we have been rolling around picking grapes, patting strange dogs and have had a mouse problem in the Wairarapa, it is not surprising we have a flea.

However it is the flea's target that has us bemused. Not the butt or the bits in between. No. this is a very discerning flea. Last night he gorged himself on our juicy bits. Now we of stout frame provide excellent pickings for a rampant flea but he homed in on our breasts and judging by the tracks on our tits this morning, he had a fine old feast.

Sadly we have yet to find him. And unwilling to risk being sucked dry tonight we will be washing sheets and dousing ourselves in toxins so that his blood lust does not reduce our ample melons to the size of shrivelled passionfuit.

BRA BURNING

I did a real dumb thing today . Rushed into the Farmers 50% off lingerie sale and grabbed two bras without giving them a trial run. One was an "increase the cleavage number" and the other was a mechanical marvel designed to deal with weighty issues and gravity's foul deeds and "minimise me."Hell, I thought only surgery could do that but I was willing to give it a whirl.

You know you are in trouble and need to lose some weight when the shop girl gives you a bag that would hold a beer fridge, to carry two bras out of the shop.

The Cleavage number first - its white and shocking pink - and considering my advancing years, 50 is creeping up the back stairs, we are now more suited to mauve, beige and the occasional saucy black, it was definitely an impulse buy.

I got home wondering why people had been giving me quizzical looks wandering down Manners Mall - I found out when I bent down to get the key to the door and nearly sent a broken underwire up my left nostril. There was no doubt in my nose that I needed new support.

I stripped off and held the the shocking pink padded titty hammocks aloft and swung them on. I stopped breathing - true! My boobies were pushed so far up they were nuzzling my bruised nostrils. I let down the straps to see if that would help and I swear I heard my titskies sigh. The cleavage was so deep and long that it rivalled the Manawatu gorge.

I took the pinkie pouches off and I swear again that my mammaries did a little jiggle of their own volition in celebration of being free.

I wondered if I could strap it to the new shed and grow plants in it.

So onto the second. I leaned over, as they old bra fitting bitches of my traumatised past taught me and hiffed it on. In a mammary moment I realised why the "minimiser" was on sale. My bountiful breasts rested somewhere between my armpits and my shoulder blades. I tried to swing them into position but nearly knocked myself out. They just schlurped back under my arms so that I looked like I had a footy ball under each wing and a chest as flat as the paddock the game is played on.

I wrestled it off - the cups are too flaccid to provide the support needed for wall planters but I reckon, at a pinch, I can strain the jelly jam through them.

Anyway I am demoralised - $64 ( the price of a bowl of crayfish bisque at Zicos and a lovely bottle of soave ) wasted.

And for the record the picture is not me - silly boys, she is clearly a FF cup.

So if anyone would like the offending 18DD unused pink plant hanger and the jelly jam strainers - email me - I will post em for free.