About as funny as Barnaby in a yellow onesie
SO here I am, writing a column on Thursdays.
Which is fine. It's still my fourth favourite day of the week after Saturday (for obvious reasons), Sunday (still the weekend but I hate the Sunday afternoon blues) and Friday (part of the weekend if you can get into the right headspace and treat anything after lunch as the downhill run to Friday night drinks, which is technically the start of the weekend).
Yep. I've always considered Thursday a lead-in to Friday and therefore also a pseudo part of the weekend.
Whose shout is it?
To be honest, I don't know what you Thursday readers are looking for in a columnist.
Do you want sporty (how about those Broncos, hey?).
Or political (how about that Barnaby Joyce, hey?)
And Saturday readers didn't mind a bit of sexy (what about me in a giant yellow onesie reclining on a bed of rose petals, hey?)
Or I could mix the three together which could be me, Barnaby and the Broncos in yellow onesies; Barnaby playing footy or me and the Broncos going into politics.
All three choices are equally frightening.
I was pondering what to offer you today when the news came on the TV and suddenly I knew there was only one answer.
You want Donald Trump.
In the one news broadcasts there was The Don's son-in-law saying "I did not have improper relations with that Russian" and then a story about two blokes in Italy who broke into an ATM while wearing Donald Trump masks.
I would have been rolling around on the floor laughing for hours if it wasn't for news about the federal politician who's quit because of his dual Australian/Italian citizenship which his mum did without telling him.
Not when he was a kid, by the way, but when he was 25!
Talk about the ultimate embarrassing mum.
I was laughing so hard I almost missed the story about the workplace in America where staff have agreed to have microchips inserted into the back of their hands.
It seems the idea is that they will be able to do things like open the door to their work without keys or log onto their computer without a password.
Which sounded great until I began thinking abut the possible consequences.
I mean, what if their boss expands the idea to include the toilets and you only get to go a certain number of times before the door won't open?
One too many cups of coffee and a bloke's in real trouble.
Or they could go a step further and connect the microchip with the toilet paper dispenser, so a bloke has no say in how many squares of paper he uses.
It's not a pretty picture is it?
But neither is Barnaby Joyce in a yellow onesie.
I might try sexy next Thursday, hey?