DozzyBenny Cousins Aint No Todd McKenny
October 23rd 2008 02:16
So Collingwood paid a private investigator to find out if Benny Cousins was still on the gear. They also had a sit-down with Christine Nixon. I would have thought a simple phone call to the Banditos would have sufficed. Or maybe they could trap Benny in Bubble night club, surround him with coked-up heavies and have ARIA award winners Rogue Traders play their entire back catalogue. If Benny goes for his main artery with a bic pen you can bet your bottom dollar he’s fully rehabilitated. Only serious meth addicts would have bought that CD- which gives a frightening indication of the extent of Australia’s ice problem.
Better yet (and this could be a good idea for reality T.V) send him out for a night on the gas with Todd McKenny. Todd’s weird enthusiasm, maniacal grin and dinner-plate pupils would be enough to scare Keef Richards straight.
The bizarre Ken Done-inspired clothing choices would be one thing but getting constantly dragged off to cabaret shows while in the middle of a serious drug binge must have some lasting psychological impact. I can only imagine what ‘Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat’ would do to a fragile mind. My guess is Keef and Benny would have raised the white flag long before Todd deemed it time to have a kip in a public park.
Benny Cousins’ manager Ricky Nixon is outraged at this invasion of privacy. Not that any one in the footy world gives a shit what Ricky Nixon has to say. He’s gotten so many people off-side with his insatiable quest for a dollar that he rivals Aker in the ‘self-serving-utter bullshit’ stakes. You could feel the nation rising as one when Nixon and Glen Archer faced off on Footy Classified a few months back. All of us pleading for a Ron Casey v Normie Rowe-style stoush. You could see Arch fighting back the urge to smash that pubic-hair headed drip on live television. If it had have kicked off Hutchy might have even caught one in the crossfire. Fucking A.
St Kilda are now highly fancied to give Benny a second chance, which would be a good move for the Saints despite overwhelming evidence that bringing in mature age ring-ins is asking for trouble. Sheeds was a massive fan of the left-field recruit. He had the odd success story (John Barnes) but mostly the experiments ended in tatters. His record struggles even in comparison to the remaining members of INXS who have continued to cheapen the memory of the great Michael Hutchance by recruiting mature-age members in a desperate effort to stay relevant.
Doc Wheildon v Jon Stevens- Doc broke both his legs wrestling with a cab on King St and Stevens’ wrote ‘Take Me Back’... INXS
Duane Armstong v Terrance Trent D’Arby- Duane couldn’t kick, at least Trent could sing... INXS
Mal Michael v JD Fortune- Despite the fact Mal wasn’t sure why he was there, JD takes the cake for saying that ‘If Michael Hutchance was still alive we’d be great mates’. No JD, you won a reality TV show, Michael wouldn’t piss on you. And your name’s JD... Sheeds.
Not pretty reading really. But no doubt Sheeds would be the first to have a crack at Cousins and for good reason, Sheeds knows his onions. Fully rehabilitated, Cousins is a pro. The master of hard gut-running he’s got at least three good years in him. It could be the missing piece of that elusive Saints premiership jigsaw. Which hopefully happens before the polar ice-caps melt or there is some kind of nuclear holocaust. After which all that’ll be left will be the cockroaches and Keef Richards and a pirouetting Todd McKenny.
Todd McKenny: Fiend
The bizarre Ken Done-inspired clothing choices would be one thing but getting constantly dragged off to cabaret shows while in the middle of a serious drug binge must have some lasting psychological impact. I can only imagine what ‘Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat’ would do to a fragile mind. My guess is Keef and Benny would have raised the white flag long before Todd deemed it time to have a kip in a public park.
Benny Cousins’ manager Ricky Nixon is outraged at this invasion of privacy. Not that any one in the footy world gives a shit what Ricky Nixon has to say. He’s gotten so many people off-side with his insatiable quest for a dollar that he rivals Aker in the ‘self-serving-utter bullshit’ stakes. You could feel the nation rising as one when Nixon and Glen Archer faced off on Footy Classified a few months back. All of us pleading for a Ron Casey v Normie Rowe-style stoush. You could see Arch fighting back the urge to smash that pubic-hair headed drip on live television. If it had have kicked off Hutchy might have even caught one in the crossfire. Fucking A.
St Kilda are now highly fancied to give Benny a second chance, which would be a good move for the Saints despite overwhelming evidence that bringing in mature age ring-ins is asking for trouble. Sheeds was a massive fan of the left-field recruit. He had the odd success story (John Barnes) but mostly the experiments ended in tatters. His record struggles even in comparison to the remaining members of INXS who have continued to cheapen the memory of the great Michael Hutchance by recruiting mature-age members in a desperate effort to stay relevant.
Doc Wheildon v Jon Stevens- Doc broke both his legs wrestling with a cab on King St and Stevens’ wrote ‘Take Me Back’... INXS
Duane Armstong v Terrance Trent D’Arby- Duane couldn’t kick, at least Trent could sing... INXS
Mal Michael v JD Fortune- Despite the fact Mal wasn’t sure why he was there, JD takes the cake for saying that ‘If Michael Hutchance was still alive we’d be great mates’. No JD, you won a reality TV show, Michael wouldn’t piss on you. And your name’s JD... Sheeds.
Michael Hutchance's best mate
Not pretty reading really. But no doubt Sheeds would be the first to have a crack at Cousins and for good reason, Sheeds knows his onions. Fully rehabilitated, Cousins is a pro. The master of hard gut-running he’s got at least three good years in him. It could be the missing piece of that elusive Saints premiership jigsaw. Which hopefully happens before the polar ice-caps melt or there is some kind of nuclear holocaust. After which all that’ll be left will be the cockroaches and Keef Richards and a pirouetting Todd McKenny.
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