Swanny’s latest mashup:

The week in one liners:

Channel Nine has rejected criticisms of its handling of the broadcasting crisis during the election debate, saying it continues their tradition of getting their best ratings from ripped off tv shows…

“You silly old fool” was the heckle at the PM as he took his first walk of the morning yesterday. Quick as a flash he shot back “oh lay off Janette … I’ve only just got up”…

In Stockholm, the handing back of Aboriginal skeletons stolen from Australia by a Swedish expedition in 1910 was marked by a moving ceremony and a new song by The Chaser…

Madeleine McCann’s parents have defended the choice of on hold music for their new Find Madeleine hotline, saying the Oz group in question came with the highest recommendation…

There’s been a collapse in the trial of a woman accused of murdering her four children, according to a sneak preview of the Xmas release by The Chaser…

In the latest issue of a hobbyist mag, Rod Stewart has revealed his love of model trains. Although, he said, a busload would do equally well. Actually who gives a sh-t how they get here? …

Mr Rudd said he had not intended to ruin the old people’s party yesterday – he was saving that for 24 November…

And the week in trash with Helen Razer:

Close your eyes. Assemble a brief register of s-xy cynosures who need a slapping. And now dare to tell me that Natalie Portman is not at the top of your list.

I have long despised Portman. Even more that I despise erstwhile hottie Scarlett Johansson for enrolling in Spin Class thereby losing her plush décolleté. (Damn you, Scarlett, and your inscrutable fondness for honing your assets. Once, you looked like Brigitte Bardot’s clever younger sister. And now, you look like Princess Anne.)

She’s just SO falsely uncontaminated. I imagine her cupping her ideal breasts in her perfect hands each morning and mouthing the words “You’re so much nicer than all those dirty girls” into her Lalique looking glass. But, to paraphrase the great D Bowie, I got problems.

These problems, however, are not strewn about the marketplace so lavishly as hers. Portman, whose greatest role remains a cameo in exquisite shambles Zoolander, has made a new film. And if this news alone does not suffice to destroy your day, behold, the Princess’ Chagrin.

Apparently, she got her kit off in a new Wes Anderson short. (You know him. Plonker who keeps ripping off old John Irving plotlines re the dysfunctional underbelly of American families. Tenenbaums. Snore. Bill Murray in a wetsuit. Snore.) Apparently, she regrets it.

Sometimes, says Natalie, “the most powerful thing you can do is say no.” And sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do to promote a puffed-up short film made by a middling auteur is to tell everyone you’re NEKKID in it.

I shall not convey the link to the mildly p-rnographic entertainment here as I believe it is every man’s duty to locate his own smut. However, rest assured, if the remit of your filthy id extends to Portman, you can find her out-of-context and out-of-clothes online. You don’t need to queue at a dreary film festival.

Posh Wraith Missy Higgins is yet to disrobe for her art. She has been busy, however, hawking her elite blend of illiterate bathos to Americans. She’s back, yay, in time for the ARIA awards. You go, girl, as they say. Have a good time.

May you reign resplendent in your ethereal Sass and Bide scrap, Missy, until the sappy teens who adore you grow into humans, find out about Joni Mitchell and abandon you like last month’s iPod.

Off to be crowned Queen of Pop again. And, yes, she said she, “couldn’t wait”.

Unlike Nick Cave for whom we now have amplified respect. The Hall of Fame inductee was asked to describe the event. He called it “f-cking tedious“. You go girl, as they say.

Sydney’s Tele asks: how could he know? He’s never been? Well, he’s right. Back in the 90s abysm when I was mildly famous and often coked off my bonce, I attended the event many times. Even in a frothy, meth stupor and EVEN, once, saying g’day to Willie Nelson, I can affirm that this evening is the dullest thing yet upchucked by history. It’s only ever good if the godlike Tex Perkins has a manly fit at the after party. 

Dull. Unlike Britney. Who is never dull. Ooops. She did it again.

That’s it. I’m boring even myself.

Send me your loathing, links and louche ill-founded gossip: helen.razer@bigpond.com