The Rocks

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Ahh, the Rocks. It’s where I was born, it’s where my mother was born and it’s where my grandfather had his buttocks blown off in a freak crossfire accident at a pub when he misinterpreted the directions 'bottoms up’…

My besties Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban vay-cay just round the bend too, or I should say my ex-besties – it can take something as innocent as a poop transplant to show you who your true friends are. Poop transplants are the new black. Scientists have taken bacteria from a skinny mouse and inserted it into a chubby mouse and next thing you know, the mouse is tres svelt. I've had poop transplants from skinny women twice now and lost twenty kilos so far! I figured it would be a fun thing for girlfriends to do – for Nicole to give me her poop. I actually thought she’d be flattered, plus I asked her in the cutest way. On her birthday card I wrote Happy Birthday Nicky darling! Then at the end, instead of P.R. (post scriptum) I wrote P.R. (post rectum) Can I have your poop?

Well, what did she do? She yelled at me, in front of the whole party.  A yell that made her forehead moved. 'Pamela!’ Nicole screamed.   ‘After what I saw you and Keith doing on the sidewalk last night, you will never get your hands on my stool!’

Well I can’t believe Nicole would believe what she saw.  I mean, I was only trying to show her and Keith a good night out in the Rocks!  Keith and I go way back – we’re old gym buddies and we were so close that we were on the same cycle: Mondays and Fridays at noon, except after a full moon when Keith would mysteriously go missing for a few days only to return smelling of schnapps. Nicole said she would give anything for Keith to be sober (well, anything but a poop transplant it would appear), so I started to accompany Keith to his AA meetings and in turn he'd come to my Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous ones. Not that I'm either a sex or love

addict, I simply stated to my psychoanalyst (and eight boyfriends) that I want a relationship where the other person is monogamous but I get to see whoever I want. Is that so much to ask?!

Anyways, last night started off lovely, but then I made the 'catastrophic' mistake of taking Nicky and Keith to my favourite pub, The Hero of Waterloo, where there is a live band that I just knew they would love. Keith immediately jumped on stage and grabbed the mike from the lead singer, which I thought was a bit out of line but my gut was acting up from my most recent transplant so I excused myself to the loo.

Well, it always amazes me how much shit can hit the fan in a few minutes because when I came back, Nicole now had the mike and Keith was outside on the sidewalk, sobbing, just like at Easter. I walked out to console Keith, who looked up at me with his big, dolphin-like eyes and muscles and I don’t know, something about seeing an almost-grown man crying just brings me to my knees – that and I had just dropped two dollars.  Well next thing you know Nicole barges out and finds me rummaging around on my knees in front of Keith and thinks I have something of Keith’s stuck in my head – and it’s not a song! So now it appears I’ve lost almost all my best friends who put on strange American accents, and my third transplant donor.

Good thing my dear mate Rose Byrne's birthday is coming up!