FHM Australia (Archive) July 2019

I’ve dedicated my whole life to finding a cure for insomnia. I won’t rest till I find it. Working out is like a drug to me. I don’t do drugs. “Welcome back everybody” is apparently not a good way to start a speech… If you’re the best man at your friend’s second wedding. I can’t believe I got arrested for impersonating a politician. I was just sitting around doing nothing. What do you call fake potatoes? Imitaters. I know an awful lot about bus timetables. I’ve led a sheltered life. I should have known better than to flush my wooden shoes down the toilet. Now it’s clogged. laffgaff.com…

Depending on how you look at it, the women of the Sanumá tribe in Venezuela are either really fortunate or particularly unlucky. The female members of the hunter-gatherer rainforest community have – for as long as anyone’s ever known – called the shots. In Sanumán society it’s the ladies who organise functions. It’s the women who arrange marriages. It’s even the women who labour in the fields, distribute crops and carry tools back and forth through the jungle. Why are they unlucky? Because their male counterparts haven’t kept up their end of the bargain. While the ladies are running things, the men have relinquished all responsibilities apart from those relating to mystical rituals. And it just so happens that Sanumán mystic rituals revolve around the hammering of naturally occurring psychotropic…

“It’s never gonna happen…you waited too long to make your move and now you’re in the ‘friend zone’. Ross, you’re mayor of the zone.” And with that, modern-day philosopher and sandwich aficionado, Joey Tribbiani, created a monster. In that 1994 Friends episode, The One With The Blackout, he coined a term that would go on to strike fear into the hearts of all warm-blooded males around the globe: the friend zone. Once a man is placed into a girl’s friend zone, rubbing shoulders with other guys she likes hanging out with but has absolutely no interest in ever hooking up with, he’s got as much chance as a bowl-bound goldfish of escaping. Like said goldfish, you can see the girl you lust after but cannot touch her; the longer you’re…

DJ BBQ SAYS… “If you like your meat freakin’ fast and so delicious you start to wonder if you’ve died and woken up on Planet DamnThat’sTasty, I’m about to blow your mind. You’re gonna want to throw down my unbelievable pig wings at your next cook out, then witness them smashing your summer with a slam of awesomeness. “The beauty in these bodacious bad boys, beyond them being a double hit of pork, is that you can still put them together after a skinful of icy cool beers. Four ingredients, three minutes of prep time and goof-proof indirect cooking means that even if you’re slurring your words and falling over your own feet, you’re gonna nail these and maintain your reign at the grill.” THE RECIPE Takes: 45 minutes Ingredients:…

A TRUE BBQ NEVER DIES. THE EMBERS GO OUT, THE COALS (OR FANCY CHERRY SMOKE WOODCHIPS) GET CHUCKED, THE DISHES ARE WASHED AND THE CANS RECYCLED, BUT THE ESSENCE OF THE THING LIVES ON INSIDE EVERY MAN THAT WAS PRESENT. IN THAT RESPECT, IT’S A BIT LIKE WAR. BUT INSTEAD OF THE DEAFENING RATTLE OF ASSAULT RIFLES AND BELLOWING DRILL SERGEANTS, YOU GET THE SIZZLE OF SAUSAGE MEAT AND THE GENTLE, SEMI-PISSED CONVERSATIONAL BABBLE OF OLD ACQUAINTANCES. MUCH NICER. THING IS, THERE ARE BBQS AND THEN THERE ARE BBQS. AND WE VERY MUCH WANT YOUR GRILL-OUT TO BE OF THE LATTER VARIETY. THE THE AWESOME KIND. THE KIND THAT GO DOWN IN CULINARY HISTORY. THE KIND THAT PEOPLE DON’T MENTION WITHOUT INTO A NOSTALGIC SWEAT, COMPLETE WITH TEARS FORMING IN…

The veggie teetotaler Don’t drink? Fine, whatever. Don’t meat? Each to their own. But if you do neither then you have no place at a murder-flavoured liver-destruction party. We’re all going to be over here, staggering around and swearing, covered head to toe in blood and grease, and you’re going to be over there, tsk-ing at everyone through a grilled pepper. Booo to you. Mr Man Vs Food This greedy trough-pig views a barbecue as a competitive eating competition: you’ll clock him goal-hanging around the barbie in his elasticated trackie bottoms, eyeing up every freshly cooked item and patting his pork-warped belly as he blurps, “Seriously, I couldn’t – although, maybe just a couple of those wings, eh?” He’ll cost you a small fortune in Taste The Difference burgers alone.…