Who is that determined-looking, handsome young tacker in the orange shirt, blue socks and sandals, do ya reckon?

I’ll give you three guesses.

Is it:

(A) Nadia Comaneci?


(B) Indiana Jones?


(c) Some giant-titted wannabe gangster from Sydney’s west with a hot sister?


The Bead-Twirler reckons it’s Nadia before the Dictators got her on the gear.

Grandma’s certain that it’s old Indiana, claiming that the handsome boy has become the hot as hell movie star man, and asked me to pass on the address of the Holy Grail, which she’s given me as C-/ G’ma Butterfly, Pokie Room, Geebung RSL.

The old man’s got an opinion, but he’s always been wary of Greeks bearing erect gifts, and says that anyway, loose lips sink ships, and he’s perfectly happy with everyone staying afloat and free to go cruising whenever they wish, so he’s staying schtum.


I say who cares.

I just wanna piece of that blonde goddess hiding behind the fat, mad-eyed bloke.

Does anyone have the hottie’s number?