And now we come to this year's most controversial category, one where one of the nominees, Julia Morris, actually wanted people to vote for her. Morris's campaign via Twitter and an appearance on The 7PM Project certainly bumped up her already healthy lead over Wil Anderson and The Chaser, but the danger with any campaign is that you risk a backlash - and Morris certainly got one here. Perhaps it was that people didn't want her to be able to put out a wacky press release about how she'd engineered a win at these awards, or perhaps it's that lots and lots of people really hate Wil Anderson. We've been through the ballots several times, and through fair means or foul both Morris and Anderson got the same number of votes, so we're calling it a draw.
Clearly the dislike for Julia Morris runs deep in the community, because even the briefest glance at this book would reveal that it's more your traditional memoir rather than a collection of comedy pieces like the other two nominations. So who cares? Morris was never a household name anywhere so the title gag doesn't work and it's all downhill from there as she humourlessly recounts a life that is no more interesting or colourful than yours or mine. Lacking insight (you thought watching 9/11 on television was like watching a Will Smith movie? And that looking over Las Vegas at night makes you feel like George Clooney? Did you vanish from Australian TV because you went to the UK or the movies?), depth, humour or novelty, this feels too much like a fading would-be star's latest desperate attempt at the spotlight to make for comfortable, let alone enjoyable, reading. In contrast, Friendly Fire, Wil Anderson's collection of writing from the last few years, is just poor. And it's only revelation is that when Anderson can't rely on his haircut and anti-Howard "right-on" attitude, he's a man not afraid to make jokes about cutting-edge topics like how much women like shopping and how he has a mate so tight the only time he shouts is when there's a fire. But don't worry - he means them ironically. Or not. Who can tell? Damn Gen X. Another year, another Chaser Annual. The perfect Dad gift for dads too young to get the latest Warrick Todd book. Wheldon's cartoons each year make it at least worth a look in the store, but it's the kind of book it's almost impossible to imagine anyone actually buying for themselves. Which makes it hard to completely hate: after all, who wouldn't rather get a copy of this collection of struggling gags than a book by either of this category's winners?
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