Pleased to meet you.

Hi. I'm Gabrielle Richens. You might also know me as 'The Pleasure Machine'.

No, not that sort of machine, silly. I'm all woman.

You might remember me better from when I pussy whipped some Australian rugby player, forcing him to leave his position on the field for a position between my tits, only to dump his ass and head on back to the UK when I suddenly decided I needed a man with a neck.

I then was asked to host some crappy Austalian tv dating show that lasted about two minutes. Not that I cared, because at least I got a bit more 'exposure' in Australia.

In somewhat of a coup, I got to be on the first season of Austalia's 'Dancing with the Stars'. Fuck YOU, Bec Cartwright. I hate you so much. Your baby is going to be born with greasy hair. You don't even have great tits like I do. I bet you can't make Lleyton give up tennis for you, can you bitch?

Ahem. Sorry, where was I? Oh yes, I was just about to tell you that the reason I didn't make it any further on DWTS was because all the teenage boys ran out of credit on their mobiles. Stupid mothers. Would have been a different story if their dad's had of been giving out the pineapples. (Fuck YOU, Bec Cartwright).

Anyhoo, the reason I'm here today is to say "You found me!" You sure did, you crazy image googlers. I mean this blog is meant to be anonymous and all, and 'Martie' is some sort of moniker for a long lost middle name that I gave up ages ago when I got famous (pleasure & machine being me new middle names now, of course), but you still managed to find me! Bless!

But I have to tell you, and this is where I'm going to get all serious and stuff (*practises new acting techniques*), the pictures you're googling of me kinda pisses me off. Oh sorry, being serious, wasn't I? Ahem. The pictures of me you are searching for on the intermanet are fairly disturbing. (There you go, intermanet is a big word).
When you can have this:

Or this:

Or for god's sake, I'll even give you this one:


Why on god's green earth would you want this one?

You crazy kids, I'm at the FUCKING LOGIES FOR FUCK'S SAKE.

I mean, I had to get my outfit at the last minute, so it's not even a proper dress or anything. Check out the sleeves. Then some Channel 7 cock did some butcher job to my face and I'm just looking so, so, blah. I don't know. I mean I'm flattered that you're trying to whack off to my photos (damp cloth for keyboard and monitor. Don't even try on a laptop. V. Unconfortable), but really, it's just not my best picture. To top it all off, I have to stand next to one of Bec's friends. Who has multicoloured, lopsided boobs. At least I feel a bit better now.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, 'Hi' google image searchers. You found me. If you're not shy, leave me a comment with your mobile no. Maybe we can, y'know, date, sometime. If not, move along, nothing more to see. And please, STOP LOOKING AT THAT FUCKING PHOTO!

Kisses,

Gabs



Fuck YOU, Bec Cartwright