All aboard for Never Never Land

BY NICK CHURCHOUSE AND LANE NICHOLS

NICK: Okay. That's enough of the goodbye crap. You'll all be sick of it by now.

It's the last day of The Lost Boys and it's down to me and Lane to check out. Tom has been under pressure ever since his beloved squeezed out 1x glorious thoroughbred offspring. That's a whole new world I cannot even begin to fathom. He's barely out of his high school PE shorts but he's leapfrogged into fatherhood. As for us, we'll be there soon (ish). Maybe. Who knows?

But we're not shelving The Lost Boys to spend more time procreating. Many of you have asked for a no-bull explanation of why it's curtain time. I'll let the Long Man explain. Lane?

LANE: Some of our readers have asked why a blog of such social and political significance, with a global fan base well into the millions, could ever be for the chop. Well, the "truth" is this. Since Churchouse penned a witty and personally revealing entry about Hugh Hefner and his own adolescent under-the-covers foray into the world of Playboy magazine, our very own intrepid business reporter has been head hunted.

Nick is off to the Playboy mansion to become Hugh's right hand man, witnessing the hedonism that only Hugh knows and compiling a weekly newsletter for the corporate sex god - Pets at Play. (Or Kama Sutra from a Zimmer Frame - ed.) Of course, continuing The Lost Boys is no longer possible due to copyright issues and legal hurdles surrounding Nick's intellectual property. What a jammy bastard!

NICK: Ummm. Yeah. I wish. I hope Hugh is reading and takes the hint. Although I don't really want to be his right hand man; God knows what he does with his right hand.

But in one capacity you are right Lane, my intellectual property portfolio rivals that of the Catholic Church's global holdings. And I'm smart enough to know we've come to the end of the road. The comments about the lack of a Man Blog are apt. Between Greer 2.0, The Girl's Guide, and Moata's mischievous ministrations, there's about as much testosterone left in the blogosphere as in Hugh Hefner's octogenarian mansack.

Some readers over the past two years have accused The Lost Boys of being a drag fashion event in disguise (and not a very convincing one), a forum for metrosexual grooming, or a tampon ad without the boogie boards.

If you will, picture me puffing up my chest and bellowing my primal indignation at such preposterous notions. We are the modern man.

LANE: Modern men indeed. With our moisturising and hair removal regimes. Our extensive shoe collections and love of fine threads. With your reputation for dressing up in spandex and coating your face in garish make up. With my weakness for disco music, non-masculine summer wine varietals and boyish attempt at ballet lessons. With our hearts laid bare for all to see - our tragedies, tears and indiscretions - the comical narrative of our lives. Such men.

Well, I don't care if I'm 37. I still feel like a boy and guess I always will. As the responsibilities pile up, the pressures of work mounting like a pair of fornicating farm horses, I refuse to grow up. It's Never Never Land and The Lost Boys for me.

NICK: Mate. We'll always have Paris. She's about as lost as us. Salut. Merry Christmas. Thanks for reading. The pleasure was ours.  

The Lost Boys.

Acknowledgements:

Patrick, our illustrious web editor: You are an inspiration, a pain in the ass and Dave Martin's worst enemy. We will always love you, in a manly bro-hug sort of way.

Southern Belle: Thanks for putting up with the drivel, the unfair summations of your nagging (you don't really) and for loving a hairy heffalump.

Loyal readers and commenters: JeM, xLeahx, No Angel, MsM, em, katiekate, Que?, nzcrawf, Sophie, Dave Martin, Darth Michael, Sydneysider, astropuss, Capt. Picard, *Bean*, The Trickster, Louisette, Leon, Scott, kater, Jojo, General Rodriguez, paul, and all the rest I am being so rude in not mentioning.

To those who never commented: Thanks for tuning in. We felt your presence.

Greer 2.0. Thanks for picking up on the salacious dating stuff when we dropped the ball by getting girlfriends: And for that post on How to Pleasure Your Man - we could not have done that justice.

The Dad who sent us wine because we reminded him of his sons: You rock, your sons are lucky blokes, and we had a great night with your gift. Ta muchly.

Peter Pan: For the name, the inspiration and the divine belief that life CAN be all about pirates, Indians and hot chicks called Wendy.

And finally to our Mums: Leigh and Deb. We wouldn't be here without you, couldn't be who we are without you and will strive to prove we will always be your finest achievement. Oh... and sorry for embarrassing you in front of your friends for two years.

- © Fairfax NZ News