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(Stuff)   Fox sues Duff brewers. Fear consumers will confuse real and imaginary beers.   ( stuff.co.nz) divider line
    More: Stupid  
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8084 clicks; posted to Main » on 04 Dec 2001 at 2:20 PM (16 years ago)   |   Favorite    |   share:  Share on Twitter share via Email Share on Facebook   more»

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2001-12-04 02:22:34 PM  
2001-12-04 02:23:33 PM  
Ahhhh, beer...the cause of, and the solution to, all of life's problems
2001-12-04 02:23:38 PM  
Do you hide beer around the house? Do you have a beer before bed?

No, but that's a good idea!
2001-12-04 02:24:48 PM  
And now they'll be sued by McDonalds! <Nelson> Ha HA! </Nelson>
2001-12-04 02:25:30 PM  
I just hope they don't decide to visit my new restaurant, The Texas Cheescake Repository.
2001-12-04 02:25:36 PM  
They should have changed the name to "STUFF"...
2001-12-04 02:26:16 PM  
Just hook it to my vein!
2001-12-04 02:26:17 PM  
Can't get enough of that wonderful Duff!
2001-12-04 02:26:29 PM  
Maybe FOX should get a sense of humour about themselves.
2001-12-04 02:27:10 PM  
"[the show is] Rubbish."

so angry ... can't think straight ... i hope i didn't brain my damage ...
2001-12-04 02:27:27 PM  
[image from www2.liglobal.com too old to be available]
2001-12-04 02:29:27 PM  
Another victory for Rupert and pals.

How much of Austrailian Media does he own again?

What episode did they tour the Duff Brewery? Maybe if it was a season 11 episode, I can believe the "rubbish" comment.
2001-12-04 02:29:29 PM  
must... refrain... from posting... obscure... Simpson... references...
2001-12-04 02:30:11 PM  
Whoever heard of Duff's beer before this?

If they were smart (big leap I know) they'd go with it.
2001-12-04 02:30:11 PM  
A jihad on Rupert Murdoch
2001-12-04 02:30:42 PM  
"Lead on, McDuff!"

2001-12-04 02:31:37 PM  
They should've changed the name to Fudd...
2001-12-04 02:31:50 PM  
This makes me think of the time Ted Turner sued Thrasher magazine for the name "Thrasher" for his lame hockey team.
The magazine had the name for something like 15 years before Ted even thought of buying a hockey team.

disclaimer * I may be talking out my hiney *
2001-12-04 02:33:25 PM  
FOX again takes the lead in the stranglehold for $$$$.

Fark em
2001-12-04 02:34:41 PM  
All I can say is that I am happy they finally started making decent action figures/Duff cans/merchandising crap so I can spend my hard earned $$ on making my desk at work look like Springfield ...

Gotta go ... they just released the Julius Hibbert figure!!! A hoo-hoo-hoo ...
2001-12-04 02:36:31 PM  
This could have been a marketing giant for both Fox and Duffs, buy Homer's beer.... Every one would have bought it even if it tasted like piss
2001-12-04 02:36:32 PM  
"Homer have you been drinking?"



"Well, 10 beers."
2001-12-04 02:38:53 PM  
Scoots: Then Elmer Fudd would sue.
2001-12-04 02:39:50 PM  
This seems like a pretty legit case where they were, intentionally or not, making money off of the fact that it was used in the show. The guy says "It wasn't a big thing but I have been amazed at how many Americans come in here and mention it, grown adults, people in their 50s and 60s, and they all watch that programme." So to me it seems that the main reason they come in is because they know the name from the simpsons.
It isn't like they sued the pants off him. They are actually paying him part of the costs of changing his lables and stuff. Seems like an ok way of dealing with it.
2001-12-04 02:40:04 PM  
No, rename it to duff beer...It's an import.
2001-12-04 02:41:03 PM  
What's next FOX? Laramie Cigarettes, Krusty Burgers? The Leftorium?!? When will the corporate bullying end FOX?
2001-12-04 02:41:17 PM  
Damn...Fark lost my umlaut I put on the u.
2001-12-04 02:41:41 PM  
McDuff Beer for me,
McDuff Beer for you.
I'll have a McDuff,
You have one too.

Nope, just doesn't have the same ring to it.
2001-12-04 02:43:23 PM  
2001-12-04 02:43:58 PM  
McDuff man. It just does not work for me.
2001-12-04 02:45:06 PM  
Does this mean there won't be a Duff Gardens?
2001-12-04 02:48:29 PM  
In the article, did they have to call Homer slob; what a cheap shot.
2001-12-04 02:49:50 PM  
I have to agree with the very last line.
2001-12-04 02:50:07 PM  
okay so i would so hop on the wagon if not for 2 things:

1. They appearantly changed their name to Duff AFTER 20th Century Fox trademarked the name (for beer).

2. Fox is actually helping them in the costs to change their name.

sheesh, ppl. imagine if you trademarked a name and someone else started using it for the same product, wouldnt you be pissed and expect them to change it. those dudes are lucky they are being paid to change the name.
2001-12-04 02:52:01 PM  
Do yourself a favor and go do a Google images search for "Duffman." Hilarious stuff.
2001-12-04 02:52:09 PM  
Oh, yeah!
2001-12-04 02:52:10 PM  
[image from art.com too old to be available]
2001-12-04 02:52:12 PM  
[image from scifimedia.ign.com too old to be available]

2001-12-04 02:53:33 PM  
Thursday Duffs will become McDuffs

so next its mcdonalds after them
2001-12-04 02:56:40 PM  
How about "FARK" beer ? ... :)
2001-12-04 02:56:40 PM  
This will be a collector's item, for those who collect beer cans...(which, really, hasn't been a fad in like, 20 years)
[image from beer.trash.net too old to be available]
2001-12-04 02:57:48 PM  
"McDuff Beer for me"

hmm... sounds like a McLawsuit coming...
2001-12-04 03:00:55 PM  
[image from thesimpsons.com too old to be available]

Buongiorno, ya' cheese eatin' surrender monkeys
2001-12-04 03:01:08 PM  
Found this somewhere - seems appropriate...

Vulgarian Nights

There are only two rules for membership of The Southern Cross
Vulgarians RFC - "No Trainers" and "No Sippers". You have to
keep this philosophy in mind if you want to play rugby in this team.
You'll have to keep a lot more in mind if you want to party with
So says our guide for the evening, Abbo - 22-year-old law student
and "Press Secretary" of what he describes as the "ugliest and most
highly qualified rugby team in the Southern Hemisphere". The Vulgarians
don't want players who train and they shower disdain on sippers - a
Kiwi-ism for people who drink for all the wrong reasons. But for all
their hostility toward anyone not Of The Faith, there's an arms-length
waiting list of young footy players around Wellington just dying to join
this team that boasts the best looking female supporters and the lower
North Island's most generous sponsor and booze-provider - the
notorious Southern Cross Tavern.
The deal includes four crates of beer for every game played, jugs on the
house every Saturday arvo and give-away crates for the team's infamous
Vulgarian's Picnics - outdoor events for the off-season that are that are
so vividly disgusting that the police are frequently called in by outraged
decent citizens.
The sponsorship deal with the Southern Cross is much envied among
other social footy teams around the country. It's a deal that also raises
eyebrows with some mothers who think young Kiwi males abuse alcohol
enough without a sponsor for the habit. A recent Vulgarian sign-up
evening at the pub saw manager Gary Clarke put 1200 (yes, twelve
hundred ) free jugs [1.125 L for you northern hemisphere heathen, ie.
over a cubic metre of beer] of beer on the bar for new Vulgarians.
But it's a deal that suits both parties concerned. The Vulgarians have a
clubhouse and a good supply of booze, and the Tavern gets publicity
and the flow-on crowds that follow the team. And a full arsenal of booze
is a fundamental requirement for the Vulgarians. Because they might be
a half-good bunch of footballers, but their infamy lies in the way they
socialise. A pastime that is best summed up by yet another of their
throw-away slogans: "What goes down, must come up".
So we're sitting here in the Southern Cross. It's a Saturday afternoon
and Abbo is priming me on the arrival of the team.
"Don't call Fritter a sipper... he's going quiet because of the stomach
ulcer, but the last time he got called that, someone got hurt. Don't let
it be you this time.
"Red's got a complex about his hair - I should know because I made
him as ashamed as I could about it. But don't say anything about the
hair... in fact, don't even look at it. If you do, I won't be accountable.
And don't call Shorty 'Shorty'."
"So what do I call him ?"
"Don't call him anything, for fark's sake - don't even *talk* to him,
especially when he's drunk. I'll take care of the questions"
There are other warnings. Like, don't ever ask a Vulgarian to perform
vomiting tricks for you. A person that wants to encourage, but not
partake is worse than vermin - worse even, than a sipper. I'm warned
that one of the lads is likely to puke on me if this kind of question is
Because we're here to the New Zealand institution of pelican drinking
(vomiting into anothers mouth), we are given a quick run down on the
practice. Pelican drinking probably began in the Fifties among rugby
players and rowing crews. It died out around the early Eighties, but is
now seeing a revival.
"And just one thing," says my guide as the barn-like bar steadily fills
and the juke box is cranked. "Is the camera insured ?"
I tell him it's borrowed from a mate and he goes into a delirious
monologue that borrows as much from legal Latin as it does
from Shakespeare and Leviticus.
"The Vulgarian RFC can in no way guarantee... or give indemnity,
or anything that involves physically giving you anything remotely
associated with losses caused by us or anybody connected or not,
to you or your person ex abundate cautela... but YEA ! Indeed we
LOVE, but bow down we do not... do we make ourselves clear ?"
And he's off another John Knoxian head journey into areas
uncharted, and some of the girl Vulgarian groupies with eyes only
for The Lads and seem to be accustomed to this rambling Rumpole-
esque rant... and a girl with a gorgeous mouth gives Abbo a bit of
lip and they all go into hooting laughter when he half-turns to the
girl and seriously asks her: "Do I know you ?"
Because this is business, and somewhere between muttering "get thee
to a nunnery", "tread carefully where the lions sleep" and describing
one of the other girls as "most beastly foul and full of vile disdain",
The Lads have staggered, jogged, screamed and swaggered into the
bar. More than 20 of the buggers. And a bloke has to be surprised.
They are the most normal, clean cut bunch of bloke you could hope
to meet. Okay, so they've had a few, and there's a certain ratbag
energy about them, but the handshakes are firm and the inquiries polite.
And for a moment it's easy to forget why we're here - to watch these
pleasant, university student, footy-playing blokes perform the unthinkable

- to vomit into each others mouths.
Around midnight the cry goes up: "RIIIIIIGHT!" It's a sign that the party
is moving elsewhere. There's a restless aura around the Vulgarians - the
charisma of blokes who drink for free and need to move on to something
more. There are more than enough cute girls now attached to the team
for each of The Lads to have a little something for himself.
"You should have seen the chicks at our last picnic," one of the team
tells me. "Everyone was in the bushes rooting - one girl got pissed and
puked on, but it didn't seem to worry her."
There are many stories like this told, but always with good humour.
Girls seek the Vulgarians out to be in their scene, so the guys see no
reason to change the way they act - girls can take it or leave it.
A fast roll call is made by the Vulgarian Shrine near the exit to the
vast boozer. The Shrine is a glass cabinet on the wall containing
photographs of past parties, games and tours. A banner runs across
the top of the Shrine that says: "Kill the body - Feed the horse".
There's also a collection of press releases from the Press Secretary -
a slick litany of phrases referring to players as "horse crutch", "donkey
dong" and "Mister Ed". Sippers, party-poopers and other wowsers
are referred to as "Linda" (Lovelace) as in "choke on this, Linda".
There is a quorum and someone is sent to pick up a few dozen flagons
of DB Draught - the cheapest beer in town.
One of the guys has to go somewhere with his new girlfriend, and seeks
the approval of the team.
"fark off, Linda," one of the others sneers at him. The bloke decides
to stay. The girlfriend rolls her eyes but wears it.
There's beer, girls and a place to party. Cars and taxis roar into the
cold and crystal-clear Wellington darkness. Tonight the Vulgarians
This is Tim's place. Well, all right, it's his parent's place, but they're
cool - they understand a bloke's need to disencumber himself of
pressures with a few selected friends. Tim seems unperturbed by the
drunken revelling on the back patio. He's more interested in how his
face got smashed up. "Christ, I was so drunk I can't remember if I
fell or got a hiding from those farking Bogans last night."
"You got a hiding, and then you fell over, you mad coont", one of the
team members, Fritter, says as he walks past.
Fritter is a big, sandy-haired guy who gives the impression of being
capable of just about anything - as long as there's ego or money
riding on it. He has recently returned from a prestigious year-long
scholarship at an American university and is going slow on the booze
for medical reasons. But he still has 'mana' - respect. Two years ago
at a bar, a friend accused him of being a sipper. Fritter promptly
ordered a jug, sculled it, vomited the contents back into the jug and
then drank the vomit. As the whole bar looked on aghast, Fritter
grabbed his mate by the collar and projectile vomited all over the
bloke's face and down his neck. That, as they say, is class.
Out on the wooden-plank patio, things are getting strange. While
most of the Vulgarians sit around a table drinking and flirting, there's
a group of about seven blokes on their own at the other end of the
deck. They have most of the booze. One guy, Red, is drinking vast
quantities of the cheap beer and then forcing himself to be sick all
over the patio. Some of the girls offer encouragement: "Jesus, Red,
your a farking beast."
Red is what some footy teams call "the enforcer" or the "ninety-nine
man" - a bloke who can deal out the head-butts in the mauls without
the ref noticing and put in a quick bit of slipper in the rucks. He's a
heavy-set redhead with a bony and indestructible looking head. - and
he's starting to look dangerous.
He's joined by the rest of the inner in the vomiting act. I'm told by Abbo
that this is done to purge the stomach of unwanted food - eating is
cheating, and the dog gets an unscheduled feed.
Half an hour later, Abbo approaches again and tells me to prepare for
something that no self-respecting journalist should ever have to witness.
"Just don't come too close - they're cool about photographs, but don't
become a victim of convenience."
Then Red fills up a jug and drops it down his gob so fast it looks like
a trick. He works his stomach muscles in and out and points to Abbo.
"Recieveth," he commands and the crowd at the table starts cheering,
but keeps its distance. Abbo goes down on one knee and seems to
be praying. He holds his hands together in front of his chest and tilts
his head back, mouth open. Red is in a trance, his stomach heaving
in and out at speed. Then he takes a step forward so that he's just
over a metre from the praying press secretary and there's this awful
noise like the toilets on the Achille Lauro, and this tawny stream of
vomit flies from Red's mouth and gracefully arcs a few feet through
the air and lands in his team-mates mouth.
This is pelican drinking. And this is Saturday night, Kiwi-style.
The crowd at the table are baying for more. Abbo has taken the puke
in his mouth and after thanking Red for the present, heads for another
beer and looks around for his own victim. Red's getting slaps on the
back and the game has just begun.
Tim's pouring himself a big drink, but Red's got more to give and pukes
all over the back of his host's head. Morris has been trying to get the
gas fizzing in his gut but hasn't been able to make it happen. So Abbo
orders him to "receiveth" and Morris goes on to one knee and the
Press Secretary walks over to him but can't get it together. So Morris
stands up to walk away, but Red sees what's happening and yells:
"Take it Morris, you sipper - just take it."
So he goes down on one knee again, as the main table talks university
gossip, and this time Abbo does The Business, but not in a graceful arc.
He releases a broad spray of beer and carrot chunks that seems to go
everywhere around the face except the mouth.
Red's fired up again, this time with two jugs force fed into his gut, just
swilling around waiting to come out at unnatural speeds. "Receiveth'"
he says and points at Tim, and the host goes down on one knee and
gets a fast gallon down the throat, but before he can recover, his brother
Matty is lurching above him and adding to it. It careens past the
ear and down his back. Matty gets seconds in the side of the face from
Red, who seems to have done this before.
Morris has three jugs looking for a home and unloads into Red's mouth
with wounded animal noises. The girls at the table cheer because someone
was stupid enough to give Red the pelican he deserved.
Abbo's got the gut working better and gives Matty a few litres to think
about, and Tim and Will are swinging warning punches at each other
near the booze so Red staggers over and threatens to give 'em both a
clip if they don't calm down. So Tim loads up and Matty tells Will to
"receiveth" and the host lets fly with enough chunder to drown a cat,
and Will takes it all.
Will is taking a pelican from Abbo and Matty gets one from his brother
(the are known as the Twisted Sisters). Morris stalks around waiting
to puke into an open mouth when one becomes available, but can't
wait and lets one go into Will's gob as Abbo's chunder stops. Red
slips and slides through the sea of sick and says to me: "shiat have some
fun man - give it a try ?"
And so it goes on. After a couple of hours, the inner circle has exchanged
beer vomit with one another at least five or six times - The Lads are
getting tired and the beer has run low. The garden hose is running and
the team take turns at hosing down themselves and the deck.
All that remains is some kind of explanation as to why. As Press
Secretary, Abbo is used to the question, but makes no attempt to
answer. "Reasons are for sippers," he tells us, as if the most foolish
thing a journo could ask is for a reason for vomiting into somebody's
"It's all about confusing the journey with the destination"
"So is this the journey or the destination ?"
"This is the confusion," he says, "or couldn't you tell ?"
2001-12-04 03:02:15 PM  

"Oh! Oh Yeah, Time for a Beer!"
2001-12-04 03:05:59 PM  
huh^? LOL
2001-12-04 03:12:55 PM  
Note to self: Never purchase McDuff beer.

Anyone who thinks the Simpsons is rubbish doesn't deserve my money.
2001-12-04 03:14:15 PM  
Beezulbob, I'll wait for the Cliff's Notes version.
2001-12-04 03:16:36 PM  
Cliff's notes version:

McDuff is good for vomiting into other peoples mouths.
2001-12-04 03:22:47 PM  
Thanks, now can you summarize The Encyclopedia Britanica and Webster's Dictionary for me now?
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