My good mate Big Gay Ray has a new big bore exhaust on his passion wagon. Ray’s not really gay by the way – he just helps out on the weekends when they’re busy.
The exhaust is impressive alright and it comes with two settings: obnoxious and jet engine. Because it needs to be legal, it came with a silencer that makes his exhaust sound like the automobile equivalent of a puckered anus. When he takes it off though it sounds so much like a 747 just passed you by at ground level that its you who has the puckered anus. He tells me he’s working on his own modification which he simply refers to at this developmental stage as a ‘loudener’. Bugger me.
It’s funny just how many of us get off on pissing people off these days isn’t it? The times have certainly changed from when I was a boy and so too has the reasoning behind having the same things. In my street, back when my balls were naturally smooth, the bogan up the road who had the Dixie horn on his Valiant set it off every time he passed us kids by cause it sounded like the Dukes of Hazard and we though it was cool. He loved the attention and we loved his horn. It was a mutual reach around, hypothetically speaking. Anything else would have been just plain wrong.
Now the bogan up the road has an exhaust like Rays on his Mitsi. He’s a boy racer and feels the world has something against him, which we do, we hate his fucken exhaust and the fact he likes to leave his car running several minutes before and after he’s left or arrived. The exhaust doesn’t mark the car perform any better, it only makes him look like a bigger wanker than I suspect he is. That’s why boy racers lower their seats incidentally, so as to safely have a jimmy at the lights with no one noticing.
Back in our day 'loud' was a Hemi V8 roaring up the street, But man was it a good loud.
My local Dusties always leave the recycling bin in the middle of the driveway so that I have to get out and move it before I can pull into the garage. Every weekend I take the time to sort my recycling to make it easier for them and that’s the thanks I get. I imagine they think I’m taking the piss by sorting my plastics and in some perverse way probably think I’m making them out to be too stupid to sort it themselves. Well, I wasn’t, but I’m beginning to see the light fellas. One more bin in the driveway and we’ll see how pleased Sione is when he has to sort my fecal matter because I’m more than happy to shit in a plastic bag every day for a week and chuck it all in the recycling bin.
Speaking of which - is it just me or am I the only one who doesn’t find Bro Town funny? I thought we’d done all the 'fresh of the boat' penis, puberty, toilet and Asian jokes that one little country could muster?! It was funny the first few times Billy T did it but 47 wannabes later and the shine has worn off I reckon. But maybe that’s just me? But you know a show’s really crap when Politicians are lining up to appear on it. They might not be the smartest cats on the planet but politicians have an eye for anything that appeals to the lowest common denominator in terms of intelligence, because that means votes.
Lets not forget Posties who jam crap into your letterbox when it’s clearly full and ignore all the rubbish they just pushed out the arse of it. Junk mailers are the big perps of this too. I realise that delivering the junk mail doesn’t require anything vaguely resembling a physics degree but use some common sense, if its full, it ain’t going to go in. My wheelie bin is pretty close to the letter box, pop it in there, that’s where it will end up eventually anyway.
I’m always genuinely surprised to see how dedicated junk mailers are to their jobs. It’s only junk mail after all and if I was faced with having to deliver a couple hundred copies of K Marts latest rubbish to every house in a 5km radius on a day when it's blowing like fifty bastards, then I’m going to do the world a favour and dump those bad boys in the first creek, clothing recycle bin, Post Box or Church grounds that I came across.
But then that’s life isn’t it? One puckered anus releasing on another. Every time I don’t turn up to an appointment I’ve booked I piss someone off. Every time I don’t pick up something I ordered at great cost to the place that got, I piss someone off. Every time I whiz all over the toilet seat in the men’s at work because I can’t be bothered touching it to lift, I piss somebody off.
And Big Gay Ray doesn’t really mean to piss anyone off with his big bore. He may be afflicted with the terrible social affliction that is fire crotch, but he’s not an angry man really. He’s a genuine car enthusiast who likes to deafen boy racers at the lights with his portable jumbo jet engine.
And there’s nothing wrong with that I reckon.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Mail Order Bride Awareness Week
Ever notice how every week seems to be Something Awareness week?
I reckon there has to be more awareness weeks now than there are actual weeks in the year. I forgot what this week’s was only moments after hearing it because I’ve become so immune to them. It may have been Hyperspadia Awareness Week actually. Who knows?!
It could be Mail Order Bride Awareness week though judging by the turnout I witnessed at my local mall the other night. Either that or a catalogue delivery had just arrived. I counted several such couples in roughly a 30 metre radius whilst dining at the food court and quite frankly it made me gag. Admittedly that usually happens when I eat food that’s sat under heat lamps for a day but this was more than campylobacter at work.
Once upon a time it was only the filthy rich dirty old man that could afford to fly over to the Far East and bring home their favourite hand maiden. But now the perversion has become a phenomenon and you don’t need to be rich to get one these days, just filthy. I know why this has happened though. We’ve all had our barren spells and contemplated paying for it, or begging a good friend for a pity shag, or even done stuff to a cooked chicken we’re not proud of - desperate times can call for desperate measures. But now the desperate have the Internet to thank for allowing them to make a life partner out of someone who looks only marginally like the picture they posted.
Ting Tong benefits of course. She gets whisked off her tiny little Asian feet by the man who looks only marginally like the picture he posted, to a life away from the overcrowded, poverty ridden country where she spends her days cooking and cleaning and giving five dollar boom boom. Now she spends her days in clean green New Zealand, cooking and cleaning and giving five dollar boom boom. Not quite fairytale stuff, but close.
Don’t get me wrong – I don’t begrudge anyone their happiness and whatever gets you through the day is fine by me, but its not real happiness is it? Is now buying a five kg bag of rice at the supermarket every week to be used in every meal you eat worth it? Is it satisfying to have a totally subservient spouse who feels they owe you a happy ending every time because you rescued them from their predicament? Why not just buy a doll; it’s certainly a cheaper option? It’s definitely a sad day when it’s easier to pick a mail order marriage in a crowd than it is a Brethren – and they dress up!
If you had a Brethren themed party do you think actual Brethren would try and gate crash it? It wouldn’t be long for them to be ousted if they did though; they’d know a little too much about the faith to pass for fakes I reckon.
Anyhoo, the stereotypical guy in the ThaiBride scenario is usually an older gentleman and I can sympathise with their lack of alternatives as they get on in their years. And I’m all for respecting your elders and allowing the older generation certain liberties as a sign of respect, like allowing them to go ahead of me in the supermarket or bank queue. But I draw the line at cutting them slack when they do the idiotic things that only old people do, like driving dangerously or crossing the main road when the traffic lights are green. Ever noticed how that seems to happen a lot?! Just because you’re old doesn’t mean that the rules of the land are wavered whenever your tight sphincter leaves the house.
Case in point - the older couple who decided they were exempt from such rules when they jay walked their way through the two main roundabouts in J Town on the weekend. Completely oblivious to all but what their tunnel vision allows them to see, they missed the fact that there was a pedestrian crossing several metres back up the road that was put there to allow safe passage through the high speed arterial route. A fact I would not have needed to point out to them had I hit them with my passion wagon as they would have then been lying on the said crossing.
I suspect the woman’s Depend undergarments paid for themselves given the sound horning I gave them both. By the look on her face I dare say the white linen trousers (that all older women seem to wear on the weekends) wouldn’t have fared so well though. For my troubles I got that one index finger gesture that all old people give. What is that exactly? It’s not the bird and it’s not the fingers. It’s just a point. What up wit dat?
All humour aside, it was a fucken close call, even by my Ninja reflex standards and it proves a point, that just because you’re old, you don’t have to be ignorant. You don’t have to order a Ting Tong online either, but if it keeps you away from the cooked chickens at Woolies, then so be it.
I reckon there has to be more awareness weeks now than there are actual weeks in the year. I forgot what this week’s was only moments after hearing it because I’ve become so immune to them. It may have been Hyperspadia Awareness Week actually. Who knows?!
It could be Mail Order Bride Awareness week though judging by the turnout I witnessed at my local mall the other night. Either that or a catalogue delivery had just arrived. I counted several such couples in roughly a 30 metre radius whilst dining at the food court and quite frankly it made me gag. Admittedly that usually happens when I eat food that’s sat under heat lamps for a day but this was more than campylobacter at work.
Once upon a time it was only the filthy rich dirty old man that could afford to fly over to the Far East and bring home their favourite hand maiden. But now the perversion has become a phenomenon and you don’t need to be rich to get one these days, just filthy. I know why this has happened though. We’ve all had our barren spells and contemplated paying for it, or begging a good friend for a pity shag, or even done stuff to a cooked chicken we’re not proud of - desperate times can call for desperate measures. But now the desperate have the Internet to thank for allowing them to make a life partner out of someone who looks only marginally like the picture they posted.
Ting Tong benefits of course. She gets whisked off her tiny little Asian feet by the man who looks only marginally like the picture he posted, to a life away from the overcrowded, poverty ridden country where she spends her days cooking and cleaning and giving five dollar boom boom. Now she spends her days in clean green New Zealand, cooking and cleaning and giving five dollar boom boom. Not quite fairytale stuff, but close.
Don’t get me wrong – I don’t begrudge anyone their happiness and whatever gets you through the day is fine by me, but its not real happiness is it? Is now buying a five kg bag of rice at the supermarket every week to be used in every meal you eat worth it? Is it satisfying to have a totally subservient spouse who feels they owe you a happy ending every time because you rescued them from their predicament? Why not just buy a doll; it’s certainly a cheaper option? It’s definitely a sad day when it’s easier to pick a mail order marriage in a crowd than it is a Brethren – and they dress up!
If you had a Brethren themed party do you think actual Brethren would try and gate crash it? It wouldn’t be long for them to be ousted if they did though; they’d know a little too much about the faith to pass for fakes I reckon.
Anyhoo, the stereotypical guy in the ThaiBride scenario is usually an older gentleman and I can sympathise with their lack of alternatives as they get on in their years. And I’m all for respecting your elders and allowing the older generation certain liberties as a sign of respect, like allowing them to go ahead of me in the supermarket or bank queue. But I draw the line at cutting them slack when they do the idiotic things that only old people do, like driving dangerously or crossing the main road when the traffic lights are green. Ever noticed how that seems to happen a lot?! Just because you’re old doesn’t mean that the rules of the land are wavered whenever your tight sphincter leaves the house.
Case in point - the older couple who decided they were exempt from such rules when they jay walked their way through the two main roundabouts in J Town on the weekend. Completely oblivious to all but what their tunnel vision allows them to see, they missed the fact that there was a pedestrian crossing several metres back up the road that was put there to allow safe passage through the high speed arterial route. A fact I would not have needed to point out to them had I hit them with my passion wagon as they would have then been lying on the said crossing.
I suspect the woman’s Depend undergarments paid for themselves given the sound horning I gave them both. By the look on her face I dare say the white linen trousers (that all older women seem to wear on the weekends) wouldn’t have fared so well though. For my troubles I got that one index finger gesture that all old people give. What is that exactly? It’s not the bird and it’s not the fingers. It’s just a point. What up wit dat?
All humour aside, it was a fucken close call, even by my Ninja reflex standards and it proves a point, that just because you’re old, you don’t have to be ignorant. You don’t have to order a Ting Tong online either, but if it keeps you away from the cooked chickens at Woolies, then so be it.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Clothes Maketh The Man
The World Cup is over, finally. Let’s be honest, it was over two weeks ago when we sucked the big kumara and took a baguette up the pooper from the French. Since then it’s really only been a case of waiting to see who the Saffas would meet and beat in the final. In fact nobody was more surprised two weeks ago to see the All Blacks lose than the Saffas because the cup was theirs to lose after that. I’d hate to imagine just how many celebrationary games of soggy biscuit got played that night at their hotel.
Canterbury of New Zealand will be chuffed though. The Saffas wear their shirts and as one of my early entry’s revealed, the clothing company had called on some World War Two technology to give teams jammy enough to be wearing their jerseys a 3% increase in performance. Looked like it worked for the Saffas aye? After all they had to beat two of the luckiest, but not necessarily the best, teams to win the cup. Ireland on the other hand had a 3% change too, only theirs was a decrease as they bombed out at the group stage against all the odds. Scotland got through the group stage, just, but were really only making up the tight titty top numbers at that stage.
But despite all that, at least one Kiwi brand is on top of the world right now so full credit. Interestingly the All Blacks have never won the World Cup since signing up with Adidas. Maybe there is something in that? And we’re not really too perturbed rally that the Boks won. A gloating Saffa is only marginally more bearable than a gloating Pom and neither team beat us so we’ll hold on to that as the only comeback we’ll have for the next four years.
The All Blacks had a wonderful reception upon their return to NZ too. It certainly surprised them alright because they were expecting to be at least bottled as they came through customs. It surprised me too because the first step in accepting mediocrity is celebrating it. We must be getting used to losing huh?
Nope, it didn't take us long to get over it and onto more serious matters like the palaver we had last week about suspected terrorists training in the bush up north who were planning and plotting to rage a guerrilla war against the state. Or so the media said. I’d hate to imagine just how many games of celebrationary soggy biscuit got played in newsrooms up and down the country the night that story broke.
Now I’m not going to go into whether anything the Police did was kosher or not because a) I work for them and am therefore biased in my opinion and b) it all sounded like a few fellas sneaking off for a quiet bum in the wopwops to me. But if between giving and receiving these lads are playing with illegal firearms then that shit is serious. That alone is worth locking the nutters up for, because guns can kill. So too bums if not handled right.
And nothing makes someone look like a terrorist than wearing a balaclava on national TV whilst you’re trying to protest against having been called a – wait for it – terrorist. Obviously not the sharpest tools in the shed these guys, I wonder if we really have anything to worry about? I can understand you wanting to protect your identity in a TV interview if you’re dobbing in the Black Power or some Triads, but when you’re trying to convince the nation that you have nothing to hide, then hiding your face is probably not the best start.
Now the hoodie on the over hand – by that I mean a hooded sweatshirt, not an uncircumcised male - is a wonderful garment isn’t it? Nothing else quite says ‘non confrontational’ quite like the hoodie. Why is it some folk like to drive with their hoodie on? Is it because they think they can’t be seen? Like the outstanding example of a state funded education system who nearly tasted cold hard Hyundai steel through his driver door today - on account of him being parked in the middle of the major roundabout in J Town. He had decided to not give way to the car before me but chickened out half way through only to find that the distance between that car and me, was quite a bit shorter than he had anticipated. Wearing a hoodie in a car tends to do that to ones peripheral vision I suspect.
I got a nice finger in response to my seven seconds of horn which is fair enough I suppose; I was clearly in the wrong in expecting the right of way like it says in that shit stirrer of a publication; The Rode Code. Oh how I wish sometimes that my reflexes were not those of a highly trained Ninja or that my passion wagon was not the mint ride that it is, for otherwise I would gladly t-bone fuckers like that without prejudice. If I hit the prick hard enough - which I would - I could write of my car and claim a new one each time. Hey, it’s not insurance fraud if you’re in the right!
And in my claim I could mention that I had a Cantebrury rugby jersey, size extra tight in the boot. And a balaclava although strictly for non terrorist purposes. Now that would be believable.
Canterbury of New Zealand will be chuffed though. The Saffas wear their shirts and as one of my early entry’s revealed, the clothing company had called on some World War Two technology to give teams jammy enough to be wearing their jerseys a 3% increase in performance. Looked like it worked for the Saffas aye? After all they had to beat two of the luckiest, but not necessarily the best, teams to win the cup. Ireland on the other hand had a 3% change too, only theirs was a decrease as they bombed out at the group stage against all the odds. Scotland got through the group stage, just, but were really only making up the tight titty top numbers at that stage.
But despite all that, at least one Kiwi brand is on top of the world right now so full credit. Interestingly the All Blacks have never won the World Cup since signing up with Adidas. Maybe there is something in that? And we’re not really too perturbed rally that the Boks won. A gloating Saffa is only marginally more bearable than a gloating Pom and neither team beat us so we’ll hold on to that as the only comeback we’ll have for the next four years.
The All Blacks had a wonderful reception upon their return to NZ too. It certainly surprised them alright because they were expecting to be at least bottled as they came through customs. It surprised me too because the first step in accepting mediocrity is celebrating it. We must be getting used to losing huh?
Nope, it didn't take us long to get over it and onto more serious matters like the palaver we had last week about suspected terrorists training in the bush up north who were planning and plotting to rage a guerrilla war against the state. Or so the media said. I’d hate to imagine just how many games of celebrationary soggy biscuit got played in newsrooms up and down the country the night that story broke.
Now I’m not going to go into whether anything the Police did was kosher or not because a) I work for them and am therefore biased in my opinion and b) it all sounded like a few fellas sneaking off for a quiet bum in the wopwops to me. But if between giving and receiving these lads are playing with illegal firearms then that shit is serious. That alone is worth locking the nutters up for, because guns can kill. So too bums if not handled right.
And nothing makes someone look like a terrorist than wearing a balaclava on national TV whilst you’re trying to protest against having been called a – wait for it – terrorist. Obviously not the sharpest tools in the shed these guys, I wonder if we really have anything to worry about? I can understand you wanting to protect your identity in a TV interview if you’re dobbing in the Black Power or some Triads, but when you’re trying to convince the nation that you have nothing to hide, then hiding your face is probably not the best start.
Now the hoodie on the over hand – by that I mean a hooded sweatshirt, not an uncircumcised male - is a wonderful garment isn’t it? Nothing else quite says ‘non confrontational’ quite like the hoodie. Why is it some folk like to drive with their hoodie on? Is it because they think they can’t be seen? Like the outstanding example of a state funded education system who nearly tasted cold hard Hyundai steel through his driver door today - on account of him being parked in the middle of the major roundabout in J Town. He had decided to not give way to the car before me but chickened out half way through only to find that the distance between that car and me, was quite a bit shorter than he had anticipated. Wearing a hoodie in a car tends to do that to ones peripheral vision I suspect.
I got a nice finger in response to my seven seconds of horn which is fair enough I suppose; I was clearly in the wrong in expecting the right of way like it says in that shit stirrer of a publication; The Rode Code. Oh how I wish sometimes that my reflexes were not those of a highly trained Ninja or that my passion wagon was not the mint ride that it is, for otherwise I would gladly t-bone fuckers like that without prejudice. If I hit the prick hard enough - which I would - I could write of my car and claim a new one each time. Hey, it’s not insurance fraud if you’re in the right!
And in my claim I could mention that I had a Cantebrury rugby jersey, size extra tight in the boot. And a balaclava although strictly for non terrorist purposes. Now that would be believable.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Your Body Is A Wonderland
Why have testicular implants never caught on like the boob job has?
I always ponder this, funnily enough, whenever I handle kiwifruit. Surely having a couple of giant walnuts bouncing around in the third sock would be the ultimate in virility advertising? Nothing says ‘baby maker’ like carting your two veg around in a wheelbarrow that’s for sure. But the negative would far outweigh the positive I suspect. Them bad boys would bounce around and slap each other silly with any movement vaguely resembling exercise and as we all know, no one wants to handle bruised fruit. Not to mention the very real risk of accidentally sitting on one of them. I can imagine in some parts of the world you probably pay good money for a teste up the ringer but I wouldn't be all that keen to find out why, even if it were my own.
So it will never catch on like having fake milkers. We fellas just don’t care about our assets that much that we’d have them enlarged. Clearly it’s not high on the wish list of you sheilas either because if it was we’d all be doing it, especially if we thought it would result in us getting some. Like watching Greys Anatomy with you – we don’t do it by choice you know.
I was watching a show on the box the other night on cosmetic surgery and some bird who rated herself as all that and a bag of chips was having the fat hack sawed off her thighs in an attempt to appear more attractive. It didn’t help that she had a face for radio I thought or the personality of a soggy malt biscuit, but clearly to her it was her fatty thighs holding her back. I can never get over just how brutal and primitive cosmetic surgery is, especially the liposuction. I’m surprised the doctors don’t just cut to the chase and angle grind the fat off.
I’m not a fan of surgically altering what you’ve got – unless you’re a Mongol and surgery is the only option of having less folk heckle you, then that’s fair enough I suppose. But for pure vanity is it really worth it? Botox for instance, in its purest form is one of the most poisonous naturally occurring substances in the world and even though the stuff they inject into the eyebrows is watered down, that’s still a hell of a lot of faith to put in some geezer who calls you ‘darhling’.
Some guys are even having it injected in their scrotes in order to decrease the wrinkles apparently?! What the fuck? It’s meant to be wrinkly fellas, if you want smooth then get a fagina I say. Hell I don’t even let the wife near her retired wedding present if she hasn’t trimmed her nails and yet these guys are willingly waving needles around the man purse? It’s just not right. It’s all fun and games alright until someone ends up in the emergency room with a coke bottle up the arse with the excuse “I slipped on it whilst in the shower”.
And bleaching the anus – that’s when you know that this shit (no pun intended) has gone too far. Who came up with the idea I wonder and what were they doing in order to have this epiphany? Sure, there’s nothing I like better than giving myself a good ‘ol cheeks apart brown eye in the mirror each morning either, but I’m quite happy to let toilet paper do its thing or in the are case of a truly melted Picnic bar, a baby wipe. But bleaching the damn thing? I think I’d prefer deep heat and the broomstick to be perfectly honest.
No, cosmetic surgery is definitely whack in my book. But actually working your body to become a better you – now that I’m all for and not only will they become fitter and physically stronger, but the self esteem that these people so often lack will often appear too I reckon.
There’s no quick fix with exercise though, like everything worth doing you have to keep at it and stay motivated and to do so has to come from within yourself and if you’re lucky enough to have them, from a supportive network of friends, family and colleagues. Why spend your hard earned money having some sadistic bugger plane the fat from your thighs or paint your date with bleach in order to impress people who don’t really care anyway?
Because life’s too short I reckon to have botulism injected in your eyebrows or your sack, or your man berries enlarged to the size of kiwifruit. Work with what you’ve got and enjoy it. Your body is a wonderland and even if you don’t think so, someone is longing to take that ride.
Yes, even if you have a brown anus.
I always ponder this, funnily enough, whenever I handle kiwifruit. Surely having a couple of giant walnuts bouncing around in the third sock would be the ultimate in virility advertising? Nothing says ‘baby maker’ like carting your two veg around in a wheelbarrow that’s for sure. But the negative would far outweigh the positive I suspect. Them bad boys would bounce around and slap each other silly with any movement vaguely resembling exercise and as we all know, no one wants to handle bruised fruit. Not to mention the very real risk of accidentally sitting on one of them. I can imagine in some parts of the world you probably pay good money for a teste up the ringer but I wouldn't be all that keen to find out why, even if it were my own.
So it will never catch on like having fake milkers. We fellas just don’t care about our assets that much that we’d have them enlarged. Clearly it’s not high on the wish list of you sheilas either because if it was we’d all be doing it, especially if we thought it would result in us getting some. Like watching Greys Anatomy with you – we don’t do it by choice you know.
I was watching a show on the box the other night on cosmetic surgery and some bird who rated herself as all that and a bag of chips was having the fat hack sawed off her thighs in an attempt to appear more attractive. It didn’t help that she had a face for radio I thought or the personality of a soggy malt biscuit, but clearly to her it was her fatty thighs holding her back. I can never get over just how brutal and primitive cosmetic surgery is, especially the liposuction. I’m surprised the doctors don’t just cut to the chase and angle grind the fat off.
I’m not a fan of surgically altering what you’ve got – unless you’re a Mongol and surgery is the only option of having less folk heckle you, then that’s fair enough I suppose. But for pure vanity is it really worth it? Botox for instance, in its purest form is one of the most poisonous naturally occurring substances in the world and even though the stuff they inject into the eyebrows is watered down, that’s still a hell of a lot of faith to put in some geezer who calls you ‘darhling’.
Some guys are even having it injected in their scrotes in order to decrease the wrinkles apparently?! What the fuck? It’s meant to be wrinkly fellas, if you want smooth then get a fagina I say. Hell I don’t even let the wife near her retired wedding present if she hasn’t trimmed her nails and yet these guys are willingly waving needles around the man purse? It’s just not right. It’s all fun and games alright until someone ends up in the emergency room with a coke bottle up the arse with the excuse “I slipped on it whilst in the shower”.
And bleaching the anus – that’s when you know that this shit (no pun intended) has gone too far. Who came up with the idea I wonder and what were they doing in order to have this epiphany? Sure, there’s nothing I like better than giving myself a good ‘ol cheeks apart brown eye in the mirror each morning either, but I’m quite happy to let toilet paper do its thing or in the are case of a truly melted Picnic bar, a baby wipe. But bleaching the damn thing? I think I’d prefer deep heat and the broomstick to be perfectly honest.
No, cosmetic surgery is definitely whack in my book. But actually working your body to become a better you – now that I’m all for and not only will they become fitter and physically stronger, but the self esteem that these people so often lack will often appear too I reckon.
There’s no quick fix with exercise though, like everything worth doing you have to keep at it and stay motivated and to do so has to come from within yourself and if you’re lucky enough to have them, from a supportive network of friends, family and colleagues. Why spend your hard earned money having some sadistic bugger plane the fat from your thighs or paint your date with bleach in order to impress people who don’t really care anyway?
Because life’s too short I reckon to have botulism injected in your eyebrows or your sack, or your man berries enlarged to the size of kiwifruit. Work with what you’ve got and enjoy it. Your body is a wonderland and even if you don’t think so, someone is longing to take that ride.
Yes, even if you have a brown anus.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Radiohead vs Nicky Watson
Radiohead, the once cool but now crap alternative band for the angst of my generation, have done something quite cool again this past week.
In a world where everything can be downloaded from the net at no charge and at no risk bar a few Trojans – viruses, not condoms – they’ve decided to heed the age old adage of ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’ by offering their latest album online for free download before it hits the shops. The cool bit is you pay as much or as little as you want for it. It’s totally up to you.
Naturally, Radiohead fans have wet themselves and crashed the website in a rush to download the album. They’re an honourable lot too with most of them admitting that they paid nothing, bar the 40p transaction fee to download it. So there you go, even when you offer a geek the chance to be honest he doesn’t take it. How low will these people go I ask myself?! Oh the inhumanity of it all. But Radiohead don’t seem to care, they made trillions from their first couple of albums before it all went to shit, musically anyway, so I suspect the income factor on new recordings is not high on the priority list for them these days.
The music industry has freaked though. James Blunt for one has done his nut which is a bit rich coming from a guy who can lay claim to being the most played but equally most hated artist out I reckon. Maroon 5 would be a close second in my book - does any other band actually sound like they're giving each other a blowie whilst they play as much as those dudes?! Blunt must be doing alright though because he seems to hook up with some fantastic birds. He either has a huge chopper or a tiny one and like Tom Cruise, pays his missus for a little more than just the housekeeping.
Record companies have poopooed The ‘Head for making their music free to all because from their point of view ‘it sets a dangerous precedent’. You bet your arse it does! It means that other bands might take up the cause and start offering their new music direct to the listener, the fan, the consumer at a cheaper rate than the $30 we pay these days for a piece of coded plastic. Every bugger who touches the recording after the actual artist adds a 100% mark up to the cost of a CD, you can be sure of that. In this day and age there is simply no need for a recording to pass through so many hands anyway, not when it can be marketed direct to my living room via the intraweb.
And for an industry that talks a big game about dealing with piracy, I don’t see or hear many artists taking the same stand Radiohead has. Why don’t successful bands put pressure on their record labels to lower the wholesale prices of their music? It sure won’t stop the freeloaders but it’s a damn good start for people like me who actually want to reward the artistic endeavour it took to write an album full of original music and want to pay something for it. Releasing your music legitimately online it seems is only a path taken by the struggling to break it artist and the savant act like Radiohead, who don’t give a rats about the money or the sales any more.
One new release you’d have to pay me to download though is the new Nicky Watson calendar *shiver*. If Nicky Watson is New Zealand’s answer to Pamela Anderson then I want to know what the fucken question was and who asked it?! For all the naive, easily influenced young ladies out there reading this – Ames, that means you – here’s a free insight into the mind of the quintessential ClubDes man and hopefully some peace of mind for you: We don’t dig football size bitty and most men don’t. Over rated rock band drummers do, but that’s because they were breastfed well into their teens and exhibit the mentality to prove it. The only guy who enjoys seeing girls with a rack you could hide a small Asian family between is the surgeon who pockets twenty grand to implant them.
Watson must be getting desperate for the money too because in her calendar she is as airbrushed as one of my old 1/24 scale Tamiya models. She looks more look 3D rendered porn than she does real which will no doubt please those into 3D porn, an audience I suspect not too far separated from those that find Nicky ‘all that and a bag of chips’ anyway. 3D porn aye, what is up with that?! Now I can understand an animator getting a little bored in his downtime and rendering some girl on girl action late one night, we did the same in the back of our maths books at school. But now it’s gotten well out of hand. Why would anyone choose a drawing over the real thing when there’s so much of it on offer? For free even.
Maybe it harks back to the early days of a boys sexual awakening when the first girl he ever had a semi over was Daphne on Scooby Doo and her knee high boots. The minx. She was gagging for it too. Even now, on the odd occasion, Kim Possible in her cheerleader uniform can get a fella a little bailed up in the morning…
Or so I'm told.
In a world where everything can be downloaded from the net at no charge and at no risk bar a few Trojans – viruses, not condoms – they’ve decided to heed the age old adage of ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’ by offering their latest album online for free download before it hits the shops. The cool bit is you pay as much or as little as you want for it. It’s totally up to you.
Naturally, Radiohead fans have wet themselves and crashed the website in a rush to download the album. They’re an honourable lot too with most of them admitting that they paid nothing, bar the 40p transaction fee to download it. So there you go, even when you offer a geek the chance to be honest he doesn’t take it. How low will these people go I ask myself?! Oh the inhumanity of it all. But Radiohead don’t seem to care, they made trillions from their first couple of albums before it all went to shit, musically anyway, so I suspect the income factor on new recordings is not high on the priority list for them these days.
The music industry has freaked though. James Blunt for one has done his nut which is a bit rich coming from a guy who can lay claim to being the most played but equally most hated artist out I reckon. Maroon 5 would be a close second in my book - does any other band actually sound like they're giving each other a blowie whilst they play as much as those dudes?! Blunt must be doing alright though because he seems to hook up with some fantastic birds. He either has a huge chopper or a tiny one and like Tom Cruise, pays his missus for a little more than just the housekeeping.
Record companies have poopooed The ‘Head for making their music free to all because from their point of view ‘it sets a dangerous precedent’. You bet your arse it does! It means that other bands might take up the cause and start offering their new music direct to the listener, the fan, the consumer at a cheaper rate than the $30 we pay these days for a piece of coded plastic. Every bugger who touches the recording after the actual artist adds a 100% mark up to the cost of a CD, you can be sure of that. In this day and age there is simply no need for a recording to pass through so many hands anyway, not when it can be marketed direct to my living room via the intraweb.
And for an industry that talks a big game about dealing with piracy, I don’t see or hear many artists taking the same stand Radiohead has. Why don’t successful bands put pressure on their record labels to lower the wholesale prices of their music? It sure won’t stop the freeloaders but it’s a damn good start for people like me who actually want to reward the artistic endeavour it took to write an album full of original music and want to pay something for it. Releasing your music legitimately online it seems is only a path taken by the struggling to break it artist and the savant act like Radiohead, who don’t give a rats about the money or the sales any more.
One new release you’d have to pay me to download though is the new Nicky Watson calendar *shiver*. If Nicky Watson is New Zealand’s answer to Pamela Anderson then I want to know what the fucken question was and who asked it?! For all the naive, easily influenced young ladies out there reading this – Ames, that means you – here’s a free insight into the mind of the quintessential ClubDes man and hopefully some peace of mind for you: We don’t dig football size bitty and most men don’t. Over rated rock band drummers do, but that’s because they were breastfed well into their teens and exhibit the mentality to prove it. The only guy who enjoys seeing girls with a rack you could hide a small Asian family between is the surgeon who pockets twenty grand to implant them.
Watson must be getting desperate for the money too because in her calendar she is as airbrushed as one of my old 1/24 scale Tamiya models. She looks more look 3D rendered porn than she does real which will no doubt please those into 3D porn, an audience I suspect not too far separated from those that find Nicky ‘all that and a bag of chips’ anyway. 3D porn aye, what is up with that?! Now I can understand an animator getting a little bored in his downtime and rendering some girl on girl action late one night, we did the same in the back of our maths books at school. But now it’s gotten well out of hand. Why would anyone choose a drawing over the real thing when there’s so much of it on offer? For free even.
Maybe it harks back to the early days of a boys sexual awakening when the first girl he ever had a semi over was Daphne on Scooby Doo and her knee high boots. The minx. She was gagging for it too. Even now, on the odd occasion, Kim Possible in her cheerleader uniform can get a fella a little bailed up in the morning…
Or so I'm told.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Four More Years?!
I only have a few words to say about the rugby. No piss take either because I know some of my dearest mates – Bruiser, Rosie, Dog, Trace, Simmo, Matty – will all be feeling it a lot more than I. Those boys live and breathe their rugby and I know they’ll be taking it pretty tough. Not to mention the father-in-law who I suspect probably left the room when he knew the writing was on the wall and would have missed the final 20 minutes of the game anyway.
I don’t have any answers to the many questions that they are bound to be asking of themselves, only an epiphany to share that dawned on me about the same time four years ago. I don’t think I’ve watched a full game of rugby since (other than the Petone Senior Thirds).
Professionalism has been the great equaliser in terms of world rugby. Bigger countries with a bigger pool of players to pick from and bigger wallets to pay them with are better prepared and better coached than they ever were. They know it and we’re trying hard to ignore it.
Since the year dot, The All Blacks have been the dominant force in world rugby. It was our game dammit, we even taught the clowns who came up with the concept how to play it properly. But them days are gone and the rest of the rugby playing world, although envious of our past, are no longer intimidated by it. The professional rugby world owes New Zealand nothing. Reputation counts for nothing these days, it only helps ticket sales.
We’ve won everything rugby has to offer for so long. Even between World Cup tournaments we still win it all, but I believe we’ve forgotten how to desire a win. We want to win, but it’s not the same thing. When France, England or South Africa walks onto the pitch to face the ABs they know that for the next 80 minutes, they are equal to the other fifteen jokers standing in black. These other sides are not constrained by a legacy of expectation that smothers them. Any thing can happen on the day and as the Frogs proved today; it comes down to who wants it the most. Old Frenchie desired the win over an opposition that no one said they could beat. England showed the same desire to beat an opponent they were not suppose to beat either.
Desire. That one simple, primal denominator that occurs in everything competitive.
I don’t doubt the commitment of the players, well of some I do actually. Contemplate this: When you had in your notice at work, do you do your best work in the last two weeks of your job? Or are you counting the days? So how does that compare to someone who has already indicated that they will no longer stay and play in or for New Zealand after the World Cup?
As for the other players, I think we have to be honest with ourselves. They’re as Kiwi as we are and they grew up with same mindset we all have, that the All Blacks deserve to win everything because that’s the way it’s always been. All Black management might well shield the players from the media hype in a tournament like this, but they’re still in regular contact with loved ones back home who undoubtedly maintain the same pre conceived notions of how the tournament will pan out. They’re Kiwi after all and that’s what we do.
We think so highly of these guys because they are highly paid, highly trained athletes, but they are human after all. They are the product of a country that no longer knows how to fight to win something for the first time, not in a rugby sense anyway and we are slipping into infamy because of it. We are as a nation producing these men and we are as a nation are supporting them by remaining ignorant to the fact that New Zealand no longer dominates World Rugby. The playing field, as they say, is a level one. I think the day we collectively realise it is the day we might stand a chance of getting our desire to win back.
Like the couple who bought tickets for the semi and final because they assumed the ABs would be playing both games. Like the sports guy on the news last night, the authority on nothing, proclaiming an easy win. Like every washed up expert I saw or read this week – themselves failures on the World Cup front – who all predicted an easy win to the ABs. It was a nobrainer, they said. Certainly was alright. And here we are again, four more years.
The England football team has only won the football World Cup once, in 1966. They have never looked like winning it again. The All Blacks will have to wait four more years to prove they aren’t about to do the same.
I don’t have any answers to the many questions that they are bound to be asking of themselves, only an epiphany to share that dawned on me about the same time four years ago. I don’t think I’ve watched a full game of rugby since (other than the Petone Senior Thirds).
Professionalism has been the great equaliser in terms of world rugby. Bigger countries with a bigger pool of players to pick from and bigger wallets to pay them with are better prepared and better coached than they ever were. They know it and we’re trying hard to ignore it.
Since the year dot, The All Blacks have been the dominant force in world rugby. It was our game dammit, we even taught the clowns who came up with the concept how to play it properly. But them days are gone and the rest of the rugby playing world, although envious of our past, are no longer intimidated by it. The professional rugby world owes New Zealand nothing. Reputation counts for nothing these days, it only helps ticket sales.
We’ve won everything rugby has to offer for so long. Even between World Cup tournaments we still win it all, but I believe we’ve forgotten how to desire a win. We want to win, but it’s not the same thing. When France, England or South Africa walks onto the pitch to face the ABs they know that for the next 80 minutes, they are equal to the other fifteen jokers standing in black. These other sides are not constrained by a legacy of expectation that smothers them. Any thing can happen on the day and as the Frogs proved today; it comes down to who wants it the most. Old Frenchie desired the win over an opposition that no one said they could beat. England showed the same desire to beat an opponent they were not suppose to beat either.
Desire. That one simple, primal denominator that occurs in everything competitive.
I don’t doubt the commitment of the players, well of some I do actually. Contemplate this: When you had in your notice at work, do you do your best work in the last two weeks of your job? Or are you counting the days? So how does that compare to someone who has already indicated that they will no longer stay and play in or for New Zealand after the World Cup?
As for the other players, I think we have to be honest with ourselves. They’re as Kiwi as we are and they grew up with same mindset we all have, that the All Blacks deserve to win everything because that’s the way it’s always been. All Black management might well shield the players from the media hype in a tournament like this, but they’re still in regular contact with loved ones back home who undoubtedly maintain the same pre conceived notions of how the tournament will pan out. They’re Kiwi after all and that’s what we do.
We think so highly of these guys because they are highly paid, highly trained athletes, but they are human after all. They are the product of a country that no longer knows how to fight to win something for the first time, not in a rugby sense anyway and we are slipping into infamy because of it. We are as a nation producing these men and we are as a nation are supporting them by remaining ignorant to the fact that New Zealand no longer dominates World Rugby. The playing field, as they say, is a level one. I think the day we collectively realise it is the day we might stand a chance of getting our desire to win back.
Like the couple who bought tickets for the semi and final because they assumed the ABs would be playing both games. Like the sports guy on the news last night, the authority on nothing, proclaiming an easy win. Like every washed up expert I saw or read this week – themselves failures on the World Cup front – who all predicted an easy win to the ABs. It was a nobrainer, they said. Certainly was alright. And here we are again, four more years.
The England football team has only won the football World Cup once, in 1966. They have never looked like winning it again. The All Blacks will have to wait four more years to prove they aren’t about to do the same.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Local Body Erections?
It’s local body election time in J Town. That time of year where some of the saddest campaign hoarding's ever pop up, only to be pulled down just as quickly by some of the saddest individuals ever.
As amusing as it is to see them all torn down every morning, it’s not so cool to see the old folk volunteers who turn up later in the day to erect them again. There are certainly no frills when you start at the bottom step of local body politics, especially not when Grandad has to re-erect your woody for you each morning. And Bill Gates has a lot to answer for. One of his most heinous crimes is rolling out a software package that makes anybody think that they’re a half decent desk top publisher. My eight year old son could do a better job at putting a poster together compared to some of the efforts on show this election.
How effective are campaign hoardings anyway? I mean really. Has anybody in the history of the world ever decided to vote for some cooze on the basis of their picture having been stapled to a fence? I doubt it. But some folk really get into it, a couple of peeps in J Town are driving around with bumper stickers that read ‘Bring Back Jack’. Who the fuck is Jack and what ever happened to bumper sticks that actually meant something like “My Other Ride Is Your Mum” or “Fancy A Bum - You Might Like It”?
They all look so depressing, that’s the problem. I got the candidate info pamphlet in the mail the other day. I tried to read it because you know me, I like to make informed decisions but I think I‘ve had more fun watching my cat defecate in the neighbours garden. But then that’s what you get when you have 57 Christian Scout Master Rotarian's all preaching the same thing. Sure, there were a few hippies chucked in for good measure and possibly one ethnic minority but it’s not much of a selection is it? No wonder we New Zealanders don’t get into politics half as much as we should.
Here’s a good reason why we should though. Some Maori bird up North has taken a national treasure claim to the Treaty of Waitangi Tribunal. Her idea of a national treasure? Her husband of one year, a Tongan over stayer who is being deported because a) he overstayed and b) he’s been convicted of assault on – wait for it - his wife. What a lovely couple aye? She hopes by having him classified as a treasure, the Government will not be able to legally deport him. Now instead of kicking the claim to the kerb like any self respecting Government department should, the Tribunal is allowing it to be heard! So you and I, the taxpayer, will be funding the several days it takes for this genuine grievance claim of the indigenous people of this land to be heard.
Is it any wonder then that in this country we have people with the mentality to hold up banks with a screwdriver, because our politicians put more effort and money into being politically correct, than being accountable and proactive towards the health, education and criminal justice systems of this country? And it all starts with us not paying enough attention when it comes to voting in the guy who decides whether its two or three ply that will be on the roll in the local library’s shitter.
A screwdriver. To hold up a bank no less. I mean come on - guns for show knives for a pro it might be, but a screwdriver?! What's the guy going to do if you don't give him the money? Unscrew the legs from your desk? Open a tin of paint for you? Geez, it doesn't get much more hardcore than that.
So I really should take more notice of our local body candidates, for like it or not, they’ll eventually move up the ladder to national politics and if they reach that stage, it’s too late to vote the buggers out.
My decision then will be based on the simplest of criteria. I’m going to vote for the candidate with the best nungas. A decision made easier when 90 percent of the candidates have moobs. Now that would make for interesting campaign hoardings – topless candidates. The men aren’t going to fair so well but I’m betting the women won’t have their hoardings torn down every night. Unless they’re well stacked and then all the perverts will pinch them. The really shy ones won't take the hoardings though, they will just park up alongside them several times a day and have a jimmy in the car.
It’s a strategy that worked well last time round for one of our incumbent councillors who just happens to be a reasonably attractive young lady who has just the slightest hint of closet naughtiness about her. Or is it that just my imagination? I’m sure ever picture I saw of her last election was of her in a tighty whitey and thus at least half of the eligible voters in the ward, all the males, voted for her main policy points. There were two of them.
So there you go. All the scientific proof you need to show that even if sex doesn't win you a local body election, it certainly makes it a hell of a lot more interesting.
As amusing as it is to see them all torn down every morning, it’s not so cool to see the old folk volunteers who turn up later in the day to erect them again. There are certainly no frills when you start at the bottom step of local body politics, especially not when Grandad has to re-erect your woody for you each morning. And Bill Gates has a lot to answer for. One of his most heinous crimes is rolling out a software package that makes anybody think that they’re a half decent desk top publisher. My eight year old son could do a better job at putting a poster together compared to some of the efforts on show this election.
How effective are campaign hoardings anyway? I mean really. Has anybody in the history of the world ever decided to vote for some cooze on the basis of their picture having been stapled to a fence? I doubt it. But some folk really get into it, a couple of peeps in J Town are driving around with bumper stickers that read ‘Bring Back Jack’. Who the fuck is Jack and what ever happened to bumper sticks that actually meant something like “My Other Ride Is Your Mum” or “Fancy A Bum - You Might Like It”?
They all look so depressing, that’s the problem. I got the candidate info pamphlet in the mail the other day. I tried to read it because you know me, I like to make informed decisions but I think I‘ve had more fun watching my cat defecate in the neighbours garden. But then that’s what you get when you have 57 Christian Scout Master Rotarian's all preaching the same thing. Sure, there were a few hippies chucked in for good measure and possibly one ethnic minority but it’s not much of a selection is it? No wonder we New Zealanders don’t get into politics half as much as we should.
Here’s a good reason why we should though. Some Maori bird up North has taken a national treasure claim to the Treaty of Waitangi Tribunal. Her idea of a national treasure? Her husband of one year, a Tongan over stayer who is being deported because a) he overstayed and b) he’s been convicted of assault on – wait for it - his wife. What a lovely couple aye? She hopes by having him classified as a treasure, the Government will not be able to legally deport him. Now instead of kicking the claim to the kerb like any self respecting Government department should, the Tribunal is allowing it to be heard! So you and I, the taxpayer, will be funding the several days it takes for this genuine grievance claim of the indigenous people of this land to be heard.
Is it any wonder then that in this country we have people with the mentality to hold up banks with a screwdriver, because our politicians put more effort and money into being politically correct, than being accountable and proactive towards the health, education and criminal justice systems of this country? And it all starts with us not paying enough attention when it comes to voting in the guy who decides whether its two or three ply that will be on the roll in the local library’s shitter.
A screwdriver. To hold up a bank no less. I mean come on - guns for show knives for a pro it might be, but a screwdriver?! What's the guy going to do if you don't give him the money? Unscrew the legs from your desk? Open a tin of paint for you? Geez, it doesn't get much more hardcore than that.
So I really should take more notice of our local body candidates, for like it or not, they’ll eventually move up the ladder to national politics and if they reach that stage, it’s too late to vote the buggers out.
My decision then will be based on the simplest of criteria. I’m going to vote for the candidate with the best nungas. A decision made easier when 90 percent of the candidates have moobs. Now that would make for interesting campaign hoardings – topless candidates. The men aren’t going to fair so well but I’m betting the women won’t have their hoardings torn down every night. Unless they’re well stacked and then all the perverts will pinch them. The really shy ones won't take the hoardings though, they will just park up alongside them several times a day and have a jimmy in the car.
It’s a strategy that worked well last time round for one of our incumbent councillors who just happens to be a reasonably attractive young lady who has just the slightest hint of closet naughtiness about her. Or is it that just my imagination? I’m sure ever picture I saw of her last election was of her in a tighty whitey and thus at least half of the eligible voters in the ward, all the males, voted for her main policy points. There were two of them.
So there you go. All the scientific proof you need to show that even if sex doesn't win you a local body election, it certainly makes it a hell of a lot more interesting.
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