I’ll be the first to admit that one of my weaknesses is that on the odd occasion, I have been known to jump to the wrong conclusion about someone and misjudged them unfairly.
My wife thinks this and is always reminding me that it’s an ‘area I can improve on’ which is a polite way of saying it’s high on the list of ‘things I hate about you’. She might have a point, but I doubt it. There have only been two recorded instances of me misjudging someone and with a margin of error of plus or minus two even that number is in question.
Like the couple I watched lay it on nice and thick on the news the other night. They were talking about how the cost of living and shit has made it hard for them to raise their young family. Man it was emotional TV I can tell you. At least it would have been had I not spent the entire two minutes staring at the big fuck off shiny wide screen TV they had behind them in their lounge. I was prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt at this stage until I noticed the mega stereo draped alongside it, the Sky decoder and both the Xbox and PS consoles they had strewn across the lounge floor. You know – the necessities of life.
Both smoked, another accidental caught-on-camera revelation that they obviously neglected to think would reflect badly on them prior to letting the news crew inside and yet here they were, lips quivering over the price of a block of cheese! Now I’m not an unsympathetic man but this is the classic example of a couple having absolutely no idea of how to prioritise 'need' over 'want' and then trying to blame their shortcomings on someone else. Who knows, maybe they won the lot in a meat raffle some where but I’m guessing the prize that day was a tray of meat, not some $7000 home entertainment system. I’ve run a few dodgy raffles in my time but I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.
I’m all for helping out people who actually struggle to make ends meet because their needs exceed the income they have. If they’re making every possible sacrifice and still struggling to make ends meet than society should help them out, that’s what our taxes are for, but when you struggle to make the connection that the difference between having two litres of milk, a loaf of bread and a block of cheese each week lies in you giving up your Sky subscription, or not, then alarm bells are ringing I reckon. When you can’t pay the power bill that shot up the very day after you bought that LCD flat screen on lay-by, then I’m willing to bet that the advice you need is more than financial.
And who’s going to top up Mr & Mrs Fiscal Responsibility so that they can have cheese and Sky? That’s right, you and I. Mr & Mrs Taxpayer.
I’ve also got no time for first time home buyers who are now crying that they now can’t pay their mortgage because the big bad bank put its interest rates up. These are the noddy’s who got caught up in the whole Mitre 10 Dream Home type wave of bullshit that had people buying the worst house in the best street that they couldn’t really afford to impress folk who didn’t really care.
They followed the advice of the highly paid property guru on the show who’s been in the ‘biz’ for 30 years and has allegedly made shitloads as a result, when he told them to buy high and sell higher. The show didn’t actually mention that he’s probably been bankrupt twice in that time but who needs details at a time when ridiculously easy money is just gagging to be made huh? Mitre 10 sure weren’t going to tell them, they wanted the suckers to buy all the DIY crap from them that they were going to need after buying the worst house in the worst street. Funny that.
Trade Me, the housing market is not. There’s no buying it at the Warehouse for a fiver and flogging it off for $50 in housing, contrary to what you might see on TV. You would think that the small matter of there being 6 figures in the price tag would make people a bit wary, but apparently here in NZ there’s a sucker born every minute. Buying a house means entering into a world where market forces can shaft you quicker than a sneaky one with the missus while the kids are playing next door and it’s not like hard times in housing is new phenomenon either, infact it’s frighteningly frequent in its regularity. Something Mum and Dad probably could have attested to if Mr & Mrs SuckedInBigTime had taken the time to ask them.
But they didn’t and they too are looking for someone else to blame and anyone will do really; The Government, Graham Henry for not winning the World Cup, Al-Qaeda, perhaps even the 47 Asians living in the one house next door. Whatever. We all know there's only one group controlling the worlds finances anyway; Ninjas. Blaming someone else isn’t going to change the fact that you’re in up to your balls in mortgage nor is it going to make it go away, so get over it. As Tana Umaga once said “we’re not playing tiddlywinks here’.
Looks like the worst house in the best street just got a whole lot cheaper.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
The Grass Is Not Always Greener - Even On Facebook
Winter is well and truly here, you know this because its dark when you leave for work and its dark when you get home and in between everyone has the shits with each other for no apparent reason other than ‘it must be the weather’!
If you play a winter sport then you might as well not bother because it’ll be rained off more times than it isn’t. This is great for the sporting organisations that take your fees on the basis that you’ll play ex number of games, but won’t be refunding when you don’t because of some bugger who likes to keep his football pitches like he keeps his women – bushy - and calls it off every other weekend.
If you haven’t had the flu by now don’t worry, you are only a week or two away from getting it and by then it will be twice as bad for having down the rounds and will probably make you sterile. Your kids, if at school, will be sick from now till September, so you can kiss goodbye to your hard earned and saved annual leave days because you will be spending them at home, watching Nickelodeon for 16 hours straight as you nurse your kids back to a state where they can head back to school and pick up the next strain of avian bird flu. Getting sick is an expensive business alright, especially when the local GP charges you fifty bucks a visit only to tell you to go and buy the $20 packet of over the counter pills that always seem to run out before your flu does.
To make matters worse, I got dumped on Facebook this week. The ultimate social burn. A friend of mine removed me from her list of friends, something I only noticed after trying to send the email to her that had taken me 20 minutes to write. Who would have thought that being dumped on a website that affords its user no social interaction whatsoever could hurt so much or be as embarrassing as being dumped in real life?
But then that’s Facebook for you. It’s easy to think that the virtual networking we do on Facebook is in some way as good as actually interacting face to face. Remember when people used to do that? When in reality it allows you to add and cut people out of your life without ever having to face the consequence. At least with a text message you get told you’re yesterday’s news. Facebook allows you to ‘remove’ or ‘ignore’ without a second thought. Easy. So very easy.
I’ve had my fair share of dumping experiences, although in all fairness it was me nine times out of ten doing the dumping. Not that I was ever so popular with the ladies back in the day that I had them queuing for the ClubDes experience, it was more a case of me not knowing a good thing the very rare times that I had it.
Like my dear friend Kels, who I dated back in college for a whole two weeks. Kels was a year younger and one of the ‘it’ girls of her year, even went on to be head girl the following year, so you’d think a dropkick like me would have been happy to have her. But no, I took the confidence that came from being liked by a hottie and used it to pluck up the courage to tell Natalie Davis – one of the ‘it’ girls in my year – that she put lead in my pencil and had done so for some time.
The revelation itself went to plan. It all came out like I had rehearsed and included several very gay lines from several very gay movies where the loser always scored the cheerleader, so hopes were high in the ClubDes camp after I was done that a Penthouse forum was about to be written there and then in the senior common room. Natalie thanked me with a hug - one of those ones that’s upper body only because I had a raging stiff at that point - and told me that I was ‘very cute’. And that was about it. Hardly the highly erotic finish I had played out in my head every night for the last two years.
Kels was very supportive of me the whole time even though I’d broken her heart but then she probably knew I was heading for a crash and burn. Girls always know because they know other chicks, the same way a guy knows when another guy is hard out spading, because we’ve done it ourselves. Thankfully Kels and I stayed close friends and even shared the odd drunken grope in the years that followed - although in all fairness the drunken groping was all me, Kels just lay there, sober and tried her best not to vomit at the thought of it. We still remain close, despite her being half way across the world, thanks to Facebook! So maybe it does have its uses after all.
So you see the moral of this story is that the grass over the fence is never as green as you think it is. Except in winter cause the ruddy footy is always cancelled so no bugger plays on it.
If you play a winter sport then you might as well not bother because it’ll be rained off more times than it isn’t. This is great for the sporting organisations that take your fees on the basis that you’ll play ex number of games, but won’t be refunding when you don’t because of some bugger who likes to keep his football pitches like he keeps his women – bushy - and calls it off every other weekend.
If you haven’t had the flu by now don’t worry, you are only a week or two away from getting it and by then it will be twice as bad for having down the rounds and will probably make you sterile. Your kids, if at school, will be sick from now till September, so you can kiss goodbye to your hard earned and saved annual leave days because you will be spending them at home, watching Nickelodeon for 16 hours straight as you nurse your kids back to a state where they can head back to school and pick up the next strain of avian bird flu. Getting sick is an expensive business alright, especially when the local GP charges you fifty bucks a visit only to tell you to go and buy the $20 packet of over the counter pills that always seem to run out before your flu does.
To make matters worse, I got dumped on Facebook this week. The ultimate social burn. A friend of mine removed me from her list of friends, something I only noticed after trying to send the email to her that had taken me 20 minutes to write. Who would have thought that being dumped on a website that affords its user no social interaction whatsoever could hurt so much or be as embarrassing as being dumped in real life?
But then that’s Facebook for you. It’s easy to think that the virtual networking we do on Facebook is in some way as good as actually interacting face to face. Remember when people used to do that? When in reality it allows you to add and cut people out of your life without ever having to face the consequence. At least with a text message you get told you’re yesterday’s news. Facebook allows you to ‘remove’ or ‘ignore’ without a second thought. Easy. So very easy.
I’ve had my fair share of dumping experiences, although in all fairness it was me nine times out of ten doing the dumping. Not that I was ever so popular with the ladies back in the day that I had them queuing for the ClubDes experience, it was more a case of me not knowing a good thing the very rare times that I had it.
Like my dear friend Kels, who I dated back in college for a whole two weeks. Kels was a year younger and one of the ‘it’ girls of her year, even went on to be head girl the following year, so you’d think a dropkick like me would have been happy to have her. But no, I took the confidence that came from being liked by a hottie and used it to pluck up the courage to tell Natalie Davis – one of the ‘it’ girls in my year – that she put lead in my pencil and had done so for some time.
The revelation itself went to plan. It all came out like I had rehearsed and included several very gay lines from several very gay movies where the loser always scored the cheerleader, so hopes were high in the ClubDes camp after I was done that a Penthouse forum was about to be written there and then in the senior common room. Natalie thanked me with a hug - one of those ones that’s upper body only because I had a raging stiff at that point - and told me that I was ‘very cute’. And that was about it. Hardly the highly erotic finish I had played out in my head every night for the last two years.
Kels was very supportive of me the whole time even though I’d broken her heart but then she probably knew I was heading for a crash and burn. Girls always know because they know other chicks, the same way a guy knows when another guy is hard out spading, because we’ve done it ourselves. Thankfully Kels and I stayed close friends and even shared the odd drunken grope in the years that followed - although in all fairness the drunken groping was all me, Kels just lay there, sober and tried her best not to vomit at the thought of it. We still remain close, despite her being half way across the world, thanks to Facebook! So maybe it does have its uses after all.
So you see the moral of this story is that the grass over the fence is never as green as you think it is. Except in winter cause the ruddy footy is always cancelled so no bugger plays on it.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Ze Germans Are Whack
Are we done with the gay Opshop song that seems to be played by some bugger every five minutes? Absence might make the heart grow fonder but not when we have to listen to some tosser croon about it every waking moment.
I’m all for a good song getting all the airtime but enough’s enough. Let’s be honest; it’s a good song, but it’s not a great song and now it’s just a downright annoying song. It probably wouldn’t be if it was just lame radio stations playing it every hour but NZ Post lay it on nice and thick in their TV ads too so there’s no escaping it. The Opshop boys should take a break from blowing each other and take a good long look at what over exposure has done to James Blunt, no one likes that poof either.
Speaking of sneaky bastards, those deviants at McDonalds are at it again. Their latest marketing campaign is good, infact it’s very good but you have to get up pretty early to catch out old ClubDes because I sleep with all three eyes open and the safeties off.
Their latest ads have people eating their same old crappy food in places in restaurants that don’t actually look like McDonald restaurants which are depressing places at the best of times. Incidentally does every McDees smell of saturated fat and children’s wee, or is that just the local one in JTown? So now they’re trying to subliminally trick you into thinking that by not eating shit in a place that doesn’t look like shit you’ll be okay eating shit. What a load of shit.
I actually ate McDonalds the other day but only because I was gagging for some shitty food. Needless to say it fulfilled all the requirements. I didn’t enjoy it mind you, infact I made all the same noises whilst I ate that I did when watching “2 girls 1 cup” for the first time, just so they knew I wasn’t enjoying it. And I ate one handed because I had my fist in the air in the land of hypocrisy the whole time.
I don’t condone Maccas in anyway, they are the makers of their own destiny, but it’s interesting to see the bad press they get when you consider a pack of two minute noodles – the staple of many a households pantry, including ours – has more saturated fat in it than a pack of fries from the golden tits. Yet no one is putting shit through the letterbox of Maggi as a result are they?
On a lighter note, the laughs never stop in Germany do they aye? A couple of years ago it was mutual cannibalism, now its keeping your daughter in the secret basement for twenty years whilst having seven kids by her. Not to be outdone, some fraulein kept the bodies of her three dead babies in her freezer for two decades. Her oldest son came across them whilst looking for frozen pizza! Bet you he wishes now that he’d gone to the local McDees.
What is it with Ze Germans aye? I’ll tell you something about Neo-Nazis I’ve only just learned after reading the ‘Ross Kemp on Gangs’ book on the TV series of the same name, is that they dig the numbers 1 and 8 because if you number the letters of the alphabet, then they correspond to the letters A and H. Which stands for Adolf Hitler, who you might have heard of?
This is great news for me really considering that I spend half my time walking around with a massive 18 plastered across the back of most of my football jerseys! I won’t be wearing my Spurs shirt to my next hate rally that’s for sure.
Incidentally, a little known fact about Ross Kemp is that he dare no utter the words ‘Ross Kemp’ because the universe might collapse in on itself. He is that hard.
Josef Fritzl, The sicko who kept his daughter locked away for twenty years was Austrian and technically not German, but then hey, neither was Hitler. In a bizarre twist, not that this story could be any more bizarre than what it already is, but Fritzl reckons it was his Nazi upbringing that caused him to do these things and he plans to plead insanity as his defence. I for one am not buying it and I don’t think the Austrian government will either. They’re only just getting over the bad press that one native son bought them 60 years ago, they won’t let Fritzl do the same.
Now I’m a big fan of an eye for an eye when it comes to nutjobs like Fritzl. He has quite simply ruined his daughter’s life and quite possibly the freak shows that are her children. The authorities have had to build a replica basement for her in the hospital because she can’t handle the open spaces; she hasn’t seen daylight in 20 years and all this before we’ve even gotten to the sexual abuse side of things! I reckon there’s only one punishment that fits the crime – lock the 73 year old bastard in a cell of similar proportions and give him regular conjugal visits from other inmates who like to give, rather than receive.
But something tells me he’d probably get off on that too.
I’m all for a good song getting all the airtime but enough’s enough. Let’s be honest; it’s a good song, but it’s not a great song and now it’s just a downright annoying song. It probably wouldn’t be if it was just lame radio stations playing it every hour but NZ Post lay it on nice and thick in their TV ads too so there’s no escaping it. The Opshop boys should take a break from blowing each other and take a good long look at what over exposure has done to James Blunt, no one likes that poof either.
Speaking of sneaky bastards, those deviants at McDonalds are at it again. Their latest marketing campaign is good, infact it’s very good but you have to get up pretty early to catch out old ClubDes because I sleep with all three eyes open and the safeties off.
Their latest ads have people eating their same old crappy food in places in restaurants that don’t actually look like McDonald restaurants which are depressing places at the best of times. Incidentally does every McDees smell of saturated fat and children’s wee, or is that just the local one in JTown? So now they’re trying to subliminally trick you into thinking that by not eating shit in a place that doesn’t look like shit you’ll be okay eating shit. What a load of shit.
I actually ate McDonalds the other day but only because I was gagging for some shitty food. Needless to say it fulfilled all the requirements. I didn’t enjoy it mind you, infact I made all the same noises whilst I ate that I did when watching “2 girls 1 cup” for the first time, just so they knew I wasn’t enjoying it. And I ate one handed because I had my fist in the air in the land of hypocrisy the whole time.
I don’t condone Maccas in anyway, they are the makers of their own destiny, but it’s interesting to see the bad press they get when you consider a pack of two minute noodles – the staple of many a households pantry, including ours – has more saturated fat in it than a pack of fries from the golden tits. Yet no one is putting shit through the letterbox of Maggi as a result are they?
On a lighter note, the laughs never stop in Germany do they aye? A couple of years ago it was mutual cannibalism, now its keeping your daughter in the secret basement for twenty years whilst having seven kids by her. Not to be outdone, some fraulein kept the bodies of her three dead babies in her freezer for two decades. Her oldest son came across them whilst looking for frozen pizza! Bet you he wishes now that he’d gone to the local McDees.
What is it with Ze Germans aye? I’ll tell you something about Neo-Nazis I’ve only just learned after reading the ‘Ross Kemp on Gangs’ book on the TV series of the same name, is that they dig the numbers 1 and 8 because if you number the letters of the alphabet, then they correspond to the letters A and H. Which stands for Adolf Hitler, who you might have heard of?
This is great news for me really considering that I spend half my time walking around with a massive 18 plastered across the back of most of my football jerseys! I won’t be wearing my Spurs shirt to my next hate rally that’s for sure.
Incidentally, a little known fact about Ross Kemp is that he dare no utter the words ‘Ross Kemp’ because the universe might collapse in on itself. He is that hard.
Josef Fritzl, The sicko who kept his daughter locked away for twenty years was Austrian and technically not German, but then hey, neither was Hitler. In a bizarre twist, not that this story could be any more bizarre than what it already is, but Fritzl reckons it was his Nazi upbringing that caused him to do these things and he plans to plead insanity as his defence. I for one am not buying it and I don’t think the Austrian government will either. They’re only just getting over the bad press that one native son bought them 60 years ago, they won’t let Fritzl do the same.
Now I’m a big fan of an eye for an eye when it comes to nutjobs like Fritzl. He has quite simply ruined his daughter’s life and quite possibly the freak shows that are her children. The authorities have had to build a replica basement for her in the hospital because she can’t handle the open spaces; she hasn’t seen daylight in 20 years and all this before we’ve even gotten to the sexual abuse side of things! I reckon there’s only one punishment that fits the crime – lock the 73 year old bastard in a cell of similar proportions and give him regular conjugal visits from other inmates who like to give, rather than receive.
But something tells me he’d probably get off on that too.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Fancy A Wank?
You’d think that spending 10 days flat out on your back would be the perfect time to have a wank wouldn’t you? Well you’d be wrong. I imagine that when the guy who thought up the whole idea of hospitals came up with the concept he probably had masturbation on his mind, but I’m unconvinced at this point in time that he was pro-wank. Consider the following:
1. The whole concept of hospital is like a dream. Its all white, you’re always in bed, you have loads of alone time and mostly attractive young ladies tend to your every need. Very wanky.
2. Unfortunately the curtains in each room are half a meter too short so they never quite reach all the way across so that even were you to have a quick one, thus filling in some of that alone time, chances are you’d be watched. Anti-wank design that one.
3. Theres lots of touchy feely examinations that take place. If you’re lucky, it’s a sheila. Lovely, that will keep you going for a few days.
4. If you’re not, it’s a dude. Bugger.
5. The beds themselves go up and down, up and down. Very wanky. Infact the tip of your bed can be raised. Your bed can have an erection too!
6. But the sheets on the beds are so thin that no matter what position you lie in it looks like you’ve got a stiffy! I tried lying on my stomach but that just gave me a stiffy. If you wake each morning with one then the first person to see it is likely to be the cleaner and she’s more prone to whack it down with her mop. Not very wanky at all.
7. Every hand basin in the place is at teste height. Every tap is at chest height. It might make life easier for surgeons who want to scrub up to their elbows but for everybody else they just end up splashing water all over your crutch which can look like you just had a wank. Or that you wet yourself. Neither is a turn on really.
8. Similarly every food item that you get for lunch or tea that is white and lives in a punnet, like ice cream, will as a rule, explode all over you as you pull back the lid. Inexplicably it will cover your nether regions making it look too all and sundry like you just had a wank. Nothing worse than looking like you’ve just had one when you never did.
9. The paper towels rip off in 47 separate pieces all about the size of a potato chip, so you can’t even clean up the above. Frantically trying to wipe off white creamy stuff with broken tissue just makes the whole scene look more suss than it even is.
10. Finally, even in the case of an emergency such as a fire, there are masturbatory connotations as this sign indicates. Now I'd be confused. Do I help put out the fire or have a wank....?
1. The whole concept of hospital is like a dream. Its all white, you’re always in bed, you have loads of alone time and mostly attractive young ladies tend to your every need. Very wanky.
2. Unfortunately the curtains in each room are half a meter too short so they never quite reach all the way across so that even were you to have a quick one, thus filling in some of that alone time, chances are you’d be watched. Anti-wank design that one.
3. Theres lots of touchy feely examinations that take place. If you’re lucky, it’s a sheila. Lovely, that will keep you going for a few days.
4. If you’re not, it’s a dude. Bugger.
5. The beds themselves go up and down, up and down. Very wanky. Infact the tip of your bed can be raised. Your bed can have an erection too!
6. But the sheets on the beds are so thin that no matter what position you lie in it looks like you’ve got a stiffy! I tried lying on my stomach but that just gave me a stiffy. If you wake each morning with one then the first person to see it is likely to be the cleaner and she’s more prone to whack it down with her mop. Not very wanky at all.
7. Every hand basin in the place is at teste height. Every tap is at chest height. It might make life easier for surgeons who want to scrub up to their elbows but for everybody else they just end up splashing water all over your crutch which can look like you just had a wank. Or that you wet yourself. Neither is a turn on really.
8. Similarly every food item that you get for lunch or tea that is white and lives in a punnet, like ice cream, will as a rule, explode all over you as you pull back the lid. Inexplicably it will cover your nether regions making it look too all and sundry like you just had a wank. Nothing worse than looking like you’ve just had one when you never did.
9. The paper towels rip off in 47 separate pieces all about the size of a potato chip, so you can’t even clean up the above. Frantically trying to wipe off white creamy stuff with broken tissue just makes the whole scene look more suss than it even is.
10. Finally, even in the case of an emergency such as a fire, there are masturbatory connotations as this sign indicates. Now I'd be confused. Do I help put out the fire or have a wank....?
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