Barack Bin Laden?

Man I can’t wait for the general election in October when I can finally vote for Barack Obama. Oh yeah, I feel so black right now.

What? He’s running for the American Presidency and not the New Zealand Prime Ministerial ship? So I won’t be able to vote for him? Well you could’ve fooled me because he’s on the bloody news every night; if not in person then it’s some Gaylord waxing on how he’s the first black Ron Jeremy and from his sack will flow the freedom seed. Or something to that affect

I can understand it must be a big deal if you live in America and give a shit, but we don’t, on both counts. But this is what happens when news programmes here in New Zealand staff themselves with lazy pricks who, rather than go out and find real stories, fill their bulletins with crap from the overseas networks so that they can spend more time at home beating up their girlfriends. Honestly, I think I got more of an education back in the day watching Zippy and Bungle pack a sad with each other.

Did you ever wonder why it was that Bungle always wrapped a towel around his waist to after a shower and wore jammies to bed, but yet walked around in the buff the rest of time? I didn’t at the time because I was only about eight, but now I do and I’m thinking he must have had a stiffy the whole time. Why else would he have had the towel on? Hey – we’ve all been there, been a little too attentive with the soap whilst washing a certain part of the anatomy and then tried to explain it away when the missus catches you as ‘I was just washing it…’.

The same thing happens with Formula One racing highlights. Ever since Formula One coverage got bought out by Sky and not TVNZ, we’ve had the English highlights package on the network news which is always about Lewis Hamilton, the UKs answer to Barack Obama, only he does car, not Presidential races. Admittedly he’s won a few races over the two seasons he’s been competing, so as far as the Poms are concerned its game over, call the competition off, there’s only one man in it. The fuck there is.

John Key, National leader, born and raised in middle class New Zealand and quite possibly whiter than the underside of my scrotum compared himself to Barack Obama this week. I never knew that John Keys smoked marijuana? How else would you come up with that kind of self comparison? It would have been more laughable if we weren’t all sniggering at that jammy bugger Winston Peters finally getting a little dose of karma up the jacksie. Winston reminds me of a guy I used to work with, who found shit hilarious when he was dishing it out but couldn’t handle the jandal when he had the piss taken out of him. I can’t stand guys like that.

That said though, credit where credit is due, Winston Peters is a survivor. Sgt Zeke Anderson was a survivor. Survivors are winners. He was very good at it but it helped that he had a certain amount of natural ability. If there was one thing he didn’t like it was dopers, because if you were a doper you were getting high and not listening to him which meant you were going to get him killed. And he wasn’t going to let that happen. A lot of good men died in Vietnam but Sgt Zeke Anderson was not one of them. He was a fictional character in a TV series, but I served with a lot of men like him.

A figure once put as high as 23% of Americans believe Barack Obama is Muslim and therefore – following the six degrees of separation rule – somehow tied to Al Qaeda. Down in the redneck states, the ones who put sexy in dyslexia, there is a percentage who thinks that ‘Obama’ and ‘Osama’ are just a little too close for their liking. And I can understand where they’re coming from too, a kid in my class at school was named Hitler Tampon and he was always getting grief about his name.

Funny then, what with all this kerfuffle that Barack would choose a running mate with a last name that does little to ease the situation. Thousands of people waving ‘Barack Biden’ placards are just going to piss off the illiterate voters of America more who are probably reading the signs as ‘Barack Bin Laden’.