For the sake of editorial balance I forced myself to sit through 60 Minutes last night and their piece on the parents of Ginja Balls Weatherston.
It’s fair to say they were completely clueless as to the narcissism of their devil spawn and for that I really felt for them. As a parent you can’t but help sympathise with those that have been let down by their children, especially when as parents they have done everything right by their boy.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing but I couldn’t help but think that there were warning signs early on as to just how unbalanced the Big Brain That Is Clayton was. But still, stabbing someone 214 times is a big step away from crying for three days because you got an A and not an A Plus on a subject at school.
And whilst ol Gingernuts now spends his days trying to avoid finding himself alone with those that would like to run their hands through his lions mane, his poor father, a self employed electrician, spends his days wondering if his customers recognise the family name on the side of the van and put two and two together. Meanwhile his Mum travels across town to use a shopping mall where no one recognises her.
But in perhaps the most telling postscript, ever, the 60 Minutes reporter visited Clayton in jail. In preparation of her visit Mr Slice and Dice had handwritten an 8 page document highlighting his many achievements for her to use in the story.
What a guy.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Smarty Gave a Party Clayton...And No One Came.
So Clayton ‘GinjaBalls’ Weatherston has had his day in court and put on a display that was spectacular in its naivety.
He could have taken a leaf out of David Bain’s book and played the deaf dumb mute (not that would have gotten him off the most one sided case since ever), but instead the guy though he was on ‘This Is Your Life’ and decided to try and convince the world of his superior intellect. He failed miserably and quickly became the most hated man in NZ, quite some feat because there sure are a lot of wankers around who could easily lay claim to that title.
I wonder if Weatherston will laugh at the size of anyone’s penis in the prison showers like he did when giving evidence in court. I wonder if he will argue for arguments sake just who is making who the bitch after he has and if he thinks that he’s been on the wrong side of a tumultuous relationship he can look forward to all the equality that comes with being some heavily tattooed gang members hand maiden.
Weatherston is the kind of guy who you just know likes to masturbate in front of a mirror so he can watch himself. He’s likely to start an argument even when alone in a room and you just know the chaps in the lock up are just rubbing their hands in glee at the prospect of sharing prison space with New Zealand’s biggest douche bag.
Weatherston will be remembered for his performance in court that’s for sure, but even that does him too much justice. The guy was a 30 something average nobody who rooted his young students in order to make himself feel superior. His intellect might have won him a few arguments over just who was the best Star Trek Captain but when it mattered, in a court of law, he found out just how inconsequential he and his ginja pubes were.
It’s like my dear old Gran always used to say Clayton; Smarty gave a party and nobody came.
Enjoy prison life, you prick.
He could have taken a leaf out of David Bain’s book and played the deaf dumb mute (not that would have gotten him off the most one sided case since ever), but instead the guy though he was on ‘This Is Your Life’ and decided to try and convince the world of his superior intellect. He failed miserably and quickly became the most hated man in NZ, quite some feat because there sure are a lot of wankers around who could easily lay claim to that title.
I wonder if Weatherston will laugh at the size of anyone’s penis in the prison showers like he did when giving evidence in court. I wonder if he will argue for arguments sake just who is making who the bitch after he has and if he thinks that he’s been on the wrong side of a tumultuous relationship he can look forward to all the equality that comes with being some heavily tattooed gang members hand maiden.
Weatherston is the kind of guy who you just know likes to masturbate in front of a mirror so he can watch himself. He’s likely to start an argument even when alone in a room and you just know the chaps in the lock up are just rubbing their hands in glee at the prospect of sharing prison space with New Zealand’s biggest douche bag.
Weatherston will be remembered for his performance in court that’s for sure, but even that does him too much justice. The guy was a 30 something average nobody who rooted his young students in order to make himself feel superior. His intellect might have won him a few arguments over just who was the best Star Trek Captain but when it mattered, in a court of law, he found out just how inconsequential he and his ginja pubes were.
It’s like my dear old Gran always used to say Clayton; Smarty gave a party and nobody came.
Enjoy prison life, you prick.
Never trust a man with a ginja mullet
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Sheila of the Week - Emma Watson
Emma Watson is an actress who has literally grown before our eyes. She was cast as Hermione Grainger in the first Harry Potter movie at the tender age of nine years old and with the end in sight for the uber successful movie series she now approaches her early twenties.
It's a cliché but it’s hard to imagine anyone else but Watson playing the part of everyone’s favourite female wizard, not that we imagine nine year olds doing anything, but you know what we mean.
Watson has blossomed into a beautiful young woman (on and off the screen) who seems to have her priorities right and makes good decisions despite the allure the fame has bought her. Aside from Potter himself Hermione Grainger is by far the most memorable character from all the movies and that Ron Weasley is one lucky ginja balls to eventually end up with her.
Despite the phenomenal success of the films Watson is not gagging to keep on with her acting anytime soon. She hardly needs to; the Potter franchise has set her up for life financially and once principal filming of the last two movies (the finals instalment is split into two parts) is finished she plans to leave England to study in the US where she hopes she can live some semblance of a normal life.
Unfortunately its hard to see Watson avoiding publicity no matter how hard she tries, already she has started to find that success as a girl who comes of age brings with it the usual sexploitation; photographers trying to get up skirt pics and magazines running polls that ask their readers if they would pay to see Watson appear naked in a film. Over half of them said yes by the way, in case you were wondering. I for one was surprised that the number was actually that low…
An interesting comparison with our Emma might be Natalie Portman (another ClubDes fave) who made the same decisions early in her career but eventually entered college under an assumed name to avoid the attention fame like Watson’s unfortunately brings.
What ever path Watson choose we hope that she doesn’t dissaparate* from the silver screen for good, because she’s far too good a talent for that to happen.
*It’s a wizarding term, you muggle.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Heated Toilet Seats & Adult Air Castles
Sometimes I have so many good ideas I just don't know what to do with them all.
Like toilet seats, or more specifically, cold ones. Nobody likes a chilly ring, especially in winter when chances are the moment your butt-tocks hit that cold plastic your anus is going to pucker so tightly you'll be in there for a week doing whatever it was you went in there to do. It's worse if you're a guy and you misjudge the approach and its the 'ol undercarriage that kisses the seat first, because those plums of yours will disappear northwards quicker than you can gasp "shit that's cold".
But what if seats were warm? And by that I don't mean warm as in you've just walked into the men's at work only to find that both cubicles stink, both s-bends resemble Grandads old undies and the water is still moving warm. No, what if toilet seats were heated?
Not with electricity mind you. There are many things I have contemplated doing with my junk but subjecting it to anything with an electrical current running through it, especially whilst sitting above water, is not one of them.
But what if - and brace yourself for this mindbomb - what if inside the cistern there was a little turbine that spun every time the thing was emptied and filled, which in turn would power battery cells in the seat that heated with every flush?! Boom! Instant heat. And all with the added bonus of not having to rely on the Unix guys down the hall having had a curry for tea the night before.
And how about air castles? Every one loves an air castle, even we adults, but I'm yet to find a gyppo at a fun fair that lets we adults mix it with the kids. So I propose an alternative that is like an air castle in every which way, only with a few added features; dildos, buttplugs and fake titties stuck to the floor and walls of the thing.
Imagine how much fun that bad boy is going to be after a barbie with your mates! You can strip down, oil that sucker (or each other) up and bounce around till someone needs to be taken to the A & E department. If you used it frequently enough it would be like one of those non stick pans - you'd only ever need to lube it up every now and then. Party Hire places are going to be the first to line up and buy my adult air castles which are coming to a swingers party near you!
The guy who decided to bottle water had a good idea. Its since turned out to be a damn inconsiderate idea given the state of the world today and the inevitable harm all those discarded bottles have cause. But in little old Bundadoon, Australia, the residents last week voted to ban bottled water form their village as a means to reducing their carbon footprint.
I love this story. Its a perfect example of people power and its worked because the New South Wales Government promptly banned the buying in of bottled water by all its departments. Out of the 400 good folk who turned up to vote on the decision in Bundadoon, only two hearty souls were against the move. They haven't been seen since.
Water is one of those things that used to be free. There are people in this world who have to walk tens of miles to get muddy water from a hole and who would love to have the access to tap water that we do. Yet what is it we choose to do with our tap water? We wash our balls with it, that's what and buy bottled water to drink. Those same folk - the ones who drink muddy water - they'd be even prepared to drink our dirty ball water, if only it came out of a tap.
You know what else used to be free? Ring tones. The phone used to ring for free. Now we pay for ring tones that we get real embarrassed about when the phone goes off in a crowded area. Not me. I've got a cool song from The Matrix movie on mine and when that fucker rings I let it go all the way to voicemail just to hear it.
But you know where this is going to lead, soon the phone companies will buy the ring tone companies and sell phones with no ring tones and you won't know if your phone has rung or not. Until you buy a ring tone. My answer to that? Record your own ring tone. Sing and record your favourite song on your phone and set it as ring tone. Boom! Mindbomb.
Now if I see heated toilet seats down at Mitre 10 or the neighbours impaling themselves on an air castle I'll know who sold them the concept, so don't go getting any bright ideas...
Like toilet seats, or more specifically, cold ones. Nobody likes a chilly ring, especially in winter when chances are the moment your butt-tocks hit that cold plastic your anus is going to pucker so tightly you'll be in there for a week doing whatever it was you went in there to do. It's worse if you're a guy and you misjudge the approach and its the 'ol undercarriage that kisses the seat first, because those plums of yours will disappear northwards quicker than you can gasp "shit that's cold".
But what if seats were warm? And by that I don't mean warm as in you've just walked into the men's at work only to find that both cubicles stink, both s-bends resemble Grandads old undies and the water is still moving warm. No, what if toilet seats were heated?
Not with electricity mind you. There are many things I have contemplated doing with my junk but subjecting it to anything with an electrical current running through it, especially whilst sitting above water, is not one of them.
But what if - and brace yourself for this mindbomb - what if inside the cistern there was a little turbine that spun every time the thing was emptied and filled, which in turn would power battery cells in the seat that heated with every flush?! Boom! Instant heat. And all with the added bonus of not having to rely on the Unix guys down the hall having had a curry for tea the night before.
And how about air castles? Every one loves an air castle, even we adults, but I'm yet to find a gyppo at a fun fair that lets we adults mix it with the kids. So I propose an alternative that is like an air castle in every which way, only with a few added features; dildos, buttplugs and fake titties stuck to the floor and walls of the thing.
Imagine how much fun that bad boy is going to be after a barbie with your mates! You can strip down, oil that sucker (or each other) up and bounce around till someone needs to be taken to the A & E department. If you used it frequently enough it would be like one of those non stick pans - you'd only ever need to lube it up every now and then. Party Hire places are going to be the first to line up and buy my adult air castles which are coming to a swingers party near you!
The guy who decided to bottle water had a good idea. Its since turned out to be a damn inconsiderate idea given the state of the world today and the inevitable harm all those discarded bottles have cause. But in little old Bundadoon, Australia, the residents last week voted to ban bottled water form their village as a means to reducing their carbon footprint.
I love this story. Its a perfect example of people power and its worked because the New South Wales Government promptly banned the buying in of bottled water by all its departments. Out of the 400 good folk who turned up to vote on the decision in Bundadoon, only two hearty souls were against the move. They haven't been seen since.
Water is one of those things that used to be free. There are people in this world who have to walk tens of miles to get muddy water from a hole and who would love to have the access to tap water that we do. Yet what is it we choose to do with our tap water? We wash our balls with it, that's what and buy bottled water to drink. Those same folk - the ones who drink muddy water - they'd be even prepared to drink our dirty ball water, if only it came out of a tap.
You know what else used to be free? Ring tones. The phone used to ring for free. Now we pay for ring tones that we get real embarrassed about when the phone goes off in a crowded area. Not me. I've got a cool song from The Matrix movie on mine and when that fucker rings I let it go all the way to voicemail just to hear it.
But you know where this is going to lead, soon the phone companies will buy the ring tone companies and sell phones with no ring tones and you won't know if your phone has rung or not. Until you buy a ring tone. My answer to that? Record your own ring tone. Sing and record your favourite song on your phone and set it as ring tone. Boom! Mindbomb.
Now if I see heated toilet seats down at Mitre 10 or the neighbours impaling themselves on an air castle I'll know who sold them the concept, so don't go getting any bright ideas...
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Bring Back the Book.
Where have all the good bookstores gone?
Last week I wandered around like an idiot not in on a private joke, looking for a fairly new book (Underbelly a Tale of Two Cities), which I rather foolishly thought would be readily available because a) the series of the same name has just shown here on TV and b) its about a Kiwi and the infamous drug ring that he set up.
But fuck me if I could find it. What I actually found in many of the so called 'bookstores' I ventured into was a lot of crap, the likes of which you expect to find in the $2 shop, not a book store. Bookshops, it would seem, are desperate for your cash and rather than sticking to the very thing that got the punters in the door in the first place they're whoring their floor to the peddlers of rubbish in the hope they’ll get a sale, any sale.
It’s a bit like going to the supermarket and them trying to tempt you in picking up a microwave amongst your veggies, or outdoor furniture whilst choosing your ice cream. Sounds ridiculous doesn't it? But still the bastards try it on and it’s a good thing really because I've forgotten the number of times I've longed to be able to bag a good lawn mower whilst picking up the milk...
More and more shops are adding stock that simply doesn't fit and personally I take offence at the insult it creates to my intelligence. My local Video Sleazy now has a 'hot nuts' device on its counter and it’s got absolutely nothing to do with the Adult section. Now you can get a bag of hot, roasted peanuts with the DVD you don't plan to watch for several hours.
Now I am a big reader and always have been. Why once I even read a Penthouse Forum at school during our compulsory quiet reading period after each lunch break. It was all I had in my bag on account of being passed it earlier in the day as it was my turn to have it for a week. I nearly got away with reading it too, nearly. It was one of those small stick mags, not much bigger than a TV guide and I figured so long as I kept the pages tight together my PE teacher wouldn’t know otherwise. Infact I was so confident I only sat a few metres away from him on the benches.
But even that was too close. Somehow he managed to make out some of the text on the back page and I was busted, big time. I held my head high as I was lead away because I knew that the class room cred I was going to get for it was priceless and despite what the rest of the fellas were yelling out, we both knew it wasn't a stiffy that had given me away. I never did get that magazine back now I think of it.
The reading of books is a dying art and physical reading is fast becoming something only those without PCs still do. There's certainly not much you can't read on the intra web these days but its not the same is it? This blog aside, is there any web page you genuinely get excited about reading on the web at least once a day? Probably not but a good book does that, if you're lucky enough to find one that is.
Bookstores are also great places to buy DVDs which again confuses the hell out of me because they cancel each other out dammit! If you're reading a good book you're not likely to be watching a movie while you do so. Precious book space is being taken up by DVDs and the irony is whilst I can find the Underbelly title on DVD I can't find the thing in print.
But there is such a thing as too much book. Dymocks Lambton Quay went into receivership a few months ago and that place was wall to wall book. The place was full of obscure stuff that was expensive and well, obscure. You could rock up to Dymocks and order just about everything which is great for the consumer but not so for the store. Imported books are often expensive to import and thus heavily marked up to cover the margins, if the poor bugger who orders it then doesn't show to collect then you've got a very expensive door stop sitting on the shelf.
Maybe they should’ve sold hot nuts? Or lawn mowers.
P.S I'm still looking for Underbelly A Tale of Two Cities if you see a copy somewhere..
Last week I wandered around like an idiot not in on a private joke, looking for a fairly new book (Underbelly a Tale of Two Cities), which I rather foolishly thought would be readily available because a) the series of the same name has just shown here on TV and b) its about a Kiwi and the infamous drug ring that he set up.
But fuck me if I could find it. What I actually found in many of the so called 'bookstores' I ventured into was a lot of crap, the likes of which you expect to find in the $2 shop, not a book store. Bookshops, it would seem, are desperate for your cash and rather than sticking to the very thing that got the punters in the door in the first place they're whoring their floor to the peddlers of rubbish in the hope they’ll get a sale, any sale.
It’s a bit like going to the supermarket and them trying to tempt you in picking up a microwave amongst your veggies, or outdoor furniture whilst choosing your ice cream. Sounds ridiculous doesn't it? But still the bastards try it on and it’s a good thing really because I've forgotten the number of times I've longed to be able to bag a good lawn mower whilst picking up the milk...
More and more shops are adding stock that simply doesn't fit and personally I take offence at the insult it creates to my intelligence. My local Video Sleazy now has a 'hot nuts' device on its counter and it’s got absolutely nothing to do with the Adult section. Now you can get a bag of hot, roasted peanuts with the DVD you don't plan to watch for several hours.
Now I am a big reader and always have been. Why once I even read a Penthouse Forum at school during our compulsory quiet reading period after each lunch break. It was all I had in my bag on account of being passed it earlier in the day as it was my turn to have it for a week. I nearly got away with reading it too, nearly. It was one of those small stick mags, not much bigger than a TV guide and I figured so long as I kept the pages tight together my PE teacher wouldn’t know otherwise. Infact I was so confident I only sat a few metres away from him on the benches.
But even that was too close. Somehow he managed to make out some of the text on the back page and I was busted, big time. I held my head high as I was lead away because I knew that the class room cred I was going to get for it was priceless and despite what the rest of the fellas were yelling out, we both knew it wasn't a stiffy that had given me away. I never did get that magazine back now I think of it.
The reading of books is a dying art and physical reading is fast becoming something only those without PCs still do. There's certainly not much you can't read on the intra web these days but its not the same is it? This blog aside, is there any web page you genuinely get excited about reading on the web at least once a day? Probably not but a good book does that, if you're lucky enough to find one that is.
Bookstores are also great places to buy DVDs which again confuses the hell out of me because they cancel each other out dammit! If you're reading a good book you're not likely to be watching a movie while you do so. Precious book space is being taken up by DVDs and the irony is whilst I can find the Underbelly title on DVD I can't find the thing in print.
But there is such a thing as too much book. Dymocks Lambton Quay went into receivership a few months ago and that place was wall to wall book. The place was full of obscure stuff that was expensive and well, obscure. You could rock up to Dymocks and order just about everything which is great for the consumer but not so for the store. Imported books are often expensive to import and thus heavily marked up to cover the margins, if the poor bugger who orders it then doesn't show to collect then you've got a very expensive door stop sitting on the shelf.
Maybe they should’ve sold hot nuts? Or lawn mowers.
P.S I'm still looking for Underbelly A Tale of Two Cities if you see a copy somewhere..
Monday, July 6, 2009
A Funny Telco Ad? Imagine That Jermaine...
Nice one 2 Degrees; you’ve only been in the mobile biz for all of five minutes and you’ve already blown away the opposition in the eyes of a public gagging for some competition.
The Rhys Darby ad is head and shoulders above the Telescum XT network effort that has me not really wanting to watch Top Gear anymore. A pity really because Dickie Hammond is quite amusing when testing cars and other shit that actually requires the wearing of fire retardant overalls.
I wonder how many folk actually know who The Hamster is. Admittedly Top Gear might have an appeal that is a little greater than just those that watch the show on Prime but it wouldn’t be much more. If you didn’t know who he is then you’re probably thinking he’s just another annoying English accent in another annoying Telco ad. And you’d be right.
Everybody who knows Rhys Darby is. He’s Murray, the manager of The Conchords and NZs funniest guy right now. Any production that lets him play on what comes naturally to him is guaranteed to get the attention of the masses and even if 2 Degrees have blown the whole advertising budget on just the one ad it’s a keeper.
And the key is that it’s Rhys playing Murray, or is that vice versa? It’s not a desperate copy by some cheeky bugger trying to stir the porridge that is The Conchords success, like the Moro ad (NZs Fourth Favourite Chocolate Bar) or the two Aussie wankers on the pizza ad singing unfunny songs. Nope, this is the original; accept no substitute.
Good on you 2 Degrees. You are the equivilant of a text message in the timeline of mobile providers here in Godzown but you've already shown you know us better those ex-pat Pommie wasters over at Telescum do. Now I don’t know anything about you, your products or your prices – but I want one.
Imagine that!
Friday, July 3, 2009
Stiffies in Toy Shops
Man I love it when life comes full circle.
When I was kid there were only three toys worth having and in this order:
1. G.I.Joe
2. Transformers
3. Star Wars
G.I.Joe, the Greatest American Hero, was hands down the big daddy of the three and kids were so into them the Government of the time seriously considered making the trade of the 3 & 1/2 inch figures a form of legal tender.
The craze had started a few years earlier with the advent of Star Wars figures but whilst they were cool, they did suffer from one design flaw; their limbs didn’t bend. G.I.Joes on the other hand were like a good strap on; fully pose able and their accessories were interchangeable. They took action figure play to a whole new level that older brothers everywhere, owners of copious Star Wars figures, could only dream of.
I loved my Joes. I was the first kid in the neighbourhood – in my school - to get them. When I was young my Mother presented me with two comics one fateful day and said I could get one of them weekly, all I had to do was choose a title.
Now one was Whizzer and Chips, a comic about cheeky English kids and one was Battle Action Force and it had guns, planes and war. The choice was a simple one for a nine year old boy. I’m not sure if I knew the expression back then but I probably said ‘Fuck Yeah’ when reading the latter.
Action Force was the English copy of G.I.Joe. It had all the same characters and back stories and my god was it cool. Every week I got a new copy of Battle Action Force and I can’t be sure, but I think I possibly started experiencing my first erections around that time in my life.
Some time later Action Force figures appeared in the local toyshop and I somehow managed to scam my parents into buying me a few. Possibly the embarrassment of seeing their pubescent son standing with a stiffy in the shop played a part, who knows? Later G.I.Joe toys hit the shops and I was no longer the only kid with a 3 and ½ inch member in their shorts.
Back then war toys were the norm and nobody cared that boys ran around with guns playing soldiers. The plastic guns you could buy from Toy World looked real but everybody knew they were plastic. These days they put orange bits on the end so that they look fake and yet some people think they’re legit. Go figure.
Every boy I knew wanted to be in the army. At lunch time we would mobilise en masse and re-enact every major global conflict to date. Once G.I.Joe hit the market then our role plays hit a new level, now we could be complex characters with back stories and differing personalities struggling to function as a combative unit in a hierarchical structure. And that’s just how we discussed it too.
By the late eighties though the world was changing; cold wars were ending, walls were coming down and war stuff was not looked upon quite as awesome as it once had been. Captain Planet was the most watched cartoon after school and he was most definitely not into fighting legions of crazed Cobra troopers. Nobody seemed to care that his uniform was not in the slightest way camouflaged nor that his sidekick was not a mute badass Ninja, but a bunch of multi national, ethnic minority kids.
Transformers were the next big thing and the natural progression from G.I.Joes, just as they had been to Star Wars. Our younger siblings were more excited about cars and trucks that turned into robots than they were masked ninjas and terrorists. The writing was well and truly on the wall for the Real American Hero long before the G.I.Joe & Transformers cross over comics started coming out.
And kids didn't need Megan Fox straddling things in cut off jean shorts to be tempted into buying Transformers either. I've always wondered what the fuss with Fox is? Sure she's a looker but in her line of work who isn't? The teenage buzz about Fox reminds me of the very same buzz we fellas had over Tea Leoni when she first appeared in Bad Boys. Admittedly she had some very sexy legs all the way from her bum to the ground but once she had her 15 minutes of fame we all moved on. Now she's married to self confessed sexaholic David Duchovny. Score.
Anyhoo, next month the live action G.I.Joe movie hits theatres and the promo machine has started to crank up. Just like the two Transformer movies before it, figures and accessories are again on the toy shop shelves and yep, they still give me a woodie.
Which is a lot harder to explain when you’re a grown man standing in the kids toy aisle at The Warehouse. Trust me on that one.
When I was kid there were only three toys worth having and in this order:
1. G.I.Joe
2. Transformers
3. Star Wars
G.I.Joe, the Greatest American Hero, was hands down the big daddy of the three and kids were so into them the Government of the time seriously considered making the trade of the 3 & 1/2 inch figures a form of legal tender.
The craze had started a few years earlier with the advent of Star Wars figures but whilst they were cool, they did suffer from one design flaw; their limbs didn’t bend. G.I.Joes on the other hand were like a good strap on; fully pose able and their accessories were interchangeable. They took action figure play to a whole new level that older brothers everywhere, owners of copious Star Wars figures, could only dream of.
I loved my Joes. I was the first kid in the neighbourhood – in my school - to get them. When I was young my Mother presented me with two comics one fateful day and said I could get one of them weekly, all I had to do was choose a title.
Now one was Whizzer and Chips, a comic about cheeky English kids and one was Battle Action Force and it had guns, planes and war. The choice was a simple one for a nine year old boy. I’m not sure if I knew the expression back then but I probably said ‘Fuck Yeah’ when reading the latter.
Action Force was the English copy of G.I.Joe. It had all the same characters and back stories and my god was it cool. Every week I got a new copy of Battle Action Force and I can’t be sure, but I think I possibly started experiencing my first erections around that time in my life.
Some time later Action Force figures appeared in the local toyshop and I somehow managed to scam my parents into buying me a few. Possibly the embarrassment of seeing their pubescent son standing with a stiffy in the shop played a part, who knows? Later G.I.Joe toys hit the shops and I was no longer the only kid with a 3 and ½ inch member in their shorts.
Back then war toys were the norm and nobody cared that boys ran around with guns playing soldiers. The plastic guns you could buy from Toy World looked real but everybody knew they were plastic. These days they put orange bits on the end so that they look fake and yet some people think they’re legit. Go figure.
Every boy I knew wanted to be in the army. At lunch time we would mobilise en masse and re-enact every major global conflict to date. Once G.I.Joe hit the market then our role plays hit a new level, now we could be complex characters with back stories and differing personalities struggling to function as a combative unit in a hierarchical structure. And that’s just how we discussed it too.
By the late eighties though the world was changing; cold wars were ending, walls were coming down and war stuff was not looked upon quite as awesome as it once had been. Captain Planet was the most watched cartoon after school and he was most definitely not into fighting legions of crazed Cobra troopers. Nobody seemed to care that his uniform was not in the slightest way camouflaged nor that his sidekick was not a mute badass Ninja, but a bunch of multi national, ethnic minority kids.
Transformers were the next big thing and the natural progression from G.I.Joes, just as they had been to Star Wars. Our younger siblings were more excited about cars and trucks that turned into robots than they were masked ninjas and terrorists. The writing was well and truly on the wall for the Real American Hero long before the G.I.Joe & Transformers cross over comics started coming out.
And kids didn't need Megan Fox straddling things in cut off jean shorts to be tempted into buying Transformers either. I've always wondered what the fuss with Fox is? Sure she's a looker but in her line of work who isn't? The teenage buzz about Fox reminds me of the very same buzz we fellas had over Tea Leoni when she first appeared in Bad Boys. Admittedly she had some very sexy legs all the way from her bum to the ground but once she had her 15 minutes of fame we all moved on. Now she's married to self confessed sexaholic David Duchovny. Score.
Anyhoo, next month the live action G.I.Joe movie hits theatres and the promo machine has started to crank up. Just like the two Transformer movies before it, figures and accessories are again on the toy shop shelves and yep, they still give me a woodie.
Which is a lot harder to explain when you’re a grown man standing in the kids toy aisle at The Warehouse. Trust me on that one.
Now this is a collection.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
So Long Ambrosia...
One of our best girls left the Club this week and it’s fair to say shit got emotional.
Amz was the classic bar maid type – not that we ever subjected her to such a restricting role here – she always let you think you were in with a chance but yet you never really were. She was a girl of many talents and quite the back story, some of which can finally be told today.
Not many people know the girl we know as Amy Diggins Buckley was born on a remote island known as Amazonia, the same place Wonder Woman and all the Tui girls came from. Her birth name is actually Ambrosia but she would change it later in life as we shall see.
Contrary to common belief she is actually of angelic descent and her mother, Aphrodite, has an interesting story to tell; According to the Greek poet Hesiod, she was born when Ouranos was castrated by his son Cronus. Cronus threw his severed genitals into the sea (as you do) and from the aphros (sea foam) arose Aphrodite. So there you go - those kooky Greeks aye?
Amy's early childhood was studying air hostesstry, for which she has always been pretty enough to be one. During lessons she would often day dream of being a lion, a tiger or a princess. Eventually she grew bored with the prospect of wearing a matching tunic, skirt and scarf every day and she decided against entering the profession and concentrated instead on being the most beautiful girl in the room, a talent she still bears today.
Coincidentally all the women of Amazonia are born with one fault, for if they weren't they would be perfect. Amy's is messy eating, another talent she still bears today.
Disillusioned with island life she soon left Amazonia on the back of dolphins and eventually set foot upon the beach at Napier in an event that is still remembered by the locals to this very day. They even cast a bronze statue of her to celebrate the occasion but mistook her native Amazonian dialect and thought she said her name was 'Pania'...
She was taken in by the Buckleys of Napier.The head of the household, Keef, was a simple man but he knew what love was and he loved the young Amy as his own. Later the family would relocate to Wellington after Keef heard the news that Elton John was due to play at the Stadium.
There she enrolled at Chilton St James, a private girls school in Lower Hutt. Despite its excellent academic record - Chilton is regularly placed in the top 2% for national examinations - it was a step down for our Amz as Chilton was only ranked second on the 'The Sexiest School Girls Come From' list maintained by all the college boys of the Hutt Valley*.
After graduating from Chilton, Amz wandered about in life just like a Taylor Swift song before chancing upon life here at ClubDes where she has been ever since. It was Mr ClubDes who first spotted her and thought she pretty enough to be a waitress. Needless to say he promptly offered her a job on the spot and thus he took her under his wing. The young Amz adored him and his cool style and he her.
But like any good relationship between an artist and his muse there were volatile times and often the two could be heard arguing over whether or not Lost was still worth watching. It was then and still is to this day – but only if you’ve kept watching it.
Some would say that it was written in the stars that the girl formerly known as Ambrosia from Amazon would go on to great things and so she did, becoming someone reasonably important here at the Club not long after starting. Such is life when you look like our Amz.
But all good fairy tales must come to an end and so thus ends ours. Amz is leaving the hallowed hallways of ClubDes to see the world but we’re pretty confident she’ll be back. One day.
* The actual rankings of Hutt schoolgirls according to we boys in 1993 / 1994 were:
1. St Orans
2. Chilton St James
3. Sacred Heart
4. Slut Valley High
I once went out with a St Orans girl but things went downhill around the time she started accused me of stalking her. Hey – she invited me to watch her netball games; how is that ‘stalking’?!
I should’ve gone out with a Chilton girl….
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