Halloween Cometh and Goeth (Thank God for That)

Now we all know that we Kiwis don't really get into the spirit of Halloween.

Most of us see it as an Americanised thing that only comes about because we watch so much Americanised garbage on the box. But it's precisely for that very reason that there are now a whole generation of kids up and down the country who love the whole idea of dressing up, knocking on strangers doors and begging for shit. Or lollies. Depends what you're into I suppose.

Of course the scaremongers amongst us love this time of year because they can crank up the myth that there is a paedophile behind every door. Thankfully we haven't reached the state of paranoia about kiddie fiddlers that they have in the UK where an online newspaper heading this week read "Parents Are Warned Not to Watch Their Kids at a Park - In Case They Are A Paedophile".

Anyways, we don't really do the 'Ween here at ClubDes but we got many at our door who did. Here are a select few who, despite interrupting us from our streaming kiddie porn each and every time, did earn themselves a sweetie for making us laugh.

The Taste of Yellow & Teabagging Dead Men

Have you seen the latest in the series of Yellow Page ads that try hard to not be the scripted advertisement that they are?

The first was about some bird having to make a restaurant in the tree tops. The actress - yes that's right, she was an actress - made it on to our trampoline one week on account of her tightey whitey effort in the first ad. Ridiculous concept that but they knew you just can't beat a girl in a tightey whitey and the reason is simple; because we boys will try our darnedest to spot some Bruce Lee's (hard nips) each and every time. Tea in a tree? No thanks but if you're selling puppies I'll take the two with pink noses.

In the latest incarnation, some actor - yes that's right, he's an actor - is trying to discover what the taste of 'yellow' is and make a chocolate bar out of it. What is it with the fat bastards over at Yellow Pages and food do you think? First a restaurant and now choccies. Personally I think they should dunk a copy of the Yellow Pages in chocolate and make him eat it, now that would make for some interesting telly.

Do you want to know what my take on what yellow tastes like is? Well, first thing every morning, thanks to my my gnarly lungs, I cough up a ball of phlegm so thick you could plaster your walls with it and guess what colour it is? That's right. Try wrapping that in chocolate, you tit. Actually it'll be easy cause it's so gelatinous it usually sticks to anything.

Is there anything you can't yet do in a video game? The latest in the now long and boring 'Rockstar' series of games is 'DJ Star' where you, the budding DJ, spin a turntable shaped controller. Now all you need to do is get your mates round and have one turn the lights on and off, one flick water from a bottle all over the place and one constantly yell at you 'play the Macarena, play the fuckin Macarena', then you'll have yourself a rad rave. For the full affect you can get a whole bunch of chicks who spend their day clothes shopping at Supre to come round too, get pissed and chunder everywhere.

I've seen a lot of people play the Rockstar games and I'm yet to see any of them look half as cool as they think they do. Its Simon Says on a guitar is what it is and having Metallica playing along with it doesn't make it any cooler. I can't help but think that if only the millions of kids tuning it and coping out on their consoles actually learnt to play a real instrument instead then the chances of the series getting to 'DJ Star' would have been greatly reduced.

But I suppose can't really blame the makers of such a game for cashing in on what kids have always loved to do; play air guitar with a tennis racket, cricket bat or for those just-got-out-of-the-bath moments, their diddle.

First person shooters are stuffing it up for everybody too, not because they glorify violence because lets be honest, what doesn't do that these days? No games like HALO do absolutely nothing in preparing the youth of today for the apocalypse that humanity will soon force upon itself as a result of too many first person shooting games. The highlight of the game, as my homeboys Lillian and BigGayRay tell me, is to teabag your opponent when he's down for the count. Shit in my mouth. Teabagging a dead man?

We didn't survive three consecutive tours of Vietnam by slapping our gnads on the foreheads of deceased VC. Charlie was into some kinky shit but that wasn't one of them. Gloryholes in the showers, yes, Earl Graying dead guys, no. Have you actually ever tried teabagging anything? It's not easy (so I'm told) so how the youth of today plan to do that when locked, loaded and all the safeties are off is beyond me. You pull out those bad boys on the battlefield and somebody is going to put their weapon up your arse and pull the trigger till it goes 'click'. Maybe someone will make a game of that someday?

Kids huh? Why not smack one over the back of the head with the Yellow Pages next time you come across one playing Rockstar or HALO, it'll do them good.

No one ever got teabagged playing Simon Says

Bring Back The Luncheon

We wound back the clock at our place this long weekend; luncheon and tomato sauce sandwiches for lunch. Tidy.

Remember how luncheon used to be staple in our diets? Mum would come back from shopping with a pile of luncheon the size of a small child, all of which cost her about 30 cents. For you and I that meant luncheon, cheese slice and tomato sauce roly-polies all week, the breakfast, lunch and dinner of champions.

Then two things happened that almost irreversibly struck luncheon off the shopping list of mothers across the land. First, some ponce called Tarquin had an allergic reaction, allegedly to a slice of luncheon that he was given by the butcher who gave every kid a free slice of luncheon in the supermarket. We loved it because it was luncheon and that stuff was the shit. Our mothers loved it because it keep us quiet for 10 minutes.

But then Tarquin went and ruined it for everybody by having some sort of spew in the supermarket that was instantly attributed to the last thing he ate; free luncheon. To this day nobody knows if it really was the luncheon or something else that caused it, like perhaps the anti-bacterial soap that his mum doused him in after playing with the coloured boys up the street.

The story also caught the attention of the kind of people who long to make a fuss out of absolutely nothing and thus the seeds of a mass panic were sown in the guise of 'Letters to the Editor' and calls to talk back radio, all purporting to have experienced the holocaust that is free luncheon. Why they had never mentioned it before was never explained and thanks to their efforts a nation of precious mothers turned their fear from that of the coloured boys up the street to free luncheon in supermarkets, all the while stuffing Tarquin and Sebastian full of artificially coloured cereals, cordials and ridiculous things like chicken nuggets.

Those very same shit stirrers got their knickers in a twist the other week about silly boys doing silly things in front of swastikas and alike at the Auckland Museum and true to form, did they kick up a needless waste of all our time about that too. Suddenly several luncheon-free-diet boys were 'Public Enemy Number One' and only the butchers who used to give out free luncheon really knew how they felt.

It all reminded me of this one time as a child, whilst being dragged along to yet another dead set boring craft fair (the likes of which your parents always made you go to) I came across a guy peddling military memorabilia and man, did he have some good shit. Hanging high in the corner was a genuine Hitler Youth outfit and it was the business. I didn't dare ask where it came from because quite frankly he had a thick European accent and was roughly the age of an escaped-from-justice war criminal, but my god did I want it. Why? because it was cooler than free luncheon, that's why.

Thankfully due to the price (or because they never bought me anything I actually ever wanted anyway) my parents had the good sense not to indulge me that day and I was not given the chance to make a mistake that only a naive child would make; like bowing down in front of a banner bearing the swastika or in my case, strutting around a predominantly brown neighbourhood in a Hitler Youth costume.

Of course the other stink thank that heralded the end of free luncheon was that at some point we started to get a bit hoighty toighty about what we ate and suddenly common, we've been eating the stuff for ages luncheon was not quite good enough.

Instead Mum's started buying things like shaved champagne ham which had to be posh because it has booze in the title, but went shit with tomato sauce. That then lead to the cured meats, the peppered pastrami and these days, prosciutto which is ham you silly bitch, only at three times the price.

So bring back giving out the free luncheon I say, because life was never the same the day after they stopped.

Saving Boobs, One Asparagus Bunch At A Time

I smelt something suss the other morning whilst in the supermarket fondling bundles of asparagus. Had I had a small child with me I might've done what my parents used to do whenever they smelt something fruity; look down the back of my shorts.

What they hoped to see there when they did I will never know because if you've ever tried it with your own children then you'll know the only thing you see down a kids pants is their bum and unless they've had a shart of catastrophic proportions that's all you're ever going to see. But yet, parents everywhere still look. What would they do I wonder, if they did see something - fish it out in the middle of the fruit and veg department? Tasty.

I did once shart myself silly whilst at primary school. I knew I was in trouble the moment I could feel it run down the back of my knee and it was quite the mission making it unnoticed to the boys toilets in the furthest, far flung corner of the school. It's very difficult to run from only the knees down and especially when you're trying to make it look like you haven't just monumentally soiled yourself. Once there, it was a sight the likes of which I hope I never see in my own daks ever again. Things were so bad I had to flush the ones I was wearing and thus, my first experience of going commando was had that very afternoon.

But back in the supermarket it wasn't the asparagus itself that smelt mind you (no, that happened when I had my first whizz the day after I ate it), but more the fact that it was held together with pink rubber bands. On closer inspection of the tag there was that ever present pink bloody ribbon heralding breast cancer awareness, which in itself is cool, but on asparagus?!

October is Breast Cancer Action Month in case you weren't aware which means everybody who is in support of the cause is wearing pink ribbons and buying pink stuff. I'm not wearing a ribbon which must mean I am for breast cancer, which I'm not, but it gets a bit intimidating not brandishing one especially when surrounded by the farkin things. Ribbons that is, not breasts. I don't mind being enclosed by those, especially on long road trips where it's like being wrapped in bubble wrap.

The whole Breast Cancer Awareness thing has to be the 'most supported by a corporate' cause in town. One check of the website confirms that the list of companies plastering their tat pink is a lengthy one, proving that every man and his dog is in on the cause, even the farmer and their asparagus it would seem. Which is great for the awareness, of course, because breast cancer is the most prevalent cancer amongst our women and the most likely to affect that special lady in your life. Grim stuff indeed.

But it is those same sad stats that makes it a 'sexy' cause to be seen supporting, as if an indiscriminate cancer can ever be described as such a thing. All those products with a splash of pink on them make the cause a lot of money but I'm betting they make the producers a whole lot more. It's a ploy that pulls at the heart strings because who doesn't want to save boobies (god knows I know I do), so consumers who so want to be seen doing the right thing will buy the overpriced option that promises 10 whole cents to the cause.

Quite how the marketing extends to garden veg I don't know. Admittedly I was buying the asparagus because it was a two for deal and only noticed the label at the checkout, where, thankfully, there were no children whose pants I could look down the back off. Would the marketing work so well if it was testicular cancer? No, because your average pair of testes are only half appealing as your average set of nungas. And what colour ribbon would you use for that anyway, purpley red?

For the record I did put some coin in the bucket of the lady collecting at the mall because Breast Cancer Action Awareness month is a worthy cause. She gave me a ribbon but I haven't gotten round to wearing it. If only they gave you a Polaroid of the boobs you just saved....

Best Sporting Quote of All Time?

Quite possibly one of the most honest and amusing sporting quotes you're ever likely to hear came out of the mouth this week of Argentine National Team Manager, former World Cup Winner and legend of the game, Diego Maradona.

Maradona was speaking at the televised press conference after Argentina's great escape against Uruguay, a game they simply had to win in order to qualify for the World Cup Finals next year in South Africa.

Prior to this game Maradona and his team had come under heavy criticism from the national press in a country where people die for their football, so understandably they were a little pissed that the team was playing so poorly. Maradona was humble in victory:

"To those who did not believe in us - and ladies forgive me - they can suck my dick and keep on sucking it," he said. "I am black or white; I'll never be grey in my life."

"You lot take it up the arse, if the ladies will pardon the expression. This is for all Argentineans except for the journalists. I would like to thank the team for giving me the privilege to lead Argentina to the World Cup. Thank you to the Argentinean people who had faith.

"This is for those who did not believe in the team and treated me like dirt - but we still qualified with honour. They will now have to accept this. I want to thank the players and the fans - no one but them."

Maradona's comments were much like the man played football; direct, entertaining and breath taking. Consider yourself blessed - you may have just read one of the greatest sporting quotes of all time.

Infinity, Plus One.

Did you ever play that game at school with some smart arse who proclaimed that no matter what number you could think of he could think of one higher?

Naturally the biggest figure you could think of was 'infinity' but the focker could even beat that; he would retort 'plus one' and walk away before you or anyone noticed the stiffie that was forming in his corduroys with all the excitement of being 'right'.

Incidentally everyone's Mum made them wear cords back in the day because they were so hardy. Naff, but hardy. And if you tried to get out of wearing them by ripping a hole in the knee or crutch Mum just patched the bastards up, with some colour other than that of the cords. Now you were still wearing naff cords with naff knee patches. Mum fights back.

It was a futile argument then to try and convince the jammy prick that his premise was fundamentally flawed, the same way it is today with people who whole heartily believe in psychics, ghosts, conspiracy theories and even religion. And nothing brings out the crackpots quite like a missing toddler but I've whacked on about this kind of thing before and you and I are probably both sick of hearing me say it, which makes this blog all the more sweeter.

That was written of course before the terrible news came to light of just what exactly happened to wee Aisling but that hasn't stopped one such seer of dead people claiming that her vision that Aisling was 'in a hole or ditch' was spot on.

Only a drain, or specifically an underground drain pipe, is neither technically a hole or a ditch and although one needs to be dug before the pipe can be laid you would be hard pressed to argue otherwise. But then that's the psychics chief weapon; extreme vagueness. That and they can count higher than you. Infinity? Plus one.

After the grim news broke a large section of NZ started on one of their favourite pastimes - playing the blame game. And no one is immune from it; if only the mother hadn't turned her back on the child, if only the Police had of checked the drain better or if only the council had of fixed the drain weeks ago.

It's all bullshit and irrelevant now. Even with the benefit of hindsight this tragedy has to be seen for what it is, a terrible moment in time that happened by cruel chance. Will something similar happen to some other poor child elsewhere in the future? Sadly yes.

Busy, tired Mums will take their eyes of their toddlers, frantic Police will make split second decisions in times of great duress like when searching for a lost child and councils will spend their days ticketing cars parked partially on the footpaths of tight, narrow cul-de-sacs like mine then fixing faulty drain covers.

And some smart arse will try and convince you that he / she can count higher than you, or pretend to have images of a body in a vague location that kind of matches the usual description of where a body is found.

Plus one? Fuck off, you vultures.

Sheila of the Week

You always have to be a bit wary anytime someone - particularly an airbrushed celebrity - is named the 'worlds sexiest' anything.

Esquire magazine made just such a call this week when they crowned Kate Beckinsale as the worlds sexiest woman and in doing so professed "Isn’t it time to pay more attention to Kate Beckinsale?"

Maybe. It's a decision that we personally have absolutely no issue with because Beckinsale is a stunner and one of our Top 5 favourite Mums as we detailed in our Mothers Day Special earlier in the year. We are more than happy to pay more attention to her but we can understand if some fellas don't agree with the magazine's choice and even we would have to wonder, just for a moment mind you, if she is truly the 'sexiest woman alive'.

What makes one person sexier than another in just such a competition anyway? How do they know, did they test everybody? And if so can we get a bit of that action next year? Let's be honest; one man's wank is another mans yawn and chances are the 'winner' is little more than the one handed surfing fantasy of the person who makes the editorial decisions.

Thankfully, to their credit, Esquire didn't go down the Megan Fox fan club path that every magazine / website / wank blog seems to be signing up for because that girl is definitely over rated. I've said it once and I'll say it twice; Megan Fox reminds me of Tea Leoni and look what became of her. Not to mention she's turned a perfectly good film franchise into a sexploitation exercise and in doing so lowered the IQ quotient of those who get excited about the likes of Transformers 3.

If you're wondering what the fuss over Beckinsale is all about then you need to watch either of the first two Underworld movies where she does the whole vamp clad in tight black leather thing. Yeah, yeah - who hasn't, but like Carrie Anne Moss in The Matrix before her it was the performance she delivered whilst clad in the said leather that makes it all the more memorable. If action flicks aren't your thing then try Click (if you can put up with Adam Sandler doing the same ol same ol for two hours that is).

Beckinsale is indeed an incredibly attractive sheila. She may well be the sexiest woman alive but we'll reserve judgement until we've seen them all, but until then we're more than happy to let her hold the crown for now.

And yes, we could have posted one of the many millions of pics of her clad in very little to help illustrate that she is a bit of alright, but we think it's the pics of her looking really, really, really ridiculously good looking in civvies that do her the most justice.

Politicians and Cashies

I dunno about you cats but I'm well over our politicians fleecing we, the tax payers, once in office.

How is it that many of those elected by the people to serve the people can so easily live the life of luxury when many of those that bought them that privilege suffer through tough economic times? It must be some white cunts joke that we black cunts don't get.

It's almost as if they see being elected as the hard work and everything that comes along after that as the reward. Free travel, subsidised housing, personal expenses paid not to mention the aides these ministers have following them around like a fluffer on a porn set. Fuck me, it's tough at the top isn't it?

For example, Chris Carter, NZs gayest politician (and that's not a slur, he really is) spent over $130k in international travel in six short months whilst Labour was in power. He argues that everything was approved by the PM at the time (she of the suspect living arrangement) and that it was all above board.

Perhaps it was, ethically speaking, but morally it's right up there with stand up sodomy. For example he and his partner, who went with him on all his trips, spent over $7000 in a two night excursion to Sydney which is one hell of an expensive hand job in a hotel if you ask me. How do you rack up such a bill when you and I can get airfares to Oz as cheap as chips?

I'll tell you how; if you think you're above the good folk who elected you then you'll have no qualms about taking their hard earned taxes and living it up at every opportunity. Incidentally Carter thinks that the fuss around him taking his partner on his travels rises from the fact that he's gay. Not really Chris, although that does create some disturbing mental images, but it's because it's really a waste of our money, you tit.

Meanwhile, Bill English, the Minister of Fi-fucken-nance, tries to tell us that he didn't break any rules in claiming an allowance that most of us believe that morally he isn't entitled too. He's paid it back but the question you have to ask yourself is would he have done so if the shit hadn't hit the fan? Either he knew what he was doing and figured no one would notice or he's as thick as the clowns that several major European banks employed to run their empires a few years ago and who had no banking experience prior to getting the job! Not surprisingly they promptly ran the banks into the ground.

I know why these guys get away with this carry on. It's that ingrained 'good on ya mate' attitude we have towards those that pull a sneaky and who come out the better for it. It starts with getting someone in for a 'cashie', or claiming benefits that we aren't really entitled too or staying on ACC for a tad bit longer than we actually should. It happens when they guy next door takes more seafood when out in the boat than he's allowed but gives you some regardless. Everybody has done it, seen it and probably lamented it, but still it goes on because no bugger says nothing.

But the times are a changin' and as High-ho Tito Philip Field found out recently more and more people are not happy with a cashie and aren't afraid to now say so. Here's hoping more of this ingrained, institutionalised wasting of taxpayers money comes out in the wash so those that abuse the privilege can be exposed for what they are; a waste of space. Funny thing though, the Philip Field case, because every transaction I've had with a Thai national has always finished with a happy ending...

Of course those that do abuse the system get away with it for at least three years before you and I can do anything about it. Imagine being able to steal from your employer and know that there is not much he can do about it for three years? I reckon guys like Messrs Carter and English should have a yearly performance appraisal (just as you and I do at work) conducted by those that put them there in the first place. That'll shit 'em right up.

But should we expect anything substantial from geezers who approve their own pay rises? I doubt it.

Carter (MP for Poo Bay, where he likes to drop anchor) and partner. Together camper than a row of tents.

Dumb Is As Dumb Does

Sometimes I lament the ongoing dumbing down of this nation.

Usually I don't give a toss but just occasionally I can't help but sigh like you do when you think of a girl you could've gone all the way with but didn't. Now you chastise your indecision at the time and wonder 'what if' but no matter how hard you look, she's not on Facebook or Bebo, so even if she was interested 15 years later (and wasn't a complete minger) you know your chance is gone. You know that feeling and I know you know.

I had one of those moments after watching a show on Sunday that is hosted by Marc Ellis, which says it all really. It features Kiwis trying to break world records, but not outstanding stuff like being the first to reach some unmountable summit like we Kiwis used to do, no, these are decidedly low brow achievements; like trying to catch the most Malteasers in the mouth, tossing washing machines or breaking wooden toilet seats with your head. Real world changing achievement type of stuff.

Which in itself is okay I suppose, if you want to spend your days looking through the Guinness Book of World Records trying to find some obscure, who-gives-a-fuck record that you think you can break then good luck to you. But somebody with more influence than I made the conscious decision to put up the funds to make a program out of it and then sell it to the network who broadcast it every week. Why did they not stop to think that that some money could've been used to make something remotely educational or informative I wonder to myself?

At the other end of the social scale was the Tua / Cameron fight, billed as the fight of the century but alas proving to be far from it on the night. The real hi-jinks started earlier than that though when the two got together at one of their first press conferences and started discussing nuclear physics. Well, not quite. A meeting of Mensa minds this wasn't and after the jokes about old men and mountain goats* had passed I couldn't help but wonder if the Tua / Cameron circus would go the distance.

It did and it didn't. I personally thought that one of the two fighters would make like a Christian and pull out before the big night. When the tsunami hit Samoa it seemed like Tua might have his way out but full credit, he didn't and you can't help but think that the terrible event didn't help motivate Mr O for Owesome in some way because prior to that it seems his only motivation was to make it through the whole palava so that he could get down to Burger King.

On the night it was decidedly men vs the boys stuff and over in less than five minutes which has to be disappointing if you paid all that money to watch it in person. It might have been a spectacle to see Tua win like he did but so is watching Pearl Jam live and you'd be pretty pissed if they walked off after only one song. Now I'm not a boxing fan, sure, I like to see two men smash the shit out of each other as the next guy, but boxing is not my bag. But what I do love about it is seeing the effect it has on people in the crowd and the Tua fight / Cameron massacre was no exception.

There is something primal that happens to those present at such an event. It turns even the most ardent of white ribbon wearing person into Jake the Muss and often you see it in even the most unlikely of onlookers; women. Watch any boxing match where shit is getting torn up and I guarantee that in the background you will see some bird swinging her way into Fight Club. Brilliant.

Over in his native Samoa Tua's victory made front page news, knocking of the small, inconsequential event that was the 100+ life claiming tsunami. Now I know they love their sport over there but even that seemed a bit much. Perhaps one day someone will make a show of it called Tua vs The Tsunami; The Real Fight of the Century, starring Mark Ellis as David Tua.

Now that would be dumb.

*Shane Cameron's nickname is The Mountain Warrior. Mountain goats, incidentally, are best shagged at the edge of a cliff; they push back harder. Don't ask how I know this. Please.

Sexy Singles in Samoa?!

Good old Google aye - never one to miss an oppurtunity to try and sell you something you weren't actually looking for, no matter how off the subject it might be....

Up Yours Telescum

You know, I'm not always right but I'm never wrong and a case in point is my picking in an earlier blog that the Telescum XT mobile ads were a fizzer compared to the 2 Degrees effort.

This week the masses thought so too by voting the XT ads the worst on the annual Fair Go Ad awards. Admittedly the 2 Degrees ads didn't win the best ad category (despite being a finalist) but that's probably just as well because other wise this particular blog would be twice as long extolling just how easy it is being the smartest guy in the room.

Interestingly Fair Go is the second most watched show each week on NZ telly, so that means more than just Grandma put down her latest issue of Readers Digest to vote. Readers Digest mags were great weren't they? I challenge you to find a bach / holiday home / doctors waiting room that doesn't have at least one amongst the reading material on offer. I reckon they are second only to Commando comics in terms of proliferation back in the day where you were guaranteed to find one, or several in magazine racks everywhere.

So I picked it like a broken nose that Richard Hammond would prove to be a lot less popular than our own Rhys Darby who lets face it, is in everything at the moment. The problem isn't so much The Hampster but the fact that the XT ads are, well, gay.

Zoe Bell is a top notch girl but no one is buying her 'out to sea in a ship container' rubbish. For a product that purports to be exceedingly high tech it was a real teabagging of the consumer by Telescum to try and have us believe ads that were decidedly low tech. So the phone works in a tunnel? Shit, lets sit down with a coffee and celebrate Christmas then.

Unsurprisingly it was an ex-pat Pom who accepted the award on behalf of Telescum and an ex-pat Pom who explained just how the 2 Degrees ad was shot which beggars the question; is their anyone working in the telecommunications industry in this country who isn't from the Mother country?! I know they broke the Enigma code during World War II but that doesn't make the buggers the authority on all things phones, especially the poofs over at Telescum who clearly don't know anything about making ads.

And don't you just hate blogs and articles that are full of hyperlinks like this? I always wonder if the writer actually wants me to read their work or spend all my in-between-porn-time at other sites....

P.S. That last one is a link to porn actually. Don't click it if you're at work. Admittedly information that would have been useful two paragraphs ago if you already have, my bad.

Uma and Zoe discuss just how stink the XT ads are..