Oh Hell No.

The dude who plays Captain America in the new movie of the same name played Human Torch in the Fantastic Four movies (X Men movies to you Maxi).

I thought we all agreed that a brother should only ever play one super hero in his career so as not to fuck it up for everybody else?!

That’s another movie I will never watch on principal. Good one. I’m not even going to look up a picture of the guy to add to this post...

Boring Sports # 4 - Mixed Martial Arts

Mixed Martial Arts competitions are apparently quite popular these days. Apparently. Not only do I think MMA is a boring sport but when I see footage of two grown men doing this to each other for long periods of the bout I find it quite disturbing:

You’d never catch us ninjas doing that. Let’s face it, you’d never catch us ninjas full stop. For instance look around the room you’re sitting in, there are three ninjas hiding there right now. Can’t see them? Told you.

MMA for the uninitiated is a competition that brings all the popular martial arts together in one massive knock down throw down. It’s a Jean Claude Van Damme movie without the bad acting and slow mo spin kicks. It’s primal and most of the time brutal and just like boxing that’s what makes it so popular.

The fighters are not your standard pin up variety; they’re tough, full of sinew and almost to a man sport broken noses. The women are not much better except that is for Gina Carano who can, quite frankly, beat the shit out of me anytime she wants. You may recognise her from American Gladiators, I recognise her from the many ‘wife beats husband’ fantasies I’ve had involving her.

Now I know a thing or two about martial arts. Aside from the whole ninja thing Coops and I used to partake in a spot of it back in the day. He was quite good; I just liked the outfit and the weapons. Mostly just the outfit.

We had a ‘sensei’ and I do use the term loosely, who reckoned he attended many a MMA type event, a ‘fight to the death’ kind of thing. I won’t name him because he still kicks about today and is and always has been a complete nutter. Whilst I would eliminate him were it to come to him seeking me out there is always that element of the unknown when dealing with a mad man.

He used to ‘go’ to these tournaments and we’d not see him for a fortnight. Upon his return, unscathed it should be noted, he would regale us of just how far he got in the tournament – semi finals usually – and just how brutal it was. Something I could never understand though was if it really was a ‘death match’ competition, how he always survived despite not being the winner? Alarm bells, as they say, were ringing.

Of course, we had our suspicions that he’d not been to such a competition at all and had actually been staying down at his parent’s rural retreat in Nelson. We suspected this but never said anything because we were only 16 and clearly idol worshiped the man. Not to mention he was a screw loose, with easy access to weapons.

Needless to say that story, like MMA bouts, had a predictable ending; gradually we got too old for the bollocks of it all and moved on. Luckily for him there was a whole bunch of teenage boys afterwards that took our place and there always will be. MMA might be cool when you’re young, dum and full of cum, but to everyone else, it’s just boring.

Oh and those who think they’re ninjas stuff it up for those of us that actually are. Three in your room remember…

Gina can smack this bitch up any time she wants...

Reboot.

Hows this for irony; the ClubDes desktop is broke and despite working on a technical help desk I can’t do a thing about it.

Not surprising really because I’m an ideas man, not really a doer as Mrs ClubDes is only too happy to point out. Admittedly she starts plenty of things started but seldom finishes them so we make a good pair really.

I know what’s wrong with the damn thing and no, it’s not a hard drive chock full of ‘the good stuff’. The video card is stuffed and I’ve proven it by using a loner from work that I really should have kept because no one would have noticed if I had. But I am an honest lad and didn’t.

That was about two years ago and since then have made three concerted efforts to find a replacement, mostly under harassment of not being a doer, I should add. The first involved me contacting Hewlett Packard directly only to have the will to live sucked from me by their helpless desk and their incessant need to tick every fucken box on their ‘450 mandatory checks to make before logging a fault’ list.

The second involved Chef because he’s quite clued up and not just with food. He was very helpful and we got to the point where we tested two replacement cards that were new, but faulty. And about there he left it, possibly because I lost interest and he picked me, quite correctly I might add, as a hopeless case.

So we come to the third, most recent attempt which started with me emailing the deets through to HP the other day. ‘Deets’ by the way is short for ‘details’. I get this new found abbreviated jargon from coaching my girls who are all totes about the abbreviation. ‘Totes’ is short for ‘totally’, btw, which is short for…..oh forget it.

They emailed me back stating that although our desktop was no longer supported but did provide a link to an approved supplier that may have the part. They didn’t, because the desktop is no longer supported. Funny that.

Unsupported? My Grandmas nungas are unsupported and why not at her age aye, she’s earned the right to free boob if she wants, but it’s a bit fucken cheeky of HP to say the same about a bit of kit that I bet somewhere, right now, some Asian family is getting paid 50 cents a day to put together and dispatch. Now this is no Commodore 64 from 1984 either, it’s about four years old.

They want me to buy a new one, that’s why it’s not supported no more. But it’s a fine line playing that game because I’m so slutted with them I’m not going to buy HP ever again. I’ll instead buy some other brand that will undoubtedly go the same way in four years time. And you thought porn on the internet was free aye? What a fucken liberty.

It’s a conspiracy is what it is. I’ve always felt the same about Sony who I truly believe have a big red button on the wall somewhere at Sony HQ that when pressed, kills off all the previous incarnations of the Playstation meaning, if you have one, that you now have to upgrade to the new $800 model. That button sounds like a cash register when pushed.

Thankfully I have one more option and it, or rather he, works on the help desk, so I know he’ll know his shit. Unless he’s an ideas man, like me then I really am stuffed.

So no pressure Puffer, but it’s your cock up, my arse.

I'm pretty sure I know what the problem is...

The Road Trip

My sister and I are planning a road trip to see our Grandmother, god bless her.

Given that we haven’t had such a joint excursion since our adolescence it’s fair to say a few things have changed from when our only worry was who got the bigger slice of the backseat…

From: Trish
Sent: Thursday, 21 July 2011 11:01
To: ClubDes
Subject: RE:

Will leave around 9 or 10 Saturday then Head home around 2 on Sunday depending on how things go. Did you want a ride?

From: ClubDes
Sent: Thursday, 21 July 2011 11:11 a.m.
To: Trish
Subject: RE:

Possibly. First I require you to answer these suitability questions and take your time because my choosing you as a preferred transportation partner may depend on your answers:

1. What kind of car do you have?
2. Will there be smoking in said vehicle?
3. Will you be playing some indie music rubbish like Artic Monkeys the whole way?
4. What’s the rule on toilet stops i.e. none so bring an empty Coke bottle
5. Is the mooning of other cars / hitch hikers from the backseat permitted?
6. Can I drive?

From: Trish
Sent: Thursday, 21 July 2011 11:26
To: ClubDes
Subject: RE:

1. We have a little Nissan hatch back you saw it when we where at granddads funeral.
2. I am happy to not smoke in the car for you however that will require 1 perhaps 2 smoke stops.
3. Mike is a music snob and so will be DJ for the trip he may if you’re nice let you give him suggestions on what he wants to play but he will override any unacceptable choices.
4. We can stop for the Loo when ever.
5. You can moon who you like as long as it’s not me.
6. No you can not drive.

From: ClubDes
Sent: Thursday, 21 July 2011 11:36 a.m.
To: Trish
Subject: RE:

Interesting. Allow me to retort:

1. That sounds far too tight a fit for my liking. Where do you expect to sit all the female hitchhikers that I will demand you stop and pick up?
2. No toilet stops no smoko stops. See Q4.
3. Whatever. Make sure mike packs his headphones then cause I aint listening and besides, the driver dictates the music. See Q6.
4. This was rhetorical question. I’m bringing an empty coke bottle because that’s how I roll.
5. Hmm. What about other genitals? I do a fantastic ‘drowned rat’ up against glass. Not to mention ‘The Eiffel Tower’ and ‘The Lady’, always a crowd favourite.
6. Again, rhetorical.

From: Trish
Sent: Thursday, 21 July 2011 11:41
To: ClubDes
Subject: RE:

Please bring a funnel to ensure no spillage into said coke bottle.

I am assuming you would like a ride and except my outlined conditions as below, you are welcome to run from the car if you can’t cope.

From: ClubDes
Sent: Thursday, 21 July 2011 12:20
To: Trish
Subject: RE:

No funnel required. My aim is so true I can delabel said Coke bottle from the inside using the concentrated stream of mellow yellow only. It’s the heat you see, it melts the glue holding it on. Back in Nam we’d often use our canteens as hot water bottles after filling them this way. Of course we had to then drink it the next day so as to stop the sloshing which would give a brother away to the keen ears of Charlie…

What are the rules around flatulence? Windows up, or down?

From: Trish
Sent: Thursday, 21 July 2011 12:42
To: ClubDes
Subject: RE:

No rules what ever happens, happens. I for one am planning on having curry on Friday night.

From: ClubDes
Sent: Thursday, 21 July 2011 12:44
To: Trish
Subject: RE:

Correct answer.

I’m in.

Happy Birthday Coops

Happy Birthday Coops. I know I’m a week late and you probably thought I forgot but I hadn’t, it’s just that our history runs deep so I’ve been busy doing the things we used to do, in celebration of your special day.

I started by trying to find the skin flick we watched that one time in the wee early hours of the morning at my house. You know the one, with the anal beads? Back then that was some kinky stuff, especially for a couple of 16 year olds like us, but not these days. Do you know just how many hits you get when you do a Google video search on that particular key word?

Then I consumed a six pack of Double Brown because that’s the only beer cheap enough for us to buy back in the day with your fake ID. I struggled to get through it because, quite frankly, it’s shit and it makes me wonder if the guys at the bottler that sold it to us picked us for a couple of kids all along but were just happy to get rid of the stuff.

I cycled from my house to yours like we always used to do. Quite the effort these days given we live 35 minutes by car and a major motorway away now, not the 10 we used to. Still, I managed to nick enough milk and newspapers from letterboxes like I always did to make the trip worthwhile. Oh and I stoned Bollocks house on the way. Turns out he doesn’t live there any more, shitto.

You weren’t home when I eventually got there but I let myself in and tried on some of your clothes, just like back in the day. They were too big, still, but I wore them anyway because you always had cool labels where mine just said ‘DEKA’.

I played Uno and chess, by myself, but still managed to trash talk myself the whole time. I watched all the Arnie and Hot Damn Van Damme movies in chronological order and even spent 45 minutes hidden in the back yard waiting to ambush you like I always did when we played war. Not surprisingly you never found me; yep, I’ve still got it.

Finally I took that long list of ours that had every girl from school on it we rated and that if they played their cards right, would get a bit of Coops & Deso. I looked them all up on Facebook and guess what? That list is now not as long as it used to be.

Naturally at that point I finished things (and myself) off with that love beads movie again.

So there you go big boy, a birthday celebration and a half.

I was always borrowing Coops' clothes.

Living The Dream (Again)

One of the many perks of working where I do is that I get to see the kind of things everyday that you wouldn't unless you a) decided to go all David Bain on your workmates or b) whacked yourself up a meth lab in the garage.

It is the stuff of a boys wet dream but sometimes I can get a little get carried away with living in it...

From: Brian
Sent: Wednesday, 13 July 2011 12:40
To: Everyone

Subject: Helicopter Exercise Thursday 14 July 2011

In the interest of 'safety' staff are asked to remain off the playing field south between the hours of 7.30am and 1pm due to a Police AOS exercise taking place, involving an Air Force helicopter,

There will be some noise associated with the hovering and landing/taking off of the helicopter, due to the exercise involved.

Thank you
Brian

From: ClubDes
Sent: Wednesday, 13 July 2011 12:47
To: Brian

Subject: FW: Helicopter Exercise Thursday 14 July 2011

Dear Brian,

Thanks for the heads up and releasing classified information, this was SUPPOSED to be a Black Op. Good one.

Please have them hover outside the windows of Level 3 of our building for my for extraction. They won’t need to look for me because I’ll find them, but a related image is attached for you to stick on the wall of the room that no one else is allowed to go into, ever.

Oh and they needn’t worry about me making the jump; It’s not the spoon that bends, it is only yourself.

Yours, with all three eyes open and the safeties off,

Thanks,

Name classified.

A Question Of Sport

Football

The new turf has gone up at Wakefield Park and by all accounts it’s epic. It certainly looks the bizzo but for all the rugby markings. I thought rugby players were supposed to be right hard and that spending the entire gaming steaming away in a mud bath was part of that hardness?

Suddenly they all want to play on artificial surfaces now like a right bunch of hairdressers. And to think that they’ve always called us footballers soft. They’ll be wearing long shorts next…

Cycling

The Tour de Pharmacy is underway again and despite awesome pics like this coming out of it we all know that it’s only a matter of time before someone – probably the winner – gets done for doping. I have a theory on drugs in sport; why not simply have two versions of such events, one with the au natural riders and those that admit to take performance enhancing shit?

That way everyone will be on the same page and there can be no disputes about the winner being pumped up on horse tranquillisers or whatever it is they take. They could do the same for the Olympics et al. It would be an interesting exercise if only to see which got the most viewer ship.

Oh and who knew the cyclists don’t even wear so much as a banana hammock under their budgie smugglers aye?

Netball

Now I love the sight of fit young women wearing tight little netball dresses rolling around on the floor as much as the next guy, but the whole Silver Ferns / Australia netball two horse race thing has gotten about as interesting as the Living Channel.

I love the Ferns, even once got to coach them for a day (true story) but there is something imminently boring in them thrashing everybody only to face, yep, you guessed it, the Ossies in the final. Again.

At least win the damn thing girls so it’s you rolling around on the floor, please?

Give Me The Daily Bread

It was bread night on Masterchef Australia last night.

I know, I know, Masterchef right? But now that Project Runway has finished but how else do I appease the wee gay man inside of me? And no RayWay, I’m not talking about you. Not this time anyway.

Now I get a serious case of the moistees when I see a good loaf of bread. Ciabatta is my favorite and I will gladly eat the stuff till I’m passing loaves of it, but I equally like any bread with a good hard crust on.

Every time we go to one of those farmers markets things - which to be fair is rare because I have a thing about crowds - I stand at the bread place staring longingly at the fare, just wanting to stroke the perfectly formed mounds of sour dough.

I like the look of the one that’s blacker than a black mans cape too but haven’t yet tried it and I’m always partial to a nice stiff baguette and, occasionally, a seeded loaf. I do draw the line at olives though. Not in my bread or my stool fuck you very much.

When I was younger my step father used to take me down to a bakery where his brother worked on Saturday mornings. He’d help him load up the trays full of freshly baked loaves ready for the pick up by the distribution trucks.

Whilst they spent the hours doing that I went around the loaves ripping of the melted cheese and crusty bits. Needless to say the guys at the bakery were not pleased but I was right chuffed because we had to take all the fiddled with loaves home to eat but only after I had been given a good tanning across the buttocks with step father’s belt. Still, I’d call that a result.

Incidentally, you would have thought that I would have learnt my lesson form that wouldn’t you? Some years later whilst living at the camping ground with Grandad I took to taking sips from the trays of 1.5 litre fizzy beverages he stocked to sell in the on site shop. You know the ones, with the safety seal on the cap? And to think I thought no one would notice…criminal genius I wasn’t.

Speaking of baking, I’d like to give a quick shout out to Remco Funke, the friendly Dutchman with the porn star name who is a long time listener, first time caller and although we have never officially met, I am reliably informed tunes in regularly. Welkom Remco, which translated from the Dutch means ‘welcome’. I like you already.

Like so many of my adult weirdness I blame my step father for my bread fetish, for it was he that would nip down to the local dairy on a Sunday morning and return with a crusty tiger loaf under one arm and the Sunday News under the other. Of course back in those days said Sunday News always had a Page 3 girl so clearly I equated her baps with those of the crusty variety and thus an erotic connection was made.

Much in the same way some folk say that we fellas love a navel piercing because it reminds us of the staples in a stick mag. I wouldn’t know about that, I hardly ever made it as far as the middle on those things; the articles were always too good.

I never did last the entire episode of Masterchef last night either, once they started fondling their Artisan Rye Sourdough and banging their dinner rolls together I had to change channels...

Dan, The 'Showbiz Editor'.

It’s funny how you remember some people.

You might have seen / heard the kerfuffle around the News of the World crashing and burning this week after it’s come to light they hacked a whole bunch of cell phones in the UK including that of a murdered girl. The fuckers.

So sensing a shit storm, Rupert Murdoch shut the whole paper down. It was a spectacular move and a spectacular story, even here in NZ and naturally our media did what they always do when something actually newsworthy i.e. Not the Harry Potter movie premiere, happens. They try to find ‘the NZ angle’.

And this one was easy because the News of the World has a NZ staff member, Dan. We’ll call him Dan because that’s his name. Not his full name you might have noticed but as he strikes me as the kind of cat to Google himself, regularly, I won’t use his last name.

He’s the papers’ Showbiz Editor. No really, there is actually such a position. It’s an oxymoron really because ‘showbiz’ is not really news; it’s scripted, planned and marketed. In fact it’s about as un-newsworthy as it gets so it’s a bit of a fucken stretch I think to describe the guy as a ‘journalist’ like all our media are.

Incidentally I always wanted to be a journalist but two things stopped me really a) that the prospect of four years study when I’d only just flunked college was not appealing and b) I thought I knew it all anyway. Still do.

My dearly departed Grandad was forever offering to pay for me too. He also regularly dropped the knowledge on me that I should learn Japanese and get into the tourism biz. Coming from a man who fought the buggers for 3 long years and still trusted none of them 50 years on, it was an admission of sorts that the bastards had won out, eventually.

Anyhoo. Dan was on the telly too, with his faux English accent that started out all hoighty toighty but quickly denigrated into colloquial Kiwi the madder he got at having just been left without a job. Given that he’s only been in the UK for about five years I thought it was the height of wankiness that he tried the accent on in the first place.

See, I’ve known of Dan for quite a while. He used to write a daily piece in the Dominion that was one of those ones that you just know he must’ve sucked some cock to get the column space because it contained no journalistic merit at all.

His crowning glory came the day he decided to poke fun at the masses who wore sneakers with their work clothes when hiking up Featherston Street from the train station. He thought he was being insightful and witty, everyone else just thought he was being a douche. Needless to say the complaints poured in.

I remember it so well because it was one of those times in my life I read his rubbish and regret that I had never taken Grandad up on his offer on the journalism. How Dan went from criticising peoples comfort to ‘Showbiz Editor’ I don’t know but again, I suspect it involves a lot of penis.

Oh and don’t feel too sorry for Dan, he reckons he’ll find a new job real easy because he’s on “a lot of TV and radio” and he’s “one of the most recognised faces in the showbiz industry”. His words not mine. See what I mean about him being a big self Googler?

Yes it’s funny how you remember some people.

Sienna had her cell phone hacked.

More Of The Penguin Please.

Fuck I’m over Paul Henry aye.

Is there a more annoying, less interesting and completely unfunny person the moment? Even ‘Happy Feet’ the penguin is imminently more interesting at this point in time although one thing bothers me about that too; why did they call him ‘Happy Feet’ because that’s the name of movie, not a character in it? Go figure.

When the whole Henry getting the sack thing went down it was big news. It shouldn’t have been, but in this country where the media companies love to turn on each other when there’s a monumental fuck up by one i.e. Tony Wifebeater Veitch, it was. That much I could understand but the story just hasn’t gone away despite getting real boring, real quick.

I’ve had urinary tract problems that have been more interesting and amusing, than Paul Henry. Except maybe the one time it burned; there wasn’t a lot of humor in that.

Now he’s got a book out, has been on 60 Minutes in a ‘tell all’ interview and is on the radio and probably back on a salary that you and I can only dream of. Yeah, he’s been doing it tough all right. Mr Vintage even does a ‘lady with a mustache’ tee shirt. Clearly they’re pro Henry otherwise they would have one that had a picture of him with the word ‘dikshit’ above it. I’d buy that one.

Anyhoo, can we please be done already? Let’s see more of the fucken penguin or something. Anything.

That is a dick on a tee shirt.

Mr Brown Comes Around

I thought I might lower the tone a little with some toilet humor, literally. Well, it’s funny now but at the time I was well bricking it.

I was on a four hour coaching course the other day and had a pretty good dose of the Sunday shits, so come the morning tea break I made my way down to the one and only toilet for what was by then Part Three of my Sunday blockbuster.

Imagine then, my horror to find only after the paperwork was done that the thing wouldn’t flush! The button on the cistern was jammed down leaving only the little half flush option and it just wasn’t cutting it.

It really is moments like these that the thought crosses your mind ‘How the hell am I going to explain this?!’ knowing full well that there’s two hours of the course to go and 16 guys upstairs who are unlikely to have spent their spare time doing pelvic floor exercises thus giving them exquisite bladder control.

Now forgot about your witnessing a mugging scenario, this really is one of those fight or flee everyday situations. I could’ve legged it and claimed ignorance when somebody else had to break the news that the crapper was crapped out, but I didn’t. I stood and fought that cistern lid till I had it off and that flush button free.

Then I flushed. Dammit did I flush and not since the infamous incident of me soiling my camouflaged y-fronts at Primary school that time have I been so glad to see the brown wash down.

So the lesson here class is two fold;

1. If you have the Sunday shits, don’t go to anything longer than an hour in duration.
2. But if you do always, always check the facilities are working before you answer the knock of Mr Brown at the back door.

As you were.

My Life, In An Outfit.