Wankers of the Week

My dear old Grandad used to have a saying “Why is it when you need a hand you always get a van load of wankers showing up?”



And he was right. This week a wanker’s wagon showed up at the doors of ClubDes and quite rightly we’ve told them to step off, bitch.



Sonny Bill Williams



After all the palaver about signing the guy the NZRFU have now learned he doesn’t even want to stay in NZ after the World Cup. What a wanker. We don’t even give a shit about rugby really but even we know a peen-arse when we see one. Still, it’s not like the guy hasn’t got form on this sort of thing is it; Canterbury Bankstown Bulldogs anyone?



Terry ‘El Tel’ Serepisos



On the verge of bankruptcy, again and yet still swanning around like some Teflon Don who happens to own a football club. Yes he’s done a lot for football in Welly and yes, we respect that, but do us all a favour Tel and do something about that house of cards your finances are built on brother. Just because the rest of the worlds high profile football club owners are fiddling the books big time doesn’t mean you have to be a right wanker like them.



The ‘Showbiz Editor’



What a wanker. Nuff said. Actually we do have a live chat question: Seeing as you scored that 50 year old woman who used to host Good Morning just so you could get a five minute segment, did you do the same at the newspaper? And supplementary question: Wasn't he a fella?

Kind To Your Hands

In this day and age where everything is wrapped in ‘new and improved packaging’ (which means what exactly and I give a shit why?) you occasionally come across something from a simpler time.

Usually that something is the old fulla in the office who types with two fingers, writes everything in pencil and religiously stops whatever he’s doing at 10.30am and 3pm for smoko, but sometimes it’s a product like this which optimises the phrase ‘no frills’.

I suspect my work buys Genes Grease Cutting Lemon Detergent because it’s cheap as chips anyway, but more so by the carton load. This particular bottle actually is the ‘new and improved’ packaging because it has a sticker on it, whereas the last lot we had was plain text printed on the bottle. Well retro.

And the best bit? That the lid is held on by several pieces of sellotape. That’s right. No tamper proof kiddie-no-bastard-can-open-it lock here, just some geezer taping down every lid on every bottle. If he’s lucky Gene might have invested in a tape gun by now, but I doubt it; the sticky label is enough progress thank you very much.

This reminds me of how Bruiser and I played silly buggers in Home Economics with the dish washing liquid one time and emptied a three litre bottle of the stuff into one sink of water. Well, what else were we going to do all lesson, cook? The very next lesson our old spinster of a teacher gave a 10 minute lecture on how totally unacceptable it was that we, as a class, had gone through so much detergent in one go. Result!

The funniest thing about that term of Home Ec was the table of Asian girls who always got there a little bit early and proceeded to slice and dice their way through a mountain of vegetables before anyone else had even got their gear out. This continued right up till we started to cook, even on the days we weren’t doing vegetables...

So good on you Gene. Your simple ways are indeed kind to my hands and to my hope that somewhere out there are folk like yourself who aren’t selling out to progress because everyone else is.

Farewell My First Love

If you’ve started reading this on the hope it’s a sordid expose on my first root, you’re going to be out of luck. It’s more important than that and besides, who hasn’t seen my interpretive dance dramatisation of that on Youchube yet?



Football is my first love and after 25 years of lusting over it each season – or to be specific the English Premier League – I think I’m done and I'm pretty sure I know why; money.



There has always been a lot of money in football, ridiculous money. The buying of good and selling of shit players has always been almost as exciting as the football itself and pre-season wet dreams were made on some of those transfers, like the time Spurs signed both Gazza and Gary Lineker in the same season.



Then there was Jurgen. Oh Jurgen. Never has another man created such a tingle in my gooch quite like Jurgen did.



Spurs have always been big spenders with very little to show for it. If you trace the club back to its roots (no pun intended) you’ll find that it is a Jewish club by foundation and that leads, apparently, to all sort of generalisations about how tight they should be with money. There is then, keeping that in mind, a certain amount of irony on where we get to now in this particular story.



Spurs have never been tight with their money and infact have wasted it many millions over on crap footballers. The good ones have generally been sold, for sizeable amounts which have been promptly wasted on – wait for it – crap footballers, give or take a Gareth Bale or Rafael Van der Vaart.



These days football is all about money. It is a means for very rich men to generate even more millions than they already possess and that means they’re prepared to spend a little to make a lot. Only they’re spending lots, far too much for even a Jewish club with an ironic inability to be frugal to keep up.



So this season, Spurs have no money to spend. And because we’ve got crap players, no one to sell to make any. That in itself wouldn’t necessarily be the end of the world but the clubs we were getting close to competing with do have money to burn, have now gone and bought themselves Playstation line ups and pretty much fucked it up for everyone else.



It’s hard to get excited about that really. Unless you’re a fan of one of those clubs, which I ain’t. Some people are very excited, like this guy who just two games in is using phrases like “The season is bubbling nicely, but yet to really explode”. What a peen-arse.



So two weeks in and I haven’t even watched so much as part of a game. No fantasy football, no weekend debriefs with Stu or AJ and no banter with the boys at practice about who beat who. I’m not even biting at the throwaway comments mates are making on Facebook. That’s what the de-friend button is for.



And all this apathy after my awesome niece (she the football prodigy) just gave me the most awesome birthday present; a framed, signed team shirt. She’s awesome.



She’s the reason I won’t give up on all football just yet.

Gazza, Gaz and good times.

Shit Music Killed The Radio Star

I’m no Bob Dylan but I know a thing or two about music; I was an assistant manager in a music store for two years after all and if that time served one purpose it was that I now possess an uncanny knack to pick a shit song when I hear one.



The problem is that in this digital age one mans shit song is another mans anthem for his gay life. Gone are the days when somebody learnt to play an instrument for a few years, toured dives playing said instrument for a couple more before finally making it ‘big’.



Back then artists learnt their craft and it showed in their playing and their construction of songs. It’s no coincidence that a lot of these songs still get played on iPods, radio stations and car stereos all over the place. Some will even bring back vivid memories, like ‘We Built This City’ which reminds me of lonely days spent in my bedroom, the wireless on, playing with my G.I.Joes.



And no, that’s not a euphemism for having a wank. Why would I need to even use one? Sadly, making music these days is as easy as having one and don’t we all suffer for it.



Incidentally I had some good times working in the music store. It was a great time to be a part of ‘the scene’ with the Warehouse only just starting down the path of sucking the life out of retail CD sales. This was during the Alanis Morrisette / Spice Girls years which meant girls; always lots of girls in the store.



It was there that my mate and colleague at the time Adi Dick – now a semi successful local artist himself – taught me how to play guitar. That was almost 15 years ago now and I’m sure he’d be disappointed to learn that my playing hasn’t really progressed much further than three chords and the truth. But I only really wanted to learn to play to score chicks at parties so that’s what you get for impure motivations I guess. Either that or a visit from Internal Affairs but lets not go into that.



My mate Caro works there and I know she sees the good stuff even if she doesn’t let on that she does. Passports and Birth Certificates my arse.



One can of course avoid shit music if you cut about 90% of every outside influence, in your life, right now. I manage about 60% by avoiding all music channels except MTV Classic, not listening to the radio ever and resisting the urge, no matter how strong, to walk into Glassons or Supre stores. That last one is a toughie of course; it’s just that their range does wonderful things for my goal in life of only wearing things that fall into the category of ‘tight’, ‘revealing’ or both.



The other 40% is somewhat unavoidable and often the most suicidal times of the day for me. Like the wireless on at work which is only ever at the volume where some of the things I’m about to list can be heard in all their excruciating annoyingness.



Other times include the periods where the missus complains that my iPod play list is so depressing she’s contemplating exiting the car whilst it’s moving and as tempting as that might be, I will usually switch on some station where three muppets spend most of their time talking about how much cooler they are than each other.



So please, allow me to share some of my worldly experience with you so that you too may avoid losing three or four minute blocks of your life that you’ll never get back. Shit songs can be best identified by the following:



1. Constant references about wanting to know the strange girls in clubs. That’s called stalking and besides, if they really are a ‘strange girl’ then chances are they’re easy. No need to write a song about easy girls.



2. Songs by guys that proclaim they ‘want to do everything to you all night long’. The inference being that this is only a ‘in the dark thing’ because you’re ugly. And probably easy. Refer to the above.



3. Songs about clubs in general. You want your song about being in a club to be played in a club. We get it. That doesn’t mean it has to be played anywhere else.



4. Promises to ‘take you higher than ever before’. Um, isn’t that illegal? Maybe the dude meant legal highs like Kronic but hey, even that’s illegal now, so stiff shit there matey.



5. Anything that contains a sample, or lyric, from a classic song that should never have been allowed to be fingered by the Black Eyed Peas or Taio Cruz, no matter how much they were prepared to pay for it.



6. And finally, any song where the actual music sounds like it’s been played by a fella with a trumpet, using his anus. Case in point the song – and I use that term very loosely – ‘Bounce’ by somebody pointless and Kellis, the women who’s milkshake bought all the boys to the yard*.



*Which has always reminded me of the day I asked the amply bosomed girl in the school canteen if I could have a glass of warm milk, shaken not stirred? It went over her head.

35 Not Out

I must access a different Facebook because for the life of me I don’t understand how shit like this happens:

"A blindfolded sex adventure with a mystery "woman" ended in shock for a young Wellington man – who removed his mask to find a tall man.

The distressed 19-year-old later told police that, until he slipped off the blindfold as he was leaving the eleventh-floor room at the Bolton Hotel in Wellington, he believed his tryst had been with a woman called Sam whom he met on Facebook.

Police investigated and found that the man who hired the room at the five-star hotel on May 17 had been a guest there about 300 times.

Witness statements filed in court said a very upset young man had gone to Wellington Central police station just after 11pm on May 17.

He told police he had met someone on Facebook whom he thought was a woman. They arranged to meet at the hotel and he was to wear a blindfold so he could not see "her" perform a sex act on him. As he was leaving the room he took off the blindfold and discovered "she" was a he.

The next day police also searched the Taupo home where ‘Sam’ lived with his mother. A detective said 21 pairs of mens underpants found in a drawer were in an assorted range of sizes.

In another drawer was a uniformly sized set of underpants. Police also found a green blindfold and what was described in court documents as pornographic publications."

Even DougalMac, the man of notoriously standards made the astute observation that there had to be an awful lot of guys who woke up to this story with a new look at life. And to think they thought ‘Sam’ was a kinky bitch because ‘she’ kept their undies...

Now I know the image of this is not something you or I want to dwell on, much, but I can’t help but question just how this guy fooled so many. For a start there has to be some talking, definitely some touching and I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, but I’d think I’d know if it was a fella treating my body like an amusement ride. I think.

I guess it comes down to how you see and use Facebook. If you’re prepared to be friends with anyone then I reckon you deserve to be sucked in (and off) by a six foot dude who likes to give mystery blowies.

I don’t even list things like my DOB on Facebook which on one hand is extremely security conscious of me and protects identity theft – cause who wouldn’t want to be this cool aye – but then has the downside of no one knowing that it was my birthday the other day.

Not that I want to go around announcing it but a celebrationary shake of the hand or slap on the bum is always welcomed at work. By me anyway, the girl down the hall is not so keen on it. Imagine then my disappointment upon realising that it was my own anal retentiveness for online security that ruined the chance of friends actually knowing it was my birthday. What a dick.

Still, it could’ve been worse. I remember Coops older sister, who I flatted with for a few years, giving it till about 8.30am on a Saturday birthday before she started calling her mates asking if there was anything they’d forgotten?

So I’m 35 not out. Yay me.

Bruiser remembered. He always remembers.

Like White On Snow

How bout that snow aye?



Regular readers of this blog will know that the abnormally large portion of any discussion that we in this country attribute to the weather usually gets right on my tits, but this weeks wintry dump is the exception really. It was, in a word, sensational.



It started out in the media as a ‘one in every ten years’ occurrence and then someone must’ve thought back that far and realised, no hang on, I’ve been here ten years and never seen it this bad so it’s a ‘one in fifty years’ experience. That worked right up until some geezer older than fifty chipped in and now it’s a ‘once in a lifetime’ thing.



All of which is right up there with the school of thought that 73% of quoted percentages are made up, including that last one.



My first encounter with the white stuff was on Sunday night when I was forced to abandon the car halfway up our hill in J Town because it was impossible to go on. Progress up till that point had been only ever in two gears and a real series of short trips what with all the stopping, realigning of the passion wagon and red lining it in an attempt to get some grip.



Thus my three football girls and I had to leg it the rest of the way and despite being soaked through from the pre-blizzard downpour at practice, they still wanted to stop, make snow angels and throw the stuff at each other. That’s my girls.



It didn’t take long for all the kids in the neighborhood to get amongst it either and good on them. My son’s Massive promptly set about making the obligatory snow man and it, like so many others I’ve seen since, turned out to be more brown than white; an ethnic snowie, a half cast. Not at all like they look on movies and shit.



Junior stayed out so long one night we thought he had frostbite in his feet. I suggested that Bear Grylls would pee on his to keep them warm were he in the same situation. Not surprisingly it was not a helpful suggestion to make at that point in time.



Rather disappointingly the snow melted at our place the night before the day I decided I would mould something inappropriate on a neighbours lawn. Hopefully it starts to fall again because I’ve drawn scale plans and everything. It would be rude not to erect a four foot phallus really.



I’ll take a pic when I’m done and put it on Facebook, like every other bugger has. I love scrolling through all your photos of snow on trees and fences and the roof and the road and the car and the hills and fuck me I’m bored where are those ones of your wife in her bikini whilst you were holidaying in Fiji again?



I’m just kidding. Besides I copied those particular pics into a word document for easy access in the future. Admittedly I did post the one snow picture myself but only because it’s awesome as you will soon see.



The downside of this winter wonderland is that it has sadly, revealed us to be the country of soft cocks that we are. A bit of cold and snow and major metropolitan areas simply came to a stand still leaving the residents waiting around like the sheep that the farmers in the wops have to try so hard to save when it’s like this. Farmers on the other hand, are like slavery; they just get shit done.



There are places in the world where the residents live with this for most of the year. No, seriously.



I bet those dicks at adidas will have their trousers filled with white stuff too and I’m not talking about snow. The sudden change of the weather has suddenly meant we’re all whacking off about being cold and nobody is going on about over priced All Black jerseys anymore. Expect them back on the racks at full price any day now.



So enjoy the snow peeps, it’s a once in a lifetime experience. Until next year, that is.

What the frost?!

Perfectly Normal In My Opinion

From: DG Macca

Sent: Friday, 12 August 2011 12:41

To: Club Des

Subject: Perfectly normal in my opinion



http://www.stuff.co.nz/oddstuff/5434945/Man-sacked-for-washing-himself-with-own-urine



What's wrong with the world? Bloody reporters putting a spin on perfectly acceptable behavior.



From: ClubDes

Sent: Friday, 12 August 2011 12:43

To: DG Macca

Subject: RE: Perfectly normal in my opinion



Have they what. They should try three consecutive tours of Vietnam. We bathed in each others urine just to confuse the hell out of Charlie. Worked too, all that time and we never saw him once. Did offload an awful amount of ordinance in his general direction though…



From: DG Macca

Sent: Friday, 12 August 2011 12:37

To: ClubDes

Subject: Again…Perfectly normal.



http://www.stuff.co.nz/life-style/blogs/aunt-and-uncle-agony/5432754/Hubby-has-photos-of-another-naked-man



Is it normal for a man to have naked pictures of himself aroused on his cellphone and his laptop as well as a picture of another naked man??? I found a few of him in this state 4 years ago and he told me it was normal and I was being stupid even though I clearly told him I was really upset by it.



Now I have found a whole heap more, as well as a picture of this other naked man. Am I really just being a bitch or should I feel a bit off?



The dates of these have been taken at different times while I have been at work. The worse thing was I came upon the discovery this time as my 2 year old was playing with my husband's phone and the photos were found this way which made me look on the laptop.



I don't know what to do as he is going to throw it back on me and what if our kids wake up and find him like this while I am at work.



Regards

Confused



From: ClubDes

Sent: Friday, 12 August 2011 12:41

To: DG Macca

Cc: Almo

Subject: RE: Again…Perfectly normal.



Well if that makes a man abnormal then they better make room for you and I in the funny farm then cause we’ve got loads!



Of each other mostly but I kept the ones Almo sent me. I’m not usually into ‘small’ men but I could see he’d gone to a lot of trouble with the lighting and the courtesy trim. The nipple tassels looked new too.



From: Almo

Sent: Friday, 12 August 2011 13:24

To: ClubDes; DG Macca

Subject: RE: Again…Perfectly normal.



Honestly, I can’t believe they posted this article about my girlfriend and I. The only thing that makes me rest assured is that they’ve altered the story to make out that we’re married, so as to protect our identities…. apart from that I’m pretty pissed off.



On a side note, it’s not gay to put a wig on an aroused, naked man and pretend he’s a woman. How can that be gay? You’re pretending he’s a woman!



From: ClubDes

Sent: Friday, 12 August 2011 13:29

To: Almo, DG Macca

Subject: RE: Again…Perfectly normal.



Exactly. I did the same thing to DG Macca at your Mums place that time, spooned him whilst he slept and called him Susan.



So not gay.

The Birth Of Geek

I came across this picture today. Not literally although it's true to say I’ve rubbed one out to worse. Sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.



No it’s interesting because of what this group are doing.



They could be, I suppose, submitting a casting application for some freaks & geeks fantasy film, or perusing a David Bain knit sale online. They could even be creating a ‘group’ NZ Dating profile.



They’re not though. The date in the picture probably gives it away, if you’re a poindexter that is and let’s face it, these winners are. It’s the birth of the internet and it’s being shown at some show for the desperate and dateless where they get excited about things like binary code.



What this picture really reminds me of is those countless hours you spent at some wealthy mates house watching HIM play HIS computer game. We all knew some guy like that didn't we, who always got to one level off clocking the fucken thing and took ages doing it. Unlike you, who, having only ever played the game for forty seconds, promptly died in 41 when it was finally your turn again.



I wonder how much porn was on the Net back in those early days. Cause now I’m pretty sure if they took all of the porn off the damn thing there would only be two sites left; one called ‘Hey What Happened To All The Porn?’ and the other ‘Bring Back The Porn’.



Maybe this group got so excited at what they saw they went off and created the first upload?



Now there’s a scary thought.

Stick It To The Man

It's not enough that they make Maxi park in a special place at work, or that he's exempt from fire drills, oh no.



Now The Man is trying to slow our man down. Stick it to The Man Maxi, hit 21kmhs in that Professor Xavier ride of yours....

Big Gay Ray Junior Arrives

Once our resident hard core gamer and now purveyor of the Legnum chop shop out the back, Big Gay Ray continues to live a lie and has gone and had himself another baby, a boy this time, brother to Paige and one step closer to being able to start up his own motorcycle gang, tentatively titled The Sons of Dad. I think it has a catchy ring to it, personally.

Oh and he’s only gone and named him after my own son. Coincidence? I think not. Clearly the man worships me. As I’ve already gone on record as saying, sadly I won’t be returning the favour; ‘Big' or ‘Gay’ probably won’t feature in the names of any kids we have in the future...

Mother and son are doing very well by all accounts which is great news and Rayway is up to Level 12 in Battlefield Bad Company 2, thanks to all the peace and quiet he’s getting at home. Mind you he needs the head start because as Nat gets her hands on that console its game over, literally.

So congratulations again to the BigGay clan. Elton John couldn’t manage the double life but then he did sing a song about ‘a little bit of a funny feeling inside’ didn’t he? He should’ve taken a sequin off Ray’s banana hammock and just helped out on the weekends when they’re busy.

But seriously, if there's one thing we love round these parts it's proof that yet another one of the massive hasn't had his plums fried by the usual cellphone / iPod / car alarm combo we all carry in our pockets.

And as always, we’re up for babysitting, just as soon as the protection order is lifted.

Dodgy Daddy Day Care Ltd.

The All Black Rip Off

Its Rugby World Cup year, you might have noticed.

Apparently it’s going to be mega. One in three of us are not really interested, according to some poll, but that doesn’t mean it’s not going to be epic. Which includes the prices, as demonstrated by the new All Black jersey which will set you back a $190, but what price national fervour aye?

It’s not really new, in a design sense, although Ze Germans at Adidas reckon it took them two years to develop so it must contain adamantinum or something cutting edge like that. It’s black, of course, but now sports a white collar, like the jersey used to when the ABs wore their wife beating pride in the shape of a Steinlager badge on the right tit.

They say it’s a collar but it’s not in the traditional sense of the word. When your boss says smart casual dress Friday means ‘a collar’ he’s not expecting you to turn up in a tight titty tee with a white panel of fabric around the neck, no matter how slimming it is on you.

Incidentally, why has casual sex Fridays never caught on? I’ve made that suggestion at every workplace and it usually only ever results in me getting kicked out of the social club. Go figure.

Collars disappeared from rugby jerseys when some bugger realised that they were quite good for grabbing hold of, just like each others knobs. At that point it was decidedly uncool to have anything clutch able anywhere, thus in ushered the skin tight era of jerseys, which admittedly do look fantastic on the Adonis’s playing the game at the highest level, not so much on the fat fighters in the stadium watching.

Notice though, that the shorts have not got any tighter?

Now Kiwis being the must have sheep we are, lap this shit up, especially if we think we’re the first to get something. Thus Ze Germans have flogged a shit load of these jerseys all at full price, laughing all their way to the bank. It is a lovely accent is Ze German, even in moments of great humour. And they might just have continued to do so unabated, until the story broke that it’s actually cheaper to get the things online, from overseas.

Considerably so, which proves a little theory I’ve had since I started buying named, numbered and long sleeved football jerseys on line at the same price a plain, short sleeved one appears on the rack here; we’re getting shafted.

The AB jersey, lame faux collar or not, is our national jersey. It shouldn’t cost NZers nearly $200 to buy one. By all means, flog it to the Japs for that much but make it affordable for kids up and down the country to own one, for fucks sake. Football fans can own an All Whites jersey for $150, so what’s the diff?

Adidas reckon that they’re price comparable with other jerseys, like those of the Warriors. Who gives a shit, if someone is silly enough to pay that for a club jersey then mark those suckers up I say. Even the Warriors training jersey costs that much! Maybe they’ve got The Bad Mutcher running the merchandising at the club because nobody beats his meat. It says so on the radio ad.

They reckon that selling them here that much keeps NZ business in the black (no pun intended). What, like Rebel Sport, who will send their profits off to their Australian shareholders? Oh and the price hasn’t changed since 2009 they claim, like it’s a good thing. Pull the other one Adolf; it was a fucken rip off then too.

I like Adidas stuff. I own a fair bit of it and I won’t buy any other brand of football boots other than Ze Germans. Yes, I am aware of how the company convinced football to sell it’s the soul back in the seventies for a bunch of tracksuits and tricolour footballs and how the game has been paying for it since, but I also know they know their shit.

Including, it would seem, how to fleece an unsuspecting National populace. Buy online peeps, The ‘Das wins either way but at least you can have the satisfaction of not being taken for a sucker.

Rugby players like it tight these days...