The Rugby World Cup has bought a lot of good things to these shores in recent weeks but it’s bought some downright average stuff too and I’m not just talking about Scarlett Johansson’s nudie pics which are.
Like our lip syncing – or should that be blowing – of the ceremonial Maori horn at the state of each game which is by all accounts, fake. It’s a soundtrack being played over the PA from what I’ve seen of it. Good one. Listeners at the ground can also buy their genuine plastic greenstone tikis on their way out too, made of course, in China.
And then there are the flash mobs laying down the haka everywhere. They’re about as flash as my old man’s burgundy Cortina ever was, even after he put the mags and louvers on the back window.
Now the Haka is a formidable sight, when done by semi naked Maori Warriors or buff bustards in any sort of departmental uniform i.e. Police, Army etc. But not when it’s done by a bunch of fat guys in track pants, half casts and skinny teens in skin tight denim shorts and jandals wearing their skateboarding caps on a jaunty angle.
The flash mob thing is so passé anyway. I’m starting something new. I’m kicking this shit up a notch and I’m starting the mob that flashes. Those that wish to be forerunners in this new social phenomenon can meet me in Manners Mall, Friday 1800 hours for the first en masse flash. I'm hoping we'll have more knockers on show than a joiners shop and for the onlookers to see more knobs than a locksmith does.
You know you want to.
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