An Eye for an Eye; The Perfect Circle

Now, that one time with the parking wardens aside, I am not a violent man.

But I can be when provoked and the so called parents of the now most infamous 9 year old in NZ, provoke me. Big time. What is worse do you think, that the parents did what they did or that we as a society keep letting it happen? Oh and they did some pretty heavy shit:

The girl was allegedly dragged across the floor by her hair, beaten with a vacuum-cleaner pipe and broomstick, had a toenail ripped off and salt and hot water poured on the wound, and was kicked in the groin with work boots. The couple face joint charges of withholding food from the girl and denying her medical treatment.

Happy families they ain’t.

So how do we stop it happening? Fucked if I know but I know what would be a good start, make the punishment fit the crime; make it an eye for an eye and a broken tooth for a broken tooth.

Let’s not waste time giving people like this the kind of trial and punishment reserved for actual crims, lets fuck them right up and maybe, just maybe, we’ll make a couple of the future kiddie beaters think twice about just who they hit with the vacuum cleaner pipe.

If we’re serious about ending ‘the endless cycle of family violence’ and we certainly like to talk a lot about how we are, then let’s get it on like Donkey Kong. No more fannying about worrying about things like civil liberties and rehabilitation, I say once a child beater, always a child beater.

And we’re not talking about the old man giving you an open palm across the arse because you tried pinching a Perky Nana from the corner dairy and who then spent days regretting giving you one. No, we’re talking about your A grade psycho’s, the kind that do it because they enjoy it.

So let us see how they like it. But who would do such a heinous thing as administer to them what they’ve done, I hear you ask? Easy. We have prisons full of the fuckers, in fact, in a remarkable coinky-dink, that’s what they are there for.

So here’s the dealio: Perp A deals to Mum and Dad of the year and whilst they recover Perp B, who will obviously be bigger and meaner, will deal to Perp A. It is like for like after all and we can’t be seen to favour one scrote over the other. We’re not savages.

Once Mum and Dad recovers Perp A, himself now recovered, gets another go at letting out his pent up frustrations from his taking a thrashing. Etcetera, etcetera. Eventually, shit will get serious and they will, in time, all kill each other.

It is whichever way you look at it, a perfect circle.

The Not So Subtle Art of Intimidation

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What Price Life?

If you’ve been following the Nia Glassie murder / manslaughter trial then you’ve probably already heard several good reasons as to why we should have the death penalty in this country. If you’re one of those limp dicked individuals who doesn’t care about stuff like this because it hasn’t happened to you, then lets recap:

The three grown men charged with her murder:

• Would regularly punch, kick and generally assault the three year old.

• Used her for wrestling practice, body slamming and jumping on her.

• Would hold her up to the ceiling by an appendage and drop her.

• Hung her from a clothesline and spun it until she fell off.

• Put her in a tumble dryer until she bled.

If you’re not remotely sickened by anything I’ve listed above then you have a lot more in common with these scrotes than I. Let’s make no bones about it, this was not your ‘accidentally tripped into the door’ type of family violence, this was sadistic fucked up shit dished out by animals with absolutely no place in our society.

See I believe that if you choose to step out of the boundaries that society deems acceptable then you cease to belong to society. These three, along with the fourth charged with manslaughter and the mother who did nothing, also charged with manslaughter; do not belong in our society. We don’t want them or their offspring – heaven forbid we give them the chance to father offspring.

Sure everyone makes mistakes; everyone’s nicked something from the corner diary or stolen milk from a letterbox. I got caught shoplifting at Foodtown when I was at College, the in store detective caught me with a fistful of TV Hits magazines down my baggy jeans. Well actually they were Coops jeans, the fact they were ten times too big just meant I could conceal heaps more stuff in them.

I was disappointed at myself for being caught, mostly because I had picked the guy for being an in store detective but I figured if he didn’t actually see me pocket the goods he couldn’t hit me up for them. But I figured wrong. Luckily the Cop who took me down to the station didn’t look in the backpack I was wearing because it was full of stolen merchandise, thanks mainly to my partner in crime them days. Sam Momeny, the Iranian boy who would’ve had a hot younger sister if it wasn’t for the fact that she had to start shaving the mo a few years before he did.

Luckily when the Cop dropped me home no one was home for him to tell. A few weeks later I had a distinctly bad feeling about a brown enveloped letter that arrived addressed to my parents. I opened it before they got home and luckily it was a note from the Five-0 detailing my misdemeanour. They never found out in the end but getting a two year trespass from the place where most of my mates worked pretty much ended my life of crime. Like most people I grew up and started to value things in life. These wankers don’t even value life itself.

What’s the worst that can happen to these pricks? Well hopefully they get theirs in prison but failing that what’s the harshest thing our justice system can dish out on them? Fuck all, that’s what. These guys will be back on the street in 10 years time and lets hope breaking straight into the living rooms in the dead of night of those civil libertarians who oppose the death penalty because they believe that sub humans like these three can be rehabilitated.

I think it’s time to start sending the message to guys like these three and Liam Reid, the spectacularly tattooed fuckwit who is on trail for the rape and murder of a deaf woman who probably never ever sensed him until it was too late, that their actions will not pass without consequence anymore. Reid would go on to rape another woman nine days later and despite overwhelming DNA evidence denies both. But then he would because he believes in his own mind that he is beyond reproach, that he’s done nothing wrong, that he not bound by societies rules.

Let’s do the world a favour as far as guys like Reid are concerned and when the guilty verdict is handed down – and it will be – let’s not even bother about anything else but taking them out the back of the courthouse and putting a bullet in their head.

I for one am happy to pull the trigger.

Helicopters and Wheelchairs

My god, aren’t helicopters magnificent? Now that’s usually only a call I’d make when describing two horses mating or voluptuous young breasts, but helicopters are right up there in terms of choiceness.

Choppers - as we ex-army types refer to them - could quite possibly be the best invention ever. Tanks would be a close second and fighter planes third, but choppers are the business. They’ve been using them every day at my place of work all this week which has pretty much meant an eight hour woody for me and Dougs each and every day.

Of course we had a lot of choppers in Nam, the place was full of them. There was so many that Lancey once woke up in the morning - after a night out looking for five dollar boom boom - in bed with one. Only our side had them, the Vietcong never did which was a good thing because it’s a little known fact that Asians don’t like heights or flying and that’s the reason why most of them are shorter than your average Caucasian. We loved riding in the choppers and there’s nothing quite exhilarating as taking a whizz from a chopper as it rips across the tree tops I can tell you. That's what really caused the deforestation in Nam, not that Agent Orange shit.

Have you been watching the Paralympics in China? Probably not, because most of the Western media packed up when the able bodied athletes did and got the hell out of Dodge. Admittedly I haven’t watched much but only because I can’t help but see the funny side of the Paralympics – which is terrible I know - but hey, at least I’m watching!

Take for instance the Woman’s 200 metres final. The leader arsed it about 20 metres from the end and given that she had a prosthetic leg fell in such a way that she spread herself across two lanes and scuttled the second place getter too. Third and fourth – a NZ girl – who thought they were long gone 20 metres from the end eventually finished in the medals! If that wasn’t mildly amusing (and it was) then the 5000 metres wheelchair race featured a 6 chair pile up on the home straight. Only five athletes finished the race and the medals were given out before the tournament committee decided to scrap the race and do it again later in the week.

Now a couple of questions remain unanswered regarding that balls up; Firstly those wheelchairs are like those all-terrain-take-up-the-whole-damn-footpath baby buggies that posh pricks buy and are almost virtually impossible to roll. So how did the first chick to crash get it oh so horribly wrong? Secondly if this happened in an able bodied cycle race would they have scratched the result and raced it again? No. It would have been oh dear, how sad, stiff shit.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse than being the cause of the biggest wheelchair pile up since Auschwitz, the girl who eventually got disqualified (even from the rerun) because she fell in the path of everybody else gets penalised twice – once for falling and twice for having no legs and thus being unable to roll anywhere but in the way of the chasing peloton!

I’ll tell you who should be disabled, at least financially, are those rich pricks who run finance companies into the ground and walk away with their assets untouched. Man that’s just not right in my book. I was reading about the guy who was in charge of Lombard Finance, a failed company that owes its investors $127 million. This guy pulled down a salary of $400,000 a year. How the hell do you spend that much money let alone earn it? This guy didn’t spend his on luxury cars, he didn’t need to, they were part of his remuneration package – he got a new one every year!

I think the law needs to be changed so guys like this – who live blatant extravagant lifestyles before and after their companies collapse – should be accountable right up till the day every investor gets every cent back and if that takes years then so be it. He can start by cashing in on everything he bought with their money in the first place.

After all, if I went and took the prize money we’ve gathered for the winner of the Help Desk Massive Pool Comp and put it on some horse down at the TAB with long odds and lost, who should get indiscriminately pushed down four flights of stairs by assailant unknown; me or the nag?

John Campbell Blows. Himself.

If you’ve ever wondered what it would look like to see a guy give himself a blowie – and let’s be honest, who hasn’t – then tune into TV3 at 7pm each week night. John Campbell might not physically be able to pull it off, but he always has that look of someone who just did.

If I was to be honest, I’d have to admit that I usually don’t mind John. I’m not likely to put a photo of him on my ceiling above the bed anytime soon, but I can handle him in small doses. John is the kind of guy that uses pigeon Maori a lot so as to appear a genuine Kiwi bloke. The thing is John, genuine Kiwi blokes, like myself, don’t actually use any pigeon Maori unless we’re mocking that one dimensional character on Bro Town, but there you go.

John doesn’t wear a tie with his suit so as to appear casually relaxed, but at the same time, seriously anally uptight over the news of the day. John pushes the boundry of decency by sometimes saying some soft core profanity like ‘bugger’ and ‘bastard’, and gets away with it because he’s always smiling when he does. John’s the kind of guy you would hear shorten names like ‘Noel Leemings’ to ‘Noels’ because he thinks it makes him sound more Kiwi, when in fact it makes him sound like a twat, as does anyone who shortens the name of an appliance store.

But John is a hard core reporter who lives life on the edge. This week he had one of the scrotes that pulled the Waiouru museum robbery appear incognito on his show. That’s right, New Zealand’s most wanted man, who to date has evaded capture, sitting casually in a studio with the tie less John Campbell. The perp was so well disguised with his hoodie on, face blurred out and voice changed that it could almost have been anybody. It’s almost unbelievable, but it had to be true because John had his serious frown on and never once did he turn it upside down.

Needless to say the Cops were interested to speak with John the next day and so they did, turning up at the TV3 studios with a warrant. John probably welcomed them with a ‘Kia Ora’ and called them all ‘maaate’. This of course made the lead story of TV3 News and not unsurprisingly the lead story on John’s program too. It was right at that moment, that I realised the only way John could have been giving himself a bigger gob job was if he had had a couple of ribs removed so that he could fully deep throat his bad self.

For a start, there is no two sided story to be told here. The pussies that robbed the museum did so for personal gain and desecrated the memory of men with vastly bigger testes than they. Men who fought in World Wars won those medals whilst doing their duty so that these pricks could have the freedom they clearly don’t seem to enjoy having today. That, in my opinion, makes those that took the medals public enemy number one and no one with an ounce of national pride would hesitate in calling the bastards in were they to come face to face with them.

But then that says a lot about Harae Mai John I guess. Him and his station are now hiding behind journalistic principals and stoutly promising not to reveal their sources, which I could understand if they had just prevented a huge injustice from happening, but they haven’t. What they’ve done is man milked a gutless crime for as much airtime as they could and poor old John has the lockjaw to prove it.

Reporters, or rather the guys who sit at the desk with someone else’s hand up their rectum and read an autocue should stick to reading the news, not trying to make it. And what about the lawyer who we’re supposed to believe is a hero because he got the medals back? Apparently he did the same to some rare paintings that were nicked a few years back too. I reckon that makes him either extremely resourceful to be in the right place at the right time - not once but twice - or a decidedly jammy bastard who shouldn’t be trusted. He is a lawyer after all.

Personally I hope the boys in blue put all the pricks in jail for obstructing justice and then we can have a new public health poster that reads something like “This is your anus before journalistic integrity” and “This is your anus after you go to jail for journalistic integrity”.

Kiaora John, you tit.

An Eye For An Eye

Teenage crime is the latest sexy story for newsrooms in this country to get their hands on. Beats the cop bashing that reporters have milked the teets out of lately I suppose but kids’ getting into trouble is nothing new and you get the feeling it won’t be long before they try and link the two. It’ll be the Mans fault that teenagers are tagging next, you wait and see.

We got up to some good times in my teenage days. Stoning the assistant principal’s house on the way home after a night out on the large was one of our regular feel good moments. Probably scared the hell out of his wife and kids but he loved it, we could just tell by the way he chased us down the street in his jimmy jams. That’s why he was such a prick to us at school; he was gagging for us to retaliate in the dead of night like we did. It was reverse psychology at its best.

Pinching stuff was always a big source of enjoyment. Usually it was pure opportunism like street signs, car badges, milk and newspapers from the letterbox, or even the mail if it looked remotely like a stickmag. It never was and always inevitably turned out to be something lame like LawnMowers Monthly. Some of our biggest heists were off the cuff, like the day we cleaned out the squash club broom closet of all the boxes of spare Coke cans for the vending machine they had stored there. The only downside was that school was still a 20 minute walk away down the main street and your average school satchel doesn’t quite conceal a box containing 3 doz Coke cans. But we made it back to school and we made a tidy profit on selling them to the masses.

My mate Paul was like a magpie when it comes to the ‘ol five fingered discount. There wasn’t much he couldn’t nick including a wetsuit (he wore it out) a 3 foot garden gnome and any matter of small electrical appliances that had started the day in a locked cabinet. My other mate Rob stole to order, usually whilst out with his mates completing their many smash and grabs. If they had no orders, then it was just a smash, obviously. My best period at the school cricket crease was due to the top of the line bat he nicked for me from the window of Stirling Sports. I was a little disappointed that the bat had a dent in the side that Rob had sustained as he yanked it through the security mesh they had inside their window. I had a good mind to take it back to the shop for a replacement actually because it was hardly ‘new’ in that state.

Coops was hardcore though. He’d pocket bits of ham he sliced at the deli in the supermarket he worked, to eat whilst on his break. He’s the kind of hardened criminal you read about as starting their recidivist offending young! My biggest personal haul was the day I though I had struck in big back in intermediate and scored a whole box of the coolest plastic pencil cases I had seen up till that point. These things were like pistol magazines and that had to be cool. The only bummer was that they only came in green and pink but we fellas soon divvied up the green ones and looked to offload the poofy pink ones on the girls. That was until they pointed out to us, only after they had stopped laughing hysterically, that my score was actually a box of tampon holders.

Yep, teenies getting in trouble is nothing new. Stuff gets serious when you throw in a whole bunch of contributing factors. Of which there are too many for me to list here because I can’t be arsed noting all of societies failings, but you can guess alcohol, lack of parental responsibility and boredom are top of that particular list. Why we allowed our politicians to decide on our behalf that lowering the drinking age was a good choice is beyond me. It was a bad decision before they made it and it’s been a catastrophically fucken bad one since they did. Alcohol may only be a small part of a bigger problem but it’s now one of the more accessible ones and you’d have to be pretty naive to say it wasn’t the best social lube since KY.

But then that’s what happens when you let businessmen who make their money out of selling piss to teenagers influence government.

As far as punishment goes I’m a big fan of an eye for an eye and all that. I don’t believe all the civil libertarians - who have never had anything remotely bad happen to them - when they say ‘punishment doesn’t deter or rehabilitate’. How the fuck would we know, because thanks to them we’ve never been allowed to try it! I reckon you get two chances to make a social stuff up. The first time you get a chance at redemption – providing you do something minor – but the second time is over and out. If you didn’t get the message the first time that you'd fucked up then clearly a second or third is of no use to you. If you choose to step out of what society deems acceptable then you no longer have a need for the restraints society applies to those who only make the one booboo.

So for people who kill, they get killed. People who cause physical harm are incarcerated but are thrashed within an inch of their life, given time to recover and then thrashed some more. Those caught tagging or stealing lose a limb. And lets not get hung up on ‘but what if he didn’t do it?’ which again, is an argument perpetuated by someone who has never had anything bad happen to them or their family. I say if you’re caught in the act, then you’re up for the punishment. If there’s doubt over the guilt then we work something else out – but alas my kneejerk theory hasn’t got that far yet.

It may not stop teenagers from stealing ham from the deli, or stoning the assistant principal’s house at night, but it might make them thing twice about knifing each over some graffiti.