It’s not that I’m an angry man – I can be when provoked – but I can’t help but think sometimes that life is just one big joke that I’m not in on.
Like when you rock on up to the servo and the pumps don’t work. Whilst leaving RotoAnus a few weeks ago I spent several minutes manoeuvring the passion wagon between two pumps that simply wouldn’t pump, only for Rangi (his real name) to tell me, when he finally noticed the angry pakeha, that “Sorry Bro, forgot to turn those ones on this morning”. When I finally got the devils semen pumped I found I couldn’t even pay for the stuff, because Rangi’s mate inside couldn’t “take cash on this till, only Eftpos”.
Can’t take cash?! It’s legal fucken tender, you can't not but take it! Clearly I should’ve offered him some blankets, some beads and some glue for his children because that day, cold hard cash just wasn’t going to cut it at BP RotoAnus. Rangi finally fixed me up, on the other till, but I came close to pulling a drive off that morning, I kid you not.
But this is not an isolated incident because almost every week I struggle to find a pump at Shell J-Town that will actually work when you put it on that little clip thing that was made – and I’m guessing here – so that you could leave it pumping, hands free. Now that would be handy, was it to ever work. Sometimes the fuckers even stop when you’re manually holding the bloody thing down so there’s absolutely no pattern to it other than to piss me off.
The guy behind the counter the one time I mentioned it was a great help, he reminded me that I had to pull the lever for it to work which was brilliant advice because up till then I had had it up my arsehole. My bad. But clearly our money is no longer any good to them. First they take away the forecourt attendants who used to pump your gas for you and now they take away the ability for you to actually pump your own gas. The final step will be that the pumps actually takes away your gas by siphoning out what little of it you have left in the tank without you knowing.
How can you spot the ex porn star at the servo? He’s the one who pulls the pump out before it’s finished and sprays it all over your boot.
Showing posts with label RotoAnus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label RotoAnus. Show all posts
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Friday, February 1, 2008
Cheque Book Loyalty
ClubDes has opened its doors again this week after a brief hiatus away in the very unlike Las Vegas town of RotoVegas. I’ve never been to Las Vegas but unless it’s full of Asians and hories and stinks of arse then I reckon I’m safe in assuming the two are quite unalike.
It’s called Rotovegas because it pulls the tourists, has the bright lights, has the shows etc. It really should be called RotoAnus though, on account that it smells like one and you'll be paying top tourist dollar through yours at every attraction you visit. They really should give a discount to those that can rock up with a NZ passport I reckon because $50 for a three second tumble in a ball of bubble wrap is a bit cheeky. Even if you do add a bucket of tepid water to lube it all up, quite frankly I’ve had more fun flushing whilst I sat on the shitter.
Still, there’s always the joy of handling your extended family’s washing whilst on a shared holiday to look forward to. There’s nothing quite like a spot of ‘compare the gusset stains’ as you hang everything on the line each morning. I couldn’t help but notice as I did, that my brother in law Bruiser single handily keeps the Asian sweat shop industry running with his excessive label bashing; Calvin Klein grundies, Nike bike shorts and adidas outer shorts. And that was just one days washing!
But then I can understand why he layers up like he does. It’s all down to a traumatic event he had whilst wearing the stubbies that were compulsory PE attire back in our college days. It was no coincidence that those that decided on the dress code back then were a bunch of homoerotic men who called themselves the Board of Trustees and all of whom longed to see all young men clad in thigh revealing, ball hugging short shorts. These shorts were unnaturally high cut and gave new meaning to the term ‘the cut lunch’.
Many of us didn’t know whether to laugh or applaud the day Bruisers left plum broke free of the flimsy mesh netting and came to rest on the polished hardwood floor. The young Bruiser was advanced stage of physical development for a boy of his age and whilst we longed for the day our manbags resembled walnuts in a sock, his were coconuts on a tree. They still are he assures me, just a little less milk than there used to be. I’m happy to take his word for it.
There’s nothing better than a game of backyard cricket to bring the family together whilst on holiday, that is until some Captain Hard Out prick bowls a few beamers and stuffs it up for everyone. Personally, I bring a test match attitude to the crease in such fixtures and give nothing away until I’ve reached an epic hundred or the game has ended due to boredom, which ever comes first.
I enjoy playing the game but I stopped watching cricket or rather specifically New Zealand play cricket, several years ago. If you want to see delusion in action, than look no further than the way cricket is marketed to the masses in this country. Cricket in New Zealand relies solely on the past reputation of guys who played 20 – 30 years ago to get the support it does. Martin Crowe was the last really good player we had and even though he played on one leg with no hair for the last few seasons, was still a cut above fully fit players. It was about this time that tossers like Adam Parore started believing that they were really, really, really ridiculously good looking, not to mention good at cricket and it’s about then that the bullshit started and I turned off.
Cricket these days is a lottery, plain and simple. Countries play each other so often no one keeps count. The result should be decided at the toss prior to play and everyone can save themselves the eight hours in between. NZ would benefit from this because we might win more games than we actually do and it would have the added bonus of removing the one certainty in world cricket today: everyone will get their personal best figures whilst playing NZ.
So no surprise to see Shane Bond took the money and ran like he did this past week. I wasn’t surprised but that doesn’t make it right, but then I remember a time when ‘loyalty’ meant more than a crumpled bit of cardboard that if stamped 27 times means you get a free coffee. Loyalty is watching the next four seasons of Lost, no matter how ridiculous it gets, because you took the time to watch the first three. What else are you going to do when it’s on anyway? Have a wank?
Bond is it doing it for the money which is the way of the world isn’t it? Fair enough, but I say he’s a prick for doing so, albeit a rich one now and by walking away from your country you kick in the pink bits every coach, volunteer, supporter and administrator who gave up their time in helping you get where you are today. There payback was watching you do the bizzo for the national team so unless you’re cutting them in on your dirty money than you are what you are, you prick.
I live in hope that if he every turns up in RotoAnus they fleece him for everything he’s got.
It’s called Rotovegas because it pulls the tourists, has the bright lights, has the shows etc. It really should be called RotoAnus though, on account that it smells like one and you'll be paying top tourist dollar through yours at every attraction you visit. They really should give a discount to those that can rock up with a NZ passport I reckon because $50 for a three second tumble in a ball of bubble wrap is a bit cheeky. Even if you do add a bucket of tepid water to lube it all up, quite frankly I’ve had more fun flushing whilst I sat on the shitter.
Still, there’s always the joy of handling your extended family’s washing whilst on a shared holiday to look forward to. There’s nothing quite like a spot of ‘compare the gusset stains’ as you hang everything on the line each morning. I couldn’t help but notice as I did, that my brother in law Bruiser single handily keeps the Asian sweat shop industry running with his excessive label bashing; Calvin Klein grundies, Nike bike shorts and adidas outer shorts. And that was just one days washing!
But then I can understand why he layers up like he does. It’s all down to a traumatic event he had whilst wearing the stubbies that were compulsory PE attire back in our college days. It was no coincidence that those that decided on the dress code back then were a bunch of homoerotic men who called themselves the Board of Trustees and all of whom longed to see all young men clad in thigh revealing, ball hugging short shorts. These shorts were unnaturally high cut and gave new meaning to the term ‘the cut lunch’.
Many of us didn’t know whether to laugh or applaud the day Bruisers left plum broke free of the flimsy mesh netting and came to rest on the polished hardwood floor. The young Bruiser was advanced stage of physical development for a boy of his age and whilst we longed for the day our manbags resembled walnuts in a sock, his were coconuts on a tree. They still are he assures me, just a little less milk than there used to be. I’m happy to take his word for it.
There’s nothing better than a game of backyard cricket to bring the family together whilst on holiday, that is until some Captain Hard Out prick bowls a few beamers and stuffs it up for everyone. Personally, I bring a test match attitude to the crease in such fixtures and give nothing away until I’ve reached an epic hundred or the game has ended due to boredom, which ever comes first.
I enjoy playing the game but I stopped watching cricket or rather specifically New Zealand play cricket, several years ago. If you want to see delusion in action, than look no further than the way cricket is marketed to the masses in this country. Cricket in New Zealand relies solely on the past reputation of guys who played 20 – 30 years ago to get the support it does. Martin Crowe was the last really good player we had and even though he played on one leg with no hair for the last few seasons, was still a cut above fully fit players. It was about this time that tossers like Adam Parore started believing that they were really, really, really ridiculously good looking, not to mention good at cricket and it’s about then that the bullshit started and I turned off.
Cricket these days is a lottery, plain and simple. Countries play each other so often no one keeps count. The result should be decided at the toss prior to play and everyone can save themselves the eight hours in between. NZ would benefit from this because we might win more games than we actually do and it would have the added bonus of removing the one certainty in world cricket today: everyone will get their personal best figures whilst playing NZ.
So no surprise to see Shane Bond took the money and ran like he did this past week. I wasn’t surprised but that doesn’t make it right, but then I remember a time when ‘loyalty’ meant more than a crumpled bit of cardboard that if stamped 27 times means you get a free coffee. Loyalty is watching the next four seasons of Lost, no matter how ridiculous it gets, because you took the time to watch the first three. What else are you going to do when it’s on anyway? Have a wank?
Bond is it doing it for the money which is the way of the world isn’t it? Fair enough, but I say he’s a prick for doing so, albeit a rich one now and by walking away from your country you kick in the pink bits every coach, volunteer, supporter and administrator who gave up their time in helping you get where you are today. There payback was watching you do the bizzo for the national team so unless you’re cutting them in on your dirty money than you are what you are, you prick.
I live in hope that if he every turns up in RotoAnus they fleece him for everything he’s got.
Friday, January 18, 2008
The Cut Lunch (Perfect for a road trip)
ClubDes is taking the magic to the masses for the next two weeks and where we're going they still have the Internet, but only in cafes where you have to wait in a queue behind several tourists all of which will spend the next hour downloading 637 almost identical images of themselves doing touristy things from their cameras to send to the family back home. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but you've seen one bush walk you've seen them all we reckon so save that shit for when you're at home with your own PC aye? Some of us are trying to discreetly download porn here and get a little of our own bush action and you pricks are slowing down the network!Seeing as patience is not one of our stronger points, we at ClubDes won't be playing that game, that's not how we roll. So we'll be taking a break from the blog for the next two weeks and will be back in the first week of Feb with a whole new spotlight on passion wagons, the usual witty repartee and who knows, we might even get a few up skirts whilst on holiday. That or some sneaky bikini shots from the beach or maybe even the pic of our chopper we like to take on other family members cameras without their knowledge. There's nothing Grandma likes more than when she's getting her prints done and finds a big ol' cock amongst them.
There might even be the odd paragraph of brilliance because you never know, we might just get a seat between Sven, Klaus and TingTong at the nearest Internet cafe and you know us, two weeks in a city where us locals are in the minority is bound to piss us off more than once.
Until then, up yours.
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