Addicted to E (Briefly)

So I must confess that I've watched a little too much E these holidays, particularly anything and everything starring the Kardashian family. I know, I know.

It was kind of hard not to. Like most of the pay per view channels this particular one lacks the imagination to schedule programs that would cater for the fact that almost everyone is home over the holiday period and thus present an opportunity to pick up flagging viewership figures.

But alas no, such forward thinking doesn’t apply when you’re the only pay per view platform in the market. So wall to wall, 24 / 7 repeats of every show it was and the pick of the bunch was the family that really only got big for two reasons; their father represented OJ Simpson and the daughter did a porn tape.

Still, I have a new style icon; Scott Douche-ick. No one wears the Marino wool sweater and polo top combo like Scotty does. Oh. Yeah.

Yes, the guy might have issues in the parental and the ‘being a supportive partner’ stakes, but I’ve already got those so no real losses there. What I haven’t got is the ability to carry off the colour combos and matching sweater skills that Scott has. In fact he is so good at it he may very well be my muse from this moment on.

There’s really actually only one thing that makes me watch this guy with interest and that is he looks and acts a lot like the character Patrick Bateman form American Pyscho (played in the movie by Christina Bale). They even come from the same kind of background. Coincidence?

So a small part of me has kept watching in the hope that Scott – the style icon – does indeed turn out to be Scott the Bateman and in a climactic end of season episode, kills off the entire Kardashian clan whilst listening to Phil Collins.

Now that would make for some interesting TV.

Fancy Some Gok?

If there’s one thing we love more than a celebrity in this country, it’s a gay one.

Not a sneaky gay man mind you like Adam Lambert or Neil Patrick Harris, because you can never quite tell with guys like that, no we love our celebrity homo’s to be raging. Like designer, fashionista and full on gay man Gok Wan, who was in the country last week and my, didn’t he get the penile blood pumping.

Gok was here as the new ambassador for retail chain Spec Savers and did the obligatory spokesperson things; gave female news anchors advice on their frames, judged ‘best specs’ contests, probably recorded a few TV ads and of course, played his role in the whole ‘gay man meets awkwardly straight man’ interview routine . Oh how he must tire of doing that.

It was his interviews on the likes of Breakfast and Close Up that proved that behind the facade of straightness, many a NZ male is gagging for a bit of Gok. Paul Henry, he of the glassed POV, gushed all over the Gok, as did Mike Hosking who tried to make like he was uncomfortable whenever Gok laid some in-your-end-oh on him but you could tell that deep down, he was loving it.

The irony being of course that for a long time in the media many believed Hosking did actually fancy some Gok.

Personally I like a bit of Gok. I admire the adversity he’s gotten over in his life and the magnificent work he does increasing the self confidence and body appreciation of every day women. I like that he sometimes makes his hair look like a minge and I especially like that if it wasn’t for his TV show I would have no idea who Alexa Chung is and I fancy the designer pants off her:

All of which reminds me of two things; a very funny Catherine Tate sketch and a theory I’ve have for a while now on just how many of us would secretly love a bit of Gok.

It’s all based on the research done in the 1940’s by a guy named Alfred Kinsey. He conducted some then groundbreaking studies on the sexual activities of men and women in America. What he found was so profoundly revealing that for a long time the two books he published on the matter were banned in several States as ‘objectionable’.

In his findings he found that almost half the men he had surveyed had had a consensual homosexual experience and from that, he was able to formulate a scale of 1 – 6 indicating just how gay a fella was; one being dead and six being, well, Gok.

It was shocking stuff to Middle America because although homosexuality wasn’t stigmatised in the mainstream like it is today, nobody was bumming each other out in the open either.

His methods were pretty kinky too, Kinsey encouraged his research team, both male and female, to sleep with each other and even their wives if they so felt the urge but then this was the swinging Forties after all. That kind of stuff only happens at arranged parties these days. Or so I’m told.

These days we see a lot of homo repression and almost everyone with a penis has taken part in the teasing of each over supposed gayness, but when I learnt of Kinsey’s research I started to wonder if it’s all really an act of bravado that we fella’s have built up over the years to hide the fact that we really wouldn’t mind a bit of sausage in the morning.

Being gay, somewhat ironically, is now ‘in fashion’ more than it ever was with people even pretending to be queer and yet, there is still that stigma attached by most males to being attracted to the person, not the gender.

Not that I’m trying to tell you something about myself that you didn’t know either for I really do fancy only the one penis; mine.

But the real question is just how many of us really do fancy a bit of Gok...?

Mmmmm Gok, so hot right now.

Six Degrees of New Zealand

New Zealand is a relatively small place. Not like an orange small, but in terms of land mass we’re a pubescent boy amongst the big countries of the world.

Despite our size we have a lot going for us and do a lot of cool things that get us noticed on the world stage. We do some pretty fucken idiotic things too but on the whole, we’re known more for positive reasons and having small man syndrome is not one of them.

So it really gets on my tits when the media outlets in this country feel they have to create a New Zealand link to already newsworthy stories so as to increase the appeal, like we’re all a bunch of idiots or something. We may be miles away from everyone else but I take it personally when it’s implied we’re backwards because of it.

Some stories do have a definitive New Zealand link i.e. they involve a Kiwi, but it gets a bit ridiculous when we start referencing the fact that someone once holidayed here or accidentally pointed to us on a globe thinking that we were Australia. What the fuck does that have to do with the price of fish and does it make the story any the more interesting? No. No it does not.

It’s almost as if every news story that comes in on the wires is given the Six Degrees of New Zealand treatment. That must be what all those clowns in the newsroom behind the presenters spend all their time doing: “Right, here we have a story about some geezer who’s just gunned down 12 kids in a McDonald's over in Finland. What’s the link? Oh I’ve got it; we have McDonald's in New Zealand! And kids! And geezers!”

But let’s not solely blame the news organisations for this thinly veiled narcissism. The latest series of World Vision ads are laying it on nice and thick too with the spokesperson, Petra Bagust, exclaiming that their work in whatever rice paddy field she’s standing in is really a NZ problem and we need to take ownership of it. Excuse me?

I’m all for helping to end poverty in third world countries too but the emotional blackmail is not going to work on me, not when it’s pushed by a woman who made her name by being the oldest virgin on telly. Oh and to complete the look she’s taken her daughter with her on tour and introduced her to the world of being a B Grade celebrity in this country, like she had a choice.

Maybe I’m a cynical prick but I can’t wait for the day the news breaks that the younger Bagust accidentally-on-purpose lets slip that, just like Mum, she shagged her boyfriend in the toilets on the plane too. We love that shit in New Zealand. Maybe she’ll hook up with Millie Holmes too and they can share war stories on just how interesting life can be when you’re the daughter of a B grader.

Now that would be an easy one degree of New Zealand news story wouldn’t it?

Dumb Is As Dumb Does

Sometimes I lament the ongoing dumbing down of this nation.

Usually I don't give a toss but just occasionally I can't help but sigh like you do when you think of a girl you could've gone all the way with but didn't. Now you chastise your indecision at the time and wonder 'what if' but no matter how hard you look, she's not on Facebook or Bebo, so even if she was interested 15 years later (and wasn't a complete minger) you know your chance is gone. You know that feeling and I know you know.

I had one of those moments after watching a show on Sunday that is hosted by Marc Ellis, which says it all really. It features Kiwis trying to break world records, but not outstanding stuff like being the first to reach some unmountable summit like we Kiwis used to do, no, these are decidedly low brow achievements; like trying to catch the most Malteasers in the mouth, tossing washing machines or breaking wooden toilet seats with your head. Real world changing achievement type of stuff.

Which in itself is okay I suppose, if you want to spend your days looking through the Guinness Book of World Records trying to find some obscure, who-gives-a-fuck record that you think you can break then good luck to you. But somebody with more influence than I made the conscious decision to put up the funds to make a program out of it and then sell it to the network who broadcast it every week. Why did they not stop to think that that some money could've been used to make something remotely educational or informative I wonder to myself?

At the other end of the social scale was the Tua / Cameron fight, billed as the fight of the century but alas proving to be far from it on the night. The real hi-jinks started earlier than that though when the two got together at one of their first press conferences and started discussing nuclear physics. Well, not quite. A meeting of Mensa minds this wasn't and after the jokes about old men and mountain goats* had passed I couldn't help but wonder if the Tua / Cameron circus would go the distance.

It did and it didn't. I personally thought that one of the two fighters would make like a Christian and pull out before the big night. When the tsunami hit Samoa it seemed like Tua might have his way out but full credit, he didn't and you can't help but think that the terrible event didn't help motivate Mr O for Owesome in some way because prior to that it seems his only motivation was to make it through the whole palava so that he could get down to Burger King.

On the night it was decidedly men vs the boys stuff and over in less than five minutes which has to be disappointing if you paid all that money to watch it in person. It might have been a spectacle to see Tua win like he did but so is watching Pearl Jam live and you'd be pretty pissed if they walked off after only one song. Now I'm not a boxing fan, sure, I like to see two men smash the shit out of each other as the next guy, but boxing is not my bag. But what I do love about it is seeing the effect it has on people in the crowd and the Tua fight / Cameron massacre was no exception.

There is something primal that happens to those present at such an event. It turns even the most ardent of white ribbon wearing person into Jake the Muss and often you see it in even the most unlikely of onlookers; women. Watch any boxing match where shit is getting torn up and I guarantee that in the background you will see some bird swinging her way into Fight Club. Brilliant.

Over in his native Samoa Tua's victory made front page news, knocking of the small, inconsequential event that was the 100+ life claiming tsunami. Now I know they love their sport over there but even that seemed a bit much. Perhaps one day someone will make a show of it called Tua vs The Tsunami; The Real Fight of the Century, starring Mark Ellis as David Tua.

Now that would be dumb.

*Shane Cameron's nickname is The Mountain Warrior. Mountain goats, incidentally, are best shagged at the edge of a cliff; they push back harder. Don't ask how I know this. Please.

A Funny Telco Ad? Imagine That Jermaine...

Nice one 2 Degrees; you’ve only been in the mobile biz for all of five minutes and you’ve already blown away the opposition in the eyes of a public gagging for some competition.

The Rhys Darby ad is head and shoulders above the Telescum XT network effort that has me not really wanting to watch Top Gear anymore. A pity really because Dickie Hammond is quite amusing when testing cars and other shit that actually requires the wearing of fire retardant overalls.

I wonder how many folk actually know who The Hamster is. Admittedly Top Gear might have an appeal that is a little greater than just those that watch the show on Prime but it wouldn’t be much more. If you didn’t know who he is then you’re probably thinking he’s just another annoying English accent in another annoying Telco ad. And you’d be right.

Everybody who knows Rhys Darby is. He’s Murray, the manager of The Conchords and NZs funniest guy right now. Any production that lets him play on what comes naturally to him is guaranteed to get the attention of the masses and even if 2 Degrees have blown the whole advertising budget on just the one ad it’s a keeper.

And the key is that it’s Rhys playing Murray, or is that vice versa? It’s not a desperate copy by some cheeky bugger trying to stir the porridge that is The Conchords success, like the Moro ad (NZs Fourth Favourite Chocolate Bar) or the two Aussie wankers on the pizza ad singing unfunny songs. Nope, this is the original; accept no substitute.

Good on you 2 Degrees. You are the equivilant of a text message in the timeline of mobile providers here in Godzown but you've already shown you know us better those ex-pat Pommie wasters over at Telescum do. Now I don’t know anything about you, your products or your prices – but I want one.

Imagine that!

Gaylord Gayford - Yesterdays News

Now a few weeks ago I thought we agreed we'd vote for anyone but Gaylord Gayford in the world wide internet competition to find the next caretaker for the Great Barrier Reef. Imagine my surprise this week to find out that he had made it to the last fifteen. Geez, its almost as if no bugger reads this blog.

Gaylords good fortune made for more mutual hand jobs between him and former employers TV3, who's resources he had used to get that far. They ran the story almost every night this past week and so often I had to wonder if there was any genuine news to report on. There was of course, but then that’s NZ for you; we care more for the antics of a cheeky wanker than we do the events of the world, where the adults live. We love that someone like Gaylord has gotten as far as he did because in some twisted way we like to think he represents NZ and that’s a cause we can get behind.

My real beef was not really with Gaylord. Yes, he's annoying and not the tiniest bit funny but deep down I hoped he would win because aside from the gratuitous follow up segments that Harae Mai John Campbell would do on him if he did, he'll be off our screens indefinitely. Man I hadn’t been that excited about a TV idiot moving on since Jason Gunn did back in the days when Thingees eye fell out on camera and gave everybody under the age of 10 nightmares for years. Gunn eventually came back and rather spookily hadn't appeared to aged at all. His jokes certainly hadn’t. All the oldies love Gunn but then they always did have a soft spot for the 'special' kid didn't they?

No what really twisted my nips about the whole Gaylord Gayford thing is that an event that is not in the slightest bit newsworthy made its way into the news. It's wasn’t even an event that is spectacular in its ingenuity. Oh wow, a competition on the Net. Big deal, at any one moment in time someone is pulling some stunt on the intraweb whether it be auctioning their 'virginity', raffling their house or selling a feijoa that looks like a Kiwi. Is it mildly amusing? Yes. Is it newsworthy? Maybe, but the Great Barrier Caretaker Hunt is right up their with Two Girls One Cup; you only want to see it the once.

Did you ever hear about the waster who walked the length of NZ a few years ago calling himself Bro Millionaire? He begged his way to an absurd amount of money on the back of being a little bit cheeky and a little bit entrepreneurial. Just like Gaylord. ZM, the radio station of choice for those that like to be told what they like, was right behind him and gave him all the free publicity he needed to make more money in a few weeks than you and I will in years of working full time. Wow, when you think of it like that its not so cheeky any more is it? When cheeky Bro Millionaire asked me for a dollar I told him to fuck off. Now that was cheeky.

See I'm always wary of advertising that makes it way into our conscious under the guise of 'news'. Why? Because as an individual I have a choice when it comes to unsolicited advertising; I don't have to watch the ads on TV, read the piles of junk mail that passes through my letterbox and I can hang the fuck up on cold callers. They’re all easy to ignore but when we start allowing subliminal advertising to infiltrate our news then we're giving up the power of choice. Let us not forget that this is how the Nazi propaganda machine worked too.

While there is no 'product' in Gaylords case, it borders on advertising. It's a competition based around a tourist attraction. Sure sounds like advertising to me. So is the story of the car company that's rolled out a new hybrid or the clothing manufacturer that has come up with some fantastic new fabric. A world first it may be, but I don't give a monkeys. If I do want to know that gem of groundbreaking news then trust me, I'll find it.

And the real proof was in the result. Gaylord didn’t win and for that I am both delighted and pissed off, for reasons listed earlier. Mind you neither did the kinky looking German girl, Mirjam, who got my vote or the sexy Australian girl, Hailey, who I cast a second vote for whilst pretending to be my wife. Hey I could only vote the once but both looked great in a bikini...

No Gaylord Gayford didn’t win but did you see that on the news? Or on Stuff? Or on Harei Mae John Campbell? No you did not. Because it wasn’t news when he was trying to win and it definitely wasn’t news when he lost.

I rest my case.

Sensing Bullshit - And Making Money Doing It

Fans of the TV show Sensing Bullshit have collectively wet themselves this past week with the release of Kelvin Cruickshank's book 'Walking In Light'.

Surprisingly the book sits atop the non-fiction charts this week which either shows that Cruickshank and Bullshit has a lot of fans, or it’s been an exceedingly slow week in the world of non-fiction. I suspect it's the latter but either way Cruickshank is probably wearing a cheesy smile as big as the one he has on the cover of the book; each copy costs $45 and you don't have to be clairvoyant to solve this rape case.

Now the loose translation of the term 'non-fiction' is that it's true and / or that it depicts events that actually happened. Yes, Cruickshank’s book is an autobiography, of sorts, but it tells the story (and it is a story) of "his earliest physic experiences and his struggles to accept his gift". A gift lets not forget, that is yet to be scientifically proven actually exists, so how the hell does his $45 cash cow make it into the non-fiction category?

Well lets be honest, if The Da Vinci Code can make that list, so can my yet to be published memoirs of Vietnam. Unlike Cruickshank I won't use my real name, preferring instead to use my non de plume Heywood. Heywood Yablowme.

Cruickshank’s blurb continues on about how his $45 enema contains recollections of the "amazingly accurate communications he has shared with believers and skeptics alike". I wonder if Cruikshank’s recollections differ from those people he’s listed. It's his side of the story after all and hey, if you really want to dispute his telling of it then you're first going to have to shell out $45 to read his version. Even if you were to find out that what he said you said wasn't really said at all, he still wins! The fucker. He saw that coming, because he’s a medium. You didn’t, because you’re a tit.

Isn't it funny how "special guys" like Cruickshank who have "special gifts" charge shitloads to share it? It's almost as if they don't want to share it at all. If I had the ability to solve unsolved cases I would give up everything to travel the world helping Police lock up the killers of the world and end the heartache for the families who lost loved ones to the bastards. If I was actually any good at it and my information actually led to arrests and closure of cases - something that Cruickshank or any of his like have yet to achieve anywhere in the world - then people would pay for me to do so.

I wouldn't need to write novels that have about as much factual content as the Mr Men series of books. I wouldn't need to charge $70 for the DVD of the scripted, post produced TV series that is as much reality television as is The Hills. You can even buy a Cruickshank tee shirt for $50, or pay a couple of grand to take a spiritual tour of Ayers Rock with him. You don’t get the tee shirt for free if you do, its still $50.

You see so called psychics don't actually have jobs, they spend their days rehearsing the act that is being a ‘physic’ and they have to make ends meet somehow. If you're silly enough to pay to see them live or buy the DVD you're doing nothing more than pay for a show, containing performers who like actors have learnt their lines and wait for their cues.

Further into Cruickshank’s book blurb it lists how he struggled with his 'gift' until nine years ago when he had a breakdown and finally accepted he was 'special'. Here’s what I think actually happened nine years ago; Cruickshank realised he could make a lot of money pretending to see dead people. All he had to do was learn a whole bunch of names that were common 50 years ago and learn how to use the power of suggestion when 'questioning' people.

Walking In Light? Wanking you in the dark more like.

You Can't Buy Redemption Tony

Sneaky 'ol Wifebeater Vietch, he nearly pulled it off didn't he?

He nearly had us all forgiving him and dare I say it, feeling for the guy after his early guilty plea in court this week thus saving everybody a drawn out, expensive court case. He gave an emotional speech outside court where he told how dreadful he's felt ever since that day and that same evening Harae Mai John Campbell just about had him in tears in an exclusive interview. It was so emotional that I for one stopped bashing my wife to watch.

Yes, it was a big day alright and it seemed like that Smack My Bitch Up Veitchy was well on the path to redemption. Why even in the Campbell Live interview - where he showed that he’s just as annoying as an interview as he is when the interviewer - he was even promising legal action over the many factions of the media who cracked a huge fat when the story first broke and got so excited at the prospect of tearing apart one of their own just plain made shit up.

Now on this one tiny aspect I'm in favour of Tony the Muss. I don't condone what he did and personally I think someone should have the opportunity of kicking him in his midget back just as hard, or harder, than he did his ex missus. But if there’s one thing I hate its people that profligate mis-information under the guise of 'news'. And this case was full of it. The NZ Herald for example, the newspaper that some folk (most of who live in Auckland where the Herald is the delivered it should be remembered) rate as the best in the country, churned out a ton of crap that was factually incorrect. Now that might not make them the best paper in the land but unfortunately they are the biggest and that means a lot of impressionable people took what they printed as gospel.

Radio Live, the radio station that is quite possibly only listened to by the deaf and could easily be renamed 'Wankers Live' and no one would bat an eyelid, allowed some of its hosts to embellish the facts of the case and thus make their ranting and empty promises of 'ruining Veitch' sound all the more reasonable. I don't actually know anyone who listens to Wankers Live but there have to be a few and unfortunately that means more counter knowledge has found its way into tea rooms and lounges up and down the country.

So, now somewhat in the clear, Veitchy is promising to take to the cleaners the very media he not so long ago he was gagging to be a part of again. That seems genuine doesn't it? Yep, how could we not now side with Veitch?

Because a few things haven't gone quite so accordingly to plan for the White Ribbon poster boy. First the news broke that some of the character references put before the court, written by some very famous people, were not gathered under the pretence of keeping Veitch out of jail at all. Rather they were written under the understanding that they were to be used to help Veitch get his passport back. Veitch's father it seems, who obtained the references, seems to share his sons talent for being a smooth talking bullshit artist.

A couple of other things didn't sit well with me either. His speech outside of the court room was read like it was the Saturday night sports news that Veitch used to read. Before he smacked his bitch up. Infact everything he reads or makes a statement over sounds as genuine as Adolf Eichmann’s 'Final Solution'. Let's not forget this is geezer who is trained to write creatively and more disturbingly, emotively. How can we believe anything that comes out of his mouth?

And I’m not the only one who doesn’t seem to be buying the drama. Many commentators are so underwhelmed by his apparent lack of remorse that in a last ditch attempt at being noticed, Veitch tried to top himself again this weekend. His third failed attempt at taking his live since this all started. You’d think he’d get it right by now huh? How hard is it to kill one’s self? That is if you genuinely want to kill yourself and aren’t just looking to get attention…

Let’s not feel sorry for Veitch. He’s a man who has courted the limelight when it suited him. He has huge money behind him (his in-laws are millionaires) and he has an expensive legal and PR team that have gone to great lengths to intimidate and dig the dirt on his ex partner. And yet we're supposed to buy the line he rolls out regularly that he’s lost everything?!

Veitch is finding out the hard way that money and fame can buy you a lot of things, but it can’t buy you redemption. That you have to earn.

Top Models Or Christian Rock? Tough Choice.

Moral dilemma. I think I downloaded a Christian track onto the 'ol iPod. Bummer. I had seen the band on TV and liked their sound, looked them up on Wankipedia and after sampling a few thirty second sound bites on iTunes, downloaded their two most popular songs. The suspect song is a catchy little number and sure, it has a lot of 'oh lords' in it and verses about 'showing me the way', but I thought it was a song about breaking up. On closer listening I think it’s about finding Jesus.

So now what do I do? Keep them and just hope anyone listening to my playlist in the car doesn't take me for a paid up member of the God squad, or just continue to rock out with my cock out and enjoy the ride? They wouldn't be the first band to suck me in with their catchy riffs and not too subtle words of worship but then I’ve always thought Phil Collins wrote the book of Genesis, so I’m easy pickings. Maybe I'll download their whole damn album in the hope that it will give me the knowledge I need to pass myself off as a true believer next time I try to gatecrash the Parachute music festival, where all the hot teenage girls all wear promise rings but believe that 'oral is moral'.

Am I only the one who thinks that current Labour Party leader, Phil Goff, looks a lot like the former leader, Helen Clarke? People always thought Aunty Helen was a bit mannish and lets be honest here, we haven't seen the two of them in the same room together for sometime, so there you go. I feel as sure about this as I do that it would be more interesting if He-Man called himself the Master-bator of the Universe. He's clearly got the arms to prove it. He must use both too...

Not nearly as surprising are reality TV programs and the predictable initial elimination and selection episodes. If watching this rubbish has taught me anything, it’s that to guarantee your passage through the early stages you should stand out like a stiffy in bike shorts.

This is particularly true on anything where looks are the focal point of the show, like New Zealand’s Next Top Model, our version of the American show of the same name. Now the makers of shows like this have two options; pick all the pretty girls or pick most of the pretty girls and through in a few fruit cakes for dramatic effect. They will never ever go with the first option because lets face it, a pretty girl is a pretty girl and sure, she looks magic amongst a bunch of munters, but put her amongst a group of other similarly pretty girls and they all look alike. Unfortunately that makes for a very boring hour of TV unless you if you're a teenager who's discovered the wonder that is 'the wank'. Then it’s a rope burn hour of TV.

These 'interesting' girls are almost always not as pretty, but that doesn't matter. The producers of the show hope by mixing in the kooky girls with the attractive girls will lead to fireworks and they're not wrong. The damaged girls resent the pretty girls for being so damn hot and the pretty girls resent the damaged girls for being the mingers in what essentially is a beauty pageant. Eventually the mutual dislike reaches a level where it's not so subtle and shit hits a new level; the scrubbers will get their backs up over the beauty queens questioning their competing in a competition about who’s the prettiest, whilst the Paris Hiltons will feel that the Lindsay Lohans are using their baggage to get ahead.

Compelling stuff alright, but not groundbreaking. This kind of carry on between the differing factions of girls has gone on since ages ago and life as a girly is not all about pyjama parties, pillow fights and shaving each others legs. Its not, but oh how we fellas wish it was.

So sure enough, when faced with the need to cull 30 wannabes down to 12 probable’s you just knew the African refugee girl was going to make the final cut, as was the girl with the career threatening physical illness and the girl whose parents murdered each other over just where to hang the tea towel. Or something like that. Hardly a short listing that is indicative of anything that would happen in real life, but then this kind of product placement is not just restricted to model searches. On Dancing with the Stars there is always an overweight celebrity, not that there is anything wrong with being an overweight celebrity, especially as the population is getting fatter with every passing minute, but why not have ten fatties and two lookers?

I know why and you know why. Nobody wants to watch fatties, not even fatties. They might have their place in obstacle course type shows but that’s about it. Think about all the shows on TV right now that star fatties and they're all about one thing; them losing weight. Why are there no shows about skinny bastards like me getting fat? Why are there no shows about she males like Aunty Goff, or cartoons about ambidextrous intergalactic wankers?

No wonder I've started to listen to Christian rock, there’s nothing worth watching on TV.

The Miracle Of Prime Time Porn

A moment of divine intervention fell upon the country this past Sunday and surprisingly it didn’t involve a crying statue of The Virgin Mary or a bleeding portrait of Jesus.

Instead there was 3 minutes 50 seconds of hardcore porn broadcast on free to air TV channel Prime in the middle of a cold, lazy hazy Sunday afternoon. Those that had huddled around the box to watch the latest instalment of Grass Roots Rugby, got a little more ‘root’ than they bargained for when inexplicably, their viewing was interrupted by a scene from Desperate Black Wives II. Now I know what you’re thinking and yes, I was surprised too, to learn that there was a sequel.

Parents watching Prime with their children were appalled. Wives slammed the TV3 (the parent company of Prime) switchboard with calls of complaints whilst fathers sent the children to their rooms so they could watch the offending material alone. TV3 ran a disappointingly small part of the offending footage as one of their lead stories that night on their 6pm news. Personally I was appalled at what I saw. The woman shown on the screen, though skillful with her application of the whipped cream to a fella’s pixelated dickie was alas white, not black. Needless to say I called TV3 in disgust at the blatant misrepresentation of the facts.

The official word on how it happened is that the feed from Sky’s adult channel got cross wired with the Prime channel. My white arse it did. I suspect like all good employers, Prime has a weekend skeleton crew consisting of low paid, low intellect staff and the good ol boys watching the porn tried to see if they could get it on the big screen. It stayed like that for nearly four minutes till their game of soggy biscuit was over and someone realised that the screen showing the Prime channel was no longer just showing guys in short shorts reaching between each others legs and grabbing balls.

This is the kind of stuff we fella’s grow up dreaming will one day happen. That one day free to air porn will just start showing and all will be good in the world. Its right up there on the list of hopeless male fantasies that will never happen, with other gems like the endless hope that some day a sexy shop assistant will offer to try on the skimpy outfit you’re planning to buy your girlfriend because she’s ‘about her size’.

The closest I ever got to that happening was the day I was waiting for my wife to try something on in Sussan and an attractive young lady exited a changing cubicle clad in only the skimpiest set of pyjamas, the type you usually only see on feminine hygiene ads. You know the ones, where girls have sleepovers, pillow fights, shave each others legs and practise their pashing on one another? Her mate was waiting next to me to critique the outfit choice and it’s fair to say she got the big thumbs up from the both of us.

Which is not quite the same as when the sales assistant in Glassons asked me whilst I waited for my wife outside the changing rooms another time, if what it read on my tee shirt – Big Cock (my local Asian takeaway) – was true or not? Needless to say the answer I gave her was not the same as the one I gave the heavily tattooed carnie who screamed it out across the field where the circus was laid out on the Napier foreshore another time. He thought it was funny, I thought he had remarkably good eyesight for a wanker.

All of which reminds me of the one time Coops crashed over at my place one weekend and we stayed up all night watching Jean Claude Van Damme and Arnie movies – as we did back in them days. We’d gotten our hands on one of the shared skin flicks too that was doing the rounds so what with that, the Muscles from Brussels and half a dozen Double Browns we had quite the night planned. Thing is, neither of us wanted to watch the porno together so it was a battle of wits to see who would stay awake the longest and this watch it alone. I won, but I was only a few segments of poor tracking in when two girls decided on a bit of anal bead action. I know what it is now of course, but back then it was just wrong so naturally I woke Coops up and we proceeded to watch the rest of it together, in our sleeping bags, with our knees bent.

Apparently Primes miracle was only broadcast in the Auckland region meaning the rest of us good folk gagging for a bit of hard core during a lazy Sunday never got to see it anyway. But I’m not taking any chances. Just today I went out and bought a 14 inch, a DVD recorder and a stack of blank DVDs that I plan to set up and record Prime around the clock.

And I don’t mind waiting because 3 minutes 50 is just about all I’ll need I reckon.

Stupid Is As Stupid Does

So I’ve decided that I’m going to watch the new series of 'The Hills' that starts on MTV in a week or so.

Admittedly this type of show goes against all that I stand against – the making of celebrities out of nobodies, popularising the typical sex sells stereotypes and creating an unrealistic expectation of life that the majority of young girls will aspire too but ultimately can never realistic attain – and fuck I’m still undecided if it’s even real, but it’s a free perv and I’m always up for that.

I’ve only ever seen about 20 minutes in total of the thing. It’s one of those shows that my wife is not so keen on so that means we don’t watch it. Funny how compromise in a marriage often means ‘let’s watch what I don’t dislike’ rather than ‘let’s watch something we both like’. After having to sit through half an hour of yet another game show with that freak of nature Jason Gunn I’ve decided to put my foot down and have decided we will be – at the very least – taping The Hills this season.

Jason Gunn reminds me of a time when you got K bars from the dairy for 10 cents, double happies weren’t illegal and occasionally you still stuck your willy up the bath tap just to see what it felt like. The problem now is that Jason Gunn still thinks and acts like his audience is 10 years old and that the person standing next to him is actually a puppet with a penis for a nose called, rather appropriately, ‘Thingee’. The only marginally funny thing Jason Gunn has ever done – and only then because he needed the money I suspect - was regularly appear on a NZ skit show in a reoccurring segment called ‘Jasons Tinnie House’. The irony is that some people actually believe Jason Gunn is ‘clearly on something’ and always has been.

I used to think parking a car was a relatively straightforward exercise that most people had mastered, until I spent the grand total of 30 days, several stories up, overlooking one of the busiest car parks in Wellington. Surprisingly I never got bored at watching just how much of a dogs breakfast some people made of it and we’re not talking about parallel parking here, this is your straight in and out job – the missionary position of parking – where unfortunately, unlike sexy time, not every hole is a goal. I am now convinced that driving tests should start with the ability to park and if the driver doesn’t get it right first time then no license for them, one year!

Fuck ups, whether an action or an individual, are not confined to the roads though. Going out to sea in a 6 foot wooden dinghy with no life jackets, motor or sense is right up there with the top ten decisions that changed the world isn’t it? Two good old boys seemed rather surprised when featured on the news this week to admit that they weren’t expecting the change in conditions when they set out to sea in Napier the other day. There seems to be a lot of that surprise when other guys like these are rescued too. Do you think they get walking down to the local dairy in their wife beater and stubbies mixed up with putting themselves at the mercy of mother nature or what?! I wonder if being landed with a $50,000 bill for the cost of the search and rescue operation that gets mounted for these numb nuts would make more of them wake the fuck up before they head out to sea?!

Not that stupidity at sea is confined to the Napier Chapter of the NZ Mensa club. Pete Bethune is the guy that’s mortgaged his house twice just so he could sail his suped up tri-maran jet boat around the world in record time, otherwise known as the Earthrace, a race of one incidentally. He mentioned at the completion of his race of one this week that “if you made a mistake out in the ocean, you’re dead”. Well you would be wouldn’t you; you’re in the middle of a vast expanse of ocean, that’s what its fucken there for!

The peasant fisherman they ran over and killed on the way to breaking the record ‘made a mistake out there’ alright, he chanced upon the same square metre of ocean that just happened to contain at that very same moment a high speed 78 foot wedge of Kevlar composite tri-maran. What are the odds of that happening aye? It might not have been the first thing to go through his mind that morning when he set out for a quiet fish but you can bet it was the last. Literally!

Now that he’s broken whatever obscure record he set out to break and won the race of one, Bethune now has to come home to a pile of debt and quite possibly the realisation that nobody really gives a shit about whatever record he just broke.

Maybe he should’ve just stayed indoors and watched The Hills.

Eyes Wide Shut

I didn’t think anyone was that silly enough to buy into Lynx’s latest attempt at trying to convince average looking men everywhere that buying their deodorant – and it is only a deodorant – somehow enhances your ability to pull loose women. Until I saw the guy in the supermarket the other day with not one, but two packs of the ‘1 + 2 =3’ Lynx spray.

Lynx reckon that if you take one can and mix it with the second can then you get a whole new scent, which obviously must be too good, or flammable, to put in a can because if they could they’d be able to sell it separately and make a mint, wouldn’t they? I reckon they tried to bottle and name it, but unfortunately ‘fly spray’ was already in use. This is the stuff of Mensa really – mixing stuff to make something new. Why just the other day I took a dry chocolate powder, added hot water and mixed in some milk. The result was a refreshing beverage! Fuck me. I was going to demand the guy hand back his man card but i figured I’d save him a few bucks by offering him a ‘can 3’ I had at home. It’s actually oven cleaner with the label removed but I doubt he’ll catch on.

Lynx have proven that yet again, there’s one born every minute. Idiots that is, not Asians, although there probably is an Asian born every minute. The best news story I saw all week was the bit on the group of vigilante Asians in Auckland who are going to proactively end crime in the street when and where they see it. With martial arts apparently and not their command of the English language. The leader spoke passionately on TV3 news, he just wasn’t all that clear. He didn’t want his face shown so that the gang bangers wouldn’t know who he was but i reckon they’ll see him coming, he’ll be the one dressed like a ninja.

All jokes aside though I’m all for people taking back the streets. The Five O are clearly not having much luck, not for want of trying mind you, so not surprisingly we’re seeing more and more people offloading on the likes of taggers, boy racers and other such stand up citizens. I once took a ‘Which Comic Book Hero Are You’ quiz and I turned out to be The Punisher. Now that’s what I’m talking about. I read an article in a boy’s mag recently that priced the cost of forcibly taking over a third world country as a very cheap seven million NZ dollars. Fuck that’s do able. I’m starting a whip round as of Monday and when I have enough I’m going to fly in the 75 Saffa mercenaries, 60 AK47s and two Soviet helicopter gunships that buys me and then things are really going to kick off around here. Anyone wanting in please let me know – genuine enquiries only though, I’ve been burnt before when trying to put a small army together.

Speaking of crimes against society, the first and hopefully last season of the NZ version of ‘Stars in Their Eyes’, the show that brings you costumed karaoke, thankfully just came to an end. Now when I was a boy – I was raised as a young child incidentally – I used to love watching the UK version. Michael Barrymore used to host it, until he decided to drown one of his rent boys in his swimming pool. Surprisingly his career went downhill from there. Who would have thought, aye? The English version was tight, you actually had to sound like the person you were impersonating and if you got through to the final you had to sing a different song than the heat. If you happened to look like the artist after 4 hours of having makeup trowel led across your face then that was a bonus, but it was all about the singing.

The makers of our version didn’t seem so concerned that most of the contestants didn’t actually sound like the artist, which might be okay at a deaf 21st karaoke party – and I’ve been to one of those – but it would seem to be an oversight in a impersonation based talent show. The deaf 21st had a stripper too by the way. Yup. There’s nothing quite as erotic I tell you, as a petrified young lady in a g string trying to lap dance the birthday boy whilst closely circled in by a growling, grunting, gesticulating mob of deaf folk.

The finalists sung the same song they had in their heat and bizarrely, most of them didn’t even look like the star they were mimicking. The guy who wished he was doing George Michael was built like a shit brick house, the chick doing Tina Turner was actually born a man and goes by the stage name ‘Cindy of Samoa’ in real life, Roy Orbison was a pasty ginga with a nose like the Concorde and Billy Joel – the eventual grand final winner – did look a little like him but only if the real BJ gains about 30kg. All of which made for several episodes of quite possibly the shittiest TV ever produced here. And yet it was so bad I couldn’t help but not watch to see what was coming next. It was ‘2 girls 1 cup’ all over again, only with Simon Barnett, who freakishly still doesn’t look a day over 15.

Sadly the best performer for my mind was the Christian girl who did an awesome Melissa Etheridge. She loved the songs she admitted, but couldn’t agree with Melissa drinking from the furry cup like she does. Oh the irony.

High Def Porn? Love the Feeling!

The TVNZ boys and girls must have got their hands on some good stuff recently because just look at the promo line they came up with after their last big toke sesh:

“Shortland Street. Love the feeling”.

What the..? Love the feeling of what exactly? Now I love the feeling of several things, most of which occur whilst in or around the toilet so I’m struggling to make the connection – unless it’s their way of saying the show is shit? I did once have a good feeling towards Shorters but that was because it was ending. Loved that feeling!

But this is just the tip of the iceberg - which is also what the guy said to the doctor after revealing to him that he had lettuce leaves sticking out of his orse. Have you been sucked into the High Definition (HD) revolution yet? Have ya? Freeview and Sky are trumpeting the arrival of HD as if it were bigger than a cure for cancer, but it’s going to take more than a few digitally enhanced slow motion sport ads to get me to ‘suck it and see’.

Funny how slow mo’s in porn movies is something that never really caught on? Shame really because it works so well in sports and they are both contact activities. Anyhoo.

HD TV supposedly yields a better-quality image than standard television because it has a greater number of lines of resolution. Maybe it does, but I’m not really having problems seeing the old lines on our present TV and we are just talking about TV here, not exploratory surgery, so I reckon so long as I can read crappy tag lines like ‘Love the Feeling’ then I don’t think I really need further clarity, do I?

Here is what HD TV means in real terms to the good folk at Freeview and Sky TV; it means you will pay more for a picture that you might think looks better but you really won’t be able to tell the difference. Despite this, you will tell your mates it rocks anyway because you bought the new $100 box that decrypts the signal and now pay an extra $10 a week to help you love the feeling and you don’t want to let on that ‘the feeling’ is actually Sky TVs dirty hand down your pants twisting a fistful of your curlies.

And so your mates will sit in your lounge trying to pick the difference your awesome HD signal gives on your mega flat screen LCD TV (that supposedly gives an image as clear as ice anyway) but really won’t find any to that of their similar setup at home and will inevitably remember the last time you let them down like this; that one time back in your single days when you said your latest girlfriend was really hot and it turned out she wasn’t. She was a bogan, from Wanganui and that’s when you learnt the lesson that being ‘up for anything’ doesn’t always equate to being hot.

Another supposed plus of HD is that digital television requires less bandwidth if sufficient video compression is used. No doubt, but I bet your Sky box carks it once a week like it does now even after you’ve bought the new one. Love that feeling! Especially when it’s right in the middle of your favorite show! And lets be honest, we in New Zealand are hardily one to start waving our bandwidth capacity around because in that particular changing room we’re the boy who showers with his undies on and gets dressed behind a towel.

This all reminds me of the time CDs were coming out and all the excitable folk got carried away and started saying that all those cassette tapes had started the AIDs virus. Or was that monkeys? Then DVDs got you all moist at the very thought of no more crusty old video tapes, but still you were torn between keeping the old pornos you had on VHS or upgrading. Thankfully the bad tracking midway through the first root made your mind up for you. Now it’s HD’s turn to play the easy girlfriend from Wangas and tomorrow it’s BluRay. Don’t even get me started on BluRay. The guy who makes all the blue DVD cases must love the feeling of BluRay right about now aye?

Yep, if you’re a conspiracy theorist then HD should be right on your list. Right up their with those pricks at Sony who should be just about ready to push the big red button they have in their Tokyo head office that switches off all the remaining Play station Two’s in the world meaning that whether I like it or not, I will have to buy a PS3 which surprise surprise, is BluRay compatible. Geez, picked that one like a broken nose now didn’t I?!

Shafted by Sony. Love the feeling.

Cheese or Sky TV?

I’ll be the first to admit that one of my weaknesses is that on the odd occasion, I have been known to jump to the wrong conclusion about someone and misjudged them unfairly.

My wife thinks this and is always reminding me that it’s an ‘area I can improve on’ which is a polite way of saying it’s high on the list of ‘things I hate about you’. She might have a point, but I doubt it. There have only been two recorded instances of me misjudging someone and with a margin of error of plus or minus two even that number is in question.

Like the couple I watched lay it on nice and thick on the news the other night. They were talking about how the cost of living and shit has made it hard for them to raise their young family. Man it was emotional TV I can tell you. At least it would have been had I not spent the entire two minutes staring at the big fuck off shiny wide screen TV they had behind them in their lounge. I was prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt at this stage until I noticed the mega stereo draped alongside it, the Sky decoder and both the Xbox and PS consoles they had strewn across the lounge floor. You know – the necessities of life.

Both smoked, another accidental caught-on-camera revelation that they obviously neglected to think would reflect badly on them prior to letting the news crew inside and yet here they were, lips quivering over the price of a block of cheese! Now I’m not an unsympathetic man but this is the classic example of a couple having absolutely no idea of how to prioritise 'need' over 'want' and then trying to blame their shortcomings on someone else. Who knows, maybe they won the lot in a meat raffle some where but I’m guessing the prize that day was a tray of meat, not some $7000 home entertainment system. I’ve run a few dodgy raffles in my time but I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.

I’m all for helping out people who actually struggle to make ends meet because their needs exceed the income they have. If they’re making every possible sacrifice and still struggling to make ends meet than society should help them out, that’s what our taxes are for, but when you struggle to make the connection that the difference between having two litres of milk, a loaf of bread and a block of cheese each week lies in you giving up your Sky subscription, or not, then alarm bells are ringing I reckon. When you can’t pay the power bill that shot up the very day after you bought that LCD flat screen on lay-by, then I’m willing to bet that the advice you need is more than financial.

And who’s going to top up Mr & Mrs Fiscal Responsibility so that they can have cheese and Sky? That’s right, you and I. Mr & Mrs Taxpayer.

I’ve also got no time for first time home buyers who are now crying that they now can’t pay their mortgage because the big bad bank put its interest rates up. These are the noddy’s who got caught up in the whole Mitre 10 Dream Home type wave of bullshit that had people buying the worst house in the best street that they couldn’t really afford to impress folk who didn’t really care.

They followed the advice of the highly paid property guru on the show who’s been in the ‘biz’ for 30 years and has allegedly made shitloads as a result, when he told them to buy high and sell higher. The show didn’t actually mention that he’s probably been bankrupt twice in that time but who needs details at a time when ridiculously easy money is just gagging to be made huh? Mitre 10 sure weren’t going to tell them, they wanted the suckers to buy all the DIY crap from them that they were going to need after buying the worst house in the worst street. Funny that.

Trade Me, the housing market is not. There’s no buying it at the Warehouse for a fiver and flogging it off for $50 in housing, contrary to what you might see on TV. You would think that the small matter of there being 6 figures in the price tag would make people a bit wary, but apparently here in NZ there’s a sucker born every minute. Buying a house means entering into a world where market forces can shaft you quicker than a sneaky one with the missus while the kids are playing next door and it’s not like hard times in housing is new phenomenon either, infact it’s frighteningly frequent in its regularity. Something Mum and Dad probably could have attested to if Mr & Mrs SuckedInBigTime had taken the time to ask them.

But they didn’t and they too are looking for someone else to blame and anyone will do really; The Government, Graham Henry for not winning the World Cup, Al-Qaeda, perhaps even the 47 Asians living in the one house next door. Whatever. We all know there's only one group controlling the worlds finances anyway; Ninjas. Blaming someone else isn’t going to change the fact that you’re in up to your balls in mortgage nor is it going to make it go away, so get over it. As Tana Umaga once said “we’re not playing tiddlywinks here’.

Looks like the worst house in the best street just got a whole lot cheaper.

Reading Between The Lines

Some things never change no matter where you are. Like daytime TV – shit whether you’re at home on the couch because you’ve pulled a sickie, or on a hospital bed because you are a sickie. Admittedly I didn’t watch a lot of TV whilst in hospital, but some of the stuff I did was even more disturbing than the abnormal interest my Asian physio had in examining my phlegm each morning.

TV1 news for example, now gives us the weather before, during and after the news. That’s the same weather forecast three times in an hour. Now I would’ve thought that by now, after about 40 years of it having been done the same way each and every night that people would know that the weather is covered in the last ten minutes of the news. If you haven’t figured that out by now then let’s be honest, it’s not going to make a blind bit of difference whether it’s raining or sunny tomorrow because in all probability you are a Mongol and will dress / plan / venture inappropriately regardless of the overhead conditions. Just because your audience is getting dumber TV1, doesn’t mean you have to.

And I love how both channels – TV1 and TV3 – show the same news shots from the same event and try to claim it as ‘exclusive footage’. Did they not see each other standing there whilst they were filming or what? And just because your camera is ten metres closer than the other network’s doesn't mean you can claim to be the ‘first to bring it to you’ either! Munters.

Mind you TV3 aren’t far off having the dudes from Play School present their shows either. Their V8 Supercars coverage on Sundays is presented by the morning crew from The Rock radio station. If you’re not a big fan of the unoriginal Rock team then you’re fucked really, because now they’re on your TV too, lead by Rog, the tiny unattractive man with a voice that sounds like he needs a wheelbarrow to carry his humongous gnads around. He doesn’t, incidentally, because they’re not humongous but it makes you wonder why he, a man with a face for radio, got the job and not some up and coming presenter with a future in the bizzo?

The only saving grace for that lot is Tracy Donaldson gets to be on camera and she’s every bit as good looking as she sounds on the radio. She’s a blondie too which means she has a 95% better chance of appearing on the cover of Cleo than a brunette. I know this because a) I’ve made this observation before in a previous blog and b) thanks to the generous stack of glossy mags I had to work through whilst in hospital I can confirm that nothing has changed. Both Cleo and Cosmo had their usual blond it girl on the cover and inside, pages and pages of how to look like her. They also had in depth earth shattering articles on how to get the career you want. The big secret is just to be yourself. Genius. But now I’m confused – is it try to look like Kate Heigel, or be myself?! Oh fuck. And what if I’m a ginga that looks nothing like Kaye Heigel – is there any hope for me?!

Cleo also had an insightful piece on what guys want in a girl. It looked to me as though the guys were actually asked ‘what gives you a stiffy?’ because the answers were pretty stock standard; nice figure, great legs, firm boobs. Dave on the other hand, liked ‘dresses with flowers on them’, which made me think Dave hadn’t been vetted very well for his sexual preference because I don’t think it was girlies.

Cleo also had their most ‘full on’ sealed section ever, which contained 93 sexpert tricks written by actual pornstars, strippers and sexperts. It contained gems like ‘do it in a public place’, take it ‘slow and steady’ and try ‘using no hands’. Despite having several multiple orgasms by just reading the damn thing I couldn’t help but feel that by using the term ‘full on’ Cleo had reset the bar when it comes to bullshitting their readership. There weren’t even 93 tips either! Just because your audience is getting dumber Cleo, doesn’t mean you have to too.

I wonder if Cleo and Cosmo get the same guy to write their sealed sections as FHM and Ralph do to write their erotic stories. Although FHM try to make like theirs is written by a dirty girl, one who makes good use of her Thesaurus because I for one never knew there were quite so many words that meant ‘ejaculate’. Maybe it’s something that’s only taught in ‘fat guys who want to talk dirty online’ school.

There’s actually very little difference between the likes of Cleo and the likes of FHM. They contain lots of what’s cool, lots of innuendo and lots of girls wearing very little. FHM and Ralph do actually have some interesting stuff in them but it’s buried beneath all the soft porn. Barmaids and girls next door in bikinis were great ten years ago but that was before a little thing called the Internet came along – you may have heard of it – and started delivering free porn daily in any flavour you liked. Surely these lads’ mags are fighting a losing battle for sales because I reckon if you’ve seen one pretty girl holding her naked milkers you’ve seen them all.

What they should do is cut out all the soft porn, seal their issues up each month in a plastic bag and include on the inside a free one time log in to a porn site of your choosing. Now that would be worth $8.

A Mans Home...

Once upon a time, houses were for living in. Now they’re a form of currency and if you have several of them you’re a right smug bastard. If you don’t have any, you’re fucked.

We don’t own our house because I refuse to pay an extra thirty grand over what its worth just because the present owner knocked down the wall between the shitter and the shower. It used to be the only reason you did that was because you liked the smell of shit whilst you showered, or it turned you on to watch your sister shower. Now you can actually make money out of your perversion and what’s more, a homosexual man with an uncanny sense of colour coordination and a black belt in Fung Shui will appear on a TV show telling you to do so.

The housing market really blew its load a few years back when the rampant consumerism the experts refer to today as ‘status anxiety’, reached its zenith and there was no more money to be made from ramming bling, home entertainment systems, cars or having children up peoples arses. The only thing left to fleece was folk’s houses. Oh sure, children still rank high on the ‘must have’ list though. These days it’s important that one owns an orphan, preferably an African with some sort of disease, but an Eastern European or Asian one will suffice. Best not to refer to ‘owning’ it though, ‘rescue’ or ‘liberate’ is a far better way of admitting you paid ten grand to a corrupt gun running drug lord for the privilege.

At this point, some very important folk like those that make TV shows, publish magazines and write newspapers collectively put their heads together and decided that property was the new black (Or Eastern European or Asian) and started a saturation campaign of DIY home improvement shit. Now it’s all over the fucken place. You can’t even turn on TV without some home improvement program hosted by some washed up celebrity ramming his or her big ideas down your throat. And if it’s not DIY, then it’s a weight loss program. Why not combine the two and have the fatty fatty boom booms lose weight by renovating houses? That’s one less hour of shit on TV anyway.

I love how these shows suggest things like hiring furniture and artwork to make your place more appealing to potential buyers. They do so because a) it’s their way of saying you have no fucking taste and b) they are paid by or have supply contracts with the pricks who rent out furniture! If I was selling my house I would tell them to lick my ring – if somebody wants to see what their furniture looks like in my house then they better pile it all onto a trailer and bring it with them to the open home. And TV shows make it all look so easy don’t they, with their big budgets and endless experts who in real life charge $500 an hour to tell you that your taste in furniture sucks.

Owning a home now is no longer about owning a home at all, it’s all about renovation and flogging it off to some daft cunt for far more than it is worth. Not surprisingly when this actually happens, the vendor cracks an almighty chubby over an overpriced sale and the extra cash they just made. But this hard on lasts only until they have to buy their new house and a small thing called karma whacks it back down to a flaccid state when they have to shell out far more for a house than it was worth. It sure is a vicious cycle this housing biz.

Stay at home Mums and dole bludging bums fucken loved the housing boom too because they’ve now all got jobs as Realtors. Whereas they used to have clean schools after hours or do paper runs to pay to make ends meet, they now need only do a two day course on how to use MS Office, the photocopier and booya, they’re facilitating 6 figured cash transactions. All of which makes the person selling your house, or selling you the house, about as knowledgeable as the deadbeat at Farmers when you ask him to point out the benefits of one stereo over another. Honestly, you’ll get more info off the box then you ever will by asking the guy in the purple polo shirt. Don’t even bother trying to ask the same question at The Warehouse.

Which is fair enough, they’re discount stores and they save money by employing morons, but I think you would be justified in expecting a little more know how from someone employed to sell houses. But then you don’t have to be qualified to sell houses, par se. The guy who owns the real estate company and takes most of the money you pay Sheryl to market the house does, but Sheryl herself doesn’t. He drives a big fuckoff shiny, four wheeled drive, top of the line Beemer too, if you hadn’t noticed. It has a personalised plate that says something like ‘REALTR’ when it should read something like ‘TITWNK’. And does this guy take a pay cut if your house doesn’t sell for as much as Sheryl promised you it would? Not likely.

What ever happened to the notion of owing a home that had a decent yard for the kids to play in too? I grew up with a full size trampoline, decent size pool and a small creek in my back yard, but that was just Naenae for you. Now when you buy a house in a newly developed part of town you’re lucky if there’s enough lawn for the cat to cack on. Even then the wanker who owns it is trying to sell that bit separate to the 64 members of the same Sri Lankan family who all live in the one town house over the back fence. They can't wait to build that extension that will mean you can't even open your back door fully!

Yep, the housing market these days is a lot like Monopoly really. Only Monopoly is a board game and the housing market is real life and the only actual thing they have in common is whether you’re playing Monopoly or playing the housing market, there’s always a fat bastard in the middle with a chubby fist full of cash – yours!

Dumb and Dumber

I’ve got a great idea for a TV game show. Its working title is ‘Blind Root’, which may be a bit ‘edgy’ so I’m open to suggestions at this early stage of planning.

The premise will be that each week one contestant has several sexual encounters (all on camera of course), whilst wearing a blindfold and then has to rate their performance. Then back at the studio they have to work out who was who by simply playing with their bits. If contestant number one picks his / her best Blind Root they get syphilis as a prize. If not, they don’t go home empty handed, they get pubic lice from one of the more mediocre roots.

This is not a new concept of mine. I’ve actually had this idea for some time but I’ve had renewed hope it will make it to TV this week after seeing them kooky Koreans choose their nations first astronaut by reality game show. It was an Astronaut Idol type concept and I hope there’s a second instalment for when all the astronauts are up in space; Who Gets To Come Home? idol. Now that would make for some good viewing and seeing as it’s a mission funded by the Ruskies, the chances of them running out of cash half way is not as far fetched as it would seem.

Them Asians really know how to do reality TV game shows though. Most of theirs involve self torture, or pain and that makes for good TV, especially in Asia where they like to bury their European girls in bath tubs of sand on the apartment room balcony. Here in New Zealand we just do idiocy on our shows, like Are You Smarter Than A 10 Year Old, copied from the American show of the same format.

Actually the first episode set all sorts of new viewer ship records here because all the paedophiles tuned in thinking it was called “Are You Tighter Than A 10 Year Old”. Needless to say they quickly realised their error and returned to trawling Bebo and Facebook.

This is entertainment at its lowest ebb. You take several shit for brain adults and prove just how thick they are. Everyone watching feels great because they realise they’re not as thick as the contestant and the kids on the show, the real stars, feel great because they know they're not as thick as the contestants. It must be one hell of an audition process. I would never have believed that we have so many dip shits in New Zealand but obviously I was wrong, for once in my life.

It can't be easy being labelled like homemade jam. You’d think that if you were slightly slow the last thing you’d want is for the van you’re riding in to read ‘Special Needs School’ in big letters along the side, wouldn’t you? I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the van load of spastics I passed on the way home the other day riding in just such a van. Man, they can’t even have a quiet dribble in the van without being labelled for all to see. I did wonder though if the ones sitting at the back thought they were getting a longer ride home....

I am dubious of reality shows though and of just how much editing goes into the process. Some folk are suckers for a good dose of edited make believe, like all those that watch rubbish like Sensing Bullshit or any other show that deals with ‘mediums’ solving anything. Just watching it wouldn’t be so bad I reckon but when people actually believe that what they’re seeing is groundbreaking stuff then that gets on my tits.

No medium or physic has ever been attributed with helping to solve a crime. Ever. Not just here in NZ but in the world. Now if that’s not definitive proof that the edited, scripted, shake stuff off camera to make it move production you just watched is the biggest work of fiction since the bible then what is? The reason this rubbish is on prime time telly and not buried in the twilight hours where only the kiddie fiddlers surfing Bebo would watch it, is because too many potential contestants for Are You Denser Than A 10 Year Old tune in and cop out at 8.30pm!

Mind you, the scariest thing I’ve seen on the box for quite some time was an ad for David Gray’s Best Of CD. I didn’t even know that Mr Elevator Themes had one hit song, let alone enough of them to make a whole collection of 10 – 12 tracks. I reckon guys like Gray, James Blunt and NZ's own Greg Johnson should all be locked in a room together with a few empty 1.2 litre Coke bottles and be forced to listen to each others songs.

The last dude standing who hasn’t hung himself with his own guitar chords gets to be a contestant on Blind Root.

A Rove By Any Other Name....

I hate to start things off with a character assassination - but this one's been overdue for quite some time...

Australian talk show host and cardigan wearer Rove McManus is not funny. Nor - on the whole - is his show. I've given it a lot of thought and I've done my research - forcing myself to sit through several episodes in the pursuit of fairness and thus ruling out the slim chance that I was 'catching him on a bad night'.

There are some amusing moments on his show, on occasion, but they usually don't involve Rove or any of his regular guests who like their host, are unfunny. Roves mate Pete (and I'm guessing this is how all the regulars got to be on the show, cause they're Roves mate) is decidedly unfunny. He is rotund and looks like he should be funny, but isn't. His biggest claim to fame is the voice over he looped through the annoying James Blunt song that just made it, well, more annoying. Pete gets a lot of camera time on Rove. Shame he's not funny.

So why is it that so many people think Rove is funny?

You see here in New Zealand we have a group of people who like to spend their time imitating our most populist creatures - sheep. This group of 'trendsetters' (a group predominantly made up of whats left of the Friends TV show fan base) like to have whatever is being marketed as the next big thing and thus buy / watch / follow it in such numbers that it does indeed become the days hottest property. Not by quality, but by sheer weight of numbers succumbing to its marketing.

Rove and his TV show is a big hit with this crowd. I suspect they download him onto their iPods so that they may watch it in between periods of listening to their favourite radio station, 91zm. A station that unashamedly promotes itself as being a big fan of Rove.
Which in itself would be okay, if their influence didn't force itself over into the mediums I enjoy - all of whom do their best to play it cool and act all independent but are so subconsciously scared of missing out on what ever threatens to collectively float the boat of this small country that they almost inevitably buy into the hype too.

No one has any balls over here anymore.

One man who made like he did for a wee while was a current affairs presenter by the name of John Campbell. Now I like John - he's a local lad, is quite funny at times and makes a good argument. Well he used too, when he was the heir apparent to the 7pm current affairs viewing audience crown and was fighting tooth and nail to get it. But now that he has his hands firmly on the jewels, his have almost disappeared, leaving a pale imitation of the street fighter that used to ask the hard questions of his guests. Those guests have been bumped from the lineup and their places taken by regular appearances on the Campbell Live show from the likes of - wait for it - Rove McManus.

The two have quite the affinity for other it would seem. John wishes he was as popular with the sheep as Rove appears to be. Rove likes John because 'there's no one in Australia like him' which to me lends itself to more questions than it does answers on just why Rove digs John so much.
The irony to all this is that once upon a time we Kiwis found nothing more annoying than an unfunny Australian. If that unfunny Australian was annoying too than that meant instant removal from the Christmas card list. Personally I think Rove's unfunniness makes him annoying, so he's off my list for this year.

So both men get the big channel change from me these days when their respective shows come on the telly. It is after all the simplest way to avoid the subject, but with so may sheep wanting to be in on the hype in this day and age, is it really that easy to escape the celebrity any more?

If enough sheep tell you you're 'soooooo funny', does it actually make you funny, even if you're not?