Bring In The Boat Pirates

Amongst all the shit and giggles that has been the rugby world cup there is the small matter of an environmental disaster happening off the coast of Tauranga.

You’ve probably heard about it. It has been the lead news story everywhere except that is for this weekend when the semi finals of said ‘world’ cup took precedence. Perhaps nothing washed ashore those days.

In a remarkable segue that somehow made the fact that no one was giving a shit about the oil spill today almost okay, both 6pm news programs had touching stories about how the cleanup workers from both NZ and Australia would down tools that evening and watch the rugby together, putting aside their common goal for just a bit. Good times.

I guess when you’re doing a job like that there has to be some escape from the drudgery of it all. I wouldn’t do a job like that because I am inherently lazy so I admire all those people who’ve put on the white overalls and mucked in. Especially seeing as we’re supposed to be holidaying there in the New Year...

Now I’m no seaman, my service was all on land, if you could call the giant rice paddy that was Vietnam ‘land’, so I don’t know a lot about boats and steering the fuckers but it does seem odd to me that amongst that entire ocean the Philippine Captain managed to find the one sandbar for miles.

And then I read that it was his birthday that particular day. What do sailors do on their birthdays if at sea, other than try and drop anchor in each others poo bay? Drink. Like the fish they’re surrounded by.

But being the ideas man that I am I have a solution to stop these things from happening again and it can be best encapsulated in word: Somali boat pirates.

We could get a bunch of them to run the gauntlet between sand bars and the like so that even the most pished of Captains stays away from the bloody things. What’s more, I know where to find some; in my old hood, Naenae.

I happened to visit them mean streets the other day whilst picking up something and with all the flags on vans proliferating the place I thought I was in downtown Mogadishu and hey I would know, I’ve seen Black Hawk Down like three times.

All jokes aside it was a bit sad to see the old haunt in such bad disarray. I can’t pretend that it was Beverly Hills back in the day but it was a neighborhood that by in large was filled with people who took pride in their properties and cars etc. As kids we never really understood just how much of a difference that made to the place.

Not that keeping up with The Joneses is what life is about, not by a long shot, but it says a lot about the community when people are motivated and comfortable with their environment to spend their weekends in the garden or washing the car.

It’s that same sense of community that gets those same people out on the beach cleaning up the oil spill that could have been prevented if we had Somali boat pirates patrolling the coastline.

I rest my case.

The Naenae Massive, ready to represent.

Take The Pill

Sometimes, just sometimes I fell like my life is the sum of the remainder of an unbalanced equation inherent to the programming of the Matrix.

Like I am the eventuality of an anomaly, which despite someone’s sincerest efforts has not been eliminated from what is otherwise a harmony of mathematical precision. While it remains a burden assiduously avoided, it is not unexpected, and thus not beyond a measure of control, which has led me, inexorably, here.

Twice a day I take this particular pill and have done for ages. Only today did I notice what it has written on it. Now it all makes sense.

Let me tell you why you're here. You're here because you know something. What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your entire life, that there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is, but its there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad. It is this feeling that has brought you to me. Do you know what I'm talking about?

Now if only it was red...

If the Jungle's Rockin'...

Serenaded by a comrade playing guitar nearby, fighters for Libya's new transitional regime battled forces loyal to disposed Libyan dictator Moammar Gadhafi on Oct. 10 in Sirte

This photo reminds me of that time Almo played ’10 Guitars’ as we went full auto on Charlies arse down the Ho Chi Minh trail in ’68. Sadly it was the only song he knew and it got a bit repetitive after a dozen renditions. I remember him asking if we had any requests to which someone muttered “Anything but fucken 10 Guitars”.

And with that the bastard started playing it again…

Still, spooked the shit out of Victor Charles, especially once Almo got his Maori boy strumming going. That's what we always meant by 'If the jungle's rocking, don't come a knocking'.

The Hitch Hike

Straight from the ‘I’ve seen a porno that started like this..” comes the story of JK and his boys last week picking up a hitchhiker on their way up North. Innocent enough but this was no ordinary hitch hiker, no, for she was:

1. Swiss
2. Single
3. A nurse
4. Ridiculously good looking
5. Not to mention happy to hop into a SUV with four strapping Kiwi blokes

To say she gave the lads a Toblerone is an under statement. Apparently she’d been trip hopping her way round the country using the same means of transport and had only had to turn down a ride the once. Sounds like me with the girls in my college days but then I was ridiculously good looking back then.

Hitch hiking is a funny thing. Personally I could never do it on account that I have a car and thus asking for a lift just doesn’t make sense, but even if I didn’t there is the whole stranger danger thing that would worry me too much.

What if they took a fancy to my pretty boy looks and decided to keep me, take me to some place off the beaten track and do things to me that I always dreamed would happen but never actually thought would? What if I did the same to them? It’s just a Pandora’s Box of opportunities really.

My sister did it for a long while, whilst on the run from all manner of child authorities I might add, but she absolutely swore by it. So did JK’s Swiss Miss but then like so many other things it’s probably a lot easier when you’re a sheila.

I see a lot of guys hitching and it makes me laugh at the state of them. Perhaps it’s a result of the lifestyle but asking to share the confined space of a car with someone when you look and possibly smell like road kill, is not a good marketing strategy I would have thought. Still, someone must take the chance.

Then there’s the awkwardness of it all like what happens when the conversation runs out or simply never starts. At what point would my Jonas Brothers / Oasis / Metallica iPod mix become an issue and who would have to kick who out. And Junior put the Jo Bros on there anyway.

The only time I’ve ever contemplated picking up a hitchy is when faced with the Tui ad scenario that JK had the other day but even then, knowing my luck, her minger of a boyfriend will exit from the bushes where he was hiding the whole time and want to sit up front with me. Chances are they’ll be from one of those fruity countries too, like Sweden and he’ll have cut off jean shorts on as well which will just add to the irony of it all.

Speaking of which, the missus and I watched ‘Love And Other Drugs’ a wee while back and yes, Anne Hathaway does spend a good deal of the movie naked but then so does Jake Gyllenhal and every time I closed my eyes for a long time after wards I saw his naked thighs.

I think I'll go back to imagining that porno I saw that started like JK's story...

Smooth Rolling Wayne Checks Out

Saxi Maxi rolled out of ClubDes this week, not because we told him his spokey dokeys were annoying but because he's on to bigger and better things.

It's not the first time some of us have waved goodbye to the big fulla, there was that one time in '67 as we Recon boys left for Vietnam (it's this whole other country) and he had to stay on account of articulated wheelchair tracks hadn't been invented then.

Fighting Charlie in the bush and paddy fields may not have called for a technical genius confined to a wheelchair but my life upon my return from the war zone as a psychopathic vigilante and all round nice guy - The Punisher - did, so it worked out fine.

I’ll think the thing I'll miss most about Maxi is those rides you used to give me around the place.

Funny how that brake lever of yours, the one that poked me in the back when I sat on your lap, never seemed to work no matter how hard I tugged at it. We just never seemed to slow down! You should get that looked out before you impale yourself.

Anyhoo, so long big boy. All the best in the new job, see you on Facey but not on a doggy date because you know how it is; love my dog, not yours. A dogging date on the other hand….

And yes, I know the locket I gave you is a bit sticky upon unwrapping it, but then it is filled with mans milk. Mine, obviously.

No, we can't go back to 'Nam now you've got your tank chair Maxi...

A Dildo By Any Other Name...

You may have seen the ad for this on TV. It’s on late at night, obviously and like all Durex ads is quite funny; in so much as an ad about massage lube can be I suppose.

And I know it’s supposed to be sensual and playful, but does it really have to come in a bottle shaped like something that could just as easily be accidentally-on purpose inserted into an orifice? Does it? Really?

Who would want to anyway? After it’s been on a supermarket shelf where it’s been fondled by some guy who’s gone on to make humorous but juvenile masturbation and butt plug gestures with it to his missus. And that’s just me; god only knows what other jokers have done with it before that.

It’s like those ‘personal massagers’ you can get at Farmers which are a packaging box change away from being the kind of thing single, middle aged women who have photos of their cats on their work desk and who have seen Titanic 17 times buy from D Vice.

I bought something from D Vice once and was quite impressed to find said purchase was placed in a discreet black carry bag. Only later, after having walked round town for a good half hour, did I realise that just the one side of the carry bag was blank whilst the other carried the store name in dirty gold lettering. Conveniently they had laid the embossed side down on the counter when handing it to me so I was completely unawares.

Still. At least the bottle inside wasn’t shaped like a vibrator. Only it was because that’s what it was but that’s irrelevant really…

Um, when is lube ever not 'intimate'...?