Kiwiblog

Headline in The Press:

Plea for Canty fracking moratorium

But how will they repopulate Christchurch with a fracking moratorium?

Sent to me by e-mail. Very well done.

Sent in  by e-mail:

Q.Why did David Cunliffe chose Nanaia Mahuta as his running mate ?

 A .Because Ross Robertson was busy.

Heh.

I blogged earlier the 1,100 or so words banned by Pakistani authorities for use in text messages etc. I suggested

There should be a competition for who can write the best short-story that involves all 1,109 words!

Whale liked the idea, but added an extra condition:

He makes a suggestion that someone should have a competition for the best short story including as many of the banned words as possible.

So let’s have the competition…but I will add one more condition. That the short story also uses “Winston Peters” in it.

One reader has already responded, and submitted the story below. Well done David W who penned these 1,500 words and managed to use 129 of the banned words. A great effort.

Winston’s Animal farm: A night out with Winston, seeing inside his mind.

Winston was known by those who loved him as God. Year right said the rest of us, he’s a God dammed prick head. He always seemed to show his pub[l]ic face around election time. So lets follow him through a typical night.

Today he entered via the rear end of the building so he could sneak into the seedy joint that was know as the senior citizens hall to address his loyal followers who love[d] juice and other healthy food since they were seniors. It was his habit of cuming through the back door, that had lead to a short lived nick name, back door man.  It had recently come out[extra] that the average age was 69, younger than he thought. It was barely legal that young people these days could vote. What would they know about life. Enough of these musings he said to himself, he was never going to take the backseat when it came to politics. This hall was painted an off nude color, all the rage at the moment. He couldn’t have cared less. As long as he was here that was the main thing.          

After strap[ing] on his microphone he leapt onto the stage. Lets get it on – Showtime! Surveying the lowlife in front of him he noticed some of his loyal followers. There was Richard, known to friends as Dick, a horse lover [extra] Helen, who had on a beautify pearl necklace. She wasn’t a donkey lover, but people still called her ass. Sitting next to ass, monkey was nick name for Bull. Shit Winston thought he still owed him $58, never mind, spit out the negative thoughts on with the show. Least he wasn’t dressed in clothes from Kmart, like many in the hall.

There was a preening cock, Ben. Ben was all cocky as he thought he had laid out the hall in record time. KY was unable to make it tonight, but his low life mate queef had unfortunately made it. He was as worthless as a roach. Are well least it was a butt on a seat.

Also included in this motley bunch was Andrew, who believed that the government set dogs on him over the super city, so was known at Bitch. There was also the usual eclectic mix of mothers who loved to bone fish from their Butt[to] head. These mothers always had big butt but hey they voted for him, so he wasn’t going to point-out their big asses. Others who looked like pussy cat and some looked like they had come of suicide watch. He really was struggling to pull crowds these days.

Winston had prepared his normal speak full of banned words. But this time he was going to go even further, as he had declared whore on the current government. He opened his attack with withering attack on that retard John Key. Shit for brains John Key had molested the country for to long. He had to be shown up as the smart ass he really was. The idiot was like a hustler at a flea market, like a roach about to be swashed, he was a robber and a syphilitic cancer that needed removal. His penetration of the voting population was still staggeringly high even though Winston thought he was a wigger of lies and produced an orgy of policys that the population gullibly believed. Even if he was a killer, a murder people would still vote for him Winston lamented in his mind. He would love to kill John Key, but such killings wouldn’t be very good publicity. He wondered if he could setup his bastard brother in law to take the hit. Now this is a plan.

His impassioned, delirious and repetitive speech rolled on and on into the night. Eventually cuming to an end, with a finale of emotion, banging his fists against the podium. That will wake the dickheads he thought.  .

Afterward there were nibbles. Quite a spread, sticky, creamy buns, glazed donuts, tropical fruit and even some kumquat or nicely arranged around jugs of orange juice.  The chocolate cake was crying eat me, so he did.  Winston talked about his athletes foot, some wondered if it was because he was a foot licker, because he was not foot star. Or was he trying to be flasher than the others who claimed to undertake exercise.

Some just thought of Winston as a slime ball. But these people never came to his meetings any more. Definitely a good thing he thought. Also a good thing is that none of the attendees had had a stroke tonight. One happened the other week, ambulances and medical staff was a bit queer in a politics meeting!

As the crowd thinned, Dick handed him a whiskey. Good man, Winston thought so said “Cheers for the whiskey Dick”. That’s weird thought Dick, never mind, least he wasn’t white trash like most of the other attendees including monkey. Monkey loved to drink the terrible Australian beer XXXX, more like triple X thought Dick. Those Australians are all yellow-man [men] and had no balls [extra] and where a bunch of piss heads. As his thoughts continued he mulled over that XXX could actually be just piss. Even Budweiser was better. Enough of the gutter thoughts he said inside his head[?], no getting drunk tonight. The last time he was drunk with Winston it had ended in a drunken brawl about who could do the best fart and they had continued to drink until they blacked out.

Winston chucked the whiskey deep throat[ed] burning made its way down to his stomach. Smack the monkey he almost said out loud. What kind of moonshine is this? Made by the devil and called sixsixsix? Are well least it wasn’t some nasty cocktail. Last time he had a cocktail it has some nasty jiz juice and some milk from a lactate[ing] cow. How horrid, made him barf all night and gave him wicked flatulence the next day.

He got into his car for the drive home, he managed to avoid the wet spot caused by the rain. Must bung [that] hole so it doesn’t get worse. The hole had started as a small crack and had gotten much bigger over the last week. Still it was a solid Ford, non of this jap crap for him. Those slant eye imports, how dare they cum into the country, no better than slime or make that sleaze balls. He hated them along with niggers and homos. If he had his way they would go deeper than a shag could dive, deeper than a whale could swim, with lead weight around their feet and never to resurface. The KKK did a great service to their communities, maybe he could set up a clan here in NZ. Gosh even inter-racial marriages where common place now.

He felt a prick on this finger. The stitching was cuming off the wheel. Mary Jane was getting very slack in her maintenance. I’ll have to smack her verbally when I get home he mussed. Will have to make sure she had taken in the car for its annual lube job. He wondered if she had ever checked the oil with the dip stick. Well could be worse he continued to mull, she could be a man hater or Satan incarnate. He wondered if his working like a Trojan to keep himself in the spot light every election was ever going to get him back into parliament. Are well if it doesn’t the skum bags down in Wellington can rot. Opps just ran a red light. Lucky for him no one was around.

After his long evening he could feel snot building up in his navel cavity. Not very upcoming for the playboy he envisioned himself as being. He hadn’t even had a play girl this month, wait, even this year. Things were getting bad he thought. Maybe he could pick up a prostitute on the way home. A prostitute with sexy a nipple ring and camel toe would do the trick. Where the fuck did that thought come from, he thought! Things like that destroyed politicians in this country. He would just have to go home for some cyber sex. It was much harder these days to attract luscious babes to his harem. Who am I kidding, I never had a harem let alone a erection.

As he pulled into his drive way a dog startled by headlights  ran into the bush [extra]. Fuckit he hoped that the dog hadn’t been harassing the chicks in his hen house. He drove past the hen house, no damage, and no fairy’s at the bottom of the garden tonight. He sighed as he parked his car and realized there would be no nookie tonight and likely never again as he was long past the age of needing Viagra.

As he climbed into the cold bed, he noticed dust on the rag that he kept for those special alone times and wondered if he was doomed to live out his remaining years in obscurity.

Heh. By Adrian Maidment at Scoop.

Brilliant video. Story at Dom Post.

I got sent this by e-mail, and amused me enough to share:

These four older ladies who lived in Yugoslavia, always sat outside together near the church and chatted about when they were younger.

One month ago, they pooled their money and bought a laptop.

Never having been there, but having heard about Florida, they happened to click on St Augustine, FL. They read about the “Fountain of Youth”, as claimed by the Spaniards when they arrived.

They collected up all the money they had left and sent for four bottles of the miracle water.

As soon as it arrived, they drank as directed.

The rest of this story will make you a believer, because here they are today…

No!! …This is TRUE, really!! Would we lie to you?

We have a limited supply of this miracle water available at the incredibly low low price of just $1,999.95 per bottle, plus G.S.T.

HURRY BEFORE STOCKS RUN OUT !!

Make cheques payable to:

New Zealand Labor Party
160 Willis Street
Wellington

Got invited by a local business to be at their table for a lunch with the PM today. Was a very good event, and the PM as usual talked comprehensively on the economic situation locally and globally.

Have to share, as it was so unlikely, the text exchange I had with an MP sitting at the table next to us.

DPF: Who is the goddess sitting next to Roger?

MP: My sister

I responded that I looked forward to being his brother-in-law. His response is best not to be printed

From Whale:

From Leo Molly owner of a bar and appar­ently also of some footage of Eng­lish cap­tain Mike Tin­dall and a blonde.

“Our posi­tion is that if it’s not a crime, then we won’t release the footage. Root­ing [hav­ing sex] isn’t a crime in New Zealand — I’m not sure about Eng­land, but it’s not in New Zealand.’

I love how the Herald felt it necessary to explain to readers what rooting is

Someone has edited many different clips of Nigella Lawson together to form a rather x-rated clip. NSFW but rather funny.

Heh, another excellent piece of satire by Danyl:

Prime Minister John Key has called for other political parties to throw their support behind another controversial change to the legal system. The National Party will introduce a new bill this week that will update section 171 of the the Crimes Act. As with the changes to the laws around covert police video surveillance, the Prime Minister insists that the bill be passed under urgency and apply retrospectively.

The bill updates the manslaughter section of the Crimes Act of 1961, in which the current definition of ‘culpable homicide not amounting to murder’ will be redefined to exempt senior public servants who accidentally asphyxiate sex-workers at departmental parties. …

The law will be retrospectively applied back to December 17th 2010, the date of last years Crown Law Office Christmas function. ‘The Solicitor-General has specified this date as the key target for maintaining the integrity and dignity of the New Zealand justice system,’ Key explained, adding, ‘Go the All Blacks!’ …

The ACT Party has agreed to support the bill to the first stage of select committee, on the understanding that the exemption be further widened. Under the draft ACT bill it will be legal to accidentally run over a teenage baby-sitter fleeing in terror from a private property, so long as that property has a rateable value in excess of one million dollars. …

Labour leader Phil Goff has yet to form a position on the legislation, but explained that he also supported the All Blacks, a comment that has drawn intense criticism from political commentators and raised fresh doubts about Goff’s ability to lead Labour into the election.

I laughed seeing today a press release announcing the Greens were against the law change. I don’t think anyone ever thought they would be in favour of it, even if not under urgency!

Very well done. Hat Tip: Trevor Mallard at Red Alert.

An excellent blog post by Raybon Kan about the media generated nonsense regarding his tweet:

Three days later, the Herald on Sunday rang, shrill with anger. I asked her to email me questions, but she refused: “I’ve got you on the phone!” She’d located people who’d been offended. What did I have to say? Didn’t I have a responsibility? I asked the reporter to get these complainants to contact me, so I could respond. (Twitter is an open forum of back and forth, but when offended parties don’t use Twitter — for example, when a reporter uses GPS, CSI and DNA to geo-locate the most offendable people on any given topic, to tell them of a tweet that plainly wasn’t meant for them; and then with emotional, loaded questions, demands a response on the spot — well, for that, try Facebook, or this site.)

I wonder how many phone calls it took for the HoS to find someone who said they were offended? One of those quoted even said later on Twitter that while he thought the tweet was a bit offensive, he was not calling for it to be deleted.

Since the article, however, I’ve attracted much, much stronger criticism. This is what I want to address here. I’ve been accused of anti-Semitism. In fact, if you read the article at the Herald online, a picture of evil fashion designer John Galliano appears adjacent, from an article months before. Visually, the effect is ‘Holocaust joke’, and next-door, John Galliano, and in the middle, me. I wind up being painted anti-Semitic by association, innuendo, or worse, by defamatory web layout.

My tweet was anti-Adidas, anti-Nazi, and obviously, anti-bad trains. It was also really rude to Germans. But it was not anti-Semitic. If anything, it was anti-anti-Semitic. Referring to something isn’t always a recommendation. An allusion doesn’t have to be an alleluia.

Anyone who calls my tweet anti-Semitic is doing real, foaming anti-Semites a disservice. Crazy Mel Gibson is anti-Semitic. The barking mad leader of Iran, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (who pledges to wipe Israel off the map) is anti-Semitic. Neo-Nazis are anti-Semitic.

It’s not like I released an album with the Hamas Symphony Orchestra.
It’s not like I designed a new Spring Collection with John Galliano.
It’s not like I sent al-Qaeda flowers of condolence to mark the tragic loss of Osama bin Laden.
It’s not like I went into Anne Frank’s house with members of the SS and shouted in my best German: she’s in the bookcase!

My tweet wasn’t anti-Semitic. It was insensitive (in other words, I brought up, obliquely, the subject of a tragedy, but without wearing black, playing an anthem, or making a two-part documentary.) But as Steve Martin said, comedy ain’t pretty.

Somewhere in the world, right now, there’s a disaster, a genocide, a tragedy. And quite soon, somebody will make a joke about it. But it doesn’t necessarily mean they’re cheerleading for it. A mention isn’t a manifesto.

Exactly. And if you’re offended by someone’s tweet, well how about you just quietly stop following them.

Just for balance though. I include this You Tube video done by a reader, showing Hitler’s reaction to Raybons tweet.

This looks potentially very good. Anyone know if any NZ broadcaster will be showing it?

Hat Tip: Red Alert

I understand that for the first time ever, the Crown has filed a Treaty of Waitangi claim against an Iwi.

The Government is claiming that Ngai Tahu sold them dud land in Christchurch and they want Ngai Tahu to buy the land back

Heh. Someone has done a Downfall mashup about the Rugby World Cup organisation. Not the best Downfall parody out there but still pretty funny in parts, and topical.

Phil Quinn has an amusing take on the fictional press conference:

I would like to extend my heartfelt apologies to the members of the Australian Rugby Union contingent for my behavior at the corporate facilities at North Harbour Stadium during the Wallabies’ frankly unconvincing win against Italy on Sunday.

My conduct was unbecoming a government minister, let alone one charged with the duty of hosting overseas guests even if those overseas guests happen to be Australian.

The barrage of abuse I hurled against not only the playing fifteen, but the very character of Australia and Australians — while at times hilarious and often technically accurate — was not acceptable, and for that I sincerely apologize.

“Cheating convict scum” is not an expression I should have used.  If I had my time over again, I would allude to Australia’s past as a convict colony, along with its historical propensity to violate the rules and spirit of rugby, in a more dignified fashion.

I have called James O’Connor — who I can confirm is absolutely not Justin Bieber’s gay twin — to apologise directly.  Similarly, I tweeted an apology to Quade Cooper — whose name is spelled Q-U-A-D-E  and not Q-U-N-T as I may have implied a few dozen times on Sunday.

Heh.

Heh. Hat Tip: Toby Manhire at The Listener

A cracker post from Danyl:

If elected to a second term the National Government will introduce a series of harsh reforms to the welfare system targeting Toby, a twenty year old unemployment beneficiary living in New Plymouth, Prime Minister John Key announced today.

The new policies directly target Toby’s lifestyle and will prevent him from staying up late and then sleeping in, playing Call of Duty on his playstation and wearing baggy clothing, Key told a regional National Party conference.

You know there would be votes in banning baggy clothing!

A task-force led by former Treasury Secretary Murray Horn will monitor the outcomes of the reforms over an eighteen month period, and he will also try and convince Toby’s girlfriend Amanda that she is too good for him and that Toby is probably cheating on her.

The Horn Inquiry is budgeted at $1.25 million dollars, a sum that has drawn criticism from opposition MPs. Mr Key defends the cost, saying, ‘The reality is, first, that if you want someone of the calibre of Murray Horn then you have to pay an internationally competitive rate, and secondly, Amanda has beautiful eyes and her photography of cemeteries and abandoned farm buildings are amazing. Just about anyone would be better for her than that douchebag.’

Heh.

Additional components of the package targetting Toby are:

• Amendments to the Bill of Rights Act restricting Toby from wearing any non-elastic banded trousers, specifically preventing him from wearing hipsters that show off his disgusting, hairy, acne-covered buttocks.
• A new WINZ department to enforce strict sleeping and waking schedule so that Toby is not lying around in bed when the rest of us are on our way to work, sitting in traffic or waiting for a bus in the rain. The actual enforcement of the schedule will be contracted out to community groups.
• These groups will also replace the metalcore songs on Toby’s iPod with a selection of tunes from Tim Finn, The Feelers and Hayley Westenra

Danyl shouldn’t give the Government ideas while they are looking for new policy.

The Welfare Working Group was convened by Social Development Minister Paula Bennett to study welfare reform, and it looked into Toby in 2010, and recommended that his benefit payments be transferred to a community based private welfare provider who would receive a bonus if they drilled holes in Toby’s head and poured sulphuric acid into his brain.

Key has rejected this option, and Ms Bennett has also distanced herself from the Working Group’s findings. ‘The National Party has made a commitment not to torture any young people to death during our second term in office,’ she told reporters at a Parliamentary press conference.

Only for the second term though!

The Labour Party has been reluctant to comment on the reforms, but vetern welfare activist Sue Bradford has slammed them as mindless and doomed to fail.

Bradford has also spoken out against Nationals’ reforms. ‘They also, are mindless.’

Oh, how subtle. I almost missed that.

Toby made a brief phone statement yesterday in which he insisted he knew nothing of the new reforms but intended to vote for John Key and National in the upcoming election. ‘I saw a photo of him hanging with [All Blacks hooker] Andrew Hore, who is an awesome dude.’ Toby explained. ‘Taranaki kicks ass.’

You have to wonder if Danyl invented Toby or met him?

David Thorne is the very funny guy who became famous when he tried to pay a bill with a drawing of a spider. The e-mail correspondence showed his wind up style.

You can spend days reading his website, and laughing out loud. One of his more recent ones was this unsolicited e-mail from an American:

I have read your website and it is obviously that your a foggot.

Thorne replies:

Dear George,

Thank you for your email. While I have no idea what a foggot is, I will assume it is a term of endearment and appreciate you taking time out from calculating launch trajectories or removing temporal lobe tumors to contact me with such. I have attached a signed photo as per your request.

Regards, David.

George responds:

I didnt ask for a photo fag. and I meant faggot you homo. im not a fan so you can shove your signed photo up your ass. You would probably enjoy that. LOL!!!! Go suck your boyfriends dick in a gay club.

Such wit. Thorn replies:

While I do not have a boyfriend, I do have a friend who is homosexual and I once asked him “Do you ever think about having sex with me because you are gay?” to which he replied “Do you ever think about having sex with Rosie O’Donnell because you are straight? Same thing.” If I was inclined to have a boyfriend, I would select one my height and weight to save having to readjust the driver’s seat position. I am not interested in doubling my wardrobe as I wear the same outfit everyday to facilitate speedy identification should I ever be in a boating accident.

Anyway several more e-mails go back and forward, such as:

If you livd close by gaycunt I would be over your place with five friends tonight.

And the response:

I knew we would get along well. We have only known each other for one day and already you are organising a party. I am not sure where Gaycunt is but if I did “livd close by” to it, I would definitely be up for that.

Poor George responds:

no fag I live in Charleston west virginia the best country in the world. I wasnt sying it would be a party. we would smash your fucking skull in and if you are calling me a fag you can get fucked becasue I have a girlfriend.

And Thorne does some research:

Is she also your sister? I checked out her photos on your Facebook page and while she is not exactly my type, I accept that other people have different preferences. Even when those preferences include facial tattoos and stretch pants constructed from sufficient material to shelter a small village. And their livestock. Some men enjoy dancing with other men without their tops on while others prefer the company of a woman two KFC family buckets away from upsetting the planet’s rotational axis.

I read somewhere that Eskimos prefer women of girth as it provides warmth at night. I have seen the size of those igloos though and there is no way your girlfriend would make it through the opening. You could probably just construct one around her and despite the hassle of having to trudge out into the snow every day to catch and prepare the eighty seals required to maintain her mass, it would be like a kiln in there.

Guaranteed to get a response, which followed:

She isnt fat you fag. and that she got that tattoo is a teardrop becasue her family is dead.

And the wonderful response (remember George started this abuse):

Did she eat them?

This is the point at which I lost it. You can just imagine the impotent rage coming from Virginia.

But I just love the last three e-mails:

i hope you die of aids fag. Dont bothering emailing me again becasue I wont read it.

And Thorne e-mails back:

Yes you will.

And one can only piss yourself laughing as you read:

No I fucking wont fag

A battle of wits with an unarmed opponent indeed.

Danyl blogs:

Senior government Minister and key National Party campaign strategist Steven Joyce will be spotted to the Labour Party for the election campaign, Prime Minister John Key announced today.

The surprise announcement comes after weeks of dire polling for the Labour Party, compounded by a series of public relations fiascos. Joyce is regarded as Key’s closest advisor, and National’s strategic mastermind.

‘This will make the 2011 General Election a fair fight instead of a somewhat undemocratic cake-walk,’ Key said in his Beehive Press Conference. He added that came to the decision after speaking with Joyce, who ‘loves a challenge.’

Heh.

Joyce will work closely with senior Labour MP Trevor Mallard, who is currently running Labour’s election campaign. Joyce has insisted that the two men will work together as equals.

‘Trevor’s role will be crucial to our success’ Joyce announced in a joint press conference with Labour leader Phil Goff. ‘In light of recent information security problems, Trevor will safeguard our campaign strategy documents in a tent on the Auckland Islands.’

The Auckland’s are an unpopulated sub-Antarctic island group with no phone or internet access. ‘Everything depends on this,’ Joyce insisted, as Mallard’s tiny orange dinghy sailed out from Invercargill into fearsome three meter swells.

Well they will be safer there, than backing them up to the webserver.

In the interests of party balance, Labour has traded Joyce for Dunedin South MP Clare Curran, and she’s believed to be behind the Prime Minister’s shock announcement that he will conduct the remainder of his campaign in virtual reality environment Second Life, and prefix every single word he speaks with the letter ‘i’.

The Prime Minister’s fairy-winger avatar commented on the new strategy when he addressed an online press conference of goblins, virtual journalists and the National Party Cosplay Association this afternoon.

‘iI imay ihave imade a ihuge imistake,’ Key said.

I love the phrase “the Prime Minister’s fairy-winger avatar”

Many of us have had that frustration when the auto-correct function changes a word from what we want to something else. Got sent a link to this page listing the 15 most viewed auto-correct fails. Here’s four of them. The last one had me actually laughing out loud.

I don’t think the others are sold door to door.

I love the mum telling him to call his dad.

Not sure you can talk your way out of that one.

What can you say.

Prince Philip is 90 next month. To commemorate, the Independent has his 90 best soundbites. Some wonderful extracts:

3. “Deaf? If you’re near there, no wonder you are deaf.” Said to a group of deaf children standing near a Caribbean steel drum band in 2000.

5. “You managed not to get eaten then?” To a British student who had trekked in Papua New Guinea, during an official visit in 1998.

7. “How do you keep the natives off the booze long enough to pass the test?” Asked of a Scottish driving instructor in 1995.

17. “There’s a lot of your family in tonight.” After glancing at business chief Atul Patel’s name badge during a 2009 Buckingham Palace reception for 400 influential British Indians to meet the Royal couple.

20. “Do you know they have eating dogs for the anorexic now?” To a wheelchair-bound Susan Edwards, and her guide dog Natalie in 2002.

22. “I would like to go to Russia very much – although the bastards murdered half my family.” In 1967, asked if he would like to visit the Soviet Union.

46. “You have mosquitoes. I have the Press.” To the matron of a hospital in the Caribbean in 1966.

54. “Can you tell the difference between them?” On being told by President Obama that he’d had breakfast with the leaders of the UK, China and Russia.

75. “They’re not mating are they?” Spotting two robots bumping in to one another at the Science Museum in 2000.

He is a national treasure.