Mountain Scene reports:
Prime Minister uncut in Queenstown
On Kim Dotcom: “That bloke might have Megaupload.com but I’ve got Megaballsup.com. Anyway, it’s great to be here at The Hills. Frankly, after the week I’ve had it’s great to be anywhere other than Wellington.”
Heh. The domain is available for registration.
On the Labour Party: “We’re here to do the opening of the sculpture, The Wolves are Coming. It sounds like the Labour Party.”
On Sir Michael Hill giving him a red ribbon to cut: “I didn’t give [you] a knighthood to be voting Labour, Michael.”
On Deputy Prime Minister Bill English: “He is the shareholding Minister of Air New Zealand which is the airline that failed to get me here.” [Key’s plane was diverted to Dunedin.]
That’s taking ministerial responsibility to a new level!Tags: Humour, John Key
I bet you many others have wanted to do this. David Thorne in response to HR asking him to complete a self-evaluation form:
Yes, I looked at it. Then I flipped it over and used the blank pages to draw pictures of Simon performing oral sex on a whale. Please find attached.
There seemed little point going through the embarrassing and transparent process of writing down what an exceptional employee I am in the hope of receiving some form of monetary based pat on the head. It might be suggested that someone working in the HR department of an agency with a total of eight other employees would have a vague working knowledge of who those employees are and how exceptional, average or piss-poor they are at their job. Especially if she has sat in on every weekly production meeting for the last year and her only other role is to design forms and make people fill out forms.As such, accepting that you already know how dreadful I am to have around, the fact that I haven’t been fired yet must speak volumes for the quality of my work and a big raise is probably in order.
HR insisted he fill it in, and so he did to great comic effect as you’ll see at the link.Tags: David Thorne, Humour
A mysterious low-pitched humming sound has been troubling some Wellington residents for the last few days and it seems no-one has any idea what it might be.
The Wellington City Council has had several calls over the past few days with the most recent being about 5am today.
Spokesman Richard MacLean said the complaints had been coming in from Mt Victoria, Newtown and Mt Cook residents. “We are interested to hear if this starts to become a constant thing. We are keeping our ear to the ground.”
It’s just feedback from the underground surveillance system, as they change frequencies to go digital!Tags: GCSB, Humour
3 January 49 B.C: My latest assignment is proving to be a real delight. Rome’s a fascinating town, and I have been deeply impressed with the way the governing classes in this Roman Republic conduct themselves. The men of the Senate are vexed by Caesar’s demands, but I have assured them they have nothing to worry about. Caesar will not dare cross the Rubicon into Italy, because if he does so he will be at war with the Roman state. His men will desert him, rather than be crushed by Pompey’s armies. Caesar may be a useful general, but he has neither the courage nor the tactical nous of his opponent.
1 January 43 B.C: That Cicero fellow’s a genius. He’s not just a great orator and writer, but a perceptive and clever politician. He’s got that foolish upstart boy Octavian wrapped around his finger, and Mark Antony is running scared. I predict a long and glorious future for the Roman Republic, under the wise stewardship of Marcus Tullius Cicero. …
1 June 1876: Just appointed to the staff of Lieutenant Colonel George Custer. I have already drawn up a battle plan, and I’m confident of a swift victory. …
29 September 1938: I told Neville just to sign the damn piece of paper. Nobody wants to go to war over a small central European country with a name nobody can spell, least of all the Germans. It will keep them quiet, and we can be assured of gloriously ruling the waves for another fifty years. Neville demurs, and worries that the Germans may simply demand more territory; but where would they go? The Polish cavalry will overrun them if they move east, and if they attack France they’ll be broken on the Maginot Line. I had to remind Neville that our staunch allies, the French, have the most powerful army in the world.
12 August 2012: Those were some times, I tell you! Now it’s time to get back to work. I’ve got some great ideas to share with David and the team.
Heh, very good.Tags: Humour, Imperator Fish, Labour
Building and Construction Minister Maurice Williamson says having identical homes could bring down the costs of building new houses but he told the social services select committee that New Zealanders might not be ready for such a culture change.
Labour MP Jacinda Ardern said the concept already existed in New Zealand. “It’s called Hamilton.”
Heh. Sort of true.Tags: Hamilton, Humour
Meeting a couple of friends at Circa to see the Beat Girls. My mate texted me to see where I was, as I was a bit late. His exact words were “Where are you, cunt?”.
The only problem is he didn’t send it to me but by mistake to his ex-wife!Tags: Humour
Got e-mailed this, which is sort of funny.
And no I do not condone “theft” when the victim is rich. In fact I have always said that people should pay for copyrighted material when that avenue is open to them.
But there is a useful point that the current business models are very much geared towards the studios, and making their owners rich. It is the studios, rather than the artists, which are resisting moving to business models that are fit for today.
Luckily we are slowly moving towards studios using the Internet as a sales channel, rather than as the enemy.Tags: copyright, Humour
Taken from a friend’s Facebook page. Cute.Tags: Humour
John Key likes to find different ways to end his post-cabinet press conference so he doesn’t always have to say “that’s it then” and he was inspired recently when the final question was about fracking, the oil exploration technique which upsets the Greens so much. After answering it he collected his papers and departed with the quip “time to frack off, then”
Heh, he must be a closest Battlestar Galactica fan. I actually giggle everytime an MP gets up in the House and talks about fracking.
For those interested, the use of the term “frack” was not unique to the reimagined BSG series, but was used in the original series, as you can see above.Tags: Humour, John Key
Heh, someone has set up an auction of Trevor Mallard’s credibility. The proceeds will go to Christchurch Earthquake recovery.
The Q+A, as always, is amusing:
Q: Is there any actual evidence you can provide to show that this item has ever existed
Q; Doesn’t Trademe rules state that the item must be in your possession? I don’t think anyone anywhere has Trevor Mallard’s credibility in their possession. In fact, research is ongoing to find proof it ever existed, as far as I am informed.
Q: While at face value this looks like a bargain, do you have any way of verifying that the product actually exists? I am somewhat dubious, as I have not seen any recent evidence of the existence of “Trevor Mallard’s credibility.”
Q: How damaged is this item? Will there be a refund available if it doesn’t pass muster?
Q: Is there a buy now? or will you let the auction take it’s course?
Heh, now that last one is very funny.
Tags: Humour, Trade Me, Trevor Mallard
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.