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.
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
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 printedTags: DPF, Humour
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 isTags: Humour
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!Tags: Dim-Post, Humour, Satire
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.Tags: Humour, Raybon Kan