Sweaty bits

This post will be a rambling mess with no coherent structure and not many laughs, rather like The Bible. It's good to see the St Matthews in the City church trying to have a bit of a laugh this Christmas by putting this billboard up.

It's a shame the first one was doused with paint by an old man and the second slashed with a knife by an old lady. I don't know if they have been caught however I'd be pointing my finger at the old man with his banjo and the old lady who sing out of tune religous songs religiously on Queen Street everyday except Sunday when they are probably singing out of tune in some regressive church in the burbs far far away from the progressive cess-pool of tolerant filth that is St Matthews in the City. As far as churches go St Matthews is quite hip and groovy. Not only is it a stunning building they also offer civil unions, iGod podcasts and you can hire it for foam parties, discos and they will even bless your dog, cat or llama and clean up its pooh afterwards.

You really shouldn't sweat the small stuff, unless it's a sweaty dwarf hiding in your closet with some paint, a knife and a banjo. I heard a story about a young tall actress playing Snow White losing her virginity to Grumpy during the South Island leg of a nationwide tour which just goes to show that sweaty small stuff can fuck you up when you least expect it. I had a sweaty moment on Thursday night during the opening performance of 'Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer'. I'm playing Rudolph and was sweating and grumpy when the elastic used to keep my big red one on my face snapped 20 minutes into the show. Luckily the back-up mechanism of a whole lotta gaff shoved in the hole stopped it from shooting off and hitting the Christmas Fairy in the eye.

However, as the play progressed I could feel the stickiness subsiding on my sweat soaked snozz and had to dash off while 35 fairies and 3 penguins between the ages of 5 and 12 sang 'We Wish You A Merry Xmas'. It was a shame because they were meant to be singing it to cheer Rudolph up however if Rudolph's nose fell off it may have brought about tears, tantrums and thirty years of therapy. After ripping the elastic off and pressing the nose on as hard as I could I returned and continued the performance holding my head upwards at a 45 degree angle while touching it constantly as if Rudolph had a nose-bleed while performing an old fashioned sobriety test. I had to make another hasty unplanned exit during Dasher and Dancer's rendition of 'Jungle Bells' to reapply fresh gaff which thankfully held to the end. Unfortunately Dasher and Dancer hadn't realised I'd buggered off and as I was meant to stop them singing got slightly alarmed. They covered well though with 'Where's he gone?' and 'That's not very professional' so the audience had no idea how close to disaster the whole production had perilously lurched.

It was my birthday on Thursday as well. Thanks again to all those who left messages on Facebook, texted and called. I turned 36. It's a credit to my healthy KFC diet and liberal application of hydrocortisone to my face everyday that even in my mid to late 30's I can still pull off a role like Rudolph, supposedly the youngest and most innocent of all Santa's reindeer. I'm thinking I could still have a crack at pulling off Oliver after my stunning performance 22 years ago for the North Canterbury Musical Society.

I will try and squeeze in another post before Christmas but if I don't I hope you all have a wonderful festive holiday. If your evenings are free up until Xmas eve come and see Rudolph and marvel at a sweating 36 year old man with a strap on nose surround by young children. Aboobedeedo.

A Giant Fingering Winking Santa

It's been nearly a month since my last post which is inexcusable. My excuses for such an extended period of inactivity are sickness, work and laziness. Nearly a month is an eternity in the blog world and I'm sure some of you will have given up on mine and moved onto other more regular blogs such as this one. If you have hung in there I can only apologise and promise that it might not happen again.

Two really exciting events of world importance have happened since my last post. The first is the revelation that Tiger Woods has been sharing his one wood with every woman everywhere every second of every day. I'm not going to pass judgement except to say that getting into the rough with Tiger would provide some great opportunities to shout out things that golfers say without having to give up a day playing golf. Imagine screaming, 'Get in the hole!' just as Tiger is about to mount you. That would be fun. As Tiger took you from the front nine to the back nine and his member's bounce was dimpled for your pleasure you could respond by shouting 'bogey, bogey, par, par, par, birdie, birdie, eagle, eagle, ALBATROSS!'. If you felt like another lay-up with Tiger you could pull and push until he was pin-high and then after a quick up-and-down scream 'FORE' as he hit your sweet-spot and flop-shotted right onto your green in regulation. Good-good!

The other significant world event was the unveiling of the new Santa that graces the Whitcomb & Tombs store on the corner of Queen and Victoria Streets. The Santa actually belongs to another store called Farmers and Haywrights who are celebrating their 1000th anniversary I think so they decided to celebrate by having a fiddle with the big Santa because he looked like a fiddler. Here's how he used to look although the photo doesn't convey the full creepiness of the old Santa. His index finger on his right hand, which looks like it could be caressing a young enormous nipple, actually moved back and forth as if it was caressing a young enormous nipple. To support this action his left eye winked at half the speed of his nipple finger unless it was broken in which it case it remained lazily half open as if Santa had had a stroke or injected too much botox. I'd love to say Santa's crotch moved back and forth while his left hand unbuckled his belt but it didn't. He fingered and winked and that was enough. There's not much super about the soon to be supercity of Auckland however our four story high fingering winking pedophilic Saint Nick definitely was.

Until a few weeks ago! Now he looks like this.

Which because of my crappy photo doesn't look much different however believe me it is. Firstly he doesn't wink or finger anymore. His finger is locked in position as if he's about to make a fist to punch whoever fiddled with him in the nipple. Both eyes remain open constantly like Malcolm McDowell being reconditioned in 'A Clockwork Orange'. All the dodgy, deviant and dubious qualities of Santa have been cut away leaving a beaming jolly giant surrounded by big packages and two reindeer. I'm not sure what I think about our new sanitised Santa however his two caribou are fantastic and below is a photo of another one. This caribou is called Rudolph and is looking depressed because he's just realised he's been painted up to resemble a big brown turd, or a caripooh. This is what I looked like on Saturday night when I MC'ed the 'Christmas at the Zoo' event at the Auckland Zoo funnily enough. It sort of looks like I've just been arrested for lewd rutting and I'm still amazed that parents seem quite happy to let me go near their children when I look like this.

I did this gig last year and made a promise to a small boy half way through that he could have my nose upon completion of my MC duties. I thought he would forget however after I'd fingered the sponsor's nipples there he was waiting at the side of the stage with his little arms outstretched like a tiny person doing the start of 'YMCA'. I had a very nasty cold at the time, as I did this year as well and my nose was full of snot however I couldn't renege on my promise and plopped by moist mucasy nose into his sweaty palm. His eyes lit up and he immediately stuck it on his nose and ran away as if all his Christmases had come at once.  I felt happy and dodgy and devious and dubious.

When a man in his mid-thirties dressed as a giant pooh makes a small boy happy by giving him his snot soaked nose you know it's Christmas time. Miracles do happen.