If you know me you know Nickelback makes me spit with rage. Just as I was about to spit with rage I saw this right next to it.
It seems even the Nickelback poster-putter-uppers know any sane person wouldn't be able to resist spitting on Chad Kroeger's latest assault on everything good in the world. Chad Kroeger is a total total utter utter dick dick of immense proportions who probably has a tiny tiny dick dick. I know my posts of late have consisted of calling people dicks and crudely paint-shopping human heads onto dogs and mythical creatures, but I'm sure it's just a phase. If you're looking for a sophisticated and sagacious musically political statement go here. If you're happy to see a photo of me dressed up as Chad Kroeger, lead singer of Nickelback... read on.
This is one hell of a skeleton to drag out of the closet, but my hypocrisy threatens to eat away at me until I become a skeleton who is too weak to open the closet and let the other skeleton out. Here is a picture of Chad Kroeger.
And here is a picture of me in my Chad Kroeger costume, distributing free copies of Nickelback's third album 'Silver Side Up' to poor unsuspecting children at Auckland Zoo in 2002.
The costume captures with uncanny accuracy Chad's long flowing locks, facial hair and enormous head, and as you can see by the photo, the children couldn't resist him. I was mobbed and hugged and generally treated like a nine foot furry Jesus with a box of free CDs and the occasional free ice-cream. I did this many times and the shame lingers still. I sold out in the worst possible way. I would have felt better if I'd handed out bags of fags, crack and copies of Mein Kampf. I inflicted Nickelback on the untainted susceptible ears of young children who should have been listening to beautiful music like 'If You Come Back' by Blue, instead of 'How You Remind Me.' Wow. I've just listened to If You Come Back and if he hasn't already Gary Barlow should be calling his lawyers, because it's a complete rip off of Gary's opus 'Back For Good'. Why couldn't I have been dressed as a nine foot Gary or Robbie handing out free copies of Take That's third album 'Nobody Else'? Why!
Right, now that's out of my system I'll move onto the other bad thing that's happening again. I'm flying to New Zealand on Sunday for a few weeks work and barring a political miracle, I shall arrive on the first day of the second term of the fifth National Government. They may even garner enough votes to govern alone. The previous national government introduced major cuts in social welfare spending, introduced market rents for state houses, retained a tax on pensions despite promising to abolish it, sold the BNZ, NZ Rail, The Ministry of Works, the commercial arm of Radio NZ, Contact Energy and its 51.6% share of Auckland International Airport. Auckland International Airport is very profitable and it looks like its profits are only going to increase. They divided the
Electricity Corporation of NZ into Meridian Energy, Mighty River Power and Genesis Power with the intention of selling them off. They introduced the Employment Contracts Act to abolish collective bargaining and weaken the power of unions. Government standards in building were relaxed in the belief that market forces and competition would lead to high quality construction, but market forces and competition decided to build a whole lot of leaky homes instead. The really scary thing is that a lot of these decisions were just a continuation of what the previous Labour Government had been up to.
And now it's happening again. John Key wants to sell more of NZ's profit making assets and even financial analysts say it's a stupid short-term solution to avoid borrowing money. If it goes ahead the only winners will be the Australian investment banks advising John on the best way to do it, one of which will reportedly receive more than $100 million for their 'services'. The fifth National Government will hit the poorest and most vulnerable members of our society and increase the disparity between rich and poor. The New Zealand rich/poor gap is ninth worst in the world, so at least we don't have far to fall to hit rock bottom. As shown by his handling of The Hobbit episode, John is happy to trample over the rights of workers and will change employment law retrospectively to keep the men with the money happy. Especially if he can nab photos like this during an election campaign.
It's all getting a bit serious so I'll finish with my one and only encounter with a National Party MP. Years ago I was on an Air New Zealand flight from somewhere to somewhere, and walked down the aisle to find Ruth Richardson sitting in my seat on the aisle. She was busy scribbling down the best way to use high unemployment levels to pull labour costs down, so I politely 'ahemed'. She said without looking up, "I need this seat, I've got work to do." I was slightly taken aback and said, "I think you're sitting in my seat." She replied, without looking up, "I need this seat to work, you can sit in the middle." I hate sitting in the middle. Ruth Richardson hates sitting in the middle. Everyone hates sitting in the middle. Her seat was in the middle but Ruth felt she was entitled to sit on the aisle because everyone knows it's much easier to find ways to shaft the underprivileged on the aisle than in the middle. She could have asked if she could swap seats, she could have looked at me, she could have smiled, she could have even said a solitary please or a solitary thank you as I squashed past her to sit in the middle. She could have stood up to let me sit in her seat but no, she was too busy working. Her sense of entitlement to my seat was overpowering and I sat in the middle and said nothing. I wish I'd had the intestinal fortitude to say no, but I didn't. I cast my vote today and said no. I also made sure I had an aisle seat for my flight on Sunday.
John Key is a dick. He's worth about $50 million so he's obviously a clever dick, but he's still a dick.
It's not nice or clever to call someone a dick but I can't help myself. John Key is the bell to my Pavlov's dog. Every time I see his grinning face I shake my fist and scream, 'You sir, are a dick!', before drooling uncontrollably while trying to lick my balls.
No Greg, you're a dick.
I've never met John Key. The only connection we have is that we both went to Burnside High School and got B.Com degrees at Canterbury University. Then our paths diverged. John went to Harvard and reaped $50,000,000 as head of Asian Foreign Exchange for Merrill Lynch. I went to Auckland and reaped $50 by dressing up in green tights and waving a cardboard sword.
Spot the dick.
I'm sure if John met me he would think I'm a dick. He may not drool and try to lick his own balls, but I'm pretty sure he would take one look at me in my spotted tights and chuckle to himself, 'That pale waify young man is a dick. I can't believe he was head boy! I can't believe he has a B.Com degree! I can't believe we went to the same high school and university! I know what, I'll get Anne Tolley to close Burnside High and Canterbury University down just like we closed down my primary school, and destroy any record of his existence. And just to rub it in, I'll cut all funding for the arts and plays and all that other prancy stuff dicks do and give the money to Peter Jackson, because PJ's my mate and we had a great chat on my talkshow on Radio Live. I mean, if there's no money in theatre and dance and stuff, why do the dicks do it?'
I've asked myself that question many times.
I was just getting used to John Key being a dick before I saw a photo of John with an even bigger dick. Not content with being a dick and leading the country for three more years, John's decided to try and insert the mother-of-all-dicks back into parliament just in case enough dicks don't vote for him to let him dick the country singlehandedly.
It's quite a clever move. John Banks is a cock colossus and no matter how much of a dick Key makes of himself, Banksie is assured of cocking things up to a whole new level. Not only is Banksie a dick, he's also a bit of a racist, (I know I put in lots of links, but click on this one, watch it for 30 seconds and then go have a shower), and a bit of a homophobe. Here's a delightful wee Banksie gem from the 1993 parliamentary debates on outlawing discrimination on the basis of sexuality.
"The problem with this homosexual business we've now made legal in his country is that so many of these creeps have now
boldly crept out of the wardrobe and parliament is soon going to
legislate... to allow sexual deviants or people with sexual alternatives
to work... with immunity."
The only positive trait of John Banks I'm aware of is that he's a big supporter of the SPCA and likes dogs. Then again Hitler liked dogs as well.
John and John invited every journalist and cameraman in the country to their tea-party, and then got the shock of their lives when somebody managed to leave a microphone in a pouch on their table and record their 'private' conversation. Apparently they talk about how to get rid of another dick called Don. John Key thinks what happened is 'News Of The World' journalism and the publishing of the tape could in some circumstances lead to suicide, even though he "genuinely can't recall" anything he said and there's nothing of interest on the tape anyway.
I'm sure someone will leak it soon. Here's my guess on what we'll hear.
John Key: 'Have you heard of Greg Cooper?'
Banksie: 'Yeah. He was dressed as a dog at an SPCA Function I gave a speech at.'
John Key: 'He's a dick.'
Banksie: 'Yeah, he's a dick.'
John Key: 'Is that your pouch?'
It's been well over a month since my last post, which in blog months is 7 months and in dog blog months is 49. I read somewhere you should be tweeting at least every two hours to build a Twitter following, but I have no idea what the vital statistics are with blogging. A tweet every two hours means twelve tweets a day, or approximately 360 tweets a month. If you were a tweeting dog this would equate to 2,520 tweets a month, 84 tweets a day, or approximately 3.5 tweets an hour, which wouldn't leave much time for sniffing dog bums and licking your dog bollocks. The only person I follow who can out-tweet a dog is Stephen Fry, perhaps because he looks a bit like a big cuddly dog with an astounding vocabulary of barks.
This is shit but I spent 10 minutes on it and don't want to feel like I wasted my time.
I'll digress here before this becomes a post of Stephen Fry's pate crudely pasted on pictures of pooches using Microsoft Paint.
George 'Gatling-Gun' Michael, as he is known in the Twitterverse, can give Stephen a good run for his money when his anger is roused, although he then usually goes quiet for a few days to recover and sing Club Tropicana with his big orchestra. The really fantastic thing he does though is occasionally end tweets with an 'and'. 140 characters isn't enough for George to express his outrage and when he starts firing nobody else you follow can get a tweet in sideways... except for Hamish Keith. What's even better is that Hamish managed to lob his tweet through the one minute window straight after George's 'and' tweet, so you could read them together before George's follow up. George was angry with the portrayal of two gay characters on Eastenders and Hamish was angry that no one remembered today is Armistice Day. So together they go...
So far, Christian has been beaten up 3 times that I can remember, and is
now accused of child molestation. Sayed has been disowned and no one seems to remember that this is Armistice Day end of WWI at 11 am -
we commemorate the defeat at Gallipoli & ignore the peace.
Either my life is tragic or that's incredible. Two tweets from two men who have probably never met each other combine to create a mystic megatweet full of hidden depth and wonder. This sort of thing should be actively encouraged by forcing everyone who tweets to pop an 'and' at their end. I'm sure Twitter could bump up the character allowance to 144, (which is a square and a MUCH more pleasing number than 140), so Tweeters don't feel short changed. Then we could all just sit back and watch the wonder unfold. Rather than a series of unconnected observations, our feeds would become a neverending story...ahhhhh, ahhhhh, ahhhhh.
This one only took 5 minutes but I'm much happier with it.
Surely someone out there could talk to someone and make this happen... the neverending tweet that is, not Limahl's head on a Tibetan Mastiff.
Just before I finish I'd like to start up what I hope will be a sporadically amusing section of the blog called 'Only In Australia'. Let's kick things off with this photo of a truck I spied this morning parked on Little Collins Street.
And a close-up to truly appreciate the genius at work.
