Not The Nine O'Clock Hughes

It's not that easy being red. Lefty, pinko, liberal, commie, Marxist, socialist hippies just aren't as popular as they once were in New Zealand. Imagine being red and ginger. Then you'd be a ginga lefty. Or a ranga pinko. Or a carrot top commie fanta pants socialist. Imagine being red and ginger and maybe gay. Wow. Then you'd be a flaming fanta pants socialist. Or a ranga homo pinko pillow-biter. Or a fanta pant fudge packing hippie carrot riding leftie screaming liberal shirt lifting friend of Dorothy commie. Ginger is also rhyming slang for gay...ginger beer...queer...yeah, so to make things easier you could just be a red ginger ginger.

Imagine then if you were being investigated by police after an alleged late night incident of a sexual nature involving an 18 year old male. What if a man matching the description of the complainant was seen naked and distressed at 5am, "with one hand over his private parts and the other hand with his thumb out, hitch-hiking." This is a comedy goldmine and has all the potential to be as hilarious as this new in-flight safety video from New Zealand's national carrier featuring Richard Simmons. Paul Henry's in the video as well.

Paul Henry would have a field day with this story but now the only way to see him on screen is by flying from Palmerston North to Hamilton. Luckily another media heavy weight has stepped up, the Herald on Sunday's Rachel Glucina. I'd never heard of Glucina before. Previously I'd have guessed that Glucina could be a nasty little STD that just won't go away. Now I know she's a gossip columnist.

Glucina took a leaf out of David Letterman's book and created a top ten list but  unlike Letterman, who has 101 writers locked in his basement to write gags and eat in the event of an apocalyptic episode, she did hers all by herself. You can see the result here...or here.

There are so many levels at work here, the gutter, the sewer, rock bottom. Rock bottom! You missed out on that one Rachel. Let's go through them one by one and see what she's doing.

10. This is funny because Chris Carter was also kicked out of the Labour Party and wait for it...Chris Carter is GAY.

9. This is funny because everyone knows that people with red hair all look the same. Darren Hughes, Ron Weasley, Rupert Grint, whoever he is, Napoleon, Lucille Ball, Molly Ringwald, Ron Howard, L Ron Hubbard, Tiffany...you just can't tell the difference. A few years ago Glucina couldn't tell the difference between Donna Awatere-Huata and a Korean woman named Ms Kim. Under a photo of Ms Kim on Ponsonby Road Glucina gushed, "Now the former Maori activist, who appears to look more Pakeha every time I see her, has a chic new image."

8. This is funny because everyone knows that people with red hair look exactly like objects that are red. Darren's hair is flame-red which means he looks like a fire engine, although he could also pass for a stop sign, a Ferrari or the flag of China. Rachel has missed out on an obvious firehose gag here though. "Put his flame-red hair to work and get a job as Flick the Little Fire Engine and flick his hose at children's shows." Much funnier.

7. This is funny because now Hughes would be surrounded by drunk 18 year old males. Could he control himself? How many could he lure back to Chris Carter's spare room? Could Chris control himself? Could Chris's partner Peter control himself? Could every gay man in New Zealand control themselves? Hilarious!

6. This is funny because red haired people sunburn very easily. And they're all stupid.

5. This is funny because rather than try and keep things under wraps, Hughes publicly named himself last Wednesday. What a fool! Now imagine if he worked for the Security Intelligence Service...stop laughing now.

4. See number 7. Nice use of the words 'hang out' and 'men-tor' though.

3. This is funny because as a ginger man he will undoubtedly have ginger pubes and hence ginger nuts. Gingernuts are also biscuits. Gingernuts are dunked in tea. Tea-bagging is when a man dunks his nuts into someone else's mouth. This one could be funnier that Glucina ever realised.

2. I don't know why this is funny. Unless Rodney Hide is GAY. It does continue her hilarious theme of placing a potentially gay man around young people.

1. Wow. 'Just bum around.' Bum. Bum bum. Bum bum bum. Bum bummy bum. Bumpity bum bummy bum bum.  Bumming. Bumming's Warehouse. Hot cross bum chums.  Innuendo. In-your-end-do. Out-your-end-do. Prick Up Your Ears! I'm free!

Comedy at minorities expense. Funny isn't it.

iMoan

Technological advancement can be measured by the thickness of gadgets. If we ever discover life on other planets our first words should be ‘Show me your phone’ rather than ‘Take me to your leader.’ If alien leaders are anything like the leaders here on Earth they would be the last people you’d want to meet anyway, unless you liked being bored, water boarded or having tentacles shoved up your jacksie at a zero-g  bunga bunga party.

Technological advancement is all about getting thinner, lighter and faster and Earth’s distributer of alien technology Apple know this well. I got an email from them yesterday to say *iPad2 is here and that it’s thinner, it’s lighter, it’s faster and just in case I’d forgotten since reading the subject line, it's here. Then, just in case I got a bit too excited by thinking that it was thinner, lighter and faster than a well made paper plane, or a whippet, or air, the email told me that iPad2 is only thinner, lighter and faster than the previous iPad.

I don’t have an iPad2. I don’t have an iPad1. I only have an iPhone 3G which is thin, light and really really really fucking slow. It is excruciatingly, bone crushingly, wife-beatingly, child thrashingly, animal crueltyingly slow. My iPhone 3G makes me want to cut myself in a hairy place so I can put a very sticky plaster on to pull off slowly over the rest of my life.

I know Steve Jobs doesn’t want me to use my iPhone 3G anymore because Apple has stopped releasing software updates for it. I don’t have a problem with this at all. In fact I wished they had stopped releasing software updates for my phone when they got to 3.2.1.

iOS 3.2.1 Phone worked fine.

iOS 4.0 Phone rooted.

Apple even promised to address my 3G issues with update 4.1 but all that seemed to do was let me transmit my Nike shoe size over Wi-Fi and Ping, whatever the hell that is. Some people told me to turn off my Spotlight search which I had to search like buggery to find but that did nothing. Others said to try a hard forced reset that involved depressing the button on the top and the front simultaneously for 9.7 seconds while pelvic thrusting, rubbing your head and patting the cat until a white apple appeared to signify the phone had surrendered. After trying this repeatedly with no noticeable improvement I realised that this was just Applespeak for, ‘Switch it off and on.’

What makes the whole debacle even more galling is it’s virtually impossible to go back to 3.2.1 Contact. (Probably one of the best TV themes ever.) The process is termed ‘jail-breaking’ which indicates how tricky it is. An uber-geek could pull it off but now they’ve all got iPhone 5s and only use iPhone 3G’s as vibrating butt plugs.

Some of you may have seen this bit of brilliance. Trust me, the iPhone3G in that video is like a Lamborghini to my Lada. When I wake up now the first thing I do is press the Messages icon just in case I want to text someone at lunchtime. Angry Birds makes me angry, Flight Control makes me lose control and SmackTalk makes me want to take smack. Google maps doesn't even bother trying to open anymore.

Still, can't be long before the iPhone 5 is released and that'll be wicked.

*The ‘the’ or an ‘an’ or any article before an iDevice is severely frowned upon by Appleytes. If you make the mistake of asking ‘Do you have the iPad2?’ they will frown and sigh and reply condescendingly, ‘Yes, I have iPad2…do you?’ The only way to regain their respect is to reply, ‘Yes, I do have iPad2 too. Let’s FaceTime sometime.  Hey, nice Smart Cover. LOL!’

I, Knut

I, Knut
am now kaputt.
My back left leg went very odd
and German woman yelled "Oh mein Gott".

I turned around to try to see
my leg moving spasmodically
going up and down
repeatedly.
And down and up
and up and down.
But my leg kept moving the other way
so what caused it I could not say.

"Oh mein Gott"
There it was again.
When I was young people would call 'Oh mein Gott'
and I didn't have to do a lot
just walk and swim and eat a bit,
play with Thomas, stand and sit.

But now I'm big and not so white
Thomas doesn't sleep with me at night
I miss Thomas
I hope he's alright.

"Oh mein Gott!"
That's right my leg.
My left's not right
not right at all
and I know they won't come so there's no point to call
Nancy or Katjuscha
or Tosca my mum
who rejected me for reasons unknown.

Please don't be scared if you're watching me.
I'm sure I'll come right eventually.
Just one more turn to try to see...

"Mein Gott! Mein Gott!"
Now my front leg's gone funny
just like the back
so I can't turn in circles but
I was sick of that.
I'll just stand on my right side
till my left side comes right
but now everythings shaking
fight Knut fight

I'll stick out my right front leg
it's the only one working
it's hard to think now my head won't stop jerking
I wish Thomas was here
he'd know what to do
I'm just a polar bear
in Berlin Zoo.

Now I'm sliding still seated down the rocks by my pool
I can hear people screaming
as I give up on leaning
and then I join in screaming
"Oh Mein Gott"

I see blue sky and water as I sink on my back
And I can see Thomas.
I knew he'd come back.
He's smiling to tell me I've earned my keep
And he strums his guitar
to put me to sleep.

Christchurch II

I think most people have come to terms with the fact that Christchurch is munted. Bob Parker has told us so on numerous occasions and now you can even buy the t-shirt.

Bob also spoke of the roads being "ripped to buggery" and the CBD being a "flaming mess" so all in all Christchurch, according to Bob, is 'a munted mess of ripped flaming buggery', which is probably a better tagline than 'The Garden City'

Now that's been cleared up thoughts turn to Christchurch's future and whether it has one. Christchurch has a lot going for it, some of which I blogged about back in September 2009. What Christchurch doesn't have going for it is that it's built on a big old swamp and a big old fault line that nobody knew about prior to September 4th 2010. Since the devastating aftershock a few weeks ago there has been a lot of talk about how or whether the city should be rebuilt. Some have suggested shifting the CBD to Hagley Park. I think this would mean the Christchurch Botanic Gardens Cafe is the new Cathedral...

The Cathedral

..and Victoria Lake is the new Christchurch Casino.

Goose waiting to play some craps.

Although the Casino is a definite improvement this idea is daft because Hagley Park is the only venue big enough to accommodate The Feelers.

 'A Munted Mess of Ripped Flaming Buggery' in Hagley Park

So, what is to be done? Here in no particular order are some suggestions for rebuilding Christchurch.

1. Have a chat to somebody at The Buchan Group and Holmes Consulting. They designed and engineered The Christchurch Art Gallery which has turned out to be Christchurch's black box. One whole wall of this building is made of glass and not a pane has fallen. It's also quite beautiful.

2. Rebuild the spire of The Cathedral with the same steel and glass construction used on the front of the Art Gallery. Flood it with light at night and let it be a beacon in the heart of the city. Imagine being a first time visitor to Christchurch and seeing that out of your plane window. Imagine returning home to your city and seeing that out of your plane window. If it is structurally and acoustically feasible hang the bells inside so everyone can hear and see them ringing. Use the bricks from the fallen spire to build a memorial in the Square to all those lost in the quake.

3. Don't form a committee. Even the word committee reeks of unnecessary excess, all those extra m's and t's and e's. Unnecessary reeks of excess unnecessariness as well. Committees are just ways for lots of unimportant people to feel important about spoiling the broth. Everyone puts their two cents worth in until there's enough to buy a solution from the $2 shop. When I was head of the school council at Casebrook Intermediate we formed a committee to run a competition to design a new mascot and then I lost all the entries and Casebrook Intermediate still hasn't got a school mascot. All the entries were absolute rubbish but that's not the point. We should have just gone with my idea to have someone dress up as a big apple because the school was originally an orchard.

4. Call Frank Gehry. He designed this.

Don't quote me but I think Frank Gehry entered the competition to design Te Papa. I can only assume someone on the 'Design Te Papa Competition Committee' lost all the entries because we ended up with this.

An Imax and a prison linked by an aqua 'W' cause it's in Wellington.

5. Listen closely to Gerry Brownlee and then do the exact opposite of what he says.

Popular ventriloquist Gerry Brownlee with his dummy Don.

Christchurch

It's a beautiful Sunday in Christchurch. The sun is shining and there's not much wind. I can see my father on a step-ladder trimming a tree into the shape of a torpedo. It's probably not the best time to be standing on the fifth step of a ladder practicing torpedo topiary. On the radio Murray Deaker is asking people where they were on Tuesday at 12:51pm before asking them what's to be done about the state of New Zealand cricket. Occasionally an Iroquois helicopter flies over and sometimes you hear the odd siren fading into the distance.

Mum and dad just took the Honda to a petrol station in Harewood. There was a sign outside that said petrol purchases were limited to $4.00 with a smiley face at the end. They thought this was a strange amount but decided $4.00 worth of gas was better than none. You had to prepay before pumping and the attendant explained that the petrol ration was actually $40.00. The smiley face was the final zero with a smiley face drawn inside to cheer people up. The extra $36 worth of petrol cheered my parents up no end.

Last Sunday was a beautiful day in Christchurch as well. This time last Sunday I was in Hagley Park setting up for our 2pm matinee of The Complete History of World Rugby Abridged. There were already people there and soon more arrived with their chairs, rugs, small children, small dogs, chilly bins and baskets. They popped their Lindauer corks, cracked open bottles of Marlborough Sav Blanc and sipped Steiny Pure. Crackers were covered with cheese and faces were covered with sunscreen. Fish and chips were unwrapped while children queued up for Tip Top ice-creams from Bill and his wife who are there every year fundraising for something. We went to the hospital cafe and I got some roast chicken and veges for lunch.

On the Friday night some idiots had tipped over all the port-a-loos, tried to wreck one of the City Council flag stands and done their best to uproot a tree but only succeeded in bending it over. By Sunday more port-a-loos had been delivered, the Christchurch City Council flag was flying high and someone from the gardens had replanted and straightened the tree. The old port-a-loos were still there and now vertical thanks to the combined strength of our two security men but were cordoned off by yellow tape to keep people out for their own safety.

By 2pm there would have been well over 500 people there. It was a glorious sight. They all stood up and sang our revamped Rugby National Anthem with us, laughed as Andie appeared as Buck Shelford's testicle and clapped along with our Village People medley. Many of the younger children seated out to the sides could see behind the set and got more enjoyment out of watching us change costumes. Between shows Rikki and I went to the Dux to grab some salad and watch the start of the New Zealand verses Kenya cricket match. The Dux courtyard was full of people downing pitchers of piss. We didn't stay long because Kenya were scoring at about 1.7 runs an over and returned to the park, grabbed a free Trumpet from Bill and played cricket behind the stage.

That evening another 500 people appeared. It was a cooler night but they were prepared and had plenty of blankets and red wine to get through. The Liquid Velvet coffee van did a roaring trade and it was probably the best show of the season so far. The weather forecast for the next week wasn't great but had been getting better and the final Sunday was looking fine.

Which it is. It's just gone 2pm. Who knows how many people would have come to Hagley Park today. Maybe a 1000? The Crusaders would have played the Hurricanes in Wellington yesterday so plenty of people would be talking about the result with Murray Deaker. The Arts Centre would be filled with people eating souvlakis. The Dux would be filled with people drinking Nor-wester. The Art Gallery would be filled with people looking at art.

The Caledonian Hall where I saw Faith No More for my first ever concert would still be standing.  The flats with their immaculate flower boxes in the ANZ Bank Chambers on the corner of Litchfield and High which I had often admired with envious eyes would still exist. The Cathedral would still have a spire.

And at least 146 people would still be with us.

A Shoulder to Purr On

I've always liked most cats and most cats seem to like me. I think it's because they know I'm allergic to them. When I was young I only had to walk into a room where a cat had thought about going and my eyes would swell up and start running as if I was watching the bit in Heathrow airport from Love Actually over and over again. They seem drawn to those who can't stop themselves from touching them even though they know they shouldn't. Every stroke is immensely pleasurable, hopefully for both parties, but deep down you know you'll forget to wash your hands and end up in the shower feeling guilty.

Thankfully I can now walk into a room where not only a cat has thought about walking but has actually walked and walk out unswelled and unscathed. In my 36th year I finally became a cat-owner and experienced the infuriating delight of their unfathomable nature. Many people say cats are aloof and solitary and countless stand-up routines and books have been based on the difference between cats and dogs with mostly unfunny results. It's a bit of a waste of time and paper though. Cats are not aloof and solitary and dogs are not loyal and subservient because cats are cats and dogs are dogs and neither know what those words mean.

Here's a photo of me with a kitten on my shoulder with only my glasses to protect my eyes from allergenic mayhem.

This kitten is not my cat. My cat is much bigger and has never sat on my shoulder, even when she was a kitten. I didn't even know my cat when she was as small as this kitten and this kitten is much smaller than any kitten should be at this kitten's age. The reason this particular kitten is so small is because he cannot pooh.

The one spot of luck this kitten had was ending up at a vet where Potpinto's partner Astroyore worked. While most would have left him to die of unnatural causes, she took him home to nurse along with his sibling runt who was much bigger than he was. I first met him a few weeks ago when I visited to get my dongle with a video of one of our runs of The Complete History of World Rugby Abridged.

I smelt him before I saw him. He was completely blocked up and the size of a small pencil case. His tiny bottom was distended and coated with a Cadbury like layer of liquid seepage. He was a backed up black and white fur ball with two of the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen and I instantly adored him.

The minuteness of him was astonishing. I wasn't sure how old he was but he was only half the size of his sibling runt. I was about to pick him up when he climbed up the leg of my jeans and continued over my imitation Christ's College blazer to make himself comfortable on my shoulder like a feline pirate's parrot. Astroyore told me that a lot of kittens like to sit on shoulders and nuzzle your ear or nose however they soon get bored and jump off. What made this wee fella different was by the time he had made it to your shoulder he was too exhausted to get off again so would settle down and if left undisturbed go to sleep in your clavicle. For such a small pooh laden mite he had a remarkably loud purr and seemed to like nothing better than to bury his muzzle in your ear and lull you with his happy throaty cackle and rattle.

I don't know why but he just loved being close to your face. He would walk back and forth along the back of your neck and sometimes settle between your shoulder blades like a tiny acupuncturist with only his purr to give you clues about which way he was facing. If you worked out where his head was you knew his lethal anus was facing the other way, just waiting to shower the back of your ear with kitty cream egg goodness. This was a risk worth taking. This was one cool cat. One very cool very sick cat.

His unofficial name was Poohbum, his official name was Malone and he died around 6am on Tuesday, February 8th. The night before he died I went round to get my dongle and Astroyore gave him to me to cuddle wrapped up in a towel to save me from leakage. He wasn't in a good way and didn't purr once. I stroked his bony tummy and he whined. Then he climbed up my jacket with great difficulty and sat on my shoulder in silence. I hope he was happy he had made it to the top. Astroyore stayed up all night with him but there was nothing to be done and in the morning he went into a coma and died on the way to the vet.

God knows how many kittens die every day. Bad people throw bags of them into rivers. Thankfully there are people like Astroyore and Potpinto who give a few a chance to beat the odds. I hope Malone enjoyed sitting on my shoulder as much as I did. In retrospect the one thing that would have made me happier is if he had shit on my shoulder...but he was much too classy for that.

Purple Vein

It's all happening in Christchurch at the moment, there's the Buskers Festival, the after-shocks and on Wednesday a man got himself into hot-water for a spate of hot-water cylinder burglaries. I'm back in Christchurch to work on a show about rugby. Here is a picture to get you excited about the show.

I wish I had legs like the anonymous person my head has been seamlessly stuck onto. That guy's got great quads, not to mention some very impressive guns and boulder shoulders. My legs can best be described as 'comedic anemic' and are the same width from top to bottom except for the knee joint that bulges outward like a rice ball. It's shaping up to be a good show and so far features one of us in nothing but a pair of Dan Carter undies, another dressed as a giant testicle and all of us in tutus. It also has lots of running around in circles being chased by a gorilla. We're just completed our third week of rehearsal and my first week of having to direct myself. The other two actors, who I shall call Postie and Potpinto to protect their identity have been a pleasure to work with, however I have been very difficult and indulging in non-stop Auckland acting. I've been calling myself an 'arseholebitchfuckersuckhead' and giving myself line-readings while trying to root myself to loosen me up but so far it's not working. It would probably help if I learnt my lines but I'm finding it easier to paraphrase and then re-write them to suit.

For the first two weeks we were lucky to have the services of an extremely talented and experienced director who I shall call Dori. Dori departed last weekend to start work on The Hobbit which I blogged about in October when its production was in jeopardy due to the actions of the Grey Lynn Equity Everywhere Club. You'll be pleased to know that thanks to our beloved leader John Key the films are being made in NZ and all is well and everyone is happy...except the actors but they can just act happy cause that is what they're trained to do.

Everyone thinks John secured the films by changing the employment law and giving Warner Brothers tax breaks and a bag of cash however these photos suggest the real deal-breaker was some purple flowers.

Mr Green, Mr Blue, Mr Red and Purple Flowers

Sad Warner Brothers executives with no flowers

It defies belief that John saved a $500 million double-feature with purple flowers however the photos do not lie. John Key, or the 'smiling assassin' as his foreign exchange colleagues referred to him as he fired them in their hundreds, had done his research. He knew the whole union thing was just an excuse for some lonely movie-men to come to New Zealand to smell our flowers. Here we see the executives being shown some mighty fine blooms outside Premier House before negotiations began.

Here is a photo of one of the Warners execs sniffing his hand after fingering a bloom.

John understands the misery filthy rich men face every day and knew the timeless gift of flowers would be enough to melt their molten hearts and clinch the deal. Thanks to Wikileaks I can now reveal this exclusive transcript of the negotiations...

JK: How do you like New Zealand?
WB: We've only been here for an hour but those Beamers that picked us up were bitchin'! Thanks for that.
JK: Sweet as bro.
WB: Why didn't you pick us up Jon? Didn't you say you'd pick up David Letterman if he came to New Zealand?
JK: Oh yeah, but I had to go and pick some fl...
[Dull thump followed by girl like shriek, assumed to be Gerry Brownlee kicking John Key in the shin.]
GB: John had to go and pick us up didn't you John?
JK: Aw yeah, I had to pick up Gerry and...ummm....ahhhhh...
SJ: I'm Stephen Joyce.
JK: ...Stephen...yeah...I had to pick up Gerry and Stephen.
WB: Couldn't they drive themselves here?
JK: Nah, we've only got 12 BMWs and you fullas used 11 of them.
[Warner Brothers executives cackle and snort.]
WB: You crazy Kiwis! We love you guys!
JK: We just love it that you love us guys!
SJ: I'm Stephen Joyce!
WB: OK Jonny, let's get down to business. We're not happy.
JB: Me either. Would you like me to fire every actor in New Zealand? I'm really good at firing people.
WB: No need for that Jonny, we love your Kiwi actors. They're so God damned cute, the way they learn their lines for a first audition thinking they've got a hope in hell of scoring a major role.
JK: You sure? I love firing people...
WB: Nah, they're dealing with enough shit as it is. We've dealt with actors unions since before you were born Jonny, so don't get yourself all het up.
JK: So what do you want?
WB: We can't tell you that Jonny, you have to guess!
JK: Some money?
WB: Maybe....
JK: Gerry, how much money can we give them?
GB: We haven't got any money John but we can offer an extra $20 million in taxpayer subsidies...
WB: Done, but we're still not happy.
JK: How about we give you another $13.5 million to off-set your marketing costs.
GB: How will we pay for that?
JK: A GST increase should cover it.
WB: That's mighty hospitable of you Jonny, but we're still not happy.
JK: We could ram through some badly drafted changes to the employment law if you like?
WB: That's mighty big of you Jonny. You're mighty big too Gerry. Would you like to be an orc?
GB: Rwwwwoarrrgghhhhh!
[Lots of laughter.]
WB: Hey, good job Gerry, you've got the part.
SJ: I'm Stephen Joyce!
WB: Calm down baldy, they'll be a role for you too.
JK: So, are you happy now?
WB: Not quite...
JB: Ummmm...would you like some Skyhawks?
WB: Nope.
JB: Stephen could suck your....
WB: Jeezus no!
JK: Well...I don't know what else to offer....except this bunch of purple flowers.
WB: Thank you Jonny. That's all we needed to hear.
JK: You're happy now?
WB: Yesiree. We love your flowers Jonny, especially those purdee purple ones.
JK: That's all you really wanted?
WB: Yep. Now, let's go make a movie!

Good job boys!