Archive for the ‘Stupidity’ Category

…We all know that abstinence makes the heart grow fonder, but was the reformed old hooker putting the boot in or just taking the mickey?…If Graham Henry did pull out of the abstinence campaign at the last moment he would have been ipso facto perfect for the job….

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An octogenerian wearing an Akubra hat walks into a New York bar with a newt on his shoulder and orders a Fosters. The barman says “What’s that on your shoulder?” In a mid-Atlantic accent with a residue of Strine the man replies “It’s not a chip, it’s my pet newt and his name is Tiny. Why do you call him Tiny?” asks the barman. The man replies ….


…I can now reveal that the proposed tunnel under the central city linking Britomart station to Mt Eden is actually the complete opposite: it is a tunnel linking Mt Eden Prison to the Britomart Station. It’s an inside job and it is being financed, Len Brown and Steven Joyce will be relieved to know, by an international gang of money launderers who have a don incarcerated by Her Majesty at the gaol…Here’s the clincher. What do they use to launder their ill-gotten gains? Yes, you’ve got it in one: long stockpiled stocks of Taniwha soap powder…


…It’s a sign of the times, but as Charlie would have said, if he wasn’t in silent movies at the time, just not modern times. In the week of the Vampire Strikes Back in the capital city and the annual Film Festival at Cannes a mega can of worms was opened in Wellywouldbe like they were oysters out of season. In both cases once bitten twice shy….


In days of yore and naval gore an active aquatic pastime involving planks was walking one, usually with the encouragement of ill-dressed, one-eyed pirates with dead parrots, before taking a terminal plunge. There were few encores.
The new more passive pastime is planking-which involves somebody lying flat on their stomach in unusual or different environments. The interior of collapsed rugby scrums doesn’t count….


Bugger! I dozed off and missed it. I’ll have to watch the return of JC on TV. Probably on Shine? (Probably not on Al Jazeera-different era).I didn’t spot any piles of bodyless clothes left by ascending rapturees in the very week Playboy launched its digital archives of clotheless bodies…If you don’t live in Christchurch and want to keep your apocalyptic anxiety levels up, here are a couple of alternative non-fundamentalist pathways to the End Of The World As We Don’t Know It ….


It’s three decades since the arcade and later online game Pac-Man* was let loose. The gobbling goblins symbolized the 8os, the omnivorous decade of greed, though it was really only a warm up for the more recent shambolic shenanigans of the global financial system in its fading sub-prime. Now Westpac CEO Gail Kelly is poised to become the NZ$70 million WestPac-Woman if the bank’s shareholders okay another round of long-term share incentives for the Australian bank’s dragon lady, headhunted from St George’s Bank three years ago…


As TVNZ’s unholy host on Breakfast, is Paul Henry’s pH Factor too acidic or too bland? Despite initial TVNZ approbation, his early Indian summer on the talkriddled adfest was suddenly curtailed last week with his two week’s suspension without pay. In the Youtube clip* from the show at the heart of the first controversy, Henry plays an hysterical hyena as he deliberately mispronounces the name of Delhi chief minister Sheila Dikshit and throws in some ethnic slurs for bad measure. The lavatory humour is straight from junior school, beyond which Henry seems not to have progressed very far in his own education journey. It may, of course, be perfectly suited to the target audience of what has always been a bit of a dog’s breakfast of a show….Henry’s salvo is 100% Pure embarrassment for New Zealand…..

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Having earlier been swept out of a Broome tavern for being drunk, itinerant tourist Michael Newman clocked up his Warhol quarter of an hour of fame by climbing into the enclosure of a 5 m crocodile at a local crocodile park and sitting on its back because “he wanted to give it a pat”.*

Luckily for him but unfortunately for the health of the gene pool, it didn’t cost him at least an arm and a leg, the minimum fee usually exacted by large saltwater crocs for close encounters of the fourth kind…


Imagine. The inert passenger, complete with sunglasses, being pushed up on a wheelchair to the check- in counter at Liverpool’s John Lennon Airport. He was dead to the world…



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