Rants

Labour’s Failings

So the latest political poll has the Labour Party sitting at a dismal 28% which if my maths is correct is just over one quarter or five ninths if you’re still wathing TV One or using imperial measurements. So what’s going wrong for Labour? Well firstly let’s look at their name. In 2016 nobody likes the word “labour”. It equates to drudgery, strain, stress, toil, struggle and grind. It conjures up images of feces, sexual assault and failure. And it turns people into dole bludgers, lesbians and Maoris. Those are the simple facts as we know them.

But let’s look at the personalities of the Labour Party. Well, to be honest there are none. No aspirational millionaire leaders. No humpty-dumpty dismissive one line deliverers. No straight talking hard working, troll outing, solo mum former beneficiaries. Just middle of the road career politicians who get up in the morning, listen to National Radio, do their ablutions and head to work in Japanese cars.

And here’s the problem: we don’t have any problems in New Zealand. Most New Zealanders are rich. We drive European cars and we listen to Newstalk ZB. Nearly all of us live in million dollar houses. Many holiday in Fiji once a year and enjoy expensive wine. A large percentage of the population wear Italian dress shoes with no socks. And things continue to get better for all of us. Labour is a party of doom and gloom, of pessimism and drudgery, struggle and grind. And until they look on the bright side of life and realise that things are just great here, they’ll only attract the voting scum.

Happy days. We’ll see you tomorrow.

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Rants

Game of Thrones and the NZ Media

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I found myself with a bit of downtime last week after I’d finished vacuuming my car, the Newstalk ZB studio, my garage and the driveway for the third time that day so I sat down and watched Game of Thrones.

Now I’m not normally one for the fantasy genre unless it’s of a sexual nature and involves John Key, but I have to say that I found many of the characters similar to New Zealand broadcasters I’ve vanquished over the years. Tyrion Lannister, the plucky dwarf whose mouth gets him into trouble, reminds me a lot of my Newstalk ZB and 7pm current affairs predecessor Paul Holmes.

Meanwhile the human ratings poison Paul Henry, host of The Paul Henry Show, has a striking similarity both physically and mentally to the folically-challenged eunuch Lord Varys. It’s also easy to draw a link between the plight of Sansa Stark and that of embattled National Radio host John Campbell. Both play the victim, have a social conscience and were forced to leave their homeland against their will.

And whilst many people will liken me to Joffrey, the king who occupied the Iron Throne in season 3, I see myself more as a Denarius Tygarian, the Mother of Dragons. As we all know, the breath of the greatest dragon forged the Iron Throne, the swords of the vanquished, a thousand of them, melted together like so many candles.

But unlike King’s Landing with just one throne sitting in the Great Hall of the Red Keep, I rule from two thrones: one at Newstalk ZB on Graham Street and the other up the road at TVNZ.

Happy days. We’ll see you tomorrow.

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Rants

The Flag Referendum Result

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So the people have spoken. There’ll be no flag change, we’ll stick with the old one for now. And that’s what democracy is all about: moronic processes that are ill thought out and cost us lots of money. Despite it being driven by the Prime Minister, I won’t be criticising his role in this process. Much better to blame the flag consideration panel he appointed and the general public’s inability to be politically unpartisan. Yes, both Kyle Lockwood’s designs were unsophisticated. The other red triangle one was too vague and the swirly one was far too Maori.

For many though, this flag debate was actually about whether or not you liked or loathed the Prime Minister. Which is sad because New Zealanders need to grow up and realise the Prime Minister is amazing in every sense of the word. His skin is akin to a feeling that you get when you first pleasure yourself. His hair smells like the initial urge you have to explore your own body, and his teeth are like the overwhelming rush of dopamine that floods your brain post-completion. And whilst for many lesbian haters and leftist sympathisers the flag referendum resembled the cold wet patch that’s left on your sheets after you discover the pleasures of your own bits and bobs, for me that patch is simply a $25 million part of us growing up as a country, and a fantasy I play out most nights.

Happy days. We’ll see you tomorrow.

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Rants

Paula Bennett and Wicked Campers

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CC Adrian Price

So Paula Bennett’s spoken out about the provocative slogans which are spray painted on the Wicked tourist rental vans. She wants to see the vans banned from DOC sites and see the Advertising Standards Authority given more power to deal with such issues. Couple of conflicting points on this: if the Labour Party were in power and making these sorts of claims I’d be waxing lyrical about political correctness gone mad, about the government’s lack of a sense of humour, about lesbian leftist cronies sticking their noses into the business of entrepreneurs pushing the boundaries and creating jobs. But the problem is, this is the National Party making these statements so instead I’ll say that Paula Bennett has a great point, that these vans should be banned, that the children shouldn’t have their minds polluted with mobile sexist muck.

I’ll then subtely point to the fact that Paula Bennett was once on the DPB and worked her guts off to become an MP so there’s no excuse for any solo mum not to become successful in their own right. I’ll also probably need to bolster my common sense right of centre argument with comments around my lack of aesthetic arousal towards spray painting as a form of art. It’s done predominantly by marijuana affected brown people. It’s haphazard and it takes away from the beautiful banality of a concrete coloured wall.

And I’ll finish by saying something that makes me looks like I’m taking a hard line. In my opinion, and in the opinion of 95% of my audience, spray painting in its self is a crime, whether committed on the street or on the privacy of your own wall at home and should be punished by either 15 years in prison with a minimum non-parole period of 12 years, or by forcing the taggers to drink a collection of frozen milk of the Sensible Sentencing Trust’s japsie for at least two weeks.

Happy days. We’ll see you tomorrow.

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Rants

Maori in Prisons

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CC Ingolfson

So the Waitangi Tribunal is going to investigate why there are so many Maori in prison and make a recommendation to the government about how to fix the problem. Couple of points on this: firstly, let’s not bother. If they want to give me a call and ask me why Maori are over-represented in our prisons I’ll happily tell them it’s because Maori are committing more crime than other ethnicities. Here’s how the justice system works: person commits a crime. Person gets caught committing crime. Person appears in front of a judge. Judge finds the person guilty. Person gets sentenced in prison. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work that out.

The leftist cronies will harp on about a lack of government investment in Maori education, about poverty, about the loss of culture. But at the end of the day if you don’t commit crime you won’t go to prison. Unless you’re a Bain, or a Lundy, or a Watson but they’re Pakeha so don’t apply to this argument. When it comes to ethnicity and prisons it’s so easy to focus on the negative, on the sensationalist.

But why don’t we focus on the good news story – that Pakeha are under-represented in our prison population. Just 34% of prisoners are Pakeha yet they make up about 70% of the population. Clearly they are doing something right. Maybe the Waitangi Tribunal should stop moaning and look at Pakeha and emulate some of the things that have created their successful prison numbers. Food for thought?

Happy days. We’ll see you tomorrow.

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Rants

Music

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CC Elliott Billings

I was shocked last week to hear on this very show the hosts were making fun of the kind of music I like to listen to when cruising in my new Porsche. For the record my preferable music du jour is Bruce Hornsby & The Range. Superb stereo sound, Dolby production values, Bruce’s casual throw away tickling of the ivories and The Range’s non offensive white as a sheet accompaniment, so in the background that it’s almost non existent. Yes in many ways music never got better than Bruce’s 1986 masterpiece. The lyrics alone are a masterclass in centre-right common sense values.

Standing in line marking time
Waiting for the welfare dime
‘Cause they can’t buy a job
The man in the silk suit hurries by
As he catches the poor old ladies’ eyes
Just for fun he says “Get a job”

That’s just the way it is
Some things will never change
That’s just the way it is
But don’t you believe them

I think what Bruce is trying to say is that people on the dole should stop moaning and just get on with life. The poor and the left leaning cronies who sympathise with the poor need to understand that things could be so much worse if we lived in Kabul or Baghdad or Ashburton. An optimistic cheery disposition however is free, as are publicly owned beaches, Coca-Cola Christmas in the Park and sexual intercourse with yourself or a non-prostitute. The poor should take heed of Bruce’s lyrics, make the most of what they’ve got and accept their lot in life. But if they do have sexual intercourse with other people in their socio-economic sphere let’s hope that they use protection so we don’t breed more poor.

Happy days. We’ll see you tomorrow.

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Rants

A Day In The Life

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CC Dale Cruse

(Audio starts at 26:58)

Being New Zealand’s highest paid centre right common sense broadcaster isn’t easy. It requires hard work, long hours of research and a dedication to spending money on expensive cars. My day begins at 4am when most lazy people who are poorer than me are still sleeping. I like to start the day with seven and a half raw almonds, served on an 18 karat white gold tray, set atop a crimson velvet pillow, atop the poof of my Eames chair. Not only does my breakfast routine please me greatly, it gives me the protein and nourishment to grill anybody on the left with tough questions, while gently glossing over the excesses of the right with a sense of humour.

After the show I like to do a bit of shopping. Some things you either have or you don’t, and a sense of style, for example, is something I was clearly born with. I prefer my clothes to look half made, distressed, or like those of a 17th century dandy. And as for shoes, if they’re made anywhere other than Italy you may as well be wearing Skellerup Three Stars, Treks or Nomads. Shoes I’ve always said are the window to the wallet and when I get home I need to relax and unwind.

It can be stressful dealing with the thoughts of workers getting paid more than they deserve for the minimum wage or the idea of disease ridden immigrants living it up in our hospital beds while every day hard working job creating rich listers are forced to pay tax. That’s why I wind down with at least one bottle of French red a night. Anything less than $100 in my opinion may as well be served in a goon bag.

That’s how I spend my happy days. We’ll see you tomorrow.

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Rants

An Open Letter

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This is an open letter to Prime Minister John Key.

Dear John,

I never thought I’d ever have to write to you like this. Ours is a professional relationship built on trust and mutual respect. I’ve been a supporter of your nonchalant centre right common sense approach to politics ever since you shafted that charmless robot Brash in 2006. We had a couple of minor run-ins, like that time a couple of years back when I came in a bit hot on you in the first leaders’ debate, but I’m a professional broadcaster and we needed to shut down those leftist whingers who thought I was going to be biased. We still won the election and they suffered their worst election defeat in decades.

But I’ve got to say I’m reasonably upset with you at the moment. In fact as I write these words I can see my salty tears falling into a glass of 1989 Domaine le Coteau because I’ve noticed that you’re not treating me quite the same anymore. Last week I saw some pictures of you with the Australian Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull. It was the kayak shot which got me – the way you were reaching across and touching his vessel. This wasn’t any ordinary trans-Tasman leaders’ photo opportunity. I could see there was feeling between you two. The way you were smiling, that flirty little glance that you used to reserve for me. I feel like something sexual had occured pre-kayak. That Australian slut. Don’t expect me to go easy on you anymore in our weekly radio catch-ups. Don’t think I’ll let you joke uncomfortably and look human. The gloves are off. I’m not yours anymore.

Unless of course you want me to be, in which case I’ll throw my arms around you, try to lift you into the Porsche and we can drive away from Malcolm and his man love together. All I want for us is us, and of course happy days forever. We’ll see you tomorrow.

Love,
Mike H.

P.S. Despite the fact you were cheating you looked super hot in the kayak.

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Rants

The Big Gay Out

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Many of you will be aware of my mixed feelings towards New Zealand’s homosexual community. On one hand, I enjoy their flamboyant attitudes, snazzy style of dress and ability to splash around pink dollars, whilst on the other hand I struggle to come to terms with their lascivious laissez-faire approach to love making. Don’t get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for the clean, tidy, Les Mills type gay, the ones with short hair and pride in their bodies. The ones who love Kylie, Taylor Swift and Katy Perry. The right-thinking common sense homosexuals who eat clean paleo and agonise over moisturiser. I’ve always admired the fun-loving vacuous politically illiterate homosexual. Ones that listen to Leighton and wear Christian Louboutin.

But fat untidy gays are disgusting, particularly if they sweat heavily during the sexual intercourse process and vote for Labour or the Greens. Last week saw a group of these selfish head-in-the-sand leftie gays ruin what should have been a great photo opportunity for the PM at the Big Gay Out. Some dared to throw glitter at him. Other homosexuals made him feel uncomfortable by being overtly homosexual around him. I watched the footage of course, over and over, the PM standing up to gay dissidents. He looked so strong, so sexy, so manly. As the great heterosexual scribe Oscar Wilde said “A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.”

Happy days. We’ll see you tomorrow.

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Rants

Waitangi Dildos

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So Waitangi’s been and gone for another year. Ngāpuhi haters and Harawiras alike have had their time in the sun again, and what have ordinary law-abiding New Zealanders learned? Well firstly many have learned what a dildo is. I know many of my listernship thought dildo was a character in The Lord of the Rings before Steven Joyce was hit by one, but now sales of pink marital aides have gone through the roof, particularly in St Heliers and Remuera.

We’ve also learned that Maori elders are divided on many issues, like who to invite to get bored to death and jostled in the early morning light on the downstairs marae of Waitingi. But more importantly we’ve learned that John Key is a gallant national hero who is happy to man up to intimidation from pensioner kaumatua and won’t stand for any Maori nonsense. He was sexily passive agressive in the face of elderly Maori RSVP confusion and classically nonchalant about whether he’d get an opportunity to be jostled at Te Tii. For me it was one of the sexiest moments of his incredibly sexy prime ministership. There’s nothing that turns me on more in a Pakeha statesman than someone standing up to Maori tribal befuddlement.

I’ve got thickness just talking about it.

Happy days. We’ll see you tomorrow.

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