Hone he could do it

HE: Hello Mother
ME: Hello Whetu.
HE: You’ve moved.
ME: You’re good.
HE: Cause of me?
ME: I do nothing cause—because of you.
HE: I let the bros know.
ME: Thanks.
HE: Looks after youse they will.
ME: Thanks.
HE: Hello Mother.
ME: Yeah, I know. Hone?
HE: Cool eh?
ME: Not really. He’s just a raciest pig. And not that mature either. I would have thought better of youse Whetu.
HE: Hone’s the man.
ME: Whatever.
HE: Youse mothers been raping our land for centuries and any bro that suck up to youse mothers is nothing but an Uncle Dick.
ME: Tom.
HE: What?
ME: Tom. Uncle Tom.
HE: Who he?
ME: Doesn’t matter.
HE: Whatever. Hone’s the man.
ME: Look I got to go.
HE: You met his wife?
ME: Hone’s?
HE: Yes.
ME: Yes.
HE: Choice eh?
ME: Very.
HE: Spend a week in Paris with her and have you mothers to pay for it…
ME: I guess.
HE: Hone’s the MAN!


----------------
Now playing: Ry Cooder - Smack Dab In The Middle
via FoxyTunes

Alarm bra

Yesterday for the first time I activated the alarm system we inherited with our new home. It was less than five hours before it sent its first false-alarm to the monitoring service and ejaculated a screaming orgasm of a siren that I am told many of our neighbours thought heralded either a tsunami alert or the imminent arrival of a tardy Japanese invasion force.
It also drew forth the local constabulary who took the time and trouble to ring me at work to say my alarm was going. As I am unaware that I am “known to police” as police parlance puts it, this was an agreeable surprise.
But I was left to question why I am known. I would not have thought that even in a community as small as the one I now live in I was of such standing in that community. Both my speeding tickets have been paid, so it cannot be that. The sign out front proclaims and promotes the builder of the house, rather than a tinnie house. The light to the side of the house is blue rather than red testifying to the virtue rather than the vice of my lovely wife. Yes, I know I have not yet made my promised Westpac Rescue Helicopter donation, but it is a little early to call the police in on that. Yet I am known to police. Am I perhaps erroneously on one of those secret lists of “people of interest” they circulate through their stations? You know the ones: known car thief, hangs out (literally) at public toilets, steals bras, criticises Council. I am none of these of course. But now I am paranoid—what do the police have on me?
Or am I just being alarmist?


----------------
Now playing: Led Zeppelin - Ocean
via FoxyTunes

Going for a Burton

Having never sat on a jury I am not sure I am qualified to write this fryday. Nevertheless, qualification has never stopped me before, so here goes. What was the jury thinking in the Burton case? Why did they take almost two days of deliberations to find this maniac guilty? Okay, Burton’s criminal history was denied them, and one can take issue with the propriety of that given that: Burton is serving a life sentence, with a minimum non-parole period of 26 years, for the murder of Lower Hutt man Karl Kuchenbecher in January 2007 while he was on parole, and he had served 14 years for the stabbing murder of Paul Anderson outside a Wellington night club. But here are the facts that were presented to the jury:
• Burton stabbed a fellow convict several times with a sharpened steel rod in a corridor outside the cells in Paremoremo.
• One of these stab wounds, to the heart, caused injuries that required emergency hospital surgery to save the convict’s life.
• Security camera footage shown to jurors during this week's trial showed Burton entering the convict’s cell. The victim was seen backing out of the cell shortly afterwards, pursued by Burton.
• Burton was seen pursuing the convict up and down the corridor three times, with an object in each hand.
• Burton’s victim was eventually pulled out of the corridor by security guards. He was escorted to the prison medical centre, where his eyes were seen to roll backwards and it was only the intervention of a guard that prevented him from falling to the floor.
Excuse me? I think that is fairly compelling evidence of Burton’s guilt. Yet, it takes almost two days to find this guy guilty? But the other question is, why should it tax me so? Good question, and well in keeping with the undoubted astuteness and intelligence of Fryday readers. Well, the answer is this; we are told that the courts are overloaded and that many cases never come to court because of it. Yet here we have a court case involving a man (Burton) already in gaol and clearly not going anywhere fast that goes two days over time because of the vagaries of a jury. I know that’s not the court’s fault and I don’t have an easy answer but common sense would surely suggest the jury system has done us a disservice here.

----------------
Now playing: Deep Purple - Wring That Neck
via FoxyTunes

Naked Opaque

You have no doubt heard someone described as having penetrating eyes. It seems a favourite phrase of trash novels and women’s magazines. I am yet to meet anyone with truly penetrating eyes. The closest is Helen Clark, whose eyes are so cold they have the penetrative effect of ice cream on sensitive teeth. But that’s not quite the same as the novelists’ declaratory intent. Some people are also, we are told, gifted with the ability to see right through us. We are on more sure ground here—I for one am easy to see through I am told. Anyone can do it, which makes it particularly difficult for me in my profession as a spin-doctor and is probably why I may occasionally go a little over the top on the enigmatic bit; which is all a facade—you see through that, don’t you? But there are some among us who are less penetrating than grating and the reason is: they are so superficial as to be transparent. One such is Rodney Hide—naked ambition without the brains to pull it off. Another is Hone Harawira—on the make and out for the take. “Bishop” Brian Tamaki is an obvious example and no amount of protestations to the contrary will convince me that he is anything but a two-bit opportunist. His henchman, Richard Lewis, is worse but somehow more honest in his deviousness. And it is that honesty that can, somewhat paradoxically, make someone more opaque. Take John Key—I think Mr Key is basically honest (still) so it is hard to work out why he is doing the job he is now doing and what his ambitions are. George W. Bush is another. Bush, despite all that was written about him, is basically honest—he doesn’t have the skill or the intellect to be anything but. The more we saw through him, the more we were forced to ask what the f**k is he all about? You get the point? Naked opaque. Perhaps it is the profession I am in but the honest among us make me uncomfortable. Go away.