Winston's Winter

I have my concerns and reservations about our new government. Most revolve around its stability and its impact on the economy.

However, I have neither the foresight nor the inclination to dwell on them now. What I have though is a distaste and a concern about the events of last night. And, no, I don’t mean the supposed brinkmanship, the “missed” deadlines or even the decision. I mean the way it was handled; it was a mess.

Let’s start with Winston’s speech. First, it had a Trump-like credibility as Winston unsuccessfully tried to deny that a party with just 9 out of 120 seats and 7.2% of the votes was deciding who would govern us for the next 3 years. Then, he, again unsuccessfully, tried to defend how long it took to arrive at that decision, comparing it spuriously to the German election result whilst conveniently not mentioning that our problem was not the length of the deliberations but the number of missed deadlines—read promises—that Winston made. Then there was the clincher: Winter is Coming. A supposed downturn in the global economy persuaded Winston and his caucus that our only protection from it lay with him turning to the Left, instead of to the Right who had so effectively protected us from the Global Financial Crisis of 2007—2008.

We would have been better off electing Jon Snow.

And then, there was the whole unfolding event being predicated on the supposition that The Greens would join the Labour/NZ First coalition. Yes, it seemed a foregone conclusion and there was a Memorandum of Understanding with Labour to that effect. But only with Labour. It didn’t include NZ First. If I had been Bill English I would have been on the phone to James Shaw immediately after Winston made his announcement and before Shaw made his conference call. In fact, I would have made my call to Shaw immediately after the election and offered The Greens the opportunity to make a real change by becoming the environmental wing of a strong stable government—and shutting Winston out altogether and forever.

But, no, it wouldn’t probably have worked. The Green Party has its head so far up its arse it has perpetual tunnel vision and it will take a colossal and polluting dump for them to come out and see the real world.

So, one final word on last night’s surreal events: two, really: Kelvin Davis. Did you see the look on his face as he stood behind Jacinda during her acceptance speech? It certainly wasn’t the face of a winner; it was the face of what it was—a loser. A deputy leader of the party who would form the government but would not be the deputy leader of that government. I could actually feel sorry for him had he not been such an arrogant prat leading up to the election. As it is, he will probably be further punished for his demeanour last night—it was not a good look.

In fact, nothing about last night was a good look for the parties involved, for the country, for MMP, or, dare I say it, for the future. You might be right, Winston: winter may be coming. It may already have arrived.

Winston Meets Weinstein

Winston Peters lost his Northland seat for four reasons.

First, it was never his in the first place. Second, National put up a strong candidate who worked hard—very hard—to regain the seat. Third, Winston’s heart was never in Northland; we hardly saw him here and he did nothing for us. Fourth, Northlanders were the first, on mass, to see Winston for what he is: a charlatan and a sham.

Now the rest of New Zealand are seeing it.

It’s not the negotiations; they are inevitable under MMP and a hung election. It is that once again they involve Winston Peters, for whom being important, or being perceived to be, is a pathological hunger. One that he will prolong as long as possible.

He is childish and pathetic, and so are his promises.

First, he told us all on election night that he would announce a coalition decision no later than October 12; that was yesterday. Now he tells us that it will be an indeterminate date in the future because it will be a New Zealand First Board decision and some of the board—and we don’t know who the board is—have to attend funerals.

This is farcical.

The only funeral they should be attending is that for a realistic, progressive and mature democracy in New Zealand. And if anybody really thinks that a coalition decision is a board decision rather than a Winston decision they are living in a different world.

For the rest of us, we are once again left with a shambolic mess, thanks to one man.

Winston is treating us like Harvey Weinstein treats his actresses.

We are being screwed.

In Praise of Hamilton

Mortality and moroseness are like co-joined twins, inextricably linked. I received the news a few minutes ago that someone for whom I have an immense amount of respect died last night. The man (his name need not concern us) enriched this world of ours in uncountable and incontestable ways. I am privileged, as many others are, to have known him. I think we were about the same age—which is where mortality and its co-joined twin come in. However apart for that announcement and imparting my private hurt, today remains Fryday and moroseness is hereby banished…to Hamilton. I was in Hamilton this week, where so many reside in exile and hope to be summoned back to Auckland. Or, at the very least, hope to move to Cambridge. It is not as if I have anything against Hamilton—the least physical contact I have with it the better. But when my GPS refuses to work and the town’s drivers seem oblivious to all other road-users, you immediately know where local-boy, Richard O’Brian, got his inspiration for The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Of course Mr O’Brian had to leave Hamilton and seek a more creative environment to write his show. I know that while down there I struggled to write even a Facebook post. And my reading was largely confined to a KFC menu, given that I found most Hamilton road signs and directions totally incomprehensible. And what is it about Hamilton’s propensity for roundabouts? They seem to love them down there. They build them everywhere. And that is the thing with Hamilton, you see: they love to build things. And they do it well. The reason I went to Hamilton was because of that. Most of my writing these days tends to specialisation in a certain sector, and Hamilton is the hub of that sector. Moreover, the Hamilton companies and the individuals involved in that sector are renowned and acknowledged for their innovation and creativity. They are in many respects an inspiration. But, they also seem to hide it away. And that, perhaps, is Hamilton’s problem. They seem to hide everything away, behind and below a veneer of too many Bunnings, too many Mitre 10s (Mega), far too many fast food joints and far too few restaurants. Hamilton, you should be loud and proud. Proclaim your prominence. If you don’t, I will: I’ll tell everybody that you are the BDSM capital of New Zealand, that you have more witches’ covens than any other New Zealand town, that you did produce Richard O’Brian and gave him inspiration, that you like cows, that you have one of the best motels I have ever stayed in. And, yes, you are home to some very very talented people. It just seems a pity that you seem too shy to tell anybody about it. So, I have. Say thank you Fryday.

Welcome Home Hone

Are you over it yet? I am. It is not fun. It is not striking. It is a pain-in-the-butt. Above all, it is not what they say it is. I am talking about the general election. Those are my descriptions of it, and I would like to think that they are wholly accurate and widely shared. The media, however, have another and it is both omnipresent and inaccurate; they describe the current election as “the most volatile of recent times.” It is not. Except for a late leadership change by one of the major parties, this election is no more volatile than any other that I can remember. What is volatile are the polls, and even there the swing margins hover around the margin of error, and I have to wonder whether polls have any credibility at all despite the breathless and dramatic way they are teased and presented by television commentators. Yet another “shock poll” anyone? Fact is, most of the so-called volatility is a media beat up. A relieved media. Before Andrew Little was rolled, the media were confronted with what probably would be the most boring—and predictable—election ever. But, then came Jacinda, and the orgasmic-glee of the media was palpable. Whoever in the media coined the phrase The Jacinda Effect has a job for life. But that is all it is—a media beat-up, by desperate media. We deserve better. At the very least, we deserve not to be treated as idiots…as ratings. I am over it. But, before I go, I will stick my neck out. Fryday will make some predictions about this election. Obviously, some or all of them may not eventuate, but I don’t care. For this, the most boring (not volatile) election I have ever experienced, I need to live a little dangerously. My predictions are:

• National will win handsomely and become the government without the need for a collation partner.
• Labour will be ten seats short.
• New Zealand First will return to Parliament but only on the party vote.
• Winston Peters will not win the Northland electorate vote.
• Hone Harawira and Mana will return to Parliament when Hone wins Te Tai Tokerau.
• The Greens are gone.
• ACT has left the stage.
• Hamilton will still be Hamilton.

Political Parlance

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In 1975, when I was working at Colenso Advertising on the infamous Dancing Cossacks Campaign for Rob Muldoon, I was asked how I could reconcile that with having worked for Labour and Norm Kirk in the previous election. My rather glib reply was that it was just Kentucky Fried Chicken, another Colenso client I was being paid to promote. Ideological or political preferences didn’t come into it. Ten years later I was helping out David Lange—the Carl’s Burger of New Zealand politics at the time.

All those campaigns had political slogans, but despite being involved with them the only one I can remember today is Labour’s 1972 clear and explicit statement: “It’s Time (for Labour).” It was spot on. It was time: time for a change, time for fresh thinking, and time—for the first time—for many of the baby boomers to have their say in how the country was run, and by whom. It was also the time, by the way, that Kentucky Fried Chicken came up with the resonate and resilient “Finger Lickin’Good.”

However, those days are gone, and having a look at the current election and its campaigns I have to question whether so too are the days of political slogans. 

I mean, do we really need them? Do they really mean anything? Moreover, do we really believe them? To me, they are little more than patronising pap with about as much credibility and substance as the once ubiquitous but now long discredited (thank God) company mission statement.

Political slogans had their day and had their effect: “It’s Time” was great (and right for The Left), “I Like Ike” from America arguably better. But, the last effective New Zealand political slogan I can remember was Winston Peters’ Northland by-election pitch “Send a Message to Wellington.” That obviously resonated with the Northland Electorate, but having been sent, the message, like the man, is now largely redundant.

However, our political parties persist with meaningless phrases patronising every one of us.

They are not even very good. Let’s look at the current batch. National’s “Delivering for New Zealand” might as well be for a courier company; Labour’s “Let’s do it” sounds like a rallying cry for American GIs in the Vietnam war, which is somewhat ironic. Neither has substance or relevance to New Zealand politics.

The National one in particular lacks imagination and vision and makes me, at least, long for those far off days when Cossacks danced across our screens. Please don’t tell me the National Party paid somebody to come up with “Delivering for New Zealand.” 

But, the core question remains: why do we need political slogans at all? Shouldn’t, couldn’t, the political parties learn from their corporate contemporaries, KFC included, and dispense with them entirely?

I think so.

When it comes to political slogans, let’s NOT do it. 

It’s Time.

Letters from Wogistan: Donald Trump

The Democratic Republic of Wogistan (Inc.)

Office of the Foreign Secretary

123 Bruce Springsteen Boulevard (third door on right). Telephone: 125.

Presidente Donald J. Trump

Presidente of United States of Americas

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue

Washington DC 20500

United States of Americas.

Dear Presidente Donald

Greetings from the Peoples of Democratic Republic of Wogistan.

Our National Intelligenge Service, he says you are about to resign.

Our xalted leader, Presidente Yoseph Flagrantlie (God give him long life and much children), redy to step-in and take your place. He already has second job as a masseur at my bathhouse, but he say he can do that job at any fleshpot in Washington.

You make redy White House. Presedente want it blue. He not want your wife. Presidente bring own wives and sheep. You leave daughter. Presidente is like you—does not need staff neither.

Presidente will arrive next Tuesday after lunch.

You send Airforce One and food for sheep.

Sincerely

Yoseph xxx

Yoseph Wankerstan

Foreign Secretary The Democratic Republic of Wogistan (Inc.)

Proprietor Spartacus Male Gym and Bathhouse.

The Idiocy of ISIS

I am an idiot.

For the life of me, I cannot understand what ISIS is up to. Yes, I understand they want an independent Islamic state; yes, I understand they want to spread their perverted style of Islam to dominate the world; and, yes, I know they want to goad America into a ground war, despite not even wining the one they are in at the moment.

But how they expect to do that by killing innocent civilians as they did today in Spain and previously Britain, France and Germany is way beyond me. How is that going to help their cause—if they have a cause, at all?

ISIS is of course not the first to deal in chaos. But they are the first to be so chaotic about it. Prior the World War One, Anarchists spread terror throughout Europe. Their weapon of death was the bomb, not white vans, and they were pretty indiscriminate about where they placed those bombs. I am not condoning them or their actions, but at least they had a cause, a belief: self-governed societies based on voluntary societies. That doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, but nor does the Green Party or Stephen Kearney coaching The Warriors, so I guess I am just an idiot.

But what does ISIS stand for? What am I missing? Do they have any objective, other than those professed above? An even earlier group of terrorists, Nizari Ismailis, also known as Assassins, were killers for hire so there was a monetary rationale. They were also driven by a very clever ploy by their leader, The Old Man of the Mountain, who drugged them up, sent them to brothel, brought them back and then convinced them that what they had just witnessed was the Afterlife. Of course, they couldn’t wait to get back there.

Is that what drives ISIS fighters and suicide soldiers?

Given their terrifying modus operandi includes rape at will, I doubt such an afterlife has the same attraction.

So, I am still none the wiser at why ISIS does what it does. But in writing about it I have at least arrived at one conclusion: I may not, after all, be the idiot here.

What the Dickens is the Green Party up to?

Tony Hancock was a brilliant, if flawed, comedian. In his personal life and in the eponymous character he portrayed, he was constantly trying to improve himself. For example, in a TV episode of Hancock, written for him by the gifted Alan Galton and Ray Simpson, he decides to improve his mind by reading the classics. He gets as far as the first line of Charles Dickens’ Tale of Two Cities “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”. That’s enough for Tony. He throws away the book, complaining that if he (Dickens) couldn’t make up his mind, why should he (Hancock) bother?

I thought of that line this week when I was watching the Green Party leadership debacle. Like many of you I was going to call on Metiria Turei to resign, and in my case use Fryday to do it. Then she did, so that Fryday went out the door. But then something else occurred to me and that is where Hancock’s complaint came to mind. Turei resigned as co-leader of the Green Party. Why did the party need two leaders—couldn’t they make up their mind?

Of course, they could.

The reason they had two leaders, it seems to me, is they wanted to portray the right gender and race balance: male and female, Maori and Pakeha. Now they wind up with just a middle-aged white male—that must be particularly galling for The Green Party of Aotearoa New Zealand. But they are stuck with it and him, until the election at least.

But what about the principle of two leaders (for whatever reason)? How do you feel about it? Me? I feel it condescending, particularly if it is for the reason stated above. I can understand a rugby team having two captains—one to control the forwards and a second to handle the backs. But a political party? Was Metiria there to control the Maoris and James Shaw the Pakehas? Of course not. Was it to pander to the Maori and the Pakeha votes? Possibly. But that doesn’t make a lot of sense, either—other parties do that much better. In fact, some specialise in it. So, we return to the core rationale for co-leadership—portrayal balance. Well, if that’s what they want. But, it all seems a bit silly to me. Then again, so does their party.

In closing, I am reminded of a quote of another favourite author, Oscar Wilde: "To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness." The Green Party lost one, because Metiria was careless. Ultimately that may lead to the party’s misfortune and perhaps even the loss of the other.

Trump to God #4

Trump Annex

Office of The President of the United States of America.

1600 Pennsylvania Ave NW, Washington, DC 20500, USA

Telephone: You’re Crazy, right? Twitter: #millionsofpeopleloveme.

Dear God

I understand you had problems with your disciples, or as I prefer to call them Apprentices.

What was that bad one? That evil hombre? Judas? What a loser! I would have fired him! Strait away! Out the door! You leak—you seek! You discuss my business to the criminal media, you’re out of here. Out the door. That’s how it goes in business, God.

But your not in business are you? At least not good at it. Like those guys I see representing you on late night TV. What commission are you paying them??? How much of the deal are you getting? God, you have got a lot to learn. Burn the Bible—you’ll learn more from the Art if the Deal. I wrote that you know. It’s great!!!! A tremendous book!!! Sold more books than yours did!!

You know, I kind of think that I could get on side with you. But I think of the people you got around you. Kept with you. Peter. Peter? Your Executive Assistant? He’s a fisherman, for godsake!!!! Fishermen don’t look good in mini-skirts! Take my word for it. I know! You should have hired Ivanka!

Thomas? He doubted you from the start! Why didn’t you just fire him????

Jared—that’s a good Jewish name. My son-in-law. Doing better than your son. I leave it to you to work that out.

So, what do we learn? We get rid of the bad hombres. We hire them then we fire them. That’s how you succeed. You hire someone who is more tremendous than the last one. Then do it again. That’s how you build a team. You can do that when you are like me. You get to be President of the United States of America. You get to hire people. You get to fire people. It makes you tremendous!!

You can still get there God. Call me.

Donald J. Trump

President of the United States of America.

Carry on Doctor

Man Fryday is going through a difficult time at the moment. I am in perpetual pain from what is thought to be a prolapsed disc (or two) in my back. In communicating this to you I am not soliciting sympathy—though such would be gratefully received. No, I want to talk about the New Zealand medical fraternity. So far, this back condition has required the aid and involvement of one doctor, two charge nurses, one orthopedic surgeon, his PA, two hospital registrars, three nurses, one MRI technician, her receptionist, and one hospital. With the exception of someone not mentioned on the foregoing list, the entire medical team has treated me with compassion, understanding and skill; the exception needs not concern us…now. The skill factor is important, and the man who manifests it most is my doctor. He is a friend, but I don’t think that is relevant to the point I wish to make, or I believe a motivating factor for him. Fact is, he is a bloody good doctor. And one of the ways he shows it is a willingness to change the game plan. If one set of medication—mainly pain relief—doesn’t work, he doesn’t persist. He switches. On one occasion and after receiving an urgent call from me, he even did it from his own sick-bed—phoning in a new prescription. Similarly, Tauranga Hospital and its Accident & Emergency staff: I admitted myself to A&E when the pain got too much to bear. Not a query, implicit or explicit, asked of me whether a bad back constituted an accident or an emergency. It didn’t matter. They just got on with the job professionally and expertly. My orthopedic surgeon I have met only twice (once informally) and asked him for only two things to this point. Both he accomplished within 24 hours and one he changed without complaint when I had to change my game-plan.

The point is, and I know you were patiently waiting for the patient to come to it, there is good and bad in every profession and fraternity. That is the nature of the human element. And there some professions that are adept at dehumanising their approach—local councils are often an example; the Green Party is another. But from my experience the medical fraternity well and truly lands on the good side. My medical team (sounds grandiose, doesn’t it?) are doing a brilliant job. I want to acknowledge that. One of them, the MRI technician, for some reason still obscure to me said I was fantastic. To her and to the rest of the team; right back at ya.

As Cecil C. Sackrider Sees It: the gift that keeps on giving.

Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ

As you know, this Sunday’s service is truly blessed, God be praised. 

It is the annual “fleecing” service in which God gives each of us in His flock, exclusive to our Church, the enriched opportunity to give thanks for his Grace.

Sister Bobby-Jo and I will be conducting our usual healing service and the merchandising stand will be as usual fully stocked with God’s Gifts.

But this will be the day of all days when God gives you the opportunity to glorify His grace with your additional gifting.

What will you give? Double? Triple? Quadruple your usual tithe? The decision is yours. The only question God asks of you is how much of His blessing you wish to receive. Last year, as you will remember, Brother Jimmy B. Talbert found favor in God with his gifting of $100,000. Within months his IRS investigation simply disappeared—thanks be to God.

Of course, Sister Bobby-Jo and I know that not all of us can afford to be as generous as Brother Jimmy. Not all of us own Montgomery’s only Buick dealership and largest range of pre-loved cars (“ticket price is just the start”). But all of us need God’s grace. More so now than ever. Evil is upon the world. Some of you know that there is a place called Europe. They have turned from God and evil is happening there. It is a sickness, a sinfulness, a plague, a time of tribulation and trial, the beginning of the Rapture.

Yet with God’s grace and your generosity this Sunday (checks, money orders, cash accepted) Montgomery and our great nation of Christians will be protected from this.

It is in our hands. God has given us this gift. It is now for us to give to Him. To give with grace, to give in Jesus’s name, to give all you can, all you have.

It is God’s will.

The Fleecing Service. This Sunday. Don’t miss it. Admission is free.

Yours in Christ

Pastor Cecil and Sister Bobby-Jo Sackrider.

• For a list of God’s Gifts, as delivered personally by God to Cecil C. Sackrider (handwriting verified), send a check or money order (minimum US$99.99) to the Cecil C. Sackrider Ministry 1069E West 35 Street Montgomery Alabama United States of America, Zip Code 666.  Checks should be made out to CASH (Congregation Against Satan’s Handiwork). All donations over US$50,000 go into the draw to win a three-day family pass to the Cecil C. Sackrider Theme Park. Offer available only to American Christians.