Wednesday, 26 December 2012

A warning for the little ones...

Hey kids - just because Santa’s been, doesn’t mean you can start being naughty again. There’s a new guy in town: OMNIPRESENT SCREAMING NIGHT-TERROR BUNNY. If you misbehave, not only won’t you get Easter eggs - he just might rip you to shreds with those sharp claws in your sleep!

Now here’s a sponge and a bucket - my car ain’t gonna wash itself!

Wednesday, 7 March 2012


Today I found out Subway; now the world’s largest fast food chain; is no longer accepting credit cards as payment. (In New Zealand anyway) Presumably this is to save them from forking out the whopping 2% transaction charge, and squeeze out some more profit.

Congratulations Subway, you've lost my business permanently because you are too cheap to cough up $0.09 cents on that 6” sub.
However this has been the last straw in a slow, gradual death by a thousand cuts for this stingy franchise.

In no particular order, here are my other pet peeves:

Sandwich artist - I love this term – nothing lends itself more to creativity than filling processed food into a bread-hole under strict serving guidelines by management, and being tailor ordered by the customer who gleefully enjoys the brief power trip of pointing at stuff and making the minimum wage slave assemble it to specifications. Plus, once the 'artwork' is unwrapped, it looks like a wilted, soggy, crime scene.

Healthy Option – This is their marketing machine trick to lure you into thinking you are making smart choices! Granted, the less than 6g of fat versions are possibly better than McDonalds, but once you start adding ‘cheese’ and ‘sauce’ to it to make it slightly palatable you aren’t much better off. Then when you add a sugar syrup drink and cookie and you're back to square one. Which brings me to:

Jared – remember the guy who lost 10 cubic tonnes by only eating Subway? Here’s a happy looking Jared to refresh your memory:

But where is he now? I’ll tell you. He’s in Guantanamo Bay being fed a  meagre diet of micro-waved celery under strict 24 hour surveillance sobbing himself to sleep every night, in foetal position, wearing a baggy orange jumpsuit until it’s time to wheel him out for the next publicity drive. I’ll bet he was happier being morbidly obese spending lonely evenings with a tower of delivery pizza, R-rated fetish anime DVD’s and a keg of Mountain Dew.

Meats – I probably am flattering them by calling that pet-food grade processed garbage ‘meat’ but I’ll start off at the top. The ‘salami’ and ‘ham’ is sliced so thin you can read text through it, which does beg the question “what is in those plump, generously round meatballs?” I shudder to think.
Whatever that white mush coated in 'brown' and machine pressed into fillet shapes called chicken is: I don’t want to know.

And for seafood lovers, if you think that ‘crab meat’ is anything other than miscellaneous dead animals washed up on the shore and mashed together into a hideous mutation with flavouring gathered by wringing out the string mop used to clean the decks of fishing vessels - then you deserve whatever gastro ailment is coming to you.

Cheese – no comment necessary.

Tomato – I’m not sure what sort of genetically engineered abortion these really are, but they sure as hell ain’t tomatoes. At least if they used that frog DNA to GE them, they'll have real actual meat...

Lettuce – probably the only safe thing on the menu, if you like your sub decorated with yellow/ brown shredded iceberg sprinkled in miserly quantities. You should see the look on their faces when you demand a decent serving!

Cucumber – I never liked cucumber but I used get them to throw some of these on because:  
  • They are sliced so thin they are tasteless anyway
  • By getting the sandwich artist to perform the extra task, I am getting better ‘value for money’
  • Out of pure spite, I wish to deplete their stocks so they need to laser-slice more
Olives – These taste like used tyres, and let’s face it... they probably are. On the plus side, at least they’re recycling.

Serviettes – Subway make their napkins out paper so cheap & nasty that they almost remove skin when removing the post-sub evidence from your face. So why is it I had to actually ASK for one each time? What profit margins are they working to that dishing out a free serviette with each sandwich has to be requested?

Sauce selection – when they started, there was an amazing array of sauces, but now basic staples like ‘mustard’ no longer exist in favour of trendy sounding, but tasteless slop like honey mustard.

Not that it really matters because EVERY GODDAMN SANDWICH TASTES THE SAME.

Friday, 3 February 2012

Are ye jealous much?

After a hard, blood-soaked day on the battlefield slaying Gauls; I rode home to this! OM NOM NOM, my wyfe is thee best wench eva! 

(photo uploaded using medieval instagramme app)

 *Suckling pig and assorted spoils of victory washed down with the tears of my enemies and a goblet of fine Claret

Wednesday, 27 July 2011

Dog Owners I Hate.

I admit I’m not really a dog fan. I wasn’t born that way; they just seem to hate me. And after years being intimidated, chased, bitten (from both their slavering jaws and their fleas), slobbered on, sexually violated (don’t ask), kept awake all night by relentless barking, and unwittingly trekking dog excrement through the house; I don’t have much love for 'Man’s Best Friend'.
But one day, after a being struck by a crystal clear lightning-bolt epiphany - I realised something important: there are no bad dogs - just bad dog owners.
Roll call:

Cerberus – this dog owner has at least 3 heads whenever he goes out for a walk. Leashes fan out in all directions from Cerberus into an unpredictable whirling maelstrom of barking incisors and malevolent spittle designed to ensnare unsuspecting joggers. Even if the hapless jogger miraculously sidesteps this abomination, he then has to negotiate an impossible minefield of fresh dog stools.

 L to R: Ancient Greek jogger, Cerberus & Ancient Dog Owner.

Exempt Stautus – these owners arrogantly ignore signs like "Dogs must be kept on a leash at all times" designed to prevent the weekly occurrence of dogs tearing the faces off toddlers, and mutilating endangered wildlife. They think nothing of taking their ill-disciplined mutts to crowded outdoor cafes where they are oblivious to their dog climbing onto other patrons tables and snatching food with its slobbering jowls.

Tough Guy – living life vicariously through his dog, Tough Guy opts for the macho dog option, ill treating and brutalising it from birth so it attacks anything that moves. Tough Guy and has a smug look of satisfaction on his dim-witted face as lesser canine foes are vanquished and children hurriedly ushered to safety. The worst of all bad dog owners, and possibly, all humanity.

"Master, may I have my toy rubber bone please?"

The Accessorisor – On the other spectrum of ill-treatment of dogs, this perpetrator buys a miniature dog to place in handbag, and pretends to be a celebrity socialite. As this is not a natural life for a dog it becomes frustrated, under stimulated, and (like its owner) can’t stop yapping and annoying the hell out of everybody. Worse, Accessorisor seems to think everyone loves the exercise-deprived dog running rampant around the office, knocking over coffee cups, licking peoples food, dislodging carefully stacked files and ‘watering’ the pot plants. More disturbing is the ‘lovers’ one way dialogue between pet and owner, and the intimate mouth to mouth sharing of delicacies.

"Kill me now."
The ‘Everyone Loves My Dog’ Guy – may love nothing more than being knocked over and pinned to the floor by his over-caffeinated Alsatian; as it alternates between barking fetid breath in his face and using its slimy diseased tongue, (that, mere minutes earlier was greedily feasting on his neighbours rancid garbage) to slather his head in saliva; but I can assure you – I don’t.
As I lie there, making a mental note to stop in for an emergency tetanus shot on the way home, the owner will say one (or all) of the following:
  1. He’s just playing!
  2. Aw, he likes you!
  3. Ha ha ha – the look on your face! Don’t worry, he’s just playing!

A final thought, slightly off-topic, but I blame Hollywood for glorifying the dog as the ultimate pet, whilst vilifying the cat. In movies, dogs are always the good guys: a fearless, loyal, selfless companion - while cats: ever the sinister villain. It's straight up demonification, animal racism... or something. But I’m yet to hear about a cat crapping on the pavement, ripping someones throat out, or keeping the whole neighbourhood awake all night barking.

 How cats really are.

...and as portrayed by Hollywood.

 Coming soon: Cats Vs. Dogs: a fair and impartial statistical analysis

Thursday, 7 July 2011

Rock Star Clichés That Must Die (part 1)

Note: This topic is so immense, I'm going to have to do it in sections. Feel free to add your personal pet peeves in the comments section below, and I can add 'em next time around!

Destroying Your Instruments
When Jimi Hendrix smashed his guitar and then set it on fire while plugged in (and feeding back) at the Monterey Pop Festival - it was completely original, shocking, extreme, and what people talked about for months around the 1967 version of a water cooler.
Pro tip: Fire retardant pants crotch recommended. Also wait until instrument cools to room temp before playing remainder of song.

But for the rest of you, if you don't want it, give it away to some kid who desperately wants (but can't afford) a guitar you douche!

I remember seeing a local band (who shall remain nameless) support an international act at the Auckland Town Hall, and at the end of the set the drummer kicked over and smashed his drum kit in a fit of ‘Wild Rock ‘N’ Roll Abandon (tm)’.

But what was hilarious was when the house lights came on to swap the gear over, the roadie-less drummer sheepishly returned to gather his scattered drums, at one point holding up - and frowning -  at a cracked Paiste cymbal that probably would’ve taken him (at least) another 6 weeks, slaving away at a dreary (and un- rock n roll) day job to replace. Nice going, dumbass!

Self-Righteous Preaching
If there’s one thing that irritates me more than anything, it’s musicians that become obscenely rich and famous by being rebellious and living life ‘by their own rules’ - suddenly become expert sages on topics like world politics, environmental issues, and poverty. 
Then, they sanctimoniously boss everyone around, telling them how they should live - all the while, flying around the world in private jets, owning multiple (empty) mansions, and still charging fans their first-born sons for extravagant live shows that leave a Godzilla-size carbon footprint. (No doubt to cover up the inadequacies of their bland, drug-addled, paint-by-numbers, crappy new album they expect you to shell out for)

"If anyone needs me, I'll be in my Boeing 767 eating Panda steaks."

Finding Sobriety/ Religion... and then telling us all about it
Don't expect us to have watched you party to extreme levels of debauchery for years (and boast about it) ...then expect me to pay for the privilege to hear you repenting and whining about your issues once you've been freed from rehab. Just record some acoustic songs on your guitar and hand the CD to your case worker. At least he's paid to care!

Want to show that you’re a ‘real musician’ and ‘sensitive’? Why not play the same song with the same notes and chords... but on acoustic instruments!
Remember all those MTV unplugged shows? Instead of showering the band with insults/ beer bottles, the elite industry-only $1000 a ticket crowd expresses themselves with polite, reflective, golf clapping.

 No caption necessary.

Hip-Hop Star Bonus Supplement!

Shameless Product Placement
Hip Hop superstars are often shamelessly whoring products like Timberland boots, Cristal Champagne, and Lexus automobiles. I mean – are we seriously to believe that the first choice of a multi-platinum selling artist, with unlimited funds at his disposal for a status-climbing, head-turning ride is a Lexus? Or, a 2-tone Ford Explorer?
Well, I guess they are way cooler than Cadillac’s, Ferrari's, Rolls Royce’s and gold-plated Hummer's after all.

A Lexus. So gangsta.

Repeating Your Own Name Throughout The Song
This has always perplexed me - Can you please clear up that this is to:
  • Remind the listener that the overused clichés tumbling out of your mouth are yours?
  • Reveal your 'God complex' by constantly referring to yourself in the 3rd person?
  • Give us the impression that during sex, you scream out your own name?
Whatever the reason, it's really annoying. Please stop.

Self-Righteous Preaching
After spending years bragging about your notoriety on ‘tha streets’, and visibly accumulating wealth by:
  • Selling drugs to teenagers (Hustlin’),
  • Killing people with an array of automatic weapons (Gangbangin’)
  • Profiting by forcing drug addicted women to degrade themselves and sell their bodies for your financial gain (Pimpin’)
- you suddenly accuse ‘The Man’ of turning your ‘people’ into whores, junkies and murderers?

 Remember kids, it's all about the music!

Tha Club
It's pretty hard to find any Hip Hop/ R&B video not involving going to this place called 'Tha Club' at some point. Surely, just once, someone can come up with a music video that isn’t simply:
  • Getting chauffeured to the club in expensive (but hired) limo
  • Sitting in a VIP area section of said exclusive club
  • Counting piles of money
  • Wearing designer shades
  • Sipping your favourite drink (good opportunity to name drop Chivas Regal, Cristal, Hennessey)
  • Nodding your head slowly - as hundreds of gorgeous, shapely fans models hired by the record company compete for your attention.
Congratulations! You now owe your record company 3.5 million dollars!!Now that's gangsta!

Thursday, 2 June 2011

Why I hate going to the movies.

Actually, I love going to the movies, but despite decades of culling the people I go to the movies with down to a select handful who can abide by some basic cinema etiquette, these guys keep turning up:

The Economist – everybody knows that popcorn and soda cost a fraction of a cent to make, and the cost mark up at the snack bar is pure extortion – but that doesn’t stop this same financial watchdog from buying it anyway, and bitching about it (loudly) every time. Plan ahead you moron!

And yes, we can work out that it's cheaper to rent the DVD once it comes out and have everyone watch it at your house and make the popcorn ourselves.

The Hyena – laughs at everything, funny or not, constantly throughout the movie. Have you ever met friends at the cinema, and the film you all intended to see has sold out due to no-one (except you) thinking pre-booking was necessary? Then there are 2 to choose from and it goes to a majority vote. One is a film that’s garnered great reviews, but the others go for the 'lowest common denominator comedy' you know will suck. And, predictably, 30 mins into the 'comedy' nobody has laughed once. Except of course, the Hyena, whose donkey-like bray is a cruel, mocking irony to your private hell.

Johnny Come Lately - irrespective of screening time, genre, location - there will always be some asshole that arrives in the darkened cinema bumping past your knees, interrupting your view; thus negating the extreme measures you’d taken to avoid missing a frame of the film in the first place. Undoubtedly, the alpha schmuck of the group probably said something like this to his pals: “Chill dudes, we have PLENTY of time, they always have commercials at the beginning and junk!” Before laughing heartily and kicking off yet another round of hi-fives.
Naturally, the genius didn’t take into account traffic, parking, the huge queues, and that the only seats left require negotiating noisily through the dark, angering paying patrons who got their collective act together.
Solution: Once the lights dim, the theatre is sealed. You got a problem? Buy a goddamn watch!

NOTE: This actually happened to me at an exclusive premier midnight screening and I missed the intro as a cluster of idiots pushed past, showering me with popcorn, slurring “sorry, sorry”.
 I spent the next 20 minutes of the movie so enraged I had no idea what was happening on screen as I plotted brutal, yet ironic, revenge upon them; while simultaneously trying to figure how the hell one arrives late to a midnight screening that sold out 8 weeks prior anyway? Too much traffic on the roads at this time of night? Not enough notice of the start time?

Talker #1 The 'Long Time No Sees' – Hey it’s great that you guys haven’t seen each other for years, and decided to catch up! But how about meeting in a bar instead - so the other 130 people can enjoy the film, hmmm?
Solution: After second infraction, duct tape forcibly applied to mouth.

Talker #2 'Mr Replay' – feels it necessary to vocalise every plot point as it happens, just in case someone of lower intelligence (unlikely) missed the point, or wasn’t watching: “Whoa – did you see that? They just shot his parents!” This guy also misses out on other story points while he is running his mouth, so he is continually questioning out loud: “So... why did they shoot his parents?”
Solution: After first infraction, duct tape forcibly applied to mouth.

 Shut the hell up and watch the movie.

Talker #3 'Mr. Spoiler' - people who have already seen the film, (usually via illegal downloads) for some reason feel it necessary to remind their friends and everyone within a 15 metre radius of that fact. Usually it will be in the form of a tension dampening/ plot revealing statement like “you GOTTA watch this bit!” or “this bit is scary, brace yourself!” accompanied by vigorous nudging. Like being in a darkened cinema in seats positioned towards a 100m wide screen provides us with a plethora of alternatives.
Punishment: removed from cinema and forced to watch the same episode of Two and a Half Men over and over until the feature is over.

Talker #4 'Mr Cel Phone' –self explanatory, and without a doubt, the most serious offence possible in a cinema. The sheer arrogance of someone sitting there loudly talking to someone who isn't even in the cinema is way beyond the pale for even the most forgiving patron.
Punishment: the movie is paused momentarily as the crowd metes out mob justice. After the bloodied, lifeless corpse (and phone) is removed, the movie resumes.

The Professor - These pompous jerks will often chortle out loud with ‘The Knowing Laugh’.  It’s not because they find something funny, but more of a deliberate, forced, vocal ejection to announce to the rest of the audience that they are privy to appreciating the movie on a higher, more cerebral level than you.
Punishment: being forced to write a thesis on the hidden subtext of ‘Dude Where’s My Car’, and the continuing relevance to society years after its release. 

The Texter - not having the attention span to cope with being off the pulse of what’s happening outside for a full 90 mins, The Texter will distract all with his glowing iPhone several times throughout the movie.
Solution: Phone gleefully destroyed by angry mob.

Dr. Cologne - To impress his date, he immersed himself into a bath of pure cologne. Everyone around him gets a sharp sinus headache and watery eyes.
Solution: High pressure hose ‘prison shower’ in car park prior to admission.

Mr. Fidget – simply can’t sit still for longer than a nanosecond, bumping the back of my chair, resting his feet on my chair, constantly wriggling the hell around.
Solution: Mr Fidget is cling-wrapped to chair.

Mr. Sick – Don’t splutter your phlegm/ bacteria all over the back of my head douchebag!  Go home!
Soluition: No Admission: Quarantined.

The Drink Slurper – if there’s one thing that drives me to pure, undiluted, homicidal bloodlust – its people who noisily slurp drinks during a movie. I once sat next to a patron who had a frozen coke, and I swear it took her 20 minutes to finish the last 10ml. I nearly lost my mind.
Solution:  drink is removed, mouth sealed and IV tube forcibly replaced for duration of film.

The Litterer– thanks to possessing opposable thumbs, we can now deposit our own empty drink bottles into the rubbish receptacle on the way out. Impress litterers lower down the evolutionary scale by employing this technique as their eyes roll back in their sockets; excessive saliva forming a pool in their open, stunned mouths. 
Punishment: Litterers can aid society by removing chewing gum under seats.

That’s all for now. I have a headache, and I can feel my heart beating in my eyelid.