Why I'm becoming a lefty

It's time for a good whinge. I've been of such great mood lately (so unlike me) and quite frankly, all this joy and rapture has started to depress me. I need a decent moan & a bout of unhappiness to cheer me up. I do, indeed, have sound reason to be upset. My awful bank has been sending me 'hate mail', bleating about defaulting on my credit card payments and threatening all manner of monetary penalties. Dammit!

So I've decided to become a lefty. That way, I won't need to take responsibility for my own fiscal recklessness. Instead I can blame 'the system' or 'capitalism' or America or president Bush, or someone for my unfortunate plight. Besides, I hate financial institutions anyway (a good lefty trait). Flipping tight-wads! They're a bank for goodness sake, with stacks of surplus dough to throw around. Yet they 'harass' and 'victimise' and 'persecute' a poor, needy person who's down on their luck. C'mon people! Where's the "social justice"? [see? I make a great lefty, I've got the lingo down pat]

It's partly the bank's fault anyway, I reckon. Had they declined my Visa application, neither of us would be in this invidious position. I mean, hello? I was broke! Why do they think I wanted a credit card in the first case? Shouldn't my parlous financial state have sent warning bells ringing? What were they thinking? Gee, I would've been straight-up honest with them in the first place. But did they bother to ask, "Are you wasteful and extravagant?" No, they did not! Well, excuse me, but I don't remember ticking the 'hopelessly profligate' box on the application form.

Now, I'm not the most economically literate guy (hence my current currency crisis), but why lend money to a pauper, huh? Isn't that what they call a "bad investment"? Idiots! Serves them right. Thus, I think it's only fair that they should be RESPONSIBLE for their own stuff-up and waive my debts accordingly. Surely there must be at least one sympathetic soul out there who agrees with me?

.......somebody? .......anybody?

Oh, hell. Maybe I should just take out a bank loan to help cover my C-card expenses? Yeah - good idea! Hmmm, maybe I have more financial nous than people give me credit for? Who said lefties were no good with money?

it was bound to happen sooner or later

War on Objectivists

I -- a fundamentalist nutjob, mired in milleniums of superstitious ignorance -- have had enough. After 2000 years of incessant persecution, insults, taunts, and turning the other cheek, I'm rattlesnake mad & rearin' to kick butt! Having been grievously insulted on-line, one time too many, by those 'objectivists', y'know those horrible wind-up plastic dolls; pull the string and out comes a Rand quote. Yeah, them. I'm sick of them dissin' & cussin' my God and showin' no respek! And so, taking a cue from crazed mobs of islamic rioters everywhere.

I HEREBY OFFICIALLY DECLARE HOLY WAR ON LIBERTARIANS

[sorry to 'shout', but you can't declare war in a weak-kneed, equivocating, girly Chris Trotter voice (all woozey sighs & effeminate simpers). One must ROAR with thunder & alacrity. It's war! Not just "war" but "God's War!" It's serious biz.]

Or does that sound a bit too pugnacious? A smidgen agressive? Likely to scare people away? Let's tone it down then. How about:

"Libertarians are cordially invited to join epic conflagration between good & evil for all eternity. Bring a plate"

[NB: No one's FORCING you to bring a plate. And it's a voluntary war: no conscription. So please, none of your terminal droning on about compulsion.]

Or maybe just short & sweet:

"Jihad: all libs welcome. Venue: all of Creation"

Better? Hey, help me out here, it's my first fatwah, I'm worried it'll be a total flop. What if I declared war and nobody came? You can't just 'demand' libs show up for jihad; they might ignore us - they hate being ordered around. Worse, imagine declaring war anticipating a furious retaliatory response, & instead the opposition just laugh at you. How humiliating! Talk about look foolish.

The only way I can engage the objectivists is to beat them at their own game. Through debate, the domain of reason and philosophy. Here goes:

* My God's bigger than your God. You haven't got one, so mine must be bigger.
Thwap! Take that, logic-boy! Fundies 1 - Libs 0

* Do you disagree? If so, why are you arguing with me, thus engaging in a 'spiritual war' if you don't believe in all that stuff, huh?
Pow! Shove that in your atheist pipe and smoke it! Fundies 2 - Libs 0

* Last night, in an unusual Mormon post-mortem ceremony, I baptised Ayn Rand. She's now safe in heaven. What's that, you say? She's an atheist?
:-o Whoopsie! Goodness me, what have I done? Now her soul will have to spend the ENTIRE afterlife forever and ever and ever and ever with all those religious fruit-loops. (Hope she doesn't mind)

So, if you libs want Ayn's soul back, you're gonna have to ask God for it. What's that? You don't believe in Him? Oh, dilemma, dilemma! Catch-22 time, libs. You have only two choices:

1: Do nothing and Ayn remains in heaven, tortured for all eternity, surrounded by fundy-nutcases, listening to happy-clappy songs. Or,
2: ADMIT that God exists (in order to negotiate her soul's release) and renounce your godless philosophy.

What's it gonna be libs? Should Ayn suffer forever just because YOU were too proud to admit you were WRONG?????????

Gotchya! Checkmate, libs! 3-nil, you just got served!

Bridget Jones syndrome

Seven Wonders of the World

Aint this pic just adorable? [hat-tip L.com] Seven little sweetie-pies. Doesn't it make you coo and cluck? I couldn't resist posting it. All these cute little bubbas reminded me of research suggesting that too much exercise makes men infertile (which possibly makes me the most fecund fella on the planet), and which in turn is a sad reminder of my own dearth of offspring. So it's timely to indulge in a spot of self-pity.

Is self-absorbed neurosis the sole province of female bloggers? And should such assumptions remain unchallenged? Take me for example: I'm incredibly moody, often unreasonable, totally illogical, always need to have the last say, and can hold a grudge forever. So I guess you could say I'm in touch with my feminine side :-)
[Hark! Is that the sexism police I hear pounding on my door?]

Anyway, my cousin's getting married this summer, necessitating a huge gathering of extended family from near and afar. And like Bridget Jones, I'll be confronted with throngs of relatives asking me two dreaded questions: "Gotta missus yet?" and "Got any kids yet?" Replying in the negative to both, I'm painfully forced to revisit my complete, abject inability to breed. Now, everyone knows that Maoris lag sorely behind in every positive social statistic. To be blunt: we're failures! The only arena in which we excel is procreation. And yet I couldn't even manage that - I'm unsuccessful at the one thing we're good at. Can you believe it? I'm a failed Maori! How hopeless can I be? My sense of self-worth is unsalvageable. Like the post-fall Humpty Dumpty, my self-esteem can never be put back together again.

Were my life a movie, its bleak and desolate soundtrack would be a mournful violin sonata, or a melancholic oboe concerto. A plaintive, haunting melody to accompany each harrowing scene of despair - except for those heroic action shots where I effortlessly, single-handedly dispatch mobs of sinister (Australian) bad guys with my flying fists of fury in a dark, secluded alley. Yet like all searing melodramas, romance and fatherhood tragically elude the dashing, macho hero with his blazing mane of golden locks and eyes of sapphire blue. "A blond-haired, blue-eyed Maori?" you ask somewhat puzzled. Hey, it's a movie, OK. Spare me a bit of artistic license, why don't ya. So, auditions are now open to cast the lead role in my biopic; no acting talent necessary but heart-stopping good looks are essential [more artistic license]. Mean and menacing-looking thespians are urged to try out for the role of evil villain, that of my arch-rival and implacable foe.

And how does the movie conclude? With a dejected, solitary figure trudging through bitter, driving rain? A broken, forlorn empty husk, swilling bourbons in a seedy bar? Or perhaps a dreamy, poignant tableau in a maternity ward, triumphantly cradling my newborn child? You'll just have to wait for the premiere, won't ya?

dirty politics

cheating cheapskates
Appalling news about anonymous Labour donor attempting to bribe The Maori Party with $250,000. Shocking, isn't it? I'd demand at least a million. That some scrooge would offer such a paltry amount is unethical! $250K? Pfff! Is that all? I mean, do the maths: 250K divided by four MPs divided by 3 years = a miserable $20K per year. As Shania Twain would sing: "That don't impress me much." I'm proud Mrs Turia shows we can't be bought off with chicken feed. We're Maori; we're much better than that! (worth at least 7 figures.)