Wednesday, October 26, 2011

I'm back.

And I'm as mad as hell.
I'm mad because I'm unemployed, and I don't like it one little bit.
I'm mad because frate's fickle finger has firmly forced its way right up New Zealand's fundamental orifice for the fourth time in 18 months, and I deon't like that one little bit.
I'm made because our incompetent media is fawning over our Prime Minister, the Donkey Jonkey, as though he was the heaven-sent boy - and I don't like that one little bit, either.

In the past four years this tiny nation has endured a series of blows that would have floored Muhammed Ali. There's been the rocketing right hook of the recession: a punch that sent us reeling onto the ropes. It was no shock to those who questioned the wisdom of the West's ferociously greedy scramble toward unsustainable and unreasonable corporate growth and profit, but it has still not affected those who caused it. There was the combination hit of two massive earthquakes, bam-bam, right-left, that killed dozens and tore the heart from one of our most gracious cities. Fate's left jab caught us on the point of the jaw when a ship's master exercised his right to stupidity by driving his heavily-laden container vessel onto a tiny reef, causing an oil spillage that shat poison onto our beaches. And even while we're still cleaning up that near-disaster, we've been hit by a massive uppercut as an ill-maintained gas pipeline ruptured, sending god knows how many tonnes of  "natural" gas into the atmosphere, and closing down half the nation's industries and businesses.

And our PM smiles and nods, and the nation's dreamers and droolers prepare their voting hands to send the simpering fool back into power "because he's such a nice chap".

But what am I really mad about? That one's easy: as we soporifically waltz toward an election, Her Majesty's loyal opposition in New Zealand has decided on a daring campaign tactic: they want their policies to take centre-stage, instead of dressing up their leader like a store-front dummy and making the election all about him. After all, we're not yet a republic, and presidential-style campaigns aren't at all appropriate for our type of democracy. And how did our lick-spittle press report on it? By asking Donkey Jonkey what he thought! Where's the analysis, children? Why not ask the people who have set out on this daring new road? What about talking to Phil "I'm so dull I could just shit" Goff about it? The man's actually showing he has balls of steel, a finely tuned sense of self, and the courage to believe in the New Zealand public.

Well, he's going to be handed his hat, and advised to not let the door slap his arse on the way out, becaused, my dear, the great New Zealand public is enchanted by the Donkey Jonkey. He's our Nero, tootling while we dance toward disaster, and we - sated on bread and circuses - are cheering him as he steers a course, Titanic-style, toward the nearest iceberg.

Bah. And humbug.

Reading: "Arguably", Christopher Hitchens. And "Kraken", by China Mieville. Both excellent.
Listening to: Arcade Fire, "Neon Bible".
This week's Movies: "Midnight in Paris", te new Woody Allan flick. I hate Woody Allan. I loved this movie. I've also have just caught up with "The American", George Clooney. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.