Sunday, July 24, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
my small follow up email to Mike Tod from Air New Zealand
Hi Mike!
I am surprised I have not heard back from you, but I understand.
You must be very busy.
I just thought I would write and make sure you weren't offended by my proposal and hope you got the chance to check out the pictures of 'The Beauties'
Anyway, I hope you have not written back as you are having a meeting with your marketing team with how best to launch this exciting new project.
Thanks Mike,
kind regards from REUBEN BONNER
also here is a picture of an awesome cat.
I am surprised I have not heard back from you, but I understand.
You must be very busy.
I just thought I would write and make sure you weren't offended by my proposal and hope you got the chance to check out the pictures of 'The Beauties'
Anyway, I hope you have not written back as you are having a meeting with your marketing team with how best to launch this exciting new project.
Thanks Mike,
kind regards from REUBEN BONNER
also here is a picture of an awesome cat.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
POSTCARDS FROM THE BEAUTIES PART 2. THE PROPOSAL. A tale of hope.
(please see Postcards From The Beauties Part 1 as a background reference http://whateverorwhateveretc.blogspot.com/2011/07/postcards-from-beauties-part-1-dawning.html)
It had been an exciting few days since the dawning of ‘The Beauties’. Adrenaline was running high in regard to my new venture and I knew it would not be long before the word about the new kids on the foot modeling block hit the street and offers for work came flooding through the door.
I had already photographed ‘The Beauties’ in several picturesque spots around Berlin, traveling as far as Devil’s Mountain and also the ‘gay lake’, otherwise known as Dick Island due to the amount of nude 50+ penises available for viewing at any given time over the summer. It really was paradise as all shapes and sizes were available for viewing, although this was not why I had taken ‘The Beauties’ there for a P.S (photo shoot).
I was a professional and not distracted by flights of fancy or a buttload of nude dicks. I was there to work.
With some pretty historic raw photographic footage of ‘The Beauties’, it was time to approach someone who could turn the images into the inaugural… ‘Postcards’.
The team headed into Mitte to meet with one of Berlin’s leading graphic designers to discuss the project. But the guy thought I was a maniac when I asked if he wanted to be involved on a profit/points system as payment as opposed to cash up front, so in the end I decided to make ‘Postcards’ on my own computer. Even though I had 100 other things that needed doing.
My main focus was to put together my proposal for Air New Zealand, who I would target as my main sponsor for the Postcards From..‘The Beauties’ series and subsequent calender.
With 5 complete ‘Postcards’ and a covering letter, I had a good feeling in my bones about the future.
Please see below the letter I had written to the company.
MIKE TOD
MARKETING MANAGER
AIR NEW ZEALAND
NEW ZEALAND (and beyond)
Dear Mike Tod (the Marketing Manager of Air New Zealand),
This is definitely not a chain letter, I am from New Zealand also and used to work in marketing just like you. Well, not exactly, but I did used to sell paintball tickets in a pyramid scheme type business and learnt a few things about marketing in the process. So we are not really so different you and I.
I now live in Berlin and am writing a book about going for a Guinness World record for highest jump by a pig. I am currently in training with my pig and faithful ally Kenny Powers the Great. The current record is here
http://www.guinnessworldrecords.com/records/natural_world/animal_extremes/highest_jump_by_a_pig.aspx
As you can see it is no mean feat to accomplish, but we are both committed and live daily by the motto ‘Kotetsu Must Fall’. (Kotetsu is a vietnamese potbelly who holds the current record just incase you didn’t know).
I also play in a band called An Emerald City, we are quite famous in New Zealand especially in the 40-50 year old hippy category, but not really anything compared to people like Crowded House, Dave Dobbyn or Dane Rumble.
We did recently get a favourable review on the Good Morning breakfast show by Joanna Hunkin, who in my opinion is a massive babe, and I am pretty happy to add that she referred to our music as ‘seductive’, which is not bad for an instrumental band. You can probably google that for proof if you want.
Anyway, I digress, I am here to tell you that this email is probably going to change your life and also the success of Air New Zealand in the coming years and decades, if not centuries.
I have a proposal for you that you will almost undoubtedly be able to refuse.
Please don’t think I am crazy, as I definitely am not. And please make sure you read to the bottom of this email at least, despite the fact you are probably pretty busy with other things to do with Air New Zealand.
Before I continue I must congratulate you on getting Snoop Dogg on board in your last campaign as he is one of my favourite rappers and even though he is famous for smoking ‘The Chronic’ on a massively regular basis it is still great that you guys weren’t scared to put him in some AIRNZ marketing.
It was the confidence in Snoop Dogg that brought me to writing to you about my proposal. Which I like to call ‘Postcards From…’The Beauties’.
In a nutshell:
Recently I discovered after looking at my feet in a park that they were quite beautiful, my friends around me agreed and we all decided that I probably had the potential to be a world famous foot model. I immediately called my feet ‘The Beauties’ and have since given them individual names: Mike (the left foot) and Steph (the right foot), named after my mother and step-father who are obviously great people.
After taking some pretty historical snaps of ‘The Beauties’ in some pretty unbelievable locations
(please see here http://www.facebook.com/pages/Postcards-from-The-Beauties/218844414804139 )
I decided that these pictures should be turned into metaphorical and historical ‘Postcards’ taking in the most beautiful spots around the world. ‘The Beauties’ would obviously be the point of focus, but we could feature things of equal beauty in the background: The Eiffel Tower, The Taj Mahal, Angkor Wat, The Huntly Powerstation. The choices are endless.
Mike Tod, this is where you come in. While I have toyed with the idea of turning ‘The Beauties’ into a pair of NON-EXCLUSIVE foot models and touring the world with various companies, and attending all the fashion weeks and probably being the talk of catwalks the world over (London, Paris, Milan etc etc), I am prepared to change my approach.
To offer Postcards From… ‘The Beauties’ to you as something for your website or company which would not only include visual ‘Postcards’ but also a diary of the journey, nay, odyssey that ‘The Beauties’ go on around the world, changing the world of foot modeling. And travel writing.
In exchange, I would require all travel and accommodation for ‘The Beauties’ team to be covered by Air New Zealand allowing ‘The Beauties’ to reach their full potential in all the spots around the world that we collectively decide to photograph in. I (and ‘The Beauties’ ) would also need a salary (or freelance payment for each edition of ‘Postcards From…The Beauties’) to keep the project (and the artists) afloat.
For the full story of ‘The Beauties’ please go here to read it.
http://whateverorwhateveretc.blogspot.com/2011/07/postcards-from-beauties-part-1-dawning.html
Please ignore the part about magic mushrooms as that was added to give the story more drama. I don’t condone drug use by any means. Even though I probably didn’t need to make that disclaimer as you you guys used Snoop Dogg (the world’s biggest Chronic enthusiast) on your last campaign.
And for further writing go here
http://whateverorwhateveretc.blogspot.com/
Mike Tod, I hope you will consider my offer because I have a long list of airlines and corporations to go through before I stop, and somebody out there is going to see this proposal for what it really is… A chance to make history. I would like to give Air New Zealand the first chance however as I am obviously a true patriot (also, the fact you used Snoop Dogg).
I hope to hear from you soon,
Kind Regards
Reuben P. Bonner and … ‘The Beauties’
p.s Please don’t take this as a threat, but I have been sitting on an idea for over a decade now about starting a rival airline called Ear New Zealand with competitive rates and also a picture of an Ear made out of a Koru for the tails of all the planes and all marketing materials. I don’t think you, or the company, want to see that happen… The ball is in your court.
p.p.s Has anyone ever said your name sounds a lot like Mark Todd, the famous horse rider and owner of Charisma?
If not, you should take this as a compliment as I think he is a true national sports hero and probably a good guy by the look of him.
In related news, I am still waiting on a reply from Mike Tod (aka Mark Todd), but god willing it comes in the next few days.
It had been an exciting few days since the dawning of ‘The Beauties’. Adrenaline was running high in regard to my new venture and I knew it would not be long before the word about the new kids on the foot modeling block hit the street and offers for work came flooding through the door.
I had already photographed ‘The Beauties’ in several picturesque spots around Berlin, traveling as far as Devil’s Mountain and also the ‘gay lake’, otherwise known as Dick Island due to the amount of nude 50+ penises available for viewing at any given time over the summer. It really was paradise as all shapes and sizes were available for viewing, although this was not why I had taken ‘The Beauties’ there for a P.S (photo shoot).
I was a professional and not distracted by flights of fancy or a buttload of nude dicks. I was there to work.
With some pretty historic raw photographic footage of ‘The Beauties’, it was time to approach someone who could turn the images into the inaugural… ‘Postcards’.
The team headed into Mitte to meet with one of Berlin’s leading graphic designers to discuss the project. But the guy thought I was a maniac when I asked if he wanted to be involved on a profit/points system as payment as opposed to cash up front, so in the end I decided to make ‘Postcards’ on my own computer. Even though I had 100 other things that needed doing.
My main focus was to put together my proposal for Air New Zealand, who I would target as my main sponsor for the Postcards From..‘The Beauties’ series and subsequent calender.
With 5 complete ‘Postcards’ and a covering letter, I had a good feeling in my bones about the future.
Please see below the letter I had written to the company.
MIKE TOD
MARKETING MANAGER
AIR NEW ZEALAND
NEW ZEALAND (and beyond)
Dear Mike Tod (the Marketing Manager of Air New Zealand),
This is definitely not a chain letter, I am from New Zealand also and used to work in marketing just like you. Well, not exactly, but I did used to sell paintball tickets in a pyramid scheme type business and learnt a few things about marketing in the process. So we are not really so different you and I.
I now live in Berlin and am writing a book about going for a Guinness World record for highest jump by a pig. I am currently in training with my pig and faithful ally Kenny Powers the Great. The current record is here
http://www.guinnessworldrecords.com/records/natural_world/animal_extremes/highest_jump_by_a_pig.aspx
As you can see it is no mean feat to accomplish, but we are both committed and live daily by the motto ‘Kotetsu Must Fall’. (Kotetsu is a vietnamese potbelly who holds the current record just incase you didn’t know).
I also play in a band called An Emerald City, we are quite famous in New Zealand especially in the 40-50 year old hippy category, but not really anything compared to people like Crowded House, Dave Dobbyn or Dane Rumble.
We did recently get a favourable review on the Good Morning breakfast show by Joanna Hunkin, who in my opinion is a massive babe, and I am pretty happy to add that she referred to our music as ‘seductive’, which is not bad for an instrumental band. You can probably google that for proof if you want.
Anyway, I digress, I am here to tell you that this email is probably going to change your life and also the success of Air New Zealand in the coming years and decades, if not centuries.
I have a proposal for you that you will almost undoubtedly be able to refuse.
Please don’t think I am crazy, as I definitely am not. And please make sure you read to the bottom of this email at least, despite the fact you are probably pretty busy with other things to do with Air New Zealand.
Before I continue I must congratulate you on getting Snoop Dogg on board in your last campaign as he is one of my favourite rappers and even though he is famous for smoking ‘The Chronic’ on a massively regular basis it is still great that you guys weren’t scared to put him in some AIRNZ marketing.
It was the confidence in Snoop Dogg that brought me to writing to you about my proposal. Which I like to call ‘Postcards From…’The Beauties’.
In a nutshell:
Recently I discovered after looking at my feet in a park that they were quite beautiful, my friends around me agreed and we all decided that I probably had the potential to be a world famous foot model. I immediately called my feet ‘The Beauties’ and have since given them individual names: Mike (the left foot) and Steph (the right foot), named after my mother and step-father who are obviously great people.
After taking some pretty historical snaps of ‘The Beauties’ in some pretty unbelievable locations
(please see here http://www.facebook.com/pages/Postcards-from-The-Beauties/218844414804139 )
I decided that these pictures should be turned into metaphorical and historical ‘Postcards’ taking in the most beautiful spots around the world. ‘The Beauties’ would obviously be the point of focus, but we could feature things of equal beauty in the background: The Eiffel Tower, The Taj Mahal, Angkor Wat, The Huntly Powerstation. The choices are endless.
Mike Tod, this is where you come in. While I have toyed with the idea of turning ‘The Beauties’ into a pair of NON-EXCLUSIVE foot models and touring the world with various companies, and attending all the fashion weeks and probably being the talk of catwalks the world over (London, Paris, Milan etc etc), I am prepared to change my approach.
To offer Postcards From… ‘The Beauties’ to you as something for your website or company which would not only include visual ‘Postcards’ but also a diary of the journey, nay, odyssey that ‘The Beauties’ go on around the world, changing the world of foot modeling. And travel writing.
In exchange, I would require all travel and accommodation for ‘The Beauties’ team to be covered by Air New Zealand allowing ‘The Beauties’ to reach their full potential in all the spots around the world that we collectively decide to photograph in. I (and ‘The Beauties’ ) would also need a salary (or freelance payment for each edition of ‘Postcards From…The Beauties’) to keep the project (and the artists) afloat.
For the full story of ‘The Beauties’ please go here to read it.
http://whateverorwhateveretc.blogspot.com/2011/07/postcards-from-beauties-part-1-dawning.html
Please ignore the part about magic mushrooms as that was added to give the story more drama. I don’t condone drug use by any means. Even though I probably didn’t need to make that disclaimer as you you guys used Snoop Dogg (the world’s biggest Chronic enthusiast) on your last campaign.
And for further writing go here
http://whateverorwhateveretc.blogspot.com/
Mike Tod, I hope you will consider my offer because I have a long list of airlines and corporations to go through before I stop, and somebody out there is going to see this proposal for what it really is… A chance to make history. I would like to give Air New Zealand the first chance however as I am obviously a true patriot (also, the fact you used Snoop Dogg).
I hope to hear from you soon,
Kind Regards
Reuben P. Bonner and … ‘The Beauties’
p.s Please don’t take this as a threat, but I have been sitting on an idea for over a decade now about starting a rival airline called Ear New Zealand with competitive rates and also a picture of an Ear made out of a Koru for the tails of all the planes and all marketing materials. I don’t think you, or the company, want to see that happen… The ball is in your court.
p.p.s Has anyone ever said your name sounds a lot like Mark Todd, the famous horse rider and owner of Charisma?
If not, you should take this as a compliment as I think he is a true national sports hero and probably a good guy by the look of him.
In related news, I am still waiting on a reply from Mike Tod (aka Mark Todd), but god willing it comes in the next few days.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
POSTCARDS FROM THE BEAUTIES part 1. The Dawning of 'The Beauties'
The Rise and Subsequent Demise (and the subsequent re-rise) of some of the greatest foot modeling talent ever to be seen on this god forsaken earth.
I realized something out of nowhere.
‘My feet really are quite beautiful,’ I said looking down at them with magic mushroom residue/particles flying around the synapses in my already dilapidated brain.
My three Australian compatriots looked up at me to try and determine whether I was in fact being serious, and as they saw my emotional involvement in the statement, they looked down to my feet to see if there was any truth in it.
As far as I was concerned, the slight tan my feet had, combined with the slight dusting of dirt from walking around the park barefoot, created a sheen that made them look ruggedly handsome, summery, and in a nutshell: ‘foot-modelly’.
Dord laughed as the reality hit her. She stared at them shocked with her hand to her mouth, unsure if it was the mushrooms playing a cruel trick and said:
‘They actually are… I mean, they actually are quite beautiful,’ she looked around at the others and laughed again with as much shock as we were all feeling at the realization.
‘I’m not gonna lie…They are pretty good,’ agreed Eli nodding his head.
‘Matt?’ I asked to my other friend.
‘Yeah…pretty good I reckon.’
It took another few minutes of staring at them from different angles, in different lights, and even taking photos to confirm.
I received a fourth and fifth opinion from my ex-flatmate Heather and her same sex life partner Vero, who had arrived to the park in the meantime.
While they were unconvinced and preceded to question the potential of my feet, I didn’t let it ‘harsh my mellow’ and thought to myself, ‘What the hell would they know about foot modeling’.
‘I’m calling them ‘The Beauties’’ I said.
Silence.
‘Ahh, You can’t name your feet The Beauties, especially when they look like that,’ said Heather.
‘Ahhhh, yes I can, because I just did,’
To affirm it, I spun around with cat like reflexes, rolled onto my back and slowly lifted my legs towards the sky and held ‘The Beauties’ in front of a narrow sunbeam that was shining through the glade we were sitting in.
As the light of the new morning shone upon them to reveal their beauty, it was as if the earth stood still for a second.
I could almost feel everyone gasp at how beautiful the moment was, and it felt like one of the most important events in my life so far, and even slightly like the turning point in a Harry Potter film.
It was powerful like lightning, and magnificent like a rainbow. It was the dawning of… ‘The Beauties’.
‘I think ‘The Beauties’ is pretty good’ said Eli.
‘Yeah, I think it’s good,’ agreed Matt.
Dord just laughed uncontrollably, nodding her head in agreement.
‘This is just like how you give yourself these ridiculous nicknames every couple of months. You should not be able to give yourself a nickname, and you should not be able to name your feet ‘The Beauties’ said Heather.
‘Ah, Heather did you not just see that beam of light reflecting off ‘The Beauties’ making it feel like we just shared one of the most special moments in history, if not, ever? It was a sign’ I said.
I was beginning to see ‘The Red Mist’ in regard to Heather’s lack of enthusiasm about the potential of ‘The Beauties’. It reminded of when we lived together when she would not admit that outer space was better than anything ever and also that Carl Sagan was the greatest scientist ever.
‘Hey, wait a second’ said Matt ‘what nicknames have you given yourself?’
‘The Red Mist’ subsided briefly:
‘I would say the more memorable ones are probably
a) Maniac
b) The Vigilante or The Vidge
c) Reubo-cop
d) The Baron
e) Boulders
f) Omelette
And also my name for when I am practicing magic: The Great Maniac Holstfield Wonders,’
‘Those are good,’ said Eli.
‘Yeah they are good,’ agreed Matt.
‘What about ‘The Healer’ or ‘Hannibal Lector’?’ said Heather.
‘Sam actually named me those, however I do think they both have potential,’ I replied distracted, as I was too busy looking down in awe at ‘The Beauties’.
‘Fantastic, they are just fantastic,’ I thought to myself.
My brain was going at 100 mph (which is ironic seeing I had grown up with the metric system). I knew ‘The Beauties’ needed to be doing something better than hanging around in a park connected to someone tripping on magic mushrooms.
The world needed to see them. Immediately. (STAT).
My brain kept ticking…
I had an idea, nay, a concept. I imagined a foot modeling campaign that traversed the globe with no rules or boundaries, an epic voyage in which to photograph ‘The Beauties’ in some of the most visually astounding spots on God’s green earth. The Eiffel Tower, The Colloseum, the 8 Wonders of the World, the Taj Mahal. The possibilities were endless, and the adventure would be a way to rediscover life itself for me, my faithful ally and friend Kenny Powers and of course… ‘The Beauties’.
I would call it ‘Postcards from…‘The Beauties’’, and IMHO (in my humble opinion) it would reshape the world of foot modeling, forever.
I would write to various corporations for sponsorship, to fund this Odyssey, and my first thought was to approach an airline which had the capability to fly us around and make sure ‘The Beauties’ made it to every photo shoot.
I knew the concept was flawless and also thought that at the end of it all I could take the best 12 ‘Postcards’ and make a calender entitled ‘Postcards From ‘The Beauties’… The Calender’
My initial thought would be to ask my friend Peter Magnum aka Tom Petty to accompany me as the photographer as he had
a) an eye for detail
b) a lust for life
c) a set of legs on him that we referred to as ‘The Mountain Blasters’. While they were extremely skinny, they had an unbridled power second to none, and I knew that some form of ‘Mountain Blasters’ photo series could work as an offshoot on ‘The Beauties’ franchise.
Things were looking up for The Great Maniac Holstfield Wonders and Kenny Powers The Great. (and the Mountain Blasters).
As a side note, here is a picture of The Mountain Blasters in full effect.
My train of thought was interrupted by Eli.
‘Hey, where the hell is Kenny Powers?’ he said.
‘He will be rooting around for truffles or down at the animal enclosure looking at the yak. Don’t worry about it.’ I told him.
Kenny Powers was big enough and ugly enough to look after his own affairs, and I had bigger fish to fry at this point anyway.
PLEASE SEE BELOW FOR AN INSIGHT INTO THE WORLD OF 'POSTCARDS FROM... 'THE BEAUTIES''
you can also become a fan on facebook
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Postcards-from-The-Beauties/218844414804139
Berlin 06/11 'The Beauties' overlooking their hometown with a renewed vigour knowing that the summer is on it's way.
'Springtime Forest' by ... 'The Beauties'...
The Beauties love nothing more than to be at one with nature. Here they are caught on a brief respite hiking in the forests of Northern Germany. As comfortable in the woods as they are on the catwalks of Paris and New York, 'The Beauties' show their diversity and continue to prove why they are the best feet in the business.
'Radar Base In The Afternoon' by ... 'The Beauties'.
'Portugese Paradise' by... 'The Beauties'
The tanning never stops for 'The Beauties' when summer rolls through. Here we see them overlooking the coast of Lagos, Portugal. Fitted with their new accessory: a locally made Slingshot, summer sun and of course... FUN! 'The Beauties' made a real mark on Portugal.
'Nightcap' by... 'The Beauties'
After a long day of foot modeling, you are most likely to find 'The Beauties' with their feet up, enjoying after work drinks by themselves, friends, or even with a 'significant other'. Sophisticated as ever, 'The Beauties' like to make sure they are rewarded with the right kind of tipple, in this case.. Jamesons.
I realized something out of nowhere.
‘My feet really are quite beautiful,’ I said looking down at them with magic mushroom residue/particles flying around the synapses in my already dilapidated brain.
My three Australian compatriots looked up at me to try and determine whether I was in fact being serious, and as they saw my emotional involvement in the statement, they looked down to my feet to see if there was any truth in it.
As far as I was concerned, the slight tan my feet had, combined with the slight dusting of dirt from walking around the park barefoot, created a sheen that made them look ruggedly handsome, summery, and in a nutshell: ‘foot-modelly’.
Dord laughed as the reality hit her. She stared at them shocked with her hand to her mouth, unsure if it was the mushrooms playing a cruel trick and said:
‘They actually are… I mean, they actually are quite beautiful,’ she looked around at the others and laughed again with as much shock as we were all feeling at the realization.
‘I’m not gonna lie…They are pretty good,’ agreed Eli nodding his head.
‘Matt?’ I asked to my other friend.
‘Yeah…pretty good I reckon.’
It took another few minutes of staring at them from different angles, in different lights, and even taking photos to confirm.
I received a fourth and fifth opinion from my ex-flatmate Heather and her same sex life partner Vero, who had arrived to the park in the meantime.
While they were unconvinced and preceded to question the potential of my feet, I didn’t let it ‘harsh my mellow’ and thought to myself, ‘What the hell would they know about foot modeling’.
‘I’m calling them ‘The Beauties’’ I said.
Silence.
‘Ahh, You can’t name your feet The Beauties, especially when they look like that,’ said Heather.
‘Ahhhh, yes I can, because I just did,’
To affirm it, I spun around with cat like reflexes, rolled onto my back and slowly lifted my legs towards the sky and held ‘The Beauties’ in front of a narrow sunbeam that was shining through the glade we were sitting in.
As the light of the new morning shone upon them to reveal their beauty, it was as if the earth stood still for a second.
I could almost feel everyone gasp at how beautiful the moment was, and it felt like one of the most important events in my life so far, and even slightly like the turning point in a Harry Potter film.
It was powerful like lightning, and magnificent like a rainbow. It was the dawning of… ‘The Beauties’.
‘I think ‘The Beauties’ is pretty good’ said Eli.
‘Yeah, I think it’s good,’ agreed Matt.
Dord just laughed uncontrollably, nodding her head in agreement.
‘This is just like how you give yourself these ridiculous nicknames every couple of months. You should not be able to give yourself a nickname, and you should not be able to name your feet ‘The Beauties’ said Heather.
‘Ah, Heather did you not just see that beam of light reflecting off ‘The Beauties’ making it feel like we just shared one of the most special moments in history, if not, ever? It was a sign’ I said.
I was beginning to see ‘The Red Mist’ in regard to Heather’s lack of enthusiasm about the potential of ‘The Beauties’. It reminded of when we lived together when she would not admit that outer space was better than anything ever and also that Carl Sagan was the greatest scientist ever.
‘Hey, wait a second’ said Matt ‘what nicknames have you given yourself?’
‘The Red Mist’ subsided briefly:
‘I would say the more memorable ones are probably
a) Maniac
b) The Vigilante or The Vidge
c) Reubo-cop
d) The Baron
e) Boulders
f) Omelette
And also my name for when I am practicing magic: The Great Maniac Holstfield Wonders,’
‘Those are good,’ said Eli.
‘Yeah they are good,’ agreed Matt.
‘What about ‘The Healer’ or ‘Hannibal Lector’?’ said Heather.
‘Sam actually named me those, however I do think they both have potential,’ I replied distracted, as I was too busy looking down in awe at ‘The Beauties’.
‘Fantastic, they are just fantastic,’ I thought to myself.
My brain was going at 100 mph (which is ironic seeing I had grown up with the metric system). I knew ‘The Beauties’ needed to be doing something better than hanging around in a park connected to someone tripping on magic mushrooms.
The world needed to see them. Immediately. (STAT).
My brain kept ticking…
I had an idea, nay, a concept. I imagined a foot modeling campaign that traversed the globe with no rules or boundaries, an epic voyage in which to photograph ‘The Beauties’ in some of the most visually astounding spots on God’s green earth. The Eiffel Tower, The Colloseum, the 8 Wonders of the World, the Taj Mahal. The possibilities were endless, and the adventure would be a way to rediscover life itself for me, my faithful ally and friend Kenny Powers and of course… ‘The Beauties’.
I would call it ‘Postcards from…‘The Beauties’’, and IMHO (in my humble opinion) it would reshape the world of foot modeling, forever.
I would write to various corporations for sponsorship, to fund this Odyssey, and my first thought was to approach an airline which had the capability to fly us around and make sure ‘The Beauties’ made it to every photo shoot.
I knew the concept was flawless and also thought that at the end of it all I could take the best 12 ‘Postcards’ and make a calender entitled ‘Postcards From ‘The Beauties’… The Calender’
My initial thought would be to ask my friend Peter Magnum aka Tom Petty to accompany me as the photographer as he had
a) an eye for detail
b) a lust for life
c) a set of legs on him that we referred to as ‘The Mountain Blasters’. While they were extremely skinny, they had an unbridled power second to none, and I knew that some form of ‘Mountain Blasters’ photo series could work as an offshoot on ‘The Beauties’ franchise.
Things were looking up for The Great Maniac Holstfield Wonders and Kenny Powers The Great. (and the Mountain Blasters).
As a side note, here is a picture of The Mountain Blasters in full effect.
My train of thought was interrupted by Eli.
‘Hey, where the hell is Kenny Powers?’ he said.
‘He will be rooting around for truffles or down at the animal enclosure looking at the yak. Don’t worry about it.’ I told him.
Kenny Powers was big enough and ugly enough to look after his own affairs, and I had bigger fish to fry at this point anyway.
PLEASE SEE BELOW FOR AN INSIGHT INTO THE WORLD OF 'POSTCARDS FROM... 'THE BEAUTIES''
you can also become a fan on facebook
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Postcards-from-The-Beauties/218844414804139
Berlin 06/11 'The Beauties' overlooking their hometown with a renewed vigour knowing that the summer is on it's way.
'Springtime Forest' by ... 'The Beauties'...
The Beauties love nothing more than to be at one with nature. Here they are caught on a brief respite hiking in the forests of Northern Germany. As comfortable in the woods as they are on the catwalks of Paris and New York, 'The Beauties' show their diversity and continue to prove why they are the best feet in the business.
'Radar Base In The Afternoon' by ... 'The Beauties'.
'Portugese Paradise' by... 'The Beauties'
The tanning never stops for 'The Beauties' when summer rolls through. Here we see them overlooking the coast of Lagos, Portugal. Fitted with their new accessory: a locally made Slingshot, summer sun and of course... FUN! 'The Beauties' made a real mark on Portugal.
'Nightcap' by... 'The Beauties'
After a long day of foot modeling, you are most likely to find 'The Beauties' with their feet up, enjoying after work drinks by themselves, friends, or even with a 'significant other'. Sophisticated as ever, 'The Beauties' like to make sure they are rewarded with the right kind of tipple, in this case.. Jamesons.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
A historical overview of the death of Michael Jackson and the subsequent hoax that Goldblum dies in ravine in New Zealand.
(an excerpt from ) CHAPTER 2: MICHAEL JACKSON IS DEAD, GOLDBLUM LIVES. THE WORLD's FUCKED in JUNE 2009. (R.I. P Michael. I miss you and also the Jackson 5 (but mainly you)).
The only positive out of this crazy shithole of a world is that my pig Kenny Powers has finally arrived.
........................................................................ ........... ..................
JUNE 2009......
......
.. (PLEASE NOTE THIS IS AN EXCERPT< AND THAT IS PROBABLY WHY YOU WON'T KNOW WHAT I'M CRAPPING ON ABOUT AT THE START OF THIS WRITING)
.....................
..................................
To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t really in any dire need of any antidotes in the immediate future (except DMSO which would come in very handy if there was Nuclear Fallout. DMSO is made out of sulphur or some crap like that and Is helpful against radiation. I would get some).
I decided to look up where to get DMSO on the Internet,
But I immediately rued the day I ever went back onto that computer.….
The virtual writing was on the virtual wall.
Michael Jackson was dead. (shamon : ( (sad face))
My childhood hero, and the first person who ever made me delusionally think that I would ever make it famous as a black pop singer - which therefore made me paint my face with shoe polish… well he was dead. Confirmed.
Michael Jackson was dead. Killed in Neverland by a murderer. Or something like that, the details weren’t important at the time. All that was important was that he was gone.
The only way I thought I could pay tribute was by putting on a single rubber glove from the dishes, and holding it in the air with my head down as I yelled:
‘HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!’
I did that for about 30 seconds, then took off the glove, put it back in the sink and thought: ‘I wish that glove was silver and had lots of shining diamantes on it, as opposed to being green and yellow with bits of soap scum and vegetable peelings on it. And I wish it wasn't so moist inside, and i wish it didnt take almost ten minutes to get onto my hand properly.’.
Michael Jackson was dead. This was bullshit. This was the worst day of my life.
It had only been two weeks ago that I had realized the lyrics in Man In The Mirror were:
‘And no message could have been any clearer’ as opposed to ‘And no moustache could evade any clippers’.
It was like I was rediscovering MJ again only to have my heart smashed against jagged rocks as his death was announced. I could only imagine how Elizabeth Taylor was feeling. And of course Tito and all the other Jackson 5. And all the Jacksons actually.
It was the same burning sadness I held when I found out that Kurt Cobain died, but the silver lining on that day was that my brother was born so I got over Kurt pretty quickly with the excitement.
It dawned on me that the stress of preparing for his final live concerts may have driven him to suicide. But then I remembered he had been murdered or died of natural causes or something similar.
If only real life imitated art and he came back to life as a ghoul just like in the infamous video clip for Thriller.
Michael Jackson was dead.
I cried singing along to Don’t Stop Till You Get enough while eating a stale bread roll and almost choked on the crumbs. I wish I had choked, and died. To be with Michael.
But while all this was occurring, and amidst the sadness and confusion that I was feeling - and also the extra confusion because as I scrolled through the internet there was a sidenote that Farah Fawcett had also just died of anal cancer (unrelated to Michael Jackson’s death) (???? Is anal cancer new????).
But through all this grief came a shining unicorn of hope and light…
The silver lining to this Michael-Jackson’s-dead-body shaped cloud…
Jeff Goldblum
AKA my worst actor
AKA the world’s tallest and most annoying Jewish American celebrity
AKA Goldblum
…was dead.
Not only was he dead, but it was also rumoured that he had fallen to his death in my home country New Zealand while acting. My immediate thought was that someone from the crew had pushed him to his rocky demise because his acting had probably been so annoying on set that they couldn’t help themselves.
My second thought was that this may have been a sign from god that things were ‘on the up’ for me and my pig’s destiny. And a way to say to the world ‘sorry, for taking MJ. Take this death of Goldblum as a peace offering, and a statement so you know everything will be ok,’
The New Zealand connection also made it personal, like god had done this just for me (and my pig: due to arrive in Berlin in 12 days).
My third thought was that Goldblum would have said some kind of annoying half-insightful comment as he fell down the ravine like ‘and so it was ordained. My body is only a vessel and my soul will continuuuuuuuuuue’
I am only assuming that it was a ravine, as falling down them usually means certain death.
If I on the other hand was to fall down a ravine, I would make sure I yelled out something extremely classic like
‘I regret nothiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing’. Like the guy who jumps off the bridge in the Simpsons. Or
‘Anyone got any spare moneyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?’
But back to the topic at hand.
Goldblum.
Why did he haunt me so? In my dreams and in waking life it seemed he was always there to say something like, well, something condescending, in a slow American Jewish groan.
And now it was I who had the upper hand, as I was alive and about to find fame and fortune, while he was dead in New Zealand, home of my forebears, and the location of the Goldblum Must Retire/Die Fan headquarters (which I had created in 2005 in the garage of my flat). Ironic? Yes, I would say it was reasonably ironic, especially if there was a Hollywood movie made about my quest for the Guinness World Record for highest jump by a pig.
Goldblum.
His mangled body was probably being rescued at this very moment by the Westpac Helicopter, only to be put into a grim black bodybag before being shipped back to the United States coated in an American flag.
Or would it be the star of David? And would he be returned to Israel?
Either way, his acting would be celebrated, his life would be celebrated, but I would not applaud. Although I would admit that he was good in The Fly I would not shed a tear for Goldblum. Not a single tear. Not like I was doing for Michael Jackson, the greatest pop star in the world.
I applauded Goldblum for not dying withered in a bed somewhere with AIDS or Ebola, but going out doing what he loved:
Aka being the most annoying actor on the planet, if not the universe.
Although he would make my life unhappier whenever he graced the silver screen, I suppose there was some kind of mutual respect between us.
I suppose you could say it was very similar to the antagonism that occurred between Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader. How the two feared each other but hated each other but also loved each other. Except I didn't love Goldblum really.
Although the few differences between Goldblum and I’s relationship, and Skywalker and Vader’s relationship are as follows.
a) Goldblum was not my father
b) I did not have a mechanical hand like Skywalker
c) I did not love Goldblum (as previously stated)
d) Darth Vader’s acting was very very good. Goldblum’s was not.
e) Goldblum’s voice was more annoying than Darth Vader’s even though Darth Vader had a strange respiratory breathing apparatus that made his voice sound like a vacuum cleaner
f) At the time of his death Goldblum possibly didn’t actually know who I was, and therefore was probably not aware that we were enemies. But I would change that in the afterlife (if he is still acting, if not, I will let bygones be bygones)
This was the only possible thing that could have made me feel better about the death of Michael Jackon, and the exact same amount of indifference towards the death of Farrah Fawcett. That really had made the day confusing.
NOTE: ABORT ALL FEELINGS IMMEDIATELY AND RESORT TO EVEN WORSE DEPRESSION THAN BEFORE.
MICHAEL JACKSON IS CONFIRMED DEAD.
THE GOLDBLUM DEATH WAS A HOAX. I REPEAT.
THE GOLDBLUM DEATH WAS A HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE PRANK, A FALSE, TERRIBLE JOKE THAT IS OBVIOUSLY NOT FUNNY. BUT HE IS STILL, VERY MUCH ALIVE.
(I am not actually sure if the whole Farrah Fawcett having anal cancer and is dead or not is a hoax).
This is the worst day ever. Confirmed. Goldblum lives. And is no doubt, not retired from acting.
GOLDBLUM (a haiku about loss, and fake deaths)
What A Filthy Hoax
Your death had helped dull the pain
Michael is still dead
The only positive out of this crazy shithole of a world is that my pig Kenny Powers has finally arrived.
........................................................................ ........... ..................
JUNE 2009......
......
.. (PLEASE NOTE THIS IS AN EXCERPT< AND THAT IS PROBABLY WHY YOU WON'T KNOW WHAT I'M CRAPPING ON ABOUT AT THE START OF THIS WRITING)
.....................
..................................
To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t really in any dire need of any antidotes in the immediate future (except DMSO which would come in very handy if there was Nuclear Fallout. DMSO is made out of sulphur or some crap like that and Is helpful against radiation. I would get some).
I decided to look up where to get DMSO on the Internet,
But I immediately rued the day I ever went back onto that computer.….
The virtual writing was on the virtual wall.
Michael Jackson was dead. (shamon : ( (sad face))
My childhood hero, and the first person who ever made me delusionally think that I would ever make it famous as a black pop singer - which therefore made me paint my face with shoe polish… well he was dead. Confirmed.
Michael Jackson was dead. Killed in Neverland by a murderer. Or something like that, the details weren’t important at the time. All that was important was that he was gone.
The only way I thought I could pay tribute was by putting on a single rubber glove from the dishes, and holding it in the air with my head down as I yelled:
‘HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!’
I did that for about 30 seconds, then took off the glove, put it back in the sink and thought: ‘I wish that glove was silver and had lots of shining diamantes on it, as opposed to being green and yellow with bits of soap scum and vegetable peelings on it. And I wish it wasn't so moist inside, and i wish it didnt take almost ten minutes to get onto my hand properly.’.
Michael Jackson was dead. This was bullshit. This was the worst day of my life.
It had only been two weeks ago that I had realized the lyrics in Man In The Mirror were:
‘And no message could have been any clearer’ as opposed to ‘And no moustache could evade any clippers’.
It was like I was rediscovering MJ again only to have my heart smashed against jagged rocks as his death was announced. I could only imagine how Elizabeth Taylor was feeling. And of course Tito and all the other Jackson 5. And all the Jacksons actually.
It was the same burning sadness I held when I found out that Kurt Cobain died, but the silver lining on that day was that my brother was born so I got over Kurt pretty quickly with the excitement.
It dawned on me that the stress of preparing for his final live concerts may have driven him to suicide. But then I remembered he had been murdered or died of natural causes or something similar.
If only real life imitated art and he came back to life as a ghoul just like in the infamous video clip for Thriller.
Michael Jackson was dead.
I cried singing along to Don’t Stop Till You Get enough while eating a stale bread roll and almost choked on the crumbs. I wish I had choked, and died. To be with Michael.
But while all this was occurring, and amidst the sadness and confusion that I was feeling - and also the extra confusion because as I scrolled through the internet there was a sidenote that Farah Fawcett had also just died of anal cancer (unrelated to Michael Jackson’s death) (???? Is anal cancer new????).
But through all this grief came a shining unicorn of hope and light…
The silver lining to this Michael-Jackson’s-dead-body shaped cloud…
Jeff Goldblum
AKA my worst actor
AKA the world’s tallest and most annoying Jewish American celebrity
AKA Goldblum
…was dead.
Not only was he dead, but it was also rumoured that he had fallen to his death in my home country New Zealand while acting. My immediate thought was that someone from the crew had pushed him to his rocky demise because his acting had probably been so annoying on set that they couldn’t help themselves.
My second thought was that this may have been a sign from god that things were ‘on the up’ for me and my pig’s destiny. And a way to say to the world ‘sorry, for taking MJ. Take this death of Goldblum as a peace offering, and a statement so you know everything will be ok,’
The New Zealand connection also made it personal, like god had done this just for me (and my pig: due to arrive in Berlin in 12 days).
My third thought was that Goldblum would have said some kind of annoying half-insightful comment as he fell down the ravine like ‘and so it was ordained. My body is only a vessel and my soul will continuuuuuuuuuue’
I am only assuming that it was a ravine, as falling down them usually means certain death.
If I on the other hand was to fall down a ravine, I would make sure I yelled out something extremely classic like
‘I regret nothiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing’. Like the guy who jumps off the bridge in the Simpsons. Or
‘Anyone got any spare moneyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?’
But back to the topic at hand.
Goldblum.
Why did he haunt me so? In my dreams and in waking life it seemed he was always there to say something like, well, something condescending, in a slow American Jewish groan.
And now it was I who had the upper hand, as I was alive and about to find fame and fortune, while he was dead in New Zealand, home of my forebears, and the location of the Goldblum Must Retire/Die Fan headquarters (which I had created in 2005 in the garage of my flat). Ironic? Yes, I would say it was reasonably ironic, especially if there was a Hollywood movie made about my quest for the Guinness World Record for highest jump by a pig.
Goldblum.
His mangled body was probably being rescued at this very moment by the Westpac Helicopter, only to be put into a grim black bodybag before being shipped back to the United States coated in an American flag.
Or would it be the star of David? And would he be returned to Israel?
Either way, his acting would be celebrated, his life would be celebrated, but I would not applaud. Although I would admit that he was good in The Fly I would not shed a tear for Goldblum. Not a single tear. Not like I was doing for Michael Jackson, the greatest pop star in the world.
I applauded Goldblum for not dying withered in a bed somewhere with AIDS or Ebola, but going out doing what he loved:
Aka being the most annoying actor on the planet, if not the universe.
Although he would make my life unhappier whenever he graced the silver screen, I suppose there was some kind of mutual respect between us.
I suppose you could say it was very similar to the antagonism that occurred between Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader. How the two feared each other but hated each other but also loved each other. Except I didn't love Goldblum really.
Although the few differences between Goldblum and I’s relationship, and Skywalker and Vader’s relationship are as follows.
a) Goldblum was not my father
b) I did not have a mechanical hand like Skywalker
c) I did not love Goldblum (as previously stated)
d) Darth Vader’s acting was very very good. Goldblum’s was not.
e) Goldblum’s voice was more annoying than Darth Vader’s even though Darth Vader had a strange respiratory breathing apparatus that made his voice sound like a vacuum cleaner
f) At the time of his death Goldblum possibly didn’t actually know who I was, and therefore was probably not aware that we were enemies. But I would change that in the afterlife (if he is still acting, if not, I will let bygones be bygones)
This was the only possible thing that could have made me feel better about the death of Michael Jackon, and the exact same amount of indifference towards the death of Farrah Fawcett. That really had made the day confusing.
NOTE: ABORT ALL FEELINGS IMMEDIATELY AND RESORT TO EVEN WORSE DEPRESSION THAN BEFORE.
MICHAEL JACKSON IS CONFIRMED DEAD.
THE GOLDBLUM DEATH WAS A HOAX. I REPEAT.
THE GOLDBLUM DEATH WAS A HORRIBLE, HORRIBLE PRANK, A FALSE, TERRIBLE JOKE THAT IS OBVIOUSLY NOT FUNNY. BUT HE IS STILL, VERY MUCH ALIVE.
(I am not actually sure if the whole Farrah Fawcett having anal cancer and is dead or not is a hoax).
This is the worst day ever. Confirmed. Goldblum lives. And is no doubt, not retired from acting.
GOLDBLUM (a haiku about loss, and fake deaths)
What A Filthy Hoax
Your death had helped dull the pain
Michael is still dead
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
FAMOUS JEWS AND KEVIN COSTNER LOOKALIKES
I think it would be nice if I could go one day without seeing someone who looks exactly like Kevin Costner.
I am pretty sure that his genetic makeup must be one of the most common in the world, or at least in Berlin, Germany.
It is not the worst thing in the world to happen, but I am basically sick of thinking the thought ‘great, there is another Kevin Costner lookalike,’ on such a regular basis.
Admittedly it is a real treat when I see my FAVOURITE Kevin Costner lookalike, who actually half looks like Kiefer Sutherland as well and is always smoking or looking arty/broody.
I have taken to calling him Kiefin Costerland behind his back and think him to be either a director, or a photographer, or just unemployed. Mainly because I always see him just sitting around at cafes, and because his broodiness gives him some kind of look that says ‘maybe I should be capturing this moment on film, whether it be still images or moving pictures’.
He also has a dog, which makes me think he is not unemployed as it looks healthy as opposed to malnourished.
Once I was sitting opposite him in a café and wrote a poem about him, and I am not really prone to poetry as it is a bit faggy.
Kief cost (my favourite Kevin Costner lookalike in this town)
Imagine if Kevin Costner had been attacked by a wolf and killed halfway through the filming of Dances with Wolves… would you have been there to step in?....
It would have meant you needed to act, and also direct.
And have sex with the actress who played your love interest and looked like she came from a big pile of rubbish.
I think you have it in you….
Imagine if you were at a party and Donald Sutherland was so wasted or got maced that his vision was blurry and he thought you were his son and he asked you to drive him home… would you have been there to step in?...
I think your heart is that big.
Imagine if Kevin Costner and Keifer Sutherland had both impregnated a lady at the same time… would you have been the result?
They would have had to have done it pretty young though as you look about 40.
I am basically sick of writing about anything to do with Kevin Costner and/or Kiefer Sutherland now. So I feel like it is time for a topic change.
After a very in depth discussion with my Israeli drummer about how many famous Jews there are in the world, I decided to do some research and have come to the following conclusions.
a) There are certainly more Jewish celebrities than there are from New Zealand
b) Some of the Jewish babes are the hottest babes in the world ie Natalie Portman (schwing) and Selma Blair and Kate Hudson. And Scarlett Johansen.
I have therefore decided to make a list called ‘My Top 50 Jews, by MANIAC HOLST’.
Although I don’t plan to rush into it and come out with some ridiculously unresearched list I will still state now that my drummer is definitely at the top of the list even though he is not as famous as some of them. He is closely followed by Larry David, my favourite celebrity Jew.
For anyone who thinks they will be able to predict who will be on my list, I wouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch.
Especially don’t think I will be adding Woody Allen or any of the members from the band Kiss or Adam Sandler, because they would not be in the top 50 jews in my book.
Woody Allen would maybe be in my list of 50 worst Jews, or at least 50 most sniveling-slash-annoying Jews.
And also he would probably be on my list of 50 People To Have Gotten With Their Step Daughter and Pretended It Was Totally Normal.
Anyway, it is a work in progress, so I am not going to go on about it all day. but if I were you, i would be wishing me 'Masal Tov'.
Soooooooooooo.....
I'm not sure if theft has become more public lately, but, yesterday standing at the Barcelona airport in one of the most annoying lines I have ever been in (a curved line where you couldn’t see the end, also full of annoying people who keep looking around), a young girl on a sports trip cut in front of me and stole a chocolate donut out of the self serve cabinet.
it was so horribly blatant to everyone around, although I was not thinking that at the time as I was too busy thinking how it looked totally delicious.
It awoke several emotions in me as she scuttled back out of the line, not really caring that she stood on my foot as she passed (idiot).
a) jealousy. Why didn’t I have that donut? Why hadn’t I thought to steal one?
b) respect. She had stolen the donut from a blind spot in the line, where no staff would have seen it and she had done it with confidence. Maybe she was a seasoned thief.
c) annoyance. Not only did she stand on my toe, she pushed past with a bit too much aggression and it made me feel like tripping her up or at least telling on her. But I didn’t because I CBB (couldn’t be bothered)
Either way that damn donut looked good, although I refrained from buying one as I only had enough cash for a juice which I saw as more important at the time as I was basically boiling alive and sweating like never before.
Getting from Barcelona back to Berlin seemed to take forever due to a series of unfortunate events and annoying people coming into my path. After boarding the U7 underground train from Schonefeld airport, just when I thought I was almost ‘home free’, the doors opened and there walking towards me to squeeze down in the seat beside me was The Hot Massive Breather. I had seen him on the trains before, but never had the pleasure of him sitting right beside me. I had definitely heard him breathe, as you are guaranteed to hear it from at least ten metres away through a snow storm. But the deluxe encounter I was about to get really was a bonus.
The warmth of his body eminating through his clothes onto me gave me the same uncomfortable feeling as you would get from putting your hand into a pile of hot compost, aka the impulsion to dry retch.
The volume of his breathing was at approximately 100 decibels.
If you are not aware how loud that is, other things which are approximately 100 decibels are
a) a passing truck
b) a home lawn mower
c) a car horn at five metres
d) a wood saw
e) a boiler factory
And of course lots of other loud crap. Suffice to say, that The Hot Massive Breather is NOT the greatest person to sit next too on the train, especially when he is reading a magazine, as when he starts concentrating his breathing moves up to around 110 decibels and you can add another 10 decibels to that due to the fact he turns the pages so forcefully.
120 decibels?
a) a riveter
b) a wood chipper
c) thunder
d) a diesel engine room
e) a fireworks display
He is officially my worst person to sit next to on the Berlin underground service. That is confirmed.
I muttered ‘good riddance’ as I left the train and his sweaty, noisy half-embrace and thought about how much I wanted to get home and make a freshly squeezed orange juice or a raspberry smoothie, as these are now part of my daily regime.
Please note this daily regime also includes:
a) looking out the window,
b) going on the internet,
c) waiting for June 18th (the opening of the Neukolln Pools),
d) walking around
e) going to the Linsensuppe (lentil soup) shop to see if my main Berlin enemy The Linsensuppe Ferret has returned from holiday, or if he really is dead as I suspected. (you can read more about that idiot here): http://whateverorwhateveretc.blogspot.com/2010/09/jupiter-mars-blue-whales-fourth.html
Today’s daily routine included waking up from having ANOTHER dream that I had a black child, with a white lady. In the dream I can never work out if we adopted the child or if she cheated on me. But it is a good way to start the day I suppose.
I am pretty sure that his genetic makeup must be one of the most common in the world, or at least in Berlin, Germany.
It is not the worst thing in the world to happen, but I am basically sick of thinking the thought ‘great, there is another Kevin Costner lookalike,’ on such a regular basis.
Admittedly it is a real treat when I see my FAVOURITE Kevin Costner lookalike, who actually half looks like Kiefer Sutherland as well and is always smoking or looking arty/broody.
I have taken to calling him Kiefin Costerland behind his back and think him to be either a director, or a photographer, or just unemployed. Mainly because I always see him just sitting around at cafes, and because his broodiness gives him some kind of look that says ‘maybe I should be capturing this moment on film, whether it be still images or moving pictures’.
He also has a dog, which makes me think he is not unemployed as it looks healthy as opposed to malnourished.
Once I was sitting opposite him in a café and wrote a poem about him, and I am not really prone to poetry as it is a bit faggy.
Kief cost (my favourite Kevin Costner lookalike in this town)
Imagine if Kevin Costner had been attacked by a wolf and killed halfway through the filming of Dances with Wolves… would you have been there to step in?....
It would have meant you needed to act, and also direct.
And have sex with the actress who played your love interest and looked like she came from a big pile of rubbish.
I think you have it in you….
Imagine if you were at a party and Donald Sutherland was so wasted or got maced that his vision was blurry and he thought you were his son and he asked you to drive him home… would you have been there to step in?...
I think your heart is that big.
Imagine if Kevin Costner and Keifer Sutherland had both impregnated a lady at the same time… would you have been the result?
They would have had to have done it pretty young though as you look about 40.
I am basically sick of writing about anything to do with Kevin Costner and/or Kiefer Sutherland now. So I feel like it is time for a topic change.
After a very in depth discussion with my Israeli drummer about how many famous Jews there are in the world, I decided to do some research and have come to the following conclusions.
a) There are certainly more Jewish celebrities than there are from New Zealand
b) Some of the Jewish babes are the hottest babes in the world ie Natalie Portman (schwing) and Selma Blair and Kate Hudson. And Scarlett Johansen.
I have therefore decided to make a list called ‘My Top 50 Jews, by MANIAC HOLST’.
Although I don’t plan to rush into it and come out with some ridiculously unresearched list I will still state now that my drummer is definitely at the top of the list even though he is not as famous as some of them. He is closely followed by Larry David, my favourite celebrity Jew.
For anyone who thinks they will be able to predict who will be on my list, I wouldn’t count your chickens before they hatch.
Especially don’t think I will be adding Woody Allen or any of the members from the band Kiss or Adam Sandler, because they would not be in the top 50 jews in my book.
Woody Allen would maybe be in my list of 50 worst Jews, or at least 50 most sniveling-slash-annoying Jews.
And also he would probably be on my list of 50 People To Have Gotten With Their Step Daughter and Pretended It Was Totally Normal.
Anyway, it is a work in progress, so I am not going to go on about it all day. but if I were you, i would be wishing me 'Masal Tov'.
Soooooooooooo.....
I'm not sure if theft has become more public lately, but, yesterday standing at the Barcelona airport in one of the most annoying lines I have ever been in (a curved line where you couldn’t see the end, also full of annoying people who keep looking around), a young girl on a sports trip cut in front of me and stole a chocolate donut out of the self serve cabinet.
it was so horribly blatant to everyone around, although I was not thinking that at the time as I was too busy thinking how it looked totally delicious.
It awoke several emotions in me as she scuttled back out of the line, not really caring that she stood on my foot as she passed (idiot).
a) jealousy. Why didn’t I have that donut? Why hadn’t I thought to steal one?
b) respect. She had stolen the donut from a blind spot in the line, where no staff would have seen it and she had done it with confidence. Maybe she was a seasoned thief.
c) annoyance. Not only did she stand on my toe, she pushed past with a bit too much aggression and it made me feel like tripping her up or at least telling on her. But I didn’t because I CBB (couldn’t be bothered)
Either way that damn donut looked good, although I refrained from buying one as I only had enough cash for a juice which I saw as more important at the time as I was basically boiling alive and sweating like never before.
Getting from Barcelona back to Berlin seemed to take forever due to a series of unfortunate events and annoying people coming into my path. After boarding the U7 underground train from Schonefeld airport, just when I thought I was almost ‘home free’, the doors opened and there walking towards me to squeeze down in the seat beside me was The Hot Massive Breather. I had seen him on the trains before, but never had the pleasure of him sitting right beside me. I had definitely heard him breathe, as you are guaranteed to hear it from at least ten metres away through a snow storm. But the deluxe encounter I was about to get really was a bonus.
The warmth of his body eminating through his clothes onto me gave me the same uncomfortable feeling as you would get from putting your hand into a pile of hot compost, aka the impulsion to dry retch.
The volume of his breathing was at approximately 100 decibels.
If you are not aware how loud that is, other things which are approximately 100 decibels are
a) a passing truck
b) a home lawn mower
c) a car horn at five metres
d) a wood saw
e) a boiler factory
And of course lots of other loud crap. Suffice to say, that The Hot Massive Breather is NOT the greatest person to sit next too on the train, especially when he is reading a magazine, as when he starts concentrating his breathing moves up to around 110 decibels and you can add another 10 decibels to that due to the fact he turns the pages so forcefully.
120 decibels?
a) a riveter
b) a wood chipper
c) thunder
d) a diesel engine room
e) a fireworks display
He is officially my worst person to sit next to on the Berlin underground service. That is confirmed.
I muttered ‘good riddance’ as I left the train and his sweaty, noisy half-embrace and thought about how much I wanted to get home and make a freshly squeezed orange juice or a raspberry smoothie, as these are now part of my daily regime.
Please note this daily regime also includes:
a) looking out the window,
b) going on the internet,
c) waiting for June 18th (the opening of the Neukolln Pools),
d) walking around
e) going to the Linsensuppe (lentil soup) shop to see if my main Berlin enemy The Linsensuppe Ferret has returned from holiday, or if he really is dead as I suspected. (you can read more about that idiot here): http://whateverorwhateveretc.blogspot.com/2010/09/jupiter-mars-blue-whales-fourth.html
Today’s daily routine included waking up from having ANOTHER dream that I had a black child, with a white lady. In the dream I can never work out if we adopted the child or if she cheated on me. But it is a good way to start the day I suppose.
Monday, April 4, 2011
North to south and other various directions (like Northeast etc.)
I have to say I was highly disappointed when I boarded the Interislander ferry this morning to find that they STILL haven’t built a goddamn KFC family restaurant onboard. One would think that after years of letters of complaint from myself (and I’m sure 100s of other people around the country, if not the world) that they would maybe act on what the public wants for once in their life.
For me, nothing sums up traveling from the North Island to the South Island like a bucket of chicken, and or a bit of potato and gravy, but NOT the coleslaw as it pretty much tastes like the end of the world mixed in with some rotty old yak/sloth milk.
At least the other crap you can buy on board is at very competitive prices. Eg. A ham and butter sandwich for around 8 dollars. And so on and so forth.
In case you can’t tell, I am currently feeling reasonably nonplussed about the Interislander ferry at this current moment, but I’m sure things are on the up.
There has always been a love-hate relationship with me and this heaving water beast since my first journey south at the age of 7 with my family and Ross Campbell. After eating some form of Raspberry popsicle and then being thrown around by the lurching waves, my only choice was to hurl bright red vomit throughout
a) the boys toilets
b) the girls toilets
c) the reclining lounge
d) other areas of the interislander and it’s surrounds
It has been an early start to the day yet again. Awaking at 5:40am after having another dream that I had to fight a Fedex delivery man for my passport. Even though halfway though our battle he deemed it acceptable to magically transform into a minotaur carrying an enormous bomby-knocker, I still was skillful enough to defeat him with my crossbow and superior cunning.
It seems ridiculous that a minotaur would have my passport for any reason, but I suppose anything is possible in this crazy world of ours. Just look at examples like the waterskiing chipmunk in the film Anchorman, and the woman who grew several horns out of her head in my previous writings, to show you that we live in a universe full of surprises.
that is a picture of a minotaur with a sweet body and also, coincidentally, a bomby knocker
I have been told never to talk about
a) your dreams
b) your children
c) your pets
Because it is obviously totally boring for anyone except you, but I thought defeating a minotaur was a worthy exception, and also if anyone ever tried to tell me to shut my trap about my pet pig Kenny Powers (aka Kenny Powers The Great) I would probably ‘X’ them from my life anyway as they are obviously slightly moronic for not realizing that he is the greatest pig to ever walk the face of the earth.
In related news, he seems to have taken a real liking to 2Pac, as the response I get from him when I put it on the stereo is only ever positive.
Maybe for his first birthday I will pay for him to get ‘Thug Life’ tattooed on his stomach the same way 2Pac had.
I guess it will depend on how much money I have at the time as tattooes don’t always come cheap.
As I am currently away touring with my band it has been a tough time for Kenny Powers’ and I’s relationship as I have not really been able to put in any quality time. Thank god The Morning Stomper is happy to just have him around the house minding his own P’s and Q’s.
Although I have warned her to keep an eye on my brother as he is no doubt hatching some form of prank to play on KPTG (Kenny Powers The Great), as he feels that his cat Miffy does not deem it appropriate to have another animal living at our house.
Just in case you were confused, Miffy is a male cat despite the fact he has the most feminine feline name in the Southern Hemisphere.
Being on tour for an elongated period of time is like some form of quest where you are never allowed to go home and relax. I suppose essentially we are a little bit like the 9 travellers from Lord Of The Rings, although our quest is much less important to the good of the world around us.
The main thing I miss when I am not sitting round at home is little luxuries like watching a cooking channel.
Especially the one which featured some kind of Masterchef final completely in French, where the winner was an exceptional young Frenchman called Grogory who had one full arm and one arm that was missing a hand and ironically, looked very similar to a freshly baked French Stick (or in France, a ‘baguette’). He was truly inspiring, and even though I couldn’t understand any of the dialogue, (except for ‘champignon’ which means mushroom) I knew from his ‘can do’ attitude towards cooking and preparation he was going to go all the way to the top, one-armed or not.
The main thing about Grogory that impressed me was his highly effective technique for cutting vegetables, which involved his good handing holding the blade for cutting off the pieces of the chosen vegetable, and his baguette was used to slowly slide the vegetable closer to the blade as it was getting cut.
The baguette really did not seem to hinder Grogory’s cooking prowess whatsoever. After a while I forgot he was even at a disadvantage, in fact, I doubt he even saw it that way as his Baguette really was like a secret weapon.
Anyway, I digress, the main point of my story is that life is funny, and last night that was confirmed when I read some graffiti on the wall of the girls toilet which said:
‘Please refrain from vomiting here… Thanks! P.s Listen To Black Sabbath’
My first thought was
‘Good graffiti’
My second thought was
‘I already listen to Black Sabbath’
In other news, I was recently in Takaka, a village in the South Island’s beautiful Golden Bay area, and I purchased a very adult straw hat with a black sash around it.
It is very comfortable and I would say makes me look slightly debonair, however Sam has started calling me Lector because I remind him of Hannibal Lector, the evil murdering genius from the film Silence Of The Lambs.
He has taken to saying things like:
‘You look very Lector-ey this morning,’
He also suggested that when the woman from Sailz café in Lake Hawea brought me overripe banana with my muesli that she best have thought that move over in case I skinned her alive in 30 seconds.
For me, nothing sums up traveling from the North Island to the South Island like a bucket of chicken, and or a bit of potato and gravy, but NOT the coleslaw as it pretty much tastes like the end of the world mixed in with some rotty old yak/sloth milk.
At least the other crap you can buy on board is at very competitive prices. Eg. A ham and butter sandwich for around 8 dollars. And so on and so forth.
In case you can’t tell, I am currently feeling reasonably nonplussed about the Interislander ferry at this current moment, but I’m sure things are on the up.
There has always been a love-hate relationship with me and this heaving water beast since my first journey south at the age of 7 with my family and Ross Campbell. After eating some form of Raspberry popsicle and then being thrown around by the lurching waves, my only choice was to hurl bright red vomit throughout
a) the boys toilets
b) the girls toilets
c) the reclining lounge
d) other areas of the interislander and it’s surrounds
It has been an early start to the day yet again. Awaking at 5:40am after having another dream that I had to fight a Fedex delivery man for my passport. Even though halfway though our battle he deemed it acceptable to magically transform into a minotaur carrying an enormous bomby-knocker, I still was skillful enough to defeat him with my crossbow and superior cunning.
It seems ridiculous that a minotaur would have my passport for any reason, but I suppose anything is possible in this crazy world of ours. Just look at examples like the waterskiing chipmunk in the film Anchorman, and the woman who grew several horns out of her head in my previous writings, to show you that we live in a universe full of surprises.
that is a picture of a minotaur with a sweet body and also, coincidentally, a bomby knocker
I have been told never to talk about
a) your dreams
b) your children
c) your pets
Because it is obviously totally boring for anyone except you, but I thought defeating a minotaur was a worthy exception, and also if anyone ever tried to tell me to shut my trap about my pet pig Kenny Powers (aka Kenny Powers The Great) I would probably ‘X’ them from my life anyway as they are obviously slightly moronic for not realizing that he is the greatest pig to ever walk the face of the earth.
In related news, he seems to have taken a real liking to 2Pac, as the response I get from him when I put it on the stereo is only ever positive.
Maybe for his first birthday I will pay for him to get ‘Thug Life’ tattooed on his stomach the same way 2Pac had.
I guess it will depend on how much money I have at the time as tattooes don’t always come cheap.
As I am currently away touring with my band it has been a tough time for Kenny Powers’ and I’s relationship as I have not really been able to put in any quality time. Thank god The Morning Stomper is happy to just have him around the house minding his own P’s and Q’s.
Although I have warned her to keep an eye on my brother as he is no doubt hatching some form of prank to play on KPTG (Kenny Powers The Great), as he feels that his cat Miffy does not deem it appropriate to have another animal living at our house.
Just in case you were confused, Miffy is a male cat despite the fact he has the most feminine feline name in the Southern Hemisphere.
Being on tour for an elongated period of time is like some form of quest where you are never allowed to go home and relax. I suppose essentially we are a little bit like the 9 travellers from Lord Of The Rings, although our quest is much less important to the good of the world around us.
The main thing I miss when I am not sitting round at home is little luxuries like watching a cooking channel.
Especially the one which featured some kind of Masterchef final completely in French, where the winner was an exceptional young Frenchman called Grogory who had one full arm and one arm that was missing a hand and ironically, looked very similar to a freshly baked French Stick (or in France, a ‘baguette’). He was truly inspiring, and even though I couldn’t understand any of the dialogue, (except for ‘champignon’ which means mushroom) I knew from his ‘can do’ attitude towards cooking and preparation he was going to go all the way to the top, one-armed or not.
The main thing about Grogory that impressed me was his highly effective technique for cutting vegetables, which involved his good handing holding the blade for cutting off the pieces of the chosen vegetable, and his baguette was used to slowly slide the vegetable closer to the blade as it was getting cut.
The baguette really did not seem to hinder Grogory’s cooking prowess whatsoever. After a while I forgot he was even at a disadvantage, in fact, I doubt he even saw it that way as his Baguette really was like a secret weapon.
Anyway, I digress, the main point of my story is that life is funny, and last night that was confirmed when I read some graffiti on the wall of the girls toilet which said:
‘Please refrain from vomiting here… Thanks! P.s Listen To Black Sabbath’
My first thought was
‘Good graffiti’
My second thought was
‘I already listen to Black Sabbath’
In other news, I was recently in Takaka, a village in the South Island’s beautiful Golden Bay area, and I purchased a very adult straw hat with a black sash around it.
It is very comfortable and I would say makes me look slightly debonair, however Sam has started calling me Lector because I remind him of Hannibal Lector, the evil murdering genius from the film Silence Of The Lambs.
He has taken to saying things like:
‘You look very Lector-ey this morning,’
He also suggested that when the woman from Sailz café in Lake Hawea brought me overripe banana with my muesli that she best have thought that move over in case I skinned her alive in 30 seconds.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Christmas. The day I most wish for the Reaper to reap me.
I now have a renewed hatred for Christmas and also shopping malls, and of course Jeff Goldblum, Phil Collins, and Rick Moranis (as previously stated).
I vow that the Christmas just passed will be the last that I ever purchase gifts for loved ones, or unloved ones, from a shopping mall***** (see note below)
Consider this my confirmation.
I’m sure the managers of shopping malls across the country are quivering with fear that I will take my business elsewhere seeing I spend such a huge amount of money, but they will just have to get stuffed for now, and rely on the millions of other Christmas shoppers.
I am thinking of boycotting Christmas gifts altogether anyway as my financial position is to the point of overstrain when I have to buy more than one gift at a time, and on the flipside the gifts I tend to receive are always stupid or fattening eg. a rank t-shirt with ‘Aotearoa’ written on it, a cheap snorkel, or disgusting, yet eatable, chocolates.
So I would prefer to neither be a Christmas receiver, nor giver. I think that is fair.
I am aware it sounds very grinch like, but I honestly don’t give a flying crap as Christmas tends to be totally boring anyway because everyone falls asleep on the couches around one second after eating lunch and there is never anywhere to sit. Unless you feel liked getting breathed all over. Which 9 times out of 10 , I don’t.
It is about this time that I try and turn the TV on to watch a video but usually my mother AKA The Morning Stomper will briefly awaken with one eye open like a sleeping dragon guarding a pot of gold to mutter:
‘We don’t need that on on Christmas day, we’re here to be together as a family. Not to watch TV. Be social.’
‘TV is social,’ I would reply ‘it brings everyone together to watch the same thing. Besides, who gives a crap, everyone is asleep’
‘Well read a book,’
‘Reading is the ultimate in antisocial behaviour, and goes against your argument.’ At this point I will usually spin on my heel, leave the room and head out to my Aunt Raechal’s pool and do dives, bombs or play Marco Polo with the kid cousins. Although this gets depressing as they are usually talking about what great gifts they got for Christmas. Eg some skis, a gaming console or some kind of remote control flying thing which I will never be able to work.
I however on this 30th Christmas of mine received none other than…
A first aid kit. With regards from The Morning Stomper, it was complete with gloves, antiseptic cleansing wipes, scissors, an instant ice pack and a thermometer that I believe to be specially designed for someone’s butt, this will go down as the present I will be most overwhelmed by in my life thus far.
I have officially never heard of anyone receiving a First Aid Kit for Christmas before. Especially as their main present. I was slightly cheered by the fact that my 16 year old brother also got one and was unwrapping it the same time as me on Christmas morning.
‘What the fuck is this?’ he said bewildered.
‘I got one too, I thought it was a toilet bag at first’ I replied.
He looked at me with confusion in his eye as to why he as a 16 year old child would be receiving this gift for his Christmas present.
‘Does yours have a shot of adrenaline in a hypodermic needle?’ I asked.
‘NO! Does yours??’ he replied, thinking that there may have been a silver lining to this Christmas cloud.
‘No. If it did, it would have immediately stuck it in my neck to celebrate this amazing, amazing gift.’
We sat on our grandparents couch for a couple of minutes in silence before I asked him:
‘Can I give you stitches?’
‘No,’ he replied. Slightly disappointed, but unsurprised at his reply I walked off with my First Aid Kit to put it somewhere safe to make sure it didn’t get stolen. Although part of me felt that it was unlikely, a big part of me.
I shouldn’t complain as I was also given a portion of money, which I vow to spend on drugs and/or something from an Info-mercial for my pig Kenny Powers.
Although some things about Christmas are horrible, horrific, painful and rank,
there are some positives.
I am a big fan of hanging around my weird family and realizing it is not only me who is strange. But I am really an offshoot of a much bigger, more powerful machine of weird and wonderful. And, knowing that I, amongst all these incredible humans, am am surrounded by some of L.T.W’s (Life’s True Weirds). They seem very interested in my life which is the main thing, as I know they are not pretending to be. For example:
Uncle Mark: “Hows America Reub?”
Me: I am based in Berlin
Uncle Mark: “Great!”
And
Cousin Eric: “Where’s your pig?”
Me: “Up your butt, round the corner”
Cousin Eric: “all the way to California?”
Me: “I haven’t heard that before, that’s good. My pig Kenny powers, aka Kenny Powers The Great is at a farm stay for two weeks.”
It is also a great time of year to ring up the Intercity bus company, as it is very busy period for them therefore a huge waiting time before an operater answers; and the hold music is just fantastic. Sublime in fact. When they do answer, you can just say ‘Sorry, wrong number’ and hang up, then just press redial. I highly recommend this unique experience.
I spent around 25 minutes on it today and was really ‘getting in to the groove’ before some jerk answered.
It is also a valid time to send out a group text message to all your friends, allies and enemies.
I kept mine to the point with:
‘Merry Christmas, Kind regards, Maniac’
and although I got some replies like
‘Who the hell is this?’ (To which I replied ‘Maniac. PS. Merry Christmas!’)
and
‘Is this a group text?’ (To which I replied ‘Correct!’)
and
‘Who are you calling a maniac’ (To which I replied ‘Who is this? Have new phone, lost lots of numbers, kind regards Maniac’)
and
‘I haven’t heard from you all year. But thanks for the Xmas group text.’
(To which I replied ‘Tis the season!!!!!!!’)
and
‘Who is Maniac?’ (To which I couldn’t be bothered replying as I felt I was defeating the purpose of the whole group text idea)
I felt it was a good way to touch base with some people I have not contacted in a while.
I also don’t see what everyone’s problem is with group texts. Yes they are impersonal HOWEVER sometimes it is just too annoying to write to a bunch of people and also, it is very handy if you are short on time.
Eg. When you are driving or obviously, when Armageddon comes (god willing it is in our lifetime).
On that fateful day nobody is going to have a whole lot of time to text everyone seperately in their phonebook to say goodbye. And I’m sure people will appreciate the sentiment if they receive something along the lines of:
‘See you in hell guys! Kind Regards,Maniac. p.s How crazy is it that someone predicted this thousands of years ago?! Incredible!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’
(I would purposely use up all the spare letters left in the text on exclamation marks, as it would have some sort of ‘closure’ and I suppose ‘value for money’ if that makes sense.)
Even if it isn’t totally personalized, this is an efficient way to say, farewell.
*****Hatred Of Shopping Malls: (a sidenote)
The reason why I hate shopping malls so much is because I have an uncanny knack of making eye contact with pregnant women just after I have looked at their obviously pregnant stomachs. It is a cross I know I must bear, but the situation is still unfortunate nonetheless. Especially since I tend to screw my face up slightly if there is any midriff or BB (belly button) showing, which tends to happen a lot.
I also feel guilty somehow that they are pregnant and on top of that the Commodore’s/ Lionel Richie song ‘Three Times A Lady’ always goes off like an alarm bell in my brain. Sometimes I find myself humming it and pulling Lionel Richie faces, which is not really the best idea if the pregnant woman in question is within earshot.
As I am wanting to get in and get out of those hated shopping malls, the last thing I need on my mind to confuse and disorientate me is an R& B legend like Lionel Ritchie (aka Lionel Ritchie, Your Whole Style’s Bitchy).
On top of this, I also find pregnant women look very suspiciously at everyone else in the shopping mall who are NOT pregnant, which I find very rude and especially annoying around Christmas. This makes me want to go over to them and steal their shopping and hastily leave the premises.
Only because I know I could outrun them and would teach them a lesson for looking so suspiciously at good, decent, un-pregnant hard-working people, NOT because I want to keep any of their items they have purchased,
which would most likely be:
a) Body Butter
b) Biscuits
c) A celebrity maternity book by some annoying woman with a 90s haircut like Jude Dobson, or that other annoying chef woman who looks like a bread roll. Her name escapes me. But she is very bread roll like, I can confirm that.
These are some valid reasons to avoid shopping malls, which you should do at all costs unless you are going to the movies and can just get in through the top entrance. It is very rare to see pregnant people at the movies anyway, as they are usually a bit too fat to sit in the seats comfortably, and are probably paranoid that their water could break at any second.
I vow that the Christmas just passed will be the last that I ever purchase gifts for loved ones, or unloved ones, from a shopping mall***** (see note below)
Consider this my confirmation.
I’m sure the managers of shopping malls across the country are quivering with fear that I will take my business elsewhere seeing I spend such a huge amount of money, but they will just have to get stuffed for now, and rely on the millions of other Christmas shoppers.
I am thinking of boycotting Christmas gifts altogether anyway as my financial position is to the point of overstrain when I have to buy more than one gift at a time, and on the flipside the gifts I tend to receive are always stupid or fattening eg. a rank t-shirt with ‘Aotearoa’ written on it, a cheap snorkel, or disgusting, yet eatable, chocolates.
So I would prefer to neither be a Christmas receiver, nor giver. I think that is fair.
I am aware it sounds very grinch like, but I honestly don’t give a flying crap as Christmas tends to be totally boring anyway because everyone falls asleep on the couches around one second after eating lunch and there is never anywhere to sit. Unless you feel liked getting breathed all over. Which 9 times out of 10 , I don’t.
It is about this time that I try and turn the TV on to watch a video but usually my mother AKA The Morning Stomper will briefly awaken with one eye open like a sleeping dragon guarding a pot of gold to mutter:
‘We don’t need that on on Christmas day, we’re here to be together as a family. Not to watch TV. Be social.’
‘TV is social,’ I would reply ‘it brings everyone together to watch the same thing. Besides, who gives a crap, everyone is asleep’
‘Well read a book,’
‘Reading is the ultimate in antisocial behaviour, and goes against your argument.’ At this point I will usually spin on my heel, leave the room and head out to my Aunt Raechal’s pool and do dives, bombs or play Marco Polo with the kid cousins. Although this gets depressing as they are usually talking about what great gifts they got for Christmas. Eg some skis, a gaming console or some kind of remote control flying thing which I will never be able to work.
I however on this 30th Christmas of mine received none other than…
A first aid kit. With regards from The Morning Stomper, it was complete with gloves, antiseptic cleansing wipes, scissors, an instant ice pack and a thermometer that I believe to be specially designed for someone’s butt, this will go down as the present I will be most overwhelmed by in my life thus far.
I have officially never heard of anyone receiving a First Aid Kit for Christmas before. Especially as their main present. I was slightly cheered by the fact that my 16 year old brother also got one and was unwrapping it the same time as me on Christmas morning.
‘What the fuck is this?’ he said bewildered.
‘I got one too, I thought it was a toilet bag at first’ I replied.
He looked at me with confusion in his eye as to why he as a 16 year old child would be receiving this gift for his Christmas present.
‘Does yours have a shot of adrenaline in a hypodermic needle?’ I asked.
‘NO! Does yours??’ he replied, thinking that there may have been a silver lining to this Christmas cloud.
‘No. If it did, it would have immediately stuck it in my neck to celebrate this amazing, amazing gift.’
We sat on our grandparents couch for a couple of minutes in silence before I asked him:
‘Can I give you stitches?’
‘No,’ he replied. Slightly disappointed, but unsurprised at his reply I walked off with my First Aid Kit to put it somewhere safe to make sure it didn’t get stolen. Although part of me felt that it was unlikely, a big part of me.
I shouldn’t complain as I was also given a portion of money, which I vow to spend on drugs and/or something from an Info-mercial for my pig Kenny Powers.
Although some things about Christmas are horrible, horrific, painful and rank,
there are some positives.
I am a big fan of hanging around my weird family and realizing it is not only me who is strange. But I am really an offshoot of a much bigger, more powerful machine of weird and wonderful. And, knowing that I, amongst all these incredible humans, am am surrounded by some of L.T.W’s (Life’s True Weirds). They seem very interested in my life which is the main thing, as I know they are not pretending to be. For example:
Uncle Mark: “Hows America Reub?”
Me: I am based in Berlin
Uncle Mark: “Great!”
And
Cousin Eric: “Where’s your pig?”
Me: “Up your butt, round the corner”
Cousin Eric: “all the way to California?”
Me: “I haven’t heard that before, that’s good. My pig Kenny powers, aka Kenny Powers The Great is at a farm stay for two weeks.”
It is also a great time of year to ring up the Intercity bus company, as it is very busy period for them therefore a huge waiting time before an operater answers; and the hold music is just fantastic. Sublime in fact. When they do answer, you can just say ‘Sorry, wrong number’ and hang up, then just press redial. I highly recommend this unique experience.
I spent around 25 minutes on it today and was really ‘getting in to the groove’ before some jerk answered.
It is also a valid time to send out a group text message to all your friends, allies and enemies.
I kept mine to the point with:
‘Merry Christmas, Kind regards, Maniac’
and although I got some replies like
‘Who the hell is this?’ (To which I replied ‘Maniac. PS. Merry Christmas!’)
and
‘Is this a group text?’ (To which I replied ‘Correct!’)
and
‘Who are you calling a maniac’ (To which I replied ‘Who is this? Have new phone, lost lots of numbers, kind regards Maniac’)
and
‘I haven’t heard from you all year. But thanks for the Xmas group text.’
(To which I replied ‘Tis the season!!!!!!!’)
and
‘Who is Maniac?’ (To which I couldn’t be bothered replying as I felt I was defeating the purpose of the whole group text idea)
I felt it was a good way to touch base with some people I have not contacted in a while.
I also don’t see what everyone’s problem is with group texts. Yes they are impersonal HOWEVER sometimes it is just too annoying to write to a bunch of people and also, it is very handy if you are short on time.
Eg. When you are driving or obviously, when Armageddon comes (god willing it is in our lifetime).
On that fateful day nobody is going to have a whole lot of time to text everyone seperately in their phonebook to say goodbye. And I’m sure people will appreciate the sentiment if they receive something along the lines of:
‘See you in hell guys! Kind Regards,Maniac. p.s How crazy is it that someone predicted this thousands of years ago?! Incredible!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’
(I would purposely use up all the spare letters left in the text on exclamation marks, as it would have some sort of ‘closure’ and I suppose ‘value for money’ if that makes sense.)
Even if it isn’t totally personalized, this is an efficient way to say, farewell.
*****Hatred Of Shopping Malls: (a sidenote)
The reason why I hate shopping malls so much is because I have an uncanny knack of making eye contact with pregnant women just after I have looked at their obviously pregnant stomachs. It is a cross I know I must bear, but the situation is still unfortunate nonetheless. Especially since I tend to screw my face up slightly if there is any midriff or BB (belly button) showing, which tends to happen a lot.
I also feel guilty somehow that they are pregnant and on top of that the Commodore’s/ Lionel Richie song ‘Three Times A Lady’ always goes off like an alarm bell in my brain. Sometimes I find myself humming it and pulling Lionel Richie faces, which is not really the best idea if the pregnant woman in question is within earshot.
As I am wanting to get in and get out of those hated shopping malls, the last thing I need on my mind to confuse and disorientate me is an R& B legend like Lionel Ritchie (aka Lionel Ritchie, Your Whole Style’s Bitchy).
On top of this, I also find pregnant women look very suspiciously at everyone else in the shopping mall who are NOT pregnant, which I find very rude and especially annoying around Christmas. This makes me want to go over to them and steal their shopping and hastily leave the premises.
Only because I know I could outrun them and would teach them a lesson for looking so suspiciously at good, decent, un-pregnant hard-working people, NOT because I want to keep any of their items they have purchased,
which would most likely be:
a) Body Butter
b) Biscuits
c) A celebrity maternity book by some annoying woman with a 90s haircut like Jude Dobson, or that other annoying chef woman who looks like a bread roll. Her name escapes me. But she is very bread roll like, I can confirm that.
These are some valid reasons to avoid shopping malls, which you should do at all costs unless you are going to the movies and can just get in through the top entrance. It is very rare to see pregnant people at the movies anyway, as they are usually a bit too fat to sit in the seats comfortably, and are probably paranoid that their water could break at any second.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Further chronicles from the days of SB2k (Slutbeast 2000, one of life's true idiots)
please see the post below this one for a full rundown on why Slutbeast 2000 is such a jerk. and her back history in annoying people 24/7.
CLEAN UP (from a journal dated around June/july/august 2009 ish)
It was a testing day today. Very very testing. After being out last night at Berlin's infamous fetish venue the Kit Kat Club until 10:48am and gathering some precious sleep until 4pm, it was time to clean up and move out of our apartment before leaving to London the next day. We seperated the jobs between us all, including Slutbeast 2000 who decided she would be in charge of 'windowsills and miscellaneous' which I naturally thought to be a crock as I knew that she was just trying to be lazy.
Cleaning the windowsills usually takes about 4-5 minutes for the whole house and miscellaneous is just another way of saying 'hardly any of the hard stuff'. I told her that cleaning Kenny Power's area came under miscellaneous and she said that it would be a 'cold day in hell' before she even went near to 'that pig's disgusting little sty.'
I thought to myself that it was ironic that she mentioned hell because living with her was like hell on earth and also a coincidence because I sometimes referred to her behind her back as a 'Hound of Satan whose kennel was seated at the very side of the Devil himself'.
Anyway, I had only suggested she clean Kenny Power's area to wind her up as I would not in a million years let her cursed hands near my pig or any of his belongings in case she infected it with evil. Kenny Powers the pig would be mortified also if she came within a five metre radius of him, as I know he hates her probably more than I do. To keep him occupied while we were cleaning I downloaded the Jane Fonda video workout onto my computer and left it running, so he was quite content to sit there watching it while he ate his nutri grains and snuffled around.
schwing!
I was walking around in a daze and am pretty sure I was still drunk and high from some pretty strong LSD I had taken at the Kit Kat Club, so any kind of cleaning was twice as hard as usual. However to pass the time as I wiped down the kitchen surfaces I started up a song called 'I Love Cleaning' and sung it loud, long and untunefully.
'I Lo-Lo-Lo-Lo-LO LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE CLEANING. I Love It. I actually LO-HUH-UH-UH-HOVE IT.'
After a couple of minutes of singing this repeatedly I heard from Slutbeast's room 'Shut UP would you?. God you are a COCK'
I was in a pretty weird mood and her outburst inspired me to get the last banana from the kitchen, sneak up quietly and squash it against her door before putting it on the door handle.
I then went into my room and wrote a note which I slipped under her door.
'Dear Helen (AKA Slutbeast 2000), I have noticed that there is quite a bit of banana smeared against the outside of your door. I would hate for us to lose any of our deposit for not having cleaned up enough so I have tried to figure out whose job this would fall under. As I am doing kitchen, Sam is doing bathroom, Rob is doing vacuuming and mopping and Felix is doing rubbish and oven, we have unanimously decided that smeared banana comes under 'miscellaneous'. Good luck with the clean!
Kind regards
Reuben P. Bonner
To put the icing on the cake I drew a little picture of her holding a cloth and a banana and pulling the thumbs up sign. I also drew a couple of cute little devil horns popping out of her head and a barbed tail. i was pretty happy with the note and was looking forward to her reaction. Good old Slutbeast 2000, she was a good sport.
CLEAN UP (from a journal dated around June/july/august 2009 ish)
It was a testing day today. Very very testing. After being out last night at Berlin's infamous fetish venue the Kit Kat Club until 10:48am and gathering some precious sleep until 4pm, it was time to clean up and move out of our apartment before leaving to London the next day. We seperated the jobs between us all, including Slutbeast 2000 who decided she would be in charge of 'windowsills and miscellaneous' which I naturally thought to be a crock as I knew that she was just trying to be lazy.
Cleaning the windowsills usually takes about 4-5 minutes for the whole house and miscellaneous is just another way of saying 'hardly any of the hard stuff'. I told her that cleaning Kenny Power's area came under miscellaneous and she said that it would be a 'cold day in hell' before she even went near to 'that pig's disgusting little sty.'
I thought to myself that it was ironic that she mentioned hell because living with her was like hell on earth and also a coincidence because I sometimes referred to her behind her back as a 'Hound of Satan whose kennel was seated at the very side of the Devil himself'.
Anyway, I had only suggested she clean Kenny Power's area to wind her up as I would not in a million years let her cursed hands near my pig or any of his belongings in case she infected it with evil. Kenny Powers the pig would be mortified also if she came within a five metre radius of him, as I know he hates her probably more than I do. To keep him occupied while we were cleaning I downloaded the Jane Fonda video workout onto my computer and left it running, so he was quite content to sit there watching it while he ate his nutri grains and snuffled around.
schwing!
I was walking around in a daze and am pretty sure I was still drunk and high from some pretty strong LSD I had taken at the Kit Kat Club, so any kind of cleaning was twice as hard as usual. However to pass the time as I wiped down the kitchen surfaces I started up a song called 'I Love Cleaning' and sung it loud, long and untunefully.
'I Lo-Lo-Lo-Lo-LO LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE CLEANING. I Love It. I actually LO-HUH-UH-UH-HOVE IT.'
After a couple of minutes of singing this repeatedly I heard from Slutbeast's room 'Shut UP would you?. God you are a COCK'
I was in a pretty weird mood and her outburst inspired me to get the last banana from the kitchen, sneak up quietly and squash it against her door before putting it on the door handle.
I then went into my room and wrote a note which I slipped under her door.
'Dear Helen (AKA Slutbeast 2000), I have noticed that there is quite a bit of banana smeared against the outside of your door. I would hate for us to lose any of our deposit for not having cleaned up enough so I have tried to figure out whose job this would fall under. As I am doing kitchen, Sam is doing bathroom, Rob is doing vacuuming and mopping and Felix is doing rubbish and oven, we have unanimously decided that smeared banana comes under 'miscellaneous'. Good luck with the clean!
Kind regards
Reuben P. Bonner
To put the icing on the cake I drew a little picture of her holding a cloth and a banana and pulling the thumbs up sign. I also drew a couple of cute little devil horns popping out of her head and a barbed tail. i was pretty happy with the note and was looking forward to her reaction. Good old Slutbeast 2000, she was a good sport.
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