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.

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.

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.

The Legend Of Slutbeast 2000, a historical lesson in how to spot an idiot.

A Diary Entry from JUNE 2009

I am pretty annoyed with our new flatmate Helen, AKA 'Slutbeast 2000' at the moment. There are a quite a few things that annoy me about her and I constantly curse our combined decision to even let her move in to our 'boys and pigs only' apartment. The balance of the universe seems to have been totally thrown out of kilter since she came into our lives and I have even considered putting her into my Top 5 kill list, or at least putting some form of curse on her, which will be easy seeing I have access to thousands of bits of her hair she leaves lying around everywhere.
I like to refer to it as 'Gollum Straw', as I feel her hair looks like a mixture between straw and also Gollum's hair from Lord Of The Rings.



The Gollum Straw would be more than suitable to fashion a voodoo doll with if I did decide to put a curse on her and coincidentally I am getting much better at curses since my friend Jade sent me a wikipedia link on how best to do it. Anyway, I digress, here are a list of the most obvious things about Slutbeast 2000 that totally annoy me.

a) Constantly drinking my juice supply without replacing it, even my backup juice reserve which is kept in my room has been tampered with. DEATH
b) When she is locked out of the house, refusing to let us drop the keys out the window to her, but insisting on one of us coming down the stairs to let her in
c) bringing home various guys for sexathon and then proceeding to make disgusting and deep sex noises right up against my wall. And then those guys walking round our house the next morning doing things like drinking straight from our milk carton, walking around the house in a bathmat, and/or asking to borrow my laptop to check emails
d) her constant and unfounded finger pointing at Kenny Powers the pig for anything that seems to go wrong around the flat or missing from her room.

Slutbeast 2000, one of life's true jerks.


Admittedly her lipstick has gone missing after I dressed KP up as Marilyn Munroe for a photo shoot for a classic birthday card.
I had used SB2K's lipstick, a blond wig I found on the road, a white dress I made from one of Slutbeast 2000's table cloths, and also two pairs of her high heels. I also used the fan from her room too to get the effect of the dress blowing up around KP's legs to imitate the iconic Marilyn Munroe pic where she is standing over a heat grate.



I take full credit for the loss of the lipstick and will replace it, but even Slutbeast Two Thou would admit if she actually took the time to look at the photos we took, that it was totally worth it. Kenny Powers looks great and I am pretty sure that my Poppa will really like the card even though it isn't his birthday.

Slutbeast 2000 has only been living us with for one month but already it feels like several lifetimes. My conversations with her have become more and more tense even to the point of rudeness. I especially hate being cornered by her in the kitchen, where she tends to spent a lot of time looking in the fridge for stuff that isnt hers. Yesterday's conversation probably took the prize for most offensive and obnoxious I had been to her so far, but I assume if she wasn't such a total bitch all the time then I would make more of an effort to be pleasant.
'Morning,'
'Hi.' I replied looking down at my cornflakes.
'Sleep well?' she said looking in the fridge.
'Not really. Maybe you could try having sex to a guy up against the other wall tonight as opposed to the one right by my head?'
'Oh. Sorry. Timo is an old friend, we were catching up on old times'
'He is the Spanish bartender from the Fat Corner. How can he possibly be an old friend of yours if you have just got to Europe a month ago and have lived in South Africa for the whole of your life?'
'It's actually really none of your business. And by the way your pig helped himself to my dark chocolate, so if you wouldn't mind replacing it?'
'Ah my pig has a name, it's Kenny Powers and he doesn't like dark chocolate, so yes, I would mind replacing it. But while we are on the topic, you haven't per chance been in my room drinking the juice on my desk have you? It seems to have been opened and half finished?'
'I don't know what you are talking about. You probably had it when you were drunk, which could have been any night this week.'
'I wasn't drunk last night actually, I was smoking hash with Bobby Tones and talking about how much we regret you moving in here. So how about you shut it?'
'You are a totally rude fuck did you know that?'
'Yes. I did know that. But thank you for confirming. Were you aware that you are a total Slutbeast 2000 and your fingers look almost identical to uncooked pork sausages?'
She was halfway through a bite of a cold sausage at the time so as far as timing was concerned I had pretty much nailed it. Her face went purple with anger as she stormed out of the room, slammed the door and proceeded to talk loudly on her internet chat to a friend from 'J-Berg' about how much of a prick I was with no life outside of looking out the window and obsessing over a pig.


I thanked god above that Kenny Powers was out of the house in the garden practising a few jumps and did not hear her insults about his hygiene and the accusations towards him about the missing food and clothing accessories. It was then I decided that effective immedietly Slutbeast 2000 was the new number one on my Top 5 Kill List, with a bullet.
I then proceeded to collect some of her Gollum Straw from the bathroom sink as tonight I would be making a voodoo doll and working on my best curse yet, Slutbeast 2000 would rue the day she ever made false accusations about Kenny Powers, essentially the friendliest pig in the Northern Hemisphere.
Not only because he was currently my best friend in the world but because I have been hugely empathetic with people who are falsely accused since
a) I watched In The Name of the Father based on Gerry Conlon and the Guildford Four.


'I'm going out the front door with Gerry!'

And
b) because when I was four years old my friends from across the street told me I was not allowed to come and play at their house anymore because someone had scratched the word 'Bum' into their gold door knocker at the front door, and I was their mother's main suspect. I was pretty mad at the lady at this time as their house was a virtual toy wonderland with pretty much every single Transformer and He Man figurine in the world.

'that's what i'm talking about'


But I was nowhere as mad as her as I currently was at Slutbeast 2000.Who in my opinion was the world's biggest idiot. I grabbed Lix's camera and kicked her door open to take a photo of her, she turned from her computer wearing her ridiculous Janet Jackson Skype headset and pulled the fingers at me. I looked at the photo and thought 'what a total idiot'. This was going straight into my 'For Sticking On My Dartboard When I Get one' folder.

Goodbye Cruel World (also, return to the Stomper's Den (again))

I will have you know that this may be the last time I write for a very, very long time. If ever. I have made this decision because as of a few weeks ago, I have begun to focus all my energies into the study of Magic. Some people may yell out ‘thank the lord these ramblings will cease’, I immediately put a curse on you heathens and vow to use magic in the future to somehow destroy you.

Here is a picture of me in the foreground creating destruction for you aforementioned jerks. i have in this depiction used magic to round you all up in the one place and then launched an explosion in the general vicinity.


Although I have planned to destroy the non-believers, I know on the other hand there will be a lot of people out there in the world who will be quite relieved that I have now found my true calling. I would not be surprised if between 30 and 40 people exclaim ‘Yes, magic. That is probably what he is destined for I suppose.’ Or something there or thereabouts.

While I am mainly learning Magic off the internet at the moment, I plan to extend my knowledge by
a) reading books in regard to magic
b) buying posters of my favourite wizards to hang up around the house (Gandalf, Pug AKA Milamber, Merlin and last but not least Catweazle)
c) trying to figure out the difference between Ceremonial Magic, Illusionist Magic, Paranormal Magic, Religious Magic and Magick, with an extra ‘K’. Then deciding on which branch of magic I would mainly like to focus on as I slowly become a magician of note (or potentially a sorceror or Warlock).
d) Finding someone who can teach me about witchcraft and the occult
e) Referring to myself as The Great Maniac Holstfield Wonders and wearing a cape at least 90 per cent of the time.

There is a fair bit to get through, but seeing I am back in New Zealand and I have no car and am bored as I have ever been, I have a lot of time on my hands to make this dream a reality. I have already learnt around 5 magic tricks and have ordered the ‘Art Of Levitation’ DVD on my mother’s credit card as an early 30th birthday present.



Although she does not really approve of my practicing magic or constant cape wearing she can hardly deny me this request on such a milestone of a birthday.
As previously mentioned, she is widely known as the Morning Stomper due to her 6am passages up and down the hallway with a ferocity and volume that can strike fear into the hearts of many men. Because of her reputation for hallway gusto and speed, combined with her renowned interrogation techniques (which we think she may have learnt from infamous Nazi interrogater Hanns Scharff), many would think it an unwise idea to ever question her authority whilst living under her roof. But I, like my 16 year old brother (who is most certainly the favourite child), have the courage of a lion. And sometimes of late, questions have had to be asked.

‘Where the heck are all the towels in this god forsaken hellhole?’ I asked one morning yelling naked from a towel-less bathroom (post-shower, pre-teeth brush).
‘Your brother needs them for his running competition tomorrow so I have packed them into the car so there is no chance of him being without,’ the Stomper replied whipping down the hallway at approx 80km/h leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.
‘Thanks for NOTHING! What will I dry myself with?’
'Why don't you use your bear and wolf towel to dry yourself?' yelled my brother from the lounge. It was obvious he was really getting into the swing of school holidays by simultaneously drinking chocolate milk, playing X-Box and sitting around in his undies at midday.
‘Because A) its a cape, not a towel you maniac! And B) I am not a big fan of taking it off my custom made cape hooks unless it is for a totally valid reason.' I replied knowing he would appreciate my reasoning.
‘Don’t call your brother a maniac. Here’s a bathmat.’ Said the Stomper as she tore past again, handing me a peach hand towel which she had collected at some point in the morning on one of her many, many laps between the kitchen and the laundry cupboard.

I knew that if my skills at magic were stronger by now I would not get treated like this. Like some second rate member of the family who is not allocated towels and also asked to ‘housesit’ when it was time for a ‘family holiday’ instead of actually attending the ‘family holiday’. I now know that Magic is my only ticket out of here, to infinity and beyond etc. I would show them. I would show them good.



But first I need to get my mental state right. It has been a tough time resettling back in New Zealand because Kenny Powers the pig is now too big to fit in my room comfortably and I have had to build a makeshift shrine for him to live in outside my window. Luckily I can reach my hand out to ‘Kenny’s Sex Shack’ and still be in contact with him physically, and also within reach so I can pour Nutri Grains onto his custom screen printed American Idol dining plate.
At least he seems happy to be here and is not afraid to go into the woods at the bottom of our section any more. Which essentially, I still am.
The other thing that has been tough about adjusting to New Zealand have been my constant headaches and recurring nightmares about plane crashes.
It is one thing to go down in a flaming plane wreck in a dream, but in these particular dreams I am also basically dying of starvation at the same time. I can confirm that this is not the greatest feeling on planet earth.
Luckily I know that more people per year die from being killed by donkeys than by plane crashes.
And because of this I feel safe to fly again, but on the flipside of that coin I am very wary of any donkeys I will meet on my travels and feel as though now is a good a time as any to be constantly carrying my slingshot around just in case.
I should have known there was something up with donkeys from the first time I went to a farmpark called Staglands and my dad put me on top of a donkey only to be bucked off seconds later into a medium sized pile of rabbit pooh.
Anyway, screw donkeys. They can all get stuffed.




I have a riddle.
Q. A woman shoots her husband. Then she holds him under water for over 5 minutes. Finally, she hangs him. But 5 minutes later they both go out together and enjoy a wonderful dinner together. How can this be?

At first I thought the answer was
A. She is married to Bernie from Weekend At Bernies and he is dead when they go out and enjoy the wonderful dinner together.




But the actual answer is
A . The woman was a photographer. She shot a picture of her husband, developed it and hung it up to dry.

Which I think is a reasonably boring answer.

Baths etc.

I am most certainly not ashamed to admit to being involved in what I can only describe as a 'bath renaissance' that is currently occurring in East Berlin, spearheaded by the activity of our fourth floor apartment (informally known as The Gunners Pit, in homage to Guns N Roses lifestyle during their debaucherous and poverty filled period of living together before the release of their smash hit album 'Appetite For Destruction').

Here is a picture of Gunners. (If I was one of them I pags not being Steven Adler. I will take Duff, Izzy Stradlin or Slash preferably, or Axl at a push).



But there is probably no need for me to take Axl as here is a picture of my friend The Ginger dressed as Axl standing on his verandah looking pretty weird. I recommend clicking on the image to see it at a higher resolution and closer up.



The 'renaissance' was started by Sam in mid 2010 where his daily schedule revolved around his bath at sundown, I have taken the torch from him and begun running baths on a R.B (regular basis). So far our bathing schedules have not clashed and the system seems to work in perfect harmony, mainly due to the fact our days are usually pretty free while we go through this period of being 'between jobs'.
Being in the bath is not only good for cleaning your body, BUT as an added bonus it is a really great time to
a) plot master plans, and also minor plans
b) read Carl Sagan's 'The Cosmic Connection' and learn more about the universe
c) look out the window and reflect on crap that happened on that particular day



Occasionally I have been known to fall asleep and almost drown, but life has a funny way of making sure everything works out A O.K., and I am yet to die, or even choke on the bath water. I must admit it was reasonably unpleasant when I fell asleep in the bath and woke up to a phone call from Tim in London with the water almost totally freezing and full of coke as I had spilt a can of it in the bath which I had left in my hand as I fell asleep.
But it's not a big deal. And its all worth it of course, because it is the price you pay for cleanliness, which is next to godliness as my Poppa sometimes says. However this is pretty rich coming from him as he is usually totally grubby from hanging around in the garden all day planting Clivia and resembling a gnome as he is reasonably short and curious looking.



The whole scenario is all very 80s as far as I am concerned. Baths that is. Very 80s. I associate having a bath with being at my Aunty Jill's as a child and using Fred Flintstone soap and accidentally doing a pooh in the bath and then deciding to put a Smurf figurine on the pooh a little bit like he was riding a boat. Aunty Jill was not really impressed, but either way it showed pretty good initiative for a 12 year old kid.



As I associate having a bath with the 80s, it seems only fitting that my new found love for having a bath almost every day ties in pretty well with my new found love for the 1981 Hall And Oates hit 'I Can't Go For That (No Can Do)'.
It is also nice to know that this single took out the number 1 spot on the R and B singles chart in early 1982 and Hall upon learning this wrote in his diary, "I'm the head soul brother in the U.S. Where to now?". That really is a well thought out rhetorical question in my humble opinion.

I got to thinking today that things have changed a lot around Berlin in the last month. While a lot of it is to do with the seasons and the onset of Autumn, there are some things occurring which you just can't blame on the weather.

1. I have changed my name to 'Maniac' and it seems to be slowly catching on amongst the community I am associated with, although my friend Heather has an annoying habit of referring to me as 'The Maniac', which is pretty much the most ridiculous nickname I have ever heard of.
2. Sam and I have set up mirrors in our respective rooms at the perfect angle so when our doors are open we are able to talk to each other while making eye contact without having to leave our respective beds. If either of our doors are closed, we usually just Skype one another if any issues need discussing.
3. We have been spending a lot of time with a life size stuffed White Tiger called 'Rick'.



4. The gang 'Drugs' I was in has disbanded, and also the other gang I am involved with (The Bear And Cougar Gang) is taking a small hiatus while one of the members is in Thailand smoking opium and looking for the world's hottest chilli.
5. We have started eating soup more often. The highlight has been the one Sam made on his debut soup making effort called 'Miami Eclipse'.
6. I have purchased a briefcase so I have somewhere to put all my documents. it has been very, very handy so far. I now can feel content knowing that most of my important papers and documents are all in the same place. I may however have to pop it open with a swiss army knife as I have just remembered that I didn't write the combination down on the locks and I closed it around 2 weeks ago.

There are obviously a few other things, but i feel now is probably not the right time to bring them up as I C.B.B (can't be bothered).

I will however mention that I found a website called Jeff Goldblum is watching You Poop, which is the worst news I have ever heard. I can not think of a worse scenario that could possibly occur on planet earth. I already feel uncomfortable knowing I am in the same hemisphere as Goldblum, the thought of him being able to see me do a pooh is terrifying beyond belief.
Great, I also just found out his middle name is Lynn.

Anyway, I am not going to waste anymore time worrying Goldblum today, as I should be celebrating due to Halloween.
Last night was the night before Halloween and every idiot and his dog got dressed up and went out amongst the city streets terrorising and drinking.
I was on a reasonably tight budget so put a plastic bag over the top half of my body and a coat hanger on my neck and went out as Drycleaning. It was essentially ingenious and I plan to re-enact the costume every year until I die of natural causes or am killed by a bolt of lightning (as predicted in my dream, which was probably a prophecy).



Fortunately I was escorted by Sam dressed as Audrey Hepburn, so it all worked out in the wash and we made a handsome couple.



Anyway, as it is 1:40am and I need to make sure I get my ten hours rest, it is probably a good time to stop my ranting. Also, that fat good-for-nothing pig of mine Kenny Powers is annoying me for his snack and if I don't get it out of the fridge and put it on his 'American Idol' themed dinner plate, he will probably puke on one of my prized possessions just to spite me and I C.B.B cleaning up any of his puke before sun up.



As it is essentially the texture of a buttload of Ectoplasm from the movie Ghostbusters, which in my humble opinion is totally gross.

Getting Cold and also quite poor in Berlin. But who gives a flying crap. Also, Kenny Powers meets his true nemesis, and I meet mine.

The temperature has begun to drop in the city of Berlin, and Germany in general I imagine. Because of this I have started to wear a thick Burberry jacket that I inherited from Heather's 2009 winter collection and I have fitted Kenny Powers the pig with a loose fitting white woollen vest which makes him look like a cult leader. We look like a force to be reckoned with when we scour the city streets looking for spare change and/or empty glass bottles we can trade in for money at the supermarket.

Times are becoming tougher financially in Berlin for us and because of this I have taken the advice of a strange English chap i met the other day. I think his name was either Clint or Lint, but I cant quite remember to confirm 100 per cent.
'Shoplift. Don't do it all the time or you'll get caught. Just do it MOST of the time. I've been 'ere free years now and I just don't 'ave the money anymore NOT to shoplift. A can of soup 'ere, a block of cheese there, just the bayyyyysics mate.'
'Ok,' I replied 'That sounds pretty good i suppose.'



I plan to go on my first shoplifting mission this evening but have decided to first of all write a note to Heather with instructions on how to care for Kenny Powers the pig if I am caught and thrown in jail:

Dear Heather, If you are reading this I am either still out shoplifting or possibly even worse... In jail. Please don't bother trying to come and find me as I am obviously 'done for'. But as we are friends, and if you really value my friendship, please adopt Kenny Powers the Pig as your own. I know he kind of likes you, and because you are mainly vegetarian I have no fear that you will kill him for meat when times become tougher. Please look after him, and if you get the chance please take him here for New Years
http://www.tropical-islands.de/en/visitors/shows/new-years-eve-2010.html
As that is where I kept telling him I was going to take him and where I predicted to meet the woman of my dreams AKA his surrogate mother.
I have left a buttload of Nutri Grains in the cupboard so don't complain about how I am not providing for him.
If you are reading this and I make it home tonight without getting locked up, please don't get 'up in my grill' about shoplifting. It is a life choice I have made to try and provide for kenny powers and I
Kind Regards
Reuben P. Bonner AKA Reubo-Cop
p.s Thank you for the left over Chilli Con Carne last night, it was totally delicious.
p.p.s Have you seen where my favourite tea towel is? I prefer to not do the dishes unless I have that particular tea towel on hand. I hope you understand.

As Rik Ocasek (lead singer of The Cars) once said: People are strange. We're all morticians. Hey, what's on TV?
Here he is looking totally awesome, and a bit like Sam.



Anyway, I think the saying is relevant in this instance.
Tomorrow Kenny Powers and I will move out of our lovely digs at Heather's and move into the sordid den that will be the song writing hub of An Emerald City. Sam and Rob and I (and Rob's GF Meg) will move into the 'Guns'N'Roses' sloth pit to save money and spend as much time together finishing writing our second album, which is essentially a concept album about travelling to Mars and also the fourth dimension.
I will be living in a room with a single mattress and a sleeping bag and Kenny Powers' basket in the corner. Times will be tough, and no doubt my room will look like a junkies cave but I don't really give a flying crap as life is reasonably enjoyable and it is not as debaucherous as you might think.



When Guns'N'Roses were living together in the band practise room before they 'made it', it was so sordid that once Izzy Stradlin was making sex to some woman and accidentally came on Slash's leg. I don't think that will ever happen with Sam and Rob and I. But even if it does, what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger. The rule with our new house is that you can't visit unless you have read Slash's autobiography. That way we will be able to concentrate on our music, and also only have guests who have their priorities right in life, and are obviously well read.

Speaking of educated people, I met my ultimate nemesis in Gorlitzer Park earlier today when Kenny Powers and I were walking through it on our way to the daily 3pm half price bakery sale on Oppelnerstrasse.
I spied him from at least 200 metres away, as did Powers. Not only did he have slicked back hair, a matching tracksuit, and was reading Max and Moritz comics on the bench, he also had beside him a small yet sinister looking Bentheim Black Pied pig. A very rare German breed with large stupid looking ears.

I noticed Kenny Powers the pig's bristles stiffen as if he had immediately sensed a new kind of evil.
I knew that something was not quite right with this pair of bench dwellers so I decided we should make a wide arc away from them so as to not have to make I.E.C (immediate eye contact).
Luckily for us we ran into the frisbee guy who hangs around in Gorlitzer Park every day throwing the frisbee to whomever is willing. We stopped to talk, as I felt he may have the lowdown on my new enemy.

'Who the hell is that guy up there with the pig?' I asked with venom in my voice.
''It's Dani Klar,' Frisbee man replied 'He is a computer programmer from Kreuzberg. And that's his pig: 'Kraftwerk'.'
'Damn it. That is such a good name for a German pig. It appears he will make a worthy enemy,' I muttered.
'What did you say?' the Frisbee man asked.
'Nothing,' I replied as I stared towards Klar and Kraftwerk.
It appeared he had noticed us also as had strategically put his German comic book down so he could stare across the park at us chatting with Frisbee Man.
'The hell is he looking at,' I muttered again, 'If I was in New Zealand right now I would yell out to him and say 'Have you got an eye problem?'. That is a typical thing New Zealanders say to people who stare,' Kenny Powers snuffled as if in agreement and locked eyes with Kraftwerk to let him know that we meant business, and if war for territory is what they wanted, it is what they would get.
The Frisbee Man continued,
'You really have no cause to try and start any kind of tension with Dani. He's a harmless character and in fact, quite a recluse. I believe he experienced a semi-traumatic childhood due to a strange physical defect. When he was younger his penis was connected to his scrotum by an extra flap of skin that shouldn't have been there, causing him an acute amount of pain and discomfort. It wasn't until he was operated on when he was 11 that the penis was actually seperated from his testicles, and until that point his equipment was all one one 'entity''



I paused for around a minute without looking at the Frisbee Man before even considering my reply. The content of the Frisbee Man's story really had startled me, and I actually felt like I had been hit by a medium-powered bolt of lightning.
I was baffled, not only with my new nemesis' situation, but more so with another question:
'How do you actually know all this information about that guys balls and dick?' I turned and asked the Frisbee Man screwing my face up in ultimate confusion.
'I just know a thing or two about a thing or two,' he replied as he nonchalently walked off spinning the frisbee on his finger.
I literally felt sick. And couldn't believe that some guy who threw a frisbee around in the park knew so much about another random characters dick and balls who just happened to be sitting around in the same park.
I stared after the Frisbee man, perturbed for a couple of minutes before I turned back to eyeball my new nemesis.
I knew that I had to take him seriously as he was obviously smart and slightly disturbed. I had already thought of a worthy nemesis name, from here on in, Dani Klar would be known by my allies and I as 'BallDick'. And he and Kraftwerk would rue the day that they ever crossed Kenny Powers the pig and I. Even though they had not officially crossed us yet.