Friday, February 20, 2004


Ranginui Walker says my intentions are to abolish the Maori Television Service and the Maori Language Commission amongst other things.
Now that's stretching the frayed elastic of truth to breaking point.
Providing that they make their intentions understandable to all New Zealanders and speak in English then these Maori organizations can do whatever they want. One of the things they might want to do if they're interested in receiving ongoing funding from a National government is commission a dramatisation of - in my view - an unjustly neglected masterpiece on the theme of bicultural relations, The Half Gallon Jar by that great literary kaumatua, Hori. We used to have neighbours like that when I was a lad. (In fact, it was through them that I grew to admire and respect our Maoris, py korry (!) In fact if the scriptwriters were ever short of inspiration, I'm sure I could supply them with anecdotes both heartwarming and humorous.
And one of my favourite comedians, Billy T James - it's a disgrace that he doesn't have his own show anymore. Why aren't we using more of our fine Maori talent onscreen.
The problem I find with nostalgia is that so often it fills my baby blues with tears - and I'm man enough to admit to being embarrassed by the very emotion it distills.
That's why we should all leave our sepia-toned, liver-spotted snapshots of a kinder, gentler world in the attic.
They have no place in a future of a kind I insist we all look forward to.

The phrase for today is 'tena kotou' - a garment used by vocalists in place of socks.

Thursday, February 19, 2004


I had a marvelous idea for a television documentary last night.
It's called 'Pakeha Brown' and will tell uplifting stories about Maoris who have lived amongst New Zealanders.
It will show what an open-minded and caring society we could have if only a few agitators toed the line.
I say 'few' because, as you're all well aware, Maori support for the National Party is at an all-time high and we haven't heard of this level of support from our Maoris since the last time I mentioned it.
This morning, Rodney slipped a congratulatory note under the door of my cubicle which simply said "Up Yours" - further evidence of the kind of buzz our polls have generated amongst potential coalition partners. Talk about a "document leak"! Ho! Ho!
Which neatly segues into my next pithy observation.
I have some sympathy for Lianne Dalziel. It must be awful being exposed publicly as a buffoon and made the subject of ridicule.
A National Government would have avoided such a situation by eliminating immigration altogether.
All except for the right kind of immigrants, of course.
I'm so proud of Sammy's performance with that Kim woman last night. He's definitely going to be allowed to eat his carrot stick off the special red plate at caucus this week.I've seen him looking at it jealously on the top of the china cabinet. Sammy's finally learnt that it doesn't matter what you say as long as you sound like you believe it - knowledge that got me out of many a scrape at the Reserve Bank during all those years when the economy was sailing into oblivion, I can tell you.
Now, if I've been sounding a little down on the woeful state of the media lately then let me inject some positivity by stating that I see a bright light on the horizon and it's called 'Suzy Aiken'.
This darling of a female news presenter contacted me via email recently in order to "prep" (journalistic jargon) for an upcoming interview.
I agreed to the interview with the proviso that she asked me things that other journalists have ignored in favour of grinding their axes.
Quick as a fox, she emailed me back and said.
"I understand exactly what you're saying! I think it will be rilly kewl if we got to know more about the real you. There's a lot of questions that have been burning in my head . For instance, what does 'Don' stand for?"

The phrase for today is 'Mat Rata' - what the Labour Party used to wipe its feet on.

Wednesday, February 18, 2004


I was making a comfort stop earlier today when Rodney Hide mumbled something in my ear.
I didn't get a chance to reply because by the time I turned around, he was gone.
Bless the wee man's heart. We rarely get the chance to chat and more often than not I miss him.
Maybe it's got something to do with my aversion to looking down on others.
So Rodney, if you're reading this, I will go and "duck my health" as you suggested because I know a wonderful Chinese restaurant in the city and I've got a hankering for some Peking.
Lord knows I deserve a treat every now and again.

I've been doing some fine tuning on the tax cuts plan.
Having united the people behind my vision of a society that knows no racial differences I will now reform the economy. I'll have to work like a nigger, but somebody's got to do it.
Leaving people with more money in their pockets means they will use it to oil the mighty economic wheels of our nation.
However I've decided the tax cuts should only be for those making a real contribution to the economy by earning over $100,000 a year - agency creatives, PR people, Charlotte Dawson.
Anyone under that threshhold wouldn't be getting enough to oil the wheels of a wind-up plastic mouse.

My, but that Deborah Coddington's a fine looking woman.
I'd be happy to enter into a merger with her any day.

The phrase for today is 'ka kite' - the small thing sticking out of the ignition.

Tuesday, February 17, 2004


I'm thinking of making a complaint to the BSA after last night's Holmes show. What a mauling.
I know I'm supposed to complain to TVNZ first, but last time I went directly to Fraser all I got was a form letter with two tickets to an evening of Indian dance and the Big Night In soundtrack CD.
Many of Holmes' questions were entirely inappropriate.
Was I the greatest National Party leader ever?
(Too soon to say.)
Was I the messiah?
(Risked offending religious groups.)
Was I really 200 pounds of horse-hung love machine?
(I'll let my record speak for itself.)
At one point I got so flustered I used; "I can't be racist. My wife's Asian" which caused me no end of consternation as I was going to save that for a king-hit in the election campaign. Dash!
I am getting sick of being tagged as a single-issue guy.
I'm not just talking about Maoris getting special treatment in welfare.
I'm talking about Maoris getting special treatment in education.
I'm talking about Maoris making New Zealanders do hongis (a filthy practice - I prefer my meat cooked the old-fashioned way in a microwave).
I'm talking about Maoris having far too many of their canoes in museums. Incidentally, where are the Pakeha canoes in our museums?
I'm talking about Maoris always having their battle thing done before test matches. I myself think some traditional Irish dancing would be a pleasant change, and equally intimidating to the opposing team if performed by the All Blacks.

There seems to be something odd going on over at ACT.
I passed Richard in the hall this morning and said hello, and he blushed and giggled then ran into the toilet.
And he keeps giving me the strangest looks in the House.
Will get Sammy to investigate further.

Oh, I thought of a joke!
If you put me and John Tami-something and Sammy together and you had an Irish accent, would we be "tree fellers"?

The phrase for today is 'tohunga' - man with a very small penis.

Monday, February 16, 2004


Ah, Rotorua! Pauline would love it here.
I can't describe the warmth of the welcome I've received, both from Maoris and from New Zealanders. There have been so many highlights I don't know where to begin.
From the moment I arrived, I was struck by the warmth of the welcome. As my motorcade drove into the town, bright-eyed tykes ran alongside the car, flashing me the victory sign and calling out greetings in their quaint native tongue. I must get to work on my tee Rio and find out what "wanka wanka" means in English.
Rotorua is a very good example of the sort of special treatment for Maori I have been talking about for the past few weeks. Large numbers of them seem to live in luxurious hotel-like complexes, wearing obviously expensive uniform attire, presumably to indicate their tribal affiliation. There also seems to be a rampant alcohol problem, as many of them stroll around holding bottles of expensive wine.
Fortunately, the old ways are still hewed to in some quarters, notably in the Maori village of Whaka-something. I paused here in my progress to throw a gold coin into the water near the village entrance. Several cheerful picanninies dived in after it, to the amusement of all. This happy scene was marred, however, when, having retrieved my doubloon, one of the little scamps attempted to make off with it. I had to chase the urchin to get it back. This is the welfare state gone mad!
Later, I was taken on a guided tour and privileged to be led along a secret path, ignoring the "Warning do not walk here" signs. In a further mark of deference I was permitted to go first. I expect to be out of hospital and back on the road tomorrow.

The phrase for today is 'Haere Ra' - to employ an Egyptian deity.

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?