Monday, June 25, 2012

Sir Bob Jones: I don't particularly care for your sort


As a boy I was taken for my annual trip to view the working class at the A&P show in Upper Hutt. Mama feigned an interest in the peasants parading around and insisted I do likewise, she deeming this "educational". “Look young Sir Bob,” she’d say. “Look at the quaint lower classes wearing man made synthetics and under enunciating their vowels. If you don’t eat your vegetables you’ll become one of these sad creatures.” After that I never refused an offering of brussel spouts again.

But my attention was focused longingly on the out-of-bounds carnival clamour at the park end, though my mother dismissed it as being for people of low-breeding. Instead we stood around looking at cows and horses while the sounds of the carnival and the laughter of children played out in the background. I think that day was behind the start of my hatred for the poor, and Ferris wheels.

One year, I escaped and ventured into this forbidden wonderland of wickedness. There were dodgems, rides and candyfloss vendors but I was drawn to the freak shows, because even as I child I loved to point and laugh at those different to myself. Today they're considered tasteless, but more pertinent, the freaks I saw are now the norm. Arguably this would then mean that they were no longer freaks, but I do love a good put down, and I refuse to move with the times for I am old and rich and therefore, like all other things, the times should move for me.

The two absolute "musts" in those yesteryear freak shows were the fat lady and the tattooed man. I paid my sixpences and gazed awe-struck at a negligee-clad woman who today would be considered almost anorexic, and then at the tattooed man, marvelling at such inane self-abuse. A fat woman and a man with tattoos, how shocking gentle reader. The best sixpences I ever spent, aside from later that day when I paid a homeless man to eat excrement. How my school chums and I did laugh heartily as he retched between his pathetic sobs.

Most fat people are young women. Statistics New Zealand refutes this, but since the other groups are not one in which my eyes wish to survey, this is the group that I will muse on. Truly, is there nothing more abhorrent, revolting, than a filly that has let herself go whereby stallions like myself no longer wish to mount them. A women’s place is to be objectified, and if she is no longer an object, then her purpose no longer exists. Furthermore, these fat women, these mountainous super tankers, might fall on me, on you, on our children, and kill us all. Some might suggest that my mocking is indicative of sociopathic tendencies, but they are mistaken, it is as a public service before someone is killed.

Being rich, and often bored, I hired out a store where I advertised a freak show which had within it a slim woman and an untattooed man. Wasn’t that clever of me, highlighting that I feel not enough women are the weight that I find desirable, and that I don’t like tattoos. Also the girl was both slim and pretty and as a Bulgarian this was amazing since Bulgarian women are ugly (we haven’t been included in international media since the Finland incident, just doing my bit for New Zealand tourism).

Then shrieking feminists came to complain, as they do, which surely is as disgusting as fat, ugly woman, with their short hair and unflattering outfits. I like Chinese women; they’re slim, though those ladies do love their shopping. I can hear those carnival sounds in the background of my mind, taunting me, twisting my heart as my compassion leaks from it, puddling around my ankles, like the tears of that homeless man. Fat women. I wake in a cold sweat. Where was I?

In my day there weren’t very many fatties. Now lots of people are fat, and by people I mean women, though they barely can be considered as such.

But can you imagine a dumber government action than that now proposed in England, namely to criminalise mocking the obese, in line with racial and sexual discrimination laws? Treating fat people with respect and dignity? What’s next, racial minorities? Not on my watch.

These human hippos are self made and ridicule may inspire them to unmake their degrading situation. This is why I hired another empty store (I was again bored, still rich) and am opening the Sir Bob Jones Slimming Academy for Women (No Feminists, Thanks) where I shall judge and mock these blubberous monsters until they get their act together and are once again pleasing to my eyes.

This is why you need us higher classes, to sort you lower class lot out. And do we get any thanks, no, just knighthoods and more money than we could ever spend. You make me as sick as a fat woman should be.

Actual Article: http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=10815435

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Ranty Hate Post and Kitten Punching

Because I am a small and petty person, these are the things that annoy me:

People who walk: for the love of all that's holy, if you're sharing a footpath with other people walk to the same side that the cars drive on. If you live in NZ, walk on the left hand side. If you move to America, walk on the right hand side. This cunning scheme has been designed so that you're less likely to walk into me because you're too busy texting to see what's in front of you. Same goes for the stairs. You suck, stop it.

People who are polite: look, it's great that you want to be polite, but not when that politeness is tied in an idea that my gender means that I need to get on the bus first in case I spontaneously burst into my menstrual cycle and faint from prolonged standing on my lady legs, because then are you really being polite?

The rule is that I just made up now: unless someone has a physical condition which means it would be courteous to let them grab a seat before the bus lurches off flinging them around the seats like a pinball, the first person at the bus stop is the first person to get on the bus. You angrily insisting that I get on the bus before you is creepy (and I've had this happen on more than one occasion by men who will only wave on women before them and then shoulder block other men) - I am more than willing to give up going through doors first or getting on a bus first if it means that I get to also be treated equally in other spheres of social life. It's not the act itself, it's the (sometimes unthinking) thought process behind it that's the problem. I have seen men argue that women want it both ways - eh, I can pull out my own seat thanks if it means that I get treated like an adult. (If a boat sinks I'm going to be on the first lifeboat tripping children out of my way - that isn't double standards, that's Darwinian survival.)

People who spoil: we all know what the most important thing in life is, it's television. If someone is a spoiler phobe, and you're aware they don't want to know what's going to happen, for the love of all that's good and beautiful, stop talking! Hint: saying the next episode made you cry, had an unexpected twist, was disappointing...are all spoilers! What, you think the person is so dumb that can't work out what's going to happen from what you've just said? Some people take television seriously, and while obviously I'm not that kind of loony, the next person who spoils me will be killed along with everyone they have ever loved or known. You are the worst person to have walked the earth. How dare you.

People who review 'Girls': so there's a new programme that's come out where the four main characters are all females and it's written from a female viewpoi...and yeah, I'll stop there because the only talking point about this programme has been about what the actresses look like. The treatment of this programme by the media at large has been gross and disturbing. A programme that was supposedly about what women have to say got turned by reviewers into a programme about what women look like, because that's all that matters.

People who think women can't be funny:  your mother! What? I don't know. I couldn't come up with a come back. While I'm at it, can we give the rape jokes a rest? It's mostly male comedians, who belong to the group most likely to commit rape and not be directly affected by it, making fun out of rape victims, who are most likely women. That's not edgy, that's just reaffirming the status quo.

People who use the term 'politically correct': it's a classic douchebag move to try and shut down an arguement. Who needs to think when you have a meaningless phrase, amiright? People asking for respect, dignity and self-determination?! Politically correct assholes.

People who think their religion should be legislated for: do you think being gay is an abomination against god and abortion kills babies because cells have souls? Don't have sex with someone of the same gender and don't nip off to an abortion clinic (one may not lead to the other). But when you try to legislate your religious beliefs for wider society, that's a step too far, ie. I don't hate your stupidity, whether you were born stupid or you choose to be stupid, but I hate it when you try to force your stupidity on to others. Keep your stupidity in the bedroom where we don't have to see it.

Kittens: I wanna punch their screwed up tiny purry big-eyed cutesy faces. Pow, right in the whiskers.

Highway Police 10 Road Cops

I have to stop watching local crime reality programmes. If you ever want to make someone into a conservative, feed them a steady diet of these shows. Snarling, belligerent angry people spitting and waving their (middle *gasp*) fingers at police. It's a snapshot of a person at a particular time and moment and it never tells the full story about who they are or might become, but watching their behaviour there and then, a part of me thinks society as a whole would be better off if they were winked out of existence.

Why is this a bad way to think? Because it sees behaviour without context. Dysfunctional behaviour is created through dysfunctional environments.  It's easy to wash your hands of someone, harder to deal with the issues that created it in the first place. It's also taking what might be aberrant actions from a small minority and making it seem more prevalent than it is - it's not like routine police work is covered, and watch enough of these shows during the week and you can end up feeling like you live in a very scary place. When you're scared and angry you want to lash out - 'take away their benefits', 'lock 'em away', 'where's my gun', 'I could use a muesli bar right about now' (last one may have been me).

And I sympathise. I want the little grotty bastards to go away as well. But more importantly I want that behaviour not to be exhibited in the first place, which means instead of instinctively lashing out you have to look at the root causes and address them. If you want to train a dog you don't beat them and expect good results. People are the same. What I'm really saying is that we should take these snotty brats down to the local park and throw tennis balls for them to chase until they're too tuckered out to cause any more mischief, the little fluffy scamps. And then we desex them.

/ and lets face it, as soon as there is a camera and an editor on board reality television mostly stops being about reality and becomes instead all about framing and people acting up for a camera because they want their five minutes of fame or because they don't want to be seen popping some foulmouthed urchin in the mouth because they'll lose their job.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

New Zealand: It's not you, it's me. (It's you.)

I love New Zealand. I love that our national colour is black, both slimming and practical. I love that within an hours drive you can get to the beach, a forest, paddocks of masticating cows, a township consisting of a garage and a pub. I love our coffee and our cafes. I love watching tourists trying to find the tree on One Tree Hill. I don't care about rugby but I can name members of the All Blacks and get swept up when we win. I can eat roast lamb with the best of them.

But...I will never have the life that I aspire to if I remain here. The prospect of home ownership is out of my grasp, not if I want something that isn't a leaky damp box next to a railway line. I will never have a dishwasher. Sad violin music started up when I started typing that sentence and rain lashed the window. If that isn't tragic what is gentle reader, what is?

As much as I love this country if I stay I will end up remaining in dead end low paying jobs living in a rented mouldy cold home. However, if I move overseas I could end up in a dead end medium paying job in a mouldy cold home that I can call my own.

I'm a coward at heart and the idea of stepping out of my comfort zone and doing this is not something that I take lightly, or with clean pants. But New Zealand has rapidly become such a country of have and have nots,  where opportunities are few, where housing is crippling expensive, that there doesn't seem to be much of a choice in the matter.

I aspire to a dishwasher, I want that dishwasher, and to get that dishwasher I am going to have to leave this country behind and seek dishwasher opportunities elsewhere. I will cover it in fridge magnets of home and I will think of this place fondly.