Black Box: the Sampling Begins

Sample Co is a company that sends out product samples so people who sign up can try them and then shill them to others. So that's what this is, except I'm going to be honest about it because my reputation is more important to me than free things. Having said that, give me a house and I will swear that your sandwich spread cured me of a disease that I never had.

On with the show:

This is what I received. Ohhh, shiny free things. I haven't tried everything yet so this will be part one of a two part special. I'm super excited about this as well. So come with me as you find out what I liked, what I hated, and what CHANGED MY LIFE FOREVER!*

* Nothing. 

Molenberg Bread
This is a brand I already buy. But what's different about this version? The bread is slightly sliced thicker. I'm not lying guys, I had to sit down for a second and catch my breath. It's bread I like, but slightly more of it. I'm pretty damn well chuffed. Thanks whomever makes this bread, you have made my ability to eat slightly more bread that bit more easy.

Score: 10/10

Nivea In-Shower Body Lotion
It's a good thing that they sent this to me because otherwise I would never have bought it. I never really got the point. You moisturize inside the shower and then wash it off and this saves time because otherwise you would have had to moisturize outside the shower and then not have to wash it off.  Time Saving! Science, I don't understand you sometimes.

So I tried it, and yeah, I guess it worked okay. The irony is that I already use the Nivea Express Hydration and that's great, so I can at least shill that to you.

Score: 6/10 hmmm

Chicken in a Can
It's chicken and it's in a can. I'm not eating canned chicken. I'm sorry, but this should be on Fear Factor.

Score: Undetermined. I couldn't even give it away for free.

Sanitarium Cluster Crisp
Something I already buy for myself. It's has crispy crunchy bits and tastes nice. Honestly I think it's a little bit too much on the sweet side but it makes a perfect dessert. A bit of fruit, a bit of yoghurt and a handful of this chucked up on top and nom, nom, nom. Tastiness.

Score: 8/10 and a nom.

Healthries Potato Pop Bites
Again something I already eat. This variety I got to try was the Balsamic one which leaves a nice tang in your mouth. However, if you're like me and dislocate your jaw in order to eat snacks shoving one hand after another into a never blinking maw until the pack has gone and loved ones flee in terror, then this might not be the one for you. Because that much vingeresque tang can leave you with mouth hurts. If you eat like a boring normal person though you should be fine. I recommend the sour cream and chives as a non-mouth hurty alternative.

Score: 8/10 or Ow/10 depending on the flavour

Healthries Hawkes Bay Nectarine Tea
Would not have tried this, but am now glad I did. Herbal teas have the problem of being all promise of great tasting tea with it's come hither smell, but when you go to actually drink it it's insipid hot water of meh. Not in this case. It is refreshingly nectariney and not cloyingly sweet. A good summer drink and I expect that it would be great as ice tea.Would buy again.

Score: 8 and a half /10

And that's all for now until I rip into the rest of the box. Super looking forward to eating that can of baked beans and then applying chemicals to burn off my leg hair. This just might be a final sign off. Tell my mother she's getting my cats.

That Letter

On 13 August 2002 Donghui Liu put in an application to the Business Migration Branch and eight months later was yet to have a reply back as to whether it was successful or not. Cunliffe was contacted in April 2003 (in-person, by email, was this the first/only contact?), presumably because he was a constituent of his (that's unknown), and Cunliffe wrote a letter on his behalf outlining the facts of the case and asking for Liu 'to be advised of an estimated period of time in which he could expect a decision on the case'.

Eleven years later and a staff member failed to find a copy of this letter on their files, but the NZ Herald using the Official Information Act was able to do so - how did they find it, we don't know because we haven't been told. They currently have two sources, one of which handed over a physical photo (it's not available on-line) of Liu's former partner accepting a bottle of wine at a fundraiser from a Labour MP who hasn't been in office since 2006. This suggests that one, or more of the sources were in Labour during that time. Shane Jones would have to considered suspect No.1, the time frame fits perfectly and John Key has now said that he's known for weeks. The second suspect could possibly be one of the Anyone But Cunliffe group, or National may have hired investigators, which if they had half a brain they would.

Other than what we now know of Liu, the letter is innocuous, a virtual form letter. So what would Cunliffe have to gain from lying? What in the letter is actually incriminating? Nothing. But 'staff member fails to find form letter' doesn't have the same hysterical ring as 'Caught: Tricky Liar Cunlifee Falls from Moral High Ground!' And people have fallen for the heavy breathing hysteria of it all.

So you can have this exchange but then this column gets put up afterwards: http://www.radiolive.co.nz/Duncan-Garner-Brain-fade-or-a-lie-from-Cunliffe/tabid/674/articleID/47897/Default.aspx and you realise that the truth can be boring but spin sells. That's why reporters will sit on information, not so they have time to go out and interview the main players to get to the bottom of the truth, but because spinning it out into something bigger than it is creates an unfolding story that people will want to follow which means people will buy your product because they want to see how it ends.

Two days later the photo went up. Because this was about creating hype and teasing readers and selling a story. And people are falling for a narrative that contains very little substance concerning events that took place over a decade ago. The stupid of all of this is simply staggering.

All in all, this is what happens when a democracy descends into personality politics instead of policy, we vote for our perceptions of people and not the ideas that they present. And commercial media have to have something sexy to sell that people will buy. Honestly, I'm completely disillusioned and I think we deserve better. Meh.

If I Was Minister of Media Stuff

How I Would Run Media, An Essay by Dovil Aged 5

1. Journalists need to be kept awake and perked up and raring to go so free coffee in every department! But the coffee machine can be a long way away to walk to, so bowls of cocaine on every desk.

2. Journalists are ridiculously underpaid given the importance of their position in a democratic society, so pay rises! 20k across the board. Unless you've got a contract with SkyCity in which case here's a $5 chip and good luck to you. Don't worry corporates, that cocaine was only free for the first month so they'll be paying back that 20k plus extra in no time!

3. Journalism degrees will get an overhaul with an added Honours year where people can specialise in a subject if they so wish, such as business, science or politics etc. Also a PGDip made up of practical journalism basics for anyone exiting with an undergraduate degree.

4. Coverage such as the "anti-smacking" law or the Foreshore and Seabed Act highlighted one important thing, that hardly anyone knew what the hell they were talking about. Instead of throwing journalists in at the deep end, experts would be invited to come along and talk about the topic du jour so that there was at least a basic understanding so that the right questions could be asked of the right people. Also everyone would be asked to bring in an item and give a 20 minute presentation, not because that has any intrinsic worth, but just because I'm a bit of a bastard.

5. A consistent one-stop-shop publication would be put together by a third party listing every academic or expert worth their salt in this country with tick boxes to indicate whether they could write material and/or appear on camera without scaring the nation.

6. Barbie and Ken dolls to host all shows, voiced by Hilary Barry and Mike McRoberts. John Campbell will be contractually required to interject at least once per show, and Hilary will be required to be unable to continue due to an outbreak of laughter. Dance for me puppets! You entertain me so.

7. Journalists will no longer be required to report on something that happened two hours previously. They will instead be given time to ring around and find out the Why to the What while receiving shoulder rubs and being cooled down by waved palm fronds brandished by the ex-Shortland Street actor of their choosing.

8. If politicians are asked to appear on a show they will (unless they have a very good excuse and a note from their Mums) actually bother to appear on the show. Otherwise Rebecca Wright will be released somewhere in their homes.

9. Valium to be supplied for any interview involving Hekia Parata, Simon Bridges, well there's going to be a long list. Shhhh, it'll be alllll over soon.

10. Free rehab. I'm not sure how but there's some terrible drug addictions going on. Sort yourself out, Media.

Subject Headers Are the Worst

Confession: I love airports. The noise, the excitement, people flying off to distant lands, people being reunited with loved ones. It’s got it all. And there’s something amazing about watching a plane coasting down a runway, accelerating and speeding up, and finally launching itself up into the sky. Plus duty free shops, so I could happily live there.

So one day, at Auckland’s domestic airport, I wondered off to watch the planes do their thing. This was back in the 80’s when there was the old school fugly pattened carpet to hide the stains, and giant windows down below where you had front row seats to all the action. Next to it was a bar made up of tables flung out higgidly piggidly and you had to walk through to get there. Half-way through I was brought up short – a gentleman, and I use that term so loosely that it if spoken aloud it would be an incomprehensible string of noise, had decided to reach out and grab my arse.

He made some comment, but I was too in shock to make out what was grunted at me. I whirled back around and went back to where my mother was standing. I was ten. I probably brought it on myself from the slutty Paddington bear t-shirt I was wearing and from being metres away from my parents. A minor incident, but the first time I can remember being sexually harassed. Awww, there should be an annual cake to celebrate. Baby's first groping.

The other times? Honestly, I don't think I could even remember them all. Apparently wearing a school girl uniform is pretty much harassment bait (maybe my skirt was too short, if only a talkback host could weigh in!) and it was years of fun dealing with teenagers and adult males making advances and throwing out comments.  I would love to say that it was because of my spectacular beauty, but sadly that’s not the case, and in fact my experiences was pretty typical from others girls accounts. In my twenties, staggering to the diary after a night out for an emergency life saving mince and cheese pie and coke, still wearing the same clothes, and what I suspect was vomit clinging to my hair, I also managed to elicit a few show us your tits for good measure. Kind of bought a clue at that point that it wasn’t what I looked like that they were responding to, but that I was female, so a perpetual walking target.

There was the job I had to leave because the boss was a little bit too free and easy with the touching and the comments. Everyone was aware of it, but as it was sheepishly admitted to me it was cheaper to replace me than to replace him. Their strategy was to hire a woman in their fifties. There was the men in the street that told me that I should smile more, or the man who decided to reach out a grab a boob in the middle of the street in broad daylight. Me and those t-shirts, you’d think I’d learn!

There was telling men through body language “No”. There was telling them verbally “No”. There was pushing them away because “No” seemed to be heard as “keep trying”. There was leaving early because I didn’t feel safe. There was hearing about a friend passed out in a nightclub bathroom after one (spiked) drink, there was hearing about friends having been raped. There was being grateful and so thankful and so lucky that it hadn’t happened to me. There was rearranging my schedule to avoid late classes, rearranging my life because not me, not me, not me, but knowing that I’m not immune to something that’s happened to so many. 

My life is not your life. My life as a female is different to your life as a male. That should be stunningly obvious, but apparently it's not. My experiences are different because our socialisation has been different, and because of this, my voice, her voice, a female voice, should, and needs to be heard, especially when it comes to issues pertaining to women. History was written by men, pop culture is still largely written by men writing dialogue for female characters, commentators are still largely men, but now that we’ve squeezed a tiny (tiny) space for ourselves, now that we can speak for ourselves, stop trying to speak for us and getting it so horribly, horribly wrong, and stop trying to silence us. Just stop. No.

Bob Jones: Spare us from the opinions of old men

 A long time ago I was overseas and sitting on a balcony perving on women riding bikes. These women foreigners were terrible at the art of bike riding with their female panicking and possible perioding about the place.

Then NZ let me back into the country where I was asked to talk, for I made a lot of money in property and rich people should be listened to. I took along my holiday slides and regaled them with my talk on foreign lady bikers.

  

Being old and rich I have a lot of time on my hands and was spending my days complaining about traffic lights. “Boo, traffic lights!” I would yell from my front lawn to the street that was down the driveway a mile away. And don’t get me started about billboards!

One of the little people came over and I yelled at him about the traffic lights. He interrupted me; I slapped him for his impudence, but then began to tell me that my thinking was so amazing that the multitudes of international traffic engineering magazines had printed these very ideas, so wondrous and profound that they were. “Excellent!” I urged, my head bent over my steepled hands, and amazingly the little people complied with an idea that had already been expressed by experts previous to my showing up. Such is my power.

           

At the next meeting, after I had shown them slides of foreign women on Segway’s, the council agreed to turn off the lights, which I must say made them much easier to view. TVNZ begged to film me to sell my talks worldwide, making me the star I always should have been. But Maurice Williamson, supposed libertarian, probable communist, used his Ministerial powers to stop TVNZ filming. He denied me my close-up and the attention I so desperately need and deserve. He was meant to be a Libertarian!

The Council rallied, tearing traffic lights out and putting roundabouts in. It was a vision to behold, a utopia of spinning in circles. But this beautiful New World that I had created was to be undone – for like Eve cycling over to the apple tree, we were once more doomed by the spectacle of women.

Women drivers caused massive pile-ups at roundabouts, something that the Liberal Media chose not to report in these PC Times. Their lady brains, filled with thoughts of babies and shoes, meant that they screamed hysterically as they randomly drove towards things, killing thousands of men in oncoming cars. Insurance companies, driven by PC madness, have lower premiums for female drivers, saying that the PC driven statistics show that they’re safer drivers, causing less accidents. By tish, and tosh, I say, for who need evidence when you have anecdotes and outright lying.

Here I invoke Greg King’s widow, because since his the coroners report was only just released as I was writing this article, what a sensitive moment indeed to invoke her in my measured bigoted ramblings. She stopped driving her five minutes to work because it was taken her 25 minutes? Why? Women drivers! However she is a woman driver so maybe it was her to blame. Would you like to look at some more slides?

Women drivers cost the economy 52 billion dollars a year. Why would I make this obviously made up thing up? I’m a rich former property developer!

A few years ago, with the help not around, I rang 111 to yell at the police. “Police,” I said. “Women drivers are impeding the flow of traffic. Do something about this for I pay your wages!”. Initially they told me to bugger off, but after I explained that I had a knighthood and was very, very rich, they stopped a murder investigation and sent out police to watch cars going around roundabouts and  to work out the gender of the driver of each car.

They'd bailed up a swag of these women, while wearing pinstripe suits and carrying tommy guns, reminding them of the "keep left unless passing" rule and had them complete a two-question "tick the box" form. Men were given a brisk handshake and were free to go. Taxpayer money and police time well spent!

This official police form, that obviously exists and could not possibly be made up, where women were specifically targeted by the police and were legally required to fill out, asked whether women were breaking the law because of “sheer bloody-mindedness”, which many ticked. Most of them were in their 30’s which meant they were driving badly because they didn’t have a man in their lives. At least I think this happened, let us not forget that I’m very old. So old in fact that I will soon have to re-sit my drivers license test because I am seen as a very possible menace on the road, which is obviously PC madness!

Another woman once told me that women drivers are terrible so how can I possibly make my case anymore convincing. I know a women driver when I see one. I concede that some women can drive, because an Asian told me this. They’re terrible drivers as well. Did the war end?

I’ve known many women drivers. Four in fact. One being my mother. She crashed her car and I have been scarred ever since. MOTHER! WHY DIDN’T YOU HUG ME?!

I have driven to my office and got there late. Why? Women drivers. I bought a fast car and drove erratically and then the Police had the audacity to write to me. It was probably women who complained. Women. Stupid, never hugged me enough, women. MOTHER!

Like the Engineers I told the Police how to do their job. People appreciated that. I told them that though technically no illegal act had taken place they would be doing Gods work by going to the complainants' homes, beating the crap out of them and burning their houses down. How we laughed at my death threats!

Amazingly they wrote me a nice reply apologising for bothering me and asked whether I knew the address of their homes, and if I did, to inform me that they had recently moved to an undisclosed address and to please not contact them again.

Right now a bunch of feminists (probably communists) in Saudi Arabia (one of those sandy places) are trying to get simple human rights like being able to drive. But women drivers are bad so men shouldn’t give them those rights, even if they are Muslims. An Asian told me that.

MOTHER!

Loans for Men - FAQ

Frequently Asked Questions

1. Can I do it all online?  
Absolutely, from start to finish. So off with your pants, balls out, hand scratching away, beer at the ready, laptop on your erm … penis. From applying to approval to funds in your account, there’s no need to leave the house. Except to work. 'Cause you're a Man! 

2. How much will you lend me MATE? 
Any amount. You can choose, you're a man with a good head for figures and naturally responsible. 

3. If I’m approved, when can I start spending?
Faster than a whore's fart, mate. HIGH-FIVE! 

4. Do you care what I spend my loan on? 
Yes we do. We want you to spend your loan on gender stereotypical items. Man items like a leaf blower, or a reconditioned Chevy, or a prostate exam or a ruler to measure your massive man schlong. Anything goes, Mate!  

5. Will you keep my details private? 
Of course we will. Just like you wouldn’t want anyone rummaging around in your pants legs where you keep your dangling ballsack, the details of your loan will not be discussed with anyone but you. We also have a digital privacy policy that means your data will be kept safe and secure at all times, because we understand a great big furry brute of a man might need to keep a few secrets sometimes. Feel free to worry though, because your man brain can take it. 

6. Do I have to be a Man to apply? 
Actually, no. Although we primarily deal with Men, we’ll take loan applications from anyone because we have to. 

7. Can you recommend a good garage to tune up my bitching bike? 
Well, funny you ask that. Because we loan to Men from all over New Zealand, some of them have become experts on where to get vehicles reconditioned and worked on. That's right, Men are contacting their finance company to tell them about where to go for car maitenance. This is so plausible why wouldn't you believe this complete horseshit! MATE!  

8. What if I want to know more?
Send us some smoke signals, because you're a Man and hate, and are bad at, communication.

MAAAAAAATE!

/ The Opposite Land of This: https://loansforladies.co.nz/faqs/  Which is real, this is a really real thing. Apparently.

Cunliffe: A Decision to Swallow

DAVID CUNLIFFE’S DECISION to ask his campaign manager, Jennie Michie, to stand down would’ve been both easy and hard. Easy, because if he hadn’t Grant Robertston would have snuck into their bedrooms and killed them both as they slept. Hard, because Michie is innocent, and like Jesus, was executed for the sins of others. 

Another reason was that as Cunliffe sat in his bunker, he cunningly awaited the inevitable betrayal. That a Robertsonite would yell ‘Homophobe!’. A sacrifice had to be prepared. This is because Cunliffe remembered a time when a young Grant Roberston prowled the student corridors of power, waiting to unleash such a cruel slur to unseat his opponents. 

1992 was the year, and Cunliffe remembered it well. Remembered and waited. A homophobic poster had been found during a student election that Robertston was a candidate in. People were bemused. Why would a gay person bring attention to homophobia and be upset by it? Nobody that day had seen the poster, and I know, I interviewed them all. People scratched their head and walked into poles. Things were taking a strange turn.

It was almost as if I was implying that Robertson had made the poster himself. The poster is no more. Some people say it was to destroy any fingerprint or dna evidence to tie the poster to Robertson. But who am I to say what some people might rightfully conclude.

Being a victim of homophobia was an inspired move! Having no policies meant he was reliant on the huge gay sympathy vote that was readily available in the early 90’s in NZ and Roberston won. Postergate had been a success.

Then Clare Curran tweeted, the modern equivalent of posters everywhere: Those with long memories couldn’t help hearing echoes of Robertson’s 1992 campaign that they remembered so vividly in their stark barren lives, and in Clare Curran’s tweet of Monday, 9 September. 

“The ‘NZ’s not ready for a gay PM’ is prob the biggest dog whistle I’ve ever heard. Extraordinary that it’s also coming from within the Party.”

Once again it was implied that homophobia was bad and people probably shouldn’t do it. People were once more bemused. There was a supposed outbreak of homophobia which was evidenced by specific examples that were given, but that’s not here or supposed there. Later on a union member in a private Facebook page went on to say that homophobia sucks.

This is an extraordinary statement. In essence she was suggesting that someone’s sexuality shouldn’t be an issue, like race, or religion, or hair colour, taking away our right to make homophobic comments, because Facebook comments suggesting things are law. People felt abused and and rocked back and forwards.

But, it also explains why Michie died for our sins.

Michie was asked by Rachel Smalley, from TV3’s current affairs show, The Nation:

“Okay, Grant Robertson, Jennie, says that he wants to be judged on his ability, not his sexuality. How do you think the socially conservatives might view Grant Robertson you know in the year 2013?”

To which Michie replied: 

“Well Rachel, I suppose you’d have to ask a social conservative. *polite laugh* We’re trying to run a clean campaign and I think addressing what I believe to be should be a non-issue is not in keeping with that.”

Just kidding:

“I think it’s not as big a deal as it used to be. You know we now have gay marriage, and it actually went through without that much of a fuss, and the sky hasn’t fallen. Having said that, I think we’d be naïve to imagine that there would be no resistance to a gay Prime Minister at this point. I think some people might have a problem with it, but I certainly wouldn’t.”

People were bemused. Obviously being gay is an issue and a problem, because being gay is wrong, so we should have the right to voice this without people getting all uppity as if they were human beings with equal standing.

This is why Cunliffe shook his head, clearing it of always present thoughts of early 90’s student posters, and climbed from his bunker, killing Michie so all of us might have the freedom to vote for Camp Cunliffe.

In many respects Cunliffe’s predicament is akin to that of progressive Americans living in the USA during the McCarthyite “Red Scare”. Our jail cells now bulge with the accused poster makers who live amongst us. People deported, families torn asunder, witches burnt and detainee camps now loom across the nation, all because of brave people who dare to suggest that being gay is ick.

Original Batshit Crazy Post here: 

http://thedailyblog.co.nz/2013/09/11/cunliffes-decision-easy-to-make-but-hard-to-swallow/