Are you the 1/100?

Or is it me? **pulls out a fresh tissue and snorts**

For the last week or so, the Crime and Investigation Channel has been advertising an upcoming programme about psychopaths and running a short trailer featuring images of people overlaid with an audio track that for some reasons manages to mention the word psychopath while the screen is filled with a picture of Gee Dubbya.

Is this some form of blatant, latent, very belated piece of electioneering propaganda or just a lucky happenstance? I'd like to think it's the latter.

I said I'd like to, not that I did ;0)

Here is the US trailer for the programme.



After that little number, somehow I found myself drooling over Gary Moore, I mean who wouldn't, right?



and whilst I laxed back to the Blues, I pondered that, if a definition and diagnostic symptoms of psychopathy are to be believed, the goal posts are going to have to be moved on a regular basis because psychopathy looks like the new black. Look at some of these listed traits and then tell me they aren't becoming more prominent in our youth.

Charming, eh.

PS this is a better ending

Hone your black motherfucker

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

Once upon a time, we had golliwogs. They were cool. We knew they represented a part of the human population and were held in the hearts of kids everywhere with fondness and affection. One day, someone decided that golliwog was racist and the next thing you know, poof! they weren't allowed in childcare centres, kindergartens, story books and you couldn't buy one in the shops. I don't think you can, even now.

Words like nigger and golliwog became signs of racism and were quickly expunged from the vocabulary of all rational-thinking society.

A bit down the line came laws about racist speech and hate speech and God help anyone who called someone a nigger, let alone a term like black motherfucker.

Last week, one of our non-pink ethnic type MPs got himself into a little spot of bother when he ditched a piece of his tax-payer funded, overseas representative meeting schedule to take a side jaunt to Paris with the missus and followed that with an email conversation with former Waitangi Tribunal director Buddy Mikaere in which showed where this particular MPs sentiments about his white skinned countrymen lie...

The email from Mikaere which drew the vitriolic response started: "Gotta ask the question eh? Who's paying for Hilda?"

The response from Harawira: "Gee Buddy, do you believe that white man bulls*** too do you?

"White motherf*****rs have been raping our lands and ripping us off for centuries, and all of a sudden you want me to play along with their puritanical bulls***."

Harawira added a postscript that he would be happy for the email to be made public: "If you want to take this to the press, go right ahead." more

Now I may be wrong, but if I can't refer to the Hones of the world as niggers or black motherfuckers, how can he get away with calling people white ones? Is that one more insidious little example so rife here of the Maori Double Standard where they want all the White Man's knowledge, his money and special rights as well? How fucking unusual! They scream about stolen land, white man's greed, and happily grow gorse and ragwort of huge tracts of Maori owned property because they are too lazy to clean it up, head into Politics and sponge off everyone with a bottle of piss in one hand and the other grasping anything not moving and then they call US white land-raping rip-off motherfuckers.

Hey Hone, go put on your grass skirt and get back to your pitiful whare on your shared ancestral scrubland and give up all the fancy toys, cars, plane rides, booze, KFC and anything else this white motherfucking race has given your "people" over the last couple of hundred years that your seem to treasure so highly and then you might just see how far Whitey brought a black motherfucker nobody called Hone Harawira.



They didn't have newspapers back then to show the world the opinion of one arsewipe Maori politician (as if anyone would have cared), but then none of them could read, anyway.

He's apologised for the email, but not the sentiments here, and you can read his pretend apology here.

Get a big one up ya Hone, you stink worse than dog shit under my shoe and the whole world knows it. I don't accept your half arsed pretend apology as anything more than what it is - hiding the bodies and wiping up the blood afterward because you fucked up big time. You're not so fucking sharp after all, are you.

##########################################

Too good not to post!

uʍop ǝpısdn

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

I watched a fantastic documentary tonight by Stephen Fry about bi-polar. It was very, very interesting, in some places very moving. Sometimes even I could empathise with Mr Fry's descriptions and I'm not bi-polar (I think it missed me). It gave insight into how one small thing can just fuck up life and turn your world uʍop ǝpısdn. Really.

It made me think about the wider implications of the out-of-warranty breakdown of other body features and the fallout; a path we are all walking in some form or another and I thought of two men whose lives have really been turned uʍop ǝpısdn, each walking the same trail, heading for the same unwelcome destination but chalking different landmarks along the way so they can find their way home.

I salute you both.

PS - Dear Mr Fry. We think you're very cool. Sincerely, Tish.
PPS - Can I have one of your overstocked PCs please? TIA.
PPS - Did I mention cool, yet?

I'm sorry but

LMAO



**pulls out a fresh tissue and dabs**

I'm baaaack

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

You missed me, eh. Come on, I know you did, don't be shy.

I have been on hiatus. That means I've been in a mental/physical/spiritual place that I didn't feel like blogging from. But the Spiritual news this week was too good to pass up (being the spiritual beastie that I be) - that Pope Bishop/King Brian I (he of the self-elevated titles and huge bonus) has just gained himself 700 virgins sons to kiss his ring and swear undying allegiance to Him. He's all upset because the backlash the media unleashed upon his Royal Bishopliness hasn't been very favourable to the Worldly One, which is hardly surprising when most of the thinking country isn't in a cult, nor are they dumb enough to see his "First Fruits as anything more than Spiritual Jam, or wet enough to think that any of this shit is normal.

Speaking of wet, that reminds me of a very old joke about two nuns sharing a bath and one says to the other "where's the soap" and the other one says "sure does". Think about it...

Michy, thanks for the shove to get my arse back here. We'll do physical health another night :0)

Wake up!

I'm back.

Now, if this comes with a dryer option, I want one ;-)

The Alternative Clothes Cleaner can also be used as a stylish and comfortable living room chair, making it a good-looking, multi-functional piece of furniture.

Snow business

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

H and her Youth Group went off to the snow at 4.30 this afternoon. Nearly five hours later they realised they were not where they were supposed to be. Someone forgot to tell the drivers that they were staying in Turangi and when H sent me a txt at 9.02, they were just leaving Taihape.

Taihape? WTF?

An hour+ further south than was desirable. In the dark; in the cold; without a clue.

Several txts back and forward discussing where they were and making sure they were indeed on Highway 1 and not National Park route and wanting to know "how long to Turangi", a Google search and a 2 phone calls later, they were confirmed to finally be heading in the right direction back up Highway 1. Last txt from H was "here nw nite love you".

A good lesson in planning a trip in daylight and pre-trip communication. Especially by the drivers. At least wasn't snowing on the Desert Rd - I'm sure she would have mentioned it.

As an aside, modern communication technologies do make some things so easy, eh. Here they are rocking on down the road at probably 80k in the dark on a strange road and the drivers don't even know where they are going and these upstanding Church Youth leaders are probably trusting God was taking care of them tonight when in reality it was Telecom, a satellite or 2 and Google courtesy of 50,000 years of Geekdom.

Geeks rock, eh.

PS - I'm back. ;0)

Where's the oinkment

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

Missed me? I missed you :-)

I got sick - a flu thing. I couldn't talk, I couldn't swallow for days. I'd drag myself out of bed and pretend to take care of business then crash back into it wishing I could stay there. I had high fevers, MS spasticity for Africa and at times couldn't walk, stand or lie down from the pain. My legs gave up along with my voice and I got a wee bit stuck one morning when the kids were asleep and I couldn't "do" for myself and needed help but couldn't get anyone's attention.

It wasn't great so I am going to get a personal alarm that will wake the dead which probably means it will wake sleeping teenagers as well.

Old people, young people, everyone still wanted a piece of the sick, middle aged person's pie and the plate came up empty.

Highlight? The sexy doc at the after hours clinic where I ended up being taken when I couldn't cope and a chest infection was looming to go with the throat infection.

Two weeks down, my anti-b's have run out, my chest infection is almost gone and I can almost talk without straining a foofoo valve but dayam, it's been a rough few weeks. I've barely even walked outside, let alone achieved any gardening.


Other selected items of importance:

Wacko Jacko snuffed it and so did Farrah Fawcett. So did lots of other people around the world, but they weren't famous so I can't tell you who they were.

Thomas has an abscess on the side of his face by his whiskers but decided doctoring wasn't required. It's almost gone. He also decided that eating at only one residence wasn't enough so has been dining in style at the neighbours before coming home for dinner and bed with Ads. Except for one night when staying by their fire was preferable to cold tootsies in the frost.

Frosts have been extreme and a pain in the bum washing ice off the car in the mornings.

I finally bought a new oven, but I haven't had a chance to get a sparkie to come and install it yet.

Best of all, I finally got to see the new Star Trek movie and it was GOOD.

At least I didn't have swine flu - I have no idea where I would have stashed all that pork.

In his own words

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

Adam came out of the kitchen tonight and said this;

"I hate cat food containers. No matter where you go in the room, the cats on them are looking at you".

I would have thought that was a good enough reason to get off his butt and put the shopping away, eh. He's right, though. I think it's a conspiracy...

4am wake up call

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

From this



to this



All I had to do was elbow him in the rib and he was all lovey dovey.

No wonder I can't get any sleep at night!

Pouring

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

It's a beautiful sunny day outside and I am sitting inside fixing the kids bloody computer. It fell over with a virus a month or so back, a nasty one and I just couldn't be bothered cleaning up the mess left behind when one of them visited something dodgy on the net and Avast let me down and didn't stop the infiltration of cyber-germ warfare. They have been forced to use the old, slooowww dual boot linux/XP box in the meantime and I finally got sick of the whining and started fixing it.

And fixing it.

And, well, you get the picture.

Their trouble free, goes and goes and goes old Compaq box just didn't want to go. I got the damn thing working fine except for a small problem of damaged components that wouldn't open ports to the outside world - ie no internet. It wouldn't let me repair them. Replacing them didn't work. I couldn't restore their disk image because Ghost couldn't read the hard disk.

It wouldn't even let me reinstall XP. Bastard thing.

So I took the hint that their main drive isn't a happy camper, stripped it back to the chassis and rearranged all their hardware, cleaned every nook and cranny of it, replaced all the proprietory Compaq screws that only a butter knife will undo with proper screws, replaced the CD writer with a DVD writer, put another spare hard drive in as a master drive and now, finally, it is installing XP like a good little computer on one partition of the drive.

Then all I have to do is move the data on partition #2 to another drive, format it, repartition the disk to be full size minus a small pagefile partition and reinstall all their multitude of games and apps and God knows what else.

A couple of days pissing about will have cured the whining, whilst the fighting over whose turn it is on the PC will crank up again.

A girl just can't win.

I think I'll go hide in my room and write a shopping list - it's time to replace my nearly 6 year old generic PC with a new, built by me jobbie and consign this one to being a movie and music network media server tucked away under my desk and thus free up a shit load of hard drive space on all the machines.

All I gotta do is figure out how to pay for the components... and not fuck it up during construction!

Plumb going dry

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

I haven't done anything at all interesting in the past week. The gas hot water tank shat itself and we had no hot water for over a week, so we all got to see the inside of a few of other people's bathrooms whilst begging ablution facilities from those who did have hot water. The best part of 2 grand later, our new hot water tank was fitted and all nice and hot (well, what's the point of cold, hmmm?) when the greater pressure of the new system blew the hot tap fitting apart in the top floor "kitchen". Then all the water had to be turned off and the mess mopped up.

Currently, that fitting is plugged off while we make a few modifications to the existing pipes and fit some new hardware up there, making it more practically usable in the long term. This means we finally have the freedom (yes that's what it feels like after so long) to stand nekkid in a hot shower and luxuriate in hot water for as long as one wants. I didn't realise how much I loved a nice hot shower until I couldn't have one on demand.

Tonight, I made a yummy chicken curry with poppadoms for dinner. Not a bit of it was left over and everyone cleaned their plates with gusto.

Two hours later, I was emptying my stomach regularly for an hour or so with much greater gusto when something in the dinner (I'm picking it's the poppadoms) disagreed with my cast iron constitution and finally sent me crawling into bed with a basin, moaning and groaning like the broken arsed sad thing I was at the time. Hours later, I don't feel sick any more but I feel damned delicate and in need of pampering and coffee. Seeing as how the kids had all gone to bed by the time I woke up, I've made my own coffee and gone without the personal pampering a good coffee-making child can give.

Oh, such a sad existence. I've gone right off poppadoms after only one taste. Thank the Goddess, Ads is on exam week so isn't off to school at sparrow's fart in the cold every day and I can have a few sleep ins. All this stress just knocks me flat.

Burning desire

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

The snails are at it again, bonking that is and Mrs S has laid a third lot of eggs. God help us.

The butternuts are about ripe; the gardens are almost weeded and pruned; the bath just needs some black polythene, rocks and water to transform into a pond and some fish to make it a fish pond. The gas hot water cylinder is on strike; the mongrel fucking neighbours on the next section over cut our macadamia tree off without asking everyone; there are few MS'y things I'm attempting to come to terms with and I'm not Happy.

I'm not any of the other six dwarves, either, but H could be when she slouches. We don't call her our Evil Little Circus Midget because she looks good in bright colours, you know - we call her that because she's Grumpy.

Being short was just a bonus.

Sticky

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

I'm going to be a Nana.

I don't quite know when because the mother-to-be hasn't told me and indeed, doesn't even know nor care herself and you know how there is never any definite date for these little occurrences because babies usually arrive when they are ready, but I have to say I'm not particularly surprised given the amount of time they have been spending joined at the proverbial pelvis.

Anyway, here is a pic



That's my babies, there in that pinky thing stuck on the glass. There is another one just like it stuck to the glass 8 inches away from that one and some time in the next 2-4 weeks they will hatch out, drop into the tank and either get gobbled up by the waiting guppies or start growing.

I'm not quite sure what I am going to do with tons of baby apple/mystery snails... and no, eating them is not an option.

Watch the S car go.

**pulls out a fresh tissue, wipes**

They have hardly stopped fucking, today. Or is that, they have hardly fucking stopped, today.

Either way, I'm think a short, but potentially sweet life could be had as a snail next time around. Beats the hell out of being a fat, desexed and pampered cat, which is what I was planning.

Just...

The only difference is the pampering, you realise, and I'll have to find a way to handle getting wet.

Getting screwed

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

I bought a couple of golden apple snails for the fish tank last weekend. I just wanted something a little more interesting than a guppy to look at, you know? But they are cool and sprint around the tank on their feet, doing all sorts of strange things. We've had the little brown snails in there for ages but they are really boring despite their prolific breeding.

I'd never really thought about sexy snails and what they do to get their funk on, but sort of thought baby golden snails would be nice. A bit of Googling suggested, not being hermaphrodites they needed a Mummy and a Daddy snail to perform snail intercourse to fertilise a bunch of eggs to be laid on the glass above the water line. I knew about the eggs - the Mystery snails used to leave them all over Mum's big tropical stock plant tanks back in my fish farm-teenagehood, dotting the concrete like crispy, pink berry fruits. But I was ignorant of their reproductive necessities.

Our snails have filled in every possible visual blank imaginable - Snail Sex 101



They fuck for over an hour a day. Every day.

Who would have thought snails had it so good, eh?

Cheesy

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

I haven't been feeling myself for a few weeks and spent a bit of time playing with Facebook applications instead of blogging boringly if methodically without motivation.

If you are already on Facebook, you will know about applications and if you aren't, you probably don't give a shit anyway, but these little gems are fun. Why, just this past week, they have managed to point out what sort of Dwarf I would have been -



Grumpy. Lack of excrement.



What sort of brain I have -



Fence-sitter.



How smart I am -



*cocks one eyebrow"


Where I should live -




I don't think so, Tim.


What book character I should have been (like wtf??)



um...


Then I found proof I was sane



*does a little dance*


and rounded it out with a really big woodpecker.




Because I could.

PS - Oh and my eyes are fine, just a little optic hypertension creeping in but I've buggered my shoulder replacing the chain that broke on the swing seat under me and Ads the other day.

It was very funny at the time :0)

Dork

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

I was sitting out in the Bahama Hut a few minutes ago thinking how pleasant it was out there at 11pm with the night sounds being blown around by the wind and the gentle cracking of the possum crashing around in the bamboo and I got to thinking, as you do, what the Hell is so fascinating about a clump of bamboo when it has no fruit on it? Why live in a barren waste just to trot across to the neighbours to nosh on their avocados? Why not live in the avocado tree at the neighbours? Cos, like, I was stuck in that bamboo for fully 5 minutes the other day and I can quite confidently say, I didn't see anything exciting about it at all.

Of course, this not seeing might be because my eyes are a bit naff, that ridge of high pressure invading my eyeballs that I was yapping about a few weeks back but it's more likely that the possum is just a dork...


Dork - slang for penis, amongst other things. Sometimes an affectionate nickname, sometimes spat out in frustration. But I bet this takes the cake for Dorkdom. It came to me in my mail (thanks, Shane) and just goes to show how big a dork someone can really be.

Dear Diary

Tomorrow I am going to see the eye specialist about the pressure in my eye balls that is much too high to be normal but has existed too long without making me go blind to be glaucoma.

It was noted in the eye man's report in 2001 when MS first came to live with me on a permanent basis.

I want my MRI, dammit.

:0(

Crochet, a dying craft?

**pulls out a fresh towel**

My Nana didn't knit or crochet, but if she had, I don't think they would have looked like these...



This is my, er, favourite. I think.



Certainly something a little different to give that beloved new grand child, eh.

PS - spot what's wrong with the co-joined teddies...

Lookalikes

**pulls out a fresh tissue**

Our old girl had her birthday the other day - Nushie is 9, definitely a graceful old lady.



Looking at her, I got to thinking how right that old saying might be, the one so many people have trotted out and giggled at in the years we have been the owners of a mighty Shar Pei.

"Dogs look like their owners".

Oh I just laugh and laugh every time someone (usually the same friend) trots that one out but maybe they have seen a truth I missed until tonight - we do have some resemblances...

• She is short. So am I.
• She a natural brunette. So am I (underneath whatever dye I'm wearing, anyway).
• She is stiff and sore after lying or sitting down, so am I.
• She's as ugly as sin to those who value outward appearance over worth, and so am I.
• She is old and wrinkled, need of a face lift and mostly taken for granted. So am I.
• She is resigned to spending her days in useless sleepy boredom and so am I (almost).
• We both like riding in the car, we both have trouble getting to the loo in time, we both have a facial hair problem and we've both been spayed. 

• Best of all, we both get told to move our fat arse.

And what more could a fat, old bitch want on her birthday than scones, cake, pikelets with jam and 3 rides in the car.

Speaking of middle age, I thought sex in the Middle Ages was Nookie in the Norty Forties, but it looks like I was wrong...