Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Elections are three years away and labour voters have worse memories than his. Those making the fuss won't vote liarbour, so are of no concern.
The only real issue is of lying in the house and we have all been well-conditioned to believe that is the normal behaviour there, in any case!
Of course it's fun to put the boot into such a worthy target, but this is distracting us from the bigger picture.
Liarbour DON'T CARE WHAT WE THINK. WHY SHOULD THEY?- their supporters vote blindly and why try to appeal to those who despise them and always will? Especially this far out from an election.
Of course, they wouldn't want DBP out if he had been selling P and wearing a gimp suit, if that would cause a by-election! They can't rish a resignation, so it's denial all the way- Helen says HE STAYS! And what Helen wants, Helen gets.
It's all about the big picture. Keeping control- staying in power.
Think about how you are going to fuck up your offspring worse than you ever would with a jug cord, when you name them 'Butterfly' , 'Holden' or 'Peace'
If you have to do this, do it in an obscure language.
Unfortunate initials are another consideration. Vivian Donald is going to get a very hard time. The one I knew as a kid did!
Other kids are cruel. Very Cruel...
What is it with these anyway?
Keep you own name or take a married name- the husbands! The same with your offspring.
Don't inflict them with this double-barreled pretentious compromise bullshit!
This used to be the domain of inbred upper-class prats. They at least had the excuse of congenital idiocy.
What's going to happen when your offspring start spawning?- four friggin' surnames?
Grow a backbone and be proud of :
(a) your name
(b) your husbands
Monday, February 27, 2006
"I'm just crazy about them gals!!!"
Seriously though- the line 'I have girls at home the same age' doen't cut it- in fact that in itself is quite sinister.
All the parents I know just wouldn't burst in on their teenage girls bedrooms or bathooms- they know that girls that age are especially sensitive about their privacy!
You just don't do it!
In our politically correct school system, It would be a burning at the stake offense.
The teflon always wears off the pan, eventually...
Sunday, February 26, 2006
An admirable dream, but a dream, neverless!
It may have been done before- they didn't have modern earthmoving equipment, but they didn't have the RMA either
Saturday, February 25, 2006
It doesn't seem so bad when you live there, but when you move, you realise what a possum-brained bunch they are down there! The place is only a bigger version of Masterton and the local hillbillys have learned to wear shoes (on acount of the frosts!)
Incidently, this site gets more hits from either Guam, Luxemburg or Japan than the whole South Island.
HOW MANY CHRISTCHURCH SCHOOL STUDENTS DOES IT TAKE TO CHANGE A LIGHT BULB?
Rangi Ruru - One. She holds the bulb and the world revolves around her.
Hornby High - Two. One to change the bulb and one to figure out how to
get high off the old one.
St Bedes - None. They're all too drunk to notice and even when they're
sober if they spot a hole they just put their willy in it.
Girls High - One. She'll put through a call to maintenance staff because
there's no way she's going to do manual labour.
Hillmorton - None. That place looks better in the dark.
Riccarton - Six. One to change it but only after the other five have
found an interpreter to translate the English instructions.
Burnside High - Seventy six. One to change the globe. Fifty to protest
the globe's right not to change and twenty five to stage a counter
Christ's College - None. Those poor bastards are keeping their backs to
the wall even if it means standing in the dark. "If you can't get a
girl, get a Christ's boy".
Avonside - Five. One to change it, two to make sure her hair ribbons are
still in place and another two to make sure her bag looks cool at all
Linwood High - Six. Four to break into the store, one to steal the globe
and one to install it.
Villa Maria - None. It is too unsafe for pregnant girls to attempt such
a dangerous task.
Papanui High - 10. One to change the bulb. One to call their dealer and
eight to have a session why they wait.
Aranui High - None. Everything not welded down had been flogged long
Hagley - None. Everyone is either suspended or bunking (including the
Boys High - Two, one to change the bulb and one to make the observation
that it isn't half as bright as the light shining from their arses.
Marian - None. They only have to give head to the Shirley boys and it's
done for them.
Rangiora High - None. Electricity has yet to make it out that far.
St Thomas's - Four. One to change the bulb, three to count how many
times he mentions rugby and f^$%king someones mother.
St Margarets - None. The Butler can do it.
Cashmere High - None. They really can't be bothered, and there's
surfing to be done.
Lincoln High - three - one to change it and two to hold the sheep still
so he can stand on it.
Shirley Boys - None. They're too busy covertly breaking the bulbs over
at Marian so they can get head.
Rudolph Steiner - Orange. No, look, orange! Stop trying to impose
your stupid majoritarian lightbulb dogma on me, you fascist!
Friday, February 24, 2006
Thursday, February 23, 2006
by Col. B. B. Wakenham-Paish M. C., O.B.E.
A Lucky Escape
The next day I decided to take my usual pre-breakfast 'stroll', as I used to call it, into the majambi, or jungle, to see if I could catch sight of the very rare 'Chukawati Bati' or Bird of Purgatory, which 'Trusty' as we all called our faithful native ghabi or guide had reported seeing the previous latbani (evening) while we were looking for Harry's leg.
I had only been 'strolling' along the majambi (jungle) ortobam (path) for a few minutes when I became aware of a large and rather fierce fritbangowonkabmaki, or lion, which was standing partially hidden in the pteee, or clearing. I had strayed so close to him, absorbed as I was in my ornithological questi (quest) that when the splendid old thing opened its massive goti (jaws) to roar, revealing as fine a womba, or set, of teeth as I have seen in an adult male, each one as bewapsiptoof (sharp) as a Welshman's head, I could, without so much as leaning forward, have taken his magnificent uvula in my left hand. Taking advantage of my good luck, I did so, tweaked it hard, an old English colonial officer's granwi, or trick. The lion was rather bemused by my ploy, and so I was able to get in a couple of good straight lefts, keeping my guard well up, to his upper palate and follow them with a cracking good right cross, moving my weight into the punch (as old 'Buffy' Spalding had taught me so many years ago, prior to the needle match against Uppington when 'Spindly' Crabber got up off the floor six times so pluckily only just to fail to win the draw which would have halved the batwel or match), right into my opponent's mane. Then dancing back a couple of paces, I weaved about causing fritbangowonkabmaki to miss wildly with his crude haymakers while I notched up a few useful points with my left strati, or hand, and I soon found that by this simple strategy of keeping him from getting,in close, where his mighty jaws could have done a lot of nagasaki, or damage, I could pick him off pretty much at leisure, In fact it was only after some twenti (20) minutes, by which time I was well in rogambi (front), that, after a particularly nifty sidestep, I happened to glance around the clearing only to discover that our contest was now being watched by a circle of some fifteen odd of fritbangowonkabwaki’s chums, some of whom were already beginning to edge forward, manes bristling and teeth akimbo, towards our good selves. It was the work of a moment to divine from their magnificent expressions that they were taking a decidedly partisan attitude to our match, and that they would have few qualms about joining in on my opponent's side if necessary; and so, judging that, if they did, they would eventually subdue me by sheer weight of numbers, I took the better part of valour, and feinting away from another of fritbangowonkabwaki's wild rushes, I got in a parting short jab to the base of his tail (not a blow I was proud of although it put him down for several minutes, but which I felt was excused by the exigencies of the situation, due, after all, to the unsporting behaviour of his colleagues in the first place) before springing upwards towards a lowly hanging branch of an enormous bwinda tree (a species related distantly to our own Elm (elm), but easily distinguishable by its broad unevenly veined leaf with its characteristic cheetah's paw shape, and the peculiar purple-ochre colour of the outer leaves of its gimbi, or buds), some fifteen feet above my head. I had leapt not a moment too soon, for, although I had gained a firm grasp upon the handy branch, two of fritbangowonkabwaki's pals, leaping with me, had each seized one of my trusty boots in their jaws whilst a third had succeeded in firmly embedding his fangs (teeth) in the seat of my pants, albeit not in my sit-upon itself but in the surrounding material thereof. What a strange sight I must have made, hanging unshaven from the branch with three enormous lions attached to me! It was not, indeed, without difficulty that I pulled myself up until I could take the branch in my mouth, thus freeing my hands for the more important work of detaching the determined trio, whose bites, however, proved to be so woki, or vice-like, that I eventually decided, not without regret, that it was only by actually abandoning the relevant apparel that I could free myself of their attentions.
Unlacing a jungle boot while hanging by one's teeth from a tree with three angry lions attached is not as easy as it might seem, when the lions concerned companions beneath, but eventually it was done, and right boot and lion plummeted back into the clearing, followed rapidly by their opposite numbers, With the vastly reduced load the shorts were a formality and in a trice I was seated comfortably on the branch looking down at the enraged horde beneath, who by now, incidentally, must have numbered well over a hundred. I must say they were making a truly memorable din (shindy). However, I was feeling distinctly peckish by now, and so doffing my sola topi rather humorously in their direction I turned for home and breakfast, hoping fritbangowonkabwaki and company would lose interest in me if I stuck to the trees for the first couple of miles. Another old trick, or granwi. Imagine my surprise, when I discovered sitting next to me on the branch, blocking my path, one of the largest yumbotos (Congolese gorillas) I have ever set eyes on, and I've seen a few in my time, including one old female at Chukambara, or New Bolton, who, in fit of pique (rage) brought on by being struck by lightning, tore an anvil in half much to everyone's surprise. It is said that his extraordinary strength, allied to his almost legendary short temper, makes yumboto the most feared creature in the whole of Africa, although many claim they will never attack a man unless he comes within three miles of them. Well, this fellow was certainly a magnificent specimen, with forearms as thick as a poti's nangatwami, or sitpu, and judging from the malevolent expression upon his face bad tempered to a fault. I handed him my topi, as a gesture of friendship, but he merely started poking holes in the crown of it with his index finger while looking at me in what seemed to be a deliberately significant way. With the lions below, this chap barring my way, and no other branch within leaping distance, I decided there was nothing for it but to sit tight and hope that something would turn up, but before I could put this plan into operation yumboto started edging towards me, and reaching for my head. I backed warily away towards the end of the branch, which served only to infuriate him further; the reason for which I soon discovered, when I bumped into a second gorilla, who had obviously been sitting between me and the end of the branch throughout, and who was equally obviously my pursuers mate (wife). In a flash it became clear to me that he had interpreted my sudden arrival between them as an attempt to infringe their relationship, and my subsequent retreat from him as the first step in my campaign to win her favours. What an amusing notion! Time was running short, however, and so I formulated a ruse. If I could persuade the jealous husband to rush the last few inches towards me, it was possible that the branch would snap under our combined weight and activity and that I would then use the split second before we fell to employ him as a kind of vaulting horse, executing the simple half somersault 'Buffy' Spalding had taught me all those years ago, to gain the branch beyond him and above the point where it would probably break. I could then return to breakfast unhindered, as my erstwhile companions would be forced to continue their quarrel with fritbangowonkabwaki and his chums beneath, So I turned to yumboto's mate, slapped her bottom in a lewd sort of way, and planted a kiss full on her lips. This produced the required rush from yumboto, the branch snapped and everything went according to plan. As I made my way back to camp through the trees some otwanibokotwikatanafryingpanibwanabotomafekazami (five) minutes later I noticed to my surprise on the majambi, or stakawi, or chittamba, or jungle path below me not only the sixty or seventy lions who had been following me since I'd left the vicinity of the clearing, but also, hurrying along in the middle of this group, and peering constantly up at me, none other than yumboto's mate! From this I was able to glean that far from scrapping among themselves as I had hoped, fritbangowonkabwaki's pals and my gorillas had joined forces and were now pursuing me, as it were, hand in glove. At that moment I heard a sound behind me and, turning, I spotted, swinging through the trees towards me, yumboto and thirty or forty of the more agile lions. As luck would have it, I was at that moment within half a mile of the Wananga River and so I set off at full speed in its direction, reasoning that if I could find a convenient creeper straddling its surging waters I could reach the far bank, thus making further pursuit more difficult. I had a head start and managed by brachiating, to hold my lead all the way to the river, where, to my delight, I spotted a solitary creeper suspended from a tree just upstream, across the cascading torrent, to the forest the other side. Ideal! Once I had crossed, I could destroy the only method of doing so, and complete my 'stroll' on foot. It was the work of a moment to gain the tree whence my creeper hung and soon I was well on my way towards the far bank, admiring the magnificent view of the raging Wananga directly beneath. Indeed I was not halfway across before I began to realise that my 'creeper' was not all it might be, and looking towards the far end of it I was astonished to see, staring back at me from a wak-wak tree, the unmistakable square head, yellow-green criss-cross markings and fearful fangs of an anaconda! I will admit I was astounded! An anaconda in Africa! How it could ever have found its way there from the banks of the Amazon, let alone why it should have been asleep in this strange position, I shall never know but as I soon confirmed from the characteristic heptagonal scales and the suffused neutral colouring I was grasping an anaconda it was, and one that clearly took exception to being demoted to viaduct. So with one mighty flick of its rippling body, I was sent spinning where I had to dodge a passing eagle, high, high up into the air, before being able to plunge downwards into the waiting maelstrom (river). I had already surmised that my new surroundings would pose a different problem, for the Wananga is notorious both for the quantity of its hippopotamus and crocodile, and also for the degree of rancour with which these two species regard the human race, and sure enough, on surfacing, I saw the huge shapes of the former setting off towards me from their station upstream, while several thousand of the latter bore down on me from the other direction; so I struck out for the shore with a fast crawl and must have gone some fifty yards before I came up for my first breath, quite against old Algy Bartlett's sound advice to breathe regularly and look where you're going no matter what stage the race is at, which I forgot so disastrously in the three cornered match against Oundle and Haileybury when, after being almost ten yards up after eight lengths, I got so tangled up in the ropes separating the lanes that in the end I had to be content with fourth place and a solitary point. Anyway I paid for ignoring Algy's guidance because, when I surfaced only some ten feet from the shore, with the crocs and hippos hot on my heels, I found myself to my disappointment, confronted by a line of gorillas and lions at the water's edge, yumboto and fritbangowonkabwaki well to the fore. In the excitement I had struck out for the wrong bank! What a pickle to put myself in! Still I had to make the best of a bad job, so I swam straight at the nearest crocodile, waited until he opened his enormous jaws and then quick as a flash spurted forward and, snatching a full lungful of air, hurled myself into his mouth, pulling the jaws shut after me, and scrambled down his throat, while he was still surprised, to the relative safety of his stomach, where I stayed, holding my breath, until I guessed the coast was clear. Then gambling all on a quick getaway, I worked my way back up his thorax and started insistently tickling the back of his throat. I did not have long to wait, for the jaws opened suddenly and I was hurled out into the light of day by the force of the mightiest cough I have ever experienced at such close quarters, right onto the bank of the river, believe it or not about 10 (ten) yards from the point where the rest of the fellows were just tucking into their devilled kidneys. I must say they were pretty amused to see me appear from a nearby crocodile without my shorts, but I took their jesting in good part and rejoined them to salvage what I could from the pan of kidneys. It may seem that I have rather padded out a commonplace enough tale, but the real reason that I have recounted my adventure in perhaps rather unnecessary detail is that exactly the same thing happened to my wife the very next day.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Squadron-Leader Bigglesworth walked purposefully across the tarmac. It was a cold, grey, November morning, and the mist was drifting across the desolate airfield. Biggles clambered onto the wing of the waiting Jupiter and lowered himself into the cockpit.
"Weather looks dicey," observed Ginger drily. "The sooner we get off the better," murmured Algy, "I'd rather see this bally fog from topsides." "Shut up, the pair of you," snapped Biggles, "and hand me the substances." "Oh, you're not going to smoke, are you Biggles?" queried Algy. "It's such a bally awful smell," added Ginger ruefully.
Biggles took some resin from the First-Aid box, and working away with his pen-knife, soon had enough to fill a generous joint. He lit up briskly, and slam-ming the Jupiter into full throttle, taxied into the drifting mist, through the hangar, the W.A.A.F. Canteen, a car park, a Social Centre, a model agency and an art-book publisher's delivery depot. Suddenly he was airborne.
Algy breathed a sigh of relief and eased himself out of the co-pilot's seat. "Oh, it's so hot in here," Algy declared evenly. He began to unzip his flying jacket and soon stood naked in the faint glow of the altimeter. Ginger blushed hotly. Algy returned his blush curtly. Biggles also turned red and blushed and threw the twin-engined Jupiter into a tight turn over the airfield. "Does my body offend you, Biggles?" queried Algy sharply. Biggles said nothing. His drug-ravaged features showed no glimmer of emotion. His lips were set, his dilated pupils looked neither to right nor left, his hands gripped the joystick.
Suddenly out of the clouds, directly ahead of them, Ginger glimpsed the red flash of the Heinkel fighter. "Look it's von Richthofen," he cried excitedly. "Get your clothes on, Algy," murmured Biggles curtly. "Shan't," returned Algy, teasingly "He's coming at us out of the sun!" yelled Ginger anxiously. "Put your bloody trousers on, Algy," repeated Biggles grimly. But it was too late, von Richthofen came nearer and nearer. Soon he was in the cockpit.
"My God we're done for," screamed Ginger. "Aha! all ready are vee!" shouted von Richthofen, tearing off his flying suit. Soon the little Jupiter monoplane powered by two 770 h.p. Cyclone engines was rocking from side to side, as the dastardly German wreaked his awful revenge on the drug-crazed British lads. .
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
The guy is one of a few effective parliamentarians- he punches well over his weight.
I know him personally- not that well, but I worked with him for a couple of years and I wish there were a platoon or more like him in government!
I might not agree with all of his issues, but he hates liarbour and the sisterhood with a passion and that's good enough for me. He does a lot of good work behind the scenes, form the few stories I have heard.
When I smear the integrity of parliamentarians- I don't mean you, Ron- you know what integrity is!
We have an upsurge of this in town, at the moment. In a small town, it's not hard to know who did it and we do.
The police would love to throw them in the brig, but of course the little darlings are to young to know what they are doing.
Heaven forbid that their doting 'parents' should take any responsibility!
These ferals are the first to complain that 'there is nothing to do' about town.
Most of the kids I know are busy from sunup to sundown with a variety of activities- sport, clubs, schoolwork and amusing themselves with activity (and noise!) as well-balanced kids, with good parents do.
A spell in the stocks is what is called for. If they continue- tar and feathers!
This certainly is the case when looking at the Building Act 2004 regarding Certificates of Compliance...
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Let's see a picture on all the blogs- your workspace!
(unless- you are doing it at work!)
My tracking software tells me a couple of naughty public servants read my blog at work!- you know who you are (I won't tell Helen - send the money to...)
Saturday, February 18, 2006
Albert Jay Nock
Friday, February 17, 2006
Having been asked for budgeting advice, I now deliver!
This is all stuff I live by (or have lived by)- it's real, it works, it's not theory.
Read all the supermarket mailers. Go to several, only buying the cheapest stuff at each. Know the prices of your staples!
Only buy food (especially meat) when it is on special.
Never shop before a meal.
Buy wholesale. Especially cleaning products.
Use the freezer to store seasonal and really good bargins.
Shop at flea markets and second-hand shops for clothes.
More clothing on is cheaper than heating. Blankets keep you warm when watching TV, blogging, etc.
Firewood can be found on roadsides, parks, beaches and can be easily cut up with a $10 saw.
Shop at the place with the fugliest people- they tend to be the cheapest, for some strange reason.
Make your own beer/wine spirits.
DON'T get SKY!!!
Newspapers can be read in the library.
Librarys are warm in the winter- read until they close, then go home to bed.
Boil a full kettle, then fill a thermos.
Horsemeat is makes a good curry!
Growing veges is fun, but not often cost-effective.
DON'T buy takeaways.
Don't buy processed food.
About seven cigarette butts make one roll-up (OK- I don't do this!)
Walk or cycle.
People with fruit trees will usually give away fruit, if asked- especially if you use the fruit to make something and give them some! (I trade lemons for lemon cordial)
Keep telling yourself you have no money to spend.
Buy an Edmonds cookbook.
Most appliances are not needed. (who really needs a wafflemaker!)
I woke up early, feeling depressed because it was my birthday, and I thought, "I'm another year older," but decided to make the best of it. So, I showered and shaved, knowing when I went down to breakfast my wife would greet me with a big kiss and say, "Happy birthday, dear."
All smiles, I went into breakfast, and there sat my wife reading her newspaper, as usual. She didn't say one word. So, I got myself a cup of coffee, made some toast, and thought to myself, "Oh, well, she forgot. The kids will be down in a few minutes, smiling and happy, and they will sing 'Happy Birthday' and have a nice gift for me."
There I sat, enjoying my coffee, and I waited. Finally, the kids came running into the kitchen, yelling, "Give me a slice of toast! I'm late! Where is my coat? I'm going to miss the bus!" Feeling more depressed than ever, I left for the office.
When I walked into the office, my secretary greeted me with a great big smile and a cheerful, "Happy birthday, Boss." She then asked if she could get me some coffee. Her remembering my birthday made me feel a whole lot better.
Later in the morning, my secretary knocked on my office door and said, "Since it's your birthday, why don't we have lunch together?" Thinking it would make me feel better, I said, "That's a good idea."
So, we locked up the office, and since it was my birthday, I said, "Why don't we drive out of town and have lunch in the country instead of going to the usual place?" So, we drove out of town, and went to a little out-of-the-way inn, and had a couple of martinis and a nice lunch.
We started driving back to town, when my secretary said, "Why don't we go to my place, and I will fix you another martini?" It sounded like a good idea, since we didn't have much to do in the office.
So, we went to her apartment, and she fixed us some martinis. After a while, she said, "If you will excuse me, I think I will slip into something more comfortable," and she left the room.
In a few minutes, she opened her bedroom door and came out carrying a big birthday cake. Following her were my wife and all my kids.
And there I sat with nothing on but my socks.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
"...We have left out the cost of High Court cases, of which there were 394 jury cases and 972 appeals. These tend to cost even more. Now, given that assault cases generally result in jury trials (an assumption supported by the fact that there were 2317 cases involving violence resulting in prison sentences in 1998), we now have court costs of $14,600 for the two assaults.
If we were to assume that the burglary merely results in what is called in the Report a "criminal summary jurisdiction - police information", of which there were 269,330 in the period 1998/1999, at a cost of $33,048,000, this gives a court cost of $122 (probably a lot more than that in reality too). Add this to the court cost figure of $14,600 above, and we arrive at say a round figure of $14,700. Add to this the cost to the victims of $29,488, and suddenly this offender has already cost us over $44,000 to release per year.
Add now to this the cost of a benefit. Realistically, it is extremely unlikely that such an offender will be in paid employment, as overall only 35.2% of offenders cited paid employment as their source of income prior to entering prison (12). It would be reasonable to assume that the odds would be even lower for the average repeat violent offender. Given that the average benefit will be roughly $200 per week, this makes another $10,000 per year our hypothetical scumbag is costing the taxpayer.
We are now up to $54,000 per year give or take. Add now the cost of probation for which we could not find a cost figure but assume that it will be the same as that for periodic detention, $2325 per year (13) and we are over $56,000. Hmmm.... where did our "savings" from not putting this lowlife in prison get to I wonder...?
This is a purely hypothetical case, but demonstrates a point. Imprisonment is expensive, but it is still cheaper than all the alternatives, at least for repeat violent offenders. Our hypothetical scumbag is moreover in the lower range of offending and will be close to the crossover point on the graph. Now take a look at that table of costs to victims above, and work out the outcomes where just one rape is involved. The cost to just one victim outweighs the cost of a years' imprisonment, without factoring in any of the other costs..."
Much more Here
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Prison IS a shithole.
Prison is full of Lowlife, of the worst kind.
Prison is a lack of freedom of movement, association and choice.
Prison is drab monotony.
Prison life is violent, dangerous and confrontational.
It smells bad, is full of lowlife who smell bad and is unpleasant in every way.
There is a popular myth that prison is a holiday camp. Apart from a few special programs, where it is on a par with a 2 star motel, the nearest it gets to a holiday camp, is like one of those British 1950's hell-holes. Without beer.
I would rather be hung than serve a life sentence, even in a NZ prison.
But that's me and probably you, the reader. You know this.
Imagine that TV drama (and I stress the word DRAMA) 'Bad girls'. That ain't prison! The reality is far more drab, the players much more apathetic, stupid, drug-addled and vicious- and each show contains about a year's worth of real-time drama.
SO you wouldn't want to go there- why do habitual criminals? I must stress I'm not talking about guys who made one dumb choice, that went wrong big-time
There are a few reasons- often it's a combination:
Stupidity- a total failure to consider consequeces of actions.
Insanity- see above.
Then the big one:
Laziness- This also is an aversion to responsibility. In prison, you need make no hard decisions. You are told what to do and when. There are no bills to pay, pay to earn, shopping to do, lawns to mow, children to raise, deadlines to meet. Prison is a refuge from the rigours of the modern world. It's not like these sloths want to live in prison all their lives, but after a few months or years of stealing, drug abuse, living rough- they know they can come back in for a rest.
Prison is the next step down from Welfare for the dregs of society. They know they can't fall all the way down, as the safety net is there.
For these types, prison just isn't so bad. Sex is different and the drugs cost more. But they are sheltered from the harsh realities of life that we cope with. Like meeting your obligations.
But how to break this cycle?
The answer is simple.
WORK. Long hours of hard, dirty work, every day- rain or shine.
Forget the bullshit programs to make scrotes 'address their offending'. Unless they are insane or mentally retarded, they know they have done wrong. If they fit theose catagories, they shouldn't be in prison, anyway.
Work them. Have them turn wheels and treadmills to generate electricity. Have them sort rubbish for recycleables. Have them break big rocks into little rocks. Work them in the fields and work them in chain gangs.
Work them without tea, coffee or tobacco. Work them so that after a shower, they fall asleep from their exertions, too tired for TV or misbehaving.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
With a few provisos, the idea has merit.
As Sensible Sentencing have stated, this should not be an option for violent or sex offenders.
It should be for first offenders.
It should be for short sentences OR during the parole phase of a long sentence. That is, instead of of sentence-release on parole, it should work closed prison- open prison- parole. The open prison period being served in what is now parole time (or part of)
I have been studying the Finnish system and it does haver its merits. Points that bear remembering are:
That this system has been around for over fifty years.Changes don't happen overnight.
Finns are not NZ'rs.
They are not as 'soft' as may be first percieved. For instance, prisons have access to firearms- something unheard of here!Losses of privilages are more severe than here- in duration and the fact that they have more to lose.
One thing I like about the Finnish model is that prisoners are expected to work and are paid market rates.
THEN, deductions are made for board, child support, etc and they are expected to buy clothing.
This is good rehab training for crims- that they can't just blow their pay or dole on booze and drugs. RESPONSIBILITY!
If this is just to cut costs, it will fail dramatically. it has, however, the potential to work.
What chance is there that Labour would make a sucess of the scheme?
Or will they just take on-board the bits that suit them and make matters worse?
The track record does not point to optimisim...
A plug for the good people at:
Keep up the good work!
Monday, February 13, 2006
Saturday, February 11, 2006
All eight cubic metres of it.
Crushed limestone does a wonderful job of reflecting the sun's caress under your hat and right back in your face.
Back when I did such things for a living, that would have been a hour or two's work, but that was 25 years ago- when both hands worked.
One thing hasn't changed however- my reaction to idle smartarses who point out that it is far too hot to be doing such work.
The urge to wrap a fucking square-mouth shovel around their face!
Friday, February 10, 2006
The body of a baby boy discovered by police last night was confirmed on Thursday as being that of six-month-old Troy Simpson, who vanished from his home in central England earlier this week.
A West Midlands Police spokeswoman said the child's identity had been established although results from a post-mortem to determine how he died were not yet known.
His body was discovered in a ditch not far from his home in Smethwick, near Birmingham late on Wednesday following a police hunt after he was reported missing on Tuesday morning.
He had been put to bed by his grandmother on Monday night.
Four people were arrested on Wednesday and are being questioned in connection with the death.
I happen across a story such as this and wonder at those who look down at us who call for hash sentencing and Spartan conditions for criminals.
You know the sort- they defend the criminal, shifting the blame to everybody and everything but the person who committed the act. Then in the typical leftie tactic, they attack the character of those who cry for fitting punishment.
I say it is totally understandable for folks to howl for blood in the type of case presented above. Before the apologists start about 'lynch mobs', I'm talking about after a trial and conviction. Most people believe in hanging them AFTER the 'guilty' verdict!
In crimes against those most vulnerable and defenseless, I find a desire to severely punish (not rehabilitate-PUNISH) the offenders to be a natural emotion and part of our survival 'programming'.
In primitive times, slaying the beast that took a child won't help that child, but may save another, in the future. Anger and rage are harnessed to enable us to deal with a frightening and dangerous threat.
I don't know the details of what happened above, but it is the sort of event that sparks strong, deep emotions in people, especially those with small children. While extremely rare, it is every parents nightmare. In our modern world, we have slain most of the animals that would take a child, but still have the most dangerous predator at large.
Let logic and reason determine the innocence or guilt and the emotions determine the consequences!
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Emergency medicine undoing Dawrwinian selection.
I finally found something nastier than the dreaded Goatsee! A link to the extreme use of a urethral vibrator. These pictures are linked and have the appropriate warning.
This is a BIG site and you will have to find it yourself. You can't help yourselves, can you ;-)
Anyone who has been involved in Emergency work knows that truth is MUCH stranger than fiction!
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Taking it at face value, the policies appear to work.
But would it work in New Zealand? I don't know Finland and have only meet a few Finns, but I'm picking their culture is not like ours. I'm thinking the Finnish crims are the bottom end of a fairly homogeneous society and are not too far removed from Joe Average. Unlike here, where most come from a distinctive lowlife underclass.
What I do know is that the current crop of NZ's criminals would only abuse such a softly-softly approach. They do not understand the carrot, only the stick. Kindness equates to weakness and the weak are to be stood over.
I would like to know more about how and why this works in Finland.
I was told it didn't go and hadn't run for at least 12 years.
I've just finished digging up bits of the garden with it!
All it needed was fuel, the spark plug cleaned and the carb. given a flush out. I will have to buy a new drive belt and a fuel line, but I guess I can live with that!
It's so old it should be in a museum! The thing is powered by a 120cc BSA engine, of all things.
I have lost count of the line trimmers, lawnmowers, chainsaws and other small engined things I have gotten for nothing or almost nothing.
People just give up when their stuff stops working.
Monday, February 06, 2006
1/2 flush toilet cisterns would be one. On the face of it, it sounds good. You save water when only doing #1's!
Cool- all good for the enviroment and there is no effort involved, on the part of the user.
Shame it doesn't work. Plumbers love them- unblocking dunnies is easy money. Plus people pay them to disconnect this feature, after getting caught a couple of times.
The boy wonder that thought it up doesn't seem to have lived with a women. They use vast quantities of toilet paper to do #1's- then use 1/2 flush.
Usually it works. Sometimes it doesn't.
In this house, a Real Bloke (one too mean to pay tradesmen, until it is a real disaster) gets the big rubber plunger and fixes the bloody thing- yet again.
My old place used to block every month, at least, but I suspect the pipes have a bit more fall in this house. I have only had to unblock a couple of times.
Another great earner for plumbers are those toilet deodoriser thingies that live atop the cistern. They fall in and invariably get stuck just around the s-bend. Funny that the person with the smallest hands (the one who buys the bloody things!) never wants to put said hands around the bend! You would think six years of nappies would harden oneself towards such things!
A bit of shit is soon washed off. I can buy a lot of soap for fifty dollars.
And Vodka for being a clever/useful bastard!
Sunday, February 05, 2006
This could be the turning point where the PC acceptance of a sick and evil culture is for once and all rejected. I hope so!
About time- war is coming- the nastiest type of war there is and it will be us or them.
Islam declared it. It's time we took it seriously.
It may be too late for Europe
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Friday, February 03, 2006
The wife has discovered how to download music.
And has taken over the computer to do so. Now I have to share- something I don't like doing!
It might be time to find a second-hand laptop and retreat to the sanctuary of the garage/distillery/armoury...
Thursday, February 02, 2006
If you havent been to the big 'R' before- this site has the most graphic of nasty images. The link doesn't have any dead or dismembered bit on it.
Welcome to the wold of meth!
By JOANNA NORRIS
A Canterbury dog-food manufacturer's plan to send food to starving Kenyan orphans has sparked outrage and offence in the troubled country.
Mount Somers woman Christine Drummond cooked up a plan to send nutritional supplements to drought-stricken parts of Kenya.
Her supplement is based on a formula similar to that used for her Mighty Mix dog food.
The plan, reported in the Press last week, has met with disgust in Kenya, with Government officials branding the proposal unacceptable.
Can't be too hungry- or is it that they are, but the 'government' officials are not?
Why people stop offering to help...
They take this site on it's merits or go elsewhere. The header of my site gives clear indication of what one may expect here. I do not go to the Green's site looking for a fight. I disagree with their philosophies, but see no value in preaching my ideals to them. I leave them to their own devices.
This is a site I post on for fun, not profit. I have no need for conducting public relations exercises. This site appeals to a niche and suits them. If it upsets some, there is a 'Back' key on their browser.
On free speech- you are free to speak and I are free to tell you to go speak it elsewhere.That's a point so many miss on freedom of speech- others are not obliged to agree. Note I have not deleted any comments, before crying about freedom of speech.
If you come into my world (here) and start grinding your own axe, you may find the handle lodged where the sun don't shine!
deliberately antagonistic remarks and slurs go way beyond commenting. To compare shooters to psycho murderers for example, is deeply offensive to anyone in the shooting community. As any troll would know.
Don't expect an elegant defense of my opinions, on my part. I quit wasting my time trying to convert polarised opinions years ago. It's like teaching the proverbial pig to whistle!
My blogging reflects a SMALL SLICE OF LIFE, it is not meant to be a day in my life. I will leave that for the millions of unread blogs about cats, kids and what's on the oven cooking.
It's entertainment, with the odd bit of serious commentary thrown in, from time to time.