Friday, July 29, 2005


RSJS writes:

To quote Winnie Peters: "You don't allow preachers of anthems of hate and violence into the country to pervert minds."

…presumably as he doesn’t like competition.

If Winston was perhaps an undercover SIS agent who had spent decades under a false moustache rathe than his Shatner Turbo 2000 quiff, infiltrating the poppy-seedy underworld of Balsamic fundamentalists in New Zealand, his piffle about hydras (cribbed directly from “The Siege” and let’s face it ladies, he’s no Denzel. He’s barely a Dweezil) might have some sparkle of validation, some tiny scintilla of reality likee a glowing fart in the vacuum of space. But we know this cuntestant in the election hasn’t infiltrated much more than a well-stocked bar and the odd mince’n’cheese pie in his fat fucktard life. So his new-broom sweeping claims of far-reaching mystical-beastie terrorist cells were cut from whole cloth yanked out of his hair-choked ARSE.

I’m not claiming we don’t have terrorists in our midsts and midriffs. Tim Selwyn is a classic example of one striking terror into the hearts of Her Majesty’s Empire with his seditious photocopies. Mike Smith and his chainsaw, Mike King and his pork sword, the NZ Idol creators mopping their damp cock-heads with dollar bills and the dreams of the screeching weasels they mock… but I AM claiming that Winnie has never seen one, tasted one, inserted his calloused thumb up the arse of one, read a report about one, seen a documentary on one, been in the same building as one on a Midwinter’s night when the hearth was crackling and the chestnuts were roasting, nada, nix, nuttin’ nowt knickknack paddy whack, give a dog my bone. He may accidentally be telling the truth and the Cookie Time DC10 might be crashed into the Kumeu wriggly-tin sheep in the name of Jihad. But that would be coincidence, not prescience.

It’s also attention grabbing media hype from a pinstriped spinmeister and hell, I’ve just given him a few column inches (as it were). So go the Winnie the Pooh and your rousing of the rabbles, including me. But remember, always the kingmaker, never the king. Perhaps he should wear peach?

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