January 2012 Archive

Cherie Sweeney is a real lady. One classy gutsy Dame. That is – more worthy of such a title than any bestowed by an honours system. Real ladies stand up for what they believe in.
She was the neighbour of Serenity Jay Scott, a 6 month old baby who died from non-accidental injuries – she ‘narked’ to the police about the concerning events she witnessed at the neighbouring property. She stared down the town bullies who presumably wanted to “support the family through this terrible time”, rubbish and stood up for what she believed in:
That children are entitled to an abuse free life regardless of any excuses that abuse perpetrators and their apologists spout. That reasons for abusive communities do not count when it comes to saving individual lives – only action counts. She has worked tirelessly to put the spotlight on child abuse and the peril of ignoring it in our communities. She will undoubtedly have saved lives, now and into the future.
The arrest of Serenity Jay Scotts alleged killer will have been bittersweet for Cherie. The arrest came on the anniversary of her own son’s tragic, accidental death.


Good on you Cherie. We salute you.

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The Herald reports on media dahlings Hosking and nee Hawkesby:


The article finishes with:

Hawkesby and Hosking announced their engagement in July in NZ Women’s Weekly. They have five children.

Incorrect. The couple have five children between them, from previous marriages. That is, unless Hosking’s twins came out of Hawkesby’s vagina. Or her caesarian scar. Anything is possible these days but I don’t believe that’s the case.

Elsewhere in the media the couple are also described as having five children. If I were Marie ex-Hosking I would be livid. I have five children. Two of them twins.  Late nights filled with blood, sweat, tears and crap.
And then there are the kids.
Every moment of our five children’s infancy has been hard work. Those who have been through it would rightly rage at having that hard work carelessly attributed to another individual.

After all:


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From the Herald:


One of the more pleasing surprises about moving to California is that basic grocery items are cheaper. Milk is 50c a litre cheaper at our local Trader Joes. This includes sales tax of approx 8%.

In short: New Zealand with it’s much higher sales tax is poked.

I was watching from the Parliament gallery in 2010 when Phil Goff gave a very clear and lucid explanation as to why an increase in GST was regressive and would hit lower incomes harder. His vision of a slowing economy seems to have come to pass.

New Zealand is trying to pay for a socialist ticket with a depleted revenue gathering tax base.

Can’t work- will never work with tinkering around the edges. Bold and drastic actions are called for.

Some ideas (not necessarily original) to get  the ball rolling.

1. Can all the big ticket items: Interest free student loans should be out the window first. Students are peasants with no original ideas until they come of age about 25; ignore their ignorant squealing.  Keep em busy with the equivalent of intellectual sudoku and arguments re reproductive rights and the most appropriate drinking age.  Hell – give them free fees but shitcan the troughing student allowances to compensate. They should be able to borrow for the living component; charge ’em market interest.

2. Bring in private insurance capacity –  we should all be coughing up for private insurance for elective surgery. Nuff said.

3. Reduce GST across the board. Bring in CGT for anything sold within 10 years of purchase. Including your Remuera family home. Automatically consider it a trade. This will not penalise genuine long term investors.

As a member of Gen X I take it personally that mine is the generation that will pay for the massive ideological swings left and right since 1991. A bit of moderation would be nice.

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New Zealand no longer protects the right of the individual to live in peace and freedom. This is obvious by the the thus lenient treatment by the state, of the monster  that has now pled guilty to the horrendous assault in Turangi on December 21st.
“What lenient treatment”, you might say?
It is lenient to not expedite such an horrific and brutal attack through the courts system by the fastest mechanisms possible.To date, the perp has had a lovely, month long, tax payer funded holiday, where he will have been eating well and feted as a hero by the family of Orcs that produced him. His mother is a beauty. She’ll know all the tricks of the trade to make him appear in the most favorable light possible.
They’ve had a month to enjoy the attention of the media. I would bet my last Rolo they are now addicted to the spotlight and will milk it for all it is worth, ongoing.
A month is far too long. He should have been through the courts and in a maximum security prison fearing for the fate of his arsehole by New Years day.
I had an experience once as a landlord that proved to me that the cops and the perps coexist and it is we, the general public, that are on the outside. Our “soft-as”, laws have bought about a society where a game is played in which the crims and the cops have to work rigidly within the letter of the law or the perps get off the charges.  Both cops and crims know what they can get away with; both cops and crims look upon the public as foolish and weak for not knowing the “rules”:
In 2010 I arrived at a Christchurch rental property on my own: A disabled, small framed woman. I knew I was about to confront one individual (an alleged 17 yr old paedophile), who  had pulled a knife on someone else in the complex and two strippers who were refusing to pay their rent. (All white BTW)
I wanted them out because they were destroying my property so I was going to suggest they leave, in no uncertain terms. I was going to pay them to move into a boarding house.
I rang the cops thinking it might be a good idea of the local friendly constabulary accompanied me inside my rental property; there was also an unstable skinhead living there who liked to walk a knife between his fingers.
They told me I had to go through the tenancy tribunal. They weren’t able to help me.
The cops then arrived five minutes after the tenants rang them and told them the landlady was doing her ‘nana and they were scared.
To be fair, I was screaming pretty loudly at that stage.
I went back to the tenancy tribunal to get rid of the human cockroaches. They did $10,000 worth of damages on their way out.
The fucking skinhead did another $10k later on.

I realised at that stage that common-sense in New Zealand had given way, to an environment that favoured whoever was best at making the rules work for them. I see this happening again in the light touch of the law on the Turangi paedohile who appears to be linked to that healthiest of NZ kindergartens: a local gang chapter.
What are gangs, if not terrorists? That New Zealand condones their existence is proof that it values due process over common sense and the rights of the peace loving individual. And when our judiciary is stacked with paedophile apologists, what future does our nation have?

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I love this story: Mom goes into bat for her disabled daughter to receive a lifesaving kidney transplant. She staunches out two sociopaths: a doctor lacking empathy and a social worker with a god complex. The doctor is a non-feeling arsehole who wants to let the daughter die with no transplant because she is, in his words “mentally retarded”.  My favourite phrase:
He pauses as if he is choosing his words carefully. “I have been warned about you. About how involved you and your famliy are with Amelia.”

The Mom deserves a gold medal for not letting them manipulate her. I describe them as sociopaths because from this account they appear to be employing typical sociopathic techniques.
One certain sign of a sociopath is an individual that employs pity to manipulate.
The doctor: “Yes. This is hard for me, you know.”
The social worker decides to join the conversation. “Well, you know a transplant is not forever. She will need another one in twelve years. And then what? And do you have any idea of the medications she will need to take to keep her healthy?”

I speak through gritted together. “YES, I HAVE DONE ALL MY RESEARCH.”

She smirks a little. “Well, what happens when she is thirty and neither of you are around to take care of her. What happens to her then? Who will make sure she takes her medications then?”

Another sociopathic technique is the use of illogical arguments that are on the face of it watertight. While explaining it to you they are so convincing and confident that the conclusion is that you are crazy and they have all the answers. Only when you examine the absurdities that the argument throws up do you realise you are dealing with a fruit loop. I would bet my last rolo that there are a lot of sociopathic social workers out there.

From the doctor:
“Well, you can then take it the ethics committee but as a team we have the final say. Feel free to go somewhere else. But it won’t be done here.”

Bring it on. I have a feeling the girl will get the transplant.

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A story of another family that just killed one of their babies.
One more dead baby. One more reason to leave New Zealand. Nowoccupy endorses emigrating from New Zealand in protest at New Zealand’s horrific child welfare statistics.
Detective Neil Furlong says it is important for people not to leap to conclusions and start pointing fingers prematurely.
Pointing fingers? Open and shut case to me. Baby died of non-accidental head injuries. It is not as though it was a tragic “run over in the driveway” case . Her family killed her. It doesn’t matter who inflicted the final blow.  Everyone involved should be prosecuted and her siblings should be removed from her mother if the children have been in an ongoing abusive environment.
Open and shut case to me.
Edited for tourettes level swearing.

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Paedophile apologist Judge Jocelyn Munro has bought the rarefied air breathing judiciary into disrepute with weasily comments about the alleged Turangi attacker looking very smart. The underlying message and possibly an overhang from her former profession teaching is: “Lets pat all the naughty children on the head and teach them to play non-competitive sport”.
“It’s all about being nice to each other, boys and girls”.
She should be ashamed of herself.
I am not saying teachers are awful. I respect the profession and they deal with train wrecks every day. I am saying this teacher turned judge is a traitor to her country and her own sex. Just the same as the stupid bint who patted the alleged paedophile comedian on the head for making making people laugh.

Oh the lightness of being when I left New Zealand recently. New Zealand enables paedophiles. NZ enables child abusers. Our teenage boys commit suicide by the score and teenage girls are laconic and permissive.
We jump on cops that get pulled up for bad behavior in the same way we disapprove of the US. We are suspicious of power and money. If NZ police don’t follow procedures to the letter, their prosecutions get thrown out on technicalities. Yet we believe every criminal  has a soul worth saving and “it’s not the poor boys fault”. The right is blamed by the left for not throwing more money at the poor.
Blaming the actions of child rapists on their upbringing and “the rich bad white people”, is like sitting on the Titanic bailing water with a bucket.  It’s just not going to help.
The problem is no one appear to be in charge. A message made stronger by comments like these made by an increasingly adrift judiciary. New Zealand you need re-parenting. it’s not about the Left way vs the Right way. It’s about common sense and manners. An evil rapist monster is just that even if he has nice threads. Lock the little cunt up and throw away the keys.
By the way it was Michael Cullen who admitted Judge Munro to the bar.
Good luck New Zealand. I’m just happy I’m not going to be raising my children in what I’ll be telling people is a land of kiddyfucker enabling bullies and sycophants.

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British student Richard O’Dwyer is being extradited to the US to face copyright charges.  Given that the US taxes it’s citizens anywhere in the world they earn money, there may be a tax avoidance component to this case. The bleating on the innerweb, is that the USA are bullies and they should leave the poor man alone.

At some stage a precedent is going to be set by the US and his main mistake was getting caught. Good on him for having an entrepreneurial go if he believed there was no wrong to his actions. Unfortunately he has to accept the law believes it is as much a crime to steal electronic art as it would be to rip off a bank. This goes to the very heart of the copyright debate.


Inventors and artists should be paid. Portraying him as a victim is rubbish. However there would be less of an inclination to cheat if art were made available in all timezones simutaneously. There is also he large cut of funds taken by the greasy middlemen. This stifles the industry as much as unfettered theft and prevents the establishment of new artists.

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Barbie will be behind the antics of many an anorexic 18 year old Booze Hag in our city centres on Saturday nights.


They totter around in their heels falling out of their tops. With smooth skin and layers of make up they are a combination of doe-like innocent meets Madonna. They portray the Virgin Mother /slut conundrum that has dogged women down through the ages ever since men invented religion to keep the power from 50% of the population.

I’m not saying men are bad and the pope is an ass. I am saying that we all have the inborn social desire to fit into archetypes, and due to being in an ongoing episode of Humanity Survival:  men subjugated women with some fiction around The Jesus Chapters.
Smart move removing the rein of power from 50% of the population in one fell swoop.
Men can’t of course take all the blame. Women who find themselves with a bit of power tend then to entrench these social constructs. Men formulate ideas and women wind the rules around such establishments. There is nothing scarier than running the ‘”Cat Butt Face” gauntlet of middle aged women.

Such women gave their daughters Barbie dolls to play with but also expected them to be ‘good girls’, These days we also tell them from birth they should have a career and no kids before the age of 30. Girls can do anything donchaknow? A recipe for social disaster resulting in hoards of vomiting drunken women with none better than Streetwise Barbie to emulate.
And these new generations of woman are merely perpetuating the same tired old power archetypes.
I tossed my Barbie after coming too one day realising I was obsessed that she wasn’t as good as my friends Barbie and to make her ‘smoother’ I was about to give her the barbie equivalent of a cliterectomy with sandpaper. Of course I never discussed that with my friends, just as I never told my friends I liked their Barbies better.

Women are so dishonest. We don’t talk about inadequacy and envy and sex. There is much drivel around about how women are more likely to be comfortable with doctors and honest about our bodies because of smear tests. Rubbish. We never talk about our Ladyparts or joke like men do. Newer generations are starting to talk about sexual desire, thank goodness.

As I sit here and write this, an ad has just come on cable for Vagisil wash to take care of feminine odour. WTF? Talk about manufacturing a problem to sell a product. Does remind me of the old joke. look I won’t repeat it but it does give explicit directions on how to find Ladyparts based on smell and taste being likened to…… feathered and scaled species. If you know the joke you’ll never forget it . Maybe there is more than one joke. I do love a good laugh.

However the production of this product Vagisil gives me cause for despair. Musk is a component of many successful perfumes. It’s a smell you keep on going back for more, and so do the lads. Don’t waste your time using the equivalent of bleach on yourself. A nurse told me once that even soap is too harsh.

Practical tip of the day:
 If you have an odour, there is nothing wrong with you. One womans odour is another’s perfume base.  If it bothers you there are several tried and proven remedies. Consider shaving your pubes. Some say Brazilians are anti-feminine and reminiscent of pre-pubescent girls. I think this is rubbish, no-one mistakes mens parts for pre pubescent boys. Get a mirror and get familiar with your undercarriage.
If you do shave you may have to unfold everything to remove rogue hairs that stab.

Too much sugar and alcohol accentuates scent. consider cutting down. Boring I know.

Barbie is a gateway drug for a life of submission and dishonesty. If you have a fagina  embrace it. try and give yourself oral. A physio assures me that women are more limber and therefore are more likely to achieve this goal. It may be an impossible “kissing your elbow” goal.   In any case it will give you and your partner hours of entertainment.

Be kind to yourself and your fellow Barbies.
From a former Courtenay Place, inebriated, heel totterer Barbie wannabe

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The sun rises over Little Learners Preschool.

The sea glitters in the distance.

It sits perkily;

A converted house surrounded by well-heeled character homes.

 At 8.30:am sharp it comes alive.

A gleaming row of chariots purr alongside this venerable institution.

No rudimentary metal and iron beasts in this line-up of elaborate conveyances.

Only the latest modern day transportation technology;

The names distinctive and European: Volkswagon, Audi, BMW.

A nimble Mercedes darts into a gap vacated by a towering SUV.

A line-up of Pampered Cleopatras

Bend lithely from elevated cabs.

They commence unfolding diminutive occupants in Pumpkin Patch and glowing good health.

From the rear of this chariot: Goldilocks,

From that: Little lord Fauntleroy.

Their Sisters in-Arms, the Embattled Joan of Arc’s:

Descend from their chariots.

And extracting the heir or heiress in question:

They battle through a throng of Nonchalant Nannies.

To deliver their charge to the awaiting Goodhearted Governesses.

Cloaks are shaken down.

Colourful bags placed in lockers.

Sufficiently garbed for the conditions and smothered in sunscreen,

Goldilocks and Little Lord Fauntleroy skip outside to the playground.

One by one, each Pampered Cleopatra and Embattled Joan of Arc steps back into her chariot.

Cleopatra departs with younger siblings for a day of immersion in matters domestic.

Returning to her palace

She steps over the threshold.

A smile first.

She can smell her children:

Each distinctive in their odour.

Girls smell like strawberry shortcake and glitter;

Boys bitter and green.

She surveys her domain with satisfaction.

A Little lord Fauntleroy tucked under her arm.

Abruptly dismay transforms her face into a countenance of distress.

Little Lord Fauntleroy

Is set down.

And amuses himself determinedly.

With the latest,

Lovingly hand-crafted,

Ye Olde Fashioned Wooden Toy.

Cleopatra disappears.

To be replaced by a steely-faced navy,

Girding her loins for a day of hard work;

She maketh strong her arms.

A flurry of activity commences.

Resolutely she scrubs and washes.

She folds and tidies,

Bleaches and dusts;

Nimbly she considers the floor.

Snarling inaudibly in its den:

That most lizard like of beasts awaits.

She confronts and retrieves it.

Here Be Dysons.

Little Lord Fauntleroy naps.

Cleopatra prepares herself some lunch.

She sits down to replenish her energy.

Not too much food or rest ‘mind’.

Inside her pretty coiffed  head;

Business plans ferment and writhe.

One final task.

Busying herself in the heart of her home:

Pots hanging above her head;

She extracts some filo pastry and spinach from the freezer of her humming Fisher and Paykel.

Gourmet meal prepared;

She lovingly lingers over her hearth.

In towers of chrome

Embedded in trenches of paperwork,

Joan of Arc prepares herself to do battle.

She rolls up her sleeves and stamps the ground.

Snorts and gets to work on the recalcitrant partner.

At morning tea she prepares

A latte and smiles at the temp.

Her child never far from her mind.

Another down the hallway;

Careworn from the fight:

To get her proposal accepted.

Her shoulders lift and droop

As she thinks of her appointment with HR.

It’s time for the afternoon school run.

The chariots line up for the return journey.

Bustling and jostling in the exodus;

Cleopatra and Joan of Arc exchange banter.

One poor Sot breathes over another who recoils;

From the breath of lunch-time indulgence and fire.

Looks and looks again:

Satisfying herself that she couldn’t possibly;

Have smelt the residue of sneaky lunch-time craving.

Copyright Monique 2010 In case anyone cares enough to rip it off.

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