Pania of the Reef

The season of christmas makes everything a little intense… and not having a chrisco hamper to unravel the tension, the season of festive
stress just continues. You can tell those citizens who have a chrisco
hamper sorted by courier don’t you?? they walk like ones who have a hamper up their khyber… all happy and laxadazy bubbly and ready to bust out the christmas mince pies without having to battle at pak and save on christmas eve… they just walk differently…

Oh to be hampered and pampered by chrisco – christmas just highlights the have nots and the have s, and the hampered and the unhampered. I am unhampered.

Not having a chrisco hamper coming to your doorstep can make you do abnormal things. A man from napier, unhampered and desperate said to himself if I can’t have my christmas mince pies and leg of ham I’ll take the next best thing… which of course was pania of the reef. Nothing like a bit of reef fishing but this girl is the kingi of the brass icon world… pania of the reef. Topless. Brass. Exotic. Stationary. What more could a young single bloke with no christmas chrisco hamper ask for. Well unfortunately, and the judge who gave the lad a year behind bars agreed
with me, he should have asked first. And not just taken pania, or at least he should have put a little money aside each week like good chrisco people do…

Some people have complained about the severity of the punishment. But the judge maintained it was fair because it was taken without asking, and pania is a city icon to napierites, and therefore an especially painful loss to all the city’s citizens – especially those not receiving a christmas chrisco hamper.

So if you get a year for stealing pania of the reef, a mythological figure, yes, albeit a topless mythological figure, but still only a mythological figure. A story about a girl and a reef.

Riff raff, of rocky horror fame, also brass, also a city’s icon – what would you get for stealing that – an icon of immeasurable recognition world wide, of immovable cult status, a celluloid screen sensation, a fishnetted statue of transsexual titillations, so fairy it doesn’t need fairy lights, more mince than a christmas mince pie, even at christmas .

yes listeners, honestly, even as we speak, young riff-raffian ruffians of bryce st and beyond are practicing their criminal motions…. Its’ just a boltcutter to the left, and a crowbar to the right….

But what would you get for hauling off hamiltons rocky horror icon. My guess is you’d get the clap and be locked up for 2 years, maybe 18 months with good behaviour. Riff raff is Hamilton tourism triumph.. Most aucklanders I know of are planning a round trip through hamiltron to their coromandel destinations in order to pay their riffspect to the big riffster…

Im just surprised really….i don’t want to be the next dave dobbyn inciting civil disobedience , but I would have I thought another tortured un chrisco hampered young person of no fixed payments put aside all year would have hacked the sheep down north end Victoria st for sure. That would have been a class addition to any nativity scene.

And so this is christmas. We remember the christmas story. Mary was hampered in a way even chrisco could not imagine. Her hamper arrived as a boy, some call the messiah the saviour of the world. An angel gave her a good credit rating and god in his infinite wisdom fixed her up real good.
An immaculate conception, a problematic delivery…. christmas is really about surprises… the queens message on tv one, a pregnant jewish 14 year old misses out on a chrisco hamper but gives birth to a messiah. You never know your luck…

This has been honest dave’s christmas message.. to you and you and you on the generator. 89 fm…

taxi santa knob

people of the honest cyber world.... prepare for your christmas message:

"I do not believe in santa."

These words were spoken with conviction by my son this week. He is a 6 year old and he has seen the light, or at least the closet where mrs honest has been stockpiling toys from farmers all year.

My boy now does not believe in santa. He is a non-believer….

I wonder if when he turns 7 he will not believe in the bush administration.

Maybe when he turns 8 he will believe that this world is harsh and cold and lonely and there was never any weapons of mass destruction and that he’ll never own his own home and maybe he will want to believe in santa again….

One has mixed emotions when one’s fraudulent mythology about an old ho hoing red person brandishing a sack full of mass consumerism, the story transferred dutily from father to son, cultivated after festive season after festive season until the lie looks like truth is forceably dismissed in the child’s mind. Father Christmas, Donald Rumsfield, Ronnie Phillips – I guess all these voices in our heads have got to go sometime…..

The problem with a lack of belief in santa is that now a lame present can no longer be blamed on those bad evil elves who possess imported tools of muck metal and lack lustre quality control. ‘Bad elves’ I say when the look on the child says the present has gone pear shaped. Now, I have to confront my retail demons and own the present. It’s a pity my kids will get gift vouchers for the rest of their sorry ‘I don’t believe in santa’ lives…

This week in fair Hamilton a taxi driver has, bless him, kept the ‘christmas spirit’ alive by wearing a santa hat as he taxi’s around the streets. His taxi bosses have shat on the hat though, no festive shabbie cabbie thankyouvery much and said no siree butch…which is his real name. Hamilton taxi’s stance on the reality of santa is unclear… but it’s clear they think butch might be illegitimate and have banned him from wearing the hat whilst in their employment.

Butch claims Christmas spirit has been fingered.
i say never trust a man called butch.

If Christmas spirit is a taxi driver wearing a red hat then a guantarnamo bay detainee wearing red electric terminals clipped to his or her nipples transferred in the dead of night, to european airport destinations is obviously… he he he… in the spirit of American hospitality. Butch – Christmas spirit does not mean wearing a silly hat mass produced by a small asian non-fiction elf in a sweat shop out back northern Vietnam. No siree butch. any weirdo can wear a red hat.

Christmas spirit butch, is driving dishonest drunkards, glue sniffers and keyboard players residing outside the national bank in commerce st, a ride home without a tariff. Oh yes Butch, you would taxi the road less taxied and travel it often… a chariot for the unchosen few…

Christmas spirit butch…that’s his real name… would be taxiing the city looking for a little jewish family who might look a little dazed and confused realizing that the gaza strip on london street next to fire cats is not their promised land, might possibly have a donkey for baggage, nobody’s asked them to their work do at valentines, their eftpos is efted and isn’t accepted at hamiltons’s finest accommodation, the little jesus fulla is crying, and the only freaken place they can stay in is a empty motel on ulster street.

(As this is a modern day telling of the Christmas story the closest we can get in all realty to the feral stables and rude animals and inferior living conditions of the nativity in Hamilton is ulster st – the land of those bleedin’ boy racer motorheads and chronic noise pollutionists who haul up and down racing their engines like demented pigs on heat. no ones stays in dem motels anymore….)

and so Butch – your Christmas spirit is so token it needs to be placed in a milk bottle. And the next person who serves me in a retail outlet degrading the holy festive season of Christmas with fake reindeer horns I will truly pray for their soul.

You’ve been listening to another honest dave rant on the generator

all black nonsense

Good morning listeners…

Last night I was taunted by a generator listener who said I never ranted about the all blacks. So as not to appear that I have only one testicle and a penchant for non contact sports – this morning’s rant will be on the all blacks.

However, I must confess that a rant about the all blacks will not be a marty devlin analysis and when or if I use the word maul.. I will do so without knowing exactly what it is apart from the fact that it will sound tough. Maul.

The all blacks have just completed a grand slam. A grand slam is like a grand piano. In our case, the black keys kicked the proverbial aesthetics of the white keys. The white keys are so plundered by the black keys they remain silent. This is a grand slam. Grand of course comes from the latin root grandis – meaning large. So we can gather then that for the all blacks to win over these huge rugby nations such as Ireland, wales, Scotland and England – it’s very large. Large. Slam of course comes from the playground where it’s known colloqually as a body slam – to hurt the weak fulla that knicked your play lunch from the cloak room. Maul.

Anyway.. grand slam. Way to go all blacks. I wonder though if our hammering on about us being fanatical about rugby is really true…. For instance, honest dave has an all black banner with a small adidas logo on trade me. Now, you’d think a black banner, 3.9 mters long by 1.6, with the words all blacks is every new Zealanders wet dream. Especially considering 2011. Its mint condition. Well… people prepared to be shocked….maul. A banner such as this for a mere 50$ went unsold on trade me. Un sold. Its back this week, and still I only have one watcher and has only been viewed by 78 people… the auction closes Sunday. I don’t want to be an all blacks atheist but.. I have grave concerns about media representations about a country obsessed with the all blacks when a holy grail item on trade me has to get relisted. Maul.

… next week I am putting a nuclear reactor on trade me to see how many bids that gets. That’ll tell us for sure if we really are an anti nukes country wont it… maul.

Honest dave did get up in the early hours of Sunday morning for the grand slam. … my motives though are fairly dishonest for such an honest one as i. What I really get up for is the childhood fantasy of pikelets at half time. My honest mum would always hit the frypan, not too worried about grant batty’s intercept or missing brian Williams kick a penalty from our 22. She wouldn’t care if she missed sid going’s latest hair cut. Yep – she just delivered pikelets at half time with strawberry jam and cream. Needless to say that these days my half time culinary nostalgia, the warm pikelet almost palatable on my tongue is harshly deconstructed by the sharp doof of the toaster handle. Maul.

Anyway… way to go all blacks. Maul. Grand slam. Maul. I watched the English game though. It least it was close. And it least the all blacks hugged each other…. I try to wake my 6 year old son for this part. there such healthy role models. Grown staunch blokes giving each other cuddles. I also try to get my son to go to sleep when the haka is on where they slit their own throats. This no 6 year old should see. I mean he had nightmares after watching aussies sing waltzing matilda.

As for the aussies voting against us for the world cup. Must have a short memory those Australian brothers of ours... let me say just one word to you knife in the back, transtasman traitors of Tasmania and beyond,

Gallipoli…

…and maul. Too. I forgot to say. maul.

You’ve been listening to a soft soccer player’s all black rant on the generator..