Monthly Archives: April 2014

Tim Walker’s Whale in a Pickle

Are we so full of ourselves that we think we know what’s best for all of nature’s creatures?

Of course by ‘we’ I mean the environmental activists of the nation and by ‘all of nature’s creatures’, well, I’m really talking about one species in particular which, if you paid any attention to my typically flippant heading, you’ll have probably worked out by now.

Pickles aren’t creatures, smart-arse.

The reason that whales beach themselves is not definitively known. Yet, and coming as no surprise, the aforementioned enviro-zealots like to attribute this issue to the ruinous effects of modern living. Included in this scapegoating is pollution; shipping noise; military sonar – the latter shouldering the brunt of the blame, having been said to mimic whales’ own natural audio thereby confusing and disorienting their navigational senses…

Wait a minute. Nah. I don’t buy it.

I just don’t believe whales are that prone to confusion. Hell, if these miraculous mammals can orientate themselves while holding their breath over ten kilometres beneath the ocean surface and in absolute darkness, something tells me they’re a smidgen more canny than to be confused by the beeping of a ship’s sonar – not like people when combing the ocean for a missing aircraft’s black box…

Here’s the thing. Mass whale strandings have been a feature of coastlines since back in the day when Greek philosophers would try to convince naïve townsfolk that grounded whales were portentous of Poseidon’s anger. Yeah. A slightly more credible theory is that whales are coming ashore with the intention of dying due to an aquatic food shortage; which I can totally see being peoples’ responsibility. Global population is ever-expanding thus fisheries need to continuously raise output and ultimately, sea life is suffering. That part makes sense. It’s what we do about it that makes decidedly less sense.

Instead of locating the cause of the problem then taking steps to reinstate these ocean-going-behemoths’ food source, we appear to be doing the opposite. For a start we’ve recently implemented laws preventing Japanese from ‘hunting whales for research purposes’ meaning there’ll be more of them in the ocean requiring a food source; so when for the good of the species these magnanimous creatures do opt out of the race by parking up on the nearest beach, we recruit teams of do-gooders looking to justify their own existence by spending countless hours moistening, comforting then finally refloating them, sometimes only to have the sly buggers swim around the bay and do the very same thing on the next beach over.

What the hell did you expect, genius? Whales aren’t stupid. Their world is almost twice the area and is over 100 times the volume of ours, so I reckon they pretty well know where they’re going. If they do run aground, I have no doubt it’s because they want to. So if you want to do something practical, shit, I dunno, swear off seafood or something. Otherwise, just leave the big ol’ beasts be.

Japanese slaughter whales, sure, but at least they use them. Surely that’s better than having them starving in the ocean or the alternative, rotting away on beaches.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Waylan D Ocean

Photography by Wit Harr-Poon



Tim Walker’s Heartless Gambler

Is there anything lower than cheating on one’s boy or girlfriend?

            Yes. There is. Cheating on your spouse.

Of course, this action becomes that much more despicable when the aforementioned infidelity takes place within the same year in which the pair establishes those nuptials.

I know. It sounds too ridiculous to be true. Sounds like the brainchild of a worn out team of uninspired TV writers for use on the cheesiest daytime soap opera of all time. It just sounds too…

Ignorant. Pathetic. Arrogant. Gutless. Immoral. Perfidious. Weak. Obnoxious. Unscrupulous. Thoughtless. Heartless. Callous. Spineless. Shallow, cold and wank, wank, wank, wank, wank, wank, wank, wank.

I recently visited the girl who intends to be filing for divorce just eleven months after the ‘best day of her life’. While the news didn’t come to me as a total shock – indiscretions being a feature of past relationships – the groom’s latest indiscretion left me incensed beyond comprehension.

More than anything though, it left me confused. This woman has been a big part of my life for over fourteen years. I have known him for a few. She is clever, she is funny, she is witty, she is wise; she is the most competent woman I have ever known but above all else, she is stunning. She is a blonde bombshell with a brilliant mind; he is an obsequious twat with shit for brains.

On hearing the news my first question to her was, “So, what, was he hoping to do, better … than you?”

Whatever this prime douche-bag had in mind, seemingly it involved more than one, presumably gorgeous, woman. An obvious follow-up question would therefore be: ‘Why would anyone bother entering into a marriage when the implied intention was to later destroy it?’ I considered this long and hard drawing several conclusions: at the fore of my mind was the unequivocal statement, ‘The guy’s a pillock’.

I think I already knew that.

The other conclusion referred less to this pillock’s penchant for treachery and more to his mental state. Ultimately I assessed, he is also a gambler. Similar to many gamblers the rush of losing is often more satisfying than the thrill of a win. This prick must have seen it as a game. Once married, he went out there and he gambled with the highest stakes at his disposal – human emotions.

Evidently he played the odds for a few months before stretching his bet too far – he became careless, thought he couldn’t lose.

On reflection I have to wonder if being caught out was just another part of his master plan, or if he would have allowed the cheating to go on for as long as he was able – perhaps indefinitely..?

I have to wonder furthermore about the state of his reflection, how he perceives all that’s happened..? Does he feel wronged, indignant or even, get this, cheated? I have it on authority that the subject of his adulterous affair has since been discarded, suggesting there was never the intention of taking things further than a simple, albeit prolonged, dalliance – which pisses me off all the more.

That filthy shit-bag was only ever playing. He played with the trusting, loving and sweet nature of the most wondrous woman who ever lived and for that, I have no doubt that he’ll get what’s coming.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Flyan Levtook

Photography by Arp E Cutt

Tim Walker in a Dull Nation

Is the New Zealand public getting stupider, or is it just me?

Yes, I do appreciate the ambiguity of that query. Thing is though, my opening line could have been something flash like: ‘Are we as a nation propagating a generation of indolent lack-wits?’ – or it didn’t even have to be a question – ‘Evidently the majority of New Zealanders have become the personification of obtuse’ or something similar, but I didn’t fancy being labelled a pretentious arse-wipe, an arrogant arse-wipe or, heaven forbid, a conceited arse-wipe.

So I won’t do that.

There’s really only one point of reference to be made here anyway but that single point is more than adequate to justify such a provocative statement – or question as it were.

In a word: speech.

I really don’t think it’s an unreasonable expectation that a person should be able to string together a coherent verbal sentence, and without having to resort to a lot of clichés, idioms, turns of phrase, figures of speech, or famous quotes. You see, the problem with mindlessly repeating a well known phrase is that often it’s a grammatical abortion and one seemingly innocuous abortion, can quickly lead to an unmitigated English genocide.

It is practically impossible to watch the news of an evening and not be bombarded by either juvenile grammatical mishaps: ‘That marathon was like, the most hardest thing I’ve ever done’; adults using puerile colloquialisms: ‘OMG they were like, totally skuxxing it up’; or the most common and by far worst offender, blatant word mis-usage: ‘The car just flew past me, he was literally going like a bat outa Hell’…

While I refuse to engage in discussion regarding the top speed of a hellish bat, the term ‘literally’ implies that words used remain true to their definition as recognised by the International Word Bank, or other formal language source. What the aforementioned speaker has done is confuse ‘literally’ with ‘figuratively’ – the latter being a description which most wouldn’t bother articulating anyway because simply, it’s implied. The expression ‘like a bat outa Hell’ could well be considered a simile, an idiom, or a figure of speech, but as no one truly knows just how fast a bat would come out of Hell, probably the last thing it should be called is literal.

The above example is certainly not the first time ‘literally’ has been used in the hyperbolic, analogical or figurative sense either – it has been happening for years and as peoples’ desire to maintain correct grammar becomes increasingly tenuous, this variety of erroneous speech will assuredly become more frequent.

I understand that by slinging into a sentence at any opportunity the word ‘literally’, people believe they are making their statement more emphatic. The issue here is that obvious misuse of speech tends to manifest the opposite effect. If for instance, while delivering a speech at a town meeting addressing youthful loutish behaviour you regularly refer to the offenders’ ‘fragrant’ instead of ‘flagrant’ actions, unless the neighbourhood kids have been drinking deodorant for kicks, not only might you be grossly misunderstood but those who pick up on your gaffe will likely lose respect for you, making your stand a whole lot less forceful.

Literally is the same thing. Someone continually using the word ‘literally’ to describe figurative situations, potentially, will literally become the butt of the joke.

‘He literally split his head open’ – this refers to a male who has sustained any sort of open head wound.

‘She literally killed it’ – this means she did a very good job indeed.

‘It was literally the most disgusting thing I ever saw’ – this means its appearance was somewhat less than desirable.

‘I am literally going to kill him’ – this means he has earned himself a stern talking to.

‘Yeah, come around man, we’re doing literally fuck all‘… Yeah. Sorry about that. As I recall, at the time I found myself incredulous that anyone could speak so stupidly. The term ‘fuck all’ is about as far towards slang as a speaker can trudge before tumbling into the realms of unintelligibility. After this person’s monstrous grammatical error, whatever respect I had held for them, promptly dissipated.

As a speaker, if you want your words to be hard-hitting, if you want people to take you seriously, my advice, spend less time abbreviating text and more time speaking fluent English.

Also try reading a book. A real book. No pictures.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Bren Lass

Photography by Lee Trolley

Tim Walker on Election Week

Politicians. Yeah, I know heaps more dirty words too…

Caucus, incumbent, lobbyist, impeachment, mandate, doublespeak, disinformation, confederate, conservative, economy, back-bencher, totalitarian, utilitarian, republican, populist, fascist, socialist, dictator, quota, democracy, ballot, by-law, balance of power, constituent, candidate, referendum and the clincher, election.

Gosh. That’s a lot of argot for an assortment of pompous individuals who carry out jobs I’m sure some feel would be more adroitly accomplished by a throng of rabid chimpanzees…

When they’re not besmirching they’re digging for dirt with which they can later besmirch; when they’re not whinging, moaning or bitching they’re cogitating on material to inspire their next big theatrical moment; when they’re not hurling faeces at one another they’re accumulating faeces to hurl.

In theory politicians are straight-talking, transparent, personable and generally charismatic people; in reality they are deceitful, ignominious, insincere, unscrupulous and generally odious actors. In theory politicians are assertive people who have dedicated their lives to ensuring that our great nation proceeds with efficiency, efficacy and prosperity; in reality they are dilatory procrastinators who would struggle with the decision of boxers over briefs let alone how best to run a nation – spending a week forming a committee to decide who should comprise the next committee or holding another referendum to allow the people to decide if it’s necessary to hold so many bloody referendums, or if it’s just a waste of taxpayer money given that the outcome always seems predetermined anyway.

As the election draws nearer politicians will indubitably become that much more smarmy, they’ll want to be seen hugging that many more babies, they’ll force their cheesy grins that much more painfully, they’ll pander that much more feverishly, they’ll lie that much more surreptitiously, they’ll make out like they’ve kept that many more promises; they’ll do everything they can do to try and make you, the New Zealand voting public, declare your allegiance to them…

So, who are you gonna believe?



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Des Parridge

Photography by Cam Payne

Tim Walker Pissed on Pistorious

I’m sorry, I just don’t think it’s right that a man should be able to kill a woman then avoid consequences by oozing out the nearest loophole.

            Furthermore to this hypothetical, imagine the man is a tall, dark, handsome athlete of Olympic standards; imagine the woman is a world renowned sweetheart, model and Cover Girl. Now imagine the pair has been romantically involved for around four months; then imagine that one night the man shoots the woman multiple times through a closed door.

What if, in the ensuing court case this 27-year-old man appeared genuinely remorseful, managing tears and even forcible vomiting at the sight of his now deceased 29-year-old girlfriend – would that engender your compassion, your sympathy, your sorrow…

Or would it not?

Personally, the situation smacks of gutlessness, shamefulness, recklessness, impulsiveness, and a whole butt-load of enmity – likely fuelled by petulance stemming from this sociopath’s inherent narcissism.

You see, I don’t believe Mr Pistorious mistook any identities that night. His defence want us to believe that he fired multiple rounds into a door with the understanding that it shielded an intruder. This was based primarily on noises coming from inside that room; also the fact that home invasions in Pretoria are relatively common.

Seemingly it slipped his mind that he shared a house with his girlfriend. In the moments after squeezing off that succession of rounds however, seemingly, Mr Pistorious has realised his folly – seemingly the fallen figure behind the bathroom door is not a murderous criminal at all but his very own girlfriend – where he’s bashed in the locked door with a cricket bat then seemingly overcome with shock and of course grief at having killed his very own girlfriend, he has immediately contacted the South African authorities.

Now who’s the murderous criminal?

Both parties resided in South Africa, both parties famous in their own right; one party no longer living at all. Reeva Steenkamp was a stunner. She was the sweetheart, the pride of her nation. Reckon Oscar Pistorious was pretty well liked, too. That said, I have to wonder about his nation’s current feeling towards him – especially after he’s been revealed as a gun-toting lunatic.

Admittedly it’s not uncommon in South Africa for citizens to own weapons for protection, but Mr Pistorious’ penchant for weaponry was quite something else…

Seems all this man needed was a target.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Don Tesmy

Photography by Ima Rifleman