Monthly Archives: April 2016

Tim Walker’s Fustigator XI


I am easy to turn on yet am not to be considered lascivious.

I am able to be controlled from afar yet refuse to move from my place.

I am the cause of late night disturbance yet can have a soporific effect.

I am the life of the party yet I do not go well with alcohol.

I am less important now than ten years ago yet I will always have a place.

I am sometimes confusing yet one can always see what I am thinking.

I am owned by one yet am governed by whichever knob is manipulating.

I am often heard to be speaking yet only through proper channels.

I am a version of younger models yet some believe older is still desirous.

I am a fan of the attuning process and do not enjoy being static.

I am proficient at playing music yet not so much instruments.

I am known by a variety of names of which one is Sharp.








Last edition’s Fustigator: Denim

Tim Walker’s Sweet III

The abundance of convenience-food distributors located in the vicinity of many New Zealand schools is making a mockery of our attempts to reduce childhood obesity.

One such Auckland school was found to have over forty sources of snack food within walking distance; do we expect our sugar-crazed Kiwi kids to miraculously develop the discipline to leave those few coins jingling in their pockets as they direct their vision downwards and steadfastly march past these dairies, convenience stores and other fast-food outlets?

Do we expect that with sufficient education on human biology, personal well-being and such that these kids will learn to exhibit the restraint to bypass the temptation of $1 pre-bagged lollies; or what about a $2.50 energy drink – kids love excess energy – after their big day at school?

What about the chocolate bar? What about the reconstituted fruit bar that tries to fool everyone with all its promises of ‘no added sugars, colours, flavours, or preservatives’, so it must be healthy?

For the record, ‘no added’ is the biggest wrought since ‘pay nothing now’ or, ‘but wait, there’s more’: all ‘no added’ has to mean is that the company producing the final product hasn’t put in any more than was already in the unprocessed mixture; in other words, ‘we didn’t put in any after the last guy did’.

Look on the wrapper – that information is scrupulously forthright – then you’ll see how much colour (numbers), flavour (more numbers), or sugar (carbohydrate) something really contains.

One of the aforementioned food outlets has voluntarily offered to refuse service of sugary treats to children wearing school shirts; so what are the kids doing? The clever buggers are ensuring they get their sugar-fix by slipping on nondescript shirts before entering the shops.

A wise man once offered the suggestion: ‘Place a tax on high sugar items, similar to cigarette sales, and similar to the way cigarette sales have dropped off, surely, these food products will go the same way’.

Right, now, that was either the Right Honourable John Key who said that or it was me and admittedly, it does sound a lot like something I’d say.

Further to those remarks, I recall thinking at the time just how unjust it was that any product or pastime that has since been ruled deadly has incurred an exorbitant tax – cigarettes, alcohol, driving, living etc – which as taxpayers we like to assume is going towards some sort of projected healthcare fund that will aid users when they need it, yet the number one known cause of diabetes in New Zealand – an even greater healthcare expense than cigarettes or alcohol – sugar, has no additional tax at all.

Obviously then, that is what has to happen: a tax needs to be imposed on all high-sugar foods, if for no other reason than to ensure our young don’t turn out as fat as us.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by S Key Moa-Pie

Photography by Cookie Munster





Tim Walker’s Fustigator X


I am renowned for durability yet am not overly coarse.

I am the primary constituent in a garment worn after school.

I am integral to Westerns yet prefer to stay clear of spaghetti.

I am made with yield of cotton pickers yet better than suits who own them.

I am known to elicit joy yet am typically blue myself.

I am frequently used by labourers even though it was them who made me.

I am best with leather yet have developed a recent penchant for sneaking.

I am influenced by fashion yet to double up on me has long been a sin.

I am often used in conjunction with a fly yet can have a skinny style.

I am named in rhyme with serpent toxin yet am innocuous myself.

I am guilty of once being stone washed yet have since atoned.








Last edition’s fustigator: Tree

Tim Walker’s Graffiti

With the consent of Dunedin business owners their city streets are to become the canvas for the work of New Zealand graffiti artists.

Understandably agreement for this, classically modern era, proposition didn’t come easily as for a number of the aforementioned proprietors, any kind of artistry on building walls is vandalism and is therefore unwanted.

So called graffiti art has been around for a number of years; oddly enough it started to gain recognition a little over ten years ago, around the same time graffiti-based vandalism in the US was at an all time high and in fact had just reached the point where authority figures in some of the worst hit areas such as New Orleans had begrudgingly conceded, they were losing the fight against graffiti…

Just like the way teenagers who couldn’t afford to buy new jeans and had to go on wearing the ones with ripped knees would tell their buddies, ‘Oh nah, that’s how they’re s’posed to be eh’, some clever bugger looked at all the senseless tagging on the walls of buildings, undoubtedly shook their heads defeatedly before smiling, and saying, ‘Hey I know, let’s make it a thing – let’s call it “art”’.

…All observe the advent of Graffiti Art: the city official’s way of making common vandals feel as though they might just be contributing to society in some way that although nobody is in complete agreement on quite what that contribution is we reckon we can just about tolerate it because let’s be fair, much of the unauthorised artistry that I saw sprayed on concrete walls fifteen years ago wasn’t entirely awful.

By definition: art is the personal expression of the individual, as expressed by the mind, articulated through the body.

Fair enough, I just made that up but the point remains: anything that anybody does anywhere, might just be considered art – of course the artist just needs to label it as such.

This brings me to my ultimate point: whatever pretty name one likes to give to the style of painting that comes from aerosol cans, in reality, it is graffiti; if it’s done deliberately, well, it’s deliberate graffiti.

The paint from aerosols has a horrible texture, it doesn’t cover well, the paint itself doesn’t last – particularly because those idiots with the paint cans never seem concerned about surface preparation – and as I keep saying, it has no place on the walls of private property.

The fact that authority figures have capitulated and effectively told New Zealand’s cohort of drop-kick, mouth-breathing, bottom-feeding graffiti artist that what they are doing is acceptable, simply, is unacceptable.

Dunedin city is awesome but bless its heart, it needs all the love it can get – this is sure not the way to give it.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Errol Soul

Photography by Dorf Diddler



Tim Walker’s Homeless

I am in total disagreement with those who believe that New Zealand’s homeless ought to be the recipients of Government aid.

Prime Minister John Key is often the target of censure regarding his unwillingness to help those who, in many cases, are just not willing to help themselves.

The fact is that many – not all, but many – homeless folk are homeless because they are simply not willing or indeed not capable of managing the responsibility that comes with having a home; alternatively many more are homeless because, while they might have in the past had a home, through gambling, drug or alcohol abuse have since forgone that ownership.

Although the former is a choice while the latter is most assuredly not, personally, neither of the aforementioned groups should be the recipient of Government anything – except maybe taxes which, as homeless folk presumably earning some sort of wage from begging, they will undoubtedly be avoiding.

I have no sympathy for the above varieties of homeless person in New Zealand…

Years ago I gave a two dollar coin to an ebullient homeless drunk in a tweed suit, after watching him on a busy Auckland footpath approach countless pedestrians with a beaming grin, only to be turned away with disdain; of course I took pity on this puny character and gave him what I could.

It wasn’t until later, once the naive maudlin had passed, did I give my actions some thought.

…Seemingly destitute yet with enough money to drink himself senseless; apparently living rough yet not so rough as to be unable to appear tidily dressed – added to that is the lucrative nature of begging for money on city streets which has been abundantly broadcast.

Many homeless folk don’t care to include themselves in our game of life – the game the rest of us play to ensure our basic liberties are provided – while leeching off the very prosperity of those players.

I understand that homelessness to some is unavoidable thus very much unwanted, and to those people, I am sorry for your plight; that said, the reason that you have been rendered homeless, in a land as ostensibly forgiving as New Zealand, indicates that something is seriously awry.

Help yourself and others will help you – that is guaranteed.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Hume Lace

Photography by Halpy Self


Tim Walker’s Fustigator IX


I am the heaviest on my street yet contain not a scrap of fat.

I am content where I am yet am at the mercy of those around me.

I am the tallest on my street yet enhance rather than appreciate the view.

I am the holder of a name that sounds worthless yet I can be bought.

I am the oldest on my street yet neighbourhood kids play with me.

I am aged indeed yet others like me have had their lives life cut short.

I am not a rolling stone hence I do gather moss.

I am notoriously thirsty yet am sometimes forced to go without.

I am sometimes seen to be swaying yet am never drunk.

I am known for my coverings yet spend half the year naked.

I am pleased to accept help with broken limbs yet never say thank you.

I am the root of a joke regarding departure yet can never leave myself.

I am covered with what dogs do yet I usually smell clean.








Last edition’s Fustigator: Bucket

Tim Walker’s Fustigator VIII


I am extremely helpful yet rather weak.

I am adept at cartage yet underperform when overloaded.

I am usually of a convivial façade yet it depends who has me.

I am used by many and abused by some.

I am a valuable assistant yet cheapened through mass production.

I am robust enough yet will crack under pressure.

I am proud of my name even though it sounds like a curse.

I am a kind of hat yet I would look silly resting on one’s head.

I am beholden to take what I am given yet sometimes I drop it.

I am the inspiration behind a list yet would rather compile soil.

I am not good with hot ashes yet perfect for when they are cool.

I am aware that should I form a hole one dear lady will fix it.

I am a tool to the living yet a metaphor to kick when dead.








Last week’s Fustigator: Water

Tim Walker’s Double III

A North Canterbury pub has recently implemented a ‘No Lycra’ policy on its premises.

Understandably this has left some rural cyclists outraged, prompting all the expected cries of ‘that’s unfair’, ‘that’s just unjust’, ‘that’s discriminatory behaviour’, and such; in fact being an avid cyclist myself one might have expected my own bandwagon boarding to be imminent…

In an alcohol-assisted discussion the other night on the above topic I heard not one opinion in support of those cyclists and their refusal to don casual garb on licensed premises.

…I assure you, boarding this particular bandwagon, I will be not. I fully support that Rangiora publican. It makes sense that all hospitality establishments would wish to uphold some level of dress code; after all, think back a few years to the argument on Sunday morning pyjamas in supermarkets….

In the opinion of one mildly chauvinistic bystander that night, “I don’t mind seeing girls getting about in Lycra pants and that – shit I encourage it – just not guys with all their bumps and that, that’s just crude.”

…This is an identical situation to the banning of dressing gowns in supermarkets and yes, like that story, surely, the decision on exactly how to uphold a dress code is the owner’s prerogative…

‘Yes’, I remember thinking with a smirk, ‘”said the ocean to the riverbed, I appreciate the sediment”, and you sir, have just outlined a double standard that has been at me for some time and which, days from now, once the story’s nice and old and almost forgotten, I simply must document.’

…A pub’s décor and indeed its dress code, humble as it may be, is intended to pervade a sense of calm; bring in a bunch of pumped up and perspiring cyclists wearing their sexually ambiguous clothing and suddenly, that atmosphere is no longer relaxing…

Earlier that same night, speaking with another remarkably profound being, I was reminded of a similar injustice: he used the example of beach volleyball – why do the women wear bikinis while the men wear knee-length shorts? I concurred and threw back my own example – female tri-athletes often wear a one-piece swimming costume throughout the entire race where males choose to wear the decidedly more humble, again, knee-length uniform.

…I would know: having cycled my standard Saturday distance then stopped in on the way back at my grandmother’s house, thus dressed accordingly, she insisted on taking me out to the local pub for a late lunch…

When did national representation of sports become sexually motivated? Honestly, that’s the only reason I can see for such a massive double standard in sporting attire: certainly the girls don’t need to wear bikinis to play volleyball, but obviously that draws the bigger crowds; similarly, surely, male tennis players would be infinitely more manoeuvrable if they wore shorts that came only a short way down their thighs rather than full knee-length, but then, while we all love watching girls in short skirts play tennis, who really wants to see a man’s hairy white thighs?

…At first putting up some resistance I eventually conceded, hungry as I was for a good steak, and remember as I walked sheepishly through the dank of the main bar, the alcohol-glazed looks of initial surprise then suspicious curiosity mingled finally with outright disdain as if to say, ‘Ah piss off ya taught-bodied fairy, this is our place where we go to get away from hard work … Don’t go flaunting your bloody discipline and dedication around here.’



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Shaver Nis Tuck

Photography by Sissy Psych-List




Tim Walker’s Fustigator VII


I am loved by many yet feared by plenty more.

I am recognised in a number of forms yet all are ultimately me.

I am more powerful than most yet hold a secure grip on nothing.

I am life-giving but also life-taking.

I am responsible for many life-forms yet have no heartbeat myself.

I am only as heavy as a similar quantity of earth.

I am pleasant to be inside yet cold to be outside.

I am necessary to the function of cars yet ruinous at the same time.

I am a big part of the fire brigade although I tend to run from danger.

I am not big on the rock scene yet am frequently seen at Oasis.

I am skilled at refreshing workers and expert at making cups of tea.

I am a fine runner yet a poor walker.

I am always one to go with the flow but when I am stopped I say damn.









Last week’s Fustigator: Handkerchief

Tim Walker’s Hopeless

Deputy Prime Minister Bill English caused uproar when, regarding New Zealand’s unfavourable unemployment rate, he was recorded making the quote: “A lot of Kiwis who are available for work are pretty damned hopeless.”

It mightn’t come as a surprise then to learn that the number of Filipino migrants arriving in New Zealand to work on our dairy farms in the last ten years has increased exponentially…

Just prior to that, at the very same Federated Farmers meeting, Mr English was also quoted referring to “a cohort of young Kiwis who couldn’t get a licence because they couldn’t read or write” and ultimately “who don’t look employable”.

…Some might assume this Filipino influx is purely the New Zealand dairy farmers’ way of sourcing cheap labour but in reality, again in the words of the Hon. Mr Bill English, “Filipinos make damn fine workers.”

These supposedly inflammatory quotes were surreptitiously recorded on a member of the Opposition’s cellular communications device and of course, the recording’s release has prompted all the classic remonstrations of, ‘Well that’s just unbecoming of the deputy PM’ or, ‘He should be made to apologise’ or, ‘He surely can’t get away with that kind of slander’, or similar squeak of displeasure from the back benches.

Despite this apparent hardship Mr English is standing by his comments; they were after all, when you think about it I mean, while they may not have been entirely politically correct, in being objective, his comments actually were, quite accurate.

That’s the main issue with New Zealand: we praise ourselves on having ‘Free Speech’ and all that wonderfully liberal stuff but when it comes to it, when someone utters a truth which on account of it not being a favourable truth has been conveniently pushed back and out of the way where no one will ever come upon its ugly meaning, it’s as if we just cannot help but take affront.

This is the ugly truth that Deputy Bill was so tactlessly stomping around but still, for some reason that nobody shall ever know, could not articulate: here in New Zealand we have an unemployment rate that is of a disproportionately high nature; also of a disproportionately high nature is the nation’s number of unskilled, uneducated and largely, unwilling youth.

New Zealand dairy farms are hiring Filipino workers in such large numbers because simply, they get the job done.

Unlike many unemployed New Zealand youth who complain about ‘bloody foreigners taking all the jobs’ yet believe themselves to be above working the kinds of jobs that these foreigners are in fact filling, the Filipino workforce not only appreciate the work, these fine men and women take pride in their work.

That was all Mr English was saying – he was merely stating the fact that many unemployed Kiwis are ungrateful, slack, sloppy workers and if they had the opportunity handed to them, they would likely drop it.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Deputy Bill

Photography by Uncle John