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.

WHAT AM I?

Last week’s Fustigator: Handkerchief

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

This week’s Theory pertains to the theory of realisation – I just realised that I don’t know the Roman numeral for the number 50.

Given that the essence of the aforementioned numerals with their ‘three after’ then ‘one before’ technique, thus ‘VIII’ then ‘IX’, and with this, number 38, being the one before ‘one before’ (Roman numeral for) 50, to write next week’s Roman numeral I believe I would in fact need to use the Roman numeral for 50 because while XXX is accepted as the worldwide representation for (smut or) 30, XXXX (Australian beer or 40) would actually become ‘one before’ (the Roman numeral for) 50. Right, so, with that explained in the most straightforward language I can muster, I can now get back to my theory.

My theory therefore is that without knowledge of the Roman numeral for 50, coupled with an inexplicable excess of pride preventing a simple Google search which could in seconds uncover that very answer, there is absolutely no way of documenting next week’s Theory.

This comes as a not entirely gut-wrenching revelation for a number of reasons: firstly, after so many Theories I fear I have reached the bottom of my theory receptacle; also I don’t think I’d be the only one to say the Theories were beginning to push for substance anyway and, as demonstrated above, if one reads carefully enough one should be able to make out the way I’ve had to (arguably) cleverly manipulate wording of the aforementioned content to make it say what I’ve needed it to say which, as I’ve found, is ultimately the essence of all good theories. The other reason this ‘end of Theories’ decision hasn’t left me overly downtrodden, after (mildly) increased demand it seems the logical thing to occupy the Wednesday Theory timeslot, is actually the Friday Fustigator.

Because ‘Wednesday Fustigator’ doesn’t roll off the tongue with nearly the level of fluidity as its Friday counterpart however, I am compelled to continue development of the Friday Fustigator then depending on opinion/demand/lack of hate-mail etc, there might soon be a Monday Fustigator for all you conundrum Cassies out there, I don’t know.

Nice one.

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Ty Misca Chang-Jin

Photography by Fist E Gator

New Zealand reconstructive surgeons are dealing with an average of two cases per week of facial injuries to children caused by dogs.

These injuries are in some instances so severe that permanent disfigurement is inevitable.

The most recent dog attack came in Orewa just a few days ago and by all accounts, this poor boy will never look the same again.

Coming as no surprise are the breeds most responsible for these attacks – Pit Bull, Staffordshire, and Rottweiler – prompting the query, why is this horror still being allowed to go on?

To some the solution is obvious: we know the offending breeds, therefore why not just impose a total ban on their ownership?

Would that really solve the problem though, or would it just serve to satisfy the parents of the victims of these injuries, in a sort of indirect retribution?

One thing’s for certain: an outright ban of known vicious dog breeds would do little to abolish this kind of injustice.

Pit Bulls, Rottweilers, Staffordshires, while they are indeed attack prone animals, once domesticated are typically no more attack prone than say, a Dalmatian, which, incidentally, is the same breed of dog that bit into my face when I was a lad…

I digress. The point is that dogs renowned for violence are not necessarily violent dogs by nature.

…Any domesticated, naturally wild, animal is capable of attacking a human; the idea is to tame them in the hope that this trickery will result in a lifetime of un-abusive friendship.

Some dog owners don’t do that though. Some dog owners endeavour to maintain their dog’s primal aggression. Some dog owners own dogs that provide that owner with a sense of empowerment. Some dog owners own dogs that, while placid enough to the owner, will readily attack an unfamiliar person on sight.

Some dog owners owned dogs that have been euthanized for harming people; but who should really have been punished?

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Mutt Lee

Photography by Anne Grey Pooch

Consumer NZ is pushing for clearer food packaging that shows not only nutritional content, they now want it to demonstrate ‘how long the food will take to burn off’.

Presumably this is another attempt by New Zealand’s governing body to eliminate any need for people to think for themselves, yet to pose such a query is ridiculous, and for a number of reasons…

What Consumer NZ, along with their band of so called health advocates are doing, simply, is pandering to the nation’s population of unhealthy, irresponsible, overweight, under-exercised, food-crazed ignoramuses – ‘No, no, come on, you’re OK, it’s not your fault, it’s that damned food, isn’t it? It tricked you again, didn’t it? It didn’t tell you exactly how much of it you were allowed to eat, did it? Or how long it would be before you could eat some more..?’

…Take a 200 gram potato: if a 10-year-old boy were to eat that and continue to tear about like a soul possessed, it would be around half an hour before he needed refuelling; if however the same 200 grams of complex carbohydrate were given to a slothful 45-year-old man while he sat before a television slipping in and out of sleep, in reality that would probably sustain him for the entire day…

Instead of simply throwing back any food that looks, tastes, or feels good, how about taking a moment and listening to what your body actually requires; how about feeling the amount of food your body needs to ingest then appreciating when you require more.

…Other factors which can alter a food’s ‘burn-off time’ include: level of hunger at time of ingestion, level of activity following ingestion and in fact, yes, even the speed of ingestion will make a difference to a food’s metabolic rate.

I am fed up and I have had enough of uninformed Kiwis blaming the food they eat, the marketing behind the food, or even the food producer for the fact that they no longer fit into their favourite outfit.

People, come on, it’s time to take a little responsibility for our actions, realise that we make our own decisions, and quit blaming our shortcomings on the most convenient scapegoat: for Christ’s sake, it’s our food, we’ve bought it, we’re the ones who ultimately stick it in our mouths, chew then swallow; how can the condition of our bodies possibly be anyone else’s fault?

Back to the question: How long will food take to burn off?

Thus to the answer: Around about when you next feel hungry.

But I never feel hungry.

Then why do you eat?

Because I like eating – food makes me feel good.

How do you eat if you’re not hungry though?

I dunno, you just eat.

What drives you to eat though, you know, when you’re not hungry?

Taste, I guess.

How do you know when to stop though, I mean if you’re not hungry to begin with?

I dunno, I guess you just stop when you want to.

Not when you’re full though..?

Yeah, you can stop when you’re full, if you like.

Wow, I am honestly disgusted.

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Chunk Chambers

Photography by Porky Pie

I am rather important yet seldom a subject of the public eye.

I differ depending on gender yet maintain the same general appearance.

I am sometimes used as an accessory yet alone have little appeal.

I manifest a variety of patterns yet semblance is rarely appreciated.

I reside in a cavernous environment yet am never far from warmth.

I am typically of a slight build yet never treated with courtesy.

I am generally agreeable yet can become abrasive when saturated.

I have a short life expectancy yet this can be extended with care.

I usually come in a pack with others akin yet am occasionally single.

I am frequently kept until threadbare yet am basically worthless.

I am proficient at a number of tasks yet mostly I am assigned to wiping.

I am by nature a square yet if you need me I am always around.

WHAT AM I?

Last week’s Fustigator: Telephone

The correlation between those who appear to have had the majority of events in their lives go in their favour yet die young, and those who are forced to struggle for their entire interminable lives, while foggy, I believe is a real thing.

This week’s Theory therefore pertains to a fact of life that I have been observing for some years and which – some call it fate, some might say luck, others maintain it’s the Universe in control – while failing to produce anything close to a consistent outcome does demonstrate an interesting pattern.

I have known a great many people who – good at sports, good at school, good at life in general – in the eyes of others, although short of causing resentment, had a presence that was envied, admired and even revered; I have then observed a number of these people, for one reason or another, arguably before their time, fall.

To witness the demise of someone who has always been the victor of life’s challenges, in a heartless world, might evoke feelings of hollow retribution; a cynic might even believe it was an example of the Universe evening the balance.

Statistically people who race through life with fearless abandon, seizing every opportunity, taking from the world what they want and usually succeeding in their efforts, while certainly enjoying life more than their introverted counterparts, often lead shorter lives than those counterparts leading to the question: is it their reckless manners of living that do them in before their time; does their demise have to do with personal living circumstances, or is it fate?

Of course if it came to a debate on living-style preference there would assuredly be more votes for ‘quality’ than there would for ‘quantity’ – after all what good is quantity without quality?

Some fatalists maintain that once one has had their quota of luck that’s it, there is no more to be had. Some fatalists maintain that to pack into life too much enjoyment too early on will invariably kill a person young (which is curious because doctors also believe the rock star lifestyle of sex, drugs and unadulterated hedonism is conducive to early death, but then that might be for other reasons). Many fatalists maintain ultimately, the higher the concentration of good times, the shorter the lifespan.

One need only direct their mind to the infamous ’27 Club’ including the likes of Hendrix, Cobain, Joplin, Morrison, and Winehouse, to conclude that fate isn’t so much on the side of musician-based hedonism.

In fact the 27 Club spans a number of decades and comprises over 100 musicians which although at first glance might appear sad, one can be easily mitigate that despair with the fact that this bunch of defeated 27-year-olds will have packed into their curtailed lives more enjoyment, more good times than many 80-year-olds could ever dream to have experienced.

As mentioned this theory is far from precise in its measurements – fair to say Hugh Hefner would have experienced well above his quota of joy by age 40, along with others – which is why I use words such as ‘generally’, ‘statistically’, ‘reportedly’, ‘allegedly’, ‘tend to’ and ‘sources maintain’; nevertheless as I write this piece I can’t help thinking of the face that actually inspired this Theory.

Dean Jared Carroll, born 22^nd January, 1982. A veritable paragon of a man, skilled at whatever he attempted, absolute legend, loved by all; loved life more than anyone I knew. This man’s ability to extract enjoyment from the world was unprecedented and every year around this time I find myself wondering: had Dean been given only a regular zest for life, had he not been as awesome, had his presence not been as scintillating as it was, might the greatest guy the world has ever known still be around today?

Dean Jared Carroll, died 14^th April, 2007, aged 25.

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Thunka U Dean

Photography by Aslute Campion

Mockery of hospital food has long been a source of comic relief, but now food in some New Zealand hospitals is being labelled ‘inedible’.

Well, this is a first world issue if ever I heard one: typically patients turn to a hospital for convalescence, in order to heal when they are broken. When the limb breaks, the virus attacks, or the pregnancy runs its course, generally food is not a priority. Quite the contrary: we immediately seek hospital care. We don’t pay for this care, it’s just provided for us…

Sure we pay our taxes and some of that goes towards healthcare but whether a person actually ends up capitalising on that blessed free-hospital-care-liberty is something of a gamble, therefore any one inpatient cannot really claim to have ‘paid’ for their time in hospital.

…This healthcare is provided for us, essentially free of charge and we, the New Zealand public have the shameless audacity to complain about it.

Honestly, is there so little hardship in this great land that we are now bemoaning the standard of New Zealand hospital chefs? Are we really that pathetic?

It’s a hospital. It’s not a restaurant. It’s there to remedy illness, not to lavish upon its guests a high quality dining experience. Bear in mind also that hospital chefs must cook food en mass, rather than tailor each dish to the preferences of the individual palates awaiting them.

The meals ought to be satisfactory and no more, and from what I saw that’s exactly what they were…

The News showed pictures of this apparent ‘inedible’ food and yes, I was inclined to agree with our resident population of stinking bloody ingrates: the presentation of the dish was indeed lacking.

…They were satisfactory and no more, yet many people today appear to be so caught up with the boundless importance of, and the pleasure derived from, masterfully prepared food (one needs only view national obesity statistics for verification of this assertion), that irrespective of where we are we demand culinary excellence.

Personally, food is sustenance and no more. A food’s nutritional substance holds a great deal more significance than its flavour; providing it’s palatable I’ll always do my best to choke it down.

I’m certain that’s a viewpoint shared by hospitals too: they are there to bring patients back to full health thus anything more than basic nutrition in hospital food, is surely a waste of time.

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Haspy Tiddle

Photography by Lah Dee Dah

I am accustomed to the touch of others yet my own reach is abstract.

I only speak when spoken to yet I am responsible for much gossip.

I am hard-surfaced yet am not impervious to abuse.

I often rest in a cradle yet am over one hundred years old.

I regularly disturb peace yet have been known to incite that very thing.

I am an exceptional communicator yet have no ability to articulate.

I am low maintenance yet will stop responding if forgotten for too long.

I respect privacy yet do often oversee breaches of secrecy.

I was invented by a chap with a name like a chime.

I have an unremarkable façade yet number almost a ten.

I am the advanced cousin of Morse’s brainchild yet am almost considered obsolete.

I will not consider myself easy yet will accept your ring even before we know each other.

WHAT AM I?

Last week’s Fustigator: Clock

The first frost of the year befell the Canterbury Plains last week; amid an otherwise balmy month of March some might consider such an early freeze ‘unseasonable’.

This kind of supposed anomaly in New Zealand’s weather patterns plays right into the hands of the nation’s ‘climate changers’ – that quirky group of zealots who advocate the belief that man’s presence on the surface of the globe is greatly contributing to planet Earth’s eventual demise – who, seemingly forgetting that they too align with this unholy presence of human racers, like to blame any unusual weather phenomenon on people in general.

The fact of the matter is that the very same thing, the same early frost or two or even three occurs most years, it’s just that the majority of us don’t make a habit of recalling the precise way things took place over 350 days in the past.

This week’s Theory therefore, which if I’m not careful I’ll have documented in full before so much as writing the introduction, pertains to the way that the nation’s and indeed, this world’s populous of malcontents tend to perceive remarkable and upsetting instances to best fit with their beliefs and opinions while conveniently forgetting, or overlooking the actual facts that might go some way to undoing their theories.

Examples of the aforementioned assertion/accusation can be seen – in fact they can be witnessed in most every instance where so called eco-warriors have exerted their uninformed or often ignorant presence on the nation or often world in their attempt to stymie its attempt at progress or ultimately prosperity.

In fact climate change is just one example: despite the world’s major polluters being the likes of China, USA, Brazil, Indonesia, and even Japan, our own little band of climate changers still do their best to cause a ruckus regarding the ideal of ‘rigorous emission control in New Zealand’, as if a sparsely located population of five million (refer, Truth on Pollution) can make a difference when China shoots into the sky in ten minutes the amount of pollution that the whole of NZ does in an entire week.

Then there’s the grounding of whales around New Zealand’s coast (refer, Whale in a Pickle) which likely has more to do with the ocean’s increasing paucity of food, resulting in these whales’ intentional beaching thus suicide, than it does with these eco-warriors’ theory of disorientation; therefore all that’s being achieved by their refloating is effectively perpetuating these majestic creatures’ starvation, but of course listening to facts when they can create convenient fiction is scarcely the eco-warrior way.

What about that TPP thing? (Refer, Protesting VI; Little.) Did anyone ever find out what that abbreviation stood for? What about the nature of it – what it actually meant, I mean, or what it would mean? No, I don’t think any of those protesters bothered to learn the specifics of that particular agreement either – they couldn’t have, or they would have realised that not only is such an agreement vital to the future prosperity of the nation; had these idiot malcontents done some research into the Trans Pacific Partnership they would have found that this variety of trading agreement has been an integral part of New Zealand’s economy since the ‘80s there was just no need to bring it into the public eye because, well, shit, look what happened when it was.

Thus to conclude: my theory states that amid a nation of petulant, pathetic, penis-throwing malcontents, people, specifically, protesters, only ever really hear as much as they want to hear.

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Iggy Norrant

Photography by Malcolm Tent