Outraged

by Paul Henry

  Best to say nothing at all about it. After all, the facts should not be permitted to interfere with a Herald yarn. As luck would have it, after telling them repeatedly and politely to leave my private property and stop taking photographs on my land, I was forced to tell them repeatedly to fuck off, so they photographed me saying that and reported my outrage. Obviously without such key details as their repeatedly refusing to leave private property after being requested to do so. Instead, ‘Paul Henry loses it!’ Frankly, I am happy to tell them to fuck off anytime. It’s just the way I roll. They had been on private property refusing to leave for so long I’d had time to personally speak on the phone with Shayne Currie. In spite of him fully understanding the facts of the matter, the story was nonetheless misrepresented on the front page. Style over substance.

  OLIVE

  My dear mother, Olive, is becoming more outrageous with every phone call she makes. Age is playing a wonderful game with her mind, and her ability to both frustrate and entertain increases daily. I am constantly stopped in the street by people inquiring after her, as a result of her brush with fame as my long-suffering mother. So, as well as displaying her prowess as an illustrator in this book, I will let you into her mind courtesy of the following transcript of a recent phone conversation with her.

  The phone rings at my house:

  P: Hello.

  O: Who’s this?

  P: What do you mean, who’s this? (frustration begins)

  O: Who am I talking to?

  P: What do you mean, who are you talking to? You rang me and I answered. Who the hell do you think I am? (frustration already reaching fever pitch)

  O: Paul?

  P: Yes, your son Paul.

  O: What do you want? (oh my God!)

  P: What do you mean, what do I want? You phoned me!

  O: Who phoned you?

  P: You!

  O: Oh … Well … (long pause as Mum rummages through what’s left of her mind) Yes. You know you were coming to see me Sunday? Well, I’m going to a Yorkshire day Sunday.

  P: You are going to Yorkshire for the day. (I have unwisely chosen to take the piss)

  O: Noooooo. (27 seconds of hysterical laughter — she’s back) I AM GOING TO A YORKSHIRE DAY, STUPID!

  P: Where’s that, then?

  O: Where’s what? (she’s gone again)

  P: The fuck’n Yorkshire day. WHERE IS IT BEING HELD?

  O: Oh. In … um … Oooh, you know … God … Oh, Papakura. (what the fuck)

  P: Of course it is.

  O: (chuckles)

  P: So, I can’t come and see you Sunday?

  O: (what happens now is a lengthy, real-time explanation of a completely unrelated yarn involving the dropping of a phone. Priceless!)

  P: I said: does this all mean I can’t come and visit you ON SUNDAY? (I want out of this conversation, now)

  O: Oooh. Were you coming Sunday? I won’t be here, I am doing a Yorkshire day.

  P: Great, have a lovely day. You can tell me all about it when I see you.

  O: When’s that, then?

  I can’t begin to tell you how much more of this there is. Let’s just leave it there.

  FACT:

  She had a great day in Yorkshire.

  SUPPLEMENTARY FACT:

  She is such a star. She makes me so proud.

  SCIENTOLOGY

  You freaks. You have got to be shitting me!

  I am not prepared to give you the satisfaction of a full paragraph.

  You are significantly more gullible than the Mormons, and dangerous, to boot!

  Sweet baby Jesus, preserve me. Buddha, give me strength!

  As something of a gift to the Scientologists reading this in order to warn off their clan, here is one of my mother’s masterpieces. It is a picture of a cat, you gullible fools.

  SEVEN SHARP

  Seriously, is this the sum total of TVNZ’s collective wisdom? What’s it all about? Facile rubbish that might be okay in another time slot, but prime-time prestige current affairs? Not even close. The high ground was there for TVNZ to lose, and that’s what they have done. Don’t quote ratings. Just ask yourself, TVNZ: Am I proud of what I am producing for my money? Of course you’re not! If something isn’t working, you don’t just throw more money and more staff at it. You suck it up and change it. In spite of the loss of face.

  In the words of the famous sage Kenny Rogers: ‘You gotta know when to hold ’em, gotta know when to fold ’em.’ It’s well past time to fold, Seven Sharp.

  Don’t blame the hosts — they must be desperate to be set free. The whole thing is so ill-conceived and badly-executed for that time slot. I could dissect it, but to do so would be akin to shooting fish in a barrel. The most challenged fool could chronicle the faults with this show.

  NOTE TO TVNZ:

  You don’t actually need to reinvent the wheel (thank Christ), you just need to produce quality current affairs in a fresh way. Don’t even begin to imagine that’s what you are doing at 7pm now.

  Your consultants should be shot. Don’t wait until dawn.

  ANECDOTE:

  It’s actually all my fault that it’s so bad. I turned the job down, and what we have now is a rushed plan B. Should I say sorry? You’re shitting me, aren’t you?

  SUPPLEMENTARY NOTE:

  People who say, or said, that Seven Sharp’s disastrous performance is vindication for Mark Sainsbury, or that Close Up with Mark should have been retained, are fools. Replacing a disastrous show with one that is even worse is not vindication for the former. And it is certainly not an indication that the original show was actually good. The decision to replace Close Up with a completely revamped, cutting-edge show was long overdue. And still is.

  THE GREAT GATSBY BY BAZ

  Why? Just get the original out on Blu-ray, it’s great — it’s Gatsby.

  Typical Baz Luhrmann. Looks fantastic, but Baz we still need a yarn. The characters pissed me off, and I almost lost the will to live waiting for a storyline to develop. I started to feel the way I did watching that abysmal song-and-dance act in the hobbit house, as those short twats washed, dried and put the dishes away in real time. Shit, you owe me some heartbeats, Peter Jackson! It might be your trilogy, but it’s my fuck’n life!

  Why don’t the Jacksons and the Luhrmanns of this world just sit down in front of the original Wizard of Oz and relearn how to tell a yarn?

  NOTE TO BAZ:

  No matter how beautiful you make it look, you still need to tell the yarn and it needs to be captivating. Don’t waste any more of my precious life on your beautifully filmed puffery!

  FOOTNOTE:

  At this point in time I have not seen the film I starred in, in Hollywood. It could well be shit. Part of me is convinced it will be! But I know two things for sure: it has more storyline than it is humanly possible to follow in a short film, and there are no fuck’n hobbits.

  WINSTON PETERS AND DEMOCRACY

  At this point in time a rough look at averaging political polls would show that about 7 per cent of New Zealanders think Winston Peters is the best choice for prime minister of New Zealand. This fact alone proves democracy is hugely flawed. As if we needed proof. Any system that gives stupid and disengaged fools as much influence as the intelligent and interested is dangerously open to distortion. Or, in other words: dangerously open to Winston Peters.

  With the first-past-the-post system of voting that New Zealand used for much of our political history, you required many more stupid people to tick lunacy before it impacted on society directly; now, under mixed-member-proportional, the odds are in stupid people’s hands. We are reaping the rewards of that now. So is Winston Peters. We are also breeding more stupid and disengaged voters, so the future looks bright for Winston and his ilk.

  So why am I singling out Winston Peters when surely there are more deserving political opportunists to slag off? Well, the answer to that is simple: because Winston is the most dangerous. He is one of the cleverest. He has almost as much political cunn
ing as Helen Clark. But the talent he possesses above his political talent is charm. In an almost charmless crowd, Winston stands tall. (In reality he is quite short.) I have seen detractors melt in his sight. I have seen detractors offer him good, helpful advice in a way they would not with any other politician. He gains followers in spite of the fact many know they are being squired over a cliff.

  So, back to the facts at hand. After decades as a politician, a minister of the Crown, and a party leader, what has Winston actually done that is positive? There is the Gold Card for seniors and — oh God, that’s right — without Winston we would not be reaping the benefits of Brendan Horan’s extensive talents.

  Winston would have us believe that he brings honesty and perhaps some transparency to politics, but in reality he is an expert at queering the pitch. It is that expertise that has the prime minister conceding he would do a deal with Winston, even though he has always said he would not. John Key needs to be aware that in any deal with Winston it’s not likely to be Winston who suffers the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.

  So does Winston outrage me? Not one bit. I take my hat off to the man. He’s a star, albeit so tarnished that he hardly shines at all now.

  It is the 7 per cent who outrage me. And bloody democracy!

  House of Representatives? My God, we’ve got some duffers in parliament. And far too many of them. When I bemoan this fact with acquaintances, they will often say, ‘But it is a house of representatives, so they should represent all facets of life.’ This argument is used by fools who don’t understand the meaning of what they say.

  On the surface their argument is correct: our group of representatives needs to represent everyone. But they are suggesting we need fools to represent fools. Maori to represent Maori. Women to represent women. For fuck’s sake. Well, what about poor criminals? Surely they should be represented by criminals? And the sick? Should they be represented by the well? I think not. By doctors? Certainly not. We should go out of our way to hunt down very unwell people to represent them. Just as we need at least one complete lunatic to represent the truly insane. I know, we do have John Banks, but he can’t be everywhere! The fact is, we are over-governed partly because fools want to see people who look like them in parliament.

  VOTING TEST:

  Why, when a voting test is suggested, is it ridiculed out of hand? Perhaps because the chance it will be adopted is so slim. Perhaps because, with every breeding cycle in New Zealand, more people who will never be able to pass are produced. Perhaps because, if it were, Peter Dunne would email you the answers in advance! Perhaps! Oh, for heaven’s sake, he would never do that.

  If you have no interest in voting and have taken no steps to learn the most basic details of our voting system or the platforms that parties and candidates stand on, surely your vote should not count?

  The ballot should begin with three simple politically-based multi-choice questions. To fail just one would invalidate your vote. An example of the sort of questions would be:

  Does New Zealand have a: (A) president; or (B) prime minister?

  Is New Zealand’s voting system currently: (A) STV; (B) FPP; or (C) MMP?

  How old do you have to be to vote in New Zealand? (A) 21; (B) 18; or (C) 16?

  Yes, I know, simplistic. But you would be amazed, and I hope shocked, at how many voters could not answer all three questions. After all, so many people still don’t understand MMP.

  Perhaps a bonus vote should be given to those at the other end of the spectrum who can answer three tricky political questions, or who have bought a copy of my book!

  QUESTIONS:

  Should the Electoral Commission put so much effort into getting people to enrol? Should they allow late enrolments? Should they use any language other than English and Maori? If New Zealanders eligible to enrol don’t understand deadlines, they are either not interested or too stupid or both. If you can’t understand the English or Maori language, should you be eligible to enrol?

  TOP NINE GROUPS OF PEOPLE WHO OUTRAGE ME

  People who think Winston Peters should be New Zealand’s next prime minister.

  People who think they are special because they are disabled, deformed or disfigured. They are just people!

  People who live courtesy of the taxpayer and show no gratitude.

  People whose political beliefs are so one-sided that they are blinded to the fact that opposing parties do have good ideas.

  People who steal the magic from children’s eyes.

  People who drive with disregard for others. It’s fuck’n arrogant.

  Closed-minded people.

  People who stop walking in front of people who hadn’t intended to stop.

  Socialists and all who support the concept of bleeding a part of society so that others might get a free transfusion.

  DESIGNATED PARKING

  I have no idea how the calculation for disabled car parks versus able-bodied works. What I do know is that the extraordinarily well-placed disabled car parks are often empty when the rest of the car park is full. It seems unreasonable that an able-bodied person gets wet because they have had to walk two kilometres in the rain from the vacant park they found, and just before they reach the mall doors they come across four empty disabled parks. Those parks are waiting for disabled people who have obviously decided to stay home because of the rain. How stupid is that? You have to feel sorry for the able-bodied: they get wet while disabled people sit in front of their TVs at home.

  There are just too many of these ‘special’ parking spaces. However, the parking spaces that really outrage me are the old people and the mothers with prams/toddlers parks.

  Most old people who drive are completely capable of walking, so do them a favour and make them walk greater distances for exercise. If malls and supermarkets are determined to have designated car parks for the old, put them as far from the doors as possible. Rename them ‘move-it-or-lose-it parks’.

  As for those with young children: your decision to have them, not mine! Why should you also get the best parks? It is so unreasonable that fit young breeders should get preference over me. You are probably much more capable of struggling with your appallingly behaved child and a pram than I am struggling with my brilliance.

  And when you do make it inside, your child screams and fits like a banshee, further victimising me. Maybe you should have designated shops, too, so I never have to compromise my life so that you can further your animalistic motivation to breed. What’s next? Designated car parks for the very stupid? For those who are unable to find their way to the front doors unless they can see them?

  THOUGHT:

  How about a designated area for people who have cars valued at over $80,000? A sort of executive area, with wider parking spaces and carpet, all under cover. Cordoned off with gold-coloured bollards and red velvet rope. Perhaps a travelator that bypasses Kmart, delivering you straight to Peter Alexander so you can pick up another pair of $120 sleeping shorts!

  How about luxury car parks for those who pay over $100,000 per year in tax? Yes, they might be rich, but they paid for the road that leads to the car park, and for your maternity leave, so it would be a nice way of saying thank you.

  EXECUTIVE SUMMARY:

  There are just too many ‘designated’ car parks. Reduce the number. Or ditch the idea completely. Alternatively, have a designated car park right by the front door of every mall, supermarket, bank, etc, for ‘Paul Henry’.

  AUTHOR’S OBSERVATION:

  In the States, the car parks are much bigger. It’s fantastic. This is for two reasons. First, everyone in the States is disabled. And secondly, most Americans appreciate the need, as I do, to drive enormous vehicles that at least appear to be able to survive a nuclear attack.

  PUBLIC HOLIDAY SURCHARGES

  How have we let this happen? New Zealand is dependent to a significant extent on tourism and travel. It was a global haven from extra taxes, tipping and surcharges. But no longer. First there was GST, a tax I reluctantly sup
port as a result of its comparative fairness and the flexibility it gives the individual. GST is also fixed in the price of retail sales, so is not a sneaky add-on designed to fool customers ripe for the picking. The public holiday surcharge is an invidious tax placed on sales and service by nasty little businesses taking advantage of a gullible and passive marketplace. Some bigger businesses are starting to adopt the surcharge, too, as they see that it is now accepted as part of our way of life.

  So back to my question: how have we let this happen? Through quiet acceptance. It’s as though as a nation we are saying, ‘I’m bending over — insert your surcharge here!’

  Seeing minor protest to the nasty surcharge, some reactive businesses signposted the fact that they were surcharge-free, but blind fools continued to flock to the surcharge-chargers, so what’s the point? There was even vocal support for those charging it, with customers expounding the right of business owners to recoup the extra cost of salaries. What an outrage! Public holidays are boon times for many businesses; they open because there is money to be made. Extra money in many cases. If they can’t afford to pay wages, take the fuck’n day off. Close!