August 2012 Archive

Filmmaker Sumner Burstyn dances on our brave soldiers’ graves the day before bodies are bought back from Afghanistan to their final resting place.

 Original post on Facebook from Sumner Burstyn:

“oh so fallen soldier Jacinda Baker liked boxing and baking- did they forget she also like invading countries we are not at war with, killing inocent people and had no moral compass”.

she is so happy she tweets this disgusting point of view to her wider audience. No foot in mouth syndrome here, she is openly gleeful over Baker’s death despite the hurt this could cause to relatives and the NZ Defence Force.

Monique Angel Commment:
A quick search on failed filmmaker Barbara Sumner Burstyn shows she is of the anti-vaccination anti-U.S, “cos they take the oil from the Arabs “, crazy train. She gets funding from NZ On Air to disseminate propaganda and bleat about naughty warring nations and her wonderful family.

When having it pointed out to her how disrespectful her post was, she does the jig on Baker’s grave with the following disgusting commentary.

“That’s not honoring our country, it’s helping to destroy another one. She 100% does not deserve our respect for her flawed choices. we are not at war. We are helping America invade another country for their oil. No more than that. Go to war expect to be killed. You can’t have it both ways-oh nice little career with the military and shock horror when you get blown up”.

There’s a word for this type of¬† woman and you won’t have to look hard to find it on the Sumner Burstyn Give Back your Passport Fbook page:

 Sumner Burstyn is Canadian and should probably go back there.

Outraged individuals are serving her arse to her via this Fbook page as she shuts her own page down. She tries the typical passive aggressive approach to prove her moral high ground.

And what did she think would happen? And actually the comments are more hot air said in real heated anger over loss of one of their own, along the lines of how the world might be a better place without her.
 Apparently Campbell has given her the time of day on Campbell Live. Perhaps a boycott of her films is now in order.

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 Cactus Kate points out that Wendyl Nissen may be being a bit creative with her agony Aunt style column:
Cactus Kate: Faking It?

 CK does a deconstruction of the letters to prove her point and also casts a Gen XY version of what might be appropriate responses. These had me cracking up.
I am far too immature to touch any of the relationship queries from Wendyl’s mailbag. I’d be sitting here sniggering at the responses that come to mind. I might even post something wholly inappropriate in a fit of thrall at my own wit.
However, as luck would have it, a concerned Nana has also written in to Wendyl. I am sure I can address this with maturity and wisdom :

Hmmmmm. I’m already thinking “Twin Nana”, here has a little too much time on her hands. Alarm bells rang at the phrase, “my two beautiful twin grandaughters”. Too possessive.
But, wait, Wendyl’s response:

Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong WRONG.
First of all Wendyl believes “Twin Nana’s”, observations are correct because she sympathizes with “Twin nana”. It strikes me that the lovely Wendyl is a young grandmother. Wendyl is yet to encounter an obstinate grandchild, a recalcitrant daughter-in-law or the low rat cunning of a modern teenager. She probably still retains the over-vigilance of a Mum of young children. The message should be: Chill out Nana.

My letter would read as follows:
 Dear Worried Nana,

Time to change your perspective. This is a wonderful thing about being a grandparent, you can sit back and observe.

Your input is not wanted so you don’t have to waste your efforts with a futile expenditure of energy. That is your daughter’s lot. At the risk of pointing out the obvious, stop visiting every day and you’ll stop finding fault.
Your daughter made her bed, lay in it, lay back and thought, “make me pregnant with baby Jesus”. Now it is her turn to deal with the puling brats.
You are no longer the mother of young children, your daughter is!
Heads up. One of those twins is a little toad. Mothers don’t say their beloved offspring are problem children unless they are being driven bat-shit crazy by an absolute brat. Your daughter needs someone to moan to in lieu of dinner out with her husband. And that may not happen regularly enough if hubby is banging the company secretary or obsessed with golf. So be a good Nana and gently uncork the top from a bottle of bubbly.
Point out that your daughter is a wonderful mother and you feel she should drink more top shelf spirits.
You may not drink yourself, but your daughter sure as hell needs to, to cope with Chucky 2.
If she is surprised, then that might be all it takes. Just pointing out that life is not fucking fair and how you’ve noticed she is neglecting herself, which is what all good mums do, will help no end.
Tell her you’d like to be able to babysit but it was hard enough raising her.
Most of all, ignore the bad child Рin fact ignore all the children including your own daughter.   Spending more time with the widower down the road could be a good start.

Disclaimer: My Nana is wonderful. When I grow up I would like to be like her. My Mum, Aunties and In-laws are also tremendous. Big ups for the great job they all did with their children.

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Hopefully we will be spared this kind of visual assault in future. We don’t need to know that Prince Charming is as white and pimply as the next guy.

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Libby is an Avatar that will assist customers atNew York’s¬† JFK,¬† La Guardia and New Jersey’s Newark -Liberty International Airport. I anticipate in time we will become used to individual avatars on top of self-help kiosks. They are, after all the ultimate in cheap labor.

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Abuser James Parker was given free reign to abuse the children in his care by an unbelievably oblivious Board of Trustees. From the NZ Herald.

Police warned Pamapuria School’s Board of Trustees in 2009 with a strongly worded letter about Parker’s behaviour.¬†

Despite this letter Parker was allowed to esculate his offending against children. He took children back to his home despite an explicit warning by the police not to allow this to take place.

Paedophile sickness goes well beyond the offender. In many cases they are enabled by others who cannot or will not see the depth of the individual’s rot. Pamapuria is obviously one such sick community and the board and ERO should be held to account in letting this monster have free reign in the community’s midst.

Until last year my kids were at a New Zealand school in north Wellington. We Mums were well aware of the paedophile hangouts in Welly. I’d like to think there is no way a paed would have thrived in our midst. And they would try. Occasionally you’d see a man unaccompanied by a child at the local swimming pool.
Sitting in the baby pool alone.
One by one, we ‘Hang Em High”‘ Mums would complain to the pool duty who had a list of local offenders and they’d promptly be escorted from the pool.

My position on Paedophilia is black and white. I’m not promoting vigilante justice here but the most they deserve is a kindly word periodically from a paid jailer. They are less human than a rabid dog.¬† Family and former friends should abandon them in droves. Quite often they do not. This is because they can turn on the charm that is part of their make-up as monsters. They are expert at working sympathy. They have no vestiges of humanity left in them but theywell know how to work ours.
Parker demonstrates this with the following plea to the community:
“Those of you who know me well will know that I am not the monster that many will portray me to be. I am, however, the unwilling host of a most terrible disorder.”
“It is my great hope that all who have suffered because of me will now be able to get the help they need. It is also my desperate wish that I too will be able to receive help for this sickness within me.”
Parker said he would grieve over his actions and the suffering he had caused for the rest of his life.
“All I can say is I’m sorry.”
Rubbish. All paeds will say they are sorry and present themselves as victims of an illness. Like, say, addiction. However, addicts feel shame about their actions. These monsters are incapable of feeling shame. Their modus operandi is to demonstrate whatever behavior they need to to continue feeding off their victims.

Parker is currently facing almost 50 charges.


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From the “Facebook Files”.¬† It’s refreshing to see a somewhat public figure speak their mind. Race Relations commissioner Joris de Bres serves¬† back to a writer who accuses him of inverse racism. In doing so he takes a punt at others who have accused him of the same:

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These dive instructors were negligent in allowing these students to dive poor vis (visibility) conditions in Lake Pupeke:

You do not do a deep dive in conditions with anything less than optimum visibility. There is too much that could go wrong. Dive to depths of over 15m and you run the risk of decompression sickness and nitrgen narcosis. It sounds like these guys got narced as they descended and swam further downwards due to the poor vis. The instructors have blood on their hands.

I did this same dive in lake Taupo last decade. We dove to 39 ft. It was the middle of the day. Conditions were good and it was still extremely challenging. We were well educated about the dangers and were put in a pressurized tank prior to the trip. By the time we dived we were acquainted with nitrogen narcosis and educated about the disorientating landscape at depth. At depth there is little or no colour to identify your surroundings due to lack of light.

What education did these students receive, I wonder.

“The inquest was told conditions on the day of the dive were poor, with visibility under the water extremely limited.”

So why did they go down then?

I would surprised if at the end of the inquest, the coroner did not issue a statement condemning the absolute ineptness of these dive instructors.

This is what you see on a good day diving Motutere Lake Taupo. Photo:
¬†This photo was taken at a depth of 39m.¬† I have dived here previously. You see these koura and bullies. Koura are territorial and each have their own “triangle”they sit in the middle of.

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Think for a moment. You’re the wife, husband or mother or father of one of our dead soldiers. You’ve been informed. You’re wading through the grief and even more overwhelming than the grief is the need to know MORE! How did they die? Could there be a mistake in identifying the body? What weapons and what individuals were responsible? Was it Al Qaeda? What lead to these soldiers driving that particular route? Who was saved? Who was going to be in the LAV alongside, but duty and fate called them in another direction? You don’t begrudge these soldiers their lives. You are so glad they are alive. You have an overwhelming need to put together the puzzle of your soldier’s last few days.
¬†You are not alone. You do not have time to think. Important members of the army are on the phone and in your home. The Prime Minister calls. You knew he would. It’s protocol.
He sounds different on the phone. He says he is sorry and thanks you for your own contribution in your support. You believe him. The phone call is awkward but meaningful. You move on through your duties over the day. It’s a score you play in an unfathomable symphony.
Over the hours you are elated. Destroyed and elated. How will you go on? How could you not go on? Your loved one died defending the tenets of democracy and freedom. Life and death happens for a reason. You will never know exactly what it is he or she went off to do but you hold onto the knowledge that but for your brave soldier more women might suffer the fate of this mutilation:

Your soldier was a hero. you hold that to yourself.
You never know until it happens but the newly dead walk past your window. You see them constantly out of the corner of your eye. This will fade. They will never fade from your memory but they walk through your dreams less over time and become more real in your accounts of them to others over the years.
You remember the first time you saw your son/daughter/wife/ husband’s smile. You remember them telling them they loved you. That insignificant fight.
The TV and newspapers intrude into your grief. No-one from the media actually rings you. They wouldn’t dare. But you still see the headlines:

 You are puzzled. They seem to be saying the death of your soldier was futile. That it was all for nothing.
You can forgive Phil Goff his opinion. He did after all have a nephew killed in Afghanistan. But it gives you a funny feeling, this talk about troop withdrawal on this day of your beloved’s death.
You stop reading NZ headlines when you see this in the NZ Herald:
“Should NZ troops be pulled out of Afghanistan early?”
 Other nations pay tribute to your soldier. You read the international headlines only.
¬†Anything you can find. Anything that pays tribute to the loss of the soldier. There are so many. Every time you refresh your screen you see more tributes. For a small nation, your soldier’s death has attracted a lot of international attention.
Their death was not futile; they marked, mourned and celebrated. All around the world.
Your soldier was a hero. You hold that to yourself.

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Darien Fenton posted this on Labour Blog Red Alert:

 Background: Apparently migrants are being paid below the minimum wage.

Personally I think a high minimum wage hurts New Zealand. It is a universal conundrum. You do your time, you save up and upskill and then you become ze boss. I would support a very low minimum wage for jobs without qualifications. Forget about youth wages; many youth do as good a job as their elders.
A low minimum wage across the board. The cost of living as measured by a basket of common goods would fall overnight. We and those currently  minimum wage workers could spend save and invest a lot more.
 A Classic comment followed the blog post from the following punter:

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One hot summer day, Warrigal came to town with his dog, tied it under the shade
of a tree, and headed into the pub for a cold one.

Twenty minutes later, a cop entered the bar and asked, “Who owns the dog
tied under that tree outside?”

Warrigal called out, ” It’s mine, mate.”

“Your dog seems¬† to be in heat,” the cop said.

Warrigal replied, “No way. She’s cool as, ’cause she’s tied up under that shade

The cop said, “No! You don’t understand. Your dog needs to be bred.”

“No way,” said Warrigal. “That dog don’t need no bread. She ain’t hungry ’cause I
fed ‘er this mornin’.”

The exasperated cop said, “NO!¬† You don’t understand; your dog wants to have

Warrigal looked at the cop and said, “Well, go ahead. I always wanted a police

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