What Eats my Groats

That damned car on the road to Masterton, Holden V8, green paint job (both my favourite) and yet your number plate ECP158 that I looked at for over twenty kilometeres as you sped up slowed down sped up slowed down and finally when I had the chance to overtake you, you veer out into my road room.

The Labour Party.  In an election year you do not make fools of yourselves and the ratings reflect your loose footing.  If Phil Goff (a modern day Bill Rowling) continues to lead without actually leading then you'll be in political obscurity for a wee while longer.  I'd say that party needs to grow balls but I see there are a few ladies in the mix.  Maybe one of them could be another Aunty Helen.

Liquefaction.  Before Christchurch's shakes, a word confined to strange geographical dictionaries.  Now the media can't get enough of it.  Dear God, when next apportioning natural disasters to other New Zealand centres make sure there are no erroneous words from strange dictionaries the media can play with.

Pus.  Ewwwwwww

Dogs and Cats.  If folks can't even look after their own children how the fuck are the going to look after animals.  Pet owners should sit a Pet Driving Test before being issued their pets.

Nude sunbathers.  The bane of beach resorts.  Why anyone would resort to chancing melanoma by exposing all the body beggars belief.  AND!!!  FFS folks, if you are wrinkled and all ya bits are affected by gravity, keep ya fucken clothes on.

Childbirth.  What a cruel joke (supposedly God) nature made to put women through that.  I feel sorry for elephants giving birth.