I’ve spent years using pedal power to get to work in a single-handed attempt to save the planet from carbon monoxide asphyxia, and as a protest against The Evil Oil Companies.

But this morning I felt no guilt in hopping into my car and farting smoke into the atmosphere. Because the planet is trying to kill me.

As a cyclist, it’s inevitable when you share the road with psychos in vehicles that you will, every now and then, have your fair share of Close Calls.
Well yesterday I had about 8-years-worth in one day.

About 2km from work, I suddenly felt like I was in a blockbuster movie as I heard this squeal of tyres locking up directly behind me. It went on for about 6 seconds and I could feel the car right behind me as I pedalled for my life, like I was trying to outrun an avalanche of metal.

Finally, when I could hear that the car behind had come to a stop, I turned around and pointed two fingers towards my eyes, which roughly translates in this part of the world as “Use your fucking eyes, moron!”.

You should see me geared out when I ride. I have lights at the front and back. I ride in reflective clothes and reflective shoes and have a reflective backpack and a reflective helmet and I carry a great big reflective sign that says "Look Twice For Bikes". So the only way you can possible miss seeing me is if your guide dog has momentarily taken its eyes off the road to lick its nuts.

So anyway, 500 metres after that encounter another moron runs a red light and, again, almost takes me out.

I get to within 1km of work and I get a puncture, courtesy of a 2-inch-long drill bit that somehow made it onto the road. So I have to push the rest of the way to work.

THEN, going home I have a taxi and then a bus tag-team to try and take me out.

So today, I’m in the car. If this shit continues, tomorrow it could be a MBT Abrams battle tank.

Swear to God, it’s like I’ve pissed off some cosmic forces or something. Perhaps they’re envious of my Awesome Psychic Powers. Or perhaps they’re unhappy with all the racist jokes I’ve been telling lately.

Or … perhaps I shouldn’t have listened to Tom Cruise and should instead keep taking my Ritalin after all…

Two Maoris walk into a pet shop. Right away they go to the bird section and Rangi says to Hemi; "Bro, that’s the bastards".
The shopkeeper comes over and asks if he can help.

"Yeah cuz, we'll take four of the budgie things in that cage up there", says Rangi. "Put them in a paper bag".

The shopkeeper does as asked and the two struggle to find enough money to pay for the birds and leave.

They get into Rangi's Valliant Ranger and drive until they reach a cliff with a 500ft drop, Just south of Galatea.
"Dis looks like a choice place bro", says Rangi.

He then takes the two birds out of the bag, places them on his shoulders and jumps off the cliff.

Hemi watches as his mate drops off the edge and goes straight down for a few seconds followed by "Oh fuck Bro"............ 'Splat'.
As Hemi looks over the edge of the cliff he shakes his head and says, "Fuck that bro, dis budgie jumpin' is too fuckin dangerous for me..."

A few minutes later, Tapu approaches. He too has been to the pet shop and is carrying the familiar 'paper bag'. He then pulls a parrot out of the bag and Hemi notices that in the other hand Tapu is carrying a sawn-off shot gun.

"Watch this Hemi" he says, as he launches himself over the edge of the cliff.
Hemi watches as half way down Tapu takes the gun and blows the
parrot's head off. Tapu continues to plummet until there is another 'Splat'
and he joins Rangi at the bottom of the cliff.

Hemi shakes his head and says, "And I'm never tryin' that parrotshooting shit either ..."

After a few minutes, Boy strolls up. He too has been to the pet shop and walks up with his 'paper bag'. Instead of a parrot he pulls a chicken out of the bag and launches himself off the cliff with the usual result.