My other brother is the G-Man.

He’s way too dodgy to ever be allowed to join the G-Men, though.

He’s 8-years younger, and also goes by the nickname “Spanky”.

I have no idea why people call him that.

I don’t want to know why people call him that.

Especially if it actually has anything to do with spanking.

Actually, I have a feeling it has everything to do with spanking.

He’s currently flatting in my h’town with my other brother, Bugbreath.

No good can come of this.*

When Bugbreath got king-hit and knocked-out and hospitalised, with his head and teeth kicked-in by a gang of homey cowards a couple of years back, the G-Man grabbed a baseball bat, a posse, and the home address of the assailants.

I was disappointed that he would do something as risky as taking the law into his own hands in such a Biblical fashion.
Or maybe I was disappointed that I didn’t get an invite.

G had a court appearance late last year, involving a runaway trailer and the fast lane of the Auckland motorway. At rush hour.

Which was then followed by police officers serving a trespass order after a “suggestion” involving his lousy job, a verb meaning to ‘push roughly’, and his boss’ bottom.

G is also known as “Uncle Eff & Eff”, due to his inability to get through a single simple sentence without inserting at least three swear words. Even when children are present.

Especially when children are present.

G-Man recently had to change his very first nappy.

Bugbreath’s toddling son stays with them four days a week.
One night Bugbreath had to rush out to attend a car fire, leaving the G-Man in charge of babysitting duties.

After a while he noticed this horrible smell. He presumed the wind was blowing it from the meatworks.

Then after another while he, slowly, came to the realisation that he could only smell the smelly smell when his little nephew went past.

And then he freaked out. Holy Fuck, he was going to have to change the nappy. How the fuck do you fucking do that? Fuck!

But he’s a builder, who has built many serious and complicated things in his time, so he figured … well, how hard can it be?

He found where the clean nappies were kept, but couldn’t seem to locate the plans, or instructions that told you how to operate them.
So he unfolded one on the floor and looked at it for a while, scratching his head, running complicated calculations. And then he was ready.

The G-Man held his breath as he lay his nephew down and removed the soiled nappy. Cleaned him up. Done.

Then the time came to put on the new nappy. And that’s where things went a little pear-shaped.

He couldn’t quite work it out.

No probs, he figured. He’s a builder. He can improvise.

So he went out to the tool shed.
He couldn’t find his nail gun, but he grabbed some duct tape, and, two strips later, the job was done.

Nail gun.
Nail.
Gun.
Gun.
Nails.
Nail gun.
What?

“Well… I remembered that you had to use safety pins, but I couldn’t find any, so I figured it wouldn’t be too different”.

Did I mention that these were disposable nappies, with adhesive tags?
It doesn’t get much easier than that.

And it goes without saying that there is no way Uncle Eff & Eff is ever effing babysitting my daughters…




* Bugbreath is the one who once discovered a dope patch, relocated the plants, harvested them and had a lot of friends that summer. Unlike his foolish older brother who handed them in to the police when faced with a similar situation years earlier.

A bunch of NZ Catholics are upset that the episode of South Park where a statue of the Virgin Mary spurts menstrual blood into the face of Pope Benedict was shown on TV last night. They didn’t watch it themselves, but other Catholics who also hadn’t seen it told them it was bad.

They protested and tried to get the Prime Minister to have the episode pulled, as was done in Australia.
The TV company, in reply, brought the screening forward three months early to thwart any such threat.

The Catholics are now suggesting that freedom of speech should be overridden by legislation that prevents television companies from showing anything “offensive”. To anyone.

Last night, six times the normal viewing audience tuned in to watch Bloody Mary, thanks to all the publicity.

Personally, I figured the episode would have been more offensive to Alcoholics Anonymous, seeing as it basically portrayed the movement as a cult that teaches people they have a disease that can Only be cured by first believing in a higher power.

And I would have also figured that the episode that screened a couple of seasons ago about Pope JP2 and other cardinals sleeping with choir boys would have been waaay more offensive. Or the one where Jesus gets his arse kicked by Satan. Or the one where Jesus gets killed rescuing Santa Claus from crazy Muslims.

And even those episodes are tame compared with the ones showing Paris Hilton completely disappearing up a gay man’s arse, or a magical cheek-kissing poo comforting Jews at Christmas time, or a bully being tricked into eating his own parents. Or Cartman getting an anal probe.

Ahhh, such classics.

But anyway, my point is … people… televisions come with an Off Switch.

If you don’t think you’ll like what you’ll see, exercise your God-given right to use it.

Don’t try and piss the D-Man off by taking South Park off the air.

Because I’ll burn your fucking embassy down.

Seriously.

Beefcake!