Posts by Joe Wylie
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Ask a . . . 'white' migrant with an 'American' accent (real or perceived), just how friendly the place is, and I'm not convinced you'd get many positive responses.
If they project a trailer-trash hillbillyish manner they'll go over a treat with local fundies, to whom Americans are one notch below angels.
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I put my name on the petition, but wheres the debates? could someone kindly link to it.
Me too, but a little more info would be helpful. And I wonder, in the light of steven's comments, how ACC policy on these things has been influenced by the Peter Ellis debacle, where supposed victims received evaluation, and often substantial compensation, well before the first trial was concluded.
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The Ramones - Commando.According to the lyrics, four rules:
First rule is: The laws of Germany
Second rule is: Be nice to your mommy
Third rule is: Don't talk to commies
Fourth rule is: Eat kosher salamisNo mention of underwear.
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Hang on a minute, that's one dodgy clown. They surely expect to be dakked nearly every time they perform.
Life hands out lessons, more often than not through the agency of children, and one modifies one's m.o. accordingly. It was in this context that the tale was relayed to me.
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I offer you Pauline Hanson; evidence it's at least antipodean.
I'd been seeing a similar comparison with the now thankfully fading Alan Jones. The same combination of sphincter-brained mean-mindedness and towering self-importance.
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GI Joe rappelling into battle . . .
Fancy that.
Reminds me of a story from someone working as a kids' party clown in Australia, who was "dakked" (had his clown pants yanked down} by a sneaky anklebiter as he attempted to juggle. All the more embarrassing as he happened to be "freebagging" at the time. -
There is a season, worms, worms, worms
And a time to every purpose under heaven
The kind that crawl, the kind that fly . . . -
"King of ratepayers" doesn't have the same ring as "king of pop". It just evokes an image of some bald git.
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Driving under the influence was a tradition too . . .
Definitely, though it's not been something to boast openly about for around a generation. You can bet that a fair proportion of the undie kids' grad-dads were wont to make with the laddish tales of seeing two beige holdens with identical licence plates, and not being able to decide which one to pass first.
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A ticket to the Wearable Art show with cake afterwards at Chez Eelco?
Very sweet of you, though it'd require time travel since Wearable Art got snapped up by Wellington. In which case I might opt to go all the way back to Eelco's lonely predecessor, the Piccolo Paradiso, just to check if those fake rum & cokes (with a shot of rum-flavoured milkshake syrup} were really that bad.