The Politically Incorrect Show - 15/08/2000
[Music - Die Fledermaus]
Good afternoon, KAYA ORAAAA & welcome to the Politically Incorrect Show on the free speech network, Radio Pacific, for Tuesday August 15, proudly sponsored by Neanderton Nicotine Ltd, the show that says bugger the politicians & bureaucrats & all the other bossyboot busybodies who try to run our lives with our money; that stands tall for free enterprise, achievement, profit & excellence against the state-worshippers in our midst; that stands above all for the most sacred thing in the universe, the liberty of the human individual.
[Music up, music down]
Whangarei harbours one of the country's best-kept secrets. His name is Carl Wyant, & he writes punchy, provocative - indeed, often outrageous - columns for The Whangarei Report that are worthy of national attention. I've selected a couple for the upcoming issue of The Free Radical, which I can promise you are thigh-splittingly funny. Word reaches me that the forces of Political Correctness are out to get him removed, & that they may well succeed. If they do, THAT will be an outrage. Here's a sample of his work from earlier this year that I reproduced in the LAST Free Radical:
As a part time professional optimist I had hopes that the culture of complaint that dominated the 1990s would die a thankful death with the turn of the century ... but no such luck: the Brats of Envy are alive and kicking, and worse - they're multiplying.
Thoroughly sick of the unlimited tons of hogwash chundered out by Big Bro's lapdogs in the print media I'd been avoiding the slicks and broadsheets for months, sure that the half-truths, cake recipes and oxymorons that NZers hold so dear would continue to manifest without my acknowledgement. (Readers might herein deduce that I do not subscribe to subjective, solipsistic theories on the nature of reality, just in case the philosophy of science should happen to pop up here among the badminton results.)
But curiosity got the better of me and on Jan 23 I bought a copy of the Sunday Star Times. Perhaps, I thought, a bold new day had dawned in the hearts of the Watchdogs.
So I flick to the opinion page to see what NZ's loudest opinionizers have to say, and what do I find where the tough guys are supposed to be but a bunch of mewing babies throwing temper tantrums because they can't have the ice cream.
Emblazoned across the top of the page is a thousand word story by India Knight, syndicated from the Sunday Times, London, complaining about Celine Dion, the pop singer. Knight is bitterly outraged because Celine is rich and thin and has bad taste in wedding ceremonies ... but mainly rich and thin.
Would someone please tell me what the heck is wrong with being rich and thin? Strewth. It's the ideal situation.
Basically, India Knight is a new puritan commie. She wants everything in the world ground down to a dull grey norm, and like most of her ilk, she's too dumb to realize she's killing the goose that lays the golden eggs. Tell me Knight, what are you going to do for a crust when all the stars are rubbed out?
Then we see Frank Hayden in a veritable paroxysm of spluttering vociferation, complaining because Jonah Lomu wants the world's loudest boombox in his car.
Frank, who cares?
And last but worst is Greg Turner, whom I don't know, but going by his addlepated diatribe about "the good old days" is a total knucklehead, who launches a vehement attack on the legalization of weekend shopping. Weekend shopping, says Turner, has destroyed New Zealand - and he blabbers on about that for a while and then goes into a kind of rapture about how great the old corner dairies were because the owners knew the customers and everything was homey and cutsie and funsie.
Sure. And I'm the man in the moon.
First of all, the dairy owners of old were not especially friendly. They were snide and officious mini-tyrants. Since there wasn't any competition they could afford to be bastards because the poor shoppers had nowhere else to go.
Not that it mattered much considering the only available food was sheep meat and cabbages.
By the bye, in the few dairies that bothered to stay open on the weekends, all the shelves containing merchandise deemed by the govt to be "non-essential," i.e., everything other than sheep meat and cabbages, were covered with big canvas tarpaulins and it was against the law to buy or sell therefrom.
By chance or design this one page of Star/Times opinion encapsulates the ideals of the new puritanism perfectly: Eat the rich; crush the beautiful; ban fun; go back to the caves.
The horrible irony of the new puritanism is that it's founded upon the filthiest of all sins, Envy. In fact, I predict that the next decade will someday be known as the Age Of Envy, and that its byword will be Normalization.
And now the Greater Lame and Feeble-Minded have voted in NZ's first official New Puritan Government, where Envy is a virtue and Success is a crime.
It's tempting to say I'll see you in Hell, except I won't be going there. I only go where the beautiful go and where the brightest stars shine.
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