Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Mike's Minute (transcript) - by Mike Hosking




I see The Desperate Hyperactive Collective of Bonkers Housewives On Facebook have called me out over my Mike’s Minute earlier this month when I gave big ups to the Carter Couple for calling in the lawyers over photos taken without their knowledge and published in Women’s Day. "The anti-Mike Hosking"? Pfft.  Well thank heavens for that really, it means she thinks I am the opposite of being as mad as batshit.

As I said I did the same once over my children and I never took ‘it can’t be won’ for an answer I won the case all the way and all the big shot legal beagles now tell me it’s case law cited all around the world and used by celebrities, some even more famous than me when they want to protect their children from the glaring lenses of the paparazzi.

But the Desperate Hyperactive Collective of Bonkers Housewives On Facebook – oh hell my time is precious let’s just call them DHCBHOF, it’s also easier when your brain runs as rapidly as mine does and your mouth works on overtime I mean to say that’s what I’m paid megabucks for – took umbrage at my saying in particular that the women’s mags are vultures that prey on people for profit. 
Well they are.

Why get all weepy peepy about that? Unless you read this stuff for breakfast lunch dinner then after tennis cocktails then when you’ve picked up your little spoiled darlings from school? The DHCBHOF also got together on a thread – so I’m told I never stoop so low as to read this sort of thing, too busy you know what with my radio show, television show, cleaning the Maserati – and opined it was wrong for me to say one negative thing about these women’s magazines because my wife – yes my wife, writes for them. One of them. I don’t know which one, wouldn’t have a clue don’t allow them into the house. Rubbish. Only read Shakespeare myself – “A horse, a horse my kingdom for a horse!” except the car salesman silver-tongued me into a trident marque instead. Maybe the prancing horse next time.

Always fancied myself as Richard III.

Where was I? Oh yes, DHCBHOF. My wife. She can do what she damn well likes, write for whomsoever she likes. Nothing to do with me, so long as I can boot the damn arse out of whoever she likes. Boot so hard the sole imprints of my winkle-pickers will be branded on the arse cheeks of those magazine mastheads. As someone famous said. Can’t remember who that was so it can’t have been as famous as me. So you get my point don’t you – just because my wife writes for these people doesn’t mean, by the strange twisted non-logic of these DHCBHOF that I am biting the hand that feeds me, as they say.

Hilarious. Biting the hand that feeds me. Darlings, whatever my wife does for those publishers would never bring in enough to feed the hypothetical fleas on the backs of the hypothetical mice that might eat the hypothetical crumbs that might drop from the table at which we eat, if we eat at home. I say that because we never drop crumbs from our table. We are perfect.

So the point the DHCBHOF miss was children have rights. They don’t choose celeb parents. They have the right to be left alone – whether they are the offspring of Dan Carter or Nigel NoMates. I went all the way to the highest courts in the land to prove this and my case is cited by law lords all over the world (Ed - Yes we know, you keep telling us).

So just because DHCBHOF posts pictures of their own children all over Facebook or Instagram ad nauseum – own choice, accept that, no problems, each to their own, free country – that doesn’t mean we all want our own little brats to be admired and gooed over by all and sundry.

Anyway, there is no room for kiddy-pix: it’s all about me.

Editor's Note - Mike Hosking is taking over New Zealand media. All journalists turn green when his name is mentioned because he is eternally optimistic. He refuses to look on the dark side and never runs with the Press Gallery pack. For that reason alone he deserves a Canon Media Award – Courage in the Face of the Enema. 

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