Tuesday, July 7, 2015

The Last Column - by Bob Jones



This will be my last column for the Herald. Ever. It’s bloody outrageous the way the media behave these days. 

Editors are liars. Take that Shayne Currie. He’s a likeable enough chap but he’s a Catholic and a journalist so he’s congenitally unable to tell the truth. Every bloody time I handed in my column I said now don’t you alter one single word. Oh no we won’t, we won’t and then what happens? Oh we just had to change the word negro because it’s racist.

It’s not bloody racist. Look it up in the dictionary. It’s a word for christ’s sake. I’ll give you bloody racist. Then they tell me it doesn’t comply with the Herald style book. Well what’s that got to do with anything?

So I quit. They’ll regret it. My columns were read more than any other piece in the whole bloody paper including the whores’ personal ads. That’s the truth. 

Nobody reads that wet Brian Rudman’s columns that’s for sure.

Tell you what, all those wets who hated my columns and wrote comments every week, all those Gandalfs and You-Know-Its-The-Truth and all the others, what are they going to do all day now I’m gone. What do you think these poor old buggers do with themselves, hunched over their computers waiting and waiting for something to come along so they can write in and grizzle? I don’t know.

They’ll be fat. Fat girls. The whole street is full of fat girls. Except if they’re Asians and the only trouble with Asians is they can’t spell. The one time my secretary typed a letter without making a spelling mistake I put a sign in the foyer. I do all my own filing. Have to otherwise I’d never find anything again. But I tell you what I look after my girls, they all have their own offices, nice big offices and they all get paid well. There are no stunning looking New Zealand girls, especially in the provinces. They’re all fat . Why do you think that is? Huge beasts lumbering along the street yabbering away into their cellphones. It’s outrageous. Fucking outrageous.

What do you think of this Key fellow? Is he a bit of a nut? He can’t even speak properly. (Eh? Speak up I can’t hear you, you’re mumbling. No I’m not going deaf.) He’s got all these fat girls around him – that woman what’s her name, the tart from West Auckland, and that Judith woman now she should never be back in Cabinet let alone get her hands on Justice again after what she said about the Bain case that was fucking outrageous. The woman’s an idiot.

I don’t drink anymore. And I don’t smoke. Just the pipe. The wine was killing me. Fucking outrageous. So I stopped completely. These days, it’s just a low-alcohol beer, or a Harvey’s Bristol sherry, just the few. I don’t miss it. I don’t like going out anyway, all those endless speeches going on and on, people mumbling in a corner, talking Maori.

It’s fucking outrageous. Even Deborah Coddington started talking in Maori I mean, who does she think she is? Fucking outrageous. I’m sick of it. Sick of it.

I don’t even go to the boxing any more. It’s not boxing it’s just a fucking spectacle with these bimbos in bikinis. Yelling and screaming. All these women throwing themselves at me, proposing marriage. 

I’ve got enough children already. 

Fucking outrageous.

Editor - Everyone knows who Bob is which is why we never should have let him go. He’s modest, thinks sunglasses are the height of sophistication in accessorisation particularly when worn on heads, always wanted to be a flight attendant, punches journalists for fun, and breeds like the proverbial rabbit.




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