Tag Archives: New Zealand

The Maoris Brought the Rat

PRedator Free NZ

I’m not asking for much. Just a cause to die for where casual observers can casually compare me to Che Guevara. Is that so much to ask?

Really, bro?

A cause! Not unlike the one that drove American Matthew Vandyke to join rebel forces in Libya to fight Gaddafi with a camera in his hand[1].

limonov

A cause! Such as the one that prompted Eduard Limonov to give up the comfort of being a Russian memoirist in Paris to carrying a Kalashnikov on behalf of a group of fascist Serbians for reasons that are still unclear to me.

Huge fan of vinyl

A cause! Like the one that catapulted Jessie Andrews from a career in pornography to one as a dj.

Yes, I’ve been on the hunt for a cause of my own. Or I was until I found it just the other day.

The place: New Zealand

The cause: To exterminate all non-native mammals (read: all mammals except for the humans doing the exterminating) from the mainland and surrounding islands.

For real?????

This is not a joke.

New Zealand’s Department of Conservation has been successfully exterminating weasels, rats, and ferrets for decades but only recently has it come to the attention of Kiwilanders (no one actually calls them that but I do not fear retaliation) that if they don’t do something quickly, their prized indigenous kiwi bird, as well as several other native avian species, will no longer land on park benches and in suburban backyards. No, their numbers could be scaled back to the point where the only place Kiwis, will be able to see kiwis, is the zoo. And to New Zealanders, that’s simply revolting.

NOOOO!

So there’s been a call to arms by an organization called Predator Free New Zealand.

They’re promising to “rid NZ of harmful carriers of disease.” The disease carrying mammals in question are possums, mustelids (no idea what that is) and rodents.

bird killers

And the threatened are chiefly the flora and fauna, as well as a bunch of “ground-dwelling birds.”

Now if the slow disappearance of non-flying birds doesn’t make your blood boil, then you’re dead inside. But I’m not dead inside[2] which is why I’m packing my bags and heading to LAX with nothing but a smile on my face and suitcase of rodenticides.

Once I’m there, I plan to get myself to the front lines. As a foreigner, I assume it’ll be important that I prove that I’m sympathetic to the cause and not a mole trying to infiltrate NZ’s extremist Eco-Conservationist Party. I’ll have to do something bold, like kill a bunch of possums and then wear their furs as a coat, or a hat. Apparently Genghis Khan’s soldiers used to wear coats of mice fur and they kicked a lot of ass, so I’ll probably go that route.

Wish me luck!

[1] Anything done with a camera in-hand is slightly less sincere and likely vainglorious, but still…

[2] This is contestable.

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Enterprise-Rent-A-Car and the Gotye Conspiracy Theory

Van Steez

I’m answering questions, checking boxes, wondering why I’m renting a fifteen passenger van while simultaneously realizing… I don’t need a fifteen passenger van. Then Ray, employee-of-the-month Ray, slaps down about fifty, maybe a hundred pages that need to be signed and initialed.

Ray looks like a pock-faced Hugh Jackman with a really bad sunburn. He’s wearing a crispy Van Huesen wrinkle-free shirt and what I can only assume are wrinkle-free khakis. “Hey,” he says, “you listen to Gotye?”

And I’m like, “No, bro. What is this—2012?” Actually, I just say, “No.”

“Good. Because you know he stole that song, right?”

Dutch Recreation

“What?” I look up from my initialing and signing and Ray points to a box that’s both highlighted and marked with an X. “That one’s supposed to be a signature and it looks like you initialed.”

“Oh,” I add a few more letters, some of which may not even be in my name.

“Haha. But who am I? The John Hancock Nazi?”

“I don’t know what that means,” I say.

Gotye Apples

He thinks that’s hilarious, so I smile the way you would smile if you were biting down on a metal spoon. He turns around, then turns back to me and in a voice that’s all nose and fingernails on a chalkboard, he sings, “You remind me of a girl… that I… once knew.”

My hair is kind of long. Even with a beard, Griselda at CVS will occasionally call me ma’am.  So I respond cordially. I say, “Good to know.”

“No. Not good know!” Ray smashes his fist on the counter, “Usher!”

Usher Neon

Ray grabs me by the shirt and pulls me in like he’s going to tell me he loves me. Instead he belts out, “SOMEBODY!” and a little bit softer now, “that I used to know,” and a shitload louder now, “SOMEBODY! Now you’re just somebody that I used to know!”

Ray lets me go. He actually pushes me away and says, “Tell me he didn’t rip off those lyrics from Usher!”

“I’m really not sure. Do they have Usher in New Zealand?”

Beads of sweat fall from his nose.  “This is a joke to you? This is copyright infringement. This is some Kiwi-foreign fuck infringing upon Usher’s creative content. Where’s your sense of loyalty? Patriotism?”

“Where it’s always been—abysmally low, but even so, I’m sure Usher’s legal team is on it.”

Usher

Ray looks at me a long time, then he fires a snot rocket into his palm, and wipes it on his wrinkle-free uniform. “Yeah, maybe.” He pulls the paperwork away from me and he says, “So what do you need a this big ass van for anyway?”

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