A Hauraki Radio host, Thane Kirby, made a fairly corny but harmless joke about covid tracing as a way to trace attractive women. According to the news report, a (predictably) female listener complained to the Broadcasting Standards Authority, saying this was “disgusting and would give men ideas.”

God help us. Putting aside the reality that men don’t need ideas to pursue attractive women, there’s one thing I’d wager long odds on. That is that the complainant is bloody ugly, probably fat, and certainly freaks aside, someone no bloke, would have any wish to trace.

Apparently Kirby’s audience is mainly male and he has form for this sort of blokey wise-cracking. The obvious step for the complainant is not to listen to him.

People such as the anonymous complainant are a plague on contemporary society with their persistent offence-seeking. It’s a huge pity that complainants’ names bitching to well-intended agencies such as the BSA aren’t publicized.

Here’s a tale that will cheer.

Four decades back for a few years I stood in annually for a week for the Wellington and Christchurch ZB morning radio hosts so they could have a break.

One year in Christchurch, in the course of discussion I mentioned Poms.

The next morning a letter awaited me from the Race Relations Office saying they’d received a complaint, but, the silly bugger writing it (a Samoan chap) mentioned the name and business address of the complainant. This turned out to be a bleak little suburban hardware store owner.

So I gave him hell all morning on radio leading to heaps of listeners standing outside his premises hurling well deserved abuse at him.

The Race Relations Chief then delivered a letter to me advising they’d rejected this miserable sod’s complaint, although far from that causing me to desist abusing him as they requested, I laid it on even thicker.

Needless to say, the complainant wasn’t a Pom but just a world class loser looking for something to whine about.

In my recently published book of four comic novellas, one deals with the criminal prosecution of an Irish labourer, charged with calling a black London Council so-called Outreach Officer, a “clumsy fucking black poncy bastard.”

Judging by my mail, the Courtroom demolition job on the Council activist offence-seeking Outreach Officer by an incensed elderly barrister, who fed up with this sort of crap, on reading of the prosecution, came out of retirement to defend the Irishman pro-bono, has pleased many readers.

Standards are important in everything in life but so too is tolerance. There’s room for both to survive and thrive.

I personally can’t imagine ever listening to Kirby’s radio show, aside from the fact I don’t own a radio, but plainly it brings pleasure to others with its laddish carry-on and that’s sufficient to justify it.

The choice is obvious, namely if it’s not to one’s appetite then don’t bloodywell listen. Most of all, don’t listen when an ounce of common-sense should tell you it’s not to your taste and then complain about it.


OMG, the treat is real. The BSA needs to uphold the complainants SJW agenda. Save all women from the threatening hoards, of toxic masculinity filled men. God forgive, (if you believe in God), we get a situation where men may actually want to have disgusting ideas? Umm like heterosexual attraction?
We need more social justice, more affirmative action, more strong female role models. Women should not ever wear a dress, this is far too gender unequal. Dress up in pant suites and suspenders. Where is The Doctor, when we need her sonic vibrator now more than ever? Even the AB’s wear Pink footy boots, recognizing the need for inclusiveness? We need more Screentime, to fact check. We need more Snowflake women to Trailblaze, B-Negative to these misogynist, lead all to a Safespace.
Without doubt the complainant is certainly an ugly, fat, woke, man hater.

You do own a radio Bob. There’s this thing which has four wheels and a steering wheel. At about waist height, between the two front seats, you’ll find a thing with two knobs. Press the knob on the left-hand side and see what happens.

I find myself agreeing with Stephen Fry who points out that “Feeling offended doesn’t convey any special rights upon one-Im offended!-Well, who effing cares?” . To the point of the above blog-how much of a sad act do you have to be to listen to something that isn’t to your taste and is entirely optional-then complain about it?
Its so lame it needs shooting.

Going to miss you when you’re gone Bob, although you will leave a great legacy with your books, which I cannot seem to find on Amazon

    Seems rather premature to assume you will outlive Bob. Whose to say you won’t leave us first and with no books to console us?

BSA, a brand of motorcycle I’m very fond of. The other BSA often find it hard to see common sense. Like the game of rugby, NZ has been dumbed down by rules and regulations. You can’t even have a good fart without invoking hysteria among the do-gooders. The word Pomee, stands for (so I was told by a Pom), “Prisoner Of Mother England in Exile.” It’s rather sad that these prisoners, knowing they were being sent out to the colonies, all thought they were being sent to a nudist camp. A famous Australian Entertainer once had the following lyrics on his LP. His name was Bazza Mckenzie. His song went like this:

I was walking down Earls court Road
And into a pub I was lured.
Where do you come from said a nozy Pom.
As I downed the amber fluid.
I told this guy, I’m Australian mate
And I feel like getting blasted
But the beers all crook
And the girls all look
Like you you Pomee Barrtarrd !

I never heard anyone protesting about this racial abuse (back then).
I have to say I know a pom or two, and have in the past worked with many. Some were absolutely nice people, while others were whinging whatsanames. The political correctness of this country sickens me, not that I endorse blatant abuse, but, we have had our sense of humour supressed so much, that people are now afraid to crack a funny in case it infringes the U.N. charter of human rights. There are of course many who have nothing better to do, than wait around waiting for the opportunity to ping some poor unsuspecting person who has a sense of humour that brings grief to their statuette appearance, so much so that their face cracks if they so much as try to grin. My, what would Benny Hill say if he was still around.
My favourite toy = the Golliwog. My favourite Heterosexuals = Noddy & Big ears.

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