The Laws files

I suppose the first sign of an unhealthy obsession may be seeing something everywhere. I fear that Michael Laws, therefore, may be my next morbid fixation. Consider: I spent the past several months diligently avoiding Dancing With The Stars. How convenient, I thought, that they grouped together all the crap people in one easy to avoid show.

Boy did I get my comeuppance last night; damn channel one and their stealth repeats. I was minding my own business while my flatmate channel surfed; and then he found the Dancing With The Stars grand final. Should that be Finale? To his eternal discredit he left it on that channel and so we were all subjected to desperate B grade celebrities tripping the light fantastic in a range of tit-bags, and otherwise unfortunate clothing. And then there was Michael Laws, wearing some ungodly polyester trousers that found his crevases and supped deep. All while that wizened gnome Jason Gunn leared his way through commentaries - he's turned into quite the lecherous uncle figure.

Actually, while on that subject, I heard a great story. I'm afraid it's one of those urban legend like friend of a friend tales, but I shall give the synopsis anyway.

Apparently the friend of a friend of mine came home from school one day and found Jason Gunn in bed with her mother. Oh the horror. While I was looking for that photo, with the unsavoury expression Rumpy Pumpy in mind, I was reminded of a few other gems, like McDonald's Young Entertainers, and our very own Ainslie Allen. She did a lovely spread in FHM didn't she?

I wish

I wish Paul Holmes had been at Funq last night, it would have been hilarious. Instead I had to console myself with watching some dodgy dancing, brokeback mountain style fights, and a man sliding his black vinyl shorts halfway down his hungry arse.

Hungry arse, one look at you and I kiss the skies

Ahem.

It would also have been great if Michael Laws were caught in the bathroom applying eyeliner, but sometimes the universe withholds gratification.

R.I.P. Jerry

This means more to the Americans than to New Zealanders, but Jerry Falwell died. He seem to have been a strident opponant of ill-doing and iniquity everywhere, rather like a turbo-charged Patricia Batlett. He put on that breastplate of righteousness, and the helmet of salvation. I suspect he even girt his loins about with truth, and maybe completed the ensemble with the shield of faith, the sword of the spirit and the sandals of peace. I found a few quotes from him online, and I profoundly regret that he was not more prominent in New Zealand. If he were I would always have had someone to laugh at.

-Billy Graham is the chief servant of Satan.

-The idea that religion and politics don't mix was invented by the Devil to keep Christians from running their own country.

-I had a student ask me, "Could the savior you believe in save Osama bin Laden?" Of course, we know the blood of Jesus Christ can save him, and then he must be executed.

-If you're not a born-again Christian, you're a failure as a human being.

-You'll be riding along in an automobile. You'll be the driver perhaps. You're a Christian. There'll be several people in the automobile with you, maybe someone who is not a Christian. When the trumpet sounds you and the other born-again believers in that automobile will be instantly caught away -- you will disappear, leaving behind only your clothes and physical things that cannot inherit eternal life. That unsaved person or persons in the automobile will suddenly be startled to find the car suddenly somewhere crashes.... Other cars on the highway driven by believers will suddenly be out of control and stark pandemonium will occur on ... every highway in the world where Christians are caught away from the drivers wheel.

Oh well, at least we've still got Michael Laws.