They are dead set over-achievers those Kiwis, and punch above their weight.
Rutherford split the atom, Hilary climbed Everest, Chris Cairns got away with fixing cricket matches, Godward invented the Eggbeater, Hackett jumped the first Bungy, and the All Black’s keep winning. It’s an impressive list of achievements, and would be even better if the Warriors could get their heads right and win a few games a season, but still it’s a formidable roster.
And now it’s got even better, for the sheep shaggers have invented something that no bastard in history had ever dreamed of, the bling and ignorant pricks. It’s an absolute beauty too, a pearler of thought and design that could only have been created by a dilettante engineer from a duo of earthquake addled islands.
The bike lane between the parked cars and the kerb.
It’s absolute genius on it’s own, but when you couple it with the electric bus lane between the driver’s door and the middle lane it morphs into a mural of simple magnificence. One of those objects of art that causes you to stop, stare and contemplate. Forces you to use your imagination likesay.
Use yours. A cyclist is late for work, and speeds up the dedicated bike lane as fast as they can in an attempt to make up sufficient time that they might beat the punch-in Bundy clock and avoid both their line manager’s opprobrium and a savage docking from the huge hourly sum of $14.75 an hour they are lavishly paid by their benevolent boss.
What do you reckon might happen when a kid in the passenger seat of Mum’s car excitedly flings open the door of the car so that they can run into the shop – for some unknown and inexplicable reason they call them Dairy’s in New Zealand, even though less than 2% of the products sold contain a cow-derived substance other than ground hooves – to buy a dollar’s worth of mixed lollies?
It’s one of three things isn’t it?
The kid gets out of the car, hands over a buck to the Dairyman, grabs their lollies, bolts back to the car and Mum drives off. No wucking furries.
(b) A cyclist whizzing up the bike lane gets collected by the door flung open by the sugar-hungry kid, flies through the air, lands all skewiff and head first the corner of the gutter, and gets knocked unconscious into Disneyland.
The cyclist survives unharmed. No wucking furries.
Or they lapse into a coma and come out with brain damage or paralysis, or don’t come out at all. Lots of wucking furries.
(c) The kids hurls opens the door, bounces from the car, slams the door shut, takes one step toward the Dairy and then gets collected by the whizzing cyclist, flies through the air, lands all skewiff and head first the corner of the gutter, and gets knocked unconscious into Disneyland.
Same result as above.
The little buggers should have looked both ways and then back again before they opened the door shouldn’t they, the shrunken-sized sherbet lusting sh*ts?
But never fear, Mum’s coming to the rescue! She hurls open the drivers door, jumps out to the save the cyclist or her kids.
And gets hit by an electric bus.
Lucky the Kiwi’s also invented the jetpack, high speed amphibious vehicles and the disposable syringe hey bro?
If the cuzzies hadn’t we’d all be munted, hey Moana?