This is not the “First Ever Thread” I was going to make for GrodsCorp. That will have to take the backseat for a moment, for I have found something far, far more gobsmackingly ridiculous. This article I just read on the Sydney Morning Herald website:

A New Zealand man who claimed to have been left speaking Australian after being raped by a wombat has been sentenced to 75 hours community service.

Arthur Ross Cradock, a 48-year-old orchard worker, admitted in the Nelson District Court yesterday to the charge of using a phone for a fictitious purpose, after calling police with the message, “I’ve been raped by a wombat”.

Police prosecutor Sergeant Chris Stringer told the court that on the afternoon of February 11 Cradock called the police communications centre, threatening to “smash the filth” if they arrived at his home that night.

When asked if he had an emergency, he replied “yes”, Mr Stringer said.

Hold on, there are wombats in New Zealand? That’s almost as strange as being raped by one.

On a second subsequent call to the communications centre, Cradock told police he was being raped by a wombat at his Motueka address, and sought their immediate help.

He called police again soon after, and gave his full name, saying he wanted to withdraw the complaint.

“I’ll retract the rape complaint from the wombat, because he’s pulled out,” Cradock told the operator at the communications centre, who had no idea what he was talking about, Mr Stringer said.

“Apart from speaking Australian now, I’m pretty all right you know, I didn’t hurt my bum at all,” Cradock then told the operator.

The wombat’s pulled out, “I didn’t hurt my bum at all”. Who really fucked who here? And what does “speaking Australian” mean?

Mr Stringer said alcohol had played a big part in Cradock’s life. However, defence lawyer Michael Vesty said alcohol was not a problem that day.

Judge Richard Russell said he was not quite sure what motivated Cradock to make those statements to the police.

In sentencing, he warned Cradock not to do it again.

Yeah, don’t do it again, ya bloody drongo. Stick to sheep.

Or ask one of the men from GrodsCorp to send over a Fleshlight.

Mailed a postcard from Queenstown, New Zealand to McBec and Napoleon here in Brunswick on 11 July. Received it in the mail today — three weeks and six days later.

The stamp I used may give some clue:

I guess there’s no express service when mail is delivered by sheep.

(Boom, tish!)

That’s that then. After ten days of snow, beer and whiskey it’s back to reality and preparations for work. Thanks to John Surname for keeping the posts ticking over while I was away. Thanks to Goobermetrics for sniping from the sidelines (he was just jealous of my holiday, I reckon.)

So I arrive at Christchurch airport last Wednesday and get on the bus to go to Methven — Mt Hutt’s village. A song is playing on the radio that I don’t recognise because I’m out of touch with the kidz and all that. The song finishes and the announcer says, “that was Mussy Huggins from Orrstraylia.”

Welcome to New Zealand.

I wake up in Methven on Thursday morning very excited about finally hitting the slopes. I dress in the dark of my dorm and hurry to the kitchen to grab some breakfast before grabbing the ski bus. However, I find a group of glum looking people staring at the ski report that reports Mt Hutt to be closed due to visibility and road conditions. Very pissed off.

Spend Thursday and Friday sitting around Methven instead of snowboarding while Mt Hutt receives 40cm of snow. In this time I hook up with some cool people and drink red wine in front of a fireplace, engage in childlike snowfights, attend a local house party, and get down to some serious novel reading. Damn, I was relaxed.

On Saturday I hit the re-opened Mt Hutt hard and have a great day on a lovely cover of fresh powder. Jump a bus back to Christchurch immediately afterwards so I can take a flight to Queenstown early Sunday morning.

Monday through Thursday I snowboard at Coronet Peak (three days) and The Remarkables (one day). Both mountains have around 60cm of packed snow; icy and shitty at The Remarkables apart from a few good off-piste runs you could hike to, and not too bad at Coronet which provided a fun playground off the groomed runs and away from the beginner carnage.

After toasting my last run with a mini-whiskey on Thursday I finished my 1L duty free bottle that night, which meant it was time to come home.

GrodsCorp will now resume regular broadcasting.

Well, not really. I’m going there for a ten day snowboarding jaunt in a few weeks but not actually moving there. But listening to NZ PM Helen Clark on the 7.30 Report last night I’m thinking about it.

Seriously, don’t you wish our prime minister cut the bullshit, sanitised diplomatic language and spoke like this?

That’s what leads us to the conclusion that this is simply taking a flick at New Zealand.

Frankly, the Fiji interim government didn’t appear to give a toss about that…

Can you ever see John Howard or Kevin Rudd using that sort of language when discussing Australia’s foreign relations?