Viewport width =
September 11, 2006 | by  | in Books |
Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

A Good Joker

For as long as we have this Femi-Nazi Labour government in power (two more years, Bob!) we need good jokers like Bob Clarkson to stand up and be counted. The normal man in the street, the tradesman, struggling to get by on a tradesman’s meager income, needs to know that there’s someone in Parliament working for him. Bob Clarkson is there to represent us, the silent majority of middle-aged white (not Pakeha, that’s a dirty word) straight Christian men who don’t rely on income support, the sort of good jokers whose voices are drowned out in the media by the Femi-Nazis with their PC, homosexual agenda.

A Good Joker is Bob’s auto-thingummy. Bob was born in 1948 in Palmerston North, but has lived in cities including Hawera, Hastings, Timaru, Whangerei, Wanganui, Hamilton, and now his electorate of Tauranga. Bob was born with a disabilitytype problem: a terrible allergy to foreign food. This was first noticed by his parents when they tried to feed young Bob a shrimp cracker, which sent him into a fit and made him talk in tongues. The next time Bob tried eating foreign food was when a friend’s mother unwittingly served a rice and sultana pilaf at a party, which again made poor young Bob collapse. He didn’t fully recover until he’d been given a cod-liver oil enema and been fully exorcised by the family priest. He’s eaten nothing since but steak and boiled potatoes.

Most of Bob’s life has been spent as a fitter and turner, a fine, normal sort of a job. Some of the most exciting sections of A Good Joker describe Bob’s experiences fitting and turning, the good jokers (and weird bastards!) he’s met at work, and what fitting and turning has taught him about life. Bob reached the top of his field, including a stint fitting and turning for the Sultan of Brunei. He describes it here:

“Working for the Sultan taught me a lot about Islam-type people. The Sultan was a cruel man, who enjoyed throwing tradesmen who displeased him into a pit of tigers and monkeys. They would batter themselves against the sheer walls of the enclosure until they were so exhausted the monkeys could simply push them over. The monkeys would then carefully extract the men’s eyeballs and eat them like grapes, leaving the rest for the tigers. I knew that my fitting and turning would have to be consistently top-notch to avoid this terrible fate. The Sultan’s religion, and the mild insanity generally brought on by the Asian diet, made him a dangerous and unpredictable employer.”

Bob eventually won the Sultan over though, playing tennis with him on a court paved with rubies and even being invited to do a little torturing of his own.

Funnily enough, Bob’s entry into politics was completely accidental. Having wandered into a Tauranga National meeting, instead of the adult literacy class he was looking for, he found himself hitting it off with his new friends. He kept them entertained for hours with jokes and anecdotes, and they realised that this was the sort of charisma and vitality their organisation needed. Word of Bob’s everyman charm spread like wildfire through the National Party, and before long he was being asked to stand for Parliament. Having been given assurances that he wouldn’t have to sit next to Georgina Beyer, Bob agreed to represent National in the Tauranga electorate. Reportedly, Don Brash was so excited by the news that he got out of his chair.

We’re all familiar with Bob’s story since entering Parliament, it being inevitable that such a straight-talker will run into trouble with this country’s ultra-liberal socialist media. While they’re keen to jump on anything Bob says that could possibly be misinterpreted as bigoted or racist, there’s a lot they don’t report. There was the time Bob shook hands with a Somalian; the time he shared a taxi with a man who later turned out to be gay; the time he gave a speech to the RSA on ‘Accepting Immigrants: Teaching Them How to be Just Like Us.’ Sadly, the time taken up by parliamentary duty has meant Bob has had to give up the fitting and turning, but he’s started a small pornography business just to make sure that his hands are never idle.

Bob’s story is inspirational, and he’s a cracking good storyteller. The editing could have been more thorough (he consistently mis-spells “Muslim” as “Muslin”, and we probably didn’t need a chapter concerning each of his testicles) but only wooftahs care about that sort of thing anyway. A Good Joker is a bloody good read, especially for people who don’t like books!

By Bob Clarkson
Normal Books RRP $34.99 (hard cover)

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

About the Author ()

Comments are closed.

Recent posts

  1. Issue 20, Vol 81: CW: Tits & Bits
  2. Food Sex
  3. A (Selective and By No-Means all-Encompassing) Look at Neo-Soul
  4. A Love Song
  5. Doing It
  6. Top 5 Sexiest TV Shows I I Was Too Young to be Watching But I Did Anyway
  7. My Dad Wrote A Porno
  8. NT: Te Ara Tauira
  9. Sexing up the Hub: Condoms, Clits & Suzy Cato
  10. The Lifts Are Always One Step Ahead
Website-Cover-Photo7

Editor's Pick

This Ain’t a Scene it’s a Goddamned Arm Wrestle

: Interior – Industrial Soviet Beerhall – Night It was late November and cold as hell when I stumbled into the Zhiguli Beer Hall. I was in Moscow, about to take the trans-Mongolian rail line to Beijing, and after finding someone in my hostel who could speak English, had decided