Rod Serling Presents...

I've seen some weird random stuff recently. For instance...

A Korean Christian Rock band singing to an enthralled crowd of their 12 friends from the church. Their cultural legacy will live on to the end of this sentence.

A bloke in a full and uncomfortable looking snowman costume dancing to Eminem in an empty car lot on a very humid day. This was while the sun beat down on a Monday afternoon.

Two blind, elderly Chinese ladies doing some Tai Chi in front of a huge sign that was raising awareness of the persecution of blind people in China. This was news to be as the only blind Chinese people I have ever seen or heard of were all hardcore Kung Fu masters who were revered and respected. Ok, this is probably a western conceit but despite being blind these two ladies were in perfect synch so I reckon they could go all Pai Mei on someone when they need to.

A bloke at the beach who I assumed to be dressed as a superhero, clad as he was in an all in one bodysuit with a pair of trunks over it. As he got closer I realised this wasn’t the case and I can honestly say he was hairy enough to carry C3PO on his back and hang around a Mos Eisley cantina looking for work.

A sign in the Bay of Islands advertising “Home Kill Butchery”.
Much like “Epileptic Blunt Vasectomy” or “German Peace Initiative” these are three words that surely don’t belong together in any sane society.

The (NZ) famous TV ad personality Levi Vaoga. Levi, is the poster Uruk Hai for Mitre 10 (a sort of B&Q with the “&” removed and replaced by another “B”) and is what I can only describe as a f*cking brick shithouse. We bumped into him at the opening of a new Mitre 10 Mega when we were shopping for gardening crap. Levi and his posse were showcasing the new store and holding a strongman competition (for he is NZ’s strongest man) involving the lifting of housebricks and the smashing of Hobbit skulls.

A sign for a local church saying “Google doesn’t have all the answers! GOD!”
At first glance you think this is saying that it is the Almighty and only the Almighty who knows everything (except apparently how to create a planet that doesn’t try to kill the inhabitants on a regular basis) but the sentence is constructed like the church is just having a go at Google for not knowing what they asked it and then shouting “GOD!” at the end of it like some sort of spoiled teenager.
Still, when you follow a religion free from the shackles of logic, common sense and scientific evidence, you can’t expect to get the grammar right. Except if it’s about putting people to death for working on the Sabbath, of course.

Four mimes of varying ethnic backgrounds doing their artistic best as the rain pounded down outside Britomart station. They were accompanied in their misery by Dvorak’s New World Symphony. For the record, I f*cking hate mimes, and come the Apocalypse I mean to kill as many of them as Xenu sees fit to deliver before my rifle.

Mr Ed translated into Maori. Seriously messed up shit.

The (Oceania) famous singing sensation Altiyan Childs. It’s hard to quantify Altiyan.
One minute he seems to be a sensitive rocker with a history of disappointment behind him belting out cheesy Bon Jovi covers like there is no tomorrow (which very well may be the case for him) and the next he comes across as a crazy eyed mental defective blubbing his way through an interview and throwing homo-erotic glances at a worried looking Ronan Keating.
As the missus is a huge fan (and Facebook friend of his) we queued up for 2 hours at the Warehouse (a superstore- real classy move there, chief) so she could press the flesh with the great man. When the steady procession of slavish yokels went up to get something signed he seemed genuinely touched and excited that so many people had come to see him. My guess is he is either far too nice to last in the music business or it is all a highly impressive act and sooner or later he will flip out and take a bus load of nuns hostage.
I declined the invitation to shake his hand as my mouth can’t be trusted in situations like that and I’d have doubtless caused “an incident”. Instead I opted for taking a snapshot of him hugging the misses, a photo she will treasure right up until the day they find his car abandoned near a popular suicide spot.

The number plate TRFC, bringing back terrible memories of my youth.

A bloke playing a small guitar outside a run down row of shops in Glen Innes while dressed as Optimus Prime.
Bruckheimer! *shakes fist*

NZ’s ugliest child. As I stood waiting for the missus outside of the local Belgian Beer bar, the beautiful people of Mission Bay went about their business on a hot and sunny evening. In the café next door a young couple played with their toddler, which was pestering a dog belonging to the woman on the adjacent table. The parents of the toddler were both attractive, blonde haired, tanned and athletic looking. The child, on the other hand, was some sort of half human/half warthog abomination that wouldn’t look out of place in Clash Of The Titans. I suppose the important thing is that it seemed physically and mentally healthy but all of this leads me to conclude that either good genes cancel each other out or a Jeremy Kyle-esque paternity special is on the cards.

Lots of families smiling, pointing and waving at me as I ascended two escalators. Only when I got to the top of the second one did I realise that the geezer right behind me was dressed in a full Santa suit.