Written by Cill. Added to here and there by Choicy, mate.
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The prospect of a PPPs project was a good excuse for us to get together again. (The real reason was to swap a few yarns for old time’s sake over a bottle or three of beer, but that’s by the by.)
It is a Friday night in New Zealand. We are sitting on Cillo’s bike, looking at the tipsy young women passing by, a crew of PPPs downtown for sex. They are dolled up and some are pretty to go.
“How about it, Choicy?” Cill asks.
“No thanks mate”, Choicy says. He is ruefully remembering the time he gallantly took one for the team and porked two PPPs in the furtherance of research. Sometimes he wonders if Cillo and the team realize how much of a toll that bold mission took on Choicy. Let’s just say there will have to be a heck of a lot more crates of Fosters before value given equals value received, my mates.
(And let’s just say, Cill is well aware that Choicy will milk his martyrdom for all it’s worth. It’s all part of trans-Tasman rivalry, my mates.)
Meanwhile, our presence has been noticed. Two PPPs have peeled off from the crew and are heading our way.
“Prepare for takeoff, mate”, Cillo orders.
“Boot it, Cillo”, Choicy concurs.
We gun the bike back to the highway. It’s not a pleasant night to be out. The air is cold and there are a few pricks of damp on our faces. It’s quite starry and clear but a hostile sky. Cillo opens the bike right out on the highway. The big Kiwi dingo has a charmed life on the roads, and that he doesn’t get caught for speeding is an ongoing mystery to his mates. Hell though people, Choicy’s not complaining… he’s holding on behind Cillo like a cane toad mating. ‘Struth mate, this bike can fly.
We arrive at the marina where Cillo stores his bike in lockup before we board his boat. It’s silent in the cozy bridge cabin. The boat seems to flatten the lumpy sea as we streak through the night to his place.
In Cillo’s warm house we imbibe in his Chivas (Cillo having wisely announced on the way over that it was a night for Scotch, not beer). We sit down and relax while we review the situation re the PPPs.
THE CURRENT SITUATION RE THE PPPs
New Zealand once prided itself on being the social workshop of the world. Now though, even the SJWs are becoming uneasy at the excesses of the PPP. She (the PPP) is an embarrassment to even the hard-nosed feminists. She is a conspicuously drunk, frequently violent, invariably sluttish presence in the streets.
Take the concern the Police have expressed over the behavior of young women at the recent international Rugby Sevens tournament at Wellington.
Almost all of the fans in the “Chill Out Zones” needing medical attention were young women aged between 18 and 25. Many were so severely intoxicated they were helpless. Sevens operation commander Senior Sergeant Simon Feltham said although he was happy overall with crowd behaviour, the Police are extremely concerned at the drinking behaviour of young women. “We need targeted messages to groups at risk, such as young women, warning of the consequences of this pattern of drinking”, he said.
Now take the reaction of St John Ambulance paramedics to the behaviour of young women at a recent Rhythm and Vines festival in Gisborne. In the past, the number of men and women visiting the “detox tent” had generally been about even. Times have changed. At the Gisborne festival the ratio was about 90 to 10 female to male. “They [drunk women] have pretty much just got to a point where they can no longer look after themselves”, the leader of the paramedics said.
A Gang of drunken teenage girls bash a 19 year old woman and two others in the university town of Dunedin in New Zealand. “Horrific footage shows a gang of drunk teenage girls kicking three others in a fight over wheelie bins.” (trash bins on wheels)
The three victims had challenged the teenagers about the mess they were making.
“Police in Dunedin, NZ, are searching for six to seven girls after assault. Three other girls were left concussed and with broken bones after attack.”
We speak as men who have both had active sex lives. Let us express it Quid pro quo style, as mates: Choicy says the ladies like Cillo, while Cillo says the ladies like Choicy. When it’s put that way it’s not so boastful, right? Teamwork, pal.
We each say the other is a desirable bloke who doesn’t desire the PPPs. And we know we speak for all red-blooded Kiwi males when we say:
We pity the PPPs. We don’t want their company. We don’t want them anywhere near us. We’d as soon be out on the land slogging out a living… or fishing and hunting or building things with our mates. We would rather be enjoying a good drink in the company of a good friend.
We’d all prefer to leave the PPPs with the milksop non-men who stick their anaemic dicks into anything that will receive them.
The prey is noticeably less plentiful for the PPPs, and the supply they’ve got left is nowt but crappy meat.
THE BRIGHT SIDE:
Choicy insists on adding this positive ending.
There’s another side to the land of the PPP, and I know Cillo won’t be offended when I say it’s the most compelling reason for a man to visit the Shaky Isles. His family has the most awesome sheilas this side of the black stump, my mates. After the goddamned PPPs it’s a tonic like an elixir of the gods. This jaded outback digger is going to take in as much of that tonic as he can before he goes back to beating his head at the nonsense of the feminist bitches and baking his brains under the Aussie sun.
So Cillo, where’s the rest of your family, mate?