Enough said. YEAH GIRLFRIEND!pzzvazt2vvcfpgh2tspqwx7dzi




John Oliver VS Capitalism and Addiction

Remember FOX NEWS said “BUSH HAS WON THE ELECTION” so all the other news outfits started doing it so as to not be behind, or miss the scoop. The thing is – BUSH DIDN’T WIN. He lost – but the other guy, hearing that he had lost, threw in his towel and conceded, at which point he was fucked. Don’t forget FOX news was run by one of the Bush family at the time…..

Anyway, slightly off the topic, but when have you ever criticised me for being on topic to start with..?..

We need more honest proper journalism and independent investigative journalists. Nowadays you can spot errors in about every single story on every page of every newspaper. Main TV news seems to be more and more like the internet news of old every day.

And therein lies the problem.

People want cute cats, death and mayhem.

The mass public will not sit through a thirty minute story showing both sides of an argument properly… 110km/h on highways kills people.. Boy racers are all druggies with bald tyres. Cute cat.

John Oliver Does Drugs

Sorry about taking some saturation out of your overly coloured American TV face John old Boy…

And then there is JOHN OLIVER. 

He did his usual fifteen minute of TRUMP BASHING, and to his credit he manages to keep this fresh and interesting each week – or maybe it is just due to the fact Trumpt comes up with so much shit each week he is simply too easy, and then progressed to do an opinion piece on the state of addiction in the good ol’ U S of A.

Not a bad effort… Other than he took great pains to ridicule the term “pseudo addict“.

A term I hadn’t heard of. A term which sounds, on the surface, to be total bullshit.

Good on you John, you are the man.

In the context of a drug company trying to show the world it’s drugs are not the cause of addicts problems, it possibly is bullshit. More than possibly even. Plausible denial anyone?

But wait — There’s more…

(yeah, yeah – you guessed it…. Unca Fiendipoo has a spanner. And a good throwing arm.)

Start scratching under the surface (or maybe just start scratching depending how much of an addict you really are) the theory is quite sound. It may come from the mouth of a pseudo scientist, but someone who exhibits addictive drug seeking behaviour may be no more of a problematic addict than you or I (queue Americans favourite laughing track – the auto chuckle)… 

Fiend says –
“Pseudo addict” may just have a place in this debate on how to deal with the problems of addiction in capitalist environments.

Let us just say… Just for debates sake… 

If I am in pain (me? never…) and need a few opiates to coach my kids football team, I go to the doctor. The doctors glasses slide down his nose and he looks at me sideways. No matter how much they know about my pain, my back, my lifestyle, my parenting or my need to participate in life on terms agreeable to me, the maker and the pharmaceutical companies – the doctor will always look at “addict” potential first and my quality of life second.

Purdue, we have a problem.

And, by the sounds of this John Oliver thing, so do hundreds of thousands of Americans.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have not gone all soft in my old age. Americans can all go still fuck right off and suck Clintons dick / clit dry as far as I am concerned.

However, I feel for the pain and the difficulties the poor people who are controlled by the whim of the pen. On a good day the doctor will write. On a bad day, the doctor wont. The days are not so much swayed good or bad by his kid playing well at football — more the pressures put on him by media, drug companies capitalistic ways and the controlling bodies antiquated views of addiction.

This week John Oliver has told the world the drug companies are confusing the doctors. They obviously need to play with their own product some more.

John Oliver. Take time to read GLOBALIZATION OF ADDICTION.

Or, since no one has an attention span any longer than a thirty second sound byte (I know – I am ADHD super hero number 666) …

Dear John @iamjohnoliver

please look up Dr. Gabor Maté  on YOUTUBE.

Thank you, and goodnight.

John seems to have pitted himself against capitalism AND addiction. The first time anyone in history has managed this. A little like … hell … cannot quite work out what it’s like.

Maybe I am very much every inch totally drug fucked as the idiots at Wellington Addiction Services would tell you.

The Wall


Maybe this wall of my kids stuff should be thrown away. Fucken well burnt. Publicly.

Doesn’t give me any happiness seeing it. And…. I don’t know. I thought where I am would be far enough. Don’t think so. It is small town NZ and not knowing anyone…

Am missing being a Dad, don’t know what my life is any more. Am struggling with what to do.

At least life is okay in one sense — it’s not having to deal with family court and lying shit heads. Is that even positive? It is compared to April and May (June, July too come to think of it…)

NZ POLICESo, the Police are still pursuing more charges against me, even though TWO judges have said interesting things… First judge said something along the lines of ..

“No matter how much I would like to remand NZFIEND in custody, I simply cannot remand a person in custody on a charge that has no merit…”

The second judge said something along the lines of…

“As it stands this case is hardly worth the effort, I urge you (Police prosecutors) to have a long look at this and do something about it. (Prosecutor squirms, Judge notices). I realise you are getting orders from further up on this one, but I will set down a trial for HALF AN HOUR since you are pursuing it.”

This really means the Judge is telling them to piss off and try varying the charge again. They have had two attempts at putting forward a case that would stick, and the Judges have told them “no merit” and “have a long look at it and do something about it”.

Meanwhile the tax payer and myself lose money, time and trust in the silly system and the vindictive Police managing it.


I post tweets, they get instantly deleted. I can see them on my account, but on other accounts they simple never appear.

I had the police show up at 4am demanding to talk to me about a bloody tweet I sent that was supposed to be stupid humour. I was told a well respected journalist had complained about me. She, whom happens to be very well followed on TV – much of her stories are inclined with investigating Police and CCDHB fuck ups) totally did not complain. Someone did, but not her.

The Police (at 4am) knocked on my door. I opened it a little bit, keeping foot behind it.

Police “Hey NZFIEND, step outside, we need to talk”

“About what?”

“These tweet and public media writings of yours”

“what the fuck?”

I open the door so they can see me better. One man with suit and tie and clip board (at 4 fucken AM for godsakes!) and one uniformed officer, looking a little bemused. Who knows how many others were hiding around the corner. 

“We have had complaints”

“I have a complaint too –

The police, facebook and twitter are censoring my writing illegally.”

“Oh, well, we aren’t here about that.”

“Of course you fucken ain’t”

“We are here about this tweet reading … __________________________”

“Oh piss off, you are kidding…”

“No, we are not kidding.”

“Are you telling me that
Miss ____ _________
complained about THAT?”

“Why else would we be here?”

“Surely she would have seen it in context of other communications and realised it is intended as humour?”

“Obviously she did not”

“Are you telling me she complained?”

“Why else would we be here.”

I slam the door and tell them to fuck off. A little respect each way would be nice. I left it a week or two and contacted Miss _____ _________ myself and she replied within hours stating she had not complained (probably had not even seen the tweet in the first place!) but her company does have a policy of alerting authorities to such matters.

Even then, I doubt the Police would go to everyone whom made a obvious sarcastic tweet at 4am.

The Police have been looking at my cellphone and my cellphone had told them I was coming home at that time, having been away elsewhere. I was sending texts to someone whom was concerned I was a little too tired to drive etc etc etc…. Ten minutes after getting home, POLICE knock. Interesting maybe.



And this young lady has learnt to drive a manual (stick shift) pretty well. My car is not easy. It is complicated, moody and horrible.  Yet it quite likes this young lady.

As do I.

I am proud of me sometimes.

Just need to remember it on a daily basis.

My gratitude list still only ever gets to “being able to walk”.

She is always telling me to make lists.

She is twenty yet considers herself to be my mentor.

I may yet take her advice on lists.

Gratitude list…

  1. “Being able to walk, piss and poo by myself.”
  2. … Who cares….


NZ POLICE, Witch Hunts, Privacy Issues…

As in the previous post, I have had the Police tell me things on a wink wink, nudge nudge basis.

One time in 1994 I think it was, they did come to me and warn me about a large white guy whom (it was alleged)  had some guns and a pretty big drug habit. They did not say such in words, but their meaning was very clear.

Me, being me and not all that put off by the thoughts of being involved in the dynamics of NZ’s illicit drug supply chain, was interested.

“Of course I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about Detective Fucked-In-The-Face” (“Det’ Fucked-In-The-Face” is not his real name)

But I did know. Damn well. He owed me $400 roughly. For entirely legal purchases of… Uhm… Shit, uhm… Something totally legal okay?

They have also told me things about people I don’t want to know. In the case above, I figured much better to have him on my side, than against me, so as soon as Detective Fucked-In-The-Face had his back turned I was spending $2 a minute on New Zealand’s first cellphone to ring the big white guy and get him and his guns over to have a free cook up in my kitchen.

Fair enough. What would you do?!

So, twenty years later…

Was in Newtown yesterday and saw this girl whom had instantly stopped texting, phoning or otherwise communicating after February 14th 2015

(valentines day – purely co-incidence, there is no higher power………..)

She waved her exaggerated and quite cute wave, stopping me in my tracks and said the Police had been around her place searching for me May 5th 2015. I handed myself in and went to jail on that date. I had not had any contact with her since Feb 14 (pay attention people) so therefore there was almost three months between me last having ANY contact with her and the Police going to her house looking for me.

“They fucken what?”
“They came around my place looking for you….

  • “Is NZFIEND here?”

  • No, why what has he done?

  • “He has been harassing the fuck out of his ex partner and scaring his kid, is he here or not?”

  • No, why would he be here?

  • “If he is not here, then you won’t mind us coming in for a look then..”

(Police push in and have a look) 

“Why the hell would they think I was there. We had no contact at all for three months, since that Valentines Day….” 

“Oh, valentines day, oh right, yeah……” (slightly shady blush)

“…. And it’s not like we were ever linked romantically or are on any international crime stopper webshites…..” 

“No” (laughs loudly)

“…. So why would they come to your place and not three or for other people whom I actually was in contact with and staying with until the time of going to jail…..” 

(change of subject approaching rapidly as discomfort level raising….)

The Police DID NOT go to anyone elses house I have been in more frequent and more recent contact with. Including single ladies living alone.

However, the Police, I believe, have been looking at phone records and having a little “word in the ear, wink wink, nudge nudge, we were never here” with the idea of making me out to be a bad egg and a danger to them in some way. This young lady has actually had a baby with a Policeman. The Police would have no problem about ringing her (on Valentines day I would guess) and giving her a pretty blatant nudge nudge wink wink. A Policeman whom looks amazingly similar to her babies Dad now goes out of his way to do little things like break bones in my foot during arrests (look it up, I probably wrote about it at the time…)…

He drives a ute with dogs in the back by the way. I have his photo too. And a video of him being an abusive and aggressive fuck head, trying to cause a fight and then threatening me with arrest for walking off. Yes folks – A real life video of him doing this. And he didn’t even get to break my cellphone and take the memory out and throw it in the river this time. So I still have the video. Neat….

I have filled out official information and privacy act requests for the Police to explain how events such as this occur.

The police replies are farcical. Police constantly say “In answer to if the Police have contacted anyone with warnings about you, the answer is – Not that I could ascertain…

In a one page reply to ten requests for information they admit to giving advice to a football club saying “we suggest you re-think employing him in any capacity” but would give no reason as to why this advice was given, or whose authority was used for it to be provided. In every other instance they claim “I could not ascertain“… Which is a bullshit line if ever I heard one.

What that means, I figure, is that the single sergeant who wrote the letter COULD NOT 100% FIND THE INFORMATION. I doubt he / she even left his desk or wrote a single email and that his idea of running open and transparent government agencies is far different from mine.

I know they are full of shit, as I know for a fact that they have contacted people out of the blue and warned them in this way. Again, there are posts about this subject on this blog. My spiritual advisor ™ even received unsolicited calls from unidentified parties quoting information that was misleading, but obviously directly from Police, trying to put her off a relationship with me. Luckily my tongue was more value to her than theirs and we spent five or six years together after that initial hick-up.

The Police hate me, I hate them. Fair enough. Years of abuse from them, never being treated fairly, beaten up time and time again whilst in handcuffs as a teenager…

They should have just given me a box of ritalin, a pen and paper and let me finish university at twenty. Stupid capitalism.


Please contact me any time. Will gladly give out my real name, face and stories if it serves any good to the public at large.
The Police should not be allowed to do this shit.
Yet no one cares.

Love and Tattoo’s. DUMB.

Never pays to get a loved ones name tattoo’d on you. Any old grandma could tell you this. Some would end up with hundreds of names scrawled all over them. Accordingly you may become to be known as STUPID, DUMB or, if the names are not hidden well enough,TOWN SLUT.

Have never really loved anyone enough to warrant a tattoo. Have HATED someone enough to get their name tattoo’d on the bottom of my foot. Have HATED their family enough to get an Angry Bird shitting on their family name on my arm.


What the fuck is this love thing you talk of anyway?

Turns out that love is sending someone a picture of your latest tattoo and then getting very worried when they don’t email, text, phone or come to you in your dreams for an eternity.

This goes on and on. You get worried sick. All the emails and words spoken flash before your eyes constantly. You stop eating. You sit at the computer and push refresh on GMAIL ten times every minute.

You give up and realise you have lost them to a life far more interesting.

Mind you.. It has only been twelve hoursI may be jumping the gun a little.


Hey – Just had a thought…. Rolling of eyes…
The concept of love once made me vomit…
Here’s a graphic for those without good vivid illustrative imaginations……..
This escapee pigeon of the cast iron stomach breeding program clearly shows my vomit at love in all its glory.
Or, oh my giddy aunt (not that she was a town bike, honest)…


Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggg. I am giving myself a headache of interstellar variety and magnatude.

By the time this nonsense wears of I hope the effects of sending my latest tattoo photo has similarly worn off. The twenty year old girl whom should just pack her bags and fly around the planet with me is well worth not pissing off.

And, most definitely, well worth not vomiting on.

 don’t even think about it


Being exceedingly clever and well rounded has its drawbacks. Of course, avoiding the temptation to claim every wink as “love” and ending up with a list of names longer than your right arm is one of these. Instead all my tattoo’s are about addiction in a purely binary fashion. You hate, you love. You addict. You hate. Uhm. You work it yourself.


Here I am, as of twelve hours ago. Sent this picture and have not heard back.

Guess I am not going to get her name tattoo’d on me after all. Phew.

What I am thinking is to get DR ED GANE scan and email me his signature for a torso filling tattoo approximately covering the area of liver.

It may just appeal to his sense of irony and humour.

He, having invented some drugs that were tested on my liver, should comply happily. Somewhat sceptically perhaps, but eventually… Happy. May even be a little love, F.O.C?

However, the visualised forthcoming lecture regarding dangers of sterilisation of having tattoo’s done at home would just take the fun out of it. Ed’s enthusiasm for his topics is limitless, boundless and something akin to “mad professor hyper focused ADHDism”…

My tenacity for all things, including really dodgy tattoo work, is equally overpowering.



Now, back to reality… Has my young lady friend emailed back yet?


Hypertext can be bloody dangerous, you’re correct.

When you need a good kick in the head, along comes some really random stuff to do just that.

More specifically, kick my arse out of a rather gravity laden spiral (ie- downward) and into some sort of recovery.

Without allowing my ADHD out of the confining bag labelled “making sense to you, the unwashed masses” and delving off into the world of “recovery writing” I continue….

Heading to the Doctors on one of my brief Government approved outings to the real world I see REAL LIVE PEOPLE. And some real life live people know me. They, without realising, give me reason to be proud of the person whom was once me. For they followed some advice, learnt from my mistakes, or just plain thought “that crazy old wanker has a point” about something. Something learnt via my public self deflagrations had improved their lot. This was, although not up to the standard of instant gratification and happiness most junkies aspire to, rather uplifting.

Or was it just being outside in the sun with fresh air and real live people around?

And then, today, there is, after much fretting about opening gmail on my behalf, an astounding email from someone. Someone whom has found my email address somewhere or some other. And, somehow, decided to write something.

This amazes me every single time. People take time out of their own lives to write to me. My, currently rather pathetic excuse for a life, gets a boost from this.

If only I wasn’t yawning uncontrollably and struggling not to get back into bed at 3pm. For it has been a long day, old coffee mate comes over with a coffee at 11:30 so I pretend to have been “up and about” before he knocked. Borrowing his phone to call some members of officialdom whom have more than likely put my number on “block” lists proves futile- they obviously are avoiding everyone, not just me. He shows emotion at some of the communications that have been killing any amount of mojo and turning my head into what happens when you’ve been on a childs merry-go-round half an hour too long as an adult.

If not for struggling with simple things like bothering to check my own chin for food deposits before visiting doctors offices, I would take care to head some of this advice and MAKE SURE I ENJOY SOMETHING DESPITE THE CONTROLS AND STUPIDITY (I added the “stupidity” bit, admittedly) OF THE SYSTEM.

Sometimes I cannot open emails or web pages. For a few hours today I have managed it. It feels good.

Enough recovery for now. Season Three of AMERICAN HORROR STORY and a horizontal position in bed await closely.

I know the feeling of not being able to open certain web pages out of sheer, squirming anxiety….
This was appropriate when I was on home detention/probation for 12/6 months respectively for buyin’ the drugs off the ‘net, and I wasn’t allowed shit that could speak hypertext.
Don’t feel obligated to reply, I’m just writing in support.
Channel your energies into whatever gets you through.
I started cooking really nice food spent well over 600 hours playing open-world games on Xbox.
I remember I made a stollen with a log of marzipan through the middle.  Holy fuck, it was good….

The lesson for today is…

Hypertext can be bloody dangerous, you’re correct.

Also useful, given the errors WordPress online editing adds during cut and paste sessions…. 😉

Outside the Realm of the Hungry Ghosts

Gabor Matè had some good advice to hand me when deciding giving up drugs was do-able and realising my ADHD issues where problematic.

He told me to read his books. This, of course, required me to purchase them. Upon reading, and having some eureka moments along the way, I have forever been bestowing the virtues of this man and his work. Subsequently he told me that “they” (yes, you – Wellington Addict DisServices and other backward thinking service providers) could not be pushed into reading his work, they would have to find it for themselves. I have been pushing them ever since. There are many examples of this working. People have been purchasing and reading this work of his. Gabor then suggested to me that “I should probably pay you a commission, but won’t…”

It is not for my gratification that I write his name repeatedly. It is to re-inforce the work he does, one more time. Although being a broke bum with no hope of real worthy capitalist employ, the meagre offerings of book sales commission from an old Jewish Addiction Doctor from Canada does hold little appeal.

One of the first thoughts around a little of his work is to be found here — CANCER IS NOT ADDICTION 

Like most of my work, this is basically sans editing. There is little proof reading and even less effort into producing a document the masses could be bothered with. However, this writing, and others, received some praise from people wanting to link to it, or publish it, if only I would re-write it… Do a spelling check… Not swear quite so much… Withdraw any possible sexual innuendo… And make more sense… Hell, did they really expect proper APA referencing?… PISS OFF, NO FUCKEN WAY. However, there were some subsequent messages from some people who take this sort of thing seriously… One comment of “hey look — this guy [doctor Bob from USA] has been reading your blog… [link]…” I should do some of these guys for plagarism. Or, at least, being on such a similar wavelength they are jamming my brain waves from producing more interesting thought process. 

GABOR talked of his addiction of compulsively buying classical music from shoppes and avoiding the issue of time, finance and the overwhelming desire of his wife to find storage space anywhere in his cluttered shrine to classical music that his wife would prefer to call a house.

GABOR went to Narcotics Anonymous meetings and displaced the “Narcotics” for his “Classical Shopping” problematic addiction.

It seemed to make some sense. Other N.A members commented that his problem and him “were in the right place”.

I have issues with right” place. Maybe “correct” place. Should fit better. Really… RIGHT and WRONG are incorrect terms… 

Which brings us, finally, to the point of this post.


^^^ This is the point. An article on other addictions. ^^^

My latest addiction is, most definitely, a thing of major problematic variety and appears very similar to the much maligned “Death By Duvet”.

Have not filled out paperwork under New Zealand’s Official Information of Privacy Acts to demand information from the Police and other agencies in regards to their seemingly unlawful actions.

This latest addiction could just kill me. 

Have started avoiding emails… People whom were helping me have not heard from me for a week. I feel I am letting them down. I know I am letting myself down. And yet the news show at 6:30pm – 3D #3D_TV3 – got me writing on the computer again. This 41 minutes has been good for me. But am more interested in going to bed and watching pirated MP4’s of BANSHEE and real life advert laden TV3’s WESTSIDE at 8:30. Having hacked in four thousand words last weekend discussing the dangers of home release bail compared to prison (and spent hours editing – for once the subject and writing was worthy of real effort) only to have the computer crash, I have been having very severe anti feelings to all things computer. And all things life in general to be fair.


On Friday I watched SEVEN complete films, including WATERWORLD (which I quite enjoyed). This, very similar to computer game addiction, is probably very much in line with becoming dangerously and problematically depressed.

I need help. Admitting there is a problem could be the first step. The second may well be getting out of this bloody cell I am imprisoned within – me.

Unfortunately this is outside the REALM OF THE HUNGRY GHOSTS. paulAnd probably more in line with PAUL WOOD. He may just have something newsworthy to say on this… Although, this is becoming a shameless product placement, I don’t care. For PAUL was an inspiration to me in jail. Similar ages, and he held his head up against all odds during his trial and back in jail. See, I was there…

I feel the need to switch off for a few months. Being stuck at home 24 / 7 when you live alone and run out of milk is NO FUN. Not being able to see your kid is NO FUN.

Using heaps of drugs, switching off and being able to “hang in there” is less NO FUN.

My happiness deficit will diminish with the use of drugs. 

(So may the chances of me finding a life diminish equally in proportion to this drug intake)