The Biggest Motherfucking Underground Legend in the Entire History of the Universe?

(If you ain’t in the loop, you can’t get the joke. And who gets the last laugh?)

An extension to the XV Anniversary post:

Motherfucking Earthquake Wave Nirvana

Who me? You’ve got to be joking, right? Yeah right. I ain’t got no ‘Truman Show’ delusion. This shit’s for real.

(Comedy skit for the 2004 MTV Movie Awards where “LOTR: Return of the King” was awarded Best Movie. Stiller and Vaughn, somewhat surreptitiously, take the piss out of Peter Jackson.)

Sequel? Sequel to what? Of course they’re actually just talking about a prequel, right? Suck some more milk out of that teat, he sure did. Quadruplogy? Yeah right, try sextuplogy for a real tit sucking joke. Carrying on…

“…Okay, well, that kinda works with the thought that we’re having right now anyway, because we’re talking about taking the exact same script and just hipping it up a little. You know what I’m talking about? I’m talking about this….The Return of the Kings….These four guys go up the mountaintop…”

Team Selfie: Spring 1997

(Darryl, Darryl, Mark and Gwilym)

“…and this guy’s saying “Hey wait a minute, wait a minute, I’m Bernie Mac.””

Bernie motherfuckin’ who? I’d better google it. “The Original Kings of Comedy”, filmed and released in the year 2000. Available for rent on Google Play…

Oh shit. Well that’s my motherfuckin’ mind blown up for the rest of the day! For real, I only just learned and watched this now. Some things are definitely worth waiting for. So get this, and you gotta know what Bernie’s previous joke was, because just a couple of days ago I was telling my old mate a story of my dad’s…

My old mate was telling me about a person who had a stutter and another with a cleft palate, and how it made him want to laugh. Old guys, what can you do? Anyway, I told him a story of my old man’s from when he was in the air force. They had an officer with a cleft palate and then a new enlisted guy got transferred in who also had a cleft palate and nobody told the officer. Enough said, anyway, my old man loved telling the story and doing the vocal impersonations. There’s something funny in this situation, indeed.

So back to Ben and Vince…

“…And I want you to stay with me on this Darryl, if I can call you Darryl? – whatever – I’ll call you Darryl on this one. Darryl, please don’t sit there and pretend that you didn’t know that this was coming. – The pipe was laid in the first three movies, right? – You teased us like an eleven year old on the bus…”

Jeez, say Darryl again why don’t ya? I wonder what that joke’s about? Anyone know a good Wellywood love story? Yeah nah?

“Do you need me to come by your house anytime soon?” Ouch.

There’s a reason, and it’s the only reason, why I even know that this video exists. Nobody’s ever mentioned it to me. I saw it when it was first broadcast. And that’s perhaps the greatest coincidence in this entire weave.

I don’t sit down to watch awards ceremonies. Fuck that shit. I was just watching TV when I was spending some time with my mum.

I had estranged myself from my family in 2001 after they had begun putting shit on me, way, way too soon after my millennium disaster.

The Day We Will Never Forget

We Need To Talk About Yasmine El Orfi (Part One)

By 2003 I had reconnected, but I hadn’t visited them. When I put my car off a cliff on the West Coast, after having blown out of Christchurch on a wave of suicidal emotion with only $500 to my name, I had been planning on going to crash with them for a while and getting some labour hire work, or something, in Nelson.

Mum and Dad were living in the same crappy rental that they were when I was forced to live with them in 2000, when I was still sectioned and having needles stuck in me. Great memories those. Haemorrhoids, bed sores and that day when there were heaps of maggots crawling across the living room floor after they’d fallen out of a gap in the ceiling manhole. For real.

Just after I arrived in 2003 there was a week of exceptionally warm early spring weather, so I went for a bike ride and hike into Able Tasman National Park to camp and score a swim. I met an old bloke hiking who lived in our old neighbourhood in Wellington. We talked about work. He had worked with my childhood best mate’s dad, building the local fire station. A cool building with an off-form concrete finish.

He told me he had made enough money to buy and build his house by working on the Manapouri power station construction for three years.

When I got back to Nelson I was checking for work in the classifieds of the Christchurch Press and saw some labouring work advertised on a refurbishment project on the Manapouri power station. Minimum wage casual labour hire, with a firm that I worked for when I had parked up in Christchurch less than a year earlier, which had led to a job working in a small fibreglass hovercraft factory that had kept me there for a while. I took the job.

So I ended up on a bus, with my bike, heading back to Christchurch. The power station work was supposed to go till Christmas, but they cut us out more than a month early. Them’s the breaks with casual labour hire. So I was back in Christchurch again. I stayed with hovercraft workmates. It was there that I felt the earthquake mentioned in the original 2006 trip report for “Motherfucking Earthquake Wave Nirvana”. That quake was maybe an aftershock of a big force seven that hit Fiordland in late August.

I rode my bike back to Nelson from Christchurch and lived with my folks and got some work for a few months. Then I saw Manapouri advertised again and I went back. It’s an awesome place. Truly awesome. The pay was garbage, but living expenses were paid, so that was better. There was another force seven Fiordland earthquake while I was there. It got us moving for cover inside the accommodation lodge at West Arm. Down in the machine hall earthquakes have little impact as everything moves as one with the seismic waves.

Manapouri Power Station machine Hall, 200m deep in solid Fiordland rock, 2004. Photos: Das Steel
Manapouri Power Station Accomodation Lodge 2004, Photo: Das Steel
Das Steel inside a Manapouri power station stator, 2004. Photo: William.

It was that second stint at Manapouri that led to me scoring the same work across the Tasman in Tasmania and escaping NZ’s exploitative slave wages.

So yeah, it was in between those two trips working underground rebuilding hydroelectric generators that I was watching the MTV Movie Awards on TV with my mum.

Mum always veged out in the evenings in front of the telly, and she loved awards ceremonies.

“Hey!” I exclaimed when they dropped my name, and looked at Mum. She was too blanked-out to be listening to what was being said.

Anyway, I got to see it. It found me. Cheers guys.

I guess hardly anyone else saw it. I mean really, who the fuck would watch the MTV Movie Awards? And whatever, why would it be about me anyway? Eh?

That’s the rub now, innit? I know people who would probably deny it to my face. Should I name some names? Or else they would put the burden on me to explain why. And if I did, then they’d crack the shits about it. No really, it happens, I’ve tried broaching the subject. Should I name some names? Hmm? Fuck you cunts.

Once, and only once, I’ve had someone come up to me and say something about the subject. Here’s how that went…

It was in Christchurch in 2003. Yeah, go figure. At the hovercraft factory. One day, out of nowhere, one of my workmates came up to me in private.

“So people are saying you’re like The Man,” he said in a manner like he was annoyed about it.

“Yeah right,” I replied with a smile and a shrug, “I’m just another poor slob trying to earn a living.”

“Exactly,” he sneered, and walked off. And that was that. Well fuck you too.

And fuck you all. Yeah, it’s like that now.

You want a motherfuckin’ go?

It’s your world losers.

Only joking! Jeez, chill the fuck out already.

Like really, I’m nothing special, eh?

I’ve only been back to Christchurch once since 2004, in February 2006. I wonder if it’s changed much since then (snigger). I hear they gonna start rebuilding their little cathedral this year. Can’t rush a big job? Of course you Canterbury. Well, it’s not Notre-Dame, is it now?

ChristChurch Cathedral, Sep 2012. Photo: Peterl. (cropped) CC BY-SA 3.0
Notre-Dame de Paris, 15 April 2019. Photo: Wandrille de Préville. (cropped) CC BY-SA 4.0

2019: The Flame Zone Dream Build, Do or Die, No Plan-B Mission (Part One)

2006 I was living in tropical Cairns, Far North Queensland, and was going to Christchurch to rent a vehicle to collect some stuff I had stored down near Manapouri, visit friends in Dunners, then go up to Nelson for Mum and Dad’s birthdays and to hire a metal detector to look for some stuff I lost in a certain spot of a West Coast creek. It was a successful mish all round.

Leaving Cairns I ran into my old boss (the hovercraft guy from Christchurch) when we were getting off the flight in Sydney. He had just delivered a craft for the Cairns airport. He bought me something to eat. We had Red Rooster.

In Christchurch there were no cheap rental vehicles available, so I bought an old red Honda Accord hatchback off an Irish backpacker who was leaving NZ the next morning. He was stoked. So was I. I could sleep in the back of it sweet-as. I drove to Lake Pukaki to catch a sunrise.

‘Aussie Rock’ Feb 2006, Lake Pukaki, NZ. Photo: Das Steel

Up in Nelson I hired that metal detector and went to that West Coast creek.

Yeah, that one again. I found some things I’d lost. And some photos hanging in a visitor centre. I got back to the tropics with no money, no job, no ideas and no decent camera, feeling like a wild lost force of nature.

Cyclone Larry, 20 March 2006.
White Rock Caravan Park after Cyclone Larry’d been. Photos: Das Steel

And that leads into the sequel to “Motherfucking Earthquake Wave Nirvana”…

2.4.7. My World

And as for that motherfuckin’ swamp hole of a town Christchurch, it doesn’t get mentioned again until 22 February 2011. I was roofing in Brisbane. In a suburb called Chapel Hill. It was hot, and extremely humid, but not as hot as the previous couple days. Monday had been over 34 degrees. Sunday was the hottest day of 2011, over 35 degrees. Not the hottest maximum, but damn, it was humid.

I was in a crew with a couple of other Kiwi cockheads. The humidity, after the previous day’s heat, was extreme. We started early, but it didn’t matter. It only took a couple of hours to get heat exhausted. I was literally getting delirious. It’s like being drunk and high and nauseous. I was cursing my situation, hating it, but loving the extremeness.

The conditions eased through the morning. A neighbour who heard our New Zealand accents gave us news about Christchurch, an earthquake, and multiple fatalities. Dunno when I learned of the CTV building. I hoped the tropical house in the botanic gardens didn’t get destroyed. That was my favourite place in Christchurch.

Cuningham House, Christchurch Botanic Gardens, 2016. Photo: Pear285. CC BY-SA 4.0
Concord Dawn with Scribe from Christchurch

(First posted 7.01.2020. Update 9.01.2020)