Dec 16, 2015 etc
Nobody’s perfect, but some imperfections deserve recognition for truly lowering the bar. Our annual celebration of Dubious Achievements salutes only the crème de la crème of stupidity, ineptitude and gobsmacking dubiosity.
By the Metro society writers. This article was first published in the December 2015 issue of Metro. Illustration: Toby Morris.
The Baden Powell Cold-Shower Excitement Cure goes to Rachel Glucina and her Scout website.
Having stunk up the Herald stable with her tittle-tattle for nearly a decade, most recently through her “ponygate” interview with waitress Amanda Bailey (Press Council: “The Herald did not act professionally and with fairness towards Ms Bailey”), Glucina quit to launch a site with MediaWorks.
This had us worried. We’re as prone as the next hypocritical moron to grazing in online gossip’s muddier corners. Our Daily Mail addiction alone takes a nasty toll on our moral health, not to mention our productivity. Might Scout’s promised attractions take us down another rabbit hole of irresistible cheap thrills?
Um, no. Call us picky, but Mike Hosking vacuuming his Ferrari and a tour of Julie Christie’s house-that-she-never-lived-in just don’t do it for us. Compared with the Daily Mail’s crack cocaine, Scout is a cold cup of decaf. And we don’t think that brown thing in the saucer is a chocolate-coated coffee bean, either.
The Inspector Clouseau Trenchcoat and Trilby is awarded to the “elite” police agency that accidentally leaked top-secret information to the criminal underworld.
Sheesh. Details of informants and everything, circulated among the villains. Looking on the bright side, if we ever get a police state in New Zealand, you know it’ll be less like the Stasi and more like the Keystone Cops.
The Daniel Craig Golden Martini Shaker for pointless pouting and shirtlessness goes to Max Key.
The name’s Key. Max Key. And a nation was stirred, if not shaken, when the PM’s son posted a video of himself and a young female companion moodily soaking up the atmos in various tropical locations. His sister Stephie is our favourite Keylet, of course: her daring Paris-based artistic endeavours easily eclipse Max’s foray into the video arts. To be honest, his holiday looked about as much fun as those tame Auckland clubs he and his rich-kid mates frequent.
Something in his eyes tells us that Max, like many an international man of mystery before him, may suffer his moments of existential dread. Once you’ve played golf with Obama and visited the All Blacks’ changing shed, what could there possibly be to look forward to? And what kind of narrative arc is in the offing when you haven’t started out in a Bryndwr state house? Got some ideas for a sequel, actually, Max, but we’ll need a writer’s credit. Think The Hangover meets There Will Be Blood. Snapchat us.
The Slow Learner Cup for unwitting contributions to domestic violence awareness goes to Tony Veitch.
Just when most of us had forgotten he existed, the sports radio host issues a typically self-involved bleat in response to getting some heat online: “I have worked my ass off to rebuild my life and career and learn from what was a hideous relationship!”
That would be the relationship with the partner who ended up in hospital with the broken back, right? Cue more blowtorch for “Veitchy”, from Women’s Refuge, among others. Veitch, who pleaded guilty in 2009 to injuring the woman in question with reckless disregard, eventually apologised for his Facebook outburst, perhaps belatedly realising that the “hideousness” or otherwise of that relationship shrinks into irrelevancy in light of the facts revealed in court.
You’d think he would have worked that out before now but, then again, he does work at Radio Sport.
Tony Veitch apologises.
The Chequered Flag for living in the fast lane goes to the New Zealand Transport Agency staff caught speeding in their work cars.
You always get one or two idiots, right? But 45 cars driven consistently at speeds over 110km/h, as revealed by the Herald in August? Staff of the very outfit responsible for road safety? This much irony must be a road hazard in itself… get the orange cones out — and someone call Alanis Morissette!
More from the series: