Hope you get AIDS, Griffin, you fucking useless fat cunt.

There's a school of thought that seems to think that the BNP are some kind of legitimate party, because they're on the ballot, and because their fuckcunt of a leader can wear a tie. Any cunt can wear a tie, I managed it for several years before I moved to Aotearoa.

Nick "Fat Cunt" Griffin denies the Holocaust.

This is a man who believes that brown people are not allowed to be British. This is a man who denies the Holocaust. This is a man who worships an impotent, one-bollocked, shortarse Austrian cunt.

Free speech is great, however, if you end up preaching that non-whites are less than human, and should be sent home, then you deserve to have the shit kicked out of you at every opportunity. Instead of eggs, how about balloons full of piss, or bricks?


Nick Griffin is a fucking racist, violent, former NF member, fat little cunt who should be repatriated to England at the first opportunity. I hope he dies a miserable, violent, painful, lonely death. Bet he can't get it up, either.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQoNy4m7DX4 Fat little one-eyed cunt gets eggs thrown at him. Bless.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=04QolIvfQEw Fat little cunt saying " Look, we can't mention TEH JOOZ!!! until we're in power, but then it's a free for all on the synagogues, nudge nudge wink wink."

Fuck him, and fuck everyone who voted for him. You're all cunts.

PHARMAC. Phucking Arseholes.

For those of you that don't know, PHARMAC are a bunch of bearded sages with residence in New Zealand's Wellington. Every so often , I have to deal with them. It's an unpleasant experience. Imagine trying to say to Daily Mail readers that asylum seekers should have medical treatment because, they're, you know, FUCKING HUMAN. ( I mean asylum seekers are human, Daily Mail readers are clustercunts of the highest order).

That's kind of what it's like dealing with PHARMAC.

Every so often, I have to submit something called a Hospital Exceptional Circumstances application to PHARMAC. This is essentially a form asking for a medication asking for permission to fund a treatment out of the hospital's own budget. For example, I would put in a form saying can I have benzbromarone to treat my gouty bloke please, and the aforementioned bearded sages would stroke their beards, along with other extremely small parts of their anatomy, and decree that yes, I was allowed to have benzbromarone, because it costs about tuppence, and it's cheaper than repeatedly hospitalising the bloke with gout attacks. So essentially it all comes down to money, and PHARMAC think that if supplying the drug for a year will be cheaper than the alternative (hospital treatment), then the drug will be supplied.

There's a couple of ways to get round this, namely

1) "Hey bro, my patient needs this medicine for a few more days, how can we do that?"

"Well, we could send him out on *WINK WINK NUDGE NUDGE* leave for a few days ,so long as he's still being reviewed by you guys *WINK WINK NUDGE NUDGE*

2) Creativity/Lies. Or basically every single Clexane application, ever.

My part in this tends to be saying to the applying doctor "Look, bro, your patient had a bad reaction to warfarin in the past, remember, that really really big bleed or allergic reaction? It would be really useful if you could remember that? Remember? Oh, and by the way, phenindione is a fucking shithouse drug that kills people, so your patient can't have that either. Do you understand what I'm saying?" So it's a bit like being self-employed and having a conversation with your accountant.

So, PHARMAC, in your infinite wisdom, can a 17 year old girl have a drug that will stop her going into renal failure and requiring permanent dialysis?

"No, we are not convinced it's cost-effective, as she hasn't gone into renal failure yet. Come back to us when she has gone into renal failure. Have you tried phenindione?"

So there we are. This shit-for-brains government organisation think that you're not allowed a drug to stop you from dying because it's to expensive, until you actually start dying, by which time it's too late. Quality of life means nothing to them. Fucking wankers. I hope they can all afford to pay for their own medical treatment. Wankers.

Things I Should Have Done Before I Came Here, Part One

1) Apply for residency straight off. Rather naively, I thought that one could just serve their work visa time, rock up to Wellington, pay a token sum and then get residency, sweet as, bro. Unfortunately, it doesn't quite work like that, and I have to get a copy of my degree, and a medical, and a letter off my boss stating that I'm not employed as a pimp, and a chest X-ray to prove that I don't (hopefully) have TB, and a police certificate, and never mind the fact that you've been paying taxes for the last seven months without actually getting the fucking right to vote, or even to live outside of Northland.

Frankly, I'm just glad I'm doing it on my tod, and, unlike the Bewildered Scouser, don't have to fork out for it five times. All I've had out of him all week is "Stevie G, Stevie G, Stevie G, perhaps I could just sell them a fucking kidney, Stevie G, aye?"

Chthulu + Holmes = Awesome.

Neil Gaiman. More than just Sandman

Go and read A Study In Emerald

British National Pharmacist.

I'm a pharmacist. Or a chemist. I don't, personally, care if people address me as a chemist or not. I often introduce myself as " I'm the pharmacist, you know, like from the chemist's shop". It seems to work, and patients seem to listen. Either that, or they're intimidated by the wild-eyed unshaven Welsh bloke who can barely speak English, and who is getting far more excited by benzene rings than any man should be, and then patients are scared to say anything in case I start ranting about the scientific method. Bro.

Since I've been here, I have been conscious that I am an outsider, that I am not of this place. I don't mean that in a bad way, I love this beautiful, pristine country. It is a civilised, wonderful, curious land. A land where no-one had to threaten hunger strikes to get a television channel broadcasting in the language of the indigenous people. A place where, despite a tricky first few months, I have felt a sense of acceptance that I have never felt anywhere else.

Since I've been here, I've spoken to Maori, Tongans, Kiwis, Welsh, Scots, Irish, Americans, and a beautiful Zimbabwean nurse who had to spend six weeks in the hospital with an infectious disease. I've tried my best to treat all these people as equals, regardless of how white or Jewish they may or may not be. This is important, because this is my job, and because we're all fucking Kiwis, at the end of the day, we're not niggers, or pakis, or any of the other ugly insults used by those brain-dead vermin who would happily ship off all non-whites back to wherever the hell it is they're supposed to come from. Regardless of whether they were born here, or if their parents or grandparents were born here.

You would think that pharmacists would treat all patients (NOT CUSTOMERS) equally. It's probably in the Code of Ethics or something (not that anyone ever reads that after the first year of university). Unfortunately, membership of the BNP would seem to be incompatible with treating patients equally. The BNP is a collection of cockroaches that would quite happily deport all non-whites and Jews. It's always about the Jews. God knows why.

It should be incompatible for pharmacists, and nurses, and doctors, and social workers, and everyone else who has direct contact with patients, to be a member of the BNP. Being a member is an admission that you judge people by how white they are. This is against every single code of ethics.

There's a UK registered pharmacist on the BNP membership list. Thankfully, there's just the one. I suppose he could have a reasonable excuse-he could have joined for "research purposes", I suppose. Or he could be keeping an eye on the enemy, in the same way that I have a look at Stormfront (DO NOT LOOK AT THIS IN WORK) every now and then.

Anyway, the guy's from Birmingham. He's got the same surname as a former Nottingham Forest "pineapple on his head" striker, and the same first name as the most famous basketball player in history. Or you could just google Wikileaks, and look for the spreadsheet. It doesn't take long at all.

Click by here

Things I Miss From Back Home:Part Two.

1) Soccer Saturday, when it was too cold and wet and raining and hailing and snowing and dinosaury to go outside.

2) Barbers. Where you could get a haircut for a fiver. Reading a car magazine while waiting for your turn. Cardiff City photos on the wall. No conversation whatsoever.

3) S4C.

4) Big squeezy bottles of HP sauce.

5) Rugby internationals kicking off at 2ish in the afternoon, instead of 3ish in the morning.

He said it better than I could, part 94.

Ever get wound up by ignorant fuckwits that think that brown people can't be Kiwis?

Read this

Bunch of Cunts.

BNP membership list fell onto the internet. Hilarious.

Unfortunately, there's four in New Zealand.

Google "wikileaks", if you're curious.

And, for my readers in Aotearoa, this is what a scrum-half* is supposed to look like.

*Half-back, for those of us who speak Southern Hemisphere.

AMERICA!! FUCK YEAH!!!

Well, the good guys won. I myself am on the second bottle of cheap sparkling wine. Also, I'll now be recyling my Obama t-shirt as a car wash flannel thing. Because it's not healthy to walk around with your president's name on your chest.

Congratulations, America. I fucking love you, the third greatest country in the world. Don't fuck it up now.

Rugby League "World" Cup.

I hate to say this, but come the fuck on, Australia.

You can stick your queen up your fucking bollocks.

Life On Mars.

I would like to take time off work next week to watch the American election results. I have my bottle of bourbon all ready for celebration/drown my sorrows.

Unfortunately, the International Date Line completely pickles my head, and I am not sure what day I need off. I think I want Wednesday 5th November, New Zealand time, off work. But I am not sure. It is all very, very confusing. Universal Global Time can't happen soon enough.

Things I Miss From Norfolk: Part One.*

Watching crap football in the oldest, coldest football stand in England. It's got a blue plaque and everything. Drinking soup, escaping to the bar to get a warm, listening to lunatics convinced that this was the worst team in fifty years. It was so cold. Hardly surprising as the ground was about fifty feet from the North Sea. It was so cold.






* Not the improbably large-breasted women that all look very similar, oddly enough.

Things I Miss From Home: Part One

Best Shirt Ever!

The PDA

Should I renew my membership, or not?

I don't really mind paying a hundred quid or so to an organization that is actually useful and represents pharmacists. It's quite a novel concept, and certainly something that the quack-loving cowardly brown-nosers in Lambeth could learn from.

So, a hundred quid a year (or about 240,000,000 Kiwi dollars), paid out of some sort of sense of solidarity. Sounds like a bargain to me. I should probably pay it. Everyone should.

Targets For The Next Year.

1) Buy house. Went for a look today, found one next door to a Naturopath. I may give that one a miss. Either that, or spend all day standing outside with a megaphone calling him a twat. Then people will say "Look at the mad Irish man, bro".

2) Try and go to the South Island. Apparently they have proper cold weather, and mountains and !!TRAINS!!

3) Get Sky TV, so I can watch the Six Nations without having to rely on the rather shaky justintv.com

4) See a Kiwi bird.

5) Learn how to pronounce "Aotearoa".

6) Watch every single episode of "Six Feet Under".

Worthless, useless, lazy, money-grubbing shits.

Andrew Gush.

Andrew Gush.

Millionaire. Sold his business. Millionaire. Can't be bothered turning up to his "locums". Millionaire. No formal qualifications in accountancy. Millionaire. Utterly clueless at his job.

I, for one, will be laughing when he loses his pretend "job" as Treasurer of the RPSGB. As celebrations go, it'll be up there with the death of Thatcher. Unfortunately, he'll probably be secure financially. Shame.

This ridiculous, lazy, incompetent little man now receives 5,500 Pounds Sterling for the privilege of being lazy and incompetent
Link

Frankly, I'm disgusted by this. Andrew Gush is so far out of his depth that, if he were a dog, he'd be put down. Andrew Gush is incompetent at his job, and I suggest that he steps down quietly. The "man" is supposed to be a Treasurer, and yet his only solution to a financial problem is to raise taxes. Fantastic stuff.

Well, as far as I'm concerned, Gush, Churton, and the rest of the pseudo-science loving wasters can stick their retention tax up their fucking bollocks (if they had any). I have no interest in the RPSGB. It has done nothing, absolutely nothing for me, apart from threaten and take, take, take money to prop up a rotten system. Fuck the lot of them, the worthless pieces of shit.

One from the archives

I have a dream.

In fact, I have had many dreams. For example, the other night I had a dream that a Welsh football player actually managed to score a fucking penalty in a fucking World fucking Cup fucking qualifying match for a change. However, this is not the place to discuss such weird, perverted flights of fancy. Rather, this a place for a serious, heartfelt discussion on the leaders of our profession, why they feel the need to fuck us up at every opportunity, why exactly they need to take so much money off us, and what exactly is the purpose of Jeremy Holmes.

Go and join the PDA

Steve Churton is the President of the RPSGB. Unfortunately, he also works for Boots. When I say "works", I of course mean "is Head of Professional Practice". This is a job title that seems to incorporate the silent acceptance of homeopathy in Boots, as it's "what our customers want". In other words "PROFIT!!! PROFIT!!! LAUGHING ALL THE WAY TO THE BANK, BECAUSE WE ARE WORTHLESS TOOLS WHO HAVE SOLD OUR SOUL TO SATAN!". Mr. Churton seems to think that it is professional to sell homeopathy. Perhaps his brain has exploded under the strain of doing his non-job. God forbid he should ever actually see the kind of shite that Joe Pharmacist has to tolerate in the name of "PROFIT!!! PROFIT!!! LAUGHING ALL THE WAY TO THE BANK, BECAUSE WE ARE WORTHLESS TOOLS WHO HAVE SOLD OUR SOUL TO SATAN!". I've no idea what "work" a Head of Professional Practice does, but I suspect it consists of vast amounts of protocols, jollies, protocols, jollies, and finishing early on a Friday.

Go and join the PDA

Mr Churton has absolutely no concern for the poor bastards that have to work in the Wonderful Whacky World of Retail. This quote sums him up, I think.

“The Society, along with the Company
Chemists’ Association, the National Pharmacy
Association, the Pharmaceutical Services
Negotiating Committee and the Association of
Independent Multiple pharmacies, have recently
agreed to work collaboratively for the benefit of
community pharmacy in England - to ensure
that the opportunities contained in the White
Paper become a reality.”

That's four associations that represent employers. None of them give a shit about employees. They would happily put you out of a job tomorrow, if they could replace you with an untrained technician, or a CCTV camera. These organisations have no interest in what Joe Pharmacist wants, and I include the RPSGB in that.

Go and join the PDA

World's Most Dislikeable Sports Teams.

1) Milton Keynes Dons. A plastic, transplanted, futile abomination. I hope they go out of business.

2) England Rugby team 2001-2003. England, 2003 World Champions. The largest collection of cunts in one place since the Nuremberg trials. Mike Fucking Catt coming on at half-time and kicking the Protectors Of Virtue And Righteousness out of the game. Mike Catt, you bastard. Mike Fucking Catt. It still makes me angry.

3) Straylia cricket, and that chimp-faced arsehole Ricky Punter.

AMERICA!!! FUCK YEAH!!!

For a country that is the third greatest in the world*, the USA does seems to have a fair proportion of amazingly dense idiots. This is, after all, a country that elected Bush The Retarded once. Thankfully, they had the sense not to do it twice.

This is a story about how school governors want creationism taught in schools. Apparently, it's unfair to teach evolution. Apparently, teaching how a bearded sky fairy made humans out of mud is equally valid. There's a fantastic quote from something called Joel Fanti in that article. He has been quoted as saying "If evolution is so slow, why don't we see anything evolving now?"

In the words of the late, great, Bill Hicks, I would like to say to Mr. Fanti.

"Kill yourselves, seriously. You're the ruiner of all things good. Seriously, no, this is not a joke. "There's gonna be a joke coming..." There's no fucking joke coming, you are Satan's spawn, filling the world with bile and garbage, you are fucked and you are fucking us, kill yourselves, it's the only way to save your fucking soul. Kill yourself, kill yourself, kill yourself now."

*Behind Aotearoa and Cymru, obviously.

New Poll.

Please vote. I can then use it as scientific EVIDENCE that homeopathy works.

My Fathers Can Have It.

Ah, Cardiff! Glorious, divine city, reflections glistening in neon-lit puddles. I salute you.
Click here.

Camping.

Kai Iwi Lakes. Lush beyond. No shops for miles/kilometers around. Drinking beer under starlight. Sleeping on a tree root all night. Going to bed for four hours proper kip when you get home.

More info here

Rest of the pics are on Facebook, if anyone from back home still bothers reading this.

The World's Greatest Pharmacy Job.

This is possible the best pharmacy related job ever*. Driving around the outback in the Evil Empire. With a dog. In a four wheel drive. Fixing things with wire. It's all very Australian. Personally, I think it's brilliant.


*Apart from the one involving a naked Jessica Alba. Which I think only exists inside my head.

Mildly Amusing Link Of The Day.

Click by here

Sod.

For some reason, I thought that Aotearoa was closer to the USA than Wales was. I though this would mean that I wouldn't have to stay up until silly o'clock to watch The Democratic People's Packing Republic Of Green Bay slaughter all comers, led by the steely, silken, susurration of the New Gunslinger's throwing arm.

Instead, everything kicks off at sodding seven in the morning on Monday, which is just about the time I get up to go to work.

Barack Obama had better do something about this, or I will not be buying any more t-shirts.

What makes a good doctor/ Freedom of Speech.

Read these first:Dr Rant
Ward 87




What makes a good doctor? From my point of view, anyone that can write a prescription properly will do. More seriously, there appears to be a bit of a fetish among the young, willowy house surgeons of Aotearoa to wear knee-high leather boots to work (and that's just the chaps, ha ha). The Welsh Pharmacist thoroughly approves. Even more seriously, however, I think that a good doctor, primarily, works with patients. At the end of the day, the patients are kind of important. It's sort of the point of the thing. Bad doctors go into management, probably because they can't hack dealing with patients. Patients smell of piss. Management places smell of coffee, and knocking off early on Friday. Not a difficult choice.

Which is kind of leading up to the question: Where does freedom of speech end, and where does crushing of dissent begin?

In Scotland, which is a strange and terrible place populated by Yetis and Tennant's Special Brew, a junior doctor has been suspended for the heinous, treasonous crime of referring to Dame Carol Black as a "shit". Carol Black has shown WRU levels of incompetence when it comes to fucking up medical careers. I would have thought that being called a shit would be the least of her problems.

Ms Black's mate, Elizabeth Paice, grassed up the junior doctor who called Ms Black a shit, to "Dr" Gillian Needham, the dean of the junior doctor. "Dr" Needham, being a worthless, self-righteous brown-nosing coward, then suspended the junior doctor.

Was he a threat to his patients? No

Was he behaving inappropiately towards other staff? No.

Was he stealing morphine for his own use? No.

Was he suspended for having an opinion? HELL YEAH!

Was this in contravention of Department of Health guidelines? HELL YEAH!

Is criticising those in power a crime? HELL YEAH! Is it bollocks.

The most important thing is: we live in this little thing called a "democracy". People with no power should not be suspended by some useless fucking cunt for referring to people with power as "shit". So the naughty boy called your mate a rude word? So fucking what. Grow a pair of fucking bollocks and get the fuck over it. Stop abusing your power and go and do us all a fucking favour and jump off a cliff. In this country, we can say what we damn well like, and you can fucking put up with it, you worthless cunt. If you don't like it, then just fuck away off. I suggest North Korea.

Website of the day.

Has The LHC Destroyed The Earth?

Someone should show it to the Daily Fucking Mail.

Football Update.

It's really quite depressing when the vast majority of your national football team is several years younger than you are. Anyway, a mighty 1-0 win for Cymru against Azerbaijan. I didn't stay up for it, fell asleep after watching 28 Weeks Later.

Also, Aotearoa have a World Cup pre-qualifier qualifier thing on Wednesday, against New Caledonia. I'm thinking about going to it, although it's a bit academic, as the All Whites have already vanquished the rest of the tiny islands that make up Oceania (now that the Evil Empire have decided to be Asian). We've already qualified for the play-off thingy against the Asia fifth place team, or whoever it is this time.