Dear Nos,

I can't help but thinking about the fleeing Syrian refugees, I saw some of the families being interviewed on TV and it kind of breaks my heart nos. I saw an old man surrounded by soldiers and being kicked by his own countrymen like the only law is repression and might, and that the old man's life and all the good he might have done, and love he shared was kicked from him the desert dust of his own homeland. The school girl managing a tentative smile, and saying she missed her friends while she sheltered under a tree with her father and siblings while they rested on their march to the border - everything I believe about a homeland and cherishing the land and memories of folks since gone from empty homes and abandoned schools.

Now we have a mass of volcanic dust circling the country, as if it observes us in our frail and stumbling ways trying to raise from dust a homeland in these southern isles, sprinkling and falling among us while we struggle for the moment, forgetting others and becoming mean about all except our own preservation. In Christchurch the shakes continue and people fret about their children and their futures, thinking of the question of refugees and pioneers who came and raised buildings from hewn rock and sawed lumber for learning and a place to be shared. It makes me sad, because I remember some of the young men lifting rock and fallen beam to rescue those trapped, and in that moment young and old were one, for a time people were outside themselves, unafraid to care and help, not anxious about who others were apart from that they were human and cared.

I wanted to write something happy nos, for the children in the desert and our own ones lost here but my strength seems gone for the moment, and I know I must wait watching out for the angels among us to come to lead us home.

Happy new year from Goodnewsguy....

I'd just thought I'd sign off for the new year, kiss all the rellies and make a few promises I'll never keep. I'd like to get something off my chest and say that maybe I did eat a drumstick off that stuffed chicken that was cooling by the hot plate, but I never ate no stuffing and that bothers me because there's nothing like the stuffing you never ate.

I know there's been some talk that me and Nos aren't talking since, well since ,I had to sell his fridge to pay my rent and, as anybody would understand that I had to use his truck to get it to the pawn shop, I pawned the truck as well. It was only a bloody truck, and I've offered to make him a cd of me going 'brmm brmm nos' with a live air horn sounding in the background and simulated rough gear change noises that he doesn't talk like to talk about.

Though apart from, life hasn't been too bad in the hen house this year with those Rhode island reds and that fox I won't let out. There's nothing like a fox in the hen house just so you can keep an eye on it and listen to all those sly fox stories once the lights go out and the fox's eyes shine red.

I might catch a train south next year, or maybe I'll hang around.

Happy birthday dear morons...

happy birthday dear morons,
happy birthday dear morons,
happy birthday to you.

From your old pal Goodnewsguy
just in case any moron is having a birthday today.

3 cheers and bottoms up chappettes, very cheeky cheeky.

Stalking stalkers by Goodnewsguy.

Stalking stalkers isn't as much fun as you might think. It's pretty boring really and some of the noises that old supersleuth makes when breaking wind are quite objectionable but not as much when he's muttering to himself and measuring his urine samples early in the morning. I wish he'd just speak up, and who the hell is this 'little willie' that he keeps talking to has got me beat. What I'd like to know is whether is legal to have 'little willie' locked up in old sleuth's toilet having to watch him measure his urine samples. Some things should be private, surely.

Just because I'm a stalker stalking a stalker doesn't mean I haven't got feelings. I think that Nos should remember that, also that I'm smell-sensitive. I'll lay it on the line right now if supergoose starts measuring poo samples, I'm outa here. If I can, I'll take little willie with me, being locked in a toilet can't be much fun anyway, but witnessing supergoose taking poo samples would be too much for anybody, little willie or not.

I don't want people to think I'm just using this as an excuse to bring up employment issues because I'm not. The fact that Nos doesn't appreciate what I have to go through in order to provide him with undercover information is neither here nor there. I'm not bitter that Nos didn't have the foresight to appreciate that stalking supergoose might include urine and poo samples. All of which is irrelevant to my non issues of poor pay, never seeing my family and being required to be following around some old coot who has no idea where he's going. I hope that is clear to all, that I'm not moaning.

I hope it is also clear that just because the Justice Department have taken no interest in sleuth being a member and sponsor of a hate-site, and having embarked upon contacting witnessess and stalking details of jury members along with the combined efforts of his fellow hate-siters to do the same - that I don't see why I should have to do it. It's not in my employment contract - even though I don't have one, resulting from the fact Nos reckoned that if he gave me an employment contract I'd have to sign it using an X so that nobody would know my true identity if I was caught listening to supersleuth mumbling to little willie. Sometimes life isn't fair as my research shows. With all the people that signed kent's petition using an X, well, how did they get away with it, that's what I'd like to know.

Golf-ball Size Nose

Adding a golf-ball size nose as a disguise when your own nose is already golf-ball sized anyway isn't a disguise. You remain identified as a person in disguise wearing two golf-ball size noses one of which is probably not real. For this reason it isn't really a disguise at all and I'd expect GNG will work that out some day and hopefully before he goes on his next mission.

I won't discuss the merits of the intellect of truck drivers here apart from saying that I can also drive a golf cart, a supermarket trolley and a scooter with training wheels. I don't imagine that camp mother kent thought that GNG was spreading good news at all, and I expect Kent hasn't got over it yet.

It is true that I wrote to Kent and maybe I will put a couple of the letters on here at some point. It's also true that I joined Counterspin under my own name nostalgia-nz and that I immediately sensed that I wasn't welcome for some reason. I'm very sensitive at times and have been known to talk to daisies and other plants when I fall into the garden on my way back from the cave after saying goodnight to my bats which by that time are generally flying about stealing peaches off Mrs McGantry's tree or doing low fly overs trying to grab my sleeping bonnet.