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How 19th-century circus lions allowed Mexican bandits to infiltrate Apollo 11

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In 1897, New Zealand was in an uproar. The New England Patriots had finally been expelled from their Mt. Ruapehu mountaintop citadel, and the insidious pall of despair and evil they’d cast over much of the Southern hemisphere had finally come to an end. But more importantly, tactical and strategic punning, through fierce and intense lobbying at the UN, had finally become recognized as a War Crime, puncturing the attempts at rebellion from the ungrateful native wildebeest in NZ’s Antarctic empire – and in a sneak counterattack, a covert penguin guerrilla squad masquerading as a circus captured each and every last politician from NZ’s parliament, by a lightning-fast dawn raid from their Fusion Stealth Clown Commandos. Read the rest of this entry


Why making the Earth’s core chocolate-flavoured solves everything

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This essay follows on from the previous one, In which cream cheese fetishes fuel geological pinball.

Disaster! A huge series of dangerous earthquakes threatened the entire country, and the Wellington city council’s plan of pumping vast amounts of supercooled helium-3 from Jupiter into a country-spanning Selley’s No More Gaps mineral seam instead played geologic pinball with half the world, and killed off UK conservatism for good. New Zealand’s country-destroying earthquake juice still built and grew, and fear of this blossomed around the country. We must try again, the nation said!

Wellington instantly rallied, and called a third solution-searching council, to sort this earthquake shit out once and for all. Two ranks of severed heads, this time, were terrifyingly visible at this gathering, belonging to disgraced former scientists who’d chaired the first two failed councils. Read the rest of this entry

In which cream cheese fetishes fuel geological pinball

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In the early 2030s, New Zealand’s capital city, Wellington, was in trouble. Big trouble. Geological surveys discovered that colossal tectonic geological pressures were building up directly under the city, causing solid rock to stretch and flow like cream cheese. A bit more scanning revealed that the under-city rock actually was cream cheese, and for a few minutes this caused a major panic in the geology lab, with scientists rushing around trying to write up cream-cheese-based planetary formation theories, before a technician noticed someone had spilled their lunch on the scanner camera lens. Read the rest of this entry

In which “The Little Death” is all too literal

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In 1898, Queen Victoria performed her annual whistle stop of the British Empire on a spruce of rocket-powered, bus-sized top hat-monocle-combos made of porcelain Corgis, piloted by immense crowds of Victorian gentlemen with huge bushy twirly moustaches. This display of stern, authoritative Empire astonished and delighted the world and all in it, and vast heaving crowds attended the Queen’s every stop. Leading members of New Zealand society were so impressed by Victoria’s stratospheric rocket wheelies and screams of “Faster, you dogs!” that they thought it’d be totally awesome to get in on this shit. To the skies! Read the rest of this entry

Why the NZ car industry causes peoples’ brains to leap out of their skulls

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Cars in New Zealand have a long and chequered history, with ups and downs, triumphs and defeats, good times and bad times. Who could forget the craze that kicked it all off – the Dodge Vipers and Porsches carefully and painstakingly shipped here, carefully balanced in wobbly, leaky Polynesian settler dugout canoes, so that the first wave of Maori settlers could be sure of looking funky?

Who could forget the billions of Minis imported from Tanzania to appease the leadership of the seventh Sheep Uprising in the early 1960s? After the first wave of feminists hit NZ’s shores, many sheeps’ ears pricked up, they thought “Freedom and empowerment sounds totally rad, I want me some of that”, and kicked off the first sheep-based rebellion in almost five years. Read the rest of this entry

The Six-Hour War

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New Zealand’s relationship with Australia has always been a convivial but strained one. For centuries the two nations have traded sporting, financial, cultural and military blows, often in a serious spirit of sacrifice and duty – but much more usually because the attacking party’s become completely smashed on booze at 3am, and held an impromptu Parliament session just for a laugh. At this Parliament, they’ve decided it’ll be a huge giggle to, say, drop a cubic kilometre of national surplus caviar on Canberra. From such humble and lovable beginnings national rivalries are made. Read the rest of this entry