The aim of the game is to survive on your own in the middle of nowhere, with only a few possessions, for as long as it takes, outlasting the other competitors to win the “life-changing” prize money. You must make a shelter, collect and purify all your drinking water, and trap or hunt your food.
The participants have to film themselves enduring the privations of the great outdoors, exposing both their strengths and weaknesses, mental and physical. And, in a few cases, an over-inflated belief in their own abilities and the supposed benefit of having a spiritual connection to first nation ancestors up in the heavens who will guide them through.
In that respect, Aussie TV has definitely gone woke, just like poor old New Zealand, with one contestant who describes himself as an aboriginal man, but is whiter than a Glaswegian on Christmas Day, pale from shock on being told the pubs are closed.
Another is a Kiwi, again remarkably lacking in colour, who tells us his mountain is Taranaki, and that he feels a deep cultural connection to his Maori whanau and hapu ... but not enough to move back across the Tasman - no way, bro!
This woke “indigenous” posturing and self-satisfied back-patting, literally in the face of overwhelming alternative genealogy, has depressingly become the norm across all Western TV channels and is now beyond tedious.
Rather than getting irate, just look at it as an opportunity to laugh at their hypocrisy or take time out to stroll to the fridge for a beer.
When a contestant finally decides they’ve had a gutsful, or their ancestors in the sky get tired of their whinging, or they get sick or just too weak to carry on, they can “tap out”.
This involves ringing an extraction crew on a satellite phone who will come and get them.
They then have to do a piece to camera on why they’ve given up after an embarrassingly short amount of time, whilst telling us how strong and awesome they are in other ways.
In the case of the Aussie show, two “survivalists” endured one whole night, when it rained a bit, got chilly and they heard some noises in the bush. This was enough to burst their self-confidence bubble and they couldn’t “tap out” quickly enough, citing chronic wilderness fatigue and civilisation withdrawal syndrome - they’re real conditions, you know!
What a cool show, right?
But, rather than wait for NZ to do its own woke formulaic copy I’ve decided to pitch a creative variation in which political party leaders, hopefully no longer in government after the impending election, compete against each other to see who has the greatest staying power when the going gets tough.
What do you mean it’ll never work?
They’ll revel in it. The chance to talk at a camera all day, and all night if they want, on their favourite subject - themselves - without being interrupted, is a narcissist's dream come true.
And the title of my show? Alone NZ - In the Political Wilderness
The real programme has ten contestants but this is clearly beyond the viewing endurance of any sane audience when using politicians, so I’d drop it to three.
And the three that spring to mind are Chris Hipkins, James Shaw and Rawiri Waititi.
Now, where to stick them?
That’s a rhetorical question readers - I’ve a good idea of the suggestions I’d get but this is a family show so keep your ideas to yourself.
Fiordland, perhaps? Or the Ureweras? On the plus side, the latter has no huts left standing for them to take shelter in.
Nah, too obvious! I want my show to be different, and this is the political wilderness we’re talking about here.
It has to be Wellington!
Say what? Think about it.
What better place to socially isolate them than the scene of their former glory in national politics. Forced to watch, but be cut off from, the familiar trappings of power and all-encompassing woke behaviour, while intimately enduring the harsh weather and incessant cycle-lanes. And to any sensible person who doesn’t vote Left, it really is the metaphorical middle of nowhere.
Too cruel? I don’t think so.
But how can you isolate someone in a city?
Ah well, you see there are countless research studies showing that you are far lonelier in a city than anywhere else …except the actual wilderness, of course. The only personal contact you’re likely to get is being clipped by some earphone-wearing git whizzing past you on a Lime scooter. Nobody talks to each other, even on a crowded street or onboard public transport.
And it’s even worse if you’re a politician!
In the case of Wellington, thank God for that, I say. Imagine the mind-numbing “progressive” conversations you’d be dragged, kicking and screaming into, otherwise.
In the actual programme, contestants are given their own randomly assigned section of bush along the bank of a river. They can only travel a limited distance and never come into contact with each other.
In my version, our three unfortunates would be installed on a separate major Wellington intersection and only allowed to move within a 50m radius to camp, sleep, and forage for food and drink, with the help and charity of benevolent passers-by, waste receptacles, or the sky, in the case of water. To ensure they weren’t tempted to make their way to the sanctuary of parliament, they’d have an ankle bracelet fitted which would shock them if they tried to leave.
And to show I’m not a complete bastard, each would be given a cardboard box for shelter.
You may think this is simply being homeless rather than abandoned in the boondocks on your lonesome. But, thanks to the terrible raft of racist, divisive policies and economic mismanagement our current government and their allies have inflicted on us, this is exactly the type of social wilderness that more Kiwis now endure compared to 6 years ago.
What better kind of “wilderness” to subject our political incompetents to, in the vain hope they might learn the error of their ways, or at least suffer while they try to justify themselves.
Now, each contestant is allowed to take a few personal items with them.
An axe, knife, saw, rope?
All perfectly valid accessories in the wild ….or downtown Wellywood, for that matter. Where you stand a good chance of running into other predators - aka recently released violent inmates of His Majesty’s Prison Rimutaka, let loose on society to improve the Department of Corrections incarceration statistics and keep gang meeting attendances healthy.
But, would our Left-wing loonies be that practical?
These are my suggestions:-
Chris would take a photo of his Mum for inspiration; his closest advisor on all things educational ….outdoors.
James would take The Guide to Sustainable Homeless Living, with tips on how to sort and recycle while going through rubbish bins.
Rawiri would take his favourite stetson. Shade from the sun, useful for collecting rainwater, and big enough to shelter under if his cardboard box blows away on a “light and breezy” Wellington day.
To guarantee a good supply of tucker, each contestant would be placed on an intersection with a well-known fast-food store. This would be their main hunting ground where they could harry weak, vulnerable members of the grazing public and use all their political powers of stealth and persuasion to scavenge scraps and dribbles.
Chris, being a bread-and-butter kind of guy, would get well and truly sandwiched at Subway.
James, being anti-meat and dairy, would get fruit and vege smoothie heaven at Tank.
Rawiri would go for traditional Maori fare at KFC (Kai For Chiefs).
When it comes to “tapping out”, there’s no need for a satellite phone in central Wellington. Each contestant would have a public phone box within their “wilderness” area. They can dial 0800 IQUIT anytime and receive a code to unlock their ankle bracelet.
As for the winner’s prize. Not money, that’s for sure, after what those three have cost the country.
Perhaps a free budget holiday to recharge the victor’s batteries and help him/it/they recover from similar deprivations inflicted by their political policies on some of their fellow citizens.
Now, where would be appropriate?
For Chris - a virtual trip, via Messenger, to Harvard to catch up with his bestie Jacinda who can bring him up to speed on her bullshit Fellowship research into online disinformation - better watch what he says. This nicely complements her BA in mis-Communication & Public Manipulations and dovetails perfectly with Chippy’s BA in Political Scientology and Criminality.
In terms of measuring the intellect of these two neo-Marxist noddies, BA surely stands for Barely Awake.
For James - a one-way trip to Antarctica, in the freight section of the Scott Base supply plane. This is the pinnacle of virtue for any true Green. The Ross Ice Shelf is just starting to warm up to well below freezing at this time of year. He could personally vouch for how balmy it is due to climate change. Don’t forget your togs.
James also claims to have a degree - but does he? Looks like he dropped out before graduating so he actually got a TBA which stands for Too Bloody ‘Ard.
For Rawiri - who associates overseas travel with colonisation, unless someone else is paying first class reparations - a trip to Waitangi on the bus is perfect, to read the actual Treaty and learn the meaning of the terms “cede sovereignty” and “equal rights and privileges”.
Rawiri never went to University, but that sure doesn't hold him back spouting bullshit with honours.
I think that’s covered everything. Now I just have to find a non-woke NZ production company to make my show and persuade our three prime suspects to take part. After their collective defeat by the centre-right, mentioning the phrases TV show and free publicity, should be irresistible.
So, sit back and steel yourself for the pain, misery and humiliation.
But, above all, ENJOY!!!
Derek Mackie is a former geologist with a keen interest in current affairs and a penchant for satire.
2 comments:
This feels so right!
As a new Wellingtonian I have fresh impressions as I wend my way to work on the bus passing Parliament every day. The first one is you never see a politician walking around the city as that would spoil their bubble view of the world. I have seen tents on Willis Street, people fighting on the street and someone sleeping in a doorway at 8.30a.m. the other day with workers flapping by as if they were invisible.
The heartbreaker was on a wet day last week a man, not young, not old, singing a song. He had no front teeth and was unaccompanied by music or a companion. His voice was mellow and his song was sweet but to passsers-by he was invisible.
Derek you have a keen sense of revenge that I like. Waititi would look like he belongs, Hipkins would be shell-shocked and James would be sniffing into his hankie.
MC
I remember a long time ago, a competition as to how long someone could live on a covered platform, on top of a telegraph pole in a park setting. Food was delivered and ablutions spirited away at night. I think the winner lasted a couple of weeks.
The local were free to chat and abuse them. In a kind way of course.
Post a Comment