Bob Jones

Bob Jones on Donald Trump

Bob Jones writes at NBR about Donald Trump:

How to explain the Trump insanity?

If he were running for the local council in Levin, or indeed any small town’s council, let alone big cities, anywhere, anytime in the western world, he’d be history the first time he opened his mouth. But seeking instead the world’s most important job, his utter inadequacy seemingly doesn’t matter.

Trump lacks a single redeeming feature. He’s abysmally ignorant, crass, an oftimes bankrupt and unabashed persistent liar and alleged fraudster, then to top it off, for it’s always a factor, he’s bloody ugly with his porcine visage.  Furthermore, it’s doubtful if any political aspirant has ever copped such unrelenting persistent abuse from the serious media. For example, that description above, with the exception of the porcine reference, is straight from a New York Times editorial a week ago, that being a newspaper normally with an almost snobbishly aloof approach of cautious understatement.

So too with all serious worldwide newspapers, their columnists, cartoonists and editorials hammering the buffoon daily, as no political hopeful has ever been pummelled, yet all to no avail as on he marches.  Thus Trump’s on track to gain the Republican nomination, albeit not yet a foregone conclusion.

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Face of the Day

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Bob Jones is Face of the Day because he is deadly serious about building his monument to Gareth Morgan:

He writes to Eric Crampton disabusing him of the notion that he was being tongue in cheek about the statue.

Dear Dr Crampton,

Your report on the long overdue Morgan statue has been shown to me.  Plainly there has been a misunderstanding.  It most certainly was not a “tongue in cheek” proposal.  The widespread affection and admiration for Mr Morgan demands nothing less.   Read more »

Bob Jones wins

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In the war of words and deeds between Air New Zealand and Bob Jones, Bob wins.

NBR has a column from him about his latest efforts to avoid Air New Zealand.

For more than half a century I’ve travelled everywhere – but no airline, not even in the worst Soviet Union days, matches the infantile nappy-statism of an Auckland-Wellington Air New Zealand flight.

The incessant and unnecessary hostess babble over the intercom, the utterly childish and pointless screeching safety video, the absurd seat-by-seat check that we’re an inch or two upright at exactly 20 minutes before landing, and worst of all, the “this is your captain speaking.”  You’re not our captain, sunshine, nor is it our fault you’ve chosen a mind-numbingly boring occupation. Lacking the wit to having anything meaningful to say, we endure your mumbling nonsense about the bloody weather and your planned airport approach, as if anyone gives a damn. How long before there’s fingernail inspection?    Read more »

30 years ago Bob Jones did what we all want to do, he punched a reporter in the face

Thirty years ago today, Sir Bob Jones infamously punched reporter Rod Vaughan.

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Air New Zealand pilot sits in emergency exit and reads book during safety demo

Last week Bob Jones was all the news because he dared to sit where he was told and then read a book while the safety announcement was playing.

When he refused to put his book down he was turfed off the plane and ended up being news for it.

Air New Zealand reacted in an over the top manner, and then sanctimoniously declared that no one was above the rule no matter who they were… except their own pilots of course… they can sit in the emergency exit row and read books till the cows come home.

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Putting the record straight – Bob Jones

Twice in successive weeks recently, I slammed the New Zealand media’s ludicrous behaviour in two New Zealand Herald satirical columns, over their infantile excesses following the ponytail incident. How ironic then that a few weeks later I should be the subject of their obsession with trivia. Here’s what happened.

I shot up to Auckland for a vice-chancellor’s university function, in my honour. As I’ve done countless times, I gave my ticket to the always helpful Koru Club ladies who set about re-organising me into the big leg room emergency seat and, if possible, and as indeed in that case, with no-one besides me. On the flight I was greeted by one of Air New Zealand’s most charming chief stewards, a Chinese chap, took my seat, donned my air phones to avoid the unbelievably childish safety claptrap, and had a pleasant 50 minutes’ read.

The following day at Auckland saw a repetition, marked by one of the X-ray machine officers shaking hands with me, saying he hadn’t seen me for a while. Such is the usual friendly conduct I and doubtless other regular Auckland-Wellington are accustomed to. Once again, I took my seat, donned my earphones and settled into my book, of which more shortly. There was a tap on my shoulder. I looked up to see a young hostess frowning at me and, assuming it was the usual seat forward silliness, pushed the side button and returned to reading. She tapped again. I took off the headphones.

“You’re in the emergency seat.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know you’re in the emergency seat?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to change seats?”

“Not particularly.” Read more »

Bob Jones is awesome…that is all

Bob Jones got chucked off an Air New Zealand plane yesterday after ignoring the trolley dollies insisting he listen to their boring safety announcements, who in most cases are standing there trying to not look like extremely rancid mutton, dressed as mutton.

Property magnate Sir Bob Jones was ejected from an Air New Zealand flight after refusing to take instructions from cabin crew, according to Businessdesk news wire.

The 75-year-old Hutt Valley resident had boarded flight NZ421 from Auckland to Wellington when cabin staff attempted to instruct him in his duties as an emergency exit row passenger, where he was seated in row 12, in a window seat.

Jones kept reading when the staff member sought to deliver him and other passengers a routine safety briefing.

Told he could be moved to another seat if he was unable or unwilling to assist in an emergency, he refused to be moved and asked to be left alone, according to passengers in the same row, who witnessed the incident.

Two Civil Aviation Authority staff were summoned to the plane to escort Jones.

The flight was delayed some 20 minutes, prompting an apology from the flight’s captain, who said “no matter who you are”, passengers had to obey CAA regulations, which included paying attention to safety briefings.

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Bob Jones on Campbell Live and the lefty whingers

Bob Jones is a national treasure.

He comments on the bizarre situation of a bunch of lefty whingers trying to strong arm a private company into retaining a failing current affairs show host.

[M]any folk constantly demonstrate a proprietorial right over private property. We witnessed this with the John Campbell hullabaloo.

TV3 is free to viewers, thus complainants demonstrated outrageous impertinence in condemning its decisions, their reaction being as if it was state-owned and they had an ownership right. They don’t, and the channel can do what it damn well pleases, which is the essence of private property.

Although occupying a primetime slot, the undeniable fact is that Campbell pulls an uneconomic audience number for the ownership company, which recently was on the brink of bankruptcy. TVNZ would have axed him long ago on these ratings.

Enough has been said about Campbell’s alleged virtues or shortcomings so I won’t, but instead will comment on the claim he delivers serious investigative journalism. That’s utter hogwash. Serious journalism can only be found in measured, thoughtful essays.

Television is the equivalent of comics when it comes to serious journalism, although undoubtedly it contributes a useful visual element, but that’s it. At best it’s akin to a pictorial book, say on Victorian London. Great for those seeking a once-over-lightly view but scarcely serious historical analysis.

Such books, aimed at the casual reader, tend towards sensationalism in their emphasis as to a degree they’re published as informative entertainment. But they lack nuance and deeper and wider analysis, just as with what passes as serious television.

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Bob Jones is a national treasure

News broke that the Prime Minister, presumably exercising a perk of office, had seemingly hurled a coffee-shop waitress to the floor, then not once but twice, and regardless of his accompanying wife’s feelings let alone those of the other patrons, their children, two sensitive pet dogs and a wheel-chaired granny, violently had his way with her. Then emerging triumphantly from under the table wearing her knickers on his head, he’d searched around for fresh victims, before launching salivating and naked into the street in a quest for fresh flesh to commit his vile corruptions on. At that point I made two predictions.

First, that within the hour, that groaning giveaway of journalistic shoal fish mediocrity would emerge, namely the appendix “gate”. Sure enough, exactly 38 minutes later, the Stuff (Fairfax) website kicked off with the first “ponygate”, the others all duly lapdogging along thereafter. My second prediction was that the expected flow of contrived outrage from middle-age women (older ladies are more sensible), perpetual offence seekers, would bear a direct co-relationship in their venom with the authors’ ugliness.

By God I scored a bullseye with that one.

Not to mention the men that were already ugly enough to be a woman with contrived outrage.  You know the ones.   Read more »

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Bob Jones declares an end of the nanny state, instead it is the nappy state

Bob Jones in his usual blunt and forthright manner points out eh lunacy of coroners and councils.

Two years ago, while running along a busy Wellington street, a 40-year-old jogger shot into the road and was killed by a bus, this lapse confirmed by witnesses. Bureaucratic insanity then ensued.

But first; why did she, and coincidentally some other central city joggers at the time, do this? The reason was that they were fallible human beings, not robots, and when jogging it’s easy to slip into a rhythmic induced detachment. There’s a word for such phenomena. It’s called an accident. The Oxford dictionary defines accident as “an event without apparent cause or unexpected, an unintentional act, chance and misfortune causing injury”, normal human behaviour.

Unfortunately, normal human behaviour deeply offends the ubiquitous, usually bearded busybodies who are such a blight on modern society. That weird one-off spate of Wellington suicidal joggers spawned a ludicrous proposal from the council’s wets to reduce the CBD speed limit to 30km/h.

As my company owns the most CBD buildings, the council solicited our view as an affected party. I replied explaining Darwinian principles and suggested that instead of their regressive proposal, for the enhancement of the gene pool, lift the CBD speed limit to 80km/h.

One suspects the beards would prefer every vehicle was preceded by someone walking ahead bearing a white flag. Fortunately that 30km/h idiocy was dropped.

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