Bob Jones is so going to be in trouble for this column

Bob Jones is tempting fate commenting on the Human Rights Commission, middle-aged fat women, fairydom, and general female lunacy:

Continuing on, a feature story in that same richly entertaining edition brought back memories of an argument with my Auckland office 18 months ago when I learned they were dealing with the Human Rights Commission.

We’re picky about who we let in our buildings for sound commercial reasons. “This will mean hordes of middle-aged fat women,” I protested. “Professional tenants don’t want to be confronted by that, let alone the horror of sharing a lift.” In response, the Auckland leasing team claimed it had made a sneaky inspection visit to the HRC’s existing premises and the occupants passed muster.  

Intuition told me to be alarmed but it shows how little say I now have in my own company’s affairs as they went ahead anyway and signed them up for a large office floor.

Turns out my intuition was right, albeit the danger was not unseemly spectacles but insanity. I say that given the Dom’s reported Human Rights Commission announcement of the incidence of Kiwis shifting home, this (I’m not making this up) apparently being a breach of their natural human rights.

At my age I treat these farcical assertions as comic relief. That said, for the millionth time over the past 40 years, I will make the plain truth factual observation that humans have zero natural rights, not even the right to breathe.

I continued turning the pages with ever increasing delight only to be suddenly confronted by a quarter page photo of me. God help us; what now?

This was a full-page piece of truly momentous rubbish. A Nelson-based madwoman I’ve never heard of had reached the conclusion that notwithstanding beginning penniless, my NBR Rich List wealth figure of $750 million, when properly analysed, showed I was a dud investor. Her rationale was so mind-bogglingly stupid I won’t insult readers with it. Tellingly, she referred to me as a developer and launched into a tirade about developers’ financial frailties; the sort of thing, in fact, I’ve gone on about over the years.

In fairness, back in 1966, I did once build a small industrial building for Gillette, and two years later in 1969 I built my home. And in early 2019 a small office block in Wellington we’re knocking up for the sole reason of showing commercial architects some basic office building design principles (no corner columns, placement of lifts – that sort of thing) will be completed, all of which apparently makes me a developer. On that rationale, she could argue I’m the new Caruso because, like the great man, I have two legs, eyes and arms. As we know all women are mad to varying degreesbut this was world-class feminine lunacy. Maybe the market for the bums calendar referred to above is larger than I realise as increasingly blokes, unable to suffer this sort of carry-on on the home front any longer, seek the sanctuary of fairydom. Who can possibly blame them?

Bob being Bob will get away with this. He won’t tolerate social justice bullies tweeting about his misogyny, homophobia or anything else. In fact, he won’t even realise they are tweeting about him. He also won’t give a stuff if the Human Rights Commission comes knocking on his door. In all likelihood he will probably evict them from his office building just for good measure.

Then again maybe this is his plan for a one last hurrah against bureaucrats.



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As much at home writing editorials as being the subject of them, Cam has won awards, including the Canon Media Award for his work on the Len Brown/Bevan Chuang story.  And when he’s not creating the news, he tends to be in it, with protagonists using the courts, media and social media to deliver financial as well as death threats.

They say that news is something that someone, somewhere, wants kept quiet.   Cam Slater doesn’t do quiet, and as a result he is a polarising, controversial but highly effective journalist that takes no prisoners.

He is fearless in his pursuit of a story.

Love him or loathe him.  But you can’t ignore him.