Apparently someone near and dear to him decided to commission a book about his life to celebrate this most auspicious milestone. Well known luminaries around the traps were given a chapter each to pen.
Ink has flowed, blood from frantic fingers has dripped on steamy passages of hitherto unknown tit bits about Bob's life.
However, it seems that those who worship at the Church of Jones are to be disappointed. The man himself doesn't want the book to see the light of day..
That may be his wish but we know a few chapters of the Book That Must Not Be Printed still exist. Hidden from view, pages are fluttering in anticipation of being read by the masses. Will all be revealed...?
If your name is Deborah and you write columns for a living then its a fact that you will become his lay preacheresses - sent out to spread the gospel of Bob.
Our father, who is relatively well known for his un PC take on life often refers to sunglasses as Maori portholes. Now cos he is a Maori he can get away with it.
However despite the fact that Jones can be a rude and obnoxious old git, we are absolutely delighted he is going to stir up next years Wellington City Council race. Hell- a bloody loo - ya.
We have been hearing that a good team is being readied. Excellent. We want to see business savvy, creative people who can take the city to the next level.
We also agree with Jone's idea to ban all cars in the central city and turn it into a bloody great promenade and mall.
Wellington local body elections are always so bloody boring and Jones is just the bastard to spice them up. Hell we might even take off our sunglasses to attend the launch..
Today we ended up having a bite to eat and a sip of wine with a few mates down at Arbitrageur...
We spied Columnist Deborah Coddington - her legal beagle bloke Colin and some old duffer whom we didn't immediately recognise, as he is a bit wizened these days, who turned out to be Bob Jones.
Anyway there was a bit of sunshine when we walked to the restaurant so we put on our favourite Pilgrim sunnies.. Treasures they are, all set about with diamantes... Lovely trailer trash specs.
Anyway we took em off and put them on the table.. In the course of the lunch some people came and went and we shifted from one end of the table for 8 to the other... Realising that forgetting our portholes was a possibility we propped them on our head so we would not lose 'em.
We were just minding our business when Jones passed our table on his way out, stopped and hissed... He had an obsessive glint in his eye.We have seen that glint before in rest homes when Alzheimic old farts get all confused and ratty.
Jones fixed his beady eyes on Busted Blonde and blathered on for a minute or so...
He reminded us of the old priest in Father Ted who used to yell out Feck.. Jones just mumbled and all we heard was mumble mumble Sunglasses! mumble , mumble sunglasses!
Like some ancient tourettes sufferer..
Coddington pushed him on gently as you would an old fart with diminished senses and sensibility.
Ratty he was, like seriously batty and ratty.
Well we find nothing socially unacceptable about propping your sunglasses on your head for safe keeping. However we do find it particularly bad form for a total stranger to stare like a mad thing, froth at the mouth and obsess over trivial issues.. We wondered if he had too much of the glorious snapper pie and got a wee bit of indigestion. Or maybe he had medication issues.
But no its much simpler than that .
Apparently the old coot has a well documented obsession with sunglasses on peoples heads and cellphones.
So all you young lovelies out there if you ever get to bed the old tosser, leave your specs at home and turn your cellphone on silent...
Dunne is the town bike of politics. He's available to anyone who will have him but the ravages of a quarter-century's political promiscuity have induced an electoral impotence and the time can't be far off when voters put him out to pasture. Winston's shenanigans aside, thanks to the evil Electoral Finance Act inhibiting public participation, this election augurs poorly on the entertainment front. Thank goodness we have a fascinating US presidential race to keep us amused. Read his column in Stuff
Best line goes to Bob Jones in his column in the Dom Post.
Is it possible that somewhere in darkest Africa, an ancient toothless crone muttering gibberish in the corner of her hut might believe Winston's story over the $100,000 Glenn payment? If so then she will be alone in the world.
And the Dom has an "on the money" piece that clearly shows -
Winston lied
Dail didnt know what way was up
NZ First are complicit in decieving the country
And the Herald looks at the issue of what the money was used for. Peter Williams didnt do himself any favours either as he railed against the Privileges committee on Morning Report this morning . Radionz.co.nz
Busted Blonde is also convinced the Prime Minister still knows way more that she has said.
REFLECTIONS
A few years back when I released the enormity of Winstons duplicity someone suggested that if all the threads were bought together someone would go to jail.
While Bob Jones hears the rantings of a crone as the last true believer in the cult of Winston, I hear the Furies teeth nashing as they see to it that justice is done.
Roarprawn is a blog by people of the Global village who hate bad shit
This blog is about politics and stuff and just so it doesn't get too boring, it's also about other news that takes our fancy or irks us and food and wine . Roarprawn was started by Bustedblonde. A feisty gal who knew her shit and was scared of bugger all apart from wasps, and shipwrecks. And if you want to join us or comment or give us a tip, then email the Brunette on brunettenz@gmail.com
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