Feelgood | Issue 05

Feelgood | Issue 05

Holidae Inn

Is it just me, or do all our public holidays blow massive elephant cock? (Seriously, Google elephant penis. Itís funny). Letís take our national holiday: now, I donít want to get into a deliriously redneck style here, but Waitangi Day makes me want to stab people. Thereís no public thing to do on our ďnational day,Ē like the traditional Australia Day barbeque, or the traditional Fourth of July barbeque, or the traditional Bastille Day wank into a cup. No, the closest we have to a yearly ritual is watching the TV to see what stupid thing happened at the marae. ANZAC day receives a bit more respect, but you only have to take a Year Seven history class to learn that its origins stem from fifteen year olds being slaughtered by the dozen. Though, when you look at the state of some of todayís teenagers, I think another push to retake Chunkuk Bair sounds appealing. Then thereís Labour Day, the day where we celebrate working by not going to work. Labour Day is easily the only achievement made by the labour movement, so perhaps we should celebrate by going all working class: earn shit wages, drink beer by the crate and beat our spouses. We celebrate the Queenís birthday four months after the date she popped out of Mrs. Queenís oven, which neither makes sense nor is a good way to celebrate a friendís birthday. I donít have any friends, they all died in ĎNam, but if I did and they showed up to my birthday party four months late, Iíd eat the cake and tell them to piss off.

A proper holiday exists to sell you shit you donít need at all (chocolate eggs) or to restock your supply of underwear (Christmas). Our public holidays are utterly rubbish; they should all be renamed ďThree Day Weekend DayĒ because thatís the only thing we do on them. We sleep in, or get even more drunk than usual and more often than not forget that weíre supposed to be celebrating Ö something.
This article first appeared in Issue 5, 2014.
Posted 5:30pm Sunday 23rd March 2014 by Ethan Rodgers.