WARNING—contains a full minute of dead air as Johanna leaves the studio for a spew. A prerequisite of living in the gutter is humility—which, this week, Sam and Johanna seem to be in short supply of. Maybe we can blame the fact that narcissistic personality types are the new normal, or maybe it’s a contagion spread to us by our affluent gay friends who are more white and liberal than a Jacinda Ardern plush toy doing the hokey pokey. No Ardern shade really; only the world’s gonna need a lot more than ‘kindness’ to pull it out of its seasonal funk (side note; Ms. Ardern has recently done a speaking tour with Zionists *gag). Perhaps in aid of redeeming the complicity of white liberalism, ala terfy white gay guys and the Be Kind crew, the rats look to the Bible; and a heartening example of twinks fighting the good fight. You guessed it, it’s David and Jonathan from the Book of Samuel! Did you know that ‘harpist’ was code for pass-around party bottom? Look it up! (Must be able to translate Hebrew). Also; we question the true radical nature of neurodivergence, and whether deterritorializing flights from instrumentality are actually capable of culture jamming, or if it’s just another identitarian ploy for commercial anti-capitalism. Or something. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
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58:40
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58:40
Kish Kash Kosher!
Get ready non-paying listeners (cough; no shade) for a very special and hopefully consistent-hereafter Agony Aunt section in which we answer your queries qualms and primal screams. Well, we do our best. As we see you have; your responses to our calls for willing plaintiffs has been voluminous and shrill (a compliment). And how can we blame you—life feels like a succession of vertigo-inducing obstacles in this particularly fraught historical moment. Obstacles the rats give a brief but strangely comprehensive tour of, from the national blight of Judith Collins, to the tragic regional loss of Bacios, one of Whangarei’s long standing (and infamous) night clubs where both rats have had formative experiences, on par with how golden age celebs of the seventies wistfully talk about Studio 54 (minus the A class drugs and human trafficking . . . we assume). A stretch sure. But not a place without its charms.Like . . . the enduring appeal of the Great Unwashed, a type of bush-man known only to rural areas that city folk CANNOT comprehend. And as anyone that is viscerally repulsed by class violence will know, once you get a whiff of His forever-pheromones (soap and hydrochloric resistant) you’re under His spell, and you’re either ending the night in the back of his ute, or drinking enough whiskey you can give him a languid gobby in Bacio toilets without thinking about why the floor is so sticky. Sigh—truly the end of an era. Also, Azealia Banks has turned her fetid coat on Isreal yet again, in a string of tweets nearly identical to the last time she played in Tel Aviv in 2018. First she loves it, then she hates it. We’re presuming not because her common humanity rightly opposed genocide, but because the venue didn’t provide her with the kind of drugs that make playing in an apartheid state possible. Silly bitch Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
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53:09
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53:09
Ghana Boy
Hello there, our beloved and non paying listeners. This week the rats weave and wend their way around a world teetering on total shit fuckery (some would say we’re already there, or have been ever since the Iron Lady mainstreamed pillaging public infrastructure for the benefit of a ruling elite; tomay-toe toma-toe). In the rat’s shared world, which is still shared despite being separated by the Tasman sea, so much is going on that it’s difficult to put into words. Easier to put into a sustained note of primal screaming. In the undying spirit of the Avantgarde the rats offer a shaky middle ground with a near-hour of hyperbole and paranoia, with a dash of crowd-pleasing body horror. Like, the fact that Sam was recently grindr-catfished by Whangarei’s finest. Which would’ve been fine if it wasn’t for the upset stomach he got from swallowing A LOT of . . . well, you know. Add to this the whole block of Ghana he ate to get the taste and feel of hot white rancid lava out of his mouth/gut, and you might be able to guess how he’s finding his impromptu trip up north—familiar, bloating, and a little salty. This particular complaint leads Sam and Johanna down a nostalgic lane of old Whittaker’s campaigns. Specifically, the one where a biracial couple (for reference, a very hot svelte athletic couple; for the optics) dive into creamy vats of opposite blends; a white woman goes Ghana, a dark skinned man goes Milky Bar. The pair emerge as delectably coated racial cosplayers—roll branding. As if to say chocolate and eugenics go hand in hand—at least since (insert whatever year Whittakers was established). Also, we’d be remiss if we didn’t temper our id-fuelled verbal bricolage with some general pessimism about the approaching race/class/water wars. Which we do here. Enjoy (and see you in the thunder dome). Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
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48:28
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48:28
Everything is (not actually) Romantically
Everything is faaaaaaaarked. And yet, the rats are here. Picking the carcass of the west for views and likes. This week, Winnie Peters is a big brown anti christ! Doxing is not all good, but self-hating brownies who live in glass houses (or the beehive) should NOT throw stones (cough cough lol). Also, Taylor versus Charli. Taylor McSwift made a serious blunder when she came for the people’s princess. Furthermore, clapping back to a considered nuanced exploration of horizontal violence between professional women with playground mudslinging is not a good look. The equivalent of pee-pee-poo-bum. Get a grip Tay (grow up). Theeeeen a very erudite but seriously un-researched deep dive into a maybe-global-network of white supremacists. Like, actual reich personnel being rotated out of Germany circa 1948 and installed at various sites around the world, making the hellscape we know and love today. Finally, Sam quite can’t believe when Johanna tells him that our blighted government has rebranded literal inequality as ‘a two speed economy’. Not a great time to be a person. Envy the rat. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
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57:01
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57:01
Just a LUSH RAVISHING ARRESTING SHE/HER
Another day, another National bequeathed nightmare. And yet more fixation on the unbearable incompetence of Nicola Willis. I know I know blaming a single person for the ruinous policies of an entire party is a bias, and in this particular instance borderline misogyny. But at this point we’re kinda not feeling beholden to considering the feelings of our shit-brained self-interested bloated-bellied government because they’re LITERALLY forcing everyone in this country to be complicit in an effing genocide. To take her mind off the profound national shame of our ELECTED leaders allying us with this century’s Nazis, Johanna goes to the ballet. Dracula to be precise. And finds herself surrounded by a frankly unreadable crowd. Who would’ve thought that Dracula the ballet would pull both borderline steampunk cosplayers, and cat eared femboys? A hybrid audience to say the least. But then I guess suffering at the hands of a nocturnal parasitic aristocrat is extremely relatable in our age of melanin deficient tech moguls. And once more, we turn to Nicola Willis and the mysterious case of the emperor’s new boats. Sam is horrified to realise the full extent of Willis’s suicidal approach to the NZ economy (if there is such a thing; pure theology). For example he didn’t realise a bargain deal on boats had already been secured, which Willis then scrapped, only for another more expensive deal to be struck when she realised that actually, it’s kinda important. Because the South Island is like, a real place. It definitely exists. People definitely live there. It’s definitely still quote unquote New Zealand. Also; Charlotte Gainsbourg’s sentient and detachable clitoris. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
Auckland, the Babylon of Australasia. Home to award-winning creatives/ aspiring Jezebels Sam Te Kani and Johanna Cosgrove. Join them as they navigate daily life in a gorgeous South Pacific necropolis here at civilization’s end. Not deterred in the least by back-to-back lockdowns and a shortage of worthwhile intimacies, Te Kani and Cosgrove barrel headfirst into themes and experiences any modern twenty-something will recognise. From finding love when every other guy is a flakey bisexual, to the ego disorders of our noted socialites, and minor takeout addictions. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.
New Zealand