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produced by, Christopher Ryan & James Freeman

Publication design & Cover design by Christopher M. Ryan



After years of staring at the same bleak and boring canvas, plastered and mashed with a golden syrup of corn vomit, D-list celebrities, drunk white woman wearing boner inspiring skirts stained with the fruits of the night... We finally said “enough” and took a razor sharp samurai sword to the current situation, slashing. In a scream of fury, ripping the gripping arms of the awful and shameless publications, we free our needy and craving souls. Now we mount our translucent and graceful steads and ride forth into the inspiring and galvanizing clouds, with no holds bound. We are the magnificent, the charismatic, the giver, the shy but sexually active, we are your friend, we are G’Joob.

Day by day our mind juices collide to engender a tsunami of images, stories, and inspiration that will make your eyes shoot rainbows and brain go spaz. The cheerful feeling (being similar to that of if you were to steal an Ewok, or be released from frozen carbonite by Princess Leia) will blanket you. We here at G’Joob have a carefree attitude, screw it persona, and take no shit. We’re like Steven Seagal but with a longer pony tail and we have one rule - there are no rules...

AT T E N T I O N : P R A B U There are several methods that companies put in place to allow for inter-branch communication; telephone, internet, transfers... But unfortunately there is one very under-rated device that I consider to be far less subject to staff abuse. The fax machine. The following images like the one you see here (see left) are facsimiles sent from the Queen Street inventory to a particular staff member in the Newmarket branch inventory at Smith and Caugheys. I like to think its a nice break from the mess of invoices, credit requests and orders. It’s the kind of babble that keeps people sane amidst the chaos.


‘Facebook’ and for some, ‘Bebo,’ it is much more efficient to write on someone’s profile wall or send a quick message.This is becoming worth-less, with constant status updates and random affiliates sending event invitations. Messages from a dear friend across the globe are getting lost in the clutter and means less to the receiver. A click of a mouse and a few words before a lecture followed by another click and the sender has a reply. Hoping for a huge message with a detailed description of current events and family situations is instead a two line reply revolving around last nights party followed by the inevitable “catch up soon” sign off.

Its midnight on a Tuesday night, I’ve just awoken in my clean silk sheets with a dry fuzzy gullet. In the kitchen looking out to the deck I spot a duvet on a deck chair. Thinking my brother had forgotten it in one of his strange episodes I went to bring it inside. I pulled the duvet off the chair in a ripping motion to reveal my brother butt naked underneath with an abnormally large bong crafted from a toy doll. His reply was instant and calm... “What?” As if it was the most normal thing in I feel we have forgotten the world. something in this digital age. Something of great importance that seems so under rated in our generation. Letters. Sending via snail mail I have found to be a rewarding Its about time we stopped experience for both the sending picture filled writer and the receiver. emails and tedious Youtube Opening the letter box to videos of sleep talking find mail that isn’t from the dogs as a means to renew bank is not only a relief, friendships and dull the but a pleasant surprise. In awkwardness of catching fact, it is only now during up with old friends. With the social networking craze the introduction of social that letters and mail have a network sites such as cool novelty about them.


So send away, my readers. Send away...

THE JEAN SHORTS It seems that girls have grown progressively more attached to their denim weight displacement confectionaries that they have modified them to last all seasons. Denim short shorts are the apparent sour flavour of summer, much to the joy of sex-starved teenagers and old seedy dirtbags. Fabricated from winter’s pantaloons, wearers are labelled Marlon Brandon rebels and anti-corporate activists that surely vote green, as they attempt to boycott companies that charge $100 for a denim napkin stitched into shorts. This is a fantastic trend that respects the female form. Although there are a couple of bad apples that could potentially ruin it for all of us... you know who you are.

BREAKING AND ENTERING I want to relay this next act of destruction from the view of my brother, as to pass on the secrets to his alternate way of thinking...

I’m walking home from school, la de da, another hard day at primary school, Math and English ain’t getting any easier. I can’t wait to sink into the warm and comfortable couch, sheltered from this cold and unforgiving wind. Coming down the drive I pick up the pace as the fruitful front door is within sight.

scarier. The fact he knew, we always leave the back door open just for this very circumstance, not to mention that there were also two windows slightly ajar at the time around the back of the house.


Contribute your stories to GJOOB by email or letter. Now when my parents 373 Kauri View Road came home, suffice to say, RD4 Papakura my brothers wellbeing was

the last thing on their mind. Upon arrival, “what’s this?” However when I asked him No key under the pot why he didn’t check the plant, how could that be? Its not like I am the only one that uses this key? It’s not my fault I’m stuck out here in the cold. Its two hours before my parents come home, they want me to be safe and warm at any cost. I’ll just pull open this wooden door, maybe the wood will bend like plastic and I can slide in, no harm done. Woops, I’ve ripped the whole door off the hinges, (I mean right off! I mean massive gapping hole in the front of the house with no door attached, pulled clean off!) that was easy, hmmm. Oh well my parents will be happy to know I’m safe and warm, the ripped down door is a minor problem, surely my wellbeing is more important... Now this is how I assume my brother thought this through, the reality is far

back door or windows, his reply was simply “because it was raining”. Yup, this is my brother.


Scene interpretation by Christopher M Ryan

OVERDUE ACCOUNT Material by David Thorne From: Jane Gilles Date: Wednesday 8 Oct 2008 12.19pm To: David Thorne Subject: Overdue account Dear David, Our records indicate that your account is overdue by the amount of $233.95. If you have already made this payment please contact us within the next 7 days to confirm payment has been applied to your account and is no longer outstanding. Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles ~ From: David Thorne Date: Wednesday 8 Oct 2008 12.37pm To: Jane Gilles Subject: Re: Overdue account Dear Jane, I do not have any money so am sending you this drawing I did of a spider instead. I value the drawing at $233.95 so trust that this settles the matter. Regards, David.

~ From: Jane Gilles Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 10.07am To: David Thorne

Subject: Overdue account Dear David, Thankyou for contacting us. Unfortunately we are unable to accept drawings as payment and your account remains in arrears of $233.95. Please contact us within the next 7 days to confirm payment has been applied to your account and is no longer outstanding. Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles ~ From: David Thorne Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 10.32am To: Jane Gilles Subject: Re: Overdue account Dear Jane, Can I have my drawing of a spider back then please. Regards, David. ~ From: Jane Gilles Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 11.42am To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: Overdue account Dear David, You emailed the drawing to me. Do you want me to email it back to you? Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles ~ From: David Thorne Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 11.56am To: Jane Gilles Subject: Re: Re: Re: Overdue account Dear Jane, Yes please. Regards, David.

From: Jane Gilles Date: Thursday 9 Oct 2008 12.14pm To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Overdue account

From: David Thorne Date: Friday 10 Oct 2008 11.05am To: Jane Gilles Subject: Automated Out of Office Response

Attached <spider.gif>

Thankyou for contacting me. I am currently away on leave, traveling through time and will be returning last week.

~ From: David Thorne Date: Friday 10 Oct 2008 09.22am To: Jane Gilles Subject: Whose spider is that? Dear Jane, Are you sure this drawing of a spider is the one I sent you? This spider only has seven legs and I do not feel I would have made such an elementary mistake when I drew it. Regards, David. ~ From: Jane Gilles Date: Friday 10 Oct 2008 11.03am To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Whose spider is that?

Regards, David. ~ From: David Thorne Date: Friday 10 Oct 2008 11.08am To: Jane Gilles Subject: Re: Re: Whose spider is that? Hello, I am back and have read through your emails and accept that despite missing a leg, that drawing of a spider may indeed be the one I sent you. I realise with hindsight that it is possible you rejected the drawing of a spider due to this obvious limb ommission but did not point it out in an effort to avoid hurting my feelings. As such, I am sending you a revised drawing with the correct number of legs as full payment for any amount outstanding. I trust this will bring the matter to a conclusion.

Dear David, Yes it is the same drawing. I copied and pasted it from the email you sent me on the 8th. David your account is still overdue by the amount of $233.95.

Regards, David.

Please make this payment as soon as possible.

~ From: Jane Gilles Date: Monday 13 Oct 2008 2.51pm To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: Re: Whose spider is that?

Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles ~

Dear David, As I have stated, we do not accept drawings in lei of money for accounts outstanding. We accept cheque, bank cheque, money order or cash. Please make a payment this week to avoid incurring any additional fees. Yours sincerely, Jane Gilles ~ From: David Thorne Date: Monday 13 Oct 2008 3.17pm To: Jane Gilles Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Whose spider is that?

of me to assume I could provide you with something of completely no value whatsoever, waste your time and then attach such a large amount to it. Regards, David. ~ From: Jane Gilles Date: Tuesday 14 Oct 2008 11.18am To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Whose spider is that? Attached <spider2.gif>

I understand and will definitely make a payment this week if I remember. As you have not accepted my second drawing as payment, please return the drawing to me as soon as possible. It was silly


NOCTURNAL NOSTALGIA [Article by Annymous Contributer]

Ecstasy ain’t what it used to be. That’s what I find myself thinking as I sit down enjoying a cigarette and a beer in the smoking area, while I people watch at any given local dance music gig in Auckland on a weekend night. As part of Kiwi Generation Y, all of us at some point will be exposed, with varying degrees, to the “rave” culture that exists within the suburban middleclass youth population. A culture that’s all about anything “buzzy”; socialising, good tunes, drinking, friends, d & m’s, partying, dancing, sensory experiences, and... well... just having a fucking mean night bro. Partying, music, alcohol and drugs have always been a part of our youth, if we take part in them or not. Be it you are straight edge,

an experimenter, or your cousin from Ahipara grows some plants, you will have either had some whacked out experiences while staggering around and dancing in dark rooms with laser lights and the DJ seemingly playing to your soul, or you would have heard about it from mates. But what has changed over the years? What has New Zealand rave culture become? Music of all kinds, but especially electronic, has had a massive burst in content over the past decade. With technological advances and the decreasing price of equipment, almost anyone can start producing tracks that are almost good enough quality to find a publisher off the bat. There

are more electronic music labels, let alone artists, than one can possibly keep track of even if you stick to a single genre, and thus, a whole crap-load of new tracks come out day by day. As a result, the number of DJs has also risen. I am of the opinion that this is not necessarily a good thing. Now, in order to find good stuff to enjoy a cone and listen to, you have to wade through a whole lot of crap. And when you go out on a Friday or Saturday night, there is less of a chance you are going to like what you are hearing. But, there are indeed diamonds in the rough. The noughties have undoubtedly been the decade of dubstep. From its south-east London garage origins, the scene has grown exponentially to become a huge favourite of the dance party culture. Dubstep DJs today often are the draw cards of major gigs, and a lot of the top Drum and Bass producers are now switching up genres and making the stuff. A general description being it sounds like house music which misses every other drum beat and has a chain saw or blender filled with tar operating in the background, it does not even sound like music to those with older ears. However, if you are like me, you are a fiend for the stuff. As a mate once said; “Man, dubstep really speaks to you when you’re fucked, ay”. Its bassy, its loud, its complex sound spectrums just really send shivers down your spine. It’s good shit. But again, there is a whole

lot of garbage you have to wade through. Almost everyone into the genre these days will take a sound bite off a favourite cockney gang film and put it on fruity loops with some wob wob wob. Sadly, not often to great effect. Electro, breakbeat and house have had a steady surge throughout the decade, appealing to a wide range of party goers and its DJs almost always are found at the best gigs. The genres have taken some influence from the heavy sounds of dubstep, with sawtooth base lines and nasty drops being ever more common. A recent phase has been incorporation of retro pop culture and 8-bit video game sounds which makes for some dirty, funky and oddly nostalgic beats to dance to. The bread and butter of dance music; it is, was, and (hopefully) always will be good. But again, same deal, there is a whole lot of it out there to search through. In general, the music has changed vastly, and as that’s what it’s all about for a large number of the ravers, this is a big issue in the culture. Hope shines through the darkness, but is it being swallowed up by the endless sea of new music? Only time will tell. The lesser appreciated genres of techno, hardcore, trance and, well, you could almost add Drum and Bass here due to Dubstep shoving it out of the way, all have their followers and specific gigs, and due to its lesser popularity it becomes a case of quality over quantity. But

that’s only if you are into the stuff, anyway. I don’t think I’m alone in finding that the feeling of euphoria of coming across a good new track is becoming a distant memory... Speaking of euphoria, some of the big changes in the rave scene have been in the field of experience enhancers. And here, unlike for the music, there is not much to rave about. “Ecstasy”, as it’s sold in New Zealand today, does not even meet the criteria to be defined as Ecstasy. More specifically, in NZ there is not been one single god damn pill that has had any methylenedioxymethamphetamine (MDMA) in it since about half way through 2009. If you haven’t had a pill with MDMA in it, you have not had ecstasy. It’s a sad, sad thing that the kids starting to get into it today have absolutely no idea what it’s really supposed to be like. Pills today come in a great assortment of colours, presses and symbols (collect ‘em all, kids!), and are all full of the same shit. Shit, being varying levels of speed, ketamine, god knows what else, and this rip off bullcrap pharmacological catastrophe called mephedrone. There has been bugger all research on the stuff, no toxicity testing in humans, and it’s just plain bad. A friend summarised it best; “it feels like you’re about to come up on a really strong MDMA pill, then half an hour later it completely drops off and you’re left with nothing”. Why people continue to spend

$50 a pop on something that’s hardly better than legal DMAA energy pills is beyond me. Some not so reputable sources have also reported that pills today contain many unidentified chemicals, and some research pharmacological agents... yummy. What happened to the yellow ladies and orange choppers the munters used to love? Some say it’s due to a big bust of saffrole (MDMA precursor) in Ghana in 2009 which lead to a lack of MDMA in the southern hemisphere. But Australia seems to be doing alright... Thanks, NZ police and customs, keep the evil menace “E” off our streets!! ‘P’ can wait. Bad pills leads to more trouble than simply not having as good of a time in the clubs, it leads to party goers to venture elsewhere into the realms of mind expansion (or obliteration). Speed, a bit of a misnomer in NZ – it’s all crystal methamphetamine – has always had its darkly presence in the rave culture, but its ever more prevalent now that pills are rubbish. I’ve had a few mates take some wobbly turns with the stuff, it’s no good. Other hallucinogens are definitely the way to go, there has been a rise in the use of LSD, and thankfully NZ has its own psilocybin mushrooms that grow in the bush, if you have the patience to find them. A few research chemicals such as 2C-B and 2C-I are more commonly seen... again, with the problems that there has been no toxicity testing. It’s a bit of dancing

with the devil. In a nutshell, drugs are drugs... you pay out your nose to put something in your nose and who knows what’s in it. At least we always have our good friend Mary Jane to calm us down afterward.

and it just isn’t the same. Perhaps it is some form of transitional period, we are just waiting for the next big thing to happen. Or perhaps I should just save up and go to Ibiza...

So the music and the drugs have changed. But what of the people? As it is the more subjective area of this analysis, I am reluctant to have a firm opinion on such matters, but I can offer my observations. MDMA had a wonderful ability to turn complete strangers into long lost friends, a sense of harmony and peace amidst the thumping electro was felt. It is now noticeably absent. A lot of gigs have a lot more of those shady looking people with wide dilated eyes, locked jaws and an expression of agitation and aggression on their faces. Some just don’t look like they are remotely enjoying themselves. You can still chat up strangers easily, and have some interesting and humorous encounters, but something is missing. I don’t even think it’s the music or the drugs, it’s something about today’s society and the air of doom and gloom about... But that is a thesis best left for someone of greater knowledge.


In summary, I believe the rave culture in New Zealand is going through a rough patch. You can most definitely go out and have a great night partying. But it’s just not as good as it used to be. I may sound like a grizzled old munter simply getting too old, but I still love the music and go to the gigs,

Sherna. Borrowed extracts from Shern’s blogspot. She admits it’s gay. I guess she just doesn’t really give a fuck. 15.1.10 Train Parts of self need to lean out of the trains' orifices in order to make room for those entering. Circulation blockage is at risk. Men and women need to be separated. To elaborate crudely, the bodily contact occurring between everyone and anyone exemplifies mass coitus, to say the very least. Emergence from the homosexual orgy elicits feelings of physical and emotional relief, no doubt. Coupled with utter violation. ( ... )

Sherna - Blog Extracts

I spent far too long trying to discern which carriage was the least full. The difference was unidentifiable by the naked eye. The train was packed like a tin of sardines so I leaped like a ballerina onto the nearest carriage a split-second before it began to move, trying in vain to fit like the wrong piece on a jigsaw puzzle. Holding on to dear life - which at that moment was the unstable, rattling metal pole - my right toe-tips were fortunate to reserve the last four and a half centimeters of room on the floor. My left foot dangled loosely off; my ankle rubbed raw from the rusted edge of the floor of the compartment. The toes of my left foot were stretched and throbbing trying desperately to hook onto my doomed shoe. Alas, they eventually gave way and I watched in gloom my red ballet flat shrinking 'till could see it no more, in the distance far yonder. Sixteen and naive, I hoped that one day Prince Charming would find me, return my shoe to its rightful foot â&#x20AC;&#x201C; my left empty foot. But perhaps I was being a tad idealistic: Prince Charming may pass my way but the chances of my shoe being returned were next to nothing. There's no place like home...

Posted by sherna at 11:24 AM

28.1.10 Bladder - Oooh Dear! So this lady - let's call her Betty - was at the top of the escalators beside the most exquisite dinner display you've ever seen. It was beautiful. At the top of the escalators, Betty lost control of her bladder. It happens sometimes to the best and the worst of us. If that wasn't bad enough, she picked up an intricately folded white napkin and wiped beneath her skirt. Then. Then, she placed it, dripping and discoloured back on the display table. She glided down the escalator as though she'd done nothing questionable. Dear Desmond was distraught

Posted by sherna at 11:02 PM

10.3.10 Bicycle Now contrary to popular belief, I really haven't any problem with people who are fatter than they should be. I don't mind. The other day I was riding my bicycle home. Where I come from, there are no designated lanes for bicycles on roads, so we just have to make do with the space we have on the street, which makes for a difficult task at the 5pm postwork rush-hour. I somehow managed to do this until I got on Broadway, whose pavement has a broader paved way than the norm - so I rode on there. I was riding merrily along until I was behind a youngish couple. Mid-thirties. Slim man, fat lady. When I was close enough, I said "may I ride past you?" "You should be riding on the road," said fat lady. Now I could have rode past and ignored the comment, but I chose not to, because all I requested was for her to move out of my way for a second. "It's peak hour traffic," say "I don't particularly want to die, and it probably wouldn't kill you to get on one of these," referring to my bicycle - and then I rode off without waiting for a reaction... Because I didn't particularly want to die

Posted by sherna at 11:24 AM


[Article by James Freeman] Never have I felt so naturally high, as mosaic colours swirl meshed between diverse grass scents and bark odour. Its 11am and we’ve taken a trip into the Whitaphata bush, with 1.5 and 3 litre bottles of water, 2 Baguettes, 2 bottles of red wine, a can of baked beans, tuna and a very necessary box of shapes. Damn, we felt ready to take on anything the bush could throw at us. We even felt a little over prepared having taken photos of the entrance forest map on our camera phone. With a tie dye T-shirt and 1980 white Adidas short shorts that go see-through upon contact with moisture, you could forgive me in feeling a little smug and pretentious. Nevertheless it was only 2 hours into the hike at a river crossing that we realised how ill prepared and naïve we were, having had depleted our rations eating the box of shapes, a can of tuna, one Baguette and wasting about 1 litre of water showing my friend my shorts really did go see through. It was now a mutual decision to stop and rest. Sun streamed in through green peepholes bathing the water hole in an unrelenting heat, shimmering light glittered off the low battery warning sign of

my iPod, and two semi hairless mammals lay across a steaming rock face undisturbed by tireless traffic or boorish buildings wafting morning coffee. We felt fulfilled and nourished having swam, sunbathed and chatted mindlessly for five hours, it was now 5.30pm and it was now crucial that we reach our point of destination before dark. Thinking the campsite was a measly three-hour slow hike away we felt confident. Flash forward to 9.30pm we are now sprinting through the darkening bush, a little unsure where this campsite was. At 10pm now dark we decided to stop and set up camp at the closest point to water we could find since the blind sprint. It was at 10.03pm that men turned to boys as the first Opossum was spotted a mere 2 meters away. At this instant wine red wine was positively introduced with the mind-set that any ‘unmanly fear of Opossums would be hidden beneath a drunken mask of confidence. Unfortunately, the sophisticated full flavoured wine flaunting intense ripe berry and integrated toasty oak characters was unable to sophistically hide shit. Waving the Samsung phone in panic at the slightest moment, we launched a frenzy of loud vulgar language into the forest, which cut deep into the ears and hearts of all self-conscious Opossums and their Mums. If there was ever a time to be scared it was now. But the red wine was

kicking in and we had sticks, big fuck-off sticks. The forest could have sent a bear… or an army of pre-menstrual giraffes and still we would’ve have sticked and stoned till we broke all their bones. With two empty bottles at our feet we felt invincible. But invincible enough to know, chucking a burning spear into a drying forest as a napalm attack is a bad idea.

pillow and the baked beans were missing, which were obviously used as a make believe grenades against the evil tyrant opossums. The walk back was quiet and long.


Trying to document the coming hours were difficult, having been absorbed in free form rap, interpretive dance, and blacking out *coma*. Waking up in the bush with one leg in the sleeping bag and the other in the ash of the fire was a better start than I hoped for, my friend was not so lucky waking to find himself in the spew corner, with a red mush of leaves and tuna cemented to his left cheek. We found also we had not yet eaten any of the left over food, instead the bread had been used as a

Driving home I decided to write a list of things we think you DO need to take into the bush that might will* make it more enjoyable. * A flashlight – Your mobile phone does not emit enough light to see really anything. Helpful in emergencies such mid-night flood, landslides or stray cat stampede. A can opener – You may think your Rambo with a knife, but you are not, and that tomato soup you think is spilling is probably not your soup, but your bleeding minced hand. A Pocket knife – Looks cool and probably safer than your mums cooking knife. A Gameboy – If you got any of the Pokemon games or Supermario games your sorted, actually don’t go out, just play these instead. A Fur coat – two good reasons – No one around to judge you and the opossums will fear you or at least make you their king…

Well, Fuck.

UGLY MEMORIES FROM THAT ONE HOUR IN PROVADOR Providor, I should have recognised it's fowl stench from the moment I entered the darkest most frightening areas of the viaduct. And yet, my intention was to venture inside, because we were after all on a mission of great importance. Retrieve a dear friend from behind enemy lines and get her to the extraction point. For those of you that have not yet experienced the horrors of this place, leave it that way. For those of you that enjoy the environment and have only fond memories, you are in denial and may be mentally retarded. For those on the same pageâ&#x20AC;Ś you will feel my pain. It was 11:33:52pm and we had reluctantly agreed to meet a friend in Provador. Being slightly inebriated we had forgotten slightly about the emotional trauma that this place can cause, but still sober enough to know that we should get her out of there. On the way I shook off sticky flashbacks, being more concerned about the well being of our friend. We were determined however unprepared, but most importantly, we had the confidence. This naive moment of faith was

mistake number one, a mistake that was soon followed by various other flaws in our strategy. Each of these mistakes, were more regrettable than the last. I should have been worried, but as I said, we had the confidence. Entry, as always was the easiest part and we strode in with our heads high. I realized instantly, that I desperately needed to urinate. While relieving myself I somehow ignored the guy next to me being overly friendly despite what we were doing and made it out unharmed. When I emerged James was at the bar (my comrade on this quest) and he had kindly purchased some beverages. This was mistake number 2, the beer I was now sipping would be the start of a most unpleasant one hour in Providor as it gave us reason to stay. The images following mistake number 2, was of a poor soul acting out his mating dance in a desperate attempt to seduce the female occupancy of the club. He was alone and drunk. As funny and as interesting as it was to watch at that moment in time, I somehow only realize now, the tragic misfortunes of the number

of sad jocks that he represented. And the faith that I have left in mankind is now further depleted. After having had quite enough of watching this poor man dance at the obviously frightened females, I requested a cigarette. This was mistake number 3. At this point, we had safely told our friend to get out and our objective was complete, but as mistake number 2 was only now truly coming into effect, we told her to meet us at the next destination while we finish our beer. I was nearing the end of my cigarette in the heart of the colony where the unspeakable but expected happened. We were approached. The mans misleading exterior was accompanied by the most unfortunate looking creature that could only partially be interpreted as a female. Her strong jaw suggested long nights of ‘pilling hard’ and chewing her face off. After the double take I panicked as they circled us and I realised something frightening. My position in the circle meant I was stuck conversing with her. I have hazy memories of the forced interaction, but remember her telling me about her kids and a failed relationship I really could not care less about. My next flashback and I am talking to the man that simply called himself ‘Shane’. He proceeds to tell me about his dating service he is starting via face book and requests that I add him so he

can hook me up with his female Korean contacts. He was here to help he insisted, and it was when he commented on my flawless appearance that I abruptly ended the convo’ and turned him to James. Flashback- The creature has taken my scarf and is wearing it. Oh God, she’s… She’s flirting with me. I stumbled for my phone to txt James who was locked down in conversation with Shane. We need to get out of here I insisted. It’s become unsafe. The txt was never received… I panicked as she inched closer and I pretended to receive a txt. “James!” I half yelled losing control of volume. “Time to go, Claire is waiting”. We unwillingly exchanged fake numbers with them and left in a hurry. We attempted to drink away the memories that night. But those ugly memories from that one-hour in Provador do not easily withdraw.


*** A reflection on the word Fuck. by Christopher Ryan


THE [F] WORD Fuck. I thought for a long time about how to approach writing about this simple yet powerful word, considering all the different angles I could approach it from. Defending it, analyzing its development, its use in popular culture… letting my mind wander, I even started asking myself bizarre questions such as; “What if the vast variety of situations we apply the word ‘fuck’, a word that originally means ‘to copulate’ suggests that we are ultimately here on this earth to reproduce and we know this so unconsciously that we have somehow adapted a word in our language that means to have sex, to be used in every emotional situation? Could the need to reproduce be that deep seeded in who we are as humans? What the fuck would that mean? But after babbling on and scratching letters aimlessly in a desperate attempt to come to some kind of conclusion about this word, in a seemingly endless stream of consciousness… I figured, fuck it. The only way to truly appreciate its brilliance is to list all its colourful and inspiring applications. And that is precisely what I am going to do. Firstly, I will start off with the grammatical categories that it

can fall into, in real life situations. Starting with, a transitive verb – Simon fucked Jenny. As an intransitive verb – Jenny fucks. Adjective – Simon is doing all the fucking work. As part of an adverb – Jenny talks too fucking much. An adverb enhancing an adjective – Jenny is fucking hideous. A noun – I don’t give a fuck. As part of a word – Fan-fucking-tastic. Or as almost every word in a sentence – Fuck the fucking Fuckers. With the technicalities out of the way here are some examples of some emotional and experiential situations where ‘fuck’ is often used. Fraud – Well, looks like Vodaphone has fucked me yet again. Submission – Fuck it dude, lets go bowling. Dismissal – Fuck… off. Incompetence – I’m going to be honest with you, you’re fucking hopeless. Empathy – I feel you’re fucking pain. Inquiry – Who the fuck keeps putting my socks in the fish tank? Trouble – Oh, fuck. Aggression - Fuck you, you fucking Fuck-wit, if I catch you fucking with my shit again I’ll fuck you in the ass so hard all that will be left of you is a bloody fucking pulp. Fuck. Now, I think ill finish this fucking article with a quote from a man who really knows the score when

it comes to the word fuck; he recognizes its power and uses it to his advantage. “Fuck off. It’s such a lovely pair of words… and its international. I don’t care where you are – if somebody’s fuckin’ with your bags in Lhasa Airport in Tibet and he’s got a shaven head and saffron clothes on and you say “hey, fuck off!” He knows *exactly* what you mean. Exact- he will fuck off. Off he will fuck. ‘Fuck off’ doesn’t mean ‘go away’. ‘Fuck off’ means ‘fuck… *off*’. And everybody feels what it means, nobody can write it down. There is no English equivalent for ‘fuck off’, because… it *is* English, ‘fuck off’. You know? And English expressions don’t have English equivalents, they fuckin’ are, ya know? ” - BILLY CONNELLY

Fuck. Origin : 1495–1505; akin to MD fokken to thrust, copulate with, Sw dial. focka to copulate with, strike, push, fock penis


Illustration by Danny Dillen


[Article by Thomas Martin] Karangahape road can’t be described as a place where your wildest dreams come true, because your dreams are most likely nowhere near wild enough. Also, you probably wouldn’t want them to come true if they were. It could more accurately be described as a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde... If Dr. Jekyll was a chain smoking, sunglasses, fringe and skinny jeans scene kid. The Mr. Hyde side of things is pretty much spot on, however. By day, K’rd is, depending on your point of view, a kooky, bizarre yet somewhat refreshing oasis from the tedious mainstream branding and rampant generic consumerism seen on the likes of Queen Street. If you need some obscure 1980’s paraphernalia, some tacky kitsch clothing for a themed party, or simply have the desire for that obscure pop culture reference shirt or jacket your hipster friends won’t have, this is the place. Retro is accompanied with the modern, with some general-purpose stores and utilities available; Internet, travel, electronics, Starbucks... It’s all hidden in the craziness somewhere... The music culture is represented largely here, the big blue set of Rockshop stores, catering for

just about every genre of musical construction needs right at its upper end, as well as two radio stations, one inside a funky teahouse, the ALT TV studio and some other channels you probably haven’t heard of. The alternative café’s and Turkish kebab shops provide some interesting dining and a chance to lax out and share some shisha with a few mates while observing the interesting denizens of the street as they go about their daily business, of which is probably best left uninvestigated with regards to the specifics. These wondrous people show Auckland’s true multi-cultural spectrum, and this is also represented in the shopping and dining found along this stretch. Basically, if you can’t find it anywhere else, there is a good chance you will find it here. It’s very easy to get lost in a world of “ooohh, it would be cool to have one of those” on this road, for anyone of any age. By weekend night, K’rd undergoes a vast transformation, alike to when the siren sounds in Silent Hill, and its past recognition as Auckland’s red light district becomes evidently justified. Suddenly, all the relatively respectable, healthy and normal members of society flee, off to their quiet suburban homes to open a bottle of Shiraz with Mr. and Mrs. Jones. The true street freaks come out to play. In the dark, dingy, neon basements of the nightclubs, the

filthy electronic beats flow forth, as does the Jagermeister and vodka. The ability to distinguish between male and female is suddenly lost as Family and the likes kick into action, the street though robbed of sunlight now becomes bathed in the psychedelic colours of glowing signs and drag queen dresses. The sun is down, yet the sunglasses stay firmly wrapped around the head.

( ... ) Picture time.

The taxis flock in like vultures to a corpse, the police prowl precariously along, amidst the vast representation of all those groups who are out for a good time at whatever cost. The curious general public will walk swiftly past metal heads who storm past ravers, who with their dilated pupils stagger past hospitality staff coming off work, who sidestep scene kids strutting alongside the social deviants and sex workers, while bums stumble curiously onward to their unknown destinations. Fabulousness, street chic, beauties, gangsters, playboys, old, young, you will find it here. Cigarettes, flyers, bottles, N.O.S canisters, lighters, broken glass, makeup accessories and all manner of trash will litter the streets, to be swept up by mysterious little rotating brush buggies as the sun rises. Plenty of time before then to have some fun. If you have seen Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, think Bazookoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Circus. The majority of New Zealandâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s top DJs and those on their way up are

The Wine Cellar - St. Kevens Arcade

bound to be here tonight if there isn’t anywhere bigger to be, Studio or Transmission Room is likely to host some guitar slingers, karaoke and popular beats will always be able to be found. If you tire of the fake ID, pampered, suburban, high school kid infested viaduct, or the eardrum destroying karaoke of drunk businessmen and their trophy wives infecting the lower parts of downtown, this provides some relief; dragging you by the scruff of the neck into a blazing assault of colour, sound and crazycool people. In a nutshell, K’rd is a break away from the mundane normality of the inner city, while still being inner city. Granted, it’s a bit of a gargantuan, anti-parallel break away from the norm, but it is what it is. Have a good stroll around in the day, go crazy while staying safe and looking out for your mates at night, and it’s a mystical wonderland to be explored.


find the hidden articles



[Article by Terry Archonship] The following article was originally printed and bound inside a book at the Auckland City Library as part of the Publication Hi-jacked series. This was the first of many and the only article to be removed from its hi-jacked book. There are still many books scattered around the Auckland Librarys with my thoughts printed and bound inside. ~~~ The sense of grandeur and knowledge I expected from the library is definitely not present in this one. The apparent rise of the digital age is forcing the library to bite the curb. It has gotten to the stage where wandering the shelves is no longer necessary and is almost seen as a pointless, exhausting exercise. We are using the library not to discover and search but to access what we know is there. One of the most interesting parts of the library, of course, is not open to the public. A tour of the basement made me wonder why it was so wasted. Underground exists countless numbers of shelves stretched over two floors not available for browsing. Here lay the forgotten books deemed too old or not popular enough to stay in full public circulation. Just the sheer amount of absurd bureaucracy I had to go through

to do some photography down there was ridiculous. I view the basement as death row for city books. The overcrowded corridors have books constantly up for assessment to determine whether or not they get banished into an unknown fateâ&#x20AC;Ś I almost wanted this library to be more like the Auckland University Library, with the smell of old pages invading the top floors. Maybe itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just me but this library seems too new, too small and too lacking in gravity to be credible as our main central library But I suppose I had my expectations too high, especially for a New Zealand public service. I recognize that books go missing, get stolen and damaged, and as books get older they need some extra protection from the wear and tear. The basement gets used as the protector of books. But what is the point when they are shelved into hibernation; what is the difference if nobody can browse or find or read?

*** Read how to find more articles on next page!


192.7 GO \\ 916.67 G78 Auckland University Library

Auckland AUT Library

020 LIB \\ 655.7 D55 Auckland University Library

Auckland ELAM Library

655.5 C95 \\ 655 C27 Auckland ELAM Library

Auckland ELAM Library

\\ 655.5 B94 Auckland ELAM Library

Publication Hi-jacked Initially I stumbled into this project and if I’m going to be completely honest, through desperation and serendipity. The pressure to come up with an idea for a self directed project lead to just redesigning book covers as ‘practical research’ (or guilt free procrastination). I cant recall exactly when I came up with the idea of returning the books to the library with my jackets on, but I thought it was pretty hilarious at the time. Some of the books at AUT library are now inappropriately littered with fear and loathing in Las Vegas quotes. I enjoyed the idea of messing with the library a little bit. It only really began to change direction as I spent more time wandering the shelves of the public libraries. I started noticing

similarities and differences and some thing about the library really just kind of pissed me off. I needed a way of putting my thoughts about the libraries in the books and the idea to bind publications into the library books came pretty fast. And I must admit ripping the old covers off wasn’t as stressful as I thought it would be. As it turns out it was actually kind of satisfying.

USING THE METTEL速 MAGIC 8 BALL TO ANSWER EMAILS... Material by David Thorne From: Simon Dempsey Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 9.38am To: David Thorne Subject: No Subject

From: Simon Dempsey Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 11.14am To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: Garamond

Have you got a typeface called Garamond Semibold? I have the Garamond and bold and italic but not the semibold. I am doing a poster for Cathy and I reckon garamond would look good. ~ From: David Thorne Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 10.02am To: Simon Dempsey Subject: Re: No Subject

What the fuck? I need the typeface Garamond. Have you got it or not? ~ From: David Thorne Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 11.18am To: Simon Dempsey Subject: Re: Re: Re: Garamond

As I see it, yes. ~ From: Simon Dempsey Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 10.43am To: David Thorne Subject: Garamond Which one? Yes you have the typeface or that it would look good on a poster? ~ From: David Thorne Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 10.52am To: Simon Dempsey Subject: Re: Garamond Concentrate and ask again. ~

You may rely on it. ~ From: Simon Dempsey Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 11.29am To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Garamond Send me the typeface dickhead. ~ From: Mark Pierce Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 2.08pm To: David Thorne Subject: Hey Hey. Are you at work? ~


From: David Thorne Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 2.25pm To: Mark Pierce Subject: Re: Hey Signs point to yes. ~ From: Mark Pierce Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 2.53pm To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: Hey What? Can you drop over on your way home from work and help me lift a piece of glass up onto a table? It is too heavy to lift. ~ From: David Thorne Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 3.22pm To: Mark Pierce Subject: Re: Re: Re: Hey My sources say no. ~ From: Mark Pierce Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 3.49pm To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey Are you serious? I tried lifting it a bit at a time and sliding books under it but I need heaps more books. Can you come for a quick drive now? ~ From: David Thorne Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 4.02pm To: Mark Pierce Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Hey Ask again later. ~ From: Mark Pierce Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 4.57pm To: David Thorne

Subject: ? Are you going to help me on the way back from work or not? ~ From: David Thorne Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 5.16pm To: Mark Pierce Subject: Re: ? It is decidedly so. ~ From: Mark Pierce Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 5.24pm To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: ? Good. Fuck you are annoying sometimes. From: Justine Murphy Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 8.14pm To: David Thorne Subject: Tree frogs ppt Hi David, you forgot to send the attachment on your last email. Can you send it again please? Justine. ~ From: David Thorne Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 8.51pm To: Justine Murphy Subject: Re: Tree frogs ppt You may rely on it. ~ From: Justine Murphy Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 9.15pm To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: Tree frogs ppt Ok. Can you resend it to me then please? ~

From: David Thorne Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 9.26pm To: Justine Murphy Subject: Re: Re: Re: Tree frogs ppt

From: Simon Dempsey Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 11.28pm To: David Thorne Subject: No Subject

Without a doubt. ~ From: Justine Murphy Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 9.44pm To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Tree frogs ppt

Are you online? ~ From: David Thorne Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 11.37pm To: Simon Dempsey Subject: Re: No Subject

???? Did you attach it? ~ From: David Thorne Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 9.51pm To: Justine Murphy Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Tree frogs ppt

Concentrate and ask again. ~ From: Simon Dempsey Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 11.41pm To: David Thorne Subject: Re: Re: No Subject Fuck you.

Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t count on it. ~ From: Justine Murphy Date: Wednesday 4 Feb 2009 10.27pm To: David Thorne Subject: ? Are you fucking with me? Just attachment it ass hat.


MEADOW JUMP Some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, it passed out of all knowledge. Until, when chance came, it ensnared another bearer. The jump came to the creature G’joob, who took it deep into the tunnels under Auckland City, and there… it was published. Get off at the Meadow bank train station and follow the tracks back north. When you come to the end of the road, keep following the tracks until you come to a small cliff face. It is here you will jump. And you will be saved. Be safe.

LANGUAGE BARRIER Being able to pick up a woman who cannot to save her life speak English isn’t as fun as you think, and proves to have some difficult hurdles at times. I had just met this girl in bar and having somehow made enough babble, racket and commotion to entertain

the both of us, we progressed to her lodgings. Thoroughly inebriated I had forgotten the keys to her house resided deep within my stained pockets after having played a joke earlier that involved using her keys to make a jingle that resembled something you would do to entertain a kitten (yea that’s what it came to). Being a man I felt it necessary at the time to climb her neighbours house and break a window and climb through, Rambo style. (This backfired as bad as the time I thought it was funny to pretend to be addicted to Methamphetamine to impress a girl). She somehow had followed me to the window, and as soon as I turned around I realised she was climbing through already. In a instant she had slipped and ripped her freakin’ thigh open. She was screaming gibberish, dribbling and bleeding at the same time, it was so off putting. It was at that point I really wished she could speak English.

LESSONS LEARNED From a young age, males from all over the world learn a code of behaviour that should accompany

pornography, be it from movies, TV, a T-shirt or from stumbling in on your uncle Dave; who decides to put down his utensils and without re-robing himself teach you everything you need and don’t need to know his own sexuality and inevitably, porn… My brother obviously was to busy laughing at the stoner jokes to fully grasp the porn references in movies, TV can no longer register as a learning tool for him anymore and as for the uncle, well my brother is pretty much a younger version of uncle Dave. Needless to say my brother is not equipped with the essential pornography etiquette. Having lived in a boarding house for five years throughout college I will use my superior knowledge to correct the mistakes my brother made the other day, so those who are young and beginning their pornography conquest may learn. ~~~ To begin, I left the house, leaving a nice pornography magazine neatly hidden under the mattress of my bed. – Lesson 1: A suitable place to hide pornography paraphernalia: is under the mattress, for a number of reasons: it’s the least moved or looked in place of all, draws and desks can

be moved and searched during cleaning by either an inquisitive mother or girlfriend. Under the mattress is not searched unless they are specifically looking for porn. In that case they are expecting to find pornography, it’s the surprise that frightens them. Please note: Under the mattress means hidden in the middle, not the sides where mothers changing sheets or making beds can find them.

has been in there. There is an open pornography magazine on the bed; the sheets have been ruffled significantly as though there had been some sort of struggle. Also one of the pillows had been moved (I’m guessing for back support). Oh and did I mention a handful of used tissues on the bedside cabinet. - Lesson 13: If you do engage in personal rock paper scissors game, in a compromising position, then ALWAYS clean up after yourself, it is essential to My brother being bored make sure everything is left with the seemingly endless in the same state as before. supply of pornography on the Internet decided to raid I went to confront the only my room. Being a male he other individual taking resiknew lesson number one, dence within this house, my however this is probably brother. I found him in the one of the few lessons he lounge watching T.V peaceactually remembered as you fully. When he witnessed will soon discover. Upon me enter the room he said finding the treasure, he was, “Hey man, how’s it going” I suppose overcome with as if nothing was wrong at excitement and had to use all. He then continued to the magazine right there watch ‘The Kardashians’ and then. – Lesson 295: in silence. Being strangely Upon finding pornographic amazed at how calm he was paraphernalia, which is in knowing the devastation not you own, take 3 deep he had left in my room, I breaths. DO NOT under was stunned into silence and any circumstance use the resorted to staring at him goods where you find inquisitively. He then asked them, it is against code and me “...what?” is possibly dangerous. Yup, that’s my brother... When I return home and RECAP enter my room I immedi- Lesson No, 1: A suitable ately know some one else place to hide pornographic

paraphernalia is under the mattress, for a number of reasons it’s the least moved or looked in place of all, drawers and desks can be moved and searched during cleaning by either an inquisitive mother or girlfriend, under the mattress is not searched unless they are specifically looking for a porn. In that case they are expecting to find pornography, it’s the surprise that frightens them. Please note: Under the mattress means hidden in the middle, not the sides where mothers changing sheets or making beds can find them. Lesson No. 13: If you do engage in personal rock paper sciccors game in a compromising spot, then ALWAYS clean up after yourself, it is essential to make sure everything is left in the same state as before. Lesson No. 295: Upon finding porno paraphernalia which is not you own, take 3 deep breaths. DO NOT under any circumstance use the goods where you find them, it is against code and possibly dangerous.


Meadow Jump!

G’Joob! Well, Fuck. ~~~ © G’Joob, authors, February 2011 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior permission in writing from publishers. We have attempted to contact all copyright holders. We apologise for any omissions and, if contacted, will ammend in future issues. For further copies, comments, or if you would like to contribute, send all enquires to: Printed on a Risograph printer in blue ink on Munkin Polar (100gsm) Cover design by Christopher Ryan


Proudly brought to you by G’Joob!

Acknowlegements To all of our contributors ~~~ Special Thanks to Sherna Matta and Thomas Martin we are forever in your debt...




G'Joob vol. 1  

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