October 26, 2004

Nippert in the Bud

Mr Neil Falloon writes…

Matt Nippert, you are like
an itch that enjoys being scratched. Just as well, because you’re going to be scratched like a lame horse, from the race to survive in the blog jungle.

You think you’re gangsta, Nippert? Dre was coming straight outta Compton with an AK. You’re coming straight out of Grey Lynn with an AK 05 Festival Pass. You marvel at the
rolled up pants-leg stylings of Scribe and original Pt Chev gangster Russell "Simmons" Brown. Brown is no gangster - his leg is rolled up because his gout needs fresh air.

You have no understanding of history, Matt. You have lost touch with your roots, because they are buried under too much hair. You are not the biggest dog in the yard, Matt, you are just the shaggiest. You are not Dolf Datsun – you are the ugly one from The Have.

You say I’m not underground, and maybe it’s hard for you to understand how the first blogger to make the cover of Time Magazine can still be underground. It’s because I didn’t try and take alternative media to the masses – I brought the mainstream underground, like unreclaimed coastal land. I’m sorry if you missed that bus, Matt, but it wasn’t scheduled to stop outside Verona. And if you didn’t see me on the cover of Time, you might have to take another look. I’m in the background, on the left. No, the other left.

My demise “is an issue that needs to be seriously discussed”? My funeral won’t be anything like you describe – I know, because the last time I killed myself I went to the wake just to tell everyone it didn’t hurt as much as I expected. Then I wrote a book about it, and the world praised my confessional journalism, but you don’t see me boasting about it.

Like I’ve said, I was sick of you before I ever heard of you. You’re like a little Chihuahua, yapping at my legs and crapping in my yard. I’ve had it with your crap, Nippert, and I’m going to address the problem at its source. It’s time Patrick Crewdson stepped forward and cleaned up the mess his lap-dog has made. That’s the only scooping that will be happening at the Herald on Sunday any time soon.

I’ve got some fighting talk for you right here, Crewdson, so listen up – if you can tear yourself away from the Vodafone chatrooms long enough to stop pretending you are a 20-something female journalist pretending to be a teenage girl to get the big story, you low-life. Stick to the human interest stories, I hear Renee Kiriona has some good leads. Maybe it’s time someone interviewed Tawera Nikau again.

You work for a rag trying to trade on the good name Garth George made for the Herald over the years. Garth George is rolling around in his grave. Can you imagine what he would be thinking if he had lived during the time of the internet and found out what you were up to? The only thing missing from the Herald on Sunday is a topless page three model - but I’m sure that prostitute Nippert can be persuaded to do it for a jug of Double Brown or, more likely, just the chance to see his name in print again.

Kind regards - the kind where I see you in Hell

Neil Falloon




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