Oh no! Good on ya, mate, this heaps good Undie 500 is as kiwi as as a fully sick tiki tour. Mean while, in Queenstown, John Key and Helen Clarke were up to no good with a bunch of tip-top L&Ps. The dodgy force of his preparing the hungi was on par with Manus Morissette's solid rimu piece of pounamu. Put the jug on will you bro, all these hard case Monopoly, the New Zealand version with Queen Street and stuffs can wait till later. The first prize for burning my Vogel's goes to... Fred Dagg and his good as can of Watties Baked Beans, what a ankle biter. Bro, lamingtons are really paru good with epic girl guide biscuits, aye. You have no idea how cool our beached as wet blankets were aye. Every time I see those naff pauas it's like the tinny house all over again aye, au. Anyway, Maui is just Sir Edmond Hillary in disguise, to find the true meaning of life, one must start cooking up a feed with the sheep, mate. After the vivid is rooted, you add all the shithouse old man's beards to the jelly tip icecream you've got yourself a meal. Technology has allowed rip-off cuzzies to participate in the global conversation of chocka full gumboots.

The next Generation of hammered stink buzzes have already munted over at Lake Taupo. What's the hurry Lomu? There's plenty of boxes of fluffies in the pub. The op shop holds the most bloody community in the country.. Dr Ropata was rooting when the thermo-nuclear chundering event occured.

More drugs, more threesomes, this flat stick pukeko is as crook as a cracker seabed. Mean while, in West Auckland, Hairy Maclary from Donaldson's Dairy and Rhys Darby were up to no good with a bunch of nuclear-free slippers. The buzzy force of his munting was on par with Hercules Morse, as big as a horse's mint kai. Put the jug on will you bro, all these carked it foreshore and seabed issues can wait till later. The first prize for packing a sad goes to... Rangi and his mean as stubbies, what a goon. Bro, fellas are really bung good with rip-off Hei-tikis, aye. You have no idea how primo our same same but different toasted sandwiches were aye.

Every time I see those stuffed jerseys it's like Mt Cook all over again aye, don't be a egg. Anyway, some uni student is just Bazza in disguise, to find the true meaning of life, one must start rooting with the mate, mate. After the craft supplies is flogged, you add all the snarky marmite shortages to the rugby ball you've got yourself a meal. Technology has allowed random chicks to participate in the global conversation of pearler wifebeater singlets. The next Generation of chronic sad guys have already cooked over at the dairy. What's the hurry Jonah Lomu? There's plenty of bottles of tomato sauce in the bushes.

Don't be a sad guy, share Kiwipsum with your friends