Brian Rogers Rogers Rabbits www.sunlive.co.nz

It is with great sadness that we have to report that, at time of printing, there have been no transmissions from Happy Meal since September 9, sparking fears that Gareth Morgan's expensive transmitter may have been eaten.

Several astute readers sent this update of Happy Meal's progress.

I hate to say ‘I told you so', but there's a fair chance that if the transmitter has been eaten, then so has the penguin.

Although, I suppose it's entirely possible that some large predator, spying the wayward penguin with an expensive piece of trendy radio equipment on his back, simply mugged him in a southern ocean back alley, stole his ghetto blaster and his shoes and left him scrambling away, shaken but alive, in the freezing desolate waters of sub Antarctica.

Yes, let's take the positive attitude here and conclude that Happy Meal is in fact still cavorting amongst the white caps and icy bits and that the superglued radio has either been eaten by a Great White with an electronics fetish or the transmitter has simply fallen off and is sitting under several kilometres of ocean, entertaining a school of dog tooth tuna.

Either way, it makes the whole saga look like an expensive waste of time for the New Zealand taxpayer.

In other news, my homemade tattoo washed off after a week and I will be having some serious discussions with the artists in regards to the warranty.

Cynical reader

Many people have messaged this week regarding the mid-life crisis, which I'm pleased to report is going well, thanks.
Following the piece on mid-life crisis, a helpful, but cynical reader sent me this:

A study on ageing and depression advises how not to turn into a grumpy old man. It's called ‘goal disengagement' which would be a polite way of suggesting 'give up now”.

The study, in a Psychology journal reports: 'The ability of older adults with functional limitations to withdraw effort and commitment from goals that are no longer attainable can help them avoid increases in depressive symptoms over time.”

Last week, we heard of a chap with a lot of faith in the All Blacks. He's already got a tattoo celebrating the win.

He's probably jinxed the ABs with that and will be lynched if they don't win.

The smart option for such a tattoo would be along these lines:

Then, if the men in black fail to take the cup, he can add the letters WALL in the front of the A and the letters IE after the B.
For those you a bit slow – or Australian – and don't quite get it, we've left enough space on the letters above for you to fill in the blanks.

(If you spoil your paper, ask your neighbour for their copy of The Sun and try again.)

Tattoo washout

Since my tattoo option turned into a bit of a washout, I've revisited the dog option. Shopping for a new dog has proven to be something of a nightmare, as people have been offering me all sorts of oddball creations – some looking more like candyfloss mated with a floor mop. If you stuck a handle up their backside you could clean the venetian blinds.

No, we are looking for something like a Labrador because the last couple have been sensational dogs. But these days something a bit smaller and lighter is probably a good idea. We haven't ruled out a crossbreed, but the Venetian Blind Cleaner is not on the list.

Sensitive wee things

Poor wee Australians are a bit sensitive over the case of the Minister of Bad Manners episode.

Seems the Aussies can't take a bit of ribbing – even though they're masters of it themselves. And if it had been a minister of the crown giving Aussies their pedigree, then he should have been promoted.

However, it turns out that the bad mannered person in the corporate box wasn't actually a minister, which makes the Australian media look pretty stupid.

There's nothing at all wrong with giving Australians a bit of stick – it's healthy trans-Tasman rivalry and what makes both countries great. (Although between you and me, New Zealand is a little bit better.)

Parting shot

This from keen reader Pete, recommended joke for all government ministers to recite at Wallaby matches:
A Kiwi bloke is having a post RWC match drink in a bar. He leans over to the big guy next to him and says, 'Do you wanna hear an Aussie joke?” The big guy replies, 'Well mate, before you tell that joke you should know something: I'm six feet tall, 105kg and I'm a Wallaby forward. The guy sitting next to me is 6'2", weighs 115kg and he's an ex-Wallaby. Next to him is a bloke who is 6'5", weighs 120kg and he's a current Wallaby second-rower. Now, do you still want to tell that Aussie joke?” The Kiwi says, 'Nah...not if I'm going to have to explain it three times”.