Wellington, New Zealand—a city that could be grand if its council weren’t so bloody hopeless. Picture this: a bloke’s standing on a street, phone up, filming a crew of council workers faffing about. He’s not in a car, just out there, catching the madness live. His words drip with sarcasm: “Good to see the council cutting back on spending. 10 people to plant a garden. We love your council. We love how you spend our taxpayers. Just count them all. 10 people to plant a garden. Thank you, Mother Lord of Jesus. I’m glad we’re paying these beautiful people.” Credit to @youarknz for the footage—it’s a gem of a rant, short and stinging, laying bare the council’s latest farce. How does a city go from sensible to 10 people planting one garden? Let’s tear into it and give the council the hiding they deserve.
It’s a sunny day in Wellington—maybe near the Botanic Garden or some suburban patch they’ve decided needs “beautifying.” The council’s sent out a squad—10 whole people—to plant a garden. Not a park, not a forest, just a garden. A patch of dirt, some shrubs, a few flowers. You’d think two or three could handle it—dig a hole, pop in a plant, water it, done. But no, Wellington’s council doesn’t do small. They’ve got 10 bodies milling about—shovels in hand, half of them leaning on them, the other half arguing over where the daisies go. It’s not efficiency; it’s a clown show, and the ratepayers are footing the bill.
This isn’t new for Wellington. The council’s got form—piles of it. Remember when three gardeners kept the city’s green bits tidy? Back then, it worked. A trio—call them Bob, Sue, Tim—mowed, pruned, and raked without fuss. The parks looked fine, the budget held steady. But the council, in their infinite stupidity, decided three wasn’t “visionary” enough. They’ve got a habit of bloating things—last time it was 14 gardeners on the books, now it’s 10 for one measly garden. Same game, different day: overstaff, overspend, overcomplicate. Meanwhile, the city’s falling apart, and they’re too thick to see it.
What’s the council’s excuse? They’ll probably spin some rubbish about “community investment” or “job creation.” They love a buzzword—tosses a nice gloss over their waste. But let’s count them, like @youarknz says: 10 people. Ten! To plant a garden! One digs, one plants, one waters—then what? The other seven stand there, looking pretty? Maybe one’s holding the watering can for the waterer, another’s supervising the supervisor. It’s not a garden—it’s a jobs program for mates, and Wellington’s taxpayers are the suckers picking up the tab.
The money’s the real kick in the teeth. Say each worker’s on $25 an hour—low end for council gigs. Ten of them, eight-hour day, that’s $2,000 right there. For one garden. One! Back when it was three, you’d be looking at $600 tops—same job, same plants, same dirt. That’s $1,400 extra, blown on nothing. Multiply that by every daft project this council dreams up, and you’re in the millions. Wellington’s rates are already set to rocket 175% over the next decade—pipes burst, roads rot, and they’re chucking cash at 10 gardeners for a flowerbed? It’s not just wasteful—it’s insulting.
The council’s a disgrace, full stop. They can’t stop tripping over their own bad ideas. Take the airport shares mess in 2024—they tried to flog them, botched the vote, and still came out looking like amateurs. The Long-Term Plan’s a trainwreck—175% rate hikes, and they’ve got a Crown observer babysitting them till July 2025 because they’re that hopeless. Now this—10 people for a garden? It’s not a one-off; it’s a pattern. They’re addicted to throwing money at nonsense while the city crumbles. Day after day, they prove they’ve got no grip on reality.
What are those 10 doing out there? @youarknz’s line—“Just count them all”—hits it square. Are they planting in shifts? Taking turns with the spade? Half of them are probably on a tea break while the other half shuffle dirt around. The garden’s not some sprawling masterpiece—it’s a patch, a speck. Three could’ve knocked it out by lunch; 10 stretch it to a week, maybe, just to justify the hours. The council’s turned a quick job into a bloated farce, and Wellington’s no better off for it. If anything, it’s uglier—ugly with waste, ugly with incompetence.
This lot deserve every bit of scorn they get. They’re not leaders—they’re leeches, sucking the city dry with their brainless schemes. Wellington’s got real problems—leaky pipes flooding streets, potholes swallowing cars, a council so chaotic they’ve got a government minder. Yet here they are, splashing out on 10 gardeners for a job three could ace. It’s not ambition—it’s arrogance, and they’re too dim to see the difference. They strut about, pretending they’re “cutting back on spending,” as @youarknz mocks, while the numbers scream the opposite.
The sarcasm in that video—“We love your council. We love how you spend our taxpayers”—cuts deep because it’s true. Ratepayers don’t love this. They’re furious, or they should be. Every dollar on those extra seven gardeners is a dollar not fixing the sewage spilling into homes, not patching the roads, not easing the rates choking households. The council’s got the gall to call this progress? It’s theft—stealing from a city that’s already on its knees, all for a flowerbed nobody needed.
Wellington’s council can’t stop screwing up. They overstaff, overspend, and overpromise, day after day. Three gardeners were enough once—now it’s 10 for a garden, 14 for parks, who knows what next. They’ve got no sense of “enough”—no clue when to stop piling on bodies and bills. That TikTok rant—“Thank you, Mother Lord of Jesus. I’m glad we’re paying these beautiful people”—is a middle finger to their delusions. Beautiful people? Maybe. Useful? Hardly. The council’s turned a lean operation into a cash bonfire, and the city’s burning for it.
This isn’t just about one garden—it’s the whole rotten system. The council’s too busy faffing with pointless projects to tackle what matters. Wellington could be thriving—decent parks, solid roads, fair rates—but instead it’s limping, thanks to these clowns. Ten gardeners for a patch of dirt is a glaring sign of their failure—wasteful, clueless, shameless. They’ve taken a city with potential and buried it under their own stupidity, one bad call at a time.
Poem: Too Many Books Spoil the Broth
Too Many Books in Wellington’s Pot
In Wellington’s lair, where sense once stood,
One book stirred a broth that tasted good.
A garden to plant, three hands would do,
A simple plan, clean and true.
But then the books stacked, a foolish hoard,
Each page a flop the council adored.
“Ten hands!” they roared, “A grand display!”
Too many hands turned dirt to dismay.
The broth went rank, the funds ran thin,
Waste piled up where thrift had been.
A pipe still leaks, a road’s a wreck,
Ten books brought the city’s neck.
Day after day, their blunders grow,
Piling books where cash won’t flow.
One book’s enough, why clog the stew?
Too many books spoil Wellington too.
Wellington groans, its purse threadbare,
Daft decisions choke the air.
A garden’s cost, a city’s fall,
Too many books sink it all.