|Was this young Maori correct. You decide.|
“Watcha gonna do when they come for you”, sang Gerry Brownlee.
“What’s that again Jerry”, said John K as he sipped another G and T in the Parliamentary bar in the Beehive.
“Oh, nothing really just a wee ditty I picked from TV”, muttered Gerry.
“Well what about earning your keep, you are meant to be working on our booze strategy”, said John Key while licking his lips.
“You mean drunk driving policy don’t you boss”, answered Gerry.
“Who bloody cares”, muttered John K as he took another gulp of his G&T.
“You sound over the limit boss, I’d get a grip on things if I was you, its not a good sight, what with guzzling Tui at a barbeque, G&T’s with the Queen, Champagne with the Sultan and now being pissed in Parliament, your are looking more and more like our old leader Muldoon”, said Gerry who could feel his tummy rumble below his braces, it must be near lunch time.
“Don’t worry Gerry old buddy I’ll be cold stone sober by question time because I'm planning to beat the wind out of that David what’s his name, my strategy to lower the alcoholic limit to point zero five was brilliant don’t you think”, said John K.
“Yes it was”, said Gerry not wanting to disillusion his boss from thinking he was a brilliant strategically bright whiz kid but he couldn't resist saying, “It was that private members bill by that funny we chap from Palmerston North Iain Lees-Galloway that sort of pushed the issue was it not”.
“How dare you utter that name in my presence, I gave clear instructions never to do that, he was the traitor who seconded David’s what’s his name for party leader”, shouted John.
“I’m only trying to be honest, after all that Iain fellow is a member of their party”, Gerry managed to state before he was cut off.
“Oh shut up, that Iain chap should be National, after all every one else in the country and around the world, even the Queen and her dogs, loves me and I can’t see why he shouldn’t too”, muttered John K into what was leftover of his third double G&T.
Gerry felt his tummy rumble yet again it was really straining his expanded braces so he said, “Well I’ve arranged a few pasty questions for you boss, the first will be from our fellow called Ian McKelvie, you know he’s the old guy from Rangitikei, ex-farmer and Mayor he’ll a ask a question about how will we protect our hard working farming friends who save the nation by working all hours and in all weathers, storms or floods, from becoming criminals if caught between the .05 and .08 limits. And you will answer him by saying most likely he will only be fined”, said Gerry, hoping that the now slightly over the .08 limit Prime Minister would not ask him any further questions, because Gerry wanted food badly and urgently.
The PM never replied as if he hadn’t heard and Gerry the soft snoring drift from the sleeping leader of our esteemed nation.
“Watcha gonna do when they come for you”, sang Gerry Brownlee as he headed for his midday repast of steak eggs chips onions fried bread followed by ice-cream and jelly and a cup or two of coffee and lastly a few squares of rich dark chocolate, Gerry always eats a modest lunch…
The Prime Minister was laid back on the leather couch and drifted off for a hour before question time…he dreamed of Wall Street, of Asset Sales, of the Queens puppy’s, and when he envisioned David Cunliffe it all became a nightmare…
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