The time John Key invited me over for Christmas lunch with his family
John and I had been hanging out a lot. In fact he’d been coming over to our house pretty regularly since he discovered I had an original Optimus Prime transformer.
“I’ll trade you your Optimus Prime transformer for all these Solid Energy shares?”
“John, you know your worthless asset sale shares are no good here.”
He laughed. I laughed. He laughed. Then he took my Optimus Prime transformer.
“HEY! No! John! Give it back”.
He laughed some more. And put it in his satchel that had “I ♥ NATIONAL” written on it in twink.
“KIM!” I yelled. “KIIIIIIIIIM!”
Kim threw open the door and sighed.
“Jesus, what is it David? You can hear your yelling from Timbuktu.”
“John took my Optimus Prime” I sobbed. “It’s the only one I have and he can’t have it.”
“John, is that true? Did you take David’s Optimus Prime?”
John looked smug.
“Yes, but I’m the Prime Minister. So I can have anything I want.” He tightened his grip on the satchel that had my Optimus Prime in it.
Kim sighed.
“Now David you knew that this would happen if you kept inviting John over. He takes anything he wants and that’s just the way it is. You voted him in.”
I stamped my foot. “No I bloody well didn’t.”
John reached into his satchel and took out Optimus’ trailer.
“Here ya go fucker, you can have this bit. Never say I don’t do anything for you.”
He tossed me the trailer. It felt good to have it in my hands again. I thought I’d never see Optimus again, now I had a piece of him, I was happy. John wasn’t so bad.
John reached into his satchel again and for a moment I thought I was going to get all of Optimus back. Instead he pulled out an envelope. I tried not to let my disappointment show. John looked bashful.
“Also fucker, I want you to have this.”
I carefully opened the envelope, last time John had given me an envelope I’d been too hasty. I’d opened it and white powder had fallen out. I thought it was more coke, only when I went to sniff it John had grabbed me and yelled that it was actually Anthrax. We’d had a good laugh about that.
This time no powder though. Just a card inviting me to John’s house for Christmas.
“If you stay for dinner, maybe we can ask Bronagh if you can stay too? It’s always harder for her to say no if you’re standing right there.”
I looked at Kim, imploringly.
“Can I Kim? Can I go to John’s for Christmas? Pleeeeease. I’ll be good and re-wire the home entertainment system like I said I would.”
Kim sighed again. John looked bashful and hopeful and other dwarves.
“I suppose, so long as you get everything done around the house first.”
“YUSSSS” John high fived me in the face. Again.
“Fucker!”.
— Christmas Day —
I had woken up early, as usual, but this time it wasn’t just excitement to see what Santa had brought me, but because I was going to John’s house. Later that afternoon Kim dropped me off after we’d done the family thing. In-laws and extended whanau everywhere!
John had a long drive so Kim had taken me all the way up to the top. After I’d cleared security I was finally inside John’s house.
I have to say, little disappointed. I really expected it to be more … mansion-y. For a man worth about $150 million, John’s house looked rather modest. Until I got to the throne room. When I walked into the throne room I was surprised to see John sitting on a throne of bones.
“Like it?” he sneered, his top lip turning up as he said “it”. As though the “it” was the poor working class who National had boned with its repeated beneficiary bashing.
“It’s the poor working class who have been bludging off benefits for too long. But we got ’em. We took their benefits and we gave them to rich people. And then the poor died and I made a throne from their bones.”
He stood up from his Boney Throne and walked over to his desk, also made of bones. He picked up a skull goblet and supped. Smacking his lips after he’d done.
“This is the blood of babies, it’s what keeps me looking youthful.”
I must’ve looked a bit shocked because he quickly moved on.
“All I am, is a wealthy white guy, sitting on a throne of bones, above a massive pile of treasure. Just like everyone else. Hey fucker, take a seat.”
John gestured to another throne opposite him, it had stirrups like a gynaecologist’s chair.
“I usually sit in that one when I invite the English family over. It reminds Bill who’s boss when he has to stare at my crotch.”
We talk about what we’d gotten for Christmas. I’d received a ladder and some socks. John had got a donkey.
“Do you get it fucker? Because Labour have been accusing me of being “donkey deep” in heaps of scandals. Well now it’s actually truer than they realise because already today, I’ve been deep inside a donkey three times.
“I’ve been a donkey fucker for years, that’s why I can’t remember my stance on the 1981 tour. I was too busy fucking donkeys.”
We high fived.
<<To be continued>>
