It will be Dear Leader's day today. Everyone who is daft enough to lead their lives within her penumbra will be waiting to see if they are to be scanning the situations vacant columns or taking their place at the deity's right hand. It is both nauseating and frightening. Loyal serfs crawl up to the throne either in search of the the 'Royal Touch' or a ticket to the scaffold. I am not sure if the real Royal Touch (a regal laying on of hands to cure scrofula (tuberculous cervical lymphadenopathy) - never worked) could be given more than once but the antipodean modern day version certainly can't. Pond Scum got the touch over the Heineken comments but now he has been dishing out the biffo it would appear he has to be thrown to the lions - well meercats.
The bloody woman has a way of humiliating people in such a subtle and cruel way. Bovver Boy, all tough and macho, is being publicly told by a woman (well sort of) to go to anger management. I'm sure our Trev wants to biff her as well but he has to appear for the last week all contrite and looking generally down at mouth. Rodney Hide wants to get a parliamentary privileges complaint up and running. Too late and a waste of time. Helen is doing much more and more publicly than any constitutional body could ever achieve.
So this afternoon we will see Mallard in charge of the Parliaments dunnies, the Dental Nurse elevated to the rank of seraphim (well she doesn't have a Y chromosome and therefore deserves it) and so on. Who cares? Their 'jobs' are only as instruments in the Dear Leader's plan. The don't make any decisions. Well I suppose they are allowed to decide whether to carry out orders on a Wednesday or a Thursday but that will be about it.
Benson Dope was not afforded the Royal Touch a few months ago over his lying like a flatfish - again. He is obviously not only duplicitous but also thick. He failed to take the hint that he was very smelly and had to go and announce he was standing again for Dunedin South. Presumably he got a couple of phone calls from the ninth floor and still refused to back down. Dear Leader gets fed up with all this and tells the President of the EPMU to find a staunch unionist to put his hat in the ring for the Labour nomination. As Labour couldn't lose Dunedin South even if it tried that now means the bloke in the hard hat from the building site we saw on the News last night is effectively now an MP. Swap the smoko room for Bellamies - they'll have to put up a 'No muddy boots' sign at the entrance. And why is all this happening? Because that bloody woman says so.
There is short (mercifully) piece on the opinion page of the Herald this morning that is a classic of the modern New Zealand Wowser genre. A bloke is giving Guy Fawkes day a real pasting. I didn't know you could type whilst wringing your hands. Why should we allow spotty 'yoofs' (his daft spelling ,not mine) to buy fireworks when we don't allow them to buy firearms in Woolworths. Eh? Woolworths don't sell firearms do they? Or have I been missing the Kalashnikovs hiding away behind the yogurt? Life is always better through the rose tinted retrospectoscope but 'Penny for the Guy' and a handful of tupenny bangers in South London in the late 1950's was way better than this surely? I was eight or nine years old, allowed to buy fireworks, enjoyed the hell out of them, didn't die, didn't maim any one and the cat forgave me.
Fireworks should be banned (except by councils who have the necessary permits), anything that is a bit of fun should be banned. It scares domestic animals - well idiots like you scare me.
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