New Zealand Election 2014, the day after

Posted: September 6, 2014 by daphna in Capitalist ideology, Class Matters, John Key, Labour Party NZ, National Party NZ, New Zealand politics

by Don Franks

Cannonballed from a fiery red dawn, the triumphant golden sun bestrode the heavens, beaming benign radiance over all, clear crystal drops of dew winked back merrily, a dawn chorus of previously endangered native birds burst gloriously into song. Their tones blended with the cheery chatter of safe happy well fed children. All the bright clear morning shone with new hope and promise.2176008958_0e9713fdb7

Already doors were being flung open in the streets. With tears in their eyes, joyous cheering workers emerged to embrace one another, before setting off to put big deposits on the large warm houses they could now all afford. Sturdy young lads and lasses confidently strode in the direction of the universities, to complete their government funded degrees prior to taking up well paid secure interesting jobs.

Across town, leaves of formerly leafier suburbs were already turning bitter brown. White with anger, John Key flung his laptop at the nearest chandelier, trembling uncontrollably with impotent rage. “We so nearly had it all” he wept. “We were on the brink of inflicting the most ghastly social deprivation since Genghis Khan. Wage cuts for every manual worker, wholesale hospital closures, destruction of all public transport, we could have achieved all that and more but for those Labour bastards. But for them we might have become world leaders in brutal gratuitous cruelty.”

Paula Bennett quietly sobbed into her silken hanky, thinking of the new beneficiary torturing equipment she could no longer start using. Thumbscrews to gain confessions of undeclared income, the rack for those giving up after their hundredth job application, the ducking stool for all complainants. All now, never to be.

Gerry Brownlee bemoaned his thwarted scheme to shoot the homeless of Christchurch and Bill English rued the missed chance to tax poor kids pocket money. They were not a happy lot.

Then. . .

Startled into sudden wakefulness by the cat on the bed, David blinked and awakened from his lovely dream. The last image of a dejected John Key faded, in the way of such dreams it was already evaporating fast, displaced now almost entirely by David’s after party hangover.

Yet, all was not lost. Blinking again and pinching himself hard, David recalled that he had, somehow, against all the overwhelming odds, actually won.

He glanced over at the two sets of speech notes by the bed. Before screwing it up, David winced at the headings of Plan B. “Full credit to the opposition”, “We gave it 100%”, “Democracy was the winner”. “Already in campaign mode for 2017.”

Plan A he mulled over, tasting the words he was soon to broadcast: ” Three years won’t be enough” ” The mess left by National is much worse than we’d expected” “First we all need to grow a surplus. . . .”

Beside him, Karen stirred sleepily. ” David, how about we go out to breakfast and celebrate somewhere with a Latte; sorry – I mean with a sausage Mcmuffin.”

David bounced out of bed: “Great idea, let’s do it.”

“Just give me a minute before we head off. I’ve got a pension age entitlement to raise.”

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