Obligatory post-election post

It was a good night, there at J's, watching the election-sport on the box. Drinks and pasta and friends of friends and shouting witticisms at the telly. That sort of thing. The only thing that would have made it sweeter was if one or more of the following had been banished from NZ politics forever:

Winston Peters (I guess you could call 16 hours in bed on Sunday with the mother-of-all-hangovers a "tangi", if you really wanted to)

Peter Dunne (I guess you could call being a snide petulant twat after the results came in "showing a bit of personality", if you really wanted to)

Rodney Hide (I guess you could call spending 5 weeks bullying the poor people of the Epsom electorate "time well-spent electioneering", if you wanted to)

Don Brash (I guess you could call not conceeding on election-night "a victory of sorts", if you wanted to)

But it was as if the Nation of New Zillud, like some sort of collective Powdered Toast Man, cried "cling tenaciously to my buttocks!" And by 'eck, they all did. And all lived to collect another MP's salary.

But I fucking swear, if Winston Peters somehow pulls another 1996 trick and ends up forming a government with the National Party after keeping the country on hold for 3 months, I'm going to steal a light-plane, fill it full of explosives, and fly the bastard into Parliament myself.

PS. The irony is, Mr "yawn yawn" Styles, that if your fucking product was as half as good a tool as it was sold to be, I'd have enough time to post three times a day. Print that out and stick it on your white-board of shame, you seedy Churton-park-poon-chasing prick.