The secret diary of ... John Key
Sometimes I think about the good old days at Merrill Lynch. I thought about it this afternoon when I put raw meat into a sack and took it down to the secret basement underneath parliament.
They were carefree times at Merrill. The only thing at stake was millions and millions of dollars and the only thing in the way were other traders.
My footsteps echoed in the long, damp underground tunnel.
"The smiling assassin" - I've always hated being called that. It implies that I took a quiet enjoyment in taking out the opposition. But I openly enjoyed it. I was the laughing assassin.
I heard the growling as I stepped into the basement.
I always took it seriously. You had to. You had to keep your wits about you when you dicked people over. You didn't do it lightly and you didn't do it with regret. You dicked them over good and proper.
It was pitch black and all I could see were the glow of two red eyes.
I've based my politics on my experience at Merrill Lynch but I've had to disguise my methods, act in stealth, delegate to some pretty strange people.
"Here," I said, and threw a lump of meat through the bars of the cage. A big hand snatched at it. I don't know whether it was Jason or Cameron, but I don't much care. So long as one or the other dicks over anyone who gets in my way.
So long as I walk away without a blemish.
I'm not terribly worried about the new book coming out by Nicky Hager. He's obviously a screaming left-wing conspiracy theorist and I have hard data which also suggests he's vegan.
The word is that he's written a book which takes a critical look at the Five Eyes situation. A lot of the information has probably been leaked to him by Edward Snowden.
At the end of the day, most Kiwis are bored senseless by so-called spy scandals.
They like their scandals with a bit of raw meat on them.
I wasn't terribly worried to learn this evening that Nicky Hager's new book is in fact an incredibly damaging and shocking expose about my prolonged campaign of attack politics, but just to be on the safe side I called an emergency meeting at midnight with Crosby Textor and all my various assorted media consultants.
The mood was lightened when Mike Hosking walked in and poured himself a drink.
"Just happened to be passing," he said, and winked.
How we laughed!
I wasn't terribly worried that I had to face a press gauntlet when I arrived this morning at a rest home in Mosgiel, but just to be on the safe side I arranged for a heavy police presence.
I got in past the hacks without too much bother, and was introduced to the residents.
One nice old lady said to me, "Oh dear. Look at all those policemen. Have I done something wrong?"
I smiled, patted her shoulder, and told her, "No, you're all good. You're fine."
She took a closer look at me, frowned, and said, "What about you? Have you done something wrong?"
I laughed, tightened my grip on her shoulder, and said to her in a low, hard voice, "How long have you been a screaming left-wing conspiracy theorist?"
Back down to the underground basement with the meat in the sack.
I spend a lot of time down there. It's how I can make my way in the pitch darkness.
I know it by feel.
And by smell.
"Here," I said, and threw a lump of meat into the cage.
A small hand snatched at it.
I could hear the tearing of meat.
I never tire of that sound.
I thought about all the times I've listened to it in the past six years, and I realised: they've been the good old days.
Merrill was business.
Politics has been pleasure.
"More," growled the voice.
I threw in another lump.
"Here you go, Judith," I said.
Sunday Star Times