Great Boo, the god of opportunistic voters, stalks the corridors of power tonight. Great Boo knows that it is better to be feared than loved, and is not concerned with John Key's polling. There's a full moon and Great Boo has been summoned by the three witches, casting about in this wretched and turbulent winter of despair for an answer, to ensure the reign of their Queen.
"Sorry I'm late," says Great Boo. "Winston had dibs. So, what's your problem?"
The three witches are wailing and gnashing their teeth, flecks of spittle landing in their Chardonnay glasses.
"Alas!" says crone 1, "The kingdom is falling about her majesty's ears! She casts about for news of cheer, but sees only darkness and broiling seas!"
Crone 2 enjoins, "We've done as you commanded, Great Boo, scaring people with the spectres of the Exclusive Brethren and global warming. We bought the Rusty Rail relic, and we even allowed our chief druid, Michael Cullen, to sacrifice some of our hallowed spending programme on tithe cuts. But still the people are unhappy."
Great Boo furrows his brow, saying, "Well, how about all that hysteria around raising the drinking age to 20. Can you get any pull there?"
"Good thinking, Great Boo," says the third crone. "We've been getting some negative media on the brutal murder of a liquor employee in Manurewa. If we cut back the number of liquor licences, there will be less chance of liquor store employees getting murdered!"
"Of course," says crone 1. "Poor people are useless at handling their alcohol, not like those intelligent caring middle class people at Drinking Liberally events."
"It is true," crone 2 concedes. "Poor people are inarticulate when drunk. The only way to express themselves is through violence. This could be seen as a safety measure. Care for a glass, Great Boo?"
The god of opportunistic voters is restless and bored. He shakes his head. Wine would sit uncomfortably on his previous whiskeys. And besides, Bridget Jones had killed whatever appeal Chardonnay had once held. He hears ice cubes clinking in Peter Dunne's office.
"I've got another call. Is there anything else?" says Great Boo. But the witches are huddled over the cauldron. Third crone is chanting, "Eye of Muldoon, ear of Kate Sheppard..." With that, Great Boo is away to another office, another summons.
