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“Oh, Despinda,” sighed Despinda’s Mummy. “How many times have I told you that if you can’t say something nice, then don’t say anything at all.”
“But,” whined her daughter, “then I would have to be udderly silent, and gosh, how would that work? I mean to say, we are talking about my being the Prime Minister of this once-incredible country, and I must speak, even though endlessly about nothing.”
As she stamped off to her bedroom Despinda muttered, “What a stupid bitch,” under her breath, but loud enough that Mummy could hear.
“I heard that, Despinda,” her Mummy called. All that good Mormon indoctrination and Waikato uni education for nothing. A communications degree was all very well, but if that was the level of communication, then had it been worth it? Despinda’s Mummy got on with folding the washing and making dinner. She wasn’t the only Mummy helping out; look at how Lippy’s had found and delivered his clothes for him when he forgot to get dressed. What would they do without their mummies to help them? Dinner was bubbling away nicely on the hob of discontent and would soon be ready.
Despinda lay on her bed, fuming. She felt ill after having to apologise, even in a way that didn’t really count. She had refuted the premise of the apology – that as always was her go-to when in a corner of her own painting.
She was going out later to play with her bestie, Maloota, who let her think she was in charge and winning, but really, Maloota was calling the shots. Despinda knew this, but the illusion of her pre-eminence was too enthralling to give up. Maloota mostly played by her own rules, democracy be damned, and won by deception. Maloota could be a tricky sort of virus, thought Despinda as she rallied, brushed her hair, and put on a pair of the long, dangly earrings she favoured over something more tasteful and appropriate to her position. She didn’t care what anyone thought. Anyway, it was time for dinner.
And all that “be kind” nonsense, thought Despinda as she ate nut roast. I’m not feeling at all kind. It has been a long year, and I am sick and tired of all the pitiful questions I am forced to answer in kindy, sorry, Parliament. And then I have to worry about going to Waitangi to celebrate that day of national division. I used to go and smile and wave tongs as I flipped sausages on a gas-fired BBQ while banging on about climate emergency and destroying the farms that produce the sausages. Well, I’m not going to play that game this year. I shall stay at home, have a delicious BBQ steak, out of sight, and carry on with my duplicidy. Let the other pardy simpletons burn themselves on that particular hot plate.
And what about that arrogant prick Seemore, of Act-ion? She’d sent a quick, insincere text message and used her Mummy’s words to make her appear kind and rational, when in fact most people by now knew that neither was the case.
She wondered if that had been her smartest, kindest comment so far and concluded that it probably had been. Mmm, she thought, “I must be able to use this to my advandage. The spin’s the thing.
“Ah!” she squawked later, “Seemore has rescued me. Genius. A whole lot of arrogant pricks.”
And so it came to pass that arrogant pricks all over the land would benefit via the Prostate Cancer Foundation with the auction of the (cheaply) framed transcript and as recorded for prosteridy in Hansard. Despinda was thrilled that she had not only been able to so insult a fellow parliamentarian but to benefit a cause with such a winning ploy to make her look kind despite her bad temper and the offensiveness of her words. So, the comms education so benevolently supported by the local Masons was not wasted, after all, she thought as she posed for a celebratory photograph with the original arrogant prick.
Seemore and Despinda each wore happy smiles, and what was a cheap shot was made famous for all the wrong reasons. Even Maloota was impressed when she stopped playing in the water. Sooner or later, Despinda would have to understand that it was she, Maloota, who was the boss, and she would stop playing with Despinda just as soon as it suited her. Everyone knew that besties fell out, one way or another, in the fullness of time and in the bitchy playground of life.
And in that bitchy playground of life, Despinda was shocked to find herself in the crosshairs of the definitely dastardly duplicitous and despicable Whinge and Ginge.
“NO,” cried Despinda, “how could this possibly be? I endorsed no such thing when I agreed to be interviewed as one of the world’s greatest leaders, right up there with Nelson Mandela, as too indeed the wannabee Whinge thinks she is.”
“Woe is me,” lamented Despinda. “The smiley pics of me and the pregnant Duchess and that scruffy-looking hanger-on were just pretend, we really are not besties at all.”
The Daily Mail has reported the Duke and Duchess of Susspecs have built a friendship with Despinda following the couple’s royal tour in 2018, during which they visited New Zealand.
The news outlet has claimed Whinge and Despinda have a “strong bond” and they continue to stay in regular contact, with the two often exchanging emails.
At the time of the tour, Whinge was pregnant with the couple’s first child, Archer, who is now 3, and Despinda later spoke of how impressed she was with the duchess’s stamina.
“Pregnancy is an often tiring time but the way she gave everything her all was incredible”, the Prime Minister said. “She’s an amazing woman and I’m so glad to have gotten to know her.”
“I’ve been Markled!” shouted Despinda as she desperately dialled her MSM buddies, to ‘make it go away’. “I was to be shown as being important, of being born to lead, of being the fixer of poverdy, of housing, of education, of mental helf, of water (oh no, that’s Malootas’s gig), of everything, even Maori learning to swim, or not, and now I am associated with a treasonous pair who in days long gone by would have been locked up in the Tower and awaiting their imminent beheading. Put out a statement, I command you.”
The statement said:
In early March 2019 the prime minister was approached by the Mandela Foundation to participate in a project to develop accessible resources on key attributes of leadership targeted at aspiring young leaders around the world, based off a one-hour interview.
It also clarified that they have not had any direct communication with Ginge and Whinge on this project.
As Despinda reflected on another disastrous year of once-again zero delivery apart from potholes, literal and metaphorical, she thought how wonderful it would be to cook her very own Christmas dinner and open lots of presents.
“What a shame there are kids out there who won’t have any, so sad,” she mused as she popped yet another brightly wrapped gift under the gorgeously decorated tree.
Happy holidays everyone, she thought. None of this religious Christmas twaddle. God, it’s ridiculous. We can have a Taniwha with chubby cheeks and a sack full of billions of dollars of handouts bringing goodwill to all women, children, and even arrogant pricks, she thought as she prodded a large gift. For Clarke. If I can find him.
