Jim Hopkins: Party, paddle and crank up the money machine

The Waka Pavillion. Photo / Supplied

Strewth, we're a miserable bunch. Yabber, yabber, yabber, moan, moan, moan. Can't afford this, can't afford that. $2,000,000 for a waka, $12,000,000 for a ball. $33,000,000 for a yacht, a bit extra for the mine company to hire the odd lawyer (is there one that isn't?), $38,000,000 to mothball the Skyhawks so politicians could pretend we'd make a fortune when they were sold.

That's the thick end of a $100 mill right there, folks. And just like Pavlov's flamin' dogs, we start slathering and howling and generally carrying on like it's the end of the world. Get a grip, people!

What's all the fuss about? Just print more of the stuff. A bit of Quantitative Easing, for heaven's sake! Prime the pumps.

Get the presses rolling. It worked for the Weimar Republic. It'll jolly well work for us. Of course it will. Kiwi ingenuity, No 8 wire, all that good stuff. If nothing else, it'll buy lots more sand for us to stick our heads in.

Imagine the scene at the Imperial Mint (a wholly owned subsidiary of Celestial Rapture Dairy, Shanghai). The phone rings and a chap in a grey dust coat picks it up: "Morning. Mint here. Making money work for you. What's that, Dr Sharples? Need an extra $2,000,000? Not a problem, Sir. Hang about. 'Oi, Stan, you want some overtime tonight?' Good on ya. There we are, Doc, all done and dusted."

He puts the phone down. "Tell y'what, Stan. You whack out $2 mill before midnight and you can print another $50k for yourself. 'Corse I'm a good employer. I work for the gummint, don't I?"

Actually, we all do; from January 1 to the end of April, more or less. Not that they give a fat rat's ask. Recall, if you will, the last time your MP came round with a cheque for $2 million so you could put up a tent. Bingo! About the same time they took notice of how you voted in a referendum.

Well, it's time to feel the love and spread the dosh. We can all be Alice in Weimarland if we'll just Press on! Print up! and let the dollars flow.

Money galore! No better way to go down the gurgler!

The idea's certainly impressed the extinguished poet laureate, Sir Jam Hipkins (honour pending) who sensibly takes the view that you gotta be in to win and has therefore instructed his adoring muse, Ms Epiphany Throbbe, to release a selection from his recent oeuvre such as may persuade the gummint to chuck him a few million.

"Have snout, will trough" is the laureate's view. As for his verse, well, judge for yourself as we inflate poetry's answer to the $12,000,000 rugby ball currently stuck in a cupboard somewhere. We begin with a response to Mr Hone Harawira (nee Hadfield) who's launched a competition to name his political party:

You want to name your Party
Something slick and flash and hip
Well, Hone and Honkies
Could trip from every lip
Or, if Ms Bradford joins you,
Then S&M you'd be
You'll say, "The S is short for Sue
And the M is short for ME!!!"
Other names, like The Nasty Party
Keep flowing thick and fast
But the one that fits you best, old fruit,
Is this: New Zealand Last!

Also provoking the laureate is another case (see The Harold on Wednesday) where bail's been granted a seemingly unfit felon:

So here you stand before me
Of vile crimes you are accused
You've been released on bail before
And your bail has been abused
You've bashed and beat and burgled
Causing untold harm and pain
And so, poor tragic victim,
I'll let you out again!!!
Oh, it's lovely sitting on the bench
As a wigless, witless beak
So off you go, to prowl at will,
And I'll see you back next week!

Finally, no anthology would be complete this week without reference to the contentious tent so generously supported by the nation at large through the benevolence of our politicians:

2 mill, they say, the Crown will pay
To help promote Brand Maori
And launch a waka fine and proud
Fair hewn from plastic kauri
'Tis good, 'tis grand, 'tis wonderful
That you should fund this craft
I'll pour no scorn nor rant no rage
Nor speak of overdraft
For I too come beseeching
Your support to fund a dream -
Another grand pavilion
Another noble scheme
And thus I beg you, Ministers,
Grant the bounty of your coffers
Just rush a cheque, post-haste and crossed,
From the Cabinet office
To fund my mighty plastic thing
For 'tis my fervent goal
To raise a great erection
And delight each passing soul
As a tribute to our penury
And an 'omage to the dole
My wondrous World Cup winner is ...
A BLOW-UP BEGGING BOWL!!!
I implore you, funders fine and fair,
Assist this scribbling bloke
Support my plan with love and cash
Let's all promote Brand Broke!!!