Hitcher
8th December 2009, 19:54
I have discovered a gift for friends and family members this Christmas. It is The Reserve Bank Annual 2010, written by Christchurch author David Haywood aka Southerly.
Suffice it to say that it is hilarious.
As a taster, here is the Annual's introduction, attributed to Revenue Minister Peter Dunne:
An Introduction
by The Honourable Peter Dunne, Minister of Revenue
WHEN I’M VISITING schools, young people will often ask if I’m “the boss” of the Reserve Bank. I always have a good laugh at this display of childish ignorance. If only they had studied my speeches, or read my books Home is Where My Heart Is (ISBN 0-473-08433-3) and In the Centre of Things (ISBN 1-877-39903-5)—instead of filling their heads with ‘rap’ lyrics and ‘heavy metal’ guitar solos—then they wouldn’t ask such silly questions.
I usually answer them by explaining that the relationship between the Ministry of Revenue and the Reserve Bank is rather like a game of netball. The netball court represents the New Zealand economy, and as Minister of Revenue, I play the position of ‘Goal Attack’—whereas the Governor of the Reserve Bank, Dr Alan Bollard, plays the position of ‘Goal Defence’.
The other players in our team are athletic young women with beautiful strong thighs, well-toned stomachs, taut buttocks, and firm young breasts. The opposing players are, if anything, even more attractive: gorgeous and womanly, with curvaceous hips and plunging cleavages. The spectators are willowy bisexual women, who wear dresses made of gauzy material; and when the arc-lights are behind them you can see right through their clothing, to their skimpy underwear, and their lithe bisexual bodies.
When the game is over, the bisexual spectators rush forward, and embrace their beautiful feminine netball heroes. They shower them with kisses, and then fall laughing to the floor of the netball court, a tangle of tousled hair and gorgeous long legs, bare flesh pressing against bare flesh—as the smell of fresh female perspiration wafts across the arena. But meanwhile, in the rafters of the building, robots are preparing a little surprise. They open their payload doors, and begin to dump thousands of litres of rice pudding onto the netball court.
At first, the rain of pudding seems to redouble the excitement of the netballers and their bisexual fans. They smear rice pudding over one another, and the wetness makes their clothing semi-transparent. In some cases, you can even catch a glimpse of their nipples.
But then, as the level of rice pudding reaches their beautiful well-toned thighs, they begin to panic. In their struggle to escape, they slip and lose their footing, and are sucked into the morass of pudding. The rice grains enter their lungs, they thresh and scream, but only the robots are there to register their cries—and the robots do nothing, except to blink their lights, and pour the pudding at an everincreasing rate.
Eventually the screams fall silent. The netballers and their bisexual fans are dead. All movement is extinguished, their gorgeous young bodies lie broken and lifeless beneath a gigantic pile of rice pudding. The robots close their payload doors. There is an electric hum as the robots activate their carapace vocoders. The robots begin to sing Pokarekare Ana.
I believe this analogy gives a useful insight into the inner workings of the New Zealand economy—as well as the important role of the Reserve Bank and its governor. And, by shedding a little light on Dr Bollard’s personal life, I hope that this book will help to demonstrate to children and young people everywhere that economists are not “dull” or “boring” or “a bunch of cunts”, but rather, that they lead an interesting and worthwhile life that brings great benefit to our nation and the wider world.
Enjoy.
Suffice it to say that it is hilarious.
As a taster, here is the Annual's introduction, attributed to Revenue Minister Peter Dunne:
An Introduction
by The Honourable Peter Dunne, Minister of Revenue
WHEN I’M VISITING schools, young people will often ask if I’m “the boss” of the Reserve Bank. I always have a good laugh at this display of childish ignorance. If only they had studied my speeches, or read my books Home is Where My Heart Is (ISBN 0-473-08433-3) and In the Centre of Things (ISBN 1-877-39903-5)—instead of filling their heads with ‘rap’ lyrics and ‘heavy metal’ guitar solos—then they wouldn’t ask such silly questions.
I usually answer them by explaining that the relationship between the Ministry of Revenue and the Reserve Bank is rather like a game of netball. The netball court represents the New Zealand economy, and as Minister of Revenue, I play the position of ‘Goal Attack’—whereas the Governor of the Reserve Bank, Dr Alan Bollard, plays the position of ‘Goal Defence’.
The other players in our team are athletic young women with beautiful strong thighs, well-toned stomachs, taut buttocks, and firm young breasts. The opposing players are, if anything, even more attractive: gorgeous and womanly, with curvaceous hips and plunging cleavages. The spectators are willowy bisexual women, who wear dresses made of gauzy material; and when the arc-lights are behind them you can see right through their clothing, to their skimpy underwear, and their lithe bisexual bodies.
When the game is over, the bisexual spectators rush forward, and embrace their beautiful feminine netball heroes. They shower them with kisses, and then fall laughing to the floor of the netball court, a tangle of tousled hair and gorgeous long legs, bare flesh pressing against bare flesh—as the smell of fresh female perspiration wafts across the arena. But meanwhile, in the rafters of the building, robots are preparing a little surprise. They open their payload doors, and begin to dump thousands of litres of rice pudding onto the netball court.
At first, the rain of pudding seems to redouble the excitement of the netballers and their bisexual fans. They smear rice pudding over one another, and the wetness makes their clothing semi-transparent. In some cases, you can even catch a glimpse of their nipples.
But then, as the level of rice pudding reaches their beautiful well-toned thighs, they begin to panic. In their struggle to escape, they slip and lose their footing, and are sucked into the morass of pudding. The rice grains enter their lungs, they thresh and scream, but only the robots are there to register their cries—and the robots do nothing, except to blink their lights, and pour the pudding at an everincreasing rate.
Eventually the screams fall silent. The netballers and their bisexual fans are dead. All movement is extinguished, their gorgeous young bodies lie broken and lifeless beneath a gigantic pile of rice pudding. The robots close their payload doors. There is an electric hum as the robots activate their carapace vocoders. The robots begin to sing Pokarekare Ana.
I believe this analogy gives a useful insight into the inner workings of the New Zealand economy—as well as the important role of the Reserve Bank and its governor. And, by shedding a little light on Dr Bollard’s personal life, I hope that this book will help to demonstrate to children and young people everywhere that economists are not “dull” or “boring” or “a bunch of cunts”, but rather, that they lead an interesting and worthwhile life that brings great benefit to our nation and the wider world.
Enjoy.