Hard-hitting conservative columnist Dr Frank Shizenhausen has some tough medicine

I had a dream last night that left me shaken. I was minding my own business in my own home when I heard a knock on the door. Standing there were two gentlemen. I asked them what they wanted and they said they were here to immunise me. When I tried to slam the door on them one of them wedged their foot in the doorway, and the other fellow grabbed my arm. It was a miracle that I escaped, but I did, and I fled out the back door, leaping over the fence and crying for my neighbour to call the police.

Then my neighbour came out. He’s a decent enough fellow, and he’s always happy to lend a pot of custard when my late night urges become unbearable. But this time he was wearing a grass skirt and had a facial tattoo, and was chanting some mumbo jumbo at me. So I kept on running, but everywhere I turned I found some new trouble: socialists waving placards, angry lesbians with clubs, and DPB mothers chasing behind throwing their unwanted babies in my path in the hope of tripping me up.

It was just as well I awoke when I did, because the rainbow crowd had just captured me, and God only knows what indignities they might have subjected me to.

So overwrought was I that I didn’t sleep a wink after that, even though I was exhausted after a terribly long day, especially with all the gardening I’d done. Not that I regret my labours, because it’s good to finally see the roses taking off, thanks to all the blood and bone I’ve been feeding them. And for once I can’t blame my neighbours for my lack of sleep, because the street’s been so quiet since those noisy socialists next door went missing.

But all this anxiety has a clear cause, and it will serve me right for watching the TV news. It was Harawira who ruined my sleep, talking about his new political party and how he wanted to stick it to the rich.  The things I saw in my dream may well come to pass if come November Harawira holds the balance of power. So that’s why we need to stop him.

Thankfully this week has seen the return of one of my great heroes, Don Brash. And he’s a doctor too! But not like those quacks who specialise in pedalling bogus treatments, like penicillin and CPR. No, this man knows all there is to know about economics. If there’s an economic problem you can bet that he’s modelled it – in an entirely theoretical manner, completely devoid of real-life participants who don’t always function as rational and predictable actors.

The great thing about Dr Brash is his determination to ensure all people are treated equally under our white man’s laws. And the fact that if you cross this guy you had better look out. Did you see what he did to Rodney Hide? That man was meant to be his friend. Hone Harawira is in for a world of hurt.

Those who accuse Brash of racism should be ashamed of themselves. Let’s not forget that he was married to a Singaporean lady, before he left her for a white woman, so that accusation just won’t stick. I say good on Brash. I’m a fellow admirer of all that Asia has to offer, and I buy most of my women from that part of the world. I have a basement full of them.

And we ought to dismiss claims that Brash is past it because of his advanced age. History is replete with examples of men who achieved greatness at an advanced age, like Franz Joseph I, Yuri Andropov and George III, all of whom were in power into their seventies or eighties. And Brash is only a year or two older than Colonel Gaddafi.

So pretty soon the only people running through the streets in fear will be the socialists. Their time is up.