Bonerby rides again.

No sooner had Bonerby promised us all he’d grown into a better man during his long, bitter, underpaid, undeserved, no good terrible very bad years in exile, than he threw a headlock on his own gubbermint to drag them round the back of the woolshed. It was quite the Parliamentary omnishambles; the Nats ratfucking their new best frenemies, the Libs, accidentally hooking up with Labor, only to realise too late what they’d done, forcing the Beetrooter to chew his own arm off to escape.

Read →