THE two man-brats - Kooky Korean Kim and Donald the Menace - continue to primp and prance around one another like a couple of lyre birds with bad haircuts, seeing who can fire their missiles highest up the urinal wall.

They both need to chill out more. Trump at least has Mar-a-Lago, his fifty eight room Palm Beach crib. But what's poor Kimmie got? Probably only a bunker by a toxic beach.

I have it! Let's get Mayor Hamish to invite Kimmie over for some good old Kiwi hospitality and 'lax him out a bit!

The poor kid's been confined to the naughty corner for too long. He's feeling alienated, unappreciated, abandoned. He's hurting so bad he has to order his minions to fawn over him as though he's a Korean George Clooney.

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It's also why he's lashing out, firing off missiles and furiously tinkering in the basement like a nutty professor making ever-bigger and fiercer bombs. He wants to share his hurt.

But what his deeply wounded psyche really needs is for someone to love and understand him. He needs chicken soup for the soul. We can go one better - we can give him toheroa soup with fresh tua tua fritters for afters.

I can picture the perfect itinerary.

First of all, we fetch perennial party boy Tim Groser back from Trumpland to organise the reception. Tim's very good . His last ripper on the Washington beltway was a right old knees-up for Trump's inauguration, and it only cost the taxpayer $81K! Kim's apparently a party person, too. Kim and Tim - the goodtime twins! They should get on like a house on fire and make for a warm-as welcome.

Next, we pop Kim in a VIP box and let loose a few troops of our illustrious marching girls down the Avenue. As the girls prove they can goose-step every bit as well as his North Korean army marching aces, straight away Kim will see we're his kind of people.

This will create empathy and show young Kimmie that not everyone is out to apple-pie his sheets.

And Kim, he's a big cheese fan. Apparently he picked up the taste for it during his time at a Swiss finishing school. He still eats so much of it, it's going a long way to really finishing him off. Plus he smokes, like a train. And drinks. He's an all-rounder.

But let's get him up the road to the Eltham Cheese Shop and show him we can cheese it with the world's best. Give the Glorious Leader a taste for the local product, and we can double our cheese exports at a stroke.

Next, we'll jetboat him up to the Bridge to Nowhere. Kim will marvel at the river's natural delights. But, more importantly, as he ponders the enigmatic bridge, its silent metaphor will strike a chord deep within his troubled soul: "I know why my wise Kiwi friends brought me here," he will think to himself. "They are showing me the error of my ways, that all my bellicosity is but a bridge to nowhere. They have set me free to live in peace and harmony with the community of nations!"

Kim will then ecstatically jump to his feet to announce his lightbulb moment to the world. Unfortunately, though, the leader's weight and sudden movement will cause the boat to capsize, but the memory of this merry caper will live long and warmly in his mind.

After another Groser special farewell banquet featuring several tonne of Bluff oysters and a tanker of rich Marlborough chardonnay, the reformed leader will return to the Peninsula to triumphantly deploy his newfound zeal for disarmament.

Naturally I will dedicate my Nobel peace prize to the wonderful city of Whanganui. I will however keep the 1.4 million dollar prize money, albeit briefly. My creditors would demand nothing less.

We won't invite the Donald over, though. There are limits.