Halfway through the second week of the school holidays, 11-year-old computer expert Lambshank grew tired of playing Minecraft and chose to probe the email account of Labour leader Andrew Little. The hacker, who is entirely fabricated and of no fixed ethnicity, provided the information in the public interest and on the condition that all personal and medical details, as well as poetry, is removed. A selection follows.
Andrew! My big idea is ready. The sales data from an Auckland real estate firm, which we're not naming but let's call it Pubfoot and Johnson, has been sliced, diced, metholodologised and algorithmed. We've compared the Chineseness of the purchaser names with the Chineseness of the Auckland population and there's heaps more of Column 1 Chineseness than Column 2 Chineseness, all of which points to a tsunami of Chinese investment.
With your signoff, we can launch it on to the world, sparking a few fleeting moments of controversy and many satisfying hours of constructive debate.
We just need to sort out some of the coding, which is picking up the King's College Second XI as 95 per cent likely to be Chinese, and a few baffling names that are new to us, such as Dog Whistle Ng, which sounds sort of Native American and sort of Chinese.
P.S. We have decided to drop the working title, Lees, Damned Lees, and Statistics.
Listen, Andyman. With all due respect, you can't come along here and pull the wool over decent people's eyes. No, you can't. He who pays the piper calls the tune, black, white, red or yellow, he who blows the whistle longest lives forever. And that's not all, no it is not. Two Wongs don't make a centre-right and knock knock, Hu's there at the open home. That's right. Now you're getting it.
What I will tell you, just between us, is that if you lead a horse to water you better know what you put in that water, how to saddle an urban pig, and what's waiting over the horizon when the day comes that has your name on it, Little Miss Sunshine. Let's meet. I know a good place on Dominion Rd.
Rt Hon Winston etc
Hi Andrew. Thanks to our big idea, it feels as though New Zealand is about to break out in rational debate. We are not playing the race card, we're playing the cut the crap card.
It's high time we had a public conversation about a rational debate about an issue we should be talking about. Let's have that discussion.
People are calling our approach divisive. What a load of rubbish. We have created a tsunami of solidarity, uniting Chinese New Zealanders, as well as uniting disaffected Labour members, as well as uniting a diverse range of wise old men with strong views about issues. Most remarkably of all, we have united Cameron Slater and Raybon Kan.
Dear Andrew. Look can I just say you've finally hit the nail on the head really. Can I also just say it's actually really timely, because I've suddenly got quite an open diary, so I could come on board and offer some backroom advice on how to reach out to ordinary New Zealanders looking for an alternative to Winston.
Me and you! You and me! Wouldn't that be like a marriage made in heaven? Not actually a marriage between me and you, because that would not be natural, and not actually in heaven, because neither would that, but it's just a turn of phrase really.
Here's a poem: [several redacted pages].
Colin Craig xx
Dear Andrew. We need to talk about Auckland. As the mayor, or if you want to be technical about it the future mayor, it's important that I distance myself slightly from some of the recent positioning, unless it turns out that people really love it in which case I should be undistancing myself.
Either way, it is important that we start building relationships with the New Zealand Asian community, though not in a Len Brown sort of way.
Ni hao, Mr Little. Do not worry. I am building many hundreds of apartments. You seem troubled. Can I courier over a case of wine?
Donghua Liu, citizen property developer
Hi mate. Hope you're not suffering any nagging anxiety about your big idea. It was a good idea that you had. For every outburst from the Twitterati or blogosphere or the Chinese community, there is a mailbag bulging with correspondence from hardworking Kiwis who know just what we're talking about and fully support our appeal for a tsunami of rational debate. Surname analysis reveals several of these correspondents have up to a 20 per cent probability of knowing a Chinese New Zealander.
The only whistling around here is from the democratically motived whistleblower from Pubfoot and Johnson, who bravely left those documents lying around in half of the cafes of Auckland.
He or she or they are, or is, the Edward Snowden of New Zealand real estate, a veritable Deep Throat, which pretty much makes me a hybrid of Woodward and Bernstein, and you the great Washington Post editor Benjamin Bradlee, which gives you a 40 per cent likelihood of being ethnically Chinese.
The nation's ears ring with the sound of truth, justice and methodology. We shall rationally debate on the beaches, we shall rationally debate in the fields and in the streets, we shall rationally debate in the hills. I stand ready. Just say the word and I shall apologise for being Chinese. Arohanui.
Stop calling me.
Lately I've been lying awake at night, wrapped in my duvet at 3, 4, 5am, thinking about Pluto, its pock-marked plains, its mysteries. A harbinger of hope and death. I think about the solar system, about stars, gasses, galaxies, dark matter, the universe expanding like an enormous, oscillating cosmic rubber band, like an idea, a principle, a dream. I stare at the ceiling, its flatness, its tiny imperfections. Do you see what I'm getting at?