Late in the afternoon, in a humble mansion in Parnell, Auckland; John Key whistled happily to himself as he filled up a bowl with crisps. “Everybody loves sour cream and chives,” he said happily as he emptied the bag. Key couldn’t describe how proud he felt; for the first time, the group had agreed to have their monthly Tory sleepover at his little bach in New Zealand. In a quarter of an hour, he’d be among all his friends; David, Stephen, and even little Tony too.
He was finishing setting out the coffee table, complete with napkins made from complaints about Maori rights to land and water, when a buzz resonated throughout the house. The first guest had arrived, and John had to work to suppress a squeal of joy before opening the door.
“David!” he said, taking the British Prime Minister in a friendly hug.
“Hello old chap,” David Cameron replied, in the most upper class form of received pronunciation possible, “It’s truly lovely to be in such a . . . rustic nation.”
“Aww, shucks,” John said with a blush, “We modeled ourselves on you,”
“Of course,” Cameron said, beaming, “You always were the well-behaved colony, and England loves you, even if the people here are a bit thick.”
As the two were conversing on the doorstep, a third man strolled up to them, in his early fifties, with blondish grey hair and a surprisingly rectangular face shape.
“Hello!” the man called to them chirpily, and getting a greeting in return, before they entered the mansion.
“Crisps!” David bellowed, at the sight of the bowl on the coffee table, before rushing over, leaving John shaking his head laughing.
“I don’t suppose you have any poutine?” Stephen Harper asked politely, but when John raised an eyebrow in response, he replied defensively “Not that I eat the atrocious Frenchie food anyway.”
Ten minutes later, and the three were happily sitting around on the couches, eating crisps and swapping their favourite jokes about the ‘loony lefties’ when the buzzer rang once again, interrupting David Cameron’s joke about how many Labour MPs it took to screw in a lightbulb.
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“Hey there squirt!” John condescendingly said at sight of a meek little man standing on his doorstep.
“I’d really prefer it if you don’t act like I’m a child,” he squeaked in protest.
“What’s the matter?” Key taunted, “Still not a Prime Minister?”
Evidently the high pitched squeaks of the newest visitor were audible from the front room, as David Cameron called, “Is that Tony Abbott gibbering out there? You know he’s a bollocks politician when he gets beaten by some random ginger lady!”, which prompted a laugh from Stephen.
Eventually though, Tony Abbott was allowed into the house, and sat down on the couch next to Stephen Harper. Abbott then put his feet up on the coffee table, getting a scornful look from David Cameron, who then took the bowl of crisps and kept it to himself. After Key came back with refreshments, consisting of cans of Lemon and Paeroa and bottled water, they could get down to taking the piss out of each other.
“I’ll start,” David said, “What do Australia and McDonalds have in common?” he paused long enough to get everyone thinking, then answered, “They’re both run by red-headed clowns!”
It was fairly obvious David was making these jokes as vengeance for the feet on coffee table fiasco, so when he started another joke about Abbott’s lack of Prime Ministership, Stephen Harper politely changed the subject.
“Lovely party, eh?” he asked.
“Of course,” Abbott replied, “Can’t wait for the pillow fight!”
“Abbo’s right” Cameron said, knowing full well Tony hated that nickname, “This is a good party...for a sheep lord,” he continued, grinning at John Key.
“Well,” Key retorted, “At least people like me enough to not want to leave my nation and start their own, Mr. Plaid Cymru and Bloc Québécois.”
“What did I do?” Stephen asked indignantly.
At this point, Tony Abbott got up off the couch, and stood on the coffee table, hoping to get everyone’s attention. Two minutes later, he was able to start speaking.
“Now mates,” he said in his high-pitched tone, “I get that mates like to give other mates problems but mates are still mates and mates don’t let making fun of their mates get out of hand. So let’s be mates about it and just have some fun with mates, right mates?”
After the few seconds it took for the others to filter out the word mate and understand what the Australian was trying to say, they all put their heads down solemnly.
“I guess it takes the little guy to show how nasty we’ve been to each other,” John muttered apologetically.
“I have an idea!” David yelled, beaming, “Back in 2011 I had to go to the Czech Republic to mourn some git who’d died, and afterwards I went for a few pints with the Clintons. At the pub, Bill was telling me about this show, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. He said it really helped live happily even though he was trapped with a wife who hates him.”
“Might as well give it a try,” Stephen concurred.
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And so the four sat there, glued to the telly, watching episode after episode of My Little Pony, drinking L&P and all around having a good time. As they watched, they each felt a special connection to a certain character. Abbott loved to watch Fluttershy, the sometimes ignored one who didn’t always have a voice. The always smiling, slightly inept John Key had quite the soft spot for Pinkie Pie. He’d never admit it, but David Cameron felt a fair deal in common with the upper-class, ever so slightly snobbish Rarity. And wholesome, down-to-earth Stephen couldn’t help but like honest old Applejack.
So engrossed they were with their new-found favourite show, the gang failed to notice the thunderstorm that had built up outside. They were happily watching an episode of a sleepover at Twilight’s library when lightning struck the TV, before casting a blue glow across the whole room.
The four shared worried looks with each other when a massive, iridescent diamond of pure electricity seemed to emerge from the screen, hovering in the middle of the room. The Prime Ministers screamed, and Tony slightly wet himself, before the diamond imploded, devastating the room and knocking all the men unconscious.
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The four awoke in a field on a cloudy but warm day. They could hear a sweet musical birdsong from a set of trees about twenty metres in front of them. To their left, a massive mountain, with a less massive, but far more impressive castle perched on the side.
“Where...where are we?” Abbott asked, seemingly on the verge of tears.
“It’s alright,” Stephen said gently, “It’s probably just...wait, this, this looks like Equestria!”
“Oh god!” Key yelled, “The goodie bags are back in Parnell! I was going to give you all free shares in Mighty River Power!”
The other three looked blankly at John’s non-sequitur, and were about to return to the matter at hand, when David Cameron came to a far more unsettling realisation.
“Christ no!” he yelled, now on his knees, banging his fist into the grass, “I’m an immigrant!”
