A very cruddy fable: Part 8 – Up to our elbows in worms
The worms have turned and an absorbed nation is slithering through its collective consciousness to work out what it all means. First, with remembrances of Port Arthur fuelling their long-awaited assault on the ballot boxes, those two-headed Taswegians cast aside that poor young Labor man. Can’t remember his name: hadn’t been there long enough to become familiar. But he was brutally rent asunder in his still nascent political prime just so those sandgropers over there in Wa-Wa Land didn’t feel so alone in having a Liberal regime in charge of affairs. So, you specks in the Strait, your big brothers and sisters on the mainland salute you!
And, speaking of affairs, how about those randy churchgoers in the Promiscuous State? Weren’t they a turn-up for the books? Casting aside decades of prejudice in which they have been adjudged the most god-fearing Aussies in the nation, they rebelled and clutched to their bosom their fornicating premier (in his heart if not actually in Chantelois). A moderate number were given permission to register a mild protest but the rest voted with their dirty minds and approved the salacious appeal of their needy Number 1 ticket-holder. Randy Rann is still their man!
Then there was the debacle of a debate. Apostolic altar boys and girls burned incense and uttered hosannahs for the Monsignor but it was all in vain. Clearly the stain of mortal sin taints all us believers; why else would we be punished so? The Mons carried a fresh hankie and wore clean undies for the television event (just like his Mum told him to) but all to no avail. Who would have thought a former national journalist and ministerial press secretary would need media training? But you do, Monsignor, you do! Frankly, on that performance, old son, there is cause to believe you need to finish Lent early, indulge yourself heartily in carnal delight and then get your mind back on politics. Catholicism is all about discipline, Mons, (quite apart from those clergy who can’t keep their cassocks below their knees) so imbue yourself in the milieu and think: restraint. However bitter the Press Club pill may have been it was a timely reminder that the Krudd ain’t dead and buried just yet. All those who perceived an Abbott ascendancy (including the Fabler) now have to subdue their optimism and gird their loins for the long haul. We’re with you, Mons, but we need you to maintain a very tight focus.
And speaking of discipline, it’s heartening that Barndoor Joke has lost his abacus (except when he goes upstairs for an early nap and he can keep playing with it). Barndoor is a fascinating breath of fresh air on the national political scene and his candour and commitment will serve him well in his new role of getting things done in the bush and adjacent areas, big projects that make life easier and the stuff you drink when thirsty but there’s no beer. In the end, Barndoor, you were the only person in the whole country who did not want to recognise that Finance was not your cup of tea. Your dogged determination is admirable but this is better for all of us who share the dream. And wasn’t it touching to see Malcolm Turncoat hovering near the cloakroom in the hope of picking-up a late cancellation ticket to the Cabinet matinee. Those who thought he had taken bat and ball home now see that there remains a field marshal’s baton in his knapsack. But will he have the patience to wait until after the next election to try his luck again for the First XV?
This week also saw a continuation of the great Chinese lay-by of Australia with another down-payment being made through a pledge to buy $60 billion of coal seam gas from Queensland over the next two decades. Such is the veritable torrent of Chinese Yuan flooding into Oz that you have to wonder if it is a money-laundering scheme on a scale never before conceived to help China disperse some of its staggeringly vast hoard of foreign reserves.
Oh, and wasn’t it great to see the budgie smugglers rivalling the people smugglers for coverage as the Monsignor got down and dirty to demonstrate his leadership credentials once more? Frankly, it is almost impossible to imagine how the Monsignor makes time to indulge his exercise regime but the value is perhaps best summarised by that post-socialist wealth redistributionist, Swanee, who harrumphed haughtily that naughty boy ought to spend more time on policy than on his bike. What, and have him end up like Prime Minister Policy Wonk? Nah, don’t think so, we’d prefer considerable difference between our two candidates for Top Office, thank you. Perhaps it was the thought of Swanee in budgie smugglers that sent a shiver of palsy through the assembled hacks. LOL!