A very cruddy fable: Did anyone catch the resurrection?
Kevvieberra was a ghost town this week given the gladiators had sheathed their swords and left the barbarity of the Steel Cage to commune again with real people. This ritual process is quite liturgical given the tendency for displays of public worship as pollies seek to reassure their flocks that they are in good hands. There were, however, no reported cases of pollies washing voters’ feet. That kind of symbolism was left to the churches although Our Kev could not leave his penchant for stimulus at work and handed-out chocolate easter bunnies at his weekly churchfront doorstop. This tawdry commercialisation of his sacred weekly penitence went unreported by the Murdoch press though there may be plans for a supplement of his sins next week.
The Oz did, however, seek to make amends for its dreadful lapse in reporting a Newspoll in which Rudd and Labor scored well. This event was the talk of the town for it generated a raft of stories about how well Kevvie was doing and how that dreadful Polyester Man refuses to cover his nakedness even as he drips sweat over the great unwashed as he exercises his demons. No, that’s not a typo. He doesn’t want to cast them out; he is quite happy to be driven by them, thank you. Realising that it could be seen as being even-handed, The Oz delved deep into the grit of the Newspoll and found that Labor was not doing well in Queensland and New South Wales and breathlessly reported that this boded poorly for Kev. The Liberals slept soundly that night, knowing all was well in the land once again.
Mind you, the barbarity of the Steel Cage was not left behind entirely with the Australian Lollipop Party most unhappy at being seen as kindly. Strategists decided to ‘go the knuckle’ on the Monsignor and established a website lampooning the Lovelies’ Party leader for all his silly pronouncements on policy, sex, virginity, sex, exercise, sex and everything else top of his mind. Ah, the election circus tent is about to roll into town, folks.
In tandem with this new image of unflinching brutality and bareknuckle bastardry, Our Kevvie rejected invitations from his coterie of international leader mates to talk nukes and stayed home. As if pretending he had some attachment to a domestic domicile, Kev has just endured his longest period on native soil since his ascension to the throne. Fourteen whole weeks. Like a Christmas Island detainee he must be fretting about freedom and longing for an airport departure lounge.
Some discontent among our cartoonists this week for Barndoor Joke said not one word all week. Hallelujah!
Contentment was scarce, too, for Matron Rockson who scolded her state Labor colleagues mercilessly in a determined bid to make them bow down before her on the issue of a new national health and hospitals regime. None had genuflected by the end of the week though She Who Doesn’t Have a Friend in The World from the Shady State was talking-up the prospects of peace. Things are grim when a stern and unmistakably threatening lecture on realpolitik secures a friendly response from the one under attack. The passion and ferociousness with which many Labor devotees play their politics is a lesson the leisurely Liberals have never quite learned. Sure, there are a good few haters in the Lovelies’ ranks but these tend to be dilettantes who are playing the man not the policy. Perhaps it’s time for a change, you sweet things!
But there was anguish and wailing this week as a host of lost souls contemplated the unmaking of an icon. They went to bed dreaming of Hot and Steamy and awoke to find an Ice Maiden in her place. She who is building an education revolution appears to have let contracts for some very expensive barricades, indeed. It would seem project management fees are funding socialist parties and Fabian societies across the land. And despite the mountains of damning evidence compiled by The Oz, it was the Ice Maiden’s unflinching cry of ‘show me the evidence or a pox on your house’ that crumbled her previously sultry charm. We now see revealed the true politician that lives within. A tragic loss on the eve of long cold winter nights.
This was also the week that Our Kevvie was outed as The Big Australian. He did emerge from the closet on this issue somewhat earlier but it was only after the Monsignor averred that his was smaller than Kev’s that things got unruly. The fervour of the leader-writers stirred a clamour among the masses that suggests this is a topic that has the capacity to excite and there were tremulous whispers in all corners as to who’s up who, who pays the rent and whether any of them should be allowed any accommodation at all. Sad that so much unedifying comment from all sides should also be so nation-defining. We will live with the consequences, both tangible and intangible.