At a birthday bash in a dairy shed,
I explained surplus value to a sneering capo,
“Don’t you dare quote Marx at me!” he said,
His profits built enslaving islanders
On plantations for baristas’ daily bread,
Bourg coffee shops and crass latte sippers,
In horror, I picked up my stuff and fled,
Yet the rich prick was riddled with rot,
A year later, I hear he’s dead.
We’ll party on and roast his loss,
One less monocultural shithead.
The most sensuous courting
is lucrative rooting and rorting,
shady deals under the sheets
are the zenith of bliss for LNPs.
The critical X factor
run over by a tractor,
Whatever he’s done,
she don’t need to know.
It’ll take more than an ICAC
to uncover the real facts
They’re all up to their knees
In pork grease and sleaze.
The Scummos hijack the country,
stick a straw in the treasure,
a gloating, smirking transaction,
kick the poor and women for pleasure,
construction-led is con-extraction,
siphoning it up to dirty mates
to store in offshore banks –
“A rightful trickle-up!”, they swank,
national audit office nobbled
to entrench a rorted economy,
Australians fleeced by corrruption,
depraved rich toads toast perfidy.
Scummo funds faith-based quackery,
Replacing science and logic with chicanery
so folks won’t discern political fuckery,
$61.4m to school chaplains and just
$16.9m to Indigenous health an obscene travesty.
The poised, dry-witted Julia Gillard has made history, becoming the first woman in our country’s top job. She will be Acting PM for two whole days whilst Kevvie is at the Bali climate change conference.
Julia’s achievements represent a triumph of reason against far right losers who have in the past projected their perverted mental and social retardation in criticising Julia for being barren and single, i.e. an ‘unnatural’ being.
Taking their idiocies with a grain of salt, Julia says:
“I think that one of the problems for women is that historically there’s been no right answer – if you don’t have kids, then people say you can’t understand everyone else’s life experience, and if you do have kids, then people say who’s looking after the kids while you’re doing all of this.
I think what we’ve got to recognise is that whether it’s men or whether it’s women going into politics it brings a lifestyle strain … I’ve had people literally screech to a halt next to me in their car when I’ve been wandering along the street, women winding down windows screaming out of their car, ‘If you want some kids you can have mine’, and I’m not sure they were talking about a short-term lend.”
She has taken on the combined portfolio, Employment and Workplace Relations and Education in addition to her acting PM and Deputy PM roles.
We wouldn’t be at all surprised if Julia became the next Labor PM, she has the goods, and in our opinion would make a better job of it than anyone else with her down to earth common sense, decency and honesty.
After more than a century of determined effort by the first women suffragists and following activists, feminists and supporters working to elevate women’s opportunities in Oz, we can all pat ourselves on the back – and there’s no going back now. You’ve come a long way, baby!
Finally, our wily prime miniature takes the plunge and launches into the battle of his miserable existence. The election is to be held on the 24th November, the day of publication of Darwin’s Origin of the Species. Will he pull it off or will his political career become happily extinct? and what has he up his sleeve besides his customary scuttlebutt and lies about lowest interest rates under his government?
Here’s a fitting tribute to our weasily leader – a pic of our peacock Alistair during his ritual spring morning dance today.
No point waffling on to the blurgaverse when one is overwhelmed by post-viral horrors, a foul, swampish sense of being shafted by the abdicated Peter Beattie over the forced and greatly despised council amalgamations, predictable stock market slumps and recoveries, and mammoth work and play commitments. It’s not as though one has millions of avid readers complaining about the Fringe’s absence, and neither does the Fringe care.
Of all these tribulations, it is Beattie’s intransigence which most peeves us. For nights we pore over the dry old Australian constitution and conclude the only solution permissible in our defence is to form a new state to encompass our local water resources. A friend however points out that we would have no chance of defending our precious water should the profligate hordes further south whine that their swimming pools need filling. They could simply send in the military. Still, as a media event, and as a protest against the scything of our grassroots democratic representation and mutilation of our local identity and sustainability, for which Noosa just won a UNESCO award, it needs to be done.
Rudd’s popularity sank with the impact of Beattie’s ill-considered attack, and has now recovered, helped by little Johnny Moron’s pathetic flailings about the hospital systems amongst other gaffs. People have had enough of their irksome prime monster and all going well, and a few marginal seats lost, and even his own seat to Maxine McHugh, Howard will be out on his ear, dumped like a dead cat with no bounce. Then again, who knows what the malevolent rodent will pull out of the hat at the last minute. Nothing has turned out well for him of late though. At APEC, an event where his mighty miniatureness rubbed shoulders as he so loves, with the doyen of world leaders, he was joyously upstaged by the wonderful Chaser team, who will face charges this week for successfully and mischievously crossing the barrier between the people and those who rule from afar.
Our best wishes are with them this week – and may humour triumph over all adversity.