We dedicate this edition of pcbycp, ( The thinking person’s Global Times) to An-Zachary Rolfe, who single-handedly bought law and justice to the wretched, benighted community of ‘Camp Rolfe'(Formerly Yuendumu). GOD SAVE THE KING!

We return to where we left off, with our heroes including the dubious duo of Benny Boy Roberts Smith and his sidekick Julian Assange. As Ces, Terry and Quent try one last desperate strategy to get Gina and her cronies, Nev, Clifford and Brenny off their backs whilst extricating themselves by the biggest crime gang in the business, the ‘Windsors’.

Will their desperate subterfuge work? Can they hide the gold as a very ordinary counterweight, fake the replacement bullion and paint them in Gina’s very own gold leaf so that their nemesis may never know?  Could be almost night impossible, as difficult as getting affair wage increase from the Fair Work Commission, or worse still, getting a fair hearing as a whistle-blower for the ATO?

Is their goose cooked or are they just stuffing for Christmas?  Find out in this next compelling episode; ‘Don’t come the raw prawn on Gina, cos she hates seafood’ or; ‘Three tickets to nowhere if it’s a jet star flight outta Kalgoorlie’.

Be it GOLD, IRON ORE or just PLAIN OL TAX RELIEF, GINA NEEDS MORE!!!

Things were grim. WE had scarcely hours in the morning to melt the gold ingots, replace them with painted lead copies and reinstall the counterweight as a grey painted slab of gold. WE needed time, we had precious little time, and were old enough to remember when once the Australian public yearned for change. When the slogan; ‘IT’S TIME’ held a strange and surreal irony.

An inspiration to Australian kiddies and soldiers and policemen and women who must uphold the LAW!

We cast our minds to happier times and finding release, of an emotional kind we busied ourselves with the task at hand whilst whistling the stirring melody of “Two little Boys’’. Benny-Boy leading on the finer trills and arpeggios with the harmonica he’d kept from Afghan days. We silently acknowledged the genius of Rolf as a true leader of men and an inspiration for those caught by force of circumstance in a tight spot!

“So c’mon then’!

Ces was like a circus MC directing Benny Boy and Julian to the counterweight. ‘And youse’!

He pointed to Terry and Ces; ‘help me with this burner and these gas bottles we’ll need to have this melted and recast in a jiffy’! And with that, anxiously scanning the horizon he realised that just the faint hum of those twin inline Gypsy’s would sound the death knell. We had to get the gold melted and cast before midday at the latest.  It was gonna be a titanic struggle, but we were used to it, we’d done work experience with Clive Palmer.

The KINGS favourite pipe tobacco. He could smoke it both ends.

Whilst we busied ourselves setting up the burners and preparing to melt the gold ingots, we could see Ces at work making the mould for the ingots. With expert dexterity, (he’d done work experience for Angus Taylor) he knew just how much clay was required, the right temperature for a successful melt.  And with tin snips and a few metres of corrugated iron he had fashioned a sluice and converter to convey the ingots once melted into his own little pile of crafted moulds. It was a miracle of time and efficiency that would rival a national growth initiative like the NBN, the Inland Rail, Nuclear Submarines, or funding requirements for the NDIS. He clearly knew about logistics. ‘Hurry up, I’ve got the moulds ready’!

We stood with eyes bulging for in scarcely an hour he had forty little ingot moulds lined up ready for the pour. “Now get that burner real HOT’! And with a flick of the hand, he tossed the first of the ingots to Terry who slapped it on the converted barby, and before it had cooled sluiced it into the big mould that would resemble the counterweight.

TWO GREAT MEN of POWER. Custodians of “ANZACKERY”!

Meanwhile Benny Boy and Julian were breaking down the counterweight. We noticed that Julian did nothing. Clearly, he’d been an IT manager at some stage in his life, whilst Benny cut and sliced at the lead weight as if it were cheese. ‘Ready for this un’, he wiped his brow. “Great work Benny’! Ces smiled and realised that he was safe with such courage and indefatigable perseverance. ‘Too right’! Benny retorted, and with that started the burn.

In scarcely an hour we watched as the ingots cooled in the great vessel crafted from sheet metal and awaited a coat of grey paint. Whilst the ingots, all melted had been replaced by lead ingots, indistinguishable for the gold ingots once Terry had slapped on the gold leaf paint.

Another upholder of TRADITION and POWER!! Now WHITER THAN WHITE! (courtesy of CSR and Bex).

Before midday we stood admiring the handiwork and reflectively Benny Boy said; ‘Yep they’ll be none the wiser’. As Benny said it, we could see a snigger on his square jawed warrior face that suggested some inner joke. His revenge against the establishment? A reflection upon the snidger times had at the Fat lady’s Arms? We could only guess. We rejoiced in the job done and still no sign of the de Havilland Dragon rapide.  ‘Well done boys’! Benny rejoiced and, in that instant, we noticed a change in his countenance. ‘Thanks for the ride boys’! And with that, he strolled to the land cruiser, flicked the ignition and was off.

WE stood alone, we looked at each other, and realised we’d been had. Both Benny and Julian had done a bunk! And left us in the lurch, to carry the can. We looked at the other land cruiser its missing wheels a reminder that we’d rendered it unserviceable, and the ingots, the lead ingots neatly stacked in the tray.

‘Well’, Terry chipped in, ‘fancy another Camel’? We all took several each, smoked reflectively and only then did we become aware that a shrill high-pitched noise was becoming progressively louder. Quent pointed to the horizon, ‘look over there’! And sure enough it was not the Rapide, but something much larger, and noisier heading our way, it was the Rotodyne.  This was serious, would we have to hide? Was there anywhere left to run?  Or had we just run out?  Find out in the next compelling episode;

“A Rotodyne and a stitch in time”, or

Prototype Rotodyne on trial with RAAF, to replace whatever last toys defense bought that invariably don’t work.

‘The wasteland beckons, or, is it just the wastepaper basket for wasted wastrels’?

This edition of Musical dispatches dedicated and sponsored by NT’s ‘Stronger Futures’ and the ‘Zac Rolfe institute of Public Safety’. This transcript comes to us direct from Camp Rolfe (Yuendumu)

Another one from our scribe from the Northwestern Frontier,

Not only do our bravest and finest have to work in dangerous native camps, they also have to ensure that valuable private property, ( Municipal Pit Covers) are salvaged in times of flood. Benny Boy Roberts Smith training at an undisclosed location in the NT

The man who goes by the most enigmatic of nom de plume’s ” Frank’.

In this-un, Frank seems to be making a pointed criticism about the Gogol-esque level of bureaucracy, the Dostoyevskian-esque administration of Justice and the Kafkian absurdity of “Corrective Services” in the State of Victoria.

Royals seek high level advice on Public Safety and fare evasion from trusted advisers. It keeps them respected as upholders of the law and the maintenance of the principal of procedural fairness to royals and the public alike.

On this we’d like to differ. After recent disclosures we can safely say that senior bureaucrat manager positions in the State of Victoria’s Department of Justice have skyrocketed. Where once there were just a few, now there’s almost several dozen senior bureaucrat managers, (we assume all possessed of an MBA) dispensing justice. Not in a physical sense but performing invaluable tasks. Such as constructing white papers, discussion papers, dot point presentations and ‘moving forward’, a host of other important truth seeking and justice initiatives designed to make Victoria’s administrative processes world standard.

Indeed, and with some irony we may remind Frank that this augmentation of Justice admin and management is adopted by the model pioneered by his own government of the Northern Territory.  And we have it on good authority that because of this level of administration that FIFO Nursing staff at ‘Camp Rolfe’, (Yuendumu) feel safe now. Safe now in knowing that they have 24/7 Police protection and people like Zachary, highly trained and ruthless who will hunt down jay walkers, fine evaders, litterers and those who guided by pangs of conscientious objection fail to vote in local, state or federal elections.

It’s why we need police officers of the calibre of Zac Rolfe at ‘Camp Rolfe’, ( Yuendumu) to round up these evil doers. 

To bring them to justice and KILL THEM!

Victoria trialing new children’s crossing supervisors. To work in concert with School chaplaincy program.

Dear Friends,

I feel like sharing my excitement about the way law and justice in Australia, and particularly in the Northern Territory, keeps us safe.

Someone I know well discovered today that there is a 2016 State of Victoria warrant out for his arrest. He failed to pay a fine of which he was unaware. His crime? He failed to register a cat.

I won’t comment on the following article in today’s ABC NT online news:

https://www.abc.net.au/news/2022-10-07/nt-bans-spit-hoods-on-children-police-custody/101511140

UK Police trial New Age Spit-hoods. Note trial on compliant model. (People of colour were considered a flight risk and ‘unreliable’)

Don’t know why, but it makes me think of the tree that was charged for standing in the way of a vehicle.

Then of course there was Monty Python’s Black Knight- just as well he didn’t resort to spitting.

Jay-walker being accosted by fully automated systems law enforcement operative for Jay Walking. Trials on better response times and justice admin via robo-debt type schemes is ongoing.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmInkxbvlCs

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDKdBUxrW4A

Chau,

Frank

PS- A bit of non-sequitur nice music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRIukAiJqms

Dear reader, once again, as Vlodimir and Vladimir trade insults, the cost of everything goes sky high, the little people are punished pushed and pulverised it is comforting to know that tax cuts for obscenely well paid members of Australian society are proceeding full stream ahead.

Proof perfect of the ‘clever country’ at work and the boon of trickle-down economics!  

Have things ever been this fraught? Find out in this next compelling episode as our hapless trio, disparagingly referred to by our most famous and decorated soldier ever, the Rogue warrior SAS Ubersturmbanfuehrer ‘Benny Boy’ Roberts Smith and his nefarious side-kick Julian, ‘he’s just a very naughty boy’ Assange play perilously with percussive pullulating pig skins in tune and perfect syncopated rhythm to the ‘Drums of War’….

Read on…

Ces had a bold plan,

‘See that counterweight’?

Trialling new high-speed rail in Crimea. So fast the tracks burn!

Worlds First semi-amphibious freeway. This is the off ramp!

Ces pointed to the counterweight attached to the drilling platform.  ‘See the cable’? He pointed to the cable.  We could see Benny Boy and Julian sizing up the opportunities. Ces matter of factly explained his strategy; ‘If we were to uncouple that cable and substitute the lead weight on that counterweight for the gold bullion we’ve got stashed here and used that 44-gallon load of grey paint and slap a bit of it over till they’re indistinguishable from the counterweight we can substitute the ingots for lead, and fill the ute tray. By the time they find out, we’ll be back to the scene of the crime, grab the real ingots and be outta here’.

Both Benny boy and Julian scratched their heads.  ‘I dunno, how long would it work for’? Julian remarked. We looked at Julian, with two of terry’s camels in his mouth he smoked nervously and looked more pale, more dishevelled and more sickly than ever. Ces replied matter of factly;  ‘As long as it takes to do the switch and by the time Brenny-boy finds out, we’ll have grabbed the real gold and they’ll be none the wiser. We melt back into our normal lives and Gina and Nev put all their energies into slotting Brendan, who they’ll think flogged the ingots. And you know why’?

Really Tough Guy! Feeds horse bare- handed!

‘Why’? Quent asked non plussed, ‘Cos Brendan being a former pollie he will be bent like the rest of em.  Like a Queensland copper you know they’re bent, and more often than not more bent than the crims themselves, and Gina and Nev’? Ces paused for greater emphasis;’ They’re the biggest crims on the scene. Cos they’re linked to the numero uno in the crime scene, then’, he paused for special and dramatic emphasis, “The HOUSE OF WINDSOR’!

There was silence, and then Benny boy, scratching his forehead, asked, wjth a puzzled expression coursing his warrior like square jaw, and bullet deflecting countenance;’ But how we gonna melt the gold, and transfer the lead, and re- paint the lead ingots as gold? I don’t see any gold paint floating about’. With that, Ces almost triumphantly walked over the other land cruiser, the one they’d pulled the wheels off in case they were followed, then open the tarp revealing something almost implausible.  For inside, gleaming stood a 44-gallon drum of Dulux ‘Gold Paint’.

Australia’s most famous-est tough guy!

‘I think this un must’ve been left over from the last Diggers and Dealers float, when Gina paid an entire Port headland tribe to dress up in corrobboree gear and paint themselves gold, on her Hancock prospecting Golden Futures Float. It caused quite a sensation. Although it was a remarkable display of direct action to employ otherwise useless layabouts no-one liked the idea of ‘gold face’ and in the end they were left with all this paint. Some of it, say 25% is actual gold flake! So in the end, it’s worth more than fool’s gold to us’.  They all looked at the gold paint. It certainly looked like the real thing. ‘But how we gonna melt the lead and convert the ingots to a counterweight? I don’t see a Bessemer converter here, and what are we gonna use for moulds, and how much time have we got’? Julian we could see despite his bravado was clearly a bit of a worrier.

‘All in good time’! Ces had it all figured out. ‘We’ve got these’, and behind the ute   was neatly stacked a palette of modelling clay.  ‘They used this for the float, they had little effigies of Lang and Rolf on the side, two of their most famous sons. If the diggers and dealers’ event for 2021 hadn’t been cancelled due to covid it would have resurrected these two great Australians and put them at the forefront. We need national heroes’! And with that, Benny fingering the ribbon of his VC began to hum ‘Two little boys’. It was a touching and empathetic display of emotion for the man of steel., still we looked around, not even a drainage channel to be rolled off and felt a sigh of relief.

With tough guys, power corrupts!

‘All we have to do is melt the lead in THIS’! He pointed to two large concrete troughs, ‘with THIS’! He pointed to three large oxy cylinders,’ and THIS’! He pointed to two discarded barbeque’s’ and pour this into THAT’! He pointed to the smaller containers that roughly matched the size of the counterweight, ‘and with THIS’! Pointing to the modelling clay, ‘we make an impression of THESE’! He pointed to the ingots, ‘and presto we’re in production’!

We all looked at each other, Ces had a way with logistics.  It seemed almost too easy, and yet at the same time, bit like the board of Essendon it felt better just to walk away. But something in them, was it the spirit of Anzackery? Held them together, the invisible thread of kinship, the indissoluble dye of mateship.

They don’t come tougher than Lukashenko. Hat courtesy of Postman Pat.

Could they do it?

Do they have enough time?

Will Brenny, Nev, Clifford form MI6 get to them before they’d made the swap?

Who cares?

Three tough guys. The middle bloke is so tough he’s into Wagner. (Gotterdamerung)

Find out in the next aurically charged episode, ‘an argot for ingots’, or ‘casting for aspersions by royal decree might get you thrown off a cliff’…

This dispatch is dedicated to the selfless work undertaken by Zac Rolfe in keeping the streets of Camp Rolfe, (Yuendumu) Safe! We are sad to say Zac declined an interview with pcbycp as he was busy at a medal polishing ceremony. Medal polishing is very popular amongst NT Law enforcement agencies.

Hello,

With drums of war beating ever louder and the Global Economy teetering at the edge of a deep depression and the precipice of climate change tipping points looming ever closer, I’m somewhat hesitant to bring you the latest from the front.

I won’t be writing a lengthy opinionated piece on the Kumanjayi Walker inquest, and refer you to the NT ABC news’ summary:

https://www.abc.net.au/news/2022-10-01/nt-walker-inquest-key-moments/101489972

In the evidence so far, much is made of the NT Police’s efforts at engendering cultural awareness, sensitivity and respect in their ranks. There is talk of a few bad apples. To most police witnesses the emperor is fully clothed.

Zac being congratulated by former GG, for not only wearing shiny medals, but sporting significant, (culturally significant) tattoos. Proof that NT Police have a deep understanding of culturally significant tattoos, shiny medals and wearing black amongst persons of non-whiteish skin colour, A true sign of cultural awareness amongst ‘wretched’ peoples.

Alice Springs Hospital . This image was supplied to us via NT Tourism.

In 2014 I had a spell in Alice Springs Hospital and called in on a couple of Warlpiri patients in a room down the corridor.

One of these was a sadly since passed away ex-Yuendumu resident who had been an ACPO (Aboriginal Community Police Officer) for decades.

When I asked him if the Intervention had affected him, he told me of his frustration in that new young police recruits didn’t talk to him and had no idea of who he was. He felt he had a few worthwhile things he could tell them.

In Victoria, the police force work selflessly to ensure public safety and do so in the field without the protection of shiny medals. Though it is argued if they did display shiny medals, they would be more respected by the community, jay walkers and fare evaders.

I wrote at the time when recounting this anecdote that to the new recruits he was just a black face like all of those they feel they have a right to hassle in the streets.

Bye,

Frank

PS- Jumping Jack Flash- It’s a gas (1968)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQkrLpwj1vk

Panarctic King Christian Island D-18 well gas blowout 1970 (I was there)

Nord Stream gas pipelines leaks 2022

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R6SLZ_wQ9DQ

As a young man Frank excelled in cricket, rugger, rowing, tennis and towel flicking.

Today we bring you something special from our scribe from the near North -West Frontier.

For those amongst our readership who’ve ever had a problem with deadlines, this-un pretty much sums it up.

Curiously it comes from the BOP. For those of us who wished they could have been first ‘over the top” the BOP (Boys Own Paper) was just the stuff of Empire to inspire derring-do and sacrifice.

We, (the editorial department of pcbycp) think that perhaps it was a diet of old BOP’s, ‘Chums’, and the ‘Empire Book for Boys’, that may have inspired Zac Rolfe to do his duty on the North-West Frontier.

Hopelessly ineligible males could woo fabulously attractive women if they did their bit. (BOP)

One can only hope so…..

The title of this Sunday’s poem is; ‘He had a year to do it in”, and tellingly it comes to us from the distant days of early 1915 and must have inspired the first division of Anzac troops in gaining a foothold on the Dardanelles, and then not doing much for the next year. We, (the editorial department) reject the notion that wars and ‘Anzackery’ are fruitless, as those who return unmaimed, with limbs intact or not quite dead, can sport wonderful medals to impress the public and cower those shirkers who don’t do their bit. 

He Had A Year To Do It In

Stirring scenes like these inspired Zac to do his bit on the Northwest frontier.

He had a year to do it in
So brushed the thought away,
A chap with half his energy
Might do it in a day.
A year! ‘Twas too ridiculous,
As everyone should find;
However, he would get it done
And have it off his mind.

But not today. A few months hence would suit him better still;
Meanwhile, a far less irksome job
Might occupy his skill.
He would not let the matter pass
Entirely from him, No;
And doubtless he might take it up
In, say a month or so.

He had six months to do it in!
For six long months had flown;
Well, why should that alarm a chap
With talents like his own?
The job, whence once embarked upon,
Would soon be rattled through;
However, he would think of it,
In, say, a week or two.

Frying Spam, a highlight for those who enjoyed derring-do and a bit of towel flicking.

He had three months to do it in!
“Oh brother!” was his cry;
The thing hangs on me like a weight,
Each day that passes by.
Let’s see: three months? Ah, that’s enough,
But, just to clear the doubt,
Make arrangements for a start
Before the month is out.

He had a week to do it in!
And care was in his glance.
“It’s hard,” he cried, “that flight of time,
Won’t give a chap a chance!”
He still delayed, the swift week passed,
As weeks will ever run,
And though a year was given him,
The task was still undone.

John Lea in Boys Own Paper (Volume 37 Issue 3, January 1915)

Which is the reason I won’t tell you that printing of My Yuendumu Story continued is half a year away.

In olden days one had to wrestle with the floor rug.

FDB 

This episode sponsored by the Russian Government, working in close association with the NT Government to establish law and order in remote places other than Ukraine.

We return where we left off!

With about as many options as the CEO of Essendon Football club looming, our heroes, Ces, Quent and Terry must determine their chances after falling in with Benny Boy, Roberts Smith, arguably Australia’s finest soldier, (ever) and his side- kick Julian, ‘He’s not the Messiah, he’s just a very naughty boy Assange’. There’s not much time, by sunup Brendan, Clifford, and perhaps Nev and Gina herself will be on the rampage determined to find out who pilfered their gold. Gold that would have been instrumental to giving them lifetime peerages, in the House of Lords. And with a peerage comes something even more lustrous than a tawdry AO for just doing your highly paid job. In a word; ‘snob- value’.

If he’d been given a go he could’ve done to Essendon what he did to the NAB. In the end he was denied natural justice!

Is there time? Is there time enough to extricate themselves?  Or is just ‘time’ just another index of an assured death. In Syria they have almost as many definitions of death as Eskimos have for snow. And in Ukraine, snow and death have an ominous synergy akin to the retreat from Moscow? Where did Moscow retreat from? It’s too early to say, but it’s buried in an in-tray inside the Kremlin. And only Vlad the Impeller knows where to find it.

‘Finders keepers’, or ‘terra nullius’, it’s all the same to us! 

Just ask Lord Elgin if you want a humble opinion, cos the poms aint ever gonna give em back. 

Just like the NT Government.  They can’t leave the responsibility of having a good life to the locals, as they are so wretched and hopeless. But where there’s hope there’s a cohort of civil servants  to make sense of the incomprehensible. So incomprehensibly, and inexorably the plot unfolds. To somewhere beyond the black stump, and back?

We return to our saga,

‘I’ve got an idea’, Ces said in a matter-of-fact kinda way.

‘I reckon we can sort this out to our mutual advantage’.  He watched Benny Boy scan the horizon for a cliff somewhere. ‘Phew’! He inwardly sighed. No visible sign of a precipitous bluff, a cliff or even a culvert.  For the moment they were safe.

Crime Gang Boss ‘Big Andy’ instructing his moll ‘Fergy’ on the finer points of winning at Crown Casino.

But as Terry handed round another round of Camels, and in the dim grey light of breaking dawn, beneath the glow of the sulphurous flume that flickered and waned in the crisp morning air, they knew that just standing round smoking Camels was not going to save them. They also knew unlike another decorated war hero, Zachary Rolfe, they didn’t have the establishment to look after them. The establishment, from Gina, Nev, Clifford and Brenny-Boy were out to get em. And they were backed by the biggest crime syndicate known, the criminal gang colloquially referred to as; ‘The Windsors’.

They pulled on the Camels rather than reflect in how little time they had, and only one of them capable, of escaping the net, and he with his armaments, VC and formidable reputation as a warrior would ultimately look after himself. Even Julian knew this, and though sickly, pasty-faced and consumptive eagerly pulled on another camel.

Not a patch on the Windsor Gang.

Ces rejected Terry’s offer of a third Camel and said; ‘I think I’ve got an idea. We might just get out of this, and with a bit of luck, like Chevron, Transurban and Woodside we might get out of this without doing much, not working much, and making a fortune. It goes like this’….

They all turned to Ces, a natural leader, undecorated, but there was something even ‘Anzackery’ could not displace, he had charisma.

‘Howsabout we double the bullion in the back of the ute?

Benny-boy looked at them crazily; “What are you on about’? He looked annoyed as Ces was offering something more complicated than just stealing it.

‘Look’, Ces continued, ‘If you leave us and flog the ingots, sooner or later they’ll work out it was youse’.

Ces congratulated himself on using the plural vernacular as spoken by Australia’s finest front-line troops.

‘And even with your skills, and your sidekick, you’ll be slotted. Gina and her sidekick, Nev, and Twiggy being West Australians know how to track people down.  They’ve been doing it ever since they settled WA, and they have long memories for settling scores. To date you’ve been lucky, but even in your case your luck will run out. And that’s why’, he focused on Benny until he saw Benny flinch, ‘I’ve got an idea’, and as a matter of fact’, Ces paused for full dramatic effect; ‘I’ve got a BLOODY GOOD IDEA’!

Crime Gang heavyweights waiting for Mathew Guy to turn up at a seafood restaurant on the peninsula. (the Crimean Peninsula).

Does Ces have an idea?

Is this idea more creative than coalition climate policy? Can it be more sensible and visionary than tax breaks for higher income earners? And can it be more courageous than the courage and civic virtue demonstrated by Zac Rolfe in the foetid field of conflict?

Will Julian and Benny-boy stick by them, or perfidious to the last, double cross them for their greater glory? Only the next episode can reveal a destiny.  Can our heroes demonstrate once and for all that the spirit of Anzackery burns brightest in the desert wastes of inland Australia?

Find out in our next episode;

‘A Fool Toss for Tossers”, or “Game, Set and Scratch the House of Windsor and you’re disqualified’.

Andrew Thorburn tipped to take on the role of CEO for the ‘Two little Boys outreach program for wretched and disgraced first Australians’

Good morning to you all. Another from our scribe from the North-West Frontier.

It’s with some justifiable pride we present this episode of ‘Musical Dispatches’, as it’s wholly endorsed by the N.T police, Safer Futures, the Zac Rolfe Foundation, and the ‘Two Little Boys outreach program for wayward, wretched and disgraced first Australians’.

Not only do they have a handle on law and order, but can guarantee ‘birth to grave assistance” along with the dozen or so other NGO’s at Yuendumu the promise of a streamlined, and institutionalised existence with all performance KPI’s and Best practice metrics met. And if you don’t believe us we have graphs and pie charts to prove it. 

Uphold the Right….are we not WHITE MEN ALL’?

But for the moment, we have it on good authority that Yuendumu’s very own Aristotle, the veritable Herodotus of the Homestead, the Mark Twain of the Telegraph Station, the Ion Idress of the Interior writes to us. And believe it or not, he’s stuck to the telly watching the Zac Rolfe saga unwind. Will there be justice for Zac? We can only hope so. he’s got a breast full of shiny medals, mates in high places and has served in Afghanistan with the likes of Benny Boy Roberts Smith. Are there cliffs to roll the guilty off at Yuendumu?  We can only hope so.

Because in the end those who uphold the right, carry guns, paramilitary gear and wear head to toe black, are as we used to say, ( ‘TRUE WHITE-MEN’!). 

And they come sponsored via CSR and Bex… 

Frank writes….

Hola,

Someone once sent me a brilliant cartoon which was titled “Shit Happens”. In it were a series of drawings depicting various religions:

Catholicism- If shit happens, it is your fault.
Islam- If shit happens, it is Allah’s will.

And my favourite:

NT Police identikit image of Kumanjayi Walker

Judaism- Why does shit always happen to us?

As a resident of Yuendumu I’ve been watching a fair bit of the live streaming of the Kumanjayi Walker coronial inquest. I suspect not many Warlpiri people are watching it, not just because it is all rather distressing and personal, but also because the proceedings are rather alien to them.

The purpose of a coronial inquest is to seek answers to a series of questions:

What shit happened? Why did shit happen? How can shit be prevented from happening again?

One of the questions being canvassed at the current inquest is:

“Is there systemic racism in sections of the Northern Territory police?”

What can I say?

Is the Pope Catholic?

Chau,

Frank

Ojala the inquest will be a bridge over troubled waters:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FoVezjpRgKE

Indeed Whoop!(4:06)

What the hell, one more:

NT’s Vision for Stronger Futures at Yuendumu. ‘Greater efficiencies’

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tvKjG8elLA4

Dear reader,

This episode of pcbycp is proudly sponsored by Zachary Rolfe, who has won medals and public acclaim for his principled stand on law and order.

incredibly we’re finding ourselves a little bit a Donbas short of the Kherson.

For no sooner are our heroes free than they find themselves un- freed again. ‘Is freedom just another word for nothing less to lose’?  As Janis Joplin so famously said before topping herself. Or is being ‘free’ just another four-letter word. In the United States there are several words for Freedom and yet in Russia, they have almost as many words for freedom than the Eskimo’s have for snow. We haven’t, got time to go through all the definitions right now, for with the recent reappearance of our anti-heroes Julian and Benny boy, the sense of freedom is nothing more than a sensation.  Like democracy in Australia? A shibboleth determined by the highest bidder.  Franking credits anyone?

It’s a shocking turn of events, but nothing worse than Scott Morrison still receiving a parliamentary salary to do a Vince Gair on us all down the track. Win or lose, there’s another roll of the dice, and we have it on good authority that Crown Resorts may yet have a stake in that place where robbery goes by the name of ‘corporate governance’. Is that a Transurban moment you say?

CEO for a Day, Essendon’s Andrew Thorburn gives his King Charles the Turd Oration.

We return to our saga, with more pickle than found in a pork barrel in a marginal seat and rolling steadfastly towards a teal-coloured false dawn. For we have it on reliable evidence that Dawn on Uranus, (not Mars) is of a greenish tinge.

We all feel tinged.   We return to our saga.

‘Well, Well’, Benny Boy said it again for effect. ‘Fancy meeting youse here, The Three Stooges’!

Vince Gair. (we suggest our younger readers look him up). Will Scomo yet perform a Vince Gair on the Australian public?

He sniggered. Ces, Terry and I did feel a little awkward, but this comment, said with a particular venom made us feel uneasy.  If we were the designated ‘Three Stooges’, who was the ringleader? Was it Ces, who had an eye for strategy, was he the putative Moe? And then, which begged the question, who was Curly?  Could it be Terry and his Camels, or Larry?  Was that Quent with his tousled hair, sensing the awkwardness? Terry had a masterstroke, reaching into his coat pockets, he offered Julian and Benny-Boy a Camel.

They greedily took the pack from Terry’s fingers and within seconds, without so much as a bye your leave, lit up. The ensuing smoke established a fug around this scene. A lone Land Cruiser, five figures and the earthly glow of the plume atop the gas rig.

‘Whatchyagot in the ute’?

Benny asked, the cigarette dripping from his bottom lip, the ribbon of the VC clearly visible against the dull khaki of his combat fatigues.  Ces stood firm, ‘it looks to be a consignment of ingots destined to the chinless wonder from Windsor’. Benny nodded affirmation.  ‘Yeah, I’d heard about this racket, almost as organised than the one that got me this’. He fingered the ribbon of the VC, now held as a talisman around his neck. He smiled sardonically; ‘with the right connections, you can be sure of almost anyfink’?

Before we could wince at his grammatical inexactitude, he felt the handle of his bayonet, hung carelessly around his waist. ‘So whatchya gonna do? Return the stuff to her ladyship, or give it to the chinless wonder’?

‘You mean King Charles the turd’, Terry chipped in. ‘Show a little respect.

Vince Gair and his missus exported ‘ Australian Values” to the rest of the world.

The Three Stooges, unlisted credits for Coalition’s Franking Credits and Tax Breaks Policies.

Julian Assange, special envoy (international) for Crown Resorts, assisting Optus with IT management.

‘Yeah, his fucken Majesty’ Benny retorted, ‘not a patch on his ma’. And then reflectively, ‘but I spose a better judge of character than his brother Andrew’.

It was curious, here was Benny and Julian, desperadoes in every sense, yet all of us, in this moment of strife could agree that the Duke of York was not the full toss. In fact, in Royal terms, bit of an underarm delivery in a limited overs match.  Benny continued with his train of thought. ‘What’s to say the ingots get side-tracked? There’s a couple of me mates on the subcontinent, who’d like a crack at this’! He wandered over to the tray, ripping over the tarp and surveyed the gleaming bars.  “And I reckon you stooges’, he spat the words out with some venom, ‘are just the mugs to get slotted’. With that Julian stepped in and laughed in an unhinged kinda way.  We winced, he’d clearly gone soft after all those years of solitary and just wanted more notoriety, it was sad to see him, reduced to social media to being just a rusk of his former self,

‘Yeah, we can do a lot with this dough, and if we convert it to bitcoin’? With that he made a muffled ‘hurrumph’ as Benny punched him in the ribs. ‘There’ll be no bitcoin, I’m takin this lot to Crown resorts, no questions asked and getting it converted to U.S Dollars, and if you shut the fuck up, you might get a cut. Get me Julian’?

Julian looked suitably stunned and nodded affirmation; ‘Yes Benny, I understand’.

‘So, it looks to me boys’, he stood upright, and we could see the grenades, the smoke projectiles, the RPG, the old Lee Enfield .303 Sons of Anzac sacred rifle the MP 40 and the Bren gun waggle as he moved.  ‘Boys, we have a little problem, and I think you can help us along. D’ya like the sound of that’?

We all nodded loke imbeciles, it was best to play it straight with Benny, Ces looked around noticed the absence of cliffs, that was reassuring, at least we’d have a chance rather than being rolled off.

We looked up, and the light was getting brighter. ‘Well then Benny boy whatever we do we’d better hurry, for by sunup, Brendan might be hauling back in the rapide with Clifford and the gold, and if he finds us here, were rooted’.

Benny laughed, in a jocular but menacing way… ‘Yup, Times ticking’…

King Charles, advised to stay away from meddling in politics.

What will happen next?

Will Benny pilfer the gold?

Can the trio survive?

Will Julian ever straighten his reputation for being a shagger rather than just a naughty boy?

Prince Andrew doesn’t sweat nor allegedly accepts bribes, and stays away from ‘ filthy politics’.

Find out in the next episode; ‘Time’s out for the Timorous’, or ‘Three Stooges and you’ve half an Essendon Football Club Board’, when we return with the next compelling episode of Pcbycp….(the thinking person’s Global Times)

Dear reader, 

Our trained Semaphore staff are second to none.

We apologise for the tardiness in getting Frank’s latest dispatch to the printers.

We, the editorial department of pcbycp, the thinking persons ‘Global Times’, are sure that after this brief explanation you’ll be sympathetic to the vicissitudes of postage in remote areas. 

In normal circumstances the dispatch is relayed to us via our Wimmera receiving station as morse. The morse transcript is then translated via the enigma machine, (on loan from the AWM’s ‘Glorious men and Women of Anzac WW2 Annexe’) on to plain type transferred to standard letter format. The proofs are the roneoed off and sent via native runner, motorcycle courier and Camel Corps to the respective receiving offices of pcbycp located in undisclosed locations across the state of Victoria. A master copy is then set aside at this ” technology transfer stage” and distributed to outlying receiver stations for storage via heliograph, semaphore and bonfires strategically placed upon places of height under circumstances of ‘favorable prevailing winds’. 

In the field our trained staff de- code messages from Urdu into plain English for transmission to the Signals Directorate for approval.

Ces and Quent out in the field on the Nth West frontier

After translation from Urdu, (for that is the only language our morse telegraphy staff are technically proficient at) a master copy is then sent to the Australian Signals Directorate for censoring and vetting to the general public. One can’t be too sure these days about intercepts from nefarious sources to our North, near north and just from across the other side of the Yarra. In the interests of national security we beg you to print this edition of Musical Dispatches, cover it with bread knife thinly dipped in unsalted butter, (for our metropolitan readers) breakfast marmalade and eat it. 

For a less efficient, and much more archaic method of postage and transfer try Australia Post.

No guarantee of arrival, nor responsibility for lost postage other than a grudging; ‘that’s the best we can do’. And to paraphrase the old Benson and Hedges advert; ‘ Isn’t that all the time’!

Ces relaying messages via Heliograph to ‘Camp Rolfe’ (Yuendumu) whilst translation is interpreted in Urdu.

Frank writes……(from several weeks ago)

Hola amigos,

Some of you have asked me where you can obtain information on the current coronial inquest. It is all available
online at:

https://justice.nt.gov.au/attorney-general-and-justice/courts/inquests-findings/kumanjayi-walker

Including transcripts and live-streaming. Proceedings will continue on Monday morning 19^th September.

Camel Corps await messages outside ‘Camp Rolfe’ Relay station Yuendumu

When it comes to metaphors, euphemisms and irony, I’m no spring chicken myself. I always savor it when I find others using these to effect.

In an ABC (NT) news item Samara Fernandez-Brown is quoted:

“This can no longer be an argument about ‘a few rotten eggs’… at some point we need to inspect the chicken creating those eggs”

Signals Directorate staff vet volunteers prior to intensive training course in Morse, Heliograph and Semaphore.

Samara was referring to the text messages exchange between Zac Rolfe and some of his colleagues which Zac’s own barrister described during the inquest as “patently racist and abhorrent”

Not for me to proceed with a lengthy opinionated analysis of the inquest proceedings. I’ll confine myself to suggesting you look up the meaning of the idiom “enough rope”.

Meanwhile I have once again witnessed a manifestation of the boiling frog analogy or death by a thousand cuts. The transition from village (community) to town to urban service centre.

Native Runners, kept in traditional holding bay at ‘Camp Rolfe’, prior to transportation to NT Prisons

When I went to pick up my mail, I spotted a pile of bound mail “Oh, I see the mail hasn’t been sorted yet”, “No, that is mail being returned” Unclaimed mail is after 30 days returned to sender. That is the rule.

It is now two decades since these were the sort of conversations that took place (in English or Warlpiri): “Do you know this person” “Yes, she’s gone to Nyirrpi and will return soon” or “Yes, he’s moved to Ntaria for good”. “Hey, there’s a couple of letters for you at the Post Office” or “I’ll take those, she lives a couple of houses from mine”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FsYzBuDrE5Q

Chau

Frank

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jiEgDChHksg

Terry at work with Roneo machine and Camel Special Filter.

—

Dear reader, we’re back again with a vengeance, this episode is sponsored by everyone and everything, (via royal decree) that comes with a Third.

Charles 111 prototype monogram. Still waiting for Buckingham palace approval. Would look good outside any Post Office or Court House. Only problem: what does the ‘C’ stand for?

With precious little time before the balloon goes up on all the bullion destined for the house of Windsor, and Gina and Twiggy’s bid to get a seat in the House of Lords, our desperate heroes make their way back to Hancock prospecting oil rig. Their only hope, to get there and return the ingots in the back of the ute before Brendan squeals and the plutocrats from Perth are baying blood.

It’s a tough gig way out west, and as any local will tell you, when there’s gold between you and the prize, you’d better either duck, run or get processed by CSR and Bex.

Desperate to get there before sunup our heroes bleary eyed and buggered have thrown their last hat, played their last card, and rolled their last dice. Will their destiny be as dicey as the Timor gap negotiations and Alex Downers listening in? Will they be freed, and live to inhale the air of freedom as the people of Tibet now do joyous in the embrace of the CCP do so? Will they be enfranchised and free as the recently acquired territory of eastern Ukraine?  Only time can tell and the sand its dripping through the hourglass whilst the clock tok tiks inexorably… Find out in this next impulsive episode; ‘Go west young man and get out of my sight’!

Rolf. A visionary for the modern era

‘I dunno’, Ces murmured as he gripped the wheel of the land cruiser, ‘by my reckoning we should be there about now’. His colleagues Quent and Terry just puffed on their Camels as the Toyota subsumed in a cloud of dust rumbled and rattled down the corduroy tracks in search of the oil rig. ‘Look for a plume, a flash of light’!  Ces looked at his watch; ‘only an hour or two before sunup! We don’t wanna get caught out I the open if Brenny-boy returns with the rapide’?

They anxiously looked out the rear window, noticed the stars twinkling in the crisp cold air of the hinterland, and hoped that somewhere out in the celestial mantle, a star twinkled for their providence. It had been a long night, but they all knew that unless the stash was returned it would be an perpetual night if they failed to reach their rendezvous.

Visionary. Rolf always had a handle on threes. And Royal turds.

‘There it is’!! Terry actually removed the Camel to make the observation and pointing with his nicotine-stained finger we discerned the dull glow diffused by the mulga. They sped towards the plume and reassured themselves that they still had a chance. A slim chance, a wafer-thin chance, but a chancey-chance nonetheless. Well, put it this way a chance that they,  like the management of Crown who were up to their nostrils in shonky, illegal and corrupt practices could  still hold their license. Or the chance that whatever Wayne Carey had in the little plastic band was Dettol sprinkled with Whizz Fizz.

The Toyota screeched to a halt. ‘Just back it into the shed and pretend it’s always been there, in the meantime I’ll try and find a way of starting the other vehicle’. And as they bounded out and replaced the tarp, covering the bullion and gathered their things they scarcely noticed the shadow that passed between them. It was only when Ces fiddled with the ignition on the other land cruiser, that he noticed something odd. ‘What’s this’? he remarked, removing a prosthetic limb from under the in instrument panel, he looked at it, turned it round and felt the splash of warm beer as it splashed upon the seat. ‘Someone’s been drinking from this, and by the looks of it’…..

Translation; ‘Three Coins tossed in the fountain at Crown Casino’! ‘Enter the draw and we’ll put you in the draw for a possie on the Crown Board. Association with known criminal syndicates an advantage’.

No sooner, had he uttered the words, than the shadowy figure stood forth, silhouetted in the dull glow of the plume of burning gas. Quent and Terry were too busy loading the tent and the cooking gear into the tray of the ute to notice, but Ces gasped. He knew the familiar outline, the massive bulk, the profile, the square set jaw and the swagger and more ominously, etched out from the dull glow the semi-automatic, the .303 a relic from the ‘Glorious Sons of Daughters of Anzackery light and Sound Exhibition’, and the brace of grenades hanging like the baubles of a Christmas tree around his waist.

‘Well well well’, the figure said. ‘Fancy meeting youse again’! In one instant they knew by the corruption of grammar and idiom tarnished by years of war experience, who it was, they didn’t need to say it for in the next instance it was made abundantly clear.

‘Me and Julian, aint arf surprised in finding youse, he always said you’d come back, and now you have what have youse to say for yourselves’? From behind the massive bulk of Benny-boy, now clearly visible in the dawns first light walked Julian, he had a smirk on his face and with a flick of the wrist tossed the rollie from his lip, ‘yep, now it’s your turn’. He pointed to the three heroes; ‘and this time no slip ups’.

Will the trio escape from this one? Will the future king get his ingots? Will Gina and Twiggy get a seat via gold ingots and a gong from the UK’s leading the Crime family, the deceptively named; ‘Windsors’, and get a possie and a couple of medals to sit in the House of Lords?

Find out in the next vice-regal episode, ‘inside the royal chamber…..pot’, or “three tossers tossed trajectoratedly into the fountain”