The newsroom at pcbycp

Dear reader, we’re in bit of a flap about when to call the next election. You see electioneering has come into it, and it’s not a happy state. And sadly insults and accusations have been flying all around then newsroom. How has it come to this?

It all happened last week on Tuesday, about half past ten. Cecil came in late and he had a rotten look on his face. It was the sort of look that implied “look out” and we left him alone to stew. That’s the right approach when someone has “issues’ you let them “stew”. These days when ever somebody talks about ‘being blue’, the ‘black dog’ or just straight out depressed we’re encouraged to ring Life Line. But the fact is, whenever we feel suicidal we think of Jeff Kennet, and that just makes matters worse. 

So we let Cecil stew for about a week and the finally Clarrie asked him. “What’s wrong”? 

Well,  if ever the levee of discontent should break it’d be nothing on what came forth from Cec. 

Cecil is very expressive when it comes to calling an election

He was dark, dirty and disconsolate. 

This house was built to house an owner who stayed once a year for a full day and a dog

It seems we’d forgotten to nominate who would take over the task of being the lunch monitor and organise the sandwiches for Wednesdays. Wednesdays are very important.  It’s midweek, we call it “hump day”, and the task has rested with Cecil this past year. Every year we nominate a new leader to get the lunch and organise the sandwich run, before we watch Sky News and listen to Andrew Bolt. WE reckon it keeps us in touch with “Mainstream Australian values”, and helps us to identify things that endanger our sacred way of life Like African Crime Gangs, Abdiel Magied, or any other trouble maker who questions the eternal sanctity of Anzac and stoning women. 

Troublemaker. Questions Anzackery and Pharlap

But that wasn’t the end of it.  None of us had bothered to look at the constitution. We had one drawn up to officiate over the vexed issue of Tim Tams or Lamingtons for afternoon tea. There’s a kitty for this disbursement, and when we looked, cos we hadn’t organised a new office holder, we found out that Cec had used all the money in the kitty to get a box set of “Grand Designs” Dvd’s . In a word he’d blown the budget. We were flummoxed. How could we nominate the next custodian of the sandwich run if the budget has been blown? But Cec had a pretty reasonable reply. 

He reckons, that with the box set dvd’s we can learn about what really really wealthy people do with their money, and why they spend squillions on hugely impressive buildings to accomodate one , (or two at the most) very privileged childless people and their pet dog. He reckons that’s more important than the sandwich roster, and tells us a little bit about ourselves. And besides he did it for our own good. To spend all the kitty to keep us informed of his bold policy direction. 

To learn hardship as way to appreciate the future.

The corner Milkbar. Soon to be demolished to make way for another block of flats.

So there you have it. We still haven’t worked out who will do the sandwiches.  But we know one thing. When we do elect a new office bearer, we’ll be happy to know that the money was well spent on promoting the lifestyles of the rich and famous to make us  hungry in the knowledge that we know just that bit more of how much better we could be if we tried harder to be successful like the people on the telly. As Cecil said; ‘we’re a sandwich short of the picnic’. And he should know. He has a bold policy direction. No wonder we’re confused. 

First posted 21` December 2014

The Given Note
By Seamus Heaney

On the most westerly Blasket
In a dry-stone hut
He got this air out of the night.

Strange noises were heard
By others who followed, bits of a tune
Coming in on loud weather

Though nothing like melody.
He blamed their fingers and ear
As unpractised, their fiddling easy

For he had gone alone into the island
And brought back the whole thing.
The house throbbed like his full violin.

So whether he calls it spirit music
Or not, I don’t care. He took it
Out of wind off mid-Atlantic.

Still he maintains, from nowhere.
It comes off the bow gravely,
Rephrases itself into the air.

Comments:
That extraordinary inventor, Nicola Tesla tells the tale of how he was out for a walk one day, when suddenly, his mind elsewhere, he understood precisely how the modern electric motor would work.  We, nowadays, attribute the motor’s invention to Tesla.  Tesla himself believed, indeed insisted, that the entire idea literally popped into his head ‘out of the ether’ and that he was merely a conduit.  This was not false modesty.  It was Tesla’s honest belief that all information, all knowledge is here, all around us and that ‘genius’, whatever it may be, is an almost accidental tapping into that knowledge.

Jaqueline Du Pre, the cellist, had the sublime capacity to subtly alter and add to a piece of music, as if Mozart or Bach were whispering in her ear.

Listen to Ella Fitzgerald or Sarah Vaughan at their best, and, their voices, interweaving with the other instruments, become an inspired part of the music itself.  This is a rare gift

Heaney’s poem deals with this condition.  Monks, a thousand or more years ago, sought inspiration living as hermits on the Blasket Islands off the west coast of Ireland.  Their ‘dry-stone huts’ are still there.

Heaney requires his violinist, in order to hear his own music, to imitate the action of the hermit, and take up residence in the Blaskets, if not literally, then in his mind.

The poet is saying too that the ‘unpractised’, the journeymen violinist, is ‘fiddling easy’, and constitutes a refusal to take on the responsibilities of his craft. Only by dedication, by taking to the Blaskets, can something miraculous be achieved

‘…For he had gone alone into the island…’  ‘..He took it out of the wind in mid-Atlantic…’

Very few of us have the courage for ‘the road less travelled’

The ‘..others who followed..’ heard ‘..nothing like melody…’.  Like the ‘Druids’ who flock to Stonehenge every year, then go back to work on Monday ….

Thank God that so much courage exists in the world.  Without it, music, art and literature would cease to exist.

Ira Maine, Poetry Editor

(First posted 20 December 2014)

Amici, buona giornata,

I’ve often claimed not to be the author of the Musical Dispatches. They write themselves. So soon on the heels of the last Dispatch, let this be the Christmas edition. I simply could not ignore this little gem from Hansard:

Senator Nova Peris 26^th November 2014 Senate Inquiry into the sale of TIO:

Here in Canberra we have witnessed government MPs accuse their own Prime Minister of verbal gymnastics over his claims that he has kept his promise that there would be no cuts to the ABC or SBS. It would seem that Northern Territory Chief Minister Adam Giles likes the way his mate Mr Abbott denies the truth. How is this for a quote: ‘We are not selling TIO. We are just transferring ownership.‘ That is actually what the chief minister said in response to suggestions he should not sell it. As Michael Gunner, a Territory Labor MP said yesterday, ‘Adam Giles isn’t going to the Christmas sales this year; he’s going to the Christmas transfers of ownership.’

We are quite accustomed to Transfers of Ownership here in Yuendumu.

On the coat-tails of the Intervention, ownership of “community residences” was transferred to Territory Housing (a Darwin based NT Government Agency). These houses were “given” to Yuendumu by a string of politicians. You know the sort of thing “I got you three houses, vote for me”. The money to build them came from such as ATSIC, ABTA etc. These houses were held on behalf of the community by the Yuendumu Community Government Council. They were deemed by consensus to be communally owned. I’m not denying that occasional arguments re occupancy rights erupted, but such were resolved locally without outside interference (or should I say intervention?). Rent (admittedly modest)was paid on these houses to the Yuendumu Council, which employed such as a plumber who with his Warlpiri offsider(s) would do repairs at a fraction of the cost of bringing in Alice Springs based contractors. Prompt repairs were never the norm in Yuendumu, but relying on outside contractors (as is now the case) has not sped up matters in the least. Rents have increased several fold.

Transfer of Ownership occurred when the Yuendumu Council Inc. was appropriated by the Central Desert Shire (since renamed the Democratic People’s Republic of….. no just kidding… they  changed their name to Central Desert Regional Council-CDRC). The head office of CDRC is in Alice Springs, which is not within the area covered by the CDRC. When I last checked the CDRC employed from 70-100 people at head office. I’m not sure, but it doesn’t include one Warlpiri person. In Yuendumu itself slow but  steady progress is being made to regain local “ownership” and participation in municipal functions. This process is much slower than the instant transfer of ownership that took place some years ago.

But hey! What are we complaining about? Transfer of ownership is nothing new. Transfer of ownership has been the norm throughout history and continues to be so.

Of particular relevance to the descendants of the original inhabitants of what is now Australia is the transfer of ownership that took place in 1788.

In 1788 the Union Jack was planted at Sydney Cove.

….and he’s taken just all that I had…

…. The first cut is the deepest…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dK9eLe8EQps

When the Iron Curtain collapsed, a massive transfer of ownership took place from the Soviet Union to the Russian Mafia.

In Australia a massive transfer of ownership took place: Huge deposits of iron ore and coal owned by the Common-wealth (get it?) are now owned by the not so common few.

(a moot point, the huge deposits of iron and coal were included in the 1788 transfer of ownership unbeknown to the then protagonists)

I won’t spoil your Christmas dinner with more examples of transfer of ownership.

If you’ve been good I wish that Santa transfers lots of ownership to you.

…this toy is for you, now you have ownership,

You can share it but only if you want to,

You have the right to say, if someone can come and play with it…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXsJWTKKOfs ****

Arrivederci al prossimo anno.
Avere un felice Natale

Franco

**** Warlpiri children are continually told to share…. Unprompted, Warlpiri children will offer you a bite of what they’re eating…. Greed in Warlpiri society exists but is frowned upon. Greedy people are not part of Team Warlpiri!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VwcKwGS7OSQ

“Onya Trev”. Proudly wears his gong for “Conga Lining”

Trevor St Barker is our man of the moment. 

He pays one million for a crappy old coal fired power station, then lobbies the federal government for squillions of federal money to keep the rotten stinking thing going, 

And the Feds cant give him enough. Being a Liberal donor might have a lot to do with it. 

We haven’t seen this much lobbying since Wilberforce put the kibosh on Slavery. 

But Trev aint doing nothing wrong, it’s perfectly legal, It’s just thats the way the lump of coal crumbles… 

All ministers wooed by the inescapable allure of coal and Trev’s lobbying cannot help themselves.

Bit like stacking the abc with your mates, the appeals tribunal with your mates and ensuring that your mates look after you. 

That’s mate-ship, reciprocity. We know the public don’t get a look in.  But they’re not mates, they’re just public. the Hoi polloi, the proletariat, the ‘Sneetches without stars’. 

Still, being a donor has its downside, you have to visit Melissa Price, Often… 

Melissa is the Environment Minister you have when there’s an environmental catastrophe. 

The PRICE is RIGHT! A telly tubby short of the environment

You cant find her. 

But occasionally when Trev comes knocking , she peeks out, looks outside, checks there’s no one in the corridor and lets him in, 

We aint  privy to what goes on behind closed doors, but we can assume that Trev gets the royal treatment. What’s the royal treatment? You may ask. 

PM hides his stiffy with CLEAN COAL.

That’s the treatment you get when one of you mates visit. You arrange the Chesterfield in a cosy way by the fake marble- stone fireplace. You offer him something from the top shelf. And as you allow your mate to be wooed by coal, you gaze wistfully at the lumps of coal delicately arranged on the mantelpiece, above the door, and over the jacuzzi. The jacuzzi you may ask? Yes indeed in a particularly cosy relationship the jacuzzi is on offer to those members of the constituency who like to see their coal being cleaned. It also helps them get intimate with the minister. But like lawyer X, it pays to get intimate. That way you can bone up on all the facts.   It’s a worship of sorts, and when the coal emerges sanctified from its bath, you know that it has been proven, is clean, and it’s right. 

Vales Point Power Station. “Rent seeking for dummies”.

Trev wants to make damn sure that whatever silly short term insulting to the electorate policy the coalition comes up with is looking after his interests. And why shouldn’t he? It’s a free country, and besides, Trev would be he first to tell you he worked bloody hard to get in line. Yes thats the other side of the budget, the budget preference conga line.  It works on the  principle, if you’re poor, you’re at the back, and if you’re really quite well off, (like Trev), you get to choose whether its a Rhumba or a Cha Cha. Melissa likes the Cha Cha, more upbeat for her policy announcements, but we reckon with a fair hunch, Trev would prefer the Tango, it’s more passionate. Cos deep down passionate men prefer Coal. 

It’s the same passion that the Tories yearn for in Brexit. To know that poor people are punished, and theres no progress without breaking eggs and omlette’s on anything other than stinking hubris. They say money “makes the world go round”.  The logic is inescapable, and it’s also quite dizzying. 

So dizzying we want to get off.

Hand us a lump of Coal Trev…..

The phrase “carrot and stick” is a metaphor for the use of a combination of reward and punishment to induce a desired behaviour. … Attracted by the sight and smell, the donkey steps forward to bite at the carrot, but of course, as it is attached to the stick, the carrot also moves forward and remains out of reach.

The above, extracted from the internet, epitomises the relation between Indigenous Australia and the authorities. I thought stopping work would give me more spare time- I was wrong. I therefore will simply list a series of recent events, and leave it up to you to ponder and analyse these and identify the carrots and the sticks:

1963 Bark petition
1967 Referendum
1975 NT Landrights
1987 Royal Commission- Deaths in Custody
1988 Barunga Statement
1992 Mabo
1992 Redfern Speech
1993 Native Title
1996 Wik decision
1997 Stolen Generations inquiry
1997 Ten point plan
2000 Sydney bridge walk
2001 Reconciliation
2007 The Intervention
2008 The apology
2008 Closing the Gap
2009 Australia endorses UN Declaration on the rights of Indigenous Peoples
2009 NT Four Hours English only
2010 Generation one
2012 Stronger Futures
2013 Recognise Campaign
2016 Closing the Gap Refresh (no kidding- just like a TV advertisement for detergent)
2017 Royal Commission-Don Dale
2017 Uluru Statement from the Heart

In this timeline, the ultimate betrayal was the dismissal of the Uluru Statement from the Heart by Malcolm Turnbull https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XtEOu7CJtEM (Richard Flanagan– Garma Festival 2018) Malcolm could have gone down in history as a great visionary leader instead of the patrician capitalist who was knifed in the back by his own. He blew it.

From a 1922 speech by Mahatma Gandhi:

The greater misfortune is that the Englishmen and their Indian associates in the administration of the country do not know that they are engaged in the crime I have attempted to describe. I am satisfied that many Englishmen and Indian officials honestly believe these are the best systems devised in the world, and that India is making steady, though, slow progress. They do not know, a subtle but effective system of terrorism and an organized display of force on the one hand, and the deprivation of all powers of retaliation or self-defense on the other, has emasculated the people and induced in them the habit of simulation. This awful habit has added to the ignorance and the self-deception of the administrators.

The carrots are- justice, self determination and respect.

The stick is enforced assimilation.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYLKGIf68So (Black fella, White fella- Warumpi Band)

Chau,

Frank

Correction. MDDF OOPS

Hiya friends,

DAA’s response? They hired an Alice Springs contracting firm to go to Papunya and clean it up.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQna4f9b4OU (Tina Turner, Come together and respect.)

Humbly yours,

Frank

Things have got out of hand. We had no idea that when we were meeting Mr King and Mr Bang that a member of the ‘Toy and Replica Gun Control Group” was filming us. 

Only time you don’t wear a hat is when you blow smoke from your imitation Colt.45 after shooting a ( LSL) ‘lesser southern lefty’.

You could imagine our shock when we discovered that the man filming us, went by the name of Mr Himmler. He turned out to be a phoney. WE trusted him We trusted him cos her wore a big hat.

Men of action are not soft-cocks!!

Blokes who wear big hats you can trust. Everyone in Queensland wears a big hat. Because of his big hat wearing, the member for Kennedy implicitly states, “there are no poofters in his electorate”. It’s the poofter element from the southern states who block our attempts to overturn the ban of crackers for Guy Fawkes night, and replica Toy pistols to protect us from ‘Injuns’. We know why they don’t like crackers and toy guns, cos down south they’re all sissies. And my dad told me that the further south you go, the more likely things are to be ‘rainbow coloured’.   So I spose you’d think we’re a bit embarrassed?  Well to tell you the truth we’re just embarrassed that this imposter, this quisling, this piece of filth only filmed half the conversations we had with the American fireworks and toy replica gun lobby.  And this is the cruelest part. We never got to say what we really think!!

We blame southerners. We met at a popular chain of Mexican restaurants, and sometimes we found the food so hot we would grab the sauce. 

What sauce? You may ask. 

Mexican food is pretty hot. That’s another reason why we don’t like to go south. In Mexican restaurants there’s always a Mexican, (southerner) playing the guitar and singing really loud.  That’s what we employ to disguise the high level meetings we have with big hitters. If the people, (the rainbow coloured folk down south) got wind of it they’d decry us as  anti social and unbalanced. When we know their faith in fairness, openness and transparency is just another sign of their sissiness. 

Proof, Queenslanders think through the incontrovertible power of the penis!

John Wayne never used the term negotiation. He’d just pull out his six shooter and blow their brains out. That’s why he never let on out what he was doing. In Green Berets he killed thousands of Viet Kong single-handedly. He would’ve saved our bacon in NAM, cept  the lefty do gooders didn’t think the Vietnam war was just and fair. That’s why we used to like Barnaby.  He killed a whole eco system to prove he wasn’t soft-cock on resources. We admire that in a politician. Single-mindedness. 

At this restaurant, we just grabbed a bottle of sauce, as the food was stinking hot. Tuned out that every bottle we grabbed just got hotter and hotter. The Jalapeño chilli sauce did the rest, we were gasping for water, and what came out of our mouths was what you’d expect from people in pain. You end up just saying anything. Thats why we said, with twenty million from Kingko “we’d have the Australian government by the testicles”. People who govern properly understand that. Good governance has testicles. Then we talked about the invasion of the north by rainbow people and foreigners. Australia is being swamped by Muslims. They don’t wear big hats or carry guns. That’s why they cant, (like Injuns) be trusted. 

Now the lefties reckon we’ re a laughing stock and hypocrites for even trying to solicit foreign money when  we sanctimoniously passed legislation banning such things, 

A thinking man’s Shakespeare.

They just don’t get it. We’re trying to save Australia, from the scourge of wowserism, to protect all Australians from injun attack. If we fail it’s the tipping point. It’ll open the floodgates. Let women into parliament. Talk up the climate change lie. Avert the truth that September 11 was a conspiracy. And the incontrovertible fact that the  Port Arthur massacre was orchestrated by ASIO.

The fact we were outed is a conspiracy against clean living Australians, who wear hats, and are not soft-cock on  the need for any man woman and child to get their hands on a replica Colt .45 or Winchester. Some bloke called Freud reckons guns were just a reference to a penis fixation. He didn’t go far enough, we don’t need guns to fixate about our wedding tackle. Science proves that the penis is the organ through which all God fearing Queenslanders think.  That’s why we stand hard and firm on principle.   

Cecil and I like playing cowboys and Indians. For years he’s been creeping up behind me, (Indians are sneaky on that sort of thing), and plugging me full of rubber arrows. And then, this is the worst of it, he stakes me out in the paddock so that the vultures can peck my eyes out. Just before the odd sparrow or magpie, (they’re stand-ins for vultures) lands, I cunningly, cut myself free, creep stealthily to his wigwam and plug him full of lead. 

We’ve been playing cowboys and injuns ever since we went to the Dimboola Empire  and saw John Wayne in a double matinee. From thereon it was simple, our destiny lay in fighting lawlessness, and performing acts of derring-do for defenceless nubile maidens. 

Sadly though, I haven’t been able to get caps for my Roy Rogers six shooter since they banned toy guns as being ‘dangerous and manifestly anti social’. We couldn’t see what the fuss was about.

That’s me on the left, always played the injun.

But Cecil said it was the final straw. It was bad enough when they banned crackers cos some fool kid blew his fingers off.  That was just Social Darwinism, but when they banned Guy Fawkes night, that was the straw that broke the proverbial camels back. We’ve been fuming ever since. Worse since they replaced Guy Fawkes with that syrupy commercialised sap they call ‘Halloween’. ‘Trick or treat’? 

‘I’ll give you a treat allright’,  as Cec kicked the dunny door in, chucking a molotov cocktail for good measure and blew the bloody thing to bits. 

But this ban of percussion caps for toy pistols has got us beat. 

We thought and thought, 

Then we had this brilliant idea. 

preparing to fight off lefty gun control do-gooders

Why don’t we set up a political party and promote this singular issue? With a bit of luck and help from some powerful friends, establish ourselves as a conservative fringe group that could, may, might, hold the balance of power in the Federal Parliament? As Cec said; “Let’s stuff em, and put the wind up all those do-gooder, lefties and puritans we keep on importing into the country”.. 

But, no sooner had we hit upon this brainwave, and no sooner had I begun to polish the mechanism of my trusty die-cast Colt 45 with the sheriffs badge embossed on the stock, that we realised we were in big trouble. 

In order to be a political party we needed heaps of money, 

And though money may not buy you love, if you’re seeking to reform a crazy do-good, nanny state toy gun and cracker night embargo which some fool made LAW, you re gonna need a lot of money and big influence. 

That’s the we hit upon a big idea. 

“Let’s fo got America, where the ability to kill, maim, and destroy is a fundamental human right, and see if we can get some of their big end of town corporations to fund our fight in the Australian political maelstrom”. 

No sooner that you could say ‘Guy Fawkes’, we‘d raided mums superannuation fund, and found ourselves in Arizona of all places talking big with Mr King of ‘Kingko Toys’ and ‘Militaria R Us”, and Mr Bang from “Bigger Bang Fireworks” and they agreed to help us. Incidentally, all the big names in toy guns and crackers are men. We felt reassured cos John Wayne was a man also. And boys who don’t like six shooters and cracker night are just sissies. That being a fundamental principal of our party platform. 

Now we look like a pack of mugs, done over by a lefty do-gooder controlled media.

Things looked good till we found out subsequently after spending a riotous night at Caesars, that were were being filmed by a member of the “Toy and Replica Gun Control Group”. Our nemesis. He put our night out on Facebook. Since then we’ve been unfairly ridiculed. It was a setup. All we wanted to do was ensure Australians felt safe with ready access to a replica colt 45 or lever action Winchester. In case of Injun attack.   

Now our political campaign is in ruins. People reckon we’re “puerile, penis fixated little boys who’ve never grown up”.  As Cecil said; “its the lefty do good media again, taking away all the fun”. He’s seriously hurt, and has a new plan. 

To follow the federal government in vilifying minority groups, he reckons there’s more votes in it, and it’ a sure fire thing provided we move from Niddrie. 

“Where to”? I said. 

“Who would accept the platform of so called “puerile, penis fixated little boys who’ve never grown up”??…  

Cecil replied defiantly. In one word, he summed up a brighter future. 

“Queensland”. 

We at pcbycp follow the footy very closely indeed. And we’re shocked to hear about this latest bout of trolling directed at Tayla Harris. We are not shocked by Channel Seven pulling the image, that’s the sort of leadership we expect from telly executives.  What shocks us most is that the trolls have gone down the predictable path of pathetic sexist, misogynist name calling and innuendo. It’s typical of the mindset of feeble males and females who are a jockstrap short of the dencorub. The sort of people who have nowhere to go since dwarf throwing was banned at the Coolangatta RSL and World Champion wrestling was deemed inappropriate telly fare to midday watching kiddies 

But the rot began years ago. This is nothing new. 

For those amongst us who don’t follow footy we suggest you read something else, the Coalitions latest policy on decentralisation would be good for starters, after that you can read, (for some light relief) their climate policy. 

Back in 1934, we stood right behind the first ever womens footy team. Even though we (the evidence is still stencilled on the back of Cecil’s duffle jacket), “HATE CARLTON”.

Tayla shall have a stellar carer in footy, not only is she supremely athletic, but her name is of two syllables, having a three or four syllable name would’ve been disastrous 

Which begs the question. Is footy a metaphor for life?

WE reckon it is.

Tayla has achieved what Nicky Winmar did. Become a symbol of a broader societal issue. 

And for that she shall be either doomed or doyen-ed, 

Mick Nolan, BT, (Before Tayla) demonstrates old school footy physique.

Will the public do an Adam Goodes on her?

Not likely. 

Will they do a James Hird on her? Correction,  James Hird did a James Hird on himself, 

Will they do a Liam Jurrah on her, and send her to jail? Not likely she’s whiter than white, 

Ted Whitten (B.T), a ballerina in the air, a thug on the field. OSF, (Old School Footy)

We think they’ll probably leave her alone, but ask her to make no comment on the trolling. Like sledging, trolling seems to be the new norm. The lowest common denominator, and that’s what marks footy’s finest. Whilst we drew death as we watched Jezza take that mark in the 70 grand final, we thought, ‘These new Australians play good footy’. Or we all went out and bought Joncos’ cos Ted Whitten did. We knew that he was a thug in the field, but that’s old school footy. 

Nothing changes. Footy has always been a galvanising force to unite the high brow with the low brow.  That’s why we can laugh with the “Could’ve beens” and  the “Mangreeta footy show” and feel physically sick every time Sam Newman opens his mouth on the ‘other’ footy show, 

Royce Hart, (B.T) the full bottle drop kick.

Perhaps it’s the last vestige of breast beating masculinity. It’s the primitive in footy, the gamesmanship which in the Australian code is all about finding a weakness, even where there isn’t any. Ask Adam Goodes, about the pack mentality exploiting something fundamentally vulnerable in all of us, name calling, and the puerile obsession, (in case you haven’t noticed) with sex in a predominately archaic patriarchal ‘Anzackerish’ kind of society. In this context we understand Tayla as a threat. She’s strong, powerful and beautiful. Penis wielding oppressors are intimidated by that sort of thing. It makes kiddy fiddlers and church leaders blush. It’s not good for the orthodoxy. It begs the question; If Tayla is so good, then something must be wrong?  Perhaps it’s bit like Muralitheran’s bowling. He’s good, and that’s why there’s something inherently WRONG!

But let’s not forget the one singular thing. The most important and singular thing about Tayla, is she demonstrates intelligence and athleticism at it highest. She represents a positive youthful outlook and a window to the future. Our political class have been warning us about this sort of thing for years.   As Jacinta Ardern most recently demonstrated, we are a society on need of exemplars, who articulate beyond the narrow insular band of insecurity, xenophobia and bloke-dom. Tayla may be a symbol of great potential and a lightning rod for women. Perhaps she should move to New Zealand? On current projections Australia might be a drop punt short of the goal post. 

Children’s warning. A mis-directed Drop Punt could prove FATAL!

And as evidenced by messers Bishop, O Dwyer, Sharkie, and Banks, the goalposts keep moving. 

Technically speaking Barnaby Joyce is still the leader. 

You know he’s quite right when he says he’s still “the elected leader” The elected deputy leader of the Australian Government. Even though he got demoted for shagging. Actually we need to qualify here. He had to stand down whilst they sorted out whether he was shagging his press secretary whilst being married? Hang on. That’s not an offence. 

He was shagging his press secretary whilst talking about family values? Well that’s not sackable.

He was shagging his press secretary whilst he allowed millions of innocent fish to die in the Darling? That’s not sackable

He was shagging his press secretary whilst talking about family values, the sin of abortion, and how he’s a deeply religious man? Well that’s not sackable either. 

He was shagging his secretary, pretending to be happily married whilst living rent fee in a mates hotel whilst claiming a travel allowance? Well that’s not sackable either. 

Well then you may ask, what was he given the boot for?

Well, we think it was because he made of fool of himself and in doing so made a mockery of the esteemed position of Deputy PM. What’s esteemed abut contemporary politics you may ask?

The elected deputy leader.

Being deputy PM is terribly serious. When the P.M’s away( whoever it may be at a given time), Barnaby is in power.

You don’t want the ‘beet rooter’ in power when all the above are going on, cos the PM has to be relied upon to make big decisions. Like put coal back on the floor of parliament, stymie any energy policy, denigrate poor people as wankers and bludgers, and stoke the fires of parochialism. 

But Barnaby had got a point, he was,  is , may have been,  the elected deputy leader. This other bloke aint a patch on Barnaby. Won the last by-election by a romp by not telling anyone he was shagging his press secretary and pretended he was living at home with the missus and the kiddies .

Which aint half bad. For fucks sake Give Barnaby back his job. 

You know come to think of it, Harold Holt should still be our elected leader, never lost an election, never officially retired. 

And whilst we’re at it, Lord Kitchener, (god bless him) is still in charge of ANZAC. 

You think were laughing

Matter of fact, when you come to think of it, Who elected who? 

What about the full bench of the Fair Work Commission, what about other politically appointed sinecurists and straps?

Well you may think this is silly, 

But George Pell is still a Cardinal?