Chinese Sub cleverly evades RAN Minesweepers off Pt Nepean

Harold shook ol Ruperts hand, you could tell they were mates, cos Rupert didn’t try and steal his watch. It’s a code amongst really successful business people not to shit in each others nests. That’s why Lindsay wouldn’t have a go at Sol when they worked on creating a closed shop at Myer and controlled the profits for themselves whilst board members, it keeps things neat. There’s nothing worse than a messy board, where people are looking to the company and societal benefits as a whole  rather than the company looking after them.  Bit like Australia Day, it wasn’t what we could do for Australia, but what it could do for us. And for those who want to make us guilty about disposession and despoilation on a tragic scale the comeback is, “ it wasn’t too flash for the convicts either’, and in a word. ‘GET OVER IT’!  Rupert continued where he’d left off;

Reliability, a sign of TRUE LEADERSHIP!

‘Well boys you almost blew it, agent seven and agent 55 had quite the runaround, and our new boy almost lost his cool and upset the whole apple-cart. The new-boy? Yeah Angus, he’s a bit wet around the gills, and has a bit of learning to do. As for Jamie and Big Ben here. Big Ben grinned like and idiot, (that was the endearing part about him), they just know how to obey simple instructions. It makes em reliable that’s the trouble with Angus, after ‘Clover-gate’ he just aint RELIABLE’!

And with that Rupert smiled at Harold and they just walked off to a waiting tender , ( with Jerry in tow) and swanned over to the Submarine, before you could say “pacific-partnership’ the sub was gone. 

The MAN of the HOUR!

So who was left on the beach? Ben the grinning idiot, all seven and a half feet of steroid induced heroism and this other bloke. The one they left to supervise ‘the takeover.’ the most reliable agent of public service to Rupert and the REAL MR BIG! The Safe pair of hands. He turned towards us, it was uncanny.  

The face, if you could call it a face, looked like a potato. It was Mr Potato-head himself,  Peter Dutton. Peter was dressed in this flash black paramilitary coat, with lightning strikes on the collars, and he wore a high peaked officers cap, a sword, a ceremonial dagger, and a field Marshalls baton, with matching jackboots. We had to admit, in this get-up he looked impressive, and with Ben standing next to him it was hard to tell who was the scariest.  ‘Yep I’ll be P.M from hereon’.

The Official Strayla day beach party

 “But what about Scomo’?, he pointed to the submarine; ‘all safely inside, call it the submarine cabinet’, he chuckled. ‘After covid, and increased police powers for public safety my skills were recognised and so the moment in history has arrived’. 

SAFE and COMFORTABLE!

And the final act, on the beach, on this special Strayla Day, as the submarine, with Jamie, Angus, Scomo, and Mr Big all gone, we stood alone.  ‘Yep mate, all gone. I’m here to look after you, and to look after the security of ALL AUSTRALIANS. And its fitting that it took place on this Australia Day. And on THIS BEACH’!

He led us to a small table, a flagpole had been erected nearby. On the table, a small old-school wound up record player. He bellowed TENSHUN, and he put the 78 on.  It was ‘God Save the Queen’. Ben unfurled the flag, our flag, he produced a bugle, played the “last post” and saluted as it slid up the pole. 

Dargie’s famous-est portrait

Dargie was off- colour when he painted this-un

From his attendant SAS obersturmbandfeuhrer, (his offical title in the the Queensland jurisdiction)  Dutton grabbed a sword. Images flashed before us of Japanese style executions and the way uncle Bluey lost his head via the japs at Buna. He motioned us. Pointed to a spot in the sand, we knelt down  expecting the worst. I winked to Ces and said, ‘so mate it’s come to this, what did Ned say,? : Stuff this life”! Yep that just about sums it up’. 

We waited for the blow, and then as if by magic, the sword lightly touched us on the shoulder and we could hear Dutton, speaking in a tone rich with the sense of duty and deep solemnity; ‘as emissary to her most noble majesty  Queen Elizabeth the Second, and the power invested by her son  His Royal Highness Prince Andrew I hereby dub thee Sir Cecil and Sir Quentin Cockburn, on this our Australia Day. Arise Sirs’!

We were flummoxed, so that was it, ‘for services to water futures and the Cayman islands’, ( it was written clearly on the citation)  which is a colony held in trust by Her Majesty the Queen.

‘For keeping the evil power of the CCP at bay through negotiation and water futures and defending whilst monetising Australia’s core values of insularity, smugness and insecurity’. 

British and Australian Royalty

After all it didn’t matter about the barley, the coal, the wine and the beef embargoes, we were lucky and from the lucky country. Introspection or the plight of the first Australians was the last thing on our mind. And knowing that we were into water futures with the backing of Angus, Jamie and Rupert we were home and hosed, and more importantly, ( from the words of our greatest PM EVER)  “SAFE and COMFORTABLE”. And in case we ever forgot, knighted for services and with a framed portrait, ( the wattle one painted by Sir William Dargie back in 54) rather than the one Rolf did, we were knights of the realm, and it made is feel deeply honoured, and though we’re loathe to admit it, a little smug. 

WE knelt, and prayed, it was our very own Strayla day. We were truly Safe and Comfortable! And nothing we possessed or ever did could be questioned, for we were sanctioned by HER Majesty the Queen. 

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN. GOD SAVE STRAYLA DAY!

SAFE and COMFORTABLE!

THE END.

Harold, liked to be in touch with his constituency

We left on where we left off, our heroes in a perilous position between moral authority and the chance to make BIG MONEY…. read on

The chopper set us down on a beach, the surf was stupendous, with the blindfolds removed we had time to sniff the air, and blinking we noticed the landscape, it seemed eerily familiar. ‘Do you recognise it boys’? We thought, the waves were furious, and here and there along the cliffs and among the dunes the odd pill box and crumbling gun emplacement. 

‘Thought you’d like it. It’s Aussie day, and right here on this spot back in 67 another little mate very dear to me, took a dip and disappeared’. 

‘You mean Harold Holt’? 

Harold, up close and personal with Dame Zahra

‘Yep, and he and I were in business. Not in an official way, but business just the same. It was during ‘nam’, and we had high hopes for breaking into the sth east asian printing market. As a front for narcotics, smuggling of any kind and converting whatever was left of Angkor Wat to cash. A little side-line I had going between newspapers.   Harold was a whizz with figures, and right under the yanks noses we were making gold out of ‘printing’ in Nam, Thailand, Cambodia, the Phillipines’, until he karked it. Sort of ran outta steam, but as they say in the classics, he patted Jerry’s well proportioned bottom, ‘the show must go on’. 

And then from behind, the horizon was blotted out by the hull of an enormous submarine. No sooner had it surfaced we observed waving from the conning tower and ageless man.  Sun- tanned, surrounded by bikini clad models of an asiatic appearance. ‘Gday fellas, been talking to me mate’?

‘Yep MR BIG’ Rupert waved enthusiastically, you could tell there was a deep bond of affection.   We were busy shielding our eyes from the reflection of his perfect white teeth. 

Irony personified, the Harold Holt Memorial pool.

‘Onya mate, Im well and truly the original Mr Big’, and with the deck guns manned by crack marines from the Peoples Liberation Army, a Chop-Suey attack fighter circling overhead, and the shallows swarming with torpedo shaped sensory probes, (the ones typically found in Indonesian waters) we recognised the man with the voice, and we weren’t going to question his bona fides. This Mr Big, the REAL MR BIG, had us by the testimonials. 

He’d come back

HAROLD HOLT

Ming and Harold, before his defection

‘G’day boys, and thanks Rupert, the spent uranium you delivered will keep the fat-choy class submarines streets ahead of the Collins class. And since becoming party member number one, since Mao karked it, I’ve gotta say I’m enjoying the prestige that comes with absolute authority and a second chance.  Life begins at 90, aint that right Rupert?  And for a life denied?  Nup, since Zarah’s, ( he was referring to the gracious former wife and widow of arguably Australia’s most famous drowned P.M)  left the scene I can really have some fun.  And there aint nothing wrong with crushed Rhino testicles, I don’t look a day over sixty. 

We had to admit, Harold looked fitter than ever, and there was something about him that reminded us of Sam Newman, but without the facelift. 

‘All the way’, and he REALLY MEANT IT!

What will happen next? Will this Strayla day be SPECIAL! Will it avoid the mire of the Culture Wars and Murdoch’s very own press? Have Rupert and Harold got something more vile than Angus’s water rights and Cayman Island scam to deal with? Find our in our next Sino- soviet despatch, “Five eyes of brown eyes all round” or “Harolds Halt’!

Next part

Saint Bob of Santamaria. arguably the best P.M we’ve never had.

Rupert began a monologue during the long helicopter flight. It was characteristic of a successful tycoon. Only good thing was, unlike Steve Jobs, he didn’t have his self titled book for us to read. The media landscape was his book. That was a source of some relief. But like a politicians memoir his monologue was the usual self serving claptrap about public duty, self sacrifice, and the thinly disguised ambition to wield POWER AND MONEY!  It was unendurably boring. He ignored our questions, and continued on and on…., here’s a fragment: 

 ‘At first I owned The  Adelaide Advertiser, they said it couldn’t be done, and I bloody well did it. And that’s where I made my first MILLION!

Ben Chifley scrapping Empire Day for Strayla Day and talking up nationalising the banks all in one day, LEADERSHIP!

Then I owned the West Australian, they were snidger times, (he gave us the Tony Abbott onion wink), now we were BEYOND SHIT SCARED!  They told me “no way mate” and I stuffed it down their fucken throats.  That’s when I made my first TEN MILLION!!  

Then I owned the Oz and changed it into Australia’s biggest selling Catholic Boys Daily, (The Australian) and then with the DLP on side with my astral Ouija board invoking the spirt of Saint Bob of Santamaria I closed and bought up all the other local media.  That’s when I made my first HUNDRED MILLION! Then, I singlehandedly launched into the UK with Maggie and we killed the free press there also..…That’s when I made my First BILLION!!! Then,….  

If only Prince Andrew was our GG, them people, ALL AUSTRALIANS would take Strayla Day seriously.

He went on and on, clearly the irony, most powerful man in the media landscape just wanted to talk to someone.  We were glazing over with his megalomanic drivel. 

‘Then I took on the yanks on in their home turf, they hated it until Donald came along. Then they fucken loved me. I told em what they wanted to hear, and if they didn’t want to hear it, till  I crammed it down their fucking throats with FOXTEL!. 

One of the greatest EVER Strayla day Moments!

Thats when I made my first TEN BILLION!!, and became THE GOVERNMENT! And then I made inroads into China, starting with the Hong Kong booksellers.  I saw huge potential via Sky News and Foxtel to become the mouthpiece of the Communist Party, through the ‘Global Times’ and the ‘Peoples Daily’.  To establish a world-wide web of shit journalism. And with Google and Facebook you could say I’ve now  almost complete control. Together with what Vlad’s doing to kill journalists  in Russia we’ve almost completely taken over. But there were pockets, some of it we could ignore, the Guardian and standout pockets of the non-Murdoch press, the independent and the Washington post. But then with Assange, Witness K, and Prince Andrews tell-all interview we saw more potential for complete annihilation of news in any other form than infotainment. Thats when I made my first HUNDRED BILLION! 

And, he turned to us megalomanically speaking and said; That’s where you lot came in, 

Christian and Peter, a pair of SAFE HANDS if ever they were needed on any given (per se)  Strayla Day.

Through your special brand of undergraduate humour you’ve damaged my inroads.  Because it’s not that you make people think, but make them laugh, that’s bloody dangerous, and I got it from none other than Scomo himself that this has to stop. Jamie is more confused than ever, you’ve put the wind up Angus, and SCOMO is worried.  Xi aint impressed either, thats when I thought, if you cant help yourselves i’d give you a leg up from an old mate of mine. That’s why I got Jamie and Angus in tow, to give you a little nudge. And this bloke, (he smiled at Ben), is just the nudge you need. And as an side, your so piss poor you’d never make it as real journalists and in a funny kinda way, I like that!

We have with  Maralinga, right under everyones noses the largest stockpile of bitcoin the world has ever seen, and it’s hidden in an underground bunker, called “DarkWeb”. It’s so dark, even the white bits are dark.  WE’ve irradiated it and when we we release it on the market, the Chinese Communist Party wont be able to keep their hands off it. And the Russians will like a slice of the action also. And this is where you lot come in. 

Now you know about it you’d better go with us, or otherwise, I’ll leave the door of the chopper open and you can just walk. 

Its not China, nor the U.S nor this piddly country I’m interested in, but world and galactic domination!!

And funnily enough, with your unique blend of old and new school technology you can help me flood the global market with bit coin, cause a crash bigger than corona, and I’ll clean up. 

Ted Whitten, (legend, hero, GOD) would’ve known how to celebrate Strayla Day PROPERLY!

‘Daring you are so wonderfully cleverly evil’,  Jerry swooned and planted a big sloppy kiss on his steamed dim-sim of a bald head. Rupert looked lovingly at her and said, “ later” Jerry wandered off into the cockpit. 

So its come to this, you’re meeting a man who’d very much like to see you. 

And, be polite, he hasn’t set foot in-this country for a long time, and wants to celebrate with you, as an aside, the true significance of Australia Day as a nation building exercise. Some say Australia Day is only marked for its divisiveness. Who gave you that divisiveness?….. You’re fuckin looking at him… 

‘Oooh darling’, Jerry swooned, and grabbed him on the crotch by giving him an empathetic squeeze. 

We’ll be there in fifteen minutes, 

‘Bradman Day’ has topped our readers poll as most likely successor to Strayla Day.

Where where we? What had it to do with sacred Australia Day?  Arguably the most sacred day between Anzac and the Queens Birthday.  And why was Roo keen for us, to meet the linchpin, the other most important man on earth? Or could it be Bob Santamaria? The man who had spiritually risen from the dead to turn Australian politics into the modern day DLP? Find out more or less in our next breathtaking episode, “ Charlottes dark web’, or ‘Strayla Day-for the non believers’. 

Track maintenance truck, undercover special operations vehicle.

The Herc, circled above the city and then scudded into the clouds, on a destination to who knows where. Big Ben, lowered the rear cargo door, waited for the signal and the the track maintenance vehicle was given the heave ho. ‘That’ll fix it, another one for senate estimates’. He wiped his ceremonial sword on his battle tunic and re-sheaved it. Whatever the case,

Ben meant business. 

‘Where are we headed?

That’s classified, 

Why are we here? 

That’s confidential

What do you want with us? 

Wrong Hercules. But deserved of an AO just the same, ‘for services to stronged-ness’.

NONE OF YA BUSINESS’!!

Ben fingered one of the grenades, we decided to stop the line of enquiry. He had us in witness K type situation. But we were still anxious, flying off to who knows where, and with a certified decorated V.C winner looking after us, you’d think we’d feel safe. We were SHIT SCARED!

Quent and Ces, always “acting the goat’!

The scariest thing was the way Ben fingered the ribbon of his miniature VC under his battledress, it looked a touch Captain Queeg, and we didn’t have an appetite for being mutinous. When he wasn’t fondling his miniatures he was talking in a conspiratorial way to his other troopers. They used a kind of sign language, and every now and then they’d turn towards us, and snigger.  Clearly they had plans. But where they the same plans as MR BIG? Ben threw us a parachute. “Put this on’, and before we could say ‘Jump’ we’d been thrown out. And Big Ben was coming right after us, in a parachute emblazoned with a mighty VC. Whatever we hit when we landed ,we knew they’d be ready to be led, such is the power of Australia’s most coveted honour. 

Ben’s mates!

We were drifting towards what looked like an aerodrome out in the middle of nowhere, and we noticed way below us a chopper, signal flares, and blokes in trucks rounding up people like mobs of sheep and herding them into what looked like a dirty great corral. Before we knew it, the ground loomed, and bracing ourselves for a rough landing we remembered to take the pressure by bending our knees and rolling over. Clearly all those Satdee arvos watching Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin repeats of ‘Jumping Jacks’ had paid off.  The red dust settled. Ben was already up, and in no time had his Bren, Sten and Thompson out and motioned for us to follow him. 

in the olden days progress was marked by a BIG POOF!

Locals being trained for Maralinga V.2

We were dazed, tired, a little thirsty, but nothing could counter what we were about to see. For there , in amongst the spinifex, the dust, the old windmill and the Nissan huts, the unmistakeable sign that said it all, ‘MARALINGA’. And the people being rounded up were local indiginies. WE could tell, because beyond the cordon of Nissen huts and soldiers a car park full of prisoner delivery vehicles stood by. ‘The benefits of privatisation’, I murmured to Ces, he nodded in agreement. Even in suffering. For the shareholders, there’s always a silver lining. 

Who says “war aint FUN’!

What’s going on? Ces exclaimed, “ oh that’!, Ben pointed to the manacled natives, ‘it’s just training. Since the intervention we like to round em up, just to make sure they respect authority.  And it keeps us ready for another Op in Afghanistan. Very similar but less pliable. It also streamlines them for processing. Mind you there’s no medals in this, just a sort of a kind of sacred duty. But I’ve gotta say, been here long enough I’ll be a shoe-in for and AO someday’. He fingered his miniature again, whilst flicking an army issue  comb through his hair. ‘Processing’? Ces timidly enquired, ‘yeah for Jail. It’s the prime mover in the NT. Without the prison system we’d be fucked’.  ‘But why Maralinga’?  

” let me Abos go loose Bruce” poignantly lost out to Sir John Betjeman for poet laureate, (cultural cringe).

‘Well it’s sacred land to us, for its where the Atomic Age really started in Oz,  and besides if they try and run away at night we can spot em without night vision goggles’.’Why’s that’? I asked. ‘Simple, they glow in the dark’. Ben laughed, ‘as in the song, let yer abos go loose Bruce’. We all had a laugh with Ben, it seemed wise to humour him and refreshing to sing a bit of Rolf in such tetchy circumstances. Gallows humour. 

But, our reverie was cut short.  Before we could say “ radiation sickness” a big white Rolls Royce pulled up, with official flags. Ben commanded,  ‘Stand to attention and show some bloody respect when I tell ya… 

‘TENSHUN’!! The roller stopped, the window wound down just a fraction, Ben nodded to the unseen occupant and out stepped Mr Big. 

He was kinda little, but he swaggered like he was almost as large as Ben. We knew it in a flash, cos from the other side this blonde, looking sort flirtatious got out. ‘Hiya boys been mis- behavin’? Ben sniggered, ‘not arf’, and the little bloke who was Mr Big smirked, ‘do as I say and you’ll be ok. Get me honey?’, 

“Sure Roo’. 

Had no idea Ruperts wife was Chinese.

We knew who Roo was, the most powerful man in the world Lord Rupert of Murdoch, himself. 

‘Glad you boys could make it. We’ve got high hopes for you. And your little journey is about to begin’. 

Before Ces or I could even begin to say,  ‘now hold on Lord Roo, we’ve been bullied, trussed, bludgeoned, and corralled from arsehole to breakfast and you reckon you’re looking after us’….. when Ben pulled out his spare bayonet, and made a throat slitting motion with the weapon and motioned for us to shut up. 

Woman falls in love with ‘Creature from the Black Lagoon”! sic (swamp)

‘Boys there’s someone i’d like you to meet, a little mate of mine, I’ve got lots of little mates in every corner of the world. Like you, I like to keep tabs on em. Just to be sure’. With a wave of his hand the chopper whirred into action, we were on it, with Ben, Jerry, Lord Rupert and a couple of other familiar faces. Rupert looked at his watch, ‘we’ll be just in time’, and we took off, blindfolded to who knows where. 

Will Rupert spare our heroes the fate of world-wide journalism or will they be despatched faster than a Hong Kong bookseller?  And what has any of this to do with Australia Day?  Find out in our next blood chilling episode “The Times, they aren’t for changing”, or “for whom the bell Trolls”.

Ben is a COLLOSSUS! Has a VC Tattooed to his Chest, just in case he loses his stick-on one.

We were running outta time. Australia Day was less than four days away, and bearing down on us. In that time we had to make our rendezvous with Mr Big. Demonstrate we knew nothing, and try and find a way of surviving the protection of Australia’s most decorated living V.C winner! 

What will happen next? it beggars belief, but as Fox news will tell you, it’s all ireffutably TRUE!

Ben checked the signatures and then stuffed the papers into his backpack, ‘Now listen up. 

‘But, but’……

Margaret Court, won the equivalent of a V.C, an A.O for promoting the Bible’s teachings to stone and kill LGBTI-trans-X and keep us pure from the taint of “equality”!

LISTEN! I’ll provide covering fire and I want you to run when I say “GO”! You run like buggery to the other side of the street. Use the wheely-bin for cover and on my signal’, he raised his fingers in a V, ‘make for the tram stop. I’ll provide covering and supressing fire, and make my break when the tram arrives. 

Once on the tram, act ordinary until I signal you to get off’!

‘But er… this is a suburban street, we’….

 “YOU ARE IN MORTAL DANGER DON’T QUESTION MY AUTHORITY’! We looked at each other and the blood red ribbon of a certified VC winner. We couldn’t deny the truth of his cause and it was not for us mere civvies to question him. We grabbed whatever we needed for a short tram trip and then crouching as instructed by our VC winner, we crept out. 

Margaret played shit-loads of tennis matches with the help of this dusky lass. Whom no one shall bother to name a trophy nor tennis court after.

‘GO’! he commanded, and within seconds we were crouching by the wheely bin. A little dog trotted towards us in greeting… RATATATA, the machine gun opened up and the dog was atomised. We looked up and saw Ben preparing to load a rocket propelled grenade and he gave us the V signal. We rushed to the tram stop and whilst trembling with anticipation heard an enormous explosion from the direction of our office. We were greeted with a smiling Ben, “ just to ensure the evidence is gone’. 

All the First Fleeters deserve an AO for not having a flash time upon arrival at Botany Bay. See lack of SILVER WARE on Officers table.

‘Thanks Ben’, he’d blown up our business, and livelihood but we were safe. It was comforting to know that Ben and his squadron had done the same to Afghani’s to make em civilised. Just then, the tram arrived, and Ben motioning us to just sit down, walked up to the drivers compartment, pulled the driver out at gunpoint and took over the controls. The driver was quickly bound and trussed, and as he deflty scrolled the desination of SPECIAL, we moved off. WE saw with OUR OWN EYES how the army works and were DEEPLY impressed. With Ben at the helm this tram would be ON TIME! And though we knew not where we were going we felt reassured. Safe for the moment from Mr Big, and protected from the dark web, Angus, Jamie, and those intent on monetizing their positions in the pursuit of raw power. Bens power was RAW, but differrent.  It was designed for the common good. 

To cut a long story short, we changed trams at the Kew depot and boarded a track maintenance vehicle. We made our way to Essendon. On the tarmac awaiting out arrival  stood members of Bens troop and the open rear door of a Hercules. We drove aboard, and no sooner had we arrived then it took off. 

‘Hold this’, Ben tossed us a parachute each, ‘and when I give the symbol YOU JUMP’!

Indigenous Australians were made to observe Australia Day for their own good. AND THEY’RE STILL UNGRATEFUL!

‘But, but’….., our pathetic questioning was quashed,  he waived another document, ‘or you can land ON HARD GROUND, the choice is yours? Sign this’!

Another document, this was for water rights to the entire top-end, the entire Murray Darling Basin, and most of the Kimberley. We scanned the documents, another Jam-land Contract, once again, we made a quick decision, and were once again co-owners on water futures. We wondered, why us?  Mere prawns, should be so exalted. We knew with Angus  there was no such thing as a free croissant. Plans had been made for us, and these plans were guided by the hand of MR BIG!

A true LEADER! Arguably Australia’s GREATEST HUMAN BEING!

The question being; was this croissant buttered and how much jam?  The jam being the jam we were in. And one way or another we had nowhere specific to land. In short we were in a REAL JAM!

Bronnie deserved her AO, that’s why she’s a WINNER!

Stay tuned to our next compelling episode, ‘Three Jams and Jim’, or ” V.C winners are Grinners”,

We continue with our gripping true-life drama of what happens to individuals other than Julian Assange when they determine that the truth must be out. As often said, ‘the truth is the first casualty of wartime’, and it aint so healthy during peacetime either. We return to our drama, our heroes prayers answered by a Man from ANZAC…

Leadership, having the courage to BITE DOWN HARD on that ONION!

‘This should help’! He tossed a handful of Bit- coin onto the table, and from his other breast pocket a tattered document of sale for fifty thousand square kilometres of desert in central Australia. The cartouche, (for that is what very high level important documents are called) was destined, through our quick scanning to be another area designated by Angus to be worthy of water catchment funding.  It was predicted to flood with global warming in the year 2525. ‘Sign this, and we’re in business’. 

‘But we… 

‘DONT ARGUE! , and he motioned with the barrel of the .303 whilst fixing a bayonet he pulled from his leg strap , “just sign this! In warfare, there’s always a DEAL to be made’!

‘But we’re not…..

OF COURSE WE’RE AT WAR!

WE”RE at WAR RIGHT NOW!

Leadership, To know RIGHT from WRONG and why we celebrate AUSTRALIA DAY!

Just then he scanned the room looking for bugs, he hit the deck with a thud, and then crouching raised his head to the window sill and flicked the curtains before furtively looking outside. He spoke as he surveyed the empty street; “Sign it or I CANT PROTECT YOU”! 

‘But…. but. ….

‘NO BUTS!, WE could hear the bolt of the .303 crack another round in. That’s why the SAS are crack troops. At the very same time he pulled out another onion and bit it cleanly in half. He threw the other half out the window and watched it roll lop-sidedly into the gutter. With his other hand he pointed to the spot which required our signature. We couldn’t read the small print, but with his hand moving to the grenade ring and fingering it, we capitulated. Clearly our lives were at stake, and this was not a time for procrastination. 

This is NOT LEADERSHIP!

With trembling hand we signed

The eminence towered over us, 

it was none other than our most decorated soldier Ever, “YOU need protection” they call me, ‘The PROTECTOR’. In an instant we knew, he possessed no humour, insight or depth of feeling other than service to country and the honour of killing so that we may be FREE!

It was BIG BEN,  Ben Roberts Smith. 

We felt anxious, how did he know? 

Leadership in its PUREST FORM! Accreditation from Cartier via AusPost 

But we also felt relieved, with Ben on the job, we were safe.  Well, to qualify we were safe from unarmed Afghani villagers who were conditioned to being shot. We were scared stiff, but safe in a scaredy kinda way. 

We were yet no further from unlocking the embargo on barley, the boycott of wine, the crayfish crisis and the coal curtailment. What will happen in our next thrilling episode?

Two GREAT LEADERS celebrate LEADERSHIP!

Will our intrepid journalistic duo get more than volunteered for with Ben? Or will they find  way through to safe haven? Find our in our next Thrilling episode, “Pick a V.C Winner’, or “ Two gongs and you’re Falun Gonged” 

Children are vulnerable to the DARK WEB if left alone in playgrounds.

Dear reader, our heroes are in deeper trouble than a flawed west link excavation contract, in more dire straits than a tax office functionary trying to get Transurban to pay any tax at all, more trouble than an extradition request for a paedophile school mistress in Israel.  With more twists and turns than the Barangaroo building contract, we find our heroes in a very awkward situation. The USB was either a life saver or a death warrant.  They, (our heroes) have to think quickly, as MR BIG said, ‘they had until Australia Day to sort things out’, and time was tik-tok-ing by. We return to their dreadful situation…and the ensnaring labyrinthine interstices of the EVIL DARK WEB!

‘Phew”,  I sighed with intense relief, “it may work”, ( in reference to the dark- web) “I believe there’s bits of the dark web that are so dark, that even the white bits are dark’? 

Australia’s finest. Crack second regiment SAS open a community resource facility in Afghanistan.

‘Too right, and I’ve gotta say’, pointing to the wall map of Australia’s finest, (the crack second squadron SAS  hard at work civilising the darkest dark places in Afghanistan), ‘if we cant feel safe here back home in Oz with crack troops like these defending our borders, where could we possibly feel safe? As Gerard Henderson said, and on this I am in absolute concurrence, ‘the only certainty in 2021 is uncertainty’. It was reassuring to know that Gerard had been on God’s telephone, and had the latest from Santa. As Gerard said: ‘if God was in the culture wars he’d be a commanding officer in the SAS and he’d be wearing a V.C and Bar’! Gerard’s observations were a source of some comfort in our challenging times. And reminded us of our sacred duty to look to the light of optimism, equality, imagination and progress, and say “NO’!

Just then, there was a knock at the door, 

John Howard, (arguably Australia’s GREATEST EVER P.M) recoils in shock to suggestions that our troops are beyond the pale.

‘Who is it’? I tremblingly replied. 

A booming voice made the office shudder;  “Its your PROTECTION”..

Protection? 

“yep, my boss said you needed PROTECTION”!. 

Who’s your boss?

CANT TELL!

Why are you here?

THAT’S CLASSIFIED!

How can you protect us?

SACRED! Are those BRAVE ANZACS who endure sacrifice and hardship in KEEPING US SAFE!

BY NOT ANSWERING SILLY QUESTIONS!

But how did you? 

Un cooperative, unarmed Afghani assisting the SAS with their enquiries.

No sooner than I had finished when the door came crashing down.  It was as if an answer to a voiceless prayer.  For there, shouldering  a 50 cal, a semi- automatic and old .303, a back-pack of hand grenades, claymores and signal flares, a couple of belts of 50 cal and night visions glasses, stood a crack member of the second squadron SAS. We could tell cos he had a Confederate flag and an SS flag draped over each shoulder, just like they do in Afghanistan as recognition of “friendly forces” 

“You mentioned the dark-web, that’s where I get my steroids from’!. And then right in front of us he did a Tony Abbott wink. Pulled an onion out of his pocket and bit it in half. If an onion had feelings, this colossus was oblivious to its suffering. He was the personification of PURE, Unrestrained BRUTE FORCE!

Who is this colossus? Who sent him to look after our reporters. Will his offer be worth more than a guarantee from our PM to look after Julian Assange? 

Find out in our next scintillating episode, 

Former PM demonstrates PURE WILLPOWER!

“Something hot from Taren Kot”, or “Killing me softly,…. and without witnesses”.

This was going to be inserted into the previous post, but the editorial department thought it was such a good image of W.A’s Corona – beating border closure strategy it needed its very own special place.

The Melbourne Club. (a kind of society)

‘Yes yessssir,’ we trembled, and the phone went blank. Uncannilly, we knew the voice! The voice that ruled the world , but we couldn’t nail it. Was it human?  Was it Eddie Obeid? No! This voice had more polish. There was a touch of something else? Whoever held that voice held the key. There was an authority in the voice that was both old-school and gangster. There was a touch of the Western District insouciance, and yet a contempt for the institutions of governance, respectability and whatever grotesque distortion of human behaviour passed for ‘society’ at the Melbourne Club.

The Living DEAD. Ghosts at the Melbourne Club. This image was taken through time lapse spectral imagery technology.

And as far as we knew, we were already DEAD! 

In a flash Ces pulled the usb out of the computer, ‘just pretend we never read it, ask Jamie, he’ll back us’! 

“Yeah, right” I countered; “and like his mates on the board at Barangaroo he’ll  do a Daniel Grollo on us?  Remember, as Jamie famously said, and his dad before him, we’re not in the business of making friends;  “we Packers don’t have mates!” 

‘Look at it this way Ces, we’re an invasion day short of the final cull, we’re a Maralinga short of the mushroom cloud, we‘re a koala short of the Barillaro, to make a finer point in the proceedings in plain english, ‘we’re rooted’!

‘If this aint sorted by Australia day, you heard him, we’re DEAD’!

Dining at the Melbourne Club is exclusive, upwards of tens of thousands of aboriginals were ‘cleansed’ so the squattocracy could feel refined and sacrosanct.

But how rooted were we? As far as we knew we just had to keep it from Mr Big, (whoever he was) that we’d read the usb, and knew of the evil nefarious plot to use Angus as his tool for the Communist Party takeover. And that Andrew and Tony were most probably his stooges, to be used and then spat out by the  system.  He held all the keys, but we still had the padlock in our sweaty hands. 

‘I’VE GOT IT!  exploded Ces, ‘let’s swap the usb’s!

‘If we use the Gaming room usb and put a new innards in it, and fill it with uncoded messaging from Tik-Tok and We-Chat, Rupert and his overlords will just think it’s editorial Angus provides for  the ‘Peoples Daily’, and not suspect that we’ve tampered with it!  And as Jamie can’t read, anything bigger than two numerals on a scratch ticket they’ll blame him. Rather than us top flight investigative journalists! Yeah, and if we scratch a name on this side of the usb, sprinkle a bit of Whizz fizz over it,…

(Dear reader for those amongst us who are budget conscious, Whizz Fizz is the perfect substitute for Cocaine as used in high roller lounges and by big corporate execs who need to feel BIG!, as the advert goes:

Melbourne Clubs, do not feel comfortable with people of “irregular gender’, a policy that keeps tradition and decency ALIVE!

“ looks like Coke, 

feels like coke, 

And for the budget conscious? 

Wont send you BROKE!

Just one sniff ‘ll set you straight

Get some now, 

GOODONYA MAAAAAAATE!!!

‘Yeah, whoever this Mr Big is will think that Jamie stuffed up the transfer whilst off his head, and in the ensuing confusion we might get off the hook, expose the evil, and alert our country-men and women and those of LGBTI Trans Q and X,  before its too late’!

‘But is he gonna believe our side of the story about a simple mix up and we got the wrong USB? 

Nellie Melba herself could not get in the front door. And though she ‘sang her head off’, no one inside could hear her.

Look mate, Ces looked me firmly in the eye, if they (the Feds) can believe that Angus had nothing to do with Clover-gate and that 30 million for a three million block of land is good business they’ll believe anything. It’s like Corona, scare the shit outta their personal self interest and they back science. Whereas with Climate change? Dis a few mates like Trev St Baker who got 100 milli outta 1 mil, you’ve gotta be joking. They’ll tell you straight the earth is DEAD FLAT!! You’d have as much chance as seeing private age care being nationalised and mates not making rivers of gold out of poor sick old bastards, who are so vulnerable, they’re willing to lay down and DIE so that the owners can keep their yachts, ski lodges in Aspen, and squeeze a few more dollars outta them!!

This will work, cos it’s gotta work!  And with this’, Ces pulled up a listing of all of Angus associates in the Caymans, the Bit coin, the links to the Russian mafia, the Chinese Communist party and the  dark web. we’ve got the material that might just save our necks’. 

But will it? Or will something go terribly wrong? Find out in our next episode;

Not all members of our “Elite Clubs” arrive by chauffeur driven limousines.

‘Ku Klux Packer Klan’ or “Go sell it to the Chinese”!

But if they are “of the right tone”, and abide by club rules, friends may be admitted as “guests”!

Angus was fuming!

Dear reader we found ourselves in a pickle. The Energy Minister is rope-able because we’ve made him look a bit Clover Moore, and the P.M is going to do a Witness K on us. And to top it all off, we just knew TOO MUCH! And as Witness K would tell you, ‘that’s BLOODY DANGEROUS’! But in spite of the severe risks, we were determined to find out who the ring-leader was. In short who was M’? This was in the interests of national security, and by hook or by crook the public needed to know just how Angus had been using the Australian public as prawns for his evil-doing, kow-towing to his overlords in China.

Could Angus and Clover Moore be one and the SAME!

Who’s M? It had us stumped! And before the next document in the USB was revealed the phone went. I said to Ces, ‘you answer it’! Ces replied tersely, “no you answer it”,

‘Well then, (I said irritably) it’ll just keep ringing’. After an hour the phone was still ringing. We drew straws. We thought this could be Jamie, or even Angus. Neither of us wanted to talk to Jamie, as we considered it ‘improper’. And Angus? Well, that was another kettle of fish altogether. You could never tell where he’d been. Ces picked it up, put it on speaker, and the voice on the other end was gravelly and deep, and vaguely familiar. “Angus has told me, you boys got my little usb’?
“yep’ we replied monosyllabically. We didn’t want to give too much away…,

‘Angus tells me, That little shit Jamie gave it to ya’.

Could Nev be ‘M’?

‘Yes’ we replied timidly

“I want it back! Angus is in deep shit, and when Angus is in trouble, I get REALLY Fucken ANGRY! And that means you’re in DEEP SHIT! Matter of fact, we’re all in trouble.

Angus is fuckin angry over what your meddling has done, and as Angus’s and Scomo’s boss I’m inclined to set the record straight. Angus works for me, and though he’s gotta lot to learn he shows potential. You lot however make me SICK!

It’s not beyond plausible, perhaps George is “M”?

‘I’ve got one thing to tell you, and listen, otherwise you’ll be joining Ghislaine in Chokey, and listen up real good or you’ll be doing Ghislaine’s dad. Floatin upside down, Get me’!

‘yyyess’, we still couldn’t work out who it was, but he sounded unerringly familiar. We tossed around names in our head. Was it Errol? (nah dead) was it Prince Charles? Too rough and we could get the whiff of an Aussie accent. One that had gone mid-atlantic, bit like Aussie actors who drop their twang as soon as they hear the word ‘Oscar,’

We could hear heavy breathing… he sounded like a really old bloke who lived on a diet of whiskey and ciggies. He continued,

‘That USB , consider it sacred. If you lose it, YOU’RE DEAD!

If you so much as look at its contents, YOU’RE DEAD!

If you let someone look at it, YOU’RE DEAD!

Or Bob? Perhaps he aint dead yet?

And if you breathe a word of it, YOU’RE DEAD!

‘We’ll hold onto it’, we stammered,

‘You might as well know if you’re not with me, YOU’RE DEAD!.

And if you’re with me, he laughed hoarsely, (the laugh indicating the full measure of his overarching power), you might as well still be DEAD!

He continued laughing: ‘consider it this way, you’re already practically DEAD RIGHT NOW’!!

‘Deader than that little two-timing shit Tony Blair was, after he’d had a go at me missus’’. And the only reason why you’re alive, is because I aint said its time for you to be DEAD YET!

Or Gerard? It is rumoured the God’s first name is Gerard.

Get Me’?

‘Yesssir’, we stammered, the voice sounding so familiar, yet scarily remote, bit like the voice of GOD on a bad day. He continued his monologue, you could tell this man knew all about POWER!

‘And while I’m at it, your wives and kiddies are being held in safe custody, just to make sure you don’t scream to the Guardian or The AGE. From hereon, don’t breathe a word. My plan is to meet you at a remote location this upcoming Australia Day, 10.00 am sharp. Angus will be in touch. No slip- ups , or (we guessed it) YOU’RE DEAD!

Dyse is very powerful in close encounters.

He slammed the receiver down,

What will happen to our celebrated and some-say under-funded heroes? Will this latest twist put them six feet under? Will they grasp victory from the jaws of defeat and save Australia and get off the Job- Seeker? Who is M, and what has it got to do with a Wendy?

the thought did cross our mind, perhaps ” M’ was a person who was internationally famous in Australia”?

Stay tuned for our next episode, “ A robo-debt that can never be paid” or..’Prime ANGUS and Get REAL ESTATE’!