A well-aimed leaked text message can be electoral GOLD!!!
Dear reader we return to our subterranean saga, with our heroes in more trouble than the vexed gender debate coming our of Warringah, they know that whatever hits them next will be ‘below the belt’.
Stuck deep below the radioactive desert wastes of Maralinga with none other than Australia’s most decorated and bravest and principled soldier ever, ‘Benny-Boy Roberts-Smith’ they seek refuge in the dark labyrinthine streets of a moth-balled nuclear city aptly named “ Radium Springs”. A city created so that a chosen few, selected for their perfection of mental, physical and emotional perfection could prevail and thrive and prosper post a nuclear apocalypse. A project, stalled, mothballed, forgotten and locked away for decades only to be rediscovered as the headquarters of two of Australia’s most powerful individuals, ‘Dutto’ and ‘Sophie’. What perilous truth awaits them? Will the protection offered by Benny-boy and subsequently Kerry Stokes be enough to save them? Or, like the rest of the population, must they wait while others selected via the aforementioned criteria are parachuted into grotesquely over-salaried sinecures of the AAT The FWC, Boards of Rivers, Lakes, Philanthropic Trusts, to realise as Lindsay Fox famously says, “no one ever goes broke from giving’. Because as was not famously recorded in the transcript, what he really said was; ‘No one goes broke from giving, if they’ve got tax kick-backs, skewed philanthropic trusts, monopolies on transport and links to high end rivers of gold from Government as a win win situation’.
In pre-texting days you had to rely on sign language and sheer physicality to hide the truth!
Like Lindsay’s edited transcript, Will our heroes complete story, (warts and all) ever get to the editorial desk of our newspapers? Do they care? Will anything change? Don’t lose heart for with an election anything can change. And there might even be from a crack, a fissure, a snap in the public debate to reveal just once, a glimmer of imagination to public policy. We live in hope and the time is right. So do not despair, glacial change is quicker under global warming, and in the end the clean team, clean-coal and clean living, (without the taint of LGBTO, Trans Inter sex Mutant and Cyborg) will win in the end. If you don’t believe us look to the PM for leadership and another tranche of leaked text messages.
Text this you say’? Do so and Dare to WIN.
In the olden days even mobile phone messages could be leaked.
We return to our story;
We stood aghast as the door, the great steel warehouse, 1950’s corrugated shuttered industrial door was rent like butter as a great claw, sliced its way out into the dim streetscape. At first we couldn’t see anything, but the as the dust settled, we made out the shape. We breathed a sigh of relief as the shape, we could tell in the half light and at distance, was human. Such a relief as all of us imagined radioactively enhanced scorpions, brown snakes, cockroaches, funnel web spiders, anything that was vile, hairy, and slippery and equipped with claws, talons, or stinging venom enlarged hundred-fold. Whatever it was its shape was distinctive and human and in that at the very least lay hope.
‘Stay still’! Benny whispered, ‘if it comes towards us I’ll plug it with this RPG!
Macron and Scomo have different interpretations of Truth, it’s often lost in translation.
‘Isn’t that risky’? whispered Ces.
‘I mean what if you miss’?
Benny smirked and borrowed one of Terry’s Camels* before lighting it up, GI style with a flick of a non safety match against the rough soles of his boots. ‘I never miss, and besides’, he grinned menacingly, ‘If I do miss the first time, I’ll get him one way or another’! With that he fingered the machete hanging from his combat belt, and tapped a delicate tune upon the stick handle of his treasured 1942 Potato masher Grenade outsourced from the prosthetic limb supplier of Kandahar. ‘I always carry some back up, you never know when it might come in handy’, and then pausing for effect, ‘a tight scrape’.
‘But’, murmured Quent; ‘How do we know it is evil? Surely, there is just a chance, after being bottled up here for decades, the creature, whatever it is will be happy to see us, it may also, theres a chance, offer us a way out.
Bullshit’!, Benny could no be swayed, ‘it’s fucken evil I can tell you!
Hows that’? Murmured Quent,
Sometimes the truth is so truthful it’s best left alone! Stick to text messages MAAAATE! The ‘simple truth’ can be bloody DANGEROUS!
‘Cos I told you so, and I have a sixth sense.
Sixth sense?
Yep mate, I have a nose for these things’!
We gulped Clearly Benny-boys years of training and discipline and selfless duty had prepared him for a situation like this, and who were we to question? The most damaging weapon any of us had carried was a letter knife and a box of paper clips.
‘He’s right’, Terry whispered, ‘I don’t know what they’ve kept down here, but I know it was never gonna be , he paused for further emphasis, ‘quite right”.
And in the end, like an Anti-Corruption body the public aren’t interested in truth, so we can all have a laugh!
‘On some of the experiments they did work on trying to fuse animal and insect parts onto human torsos for, what was the term they used? ’ Greater Efficiencies”! I dunno, it was so many years ago, but there was this bloke who got his old fella caught in the air conditioning compressor belt and they took him away, and the next thing there was a call for brown snakes and mulga snakes and rewards offered for those who could bring em in alive, it caused quite a stink, but if you think of this laboratory and the mind does funny things to you’.
Just then Terry paused mid stream, for the steel door was tossed like a tissue and the figure, impossibly large, and covered in a dark indeterminate fabric, could be seen standing tall, stamping its feet and with its claw-like hand, waving at something in the air. We couldn’t make out what it was doing, Was it trying to communicate? Did it know we were observing it? Did it like Benny have a sixth sense? Whatever the case it gave a mighty heave, and in one bound jumped fully across the street, landing with a terrific thud just metres from our niche. It then jumped into the air again, with incredible agility some ten feet and in doing so let out the most sickening ear – wrenching scream. A scream so beast-like, so alien to our human countenance that we recoiled and crouched in abject fear. Even Benny-boy was taken aback and we could see him nervously fingering his V.C service-ribbon. We needed leadership, we needed direction, and we sensed we needed salvation. With no salvation at hand, not even a well aimed Prime Ministerial text message leakage, we knew something worse was about to happen. Who was this monster? What evil was afoot? What crime against justice, humanity and notions of fair play were about to befall us? And this, in only week one of the election campaign.
If you aint gotta mobile or dog-whistle, try the Ukulele! It’ ELECTORAL GOLD!
Only you, dear reader can stomach the truth whist you still have stomach enough. Find out in our next intestinal episode, “ One more jump and you can forget your hop- skip’, or “Transex vexed-text ex’.
*Respected servicemen and SAS elite do not bludge ciggies off mates, they ‘borrow”.