Mrs Culthorpe was a picture of happiness on her first day at work in the ” BIG HOUSE” that ran the country!
She is now a BROKEN and FALLEN WOMAN!
Dear reader, another perilously implausible episode from our heroes, as they battle death by extermination, by neglect, by obfuscation and bloody mindedness. All for the sake of Mrs Culthorpe, our tea- lady who was cruelly defiled by an anonymous onanistic overlord within the quarantined corridors of our Federal Parliament. Is this the latest twist in the Federal Government’s unnoficial deaths in custody policy? Or just another facet of the Coalitions Climate policy?
Where black is COAL and Coal is LILY-WHITE!
We find ourselves poised at the edge of oblivion outside the abandoned airfield at what used to be MARALINGA. Set your Geiger counter to TEN, and count backwards.
Read on…
Benny laughed again, “Don’t want you getting radio active! Ha ha ha’!! (He convulsed with laugher): ‘or otherwise Gina’ll have to let youse go’!! With that he doubled up with laughter (again) and all we could do was nervously watch as the AK levelled at us still smoked and the grenades looked greasy with sweat and rifle grease.
Her features fissured by abuse and being part of the great tradition of throwing sheilahs and board members under the bus.
‘Steady on Benny’! Ces quipped, ‘lets not get ahead of ourselves’…
‘Like the bastard whose’ block I knocked of in Tarren Kwot’*?
At this he doubled up , and with some exertion contained himself. He then stood upright, as if by some strange impulse he was obeying a hidden signal, or an impulse within his military and precise mind.
AWM survey to seek 500 million funding for ATOMIC AGE Exhibition and Interactive light show at Maralinga
‘You boys allright, then, well then’, he waved to us, motioning with another AK47 that looked unerringly the same as the last one. Its was as if his demeanour had changed via a switch, he was suddenly a compassionate, caring individual, clearly a sign of his superior SAS training. He handed us a prosthetic leg filled with beer; ‘Cmon fellas, it aint that bad, have a swig and learn to fucken LARF’! We took a few sips, the beer tasted awful, and we felt obliged to take another swig. It tasted like plastic with traces of Afghan and Denco-Rub. But to Ben it was an elixir, he had regained new energy. He turned to us beaming, his chest expanded, the buttons popped off like rivets, and there before us, his gleaming ‘Leonidas-type’ torso, the VC proudly tattooed. He gleamed in the desert air. We were in the presence of a SUPERMAN!
‘Got someone who wants to see youse. RIGHT NOW’!
Who could it be in this desolate radiated wasteland? We both gulped. Could it be the “Big G” or did Angus have another trick for us to play? Perhaps it was Dutto as an ex Qld copper? We knew he had a wicked Terry Lewis kinda humour.
But we had no time to think. Benny pushed us forward. And half stumbling and incoherent with exhaustion, we trudged into the wasteland, the wilderness, the emptiness.
Maralinga in the good ol days when Strayla was a world leader in Atomic Power!
Can’t tell how long we trudged. Afternoon shadows lengthened. And the light began to dim from deep blue to soft yellow and then deep blue again. We could see the first stars etched in the twilight sky, like beer coasters on a dance floor. Just when we were about to drop from exhaustion we halted. Benny pointed to a bunker in the middle of a gibber plain. Around and about the odd truck, busted and rusted, and the remains of an old cyclone fence. A Sign, rusty and shot through with small arms fire, proclaimed ’Area B’.
And as we walked to the other side a gleaming white helicopter was revealed, parked just as it had landed, and from within a portal etched glowingly from the side of the bunker a dim light,
‘Grouse she’s in’, Benny harrumphed in excitement!
Afghan Govt, (not yet run by Taliban) seeks 500 million in funding from AWM to do their own iteractive display, ’20 years of nothing’
Tremblingly we looked at each other, so this was it?
A bunker in the middle of nowhere?
To confront Gina?
For if it was Gina we knew it would be like the resource rent tax? A life made short and sweet and then, barely born, we’d be knocked off. Like a Kangaroo in ‘Wake in Fright’, and it’d be all over.
We paused, Benny smiled; ‘Come-on fellas! It aint that bad! You know, suprises come in small, and sometimes large packages’. Large and Small was he talking Gina? We daren’t think, and falteringly we stumbled into the dusty portal, which like the Coalitions deliberations to stall a Climate Policy, went on for ever and ever and ever, (again) .
‘We of the never never’; quipped Ces. Yeah, the fucken outback and beyond!
What will happen to our heroes? Is this their last stand? Find out in the next Billy Bunker-esque episode? ‘A bunker and beyond’ or ‘The only way UP is down”
The Little and Big men who run ANZACKERY INC.
* Dear reader we ‘d like to apologise for this anglicised spelling of a famous Afghani place name recognised Australia over as another place where Australians upheld the banner of freedom and liberty over ‘less fortunates’ to shine the light of CIVILISATION! As we’ve had to rely on colloquial rather than correct usage. We had relied upon our interpreter Ali Mustapha al Ali who served gloriously with the Third Company Royal Australian Regiment but due to a clerical oversight he was left behind to liaise with the Taliban. He has not been seen since.