Calling the 2010 Political Cliché Handicap

Welcome punters who have just joined this broadcast of the Political Cliché Handicap live from Toad Hill Racecourse. We have a strong field today drawn from the major stables around the country. Mob Rule, Big Ticket Items, the Left For Dead and the No Right Answers stables are all well represented. We have a couple of starters from the Tree Huggers stable and Fornicators Stable.

Leading rider for the Left For Dead stable today is affectionately known as Rump and Rose, dressed in Red Riding Hood silks. She’ll be riding the punters favourite, Housing Affordability, who is always a bigger favourite with the bookies. He he he. And have a look at the lead rider for No Right Answers stable, Toned Up, put some clothes on man. Pity his mount, Stop The Boats. The track is wet and tearful. Whether is the operative word.

We have a late scratching punters. Alternative Energy has shown up to the wrong track and won’t make it to Toad Hill.

The stewards are loading the gates now, some of the horses are a bit frisky and, oh no, it looks like Can I Just Say’s rider has fallen before being gated and has broken his ego. The course vet is examing the rider now, and is signalling for UN intervention. They’ll have to put him down, never a pleasant task, but the stewards have plenty of steak knives on hand and they have been applied vigourously.

All set. Under Starter’s Orders; and they’re off and racing, it’s Housing Affordability away with a clean start and taking an early lead, followed a press gallery behind by Stop The Boats, then back an electorate to Emissions Trader. A half a sauce bottle back, Ban the Burkha, Fear the Darkies and Bogan Dreaming from the Mob Rule stable make up the front runners. Following at 2 lengths is Super Duper, then an opinion poll back to Interest Rate Hike, followed by Tax Me Blind, all from the Big Ticket Stable, then two marginal electorates back to All Bosses are Bastards, Learn Me Gooder, and Doctor Band Aid, while bringing up the tail are Verballed, Death By Custard, and Work Till You Die, with Flex Day Humphrey trotting along at the rear.

Approaching the first turn and it’s Housing Affordability being whipped up into a frenzy by the Red Riding Hood, with Stop The Boats fumbling in second, up now to a nose behind. All Bosses are Bastards has taken a great big new leap of faith into third, Emissions Trader falling back to fourth, pushing Fear The Darkies, and Bogan Dreaming to the outside. Ban the Burkha is boxed in on the rails by Learn Me Gooder and Doctor Band Aid. The rider for Islamic Fundamentalism, Kiss My Sharia, is threatening to take a mobile phone out of his pocket. He looks a bit too fat around the mid-riff to be jockey. Super Duper, Interest Rate Hike, Tax Me Blind and Work Till You Die are struggling on the wet track and are not on the punters‘ radars. Death By Custard is looking a bit dopey and will no doubt attract the attention of the stewards after the race. Verballed has been taken down in a pre-emptive strike by a SWAT team and is out of the race. Flex Day Humphrey is nowhere to be seen.

Coming out of the first turn and it’s Stop The Boats speedo-ing into first place. Housing Affordability has lost its way as Red Riding Hood jumps onto Kiss Some Babies which has dropped in out of the sky. All Bosses Are Bastards was strongly backed off course and is looking comfortable in third, while Ban The Burkha is demanding forth or there’ll be riots in stands. Super Duper is leaking ground, and other unmentionable things, forcing Interest Rate Hike, Tax Me Blind and Work Till You Die to lobby for fifth, sixth and seventh from the corporate boxes.

Falling to the back of the field, Emissions Trader, with it’s rider in the green silks from the Tree Hugger Stable, looks a lot like Balance of Power that is a regular on the regional tracks. This could be another Fine Cotton scandal punters. Learn Me Gooder and Doctor Band Aid are struggling for form at the rear of the field despite being overpriced favourites. Death by Custard has been buried, exhumed, cremated, resurrected and is now buried again and out of the race.

Mid way up the back straight, Emissions Trader has been parachuted into a safe front position and is an email campaign in front of Kiss Some Babies who is tied with Stop the Boats for second. Stop The Boats has been given a surrogate rider while Toned Up is standing up doing some trick riding between two new horses, Labor Debt and Return To Surplus. What a marvellous display of skill punters. Spending Cuts is moving up to fourth.

A safe Labor seat back is Tax Me Blind, pushing All Bosses are Bastards and Work till You Die back to the picket line. We expected better from horses paying 3 hours for 2 hours work but it’s only mid race yet punters. The rider from Ban the Burkha has jumped across to Bogan Dreaming and the two riders appear to attempting emissions trading reminiscent of the days when Put That Thing Away and Over my Dead Policy dominated the Handicap.

At the half way mark the entire field has just done an about face and are running back the other way. Learn Me Gooder now leads the field, a school canteen in front of Doctor Band Aid with Tax Me Blind back a Gallup Poll away in third. They narrowly miss colliding with the aimless Housing Affordability who now resembles old favourite, Trampled To Death, after Rampant Immigration moves forward backwards.

The horses reverse direction again but the riders are still facing backwards. My word punters, this is real action you don’t see in the real world.

Interest Rate Hike has moved up to second only an election speech behind Emissions Trader. Toned Up and Red Riding Hood are battling to jump onto Hard Hat, who has wandered onto the track but someone should tell them that Duke It Out has been put out to pasture.

As the field enters the home turn Tax Me Blind, Super Duper and All Bosses Are Bastards have gone past Stop The Boats while Red Riding Hood has finally got aboard Hard Hat, but is still dragging Kiss Some Babies along by The Greasy Reins.

Back a Budget Deficit is Tax Holiday followed by Code of Conduct, then a redneck back to Staying The Course. Work Till You Die has its nose in the trough along with Flex Day Humphrey at the back.

As they enter the home straight, Hard Hat and the riderless Kiss Some Babies are close to the rail and a Sheridan in front of Spending Cuts, a late entry, ridden by Paris Hilton’s celibate lover Beer Today, Gut Tomorrow. Factory Visit has predictably come out of nowhere and is a third runway in front of Razor Gang. Stop The Boats is nosing in front of Policy On The Run then back to Spending Cuts who is working hard to stay in front Mature Debate who is being boxed in by the horses from the Mob Rule Stable.

A 100 to go and it’s Hard Hat and Kiss Some Babies a half length in front of Stop the Boats with Spending Cuts slipping to fourth. Who Needs Policies has moved into fifth, closely followed by Sustainable Population, Sustainable Economic Growth, Sustainable Mining, and Sustainable Paradoxes.

At the final 50 it’s crowded at the front with Hard Hat and Stop The Boats nose to nose only an edge in front of Factory Visit, Kiss Some Babies, and Bogan Dreaming. It’s hard Hat; Hard Hat looks set to win the Handicap bar a late charge from It’s All About Me and iVote.

At the post it’s a photo finish for first between It’s All About Me and iVote, followed by All Bosses Are Bastards then Kiss Some Babies, Interest Rate Hike, Super Duper, and Learn Me Gooder rounding out the top placings. It’s All About Me and iVote have won the 2010 Political Cliché Handicap.

Food Miles

That bastard, Stephen Matchett, has been getting some giggles out of wryly taking the piss out of food miles. Let me just say this, there I was in front of ABC2, watching some hippie bloody Californians deliver organic Amish food to the non-starving ultra-trendoids of some shit hole in the god damn USfirkenA, I think it’s called Lost Angels or some shite, anyway there I was, having a delusional hippie moment that the world was worth saving, it must have been caused by the John Butler Triage, that this particular bogan redneck miner, still fatuously in love with a dead pit bull, armed only with a sand dune wrecking 4WD and a boldly big machete, was thinking, oh perchance, maybe there is some sense in a carbon pollution reduction scheme. And I’m not talking about my macro-biotic diet of mung beans and alfalfa on rye to reduce methane emissions out my own exhaust. No, no, no. This is the real deal. Taxing that maniacal carbon to death so that hippy and non hippy farmers alike, within spitting distance of my verandah, can supply vegetables to my carbon friendly refrigerator, cheaper than those capitalist zionist infidel supermarkets. So if that woman, that non Pauline Hanson variety of an anxiety pill, wants me to vote for something other than my donkey, well let her know that this next election better be about our next great big bad enormously new tax, the evil carbon monster. I know, I know, that the anxiety of the day is leaky boats and an understandable overt phobia of stone age cretins who think that morality starts with a good old fashioned stoning, but it’s really about a morality cleansed future and that cleansing will obliterate, not just the opium producing stone age, but make healthy food a reality. And fork Matchett, the prick, with a rye sandwich. As old wise man says often, spooning leads to forking. Let that be a lesson to the sustainable population rent a crowd, As long as the PM Sarah Packs, doesn’t mention climate change we won’t have to deal with any anxiety. The CPRS needs it’s own legs on pure economic grounds to win over bastard pseudo conservatives such as my good self. I was only kidding when I said I would vote for something other than my donkey.

Master Politics for the unwashed

For today’s meal we are going to prepare some patsy pie garnished with ample sprinklings of hubris and hyperbole with a side dish of innuendo and served on an overused back-flip springboard.
Firstly mix equal parts of conservative attack dogs and leftie latte luvvies with a Sydney harbour’s worth of desalinated water in the back of a Teflon-coated debt truck. When that’s all dissolved, add two tonnes of Bondi cigars to give the mix body and substance then set to simmer for a full term. Don a balaclava and head off to the waterfront for a couple of middies during happy hour.
Once out of hospital, add a spray of Keating wit and 2 bushy brows, then blend in 10,000 barrels of crude oil. Splash another 100,000 barrels of crude oil around the kitchen and backyard to add some ambience, making sure to give all the neighbourhood pets a good soaking. Set fire to an oil soaked cat to keep the bogans amused. Call the boss a bum, take the day off and go sailing with Alan Bond. The stew will cool in about a week. Stay out at sea for this week and have a press secretary add copious ‘no comments” to the mix.
Once back on land, grind up a ship-load of wheat supplied from AWB and delivered free to your door via Iraqi trucking companies. Be sure to add 3kg of plausible deniability at this stage. Blend the lot in a concrete agitator, all the while smirking and denying leadership ambitions. This will make the temperature rise naturally, so call it a man made disaster and insulate the kitchen against global warming. Some of the mix can now be served as hors d’oeuvres named “Shocking De-lights”. This is a convenient time to forget to add in 1 kg of tax reviews, and 2 kg of reports of police brutality and years of hospital maladministration.
To turn our pollie pie into a main meal, add a pie and can of coke tax cut, together with 5 kg of baby bonuses and that will cool the whole thing down. Once the mix has cooled, stir in an overseas military deployment to an unwinnable war while agitating gently for labour market reform. While this lot is marinating on a hotbed of discontent, apologise profusely for not welcoming the drover’s dog into the kitchen. Take a sickie and go to the cricket. Can I just say something stupid that shows, and let’s be quite clear about this, that I make no apologies for not knowing anything about cricket. Pine for the security of the kitchen. Add another truckload of Bondi cigars to give the mix more body and substance.
Move on quickly to the final stages of the preparation ignoring all advice to the contrary. Whilst vigourously shaking a sauce bottle over the mix, whip in a greatest moral challenge of our time. Add a few promises to fix indigenous health and housing and let simmer out of sight and out of mind.
We are now ready to add the stew to the carefully prepared non-stick baking tray that’s been lined with a patsy pastry. To make the pastry, run all the reports collecting dust in the kitchen cabinet through a shredder, blend with tertiary treated water and some of the left over AWB flour. Don’t use eggs as this will earn you the label, “baby killer”. Garnish the pie with 350ppm of carbon dioxide. Place the dish in a pre-heated detention centre in the desert for 3 years and forget that’s it’s there.
To test the cuisine is ready, smear mix over a leaky boat to see if it plugs the holes. Turn boat around. Then around again, and now back the other way, no this way. Cure dizziness with more shakes of the sauce bottle and a visit to a strip club. Divide the pie up into unequal factions, declare the culinary delight a win for post-modern feminism, rename the dish “government largesse” and distribute to P&C associations and school canteens telling them they have to eat it according to the correct formula or they won’t get any more. You can download this recipe every morning after a strong cup of coffee.