Power without Mercy

Oi luvvies, it's that time of the solstice again when all the ducks line up and the turkeys start gobbling down on some good old fashioned useless debate about matters of inconsequence. Take this piece of trite rubbish lifted directly from our national newspaper: letters to the editor of the Australian. This is classic Mitchell stirring the pot with some so subtle put downs of greenism.

Those of us with a view to the future recognise the need for climate action in the form of a carbon tax. To make it truly effective, the revenue raised also needs to be used to reduce carbon emissions. Two effective ways of doing this are to properly fund public transport and to give incentives, in the form of rebates, for householders installing solar electricity. Joy Ringrose, Pomona, Qld

Hands up those who took this letter seriously? Move to the back of the class and say 100 times, "gor blimey, it aint alf hot eh mum". That should keep you busy forever because you probably can't count to 100. Idiot.

Now it's a fair bet to say that Joy is a lefty without much of a clue about megawatthours, or the costs of public transport or how unpopular it is because, yee gads, it's public, it's australian, and it's next to useless. She has, though, hit on one key word, incentive, then killed it with the next, rebate, and buried it with the the next idea, solar electricity. Joy might have noticed that the sun doesn't run at night and most households are unwilling or unable to give up their microwave, toaster, kettle, hot water service or any other big current sucker. Joy possibly doesn't realise just what batteries are made of, the huge amount of energy that goes into making them or the disposal problem these little toxic chemical factories generate. Go to bed Joy. We'll call you when we want another vacuous lefty statement again. Tomorrow. Nothing like lefties showing their ignorance and emotional imbalance. God bless them. Oh and, by the way, solar panellists aren't the only ones with a view to the future.

Admittedly, I once thought solar panels on every roof, green gridding as it's called, was a good idea. But with a 16% efficiency rating, solar photovoltaic transformation of our power generation won't be a reformation, just a deformation. Forget it. It works for me and my hippie mates in our bush camps but stuff all else. And pubic transport, well it's a great idea once commuters are incentivaterised into using it. I won't hold my breath.

Back to sledging carbon warriors and their silly taxes and schemes. I'm going to go to great lengths to avoid paying any ridiculous, emotive, wasteful carbon tax that won't acheive anything but give the government more money. The same goes for the even more ridiculous half-arsed idea of emissions trading. Duh.

Why do people believe in stupidity. Well the big money wants ETS because it means more big money. For them. Plus it's the ultimate green marketing tool. We trade our emissions! Well so do I but that's a personal thing. Face it, anything that increases costs and hands power and money to any government is doomed to terminal bureaucracy that achieves a lot of consultation, committee meetings, finger food luncheons, adherence to process and flossy reports but no real world results.

There's got to be a better way, ROI for fossil fuel companies notwithstanding.

Now I'm going to digress for a little bit then get back on track, or at least cross it a few times. As much as I despise the U.S. administration, I like that name, administration. Give the people free rein to achieve and just keep tabs on the whole thing, take a tithe and spend it on military hardware. Damn fine idea, but of course, humans are involved so it's not so damn fine. We've seen first hand when the un-regulated U.S. banking and investment sector takes a dive, it takes the whole world down with it.

Take Australia's government. Job is to govern. Run by governors. A governor on a motor limits engine speed, limits power output, generally limits. It's like driving with the handbrake on. A dumb idea. So why would we want to give money to a hand brake? Huh? Why? So it can control us, impose it's ideologies on us? Create a society where it's ok to be stupid but not ok to be clever or creative. If you succeed you are greedy and should pay a higher rate of tax. Hmmm, sounds like socialism. Sounds like, Australia.

Once upon a time, Australia had a Prime Minister who said, Thou shalt invest in research and development and get a 150% tax deduction. Who was that man and why was he evicerated from office? Where would we be now if the 150% tax deductible R&D was being done on clean energy supply or massively increasing the efficiencies of fossil fuel burning? Even those greedy, creative types at car companies and energy companies would go for this. Less tax is less tax after all.

So that's the answer folks. Don't give money to governments. Change governments to administrations and give people free rein to find the answers by letting them pay less tax, not more, for coming up with good ideas. Empowerment, not control. Government, by definition, can't work. So any hair brain idea like carbon tax or ETS won't work either. You know it.

My Name is Hurl

Like any good god botherer when I die I want to go to that place in the sky over-run with vestal virgins, preferably some with slightly sapphic tendencies. Over the years I’ve been utterly selfish, like any blogger, and thoroughly enjoyed sledging just about everybody. So without talking about pharmaceutically enhanced karmic payback, I feel obliged to compile a “Make It Right” list, lest those buxom virgins be but a mirage floating away from me on another cloud. Don’t mind that the devil took my soul as payback long time ago, I’ve been in a living hell for some time now so any change of animate state can only be upwards trending.

Firstly I have to get right with the aliens from Xenu, Tom, and every other Thetan working through their 5 zillion hours of community service on the treadmill known as the never-ending bridge. Maybe I don’t have to get right with them. When their lawyers come a knocking I’ll know I’ve upset them. Anyway Senator Nick’s gonna grab you by your general ledger and run his ruler into places where the sun never shines – your community service register. So send me your money and Uncle Fricken Ozzy will save you from a fate worse than the Tax Man and I’ll give you some good advice on how to re-engineer the brand to keep the cashola rolling in. Keep up the good work my children – just give me a cut.

Next I have to make things right with every bloody lefty luvvie, Trotskysist, latte drinker and other num-nutted socialist pancake brain. Don’t ask me how I’ll ever pull this off. Ok I’ll stick a sock in Bob Katter’s mouth but that’s all I’ll do for you. Sorry Bob, take one for the team please.

I should probably include the Labor party in with those who suffer my general lefty bashing. But even Lenin acknowledged that the Australian Labor Party isn’t left wing but an allegedly liberal capitalist party. Backing capitalists is sensible because someone has to create jobs for the workers. Pity the capitalists don’t like you very much because the ALP is full of all those graduate lefty university student union types who never actually graduated. As Keating and Hawke demonstrated, if you stick to the liberal capitalist agenda, not only will you be popular, you’ll implement good policy. You also need to know something about economics, and while I’ll admit, that Scientology makes more sense than economics and shrapnel wounds are less painful than economics lectures, some bunny on the team has to know about it. And because you are so hopeless, we, me, had to put up with 12 years of John Howard. That’s all your fault. The only way I can make things right with you is to forgive you your sins. Give me Kate’s phone number and I’ll think about it.

Then there’s Bob Brown, his green greens and the adoring band of rent a filthy hippy feral brigade. I’m going to need some help on working out how to make things right with you lot. While I’m thinking about it, go and get a real job, one that doesn’t involve hanging off the taxpayer teat or a coal loading terminal. I know. I’ll buy you all candles seeing as how you like living in the dark.

Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm. How was the re-union with Rodney? Is your approval rating into double digits yet? Honestly, you’d make a great Prime Minister. New Zealand has an opening. You’ll make the next boat if you hurry.

Next I have to make things right with the Conservatives, who call themselves liberal, which is forgivable only because I love irony so much. I backed Tony for the leadership only because he was the only one of you who could string a sentence together even with his foot in his mouth. Malcolm of course, should be leader, but Australia isn’t ready for a liberal capitalist agenda that doesn’t come from Labor. You lot had your chance in the sun but flew to close and like Icarus, are now doomed to spend you days wondering when the fall will stop. The way to make it right with you lot is to buy you outright and show you the way. It’s on the agenda so stay tuned.

Of course I should apologise to the conservatives but it’s hard to get air-time when Greg Sheridan is so busy apologising for them. Greg just needs a big cuddle to learn that love, peace and communication are damn fine conflict resolution tools. Although giving man-hugs will never be a part of my skill set, just say the word Greg and I’ll send you $150 so you can toddle off to Kings Cross and buy one.

Kicking the big end of town, especially the big end of Uncle Sam, is one of the few joys of life. They can look after themselves, with their private spy agencies, private military firms, huge profits and political donations. I can only make things right with big ugly corporations by controlling and/or owning them and showing them there is more money in peace and luvvy duvvy capitalism. Well except for arms manufacturers. Maybe think about moving into prosthetics, after all, it’s a market you’ve created.

Southerner bashing. What is it about me-centric, southern-centric, southerners that makes these people likeable yet so vile? They honestly believe it’s a great place, even after they’ve trashed it and are preparing to walk away from it. Wake up! You lot are dinosaurs and need to get out more. Which states bring in the money? Which states are close to the Asian markets of 3 billion consumers? What continents are you southerners close to? Antarctica, and an even more desolate place, Noo Zilland. Southerners are the problem. They are problem-centric, never solution-centric. They believe the words of scientists are gospel. Idiots! Just tell a scientist what conclusion you want, and let them design the experimental process and data collection to get the result you want. Simple. But not for you mob. Nothing is ever simple. Not even a grand final. Fucking hopeless. Southerners believe in high taxation of the middle class to pay for middle class welfare and it all goes down hill from there. The only way I can make it right with you lot is to erect the bogan-proof fence, get Queensland, the Northern Territory and Western Australia to form an alliance, succeed from the commonwealth, and show you blinkered bastards the way forward. Our grass is greener. Always has been, always will be. Why? Because you southerners don’t live here. I’ll start to make it right with you mob by giving you some friendly advice. Harden the fuck up.

Kevin. My favourite. I’m going to send a nice polite letter to the Bureau of Metereology and ask them to name the next cyclone after you. Although it’s a bit late for that considering the trail of destruction you left behind. How is life as a slow moving depression? I’ll make it right with you by showing up at the U.N. next time you give a speech so you’re talking to at least one person, even if I’m not listening. Although I think you should apologise to the families of the people you killed, and whose houses you burnt down with your crazy insulation scheme. I’ve already made things right with you by not calling for you to be burnt at the stake.

Although I’ve resisted bashing Collingwood for as long as possible, I have lashed out in recent weeks. But I’m on safe ground. It must be hard for your average Collingwood supporter finding someone who owns a computer, and can read. They’ll never know.

Not a chance. I never bash fundamentalist Islam. Why would I? They got the marketing off to a good start with a promise of 72 virgins and paradise the moment I cash in my chips. Superb. But pity about their attitude towards women. Fancy going through life having the only experience with orgasms being the ones you get to gargle. I wouldn’t like to be an Islamic woman even if they can cause earthquakes. Plus I don’t like beards, filthy dirt traps they are. And stoning is just a tad too primitive even by my standards. Preying five times a day to something other than pussy just isn’t right for me, although if they swap their prophet centre from Mohammed to Linda Lovelace and put the fun back into fun da mental, I might consider joining up.

And there’s no point giving generation Y an earful. That’d hurt their feelings, result in endless counselling sessions and a Facebook hate page. I’ll keep it right with gen Y by continuing to ignore them.

Even though I’ve never sledged the Semites, I’ll make it right with you in case I ever do. I’ve always wondered why the Jews were hated so much. Envy? Jealously? Usery? Settlements? Whiny whinging poor bugger me, I’m so rich but no one loves me? Bad dress sense and outrageous hair styles? So many options to choose from and all so pathetic. Does anti-semitism say more about jews or the anti-semites? Judging by the shit-fest that is the Middle East, I’d say both. Of course it’s only the ruling class who have a problem with each other. Normal people just like to get along. Anyway, I’ve been to so many cathedrals in Europe and the sum total entry cost to these magnificent, inspiring, awesome works of art and architecture is about 20 Euro or about 1 euro (donation) per cathedral. It cost me 20 euro just to get into one Synagogue in Prague. And what was in there? An empty room with white washed walls and a sign on a wall saying all the good stuff is locked up in the cellar. Hmmmm. By the way, Hitler comes in at number 3 on the all time mass murderer achievement list well behind Stalin (20-42 million), and Mao Zedong (20 million) although slightly ahead of Pol Pot (2 million). Build a bridge folks. And learn to share, something you seem to struggle with.

Well luvvies, that’s about it now for making things right for now. I’ll go and offend some more people just so I can make it right with them afterwards. X x

Australia's political Future

I’ve managed to find the controversial figure who leads the Australian Australia Movement, Brian XY, who has been in hiding since receiving death threats for advocating increasing immigration, and doing what ever it takes to secure Australia’s future for the next 100 years. Here is part 1 of an interview with him.

BCO: Brian, do you know who is behind the death threats?
BXY: The calls were made from a public telephone box. I could hear a baby screaming in the background, the sound of a Kombi van being revved and a woman with dreadlocks saying “hurry up”. The caller used the words, “like, “man”, ‘bro”, and “uncool” a lot. I have also received death threats in the mail, all written on re-cycled paper and sent in pre-used envelopes.
BCO: So you think eco-terrorists are behind the death threats? How could you tell from a phone call that the woman had dreadlocks?
BXY: Let’s just say if you find out my last name, I’ve been murdered.
BCO: What are you policy positions. Let’s start with the economy.
BXY: The economy is important that’s why I am economical with policies on economy.
BCO: But that’s not a policy.
BXY: Like I said, my position is the opposite of the opposition. So have a look at their policies and then you will know mine are not theirs, there the opposite. That’s my policy.
BCO: But you are not in government. You don’t have any opposition.
BXY: Let me state my opposition to Kombi driving hippies with dreadlocks.
BCO: Developing Northern Australia will mean engaging with indigenous populations. What do you intend to do about indigenous disadvantage?
BXY: I fully support indigenous disadvantage but I also support equality. I will make disadvantage available to every one regardless of religion.
BCO: But indigenous peoples are not a religion, they are nations of dispossessed peoples.
BXY: We will make religion available to everyone so they can all be equally disadvantaged by irrational beliefs.
BCO: But how will you improve health and education outcomes for indigenous people living in remote places who tend to lack the confidence and skills to integrate into mainstream society.
BXY: By sacking all the public servants currently servicing remote indigenous communities.
BCO: How will that improve the situation?
BXY: Without reporting lines, we just won’t get any reports on the situation. No news is good news. Problem solved.
BCO: What’s your policy position on Climate Change and Emissions Trading?
BXY: The climate changes, that’s what it does. Personally I am praying for the ice caps to melt. It would get rid of that pesky reef and provide awesome surf breaks in Northern Australia. Additionally, we will have a huge increase in the amount of coastal realty. What a bonanza. The gondola and water taxi industries will also grow susbstantially.
BCO: Do you support an Emissions Trading Scheme?
BXY: Tax them any way you can, just don’t increase income tax.
BCO: We have to leave it there for now Brian. Good luck with your campaign and surviving the death threats.
BXY: Thanks Billy, Remember to never drive Kombi vans.

A Perfect View from the High Ground

Luvvies, be glad you’re a Plebian. Be glad of your nameless, faceless anonymity and prey to your God that if you ever excel at something, you are blessed along the way with copious quantities of political acumen, decorum, diplomacy, professionalism, and tact. Don’t for one minute think that any thing less than tee-totalling sobriety and finishing school etiquette is good enough for the public and their attack dogs, the unmuzzled and shameless media. For if you stumble on the path to greatness, if you show any sign of humanity or weakness, don’t worry about God striking you down, it will be a mobile phone camera or TV camera that smotes thee.

Gone are the days of 15 minutes of fame. For our people in the public eye, any showing of humanity will likely result in 15 lashes of shame. Take our latest star to collide with the black hole of moral perfectionism, a young swimmer, who in a moment of elation, referred to an opposing national football team as a “bundle of twigs”. For a “bundle of twigs” or “dish of liver, chopped, seasoned and baked” is what a “faggot” is according to my Concise Oxford Dictionary. Oh, I hear you retort, but language is fluid and changes, and adopts new meanings according to contemporary mores of the day. Moors of the day seems far more appropriate, a stinking, squalid cesspit of moral hypocrisy that only those with wings or the ability to walk on water should attempt to enter. Stay on your lounge luvvies, do not venture outside lest you fall into the moral moors of polite civility.

Our other contemporary contender to vie for the prize of perfect imperfect human is, wait for it, a footballer. I for one am highly surprised that a footballer would get drunk and run around naked. Fancy that. It’s never happened before. Footballers are generally known for their sobriety and straight-laced behaviour, never ones to venture outside the boundaries of social etiquette values formulated in the 17th century and somehow still stuck there. Footballer, you stand accused of having a life, of daring to be daring and provide some comic relief to the tawdry and tedious monotony of straight-jacketed slavery. Don’t plead your innocence, you are guilty until proven more guilty.

Don’t you know it’s all about the kiddies. Don’t you know you are a role model for the kiddies and their young impressionable brains. These kiddies live in parental vacuums, where there is no responsible adult carer to explain the workings of our diverse world. These kids, the ones taking photos of you being stupid or reading your tweets written in what can only be called a momentary brain snap, are shocked and horrified at your humanity. Well they weren’t until the tut tut brigade known as the morality police told them they should be. They were rolling around laughing and debating the merits of mobile phone cameras in the playground. They are paragons of virtue, corruptible only by your stupidity.

So here is a guide to what’s ok and what’s not ok, lest there be further confusion. A guide to media survival if you will.

It’s ok to send and receive photos via email of mentally ill, homeless, naked, men pissing in the gutter in front of a police station. It’s not ok for sports players to run around naked at a party or piss anywhere other than an approved pissing station, generally known as a toilet.

It’s ok to gay if you acknowledge your are gay. It’s not ok to be gay if you have a family and claim to heterosexual. It’s not ok to use any word or do anything that could hurt the feelings of gay people, or any minority. It’s all about feelings luvvies, and the idea of hardening up to meet the ecological paradigm of survival of the fittest is long dead, buried and cremated.

It’s ok to watch group sex on the internet. It’s ok to participate in group sex if everyone is a consenting adult or you are a porn actor. It’s not ok to watch and participate in group sex is you are a footballer. It’s not ok to have participated in group sex once the story gets out seven years later and one of the participants feels humiliated by the revelation.

It’s ok to infer the black people are probably drunk, if the black people in question are your brothers because you are also black. It’s not ok to infer that black people are probably drunk if you are not black. You are a racist.

It’s ok to call women bitches if you are a woman. It’s not if you are not a woman. You are a misogynist.

It’s never ok to slag off Islam. If you are not of Islamic persuasion you are an infidel, you should be blown up. They’ll tell you that.

It’s not ok to use your democratic right to freedom of speech if you are angry and your angry words incite hatred. It’s ok to drop bombs on people you hate if you are the President of the USA.

There’s a time and a place for everything luvvies. Gather all the pent up energy, go to the little room and let it all out. Do not do or say anything in public without first putting on a morality muzzle and a straight-jacket. Do not drink. Never mind that alcohol was invented and continues to be used because it creates an altered mental state. Just have one drink. One drink won’t get you tipsy. If you are only going to have one drink, it may as well be water.

Do not do drugs unless you have a prescription for those drugs. Don’t mix prescription drugs with mind altering energy drinks. That will alter your mind and that's dangerous. Just don’t have a life unless you consider the life of a monk to be the thing for you. And for goodness sake, don’t be human, don’t have weakness.

It’s not ok to compromise people’s privacy. It is ok to compromise people’s privacy if you are the media, the government, or if it’s in public interest, and boy, the public are interested in anything and everything. So your privacy is a sham. You are not allowed to say that as it might incite hatred against the government or the media who will then invade your privacy to see what other dissenting ideas you have.

So that’s about it. If you are going to be good at something, get yourself an agent and have them by your side 24/7.

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.