Tagged: political

WHAT’S IN A HARMLESS JULIE BISHOP CLOWN FACE MASK? PLENTY OF FARCE!

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Australian Federal Police have raided the parliament house gift shop. The raid followed a call to 2UE’s whisper line by an anonymous tipster citing inside knowledge and details of a plan by a group of “face-covered Moslems” to disrupt parliament. The call was heard by Channel 9, whose film crew promptly notified the AFP, then made a beeline for Capital Hill. Sound familiar? Deja vu?

Shop manager Flossie Fairweather politely informed the heavily armed anti-terrorist squad that she had sold out of the offending face coverings. “I sold the last 60 to that charming group of young people barely 30 minutes ago. They said they were Moslem but they did not look like terrorists to me. I think they were heading for the public gallery in that big green room.”

The squad then stormed the House of Representatives gallery with the order, “Remove all face coverings immediately.”

Childish laughter erupted as the group of primary school children removed their Julie Bishop clown face masks. A spokeschild piped up, “We just wanted to have a bit of fun at your expense. We didn’t think you would have learnt any lessons from the Burqa ban debacle last October. You idiots. And by the way, we are not Moslem, not that it should matter one iota. And yes, it was me who phoned 2UE. It has been a pleasure to make a laughing stock of the AFP, the media and parliament. Kids rule! We are the future and don’t you forget it.”

Tony Abbott reacted angrily to the incident, “There will be no more benefit of the doubt for children seeking to harm Australia. We are a free and fair nation, but that doesn’t mean we should let bad children play us for mugs. Let me be quite clear about this. All children, I repeat, all children will now be treated as terror suspects.”

According to Flossie Fairweather, “Sales of the Julie Bishop clown face masks have soared. For fun-loving visitors to parliament house, to not wear a mask in the public galleries is as un-Australian as banning the burqa.”

Rumour has it that an outraged Julie Bishop approached Ms Fairweather, demanding that she withdraw all masks from sale. “Why don’t you wear one of these love. It will be a much better look for you.” came Flossie’s response. A gun-shy, red-faced and highly nervous AFP has kowtowed to Bishop’s demand that the incriminating CCTV footage be seized, archived and marked “Never to be released.”

“I PUT IT TO YOU THAT THERE IS AN ELEPHANT IN THIS ROOM … “

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Riding his bike through the corridors of parliament house, wearing his fire brigade overalls with his red speedos on the outside, donning a hard hat and safety goggles, Tony Abbott stopped a cleaner to ask for directions, “Excuse me, I can’t remember where my office is. I’ve been so busy obeying Peta – running, cycling, life-saving, fire-fighting, kissing babies, visiting factories and gallivanting around the country – that I seem to have forgotten. She sends me here, there and everywhere to keep the media distracted from the real business of prime ministership. I happily use her fail-safe scripted verbatim rhetoric ad infinitum, ad nauseam. She’s a genius. I tried to ad lib a few times with my own ideas but those gaffes made me a laughing stock. Prince Philip was the barbecue stopper of the century. So I just do what she says and follow the script. She runs the government. I call her boss. That’s how I manage to keep my job as PM. Without her I’d be stuffed. I have the political discretion of a flying pink elephant on steroids, with a pretty face, if I might say so.

The ‘cleaner’ was an unrecognised journalist by the name of Paul Kelly, who promptly gave his name. “My word you are multi-talented – a journo, singer-songwriter and a cleaner.”

A hasty shower and a “help-me-get-dressed-and-choose-a-tie-please-boss” later, Abbott addressed the National Press Club with an unread speech prepared by hers truly.

When the people of Australia elected their prime minister they got one of the fiercest political warriors ever known in the history of federal parliament. I am in command and control of this government, and I am getting on with the job of governing our country.

There is absolutely no possibility of me losing my job, despite the wishes of the majority of cabinet and backbenchers who loathe and despise me. I cannot be sacked because I am the boss. Bosses don’t sack themselves.

So Julie, hate me as much as you like. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.

And if you or Malcolm or Scott think you can get rid of me, I’ve got so much dirt on you I could leak like a sieve all day everyday for years. I’ve had my spies planted in your offices and I know you are ratting on me. I eat rats for breakfast, so watch it!

Abbott: Whoops, I seem to have the wrong document. Are there any questions? Yes, you the cleaner I was talking to earlier.

Kelly: Mr Abbott, I put it to you that you have the right document, heinously contrived as a ploy by your chief of staff to look like a mistake but, in fact to shore up her position as pseudo prime minister. What you have just blurted out makes her untouchable. I put it to you that there is an elephant in this room and its name is Peta Credlin. It was you who was elected prime minister, not her.

Abbott: When the people of Australia elected their prime minister they got one of the fiercest political warriors ever known in the history of federal parliament. I am in command and control of this government, and I am getting on with the job of governing our country.

Kelly: Mr Abbott, those are Credlin’s words not yours.

Abbott: Whatever Peta says is true and I stand by her every word. You have my word on that. I put it to you that our discussion – when I said that she runs the government – was a figment of your imagination. I deny having the political discretion of a flying pink elephant on steroids, with a pretty face, if I might say so. With my looks and her brains we are a duumvirate with the intestinal fortitude you, as a cleaner, may never see the likes of again. Better fly now. Come on boss, let’s wing it back to our office. Thank God you know the way.

QUEENSLANDERS WITNESS A CONCESSION SPEECH DELIVERED BY A DYING TOAD

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Every morning, Campbell Cane Toad awoke, headed for the bathroom and kissed himself in the mirror. He then transformed into a besuited political being with the title: Premier of Queensland.

All was going well for Campbell until the 2015 landslide election when he lost his own seat, and with it his magic spell. Alas he could be humanoid no more. He was doomed, through the sorcery of the insidious LNP Panel of Evil, to become a squelched toad, with insidious consequences for the whole state. Dubbed ‘Campbell the Martyr’ by the panel, he was destined for sacrificial notoriety. The Panel of Evil was out for revenge in the wake the LNP’s statewide drubbing.

And so, on election night, stunned Queenslanders witnessed a concession speech delivered by a dying toad.

“My political career is over. I have been squelched. I am going to croak it. However, let me say it has been an absolute privilege to wreak havoc across this wonderful state in what has been an all-consuming passion for the past three years. If you think I’m on the nose, as your vote indicates, you ain’t smelt nothin’ yet!”

And with that, Queensland was slimed. Roads and railways became impassable, airports were closed, industry ground to a halt. ‘The Sunshine State’ slid to a standstill.

Then came the stench so great that Joh Bjelke-Petersen stirred from his grave gasping in awe at the devastation. “This is evil-doing on a scale I was never able to achieve in my time as a criminal lunatic corrupt premier. Oh such glory to the power of the vendetta for which I was peerless, until Campbell came along. I feel so inspired that I sense a reincarnation coming on. Don’t you worry about that.”

Eventually, Annastacia Palaszczuk and her team of Toadbusters formed a minority government and began to clean up the mess. Imploring Queenslanders to be on alert for any fresh outbreaks, the new premier launched into song:

If there’s something strange in your neighborhood
Who ya gonna call? Toadbusters!
If there’s something weird and it don’t look good
Who ya gonna call? Toadbusters!

Queensland is now ‘The Fickle State’. Palaszczuk’s pitiful infantile chant was inexcusable. “Far worse than being slimed, that was an undignified attempt to make Queensland a laughing stock. Joh could do it with such dignity. Oh for a return to the glory days of Joh.” lamented an entire state.

Breaking news! The LNP Panel of Evil has recruited Joh Mark II.

‘RECOVERING PUNK ROCKER’ SUSSAN LEY RELAPSES AFTER ENCOUNTER WITH ABBOTT

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A hospital spokesperson has announced that Health Minister Sussan Ley has regained consciousness after being placed in an induced coma. Ms Ley is said to be in a serious but stable condition under 24 hour watch. Family and friends, keen to minimise collateral damage to her new ministership, would reveal no more than to say she suffered a “relapse” adding, “There is no need to panic. Sussan will be back at work in no time, once the lobotomy has been performed.”

It is understood that the self-confessed “recovering punk rocker from a time when it really mattered” suffered an adverse reaction to a late night encounter with Tony Abbott at a Canberra bar. Patrons, mostly fellow sadomasochists who witnessed events unfold, state that Abbott, chair and whip in hand, forced Ley into a corner demanding she repeat after him … “Ay ay Captain, I will obey your every command. I have no right to a mind of my own. I will be a puppet and you will pull the strings. I am captive to your whims and fancies whatever they might be. Under scrutiny by the media, I will defend your integrity as if my life depends on it, as indeed it will.”

An hysterical Ley refused to obey and screamed, “I’ll stick your whip handle right where the sun don’t shine.” And she did. A smiling Abbott said, ‘Thankyou very much.” Ley’s meltdown continued, kicking Abbott squarely in the crutch, shrieking, “Never mind the bollocks, here’s the Sex Pistols” in deference her beloved band’s famous album. Ley then collapsed. As if a werewolf, she shape-shifted into the punk form of her high school years with black lipstick, spiky purple hair, a dog collar, a razor blade in her ear and numerous piercings.

Abbott had exited the premises before paramedics arrived.

At a media doorstop the morning after the night before, an ashen faced and curiously bow-legged Tony Abbott declared, “It is sad that the minister relapsed into her radicalised 1970’s high school punk anti-establishment, non-conformist, gender-equalist delirium . I wish her a speedy recovery and look forward to her return to the health ministry. Her lobotomy will prove to be a great asset in her unfolding career. To have a part of one’s brain missing is not essential, but it ceratinly helps if you want to get on in my government. In fact, for my many dissenters I will make a Captain’s call and order they take Sussan’s lead and go under the knife for the sake of party unity.”

“WE KNOW HE IS A FIZZ OF A WIZ, IF EVER A FIZZ THERE WAS, BECAUSE BECAUSE … “

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We’re off we’re off the Wizard, The wonderless Wizard of Oz
He’s turned us off, We’ve done a U turn, And this is what we say

We know he is a Fizz of a Wiz, If ever a Fizz there was
If ever oh ever a Fizz there was, The Wizard of Oz is one because
Because because because, Because he’s not who he said he was
He promised no broken promises, But look at what we got
He promised no nasty surprises, But look at what we got

He’s dead in the water and so he oughta, As far as we’re concerned
Because because because, Because all decency he has spurned
When he was in opposition, He stated his noble position
When he became prime minister, He then became quite sinister

He’s dead in the water and so he oughta, As far as we’re concerned
Because because because, Because his bridges have been burned
His backbenchers have joined the dots, A leopard never changes spots
They fear they’ll be unseated, If phoney Tony is not defeated

He’s dead in the water and so he oughta, As far as we’re concerned
Because, because, because, Because the nation he’s unnerved
(As Prince Phillip might have observed)
A ridiculous embarrassment, Has no place in government
Australians ask without reserve, Is this the best that we deserve

He’s dead in the water and so he oughta, As far as we’re concerned
Because, because, because, Because justice must be served
A man by his own beckoning, Deserves his day of reckoning
So now the question must be asked, How much longer will he last

We’re off we’re off the Wizard, The wonderless Wizard of Oz
He’s turned us off, We’ve done a U turn, And this is what we say

We know he is a Fizz of a Wiz, If ever a Fizz there was
If ever oh ever a Fizz there was, The Wizard of Oz is one because
Because because because, Because he’s not who he said he was
He got in on false premises, He slipped in through the crevices
With the truth he menaces, Soon he’ll meet his nemesis

We could not refrain from this refrain without some Oz vernacular
He’s knackered, he’s rooted, he’s stuffed, he’s buggered
He’s up shit shit creek without a paddle
And if you think that we might jest, Watch this space with interest

On the screen, It will be seen …

The Fizz of Oz Spectacular

COMING SOON TO A CINEMA NEAR YOU

BILL THE CONSENSUS CEPHALOPOD: “I AM NOT AN OCTOPUS SHORT OF AN ARM”

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As a CSIRO marine scientist examined a tragic creature, a seven-armed octopus discovered in a load of baloney by an abalone diver just off Dunder Heads, he mused, “Could this be the discovery of a new species, a heptopus, or has this tragic met with foul play?”

Scientist: You appear to be an octopus short of an arm.

Creature: I will admit that I am akin to a sandwich short of a picnic, a can short of a slab and a village short of an idiot when I’m out of town. Yes, I accept that I am an opposition leader short of a policy platform. But, but, but I am not willing to accept that I am an octopus short of an arm.

Scientist: So you are a stupid opposition leader with no policies and you are in a in a state of denial.

Creature: Yes, I’ll go along with that. Just call me Bill.

Scientist: OK Bill, so you agree you are in a state of denial.

Bill: Yes, I will not deny that I am in denial. I deny that I am short of an arm.

Scientist: Stupid with no policies hey? Little wonder the media is having a field day with you.

Bill: Yes, I’m dumber than a bag of hammers and as sharp as a bowling ball. In fact, the press reckon I’m as exciting as drying paint, all froth and no beer, and couldn’t fight my way out of a wet paper bag. And they are right.

Scientist: So, you are a dumb, slow-witted, boring, weak opposition leader with no substance, no self-esteem, let alone policies. You are deeply flawed.

Bill: Yes, I’ll go along with that. But I am not an octopus short of an arm.

Scientist: Why are you so obsessed with this missing arm?

Bill: What missing arm? Listen here! I have always been one to go along with things, to drift with the changing tides popular opinion, to be a consensus cephalopod, to be a majority mollusc. Remember how I got rid of Rudd and Gillard? I went with the flow of Labor’s moods. I’m a numbers octopus.  Can you imagine how a numbers octopus would look with only seven arms? I must have eight arms. I cannot afford to look ridiculous.

Scientist: You are incapable of facing up to reality. You are ridiculous.

Bill: And you, a CSIRO scientist are talking to an octopus. Don’t call me ridiculous!

MALCOLM THEIR MESSIAH – HIS LAMP THEIR MECCA – EN MASSE THEY TAKE FLIGHT

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Mothologists are aflutter with the discovery of a new phenomenon unheard of in the annals of mothology. After dusk every evening, humanoids from Sydney’s trendy inner suburbs metamorphose into moths and are drawn to the garden lamp of Malcolm Turnbull in the posh harbour-side locale of Point Piper, only to return before dawn to continue their existences as leftie hipsters.

“Malcolm is their Messiah, his lamp is their Mecca and every night they make their pilgrimage.” said a leading mothologost. “Moths being drawn to light sources is nothing new, but being drawn to an idolatory source of enlightenment is an exciting development in the evolutionary realms of mothdom.” he said. “But we are baffled. These are left-wing socialists who would normally spurn any association with Point Piper. We cannot understand how lefties are so besotted with this Liberal that they even take on a resemblance to him.”

A team of clinical socio-political entomological psychologists has made daily visits to trendy hipster cafes in search of clues. It found patrons in states of trauma, privately weeping into their skinny lattes, muttering near indecipherable whisperings, which all clinicians agree can be paraphrased as, “I love Malcolm, but don’t tell anyone.”

The team’s observation:
Identity crises, self-loathing and paranoia on a mass scale.

The team’s diagnosis:
It is all to do with left and right hipsterical hemispherical brain functions. The magnetic mystique of Turnbull, known to be pro-republic, pro-same sex-marriage, pro-ETS, pro-sexual-equality and pro-ABC, is so appealing, in the absence of any left-wing inspiration, that the right hemisphere launches into euphoric fantasies of a charismatic prime minister who will lead Australia into enlightenment.

When the left hemisphere gets wind of this, it screams at the right, “What are you doing you idiot. You are a leftie hipster and you should be ashamed of yourself. You traitor. You defector to the Liberal side. What would your peers say?”

Inner conflict becomes unbearable until the right hemisphere prevails bringing a profound sense of universal connectedness with like-minded souls who, as it turns out include the hitherto feared peers. Blissful transcendence into messianic Malcolm exaltation overrides all left brain constraints, and en masse they metamorphose and take flight.

The team’s prognosis:
Left brain hemispheres will become servile to the right, and euphoria will prevail on a 24 hour cycle. Humanoid-mothoid symbiosis will be complete. Man-moth Malcolm mania will reach mammoth proportions.

‘I’LL DO THE GAGS’ SHORTEN: ARE YOU ACCUSING ME OF BEING A MARXIST?

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Good evening and thanks for joining us. You look ridiculous.
You need all the joining you can get. You at the ABC are falling apart. Funding cuts must be taking their toll if they employ cheap shots like you to throw cheap shots at people like me.
You are making a mockery of your role as opposition leader.
I did not come here to be insulted.
Why? Where do you normally go?
I have come here for a serious political interview, not a Marx Brothers routine. And by the way, I’ll do the gags.
With due respect Mr Shorten, it was you who started this fiasco in Marxism.
Are you accusing me of being a Marxist?
I think I am losing the will to live.
Don’t be ridiculous, let’s get down to some serious business, like why I am being cast as the least inspiring opposition leader since Alexander Downer.
Gladly, but why are you wearing those fishnet stockings and high-heels?
I am making the point that Alexander was not uninspiring, and I am just as good as him at making a complete dork of myself.
You call that inspiring do you?
Of course!
And why are you exposing your bare chest and belly?
Because I want to be seen as a real man with guts.
Speaking of guts, can I get to the guts of this so-called interview?
Why certainly!
Why are you so focused on the support of rusted-on Labor supporters and not appealing to the wider population with a fresh narrative and new ideas?
I can assure you that I’ve given those rusty Labor remnants more than the occasional spray of WD40. They have to wake up to themselves and move with the times or they can get stuffed. We need to find a new base of Labor support.
Like who?
Like people who don’t watch the ABC. People who think politicians are a joke. People who think Labor is about having babies. People who don’t think. These are the people we need to attract.
And how do you propose to do that?
I’m sorry but we seem to be out of time.
Mr Shorten, that is my call, not yours.
Thank you coming. I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn’t it.

Eric Abetz aids and abets in criminal assaults on intelligence

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Link to related article from The Guardian Australia 8 August 2014:

Eric Abetz’s abortion backtrack: an opportunity to study Liberal spin in its natural habitat

Last night, openly anti-abortion but pro-job-application senator Eric Abetz linked breast cancer and abortion on a TV interview with Channel 10’s the Project.

Julia Gillard – trial by gender. Verdict – exile!

It is as if the metaphorical media lens is a microscope, 1000 times more scrutinising of women.

It is as if the metaphorical media lens is a microscope, 1,000 times more scrutinising of women — indeed, less critical of men. If Julia Gillard had bat ears, it is unlikely she would have made it to the prime ministership in the first place.

A word of caution: If you happen to be a highly intelligent woman with deep philosophical convictions and passion for the future of Australia, and have aspirations to become prime minister, go for it. But only if you do not have any physical imperfections that make you lesser in appearance to Elle McPherson. But then again, if you are blond, the media will destroy you anyway.

As if looking back on the demise of Julia Gillard, Marilyn Lake wrote a piece for The Age, just one day before Australia’s first female prime minister was ousted by the Labor caucus, in favour of a … you guessed it … a male … who will, odds on, not be sexualised by Australia’s media and wider culture. By Bruce Keogh

An excerpt from Marilyn Lake’s article 25 June 2013:

How could we have foreseen what would befall her? The relentless persecution by senior male journalists, the vilification, the sexist mockery, the personal abuse and the contempt with which she would be treated. Between 2010 and 2013, the full force of Australia’s masculinist political culture would be brought to bear on this path-breaking woman.

It is now a truism that history will prove more sympathetic to Gillard’s prime ministership – and the policies she introduced – than contemporary commentators have been.

What will mostly attract historians’ attention, however, will be how she was treated, the rabid misogyny, the hysteria of men who could not abide the spectacle of a woman in power, who labelled her a bitch, a witch, a liar, a usurper, an illegitimate claimant who refused to bow down before her male rivals.

She has been sexualised in a way no previous prime minister has been sexualised.

In the past three years, obscenity has become a favourite mode of prime ministerial denigration.

Full column by Marilyn Lake who is Professor in History at the University of Melbourne researching the international history of Australian democracy.