Showing posts with label government by the ungovernable. Show all posts
Showing posts with label government by the ungovernable. Show all posts
Thursday, 6 December 2007
Mea Culpa for a Twit
I got hot under the collar and was slightly premature. Kev has come out and said that his Federal government will not intervene where states and territories enact civil unions. This, for the benefit of any young Australian readers who won't have come across it from a Federal Government, is what we old folk call Progress. So I owe Kev an apology and McClelland is still a twit, shooting his mouth off just as he was during the election campaign.
Tuesday, 27 November 2007
Trying very hard and failing badly
On Monday evening the money had been gifted to friends to do with as they saw fit and only accompanied by a 'suggestion' that the Labour Party might make a suitable destination. While openly giving charitably to other worth causes such as academic institutions the nation's Chicken-Shit of the Year award winner (by default) David Abrahams preferred not to make political donations in his own name in order to protect his privacy.
Confused? I was.
Mr Chicken-Shit is a property developer in the north-east which I now want desperately to believe is a euphemism for Slum Lord.
In the meantime Mr Chicken-Shit has been forced to clarify. The money was um, to be given to the Labour Party and that's why it was passed to friends and employees. His ruse was rumbled by the spouse of one of the 'donors' who obviously had only ever been given an early draft of the Hymn Sheet. Oops.
Mr Chicken-Shit is now aggrieved, not just because his privacy has been invaded but because the nasty media types coming at him from both right and left have made him 'feel like a criminal' which when you think about it Mr Bleating Chicken-Shit is precisely what you are for your tawdry little attempt to subvert Electoral Law and don't bother attempting to have it otherwise, for only someone who has spent the past decade with his head up his own arse could be unaware of the 'wrongness' in what you were attempting to do.
So which is it Mr Chicken-Shit? Crime or world-class Head Up My Own Arse Yoga?
While Mr Chicken-Shit stands head and shoulders above the rest of the field in his own class a special mention is deserved by Diane Hayter. Her championship quality obfuscations surely qualify her for something. The sack perhaps? Fat chance. You can't get her, she's part of the union and on the NEC to boot.
Diane went to barricades on Monday evening to shore things up when the news spilled over the parapets that these donations had not only been offered but accepted by the party. Diane wants you and me to believe that the only person who knew about the donations, knew and understood the source of them, was a young chap you've possibly not heard of called Peter Watts, but who happens to have been until very recently (that is to say until he resigned over this business) the General Secretary of the Labour Party.
Peter led himself to the chopping block and brought the axe down on his own neck. In his valedictory address from the scaffold to the nation he confessed to having accepted the donations in ignorance of the fact that they were made in breach of electoral law - though he had played a major part in assisting the party through the Cash for Honours debacle which is in fact Party Funding for a Specific Purpose. Party donations via a third party are illegal. Peter held positions involving legal and financial compliance before promotion to Gen-Sec.
The party clearly hopes that by this act of self-sacrifice the matter might be brought to a neat conclusion and its wish might yet be fulfilled. The party is relying on us being stupid or complaisant or both.
Diane Haytter's name does not appear in the paper at all this morning. The story itself is buried inside and the Tories are staying clear miles clear of it for fear of bringing their own funding arrangements under the spotlight.
Come the revolution only names will change.
Confused? I was.
Mr Chicken-Shit is a property developer in the north-east which I now want desperately to believe is a euphemism for Slum Lord.
In the meantime Mr Chicken-Shit has been forced to clarify. The money was um, to be given to the Labour Party and that's why it was passed to friends and employees. His ruse was rumbled by the spouse of one of the 'donors' who obviously had only ever been given an early draft of the Hymn Sheet. Oops.
Mr Chicken-Shit is now aggrieved, not just because his privacy has been invaded but because the nasty media types coming at him from both right and left have made him 'feel like a criminal' which when you think about it Mr Bleating Chicken-Shit is precisely what you are for your tawdry little attempt to subvert Electoral Law and don't bother attempting to have it otherwise, for only someone who has spent the past decade with his head up his own arse could be unaware of the 'wrongness' in what you were attempting to do.
So which is it Mr Chicken-Shit? Crime or world-class Head Up My Own Arse Yoga?
While Mr Chicken-Shit stands head and shoulders above the rest of the field in his own class a special mention is deserved by Diane Hayter. Her championship quality obfuscations surely qualify her for something. The sack perhaps? Fat chance. You can't get her, she's part of the union and on the NEC to boot.
Diane went to barricades on Monday evening to shore things up when the news spilled over the parapets that these donations had not only been offered but accepted by the party. Diane wants you and me to believe that the only person who knew about the donations, knew and understood the source of them, was a young chap you've possibly not heard of called Peter Watts, but who happens to have been until very recently (that is to say until he resigned over this business) the General Secretary of the Labour Party.
Peter led himself to the chopping block and brought the axe down on his own neck. In his valedictory address from the scaffold to the nation he confessed to having accepted the donations in ignorance of the fact that they were made in breach of electoral law - though he had played a major part in assisting the party through the Cash for Honours debacle which is in fact Party Funding for a Specific Purpose. Party donations via a third party are illegal. Peter held positions involving legal and financial compliance before promotion to Gen-Sec.
The party clearly hopes that by this act of self-sacrifice the matter might be brought to a neat conclusion and its wish might yet be fulfilled. The party is relying on us being stupid or complaisant or both.
Diane Haytter's name does not appear in the paper at all this morning. The story itself is buried inside and the Tories are staying clear miles clear of it for fear of bringing their own funding arrangements under the spotlight.
Come the revolution only names will change.
Sunday, 25 November 2007
Creepy Kev and the New Model Army
Just about the only good thing about Saturday was the fairly clinical and certainly emphatic removal of Little Jonny from power. He has been a disgrace and I'm still not convinced that he was given a sufficient hammering by the electorate.
The amusing departure of Peter Costello who ran like a yellow dog when faced with the prospect of being in charge in opposition hasn't enraged me or disappointed me as it did Jeff Kennett. Right now the Liberals need the catharsis of tearing themselves apart and in all probability the next Liberal Prime Minister is not yet a member of the federal parliament or in any way visible as a contender.
Turnbull is a smart-arse filthy rich merchant wanker who stinks of the glossy side of Sydney, Tony Abbott is insane and Brendon Nelson is deeply weird.
Quite how the leadership contest will play out is something I don't particularly care about, except that who ever wins will clearly be stupid and distasteful enough to deflect from Creepy Kev some of the intense scrutiny which is his due as Prime Minister, whether he likes it or not. At some point in the future The Creep will be pinned to the wall by a journaslist and made to explain himself. And that won't take long. Because the Creep exists in what otherwise is a vacuum. He doesn't represent much except a blander milder version of the outgoing Prime Minster.
Some prescient souls took one look at Tony Blair and thought yuk. We've been joined since by a lot of others who've come to appreciate that beneath the emollient surface lay a void. The fact that the emollient surface also served to disguise the nasty truth the truth at Fat Gordy is inept is quite beside the point.
Who's got my bank details Gordy?
There's an unpleasantly disappointing facet of this: the way Australians have been beguiled just as Brits have seen off the Oily Creep and his ferociously peculiar wife, to spend more of their time in the company of a geriatric german in a long frock in Rome. If it takes the good folk as long to despatch Creepy Kev, who spent his first day as PM-elect on his knees in a bet-hedging act of god-bothering at a Mass at an Anglican church, they'll have had a good few chances and failed the sense test.
The amusing departure of Peter Costello who ran like a yellow dog when faced with the prospect of being in charge in opposition hasn't enraged me or disappointed me as it did Jeff Kennett. Right now the Liberals need the catharsis of tearing themselves apart and in all probability the next Liberal Prime Minister is not yet a member of the federal parliament or in any way visible as a contender.
Turnbull is a smart-arse filthy rich merchant wanker who stinks of the glossy side of Sydney, Tony Abbott is insane and Brendon Nelson is deeply weird.
Quite how the leadership contest will play out is something I don't particularly care about, except that who ever wins will clearly be stupid and distasteful enough to deflect from Creepy Kev some of the intense scrutiny which is his due as Prime Minister, whether he likes it or not. At some point in the future The Creep will be pinned to the wall by a journaslist and made to explain himself. And that won't take long. Because the Creep exists in what otherwise is a vacuum. He doesn't represent much except a blander milder version of the outgoing Prime Minster.
Some prescient souls took one look at Tony Blair and thought yuk. We've been joined since by a lot of others who've come to appreciate that beneath the emollient surface lay a void. The fact that the emollient surface also served to disguise the nasty truth the truth at Fat Gordy is inept is quite beside the point.
Who's got my bank details Gordy?
There's an unpleasantly disappointing facet of this: the way Australians have been beguiled just as Brits have seen off the Oily Creep and his ferociously peculiar wife, to spend more of their time in the company of a geriatric german in a long frock in Rome. If it takes the good folk as long to despatch Creepy Kev, who spent his first day as PM-elect on his knees in a bet-hedging act of god-bothering at a Mass at an Anglican church, they'll have had a good few chances and failed the sense test.
Saturday, 24 November 2007
Non-ode to fallible technology
Truth is very few news stories however major lend themselves to the rolling-news style offered by a dedicated vehicle now provided by most big media organisations.
Elections are one notable exception though the Brits do manage to make a potentially fascinating evening achingly dull by gathering up all the votes in an electorate, transporting them to a central counting station and then counting them all before letting we the voters on our sofas at home know anything about how things are going - the first we know is the pompous middle aged bloke or woman who never could get on in local politics any other way but was rewarded for persistence with the job gets up on his or her hind legs, candidates ranged as a backdrop and ponderously declares the votes declared.
Also, the Brits do First Past The Post rather than Single Transferable Vote and their system might have some moral force but (a) politics is an odd and uncomfortable place for moral force or moral anything else and (b) it is a voting system that is no FUN!, even when the Raving Loonies are part of the electoral landscape.
The way things are done back home, with each station counting and transmitting the vote is inherently safe (what happens to all those votes in transit, remember what they did to all our bank details last week?), cost effective (security doesn't come cheap, when it is used at all - remember what happened last week!) and environmentally sound (how are those votes transported?).
But the most powerful arguments of all are the dull one - it adds a local interest to what is only meaningful when a local process, and the important one - it adds to the FUN!
Which polling did that absurd count come from? surely that's the sheep shearer vote counted just wait until some of the more metropolitan votes come in? that's a very high turn out for the greens suggesting we're getting returns from that pocket of middle-class neurotics who now live in a normally working class western suburb!
A glorious rolling maul of an election result, with running commentary supplied by a motley cast of political has-beens you mostly thought had died since the last election, and a token blonde to keep the blokes awake when during the turgid middle bit between the writing appearing on the wall and the concession speech.
Dutifully I fell out of bed this morning though it be only minus 2 outside and kicked the 'puter. Sadly in the half hour since then the ABCs streaming media have both collapsed under the weight of a zillion expats trying to listen in. Bugger. Things are lookin good in that Howard looks to be on his way in but bad in that Little Kev's missus is packing her bags and preparing to move into the Prime Minsterial Mansion.
Elections are one notable exception though the Brits do manage to make a potentially fascinating evening achingly dull by gathering up all the votes in an electorate, transporting them to a central counting station and then counting them all before letting we the voters on our sofas at home know anything about how things are going - the first we know is the pompous middle aged bloke or woman who never could get on in local politics any other way but was rewarded for persistence with the job gets up on his or her hind legs, candidates ranged as a backdrop and ponderously declares the votes declared.
Also, the Brits do First Past The Post rather than Single Transferable Vote and their system might have some moral force but (a) politics is an odd and uncomfortable place for moral force or moral anything else and (b) it is a voting system that is no FUN!, even when the Raving Loonies are part of the electoral landscape.
The way things are done back home, with each station counting and transmitting the vote is inherently safe (what happens to all those votes in transit, remember what they did to all our bank details last week?), cost effective (security doesn't come cheap, when it is used at all - remember what happened last week!) and environmentally sound (how are those votes transported?).
But the most powerful arguments of all are the dull one - it adds a local interest to what is only meaningful when a local process, and the important one - it adds to the FUN!
Which polling did that absurd count come from? surely that's the sheep shearer vote counted just wait until some of the more metropolitan votes come in? that's a very high turn out for the greens suggesting we're getting returns from that pocket of middle-class neurotics who now live in a normally working class western suburb!
A glorious rolling maul of an election result, with running commentary supplied by a motley cast of political has-beens you mostly thought had died since the last election, and a token blonde to keep the blokes awake when during the turgid middle bit between the writing appearing on the wall and the concession speech.
Dutifully I fell out of bed this morning though it be only minus 2 outside and kicked the 'puter. Sadly in the half hour since then the ABCs streaming media have both collapsed under the weight of a zillion expats trying to listen in. Bugger. Things are lookin good in that Howard looks to be on his way in but bad in that Little Kev's missus is packing her bags and preparing to move into the Prime Minsterial Mansion.
Tuesday, 20 November 2007
Rules of engagement
The rules as they apply to the removal of a civil servant in the event of a catastrophic lapse (such as, for example losing a disk containing the personal and bank details of every child benefit claiming individual / couple in the country) are admirably clear: sack the most senior person the government can find who (a) isn't a mate of Fat Gordy and (b) is someone nobody cares about; then describe the sacrificial lamb as a 'junior' official.
So right now some middle ranking Muppet is taking delivering of a P45, a pistol and a bottle of scotch.
Darling's a contrite man with much to be contrite about and while Steve McLaren might be the luckiest Englishman, clearly the former chancellor - now prime minister - is the luckiest man in Britain.
So right now some middle ranking Muppet is taking delivering of a P45, a pistol and a bottle of scotch.
Darling's a contrite man with much to be contrite about and while Steve McLaren might be the luckiest Englishman, clearly the former chancellor - now prime minister - is the luckiest man in Britain.
Friday, 16 November 2007
All the best reports have something in common
The thing they have in common is that you or I could essentially write them, without recourse to hours of tedious hearings or millions spent on research, junketing and the photocopying bill.
Australia's blessed National Audit Office has released such a report and its findings amount to the quite astounding non-news that the John Howard government's regional projects fund has been essentially nothing more or less than a means of ante-poll rewarding those who vote the Right Way.
For all their bucks invested in the investigatory process the Aussie Taxpayer has learned that there has been "political interference, disregard for rules and guidelines and a lack of transparency". Well gee, fancy that.
All the money spent on this exercise has produced the remarkable news that there was a "surge" in grant approvals just before the 2004 election date was announced. Would you have imagined it?
Emblematic of the general aura of maladministration exposed in the report is the behaviour of DeAnne Kelly, the then parliamentary secretary for regional services who, over a 51 minute period in the two hour period before the government assumed Pre-election caretaker status, displayed quite extraordinary and hitherto unheralded heroism in signing through sixteen grants to the total value of a rather nifty $3.5m. How awesome is that?
Bet it never crossed your mind that politicians could behave in such a manner. Thankfully though, we've got grossly overpaid, unelected relatively anonymous officials to junket about the country Club Class, stay in five star hotels and write hundreds of pages of drivel telling us all what we already knew and could have set out on the back of a fag packet in the room still left after all the health warnings are taken into account.
Australia's blessed National Audit Office has released such a report and its findings amount to the quite astounding non-news that the John Howard government's regional projects fund has been essentially nothing more or less than a means of ante-poll rewarding those who vote the Right Way.
For all their bucks invested in the investigatory process the Aussie Taxpayer has learned that there has been "political interference, disregard for rules and guidelines and a lack of transparency". Well gee, fancy that.
All the money spent on this exercise has produced the remarkable news that there was a "surge" in grant approvals just before the 2004 election date was announced. Would you have imagined it?
Emblematic of the general aura of maladministration exposed in the report is the behaviour of DeAnne Kelly, the then parliamentary secretary for regional services who, over a 51 minute period in the two hour period before the government assumed Pre-election caretaker status, displayed quite extraordinary and hitherto unheralded heroism in signing through sixteen grants to the total value of a rather nifty $3.5m. How awesome is that?
Bet it never crossed your mind that politicians could behave in such a manner. Thankfully though, we've got grossly overpaid, unelected relatively anonymous officials to junket about the country Club Class, stay in five star hotels and write hundreds of pages of drivel telling us all what we already knew and could have set out on the back of a fag packet in the room still left after all the health warnings are taken into account.
Sunday, 11 November 2007
Puddings
Senator Sprig of Holly has led the rank and file of the Christmas Pudding Party back into the fray with a plausibility-busting deal on preference distribution in the Queensland senate election that offers up a consequential prospect of a return to Australia's parliament of that reeky pantomime dame Pauline Hansen.
Just when this election had grown rather stale the floral decoration has been driven onto the back foot by this decision, and as a diversionary tactic he has launched a fairy tale economic policy platform centred around making petrol (gas) cheaper by delivering a substantial cut in petrol tax.
According to Senator Sprig "It is irresponsible not to cut petrol tax … it helps people make ends meet and … puts downward pressure on inflation." It is also obviously economic suicide not to chop down every last tree, dam every last river and dig up every last tonne of saleable mineral.
The Christmas Pudding party is locked in mortal combat with equally fringe and narrow interest parties such as the Fern Friendlies: according to the Puddings the tree huggers are 'extreme' and have 'extreme policies' and are possessed of a soft policy on drugs. It seems finally even on the lunatic fringes of public debate it is recognised as no longer astute politicking to grub for single digit volumes of votes by demonising single mothers and poofters, so the Green Party has been co-opted to fill the void.
Sadly with all the excitement of squeezing the Friendlies into frame the good Senator then went completely over the top.
His logic escapes me; the Fern Friendlies would have to be possessed of potent magic that, out of government and without influence, their proposed policy on drugs has yet created a culture of drug delinquency within the Australian Football League. Sadly I think it is Senator Sprig who is away with the Fairies.
Just when this election had grown rather stale the floral decoration has been driven onto the back foot by this decision, and as a diversionary tactic he has launched a fairy tale economic policy platform centred around making petrol (gas) cheaper by delivering a substantial cut in petrol tax.
According to Senator Sprig "It is irresponsible not to cut petrol tax … it helps people make ends meet and … puts downward pressure on inflation." It is also obviously economic suicide not to chop down every last tree, dam every last river and dig up every last tonne of saleable mineral.
The Christmas Pudding party is locked in mortal combat with equally fringe and narrow interest parties such as the Fern Friendlies: according to the Puddings the tree huggers are 'extreme' and have 'extreme policies' and are possessed of a soft policy on drugs. It seems finally even on the lunatic fringes of public debate it is recognised as no longer astute politicking to grub for single digit volumes of votes by demonising single mothers and poofters, so the Green Party has been co-opted to fill the void.
Sadly with all the excitement of squeezing the Friendlies into frame the good Senator then went completely over the top.
His logic escapes me; the Fern Friendlies would have to be possessed of potent magic that, out of government and without influence, their proposed policy on drugs has yet created a culture of drug delinquency within the Australian Football League. Sadly I think it is Senator Sprig who is away with the Fairies.
Wednesday, 7 November 2007
Change of heart
The London Assembly has passed a vote of confidence in Ian Blair. Oh dear. Now I'm having to reconsider my position. I have written No Words this evening, which is very naughty of me. Pollies are obviously suffering a hang over after the early week's excesses and are not saying anything stupidly interesting. They are being even less fun than usual. This is unreasonable behaviour, which is just typical of our elected representatives.
Sunday, 4 November 2007
Don't panic
The Conservative Party is this weekend indulging in a collective Corporal Jones moment suggesting they're far further from being ready for an election when it happens than they'd have the world believe.
The upside of this is the spectacularly entertaining sight of a group of the suited and booted, rather attached to the idea of running your life, my life and every other bugger's life as they are being wholly incapable of running their own lives. Oh, dear.
Shadow chancellor George Osborne's reaction included "Candidates of any party - Conservative, Labour, Liberal Democrat - have to exercise great caution in the language they use about immigration." but not "and the man's opinions are such as I cannot agree with.
And shadow home secretary David Davis described the comments as "very unwise" and advised that the constituency party should "think very hard" about how they expected their candidate to behave. But not that he disagrees with the views expressed by the would-be candidate. And he's added: "You cannot just stumble around throwing out comments which are insensitive or inflammatory," which is a bit rich coming from Davis.
So much for the Tory Party being a broad church. So much for the Tory Party having room for weirdos and racists. Perhaps next they'll slinging out the misogynists.
The upside of this is the spectacularly entertaining sight of a group of the suited and booted, rather attached to the idea of running your life, my life and every other bugger's life as they are being wholly incapable of running their own lives. Oh, dear.
Shadow chancellor George Osborne's reaction included "Candidates of any party - Conservative, Labour, Liberal Democrat - have to exercise great caution in the language they use about immigration." but not "and the man's opinions are such as I cannot agree with.
And shadow home secretary David Davis described the comments as "very unwise" and advised that the constituency party should "think very hard" about how they expected their candidate to behave. But not that he disagrees with the views expressed by the would-be candidate. And he's added: "You cannot just stumble around throwing out comments which are insensitive or inflammatory," which is a bit rich coming from Davis.
So much for the Tory Party being a broad church. So much for the Tory Party having room for weirdos and racists. Perhaps next they'll slinging out the misogynists.
Thursday, 1 November 2007
Sex, sex, sex, sex.
That's all you people think about.
Isn't it?
The Christmas Pudding Party's been at it again. In the extremes of extreme north Queensland the brain of the CPP challenger has seemingly melted. It can be quite warm and extremely humid in those parts.
I'm not writing another Christmas Pudding Party Post until tomorrow, by which time I might have recovered the will to delve into the latest exhibition of foolishness by one of their endorsed candidates.
How many more of these awful people will emerge to can-can across the political landscape before this election's done? Given the rate at which they've been turning up so far you wouldn't bet against there being a deal more to come.
The news hasn't been all bad, however. The Great Smirk's brother Tim has even 'sort of' backed Kev and that too is quite sweet.
Isn't it?
The Christmas Pudding Party's been at it again. In the extremes of extreme north Queensland the brain of the CPP challenger has seemingly melted. It can be quite warm and extremely humid in those parts.
I'm not writing another Christmas Pudding Party Post until tomorrow, by which time I might have recovered the will to delve into the latest exhibition of foolishness by one of their endorsed candidates.
How many more of these awful people will emerge to can-can across the political landscape before this election's done? Given the rate at which they've been turning up so far you wouldn't bet against there being a deal more to come.
The news hasn't been all bad, however. The Great Smirk's brother Tim has even 'sort of' backed Kev and that too is quite sweet.
Wednesday, 31 October 2007
Whoops
You'd think things couldn't get worse.
- It is bad enough that the Prime Minister fawns over the Exclusive Brethren and has their Elect Vessel around for tea and cake.
- The election is called and the Christmas Pudding Party's rabid dribbling pours forth mostly over the Fern Friendlies who are in their opinion too busy loving trees and spending far too little time castigating queers, single parents, other bludgers, spongers and druggie fringe elements
- The Libs re-endorse Pastor Peter Something (see an earlier post on the subject of this dreadful little man) or other who wants evolution removed from the science curriculum and 'intelligent' design installed in its place.
- We're denied an adequate sufficiency of time to enjoy the colossal jackass the Mad Monk is making of himself in this campaign (the latest gaffes being to grossly insult a dying man attempting to deliver a petition as part of his asbestos compensation campaign, and turn up half an hour late for a debate with his opposite number then turn around and insult her.)
Little John's been dragged into a row over the League of Rights which is, in essence, a particularly distasteful little collective of holocaust deniers and you should be very grateful if you've never come across them before.
Little John's on record describing this hideous fringe grouping as "a bit anti-semitic". And he's added "Well, everybody knows I have a very strong position on that." No, actually Johnno, I don't know what your strong position is. Would you care to spell it out in clear and unambiguous terms. And further more I can't help but wonder how one can be a bit anti-semitic. Surely either one is, or one isn't. Is there a half-way house for agnostics on the Jewish Question?
Little John's problems arise because he has ties to a fruit loop god-botherer of evangelical hue attached to something calling itself the Catch the Fires Ministries (yes, plural, suggesting there are lots of them).
Little John's pet god-botherer has accepted an invitation extended by the League of Rights to appear on a platform of their creation - and he has appeared with this mob before, so he has form.
Little John can't quite bring himself to say "Its a free country; if one lunatic wants to keep company with other lunatics so much the better for the rest of us. They're all in one place where we can keep an eye on them while we rig up the humane exterminator."
Little John can't quite bring himself to say "Too bloody right. Nalliah's a mate of mine and any mate of his is a mate of mine too. Bring it on if you think you're tough enough."
Little John can't quite bring himself to cut the tawdry fucker Danny (what sort of name is that for a grown up?) Nalliah adrift.
Nalliah has high-level access to government. He has told followers he held a one-on-one meeting with Treasurer Peter Costello on August 9 and Prime Minister Mr Howard the next day - after God told him to "prophetically prepare" Mr Costello as the future prime minister. The Great Smirk himself (not surprisingly, in the circumstances) in on record defending Nalliah. While his office has issued a statement condemning the League he has refused to tell us if he will or will not continue to hold meetings with this Senior Fruit Loop.
And in a delicious twist of fate Blogger's craptacular spell checker which will not accept Nalliah offers Allah is its first alternative. Sweet.
Election fever
The good folk of voting age back home probably couldn't agree less but I'm coming rapidly round to the idea that elections should be held more often back home. Once a quarter perhaps? Six weeks for a campaign, six weeks of governance. On off, on off.
The antics that are standard issue electioneering are at least ensuring better some coverage of the great southern land.
For a start someone has decided that not enough people outside Australia are aware that they can watch footage via YouTube of the would-be Prime Minister (Kev) picking his ear and eating the scrapings. This is the sort of publicity money simply can't buy. Clearly the post-modern media mogul is taking Kev very seriously. So the whole story's been taken out and given another run around the block.
The fact that there's an 'Australian Notebook' column in today's paper is merely bandwagon jumping by Old Media from a right of centre stance. Stephen Pollard lays out a complicated case for not underestimating Little John when it would have been simpler to point out that since he hasn't been shot by a silver bullet or had a stake driven through his heart he obviously has a chance in next month's federal election.
The antics that are standard issue electioneering are at least ensuring better some coverage of the great southern land.
For a start someone has decided that not enough people outside Australia are aware that they can watch footage via YouTube of the would-be Prime Minister (Kev) picking his ear and eating the scrapings. This is the sort of publicity money simply can't buy. Clearly the post-modern media mogul is taking Kev very seriously. So the whole story's been taken out and given another run around the block.
The fact that there's an 'Australian Notebook' column in today's paper is merely bandwagon jumping by Old Media from a right of centre stance. Stephen Pollard lays out a complicated case for not underestimating Little John when it would have been simpler to point out that since he hasn't been shot by a silver bullet or had a stake driven through his heart he obviously has a chance in next month's federal election.
Monday, 29 October 2007
'Tis the season to be something or other
The Christmas Pudding Party is frantically attempting to recover from having brandy poured over it and the touch paper lit.
The perp is a 21 year old man named Andrew Quah who had secured Christmas Pudding Party endorsement for the west Sydney seat of Reid in the about-to-happen Federal Election.
Belatedly this young man has discovered that not only is he not singing from the same hymn sheet as his co-conspirators but he actually is working with a rather different hymnal. One comprising page after page of the sort of cheap and nasty stuff so readily available at a click of Blogger's craptacular Next Porn button perhaps.
He's not bothering to deny (evidence of his unsuitability for politics) that he might have done something stupid, ended up naked, photographed himself in that state and emailed the evidence to political opponents as a gesture of contempt. He probably didn't first photoshop a micro-penis into the photographs in place of his own dangly bits or post the 'edited' versions to a gay dating web site.
Still it is all good fun, and a Christmas Pudding without the flambe is like ... a political campaign without the sexual smearing and bribery.
The Christmas Pudding Party's Senator Steve Fielding (the Spring of Holly on top) has attempted to counsel the young man who has also admitted looking at porn and now 'disendorsed him' and expelled him. The young man has wished the Christmas Pudding Party well, which proves conclusively how deeply troubled he is.
The perp is a 21 year old man named Andrew Quah who had secured Christmas Pudding Party endorsement for the west Sydney seat of Reid in the about-to-happen Federal Election.
Belatedly this young man has discovered that not only is he not singing from the same hymn sheet as his co-conspirators but he actually is working with a rather different hymnal. One comprising page after page of the sort of cheap and nasty stuff so readily available at a click of Blogger's craptacular Next Porn button perhaps.
He's not bothering to deny (evidence of his unsuitability for politics) that he might have done something stupid, ended up naked, photographed himself in that state and emailed the evidence to political opponents as a gesture of contempt. He probably didn't first photoshop a micro-penis into the photographs in place of his own dangly bits or post the 'edited' versions to a gay dating web site.
Still it is all good fun, and a Christmas Pudding without the flambe is like ... a political campaign without the sexual smearing and bribery.
The Christmas Pudding Party's Senator Steve Fielding (the Spring of Holly on top) has attempted to counsel the young man who has also admitted looking at porn and now 'disendorsed him' and expelled him. The young man has wished the Christmas Pudding Party well, which proves conclusively how deeply troubled he is.
Saturday, 27 October 2007
Rapid intake of breath
You can probably guess the sort of person who can put the following words on the public record with their own name attached to the utterance: "the theory of evolution is taught as well — in my view regrettably taught in science classes". What you might not get first off is the sort of political party prepared to endorse the fruit bat and be represented by it in an electorate bound to attract a disproportionate amount of media coverage.
On the other side of the globe the Victorian (how aptly named it sometimes seems) division of the Libs are running a certified god botherer in the seat held by the woman who is deputy leader of the opposition. She already holds the seat by a near double figures margin and as pollsters are predicting a win for labour across the board of 'landslide' proportions she's probably allowing herself the luxury of attending to other matters beside the onerous task of retaining her seat.
That said, such electorates are regarded by parties as suitable training grounds (in a rather Darwinian way) for long term prospects. If they don't fail utterly and seek a radically different career path then they actually might be what the party needs and get a less unwinnable as reward at some time in the future.
So what was behind the decision of the Liberal Party of Australia (Victoria Division) to endorse Pastor Peter Curtis as its official candidate in this electorate - and for the second time.
It is a reality of the party's structure that this vile political creature's origins lie in a chintz laden sitting room in a brick veneer home on a quarter acre block in a fringe suburb. A sufficiency of like minded friends and easily influenced other individuals are all that is required to set up a prospective party branch. With acceptance comes access to the local politican at state and federal level, the chance to submit proposals to state council, to send delegates (who might or might not have the opportunity to speak) to state council. Getting to state council is the way to get onto committees and working groups and assemblies and so forth where the party membership thrashes out exactly what it is going to tell the parliamentary wing to think and do.
This is, you will note very, very unlike the machiavellian way in which the other lot go about things as their way results in the unelected union monster holds the labour parliamentarian in its vice-like grip.
From state council, as noted, the sky is the limit. The trick is to be heard. It helps to sound stupid. Sounding truly stupid is memorable. You want people to remember you; they're bound to forget why they remember you so get in touch with your inner idiot, today.
And remember. The world is full of idiots. People who are so idiotic they make you sound clever. Get in touch with your inner idiot and the world is your oyster.
Pasta Peter Curtis, forty year old part-time retailer (which possibly means deputy assistant night manager, shelf stacking, at the local woolies) and assistant pastor in the evangelical Southland Christian Centre is proof of this progress to credibility. And far be it for me to draw attention to the fact that he would in his latter role have access to plenty of biddable, gullible fools to stack his branch with should he care to do so.
That one branch is giving this fruit loop its backing is not in itself sufficient explanation for his status as endorsed candidate. There are other and more onerous qualifications before such credibility is bestowed. Some one, some where within the Exhibition Street labyrinth has declined to intervene, repeatedly.
That the man is certified god bother is in itself sufficient cause to disqualify him in my book. But there are plenty of them about and I can even (just about) bear the self-abusing Ruth Kelly in the cabinet as transport secretary as long as she doesn't do too much media work.
"As a Christian, I do not agree with the idea of homosexuality. That's the reality. I can't put it any other way," And "As a Christian, I don't agree with women in a position of authority. That's the reality. I can't put it any other way"?
"I certainly could never change my views that homosexuality is a perversion, because it is a perversion." (His great x 15 grand father reported once was heard to say "I certainly could never change my views that the world is flat, because it is flat.")
"I'd offer myself as a genuine grassroots candidate who would be delighted to represent them and who would have no favouritism or negative approach to any individual based on their lifestyle. I would love to represent them, I would love to represent anybody," he said. " Er yes, I'm that desperate. I'd love to represent anybody. [If you were gay would you trust this man with what few rights you do have?]
This does matter because the party that is fighting to stay in power at the national level has endorsed this man, and the above ranting is not the worst of it. That came later and here it is.
John Howard should be taken out so some remote place and there stabbed, burned, boiled, castrated, flayed, strangled and left to feed the dingos, just for presiding over the political wing of the party foisting this incredibly dreadful individual on an Australian public, let alone for any of his other crimes and misdemeanors.
Read this and weep that this man (who regrets that evolution is part of the science curriculum) can be regarded as Liberal Party of Australia candidate material:
Now correct me if I'm wrong but surely Mr Vermicelli is actually proof that if it is design, it isn't intelligent. Indeed this seems to be true of most advocates of intelligent design.
On the other side of the globe the Victorian (how aptly named it sometimes seems) division of the Libs are running a certified god botherer in the seat held by the woman who is deputy leader of the opposition. She already holds the seat by a near double figures margin and as pollsters are predicting a win for labour across the board of 'landslide' proportions she's probably allowing herself the luxury of attending to other matters beside the onerous task of retaining her seat.
That said, such electorates are regarded by parties as suitable training grounds (in a rather Darwinian way) for long term prospects. If they don't fail utterly and seek a radically different career path then they actually might be what the party needs and get a less unwinnable as reward at some time in the future.
So what was behind the decision of the Liberal Party of Australia (Victoria Division) to endorse Pastor Peter Curtis as its official candidate in this electorate - and for the second time.
It is a reality of the party's structure that this vile political creature's origins lie in a chintz laden sitting room in a brick veneer home on a quarter acre block in a fringe suburb. A sufficiency of like minded friends and easily influenced other individuals are all that is required to set up a prospective party branch. With acceptance comes access to the local politican at state and federal level, the chance to submit proposals to state council, to send delegates (who might or might not have the opportunity to speak) to state council. Getting to state council is the way to get onto committees and working groups and assemblies and so forth where the party membership thrashes out exactly what it is going to tell the parliamentary wing to think and do.
This is, you will note very, very unlike the machiavellian way in which the other lot go about things as their way results in the unelected union monster holds the labour parliamentarian in its vice-like grip.
From state council, as noted, the sky is the limit. The trick is to be heard. It helps to sound stupid. Sounding truly stupid is memorable. You want people to remember you; they're bound to forget why they remember you so get in touch with your inner idiot, today.
And remember. The world is full of idiots. People who are so idiotic they make you sound clever. Get in touch with your inner idiot and the world is your oyster.
Pasta Peter Curtis, forty year old part-time retailer (which possibly means deputy assistant night manager, shelf stacking, at the local woolies) and assistant pastor in the evangelical Southland Christian Centre is proof of this progress to credibility. And far be it for me to draw attention to the fact that he would in his latter role have access to plenty of biddable, gullible fools to stack his branch with should he care to do so.
That one branch is giving this fruit loop its backing is not in itself sufficient explanation for his status as endorsed candidate. There are other and more onerous qualifications before such credibility is bestowed. Some one, some where within the Exhibition Street labyrinth has declined to intervene, repeatedly.
That the man is certified god bother is in itself sufficient cause to disqualify him in my book. But there are plenty of them about and I can even (just about) bear the self-abusing Ruth Kelly in the cabinet as transport secretary as long as she doesn't do too much media work.
"As a Christian, I do not agree with the idea of homosexuality. That's the reality. I can't put it any other way," And "As a Christian, I don't agree with women in a position of authority. That's the reality. I can't put it any other way"?
"I certainly could never change my views that homosexuality is a perversion, because it is a perversion." (His great x 15 grand father reported once was heard to say "I certainly could never change my views that the world is flat, because it is flat.")
"I'd offer myself as a genuine grassroots candidate who would be delighted to represent them and who would have no favouritism or negative approach to any individual based on their lifestyle. I would love to represent them, I would love to represent anybody," he said. " Er yes, I'm that desperate. I'd love to represent anybody. [If you were gay would you trust this man with what few rights you do have?]
This does matter because the party that is fighting to stay in power at the national level has endorsed this man, and the above ranting is not the worst of it. That came later and here it is.
John Howard should be taken out so some remote place and there stabbed, burned, boiled, castrated, flayed, strangled and left to feed the dingos, just for presiding over the political wing of the party foisting this incredibly dreadful individual on an Australian public, let alone for any of his other crimes and misdemeanors.
Read this and weep that this man (who regrets that evolution is part of the science curriculum) can be regarded as Liberal Party of Australia candidate material:
Facing an uphill battle to defeat Ms Gillard, with Labor holding the seat by a margin of 8.8 per cent, Mr Curtis said he wanted to bring a more Christian focus to politics.
He said that, if elected, he would be urging the Liberal Party to introduce intelligent design to state school science classes. [Intelligent design is an assertion that certain features of the universe and living things are best explained by an intelligent cause, and not by natural selection.]
"I would be very much in favour of intelligent design being taught in public schools," Mr Curtis said. "Just as the theory of evolution is taught as well — in my view regrettably taught in science classes, because I think it's a theory and not a science."
Now correct me if I'm wrong but surely Mr Vermicelli is actually proof that if it is design, it isn't intelligent. Indeed this seems to be true of most advocates of intelligent design.
Hello dear
How are we feeling today? Not too good? Well never mind. Doctor will see you soon.
Now, in the meantime how 'bout I have a quick gander and decide for myself whether you should live or die?
No?
Why ever not?
You can trust me. I'm a nurse.
Frankly the only nurse I'd be prepared to trust to pronounce on my health is one who has requalified as a doctor. And she's a specialist oncologist in research centre these days.
Now, in the meantime how 'bout I have a quick gander and decide for myself whether you should live or die?
No?
Why ever not?
You can trust me. I'm a nurse.
Frankly the only nurse I'd be prepared to trust to pronounce on my health is one who has requalified as a doctor. And she's a specialist oncologist in research centre these days.
Friday, 26 October 2007
Kev is famous
Kev. got a ref. a few months back after deploying his Big Party Number at an international conference held in Australia apparently for the sole purpose of showcasing Little Johnny - Statesman. This (the Big Party Number) was positioned as a sterling piece of upstagery by a greasy little oik on the make which shows remarkable and hitherto rarely hinted at perspicacity on the subject of Matters Antipodean amongst British journalists.
With the federal election well and truly underway, the first wave ofbribery tax pledgery out in the open, it is time for the Times to cast its piercing gaze over the prospective next Prime Minister of Australia. Well, sort of.
There's a small piece in today's paper: a picture of Kev and a sentence beneath it explaining that Kev is being shown in the act of eating his own ear wax.
Eugh. Still it could be worse. I'd always understood Fat Gordy to be a nail-biter but apparently those nails are in inadvertent consequence of snot eating.
With the federal election well and truly underway, the first wave of
There's a small piece in today's paper: a picture of Kev and a sentence beneath it explaining that Kev is being shown in the act of eating his own ear wax.
Eugh. Still it could be worse. I'd always understood Fat Gordy to be a nail-biter but apparently those nails are in inadvertent consequence of snot eating.
Thursday, 25 October 2007
Yet another phenomenon
The 'Drover's Dog' election is part of the Australian electoral lexicon. It is the unlosable election. One of these took place in 1972 to replace the clapped out liberal government with something different. Labour's campaign slogan was "It's time" and no sentient being required any elaboration. As its reward for agreeing that it was indeed time Australia got Gough Witlam, his even more extraordinary wife and Jim Cairns.
The phrase was coined, however, in 1983 when deployed in bitterness by Bill Hayden to describe the election that would take place on March 5th that year.
In the mean time the liberals led by Malcolm Fraser had recovered power after Gough Witlam was sacked by the Governor-General on November 11th 1975; circumstances still contentious today.
Fraser's governement had run its course by 1983 and looked in its turn entirely bankrupt. Bill Hayden had already begun his long trek from fairly wide left of centre to where he today stands in the political landscape as a rather antidiluvialist fiscal conservative monarchist. But he'd failed to convince the men who have always run the Labour party (at this time the NSW right-wing machine) entirely of his ability to lead the party to an election victory an impression that was compounded by failure to win a by-election.
The signs being deemed by this failure to be inpropitious the machine swung into action. It had at its disposal a political gem. As ACTU president that infamous Rhodes Scholar, serial philanderer and all-round drunk Bob Hawke had acquired a reputation as a fixer by dint of doing absolutely nothing. The trick he'd mastered was to wait in the wings while disputing parties ground themselves and each other to a state of exhaustion; at which point Hawke would glide gracefully to centre stage and magically broker precisely the sort of agreement all parties were desperate for anyway.
Hawke was no longer a political agent on the fringes; he'd been elected to parliament in the previous election and was quite nakedly and gleefully engineering Hayden's departure. The machine were perfectly amenable, considering Hawke a better bet as Labour leader for securing long term power.
And so the trigger was pulled one morning in February 1983; Hayden resigned before being butchered. But even before Hayden's obituary could be delivered Fraser had already the same morning (and oblivious to events in the Labour party) called on the Governor General as the necessary first step in calling an election.
Hayden delivered his judgement on the election in full bitter awareness that had he held off just a few hours he would have led the party into it. As a kind of revenge he continued his journey ever right-ward.
The next time I had the opportunity to witness a Drover's Dog election at close quarters was in May 1997 and here in the UK. It was the election at which the British delivered the final coup de grace on the long Tory period in office that had begun with Maggie's triumphal arrival.
They were so desperate to see the back of John Major and the whole tawdry shower surrounding him they were prepared to buy the pitch of Tony Blair without even asking to see the price tag.
Something like that atmosphere seems to surround the federal election underway in Australia. So eager to shuffle Howard off his perch they're prepared to sanction the oily little oik that is Kev. Rudd, persistent god-botherer, busy body, sleeze bag, crock and control freak.
Right now the Exclusive Bretheren (know much about them? thought not) only have the run of the PM's office. The prospect of them having grubby mitts on the levers of power - while proscribing direct participation in the electoral process by sect members - should be deeply scary. What is it about Australians that they should be able to sleep walk towards this disaster. And if Howard isn't replaced by the Great Smirk, will it be the Mad Monk instead?
'Home' is a chimera; and it slips further from reach each day, or so it seems.
The phrase was coined, however, in 1983 when deployed in bitterness by Bill Hayden to describe the election that would take place on March 5th that year.
In the mean time the liberals led by Malcolm Fraser had recovered power after Gough Witlam was sacked by the Governor-General on November 11th 1975; circumstances still contentious today.
Fraser's governement had run its course by 1983 and looked in its turn entirely bankrupt. Bill Hayden had already begun his long trek from fairly wide left of centre to where he today stands in the political landscape as a rather antidiluvialist fiscal conservative monarchist. But he'd failed to convince the men who have always run the Labour party (at this time the NSW right-wing machine) entirely of his ability to lead the party to an election victory an impression that was compounded by failure to win a by-election.
The signs being deemed by this failure to be inpropitious the machine swung into action. It had at its disposal a political gem. As ACTU president that infamous Rhodes Scholar, serial philanderer and all-round drunk Bob Hawke had acquired a reputation as a fixer by dint of doing absolutely nothing. The trick he'd mastered was to wait in the wings while disputing parties ground themselves and each other to a state of exhaustion; at which point Hawke would glide gracefully to centre stage and magically broker precisely the sort of agreement all parties were desperate for anyway.
Hawke was no longer a political agent on the fringes; he'd been elected to parliament in the previous election and was quite nakedly and gleefully engineering Hayden's departure. The machine were perfectly amenable, considering Hawke a better bet as Labour leader for securing long term power.
And so the trigger was pulled one morning in February 1983; Hayden resigned before being butchered. But even before Hayden's obituary could be delivered Fraser had already the same morning (and oblivious to events in the Labour party) called on the Governor General as the necessary first step in calling an election.
Hayden delivered his judgement on the election in full bitter awareness that had he held off just a few hours he would have led the party into it. As a kind of revenge he continued his journey ever right-ward.
The next time I had the opportunity to witness a Drover's Dog election at close quarters was in May 1997 and here in the UK. It was the election at which the British delivered the final coup de grace on the long Tory period in office that had begun with Maggie's triumphal arrival.
They were so desperate to see the back of John Major and the whole tawdry shower surrounding him they were prepared to buy the pitch of Tony Blair without even asking to see the price tag.
Something like that atmosphere seems to surround the federal election underway in Australia. So eager to shuffle Howard off his perch they're prepared to sanction the oily little oik that is Kev. Rudd, persistent god-botherer, busy body, sleeze bag, crock and control freak.
Right now the Exclusive Bretheren (know much about them? thought not) only have the run of the PM's office. The prospect of them having grubby mitts on the levers of power - while proscribing direct participation in the electoral process by sect members - should be deeply scary. What is it about Australians that they should be able to sleep walk towards this disaster. And if Howard isn't replaced by the Great Smirk, will it be the Mad Monk instead?
'Home' is a chimera; and it slips further from reach each day, or so it seems.
Wednesday, 24 October 2007
I Want To Cry
News yesterday, today on the front of the papers that this government, in office for over a decade has now concocted a new way of ruining people's lives: for the next seven years the children of this country are to become involved - on an entirely involuntary basis - in (yet another) educational experiment. This is Suck it and See policy making on the fly the victims of which will be children who are the age my daughter is now, which means my daughter. The escape hatch is jammed closed and the price she pays just gets higher and higher.
I have no confidence whatsoever in this administration.
And it is hardly heartening that the colossal drip Michael Gove who is (Tory) shadow spokesthingummy for Education has pooh-poohed the proposed expansion of diplomas into more academic areas of 'study' on the entirely fatuous grounds that the new diploma in academic areas would undermine traditional qualifications. Well, doh!
This is primary school playground debate on the subject of secondary education and that's hardly heartening.
What's heart breaking though is that the Tories have since this government was first elected been at the head of the annual stampede to protest the perceived corruption of the 'gold standard' A Level qualification and the general dumbing down of standards in education.
In life, in general, one can't have it 'both ways' but Michael Gove at least seems determined die a political death trying to.
I have no confidence whatsoever in this administration.
And it is hardly heartening that the colossal drip Michael Gove who is (Tory) shadow spokesthingummy for Education has pooh-poohed the proposed expansion of diplomas into more academic areas of 'study' on the entirely fatuous grounds that the new diploma in academic areas would undermine traditional qualifications. Well, doh!
This is primary school playground debate on the subject of secondary education and that's hardly heartening.
What's heart breaking though is that the Tories have since this government was first elected been at the head of the annual stampede to protest the perceived corruption of the 'gold standard' A Level qualification and the general dumbing down of standards in education.
In life, in general, one can't have it 'both ways' but Michael Gove at least seems determined die a political death trying to.
Monday, 22 October 2007
Personally
Personally I couldn't give a stuff about the extent to which the UK is to be subsumed into the greater EU. I'm bailing out at the earliest available opportunity. Sayonara suckers.
But in the meantime I'm stuck with Fat Gordy's bullying. He's on his hind legs before parliament making a statement to the house attempting to explain why there's no obligation to stick to the manifesto pledge of a referendum. The referendum commitment related to the dead EU constitution and as far as Gordy's concerned now it is called a Treaty and not a Constitution, and because the nasty, overtly pan-nationalistic and politically incendiary "flag and anthem" aspects of the late, unlamented document have been excised all's well and the people can sleep sound in their beds at night secure in the knowledge that Fat Gordy's on the case.
Promises, promises.
Whatever the document might be called further institutional changes, many of which the UK will not be able to duck out of, are inevitable. "Even when it is a constitution in other countries it isn't a constitution in the UK". Oh, please. How stupid do you think the voters are?
Blather about opt outs and red lines? This is the continuation of the Euro-March and absolutely the only good news on that front in the past 48 hours is that one half of the hideous double act that has been running Poland round and round in ever decreasing circles of absurdity and ridicule has been skewered, as an adequate sufficiency of morbidly christian Poles came to their senses long enough to elect someone with a greater interest in administration than moralising.
But in the meantime I'm stuck with Fat Gordy's bullying. He's on his hind legs before parliament making a statement to the house attempting to explain why there's no obligation to stick to the manifesto pledge of a referendum. The referendum commitment related to the dead EU constitution and as far as Gordy's concerned now it is called a Treaty and not a Constitution, and because the nasty, overtly pan-nationalistic and politically incendiary "flag and anthem" aspects of the late, unlamented document have been excised all's well and the people can sleep sound in their beds at night secure in the knowledge that Fat Gordy's on the case.
Promises, promises.
Whatever the document might be called further institutional changes, many of which the UK will not be able to duck out of, are inevitable. "Even when it is a constitution in other countries it isn't a constitution in the UK". Oh, please. How stupid do you think the voters are?
Blather about opt outs and red lines? This is the continuation of the Euro-March and absolutely the only good news on that front in the past 48 hours is that one half of the hideous double act that has been running Poland round and round in ever decreasing circles of absurdity and ridicule has been skewered, as an adequate sufficiency of morbidly christian Poles came to their senses long enough to elect someone with a greater interest in administration than moralising.
Thursday, 18 October 2007
Whoops, he's done it again
Dear Old John is getting on a bit. But I don't believe in letting geriatrics off the hook, especially when they're manifestly past it but will insist on clinging to power.
Obviously with the election campaign in full swing, and the party a very long way behind in the polls he's a man with a lot on his plate; so just possibly he can be forgiven being unable to remember the name of the liberal party challenger in the electorate held by the leader of the main opposition party.
But what's absolutely shocking to me though not surprising (this is an stab at paradox, not intended to be taken as contradiction), is that he's taken it upon himself in the heat of battle to disinter the mouldering corpse of Mary Whitehouse and release her malign spirit across the landscape of the campaign.
Howard's words, if the quote is accurate, were ""Why don't they stick to decent, dirt-free humour that we can all enjoy?" Which should be a fine example of dirt-free (I think he actually means obscenity rather than dirt) humour if it didn't make me want to curl up and cry.
What we should do is bring back Blue Hills, and Skippy and saturate the airwaves with tosh like that. It might be boring, but no one will be offended.
Obviously with the election campaign in full swing, and the party a very long way behind in the polls he's a man with a lot on his plate; so just possibly he can be forgiven being unable to remember the name of the liberal party challenger in the electorate held by the leader of the main opposition party.
But what's absolutely shocking to me though not surprising (this is an stab at paradox, not intended to be taken as contradiction), is that he's taken it upon himself in the heat of battle to disinter the mouldering corpse of Mary Whitehouse and release her malign spirit across the landscape of the campaign.
Howard's words, if the quote is accurate, were ""Why don't they stick to decent, dirt-free humour that we can all enjoy?" Which should be a fine example of dirt-free (I think he actually means obscenity rather than dirt) humour if it didn't make me want to curl up and cry.
What we should do is bring back Blue Hills, and Skippy and saturate the airwaves with tosh like that. It might be boring, but no one will be offended.
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