‘Avalon-Land’ housing estate toilets are 400 % GERM FREE!

Eddies speech was a bravura Performance. 

But first we had to endure the awards ceremony devoted to ‘Australia’s greatest Covid Warriors’. This is when Ben Roberts Smith mounted the rostrum. He played a stirring version of the Last Post. Then, up stepped the hospital cleaner Achmed who won the ‘last week before Tuesday Greatest current ‘Australia’s most improved migrant award’. Ben Roberts Smith got the country’s highest military, the V.D, and then we paused as he went on to  say a few words on the behalf of Australia’s single biggest residential sub division that can offer housewives, a complete and absolute germ free household environment, guaranteed by Pfizer and Monsanto. 

‘Avalon- land’ promotional video, “SAFE and HYGIENIC”!

We went though our routine, 

“Avalon-Land” bedroom suites are fully Hose-able

We plodded through the lines, a win win for disease control and the building industry, we thank the development industry,  the REIV for being leaders in innovation, and we thank particularly the four banks for leading us to a FULL ECONOMIC recovery. Then, after the sponsors messages about ‘fluro – flush’, anti-bac meal deliveries, Andrew, did a handball comp just as Ted Whitten used to do on ‘World of Sport’. We were almost expecting Uncle Doug to turn up, but something bigger walked to the stage, to accept his ‘Australian of the Decade’ award. It was Lindsay, 

Uncle Doug, the sporting man’s Aristotle.

He started off; ‘as a humble and lowly truck driver’.

A short two hours later Lindsay finished his soliloquy with a little anecdote about success…he thanked his mate Solly for the tip, and Jeannie from the galactic system they call ‘Pratt’. 

When he finished we felt squashed, 

And realised, the crushing irony, that with the gift of freedom we’d sold our souls, our integrity, our very being to the market-place. 

All ‘Avalon- land house and land packages are electronically cleansed for your protection.

But then, a bell rang, and Eddie beaming said, “NOW BOYS! This is a special day. And I’m prouder than the stitching on a Sherrin to reunite you with the one individual who saved your necks’. 

Mrs Culthorpe managed a wry smile.

Emerging from behind the Foxtel mega screen shuffled Mrs Culthorpe. ‘Hi boys’, though ravaged with bed sores, dysentry, ebola and traces of Berri Berri Contracted from being an inmate in one of our prIvately run aged-care establishments she could still hold the tea tray.  The two mugs jiggled precariously, between the pot and the mugs, a plate of Monte Carlos’. She smiled, though she’d lost the gift of speech, a tear trickled from her right eye, the other was closed with twitching. She managed a wry smile, 

‘Boys boomed Eddy, this is your finest hour’! He bid us stand up.

And blinking in the blinding flash of the world’s press we raised our arms in triumph, the crowd yelled itself hoarse in an uproar of adulation, we the underdogs had prevailed. There was something so uniquely Australian about it, we were drawn to tears.  As we stood there, the Foxtel screen exploded in a whirl of colour and our supreme leader, Peter of Dutton, boomed; ‘A nation sends its thanks’!, Achmed said in a half gibberish of Pathan and Arabic, ‘Thankee Thankee Stwaya’!

And as Lindsay, presented us both with ‘Orders of Australia’, the crowd roared; ’Onya Eddie’ !!

Ben unfurled the Australian flag, and proclaimed, 

Ben unfurled the flag, but was dis that the promised Cartier watch (free with every V.C) was not forthcoming.

‘This is a PROUD DAY’!

The end. 

Next episode, Mrs Culthorpe, finally got a job after ten years in the ‘Paths to Nowhere employment training scheme’, we were flabbergasted. Turns out she had to move to Canberra, and did a stint as a parliamentary intern. Then, as an intern, after-a boozy night something went terribly wrong. Stay tuned to our next probing episode, “tears before bed-time’ or “ The cut and thrust of politics”

Even the pot plants at the Holiday Inn were irradiated for our SAFETY!

Dear reader we begin, where we left off, our prisoners corralled inside the Holiday Inn, and then from the proverbial frying pan, flung into the midst of Australia’s first every quarantine based suburban subdivision, “Avalon -Land”. “Australia’s most hygienically cleansed address”. We’d become the face of a newer, cleaner, safer, Australian Dream. As the brochure said, “Read on if you have LASTING PPE protection…..

Mr Whu, inscrutable as ever. But HAPPY.

We were prawns on a barbecue of Lindsay’s making, with Mr Whu the cheerleader. In the background we knew that Jamie and Eddy lurked, to what evil end, we knew not.  We had become  famous, for all the wrong reasons. Our faces and the ‘Avalon-Land’ logo appeared on bus stops, tram stops and disused airport lounges.  Our faces beamed on Sky News, Fox News and on the cover of associated media, Prison Monthly, Detention Centre Weekly, and the highly circulated, flagship from Transurban, “Tax- Free” , and “Highway- Man’. WE had become memes and synonymous with the jingle, 

‘Welcome to Avalon-land, Avalon-land,  Australia’s No 1# residential Address’

.It’s germ free,  and certified antiseptic, and arguably (insert drumroll) the BEST!

Voted the worst jingle since, ‘the World of Saba” it had infected the psyche of an ENTIRE NATION.

Avalon Land community club rooms ” all 100% hygienically and antiseptically CLEAN!

It was a dreadful jingle, but it captured the hearts and minds, with the P.M, and the Test team doing a special ‘Onya Boys’ conga in his fashionable Aussie flag ppe face – mask. 

Avalon-Land staff wear colour co-ordinated rubbish bags to ensure PUBLIC SAFETY!

Families had decided to call their kiddies either “Cecil” or ‘Quentin’. A little Sri Lankan family abandoned to rot on  Christmas Island for being poor and dark- skinned had twins, and  they were christened Ces and Quent. For evincing patriotism and being able to recite all of the Don’s batting statistics for the 1937-38 Cricket season, they were given a pardon by the Gauleiter of Brisbane, his excellency Sir Peter Dutton. Even the Australian idiom had changed, to ‘do a Quent and Ces, (abbreviated  to ‘Quent-n-ces’), was short-hand for escaping a nasty situation to find oneself in less than a slightly nastier situation. We’d single-handedly captured the spirit of the Aussie Under-Dog. 

Being famous you’d think would bring great personal benefits. But sadly,  from our Nissen hut, ‘the worlds first prototype remote quarantine, suburban sub division module’, we were like two freaks.  Kiddies and families buying off the plan units that promised “full  and completely computerised hygienic and safe aerosol spraying  toilets, “ The Fresh flush system” would stare at us, in our cell. We’ were encouraged to wave to the passers by, like circus Chimpanzees in our matching Holiday Inn Safari suits and pretend to enjoy watching Alan who was beamed nonstop to us on our wall sized telly. After all, Alan deserved credit for saving us  and giving us such favourable coverage on Foxtel. 

WE were prisoners, and feeling completely ‘Julian Assanged’,  but were yet STILL ALIVE!! They clearly had one last trump card, and we knew, come hell or high water, we’d be used once again to ensure total and absolute control over all Australians, by the aforementioned. 

Marketing GOLD! the little reffo family that made ‘Avalon-Land” a speculators PARADISE!

Just as we were settling into exciting back to back episodes of ‘Border Watch’,  ‘Dole Bludger’, and ‘Refugee Crimes Un- Covered’, all excellent documentaries focusing on how the poor and indolent were getting away with BLUE MURDER, there was a knock on the door.  Mr Whu put his pudgy wing- nut headed face , (Lindsays words, not ours) through the door; ‘Cmon boys someone to see you, and he’s really looking forward to helping you out of this, and ensure that you never break quarantine and put my government in suspicion ever again’..

‘What the!!” 

We meekly followed. 

There was a podium

MATES!

At the desk, surrounded by microphones, our so called associates, Jamie, Lindsay, Andrew, (formerly “Mr football”) and Mr Whu. In the middle sat Eddy. Eddy was beaming,  he winked at us through the corner of his eye.  He was wearing a black and white Collingwood footy jumper in which the black bits had been scrubbed out with Dettol, Napi- San and Pine ‘O’ Clean. It was off white and white, as Ces put it like the old black and white telly when the vertical shift blurred on World of Sport.

Eddy turned on the mike; “Here they are!  The boys who’ve made good and saved us from this  debacle’. 

What debacle? Which debacle? And the plaintive cry from within, “Why Us’?

What will happen to our duo? Stay tuned for the next excruciating episode, “Dial L for Lumumba’, or  “Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, nowhere to look, but Facebook?”

Chaddy at Portsea. For the budget conscious.

We find ourselves where we left off, being slotted into the bleakest place in Strayla, ( even worse than Chaddy) the Holiday Inn. Will our heroes be deep cleansed? read on…

The gleaming portal of the worlds second ugliest hotel leered at us, (Barangaroo is touted to be the global leader)  the cops formed a cordon. Just as we approached the front door and the retinue of PPE biological warfare, special Quarantine Enforcement Police Unit gathered, Mr Whu greeted us. ‘Hello Boys, you’ve made me go hot and cold, and’… But Ces had had enough.

”Enough of this BULLSHIT WHU’!

“Boys you’ve made me go hot and cold’!

You pretended to be a left leaning commie and you’re in bed with Lindsay, the most selfish prick on the planet. He makes Bezos look like fucking Mother Theresa, you should be ashamed, They wouldn’t do that in China’!

‘Frogs testicles’! he sneered back at us. ‘In China we are all communist, communists with capitalists tendencies, if you’re of the party you are just a bit more communist that the rest. I hold that exalted position through my bolt and node initiative, to open up airports and quarantine stations for the betterment’, he paused and looked to the east reverentially, “of Mother China’. 

‘Fuck me’, whispered Ces, ‘he’s gone the full monty, he actually thinks he’s anointed, it’s like Bob Santa without a social conscience’. But what shocked us next made our jaws drop, 

‘So ugly, so bad its kinda funky’ (Kevin Macleod)

“Oh thought I’d found ya here comrade, how you getting on with my boys”?

It was Lindsay, he was decked out in a Mao suit and had an order of “the three gorges dams” on his breast pocket, he knew what we were thinking. ‘Ignore the optics boys, sometimes you just have to humour em a bit”. But Mr Whu was somewhere else, he was speaking mandarin now, and all of us just had to stand and listen… 

‘Hey Danny boy wake up, we’ve got work to do’.. 

Danny, who we thought was Mr Whu regained attention, ‘yeah right’, Process em?

‘You got the camera crews’?

Holiday Inn revellers enjoying the cocktail lounge

Yep, has Jamie and Andrew arrived yet?.. they’re in the hotel foyer., Good oh, let’s get cracking. ‘Come on youse’! Escorted by our as yet unfamiliar police cordon we were frog-marched into the foyer.

WE were blinded by the eruption of flash bulbs and prodded with microphones as the swirling masses clamoured, reporters, journalists, the Canberra press gallery and second tier celebrities desperate to raise their facebook profile.  The most aggressive, an innocuous little bald man, thrust a SKY NEWS mike into our faces, held us tightly with a squirrel grip and said, “My name Is ALAN, just do as I say and your lives will be spared”. 

The interview began, 

‘Did you willingly infect these staff with a nebuliser, when you arrived from Texas’? The grip tightened, we knew what to do, we stammered “Yes’. 

“And did you wilfully infect this hotel quarantine zone after returning from Aspen’?

” My name is ALAN”

The grip tightened again, 

‘y..y.yess’,  

‘And are you bloody sorry and will do anything to clear the poor government who have been shellacked for this catastrophe through no fault on their behalf” Just then we saw from the throng the striking profile of our new mate ‘Dutto’, he signalled to us, we nodded in affirmation.

‘y…y…yes..

The flash bulbs went mental, it was blinding, the next thing we knew, we must have passed out, and when we awoke, it was as if in a dream. 

And as the mist of unconsciousness cleared, we were aware of one thing, the towering shadow of a colossus.  Was it Ben Roberts Smith? The answer was revealed to us, when that familiar booming voice, redolent of power and absolute power, whispered to us, ‘are ya gonna be good boys’?

We kinda missed Jamie and Andrew.

We knew the answer, “yess”, we stammered “Good then, all I want you to do now is tell these people from the Red Cross and Amnesty International that you are not Julian Assange, and you think that your old mate Lindsay has saved the country and your necks in this hour of need”. 

“Hour of need?

 “yes, I’ve saved us all from the single biggest catastrophe of all time’!

“Covid’? we stammered, 

‘Another annexation of another piece of the Portsea beach’, 

A multi-coloured way of saying ” POLICE-STATE’!

‘Ouch’!, Alan still had us in his vice- like  grip

‘Now the crown is mine to wear. I not only own the highways, the trucks and the  airport but I now own the whole fucking Casino business because as the enquiry found, I am the only man  left in Strayla of impeccable character and principle. 

He sniggered, you always knew that DIDN’T YOU’!!

“Yes Mr Lindsay, your hero- ship Sir”, 

“Good! we understand each other, 

‘I’ve got an old mate who’ll prime you for the next interview, and then if you Sign these documents, you’ll be Jake’, 

He then sniggered more ominously, and whispered, we could smell the stale odour of footy franks and Ferguson Plarre Coffee Scrolls. ‘Everything  will be sorted’. 

Then he gave us his very own Tony Abbott onion wink.. 

We‘d gone from shit-scared to being scared-shitless….

“The hanging gardens”, a popular tourist attraction at Holiday Inn.

What will happen to our heroes? Will they be able to squeeze this-un out? Find out in our next evacuatory episode, “Tighter than a neon nuns nasty”, or “A squirrel grip in a tight squeeze”. 

Readers have requested a re-print of this years parliamentary revue, “the Brothers Karamazov”

Dear reader we find our heroes in a devilish place, up to their armpits in intrigue when all they wanted was some advice from Crown on footy tipping  and a Federal grant for a pie warmer. Things are hotting up, and it aint the pie warmer.   Read on….

The very next thing that happened was Mr Whu turned up out of the blue, and from the road we could hear a screech. It was the worlds biggest black Rolls Royce, the grill was gold plated,  the tyres made from synthetic platinum and processed einsteinium, (the worlds rarest element) and the number plates ‘FOX YOU’ said it all. 

Lindsay, (official water displacement figures have not yet been determined).

It was Australia’s most powerful airport chief, Lindsay (this public beach is mine to cordon) Fox. Lindsay got out of the limo, we could tell as it rose twelve inches higher, almost bouncing into the air.  Mr Whu pretended not to notice, and from his pocket he produced a little red book. ‘I hereby proclaim from section 43 of the Public Safety Act  that you are in contravention of section 32 of the Hygiene Legislation Ordinance, part 3 section 12. . 

“What the eff’!, we both exclaimed; “but you arranged with your mate Eddy and the other fat bloke, (no offence) as Lindsay drew close, ‘and here we are with half a room still full of pokies, no tea lady, no Monte Carlo’s and an electricity bill that has bankrupted us”!

‘Not the way I see it, this place shall be confiscated and the assets sold off by order of the Public Safety Ordinance”.

‘No need to go on’! bellowed Lindsay, “move outta the way! What the little wing-nut headed peck-sniff is telling ya, is that I OWN all of THIS’!! And just to emphasise, he waived a fatty pair of arms in our direction, and to make the point he said; “I also own THAT”! And then he appeared to be pointing to the entire suburb in general. “As a matter of actual fact I FUCKEN OWN EVERYTHING!! “It’s an issue of PUBLIC SAFETY! 

“I’ve finished with you Danny Boy, you snivelling little piece of shit’!

And I want you to come along with me, I’ve finished with you Danny-Boy’! You snivelling little piece of SHIT’!. He sneered at Mr Whu, who tugged his comic forelock, ‘you clean up whilst I sort these boys’! He gave us an onion eating wink, way worse than Tony Abbott’s. We were about to do a runner, when a police Public Order Response Unit Van turned up and a dozen paramilitary with flak jackets, sub machine guns, jack-boots, armour and full face vizors, formed a cordon around us. In a flash we were “constrained” and from the outside we could hear Lindsay  bellowing:  ‘RAISE THE JOINT!, and as for you little Danny boy, NONE OF THIS EVER HAPPENED’!

The cops, just stared at us and held tasers, capsicum and cow-prods at our faces, we daren’t move. ‘We’re fucked’, I whispered to Ces, ‘Yep, Completely K’d’, (he was referring to Witness K) ‘and Assanged’! The cops laughed, at least they had a sense of humour. A loud banging on the roof of the van, and the familiar booming voice of the trucking magnate, ‘Take em away boys, I’ll meet you on the OTHER SIDE’! 

Lindsay is well connected, former P.M’s and (RHS) Intra galactic free trade agreement with first extra terrestrial alien trading bloc. “Jeannie” from the galactic system they call “PRATT”! Earth gravity has distorted her facial features.

The other side? it sounded ominous, we knew that Mr Whu and Lindsay were close, but this was a little too close for comfort.  We felt that ever since we bumped into Eddy with an offer that was too good to be true, our lives had taken a downward trajectory, Then there was Andrew, who arrived with Jamie, looking shadier than Mick Gatto’s boys and the feeling that we were being slotted, to be used as prawns in some hideously corrupt pan-national cover up…WE despaired, but our problems had only just begun. 

As the van screeched to a halt, and the cops pushed us onto the pavement, the dust settled, and we could feel the horror, for there, in blinding white light, smelling of Harpic and Glen 20 we saw our end. The gleaming portals of an obscenely drab, ugly, and austere building, the sign adorning in lurid green, a mocking replay of ‘Arbeit macht Frei’ on the portal of Auschwitz  if ever you saw one, it boomed, ‘HOLIDAY INN’!!

Lindsay grabbed the Portsea beach for the public good and has a helicopter on standby, (courtesy of the Coles Myer shareholders) to do ” Shark-Patrol’!

What will happen to our less than dynamic duo? Will they be doomed to rot inside a corona affected sump, way worse than the Black Hole of Calcutta? Or will they just be deep cleansed and made whiter than white? Stay tuned for our next episode “ A bleach of confidence” or “ Keep trucking, till you own EVERYTHING’!

Eddy has problems with communicating

The tip of the Footy Tipping Iceberg

‘Im sorry’, it was Eddy on the phone, he sounded more flustered than usual, ‘you’ve got the wrong lumumba’, 

“Lumumba you say’?, he wasn’t making sense, can you repeat that’? 

‘Lumumba’, 

‘He’s said it again, don’t you mean the wrong number?

“Yeah right, whatever’, he sullenly replied and we could hear him mumble ‘chicken shit’…

He regained his composure; ‘yeah, it’s your ol mate Eddy’, 

Sometimes he can’t remember the right number, and he gets foreign sounding names wrong!

‘Eddy we don’t want the poker machines, we can’t afford them, and our rooms have changed. Once we used to be a little community, but now we’re a rusk with all these shady types trying to sign us up for investments in the Caymans, blue chip shares in lithium mines in  Tanzania, and football app training seminars on leadership and community building. We’re buggered Eddy, and you got us into this, and besides Suzie Wong aint all she’s cracked up to be, she’s taken the tea pot, the Monte Carlo’s you promised and done a bunk with one of the spivs you sent round, and poor Mc Culthorpe is outta a job and your work scheme has gone flat since the third lockdown. In short Eddy, we’re pretty pissed off all round. 

‘Bullshit, you got yourself into this’! 

‘That’s not fair, don’t you know right from wrong’?

‘Chicken shit’

‘Do you know black from white Eddy’?

The phone went dead again, 

‘Perhaps it was something we said’, Clarrie murmured, 

‘I dunno, he told us he was the leader and he’d look after us’… 

Just the the phone rang off the hook..

Our ol mate “Dutto”!

‘Gday, it’s your ol mate Dutto’!

“Dutto’? , we enquired, then we could hear the microphone, click; “you know yer ol mate whom you met on the beach on Australia day at Portsea, the bloke who sent you the black box’. 

‘Oh Peter Dutton! Yeah Dutto, we’re in a bit of a pickle if you’d care to know’. 

‘I KNOW EVERYTHING!,  Have you pressed THAT button yet’? 

‘Nup, we’re confused, which one’?

‘You’ll know soon enough’, and the phone went dead again. 

Then it rang again, 

Eddy talking to Mr Whu

It was Eddy, He was exasperated, ‘look here you drongos just make a choice, press the button the nice man gave you and I’ll get you  off the hook, you can have your pie warmer, the pokies will go, you’ll get your tea lady’s job back and I’ll get ‘Dan the Man’ to give you the all clear’. 

“Dan the man’? Eddy said, ‘yeah the bloke that looks like Mr Bean who likes to dress up in PLA costume and quote his little red book’!. 

“Oh Mr Whu. Why didn’t you say that in-the first place, Why? “No who”? Eddy clearly had a problem remembering things. 

‘Allright Eddy, we’ll use the blackbox’.

‘But make it quick he pleaded otherwise I’m in deep shit and the club will fold’. 

Just then we knew how serious the issue was, if Collingwood folded, there’d be no other singular galvanising force for sportsmen and women the world over to feel unified by pure un-distilled Hate. Perhaps it was Eddy giving us a clue, Collingwood being either black or white…half black or half white? But what if even the black bits were white? 

Which one to press?

Mr Whu talking to Eddy

We looked at the two buttons, the white one, though it was worn all over looked inviting, ‘I spose that reflects a deep natural cultural bias, to always select the white one’, but just then, Clarrie’s little kid Wandsworth raced through the rows of silent pokie machines with his toy bat-mobile singing at the top of his voice, nun nunna nunna nunna nunna BATMAN’!

‘You know what Ces’? What Quent?, said Ces, ‘Black is sort of alluring, just think of the Bat-mobile? Yep, you’re right Quent, and Darth Vader is kinda cool looking.  So were the SS’!

 ‘I know it’s not politically correct but those black uniforms were designed by Hugo Boss.  Jeez I didn’t know that’s another reason why. They should’ve won the war. Yeah, and more still,  that’s why police forces the world over have gone ape-shit on wearing black looking like the SS and shooting jaywalkers who are dark skinned. its cool to be cruel, and cooler still if you wear black.  I think that’s the takeout message’. 

Ces and I thought about this for a while, and then looking at the clock, realised we had to make the decision, 

‘But bad guys are black I whispered, it sort of indicates, cept Zorro, that black aint good for your health. You’re dead right, 

Mr Whu triumphant after wining a pokies contract in Little Bourke Street

But it could be a trick’? Even though we know instinctively that black is evil and God was always a white bearded old  man looking like a hippy and like Jesus possibly on the lgbti trans x spectrum there were black instances that weren’t all bad, 

‘Like black Saturday’? jested Ces 

‘Come on whatever happens let’s just make a decision, ‘’we hesitated, fed up I guided Ces’s hand and pressed firmly on the white, it was head or tails, up or down, wright or wrong and white from black. 

And ….. 

Nothing happened. 

Mr Whu and ‘Dutto’ both like law and order. And the exercise of POWER for the PUBLIC GOOD!

What will happen next? Will our adventurers ever get the inside on footy tipping? Will Eddy and Mr Whu return for their investments? Stay tuned to our next episode of ‘Duttons button’ or ‘three strikes and you’re off-white”. 

Cheap as Chips

it’s vice regal, and the vice comes at a price

‘I dunno’, Clarrie said after we’d installed em, (the Poker machines)  we couldn’t afford the electricity bill. Poker machines cost an awful lot of money.  Spose that’s ok, as the other bloke Jamie said ‘that’ll be paid by high rollers from China’. 

‘Jeez, Chinese high rollers’? We knew what that was code for, crook cash being siphoned offshore so that Jamie and his mates could cruise the Pacific in flash yachts and go the complete Howard Hughes, 

After a few weeks we knew we’d been dissed. 

That was when our troubles went up a notch or two.

But not everyone is a winner

Susie Wong arrived. Susie was in a word…. ‘inscrutable’. And she didn’t even butter the scones, just sat on the phone all day texting. That’s when the bus-loads of high-rollers arrived. Cept there’d been a mix up, instead of high rollers they were ‘low levellers’. Straight out of some post apocalyptic industrial nightmare from some God-Forsaken dump north of Harbin. If you’d said; ‘bring me your malnourished  diseased and humourless’, they would’ve nailed it, but fortunately being Australia we don’t pretend to have high moral virtue as a founding principle. But we do have a sense of smell and the loos ponged to high heaven. 

The only other people who came in the door seemed to be drug dealers and pimps. They’d walk in, sniff the air, look around, see our coffee scroll on the table, Mrs Culthorpe, (who though was now unemployed was working with us as a volunteer in training on the excellent ‘Road to Nowhere’ training for the dole scheme. That was Susie’s idea just for having her on, we were getting a twenty k kickback from the Feds. It seemed too good to be true.

‘Jeez’, Clarrie said, Clarrie was one for understatement, ‘we only wanted a pie warmer and an inside on footy tipping,  and now we’re up to our armpits in shit we cant even afford to run, for people we don’t even know and for the benefit of who knows what’. 

Funny thing, no sooner than he said it, when all these trucks turned up, and these removalists, (all must be the same family). Mr Who, Mr What and Mr Why, took all the pokies. As they walked out the door they said; “sign this”? Which we did, and with a grin, that was as sharp as a shithouse rat he winked, “ all sorted”, ..

There’s losers

We had a funny feeling that “ sorted” could be code for a visit from Mick Gatto. 

‘Fuck me, we’re really fucked’, Clarrie, said. He had a point, holding up the electricity bill, we’d have to sell the office, Mrs Culthorpe and the equipment just to stave of bankruptcy. 

‘Bloody hell!” Ces said, “I’ve got an idea, why don’t we get another pie warmer, apply for a community development fund and see if we can get Federal funding to help us in the footy comp, a computer to check the odds, and a link direct to sports bet and Footy bet”. 

We scratched our heads, seemed like a great idea, with a direct link to sports bet and footy bet, we’d be much closer to the action, be able to read the form and be doing the right thing by the blokes who put on betting so that the community may gain a benefit, and a bit of building better communities infrastructure funding’. 

‘And whilst you’re at it, piped Ces, throw in an extra bit of funding for a dart board, a comfy lounge and a bar fridge, with Bingo nights we might just need the extra equipment’. 

‘Too right’! we enthused, and just then this tall bloke in a military type uniform arrived, and said, “i think you’ll need this”

But the community benefits are HUGE!

What the …. 

‘No questions, to question is to question the highest authority in the land, you are ordered to install this’! And (he gave us another Tony Abbott wink) your problems will be, ( then he went Arthur Daley) sorted’… 

‘Fuck me’! once he’d left in a black car, with six wheels, and a motorcade of paramilitary blokes on motorcycles and sidecars with flags and mounted Mg 42’s, we opened the box. 

It had another box with a red button. On the button printed on a Dymo label, the words “ Dutton Button”. 

The only problem there were two boxes and two buttons, a black button and a white button…. The white button looked worn through overuse, whereas the black button looked brand new, hardly ever used….

What was the Dutton button? Will it help us in out request for public funds? What has it to do with Eddy, and the other bloke who runs the Poker machines and Mr Whu, Mr What and Mr Why?

The trickle down effect, In the end, this will require quite a few window cleaners to keep this empty building sparkling clean.

Find out in out next ethically challenged episode of “ Two Wongs don’t make an off-white either’ or “ Dial 000 and ask for Lumumba”

Footy tipping gone wrong. 

An average Australian admires the spirit of ‘Anzackery’, which (like Shiva), appears in many forms.

At pcbycp we like to do a bit of footy tipping. 

We know what you are thinking, (dedicated, indefatigable and loyal reader) that it’s the cricket season, and though Australia was thrashed by a twelfth eleven from India whom evinced talent, sportsmanship and humour in spades, without the immaturity, abrasiveness and brattishness of the local team.  We still think out sportsmen are fucking great god- heroes, whom shall prevail as Ayesha did in the pallid glow of the eternal flame of Anzackery. Cos cricket,  like international strategic pan global economics is serious business. 

Well, that’s when everything went wrong, 

Miss Culthorpe

We were encouraged, in order to prop up our tea rooms, lending library and hospice for the poor, the indigent and the homeless, with a couple of one-arm bandits. The bloke from the local footy club, who went by the pseudonym of “Eddy”, said that all we had to do was follow his instructions and we’d be able to pay for Mrs Culthorpe, (our tea lady) and ‘have money left over for Monte Carlos’. It was too good to be true. He also said he’d look after the publicity side of things as a “ natural born leader”.  He spoke with such assurance and authority. Then he just said, ( as they do in the Nike adverts) “JUST DO IT”! And it’d be a CERT!. 

‘What cert’? We timidly asked, “will we be able to spot the footy, or will it give us an inside on picking the pre season finalists”? 

The phone cut out, and the very next day we were asked by this bloke who went by the moniker’ Jamie” to sack Mrs Culthorpe and in her stead, employ a “ Susie Wong” to look after the tea roster, the urn and the outgoings. We tried to explain to him that we didn’t have outgoings. Ms Culthorpe had been with us ever since the comp began, and after the tipping contest and the bingo we were down to about 1.15 a week.  And  he said, “ CHICKEN-SHIT’!

Two of the blokes who delivered the pokies

And then he looked angry. “Youse look after the Pennys and i’ll look after the pounds’, and just walked out the door. ‘What the’? We asked, and who is this Susie Wong? Just then Clarrie said; ‘bit of an Arthur Caldwell’, 

(Editors Note) 

For those of us who are historically challenged Arty came up with the famous, ‘Two Wongs don’t make a white’ and he was our Federal opposition leader during the golden age of MING, leader of the Federal Labor Party, a proud man and a great ( though he played neither test cricket nor footy) a GREAT AUSTRALIAN. Bit like Albo with attitude. 

Anyway, the very next day, the other bloke called Eddy, sent us an audit. 

It was fucking complicated, when all we were after was the inside in footy tipping, 

The weird thing was the Collingwood footy logo, 

Success in Ozzie Sport, ( an footy tipping) is measured (apart from face- lifts, loud jackets and narcissism) in BIG MONEY!

That was weirder still as we barrack for the shin-boners and the doggies, cos we’re from the poorer edge of town and aint got the inside on high finance, corruption and the legacy of great Australians like Phonse Kyne, John Wren and Hertier Labumba. 

Then, you wouldn’t fuckin believe it, this huge Truck arrives, and instead of just a couple of pokies it disgorged a whole container load of pokies, and they were all labelled, ‘minnow’, ‘super sucker,’ ‘high roller’, ‘filthy rich but fucked in the head’, and the finally a gold plated, Cadillac inspired pokie machine with wings and leather, the ‘Im so rich I could piss money up against the wall like there’s no tomorrow and know that some small player shit-kicker bastard gets wasted on the process and I couldn’t give a shit” pokie’. 

But,  Clarrie signed the chit and sighed, “we only wanted a bingo light board to open up on Thursday nights and some tips on the footy tipping, but I spose it’s “ progress “

Just sign the invoice, and Eddie will look after it, and we duly did, 

Mr Whu, who approved the pokies, talks on Youtube about Footy tipping.

You’d think we were in trouble mate?

That’s when the trouble really started. 

When we complained about the pokies Eddy pretend he was deaf.

What troubles? What has this bloke called Eddy and the other bloke called Jamie got to do with the price of fish in Macao? Stay tuned to our next high rolling episode, ‘three manques and you’re blanc’, or “Two poker chips and a Dim Sim”., 

Fraser scored .2 % of the vote and we loved him for it.

We  were going to call this ‘ Five Good men”, but we thought long and hard about this and felt they deserved MORE!

FRASER LOVES STRAYLAN VALUES!

Five good men, it reminded us of the cabal, for those of us not old enough to know that was when good king Charles 1 proclaimed absolute authority from the star chamber. Making up the chamber where Clifford, Ashley, Buckingham, Arlington, and Lauderdale.  They looked after Charlies interests, just like Scomo looks after Craig and coal lobby’s interests. From this position, ( a chamber of sorts) they were able to defend themselves from pretenders to rational governance, an outstanding principle still practised today. In them days a pretender was a filthy ratbag lefty who questioned authority and the entrenched right of rich people to make their lives short and miserable in “ service” . Nothing’s changed. You’ve gotta remember this.  Just in case someone asks you. if you forget they’ll think you’re a dummy, Dead Set. 

Fraser, well read.

And worse still, if you don’t know your “Istory”, you’re doomed to failure! That’s what Pliny said, or it may have been Tacitus or some other bloke from Greece. Was it Herodotus?  He was heard to say? But it was before instagram, so it’s of no consequence. Thank Christ for that! 

Christ incidentally was a bearded bastard from Judea who banged on about loaves an fishes, a lefty socialist wanker who got his comeuppance. 

‘Wouldn’t know shit from clay’ as we used to say, and how can you be a starter when you don’t know you’re Magna Carta. 

Charles, (the first one)

But that’s an old view, 

its the view that led Blainey, (eminent historian and scholar) to opine that the aborigines were really after, all, (taking everything into consideration) better off with white  (European) occupation. 

Eddie, and his very own star chamber, the Collingwood Footy Club Board.

And he’s dead right. if you use metrics, the abos are heaps better off. They’re valued units of the economy. Before they were just nullius. That, as Pliny will tell you is NUFFINK! Ever since they were differentiated from fauna they’ve  helped the Australian economy grow.  And it has grown prodigiously . Without the abos the shareholders of private prisons would’ve been rooted. And in the olden days there would be no need for gunpowder, arsenic and  rope. And for those who drive the gravy train, there wouldn’t have been any gravy. It’s simple, as I was recollecting from me ol mate Cortez, who was almost contemporary with the cabal,’if you haven’t got a business model you’re stuffed’. 

And he said it in Spanish, he knew a thing or two, converted a rotten natively run continent into a cash cow that still delivers, to the big end of town, GOD and ROME!

Thats what the cabal did, they kept the shareholders, the aristocracy SAFE . And by doing so, kept the Hoi poloi in their places. This is governance GOLD! With just a bit of the old stick, they told everyone where their place was.  That’s what kept society in the seventeenth century, ( the 1600’s dummy) where they stood, And if they couldn’t stand, leaners not lifters, they were ROOTED!

So, are you following us? This is where the five wise men come in,

Adam Goodes, who couldn’t take a joke

We need the cabal to tell us were we’re going, not in an enlightened, sense, they’re the gatekeepers, but to tell  us as a society what we cant do. 

They’re Frasers Anning’s bastard children 

Fraser, who didn’t know what ‘the final solution’ was. The dog whistle, A dog whistle is code for a cabal. 

And who are the five wise men. They’re rooting for TEAM ‘FRASER’!

Craig Kelly, Kevin Andrews (recently retired) , the Collingwood Football board, Eddie McGuire and , SCOMO

True believers All.

And Eddie Mcguire?

Eddie got tired of doing ape routines every-time Adam Goodes stepped onto the field. Then things got worse, he had an African-Australian in the team, WTF! So he oversaw a regime, as good ol Collingwood will ensure for ever, the  good ol Aussie tradition of good natured racism. 

Collingwood, too much white and not a lot of black

No offence meant, what the….no offence given, MATE!, 

They’re the gate keepers holders of the sacred dog whistle, *

Funny though, the PM cant see em hear em, feel em. Such a blessing, cos the PM is colour-blind also. 

In Australia we call that The DAILY DOUBLE!

You betcha!

* if you suffer from dog- whistle- ism please consult life line, and we’ll support you in whistling EXTRA LOUD!

P.M’s personal Dog Whistle. ( lent to him by our greatest P.M John Winston Howard)