Ditto Dutto, a when impenetrable force meets implacable logic that Might is RIGHTEOUS!

NEXT BIT!!

Dear reader, as you may recall, our last episode had Ces and Quent confronting ‘Dutto’ and his side-kick ‘Benny Boy’, ‘Australia’s most decorated soldier’ under the labyrinthine network of  Canberra’s sewerage system. They were up to a fiendish plot to infect protesters with reconstituted mung beans, whole- foods and tofu derived from human poo, thus rendering them impotent as a protest group. How can this fiendish plan be stopped? And will our duo escape the grip of (arguably) the two most powerful men in the nation?  Find out in this next intestinally tightened episode ; 

Bionic Eye

Benny had to do what he had to do, that’s what we like about our elite soldiers in the SAS. They obey orders and above the din, his outline looming ghastly in the sulphurous glow. Dutto raised his right arm, and commanded;  “DO IT NOW!!”

Benny laughed maniacally, and punching us both good naturedly in the stomach so that we were winded and doubled up in pain, he said: ‘You’ll love this’! And walking over to a huge wheel he applied all his manly weight to it. Slowly and surely it moved. As the wheel creaked and groaned and the rust flakes poured off it  in a sooty crescendo of dis-use, we became aware that the surface of the wall opposite us was moving. For sure enough, ‘Benny-Boy’ was opening up an enormous door, larger than  an aircraft hangar and made from our observation and experience in metallurgy whilst on secondment to the Minerals and Energy Council of high grade tungsten reinforced steel. 

Benny-Boy really put his weight behind it, and immersed in this Herculean task , shouted above the din. “ it’s moving Boss, shall I take it all the way’?

The Master!

“Yes’! The Gau- leiter affirmed, and Benny-Boy increased his grip and the door opened further, revealing a flight of steps that seemed to go upward and upwards, right into the very core of our Federal Parliament. 

There was an enormous jarring metallic clang, and the door stopped. Benny, now shirtless, wiped his brow, and picking up an old service Webley, (as Anzac day approaches our finest are encouraged to use historical fire-arms that have served us well in containing evil-doers) he motioned, “Stay put’! , And for a minute outlined in the blackness, he paused, and calling over the top of our heads, to Dutto, he declared;  “I’ll go in, first, then you follow’. WE saw Dutto nod, and then with a wave of his hand bid Benny-Boy onwards. 

From within the dark portal, Benny’s voice echoing in the stygian gloom, “ok boys follow me’!, he uttered a sinister chuckle and then to our horror began a corrupted version of the teddy bears picnic; 

‘If you go down to the woods to day

You’ll get a big surprise, 

If you go down to the woods to day

You’ll get one right between yer eyes’…..

What choice had we? To drown in the filthy corrupted goo? Or do as bid and take a punt on Benny eliciting a shred of Human decency… Logic proclaimed our answer, we followed. 

Benny and his mates on a recruitment drive

Barely had we stepped within the portal when as if by magic, the mighty doors clanged shut. The metallic boom resonated, and all was silent, and deathly black. But in the distance we could see Benny, outlined in the halo of his zippy lighter, ( Defence directorate;  Zippy lighters may be worn by servicemen and worn for the duration of this week in homage to Australia’s Anzac heroes, ) 

‘C’mon dummies, you don’t want to miss what we’ve got waiting for you”?

A pit full of vipers? 

A wild pack of wolves?

Sharks?

A tank filled with blue-ringed octopi? 

A national party backbencher with a texting addiction on a bad day? 

The only thing to fear was fear itself, but we were afraid to say we were consumed by fear. 

WOKE IN FRIGHT!

Clearly ‘Benny Boy’ had become ‘Dutto’s Toy’, and there was no use being Coy. We were immersed in their corrupted ploy, but to what end? Find out in our next deeply seated episode, ‘A tunnel to oblivion’? Or  “the PLIGHT of  Duttons Dight”. (Courtesy of the Minerals and Energy Council).

‘The Fog of war’, Houswife Maureen Drabley enjoys “a nice cup of tea’ after spring cleaning. London1940.

 

The afflicted writes;

A confused soldier suffering LCS mistakes a prosthetic foot for a “nice Cup of tea” Afghanistan 2012.

‘I arose from my creative endeavours, wondering where my cup might be.

THIS HAS BEEN ANOTHER EXTRACT FROM “THE BOOK OF SHORT ATTENTION SPAN” BY
DAME NORAH BOOTH (who will probably be remembered)

Dame Nora

Essalamu aleikum,

A friend has sent me a book- ‘Los Mapuche’, which it goes without saying deals with the Mapuche people of southern Chile and Argentina. It outlines the history of Colonization, the wars of attrition, the massacres, the expropriation of their lands and so forth. It also outlines the Mapuche struggles to maintain their ethnic and linguistic identity and to self-determination.
It didn’t surprise me but the analogies to the situation vis a vis Australian Aborigines is striking.
If in the book I’d replaced ‘Mapuche’ with ‘Warlpiri’ few further changes would have been needed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0m2oRRI-1KY

In 1944 Rafael Lemkin, whose extended family had been virtually exterminated during the Shoah, coined the word ‘genocide’.

American President Biden’s acknowledgement that what happened to the Armenians in Anatolia was a ‘genocide’ reminded me of a documentary I saw years ago which discussed the Israeli authorities’ Armenian Holocaust denial. I also remember that throughout the world if you were a Turkish ambassador or consul, it was impossible for you to obtain life insurance (Australia’s Turkish Consul-General was assassinated in 1980, he was one of many).

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LajSL2Odsz8

Apart from April Fool’s Day, the month of April has some very significant anniversaries:

April 20^th– Adolf Hitler’s birthday
April 24^th– Armenian Genocide Remembrance Day
April 25^th– Anzac Day

Australia celebrates glorious defeats such as the Gallipoli battle. The Eureka Stockade and Ned Kelly’s last stand at Glenrowan come to mind, let alone the song that nearly (came second in a referendum) became our National Anthem, a song about a sheep thief who committed suicide rather than be apprehended by the fuzz.

The Mapuche book included some details on the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide promoted by the aforementioned Raphael Lemkin.

Article II defines ‘genocide’
“In the present Convention, genocide means any of the following acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnical, racial or religious group, as such:
(and lists five such acts, including: )
(e) Forcibly transferring children of the group to another group.”

So where does that leave Australian authorities with its past and ongoing Stolen Generations?
Phew! They’re off the hook- they claim they didn’t and don’t ‘intend to destroy’.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QlSchfmtzQk

Incidentally Yuendumu isn’t immune to the taking of children- “for their own good”.

The sun gonna shine- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AqaKf-Um5F8

Cheers,

Frank

PS- Efforts to have My Yuendumu Story printed are continuing and I can clearly see the light at the end of the tunnel.

At Gallipoli, wounded officers opted for the ‘scenic route’ back to the beaches.

Dear reader, another piece from Geoff Boyes, and fittingly as our typesetter Bert Crooksedge, (former stretcher bearer Fifth Batallion AIF) celebrates his 123rd birthday, he recounts his vision of God on the shores of that fateful beach at Gallipoli. In Bert’s own words;

‘It was a bit dark and no sooner had we left the barges when I saw before me an image of God, all dressed in white walking amongst the scrub, pointing the way to Constantinople. Or maybe it was a goat? Couldn’t tell it was so dark”.

A cross country stretcher ride through salt bush was also popular amongst officers

Was it an aparition? We may never know. But as Bert has clearly out-lasted his Turkish foe to be the last ever Anzac still alive it’s fair to declare Gallipoli is now  “WON” by the righteous force of Empire and KING!

God Save The KING!

Food for thought? Or the GODS? You decide .

The Poem is aptly namd the Laughing God. Take it away Geoff…..(and God),

Jumbo Jackson’ and ‘Crackers Cornford’ (2nd/1st M.G Cmp trailing the “donkey outfit’ Gallipoli Beach Carnival, April 1915.

The Laughing God. 

What is it you see,

When you look upon me?

What destiny lay in your hands?

A puppet, am I?

A pawn or a spy?

Willing to heed your demands?

‘

Each time I take a step, it seems

Towards a goal, 

Towards a dream

“Acting the Goat’ Regmental Donkey. A Donkey.

Or reach to find, a higher path

All I see is a stumbling block

Or else a wall of glass.

Is all life a test, all experience hard won?

A lesson, a wall, 

Or just an illusion

Does our knowledge count for none?

Do you sit and watch us fall?

Laughing, while we wonder lost, 

Amidst the confusion.

Cpl Bert Culthorpe filling sandbags outside the makeshift office of the batallion news sheet ‘Blood-n-Bone”, Gallipoli May 1915.

Is there a scheme, can you tell me?

A reason,

For this weary path I’ve trod?

Order from despair,

Could you really care?

Or would you leave us in ignorance…….

Laughing God.

Dear reader,

In the end, it’l always be a sheilah who’s hung out to dry!

Our duo are in deep shit. We understand this is a cheap expression, but it just goes to show how SERIOUS things have become! Ces and Quent are embedded with Dutto and Benny Boy (Ben Roberts Smith), beneath the fundament of Canberra. What happens next may beggar description. But as Christi,ne Holgate reminds us, it’s all depressingly true, and by her watch a low point in the fortunes of this government. Will our heroes have a penny left to spend? Or has Christine already spent it? Find out, and read on in our next grippingly intestinal episode…..…time is ticking be it Cartier or a more affordable Seiko. Is the Seiko washable? waterproof? Or will it be a shower-scene from Seiko?

read on…..

Benny was guided by Dutto

It provides enrertainment to the masses, and is guarranteed as a crowd pleaser.

Benny knew exactly what to do, being a member of the SAS he knew all about precision. And it only took one signal from Dutto and Benny leaped to attention. We could see him composing himself, and then as if by instinct Benny grabbed a huge spoon from the side of the wall, and waiting for another signal, an imperative “Now” from Dutto he plunged it into the oleaginous goo and with a Chefs dexterity ladeled the contents into a sort of triangular beaker .

He then poured the beaker into another sampler, this one was long, took up half the room and as we watched it froth and spume into a sort of funnel, we could see lights flashing convulsively as the contents passed through some sort of analysis. We couldn’t make head nor tail of it, though we knew that something was seriously big in the offing. And somehow or another, the spectral outline of Dutto reflected in the haze, the light, and the monitor looked more ghastly, more incomprehensibly sinister than ever. 

And when they cry on telly or talk of topping emselves Australia gets to feel “REAL GOOD”!

‘What’s the reading Benny Boy’?

‘All good Boss’, we expected him to say “Master’, but more intriguingly when Dutto asked about the read-out? Benny responded with mechanical precision, ‘ all the indices are up, we’re tracking vector tango banana’. 

Even the P.M will shed a tear when he’s on telly. Provided the sheilah aint a “squealer” it’s a DEALA!

WE had no idea what ‘vector tango banana’ was but we knew even a banana in the wrong hands could lead to serious breach of acceptable norms, and the way Benny and Dutto were in lock-step made us deeply worried and more worried still that somehow, our presence may be a catalyst for some hitherto unspeakable crime.  For what else could bring the strongest, arguably bravest soldier ever and the most powerful policeman in the southern hemisphere, our very own ‘Dutto- Cop’ be in such a situation?

Ces had had enough, he piped up in spite of the din, the steam and the swirling odiferous miasma of fume and froth,  

‘What are you up to’? 

Dutto pretended to not listen, but then, almost robotically he delivered a new soliloquy, and this one more chilling than anything said on the floor of Parliament, 

‘We’re collecting Canberra’s DNA, after not getting the Australia Card across, facial tattooing or compulsory ankle bracelets. etc… to store the DNA and match it with facial recognition, and then to target whole-food groceries with DNA and genetically enhanced foodstuffs, and so render that voting block of greenies invalid.

Guaranteed the lick-spittle will dob in the last sheilah left standing. IT’S THE AUSTRALIAN WAY! …. ONYA MATE!

‘But how’? Ces probed,  

‘By turning their very own shit into wholegrain cereal, and then, feed it back to em. 

But Dutto has bigger fish to fry!

You see the demo upstairs, (he indicated to the above ground), is all grist to the mill, They’re lefty pinko protesters, they gather to protest rights and all that bullshit. Whilst they’re here we DNA sample their shit, match it to facial recognition find out what trendy vegan-friendly diet of whole grains they’re on, then convert their shit onto Tofu and Mung Beans. Then  cos we know that the same lefty shit-strirring wankers will go to Canberra’s whole-food shops after the demo and order their lentils and chai vegan latte drinks, we’ll serve their own genetically modified shit back to em as whole-food. 

And just when they think they’ve got the numbers  to alter public opinion we’ll leak to em that they’re all corrupted by Genetically Modified Grains, (GMG”s), courtesy of Dow and Monsanto, and other trace elements. They’ll eventually take a sample and go into a tail spin.  Being fed their own shit will shut em up for decades, and with a bit of luck they wont ever bother going back to Canberra. And we’ll be left alone to bring in a new level of accountability to the NDIS, deaths in custody, gay rights, you name it. They’ll be so compromised they’ll wish they were dead. And this is the best part, cos we know who they are we’ll Robo-debt em if they’re on the dole, mental health, pension you name it and they’ll be inclined to top em selves just like the last time. This’ll tip em over the proverbial straw, or as we say the lentil that broke the Hari Krishna’s begging bowl’, 

Dutto had just finished, a wry grin transforming his face, and for Benny, ‘Garn boss can I waste these cunts now? Can I can I huh’?

Dutto, a true leader checking up on our “brave boys in Afghanistan” to see whether their Working with Children certification is still valid.

‘it’s a win win for government either way a problem is solved, and the economics stack up better than the intervention, whaddayou reckon’? 

Both Ces and I were dumbstruck! This was beyond megalomanic, it was diabolical. It was the terror  incarnate .Was this the end of civilisation? Will Dutto and Benny-boy get away with it? And will Miss Culthorpe’s oppressor ever be caught?  Find out in our next genetically modified instalment. ‘Is this the end of history’?….. or….’ Is it a history of ends’? 

During a recent trip to Sin City I spied this curiosity – Travelling Suspender Cleaners. I’d never thought of this as a vocation. Probably less in demand now than in the fifties and sixties I postulated. 

I sought comment from Ira Maine – herewith is his response:

The success of these societies depends, surely on which practitioner is wearing the suspender belt, how ‘vigorous’ the wearer has been, the location involved etc. etc. As can be seen from the attached photo, this vehicle is obviously attending the aftermath of a particularly enthusiastic outdoor encounter, perhaps an exclusive ‘Followers of the Belt’ club outing judging by the queue assembled at top left. It is of course only to be speculated upon but, judging by the lowering skies in the background, I would have thought this had been a particularly muddy, but gloriously fruitful encounter where, in one of those ‘once in a lifetime’ happenings, a dizzying level of heightened abandon had gripped the entire company. This would have  resulted in the usual civilised restraints being cast aside in favour of the heart-pounding joys of Saturnalia.

Dear reader, another one from that scribe from the near north. From the man who goes by the name ‘Geoff’. On a biographical note, Geoff’s interest in natural history and photography marks him as an individual of refined character, so is his taste in reds. This poem goes to the heart of the matter. Because a good red, and the appreciation therein is all heart.

And we must remind the more budget conscious amongst our readership that the best red  money can buy may be purchased at any budget supermarket that has its origins in Germany. Though we are loathe to plug private enterprise we highly reccomend the ‘El Toro Macho’, competitively priced a $5.95. A wine of scintillating variety that combines, piquant essence of grape, with a fair dollop of dust.

‘The Last Bottle”, By Lieut Cmmdr Horatio Boyes, Royal Fusiliers. 1899. Painted on Commission South Africa, The Cecil Rhodes Collection. (Donated to IWM as tax. incentives scheme offset by The Rt. Hon. Angus Taylor, Cayman Is. 2019

We are indebted to the Imperial War Museum London for their generous donations of “Wine themed” pictures. Each celebrates a gallant Imperial episode of wine making amongst heathens, savages and those unanointed by “the gift of Civilisation”.

On to you Geoff,

A Good Red

Here’s to you, old friend

Been around awhile

Celebrating life and loss and everything in between

With me

To the very last Bottle”, With Kitchener at Omdurman. 1898. painted oil on canvas Viscount Wilfred St Boyes, 1899. Kerry Stokes Collection.

Not necessarily the best choice, your company

Not the worst

Anytime dinner companion

But I’ll choose you anyway

The good and the not so good, your poison

And quite a few mornings along the way

Wish I’d never met you 

For other reasons too, mostly selfish

Take away the edge of the day that’s been

Sometimes the line

Between letting it go, or not

Choosing to fight or just sit it out

“The burning wine store”. Painted Rorkes Drift 1878. By lieut Gen Barnaby Boyce, 1880. (On loan from Victoria and Albert Museum).

Social lubricant, if I let you do it your way

But sometimes prefer to be alone

Mellow, with myself 

And two for good measure

The choice of the gods, you were

Still are

For us mere mortals

And will be; for as long as man has need.

‘Drinks night, The Fat Lady’s Arms’. Painting by Cpl Roberts-Smith on location; “The Fat Lady’s Arms” Kabul. 2021.

Dear reader, not the death mask of Amenhotep 2 (third dynasty BC) but the likeness of Australia’s most powerful man, the Gauleiter of Brisbane.

Dear reader, once again, we return to our heroes who have just been plucked from the fundament by none other than Ben Roberts Smith, who is working as a factotum, (ask Boris what that means)  for none other than the most powerful individual in the land, the Gauleiter of Brisbane, Lord Peter of Dutton. What will happen next beggars belief, but after the goings on in Parliament, you’d better bloody believe it. 

Read on…..

And quick as a flash Benny pulled out what looked like a mobile phone; “Data report Boss, Cockburn and poole eta 4.54 pm”, 

‘Perfect’!  Dutto replied; “that’s forty five minutes ago. Reckon that’s when you blokes checked in’. 

“But…but’ Ces was curious to know how they so accurately pin-pointed our descent into Canberra’s sewerage system,  “how…..how do you know it was us’? 

‘Simple, its the remote DNA sampler. I have it checking in on Canberras sewerage. On flow analysis really. We just match it with the facial recognition and voila, a perfect fit.

Amazing, we were gob- smacked, again;  ‘But to what end’?

“Prince amongst the Pong”

‘What end? Ask Barnaby he’s full of it! Coming from you lot that’s a bit rich’. He laughed uproariously just as a vast plume of evil smelling steam diffused his outline into a ghastly apparition of monstrous intensity.

Dutto was not listening to anything we said. He was in charge and in full force.  The sewerage, the labyrinth, the odour had conspired to elevate him, ‘a Prince amongst the Pong’ as Ces whispered, and we had to agree. This was his kingdom. Queensland was just his play- thing. And with ‘Benny- Boy’ in tow his power was unassailable. We could just tell he was about to fulminate into a odiferous soliloquy and whichever way you looked at it we were about to get a hearing steeped in the traditions of Witness K. 

Dutto waving his Field Marshalls baton stepped up to a sort of rostrum, beneath it, draped the Australian flag, and dimly illuminated above him like a halo the acid etched out-line of the greatest military decoration ever, the VC, and the stirring words, “For Valour”!

Dutto began; 

The halo of RIGHTEOUSNESS! More powerful than Asio, and on a higher moral authority than any of the great thngs we;ve done in Afganistan this past twenty years.

“We’ve tried the Australia card, the Basics card, the Medicare card, facial recognition, you name it! And the  do-gooders and lefties stop us every time by crying ‘civil liberties and freedom of association’ and all that bullshit. Only way we can get a full identity on a macro as well as a micro scale is through this. This little number.  He waved the Field Marshals baton in the air, until we realised it was the sewerage on stream DNA sampler. He looked at it reverentially, his eye twitched with emotional fury. “A gift from our mates at Monsanto. The sewerage synthesis data sampler. My idea! You’ll never find this little beauty in Senate Estimates”!

‘What!  So all of this is top secret’? Ces was shocked that one man could hold the might of universal DNA sampling in his hand. Dutto, gleaming with self satisfaction matter of factly gave his reply. “Yup, even ASIO is unawares of what goes on beneath em”. 

Jeez, I remarked; “but is it legal”?

Dutto laughed uproariously, “what fucken planet are youse on’?  Typical of you lefty pinko wankers! Legal aint got nothing to do with it! Aint that right Benny-Boy’? Benny replied and saluted with trained precision; ‘Too fucken right Pete!  Can I waste these cunts now’?

“Not yet Benny, good things come to those who wait’.  Dutto continued; ‘Good to see a man who loves his work, you’d do well to heed his example, but then, the problem with youse bastards, you cant be learnt’. Being a Queenslander we understood what Dutto was saying in spite of the grammatical errors.  In this sense Dutto had a Joyce-ean grasp of language. But in the strictest sense it was not James but Barnaby who was responsible for his vernacular. 

‘Look here sonny Jim! I’m the law, on my watch, everything is legal’.

Some of the good Benny-Boy and his mates have been doing in Afghanistan. Giving the locals a taste of CIVILISATION and good ol Aussie values.

And with that he clicked his fingers, ‘You know what to do Benny Boy’?

‘Righto Boss’, 

What did Benny know what to do?

Is it safe? Will it be in accordance to the Geneva Convention? And will it bring us any closer to finding Miss Culthorpe’s culprit?

Find out in our next episode.

To dump or to jump?  is that the question’?

or….

’Three coins in the fundament’…

Big Ben! Benny-boy to his mates! So Big his V.C is EXTRA LARGE and tatooed to his chest. Thus protecting him from towel flicking and sand kicking on beaches.

Dear reader once again our heroes are in more trouble than a Senate Estimates Committee with our heroes perilously close to being flushed into oblivion, trapped within Canberra’s sewerage system. How bad can things get? Will they get worser? Find out in the next grammatically challenging episode as we search for the penis wielding oppressor who so callously defiled Miss Culthorpe. Read on….

The hand that picked em up was Ben Roberts Smith.

“Gday fellas we’d been expecting youse”. 

Before we had time to correct Ben’s grammatically incorrect usage of the third person plural collective, and the astonishment that HE was our saviour we became aware of the ghastly environment he was working in. Worse than anything he’d encountered on active duty, and more profoundly evil than Dante, the inferno, and the bloke who lit the bloody inferno in the first place.   As we looked across, we could see the rivulets of raw sewerage being siphoned into great vats, and then from the vats themselves a plume of incandescent sulphurous gas!

Our very own HULK! The Colossus of Canberra.

All around us the din of whirring blades and the hissing from valves as the sewerage was then heated and piped to a labyrinth of pipes, levers and sluices that all hissed and seethed menacingly. And from each aperture the foetid oozing of the corrupted froth, flushing, fulminating and flouncing the flocculated particles pursuant to the phenomenological processes of gravity and nature. 

Jeez, as we had a second or two to grasp the situation Ben, grinning form ear to ear shouted over the top of the seething corrupted din of filth and fume “Hey boss they’re ere, and a sight for sore eyes if ain aint seen nuffink’? 

The boss? Sore eyes? There was more than one individual in the mix, and then, no sooner than the thought had crossed our mind we heard the singing again, this time it wasn’t just eerie, it was scary. 

‘If you knew suzie like I knew suzie,  oh oh oh what gal

If you knew suzie like I knew suzie, oh oh oh what a gal’, 

What was this?  Then the whistling, to a man Ces and I hate whistling, and this bloke was the worst.  He was doing trills and spills and rolling the long notes, and we thought to know this tune, one of Eddie Cantors finest he must be really fucken old, and yet it seemed familiar… 

Who could it be?

Ben broke the silence:

‘Can I let em go, or do you want me to waste the cunts’? Waste the cunts? That sounded familiar, was it one of Bens mates in the SAS? 

‘Do you like Pina colada,

And getting caught in the rain, 

Do you like making love at midnight,

well, then this is my refrain’, 

Ok boss, i’ll let em go, but can I scratch em a bit?

“Just one moment” came a voice from the gloomy interior,  and then a terrific crash, from the other side of a long and foreboding corridor. Sort of like a Bunnings but without the shelving and the 5 dollar deals. Ben grinning like an idiot, still had us by the scruff of the neck, he was in full combat gear and looked scary. 

The Nefarious ‘Dutto’, working underground to SAVE AUSTRALIA!

Then, we saw a shadow. It was HUGE, and the shadow loomed over us, and from behind  a screen emerged our nemesis. ‘Dutto’!

‘Knew you’d show up’!

“What?  After you kicked us out’!

‘Nup the moment I saw youse.  You nosey types always return to the scene of the crime’.

‘Scene of the what’?

‘SHUT UP’!

‘Give em a demo Benny Boy’!

What was Benny- Boy Australia’s most decorated soldier “EVER” working with Dutto beneath the corridors of power on?

The Bionic eye is a masterpiece of engineering.

What impact will their nefarious deeds have upon the Australian body politic? 

Find out in our next flushable episode, 

“Twixt a cess-pit and a sink-hole”, or….

“A demo with despotic intent’!