Dear reader,

for those of you who haven’t been following this saga, our heroes Ces and Quent have been almost killed more often than you can say “ Deaths in Custody”, to survive on the whim of (arguably) Australia’s most powerful leader Angus Taylor, a General in the Chinese People’s Army and his loyal henchmen Dutto and ‘Benny-Boy’ Roberts Smith.

Leadership! A Briquette Led Recovery!

Cec’s knowledge of ‘Operation Grand Slam’ struck a chord, a chord which saved then in line with the stunning and penetrating initiatives crafted by the Federal Government’s ‘Operation Sovereign Borders’, ‘Operation Ironside’, ‘Operation Resolute’, ‘Operation Catalyst’, ‘Operation National Resilience’, to give ex-military big jobs in gouging taxpayer funds so that private entities could drain government coffers as they please for shareholders without checks balances or the irritant  fear of troublemakers or kill-joys.  Of all the operations, ‘GRAND SLAM’ was set to be the biggest. But how could it be? With Angus already in line to seize global water resources, a rampaging Barnaby Trump back as deputy PM and the Federal Government’s race to do nothing about Covid, the environment or anything that required imagination?

We were leading the world on ‘Clean Coal’ and a ‘Gas led Recovery’ but going backwards on thinking ‘beyond the square’, except in the off-chance the square was a briquette!

As Ces Whispered to Quent, ‘Is there no realm of public funding that Angus hasn’t got his hands into’? When they were interrupted by Benny Boy,  ‘Jeez ol Angus is on the money again, looks like youse blokes need to have a talk to the Big G, whaddayourackon boys’? He fingered the ring of his grenade, and his grip tightened on the handle of the Webley service revolver, carried by al V.C winners in recognition of the heroic sacrifices made to bleed the taxpayer of another billion for a a new war memorial extension. 

Mateship! A Gas Led Recovery!

‘Yesssir’. we stammered, whatever you say, the ‘BIG G’ was Australia’s richest and most powerful woman, even more powerful than the colossus for Queensland, the one they called ‘Clive’, either way were were still alive and kicking.. just. 

‘Tellya what, we’re gonna put youse on the next Herc to Darwin and just chuck youse out, knowing wth your luck you’ll still hit the ground on a golden fucken parachute..  I can chuck youse out, just like I done to the Afghanis, and no one ‘ll be the wiser, might get a bar with my VC’. 

Statesmanship! Demonstrating Integrity in politics!

It was positive to see that Benny always had an eye to promotion and monetising his position.  He’d clearly learnt a lot from Angus. All of this happened as we travelled seamlessly beneath the bowels of Canberra on a carriage of sorts filled with rejected federal funding applications. We didn’t have time to leaf through all of them but they made fascinating reading. Through a clerical error the dialysis machine requests were mixed up with some deaths in custody requests.  Clearly there were still problems with Aboriginal Australia, and you could feel the pressure the pollies were under just in pretending the submissions were actually read. 

Imagination, Demonstrating a clear path backwards, and loyalty to the higher paying lobbyists.

We were then conveyed on the light train past several checkpoints, at one, the familiar visage of the excellent Labor member for Newcastle, Meryl Swanson. She was busy processing Job-Keeper payments though her husbands Harvey Norman franchise. She was too busy processing job keeper receipts to acknowledge out passing,  and at the next, none other than Alan Tudge, up to his neck in private school gifts, allowances, grants, finding applications. This was the real driver of the Australian economy at work, real estate, mining and private schools the three pillar policy that had kept this country Safe, Free, and Secure in the petit bourgeois cast of snobbish mediocrity. Ben waved at all of them, at the very last checkpoint before emerging into the blinding sunshine the familiar countenance of Christian Porter locked in heated  conversation with Cardinal Pell, as we sped past they gave us no heed, cept to wave to Benny Boy. Clearly Benny had mates in high places. 

And almost as if it were choreographed  we crashed through one last steel door and emerged into blinding sunlight. And there, right before us,  a Hercules, we’d been there before. But this was not Afghanistan, this was in Australia and the Nations Capital. ‘Allright youse’, and waving a bayonet, an AK47 with tape around the butt, and a fistful of grenades which he dextrously twirled we were up and into the giant belly of the Hercules. 

What fate awaited us was too dismal to contemplate, a rendezvous with Big Gina, was scary enough, but to be parachuted with Big Benny on top of us a terrible anticipation overshadowed us. 

Reliability! Doing the same , over and over again

Will our heroes be over-shadowed by a spectre bigger than Leonidas, or will Gina’s power and influence crush them to atoms?

Find out in our next militaristically termed episode. ‘Three Gina’s to the G’, or ‘Yabba Dabba Don’t”