Scomo knows that the next election will be fought on ‘Family Values’
Dear reader, once again our heroes find themselves just seconds from oblivion.
On blokes ‘YOU CAN TRUST’
‘Oblivion’, you say? Is that the Coalitions’ carbon policy? Or just Dutto and his mate Mike talking up “Drums of War” with China? Who’s’ who’s China Plate? And is Barnaby’s stop-over in Washington gonna be the proverbial bull from the China Shop? Who’s gonna run the cheese-shop when Barnaby’s not there? Will it be Matt or perhaps the most articulate of all Billy Bunter’s sidekicks George ‘the member for Manilla’, Christensen? With George on board it’s gonna be a rollicking laugh a minute as conspiracy theorists go into overdrive on what’s afoot. Afoot? Who’s foot? And who’s mouth? If you’re not confused yet it’s just the beginning and whatever our heroes do, they’re in a hard place, with a hard nut. Either way they’re sweet-talking to the toughest nut on the front bench of the Fair Work Commission. And it’s got em nowhere. Yes folks Sophie, ‘Is that your testimonials in my hand’ Mirabella. We return to our saga, stuck in tunnel way below the desert wastes of Maralinga with Sophie and ‘Benny-Boy’ Roberts Smith.
There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, and it’s getting closer? Is this the new nuclear dawn for Australia? Or just the coal lobby going deeper than the usual rorts of kickbacks, deals and mateship clauses underwritten by Angus and his mates in the Cayman islands. Read on….
On Blokes who stand on PRINCIPLE!
Whatever it was we could hear the sound of steel wheels screeching and grinding to a track long left unused. Seventy years it had lain dormant till this moment. We could literally feel the layers of dust and rust being ground upon bogies left to reside in a siding. And now, with new impetus, re-tracing a path that had been unused for over seventy years. Like Lenin on his train back from Berlin, this train, this conveyance, this machinery was bound to a victims future, and the victim was well and truly us!
‘Closer now, it seems like Santa had come to visit us at last’! Ces whispered; ‘only 12 days now and I’ll be buggered if we can get out of this scrape I’ll believe in not Just in Santa Claus but the Easter Bunny! From now on I’ll even believe in the Tooth Fairy if we can get outta this jam”.
On Blokes who look after their ‘little lady’, even though he might dump her after the ball.
“Jam are you talking? There’ll be your raspberry jam spread all across these walls if you don’t shut the fuck up’! Sophie snarled as she waved the MP 40 at us, and you could see here every nerve tense with anticipation as to who or what might be driving this steel-wheeled conveyance. Could it be one of Dutto’s operatives looking for unexploded ordinance, to re-direct to a rampaging China? Or just Scomo looking for a photo opp? Not knowing made Sophie even more dangerous.
Nervous and thinking the worst we took stock of the fact that Sophie, had stopped pointing the machine pistol at us and had started waving towards the shimmering disc of light. It was as if she were catching a tram, and yet miles from Melbourne, we felt a new wave of anxiety. If it were a tram would it accept Myki, and as we didn’t have an up to date card, could this result in another round of fines and inevitable incarceration? As citizenry we knew that we were on the wrong side of history and unless we were being fined, corralled and fed to the prison system, we were just an annoyance in which big business had to try and make a profit on. ‘That’s purpose is the business of government these days’ Ces mused. However, there was reassurance in Sophie’s stance, and comfort in knowing that the source of this light, and the sound that reverberated down the ‘rockish’ chamber was a known force and perhaps , not a portent of evil after all.
‘Family Values’!
Closer still , and beyond the shimmer, we espied the outline of a human form. So there was life down here? Perhaps the phone call had got through? Deliver us from evil? Couldn’t tell but we hoped to come off one better than Christine Holgate, and if we could do that, we held a glimmer of hope that our postage stamp wouldn’t be marked : ‘return to sender”.
The little train stopped, and out of it a man dressed in biological warfare suit and PMG emblazoned over his breast pocket in grey overalls said: ‘Hi I’m Terry the linesman, looks like you might need my help’?. The operative was clearly not a figure of consequence, but just a flunkey, who for countless years had waited for his calling. Sophie looked at us with a sneer, ‘Allright then, take us to the end of the line, and I’ll cover all of you with this’. She waved the MP40. Meekly, we obliged her and clambered onto a little trolly with bench seats. The light lit up the gloom all around us, and silently he released the handbrake and enveloped in darkness from behind and light to the forefront we sped on wheels long dormant into the gloom ahead.
In this wasteland, down here, it would have been like seeing Father Christmas jump over the moon, but we had got used to anything, and this un just another trick in the puzzle? Or a brand new stratagem from above, from powers unknown and immeasurable designed to lure us in and crack us? Crack us or just leave us for DEAD?
Blokes you can TRUST who are into ‘Blind Trusts’! (when a surgical truss was all he was after).
Find out in our next nut-cracking suite, “if you see the jaws of life you’re most probably dead’, or ‘most times what goes around comes around except when it doesn’t’.