Filed under: ALP, Australia, Kevin Rudd, Liberal, Malcolm Turnbull, Politics, Tony Abbott
The election of Tony Abbott shows that the Liberal Party is in need of anti-psychotic medication, or at the very least, a good dose of salts.
Cardinal Abbott certainly has his work cut out for him, with the Mad Monk winning by just one vote. His margin and mandate massive, with Fran Bailey absent and one confused soul scribbling “no” on the ballot paper.
Tis no surprise Sloppy Joe failed to make the second round of voting. Once he decided to give the party room a conscience vote, the lunar right was always going to go just that little bit more crack-a-dog than they already were. Woof, woof they won! And now they have a bone, or more accurately, bonehead.
This is, however, a fantastic win for the left. The ETS will be voted down in grand scale and it will give Krudd an opportunity to call that most rare of elections, the A-Bomb that is the double dissolution. Labor will romp home and face a rubble of right-wingers no bigger that a cricket team. Better still, they won’t even come close to winning the Senate. Even with a massively reduced quota, there won’t be a Democrat to pour the drinks and there certainly will not be learning-disabled Senator Steve, the dimwitted and cretinous Family Fist member who rode to office on Labor Preferences. Krudd and his cronies, having had to deal with the home-schooled Fielding for the past two years, certainly won’t be making that mistake again.
The red of the Senate will be decidedly green, and every single piece of legislation will have to be run past Senator Bob.
As for Abbott, his vainglorious attempts to throw his rosaries around the ovaries of the women of Australia will fail. He appeals neither to gay, granny nor girl and will be remembered as the Liberal leader that made J. Winston Howard look like a socialist.
Poor old Malcolm. He probably doesn’t know if he is Trishna or Krishna today.
And who could blame him. The poor bugger has been stabbed in the back so may times he is leaking supporters like a rusty colander.
Let’s look at the bit players shall we. First cab off the rank is senate nutter Nick Minchin. The steely-eyed hawk has been eyeballing the stay-sharp for months and doing his very best ‘I’m not Henny Penny’ imaginable.
Please step up to the pulpit Cardinal Abbott. Big ears conveniently resigns from the front bench over a “policy issue,” to just twenty-four hours later throw his hat into the three-ringed circus in a vain and futile attempt to be elected to be chief clown.
But if Malcolm is looking to blame anyone he look no further that the mate he sought sage counsel from, John W. Howard. The meanest one created this mess by failing to groom a successor and anoint the smirker. Howard left his unholy “church” to themselves.
The siring of Howard’s new conservatism, by mating the radical rights with the liberal fillies, was always going to produce a bastard child. And what a bastard it is; intellectually corrupt and morally bankrupt, the Libs are doomed to roam the streets of opposition for a generation.
But the funniest thing is they have done this over a piece of legislation so worthless, so useless, so planet destroying – it deserved to be voted down by the the timid and weak Labor caucus.
But of course the Labor caucus is as vacant and as useless as the Tories.
We don’t get the politicians we deserve. But we do elect the ones we’ve got. -
Filed under: ALP, Australia, Economics, John Howard, Kevin Rudd, Politics
For the past four weeks at 8.30 pm on Mondays, I have settled down with a glass in my hand to watch the ABC TV doco, The Howard Years.
I now have post traumatic stress disorder.
I had forgotten.
Watching The Howard Years, I was amazed how my reaction to it was so similar as to when I watched the original series of The Office. This was because I found it difficult to watch both programmes while cowering under the doona and screaming obscenities at the tele.
(Readers, my reaction to The Office was because at that time I worked in an office with a man who acted like David Brent, and worse still; looked like David Brent. I assure you, I am not some sort of nut job that yells at inanimate objects. OK, parked cars parked illegally and only occasionally. That’s it).
Fran Kelly, you are a bitch! You made me remember Abbott and Costello, and Wretch – err Reith and even the poor old, dimwitted Bronwyn Bishop.
Now living under the glorious socialism of Kev il Sung, I had become accustomed to politics where at least lip service had been paid to social policy.
Twelve months on and Brother Kevin is doing better that the Evil Man ever did, but Brother Kev could do so much more.
He is from the exact same mold as deposed despot, J. Winston Howard Esq. Look at the stimulus package; jackpots for pensioners and those lucky enough to be able to claim family Tax Benefit A.
I think I am going to have to claim a Family Tax Benefit A too. I wonder of the Government will accept Penfolds and Tanqueray as my dependents.
Recently I wrote about making a film for the Melbourne 48 Hour Film Competition.
My film, “Faster, Stronger, Higher” screened last weekend at the BMW Edge and it was one of about 28 in competition.
Now it is one of the 12 City Best Finalists.
I am nervous. First prize is a scholarship and equipment hire.
If it wins I promise not to do a Gwyneth. I may however channel Sally Field – “Oh you like me, you really, really like me.”
I am tired, so very tired. Over the weekend I co-produced a four minute film for the 48 Hour Film Competition.
On Friday night at 7pm, Quinine Films team leader Olivia drew from the hat the genre of Sports Film.
And from then it was on.
By 11pm we had a plot. Casting decisions had been made. Prop makers organised and locations hurridly arranged.
We started filming at 9am Saturday and wrapped up about 13 hours later.
Olivia and Karl looked after the filming and sound.
I coached the actors and improvised with them.
We edited through the night and re-shot a scene on Sunday. And then we edited some more.
Karl made a four minue score using a synth and guitar.
We handed in our film at 6.57pm Sunday.
By 7.30 pm we were having a drink at Transport.
By 9.30 I was in a coma.
My flat is a mess. We filmed there.
My body aches. My brain hurts.
I am a vegetarian zombie today.
Gosh it was good fun.
The number of my embarrassing celebrity crushes continues to rise. But this time it is real.
OK. Maybe I am deluded. Or, turning at an old age. But I seriously LOVE SARAH PALIN.
Is it the glasses? Is it her folksy charm? Is it my desire to eat moose burgers for breakfast? Or is it her ability to look into a camera and speak to me, oneplanetmikey, right here in Melbourne.
I don’t understand. But I am touched in a way that I haven’t been touched since I touched myself when I had my crush on Tony Abbott.
Say it ain’t so.
Morris Iemma, the worst premier in Australia has resigned. In what is undoubtedly good news for the people of New South Wales and the governing Labor Party, members of the NSW right have tapped him on the shoulder. And about time too. You can’t have a political carcass leading the state and expect to be re-elected in two and a half years time. 
Either Nathan Rees or Carmel Tebbutt is expected to be annoited leader of the Parliamentary Labor Party, but whoever takes the reins will reek of the pong of political incompetence for quite some time.
The really interesting thing is that Rees is non-aligned and Tebbutt is from the left. This means the once vice-like grip the right had on Labor Party politics in NSW is now starting to wane.
Who said rigor mortis made you stiff.
My Pookie dumped me last weekend. I awoke to a note. And while a little sad and disappointed, I feel that he was right to go and that I should not continue to ruin his life. In fact I think I may have broken my little Pookie. Here’s why:
“You are the worst Pookie ever.”
“You have noggin problems.”
“You appear to be suffering Obsessive Pookie Disorder.”
“I am going to replace you with a better and less annoying Pookie.”
“I think you have some sort of pestilence of the Pookie.”
“You are a peanut.”
“You are some sort of nut product.”
“I am rapidly becoming anophylactic.”
“I would like you more if you fermented.”
“You have intellectual mange.”
And they were the nice things I wrote on his Christmas card.
Filed under: Australia, Religion | Tags: Cardinal Pell, Catholicism, Pope Benedict, World Youth Day
While it is lovely that Il Papa Benedict is here having a gay old time in Sydney, I am concerned he is leading his happy pilgrims into an unsustainable and deadly lifestyle. Personally, I think they are being conned. This post is not intended to be one of my anti-religious rants. Far from it. I have liked what the church has done in regard to providing health care and education. I may even like Pope Benedict. I am sure has lots of good things going for him. I like his little red shoes. The Pope wears Prada.
No, it is not Benedict that I have the problem with. It is what he is in charge of, and it is what his church teaches. The Catholic church has intellectual scurvy, and many of its’ leaders have pestilence of the noggin.
Take for example the ongoing sadness in Africa. With birth rates spiralling out of control at two and a half times the world average (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_birth_rate), and with Africa recording 6o per cent of the world’s HIV figures (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HIV/AIDS_in_Africa). The greater sin is not fucking without a condom, but fucking with lives to such a great extent that people are born to suffer in famine and sickness. Every sperm is sacred, but people more-so.
And let us not forget kiddy-fiddling by the Clergy. It is quite simply wrong and is most probably a result of that ridiculous vow of celibacy that priests must undertake. And if it is not kids, it is the ‘needy’ and those with ’special needs’ that tend to receive the attention. Take for example my old flatmate. He was, and is a screwed up, drug addicted, lapsed Catholic. In 2000 he met the now-late and not lamented Father J., who ’ministered’ to him, in that ’special way’ gay boys like.
Father J. did very little for my flatmate. And for my former flatmate, going down on Father J. did very little for him, or his fragile mental health. But there is good news in this, the old priest turned up his toes earlier this year and is quite possibly now being spit roasted by the devil over the coal-fired pits of hell.
But burning coal doesn’t seem to be a problem, for only this week we had Torquemada, err Cardinal Pell exclaim that “I’m a bit of a sceptic about the claim that human activity is likely to produce a man-made catastrophe.” I’m well aware that over … hundreds of years there have been great changes in the climate and whether we are going through one of those changes or whether we are contributing to that, I don’t know.”
So now we know it is fine. Keep those hell-fires and that brimstone burning kids, Cardinal Pell said it was okay.
Normally if I was without job I would freak out.
Not this time though. I knew something good would happen sooner, rather than later. And after six week of waiting with some very dodgy temp work in between, a couple of muggings to make ends meet, a trip to Shakespeare Grove to see if I could cut it as a rent boy (actually forget about that, I was just cruising), something good did happen.
Yep, that’s right folks I am now the Curriculum and Projet Manager of a commercial visual arts college here in Melbourne.
Yay me. Clever me.
I start next week.
